#COMMITING ETERNAL SLEEP

[xunkun]

its fucking over full version if resurrection of soul how about happyele full version resurrection my sanity and will to live

[demonfox38]

In lines I could have said to the boss. Ya know. Other than, "Sir, please put on some pants before I beat your ass."

Anyway! Made it to the epilogue. Which, considering the loading issues I was having previously, this is truly a miracle. Might have snapped if I lost a half hour fight due to media degradation.

[cammys-imagines24]

°•Astarion Being Touch Starved•°

The dastardly rogue would scarcely ever admit it- not in a thousand years.

But the sensation of your touch sends a thrill through his heart so loud, so potent, that sometimes he swears it still beats.

Beats only for you.

Sure by the light of day Astarion has a devil may care attitude and more sass than anyone really ought to.

And though you've both voiced your sincere affections to each other, he is never shy to continue with his playful flirtations towards you.

But that does not mean he views your relationship as a trifle. As something to play at.

You are the first person he's cared for in hundreds of years. The first he's opened himself up to. The first to show him that he can be free.

And with that long sought after freedom he wishes to spend it with you. For as long as you'll allow him the gift of your presence.

But though Astarion is unshackled now, the hauntings of Cazador never leave his mind. Not entirely.

On more times than he'd like to acknowledge, he has awoken from horrid nightmares of his past enslavement.

Cursing himself for even bothering to close his eyes in the first place considering he doesn't actually need to sleep.

But then there you are, right beside him.

Warm and vulnerable. Slumbering soundly and oh, gods, does he love your warmth.

The chilled Vampire would bathe in the heated feel of your skin if he could and often while you're tucked in the crook of his arm, dreaming away, he takes small liberties.

Letting just how starved he is of gentleness be shown.

Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, kissing the column of your throat, breathing in your scent.

Admiring your beauty. Committing each freckle, scar and feature to memory.

Dining on the feel of your form close to his and relishing in the company of one who truly, faithfully loves him. Just as he is.

So reverential of your body. Savoring the perfume of your blood, the thump of your heartbeat. Your every breath a hymn to his ears.

Of course you know how starved Astarion is. You can read him like a book.

But his yearning for tenderness is an unspoken truth between you two.

So you attend to it in your own subtle way.

Holding hands with him while around camp. Sitting next to him beside the fire. Your thighs touching. Placing your hand between his shoulder blades while walking.

Your gaze never straying from his for too long. Your medicinal touch the one to mend his wounds after a rough fight.

He thinks of you as a goddess. Your warmth a healing balm and he thanks his lucky stars everyday he met you.

The feel of you beside him is enough to make him enjoy living again.

Astarion's love for you eternal and ever growing.

[perfectlyoongi]

SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who has all your limits written on his phone. from the first day Jungkook met you, only your existence occupied his mind. since that day, Jungkook realized that you weren’t as ordinary as everyone else, there was something different about you, something magical that made him curious and anxious. Jungkook wanted to know you. Jungkook wanted to be the only one able to know you. and the first step was to know all your limits. whether it's something simple to memorize or something he has to look before acting, all your limits were organized on Jungkook’s phone. if you asked him, Jungkook would say he just wanted to treat you with the respect you deserved, but you knew something else shone in Jungkook’s eyes when he answered you in that smiling way – you thought that was quite adorable. “if i do something that you are not comfortable with and forgot to say, please let me know right away. i don’t want you to create false comfort just to please me. be honest with me, that’s the only thing i ask of you.”

SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who makes sure your happiness always comes first. at the beginning of your relationship, he took every precaution to please you: Jungkook always asked if he could touch you, if he could cover your entire skin with his print and leave his mark on your body; Jungkook always asked if you needed something, anything he could offer to brighten your day or improve your life; Jungkook always asked before acting to show you that your relationship was something much deeper. “in your message you said you needed a minute to calm down, obviously i was worried. do you need anything? i’m getting in the car now. if you want me to buy something for you, send me a text and i’ll be at your house before dark.”

SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who always takes you on a trip on the weekends. life was complicated, especially when everyone expects something from you, so it was more than natural for you to be completely exhausted when the weekend arrived. as such, and always thinking about you, Jungkook had a getaway ready for you when friday came to an end. he would always appear on your doorstep with a small and simple bouquet of flowers that wouldn’t need you attention for the next days. without telling you where you were going, just suggesting suitable clothes, Jungkook led you by the hand to his car and took you for two days of pure relaxation and tranquility. for two days, Jungkook would make sure that all that was on your mind was his name. “i suggest you get a warmer coat this time. and also a beanie. i bought you a new outfit for dinner tomorrow, you don’t have to worry about that.”

SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who understands when you can’t meet with him, but he expects compensation. each one had their own life beyond that relationship, that was more than obvious; as such, whenever a commitment came up, or you simply weren’t up to the task of satisfying Jungkook’s company, he wouldn’t contact you for the rest of the day. it wasn’t because he was mad at you or because he didn’t like being turned down – no. Jungkook just didn’t say anything so as not to disturb your peace. something you always admired about your relationship with Jungkook was the respect he always showed you – there were no tantrums or crying or sarcasm. just simple respect. every time you said no to him, Jungkook would just move away a little and wait for you to say you were going to his house to return his respect. “i didn’t have a good day. and i know you’re working late today, so... as soon as possible, yea? i need you when you’re ready.”

SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who likes it when you paint your lips and leave marks of your kisses on his body. lying on the bed, hugging the pillow you used to sleep on, Jungkook stared at you for endless eternities. at that moment, when reality returned to greet you and all the secrets were hidden among the clothes that were scattered on the floor, Jungkook was admiring your beauty in silence. always smiling, always with his eyes shining, Jungkook kept seeing the way you used your lipstick carefully as he waited for you to get back into bed with him. the nights were eternal when Jungkook spent them with you. under the light of the stars, only illuminated by the dreams of poets, you and Jungkook shared an instant that stretched into infinity. and this story was told by you. carefully. one kiss at a time. one smile at a time. one promise at a time. there, in those moments, when you offered him a fragment of your essence that would remain marked for the rest of the night, Jungkook truly believed that paradise existed – and it was just a kiss away.

SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who teases you all night long. Jungkook’s hands had no control when you were close to him – even when other eyes fell on you. Jungkook liked to show you off, especially at parties. you were divine, composed of the brightest stardust in this universe. you were fascinating, your existence originating in the celestial gardens of our cosmos. you were everything, but most of all, you were Jungkook’s. and no one could steal that. as such, you were already used to feeling Jungkook’s soft hand running around your back, resting gently on the bottom of your hips. you were already used to receiving those small, quick kisses that Jungkook gave you near your ear, gently brushing your neck. you were already used to Jungkook making you sit on his lap, holding you by the waist, leaning against his chest. you were already used to this possessive side of Jungkook. and you didn’t mind one bit. “don’t think i didn’t see the way you spoke to that guy, all happy and all. one more drink and we’re going home. there’s something we need to get straight.”

SUGAR-DADDY!JUNGKOOK who does everything to be seen with you. although Jungkook was the one who spoiled in your relationship, he was the one who felt the luckiest. meeting you was like winning the lottery – Jungkook’s life changed drastically overnight. suddenly, like someone exchanging two words, Jungkook had someone to share his lonely days with. suddenly, like someone forming a smile, Jungkook had someone who listened to him and validated all his feelings. suddenly, like someone falls in love, Jungkook had a purpose in this monotonous life. it was just you. you were the one who deserved Jungkook’s attention and all his secrets. you were the one who deserved Jungkook’s seductive words and all his looks. you were the one who deserved Jungkook completely, without fear or pretense. you and only you. it was obvious that he wanted to shout to the whole world that it was you who made him discover the true meaning of the word ‘life’. “i know that my actions are not the most delicate. but i want you to know that everything i show you about me only exists because of you. and that’s the side i want to show everyone. i want to show how you turned me into a living being.”

[thegreatmelodrama]

A small detail in Dead Poets Society that always stays within my brain is how when Neil goes up to his room, the camera pans to his bed that has his pajamas, a robe, and toiletries have all been laid out for him (presumably by his mom). Neil briefly touches his pajama shirt in a way that has always stuck with me. Because, here, in this moment, Neil is reminded once again that his future has already been laid out for him, that he can’t even choose his own pajamas to wear much less choose what he will do with his life. It’s only further confirmation to him of what he thinks he must do; that the only way to live life on his own terms is by ending it.

Furthermore, this scene contains parallels to that which depicts the night of the first dead poets meeting. In the latter, Neil enters his room to find the Five Centuries of Verse book left by Keating. This is followed by the poets all sneaking out into the night with the same score being used in both this scene and the scene of Neil preparing for his final act. Keating’s book represents freedom and hope and passion, a stark contrast to the pajama laid out for Neil in the later scene. However, one could argue that the crown of thorns, which Neil gravitates to after looking at his folded pajamas, represents a similar, yet different sort of freedom. When Neil places the crown on his head and takes his final bow, he effectively commits himself to the decision to find freedom in the dreams of the eternal sleep that is death.

What appears as a small detail, really holds so much more depth when looked at in a different way.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ 𝕒 𝕘𝕚𝕣𝕝 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕞𝕖 ♡

♡ Pairing: boyfriend!jeongin x girlfriend!chubby!fem!reader

♡ Genre: fluff/comfort

♡ Summary: Jeongin's the type of boyfriend who never makes you question how much he cares for you. Still, there's one nagging insecurity you haven't been able to move past: Letting him see you naked. Sick of letting your fear get the best of you, you decide that tonight's the night to finally open up to him and it turns out you might've been afraid of nothing all along.

♡ Word Count: 2.1k-ish

♡ Warnings: body insecurities, nudity, a lil making out, mentions of sex, jeongin loves to touch your body, praise, and just all around fluffiness otherwise

♡ A/N: This started out as an anon request but I lost the post for that request (brb crying) so now we have a lil I.N comfort fic that will hopefully make my chubby Jeongin biased babes feel good in their skin cause you totally deserve to.

Moments like these Jeongin wishes could last forever. Between touring, appearances, and studio sessions his schedule’s been brutal lately, leaving him with little to no time to spend with the one girl he treasures most in the world—you. But tonight none of that matters. The world beyond the walls of his apartment doesn’t exist. There’s only him cozied up under a blanket on the couch with you cuddled against his body, your head resting on his chest as you lazily play with the strings of his hoodie.

The room’s dark except for the glow of the television. A movie’s playing but neither of you are truly watching it. His eyes are glued to you, committing to memory how beautiful you are from this angle. You seem so comfortable in his arms, so at peace, and the feeling’s infinitely mutual. 

Your own gaze is fixed on the screen but every image and sound you take in is passive. What you’re truly focused on is a thought that’s been cycling through your brain all night. Before you left to head over here you told your roommate not to wait up, you’d be spending the night at Jeongin’s place. Never one to pass up the opportunity to tease you, she asked if you needed to borrow a sweater or something to sleep in. You instantly regretted admitting to her over drinks that Jeongin has yet to see you naked, even after months of being together.

Whenever you have sex you keep the lights off and throw your clothes back on immediately after. If you shower and he’s around you always make sure to bring your clothes with you into the bathroom. Even Jeongin, who never wears anything to bed, always has something on when you sleep over to make you more comfortable. 

It’s nothing he’s ever complained about or tried to make you feel guilty for. More than anything he just seems happy to be with you, accepting your boundaries without hesitation. It’s one of a million reasons you’ve come to love him as much as you do. Still, you know that hiding from him isn’t something you can do forever. It isn’t something that you want to do forever.

“Baby” he says sweetly, petting your cheek, “You ready for bed?”

You take a deep breath, making up your mind that tonight’s the night. Your stomach sinks at the thought of how he might feel when he sees your body but at least you’ll know now before you fall for him any harder.

“Mmhmm” you nod, nuzzling your cheek against his chest one last time before sitting up. 

Jeongin hops up and gets to work clearing the snacks from the coffee table. With full hands, he leans down to plant the softest kiss on your lips. “You can go ahead. I’ll meet you in there in a second, okay?” 

You agree and gather the blanket in your arms, trembling as you shuffle down the hall towards the bedroom. It’s a short walk but it feels eternal. You’ve stepped through this threshold a dozen times by now but somehow this feels like your first. Suddenly the oversized hoodie and baggy sweatpants that once shielded your insecurities have you sweating like a sinner in church. It’s suffocating.

Tossing the blanket onto the bed, you tug your hoodie off to feel the fresh air kiss your skin. The coolness eases the tension in your body, leaving your hands a bit less shaky as you slip your sweatpants down and kick them aside. You stare down at your body, taking in the sight of your bare legs and your fluffy thighs that are just barely visible in the long t-shirt you’re wearing.

Your chest tightens as you pinch the bottom of your shirt, lifting the fabric little by little. It slides above your thighs, around the contours of your hips, revealing the panties you chose specifically for tonight. They’re silk, rose pink, with a lace trim and a delicate bow in the back and they’re the prettiest panties Jeongin’s ever seen simply because you’re wearing them. 

“Did I, uh, miss something?” Jeongin asks, frozen in the doorway.

Usually when he walks into the room you’re already under the covers waiting for cuddles he’s beyond eager to give you. Being met with this is something new entirely and he can’t help the way his heart races at the sight of it. You turn to find him staring at you wide eyed, shock painting his face. 

“Well, uh, I…” you stutter, fidgeting with the trim of your shirt, “I know you don’t really like sleeping with your clothes on and the weather’s really nice tonight so I thought, maybe, it’d be nice if we did that.” 

Jeongin closes the distance between you, his shock melting into concern. He brings an arm around your waist, stroking your side as he studies your expression.

“Baby, I already told you I’m cool with our clothes being on. I never want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

You rest your hand on his, soaking in the warmth of his touch. “It’s okay” you insist, immediately picking up on his skepticism. He doesn’t believe you for a second. You stare into his eyes, finding comfort in them even as they narrow in your direction. “I want you to see me, all of me, I don’t wanna be afraid anymore.”

“Afraid? Afraid of what? Did I…”

You cut him off before he can finish, refusing to let him believe for a second that there’s anything he did wrong. “No, Innie, you’re so good to me. It's just…I’m not the smallest girl. Feeling me is one thing but seeing me it’s…it’s…”

Your breath hitches at the sensation of Jeongin’s hands massaging your body. He smooths the plushness of your figure beneath his palms, stopping to squeeze your love handles, your belly, your thighs.

“Seeing you would be a gift” he whispers, his lips hovering near yours. “I’ve felt your body in the dark and I’m already addicted to how beautiful it is. If you take your clothes off or not, nothing will change. I promise.”

There’s no denying the rush that you get from being touched by him. You feel it every time, the impulse to let him tear your clothes off. The longing to feel his gaze dance over your naked body the way his hands do. Typically you fight it, your fears dulling your urges, but tonight you don’t. Instead you sweep him into a kiss laced with passion, guiding his hands to grip the fabric of your shirt. 

“Help me take it off, please” you beg, too cute to deny.

Jeongin nibbles at your bottom lip, “Only if you help me too.”

“Deal” you giggle as he steals your breath away, hungrily pulling you back into the kiss.

Your clothes are shed gently and slowly like the petals of a flower. One after the other, his and then yours. All the while Jeongin’s lips are drawn to yours like magnets. Every break he has to take is a small form of torture. You could kiss him every second of every day and it wouldn’t be enough. He needs to drown in it.

He can only bring himself to stop when he feels skin to skin contact. Your naked body’s pressed to his in the bright lighting of his room. He could see you if he wanted to, glance down and delight in the pleasure of something he’s only experienced in his imagination, but instead he focuses on your gorgeous face, his heart set on making sure this is what you really want.

“Can I look?” he asks, fingertips lightly trailing up and down your spine. 

You pause, pacing yourself for a decision you know you can’t turn back from, “It’s okay. You can look.” 

Time seems to stand still as Jeongin takes a step back and his gaze falls below your shoulders where your naked body awaits in all its vulnerability. His is the smooth, toned body that you already know it to be. You’ve caught glimpses of it here and there when he’s changed in front of you. And yours is beyond what he’d imagined during those long nights spent blindly exploring your form beneath the sheets.

At first he says nothing, does nothing. He only stares straight ahead, scanning you from head to toe. But just as the nervousness threatens to return he cracks a smile, his face lighting up, stars twinkling in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful.” He exhales the words as naturally as he breathes. 

You blush, a giggle escaping your lips, “Oh my gosh, stop it.”

“Stop it? How can I? Look at you.” 

Your self doubt wants to tell you that he’s lying—that these words you never imagined you’d hear couldn’t possibly be true—but you can’t deny the way Jeongin’s looking at you or the butterflies swarming your stomach. You try to bring your arms around yourself, a thoughtless attempt at hiding away again, but he grabs your hands, lacing his fingers between yours. 

“I mean it” he whispers, thumbs lightly grazing your skin, “Your body’s gorgeous and I feel lucky that you let me lay eyes on it. Thank you.” 

Your cheeks heat up and you dip your head down, too flustered by his words to maintain eye contact. Jeongin cups your cheek, tilting your head back up. He’s stubborn as always, refusing to let you escape his affection. 

“You think so too, don't you?” he asks, his lips floating back to yours. He almost kisses you, just almost, but lets his lips dance there, teasing you with their warmth. 

“Think what? I don’t…” you begin to speak but the feeling of his hands making contact with your belly steals away what was coming next. You let out the softest breath, bordering on a hushed moan. His touch always sets your soul on fire but this time there’s something different about it. Some new aspect of it that has your head all fuzzy and your knees going weak. 

“Think that I should feel lucky that I get to see you” he says, massaging the plush of your belly, “And grateful that I get to touch you.” 

He glides his palms down to your hips, taking indulgent handfuls of your curves as your body gives into his touch. Your fingertips run up his arm, feeling the ridges of his muscles as they flex with every breath. His body shivers, your quiet praise doing to him exactly what his does to you.

“You can’t say things like that, Innie.” 

“Why can’t I?”

“Because I might start believing it.”

Jeongin flashes you that dimpled smile, “Good. I want you to.” 

His lips collide with yours again and it feels like the whole room’s spinning because it is. He closes his arms around your waist, kissing you lovingly as he twirls you towards the bed. Before you know it your head’s resting on a pillow as your body sinks into the softness of the mattress. You can’t tell if it’s the mattress or the euphoria of Jeongin’s tongue tangled with yours but it’s like you’re floating on a cloud.

Jeongin kisses you like it’s the last time your lips will ever meet. His hands explore your body like they’re terrified to forget even the tiniest detail of what you feel like. The affection he pours into you is overwhelming yet you wouldn’t dare ask him to stop.

He saw you, everything about you, and the only place he ran to was your arms. You feel special, cherished in every way for exactly who you are. All your worries seem like nothing more than silly little things in the presence of his adoration. 

Finally breaking from the kiss, the necessity for air forcing your lips apart, Jeongin curls up beside you, keeping you in his arms as he slips a blanket over your naked bodies. You rest your head on his chest the same way you did on the couch, only now your mind isn’t wandering off somewhere far away. It’s right here with him, basking in the moment. 

“Promise not to hide from me anymore” he sighs, planting the sweetest kiss on your forehead. 

You relax into his arms, smiling as your heavy lids fall shut, “I promise.” 

You thought you’d feel more vulnerable lying beside him with your clothes in a pile on the floor but being like this with him is the safest you’ve ever felt, the most comfortable you’ve ever felt, in your own skin. Hide from him? And miss out on a feeling like this? Never again.

[sturniqlo]

HERE TO STAY FOREVER- CHRIS STURN

summary: when chris starts to turn cold towards his best friend, y/n, she thinks the worst. what happens when she starts to back off and chris is desperate to hangout with her and confesses something?

cw: slight angst, cursing, commitment issues, fluff

an: i've been OBSESSED with bff!chris lately so here's more!! | thank you to @monroesturnns for the idea💋

masterlist

-----------------------------------------------

Chris and Y/n have been best friends now for about four years now. As they spent more and more time together, Chris started to feel different about her. Not in a bad way, never that. Just different.

He started to picture a future with her. An, eternity with her. And it scared him, it really did. He's never felt like this towards anyone. Yeah he's has a few girlfriends here and there but, he never saw a future with them. It scared him that he saw forever with her and they weren't even dating.

Unfortunately, something in his mind told him to turn cold towards her. She doesn't like you back, she never will. He tossed and turned in his bed, trying to fall asleep. She needs someone better, you aren't it for her. He groaned, throwing the comforter off of himself and getting up. He goes up to the kitchen and serves him a glass of water, placing it quietly in the sink.

Getting back in bed, his phone buzzes on his nightstand. He picks it up and sees a message from no one other than Y/n. hey chris, sorry if you're sleeping already but are we still on for tomorrow night? They had planned on going to a fancy dinner. Someone they always joked about, dressing to super fancy and join the rich snobby people at a fancy restaurant. They'd been saving a good amount from their paychecks. sure, hopefully you aren't getting any cold feet about it? i was looking at the menu and holy shit is all i have to say. He types back. no cold feet at all, i'll see you tomorrow! goodnight:))

Her messages somehow gave him hope and he was able to sleep.

Over the next two weeks, Y/n has been getting treated differently by Chris. Whenever they hangout, he's quieter than usual and moody. It would hurt her from time to time when he would snap at her for something so simple. Chris never snapped at her.

Even his brothers noticed it. "Chris, why are you being so mean to Y/n?" Matt said once he heard the bathroom door closing signaling Y/n couldn't hear. "No I'm not?" He scoffed, opening the fridge to grab the leftovers from yesterday's dinner their mom had cooked. "Uh, yeah you are." Nick says next to Matt. "She's been telling me how you snap at her all the time. And five minutes ago you literally bumped her shoulder and didn't say sorry. I'd say you are being pretty fucking rude."

"Why the hell is she even texting you?" Chris says, retrieving the plate from the microwave. "If I remember correctly, she's everyone's friend, not just yours. You know what? I thought you had feelings for her." As Chris was about to respond, they all heard the bathroom door opening and he shut his mouth.

The following Friday, Y/n went over their house per Chris' request. It had been about an hour and Chris had spoken no more than ten words to her. She was feeling unwanted. She felt awkward and uncomfortable at the shift in his mood. "I- I think I'm going to head out." She broke the silence. "So soon?" Chris' heart dropped and he shut his phone off. "Yeah, my mom she- uh she needs some help with something." She waved her phone. "Oh, okay. I'll walk you out." She nodded and walked toward his room door.

Chris walked her down to the door and wanted to phone her mom and tell her if Y/n can stay for longer. "I'll see you around." She goes for a full hug but Chris only gives her a side hug. Her heart stung for a second. "Okay." He cleared his throat, shutting the door once she went down the steps.

"Y/n is gone already?" Both Nick and Matt magically appeared in the kitchen, snacking on the chips they had bought the other day. "Yep, I feel like shit though." He groans into Matt's shoulder. "What up, Kid?" Matt pats his back. "You guys were right, I've been such a shit best friend to Y/n."

"We've been telling you." Nick says from the sink. "I thought you had like major feelings for her." Matt looks at him. "That's what I said last time," Nick throws his hands up. "what happened to said feelings?" Nick adds on, he knew how much his brother had feelings for their friend Y/n. "Fine," He pauses before continuing. "I like her, but I cant help but act like such a bitch to her. I'm- I'm scared to tell her." He walks to the fridge to retrieve a can of pepsi.

"Scared of what?!" Nick yells, his eyes widen in disbelief. "Commitment? Rejection? It's all over the place!" He opens the blue can. "Have you seen how she looks at you? Her eyes turn into fucking heart anytime she looks at you. I doubt she'll reject you." Matt nods at Nick's words. "As for your commitment issues, you guys can take it easy, or you guys can be exclusive for sometime. It's up to you two."

The following week, Chris has noticed a change in Y/n's behavior. Something that has never happened. hi, do you want to hangout tonight? Chris waited patiently with his phone in his hands. The three familiar dots popped up before disappearing for a couple of seconds and popped up again. sorry, i can't tonight. Chris sighed. It was the third time this week she had said no to hanging out and it was only tuesday.

oh okay. tomorrow maybe? He replied. maybe He turned off his phone and threw himself back. "What is going on!" He rubs his face.

It was now Friday and they were finally hanging out together. Chris had managed to finally get some of Y/n's time. However, Y/n was home all week. She felt so guilty turning Chris' hangouts down while she was in bed thinking about Chris' cold behavior. She took some time to think and finally decided it was time to come out of hiding.

"Hey, get over here!" Chris said, grabbing Y/n by her waist pulling her towards him. "Oh- are you sure?" She's startled by Chris' sudden touch, something she hasn't felt in over three weeks. "Of course. I missed you this week, you know?" He kisses her cheek. "Sorry, I was uh- busy?" She stutters. "Why're you questioning it?" He giggles against her shoulder. "I wasn't actually busy. I was giving you space."

"Space? From what?" He pulls back. "I just- I thought- you were being so cold to me I thought you wanted some space. Thought you were getting tired of me or- or maybe you were talking to someone. I wasn't sure." She shrugs, playing with a loose thread on her sleeve. Chris grabs her and places her on his lap. "Hey, listen. I have to tell you something." She nodded at him.

"I'm sorry, about my behavior. I just- I- I love you. And, I was to- I was too scared to admit it. N' I thought if I were to I don't know. Mean? Cold? That my feelings were to go away. But I realized that they're never going to leave. They're here to stay forever. I love you, Y/n." At this point, Y/n is in tears. She's waited so long for Chris to admit something like this.

She knows how much his commitment issues have gotten away in the past. "What?" She says through a teary laugh. "I love you, Y/n. I fucking love you." He smiles and grabs her face to kiss her. Chris hesitantly leans his face towards hers and Y/n grabs the back of his head and locks their lips together.

"Mmph." He huffs in relief and grabs her jaw lightly. They finally let go of each other once they're out of breath. "I've been waiting so long to do that." He places one chaste kiss to her lips. "Me too." She moves the hair out of his face, staring at him with a smile. "I take it you feel the same way." He giggles. "Of course I do." She kisses the tip of his nose.

"I love you, Chris."

[polarisjisung]

COSMIC FEELINGS

synopsis: The rain had its oceans. The sun had its moon, everything had a reason for falling—and you had him. With Park Jisung, you were always falling: falling down, falling short, falling in love. But sometimes, love isn’t enough. And sometimes, love is all you need.

wc: 3.3k pairings: ex bf! jisung × fem! reader genre: angst, fluff, exes to lovers warnings: swearing, loserish pining ig notes: can you tell i like the exes to lovers trope ... anyways HAPPY JISUNG DAY!! tried something a little interstellar and cosmic themed for our favourite space nerd and NASA lover jisung.. I hope you like it gang ! gotta stay true to my user iykwim | LIBRARY

Today marked exactly 6 months.

6 months since everything fell apart. 

The time had stretched by, hours like days, weeks like months, and the nights dragged on, even longer. 

You struggle to believe that you and Jisung broke up only 6 months ago. It could have been six years, six centuries, or even six lifetimes, and it would all feel the same—an endless expanse of time. 

It wasn't healthy, you supposed, because in each and every waking moment, the thoughts of him clouded your mind. His name was on your lips, repeated like a mantra, day in and day out.

And the nights? 

They'd swallow you whole, pulling you into their eternal embrace, the minutes dragging on, slipping through your fingers like stardust.

Every night, he invaded your sleep. His face, his laugh, the way he looked when he’d roll his sleeves up a little too high. 

You could trace every inch of him if you closed your eyes—those familiar grooves in his hands, the faint scars across his skin, each imperfection etched into your mind. Pain you could never erase, left only for you to commit to a beautiful memory. 

To you, Park Jisung was the sun, the moon and all the stars in the sky. 

Eternal, radiant and yet so very distant.

As you stood on the balcony, feeling the weight of the empty space beside you, you sighed. You didn’t remember when the sky had become so empty, but it felt like it had been that way for years. 

The constellations that once felt familiar now seemed like strangers, their lights flickering in ways you couldn't recognise.

When you lay down, hoping to take your mind off of him, you remembered how you used to lie together. 

Beside you, the bed sunk with emptiness, and you recalled how your hands had traced the starry formations against his skin, mapping the universe as your fingers brushed over his.

In those moments, you swore you could taste the stars in his words, the way he’d speak of them—of space, of time, of you. 

Park Jisung called you beautiful, like it was your name. He loved you like it was all he knew. And in his eyes, you saw a future made of light, of endless skies, of forever. A forever with you.

But now, the stars looked different—fainter, perhaps. The moon, too, seemed smaller tonight. Maybe it was the distance, or maybe it was just the weight of how long it had been since he called you his sky. 

You caught yourself wondering if he was out there, somewhere beneath the same curtain of noir, staring up at the same stars, feeling the same tug in his chest. In his heart.

Truly, you don't know how it happened. But you remembered it like it was yesterday.

The rain tapped against the window in a steady, unrelenting rhythm, the kind that made the world outside look like a blurred painting, colors mixing into nothingness. 

Inside, your apartment was quiet—too quiet, save for the hum of the fridge and the soft rustle of Jisung’s jacket as he dropped it by the door. The clock on the microwave read well past midnight.

04:25

You had just gotten home after work.

You stood by the kitchen counter, your calloused fingers gripping its edge as you stared down at the chipped mug in front of you, the steam from your tea rising in slow spirals. 

Your eyes were tired, red, dark circles hinting at restless nights. You hadn’t expected him—hadn't even wanted him to come. You didn't have the energy for it. For him.

But here Jisung was, standing in the entryway, his hair damp from the rain, his hoodie hanging loosely around his shoulders. 

The space between you felt too wide, too heavy.

"You didn’t have to come," you said, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

You shouldn't have, Jisung heard.

He didn’t move immediately. His gaze lingered on you, on the way your shoulders hunched as though the weight of your silence was pressing down on you. 

He exhaled sharply and crossed the room to stand beside you.

The space was still there, the one that had always been between you two these past few months, like an invisible chasm that neither of you had known how to cross.

"Y/n, I—" Jisung stopped himself. His words, heavy as they were, seemed to hang in the air, too fragile to be spoken. 

He hadn't seen you in weeks. Not properly at least, only through 2 minute FaceTime calls and quick selfies snapped between the times you'd head to work and to sleep. 

And you hadn't seen him, perhaps if you had it would've been easier to notice the deepening bags beneath his eyes, how his cheeks were beginning to hollow. How every part of him reflected you, dull and lifeless.

Jisung was an open book before you, yet at this moment, you were blind to his pages. Illiterate in the way of his unspoken words.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the warmth threatening to rise in your chest. 

"What are we doing, Jisung?"

His lips tightened. He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing yours before he pulled back, as if the contact was too much, too little all at once.

What were you doing? 

Jisung wished he knew.

You were both trying, he was sure of that much, but it felt as though your efforts bred different results, like you aimed for the same thing and ended up in opposite directions. 

Relentlessly, you had tried and tried and tried, but no amount of effort seemed enough. Like nothing could save you. A cruel twist of fate.

"We’re both drowning," Jisung said, his voice low, almost lost in the noise of the storm outside. "In everything... and there's no space left. Not for us. Not for anything."

You turned your back to him now, because facing him felt too much like watching something break. "I know." You said.

There was nothing else to say, nothing left. 

Still, Jisung had hoped you'd continue.

You didn't.

You didn’t have the energy for it. 

Between work, and the extra degree you'd all too ambitiously decided to start studying, the basic necessities, like sleeping, and eating, there was no time left. Like a robot, you only did what you were programmed to do, and it seemed Jisung was no longer part of your code.

He waited for your denial. It never came.

You barely had time for yourself, you didn't in fact, so how could you argue that you had time for Jisung, for your love?

You couldn't correct his words, not when he hadn't said anything wrong. 

So you stayed quiet.

The silence was no longer comfortable. It stretched between you like an unwelcome presence, suffocating in its weight. 

Jisung wanted to reach for you, to hold you like he used to, but every time he moved, it felt forced, it felt wrong. The timing had always been wrong. Schedules clashing.  

You had become ghosts in each other’s lives.

"I miss you," he whispered, as though admitting it would make it hurt less. It only made the ache deepen. "But I’m not sure I know how to be the person you need anymore."

Your breath hitched in your throat. "I know, I’m sorry."

Jisung’s chest tightened, his hand balling into a fist at his side. The weight of your words settled on his ribs, pressing down on him. 

He had never wanted this.

Never wanted to stand here, in this cold apartment, feeling the distance that had crept between you two over the weeks, the months.

And yet, here you were, saying things you hadn’t said in so long. Truths that had long been buried under the weight of your hectic lives.

The rain beat harder against the glass, as if the world outside had heard the finality in your voices. 

You closed your eyes, your fingers brushing the edge of the counter. 

The room was too still, too heavy with everything unsaid.

"I love you, you know,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, “but it's too selfish of me to expect you to do the same, even now.” 

Jisung nodded slowly, the motion jerky, like something inside him was unraveling. 

He hadn’t come here to say goodbye. 

But the words had already formed, and the door was already closing, even if neither of you had pushed it shut.

“Maybe it's best if we break up.” 

"I'm sorry," he said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "For everything."

You nodded in return, your gaze fixed on the rain outside. "I am too."

And with that, the space between you two grew wider, a gap neither of you could bridge, no matter how hard you tried. 

The storm outside wasn’t the loudest thing in the room anymore. It was the silence, growing heavier, thicker, until it swallowed you both whole.

And then, he was gone.

You told yourself you were fine, told yourself that moving on was just part of life, that you'd get over it. You'd heal. But as you went about your days, the ache never fully disappeared. Instead, it had faded into a dull throb, a constant reminder of what once was. The endless longing had inserted itself into your routine, and you'd learnt to live with the pain. 

But when you saw his name pop up on your phone, the world, your world, had tilted on its axis, orbited too much, too fast and too far. All at once, your throat constricted and you gasped for air, shaking, trembling.

You couldn't breathe.

In the moments it took you to gather enough courage to read the text beneath his contact, your heart raced, your palms sweat and the weight in your chest intensified. So foreign, yet so familiar. 

It was exhilarating.

Jisung always made you feel this way, electric, ablaze— like the universe ran through your veins.

The message was simple: "can we talk".

No punctuation, no personality—the same as the first time Jisung had ever texted you. 

It was dry, it was boring and yet it planted that same quiet curiosity in your chest as it had years ago. Before Jisung had sunk beneath your bones and nurtured that deep-rooted familiarity into the only thing, the only feeling, the only experience that you could ever call love. 

You didn't respond right away, though your fingers hovered over the screen. The hesitation gnawed at you, for a moment you considered not responding at all. A long moment.

But it was the memory of his eyes, the way he'd looked at you before everything fell apart, that forced you to tap out a reply. How could you ever say no?

Though you're not sure falling apart was the right term. 

You and Jisung had crumbled, piece by piece, atom by atom. 

Your light had dimmed, your nebula collapsed— everything caved in on itself. Slowly but surely, your strengths, your weaknesses, your love. 

You had imploded.

The coffee shop was small, cosy, almost like a memory. 

Pink walls and tall ceilings, the soft murmur of conversations and the clink of mugs create a comforting background, with the same warm lighting overhead that you had always loved.

You hadn't been here in months, and you felt the nostalgia creeping in, coming through smiles from regular customers and greetings from the baristas. It had been so long, too long. 

But strangely, you didn't miss it as much as you thought you would.

Still, amongst the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the pastel walls of the building, it felt warm, easing the tightness in your chest ever so slightly. 

You sat waiting for Jisung, tucked away in a booth just next to the window. 

You had arrived earlier than the both of you had agreed, hoping the nerves would settle if you had accustomed to your surroundings. 

You weren't so sure that was the case now. 

Too many questions clouded your thoughts, what did he want to talk about, and why so suddenly? He had only messaged you last night, agreeing to meet the next morning—today. 

And if there was one thing you knew about Jisung, it was that he rarely, if ever, acted on impulse. 

His urgency was disconcerting, to say the least. 

But your thoughts didn't end there. 

You wondered if he had changed, if he was still the Jisung you loved, or a new version you wouldn't recognise. 

Sure, it had been 6 months since you broke up, but it had been far more since you saw Jisung, really saw him, not just the 2 second check ins and the 5 minute calls. 

You shifted in your seat, a shiver running down your spine. A bitter taste sat in your tongue.

Behind you, the sound of the door opening brought a rush of emotion—like your heart recognised him before your mind had the chance.

Jisung was standing there, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes darting around as if he wasn’t sure where to go. 

But then, they locked on you.

And just like that, the months between you disappeared.

He smiled. It was a quiet thing, more like an exhale than an expression. The same smile that you knew so well, and had told you countless times that things would be okay. 

You hoped it could do the same today. 

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than you remembered. The warmth in it making your chest tighten.

You nodded, unsure of how to start. 

Your throat felt tight, like there were a thousand things you wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for.

“Do you… do you want to sit?” you asked, gesturing to the chair across you.

He nodded again and you watched as he settled in, eyes not leaving yours. 

The silence was thick, heavy, like the air was holding its breath. You were too. 

It felt like Jisung was waiting for you to speak, but you didn’t know how to bridge the gap. 

You never knew how when it came to him. Not when the distance between you had never been there in the first place.

He spoke first. 

“How have you been?” his gaze was gentle, tender, a half smile rested across his lips as he spoke.

“Fine.” you choked out, really as convincingly as you possibly could. 

But Jisung clicked his tongue.

He knew, you thought. 

How could he not? 

You and Jisung were born from the same star, he echoed your emptiness, and you reflected his light.

Of course he knew.

“Really?” he sighed, raking a hand through his now dark blue hair, “Because I haven't been.” Jisung sighed, locking his eyes with yours once again, only this time he didn't dare to look away, speaking with conviction, with determination.

“I miss you. So much. It kills me to wake up and see that you're not next to me” Jisung gulps, holding back in every aspect but verbally, “I even miss you now, when you're sat across from me, because I don't just miss seeing you, I miss knowing you.” he pauses,”I miss loving you.” 

Jisung's voice is heavy with each breath he takes, and fuck, he feels like he's floating when your gaze softens beneath his, choked with tenderness for you. 

He wants nothing more than to bask in the sweetness of your voice, to drown in your moonlit eyes and show you all the little stars in his heart.

Jisung's not done yet though, there's so many things left to say, too many in fact, but nothing more pressing than this.

“I regret it.” 

He feels the weight lift off his shoulders, like he can sit up straighter as each syllable falls from his lips, “I regret not telling you then how much you meant to me, how much I didn't want this to happen to us.” 

How much I loved you

Carefully, you listen, like every word is sacred. 

You don't speak, you don't nod, you don't even move.

Scared that the slightest disturbance would fray your concentration and you'd miss every small signal Jisung sent towards you, like the fire in his soul wasn't contagious, like that fire wasn't ignited by you.

“You weren't just part of my life Y/n, and I'm an idiot for not having realised sooner. You were my life. You are my life.”

There was a pause. You didn’t know how to respond to that.

Meanwhile, Jisung's lips curl upwards unconsciously.

It had taken him half a year, six months, twenty-six weeks, one hundred and eighty-two days to finally give his truth a voice. 

And God, was it liberating.

Jisung had loved you in every life, he thinks, like you were written on every molecule he ever became. Your souls intertwined. Star-crossed.

He watched closely as you processed his words, the glow in his eyes growing warmer with each second he let them rest on you. You were yet to respond, but you knew, Jisung hadn’t a care in the world aside from that, it only mattered to him that you knew. 

There was a knocking at your chest, a feverish swelling, innocuous, like flowers blooming through the cracks of your ribs. Like your whole body had been struck by lightning.

But you couldn't move.

The stillness coated your limbs, spreading across your entire being, a strange sort of paralysis that only seemed to occur when he was around. 

“I love you,” he said, suddenly, sharply cutting through the silence.

“I don’t expect anything,” he continued, his voice thick with regret. “I just… I needed you to know.”

His words hit harder than you expected, and you flinched inwardly, trying to keep your composure.

The ache in your chest grew, the familiar pang of loss creeping in. 

You thought you had buried it, locked it away in the back of your mind, but now it was surfacing, raw and insistent. 

You didn't know what you wanted from this, what you hoped would happen now. It wasn’t like before, when you could just run to him and everything felt right. 

This time, it felt like a dream—something you couldn’t quite touch. Distant. 

An interstellar love, but you weren't capable of defying gravity.

Or maybe you were just so damn scared that this was another moment where you'd let yourself fall for him all over again, only to end up with the same broken pieces.

Perhaps it would have been easier to hate him.

Your silence stretched on, his words lingering in the air between you.

Jisung's knee began to bob impatiently beside you, though his expression was still just as comforting as before. 

He sat, awaiting your response. 

“I love you.” he repeated. 

“Again?” you breathed out, finally.

“Still.” he confessed. “Desperately, selfishly, irrevocably, I still love you”

Oh.

“I thought you were happy,” you managed to say, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I thought you were better off without me.”

I thought you were over me

His eyes softened, but there was something almost painfully raw in them, like a wound that had a band aid slapped carelessly over the top, unable to heal.

“I never was. But I convinced myself I could be,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I thought there was no point if i couldn't even see you, no point in us, no point fighting.”

He sighed, running his tongue across his cheek, “I was wrong, so fucking wrong.” Jisung knew that, and it had cost him everything.

You nod. Part of you wanted to leap with joy, and another part of you wanted to cease to exist. 

But all of you wished he had said those words sooner.

You hadn't realised when you’d caught your bottom lip between your teeth, but it had gone raw from how you'd been constantly biting at it. 

You hadn't noticed until you felt Jisung's gentle touch against your lips, his thumb guiding your lip out from your clenched jaw, his hand resting beneath your chin.

He didn't say much, instead Jisung quietly shook his head. 

And then it hit you.

Every beautiful quirk, every perfect imperfection, everything that so delicately composed Park Jisung, you saw it all then. 

Everything you loved.

He had the sun in his smile, the stars in his eyes, he loved like the moon, through every phase, eternal and silent. Like a promise, celestial.

It came crashing down on you, like an asteroid would the earth. Beautifully, crushingly.

“I love you too.” 

It had been 6 months since you saw Jisung, and you loved him all the same, like he'd hung all the stars in the sky.

Jisung smiled at you, like a match catching fire. Like he had been waiting for ignition.

And in that instant, you realised—he wasn’t just a star in your sky.

He was a supernova, brilliant and all-consuming, collapsing and expanding in the same breath, burning, not just with you, but for you.

Love like his didn’t fade quietly; it burned, it devoured, it reshaped the very fabric of the universe.

And as the fire took hold, you didn’t run.

You let it consume you.

Because some loves aren’t meant to flicker.

Some loves are made to explode.

tags: @yizhrt @suzayaaa @nanawrlds @sinisxtea @dearlyminhyung @flaminghotyourmom @jisworlds @jenobubbles @nctdreamchaser @lotties-readings @mystverse @chenlezip @blondemrk

[cloudtransprncy]

"One Night Only"

Word count: 11210 Jennie x Male reader

Consequence – That word reverberates through my mind, echoing off the plush walls of this hotel suite. Each decision, every whisper of action, carries its own shadow, trailing behind it. I know this, deep in my bones. Yet, life, in its fleeting dance, seems to mock the very notion of permanence. The only certainty we hold is the silent, inexorable march towards an end we'd rather not face. We push it aside, cloak it in disbelief. Life, in its relentless stride, continues until reality, unbidden, jolts us awake. So, we find refuge in the fleeting – in the amber embrace of liquor, the smoky tendrils of a cigarette, the heady rush of desire. For a night, just this night, we silence the whispers of tomorrow.

Jennie's breath, a ragged symphony, plays against my lips. Our kiss, a dance of longing, tastes of sweet cherries laced our sharp kiss. Her fingers, entwined in my hair, pull us closer, our bodies becoming one in the moon's silver gaze.

Commitment – that once-venerated word now feels like a stranger's tongue. The thought of being tethered, bound by invisible threads of promises stretching across a lifetime, seemed more a prison than a haven. I've always been a creature of flight, a heart unmoored. Maybe that's why she drifted away – a preemptive strike against a future steeped in resentment. In protecting us from the chains of unfulfilled promises, did I sever the only tie that mattered?

Her skin, a canvas of warmth under my fingertips, ignites a trail of desire. As I explore the landscape of her body, each curve, each hidden valley, I lose myself to the moment. Her whisper, a confession in the dark, "I've missed this," binds me tighter than any vow.

Beyond the confines of this room, the city stretches out – a tapestry of steel and dreams under the night sky. Each light, a star in this man-made constellation, speaks of what could be. Once, as a child, I found solace in the stars, in the steady presence of Virgo among the celestial sea. Jennie, like that favored constellation, has always been the light I orbit, the gravity I cannot escape.

In the lunar glow, her face is a serene oasis, her breaths soft sonnets in the stillness. As I trace the lines of her neck, her back arches, a silent plea etched in moonlight. When our gazes lock, in that infinite moment, I see it – the reflection of myself, of us, in the depths of her eyes, a constellation not in the sky but right here, in this room.

--

She'll come. She always does.

In my mind's eye, I knew she was entwined with someone new, a high-profile actor whose name evades my memory. Insignificant, really, in the grand tapestry of our story. He's but one of many, a star in the vast firmament of an industry pulsing with life. His mark on the world may be noteworthy, but in her universe, he's merely a passing comet, fleeting and ephemeral.

We had drifted apart, yet fragments of our souls lingered, delicately preserved within the vases of our hearts. Months had passed since our last encounter, since our fingers last brushed, our eyes last locked. Though a year had unfolded since our parting, the invisible threads that bound us remained unsevered. When she called, I became all ears; when I reached out, she was always there. Our souls, entwined through seasons of love, could not fully disentangle. She may have sought refuge in another's arms, yet a piece of her essence, like a sacred relic, remained eternally mine, as mine did hers.

The revelation of her presence in New York unfurled as I was poised to board my flight from Chicago to Toronto, the next chapter in my tour's melody. A spare day, a gift of time, whispered the possibility of a detour – a rendezvous in the city that never sleeps.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing my suite in a golden haze, I reached out to her. The skyscrapers below sparkled like jewels under the twilight's caress as I dialed her number. She answered, a silence that spoke volumes, a canvas upon which our history was painted. Our conversations had become a dance, a playful chase of cat and mouse, with words unspoken yet understood.

"I'm in the city for one night," I murmured, the words hanging in the air like a promise, a temptation. Her silence lingered, a delicate pause on the other end, filled with the muted symphony of her world – the distant chatter of her entourage, the soft clicks of cameras capturing fleeting moments.

"I got a room for me and you," I continued, my voice a blend of hope and certainty. "This is for one night only." The details spilled out, coordinates to our secret haven, as the line hummed with the electricity of anticipation before falling silent. But my heart knew – she would be there, drawn to me as I to her, in this city of dreams and shadows.

A knock fractured the stillness of the midnight hour, a subtle intrusion into the suite where I stood, lost in thought. Above, the sky had donned its nightly regalia, stars scattered like diamonds on black velvet, while the moon – a coy dancer among the celestial array – cast a playful glow upon the city's silhouette. Clouds, thin as gossamer, shifted in the sky, their movements like silk curtains in a soft breeze, alternately veiling and revealing the moon's luminescence. The hour was ethereal, suspended between the remnants of the day and the possibilities of the night.

As I opened the door, she materialized before me – an enigmatic vision at the threshold. She stood there, robed in a chic, form-fitting black dress that gracefully embraced her figure, ending mid-thigh in a delicate declaration of allure. Encircling her legs were knee-high socks, culminating in a daring thigh garter – a subtle yet bold statement of her unique style. Her presence was a striking contrast to the muted opulence of the hotel suite.

Her hair, a cascade of dark, silken strands, framed her face in a perfect balance of elegance and wildness. It fell around her shoulders like the night itself had woven a mantle of shadows to adorn her. The dress clung to her form, outlining her slender arms and the gentle curves of her body, a testament to her poise and the understated power of her presence.

Her makeup was an artful composition, her eyes highlighted with a subtle precision that spoke of distant lands – a hint of an exotic narrative told in the language of beauty. It was understated yet impactful, enhancing her natural features with an artistry that suggested a story deeper than what the eye could see. Her lips, painted in a soft, natural hue, invited a second glance, a lingering focus.

As her gaze met mine, it was electric, a current of shared history and unspoken understanding passing between us. Her eyes, dark and inscrutable, held a depth that was both inviting and impenetrable. The air around her was perfumed with the rich scent of roses, intermingling with the sweet notes of her perfume, creating an aura that was at once intoxicating and comforting.

Her smile unfurled, a familiar softness that painted her features with an intimacy known only to those who had once shared everything. It was a grin that reached back through time, stirring a sea of memories within me.

"Hey," I found myself saying, my words emerging with a hint of a smirk, a reflex born of countless shared moments.

"Hey yourself," she echoed, her voice a melody laced with history. Her fingers, delicate yet assertive, found my chest, pressing gently, urging me backward into the realm we had once known so well. The sensation of her touch was like a key turning in a long-locked door, opening pathways to a past we had carefully navigated.

"It's been a while," her words floated through the air, a statement hanging between us, laden with unspoken narratives.

"Indeed it has," I replied, my voice a soft echo of our shared past. The click of the door sealing us within the suite marked a threshold crossed, a silent herald of a journey into realms both familiar and uncharted.

In that simple exchange, a current of anticipation began to build. The air between us became charged, a palpable tension that spoke of things unsaid, of paths once walked and now revisited. The weight of our history and the uncertainty of our present wove together, creating a tapestry rich with possibility and fraught with the complexity of our intertwined past.

In the soft, muted light of the suite, it didn't take long for our reunion to transform into an entwined embrace on the couch, a fusion of longing and familiarity. The kiss was a deluge of suppressed desires, a fervent torrent that left no room for ambiguity in our intentions. Her body against mine was a juxtaposition of the known and the novel, a comforting familiarity found on unfamiliar terrain. Our tongues, engaged in a private waltz, rediscovered a rhythm that pulsed with both nostalgia and excitement.

My hands roamed her form with an eager curiosity, tracing the familiar yet rediscovered contours of her body. The sensation of her skin under my fingertips was a tapestry of memories and new sensations, each touch reigniting a forgotten connection. The urgency in our movements was palpable, a frantic energy that surged against the sands of time since our last entwining. We were an orchestra of motion and sound, a harmonious blend of sighs and soft moans, a tempest of passion and need. The air around us was thick with the scent of our mingled perfumes, a heady aroma that enveloped us in a cocoon of intimacy.

She dug her fingers into my hair, pulling me closer with a forcefulness that stoked the flames of my arousal. The pressure of her lips on mine intensified, her tongue dancing with increasing urgency. A soft whimper escaped her throat, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. Our tongues fought for dominance, fueled by the heat of our desires.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Jennie as my hands found their way, cupping the curves of her ass with a gentle firmness. The motion drew her closer still, eliminating any space that lingered between us. Through the thin fabric of her dress, I could discern the outline of her response, her nipples hardening under my touch. A physical testament to the charged atmosphere that enveloped us. Her body’s reaction, tangible and immediate, sent a wave of anticipation coursing through me.

The texture of her dress under my palms was a subtle contrast to the warmth of her skin, a reminder of the thin veil that still separated us from total surrender. Each breath she took was a melody, harmonizing with the quiet symphony of the night around us.

Jennie's retreat from our kiss left a tangible, connecting strand, a fleeting bridge between us that shimmered in the dim light. Her eyes, dark and enigmatic, bore into me with an intensity that felt as if it could unravel the very fabric of my being. Those eyes were like portals to uncharted depths, brimming with unspoken tales of desire and yearning.

"I've missed this, Owen" she whispered, her voice a soft rumble, resonating with every fiber of my being. She grinds against me, her hips moving back and forth, a tangible expression of her yearning that seeped through the barriers of our clothing. Her fingers, entwined in my hair, drew me back into her orbit, our lips crashing together in a kiss that was as fierce as it was profound. The intensity of our connection, raw and unbridled, engulfed me.

Consumed by her presence, the taste of her lips, the feel of her pressed so close, my hands roamed with a mind of their own. They journeyed beneath the hem of her dress, venturing over the smooth, warm terrain of her skin, each inch revealed a revelation in itself. The sigh that escaped her, a breathless affirmation of the moment, reverberated in me like a symphony.

Our bodies moved in tandem, a harmony of action and reaction, each caress, each undulation building on the next. Slowly, inch by inch I pushed her dress upward, revealing the subtle, sensual landscape of her form. Jennie's breath quickened as her hips rolled, grinding with an increased fervor against me, her nipples stiff and pronounced, brushing against my shirt, an exquisite combination of restraint and liberation. Her arms stretched upwards into the air as I pulled the fabrics of her dress, away from her, lifting its grip from her form, and over her head, which she then tossed casually to one side.

As Jennie's dress slid away, her figure, a stunning tapestry of curves and lines, was unveiled in the lunar glow that seeped through the windows. The moonlight played upon her skin, casting it in an ethereal shimmer, transforming her into a vision of porcelain radiance. She stood there, an embodiment of confidence and sensuality, a modern-day deity framed in a chiaroscuro of shadows and light.

My gaze lingered on her breast, tracing the contours of her physique – the gentle slopes and the pronounced curves that defined her form. Each aspect of her body, from the graceful arc of her waist to the delicate structure of her shoulders, spoke of a silent grace, a beauty that was as natural as it was captivating. Her skin, smooth and luminous, seemed to capture the very essence of the moon's glow, reflecting it back in a soft luminescence that highlighted her every move. My hands, acting with a fervor born from deep within, eagerly explored the expanse of Jennie's skin, a landscape I had once known intimately. The sensation of her beneath my fingertips was exhilarating – a cascade of textures and warmth that set every nerve ending alight. Her skin was soft, yet firm, yielding under my touch with a gentle resilience that beckoned for more exploration.

As I traced the contours of her body, every curve and dip spoke volumes. The softness of her breasts contrasted with the smooth, firmer feel of her abdomen, each sensation a paragraph in the story of her body. The way her skin responded to my touch, with subtle shifts and sighs, was like conversing in a language of sensation, each caress a word, each touch a sentence.

As my hands continued their journey, Jennie's responses turned into a symphony of their own. Her moans, soft yet resonant, were like notes rising from a well-tuned instrument, each one a melody of pleasure and surrender. The sound of her voice, humming in contentment, filled the room with a music that was deeply personal, an intimate concert shared between two souls.

Her moans ebbed and flowed with the rhythm of my touch, crescendos of sound that matched the increasing intensity of our connection. They were not just expressions of pleasure; they were communications, telling me without words how each caress, each gentle stroke was received. Her hums, low and melodic, were the bassline to the higher notes of her moans, creating a harmonious blend that was as compelling as any melody.

After savoring the sensation of Jennie's skin beneath my hands, an innate longing surged within me to delve deeper, to explore her with the intimacy of my lips. I began at her collarbone, a spot often overlooked yet brimming with delicate sensitivity. My lips traced its subtle contours, each kiss eliciting a gentle sigh from Jennie, her skin warm and soft under the tender pressure.

As I journeyed to her shoulders, the texture of her skin subtly shifted, becoming smoother, more resilient. Her responses grew in intensity, her moans a testament to the changing sensations my lips invoked. The scent of roses from her perfume grew stronger here, mingling with her natural fragrance to create an intoxicating aura.

Gliding down her arm, I reveled in the silkiness of her skin, each kiss a discovery of her unique topography. But it was at her armpit where I lingered, captivated by the uniqueness of this hidden enclave. The texture here was more intimate, the skin softer and imbued with a deeper scent that was unmistakably Jennie - raw and personal. Her reaction was more pronounced; her moans louder and filled with a depth that spoke volumes of the pleasure she felt.

As my lips finally reached the crest of Jennie's chest, the change in texture was profound. Her breasts, tender and full of life, responded to each kiss with a symphony of sensation. The delicate softness beneath my lips felt like the most luxurious satin, each touch deepening our connection. The subtle firmness of her nipples, aroused and beckoning, contrasted with the yielding flesh around them.

Gently, I let my tongue dance over the stiffened peak, and Jennie's reaction was immediate. A shiver coursed through her, a physical echo of the pleasure that resonated within. Her breathing became a series of rapid, shallow waves, a delicate soundtrack to our intimate ballet.

Meanwhile, my hand ventured to its twin, mirroring the actions of my mouth. The sensation of rolling and lightly flicking her other nipple elicited from her a chorus of sensual sounds, each moan a note in our crescendoing duet.

When I enveloped her sensitive peak with my mouth, Jennie's moan - "Oh my god" - reverberated through the room. The meticulous circling of my tongue around her was a focused ritual, each motion deliberate and attuned to her responses. The flavor of her skin was a delicate blend of sweetness tinged with the saltiness of her arousal, a tantalizing taste that drew me deeper into the moment. Her chest pushed forward, eager to meet the onslaught of stimulation with an intuitive abandon.

"I forgot how good you feel," I murmured, my voice tinged with a deep arousal, the words escaping almost involuntarily.

"I want to feel you too," Jennie responded, her voice a breathless mixture of playfulness and desire, sending a jolt of longing straight through me. Her eyes, deep and enigmatic like the midnight sky, held mine with an intensity that spoke volumes. Her hand traced a path up my arm, gliding over the contours of my shoulder, then wrapping around to my back with an electrifying touch that felt like a firebrand on my skin.

With an urgency that mirrored our rising passions, she tugged at my shirt, a silent beckoning for me to shed the last barrier between us. In a swift, seamless motion, Jennie peeled my shirt away, her hands immediately finding the warmth of my bare chest. Her initial feather-light touch quickly intensified, her fingers becoming more assertive, tracing and exploring my skin with a growing fervor that matched the beat of our racing hearts.

As Jennie began to mirror the way I had cherished her body, the intensity of the experience magnified. Her lips traced a path down my neck, each kiss a delicate imprint that seemed to sear into my memory. The sensation of her mouth moving across my skin was both soft and fervent, a contradiction that sent waves of pleasure through me.

Her hands, emboldened by her desire, explored the landscape of my torso. The contrast of her delicate fingertips against the firmness of my muscles created an exhilarating dance of sensations. The pressure of her touch varied, sometimes feather-light, other times more assertive, mapping the contours of my body with an attentiveness that was almost reverent. Each caress seemed to speak volumes, communicating her appreciation and desire in a language beyond words.

As she reached my chest, her exploration became more intense. The sensation of her lips against my skin was like an electric current, each kiss a spark that ignited deeper, more primal feelings within me. Her breath, warm and uneven against my skin, her soft murmurs and occasional sharp expletives, added to the crescendo of sensations, making every moment feel more heightened, more vivid.

In the midst of this exchange, a thought flickered through my mind, unbidden yet insistent. I wondered if her nights with her boyfriend held the same intensity, the same unbridled passion that we were experiencing. Was there the same depth of connection, the same exploration of senses? The thought was a sharp contrast to the immediacy of our encounter, a jarring reminder of the reality beyond this room.

Yet, as quickly as the thought came, it was swept away by the tide of our passion. The here and now was all that mattered - the feeling of her hands on me, the taste of her lips, the sound of her soft exclamations. In this moment, nothing else existed but the intensity of our rekindled connection, a fervor that seemed to eclipse all else.

"Fuck! I need your dick in my mouth," Jennie's voice was thick with desire as she slid off my lap. Her hands, eager and insistent, found their way to the waistband of my sweatpants. With a swift, almost ravenous movement, she tugged them down, freeing my aching arousal. It stood, hard and throbbing, just inches from her face. Her eyes, alight with a fiery blend of lust and hunger, locked onto mine.

"You can have it tonight," I responded, my voice a deep rumble of desire, as her small, delicate hands encircled me. The contrast of her soft touch against my hardness only heightened the moment.

"All of it?" Her question was laced with a seductive confidence, her eyes burning with an intensity that spoke volumes of her desire. I could only nod, caught up in the moment's gravity.

Leaning forward, Jennie's lips parted slightly, and she drooled over a thick glob of saliva that landed precisely on the tip. The warm fluid began to trickle down, glistening in the dim light. She deftly used her fingers to spread it, coating me in a sheen that was both slick and inviting. My entire being was alight with sensation, every nerve ending attuned to her movements as she began to work her hand along my length. Her grip was firm, her movements measured, each stroke a deliberate act of provocation.

Jennie's movements became more intense as she tilted her head, sweeping her hair to one side with a free hand while maintaining her fervent stroke. Her gaze remained locked with mine, a fiery blend of intensity and curiosity as she leaned down. The first sensation was the heat of her breath, a hot, moist whisper against my skin. Then came the slow, deliberate touch of her tongue, tracing a circle around the tip. The electricity of her touch sent a tremor through my body, a visceral reminder of our past intimacy.

As Jennie's lips enveloped the crown, the sensation was both familiar and overwhelming. Her tongue skillfully danced and teased, each movement deliberate and laden with sensation. The warmth and wetness of her mouth enveloped me further, each motion a blissful exploration. Time seemed to stretch and warp, the world outside our bubble ceasing to exist in the wake of her expert ministrations.

Her soft moan, vibrating around me, amplified the sensation, sending shockwaves through my body. I was caught in a spellbinding haze of pleasure, each movement she made bringing me closer to the edge of surrender. The combination of her lips, tongue, and the soft vibrations of her moans created an indescribable tapestry of pleasure, leaving me utterly enraptured.

"Holy Shit!" I couldn't hold back the moan as I found support against the couch's frame, my arms stretched out for stability. The intensity of Jennie's movements sent waves of pleasure through me, causing my head to thrash back in ecstasy. My heart raced uncontrollably, every beat echoing the mounting need within me.

Jennie's hair, a dark cascade, framed her face as she moved with a precision that was nothing short of masterful. The sensation of her lips, sliding rhythmically along my length, was unparalleled. Her ability to take me fully, her breath steady through her nose, spoke of an expertise that was both awe-inspiring and deeply arousing. The way her cheeks hollowed, the hungry suction, the repeated swallowing of my length – it was a dance of intensity and passion.

She occasionally paused, deliberately choking on the tip to gather saliva, which she then used to lubricate my entire length, enhancing the ride with each slick, smooth movement. Every action, every technique of hers was a testament to her skill, her dedication to the act transforming it into something akin to fervent devotion. The pleasure she bestowed was not just physical; it was an experience that transcended the mere act, elevating it to a form of worship.

As I felt the tide of climax beginning to rise within me, I instinctively wanted to prolong this intense experience, to savor more of Jennie's body. Gently, I tried to guide her head away, signaling my intention to pause, but she was resolute. Her determination was clear; she was intent on bringing me to the edge right then and there.

My attempts to ease her off were met with a firm slap of her hand against mine, a silent but emphatic message that she wasn't done yet. "You're giving this to me now, and you're giving me more later," she declared with a commanding tone that brooked no argument. Her eyes, alight with a fierce desire, locked onto mine, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Jennie intensified her movements, her lips and hand working in perfect tandem. The sight of her, so engrossed in the act, her hair framing her focused expression, was utterly captivating. Each movement of her head, each stroke of her hand, was a masterful balance of pressure and rhythm, pushing me closer to the brink.

The sensory overload was overwhelming - the sight of her dedication, the feel of her mouth and hand, and the sounds of our shared pleasure filling the room. Jennie's technique was a perfect symphony of movements, each one bringing a higher crescendo of sensation, making it impossible to think of anything but the imminent and intense climax.

As the moment approached, a feeling akin to a tempestuous sea churned in my stomach, a wave of pleasure building, threatening to crest. Jennie, attuned to my nearing edge, let out a moan that mingled with the surge within me, intensifying the inevitable release. Overwhelmed, I succumbed to the climax, an eruption of sensation, met by Jennie's unwavering embrace. Her lips formed a perfect seal around me, her rhythmic strokes ensuring not a single moment was lost.

Her gaze remained locked with mine throughout, a mirror of pure satisfaction as she swallowed, taking in every part of the experience. In her eyes shone a prideful gleam, a recognition of her own prowess in guiding me to this point of surrender. Her delight was palpable, a silent celebration of the control she wielded, the pleasure she had drawn out.

As the waves subsided, leaving a trail of bliss in their wake, Jennie finally drew back, the connection gently severed, leaving us both in a state of breathless reprieve. She then picked up my shirt from the floor, using it to delicately wipe away the remnants of our encounter from her mouth and hands, her actions as deliberate and composed as they had been in the height of our passion.

Reeling from the intensity of my climax, I found myself being gently but firmly drawn back to the present by Jennie. Her lips met mine in a kiss that was soft yet charged, the taste of myself on her tongue adding a complex layer to our connection. This was more than just physical; it was an exchange of unspoken promises, a dance of intimacy and understanding.

"I'm not done with you. You brought me here, we're gonna make the most of it," she whispered against my lips, her tongue playfully darting out to trace my bottom lip. With a sudden shift, she grasped my hand and led me towards the bed, her movements fluid and purposeful.

As we moved through the suite, the sounds of the city outside filtered through the windows – the distant hum of traffic, the soft murmur of voices, the occasional siren. These were the symphonies of the night, the backdrop to our unfolding story. The room's lighting cast a soft, ambient glow, painting everything in a hue of warmth and intimacy.

As Jennie gracefully made her way onto the bed, her back presented a captivating sight. The arch of her spine flowed into the gentle swell of her hips, each movement accentuating the allure of her lower back and hips. Clad in a small black thong, her hips were teasingly framed, the fabric nestled seductively in the crevice, hinting at the hidden treasures yet to be revealed.

As she reached the center of the bed, Jennie slowly maneuvered herself into a captivating position. Her legs, long and elegantly toned, were raised and folded in a 'W' shape, an enticing display of both vulnerability and invitation. This pose accentuated the length of her legs, the curvature of her hips, and the delicate symmetry of her figure. The knee-high socks she wore added a contrasting element of innocence and playfulness to her otherwise exposed form.

Then, as if compelled by a force beyond her control, Jennie's hands embarked on a tantalizing exploration of her own body. They traced the contours of her breasts with a languorous care, each touch a study in self-adoration. The slow, deliberate movements of her fingers were hypnotic, accentuating her allure in the dimly lit room.

The transformation in Jennie's appearance since our earlier encounter was striking. Her makeup, now smudged and spread, lent her an air of wild abandon, while her hair, disheveled and untamed, framed her face in a chaotic halo. This raw, disordered state only heightened her appeal, lending her a captivating, almost intoxicating aura of realness.

Reclining gracefully, she ran a finger tantalizingly over her lips – lips that still bore the evidence of our previous passion. She continued her seductive journey, her finger tracing a path down her neck, over the gentle swell of her chest.

"come here..." she gestured over for me to join her on the bed, her tone both commanding and inviting. She turned to lay on her back, the sight of her body beckoning me forward.

Still covered by a black thong, her most intimate area was teasingly concealed, yet the way she moved hinted at what was to come. As I stepped closer, drawn in by the magnetic pull of her presence, Jennie reached down with a tantalizing slowness. Her fingers hooked onto the thin fabric of the thong, sliding it off in a motion that was nothing short of seductive. The removal of this final barrier revealed her in full, a breathtaking vision of desire laid bare before me.

In a move that was both deliberate and revealing, Jennie reached down, her hands delicately pulling at the skin on her inner thighs. This gesture was an open invitation, a welcome for my eyes to feast upon her most intimate self. As she gently parted her skin, the hidden beauty of her entrance was unveiled, a sight that was both intensely private and undeniably captivating. Her entrance glistened, its moist perfection a testament to the intensity of her arousal.

As I crawled forward onto the bed, the sensation of the soft, plush sheets against my hands was immediately noticeable. The fabric was smooth and fine, a stark contrast to the fervent energy that filled the room. Each movement I made caused the sheets to shift ever so slightly, creating a subtle but distinct sensation against my skin.

The bed itself was an island in the midst of our passion, its surface both yielding and supportive, a perfect backdrop for the intensity of the moment. As I found my place between Jennie's legs, the bed seemed to embrace us, its softness enveloping us in a cocoon of comfort and intimacy.

Jennie's body was a canvas of desire, painted with the colors of her own passion. Her skin, creamy and fair, glistened with sweat and moisture, reflecting the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table. Her hair framed her face in a halo of darkness, accentuating her delicate features. Her breasts, small and plump, rose and fell with each shallow breath she took, their nipples hard and erect beneath the thin sheet that covered her.

As I looked at her from my position between her legs, I couldn't help but marvel at the sight before me. She was naked and vulnerable, yet there was a strength in her that spoke volumes. It was as if she had shed all pretenses of modesty and embraced her true self - a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to go after it.

Jennie's hands moved with purpose across her body, tracing lazy circles around her nipples before dipping down to explore the sensitive flesh between her legs. Her fingers were long and slender, each one ending in a sharp claw that seemed to dig into her skin with every movement. She moved with an intensity that was both mesmerizing and intimidating - a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn't afraid to take it.

As I watched her touch herself, my own body began to respond to the sight before me. My heart raced in my chest as I felt my own erection begin to stir beneath my sweatpants. The thought of being with Jennie again - of feeling her body against mine - was enough to send waves of pleasure coursing through me.

I couldn't help but feel drawn to her entrance - that intimate place where she had given herself so completely to me before. As I crawled closer between her legs, I couldn't help but feel a sense of reverence for the sight before me. It was as if I were witnessing something sacred - something that belonged only to us two.

Jennie's entrance was like nothing I had ever seen before - a perfect blend of delicate petals and firm muscle. The pink flesh was soft yet firm beneath my fingertips as I traced them over the surface. The scent of wetness mingled with the aroma of sweat and lust as I explored every inch of this intimate place that belonged solely to Jennie.

As I teased her entrance with my fingers, Jennie moaned softly - a sound that sent shivers down my spine as it echoed through the room. Her body tensed beneath me as she reached out for me - drawing me closer until our bodies were pressed together in an intimate embrace that seemed to transcend time itself.

I couldn't help but marvel at the sight before me. Jennie's entrance was like nothing I had ever seen before - a perfect blend of delicate petals and firm muscle. The pink flesh was soft yet firm beneath my fingertips as I traced them over the surface. The scent of wetness mingled with the aroma of sweat and lust as I explored every inch of this intimate place that belonged solely to Jennie. As I teased her entrance with my fingers, Jennie moaned softly - a sound that sent shivers down my spine as it echoed through the room. Her body tensed beneath me as she reached out for me - drawing me closer until our bodies were pressed together in an intimate embrace that seemed to transcend time itself.

I closed my eyes and let out a low moan as I savored the scent of her pussy, allowing it to permeate my senses and fill me with a desire that was both insatiable and exhilarating. My tongue darted out, eager to explore the fleshy depths of her entrance, and I licked the outer folds with a gentle, exploratory motion. The taste was unlike anything I had ever experienced before - sweet and salty, with just a hint of tanginess that spoke of her natural chemistry. It was intoxicating, addictive, and I found myself wanting more and more with each passing moment.

As my fingers delved deeper into her fleshy thighs, I felt a surge of pleasure course through me. The sensation was electrifying, sending shivers down my spine with each lick and suck. Her body pulsed beneath me, her hips undulating in rhythm with my movements, as if we were two dancers in perfect harmony. The sound of her soft moans filled the air, adding to the sensory experience. I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the texture of her flesh beneath my fingertips, and the taste of her juices on my lips. Every sensation was amplified, every detail was vivid, and I found myself completely immersed into her.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe for the view before me - it was as if I were witnessing something holy - something that belonged only to us two. With each flick of my tongue, a symphony of sensations unfolded, like a tapestry of flavors and textures. I navigated the labyrinthine depths of her crevices, discovering hidden chambers and secret alcoves that ignited my senses. The taste of her essence, both sweet and musky, mingled with the salty tang of her sweat, creating a heady elixir that intoxicated me. The warmth of her body radiated through my skin, enveloping me in a cocoon of desire. The taste intensified, the sweetness fading into something richer and more intricate - a taste that spoke of depth and complexity that mirrored our own bond.

As I delved deeper into her entrance with my flicking tongue, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in what we were doing together. The world outside faded away, leaving only the raw, unapologetic sensations that coursed through our veins. Our bodies were connected by desire and passion, and we explored each other's with a sense of freedom and abandon. The taste of her essence was intoxicating, and I couldn't get enough of it. The salty tang of her sweat mingled with the sweetness of her body, creating a heady elixir that left me dizzy with pleasure. The warmth of her body radiated through my skin, enveloping me in a cocoon of desire. It was a moment of pure sensory exploration - an exchange of pleasure that transcended words or actions. It didn't matter that she was with someone, all that mattered was what we both wanted - needed..

"Oh my God!" As her slender fingers delved into the silken strands of my hair, a guttural moan escaped her lips, echoing through the dimly lit room like a siren's call. Her touch was a symphony of sensations, each caress sending shivers down my spine. It was as if she was weaving a spell, ensnaring me in a web of desire with every delicate pull and tug. "You're so good at that, Owen" Her teeth sank into the softness of her lower lip, drawing a crimson bead of blood. The skin of her neck tightened, corded muscles standing out like delicate ridges beneath the surface. A low, guttural growl escaped her throat, a primal sound that reverberated through the room.

My tongue, a fervent explorer, ventured beyond the silken folds of her womanhood, tracing the contours of her hidden desires. Each delicate stroke ignited a symphony of sensations, a chorus of whispers reverberating through her core. Her body, a finely tuned instrument, responded with a tremor, a ripple of anticipation coursing through her limbs. She writhed in agony, her limbs trembling with the intensity of her pleasure. Her stomach twisted and churned, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within her core. Her head lolled back, her eyes rolling with ecstasy as her body surrendered to the sensations coursing through her veins.

Her head arched back, a gasp escaping her lips as my tongue ventured forth, seeking the epicenter of her desire. My lips moved in a circular motion, teasing and tormenting her sensitive nub, each revolution igniting a fiery burst of pleasure that rippled through her body. Her legs tightened around my head, her toes curling in ecstasy as her hips bucked involuntarily. One of my fingers slipped down between the silken folds of her entrance, circling and probing, adding an extra layer of stimulation. The combination of my tongue and finger was too much for her, sending her spiraling into the abyss of ecstasy.

The room filled with the symphony of her moans, a primal melody that echoed off the walls. Her body writhed beneath me, her curves undulating like waves crashing against the shore. I could feel her heat and her wetness, taste her desire and her passion. I was lost in the moment, consumed by the sensations that swirled around us like a maelstrom. My finger continued its relentless assault, tracing the contours of her entrance, teasing and probing at its delicate folds. My tongue flicked and danced across her clit, each touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She was a marionette in my hands, her body contorting and twisting at my every whim. Her fingernails dug into my back, leaving moon-shaped marks on my skin. I basked in the pain, a manifestation of her unyielding passion.

Diving deeper into Jennie's silken depths, I felt her body tremble beneath me, her breath hitching in ragged gasps. My tongue danced across her heated folds, swirling and teasing like a mischievous sprite. Each touch sent shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through her core, her moans escalating into a desperate symphony that filled the room. Her hips arched involuntarily, seeking more of my fervent ministrations.

With one hand buried between her legs, I reached up with the other, exploring the smooth expanse of her toned stomach. My fingers traced the contours of her abs, teasing and tormenting her sensitive navel. She arched her back, her hips bucking wildly as my tongue danced across her clit. I could feel her heat and her wetness, taste her desire and her passion. I was lost in the moment, consumed by the sensations that swirled around us like a maelstrom.

As I continued to lick and suck at her clit, I slipped a finger inside her. It slid in easily, coated in her wetness. I began to pump my finger in and out, matching the rhythm of my tongue on her clit. Jennie's moans grew louder, more frenzied, her body trembling with anticipation. I could feel her muscles clenching around my finger, a sign that she was close.

With my free hand, I reached up to cup her breast, squeezing gently as my tongue continued its relentless assault on her clit. Her nipple hardened in my hand, a dark, erect bud that begged for attention. I pinched it lightly between my fingers, eliciting a sharp gasp from Jennie. Her hips bucked wildly, her body writhing beneath me as I continued to finger and lick her.

I could feel her heat and her wetness increasing, a sign that she was on the brink. With each relentless thrust, I quickened the tempo of my finger, driving it deeper into her slick, welcoming depths. I could feel her body responding, her muscles clenching and unclenching around my eager digit, a symphony of anticipation and surrender. Her breath hitched in her throat, a soft gasp escaping her lips as I continued my relentless assault on her pleasure center. My tongue danced across her clit, teasing and tormenting her sensitive nub. Jennie's moans grew louder, more desperate, a symphony of pleasure that filled the room.

In the hallowed chamber of our love, anticipation hung heavy in the air, pregnant with the promise of ecstasy. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her whispered words barely audible above the fervent rhythm of our bodies. "Owen," she breathed, "I'm so close," and I could feel the trembling of her body, the clenching and unclenching of her muscles.

We were dancing on the precipice, so close to the edge, and I couldn't resist the urge to push her over. My fingers slid deeper into her slick, welcoming depths, the tempo of our love growing faster, more intense with each passing moment. The air was thick with the scent of passion, the taste of lust, and the sweetness of surrender.

As I continued my relentless assault on her pleasure center, I could feel the tension building, the anticipation growing. The air was thick with the scent of passion, the taste of lust, and the sweetness of surrender. My fingers slid deeper into her slick, welcoming depths, the tempo of our love growing faster, more intense with each passing moment. The rhythm of our bodies was in sync, our movements fluid and graceful, as we danced on the precipice of ecstasy.

I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the beat of her heart echoing in my ears. Her whispered words of desire were like music to my ears, fueling my desire to bring her to the edge. I could sense the trembling of her body, the clenching and unclenching of her muscles, as she surrendered to the pleasure.

As I felt her body convulse around me, I knew that I had pushed her to the edge, that I had brought her to the point of no return. The intensity of our lust was overwhelming, a whirlwind of emotions and sensations that left me breathless. I could feel the warmth of her skin against mine, the softness of her hair, the taste of her lips on mine.

Her body, a symphony of rapture, throbbed beneath me, her cries of ecstasy echoing through the room. I had taken her to the precipice, and now she was free-falling into the abyss of pleasure. Her face, a canvas of desire, contorted with delight as she surrendered to the sensations that consumed her. I watched, enraptured, as she arched her back, her body trembling with the intensity of her climax. It was a moment of pure bliss, a communion of souls that transcended the physical realm.

As she finally descended from the tempestuous heights of her orgasm, Jennie lay there panting, her body still trembling like a leaf caught in an autumn gale. The aftershocks of ecstasy rippled through her, her skin flushed and damp with the nectar of our lovemaking. I moved beside her, my heart thrumming in my chest like a war drum, its beat echoing in the silence of the room like a primal chant. As I gazed into her eyes, I felt a raw, primal energy crackling between us, an electric current that coursed through our veins and ignited our souls.

After a moment, Jennie gathered herself, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looked at me with a mix of desire and longing, her eyes locked onto my erection. Without a word, she reached out and spit on it, her saliva glistening on the tip as she began to stroke me. I moaned softly, my body responding to her touch with a fierce intensity.

"Now, for the real thing," Her breath, a warm caress against my ear, whispered promises of forbidden pleasures, unspoken desires. In the hushed tones of a seductress, she confessed, "I've been thinking about this"

My heart raced as she climbed on top of me, her body pressing against mine with a force that was both

exhilarating and terrifying. As Jennie descended upon me, I was captivated by the sight of her pussy swallowing my length whole, her muscles contracting around me with a ferocity that left me breathless. The feeling was ineffable, a surge of ecstasy that coursed through me like a tempestuous storm, electrifying every fiber of my being. Her gaze bore into mine, a mixture of passion and rebellion, as she claimed my cock in her body.

Jennie's body was a sight to behold, her curves accentuated by the soft, ambient light that bathed the room in a moody, atmospheric glow. Her breasts, full and firm, swayed gently with each thrust, their dark, rosy nipples standing erect against the cool air. Her hips moved in a hypnotic rhythm, her muscles flexing with each deliberate motion as she rode me with a fervor that left me breathless.

The view was breathtaking, Jennie's face a picture of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her lips were parted, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she lost herself in the moment. Her eyes, dark and expressive, were filled with a raw, primal hunger that was both intoxicating and terrifying.

As we moved together, the room was filled with the symphony of our bodies slapping against each other, the wet, slick sounds of our flesh meeting in a frenzied dance of desire, like waves crashing against the shore. The air was thick with the scent of our arousal, a heady mix of sweat and sex that filled my senses and heightened my pleasure, intoxicating me with its primal allure. The rhythm of our lovemaking echoed through the room, a percussive symphony that pounded in my ears and set my heart racing with each thrust.

"Oh fuck, you're so tight," With a guttural moan, I plunged further into Jennie's depths, my body consumed by an insatiable hunger.

"And you're so big, you're stretching me out," Jennie moaned in response, her hips bucking wildly as she rode me with a fierce intensity.

"Do you like that? do you like my cock inside you? you've missed it dont you?" I asked, my voice thick with desire as I looked down at Jennie.

"yes! yes! Yes! Fuck!" Jennie cried out, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she lost herself in the moment.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still, and all that mattered was the intense sensory experience that was unfolding before me. Jennie's body was a symphony of pleasure, her every movement a testament to the raw, primal power of desire. And as I lost myself in the rhythm of our bodies, I knew that I was experiencing something truly transcendent, something that would stay with me long after the last echoes of our passion had faded away.

As she began to move, I felt myself being drawn into a world of pure sensation. Every thrust, every movement, was a symphony of pleasure that seemed to resonate deep within my soul. Jennie's eyes never left mine, her expression a mix of desire and determination as she rode me with a fierce intensity. I could feel her muscles clenching around me, a tight, wet heat that seemed to pull me deeper into her body with each passing second.

With a sudden surge of energy, I flipped her onto her back, guiding her legs apart as I positioned myself above her. Our eyes locked in a heated gaze as I plunged deeper into her, my body responding to her cries of desire with a feral intensity.

In this newfound position, I was able to control the depth and pace of our lovemaking, driving myself into her with an insatiable hunger. The headboard creaked against the wall in time with our frantic rhythm, the room filled with the wet sounds of our passionate union. Her hands gripped my back, nails digging into my skin as we moved together as one.

With each thrust, our bodies collided in a symphony of sensations – the slickness of our skin meeting in a primal dance, the soft moans escaping Jennie's lips as she arched her back to meet my every movement. Sweat glistened on both our bodies, beading on our skin like liquid diamonds under the dimmed lights. Her breasts bounced with each impact, nipples hardened and begging for attention. I reached down to tease them roughly, eliciting a gasp from Jennie that spurred me onward.

I could feel every ripple and fold of her wet heat enveloping me, clenching around my length like a vice. The scent of our arousal hung heavy in the air – musky and intoxicating – fueling the fire that burned between us. As I watched our reflection in the mirrored ceiling above us, I marveled at the sight: two bodies entwined in an age-old dance, seeking solace and release in each other's arms.

As I pushed into her further, I raised Jennie's elongated, slender limbs by their ankles, spreading them outward for my access. The visual before me was captivating - her toned thighs glistening with perspiration, her delicate toes curling and uncurling as I kissed and licked upon them. Her thin arms quivered with ecstasy. One hand clung tightly to the bedsheets, the other meandering down to manipulate her breasts, pinching and tugging at the firm nipples that stood upright against the cool atmosphere. Her eyelids were shut, her visage a blend of pleasure and agony as she yielded herself to the overwhelming sensations coursing through her entire body.

Jennie pulled me down to kiss her, her lips soft and warm against mine. Our tongues danced together in a frenzied rhythm, mirroring the movements of our bodies below. I could feel her heart pounding against my chest, her breath hot and heavy in my ear as she urged me onward. My thrusts did not stop, my body driven by a primal need to claim her once more.

Her nails raked down my back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, fueling the flames of our passion even further. Our bodies collided with an intensity that belied the passage of time, as if we were two souls trapped in an endless loop of desire and need. The room was filled with the sound of our moans and gasps, a symphony of lust that echoed off the walls. The scent of our arousal hung heavy in the air – musky and intoxicating – as we raced towards that elusive peak together.

In this moment, there was only us – two people lost in a sea of passion, seeking solace and release in each other's arms. As I looked into her dark eyes, I saw the same longing and desire that burned within me.

Soon after we switched positions, Jennie was on all fours, presenting her luscious ass to me as I entered her from behind. I couldn't help but admire the view before me – her toned backside, the delicate dip of her spine, and the way her hair cascaded down her back in a waterfall of ebony silk. Her skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, accentuating every curve and contour of her body.

As I positioned myself behind her, I marveled at the sight of my cock sliding into her wet heat once more. The sensation was indescribable – hot, tight, and wet; it felt like coming home. With each thrust, I could feel every ripple and fold of her inner walls clenching around me, as if she were trying to hold onto me forever. The sound of our bodies colliding filled the room, a primal symphony that echoed off the walls.

In this position, Jennie's body took on an even more alluring form –  hips curved in invitation; and thighs spread apart in wanton display. Her back arched gracefully, accentuating the perfect curve of her spine and emphasizing the delicate line of her neck. It was a breathtaking sight, truly awe-inspiring - this beautiful creature beneath me, her body glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, her breath hitching with every thrust I made. Her moans, they were like sweet music to my ears, filling the room with an erotic symphony that echoed off the walls. They were desperate pleas for more, whispers of pleasure intermingling with the rhythmic crescendo of our bodies colliding. The sight and sounds of Jennie in the throes of ecstasy was intoxicating, pushing me further to the edge.

Every thrust was a desperate attempt to fuse our bodies together, to become one with this woman who held my heart captive. Our bodies collided with a force that belied the tenderness of our earlier lovemaking, a raw and primal display of unrestrained passion.

I reached down, my fingers tracing the delicate line of her spine, feeling the soft texture of her skin beneath my fingertips. Her body trembled beneath my touch, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation. I leaned down and kissed her neck, my lips trailing a path of fire down to her collarbone. She moaned softly, her head tilting back to give me better access.

My hands slid down her body, cupping her firm buttocks. I squeezed gently, feeling the muscles tense beneath my touch. Her hips moved involuntarily against mine, a desperate plea for more. I responded by thrusting into her with renewed vigor, my body driven by a primal need to claim her.

Jennie's body trembled beneath me, her muscles tensing and relaxing in a rhythmic dance of ecstasy. Her moans grew louder, more urgent, as she neared the precipice of release. Her body was a canvas of pleasure, her skin glistening with sweat as she writhed beneath me.

I could feel it too, the heat and tightness building between us, the overwhelming need to explode in a symphony of pleasure. It was like a volcano ready to erupt, the pressure building and building.

"Owen," she whispered, her voice a desperate plea. "I'm so close."

Her hushed murmurs were barely perceptible over the symphony of our pounding hearts and the wet slap of our bodies colliding in a rhythm as old as time itself. The scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, intoxicating me with every breath I took. I carefully parted the supple curves of her ass, my gaze transfixed on the provocative sight before me: myself buried deep within her slick, welcoming folds.

"I'm close too, fuck! I'm gonna cum" I surrendered to the primitive instinct within me, my hips driving against her with newfound urgency. The soft, supple curves of her back molded perfectly against the harsh angles of my chest and abdomen. Her skin was a living flame beneath my fingertips – hot, slick, and glistening with sweat that clung to her like a second skin. The intoxicating taste of salt and woman filled my mouth as I pressed kisses along the graceful arch of her neck, each one drawing a gasp or a moan from her lips in response.

Such sweet music she made – soft sighs and whimpers that danced in harmony with the symphony of our bodies colliding in rhythmic unison. They were notes on an erotic sonnet, each one resonating deep within me, igniting sparks that threatened to consume me whole.

As the intensity of our coupling began to overwhelm me, I felt my legs quivering, the pressure mounting and threatening to spill over. With a firm grip on her shoulders, I channeled all my strength into thrusting against her - plunging into Jennie with an urgency borne of pure desire and unbridled lust. Each thrust resonated deep within me, stirring up a tempest of emotions that swirled in harmony with the rhythm of our bodies colliding. The sweet friction generated by our union was as intoxicating as it was maddening.

The intensity of her orgasm was like a tidal wave, crashing over me and pulling me under. I could hear her screams of pleasure, echoing in my ears as she came undone beneath me. Her body trembled and quivered, every muscle taut and tense as she rode out the waves of ecstasy. Her nails dug into my back, leaving crescent moons etched into my skin as she held on for dear life. The sensation of her walls clenching around me, milking me for all I was worth, was almost too much to bear. I felt myself losing control, my own climax building rapidly as I thrust into her with abandon.

"Fuck, you're so tight," I groaned, my voice strained and desperate. "I'm gonna cum."

"Oh my God, Owen!" She cried out, her voice a desperate plea. "Fill me up!"

With a final, desperate thrust, I let go. The pleasure exploded outwards from my core, a blinding white light that consumed me whole. I felt myself spill into her, my release warm and thick as it filled her to the brim. Her body shook beneath me, her walls milking me for every last drop as she came undone once more. With a surge of desire, her inner walls gripped me tightly, milking every inch of my throbbing cock as she pressed herself against my groin. Her body trembled beneath me, the rhythmic motion causing her juices to mix with the heat of my own release, filling her to the brim with my essence. The sensation was overwhelming and intoxicating, a swirl of pleasure and wetness.

The culmination overwhelmed us, a torrent of delight that teetered on the edge of being unbearable. This peak, an oft-experienced sensation, was a mass consumption of joy that stemmed from my very essence. It was like a dazzling white glare, a flood tide crashing over me and pulling me under its swell. The impact nearly felt scary, but in the most positive way. It was as if each sensory neuron in me had been ignited, a harmonious symphony of sensations that left me breathless and quivering with fulfillment.

As the waves of pleasure began to subside, I collapsed onto the bed beside her, my body spent and satisfied. I pulled her close, my arm wrapped around her waist as I pressed kisses to her neck and shoulder. Her body was still trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to catch her breath.

I looked into her eyes, and what I saw there was a mixture of pleasure and longing, a deep emotional and physical satisfaction that mirrored my own. I held her in my arms, her body still trembling from the force of our climax. Her hair was plastered to her face, sweat sticking to her skin in a way that only added to her allure. She was breathtaking – a sight that I knew I would never grow tired of. As she lay there in my arms, panting and heaving, I couldn't help but think about what could have been between us.

The intensity of our connection flooded my mind with memories and regrets. I thought back to our time together years ago, when things were different. When the possibilities between us seemed endless. Back then, I had felt the magnetic pull towards her – the urge to give myself to her fully, to commit everything I had. But the fear always held me back, gripping my heart like a vise. I was terrified of losing myself in her, of the vulnerability that comes with true intimacy. So I held back, keeping her at arm's length even as we shared our bodies and souls.

She had wanted more, I knew that even then. I could see it in her eyes whenever she looked at me – that simmering desire for the whole of my heart. But the fear was too strong, the habit of self-protection too ingrained. And so she eventually moved on, leaving me bereft and full of remorse.

Now here she was again, trembling in my arms like she belonged there. The old longings came flooding back, mingled with regret. If only I could go back and choose differently, give her the love she deserved. But it was too late for that. The best I could do was cherish these stolen moments together, even as I knew deep down that I would inevitably pull back again. She was my North Star, my guiding light – but one that I could never fully reach no matter how hard I tried. The thought filled me with equal parts bliss and anguish. I held her tighter as she drifted off to sleep, wishing I could freeze this moment forever. --

I draw an elongated, languid pull from my cigarette, allowing the nicotine to seep into my bloodstream as I linger on this balcony, my perch above the dazzling, pulsating cityscape of New York. The night air is sharp, a crisp contrast to the lingering warmth that still clings to my skin—a souvenir from our passionate interlude.

Inside, Jennie is nestled in the land of dreams, her petite frame delicately cocooned in the luxurious hotel sheets that still bear the scent of our shared desire. I ought to join her, to envelop her in my arms and surrender to the beckoning call of sleep. However, a restless energy pervades my being, my mind a volatile whirlpool in the aftermath of our tempestuous coupling.

Jennie, a beautiful enigma, belongs to another now—Yet, tonight, we merged in a wild conflagration of raw desire, our bodies entwining in a dance as old as time itself, lost in a sea of ecstasy. I staked my claim on every inch of her, driven by a primal need to etch myself into her memory, an indelible mark she'd never be able to erase. Her nails etched a path of fervor down my back, her cries a symphony spurring me forward as we hurtled towards the precipice of oblivion. And when that moment of release arrived, it was a cataclysm—a searing flash of divine perfection that shattered us, only to rebuild us anew.

Commitment has always been my Achilles heel, a specter I avoid with the agility of a seasoned matador. It terrifies me, this concept of vulnerability and surrender. The lessons life has imparted have taught me that nothing golden remains, so I seize my moments of joy with a fierce grip, refusing to hold too tightly lest they slip away. I prefer to exist in a world of beautiful fragments, a mosaic of fleeting moments, rather than be tethered to a monotonous eternity. These thoughts weave their way through my mind as I exhale the ashen smoke from my lips, the remnants of my vice liberated from the confines of my lungs.

I flick the cigarette over the edge, its glowing cherry tracing a fleeting arc in the obsidian night, a dying star lost in the city's neon abyss. Jennie, she is my Polaris, an immutable point of light guiding my aimless wanderings even when she's a universe away. The distance between us may stretch into miles, yet I find myself perpetually ensnared in her cosmic pull, tethered to the irresistible gravity of her radiance.

Perched high above the city, I cast my gaze downwards, drinking in the nocturnal theater below. A ceaseless ballet of headlights, the urban arteries throbbing with life—cars darting like metallic fish, blaring horns that sing a discordant symphony of the city's pulse. Amid the clamor, a melody tiptoes into my consciousness, a haunting siren's song birthed from the events of the night. My next creation, a symphony of sentiments woven into delicate prose, stands ready to unfurl. It's an intimate piece of my soul, a whisper of my essence, something to bare and share with the world. A tapestry of words dipped in the hues of my deepest longings, a lingering echo of my heartbeat, yearning to resonate in the hearts of those willing to lend an ear;

I'm in town for one night, one night only

I came around to put it down, for one night only

Just one night

Got a room for me and you, for one night only

You wanna ride for a lifetime, this is one night only

---------------------------------------------------------------------

My first fic, hope you guys like it.

[diremoone]

under the clouds, in my heart | g. satoru

it’s these kinds of days that make Satoru the happiest — that remind him of the wonderful things he has in his life now; thunderstorms where his wife and children are safe and protected inside of his home are all he could ask for

w — post canon! gojo, canon-divergence, pregnant! reader, former first-year student! reader, mentions of underage relationship, mentions of being in a former! student-teacher relationship, Papa Satoru & Mama Reader, Satoru and Reader have a (growing) big family, this ended up shorter than I anticipated

a/n: another fix it fic you guys 🤧 this one has been in my drafts longer than 236

[ apart of the TFFTS universe! ]

He loves seeing you cozied up in his sweaters, no matter the time of year (he secretly keeps it colder than normal in the summertime so you’ll put them on, but he’ll never tell you that). He loves how the hemline rests at your knees, a testament to the cute height difference between the two of you.

With your pregnancy belly, like now, sweaters only seem reach mid-thigh.

Ah, he’s not complaining.

He’s back from a mission overseas a day early, one he committed to speed-running like a demon so he could get back to his growing family. It wasn’t too necessary, considering he doesn’t have to do many more missions nowadays. The only reason he was summoned was because of his long, long influence, to which he most definitely used to get back faster.

But the universe hits his Pause button the second he warps back into his lovely home. For good reason. His heavenly blue eyes take in the scene in front of him, soul imprinting this memory into itself for eternity.

Seiji, his five-nearly-six year-old firstborn, was curled up on your lap, head using your thighs as a makeshift pillow. Traitor. Satoru can hear little snores escaping his lips at the awkward position his head is in. But if Satoru tilts his head, he can see his son’s protective decision from where his head and body lay.

Sanari, his sweet daughter, is curled up by your left arm. Her white curls of hair are splayed out on the pillow behind her as her head rests on your shoulders. Satoru chuckles. He can clearly see drool at the corner of her mouth pooling onto the sweater of his you’re wearing.

Lightning lights up the sky outside. And suddenly, the gushing sound of rain is all Satoru can hear — a downpour. Huh, the clouds had been just as white as his hair earlier. He supposes anything can happen though.

He can’t even see outside anymore now. The greenery has been completely overtaken by the opaque gray of the intense rain and thunderstorm.

Satoru’s head snaps back to you and his sleeping offspring. As much as he wants to join, he can’t bring himself to. He wants to do anything besides ruin the picturesque moment in time before him.

Just look at the family he’s made for himself.

Ah, but the squirming toddler in your arms may do just that anyway. So he doesn’t debate taking Junpei from your arms as he begins to scrunch up his adorable little nose.

Besides, Satoru’s sure you’re bound to wake up soon. His Six Eyes tells him that because the cursed energy from within your tummy is starting to become restless, the twins are finally waking up.

A big family hadn’t been on his mind. You both agreed on leaving your family with Junpei as your youngest. Especially with you falling pregnant so soon with him after having trouble with Sanari’s pregnancy and birth.

But things don’t always go to plan, do they? Satoru muses.

Taking the littlest that'll soon be a big brother wakes you from your nap. You inhale and exhale deeply as your eyes flutter open, blinking quite a few times before your vision clears.

“….’toru~” Your sleepy inhale sounds like a cute sniffle; he can’t help but grin. “You’re home?”

“Surprise, baby,” Satoru mumbles as he sits down and leans over the couch and over your pregnant belly to sweetly kiss your lips. “I’ll be home for awhile this time,” he adds softly. One arm holds his son, the other wraps around the back of your shoulders, hand resting on your upper arm to gently pull your body into him to deepen the kiss. You can’t help but giggle against his lips, and he smiles and giggles into it in return.

Lightning brightens the sky, this time for the longest you’ve ever seen. And following it, is the mightiest thunderclap you’ve ever heard. It makes even your husband jump, surprised by the deafening boom. Your lips separate from Satoru’s, who’s looking out the window with you, impressed by the power of Mother Nature.

It wakes Seiji and Sanari, who despite their maturity for their age, show their age by the fat tears pooling at their eyelids. Junpei, fully awake, begins to cry too, slightly louder than his older siblings. The toddler buries himself into his daddy’s shoulder for comfort and protection. And when the other two see their dad, who’s back home early, they jump to him and do the exact same, hugging him and burrowing into his chest and neck.

You’d take a picture had your babies not been so scared.

When your hand rubs Seiji’s back, the little boy turns to you, eyes watery with fear. He takes two little steps on the couch and softly stumbles into your outstretched arms. He rests his bottom on your thigh, head burrowed into the crook of your neck, little hands balled up into fists with the sweater you were wearing between his itty bitty fingers.

“Come on, Seiji. Off Mama’s belly,” Satoru says, a slight tinge of worry to his voice as he sees him lay a little too heavily on your rounded middle.

The little boy gasps lightly and moves. “Sorry, Mama. Sorry babies.”

You chuckle and kiss his tiny forehead. Satoru presses his lips to the side of his son’s temple, his free hand reaching for his sides to tickle him, saying things about how cute he was.

Sanari takes the moment to detach from her daddy’s side and dives back into your ribs, albeit much more carefully than her older brother. She sniffles, still scared from the clash of thunder, but much calmer now that both her parents were home and awake. She burrows her head under your arm, almost behind your back, leaving her nose room to breathe in the cool air and the sweater that smells like both you and her papa.

It’s so cute, Satoru thinks. She’s the complete opposite of him. She’s the more quiet and reserved one of her siblings. And he still suspects that she still will after her younger twin siblings will be born. Satoru has a feeling, knows in his gut that they’ll be the most extroverted of his children, bouncing off the walls just like he does every day.

Though not so much anymore, heh. He’s still a childish person at heart, but his age is slowly getting to him, slowly beginning to chip away at his ability to be the flamboyant jujutsu sorcerer he used to be. He can feel the ache of time and age begin to take root in the bones of his body that had been so tempered.

In its place, however, took fatherhood, took a new and different kind of responsibility that he was more than excited for — days filled with new challenges, watching his kids grow as he smothers them with love.

His former students were more than capable of handling the load he used to. There’s plenty more of them nowadays than there is of him. With most of them all Special Grade sorcerers, too, he muses. Including you. But you don’t partake in missions like that, mostly being in the reserves of jujutsu society and using your reverse cursed energy like Shoko has.

Especially since becoming a mom.

Satoru sees the rainy day lulling you back to sleep. Being five-and-a-half months pregnant with twins, while also caring for three more while her husband was away would make any woman tired.

His offspring, however, were wide awake.

“Go upstairs and go to sleep,” Satoru says quietly. He sees the waves of fatigue hit every time you blink several times in one go. Your happy expression is getting harder to hold as you grow tired all over again, and Satoru thinks he’s going to have to carry you upstairs, fearing you falling.

But you, ever-stubborn, refuse. “I’m okaaay,” you reply, yawning into the words.

The white-haired man chuckles and shakes his head. “Go to bed,” he says, this time in a more commanding tone. “I’ll wake you up in a couple hours with food ready.”

And when he makes that face, the cutesy one that also means he’s more than happy to carry you to bed, you don’t argue. He does, however, help you up off the couch and watches from the bottom of the stairs to make sure you lose balance and tip backwards. Satoru blows you a kiss, to which you chomp down at, mock-devouring his kisses. He gasps, fake offended, and it gets the giggle out of you he’s hoping for before you go into the bedroom.

Satoru’s heart swells with adoration and love. It overflows even more as he turns back to his two sons and his daughter. God, he almost wants to cry. What did he do to deserve such happiness in his life? After everything he’s done, that’s happened to him, when did the universe decide a beautiful wife and sweet, adorable children were in the cards for him?

He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s going to hold his family close to his heart and protect them until his last breath.

a/n: this got published at a completely random time lmao, where did this even come from? this’ll flop for sure but everyone who reads pls enjoy anyway

[iceingms]

Whb iceberg.

We start from curiosities, data that we can realize at first sight and descend to the murky ones. I clarify that I will also attach non-canon theories.

• In hell, a hundred years have passed since Solomon disappeared, while, on earth, since 931 BC.

• Not only Solomon, but also God and Lilith.

• Satan has a barcode on his arm, and sleep with his eyes open.

• Death does not exist in Paradise Lost, because of Gamigin.

• Beel left Abyssos since Solomon's disappearance.

• Orias will never stop consuming souls. Youth is never eternal, and by obtaining Levi's soul, it would only stop it for a while.

• Satan has confirmed that he has lost his home.

• Angels can also be humanized.

(Theory)

• Ark Academy and whb are connected.

• Solomon also had to drink human semen to stay in hell.

• Demons are infertile. Except for kings, because they have enough power not to use Lilith.

• All six deadly sins are needed to defeat Lucifer.

• Demons and angels can change shape. It influence their emotions.

• Bael tries to be a copy of Beel. He must follow the shape-shifting, from hair dyeing to limb mutilation, because he made a deal.

• Minhyeok is no longer human. Due to Mc's deal with Satan, nothing can kill him while it is in effect.

(Theory)

• Gamigin and Serenade will never see each other again. Since they reside in different realities.

(Theory)

• Beel wants to eat Mc.

(Theory)

• Morax's skill. Absorbs wounds, even if they are fatal.

• Beel has eaten angels.

• Solomon can possess the bodies where his soul resides.

• In hell, crimes of all kinds can be committed, without being punished. This also applies in heaven.

• Bael's comic. He almost died for impersonating Beel. Still can't explain what happened.

• Solomon has all the filias. Even the most questionable ones.

• Angels have orgies.

• Christmas cards. It's sexual abuse.

• Leviathan is the first, and the one who has forced Mc the most to have sex.

• Beel has died thousands of times because of angels.

• Death lines. Canonically they die in battle.

• The Glassyalabolas filia.

• Solomon knows what happened to Lilith and God.

• Fruit of the tree of knowledge.

• God and Lilith are dead.

(Theory)

• The real Gamigin committed suicide.

• Ronove is going to take the fingers from Mc's corpse.

• Leviathan was going to end Solomon's lineage.

• Kamikaze angels.

• Jjok was abandoned in the forest to die.

• Buer, Morax and Marbas have died hundreds of times.

• Satan has anger problems that can kill Mc.

• Mammon and Valefor could kill Mc by accident if they apply the wrong force.

• Angelification is so painful that it breaks a demon's mind.

• Mc has a high probability of dying if ignores where may or not be in Paradise Lost. This implies that Lucifer can kill anyone with just a voice command.

• Demons were the first to experiment with angels.

• The massacres of the angels. This includes the demonic, angelic race and the near extinction of dragons.

• Andre's past. (He carried his twin's head for days.)

• The archangels will never get the punishment they deserve.

• Leviathan and Orias' constant abuse on the farm.

⛧✃✃✃⛧✁✁✁⛧✃✃✃⛧✁✁✁⛧

Does anyone else have any interesting or shady data?

It took me a day to gather information in my head, but that's it! I appreciate knowing that the shape-shifting is different, between angels, and Beel's camp.

Edit: Yeah, as soon as I realize my man is a walking red flag, it's confirmed that Levi baby never tries to have a forceful response from Mc, or tries to get her to ask him first.

[heartfullofleeches]

[18+]

Amab Angel/Cupid Darling who gets a kick out of tormenting their yans with the fact that an angel sleeping with a mortal is the greatest sin either party can commit. As per usual in a fair amount of my universe, God is probably long dead, but that still doesn't stop darling from sticking to their rule. Whether they choose to live by the word of their fallen creator or they just love to see the misery in the pathetic humans' faces is a mystery....

But if we're being honest it's 100% the latter.

"You want a taste of my cock? How profane of you, human! You and I both know that would get us both in big trouble."

.....

"You don't care? You'd honestly damn your immortal soul to an eternity in hell just to have me? You pervert! There really is no saving you, is there...."

Wanders around the human world wearing no clothing at all, or if they do it leaves little to thought. Why should they be ashamed of the nude vessel their creator crafted just for them? Despite their absence from sleeping with mortals, Angel Darling humors them by playing with themselves in their presence. They always know when those awful humans have their eyes on them - it's like they're hypnotized by every little thing their angel does. Depending on their mood and if Darling is feeling extra giving, they may spoil their human by letting their cum fall on their waiting tongue if the person in question kneels patiently at their feet without making a sound or moving an inch - even to pleasure themselves. The sight and taste of their angel is enough to make those most faithful to them cum without needing to be touched anyway.

If they're really lucky Darling might let them clean their cock with that dirty tongue of theirs - aren't they kind?~

[iamquiantrelle]

VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 4) ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairing: aurelien tchouameni x black oc (☔️✨💕)

# tags: @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @f1-football-fiend @judectrl @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbrii @sailurmewn @rainbowsparkelsunshine @lbchi @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes

# summary: she's been his pa for almost a year and every day is a struggle to function around him, but he'll never see her more than that...will he? and what will happen if he finds out she's also a virgin? masterlist.

Breakfast at the hotel hits like a hangover even though she barely drank last night. Eight months of morning routines, of knowing exactly where to sit, exactly how Aurélien takes his coffee, exactly which protein options he'll choose on match days – all of it means nothing now. He hasn't said more than two words to her since last night. No "ma puce," no schedule checks, no nothing – just this heavy silence that feels like punishment for crimes she's not sure she committed.

He's sitting clear across the room, sandwiched between Jules and Cama like the empty chair next to her might bite him. His laugh carries over at something Marcus says, and it hits her chest like a physical thing because that's not the laugh she's used to. She knows his real laugh. This is the one he uses for journalists he doesn't like.

She's pushing eggs around her plate, willing herself not to cry over scrambled protein when she feels it – warm lips pressing against her cheek, followed by a soft "Good morning, beautiful."

William slides into the chair next to her like it's the most natural thing in the world, like half the French national team isn't watching this play out like it's better than their morning entertainment. Like Aurélien's fork hasn't suddenly become very interested in murdering his breakfast.

"Sleep well?" William asks, voice warm with implications that make her cheeks heat despite nothing happening last night.

"Do you need something, Saliba?" Aurélien's voice cuts through the morning chatter like ice. "Besides distracting my PA?"

The temperature drops about ten degrees, but William just smiles wider. "Just checking on my girl. That's allowed, non?"

The "my girl" hangs in the air like a challenge. Jules is watching the whole thing with wide eyes while Cama not-so-subtly pulls out his phone under the table.

"Your girl?" Aurélien's voice drops dangerous-low. "Since when?"

"Since she chose to leave the club with me last night," William says easily, and oh – they're really doing this over breakfast. "Unless you have some objection, Capitaine?"

The way he says 'capitaine' somehow sounds both respectful and like a perfect fuck you. Leila's caught between wanting to sink through the floor and wanting to see how this plays out.

"No objection," Aurélien says after a pause that feels eternal. "Just wondering when my PA started dating my teammates."

"Maybe around the same time you started calling her 'okay'."

The silence that follows is absolute. Even Marcus stops eating, which is how you know shit just got real.

"Je t’emmerde," Aurélien spits out, chair scraping against tile as he stands. The words carries enough venom to make several heads turn from nearby tables. ("Fuck you.")

His eyes finally meet hers, and something in them makes her stomach flip. Without another word, he stalks out like the restaurant's on fire, leaving his breakfast half-eaten and tension thick enough to choke on.

William looks entirely too pleased with himself.

"Well," Jules breaks the silence, "that was fun."

The worst part? Some stupid, hopeful part of her had really thought he'd fight harder than this.

"You want to eat, babe?" William's voice cuts through her spiral, casual as anything, like he didn't just provoke their captain into cursing up French storms at breakfast. He's already reaching for her fork like this is something they do, like this morning hasn't turned into a whole telenovela.

Her brain's running dual tracks: pure rage because what the actual fuck was that from Aurélien? Not a hint of the man who fights for everything he wants, who once argued with a ref for fifteen minutes over a throw-in. And panic, because oh god, is she about to lose her job? She's pretty sure there wasn't a 'don't let the fine-ass defender feed you breakfast' clause in her contract, but-

William's trying to feed her a forkful of eggs and she shakes her head no, mind still racing. He just shrugs, unbothered, and turns his attention to her abandoned pancakes instead, cutting them into perfect squares before drowning them in syrup like this is just another morning.

"You got a death wish," Mike says from across the table, watching William arrange her breakfast like he's plating at a Michelin star restaurant.

Bradley nods sagely. "You're crazy as fuck, Wilo."

"Why?" William's voice is all innocent curiosity but his eyes are sharp. "Because I'm showing interest in a beautiful, single woman?"

"Because you're poking a bear that's been marking his territory for months," Marcus mutters into his protein shake.

"I don't see any marks," William responds easily, but his hand finds her knee under the table. "Do you, Lei?"

She should probably say something. Should probably address the fact that they're all talking about her like she's not sitting right here. Should probably be more concerned about the professional implications of whatever this is becoming.

Instead, she's watching William's hands – the same ones that had been so gentle last night – methodically destroying her pancakes with syrup.

"You're going to make them soggy," she finally says, because it's easier than addressing everything else.

His smile is soft when he looks at her. "You need the sugar. You're thinking too hard again."

"About what?" Cama asks, still filming like this is prime content.

"About things that don't matter," William answers before she can. "Like what other people think."

"Other people being our captain who looks ready to commit murder?" Mike suggests.

"He'll get over it."

"Will he though?" Jules finally speaks up, and something in his tone makes Leila look at him. He's wearing that expression that means he knows more than he's saying.

"Does he have a choice?" William counters, and there's steel under the casual tone now.

The table goes quiet again, the implications of that hanging in the air. Leila's phone buzzes – probably her mama's daily good morning text – but she doesn't check it. Can't look away from how William's hand is still on her knee, thumb drawing those circles that made her brain short-circuit last night.

"I should grab my things," she says finally. "We have a flight to catch."

"I'll come with—"

"No," she cuts him off, maybe too quickly. "I got it."

He studies her face for a moment, then nods. "Okay. But Lei?"

She pauses halfway out of her chair.

"Don't overthink it. Any of it."

Easy for him to say. He's not the one whose whole world just tilted sideways over breakfast.

She's barely out of the restaurant when her phone buzzes again. This time it's Jules:

Jules: He's in the gym. Breaking records and probably imagining Wilo's face on the punching bag. You good?

She stares at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Is she good? Is anything about this good?

Another message pops up:

Jules: For what it's worth, I've never seen him this pressed about anything. Not even when Marcus stole his pre-wrap.

She starts typing several responses, deletes them all. Finally settles on:

Leila: Don't know what you mean

His reply is immediate:

Jules: Yes you do. But since you're both determined to be stupid about it... have fun with Wilo 👀

She puts her phone away before she can say something she'll regret. Before she can ask what Jules means. Before she can admit that maybe she does know exactly what he's talking about.

But knowing doesn't make it hurt any less.

Knowing doesn't change the fact that Aurélien walked away instead of fighting.

Knowing doesn't explain why "ma puce" became just "Leila."

And it definitely doesn't explain why that feels like losing something she never really had in the first place.

********************************

Life comes at you fast when you're dealing with a passive-aggressive captain who's apparently graduated summa cum laude from the School of Petty. One full day in Brussels and Aurélien's really out here showing off his PhD in Being Difficult.

"Doesn't your boyfriend need you?" He doesn't even look up from his phone when she tries to review the training schedule.

Later, when she offers to make his protein shake (because some habits die harder than others): "I have two hands, don't I?"

"Men are so fucking sassy," she mutters to herself, watching him stalk off to training like she'd offered him poison instead of protein. She's trying to maintain her professional dignity but he's really getting on her nerves right now.

Her phone buzzing for the fifth time finally breaks through her Aurélien-induced irritation. Her mama's contact photo – one where she's giving that look all Black mamas perfect by age thirty – fills the screen. Shit. She's been so caught up in this mess she forgot to call back home.

"Hey mama—"

"Oh, so you do know how to use a phone? I was about to file a missing persons report."

It's morning in Atlanta, which means Jeanna Mae Peterson has probably been up since five in the morning, waiting to give her daughter the business.

"Everything's fine, mama. Just busy with work—"

"Mhm. And I'm Beyoncé. What's wrong with your voice?"

"Nothing's wrong with my—"

"Leila Alicia, don't you lie to your mama. I carried you for nine months and twenty-three hours of labor. I know when something's wrong."

The full name. Lord. She's really in it now.

"It's just... there's this whole thing with Aurélien and William and kissing and dates and—"

"Hold up, hold ALL the way up. You kissed Aurélien? Jesus be a fence, finally! Wait till I tell your grandma—"

"No, mama, not Aurélien. His teammate—"

"Girl, what? You out here being messy boots, dating some other man when you ain't even dealt with your feelings for the first one? I swear y'all kids nowadays don't know how to talk nothing out. Put Aurélien on the phone. I'm gonna air him out right quick."

"Mama, he's training—"

"He can talk during a break. Matter fact, I got his WhatsApp number, I'mma call that."

"Mama, don't—"

But the line's already dead because Jeanna Mae Peterson invented stubborn and passed it down double dose to her daughter. Leila's frantically calling back but her mama's phone is going straight to voicemail which means—

Aurélien's phone starts ringing across the training ground.

She's doing every gesture she can think of to tell him not to answer – hand slashing across her throat, waving arms like she's directing aircraft, mouthing 'NO' with the energy of someone trying to prevent a natural disaster.

But of course he answers anyway because the universe hates her specifically today.

"Allo? Ah, Mama Peterson..."

All she can do is watch his face as her mama presumably reads him the riot act in that special way Black mamas have mastered. His expressions shift from confused to surprised to something she can't quite read, and is that... is he smiling?

When he finally hangs up fifteen minutes later, he doesn't tell her what her mama said. But he does actually look at her when he asks for his schedule update. Actually says "Merci, ma pu-" before catching himself and walking away.

It's not much. But it's more than she's gotten in days.

She's definitely going to kill her mama though.

Right after she figures out what exactly that woman said to him. And why he almost called her 'ma puce' again.

*************************************

Lunch is an exercise in studying the fascinating world of how many ways one man can pretend another person doesn't exist. Aurélien's got his phone propped up against his water bottle, completely absorbed in whatever's on his screen even though she knows for a fact his notifications are turned off during match prep.

The final training session drags like it's being paid by the hour. Even Marcus and Mike keep their distance – one look at her face tells them tonight isn't the night to beg for soul food. She's not even sure she could cook right now if she wanted to. Her energy's somewhere between "completely done" and "contemplating a career change."

Back at the hotel, she makes it to her room through sheer muscle memory. The Real Housewives of Atlanta are waiting for her on her laptop, ready to provide the exact kind of messy drama she needs to forget her own. Her Uber Eats burrito is doing its best, but even comfort food feels like it's failing her today.

The knock at her door makes her pause mid-bite. Maybe if she stays very still, whoever it is will-

"I bought food," William's voice carries through the door. She looks down at her sad burrito accusingly. "It's Lebanese. I promised to bring you some, remember?"

For a moment she doesn't move, weighing the pros and cons of human interaction. But then the smell of whatever he's brought wafts under her door and her burrito suddenly looks even sadder.

She pushes her glasses up her nose, does a quick check that she doesn't have salsa on her face, and opens the door to find William looking unfairly good for someone who just did two training sessions. He's got bags of food in one hand and that smile that makes bad decisions feel like good ideas in the other.

She steps aside to let him in, trying not to think about how this is definitely not in any PA handbook she's ever read.

"So," William says, spreading containers across her bed like he's setting up an exhibition, "we've got fattoush, hummus with extra pine nuts because you mentioned you like them, shawarma that's going to have the nutritionist trying to kill us tomorrow, and-" he pulls out what looks like heaven wrapped in paper, "extra toum because food without garlic isn't food."

Her abandoned burrito sits forgotten on the nightstand, looking increasingly offensive next to this spread. William's already making her a plate, explaining each dish like he's giving a master class in Lebanese cuisine, and something in her chest gets warm at how much thought he's put into this.

"The lady at the restaurant probably thinks I'm crazy," he says, handing her a plate. "I kept pointing at things saying 'she'll love this' and 'oh she has to try that.'"

"You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to." He settles next to her, close enough that she can smell his shower gel but not so close it feels presumptuous. "Besides, you looked like you needed saving from that sad burrito."

She can't help but laugh. "The burrito was doing its best."

"Its best wasn't good enough." He dips a piece of bread in hummus and offers it to her. "Try this instead."

The food is incredible, but it's the way he talks about it that makes it special. Every dish comes with a story – about his father and mother competing to see who could feed more people at family gatherings, his grandmother teaching him that love always tastes better when it's shared.

"It's like you with your soul food," he says, wiping some sauce from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. "You don't just cook, you share yourself."

She looks at him – really looks at him. At this beautiful man who brings her dinner and understands what food means to her, who looks at her like she's something precious.

"Thank you," she says softly. "For sharing this with me."

His smile could light up Brussels. "You’re welcome."

Somehow they've migrated from sitting to lying down, empty containers pushed aside, William's mouth does unholy things to her neck. His hand is cupping her face like she's made of glass, the other one drawing patterns on her hip that are absolutely not PG-13, and her brain's having trouble remembering why she was ever stressed about anything.

Until she feels it.

Lord have mercy.

His very obvious excitement pressing against her thigh, and her virgin self immediately goes into panic mode. She freezes like someone hit pause, and William pulls back so fast you'd think she'd burned him.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice rough but eyes soft with concern. "We can stop."

"No, it's okay, I just..." she shifts away slightly, wondering if it's possible to actually die from embarrassment because what kind of grown woman freaks out over dick. "I should be the one apologizing."

"Why?"

"Because..." she stares at his collar instead of his face because eye contact feels impossible right now, "you probably have thousands of girls who would just..." she makes a vague gesture that she hopes translates to 'let you hit without all this drama' without having to actually say those words. "And here I am making you wait."

"True."

Her heart does this weird dropping thing, but then his fingers catch her chin, tilting her face up to his, and the look in his eyes makes her forget how to breathe proper.

"But I don't want them," he says, voice low and serious in a way that makes her stomach flip. "I want you, Leila."

"Why?" The question comes out barely above a whisper, all her insecurities wrapped up in one word.

William shifts back just enough to really look at her, and baby – the way this man's eyes can make her feel seen is almost too much.

"Because you don't pretend," he says finally. "Because you make soul food for an entire football team just to make them happy. Because you push up your glasses when you're nervous and wear bonnets to bed and actually care about us beyond what we can offer you."

Her heart's doing gymnastics in her chest. "That's not—"

"Because," he continues, pressing a kiss to her forehead that feels almost too sentimental, "you're real. And that's worth waiting for."

And what is she supposed to do with that? With this man who brings her Lebanese food when she's sad and kisses her like she's precious and says things that make her want to cry and jump him at the same time?

"Plus," he adds with that smug smile, "the way you cook? I'd wait years just for those wings again."

She smacks his chest but she's laughing, the tension breaking. "So you just want me for my cooking?"

"Among other things." His hand finds her waist again, gentler this time. "But mostly because you are you."

"Will..."

"We can take it slow," he says, pressing soft kisses along her jaw. "As slow as you need. I don’t plan on going anywhere."

Her fingers curl into his shirt of their own accord. "Even if it takes a while?"

"Even if it takes forever." His lips find that spot behind her ear that makes her toes curl. "Though maybe not forever-forever because honestly? You in that dress the other night almost killed me."

She can't help the laugh that bubbles up. Trust him to know exactly how to ease her anxiety while simultaneously making her want to kiss him senseless.

"So," he pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, "can I kiss you now? Or are we still having a moment?"

She answers by pulling him down to her, and for a while, she forgets about everything else.

Even if his dick is still making itself known against her thigh.

The match against Belgium is already tense as hell when it happens. They're up 2-1, but it's been scrappy, ugly football – the kind that has tempers running high and tackles getting messy. Leila's been watching Aurélien get more and more wound up, his usual smooth control fraying at the edges with each challenge.

When the Belgian midfielder says something to him in the 76th minute – something she can't hear but definitely sees Aurélien react to – it's like watching a bomb go off in slow motion. The tackle is reckless, aggressive, absolutely deserving of the red card that follows, but the way Aurélien gets in the ref's face after? That's something else entirely. That's weeks of pent-up something spilling out all over the pitch.

It takes both Jules and Mike to pull him back, his face twisted with the kind of rage she's never seen on him before. The captain's armband gets handed to Ibou, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else than in the middle of whatever this is.

William steps toward him as he's heading off the pitch, probably trying to calm him down, but Aurélien's shoulder check is brutal enough to make several people gasp. The look he gives William could freeze hell over twice.

"Don't," is all he says, but that one word carries enough venom to kill a man.

They manage to hold onto their 2-1 lead, but the victory feels hollow somehow. Especially when Aurélien doesn't even wait for the final whistle – just disappears into the tunnel like a storm cloud, leaving chaos in his wake.

Leila catches William watching him go, something complicated passing across his face.

This isn't about football anymore.

This isn't about football at all.

She's moving before she can think better of it, her press pass bouncing against her chest as she runs from her spot near the pitch toward the tunnel. Security knows her well enough to let her pass, but right now she probably looks wild enough that they wouldn't dare stop her anyway.

The tunnel feels endless, her footsteps echoing off concrete as she follows the sound of what's probably lockers being abused. She finds him in the away team room, radiating the kind of anger that makes the air feel thick.

"Leave." His voice is sharp enough to cut.

She takes a step forward instead.

"Leila. Get out."

But she can't. Not when he's like this, not when everything feels like it's fracturing. Her fingers catch his wrist, trying to... what? Comfort him? Stop him? She's not even sure anymore.

He yanks away like her touch burns, fixing her with a look that's equal parts fury and something else she can't name. Something that makes her chest hurt.

"Aurél-"

"Why the fuck are you doing this to me, Leila? Haven't I been a good person? A good boss?" His voice cracks on the last word.

Her lips purse in confusion, mind racing to catch up. "I'm sorry," is all she can manage because what the actual fuck is happening right now?

He's pacing like a caged animal, all coiled energy and barely contained rage. And then he starts – rapid-fire French pouring out of him like a broken dam, words she can't understand but tone that hits her right in the chest. He's gesturing, still pacing, voice getting louder and rougher with each passing second.

The first tears fall before she can stop them, not because she's afraid – never that – but because she's never seen him like this. Never seen him so... broken.

"I'm sorry," she whispers again, already backing toward the door. She doesn't even know what she's apologizing for anymore, just knows she needs to get out before she completely loses it.

She runs past the guys hovering in the hallway, catches William's face transform from worry to anger as he looks past her to where Aurélien's still going off in French.

The last thing she hears before turning the corner is their voices rising, angry words in multiple languages bouncing off concrete walls like bullets.

She doesn't stop running until she can't hear them anymore.

Until she can't hear anything but her own heart breaking.

She ends up in some random corridor of the stadium, mascara probably creating art on her face while she tries to get her breathing under control. Her phone's blowing up – probably Jules checking on her, maybe William trying to find her – but she can't look at it right now. Can't deal with any of this right now.

The sound of something hitting a wall echoes from somewhere down the tunnel, followed by raised voices that she can still make out even if she can't understand the words. French and English mixing into what sounds like a full-blown fight.

"Hey." Mike's voice makes her jump. He's standing there looking uncharacteristically serious, holding out a water bottle and what looks like clean tissues. "You good?"

She wants to laugh because nothing about this is good, but it comes out more like a hiccup. "Yeah, I just–"

"Need a minute?" When she nods, he slides down the wall to sit next to her. "Yeah, me too. Those two are..." he trails off, shaking his head.

They sit in silence for a while, just breathing, while the sounds of argument fade into something more distant. Her phone buzzes again but Mike gently takes it from her hands, turning it face down.

"Whatever's happening," he says quietly, "it's not your fault."

But isn't it? She's the one who complicated everything. She's the one who—

"Stop that." Mike nudges her shoulder. "I can hear you thinking from here. This isn't about you."

"Then what—"

"It's about them. About stuff they need to figure out." He hands her another tissue. "And about our captain being too stubborn to admit what everyone else already knows."

Before she can ask what he means, footsteps approach – multiple sets. She tenses, but it's just Marcus and Cama, both looking worried.

"They've been separated," Marcus reports, sliding down to sit on her other side. "Jules has Auré, Bradley's got Wilo."

"Proper mess, isn’t it?" Cama adds, joining their little floor party.

They sit there together, this weird little group therapy session on stadium concrete, until her breathing evens out and her hands stop shaking. Until the reality of everything that just happened starts to feel less sharp.

"Come on," Mike finally says, standing and offering his hand. "Let's get you back to the hotel. Pretty sure room service has ice cream, and if they don't, I'll make them find some."

She lets them shepherd her out, these boys who've somehow become family. Let them distract her with stupid jokes and commentary about anything except what just happened.

Her phone buzzes one more time as they reach the team bus. It's Jules:

Everyone's alive. Barely. But alive.

He's asking about you.

Both of them are.

**************************************************

The bus ride back to the hotel is quiet. Unnervingly quiet.

She sits between Mike and Marcus, her head resting against the window, watching Brussels blur past in fragments of neon and streetlights. The city feels different now – less magical, more complicated. Just like everything else.

Jules sits a few rows ahead, phone pressed to his ear, his voice a low murmur that never quite rises to a conversation. Bradley's in the very back, headphones on, staring out the opposite window with a look that could freeze fire.

"You want my headphones?" Mike whispers, nudging her. She shakes her head. Silence feels safer right now.

When they finally arrive at the hotel, the team moves like a fractured unit. No jokes, no post-match chatter. Just bodies moving through the lobby, each absorbed in their own gravitational pull of tension.

At the elevator, William and Jules carefully avoid looking at each other. Not anger. Something else. Something deeper that feels like it's happening in slow motion and at lightning speed all at once.

Her room key feels heavy in her hand. She knows Jules will be checking on her soon, will want to talk, will want to make sure she's okay. But right now, "okay" feels like a country she can't quite reach.

The shower runs scalding hot, water washing away stadium grit, tears, and the complicated residue of everything that just happened. Her makeup dissolves in streaks, mascara creating abstract art down her cheeks that she doesn't have the energy to wipe away.

A knock comes just as she's wrapping herself in the hotel's white terrycloth robe. Jules. Of course.

"Come in," she calls, knowing there's no point in pretending she needs privacy.

Jules enters, takes one look at her, and doesn't ask if she's okay. They both know the answer to that.

"Want some tea?" he asks, already moving towards the small electric kettle.

"God, yes."

They sit in silence. Some moments demand quiet more than words. Jules knows this – it's why he's always been her favorite, why he gets her in ways the others don't.

"So," he finally says, pushing a steaming mug towards her, "you want to talk about what just happened?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Which part? The part where Aurélien nearly started World War III in the tunnel? Or the part where he and William threw hands?"

Jules snorts. "All of it."

Her fingers curl around the mug, seeking its warmth. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Mhm," he says in a way that means exactly the opposite. "Nothing at all. Just our captain losing his mind, your boyfriend fighting, and you sitting in a hallway looking like you've been through the world's most emotional spin cycle."

"William's not my boyfriend."

"Sure," Jules drawls. "And I'm not the most handsome man on the team."

She throws a tissue at him. He catches it without looking, that infuriating smirk never leaving his face.

"What do you want me to say?" she asks finally.

"The truth would be nice."

But the truth feels too complicated. Too raw. Too everything.

"You know what's wild?" Jules says after a moment. "Aurélien's never been like this before. Not about anything. Not anyone."

She looks up, catching something knowing in his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Eight months I've watched him with you. Always careful. Always professional. Always..." he waves a hand, searching for the right word, "contained."

"And now?"

"And now?" Jules leans forward. "He's running around breaking shit and looking like he wants to murder William."

Her phone buzzes. William. She ignores it.

"He doesn't get to be mad," she says finally. "He's the one who walked away. Who stopped calling me 'ma puce'. Who—"

"Who what?" Jules prompts when she stops.

The truth slips out before she can stop it. "Who made me feel like I was just... okay."

Jules' laugh is sharp, unexpected. "Okay? Lei, that man has never thought you were just 'okay' a day in his life."

"He doesn't show it!"

"You're in love with him," Jules says suddenly. Not a question. A statement. "You guys are in love with each other."

"No," she protests immediately. "Absolutely not."

Jules leans forward, voice serious. "It's not fair to William. You know that, right?"

"I'm not doing anything wrong," she insists. "Aurélien had his chance. If he wanted something, he should have said something. "He needs to make a move. He's the man."

"Tu es têtue," Jules mutters. ("You are stubborn.")

"He needs to come to me," she continues, nodding.

Jules throws his hands up, cursing in French. "Putain de merde. You're both so fucking stubborn." He wipes his hands down his face, groaning. "Fine. Aurélien needs to grow some balls and you guys need to figure this out. And fast." He moves to the door, pauses, and with a cheeky grin calls out, "Bonne nuit, ma puce."

It's enough to make her smile, just a little. Just enough to soften the edges of the day's chaos.

************************************************

The private jet feels carved from ice. Leila's tucked herself in the back, pretending to work on her tablet while Aurélien sits opposite, professionally ignoring her existence.

"The match report," he says finally, voice clipped.

She keeps tapping on her tablet. Let him wait. Let him feel what being ignored feels like.

"Leila."

Nothing.

His fingers start that familiar drumming pattern on the table – the one that used to mean he was working through plays in his head. Now it just sounds like frustration trying to escape.

"The report," he tries again, softer this time.

Her fingers continue their dance across the screen.

"Ma p-" He catches himself. "Leila."

That gets her attention. She looks up finally, one eyebrow raised in a challenge that clearly says: you made this bed, now lie in it.

Something flickers across his face – something raw and real – before the captain's mask slips back on. The Madrid skyline approaches through the window, offering no answers.

"We need to talk."

"Do we?" Her voice could freeze summer.

"About what happened—"

"Which part?" The words come out sharp enough to draw blood. "The part where you walked away? Or the part where I was just… okay?"

His fingers curl into fists. "It's not that simple."

"Really? Because it felt pretty simple when you treated me like I was nothing."

The plane hits turbulence, forcing them closer for a moment. The physical proximity only highlights the galaxy of space between them.

"You don't get to be angry," he says, leaning forward. "You're the one with William."

"I'm not with William." She lets out a bitter laugh. "And even if I was, you walked away first."

His hand hits the table hard enough to rattle their water glasses. "I didn't walk away."

"No? What would you call it then?"

"I was trying to protect you," he says, something cracking in his voice. "From what people would say. From the gossip. From—"

"I don't need protection," she cuts him off. "I need honesty."

"You think I didn't want to say something?" His voice drops dangerously low, accent thickening with emotion. "You think I just…"

"'You think I just' what?" Leila presses when he doesn't continue. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've done a lot of acting weird but not a lot of explaining."

His jaw works like he's chewing on words he can't quite spit out. "It's complicated."

"No, calculus is complicated. This?" She gestures between them. "This is you not being able to handle… whatever this is. So I'm taking some time off."

"No." The word comes out sharp, almost panicked.

"Yes."

"You can't—"

"I can and I am. Some space will do us good." She starts gathering her things, needing to move to a different seat, to do something with this energy crackling under her skin. "Help you get over whatever this is you're going through."

"Leila—"

"Your uncle Bertrand hired me," she cuts him off. "Not you. Remember that."

The look on his face – like she just slapped him – almost makes her take it back. Almost.

But she's done waiting for him to figure out what he wants.

She's just done.

The Madrid tarmac appears through clouds that look like they're about to burst. Perfect weather for her mood.

"When?" His voice breaks through the landing announcements.

"Two weeks." She's already got her bag ready, already planning her escape route. "Starting tomorrow."

"That's not enough notice—"

"Your temp's already briefed. Sarah's good at her job."

The plane touches down with a jolt that matches the way his head snaps up. "Sarah? From ESN?"

"She knows your schedule. Knows the team." Leila keeps her voice professional even though her hands are shaking. "You'll be fine."

"I don't want Sarah."

"Well, that's who you're getting." She stands as soon as the seatbelt sign dims. "For two weeks, while I figure out if this job is still worth it."

She doesn't wait for his response, doesn't look back as she heads for the exit.

The Ciudad Real Madrid facilities feel wrong without her footsteps echoing through the halls. Aurélien stares at his locker, still in his training kit, everything feeling off-balance.

"Putain," he mutters, splashing water on his face like it might wake him up from whatever nightmare this is.

Two fucking weeks.

Sarah from ESN keeps sending him perfectly formatted schedules, but they're missing the little notes Leila would add – reminders about his mama's favorite call times, warnings about which journalists to avoid, suggestions for post-training recovery that she definitely got from stalking medical journals.

His passes were shit today. Ancelotti had to call him out twice for being distracted, and Jude kept shooting him these looks like he was about to shatter. Maybe he is. Maybe that's why he keeps checking his phone between drills, keeps turning to share training ground gossip with someone who isn't there.

"Tu fais chier," he mutters to his reflection in the locker room mirror. His knuckles are white where they grip the sink edge, and he looks like he hasn't slept in days. Because he hasn't.

The team's tiptoeing around him like he's a bomb about to go off. Even Camavinga's keeping his distance, which should be impossible given how that boy usually operates. But everything's impossible lately.

Sarah's efficient. Professional. Knows exactly what she's doing.

He fucking hates it.

She doesn't make his coffee right – too much cream, like she's trying to drown it. Doesn't know that he needs an extra five minutes before morning meetings to properly wake up. Doesn't push up her glasses when she's trying not to smile at his jokes.

Doesn't call him out when he's being difficult.

His uncle's words keep echoing in his head: "What did you do?"

What did he do? He protected her. Protected them both from the media circus that would follow, from the whispers, from everything that would make her job impossible. That's what he did. That's what he had to do.

Right?

But then he remembers her face in that tunnel in Brussels. Remembers how she looked at him on the plane. Remembers "your uncle Bertrand hired me" like a direct shot to the chest.

His phone lights up – Sarah confirming tomorrow's schedule. The sight of her name where Leila's should be makes his stomach turn.

One week down. Seven days of everything being almost right but completely wrong. Seven days of catching himself turning to share jokes with someone who isn't there.

Seven more to go.

If she comes back.

The 'if' sits in his chest like poison.

*****************************************************

Even Ocho knows something's wrong. The dog keeps bringing him Leila's favorite throw blanket that she left on the couch, whining at the front door around the times she'd usually arrive. Animals aren't supposed to be this emotionally intuitive, but here's his Belgian Malinois really out here making him feel worse.

Jude's been trying to drag him out, talking about some party at this new club that's apparently letting in half of Instagram's finest. Usually he'd be first in line – nothing cures what ails you like beautiful women and expensive liquor, right?

But then this girl at the club – all smooth brown skin and curves for days, exactly his type – pressed up against him on the dance floor and something felt… wrong. He couldn't even blame it on alcohol because he was stone-cold sober, watching everyone else get lit while he nursed the same whiskey all night.

Even his DMs are full of missed opportunities. Models, influencers, that one actress who's been trying to get his attention for months – all of them exactly the type of distraction he needs. The type of women who usually help him forget whatever's on his mind.

But pussy doesn't feel right when your heart's fucked up.

And that's what's really killing him. That somehow Leila managed to ruin him for other women without even touching him. That the thought of fucking his way through Madrid's modeling agencies (his usual go-to when shit gets heavy) feels wrong now.

His phone buzzes – probably Jude with another party invite, another attempt to get him out of his head. But unless the invitation is from a certain PA who's currently ghosting his entire existence, he's not interested.

Even praying feels different. His parents raised him right, taught him to take his troubles to God, but how do you pray about feelings you can't even admit to yourself?

"Je suis vraiment dans la merde," he tells Ocho, who just looks at him with those judgy dog eyes. Even his own pet is disappointed in him.

Five more days of this torture.

If she comes back at all.

The doorbell catches him off guard – he's been ignoring it for days, but tonight it's more insistent. Ocho's already at the door, tail wagging like he knows something Aurélien doesn't.

It's Cama standing there, phone held up with Jules' face on FaceTime.

"Je t'aurais laissé souffrir mais Jules m'a appelé," ("I would've let you suffer but Jules called me,") Cama says, already pushing past him into the house.

Ocho immediately attacks Cama with kisses while Jules' voice carries through the phone: "Tu as une tête de merde, mon frère." ("You look like shit, my brother.")

"Va te faire foutre," ("Fuck off,") Aurélien mutters, but lets Cama settle onto his couch anyway.

"Alors," ("So,") Cama starts, scratching Ocho's ears, "on va parler de pourquoi tu te comportes comme un connard?" ("are we gonna talk about why you're being an asshole?")

"Je ne vois pas de quoi tu parles." ("I don't know what you're talking about.")

"Leila," Jules says through the phone. "On parle de Leila." ("We're talking about Leila.")

Just hearing her name makes his chest tight. "Il n'y a rien à dire." ("There's nothing to say.")

"Rien à dire?" ("Nothing to say?") Cama laughs. "C'est pour ça que tu as l'air d'un zombie depuis une semaine?" ("Is that why you've looked like a zombie for a week?")

"Elle te manque," ("You miss her,") Jules says simply. "Admets-le." ("Admit it.")

"Ça n'a pas d'importance." ("It doesn't matter.")

"Pourquoi?" ("Why?") Cama demands. "Parce que tu as trop peur de dire ce que tu ressens?" ("Because you're too scared to say what you feel?")

"Tu sais que Wilo est sérieux avec elle?" ("You know Wilo is serious about her?") Jules' voice crackles through the phone, making Aurélien's jaw clench.

"Et alors?" ("And?") But his fingers are drumming that anxious pattern again.

"Pendant que tu joues au con, il la traite comme une princesse," Cama leans forward. ("While you're playing stupid, he's treating her like a princess.")

"Il lui apporte le dîner," ("He brings her dinner,") Jules adds. "L'écoute. La fait rire." ("Listens to her. Makes her laugh.")

"Bon pour lui." ("Good for him.") Aurélien's voice could cut glass.

"Non, pas 'bon pour lui'," ("No, not 'good for him',") Cama snaps. "Tu es amoureux d'elle et tu le sais." ("You're in love with her and you know it.")

The silence that follows is deafening. Even Ocho stops begging for attention to look between them.

"Je ne peux pas," ("I can't,") Aurélien finally says, voice rough. "C'est ma PA." ("She's my PA.")

"C'était ta PA," ("She was your PA,") Jules corrects. "Maintenant elle est la femme qui te rend fou." ("Now she's the woman driving you crazy.")

"Et qui rend Wilo heureux," ("And making Wilo happy,") Cama adds pointedly.

"Je leur ai dit de parler," ("I told them both to talk,") Jules sighs. "Mais vous êtes tous les deux têtus comme des mules." ("But you're both stubborn as mules.")

"Qu'est-ce que tu veux que je fasse?" ("What do you want me to do?") Aurélien runs his hands through his curls in frustration. "Que je ruine sa carrière? Que je la mette dans une position impossible?" ("Ruin her career? Put her in an impossible position?")

"Elle est déjà dans une position impossible," ("She's already in an impossible position,") Cama says quietly. "Entre l'homme qu'elle aime et l'homme qui l'aime." ("Between the man she loves and the man who likes her.")

That hits different. Aurélien's head snaps up. "Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire?" ("What do you mean?")

"Tu crois qu'elle sort avec Wilo parce qu'elle l'aime?" ("You think she's seeing Wilo because she loves him?") Jules laughs without humor. "Elle essaie de t'oublier, crétin." ("She's trying to forget you, idiot.")

"Mais—" ("But—")

"Pas de 'mais'," ("No 'buts',") Cama cuts him off. "Tu as une semaine avant qu'elle ne revienne. Une semaine pour décider si tu vas la laisser partir ou te battre pour elle." ("You have a week before she comes back. One week to decide if you're going to let her go or fight for her.")

"Et si je la perds complètement?" ("And if I lose her completely?") The question comes out smaller than intended.

"Tu l'as déjà perdue en ne faisant rien," ("You've already lost her by doing nothing,") Jules says. "Au moins en essayant, tu sauras." ("At least by trying, you'll know.")

Ocho whines, head butting Aurélien's knee like he's agreeing.

"Une semaine," ("One week,") Cama stands, stretching. "Pour arrêter d'être un lâche." ("To stop being a coward.")

"Je ne suis pas—" ("I'm not—")

"Si, tu l'es," ("Yes, you are,") Jules interrupts. "Mais tu peux changer ça." ("But you can change that.")

They leave him with that thought, with Ocho looking at him like he's waiting for something too.

One week. One week to figure out if he's brave enough to risk everything. One week to decide if she's worth it.

She is. He's just been too scared to admit it.

Until now.

...................tbd

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Learning To Get Along

A/N – So, a user on A03 suggested the snake servants’ new names. It was a stroke of genius on their behalf, and I can only thank them for it.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

MALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

Tag-List: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @sseleniaa @randomgurl2326  @22carolina08 @astrxwitch @yu-87 @clover-1767 @lil-bexie @thesimpybitch

Do you think you can manage that? Lucifer’s words hung in the air, creating an icy barrier between you.

So, Lucifer thought himself too good for low-life Sinners such as yourself. That wasn’t fair. Sinners might be in Hell for a reason, but sometimes such reasons were just fucking stupid. Heaven ought to base their entry requirements on a person’s character or strength of heart, not just their actions. You had met plenty of Sinners who were in Hell because of the most trivial shit.

There were those who liked to sleep around, but if sex positivity was a problem, then how did Heaven explain Angels like Adam, whom Charlie had told you about in excruciating detail. Lust shouldn’t have ever been considered a Sin, as long as all participants in any such carnal act were above age and consenting.

Then, there were a few murderers you knew. Granted, murder made the lines blurry, but some Sinners killed in self-defence, or only targeted others such as themselves, protecting the innocent in a very gruesome Dexter-like fashion. Were they really to be condemned? And who the fuck gave a damn about Sloth. So, some people were just bone idle, who gave a shit? Heaven apparently.

And now, the ruler of Hell was condemning those around him as well. He was supposed to care for his people, good or bad. Not to mention those who were solely created for or born in Hell, such as Imps, Hell-Hounds, or the Deadly Sins themselves; they hadn’t committed any crimes to get sent here originally – it was their home.

Your eyebrows furrowed, creating an annoyed crease along your forehead.

“No,” You told Lucifer, who stared at you incredulously.

No? Didn’t you understand the situation? He was Lucifer. King of Hell. He could destroy you with no effort spared, leaving no trace that you ever existed, and you were telling him no? He wasn’t an unreasonable guy, but how could you possibly think that being around him was a good idea? Did you respect Charlie more than you feared him? Granted, he didn’t go out much so few knew how powerful he was, but no other Sinner would dare deny him his wishes.

You saw the look he was giving you and decided to explain yourself.

“Look, I’m only here ‘cos Charlie thought it was a good idea, and if you genuinely hate me, I’ll go and you’ll never have to see me again, but you’re not even trying right now. You haven’t spoken to me. You don’t know anything about me, and frankly, I think Charlie’s right, you do need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t-” Lucifer started.

“You don’t even know why I’m down here,” You interrupted angrily, though you refrained from raising your voice. “And you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same. Ooh, we squandered your gift of Free Will and now we deserve to suffer for eternity, do we? Grow up!”

Lucifer stared at you in astonishment, and you sighed, apparently not finished in your tirade, “I’m going to my room tonight, but tomorrow, I expect that you’ll at least try to tolerate me. Who knows? We might even find some common ground. We both love Charlie, don’t we?”

Lucifer didn’t know what to say to that. He certainly loved his daughter, more than anything else in the universe, but you? He still suspected that you had some kind of ulterior motive… everyone in Hell did. Yet, you had a point. He would do this for her, even if it meant he had to tolerate you.

Who were you, really?

He looked at you closely for the first time, trying to pick out some detail of who you might have been. It was even more disturbing than he previously thought. Before, he only saw a human. Now, he examined your clothes. There was little to say about the style, but your apparel was reminiscent of a Holy Animal. With the ruffled cuffs of your jacket, the way the back peaked to create the image of feathers, and the yellow ribbon that lined the white material, you looked like a dove.

Yet… Despite living in the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie had insisted that you didn’t seek redemption. Why go through the farce of dressing like an Angel then… unless? No, you couldn’t be. No Angel would dare stray from Heaven unless they were ordered to.

Lucifer held back a glower, trying to keep his emotions in check so you wouldn’t sense his thoughts. There was a possibility, though small that you had been sent by the likes of Adam to spy on Lucifer and his kin, ensuring that none of Charlie’s patrons ever found a way to the Pearly Gates.

Well, it wouldn’t take long to uncover your ruse. Lucifer had ways of telling an Angel from a Demon, and once you were asleep, he would know.

“Yeah,” Lucifer said evenly. “I love my Charlie.”

“So, you’ll try then.”

Lucifer nodded his head in consent.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

The sentiment went unreturned as your King returned to his chambers, biding his time until you slept.

When you returned to your room, you got ready for bed. The day had been long and unusual. Honestly, you didn’t feel that you had a place in the manor, and you longed for your room in the Hotel, even if it was smaller, had a large stain on the carpet (which Nifty had named Vivienne) and an unruly infestation of roaches.

In the short time you had spent there, it had become home.

You would miss the arguing inhabitants, the energetic wake-up call from Charlie, the feeling of safety that Vaggie instilled, and the sound of Alastor’s morning and evening radio broadcasts. Yet, you hoped you might find something equally valuable in return if only Lucifer would open himself up to the possibility that you didn’t want anything from him.

After glancing out of your window, which had a balcony you could step out to if you so wished, you took in the whole of the Magne District which was the heart of Pentagram City. If you strained your eyes, you could just see the flashing neon of the Hazbin Hotel, and if you turned your gaze up… There was Heaven, out of reach yet always in sight, taunting most Sinners, yet emboldening a brave few who dared to wonder What If? What if they could change and gain admittance to a better life?

You sighed and dared not ponder further when you needed to get some sleep.

Throwing yourself on the plush bed, you got comfortable, arranging yourself how you liked, then leaning over to your bedside table, you blew out the cherry candle you had previously lit.

You rested your head atop the satin pillows, then frowned, feeling a lump beneath it. You reached under and pulled out a rubber duck, painted to look like a Hellhound-Duck hybrid. Assuming it was one of Charlie’s childhood toys, you placed it carefully atop the table; it would keep you company on your first night in a strange new place.

Lucifer waited till the late twilight hours before leaving his workshop. He transformed himself into a snake, slithering silently through the Hallways, ensuring that you wouldn’t hear him coming.

Before being cast out of Heaven, detecting an Angel would have been a simple task. He would just know, the way he now knew how to read a Demon. Yet, with you giving off little sign of Demonic energy, he now had to test if you were of Angelic origin. There were two ways he could do so. The first was by spilling your blood. Those who were born in or sent to Heaven had golden ichor instead of the oozing red or black goop of Hell-spawn and Sinners.

However, not wishing to alert you to his presence, Lucifer decided to opt for the other method.

Once he was inside your room and certain that you were in a deep slumber, he reverted to his original form, standing over you, his pupils turning to slits at the thought of a traitor in his house. If you were what he thought you to be, he would kill you immediately.

He pulled a small yellow twenty-sided stone from his pocket and baring his fangs in anger, he pressed it lightly against your skin.

Nothing happened.

Lucifer’s expression changed from one of deep-seated loathing to confusion. You weren’t from Heaven. If you were, the stone would have glowed a brilliant shade of Gold. Instead, it remained its original dull yellow.

Very well.

He would keep his word and… Tolerate you.

He left your room as quietly as he had entered it. Tomorrow, things would be different.

Lucifer didn’t sleep that night; the idea of change was terrifying.

The next morning, when Lucifer finally resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to face you eventually, he headed downstairs, assuming that was where you were.

“JUST TRY IT!” He heard you yell. “TRY! OPEN YOUR MOUTH, DAMN IT!”

“Uh…” Was all he could think to say as he entered the kitchen and found you clinging to one of the snake cleaners he had created the previous night, in a rodeo-like fashion. The creature was trying to buck you off, with a somewhat derpy expression, probably stupidly assuming it was a game; Lucifer hadn’t bothered to instil them with much intelligence since he didn’t need them for anything more than cleaning.

“ARGH!” You grunted as you were dislodged from its back.

“What- What is this?” Lucifer asked, confused.

“Oh shit!” You cursed, embarrassed to have been caught in a less-than-dignified position. You attempted to regain a little composure by standing up, then held up a handful of wadded-up pancake.

“Do they eat?” You demanded, referring to the reptilian cleaners, “’Cos they’ve been in a picture frame their whole lives, and they must be hungry by now.”

Of all the stupid things you could have done, Lucifer couldn’t help but crack a smile, though he had the decency to hide his laugh behind a clenched fist and pass it off as a cough.

“They don’t need to.”

“Okay, but can they?”

“If they wanted to, I suppose so.”  

You glared at the mushed-up pancake, “I fucking knew it. Spick, Span, eat your fucking breakfast!”

“I’m sorry, who now?” Lucifer asked.

“Well, they clean, don’t they? Spick and Span seem to fit unless you have something better to name them.”

Lucifer chuckled, a half-short-lived chuckle, but one all the same. You were more chaotic than he expected.

“Fine, if you want them to eat, you’ve got to cook in style.”

He waved his hands energetically, his outfit transforming from his usual suit to one befitting a flashy Michelin Chef. He was comfortable in the role of an entertainer as he made a dazzling display of cooking up eggs. With the flash-bang of indoor fireworks, the island counter gained a conveyor belt to transport several dishes, all perfectly presentable and giving off a delectable aroma of herbs and spices.

Eggs-benedict, frittatas, and shakshuka shot by you, closely followed by a hungry Span, though his twin was busy writhing on the conveyer belt, trying to get to his feather duster, yet doomed to chase it since he didn’t think to travel in the opposite direction so it would meet him in the middle.

The sight was memorable to say the least, even when Spick knocked the food onto the floor and his brother was left stupidly sucking on the corner of the countertop where his seemingly new favourite dish had splattered.

You couldn’t help laughing.

“See?” You struggled to get the words out, “I knew they’d like food. I’m just a shite cook.”

Lucifer gazed at his dishes proudly, even though they were no longer fit for either of your consumption.

“Hah,” You said, feeling somewhat awkward now that the moment had passed and Lucifer’s gaze was upon you, trying to figure you out. “I’ll uh, clean this up.”

“No need, leave it to Flim and Flam,” Lucifer said nonchalantly.

“You know that’s not their names.”

“Whatever. So… we’ve met, there was breakfast with a show. We done for today?”

The smile fell from your face as you realised that all of this was just another of Lucifer’s acts. Granted, he might have actually had fun with it, but it was all just in the name of claiming he had tried to be around you, and just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“I don’t know. I was going to go into the City if you wanted to come.”

“I can’t. I have… plans.”

Lucifer’s mood soured as he thought about visiting Heaven’s embassy to set up the meeting for Charlie. He hated everything about that building. The décor was just a cruel reminder of everything Heaven had banished him from. Moreover, while the Angels had to respect his power, they didn’t respect him; their cruel words and thinly veiled insults always cut him the deepest. Not to mention how bitter he was that the balance of power was uneven. Sure, Heaven had an embassy in Hell, but there was no such building in Heaven where Demons could work to arrange meetings between Angels and him.

It would always be Lucifer going to their building, on their terms, usually at their behest.

“Plans? So, you’re setting up Charlie’s meeting today?” You guessed astutely. “You know, I’m walking that way too.”

Lucifer guessed at your game. You probably hadn’t been going in that direction at all, but this was all in the name of ‘trying’. One way or another, he would have to learn to get along with you.

“Fine. Let’s go,” He said, flicking his hand back blasély, even though he found the idea of walking the streets of Hell daunting.

It would be better if he could teleport there, but at least, by the end of the day, you would have something positive to report back to Charlie.

[yan-lorkai]

Hello, I just found your blog and I saw that you didn't have anything written yet, could you write a Yandere Alucard x reader?, where Alucard knows that his love is not like a normal one, but he still wants to love and care for the reader in his own way? I don't know if you could understand me, English is not my language.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: English isn't my first language either, darling, but don't worry. You're pretty good and I can understand you just fine! Normally when the requester doesn't specify what format they want, I write headcanons. But for this one I went with a drabble, hope you like it! 〜⁠(⁠꒪⁠꒳⁠꒪⁠)⁠〜

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: yandere content, non consensual cuddling, implied kidnapping.

Alucard is not one for meaningless sentimentality, if he ever was when he was still human. He doesn't know, can't remember anything before turning into the monster he is today, shrouded by shadows and blood, by vicious bloodlust and thrill of the chase. One thing he remembers though it's love.

Ephemeral, fragile love that humans spend almost all their lives trying to get. Eternal, unconditional love that can swept anyone from their own feet. He's not going to admit it but love was something unknown to him.

Alucard has watched love blossom and change through the ages. Even if he can't remember now, he probably was loved by his parents, his mother probably engulfed him in her arms to protect him from harm, to make him feel safe and loved. Even now he watched and listened and observed love in its pure form, soft and happy, and all around him. He knows enough to know that his love it's tainted and impure just like him. It's all consuming, it's cruel, but he is a cruel monster ready to take and never be satisfied.

He can torn vampires to bits, can disconnect heads from their bodies and bathe in the blood of each of his enemies. Battles against ghouls became orchestrated displays of his commitment, each confrontation a macabre testament of his devotion to you. If only you could see it like this but you were always wary around him, scowling uncomfortably at his bloodied state and dismissing his gifts. Though he suppose eyes and bones don't make good gifts.

His slender fingers continue to tap rhythmically on the arm of the chair. The sound echoing loudly though the palpable silence that plagued your room. You are such a fragile little human, he could crush you so easily beneath his fingers. Could strangle and hear your whimpers and groans, could see the life leave your eyes just like he's seen it in so many other people. But he choose not to.

Instead, he should bring you a heart or a brain. Maybe even the entire corpse. Would that scare you too much though? He doesn't think so.

You're entertaining to watch and you make him feel things he thought he would never feel. For now, he's happy with this, he's happy watching you snuggling against your pillows, wrapped in the soft covers that hid you from the world.

Alucard's red eyes fixed on you with an intensity that could send shivers down your spine if you were awake. His love for you was unlike anything mortal — a dark and possessive force that lingered between obsession and protection. You, a mere human, were unaware of the affection that he had for you. Not for long though.

Deciding not to deny himself any further, Alucard moved. Without making a sound he plopped himself into your bed and pulled you into his arms, where you belong. He doesn't care if you wake up, far from this judging by the sly little smile that grows on his lips. Your head found its place in his chest, your warm breath almost tickling his neck.

He doesn't sleep. He doesn't need it but for a moment he closes his eyes. The blood pulsating on your veins being like a lullaby to him.

He always watched you from the shadows, his crimson gaze a constant companion, but his patience it's at its limit. You either doesn't notice his love for you or you are ignoring it, but he had enough of watching from afar and playing around, he gave you a choice. It was unspoken but you still had a chance for you to come forward and reciprocate his feelings before he take things on his own hands.

His love is not good for you, he know. And he knows he's going to ruin you but he doesn't care. What's matter it's that he has you, like a bunny snared in his trap and soon you be forever bound by his side. Not even his master could help you.

[p123apples]

please God, I want to be impregnated so bad. I want him. That beautiful, radiant angel. Like a god, having come down to Earth to cleanse us of our sins.

he is beyond divine. I can’t help but drop to my knees in worship whenever I see his beautiful figure. I yearn for him in a way both primal and spiritual. I would commit more war crimes than every president in United States history just to lick the sweet, glistening sweat from his smooth, creamy skin. I want to listen to his moans as his manhood throbs within , I want to hear his heart race as our bodies become one and our souls irreversibly intertwine in the holy sin of carnal union.

I want to suckle at his motherly bosom, slurping that rich mana milk from his teat as I would stir his cream into my coffee and let his balls boil in it. His cries of pleasure and the rocking of our bed would be louder than the cacophony of ten thousand drone strikes. I would make love to him until my body gave out, and then some. I would let him break my rib cage with any part of his body. I would let him hit me with his car just to be near him for a brief moment.

he’s so perfect it hurts. Every moment without him I suffer a pain worse than breaking every bone in my body simultaneously while drowning and also having shards of glass coated in hot sauce forced through every orifice of my body. I want him, I need him. I want to desecrate his crisp general suit. I want to start a family with him and retire after our twenty seven children have grown up and moved out. I want to see those luscious lips speak such filthy, perverse words into my ear while he slides ice cubes down my gaping pisshole.

I want to fuck him like he owes me money. I would let him step on me, just to feel the soft, firm warmth of his feet upon my face and his groin area. I would sleep under him just to catch his drool in my mouth. I would fish the strands of hair from his shower drain just to smell his alluring scent, and braid them into necklaces to keep him with me always. Or cock rings. Whichever would please him more.

God please, I would do anything for him. I would relinquish my life, all my hopes and dreams, just to become the socks on his feet so that I may warm his mouthwatering toes with my very being, so that he may feel the heat of my love always. I would encase myself in cement and become his doorstep, so that he may wipe his heels upon my face. I would tear my own limbs off. I don’t know what I’d do after that, or why he might want my limbs. But I would do it.

My prince, my god, the light of my life. Please God, let me have him. I want him to be mine and only mine. I would lick the Doritos dust from his fingers and fill his belly button with honey mustard to dip my teats in. I would give him a sponge-bath with my tongue every morning and serve him breakfast in bed. I would let him eat my eggs,straight from the source . i would let him eat steak off my body if it pleased him, no matter how painful the third-degree burns would be.

I would bear the torment of eternal damnation until the end of time to taste the seat of his car but once. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for him, nothing I wouldn’t say. I wouldn’t even let myself cum until he gave me permission.

I love you,gojo . Please. Be mine. Be my life, my lover, my sorcerer daddy ,my everything. Say yes. I see it in your eyes, when you’re up there yapping about catching up to suguru or whatever. Answer my calls, respond to my letters. Something. Give me a sign, gojo. I’m waiting for you in chapter 269, come back my glorious emperor,it is time you got out of that airport or you would be escorted

descend from heaven satoru,i am waiting.