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muletia · 1 month ago

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𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

[tfp] obsessed!orion pax x human!reader

summary: what if optimus' obsession bypassed his memory loss? what if he was so infatuated that even his past self yearned for you?

cw: fluff, pinch of angst, canon divergence: orion is taken by the autobots, obsessive thoughts, clinginess, orion literally cannot be left alone for one(1) second, tbh nothing happens in this, i just wanted to write obsessed!orion interacting with you, bad writing, silliness

word count: 4700

"Come to the base. It's urgent."

As you stare at the terse message from Ratchet, your chewing slows and stops. A storm of questions whirls in your mind, panic creeping into your body. Before you can even type a single letter, your phone rings. The caller is none other than the Autobot medic himself. You answer in less than a second.

"Hello? Ratchet, please don't scare me—what exactly happened?"

"It's about Optimus." Your heart skips a beat. "During the last mission, he was... injured. Or, to be precise, damaged."

"Is it serious?" you ask, pacing nervously around the break room. Lunch now long forgotten. "Will he be all right?"

"Physically—he's never looked or felt better. Mentally, however... that's a different story. I'll explain the details when you get here. And make it quick."

"Hold on, wait—I can't just leave work early like that. There's a whole procedure for this. I can't just waltz out, even though I’d love to leave right now."

"...In an hour and a half, I expect to see you here at the base. See you then."

He hangs up. You stare at your phone screen for a moment, replaying the conversation in your head. Something serious must have happened—Ratchet wouldn’t disturb you at work otherwise. And it involved Optimus... You bite your lip, torn by indecision. You need to at least make sure he's okay, to see with your own eyes what Ratchet was talking about. Otherwise, you'll regret your negligence and spend the rest of the day worrying.

Shoving the half-eaten sandwich into your bag, you rush to your computer to draft a request for early leave, praying fervently that your boss will grant it.

You kept pressing the gas, speeding toward the base, trying to balance obeying traffic laws with worrying about the Autobot. You knew he had been preparing for a mission recently, he had told you about it during a ride you shared, but you didn’t expect it to end like this. Maybe you should have, considering you were associated with a race of aliens deeply embroiled in a centuries-long war, but you always pushed such unpleasant thoughts to the back of your mind, wishing your friends the best. Now, though, all the worst scenarios were coming to the surface. Had he fallen into a coma? Was his processor damaged? Had he died? You didn’t want to think about such an ending. Optimus was alive. You were sure of that.

Seeing the familiar red rock, a tight knot of anxiety gripped your throat. In a few moments, you were about to drive into what was practically your second home, not knowing what awaited you. You glanced at the clock. You were half an hour late—well beyond the time Ratchet had given you.

As if on cue, the medic called you again.

Before you could say a word, he hung up, leaving you to sigh in frustration.

“Don’t enter the hangar. Leave the vehicle at the entrance.”

Following his instructions, you parked at the main entrance and made the rest of the journey on foot. The lights seemed especially harsh, glaring into your eyes as the tunnel stretched endlessly ahead of you, as if warning you, giving you one last chance to turn back. But no force on Earth could stop you now. Determined, you marched forward, needing to know what had happened to your friend.

The hangar was full of Autobots, their sheer presence intimidating. You had thought you were over the feeling of smallness that came with being one of the humans among them, but now it hit you again, hard, dredging up memories of when humans in their midst were still a novelty. You froze for a moment, your courage momentarily disappearing in the shadows of giants.

It wasn’t until your eyes landed on the reason you had left work early that you began to breathe again. Optimus stood there, seemingly whole and healthy, facing the platform where the kids likely were. Relief washed over you. He was alive. Your heart was still racing, but the weight of dread lifted slightly, leaving you braced for the next wave of bad news.

"Hey, sorry I’m late. Work took longer than I expected," you called out.

Your voice immediately caught his attention. Optimus turned to you so abruptly that it shocked everyone present, abandoning the conversation he had been engaged in. Tilting your head back to meet his gaze, you were surprised when he knelt down on one knee, making himself more accessible. You still had to look up, but now his face wasn’t obscured by his… windshields.

The first hint that something was off was his smile—wide, cheerful, and curious. Optimus didn’t smile like that, not even when something genuinely delighted him. Worry started gnawing at you again. Something was wrong.

"Greetings. You must be our next human ally, correct?"

At first, you were at a loss for words. Of all the scenarios you had imagined, memory loss hadn’t even crossed your mind. But before the conversation could veer into awkward territory or panic could take hold, you managed to reply, mirroring his smile.

"That’s right."

"You seem… familiar. As though we have met before."

The hangar fell silent, the atmosphere thickening.

"Of course he would remember her," Ratchet hissed under his breath. You shot him a glare filled with venom.

Focusing back on the mech before you, you forced a calm smile, masking the whirlwind of emotions inside you. You felt like you were on the verge of exploding—uncertain whether to jog his memories or pretend this was truly your first meeting. Why hadn’t anyone given you guidance on how to handle this?

"Erm, well…" you began, only for Ratchet to step in and spare you.

"Humans can look quite similar at first glance," the medic interjected. "Orion, this is [Name], the last human who should know of our existence."

A flicker of something lit up in his cyan optics—something indefinable, known only to him.

"Greetings, [Name]. It is a great pleasure to meet you."

He extended a servo toward you. Tentatively, you clasped one of his digits, ignoring the ache in your heart. This shouldn’t have been happening. You shouldn’t have to forge a new relationship with someone so dear to you. It felt uncanny—like he was wearing Optimus’s skin but was someone entirely different inside. It was unnerving, disorienting. Yet this stranger had knelt before you, reduced himself to your scale to show respect, just as Optimus always had. It was a glimpse of his alternate self, a sign of the inherent honor and kindness he still carried.

"Hello, Orion. The pleasure is all mine."

Letting go of his servo, you gave him an apologetic smile, signaling the end of the conversation. You needed answers, clarity about the situation, before you could decide how to proceed. As Orion straightened up, you stepped past him toward the platform. You could feel curious optics on you, particularly his, as you fist-bumped the kids. Unbeknownst to you, Orion clenched his servo in the same way you had during your handshake.

"So," you said to Ratchet, "what happened?"

The medic sighed, clearly weary of recounting the story yet again. But you had to know. You listened intently, the details unsettling and at times horrifying, but you felt a growing sense of calm. At least now you knew what you were dealing with—what topics to avoid, how to act. The relief faded, however, when you learned that the first attempt to restore Optimus’s memories had failed, and no date had been set for the next.

As Ratchet spoke, most of the team dispersed, leaving only you, the medic, and Orion in the hangar. Taking a moment to process everything, you glanced at Orion, catching his curious gaze.

This was your new reality. Optimus was gone, yet not entirely, standing just a few meters away, watching you intently. It was too much to dwell on. You needed something to distract yourself.

Standing from the couch, you headed down the stairs. You figured you’d be here for the rest of the evening, so you might as well find something productive to do.

"[Name]?" Orion’s voice stopped you in your tracks. He looked genuinely concerned. "Are you leaving already?"

His behavior puzzled you.

"I’m just going to grab my things. I’ll be right back."

"I see. May I accompany you?"

Oh, that was adorable—especially with the hopeful tone in his voice.

"I’m not sure you’ll fit in the tunnel in your current form," you teased with a laugh. "It won’t take long. I’ll be back in a minute."

This time, you quickened your pace.

For several hours, Orion's life had been filled with uncertainty. He didn’t know how he had ended up on this planet, who the Autobots around him were, or why they called him "Prime" when he felt he was unworthy of the title. And now, another enigma had appeared—you. Orion could not rationalize the overwhelming need to be near you. He had felt it the moment he laid his optics on you. The need to stay close, to converse, to observe. The need to know you better. Never before had such intense emotions stirred within him for anyone, let alone a stranger. But you weren’t a stranger. This may have been your first meeting, and he may have spoken to you for the first time, but you were not unfamiliar. Of that, he was absolutely certain.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and minutes into hours since you had disappeared into the tunnel. He regretted not following you, even if it meant transforming into his alt-form. At least he would have kept an optic on you, preventing the gnawing feelings of confusion and longing from devouring him from inside.

Ratchet watched his friend closely. He recognized that look, that body language. He knew what it signified, what storm was brewing in Orion’s processor. Optimus had been the same when it came to you. For a brief moment, his friend was back. Too bad it was under such circumstances.

"Do you really remember that woman?" he asked.

"I am not certain," Orion replied, still gazing toward the tunnel. "I feel like she is not a stranger, even though I know this was our first encounter. And as… Prime, if I indeed held that title, was she close to me?"

Primus.

"Perhaps closer than any human, but only Optimus knew to what extent. That might explain why you recognized her."

"Then she is special."

"Everything points to that."

Orion glanced at him, offering a faint smile. For reasons Ratchet couldn’t quite explain, the gesture was hard to look at. Fortunately, you emerged from the tunnel, giving him an excuse to start working again.

"See? I told you it’d only take a minute," you laughed, a black backpack slung over your shoulder.

Orion didn’t confess the truth—that by his reckoning, you had been gone an eternity. He watched intently as you climbed the stairs and took a seat on the couch.

"So, Orion," you began, "what did you do on Cybertron?"

Oh. You were curious about him? Truly? He had never thought of himself as particularly interesting.

It was fortunate that you were not looking at him because his body language betrayed his embarrassment.

"I was an archivist. Do humans on Earth have similar professions?"

"Of course. You know, I’ve always admired archivists. It’s meticulous work, requiring patience and nerves of steel—if you know what I mean. Anyway, it’s an important job, and anyone who takes it up is very cool in my book."

"Cool?"

"You know, fascinating, impressive, admirable."

"Does that mean that... in your optics, I am… cool?"

He asked without thinking and immediately regretted it when you gave him an amused look. Embarrassed, he tilted his helm downward. For such a towering and formidable being, he was also astonishingly skittish. It was peculiar to see a former Prime in such a light, but it made him more relatable, more emotionally accessible. Even so, you couldn’t deny that you missed Optimus.

"Of course, you’re cool to me."

That answer brightened him. A spectacle of stars dances in his optics.

You returned to typing on your laptop, but Orion had other plans for you.

"It seems I still have much to learn about this planet."

"I think you’ll catch on quickly. Besides, if it makes you feel any better, the other bots don’t know everything either. If you’re ever unsure, just ask. I’ll do my best to help."

"Thank you, [Name]. Your kindness is very important to me."

"Anytime. If you’d like, you could also explore our literature—it’ll give you a good insight into what humanity is all about. That sounds like a fitting activity for an archivist, doesn’t it?"

He would much rather have you as his sole source of knowledge about your species, as it meant spending more time with you. He wanted to know not just what you were but who you were—your interests, where you worked, how you spent your free time, your philosophy, beliefs, and hobbies. Everything you were willing to share. He wanted to know you inside and out, to solidify this sense of connection and make it real. And if you wished, he would bare his own secrets, reveal his spark, and show you every part of himself. Perhaps then you might look at him just for a second longer.

"Yes, I believe that would be an enjoyable activity. And what is it that you do?"

He asked question after question, each answer adding a new layer of understanding about you. He shared a little in return, preferring listening to you—your opinions, your perspective.

Time passed swiftly in your company. Relentless and unforgiving, it waited for no one. Orion realized this when you set aside your device and began stretching. It was a mesmerizing sight—your movements were so different from those of Cybertronians, fluid, and light. That was until the air was pierced by the loud crack coming from your back.

Energon froze in his fuel lines, and his spark leaped to his intake.

"[Name]? Are you alright? Are you harmed?"

"Hm?" you hummed, confused. He looked as though calamity had befallen him, as though you’d been beheaded. Then you remembered—it was Orion, not Optimus, and the human body was weird. "Oh, that. Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’s perfectly normal." To prove your point, you began cracking your knuckles, stopping quickly when you saw his horrified expression. "Okay, sorry about that. But really, I’m fine. I just need to stretch."

"Alright…" he replied, though he didn’t seem convinced. You couldn’t blame him.

You rose from the couch and stepped down from the platform, intending to take a short walk. Panic erupted in his spark. Oh no. No, no, no. He didn’t want to be left alone, not after such a jarring experience. He wouldn’t let you out of his optics now—not even for a moment.

"May I accompany you?"

"Of course!" you replied without hesitation, smiling—a gesture he immediately mirrored. "It won’t be very exciting, though."

"On the contrary, I find you to be a most intriguing individual."

"Oh, thank you," you said, clearing your throat, embarrassed. Compliments delivered in that baritone still flustered you.

Together, you ventured deeper into the base, bypassing various sections. In the training room, Arcee worked on her speed, while Bulkhead struck a makeshift punching bag fashioned from an old car. The children watched the spectacle, occasionally entertaining themselves. You both quickly slipped past the always-open entryway and continued on your way.

“[Name]?” Orion inquires. You turn into an empty hangar with a high platform, starting to ascend the stairs.

“Hm?”

“How do humans attempt to court their partners?”

You hadn't expected that kind of question. You stop mid-step, pondering your answer. When you look at him, his expression is dead serious, though his optics betray a determination. Why would he want to know this? You decide it’s probably mere curiosity.

“It depends on the person.” You continue climbing the stairs until you finally reach the top, now level with his faceplate. “Some buy gifts like flowers, others go on elaborate dates. But the common factor is spending time together, and getting to know one another. Feelings tend to develop naturally that way,” you explain. “Actually, that’s an interesting topic. How did it work on Cybertron?”

“Similarly. However, instead of exchanging ‘flowers,’ we presented rare metals or crystals to leave the best impression. To demonstrate strength and potential as a partner.”

“I know a few people who would totally fall for that approach. Heh, I’d be thrilled to get a geode myself.”

Orion suddenly lights up. Were you suggesting something or just sharing an opinion? Whatever it was, he felt compelled to try. To prove himself worthy. Perhaps he could even find the ‘flowers’ you mentioned.

“I see. Thank you for enlightening me.”

“You’re welcome?” you reply, unsure exactly how you’ve helped, but the sight of his broad smile and bright optics makes it all worthwhile. He was utterly adorable.

The two of you chat casually until you’re forced to check the time. You inhale sharply, and Orion tilts his head slightly, curious about your reaction.

“It was great talking to you, but I really need to go. I have work tomorrow and I’d like to get some sleep.”

Panic flashes across his face. He had enjoyed your company so much. He didn’t feel alienated or alone when he was with you. The sense of connection played a significant role, but Orion had already let you into his spark. He had found a safe harbor in you and wasn’t ready to drift away just yet. He wasn’t ready to let go, even if the world around him were to crumble.

“May I accompany you?” he asks, desperation seeping into his tone.

“Excuse me?”

“May I accompany you?” he repeats, now begging.

“My home isn’t exactly designed to host a giant robot. Besides, it’s dangerous and... wait, do you even know the traffic regulations?”

His expression answers the question, but he still attempts to defend himself.

“I have acquainted myself with them partially.”

“Who has the right of way at an uncontrolled intersection?”

He opens his mouth but quickly closes it again, visibly crestfallen. He looks as though he might cry.

“Orion, we’ll see each other tomorrow,” you reassure him. “The first thing I’ll do after work is come here.”

He frantically searches for an argument to keep you with him—anything to prolong your company. Then he remembers his first encounter with human children.

“Every child was assigned a guardian who escorted them home and ensured their safety,” he states, refusing to give up. “Do you have a protector?”

“Unofficially, that was Optimus…”

“Then I would like to carry on his mission.”

“I’m not a child, Orion.”

“I understand that. I merely wish for your safety, [Name],” he explains earnestly. “And… I would prefer not to part from the company most dear to me.”

Your thoughts drift back to something he said earlier—how he recognized the bond you once shared, even though this was your first conversation. He hadn’t recognized Ratchet or anyone from his team—only you.

You tried to put yourself in his position. To suddenly find yourself in a foreign place, surrounded by strangers addressing you by a false name and feeding you information that might as well be fiction. And then, in a world where nothing is familiar, someone steps in—someone you vaguely recognize. You might not know their name, but you know there was once a connection. Wouldn’t you cling to that tiny thread, desperately pulling it closer if someone tried to take it away?

Orion had found solid ground, and you were unintentionally trying to undermine it. You exhale softly. You already knew you’d be saying goodbye to sleep tonight.

“Alright.” His smile makes it all worth it. It’s as though you’ve handed him a star from the sky. “Let’s see what Ratchet has to say about all this.”

"I see no objections."

Orion looks at you with excitement sparkling in his optics.

"Wow, that was quick."

"It's a good excuse for Orion to explore the area and get accustomed to his alt mode."

The medic refrains from adding that if the former leader remained at the base, he would likely have wasted away in longing for you, lamenting to every sentient being that he couldn't wait to see you again. Though the comment teeters on the edge of his glossa, he opts for discretion. Optimus, at least, had never vocalized his peculiar obsession with you quite so openly.

"Should anything unusual occur, contact me immediately. Someone will come for you in the morning," Ratchet advises his friend before turning to you. "Good night, [Name]."

You thank the medic for his diligence and ask him to take some rest, earning a piercing glare that almost feels lethal, then retrieve your backpack and head toward the tunnel. Orion stays close by, not leaving your side even after transforming. Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you, visibly delighted at the prospect of your first shared drive together. In his mind, this was more than a mere drive—it was a deeply intimate act, almost akin to inviting a partner into one’s private space.

But his dreams are promptly shattered when you inform him that you have your own car.

The journey is uneventful but nerve-wracking; you constantly check your side mirror to ensure Orion is still following you. Thankfully, there are no issues, and he even remembers to use his turn signals when necessary. Everything proceeds smoothly until you pull into your driveway and are struck by a dreadful realization: Will a Peterbilt even fit in my garage?

You park your car to the side, leaving Orion enough space to drive safely. Exiting your vehicle, you open the garage door and wave at him to proceed. You nervously bite your thumb, watching the massive truck carefully edge into the space. There are barely three centimeters between the roof of the truck and the ceiling. When you close the garage door, the already limited space shrinks further.

"So, do you regret your decision now?" you ask, stepping around to the front of the truck.

Orion transforms with meticulous precision, carefully positioning his limbs and helm to avoid damaging the walls. The process goes well until his helm grazes the ceiling with an audible thud, dislodging a few small pieces of debris. He winces slightly and rubs his helm but offers you a warm smile.

"I do not regret my decision."

"Pfff, well, that's good. Are you all right?"

"I am unharmed."

You can’t help but feel guilty for confining him to such a cramped space, but it was his choice. If he insisted, he would simply have to endure it. Of course, that meant you would have to endure it, too, as the issues began almost immediately.

"All right, I’m going to grab my things. I’ll be back in a moment."

He panics again—something you’re beginning to expect from him.

"Please, do not leave me."

His voice is unchanging. A deep and thick baritone that permeates your body, speaking straight to your soul. It is strange to hear the same voice coming out of a shamed and uncertain being, begging you for company.

"I’ll only be gone for two minutes."

You reach for the door handle, but his servo shoots forward, blocking your exit.

"Orion," you chide, your tone sharp and reprimanding.

He doesn’t meet your eyes, his apprehension laid bare.

"Please, I do not wish to be alone."

"Two minutes," you say firmly, though your annoyance falters when you see the raw emotion in his optics. Sighing, you place a hand on the edge of his digit, catching his attention. "I’ll be back. I promise."

He believes you, of course he does. He trusts you to return, yes, he even knows it. It doesn't change the fact that he is frightened, he feels alone, and your proximity calms the storm raging through his processor. His whole body is clamoring for you, screaming for you to stay with him. He craves bodily contact, he wants your soft hands to stroke his metal and your lips to whisper sweet nothings. He wants more, he wants to feel the softness, more, more, more.

He takes his servo away.

"Good mech."

As you disappear through the door, Orion buries his face in his hands. Despite his embarrassment, he can’t suppress a grin. He had enjoyed that moment—far too much.

He wants to hear you say it again.

When you return, you’re carrying a blanket, a deck of UNO cards, some snacks, and your laptop. Orion beams at the sight of you but frowns when he notices you shivering.

"Are you cold?" he asks with concern.

"Hmm? A little, but I’ll warm up soon."

Without warning, he gently scoops you up in his servo, handling you with the utmost care. The shock is brief—you don’t even have time to protest before he places you on his chassis. His servo remains loosely wrapped around you as a precaution, but your back presses against his warm metal frame. Tilting your head up to glare at him for pulling such a stunt, you find him already watching you, amusement dancing in his optics.

"Ask next time before you do something like that," you scold lightly.

"I make no promises," he teases, earning a playful flick to his digit.

"I was planning to play UNO, but since you pulled that move, let’s watch a movie instead. Unless you’d rather do something else?"

"I leave myself entirely at your mercy."

He would have been content doing nothing as long as he could hold you close.

"All right, then. A movie it is."

It's hard for him to keep up with the plot when he's overstimulated, but he tries, because your questions encouraging discussion come out of nowhere. And it was just at moments when he started to drift off, when the optics shifted from the tiny screen to you; when there was only you and him in the world. Sometimes, however, he would focus for longer, especially during the romantic scenes. He longs to experience something similar with you, an indestructible, sappy love. To recite poetry into your ear and watch you blush, to announce to everyone how much you mean to him. To bestow expensive gifts, the geodes you mentioned earlier. He needs your tender words, your praise, your touch. You could do whatever you liked with him, and he would give you his spark.

He worries when you fall silent for too long.

"[Name]?" he calls softly, leaning closer to check on you. Relief washes over him when he sees you’ve simply fallen asleep. Poor thing—you must have been exhausted.

Still, a part of him resents it. He wanted to talk to you longer, watch more films, learn more about human romance to win your favor. But he knows his thoughts are selfish. Setting the laptop aside, he carefully covers you with his other servo, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.

He's not sure he'll be able to recharge. At least not now, when he was too absorbed in devouring you with his optics. You felt safe with him. You gave him your trust. You chose him.

A spark of possessiveness sweeps through his processor. He doesn't want to let you go. He doesn't want you to go to work tomorrow and leave him for eternity. He also knows he shouldn't think that way. The spark goes out.

Watching you sleep, his processor churns with thoughts. You trusted him. He vows to prove his worth tomorrow, to show you just how deep his feelings run.

Because he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be himself. How much longer he will remain as Orion Pax.

#transformers #transformers x reader #optimus prime x reader #optimus x reader #tfp #obsessed!optimus #orion pax x reader #obsessed!orion

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pintrestgrl · 3 months ago

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hii bby💓 im so glad we became mutuals because you are my first mutual🥹

could i request kook!reader x rafe where reader always likes to talk right before the go to bed like for (ex. they could be laying in bed cuddled up trying to fall asleep but reader just talks about literally anything) thats how i was when i was a child id stay over my grandmas and just talk her head off at night😭

yesss ofc i’m exactly like this 😭 i cannot handle the silence omg

but omg i’m so glad too 🥹 ily ily and im honored to be ur first mutual 💕💘💞💖💓💝

also imagine this w like season4!rafe too. this was also not proofread and was a bit rushed.. tbh

okk anyways enjoy !!

bf!rafe cameron with sweetheart!kook!reader.

you had probably the longest day of your life today. rafe, too. you both had spent all day together, shopping on the mainland.

he had been following you around in every shop, watching you try on your every item with a smile on his face.

he paid for everything too, not really bothering to glance at the total of your many items.

he just wanted you to be happy. and he’d do his best job to make sure it was because of him.

but now, you had returned back to his house.

you both had a quickie quick shower together, and brushed your teeth.

it was safe to say, you both were exhausted. neither of you should have any trouble sleeping tonight, right?

wrong.

he had you laid up against his bare chest, your whole body smelling like vanilla lotion, and a hand resting against your back.

the only problem was that, you would not stop talking.

he thought you would pass out the second you entered the white sheets, but clearly you proved him wrong.

you were just constantly spewing out millions of random sentences.

“do you love me?”

“today was fun.”

“ooo, i wanna show my sister everything i got today!”

“do you think i’d survive in a zombie apocalypse?”

“what’s your favorite color?”

“my feet hurt.”

“my lotion smells good.”

“i hope my hair air dries good.”

“what’s your favorite animal?”

if he didn’t know you that well, he’d think you were joking with the way you were obnoxiously speaking right now.

he tried to ignore it and just drift to sleep, but he physically couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore.

he spoke.

“okay, stop. yes to all your questions, now go to bed. please. okay?”

you frowned, a small pout forming on your pretty lips. you let out a small huff, rolling your body off of his and causing your back to face him.

he smirked, scoffing. his hand snaked to your waist, stroking the skin there as he spoke.

“no— baby, i didn’t mean it like that. c’mon, i’m sorry. okay?”

you didn’t answer him, opting for just staring at the wall in front of you.

he didn’t want you to be mad at him, that really was his last intention. he just wanted you to get some good rest.

he sighed, giving up. before he decided to fully pull your waist towards his body, him laughing as you tried to fight the smile coming to your face.

he turned your body over onto your back, hovering over you and planting multiple kisses on your face.

he spoke, finally pulling away from your skin.

“there. are you happy?”

you tried to contain the soft smile coming to your lips, but you couldn’t. you giggled, as his large hands stroked the skin of your hip.

you spoke.

“yeah, sure. maybe. whatever.”

he smirked, before speaking back to you.

“good. now cmon, go to bed. please?”

you nodded, going back to your original position of laying on top of his chest as he stroked your back.

you were finally quiet, finally resting. or so he thought.

he was about to succumb to a deep sleep, before he heard your soft voice whisper.

“do you love me?”

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garagepaperback · 7 months ago

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What are your favorite drarry fics?

oh. ooooooooooooh oh oh.

here are my staples:

draco, the magic dragon - libbydrew a fic i first read on livejournal (showing off the varnish of my casket here) that i thought about regularly for the almost two decades i fell out of fandom. canon to me tbh. libby invented my draco rubric: proud lil showboat even when everything around him has gone to rancid shit, sarcastic and aloof personality as a poor facade to distract from the big ol' gaping well of hurt.

Potter took a great breath, then let it out slowly – a low whistle between his teeth. "Malfoy, I had no idea. I thought—" "Why are you here?" Draco cut him off before the idiot embarrassed them both. Their shared past was water under the bridge – even if Draco had drowned in it.

nightingale - michi_the_killer

another back-in-my-day fav, even though i can only stand to read half of it. actually even thinking about it is making me stare off in a distance for upwards of three minutes. this one i would hand off wrapped in about a million miles of caution tape. + also a huge fan of michi's gory veela fic.

It was better than fighting, Harry thought, although sometimes he still wanted to rip into Malfoy, to hurt him. Other days, he thought, it was better than anything.

rookie moves - peu_a_peu

what can i say that hasn't already been said - peu is a MASTER. if you somehow know who i am but haven't read this, reassess your life choices through professional means but not until after you dive in.

“Feels kinda big,” Malfoy said, smirking. “For a guy your height.” “My height is average,” Harry said, although he was undeniably glaring upward at Malfoy’s face when they stood so close together. “And it is kinda big.”

stately homes of wiltshire - waspabi another one that crept into my heart and made a home. hard to choose between this and waspabi's other drarry fic, but there's something about the decrepit manor that just does it for me. a perfect harry and draco, perfect soft reaching towards each other.

Draco smiled and dragged Potter from the shop before he could charm any more elderly ladies with his unkept, take-care-of-me-I’m-confused-and-have-nice-shoulders aesthetic. Once outside in the drizzle, he realised he still had his hand around Potter’s forearm. He yanked his hand back immediately.

i wake up falling - warmfoothills

warmfoothills :,) just reading this moniker makes me vision go soft around the edges. their writing has made me out loud, quietly say "oh," multiple times. the prose is darling, this story is such a brief, aching glance. it was also really hard to pick just one (flashback, warm nights i also go in for).

“I love you,” he says, unable to stop himself. Draco blinks, a barely-there flinch, like Harry’s taken a swing at him. “I know,” he says, still oblivious to the reference, oblivious to the way his words scoop right into the meat of Harry’s stupid, hopeful heart. “It’s not enough, is it?” Draco shakes his head. Above, the stars watch unfeelingly on.

the pure and simple truth - lettered no one does dialogue with the mastery lettered does. my GOD. my god. i feel like this fic is drarry perfectly distilled.

“What’s he going to be?” Blaise raised a brow. “Pardon?” “You said he says Hermione should be Minister, and all those other things. What does Malfoy think he should be?” There was something much like pity in Blaise’s eyes. “He thinks he should never, ever be forgiven for the things he’s done.” Harry felt ill. “That’s not fair.” “When has Draco ever been fair?” “I meant―” Harry swallowed hard. “That’s not right.” Blaise looked more pitying still. “When has Draco ever been right?”

far from the tree - aideomai

the writer i avoid talking about the most bc once i start i cannot physically restrain myself from going on about their beauty forever. i sat for forty-five solid minutes frowning, trying to choose between this one and in the hand. and dwelling. okay anyway. i keep a doc of quotes from fics that resonate and it's 50% aideomai.

Draco wondered what Potter thought of this day, in the future the twins came from. If he had told Ginny about it. If he had forgotten it. He couldn’t forget it, could he? It felt burned into Draco’s body already, a final point that he had been moving toward for years without knowing.

i could go on but i think seven is a nice solid number tyvm for this ask!

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry fic rec #fic rec

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takes1 · 1 month ago

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heyyy, I just found your page and I’m in love omg<333 would just like to request an ushijima imagine with a tall reader (5’10-11) it’s so rare to see a tall reader tbh hahah, anyways reader is captain of the girls volleyball of their school and is a middle blocker, ushijima just kinda stumbled upon their gym with tendou and cannot take his eyes off here or something 😭

Thank youuuuu

thanks pookie! sorry about the wait. this was a great request! i rlly appreciate asks like these. sorry i wrote this man a little different than what i normally see, but it made sense to me

warnings. none, sfw.

details. ushijima not getting social queues / pining!ushijima / kinda dumb!ushijima / stoic!ushijima / staring / secretly sweet!ushijima / tall!reader / team captain!reader / unrequited? crush / tendou being a great wingman / 1.8k words

links. masterlist. more haikyuu here. my ao3. request box.

Leading a team full of peers never came naturally. At least, the girls didn't make it an easy task when every order, every call was either questioned or giggled at.

Today's practice in particular was getting to you. Nobody was focused up and there were some plays that only existed because it was a Friday afternoon going into a long weekend off.

You shut down a laughable attempt at a spike. If anything, your jump was too high- the ball caught your chest and slammed into the opposite side of the court. What was that? Six shut-downs in the past ten minutes?

"Let's try hitting the ball, not bumping it!" You shouted, swiping the sweat down and off your face. It was mean, but honest.

"We're trying!" Somebody whined.

You flung your arm dismissively at the other side of the net and rested your hands on your hips. Maybe it was just destined to be a rough day, after all.

A melodic whistle from the entrance turned your attention to a cheery redhead, skipping towards the court. Behind him trailed a slower, silent, but somehow greater presence.

You called for a water break at once- celebration ignored- to greet your eccentric friend.

"Strooong block," Tendou grinned and scanned you for signs of effort- he found it in the wetness across your light-colored shirt, "Good game?"

"Hardly," You fanned yourself by pumping your collar with air.

Ushijima stopped glancing around the gym and finally acknowledged your presence- you pretended to not care about his awful staring problem. He didn't look you in the eye, but in a way, it made you more on-edge. Was there something wrong?

You stopped fanning yourself and faked a smile to hide how concerned you were that they might stay to watch, "We're just- off, today--,"

"Mmmm!" Tendou's attentive hum and consequent staring was far more objective, but creepy nonetheless.

What a couple of weirdos.

"We were just about to call it, actually," You placed your hands on your hips, squinting at the other captain to guess his intentions, "So if you were trying to use the court, you can have it."

Narrowed eyes caught your gaze in an intense, humbling second- you wrapped your arms around yourself and glanced away.

Ushijima had an otherworldly harshness to him. You rarely felt the need to shy away from people, but he knew how to make you squirm.

He said absolutely nothing to you. Tendou accepted your offer and paid it forward by inviting you to stay and run drills, but there was something about Ushijima you couldn't decipher, no matter how much you wanted to practice. It was like he had a problem with you, or the way you ran your team, or he was just pissed off- none of those were possibilities you had the energy to deal with after this evening.

They took the court gladly to do some pair work and clean up; your team left in a cheerful mood, ready to get started on their long weekend right away. The arrangement left only you dissatisfied.

Tendou stalked your exit carefully from afar, tip-tapping anxiously on the ball in his hands. Your long shadow slipped away and they were alone at last.

He kept his voice low, just in case, and cozied up to Ushijima's side, "Soooo..."

Ushijima spared a passing glance over to his curious friend, no more.

"How long?" Tendou's attentive, inquisitive grinning was enough context. No need for direct name-dropping, nor denial.

His stone face began to fill with color.

This was a new feeling for him- it felt like he was dying, but in a good way, and he didn't want it to ever stop. He couldn't seem to catch his breath until you left. That didn't bother him per say- he didn't need air if it meant he could watch you shut down spikes, or roll into a skilled receive, or lead your team.

When he was forced to speak was the only real problem. He could sit and be a spectator forever, but when it came to getting any words out with you, they all fell apart on his tongue. He was always pretty quiet, but he knew this was pushing what he could get away with.

"Don't know. I've always liked her."

Tendou tossed the ball to him. He caught it, deep in thought.

It was clear that you didn't return the feelings. From the beginning, you were always different with him than you were with your team, or even Tendou. He knew he wasn't charming, or charismatic, or friendly. That wasn't an issue until recently.

The way you walked, with a slight swagger, always standing straight-- using your height as a weapon, captured his attention first. He caught himself stealing glances at you from across the gym when your teams switched for precious practice time. He started to notice more. The strong lines in your legs, the sweat-stuck hair on your brow, the little pant on your breath when you said hey just out of civility, the confidence in your voice when you called plays.

Now he battled the feeling of wanting to put himself closer to you. Once that craving started to hit him at night, moments before he drifted off to sleep, he knew something was wrong with him.

Every time he had the opportunity to say something, he lost his voice.

"It's-," He slapped the ball a few times onto the gym floor, then stopped to think before sending it over, "Different now."

Tendou shot him an easy pass, "Y'know, I was starting to think you couldn't get crushes."

He bumped it back, "Me too."

Despite how off putting the experience was, by the next practice you were able to brush it all off. You were operating on two completely separate teams, after all. What the guys did, how they practiced, and when was simply not your business.

You slung your bag over your shoulder on the way out of your classroom. Your teacher called after the exiting students about due dates.

"I've been getting questions about the quiz! Remember, you also have a discussion due. They're two different assignments--!"

You only halfway paid attention, too excited about the warmth blowing in through cracked windows from the hall. It would feel so good at practice today - and you had something special planned to raise morale.

You were only a step out the door when you crashed into something firm. The sound of your head smacking into Ushijima's was loud, and unsurprisingly, painful.

"Oh-!"

"Mm-,"

You ran hot with embarrassment and failed to cover it with a laugh. How did you not see him?

"Sorry," You both muttered at the same time.

You rubbed your temple, he rubbed his forehead.

As he did so, he spared you no dignity with what looked like a judgmental up-and-down gaze. It was so piercing that made you grip your shoulder strap tighter. You weren't sure if he meant something by it.

That was just another example of his behavior that felt contradictory.

"We need..." He trailed, briefly checking his hand for any blood. When he looked up, his eye contact so intense that his brows began to furrow. There was some sort of affliction behind his eyes. A narrowed, preoccupied focus that made you uneasy.

You instinctively wiped the back of your hand over your hot face, in case you had anything on it. The side of your head throbbed like terrible.

He opened his mouth a little to say continue, but sighed instead, uneven.

Things were starting to connect in your brain. Little by little, you picked up on more cues from his body language. He was out of breath, a little sweaty, and flushed. He was clearly rushing here. That was the reason you plowed into one another. You realized you were lucky you were around the same size, or else that could've knocked you on your ass.

"The guys need to get into the gym earlier today."

The statement ripped you from your spiralling, almost complete, thoughts. You laughed, "Yeah, right."

Despite you both being Captains of the same sport, there was very little need to talk to each other beyond your shared affinity for Tendou. Your team schedules never clashed- your coaches and advisors made sure of it.

You squinted when he clearly wasn't kidding.

"Do you really 'need' it? Or do you just want the gym earlier?"

He took a breath to answer, but you were quick to ask another agitated question, "Did Coach Washijou approve of this? I haven't seen an updated schedule."

Talking to you was impossible enough, but you were pissed off, and asking so many questions, and the light was hitting your face just right, and you smelled so good. He couldn't shake how pretty you still looked, angry and impatient with him. You stood straight and proud. Your eyeline was close to his own so he could savor every color he could find in your darting eyes.

His slow reaction and lack of social graces was so off-putting that you could only assume it came from a place of narcissism. He must not have cared, or he thought that his own team was more deserving of practice time that he demanded taking yours.

You were seconds away from calling him an entitled prick when you spotted a familiar redhead approaching, just over Ushijima's shoulder.

"(Y/n)!!" He sang and squeezed past his friend to take your hand in his. He tossed it back and forth between his own. It made you smile for a moment; as always, he helped diffuse the tension.

"Hey, Satori-," You wanted to be nicer, but only had about 15 minutes left to figure this issue out, "What is this about needing the gym sooner?"

He looked up at the ceiling, acutely aware that Ushijima was not a fan of this physical contact between the two of you, "Hmm! Ohh, that. I meant to tell you-,"

A calculated gaze to Ushijima, "He said nevermind."

That little liar.

In a flash, just through that familiar, cunning face of his, Ushijima understood that Coach Washijou never actually wanted the gym. Tendou only told him the 'news' because he wanted him to have a reason to speak to you. He really wanted to punch him, just for a moment.

There was something between them you couldn't make out. A conversation there you didn't get. You couldn't, and didn't want to, bother yourself with it.

"Perfect! So, there's no issue then?" You patted Tendou, then Ushijima's broad shoulder and squeezed between them to go change for practice.

"Mm-mmm, No issues here!" Tendou grinned and wiggled his fingers goodbye at you. He looked at his friend.

Ushijima placed an oversized hand on that shoulder and watched you walked away.

taglist. love ya'll <33

@yuchacco

@integers

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peachiejeongin · 23 days ago

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Hi!

Can you please make a fic about yang jeongin. Let’s say he has a tongue piercing and teases the HELL out of to y/n, like he makes y/n EXTREMELY flustered/excited and just pure torture. It’s pretty steamy like dom-ish, foreplay etc. let’s just say y/n is SPENT after all that teasing from him.

Please add your own ideas/thoughts it makes it more thrilling and exciting and also please make it really SPICY!?!? 🥵

Ps (tbh I’ve been craving this fic for sooooooooooo long!! Please make it come true!!!! Thanks a bunch 🙏🏽🥺😩🫶🏽🩷🤭)

Tongue Tied | Jeongin

Synopsis: You cannot stop thinking about your friend's new accessory, for lack of a better term. Particularly, how it feels in one certain aspect...

Pairing: dom!Jeongin x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (18+ Recommended), friends to lovers, teasing, marking, biting, pet names (good girl, sweetheart, etc), oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (please stay safe, darlings!!!)

Notice: Oh. My. Gosh. Darling!!! This request may just be my favorite I have ever received, and it was a BLAST to write! I hope I made your dreams come true! Enjoy the fiction, my darling!

Smut under the cut!

You were not exactly sure how you had ended up in this situation—laying on Jeongin's couch, a film half-forgotten playing in the background, and his lips locked on yours.

Ironically, the night had started innocently enough; it was a casual movie night for just the two of you, with snacks scattered between you. It was all smiles at first, the two of you making dumb jokes and either cackling until your stomachs ached or throwing popcorn at the other in response.

Somewhere in between the opening credits and the first act, however, the air had shifted.

Now, Jeongin was lounging far too closely, his hoodie sleeves pushed up and his long fingers resting just beside your thigh—close enough to brush against it every time he shifted. You tried to focus on the screen, yet his presence was magnetic. When he teasingly leaned over your lap to grab more popcorn, he lingered for a while, causing you to shift in your seat; his lips quirked into a knowing smile.

"You're staring," he teased, his voice soft but smug.

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks. "Am not." He chuckled, leaning back.

"Sure you're not," his voiced was laced with playful skepticism. Then, he did it—the move that had been driving you insane all night: he darted his tongue out, the silver glint of his piercing catching the light as he toyed with his lip. You swallowed hard, your gaze flicking to the piercing before tearing away.

You had been fixated on Jeongin's tongue piercing since the moment he got it. He had casually strutted into a hangout session one night, casually flicking the jewelry against his teeth like it was the most normal thing in the world. You had tried to keep your mind off of it, but it was impossible. Something about the way it glinted when he spoke, paired with his already devastatingly teasing nature, had set your imagination on fire. Your mind had began to conjure up the dirtiest, thigh-rubbing scenarios imaginable; you knew it was downright unholy to think about your friend like this, but you could not help it.

He had noticed, of course—he had always noticed. Once he realized the effect it had on you, he never let you live it down. Hence, how you found yourself here, your body heating up with every movement of the boy.

"Caught you," he murmured, leaning closer, his voice dropping an octave. "I knew you liked my piercing."

"What?" you stammered, trying to sound unaffected. "No, I mean, it's just..." Jeongin tilted his head, feigning innocence, but his eyes sparked with mischief.

"It's just what, y/n? Use your words." You did not give a response, feeling a meek lump caught in your throat from his behavior.

He did not let up after that. You could only describe the next twenty minutes as pure torture. Every time you thought you had escaped his teasing, he found a way to pull you back to him; whether it was brushing his fingers over yours as he passed you the popcorn or leaning in to whisper something absurdly unnecessary about the movie's plot, his every action sent your pulse racing.

"Jeongin, just what are you trying to do here?" You crossed your arms, finally calling the devious boy out. His response made your stomach flip:

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, his tone mockingly pure, accompanied by a slow, deliberate smile. "You're the one getting all flustered, not me."

"Sure." You attempted to scoot away from Jeongin, your body already overstimulated from its continuously rising emotion; you had hoped moving away from Jeongin would cause him to bore, but instead, he persisted.

He shifted closer to you, his thigh brushing up against yours. You could feel his warmth through your clothes, his presence gradually overwhelming you. His hand made its way to ghost over yours, his touch light yet deliberate.

"You're so tense," he murmured, his voice a low drawl. "Do you need my help?"

You froze, your breath catching as his fingers trailed up your arm, barely touching you but leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

"Jeongin..."

"Hm?" He tilted his head, his lips quirking into that maddening smirk. "Something wrong?"

When you did not respond, he leaned in closer. You could feel his breath against your neck, his lips brushing just shy of your skin.

"Relax, y/n," he whispered. "You're so easy to tease. It's cute."

You tried to push him away, still feeling the guilt of enacting such unholy behaviors with your friend; however, your attempt was half-hearted at best. He chuckled, grabbing your wrist effortlessly.

"Don't push me away, darling," he commanded, his tone playful yet firm. "I'm not done with you yet."

Upon him saying that, he swiftly pinned you against the couch, his hands bracketing your sides as he hovered above you. His expression was both smug and something darker, his eyes locked on yours.

"You've been staring at my tongue all night," he stated bluntly, his lips quirking into a grin when you gaped at him. "Don't think I didn't notice.

"I wasn't—"

"No, no," he confidently teased. "You most certainly were. What's that little mind of yours thinking about?" Your heart skipped a beat as he dragged the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip, the metallic coating of his piercing glinting.

"Tell me what you want to know," he commanded while slowly trailing his thumb over your jawline, tilting your chin up just slightly.

"I," you stammered, the words stuck in your esophagus. You deeply exhaled before confessing: "I wanna know how it feels." Jeongin smirked, pride prominent as he relished in how he was making you feel.

"You're so easy to corrupt," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "Don't you think?" Before you could answer, Jeongin leaned down, his lips brushing against yours; the teasing was too much to bear. You were absolutely spent by that point, and thus, you pulled Jeongin flush against your lips.

The kiss was slow at first, his lips soft against yours as the both of you took your time. Then, you felt the cool press of his piercing as he deepened the kiss, his tongue gliding over yours. The sensation sent a shiver through your entire body; you were unable to prevent the small whine that escaped, causing Jeongin to chuckle against your lips.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice low and gruff. You could not answer, not with the way he was already pulling you closer, his hands sliding to your waist. One of his hands slipped under your shirt, his fingers splaying over your bare skin. The touch was possessive, grounding, but his lips never left yours; he was kissing you as if he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

"Hey," you whispered when he finally pulled back for a moment, your chest heaving.

"Yeah?" he questioned, his tone laced with faux innocence. "What's wrong? Too much for you?"

You glared at him, weakly at best; he tilted your chin up once more, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"I can stop," he told you, his lips kissing down your jawline to your neck. He paused there, biting down gently, just enough to make a mark and cause you to arch into him. "Unless you want more."

Your breath hitched, and you could barely muster the courage to respond, yet you were able to utter out: "Don't stop."

That was Jeongin's breaking point.

Within a flash, Jeongin had you trapped beneath him on the couch, his hoodie discarded somewhere on the floor. His hands were everywhere, exploring, teasing, worshipping, as his lips and tongue worked to mark every inch of your skin. His lips sucked shades of red and purple into your neck, collarbones, and jawline, eliciting sincere noises from your end.

"You're so sensitive," he mumbled, his manner heavy with amusement and lust. "I've barely touched you and look at you already." He brushed a piece of hair out of your face, chuckling at how blown your eyes already appeared.

You wanted to retort, but all that came out was a shaky moan as he nipped at your collarbone, his tongue soothing the sting. His fingers managed to slide lower, teasing your waist slightly.

"Tell me what you want, y/n," he asked of you, his tone mixing between demand and tease.

"You," you breathed out, unable to keep the desperation out of your voice. Jeongin's grin widened, his hand dipping lower.

"Good girl." The cool of his piercing against your skin was the last coherent thought you had as he continued to tease and take his time with you. Each touch, each kiss, each flick of his tongue left you trembling beneath him; you were completely at his mercy. You stifled a moan as Jeongin continued to make use of the jewelry against your skin, the added pressure overstimulating you.

"Don't hold back," he whispered against your ear, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "I want to hear every sound you make."

With his lips grazing downwards, you completely let go, releasing a string of gasps, whines, and moans at Jeongin's actions. He chuckled at every reaction, the sound low and complacent, as if he was thoroughly enjoying his effect upon you.

Which he was.

"Stay still for me," he commanded, his fingers hooking under the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling it up. He stopped just before he took it off completely, his eyes locked on yours. "This okay?"

You nodded in desperation, biting your lip.

His smirk widened as he slide the fabric over your head and tossed it aside. His gaze swept over you, dark but appreciative; the intensity of it made your skin heat up farther. His eyes fixated on your chest as one hand moved to cup your breast.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his thumb rubbing over your nipple before his lips followed, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto your breasts, occasionally intensifying to suck at the supple skin. He splayed and flicked his tongue against your nipples, his piercing making the sensation even more sensual. You squirmed under his touch, the anticipation building up with every second; you could feel the wetness pooling in your underwear.

"Innie, please."

"Hm?" he glanced up at you, his tongue peeking out over his bottom lip; the piercing made itself visible once more and caused your brain to further go numb. "What is it, Sweetheart?"

You let out a frustrated whimper, leaning into his touch.

"Stop teasing."

"Oh, but it's the best part," he responded with a grin. His fingers inched their way down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down delicately and watching your every reaction as he did so. You were left in nothing but your underwear, making his grin turn wicked.

"You've been thinking about this, haven't you?" he inquired, his gaze fixated on the wet patch of your underwear. His hands trailed up your thighs, his thumbs rubbing over the sensitive skin that was just shy of where you needed him most.

You opened your mouth to deny his question, but the words caught in your throat as he dipped down, his lips ghosting over your inner thigh.

"Don't lie to me," he commanded softly, his voice a low purr. "I can see it. You've been dying to have me like this."

His tongue darted out before you could formulate a reply, the chill of the piercing against your burning skin sending a jolt of pleasure through you. He kissed his way up, his mouth hovering above where you needed him, but he did not move further. Not yet.

"I need you," you whimpered, your hands gripping the couch cushions as your patience wore thin. Jeongin laughed softly, the sound vibrating against your legs.

"Say please," he directed you in one last teasing measure.

"Please," you breathed, your voice shaky with need.

"Good baby," Jeongin cooed. He gently pulled down your underwear, and he finally pressed his mouth against you, his tongue first working on your clit with slow, accurate precision. The added sensation of his piercing added a new feeling that made you moan instinctually, your hips bucking harshly into Jeongin's face; the small, metallic ball added additional pressure with every suck, lick, and kiss, bringing you more pleasure than you had ever felt.

Jeongin's hands gripped your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he licked through your folds, albeit torturously slow; he was determined to unravel you, taking his time to explore every reaction, every sound you made.

"You taste so good" he groaned, against you, his pace picking up slightly; his voice was rough with desire. "I could do this all night." Without warning, his tongue began playing at your entrance, slowly dipping in and curling upwards. His piercing slightly snagged at your walls, causing you to unintentionally clench around him.

Your fingers tangled in his hair and tugged lightly as the tension built higher and higher, your body trembling beneath him. Before you knew it, you felt a knot tightening within your stomach, much swifter than you had ever; perhaps it was the added intensity from his piercing or the prior foreplay that had riled you up beyond belief. Whatever it was, you were coming undone faster than you could comprehend.

"Jeongin, I'm..." You could not finish the sentence, the words dissolving into a cry as one last languid dip pushed you over the edge, his pierced tongue working together to pull every last bit of pleasure from you and the gem's pressure aiding in riding out your high.

He did not stop until you were completely spent, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath from the intensity of the orgasm. When he finally pulled away from you, his lips were glistening and his grin was pure satisfaction.

"You look so pretty like this," he told you, leaning up to kiss you and letting you taste yourself on his lips.

He did not give you time to breathe before his hands were everywhere once more, eventually settling on your waist as he hovered above you.

"Still with me?" he quieried against your lips softly, yet laced with anticipation. You nodded, though your body was still shaking from the first round of his attention.

"Yes," you managed to whisper through shaky heaves.

"Good," he replied, his lips curving into a smirk. "Because I'm not even close to being finished." His lips found yours again, but in a different manner this time; his kiss was less teasing and more consuming, his tongue shoved deep within your mouth as the chilled flick of his piercing sent sparks down your spine. It was not just a kiss, you thought; it was a promise of everything he was about to do to you.

"You're perfect," he uttered, almost to himself as his hands traced the curve of your waist, back down to your thighs. "Do you know how long I've wanted this? Do you know how long I've noticed you've been staring at my tongue, knowing you wanted the same thing?"

His confession sent a shiver through you; you had a pretty good idea as to what he meant, since you could feel the heat of his body pressing against yours and the hardness against your thigh. There was no doubt about how much this boy wanted you.

Yet, instead of answering his rhetorical question, you ran your hands over his bare chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his toned muscles. He groaned softly at your touch, his hips pressing into yours as his self-control began to waiver.

"We're friends, Jeongin," you finally admitted. "Should we really be doing this?"

"Friends don't do this, y/n," he giggled as he responded. "Besides, don't you think it's a little late to be asking that?" You chuckled slightly at his response, leaning into press another kiss to his lips; this one was softer, full of feeling.

"You don't know what you do to me," he mumbled, your confidence igniting under his praise. He lowered himself back down, brushing softly against your shoulder before he shifted his attention lower, his lips and jewel-adorned tongue leaving a trail of heat down your body. When he reached your thighs, he paused, his hands spreading your legs as he looked up at you.

"Think you're ready?" he questioned teasingly as he reached for the waistband of his sweats. You could not find the words to respond, but the way your eyes locked onto him, full of need and anticipation, was all the answer he needed.

He hooked his fingers around the waistband of his sweatpants, dragging them as well as his boxers down in one swift movement. Your imagination had not done you justice when it came to his size; he was perfect, not too long but not short either and just the right amount of thickness.

He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours as he positioned himself, his hand cupping your cheek as he whispered, "I'll be gentle. promise." You nodded desperately as he pushed himself in without a hurry, allowing you to adjust as your body stretched to accomodate him. The both of you moaned deeply, Jeongin's lips brushing against yours as he praised you.

"So good," he groaned as he began to move; each thrust sent waves of pleasure through your entire body. He set a slow sensual pace at first, savoring the way you gasped and moaned beneath him; at certain moments, his tongue dipped out, causing you to fixate on his piercing once again, the sight of the surprisingly arousing piece of jewelry causing your senses to heighten. You clenched around his length each time, causing Jeongin to instantly catch onto the situation, once again beginning his relentless teasing.

"All of this over my piercing," he cheekily remarked as his rhythm built. "I can't believe I have you ruined over a tongue piercing." His degredation had a slight fondness to it; nevertheless, your brain was haywire. You comprehended what he was saying but did not have to capacity to formulate a response.

Jeongin's movements became more urgent as he lost himself in you, whispering your name like a sacred mantra and his lips and hands never leaving your body as his high crept up on him. You felt your respective orgasm begin to approach as well, your head tilting back from the overwhelming amounts of pressure you were feeling.

"Look at me," he commanded with a bit of adoration. "I want to see you." He gently grasped your cheeks tilting your head down to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes sent your spiraling; to top it off, he flicked his tongue out once more, toying with the metal ball in between his teeth.

That was the end for you.

Your hips bucked into his sloppily as the tension inside of you reached its peak, your second orgasm crashing over you like a floodwave, more intense than the first.

"That's it, baby," he praised, his voice rough with pleasure. "Good job, sweetheart. Let go for me."

Just moments later, Jeongin followed, your name tumbling from his lips as he buried his face in your neck, the force of his orgasm causing his legs to shake; white streams of cum coated your insides as the both of you came down from the high.

For a moment, the only audible sound was your combined heavy breathing. Jeongin slowly pulled out of you, rolling to the side and pulling you into his arms. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

"You alright?" he asked, his tone adorned with concern.

"More than okay," you nodded, resting your head against his chest as you tried to catch your breath, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Jeongin chuckled, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back.

"I guess you really liked my piercing," he chuckled teasingly, causing you to laugh softly.

"Can you blame me?" you inquired. "It makes you look hot."

"Oh, you think I'm hot?" Jeongin amped up his teasing once more, daring to slightly hover over you from the side once more, making you roll your eyes in response.

"Don't start," you murmured, pressing a soft peck to his lips.

"Why not? I don't think I'm done spoiling you yet," he replied with one last daring dart of his tongue out to lick his lips.

It was going to be a long night.

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids oneshot #stray kids scenarios #skz #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han #felix #seungmin #jeongin #jeongin fluff #jeongin smut #jeongin imagines #jeongin oneshot #jeongin scenarios

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fadingdaggerr · 1 month ago

Text

creatus sanguine (18+, mdni)

pairing: agatha harkness x gn!witch!reader

summary: part two of effuso sanguine | 5.3k

includes: blood magick reader, (not even) borderline obsession tbh

warnings: blood, description of injury, smut, afab reader (no chest description), oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), thigh riding (a receiving)

note: blood magick differs from the show’s definition of a “blood witch.” rather than coming from a magical family line, blood mages are more aligned with the physical body and use of what billy would call “analog magick” (sacrifice, blood letting, etc), as well as incantation/spells

April 1749

Your back aches as you rise from your leaf-made mattress, thin blankets falling off like the thin rags they’d become. Heading pounding, you move to pour the last of your water into the small pot over the fire. It had been nearly three weeks since you’d been able to stop to get more food. You’d managed to forage wild flowers for more tea and tree sap to chew on, but the traps you’d set hadn’t proved fruitful.

As the tea steeps, you roll your blankets and shove them into your bag. Transferring the drink to your cup, you throw the pot into the bag as well. Smothering the fire under your boots, you head southeast.

Morning gusts caress your skin as you pass through the forest. The birds chirped through the trees, flying from branch to branch above your head. Rolling up your sleeves, you embrace the warm air. Raised and faded scars litter your skin, some healed cleaner from your growing experience. You made sure none would be as jarring as the one painted across your ribs. It’s taken years for you to be unbothered by their appearance, though the same cannot be said by those you meet.

Removing your attention from your skin, you look to the ground instead. Scanning the grass and leaves, you see impressions of foot prints. Recent enough that the ground still held their mark. Someone has to be close.

Slowing your pace, you try to focus on the sounds around you. Closing your eyes, you hear the birds, squirrels, your own breathing, and the faintest sound of multiple heartbeats. The sound grows, clearer by the moment. Five heartbeats, resting rates sounding human. They are so close, you immediately speed up your pace.

Within minutes, you hear the faint sound of feminine voices. A sigh of relief passes your lips, feeling immediate safety. The crunch of your steps makes all five turn and face you, defensive in stance and expression.

“Good day,” you speak up.

The oldest of the group steps forward, and you match her step. Her hand rises, stopping you from getting closer. Amber eyes scan over you, “only we may enter this space.”

“I meant no offense,” you take a step back, “I only hoped you may know the way to the closest settlement.” Your eyes shift from the woman to the meat on the cutting board behind her. Seeing your stare, the one with an orange skirt moves to stand in front of it.

“And you found us how?” The amber-eyed woman refuses to lose your attention, keeping you from the group. At your silence she speaks again, stressing each word, “how did you find us?”

“I was heading this way before I saw you. I promise I would not harm you, nor your sisters,” you affirm, trying to maintain a calm demeanor. Her brow furrows in disbelief, and you know you cannot pretend with her. You know what she is, she knows what you are. “I am alone, covenless, and entirely out of food. All I require are directions, then I will leave you and yours alone.”

She nods with a hum, eyes moving to partially look behind her. The woman with a soft pink overcoat reaches out, hand grasping your wrist lightly, and tugging you into the protection circle. Forcing you to sit, you watch as they carry on how they were before you arrived. A small plate of turkey and apple slices is placed in your lap.

“This is all we have to spare,” the pink witch says. “I’m Marjorie.”

You give her a soft smile in thanks and your name in return. Listening to their idle conversation, you eat slowly to avoid stomach pains. The ease of their conversation, the way they lean on each other, it’s simply lovely. They speak so surely about their lives and their abilities, even as young as most of them are. With them distracted by one another, you finally take in the space around you.

The protection circle, as even as it was, did little in stopping you. Your fingers twitch with the knowledge that it would never have worked. Despite their efforts, you heard them without their voices. Only the leader knew this, that much was apparent by her apprehension, never trusting the glow of the stones.

You feel the hairs on your neck stand up, eyes going to the source. Eudora, you now know, stares you down with a ferocity. You glance to the stones, then back to her. She nods slowly, warning held within. Nodding back, you eat the last apple slice, standing quickly.

“I thank you kindly for this meal and your generosity,” you never take your eyes off the head witch. “I wish you safety, and may our paths cross again.”

“Perhaps they shouldn’t,” Eudora says strictly. From beside her, Marjorie goes to protest but is silenced by a raised hand, “misery follows one who searches.”

Your brow furrows, confusion and anger twirling on your tongue. Keeping quiet, you back out past their barrier. Nodding one again, thankful to the other members of the coven, you turn away. The hard, angry heartbeat fades as you walk away. Their fates with their leader are nothing, desperation for a coven gave them false security. Misery follows, you think to yourself, amused.

Their green witch, Abigail, had told you of the Plymouth settlement, the best option if you found yourself needing to nab something to eat. If any of them survive that imbecile, you hope it’s her and Marjorie. Following the path given, you hope to get there before sunset.

—⛤—

The sun becomes golden as you finally break the trees to a road. Tracks lead south, and now you do too. Promise of a real bed was so close, perhaps if you had enough, even a drink. Food feels futile now, rest is the real virtue. The entire trek back from the settlements in Rhode Island had been on beds of moss, tree bark, and leaves. A thin pad and blanket without tears will likely make you cry with joy.

Closing in, you finally see the town. Houses, market stalls, and various other buildings cover the area. You rush on sore feet towards what you pray is an inn, the largest structure in the center.

Almost falling in the door, you’re greeted by an elderly woman at the counter.

“Hello, sweetheart. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” she chirps.

You smile, “I’m just here for a few days, hopefully. Is there a chance you’ve got a vacancy?”

“Do you have a way to pay?” She retorts with a cocked brow. You smile at her, digging into the bottom of your satchel. A secret pocket holds coins you’d found in a tavern weeks ago. Offering up most, you look at her with pleading eyes. The woman counts visually, peeking back at you, then counting again. She clears her throat, “this here, this is barely a night. But, I know downtrodden when I see it, so I’ll give you three. But no food, that’s on you. I don’t care how you do it, but no guests here.”

You blink at her incredulously at the insinuation, but thank her anyways. The last room at the end of the hall, tiny with a small bed. A bed. Tears spring to your eyes as you drop onto it, the padded plank feeling like a cloud. Hunger creeps in, but is wholly ignored as you fall into a deep slumber.

When your eyes open, the room is still dark. Sore muscles ache less than the day before as you rise from the bed. Grabbing your things, you step into the hall and go into town. The sunlight nearly blinds your sensitive eyes, glare becoming tolerable as you navigate the space. If careful, you could stretch your money to last these few days. If you are even more careful, you could find something without pinching pennies.

Slumping against a tree, you slice an apple from your bag. Of the many they had, you surely took the only good ones. If the kids hadn’t run back home, you would’ve given them some as a thanks for their distracting of the vendor.

Walking back into the center of town, you hear different speakers going on long rants. Preachers about sin, mothers about sin, a hog farmer about sin, it’s all quite repetitive. Everything sounds like one long drone, it always has. Nearly sixty years and all they had taken out was the focus on witches. Being closer to home than you have been in years felt sickening.

The speeches of hellish sins to be avoided becomes nothing but a monotonous hum behind the rest of the world. The air through the trees, the carts moving over dirt roads, the animals chittering in the pens, it all falls away. Behind it all, a beating. Strong, steady, and there. Your heart starts to beat in time with it, eyes beginning to scan the streets.

Walking quickly, you try to follow the sound. The closer you get, the clearer it becomes. The more familiar it becomes. Moving as fast as you can without drawing attention to yourself, all you can hear is the rhythmic beating. Passing a tavern, you immediately reverse yourself, looking in the open door.

At the counter, a deep purple cloak around her shoulders, sits a woman. Finger resting on her chin, she waits for whatever she ordered. She scans the room, and you feel your face drop, all warmth draining from you.

Angelite eyes land on you, squinting as she feels your stare, but her confident demeanor drops. Scrambling from her seat, she runs from the tavern and crashes into your stiff body. Wordlessly, you stand with your arms at your side, stuck in shock. Leaning back, she looks at you confused.

Prying yourself from her, you grab her arm and drag her towards the inn. Rounding the outside, you find the windows to your room, pushing open the shutters. Climbing over the ledge, you motion for her to follow.

Straightening in front of you, she smiles. It drops at your words, “you are alive.”

“So are you,” she scans you quickly, “and as you were. How?”

“I imagine similarly to your reason,” you answer. “I have spent a near lifetime looking for you. Do not tell me you’ve been here this whole time?”

“Of course not, I only arrived this morning,” she says. Careful hands grab yours, “had I known you were still out here, I would have looked for you.”

You grip her hands tightly, “I was where I told you I would be. Home.”

“Yet you knew I was gone?” She asks, almost knowing.

You pause. It is not the time. “You never showed, it was worrisome. But you were gone, and there they were. I knew what they had done,” you tell her. “I had to find you.”

“And so you did,” she smiles, leaning into you. Her forehead comes to rest on yours, eyes closing. She whispers into the small space between you, “I should never have ran. I should’ve come home to you, my love.”

“Agatha…” you sigh, nose rubbing against hers, “my heart.”

Lips brush against yours softly, testing if she’s still allowed. Pushing into her harder, you press a bruising kiss to her lips. Warm hands side to grasp her face, keeping her as close as possible. Greedily, you run your tongue over her bottom lip, and she quickly lets you in. The moment she does, her hands tighten around your waist, shoving you back into the wall.

Your nails dig into the skin of her neck, letting her take control of the kiss. Fifty-six years of searching, of not knowing, of longing, done with each pass of a masterful tongue. Moaning into you, Agatha’s teeth bare down on your lip. A groan mixed with slight pain and arousal topples into her mouth, body desperate for more of her than you’ll ever get.

Running out of breath, she moves to press wet kisses against the expanse of your throat. The thrumming of your pulse beneath her lips matches her own, each beat falling in tandem.

A shaky breath passes your lips, “Ag-Agatha we can’t, not here at least.”

“I missed you,” she attempts to reason, soundly awfully close to her excuse all those years ago. Then, she spoke for the future, that much is clear now. At this moment, she means it for the present, for the accumulation of time apart.

You gently pull her from her place in your neck, “and I you, more than I’ll ever be able to verbalize. But we are not safe here, you know this.”

“Then we leave. We will find where we may be at peace,” she says, forehead back against yours, “we will make it so, if we must.”

You press your lips against hers, a promise to go with her. All the time you spent, the first ten years, was pure ache. All of it melts away, feeling her with you once again. She feels different, stronger in a way, but time has done the same for you. You’re almost strangers like the day you’d first met in the woods.

—⛤—

December 1749

The candles on the windowsill flicker wildly as you reshelf the books in hand. Sighing, you put the stack back on the table, going to the window to see what the flames do. Out the window, you see the grass parting, a figure racing through. A torch illuminates her face, grinning wide with satisfaction.

Moving to the door, to open it to lean against the frame. Cupping your hands around your mouth, you shout, “Agatha Harkness, it is too cold for this! Hurry it up!”

Shooting through the door, she doubles over in panting breaths, shaking dustings of snow from her hair. Hands on her hips, she stands back up, mouth open to the ceiling as she recovers.

“You best not have anyone behind you,” you say, shutting the door and barring it.

She chuckles, “you know me better than that, my sweet.”

You hum, looking her over. The back of your hand brushes her cheeks, shifting to cup her neck. Shutting your eyes, you feel her heartbeat, quick from her running, but what catches your attention is another sensation.

Eyes shooting open, you rip the thick cloak from her shoulders, tugging the torn material of her dress to the side to expose her shoulder. A long cut across her skin, stretching from the point of her shoulder to just above her breast. Running your finger over the edge, you assess how bad it really is.

“Not too deep,” you murmur, “uneven. Serrated blade?”

Agatha hums, eyes having never left your face since you first touched her, “I hadn’t planned for them to come with weapons over their powers.”

“Perhaps you are too conspicuous, lover.”

She gives you a faux-shocked expression, “why I never! I am nothing if not reserved.”

You try to keep a straight face, but a smile breaks as you break away from her to get a cloth. Knowing the routine by now, she settles on a stool to await your attention. Appearing in front of her, you stand between her legs. Warm water soaks the cloth in your hand, touching it carefully to her wound.

Agatha’s hands creep up your legs, gripping here and there. Trailing up, a hand finds the strings of your shirt, tugging them loose. Your gaze shifts from her shoulder to her face, looking at her through your lashes. Shaking your head, you continue to clean the cut, ever gentle.

Wandering, her other hand slides underneath your loose shirt. Ever so gently, she grazes her fingertips across your skin, feeling every raised mark that you’d healed on your own. It always bothered her how you refused to heal them properly, poultice and bandage, but by your hand. Each mark prominent instead of completely vanished.

Blunt nails pass over your ribs, tracing the harsh, jagged mark there. She pried many times about where it had come from, but you always gave the same answer. They all just blur together.

Agatha is pulled from her mind when you press a kiss to the junction of her neck. Lingering, slow kisses spread, crawling up towards her lips. Finger under your chin, she pulls you into her kiss, short and heavy.

“Never come home hurt again. Do you hear me?” You ask, forehead pressing against hers.

She huffs, “a fluke.”

“Agatha,” you stress, hand curling in her hair, gripping. Pulling her back, you look her in the eye, “I do not make light of harm coming to you. Promise me. I will not allow you to endanger yourself, my heart.”

The hand in her hair holds tighter, forcing her to keep her eyes on you, as if they’d ever looked away. Intensity flickers like fire in your eyes, and Agatha feels frozen in place. A tingling sensation spreads from her shoulder, feeling like hands holding her down.

A heated gleam crosses her eyes, tilting towards you again, “understood, my love.”

“Good,” you whisper, lips falling to hers with intensity. The weight on her shoulders fell, dissipating into a warmth wrapping around her. Free to move again, Agatha stands, tugging you back with her to the bed. Following her, you allow her to take control, sated in your wish to be heard.

Hurried hands work to undress you, lips coming back to yours in bursts as layers fall. Shoving you down on the bed, Agatha tries to straddle your hips, but is stopped by your sitting up. Grabbing her hips, you tug her between your legs, unlacing the front of her dress. Fingers skim over each inch of freshly exposed skin, no matter the rush they are in to take everything off. Before her garments even hit the floor, you’re pulling her on top of you.

Energy twinged every one of her nerves, power absorbed mixing with the molten adoration radiating from you. Your hands drift over her back, attempting to feel every inch of you. Lips drag from your mouth down your chin, nipping as Agatha takes purchase at your neck. Wet, open-mouthed kisses turn to suckling of your skin, teeth grazing over every mark.

Hearing your breaths deepen, she continues down your body. Strong hands take hold of your legs, settling between them. Her pupils dilate at the sight, you glistening before her. A hand buries itself in her hair, scratching her scalp gently. Pressing a kiss to your thigh, Agatha looks up at you through her lashes.

“You don’t know how I adore you,” she says quietly. There’s no second to respond before her mouth descends on you, flat tongue licking up your folds. Small gasps encourage her, stroking more strongly, taking in your taste. Her skillful tongue slides in your entrance, moaning into you as her fingers dig into your thighs. Your free hand goes to your clit, but she smacks you away.

Her tongue slips from you, wrapping her mouth around your bundle of nerves. Moans fall from your mouth, the hand in her hair tugs, the other claws into the blankets. Bucking into her mouth, you try to ride her face, but she anchors you down. Her tongue alternates between suckling and making hard circles against your clit. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer, wetter and wetter.

Unclasping a hand from your thigh, it comes to take the place of her tongue on your pearl, harsh, tight circles making you squirm. Her mouth drags down to your slit, tongue making figure-eights through your folds, burying back inside you. With the slightest freedom of only one hand holding you down, you grind against her tongue, desperate for as much of her as possible.

“A… Agatha,” you moan out, gripping tighter in her curls, “please.”

The pressure against your clit grows, tight circles wind the coil in your core more and more. Her tongue greedily takes you in, suckling and stroking, unrelenting in pace. Your hips rut against her, feeling her deeper, feeling her moan. Her own thighs press together, wetness decorating her thighs as she brings you closer to the edge.

Releasing the blanket, your hand grasps her shoulder, keeping her against you. The forceful grip burns, reopening her wound, but it does nothing to deter Agatha. If anything, it makes her work harder, devouring you with a new sense of purpose. More and more, the tightness in your core builds, a single thread still tethering you.

“C’mon, my sweet,” she murmurs, smiling against you, “give me a taste.”

Her words are your undoing, your back arches, warmth spreading through your body as Agatha eagerly licks up your essence. The grip on her hair and shoulder loosen, still holding on to ground yourself. Relaxing back down, you whimper as her tongue still dances against you.

“Lover,” you breathe out, “come here.” Climbing up your body, Agatha’s lips press against your skin. Bringing your hand to her neck, you pull her into your kiss. Wandering, you feel something against your hand, warm, wet. Pulling back from her lips, you see red painting your palm.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself. You look to blue eyes, barely visible from dilated pupils, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorr-”

“Don’t be,” she says, pressing her lips against yours shortly. Then again. And again, longer, more sound. Her thighs straddle you, hands pressing down on your chest, holding you in place. You can’t help yourself, clinging to her, hand grasping her face. Blood smears across her skin, soaking into yours, hearts beating in time with one another.

Agatha’s hips grind against you, desperate for friction that she can’t find. Shifting slightly, you press your thigh into her, feeling her arousal coating your skin. Whining into your mouth, she grinds more steadily. Your hands slide down to guide her, pushing her harder against the muscle of your thigh. Moans fall from her mouth, kisses growing sloppy and desperate.

You press her harder against you, wanting to feel her, needing to see her fall apart. Husky moans come from her, eyes screwed shut as she grinds needily against you. One hand slides to her back, pulling her closer to lavish her chest. Your lips wrap around her nipple, tongue swirling around the pebbly peak. Every sound she makes is heaven to your ears, the beat of her heart under your touch an addictive sensation.

Her wet cunt against you makes your own arousal pool again, wanting more of her. Always so irresistible. Hauling her closer, you feel her knee press against your heat, moaning against her chest. The hands gripping your shoulders pull you from her breasts, bringing your lips to her own. Her knee moves away, making your whimper, but is replaced by her fingers, toying with your entrance.

One finger, then two, pump into you, matching the tempo of her riding your thigh. A pitchy whine falls from your lips, walls gripping her fingers, the hand on her waist digging in. Teeth bare against your lip as Agatha feels the shockwaves rolling through her, a metallic taste coating her tongue. Pulling back, droplets of blood appear on your bottom lip. The grinding of her hips slows, thumb brushing over, eyes utterly entranced.

You tug her back to your mouth, hand on her waist guiding her faster, chest rattling with both your moans. The fingers inside you curl, thumb pressing to your clit. The pleasure becomes too much, stealing the air from your lungs with every pump of Agatha’s long fingers. Pulling from her lips, you tuck your face into her neck, licking and biting at the expanse of skin.

Agatha’s head lulls back, songs of pleasure falling into open air. Every sound from her, every motion of her fingers, her arousal on your skin– the tight cord snaps. A strangled groan passes your lips as you cum, fingers inside you slowly, but not leaving. Your head rises from her neck, taking in view above you.

Chest heaving, hair stuck to her forehead, brows knitted together in pleasure, Agatha Harkness is a sight to behold. The slice on her shoulder catches your eye, red and aggravated, drops of ichor gliding down pale skin. Leaning forward, you let your tongue drag up, collecting red, until you meet her tender wound. Lapping over it, you feel Agatha grind harder, husky moans turning whiny.

All you can think of is adoring her. Every inch of you, body, mind, and soul, exists for her. She is your life, your purpose. A tingle spreads down from her shoulder to her core, feeling her skin prickle. The sensation isn’t entirely new, but it has never felt like this before. All-consuming, electric, and hot, but underneath it all, it seems to pulse.

The movement of her hips begins to grow sloppy, almost entirely your own effort than hers now. Her breath stutters as your tongue swipes over raw skin, soft lips passing over tenderly. Unadulterated affection mixes with the pleasure that you can’t help but give her, and she crumbles against you. Lazy motions of her hips continue as she comes down, face buried in your neck.

Panting, she pulls back, retracting her fingers from you. Hand splaying over your thigh, she finally looks at you. Your appearances are one in the same. Sweaty, breathless, and littered in marks and your shared blood. A smile stretches across her face, settling in your lap.

“You are everything, my love,” she says quietly, thumb wiping a rogue red drop from your chin.

Your forehead presses to hers, “you, my heart, are the very reason I live.”

Lips press to yours, soft and loving, silent words passing through her actions. Agatha has never been one for her words, always hiding in her riddles. But here, with you, it’s impossible to pretend. You know her, her heartbeat, her mind. Her power never sparks fear in you, unlike every other in her path. They blast her, try to kill her, to deceive her– but not you. Nothing but devotion has ever come from you. Pure and strong, like there was so much love for her inside of you, that it was always moments away from bubbling over.

Laying down, you bring Agatha with you, letting her curl around you. Tracing up and down your ribs, her nails glide over your scars. Circling the prominent one between your ribs, she props her chin on your chest.

Peering down at her, you brush her hair off to one side. Once angry, red, and bloody, the cut down her shoulder was now a fading scar, as if it had been there for years. A small smile crosses your face, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Blue eyes watch your expression, almost reading your mind.

“One scar will not kill me,” she says, a coy grin playing on her lips, “hasn’t killed you.”

Your brows jump, averting your gaze shortly, “I will heal regardless of what I do, I am simply impatient.” Your hand cups her cheek, “any injury to you is an insult. The memory of it is mockery.”

“Dramatic,” she chuckles, pressing a kiss to your chest before laying her head down.

Your arms wrap around her, keeping her snug to your body, “you do not understand how I love you. I would dismantle every natural law in order to keep you safe, to give you everything.”

There’s a sureness in your tone, something that tells Agatha you meant this. That you will do this, have done this. Her nose bumps against your jaw, “more with you is all I require, my love.”

—⛤—

January 1750

A cool breeze passes over the river, making a chill creep up your spine. Wiping off red hands in the snow, you stand from the riverside. For the first time in a week, your traps worked. Fortunate for you, however unfortunate for the deer that crossed your path.

Home is so close, you can feel it, but the weight on your shoulders makes time slow. You can see the candles in the window, calling you home to her. The stiffness of your joints means nothing as you finally reach the packed down path. Releasing the ropes of the sled, you abandon your game in preference of the fire inside.

Head resting in her hands, Agatha sits with a blanket wrapped around her. Her head falls back at the sound of the door opening, eyes watching you. Toeing off your boots and shrugging your coat, you make your way behind the chair. Leaning over her, you take in her appearance.

Dark circles under her eyes worry you, sleep has been avoiding her for weeks. The weak smile on her face does nothing to soothe the worry in your chest.

Rounding the chair, you kneel before her. Your hands go to her thighs, squeezing gently, “how are you feeling?”

“Better than this morning,” she murmurs, “the tea helps.”

A little smile crosses your lips, “that’s good. I’ll make more.”

Pressing a kiss to her knee, you try to stand, but she holds you down, “not now. I just want you.”

Sitting up, you press yourself into her. Arms wrap around her hips, head settling against her stomach. Her own hands come to rest on your back, body practically folding over you. Her heartbeat is strong, breathing steady, she feels healthy. You don’t understand what is wrong, why you can’t see, why you can’t fix it. Burying yourself against her, you just breathe her in, comforted by her presence alone.

Your heart beats in time with hers, always the same. Each beat is a reminder of why you live. Relaxing against her, you close your eyes, just wanting to take her in.

As you stay there, you feel your pulse quicken. You stiffen, listening to Agatha, but hers hasn’t changed. Feeling the tension beneath her hands, she squeezes you in silent question, but is ignored.

“My lo-” she attempts to speak, but you shush her, ear pressing more intently against her abdomen. “What are you doi-” Your hand rises to cover her mouth.

Beneath the familiar beat of your lover’s heart, is a second. Quiet, rapid, but there. Your brows scrunch, listening closer. Your own heart matches the beat, almost aching with its speed. Head rising, you look at Agatha, tears welling. Blue eyes dart between yours, mouth open in disbelief at your reaction.

“My sweet, what is it?”

Blinking rapidly, you just stare at her, “two.”

“Two?” She says confused, brows furrowing, “my love, what is wrong? You are worrying me.”

A watery smile grows across your face, “you have two heartbeats.”

Agatha’s eyes rapidly blink, taking in your words. Staring into you, she silently asks you to help her understand. You move one hand to her stomach, the other going to cup her face. Closing your eyes, you focus on the little heartbeat, letting her hear it too.

A shaky smile appears on her face, lashing fluttering as she pushes back tears. Her hand covers yours on her cheek, “how?”

“If only I knew,” you breath out, “I’ve never known a spell or incantation that allows this.”

Leaning down, Agatha’s lips press to yours, slow, hungry. All the love that bubbled within you pours into her, the feeling overwhelming as you listen to two hearts. Tugging you up, she places you on her lap, knees on either side of her hips. Hands bury themselves in her hair, gently scratching her scalp.

Pulling back, you look into her eyes. All you are, all you have been, has amounted to this. Your love for one another becoming personified, beyond order and law. A second piece of your soul, born from love.

title translation: creatus sanguine, latin - the blood made

as always, feedback is soooo appreciated <3 this is very different from what i’ve written previously and would love to hear from you about continuing this. love u my babies

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha all along #marvel #lgbtq fanfiction #lesbian

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obriengf · 2 years ago

Text

My Beloved || Thomas x Reader

Summary: Thomas is filled with emotion as you both seek out a way to show just how much love you truly hold for one another. Words: 7.5k Warnings: SMUT18+!!!, loss of virginity, masturbation, p in v, this is honestly very fluffy and sweet okay Notes: okay so... this started off good then towards the end i got desperate to finish it and it turns rushed i think?????? a little bad??????? anyway, these guys would have NO idea about sex ed tbh just what they’ve learnt from each other... because i feel like WCKD had better things to do, like brainwashing everyone, instead of teaching kids about the birds and the bees. long story short just go with it and no judging on my smut please i dont write it often!!!

There’s a boy, and he’s so beautiful it hurts.

Among the fiery glow of the bonfire flames, his eyes luminate with golden specks - so bright, so mesmerising, that you cannot stop staring from beyond the heated curtain. You catch his gaze and the way his smile quirks upward, bashfulness flushing his cheeks and provoking his teeth to sink sinfully into the plusness of his lip. It brings a warmth to your chest - a sensation of adoration, burning hotter than the flames separating you both. It travels to your fingers with an itch that wants you to jump to the boy, embrace him, kiss him, love him. He had been everyone’s saviour, but to you, he saved more than just your life; he brought colour back to your dull days, allowing you to see the vibrancy that radiated with pure intentions from your daily sunlight. He returned hope to your anxious mind and settled the prior need to look over your shoulder for danger every spare second. He made you feel so incredibly loved to the point where you stopped breathing and your heart would swell with anticipating warmth. There’s a boy, and he’s so perfect it hurts, in the most breathtaking way.

Thomas could feel you staring. He revelled in the way that your eyes sparkled, and how you looked at him as if he put the stars in the sky. He was still getting used to others viewing him as their paladin, but you were different - it was much simpler, housing purity and sincere devotion, seeing the boy as your ending. You fell in love in the wrong place at the wrong time, surrounded by chaos and imminent peril, but the clawing need to stay by the other’s side brought you both to your much-deserved salvation; and better yet, into the forever hold of each other’s arms.

The boy couldn’t understand his emotions as they intensified, but he knew that it was longing. He knew that they yearned for you. He didn’t have the time or space to stop and consider how his body was growing and reacting to being around your own, the desperation to run and hide and fight had eventually become all that he could think about - until it was all over, and you were all safe. Now, those feelings returned and his thoughts drifted to how your kiss has started to ignite something in his gut, and how it spread through his veins to the point where he wanted to dig his fingers into your flesh and never let go.

It was a topic of conversation that he had previously brought up through loose lips and in between inebriated breaths; Minho on the receiving end with a bit more sobriety, but he was still dazed as he listened with widened eyes and unsplit attention. It was near comic how Thomas had him on the edge of his seat - he couldn’t put into words just how he was feeling, but his friend could see the depth behind the amazed look that glassed over whisky hues and how a curt smile perked at his lips. Minho very much understood that desiring need, the way complete and utter endearment could make a person feel like they were floating effortlessly on cloud nine. Thomas was the first person he went to when he was ready to take that step further with the sweet girl from the kitchens - and now it had turned full circle, and Minho had never been happier that love had struck his closest friends.

The flames began to die, juxtaposed to the rising moon that now bathed the Safe Haven in beautiful luminescence. Thomas could see you much clearer now, and it made your stomach flutter at how fervently he appeared. You found yourself growing more heated the further you allowed yourself to fall for the brunette boy; your eyes lingering that little bit longer, the need to nestle into the side of his body growing stronger, and your heart rapidly reverberating in your chest just that much harder. It was as if every nerve was ablaze with want, and it was such an unfamiliar sensation that you were starting to feel nauseous. And you didn’t want it to end.

It wasn’t long before Thomas stood, dusting at his covered thighs to rid the ash that sprinkled from the rising smoke. He moved slowly, almost with hesitance, but it was the bashful and budding thump from his heart that drew him toward you. Through the curtain of your lashes, you peered up at him as he stopped only a mere foot or so in front of you, his hand extended, and a chest filled with held breath that he hoped you wouldn’t notice. He was bathed in a fiery afterglow, his figure enveloped by golden flickers. You sighed dreamily.

“Want me to walk you back to your hut?” His voice was quiet, a gentle hum as it held the possibility of diffidence. He always held a sort of shyness when it came to you, especially when it allowed him to hold your hand and selfishly receive all of your undivided attention.

A rosy hue climbed your neck, speckling your cheeks with a blush that exceeded even the dancing flames of heat before you. It felt so incredibly right as your palm confidently slid over his own, granting Thomas permission to lightly grasp at your wrist and provide some strength in pulling you up. He always escorted you, these days. Part of him dreaded that if he didn’t, then something would happen to you. Whilst other parts craved the company you gave and the adoration you unforgivingly showered him in. Maybe, it was just his way of showing the supplemental gladers that surround you both that you would always leave with him, because you’re simply his.

Regardless - your hands were quick to wrap around his arm, tugging the boy close to you as you clasped your fingers with his. Bidding farewell to your friends and fellow survivors hardly took any time before Thomas was guiding you away, the path he followed so well-known by now that he swore he could travel it in his sleep. The lanterns that usually adorned your way had already died down, softened by the late night, yet complemented beautifully with the rising blanket of radiant moonlight. It would be hard for you to form words around just how contented you felt in this moment; calmed by the gentle breeze wafting from the ocean shores of the Safe Haven, and lulled when it rustled nearby palm trees in harmony with the now distant joyousness abandoned back at the bonfire.

Thomas’ thumb absentmindedly rubbed at your hand as your head dropped to his shoulder, the faint smell of burnt wood tickling your nostrils after becoming woven into the cotton of his shirt. You managed a small hum, surprising yourself when you inner thoughts left your lips with quiet notes, “Do you think it’ll stay like this forever?”

“What will stay?” He replied, his eyes briefly glancing down to you, lips curling into a slight smirk at how in thought you seemed to be.

You paused, lips pursing as you racked your brain for the right words. Everything, is what you truly wanted to say, but even then you wished that some things were different. You wished for Newt to be there with you all, and Chuck, and Winston. You had also often thought about Teresa and just how much she would have contributed to this new society. You really didn’t want everything to say the same, but some things were just simply perfect in your eyes.

“The tranquility.” You ended up with, squeezing Thomas’ forearm with your spare grasp, “The calm after the storm. Being able to take a deep breath because you know you aren’t always looking over your shoulder. Nights like this… so beautiful, merciful. Seeing our friends smile in what felt like forever. Us.”

“Us?” He questioned, peering to you again before focusing on the upcoming silhouette of your hut. Thomas laughed lightly, “We aren’t changing, not anymore. I have you and I’m keeping you forever. No take-backs, sorry sweetheart.”

A tender giggle echoed lightly in the air as it fell from your lips, prompting you to nestle even closer into Thomas’ side. He always made you feel protected, and you know from the bottom of your heart that he will also continue to until his dying breath.

You pressed your lips just under his ear, breath igniting his skin, “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

It was a force that managed to shake the walls; such harshness in comparison to the soft velvety feeling of his lips sliding against yours. Thomas’ brows furrowed slightly after forcefully kicking the door to your hut closed behind him, but it was the sweetness of your amused laughter that drew him so effortlessly back to you.

“A little eager?” The warmth of your breath fanned over his still rosy cheeks, reminding Thomas that you were so close. You watched as his lashes fluttered against his cheekbones - delicate, yet sharp - framing the doe-like brown eyes that you’ve grown to love, and beyond, and it made the boy appear so incredibly pure. He was a snowflake shining against the sun, a flower’s petals fresh as they begin to bloom, the dancing flames of a picturesque fire that you were only just admiring him through.

Thomas managed a smile through a breathless exhale, as if you were there taking his breath away with your bare hands, grabbing and keeping it as your own lifeline. He lent in, this time with closed eyes, the tip of his nose nudging against yours, and it was your turn to hitch at his whispered words, “You have no idea.”

His hands were rough. Callouses adorned them from the past year or so, memories and scars that captured how he survived and that those hands were the reason you were safe. They often trembled when he slept due to the nightmares that haunted him - the monsters that made him bleed, and the people that he watched perish before his tear-glazed eyes. Those hands carried the lives of legions of people at one point, and sometimes Thomas thinks that they are under pressure to still do so. Those hands were strong and could hold so much from so many people.

Yet, as one grasped your hip and the other cupped your cheek, they had never felt more tender. Oh - and how you desired the benign fingertips to soothe over your skin and touch you in places that have gone undiscovered by most. And if Thomas wanted to tread in those uncharted waters, there was no way that you would decline, not when you dreamt of his touch for so long.

You breathed him in once more, intoxicated by the most mundane of scents that built up who this boy came to be. The smoke was strong as it continued to linger, but the salt water that had dried on his skin and the subtle waft of dirt from his earlier exploration this morning was a concoction that on the best of days, drove you crazy, but right now you wanted nothing but to bathe yourself in it. With a small swallow of the lump in your throat, fingers grasped at the unbuttoned opening of Thomas’ henley, and you pulled him even closer than before until chests were flush and hearts beat in thumping unison.

His lips found yours again with ease, wrapping around your own and taking you as if he were a starved man. It drew a small moan to elicit from your throat and he knew that he would do anything to hear that sound again, over and over, a broken record that could both lull him to a lustful sleep and keep him awake at all hours with a curled fist and an overworked forearm. It wasn’t until his tongue slipped; dragging with deliciousness over your bottom lip, and taking refuge against your own as he licked so casually into your mouth. That’s the moment you blacked out and allowed your stance to lose all sense of muscle, becoming jelly-legged and at the mercy of Thomas’ arms wrapping further around your submissive frame.

Thomas slowly walked you both backward until your knees collided with the frame of your makeshift bed. You released a small gasp, enough to wake you from your short absence from reality, as the boy took it as his cue to lift you carefully until you were laying down against the thin sheet that you deemed as a blanket. This was the first time that he was ever situated above you - usually pulling you into his arms as you stood with friends, or tugging you down onto his lap so that he could cuddle against your back. Kisses would be shared, but they were never this hot, nor this needy, and Thomas’ breaths stopped momentarily as he took in how stupidly beautiful you looked underneath his heaving body.

He wasn’t sure what changed between you both so quickly with this new angle, but he had a sudden overwhelming sensation to kiss you with every ounce of passion he could muster, and meld himself with you until a single unit was left in your wake. He was throbbing in his head at the salacious thoughts that drowned his mind with images of you in positions seemingly compromisable. Throbbing in his heart at how emotion could so easily play such an intense role in how he never wanted to be a part from you for as long as he lived. And throbbing a little lower at how it all seemed to come together as one want, an impulse, a craving for your touch and taste and sounds that could drive a man mad in the absolute best way possible. Thomas was already halfway there.

You could feel it too in the way he was gazing over your frame - the heat that loved to submerged your body was now between your legs, and you had the itch to squirm from the slight discomfort it gave you. It was formidable once before, during a night where sleep was off the schedule, and you couldn’t stop thinking about how much you yearned for being between Thomas’ arms and held to his chest. The heat was like a heartbeat as it pulsated, and under the curtain of nightfall, you had eased the pain with your fingers and a hasty soothing rub. You remember seeing Thomas flash behind your fluttering eyelids before they settled closed, and it made you press harder, chasing after a feeling that was odd at first… but so quickly became pleasureful until you squealed his name and your chest sank from a high that pulled you up from your bed. It was euphoric, and you were quick to understand what some of the others meant when they talked about making themselves feel so good. All you wanted now was that feeling again, and Thomas to be the one to grant you such elation.

With vulnerable movements, you reached up to cup the boy’s cheek, your thumb dragging from his nose to the softened skin under his eye, teasing his lower lash line. You bit your lip at how stunning he truly was and how the subtleness of moonlight played shadows across his face. He nuzzled into your hold and placed a small kiss to the skin, the tip of his nose dragging with fragility over your palm until his lips pursed once more. You needed him closer until all you could feel was him, all you could taste and hear, too. You were aching to settle the feeling that had now reached your lower abdomen as it screamed to be soothed, to be taken care of.

“Kiss me.” You slipped, a softened whisper that Thomas almost missed until you said it again, “Kiss me, Tommy. I need you.”

You didn’t know what the words truly entailed except for how right it felt to say them - Thomas, clearly on a wavelength that matched yours with perfection, as he dropped to your lips with a smile and groan that you happily swallowed whole. Arms and legs clung to him for dear life as he slotted between your thighs, lips smacking and tongues dragging and suddenly that alluring cool night air became thick and humid. He covered your frame and slowly sank his body weight onto yours - a puzzle piece that was cut perfectly for you, embedded so sublimely against your curves and dips.

Hips clashed with harmonising force, a kind of friction that was heavily sought as it was chased. It drew a throaty groan to echo past Thomas’ lips, his brows furrowed as he tried to overcome the near pained feeling of pressure against his crotch as you absentmindedly pushed up against him. It was bittersweet torture - the kind where he knew how to relieve it, but was riddled with nervousness about sharing it with you. He sat a curled fist beside your head as his other held your hip, hoping that you wouldn’t notice how frisky your touch and taste were making the boy. Thomas was holding back every instinct to lose control over a sensation that had only ever met his right hand.

You were lost hopelessly in his lips. They held slight chappedness from the salty air, but an ever-forgiving softness that so easily held you captive and vulnerable. Whenever he kissed you, it was as if you were nothing but his - simply a figure that had fallen victim to his tender touch and enrapturing words, you wouldn’t dare move in case it burst the bubble that separated you from the outside world. It was simply an addiction and you craved it always, a constant need for Thomas, a constant need to share your love.

Absentmindedly, your ankles pulled his lower back further into you, and it was the meeting of his hardness against your heated core that ripped a sudden moan from you both as synchronised calls filled the space of your hut. You clung even further to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck among the thin sheen of sweat. It was the type of stimulation that you needed again, or else you’d stop breathing. Tentatively, your hips rose again before you gently rubbed over the pulsating hardness through the thick denim of his jeans, and you swore that stars exploded behind your eyes as you whined against his neck.

Thomas breathed out heavily, his throat thick, “Shit - shit, that feels good.”

You nodded weakly, desperation clawing at you as you pressed kisses down the column of his throat, remembering the patches of skin that made him shudder with fragility. Thomas was melting against your frame - a puddle of a boy between your limbs as he began to rock over you, slow drags until a comfortable pace was met and he could feel your fingers digging into his shoulder blades.

His senses were enamoured by you - completely and utterly taken, infatuated to no end. You were all that he could feel and it made the air thicker than he thought possible as he swallowed your panting breaths. The need came rather quickly as Thomas grasped at the back collar of his shirt, his ears perking at the small whine you let escape as he sat back on his knees to remove the obstructive piece of cotton. Your lips were still pursed and they chased him with weak effort from your sobered drunken haze, much to the boy’s admiring amusement.

With a chuckle, Thomas lent down to you, his lips ghosting over the rosy hue of your cheek before pressing gently against it. He allowed the tip of his nose to nuzzle against the soft skin before he spoke in a whispered tone, “Who’s the eager one now, hm?” A shudder travelled down your spine as warm breath danced below your ear; a sensation that was enough to rip another moan from your thumping chest, a sound so melodious that Thomas found it a hasty necessity to imprint it permanently in his mind.

You replied breathlessly, “I can’t help that you’re hot, Tommy.”

He gripped your waist after his fingers slid over the exposed skin from your hiked-up shirt with desperation to run his touch over every inch of your body. He didn’t want to push you to follow suit with the removal of your own shirt, but it didn’t stop the clench of his jaw and sudden strong grip as he held himself back from pursuing the hunger that was slowly developing within him.

You knew him, more than yourself, and how his demeanour would change, and how every emotion or action was a chapter in his book that you’ve read too many times to count. It promoted your hand to lift and squeeze at his bicep, Thomas’ eyes drifting to your widened gaze and the glint that sparkled among your coloured hues, “Take it off, it’s okay. I trust you.”

He nodded, his chest fluttering at the faith you so easily had in him. You always did - have faith in Thomas - after all, he saved your life and in turn, you saved him by providing the limitless unconditional love that he deserved. His encouragement allowed you to find yourself after being lost within such a cruel world, and he never stopped believing in you. He never would. Thomas’ fingers flexed below your ribs, the toughed skin of his fingertips dragging with savour as he pushed your shirt further up your body. As it bunched under your chest, you managed to sit up slightly, quickly tugging the shirt until it let your skin breathe free, and it was tossed somewhere presently unknown across the room. The boy’s breath suddenly hitched as eyes raked shamelessly over your now vulnerable frame. His mouth felt dry, yet he was in complete awe.

“You’ve seen me like this before.” You noted though the silence, your voice barely loud enough to break the intimate atmosphere. Your chest flushed slightly, only growing more vibrant as it reached your cheeks. You grew bashful under his doting stare, and he couldn’t help but bite his lip adoringly.

“Yeah, but…” Thomas thought back to the times where you all would swim at the beach, enough clothes to cover you, but to which still left little to the imagination. He shook his head once more, still in complete wonderment at you laying beneath him, “This is different. What I-I feel… it’s so much more than I can handle, you’re just so beautiful.”

Your hand cupped his cheek and history repeated itself with such endearment; thumb rubbing under his eye to which he turned and kissed against your palm. It was quickly becoming your thing, your couple thing, something so small but so symbolic that ran the same path as screaming from the treetops that you’re in love. It was your silent communication of forever, and always, and until the end of our dying breaths to a world if there is one beyond ours. It was a promise and a reminder - that you both were there, and you weren’t ever going to leave. You were telling him through a simple touch of your hand that you were real, and his kiss was a reply of sincere gratitude.

Thomas lent down to peck the tip of your nose, smiling widely as your face scrunched with joy. His lips were quick to attach themselves to your neck next, wanting you to feel the ecstasy that you supplied him. They trailed with a wet path - his tongue darting out against pressure points and sucking at the spots that drew groans of satisfaction from you. Your head lulled back against his bed when teeth tickled your collarbone, and it didn’t take long for you to surrender yourself completely to him. Thomas’s tongue dragged heavily down your sternum before tracing along the cups that prevented you from bareness, eyes peering through thick lashes to silently ask for permission to go further. You couldn’t dare say no… not when every ounce of sunlight and warmth sang to you through such a simple look.

You snuck a hand behind your back to unclasp the bra, suddenly releasing an unknown-held breath when the cool night air mixed with the heated moans that Thomas fanned against your chest. He swiftly reattached his lips as he relished in the new canvas for his kisses, his moistened trail continuing. You squeaked as he passed over your sensitive nipple, promoting your hand to grasp the back of his head and hold him closer to you. Thomas continued by sucking lightly before his tongue swirled in time with his hand squeezing your opposite side. He kneaded and squished the flesh tenderly, feeling his trousers tighten at the mewling sounds you made.

He swapped sides and continued whatever sweet assault he could muster to prolong your symphony of sounds. It was building inside you - the desire for more. You felt like you were ignited, but wanting to be more than a spark… you needed to be an explosion, and you needed Thomas to be the one to set you off. You wiggled as you huffed out his name, your fingers fiddling with the button of your shorts when the boy pulled aware with a raised brow.

“More… I need more. Please.” You begged, lifting your hips as Thomas helped pull the material away. He stood back by a step or two, whisky-glassed eyes absorbing your writhing body in nothing but a pair of cotton underwear and a wet patch that matched the erotic stain over his crotch. He was robotic as movements forced him to remove his own pants, the playing field even, and his cheeks redder than the Safe Haven’s sunset when you immediately ogled at the tent that was pitched under his boxer briefs.

This sort of intimacy was alike a perilous expedition - unsteady footing at first, unsure how to press forward, but leading to a bewitching and alluring adventure with such rapturous salaciousness. It continued when Thomas’ hands were placed on your thighs, rubbing cautiously against your skin before dipping in between your legs. Just knowing that he was so damn close made you whine under your breath, quiet, yet pitched enough to catch Thomas’ attention.

Your fingers moved absentmindedly as they circled the moistened patch that you created, chest swelling with a held breath. You shuddered, trying to compose yourself, voice humming with please, “I-It feels good when you rub right there…”

“Is that what you do?” He questioned, eyes wide as he took in the information, and fingers dancing hesitantly close to your core. All you could do was nod and whine, hips squirming just from the thought of the pleasure that you’ve previously made yourself feel. It was an instant snap - the build of a rubber band being held back by Thomas’ fiery imprints, before the pressure was released, and the bounce back hit you hard when he pressed into the place that throbbed with wet need.

Your body trembled with a softened sigh, the attention you were receiving easily turning your mind to mush, and he had barely dipped below the surface. Thomas’ eyes widened as his movements traced in the same tempo as his heavy breaths, chest thumping and skin igniting with warmth - he was in wonderment at the sounds that he drew from you, the squirming and the delicate fluttering of your lashes. It was a side of you that he was seeing for the first time, that anybody was seeing for the first time, and he felt so damn privileged.

The boy stopped quickly as you grasped at his wrist, big brown orbs looking to you in worry; but it quickly dissipated when he saw your loving ghost of a smile as it perked at your lips, and how you gently pushed him away to be able to remove the final piece of clothing that separated you from him. The cool breeze over your exposed slick provoked a shudder up your spine, a second one eliciting when you realised that Thomas’ flushed face was staring at your most private area.

He didn’t hesitate when his finger dragged back over you, collecting moisture that made your body tick when slathered across your sensitive nub. The pressure increased and you were sinking, melting, dissolving into the sheet beneath you. Your body was heavy, yet you felt weightless, allowing Thomas to take every ounce of control to drive you into ecstatic oblivion. His touch drew slightly down and circled the sensitive hole that was swimming in your pleasure, your breath hitching as his fingertip breached until his first knuckle. The boy’s hair was tugged with a needy grasp, the sheets below him shifting as they were too curled within your other hand.

Thomas cursed under his breath as he rutted slowly against the side of the bed, his finger beginning to pump as he relished in how you squeezed him. He sighed loudly with a teeth-bitten bottom lip, “You like that?” It was rhetorical by what he saw before him, but he needed the affirmation, to know that you were going to unravel in bliss. And that he was why you were floating in a euphoric daze. You managed a whine in reply, head nodding as words were stuck among your hitching and heavy breaths. The tip of Thomas’ middle finger slightly curled as he shifted his position, and you released a sudden cry after he unknowingly rubbed against your spongey roof. He stopped immediately; scared that you were hurt, his chest tightening with worry until he noticed the cry settling into a moan, and your hips instinctively chased his touch for more attention.

Thomas was known for being brave - diving in head first, running on pure instinct and spontaneity. He wasn’t one to back down, and now he knew what provoked those sweet wanton sounds of a symphony to escape you, he would do whatever possible to keep it going. He pumped his finger harder, his cock twitching against the bedsheet whenever you clenched around him, that one special spot being harassed over and over again until he swore you stopped breathing. His bravery shone when he inserted his pointer finger, his own throat now paying homage as it growled out a groan of desperation at how you both stretched and tightened. His mind travelled to thoughts of how you’d feel wrapped around his throbbing member, and if he didn’t get himself sorted soon, then he’d be leaving behind a spray of stickiness in his pants.

“T-Thomas…” You panted, hips rising and chest heaving as you felt fire bubble in your abdomen. Your voice cracked at the overwhelming sensation, “More… I need more…”

He was careful to remove his fingers, but hasty when he rose up your body. Lips found yours instantly, as if by a magnetised force, two pairs that were destined to be slotted together with a taste that you could so easily get drunk off of. He licked between your lips until you granted him access to explore you properly, sliding with juxtaposed delicate hunger, and swallowing your breath and moans until they settled as his own. Thomas was slightly started as your nails dragged down his naked chest, goosebumps trailing in their wake before the elastic waist of his final piece of cotton was being attended to. The need was growing substantially as he pulled back - much to the disappointment of both himself and you, your lips pursed and eyes growing wide as you stared to him with such childlike doeness.

It was becoming too real now as his hands began to shake, but any doubt was wiped clean when Thomas saw the adoring expression that flushed your face and prompted such a beautiful glint in your eye. You were his, and he was yours. That’s how it was and it’s how it would remain. Thomas was ready to give everything and more to you, as you were to him. Always.

The boy drew a deep breath before his boxers were dropped and he toed them to the side, his body bare in front of you. Thomas was pure - the epitome of a dream, a handsome man with arms that could protect you for the rest of your days. It wasn’t until you looked closer that you properly noticed the scars that showed his true story; both small and large imprints that represented sacrifice, and loss, and success. You lent forward with tentative movements until your fingers danced over the marks, and for a moment Thomas flinched, but easily settled as you traced each one with care. With pursed lips, you pressed against one near his navel; a recent wound that would forever remind you of his escape from death, where a bullet pierced his skin and left him unconscious for days. It was a time when you waited by his bedside without reposition, watching the steady rise of his chest as day turned to night, until he awoke in what would be your rightful Safe Haven.

The thought alone provoked wet tears to coat his lower stomach, and Thomas gently slid his hand into your hair as his thumb soothed you with consistent rubbing motions. Thomas was here with you, he was alive, he was real, he was safe and he was so utterly and completely loved.

It was as if he could read your mind as he cooed against the crown of your head, “I’m here, babygirl. I’m not going anywhere.”

You showed your understanding with more kisses over more of his scars, until every one had been offered endearment. You sat up further on your knees until you could gaze into his caramel eyes and the shade of burnt honey was easily your favourite; they gleamed especially under the afternoon sun, mesmerising swirls that could drag you to the deepest of depths, and you’d let them. They showed kindness and amusement, but right now, they darkened within the thickness of the room and you could’ve sworn that if given the chance… he would eat you alive, right there and then. Oh, how you wish he would.

But this moment was tentative - shared among inexperience, but budding romance and the strongest desires to be held and cherished. You needed to be closer which is why you kissed Thomas slowly, your lashes brushing against his pink cheeks, and your hands tightly squeezing his shoulders as his hardened cock twitched over your stomach. Flames were still burning brightly in your core and they needed to explode before they could be pleasantly extinguished.

Your mind was too hazy to recall how your hold shifted to arms sliding around his neck, pulling him further in until teeth clashed and silenced groans were exchanged, and Thomas took it in stride to poke his tongue at every crevice he could before sliding it deliciously over your own. He lowered you to the bed before placing himself between your thighs, your ankles returning behind his back, and two hearts reverberating with slight anxiety against the other’s chest.

Thomas pulled back slightly as his nose nuzzled with yours, a deep breath taken, “We don’t have to do this, not if you’re not ready.” He offered quietly, trying to convince himself that his words were purely directed toward you.

You smiled; the feeling of his wet and puffy lips brushing against your own as you did. You rubbed your nose back against his, “I’m ready if you’re ready… I love you, I’ll do anything for you, Tommy.”

The boy chuckled in near disbelief. He knew a long time ago that he'd love you - that you’d take up every thought, every dream. That you’d so seamlessly enter into his life like the need for oxygen, and without you, he wouldn’t be able to breathe. You weren’t just needed or wanted, you were necessary to Thomas, and the love he had for you was unchallenged and indescribable. And now, it was also so incredibly mutual. Not that he had any doubts.

“I love you too, so much.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, “So, so much.”

Thomas’ hips rocked against yours and the desperation was building fast. He thrust once, twice, three times until he was coating himself in your wet slick and it pulled a guttural noise from his throat. There was a time when he felt embarrassed listening to how his friends would recount their sexual experiences, and what they did to their partners, and how good it really felt. Neither of you had gotten to that stage until now, but he was thankful that he listened otherwise he wouldn’t be able to truly experience you.

The boy’s large hands tugged at himself a few times to properly lather himself in your wetness and you couldn’t help but sneak a peek at the package he held, your bottom lip quickly being held captive. You exhaled deeply, eyes widening, voice softening, “A-are you sure that’s gonna fit?”

He laughed, a sound so sweet, “We’ll just have to see, won’t we? But…it might hurt, okay?” He huffed into your ear, face buried in the crook of your neck as you pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses to his flushed skin, “So you need to tell me when to stop if it gets too much.” You whined, nodding in acknowledgement as Thomas began to line himself up, the head of his sensitive girth meeting your lower lips. But he didn’t push further, taking another deep breath, “You need to say it, please, baby. I need to hear you say it.”

Instinctively, you ground up against him and released a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the anticipation grew, “I will, I promise.”

He didn’t need much more convincing as Thomas pushed into you, so incredibly slowly as he savoured how tight you clung to him. Your warmth forced his eyes to roll back and knowing that he was stretching you brought on utter determination. His cock was burying deeper, and deeper, and even he was starting to question now whether he’d fit inside you. Thomas opened his eyes after realising that they were closed, not remembering when he squeezed them shut, and he looked over your scrunched face with a gentle coo. He lifted a hand to your face before his thumb was gentle in pushing out the wrinkle between your eyes, his touch dragging down the curve of your face to cup your cheek. He whispered to you - affirmations and encouragements, reminders of love and pride.

The lack of reception was a worry that nearly made him stop until you covered his hand with your own, face tilting until you could kiss over Thomas’ palm. You huffed as you were being filled, swearing that you could feel him in your stomach, but the pain would surely dissipate. “I love you, I love you, I love you…” Your mantra repeated like a broken record, getting lost in the heavy panting of your breath, until your back suddenly arched and Thomas had reached the hilt.

He was already spent as hands braced themselves beside your head, caging you in until all you could see was his kiss-swollen lips and lustful dark eyes checking you for any kind of discomfort. The pressure sucking him into you was a sensation that he could never grow tired of, yet he waited for your face to soften and for the curl of your lips before he was granted permission to finally move.

It was harmonious when you both sang out in pleasure; the four walls of your hut hopefully thick enough to not draw in any unwanted attention, but at this stage, you could care less about anybody or anything outside of the bubble you and Thomas found yourselves within. His rocking turned to a fastened pace, driven by just how close you both already were to reaching your highs. Hips clashed and lustful sounds echoed as your arms curled under his own and grasped at his shoulders, pulling the boy closer until an inch couldn’t be spared between your sweat-sheened skin. Curses fell from your lips with ease and Thomas relished in the way that he was making you feel, your bodies moving as a single unit as you were pushed and pulled across the bed.

He nosed your cheek before brushing his lips against yours - not quite a kiss, but a flash of want that was sure to leave behind a burn, and you hoped that the feeling would stay with you forever. He nuzzled into you as he moaned out, “I love you”, his words so sweet in contrast to the near-pornographic moan that followed when you clenched around his cock. It made you rut back against him and meeting his hips halfway was nearly your tipping point. You were chasing after the feeling of ecstasy as it continued to build and continued to run, your arm held out and it was within reaching distance. So close. So close.

You knew you had crossed the finish line when your vision turned to stars; a white light coinciding with delicate heat, your body trembling as you droned against Thomas. You were weightless again - floating in euphoria, your bones melting as you collapsed completely into Thomas and he made sure to hold you against his naked chest with a protective arm across your back. It was the first time you truly felt pleasure and it was perfect.

“You did so well…” Thomas cooed, trying to withstand his own release as he kissed over your temple, his fingers massaging into your spine when he felt a quiet sob escape you. His lips pressed once more, “Just so you know” He started again, his thrusts slowing before he went too far, “You look so beautiful right now.”

“I’m crying.” You scoffed, eyes scrunching when you pulled back as his cock throbbed from inside you, dragging over the spongey spot that had the potential to drive you to insanity if probed enough. But the feeling was too strong and you were becoming too sensitive.

Thomas noticed before he pulled out with haste, his tortured girth being fisted roughly within his hand. He took a deep breath, the urge to cum growing nearer as his head threw back and his eyes screwed shut. “You’re beautiful even when you cry.” It wasn’t until he looked at you, the feeling of soft skin cupping his cheeks and your lips slotting against his own, that Thomas finally let go. You swallowed his moans as the boy shook under your grasp; strings of white stick painting his fist and reaching your chest.

He was the first to break away, the need for air nearly forgotten as he was getting lost in your touch and taste. Thomas’ forehead pressed to yours and his shoulders sagged in absolute content. Your relationship consummated on an entirely different level, and you both had never felt closer to one another. Thomas hummed, his heart rate slowly coming down, yet he couldn’t help but express excitement, “That, fuck… that was amazing. Absolutely amazing.” He grinned as you giggled under your breath, arms wrapping back around his neck, “And you, babygirl.. that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I survived a week in the Scorch.”

He flinched slightly as you slapped at his shoulder, embarrassment flourishing and your face was hidden as it nuzzled against one of his pecs. The boy continued to rub your back through his tamed chuckles, admiring what he deemed as adorable behaviour, and you acknowledged him with a series of kisses over the damp skin of his chest and an amused tone, “You’re such a dork, Tommy.”

“I’m your dork.”

You murmured something incomprehensible against him, followed by a yawn and a satisfied smile. You were worn, in the best way possible, through a moment that would stay with you for as long as life allowed you to keep it. Thomas has saved you in more than one way - allowing you a new lease on life, full of different experiences and emotions, with a promise held in the cusps of forever love. It was a struggle to get to where you are now but you’re glad, no, you’re gratified that it eventually led you to a life with Thomas.

The boy pulled you back to his chest as he squeezed a final hug, his brows furrowing at the feeling of cooling slick between your bodies, a bittersweet end to where love was made, “First things first, I’m gonna have to clean us up.”

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