#or like move them around and the gold doesn’t change

[catparty41]

Flightless birds

[mojogojocasahouse]

unexpected visitor

jiyan x f!reader

Jiyan sneaks home to your bed in desperate need of a soft touch and sleep

c: NSFW 18+ only, smut, oral f-receiving, creampie, tacet marks are sensitive I don't make the rules, not beta'd

He slips in like a whisper, an unexpected secret cradled by the black of night. At first, you mistake him for the rustling of a rabbit outside the window and a burst of wind swirling beneath the clear moon, but then there was the clanking of metal buckles and the rustling of heavy robes falling to the floor. There was only one source of those sounds.

Jiyan.

Two weeks had passed since he’d left, and according to him, he was supposed to have been gone for much longer. Now, the mattress is dipping as he falls into bed behind you, a strong, warm arm circling your middle and pulling you flush against a broad, muscled chest, lips pressing to the curve of your neck.

“You’re home early,” you whisper, reaching back and threading your fingers through long, teal hair.

“Only for tonight,” he sighs, nuzzling his nose to the hollow behind your ear, “No one knows I’m away. I’ll have to leave before first light.”

“And what will you tell them?” you ask with a mischievous lilt.

“That I needed to sleep.”

Those words have you turning, his piercing gold eyes meeting yours and pleading for what only you can give him. He’s always said he can only sleep here, in the sanctuary of your bed. He doesn’t even have a home of his own anymore, it’s a tent on the front lines or this small cottage in the village. He has little in the way of belongings, but he leaves hints of himself around that you find and smile fondly at. Though nothing compares to the sight of him basking in white light, gazing at you as if you hung those very stars in the sky.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you soothe, brushing his bangs from his eyes. You already know the answer, but still, you ask every time in case he changes his mind.

“No.” It’s a polite but curt response, “You need not hear of the troubles of war.”

“But you’re troubles–”

“Are mine to bear.”

That will be the end of that discussion, as it always is. With a sigh, you cup the back of his head and pull him in, his lips so gentle and cautious as you welcome him home even if it is only for a moment. It’s your tongue that asks for entrance first, sliding along his bottom lip slowly, and he opens with a sigh. Large hands pull you in closer, your leg winding around his waist and you can feel his erection pressing against your thinly clothed slit. He’s opted to sleep with nothing on, as usual, and you curse the thin shorts you’d decided to wear. The grip he has on your side is hard enough to bruise, and you hope he has every intention of making sure you feel him tomorrow when you wake up in the bed alone almost as if he’d never come. Like this was all a fever dream. You’re still not sure if it is.

The tips of your fingers gently trace the Tacet Mark on his upper spine, his breath hitching as he flips you to your back. He kisses you like a man starved, nipping and licking into your mouth with greed and gluttony, his hips pulsing into your damp center as he slowly begins to lose that steadfast composure he holds so dear. You want him to lose it, too. He deserves to take for once, and you’ll let him bleed you dry.

As your teeth bite down onto his lower lip, he groans, taking one last parting peck before sliding down your body. The shirt you’re wearing is torn down the middle, and he latches onto one of your stiffened buds, his hands moving to cradle your other breast as if he hasn’t touched anything soft in weeks. His touch is so reverent and desperate that you’re whimpering as his tongue swirls and lips purse, your hands tangled in his locks as he descends lower, pecking a trail down your stomach until he’s pulling your shorts and panties off in one quick tug. 

Mingling moans echo off the walls as he locks onto your clit, your back arching off the bed as he suckles hard, worrying it between his lips before lapping at your soaked slit. You know you’re soaked, your inner thighs wet with what has already leaked free, and he takes it upon himself to not miss a single drop. As he’s tasting the sweetness sticking to your legs, you spread them further, inviting him back to bury his tongue in your cunt. And he does, happily, pulling you so tightly down onto his face you’re not sure he can breathe.

Muffled grunts and hums of bliss rumble deep in his throat, the vibration enough to have you keening in his hold. His talented mouth alternates between teasing your swollen bundle of nerves and enjoying the nectars of his labor, his face smeared and glistening every time he comes up for air. You want more, but you don’t dare stop him. If this is what he needs, this is what he can have, all you can do is scrape your nails soothingly against his scalp and try to quiet the roiling storm building in your belly. 

He’s waiting for you to come, you know that, but still, you try and stop the balloon threatening to burst. The sooner this is the over the sooner he’s gone again. And while you feign bravery and understanding of his long, frequent absences, deep down it breaks you every day to walk around town and see the couples together doing mundane tasks. They’re shopping, enjoying a meal, laughing and walking, and you’re…alone. You sacrifice the one you love so they can have this life, and while you’ve come to peace with this, no part of you has convinced you that you have to like it.

When he adds a finger, then two, you’re pulling his mouth back to your core by his hair, his smile stretched across your skin as the tip of his tongue prods so skillfully.

“That’s it,” he praises, “That’s what I want. Let me have it, baby.”

All he ever has to do is ask. Your orgasm washes over you gently like the waves on the shore, nowhere near as explosive as you’d been expecting, but you assume that was his intention. He knew you well enough to have discovered which of his ministrations caused which reaction and now he was almost tactile. It’s a little unfair.

No time is wasted, you’ve barely registered the end of your descent into the clouds and you can feel the soft head of his cock pushing into your cunt, your slippery walls giving no resistance as he bottoms out. He gives you a moment to adjust, taking advantage of your parted, panting lips to drag you into a messy kiss you can taste yourself on. You’ve missed the way he feels stuffed inside of you, bullying its way into a space too tight to accommodate his length and girth, but the burn subsides quickly and you let him know with a quick roll of your hips to urge him on.

The course hairs at his base are already soaked with your arousal as he begins to snap his hips into yours, the sound of skin slapping and breathy moans like a forbidden song drifting off into the night. His forehead is pressed to yours, the only air you can breathe is each other’s, and he entwines his fingers with yours and pins your hands to either side of your head, opening you up to his new, brutal pace. He can’t help himself, he’s long gone, drowning in the way your pussy clamps down around him every time he lets a whine slip out. You’d think he’d have learned by now and let his blissed sounds free, but he hasn’t. Maybe he never will.

“Jiyan,” you mewl, gripping him so tightly your knuckles turn white, “harder.”

It’s like something snaps, with a groan, he pushes himself up to sit on his knees, his hands claiming your waist as his hips begin to piston so hard his hold is the only thing keeping you in place. Your tits bouncing wildly hold his gaze as you cry out loud enough for anyone in the surrounding area to hear.

“Touch yourself,” he commands, regret in his voice because he can’t do it himself, “Come on my cock.”

Your two middle fingers dive to rub frantic circles on your clit, but you’re unable to focus as you dip your touch down to feel where he’s mercilessly thrusting into your hole. You can feel how stretched you are, how swollen, you’re moments away from release.

“Come with me,” you beg, your nails scraping down the firm dips and swells of his stomach, “Come with me, please.”

He looks wrecked as he lets himself lose control. His head falls back, his hair splaying across his shoulders, long enough to have the ends dancing over your skin. The way he glistens with sweat makes him look damn near ethereal, with green markings accentuating his clenched jaw as he tries to draw out what he knows is coming to an end. 

The molten pleasure boiling in your belly finally spills over, running through your veins until every muscle is tensed in anticipation and then released with a shrieking cry, his feral snarl joining you as he spurts hot, thick ropes of cum into your cunt. 

It’s a moment of stillness as you both catch your breath, his grip loosening as he fucks his seed deeper, enjoying how easily his softening cock slips through your channel. You’re so sensitive it almost hurts, but you’re not ready to lose the weight and stretch of him inside of you just yet.

“You need to sleep, my love,” you coo as he pulls out, immediately walking off to get a warm cloth to clean you with.

“Mm,” he hums, wiping what’s leaking from your fucked out hole, “In a moment.”

When he curls up behind you, there’s no stopping how you turn and bury yourself in his chest. It’ll be harder this way when he has to leave, but you haven’t heard the steady beating of his heart in too long. He chuckles as he wraps you up tightly, tucking your head beneath his chin, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your bruised hip. 

It’ll be just a few hours, and as much as you want to stay awake and relish in this rare time, you can’t. Sleep finds you easily swaddled in his arms, the faint arid, earthy smell of him the most comforting scent. When you wake, you’re alone, not that you expected anything different. However, one thing that wasn’t there the night before catches your eye–a single Pecok flower in a vase.

A promise to return home.

[badjokesbyjeff]

There were three race horses; ernie, bill, and ted. 

the three of them were good friends; they enjoyed racing each other and generally won and lost to each other equally. every evening, after the races, they went to a local bar to relax and drink some beer. they would often discuss racing techniques, their families, etc.

one season, bill wasn't doing so well. he rarely beat the other two, and was worried that he'd be sent to the glue factory if his luck didn't change. one night, at the bar, he talked with ernie and ted about it.

"you know, guys, i just can't figure it out," he said. "everything's fine at home; the kids are doing great, my wife is being nice, the bills are paid, my mother-in-law rarely visits - nothing could be better. maybe i'm just getting old. if things don't pick up soon, they'll send me to the glue factory."

the bartender, a big llama from peru, overheard the conversation. he looked around, to make sure nobody else was listening, then said, "hey, pal, i got something for you that'll make you feel like a young colt again." he reached under the bar and pulled out an unlabeled bottle of beer. "here, drink this; i guarantee you'll start winning again. come by each night for a week and I'll give you one. if it doesn't work, i'll give you double your money back!"

bill looked at ernie and ted, who only shrugged, then drank the contents of the bottle. "oh, just one thing," the llama said, "it'll make your ass itch, but that's okay; it's just a side effect. don't worry about it." the three horses stayed a few hours, played a few games of pool and darts, and went home.

over the course of the next three days, they went back to the bar each night, and bill continued the regimen of mystery beer. his racing times did improve! he was slowly moving back up in the rankings, and was soon back into the top three with ernie and ted. bill was ecstatic, and thanked the llama profusely.

"hey, my pleasure," said the llama.

a few weeks passed by, and ernie started slowing down. after losing three races in a row, he sobbed to himself, "i just don't get it. my life couldn't be better. i can't believe I'm getting old! they'll send me to the glue factory if i don't get back in the groove!"

that evening, at the bar, he told the llama bartender about his troubles, and asked if he too could try the mystery beer. "okay, but remember, it'll make your ass itch - but don't pay it no mind. it's just a harmless side effect."

"no problem. it'll be worth it to get back in the groove," ernie said.

a few days went by. ernie's ass did indeed itch, but after a few more days, his races improved, and he was back in the top three with bill and ted.

at the bar one evening, ernie bought a round of beers for all the horses, and thanked the llama profusely.

"i just can't believe how great that mystery beer worked!" ernie said. "you're sitting on a gold mine, there!" the llama said it was his pleasure, don't worry about it, etc.

a few more weeks went by, and now ted started slowing down, losing races. he, too realized that he'd be shipped off to the glue factory unless his races improved.

"say," he said to the llama one night after a particularly humiliating loss, "i think i need to try that mystery beer too. they'll ship me off to the glue factory for sure if I don't start winning again."

"no problem," the llama said, pulling out an unlabeled bottle. "here. come back every night, and i guarantee you'll be back in top form again, or i'll give you double your money back."

over the course of the next few weeks, ted's races continued to improve until he was back in the top three with bill and ernie. he pranced into the bar, full of vim and vigor, and thanked the llama profusely. "you know, my ass itches a lot; it's almost unbearable. but i can't thank you enough. they would have turned me into glue by now if it weren't for you. anything you want, let me know and i'll see what i can do."

"no problem," said the llama, "i make this beer at home using an ancient inca recipe. it's just my way of thanking my regular customers for their patronage over the years."

"i'm not kidding," ted said, "this is the greatest thing that's ever happened to me. anything, you name it, anything you want, let me know, and it's yours."

"well, now that you mention it..." the llama began -

right then, a greyhound walked up to the bar. he was obviously depressed.

"barkeep, give me something strong. i'm on a losing streak you wouldn't believe," the greyhound said.

ted looked at the greyhound, then at bill and ernie, and said, "hey, look! a talking dog!"

[themeraldee]

I think a great awkward sex fic could be homelander making love for the first time.

Not losing his virginity, but having sex with someone he loves

anon you're sooooooo smart!!!! I love this idea so much. After being in such a funk this reignited me and I had to write it now!! It took a different turn at the end but I don't dictate what the characters do!! thank you for this idea and please enjoy 🩷

Imperfectly Perfect

[Masterlist] [AO3]

18+ Only | 2.7k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Awkward sex. Realistic sex. Embarrassing sex noises. Feelings of inadequacy. Homelander being a mild drama queen. Cunnilingus. Unprotected sex.

Looking back at it, it was meant to be perfect.

Homelander eagerly ushered you back to his penthouse after an incredible date out. He pulled out all the stops, renting out the top rated, most expensive restaurant just for you. He spent the entire night charming your pants off with his strangely charismatic and at times awkward self. 

Buzzing with anticipation he couldn’t wait to show you what else he had in store for you. You’ve changed his perception of everything. Ever since you’ve wormed your way into his heart, he’s locked the way out and threw away the key. You’ve made him feel like nobody else ever has and he thought it high time he repay the favor. That’s why tonight had to be perfect. 

He wanted to show you what awaits you in your shared future.

He had some poor Vought employees absolutely drown his penthouse with bouquets of rich red roses, rose petals strewn across most surfaces, candles illuminating every corner, highlighting the glittering gold of the picture frames adorning his walls. Smooth jazz played in the background at a low volume sealing the deal on what ended up feeling like a scene plucked from an elaborate Valentine’s day ad.

“Wow! This is—wow! Homelander, you didn’t have to do all this.” You looked around the space, taking in the change with a shock and awe on your face. This quickly turned into a beautiful bright smile that made Homelander feel like he was on top of the world. He’s obviously doing something right.

“Anything for my girl.” He pulled you in gently, making the dress he’s picked for you twirl prettily. “Come with me,” he pressed a kiss to your soft lips, letting them linger for a little while while he inhaled the scent of your perfume—also his choice—and the roses surrounding you both. At that moment he thought that tonight would be perfect, one for the books.

And now? It didn’t take long for it to already be turning into a disaster.

From his point of view at least.

You’re sitting at the edge of the bed, leaning back on your arms as you watch the show. You asked to watch him take off his suit, promising that you’d give him just as good of a show as he would. 

Prior to this he has taken his elaborate suit off thousands of times anytime he’d go to bed. Now he’s struggling as if both of his hands were left-handed and this was his first suit fitting. He’s so tense, his nerves tighter than a bow string making his hands shake while he unclasps the cape, immediately folding it on the rack out of habit before he continues unzipping his suit. His heart is beating like a drum in his ears, he wouldn’t be surprised if even your ordinary ones could pick up on it. 

It’s not that he’s never had sex. It’s just that the anticipation of what he’s built up in his head is making him overthink his every move. He needs you to know that he can be like this for you. Because the perfect mainstream image of romance is what every woman dreams of���right?

When the zipper gets stuck and doesn’t let him unzip like normal he panics internally. There were meant to be no hiccups today! 

Observant that you are, you stand up as soon as you see him struggle and swear and take the step closer to him. “Let me help you.” You put your hands on his before sliding them up his forearms, then shoulders before going down to rest on his chest.

“How about you let me undress you and then you undress me.” You give him a cheeky smile, trying to break the tension he put himself into. “Does that sound good?” You ask quietly and breathy as you undo the zipper he was struggling with. 

He nods curtly, feeling ashamed that he’s admitting to a fault on his part.

But with the continuous dreamy eye-contact you slowly help him out. Undoing clasps, and zippers of his convoluted uniform. 

He was less worried about you seeing him naked than he is about the whole performance of it all. He’s let you see him without the suit before. Early into your blooming relationship you’ve stumbled upon him covered in blood. It only made sense to take the shower together as you helped him wash all of it off. But even then, he didn’t want it to go further. He said he had plans and asked you to let him make it perfect. 

When he’s finally fully naked he pulls you in for a hot kiss. It’s almost in gratitude at helping him mend the situation and put it back on track. He walks you back to the bed pushing you on it. He’s only about half hard, which is unusual for him as Homelander easily gets a hard-on in a split second anytime you just look at him a certain way. So it’s a surprise that he’s not panting and leaking with the way you look tonight. 

Clearly, he’s still stuck in his head.

With each kiss he presses into your skin, tasting the softness of your every spot he gets more and more excited. Slowly melting into you with each little huff you let out as he kisses your body, undressing you in tandem. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He growls into your ear before kissing you flush on the lips. Hot and heavy, he licks into your mouth, moaning at the way you pull at his hair when you rake your fingers through it.

Just as you want to take some control back, treat him the same way he’s treating you, he stops you.

“Nuh, uh. Ladies first. Let me make you feel good.” He rumbles as he pushes your hands off his body. You look pleased at his words, giving him an excited little grin.

And just like that, he’s finally taking control of the situation again. He’s got a script in his head and he needs to follow it to a tee.

Down on his knees, he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. Already spreading your legs open, unabashedly inhaling the scent of you, already aroused and wet for him. He grins like a shark to himself. Without giving you much heads-up or taking it slow he just straight up buries himself in between your legs.

Just the smell of you had his cock finally turning rock hard, now with the taste of you he feels it twitching, drooling precum from the tip.

He’s licking you open, spreading you with his tongue. Like a mad man who doesn’t know where to focus first, with little rhythm he changes between strongly sucking at your clit, pointing his tongue sharply and running circles around your clit right before shoving his tongue into you, tongue-fucking you just like he imagines will leave your mind blown.

Except. 

“Little softer, please.” You sound out in between sweet little sighs. You’ve taken to running your nails through his hair, giving his scalp a little massage while he went to town on you.

“M’sorry.” He mumbles into your pussy as he quickly looks up at you. He slows down with his urgency though he’s a little peeved at the way he’s not been able to rock your world yet. 

“Don’t be—ah—it’s great. I just like it a little softer.” 

It’s great? Great?! It should be mind-blowing, incredible, glorious! Not just great. Immediately his ego takes a hit but he doesn’t outwardly show it. In his mind you should’ve been moaning and shaking for him, coming on his tongue while he got his fill of you. 

This doesn’t happen.

And while he’s doing better, making you moan a little louder, forcing small gasps out of you as he softens his tongue flat, gently laving over your clit before sucking on it softly. He’s not making you cum and that’s killing him.

You suddenly sharply tug on his hair and at first he thinks you’re getting close but you pull again and he looks up at you confused.

“Come up here.” You guide him up.

“But you didn’t finish.” He scrunches his eyebrows confused and for a second he looks like an innocent sweet puppy. 

“I don’t wanna come yet. I’m actually usually done after one orgasm so I reaaally want to have you inside me for the big finish you know?” You sign that off with a wolfish grin that he immediately eats up as he climbs up to devour you, making you taste yourself on his lips. 

With the thoughts of being inside you where it’s all soft and warm and really just made for his cock, he abandons his thoughts of inadequacy. 

And as much as you want to participate, Homelander keeps pushing you off, instead focusing on your body and all the places he hasn’t managed to kiss yet. 

When he swats your hand away from his cock again you ask. “Why won’t you let me return the favor?” 

“Another time.”

“But I wanna blow you! It’s not fair, why can’t I?” You keep pouting and you’re as adorable as you are annoying because as much as he’s sure your mouth will feel amazing he’s even more certain that your pussy will be fucking incredible. And he definitely won’t make it through both.

“Because I’ll bust, alright?” He swats your hands away instead pinning your wrists down onto the plush bedding making you yelp in surprise and arousal. He can sense the way that got you all excited. “Now just let me fuck you… please?” He says before kissing you again.

You automatically spread your legs. He kneels on the bed, sitting on his heels as his eyes immediately lock onto the sight of your pussy, still pretty and wet for him. A sight that makes his heart swell. Part of him was worried you wouldn’t want him with such voracity. He made sure to keep some lube on hand in case you wouldn’t get wet enough for it to be comfortable for you but he was preening that he managed to get you this wet. 

Homelander let one of his fingers glide down your slit, gathering the slick before pushing a finger in, immediately groaning at the intense heat of your cunt. He couldn’t wait to get his cock in you.

He gathers more slick that you seem to be making an abundance of but this time he gives his cock a few strokes, giving it a nice, wet coating. “So perfect for me.” He whispers out more to himself than you before he shuffles closer, holding his cock in his hand, rubbing it up and down your slit before eagerly pushing in.

The sheer tight heat of you has him gasping, you’d almost think he was in pain if it wasn’t for the blissed out look on his face.

When he sinks all the way in, he takes in your pretty face, your softly parted lips, gently flushed face and a look in your eyes that he’s sure he’ll never forget. You look at him with such love and adoration it’s impossible for him to stop the, “I love you,” that comes out of him before he kisses you.

“I love you too.” You say with a bright smile when he lets you breathe.

 He thinks at this moment, there’s no way this could be anything less than perfect.

Getting lost in the sensation he picks up the pace. He fucks into your faster and harder with each stroke and it’s not bad but it’s too too much from the get go. Homelander doesn’t see this. In his head he wants to make you cum before he himself finishes which with his track record might not be a very long time.

“Hey hey hey, slow down. You don’t need to go all hard and fast so quickly okay?” You say with a breathless little laugh, looking a bit rattled from the way he’s been fucking you into the mattress.

Fuck. He fucked up again. He’s disappointing you. That thought makes his heart hurt and jaw clench. But Homelander doesn’t let it show as he just nods at you, kissing his tension away, trying to get his head back into enjoying himself as much as he should.

But the universe isn’t kind to him and when he eases himself back into you, pressing his body against your sweat-covered one, the glide of skin on skin well… It makes a sound that could only be described as a fart!

You burst into giggles at the comical sound and you seem to think that’s it but Homelander is mortified. His eyes widen and he gasps, pushing himself off your sweat-slick skin. “That wasn’t—I didn’t—”

When he tries to explain that it wasn’t him it just makes you laugh harder.

He doesn’t get it—you’re laughing! It’s so incredibly embarrassing and it’s ruining the vision he had for the night. Tonight was about him finally opening up to you, letting you feel just how strongly he feels about you and it’s been a disaster from the start.

He feels himself softening inside you so he pulls out before you notice and he grumpily pulls away from you, turning to sit at the edge of the bed to sulk.

Your giggles died out as soon as you noticed him pull away. “Baby? Don’t be upset. I’m not laughing at you.” You sit up, reaching over to him, moving closer. 

“It’s fucking embarrassing! Tonight was meant to be—well not like this!” He’s upset and he’s trying to take it out on you as if pretending that it’s your fault is gonna soothe his hurt ego.

“It’s okay. It’s normal, it happens. It’s literally just skin on skin. Bodies make funny sounds!” You try to soothe him by rubbing his arms and shoulder, occasionally pressing a kiss to his head or side of his neck.

“You shouldn’t be laughing at it like this whole thing doesn’t matter.” He said with a bite in his tone, almost accusing you of not sharing his feelings.

“I’m laughing because this does matter to me. I’m comfortable around you. You make me feel at ease and let my guard down. I’m laughing precisely because I love you.”

He doesn’t respond and you continue soothing his hurt feelings.

“It’s beautiful, the way you’ve prepared this place. But do you wanna hear a secret?” You move closer to him and turn his head with your finger. “It’d be just as romantic without all of it. Even if the first time we had sex was in a broom closet. Or whatever. The point is—it’s you. That makes it all so special.”

He sighs with palpable relief and he nuzzles his head into the hand you placed on his cheek. He could just about devour you for being so amazing. 

“I just wanted it to be perfect for you.” He admits his insecurity, giving you the ammunition to rip his heart in two if you wanted to. He knows you hear the ‘I want to be perfect for you,’ he’s really trying to convey. 

“It is perfect. Tonight, the whole thing. Everything that’s happened. It’s been perfect. I’ve been loving every second of it.” You kiss him on the lips and he melts. He turns so he can embrace you with the kiss, feeling the tension finally slip away. With no expectations, he can enjoy you the way he should have from the start.

“Come on, lie down. Stop thinking.” It’s your turn to press him into the mattress as he lies on his back staring up at you with pure adoration.

Just like that, after seeing you on top of him all pretty and loving his cock is back at full hardness. You finally wrap your hand around it, giving it a few strokes before you lower yourself down on him.

“We’re getting to know our bodies. You learn what I like, I learn what you like. None of this thinking of what it should be like. Okay?” He nods at you although he’s very preoccupied with taking in the incredible feeling of you wrapped hotly around him, sending his mind into a frenzy.

You bounce on him, showing him exactly how you like it, what angle and what pace and in the meanwhile you coo sweet, soothing words. Clearly seeing just how much work his hurt ego will need to get back to normal. 

And somehow, in the end, it’s so much more perfect than he could ever imagine it to be.

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story): @infinetlyforgotten 

[6esiree]

Getting Dared To Call Them Daddy Pt. 3

Summary: You get dared to call Valentino and Angel Dust daddy.

Warnings: Swearing, slightly suggestive, Val being Val. I speak Spanish but not Italian, so I just went off of what I found online. Forgive me if I’m incorrect ❤️‍🩹 Also decided to reupload this to see how it’ll do + I made some minor changes.

Valentino:

Your sentiments about Valentino were mixed. As a bartender, the last thing you wanted to do was chat it up with the patrons, especially because they usually only spoke to you to try to get into your pants. While the moth wasn’t that blatantly obvious with his intentions, the language he used with you subtle and strangely bordering along sweet, you knew what he did for a living.

He was a pimp, exploiting people for money and power, so you didn’t trust him all that much. Still, you couldn’t help but find him…attractive, appreciating the moth from afar with fleeting glances. That was all you allowed yourself to do, prohibiting your mind from traveling past the superficial thoughts, and you made sure of it by being curt with Valentino whenever you interacted with him.

You did this for the longest time, but then Velvette convinced you to play a game of Truth or Dare one night, and suddenly, you had to interact with the moth in the worst way possible. “I dare you to call Val daddy,” She said, immediately halting what you were doing as you processed her words. Had she noticed the way you looked at Valentino? No, there was no way she had…or had she?

“I’m sorry, what?” You stammered, setting down the glass you were cleaning. “Come on, Vel—why the fuck should I do that?”

“Got a bone to pick with that fucker, that’s why,” Velvette said, shrugging before tapping the counter, asking for another drink. “Trust me, babe, he won’t hurt a single hair on your head.”

You complied, feeling slightly relieved that her dare had just been a mere coincidence. Slightly. You still had to call the moth daddy, which was weird because how the hell would that constitute as payback? That’s what you wondered as you grabbed a bottle of tequila, serving Velvette a shot knowing damn well that she preferred cocktails.

“Okay, but that doesn’t help me understand why I should do it,” You said, sliding the shot to her.

“Look, you’ll understand when you do it, alright?” Velvette said, shooting you a dirty look before downing it like a champ in front of you. “Also, never mind calling him daddy,” She added, and you would have sighed in relief if she hadn’t continued, “Say ‘Papi,’ or however the fuck you say daddy in Spanish.”

Yeah, if you used the Spanish version on Valentino, you weren’t going to be able to walk away from him—literally. You might as well ask him to fuck you. As you opened your mouth to protest, a familiar face slid onto the stool next to Velvette. ‘Fuck,’ you thought, averting your eyes and focusing on the dirty glasses you had set aside, trying not to panic.

“Do what?” Valentino asked, chuckling when Velvette shot him a glare over her shoulder.

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.”

Even though the background was filled with the chattering of people and the incessant sound of slot machines being used, the silence that enveloped the bar was painfully loud. You decided to speak up, the tension between the two overlords only serving to exacerbate your anxiety.

“So, uh, what d’ya want, Val?” You asked, clearing your throat.

Valentino turned to you with a hum, his antennas moving at the sound of your voice. As he faced you, you were glad that he had no pupils, irises, or whatever they were called, feeling only slightly intimidated under his stare. Your throat bobbed in anticipation as you watched him contemplate your question, though.

“Hm, tell me, what does the pretty little barkeep recommend?” Valentino eventually asked, his gold tooth glinting under the dim light as he grinned.

“Well, what are you craving?” You asked, backing up and leaning onto the counter behind you, gesturing to the various liquors around you, “I can make you anything—been doing this shit for a long time.”

“You know what? Surprise me.”

Valentino perched his chin on top of his knuckles, intent on watching you work. You mentally sighed, turning around and grabbing the first bottle of liquor you saw, which happened to be rum. It was easy to make something good out of it, so you had a cocktail whipped up for the moth in no time.

“Here ya go—oh! Where’s Velvette?” You asked as you turned around, the stool next to Valentino empty.

“Over there being a fucking piss baby,” He gestured to the other side of the bar with his head. “Nothing new.”

Velvette moved several stools down while you were making Valentino’s drink, which was a bit funny to think about, admittedly. She looked pissed, but he didn’t seem to care, his claws brushing against the back of your hand as he accepted the cocktail. You mentally cursed yourself out for the way your body reacted to the gesture, goosebumps littering your skin.

“Thank you, cariño.”

You were about to ask Valentino if he liked his drink, but then you felt something hit your arm, looking down at your feet to see a crumpled piece of napkin. Yeah, it had to be Velvette. You raised your head to look at her, and oh, did you regret doing that, the way she mouthed “Do it,” with a serious expression making your heart drop.

Chewing your lip, you backed up, hoping that everything would turn out fine. It probably would, especially as Valentino wasn’t that much of a threat compared to the other Vees. You couldn’t even imagine a worst case scenario if you wanted to…unless it had to do with the whole avoiding him thing—then no, everything would not turn out fine.

“So, did I do you right?” You asked, trying your best to appear nonchalant as you leaned over the counter.

You suddenly became painfully aware of everything Valentino did, but you particularly liked the way his antennas moved whenever you spoke, seemingly delighted by the sound of your voice. He placed his drink down on the counter, slightly craning his neck as he took in the sight of you. This was the longest you had ever interacted with him for, and judging by the look on his face, he knew that.

“Of course you did,” Valentino chuckled, the nickname affecting you more than the first time, “It would have been obvious if you hadn’t, no?”

“Right,” You said, feeling Velvette’s stare burn into the side of your head.

Valentino offered you a sly smile as he picked up his drink, but before he could attach his lips to the rim, you reached out and wrapped your hand around his. The way his eyes widened as you leaned in and helped yourself to something that was not yours felt so…powerful. He quickly recovered, though, and you knew that when the scent of cigarettes and alcohol wafted into your nostrils.

“Hm, yes, it would have been obvious,” You hummed, throat bobbing as you swallowed the alcohol.

“I told you,” Valentino said, thinking he had you right where he wanted you.

“I just had to make sure, y’know?” You said, resting your cheek on your palm, looking up at him through your lashes. “Now how’s about you do me right, papi?”

Just like that, Valentino switched up, recoiling as the word left your lips. It’s not that he didn’t like it—no, he fucking loved it. In fact, he’d rail you right there on the counter, forcing you to call him papi over and over again until your voice went hoarse. But the moth knew that you’d never willingly do that, the way Velvette cackled on the other side of the bar a testament of that.

Now, Valentino was pissed, and because you couldn’t tell who it was directed at, you tried to apologize. “I didn’t—“ You started, but then he grabbed your face, bringing you in for a searing kiss that left you feeling rather…dizzy, intoxicated even. “Once I handle this pinche puta desagradecida,” Valentino spoke against your lips, a wicked smile on his face as he watched a pink streak trickle down the corner of your mouth, your eyes half-lidded, “I’ll do you right, baby, mm?” You could only nod, feeling defeated, but at least he’d make you feel good.

Angel Dust:

The first person you befriended at the Hazbin Hotel was Angel Dust. He was friendly—too friendly, even—but you didn’t mind. You liked him, and honestly, you thought he liked you too. But then you saw how often he seemed to be in Husk’s space, never missing an opportunity to invite him into his bed. That is why you took everything Angel said or did with a grain of salt, failing to notice the way he looked at you longingly from across the room, wishing that you reciprocated his feelings.

But when Angel introduced you to Cherri Bomb, a close friend of his, you started to have second thoughts about everything. She quirked a brow at you an hour into a game of Truth or Dare, her eyes darting between you and Angel, who was practically glued to your side. You shrugged Cherri off, though, because what were you supposed to tell her that she didn’t know?

“Shit, ran outta beer. I’m gonna go get me anotha’ one,” Angel announced as he stood up from his spot on the couch. “Don’t ya two play without me, alright?”

Yeah, Cherri didn’t care, and she made that known as she turned to you with a wicked smile on her face. “Truth or Dare?” She asked you, taking a swig of her beer as she waited for your response. You didn’t want to come off as lame, so you put on a brave face and said dare, never anticipating that she’d make you confront Angel in the dumbest way possible.

“Bold—I like it!” Cherri said, looking over her shoulder before suddenly seizing the collar of your shirt. “Come ‘ere, darling.”

“What are you—“ You started.

But you interrupted yourself with a gasp, your faces only a few centimeters apart as she pulled you in. What the Hell was Cherri up to? You wondered, your nose crinkling when her breath fanned against your face. She eventually turned away and settled her lips next to your ear, which you were glad about…until she hit you with something even more unpleasant.

“I dare ya to call Angel daddy,” Cherri said, letting you go before you could process her words.

You shook your head, confused by the idea of calling Angel a term he sometimes referred to himself as. And what would calling him daddy achieve, exactly? Except for making things awkward between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, what?“ You stuttered in disbelief. “That’s—no! I can’t do that!”

“Wait, nah, you’re right,” Cherry said, but she wasn’t agreeing with what you thought she was agreeing to. “Do you know Italian? ‘Cause I think it’d be more effective if you said it in Italian.”

“No,” You deadpanned.

“It’s like, papino, or uh, paparino? Some shit like that. But neither sound that hot, ya know?” Cherry continued. “You can just call him papi, ehh…no, papino.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” You scoffed.

Angel liked Husk, and the last thing you wanted to do was get in between that—or did you?

“What? You gonna pussy out?”

No, you were not, but out of all the things Cherri could have dared you to do, why…that? She laid back on the couch adjacent from you, innocently swinging her legs over the armrest as you rested your face in your palms. You were so busy mentally cursing yourself for caring about how Cherri perceived you that you jumped when the couch dipped next to you.

“Is everythin’ alright with ya?” Angel asked you, your eyes widening when he settled a hand on your back.

As his fingers delicately stroked your spine, an act that felt intimate and therefore forbidden, you figured out Cherri’s reasoning behind her dare. You lowered your hands, peering up at Angel to see him looking down at you with genuine concern. His hand halted as your eyes scoured his face, but when a blush creeped up his neck, embarrassment flooded your brain.

Angel didn’t even look at Husk like that, you realized, most likely fooling around with the poor old bartender because you didn’t seem to reciprocate his feelings. That was a painful thought, but you had no time to beat yourself up over that, especially with Cherri watching you and Angel thinking something was wrong with you.

“Shit—no, sorry,” You quickly said, straightening your back and offering him a smile.

“Are ya sure, honey?” Angel asked, your stomach flipping at the endearing term. That was a first. “Ya took, like, quite a while to answer.”

“Yeah, do ya need to cool down for a sec?” Cherri added, a smug look on her face.

Of course she was acting innocent. But it made sense, considering that the two of you continued to play the game despite Angel telling you not to do so.

“Nah, trust me, I’m good,” You said, trying not to glare at her.

“Ehh, I’m startin’ to think that somethin’ happened while I was away,” Angel said, folding his arms as his eyes darted between the two of you, obviously suspicious.

Cherri downed the rest of her beer, saving herself from having to respond to the spider and leaving you completely at his mercy. It was times like these where you regretted skimping on drinking, so you had no other choice but to get over the stupid dare.

“Yeah, I have no idea what you’re going on about,” You said, leaning back into the couch and crossing your legs.

“I ain’t blind! The two of ya are actin’ all weird and shit,” Angel said, standing up and wildly gesturing around himself with his hands. “I was only away for a few minutes, so what the Hell did ya guys talk about in such a short span of time, huh?”

“Oh, you wanna talk about ‘actin’ all weird and shit’?” You got up from the couch and approached the spider.

Cherri sat up, interested to see what you were up to. You weren’t a pussy, and you were going to show her that.

“I—uh, what?” Angel shook his head, his brows knitted in confusion.

“Please, you act weird all the damn time!” You started, observing how flustered he was under your stare. “Yet I don’t tell you shit.”

“I don’t know what ya talkin’ about—“ Angel started.

“Bullshit.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder, his body immediately growing tense. This was the first time that you had touched Angel, so you weren’t entirely surprised to see him react the way that he did. But when you trailed your hand down, your fingers disappearing into the fluff of his chest, that just proved to you that whatever he felt towards you was different.

“This—do you feel this?” You asked him, noticing the way his heart-rate picked up underneath your palm. “Yeah, that’s what you do to me all the time.”

“This—do you feel this?” You asked him, noticing the way his heart-rate picked up underneath your palm. “Yeah, that’s what you do to me all the time.”

“I, uh—it ain’t no different than how I treat Husk,” Angel weakly countered, a nervous chuckle escaping his throat.

“I’m not talking about Husk,” You said, trying not to glare at Cherri as she squealed. “I’m talking about this,” You placed your hand directly over his heart.

“I make ya feel like…this?” Angel stuttered, reaching up to place his hand over yours.

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t ya tell me anythin’?”

“Because of Husk.”

Angel stared right through you, thinking about how the two of you could have been together if you’d been honest from the start. That was what you gathered from his facial expressions, observing how they alternated between happiness and disappointment.

“I feel like such a jackass,” Angel admitted, pulling you in by the waist with his second set of arms. “All this time ya liked me, and I thought ya didn’t ‘cause—ah, I fucked up, huh?”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything either,” You smiled at him.

“That don’t compare to what I did,” Angel scoffed. “I mean, the whole time we could’ve—“

“How about you shut up and give me a kiss, papino,” You said, reaching up to cradle his face, thumb caressing his cheekbone.

You would have received your kiss if you hadn’t added the last part, but hey, you weren’t complaining. The way Angel melted in your arms was reward enough. “Did ya really learn Italian…just for me?” He asked you, too busy swooning over you to notice how your arms trembled as you held him. “Yeah, uh, something like that,” You chuckled, shooting Cherri a glare when she tried to interject. “I think—I think he’s the one that needs to cool down now,” She laughed, but the spider shook his head, mumbling something about wanting to do the opposite in bed with you. Yeah, you were in for a long night.

Credit for Angel’s part:

@/hazbingirliexoxo

(Not sure if they wanted to be tagged again)

[sellasstories]

CLOSE (I)

word count: 5.7k

pairing: paige bueckers x azzi fudd

⚠️warnings⚠️

underage drinking, slightly explicit themes, light angst, swearing

prompts:

what happens when two best friends with strong, undefined feelings quarantine together (part 1: azzi)

in other words, the pazzi covid fic

“The best duo in the world is back together!” Paige shouts from the end of the Fudds’ driveway.

“Shut up! The whole neighbourhood doesn’t need to know they’re going to have to deal with you,” Azzi yells back. “And are you just going to stand there looking stupid forever?”

Paige doesn’t even bother to pout at the lighthearted insult, running over to crush Azzi in a suffocating hug. If her first thought when she’d seen Azzi standing in the doorway with a huge smile on her face had been how beautiful the other girl looked framed in the sunlight, it was only because she was delirious with excitement. This was actually like the best thing ever. She’s going to be living with her best friend. Her best friend that people always say she’s attached at the hip with, which doesn’t even make sense because they live so far apart. Well, now they really can be and Paige doesn’t know if she can be any more excited.

As her whole family helps Paige move her bags into the house, Azzi worries (too much, Paige would tell her). It’s not that she’s not excited — she really is — but she doesn’t know if she’s going to be able to handle all of Paige for this much time.

•••••

Azzi has always been the shy one, the cautious one, never one to consider herself brave. She’s organized and methodical, and has never liked change or new things. She would cry at every new activity that her parents insisted she try as a kid, basketball included. She may have been shy, but she was never one to give up, and soon it was evident that basketball was different. Azzi had found her thing, and she was happy to throw herself into seeing how far she could take it.

Trying out for the U16 national team at 14 had been the scariest thing that Azzi had ever done, but she’d barely even had time to let the nerves set in before a blonde girl a few inches taller than her had confidently walked over and introduced herself.

Taking in Paige’s relaxed stance and cocky confident tone, Azzi had instantly recognized a rival. But as they both survived cut after cut and Paige kept talking to her (no less obnoxiously than the first time), Azzi’s mind reluctantly changed. This girl, her opposite in every way except their shared passion for the sport, was drawing her in like a magnet. Paige was loud, impulsive, and outgoing, and when Azzi was with her, she felt like she could be those things too.

By the time the tournament actually started, everyone was already referring to them as ‘Paige and Azzi’, and there was no question about who they’d be rooming with. The days passed and they only grew closer, connecting in a way that Azzi never had with anyone. She swore they were becoming one person. Azzi wasn’t brave, but when she reached out and took Paige’s hand in her own as they stood with gold medals around their necks, she felt like maybe she could be.

The rest was history. They kept talking every day, went to great lengths to go to each other’s games in different states, and were told over and over how ‘special’ their connection was. Azzi didn’t get it at first. Paige was her best friend, but everyone had a best friend that they loved the way she loved hers, didn’t they?

It had taken a couple years, but eventually Azzi had figured it out. Paige wasn’t just her best friend, she was her person. There was never going to be anyone else. There was no fanfare, no announcement or confession, just quiet acceptance as a 16-year-old Azzi had sat on her bed and tried to make sense of her uncharacteristically messy thoughts neatly scrawled in a little purple notebook that she carefully kept hidden from her parents and siblings. She’d confided only in Stewie before vowing to never tell anyone else.

Just this once, Azzi had been glad that she wasn’t brave like Paige. She wasn’t ready to change everything, especially when she already knew what Paige’s answer would probably be. She was almost positive that her best friend loved her, but she was also equally sure that it was only platonically. And that was usually fine. Azzi would take what she could get.

Azzi was disciplined, and she was able to keep up their routine, never acting in a way that would alert Paige. She knew their dynamic, and she could act accordingly. Well, mostly. It was so much easier when they were apart and Paige was just some pixels on a screen, just her goofy best friend.

When they’re together, Azzi has to exercise nearly all of her self-discipline. Because when she’s in the same room as Paige, she can’t ignore the way that her eyes shine and her smile is only ever kind. She can’t ignore the sharp lines of Paige’s body, from her cheeks to her collarbones to other places that Azzi is definitely not supposed to be looking at. And she especially can’t ignore how physical Paige is; touching, brushing, and grabbing without a care in the world because she’s just so full of love and has to get it out somehow.

•••••

So Azzi is worried. Not that she’ll get sick of Paige, but that she’ll ruin everything or somehow fall more in love, and she doesn’t even know which would be worse.

“AZZI!” Jon’s loud voice snaps her out of her thoughts.

She shakes her head. “What did you say?”

“I said thanks a lot for helping us with Paige’s stuff,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes as he goes inside.

“Sorry, I zoned out,” she calls to his back. How long has she been standing here? Shaking her head again, Azzi wanders into the kitchen where she finds her best friend talking to her parents. Paige is wearing a tank top. It looks like she’s put on some muscle since the last time Azzi saw her. Azzi stares at the ceiling. She’s fine. This is going to be fine.

•••••

Paige has a bad habit of setting herself up for disappointment. Her expectations for everything are through the roof, and while she figures the lofty ones she placed on herself are the reason that she was able to commit to UConn, she has to admit that it hasn’t helped her much in other areas of her life. School dances, birthday parties, even vacations, are never as fun as she makes them out to be in her head. But this ‘vacation’ (her parents told her not to call it that but she, of course, didn’t listen) is everything that she was hoping it would be.

Sure, it’s not like they’ve actually done anything crazy (unless you count shaving Azzi’s brothers’ heads, which she doesn’t), but anything that she gets to do with Azzi is going to live up to her expectations. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been missing out on by having a best friend that she couldn’t see every day. No matter what they’ve been up to, Paige still isn’t over Azzi being right next to her all. the. time. Paige thinks she could stare at the dark-haired girl forever. She thinks about how much she’s missed, how many parts of Azzi she didn’t know about before.

She never realized how much she loves the way Azzi talks. Sometimes, she’ll argue with her just to experience the changes in her voice and expressions. Paige wants to memorize them. She loves watching Azzi with her brothers, so similar yet so different to how she is with Drew. Paige thinks that Azzi will be a great mom someday.

She loves the way Azzi feels, too. Even though she’s been living with the younger girl for several weeks now, Paige always wants to be as close to her as possible. If there was ever any doubt that her love language was touch, it’s definitely been erased now. Paige thinks that she’d crawl into Azzi’s skin if she could. Obviously that’s not possible, but in this world where Azzi is one of the few people that Paige is allowed to get close to, she’s sure going to try.

The first week of her stay, she insists on her and Azzi picking some TV series to watch before bed, and if that results in them falling asleep where they are, she’s totally going to pretend that it wasn’t her plan all along. At first, it’s them on the couch in the living room with some or all of Azzi’s family, but the tradition quickly evolves to just the two of them settling into Azzi’s bed after the fifth night of them waking up sore from sleeping awkwardly on the couch.

Paige wouldn’t admit it, but she likes this second arrangement better, and not just because Azzi’s bed is more a comfortable place to sleep. She’s never had a problem sharing before, but Paige likes that this environment lets her have Azzi all to herself. Sure, anyone could still come in and watch with them, but Azzi seems to have some unwritten rule with her family about staying out of her space, and Paige can’t help but feel the urge to gloat that Azzi so readily lets her in.

And there’s another thing too, one that Paige doesn’t really understand. Even though Azzi’s bed is much bigger than the couch, they always seem to end up a lot closer than they were in the living room. Not physically closer (Paige had definitely fallen asleep on the couch sprawled on top of her best friend), but closer in a way that Paige realizes she’s glad the rest of the household doesn’t see. It’s not like the arms looped around waists and necks or the legs that always end up intertwined are particularly improper, but that doesn’t stop Paige from fighting the urge to pull away every time she hears a sound in the hallway.

She never says anything to Azzi, though, simply hoping the younger girl doesn’t notice, and their ritual of shared time cements itself as almost a nightly activity. Sometimes she gets sent back to her room by a tired Tim complaining about them being too loud or saying that they need some time apart, but they’re always back together the next night.

Of all the traditions established during their time together, this one is by far Paige’s favourite. She loves all the little pieces of Azzi that she gets to collect, but she holds this one just a bit closer to her heart than the others.

•••••

Paige knows she can never be bored of Azzi, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be bored with Azzi. Katie and Tim have gotten tired of filming TikToks for them, they’ve stopped keeping a record of who wins games of 21 and HORSE (which they play as UCONN), and Paige swears they’ve tried every quarantine activity.

They even managed to convince Azzi’s parents to let them climb onto her roof, which is where they are now. Azzi appears to be relatively peaceful laying on her back with her eyes closed, but Paige is sitting up and her fingers are tapping against the shingles as she looks to the next possible activity.

She sighs loudly. “What are we gonna do for the next month? Oh god, what if this lasts a year?”

“We’re literally on the roof,” Azzi turns her head towards the blonde. “Can we appreciate the fact that we even got permission for this for a second?”

“For a second, sure. But I’m so bored.” Paige gestures around them. “What is there to do here? We can only play so much one on one. Don’t you miss basketball, like real five on five… with contact and crowds?”

“Yeah, I do. I miss it as much as you do, P, but you know we can’t.” Azzi glances over to see if the other girl is even listening. “For now, you’re stuck with me and the hoop in my driveway.”

Paige groans as she flops onto her back. “I just don’t know how much more of it I can take!”

“I’m going to push you off this roof if you don’t chill out,” Azzi retorts. “You wanna get away from me that bad, huh?”

Paige barely even entertains the joke. “I literally came here to not have to get away from you- that doesn’t mean I won’t jump off and say you pushed me, though,” she sticks her tongue out at her best friend. “I wanna get away from here, with you, and go do something. At this point, it doesn’t even have to be basketball!”

Azzi is mostly focused on ignoring what the casual admission of Paige’s desire to be with her (but not like that, she chides herself) is doing to her heart, but she also wants to be a helpful friend. She pushes down her stupid feelings and hopes that Paige didn’t notice any changes in her expression.

“We’ll just have to find a new thing to do in the meantime.” Her face brightens. “We just thought of the roof thing today! There has to be something else.” A hush falls over the pair as they wrack their brains. At least Azzi’s inadvertent challenge is technically something to do.

“I know! Az, have you ever been drunk before?” Paige’s excited voice shatters the silence, startling Azzi, who sits up abruptly and lurches forward before catching herself.

“Jesus, P, I could’ve fallen!” Azzi takes a few deep breaths as she waits for her heart rate to return to normal.

Leaning back to make herself feel safer, she finally dignifies Paige (who looks way less apologetic than she should, in Azzi’s opinion) with an answer. “No, when would I have? You know I don’t really go to parties, and my parents would kill me anyway.”

“I’m gonna ignore that last part, because that’s what I think we should do,” seeing Azzi’s unimpressed expression, Paige raises her arms in surrender. “Hear me out! It’ll be funny, and it’s something new as well…”

“…and?” Azzi smirks. She knows there has to be something else.

Paige looks up at the sky. “And I’m going to college really soon and I don’t know if I’m ready for all that.”

“You’re so dumb sometimes. You don’t have to train for that, Paige,” Azzi laughs. “You’re going to be totally fine, I promise. So just to be clear, you’re suggesting either getting into a liquor store and somehow managing to buy something or… what? Stealing from my parents?”

“I guess?” Paige rolls her eyes, prior embarrassment forgotten. “You know what? Fuck you, it was just an idea.” She shoves the younger girl lightly.

“Paige Madison. What did I say about the roof?”

“My bad, my bad.”

They lapse into silence again. Finally, Azzi speaks up. “All I’m saying is that this idea would probably involve lots of lying and us getting in huge trouble. I just want you to know that.”

“Shut up,” Paige groans. “I already said we didn’t have to.”

“And I’m saying we should!”

Paige figures Azzi is still messing with her. She raises an eyebrow.

“For the record,” Azzi continues as if nothing’s happened, “I think stealing from my parents is the easier option, but we can do whatever you want.”

Paige doesn’t like how much fun the younger girl seems to be having with this. She’d call it off if she wasn’t already getting excited at the prospect. “Since you’re so smart, why don’t you figure all that out? Bring everything to me and I’ll show you how to make drinks.”

Azzi sticks her tongue out. “You say that like it’s hard.” She lies down, smiling proudly.

Paige takes a minute to admire the peaceful look on Azzi’s face, thankful that her best friend’s eyes are closed. Once she tears her eyes away, she resumes her position on her back as well. A gentle breeze passes over the girls and they both shift closer together until their sides touch.

As the sun sets in front of them, no words need to be exchanged because Azzi just knows to lift her head up so Paige’s arm can slide smoothly under it. They bask in the calmness around them, and for once Paige doesn’t feel completely at odds with it.

Azzi turns into Paige’s body even more. “Look at the stars,” she whispers in awe.

Paige smiles softly, her own shining eyes surely mirroring Azzi’s. “Have you never seen them before?”

“Never from up here. You can see the whole sky, it’s really beautiful.”

So are you, Paige’s brain supplies unhelpfully. She blinks rapidly, not totally sure where that came from. Instead, she says, “I bet we can find all the constellations.”

“I don’t think I know too many,” Azzi admits. “I just like to watch for shooting stars.”

“Don’t worry, I happen to know them all,” Paige brags.

At first, Azzi believes her, but as the names and patterns get more ridiculous, it’s clear that Paige has no idea what she’s talking about. Catching onto the game, Azzi is quick to make up some of her own. It soon devolves into a contest of trying to make the other laugh, and for once Azzi doesn’t pout when Paige is the clear winner.

Azzi looks at Paige at the same time as the blonde reaches an arm out towards her. Paige’s hand trails down Azzi’s forearm and side as it comes to clasp hers. Looking down at their interlocked hands, Azzi shivers, and she knows it’s not from the breeze.

Suddenly, she’s nervous to look up, not sure if she’ll be able to survive looking into the other girl’s eyes right now. Somehow, Paige has remained silent through all of this. Azzi drags her own eyes up and is still unprepared for how her best friend can undo her with a single look.

Paige is looking at her like she’s the only thing in the world. Azzi leans forward subconsciously as she’s pulled in by the intensity of Paige’s gaze. She sees the whole sky of stars reflected back at her, even a shooting star-

“Woah,” Paige breathes. Her eyes shift away and it breaks whatever spell Azzi had been under. She mentally kicks herself. She’d been seconds away from doing something truly stupid and she knows it. “Az, I think that was a shooting star.”

“Then you have to make a wish,” Azzi insists.

“You should too.”

“That’s not how it works,” Azzi giggles.

Paige frowns. “Can I give you my wish then?” Seeing the shake of Azzi’s head, the blonde has an idea. “Then I wish for us both to see another shooting star tonight.”

“Thank you,” Azzi whispers. “Even though you’re not supposed to tell me what you wished for,” she can’t resist adding.

“I want you to know,” Paige shrugs.

Azzi has scarcely opened her mouth to reply when she sees it. Clear as day, a bright streak right in front of her eyes. She shakes Paige’s shoulders urgently and points to the sky behind her best friend. “Look, look, your wish came true! It’s a shooting star!”

Paige seems unfazed as she follows the line of Azzi’s finger. “Good. I’m not telling you what I wish for this time, though.”

“Good, because that’s how it’s supposed to work,” Azzi reminds her.

They stare at the spot where the shooting star disappeared long after it fades into the night sky. Closing her eyes, Azzi doesn’t even have to think about her wish. If she’d known that right beside her, Paige was wishing for them to be this close forever, she would’ve been ecstatic.

If Azzi claiming a need to not fall off the roof is clearly just an excuse to wrap her body tightly around Paige’s, the older girl isn’t complaining. Especially when holding Azzi in her arms that night is making her feel more grounded than she has in a long time.

•••••

They decide to get drunk the next night. It’s difficult to act normal all day but they manage, finally getting to an acceptable hour to excuse themselves to go to bed.

Tim should’ve known something is up when Paige hardly puts up a fight after being told to go to her own room, but he’s tired and not about to complain about the normally difficult job being less so.

After that, it really is as easy as Azzi said it would be. She sets a timer for thirty minutes and paces her room as she watches it tick down. After completing a mental checklist of what she’s grabbing, she decides to change into a crop top and nicer shorts. Already feeling ridiculous, she suppresses the urge to fix her hair, pushes down the nervous energy, and goes back to pacing.

When she finally tiptoes into her dark kitchen, the whole house is silent. There’s never been an effort to hide the alcohol because Azzi’s never given her parents a reason to, and she’s thankful for that right now. She makes it to Paige’s room without incident and knocks as softly as she can.

The door opens almost immediately and Azzi feels slightly better when she realizes that Paige must’ve been pacing her room as well. The blonde leans on the doorframe as she looks Azzi up and down.

“Nice outfit,” there’s mirth in Paige’s tone, but no malice, and a part of Azzi wonders if she means it. What Azzi doesn’t know is that Paige considered doing the exact same thing but talked herself out of it, a fact that she will very much be keeping to herself.

“Shut up,” The younger girl whines before shoving her way into Paige’s room. She looks over her shoulder. “And, if I remember correctly, you have some drinks to make.”

Paige surveys the contents of Azzi’s raid. “Yeah, gimme a second.” In Paige’s defense, she doesn’t have a lot to work with. But she did also totally lie when she told Azzi she knew how. She doesn’t really know why, it’s not like Azzi would’ve cared or anything.

Maybe this should warrant further investigation, but Paige has put her pride on the line and nothing is more important right now than defending it. With almost laughably fake confidence, the blonde fills two cups with a mixture of vodka, Sprite, and tonic water. She hands one to Azzi, who gives her an incredulous look.

“You’re so full of shit. Are you even supposed to mix all this together?” The dark-haired girl sniffs the drink and wrinkles her nose.

Paige rolls her eyes. “Just trust me. Drink on three?”

“Fine.” Azzi takes a deep breath.

They touch their cups and Paige counts to three. When the drink hits the back of her throat, she attempts to save face by masking the sudden sensation that her mouth is on fire. Azzi has no such reservations.

“What the fuck is this?” She splutters. “That’s like, way too strong.”

“Don’t look at me,” Paige is quick to defend herself. “I didn’t have anything to measure with, and it’s not like it’s supposed to taste that good anyway.”

They continue to bicker back and forth as they figure out what they want to do. Azzi bans Paige from making any more drinks, and they agree to just drink from the bottle and have a cup of Sprite to use as a chaser. It’s also Azzi’s idea to sit on the floor with their backs against Paige’s bed, facing away from her bedroom door. It probably wouldn’t do much to prevent them from getting caught, but it does make them both feel a little better.

It’s quickly discovered that ‘Truth or Drink’ isn’t the best game for them. They already know everything about each other, and neither of them can seem to think of anything that the other isn’t willing to share.

Well, Azzi can think of one thing. She doesn’t want to bring it up because she definitely has more to hide, but as they pass the bottle back and forth and her mind starts to get hazy, her jealousy curiosity gets the best of her.

“Sooo, Paigey, wanna tell me about your crush?” Azzi can hardly get the question out before she dissolves into giggles.

Paige is genuinely confused. “My what?”

Azzi rolls her eyes. “Remember the Overtime video you did, the one I was literally in?”

“I forgot about that question, not gonna lie,” Paige shrugs. “It’s not like it’s true, anyway. That’s just what I say when people ask.” She leans her head back and puts an arm around Azzi’s shoulders.

Azzi’s not one to give up easily. “You must have one, though.”

Paige pushes the side of Azzi’s head into her chest. “Who says I do?” This doesn’t seem to deter her.

“Me,” Azzi’s voice is muffled as she continues. “If you didn’t, you would’ve just said no one. No need to have a cover unless saying you didn’t would’ve been an obvious lie,” the younger girl reasons, smiling triumphantly. “So I’m asking again, who is it?”

Paige looks away. “No one,” she mumbles, cheeks burning.

Azzi looks up at her with a shit-eating grin. She’s vaguely aware of how quickly this could turn on her, but she’s having too much fun to care. “Aww, are you embarrassed?”

Paige doesn’t answer, taking a deep breath before bringing the bottle to her lips. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she tries to hide her expression of disgust at the strong taste. “But you’re just so perfect, right? The Azzi Fudd, best basketball player in the world, doesn’t have time for silly things like crushes, does she?”

Azzi would be lying if she said that she had any idea what was going to come out of her mouth. “I never said that.” She cringes inwardly at herself. Paige had literally given her an out and she hadn’t taken it.

“So who’s the lucky guy?” Paige’s tone is playful, but Azzi’s entire world has suddenly narrowed in on that one simple sentence. Her mind is floundering, going too fast and too slow at once, and the urge to finally share her secret is almost overwhelming. Briefly, she imagines how freeing it would be to say it out loud. But she’s kept it together this long, and Paige Bueckers is not going to break her, even if it seems like she’s getting closer every day.

Azzi has to say something, and she can feel the words ready to spill out like a rising tide. As Paige’s smirk grows at what she perceives to be Azzi’s own embarrassment, the younger girl realizes that she’s going to have to give something up.

And so, ever the analyst, ever the planner, Azzi trades one truth for another. Even if it feels like the safer option in her head, she freezes as the words fall from her lips, eyes fixed apprehensively on Paige’s face.

“I never said it was a guy.”

Paige’s mouth opens and closes, and Azzi is paralyzed. She thinks it might be the alcohol, but her mind is completely blank and she’s suddenly struggling to breathe. Is this what drowning feels like? There’s only one way to interpret what she said, and she can’t take it back now.

“Sorry, are you-” Paige pinches the bridge of her nose. “That’s cool, congratulations?” She smiles ruefully. “I’m sorry, Az, I promise I’d be handling this better sober.”

It’s Azzi’s turn to smile cautiously. “You wouldn’t have gotten this out of me sober,” she admits, tipping her head back to rest against the side of the bed.

Paige finally collects her thoughts. “So, are you like, a lesbian then?” She asks, ignoring Azzi’s most recent statement. This is the first time her best friend has admitted any romantic interest, and she wonders if that might be why.

“It’s not your turn to ask questions,” the dark-haired girl groans. “But no, I don’t think so. I haven’t thought about it too much honestly, but I think I’m probably bi.”

Paige nods slowly. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Azzi’s heart beating out of her chest as she waits for her friend’s judgment.

“This is gonna sound so dumb now,” Paige blurts out suddenly. “I think I might be, too. That’s why I didn’t wanna tell you who my crush was. It was a girl at my school, her name is Imani.”

The words don’t register all at once. Azzi first experiences relief — Paige likes girls too, this won’t make anything weird, then hope — Paige likes girls, maybe there’s a chance?, which quickly turns to disappointment — Paige likes another girl. She hardly feels the tears welling up as not me not me not me echoes unchecked in her mind.

But Paige sees them, and soon she’s pulling Azzi against her chest, fully this time, opening her legs so that Azzi can sit in between them. “That was really brave of you, you know that, right?” She whispers.

The tenderness in the blonde’s voice is the final straw before the tears are spilling down Azzi’s cheeks. “That’s supposed to be your thing,” she retorts with a watery smile. Paige lets out a soft laugh, and Azzi joins her, not completely sure if she’s laughing or crying as the tears continue to pour out.

If Paige’s shirt gets a little wet, she doesn’t comment on it. And Azzi falls just a little deeper, lacking both the mental and physical strength to stop herself. She might be a rational person, but just this once she lets herself indulge in a small feeling of superiority because right now she’s in Paige’s arms and this Imani girl isn’t.

They must’ve fallen asleep there because Azzi has only a dim memory of gentle but firm hands urging her to get up onto the bed before slipping warm fabric over her head.

•••••

Azzi wakes up in what has to be the middle of the night. She must still be drunk because there’s a light haze over her vision. Her surroundings register as she sits up. How did she get back in her room, and where is Paige?

She jumps a little when she sees a figure sitting on the floor by her bed, calming down as she recognizes the familiar silhouette.

“Paige? What’s going on?” She calls out.

Paige turns to look at her over her shoulder, eyes twinkling. “Nothing, just looking at the moon. It reminds me of you, you know?” She turns back, offering no further explanation.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Azzi blinks heavily. “Please just come lie down, it’s so late.”

Azzi has half a mind to ask Paige to close her blinds (she certainly remembers closing them, but doesn’t dwell on it), but when she stops to admire her best friend in the pale glow of the moonlight, she decides she might not mind them being left open.

Paige is sitting on the bed now. She places a hand on Azzi’s wrist. “You’re hot, lie on me above the covers.”

Azzi hadn’t given it a single thought beforehand, but now that Paige has pointed it out, she definitely is feeling warm. The blonde really does seem to know her better than she knows herself.

Paige lies down and Azzi shifts so that her back is on Paige’s chest. Azzi, getting hotter by the second, bends up one short-clad leg. Soon, Paige is tracing it lightly from knee to thigh. Her nails graze the bare skin, sending shivers across Azzi’s whole body.

Paige lets a hand creep under Azzi’s shirt to rest on her stomach. Azzi’s legs fall open and the movement causes the hand on her stomach to slide just under her waistband. Paige doesn’t pull away. Azzi doesn’t tell her to. Azzi is burning up. She wonders if Paige is too.

Azzi grits her teeth and tries to calm the fire in the pit of her stomach and the war being waged in her head. Please just fucking touch me.

She shifts her hips again, marginally enough to still be played off, but also enough for Paige’s hand to shift farther down than is acceptable, even for them. Paige’s fingers curl slightly on instinct and Azzi almost moans.

“Is there something you want from me?” Paige asks cautiously, no hint of teasing in her words.

Azzi looks up at the blonde desperately.

“More,” she breathes, biting her lip. Paige’s wide eyes don’t leave hers as the hand on her stomach gets tantalizingly closer to where she needs it-

•••••

Azzi’s eyes snap open. She’s lying on her back, like she was in the dream, and Paige is there too, but the blonde is fast asleep, her face pressed into a pillow. Shaking her head slightly, Azzi stares up at the ceiling. She’s in Paige’s room, where she fell asleep, apparently wearing one of her best friend’s hoodies.

Grimacing, Azzi resolves to never drink again. Her mouth is dry, her head is pounding, and she feels like she might actually explode. She’s already stressing about dealing with the consequences of the previous night, and she’s certainly not willing to process her dream on top of all of that.

She looks down at the way Paige is draped across her body, a hand resting possessively protectively over Azzi’s waist. It tightens at the first sign of movement, leaving Azzi no choice but to stay right where she is. She thinks she could get used to this feeling of belonging.

Azzi reminds herself why she can never say anything, what she would lose if she did. She knows that Paige loves her — though last night made it explicitly clear that it’s not like that — and she would never risk that love or that trust. Sighing, Azzi tries to get comfortable without waking Paige, making sure to keep her legs firmly squeezed together. She’s fine. This is fine. This is enough.

[sweeterthanficstion]

— take me back to eden || l.s.k

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

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

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

word count: 10k ish

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

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

playlist ⭑ masterlist ⭑AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, Leon’s so fucked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leon finds he’s drowning just as you are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. He’s fucked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leon looks starstruck. Of course you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lame fucking answer.

Do I need a reason to invite my friend over?

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

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

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

He smiles then. That you do.

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

“Hi,” You grin.

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

You’re endeared, to say the least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leon blushes deeper. “Is it obvious?”

“A little,” You smile.

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

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

He nods, tight lipped then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus Christ, you’re losing it.

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

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

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

God. You go a little lightheaded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And God does he.

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

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

He couldn’t have nodded faster. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baby, baby, baby.

He’s hardwired to comply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, don’t. It was… it was good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

Turns out distance does make the heart grow fonder.

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

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

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

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

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

It was never the same though. Never would be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Come on, come on, come on.

H, I, J, K… 

Bingo.

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

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

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

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

“Leon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, like a date?”

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

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

Damn you and those fucking eyes, he thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now he thinks he’d like to slow down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You.” You, you, you, always you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. You’ve said it out loud.

“Don’t tease,” You plead with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re so fucked.

“Can you do that, sweetheart?”

In the haze of your mind you comply.

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

Who are you to deny him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothin’,” You hum, eyes half-lidded.

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

“I said– Oh. ” Nevermind.

Another roll of his hips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ Yes. ”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perfect.”

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

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

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

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

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[zweiginator]

OMG private school patrick i’m drooling

he’s so privileged it infuriates you — he walks around the school like he owns it, grabbing at girls asses in the corridors or play fighting with his friends in the courtyard. he flirts his way out of detentions, buttering up his teachers with his stupid smirk and charming demeanour.

your hatred for him makes him tick, as patrick’s always been used to all the girls falling at his feet. it fuels this need within him to change your mind, to make you want him, to make you flip up your little plaid skirt and let him bury himself inside of you.

you refuse to break, though. continuing to shoot him dirty looks, arguing with him at a dorm party, which led to you slapping him across the face after he made the comment: “why do you need to be such a bitch? if you need some dick that badly, all you have to do is ask.”

you’d been furious after that, shouted every obscenity under the sun. he was just so cocky, and so, so wrong. you didn’t need sex. certainly not from him. your hatred of patrick had nothing to do with the thing between his legs.

…. until one day you find yourself knocking on his door, and he opens it with a knowing smirk, because he’d been anticipating this since the beginning. and then when he’s pushing your head into the sheets, cock furiously thrusting into your wet pussy, he just can’t help but laugh. “yeah, this is what you needed, right baby? a nice hard dick to fuck that attitude out of you.”

( sorry babe this got long 😁😁 )

oh heavens!!!

it annoys you how everything in patrick’s life has been handed to him on a silver platter. full tuition with zero merit, scholarships to elite tennis academies. he has a brand new car and a giant mansion and a new girl on his arm every week. you can’t decipher a type, because he has none, and he doesn’t care about what her personality is like, how she dresses. the things that make her eyes twinkle. he cares about pussy. getting off. being wanted.

and you see right through it. you know about his scandals. how his grades are slipping so far that the board threatened to expel him. you also know that his father conveniently made a two million dollar donation and that patrick remains at the school, papers stuffed in his bags. he can barely stay awake during lectures, but his girlfriend of the day will do his homework for him. and he’ll kiss her on the cheek and say thank you. that she’s a good girl but he really doesn’t see them moving much further.

and they all fall for it. you don’t blame them—not because you’re attracted to patrick, but because you know how fucking manipulative the zweig family is. they throw tantrums like toddlers and pave their way through the town with the gifted gold wristwatches they bribe people with. the zweig men have never once heard the word no—which is why you piss him off so, so much.

he thinks you’re a bitch. he thinks you’re whiny and stuck up, even though you don’t have nearly as much money as his family and you’re here on about four different scholarships. he thinks you try too hard, that you should let loose a little and roll your plaid skirt up like the other girls too. show some fucking leg for once.

he also thinks you’re gorgeous. it would be dumb of him to act as if he weren’t attracted to how you don’t give him the time of day. how you’re feisty and don’t take his word at face value like every other girl at school does. he’s full of shit, and you know it. he knows it too. but he’s just having fun.

he loves how you do your hair. how you smell like vanilla and cherries and springtime. he loves your eyes. so soft—until it’s him you’re looking at. he loves how you need your glasses to see the lecture notes and how focused you are even though it’s so fucking lame and you could just cheat like everyone else does. he loves how you’re a prude. he’d love for you not to be.

and one night, drunk at a dorm party, patrick stumbled across you as you walked back from your shower. your robe was tied tightly around your body and your shower caddy was dripping water down on the wooden floors and patrick’s words were slurred.

“give us a little show.” he twirled his finger and said you should take that robe off and give him a peek and a crowd had formed outside because every one on campus knew that you and patrick hated each other. or at least you hated him.

so you set your caddy down, and maybe for a split second patrick thought you were finally eroding down for him. but then you stood in your tippy toes and slapped him across the face. patrick’s jaw ticked as your peers gasped and a gaggle of patrick’s former lovers came to his rescue, asking if he was okay and shooting you dirty looks as if that would change his mind about him.

“why do you need to be such a bitch?” patrick spat. “if you need some fucking dick then just ask for it, babe. you know where i’ll be.”

you flipped him off and went back to your room.

and for the next month, it seemed like your hatred of him, of each other, had festered into some sort of septic mess. you were having spats in classes, debating over trivial historical nuances that you swore patrick didn’t even know about. he stole your books and held them over his head so you couldn’t get them. made lewd comments about your body.

and you called him a scumbag. a worthless piece of shit. insecure, immature—everything you thought would cut deep.

but none of it did, you see. because this was patrick’s prerogative. and he craved the growing fog of tension between you two. knew that some day soon his smirks and pretty eyes would make you see through to the other side. it turned him on to know how far under your skin he was. that you probably seethe when he’s on your mind. when you’re about to sleep, when you wake up. when you’re in the shower, and inevitably when you’re in class.

patrick thought about you when he fucked other girls. he thought about making you shut up. telling you to fucking take it. he didn’t want you to be easy like some of the other girls he had been with. he wanted the fight.

and patrick felt like a colony of ants crawling all over you. you couldn’t get rid of him and even when you weren’t thinking of him or he wasn’t around—someone was talking about him. some girl was twirling her hair and wishing he would text her back.

so maybe it was the fact that he was driving you to insanity that you knocked on his door one tuesday night. or maybe it was because you walked by the tennis courts before sunset and saw him wiping the sweat off his face with his sweat-stained t-shirt. maybe it was because you were beginning to despise when girls talked about him because you kind of felt jealous of them. maybe it’s because when you walked back by the tennis courts after studying at the library, you heard the tennis boys playing fuck marry kill with your name as one of the options. and you didn’t care what any of the other boys said. but during patrick’s turn he dismissed the other girls’ names and said the choice was clear. he wanted to fuck, marry and kill you.

patrick opened the door in just a towel. you bit the inside of your cheek and you wouldn’t look up at him until patrick lifted your chin.

“look who it is.”

you pushed him inside and shut the door.

the backs of his knees hit the bed and you were on top of him. his towel fell to the ground and there he was, completely naked. patrick flipped you around.

“you finally cracked, huh?” his cock was hard and bigger than you had (admittedly) imagined it. he scared you, his cockiness. and the size of his ego was somehow comparable to his erection, which wasn’t at all a coincidence.

“what are you even talking about?” you were grasping at straws; you didn’t want him to think he won. he hadn’t.

he took your loafers off.

“i’m on top of you taking your fucking clothes off—“

you pulled him down to kiss you and god, those schoolgirl gossip talks at lunch were right because he was so fucking good at kissing. at grinding his cock right into that spot that made you gasp into his mouth. that made him mock you and flip you on your stomach as he yanked your underwear down.

you went to take your skirt off and patrick grabbed your wrist.

“keep it on.”

and so you did. and you came there to be in charge and stick it to the man but patrick was palming your ass and pressing open-mouthed kisses down your back. pulling your hips up and licking a stripe up and down your pussy. kissing and sucking on your clit. you held your moans back but it was making your jugular pop and it was only getting harder.

his sounds were lewd, pornographic as he licked you, fucking his fingers into your cunt which was wet even before he put his mouth on you.

“just fucking give it up. moan my name you fucking prude.” patrick smacked your ass and you looked back at him, expecting his brows to be furrowed and his jaw to be tense with anger. but he was smiling at you, while at the same time mocking you with this look of faux pity which pissed you off.

“maybe if you made me feel good, you wouldn’t have to ask me to fucking moan for you.”

patrick clicked his tongue. grabbed your hair. “oh i see.”

and he bullied his cock into you. long, thick and impossibly hard. he pushed in and in and in until he couldn’t anymore and the pressure made you grab his fingers which were gripping your ass. his hands were so big it felt like you were completely grasped by him as he fucked you. but you bit your lip hard and buried your face into the pillow. didn’t moan or make a sound. only tiny mewls left your lips but that wasn’t good enough for patrick.

he hooked his finger into your mouth, lifting your head from the pillow. he leaned forward and the droplets swinging from the ends of his hair fell into your neck.

“why are you holding back?” he pulled all the way out and your mouth fell open. he pushed back in quickly. a small gasp came from your mouth. “i know this dick feels good. maybe you need more?” so he reached around to rub your clit. he wasn’t harsh though. he rubbed you in soft, intimate circles while his cock slammed in and out of you. his balls sticky against your ass. “that feel good?”

you couldn’t hold back anymore and you figured he won. so you nodded your head. “fuck—patrick.”

“yeah?”

“yeah—god—feels so good.”

he grabbed your jaw. “oh honey i know. just keep on taking it.”

and you did, sucking patrick’s fingers into your mouth. now, it felt like you won, as his cock twitched inside you and he threw his head back, a strangled groan escaping him.

“you like that?” you mocked him.

patrick kissed the side of your mouth. “i like—“ he pushed you further into the mattress as his hips moved faster. “when pretty girls like you shut the fuck up and take it.”

in reality, patrick did like your fingers in his mouth, clearly. he liked how you moaned around them and how your eyes fluttered shut. he liked how you said his name in this tiny voice that you were stupid enough to think he couldn’t hear. he liked how your legs shook and your hips gave out when he made you cum, and how you thanked him afterwards with this sheepish little grin on your face like you had just said grace.

patrick liked a lot of things about you. but he hated how after you left, he wanted to see you again.

[trashogram]

He Chose You (Pt. 9)

Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated Explicit.

Warning: Character Death, and minor details of childbirth.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

“You’re glowing!”

You’d scoffed while watching as your body literally began to illuminate from the inside out.

“Well of course.” You’d snickered, looking from your hands to Lucifer. “Every mother does.” 

Your hand came up to clasp your mouth shut, but the Freudian slip was already out there. Lucifer stared at you and you stared back. 

Your lips wobbled and torso trembled until you could no longer hold it in and burst into laughter. Elation ran its course, and Lucifer joined you — laughing so hard that he slapped his knee. 

When you fell into his arms and let yourself be held, you imagined it would only be for a little while. This bizarro pregnancy had you on some kind of high, and all the worries and doubts that had been building up disappeared. 

—

You can’t remember for how long you’ve been walking but there’s discomfort in the soles of your feet. The landscape changes as soon as you truly behold it. 

The endless field of tall grass and the trees so tall they could touch the sky had been replaced by golden sand. You could feel its gentle heat on the ends of your toes. Beyond the sand is a gently rolling ocean, lilac beneath a honey gold sky as the sun has only just set. The sound of rhythmic, rushing water is so real and so close that you’re immediately calm. 

Memories flood your mind like a sneaker wave. You’re a child again, running away from the water as it laps at you. The shock of the cold water goes away quickly and you want to follow the pebbles and seashells that drift back out with the retreating tide. 

You look back, away from the sea, and see the blonde woman behind you. You grin. 

She’s wistful. 

It stamps down on your joy. The air is salty and wet blowing through your hair and inhaled through your nostrils. You want to speak, but you can’t think of a thing to say. 

“I wish this was goodbye.” Her voice carries above the waves, muffling them until they’re nothing but a dull roar. 

—

You awoke to the sensation of falling and seized in your bed. Lucifer startled beside you. He’d been sleeping wrapped around your belly; a compromise to laying perpendicular to you so that he could continue talking to the soccer-player in your stomach. 

He or she had not stopped moving since they decided to make it known that they were, in fact, not dead.

(You’d chided the baby for that, and for doubling in size in less than two week’s time, much to Lou’s amazement:

“Hell isn’t ready to be ruled by two speed demons.” You’d deadpanned.)

“Huh?” He grabbed you without thought. “What—”

Movement erupted from deep down in your core, muscles clenching and unclenching quickly, forcing you to seize again. 

“I think I’m — ugh!” You gritted your teeth. “—I’m going into labor.” 

Lucifer doesn’t do anything for a long moment. 

Then he flew into a panic before you could say ‘Jesus Christ!’. 

—

The hallway outside illuminated with the sheer brilliance of your body, literally glowing. It hadn’t stopped since it started, only a few weeks ago. Fortunately, the glow was tied to an almost paralyzing euphoria. It was the kind of delight that turned your blood into gold while racing through your body. The kind that kept you from complaining that you’d become Tinkerbell.  

“Steady. I’ve got you!” Lucifer assured whilst trudging over the carpet with you in his arms. 

An influx of pain rippled through you for the first time, providing distraction from the mortification you might’ve felt in that position. It hasn’t escaped your notice that the Prince of Darkness was a shortstack. Your brain had a hard time accepting that for as small as he appeared, Lucifer was capable of unimaginable feats of strength and endurance. 

So, you didn’t think about it. Instead you focused on breathing in and out deeply as your partner kicked at the front door of your neighbors’ apartment with the toe of his boot. 

As if waiting at the door, Warren Farrow appeared from behind the polished wood. His expression was of minute surprise, but within seconds he was turning back and calling for his wife.

Lucifer managed to pivot the two of you into the Farrow home. Warren guided you with an unusual vigor in his step, as though he were a man decades younger. 

“We’ve had it set up for weeks now, Sir.” Warren said gravely. 

Through the convulsions, you observed the inlet that Lucifer had taken you into. It was like a roomy closet, covered in tapestries and littered with candles of all shapes and colors. 

Warren’s wife was flitting about, quickly lighting the pitch-black surroundings until you could see the mere outline of things. 

You were drawn to the center of the crowded room, where a humble white cot covered in white towels contrasted everything else.

It occurred to you then that this entire pregnancy had been a shit show, not the least bit because you’d never gone to any OB. You hadn’t checked in with any hospital, or stepped foot in one — how could you? 

Therefore, any  and all “check-ups” you’d had had come from your creepy neighbors with their tea and their scrutinizing questions and their buzzard-like stares.

You’d consoled yourself throughout with the brief, semi-serious talk with Mrs. Farrow three months into gestation.

“What? Were you a midwife or something?” You asked incredulously. 

“Yes, honey.” Cass had patted your hand like you were a simpleton. “I helped deliver babies for over 15 years. I was younger than you were when I first started!” 

You had stared. ‘Oh god, how many crazy cultists are actually nurses in disguise?’

“Here we go, all set. You can lay her down here.” Cassie came over brusquely, smoothing over the wrinkles in the cot before Lucifer put you down. 

He laid you on the sheets, light as a feather, jarring as you felt your belly weigh you down. The King didn’t go far, reluctant to let go of your hand. You held on like a vice as well, gripping and squeezing with each contraction. 

You felt pinches in and around your abdomen, but the pain was… off. It came not from true agony, but the overworking of your internal organs in contrast to the pleasantness that you embodied post-glow stick phase. 

Hearing childbirth horror stories all your life, and just the horrors of raising children in general, you expected to be screaming and thrashing. 

This wasn’t as bad as some of your past periods had been. What’s worse than that, however, is the unnecessary guilt you feel for how troublesome it isn’t. 

—

Lucifer struggled to remain in one spot as the urge to pace up and down the cramped little birthing room ate at him. 

He didn’t want to leave you — not that his two hosts would dare make him, regardless of tradition — but old habits die hard. He was fidgeting, putting all his weight on one foot then the other. 

You were his exact opposite, laying placid and relaxed on the birthing bed, eyeing the little room. Microexpressions flitted across your face, some of confusion and some of hurt, but aside from your firm grasp on his hand, and the occasional grunt, you may as well have been dozing off. 

Eventually you glanced at him. 

“Do you wanna sit down?” You asked calmly. 

Lucifer tried to laugh but it came out like a strangled wheeze. “Nahhh, this is fine. I’m fine. Are you fine? I mean I know you’re not fine, but can I do something? Whatever you need, I can get it for you!” 

His rambling ends with you bopping him between the eyes teasingly. “You’re silly.” 

It’s inexplicable, but Lucifer’s mood lightened at your mellow admonishment. He meets your warm, drowsy expression with an adoring smile of his own. 

“I am.” He kissed your forehead. “You’re an angel to put up with it.” 

A too-loud rasp interrupted the soft moment of nothing but affection and kisses. Cass was standing at the foot of your cot, hands on each of your knees as she kept your legs apart. 

“Get ready, honey. You’re on your way.” She hailed. 

–

A cry split through the air and it went straight to your heart. 

You gulp down air (Lucifer mimicking you without meaning to) with sweat pouring from your hairline. The lack of pain hadn’t meant a lack of effort, and you still felt like you’d run a marathon just to pass the little being currently wailing in Mrs. Farrow’s arms. 

“It’s a girl.” Mrs. Farrow declared.

There was no attempt to hide the sidelong glance she gave Mr. Farrow. The lines and grooves on the elderly man’s face deepened until he resembled a gnarled tree trunk.

“Hmm.” Was his reply, deep baritone rolling like thunder in the tiny room. 

Vehement indignance blazed to life inside your mind when the old man looked at you, critical and disappointed. You felt like tearing him and the rest of this old, tacky room to shreds. Yet, exhaustion had planted its roots deep inside of you, and all you could do was glare at the old couple from your makeshift bed. 

‘Why does it fucking matter?’

“Gimme my kid.” You growled.

As if to piss you off further, Cass ignored you in favor of wiping the baby clean before passing her off to Lucifer. The old bat presented her to the King like she was a fallen bannerman’s sword, even curtsying while doing it. 

It was so weird that it brought you out of your anger for a second. 

Lucifer was clearly apprehensive, and his insecurity made the grand gesture stranger. He swallowed visibly, making eye contact with you when he couldn’t break away from the internal turmoil he was struggling with. 

“Bring her to me.” You demanded. Lucifer nodded vigorously, cocking a head toward you. 

It was fucking nonsensical, but at last Cass obeyed and brought you a bundle wrapped in silky black. 

The baby’s wailing tapered off as soon as she’d made contact with you. And like a child on Christmas morning, you shifted to sit up as much as you could and pry open the swaddling cloth. 

You sniffled. 

All at once, the breath caught in your throat and your eyes welled up with tears.

The newborn was as flagrant as her father in terms of skin tone and hair. She hadn’t yet opened her eyes but already you could see none other than a spitting image of Lucifer himself. Right down to the rosy apple cheeks that made up her pudgy little face. 

You were a little surprised to see that she had a nose. A little black smudge, puppy-like - anomalous like the little growths on her forehead and the itty bitty spade on the tip of her wagging tail. 

She was perfect. 

“I think she’s a Charlotte.” You manage to tear your eyes away from the miraculous hellspawn in your arms just long enough to search Lucifer’s golden gaze. “What do you think?” 

His Majesty is a whimpering mess beside you. “Y-yeah. That’s perfect.” 

Peeling the blanket back just that much more, you lean toward him. It takes a little coaxing, but sure enough Lucifer traces a delicate claw over the child’s tiny brow. 

“Hello Charlotte.” He whispered. “We’re so happy you’re here.” 

Adoration overwhelmed you, nigh on visible like the air was tinged with its color, its scent, its warmth cocooning the three of you. 

Daddy, Mommy and baby. A strange but happy little family. 

Lou embraced the two of you, hiding his face, and subsequent weeping, in the side of your neck while your baby cooed. 

The background chants of ‘Hail Princess Charlotte’ and ‘Hail King Lucifer’ were, thankfully, not enough to ruin the moment. 

Nothing could. Until. 

It doesn’t dawn on you that anything is wrong when the glow has faded. It’s only the incidental look at your fingers, with Charlotte’s tail curled around them, that freezes you. Numbness then began to crawl up your body, as if waiting for the moment that you’re brain would connect the dots. The copper scent of blood made your nostrils flare and heart hammer.

Fear clutched at you in an instant. “Take her. Take the baby.” 

Your desperate hiss and barely-there shuffle to push Charlotte into Lucifer’s arms fully had his face falling. 

“W-wai-wh-What’s happening?” He asked, panic rising. 

Mrs. Farrow is prompt, crone’s face scrunched and nose prominent as if she could sniff out the issue. She’s stood at the end of the bed, already lifting the sheets off your body before you can seek her out. 

A stiff hand appears over the covers, covered in shiny dark claret. “She’s bleedin’ too much.” 

Lucifer’s eyes blazed from where he hovered. “Why?”

The elderly woman was ready to shrug, but she stalled. Perhaps out of fear. “It happens, your Grace. Birthing a baby takes a toll on the mother, sometimes it’s too much.”

“Then why are you just standing there?”Lucifer bared his fangs, ivory in the lowlight. His eyes were a haze of vermillion, so opaque that you couldn’t find his pupils or the soul inside. “Help her!” 

The truly demonic scrape of his vocal chords frightened you, as did the sudden appearance of tusk-like horns protruding from his skull and the fire coming to life between them. His beautiful skin marred and stretched and cracked as if his form were a prison barely containing the true beast within. 

Energy crackled in the air, heat rising to blow back your hair and dry the air from your lungs like a flung-open kiln. The breath was stolen from your lungs as ivory wings shot out and overtook what little space was left in the alcove. 

Reality was literally distorting around Lucifer’s warped rage. 

Mr. Farrow, for all his reticence, reached for his wife’s shoulder from within your line of sight. 

“Lucifer.” You hissed, bearing the brunt of his inhuman stare when he turned to you. It took real energy to speak. “I need you… the baby…”

It didn’t take anymore prodding for the blond to intercept your daughter once your desperation got through to him. The Devil slowly shifted back, revealing the depth of his fear in the cloudless turn of his gaze. He met you halfway - finally - and pulled Charlotte close to his chest.

A pang of thankfulness made laughter bubble up from your diaphragm. It hurt. Everything hurt again.

“Stop. Wait.” Lucifer begged, voice turned to ice. Fragile, cracking. His natural white glow had dimmed significantly like a cooling star. “This isn’t— I promised you this wouldn’t happen! This can’t happen!”

A shudder ran through you. 

“Hey.” You lifted a hand and placed it on his pale cheek, thumb brushing over where white met red. “Nothing… for it now.” 

“No, don’t, that’s… No.” His agony was so palpable, as his fury had been. 

“You’re gonna be a great dad.” You murmured. 

Lucifer bowed over the side of the bed with Charlotte snug against him. You could feel the warmth of his breath, and then the splash of his tears against your cheek as he broke down. You felt it deep in your bones, and the lump in your throat that choked you. 

“Not without you.” He said. “I can’t do this without you.”

A pained smile was your response. Vision a-blur. Cotton tongue.  

“You… will.”

Lucifer shook his head fiercely. “I promised you. I swore I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I can’t… I can’t...” 

“Please. Please don’t — ” Anguish turned Lucifer’s once melodic voice into broken notes. “Don’t leave us. Please, please, please.” 

His sobs intermingled with Charlotte’s whimpering. She fussed as she was woken from her doze by the growing, tangible urgency. You wished you could calm both of them. Take them in your arms and make it all go away, promise that you weren’t going anywhere. 

“Please. Please. Please.” The word fell from the Devil’s mouth like a prayer. 

You wondered if he really was praying. Praying to his Father. 

It broke your heart. 

The candlelight around you was getting brighter as the rest of your surroundings grew dark. Lucifer, as brilliant as he was, lingered somewhere in between. You squinted when his features began to fuse together in your mind. It did little to help, as large, dark shadows blotted out the corners of your sight. 

Charlotte was bawling and you fought to open your eyes again. You hadn’t realized they’d closed. 

You were so tired. The will to rise up and comfort your baby was dwindling. Everything had succumbed to a thin stream of light in a sea of darkness. 

With a breath, and another Herculean effort, you opened your eyes again. 

White blinded you. 

And then you were nothing.

***

Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1, @loquacious-libra, @glowymxxn, @avadakadabra93, @froggybich, @hamthepan, @ukor02, @adaizel, @boogiemansbitch, @vinillies, @lbcreations-blog, @thesoundresoundsecho, @serenity-loves-red, @alientee, @aquaamythest96, @0strawberrysorbet0, @fluffy-koalala, @washeduphazbin

[ineffablelunatics]

Crowley chose to make a statement with his outfit when he goes to investigate Heaven. Crowley has always cared about what he looks like. He always tries to fit in with the humans that he is around. There are times when he misses the mark like in Rome. But in Heaven, all of the changes he makes have a purpose. It’s a drastic difference to his normal clothes. Almost all of it changes. He changes his hair. He paints his nails gold even adds a gold tooth. His snake tattoo, a symbol that defines who he is, he covers with a sticker. All of the changes are telling a story to any angel who dares to look closely at the demon in midst

The most basic of changes tell the angels what he thinks about them. He makes his normal outfit light in color to blend in. His hair is no longer styled, but pushed out of his face. He’s wearing white flip-flops. He makes it look like he’s the CEO who’s pissed off that he had to come in on his vacation. The entire outfit is lounge wear. He’s telling them what he thinks about them. Even though, they are supposed to be good and fighting evil, they really aren’t. They are never shown making a good difference to the world, besides Azirphale, who Crowley has always separated from the heavenly bureaucracy. A golden tooth is seen as a symbol of wealth, but it also is a symbol of status. There are places where healthy teeth have been shaven down to cover a heathy tooth to show wealth and status. Almost like angels who cared were wore away to nothing to their status. Worn down to only care about their status.

The Serpent of Eden... Crowley’s tattoo always makes itself known. If his sideburns are longer, the snake moves out from under them. When he goes into Heaven, he covers it with an identical, but gold sticker. It seems as though Crowley can’t change the tattoo or just miracle it away. The snake refuses to be hidden or changed. Crowley refuses to be hidden or changed. He uses the glasses in the same way. Dark glasses in Heaven would be suspicious since they avoid any dark colors in their outfits since the demons do the opposite. He could have tried contacts, but he chose rose-colored glasses. Dark enough to slightly cover his eyes upon a quick glance. “When you look at some through rose-colored glasses all the red flags just look like flags.” (Bojack Horseman) Instead of making his glasses opaque and hiding the snake somehow, Crowley lets the angels know who he is. He makes sure that any angel who walks by and looks through his rose colored glasses will notice that his eye have slits. If they just pay attention, they’ll notice that the serpent of Eden is in Heaven and he’s doing what he always does: asking questions. He shows them that there is a murder hornet in their hive. Because there’s one thing that Crowley will never be again, can never be again, doesn’t even want to be again, and that’s another bee. 

But what does that have to do with the watch? The watch is the one thing that he doesn’t change at all. That is the one thing that didn’t change in the Fall. He never lost his connection to time. He never lost that ability. It was the one major part of who he was that was the same as the angel he was before. A serpent who still knew how to manipulate them. So he doesn’t change the watch, because that ability, manipulating the sands of time that was so vital in creating the stars, was not taken away him when the rest of his divinity was.

So when Crowley waltzes back into Heaven, he tells them. He shows everything off. He tells them exactly who he is, if only they’d get over their own hypocrisy to look close enough. He wears clothes that look like theirs except its ‘lounge’ wear to show that he thinks they’re lazy. He wears his glasses but he makes them sheer enough so that an angel could still see his eyes. He puts a golden identical snake sticker over his tattoo so that would know that he was there still. He leaves his watch black. The one part of him that is truly his that he never questioned. That part of him that was a birthright that was not taken away and that Hell could never say they owned. The one piece of himself that was never manipulated. Even when he goes back into the place that abandoned him, he refuses to let himself, even if it’s just a disguise, be truly changed.

[hyunnie04]

puppy love

inspired by that one scene in skip and loafer where mitsumi pets shima's hair;; not my best but its cute jskfdh

kim seungmin x reader

genre: fluff, non-idol au

you have been staring at seungmin the entire day. not because of anything bad, it’s just that there's this one thing that has been bothering you lately. propping your fist against your chin, you let out a burdened sigh.

ever since he had dyed his hair this captivating caramel color at the start of senior year, which was only a few weeks ago, you can’t seem to get your eyes off him. 

the change was refreshing, like seeing him in a completely different light. it had suited him so well, the blondish gold complemented his features like it was supposed to be like that from the start.

whenever you would place your curious gaze on him, the gears in your mind start turning, unable to place your finger on what it reminded you of. it had definitely started to become sort of a routine for you.

you’re also pretty sure seungmin had figured out you have been burning holes at the back of his head during lectures or lunch. he would sometimes look back at you with a quirk of his lip and a questioning gaze, making you shift your focus to somewhere else, cheeks reddening like a child catching glimpses of their crush.

but now you are sure he looked like someone. but who? you’re trying to figure that out yourself.

you don’t know where this sudden fascination with his hair came from, was it because it made him look so handsome? or maybe the way it looked very cute whenever it flopped around when he moved? 

confused feelings for the caramel haired boy aside, you decide to let it go.

you were hanging out with the man himself and a bunch of other friends one afternoon and started scrolling through your phone. they wouldn’t mind, seeing as to how all of them were currently preoccupied with playing a board game.

“hey, you can’t just do that! you have to give me money!”

“i can do whatever i want!”

you subconsciously block the noise coming from your rowdy friends, very much used to the chaotic nature. your thumb landed on a really adorable picture of your sweet little puppy back at home, already missing him. a thought instantly strikes you.    

you look up from your phone. and then to seungmin. and then back to your phone. 

it’s the exact same?!

you’ve finally cracked it. he looked exactly like your family dog. comparing him to an actual dog sounded mean, but you meant this genuinely as a compliment, you absolutely adored your golden retriever puppy- haru, more than your own family. the longer you thought about it, it’s sweet demeanor and honey colored coat resembled kim seungmin right in front of you.

after thinking about this revelation, you kept it to yourself, out of context it could sound mean. the last thing you wanted was to offend someone when you meant it in an endearing way.

so upon walking home one day, hurried footsteps trailed behind yours, prompting you to turn to see who it was. it was seungmin himself, his hair flopping in the wind, resembling the cutest pair of puppy ears.

he finally stopped, panting heavily after chasing you for a good while now. he straightened up, opening his adorable mouth to say something to you.

you couldn’t help yourself, the thought of wanting to feel his soft looking hair.

“haru-” you cover your mouth as soon as the words left it, extremely mortified to have said it out loud.

“haru? who’s that?” seungmin teases your increasingly flustered state. “are you mistaking me for someone else?” it was too late, you have to explain now.

“no...its...my…family’s dog…” you blurted out, embarrassed of saying it in front of him. you had fully expected him to get mad but he doesn’t. instead, seungmin lets out a chuckle, his eyes crinkling in what seems to be delight.

“well, my hair is really soft.” he watches your face morph into confusion as he tucks his hands coyly into his pockets. he wasn’t mad?

 “do you want to touch? you've been staring at it all week.”

seungmin wasn’t known for being touchy with his friends or anyone for that matter so you can imagine the shock on your face when he leans down to your level, silently allowing you to do so.

placing a hesitant touch on his honey hued locks with one hand, you slowly bring your other to ruffle his head, really going at it and much like you would do to haru. a grin graces your features as his strands get messed up, absolutely elated that you now know what his hair feels like.

once you were done, he straightens up and pats his messy hair back in its place as best as he can. seungmin quietly wraps an arm around your shoulder, as if nothing happened.

“got it out of your system?” you nod gleefully.

“good, now i can ask you out for a date.”

[sttoru]

LOST IN YOUR EYES !

ෆ sypnosis. your lover’s bangs cover most of his eyes and stand in your way whenever you want to admire them. you take matters in your own hands and find a way past that barrier to admire his eyes properly.

ෆ note. based on this anon request. thank you for the amazing idea bb! hope you enjoy. not proof read. this includes headcanons + small drabbles (below cut)

ෆ tags. blade / jing yuan x gender neutral reader (written with female reader in mind, however no pronouns used), fluff, reader gets referred to as cute/adorable in jing yuan’s part.

BLADE !

genuinely doesn’t even know why you’d like to stare into his eyes in general. blade doesn’t look much into a mirror, however since meeting you and hearing your kind comments about them, he’s started to secretly look more at his eyes whenever passing by his reflection.

blade does this out of pure confusion, because he fails to understand why you’d like his uniquely red and yellow coloured eyes. no matter how many times he tries to put his mind to it—your reasoning is impossible to comprehend. he just labels your comments about them as weird.

blade got a bit defensive when you first started to move his dark blue bangs to the side with the excuse of wanting to see his eyes. he’d swat your hand away in the beginning. though, slowly and surely, he got used to that habit of yours.

“again?” blade sighs with his arms folded over his chest.

he had been strolling around with you and the sun was setting, the orange sky making his eyes glow and seem even more ethereal to you. especially due to the gold hue in them which shone brighter than ever.

“please? just stay still.” you pout, putting on your best puppy eyes. that antic normally never works on blade for some reason; he’ll show zero reaction to your pleading. if he’s in a better mood than usual, he’ll glance at you and then nod at best.

“for me?” you add in a desperate attempt to get your lover to comply.

blade silently looks over at you. there was not an ounce of change to be seen on his cold face, yet you noticed the subtle flicker in his eyes. one that no other person could have spotted. you had spent enough time admiring his eyes to memorise every little detail about them. from how they’d look when he’s mad to how they’d look when he’s in a (rare) content mood.

you knew your pleading had finally broke through his hard shell.

“…” blade stops in his tracks and turns his body to you, letting his arms fall to their sides like you’ve won him over. it’s the most vulnerable he’s been with anyone.

you stood there with your mouth slightly agape at the beautiful scenery, including the man in front of you. the wind blowing through blade’s long hair and the way he’s standing so relaxed—it was almost an honour to see that view.

“i’m not going to stand here all day. come.”

you immediately went over to blade, standing in close proximity to his body. you carefully brushed his bangs to the side and looked into both of his gorgeous eyes. blade was staring right back at you, not blinking even once.

“incredible..” you admire him out loud as your thumbs graze against the smooth skin of his temples.

blade doesn’t utter a word and lets you do what you want to. he can’t deny the unfamiliar yet tugging feeling in the pits of his stomach. the one feeling he’s been trying to repress to not make the same mistake twice.

all he could do in that moment of vulnerability was accept the power you had and will continue to have over him.

JING YUAN !

is probably fascinated by your wish to look into his golden orbs. jing yuan, in contrast of blade, thinks it is pretty adorable of you. he won’t question your actions and just goes along with whatever you desire of him. the general is a fool for you.

jing yuan won’t even mind it if you do it in public. he’ll bend his head down a little to give you access to his face. but, don’t blame him if he has his hands on your waist or hips in the meantime. you being close to him while looking into his eyes is considered something romantic according to him.

be prepared for kisses to be stolen from you. you’ll be in such a trance, too enamoured by his eyes to even notice the strategy the general was planning. that strategy including all the ways he can have you close enough for a ‘surprise’ kiss.

jing yuan was staring back at you with a soft smile that reached his eyes, his arms wrapped around your waist while you laid on his bare chest, “are you having fun, dearest?”

it was just another lazy morning with the two of you cuddled up in his cozy bed. jing yuan, who was spared from his duties today, woke up to you playing with his hair. specifically, the light grey-ish locks that covered one of his eyes.

“mhm,” you hum, the soft sound of delight being jing yuan’s weakness, “you’re so pretty.”

you always tell him that. it was the truth and you simply wanted your lover to know how good he looks. no matter what he’s doing—whether it’d be sleeping, working, fighting or eating—jing yuan’s handsome looks were mesmerising.

your kind words earn a deep chuckle from your partner, sending vibrations through his chest, “well, thank you.”

jing yuan’s calloused hand cups one side of your cheek while your own hand held his bangs to the side. now both of his eyes were staring back at yours. you enjoyed jing yuan’s loving gaze that scanned your entire face in search of a perfect place to kiss.

the light streaming into the room between the gaps of your curtains made his skin glow and his soft yellow eyes more vibrant. they shone like valuable golden ores which mankind could only dream of witnessing.

jing yuan held onto the back of your head and guided your lips down to meet his in a kiss. a surprise kiss so romantic that it had you melting into his touch in an instant.

after you pulled back, jing yuan could easily spot the embarrassment on your face. he’s glad that his antics still have that effect on you.

“my love,” the general sighs in content, the pad of his thumb gently stroking the skin beneath your right eye, “you’re so easy to catch off guard.”

and he loves you for it.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Yandere Smaug Headcanons (platonic)

Smaug would be extremely possessive of his darling and just as protective. They are the most valuable possession amongst his hoard after all, his most precious treasure. Their worth is more than all the gold and jewels in the world to him. So much so that he could never part with them. That’s why he insists, or rather demands you stay amongst his hoard, where he knows it’s safe. Besides, you’re surrounded by so many beautiful, shiney things and they’re all yours.

Of course you would be kept in the safety of his sanctum after he’s taken the Lonely Mountain for himself. Harbored amongst all the gold, gems and jewels you couldn’t possibly think of, right where Smaug wants you most. He couldn’t possibly fathom any harm coming to his precious one, not when you have him to protect you.

Smaug is extremely strict about allowing his precious one to go anywhere, even if it is to venture off to another part of his sanctum. He doesn’t like not having them within his sight. He hates the thought of them getting hurt or lost, but he especially despises the idea of them ever stepping foot outside his lair. If that were to ever happen his panic and anger couldn’t possibly be repressed.

If his darling were to stray too far or is gone just a little too long for his liking/comfort, Smaug will follow their scent and drag them back to where he feels most comfortable keeping having them. There are very few places he allows them to venture to and he knows them all by heart, being more than capable to go after them if need be and easily retrieve his darling, bringing them back to the only real space he’s comfortable with them staying kept in. It keeps them closest to him and he can keep his eye on them in every sense of the word, even when he’s sleeping he’ll know if they make even the slightest of changes in their usual movements. Smaug is very well aware of his environment and the space he’s resigned himself to, he’ll know if they take even just one step out of the perimeter he’s allowed them to move freely about.

As much as he spoils his darling, Smaug really only rewards good and obedient behavior. Anything less than or just blatant disobedience won’t be take lightly. Smaug demands respect, especially from his little darling. It’s because of him that you are safe and so well taken care of, the least you can do is show some gratitude and appreciation towards him.

As gruff and grumpy as Smaug can be there are times he can be quite playful with his little darling, especially if it’s what they want and they’ve been pretty well behaved. It didn’t take him long to realize that often then not when his darling would venture off and stray away from where he demanded they stay kept was to solely get him to chase after them in a playful game of tag or hide and seek. He can usually tell the difference in whether his darling is trying to make a run for it or is simply trying to get him to play with them. It’s the gigging that really gives it away.

Not only can Smaug be playful but he’s also an excellent storyteller. When he really wants some peace and quiet or to just get his darling to go to sleep in general, Smaug will use his tail to bring them close to him, curling it around them to keep them in place then he goes on telling them stories of his adventures. Sometimes when his darling is really restless he’ll ask them what story they want to hear but more times then not his stories usually involve him boasting and bragging about himself. He especially takes care to make it clear to his darling that he is in fact the biggest dragon to ever exist. Of course it’s a complete lie but his darling doesn’t know that, and even if they were to question him about it he wouldn’t let up. As far as Smaug’s concerned he is the biggest dragon around now.

As much as Smaug typically comes off as aloof or even flat out terrifying he does hold some genuine care for his darling, even if it is just a little. His obsession is primarily possessive with that possessiveness only becoming all the worse the more his obsession festers and grows. Eventually his darling will become something more than just an object for him to own, they’ll become a treasure he certainly doesn’t want anyone or anything else getting ahold of. And with that said he will do anything to keep them with him, and only with him. He will reign hellfire down on anyone or anything that dares to steal his darling treasure away from him.

[kirimoochi]

summer reading

₊˚ ᗢ alhaitham x gn! reader.

⤷ inspired by this playlist

leaning up from his lap, you press a gentle kiss on the side of his face. light and feathery. just the way he likes it. especially during these warm nights, when its just you and him on the couch, lounging around with nothing more than a book in his hands, it couldn’t be any more perfect. music plays very faintly in the background. it accompanies the sound of his breathing. 

this moment could last forever. 

you remember the old days when you and he were just students at the akademiya. rivals to the core, they’d say. you were always at odds with each other. it started when he gave you a snarky remark about your test score. and it continued when you bragged about getting your thesis accepted before him. it started to become routine. waking up in the morning, plotting out the best way to get under each other's skins. 

your dislike for each other was not unheard of, especially from his friends tighnari and cyno, and your friends dehya and candance. everything about you were opposites. from your favorite food to friends, it seemed like you could never find a middle ground with him. not until you’ve long graduated, and coincidentally moved into the same house. the akademiya told you that the space was allocated for you and kaveh, a long-time childhood friend with the same darshan. what a surprise it was, opening the front door and seeing alhaitham sprawled out on your new couch, a book resting on the top of his head. 

the mix-up was filled with endless paperwork that neither of you wanted to do. so instead of arguing about it more than you already have, you choose to live together on the condition that you live your separate lives. it was embarrassing, you had to admit. staying under the same roof as your worst enemy. its a fate you’d wish on no one. 

he’d use your books when you’re not around, dismissing your frustration with a rebuttal, “you haven’t read it in weeks, if anything i’m doing you a favor,” is what he’d always say. and you retaliated by using his favorite cups, making sure not to use a coaster when the drinks are cold. your acts against each other become increasingly petty. from overspicing his dinner to leaving the bathroom floors wet after his shower, every day was a battleground neither of you wanted to lose. 

but the heart grows fonder with time. on rainy nights, when the storms are too loud for you to handle, he’ll be by your side. on one particularly aggressive summer night, he threw a blanket over you as he sat down on the couch next to you. rather than speak in his normal tone of voice, it softens to a mouse’s whisper, “do you want to use them?” he held up his headphones in front of you, dangling them as your eyes widened in surprise. this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to use his headphones. he very rarely offered them to anyone. and yet during your moment of weakness, here he was, offering it to you.

you took it into your hands, the tips of your fingers wrapping around the gold trim. you remember how warm they were. and how much love was put into those cushions. they were slightly worn out but that’s what made them special. on that night, you leaned against his shoulder while he read a book out loud. one of your favorites, he notes. he made sure to let you know that he had preordered it in advance so he could read it before you. just so he could tease you about the spoilers he might give. 

he doesn’t do that now. while the teasing didn’t end, he never once crossed that boundary with you. your dislike for him would eventually turn into like, and surprisingly, love. the house you came home to started to feel warmer. and the sharp-tongued remark he had for you had thawed. it wasn’t gone completely. and you were thankful that despite your feelings for each other, he hadn’t changed much (it was still a big surprise to hear that he too had shared the same sentiments with you. and with another smart response, he would close the distance between your lips and his).

he still bickered with you. back and forth. push and pull. it remained like this when kaveh moved in. and it continues now. however, when the sun sets and night begins to fall, the two of you reach an agreement. no arguments. no fighting. no back and forth. it was the peace everyone always dreamed of. 

you return to the present when he twirls a piece of your hair. eyes still focusing on the words in his book. his hands are busy elsewhere though. brushing through your tangled locks, his fingers trail down to your jaw. the pads of his fingers are warm to the touch and you start to lean into them. 

you think this is heaven.

until he teases you by making cooing sounds, curling his fingers back and forth under your chin as if you were a housecat. and you would slap his hand, a smile forming on his face as he watches you push yourself up. like those previous summer nights, he brought you close to him, closing that distance.

[oddinary4bts]

When the End Comes | epilogue (jjk)

☆summary: when the weather seems to work against you and Jungkook for your wedding day, you decide to change plans last minute. In any other situation, it would have made you freak out - but how can you freak out, when you're getting married to the love of your life?

☆pairing: photographer!Jungkook x lawyer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in every chapter)

☆genre: marriage!au, fluff, smut

☆warnings: cursing, mentions of pregnancy, alcohol, mentions of Jungkook's injury, mentions of breakups, Jungkook's scars, explicit content: wedding night sex, nipple play, a tie around OC's neck, jerking off, oral sex (male and female receiving), mouth fucking, fingering, dirty talking, squirting, ball fondling, shower sex, unprotected sex (they're married give them a break haha)

☆word count: 12.1k

☆series masterpost

☆a/n: Finally finished the epilogue for you guys! I hope you love it just as much as I loved writing it :') it's going to be hard to say goodbye to this couple, but I hope you love their ending <3 Thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing this, you are the best <3 and thank you to @jessikahathaway for supporting me with this project, you are amazinnng

☆Read The Forgotten Spaces here, the prequel to When the End Comes! It does not need to be read to understand When the End Comes, but I think it still should be read first to have a better understanding of the characters in general!

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My heart is going onto you So be the heart that I'm choosing, heart that I'm choosing Someday, I'll fall into you That's where I'll be now when the end comes

When the End Comes, Andrew Belle

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Friday, July 6th

The rising sun turns your bedroom into liquid gold, slowly dragging you out of sleep. You bask in the gentle warmth, instinctively turning around to cuddle closer to Jungkook.

In his sleep, Jungkook wraps an arm around you, pulling you ever so closer until your head is pressed to his chest. His heartbeat sings in your ear and you listen to the melody, wishing it would make you fall back asleep.

Alas, your thoughts trot to tomorrow, and like a kid on Christmas morning, too excited to fall back asleep, sleep evades you. So you just enjoy Jungkook’s proximity, sighing softly as he brushes a kiss on the top of your head.

You smile against him, kissing the skin of his chest against which your face is pressed. Jungkook shifts a little bit, his breathing growing slightly uneven, the only indication that he’s waking up as well.

“Morning,” he whispers, voice gruff with sleep.

“Morning,” you echo, and you try to pull back to take a look at his face, but he holds you tighter.

You chuckle, and you snake an arm around his waist, gently caressing the skin of his back. The moment is peaceful, serene, the kind of moments you never want to step away from. They have been frequent, since you moved in with him in Seoul. Life with him has been perfect, like it was at the very beginning of your relationship. Now, no long distance can ever create a wedge between the two of you - every decision you make together, for the both of you.

You’ve been falling in love with him more every day.

“Let’s stay here until tomorrow,” Jungkook whispers, his hold on you momentarily tightening. 

You peck his chest again. “I wish we could.”

He whines, a sound that vibrates in his ribcage, and this time you laugh. “Please?”

“You don’t want to get married anymore?” you ask, faking offense as you try to push away from him again.

He doesn’t let you go, though you fight against him for a little longer this time around.

“On the contrary,” he replies. “I kind of wish we’d get married faster.”

It’s a struggle, but you manage to raise your head to look at him. From this angle, all you can see is his sharp jawline and the mole on his neck.

“Why?”

“Because I love you?”

His words make your heart race in your chest, like they always do. Because no amount of declaration of love will ever be enough to stop the uprising of butterflies, to slow down the organ that beats for him. 

That has been beating for him since a July night eight years ago. Still, when you were apart, it kept on beating for him, and you know that it will keep on beating for him until you draw your very last breath, at the end of the long road still ahead of the two of you.

“I love you too,” you whisper back.

“I know.”

A comfortable silence settles around the two of you again, and you believe you might be able to fall back asleep after all. Unfortunately for you, Bam heard the two of you, and his wagging tail bangs against the dresser as the dog walks over to Jungkook’s side of the bed, propping his front paws on the mattress so that he can reach for Jungkook.

Jungkook shrieks, sitting up, and you burst out laughing, rolling on your back as he lets go of you. 

“He licked me,” Jungkook complains, his familiar pout on display.

You sit up, pressing a gentle kiss on his soft lips. “Maybe I should lick you too.”

His pout melts into a devilish smirk. “I’ve got ideas of where you could lick, mmh.”

You laugh as he tackles you, pushing you back down on the bed. Bam takes that as a cue to jump on the bed, and the next five minutes are spent in giggles and laughs and shrieks, a tangled mess of your own little family. When you all finally calm down, Jungkook slips out of bed with the dog in tow so that he can feed him, and you enjoy a few more minutes of peace before you follow them.

When you walk into the kitchen, Jungkook is busying himself with plating the soy eggs you’ve been eating for breakfast, and he offers you a grin over his shoulder. You think the grin would be enough to make you fly, and you smile in return as you walk over to him, loosely wrapping your arms around his dainty waist. 

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Mmh.”

He laughs, gently patting your arm. “You’ll get your food soon enough, fear not.”

You hum again, pressing a kiss on his soft skin. His muscles flex as he moves, and you let go of him, heading to the table. Bam trots to you, and you pet the dog as Jungkook finishes with breakfast, carrying it to you. He sits next to you, pecking your cheek as he puts down a plate in front of you.

“Thank you,” you say, immediately diving into the food. It makes Jungkook laugh, even as he follows suit. 

As you eat, Jungkook grabs his phone from his pocket, scrolling on Instagram. You look at the screen as he does so, resting your head on his shoulder when you’re done with the eggs. It’s something you also often do - looking at memes and the likes together, spending time in silence, together. 

“I hope the forecast has changed for tomorrow,” Jungkook says through a yawn as he switches to the weather app.

It hasn’t. The forecast still announces a rainstorm, and you hide your face in his neck as you groan.

“What are we supposed to do?” you ask. “We can’t have everyone sit in the rain.”

“The reception hall said we can be there early,” Jungkook reminds you. “We can just have the ceremony there instead.”

You pout, not replying. Because you had planned to have the ceremony outside - you’d even wanted to have it happen at night, under a blanket of stars. But it wasn’t possible, so you’d settled for a ceremony outside in a field. Unlike traditional Korean weddings, you’d also decided to have a reception after, so Jungkook has a point.

But you really don’t feel like getting married indoors.

“We should just cancel everything,” you whine. “Let’s wait until we can have our perfect wedding.”

Jungkook leans his head on top of yours. “It’s sunny today.” His voice holds mischief, and you sit back to look at him. His eyes twinkle like stars in the night sky, and for a moment, you just want to get lost in his gaze.

Until an idea sparks in your mind.

“Can we move everything to today?” you ask.

He purses his lips. “Jimin, Bridget and Heather are landing today,” he reminds you. “I thought you wanted to introduce Jimin and Somi.”

Somi. A friend you met during your spinning classes. She’s been a gift here in Korea, helping you adjust in ways that Jungkook couldn’t. More than that, Somi is a hopeless romantic, and something about the way she carries herself makes you think that Jimin would like her. 

Maybe she’s what Jimin needs to finally move on from Scottie.

“Right,” you let out. “Fuck.”

Jungkook shrugs. “We could get married and then still have the reception tomorrow.”

Your gaze widens. “You think your dad would accept?”

Indeed, Jungkook’s father is your officiant, since your own father wouldn’t have any legal right to marry you in South Korea. It was still an easy decision though - Jungkook’s family has been treating you like you’ve always been a part of them ever since you’ve met them, all those years ago.

“Definitely,” Jungkook affirms. “I can call him right now.”

“What about the witnesses?” you ask.

“Ask your dad to come, and my mother or my brother can sign for me.”

It seems so simple. You do feel a little guilty thinking about all of your friends who came all the way here to see you get married, but then again, you think they would understand.

They all know that you and Jungkook have always been a little more on the secretive side, even when you were young and dumb college students. So you don’t think any of them would hold it against you…

“Jungkook…”

“Yes?”

“Should we really?”

Even as you ask the question, you already know you want to. Because declaring your love in a room full of people feels like a lot of pressure, even though all of them are already aware of that same love. But to you, it feels impersonal, and you’d rather just do it alone with Jungkook and a few key people.

Maybe it’s the reason why the forecast has been battling against you. Like a sign that you aren’t supposed to get married in that field anyway.

“Do you want to?” Jungkook asks, tilting his head to the side as his features grow serious. 

You nod once. “I think it’s a good idea…” you trail off, wetting your lips. “Especially considering the rain.”

“And then I’d get to call you wife today,” he says, smiling softly.

“And I’d get to call you husband.”

His smile slowly widens. “Then let’s do it.”

“What about everyone else though? What do we say?”

Jungkook flicks your nose, winking at you. “They don’t need to know.”

“And the hairstylist and makeup artist?” 

“You can still get glammed up for the reception.”

“And Mingyu?”

“I’ll tell him to come today.”

You hold his big doe eyes for a moment, pursing your lips. Your heart syncs with his, warmth filling your soul. It feels like that July night sky, like his lips on yours and a reunion after months apart. Time stretches, and for a moment, you see all of your life in front of you, and all the love and the happiness and joy that it will hold. 

Eyes slowly lining with silver, you finally say, “Let’s do it.”

*****

The field is lined with wildflowers, swimming in the breeze. Their fragrance floats in the air, and bees flutter from flower to flower, collecting the pollen. Fat clouds roll in the sky above, plump and white, and the sun shines, endlessly.

The arch where you were supposed to get married tomorrow is already there, a beautiful contraption of entwined vines. White and lilac balloons were supposed to be added to it, but the lack of them doesn’t deter you.

Not when the man you love is waiting for you, right under it. Eyes shining with unshed tears, as your hand tightens on your father’s arm.

“Let’s do it,” your father whispers for just you to hear.

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “What if it’s the wrong thing to do?”

You can’t help the anxiety. It isn’t even what you truly feel - just the anxiety of an important moment in your life, coming sooner than expected. Your question makes your father laugh.

“I’ve never seen a man loving a woman as much as the kid loves you,” he reassures you. “Put him out of his misery.”

You snort, though it sounds more like a sob, as a tear rolls on your cheek. “I love him so much, too.”

Your father pats your hand, and then starts walking you towards where Jungkook is waiting for you, his mother and brother next to him, his father behind him. All of them look at you with tears in their eyes, and you fight the next wave that threatens to spill on your cheeks. 

Louis, Isabelle, Jungkook’s brother’s wife and their kids are standing on each side of the makeshift aisle, as the chairs weren’t delivered yet. Still, they also look at you. For a moment, you picture your friends - Jiho, Hobi, Somi, Heather, Bridget, Jo, Taehyung, Kiko, Yoongi, Jin, Valeria, Jimin, Lance and Chaeyeong… You picture all of them sharing this moment of love with you. You do feel bad for them - especially for Jiho and Heather, who were supposed to be your bridesmaids - but then again, you’ll see them tonight.

For your pretend bachelorette. 

Everyone present right now promised to keep this instant secret, at least until the reception tomorrow. Just so that you can tell your friends yourself when the moment comes.

You take a step forward, and then another, the distance between you and Jungkook slowly diminishing until you’re standing right in front of him, close enough to see the scar on his left cheek and the mole under his bottom lip. You see everything and nothing at once, your tears blinding you until you blink them away.

Jungkook is not faring any better. Two tears are rolling down his right cheek, and he wipes them with the back of his hand, chuckling softly.

He looks beautiful in his tuxedo, the form tight to his body. He looks massive, strong, yet so delicate in the way his features soften as he looks at you. As he melts like ice in the sun, like you do as well. You melt like that winter of the months away from him never existed, like you never broke up for those terrible months. The memory of them left a scar on your heart, but as you look at him right now, you think the scar is disappearing, like maybe it really never existed.

You look down at yourself, at the white dress on your body. It’s tight to your frame, but the fabric is stretchy enough for it to remain comfortable. Its off-the-shoulder style is perfect for the warm temperature, and the lace that decorates it is beautiful, yet simple.

Jungkook takes you in, whispering, “You’re beautiful,”, as his father starts reciting the usual wedding speech. As much as you want to focus, to paint this moment in your memory, to be able to relive it again and again, it flashes before you until you finally reach the vows.

Jungkook scrapes his throat, then lets out a small, pained sob as new tears roll down his cheeks. You cry in time with him, laughing through it all, as you wipe the tears on his face.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath to calm down. “Wow. I…” he trails off, chuckling again, and his hands close around yours in the space between you. “I never believed we’d finally reach this day,” Jungkook finally says. “For years, I’ve known that you were the one. Hell, I knew the first day I saw you.” He chuckles, and you swallow around the lump in your throat. “I think that’s why you got on my nerves so much.” You swat his arm, laughing, and he winks at you. “I think then I was just scared, because I knew just how much I was going to love you someday, and it first scared me. But when I finally got to be with you, I realized there is nothing to be scared about when it comes to my love for you.” He pauses, blinking a few times. “Except when you get mad at me. That’s scary.”

Soft laughter surrounds you, that of the closest people in your life right now. Mingyu snaps pictures, and your brain zeroes in on the sound for a few seconds until Jungkook speaks again.

“And then I lost you.” You shut your eyes, the pain of the few months away awakening inside of you. “I hated myself for those few months, but even then, I think I knew it was always going to be us two. Whether in this life or another, I knew I’d find you again.” His voice, heavy with emotion, wavers on the last words, and it takes him a moment of breathing in and out before he’s able to continue. “I will forever be thankful that I found you again in this life. That I’ll get to spend every day of my life with you.”

The wind is gentle on your features, almost as gentle as Jungkook’s touch is. Your hands tighten on his fingers for a few seconds, to give him the strength to finish.

“That we’ll get to share the dance of our lives, until death does us part,” he finishes. “I love you, Y/n.”

That last bit was barely over a whisper, yet it clangs through you, vibrates in your soul beautifully. You laugh softly, whispering, “I love you too, Jungkook. So, so much.”

He laughs too, and then you both blink away tears, right as you take a few deep breaths, trying to get ready for your own vows.

You’ve prepared them a while ago. As a matter of fact, the days following his proposal you’d known what you were going to say. You’d almost suggested getting married right then and there, though you don’t regret anything.

Because today feels right. It feels right in ways you can’t comprehend, like it’s time for an entirely new cataclysm, but one that creates.

One that creates a life instead of destroying. That creates a world for just you and him, something you’ll share until the very end.

“Jungkook,” you start. “I’ve loved you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life. Even when I didn’t know what love was, you were there in my heart, slowly making the place yours. When we danced under the stars eight years ago, I knew we would make it to this day. That we’d get married, that we’d always be partners. And I want us to be partners. I want us to make every important decision together, to love and hold each other. To dance under a thousand different night skies, to grow old and grumpy together. Every day, I will love you. I will look into your eyes and know that they were made for me.”

You pause, wiping tears on your cheeks. “I also want to thank you. Thank you for being patient with me, for welcoming me back into your life after those months last year. Thank you for still loving me, for still wanting me even though I broke your heart. And thank you, all those years ago, for being there for me, even though we were at an awkward place in life. The help you granted me when I got kicked out kept me going, and I really, really thank you for it. I just hope I can repay you properly through the years.”

“You already have,” Jungkook chokes out. 

You want to wrap him in your arms, but you resist, instead holding his gaze with all the love in your heart. You think your souls are merging, though you reckon you’ve been one for far longer than this moment already.

You’ve been one since you first chose to love him, and he you.

“You can exchange the rings,” Jungkook’s father says, and he sounds just as choked on emotion as the two of you.

So you do, Jungkook gently pushing the ring on your finger. It’s pretty, delicate, similar to the engagement ring he’d gotten you. Though the wedding ring sports emeralds instead, shaped like leaves. It’s fairy-like, and you smile at its simple beauty before putting Jungkook’s ring on his finger. 

He raises his hand to look at the ring, smiling brightly. As his father proclaims to kiss the bride, Jungkook’s hand shifts towards you, before gently grabbing your chin. He tilts your head back, and your eyes dip to his mouth as he wets his lips.

“I love you so fucking much, baby,” he says, and then he’s crashing his mouth on yours, ravishing a passionate kiss on your lips. 

You wrap your arms around his neck as he dips you, unable to stop the smile that grows on your lips despite the intensity of the kiss. Jungkook is smiling too, and he straightens you as he pulls away before pecking your lips once more.

“I love you so fucking much too.”

*****

Lying to your friends has been feeling like a game you can play too well. Or maybe it’s only because you’re still reeling from getting married, though you have yet to call Jungkook your husband. You’re waiting until tomorrow, maybe to save something for your wedding night.

It’s hard to tell why you both refrained. Maybe you just really want something special for the wedding night, for the moment you’ll finally be embracing in your marital bed, limbs entwined until one can’t tell where you end and where he begins.

Your blood heats up at the thought. Earlier, when you were forced to part ways, you’d almost decided to stay. To stay and fuck him right then and there, to consummate this union between you and him. From the way he’d kissed you, driving his knee between your legs, you know he wanted it too.

But time ran out, and Jiho knocked on your door, stealing you away.

You shake your head, trying to clear your mind so that you can focus on your friends. On the dinner going on around you, with too much alcohol for it to be safe. When you told your friends that the ceremony was supposedly moved inside and later in the day, they’d decided that drinking more was the way to go.

So maybe you shake your head to clear your mind from the alcohol as you dive into the food. It’s delicious, and you eat and laugh and smile with your friends, loving how Somi fits right in despite the language barrier. Both Jiho and Chaeyeoung also speak Korean, so it’s been helping for sure, Somi chatting happily with them.

You sit back in your chair, looking over your group of friends. Heather, with her arm on the chair behind Bridget, smiling broadly at something Bridget is saying. Jiho, fast in a conversation with Somi and Chaeyeoung about a group Jungkook was photographing last week. Jo and Kiko, subtly trying to pour shots for the both of them, the latter’s cheeks already flushed red. Valeria watching them, eyes crinkled with happiness.

You love them so freaking much.

You wonder if Jungkook is sitting through a similar dinner with the rest of the friend group. You wonder if he, too, is thinking of you, imagining the moment you’ll finally be reunited. Imagining the moment you’ll be able to put the ring back on your finger so that everyone will know you’re his and he’s yours.

“Hey, are you planning to give some of that to the rest of us?” you ask Jo and Kiko, and Jo startles, spilling alcohol over the rim of her shot glass.

“Oh,” Jo lets out. “You guys want some?”

“Aren’t we partying tonight?” you remind her.

Jo smirks wickedly. “We sure are.”

And so she pours shots for everyone. You clink the glasses together, not caring for the spilled alcohol, and knock it back. The burn down your throat is devilish, and you know that tonight might just be the time of your life, in different ways than tomorrow night will be.

You notice Valeria looking at her still full shot glass before putting it down on the table. She finds you looking, and she shrugs her shoulders.

“Wait,” you let out, and everyone turns to look at you. “Are you…?”

Valeria chuckles, eyes filling with tears. “Yeah, I am.”

Everybody screams and shrieks in happiness, congratulating her. She beams under the attention, and you find yourself blinking back tears for her and Jin. They’d been trying for kids for a few years now, but they’d been unlucky so far. So you’re really happy for them, and you get up to hug your friend tight.

“I didn’t mean to steal your shine,” she whispers.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassure her as you pull away. “I’m just happy for you.”

She smiles, nodding her head. “Thank you.”

You pat her shoulder, walking back to your seat so that the other girls can hug and congratulate her. Questions about how far along she is and if she wants a girl or a boy are exchanged, and you watch the scene unfold with a teary-eyed smile on your lips.

Jiho, sitting next to you, leans closer to you. “What about you?” she asks.

You cock an eyebrow. “What?”

“You and Jungkook are planning to have any kids?”

The question makes your heart race. Years ago, you would have said no. Even last year, when you’d reconnected, you hadn’t been sure if kids were in your future. But the more time you spend with Jungkook, loving him, the more you realize that maybe it’s a future that would feel right for the both of you.

Because if there’s someone you would want to raise a kid with, it would have to be Jungkook.

“I’m not sure,” you truthfully reply. “Maybe one day?”

Jiho smiles, knowing what you mean. She’s been your closest friend all your life after all, and she already knows the ways of your brain. “You would be brilliant parents,” she tells you, her eyes shining with tears.

“I don’t know about that, but I would definitely do my best.”

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “The way you parent Lisa and Charles for me and Hobi sometimes tells me you’d be the best parents.”

“Stop,” you say, echoing her laugh as you shake your head. “We’ll see.”

“We sure will.”

After that, the conversation returns to a shared one around the table, one you gladly participate in. It’s not too long before you decide to hit the streets, heading to the club Somi chose for the evening. It’s one where you went twice with her before, though tonight you have access to the VIP section.

And so you drink and dance with your friends, careless, as if you’re back to your college days. As if none of you are adults with responsibilities, as if you can just live with no consequences. It feels liberating, yet you find yourself in a quiet corner in the early hours of the morning, seeking the man that you love.

[1:27 am] You: miss u

You’re not quite surprised when Jungkook replies almost right away.

[1:28 am] baby <3: miss u too [1:28 am] baby <3: how’s the party

You smile, heart warming up with your love for him.

[1:28 am] You: it’d be better with u here [1:29 am] baby <3: soon

And though it might just be a text sent in the early hours of the morning, you know that it’s a promise. A promise that you will soon be together again, never to be separated.

Saturday, July 7th 

Jungkook looks out the window of the car, heartbeat racing like it’s seeking to win a Formula 1 Grand Prix. He doubts he’ll win - it rather feels like he’s about to go into cardiac arrest.

He doesn’t know why he’s so anxious. Hell, you’re already married, and he just can’t wait to see you again. Though it might be the fact that he’s been lying to everyone, and he hates lying.

He reckons Jimin is onto him. The moment they hugged for the first time, Jimin narrowed his gaze, tilting his head to the side as if to say ‘Something’s changed about you’. Jungkook wanted to admit everything, to reveal that you are already married, but he held on strong.

He’s excited to get to the reception hall and to say the truth. Mostly, he’s excited to have you close again, and he knows he’ll never be without you again. Especially considering how much of a mess he is after just a single day.

He’s yet to call you wife. He’s been trying to figure out a way to do it, something for just the two of you. Because it’s always been about the two of you anyway - ever since the very first day, ever since that dance under the night sky. Eight years ago to the day, Jungkook fell so deep in love, and every day he’s been falling more. And he knows he’ll keep on falling - it’s the most beautiful thing in life. His love for you, yes, but the act of it being shared by your pure heart.

You’ll have so much fun together.

Taehyung parks the car in the parking lot of the reception hall, shooting a look at Jungkook over his shoulder. Jungkook offers him a tight-lipped smile, and Taehyung nods once. 

“Ready?” he asks.

“Definitely,” Jungkook says, smile softening.

Taehyung nods again, before turning back around to turn off the wipers and then the engine. The sound of the rain on the roof of the car is deafening, yet Jungkook thinks it’s a beautiful melody. 

It allowed him to marry you yesterday after all.

Lance gets out of the car, carrying an umbrella around so that Jungkook won’t get wet. He wants to say it’s useless - you saw him already - but he refrains, instead thanking his friend as he gets out of the car, safe from the storm. 

The car with Namjoon, Jin, Hobi, Yoongi and Mingyu arrives behind them, and they all quickly make their way inside, shaking off the water. The families are already here, and Jungkook watches as everyone mingles, bright smiles on their lips. Bridget and Heather come to see him, and he smiles widely as the couple stops in front of him.

“Excited?” Bridget asks.

His smile turns into a smirk. “More than ever. Especially for tonight.”

Heather rolls her eyes as Bridget wiggles her eyebrows, and then Jungkook’s father jogs to him, grabbing his arm.

“It’s time,” the older man says.

Jungkook feels a lump forming in his throat, as if it isn’t already done. As if you aren’t already united by the vows of marriage, until death does you apart. Yet, he still nods goodbye to his friends, and then follows his father to the little dais where the DJ will be playing later tonight. 

People turn to look at him curiously, probably expecting him to go out of the room for the wedding processional. Instead, Jungkook grabs a mic, scraping his throat before bringing it closer to his mouth.

“Hey everyone,” he greets the crowd, and silence slowly falls on the room. “Thank you for coming today. It means a lot to me and Y/n, more than you can imagine.”

And then you walk out of the room where you were hiding with Jiho, Heather and Somi, and people gasp at the sight of you.

“The only thing is,” Jungkook continues, and he offers you his hand to hold. The moment your fingers touch he feels rejuvenated, like maybe he was just born this instant. And you look fabulous - did you get more beautiful in the day apart? “The only thing is,” Jungkook restarts. “We already got married.”

Wide gazes and shocked gasps now fill the room, and Jungkook hands you the mic, even as Jiho takes a step towards you, as if to stop you.

“We’d always dreamed to get married outside,” you say, and you motion to the rain splattering on the window panes. “Unfortunately, the weather was working against us. So we got married yesterday, with only our close family present.”

You meet Jungkook’s gaze, offering him a teary-eyed smile. He’s surprised to see the tears in your gaze, as if not expecting them, but they quickly make his gaze wet as well, and he chuckles softly, his heart feeling like he’s been embraced by all the love in the universe.

The world slows around you. Jungkook feels like he’s falling through the years, through the past, through every hurdle that stood in your path. All of them were worth it. So fucking worth it - he wouldn’t be standing next to you right now without them.

Your smile softens, if that is even possible. Eyes so full of love he thinks he’ll combust, like a firework exploding in colours and beauty. Because you’ve always brought out the best of him.

“So we did want to apologize to all of you who traveled all the way from the States,” you continue, and you look away from Jungkook.

He steps closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to press you against him. You easily melt in his touch, leaning your head on him.

“But we also wanted to thank you for coming, and we hope that tonight’s party is going to still be worth it.”

On that note, Jungkook gets the rings in his pocket, as you give the mic to a stunned Jiho. You face him again, and like yesterday, Jungkook gently puts your ring on your finger. It’s delicate, beautiful - everything that you are as well. His is simpler, yet still just as elegant, and its weight is a comfortable reminder of your love the second it’s on his finger.

Looking in your eyes, Jungkook wonders if he deserves your love. It’s a weird question to ask himself in the moment, and he knows he does. Or at least he’ll always work to make sure he deserves it, and he’ll offer you everything in his heart and soul. Because you’re the love of his life - he knew from the moment he met you.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Jungkook gently grabs your cheeks, the crowd slowly fading away. It’s like you’re alone in the universe, just you and him. In a world that is just yours - maybe that forgotten space where you’d first met. It’s a world of simple love, eternal. And in that world, Jungkook gently leans in, pressing his lips on yours, kissing you like he has all the time in the universe.

And he does. He does now.

Cheering brings him back to reality, and Jungkook pulls away, laughing along with you as you grab his hand, facing your friends and family. They are cheering and clapping, bright smiles welcoming you back to reality. You bow to them in tandem, and then Jungkook leads you down the dais so that you can receive the congratulations from everyone.

And though it might be a little exhausting, Jungkook knows that all of his burdens will now be shared with you. So with a heart lighter than the wind, Jungkook follows you around the room, and he follows you to your shared future.

*****

The reception has been fun. The food was perfect, the cake just as tasty, and to be surrounded with the people you love has been a dream. A beautiful dream - one you’ll forever spend with the love of your life.

Jungkook leads you to the dancefloor for the first dance. A dance for just the two of you, shared with your friends and family. The first of so many other dances, yet it’s hardly the first. You stop in front of him, and he puts one hand on your waist, the other gently closing around your fingers. You put your free hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly. 

Before you even start dancing, Jungkook whispers, “Do you want to dance with me?” and your eyes fill with tears as a sob racks through you.

“Yes,” you whisper back. “Always.”

He smiles, a tear rolling on his cheek, and then the music starts. It’s a soft song, a gentle love song, by an artist you both came to love through the years. It’s one you’ve danced to a thousand times before, yet today it feels different. It feels like that July night eight years ago - the cataclysm of you and him, relived.

So you dance with him, eyes lost in the shine of his gaze, in the pure love it holds. You dance and dance, remembering the years. Remembering finding him again after his accident. Remembering the hate you’d arbored for him, that had always been love disguised. Remembering falling in love, yet pushing him away. Remembering Laura, and the day Jungkook had chosen you over her. Remembering Chicago, the dance crew, the parties you spent too busy getting lost in each other to partake in the reveling.

You remember everything - moving into your new apartment, him later moving in with you. Loving each other - the day Lisa was born, and Jungkook had held her with so many stars in his eyes you believed he’d turn into a galaxy. You remember the cottage, the camping trips, the long distance. The dreaded long distance - who would have thought it was leading you to this moment in time? You remember Harrison, remember falling back into Jungkook’s arms - the hotel balcony on Taehyung and Jo’s wedding. You remember everything, all at once - the day he proposed.

And the day he married you. The most important day of your life, forever.

As the dance slowly comes to an end, Jungkook kisses you again. Telling you that he, too, remembers everything. That it was all supposed to happen the way that it did, if only to lead you to the right place for you. On the other side of the world, together.

Always together.

After that first dance, everyone joins you on the dancefloor. Love in their hearts, your friends and family dance. Laughter and smiles and teary eyes reign on the world tonight, and you take it all in. Take all the love in, and redirect it to Jungkook. 

So you kiss him, right there on the dance floor. You kiss him deeply, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close. And he kisses you back, his arms snaking around your waist. You wonder if he can hear the wild beats of your heart - is his heart beating just as wildly?

You know it is. Because the love between you and him will forever be shared - it’s the kind people write poems about. And you feel like a poet tonight, like you’re experiencing the most beautiful moment of your life. Something you’ll always look back on with fondness and love and nostalgia. 

When you’ll be old and grey and death will take you in its hold, you know today will be the movie in your mind, the moment you’ll relive before you go.

But for now, you need to experience it. To party with your friends, to enjoy this moment where you and Jungkook are celebrated. So you do. Even as Jiho scolds you for not telling her, even as your father makes a speech that ends up making everyone cry. You think you’re on top of a mountain, breathing in the fresh air, making you feel younger than you’ve ever been. New, untainted by the horrors of the world.

It’s just you and Jungkook tonight, and love. Love and love and love, as he leads you outside to get fresh air after the first hour of partying. If his leg is hurting him, he doesn’t let it show. Instead he leads you away from the light of the building, walking around the ponds left from the rain earlier.

It relented. It relented to let you see the moon and the stars, though clouds drift above, hiding most of the blanket of constellations that means so much to the two of you.

“How are you feeling?” Jungkook asks as he pulls your back flush to his chest, and you both tilt your heads back to look up to the night sky.

“Infinite,” you reply. “I feel like I love you even more than before.”

He kisses the top of your head. “So do I. Forever.”

“Forever,” you echo.

Because the end won’t ever come for you and him. Even in death, you know your soul will dance with his.

“Dance with me,” you tell him.

It’s a remix of your usual question, yet the answer doesn’t change. Jungkook turns you around, yet keeps you close to him, swaying you to the soft night breeze. He leans his forehead against yours, and you breathe in the same air as you dance gently, slowly.

“We’re married,” Jungkook murmurs.

“We are.”

“I love you so much,” he adds, his voice trembling with emotion.

Yours isn’t much better as you reply, “I love you so much too.”

*****

Jimin walks outside, needing fresh air. He stops in his tracks when he notices you and Jungkook, dancing the night away. He smiles - if only he’d be able to find love like that one day.

Though his heart aches, never fully healed from what happened with Scottie, Jimin is happy for the two of you. Happy that, through the hurdles, you and Jungkook made it.

You give him hope, more than he’d dare admit. 

He looks at you for a few more seconds, before turning around to walk back inside. He startles at the sight of the pretty girl behind him, and he stops right before he was to run into her.

Somi. Right. The friend you told him about. And though Jimin is usually charming, flirty, all he can do when he looks down at the girl is shyly smile, cheeks burning.

“They’re adorable,” she says in Korean, looking behind him.

Jimin glances at you once more. “They really are. I can only hope to find love like that someday.”

He meets Somi’s gaze again, scolding himself for saying such a vulnerable thing to a stranger. Yet, her eyes twinkle with understanding, and she motions to the side.

“Do you want to walk with me?”

Jimin feels his throat go dry, yet he nods. “Sure.”

“It’s just…” she trails off. “I think we’re the only single people here,” she explains, as if she needed to. 

Or as if he didn’t sound so sure.

“Even if we weren’t, I’d still walk with you,” Jimin says, voice low, finding some of his old charming self back.

It works. Damn it it works, and Somi takes it in stride, a gentle smile moving on her red-tinted lips. “Good. Because you’re the only one I’d want to walk with.”

He laughs, a clear laugh he hasn’t laughed in years. And then they walk with easy conversation, and Somi reveals more of her past. More of how she became friends with you, how she always wanted to meet everyone. To meet Jimin, she adds, a shy smile on her lips.

They walk to a small river, though the current is rushing from the rainstorm earlier. Yet the night takes the edge off the rush, making it seem like the most idyllic scene Jimin could have conjured up.

Or maybe that’s Somi and her soft smiles. Her big eyes shining brightly whenever she meets his gaze. He feels like he never truly breathed before this moment - like the night air is the most refreshing, rejuvenating. 

It helps that the conversation is so easy. That Somi doesn’t know about Scottie, unlike the friend group. Unlike everyone, who’s always treated Jimin differently after the breakup. Somi doesn’t - she teases him, smiles with him, and when they walk back to the reception hall when Jimin notices her shivering, even though he’s given her his jacket, she dances with him.

Jimin feels new, raw. He laughs with her, smiles with her, and butterflies slowly come to life in his stomach. His heart feels warmer than it’s felt in years - Somi is healing him. Damn him, she’s healing him in ways he doesn’t comprehend, and he barely knows her yet.

But when the end of the night comes, and he presses a gentle kiss on her lips that she immediately reciprocates, Jimin knows he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to get to know her better.

So he lets Scottie go, and welcomes Somi in.

*****

“After you,” Jungkook says, opening the door of the hotel room you’ve rented for tonight.

Bam is being babysat with your father for the night, which you think is a relief. You’ll definitely be too busy to take care of a dog tonight.

You walk into the room, taking in the flower petals and the candles that were lit by the hotel staff before your return. The atmosphere is light, romantic - a dream come true after all the years of you and him. You spin on yourself, your wedding dress fluttering around you.

Jungkook has closed the door behind him, and he’s leaning against it, watching you twirl with a smile on his lips. When you stop to look at him, his smile slowly turns into a smirk, and he tilts his head to the side.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long,” he murmurs with a husky voice. 

He slowly takes off his tie, and you patiently survey him, warmth spreading through you. Once the tie is off, Jungkook steps towards you, putting it around your neck. 

He tugs on it, and you stumble forward in his embrace. He was ready to catch you - he crashes his mouth on yours, and you immediately kiss him back, fire blazing in your soul. Jungkook backs you towards the bed, sucking on your lower lip. 

“Kook,” you breathe against his soft pink lips, and then he pushes you on the bed.

He towers over you, slowly shrugging off his blazer. He throws it towards the couch in one corner, and the flames of the candles flicker from the rush of air. Next is his dress shirt - he slowly unbuttons it, revealing more of his perfect, honey skin as he goes down. 

You watch him, hungrily. Follow every movement of his fingers, imagining how they will soon feel on you. And when he’s done unbuttoning his shirt, you open it for him, caressing his abs with the tip of your fingers. Goosebumps trail in the wake of your fingers, and Jungkook sucks in a breath as you graze his scar.

The soft, flickering light of the candles lessen the harsh edges of the scar that disappears in his pants. You follow down the line until you reach the band of his pants, and then you lean forward to press a soft kiss on the spot.

“So beautiful,” you praise. “My husband.”

He grabs your face, forcing you to look up as he bends down to kiss you. It’s a gentle kiss, yet it quickly turns languid, his tongue pushing into your mouth. You meet it with your own, drinking him in, getting drunk on his taste. His thumbs gently caress your cheeks, lovingly, never-ending.

Because love will never end between you and him. 

Your hands find his dainty waist, his skin warm against your palms. He shudders as you move up his flanks, and then you pull him down, moving back on the bed. Your lips never disconnect - like two adjacent puzzle pieces that have finally been joined. So Jungkook lies on top of you, the lapels of his dress shirt tickling your arms. You try to take it off him, but it’s unsuccessful. Until he kneels to help, and soon, your eyes fall to his perked brown nipples. 

You pinch them playfully as Jungkook just watches you with his gaze full of swirling emotions, love on the surface of it all. You swim in his gaze, getting lost in him.

“I’m your husband,” he breathes.

You nod, eyes filling with unsuspected tears. “You are.”

“I’m so fucking lucky.” 

And then he’s bending down again, stealing a searing kiss on your lips. You moan in his mouth, and he swallows it like he always does, with a grunt of his own. You run your hands on his back, up to his hair, and you tug at the soft strands on the back of his head. 

He groans a little louder this time and then pulls away from the kiss. His gaze is dark, with desire and passion and love and everything that makes him the person that you want and will spend the rest of your life with. 

“How do I get you out of this dress?” he asks as one of his hands runs up and down your arm. 

You sigh. “I’m pretty sure I’d have to be standing.”

He pouts, yet he gets up, gently grabbing your small hands in his large ones so that he can help you up. Once you’re standing, he pecks your nose once, turning you around when he’s done. He brushes your hair over one shoulder before bending down to kiss the skin on the side of your neck.

“It’s a shame that I have to take it off,” he breathes right in your ear, and you shiver. “But I want to see all of you while I’m making you mine tonight.”

“I’m already yours,” you reply, breath hitching in your throat as he sucks on your skin.

“Oh, I know.” He kisses your neck again and then pulls away.

It takes him a few seconds to figure out how to get you out of your dress, but he soon finds the zipper. He slowly pulls it down, and you feel his gaze burning on every inch of skin revealed. When he’s done unzipping, Jungkook pushes the dress off down your arms, and it slowly falls to the floor, pooling around your ankles.

“You weren’t wearing any underwear?” Jungkook asks, sounding out of breath.

You step out of the dress, turning to look at him innocently. “I wasn’t. Should I have?”

You can tell it takes everything in him not to jump on you. Instead, he pulls you by his tie again - you forgot it was around your neck. When you step closer to him, he lets it go, and it falls between your breasts. You look down at yourself right as Jungkook pinches your nipples, and they perk under his fingers.

“So, so beautiful,” he praises again, and he bends down to suck on one of your nipples. 

Your eyes flutter shut, and you let out a breathy sound as he cups your other breast, palming it softly. You lose your hands in his hair again, tugging gently to bring his mouth back to yours. You suck on his tongue the moment he pushes it in your mouth, and Jungkook grunts, especially as one of your hands falls in the space between you, palming his dick through his pants.

He’s already hard, sitting heavy in your hand, and you moan as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Shit, baby,” he breathes out. “I’m so horny. I feel like I won’t last long.”

With a devilish smirk, you drop to your knees. “It’s okay,” you reassure him. “We can fuck all night long.”

You bite at his dick through the fabric, and he curses under his breath. Yet he doesn’t do anything, just watches you as you work on his belt. When it comes undone, you unbutton his pants, holding his half-lidded gaze. 

“So you want me to come in your mouth first, mmh?” he asks. “You want to swallow every last drop?”

You unzip the pants, pushing it down his legs. “You’d like that?”

“Baby, I’d love it.”

You look down at his dick, straining against his boxers. You peck his length, before smiling up at him. “I love you.”

And then you push his boxers down as well, immediately taking the tip of his cock in your mouth.

“I love-” he moans, “you too.”

You suck on his tip before pulling away so that you can jerk him off. “So fuck my mouth, Kook. Come down my throat.”

His chest rapidly goes up and down from his quick breaths, and Jungkook nods. “Alright. Open up your throat for me, baby.”

You do, mouth falling open as you push your tongue out. You let go of his dick so that he can hold it instead, and he taps it twice on your tongue, a string of saliva connecting his slit to your mouth. It’s hot, sinful, yet all you focus on are his pretty eyes as they narrow, almost as if he’s in pain, or maybe angry. His brows are bunched together, and you know he’s about to ruin you.

You want him to ruin you. You want him to ruin you every single day of the rest of your life.

Getting tired of teasing, Jungkook pushes his dick in your mouth. You take him in, relaxing your throat as he pushes as far back as you can take him. You keep the gag reflex in, and Jungkook sighs as he slowly pulls out, pushing in once more just a second later. He lets go of his dick to hold your cheeks instead, thumbs swiping on your skin again.

“You tap my leg if it gets too much, yeah?” he asks.

You moan around him, offering him a thumbs-up. It makes him snort, and he pulls out of your mouth as you start laughing, too.

“I really fucking love you, wow,” he says. “The love of my life.”

You’d get sentimental if he didn’t push his dick in your mouth again. Instead, you moan softly, and Jungkook grunts in approval.

And then he unleashes himself. You hold on to his powerful thighs, appreciating the way his muscles shift under his skin, the way the jagged edges of his scar tickle your palm. Jungkook is a grunting and cursing mess over you, though praises of love for you are the most common. You moan for him, relaxing your throat, doing all you can to keep the gag reflex in. Jungkook wipes the tears that slip on your cheeks, always trusting you to stop him if it’s too much.

But it’s not too much. Ever. You want him to ruin you so bad you’ll never be able to say anything other than his name. And he seems like he wants it, too, as he keeps snapping his hips forward in quick, harsh thrusts. His dick is infinitely hard in your mouth, and you swallow around it, though it triggers your gag reflex.

Jungkook pulls out of your mouth, though he immediately starts jerking off. You recognize the signs that he’s about to come, and you quickly wrap your lips around his tip. He throws his head back, and his dick starts twitching, his warm cum spilling on your tongue.

The taste makes you go feral. Makes you take as much of him in as you can, and cum overflows on your chin. But you don’t care - you’re truly feral for him, forever.

Jungkook finishes unloading his load directly in your throat, and he’s shaking by the time you finally pull away, swallowing his cum. The heady taste and scent doesn’t make you gag, and you lick your lips clean as he looks down at you, chest flushed red.

“Fuck,” he curses, and then he chuckles, a smile growing on his lips. “I’m the luckiest guy alive.”

You laugh as you get up, wiping your chin. “And I’m the luckiest girl.”

“You sure are,” he says, eyes fondly looking down at you. They quickly darken again, and he motions to the bed. “Now let me return the favour to my beautiful love.”

You feel like rolling your eyes at his cheesiness, yet you only then realize that he hasn’t called you wife once. Somehow, it makes you anxious, yet you’re too drunk on the taste of him to be able to interpret anything. You only obey him, lying on your back. Jungkook kneels next to the bed, and he gently caresses your thighs before pulling you closer. 

He bends down, breathing in the scent of you. “I think,” he starts, and then he pauses to push his tongue inside of you once. “We’ll fuck like animals tonight.”

“Plea-” you start, though the moment he sucks on your clit, it breaks into a moan. “Jungkook…”

He doesn’t reply. He immediately busies himself with lapping you up, with drinking you in. He moans against you, appreciatively, and you lose a hand in his hair again. He’s long dishevelled by now - there’s something terribly hot about it. Because this man is yours - your husband. From now until death does you apart.

He flicks your clit, and you moan out his name the instant he slides a finger inside of you. He curls it, searching for the sweetest spot inside of you, and your eyes roll to the back of your head when he starts rubbing on it.

“Kook,” you moan. “Fuck.”

“Tell me how good I’m making you feel,” he says, sitting back on his heels just long enough to push another finger inside of you. Scissor motions press against the tightening muscles of your pussy, and you rock your hips towards his face. He tuts. “A little impatient, are we?”

You groan in frustration as he blows on your clit, the sensitive organ flush with blood, hard, just waiting for the next swipe of his tongue so that you can explode. But Jungkook denies it - he kisses the inside of your thighs, tracing hickeys on your soft skin. Then he kisses your pelvis, ghosting on your clit. He licks your lips, red with your arousal. He teases and teases, and you whine.

“Please,” you beg, teary-eyed. “I’m so close.”

He gives in immediately. An expert motion on your clit sends you flying over the edge, and your thighs close around his face as you climax hard. Your voice breaks in a moan, and he just keeps on fingering you. You grind against his face, milking your orgasm from yourself, instinctively. He lets you do it, delighting in your taste, in your juice on his chin.

It takes you so long to come down from the high that you don’t realize he’s not fingering you anymore. That he moved - he disappeared from between your legs. Instead, Jungkook lies on the bed next to you, tracing circles around your navel.

You turn your head, looking at him through your blown-wide pupils. He’s fuzzy, beautiful.

And most of all, he’s your husband.

“Wow,” you let out, and you chuckle as he smiles devilishly. 

“I know,” he replies. “You squirted at the same time.”

You don’t have it in you to be embarrassed, though you doubt there’s anything to be embarrassed about it. Instead, you only repeat, “Wow,” and he laughs with his bunny smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Your husband. This man is your husband now.

“I think you’re right,” you whisper, turning to face him.

He loses the smile, instead looking at you with an inquisitive look on his features, eyebrows raised in question. “About what?”

“We’re going to fuck like animals tonight.”

He bursts out laughing, high and clear, the most beautiful human you’ve ever seen in your life. You join him, and when the laughter subsides, and he rolls over you to kiss you again, you welcome him in, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him close. He’s over you, caging you, protecting you from the big bad world and from the months last year where you’d broken apart from each other.

You’ll never be separated again.

“We should take a shower,” Jungkook suggests as he pulls away from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours once more, just content with breathing shared air. “I won’t be quite ready to go again for a few minutes.”

You whine, playfully pinching his side, which earns you a shriek from him as he rolls away from you. “You’re boring, Jeon.”

He looks at you, wide smile a little frozen, and then he tears up again. “You haven’t called me that since the beginning,” he reminisces. 

“The beginning?” you echo.

He nods. “You know how infuriating it was to see you again for the first time after the accident?”

The mention of his accident makes your eyes drift towards his scars. They’re beautiful on his honey skin, and you mindlessly reach between you to massage the one on his knee.

“You called me Jeon, and you were so pissed to see me,” he remembers, sighing in nostalgia. An emotion you know far too well and that you’re way too happy to dive in with him. “And when you were flirting with Jimin, I could feel my heart sink so deep.”

“Gosh, poor Jimin,” you let out.

Though you both saw him with Somi. You saw the exchanged kiss - the hesitancy, the surprise, and the bright eyes as they’d left separately, yet promised to reach out on the morrow. You’re happy for Jimin and Somi - they both deserve the whole wide world. And though it might be too early to tell, you still cheer for them.

If only because it might bring one of your dearest friends here, and God knows how much you love your friends.

“You think he and Somi will figure shit out?” Jungkook asks, propping his head on his hand. 

He looks pretty like that, candlelight still casting a play of shadow and light on his features. Unable to resist, you reach between you, gently tracing the shape of his face.

“I think both of them deserve happiness,” you answer. “If they can find it in each other, I will be very happy for them.”

Jungkook’s face slowly breaks into the softest smile, and then he leans forward to peck your lips once more. “Though I love Jimin, let’s not dwell on this too long. I still want to fuck you stupid.”

You laugh as he playfully pinches your side before getting up. You look at him from where you’re still lying on the bed - his extended hand offers a promise of forever, and it’s a forever you now know to be your future, your truth.

You smile, wind catching in the sails of your heart, and you grab his hands to allow him to help you up. You use the momentum to press your lips on the pillowy softness of his swollen mouth, and Jungkook is quick to kiss you back, to offer you all of his love on a silver platter.

And he doesn’t stop there. Jungkook keeps on kissing you as he leads you to the bathroom. He turns the shower on, only breaking away long enough to adjust the water temperature. He keeps celebrating his love for you in the form of his mouth dancing with yours, and you let him guide you under the warm, soothing water of the shower.

You break away to breathe then, holding each other. Him, with his arms wrapped around your middle. You, leaning back on his chest as you gently trace idle figures on his forearms - love between you is as endless as the water cycle in the bathroom - fog condensing on the mirror, only to go back to its liquid form as it rolls down the glass before evaporating again.

You and Jeon Jungkook are never-ending.

“I love you,” Jungkook breathes when he pulls away to rest his cheek on the top of your head. He gently rocks you from side to side. “I’m so grateful to be married to you.”

“You’re my favourite husband,” you tease, but also test the waters, seeing if he’ll call you wife then.

He doesn’t. Instead, he replies, “I hope you don’t have too many husbands, that’d be upsetting.”

You turn in his arms, the water now spraying your back. “Just you, Kook. There’s always just been you.”

He caves in, brushing his mouth on yours again in the most intimate caress. “What would I do without you?”

You don’t know about him, but you’d wither. You’d wither and fade into darkness, or maybe you’d freeze like the first layer of the ground when the cold hits. You’d stop existing, you’d stop evolving, because he’s the theory of your evolution. He’s your character arc, the reason why you were put on this Earth years ago.

“I want all of you,” you breathe against his lips, and he deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

You welcome it in, hands getting lost in his now wet hair. His own hands hold your hips firmly, pressing you on his slowly growing erection. Before it goes out of control, you pull away, grabbing a bar of soap to wash him.

He almost purrs under your hands as they trace every line and curve of him. Eyes shut, a small smile on his lips that turns into a pout whenever you let go of him. He’s incredibly adorable - the very reason why your heart skips beat nowadays. 

Why your heart ever skipped beats to begin with.

“Let me wash you too,” he murmurs when you’re done, though you haven’t touched his dick yet. 

It now stands proud and tall, pointing towards you, leaking precum as you rub the bar of soap in your hands to get some foam. He watches you as you put the soap down, and you wink up at him.

“I’m not done yet.”

This time he shudders when you grab the base of his dick, gently jerking him off once so that you can clean his shaft. You then move to his balls, and you massage them with the most gentle touch you can muster up, not wanting to trigger his arousal right now.

No, you just want him to enjoy the act of being thoroughly cleaned up, to be taken care of in every way he deserves.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, and you don’t resist when he pulls you in a kiss. When he switches place with you so that he can wash away the soap from his body, you watch the residue of foam going down the drain, awaiting your turn.

Jungkook’s large hands are infinitely soft, infinitely pure - like he’s never done anything wrong in his life. Looking up at those big doe eyes you love more than the universe itself, you know Jungkook has, in truth, never done any wrong. How could he when he’s the purest soul you’ve ever come across?

He hums as he cleans you, the song you danced to earlier. Your song, you reckon, and you join in, the lyrics floating in the air surrounding you. Though you’ve never been the singer that he is, Jungkook still cleans you, thoroughly, gently, and when he’s done he puts you under the cascade of water, and you let it wash the soap away.

“You’re a fucking angel,” Jungkook whispers, and your eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. Not remembering when they closed, you let them adjust to the light, but Jungkook is quick to crash his mouth against yours, ravishing a soul-ending kiss on your lips.

When he turns you away from the water, your back to him as his own back is now showered with wet warmth, you immediately bend down. Your arousal hasn’t lessened since the actions that transpired in the bed, and Jungkook runs a finger through your folds once.

“You’re already so wet,” he praises. “My good fucking girl.”

“Like animals, right?”

He doesn’t offer a verbal answer - he answers in the physical, brushing his tip on your folds. It’s quite larger than the tip of his finger, and you shudder as your eyes shut as you brace your hands on the ceramic of the wall. The broad tip brushes past your lips before Jungkook pulls out, resting his dick between your ass cheeks.

“Like animals,” he agrees. “Like that first time I fucked you. In the living room of the cottage.” He pushes all the way in then, and you moan loudly, rocking forward. He grabs your hips, fingers digging in the supple flesh. “I wish someone would have found us there. Would have seen just how fucking hot you are when I’m fucking you.”

And then he’s pounding into you, so hard your cheek ends up pressed against the wall as you cry out your pleasure. Even through the haze that grows in your mind, you think about his leg - you know it doesn’t hurt like at the beginning, but whenever he fucks you like that, you’re afraid he’ll hurt himself.

But he doesn’t let you voice your concern. He’s quick to bend forward until he’s able to wrap your throat in your favourite necklace, tattooed fingers cutting the blood circulation to your brain until you grow so dizzy you struggle to stand.

He lets go of your neck then, but he’s still not done jackhammering his hips into yours. He’s a moaning and grunting mess, and the sinful melody of your name and the curses that tumble from his lips slowly guide you towards a new orgasm. 

Slowly, yet when he pinches your nipple, hard enough to hurt, your climax hits at the speed of light, and your legs give out under you. You’re lucky he’s holding you up, though you shake through every powerful wave, his name the only thing you know.

You don’t think you need to know anything else anyway. There’s just him - there’s always just going to be him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses as your walls clench around his dick again and again, though the muscle grows weaker. When your orgasm leaves you empty and spent, Jungkook pulls you up so that he can wrap his arms around you again, and he litters soft kisses on the back of your shoulder and on your neck. “Let’s go back to the bed,” he whispers. “I’m not done with you at all.”

You whine as he pulls out of you, leaving you far too empty for your liking. He steps out of the shower, grabbing a towel that he holds open for you. You follow him out, and he wraps it around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he turns around to grab a towel for himself. You quickly dry yourself, and then Jungkook puts the towels on the hooks behind the door.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and he offers you a lovesick smile.

“Of course,” he says. 

He grabs your hand, pulling you back to the bedroom. The candles still flicker like dozens of little ghosts, and though you’ve disturbed some of the rose petals already, they still await you. Uncaring about them, Jungkook brings you back to the bed, and he helps you lay down before joining you, lying next to you. His hand rests flat on your stomach, and you share a timeless look of pure love and adoration.

An eternity with him… When did you get so lucky?

Jungkook must have seen the yearning in your gaze because he climbs back on top of you, his weight a comforting reminder of everything he is to you. Still hard, his dick lays on your pelvis, and you look down at yourselves long enough to watch him align himself with your entrance.

“Look at me,” he asks before he pushes in.

Like a moth to the flame, you’re unable to resist the dive in his eyes that follows. So you dive deep, one hand on his cheek and the other on his waist. And when he pushes all the way in, you whisper your love for him. He stills deep inside of you, and presses one kiss to the side of your face.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, voice heavy with emotion. “My wife.”

The words clang through you repeatedly. Like Echo is screaming them back to you, making sure they are carved into your bones and etched into your soul. You think they have been before, but hearing him say it makes it real, seals the deal until your souls truly unite to be just one. Until your love for him expands, growing bigger than the universe, encompassing everything that once was you and everything that will now be you, plural.

“My husband,” you whisper back.

“I love you.”

He slowly pulls out, and then he softly pushes back in as he rests his forehead against yours. There is so much love between you and him that you feel like you’re drowning in the bliss of him, like you’ll forever be changed by this moment in time.

In truth, you know he’s already forever changed you. And as he makes love to you slowly, languidly, sensually, kissing you long enough to remind you that you made it, that you fucking made it through all the hurdles, you know that you forever changed him, too.

And isn’t that beautiful? The power that one’s soul can have over another’s soul? The stars agree - they’ve always known about you and Jeon Jungkook. Happy, they shine in constellations for the two of you, slowly making place amongst their ranks. Because the astral bodies know one day they’ll welcome you in the night sky you love so deeply - two new stars, once stardust and now burning, for the eternity that is yours.

But first, you have a very long road ahead of you. And though life might take one of you before the other, your commitment to one another is endless - even if one of you shines up above before the other, you’ll always be with each other.

So when you’re finally spent after a night of love making, of promises and forevers whispered into one another’s ear, you listen to his heartbeat. You listen to it, your favourite melody, even before you knew its existence. It’s beautiful, simple - strong and steadfast. Mostly, it is yours.

Before you fall asleep, you offer him one last promise -

“I will always love you, Jeon Jungkook.” 

☆☆☆☆☆

The End. I am crying rereading this, I can't believe I started this fic as a sequel to @daechwitatamic's What Was Hidden fic and now I'm 223.9k words later into a story that will forever hold a special place in my heart. What did you guys think of it? Was the end fitting for our favourite couple?

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate

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[vampiricgf]

Musings of a Fool in Love

leon kennedy x reader

wc: 1k+

warnings: none, sfw, just a sweet moment of both seriously and not seriously discussing marriage, thinking about what it means to exist in perpetuity with another person

I wanted to do something sweet especially after all the angst ive been inflicting on everyone <3 so here's a lil thing inspired by the old love songs I was listening to this morning. (i also didn't have a specific iteration of him in mind for this so it can be interpreted with whichever one you want) if there's mistakes I simply pretend i do not see lol

Soft chords of music fill the apartment, the last dregs of daylight washing you both in hues of honey gold and peach tinged pink, catching in his softly focused blue eyes like those novelty crystals that sit on their tiny, LED powered pedestals refracting the manmade light an infinite number of times. 

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, the hand lightly holding yours giving a gentle squeeze while the other remains restfully perched on your hip as you bodies move slowly with the melody. 

You don’t speak immediately, relishing in how he looks at this moment and contemplating dodging the question. It’s silly, nonsensical but just serious enough that it could shatter this dreamlike moment, leaving it as insubstantial as the last twinges of a dream that cling to the mind like a mist. But you decide against subterfuge, willing to risk cracking the tranquility apart. 

“I was thinking about what it would be like to get married.”

There’s no dramatic pause, he doesn’t bring your combined motion to a halt; that doesn’t stop his expression from changing although not into what you expected. Leon gives you a soft smile, hesitant, but seemingly chooses to indulge your line of thought.

“What about getting married?” His tone is hushed, like you’re two children whispering secrets and it makes you giggly, nervousness bubbling in your throat like a bird flapping it’s wings against it’s cage. 

“Just… What it would be like.” You shrug, shyness wrapping around your body like spectral hands. The wine you’d indulge in at dinner encouraging heat the spread lazily beneath your skin.

“What do you think it would be like?”

You could hold his gaze forever, you think. Maybe forever does exist that way: two people who live in one anothers faces, and you think again of those childhood crystals with their dazzling displays of endless light frozen inside. 

“Hm, something like this, I think.” 

“No specifics?” He teases you, extending the hand that holds yours to make room for you to lightly spin, laughing a little bit louder now. 

“You’d hate them,” You say through more glittering peels of laughter.

“Mm, try me.”

“I’m picturing something like a courthouse, nothing as imposing as a cathedral or a big church.”

“How romantic,” He gives you a faux roll of his eyes, still smiling. 

“Do you want a cathedral, a church?” You ask, genuinely curious now. 

“It doesn’t really matter to me, I guess all that would matter is that you’re there.”

“Now who’s the sappy romantic?” It’s your turn to tease him and he takes it in stride, drawing you in and placing a wet, exaggerated kiss on your cheek that makes you dissolve into yet more unbridled giggles. 

“And what else?” He encourages, the hand on your hip traveling to rest comfortably, solidly against your lower back. 

You pretend to eye him critically before continuing. “I could wear some gaudy dress shaped like a puff pastery.”

That makes him laugh, a full body, bone deep laugh, the kind that makes satisfaction ooze through your own form, warm and sticky as maple syrup and you can’t help but resume your own silvery laughter. The sounds of your mingled gasps for air against the rush of joy mixes with the song, a unique sound that is wholly, unequivocally yours. 

“You’d be the most beautiful puff pastry.”

And despite the absurdity of that sentence you can’t help the swell of adoration in your chest, can’t help but press kiss after kiss against his lips until you’ve both stopped moving, his eyes roaming your face in soft attentiveness as your fingertips brush against his jaw and the sound of music is drowned out by your mingled breaths. 

He brings your hand to his lips, leaving a trail of kisses so chaste, so sweet they make your teeth ache as he makes his way from your knuckles to your inner wrist. His breath fanning across your skin grips you in a sudden lightheadedness and your heart pounds so hard you think there’s no way he can’t also hear its reckless rhythm. 

“If I asked you right now, would you say yes?” 

And all is quiet. Gone is the overpowering sound of your heart, the soft twinkle of music, the sound of breath leaving body. The question hangs frozen, suspended in the air between you two like a single perfect, encapsulated snowflake. 

“I would always say yes to you,’’ Your voice breaks, just the tiniest fraction of a crack and he huffs out another low breath of laughter, pressing your wrist to his lips with more firmness, more intensity present than before. Slowly he lowers your arm, holding your hand once more and resting his forehead against yours, searching for something in your wide eyed gaze. 

The quiet that descends on you doesn’t do so as a threat, not with speed nor discomforting awkwardness. It’s the quiet of two lovers, content to rest in the moment with one another before moving to the next. 

“There’s no rush,” You whisper, your voice a tender, furtive thing not unlike a newly hatched little bird hesitantly peeking into the sunlight for the first time. 

And your words bleed out around the tiny little living room, like dye dropped into water, spreading and curling into even the farthest corners of your apartment as your eyes close and you tuck your neck against his chest, neither of you moving and it’s wholly possible that you could stay that way for an eternity, ivy growing thick and wild as it winds around your legs, drips down your fingertips, takes the place of your hair. 

Maybe eternity only exists in the fleetest, most foolish of moments. 

“You’re right. And it would be disappointing, getting proposed to with no ring.”

“You could give me one of those candy ones,” you say without moving from his chest and you feel more than hear the light chuckle it earns you.

“We’ve gotta work on your taste.”

“Are you saying I have bad taste?”

“I mean, look at your choice of man.”

At that you laugh again and the motion of your bodies resumes along with the music, in the lamplight glow of evening now, that perfect glimpse of eternity resting in the cradle of your memory.