#their body is gone and their memories are gone and their heart is tangled up with someone else's

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.7K]

THE TIMELINE

"There was something 'bout you that now I can't remember, It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender. And I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning, I never know what to think about. I think about you."

- About You By The 1975

V. HAWKINS, INDIANA: 1988

Two years had passed since the last gate had closed and despite the aftermath of the “earthquakes,” Vecna had yet to make any sort of reappearance. 

Max’s bones healed, eventually, and she regained most of her sight, relying on thick lensed glasses when she grew tired or the words in her books turned blurry. Nancy went to college, Jonathan tried it for a year, Hopper took El on a month-long camping trip to see something other than the town repairing itself and Lucas went to therapy. 

Soon, each kid followed suit, attending sessions that eventually helped them sleep a little better because even though they couldn’t tell the person on the other side of the coffee table about monsters and the world under their feet, there had been enough death and suffering to fill the hour with regardless. 

Dustin told Steve he should go too and Robin agreed. After Eddie’s funeral, the one where they all stood with Wayne, a guy from the garage Eddie worked at on weekends and the remaining Hellfire members beside a small gravestone, they had another one. 

A second ceremony near the woods behind Eddie’s trailer, close to where he died, to where Dustin had found him bleeding and proud. The kids cried and Joyce held on tight to Will while Jonathan hugged Nancy and Dustin punched a tree trunk. It felt better than the first one, easier somehow, when they didn’t have to lie and hide the guilt they had at knowing each and every one of them felt a little shame in having a hand in someone’s else’s death. 

But it was closure. 

The town healed, roads were repaired, houses rebuilt, new flowers planted in the park in memory of those who had been lost in the accident - the natural disaster that made headlines, the one that no one could have predicted. 

Steve helped Dustin clean Eddie’s grave when the spray paint covered the dead boy’s name. Robin stopped crying when she looked in the mirror each morning. Jonathan left his room. 

The kids got better. They smiled more, went to the new arcade on opening day, shared slushies and rode their bikes around town again. Joyce visited Wayne when she could, took him pies and meatloaf and eventually got him out of his armchair and into a coffee shop for a full hour. Hopper got his job back, had a ceremony that preceded the funeral he had years before and Robin managed to get her and Steve a sweet gig at the record store that replaced Family Video. 

It felt fresh. New. Clean. 

So why was Steve still dreaming about gates?

For the third night in a row, he woke up gasping. A yell stuck in his throat that tasted like metal, like blood, and he was drenched. Shirtless, his sheets stuck to his chest, the weight of them tangled around his legs in a sickly familiar way, vines tugging at his ankles. His room was dark, the house empty, too quiet. Quiet enough that his breath ripped from his lungs in harsh pants, his head pounding from the exertion of running in his dream, back in a place that he hadn’t seen in almost twenty one months. 

At first, he dreamt of death. 

Of Eddie and how they found him lifeless and in Dustin’s arms. How Max was barely conscious in the attic of the Creel House, her body broken in ways that no doctor could understand. He dreamt of how he had pulled Lucas away from her, the boy sobbing and yelling, fighting with more strength than he knew he had as Steve tried to restrain him just enough for the paramedics to get Max into the ambulance. 

Then the dreams turned empty. He dreamt of losing everyone, Robin, Dustin, Hop. El was gone, Will too, Mike nowhere to be found. Nancy’s house was empty, Joyce and Jonathan didn’t exist and Steve sat alone in a town that turned grey, crumbling to dust until the vines came back and the clouds turned red. 

He ran miles every night, searching for his friends, his family. Woke up to shaking breaths and sore legs like he’d really sprinted across a town that was no longer home and each morning when the sun rose, he sat with a coffee and his bare legs dipped in the pool in his backyard. He stared at the water until the ripples blurred and wondered how long it would take for Barb to come haunt him too, if she’d reappear in his dreams despite the years that had gone by, if she’d come crawling back out of his pool like she used to, dripping wet and with no eyes. 

But Barb never came and he stopped dreaming of the kids, stopped hearing Lucas’ screams, stopped seeing Max in a hospital bed with blood coming from her eyes and eventually, one night, he dreamt of a gate that he’d never seen before. 

It didn’t even really look like a gate. 

Not the ones Steve knew. It wasn’t framed by dead vines, it didn’t pulsate, it didn’t have a red glow coming from its innards. This one didn’t look like rotting flesh, like a wound in the earth that couldn’t be healed. This one wasn’t at the bottom of a lake, lined with wet moss and cracked rocks, it wasn’t in the Munson trailer nor in the middle of the woods. 

This one opened on a blank wall in Steve’s bedroom, replacing the shelves where his old basketball trophies sat, where he usually left his pile of clothes before falling into bed. In the dream, it started as a crack, a crumbling of plaster and blue plaid wallpaper and Steve watched it open, a yawning thing that split the room and bathed it in light. It was too bright at first, like blinking into a summer sun. And once the white-hot of it cleared from Steve’s eyes, he saw blue skies and he could smell the ocean. 

There were trees he’d never seen before in real life, something out of a movie, tall and green and narrow as they swayed in a breeze he couldn’t really feel from his spot on his bedroom carpet. The buildings were a pinky-peach colour, like clay, with orange slate tiles and there were foundations and statues carved into the walls, water trickling from the mouths of gods and vases that stone faced women held in their marble arms. 

It was like looking at a painting, a canvas between his bed and his old desk, framed with olive branches and large, red fruits that protruded from the gates mouth. 

Pomegranates. 

Steve could smell them, a sweetness that mixed with the ocean air, a kind of freshness that you couldn’t find between the fields and farms that surrounded Hawkins. In the dream, he wanted to move closer but found that he couldn’t, his eyes wide and his bare feet rooted to the spot as he stared at the scene. It felt like a memory the more he looked, the buildings becoming familiar, a baby blue door that looked like somewhere he’d once owned the keys to and the cobbled streets became a well walked way home. 

Then, as if he weren’t supposed to really see it, he spotted something move in an upstairs window. Two houses from the front of the gate, with rusted shutters and white linen curtains, he saw a girl stand between them. 

A pretty girl, with eyes he knew he’d seen before, in a white dress that he was sure he remembered the feeling of. 

The sight of her made Steve’s heart hammer, the dream making him dizzy, the realisation that he knew that girl making the line between unconsciousness and reality a little blurry. He didn’t know her name, or where he knew her from. He didn’t even know where he was looking or why the gate was there. 

But he stared and stared until the girls eyes met his and before he could lift his hand, or even try to speak, there was a crack that seemingly came from the sky - the one above Hawkins or the one inside the gate, he didn’t know - but something flashed, the gate went dark and the rip in his bedroom wall stitched itself back up. 

He woke up feeling like he’d remembered and forgotten something all at once. Like a book he’d read back in middle school, a photo he’d once misplaced, a song he hadn’t heard in years but still remebered some of the words too. 

He knew her. He knew her. 

Steve thought about the girl so much, so often, that it didn’t take him long to think of her, to refer to her, as you. You were someone he’d once known, from a memory or another dream, he wasn't sure. It was the same feeling as watching a movie and seeing a pretty actress on screen, in a different outfit with different hair but knowing her face and wondering what show he’d seen her in before. 

Except with this, there was an aching want that buried itself in his chest at the sight of you, an awful feeling that grew larger each night. And every time his wall cracked open again, it seemed like his ribs did too. A crushing feeling, a yawning expanse inside his body that made room for the way his heart seemed to grow and grow at the sight of you. 

Yearning, that’s what he thought it was. A slow, burning build of it. 

The second night, he dreamt of you in a garden. A sprawling, green lawn with a pond so green-blue it made his eyes hurt. There was an awning beside it, a pergola of sorts made of white stone and it had ivy growing between the pillars, covering the roof and reaching down to trail its flowers in the water below. You were closer than before, than you were in the window, and Steve could see the way your lashes hit your cheeks as you looked down, stitching something that you held in your lap. 

There was a wicker basket beside you, a loaf of fresh bread wrapped in a cloth and he could still smell pomegranates, sweet and tart. There was a space beside you on the blanket, enough room for two but no one else came. 

You were always alone. 

Steve tried to talk to you, to reach out and see if this gate worked like the others, if he could walk through into this other world, this other dimension, but it didn’t work. 

Not yet, anyway. 

You seemed to notice him more on the fifth night, as he watched you walk along the edge of a lake. Your hair was shorter now and your clothes had changed. They look more modern, more like his, the cabins behind you reminiscent of a summer camp, a holiday lodge or something. He could hear music, a song he swore he heard on the radio not too long ago and that night, you watched him back. 

It seemed like you were waiting for someone. And when Steve saw your face light up with a smile, his heart stumbled. You raised your arm, reaching out a hand to the edge of the gate, off to the side as if someone else was in Steve’s walls. He saw another hand reach for yours, larger, definitely male, with a freckle where the thumb joined the palm. 

The jealousy he felt was unmatched, a burning thing that scorched his chest and his throat, hot needles at the back of his mouth. Before the man came into view, the crack in his wall trembled and the gate stitched itself closed once more, leaving plaster dust and flakes of paint on his carpet. 

Apart from the small mess, no one would have ever guessed another world opened up inside of Steve Harrington’s bedroom each night. 

It took him a week and half to notice his hand had a freckle in the same spot. A small beauty mark he’d never really paid attention to before, painted in the space that joined his thumb to his hand. He tried not to read too much into it, tried not to hold onto the hope that maybe it meant something - because none of this made sense, not really. 

They were just dreams. Strange things, brain scrambling things. But it was a welcome reprieve from death and darkness and vines that held onto him too tight. He no longer woke up in a cold sweat, he no longer wished for morning to come, no matter how tired he felt when he opened his eyes. 

Steve wondered if anyone else was experiencing these kinds of dreams. If the rest of the party were getting glimpses of other worlds, other timelines. He wasn’t sure what they were, too scared to ask, too afraid to make everyone else worry. The thought that these dreams could be a trick crossed his mind more than once, a new tactic from Vecna, an infiltration of his sleep that was meant to lull him into some kind of false sense of security. 

Safety - an unknown feeling. 

But everyone else spent their days talking about school and their new bosses, the fair that was coming to town to celebrate the town hall finally being rebuilt. No one mentioned Vecna or dreams or gates or girls they knew from somewhere they couldn’t place. 

So Steve accepted the fact that whatever these dreams were - whatever they meant - they were just for him. Which meant that you were his too. 

Weeks went by with Steve viewing you from the split in his wall, sometimes hearing music, sometimes hearing your muffled voice. Never real words, never loud enough to hear and it didn’t seem like you could hear him either. But Steve watched, enraptured, following you around different parts of the world, new countries and scenes that he could never really place but, oh my god, each one felt like home with you in it. 

Then one night, he saw himself. 

He felt the surge of panic flood him even in his sleep, his body jolting against his bed as he saw the familiar face, staring back at him, nonplussed. He looked a little different, maybe older. His hair was shorter at the back, cropped closer to the nape of his neck but the biggest difference was how happy he looked. 

This Steve, the one in his dream, inside this gate - this Steve from another time, another life - he looked lighter. He didn’t have purple smudges under his eyes, no deep lines settling across his forehead from frowning so much. His clothes were different too, looser, less fitting, the colours more muted. He wore a pair of jeans that looked much more comfortable than his tight Levi’s, a soft burgundy sweater that had the sleeves rolled up. 

Steve didn’t recognise where this dream took place, but he knew it wasn’t Hawkins. America, yeah, the street signs and licence plates on the cars in the street giving that detail away, but he wasn’t too sure where. The buildings were bigger, shinier, more glass than brick but the skies were still blue and it looked peaceful, warm. 

Safe. 

Dream Steve strolled down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, looking back over his shoulder every now and then as if to make sure the real Steve was following him. He walked past storefronts and stopped to pet a dog, a golden retriever who was waiting for his owner outside of a bakery. When he came to a bookstore, Steve could see a large building in the distance, a huge billboard atop it that looked like it was advertising a new movie, or a show maybe. It didn’t have much details on it, no actors nor dates to tell what year this was supposed to be. 

Certainly not 1988. 

It only had lettering across it, big and bold and red against a pristine white background: “ANOTHER LIFE.”

The bell to the bookstore jingled and then Steve saw you. As pretty as you had been in every other gate, every other world, every other lifetime. Like a figurine inside a snow globe, like something from a fairytale. Steve had never seen you this close before. 

He watched your smile, the way it widened at the sight of his counterpart, this other version of him. You were so pretty that his breath got caught in his lungs, his sleeping body kicking out in shock when you lunged at the dream version of him, throwing your arms around his shoulders in greeting. 

Steve watched the two figures embrace on the street, he watched how this luckier man got to bring his hand to your cheek and hold to there to kiss, how his lips - Steve’s own lips - met your own and parted them, mouths melting together in something that was so much more than a quick hello. 

Steve didn’t have it in him to feel jealous then. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to. He watched the hand that held your jaw, the thumb that caressed your cheekbone as you grinned into him, your own hands clutching his waist now. There was a freckle, the same as the one he had on his own hand, in the matching spot on yours. This Steve took that hand and kissed that very mark, smacking kisses across your palm and up your wrist until you were laughing, head thrown back, eyes bright. 

Steve hadn’t seen anything so happy. 

He woke up before the dream finished, before the gate closed. Steve woke up with tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, his vision blurry in the navy gloom of his bedroom. It wasn’t yet morning. There was no gate on his bedroom fall, no new city between the plaid striped wallpaper. 

He thought it could’ve been Chicago, maybe New York. Perhaps Philadelphia. 

He wondered if he left and went looking for that bookstore, that street, that billboard, he’d find you too. If he was supposed to, if you were real, if this life was all he was supposed to get. 

Something told him otherwise, that open crack inside his chest that made him ache for hours after he awoke. He never forgot about you during the day, each life he’d watched you live, how you had grown your hair out and then cut it, how you seemed to change your clothing depending on where you were, from old petticoats to jeans and shirts with logos on them he’d never seen before. 

Steve felt like he’d lived a thousand lives with you. 

He wasn’t sure what he had to do to get you in this one. 

After two weeks of dreaming of this life with you, one that he was so sure would happen, he spoke to Joyce. He waited until the kids dragged Hopper out into the yard to help them with some sort of rocket they wanted to make and he found her in the kitchen. It was the closest kind of feeling he had to home - bar from the sight of you, but he wasn’t really sure if that counted when he was asleep. 

So he tried to sound casual when he leaned over the Byers kitchen counter, elbows avoiding the jelly stains that Mike had left after making a sandwich, and asked, “hey, uh, do you believe in soulmates?”

Joyce blinked at him, flour and butter between her fingers as she tried to turn the page in her recipe book back to the instructions for apple pie. The book flopped shut when she let go, her hands reaching for a rag instead. Her eyes never left Steve’s. 

“Uh, well. I guess so,” she paused, head tilted to the side as she watched the younger man, how his cheeks turned pink and his gaze fell to the floor. “I haven’t thought about it all that much. Why’d you ask?”

Steve didn’t know what to say then. So he floundered, flushed in the face and nose scrunched as he ran his fingers through his hair too harshly, hoping that no one else walked in. What was he supposed to say? That he was dreaming of gates in his bedroom walls? But it was okay? ‘Cause these ones didn’t have monsters or creatures set out to kill him, no, these gates held something that he thought he’d once had, that they held something he was so sure he was supposed ot have again?

Maybe, just not in this life.

Maybe, this time, something was broken. Wires were crossed, cut, unravelled. Maybe the upside down messed up a timeline, maybe it ripped apart whatever plan it had originally laid out for Steve Harrington. 

He didn’t know. But he knew it sounded crazy, even in his head.

So he shrugged and said, “no reason.”

And then that night, after Joyce gave him funny looks over the dinner she served him and the rest of his friends, the kitchen table full, he went home and lay on his bed, hardly bothering to pull the sheets over his bare chest.

He counted his breaths, hoped for sleep and wished for you.

Like always, his room grew darker, his lids heavier and the crack in his bedroom wall crumbled and split until the dust settled and he saw your face. You were alone this time, pretty as ever and in the same looking city he’d last seen himself in. The skies were blue behind you, the buildings still tall and shiny looking, all glass window panes and metal framework. If he concentrated enough, he could smell summer.

Hot tarmac and sunscreen, fresh fruit from one of the stores behind you, tart lemons and freshly ground coffee. 

You were looking right at him and even in his sleep, Steve smiled. Your eyes were pretty, too pretty, the colour bright and your gaze excited as you gazed at him. Like you’d been waiting. You held out a hand, coaxing, kind, soft, patient. And for the first time, when Steve reached out too, his hand slipped through the gate. 

He was right, about the season, about it being summer. The air inside this world was warm on his skin, like the sun was on him despite being sprawled out in the blue gloom of his dark bedroom. It felt like a July morning, right before the heat hit. 

He was almost touching your fingers when he woke up alone again.

[frudoo]

Like a Stone — Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Y'ALL. I apologize in advance. Literally sobbed writing this one.

Warnings: Unspecified illness, reader death, smut, poorly written Scottish accent.

Here you go, @xoxunhinged!!

MDNI

Any day now. 

     That’s what the doctors said. Any day now and you would be gone. Dead and gone, a ghost where your body used to reside. To be so young, only just married and so full of potential, diagnosed with the deadliest of circumstances, a waste. And oh, your poor husband, who was so excited to finally have the love of his life to keep by his side forever. How distraught he was to have to stay by your bedside in this dull hospital and watch you slowly shrivel away, resembling more of a corpse than that of his beloved wife. 

     A dry cough that leaves your lips startles Johnny awake, immediately standing from his chair and hovering above your bed. 

     “Ye alreit, bon’?” He brushes a strand of brittle hair away from your face, smiling down at you softly. 

     Your glossy eyes crease with love, admiration, as you look up at him and nod, carefully scooting over to make room for his large body. He wordlessly obliges, settling under the thin sheet and blanket just because you held it up for him. He presses a soft kiss to your cold, chapped lips, nuzzling his nose against yours. It’s a habit that formed after your wedding day—you can still picture those sparkling blue eyes staring into yours, that bright smile nearly blinding you. The memory feels like it’s centuries away, now, although it had just been a little over a year ago. 

     “I talked to the nurses,” you hum softly, cuddling closer and running your fingertips along his bicep. 

     Johnny frowns almost imperceptibly, but you pick up on it anyway. You’ve learned more about each other since being admitted into this hospital than in the two years you two had dated. 

     “Aboot wha’?” 

     “Johnny…” you whisper, tangling your fingers into the overgrown mess of hair that his mohawk had become over time. “I know you’re going on assignment soon.”

     He doesn’t bother to hide his discontent this time, fingertips gently caressing the skin of your sunken-in cheek. You’re practically all skin and bones and it tears him apart. 

     “We dinnae have tae talk aboot tha’,” he mutters, his heart pounding in his chest. 

     “The nurses are giving me—us—an hour alone,” you explain gently, eyes scanning his face cautiously. “I… I want you to make love to me.” 

     Johnny’s breath catches in his throat, and his fingers stall on your face, resting there as he stares at you dumbfounded. Surely you can’t be serious. Not when you’re in this condition—so frail and weak and pitiful. 

     “Bon’, ah-”

     “Please,” you interrupt, eyes glazed over with hot tears that threaten to spill. “In case this…” 

     “In case it’s the last time,” he finishes for you, his cerulean eyes just as glossy as yours. 

     There’s a moment of pregnant silence in the air between the two of you. Johnny glances at your heart monitor as the beats steadily increase in pace, before returning his attention back to you and nodding slowly. God, he thought the worst pain in the world was the time he broke his leg in primary school, or getting shot in his shoulder on the field. But this is far worse—the longing in your dull eyes, the coolness of your fingertips raking over his abdomen beneath his shirt. The knowledge that this could very well be last time he ever sees you, feels you. 

     You’re the first to lean in, lips carefully brushing against his like it’s the first time all over again. The shyness and innocence of it all makes his heart flutter, and he quickly melts into the kiss, large hand cupping your cheek in his calloused palm. He hums softly into your mouth as your lips part, fingernails gently digging into the meaty flesh of his bicep. His hand moves to the side of your neck, then down your arm, eventually meeting your bare thigh. He grins when he feels goosebumps rise on your body, pulling away from the kiss with a soft gasp. 

     “Ye’re sure aboot this, hen?” He asks gently, voice just lower than a whisper, almost inaudible. 

     “Yes, Johnny. Please,” you nod quickly, tugging at the hem of his shirt and staring up at him with wide, eager eyes. 

     Johnny has to fight back tears when he sees your expression. He can’t remember the last time he saw you like this—after the diagnosis, you had been treated and admitted so many times that any intimacy other than cuddling or kissing were long forgotten. He missed this, the beautiful glint in your eyes that reminded him that he was the only one who could make you feel that way. The last one who ever would. 

     Johnny climbs on top of you but is careful not to put any weight or pressure on your limp body, his lips brushing against yours before lowering to your jawline. The giggle you let out makes his stomach jump, and he can’t help but smile against your clammy skin. His lips trail down your neck and to your collarbones, and with gentle fingers, he helps you out of the flimsy gown. He bites his lip at the sight of you, thinner and paler, but still nonetheless as gorgeous as the day he met you. Healthy or not, he would always be a fool for you. 

     He cups your breasts in his hands, thumbs gently flicking over your nipples. He smiles softly with content when he hears your little moan, leaning in to kiss you again. You wrap your shaking arms around his neck, fingernails gently scratching at the back of his head. His body is so warm against yours, full of life and hope like you used to have. It makes your head spin. 

     “Ye alreit?” Johnny feels you tense up and immediately pulls back, worried eyes scanning your face. 

     His eyebrows unfurrow when you nod your agreement, but his movements are still slow and calculated, like he’s afraid he’ll break you. You shake your head softly, grabbing his wrists and encouraging his hands to move lower. 

     “Touch me, Johnny. It’s okay,” you grin slightly, leaning up to press a kiss to his clenched jaw. 

     With trembling hands, his fingers descend down your stomach and rest right above your mound, hooded eyes looking up at you cautiously. Johnny spreads your legs carefully, placing your thighs over his shoulders and pressing soft kisses to the insides. He knows you won’t be as wet as you need to be—the medication you take gives you dry-mouth, and parches you in other inconvenient places. No matter to him. He lets saliva pool onto his tongue before gently parting your folds with his thumbs, letting the warm liquid drip onto you slowly. The gasp you let out makes him grin and squeeze the soft flesh of your thighs gently. 

     “Is this alreit, bon’? Ye want me tongue?” He questions, peppering kisses to your inner thighs, making sure his stubble doesn’t rub your delicate skin raw. 

     “Please, Johnny,” you whisper hoarsely, grabbing at his dark hair and tugging slightly, trying to push his face further between your thighs. 

     He huffs softly in amusement, making sure his tongue has another sheen of saliva on it before swiping a long stripe through your slit. He moans, dragging the tip of his tongue up to your pulsing clit and flicking it a few times. Your legs are already trembling, and he digs his fingers into your thighs to keep you grounded as he dips his tongue into your entrance, eyes shutting once he finally gets a taste of the unmistakable tang of your arousal. Your whimpers are music to his ears, and he takes his time licking and sucking at the sweetness he’s craved for months. In the back of his mind, he wonders if you’d missed this, too. He assumes as much by the way you’re already grinding your hips against him, salty tears streaming down your flushed face. 

     You whine when Johnny pulls away, and he’s quick to replace his mouth with the pad of his thumb on your clit. With his other hand, he sucks two fingers into his mouth, coating them in his spit and making sure they’re nice and wet before circling the tips around your entrance. He kisses your thigh before resting his cheek against it, oceanic eyes staring up at you in silent question. The need displayed by your quivering lip is all the consent he needs. He slowly slips his middle finger inside, breath hitching as your velvety walls contract around it. He pumps it in and out a couple of times before adding a second finger, wrapping his lips around your clit once more to distract from the stretch. Fuck, he forgot how tight you are, how your walls flutter like they’re trying to kiss the intruder. He flicks his tongue over your clit right as he curls his fingers, and by the way you tug at his hair, he knows he’s found the spot.

     “Doin’ so good fer me, bon’. Want ye tae cum on me fingers, aye?” He coos, circling your clit with a flat tongue while he stares up at you eagerly, an almost boyish glint in his eyes. 

     He curls his fingers against that squishy spot again, and that’s all it takes before you’re seeing stars. Your thighs clench violently, and your back pops as it arches, a soft ringing in your ears as your husband coaxes you through your orgasm. He groans in delight at the taste of you, savoring the gush of sticky cream that coats his fingers. Once your body relaxes, he presses a final kiss to your clit before pulling away. He pants, the heady taste of you on his tongue making him smile as he leans back up to kiss your lips. Dazed and lightheaded, you kiss him back the best you can, fingernails clawing at his back as you try to bring him closer. 

     “Want you, Johnny, please. Please,” you pant, chest still heaving as you recover from the bliss that you’ve been lacking for months. 

     Johnny hesitates, though, worriedly gazing over at the heart monitor. The beeping had become more rapid, and it concerned him. He rakes his fingers through your hair, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as he waits for your heart rate to return to normal. Once your body has calmed, he kisses your lips again.

     “Are ye sure, hen? Ah dinnae want to hurt ye if-”

     “Johnny. I need you,” you murmur, eyebrows furrowed as you peer up at him desperately. 

     Johnny nods, momentarily standing from the bed to remove his jeans and boxers. You gasp softly at the sight of him—you’d nearly forgotten how he looked completely bare, scars that you’d previously memorized like brand new to you, and you reach out to caress them with a feather-light touch. Johnny grins, grabbing your frail wrist and pressing a kiss to the inside before climbing onto the bed once again. He strokes himself a couple of times before helping you get into position, pressing the leaking, dusty-pink tip against your entrance, still slick with your spend.

     “It might hurt a bit,” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. “Tell me if ah’m hurtin’ ye, alreit?”

     You nod and reply with a soft okay, hooking your arms beneath his to rest your hands on his shoulders. Slowly, he pushes in, covering your mouth with his own to swallow your gasp. Tears prick your eyes as he continues to penetrate you, your slick clinging to the bulging veins that protrude from his shaft. He’s so much thicker than you remember, the intensity of his girth seating itself inside of you bordering on unbearable.

     “Ah ken it hurts, bon’. Ye’re takin’ me so well, so perfect fer me,” he murmurs, kissing away your tears and cupping your clammy face in his hands. 

     It takes a while for you to adjust, and it feels like losing your virginity all over again. You cling to him tightly as he mutters reassurances and praises into your ear, not moving until you give him explicit permission. He’d wait for eternity if that’s how long you needed. 

     “You can… you can move now. Please,” you whimper breathlessly, opening your eyes to meet his patient gaze, so full of love for you–his perfect girl.

     He waits for another moment before nodding, slowly pulling out until just the crown remains inside of you. With a deep breath, he pushes back in gently, like you’re fine china and he’s a bull threatening to break you. Your nails dig into his tan skin but his mind is focused on how good you feel, how much he wants to make you feel just as incredible as he does. His pace is slow and calculated, and he doesn’t dare break eye contact with those beautiful globes of joy that he fell in love with. Fuck, he’s lost in you, staring like he sees right into your soul, like you’re another part of him. 

     The longer he studies you, the slower he strokes, unwilling to let go of this perfect moment, the absolute euphoria he can’t find anywhere that you’re not. He sees heaven in the black of your pupils—the future he would never have with you. He always imagined having a family with you, filling up the cozy home he’d buy for you with precious little rugrats. God, he’d be so gentle, always caressing your pregnant belly and kissing your temple, dancing with you in the living room to teach his bairns how to treat a proper lady. He’d watch you grow old together, comfort you as the pair of you becomes empty-nesters, reliving the honeymoon days and reminding you just how much he loves you. 

     He always thought it’d be him to die first, killed in action or succumbing to the forces of nature in his old age. 

     He doesn’t even realize that he’s crying until he feels you flinch when a teardrop lands on your face. He’s quick to thumb it away, leaning down to capture your lips in a slow, tender kiss. It reminds him of your wedding night, how timid you were despite having been with him before, how stunning you looked with your parted lips and eyes clenched shut. He remembers it like it was yesterday, how the two of you fit flawlessly, like your bodies and souls were handcrafted just for one another. 

     “Are you okay?” You ask softly, pulling back to study his face and wiping away the tears that pool up in those sapphire eyes again. 

     “Ah’m alreit, bon’,” he whispers through a sad smile, nuzzling his nose against yours once again. “Ah jus’ love ye.” 

     “I love you, too, Johnny,” you hum, scratching the back of his neck gently, trying to soothe him.

     You know exactly what he’s thinking. You’ve spent days, weeks, months imagining how different things would be, had this illness never corrupted you. You’ve come to terms with it, but you know Johnny hasn’t. You’re not sure if he ever will with the way he’s looking at you. All you can do is kiss him again, moaning softly into his mouth when you feel yourself on the brink of ecstasy once more. 

     “I’m close,” you mewl, head falling back against the creased pillow beneath you. 

      Johnny nods frantically, grunting softly as he thrusts the slightest bit quicker, still worried that he’ll hurt you. But God, he’s so close, too. He needs to feel you clamp down on him just one last time, engrave it into his memory, tattoo it into his brain. 

     “Me too, sweet girl. Cum with me, aye? Let me feel ye.” 

     With that, the coil in your belly snaps, and you let out a squeal as you climax. He cups your gorgeous, flushed face between his rough hands, forcing you to meet his gaze as he finishes with you, simultaneous bliss lingering in the shared air between the two of you. Almost as quickly as they came, the highs dissipate, little tremors and jerks taking their place in the afterglow of euphoria. He leans down to kiss you yet again, quickened breaths mingling together. It feels like eternity before he pulls away, a shaky sigh escaping his agape mouth. When he meets your gaze again, he knows. He’s seen the emptiness, that blank, peaceful stare one too many times.

     “Ah love ye, bon’,” he whispers, smiling softly when he feels your head turn into the palm that still holds your face.

     “I love you, Johnny.” 

     He pulls out of you for the last time, pressing one more kiss to your quickly-cooling lips. You hum contentedly, and it’s all the closure he needs. He tries to block out the rapid beeping of your heart monitor as he gets dressed, tears streaming down his face as he glances at your still figure, watching as you fall into perfect, eternal rest. He covers your bare body with the sheet and kisses your hair, whispering a final goodbye just in time for the doctors to come in and call the time of death. 

     Time stands still.

[aaapplepie]

"I've never run into a creature so...successful at imitating humans..."

[neckromantics]

We live for a clingy Astarion.

One that can't keep his hands off of you once he's finally got you all to himself.

How he curls his pointer fingers into the waistband of your trousers and yanks until you're flush against him. Grabs a cheeky handful of your ass when you lean in for a kiss, cups your face with his free hand just to feel as it grows hotter, guides you until your mouths are slotting together in that languid push and pull that never fails to have goosebumps rising along the skin of your arms.

It's absolutely perfect. The warmth of you. The little sounds you keep making into his mouth when he swirls his tongue around yours just so. The steady rise and fall of your chest against his own, unmoving one. He's so spellbound that he's forgotten to breathe again. A moan gets trapped in his throat–comes out like an eerie creak when you tangle your fingers in his hair to drag him impossibly closer. He finally hiccups in a breath when you give a teasing nip at his bottom lip. Full on groans this time.

It never gets old, he thinks, being with you. It's rather funny.

Astarion's been as close to you as one can feasibly get, more times than he can count at this point.

Body to body. Flesh to flesh. He's been tangled up in you–has buried parts of himself so deep inside so many different ways that he often forgets where he ends and you begin. He's kissed you until his lips have gone numb from it. Held his ear close to your panting mouth to hear the sounds you make for him and only him. Committed every whine, and groan, and whimper to memory as if he'll be deaf by morning.

He's sank his fangs into the soft skin at your neck, wrists, chest, thighs–mapped out every major artery until he could find them with his eyes closed if he had to. He's swallowed down your lifeblood in greedy mouthfuls until your warmth overtook that ever-present ache in his bones. Your life becoming his own. Every time he feels his skin flush with heat, he thinks of you and the gift you continuously choose to give him.

You make him feel more alive than he's felt in over two hundred years.

But, he's an awful, greedy man. You give, and give, and give again, and he can't help but want more. Need more.

So Astarion pulls you close again, kisses you over and over, presses his bare skin to yours and basks in your warmth, and explores every curve and dip and imperfection in your perfect skin with his mouth, and tongue, and teeth. He counts the number of times he can make you say his name and how many different ways you can say it. He trusts you with everything, just as you have trusted him. He lets himself get lost in you in ways he'd never thought he'd have.

And when it's over, he lies close to you. Presses a pointed ear to the spot on your ribs where your heart beats the loudest and listens as it slows. You're tangled up in one another– parts of him buried so deep inside that neither of you are sure where he ends and you begin. You fall asleep rather quick, lulled by the lazy trail of his fingers along your goosebumped skin, wherever he can reach.

It never gets old, you think, being with him. It's rather funny.

[fluffy-dixon]

Hold My Girl

The prison walls stood as our fragile shield against the relentless threats of the outside world. Fear clung to the air, a constant companion in our desperate struggle for survival. We were a community bound by necessity, not camaraderie. Sleep was elusive, and relaxation a distant memory. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of leaves beyond the walls, sent our hearts racing. The Governor haunted us, a malevolent force that could strike at any moment.

In those rare moments of respite, we worked tirelessly to reinforce our defences. The walls were patched, barricades erected, and weak spots fortified. There was no time for idle chatter or laughter. Gone were the days when Beth’s gentle songs could lift our spirits. Now, silence reigned, punctuated only by the scrape of shovels against dirt and the distant howls of the undead.

Daryl’s hunting prowess provided a lifeline, and the small vegetable garden yielded just enough to supplement our dwindling rations. Today, Carol had concocted a stew—a humble blend of whatever ingredients we could scrounge up. You had spent the afternoon assisting her, chopping vegetables, and stirring the pot. The warmth of the fire and the aroma of the stew offered a fleeting comfort.

As darkness enveloped the prison, weary figures shuffled back inside. Daryl, always the last to return, bore the weight of exhaustion. His crossbow hung loosely across his back, and his shoulders sagged. Fatigue etched lines on his face, and his footsteps dragged. A silent yawn escaped him, and he rubbed his eyes with calloused hands.

Then, he sought you out. Those piercing blue eyes, weathered and battle-worn, locked onto yours. A smile—a rare sight in these grim times—curved his lips. Butterflies danced in your stomach; you were the beacon of light in his darkness. He moved toward you, bypassing Carol’s offered plate. His singular focus was clear: to be near you, to find solace in your presence amidst the chaos.

In that dimly lit refuge, where fear clung to the walls like shadows, Daryl’s presence enveloped you. His arms, muscular and strong, drew you close—your body fitting seamlessly against his. The rough pads of his fingertips traced the delicate curve of your spine, igniting a trail of goosebumps. His other hand tangled in the strands of your hair.

Foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, he leaned down—a weary warrior seeking solace. His lips met yours—a kiss that held hunger and tenderness in equal measure. In this fragile sanctuary, he reveled in vulnerability. You were his anchor, the one who brought light to his battle-worn soul.

Breaking the kiss, he held you still. His head rested atop yours, and he sighed—an exhale that carried the weight of the day. His body melted into yours, seeking refuge from the relentless fight for survival. You swayed gently, a dance of shared weariness and unspoken promises. But then, a primal sound erupted—the grumble of hunger from within him.

“You should eat,” you suggested, practical and caring.

His reply came, soft and unguarded: “Mhmm, jus’ needed to hold ya first.”

[wraithlafitte]

nightmares - dean winchester

Summary: Dean wakes you up from a nightmare.

CONTENT: feminine descriptors, mixed POV, demonic possession, angst, hurt/comfort, post hell!dean, cuddling

word count: 935 (est reading time 4 mins.)

You toss and turn in bed, limbs tangling in the worn motel duvet. Images flash through your head, reminding you of pain and torture and being trapped in your own mind. It had been months since Sam drove the demon out of your body, but its fingerprints lingered in the corners of your mind, ready to creep out as soon as you closed your eyes to fall asleep.

The worst part of the nightmares is the intense feeling of anxiety and fear it induces in you. You feel like you're really back in that time, watching yourself commit atrocities you could never have dreamed of on your own.

You try to scream at the images to stop, but as in most dreams, your voice is gone. That's how it was during the possession. Your consciousness screamed for control, for mercy, but the demon's unrelenting cruelty pushed you deep into the recesses of your own mind.

You scream again, mouth hanging wide as you voicelessly plead for the horror to end.

Dean sat up slowly, groggily trying to make out the neon red numbers on the digital clock on the nightstand above him. He was sleeping on the floor, as per usual when they could only afford a room with two beds. His self-sacrificing nature wouldn't let you sleep on the floor, and Sam had gotten injured on the last hunt, so it wasn't a question.

He heard a low groan from your bed, followed by a fabric-laden thrashing of limbs. In the dark, he could barely make out your body shuddering beneath the blankets, head tossing and chest rising and falling quickly with each belabored breath you took.

He knew the feeling. Hell, nightmares from his time downstairs still plagued him from time to time.

Dean stood and went to your side, bending over you to touch your shoulder. "Hey," he whispered, giving you a gentle shake. "Y/N. Wake up."

You didn't respond, so he shook you again, a little harder. "Y/N!" he hissed.

You wake with a gasp, flying upright, heart hammering in your chest. Hands shoot out to hold you and you struggle against their grip.

"Hey, hey," you hear a familiar voice whisper. "It's me. You're okay."

You blink rapidly as a pair of eyes slowly becomes clear to you in the dark, meeting your terrified gaze. Dean.

You heave a relieved sigh and lean forward, dropping your head on his shoulder. He takes you into his arms easily, all pretense of not caring about you forgotten.

"Jesus Christ," you whisper into his shoulder.

Dean rubs your back comfortingly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"Better than what I was seeing."

He doesn't press, but lets you relax into his body as your heart rate slowly returns to normal.

"God, Dean," you say quietly after a while. "Does it ever stop?"

"No," he replies ruefully, one hand now stroking your hair. "I wish I could say it did."

Tears prick at your eyes as memories come flooding into your mind again. "I can't forget the things I did," you manage. "I can't ever unsee-"

Dean takes you by the shoulders and holds you away from him. "That wasn't you, ya hear me? How many times do I have to tell you it wasn't your fault?"

"I know, but it was still me, Dean." The tears are threatening to escape now, but you hold them back. You will not cry in front of this man, who has gone through so much worse. "These hands killed people."

Dean sighs, pulling you back into him. "I know. It's hard to deal, but you gotta try."

You shudder, tears finally rolling down your face and dampening his shirt. "I'm not... strong like you."

"I know you can do it," he whispers, hand finding your hair again, tangling in the strands. "You're stronger than you think. I don't know a lot of people who were conscious for that long during a possession and can still form a coherent thought, much less continue to hunt down these sons of bitches like you do."

You sniffle, turning your head into his neck. Deep in your heart of hearts, you know he's right.

"I know it's hard," Dean continues. "But if anyone can beat this, it's you. You're one badass lady." He chuckles, trying to lighten your mood.

Your heart melts at this. "Thanks," you whisper, tears subsiding.

"Think you can go back to sleep?" he asks gently.

"Not really," you say glumly. You pull away and hesitate deeply before asking in a small voice, "Can you... stay? With me?" Your eyes refuse to meet his. He's going to tell you to suck it up, you know it.

"Yes."

Your eyes flit up to his, surprised and relieved. Dean looks at you warmly, gently, before getting up and raising the covers, nudging you to the side as he lays down next to you.

You face him, feeling his hand travel up your hip and stop on your waist. A surge of bravery and emotion hits you, and you lean forward, leaving a gentle kiss on his lips. When you back away, he looks surprised, and for a moment you fear you've just done something that will make your friendship irrevocably damaged.

But he just pulls you into him, kissing your forehead and resting his chin atop your head, pressing you into his large body comfortingly.

You feel relieved for the millionth time that night. No more words need to be said. You fall asleep like that, nestled in his arms, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent.

[delulufortoji]

ONE NIGHT ONLY - choso kamo

pairing: choso x fem! reader

content: 18+, MDNI, begging, whimpering, riding, sub choso, modern au, and yeah thats pretty much it

word count: 2.9k

author’s notes: this has always been one of my favorite songs, so i was like "lemme write a fic with this song"

He holds you tight, fingers tangling in the strands of your hair, trying to pull you in deeper into the kiss. His touch is urgent, bordering on desperate as he clings to you, His hands roam over the landscape of your body, seeking to map every curve and valley, striving to keep you as close to him as humanly possible. He’s drowning in the feeling of your lips on his, nibbling away at them to keep you from pulling away—the taste of your lips is like a forbidden fruit, a temptation too sweet to resist. He craved more of you, your softness, your warmth, your alluring scent, which clung to him like a second skin, a scent that enveloped him like a comforting blanket. It's a scent he knows he will miss when the night is over, a scent he wishes he could keep with him always.

Reluctantly, Choso parts his lips from yours, panting for air, his chest heaving with each breath. “Mm…” He moans, pulling you closer by your hips, his voice a low growl in the silence of the room. “More.”

You glance down at him—his face is flushed with desire, his dewy cheeks stained with the signs of his arousal. Sweat begins to build on his brow as his gaze takes in the beautiful sight that is you, a sight that leaves him breathless with anticipation, his deep purple eyes soft and tender as they roam over your body, drinking in every inch of you with an insatiable thirst.

You still recall the night you first met, the memory playing like a reel in your mind. The bar was alive, buzzing with energy and excitement, The air was charged with the raw energy of rock music, the rhythm resonating throughout the room as the crowd, illuminated by the flicker of red stage, jumped and screamed to the beat of the drums. But to you, the sound of the music, the cheers of the crowd, the clinking of glasses—all of it served as nothing more than background noise as your eyes locked onto the band 's drummer. All you could see was him, the gleam of the overhead lights reflecting off his pale skin, contrasting with the dark hair that fell effortlessly around his face. His features were refined, chiseled perfection—every line and angle of his face seemed carefully sculpted, created by the hands of an artist, creating an intimidating air of godly beauty.

But it was his eyes that seemed to call to you, that caught your attention—they were laced with disinterest, with a gaze that seemed to indicate he was a person who didn’t seem to care about anything, a piercingly cold stare that made chills run down your spine. His eyes, dark like a moonless night, held an intensity that seemed to cut through the air, that oozed mystery and brooding allure, but once they settled onto you, they softened, his face flushed as he stared at you.

Before you knew it, he was gripping and grabbing at your waist, his lips melting into yours as he drew you in closer, his hands wildly exploring your body with an unmatched sense of urgency, thrusting up in you.

Nights like those became routine. Every couple of months he’d fly out to see you, just for one night. You’d fuck, and then he’d be gone by the morning, leaving nothing but his lingering scent and an ashtray full of cigarettes. You knew whatever you had was nothing permanent, but each time he left, you found a piece of your heart going with him, leaving you longing for his return.

“Don’t get too attached,” you remember him telling you, his words echoing in the silence of the room. “This is nothing more than a fling.”

He sounded so cold and detached then, as if this was nothing more than a night of fun and good sex. You never would have imagined that the same person then would be in front of you now, eyes of longing and desperation as his hands traverse your body, fingers digging into your skin, pulling you closer, whining, pleading to surrender himself over to you, to let him drown in the pleasures you had to offer him.

“Keep going…” He mumbles, his warm breath fanning across your cheek. He’s completely consumed by the sensations you’re stirring within him—every lingering touch, every caress, sends waves of longing coursing through his veins, leaving him yearning for more. Yearning for more of you.

A sly smirk tugs at the corner of your lips as you ease him onto his back, climbing into his lap. You can’t help but want to tease him, to play with him a little as you see him in this state—tonight was your only opportunity, and you were going to take full advantage of it. This was a night of stolen moments, a night of passion and longing, a night that you both knew would end with the break of dawn. But for now, you were his, and he was yours, and that was all that mattered.

You brace your hands just above his knees, your legs spread out, giving him the most alluring view of your body, tits out and all. You look down at him, a soft chuckle escaping your lips—his dark hair is splayed out over the pillow like a crow’s wings, his plum eyes wide and dazed, his cheeks stained a rosy red from anticipation. You slowly trace your fingers down Choso’s stomach, following the curve of his body towards his dick, your fingers teasingly brushing against his hardening length.

His breath hitches, and he lets out a low, guttural growl. “Stop it,” Choso murmurs, but you can tell from the way he’s moaning and writhing under you that he wants you to continue what you’re doing, wants you to keep pleasuring him, wants to succumb to your will. You know just what you’re doing to him, rendering him too weak to refuse your advances.

You lean forward, lowering yourself onto his cock with a deliberately slow and gentle push, sliding his member into your cunt, letting it delve deeper into your folds. Choso can barely manage to hold back a whimper as you dive into your task, sliding up and down his length, taking him fully in and then lifting up, rocking back and forth, your movements slow and intentional, teasing him with the sway of your hips, making him wish for more.

“Ngh, don’t…” He lets out a breathy whisper, his hand slipping up your thigh and gripping you tightly for stability as you drag those pretty sighs from his mouth.

Each movement is enough to send Choso into a state of euphoria, driving him to the brink, leaving him in a blissful state of disarray. The sight of him, disheveled and writhing beneath you only fuels your desire to tease him further, tantalizing him with the feel of your pulsating walls gripping his length.

You smile as you ride him, glancing down at his flustered expression. One night only, you think to yourself. This was one of the only times you would ever get to see him like this, with his stoic facade melted away, his defenses shattered as he surrenders to the pleasure you offer, only his vulnerability and desire evident.

Choso’s focus narrows, his entire being consumed by the closeness you’re allowing him—the brush of your soft body against his own skin, the wet heat of your pussy clenching around his throbbing length, the feel of your sweaty palms locked together—all of it only intensifies the lust that had consumed him. He clings to your body with an unmatched desperation, his movements rushed as he rolls his hips against yours, trying to savor every precious moment of closeness—he’s already drunk on the sensation of being this close to you, yearning for more, longing for a way to be even closer than you already are.

You lean down, letting your mouth trail down his neck, your teeth nipping at his exposed skin, drawing soft gasps from his lips. Your hands roam over his toned chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, appreciating the hard firmness beneath your touch. Meanwhile, Choso’s squirming beneath the weight of your touch, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure and euphoria that you effortlessly provide him, drawing those precious mewls and whimpers from his lips. He’s completely under your control, each whimper, each plea for more making your heart flutter with satisfaction. You love the sight of him beneath you, completely undone by your touch—you relish in it, in fact.

“You like that?” You tease, slowing your pace even more just to see his reaction.

His brows furrow, and his lips turn curl into a slight frown—he clearly wants to say something, wants to object, but the way you’re riding his cock leaves him so overstimulated that he can only let out cries of pleasure. He presses his lips together, trying to stifle the moans that threaten to escape, but the overwhelming sensual gratification had already taken hold of him.

It takes him a while, but he’s finally able to force out one sentence: “Please…go faster.”

Your lips tilt into a smirk—you know exactly what you’re doing to him and it drives him crazy. You feel so good, so damn good. Good enough to drag a needy whine from his lips.

“No.” You say, an airy chuckle escaping your lips as you watch him squirm beneath you.

Choso doesn’t immediately reply, gritting his teeth and turning his head to the side, the veins in his neck tensing. He’s trying hard to keep his cool, to keep his frustration in check, but the effort is clearly visible. His sulking is brief, however, lasting only a few seconds before he turns his attention back to you, hypnotized by the sight of you grinding against him. He focuses instead on whatever sensations you are permitting him; the warmth of your skin, the wet heat of your pussy squeezing around his length, the squeeze of your palms around his knees. But it’s just not enough for him, not enough to fulfill his desire. He doesn’t want to waste time going slow—he wants to be completely and utterly consumed by the pleasures you provide him with. He can’t stand it a moment longer. In one swift movement he sits up and turns you both over, putting you on your back and pinning you beneath his weight.

For a moment, he simply stares at you, his gaze intense, as if he’s trying to etch the sight of you into his memory. His dark hair falls around his face, partially obscuring his vision, but he doesn’t seem to mind, his focus solely on you. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a husky whisper, “I just…couldn’t wait any longer.”

You roll your eyes at his earnestness, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Just make this good,” you retort, a playful challenge laced in your words.

And that’s what he was going to do—he wants to be good for you, wants this to feel just as good for you as it does to him. He’s desperate to make you enjoy every second just as much as he does.

Choso’s hips slap against yours once—a single thrust already has you moaning, salivating at the sensation, nails digging into his skin for support, for something to anchor you.

“Fuck, Choso…” you manage to gasp out, your voice filled with raw desire.

Choso doesn’t respond verbally, instead, he forces himself deeper and deeper, driven by an insatiable hunger, captivated by the sensual sway of your hips, the tantalizing feel of your skin, and the addictive sensation of your clenching around his dick, finding himself overtaken by the primal urge to feel every inch of your body.

More. He craves more of everything you have to offer. He yearns to delve deeper, to explore every centimeter, every crevice of your body. He longs for a closeness so intimate, it would be as though you were momentarily conjoined as one person.

Choso begins to piston his hips with a purpose, each thrust a deliberate act of stretching you open further. The physical sensations that consume you both are no different than a potent drug, or an intoxicating elixir that fuels their connection. He fixates on the tight heat of your walls around his cock, the way your hips meet his rhythm, the delicious way you clench around him as his dick stretches your hole out.

“God…” Choso moans, unable to hide his pleasure. The sight of you before him is tantalizing, enough to strip him of any remaining self-control. The hunger in his gaze only intensifies, his eyes boring into you as he loses himself in the hypnotizing sight of your body. With a low growl, he pulls you down by your waist, his hips meeting yours in monstrous thrusts—his cock hits your sweet spot with precision repeatedly, each one eliciting a chorus of whimpers that echoed through the room, driving Choso towards the brink of madness.

His mind is filled with a single, overpowering thought - more. More, more, more is all he can think as his tip grazes your sweet spot, stealing those beautiful, salacious noises from your lips. Choso can barely focus anymore, can’t maintain his rhythm as he loses himself in you—you demand his concentration, demanding him to forget about everything else at this moment. And Choso succumbs to it all—the way your lips part every time you moan, each one a haunting melody that calls to him. The way your nails dig into his back, evidence of your passion imprinted on his skin. The way you writhe and surrender beneath him, the way your insatiable hole eagerly devours each of his thrusts - it all overwhelms his senses, controlling his every thought.

The rhythmic sound of your skin slapping against each other becomes a relentless symphony, a testament to your unyielding pleasure. Choso loses himself completely in you, completely drunk off of you—he just can’t help himself. You’re like a drug, impossible to resist once you get a hit. And you just looked so pretty beneath him, giving him the most captivating view of your body—pussy on full display, your eyes rolling back each time Choso hits your sweet spot. Every time Choso looks down at the naked body beneath him, his cock can’t help but throb, growing harder at the sight.

Choso can’t hold back any longer, his body reacting instinctively to the overload of pleasure. He lets out a contented sigh, his warm, creamy release flooding your pussy, filling you with his essence. Each pulsing jet of his cum stretches your walls, the sensation of being filled so completely driving you over the edge into your own orgasm.

He gradually slows down, each languid thrust of his hips causing his cock to pulse within you. His voice, husky and raw, breaks the silence. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” His words trail off, his breath hitching in his throat.

Choso's body is slick with sweat, the muscles in his chest heave with each labored breath, his heart pounding against his rib cage. He closes his eyes, surrendering to the overwhelming sensations coursing through his veins, the pulsating warmth of his release still lingering within you.

Slowly, he collapses onto you, his body molding perfectly against yours as he holds you. His head finds rest in the crook of your neck, the tickling sensation of his soft hair against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His arms wind tightly around your waist, pulling you closer against him, his fingertips lightly tracing patterns on your bare skin that leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The feeling sends a pleasant shiver down your spine—the soft sigh that escapes your lips draws his attention, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. His gaze softens as he looks at you, lips curving into a gentle smile, his thumb brushing away a stray lock of hair from your face. His fingertips lightly trace the curve of your cheek, his gaze filled with a warmth that makes your heart flutter.

The gentleness of his touch, the warmth in his gaze, it paints a picture of a man different from the one you thought you knew—it's a side of him that you've never seen before, a side of him that he's only let you see this one night.

The gesture sends a warmth spreading through your chest, your heart fluttering at this moment of intimacy. Your heart swells in your chest, a warmth blossoming from within, spreading throughout your body. A smile tugs at your lips, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. You lean in, capturing his lips in a slow, sweet kiss, a shared moment of tenderness that leaves you both breathless.

But as you lay there, in his arms, you can't help but feel a sense of sadness creeping in. This shared intimacy, this closeness, it’s fleeting. It’s a one-night-only deal, a brief interlude in your otherwise separate lives. By morning, he wouldn’t call you until the next time he was in town. By morning, Choso would be back to his usual self, the man who seemed so distant, so unapproachable—the man who only surfaces in the dead of the night when he’s sick of being alone.

So, you draw him closer, nestling his head in the crook of your neck as you try to steady your erratic breathing. “It’s fine,” you assure him, your voice barely a whisper against his ear, “keep going.”

This is one night only, a stolen moment in time. And you intend to savor every second, to make each moment last as long as you can.

pls listen to one night only by sonder it's literally so good

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | dark-ish!joel miller x reader

sequel to 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your... relationship with joel, if you can call it that, has become all you know. you might be his only indulgence, but what happens to you when he needs to leave the boston qz?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | just under 6k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | no episode 2 spoilers/no relationship to the show's plot, extremely dubious consent SMUT (18+ only as always; unprotected sex, non-graphic somnophilia, free use, cnc), angst, graphic depictions of addiction, drug use, and withdrawals, daddy kink, breeding kink, implied but unspecified age gap, degradation and praise, mean!joel but with some hints of soft!joel in there

The lights are on, but you’re not home

Your mind is not your own

Your heart sweats, your body shakes

Another kiss is all it takes…

There were words in your mind, a faint melody echoing, but you couldn’t tell where any of it came from.  You didn’t think you dreamt it, but you weren’t even sure if you’d been asleep this morning.  Time didn’t seem to move the same way when he was gone.

You were tangled in Joel’s sheets, but suddenly it was too warm for them and so you kicked them off, letting the still air of the room sink onto your bare skin.  Your eyes were open sometimes, shut other times… but because the view never changed— the window, the table and chair, the radio— you never knew how much time had passed.

It had to be afternoon when you heard the door open and shut; normally, if he came back during the day, it was the afternoon.  You imagined getting up and greeting him, but you knew you couldn’t— too tired, exhausted to the bone, still recovering from what happened before he left this morning.  In fact, you were already damn near asleep again by the time he had stepped inside.

He approached the bed, tilting his head slightly as he watched you lay still on your back.  He said nothing, just started to open his belt.

“I can’t,” you pouted, but he just grinned at you.

“Can’t say no to me, baby,” he reminded you softly.

“Joel, please,” you whimpered, as he climbed on top of you with a groan, “no— m’still sore…”

“Shh,” was his only reply, his hand reaching into his jeans so he could guide his cock to your opening.  He wasn’t even fully hard yet— but he was hard enough, and he forced his head into you with a grunt.

“Fuck,” you sobbed, holding onto him tightly to cope with the pain; he stretched you open and reawakened the pain from before when he’d fucked you for hours, spitting on your pussy to keep it wet when your body had given all it could.

He buried his face in your neck, breathing in deep, whispering a few things you were too caught up in your discomfort to really make out.  “Just need you right now,” that was one you remembered— “need you, baby…”

This was pretty typical.  Well, it didn’t always hurt this much, but waiting for him all day just so he could come back and use you however he wanted, that was normal.  So normal that you’d basically forgotten what life was like before this— before him, before the pills… it was like a memory of a dream, fading faster than you could try to remember it each morning.

He kept you high pretty much constantly, though not nearly enough for your tastes.  It was a delicate balance: not enough pills, and you might say ‘fuck this’ and leave him, if you even knew how; too many, and you’d be too fucked up to do what he said— or worse, you might OD.  His regiment for you was strict, and designed to keep you addicted enough that you needed him but without getting your tolerance too high.

It was only a few months after this little arrangement started that you moved in.  He wanted access to you all the time, and frankly, you only agreed to it because you thought you could find out where he kept the motherlode and steal a lifetime supply of pills before disappearing into the night.  Of course, even if you had found the stash, he would’ve found you not too much later— because it’s Joel, and that’s what he does.  But it didn’t matter now, because you never found anything more than what he was already going to give you, and that was… you didn’t even know how long ago that was.  Everything was sort of a blur now.

He pulled out, but he wasn’t done; he was only stopping to roll you onto your stomach, running his rough hand down your bare back with a soft hum.  You hissed as he slid inside you again, but if you knew how to do anything by now, it was how to lay down and take it.  Joel admired this talent of yours; “Jus’ take it, baby, mm,” he cooed encouragingly, his thrusts deeper yet slower as he got back to it.  “Good girl.”

Even though you were so weak you could hardly grab the thin pillow under your head, you still moaned and arched your back at that.  You tried not to think too much about why you craved his approval so much, mostly because deep down, you already knew: he gave you purpose, the one thing drugs couldn’t give you.  The pills kept you happy, numb, satisfied; he made you feel like you actually might have some shred of value, even if he was the one who robbed you of your dignity, freedom, your independence of both body and mind.

It was worth it, though.  A fair trade, you thought.

“Joel,” you whimpered when his fingers dug into your arm, holding you tight while he laid on top of you; his lips and teeth trailed along your neck and shoulder, his hips grinded against your ass as he fucked you as deep as he could.  By now, it didn’t hurt when he went that deep— you’d basically built up an immunity, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t still be sore when he fucked you before he left only to do it all again as soon as he came home.  His stamina was impressive at best, dangerous at worst… you might not have agreed to move in here if you knew how often he would want to get his dick wet.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “s’me, baby, m’right here…”

You wondered if he really thought you weren’t sure— you weren’t that high, but it wasn’t the most outlandish idea.  Sometimes you woke up to him already inside you, sometimes you drifted in and out of consciousness while he was using you and he didn't even slow down— sometimes he'd give your face little slaps to try to keep you awake, mumbling 'look at me, baby, look up at me with those pretty eyes'...

Maybe you dreamed those, you couldn't even be sure.  "So good," he grunted as his pace increased and he fucked you faster.  "Perfect little pussy, nice and tight for me."

You buried your face deeper in the pillow to muffle your whines, but he yanked your head back by your hair.  “Fuck!” you yelped as he pressed his lips to your ear.

“Wanna hear you,” he explained in a grunt that made shivers jump up and down your spine like lightning.  “Lemme hear how much my little whore likes it— let ‘em all hear.”

“Fuck,” you said again, closer to a sob now, “Joel, daddy, please— please, fuck, m’gonna—”

“Gonna cream for me?” he finished for you, and you shut your eyes tight as you nodded.  His free hand was kneading your ass, still decorated with a few old bruises from the last time he gave you some nice hard spanks.  “Gonna soak my dick?”

“Yeah,” you panted, “yeah— you’re gonna make me come…”

He let go of your hair, instead wrapping his arm around your neck— he didn’t use it to choke you this time, just to keep you close as he pressed himself to you.  He usually stayed fully dressed, and didn’t give you anything to cover yourself; you would steal a shirt of his from time to time, only for him to take it back to put on before he left— as if he didn’t have anything else he could wear, you knew he had more than one fucking shirt.

Maybe he just wanted to make you stay naked.  Maybe he just wanted to take the scent of you with him when he left.  Who’s to say?

“So good, so fuckin’ good,” he praised, groaning loudly as he sped up even more.  “Tell me what you want.”

That was code for tell me what I want to hear.  “Want you to come inside, daddy,” you sighed, “wan’ it all inside me, please, want you to— to fill my pussy—”

“Fuck,” he moaned, his voice deeper than ever, and a shudder tensed up your insides around him.  “Yeah— fuck, keep going.”

“Please, please,” you rambled, your own pleasure ready to burst even though there was still that edge of pain to it all, “wanna be full of your come— wanna… want you to… knock me up…”

He laughed, but then he growled a second later and fucked you more brutally than ever until you bit back a scream.  “Yeah?  Fuck, you’re such a needy slut,” he spat.  “Need my come that bad?  ‘Cause you wanna be pregnant?”

You swallowed, nodding as you pretended that wasn’t one of your biggest fears.  “Yes, daddy, please— need you, need you, fuck, I need you—”

“Come,” he ordered, “right fuckin’ now, come for me—”

He kept talking, but you stopped listening; when it hit you, it was like your muscles were too weak to do what your orgasm dictated they should— because normally, everything in you would tighten and your toes would curl and your head would fall back and it would be obvious that you were coming for him.  Instead, all you could do was lay there and let it wash over you, pangs of pleasure and pain alternating while he groaned and came with you.  He coated your walls with every pump, thrusts faltering until his forehead rested on your shoulder with a long sigh.

“Fuck,” he whispered, only indulging in a moment of rest and stillness before he pulled out and got up.  It was amazing to you how he could just shove his dick back in his jeans and zip up and it was like nothing happened— amazing, and sad.  Meanwhile, you couldn’t even get up off the bed, couldn’t even walk if you tried.  He had such an effect on you, and you were just an instinct for him— just a fill to a need, like food is to hunger or water is to thirst.  Maybe you sort of liked to be needed, but it wasn’t easy.

“Is it time yet?” you asked.

“No,” he answered quickly, firmly, and you rolled your eyes.  He never told you what time you were allowed to get your fix, usually he just told you that it wasn’t time yet.  It felt like it was never fucking time.  What was even the point of all this if he made you wait?  You never made him wait— you tried, but he made it clear your body was his and your job was just to spread your legs when he was ready.

You like to think that you’re immune to the stuff, oh yeah

Closer to the truth to say you can’t get enough

You know you’re gonna have to face it, you’re addicted to love

You were lucid enough now to actually question how and why those words were in your head; your eyes were heavy, but you kept them open to look at the radio.  “A song…” you realized aloud.

He looked over at you again.  “Huh?”

You summoned your little strength to lift yourself up— just enough to turn onto your side and slip under the sheet again.  You were cold again, even though the temperature in the room hadn’t changed.  “The radio… there was a song,” you mumbled.

He stepped up to you again.  “What song?”

You shook your head.  “Didn’t know it,” you said.  Because of course you didn’t, you barely knew anything, you were too young to remember before.  You barely even remembered last month— the pills will do that to you.

“Well, how did it go?” he asked.

Looking away, you tried to conjure it in your mind, but it was so distant.  Did he want you to hum it for him, sing or something?  Your throat was tired from screaming all that bullshit about getting pregnant— it was gonna be a pretty rough go, if you tried that.  “I… I dunno,” you mumbled.  “My brain’s all… it’s fuzzy.  I need the pills.”

He tightened his jaw.  “Are you trying to negotiate with me?” he asked, the tone of his voice making it obvious that the correct answer was no.

“I— no, I,” you stalled, “I really can’t remember, I just… maybe if you give me some—”

“God damn it,” he rolled his eyes as he started to reach into his coat pocket.  “One.  Y’hear me?  One.”

Suddenly you were full of energy, sitting up on the bed and reaching for him eagerly.  “Yeah, yeah,” you agreed, nodding fervently.  “Thanks, s’gonna help, Joel, really.”

You tried to grab the pill as soon as you saw it, but he jerked it away.  “Jesus,” he grumbled, “give me a second.”

He set it on the bedside table, taking out a gun from his belt next and using the butt to crush the pill.  You watched, enraptured, practically drooling, as he ground the pill into powder and prepared a line for you.

“Do you need—?” he began to ask as he backed away, likely about to offer a rolled up paper or something to make it easier, but you were already face-first in it, holding one nostril shut and running the other across the surface of the table.

One wasn’t much, but neither is a sip of water when you’re stranded in the desert— but it’s still incredible.  You hummed a little as you sat back on the bed, tilting your head back.  It was already hitting, and you were already feeling better than you had all day.

A one track mind, you can’t be saved

Oblivion is all you crave

If there’s some left for you, you don’t mind if you do

“You remember it now?” he asked impatiently.

“Yeah,” you sighed.  “Yeah, uh—” you cleared your throat and did your best to sing the hook, the part that repeated a thousand times— “might as well face it, you’re addicted to love.”

You opened your eyes again for his reaction, maybe hoping he might say something nice about your singing voice or thank you for remembering.  That wasn’t quite how it went.  “Shit,” Joel hissed, then again, louder: “Shit!”

“What?” you wondered, your voice sleepy and slurred as you sunk back into the bed, ready to go back to sleep— real sleep, the kind you can only get from a hit.  It wouldn’t last long, but it would still be better than anything else.

“We’ve gotta go.”

“What?!” you said again, though this time you had a lot more energy, because you heard what he said.  He was already shoving things into a bag.  “Joel, we— what?  Go where?”

“Long story, I’ll explain on the way,” he promised.  “Just… start getting your things together.”

What things? “Seriously, we can’t— I can’t—”

“Do what I fucking say,” he said sharply, stopping what he was doing to look at you intensely.  “Don’t make me tell you again: Get dressed. Get your shit. We’re going.”

~

The first day was torture.  You thought maybe he was getting sick of you, too— you weren’t very… useful.  You couldn’t even keep up with him, couldn’t follow as quickly or navigate the rocky, uneven terrain outside the QZ like he could.  You held out hope that you were going to get your daily dose soon— he only gave you that one before, never your full allowance— but as it grew darker, you realized he was going to have you skip the day since you wouldn’t be in any condition to hike once you got your fix.  He promised, though, that you could have a double dose tomorrow if you were patient.  It was still nearly impossible to wait for it, but it was a nice motivator to keep moving.

He never explained where you were going exactly, or why— just that the song you heard on the radio was code for something that he needed to handle.  In a weird way, you were flattered that he was bringing you with him, even though all you could think about was going back home and curling up in his bed.

What you expected to be the worst part of this, though, turned out to be one of the only good things about this situation: sleeping.  He brought something to roll out on the ground, and it helped, but you’d been dreading sleeping on the ground from the moment you stepped outside of Joel’s apartment.  The thing about sleeping out here, though, was that— unlike at home— he held you at night.  Sure, it wasn’t the first time you’d cuddled with Joel, but it was the first time you really noticed it— normally, he would hold you while you slept but he’d be gone before you woke up, so you’d really only be aware if you happened to wake up while he was still asleep.  Instead, now, it started from the beginning: he motioned for you to lay down with him, opening up his arm for you and letting you rest your head on his shoulder.  He held you close, promising it wouldn’t get too cold, even breathing in deeply against the top of your head.  

It took you longer to fall asleep than him, and not just because you were craving your fix; you couldn’t really wrap your brain around all of it, and every time you looked up at his sleeping face, you realized how rare it was to see him this vulnerable.

In the middle of the night, awakened by the pain of craving those pills you were waiting for you traced his features— the lines on his forehead, the slope of his nose, the salt-and-pepper stubble on his jaw.

Having a mischievous thought, your eyes glanced at the jacket rolled up under his head; the right side pocket, he’d pulled out the pill from you from there.  Is that where he’s keeping the rest of them?  You examined it, wondering if you could somehow reach into it without unrolling it or waking him up.

It definitely wouldn’t have worked, but you didn’t even get a chance to try— when your fingers brushed over the jacket, the sound of your fingers on the fabric just beside his ear woke him up.  He just stirred at first, but then he blinked his eyes open and hummed as he held you tighter.

“Can’t sleep,” you whispered, and even though you didn’t think that was good news, he smiled at you and turned on his side— pulling you into him, nuzzling his face in your neck.

“Tell me what you need, baby,” he mumbled just beside your ear.

I need the fucking pills, Joel.  “I need you,” you whispered instead.

He rolled you onto your back, kissing up and down the height of your throat, humming soft praises to you.  It was so easy to give into him, like second nature: you spread your legs and let his body slot between them, hooking your ankles together behind his back and holding on with trembling hands to his broad shoulders.  “Gonna give you what you need,” he promised, and you sighed in satisfaction— you were still imagining tomorrow, when he’d give you what you really needed, but a little dopamine in the meantime would stave off the shakes at least.

He pushed up the borrowed shirt you were wearing, and pulled your panties halfway down your thighs.  A second later, his pants were shoved down and he was inside you— and yes, it stung at first, but it was also shockingly comfortable.  Not just the penetration itself, but the slow movements of his hips, the kisses on your jaw and collarbone, the way he held you… 

“So good, my good girl,” he whispered to you, making you moan shamelessly.  “Shh, not so loud— need to be quiet, okay?  Not too loud…”

Nodding and biting your lip, you tried your best, but every time he filled you made waves of relief flood your body; it was hard to keep from just saying his name, over and over, like a mantra as he took you to enlightenment.

It was mostly wordless after that, spare a few times you hissed out a yes or he mumbled a fuck, but much more was said in the silence.  The way his hand gripped your thigh, fingers digging into the softness of your skin, said don’t leave, don’t even move, you’re right where I want you.  The way his teeth nipped at your neck said I’m holding myself back, but I can only control myself so much.  The way you hid your face in his chest said I know if you look at me now, you’ll see everything.

He must’ve heard that, then, because his free hand brushed your hair back and guided your head to lay down on the jacket-pillow again— he stared down at you, and bent down to kiss away the tear on your temple.  Maybe a more gentlemanly sort of guy would actually stop and ask why you were crying, but you knew he already knew that this wasn’t a cry of pain or anguish, he knew that if he stopped you’d just whine and beg him to keep going.

So he didn’t stop, not until he’d made you fall apart to the pleasure and your walls were coated with him once again.  Even as weak as your body had become, you still found the energy to give him one more squeeze when he grunted at the end, the rough sound of his pleasure which you took a little too much pride in being responsible for.

Only then did you finally fall asleep, with him still inside you and surrounding you, your whole body going a little numb— yet you were warm, ecstasy running through your veins, thick and sweet like syrup.

~

Some things didn’t change at all: he wasn’t laying with you when you woke up, already re-packing the bag and checking his map one more time.  At least he wasn’t totally gone, like most mornings, but of course he’d never leave you out here on your own.

Another thing that didn’t change was your favorite question.  You’d probably asked almost ten times already: “Is it time yet?”

It never was— you tried to keep walking, keep following, but each step was worse than the last and your body felt completely drained.  Joel apparently didn’t understand this, but the pills didn’t really get you high anymore, not in the way they had when he was just your dealer once a week.  You needed them just to feel normal; it wasn’t for fun, you weren’t partying or anything, you just wanted the pain to stop… you just wanted to sleep.

At least you got a few hours last night, but your body could only take so much, and your brain could only survive on so little.

“Is it—” you began as you trailed behind him.

“Don’t ask again,” he ordered, still marching ahead determinedly.  “You’ll know when it’s time.”

“How will I know?” you asked, but he didn’t answer, he didn’t even look back at you over his shoulder.  He just readjusted the pack on his back and kept moving forward.

The sun was so low you couldn’t even see it past the buildings on the horizon, a tangerine haze settling over the ruins of wherever-the-fuck-you-were, and he was guiding you up a long cement spiral— a parking garage, if you were thinking clearly enough to consider what this used to be.

You were thinking clearly enough to know this wasn’t a necessary path through; this was a detour, and presumably it was where you’d settle for the night considering it had all the necessary attributes of a temporary shelter.  You liked this better than the last place— you could probably get inside one of the cars left behind, clean it out a bit, and have an especially secure (and padded) sleeping spot— but there was still one glaring flaw with this plan: it was nearly time to stop for the night and you still didn’t get your goddamn fix.  

You’d been saving your complaints in case he went back on the offer to double you up for today, but you couldn’t hold it back anymore.  Your hands were shaking— almost made you paranoid that you got infected somehow, even though you had managed to avoid any runners the past two days.

“Please, Joel, m’goin’ crazy over here,” you whimpered, clutching your arm.  “I need—”

“I don’t have any!” he finally snapped at you.  “I was out when we left.”

“No,” you denied instantly, “no— you’re lying, you had one— you gave me one.”

He sighed, his expression and tone losing their frustration and shifting instead to a sort of solemnity as his shoulders slumped.  “It was the last one.

It was like instinct: you ran at him like you really thought you could take him down.  Of course, as soon as you reached him, he held you back without even putting much effort into it while you clawed and screeched and and said every horrible thing you could think of.  “Fuck, Joel!  Fucking fuck you!  I hate you!” you screamed.  

“You wouldn’t have come with me if I told you,” he offered, as if that were a defense.

“No fucking shit!” you yelped, trying to writhe your way out of his grip on your wrists, but it was useless.  So you tried to kick him— and then he went from mildly irritated to properly done with your shit.  Shoving you back, he pushed you away and you tripped on a broken chunk of cement; the pain of hitting the ground was nothing— nothing compared to the aching need that crawled under your skin, nothing compared to the twist in your heart that made your eyes and nose burn.  Sniffling, you hid your face with your arm so he wouldn’t see you cry.

He knelt down in front of you, sighing like he was about to say something, but he didn’t.

“I need them, Joel, I need them,” you kept repeating weakly.  “I’m so— fuck, I can’t even think without them…”

“You can’t think with them, either,” he replied.  “They were messing with your head, kid.”

No, you were messing with my head.  You made me your slave and now I’m stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere about to go into withdrawals.

His hand came to rest on your knee, and you were too exhausted to even pull away.  “You needed to get clean— now’s as good a time as any.”

You pulled your arm down so you could glare at him.  “Now, Joel?  Cold turkey, hours from the nearest QZ, no doctors or nurses or fucking anything around— now’s as good a time as any?”

He frowned and looked away.  

“You know how much you had me on, you know I can’t just stop.”

“You’re gonna have to,” he shrugged.  “Unless you have a better plan.”

“We’ll go back—”

“Are you fucking kidding?”

“We— there’s gotta be something on the way, somewhere we can go to get more—”

“There’s not,” he promised.  “You’re just gonna have to ride it out.  But it’s gonna be so much better when you get to the other side— it won’t control you anymore—”

“Will you?”

He stopped.  For a second, he actually looked sad— heartbroken, if you didn’t know any better.  After a long silence, his face straightened out again and he looked at you, just as cold and stern as usual.  “You know you can’t leave,” he said.  “Not because I’m making you stay— because you’ll die if you go alone.”

“I know,” you admitted, only able to whisper because speaking any louder would make your voice break with a sob.  “I know, Joel, I know— m’fuckin’ useless, I know—”

“Shh, hey,” he reached forward, hesitantly stroking your arm through the material of his own shirt that you were wearing.  “That’s not what I mean.  I just can’t let that happen to you— you have to stay here.  Just for the night.”

As if tomorrow you’d be free— but tomorrow would be the same, tomorrow might be even worse depending on how bad the withdrawals got.  Tomorrow wouldn’t give you some magical way to get home, or to get your fix, or to trust him again after that monumental lie.

Still, you both knew that you had no choice tonight: you were here now and he was all you had.

You didn’t even sleep for a second.  The two of you hunkered down in a rotted Land Rover just because, well, it felt like the fanciest option and the seats were in better condition than most; he held you all night, rubbing your back and trying his best to soothe you as the pain grew and grew.  You cried into his chest— you wanted to hate him, but the way he held you was the only thing that didn’t feel like pure agony right now.  You wanted to blame him, but you subconsciously associated him with the cure; some part of you was convinced he was the cure.

“Hurts,” you choked out, as if this was some new information for either of you; it was like everything inside you was sharp, your toes were curling inside your boots and your brain felt like it was swelling up and pressing against the inside of your skull.  “Hurts, Joel…”

“I know, I know,” he soothed, letting you grip as tight as you could onto his arm.  “It gets better— it’s gonna stop hurting soon.”

"I think I'm dying," you announced, "am I dying?"

"No, baby," he sighed, "you're not.  You'll be fine."

“I think I’m gonna die,” you sobbed anyways.  “I can’t— I can’t do this… I just want it to stop…”

“I know,” he said again.  That was the meat of it, really: you kept telling him how bad it hurt and he kept telling you he knew.  But you couldn’t imagine how he could understand pain like this.

It was quiet for a long time, probably hours.  You’d stopped crying— you felt empty of all tears, of all words or thoughts— and just tried to breathe as slowly as you could.  Your heart wanted to race even as you sat perfectly still, curled up in his lap, and it scared the shit out of you; so you were doing everything you could to try to get your heart rate down, taking long breaths and saying nothing and keeping your eyes shut as you rested your tear-stained face on his shirt.

His own breathing was the only other sound in the car— you could hear his heartbeat, too, with your ear on his chest, and you tried to get your own to match it.  It was steady and strong, not weak and unpredictable like yours; it was fitting, really.

It almost startled you when he spoke; it made your heart pick up again, slightly, but you didn’t react otherwise.  “I couldn’t give you anymore, sweetheart,” he whispered, petting your head softly.  “I know you fucking hate me, I know what I did to you for this long… you know it’s almost been a year?  Since you first ran out of rations and offered yourself instead, can you believe that?”

You were too weak to answer— he probably thought you were asleep, he only got to talking this much when at least one of you was asleep.

“I never felt good about it,” he admitted, “but I was able to let it go for a while.  Having you was worth it.  I felt like fuckin’ shit keeping you hooked on that crap but I couldn’t lose you— I knew if I stopped, you’d leave.  What I didn’t realize was I was gonna lose you to the drugs if I didn’t get you clean.  You were too fucked up, baby, you were barely there… this was the only way, m’so sorry, but this was the only way— couldn’t lose you, darlin’, I couldn’t lose you…”

He was holding your limp body so tight, so close, burying his face in your neck; you’d never really seen him like this, he had his moments but he was generally pretty aloof.  You wished you had the strength to tell him: I was never gonna leave you, Joel.  I was never strong enough for that.

~

You watched the sunrise, through the filthy back window of the car and between the cement levels of the dilapidated garage.  Then you watched Joel sleep, and felt a different pain than the shudders of withdrawals that you’d almost gotten used to by now: the pain of loving someone, and having no fucking idea how to survive it.  You were still angry with him for what he’d done, and why he did it, but you knew you were going to tolerate it all— and not just because you had to.  You needed him now, for much more than just survival.

The shakes hit again, and though you held your fist tight to fight it, the movement still woke him.  He opened just one eye first, and you couldn’t help but smile slightly at the expression on his face.

“Drink some more water,” he encouraged you— and you were perfectly capable of handling that task yourself, but he still unscrewed the canteen he’d brought and held it to your lips, tilting it forward slightly for you.  With his guidance, you drank a bit more than you usually would have, which was probably a good thing.  “How are you feeling?” he asked when he let you stop.

“Better,” you admitted.  “I didn’t think it would ever get better but… yeah, better.”

“It might come and go for a while,” he warned you, “but we won’t start moving again until you’re ready.”

You nodded, rubbing your own arm as you noticed a slight chill inside the car.  Your legs were still draped over his lap, and he wrapped an arm around them.  “M’ready,” you decided.  “Just… might need a break—”

“Yeah, of course,” he offered; you’d never seen him so effusive, if that was the right word.  He could certainly be gentle, it wasn’t the first time you’d seen that side, but that was usually little physical things like petting your head or cleaning you off with a rag or something.  Not words: not promising, in a not-so-obvious way, that he would do anything to take care of you now.  That he cared more about keeping you safe than getting to where he needed to go.

Still, you didn’t want to abuse his mercy.  It didn’t take you too long to get everything together and head out, setting down a new path that he’d actually explained to you somewhat in advance: past that big tree there, between the two grey buildings, and East for a while…

For most of the morning you were silent— he led, you followed, walking along the uneven ground and avoiding anything that looked like it might be connected to the larger network of infection.

It must’ve been about an hour before you finally found the courage to say something.  “I don’t hate you,” you blurted out.

He looked over your shoulder at you, an unreadable expression on his weathered face.

“Just wanted you to know that,” you explained.

He nodded, turning back forward, and you kept moving.

[actual-changeling]

i don't know if i will ever write this in full but i cannot stop thinking about crowley and his fear of abandonment & ptsd around losing aziraphale in the fire.

after... everything, when they're finally completely free, crowley does not leave aziraphale's side and suits both of them just fine. there's an itch under his skin that is only appeased when they're touching, a brush of hands here, their sides pressed together while they drink on the couch, his palm against aziraphale's when he takes it like it is the most normal thing in the world, their fingers intertwined.

the steady thrum of his pulse, a whispered i'm here i'm here i'm here that he took for granted for centuries just to have it ripped out of his chest in the most violent way possible.

most of the time, crowley is satisfied with simply looking at him, watching him spoil the plants he brought over with sweet words and gentle care or as he reorganises his books for the third time this week because it still doesn't quite feel right.

(it will never feel right, the books aren't the problem, but crowley stays quiet)

they eat together, breathe together, sit, walk, drink, sleep together, although crowley does most of the sleeping while aziraphale keeps vigil through the night.

it's fine, they're together, so it's fine, really.

it is.

except that his heart stops beating when aziraphale dips around the corner, out of his sight. except that he cannot sit still and leaves burn marks on the carpet when he picks up another record from maggie or tea from nina. except that crowley casts miracle after miracle around the bookshop, just in case someone comes looking, just in case he does not notice in time.

just in case.

and it's fine, except that one night he comes to with tears streaming down his cheeks and sobs wrecking havoc in his chest and aziraphale is gone.

his memory is nothing but blotchy static, but he remembers his legs tangled in the sheets, angel stuck in his throat, and he almost falls down the stairs looking for him, meeting the ground with aching knees and a dull crack when he finally, finally finds him.

thirty seconds of panic. it's nothing, especially for two beings that have lived through millennia.

aziraphale holds him on the kitchen floor (i just went to make tea, my love, it's alright, we're safe, i'm here) and he cannot stop shaking, his body trying and failing to contain the mere thought of losing him again. by the time the sun rises, his face is numb with the pain of violently sobbing into his angel's chest, and the whimpers falling from his trembling lips are not because he calmed; he's exhausted.

it's fine, except that aziraphale's fingers are carding through his hair, and he is warm and solid against him, and crowley is still afraid.

it's fine because aziraphale is safe, they're together, and they both know what it's like to live with one foot out the door and the urge to flee anchored to their bones, so what's the problem with doing it a little while longer?

and it's fine, except that it's really, really not, and he has no idea how to fix it.

[morinuu]

❊｜yuuji x ocd!reader. tw: mention of intrusive thoughts, 527 words, just a comfort/vent thing i wrote bc if anyone knows what it's like to have pure and raw evil in your head it's him. sending love to all my ocd girlies out there

bf!yuuji is protective over you despite knowing very well you're a strong woman and enroll jujutsu just as he does. he can't help it, you're adorable in his eyes so babying you is a regular occurrence. and yet...

bf!yuuji opens up to you about how horrible it actually feels to share a body with a curse like sukuna. he always makes it seem like he's fine with it, like his life has gone on like normal, but the truth is it's mentally scarring in multiple ways. "sukuna is constantly lurking," he tells you, "and he just says... fucked up shit sometimes." he shares with you the incredible guilt that weighs on his chest whenever sukuna acts perverted or violent, how he blames himself for it because it's happening in his body, even though he knows that technically none of it is his fault.

bf!yuuji who tells you he feels incredibly tired and lonely, even with his girlfriend and precious friends by his side. it feels lonely yet crowded in his head and he can't stand the fear that one day he'll lose control of his body entirely.

bf!yuuji who shares with you that even though he's protective and wants to shield you, he's more scared of himself than anything. he's horrified of hurting you, his friends, his teachers.

bf!yuuji who thinks it's cute when you say you understand him - thinking you're just trying to comfort him and failing, but then is actually shocked when you reveal your disorder to him.

bf!yuuji who hugs you as tightly as he can when he realises you feel the exact fucking same as him, despite there being different reasons for it. he doesn't find it funny when you let out a dry laugh and joke "if you think sukuna's lurking in your brain now, wait for the years to come."

bf!yuuji who wants to keep you caged in his arms and comfort you forever when you confess your occasional false (and lack of) memories, and is moved when you start tearing up for him, because in his brain, nobody else would understand. but now he knows it's nobody except his soulmate.

bf!yuuji who feels guilty that it comforts him to hear his lover share the same troubles, and closes his eyes to relax when you kiss his temple softly and whisper to him that "no matter what happens, you're not alone in this, yuuji. there are other people like us, even if they have different circumstances."

bf!yuuji who falls asleep next to you that night, his arms embracing you and both your legs tangled together, your faces dry and salty from crying and sobbing in each other's arms.

bf!yuuji who loves you so much he feels like bursting, and couldn't be happier to reveal all parts of himself to you, trusting you with his heart and soul and not caring if you want to crush it or cherish it.

[killedpink]

이 민호 | reflecting light.

🎧 masterlist !?

💭 synopsis: after years of a push and pull relationship with your assigned bodyguard, you leap at the opportunity to get inside his head when you're stuck in a cabin miles from society. what you don't expect is that he wants the same thing that you yearn for.

🐈‍⬛ word count: 8.3k

📂 contains: female reader, bodyguard minho, mutual pining, unestablished relationship, food mention, pet names, virgin reader, first time, oral sex, cum consumption, hair pulling, marking, noise kink, slight fingering, corruption kink, unprotected sex, creampie.

there's no heat in the sun. it's the light that wakes you, tangled in bedsheets and your sleep tender body shielding your eyes from the unwelcome light. the space in the bed next to you is beginning to freeze. minho's gone. he's usually the first to wake in the morning. in other words: you're not worried he's wandered off. that's not his job. that's not who he is.

it takes you longer than you'd like to admit for you to roll out of the warm, lonely bed.

you spot him at the kitchen counter, the oak island flooded with wood-chips, food containers and weapons. you sit at one of the stools, face in your hands as you watch minho cook. pancakes. you smile at the realisation, fondness welling up in your half groggy mind.

"good morning." he mutters absentmindedly, baritone voice husky. it hasn't been long since he woke himself, you conclude. he's uncharacteristically chatty this morning. usually, the only chatter you hear before seven is the sizzle of breakfast onto the hot metal frypan. yet again, this whole outing has been different. the circumstances weren't: someone was close to hurting you and your dutiful minho took you out of the equation. but laying next to you? holding your sleeping body? striking a conversation for the fun of it? minho rarely, if ever did things like these. it distracted him, as he put it. better an awkward silence than your life on the line, he'd insist, plump lips in a tiny frown.

you turn to the window, watching the still world outside in fascination. the wintery breath in the air sinks down in a sheer fog, frosting the pane and obscuring the earth's memory of summer. "yes, it is," you smile, eyes squinting to find the outline of the half thawed lake.

minho pushes the plate of pancakes in front of you without another word. his back is facing you again. you sigh, "are we going to talk about last night?" he turns to you curiously, without saying anything. you feel something build inside of you. a feeling you haven't felt for a long, long while. it irks you — his professionalism is by far one of the most frustrating qualities of minho. it is simultaneously attractive and infuriating.

both of his hands hold the edge of the table, leaning closer to you, "you can talk. i'll listen." minho raises a brow expectantly. his hair is getting longer again; a dark, rich brown that shines an almost red when the light manages to catch it just right. it hangs in mid air, semi obscuring his deep chestnut eyes — everything about him was so feline.

you sigh in faux resignation, a lick of fury lingering in a corner of your heart. "you haven't been that close to me since.." you pause, trying not to swallow your words. minho gave you an opportunity to talk. you'd be a fool not to prove your capabilities to him. "since the beach." he finishes coolly, a knowing glint lingering in his dark eyes as he stares at you through his long black lashes. you nod, at a loss for words.

one of his hands ruffles his hair, huffing in restraint. "i didn't mean to argue with you last night. i was.." he paused, tips of his ears beginning to burn. "i held you because i was trying to apologise. i was harsh, and i regret that." there are mere inches in-between the both of you.

as much as it hurts to say, because it means you have to realise it, you are dissatisfied with minho's apology. "you apologise to me, but you'll do it again." minho visibly bristled at your response, despite his admirable efforts to contain himself. he shook his head, "that's unfair." his voice was sentimental, open and vulnerable.

you waited, soundlessly.

"it's my job to keep you safe. i've done that — i still do that. if i tell you everything, i will be killing you. don't you understand that? you can't know the things i do and expect to be safe. i devote my life to keeping you protected, so can't you do the one thing i ask?"

you bit down on your tongue, and your gaze loitered on minho's face with a profound sense of regret and admiration. even in unimaginable amounts of hurt and frustration, he had never raised his voice at you. your eyes glittered with tears. shameful tears. they're heavier and saltier than ones of happiness, or of sadness. if it was possible, your tears seemed to hurt minho more than it did you. his lips parted, showing off his bunny teeth, and the swell of his top lip looked even plumper. his eyes softened, into big, round stars.

you dig the heels of your hands into your wet eyes, "i'm so sorry, minho." and you truly are. he moves to hold you, his hands stroke your hair and he doesn't flinch when you bury your tear soaked face into his torso. softly, with hands as gentle as rain, he tucks you away into his arms.

"you have nothing to apologise for, sweetheart. eat your breakfast, okay?" minho's strong hand rubbed up and down the length of your back delicately, as if he were unsure if you would break. you nod weakly, guilt still devouring you from the inside out.

he called you sweetheart, you realised.

sweetheart. it sounded fascinating in his beautiful mouth.

_

the crackling fire felt worthless. cold still managed to seep into your bones — your aching, heavy bones. the only warmth you felt was from minho, who sprawled himself out on you from the left. he smelled heavenly. his skin was soft, and you could feel the outline of his muscles through his shirt. there was little room to move under the shared blanket. it all felt so domestic. so.. right. this is how you wanted to be with minho. but, you know he's only this close with you to preserve heat in the winter night. it turns the butterflies in your stomach and the unfiltered swoon in your head sour. you sink into the bed, eyes fixated on the brightly flickering fire.

"i hate that we're like this.." you mutter out loud, voice raw and likely catching on the emotion in your tone. you prepare to elaborate if minho bites. you expect him to whip his head to face you and beg you to expand on your statement. he doesn't.

"i know. i'm sorry." minho's voice is husky. he buries his head into the nape of your neck, a cool nose pressing against your warm skin. it forces goosebumps from you — eager and persistent. your hands ball into fists, your bottom lip wobbling. it hurts to be this close to him; because you are always craving more.

"why can't we be like this every day?" you ask, futilely. the more you try to understand about minho, the more you realise you don't know anything about him. he was an enigma, in body and soul. you felt him nuzzle into your skin in thought. his hand, rosy at the knuckles, delicately caresses your arm, and his actions speak for him. 'i want to be like this, too.' it weeps.

"i.. i don't know." minho answers truthfully. is it possible he truly doesn't know? it seems unlike him. you want to unwrap his secrets like flower petals, to open them fully and allow him to bloom in the rays of your sun. "i want us to be like this every day. i am sorry."

minho. gentle, determined, golden minho. his tone is sweet and his voice heavy. you hear the pain in his mind when he speaks. how can he apologise? the words feel wrong coming out of his mouth. they turn into knives and twist inside of your gut. your hand falls from your lap to hold minho's hand; and you give it an affectionate squeeze. a medley of 'i love you', and 'you have nothing to be sorry for' translates from your wordless affection.

with the wood devouring fire singing in the background, you decide your next words.

"how about.." you begin, trying to ignore the sounds of your thumping, childish heart in your ears. "we hang up the titles and the statuses — just for tonight — and be who we want to be?"

"i would like that very much." minho chuckles, and you feel his smile on your bare skin. you revel in it, and you're suddenly glad you're miles off of the grid, because you're sure minho's beaming would make every lightbulb burst with his brightness. "who do you want to be tonight, minho?" you inquire. minho's brain doesn't even register what he utters, his mouth working mindlessly and without restraint; just as you promised.

"yours."

you twist in his lap like a cloud, light and gleaming. gingerly, the pads of your fingers glide over minho's face to brush the light-kissed hair from his eyes. the apples of his cheeks peek through and his eyes crinkle into crescent moons as he smiles at your touch. the contours of his angelic face are made impossibly prettier by the firelight. his plump, rounded lips glow from the warm light of the fire — he looks so homely. minho notices your staring.

"kiss me. i've wanted it long enough," he pleads, breathless.

and so, you kiss him. in a flurry, your lips glide over minho's; his top lip captured between your teeth. his lips are warm and wet and soft and so addictive. you sigh into the kiss as you realise this is all you've wanted. ever since he kissed you in that forgotten beach where the cave will never hold the same water, you've been haunted by his soft, soft skin and his devoted touch. when you're in his arms everything clicks into place.

your lips migrate from his mouth, and stop on minho's cheeks. his skin is soft, there, too. then the jaw. nose. chin. forehead. cheekbone. you cannot stop yourself. you feel his teeth peek out from his pink lips in a smile. you love him and it's getting worse. you kiss him, intending to search and understand him. you move on your own, and adoringly kiss every inch of him that he presents to you. and minho is ready for you love. he cannot go another day of choking it back — not when it feels this enriching. you want to sob, and wail at the emotions welling up inside of you. you touch each other with the most excruciating tenderness. you use a lifetime of love to pour into minho. you keep hold of each time he made you laugh, and smile and feel safe, and thrust it all back to him, each swoon-worthy memory replaying in your head and devoting a kiss to it.

your kisses are thank yous, and i love yous, and i miss yous, and i forgive yous all at once.

the moon has never seen either of you like this before. the only time you've ever kissed was under the watchful eye of the morning sun, its rays exploding on the ocean's horizon and glittering over your shadowy cave. your lips regrettably part from minho's. he rests his forehead on yours, his unearthly lips parted and his watery brown eyes gleaming like a spell under the soft orange glow of the fire.

"from the moment i kissed you, i have not been alive since. my heart beats only for you." minho's voice is smoky, and it doesn't dare travel far. his eyes gaze into yours, and many words appear in your mind to help comprehend them: whiskey, ebony. almond, feline. sparkling. does he ever tire of being so beautiful? at times like these, where intimacy is first nature and no-one else in the world could dare to exist but each other, you conclude that it suits you fine if everyone else finds minho horrible. he is your secret. he is your minho. you love him like grief loves rain — endlessly and without restraint, end, or beginning.

you place a kiss to his temple, your eyes fluttered closed comfortably, "i am yours, minho. please, show me i am yours." you feel his chest vibrate with a low chuckle. the sound vines through your mind and its roots sink and grow into your heart. his touch sears into your skin. whether minho comes to you as a lover or an executioner, you are wholly ready to receive him.

minho's fingers cradle your cheeks, his hands gentle as he kisses up your neck. "tell me." he mutters. "do you want me because it's me," he nips at your throat. you shudder, eyes scrunched closed as you try to lose everything into his touch. "or do you want me because i'm the only one around?" he asks, and judging by his tone, he is impervious to either. your open palm presses against his chest. it pains you to clarify it, but you know it is because he has never been loved by anyone before.

"minho." you start. "no world exists in where i want you only for convenience." you see the way his shoulders twitch as he contains a sob. "in every lifetime, i love you." you watch him melt and unfold before you, his deep brown eyes filling with tears. minho blinks them away, slowly, "then, i want to be the last man to do this to you."

you can't help the smile on your lips from his assumption. you brought minho's brow level with your mouth, sore from longing, and sweetly kissed his forehead. his nose bridge is next — and it scrunches as he smiles. minho's face grew so quickly warm that you giggled. in the most unsubtle way possible, minho withdrew his hips so you wouldn't feel the heat there; he closed his pure, warm chestnut eyes, wordlessly begging you to continue. your mouth fell to his neck, peppering kisses in areas no-one would think to reach. "you are the first man to do this to me." you whisper against his jaw, and you swear you can feel his golden, tanned skin burst into a sizzling burn that rolls off of his body and onto yours.

his fingers find the hem of your thick sweater. he rolls the fabric between the pads of his fingers, "can i take this off?" minho asks. you nod, "of course." your voice is soft, slow and you realise you have waited your whole life for this moment. minho's skin is blazingly warm as he slides under your sweater and coaxed it off of your flushed body. you mirror his actions, tugging at his hoodie wordlessly. minho's movements blur together as they fly around his hoodie, leaving him shirtless and shivering from the onslaught of cold.

minho's golden skin was a plane of hard earned muscle. with a little help from the soft light, you could see occasional marks of fairer skin on his body. scars. his abs, ribs, arms and pecs were littered with shrapnel marks and in lesser places: bullet holes. his collarbones, like pillars, started at he base of his throat and spread to the ends of his shoulders. he was mythic, and held down by miles of smooth skin. at your staring, minho frowned. "it's not.. attractive, i know. i'm sorry." he bowed his head. had he gone mad?

"no." you protested, devoted fingers tracing the contours of his torso and running over the healed wounds. you watch a shiver roll down his spine at your touch, ghosting over his skin. he is so brave, and quiet, that you often forget of his suffering. "you do what you need to, i know. but, still — it suits you. minho, it's beyond attractive. it's impressive and.. beautiful." perhaps you had intended your words to be more profound, more complex, but at the sight of minho, you tend to lose your train of thought. your simple language was open; and it didn't hide how much you admired him. you love his scars because none of them come without a story. bravery, stupidity — as rare as it might be for him — minho has earned them all, and overcame them.

you delicately tuck a piece of wavy brunet hair behind minho's ear, stopping it from sweeping his ear. minho's eyes slipped closed for a moment, his thick lashes kissing the swells of his cheeks as he lets out a small, giddy laugh. it whirls around your head and makes your heart beat faster against your ribcage. it made your stomach flutter and twist like a gust of wind whipping through a spring-fresh tree. when minho opens his eyes again, his pupils look significantly more dilated than before, his pink tongue peeking out from his mouth to wet his lips. "can i touch you?"

your heart softens. a burning need to sob at his kindness overwhelms you and chokes your throat. "i get it's the gentleman thing to do," the pads of your fingers stroke his burning cheeks. "to keep asking me, but minho, you can do whatever you want to me."

you excite minho. he grins, scooping you onto his lap and burying his head into the crook of your neck, flushed skin against flushed skin. his fingers circle your hipbone, "i am only as gentlemanly as you want me to be." he muttered into your body, which trembles for his touch. you do not push minho away, instead hooking your fingers into the muscle of his shoulders and tug, pull, palm him closer to you. there will always be molecules between the both of you and it is infuriating.

like stars, the red of yours and minho's mouths collide. he breathes into your lungs; he is a wonderful creation and it's your first time seeing heaven. the deliciously veiny set of hands slide up from your hips, and he's brave enough to draw circles around your breasts with the pads of his thumbs. you expected to stay cold for a lot while longer; but your body grew scorching hot very soon. he has that effect on you. the feeling of his strong, muscular thighs between your legs forces your appetite for him to boil over in your gut.

minho had spent his whole life accommodating others. everything removable, and soft in him murdered and replaced with hardness and stoicism. vulnerably, he sits under you, open and waiting — begging for you to take him apart. his body pleads for you to sit on the bed of the long, toned muscle of his thigh. he prays you will rest your swirling head on the cushion of his stuttering heart. he is your home, do you not understand? make it yours.

your body tries to shudder as his index finger dips into the waistband of your sweatpants and traces your slit, minho's lips morphing into a smirk as he feels the damp fabric of your underwear. the texture of his veiny, strong hands feel so overwhelmingly good on your skin that you can't help yourself when your hips roll to follow his touch. your fingers sneak into his hair and tug at his roots, bringing his head up as you press your lips onto his. your insatiable mouth kissed minho with all the power you could possibly muster — making up for all the years, months, weeks, days, minutes, even seconds that your lips had not been touching.

the way minho carefully thumbs your clit replaces the fluttery, airy feeling of arousal in your gut to the exact opposite: he replaces it with a heavy, empty ache that desperately needs to be filled for your sake. your mouths melt together, lips parting and tongues spreading the taste of the other in your mouths. minho's free hand hooks into the flesh of your hip to trap you, to stop them from rolling and grinding onto his lap, your cunt desperate to feel every inch of him. these touches feel like the start of forever. you want to touch him until his name is written on every atom used to craft you. in your eyes, the meaning of forever cannot hold you down from him.

desperation sits heavy on your tongue, and you want to plead and beg for minho to love you the same way tomorrow, and the next month, and the year after that. your fingers claw into his skin, and you shudder when he kisses your tongue with the same amount of devilishness he uses to charm your need for him into something carnal. minho pulls away from you, and you see his eyes light up as his mouth fills with something to say. words. you've had enough words for a lifetime, and yet you always find yourself stopping to hear his. you expect minho to maintain his gentlemanly behaviour, as he always did.

"do you trust me?" he asks, cryptically, his eyes gleaming and you're sure you can hear him purr if you concentrate on it over your thumping heart. with every breath in my body, you want to say. you do not; instead you kiss his temple and mutter, "of course." as sweetly and as genuine as one can muster when their body is aching for an orgasmic release. minho urges you off of his lap, and you follow his lead, slowly and curiously. you watch him with your head tilted to the side in fascination. even when you do not speak, a beautiful, sweet glow grows between the both of you.

his fingertips smoothed up the fabric of your sweatpants, pulling them and your underwear off in one motion. you instinctively closed your legs at the biting cold, a gasp leaving your throat and a shiver striking through you. minho's hands cupped both of your knees, "i need you to open up, sweetheart." can you do that for me? his eyes said, watching you intently. you have so much of him in your heart that it urges you to give in, to surrender yourself to minho and trust him, like you always do. so, you do exactly that.

you let minho place one of your legs above his shoulders, the inside of your knee fitting together against the curve of his shoulder like a puzzle. he buried himself between your legs, throwing himself to your body like you were an altar, and he a sacrifice. your cheeks burned — you felt so vulnerable and exposed. minho's thumbs spreads open your sex, unraveling you like a scholar would unravel the pages of a book: ravishing each morsel and dedicating a part of their life to it. minho kisses the inside of your thighs, the tip of his nose brushing against your skin and you sob. he is the only person to come this close to you.

at the feeling of his warm breath on your sex, you shudder, thighs tensing as you suck in a breath. you see minho's eyes stare into yours, peering up at you tenderly through his lashes. "let me take care of you. i promise you'll be okay." his voice is angelic as he purrs into your cunt. it makes you feel sinful, and you strangely surrender yourself into the feeling. you nod, "i trust you, minho." you breathe into a whisper. it takes a great effort not to allow your legs to squirm in minho's arms as he collects your arousal on his thumb, sampling your taste and spreading it through his mouth. is everything he does always this sexy?

he nestles into the softness of your thighs, the soft pink swells of his lips experimentally mouthing at your wet, velvet soft sex. you slope into his touch, soft and light moans sneaking into the cycle of your shaky breaths. pleased with your reaction, minho kisses your cunt just as intensely as he kissed your mouth, his tongue sinking into your slit and setting ablaze something that resided in the cage of your hips. your heel scattered around his toned back, hips bucking into his touch — you feel minho's warm spit drizzle down the inside of your legs from your sudden movement, and his mouth dips down to collect it like the world's most devoted servant.

the winter night has leeched enough heat from the earth to give you goosebumps; and you feel it is almost intentional. you feel minho smirk into your cunt and it's enough to drive you delirious. your desire for him begins to sound like hymns, and it gnaws through your restless skin and seeps into every corner of your mind. "need you," flutters from your mouth, drooling and lips parted. minho hums smugly at your confession, releasing himself from your cunt with an obscene smack. his head tilts up, swallowing his drool and your slick, his throat rolling in the sexiest way as he swallows, and immediately your half-working mind fed you with visions of suckling, kissing, and tonguing his neck.

minho covers your entire sex with his sweetly intense, red hot mouth. he chuckles fondly into your cunt when your fingernails press and dig into his forearms; when your back arches into his tongue and when you mewl out his name like you had just discovered it. you cry out minho's name over and over, until you're sure it's etched somewhere inside of your throat. the flat of minho's pink tongue rakes and slides against your slit, top to bottom and back up again. you sink into his touch and pray for his mercy as the tip of his nose bumps and prods at your sore, puffy clit. it has your lungs pouring out a squeal, until there's no breath left in you.

"fuck, don't shut up. no-one's around to hear." minho moans into you, eyeing the way your lips parted to sob and mewl his name. he gives your clit a satisfied kiss at the way you quickly obeyed him, his soft lips wrapping around your swollen clit and devotedly sucking. it puts goosebumps on his skin, at the way your fingers brush the wispy dark stray hairs out of minho’s face, clinging onto his hair and holding on for dear life; similarly, it feels like the same way he held onto your thighs. possessive.

you feel tears brim at your eyes, and you’re unsure of the meaning behind them. are you close to crying because of unfathomable pleasures that you’re unsure you can ever come down from – or because you don’t know if this is the first and last time that minho openly touches and loves you like he is now. he loves you continuously, and intensely, and you cannot bear to let this warm moment fade into a memory that will leave you utterly cold.

minho’s middle finger slips into your sobbing cunt, and the coldness of his skin inside of your searing heat tears a noise from your throat that makes him smirk. your heel digs into the hard, toned plane of his back. you want to tell him just how excellent of a job he’s doing, but when you try, all that comes out is “god minho!”. it makes the man in question chuckle at the double meaning. most commonly, it would be heard as ‘god, minho!’ — but his ego hears it as ‘god: minho!’ and it makes him want to worship you impossibly better than he already is.

how his jaw isn't tired, you don't know. with his skilled mouth, minho paints you a heaven of love with everything he's wanted to say. he's not pressed so tightly to you to preserve heat in the bitter, desolate mountains. your relationship with your bodyguard is complicated in every way. you want nothing more than to love each other the way your hearts beg to — but your lives obstruct that only wish. people talk, and in both of your worlds, these people are dangerous and will exploit your unity until the love for each other has been gutted and ripped from your tired, weary bodies. it is unsafe to brush your thumb over minho's lips, and it is unsafe to whisper 'i love you's', even when you're both deep into the night.

but here? where nothing else exists but each other, you are free to let the years worth of accumulated love flow freely from your bodies. but you know you will not stay like this forever. now that you've gotten this close; now that you've held his face, and hands, and body, you do not want to let go. but, eventually, you must. and you must let things go back to how they once were, as you did once before after minho cradled your sobbing body and tucked you into his bleeding middle, and kissed you so lovingly — so intensely, that you still feel the raw divinity of it all bleeding from the memory of his soft, soft pink lips.

he leaves your sobbing, sensitive body with a chaste, satisfied kiss. "beautiful." you hear him mutter, his voice soft and light. you, in your half-mad daze, stir after a few moments. minho's body heat is replaced by absolutely nothing. you give him a look he knows too well. what are you doing, he reads on your face. he smiles fondly, wiping your slick off of his lips and chin, "i want you to be closer to me. for your first time, you deserve intimacy." minho kisses up your torso, hands gliding up your thighs, over your hips. you lay there, bewildered by his honesty, his touch, his voice. there's no way he's real. you must have made him up in your mind, you're half sure of it. half sure because my god no one person could ever cook up someone this profound on their own. whichever god let minho out of their army is a fool.

your relationship with minho is always tested. when you first met him, he was cold and blunt and everything frustrating. his body was leaner then, and less experienced. he was mouthy and would always get into trouble, which rubbed off on you just as he was growing out of that phase. which, of course, birthed a new dynamic of minho having to pull you out of confrontations kicking and screaming and, many times, sobbing about how much you hated him. obviously you could never hate minho — but you were hurting, and so you wanted to hurt him the same way. in many instances, you confused 'i hate you' with 'i love you', when it came to minho. you had never surrendered yourself entirely to anyone before, and you are only now realising that minho had surrendered himself to you since the first day he met you. back then, the both of you were too scared to let your hearts speak, but when you and he are pressed together like this; his lips on your skin and your hands smoothing down his hair, you don't think you can ever go about life silently ever again.

you nod in surrender, sinking into his melodic voice like a rock in water, your hips aching with arousal and your skin flushed. you trust minho completely, and you show this by winding your hands around his neck, thumbs on his cheeks and fingers splayed in his hair and on his neck, and bring him into your kiss, pressing your lips to minho's like you were a love potion, sweet and hypnotic and so close to making his heart stop with each quick, needy peck on his plump, pink lips. you can feel his smile and you can see it written all over his face when you open your half-lidded eyes to see him: his long, thick lashes kissing the swells of his cheeks as his teeth peek out and his ears flush red. in your haze, you don't realise you've both sat up until you feel your hips absentmindedly rocking on your lap, desperate for friction and dripping on your sticky skin.

minho's large, veiny hand puts your fingertips on his belt. you don't remember when he took off his weapons from his holsters, but they're forgotten about and discarded somewhere on the icy cabin floor. your kiss is broken, but your love spell is not, and as you look into minho's deep brown eyes you see his love for you in them, shining like pearls on the ocean floor. you palm the rough leathery feel of his belt, and you realise what he's asking of you. he wants you to do this part — he wants it to be you who opens him up. minho's hot- scalding hot mouth kisses your neck and his teeth nips at your skin and you don't remember how you got his belt off, just that you did.

you want to tell him not to hold back, to pour everything out and let himself be vulnerable. for years he has swarmed your mind and forced you to guess everything about him — he has been your torturer in more ways than one ever since you met him. your time before knowing minho felt like a lifetime ago. maybe you weren't truly living until you heard his sweet voice purring in your ear and his commanding, skilled hands brushing against your skin with a challenging glint in his brown eyes. you plant a kiss on minho's jaw, a silent plea, the sounds of your wet lips smacking against his skin made him smirk, the skin of his deep cupid's bow curving into a smile.

the closest you and minho could get to each other wasn't nearly close enough. your eyes closed, hands winding around his body and your lips parted in concentration. your mind was slowly shutting down, allowing all sensations to your body to become the only thing that proves you're existing. that memory of the morning beach and the fresh feeling of minho's lips on your own is the last thing you think of: the salty ocean in the air and minho's body heat leaping out of his chest as he held you, just as you hold him now. even then, in his own way, he was trying to protect you.

minho's veiny hand holds the base of his warm, girthy cock as he introduces the head of his cock onto your dripping cunt. he gives you a once over, his paradoxically bambi-esque, feline eyes landing on yours. do you want this? his deep brown eyes ask. it melts your heart in more ways than one, and you give him a slow, deliberate nod.

“i won’t hurt you.” minho mutters, voice warm, as his dark eyes carefully linger on your eyes. he waits, until you give him a response, always looking for your consent. if someone were to cut you up and take a look at your heart, you feel as though it would be tender and bleeding and undoubtedly minho’s. your hand caresses his jaw for a moment.

“i know you won’t.” you don't realise you're smiling until minho's thumb brushes against your soft lips, trying to feel the words on your mouth. you take his hand in yours, fingers knotting together as he eases into you, piercing your entrance with his length and filling you up completely. you squeeze both his cock and his hand at the same time, tightening significantly when minho's sweat sticky chest hovered over yours, in all of his muscular, warm glory.

with faces in each other's necks, pulses in the other's ears, you realise breath by breath that you had been craving and needing this for years. minho kneels before you, his hand wrapped around your thigh to secure your position. you feel minho's throbbing cock in your sex with every breath, and the closer he inches inside of you, the worse the ache hits you all at once. his touch is like lightning, thunder clapping in your mind and electricity spreading mercilessly throughout your body. your fingernails press into minho's skin, a whimper bursting through your lips as he presses his hips into yours, his hilt just barely visible to him and your slick covering the both of you.

"you look perfect," minho mutters, thumb stroking your thigh. "just tell me when, beautiful." he cooed, somehow more than happy to kneel in a suspended state of pleasure just for your sake. he's perfectly content to just be in your soul as he always is; tormenting you. minho fills you to the brim and at your command, gives you two deep, fulfilling grinds into your sex, his brows furrowing and his eyes closing as he loses himself in your hot, deep cunt. the sounds are obscene and you're infinitely grateful minho happened to fuck you where no-one else could hear.

a part of you wants to be stained and branded as his, in fear he would ever leave you. but, for minho, the pain of living without you would be unimaginable. it's decided then and there, that in his next life, he would search for you and make you his; just as he is doing now. it's took him long enough. yours and minho's sweat tacky skin sticks together with a mind of their own, and following in your bodies' footsteps, you plant a kiss to minho's plump lips, then his nose bridge, his temple, begging and urging him on.

minho's hips and by extension, his cock, ruts into your sex; your sticky, wet arousal mixing and giving the illusion that you and he are melting into one another. you couldn't say where you end and he began. you swallow a sob, cunt clenching like molten silk on minho's length. he frowns at this, withdrawing his hips from you and leaving you in agonising emptiness, his lips on the shell of your ear and his hand forgetting your thigh and smoothing back your hair, "let me hear you." he muttered in that caramel voice of his. his tone was teasing and loving and commanding all at once.

who are you to deny him?

you squirm and squeal in his grip as minho’s wet, pink mouth kisses and licks down your torso, leaving a blazing trail of spit on your skin. at the same time, his slick, warm cock caresses your slit before sinking back into your waiting, inviting cunt. you live solely on the honey of his touch, intoxicated by the way minho truly savours every curve and inch of you. ironically enough, minho knows you too well, and he would like nothing more than to forget you for this moment; so he could discover and love you for the first time all over again.

the way minho’s length rutted into the scalding, blazing hollow of your sex between the cage of your hips could rewrite your history entirely. mewl after moan escaped from your lips, only contributing to the obscene sounds in the cabin: yours and minho’s moans mixed with the vulgar sounds of minho fucking your shared arousal into your sex, paired with the sound of the only bed creaking and smacking against the cabin wall created the perfect cocktail of ambience noise. the sensations of his touch is unimaginable and it leaves you melting into the mattress, mindless and drunk off of the entirely new experience. with every passing second, minho is immensely grateful that there’s no-one around the cabin you’re staying in for miles. not that it matters much, anyway: you’re the only person that exists when you’re caged between his arms like this. everyone else ceases to exist the moment you wind your hands around his neck and your dripping sex flutters beautifully around him.

the taste of the trying pains of loving the unavailable minho for years dissolve in your mouth. your eyes roll back in bliss while your eyelids start to close simultaneously, fingers hooked into minho’s burning hot skin. your hips meet his thrusts into you, the sound oddly reminiscent of waves colliding. minho likes it when your hips meet his, and he especially likes the noises you make when you meet like two magnets.

“does that feel good?” he asks when the tip of his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. he’s teasing you — of course he knows it feels good. he just wants to hear you say it, to stroke his ego. nails digging further into his toned muscle, you swallow a cry and nod, complicit with his plans. you’re unsure what you end up mewling out, stuck between recalling it as ‘so good’, or ‘you’re good’. either way, minho almost purrs at the praise and adjusts your hips around his sides, skilled hands holding you in place as he gives you a good view of his veiny, tanned arms. with a slight change of positions you are introduced to a new world of sensations.

minho’s cock sears into you, setting your inexperienced sex ablaze. you squeal, tears flowing down your flushed cheeks and your throat growing hoarse as you let out a stringed moan that’s interrupted and punctuated with each thrust minho bestows upon you. in other words, you’re completely lost in the feeling of minho’s wonderfully skilled cock burying itself into your aching, puffy cunt.

deep within the night, minho lets you in on what he’s thinking. “can’t believe you’re this innocent..” he swoons, smirking as his hand strokes your leg, still in the perfect position he manoeuvred you into. your eyes open to glare at him, regardless if his searing hot, hard cock is giving you all the relief your body could’ve wanted. the sight above you makes you fall in love with him all over again. minho has his eyes closed, long thick lashes resting on the swells of his cheeks, pink swollen lips parted and cheeks beginning to flush as his brows furrow in concentration. his body seemed carved out of marble as it laid bare above you; like some lost piece of art. each inch of tanned muscle and raised scar and mole made you want to throw yourself onto his altar and worship him at his temple. you knew he would protect you as a god, too.

he wants to take it slow- he truly does, he tries so hard, especially considering it’s your first time — but minho concludes you feel too good and the pleased moans that flows from your lips like honey are too beautiful to ignore. your touch only entices him, drawing him in to guzzle down your love potion like his life depends on it. the temperature between your sweaty, clammy bodies climbs drastically; a contrast between the rigidly biting cold that lay inside and outside the cabin. minho’s hips ruts into you and his throat pours out a groan, guttaral and deep and drawn out as your slick cunt pulses with the weight of minho’s cock inside of you, pressing onto your guts and leaving your mind entirely fuzzy, silent almost.

the only thing keeping your mind from being fully silent is minho’s sounds repeating like a broken record. he presses his skin against yours, “wanted to do this to you f’ so long,” he slurs, clearly drunk on electrifying pleasure as his hips piston wildly and desperately into your sex, his biceps flexing as he anchors himself to the mattress. if you had half a mind to form a coherent thought, you would’ve scolded him for not fucking you sooner — but instead you answer him by letting your teeth sink into his neck, barely enough to bruise but enough for minho, even in his sex maddened daze, to differentiate it from a playful nip.

he cries out a moan, so loud you’re sure you physically felt it. your cunt clenches in response, almost purring at his sounds as your calves flail across his back in a pathetically amateurish attempt to bring minho closer to you. no matter what, you’re never satisfied with the lack of distance. perhaps it’s because you have years of experience seeing him so far away from you, but you feel as though minho could disappear through your hands like smoke at any given moment: you need him close at all times. even when he’s the closest to you he’s ever been, it cannot compete with the way your chest bleeds from the distance between you.

love isn’t gentle like people say. in songs, paintings, poems - any forms of art, really, love is always expressed as a wonderfully soft feeling that makes one feel as though their life has only just begun. but, for you and minho, love has claws and teeth which wounds never fully heal from each blow to the soul. love, for you, is a bleeding, agonising feeling that drives you mad, yet you find yourself always crawling back for another bite.

minho’s thrusts grow erratic, less rhythmic and more grinding into your newly deflowered cunt, desperate and meaner, as if he’s trying to split you open. it certainly feels that way, each slam of his hips into yours is reminiscent of a whip, slashing your skin and leaving it searing red, burning hot and without a doubt bruising in the morning. it turns less like a journey and more like a crusade — like an animalistic, primal pilgrimage that needs to leave marks in case either of you forget this night ever happened.

you struggle to find air; your mouth exhaling moans and whimpers and your nose buried into minho’s neck, close to his pulse just to feel that he’s alive, breathing and you’re not, in fact, dreaming. minho’s tone graduates from whispers to mutters to borderline yelling. you have the excitement and passion to thank for that. minho’s close, you can tell. his forearms brackets your head as he mouths kisses on your pulse, nose pressed into your jawline and scarred chest flush against your pristine skin. he jackhammers his pulsing cock into your sopping, achingly puffy cunt with so much force and vehemence you’re unsure if he loves you or hates you. he beings to forget his strength, and you’re already dreading the soreness your body will greet you with when you wake tomorrow.

your blood swirls in your head, your ears hearing it more clearer over minho’s muttering, but the few words you can make out makes your back arch and your eyes roll, mindless and so pleased to finally let minho take you like this. you hear things like ‘all mine’, ‘ruined f’ anyone else’, and ‘gorgeous like this, taking me so well’. it puts a heat in the cage of your hips so burning, intense like molten lava and even then you’d rather a thousand burning suns than this violent heat. tears trickle down your face, rolling and collecting in the hollow of your collarbones, thighs twitching and despite not even standing you want nothing more than to collapse in on yourself.

minho, on the other hand, digs his fingernails into every inch of your skin, pushing himself inside of you so eagerly you genuinely let out a cry, chest heaving as he bottoms out, the feverish desire for you reaching its high as he ruts his hips into you, balls sore and heavy as his orgasm finds him more intensely and quicker than a gunshot. it’s almost instant: like a flash of white, he’s pumping your cunt with pearly hot cum with his throat exposed, fully vulnerable.

the stringy fluid between the both of you is never ending, your own orgasm hitting you so harshly that your voice falls silent, eyes screwed shut and clutching minho’s hand so tightly that blood cannot get to his fingers. you’re sobbing; writhing under him, cunt spasming and lungs thrashing inside of your body, desperate to get air inside themselves. devoted, loving minho is there to coax you through it, kissing at your sweat slicked temple and brushing hair out of your face, “attagirl, you’re alright, breathe, sweetheart. i’ve got you, there we go, deep breaths, such a good girl you are,” he coos, fawning over you and stroking your arm.

you swear that as you hit your orgasm, you felt realms blur together and as you unavoidably came down from your high, you’re disoriented and unsure which plane of reality you’ve landed on. you’re exhausted and you’re seeing everything from a different perspective, and you realise even from above, fucked out and more exhausted than you, minho looks angelic. his golden skin is glistening and glowing in the dim light like a statue, and you want nothing more than to take him in your arms and kiss him until there’s no love left in your body.

you pay no mind to the wetness of cum flowing out of your sex in sporadic waves, instead busying yourself with showering minho in a heaven of love, courtesy of your kisses and sweet talk. he blushes and smiles at your kisses, his arm wrapping you into his chest and holding the back of your head loosely and protectively.

on the brink of falling asleep, you realise you couldn’t care less if you’re not the same devoted lovers tomorrow, or even after your retreat to a desolate mountain cabin is finished. all that matters is now — and you’ve both expressed that if it was up to you, this night would be an everyday occurrence, as is falling asleep next to each other and the obligatory ‘i love yous’. now that you’re worn out, on your side and half asleep already, you nestle into minho’s body and surrender yourself to any outcome. the memory of this night is enough to keep you from a lifetime of longing and want. once again, your minho has proven his devotion to you, and once again you find yourself feeling invincible in his touch.

on the fragile knife’s edge of sleep, minho strokes your clammy skin and you’re certain you hear him mutter into your hair: “i don’t think i want to go back to being minho. i want to stay yours forever. won’t you let me?” and even half asleep, your heart simultaneously flutters and crumbles. the first thing you’ll do tomorrow is kiss him until your lips are bruised and tell minho over and over again how he cannot be anything but yours — no matter who objects, no matter the danger, you and minho will remain as you did tonight.

[gretavanlace]

Sugar II (part 9)

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, angst, language, the tiniest amount of alcohol consumption, digital penetration, masturbation, oral sex (fem rec), anal play, unprotected sex, etc

Okay, sweet peas, we’ve got one more chapter to go (maaaaybe two idk), but all your favorites will be back! Plus an epilogue. Thank you so much for sticking with me after I did sugar jake so dirty the first time around ❤️

The air is lush and fragrant with herbs, sizzling eggs, and Jake when you wake - though his side of the bed has already cooled.

He’s all around you. Clothes and scuffed boots tossed about the room. Guitar case propped open sans Gibson - where has she gone? The scent of his skin clinging to yours. The gentle bustle of him milling around in the kitchen. You roll over and shamelessly bury your face in the pillow he rested his pretty head upon last night. Drawing him in with a shiver of content…he is home and you are basking in the comfort that is the great return.

He’s humming something to himself, and though you can barely hear - and you certainly can’t place the song - you try to hum along, laughing quietly to yourself when it comes out sounding muddled and strange as you search for a melody you don’t know.

It doesn’t matter. If he’s humming, you want to hum along. You’d like to walk beside him always, twisted and tangled together like a silken braid of devotion.

Seduced by his silly siren’s song, your feet hit the floor as you search for something to throw on. You settle on the black blazer he’s tossed over the back of a chair and pad down the hallway. Lulled and lured by his quiet chaos.

You find him, back to the doorway, gingerly shaking a pan with one hand and tossing what looks to be diced veggies with the other, totally at ease and at home. A gorgeous, disheveled chef complete with yesterday’s sweats, t shirt that’s torn at the neck, and tangled hair.

Should you stand and watch him awhile? It sounds tempting…to watch him work, a sneaky, head over heels fly on the wall. The way he moves, every shift of muscle is intoxicating. Yes, you are bewitched, but even standing here bathed in his presence, you miss him, and that wins out.

”Morning, Jakey,” you smile, breaking his concentration.

”There’s my sugar,” he tosses you a look over his shoulder that stops your heart. “I’m making you breakfast, my love. Would you like coffee or tea?”

Bare feet dancing over chilled tile, you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your cheek between his shoulder blades, “Whatever you’re having.”

He backs up a little, no doubt worrying about your arms - though they are protected by his jacket - being too near to the stove, and turns, pulling you closer while walking you backwards towards the island, “How about we share a cup of tea? You hungry?”

Flashes of memories burn through your brain…last night, in the foyer wrapped up together on the floor while he kissed your body and wept. On the couch while you talked about how exactly this all might work. Later, in a bed that wasn’t yours, in sheets you wouldn’t wash.

You should be thoroughly sated, but yes…you are hungry.

”How’d I get so lucky, little girl?” His lips curve into a grin that derails your thoughts and replaces them with something much softer. Your heart is weak for the look in his eyes…the unapologetic, worshipful love that blazes there. “How did I manage to earn this?”

”Earn what?” You smile back, praying that the emotion pounding in your heart is as evident in your gaze as it is in his, “Us?”

His eyes duck away with a shy nod, “I just never thought I’d have you like this again. In my arms, not going anywhere. Staying.”

Your fingertips are at his cheeks, sweeping over the perfect warmth of his skin, soft as air, “Jake, you didn’t earn anything. You’ve always held my heart.”

Still unwilling to meet your gaze, he rests his forehead on your shoulder. “You took it away.”

”No,” you argue in a hush. Can he really not see? “I left it with you. You’re the only reason it beats, anyway. But if you don’t feed me soon, I fear I may perish.”

”Drama queen.” He grins, pecking your cheeks each in turn, grateful that you’ve eased his mind and calmed his tender nerves.

The kettle begins to scream and you patter off to the table tucked into the corner, homey and quaint, to watch him work to take care of you. Soon, you’re gifted a steaming mug along with another kiss dropped atop your head. “Splash of rum and a sprinkle of cinnamon, sugar. It’s 9 o’clock in the morning, you lush.”

”Trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me, Jake?” You tease back, watching as he moves to finish things up at the stove, throat seizing with aching affection…he remembers how you take your tea.

”I don’t have to get you inebriated for that,” he sounds gravelly and full of himself, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. “I could fuck you however and wherever I so felt the inclination, my lovely little doll, and you would grace me with your gracious and enthusiastic appreciation.”

You bat your lashes wildly at him as he presents two plates heaped with brightly colored, expertly sautéed vegetables and fluffy, scrambled eggs like cheery, sunny clouds. A bowl of swollen, fuschia raspberries deposited between your plates like a pile of sweetened jewels steals the show. “Oh, be still my heart…you know how I enjoy it when you speak like a dictionary.”

”I know, sugar,” there’s that beaming smile of his again as he offers you a berry, lightly teasing it at your lips until you open up for him. “plenty more where that came from.”

A comfortable quiet sparks to life as you both dig in and pass the teacup back and forth. He finally breaks it, speaking up around a bite of potatoes and peppers. “I spoke to Josh this morning.”

”And how is your missing piece?” You quirk an eyebrow over the top of the cup you have now commandeered.

He leans back in his chair and settles his gaze upon you, clocking your expression closely, searching for a reaction. “Obnoxious as ever. He’s annoyed with me because I haven’t looked over the lyric revisions he sent me, and I certainly couldn’t care less if I actively tried. However, he’s very excited to see you. Cross though he might be with his dear brother.”

”Hello, Oliver,” you wink, “Let’s have Jacob back, shall we?”

You haven’t forgotten Jake’s tendency for trotting out Mr. Reed when he’s dipping a toe or two into the waters of vulnerability.

“Do you miss him?” He asks quietly, “Do you want things to be the way they were before? Because I can live with that if it means you’ll stay.” He rushes on as if he fears he may lose his nerve. “I want you to be happy, whatever it takes, I just want you to be happy.”

Fork clinking lightly against your plate as your focus zeros in on his lovely face, you lean forward and reach for his hand “Did he tell you he came to see me? After I ran into Danny that day?”

His fingers slip into your waiting palm with a soft squeeze, “He mentioned that he found you and asked you hide away until we’d gone. I’ve never wanted to hurt him as badly as I did then. Not even when we were young and stupid. Not even that night, when he forced me to let you go.”

“He was only trying to protect you, jake.” Your head tilts, watching residual pain flare to life in his eyes. “I’ve done a great many things to hurt you, it’s a wonder he doesn’t hate me for it.”

“He could never hate you, sugar. Don’t say things like that, it would break his heart to hear them.” The conviction in his words is fierce, and that makes sense…they share a life force at times, it seems.

“He did ask me to hide away, yes…” you nod, wrapping your free hand around his knuckles, warming his touch with your own, “But did he tell you anything else about our visit? Did he tell you how easy it was for us? How we caught up and laughed and looked at each other like very old friends that had been lost to each other for too many years?”

His shoulders tense as though he’s bracing for a gentle impact, but on you march, whispering to him in this unfamiliar kitchen that feels fat full of love.

”Did he tell you that it didn’t even hurt, our being in the same room with everything so fucking different? Did he know that all I could do was sit there, falling silently apart and searching for you in his eyes?”

“But you loved him.” Now it’s his turn to search your eyes, but for what you’re not sure. “I don’t want you to have to tamp that out. Not ever. You love so beautifully, sugar. I can share.”

”I did love him,” you nod. “Very much. A long time ago. I love him still. Differently. And not the way I love you. I have never loved anyone the way I love you. You don’t have to share. Not anymore.”

His grip is pulling at you now, tugging you to your feet and into his arms, creaking the worn wood of his chair beneath the weight of you both as he buries his face into your bare chest, hiding his tears in the lapels of his blazer as he weeps into your skin.

“Shh, baby,” you soothe, stroking through his hair, holding onto him as he clings to you as if you might vanish like a sigh.

His face tilts upward, lips brushing over your chin and jaw, licking and tasting you through his tears. “I love you, sugar. Sometimes I feel like all this love I have for you is just going to break me into pieces, like I can’t hold it all inside. There’s no room for it. I’m too small.”

”Jake,” you feel like you could break into pieces right alongside him as he begins tugging his jacket away from your shoulders.

He shakes his head, hushing you silently, “So, I’m going to take all this love and I’m going to give it all to you. And I’m gonna fill our house with it, press it into the walls and let it seep into the floorboards. Every nail and every window is going to feel it. The pipes and hinges. The chimney is going to breathe it into the night when we light fires in the winter. And we’re going to have babies and I’m going to love them just as much, and I can’t wait to watch you love them…”

You feel baptized in his tears and the wet, warm press of his mouth as he tattoos beautiful promises into your flesh. How could you ever have believed that you wanted anything other than this?

“I’m going to exist for you every single day, sugar…” a sob escapes him, though he tries so hard to bite it back, “I already do…I always have.”

“I know, baby…it’s okay,” you’re kissing adoration into his hair, combing your fingers through the tangles, coddling him and cooing the softest endearments, desperate to mollify his soul, fraught to offer him peace. “Please don’t cry, jakey. You know I can’t stand it.”

Hearing his own words lilting off of your tongue, he pauses and gazes up into your eyes like he sees everything he’ll ever need in them, “When I said that to you, I wanted to disappear. I wanted to be…gone. I didn’t want to live in a world where you wore his ring on your finger with tears in your eyes. Will you miss him?”

Should you lie? Perhaps. But wouldn’t he see the untruths lying bare? Wouldn’t that hurt even worse? Your deception?

“Yes,” you nod, petting him as he presses in closer, “he was kind to me, and sweet. He made me laugh. He made me half-way happy enough to pretend. I’ll miss him sometimes…but never enough to look back and regret chasing after you.”

“I’m glad he was kind to you,” he whispers, kissing a drunken, winding path across the tops of your breasts, “you deserve kind. He loved you, I could see that. I didn’t want to, but I could. And maybe I hated that, but I would have hated the alternative so much more. I’m sure he loves you still.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you laugh softly, “he wasn’t very pleased with me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sugar,” he stares up at you with eyes laced heavily in adulation, “you don’t leave a man alone so easily. You linger and overstay your welcome in the worst way. Learn to leave a room, sweetheart.”

He has pulled another laugh out of you, louder and bell like this time…it twists his heart with heated, pulsing adoration.

”Jake,” you pause, waiting for him to give you his honey brown eyes, “You were right when you said none of it matters. This matters.” Your palm finds your heartbeat for a moment, and then his own.

”I know, my love…” tears skate along his lash line like blissful, shimmering quartz, “I know.”

~

His mouth is at your throat, gentle hand splaying out across your abdomen, holding you down against the cool, polished wood of the table.

Fingers playing at your lips, he breaks a raspberry apart between his fingers before sweeping it over your waiting tongue. “You’re so beautiful, sugar. Aren’t you? Aren’t you my pretty, pretty girl?”

His shirt has landed on the tile, forgotten and worthless to this task at shaking hand.

“Yes,” nails digging into his shoulders to remind him of where you’ve been, of where your touch belongs, you nod fervently beneath his kiss, “I’m your pretty girl, Jakey. I’m your girl.”

Lips beginning a path up your cheek to your temple, he hums euphorically and grasps at your ankles, tugging gingerly until your heels are resting on the table. “Will you show me?” His voice is silken and inquisitive, tongue fluttering over your earlobe to bring chills to life inside you. “Hmm? Will you show me how pretty you are for me?”

”Anything,” you pant, arching away from the table, desperate to be closer to him as he pulls back.

You watch on, body throbbing and screaming for him while he pops a raspberry into his mouth and settles back into his chair, legs spread wide, hands fisted into flexing balls at his knees, “Touch yourself for me, sugar. Rub your sweet little clit, nice and slow, just for me.”

Maybe you’d like to say your body protests, maybe you ought to say that you shy away, maybe if you weren’t so indescribably in love with him you’d do both of those things, but as it stands….

….as it stands, you give him what he’s asked for without thought. There isn’t a breath of hesitation. You simply roll two fingers over your tongue, reach down between your thighs, and begin.

The hushed moan that tumbles off the tip of your tongue tugs a sigh from his lungs that sets you further on fire. He sounds so beautiful, so wholly under a spell that you can’t fathom having the ability to cast over this deity of a man.

“There’s my good girl,” he is so quiet, you’d scarcely hear him were your focus not so completely honed in on jake jake jake, “Does that feel good, little girl? Is my sugar making that pretty pink pussy feel just so nice?”

He is an obscene angel staring you down with snarled hair and wicked sin in his wild eyes.

A trembling sound is all you’re able to manage as your touch dips inside yourself to draw slick back up to your clit.

”Yeah?” he tilts his head, watching you reverently, “It looks like it does. You’re dripping all over the table. I want to lick it up.”

“Please,” your fingers circle faster, but something is missing. He, close though he might be, is missing.

”Please, what?” He sounds as needy and hungry as you feel. “Tell me what you want me to do to you and I’ll do it, baby. Whatever you want…I’ll fucking do it.”

”Your mouth,” your legs spread wider until your hips protest, and then you spread a little wider in offering. “I’d like to have your mouth please, Jakey. Please. lick me, please, please.”

A groan rumbles out of his chest like pained thunder as he wraps his arms around your thighs, tugging you in and burying his mouth exactly where you’ve so politely begged for it. Another anguished sound pushes from his lungs as he drinks down his first mouthful of you.

The tip of his tongue teases over your shivering clit, and then slinks down to dip inside you, and then down farther still to lap against that heavenly little spot where it shouldn’t be.

He hums against you while you whine and yank at his hair, pulling his kiss in closer as your hips lift away from the wood you’re making such a mess of.

“Fuck,” your fingers lace through his hair perhaps just a bit too tightly, but a quiet grunt signals his appreciation, “right there.”

“I know where you like my mouth every now and then, sugar,” his words are hot against you as his thumb slides, warm and thick, inside your cunt “Dirty girl.”

Watching you shy away so endearingly squeezes at his chest. You have always given yourself to him so completely. You have always been his girl. His mouth has known every breathtaking inch of your body in a hundred different lifetimes. His heart has known your heart in a thousand more.

Your fingers search out your clit, neglected and crying out for attention, completing that lovely trifecta as you rock your hips, fucking his face without shame.

He is yours and you will take him.

Your belly is burning, white hot and tight, coiling and churning as your body begins to tremble and flush.

“Gonna cum…” A complete sentence seems an impossible task “I— oh, please, please, please,”

His fingers replace his thumb with a feral growl low in his throat, tucking up in behind your clit as you watch his arm begin to move rhythmically below the table.

”Don’t cum,” you order through whimpers and whines that sound anything but authoritative. How difficult it proves to be to be bossy when his tongue is warm and wet where you shouldn’t adore it so damn much.

”I won’t,” his promise is beautifully muffled. “But I want you to do it. Cum for me, fuck doll…give it up pretty.”

You tighten deliciously around his searching tongue and delving fingers as it crawls through you like sinking into a warm bath that swirls with glittering, lilac goldfish. They kiss your skin soft as monarch wings; strange, swimming beings in the waters that are Jacob. It is lovely, though given the filth that has ushered you into this state, maybe that makes no sense.

He works you carefully until your breathing begins to stutter and gasp uncomfortably, and then there is his striking and stunning face - cheeks blazing with desire - kissing and licking up your body as you squirm languidly.

“Was that good, baby?” His teeth are dragging against the swell of your breast now, igniting a fire within you anew.

Jacob, always so cocksure and confident, sounds famished for your approval. How strange.

You hand it over willingly and honestly, on a silver platter of affection, “So, good, Jakey…I love you so much.”

“You taste like fucking candy everywhere,” his praise is little more than a whispered murmur as he buries into the crook of your neck, “I want you in my mouth and under my fingertips forever, for fucking always.”

The tip of his cock, full and hot like velvet, sweeps across your entrance, teasing inside just a breath before pulling back and then nudging in all over again.

“Put it in,” your fingers are clawing lazily at his hips, silently trying to guide him into action, “Fuck Jake, please baby, just slip it inside and—“

He grinds his hips forward, cutting you off, filling you up, pulsing and slick and hot and…

”My girl,” his words are humid at your throat as he whimpers through a physical shudder. “My sugar, my love. That’s my baby, that’s it…taking it so well. You feel so fucking good.”

His wandering fingers find and sweep over your clit with a glide as sweet as satin, and it has you clenching down around him so wildly his eyes snap shut with a furrowed brow, mouth hanging open in a silent moan.

Buried to the hilt now, those eyes lull open to stare down where your bodies connect. “Looks so pretty stretched around my cock. How’d this little cunt ever get so beautiful?”

Your cheek turns to meet the cool of the oak you're draped across, embarrassed in the most blissful way, but he is positively weak for the way his words cause your thighs to tighten around his waist.

His name begins to burn out of your lungs, smoking into the sun-soaked kitchen like a prayer.

”That’s it,” he sounds faraway, like he’s crooning to you from across the room, “My name, sugar…always my name.”

And then, there is his thumb, soaked in your need and brushing against that spot just below where his cock is dragging in and out of your cunt.

A wanton cry for more bleeds out of you, bringing forth another knit of his brow as he sinks inside you to follow the deep thrust of his cock, “‘Oh my’, right sugar? Isn’t that how my fuck doll reacts? All sweet like a lady, to being filled up so full?”

His loving, mocking tone snatches you back full circle to that very first night with him that seems so long ago…he has been all you’ve ever wanted, ever since. He is all you will ever want.

He is every direction, the night and the day, every song ever written…every poem ever wept onto pages, every star that will light the skyline tonight and all the ones that came before. He is every beat of your pulse, every breath in your lungs - and when you breathe your last, it will be his name on your lips.

White explodes behind your eyes as fireworks detonate down deep inside you, sparkling a crackling-like frenetic energy throughout your nervous system until you are tightened up and writhing with it…cumming so hard, so fucking hard, that you nearly force his beautiful cock right out of your body.

He follows your lead and pulls away, tugging at himself violently as you shower down over him like the filthiest, most exquisite drops of summer-of-love rain.

“Oh fuck, sugar, please,” he’s whining as his release lands hot and frantic against your quivering stomach, but for what, neither of you know.

You’re lost in his faraway expression, watching him fight for a deep breath as you search for your own composure when your fingers sweep through a milky ribbon painted across your navel…you want to taste him, but his grip is wrapped firmly around your wrist in an instant, with your fingers nestled against his cashmere tongue.

“I’ll clean my pretty girl up myself, if she doesn’t mind.” His mouth brushes soothingly at your hip just before he begins licking up his own release, eyes cast upwards to your own as you shake, stunned and blissfully shellshocked.

At last, you find your voice as his bubblegum pink tongue curls over the last drop, “You taste good, don’t you, Jakey?”

“Not as good as you, sugar,” His mouth is on yours now, kissing far too sweetly for what you know him to be capable of. “not even close.”

“Shower?” He pops another raspberry into your mouth and then nuzzles against your nose.

”Bath.” You correct, nearly melting into the table beneath his love.

~

A sponge, fresh out of its package and now smothered in body wash, drags across your chest as his chest rests against your back.

”We leave tonight?’ Your voice sounds unfamiliar…too content, too relaxed. It’s been such a long time since you’ve sounded this way. Since you’ve been so completely happy.

”I wish we could stay longer,” he kisses at your drenched, now squeaky clean hair, “just you and me.”

”Me too,” you sigh, settling back into his embrace even more, “but I’m also excited to see those idiots you call brothers. Especially the baby.”

”He’s missed you.” More kisses to clutch at your already stolen heart. “Nothing was the same without you, sugar. Time to come home.”

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @jakesgrapejuice @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @lvnterninthenight @paintmyhouse @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie @hugorobinson @jaketlove

[shapard]

hi shepard, i dont normally do this, but i really like your wrighting and i was wondering if you did requests if you could do a lucifer x hellborn!reader where its just a lot of comfort, like the reader lost someone really close to them or something. if not, then no worries, dont feel pressured or anything 💛

Scarlet

Lucifer x hellborn!reader

A/n: I never really said that I do request but I'm really happy if I get one. So, no Worries<3 I hope it's okay That I put a little Angst into it.

Soft Lucifer, comfort, Angst

Words can not describe what you feel right now.

Your heart is pumping so loud in your chest as you read the red ink on the white Paper. You don’t want to believe it. It seems impossible. But it’s standing here red on white that your precious mother has passed away in a gang battle of those damn sinners. 

Your tears soften the paper and the red ink smeared the down written words. Your body starts to shake under the pressure of anxiety. 

Lucifer was out on a meeting with the other six sins.

At first he didn’t even want to go on a meeting knowing that your mental health wasn’t on its best shape. The panic attacks were way viler when he was not there. 

Nonetheless you told him you were fine, and he will go to this meeting. He was hiding all those years and you’ll not be in the way of a reunion. 

At first you were doing alright. Watching your comfort movie with your comfort snack was relaxing.

Your pajama was comfortable and your favorite plush was seated on your belly. You giggled at your favorite scene and hugged your plushie more on you.

A loud knocking hollowed through the huge Mainor you now call home. Lucifer didn’t tell you; he was expecting something. Confused you pressed on pause and walked down the hall. Your tail tangled itself on your leg hoping for some comfort. 

As you opened those huge doors a small Imp, just like you. He gave you a black Envelope with your name in white ink. The Imp gave you a slight bow and left fast. 

You walked down the hall back to the bedroom. You opened the black envelope and read the content.

Now you were at the verge of a panic attack. 

Sweat pearling down your forehead and you rolled into a small ball on the floor. The papier laid on the red carpet and you are right next to it.

Your tail was wrapped around you, yet it didn’t help you to feel connected to your body. You shook hard but all you could focus about was your mind running.

Memories of your lovely mother, the one who read stories to you at night to cradle you. 

The way she smiled at you when you told her you were in love. How she told you she’s so proud of you. How he held your hand through your marriage. 

And now she’s gone. 

Killed brutally like the Imp she was. Like the Imp you are. Another proof that no one cares about the life of an Imp.

The ringing in your head just seems to get louder, louder, and louder. Clutching your hands on your head trying to ease the painful headache that had begun.

Your breathing was starting to get heavier and heavier, it got to the point where you thought you couldn’t breathe anymore.

A hand pulled you out of your curled form pressing you on his chest. You immediately recognize that this is your husband.

Lucifer whispers in your ear and stroked your back in a comforting matter. He cradled your body and kissed your cheek multiple times.

“Everything is okay, I’m here. Just take a deep breath in... And out.” You followed his instructions. In and out. Your hand grasp around his torsi pulling him even closer.

The oxytocin was filling your lungs again and your broken cries filled the air. 

Even after-hours Lucifer never let go.

Lucifer doesn't know what happened that cost this state, but all he knows is that you need him. And that's exactly what he's going to do.

Lucifer carried you up to your sharing bed when your light snoring reached his ears. He hugged you close shutting his eyes, grabbing your waist tightly making you feel protective.

______

You rubbed your eyes exhausted from the panic attack yesterday.

As you spun around to look at your husband, Lucifer wasn’t beside you. Again the anxiety filled your ribcage, it was hard to breath.

“Lucifer?!” The door of your shared bedroom sprung open reveling your husband in one of those silly aprons he has. Your body quickly relaxed at the sight of him.

“Darling you’re awake!” His smile was precious and contagious. He moved rather fast towards you, and he stumbled. With grace he caught your breakfast and smiled nervously at you. “I made for you breakfast!” You laughed at his antics and took it out of his hands.

You gave him a peck on the lips and sat down on the bed. Lucifer followed you to the bed but didn't sit down.

Lucifers eyes sparkled when you ate his food. But frowned slightly when you suddenly stopped eating and played with the food.

With a sigh be plopped beside you. “Babe,” He placed the tray on the nightstand and intertwined your hands in his. “You know you can tell me everything.” You nod as you looked on your intertwined hand watching as he strokes his thumb on your hand. His clawed nail tapped on your shared ring.

“Look me in the face, darling.” His other hand moved your head upwards and your e/c orbs meet his red scarlet ones.

Without much thought you gave him the letter you received yesterday. He released your chin and took the letter out of your hand. Lucifers eyes left yours hesitant and he skips through the information. 

His hands clenched around yours in a comforting way after he finished. “Y/n I’m so sorry. I…” He took a deep breath and pressed you again onto his chest. “Everything will be alright darling.”

Your crying was breaking his heart. But letting out emotion is better than letting them eat you up. He knows it the best.

You two had almost a whole spa day.

Lucifer took care of you perfectly, just everything you needed.

His hand in yours like he promised in the wedding. Through thick and thin. The whole day, it was just you and him with pure affection. 

Lucifer and you were cuddled up on your couch. Your head was resting on his lap, and he played with your hand strands. “I Love you, Y/n Morningstar.” He said and pecked your lips. “I love you too, Lucifer Morningstar.”

A/n: I hoped you enjoyed what I wrote❤️

💫

@i-have-no-life-charlie @sirenetheblogger @concentratedconcrete @ylovei @cimadreamer @ayanazoldyck @froggybich

If you want to be added click on Taglist

[cherigu]

— ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Confessions!

Genre: smut, best friends / roommates to lovers Pairing: sub!jeongguk x softdom!reader Word Count: 3.7k Warnings: light angst, mutual pining, emotional constipation, grinding, begging, praising, finger sucking, blowjob, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, virginity loss, riding, jk cums inside Note: this is part 2 of lessons. it can be read as a stand-alone, but the plot may require context

The one thing Jeongguk had never done, was take the moments with you for granted. He learned to cherish the times you spent together and held them near and dear to his heart, for the memories were sure to live with him forever. He absorbed every detail and engraved it deep into his mind.

A beautiful day at the beach. The way your healthy, radiant skin glowed from underneath the sun. Soft hands gently smoothing the sunscreen onto his skin because you wanted him to be protected. The angelic sound of your laughter after splashing him with the warm, salty ocean water. Everything about your friendship was perfect.

Now, guilt viciously gnawed at his heart, sending painful stings throughout his whole body. With every second passed he reminisced the times when the two of you actually had a real friendship.

It’s not like the two of you had fallen off, the dynamic of the bond had simply shifted to something unrecognizable, something his younger self would’ve scoffed at and found impossible of ever happening. He especially hated how it had been his fault that everything went downhill. He never meant for it to get like this, unfortunately, he let his emotions get the best of him. 

What were meant to be simple lessons, had become a usual occurrence. The late-night talks had been long overshadowed by thick clouds of lust, with the two of you exploring each other’s bodies instead of minds.

He was sure neither of you still considered these nights “tutoring” anymore, more so a shitty excuse to get each other off whenever needed. Though the two of you had never gone all the way, being intimate with you was something he had only dreamed of.

But why was it that instead of feeling closer to you, he felt farther? Because he had chosen to be selfish. He chose to run as far away from you as possible, all while being tangled in your sheets for the night.

Your touch was like a drug, so addictive, and always left him craving more. It was at that point that he knew he had to save himself. He began to distance himself from you emotionally, knowing that you’d likely run back to your fruitless hookups and leave him longing for you. If he ran, you wouldn’t be able to hurt him from afar.

What he didn’t know is that ever since that day, your old habits had been finally put to rest. Unhealthy dependencies on other men to suppress the feelings you had towards your Jeongguk had become repulsive to you. Never daring to even breathe another man’s air, your mind had become fully dedicated to Jeongguk.

You no longer stood in denial about how you felt about Jeongguk, you had feelings for him and that was for sure. The only problem now was the growing distance between the two of you he seemed to establish. You knew it shouldn’t hurt. He was clear about what he needed, help. Now that he had gained experience, it was only a matter of time before he stopped seeking your aid.

You had considered talking to him, maybe something else was bothering him? Or maybe you were trying to deny the obvious once again. The last thing you wanted was to cross lines and make him uncomfortable, he never had been good at expressing himself after all. Asking him about something that only seemed to be affecting you felt selfish, and you’d rather not put him through unnecessary pressure.

He, on the other hand, had planned to talk to you sooner or later. He knew it was something he couldn’t avoid, the conversation would come up one way or another. Whether you initiated it, or he did. Had you even noticed a difference?

Anytime he tried to bring up the topic, he’d find himself at a loss for words. There were many ways to approach this situation, but none of them felt right. Whichever he’d end up choosing, he knew it’d cost him a little bit of his pride and a lot of mental courage.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

For the nth time that night, he got up to the kitchen. He’d turn on the tap and let it run for a bit, pretending he was doing nothing more than getting a glass of water. The truth was he wasn’t even thirsty, the trips to the kitchen were a mere strategy to walk by your room and see if you were still awake.

Although it was late he knew you were a night owl, but still the gap between the floor and your door showed no signs of light. Just as he was about to return to bed and call it a night, he heard the faint sound of music playing, and he then knew that you were probably still on your phone. 

He took the chance to go up to your door, stopping before his hand came in contact with the wood. He still didn’t know what he’d say but if he waited until he knew how to talk about his feelings, he’d never speak.

The sound of barely-there knocks stirred your attention away from the video you were currently watching, to the door. “Jeongguk?” You asked, knowing it couldn’t be anyone else other than him but still confused as to why he was up so late.

“Yea” He whispered, “Can I come in?”

“Of course Gukkie” You sat up from the comfortable lying position you had previously been in to welcome him. Jeongguk took a few steps inside your dark room before stopping to admire the view he had been presented with.

The dim light of the moon spilled into your room, illuminating nothing other than the most beautiful person in there. He felt his brain short-circuit and conveniently knock the words out of his mouth just from simply seeing you in your pajamas.

The rise of your shorts exposed the smooth skin of your plump ass he loved grabbing so much, knowing it fit into his large hands every time. Right beneath it was your thighs, so plush and soft, made for him to be buried in between. Finally, your soft tummy he never missed a chance to kiss. Every inch of you was so perfect to him, no one would be able to admire you as much as he did. 

He snapped back into reality at the sound of your voice “Is everything okay?” to which he simply hummed in return. “Come sit” You contrasted your worried expression with a warm smile, patting the empty spot next to you. You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t a bit concerned. Apart from not sounding too convincing, he looked tense and hesitant, like something was bothering him. 

“ ‘m okay” He whispered while sitting down, sensing your unease. “Good” You simply said and looked at him, unsure if you should say anything else or wait for him to continue. Nothing. Silence engulfed the room while you stared at his low-hanging head. “Gukkie..” You began, noticing his odd body language. It was then that he cut you off, not that you really know what you were going to say in the first place.

“I- I umm– have something to tell you” He started, still avoiding eye contact. “Okay,” You replied, letting him know you were all ears. Silence consumed the room once more, but it wasn’t long before he met his gaze with yours. The words bubbled in his throat, ready to spill. He tried to take a moment to recollect his mind and properly communicate his feelings, but before he was able to form a coherent thought, his mouth acted on its own.

“I have f-feelings for you” He admitted, cheeks beginning to tint pink as he fondled with his fingers. He found it easier to avoid your eyes this time, only being strong enough to look at you when he said it the first time. But now that he heard nothing come from your end, he wished for the ground to swallow him whole. 

Meanwhile, the timing couldn’t have been so wrong on your end. Despite your best friend being vulnerable in front of you about how he felt, the heat that rushed to your core was inevitable. Who could resist a shy, stuttering boy who had just confessed? Not you for sure. You’d definitely give this conversation time, another night when the air isn’t so hot because right now, the only thing on your mind was him and his cock in your mouth

You raised your right hand out to his chin, gently lifting his face with your pointer finger while your thumb caressed the boiling skin of his cheek. “Is that so?” You teased, wanting to hear him talk more. “Yea– always have” He choked back a little, feeling insanely flustered under your dark gaze. “Y-you don’t have to tell me how you feel right now, just uhh– take your ti-” 

His voice got caught in his throat when you removed your thumb from his cheek and tapped it on his bottom lip, signaling him to open up. He knew this gesture all too well, body working on its own as your thumb entered his mouth while his lips closed around it. “Shhhh” you tilted your head, “How about.. Instead of telling you how I feel, I show you” 

Your free hand landed on his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat and ragged breathing underneath your palm. “Hm?” You pushed your thumb slightly deeper, causing his eyes to become glazed with tears. Although he couldn’t speak, he frantically nodded for you to continue.

Any sort of embarrassment for his earlier confession had melted into pure arousal. Your thumb in his mouth and hand on top of his semi-hard made his mind grow blank, needing nothing but the feel of your touch all over him.

You decided to pull your thumb away, asking him to verbally confirm it was okay for you to continue, to which he responded with a desperate "yes." You took this as your cue to pull his face close to yours, desperately attacking his lips with everything you had. Exploring his mouth like a starved woman, situating yourself on top of Jeongguk’s lap to softly grind down onto his cock until it was fully erect.

“Feels good r-right there” He pulled away to whisper, loving how your clothed core rubbed against his hard-on. “I haven’t even started yet baby” You chuckled, digging your hands through his fluffy locks before harshly pulling him back into your lips. Nipping gently at his bottom lip, you took the chance to press down harder onto his lap.

The sensitive whines that slipped from your boy’s lips were all it took for you to halt your movements with a final kiss, stepping down from his lap onto your knees. You decided to not take longer than you needed, knowing he was most likely aching by now. With hurried movements, you removed his sweats and underwear in one go to release him.

His length proudly sprung out, reddened tip hitting his lower abdomen in the process. The precum that had leaked was smeared all over his tip, presumably from the grinding earlier. You took him into your hand to pump him a few times, lowering your head down to leave a trail of kisses up his thigh before hearing his desperate plea.

“Y/n, please…” He slurred, lifting his hips up from the mattress to chase your mouth with his cock, needing the lips he loved so much wrapped around him.

“So needy, should I give my good boy what he wants?” You tutted, slapping his cock against your bottom lip teasingly. “Mmhm, promise ‘ll be good all night just for you” He breathed out at the lack of movement on your end. “And how will you do that baby?”

The question was short-lived as Jeongguk was quick to dip his hand, swiftly pushing your shorts to the side only to discover you had no panties on. Not only did that turn him on even more, but it made his job easier to slowly rub your arousal all over your soaked cunt.

Your voice broke out into a long moan, both at the surprise and pleasure of the situation. “Like this” He used two fingers to spread your folds, massaging the middle while slightly prodding at your hole. Your hunger for him grew when he began to enter you, causing your body to jerk towards him and simultaneously take him into your mouth.

You started with his tip, rubbing your tongue onto his sensitive spot before moving it to run along the bottom of his shaft. The pants that left his parted lips only motivated you to do more, as well as the curl of his fingers inside of you.

Wrapping your lips fully around his tip, you sunk down as far as you could down his shaft, making sure to take him into your throat. Jeongguk’s hand stuttered, freezing as he felt your throat constrict around him. Still, he continued to pump in and out of you to feel the vibrations of your moans coarse through his skin.

Slightly pushing farther down, you gagged around his veiny shaft before pulling back up. “Such a big cock” you muttered, lifting your hand to cup his balls and lightly fondle them. He fought the pleasure to reply to you, broken voice letting out a breathy “yours” before throwing his head back while moaning.

You continued to toy with his balls for a moment while he played with your puffy pussy. The way his fingers grazed the spongy tissue inside of you had your toes curling in anticipation for release.

Sinking back down, you bobbed your head up and down with a pace similar to the one he had established with his fingers. Speaking of, your core was beginning to grow hot. The pit in your stomach was overtaken by a hot coil ready to snap at any moment.

You never faltered to slow down regardless, taking his length into your throat with the occasional swirl of your tongue. Making sure to gag around him as much as possible, you knew it made him all weak for you. His balls began to tighten in your hand along with his thighs going tense under your free hand. Hollowing out your cheeks, you met his eyes with yours as he came back up to watch you fasten your movements. 

“Ah, w-wait, ‘m gonna cum” He stuttered, struggling to say the words. All of his senses had died out, no longer being able to focus on anything but your sweet mouth working so well around him. You lifted your head to speak, not planning on wasting much time before getting back to work.

Sliding a hand down your shorts onto your clit, you began to massage the swollen nub to add to the friction of his fingers. “Me too baby, cum in my mouth, yea? Said you’d be good for me” You panted, ready to sink back down before he spoke again. “Wait”

“Wanna be inside of you, please” He pleaded with his big, glossy doe eyes that made it hard to say no to, not like you were planning on doing so anyway. 

“Are you sure Gukkie?” You asked taken aback, feeling dizzy at the thought of finally being able to take his fat cock inside of you, but needing reassurance first. “Yes, yes, please, wanna be inside of you, y/n, pleasee” He whined, feeling his cock throb in desperate need of release.

Satisfied with his answer, you wasted no time climbing back onto his lap, quickly discarding your shorts. Since it was his first time, you wanted to make this easier for him, so you’d take control. 

He positioned himself to lean his head back against the headboard, feeling your exposed cunt rest on top of his cock. Taking advantage of the leaking arousal from both parties, you experimentally slid up and down his cock to keep the orgasms at bay.

Taking his face into your hands, you gave him a quick reminder before starting. You stared at his pretty glassy eyes and swollen lips, parted to release breathy whines while he gripped at your hips. “If at any moment you want to stop, or something doesn’t feel right, let me know, okay love?" You whispered. “M’kay” He replied softly, ready for what he’d been waiting for forever. 

Taking his cock into your hand, you gently positioned him along your entrance, slowly sinking down onto him. “Fuck Jeongguk” Despite having some experience up your sleeve, Jeongguk definitely has to be the biggest. It was going to take a while to adjust to his size, so you decided to wait before starting any movement at all. As for Jeongguk, the adam's apple on his throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly and squeezed his eyes shut. “Breathe, ‘m with you, baby” 

Your sweet voice helped him regain composure, nodding at you in confirmation that he was okay to begin. Catching on, you squeezed his waist with your thighs on either side, making it easier to support yourself as you slowly began to bounce on his cock.

He was long enough to hit the right spots and girthy enough to rub along your walls deliciously. He became increasingly vocal as he felt your velvety walls flutter around him. “N-not gonna last, y/n” He warned, feeling your pace pick up once you both had adjusted to the new sensations.

“Im close too Gukkie, don't– ah, worry about t-that” You panted, leaning down to kiss the worries away from the visible frown on his forehead. Knowing he was feeling good put you at ease, enough to experiment with a harder pace, not too fast, but one that had his cock pushing deeper inside of you.

His abs flexed underneath you, warning you that he’d spill soon. He felt overwhelmed in a good way, he never though it could have ever gotten better from your mouth or hands. Feeling the wetness cream around the base of his cock everytime you bounced had his vision growing white and breath cutting short.

Aside from what he felt, seeing your pretty face scrunch up in pleasure was a sight that tipped him more over the edge within the second. He could no longer think, letting the words come out of his mouth on their own.

“Wanna cum inside you y/n, let me cum inside please” He cried, knowing he was close to his orgasm. “Need to c-cum, inside… inside” He babbled, letting the hot tears fall down his cheek without shame.

“S-shit, my baby’s taken me so well, I think he deserves it, hm?" You asked, never missing a beat, especially now more than ever. “Yes! Yes, please” He chanted, “Faster” 

The ringing in your ears from your incoming climax prevented you from hearing him, fastening your pace nevertheless as you chased your orgasm. The knot in your stomach began to untangle, feeling the white heat crawl up your body and take over your senses. The only thing you could afford to do right now was a plea.

“Im cumming, shit baby cum with me, fill me up and cream my pussy like the good boy you are” You slurred, bouncing on his cock rapidly while your orgasm coursed through your veins.

Your words were all it took for Jeongguk to begin shooting his thick, white ropes of cum into you. His damp face looked so pretty underneath you, sweat lightly coating his forehead and tears running down his cheeks. His pretty whines began to form into words as he mindlessly began to speak through his high, “Love you, love you, fuck, I love you, y/n” He cried out, feeling his cock grow numb from overstimulation. 

This isn’t the way he planned on telling you, but he couldn’t do much about the strong feeling that overcame him as he finished inside of you, his body enveloped with your own. His mind was empty with nothing but you, you, and you. 

On the other hand, you smiled like an idiot at his confession. After coming down from your high, you dropped your body on top of his, not bothering to slip him out just yet. His breathing was still heavy and his skin felt like it was on fire, so you gently wiped the hair out of his face and kissed his cheek before taking him into your embrace.

“You okay, love?” you asked, feeling his body vibrate with a chuckle and his big arms wrap around your back in return. “Mhm,” he mumbled, feeling a bit embarrassed as the fog in his mind began to clear up. “Was that alright, did it feel good?” You continued to check in with him to be sure, but he had other things in mind. 

“Y/nnnnn” He whined, thinking you were taunting him. “What? Im just making sure!” You smiled, loving how easily he got flustered. “Why would you ever doubt that I felt good, I even overspoke at the end..” He moved his head to dig it into the crevice of your shoulder and neck, something he often did when he was embarrassed which you found cute. 

“Why are you so shy baby, is it ‘cause of that? ‘Cause you said I love you?” You brushed your fingers through his curly locks in a soothing manner, making sure he knew everything was okay despite your playful teases. “It was pretty cute actually”

“Still, didn’t mean to drop that on you so suddenly” He mumbled into your skin. You knew what the boy meant, he hadn’t even been able to properly talk to you about his feelings before he unknowingly spilled everything.

“Does it make a difference if I told you right now that I love you too?” 

His head snapped up at your words, looking directly into your eyes with knitted brows. “And, meant it?” You finished, making sure he knew you weren’t just playing along. His face slowly morphed into one of joy, eyes twinkling as they crinkled when his cute bunny smile began to form. “Really?” He asked, feeling your lips peck his own sweetly.

“Mhm, I love you too my sweet boy. How about we talk more in the morning, yea?”

“M’kay” he tightened his arms around you, feeling the need to hold you close to him tonight, and every night after that.

[nova-amor]

༘☁︎⋆ ◜ 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧? ◞

every thought and nerve in miguel's body screamed for him to retreat, a war waging within him— torn between his desires to be with you and his morals. his feet were glued to the ground, his hands twitching by his side as his mind raced a million miles per hour, muscles tensed with both anticipation and anxiety.

"miguel," the whisper of his name from your lips pulled him away from his thoughts and brought him back to reality. your soft hands finding their place on the sides of his face, thumbs caressing the peaks of his cheek bones as you brought his gaze down to yours. whatever guilt and anxiety that had been plaguing miguel's heart moments ago was long gone— his body now buzzing with the intensity of your connection. "i've wanted you for so long, miguel, please... i need you."

in that moment, miguel knew that he was willing to risk anything and everything for you— morals be damned. he leaned into your touch, his thick arms wrapping around the small of your waist as he leaned in to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. a low, guttural moan escaped his throat as your fingers tangled themselves in his hair— tugging at the dark, silky strands as his hands roamed over the length of your body, cupping your ass with both hands before hoisting you up into the air.

miguel guided you to the edge of the bed, lowering you down to lay on your back as he hovered over you, one of his legs propped up onto the bed by your side to pin you beneath his weight. he murmured a curse in Spanish as he pulled away from the kiss, the look of hunger in his brown eyes making the ache between your thighs grow stronger.

"we shouldn't do this," miguel breathed out, his hands exploring every curve and inch of your body, committing every detail of this moment to his memory. he was still ashamed— the weight of guilt returning to weigh his conscious down. you were so much younger than him, at least a decade apart— you still had so much life and youth in you and he didn't want to take that away. "we should stop, i should leave."

"miguel, stop it," you finally snapped, wrapping your arms around his neck, tugging him back down so close that your lips were barely a centimeter apart. "stop being such an old man— i don't care that you're older than me, if anything i like that you're older than me. at the end of the day, we're both consenting adults and we both want each other so stop overthinking."

miguel bit at the inside of his cheek, brows furrowing as he focused on one singular part of your statement. "who are you calling an old man?" he questioned, his voice low and laced with a hint of anger. you met his anger with a smile, fully knowing that you had struck an irritating nerve.

"you— stop bein' an old man and fuck me," you poked at the nerve again, noting how his crimson eyes seemed to darken as each second ticked by. "or are you too scared of pullin’ a muscle, old man.” now that surely seemed to wash away any lingering doubt and anxiety from him.

miguel's head dived into the crook of your neck, elliciting a scream from your throat as he bit at the sensitive skin with the sharp edges of his fangs. one of his hands found the crown of your head, forcing your head to side further as he gripped the top of your head so that he could freely sink his teeth and suck at your neck— staking his claim on you through numerous bite marks and hickeys.

"don't ever call me that again, nena," miguel growled into your skin, bunching your shirt up to expose your bra-clad chest. he trailed a heated path of his kisses down your chest, the flat of his tongue lapping at your cleavage, your back arching higher in a frenzy to feel more of him.

he peeled the cloth of your bra back, soft lips wrapping around your areola while his other hand latched to your other breast. twisting, pinching, and tugging at your nipples with his tongue, teeth, and rough fingers.

“or what? old man…” you teasingly asked him, smirking at the sight of miguel finally giving into his primal desires to consume every inch of you. he grunted in return, his fangs sinking into the plump flesh of your breast to stamp another claim on you.

and that evening, miguel had proved to you that, regardless of the years between you two, he was most definitely not an old man.

[friendship-ditch]

You came back

(Katniss Everdeen x Fem Reader) ❀

Summary: After everything in the Capitol had begun to settle and your memories are stable, you return to the Victors Village for Katniss.

Warnings: Katniss is suicidal and very depressed, but the rest is just hurt/comfort/fluff—Also, not a warning, but you’re basically Peeta in this situation. (SFW)

Word Count: 3450

Carving holes into the dirt was tougher than you had expected it to be. The world was warming up around you, and flowers, just as the Primroses in your hand, were blooming in the woods, but the Victors village was stuck in a gloomy time warp. Just stepping through the archway onto the dry grass was like stepping into another realm.

Everything was the same as it was when you last saw it. Gloomy and empty, the truest resemblance of the life of a victor.

You planted the Primroses outside of the house, bringing a little bit of life back to the wasteland. You watered them once they were in the ground and then you went up onto the porch. It was a miracle the village wasn’t obliterated by the bombs, but it felt even heavier than the rest of District 12. Life had continued on outside these concrete walls, nature reclaimed the ruins with haste, but inside it was as if nothing had changed.

The door was cold as your knuckles rasped its surface. You held your breath.

Nothing.

After another failed attempt at knocking, you felt worry snake through your heart. The only thing you could think about was the worst outcome of them all.

She’s gone.

No, no, that couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. You rammed your shoulder into the door and popped open the old lock.

The inside of the house was just as depressing as the outside was. The lights were off and a layer of dust coated practically everything. The air was heavy and musty, smelling mostly old and just… bad, but the smell of death was lacking.. That was good at least.

You could barely make out some footprints on the floor that headed to the living room. Following the only sign of life, you took a deep breath and entered the living room. The curtains were drawn over the windows. You stumbled into the room, hand running along the wall and looking for the switch. When you finally found it, you took in a breath and then turned on the light.

There was a lump on the couch that shifted slightly as the lights flickered on.

You let out the breath in a sigh of relief. She was alive. Right? You did a double take.

Her hair was an utter mess of grease and tangles. Her skin was nearly white, the only flush of color tinting her nose and darkening under her hollow eyes. Her body was thin and frail beneath her loose clothes.

The only reason you figured she was alive was that her chest was frantically rising and falling, her breath shaky and hoarse. She said nothing, empty eyes locked on you.

“Katniss.” You breathed softly.

The living corpse still didn’t speak. You could just barely see the thoughts whirling in her mind beneath the haze in her eyes, but her raw lips didn’t move. Her body was present and hanging on by a thread. Her mind was gone.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting but it certainly wasn’t this.

You couldn’t figure out what to say. Words didn’t seem right for this, for the broken and numb soul in front of you.

Quietly you held your hands up, showing Katniss that you were empty handed, except for the small pack on your back that you set down on the floor with a thump. You cautiously approached her, taking notice of the orange cat curled by her feet that was staring back at you.

Hoping for some flicker of recognition, you waited at the edge of the couch.

After she studied you for a moment the fear faded from her eyes. She didn’t say anything and just lowered her head, looking at her lap blankly. She didn’t have it in her to be scared of you.

“I would’ve come back sooner.” You said softly, taking a seat on the edge of the cushion. “They wanted me to stay for a while longer to fix my memories… but I’m okay now. I remember it all.” You murmured.

Katniss didn’t respond, didn’t give any sign that she heard you at all.

The worry filled your chest once again, your heart sinking ever so slightly. For a split second you were worried that she was bitter at you for everything you’d done while hijacked, but you knew better than that.

You hadn’t seen Katniss since she killed Coin and had been sent back. You begged Haymitch and Plutarch to let you go home with her but they refused, encouraging you to make sure everything was okay with yourself first before trying to fix another destroyed girl. When the chance came you hopped on the train with nothing but one goal: Get back to Katniss.

But this wasn’t the Katniss you once knew. Yes, the games had changed both of you, had ripped out your brain and your heart and tarnished them with regret and pain, but returned the vital organs when finished. While you were tortured in the Capitol, Katniss tortured herself. Your reunion was cut short by Snow, and then Katniss lost the last flower that was keeping her alive, lost her brain, and her heart.

Prim was gone. And so was Katniss.

“I’m back now.” You said softly although you knew it was no use. “And I’m not going to leave, alright? I’m going to take care of you…”

She remained mute. She wasn’t even a human anymore. She’d lost all senses and control of herself. She was just a body waiting to die.

You couldn’t stop the sad sigh from escaping your lips, but you weren’t upset with her. You were more focused on your new task ahead: Get Katniss back.

After soothing her back to sleep, or at least getting her laying down in her catatonic state, you started a fire in the fireplace. You took a quick walk of the house. It was the same as yours had been so you knew the layout well, you just wanted to survey the damage.

Most rooms were just dirty, some of them a little wrecked from natural causes. The worst thing you saw was the bathroom that had a mold filled tub and a severely leaky sink, but you could fix that. The fridge was full with moldy food that you threw out. Katniss probably hadn’t eaten in days, much less showered.

Luckily you’d thought ahead and picked some herbs when you were in the woods. Sure, there wasn’t much food left but you could make her some soup. It would be enough to get both of you through a few days.

You simmered a pot of warm soup on the stove and cleaned most of the kitchen up. There was some old crackers stored away that you found too.

“Katniss! I made you some food.” You called softly but received no response as expected. So you poured a bowl and carried it out to the living room.

Katniss didn’t put up a fight as you sat her up, but when you offered her the bowl she turned her head like a petulant child. You tried again. She simply just stared at the soup as if she didn’t know what to do.

“You need to eat, honey.” You sighed again, taking the bowl back. Katniss was always stubborn and you didn’t often force her through things, but this was a literal life or death situation.

Carefully you scooped some of the soup up into the spoon and held it to her lips.

Katniss didn’t look at you or the soup, dead eyes staring ahead blankly. She slowly opened her mouth by instinct, letting you feed her. No reaction came across her face but she didn’t seem upset.

You fed her about half of the bowl, wiping the remaining droplets off her face. You figured she couldn’t handle solid foods yet so the crackers were an abandoned idea, but you were glad she was finally eating something.

The rest of the day was spent cleaning up some of the house. You tidied up the living room and the kitchen until the sun set, then went back over to the couch, pretty tired.

“I’m going to head back home.” You murmured softly, watching Katniss avoid your gaze. She wasn’t mentally there.. but you could hear you, and that was enough. “I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.”

Katniss showed no reaction.

You kissed the side of her head and tucked her in. She just closed her eyes, lost in the fog of a catatonic depression.

Katniss may have given up, but you hadn’t. She wanted to die, but you weren’t going to let her. You would come back tomorrow, and every single day from there on. Katniss was the only person left in your life that you cared about and you weren’t about to let her slip away just as everyone else had.

The next few days weren’t exactly fun, but you and Katniss both made it through.

You started by coming and coaxing her to eat breakfast, then you continued to clean the house up while she rested. The more you checked on her, the more she began to trust you again. It wasn’t that she had forgotten you, but she’d forgotten how to be a human. You were the last glimpse of familiarity in her life and she clung to you like a raft. You still weren’t exactly sure what terms you stood on, you’d been girlfriends back in the Games but you weren’t sure if that was truly an act or not, but that was the last thing that mattered.

As Katniss fell into routine, you began to give her the tiniest tasks, just to get her up and moving. Her body was weak and frail, and she couldn’t stand for long at first after weeks of malnourishment but she was improving slowly. You managed to get her to help you clean the dishes and dust the floors, giving her something to do and look forward to.

It took a while but soon enough the small jobs had given her some sense of humanity again. She didn’t speak, whether it was a choice or she simply couldn’t, but she was connecting with you more. And she was eating better and moving around too. You’d finally convinced her to sleep in her bed rather than on the couch.

Your next goal was to get her to shower. It was pretty evident that she hasn’t cleaned herself once since her return home.

“Hey, Katniss.” You handed her a wet plate, running the other one beneath the sink. “I fixed the tub and shower in the bathroom. Do you think you’d be up for taking a shower?”

Your question confused her and she looked up at you. The blank expression in her gaze had slowly but surely been replaced by comprehension and she was beginning to interact more with you. The only problem with that was that she also had remembered she could say no.

Katniss shook her head and returned to drying her plate.

“Come on, Katniss… You need to clean up. You’ll feel better.” You urged her gently, withholding the last plate from her.

Katniss stared at you, almost offended that you’d force her to do this. She knew you were right but the thought of a shower made her shudder. She couldn’t do that… the thought of washing out her hair and cleaning her body after so long of marinating in dirt made her want to cry. And the idea of feeling better was scary.

Katniss just turned away from you. You shook your head.

As you were doing your last rounds that night, making sure the fireplaces weren’t blocked by anything, you saw Katniss standing quietly at the bottom of the stairs, watching you with teary eyes. You wondered if she had a nightmare and came down to find you, then your eyes found the brush in her hand.

Katniss had tried to brush her hair out but her hair was so greasy and tangly that the brush ended up getting stuck. She stared at you helplessly, her lip quivering. She hated being helpless but her mind hadn’t reformed enough for her to be able to handle this yourself.

“Oh, honey.” You went over to her. She said nothing, just stared at the ground, embarrassed and upset.

It took you a few minutes to free the brush. You were going to tuck her back into bed but you had become pretty good at reading her expressions and knew you couldn’t just leave her like this. Katniss had reluctantly accepted her inevitable fate.

You spent the next hour brushing out her hair. It was awful and tears were shed by both of you, but the result was worth it.

The shower was a little finickier than you thought it would be but soon the water was warm and running. You weren’t sure how this was going to work exactly.

Katniss stared at the water silently but her eyes reflected fear. She refused to move, refused to do anything.

“How about… how about you can sit down and I’ll clean your hair?” You offered, pulling an old chair into the bathroom.

It wasn’t ideal but it worked.

Katniss sat, still clothed, on the chair beneath the water. You stood behind her in your clothes too, shampooing her hair for the third and final time. She was as quiet as usual but she seemed to enjoy the feeling of your fingers on her scalp.

After shampooing her hair, you added one round of conditioner. Then you got ready to leave so she could wash herself off. You were about to step out of the shower when she grabbed your arm.

Washing Katniss wasn’t an easy process either. You stood behind her for the most part, gently scrubbing her off with a cloth and some soap.

She hated being exposed and vulnerable but she let you clean her because she knew nobody else would. You were the only one she trusted to see her true form; her thin and weak body, and the scars that painted it.

When it was all over, you wrapped her up in a towel, got her changed, and put her to bed.

Things changed from that night. They weren’t perfect or good, but they were certainly better than before. You and Katniss had grown closer overtime and on bad days, spend most of the daylight just cuddling on the couch. Katniss also had found a way to communicate with you that didn’t require her voice.

She’d found an old notebook and pen and was scribbling in it when you found her. You were late that morning because of the storm outside, and she was clearly upset.

When you finally got inside she handed you a note.

The writing was mostly incomprehensible, a lot of loose scribbles and misplaced words but you could make out what she was trying to say.

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

Your expression softened and you sighed. “I’m sorry.” You said softly. “I would never not come, I promise. I just got held up..”

You were scared Katniss’s fragile trust in you would break, but she seemed to understand. Her greeting hug lasted longer that day.

You had also begun to stay the night at her house. Sure, you lived about 25 yards away but sometimes the guest bedroom just looked so inviting… and sometimes she couldn’t make it through the night alone with her nightmares. You stayed with her through the night, cuddled around her, and she finally started to get the sleep she hadn’t had in years.

There were a lot of days where you couldn’t get her out of bed, but you understood and you laid with her. You held her while she cried, your own eyes sometimes filled with tears. You let her breakdown with grief in your arms, and you comforted her when she was aware enough to listen to you. You were nothing but patient and kind with her, something she’d never experienced before.

As Katniss began to heal, so did the world around her. The Victors village finally felt the warmth of spring. You started to bring Katniss out of the house with you.

“It’s just over here.” You murmured, your hand clasped around hers. You carefully took her down the slightly worn path of grass and stones, being careful of the wildflowers dotting the ground.

The ruins of District 12 were painful to look at, but in that pain was beauty too. The nearest town center was no longer a dark, gloomy heap, but had instead been recovered by nature itself, flowers sprouting and animals returning.

Katniss said nothing still, looking around in silent awe. Her eyes were teary but there was no sadness in them.

“Up here. You’re doing good.” You say, bringing her to one of the taller ruins of an old building. Together, you climbed up the side of it to a small platform that gave the most beautiful view.

A few tears dribbled down Katniss’s face, but they were tears of relief. She didn’t flinch when you gently tilted her head towards a nearby field of flowers; of Primroses.

Her expression softened and for the first time you saw something new on her face: love. She looked at you through a teary gaze and you nearly fell off the ruin.

The edges of her cracked lips were drawn into a smile. It was small and weak, but it was a smile.

“Do you like it?” I couldn’t help but smile back at her.

Katniss nodded. She slowly opened her mouth and let out a few hoarse croaks, then she finally managed to speak.

“Pretty.”

You almost burst into tears. It had been so long since you heard her voice, and you were so proud of her, but the last thing you wanted was to make her uncomfortable. You let your smile grow and patted her back gently.

“Very.”

Not every day was good, but Katniss had begun to speak more after that. Sometimes she’d go days without a word, and sometimes she’d only utter the most heartbreaking sentence like the one night she asked you why you wouldn’t let her die, but she never stopped communicating with you whether it be by words, pen, or even kiss. She was looking healthier and even happier.

At the peak of summer, you took her herb collecting. Katniss brought her bow just in case of any worthy game, but she was more than happy to tag along and help you collect plants. It was an activity that reminded her of Prim, just as you did. Both of you were the peace in her life, her grounding rock, her hope and strength. You were no replacement for the sister she lost, but you were something new, and somebody she could love just as unconditionally.

After your basket was filled to the brim, you two sat down on a rock near a creek. The cold water babbled and the birds sang.

You hummed with them, sitting behind her and braiding flowers into her hair.

Katniss sat quietly. She was smiling and watching the water. When your hands stopped ruffling through her hair, she turned to look at you.

“Did you ever think this would happen?” She asked quietly.

“What would?” You questioned, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head.

“All of this…” Katniss leaned into you a little, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “That we’d end up here again, together.”

You leaned back into her, your chin nestling on her shoulder as the two of you look out at the water and the woods beyond. “No. But I wouldn’t want anything else.”

“I wouldn’t care what we had… as long as I had you.”

You giggled softly. “Stop trying to one-up me.” You scold her teasingly, planting a kiss on her flushed cheek this time.

Katniss chuckled. Her head shook with amusement and she instinctively found your hand, playing with your fingers.

“Alright, fine. I’m just… I’m really happy you came back. I’m glad I hung on long enough for you to come back…”

“I just wish it was sooner.” You whispered quietly. “I wish I could’ve gotten out of there sooner and then—.”

“Shh..” Katniss hushed you gently with a kiss on your lips. “Just be quiet.”

You smiled and hugged her a little tighter from behind. “I would’ve come back to you no matter what.” You whisper. Your arms tightened a little again around her torso.

Katniss turns to look at you and she smiled softly, leaning her head against your neck.

“You came back, that’s all I care about.”