dsmp-lainey · 2 months ago
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being a super “basic” looking dsmp fan is so funny to me cause i had a person at my college see my numerous c!tommy charms and pins on my backpack and get so excited that we both started chatting about lore and now we’re friends…. but they confessed to me that when they had seen me before they thought i was a “popular mean girl” 😭 like girl no i have dsmp autism PLEASE-
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residentsofhollowville · 6 months ago
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*knock knock* hello?
Hello! How are you, and who are you, and why are you here?
That was three questions in one. I'm trying to break a record.
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i-spilled-my-soup · 2 years ago
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nico time travel au... what if he tries to get bianca and hazel to meet each other... what if he goes even further back and ends up meeting his mom for the first time... what if he meets his before lethe self and recognizes that this is a little guy he has never met before, a guy who shares his dna and his name but knows none of the same things, has lived none of the same things
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risingshards · 11 months ago
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I read some trans posts and such lately that's got me off my game and feeling kinda bummed and distant/anxious, it was stuff about loneliness and the fracturing of the community, stuff about infighting that brought me back to my trans reddit days and why I noped out of those communities, so I'm gonna try and post lotsa trans fluff and positive things to feel better so if you have any please send em my way :>
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homingpigecns · 1 year ago
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horrible personality trait i have is that moms LOVE me bc i ACT LIKE A CHILD
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eulchu · 1 year ago
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I never read heatwaves, what was George like in it?
a bastard .
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groupwest · 2 years ago
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i audibly sniffle when i’m upset (a mannerism learned from emotional neglect as a child) and still to this day the only person who ever rly noticed the extent of that action was my first boyfriend (he is so autistic) it took him no time to realise that every time i made that specific noise i was upset and wanted someone to notice that.. even when i’d do it subconsciously he would ask me if i was alright. no member of my family no lovers after him have ever caught on to it at all. anyway i think everyone should be way more autistic.
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aloofaltruist · 3 months ago
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.
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luin-no-koibito · 4 months ago
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GRRRRRRRRRRRER
ANTIS TRYING TO CLAIM ATHENA WOULD HATE ME FOR WHO I AM
I WANT TO STRANGLE THEM /nsrs
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gale-dekarios · 6 months ago
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can you imagine how wild the whole of gale and tav's romance is from gale's perspective?
you keep secrets. shameful, terrible secrets. youre dying. every step is just a little bit harder than the last. youre a disgrace. if people didnt look at you with disdain, they were looking at you with pity. and youve got nobody to blame but yourself.
every moment, youre expecting the other shoe to drop, for tav to finally say enough -- you wouldn't hold it against them, youre more trouble than youre worth -- but then...?
it doesnt matter what it is. magical item consumption with no reason given. an awkward exit from an imagined kiss shared in the cradle of your ex's palm. revealing you could kill yourself, them, and everybody in a city-wide radius. defending you against one of your most powerful colleagues because he came baring mystra's will. dissauding you at every turn, to stay alive, to ignore a goddess's orders, because they think youre worth the space you take up. loving you ardently, hastily, easily, as though you have anything to offer them back. staying with you as you oscillate between self-destruction and ascension. never once stepping away from your side, even as the stabilised orb burns in your chest, begging to be used, and the crown, almost within reach, taunts you with your wildest dreams.
and that's just it, isnt it? you have the chance to give tav everything they could ever want at last, after so long of being a burden, and they tell you no. they tell you no. i want you.
you, the burden? you, the disgrace?
yes, you.
gale falling in love with tav wasn't like how the great novels describe. there wasnt any one moment that led to a grand realisation. there were no great leaps of faith toward each other.
falling in love with tav was like a warm candlelight and an even warmer hand in an endless void of black.
falling in love with tav was a gentle tug, a smile, and a 'this way.'
how could he not follow?
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foldingfittedsheets · 9 months ago
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At this point in our relationship my betrothed is well versed in my compulsive need to help animals. It wasn’t part of their upbringing but it was a huge part of mine. So now whether it’s lost dogs or injured birds they know that for me it’s not a matter of convenience, it’s just the only possible option.
My most notable rescue took place during one of the least opportune times. We were watching a friends boxer puppy, Bella. The dog was dumber than a box of rocks and I took deep offense that at six months old she still didn’t know her own name. My betrothed and I were working with her on that as well as leash manners, so we walked her frequently.
On our way home from a walk I looked across the street and saw a cat. My betrothed didn’t need to ask, it was simply a given that faced with a cat I’d go say hello, so they waited with Bella as I crossed the road.
As I approached the cat several things caught my attention. The first was that he wasn’t wearing a collar. The second was that his coat was greasy and disheveled- this was not a cat that was thriving if he didn’t have energy to groom. The third thing was that he was way too skinny, with bones jutting out from his shabby coat.
The fourth thing I noticed was that this cat was a purebred Bengal.
Now, I understand that it’s suspect to identify cats as bengals. Many people see tabbies and call them bengals. But as a teenager I became obsessed with these cats and went on a hyper obsessive deep dive. I spent hours reading about them, looking at pictures, and dreaming about Bengal cats.
The cat in front of me had unmistakable rosettes, the narrow frame, piercing eyes, and from a very rough estimation probably cost thousands of dollars. There was no world in which he should be wandering my neighborhood with no collar and his ribs jutting out.
Which all led me to one conclusion. He was lost.
The second I realized that it was over. It wasn’t a matter of thinking the situation through it was a simple conclusion: he was lost so I would help him by any means necessary.
This sweet cat showed he was friendly and trotted right over to greet me. I pet him and tentatively went for a lift. He did not care for that. Suddenly we were tussling, and it was instantly clear to me that he was going to stay lost if I couldn’t restrain him, so we pitted all our wiles against each other and at one point I had him agonizingly by just a toe but I refused to let go and finally I had him in my arms, one hand scruffing him and the other supporting his weight.
That’s when I noticed a couple things. There was blood dripping down my elbow. Across the street Bella was going crazy barking and pulling toward me and the cat. And my betrothed was giving me an agonized look.
Without a word they started power walking Bella back to our house. I followed at a slower pace, keeping my grip on this poor lost cat.
It was a warm summer afternoon and several neighbors were out chatting. They saw the circus parade of my betrothed dragging a yelping puppy and me following holding a screaming cat.
Oh yeah. So I forgot to mention. Bengals are not normal cats. They’re bred back with a wild cat and their vocalizations are on a completely different level. The cat in my arms wasn’t meowing or yowling. Instead he was making one long continuous eldritch wailing, oscillating in rage and distress.
My neighbors saw this, me, stonefaced carrying a cat who was casting evil spells with his voice, blood dripping down my arm, while a puppy frantically fought my betrothed to reach us, and they laughed.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more offended that no one offered any assistance, but it was fine. I knew I could count on my betrothed. I slowed my steps slightly again when I saw my betrothed round our corner. I knew they would kennel the puppy and bring a cat crate for me.
Sure enough, I rounded the corner and they had our door open, crate at the ready. I popped the Bengal into the carrier and we shut him into the bathroom.
Then I looked at my shaking, bloody hand. He’s scraped his back claws up me and it wasn’t deep but I was bleeding heavily. Then I looked at my betrothed and started to cry.
They held me while I had a panic attack and helped me thoroughly peroxide my cuts.
“That was so brave, weren’t you scared to grab him?” they asked me.
Truly, no. I think to be brave or scared you need to actually conceptualize what you’re doing and I hadn’t. I saw a cat that needed help, and then there wasn’t options, I just acted.
They asked what my plan was and I didn’t have one. Where would we put him, in a home with three other cats and a puppy? I don’t know. I just grabbed him.
We ended up calling a friend who’s special interest is dog rescue. She brought her chip reader and a huge dog crate we could keep him in overnight with a disposable little box, food, and water.
He’d been summoning demons behind the bathroom door the whole time, making sounds previously confined to various netherworlds but she bravely uncaged him to read if he had a chip. No, to my surprise. It also turned out he was a love machine despite the ghastly sounds.
We loved on him and gave him small portions of food every fifteen minutes so he didn’t eat himself sick.
The next day we brought him to the local pet rescue, after I called ahead to warn them I was bringing in a Bengal. The lady had a very blasé attitude about this claim, clearly used to people claiming every lost tabby was a rare cat breed.
When she pulled him out of the crate she exclaimed, “Oh my god, it is a Bengal!”
“That’s what I promised. One whole ass Bengal.”
We said our goodbyes to the sweet man, and the posted him on the website as a found pet. He was picked up by his family two days later. I’ll never know how he escaped but I’m certain his family was so grateful to have him returned.
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heart-eyed-bitch · 2 years ago
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may or may not have had a dream recently where i was kneeling in front of him wearing nothing but some cute panties, while he was teasing me and i begged him to please torture me <3
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forlix · 10 months ago
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‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.
— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.
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words・6.4k
pairing・han jisung x female reader
genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn
warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut
playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han
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a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡
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smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare
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Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.
It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.
So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.
Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?
Why can’t I follow?
Then he wakes up.
No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.
Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.
Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.
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You see him.
Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways. 
Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.
He hopes you like horror movies.
Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.
Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.
“Lix, hey!”
“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”
“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”
“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”
This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.
“Eventful night, huh?”
He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.
“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”
“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”
Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.
A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.
“I’d like that.”
He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.
Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.
Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”
“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.
You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.
It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.
You turn towards it. 
In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”
A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.
“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”
Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.
You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.
“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.
The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.
Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.
He wants to remember everything about you.
It’s not often he wants to remember anything.
Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.
He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.
“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”
You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.
Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”
Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.
You do the stupid thing for him.
You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him. 
The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”
“Gimme your lemonade.”
The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige. 
You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.
The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.
“Open,” you murmur.
His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.
You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.
He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.
He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.
The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.
“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.
“You’re a monster,” he croaks.
You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.
“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”
One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.
“...and you still remember my address…”
A suckle to the lobe of his ear.
“...you can kiss me, for real.”
A trembling breath.
“And then some.”
Jisung moans, loudly.
Thankfully, he remembers a few things.
He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.
Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.
The back in his dreams keeps walking.
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Jisung has never liked winter.
He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.
He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter. 
And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.
This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.
When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.
His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.
Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.
“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”
“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”
“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”
Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”
“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.
“My bad,” he sighs.
“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.
“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”
The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.
“We’re waiting on one more person.”
He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.
“Who?”
Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.
“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”
Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.
In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.
This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.
But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.
“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”
You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”
“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”
“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”
Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”
Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.
“Hi,” he offers.
“Hey,” you reply.
Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”
Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.
It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.
He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.
Jisung: do you have plans after this?
Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.
He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.
Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.
Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…
He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.
Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛
With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.
He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.
Or both.
He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.
Jisung: me too <3
When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.
As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.
He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.
“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.
“What did you realize?”
“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”
Jisung has broken hearts before.
There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.
He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds. 
There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.
Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.
“Sure,” he answers.
He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.
Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.
“I like when we don’t talk, though.”
It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.
Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.
The glass fogs up anyways.
“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”
You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.
Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”
The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.
“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”
Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.
It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.
His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.
“W-why’d—where’d you go?”
He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.
“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—” 
He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.
“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”
You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.
You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.
“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.
“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”
“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”
“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”
“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”
“R-really?”
“Really.”
“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”
He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.
“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”
“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.
And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.
He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.
Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.
He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.
Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.
“You squirted,” he says.
“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.
He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.
Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.
He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.” 
There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.
His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.
Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.
After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.
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Snow comes a few weeks into the new year. 
This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen. 
The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”
He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.
Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia. 
When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.
You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.
He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”
The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.
“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.
The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.
Only then do you notice the blizzard.
You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.
Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.
“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.
“When did that happen?”
“I have no idea.”
You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.
“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.
He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.
Your ribcage fucking throbs.
“You don’t seem excited,” you say.
He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.
“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.
“You don’t like snow?”
“Not really.”
“Why?”
He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.
“It’s a long story.”
Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt. 
You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.
“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”
“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.
A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.
“You’re not driving right now.”
He breaks eye contact.
“Right?”
That was the plan, you read in his expression.
You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.
You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.
And you won’t.
“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”
“Stay.”
You’re not asking.
Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.
Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.
“You can stay, Jisung.”
He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.
It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.
In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.
The inevitable question follows.
“Can I save the story for another time?”
“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”
“We should.”
Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.
You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.
In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.
You wake to a black hole.
For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.
Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.
Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.
The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.
The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.
Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.
You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds. 
But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds. 
At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.
You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.
Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.
And you recognize him for the first time ever.
You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.
“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.
Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.
He’s been having this nightmare.
It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.
Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.
Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds. 
Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.
This time, though, the snow tastes like something.
After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.
His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.
He wakes up.
“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”
You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.
“That’s—”
My shampoo.
A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.
“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”
“I don’t want you to be.”
“I don’t want you to cry for me.”
“You died.”
“And I would do it again.”
This response comes without an shred of hesitation.
You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.
Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through? 
Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.
He saves you the trouble.
“Honestly?”
Your confession stills. 
“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.
“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”
You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.
“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”
You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.
“Don’t go,” he exhales.
You kiss him.
It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.
The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.
Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.
“I love you too,” you breathe.
The night comes and goes.
The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.
Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.
You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.” 
Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”
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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!
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goldsbitch · 7 months ago
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can I request a Lando x reader where the reader’s weakness is when people stroke her hair? Her mind goes completely blank and she falls silent immediately when people stroke her hair and Lando uses it at his advantage.
Fluffy pls and ty🫶🏻
omg, i love this prompt so much - thank you and hope you like it!!
This is one is dripping with sweetness a little too much, don't say I did not warn you. No other warning.
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Lando was born a tease, oscillating between clueless and shy, to unapologetic and bordeline dickish. It all depended on the setting, his relationship to the person and how much sleep he got the night before. Sometimes your boyfriend was the sweetest little thing, giggling shyly about everything instead of coming up with an actual response, and the other times he was a walking menace actively seeking every opportunity how to get you into a flustered state.
You and Lando were full on deep in the beginning of your relationship, the sweetest part of the honeymoon phase. To put it bluntly - fucking almost non stop. And the desire was never-ending. Blinding sunshine kissed good morning to every day you two got to wake up next to each other. Problems seem to be non existent. Bliss.
It was the way his hair curled when he got a little bit sweaty, his toned body what you were desperate to explore from every angle and the need to know every little secret trick that worked on him. It became some sort of a game, who would get better at knowing the other. Which one of you found all the buttons to push.
Lando rose up that morning and chose violence. Metaphorical one, of course. Snuggling up to you in order to wake you up as well for some morning work out, as he like to call it. Whispering sweet nothings to your ear and touching you all over your body. But you were just incredibly sore from the past few days, physically unable to keep up.
"Why don't you love me anymore," he pleaded jokingly as you murmured another weak appeal for your sleep.
"Lando, you know I love you more than anything," you replied, still half asleep. But it was hard to distinguish as reality resembled a sweet dream everyday lately.
"I remember when you used to want me, physically," he kept going.
"We literally had sex few hours ago, stop whining," you kissed him between your words. He looked at you with his incredible eyes, little devil dancing in each one of them.
"Exactly, too long ago. Wish I could go back in time when you were not sore and get inside you all over again."
You simply laughed, absolutely smitten with this lovey dovey side of him. His words made you melt like butter sitting under direct sun. You brushed your noses together and then he kissed you.
The best part of romantic relationships is the one that you cannot absolutely share with other people, the almost embarrassing pleas, desire and gross goofiness, simping at each other all the time.
"Fine, if you play by these rules, I'll come back with my own revenge," he said finally as you inevitably had to start getting ready to go to the paddock with him.
Today was the big day. You'd been spotted in public countless of times, the "girlfriend" title officially sitting on your head for weeks now. But this was the first time you were to join him in the paddock as a wag. You were trying to hide your nervousness, but he saw right through you. Before you exited the apartment, he made you stop and took your face in his hands. "I'm happy I get to do this with you. I love parading you around, for everyone to see that we're a team." You smiled, his words hitting like first snowflakes of the year. "Poor Oscar, I can't wait to finally trauma dump the shared misery you bring to our lives," you jokes and locked lips with him once again. "God, it's terrifying how much I like you," you said automatically, without having to think about it.
//
It actually wasn't as bad as you'd expected. It was definitely weird and strange, but not necessarily bad. Having Lando by your side as you passed the gates definitely helped. The photographers were lined up as people at a shooting range would and it did feel like that at first. But as quickly as you were initially overwhelmed, fatigue took over you and you blocked their ever-presence out. Trying to chat up those Lando introduce you to and memorizing the names. You knew how much some of these people meant to Lando, so you were trying to be at your best behavior. The thought that his friends would hate you in the same way as some of his fans haunted you.
In the middle of all the rush, you parted for a moment. To be honest, little peace of quiet and chill was something you appreciated. But remember, Lando woke up and chose violence this morning. And his plan was quite simple, yet bulletproof.
"Y/N! There you are, my love," you heard from coming from behind you. "I have someone to introduce to you! I'm very much sure you'll appreciate meeting him." As you turned, you saw Daniel Ricciardo walking your way with your Lando. You were a little perplexed as to why Lando was so cheerful about that. You clearly remembered him getting very upset when you admitted to him that at some point in the past, when formula 1 was a world far away from you, that you had a minor crush on Daniel. Which obviously went out of the window once you met Lando. That did not mean that Lando was 100% ok with it.
"Y/N, as I'm sure you know, this is Daniel, hell of a driver and good friend of mine," Lando continued and you knew him well enough to know he had ulterior motives. Not sure what to do, you smiles shyly and shook Daniel's hand.
"Hi, Daniel," you said, eyes flinching between him and Lando. You were full on preparing for anything. Lando's smirk almost had a life of his own at that point.
"Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I've heard quite a lot things about you!" Daniel opened, life of the party as per usual.
You chuckled. "All good things, I hope!" And with that, Lando stepped behind you and put his arm around you.
"Only the best," he said, leaned closed and inconspicuously started to stroke you hair gently. Oh, he did not just go this low.
It was slow, yet like tidal wave. You stopped breathing for a moment. Your body relaxing, as if you'd just taken the world's best sedatives. The way his hands made you feel was etherial. It was the same sensation the luckier ones experienced when listening to ASMR and the less fortunate ones sometimes called an orgasm. Shivers slowly traveling around your whole body, every part becoming sensitive out of nowhere. You weren't able to look at Daniel, let alone continue speaking. Lando was more than aware of what touching your hair did to you. He'd discovered this trick quite early on. And it was his favorite one.
"So, where are you from?" Daniel attempted at small talk. But how could you possibly give a fuck at that moment. Not that your body would even allowed you to respond. The only thing you were able to take in from the outside world were the soft slow movements Lando's fingers were doing, blocking everything out instanteniously.
Daniel stared at you, waiting. From his perspective, this was a very awkward meeting.
Lando answered for you, with a smirk you did not see, but could feel from the tone of his voice. "You have to excuse her, she is bit shy in front of new people."
You could not give less of a fuck at that moment of what these two were saying. Your lips were starting to shiver from getting so sensitive. You took a short breath and someone who would be standing close and knew you well would know, that what escaped your mouth was not a nervous laugh, but something very close to a moan.
Lando and Daniel were saying words, but none of that was important, while Lando's fingers were working his magic. He would only leave your hair alone once he saw Daniel leaving.
You wanted to be mad at him. But you were still sort of high from all the sensation bomb Lando dropped on you. You slowly turned around to face him, coming down from your own personal nirvana.
You took a deep breath while he watched you without a blink and biting hims smile away.
"You promised," you let out air that got stuck in your lungs somewhere along the way. "You promised you would not do this in public." Your brain was slowly wiring up to normal again.
"I told you I'd punish you for the morning," he said as if it was the most amusing thing ever. "Also, if Daniel is my competition, I'm going to use all the advantage I have."
Lando had a way of looking at you that made you unravel instantaneously and there was no way of stopping it. There was just something about his smile that did it for you. As anyone who is properly in love, you could not imagine somebody being able tor resist that. In your love soaked mind, he was irresistible. To a normal mind, he was probably just a regular guy, but that idea was unfathomable to you.
"I'm pretty sure that after what I just pulled, you will not have to worry about Daniel liking me," you chuckled, having to accept that Lando won this one.
"I would never let my guard down...But yeah, I think this one is pretty safe," he chuckled once more. You kissed his overly proud face and promised to yourself to get back at him later, in the privacy of his bedroom.
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fanaticsnail · 5 months ago
Text
Dreaming of You
Masterlist Here
Word Count: 700+, 900+, 860+, 1,400+
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Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Doflamingo, Caesar, Rosinante "Corazon".
Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader, swearing, masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, yandere, obsession, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, same reader!insert different outcome, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.
Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I am having a lot of fun with this series, not going to lie. You can sense my favoritism with my word count. First time writing for Caesar Clown. Art link.
Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training
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Legs caging his head beneath you, you drew up your forearm to shield your eyes as the other reached down and braced your trembling hands against his chest. Grinding on his face, his smile grows wider the louder your cries of bliss fall from your lips. 
“I'm gonna-... Mmmgh-... I'm gonna cum again,” you sob, desperately writhing on top of his face in shame. He hooked his large arm over your thigh and braced your lower back over his mouth and held you firmly as he more desperately licked through your body. 
Huffing and panting, he continues driving his tongue between your wet folds and mouthing at your clit. Feeling your whole body tremble above him, he drew his unoccupied hand down to tug at his cock, giving you a show from your position looking down at him. 
His eyes grew black with lust as he watched the involuntary quake of your ass over his face, your voice mewling his name for the fourth time as he chased another desperate spasm of your walls clenching down and contracting in his mouth. 
“Plap, plap, plap.” His tongue greedily bullied your needy cunt, coating his lips, nose and chin in a slicked elixir of your nectar over his face as you desperately sobbed for him. Relentlessly chasing that high of watching you use his body to achieve ecstasy above him, he growled into your body, the vibrations within his mouth causing you to shriek. 
Latching onto your clit, he rolled his flattened tongue over the sensitive bud before mouthing at it in open and desperate kisses. Lapping at your juices, he felt his cock twitch in his hand from pistoning his shaft, squeezing his nob and thumbing over the pearlescent drop of his precum. 
“Can I cum? Can I cum?” you whined for him, gripping his chest and tensing your body above him to halt your eruption from over-encumbering your body in heated bliss, “Please? I'll be good. I'll be so good if you let me cum again?” He growled again into your body, moving both of his hands under your thighs and pinned you to his face by interlacing his fingers. 
As he felt your high approaching, he frantically nodded to give you permission to use his face to usher in the lightning sparks of pleasure over your body. You cried his name, dousing his face in a gush of sickened ecstasy as he hummed up into you. 
“I-I’m cumming,” you mewled, eyes rolling back and grinding down on his face. “I’m c-cumming.” You hummed your praises down at him as you stuttered over his name and sobbed your gratitude. 
Eyes rolling back into his head, he shot rope after rope of cum spattering up onto his torso as you squealed in joy at the display. 
“O-Oh, so much,” you whined down at him, body hands now pressed onto his chest as he slowed down his momentum rolling his tongue over you. “You came so much!” You exclaimed with a soft giggle. He hummed beneath you, softly kissing in open mouthed presses, romancing your pussy with his passionate oscillations. 
He whined against your lips, groaning into you as the aftershocks rush over him in wave after wave of chaotic lightning. Holding you firmly to him, he continued rolling his tongue between your folds like it was the only thing tethering himself to the earth. 
He savored the feeling of your body trapping him with your heat, the way you tasted cumming on his face and drowning him in your ecstasy, as he bucked up with each twitch of his cock spurting his untouched ropes over his stomach and chest.
“Mmm,” he hums into you, flicking his tongue over both his and your lips as he comes down from his high, immediately shocked to see nothing above him in his bed when he opens his eyes. He springs up in his bed, looking around the room for you but finding nothing in his room aside from his personal effects. 
Eyes wide and frantic, he scrambles in his bed and grabs at the bedsheets. Elevating his duvet and glancing down at his bare body, and grimacing at the sticky cum attaching his bedsheets to his quivering cock. 
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Doflamingo
“Untouched?” He glared in betrayal at his twitching cock dancing proudly as it deflated, “Untouched?!” He circled his fist over his shaft and choked it within a firm grasp. Beginning to piston his oversensitive cock, he growled at himself. 
“You-...” he pictured the way your pretty little whimpers called his name, beckoning him closer to bliss with each pump of his cock, “...-You little tease.” 
His motions both picked up over his cock, his fist punching his pelvis and balls sucked into his abdomen, as he desperately chased his own release while frantically repicturing consuming yours. He pictured you whimpering above him, your legs shaking like a butterfly loosening the dew from its wings in the morning. 
His eyes rolled black as he continued pumping his shaft, picturing you above him as he did in his dreams before looking to his Den-Den mushi beside him. The sleeping snail snored gently beside his clock, prompting him to grimace at the time depicted beside it. 
“If I'm up and thinking of you,” he growled, reaching his unoccupied hand up to the shell and dialing your personal transponder code, “I'm gonna make you think of me.” As the chatter from the snail awoke, your sleepy tone called over to him from the mouth of the snail. 
“G-... Good morning, sir?” you mumbled to him, the subtle shift of your bed linens rustling caused Doflamingo to roll his hips to the sound, “Why are you calling me at…” you paused to yawn, Doflamingo picturing that cute little squeak you make as you reach the perfect stretch to rid yourself of sleep, “...Three in the morning?”
“Thinking of you,” Doflamingo purred sultrily into the snail's mouthpiece, “Dreaming of you.” You groaned at him, the rustling of the transponder informed him you were moving in your bed. 
“Okay, lord Doflamingo,” you murmured lazily into the mouthpiece, “Got a mission for me? Is that it? Dreaming of me fulfilling some brutal task for you well into the night?” He pictured you sitting up and waiting for him to give you orders, mouth watering as he pictured how eager you'd be to make his vision come alive. 
As the silence hung in the air between you, you offered him one final prompt to offer you a semblance of explanation. 
“Please, sir. Tell me how I can make your dreams come true?” you asked him boredly and sarcastically, “I’ve only just got back from the last mission, carried it out successfully if you were wondering.” He grinned and rolled onto his side and glared into the mouth of the snail.
“You're always so fucking good to me,” Doflamingo praised you, flicking his tongue across his lips, “You'd follow my orders until the day you die, won't you? My dark angel. My deadly assassin. My little muse.”
After a moment of silence, you offer him a disgruntled growl and he pictured you glaring at him through the snail, “What do you need me to do, sir? Can it wait?” He laughed his deep rumble into the mouthpiece before rolling onto his back. 
“You know what you can do, pretty thing?” he purred with a deep rumble into the speaker, “You can listen to me touch myself while I think about you sitting on my face.” His nonchalant attitude had silence falling from your end, prompting him to reconfirm his directions. 
“You hear me, pet?” he snickered at the snail, grasping and tugging at his cock while a sickening smirk split his face in a sinister grin, “Answer me when I give you orders.” A low growl emitted from the other end of the receiver. 
“I am not a concubine, sir,” you snarled your disdain for him into the receiver, prompting him to piston his cock harder in his fist, “Don't treat me like some whore in the night-.”
“-If you were a whore, I'd simply summon you here and ravage your tight little cunt with my cock until I hear you scream my name,” Doflamingo growled into the Den-Den, “Call what I'm asking you to do ‘a kindness’.” He sweetened his tone, purring and cooing at you as if his request was the simplest orders you could ever receive, “All I want you to do is listen to me fuck my fist while I picture you rolling your hips over my mouth.”
After a momentary silence and a sharp exhale of agitation, you growled back at him. 
“If I was rolling my hips over your mouth, you'd be silent and do as you're told,” your blunt response had Doflamingo involuntarily buck into his hand, gasping like a stallion at their first taste of a broodmare. 
“Oh, would I now?” he whispered in a husky tone, thumbing over his nob and groaning at the feeling, “What would I be told to do, mi amorcito? Tell me.” There was another pause of silence between you, Doflamingo waiting patiently to hear how you’d respond to his little taunt. 
“You really want to do this, Doflamingo?” Your harsh chastising broke him away from his harsh momentum of thrusting into his hand and had him stare at the receiver. He hissed out a soft “Yes,” in response, prompting your smirking laugh to rise from the mouthpiece. 
“Then invite me to your suite,” you suggested nonchalantly, “I'd be happy to bully you in person,” you paused, whispering into the receiver with a soft purr, “If you can take it.”
“Oh, I can take it.”
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Caesar 
“Wha-...?!” he exclaims in shock, witnessing his cock twitch in betrayal. He sits in silence, staring down at himself in horror. Running his cool digits over the display of lust spurted on his skin and rolled it between his fingers with a grimace. 
“I didn’t-...” his sentence falls short as he looked around his cold room, his lips falling into a soft pout, “...You didn’t even fuck me in my dreams?” His pout deepened, his pointed nose sniffing back a soft sob. 
Rolling out of his bed, he stood tall and winced as he felt glubs of his spend roll down his torso and drop onto the floor. He downturned his smile, sweat pooling at his temple as he walked over to his desk and found a discarded lab coat. Rolling the material over his stomach, he tidied up his mess and sniffed a soft sob back.
“Even in my dreams, you elude me. You run from me,” he looks to a folded manila folder on his desk, opening the crease and looking at your file. The firm words beside your name printed in bold, his blood running cold at the sight. 
With the face of an angel, the softest smile painted on your canceled bounty, he ran his fingers over your printed skin and creased his brows into the center of his head. 
“Doflamingo’s favorite assassin,” he murmured, discarding the lab coat and sitting naked at his desk, “His pretty little pet,” his thumb brushed over your smile on the paper before drawing his palm over the page, “Someone that will never be mine, even if I beg.” 
He whimpered as he stared down at the page, his unoccupied hand circled his cock and squeezed it in his fist. Giving it a testing tug, he sifted through his collection of den-den images of you in the manilla folder. 
Sucking his bottom lip into his teeth, he began to piston his shaft with his firm grip as he focussed on your picture. Your face held such an innocence for someone so deadly: standing beside Doflamingo at a gala, gazing up into the face of Sir Crocodile with a light smile. So pretty, so charming.
So out of his league, you wouldn’t spare him a single glance. 
He began to tug at himself harder, rolling his hips up into his hand as he stumbled upon his favorite three pictures. All so different and holding him hostage to how he could picture your face contorting in pleasure as he chased his high in his hand. 
The first was a simple image he had managed to snap as you sat across him at the table: in your simple Donquixote assigned uniform as you paid attention to every word relayed from Doflamingo. You had an air of confidence, your chin angled high and a soft purse of your lips.
“Hhah-...” he whined through his pants, feeling himself come closer to the edge as he pictured what it could be like to kiss those lips and feel your face against his. Shaking his head, he moved onto the second image in his collection.
The vengeance and wrath written on your face as it was covered in violent bloodlust, your weapon in your hand and standing victorious after landing your final blow. You looked like you would’ve ripped your enemies’ throat out with your teeth to win that fight, and he wanted to be the target of that feral gaze so desperately. 
“Nnnghh-...” he whimpered, his cock beginning to twitch, his balls sucking up into his stomach as he continued to stare down at his collection of pictures of you. His jaw fell slack, him finally finding the last picture of you: one he was sure you thought was destroyed for good. 
The picture was soft, well loved from the firm grip Caesar would hold it in regularly, peeling up at the corners and creased. Your face was flushed, your eyes wide and looking up with an almost adoring innocence, your hair pinned out of your face and dressed in an outfit intended for flamenco. 
Your skin was revealed in a lusting dip, the pink of the material dipping over your chest in a deep 'V' and cinching in the small of your waist and flaring at the hips. The amount of flesh revealed beneath the material held such contrast to the innocence of your eyes. 
“F-F-F-...” he huffed, sucking on his bottom lip and feeling himself spill over into his hand, spurting ropes of hot, sticky cum against the underside of his desk, “...Fuck.” He rocked his hips in time to the spurts, feeling his eyes begin to prick with the similar sting of tears each time he tainted your image in this way. 
Hot rolls of his glassy tears spilled from his eyes and trickled down his cheeks into his quivering lips. Sobs escaped his mouth, sniffing back the heavier cries as he placed your image back into the manila folder and shut the crease closed. He placed his head over the cardboard exterior and his shoulders began to shake with sorrow. 
“No wonder you don’t like me,” he muffled between his whimpered sobs, “I’m fucking pathetic.” 
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Rosinante “Corazon”
He sprung up from his bed and immediately stomped over to his bathroom with shock written on his face. He ran the shower, remaining unblinking and appalled at himself as he stepped beneath the pelting water. 
“Silence,” he whispered, clicking his fingers beneath the water and creating a rotund, soundproof barrier within the small cubicle and immediately balling his fist and slamming it against the damp ceramic. 
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He growled at himself, clenching his eyes shut and haunted by the image of your body using his face to grind and shake on his tongue, “C’mon, Rosinante. You’re a marine, you’re a spy, you’re a double agent, you’re the son of a celestial dragon, you’re-... you’re-...” he looked down at his cock, his shame washing away with the hot water and pooling at his feet before swirling in the drain.
“...-You’re in love?” he tilts his chin to the side as his heart hammers heavy within his chest, “In love with an assassin sworn to kill the likes of you without a second thought.” He huffs, lifting his head in the air and allowing the scorching liquid to hammer at his face. Shaking his hair, the drops cling to his golden locks and coat his forehead and eyes with the damp curls. 
He brings up his hands and cards them through his hair, staring up at the circular shower head and pouting. The drops do nothing to stifle the smoldering embers in his heart, the image behind his eyes are only of you and your smile. 
Drawing his mind back to your encounters of the past, he was touched that you had learnt to sign with your hands to speak and translate for him at meetings to save time and paper. Those signs he loved seeing you flutter at him to entertain him at social galas, the humor of your risque commentary you give him with simple gestures of your hands with a completely straight face. 
Your kindness in such a dark place had been refreshing, especially considering your title of Doflamingo’s favorite assassin led him to assume you were just as horrible as his brother was. He viewed your smile as a gift, your offer of a dance as a blessing, and the protection of your constant rapid dexterity to manage Doflamingo’s temper, and maintain your standing effortlessly, had him immediately targeting you for unintentional aid in his private cause. 
“Fuck,” he whispered, hanging his head and shifting the water to pummel at his neck and shoulderblades, “Shit,” he shook his head and thumped at the shower wall once more. His hand slipped on the condensation, sliding to the side and propelling his forehead to beat against the tiles with a slick ‘thud,’ prompting him to hiss out a curt: “Ouch!”
After showering, drying himself off, dressing and painting his signature smile over his cheeks, he began the soft trudge into town with his hat clasped firmly over his head. A embroidered card with his heart written within the contents, a bouquet of dark red el ceibo, large and soft pink roses, and several sprigs of yellow calafate, and the promise of potentially spending a night together, was propelling him to approach the training room you took.
Knocking twice on the doorframe beside the door, he witnessed you in your training garb pummeling into a hanging boxing bag with your hands bound in wraps, and your ankles strapped. Noticing the knock, you curled your head up at him and offered him a soft smile. 
“Corazon,” you halted the swinging of the bag by pressing your hands against the material, “Something the matter, sir?” He noticed your inquisition, your brows immediately furrowing in confusion the moment you looked at his hands. Gulping back his courage, he held out his gifts and darted his apprehensive, hazel eyes between yours.
“Cora…” you look to his hands and back to his face for further explanation, “What are you doing?” He triangulated his brows up, silently begging you to take the flowers and the card from his outstretched offering. You slowly reached your bound hands toward him and claimed the flowers and card from him without tearing your eyes from his. 
Placing the flowers and card on the bench where your bag was, you looked down to his hands and back up to his eyes before narrowing your pointed gaze up at him. Rosinante physically stuttered with his hands, thankful his Devil-Fruit silenced the soft whimper from fleeing into the air. You waited patiently for further information from the tall, silent Donquixote brother, folding your arms over your chest and pointing with your eyes down at his hands once more. 
Rosinante sighed, his hands moving in fluid gestures to depict his thoughts with his fingertips and palms, “I wanted to give you something nice, tell you how I feel about you, and ask if you’d allow me the opportunity to see where we go. If you’re receptive to my advances-.” Stepping towards him, you press your hands over his wrists to halt his flurry of rapid gestures.
“Why are you doing this, sir?” you hush your voice into a low whisper, darting your eyes between his and seeming to panic, “I-... We-...” you trail off, your hands gripping him painfully hard, “...Please don’t do this, Corazon.” 
His own eyes widened in panic, unsure as to why you’re gripping him so hard and seeming to reject him so harshly. Glancing down at your eyes, looking to your lip, your hard mask began to shift as he mirrored your expression. He kicked the door to the training room closed behind him, motioning the both of you out of sight of the den-den-snail in the corner of the room. He held his middle finger with his thumb: uttering a simple word, “Silence.”
Shock wrote itself on your face the moment he spoke and maneuvered you around the room with poised elegance and ease. He gulped back his nerves, uttering a simple few words: “Code: 0-1-7-4-6, Rosinante. Based at Headquarters under Fleet-Admiral Sengoku. Current rank: Marine Commander. Mission: find the ope-ope-no-mi, and stop my brother’s insanity from plaguing the masses. Four years serving under cover.” 
His lip quivered as he darted his eyes between yours, and hoped his assumption was correct. You gulped your own hesitation, clenching your jaw at his admittance before speaking your own. 
“Code: 3-0-1-3-7,” you whispered your name beneath your breath, hardening your resolve further with your brow creased firmly, “Based at sea under Vice-Admiral Garp. Current rank: Marine Captain. Mission: keep Doflamingo from gaining too much dominion over the other warlords, and maintain the status quo as his most trusted assassin. Seven years serving under cover.” 
Rosinante huffed out a sigh of relief, his shoulders physically dropping as if a weight had been lifted from its perch against him. Your lips twitched up in a soft smile, looking between his eyes and releasing his wrists from your grip. 
“You can talk,” you nod at him, huffing out a small agitated laugh, “This whole time, you’ve been making me talk for you by translating ‘sign’ for the others here, and you could talk the whole damn time.” 
“I didn’t make you do any of those things,” he reached up, tucking your hair behind your ear and leaning down towards you with a soft expression, “And I like hearing you talk for me. My words sound prettier spilling from your lips.” You laugh at him, shaking your head and reaching up your hands to his fingers once more. 
“What made you break?” you asked him, darting your eyes around his painted lips and his pointed blue markings beneath his left eye. He gave you a crooked smile, caressing your cheek gently before parroting back your sentiment with, “What made you?”
“I just-...” you huffed out an exasperated breath and straightened your shoulders, “...I couldn’t lie to you, Corazon. You always felt different, somehow. Special, even,” you laughed in a soft pant, “What gave me up?” He smiled, pressing his golden hair against your forehead and closing the distance. 
“You had that look in your eye,” he crooned down in his deep baritone, shooting tingles up your spine, “The one that I just knew you were like me,” he mirrored your laugh, wrapping his arms around your neck, “And I couldn’t lie to you, either.” 
You nod to him, looking at the flowers and card, and back up at him with a curious look on your face, “What made you do this now?” A warm blush grew over his face, prompting him to suck his lips into his teeth and snicker.
“In the spirit of remaining truthful with you,” he rubbed his nose gently with yours, “I have a confession to make about last night…”
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beegomess · 1 month ago
Text
Your Honeymoon || Slytherin Boys
Summary: A kind of Headcanon continuation of what your wedding would be like. Warnings: fluffy and slightly spicy.
Open orders!
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Blaise Zabini Southern Italy
The honeymoon with Blaise looked like it was out of a movie, wrapped in a stunning setting in southern Italy. The isolated village, hidden between green hills and vineyards, exuded a timeless elegance, where the old and the modern met. The sky was starting to turn orange and gold when you arrived, and Blaise, with that enigmatic smile he always carried, took your hand and guided you to the interior of the village.
The days were calm, but loaded with a palpable tension. Blaise, with his aristocratic manners, was always impeccable and controlled, but there was a spark in the air, a growing desire that he let shine through in the deep looks he threw at you. On one of the afternoons, after a walk through the vineyards, the sun was already setting, he pulled her against him, involving her with a controlled force. His touch, initially soft, became firmer, and soon his lips were on his neck, causing goosebumps that ran through his entire body.
That night, the village seemed too small to contain the intensity of what you felt. Dinner was forgotten when Blaise lifted her from the chair and took her to the master bedroom, her fluid and precise movements as always. "You drive me crazy, you know?" He murmured, his voice deep and low, while his fingers ran over his skin with a touch that oscillated between the gentle and the possessive. The night unfolded with a silent intensity, where every touch, every kiss, carried the passion that had been growing since the moment you arrived
The following days became a dance of emotions. Every dawn, you explored the charms of the village, from the ancient stone alleys to the small trattorias that exhaled the aroma of the best of Italian cuisine. Conversations flowed naturally, between laughter and complicit glances, while the nights turned into moments of pure surrender. In each gentle breeze that blew from the sea, you felt that you were falling even more in love with Blaise, as if the two were in tune to a melody that only you could hear.
However, there was also a mystery involving Blaise that you couldn't ignore. Sometimes, he lost himself in deep thoughts, as if he were fighting against something inner. You wanted to understand, you wanted to unravel what was hidden behind that undisturbed facade. And while the passion involved them, a question began to form in his mind: what was the true self behind that enigmatic smile?
Thus, as the last day of honeymoon approached, the intensity of passion and uncertainty intertwined, creating a vibrant picture of emotions. At the end of that magical experience, you realized that it was not just a fleeting moment, but the beginning of a deep and transformative journey. And when you looked into Blaise's eyes, you felt that you were about to discover not only love, but also the secrets that would shape the future of you two. This honeymoon was not just an isolated chapter in their lives, but the promise of an even richer and more intriguing plot to come.
Draco Malfoy Venice, Italy
His honeymoon with Draco was a dream of elegance and luxury, perfectly set in the romantic city of Venice, Italy. The palace he had reserved was on the banks of a quiet canal, its ancient walls adorned by tapestries and works of art that exuded a subtle but undeniable richness. From the moment you arrived, Venice seemed to conspire in your favor, with its narrow streets and secret canals that created a perfect environment for passion and mystery.
Draco was more relaxed than you had ever seen him, but there was still that spark of intensity in his gray eyes. At night, after a gondola ride under the stars, he pulled her to the private terrace of the palace, where the city lights reflected gently in the waters below. He held his hand, his firm and warm touch, and, with a malicious smile on his lips, approached, his eyes shining with something deeper than simple desire.
"I've been waiting for this so long," Draco whispered as his hand slid down her waist, bringing her closer. The kiss was slow and deep, full of promises. When they finally entered the luxurious room, the grandeur of the space seemed to disappear, leaving only the intimacy between you. Draco's touch was a perfect mix of control and passion, his movements calculated to ensure you felt every detail. He liked to take his time, exploring every inch of his skin with an attention that made him almost reverent, but there were times when passion took over, and he pulled it to himself with a fierce intensity, as if he wanted to record every sensation deep in his memory.
The canopy bed, adorned with rich fabrics, became the stage for an unforgettable night. Draco, with his usual precision, took her to the limit several times, prolonging the moment until both were lost in each other. Every sigh, every touch seemed to vibrate in the air of the ancient city, and Venice, with its atmosphere of romance and mystery, became the perfect setting for the intensity of the passion you shared. At the end of the night, he held her firmly against himself, the heat of their bodies contrasting with the cool breeze that came in through the open windows, whispering promises of a future equally full of desire and devotion.
And so, as the last nights in Venice unfolded, you realized that the true essence of that honeymoon was in Draco's intriguing duality. On the one hand, he was the burning lover, capable of awakening in you a deep and overwhelming desire; on the other, the mysterious man, wrapped in secrets that made every moment even more fascinating. When leaving the city of canals, the certainty that there was much more to discover about him and about the love they were building made his heart race.
Lorenzo Berkshire Provence, France
Lorenzo was always the kind of man who valued beauty in everything, and his honeymoon in Provence was no exception. Surrounded by lavender fields and the intoxicating aroma of flowers dancing in the wind, the romance between you seemed more alive than ever. Lorenzo was delicate and attentive, but you knew that behind that gentle smile there was a flame ready to be lit.
One afternoon, as the sun began to set on the fields, he pulled her to himself during a walk, her lips meeting hers with a controlled passion. His touch, initially gentle, soon turned into something more urgent, and before you knew it, he was guiding her to the interior of the village. "I need you now," he murmured against his skin, his hot breath sending goosebumps through his body.
That night, the white sheets on the bed were the stage for a dance that, even if you were used to it, always looked new. Lorenzo adored her with meticulous care, his hands exploring every inch of her body, as if he wanted to memorize every detail. And when the two finally united, it was as if the world outside disappeared, leaving only the warmth of the bodies and the rhythmic rhythm of a night that seemed endless. Lorenzo, always careful and passionate, made sure that every moment was recorded in his memory.
And so, as the honeymoon in Provence came to an end, you realized that the true beauty of that experience was not only in the stunning landscapes, but in the deep and affectionate love that Lorenzo showed at every moment. In the midst of the lavender fields and the soft light of sunset, he became not only your lover, but also your safe haven, always attentive to your needs and desires.
When you left Provence, the future was drawn before you as a field of flowers in full bloom, vibrant and full of promises. Did you know that, next to Lorenzo, every day would be a new adventure, full of love and beauty.
Mattheo Riddle Scotland, High Mountains
Mattheo has always had an indomitable spirit, and his honeymoon in the Scottish High Mountains reflected this. The isolated cabin he chose seemed simple on the outside, but inside, every detail reflected the burning desire that existed between you. From the moment you arrived, the tension between you grew with every look, with every casual touch.
On the first night, after a simple candlelight dinner, Mattheo pulled her close, his dark eyes fixed on his own. "I love you," he murmured, before kissing you with a hunger that made his whole body respond. He lifted her in his arms and took her to the room, his hands already exploring her skin with a mixture of urgency and worship. The heat of the fireplace was overshadowed by the heat that emanated from their bodies while Mattheo, always somewhat wild, gave himself completely to the moment.
The following nights continued to be a parade of electrifying moments and deep tenderness, but there was a subtlety in their conversations that intrigued her. He spoke with a sparkle in his eyes about legacies and inheritances, as if he were already daydreaming about a life together, full of laughter and discoveries. And, in each touch, you felt that Mattheo not only wanted her, but that he also wanted to build something lasting, maybe even a family.
So, at the end of that magical honeymoon, as they prepared to leave the mountains, you looked at Mattheo and saw not only the man in love next to him, but a potential father in love.
Theodore Nott Santorini, Greece
The honeymoon with Theo was an explosion of romance and desire, wrapped in the stunning scenery of the white houses and the deep blue sea. Theodore, always observant and reserved, showed how much he was enchanted by you through small gestures, subtle touches and looks that spoke more than any word.
On the first night, lying on a lounger on the balcony under the starry sky, he pulled you to himself, his fingers sliding gently down your waist while his lips met yours in a deep kiss. "I can't take my eyes off you," he murmured against your skin, the intensity of his gaze burning you inside.
When you took courage to go to bed, Theodore made sure that the night was slow and engaging, his hands exploring his body as if it were the first time. His touch was both gentle and possessive, and when he finally surrendered to the moment, the passion he had held throughout the day manifested itself in a night of pure desire.
As the honeymoon approached the end, you decided it was time to break through the uncertainty that hung between you. When looking into Theo's eyes, he felt such a deep connection that it gave him courage to ask about what worried him. The answer, although wrapped in a slight mystery, brought a feeling of intimacy, as if they were finally starting to share the secrets that shaped their lives. And even with the shadows that could still exist, there was a vibrant feeling that together they could face any challenge.
The future seemed like an unknown ground, but the happiness that radiated between you illuminated this path. It was a delicious mixture of expectation and nervousness, as if each day was a new page in a story that was just beginning. Life next to Theo could be full of adventures, challenges and moments of intense joy. And as the sun set on the horizon, you knew that every step forward, with all its uncertainties, would be worth it, because the promise of a deep and true love was the greatest mystery of all.
Tom Riddle Castle in Eastern Europe
The honeymoon with Tom was anything but conventional, exactly as you imagined. He chose an isolated castle in Eastern Europe, its ancient towers and stone walls hidden between hills covered by dense forests. The air around the castle was mysterious, almost dark, perfectly reflecting Tom's enigmatic spirit. From the moment you arrived, the environment seemed to intensify every look and every touch you exchanged.
On the first night, the castle was illuminated only by torches and candles, creating dancing shadows on the stone walls. Tom, always a strategist, watched her with those penetrating eyes, as if he was planning her every move. He approached slowly, the air between you loaded with an almost palpable tension. When he finally approached, the touch was both firm and gentle, a promise of what was to come. "You have no idea what this means to me", he murmured, his voice low sending goosebumps through his body for the sincerity and presence of emotion and feeling, something restricted to you.
The castle's master bedroom was vast and imposing, with a canopy bed surrounded by dark curtains. Tom laid her on the bed with a calculated precision, her eyes never leaving hers. He was intense, every movement his measure, but full of a contained passion that finally freed himself. His hands explored your skin with a mixture of worship and possession, and you felt the tension increase with each touch.
Tom was controlling, but there were also times when he allowed you to take command, creating a balance of power and desire that left both completely immersed in each other. In that ancient castle, surrounded by secrets from past eras, the world seemed distant, leaving only you two and the electricity of your bodies intertwined. Tom insisted that every moment was marked by the intensity of his presence, and every touch, every sigh, seemed to record on the cold stone of the castle the burning desire they shared.
As the days passed in the castle, the atmosphere full of secrets and the intensity of the love between you and Tom made everything even more vivid. As the honeymoon approached the end, a new consciousness settled: the beauty of that connection was intrinsically linked to its complexity. You had created a bond that danced on the fine line between passion and mystery, and you knew that, when you left that place, you would take with you not only memories, but also the promise of a future full of challenges.
When you looked at Tom, you felt that the love they shared was like the walls of the castle - strong, but not without its cracks. There was a feeling that what was to come could bring shadows, but paradoxically, this only made the idea of the future more exciting. The uncertainty about what awaited them was not a reason for fear, but for expectation. You knew that, together, you could face any darkness, and the happiness they found in the shadows of the castle would be the light that would guide them.
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masterlist
xoxo, bee🫶🏼✨
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