#And the time star told his kid: “make yourself at home”

[daenysthedreamersblog]

SECRET OF US - VIII

i told you things

i told you things that i never said to anybody else, i regret them but I'll pack it up and practice leaving you were all at once 'til the fade to black 'til the yellow glow turned a little sad you were in my hands, but you're good at leaving

masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

summary: you head into the viper's den of your father's household with coriolanus snow

pairings: modern!coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: MDNI! swearing, drinking, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex

notes: rip tiktok also sorry im a slow writer ya'll im a perfectionist to my core

The sun didn't fit. It should be dark, gloomy depressing outside to follow the tone for today, rain and storms hiding away any chance of joy...instead the sky was clear, a bright yellow ray beaming down into you face making you look away.

His hand is resting on your thigh, you watch his finger tap along the meat of you leg. You think of a time when you glared daggers at a boy's head as he sat in front of you in some class. You follow his arm up until your looking at said boy's head watching the road. What force led you here to this moment in time? You knew what force back then, what stern hand had guided you, the voice incessantly in your head sounded too much like your father's.

You sighed staring back out into the road ahead, "Do you remember back then?" He makes a noise to question you. "School, when we first met."

He shuffles his hand around the steering wheel eyes focused on the distant road. "Um I guess, why?"

"No reason." You chew on the side of your finger and wonder how different your lives could have been if you hadn't given into your father's anger, a senseless competition. Would a hand be resting on your thigh still? "Do you think we would have been friends?"

He finally glanced over at you, "If you hadn't been such a raging bi-!" You whack his arm, "I'm kidding! Probably, who knows...and anyways its over now no use dwelling on it."

You watch his knuckle tighten slowly on the wheel and you feel like he's not telling the truth about something, but you don't push. He's right, the past was the past. "You were so cute in school I hated hating you."

"Figured." He smirked over at you. "And what about now?"

You cross your arms, "No comment."

"Spoken like a true politician." He chuckled. "Got to keep the cards close huh?"

"It's where they belong." You glance out the window.

His hand lands back on your thigh, "Maybe they belong to the wind." You wanted to, for him, for yourself, but trusting him was too hard despite trying. You had tried for years with Coriolanus Snow, years of blood, sweat and tears to ruin each other. That creeping fear that he was out to get you didn't go away within one sweet kiss.

You chew on your finger until the skin bleeds.

Your parents had lived close to the academy where you had went to high school, still owned the home where they frequently stayed. They also owned property away from the city, where the traffic was light and the stars were visible. 

The house was right off the beach, overlooking the water with plenty of space to accommodate you and your friends, but you had no intention of actually staying there, trapping yourself in with your parents. 

Instead, you followed Coriolanus into the elevator of the hotel you were choosing for lodging. "Do they know you're in yet?"

"No." You shook your head toying with the handle of your suitcase. "Few more hours of peace right?" You glance up at him, "Did you come up here with..."

The Plinths.

He nodded, "Yeah." You knew they owned property across town, had went to a party with Arachne and Clem there when you were younger. You figured he hadn't come back since Sejanus had died.

"Isn't it crazy we've been so involved in each other lives, yet we don't seem to really know each other." The elevator dings and you lead the way out and down the hall. 

The students you had went to high school with you had been going to school with since you were a child. Your families grew up together, you had the same circle, and hung around the same people. Yet, he sometimes felt like a stranger to you. "Probably because we never really knew anything, just the surface layer."

You slide the key into the door and push it open rolling your suitcase off to the side and flopping down across the king bed. "Aren't you just a giant onion Coriolanus Snow?"

"An onion." He laughs the bed dipping as he crawled next to you.

"Let me peel you." You drew circles into his wrist as he stared down at you. Gosh he was beautiful, you had shied away from that, denied that but now you can't stop admiring it.

He smiles, "Tell me something real."

You let him brush hair away from your face, "You have such pretty eyes."

"What a cop out." He rolled those pretty eyes, "Too easy."

"Doesn't make it any less true."

He leans down and kisses the side of your mouth, "True." You waited for him to speak his truth, "I'm worried about tonight." You pulled back confusion written on every feature. Coriolanus sighed, "He-Your father...he-well you know what he's like." 

You sat up, "I don't understand."

"I just...he's not going to like that you and I are..." You sucked in a breath. Say it, define this, make it real. "Not trying to kill each other." Disappointment settled in your stomach. "I have a feeling he's going to try and change that."

You furrow your brows, "Why?"

He ran a hand over his face, "He wants whats best for you, and that doesn't include anyone but him."

"He doesn't get to decide that." You climbed on top of him cupping his face. "I'm done letting him control me."

His hands slid around your waist, "I know."

You kiss him words being too raw to tell him you thought he was the best thing you had right now. He swings you around until your back hits the bed, until he’s hovering over you, kissing down your neck, collarbones pulling your shirt over your head to continue trailing his mouth down the center of your breast. 

Your fingers work his belt open to allow him the space to push his pants down his legs and onto the floor. He's kissing down your stomach, kissing your hips as he inches off your underwear and pants laying you naked before him. He kisses your inner thigh, kisses the heat pulsating from your between your legs, and then he plants the gentle kiss to your clit as your back arches in anticipatory pleasure. He worships you, he glides his tongue along your clit, swirling and teasing the bud as your claws dig into his scalp. He presses down hard, moving his mouth in delicate motions that draws sweat to your hairline as two finger push inside of you. Your back arches even further, your hips tilting upward as his mouth wraps around your clit, stars peppering your vision. "Coryo," You moan for him feeling his smile deep within your cunt. His tongue slides over your clit one last time, fingers curling deep inside of you the pleasure incinerating you before you orgasm. You turn your face as you whine out into the air feeling him lap up every ounce of you until your withering under his mouth.

He's off the next second flipping you onto your stomach and hoisting you up onto all fours. You have one moment to grip the sheets before he pushes his cock inside of you. You groan from your throat as he grabs onto your hips to slam in and out of you and all you can do is arch for him to slide him deeper, slide him to that spot you like all too well. "So good," he pants out. "So good to me." You flatten your chest to the bed, bitting onto your knuckle as your body bends even further for him.

"Mhm," Is all you can whimper out as he thrust hard and fast into every inch of you. Your body is clenching down around him, the pressure building up too fast already. He was right, it was so good, how could it be this good between you two. You had been with other people, he no doubt had as well, but this...this was a different plane of existance. "You feel so good." You tell him the same.

He lets out a breathy laugh, his strokes slow and deep. "Do I?" He reaches around your body fingers pressing into your clit, drawing circles into it. "Tell me baby girl, tell me how good it feels." You do. You're a blubbering whining mess for him, mewling for more as you scream into those stupid hotel sheets. "Cum on my cock then, show me how good it feels." You do that too twisting your fingers into the bed as your body clamps down around him. He grips onto you hips again moving at a rabid pace to chase his own pleasure, spilling inside of you with your name on his lips.

You lay like that for a while, bent over, him inside of you until it didn't seem reasonable anymore. He reluctantly pulled out, you reluctantly let him, and then he's pulling your sweating bodies together across messy sheets. You need to shower, you need to get ready, prepare for this disastrous event.

But you close you eyes, and revel in the warmth of his skin a little longer.

You smooth down the black dress, fidgeting with the jewelry littering your fingers. "Hey." His warm hand slides into yours. "We don't have to go." He comes in close tucking hair behind your ear as he trails a finger down your cheek. "We can go back, spend the whole night in that hotel room." You sucked in a breath cheeks heating despite the slight chill in the air. He smirked, "Spend it having you spread open beneath me."

You leaned into his hand, "As nice as that sounds..." You tugged his hand down from your face your fingers tangled in an intricate web of connection. "I have to face him."

The door opens and you find yourself dropping his hand taking the slight sidestep away from him. You catch it, he catches it, but you avoid looking at him. "Mother." You rush into her arms the only comfort you had ever found growing up.

"My darling girl." She kisses your cheeks and peers at Coriolanus Snow. "Mr. Snow, what a surprise." She holds out her hand allowing him to press a respectable kiss to it before ushering everyone inside to avoid awkward conversations. 

You stand there in the foyer awkwardly anyways. "You have a lovely home." He tells your mother.

She waves his flattery away, "She's not in her prime, only had the dust shook off for this pointless party." She eyed you tenderly, "Come by our building when we all get back to the city, now that is a lovely home."

"I'm sure he has better things to do that admire your paint choices." You fought to not roll your eyes as worlds incessantly collided in front of you. Coriolanus had always been overly cordial with the elite set of parents your fellow students had, smoozing them at various events...even yours.

He smiled down at you, "I'm a avid paint admirer." He runs a hand down the sleeve of your coat. "Let me hang this up for you."

Your mother motions down the hall, "Coat check is right through there." You shrug out of your coat and watch him disappear with it, "I thought we hated him?" She whispers in your ear.

"We do-we did...I did." You glance at her. "I don't hate him anymore, at least I don't think I do."

She studied your face, "No you don't hmm." You had your father's eyes, cold, hard eyes chased away by all the warmth in your mother's who's softness always enveloped you, a softness you searched endless inside of yourself. She gave you life, she knew your soul even if you didn't. "I meant what I said, have him come by when you get back."

"No." You scoffed.

Her eyes narrowed, "You're as difficult as your father, your own worst enemy." You hear his footsteps returning, "Why don't you give him a tour?" She runs a hand down your arm before walking away.

He smirked down at you, "Absolutely not," You pointed at him.

His hands grabbed onto your waist pulling you in, "Show me you room kitten."

"You're as bad as her." You groaned shoving past him and up the stairs. You walk him into the house showing him various offices and rooms and bathrooms. He's not interested in it, he knows you're stalling as you approach the last door. "This is my room." You grimace as you open the door letting him walk inside.

He flips on the light glancing around at your bedroom as if he never been in one before. It was different than you room in the city, the one you chose, you decorated and lived in. This one was a view into your adolescents, the version he never got to see behind closed doors. He peers at your bare desk, littered with random pictures of Arachne and Clemensia. He slowly gazes at the walls covered in various awards and degrees, the small book shelf with childish fiction books hidden beside literature your father planted. Then his fingers are trailing along the white floral detailing on your powder blue bedspread.

"Roses," He traces the stem off of one.

"I guess." You were picking at your nails waiting for the snap of judgement. 

He finally meets your eyes, "It's cute." You don't respond as he starts digging through your bedside table. "Your mother seemed okay with me being here."

"She knows how to bite her tongue." You step inward, "Been hiding her opinions for years now."

He sighs sitting on your cushioned perfectly made bed, "And what are her true opinions of me then kitten?"

You come around the bed, fingers trailing along the white wooden bedpost until you're in front of him. "I'm sure nothing appropriate." You smirk down at him as hands ghost the back of your thighs until his palms are pressed into your backside.

"What are your opinions?" 

You straddle him, his hard cock digging into you. "Nothing appropriate."

His mouth hovers along yours, "Tell me something real."

I need you. "I need you inside of me."

He kisses you hard as you grind your body down onto his. It's fast and heated and you're fighting with his pants as he hikes up you dress to dig his fingers into your soaked cunt. "So needy for me." He smiles along your mouth, nipping your bottom lip before sprawling you out on your old bed.

"Always," You don't let him go far. You keep your arms around his neck allowing him to spread you open, to push inside of you slowly, inch by inch, letting him envelope you inside out. When he's filled you completley you let your legs wrap around him gently, letting him rock his hips against yours. You felt every inch of his body, every inch of his soul consuming you with every long slow stoke of his cock. He kisses you again, tongues melding together as your bodies had done, until every part of you seems attached to his.

Your hands trail down his back, feeling every muscle rippling under his dress shirt as he thrust into you. You're never sated, never full enough of him and you think you may never be and the idea terrifies you. So you tuck your face into his neck and kiss him, kiss his pulse and hold onto him before he slips through your fingertips, before you let him.

In the end you know it would be your fault, it had always been your fault.

You feel heat filling your veins, his fire engulfing you in it's blue flame raging against your amber glow. "My girl," He groans against your face, the words branding on your skin. "My pretty girl." In some other version of this you would ask him if he means it, if he could ever want you that way, and maybe he would, but not here, not now. You relish in the delusion of simplicity of being his.

You tilt your hips, you take him deeper, you close your eyes and feel every shock of pleasure shooting across your body. You clamp down around him, like you always would, and orgasm tangled up in everything that was him. His hips stutter as he cums soon after open mouth breathing against your hair. You feel the tightness in your throat, the realization of the serene bubble you made hidden under sexual desire. There was so much more, so much, and you could never look it in the face.

He kisses your forehead, and you wonder if he feels it too.

He stares down at you gentle fingers brush hair out of your face, "I may have smudged your makeup a little."

You chuckle at the break in tension, "That's alright."

"You're still beautiful." Your cheeks burn, "You've always been beautiful."

"Even back then?" You wince when he pulls out, as he helps you sit up to collect yourself.

He nods as he adjust his pants. "Then, now." He smirks up at you, "You've aged like an expensive wine."

"Your favorite flavor I assume?" You pull your dress down into place.

He watches you, "You are exquisitely delicious kitten."

You smile to yourself as you use the small vanity to fix yourself back up, cover up marks and smudges, straighten out your dress. “I see why now.” He says and you look at him through the mirror as he stares out of your bedroom window. “Why you like to go there..” The docks in the city.

You walk over to him taking in the same view he was; the dark water lapping on a cold beach. The lone boats still sitting along the nearly empty dock of people waiting for spring to break through finally. “It’s nice to always imagine the escape, picture a different life, romanticize the little things.” You sighed, “I spent a lot of time in here; needed to pass the time, wondered if I could float away too.”

“So philosophic.” He smirks.

You gaze up at him, “Just a depressed teenager actually.”

He chuckles, “No wonder you grew teeth and claws.” You turn to face him as he creeps closer to you, slowly like he might spook you, and he could because he was right. You always thought you were born with fangs, poison laced in your gums from who you were always meant to be, but really it had been a defensive measure. Now it seemed to difficult to put them away after so long, all the raw, jagged parts of you and he still chose to come closer.  Your heart flips in relief, in some sort of confirmation, that he could see you, but it's falling just as quick with fear, with a need hide from his scrutinizing gaze. You've spent years honing this craft, tucking the monster quietly inside, trying to make it small enough to fit into a life that wasn't yours. He cups your face anyways forcing you to burn underneath its intensity.

Your brows crease, "Coriolanus." He kisses you, softly, like you were made of precious glass, melted and woven to fit within his palm. It's too much, too much emotion is pouring into your chest that you need to pull away. As if you could let it all come to the surface, as if you could believe the walls you had spent years building could be let go.

He sighs through his nostrils as he opens his eyes to stare down at you disappointment in his gaze, "You dropped my hand."

You played dumb, "What?"

"You dropped my hand."

You scoff, "What did you expect me to do, to say? 'Hey mom here's this guy I'm fucking?' Doesn't really roll off the tongue."

He rolled his eyes, "She knows who I am."

"That's not the point."

He narrowed in on you, "Then what is the point?"

"You tell me!" You snap like the viper buried deep down inside of you, the wild snake your father had forced you to be, the creature within your soul Coriolanus had always seen. You're breathing heavy watching him study every expression hidden under false anger.

"You always go on the offensive when you're avoiding questions." He reminds you after he had spent years observing you to dissect your soul. He takes a slow step forward, his middle finger twisting around your own, "I get it, truly more than you know. I just wish you knew. Is it so hard to trust me?"

"Yes." You breath.

His eyebrows furrow, "Why?"

"I spent my whole life mistrusting you, how do you unlearn a behavior." You feel your fingers tugging away from him. "Do you even trust me?"

He's pulling your hand back to him, to hold against his heart; steady and strong beneath his sternum. "More than I should." And he was right to, you were never able to offer him any security back in regards to whatever this was. You had always had to strike deeper, more lethally. ”Change, you change, that's how you unlearn things...I changed."

"Not much."

He playfully glares, "Just enough."

Maybe you had misjudged him, maybe you had always misjudged him. “What do you want?” It wasn’t accusatory, but the honest question.

“What do you want?” There is was, the stalemate, the cold war of neither of you wanting to admit the ever consuming truth. No, he would never admit defeat first. He wanted to pummel you beneath his iron fist first, or did he? You weren't sure you knew anything anymore. You knew you wanted to hear the words from his mouth, words you know you may never hear at all, pathetic words you're sure were just your own.

I care about you. I want you. I'm falling in love with you.

 "Come on." You struggle to step away fully so your hand comes up to interlock with his. "We're already late.”

So, no you may never hear them because even you weren’t willing to reveal the soft parts of yourself, so why should he? Everyone had always controlled you, used you, and even when you tried to make your own choices it was thwarted by your father. It was difficult to relent that feeling, that fear; it was difficult to push the fangs back up into your gums and give in to those things you truly wanted. 

You let him walk slightly behind you as you head back into the party, as you head right for the open bar needing to dull the feelings swarming your head. But now that your here, downing a glass of champagne where everyone can see your father's heir, the anxiety sets in. Your skin was crawling, you felt everyone staring at you as you drained a flute quickly grabbing another one. This was stupid, this was your dumb idea and you wanted to peel off your own fingernails to claw your way out of this pit of snakes. 

"There she is." Your father's voice sends oily sludge down your spine as he speaks your name, demanding you to turn and look at him. You do. He's the same as ever, more gray hair popping up on his head than last time, his clean shaven face, dark soulless eyes peering into the depths of yours. He's quick to take your hand, pull you in close pretending to kiss your cheek. "What is Coriolanus Snow doing at my party?"

"I invited him." You're firm. 

"Stupid girl." You quickly search the party finding him speaking with your father's business partners...networking. You should have felt unease at the sight, but you had stopped competing with him long ago and who cares if he networked for his own career. "Highbottom." Your father turned to the man next to him, "My daughter had told me her email was hacked a few months back, she never got your message for her to apply."

His fingers dug into your shoulder forcing you to respond, to grovel. "I'm so sorry Mr. Highbottom, I know how amazing of an opportunity that internship would be at your company. I would love to still apply if you are open to more candidates."

He didn't care, he had always been going to give you the position due to your father. "Technology is a fickle thing hmm...Come by my office when you get back to the city, we'll set something up for you."

You shake his hand. "Thank you sir."

"Good job." Your father had whispered once Highbottom had disappeared from view. "Now get that fucking leech out of here."

You glared; you’re glad he’s upset, you’re glad he didn’t plan for this. It didn’t make his disappointment easier to withstand, "It's not like that anymore."

Your father ordered a glass of brown liquor sneering into the cup. "Oh really. Tell me how many kisses did it take for you to forget who he is.” You don’t answer only take another long, slow drink. “Not much I suppose since he’s here no doubt whispering into everyone’s ear about how he’s the better option than you.” He watched you set the empty glass down before you looked at him. “The funny thing is…he is.”

It hurts. It had always hurt, you don't let on. “Then let him be better.” You narrow your eyes, “I’ll go where I’m wanted not where you’re wanted.”

Your father sighed, “Then go nowhere I guess.” He shakes his head, “Who would want you? A love sick withering woman who would rather wander aimlessly then stake her claim at what is so rightfully hers.” Your eyes quiver, “You’ve brought yourself so low, and for what? That bottom feeder?”

The sound of Coriolanus saying you father’s name snaps you out of it. “Mind if I borrow your daughter?”

He gives you a tight lipped smile. “We’re not done with this conversation.” Your father finished his drink and walked away without even acknowledging Coriolanus. 

You stared up at him your insides steeling up. “Come dance.” He pulls you by the hand towards the middle of the room, you can’t even hear the sound of the slow music playing over the sound of blood rushing in your ears. You can’t even hear him ask his questions until he says your name multiple times. You look up at him, "How did it go?"

You laughed sarcastically into the air. "I am a coward. It's like the minute I'm around him I'm just a little girl again scared to disappoint her father." 

"What does he want anyways?" He asked his hand sliding down the length of your spine, like his touch was the only thing holding you together.

"Money, power, glory." You watch the back of his head leaving the room. "He wants his empire, he wants me right there beside him so even when he's forced to step down he'll always be my shadow, he'll always be in control." Your eyes meet Coriolanus’s once more, "I think most of all, he wants me to want it."

"And you don't."

"And I don't." Then you’re looking at his chest, feeling the warmth of his palm within your own, and once again wonder how you found yourself here; finding comfort with him, finding security with him. "I don't know what I want, who I am...I just know I don't want to be controlled."

"When did you realize that?" He asked simply.

It wasn't simple, and you sighed. "Arachne had just come out." The air feels tight as you recount. "Her parents weren't happy, and she had come over with Clem for comfort, for reassurance. My father..." You swallow hard. "My father wanted me to convince her to lie, to pretend to be someone she wasn't, to take it back., and I almost did it. I almost agreed to do it."

You look up at his gaze; he wasn't judging you like you had judged yourself. He had always seen the worst parts of you and never looked away. "What made you decide not to?"

"I got back to my room, and I saw her laughing with Clem and I realized I never wanted my friend to not smile like that." You blink remembering the brightness in her eyes, "If she had to be pretend to be someone she wasn't...she never would have been able to be happy. I couldn't do that to her." His hand soothes the small of your back, "If I was more like him, if I wanted to be like him, I would have been completely okay with ruining her life."

He stilled. "You aren't like him."

Couples are spinning around you, laughter rings out in distant areas of the room, you feel your mother watching you somehow, or maybe that was something only mother’s could make their child feel. “I always felt too much, too keenly; hatred and worry and…love.” His blue eyes twinkle in the golden chandelier light. “Hatred is easier to admit than love.” Too much, too much, you’re revealing too much… "It's easy, but his…disappointment, his disgrace, it’s too much to bear. I have no more room for it, and it disgust me how much I allow him to bend me.”

His hand strokes your cheek forcing you to tilt your face up for him, “The wind kitten.” He repeats, “The only way to make room is to let some of it go. You can’t change him, you cant let him change you.” Another brush of his thumb, “I see you…I’ve always seen you. I know who you are, who you harbor, the bad and…the good.” He's kissing you then, cupping your face up to his as you hold onto his wrist savoring the taste of him. ”Let’s get out of here."

“Okay.”

Soon enough your rushing back though the party trying to find coats and purses to leave in a mad dash. Your father couldn't be too mad, you had come, made amends with his friend, would maybe try for that job...probably not. "I can't find my phone.” You cursed your dress, you wished you gave it to him instead but your searching ever nook for that stupid device, and then you remember. “My room, I-I must have left it up there earlier.”

Your room is dark once more as you push the door open seeing the screen light up on a slightly rumpled comforter. You scoop it up into your hands before turning and coming face to face with your father. “Did you really think you could leave without finishing our conversation?”

“Yes, I’m leaving.” You held your chin high trying to draw from Coriolanus’s strength. 

His eyes narrowed, ”Before you go..." You’re mid trying to open your phone to text Coriolanus when you look up at him. "Did he ever mention his father to you?"

"What? No? Why would he?" Crassus Snow had died many years ago, before you had even went to school with his son. He had worked with your father for some time but nothing noteworthy.

Your father shrugged. "Interesting."

You cross your arms. "Spit it out already."

"Crassus Snow and I were friends." He said the air growing heavy, thick with the weight of his words; they hung in the space between you, suffocating, pressing against your chest. "I was making huge success, he wasn't, invested into the wrong places and he was jealous, hungry for more, for what I had." Your hand covered your mouth as your father stood up straighter. "He was never able to recoup what he lost. He died knowing his fortune was in ashes, his only saving grace would have been his son, so I couldn't have that. No, he would not haunt me any longer."

So he had sent you to destroy that last living memory of an old friend, an old enemy. You remember the lecture, the hatred your father had instilled in your for that boy.

Your father smirked, "And I knew he would have left his son the same task."

"He's not like his father." You shook your head, you never knew the man, but if he was anything like your father...

"Isn't he? Just as cruel and manipulative and power hungry with an ambition like a knife." He laughed at you, "Do you truly think he cares for you? Come on darling I know I raised you to be smarter than that."

Your heart froze up, "Maybe he changed after the accident, maybe he realized theres more important things in life."

Another cruel laugh, "He realized he's nothing without The Plinths and he's lucky they never pressed charges for him getting their son killed."

"He-He..." You're spinning out words hitting you like bullets.

Your father struck his final blow, "He's using you." A cold whisper. "You don't think I've been watching him all night, networking, scheming his way into places meant for you. He's using you like he used that Plinth boy and you are falling into the same little trap that will get you cast out or worse..." Two hands ran down your arms, a father's comfort. "You're faltering, you're letting opportunity pass you by, giving up power for a silly boy who could never love you."

"That's not true." Your nails dig deep into your palms.

"Is that all it took for you to give up? A sweet kiss, the moon on a string?" He tsked at you like a child. "I would pity you if I wasn't so disappointed, but then again you are just a woman.”

Anger flared within you steel locking around every wall. “Woman? Is that meant to be an insult?”

“Of course it is.” He scoffs. “If you were a man he wouldn’t have been able to weasel his way close to you. He knew all the tricks to emotionally manipulate you.” He laughed at you, “He’s probably down there right now sealing a deal meant for you because you let him pass you by, you let him make you weak.” You want him to stop, to shut up, to leave you alone, so you slip into the only version of you he adored.

You smirk, fangs slipping down the lie burning hotter than the poison dripping out. “You don’t think I know that. You don’t think I can see through his little tricks.” You tilted your head to the side hair spilling onto your shoulder. “Oh father, you should know me better, you raised me.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow urging you to continue.

“I’ve been planning it for months, the moment I knew we were going to be scene partners.” You gaze at your nails as if destroying a life was boring. “It’s my final move, my checkmate to say. I’ve gotten him right where I want him and he believes he can see some version of good inside me to soften up.” Your smile feels evil, vile. “You wanted me to hate him, but I hate him so much more on my own. I can’t wait to send him out with nothing, to destroy him one last time, to be rid of him forever.”

Your father actually smiles at you, “I’m impressed. He does seem rather smitten with you.” 

“He's a leech as you've always said father.” You hold your head with putrid pride. “And he’s hooked on tight.”

The floorboard creaks your bedroom door opening wider as your infected heart plummets to your stomach, the ground feels like it had fallen out from beneath you.

“Coriolanus.” His blue eyes are dark with anger, with pain, with-with… “Coriolanus.” You go to chase after him but your father’s grip wraps tight around your arm.

Your father's mouth curved into a wicked smile,”If only all of that were true hmm?”

“You knew.” You’re hyperventilating, heaving heavy breaths. “You knew-He…” You think to your phone open on your bed. “You texted him to come up here…you knew he would be standing there…you egged me on to say all of that, to hurt him.”

His grip squeezes on your bicep. “I know what’s best for you, and Coriolanus Snow is not that.” You try to move but he's latched on tight, "You think I would let that boy, with his father's blood, take anything that was mine?"

“You’re wrong.” You seethe getting in close knowing everything you felt for him was the opposite of hatred. “He’s better than both of us.” You wrangle out of his grasp, and then you’re running after Coriolanus Snow. “Corio!” You watch him throw his coat on, storming out of the front door. “Coriolanus!” You’re sprinting down the steps. “Snow!” He stills on the same porch you had arrived together on, in the same place you had dropped his hand. “I-I didn’t mean what I said.”

He doesn’t even turn to look at you. “He raised you as vicious as him, power hungry and armed to the teeth.” The same words he had said to you on that concrete sidewalk. "Don't waste your breath, you'll just embarrass yourself."

“Please.” You feel tears brimming in your eyes, ‘Please just…look at me.” He won’t and you go to reach for him, but you hand falls back to your side. “You asked me what I wanted earlier.” You swallow back fear. You were tired of lying, pretending to be strong, pretending to not care when all you cared about was him. Screw the past, screw the feud and your father, you wanted Coriolanus Snow, you wanted to love him. “I want you.”

You can’t see his face, but you know he’s glaring. “I don’t care.” You can't see straight, your vision is spotty. “I don’t care about you. I never did.” Your knee buckles, “You were just something to pass the time, to see if I could use you all the same.”

You reach out finally but his coat slides past your fingertips as he walks away from you, as he disappears into the night.

You don't go back inside. Instead you drown yourself in a bottle of champagne on a frozen beach, watching boats sit stagnant when you’re stupid enough to text him.

Please Coriolanus…talk to me.

The text never gets delivered.

It hits you then.

He blocked you. He left you.

He left.

big yikes

next chapter coming soon

[profounddefendorcrusade-blog]

Starlo should be Clover's dad

Why? Because ↓

1) Both dress into cowboy-themed attire to feel braver/more important than they are

2) Clover, instead of a regular kid, wants to feel like a hero; Star, instead of a regular farmer, also wants to feel like a hero

In reality, Star is not the tough guy he pretends to be. His optimism, protectiveness and caring nature make him a hero though.

In reality, Clover started off as a scared kid who became more confident and skilled thanks to Flowey's resets. Their heroism comes from their forgiving and selfless nature and the hidden courage they got the chance to explore.

2) Both acted childish during a dangerous situation Clover came down the mountain with a toy gun so that it would bring them comfort/they'd feel more in control of the situation (if you remember, Frisk refused to play with Asriel's toys in UT, saying how they're "too old," and I assume Frisk and Clover are the same age).

Starlo brought a fake gun before confronting Clover in genocide, just to feel cool.

3) Both not only value justice, but base it on compassion

Clover's entire mission was to bring justice (avenge the kids), but along the way changed that mindset (in pacifist). Star says how him and his posse aren't bandits, tests Clover's sense of justice and morality with the trolley problem, and wants to give Ceroba a second chance despite her actions.

4) Starlo's got protective fatherly instincts

5) fatherly pride

8) a lot of monsters associate Clover with the Dunes/Wild East

9) oh and... Starlo referred to the Wild East as Clover's.... home. Twice.

he could have easily said 'Wild East'

... get the adoption papers.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Mignon's Halloween

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: The eleventh of my Halloween-centric fics

It's Jana that finds the headline first. It's Jana who opens her phone one day on camp to see it trending.

'Barcelona Superstar to Return to her Childhood Club?'

With her contract running out in the summer, question marks over whether young French star y/n l/n will stay at Barcelona remain but eagle eyed fans think they've solved the mystery.

In a recent TikTok posted on her girlfriend's account, the young star seems to have been pictured wearing her old Olympique Lyonnais jersey.

Click Read More below to see what our experts think of this startling discovery:

It's Jana that slides her phone over to Alexia at breakfast. It's Jana who has to explain that the site looks kind of sketchy and it likely isn't true.

But then you start posting things while you're away on camp with France.

Most of it is harmless stuff. The kind of stuff Alexia expects from a teenager back in their home country - a few harmless pranks on your teammates, a picture of you and your parents, a cute video of you kissing your girlfriend's cheek.

But then there's a random selfie of you in your childhood bedroom.

You're relaxed back on your pillows, your family dog laying on your chest.

His snout is covering the emblem over your heart but Alexia can recognise a Lyon jersey anywhere.

That's when she gets a bit worried.

You left Lyon because you wanted game time they wouldn't give you. You'd pushed a bit too hard for game time and they'd told you they weren't going to renew your contract.

Surely you wouldn't go back to them now.

Surely even if they begged and begged and begged, you'd hold yourself in a high enough regard that you wouldn't go back to them.

But the Lyon shirt pops up a few more times while you're away.

There's even a video of your girlfriend wearing one of your old jerseys as she walks her own dog.

"Don't tell me you're stalking the girlfriend now," Mapi gripes as Alexia stares down at her phone," The kids can have fun without you hovering over them."

"I'm not stalking anyone!"

"You haven't even met her girlfriend yet you follow her on every bit of social media you can find her on."

"That's for safety. I'm making sure she's a good one."

"I think y/n is capable of choosing her own girlfriend."

Alexia makes a face and Mapi corrects herself.

"I think y/n's parents are capable of approving a good girlfriend. Don't be so worried."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Alexia mutters, looking up from her phone when you finally walk in with Vicky.

The both of you are speaking in hushed whispers, giggling to yourselves until you both split off to go to your own cubbies.

Back when Lucy still played with the team, your cubby used to be next to hers but now that she's gone back to England, you've been moved next to Alexia so she can keep an eye on you.

"So," She says, trying to be as casual as she can," How was camp?"

You give her an odd look. "Yeah it was alright. But you know that already. Because you're a stalker."

"Why does everyone think I'm a stalker?!"

"You follow my girlfriend on all your social media. You didn't even create a fake account."

"Fake account? What's that?"

You smile at her, the same smile that Vicky does at camp when Alexia tries to show off one of those dances from TikTok that she knows young people like.

"Don't worry about it." You pull on your training shirt. "Is the Halloween party thing still on for tonight?"

"Yes, why?"

"Just checking. I might be a little late though. I've got a meeting with my agent."

Alexia tries to make it seem like she's not all that interested in it but she isn't quite sure it works. "Oh? What about?"

"Just contract stuff. I'm going to head off with Vicky before training," You say," We're going to see if we can break into the vending machine again."

Normally, Alexia would try to stop you but her eyes catch on the familiar white of the Lyon shirt you have stuffed in your bag.

The sinking feeling in Alexia's chest returns in full force, staying with her for most of the day to the point that she finds herself glancing at you much more than she usually does.

"She's not going to just up and leave," Patri says that evening at the Halloween party," She loves it here."

"She had Lucy here with her," Alexia points out," They spoke French together. None of us speak French. What if she misses speaking French?"

Irene rolls her eyes, slightly preoccupied with making sure that her son isn't eating all of the sweets that Marta has been spoiling him with. "She calls her parents regularly. She calls her girlfriend. And I can speak French. She's not been missing the French language in the slightest."

"But what if-"

"If she's leaving us," Marta says, reaching across the table to give Matteo another skittle," Then it won't be for Lyon."

Alexia finds it kind of hard to believe Marta when she's dressed in an inflatable pig costume.

"She's meeting with her agent and-"

"And she's here," Patri interrupts, chin jerking towards the door that you've just slipped in through.

"She's wearing it!" Alexia hisses, heart thumping in her chest," The Lyon shirt! She's wearing it! This is it. This is it. She's leaving us."

"No way!" Vicky laughs from across the room," You actually did it?"

You grin back at her, showing off your ripped shirt. "I think Laporta thought I was crazy when I pulled out the scissors and the lighter. What do you think? Do I look axe-murderer victim enough?"

"Do you mind if we add blood?" Vicky asks.

"You have fake blood? You should have led with that!"

You and Vicky barely take a moment to look at the congregation of captains at the table before you're pouring blood all over your head and shirt, really rubbing it all over the white fabric.

Alexia's mouth hangs up just as Jana's phone chimes with a notification from the Barcelona Femení account.

Happy Halloween Culers!

FRENCH SUPERSTAR HERE TO STAY! Find out more below!⬇️

[bunny-norris]

TEENAGE DREAM, L. NORRIS.

Word count: idek but it’s long af (oops)

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids) i also can’t write smut too well so enjoy this monstrosity.

In which, his best friend was there all along, he just never realised it until it was almost too late. Best friends to lovers.

From the moment you were a little girl, motorsport was a big thing in your life. Your father and brother grew up being Formula One fans; it ran through your family. Your brother had decided he wanted to go karting, and ultimately you wanted to join him, wanting to compete against him.

It was on one of those early Saturday mornings at the local karting track, the air buzzing with excitement and the smell of petrol filling your lungs, that you first met Lando Norris. He was a scrawny kid with a mop of dark hair and a cheeky grin, looking just as eager to hit the track as you were. At first, you thought nothing of him, just another competitor in the line-up. But as the weeks turned into months, and the karting sessions became a regular part of your routine, you began to notice him more.

Lando was fast, really fast. But more than that, he was kind. In a world where everyone was trying to get ahead, he was the one who’d stick around to help you with your kart when it faltered, or share a laugh after a particularly tough race. Despite your fierce competitiveness and tough exterior, Lando seemed to see right through to the part of you that loved the sport not just for the thrill of victory, but for the pure joy of racing.

One rainy afternoon, after a particularly grueling session where you'd spun out twice and felt like giving up, it was Lando who came over and offered you his umbrella and a hug. "You'll get them next time, I believe in you, always." he said with that infectious grin, he wrapped his arms around you and whilst Lando was not the tallest boy you had ever seen, but he was much taller than you were, to the point that you hid your head in his neck as he hugged you.

"I'll never be as good as you Lan, you'll be a Formula One star one day I just know it." You told him, even though it was a tough day for you, you were happy for Lando, who had succeeded in winning the race.

"You're better than me, Y/N. And even if I do ever get into Formula One, i'll take you to every race, we'll always be together, always be best friends, I promise."

And just like that, from being just 11 years old, Lando kept his promise to you.

--

At just 18 years old, Lando Norris found himself catapulted into the world of Formula One as a driver for McLaren and you were with him every single step of the way. You were always his plus one to everything, every event he would beg you to go with him. Many people thought you were his sister, following him around everywhere, you were in every family photo, every red carpet photo.

But as you both grew older and Lando's career skyrocketed, your relationship began to shift. It was subtle at first, the way his touch lingered a bit longer, the way his smiles seemed warmer. Lando had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room, his blue eyes locking onto yours with a kind of intensity that made your heart race. He would cling onto you like you were his anchor, hugging you from behind, holding your hand in crowded places, and giving you soft kisses on your temple that left you breathless.

It felt like he was treating you like his girlfriend, and for a while, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, he saw you that way too. But then, there were the other girls. Lando was charming and handsome, and the attention he got from the opposite sex was impossible to ignore. He would bring home different girls, be seen with someone else on his arm, and every time it happened, it crushed your heart a little more. You tried to bury your feelings, to forget about the way he made you feel, but it was easier said than done.

Max, Lando's other best friend, was one of the few people who saw through your façade. He knew how you felt about Lando, and he never missed an opportunity to encourage you to go for it. "You should tell him," Max would say, his eyes serious. "You never know, he might feel the same way." But the thought of risking your friendship with Lando was too much. The fear of losing him completely if things went wrong kept you from saying anything.

So, you focused on your work, throwing yourself into your career and avoiding getting involved with boys. It was easier that way, not having to deal with the pain of seeing Lando with someone else. But deep down, there was always that glimmer of hope that one day, he would see you as more than just his best friend.

Your life revolved around him, and as much as you tried to deny it, your heart belonged to Lando. Every time he took the wheel and raced around the track, your heart raced with him. You were there for his triumphs and his defeats, always cheering him on from the sidelines. And through it all, he was your constant, the one person who made everything better just by being there.

You remember the nights spent talking until the early hours of the morning, sharing your hopes and dreams. Lando would often tell you how much he appreciated having you by his side, how he couldn't imagine doing any of it without you. Those words kept you going, even when it felt like your heart was breaking.

One evening, after a particularly grueling race, you found yourself alone with Lando in his hotel room. The exhaustion was evident on his face, but so was the relief of having you there. He pulled you into a tight hug, resting his chin on your head. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he murmured, his voice heavy with emotion.

You wanted to tell him right then and there how you felt, how much he meant to you, but the fear held you back. Instead, you held onto him a little tighter, savoring the moment and the warmth of his embrace. It was moments like these that made it all worth it, the pain and the longing. As long as you had him in your life, even as just a friend, it was enough.

But Max's words lingered in your mind, a constant reminder of the possibility that things could be different. "You're always going to wonder 'what if' unless you say something," Max had said once, his voice gentle but firm. And he was right. The fear of losing Lando was strong, but the fear of never knowing if he could love you back was even stronger.

—

The 'what if' thought became true though, soon enough you still hadn’t worked up the courage to say anything to your friend. You carried on as normal and that normal turned into him getting a girlfriend. Sure, Lando had been out with girls before but nothing serious, it was never serious, until now.

She was beautiful, kind, and perfect for him. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Lando still acted like your best friend, still hugged you from behind, still gave you those soft kisses on your temple, but it wasn’t the same. You could feel the distance growing, a subtle shift in the way he interacted with you. He wasn’t as close to you anymore, and while you respected his boundaries, it saddened you deeply.

You tried to be happy for him, to support him in his new relationship, but the pain of seeing him with someone else was too much to bear. So, you started to distance yourself. You didn’t go to his races as much anymore, making excuses about work and other commitments. You told yourself it was for the best, that you needed to give him space to focus on his new relationship.

One night, after a race in which he made the podium, there was a knock on your door. Surprised, you opened it to find Lando standing there, still in his race suit, his face flushed with emotion.

“You weren't there, why weren't you there?” he demanded, his eyes searching yours for answers. “I wanted you there, I needed you there.”

Your heart ached at the frustration in his voice, but you couldn’t hold back any longer. "It's not a big deal, Lan. I've missed other races before, I'm sorry I wasn't there but i've been busy." You told him, but he didn't want to accept that.

"You haven't been the same recently, Y/N, have I done something wrong? Please baby, just stop avoiding me."

You know deep down that you weren't everything to Lando, yet he treated you like a princess and treated you that way all the time. You'd had enough of the heart-stopping leap that occurred each time he called you "baby," "darling," or "sweetheart." He was using sweet nicknames for you, ones he should be addressing his lover, not you. Even though he may consider you to be his best friend, the nicknames weren't meant for you; they were for the people he loved.

You turned to face him quickly, something in your mind snapping with hurt. "You can't call me that anymore, Lando, do you not understand that? You have a girlfriend now, we've always been close, but maybe it's sometimes too close for me, it gives people the wrong impression."

"But you're my best girl, Y/N, we've always been like this, I don't understand what the issue is. It doesn't change anything between us."

“It changes everything between us, don't you understand that? You have a girlfriend now, Lando. You don’t need me following you everywhere. I have my own life, and I don’t want to get in the way of your relationship with her.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “You can’t have it both ways,” you said, your voice trembling. “I can’t act like your girlfriend when I never will be. I can’t keep pretending that it doesn’t hurt to see you with someone else. I love you, Lando, and I understand that you’ll never love me back, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep breaking my own heart.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Lando’s face twisted with anger and hurt. “You love me?"

“What does it matter now, Lando? It never has done before, so it doesn't need to matter now."

Without another word, Lando stormed out, slamming the door behind him. You stood there, your heart shattered, believing that your friendship was over.

You watched him leave, the weight of unspoken words and broken dreams pressing down on your chest.

--

Weeks passed in a blur of heartache and regret. You buried yourself in work, trying to forget the look on Lando's face when he stormed out of your apartment. The silence between you two was deafening, a constant reminder of everything left unsaid.

One Friday night, Max invited you out. “It’s just going to be a few of us,” he said, his voice casual over the phone. “No Lando, I promise. Just me, my girlfriend, and some friends. Come on, you need a break.”

Reluctantly, you agreed. Max’s girlfriend, Pietra, was one of your closest friends, and you missed her company. Besides, a night out might be exactly what you needed to get your mind off things.

When you arrived at the club, the music was loud and the lights were dazzling. Max’s girlfriend greeted you with a warm hug, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to relax. You didn’t see Lando anywhere, and for that, you were grateful.

You joined your friends on the dance floor, letting the music and the rhythm wash over you. For a little while, you felt free, lost in the moment. A man approached you, charming and handsome, and you found yourself dancing with him. He was a bit too close, his hands lingering a bit too long, but you tried to enjoy the attention, anything to distract from the ache in your heart.

Meanwhile, across the club, Lando stood at the bar with Max. His eyes scanned the crowd, and when he finally spotted you, his heart clenched. Max noticed the shift in his friend’s demeanor and followed his gaze.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Max said, his voice cutting through the noise.

Lando tore his eyes away from you and glared at Max. “What are you talking about?”

“You love her,” Max stated bluntly. “You’ve been stringing her along for years, being best friends for years without telling her how you really feel, treating her like a princess but never actually telling her how much you want her. And now, you’re losing her.”

Lando’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Max sighed, shaking his head. “Yes, you do. I've been both of your friends since we were young, i've lived through every looking look, every pda sessions. And now look at her.” He nodded towards you, now laughing as the man you were dancing with moved even closer. “She’s trying to move on, and you’re just standing here like an idiot.”

"You're delusional," Lando says, rolling his eyes, sipping some of his drink. Max just huffs at him, "sure mate, really explains why you're just burning holes into the back of that blokes head that she's been getting quite close with tonight."

"He just shouldn't be touching her like that," Lando mumbles. "I think actually, if she consents, he can touch her how she and he wants him to. Looks like she'll be getting lucky tonight, at least one of us will." Max smirks, turning away from his friend, knowing his words will light a flame under Lando's arse.

And it does, before Lando even knows where his feet are taking him and stands just feet away from Y/N, and before he knows it, he's pushing the guy she's been dancing with all night. As he pushes the guy away he turns to Y/N cupping her face and pulling her lips onto his.

For a moment, the world seems to stand still for both Y/N and Lando. Y/N's mind went from dancing with a man she had met that night to now all she could think about the fact that Lando's lips were on hers in a way in which she never could've imagined.

Lando put his hands up in your hair and swiped his tongue across your lips, pleading for permission to enter, which you granted. You held onto his waist and drew him in closer, unable to let go of this moment. The fact that there were people around—both familiar and unfamiliar—did not concern you. You wanted all of him right now, so nothing else mattered. You never wanted this to end.

"My girl," Lando mumbled in between kissing you, going back to your lips, bruising them a little more with his mouth.

"Yours, always yours."

Lando let your lips breathe, learning his forehead against your own, his hands making their way up and down your back, getting close to below your waise almost towards your backside. "I love you, i'm sorry I stormed out, i'm sorry for everything. I've been in love with you since the moment you stepped onto that karting track, I never thought you'd ever want me so I never asked, and that was cowardly of me. But please believe me when I tell you that you truly are everything to me." He breathed, as you just stared at him, not quite sure what to say.

"What about your relationship?"

"The moment you told me you loved me, the moment I walked out your door, I ended it." Lando stared into your eyes, he chuckled slightly. "You think i'm going to stay with someone who I don't love when the girl i'm been dreaming about since I was a teenager told me she loves me. Do you know how many time I layed in bed thinking about you, about what I would do to you if I had the chance. I'm not letting that opportunity slip through my fingers."

Your eyebrow perked up at his revolation, wanting to know more. "You thought about me? In bed? Were you having some naughty thoughts, Mr Norris?" You joked, your hands going up to the back of his neck.

"All the damn time, I thought about your body every single moment, whenever you came to the races I would see you in those summer dresses, you have and always will be the most gorgeous person in the room. You have no idea what I want to do to you."

At Lando's words you felt a sensations rush right to your core, you had made him feel that way. Every touch he had ever given you, every kiss on the shoulder, on the head, every time he had wrapped his arms around your waist was now meaning something different.

"Then show me, you want me, I want all of you."

"Are you sure?" Lando asked, always the gentleman, wanting to know you were okay before anything else.

You felt brave, a new sense of confidence surrounding you. You weren't the most confident when it came to men, you never spoke your true feelings to them, you never spoke about your sexual desires with them. But now, something had lit a fire in you and you wanted nothing more than to have everything with Lando. "Positive."

You had both made a swift exit from the club and back to Lando's apartment, a place you knew so well, you had spent endless nights there, together as friends, cuddled up to one another. Some nights you would even join him on his stream, laughing with each other. But tonight was different, his apartment was no longer a hangout place.

The ride back to the apartment was full of sexual tension, and you felt it immensely. Whilst you felt surges of confidence, you couldn’t help but feel nervous. Lando’s hand stayed on your thigh the whole time, making small shapes with his fingers, every so often getting higher and higher. Every time he would get to the point where you hoped he would finally touch you, he moved his fingers away from you.

You let out a whine, desperate for his touch. After all these years of pent up desire, you needed him to do something, anything. He rubbed your thigh, smirking at you. “Soon baby, just be patient, i’ll give you what you want soon enough.”

“Don’t wanna wait Lando, want you now.” You weren’t quite sure where what you were saying was coming from, but the way he spoke to you made you want more, you wanted more than what anyone else had ever given you during sex.

You pouted slightly as Lando just raised his brow, “carry on with that attitude and you won’t be getting anything.”

“I’ll just get myself off then, been doing it for years, i’ve gotten pretty good at it, you know.” Now it was your turn to smirk, though it seemed Lando didn’t find it too funny, his possessive side coming out even more.

He slapped your thigh slightly, making you gasp. “You’ll never do that to yourself again, the only person making you cum will be me, whether it’s my mouth, fingers or dick, only me you understand?”

“Only you.” You nodded, as he kissed you lightly, smirking knowingly to what his words did to you.

Arriving at his apartment, you both practically ran to his floor all the way to his door.

Opening the door, he pushed you up against the wall, slamming the door behind him, his hands cupped to your face, kissing you like it was your last night on earth.

His hands were everywhere, as were yours. His hands made their way to your breasts, spilling them out of the dress you were wearing, pinching your exposed nipples. Every piece of you he wanted to feel, and you wanted to feel all of him.

“Please Lando, want you inside me, please.” You moaned as he kissed down your neck, making sure to leave little marks in each spot he kissed.

“So needy,” he mumbled, but you just huffed again, trying desperately to get out of your dress. You felt hot, like your skin was on fire, wanting to feel your skin against his.

You pulled on his clothes, pulling his shirt over his head, finally being able to touch him after longing to for so long. You weren’t new to seeing Lando without a shirt, it was common when you both went on holiday or even in the gym, but this time it was different, you knew he was now yours and you were his.

Lando led you to the bed, pushing you on your back as he climbed on top of you, getting rid of the last of the clothing on you. “Dreamed of you for so long, dreamed of your pussy, how you’d feel, filling you up.”

His words spurred you on, you had never expected him to be like this, but god, this was better than you ever could’ve imagined.

He wasted no time in attaching his lips to you, something you had never really had the chance to experience. His tongue moved in ways you never knew were possibly, sucking on your clit, dipping his tongue inside your pussy. You felt like you could practically explode, coming close to your release.

Arching your back, gripping the sheets, Lando finally came up for air. “Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined.”

Before you could even think, he flipped you over so he was on his back and you were on top of him. “Gonna fuck you so good, darling, gonna treat you so right.”

You felt practically drunk at this point, you lined up his cock with your core, sinking onto it slowly, feeling him fill you just right.

“Fucking shit,” Lando cursed, not being able to take his eyes off you, mouth slightly agape unable to find the words to say from the pleasure.

You started moving slightly as you got use to him inside you. Your breasts bounced as you moved, Lando’s eyes never leaving yours.

“Can’t believe I never did this sooner, so many years I could’ve had you all to myself, had you like this every night. Never fucking letting you go, gonna fuck you everyday, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” Lando purred, encouraging you to go faster.

You nodded, barely being able to form the words to reply. “Yes, yes, please.”

“Good girl. My dream girl, so good for me.”

Lando’s pace quickened, making you both come close to climax. Both saying incoherent words of love and pleasure, Lando chanting over and over again about how good you felt and how he never wanted to let you go.

“Lan, i’m gonna..” You said, as his hand gripped your backside, you knew there would be marks there in the morning.

“Me too, baby. Come with me,” he said as you both looked in each others eyes.

Coming together, you fell against his chest, exhausted.

“I love you,” Lando said, pushing your hair out of your face, kissing the side of your head. Even after everything that had just happened, he still managed to treat you like the princess he always had done.

Your teenage dream had turned into something real.

do i know how to finish fics? no. Bon Appetite.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I please request Bill thinking he finally found a human who won't betray him, someone he really enjoyed the company of (but would never admit to that because Bill) only to find them trying to destroy the portal?

This is long as shit, be warned and I tried to keep bill in character as much as possible but he might be ooc at some points.

Your first meeting with Bill was one he didn’t expect. When faced with something you know isn’t normal, the response Bill was expecting was you running away until you were out of sight, talking off the ears of anyone who’d head your warning but you instead smiled at him.

‘Nice bow tie and top hat sentient triangle.’ You said.

‘The names Bill Cipher, so you can stop calling me that name, I find it rather insulting, and thanks! I dress to impress but most people just run away or scream bloody murder to appreciate my effort to look presentable’ he replies, finding himself a new human pet to play with after swearing to himself that Sixer would be the last, Bill was a liar and he knew it, messing with humans and destroying their physique was the most genuine fun he’s had in a long, long while.

This was merely the begging of yours and Bills weird friendship and it was only going to get weirder from this point onwards.

Being friends with a sentient triangle dream demon was…a experience indeed as you’d often wake to him floating above you, drinking something through a silly straw and wearing a hat unlike the usual slim black top hat he wore, only to find out that he had somehow snuck several chicken into your room that had scaly dragon legs and could breath fire.

That took a while for you to get ride of them with a wooden broom and not have it set on fire when the chickens retaliate with fire.

‘How did you find such things?’ You’d ask Bill when sitting down to eat breakfast.

He shrugs. ‘You search for a realm that swaps certain anatomy of animals and play a demented game of mix and match to see what monstrosities to humanity could be made and bingo! Infinite possibilities of scaring or scaring people for the rest of their lives! ha ha!’

‘And chickens with dragon feet and could breath fire is your go to choice, wasn’t there anything else you could’ve chosen from?’ You inquired as you took a bite of your breakfast and immediately grimacing when you felt something was off.

‘Oh sure there was and- oh you’ve found where I put my mealworms from last week.’ Bill casually told you as he plays with his silly straw while you spat your breakfast out into a nearby bin, wiped your mouth before pushing the plate away from you as your appetite was ruined.

'glad to be of help. buddy.' you replied as you decided that it would be best to wait for bill to disappear before attempting to eat and or drink again.

As the weeks progress Bill found himself enjoying your company more than he originally suspected, sure you were fun to mess with and play impractical pranks on from time to time. However -and he’ll never admit this ever- he had come to actually enjoy spending time with you and getting to know you outside of his personal human plaything.

Bill begrudgingly remembered your least favourite family member and why, your favourite colour, your first pets name and so much more that he would deem unimportant; to things that were deep and personal to you such as your fear of being alone or not taken seriously enough. To which he offered some -albeit questionable- advice.

‘Listen if everyone takes themselves seriously or someone wants everyone else to take them seriously, then who’s going to laugh at kids when they fall over, or at people who make an fool of themselves as they fall upon their own sword of hubris.’ Bill tells you once as you both sat on the roof of your home, star gazing.

‘And what am I meant to take away from all that ?’ You asked, not understanding what he was getting with this.

‘Don’t take yourself too seriously or expect others to either when you know that version of yourself will be someone you’ll sooner regret wishing for.’ Bill responded.

‘Do you miss home?’ You then asked him out of the blue and Bill couldn’t help but be a little taken aback by it.

‘Home..’ bill trailed off as he took his hat off, reached a hand inside and pulled out a glowing atom, the remains of his home. ‘This is what remains of my home.’ He tells you rather sombrely, remembering the last time he told a human of his origins, only for him to dedicate himself into destroying him.

‘I’m..I’m so sorry I didn’t-‘ you’d tried to apologise but bill held up a hand as he returned the remains of his home back into his top hat before putting it back on his head.

‘It’s fine. I was bound to tell you about that sooner or later.’ He waves his hand but you could tell you struck a nerve.

‘Sooo…what happened to your home, only if you don’t mind me asking.’ - you

‘It was destroyed by a monster.’ Bill answered with a distant look in his eye.

‘As stupid as this will probably sound to you but you’ll always have a home with me, I hope you know that.’ You told him with the most genuine smile across your face and Bill couldn’t help but feel…touched by your words. He’s thrown and done everything to push you to the brink and all you’ve done was withstand him and his shenanigans all the while standing your ground.

‘You’re a strange human and your sentimentality makes me physically sick but…I guess I appreciate the thought.’ Bill had to force himself to say, he might as well have swallowed down stones with how hard it seemed for him to say anything remotely considerate. You were quite possibly the only human that showed him kindness and compassion and that made the dream demon feel weird and out of his depth.

Now that Bill was thinking about it not once had you ever given him a reason to distrust you, sure he was suspicious of you at first, but overtime you have proven yourself to be the most trustworthy person in his long, long life. You had made him feel unlike anything he’s felt before and that made him on edge, just in the case that he was being lured into a false sense of security later down the line, but nope you didn’t do such a thing and stayed open and honest him no matter what.

It almost made bill feel bad about the shit he put you through but soon he’d come to regret saying these words, for not even a week later and Bill caught you red handed destroying his portal after searching the house for you when you didn’t greet him like usual.

‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!’ He screamed, his body burning brightly at the betrayal you’ve just committed, was everything you said a lie? Were you just as good at pulling people along as he was? How long have you been waiting for this exact moment to get back at him?

‘What does it look like, I’m destroying the portal.’ Your reply was stone cold as you continued to dismantle the portal piece by piece while Bill shouted profanities at you.

‘YOU LIED TO ME!’ - bill

‘That’s cute coming from someone who takes sick enjoyment in breaking every human he comes across, pushing them into utter madness with no remorse!’ You chuckled humourlessly as you looked at the dream demon who looked about ready to either cry or combust.

‘YOU LIED TO ME!’ Bill repeated as his anger only grew stronger the more he began to think back on all of your heart to heart moments and wonder whether they were fake too? Did you not mean it when you said that he had a home with you?

‘I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you the whole truth.’ You retorted. ‘Now are you going to shut up and kill me or keep ranting on how I somehow betrayed you because either way I don’t care.’ You added as you watched the triangular demon closely.

‘Kill you? Oh no sweetie, you’ve just earned a fate WORSE THEN DEATH! Eternal torture until you speak the truth and then torture you so more because I find your pathetic humans pain funny!’ Bill laughed maniacally. ‘And to think I was starting to like you, you just had to go and stab me in the back!’

You shrug, trying to hide how scared you were in this moment, knowing that even if you did scream for help it would be far too late by the time Ford, Stan or either dipper or Mabel to save you and you were okay with that. ‘First time for everything right?’ You asked with a smile. ‘I’m sure you’ll get use to it sooner or later.’

Bill’s eye was wide and looking maniacal in the moment as his voice was oddly and unnervingly calm that it froze your blood. ‘You humans might act brave in the face of danger, but what I’m capable will have you wishing you never picked up that wrench or tried playing the hero. For playtime is over.’

[eu-nicola]

jealousy

summary: you're jealous of a woman who approached Rafe

warnings: nothing

word counter: 2291

author's note: english is not my first language, writing something better but i left this here

You had known Rafe Cameron forever. Outer Banks was far too small for you not to cross paths with him every now and then, although you had always been from two completely different worlds. You were a Pogue, born and raised between sunsets on the docks and impromptu beach parties. He, on the other hand, was a Kook, living in the luxury and opulence of Figure Eight, surrounded by wealth that you had no interest in.

You had always thought Rafe was arrogant, self-centered, and often unbearable. And to be honest, he didn’t have a very different opinion of you. Every time you crossed paths at a party or on the docks, there were looks filled with disdain and cutting remarks. To him, you were a "loud Pogue," always ready to question him. To you, he was "the typical spoiled rich kid," used to getting whatever he wanted.

The funny thing is, you were both wrong.

Everything changed one night, one of those where the air was thick with salt, and the sky seemed like an infinite blanket of stars. You had gone to a beach party, invited by Sarah and Kiara, and, of course, Rafe was there with his usual entourage of friends. You had decided to ignore him as usual, but the events of that night wouldn’t allow it.

It all started with a sarcastic comment from him, something about how Pogues were always sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. You responded with an equally sharp retort, and before you knew it, you were engaged in an argument in front of everyone. You don’t exactly remember what you said, but it was enough to shut him up. Rafe gave you a look you had never seen before: a mix of challenge, interest, and something you couldn’t quite identify.

Later that same night, you found him alone, sitting on a rock near the water. It was rare to see him apart from his group, but something in you decided to approach him, maybe driven by curiosity or lingering anger. To your surprise, instead of continuing the fight, you talked. And for the first time, you saw another side of Rafe. A more honest, even vulnerable side. He talked about things you’d never have imagined bothered him, and you surprised yourself by being honest with him too.

That night marked the beginning of something neither of you expected.

At first, it was strange. It wasn’t like you suddenly got along. In fact, most of the time, you still argued, but the fights stopped being purely hostile. There was something electric about, a tension both of you pretended to ignore but became harder to hide every day. It didn’t take long before that tension spilled over.

The first kiss was an accident or at least that’s what you told yourselves afterward. It was during another argument, one that started over something insignificant but ended with both of you too close, too aware of each other. You didn’t know who made the first move, only that suddenly his lips were on yours, and everything you had thought about him crumbled in that moment.

From then on, things changed. You started spending more time together, first in secret, away from curious eyes and the judgments you both knew you would face. Surprisingly, it was Rafe who insisted on keeping your relationship private. “It’s complicated,” he told you once, and even though you didn’t like the answer, you understood why.

Still, the relationship progressed quickly. You spent almost every night at his place, though you never entered through the front door. He always found ways to make you feel special, whether it was sneaking you onto his bike to ride to the cliffs or staying up with you for hours, just talking. Despite your differences, you began to see how much you actually had in common.

Rafe, despite his confident, was someone with far too many inner demons. Sometimes, he would come home late, upset about something he wouldn’t tell you, but you found ways to calm him down. In turn, he was always there when you needed him. You learned to trust him more than anyone you ever had before.

Of course, it wasn’t perfect. Sometimes you fought, and you couldn’t help but wonder if what you had was sustainable. You were a Pogue, and that wasn’t going to change. He, a Kook, had a reputation to maintain, expectations to fulfill. Yet when you were with him, none of that seemed to matter.

What surprised you most was how much he truly cared about you. It was something you never would have expected from someone like Rafe Cameron. He treated you with a tenderness you never imagined he could have. When you were with him, you felt seen, like you were the only thing that mattered in his world.

The months flew by, almost like a sigh. You and Rafe were still together, closer than you’d ever thought possible at the beginning. What had started as something secret had become your refuge, a space where you could be authentic without the weight of the Pogue and Kook labels. But you couldn’t deny that being with him meant stepping into his world, a place you never quite got used to.

That night was yet another test of that.

You found yourself at an elegant party, one of those where everything about the atmosphere screamed "money." The music was soft, like a sophisticated murmur, and the place was filled with people who seemed all too aware of their status. The men wore perfectly tailored suits, the women donned dresses that probably cost more than your house, and everyone drank whiskey or champagne like it was water.

You had tried to fit in, wearing a pretty dress and styling your hair with care, but no matter how much you tried, you always felt like you didn’t belong. You stood near a table, idly playing with the rim of your wine glass, watching people chatter in small groups. Everything felt so superficial, so far removed from what you knew, it made you want to laugh.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Rafe. He was a little farther away, at the bar, with a whiskey glass in hand. His eyes were almost glassy, a clear sign he’d already had more than enough to drink. Despite everything, he looked incredible, as always. He had that presence that made people stare, that almost arrogant confidence that drove you crazy but had also drawn you to him in the first place.

However, you weren’t the only one who noticed his charm.

A blonde woman, probably in her fifties, was approaching him. She wore an elegant dress that fit her perfectly, carrying herself with the kind of confidence that screamed she always got what she wanted. She stopped in front of Rafe and smiled at him, a smile that made your teeth clench.

You watched as she leaned in, introducing herself with a handshake. Rafe, drunk but ever charming, smiled back and soon they were talking like old friends. After a moment, they moved to a nearby table, sitting across from each other.

You weren’t the jealous type, at least not in the classic sense. You never felt the need to control what Rafe did or who he talked to. But there was something about this woman, about the way she looked at him and smiled, that made your blood boil. You couldn’t quite explain it, but you felt it deep in your chest.

You took a sip of your wine, trying to ignore it. But the discomfort didn’t go away, and before you could stop yourself, you were already walking toward them. You stopped next to Rafe, placing a hand on the back of his chair, and glanced at the woman.

She noticed you immediately and gave you a smile that seemed far too fake to be polite.

“Oh, hello,” she said in a high-pitched tone, as if surprised to see you there.

“Hello,” you replied quietly, keeping a neutral expression.

The woman shifted her attention back to Rafe, as if you no longer existed.

“Who’s she?” she asked curiously, gesturing toward you with a subtle tilt of her head.

Rafe glanced at you briefly before turning to the woman. It took him a moment, probably more due to the alcohol than anything else, but he finally answered:

“This is my, uh, friend.”

You raised an eyebrow at his choice of words but said nothing. The woman, who apparently was named Hollis, gave you another smile and nodded.

“Nice to meet you, Rafe’s friend.” Her tone was friendly, but there was something in it that set your nerves on edge.

After a few more comments, Hollis finally got up. Before leaving, she handed Rafe a card, which he accepted without hesitation. You watched as she walked away confidently, and once she disappeared into the crowd, you turned your attention back to Rafe.

“Who’s she?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Rafe rubbed his forehead, clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol, and looked at the card in his hand.

“She’s the biggest real estate agent on the island. Also, apparently, a cougar.”

Your reaction was immediate: a mocking laugh escaped your lips as you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, sure. The biggest cougar on the island.”

Rafe kept looking at you with that smirk you loved to hate. You knew what was coming; you recognized that spark of amusement in his eyes whenever he found an opportunity to tease you.

“So?” he asked, leaning a little closer to you, his warm breath brushing your skin. “Are you jealous?”

You stared at him without flinching, even though you felt the heat rising to your cheeks. You weren’t going to give in so easily. You raised an eyebrow and adopted a nonchalant tone, though deliberately defiant:

“Should I be, friend?”

That stopped him for a second, but only for his grin to widen even more. He leaned in closer, reducing the distance between you until your faces were dangerously close. You felt your heart begin to race, but you held your ground.

“Friend?” he repeated, his deep voice dropping even lower. He leaned in until his nose brushed yours, his teasing smile making you want to laugh and hit him at the same time. “Is that all I am to you?”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling but decided it was time to hit back.

“Maybe I should go find JJ.”

Rafe’s smirk disappeared for a second. You saw him tense, and before you could step back, he grabbed your waist and pulled you close, your chest colliding with his. His gaze locked on yours, intense and dangerous, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes that made him even more irresistible.

“Don’t tempt me. You know JJ can’t make you feel what I do,” he murmured, his voice rough and dripping with something deeper.

Your breath hitched for a moment, but you weren’t going to give in that easily. You looked at him with a challenging smile and raised an eyebrow.

“That sounds like a warning, Cameron. And you know I don’t like warnings.”

He smiled, that arrogant smile you knew so well, and before you could say anything else, he tilted his head, and his lips found yours. The kiss was so sudden you almost lost your balance, but his firm hands.

The world seemed to disappear in that instant. You couldn’t hear the murmur of the party or the soft clinking of champagne glasses around you. All you felt was Rafe, his warmth, his intensity, and the way his mouth claimed yours as if he was trying to prove a point.

When he finally pulled back, just enough for his lips to still brush against yours, he smiled again, triumphant.

“Are you going to run off to JJ now?” he asked in a whisper, his voice dripping with arrogance.

You rolled your eyes, trying to regain your composure, though the way your heart raced gave you away.

“You’re an idiot.” But you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

“And yet, you can’t resist me.” His tone was cocky, but there was something softer in his gaze, something that made you forget why you were even upset in the first place.

You gave him a small shove on his chest, though you didn’t make much effort to pull away from his arms.

“Next time I see you talking to Hollis or any other “real estate agent,” you said, emphasizing the words with a slightly mocking tone, “you better remember who I am.”

Rafe let out a low, charmingly husky laugh as he nodded.

“Believe me, baby, there’s no one at this party, or on this island, who could ever make me forget who you are to me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but instead of showing it, you simply lifted your chin and looked at him with a satisfied smile.

“You better not. Because I’m not good at sharing.”

He looked at you as if you were confirming something he already knew, and before you could say anything else, he kissed you again, this time softer, as if he wanted to erase any trace of doubt from your mind. And as you got lost in that moment, you knew that, no matter how chaotic things were with Rafe, he would always have the power to undo you with just one kiss.

[sainzproductions]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 ⋆ 𝐜. 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐳

THE OTHER WOMAN / SEQUEL !

where you acclimate to the current dating scene after eight years of being with carlos...

liked by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and others

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↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

You felt like you had done a good job all by yourself. You took your sweet time getting used to being alone again, having spent the better part of the past decade accompanying carlos and living together with him.

As embarassing as it was to admit, there were days where you'd wake up abruptly as if hearing his footsteps, or the faint rumble of his voice lulling you to sleep. There were moments where you'd break down crying upon seeing an article of clothing belonging to carlos, or seeing pictures when you were still happily together.

It wasn't easy to forget an eight year relationship. You soon realized. He was all you've ever known and adored... You dreamt a life with the guy for crying out out loud!

You wanted all the permanent things, the domestic future, him.

But the reality was that you were different people who wanted starkly different things in life. Carlos was set on his career while you had the burden of being a woman. You didn't have forever to waste away, and you didn't want to spend it waiting for a future that could never be in the stars for you and him.

You had accepted it. It wasn't all tears, and tearful reminiscing anyways. Your life had picked up after a couple of weeks. It was a lie. You spent a month and a half being pathetic. But who was counting?

You were having the time of your life. Your singleness provided a way for you to realize new and old hobbies.

You finally went back to your hometown, despite your fears of facing your parents' knowing looks and getting an ill timed i told you so's from their ever skeptic way of seeing life. Especially your relationship with Carlos..

But your mother took one look at you; in your deshieveled and devastated form, wordlessly opening her arms and craddling your pathetic self as you wept about your broken heart.

You found peace in the tranquility of your childhood home. Reacquainting yourself with your horse, champion whom you had been neglecting— you realize belatedly. The help couldn't take the horses out that much, where you formerly took the stallion out for most of the day. You made sure to make up for lost time however.

You were also able to rekindle old friendships, quickly becoming fast friends once again as if no time had passed at all. You traipsed all over Madrid, enjoying the thrill of meeting new people, of learning new things... And how forward the current dating scene seemed to be in regards to matters concerning...

"Wait, wait." You press a hand towards his broad chest, breathing roughly. Your chest rose and fell with excitement as you tried to come down from how fast the things had quickly become heated between the two of you. "We're going a bit too fast, don't you think?" You whine under your breath, as his face came down to press open mouthed kisses on your neck, easily finding your most sensitive spot as he expertly manouvers your body, backing you up against the wall.

"Relax. We won't do anything you don't want." He says, softening his tone, "I'm not a hooligan." He tuts, pressing a feather like kiss on the side of your lips.

"Says the man who pulled me into a dark room to play tonsil tennis." You retort amusedly, stroking your fingers on his neck. You couldn't help but close your eyes at the sensation of his lips against your skin, his fingers making quick work of slipping under your skirt, and you hissed from the sensation of his cold rings against your thighs, "You're cold!"

"Warm me up then, love." He was evidently amused by your reactions and the way your cheeks flushed at his crude remark. He wiped away every other thought from your mind, as he kisses you wantonly. He made sure to hold your gaze as he pulls away, sinking down to his knees... and kissing your thighs softly. "Beautiful. So fucking beautiful. I couldn't think of anything else when you walked into the room. Nobody else mattered but you... you're bad for my business, darling."

You could hardly register anything else after that

↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

The breakup came with the long forgotten territory of male attention. Sure, there were some bold and uncaring lads few and far between, but Carlos had quickly shut down every attempt with a swift glare and a possesive hand over you. You didn't mind. You only needed him and his attention and everyone else were merely annoying backnoise.

As it is, your breakup was made public through the urging of Carlos' management and his public relations team. You cooperated seamlessly despite being civil, to the point of rudeness, to their every demand.

How ironic was it that through his blatant act of wanting to separate himself from you and everything else that had to do with you; he made a declaration to the world that you were readily available.

Your dms were sure packed to the brim when you'd later had the energy to do anything asides from the basic tasks of taking care of yourself. You couldn't laugh nor cry upon seeing several of carlos' work acquaintances making their presence known in your dms. You even saw his former (and possibly current) teammates taking their shot.

You couldn't help but wonder for how long has he been... Non committal towards his best mates about your real score. They couldn't possibly muster up the courage had it been the true duration of your separation. Men aren't that proactive. They atleast had some base sense of loyalty.

Then again, it didn't take very long for him to be spotted with some model on his arm. He looked happy, invigorated... Annoyingly handsome. Fuck him and his perfect face. You wished you atleast threw a heel at him for being a dickwad.

Were you seeing other people out of spite or trying to prove yourself to him? You wouldn't exactly say so. You'd had an agreement with the well established, and good looking gentleman who had made you tremble and writhe under his tongue. He was incredibly lax and cool, and great company in every sense of the word. He made you laugh, he also made you cry just now.

And so while you made yourselves look presentable, you were first out the door while he waited a few minutes to make his entrance into the party again. You gratefully took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, wetting your parched throat as you looked around as normally as you could. Blending in with the fancy people in their cocktail dresses and designers.

You heard footsteps approaching after a few moments. Another man spotted him, and he grinned in recognition upon the sight of the ever famous....

"Sir Hamilton!"

[knightjpg]

analgesia

It's not the first time he's got himself skunk drunk when back home on leave, and part of you resents his decision for joining the military. Clearly that has to be the reason for him living it up like it's his last goddamn night on Earth at every opportunity, right? You're more familiar with his sloppy cheek kisses and wandering hands while you get him home than you'd like, but such are the burdens of best friend privileges. It's Johnny—harmless, familiar. A little stupid and a lot sweet.

tags: dubcon, johnny/reader, alcohol mention, unprotected piv (wrap it up kids)

“Fuck's sake, Johnny, keep your feet—!”

Johnny just laughs and leans all of his weight on your shoulder again, making you squeak and scramble for balance. 

“Le's dance, bonnie, c'mon, we gotta go dancin’,” he slurs in your ear. 

A laugh bubbles up your throat before you can help it. You're tired and annoyed and exasperated, but it's just so damn hard to stay angry at Johnny with his big blue puppy eyes and the way he's always smiling like a little boy caught doing something he shouldn't have. 

Dancing... Ridiculous. He can't even walk in a straight line. 

“No,” and you try to sound firm through your smile. “We're going home, and we're getting you a glass of water. You stink.” 

Johnny answers you with a full-on whine, burying his nose in your shoulder and scratching against your skin with his stubble. “Why're you s'mean. Why d’ye hate me.” 

"If I hated you I’d dump your ass at a bus stop and leave you to sober up by yourself.” You hoist his arm more securely around your shoulder while you walk, thanking every higher being you can think of for wearing sensible sneakers tonight. Johnny's leaning into you so hard you have to lean back an almost equal amount just to stay upright and keep shuffling forward. 

And so when he suddenly stops you almost fall face-first on the hard stone pavement. “What—” 

You can see Johnny turn pale even under the dim lantern light, and he presses a hand to his mouth before doubling over— 

“No no no please don't throw up—” 

...and retching his guts out in the gutter. You allow yourself a deep sigh and watch your breath turn into a puff of cloud while listening to Johnny heave the alcohol out of his system. It's so dark out you can even make out the flicker of some stars when you look up, winking in and out of existence as the opaque curtains of cloud drift by. 

When he's done you look down and wince at the stains on his shoes. He's shivering, and pity has you rubbing a hand over his shoulder. 

“Ah dinnea feel s’good,” he mumbles. 

“I can see that. C'mon, big boy. It's gonna be okay.” 

He unsteadily lets you help him to his feet again. He's been feeling off all night, and you watch him with a mixture of worry and sadness. 

It's not the first time he's got himself skunk drunk when back home on leave, and part of you resents his decision for joining the military. Clearly that has to be the reason for him living it up like it's his last goddamn night on Earth at every opportunity, right? 

You're more familiar with his sloppy cheek kisses and wandering hands while you get him home than you'd like, but such are the burdens of best friend privileges. It's Johnny—harmless, familiar. A little stupid and a lot sweet. 

But it's never quite felt like this. He was all smiles tonight until... 

Until when? 

You don't know what set him off. You were with the usual crew, old friends. Everything seemed fine—Johnny'd been playing darts with some of the other lads and you'd been with the girls, gossiping over dates and breakups and relationship advice. 

You'd shyly told them the bloke you'd gone out with last week called you back asking for another date, and were hounded afterwards for details. You'd been having fun until you weren't. Or rather, until you were too distracted by Johnny slamming back drink after drink with tense shoulders and tight eyes. 

You sigh again when you reach your apartment. You had plans for tomorrow, but... You glance at Johnny. His head's slumping forward till his chin is almost touching his chest. You don't want to leave him feeling sick by himself. 

Johnny's drunkenly mumbling to himself while you fish around your bag for your keys with one hand. One of his arms curls around your waist, making it harder, and then his hand wanders high enough to grope at your breast. 

“Chrissake, Johnny,” you smack his arm. “Play nice. I'm trying to—” 

“Love ye s’much, bonnie,” he mumbles against your neck, hand not moving an inch even with your nails digging into his skin. If anything it makes him cling to you more tightly, and you're worried he'll fall and break his thick stupid head if you push him off you with more force. 

“Yes, yes, love you too. Idiot. Now let go, I want to get out of the cold...” 

Somehow you manage to move around his iron grip and click open the door. You put up with his slobbering against your neck because it makes him a lot easier to deal with getting up the stairs and then, fucking finally, you're in your apartment where it's warm and cosy. 

You shuffle over to the bedroom because it's closest and there's just absolutely no way Johnny's going to fit on your couch. You've tried. It's not worth putting up with the complaining about back pain the next morning. 

Johnny flops onto the mattress and just when you think the finish line is in sight, his hand snatches yours so quick it's a blur. 

“Dinnea leave...” 

“Have to get you a glass of water,” you tell him gently, trying and failing to pry his fingers off your wrist. 

“Dinnea want ye t’fuckin’ leave...” his voice breaks in the middle and you stop short for a second—is he crying?  

God, how drunk is he...? You'd hoped throwing up would have counted towards sobering up, but apparently not. 

“Shush, it's okay, it's okay. We'll get you some water and you'll sleep it off, alright?” 

Johnny slurs something you don't catch and you take the opportunity to slip away and get him a glass. You make him drink it all, even manage to get him to rinse his mouth. He does as you say without fuss, wavering between stubborn as a rock and pliantly obedient as always. 

“You're a handful and a half,” you say, but without any real heat to it. You brush back strands of brown hair—his mohawk's been growing out. He'll probably ask you to cut it again before he returns to base... 

When he starts to slump over again you quickly take the glass from him and set it on the bedside table, and push against his shoulder to get him to lie on his back. “Christ, what are they feeding you,” you mumble to yourself. He's got to be bigger every time you see him—you don't think you could fit two hands around his arm. 

When you pull back to get Johnny a blanket he grabs at you again, and this time you're too caught off guard to keep your balance. You fall half on top of him with an ‘oomf!’ and narrowly avoid kneeing him in the groin. 

“Give me a fucking break,” you huff when he takes this as the go-ahead for a nice cuddle. Those thick arms immediately wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. 

“Love ye s’much,” he slurs again, mouth tucked just below your ear. Every time he moves his lips it's like he's kissing you, and despite everything you have to suppress a few shudders. “So fuckin’ bonnie. Was lookin’ at ye all night. Wanted t’go dancin’ with my girl, take ye home...” 

You flush. It always takes you by surprise, the drunk ‘my girl’s, to the point where you asked him about it one time. Johnny just laughed and shrugged. “You are my girl. Known you the longest since forever, aye?” 

You pointed out that's not quite what it means, and the only reply you got was that he wouldn't call you that if it bothered you. It's a promise he forgets every time he goes out, though... 

“You're drunk,” you tell him. 

“M'not,” he says, breath hot against your neck. It's followed by something wet, and you jolt in his arms. 

“What’re you—Johnny, gross, what the hell!” 

He licks at you again, and the twitch that follows is involuntary. Your neck is sensitive and, well, so what if it's been a while? The guy you're planning to see next week was going to fix that. Not Johnny. He's not... He's not supposed to be— 

“Taste s’fuckin’ good,” Johnny groans against your neck. The bed shifts and creaks, and this time there's a graze of teeth.  

“Wait,” you gasp, voice suddenly thin and airy and so distracted by Johnny biting at your skin it takes more than a few minutes for you to realise the bed is creaking because he's humping your thigh. 

An embarrassed heat zaps through you right to your core, and the intensity of it makes you break out into a sweat. 

“Johnny, Johnny, wait—” 

He outright moans when you say his name, hands squeezing your waist before sliding down to cup your ass and angling your hips to slot his own into. “Make it so good for you, kitty, need ye s’bad...” 

Jesus Christ. Mortifyingly you can feel yourself getting wet. Just—the proximity, the heat, the electricity running up your spine every time his big hands slide over your thighs. You feel trapped, suffocated, almost, and unfortunately the fact that you can't get away from him even if you try makes the dizzy feeling in your stomach spin harder. 

When Johnny sucks at your neck and roughly tugs up your shirt to knead your chest through your bra there's a few seconds of white-out bliss, and you seriously consider giving in and just— 

No. He's drunk. Probably barely has any idea what he's doing—never remembers what he said or did the next morning. You can already imagine the apologetic hugs, the huge pleading eyes. He'd feel terrible. 

“You're drunk—you're drunk, c'mon, Johnny, we can't, we gotta...” you cut yourself off to muffle the moan that threatens to slip when Johnny ducks his head down and starts giving your chest open-mouthed kisses.  

“No,” you protest weakly, unsure if you're telling him or yourself, because despite your good intentions you really don't want him to stop. Would it be so bad? Would it be so bad if you let Johnny make you feel good? He won't remember, will honestly probably pass out before anything actually happens, and... and... 

“We gotta be—gotta be smart, Johnny, oh—” his name comes out as a sob when he flicks your nipple with his tongue, and you squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Say my name, bonnie, sound s’fuckin’ pretty for me... Gonna make ye sing, make ye feel so good,” Johnny pants against your skin. One of his hands worms its way down, almost rips the buttons off your pants, cups your core right through panties. You shake from just that, back arching, hips stuttering away and then back towards him because this is unfair. Isn't drunk sex supposed to be shite? Why is he making it work? What's wrong with you? 

Johnny moans loudly, unlike you completely unashamed and uninhibited and very happy to let you know that you're “So fuckin’ wet for me—tha's for me, aye? All mine? Fuck, tha's good—Sweet little cunt...” 

You push at his shoulders with less and less conviction. You try tugging at his mohawk to get his attention, desperate not to have to be the voice of reason here, but all that does is make him shudder and bite at your tits. 

And neither gets him to take his hands out of your pants, though he very quickly decides just feeling you soak your panties isn't good enough. With a lot more alacrity than you should reasonably expect of him he pushes aside your underwear, starts flicking your clit, and sticks his tongue down your throat to eagerly drink down your sounds of pleasure. 

“Missed ye so much, miss my girl all the time,” he whines into your mouth. You can feel his cock thick and erect through his jeans, still rubbing against your hip, and you shiver, because Johnny's stupid big fingers are working you to completion at a rollercoaster pace. But when you start to tremble, breaths coming short and quick and needy— 

He stops. 

“No!” you whimper, sounding as pathetic and desperate as you feel. If he falls asleep now you're going to kill him. 

But Johnny hasn't fallen asleep. When you crack your eyes open you look right into his, glittering in the half-dark of your room. When he speaks his voice is husky, low and tight with desire coating the edges. 

“Tell me y’need me, aye? Wee lil’ cunt need me so bad?” 

To punctuate his question he flicks at your clit again, and when your hips jolt in response his free hand presses them down into the mattress. Keeping still. 

There's a split second of doubt, the voice of reason rearing its head in the back of your mind. This isn't right—he's drunk. You've just started seeing someone, kind of, not quite dating yet, but it wouldn't be fair—right? 

You can't quite catch Johnny's expression in the low light, but the edges of him seem to sharpen when you don't answer right away. In one fluid motion he pushes himself up to hover over you, knee nudging your legs open wider, and presses his forehead against yours before starting excruciatingly slow circles on your clit. 

You gasp and pant and can't do anything except lie there and let the weight of both his body and his gaze pin you to the bed, helpless and mortified at your own body's response. Because even though it's slow you are soaking him, him and yourself. Your jeans are ruined; your underwear is a joke. You're pretty sure if Johnny pulled away now his hand would be wet up to the wrist. 

And you don't want him to pull away. You almost cry in relief when he speeds up his rhythm, so glad you don't have to make a decision after all and can simply receive whatever the alcohol in Johnny wants to give you... 

Until he stops. Right on the edge, mean fucker, and this time tears slip past your lashes. “No, no, please, please, you can't—please, Johnny...” 

“Tha's better,” he says roughly, the hand on your hip travelling up to pinch at your nipple until you try to wriggle away from him. “Love ye so much, kitty. Tell me you love me, c'mon.” 

“I—” you swallow, mouth feeling dry despite all of Johnny's slobber. This feels like more than it should be. You love your friends. You love Johnny. But— 

“Y’want it?” One of his thick fingers prods at your entrance without ever really entering, and the promise of relief so close is what breaks you. 

“Yes,” you whimper. “I want it. Please. Please...” 

Your reward is one thick finger slowly entering you, and you squeeze your eyes shut and sob at the sensation. It's almost—almost—everything you've ever needed. Johnny's breath has gone ragged above you, eyes glued onto your every expression. 

“Y’need me, aye? Say it. Say you need me.” 

“I need you,” you manage to stutter out, the last vowel of which transforms into a drawn-out moan when it gets you a slow crook of his finger inside you. It's so fucking slow, Jesus H., but it's something. If he stops now you're going to lose your mind. 

Your desperation along with your evident arousal softens Johnny, and he coos at you while he fingers you. “Don't hav’ta go anywhere, jus’ stay right here with me, give you everythin’ you need...” 

It'd almost be sweet if you could think straight, and you should be, you're supposed to be the one keeping a clear head, but it's really hard to think anything at all when Johnny's messily kissing you again. 

“Pretty girl,” he groans when you squeeze around his finger. “My pretty girl. Ye love me? D’ye love me, bonnie?” 

Your stomach is tightening and with a spike of panic you rush to answer this time: 

“Yes, yes, Johnny, love you—” 

How unfair that that makes him stop. He looks at you, eyes big and wild, cheeks flushed, like a kid opening a Christmas present he was told his parents didn't have the money for. And then he pulls away entirely to rip your jeans off. By the time it catches up to you, you barely have the wherewithal to raise your hips to help him. 

His own clothes follow suit so quickly you fear for the fabric, and then realise it's yourself you should be worried for. You had an inkling of Johnny's size, have woken up to it pressing against your ass too many times to count, but... 

That's not going to fit, you think wildly, and Johnny must see some of the panic on your face, because while he lines his thick leaking tip up to your soaking cunt his other hand pets at your cheeks, lingers on your throat. “Doing so good, bonnie, gonna make ye feel so good, fill you up so nice...” 

His moan fills the room when he slides in another few inches, bounces off the walls and ricochets inside your head. It doesn't hurt, thank God—you're drenched and desperate and at this point frankly impatient. 

Johnny slides in deeper and tugs your legs around his waist, makes you keep them there when he bottoms out and lets out a wild groan from somewhere deep in his chest. You can feel it in your own, pressed against you as he is. 

“Perfect girl,” he gasps, slowly pulling his hips back and then slamming them back into yours. “Fuckin’ mine—all f’r me.” 

This time you're not sure who leans in for the kiss first. It doesn't matter anymore. Your moans and whimpers steadily grow in volume until you're crying under Johnny, clinging to him while he fucks you following a rhythm too quick and wild to try to meet. 

When he presses his thumb to your clit again it barely takes anything to ignite the fire again, wild and hot and ready to boil over. Johnny coos at you again when your mouth drops open in long, silent cry, cunt clenching around him hungrily. “Tha's it, bonnie, feel so good, aye? Pretty kitty feelin’ so good? Fuckin’ made for me, gonna fuck ye so full—” 

It doesn't take long for him to do exactly that. You can feel his cum filling you, hot and heavy, long spurts accompanied by Johnny's desperate moans and whimpers. 

You whine when he collapses on top of you to give you more lazy, open-mouthed kisses—“You're heavy, Johnny, get off”—and try to catch your breath in the two seconds of reprieve you get before he's pulling you into his chest. 

You're spent. Sweaty, flushed, and boneless. The sheets are no doubt disgusting, but it's so late and you're too fucked-out to care. You file it away for tomorrow, just like the hundred other things you're going to have to talk about somehow... 

Johnny lets out a deep, contented sigh, tucking you under his chin and pulling your leg over his waist like he's rearranging a doll. You don't have the strength in you to protest. It's only when you feel his cock prodding at you again that you jolt away from him and try to remove your leg, but Johnny frowns, clicking his tongue like he would at a disobedient pet.  

“I want to sleep, Johnny, 'm tired...” 

Johnny tuts softly, keeping you still with a firm grip while he enters you again. “’S just for keepin’ it all in, bonnie, dinnea fuss. See? ‘S nice all full like this, aye? Wake ye up all nice ‘n proper tomorrow.” 

You wriggle in his grasp with a soft whine—Johnny's cock is girthier than any other you've had before and you're sore from being used like a battering ram, even if it felt mind-numbingly good. But Johnny's arms are iron, and the more you try to move around the tighter he holds you to him. 

Eventually you give up and give in. Sleep is tugging at you insistently, and when you relax around him it's not so bad. Johnny kisses you when he feels you settle, his hand running soothingly over your bare skin. 

It's enough for you to be lulled into sleep. Before you drift off one last thought surfaces: 

Isn't Johnny supposed to be good at holding his liqueur...? 

[moonhoures]

Score

🕷️ kinktober — day 15: dry humping🕸️

pairing: minho (stray kids) + reader (afab/fem)

genre: non-idol!au, college!au, smut, fluff

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit smut, established relationship, football player!minho 🏈, dry humping, mild exhibitionism (sexual activity in a parked car), pet name ‘baby’ is used for both minho & reader, minho calls reader ‘princess’ once, minho cums in his jeans 🫣

word count: ~1.8k

synopsis: you reward your boyfriend for winning the homecoming game

a/n: saw this edit of minho in the super bowl mv and the thought of football player!minho would not leave my head so i felt called to write this

posted: october 15, 2023

kinktober masterlist

Friday nights were your favorite. That was partly because it was the last day of the school week, so you had the weekend to look forward to. And the other part was because Fridays in autumn were football nights. And that meant you got to sit at the very bottom of the bleachers to watch your boyfriend run back and forth on the football field for a couple hours. You hadn’t really been a fan of sports until you met Minho, but since he was the left tackle for the varsity team at your university, he begged you to go to his practices and games when you were free. Slowly you found yourself enjoying the sport and becoming his very own cheerleader, rooting him on from the sidelines where he would shoot you smiles and winks when he could.

Tonight was the homecoming game, and it was against the rival town’s team, so the pressure was on the home team big time. Minho had been stressing over this game for weeks, constantly putting in extra practice to prepare. You had texted him some words of encouragement and promised to treat him afterwords if he won—but honestly, you would treat him even if he lost. He had replied with a heartfelt emoji and told you where to meet him once the game was over.

It was a tense three hours, but eventually the scores were settled at 17-15. Your team had won, and just barely so. The second the winning touchdown had occurred the home side bleachers erupted in a roaring cheer, you included. Your eyes were already on Minho, easily finding his jersey number among the several guys on the field. He jumped up and down excitedly, slapping and congratulating his teammates as they celebrated their win. Your cheeks were consumed by warmth despite the chill in the air that was nipping at them.

You waited patiently where Minho had told you to meet him, just outside of the fence far enough away from the exit that you wouldn’t get swallowed up by the leaving crowd. You occupied yourself by trying to make out the stars among the pitch-black sky that were hard to see with the blinding field lights on. You were so busy looking up that you didn’t notice your boyfriend approaching until he was scooping you up in his arms and pressing a sweaty kiss to your cheek.

You let out a shriek of surprise, “Oh my God, put me down!” You giggled through your words, but he listened, setting you back down.

When his face came into view, a wide smile took up the bottom half of his face, his eyes scrunching up from it, “Did you see how much ass we kicked out there? I was getting so nervous towards the end, but we pulled through!”

“I had full faith in you,” you grinned, eyes twinkling as you took in his bulky figure, his uniform still on. His already-broad shoulders were exaggerated by the shoulder pads he wore, and the ends of his hair were dripping in sweat. Oddly enough, you found this version of him incredibly sexy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to act on any desires until he cleaned up.

“I’m gonna hit the showers, but you’ll wait for me, right? I wanted to take you to that new diner that opened last week. Chan said they’re open until midnight on Fridays,” Minho clutched onto his helmet at his side, a hopeful look on his face as he awaited your reply.

“Of course, if you wanna give me your keys, I’ll just go wait in the car. I need a heater after sitting in the cold.”

The football player was quick to agree, escorting you to the gym. He dipped into the locker room to grab his keys from his bag. He handed them off to you, but not without giving you a quick kiss. Then you two separated, him going back to the locker room and you going to his car. You instantly felt cozy with the heater on blast along with the heated seats (a luxury your own car didn’t have). Only twenty minutes passed with you scrolling through TikTok before Minho arrived, startling you when he pulled the passenger door open and climbed in.

“Alright, I’m squeaky clean now. Lay it on me,” your boyfriend leaned forward, lips puckering a bit, expecting a proper kiss from you.

You chuckled softly, leaning the rest of the way across the console to press a tender kiss to his lips. You could tell he had put on some of the chapstick you had been encouraging him to use; the weather recently had been making his lips chapped. The subtle taste of mint lingered on your mouth, and it was pleasant. In fact, it was enticing—that, plus the way his hand gently held the side of your neck.

The kiss deepened, the two of you becoming enthralled in each other like it was a reunion after months of being apart. You two had literally met up that morning for coffee before class, but that didn’t stop Minho from leaning even more over the console until he was practically in the driver’s seat with you. You felt his tongue running along the seams of your lips, begging for him to take it further than just a heated make out in the front seats of his Honda Civic.

You pulled away for a chance to breathe, and your heart thrummed at the sight of your boyfriend’s reddened, puffy lips and flushed cheeks, “We should start heading to the diner.”

He groaned softly, a small frown etching itself on his lips, “I was so close to getting you in the backseat. We can go tomorrow night?”

“Baby-“

“Come on, ________, I know you want to,” he loved to use that teasing tone and sly smirk on you to get what he wanted, mostly because he knew it worked. No matter how stern you tried to be, you always had a soft spot for him.

“I do, but . . . not in this parking lot,” you tried to reason with him, but his expression didn’t change. You had a feeling you were indeed going to do it in the parking lot.

“We don’t have to go all the way.” Determination could have been Minho’s middle name as far as you were concerned. It was a part of what made him so good at football. It was what got him a date with you during your first semester of college. And it was what got you to straddle him in the backseat of his Civic.

With you right where he wanted you, he smiled into another sweltering kiss, his hands on your hips. Unfortunately for your boyfriend, all of your clothes stayed on, but that didn’t stop him from getting you to thrust your groin against his. Though stuffed under his jeans and briefs, his cock was growing stiff under the stimulation your clothed cunt was giving him. After only a couple minutes, you could feel his erection poking against the fabric of your own jeans.

Minho communicated almost solely through noises, deep moans and heavy breaths sounding between your tangled lips. He let out a whine as you grinded your hips down on him, the friction making his cock even harder. If he had taken out like he wanted to, you would be able to see how red it was and how it throbbed, yearning to be in your pussy. But it was confined to the prison that was his underwear where a wet patch was already forming in the fabric over his tip.

Your own panties were becoming a little uncomfortable, your arousal basically soaking the gusset. The wet fabric was trapped between the sensitive skin of your folds and your rough denim. The sensation wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as it would be if it was his cock you were humping, but this would just have to do for now. You were already in motion, and you knew if you focused hard enough you would eventually cum. And with Minho’s hot breath on the shell of your ear, whispering encouraging words to you, you knew your release would find it’s way to you soon enough.

“Wish I wasn’t so fucking impatient,” he admitted through gritted teeth while his hands assisted your movements over his pelvis, “I should’ve taken you back to my house so we could do this the right way.”

“Yeah, well, you were the one who wanted it so bad,” you smiled down at him, “Now you have it.”

“And I’m definitely not complaining,” he spoke nothing but the truth. Sure, he would have preferred fucking you good in the comfort of his own bed, but he wouldn’t turn down the chance to make out with (and dry hump) you in the back of his car. In his opinion, he would be stupid to do so, “But maybe you could come back to my place, and I can treat you better there, yeah?”

“You better,“ you smiled at the way he laughed at that, then he was bringing your face down to his so he could kiss you again. When he got wound up like this, he had no care, no worry. He would make any noises, not thinking about how whiny or pathetic they sounded. He would let the saliva that got caught up between your lips fall out of the corners of his mouth messily. He would leave hickeys on your skin, acting like he didn’t mean to when really he loved the little bruise that showed the world you were taken. You were his.

“Oh my God, yes. Do that again,” he groaned, head falling back against the seat as he slipped his fingers through the belt loops on your jeans. Your clothed pussy was grinding down on his lap, each buck of your hips squeezing the top half of his cock against his pubic bone. The precum on his underwear was abundant, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. It felt too good. Moans fell from his lips repeatedly telling you to keep going, keep going, don’t stop. He was going to-

“Holy shit.”

Minho’s hands were tight on your waist, commanding you to stop. He had already made a mess of his boxers; he didn’t want to make another one. You frowned, and you didn’t have to a say word. He was already apologizing, looking up at you through half-lidded eyes.

“I know. I’m sorry, baby,” he breathed heavily, too lazy to lift his head up from the back of the seat. He reached up and wiped away a string of spit that was webbing from your mouth onto your cheek (residue from your multiple messy make-outs), “When we get back to mine, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Well, consider this my treat to you for now, for winning tonight. But now you owe me.”

“Of course, princess. Now let’s get out of here, these jeans are getting more uncomfortable by the second.”

— taglist #1

@jaylaxies @xiaoting999 @kookthief @zaddywilk @pedriswrld @wonrangwoo @ikykleeknowww @odisdad @abby-grace @jungwonloveer @pinklemonadeflav @celestialplatinum @luvkpopp @nlklstan @kisses4denji @jenos-eye-smiles @a-l-i-y-a @channiesprincess @bekah931215 @heerinnie @fairygirl18 @cinnikoi @im-ur-calico-cat @unlikelysublimekryptonite @k-drizzle @iguanas-world

[itsabouttimex2]

Eclipse Kings

Part Four: Sweet Little Star

(Part One: Mountain Monkeys) (Part Two: Barbed Dusk) (Part Three: Wild Dawn) (Part Four: You Are Here)

(Extra One) (Art! Thank you to @lemon-ti)

(The “servants” around this lovely ecliptic pagoda are well-tailored to the needs of their lords, no matter the scenario- including hot meals and tension breakers.

You are the only sanctuary that MK has ever known. Through blistering summers spent as the shores of a rippling blue lake, through winters spent huddled together under a stack of blankets, hidden in a hole of straw-lined mud to try and avoid withering chills.

You are all the “home” that MK knows.

But the two demons who call him are certainly trying their damnedest to make up for lost time… to very little avail.

“Since we found you so late yesterday, we never got a chance to celebrate your birthday, Xiaotian... we can-

“Yesterday wasn’t my birthday,” the boy huffs, fingers deeply kneading the thick cotton trim of his new cape. “That’s not until winter.”

“…Xiaotian,” Macaque says, almost astonished at how confidently incorrect his son was, “you were born in the middle of autumn - who told you that it was winter?”

“Y/N.”

“…ah. No, that- okay,” he huffs, pinching the growing knot on his scarifying forehead- without the crown, his usual gouges were quickly healing - as he quickly pieced things together. “They didn’t know your birthday, so… so they just made that up. You were too little to remember the day, so Y/N lied-“

“Nuh uh! They wouldn’t lie to me !”

“…my bad, kid. Of course not. No, you were too little to remember, so Y/N just… pretended to know so you could celebrate. But your real birthday is in the middle of fall- it was yesterday.”

“No, cause it’s in the winter!”

Wukong laughs as his sable mate sits beside him, nestling into the plush cushions and groaning.

“Easy, moonbeam. Don’t push yourself- he’s still a toddler. We’ll get through to him.”

“I’d rather him just remember us and everything we did together,” Macaque snaps back throwing his head into Wukong’s lap- who, for his part, begins to smooth out the inky tresses of fur laid out before him. They stay there for a minute, quietly enjoying each other’s company, and then-

All of Macaque’s ears stiffen, six sharp points flaring up under his fur, which Wukong fluffs to hide them from sight. As much as he loves them, his mate’s feelings are very dissimilar.

He looks over with both hands over Macaque’s ears, looking to the marble doorway-

And it’s just you , wearing “your” lovely sky-blue hanfu, sash shoddily tied and silk pouch held close.

The umbrakinetic demon stands up without a noise, slowly walking over to you for a closer examination- he had heard about your little fit, and didn’t want a repeat for himself.

“It suits you,” Macaque says, giving an approving look to your new outfit- he reaches for the sash, maybe to correct or tighten it, but pulls away when you flinch, simply saying: “You can keep it. If you want.”

Be polite. You want this outfit. And you want the pouch. Be polite.

“…thank you. And.. were you… talking about his birthday?”

The king rolls his shoulders to stretch them, causing the thick spikes of fur on his head to swish and temporarily dip over his many, many forehead scars- they’re a lot more obvious now that he’s smashed the barbed circlet and scrubbed the dried blood from his forehead. “We were. Xiaotian didn’t know that it was in the middle of autumn. I hear the two of you celebrated it in winter.”

“Well, most of the time- it was just whenever snow fell for the first time in the year- I… I really didn’t have… I didn’t have too much to work with. So it was… usually in winter, or really late fall, one time we got really unlucky and it was mid-spring.”

“…what do you mean, ‘unlucky’?” Asks the Monkey King, standing up from his lavish recliner to replace all his accessories, each string of citrine beads and looping gold chains clinking against each other as he threaded them back into place. “I don’t remember ever hearing the mortals talk about a bad snow during spring- not anytime this century, at least.”

“It wasn’t bad- not for anyone else. We- MK and I,” you start, trying to ignore their little twitches at you using his nickname, “we lived in a little sunken hut. It was always falling apart in place, and- and I had to patch it up all the time- so snow was always really hard, cause it would make the mud I used all wet, and it’d drip from the holes-“

“You were using mud to keep your house together?”

Both of them share the same look, worriedly gazing upon little MK with a sort of regretful hindsight, thinking on how hard it must’ve been for him to reside in that squalid, rotted hovel- though Wukong is the one who speaks up. “So you- you and Xiaotian were living in a little muddy wreck?”

Macaque- you can’t read his expression, not quite, stares on with a deeply set frown- if you had to wager a guess, he seems to be some form of vaguely disappointed . Maybe that’s standard for kings when they hear about things like this. You don’t really care what he thinks- not when MK was fed, warm, and happy.

That was enough for you.

If they wanted to pull back and say it wasn’t enough for them, then- oh well.

But that’s not what happens. There is no remand or reproach, nor any discouraging words as to your care of their darling boy.

They just frown, thinking of what you- and more importantly, MK - might have gone through.

And you frown too, caught in a tense silence louder than any storm, more charged than a bolt of lightning forming in graying skies.

It’s simply… too much. There’s been too much everything across too little a timeline to accommodate for proper adjustment, so now everything has wound to a point of near shattering, fractures displayed so prominently across the terse “bond” shared that they were nearly visible to the naked eye.

And it isn’t for a solitary second that the quiet stretches on, heavy and suffocating- it’s pervasive, leaving you all standing there quietly.

You can feel their eyes on you, assessing, judging—not just your words but the years you spent with MK, the choices you made when you had nothing to work with but scraps and hope. They’ve swooped in now, claiming- reclaiming, as the nagging voice in your head reminds - him as theirs, and though you know he’s safer here, better provided for, the thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

He had been fine without them.

He had been fine with you.

Why couldn’t it have just kept being you and- not your “temporary charge” Qi Xiaotian, Golden Star of Flower Fruit Mountain- but your little brother, MK?

Life had been miserably hard. It had been cold and drudging and dreary, and more than once you had come to one of the many peering peaks across the mountain, and sat on the idea of a quick end to the struggling.

And you had met your little “Monkie Kid”, just as cold and alone as you had been.

He had not just been your little brother-

He had been your entire reason for living.

And what did you have to live for now, with two people who could grant him ever luxury and possession a child could desire?

What did you have to live for?

Was there anything you-

“Excuse me,” calls a curt voice from behind, slicing the tension with practiced, professional ease. “We’ve prepared dinner for you, my lords.”

Like a metal door long unopened, there’s a hesitant, straining moment before the inevitable give , and then you all turn to look- at a very lovely woman. Her hair has been trimmed chin-short and styled into thick black waves, pulled to each side of her face to prominently display a golden ferronnière.

“My husband and I have finished cooking, and we wished to call you in before the meal grew cold,” she says, utterly unabated by the gone-cold atmosphere. “So we insist that you come and eat soon- preferably, right now. ”

There is no rolling of heads or smashing of bones arisen from the terse almost-command, and instead the Monkey King nods along with a chuckle and a laugh half-forced. “Of course, of course. Sorry for forgetting-“

“If you were truly sorry, you’d be in the kitchen eating all of our hard work.”

“Ahahaha! Fair enough! Moonbeam, let’s go have dinner. We can talk about celebrations tonight, together- when it’s quieter.”

Without you around to interject, of course.

Because why would anyone care about how long you spent in a crumbling shack held half-together with scraps of scrounged fabric and dried mud when you offered inconvenient things like “makeshift birthdays” and “learned attachments”?

Before your thoughts get too seething, the woman lightly claps her hands, snapping you and MK to attention.

“Since the two of you have… “lived a life of little substance”, let’s say, we’ve prepared a list of softer meals to help you both adjust to proper eating as quickly as possible- in about the course of a week. Sudden indulgence to richer foods could sicken you both- especially Lord Xiaotian. Today we’ve made a honeyed rice porridge with ripe tropical fruit, but I imagine you’ll also see fortified broth with bouillon powder, and… well, we’d be here all day if I laid them all out.

As the woman sends you and your brother down a hall together, before turning back to her eployers.

“And,” she whispers to the two kings, voice nearly low enough for you miss it, “ we’ve set aside some fruit purée and steamed milk with honey, if nothing else will work.”

“You are such a gem,” Macaque breathes, expressly pleased with her loyal diligence. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-“

“Your children are waiting,” she confirms, nudging him along. “Hurry and eat with them-“

And though he starts to correct her, to clarify that you are in fact not his child- the woman is gone in a swish of her long green dress.

You keep your head down, one hand gripping all of MK’s tiny fingers during your unflinching trek down the ornate hall. There’s hand-drawn pictures of many different demons, all portrayed with respect and pride. In one a purple minotaur holds an axe over his shoulder, horns and blade polished to a shine, in the next he’s standing beside a red-robed woman, tears brimming through his amber eyes as they focus on a small bundle in her arms. In another there’s a pachyderm demon, portrayed with thick glasses and a gargantuan stack of books- including one he must’ve been working on when the picture was drawn. The next is a bird with golden wings held aloft, spear dug into a training dummy made of stone. Then a lion, holding as many mortals possible aloft while trudging in waist-deep waters. One after another, demon after demon- though only those same four, aside from the woman.

Whoever they are, the kings clearly cherish them.

And said demons walk in unison just backwind of you, though their steps lack the carefree rhythm of easygoing camaraderie. They are just in steady lockstep, too close behind for comfort. You can hear the faint clinking of Wukong’s gold chains and the occasional rustle of Macaque’s red and black robe as they exchange glances, silent communication passing between them.

And then MK squeezes your fingers at tightly as his little fingers allow- a familiar gesture you’ve known through harsh nights and sluggish days, through famine and sickness and chill.

An anchor of reassurance in the overwhelming storm of unfamiliarity.

The shift you underwent was violent and painful. You had woken up half-paralyzed and nude, being scrubbed down by the two beings you feared most, incapable of speaking or moving- it had left a not-insignificant mark.

But MK?

MK had made a choice. He had chosen to come back, you were sure of it, sure that he had made a deal for your safety and retrieval alongside his own- of course he was going to adjust better than you.

But he was still a little boy.

A little boy who had spent his life in the hollow embrace of mud walls and patchwork blankets, in the firm grip of your scarred arms. This was a kingdom of excess, a world so vast and strange that it overwhelmed just as much as it comforted. He looks up to you, his tiny thumb fiddling with your knuckles, and you know what is being asked.

Are you staying?

You squeeze his hand back.

Always.

Neither of you is exactly cozy , but the air between you feels warmer for that little exchange, the newfound fuzziness lasting until the tall and gilded arc of a lavish dining room stands before the two of you, beckoning in.

Inside, the dining room gleams with you might bitterly call opulence . The long table stretches nearly half the length of the room, carved from a dark wood polished to a mirror’s finish. Gold filigree edges the surface, intertwining in swirling patterns that catch the warm glow of the lanterns overhead. The chairs are high-backed and cushioned, draped in fine fabrics with purple and gold-threaded embroidery. The centerpiece is a grand arrangement of flowers- peach blossoms and chrysanthemums interspersed with glowing lotuses.

The sheer decadence is suffocating .

MK gasps loudly at the sight, his wide eyes reflecting the glittering splendor. You squeeze his hand again, grounding him, grounding yourself. The boy looks up at you, half in wonder, half in unease. You feel it too- the crushing weight of not belonging. This isn’t your world. Not really. Not ever.

Not yet.

A man; dressed as elegantly as the woman that you presume to be his wife, is stocking the table with loaded plates. Not a drop spills onto his gold-lined white tangzhuang, no matter how much he moves.

“It’s an honor to be serving you again, Lord Xiaotian. And an honor to serve his savior, dear child.

He pushes up the bridge of his circular glasses, causing a sharp gleam to roll over them before coming over to usher you both in.

“Now, please- take your seats.”

There’s two chairs set aside specifically, both piled with stiff cushions to help someone of the height-disadvantaged reach the table- MK’s is especially egregious, containing no less than four.

Speaking of the boy, he tugs at your hand again, his curious eyes shifting between you and the chair meant for him. “Can we really sit here?” he whispers, voice laced with awe and a hint of anxiety.

Before you can answer, Macaque’s low voice cuts through the air as he and Wukong stride into the room after you, affably clapping their servant on his shoulders. “Of course you can,” he says, his tone soft but firm as both golden eyes land on you both. “This is your home now, Xiaotian. You can be wherever you want.”

Home. The word burns.

Maybe it sears even worse than the branding iron that haunts your dreams.

You take the seat beside his, allowing the cushion to sink as best it can under your meager weight, providing a nice abatement to your sore legs- though the cream Macaque had used to clear out grime and dirt had stopped burning not long after it was used, there was a dull ache left from both the concoction and, well… everything , really.

The man with glasses places bowls of warm, sweet-smelling rice porridge before you and MK, forcing your eyes to the bowl. The simple meal is an obvious concession to your past, but the presentation is impeccable, garnished with thin slices of banana and a drizzle of honey. It’s almost too beautiful to eat. Almost .

MK digs in immediately , tiny hands clutching the spoon with the clumsy enthusiasm only a child could muster. His muffled hum of delight sounds out at the first bite, drawing adoring coos from the two kings, and a faint, weary smile from you.

He deserves this, you think. He deserves a hundred lifetimes of warm meals, safe beds, and more love than his little heart could stand to hold.

You, however, hesitate. The porridge is still steaming, the honey forming golden rivulets over the creamy surface, but you can’t bring yourself to taste it just yet. It feels foreign, indulgent in a way that grates against the life you’ve lived- against the life that has shaped you into a scrapes-by survivor accustomed to spare bits of fuel.

You manage to lift the spoon and take a small bite.

The honeyed porridge is warm and sweet, slices of ripe banana on top to add a buttery texture that melts effortlessly on your tongue, imbuing a whisper of richness to each bite.

It’s good. Too good. It makes your chest ache.

Hunger is the world you have known, sprinkled through every aspects of your life in pieces. In the cold of winter on your stick-thin ribs, never enough meat to keep warm. In the gnawing ache that follows you to sleep. In the morning, curling like smoke in your chest as you wake, already weary. Hunger walks beside you, a shadow that stretches long.

A word heartbreakingly uttered from the lips of your darling little brother, spurring you to further and further extremes to keep him fed.

But today you are both full and warm, dressed and clean.

The thought pricks your eyes with tears, and the spoon seizes as a lump grows in your throat.

You could have never given this to MK.

The movement of your unwieldy hand grows faster and faster, shoveling more and more of the sweet porridge into your mouth, smearing it over your lips as tears begin to fall. Your spare hand drifts downwards to cusp the mildly growing curve of your stomach, feeling the meal compound through you. You drop the intricate spoon, and it clatters uselessly to the ground. In favor of scooping the meal bite by bite into your mouth, you do the simplest- and more importantly, fastest- thing possible.

You upend the contents directly into your mouth, the honeyed porridge spilling past your lips and onto your chin and cheeks. You drain it to the last drop and lick the remnants like a starving dog, and then set down the exquisite piece of china to reveal the tears dribbling over the sticky mess across your face.

“I want more,” you beg, voice plain and will broken. “Please, I-“

“ I don’t want to be hungry anymore.”

“…get them another bowl,” says Macaque, looking at you more closely than ever before. “As many as they need.”

”Until they’re full.”

[sseulforgii]

stay beautiful

Yu Jimin x Reader

a/n: This was long overdue. I'm sorry to the anon I made to wait for so long. 😭 i feel like this still sucks but i have to get it out 🥲

This is also for you @1luvkarina 🥹 I hope to read more stories from you 😌

“If you and I are a story that never gets told, if what you are is a daydream I’ll never get to hold, at least you’ll know…”

Her laugh rang loud and melodious across the room. Even if you have just arrived, you already know where she is among the sea of people in this house. You were greeted by familiar faces and family members but you were distracted, already craning your neck as you made way to her. Your aunt caught you in a bear hug before you can even protest and she laughed seeing you very focused on getting across the hall to that person sitting crossed leg on the piano bench surrounded by children.

“You never changed. It’s still Jimin that distracts you from everything.” is what you hear next followed by a chuckle. You whipped your head so fast to the sound of that voice and found yourself face to face with Jimin’s older brother. You flush at his comment and was about to argue when you heard the start of a melody playing. You immediately turned your attention to the goddess playing cheerfully on the piano, singing Christmas songs with the kids as the elders hum and sway along. You were enchanted much and it brought you back to the very first time you met Yu Jimin.

It was summer back when you were nine and you just got home from camp. You were so excited to show your mom the cool crafts you have created when you heard someone playing the piano. Now you don’t really have siblings and your mom can’t play as well, so you were so intrigued and followed the sound. It led you to her.

There sitting in front of a piano was a girl, about your age, smiling and singing some disney song and your mom clapping along. You were enthralled by her voice and you stood there unmoving, your heart beating fast and your tummy doing somersaults as you watched her. And then the magic broke when someone spoke beside you, “at least wipe the drool off of your face.” You yelped, caught by surprise with this unfamiliar boy, the playing stopped and all eyes were on you then, making you flushed with embarrassment.

The little girl playing the piano hopped off the bench and smiled at you. “Hi, I’m Jimin! I just moved in next door.” You were still red as you shook her hand, your mom explaining how she and her brother just moved in with their grandparents a day ago. In all honesty, you weren’t even paying attention anymore. All your brain could process was Jimin’s hand in yours, her little laugh, and that melodious voice as she asked you to be her friend.

You were inseparable from then on. Although she was a year older than you, you always make it a point to spend every moment possible with her. It proved to be a challenge though, as she was in every school activity possible. She was a star in everyone’s eyes. Her brilliance transcends academics and music for her bubbly personality draws everyone in as well. But what you loved about all of this was that even though it seems that everyone’s world revolves around Jimin, hers always included you.

In whatever spotlight Jimin might find herself in she always looks back to you. As if she can’t do it without you smiling and nodding at her encouragingly. It made you feel somewhat special. It made your heart soar and admire her even more.

Now Jimin, however brilliant she is, doesn’t seem to know how many people swoon for her. That or she doesn’t care at all. You try to hold in a laugh every time she turns down a date without her even knowing or accidentally friendzoning people who look at her defeatedly. But because you were witnessing all of these, you never had the courage to even give her a hint of how you were feeling. Although it seems that it’s obvious for the people around you, you chose for Jimin to stay in her tiny oblivious bubble- in your head though, this bubble protects your friendship.

For all the pining and admiration you have for Jimin, you knew her focus was elsewhere. You can see how passionate she is for her music and it didn’t even surprise you that come senior year, she was accepted in NYU’s music program. You were happy for her and cheering her on. She was ecstatic and nervous at the same time, but with you filled her with encouragement the whole time.

The last time you saw her was when she was leaving for college. She hugged you really tight and made you promise to still keep in touch. You were happy for her but you also don’t want to miss this chance to tell her how you feel. So before you bid goodbye for the last time you handed her a letter and told her to only read it when she’s on the plane to New York. She laughed at that but promised she will. You stepped back so she can get inside her brother’s car and waved for the last time but as she was getting in, she stopped and ran over to you to kiss you on the cheek. Before you can even register what happened she already closed the car door and they drove away, leaving you slack-jawed and scarlet on the driveway with your hand hovering on your cheek.

“To my Jimin,” the letter read, “When you find everything you looked for, I hope your life will lead you back to my front door.”

And now after a year away from home, you see her just as how you first met her. She seemed to sense your presence then and looked up from the piano. She smiled that silly smile you love and beckoned you to her. You sit beside her on the piano bench and she nudged you with her shoulder as she still keeps on playing. “Took you long enough,” she huffs and kisses your cheek.

[witchthewriter]

𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐊𝐨̈𝐧𝐢𝐠

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

a/n: not a poly relationship - I just decided to have them both in one post. Let me know if you want more xx Also I went through the tags for these guys and there is nothing but SMUT. So I wanted some sweet sfw headcanons for the boys

Warnings: swearing, nsfw included (no one under 18 please).

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

INTJ

Ravenclaw

Neutral Good

Scorpio Sun, Capricorn Moon, Virgo Rising

𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲/𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭

・This man is fucking dangerous behind the wheel. And although he is a hot-head occasionally, it isn't when he's driving.

・Simon knows he's shit, so when people honk at him, give him the finger - he just stone-faces it. Let's them berate him because really, he doesn't fucking care.

・However he has lost his licence a few times ... and so you told him he could be your &lt;3 passenger princess <3

・Simon wasn't amused ...

・Very much the protective type, verging on possessive. Not in an abusive way, but he wants everyone to know that you're his. So when anyone flirts with you - or even when they're a little too nice, his jealousy consumes him.

・Scary dog privledges, with and without the mask. This man is intimidating as fuck.

・6'4, wide shoulders and big hands, so it doesn't matter how you look, how tall you are etc - Simon is bigger, taller and stronger.

・Yes he can be a hardass, but when he loves someone, that roughness is somewhat smoothened out. He'd hate to hurt your feelings.

・He only wears his mask to hide his identity; he takes it off when missions are done.

・And when he's home, he rarely wears it.

・Absolutely HATES being jump-scared. And his reflexes take over (you've learnt from the first and last time)

・This goes with random kisses as well, sometimes you just have to make yourself known before touching Simon

・He isn't huge into PDA, but when outside he will gladly hold your hand, bump his shoulder into yours when you make a crappy dad joke.

・The biggest misconception is that he's cold. Well, at work - obviously he is. But at home, with you, he has so much warmth. A lot of life.

・He has great banter. Absolutely has both of you laughing your asses off.

・Calls you "love," "sweetheart," (all in his gruff, chiselled brit accent). And when you're alone, he calls you names like "my love," "hun," "sweet cheeks."

・You're slowly learning about Simon's past, which he shares little by little.

・Too much information and he's scared you might feel overwhelmed and leave him

・There's some deep trauma there, but the army has therapists and everyone gets checked out before they're deemed mentally healthy enough.

・He does want kids, but only after he's done with the military. He would hate to be an absent father in any way. And he wouldn't want you to have that full responsibility.

・A lot of people characterise him as this traumatised man who can barely look after himself. But that is far, faaaaar from the truth. He's very competent. And he eats a LOT. But he also works out (to keep in shape, he actually hates the gym) (also he doesn't expect you to do anything of that stuff. He loves you for you.)

・I also have this headcanon that Ghost/Riley would love Metallica, Slipknot, Black Sabbath etc. It's one of the things that calm him down. However, if he's had an overwhelming day, he needs no noise whatsoever.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Teases Them (You) x About To End Them (Ghost)

The Moon and His Star

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Opposites Attract

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Say Yes To Heaven by Lana Del Rey

Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier

Enter Sandman by Metallica

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, I bloody mean it. 

・There's almost like two sides of your s/o. The Ghost side, where the mask stays on, and he's rough, possessive, dominant. And then the Simon side, where he likes soft touches and when you gently stroke his face

・You've both discovered that Simon likes it when you wear his mask, gloves - nothing else - and touch yourself.

・Even with your cum juices on the mask, and gloves, he'll still wear them to work.

・It's the only kinky thing he brings with him while on deployment. You did want to take a naked polaroid for him but he didn't trust the other guys not to somehow see it.

・He likes keeping you as separate from army life as much as possible. Because you feel like home, and it gives him hope.

・Ghost loves taming your bratty side. He's short, demanding and can shut you up with one look.

"Keep on actin' like that, and see what happens."

・Of course you keep acting up, and when you get home, you pay for it tenfold.

・Ghost's hands are as big as a paddle, and when he has you over his knee, ass up in the air. He doesn't hesitate in leaving red marks (all consensual. He wouldn't do anything without having a conversation before hand).

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

ISTP

Hufflepuff

Chaotic Good

Aries Sun, Aquarius Moon, Leo Rising

𝐊𝐨̈𝐧𝐢𝐠

・A 6'10 king, who suffers from social anxiety but has this soft, silly side that he loves showing you and only you (I will take no criticisms on his height. It is LAW. My law.)

・Because of his anxiety, social aspects of life are much harder than work. He's highly skilled in combat, and has a lot of confidence in his abilities to accomplish missions.

・However, when you tried to speak to him, all he could do was stutter.

・You allowed him to get the words out, but he was an absolute mess afterwards and went to go train.

・But this didn't deter you in the slightest. Hell, you had been trying to muster the courage to speak to him for weeks...

・It took a while for Konig to open up about his past, especially his adolescence.

・He's told you the jist of it, but there's details that you don't push him on.

・One of your favourite pastimes together is going to bakeries and eating the most delicious pastries.

・When you're feeling down, or there's something to celebrate, there's no cake but pastries instead

・Doesn't mind animals, but understands that when he's away you will get a bit lonely. So you surprised him by getting a pair of kittens!

・You showed him over video chat, one white kitten and one black.

"I haven't chosen names for them yet, but I thought maybe you could have some input?"

"Schatz! The kittens are cute but you have scratch marks all over your arms!"

"They're very playful!" And then you leant closer to the camera and whispered, "I leave scratches on your back ..." And with an innocent look on your face, you watched as Konig shivered.

・Likes to put you on his lap when he's cleaning weapons, or getting the marks out of his mask or shoes. Okay honestly, he just wants you on his lap all the time. Whatever excuse he can come up with - he'll goddamn use it

・Absolutely loves Kate Bush and Stevie Nicks. He thinks they have such a beautiful sound that you can find him with headphones on, swaying in the bedroom, silently in his feels

・All your pet names are in Austrian/German:

"Schatz", meaning 'treasure'.

"Maus," meaning 'mouse.'

"Liebling" meaning 'darling.'

"Hase" meaning 'bunny'.

"Liebe" meaning 'love.'

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Always Bringing Them Rocks They Think They Would Like (You) x Keeps The Rocks (Konig)

The Gomez & Morticia Adams

I Don’t Know What I’m Doing But At Least I’m Alive, Right? (You) x You’re Doing Great, Sweetie (Konig)

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Hidden Identity & Forced Proximity

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush

The Chain by Stevie Nicks

Dance of the Druids by Bear McCreary (he loves movie scores as well. It's one of his fascinations).

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, makes me feel weird if you read it.

・Konig is a bit awkward at first with the sexual interactions you guys have. He does have anxiety, but also, the build up of sexual tension had been going on for months.

・All he had during that time was his hands and the memories of how you looked, the way your eyes met his then flicked downward - almost like you had x-ray vision.

・There was no denying the heat.

・So when you first hooked up it was a fumbling mess of grunting, clothes ripping and fast hands trying to touch and grab at any bare piece of flesh.

・You did have a shocking revelation that first time however. Because this man's cock is not only thick, veiny but nearly 9 inches when he's hard.

・That first time wasn't a true first time as the look on your face told Konig everything - you weren't ready for that part of him ... just yet.

・Loves when you ride his thigh; they're absolutely huge. Just muscled and bulky and the first time you saw them (without the uniform) you audibly gasped.

・His body is absolutely divine

・Like it had been sculpted by the gods. Large biceps, long legs, small waist, large shoulders. His hands wrap your neck perfectly.

・You feel so safe with him.

・And you have to remind him that, because sometimes he worries he could hurt you without meaning to.

"I'm a grown up, Konig. I can handle myself."

"So when are you going to let me fuck you?"

"mmm... I think I still have to get used to that. Maybe we can do fingers first..." (his fingers are ... fucking huge).

[leviraaaaaa]

The loss of light. (Levi x blind!reader)

Summary: In the battle held against Eren, reader loses their eyes. And as they finally starts getting used to a life without sight, someone unexpected reaches out. Levi Ackerman asks them to move into Marley with him.

Cw: uh since reader goes blind forever here, it might be kind of uncomfortable to read?

"...nothing we can do..."

"...did our best but..."

"... never see again..."

"...sight is gone..."

Gone, gone, gone….

It echoed in your head.

Soft murmurs reached your ears. You quietly listened, laying on your side, curled into a ball. You wrapped yourself tighter and tighter with every word, seeking comfort and shelter from you don't know what. Your eyelids fluttered as you tried to open them.

Were you in a dark room?

You blinked a couple times, squeezing your eyes shut harder with every press, but it felt strange. There was no difference. The darkness only felt more heavy, more suffocating. But there was no escape. Not a single ray of light.

Ah.

You really have gone blind, haven't you?

-

It had been a week since the war had ended. You had returned home along with everyone else, to Paradis.

And this past week, all you've known about the world is from hushed whispers.

You have only heard about how strange Paradis looked without the walls. About the ruins. About a lot of things. You hadn't seen any of it though.

You haven't seen a single thing this seven days. Not Paradis. Not the hospital room you were kept in. Not the doctors or nurses. Not any of your friends. Not even yourself.

You haven't seen a single ray of light. You haven't seen the sky, the sun, the moon, the stars–nothing.

And you were never going to see it ever again.

Darkness is your home now.

You cried the first day, as the nurse helped you to the bathroom. You cried when you stumbled against your own leg and almost fell down. You cried when they took off the bandage of your eyes, dabbing medicine but you could feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You cried the second day when you accidentally asked the nurse why she kept the lights turned off and she held your shoulder and gently explained to you as if you're a little kid. You hated it when she wiped your tears and didn't let you wipe it yourself in case you damage the eyes even more as if it's not damaged beyond repair already.

You cried the third day when you woke up and was unsure if you've actually opened your eyes because there was no fucking difference. You cried when you tried rubbing your eyes and instead felt the starchy bandage.

You didn't cry the fourth day. Nor the fifth day. Or the sixth.

You stopped crying.

It was a strange week. You woke up, a nurse would help you eat food, take you to the bathroom when necessary, give you meds, then you went back to sleep. Day and night made no difference to you.

Armin and a few others came to see you somewhere between day 2 or 3. Armin held your hand and told you to not feel bad. That you had done enough. That your role would not be forgotten. But now it was time for you to rest.

You had laughed, blinking back the tears. You will not cry in front of the kids, you told yourself. Then you congratulated him and blessed him, told him to do his best. That you were so proud of him.

And you couldn't see faces but you could have sworn it was Connie who sniffled and it was Jean who rubbed your back.

And then, nothing.

No one really told you anything anymore. The first few days, you'd ask whoever you can find about what's happening and the latest news. But then you started noticing the annoyed tones and you stopped.

Now you know nothing.

And no one bothered to tell you. Why should they, you were no longer a captain were you?

You were nothing.

It was 2 more weeks later, when you were almost well enough to be discharged and you were used to this new dark world of yours to do basic things by yourself. You were standing by a window, trying to make up for the lack of sight from the warmth of the sunlight on your hands and the fresh air on your face. And you didn't know how you knew but when you heard the click and whirr of something mechanical enter the room, you turned around and smiled.

"Captain."

"Kid."

And after 3 weeks of not crying, you thought you might just cry then. But you swallowed it down.

"You're still gonna call me that?"

"You're one to talk. You still call me captain." He grumbled.

You laughed. It had been years ago when Levi used to be your commanding officer. And then you became a captain yourself. But that never stopped you from calling him by the title, for no other reason than to see him irritated.

"Lost a leg I heard? That why you on a wheelchair?"

"Appears so." Levi had replied in his usual dry tone. Then it had turned softer. "Those ever going to be okay again?"

Wasn't it strange? You thought. How you saw nothing but darkness and yet you can feel his gaze on you. You can picture the exact expression that must be on his face right now, bored, half-lidded, eyes fixed on you, his mouth a straight line. A flat, emotionless face because oh he'd never show you that he cares. But his eyes would be warm and they'd tell you all that you'd ever needed to know.

"Nah." You replied airily. Did he know how bad you wanted to run away from the room right now? You might've attempted it, had it not been for the fact that you can't see shit and you would most definitely stumble and trip over.

You wondered how unpleasant you looked right now. You knew your hair was a mess, you hadn't bothered really taking care of it. And you bet the scars on your face weren't pretty either.

"...forever?" He asked quietly.

"Forever." You confirmed.

And fuck the sun and the moon and the sky.

But you were never going to see Levi and his scowl ever again.

-

It had been one month and you were finally released from the hospital. A nurse followed you for two days, helping you to get familiar with the routes so you could move by yourself. Then you were left alone.

But you were a quick learner. You always were. You figured out soon enough how to live without the existence of light in your world.

And you wondered.

Where do you go from here?

-

You stiffened as you reached the hallway leading up to your room, your hands on the wall. Losing your eyesight had only heightened your other senses. And said senses told you somebody was there, at the end of the hallway, right in front of your room.

"Hey."

You relaxed, a smile quirking up. That voice. You knew that voice. You'd always know that voice. That always bored, tired and monotonous tone of his.

"Pleasant surprise, captain."

He sighed. "For the walls sake, please stop calling me that." He said, almost exasperated.

"Oh, why so?" You slowly shuffled your feet, using the walls to draw a mental map and reached the door of your room. You leaned on the wall beside the door where you guessed Levi was right in front of. "It's meant as a term of respect, captain. Maybe if you just stopped taking it personally?"

"Shut up." He grumbled. "We both know exactly why you call me that. Additionally, you are anything but respectful."

"Now that's just offensive. I only mean the best."

"Fuck off. We're the same rank." Levi paused. "Or at least was." He added bitterly.

"Resigned too, have you?" You asked quietly.

"Not much of a choice, was it? I can't do shit in this state. Plus I'm too old and too tired. Arlert did hope for me to be an advisor but I rejected it."

"Figured. You would've done well though."

"Like I said, I've done my part. What happens rest is up to the brats "

"Mhm." You nodded. "Smart brats though, they'll work it out." You reached for the doorknob, twisting it open. Then you guestured him to come in. "Ah, can you move the chair on your own, or do you need help?"

You heard Levi quietly exhale.

You waited a few seconds. Then sighed.

"You need to learn how to ask for help, you know. I know your hand still hasn't healed. So you could just ask." You told him as you walked over, using your intuition and hands to understand his position. Your hands brushed past his hands before it found the metal handles. You walked behind it to push him in.

"I know." Levi said quietly.

"Just your ego or did you feel guilty cause I'm blind now?" You asked casually. "Also tell me if I'm doing it right, might push you against a chair or something."

"That's fine. Leave it here." Levi replied. You reached behind to shut the door, then plopped on the bed.

"Your rooms a fucking stable, what the fuck." Levi muttered, a hint of disgust in his tone. You chuckled. It shouldn't be too messy, you knew, probably just a few clothes out of place. Leave it to Levi to be dramatic.

"Blind kid here remember? Show some sympathy." You said in mock offense.

You could almost hear Levi's eye roll.

"When are you moving out?" He asked.

"Fuck if I know." You sighed. You knew you couldn't stay much longer in the military quarters. Not when you're no longer a soldier. But you had zero fucking idea where you go next. "I mean, I heard someone saying queen Historia was going to arrange like apartments for the war veterans? Maybe I'll ask for one. Pathetically, like a begger." You muttered the last bit under your breath.

You heard Levi shift in his chair. "You're not pathetic." He said calmly.

"Yeah well." You groaned, dragging a arm over your face."What about you?"

Seconds passed. Levi gave no response.

Another thing losing your sight did was make you overthink every little thing that you couldn't see. "Levi?" You called out warily. "You there?"

You heard the whirl of the chair beside you. "..yeah. I'm here."

"God." You slumped back down. "Don't go fucking silent out of nowhere. I don't like it. Specially not when I can't see shit." It was the helplessness really.

"No. Sorry. I didn't mean to worry you." Levi said quietly.

You shifted. The years you spent with Levi had taught you to read Levi like no other. Levi never showed it on his face but..you could always tell when his tone would change.

"What's bothering you?"

Levi shuffled in his seat. Oh something was bothering him alright.

"What's wrong? Seriously." You felt the anxiety rise. You sat up straight. "Please, please don't be quiet like that. It freaks me out now. Was it me? Did I do something wrong? Ask something wrong?–"

"No." You heard some clicking sounds, almost as if he was fidgeting. "No. It's not you."

"Spit it out then, please." You spoke quietly and slowly, carefully choosing the words. There was a strange tension in the room, it made you feel suffocated. And you hated it. As if the darkness wasn't suffocating enough. "What did you want to say Levi?"

Another few seconds passed.

"Come with me."

You froze.

Somewhere in the room, a clock ticked away, synchronized with your heartbeat.

"...to where?" You asked softly after a pause.

"Marley. Come with me to Marley."

Heavy, heavy breaths. The pounding in your heart almost ached.

"...I don't understand."

"I.." Levi let out an exasperated breath. "Onyankapon offered me to go to Marley with him. Start new. And I thought.. since there's nothing left for you here either..so you might want to.."

And for a second you forgot to breathe. You could tell the exact moment your heart collapsed and your lungs stopped working. And you felt the exact moment time stopped around you.

"..you want me to go to Marley with you?" You asked in a quiet voice. So quiet you wondered if he could hear it. Perhaps you hoped he wouldn't hear it. He wouldn't hear the crack in your voice.

"..yes."

You felt your fingers clench the bedsheets. Just something to hold on to, anything. Because God damnit.

"Thought you didn't like having me around?"

"I don't."

"Yeah?" You laughed, a little breathless. "Have you considered the fact that now that I'm blind I'd be ten times worse to have around? Since I basically can't do shit."

"That's your concern?" He asked frustratedly.

"A valid concern. I will not be a burden Levi. I refuse to be."

"Shit, no." Levi huffed. "You're not a burden. And you're not pathetic. And before you even go there, no I'm not showing pity on you. So shut up."

You smiled. "No?" No, you knew. Levi was never the type to do things out of pity. And if that's the case.. "And what are we going to be there in Marley, Levi?"

"What?" He asked in a confused voice.

"We're going to live together as in what? Old comrades?" You swallowed, heart hammering against your chest. "Friends?"

Levi stayed quiet.

And you almost choked then, as the realization hit you. The silence gave you your answer. The last answer you thought it'd be. And there was pain, pain, pain. Everywhere. In your head and your heart.

You wanted it. So bad.

But he deserved better than you, didn't he? Someone who could take care of him, not someone who needed to be taken care of.

But he wants me.

The thought sent a fresh wave of pain along your chest. He wants me.

How could someone like him, want me?

But maybe, just maybe…

Just this once. You'll let yourself be greedy.

"I'll go."

"What?" Levi's voice was breathless. There was disbelief in it.

"I'll come with you to Marley, captain."

And for the first time since then, you let yourself cry. You let tears roll down your face and you let the sobs take you. And this time, when your fingers clenched around the bedsheet, his fingers slowly, tentatively wrapped around yours. And it told you everything he never got to say. All the things he didn't dare say.

And when he gently tugged on you, you didn't resist. You let him pull you to him as you wrapped your hands around him, curling up on his lap. And you cried, hands pressed to your face as your shoulders shook, and you cried because it's the first time you felt safe since you woke up in the dark.

It's okay. It was him, wasn't it? How could you not feel safe with him?

He'd die for you.

Levi and you. Levi and you. Isn't that how it always were?

In the battlefields, in trainings, in expeditions..

When have you ever looked over your shoulder and not found him scowling at you?

Levi's hands ever so gently wrapped around your shoulder, another hand smoothing the stray strands of hair out of your face when you felt his lips press to the top of your head. And it was the lightest whisper but you heard it.

"Thank you." He whispered.

And you nodded. Again. And again.

It's okay. You'll be okay.

He'll always be there.

-

"Levi?" You stood by the kitchen doorway, hands planted on the door. Your fingers flexed instinctively, braced for anything unexpected.

"Right here." He called out, and you immediately relaxed at the confirmation of his presence. You reached out your hand, searching for him. He took it, gently tugging you forwards towards him. You grinned when his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

"Hi."

"Good morning to you too."

"I thought I told you to wake me up before you leave the bed?" You pout.

"Sorry. You looked peaceful."

You laughed hearing his answer. But you tipped up to plant a peck on his lips. Missed halfway though, you could never get the kiss right. "Seriously though. I freak out, you know that."

He let you go, ruffling your hair. "Yeah I know, you paranoid little shit. What, did you think I got abducted by aliens or something?"

"One can never know." You say airily. And though it was meant as a joke, you didn't tell him the real answer. It's everyday you're scared that one day, you'll wake up and he won't be there anymore.

"Go sit down, breakfast is almost ready."

"I think I'd stay around here a little while." You listened keenly to the sounds of his steps, the splatter of oil and something being pieced on the cutting board. Your nose perked up.

"Eggs and bacon?" You guessed as you walked over towards the kitchen counter. You used your hands to feel out an empty spot, then heaved yourself to sit there so your legs dangled.

"I'm feeling generous today, so I made pancakes too. Whatever you're in the mood for." He replied, the sound coming just beside you.

"No wonder why I love you." You beamed brightly.

"Because I feed you?" He scoffed.

"Indeed." You winced slightly when he flicked your forehead. "Hey!"

"Brat." He murmered.

You grinned, rubbing your forehead.

"What's the day like Levi?"

It had become an everyday routine of yours to ask the question. And Levi was never very good at making aesthetic descriptions but he tried. For you.

A lot of things had changed in Levi Ackerman's life. One of them was perhaps this.

He never really cared about the appearance of things. Colors were just colors to him, the sky was blue, the trees were green. That's it. It was you who loved it, you'd nitpick every little detail.

"It's not blue, it's like a pastel indigo you know? With a hint of green? Like, like turquoise I don't know-" You'd ramble and he'd scoff.

You loved everything and anything. All of it memerized you. You swooned everytime you saw a rainbow, got giddy everytime it snowed. And it used to be everyday, you forced Levi to look at the sky "cause it's so fucking pretty today!"

Colors didn't matter to Levi much until he met you.

He didn't care about colors but he cared when they were on you.

He liked the color of your eyes, how it'd change shades in the sun and how it went perfect with the color of your skin. He liked the color of your hair, of your lips, of every outfit you ever wore. He liked how the green of Scouts would look on you.

But it was always you who thought colors are the most wonderful thing in the universe.

Sometimes you'd lean uncomfortably close, squinting in concentration as you observed his face.

"What?" He'd cringe.

"You have pretty eyes." You'd mumble.

"It's fucking gray."

"Not quite. It's like silver but with a tinge of blue. Stormy clouds and moonlight."

He found it cruel that the world took away your only source of joy.

So there he was, every morning, trying to explain the exact shades of color that was on the sky today. One time he accidentally called the sunlight yellow and you were mad offended. "It's golden!"

Levi didn't mind though, not really.

Not when he gets to see the way your face brighten up with every little detail.

"Can I help?" You asked after a while.

"Yeah no. You'll burn my kitchen down."

"Please? I'll be careful, promise." You whined, jumping down from the counter. You brought your hands in a pleading gesture.

"Fine." He muttered. "Do the eggs then."

"Oh but I always end up breaking the yolk."

"Well don't break the yolk. Be careful."

He watched you as you cracked an egg in the bowl. You stiffened up immediately.

"Broke the yolk didn't I?"

"Yes" he snorted. "You're eating that one."

"Sorry. I'm such a mess." You mumbled.

Levi sighed. You got insecure when you couldn't help.

"If you want to help you can go wash the dishes."

That cheered you right up.

His eyes followed you as you practically bounced towards the sink.

That was another thing Levi had to get used to. Your energy.

Levi has always been a kept-low person. He's calm and quiet. Never talked unless he had to. Then you came and you were this big ball of pure chaos and he never knew how to quite keep up with you.

He loved it though, he loved how you expressed emotions so freely, how you rambled on about the smallest things so easily. He loved it all and he loved you.

The loss of light in your world had never changed a thing about you.

He often wondered what it must be like, living in the dark like that. At first, it was strange for him, how you'd always seem to notice his presence before he even entered the room. You'd turn around and give the brightest smile. It was strange how your silver orbs looked straight in his eyes yet he was aware you saw nothing. How you'd hear the smallest sounds, notice the barest shifts in the air.

You loved the rain, and you loved the snow. You said it was nice to at least feel the world every once in a while.

But there were things that always broke his heart as well. How you were always so tense, the way you'd start panicking the moment you reach out and can't find him beside you. Sometimes, you'd be so dazed in doing something or perhaps sleeping, and he'd touch you and you'd flinch or jump on your feet. Then on, he learned gently knocking before entering any room you were in so to not startle you.

You were always the careful one. The on your toes one. You never let your guard down. Back in the scouts, your instincts never failed to impress him. So he often wondered what it must be like you for now, now that you lost one of your biggest advantages. When so much of your life you passed relying on your vision. After losing your eyes, you have only become more tense. One little unusual sound and you'd go rigid. He absolutely hated the helpless look that'd take place on your features when you'd struggle with something.

He hated how you never asked for help.

And he hated how sometimes you'd have nightmares in the middle of the night and you'd wake up, overwhelmed when you saw nothing but darkness. You'd forget the loss of your vision and you'd panic when no matter how much you screamed, you can't seem to wake yourself up. And he had to hold you, he had to calm you down, he had to remind you. And he hated, absolutely hated the look that'd take place after the daze passes and you realize there's no escaping the darkness.

Sometimes, you'd ask about your scars. You'd ask if they were hideous. And Levi would press a kiss on your temple, and that'd be an answer in itself. But yet, sometimes he found you going over the torn tissues of your face, expression scrunching with every feel of the ragged surface around your eyes. He'd always take your hand and press it to his own face, as a reminder.

Then you'd trace his ones. You'd go over the scars that ran from his eye to his chin gently. You remember those, you still had your sight when Hange had stiched them up. But it helps you ground yourself.

A reminder that you weren't the only one.

Sometimes you'd go out, you and him. And before Levi had gotten the prosthetic leg, you used to push him around. It was perfect really, Levi were your eyes and so you helped him move.

And then it was Levi's hands entertwined with yours as he'd guide you around the streets. You liked parks, for the feel of bare grass underneath your feet.

Sometimes Gabi and Falco would join. During then, it'd be Gabi who'd enthusiastically tell you little details of the world around you. And she was definitely better than Levi so he'd stay quiet. "A black cat just passed by and it exactly looked like Mr. Levi, like, like with the scowl and everything-"

Sometimes, Reiner, Pieck and Onyankapon would come visit. And those days, nothing could wipe the grin off your face. You liked it when there were people in the house. You liked it when it was loud.

Levi didn't like loud. But he liked that it made you happy. It made you feel safe in that dark world of yours. It reminded you that you weren't stuck in your own head, you were here, with everyone else.

A lot of things had changed in Levi's life, but he didn't mind.

Not really.

He liked how easily you'd reach out to hold him when you'd lose balance or you needed to know where he was. He liked how your kisses were so sloppy and almost always missed and the way you'd get so embarrassed. He liked how your tense shoulders would relax once you realized it was him before you.

How you trusted him with your life.

A lot of things had changed in Levi Ackermans life.

You had brought love into it.

And he doesn't think he'll ever be able to let you go.

[minus-plus-zer0]

Stuck Inside From the Rain

♡ Genre: Fluff ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader ♡ Tags: Aged up (This was supposed to be short u-u)

You couldn't go home, not in this weather.

You had only planned to drop off a video game you borrowed from Bakugou, but the rain had hit so suddenly that there was no way you were going anywhere now.

What's worse, it was getting pretty dark out. At least Bakugou had a nice couch to sleep on...

"Oi!" Bakugou called out from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready!"

Bakugou had fetched some extra ingredients so he could make food for the both of you. You both sat down at his dinner table, with your grilled chicken and peppers in front of you.

"Thank you so, so much for doing this, bestie!" you said. "I think this is the first time we've eaten together in your new home."

"That's not my fault. I invited you over last week. But you were busy with Kirishima..."

You scoffed at how he chewed his food angrily. "He's just a friend, Bakugou. I actually totally forgot about that until now. Are you jealous?"

"Why would I be jealous of some guy with shitty hair?! He's got nothing on me!"

"Then don't bring him up?"

"Don't go blowing me off for Kirishima and then I won't bring him up! How about that?"

"I'll be sure to give you all the attention you want this time, okay?"

Bakugou looked frustrated, but a bit pleased. "You better."

True to your words, you ranted and raved to Bakugou about the food, as always. Bakugou knew that if there was one way to get you to focus on him, it was through his cooking. He looked cocky as you basically monologued to him about your 5-star Yelp review of his food. He offered you the rest to take home as leftovers, because unlike that traitorous rat Kirishima, he found himself to be a considerate and compassionate soul who would never let you starve.

You wanted to help with the dishes, but Bakugou wouldn't let you lift a finger to do chores. The guy was treating you like a guest he personally invited, but you felt a little bit like a burden who invaded his evening out of nowhere (even though you knew he wanted you here).

The night grew colder as it went on, and you could tell even Bakugou was starting to get affected. You attached yourself to his side to warm him up, holding onto him because you knew he hated the cold. He let himself get a little lost in that moment, which was easy to do since nobody was here except for you.

"You're such a koala," he said. "How long are you gonna steal my arm for?"

"Bakugou, if you keep complaining I'm gonna let go."

"Fine, fine! Just walk a little faster with me, I need to get something from the living room."

Bakugou wanted to watch a movie with you, but first he fetched an extra blanket, hoping to drape it over the two of you while you sat on the couch.

"You didn't get your own blanket?" you asked.

"This was all I had! Don't hog the stuff, alright?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a burden. I'm just cold..."

"You're not a burden. Just get over here so we can share it. Properly."

He drags the blanket around both of your shoulders, bringing you two hip-to-hip.

"It's like we're kids again, huh?" you laughed. "If you had extra pillows, I would've made us a pillow fort."

"I'm too big for that and you know it. It'd just fall over."

"You're no fun. Did anyone ever tell you that you act like such a grandpa?"

"You've probably told me that at least 5 times now, yeah."

You two watched a movie together, some old action flick from long ago. You rested your head on Bakugou's shoulder, and over time he ended up curling one of his arms around you. You're engrossed in the movie, you thought it wouldn't be your style but the movements are mesmerizing! However, Bakugou's glancing over at you repeatedly, gauging your reaction.

As the movie continued, the night grows even colder, and you're retreating into Bakugou's chest for any semblance of warmth. It's easy to do since his Quirk keeps his body working like an oven. Bakugou's tensing up now, stiff and janky in his movements.

You yawned for the 15th time this hour. "Bakugou... I'm sleeeeepy..."

Your heart rate slowed and your eyes felt heavy, and you almost dozed off to sleep with the sound of the rain rushing down outside. Bakugou looked distressed, knowing that you two might fall asleep together for the first time. But you didn't want him distressed, you wanted him happy, because he was your Bakugou, even if it wasn't official yet...

In your sleepy state, you gave him a tiny kiss him on the cheek and then curled up to sleep against him. You heard him swearing up a storm under his breath, and he really went through the entire curse word dictionary as if you couldn't hear him at all.

Then, he kissed you on the forehead right back.

"Night, dummy," he said, his voice very quiet.

[wibben]

As Stars Go By

You and Choso thoroughly enjoy your first vacation together up in the mountains.

↳ pairing: boyfriend! choso kamo x afab! reader

↳ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, sub! choso, sex (p in v), creampie, breeding if you squint, choso is a real sweetie pie, established relationship, whimpering, pathetic male mess! choso, art by @/yume041624

↳ wc: 7,233

↳ notes: this was posted on my ao3 quite a while ago, but I've finally decided to make my first foray into tumblr! So this is a cross post but nonetheless I hope you enjoy, and bear with me while I figure this whole thing out <3 tagging: @jasminelee324 , @verydreamerfairy I hope I did that right, feeling a bit grandma-esque here.

“—You were right, it’s kinda cold, huh—”

“—let me take you inside—”

“— like hell we’re going inside already.”

You press yourself closer to Choso's side, knees hiked up to your chest as you lean into the warmth of his arm. The uneven bumps of the grass beneath the picnic blanket serve as the perfect excuse to nestle even closer, shifting your weight onto your hip and burrowing into his flank so that you’re pointedly squished hip to hip. Glued, unmoving, decidedly not going inside.

This trip had been in the making for a while—a sweet escape to a cabin in the mountains. The epitome of rustic charm , complete with an authentic outdoor shower, access to a serene lake at the foot of your mountain retreat, miles of scenic hiking trails, and an unparalleled view of the stars. Each detail meticulously planned, every moment a step closer to this perfect getaway that you’ve been dreaming of for months.

It was going to be perfect. A slice of heaven on earth, really. The antithesis of the bustling city you both so desperately needed a break from.

The only problem?

You envisioned this place in the summer to properly enjoy your itinerary. Instead, you now watch as blue frost ensnares dew-kissed blades of grass around your blanket, winter’s chill stealthily settling around you and clouding your breath with every disgruntled exhale.

A booking error, they told you. A glitch in the system; but not to worry. You weren’t eligible for a refund, but you were welcome to reschedule—if you didn’t mind the year and a half long waitlist for another chance to disappear from the world together.

But you minded. A lot . You spent too long coordinating this trip. Time off and away from the usual commitments that chain you to everyday life, the mental ticking countdown to the day you finally get to leave. You couldn’t bear to push it off; and you would rather die than see the kicked-puppy look on Choso’s face if you were forced to tell him your vacation was canceled. You and Choso were going on vacation, and that was final—sacrificing a few toes to the cold was a small price to pay.

The outdoor shower was out of the question, and so was the lake, half-slush and uninviting. But the stars? Those weren’t going anywhere.

“I kind of forgot stars existed,” you muse softly.

Choso hums in acknowledgment beside you, his hand rubbing firmly up and down your arm, generating a fire-starting friction to keep you warm. 

You continue. “It's like... all the planes, and towers, and cars back home, y'know? I swear—when I was a kid, I saw them every night. Not really sure when they disappeared. I don’t think I ever noticed, never mind really missed it until now. You know?” With your head resting against his shoulder, you can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. It makes you feel warmer too, even if only just.

The silence that follows is a comfortable, familiar companion. Choso has always been a man of few words, but you know he listens intently to every word you say, his attention filling the gaps louder than anything he could speak. It just makes the things he does say all the more profound when he finally does say them.

“I’ve never seen the stars before.”

You can always trust Choso to say something unintentionally heartbreaking. You already knew this, knew he never had the opportunity to see them with his whole life spent under smoggy light-polluted skies, but hearing him say it so matter-of-factly without any regret or longing, so unperturbed by his lack of experiences, bothers you . It makes you all the more determined to fill his empty chalice with more memories than it can possibly hold; to leave it and him overflowing with a life well and truly lived.

“Well they’re pretty, right?” You needle.

“They are,” he agrees, and his arm tightens around your shoulder, drawing you even closer into the firm curvature of his body. 

“But you are beautiful—” “— I am cold —”

Choso chuckles, the sound low and melodic as he slips off his jacket and wraps it over your shoulders, pre-warmed with the heat of him and you smile, so utterly besotted, as you draw his sleeve up to your mouth to cover the saccharine dripping of your happiness.

“There,” he murmurs, and you can feel his lips press gently against your temple, brushing aside your hair with the spun bow of his smile. “Beautiful, and less cold.”

Your laughter is warm and fond, like air slowly escaping from a balloon, releasing the swell of adoration inside your ribcage before it makes you burst. “You’ve gotten good at that,” you tease.

You can almost feel the slow furrow of Choso’s brow without looking, the way the left side wrinkles just a bit more than the right, his mouth forming a curious frown. Innocently, he asks, “Good at what?”

You love that expression—the thoughtful curiosity, always eager to learn something new, even about himself, because it’s a reflection of how you see him in a mirror he could never hold. With a grin on your face, you tilt your head back to gaze up at him, and your heart promptly swoops down to your diaphragm and crashes straight through it.

His eyes are cast up at the stars, eyelids pulled back so far they’re almost lost in the exhausted bruises of his sockets. The way they reflect the stars above, it's as if each tiny distant light is captured and magnified within them, turning his dark irises into shimmering cosmos of their own. You see constellations in the depths of his wide gaze, entire universes dancing just for you—and you couldn’t be more lost in orbit if you launched yourself directly into the stratosphere.

You're grateful for the rush of blood that warms your frozen cheeks as you stare openly, every beat of your heart directing more heat up to your face. The moonlight bathes his face in a gentle glow, turning his hair into strands of liquid mercury. Each one catches the light, shimmering threads of pure moonbeam woven into his skull. He looks almost otherworldly, a celestial being come down to earth to grace you with as divine a gift as his warm jacket—

Feeling the weight of your gaze, his attention is reeled downward. The macrocosm held within his eyes shifts, now focusing solely on you, and you feel as if you’re the very center of that universe now. It was so easy for him to look away from the breathtaking sight of the stars up above you—because as far as Choso’s concerned, you were the one who hung them there.

“Good at what?” Choso repeats, seeming oblivious to the almost religious experience you just underwent simply by looking at him—he wants an answer. He’s curious.

Suddenly, your intention of teasing him feels so utterly withered. Dead on arrival to your tongue that you almost can’t bring yourself to say it because of just how sincere it feels now. You chuckle sheepishly, seeking escape in the milky way above you but finding yourself drawn back into his gravity instead with a slow sloping smile. “Being all… romantic, ” you mutter. You were cold only moments ago, but the blush on your face keeps you toasty now.

His eyes widen slightly, a look of innocent surprise washing over his face. "Really?"

You nod. "Yeah, really."

Choso beams, and your mind almost short-circuits at how devastatingly beautiful it makes him. You’d think the blood rushing to your head might power your brain, make it easier to think, but it does the exact opposite; it boils you dumb, leaving your skull little more than a soupy bone bowl.

Without thinking—because how could you really? —you lean up and kiss him gently to taste that sweet smile of his.

It’s Choso’s turn to flatline then as your lips brush his, warm and firm with just enough give for him to want to sink into you forever. No matter how familiar the sensation or how many times you kiss him, he isn’t used to it. He might never be used to it. He hopes he never will be. 

When you pull away, he makes a small noise of complaint, a soft whimper that tugs a fine red thread connected directly between your thighs. His eyes, wide and vulnerable, chase after your lips, his body moving on instinct until he's tentatively leaning over you. There’s a raw, unspoken need in his gaze that makes your breath falter.

He pauses, his forehead resting against yours, his breath clouding white and breathing him directly into your lungs as you inhale each other's cold vapor. “...Wanna kiss you,” he whispers, his voice tinged with a soft plea that makes your abdomen tighten.

You reach up, your fingers threading through his hair, gleaming like spun silver and breaking free dark commas that hang messily over his forehead. His brow pinches in a look that almost spells confusion—a familiar expression of utter bafflement at how badly he needs to feel you. He’s experienced much more with you, felt you, tasted you, had you in every way that matters, but somehow a simple kiss always galvanizes his desire like nothing else.

His lips find yours again, more insistent this time as his tongue dips into you. You gasp as he moans at the taste of your mouth, your fingers tangling into the roots of his loose hair, holding your celestial deity willingly captive to your body; tied through fingers rather than Promethean chains.

He shivers against the feel of your nails on his scalp, spurring him to bear down on you further with a needy groan. All at once, Choso’s ardor is a palpable, desperate thing. His hand roams your back, bunching his jacket in his fist but not daring to slip beneath, only pressing you closer to him. Even with that barrier, his touch scalds you, making you arch up at his insistence, molding against his hovering chest with your arms slung around his shoulders for support.

Your lips part for a moment, your nose wedged against his as you catch your breath. You both sink so seamlessly deep into each other that its an effort not to get lost completely, though between the two of you, it’s always Choso who has a harder time clawing his composure back; displayed by the displeased whine that escapes his throat before he pulls you back in with a gentle but insistent push against your lower spine.

You move with the gesture, your body turning fluid against his as you roll over, straddling him now as he lays flat on the blanket. Your hands brace against the firm planes of muscle that band his chest, fingers splayed as if to feel and grab and claim all of him at once, and god —it’s never quite enough. You crash into him again, ruled by gravity, only you don’t know which of you is the object and which is the ground, only that a collision was inevitable. 

Choso’s hands shake as they slide to your hips, pinning you against his waist as your tongue thrusts back into his mouth and you were loath to ever have left it. His lips seal around yours, hungry as he sucks on your tongue with a wanton moan swallowed directly into your mouth and your teeth bare in a victorious grin. 

His hand cups the back of your neck, hesitant and unsure despite the number of times you’ve told him he can be much firmer with you. In reprimand you nip his lower lip between your teeth. Choso gasps, his hips automatically bucking up into you to smash his straining cloth-covered cock into your crotch—the sudden sensation only making him whine again, wrenching his lips from yours with a flustered gasp. 

He hadn’t realized how turned on he was just from this. Hadn’t felt it until you did, and suddenly he’s mortified, frozen and statuesque as he tries and fails to will himself soft.

“S–sorry. ‘msosorry– '' He chokes, and now he’s caught your blush like it's something contagious. You can feel his cock jump beneath you, hard and urgent, a wordless plea that has your stomach immediately tightening in response, like your insides have been gripped in an iron fist and twisted.  

You’ve never once had to question whether Choso wants you or not. He’s never been subtle, and he’s never tried to be. It’s flattering in a way that instantly thrusts your brain into the realm of reciprocity, your own desire pooling hot and slick between your thighs, making you acutely aware of just how much you need him too.

His eyes, wide and dark, gaze up at you with a need that makes you feel like a goddess descended from the heavens, and you grin, all luminous teeth and coy intent. “What’re you sorry for?” you whisper, hovering nose to nose as your hips chase his back to the ground.

“I–” He swallows, the pretty dusted blush on his cheeks darkens, the night sky painting him in shades of monochrome, but you know just how red he can get. He shakes his head, but his fingers don’t move from your hips; if anything, he holds tighter. As if there was a chance in hell of you disappearing.

“You…?” You press coyly, to which Choso groans in breathless exasperation. And because he’s taking too long for your liking, you decide to encourage him with a slow, rolling grind against the pinned tent in his pants. He stiffens—both his cock and his entire body going rigid before his head thumps back against the ground wordlessly.

Choso’s lower lip trembles, and you so badly want to sink your teeth into it. “Don’t tease me…” he whispers pleadingly, his mouth curving into that awkward smile you know and love.

And god, do you love him. So much so, that you decide to be merciful…a move that might seem altruistic, if your own panties weren’t thoroughly soaked and sticking and in desperate need of removal. Your mercy is just as much for yourself as your shoulders roll, starting to shrug off his jacket—

Choso’s eyes widen and his hands fly from your hips to your shoulders, catching the garment before it can fall. The move was so sudden that it surprises you, making you recoil and sit deeper into his lap. Choso’s eyes flutter and he clenches his jaw with a grunt, but he shakes his head. “What are you doing?”

You blink down at him, a slow and confused smile building on your lips. “I–I thought…do you not want to —?”

“ Oh —I do. Very bad. But we–we can’t out here.” Choso tugs the jacket back up, pulling it tight in front of you.

“Cho–there’s nobody around for miles. Maybe…maybe raccoons or something, but—”

“You’ll get cold,” he interrupts resolutely. His brow is set low over his eyes, stubborn and unyielding. “I don’t want you to be cold.”

You can’t imagine ever feeling cold again with how warm you feel now. Your heart swells with affection, and you smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’ll be fine,” you reassure him. But his hands remain on your shoulders, firm and insistent, and you realize he’s serious.

“Choso…”  you murmur, your voice a seductive purr that sends a visible shiver down his spine. You delight in the way that the mere sound of his name rolling off your tongue makes his body soften and tremble. “Do you want to take me …” You let your words trail off as your hand drifts down over his chest, lingering suggestively just above his navel. Your fingers trace a teasing path lower, slow and unashamedly provocative, “…inside?"

As if your words were a trigger and he was waiting for you to say exactly that, Choso reacts with breathtaking speed, scooping you up effortlessly and throwing you over his shoulder. His grip on your thighs is firm, unyielding, and you let out a surprised squeal, heart pounding as he strides toward the cabin without hesitation, carrying you as if you weighed nothing.

You laugh, half in shock and half in delight, as he practically kicks the door open and steps inside with you. He doesn’t bother with the stairs or even look for a bedroom. Instead, his eyes dart around the entryway, searching for something, anything, to set you on. He zeroes in on a tall table in the foyer, decorated with knick knacks—a bronze statue bust of a deer, a small clock, and other rustic-y decor items.

Evidently, this will just have to do. He sets you down on the table with a bit more force than intended, your butt thumping solidly against the lacquered wood. Trinkets scatter, your body sweeping them aside like a battering ram and knocking the fragile clock dangerously close to the edge. The table wobbles slightly under your weight, sturdy but clearly not meant for this kind of use.

Choso stands between your knees, nudging them apart with his thighs as his long, cold fingers cup your face with a tenderness that wholly departs from his urgency. His lips crash against yours for a second time in a searing kiss, full of raw need and longing. He moans quietly into your mouth, the sound vibrating straight through you like a knife to the gut.

He grinds himself against you, his cock hard and throbbing beneath his clothes as he presses between your legs. The movement is subconscious on his part, an instinctive need for friction that his body knows exactly where to find even with his brain being too addled to seek it. You can’t help but respond encouragingly, your hips moving to meet him with a firm upward swipe of your pussy—as much as you can while pinned like a taxidermied butterfly to the table.

Choso groans, his focus shoved even closer to the abyssal edge of total composure loss. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands. He wishes so badly that he had more of them. To hold your face, to rip your clothes off like a wild animal, to encourage your hips against him harder if he were to be so bold. But he only has two hands, and he isn’t bold, just eager. So eager is he that his hands frenzy over your body, everywhere and nowhere all at once, making you laugh low and husky against his lips. 

His hand tangles in your hair but is quick to leave it, moving instead to cup your jaw but no–that isn’t quite right either. From your jaw, to your neck, then to your spine, and he groans and shakes his head at his own indecision. Not enough hands. He finally pulls the jacket from your body and tosses it to the floor.

“Too many layers…” he mutters. But the removal of those layers…that does something more for him. 

So he makes a choice. Clothes off. Clothes off is good.

His hands fly from your face down to the hem of your shirt, tugging at it without ceremony or preamble. You raise your arms above your head to help, but his refusal to part his lips from yours makes the task harder. The shirt gets stuck beneath your chin, rucked up over your breasts, and he growls, forced to pull away just to finish the job.

You giggle as he steps back, helping you wrestle your shirt over your arms where it catches, momentarily blinding you. Eventually, he frees it from your body, and as it falls away, you catch Choso's flushed face in the flickering orange light of the fire. He stands there, gazing at you, almost transfixed.

He’s seen you shirtless before. He's mapped every inch of your body with his hands and his mouth like a blind man reading braille. But without fail, the visual of your shirtless body, breasts heaving with each forceful breath, leaves him completely stunned. He stands there, frozen and sedated, as if he simply isn’t allowed to touch something so perfect. Like you should be kept high up on a shelf somewhere, not down here with the likes of him.

His lip wobbles needily, eyes blown wide and spun like glass as he drinks you in like he might never see you again. With a sure smile you reach behind you to unclip your bra with deft fingers, and the sight of the fabric falling away from your skin as if in slow motion snaps Choso’s restraint like a toothpick.

You watch as Choso yanks his shirt off too, shoulders hunching forward to slip it off over his head and he’s back on you in the same breath. There’s no quiet moment for you to drink in the sight of his tightened abs or his broad, tense shoulders trembling. He’s almost selfish in his consumption of you, taking and giving nothing back, though not intentionally. He's simply impatient, unapologetically needy.

His tongue plunges desperately into your mouth, sloppy and squirming, as he presses his chest against yours, craving your warmth and sandwiching your breasts between your bodies as he molds to you. Your nipples graze against his pecs, tripping the sharp wire that sends electric jolts of pleasure straight to your clit. You inhale sharply, sucking the oxygen straight from his mouth in a greedy gasp.

Instead of returning to his mouth, your lips veer to the side, trailing fire as you plant open-mouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw and down his throat. You scatter pretty roses along Choso’s collar bone with sharp nips of your teeth, quickly soothing the thorny sting with your tongue. 

His head falls back, shoulders taut and quivering, his lips parted so prettily that you’d love to slip your fingers between them, if your hands weren’t already occupied tugging at the waistband of his pants. Your fingers tease the edge, your pinky slipping just underneath and it’s as if you’ve just reminded him— oh, right, he wanted your clothes off.

His hands are a flurry of movement again, batting yours away in his haste to reach you. He grips your pants, pulling hard . With one hand clinging to his shoulder and the other to the edge of the table for stability on its increasingly unstable surface, you raise your hips. "Wait-..." but you're too slow.  Choso is as strong as he is predictably impatient, and he tears your pants from your body with an explosive rip. You gasp, and he sheepishly mumbles, "Sorry," though he isn’t sorry at all. In fact, if you never wore pants again, they wouldn’t get in the way and he wouldn't be forced to tear them off you.

You laugh exasperatedly as he takes a half step back, his fingers digging into the fabric of his pants with such urgency that his briefs come down with them. The sight makes you practically salivate . His cock springs free, red and ready, smacking against his stomach which concaves as he hisses, shying away from the sudden contact with himself. It bobs back down, horizontal and already pearled with pre-cum.

“You’re so pretty—”

“—Sah…–says you—” Choso objects bashfully, all but tripping over himself to close the meager distance he created between you. He reaches for your hip at the same moment your fingertips skim his waist and he squeaks adorably, his hips impulsively thrusting forwards. 

His thighs hit the edge of the table, and the weeping head of his cock rams against your clit, making your vision streak with stars as you yelp and jolt forward. The table rattles and sways with a sense of impending collapse, but Choso is quicker. His arm scoops behind your waist, lifting you clear of the danger, and in a flash, he ducks, his hand shooting out to catch the teetering clock before it crashes to the floor.

You blink owlishly at him, then burst into laughter as the tension diffuses like morning mist. The galloping of your heart from the near collapse settles into a gentler rhythm, your life no longer flashing before your eyes, yet still stirred by being held in his arms. Choso grins awkwardly, taking a moment to gently place the clock back on the table.

“Nice,” you snicker, legs wrapping around his waist and leaning into his neck, nipping at the junction of his shoulder.

“Thank y–mmph-! ” Choso’s gasp and appreciative moan of your name curls from his chest outwards, muffled by his face burrowing into your shoulder. His cock jerks upward, a long string of pre-cum dripping from the tip and stringing down to the floor. He could just drop you right down onto his cock and make you scream his name and twitch in his arms and neither of you would ever pull apart again, he’d fuck his cum into you over and over and over and anytime it leaks out he can just replace it—

“—guh–gotta find somewhere–somewhere better for you. Better than–ah–a table— ”

You hum approvingly, nosing along the flushed pillar of his throat and trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the same path. Your lips and tongue worship his skin. Lost in the haze of need, you barely register where he’s taking you. You hardly clock that you’re being moved at all.

Choso moves quickly but slowly enough to support his precious cargo. He’s been so accident prone, and now he’s scared to trip or bump you into a wall or accidentally sneeze and bury himself inside you —

With a grunt he suddenly drops to the floor in the center of a fluffy rug in the main room, legs crossed with his ankles pinned beneath his knees, settling you in the gap created with your legs still locked behind his waist. 

The fire crackles beside you, hot and flickering and smoky. You reel back in his lap and his hands slide up your sides to support you, gripping and caressing up and down your spine. His forehead tilts to thunk against yours, the fire playing in his eyes in a way that makes you feel weak-kneed.

Choso murmurs your name, adoring and dreamy. “So pretty,” he praises, “— sososo pretty—”

He starts to rock the underside of his cock against your pussy, his brows knitting as his head drops against your shoulder, lips parted and panting over your skin. Your folds part around his shaft, his head snagging against your clit before cresting all the way through. You squeak, reflexively pressing yourself more insistently against him. 

He does it again, his entire body tense and hard with the concentration it takes to exercise patience. You deserve patience, to feel good and cum again and again, and he’s determined to be the one to make it happen. He shudders, his tongue poking out from between clenched teeth, nodding to himself in silent declaration. But that careful restraint is flimsy at best, sorely tested with each shallow drag. His cock returns shinier and wetter, the friction driving him to the brink until he’s gripped wholly by the need to have you .

Desperate for distraction, Choso’s hands roam eagerly over your breasts, squeezing with a blend of urgency and reverence. A low, needy moan escapes him, his lips hovering before his tongue flicks out to tease your nipple. He captures it in his mouth, sucking gently, each pull sending ripples of pleasure radiating through you. You arch into him, breath hitching as a soft moan escapes. The sensation of your body pressing against his elicits a deep, primal groan from him, vibrating against your skin. His free hand caresses your other breast, rolling and pinching your nipple with growing confidence, his touches more assured and deliberate.

With each slow roll of his hips you can feel every exquisitely familiar detail. Thick and firm, with a pronounced upward curve that rubs perfectly against your sensitive bud. The veins along his length pulse with engorging blood—you’re shocked he’s even lasted this long without begging to be inside you. But he wants tonight to be special. You’re on a trip, together, for the first time and he wants to be good for you. Every grind and thrust feels electric, his cock divinely crafted to drive your burgeoning craving to new heights.

Choso moans and dislodges from your nipple, his lips leaving a slick, magmatic trail as he moves upward. His hand snakes down to grip the base of his weeping length, squeezing it hard as he manually drags it between your puffy folds. The sensation makes him shudder, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he looks at you, his gaze pleading and desperate.

"–oh my– fffuck –" he babbles, his voice shaky with need. "I'm sorry, I... I need you so bad. In – inside…please. " He whispers, his hips bucking involuntarily as his cock slides against you, the tip catching on your entrance before he drags it back along your clit. You mewl and clutch at his shoulders the sound alone is almost too much for him to bear. "Please," he begs again, his eyes locked onto yours, almost teary.

The fire pops loudly beside you, a stick collapsing into ash in the brick tray, and with it, your restraint burns away. You nod, your voice a raspy plea, " Please —don't tease me." The scent of him mingled with the burning wood makes your head swim. The tables have turned, and you now find yourself on the other side from where you began. But Choso would never tease you, not like you would him—his need is too great, his desire to obey you too strong. Your voice when you beg is lovely, but god he wants to make you sing.

He presses his thumb against his cockhead, gasping as white-hot pleasure courses through him, the pad of his finger immediately slick with arousal. He pushes it down, notching against your entrance, his breath hitching. “ Gon–gonna make you feel good, ” he asserts shakily, his voice thick with need. “ Gonna try— ” At the same moment, his arm wraps behind your waist, pulling your body to him. He rocks his hips up and forward, the head of his cock slipping inside with agonizing slowness.

Your breath catches, a moan escaping your lips as he fills you, every inch stretching and teasing. Choso's muffled cry vibrates against your shoulder as he buries his face there, his teeth sinking into your skin. You clutch at him, nails digging into his back, urging him deeper. The sensation is electric, overwhelming, and you arch into him, your breath mingling with his as you stare downward at the connection of your bodies.

You watch with an almost voyeuristic fascination as every inch and vein slowly disappears inside you. The sensation is overwhelming—every ridge and curve of his cock stretching you perfectly, filling you with a heat that borders on unbearable. Choso's breath is a series of ragged, desperate gasps. His eyes narrow to hot-whiskey slits that are caught between wanting to watch and needing to look away as he fights to maintain a very fragile sense of control. His teeth sink into the plush of his lower lip, almost hard enough to break through the satin-soft skin.

When he's about halfway in, he stops, tense and quivering, his cock pulsing inside you. "Oh god...fuck, you feel so good—I’m sorry, I can't—I just...shit, you're perfect...I'm so sorry—I need...I need this." He babbles, his words an unconscious stream of desire and apology. His body shakes with the effort of holding back, every other word punctuated by a shallow, needy thrust.

Your velvety walls clench around him, drawing a whimper from his lips as he grips your hips with bruising strength. "I’m sorry—can’t wait," he gasps, his voice trembling. With a sharp, desperate thrust, he buries himself fully inside you, the sudden fullness making you gasp, nails raking down his back as you cry out in bliss.

Once fully inside, Choso’s body relaxes, his tension melting away as if he’s finally home. His breath steadies, the frantic urgency pacified and giving way to a deep, consuming need for more. No longer driven by desperation, he seeks to savor every moment, to make this last, cherishing the sensation of being completely enveloped by your wet heat.

He pulls back slightly, the slow drag of his cock against your slick walls making both of you shudder, sweat springing up along your throat. His hands, no longer gripping you with bruising force, now glide gently over your skin, caressing, exploring. His eyes meet yours, filled with a tender intensity that takes your breath away. “I love you. You know I love you?” he whispers, his voice soft, and so so grateful.

His hips move with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust deep and measured, designed to draw out every pleasurable quiver he can wring from you. You moan softly, his words coiling around your brain like ivy vines and rooting deeply into the mortar. You are fluid above him, warm and malleable and so very his. Completely enthralled with the delight of being so selflessly possessed are you, that you need to possess him right back. He loves you and that feels better than anything.

Your legs coil tighter around his waist, drawing him closer, deeper. “ Mhm— ”  You lean your temple against his shoulder, a profound sense of relaxation blanketing you soul-deep, even as your body goes absolutely haywire just beneath the prickling surface of your skin.

The fire crackles beside you, casting a warm, flickering glow over your entwined bodies. When you look up at him with those adoring doe-eyes, the muscles in your stomach flex, drawing a deep grunt from Choso as he feels the sudden tightening. The flames paint his sweat-slicked skin in hues of orange, setting him ablaze. In that moment, you understand the fatal attraction of moths to a flame, feeling an irresistible pull toward the incandescent heat and the beautiful, dangerous glow of him. 

His hands brush down your sides as gently as if you were an antique vase, the same hands that tore your pants in two capable of such softness. His palms settle on your hips, kneading for a moment before curling into a gentle hold. He gives an experimental squeeze— lifting you up as he shifts back, and lowering you down as he rolls his hips up. 

You are utterly tranquil. Perched so prettily in his lap, skewered so softly on his cock and lulled with rocking pleasure so soothing you very well could sleep like this. The fire, him, surrounds you like a cocoon, a heady tonic borderline alcoholic in your placidity . It feels like sinking into a bath of milk and honey, your brain dopey and slow. But you feel his encouragement, the way he moves you up and down his length; every now and then by a stroke of chance he nudges against your sweet-spot, or his pelvis grinds just right against your clit, jolting you back to reality with a start.

It’s not enough to be an idle passenger, your body chases that instinctual high before your brain can fan away the fog. Your hips begin to rock against his in time, adjusting your angle, and as soon as you do, Choso sighs low and shakily against your ear. He holds you steady, aiding the slow oscillation of your body, encouraging your languid participation with an appreciative squeeze of his hands and a more forceful buck of his hips.

“ M’not gonna break—you…you can do more—”

At your insistence Choso groans as if he’d been waiting for permission to do exactly that. “You– yeah…oh–okay —”

His grip tightens, and ever your servant he thrusts into you harder in an effort to appease you, his movements growing more intense, more insistent. The change in pace sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, each thrust hitting deeper, each glide against your clit setting off bursts of ecstasy that makes your vision spot and rips those gorgeous little whines he cherishes straight from your chest.

Your breath hitches, and you start to meet his thrusts with equal zeal, fucking him back with newfound determination. The rhythm between you shifts, Choso’s hands sliding back from your hips to dig into the meat of your ass. His control, whatever little he had of it to begin with, starts to unravel. His eyes flutter shut, a strained moan escaping his lips. His hands, once guiding, now grip you almost helplessly, holding on as you move with increasing fervor.

Choso's brain melts under the onslaught of sensation. His thrusts become erratic, less coordinated, until finally, he forgets to participate altogether, lost in the overwhelming pleasure you’re giving him. His hands fall to the side and brace back against the floor, and he surrenders completely, letting you use him, his body yours to command.

You take full advantage of his surrender, moving with a purpose, driven by a mounting need that seems to eclipse everything else. The slick, heated slide of his cock inside you, the way your bodies meld together with each rise and fall like grafted metal in a forge, tempered and hammered into something far more beautiful than your base materials; you succumb fully to the intoxication that starts as a slow embered burn low in your belly.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, each inhale tinged with the smoky scent of the fire, each exhale a soft moan of pleasure. The world narrows to the point of contact between you and Choso, the delicious friction, the way his length fills you so completely. Every grind against your bud is ruinous in your body, every nudge against your depths making you see stars.

Your mind feels suspended in a dreamy fog, every thought reduced to the primal, desperate need for release. You can feel your orgasm building, a tight coil of heat and pressure in your core. A garden blooms in your womb, overcome with the primitive need for it to be filled, belly round and full with Choso’s seed. But you do not care what becomes of that garden as molten heat spreads outward, burning it to ash and making your muscles tense and quiver. 

Your hips move faster, more urgently, chasing that peak, riding the wave of pleasure that threatens to consume you. You want to be consumed. Choso's moans mix with your own, his body a pliant vessel beneath you, his pleasure a mirror of your own.

And then, all at once, the coil snaps and your ears ring with a sound you only vaguely recognize as coming from your own mouth. Your orgasm crashes over you, powerful and all-consuming. Your body convulses with the force of it, muscles clenching around Choso's cock to suck him impossibly deeper as the pleasure ripples through you in intense, shuddering waves. Your vision blurs, and for a moment, you lose all sense of time and space, reduced to a primal, instinctual being driven solely by overwhelming bliss. You are something made perfect, born anew in the flood of holy fire and ecstasy. For that brief period you are nothing but stardust.

Choso’s voice breaks through the fog, a frantic litany of curses and gratitude spilling from his lips. " Fuckfuckfuck—thank you—so beautiful...oh fuck, you’re so perfect, " he babbles, his voice shaky with awe and need. The intensity of your climax has pushed him to the brink, and he’s barely holding on. His hands roam over your body, trembling with the effort to restrain himself.

His movements become erratic, driven by an almost savage pride that you came first, but now he’s desperate to find his own release. He sinks into you to the hilt, each movement filled with an urgent, raw need. The sensation of him jabbing into you, bluntly knocking on the door of your cervix prolongs your orgasm into the realm of exquisite agony.

Without warning, Choso shifts his weight, and in one fluid motion, topples you both over so you're on your back. The transition is seamless, and before you can catch your breath, he’s over you, inside you, fucking you into the floor with a relentless, desperate rhythm. The raw intensity in his eyes, the primal need driving his movements, rips your breath away before you’ve even begun to try to catch it.

Each thrust is powerful and deep, a claim and a plea all at once. You can see the strain in his muscles, feel the desperate edge to his movements as he chases his salvation in your body. The firelight casts shadows across his face, highlighting the fierce determination etched in his features. One hand grips your hip and the other flutters down your wrist to plait his fingers through yours, shakily moving it above your head to pin it to the rug.

He is wholly possessed by an uncharacteristically primal urge to take you , to etch himself into you, to rewrite your DNA with his name and be bound to you forever by something altogether greater than himself. “ Gah—gonna–gonna marry you. Haa– nngh! Have you forever— ”

Choso’s thrusts become more erratic, his breathing more ragged. " Gonna...gonna cum, " he gasps, his voice thick with needy warning. His eyes lock onto yours, a silent plea for release. And then, with a final, deep thrust, he shudders violently, his orgasm punching against his abs as he shouts and buries his face in the crook of your neck as he cums. You feel the muscles in his back bunch and tense as he spills himself inside you, each forceful contraction painting your walls with his warmth. 

His cum coats you, thick and hot, sticking inside you as he continues to move slowly, coaxing it deeper. He fucks it into you with tender, deliberate thrusts, bidding it to seep into your womb, ensuring every drop is claimed.

Choso collapses onto you like a warm, protective blanket, his weight a soothing comfort and far from oppressive. The two of you lie there entwined and spent, bodies still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure, your skin slick with flame-licked sweat. The silence between you is broken only by your shared, labored breaths and the soft pop and crackle of the fire beside you. He doesn’t move, his body gone completely boneless, and neither do you unwilling to disturb him or yourself. The quiet wraps you both in a cocoon of tender, post-orgasmic bliss.

Eventually, you begin to rouse him with soft kisses along his jaw, your lips brushing tenderly against his skin. He laughs, a bubbly, euphoric sound that makes your heart swell. The sound is infectious, and soon you find yourself giggling too.

Choso shifts slightly, propping himself up just enough to meet your dewy gaze, his exhaustion evident in his heavy-lidded eyes warmed like melted honey. He presses his nose to yours, the touch soft and sweet, before tilting to plant the lightest of kisses on your lips, then your cheeks, then your forehead, showering you with affection and gratitude. "Can we come here every year?" he whispers hopefully.

You smile, your heart swelling with tenderness. "Every year," you promise.

[pedriache]

I just love your work! How about a Pablo Gavi blurb where he tries and hints to reader that he likes her and she’s just so oblivious that it quite literally makes him be like hello, what the hell, and once he actually tells her and says how long he’s been feeling that way, she’s like well girl fuck why didn’t you just say that and he’s all ?? because he literally tried and did

Fool for you — Pablo Gavi.

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x Fem!Reader

Summary: He’d been trying to tell you how he’s felt for months. But every hint, every subtle touch, everything went unnoticed. Finally in a burst of frustration, he lets it out, leading to a long bickering confession for the both of you.

Word count: 1.28k

Disclaimer/s: none.. enya taught me cabezon so i hope i got this right…

A/N: im sooooooo. thats it.

The streets of Seville were quiet as you walked along the brick oath that lead toward your parents house. You’d both planned on making trips back home to see your parents at the same time, as to make travel easier. Plus, Gavi was your best friend, and you, his. You loved traveling with him.

The sounds of music wafted from the open window of an apartment above where you stood. A smile on your face as you watched a stray cat meandering about.

“I need to get another kitten.” You whisper to Gavi, who’d stopped beside you, his eyes on yours. He had hardly registered what you were saying, too focused on the way your eyes crinkled at the edges.

He hums in acknowledgment, not saying much else. Forcing his eyes to switch from your face to the disappearing orange cat. “You already have three, what makes you think you need another one?”

Rolling your eyes, you huff out a small, “shut up.”

Gavi looks back at you, noticing your eyes had drifted to the sky, examining the stars. You’d looked extra beautiful tonight, and the faint orange glow illuminating from the street lamps only furthered it.

“It’s so beautiful.” You speak, voice almost a whisper.

Humming again, Gavi’s lips form a soft smile, “very.” You were. He blinks, suddenly aware of the fact that you were looking at him again, a nervous look on your face.

“Okay, weirdo.” You play it off, beginning to walk again. Your parent’s house faintly coming into view.

Gavi felt frustrated. How many times did he have to flirt with you, for you to notice? To say something. Quickly catching up, Gavi slides his hand into yours, giving it a tight squeeze.

Your eyes flicker to him for a moment, and you squeeze back with a smile. “I miss going on walks like this as kids.” You reminisced, leaning into Gavi’s side.

“We could always come back more often, i’d make time somehow.” Gavi shrugs, lightly though as to not disturb the way you leaned against him ever so gently.

You grin, looking up at him from his shoulder, “really? I’d love that.”

“I’d do anything for you, mis estrellas.” My stars. A nickname Gavi had coined for you when you’d first told him about your love for astrology. He had claimed then that it was because every time he looked at them, he thought of you. He didn’t quite understand how you didn’t catch on to his feelings then.

Your heart flutters in your chest and you have to force yourself to look away from him. “It sucks that we have to leave tomorrow, I think—“

Gavi cuts you off, having enough of your topic changes. Your name slipping off his tongue in a way that had you furrowing your brows instantly. “Oh Dios, cabezona,” great, he’d pulled out the original nickname, which he only used on you when you were frustrating him. ( Oh God, Big head.)

“What’d I do now?!” You groan, “we were having a moment!”

Gavi lets go of your hand, pausing a few feet from your house. His hands rest on his hips as he stares at you silently. “All night.” He starts, “all night, i’ve been flirting trying to get you to use that big head of yours and see the obvious! You’re making me look like a fool. You’re so—“

“Oh, now wait a fucking minute.” You hold up your hand, eyebrows furrowing. “The fuck are you on about? You haven’t done any of the sort, I would’ve noticed.”

You were too caught up in confusion to fully understand what was really going on, but your heart knew. It was practically beating out of your chest.

“Why do you think I call you ‘cabezona’ all the time? You’re really proving my point here.” Gavi huffs, giving you an unimpressed look.

Scoffing, you look around the empty streets. “I may be dumb, but it’s not like you’re the most obvious person the planet, how should I know?!”

“Uh, I think anyone with a brain could see how obvious I was. Do you think it’s normal for a friend to drive across the city at 3 in the morning because you couldn’t sleep, knowing they had to go to practice in two hours? Do you think it’s normal for a friend to drop everything at any time, to help you with the most minuscule things? Is the way I look at you, the way I talk about you not obvious?” He sucks in a long, needed breath of air. His shoulders visibly slump at your perplexed look.

Blinking slowly, your words are forced as they come out, “Wha— how long?”

“Since we were like, fuck, I dunno. Fifteen? Probably longer?” He rubs a hand over his mouth, resting on his chin for a moment before it drops to his side.

The space between you, a mere three feet, suddenly felt too far apart. Your chest contracts, “well fuck! Why’d it take you so long?”

“What are you talking about? I’ve been trying to tell you! For like, months now!” He lets out a whine. “You’re just blind.”

“I am so not blind, if I knew you liked me back, like.. hello? If you would’ve just, oh I don’t know, just a suggestion.. Told me straight up? We could’ve avoided all this!” You purse your lips, giving him a ‘yeah, how about that’ look, that had him suppressing a laugh.

Wait.

Liked you back.

Wait.

“Roll that back for a second,” Gavi clears his throat, “what do you mean, ‘like you back’?”

It’s your turn to get frustrated, “well obviously the feeling is mutual? Why else would I be so frustrated with you right now!”

“Okay, so essentially you could’ve told me too. This isn’t all my fault.”

Oh, well he had a point.

“That’s irrelevant.” You shrug, “this is about you, not me.”

“It’s actually about both of us.” Gavi claps back, leaving the both of silent.

You liked each other. After all these years, it’d definitely formed into something more than just like, but you’d get to that later.

“Well, now what.” Your hands drop from your hips, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

Gavi does the only thing he could think of in that moment, the thing he’d been wanting to do for the better part of five years.

He takes three steps toward you, his hand gently coming to your forehead, moving a few strands out of your face before it trails down to your cheeks, causing a shiver to run over your body. Your breath is caught in your throat at his delicate touch, his lips so close you could hear his soft, ragged breathing.

His eyes connected with yours the whole time, flickering to your lips every few seconds. You stand there silently, letting it all sink in. His mouth opens to speak, and you nod. He doesn’t have to say anything, you understood. And you wanted it more than anything.

His lips pull into a teasing smirk, “i’m gonna need to hear you say it, cabezona.”

“Don’t ruin the fucking moment, Gavira.” You groan, head tilting back slightly, as its movements were restricted with the way Gavi’s hand was holding your face.

“Just say it,” he insists, causing you to roll your eyes.

You think about ignoring him, make him squirm, but you know you wouldn’t be able to. “Just kiss me already.”

The second you finish speaking, his lips are against yours, consuming all the oxygen in your lungs. Your whole life you’d felt like a part of you was missing, and now you found the missing half. Him. His lips, against yours, completing you.

DTS , @halfwayhearted <3