#I can’t be bothered to be put together it’s way too much right now I just need to explode

[hplonesomeart]

Wohoo animation update I guess wow cool fast paced camera pan stuff wowwww

[unorthodoxfaithxx]

Super happy, puppy dog yandere boyfriend that’s happy to have sex with you for the first time

afab reader ; nsfw

You look so beautiful in bed, all dolled up and pretty just for him! And only for him! He’s so excited that his pants feel way too restrictive, and if he had a tail you bet it’d be wagging a mile a minute. 

He looks at your soft curves, your bashful, oh-so-cute-eyes, and the rosiness of your adorable cheeks with so much love. Because he loves you. And he really REALLY means it. And wants to show you how he really feels tonight. He was so happy that you’d agreed to go all the way with him. 

When he undresses and leans over your body, hands squeezing your hips and inner thigh, you feel him trembling with anticipation. You giggle at the sight, and he swears your voice is like an angel from above singing holy scripture into his ears. 

You unclasp your bra, throwing it to the side of the room. He imagines smothering his face between your tits until you slowly peel your laced panties out from under you, revealing a perfectly pink pussy that has him practically drooling, all sense of self restraint bursting at the seams.

He’s all over you before you can even say a word, face between your legs, boyish hands keeping a vice like grip on your thighs to keep you open as he laps and laps away until he’s satisfied. Which in the moment, he thinks he’ll never be with how good you taste. His drool gets everywhere, coating your already wet cunt with his own juices. He apologizes for the mess and eagerly goes to clean it up with his tongue, sucking on your mound like a dog gobbling over a chew toy. 

Did he already say your voice sounds like an angel? Because your moans are so immaculate he can just listen to you say his name and ONLY his name all damn day. Just you and him. Together forever and ever and ever and ever —

The thought of spending eternity with you puts him over the edge, and he practically whines for you to let him put his cock inside. 

“Please, baby? I promise I’ll make you feel good. I promise! I wanna feel you so bad. I can’t take it anymore.”

You find his begging cute, but would be a cruel woman to tell him no when he’s staring at you with such puppy-love, lust ridden eyes. When you say yes, he’s over the moon, already covering your body with sloppy kisses and thank yous, muttering promises of how he’ll make you feel oh so full, oh so good, and that he’ll take care of you forever. 

He knows you’re not a virgin but he doesn’t care. He would have loved to be your first but that doesn’t matter now, the only thing that matters is making you his right this moment and making it to where you’ll never want another man ever again, just him. 

When his cock plunges into you he moans just as loud as you, if not more. You feel his heart pounding like crazy and reach to kiss him, sending him into a frenzy of ‘I love you’s and ‘Mine, mine, MINE’. He latches onto your tits like they’re a lifeline, feeling so high with adrenaline that he almost zones out and ignores your moans. Uh-oh, can’t do that! He wants to hear every noise you’ll make for him tonight. 

He’s fucking you so fast and so good you can barely think straight, and your fucked out expression just sends him over the moon. He squeals at your adorable face and holds you tighter, biting into your neck and laughing when you gasp at his actions. He hasn’t bothered counting how many times you’ve come. He just knows it’s been more than three. 

You ask him to take you from behind, doggystyle, and he happily obliges. He fucks you deep, slamming into you as hard as he can, gripping your ass and giving one cheek a nice smack. With a pull of your hair, he’s got you on both knees pressed flush against his body. He gives you another hickey on your neck, but not before another bite. 

“Oh you’re doing so good for me baby. Just like that! Yeah. Go ahead and cum for me.” He encourages. 

Boy, does he want to come inside you so bad, make you his and mark you, but he knows how you feel about that and opts to come outside instead, all over your perfect ass. 

When he finishes, he flops into bed next to you and holds you tight, looking at you with concerned but hopeful eyes. 

“How was that?? Was it good? You won’t leave me know will you? I know I liked it, but did you? We can go another round if you want. I wanna make you—“

You hush him with a reassuring kiss on the lips. 

[maskedbyghost]

Heyyy, it's me again, but this time we're talking situationship!Simon—aka the biggest fuckboy you'll ever meet. Honestly, girl, I have no idea why you're still putting up with him!

you can’t even define what you two have, but one thing’s for sure—he knows how to use his dick, and you're both free to mess around with whoever you want. but of course, you had to fall for him, for that stupid smile he swore only you were special enough to see, for the gentle touch that lingered on your skin during those rare nights when he stayed longer than usual. you fell for the way he made you feel like you were the exception, even though deep down, you knew better.

you fell for how he made you feel like you were everything, even though he’d always leave just as quickly. he knew exactly how to keep you hooked—giving just enough to make you believe in him, but never enough to make it real. you wanted more, but every time he left, you remembered that his promises were as short-lived as his visits. still, you couldn’t stop going back, hoping that maybe this time, he’d actually mean it.

but he never did. you’d have fun for a few hours, but then he’d leave, acting like you didn’t exist around everyone else. he’d flirt with other girls right in front of you, not even bothering to hide it when he left with them, almost like he wanted you to see.

and every time, it hurt a little more, but you couldn’t bring yourself to end it. you told yourself you didn’t care, that it was just fun, but deep down, you wanted to be the one he stayed with. yet, no matter how much it hurt to watch him with someone else, the moment he came back, all that anger faded, and you let him in again, caught in the hope that maybe someday he’d truly see you as more than just a temporary fix.

one night, you tried to have a serious conversation with him, hoping that if you laid out your feelings, he might finally understand. but he dismissed your emotions with a shrug, listing reasons why he didn’t want a relationship: he was too focused on his career, he wasn’t ready for commitment, and he just didn’t want to deal with the complications. simon insisted that keeping things as they were was the best option for both of you.

afterward, as you lay together, a clear realization hit you. even though you were physically close, you couldn’t ignore the emptiness you felt. that night you made a silent promise to yourself: this would be the last time you let him in, and the last time you let yourself be trapped in this cycle.

and, being the dumb man he was, simon only came to realize what he had lost after you were gone. a few weeks after your last conversation, he saw you a few times out with other guys, laughing and flirting as if you were moving on. it hit him hard—a painful mix of jealousy and regret. he realized that he missed you, but at the same time, he knew he had no right to these feelings. not after treating you the way he did.  

he managed to keep his calm for a few more days, but the weight of his regret grew unbearable. finally, he snapped and called you into his office late one night, claiming he needed to discuss the upcoming mission with you.

as soon as you walked in, simon felt his heart tighten in his chest. seeing your face calm, confident, like you had already moved on, stirred something deeper than he expected. there was no trace of the vulnerability you used to show around him, no lingering affection. he realized, in that moment, just how much he had pushed you away. regret surged through him, sharper than he imagined, and he knew this conversation wouldn’t be easy.

after talking about unimportant stuff for a few minutes, simon took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “i know i messed up, and i’m sorry for how i treated you. i’ve been thinking a lot about what happened, and i realize now how much i regret it. i was wrong to push you away.”

you looked at him, your expression guarded. “it’s a little too late for apologies, simon, don't you think? you had plenty of chances to get it right, and now you’re just trying to fix things because you see me with someone else.”

he tried to reach out, his voice softening. “i know it’s not enough, but i want to make things right. i can’t stop thinking about what we had.”

you shook your head, stepping back. “you had your chance, and you threw it away. i’m not going to be your second choice or your backup plan.”

"y/n-"

"no, simon!" you sighed, closing your eyes briefly to gather your thoughts. when you spoke again, your voice was steady, "you know, some people never fade from memory. they leave a mark that lingers just beneath the surface, no matter how hard you try to move on. but to be honest, i’m not in the mood for any more humiliation or heartbreak. so, this is my final goodbye to you."

you could sense that he wanted to say something, but you couldn’t let him speak before you had your say. “go ahead and fill your life with new faces, as if i were nothing but a distant memory. enjoy your freedom and let others wear you out as they please. i’m done being part of that. keep moving forward, and if you ever try to reach out, know that i’ll let your calls go unanswered. for now, i’m celebrating the end of our chapter.”

even as he heard you declare the end, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he still wanted you in his life. he was stuck between guilt and the lingering hope that maybe he could still fix things. despite your rejection, part of him struggled to accept that he had truly lost you, and he felt powerless to change the situation or let you go.

simon’s face twisted with a mix of desperation and anger. “you think you can just walk away and erase everything we had? you think you can move on and leave me behind like I’m nothing?” he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his voice was filled with raw intensity. “don’t fool yourself, i still want you, and i won’t just let you go. you’re mine, whether you like it or not. i know i’ve made mistakes, but i’m not done fighting for what we had. if you think you can find someone better, go ahead. but know this: i’ll keep groveling and doing whatever it takes until you take me back. i’m not going anywhere, and i’ll make sure you remember what we had.” he took a step back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

you just smirked, turning on your heel to leave. as you reached the door, you glanced back over your shoulder with a cold, confident look. “i can’t wait to see you on your knees,” you said, your voice sharp. then, you walked out, leaving him alone with his mess.

game on.

(I WANT HIM TO GROVEL FOR MONTHSSSS)

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

@daydreamerwoah

[martiansodas-blog]

too pretty to think.

when art started to slip, it almost felt like falling asleep…

a. donaldson x reader

word count: 2,216

contents: dumbification, body worship, face sitting, multiple orgasms, cuming untouched, brief mommy kink, subspace, nicknames and pet names, this is freak nasty.

Xx

The first time 

You and Art have been going steady for 6 months and you loved every second of it. the two of you mostly hung out at your place, it's a tad cleaner than his dorm and he never bothered with things like decorations. It was a haven for the both of you. So when your Blackberry buzzed with a message asking,

“r u home?” 

It was hardly out of the ordinary.

“yeah. just changed clothes”

“can i come over?”

“of course”

Donaldson is a man who never knows when to quit. Let's rephrase: He’ll only quit when instructed to. 

He treats his body like a machine. He eats what his nutritionist tells him to, he pushes his body to the limit, and he rarely turns in a paper late. 

When you opened your front door your boyfriend was in chaotic ruins. His eyes were puffy and his cheeks were stained. He stared at the floor with his calloused hands in his pockets.

“Oh my gosh, what happened?? What’s wrong?”

Your tone had urgency as you ushered him inside. Once the door is closed he pulls you in for a hug. You don’t dare speak, just hug back. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. 

It’s obvious he’s trying to hold himself together, but stroking his back caused him to break.

“Aw, baby,” 

You sway him from side to side. 

“Shh, it’s ok. I’m here.”

After a few minutes, Art regained control of his breathing. You put him at arm's length—your voice just above a whisper. 

“Would you like to come lay down with me? We don’t have to talk about it if you don't want to, let's just get you comfortable.”

Art sniffles and nods his head—your poor baby. 

You held his hand and led the way to your room. You sat on your bed with your back against the wall so he could lay between your legs. He often takes this position when you guys are watching movies so it will add a level of comfort for him. 

Art takes some deep breaths as you run your nails through his hair. 

“We got a new coach and he- he’s so intense. I don’t know. I’ve been berated by coaches since I was 13. Why the hell is this one affecting me differently?” 

You twist one of his curls in your fingers. 

“Everything's just so much right now. Schoolwork, post-graduation plans, sponsorships… There's so much going on all the time. I- I can’t do it.” 

Your heart broke for him. 

“I’m so sorry, Artie. I wish I could take it all away from you.”

You rubbed his arms and back for who knows how long. It could have been hours. You didn’t care. You’d cancel your week's agenda if that’s what he needed. You weren’t getting up until he felt better. 

You analyzed his words.

“It’s not that you’re unable to make decisions, and it’s not that you make bad decisions. It’s just that decisions are constant unrelenting work… is that an accurate assessment?”

He nodded and sighed into your shirt like you were the one person in the world who understood him. 

“...And a good boy like you should never have to work.” 

Art froze. 

Well, that’s new. 

You decided to test the waters further and put on your most sultry voice. 

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll think for you.” 

He let out a sound that can only be described as a mewl. His body curled into a semi-circle. 

You swept some hair out of his eyes, they seemed to get droopier.

I don't know what exactly is transpiring he’s responding to it.

“Let your thoughts go. You don’t need them.” 

Eyes are fully closed now.

“Can you unclench your jaw for me? That’s it.”

He does as he's told, falling deeper into whatever hollow you're creating. He bites back a smile but his blush is evident. So easy to get him to blush. One of his cutest attributes.

Next step is Moving your handsome boy to lay on his stomach so you can rub his shoulders. You hear him sigh while the tension is worked out of his muscles and watch him relax under your hands. 

Walking him through some deep breaths while you place dozens of soft, light kisses on his neck. 

You want to make him understand what a privilege it is to have him.

Rubbing his thighs and calves, slowly melting away the stress of the day. Kisses on the backs of his knees while he laughs and tells you to stop that and that it tickles.

Helping him turn over to lie on his back and climbing carefully on top to straddle him.

You toy with the hem of his shirt. 

“Can I take this off?”

He looks up at you. mouth open and nods. 

It causes you to giggle. 

“Thank you.” 

Once that’s out of the way your hands wander up to his chest while trailing more impossibly light kisses down his Adam's apple. Massaging his chest, squeezing and grabbing and just feeling his skin. 

Kissing his collarbones, trailing your tongue along the dip where they meet under his neck. Slowly working that boy up with teasing touches that only get more and more unbearable.

Slowly returning to his lips to kiss him again while you reach down to trail your fingertips over his cock. He pants and whines so sweetly into your mouth while you play with his cock. You're not even trying to make him cum-- not yet. 

I could do this all day. 

Letting him drift in a fuzzy-headed space while you work your fingers soft and slow over his pants. Doesn't need to worry about anything but your hands on his body. You're right here to keep him safe and make him feel good.

“There's nothing I love more than watching my brilliant, polite, well-spoken boyfriend turn mindless.” 

Art whined and bucked his hips up to meet your hand.

“I need to be in you so bad. Please.”

Who are you to refuse him?

“Don't worry baby, I’ll give you what you want.” 

You slid off him and he reached for you, like he couldn’t stand you being an inch away for any amount of time. You chuckled and took off your bottoms and underwear, he copied. 

You hopped back on top of him, which made him break out into a smile. His girl was about to take care of him. 

You grabbed his cock and started stroking him. 

“I don’t know if I’m wet enough, Artie.”

“Sitonmyface.” He begged all in one breath. 

You bit your lip so as not to laugh at him. It wasn’t in a mean way, no no! He was just so excited about it. It’s adorable and flattering all at the same time.

“Are you sure? We’ve never done that before.”

We haven’t done a lot of this before. 

He shamelessly nodded. Grabbing your waist with both hands and shifting your body up before you could protest. 

“I don’t want to crush you.”

At this point, he was panting. A dog seconds away from getting a treat. 

“You won’t.” 

Art has eaten you out before, and it’s been wonderful. But this? This is a new kind of ecstasy. 

His tongue reaches new trenches. 

And that fucking nose. It bumped your clit every time. You were gasping and making noises you didn’t know were possible. His mouth is memorizing your folds. He's getting off on your arousal.  His tip is red and hurting, but can barely care when a taste crafted just for him is on his lips. 

“Shit. Just like that.” 

Your thighs trapped his face, your breath hitched with every thrust, and your walls clenched around his tongue. 

“Oh god, oh god,” 

Truthfully, Art didn't know which of you came first. 

The only thing he knew was your body. 

You shuffled down and kissed all over his face which was covered in your release. 

“You made mommy feel so good.”

He smiled up at you. He was so proud that he could do that for you. Like it was his purpose in life. And oh did he love that nickname. It made him feel all soft, like when you recall a fond memory. 

“Do you want Mommy to sit on your cock?” 

He whimpered and nodded. 

You lined yourself up with him and sank. It was so easy due to both of your juices, you had to concentrate on lowering slowly so he didn’t bottom out too fast. 

The two of you moaned in unison. It was almost tantric. Even though the focus here is on Art, it’s impossible not to feel the same pleasure. It wasn’t just your sexualities that were aligned but your souls. The love you felt for each other was palpable. 

It didn’t take long for him to bottom out. But it wasn’t enough. You ground your hips into him, causing his voice to raise an octave. 

“Oh fuck. Hnnn! Fuck, feels so good, please.”

He was babbling nonsense, unable to create cohesive thoughts or keep any sounds in. 

You remove his hands clutching the sheets and replace them with your own. To bring him back to earth. 

When he couldn’t get enough he bucked his hips up into yours. Moving aimlessly, mindlessly. You held his hips down to the mattress and bounced on his dick. The sounds of his cock hitting your weeping entrance were insanely beautiful and sinful to listen to. 

“Such a good boy.” 

His dick jumped inside of you at that. Seemingly of its own volition. 

You shifted to pepper kisses on his jawline. The new position forced his cock to rub all kinds of new places. You nearly collapsed onto him from the shock. Heavy exhales leave your mouth. Your pussy suffocates his cock. 

“My good boy. Just a dumb little thing for me to use isn't that right.”

Art came on the spot. No warning. His skin flushed and curls were damp on his forehead. Words were coiled at his throat, coming out as broken sobs, wanting more. 

You rode him until it was clear he'd finished. 

“Did you cum for me, baby?”

“Yes. I'm sorry I should’ve said something I couldn't help it. Felt too good, I didn’t -“

“Shh sweetheart, you did nothing wrong. You can cum in me as many times as you like. That's what I’m here for. That’s what this,” you clenched around him, “is for.” 

“Fuck.” his breath quivering. He arched his back, sensitive little thing. 

“I love it when you spill yourself into me. it’s so warm in here now.” 

You placed his hand on your lower stomach, your womb. 

“Can we go again please?”

“Are you sure? I don't want to push you.”

He shuffled so you were both sitting up. causing you to gasp. His erection never left, and it’s ever so prevalent right now. 

“Please! Wanna keep myself buried here forever.” 

It was hard to remain the level-headed one after hearing that. 

“You make me so wet when you say that, Artie.” 

There's drool coming from his mouth as he watches you talk. Nothing behind those eyes.

“So wet and needy.” 

You soften your voice, and when you talk it’s into his mouth. 

“You gonna let me take you again?”

He groaned and nodded, then ferociously kissed you. He wrapped his strong arms around your torso and immediately disliked how much fabric was between the two of you. He ripped your t-shirt and sports bra off in nearly one motion. Sighing when he felt skin on skin.

“I’m going to play with you until there's nothing in that head except my name.”

And you did. You fucked him till his brain turned to mush. Till it felt so good he thought he was going crazy, till he couldn’t even hear how loud he was being. Just blissed out being pulled back into your cunt. 

What an honor, to have such an obedient, adoring boy like him. 

You let him stay like that, floaty and sweet until he fell asleep to whispered praises. 

“My good boy. You did such a good job for me.”

A kiss to his forehead. 

“You know I love you so much.”

Tucked under the covers.

“So good for me, honey. You're okay. I'm proud of you. You're all mine, and I'm all yours.”

You raked your nails along his back.

“Relax, It'll all be there for you tomorrow. But for right now, all you need to be is my good, sweet boy. And you are.”

You moved off the bed which concerned Art. 

“Are you leaving?” 

He looked like he could cry. You cradled his face. 

“No baby boy, of course not. I’m only getting you some water. I’ll be right back” 

You spoke to him like a child bedridden with a cold. It was clear the comedown was something intense and never experienced before. He needed you next to him right now.

“Alright lovely, I know you’re tired but have a few drinks of this for me.”

You guided the water bottle into his mouth till you were satisfied with the amount he got in his system. 

“Rest now. I’ll cuddle you.” 

The blonde fell asleep immediately in your embrace and you hoped it wouldn't be the last time you took his thoughts away.

[cregansdingdong]

ʀᴇꜱᴛʟᴇꜱꜱ.

Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: NSFW, p-in-v penetration, swearing, dirty talk, sofa sex, quickie that became a longie, making-out, dry humping, Jace is desperate and he needs to take his frustrations out somehow, theres a brief pussy slap bc it felt right, cream-pie at the end, fully clothed raw dogging; They’re betrothed and this takes place at the start of the DoD, I didn’t make any other specifications cause they were too busy fucking. This is very heavily inspired by his scene in the season finale :3

Hot stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

He’d been pacing in his chambers for the better part of an hour with only his thoughts as company. Jacaerys felt useless, to say the least. Useless, needlessly coddled, suffocating between the walls of Dragonstone. He wanted to be of help to his Queen, to fight for the realm on dragonback against the Greens as was his destiny. His calling. Instead, he was made to spectate at council meetings and wait endlessly for a moment that would never come, it seemed. The ‘what ifs’ kept him spiraling, uncomfortable in his own mind, and he found his feet moving before he could consider a destination. He knew where to go. It was too easy not to. And she wouldn’t mind. His hesitance sent a bit of doubt down to his stomach on whether or not he really wanted to bother her, but she would’ve figured out his sour mood anyway. It was better to face up to himself than keep it locked away inside. The hastening of his footsteps echoed off the spacious corridors, and as if she had sensed he was on his way to her, the doors to her chambers were left ajar��just enough for him to see her peaceful face trained down on her book.

His knuckles gently tapped against the threshold, announcing his presence as he entered. His betrothed glances up, looking twice as she realizes who her visitor is. “Good morrow.” She hummed, legs tucked up and under her comfortably on the divan. His pretty brown eyes took in her room, a place he found himself in considerably often. Depending on the circumstances, obviously. And the hour. Everything was kept neat and tidied, but he could still see the traces of her, where she’d made a sort of home for herself. Books and tomes stacked three or four each on various surfaces, the tea she’d left nearly untouched on the nightstand. He loved it. “Good morrow.” Jace responded, gently shutting the door behind him, head tilted back against it for a moment, unable to hide the frustration that had grown in his own chambers. He said nothing. Unsurprisingly, the words caught in his throat on the way out.

She pats the spot beside her on the divan, the book not yet closed, but her attention had shifted from the pages to his furrowed brows. He obeys, crossing the room to sit by her without second thought. His mind had quieted, at least. Their shoulders brush together lightly as he finally manages to say something else. “What are you reading?” She could tell already that something was off with him, but still indulges in his question, turning it over to show him the cover. Something vaguely historic, he catches, but he was too distracted by her soft hands clutching the book to see much else. “I figured I’d better read a bit more to catch up with the talk of war. This one isn’t entirely as dull as I thought it was going to be, thankfully.” With that, she closes it shut, putting it down on the stand beside the divan, shifting her body just enough to face him. “How are you faring, Jace?”

“I’m well enough.” He muttered, leaning back slightly. It was a lie and she saw right through him without much else. “I just…my mother is worried. She’s trying to hide it behind orders but it's catching up to us now. All this.” He was gesturing to the war, of course, fingers tapping in his lap anxiously. “And I can’t help her. She won’t let me help. I don’t know what to do. I’d much rather be out there, making a real difference to tip the scales, and instead I’m stuck here at Dragonstone doing nothing but waiting.” His betrothed nodded along as she listened, digesting his admittance before considering her own words. “You’re restless, dragon.” There was a truth to it, despite the statement mostly being a gentle tease. The corners of his lips lift just a little at the nickname. “I can’t help it. I feel antsy knowing I have the capabilities to do something, and I’m not allowed to.”

“We’re still in the beginning of this war—and you’re the heir, Jace. Even if there was a battle taking place just outside of Dragonstone, you and the Queen must stay here.” He’d heard that a thousand times before from his mother and the members of her small council, and a thousand times he felt undignified—but hearing it from the lips of his bride-to-be, there was no malice or taunt or scold behind her tone. She was reminding him of a painful candor. His safety mattered. “I feel powerless.” He admits, frustration accompanying the embarrassment that came with the insecurity. “I feel like a little boy begging to add his opinion during council meetings. They respect me because I’m the Prince of Dragonstone, her son, not because I’m good at my responsibilities. What good am I in this war if I can’t help my mother get her throne back?” The last few words exited his mouth with bite, self-loathing and irritation cutting him like a double-edge sword.

“You’re wrong about that.” She reaches out to take his arm, her hand wrapping around his bicep as she intertwines their fingers with the other. “Your living and breathing is the strongest power of all. You’re strengthening your mother’s claim by doing just that. I know you want to fight, to do something that matters. But true power is not just grandiose displays of strength or victories in battle, it's also purpose. The meanings behind our choices. People are raising the Queen’s banners—and those are your banners too. They want to fight for you as much as they do for her, because the two of you are the rightful heirs to the throne. The Greens can try as they wish to Usurp what belongs to the Queen, but their actions are unjustified. King Viserys made his choice and he stuck to it until his passing. That is power.”

“All this book reading is making you wiser than me.” He grumbled, although there wasn’t any malice behind it. “I’d still rather be swinging a sword at some idiot knight instead of sitting within these walls looking pretty—but I understand that you’re right.” He concedes, a small smile gracing his handsome face. She chuckles at that. “I’m sure you’d be pretty no matter what, even muddied and bloodied on the battlefield.” She sighs though, glancing out at the daylight swarming into the room through the window, hand still nestled in his. The gentle touch sent goosebumps up his neck, tightening his trousers with every second her warmth continued to seep into his leather doublet. “The meeting is likely starting soon.” Her voice interrupts his thoughts of nipping at the supple flesh at her neck.

Jace groaned aloud, head dropping back against the divan in pure annoyance, good mood spoiled at the reminder. “I’d honestly rather get swallowed by dragonfire than sit in that room for the next three hours, listening to those old fools drabble on about who knows what.” He turns his body—not unlike a roll—to shield his face on her shoulder, unwilling to part from her. “I want to stay here with you, alone and in peace as we were.” She snorts lightly as he inhales deeply, arm snaking around her waist in want. “The Queen will be expecting us, my prince.” She looks down at his dark curls, twirling one around her finger. His breeches certainly tighten now. “...My interests are elsewhere.” He murmurs, annoyed at the thought of being pulled away, face inching closer to her neck until his lips press against her smooth skin. “Jace.” She warned, although there wasn’t as much resistance in her tone as he’d expected, and a quiet sigh flows past her lips. “We can’t be late. That’s disrespectful to the council members.”

“The denial of devouring you because of those ancient rats only serves to make me want to go even less.” He shifts in place, head still dipped by her jugular, hands bracing the back of the divan with newfound purpose, trapping her between the corner of it and his own scalding body. She gasps as his teeth sink into her skin, earning a low sound of pleasure from his throat. “We can be quick if the meeting matters to you that much.” He mutters against her, a slight tease as he nips at her harder this time, his nose nudged into her jaw. “I don’t need to wait until nightfall to make you see the stars, my Lady.” Her remaining restraint crumbles at that, hands coming to undo the lacings of his breeches. “..Fine. But you can’t touch my hair.” He seemed like he wanted to protest at the idea of limited touching, but that gleam in her eye meant she was serious, and it was likely they’d miss the meeting as a whole trying to figure out how to braid her hair that way again. “Okay. Deal.”

His mouth returns to her throat, biting and sucking greedily with reverence, his hands finding purchase at her hips to start bunching her skirts up. “Jace..” She exhales, shuddering at the way he was marking her skin—he wasn’t leaving any stones unturned, and they were going to show. Her fingers plucked at the lacings with success, tugging him closer to her now by the waistline of his breeches. His fists clench around the fabric of her gown, a deep grunt echoing from his chest as his clothed cock pressed into her plush inner thigh. “Gods—I need more.” Jace retracts himself from her neck, pulling her body down the divan, just enough to lay her flat on her back. She wraps her thighs around his hips, a strangled moan failing to come out as he kisses her, pushing himself against her core. He rolled his hips down with a fury, nothing deliberate about it—just to feel something, to get out the pent up desperation he’d felt for weeks since his return.

His tongue explores her mouth with an eagerness that made them both flush, using her skirts as purchase to buck himself harder into her cunt. “You make me this way.” He grunts against her lips. His stomach was already tightening with every bit of friction they could get. “Do you understand? You’re just so pretty and you smell divine—fuck.” Jace grits his teeth, biting at her lower lip. She was a panting mess beneath him, unable to do anything other than take it, digging her nails into his shoulders to cope with how good it felt. His weight pinned her down deliciously, hips still incessant and rubbing against her with enough force to make the divan squeak. It was like music to his ears. “I’m already close just feeling your sweet cunt, my love.” Jace pulls up her gown a bit more, almost up to her ribs, to watch the tent in his pants glide up her glistening folds like a man bewitched. “You need to see it–” He grunts, bracing himself on the armrest behind her head, lifting himself just enough to make a space between their bodies. The sight was a wicked one.

“Look at the way you take me.” He urges, voice hoarse this time, eyes meeting hers from above. “Soaked enough to wet my breeches—and I’m not even inside of you yet.” Her nails dig harder into him, a breathless whine at the disbelief of it all. “Please Jace!” She mewls, shivering, and he grins, snapping his hips against hers with reverence. “Please what, my love? Use your words.” His tone was mocking, teasing, and eager to make her squirm. The quiet shuffling of their clothes was driving her to insanity—and she wanted more than anything to pull it all off, but they had places to be very soon. “I need—Gods! I need you, Jace!” He was more than pleased by that, and he somehow carries enough restraint to stop himself from finishing right there. Jacaerys pulls himself back to tug down his breeches down just enough, his cock momentarily springing back to hit his stomach.

She melts at the sight of his tip—red and leaking shiny precum back toward his shaft. He was the perfect size for her; not too big or too small, and pretty just like the rest of him. Jace hisses quietly as the sensitivity hits him, dipping himself between her folds just to savor the moment. “Mmm look at your pretty cunt, my love. So beautiful.” He murmurs, his own thighs trembling as he slides his shaft through your slick. “Thighs up, sweet girl.” Her eyes roll back as his tip presses into her little bud, the motion agonizingly slow, and she nearly hadn't heard him. She braces her thighs to her chest as much as her bunched up gown would allow, gaze locked on Jace's angled face that was furrowed in concentration. She watches, face reddened, as he spits down onto himself, lubricating the way even though it probably wasn't needed with how soaked she was. Suddenly, his palm comes down on her clit, surprising her with equal amounts of pain and pleasure—she nearly came with a meek gasp of his name, inadvertently yanking his hair. “Jace!”

“Sorry. Couldn't help myself.” He grins, lips meeting hers in a sweet peck. “I want you to look at me when I slip it, love—look nowhere else but right here.” As he guides his tip inside, her breath hitches, captivated by the stretch of him and the glossy brown eyes staring down at her, hazed with lust. A growl erupts from his throat, feeling suffocated now by her walls, and he couldn't get enough. Jace wasn't one to swear often in front of his wife-to-be, but the obscenities flew from his mouth like she was his prayer, sinking himself slowly inch-by-inch. Not that his betrothed was in any better condition. She was clawing at him now, whining and squirming uncontrollably at the delectable sting that came with taking Jace. It hurt so good, and she was sure she'd throw a fit if he dared to pull out for whatever reason. Meeting be damned. Seated fully in her hot cunt, Jacaerys grips the back of her right thigh, pacing himself to allow her to adjust first.

They wait in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, no noise in the room other than their soft pants, and a few breathless giggles as Jace shields her eyes from the attacking sunlight. Silently, she cues him to continue. “Good girl.” He murmurs, starting slowly with gentle strokes that make her stomach warm. “Taking me so well, my love.” He hovered over her still, his other hand braced against the armrest as he watched himself disappear inside of her, a shiver rolling down his spine. “So good.” She mewls, leaking around his cock. Jace leans his head down to connect their lips again, tongue darting into her mouth like he owned her, his free hand taking a greedy handful of her breast through the gown. Moans swallowed down between kissing and breathing, the only sounds that could be heard were the chirping birds and the vulgar slapping of skin as the pace quickened. She could only hope no one would come looking for them—or walk down the corridor even. She couldn't recall Jace locking the door behind him. “I'm close—” He grunts, pulling back from her lips to rock his hips with fervor. “I'm so fucking close, love.”

The divan beneath them was far more noisy now than it had been when they were grinding. Jace had half a mind to let the damned thing break, especially with how tight she squeezed around him, sucking up every inch he provided. Outside, the bells of Dragonstone rang, signaling high noon was upon them—Gods, the meeting. “We need to hurry up!” She pants, thigh hooking around him, just as eager to come. “You promised this would be quick!” Irritation bubbles up in his stomach, and Jace gathers her in his arms, fed up with the thought of having to sit through yet another council meeting. “You want me to hurry up?” He grunts, although it came out as a hiss more than anything, his left foot planting firmly on the floor beside the divan. “Fine.” She couldn't make herself regret her demand even if she tried. Jace stood up straight as a board, his sweet girl being gripped by her gown as he fucked up into her with reckless abandon. She couldn't even remember what it felt like to breathe when her release came, senses flooding with pleasure like she'd been numb her entire life. His cock was hitting that spot like a bullseye, not stopping even after she started yanking on his hair from the overstimulation.

“Do you like it when I hurry, love?” He rasped breathlessly by her ear, one arm around her middle now while his right hand cradled the back of her neck. “You certainly like when I take out all my frustrations on your pretty cunt—Gods, I'm coming. I'm fucking coming sweet girl.” Jace chokes, exhaling sharply through his nose as his hips began to stutter, losing his brutal pace. “Can I come inside of you? Please?!” The beg falling from his plush lips sent a thrill down her spine, and she moaned out her agreement even after he asked twice for confirmation. That's all it takes for Jace to press her into the divan again, fucking her hard, fast, and sloppy, his body laying over hers in the desperation of chasing his release. He buries himself against her chest, coming deep within her as a long, drawn out groan escapes him. The relief was instantaneous; anxiety gone, frustration fucked out of him, and only bliss was left behind. Balls deep, he couldn't tell where she began and he ended. Silence. Rapid breaths. Stilled hips, other than an occasional twitch as they reeled from their orgasms. He lifts his face from her chest weakly, a lazy, sated smile gracing his handsome features. “Sweet girl..” He starts. Her eyes flick up to look at him, equally as spent and satisfied. “Mmhm?”

“I think we're late for the council meeting.”

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 HE'S THE SERPENTINE, HE'S MY COLLAR!

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're finally back in yokohama after spending three years abroad dealing with mori's foreign business. the last person you want is to see dazai osamu, the wounds of his abrupt betrayal still too fresh for comfort. unfortunately, he decides to take matters into his own hands by showing up at your office in the middle of the night.

(wordcount: 7.1k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, f!receiving oral, gunplay, knife play (ish), spitting, pussy drunk!dazai (as always), light choking, overstim, office sex, semi-public/public sex, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. GUYS. i had so much fun writing this, this is finally usurping in paper rings and picture frames as my fav fic that i've written. HAHAHH. i hope you guys like it too!!

You hear the door to your office swing open, and you press your lips together tightly, irritation swimming through your head as your grip tightens on the pen you’re using to fill out your paperwork. It’s already late—you’re tired and your head hurts, but you can’t leave the building until Akutagawa comes to hand you the report for his failed mission so you can pass it up to the boss. And you know that whichever subordinate this is, it’s definitely not Akutagawa because the boy would rather claw his own throat out than walk into your office without knocking. 

Which means it’s some upstart new recruit who has no manners and is likely going to make your night worse. You think being away for so long did some real damage to your reputation—three years ago, the lower ranked mafiosos avoided your floor like the plague, they didn’t barge in like they owned the place, but then again, you also had a certain dark-haired executive (ex-executive now, you remind yourself bitterly) lurking around your floor constantly trying to get your attention, and if people weren’t nervous enough about you, they were definitely terrified of him.

“Five seconds to explain why you came into my office without knocking or I’m putting a bullet through your fucking skull,” you say, voice acerbic, not even bothering to look up, the fingers of your free hand closing around the gun you have holstered at your side. 

“There’s a few too many cameras in the hall for my liking to stand out there and wait for you to open the door.”

The fact that he manages to dodge the bullet shot in his direction is testament to his skill, but you’ve known Dazai Osamu long enough to know that when he dodges to the side, nine times out of ten, he dodges left, so you drop your pen as soon as you pull the trigger and swipe the knife laying haphazardly on your desk, launching it in his direction. You watch as his eyes widen just a bit when it impales the wall right next to his ear, just barely nicking his skin—both a warning and a threat.

“My, my, bella, you’ve gotten faster the past few years,” Dazai grins, unperturbed, smile as reckless and lazy as the day he left four years ago as he plucks the knife from the wall. “I’ve missed you too.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Dazai?” you ask, voice cold and sharp as your finger rests against the trigger of your gun. “How did you get up here?”

“Security’s gotten lax since I’ve been gone, I guess,” Dazai shrugs, but his eyes dance with mirth as he makes his way over to your desk. “You should probably do something about that.”

“Dazai,” you say, keeping your voice low and trying to reign in your temper. There are no cameras in your office, but the hall leading here is littered with them, hidden ones that were recently installed that he wouldn’t know about, if any one of them caught his face and it’s reported to Mori… “You think I won’t drag your ass to Mori myself? What the fuck are you doing?”

You’d have to, or it would be your head on the line for betraying the Port Mafia—you know better than anyone the treatment that traitors get, considering you were the one that dealt with them up until you were sent abroad three years ago to handle Mori’s foreign politics. 

“I don’t know, will you?” Dazai counters, head tilted to the side as he takes a seat on top of your desk next to you, a smile on his face that makes you think he knows something that you don’t.

“Maybe,” you answer, finger twitching on the trigger as you keep your gun pointed in his direction. 

Dazai is completely unbothered, leaning down until his nose is nearly brushing yours, lips tugged up in an unbearable smirk. 

“Then do it,” he challenges, and you glare at him, jaw tight and eyes hard. He reaches out, fingertips brushing your skin, and you feel like you’re on fire beneath his touch. You hate that your body still betrays you to him. “Don’t look at me like that, bella. I won’t even resist, I promise, as long as you promise to be the one to put a bullet through my skull, so your face can be the last thing I see. Ah, that would be a lovely death, wouldn’t it?” 

“You’re a fucking freak, Dazai,” you spit out, but make no move to get up or grab your phone. “What is wrong with you?”

Dazai doesn’t respond, only winking at you. Instead, his gaze shifts to the side and his hand drops from your face to his lap again. You hate even more that you miss his touch immediately. 

“You still have my couch,” Dazai notes to himself quietly, an odd tone to his voice as he stares at the dark couch in the far corner of your office, where he’d bundle himself up under blankets to avoid Chuuya, because Chuuya used to avoid your office like the plague when the three of you were younger.

“It’s my couch,” you say tightly, even though you know no one has touched it since Dazai left, and the ugly orange blanket he liked so much is still draped over the back of it, and it probably still smells like him. Your throat feels swollen, and you steel away your emotions and continue with, “I’ve hardly been back here since you left, anyway. What do you want, Dazai?”

“I heard you were finally back in Yokohama,” he says. “I wanted to see you.”

“Fuck off,” you say roughly. “So you decide to break into the main base of the Port Mafia and come all the way up to my office? You know where my apartment is, you could’ve shown up there. What do you really want?” 

“It’s the truth,” Dazai says easily, and his dark eyes meet yours—both of them, you note, and wonder when he decided to shed the bandages that covered his right eye. “I was at your apartment for a bit, I got impatient and came here instead.”

He’s telling the truth.

Oh, you realize—the clogged feeling in your throat is coming back, you force it away again and lean back in your chair, looking away from him to turn your gaze to the window. It’s well past midnight already, the moon is high in the sky and the stars are glittering above. In the distance, you can see the Ferris Wheel of Cosmo World glowing a bright purple color and a string of flashing red and blue lights as the police chase after someone.

“Why?” you ask finally, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the two of you. 

“I told you,” Dazai says quietly, and your eyes turn back to him. He looks… happier, you can’t help but note. A sick part of you feels jealous—you’re not sure if you’re jealous because he’s free and you’re still stuck in this place, or if you’re jealous because he’s happier and he’s happier in a life without you. You think it might be the latter. “I miss you.”

“Don’t give me bullshit, Dazai,” you snap, still trying to push away all of the feelings you’ve repressed for so long. “Get out of here before you find yourself killed. I’m not going to turn you in, but I’m not saving you if you get caught.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Dazai tells you, voice sharp in a way that it only ever is when he’s starting to get annoyed. “I-”

A knock at your door cuts Dazai off mid-sentence. Both of you freeze, Dazai looks at you as if waiting to see what you’re going to do, and you can so easily finish this now, let whoever is at your door in and drag Dazai back down to the torture room where he belongs, but instead you find yourself reaching for him. Your hand intertwines with his hair roughly, and you revel a bit in the hiss that escapes his lips as you yank him off the desk and roll your chair backward, kicking the back of his knee so that he crumples to the ground and you can push him beneath your desk. 

You lower your gun to your lap so you can keep it pointed at him and then glance down at him—he looks caught off-guard and disgruntled at being manhandled, but you think it's a bit funny how cramped he looks under there. 

“Not a single word,” you warn before fixing your chair and raising your voice. “Come in.”

Akutagawa wastes no time stepping into your office, nodding his head in respect as he makes his way over to the chair on the opposite side of your desk, a bundle of papers in hand. He doesn’t hand you the pile right away and he looks uncharacteristically nervous, and you raise your eyebrows, wondering what the issue is. 

“I am… unsure how to fill out some of the report,” Akutagawa says, unable to meet your eyes as he stares at the windows behind you. “The operation was… not a failure but not a success. The whole mission was in disarray, I do not know who was doing what at certain points.”

You stare at Akutagawa. “What do you want me to say to that?” you ask him, leaning back in your chair. “It’s your job to know that as the field officer for the mission. If you can’t handle that, Hirotsu will take back the position on the next major operation.”

Akutagawa bristles. “I can handle it,” he says, voice clipped. “This mission was just more chaotic than-”

“Than usual?” you ask idly, watching as he stiffens as your interruption. “This was child’s play, it’s unlike you to make excuses, Akutagawa.’

“I’m not making excuses,” he says immediately, “but…”

Akutagawa continues talking, but your attention is ripped away when you feel Dazai shift beneath the desk. You press your lips together tightly, stiffening as his hands rise to your thighs, spreading them a bit so he can settle between them. You glance down, he’s already peeking up at you, dark eyes glittering in a way that has you on edge. 

Don’t you dare, you warn silently, but Dazai only takes it as further encouragement, pressing his lips to your clothed inner thigh, you can feel the warmth and wetness through your slacks. It takes all of your self-control to not inhale sharply when he starts trailing open-mouthed kisses up your thigh until his mouth is hovering right above your cunt. 

You press the muzzle of your gun against his temple. 

He smiles. 

Your jaw clenches as he licks a long stripe between your legs through your slacks, making sure to press his tongue down hard over where your clit is hidden through your clothes. Akutagawa is still talking, oblivious to what’s happening beneath your desk as he airs his complaints about the mission. You could stop Dazai, place your foot on his shoulder and push him off of you, but you don’t, notably—you don’t want to acknowledge that though. You only vaguely hear Akutagawa’s issues, something about interference from a third party—the SDUP? What the hell were they doing there?— and Kajii blowing up an escape route. 

“Give me the report,” you say, cutting him off mid-sentence, and holding out your hand. You’re grateful that your voice comes out steadier than you feel with Dazai trying to tongue fuck your through your pants. 

As you lean forward to rip the papers from Akutagawa, you tense, feeling something sharp press against your inner thigh. Sitting back in your seat and glancing down, your eyes cut down to Dazai, who still has the knife you’d thrown at him and is using it to cut open your very expensive slacks.

You have half a mind to drive your foot into his face, but you refrain. If only barely.

It’s a miracle that you can keep your breath steady, because as Dazai cuts your pants, he kisses every inch of open skin that’s revealed to him. His lips are warm, wet, familiar—so familiar that your legs are instinctively spreading for him, giving him more room to work.

Your eyes scan the report but the words are just jumbled letters and not making any sense. Every time you try to understand, you feel Dazai’s teeth graze your thigh as he marks up your skin. You tense when you feel him bring the knife much closer to your cunt, to finish cutting off the material—you press the muzzle of your gun harder into the side of his head, warning him to be careful. You glance down only to see a hazy smile on his lips as he winks up at you, as if he’s drunk just off of the idea of what’s about to happen.

He works efficiently as always, freeing your lower body of your slacks and panties as quickly as possible, and he wastes no time burying his face between your legs. Your lashes flutter and the grip you have on your pen tightens dangerously, you think it might snap. Dazai’s tongue slides between your folds, lapping up the slick that had begun to pool—you know that if Akutagawa wasn’t sitting a few feet away, Dazai would be making a snide comment about how he knew you wanted him.

Dazai’s tongue flicks over your clit—you can feel him staring up at you, watching for every little reaction, the way your lip tightens as you bite back moans, the way your eyelids unconsciously start to slide shut, the way your breath is just a bit heavier than it usually is. 

This is so dangerous, you think to yourself desperately. If Akutagawa of all people figures out that Dazai is here-

You nearly choke when Dazai shifts a bit underneath the desk to kneel at a better angle, grateful that Akutagawa seems to be too busy wallowing in his own mistakes to notice your struggle. Your gaze  snaps down again, his eyes have fluttered shut as he buries his face deep into your cunt, nose pressed to your clit as he pushes his tongue into your hole and you can feel the way he lets out a silent, but shaky breath, barely holding back a moan.

You notice his free hand slide from where it was propped on your thigh down to his beige pants, fingers fumbling with the button as he desperately tries to slip his hand beneath his waistband to touch himself. You kick his wrist hard, using your foot to pin it against the side of your desk, watching him wince and withdraw his hand, looking up at you with those big brown eyes you can never say no to. 

God, he’s pathetic, his lashes are wet and his cheeks are flushed, eyes glossed over with pleasure as he looks up at you and you know you’ll let go of his wrist if he looks at you like that any longer, so you turn your gaze back up to Akutagawa, who’s staring at his lap and waiting for you to finish the report.

“Get out,” you tell him, voice sharper than you intended. Akutagawa’s eyes snap up to you, brows furrowed in confusion. “Go, I’ll handle this.”

“But-”

“Your job is to take orders, not question them,” you bite out, watching frustration flash across the boy’s face as he rises to his feet. You’re not usually this harsh with the kid, but you’re not sure how much longer you’re going to last and Akutagawa cannot be in here when you cum. You can feel the heat pooling in your stomach and that familiar hazy feeling clouding your mind. “Out, Akutagawa.”

Akutagawa inhales sharply but nods, turning stiffly on his heel to leave your office. As soon as the door to your office clicks shut, Dazai is pushing the chair backwards until the back of it hits the windows behind you, shifting into a more comfortable position as he resumes fucking you with his tongue in earnest. 

He moans into you, wanton and shameless, any restraint he had because of Akutagawa’s presence is long gone. While he was careful to not make noise before, now the sloppy sound of his tongue dragging in and out of your cunt drowns out any other noise in your office, he sucks and slurps, he’s so disgusting, like he can’t get enough of the taste of you, a man who’s been starved for years.

The knife clatters to the ground as he reaches up with both hands to grab your thighs, sliding them over his shoulders so he can push his tongue even deeper inside of you. Only sheer pride drives you to push away the creeping fog as Dazai’s tongue slides back up between your folds to draw figure eights around your clit.

“I should pull the fucking trigger, pulling this shit when he was in here,” you spit out, head falling back as a breathy noise escapes your parted lips when Dazai sucks gently at your clit. He moans again, as if the idea itself turns him on—it probably does, he’s always talked about wanting to die between your thighs. “You’re a fucking freak, Dazai.” 

He lets out a puff of air, you can’t tell if it's a laugh or another moan, maybe a mixture of both, but he’s too focused on drowning in your cunt to respond. Four years without him and you’ve forgotten just how good Dazai is with his tongue, working your body as easily as he did when the two of you were eighteen and seeking each other out before meetings and between missions for a quick fuck. You hate it—you hate that he’s treating you as if nothing has changed and you hate even more that your body is this responsive to him. 

Betrayal, you think, your own body betrays you for him. Again.

“Fuck,” you gasp the word out when Dazai rolls your clit between his teeth gently, sending a jolt through your body that throws you off just enough for that fog you’ve been fighting off to finally win. You choke over a moan, head pressed back against your desk chair, forearm coming up to press against your forehead as your eyes slide shut. Your free hand finally finds its place in his hair, tightening around his dark locks, he lets out a whimper against you, tongue flicking over your clit. “Like that. Just like that.”

You can hardly keep your head on straight as he traces letters around the sensitive bud, you try to figure out what he’s spelling but you’re too far gone. Your head is light and your chest is heaving. You’re barely able to bite back moans as your thighs tighten around his head, hips rocking against his face. You don’t even know if he can breathe, you don’t think you care, so close to the edge that your entire body is tingling and trembling; you don’t think he cares either from the way he’s moaning into you.

It takes one last suck, one last swirl around your clit, and you’re crying out his name, spots dotting your vision as your grip on his hair tightens, pushing his face impossibly deeper into you as you grind your hips against his face. God, it feels never-ending, a noise too close to a sob nearly escapes your lips as Dazai ardently laps up all of your cum, not letting a single drop go to waste. You can’t remember the last time you’ve cum this hard—with him, probably, you realize bitterly. None of the one-night stands you’ve had over the past few years have ever compared to him.

You’re still reeling even as you force yourself to straighten in your seat, not willing to let him know just how badly you’re thrown off by how intense your orgasm was. Your head is still spinning, vision still blurring, but you lift your leg and press your foot to Dazai’s shoulder, kicking him back and forcing him out from his position between your thighs. 

He grunts, looking thoroughly disgruntled as he falls back on his ass, pouting up at you as he tries to catch his breath. He looks debauched, lips swollen and wet, your cum smeared on the lower half of his face. His cock is straining against his beige pants and his eyes are still glazed over; he’s looking up at you with an expression that’s nothing short of reverent. 

God, he’s gorgeous. 

You hate him. 

You’ve missed him. 

You shift in your seat and Dazai is lifting himself to his knees, immediately leaning closer, a hazy smile on his lips as he angles his face up and pointedly parts his lips, sticking his tongue out. You know what he wants and the heat that had been slowly dissipating returns with a vengeance, breath catching as you look down at him.

“You’re gross,” you tell him, watching the corner of his lips quirk up even as he keeps his tongue out and waiting.

You don’t deny him. You never can. 

You shift forward, rising to your feet and reaching out to grab his chin, angling your face down. Your grip is too tight, it’ll leave bruises behind and you think that’s the least he deserves so you only tighten it a bit more as you lean over him. You don’t give him what he wants, not right away, letting the saliva gather on your tongue as you observe him, the way his pupils are blown wide and his chest is hardly rising and falling, as if he can’t even let himself breathe in anticipation.

Disgusting, you think again, but it’s fond this time, much to your displeasure.

You decide to put him out of his misery, letting the spit dribble from your mouth down to his. His eyes roll back as soon as it hits his tongue, and your hand slides from his chin to curl around his neck—not tight, just firm enough to feel the way his throat bobs as he swallows.

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering back open as he looks up at you, entirely blissed out. Your hand slides down more, curling around the ugly bolo tie he’s wearing in place of the black one you’re used to. You tug it hard, beckoning him to his feet; he acquiesces, albeit on shaky legs. 

Immediately, his hands find your hips as he pushes you against your desk, spinning you around to face it before his hand presses between your shoulder blades, pushing you down to bend you over it. Your eyes widen at the sudden change in demeanor, something you’ll never be able to get used to no matter how many times you fuck him; it always caught you off guard back then, it still catches you off guard now. He pulls off the remnants of your destroyed slacks and immediately is grinding his bulge against your ass, a low moan spilling from his lips. 

“How many people have you been with?” he suddenly asks, and you can hear him fumbling to unbutton his own pants. There’s an edge to his voice that you don’t like—something caught between jealousy and possessiveness, and you nearly want to scoff at it.

“What the fuck, Dazai?” you spit out, appalled and not expecting the question. “None of your damn business.” 

You turn your head to the side to rest your cheek on the desk, looking back at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes are still a bit hazy but there’s a tight expression on his face, reminiscent of the one that would be directed toward you whenever he stumbled in on you entertaining anyone other than him years ago. 

“Humor me,” he says, voice cold and eerily familiar. If you weren’t looking at him and if you couldn’t see the tan coat and bolo tie, you’d think you were talking to Dazai Osamu, Port Mafia Executive, and not Dazai Osamu, Detective. 

“A lot,” you finally tell him, feeling the way he stiffens behind you. “I don’t keep count. You?” 

You think he has some nerve asking when he’s probably slept around t-

“None.”

“Bullshit,” you snarl immediately. “How many? Don’t fucking lie to me, Dazai.”

“None,” he says again, gaze lifting from your back to meet yours, his eyes are dark—too dark, too still. Maybe he hasn’t changed as much as you assumed, because the way your chest swells with a confusing mixture of fear and arousal is far too familiar. “You’re the only one allowed to touch me.”

His gaze drags back down, with his pants unbuttoned, he lifts his free hand to caress the swell of your ass, a contemplative expression on his face as he stares down at you, his other hand still pinning you down to your desk. If your heart wasn’t thudding in your ears from sheer anticipation, you’d be irate over the fact that you were letting Dazai Osamu fuck you over your own desk in your own office, but you can’t bring yourself to care now.

“They never made you feel like this.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you want to scoff at his arrogance, but you can’t because he’s right. “They don’t know your body like I do.”

This time you do scoff. “You don’t know shit, Dazai. It’s been four years.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker back up to you, the way his lips curve up into a smile is dangerous.

“No?” he questions. 

A challenge. You never back down from one, not from him. 

“No.”

His smile sharpens.

“I know that after you cum for the first time,” he murmurs, rolling his hips forward. You bite back a moan when you feel the tip of his cock slip between your folds. “The second time comes right after.”

True to his words, your jaw falls slack and your entire body seizes as Dazai thrusts into you, splitting you right open on his cock. The moan he lets out is pornographic, and you wish you could see the way his head falls back and his eyes roll into his skull, but your own vision is white and you’re choking over a sob as you feel the familiar stretch of his cock against your walls.

“There you are.” Dazai has the nerve to let out a breathless laugh and another groan as he stills with his hips flush to your ass, feeling your walls spasm around him as you cum just from the feeling of him pushing inside of you. The hand he has placed between your shoulder blades slides up to curl around your throat. With a firm grip, he pulls you up so only your thighs are pressed against the edge of your desk, back flush to his chest as you gasp, reeling from the suddenness of your second orgasm. You can feel him smile as he nudges his nose against the side of your head, lips pressed to your ear. “The third time takes a bit after the second, but I’ll fuck you through it. Maybe a fourth too.”

“Dazai,” you gasp, eyes blown wide as your head falls back against his shoulder. You don’t know what you’re trying to say, maybe hold on, or wait, because you know you’ll embarrass yourself if he doesn’t give you a second to recover.

He hums in response, and the slow rolls of his hips, the drag of his cock against your walls, it has your head in the clouds, body trembling. Your lips part to speak but no words leave them, and right when you think you can finally force the words out, Dazai draws his hips back and snaps them back against yours hard. Your lips part in a silent moan, only the hand around your throat and the one pressed to your lower belly holds you up as Dazai fucks you at a brutal pace. 

His face drops to the crook of your neck, he moans into your skin, teeth scraping hard as he kisses recklessly up and down every available inch. He’s going to leave marks, you realize, and that’s dangerous now that you’re back in Yokohama because you don’t need any of the other executives to get suspicious, but even if you wanted to tell him not to, you don’t think you’d be able to. Whatever little coherency you had left in your thought process does not translate when you try to speak, the only things leaving your lips being shaky moans and gasps of Dazai’s name.

“Made for me,” Dazai groans. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make the air you breathe in shallow, your head feels light and you’re not sure if it’s because of his grip or if it’s the feeling of his cock bullying so deep into you that you can feel his tip pressing up against your cervix. “Waited so many years for this, feels even better than I remember, pussy’s made for me, isn’t it?”

Dazai babbles into your ear as he fucks you, tongue just as filthy and unbridled as the day he left. Shameless. He’s so shameless. Doesn’t even care that anyone could walk into your office and catch the two of you; doesn’t care that if anyone does, he’ll end up executed. He’s fucking you in a building full of people that want him dead and all he cares about is how your cunt feels wrapped around his cock.

Your breath hitches as Dazai shifts you to bend over just a little more, still keeping your back flush to his chest but fucking you at a new angle—one that nearly sends you spiraling over the edge for a third time. 

“Gonna give me your third now?” he pants. His hand on your lower stomach slips down, lithe fingers dipping between your folds to search for your clit—your back arches against him when he finds it, a sob spilling from your lips, vision swimming with tears. Dazai laughs again, this one is strained, catching over a moan as your walls convulse around him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, you’re so tight.” 

Unconsciously, his grip on your throat tightens, cutting off even more air. You can hardly breathe, you can hardly think—each thrust of his hips has your head spinning, ripping the little air you can inhale right out of your lungs. The tip of his cock rubs against that spongy spot inside of you every time he snaps his hips against yours, the quick circles he rubs on your clit are electrifying. 

Your cheeks are wet, breath ragged, vision spotty. One last thrust, one last circle, and you’re wrecked, sobbing out his name as your legs give out, only held up by the way he has your thighs pinned to your desk and his hand on your neck. You cum all over his cock so hard that you think you black out for a second, your mind fuzzy and pins and needles pricking all over your body.

Dazai doesn’t stop. He fucks you through your third orgasm, relishing in the way your body twitches and trembles, too sensitive for his touch. 

“Your fourth will come quick,” he gasps. His pace is erratic now, chasing his own release. Your ears are ringing, heartbeat thudding in your ears, the wet, sloppy sound of his cock driving in and out of you resounding through your office. “I don’t think I’ll last for five. Shit, shit, I’m close.”

You have to force yourself to move. You want to see him when he finishes. Your hand wraps around his wrist, nails digging into his skin to try to get his attention. It takes all of your will power to push the two words from your lips: “Flip me.”

He does. Without any sort of hesitation, his hand drops from your throat to your waist. His cock slips out of you for a split second and your cunt aches at the loss, but Dazai is immediately pushing himself back into you as he hoists you up by the thighs, sitting you down on your desk and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Even through your blurry vision, Dazai is a fucking sight. His dark hair is matted to his forehead, pink lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed. His eyes glazed over and half rolled back as he chases his high. God, he’s stunning. You’ve missed him. You’ve missed him.

You’re not thinking as you lift your hand to cup his cheek, sliding around to the back of his head to pull his face down to yours, moving on pure instinct. You drag him down to press your lips against his and Dazai is gone. The moment your lips touch his, he’s moaning into your mouth, hips stuttering against you as he spills his cum deep inside of you, and he’s right, because the moment you feel his cum filling you up, warm and thick, so much of it that you can feel it dribbling around his cock, the stickiness smearing against your thighs and ruining your desk, you’re pushed over the edge for the fourth time.

This one is weaker than the rest, not a single noise escapes you but your jaw goes slack and Dazai whimpers into your mouth when he feels your walls tightening around him again. But he takes advantage of your pliancy, pushing you back gently so that your back is flush to your desk. He follows you down, keeping his chest pressed to yours as he maps out your mouth with his tongue. He rolls his hips against yours, slow and deep, fucking his cum deeper into you as the two of you slowly come down from your highs. He slants his lips against yours to deepen the kiss, hand coming up to cup your cheek, his other sliding up and down one of your thighs. 

It’s too intimate. You tell yourself that you only let it happen because you’re reeling from overstimulation but you know it's a lie.

You don’t even know how long you stay in that position with him. It could only be a few seconds, a few minutes, it could’ve been an hour for all you know, laying on your desk with him pressed on top of you, kissing you so passionately that it makes your head spin as much as the orgasms did. 

Finally, you press your hand against his shoulder, signaling for him to get off of you. He does, albeit with a reluctant sigh. You stare up at the ceiling as Dazai shakily rebuttons his pants, making his way over to the closet where you still keep your spare clothes from when you have to stay over at the office to work. 

What did you do?

You’re hyper aware of how swollen your lips are, of the marks littering your neck, of the cum dribbling out of your cunt, staining your desk. 

If anyone finds out about this-

You don’t get to finish the thought, because Dazai comes back over to you. Neither of you speak as he takes a tissue to clean up his cum from your thighs and as it dribbles out of you, nor do you speak when he shifts you into a sitting position, helping you pull on a new pair of panties and a new pair of slacks.

He stands in front of you, dozens of indecipherable emotions rocketing across his face as his dark eyes search your expression for something. You don’t know what, and you don’t even want to look at him but you can’t draw your gaze away from him.

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks.

“I missed you,” he says, voice hoarse as he lifts a hand to cup your cheek. 

You turn away from his touch, ignoring the hurt that flashes through his eyes. 

“Why don’t you believe me? You think four years has changed how I feel about you? I thought you knew me better than that.”

“It’s been four years,” you say, and you hate that your voice wavers a bit. You blame it on still being hazy after your orgasm but you know it’s a weak excuse. You hate that he still has this effect on you after all these years. You hate that you always give into him, and you hate that you know you’ll never get enough of him. You want to hate him, but you can’t. “Knowing how to fuck me isn’t the same as knowing me as a person. I barely know you anymore. You barely know me. And it’s not like you were open with how you felt four years ago. So, forgive me if it’s a bit hard to believe, Dazai.”

“You wear the same perfume. You still shoot with your non-dominant hand for some god forsaken reason. Your lips still twitch whenever you get annoyed even though you do your best to stop it. You-”

“Stop.”

“You still talk to me like you hate me even though your eyes are all soft and you’re leaning in toward me.” Dazai doesn’t stop, and to your horror, he’s right—you had begun to lean in to him instinctively as he spoke. You try to shift away from him, but he follows, fingers grazing your cheek, chest brushing yours. You don’t pull away this time. “I still wear the same cologne you bought me for Christmas because it reminds me of you—I spent two months trying to figure out where you bought it when it first ran out. I don’t carry a gun around as often, but when I do, I still try to do that stupid flipping trick you tried to teach me when we were seventeen—I still can’t do it, almost shot myself in the knee last time I tried.”

The laugh he lets out at the last sentence is hollow. He hesitates, as if he wants to continue but isn’t sure if he should. You can feel his blunt nails scraping gently against your skin, his palm warm against your cheek. You want to pull away but you’ve missed him, no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, and you find yourself sinking into his touch. You’ve always questioned why Mori sent you away for so long, angry because you figured he thought you were weak when it comes to Dazai and he didn’t want to risk anything. 

Only a few days back in Yokohama, and you’re already proving him right.

“I’m not the same person,” you tell him, something desperate edges at your tone. Desperate to convince him, or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I still love you,” he rasps, voice quiet as if he’s scared to admit it even to himself, and your heart is suddenly lodged in your throat as you stare up at him with wide eyes, the words he refused to tell you back when you were teens ringing through your head over and over again. “I’ve always loved you. Thought about you every day. I missed you so much.”

“I should hate you,” you say, swallowing thickly, unshed tears blurring your vision. “You didn’t even say goodbye. When Mori said you defected in the middle of a mission, I laughed in his face. Not because I didn’t think you’d never betray the Port Mafia, but because I didn’t think you’d ever leave me without saying anything.”

“If I said goodbye to you, I never would have left,” Dazai tells you quietly, the admission echoing in your years. “And I had to leave. I had to.”

“I should hate you,” you repeat, voice a bit weaker now, and you feel pathetic for falling apart like this in front of him. But it’s Dazai, he’s always had this effect over you. You suppose some things haven’t changed, because that certainly hasn’t. 

“I know,” he murmurs. 

You inhale deeply, shaking your head as you push yourself off your desk and straighten out your clothes, trying to get your head back on straight. You should’ve known better than to think you’d be able to come back to Yokohama and pretend that Dazai Osamu didn’t exist, for better or for worse, the two of you would always find your way back to each other. Mori was right to send you away, although you suppose the man is rarely wrong anyway.

Dazai doesn’t say anything, watching you with an unreadable expression as you search through the ruined piles of paper on your desk for the report that Akutagawa had handed you. Your eye twitches when you realize that it’s stained, realizing that you’re going to have to rewrite the whole thing because you can’t submit a cum-stained report to Mori.

Dazai snorts behind you, as if realizing your predicament. The look you give him is lethal, he silences himself quickly. 

“Don’t get yourself killed on the way out,” you tell him, grabbing your black jacket off your chair and swinging it over your shoulders as you look back at him. “If you make it out of here alive, I’ll see you at my apartment later. Then we can talk.”

His face twists. “What? Wait, don’t leave me here,” he panics, nearly tripping over his feet and your desk chair to follow after you. “Help me sneak out.”

“You got in here yourself,” you say dismissively. “Get out yourself.”

The noise he lets out is pathetic. “You do hate me,” he accuses. 

“No, I could never,” you admit quietly. His expression softens a bit, but you give him a sharp smile. “But I’m definitely not going to make things easy for you. Akutagawa is still out here prowling around. So is Chuuya, actually. Said he’d be at the office all night today. Good luck, you’re gonna need it.”

[kissitbttr]

this is miguel o’hara being a dick

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!reader

-

miguel knows he’s fucked.

he has been neglecting you, putting his work above your needs and ditched on dates he can’t count with his fingers. at first you were okay, given that you’re dating such a busy man like him, you understand the consequences.

but you’ve had enough. there were nights where you cooked dinner, only to be left untouched by him or where you softly cried yourself in the middle of the night because he was still out. the only time he comes home is when you’re already asleep, then he left to the HQ in the morning before you’ve gotten the chance to wake up.

you confronted him about this. paid a visit to his office before going to work. Jess and Lyla had warned you to not disturb him but you managed to make them back off with a single frightening look.

yes. they are scared of you. a lot of them are. they do not want to test you at all.

the moment you stepped into his office, he didn’t even bother to look. eyes were just too focused on his work that he assumed Jess was the one who walked in.

“oh, you’re fucking your co-worker now?” your tone laced with sarcasm and anger with arms crossed over your chest,

hearing the familiar voice, he had never whipped his head so fast. “y/n? what are you doing here?”

“well” you start, heels clicking against the floor as you step towards him. “since my boyfriend has been MIA for almost a week i figured i should stopped by.”

his head shook, turning his focus back to what he thought mattered most. “not right now, mi amor. I’m working.”

“i can see that, dumbass” you respond in a cold tone. frowning as to why he couldn’t take one second off from that god damn screen. “you and me are going to get breakfast together. now. before i go to work.”

“i told you I can’t. I’m busy” he replies, brushing you off with his hand. “next time.”

“i’m a busy woman too!” your voice shakes, wanting so bad to scream at him and throw that tiny desk at his head. “but I always want to make time for you, Miguel!”

no response. he muttered something under his breath but you couldn’t hear him.

un-fucking-believable

“you’re such a fucking asshole, you know that?” tone laced with venom as you spit the words. clenching your fists by your side as you struggle to hold back the tears. “i feel like this relationship is one sided, the only person that is truly making an effort is me. you don’t—“

Miguel couldn’t take it anymore. he threw a desk and it went flying, thankfully it didn’t hit you. though your eyes went wide in shock, a loud gasp left your lips as you covered your mouth with your hands.

“you’re right! I don’t! I don’t care about some silly little fucking breakfast when the universe depends on me!” he pointed at himself as his irises turned red when he looked at you. his breathing went heavy and he still wasn’t aware how scared you were at him at that point.

“do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to keep all this shit together?! how many people will die if i don’t do what i gotta do! I don’t always like it, y/n but i have to do it! and here you are trying to play house with me it’s fucking pathetic!” he scoffed, putting his hands on hips.

oh he did not realize how much his words hurt.

the room was filled with silence. you stared at him in disbelief but remained a stoic expression. you were taught better than to be weak before any men. Miguel was no exception. your mother would be disappointed if you let a man win.

“wow” you breathed, nodding. “that was a good speech actually, the longest one I’ve ever heard you talking” you tried to sound sarcastic but how you felt and how you sounded failed you.

Miguel was quick to notice this and his features quickly soften. he reached out quickly to hold you.

“cariño i—“

“I’m returning back to my apartment by five. do not fucking look for me” it was final. the way you said it, how your eyes remained empty as you spoke to him. Miguel knew better than to test you,

but he just did and now he’s paying the price,

his heart broke when he heard you said that. you were so tired of him and you just wanted him back. you want your man back but he couldn’t see how that mattered to you.

“baby, please—“

you held your hand as you turned around. “don’t you even think about sending Jess or Miles my way.”

with that you walked out of his office without uttering another word. leaving him speechless and heartbroken. he knew better than to follow you out, it would just make things worse. he was just going to let you cool off.

he didn’t know how long it was gonna take.

it has been almost a month that you two have been living separately. and he’s losing his mind. he can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he can barely walk out of the house without seeing all the things that remind him of you. the team even sensed something is wrong because he has been more short tempered than before and it almost made the rest of spider society terrified of talking to him.

he’s gotten more violent, that’s for sure. every enemy he encountered, he would leave them bleed with their faces unrecognizable. it was his way of taking his stress out. not exactly healthy but it’ll do for now.

but he thinks that this has gotten too far. he misses you terribly, your scent, your laugh, your voice, your body, and mostly… your pussy

God, the amount of times he sniffed your panties while he jacked off as the image of you clouded his mind was simply not enough.

and now here he stands before your apartment door. dressed nicely in a white buttoned up shirt with his sleeves rolled to the elbows and a pair of black pants. his ring cladded fingers nervously grip around the boquete as the other hand shoved into his pocket.

Miguel had never been this nervous before. toeing his shoes and tapping his toes against the floor rapidly. it’s probably already been fifteen minutes that he’s standing like that staring at your door. thinking far too carefully what he wants to say.

he decides it’s now or never as he raises his fist and knock softly against the wooden door, hoping that you’re home.

“coming!” he hears your voice, his stomach somersaults hearing that after what it felt like a thousand year. “i am so hungry, why are you delivery guys always taking so—“

soon as you open the door, you freeze. definitely not the takeout delivery boy and instead it’s the one person you’ve been avoiding for God knows how long.

Miguel’s mouth hangs open slightly as he slowly taking in the sight of the gorgeous woman before him. you put on your favorite lime green night gown that stops just above your knees with a white silky robe, your hair fall down gracefully. natural curls framing your face. eyes glinting under the light, he almost falls to his knees and thank the Lord for your existence.

beauty doesn’t even begin to describe how you look tonight.

Miguel realizes how he probably looks like an idiot. clearing his throat to regain his composure as he smiles awkwardly at you. “Hi.”

you stare at him as your features then showcase a displeased expression. “what are you doing here?”

you’re leaning your body against the doorframe, arms crossed in annoyance. eyes flickering from his face to the flowers he’s holding and back up to his eyes. as much as you hate to see him, you can’t help that little feeling of butterflies in your stomach when you see the flowers he’s holding.

tulips. your favorite

he takes a one step closer to your frame, breathing out a sigh as he looks down at you. “I’m sorry, mi amor.”

that earns a scoff from you, looking away. “good start.”

“i was a horrible boyfriend.” he admits, gulping as he sees how sadness and exhaustion taking over your face just like that. “you don’t deserve that. what i said to you that day… none of it was true. you were not… pathetic, nor were the idea of having breakfast together… I appreciate every single thing we’ve done together, baby. believe me, por favor…”

a hard stare is the only thing he gets from you. the way your lips form into an angry pout and how your eyes seem to get tired and bored from his confession.

you’re a difficult person to please. he knows that.

“i know that being stress is no excuse of what I’ve done… I should’ve—fuck I should’ve done better. a month without you was like hell, mi corazon. ay, me sentí como si estuviera perdiendo la cabeza.” he sighs in frustration, head shaking as he recalls many sleepless nights. “i love you so so much. i do not want to go through that again … i know that it’s going to take forever to get your trust back and everything, but i swear on my mother’s grave that i—“

“stop talking”

he shuts his mouth after that. eyes looking up to you when he realizes you’re talking to him after a prolonged silence that’s taking over.

seeing how broken he looks almost feels like your heart got plucked. as mean as you are or as much as you wanted to look like you don’t care, you can’t when it comes to Miguel. you love this man far too much and despite his cold cold persona, that’s a huge sweetheart underneath.

“you hurt me, Miguel.” eyes casting down the floor as you try to keep your voice low. “you threw a desk to my direction…”

he shakes his head at that, resisting the urge to cradle your cheek. “lo siento, mi amor. I didn’t mean—“

“yes i know, i heard you.” you sigh, eyes closed momentarily. “you scared me”

Miguel feels his heart breaks when he hears how your voice breaks. he carefully lifts his hand to softly palm your cheek, thumb grazing against the skin. he exhales a soft sigh when you aren’t pushing him off.

“I didn’t mean to do that to you, my love. fuck, I’ve hurt you. i will never forgive myself for that. i was supposed to be the one who protect you and i was being a huge asshole.”

“a cute one though” you pout at him,

he chuckles at that, feeling the tension between you two are finally cutting down. “you’re too sweet, baby… after all i had done to you”

“nothing compared to how you treated me for the past two and a half years.” you smile sweetly at him, hand wrapping around his wrist. feeling at home once he holds you in his palm. “still a good man.”

he shakes his head in disagreement. “no, no that doesn’t excuse it… i was in the wrong.”

you hum in response, looking at the pretty flowers still in his hand. “are those for me?”

he nods with a smile, “you’re my only woman, no?”

you bite the inside of your cheek as you smile, taking it from his grasp as you sniff the pretty petals. “i love them. thank you.”

he once again goes quiet, taking another step closer. eyes looking down at your glossy lips and he can’t take it anymore. he doesn’t care if he’s stepping boundaries here. “i miss you, cariño. can i show you just how much?”

his offer sends shiver down your spine, making it impossible for you to stand still. Miguel always knows your sweet spot, how to make your knees feel wobbly without having him to touch you.

you do miss him touching you,

“i have a ballet class to teach tomorrow, papi. Saturday morning class, you remember ?” a pout formed on your lips, yet you still allow him to pull you close to him as he closes the door behind. “plus don’t you have work too? i bet Jess needs you.”

Migue nearly growls at you calling him ‘papi’. his jeans growing tight as you look up to him with doe eyes that you know he loves. though sometimes, you don’t understand the effect you have on him.

“that can wait… you’re more important to me than anything” he whispers, giving your open hand a kiss. large palm coming down to grip your waist, giving it a light squeeze. “do you want me too?”

you respond with a slow nod, biting back a smile as you interlock your hand with his pulling him inside. his smirk grows wider as he leans over to capture your mouth in his,

“let me fuck you real good then we can come home, eh mi vida?” he promises against your lips, slipping your soft silky robe off of you before picking you up in bridal style causing to shriek and giggle,

“i wanna hear you scream my name.”

-

part 2?

[empresskylo]

can you do something with the cod men when you're mad at them? like how they would react to that?

includes: simon, könig, johnny, price, & alejandro. afab!reader; referred to in feminine terminology. nsfw content! a/n: i got a little carried away with ghost's so his is quite a bit longer than the others. my bad.

Ghost 

♡ he doesn’t like when you’re mad at him, but he also doesn’t let it bother him too much. he’s glad you care enough to actually get mad at him. it’s a weird way of him knowing you care deeply about him. but it only infuriates you more when you’re cursing him out and he’s just standing there smiling at you.

♡ ghost likes to think that sex is the answer to everything with you. and i mean…. i wouldn’t complain.

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖

♡ you were sitting down on simon’s bed, annoyed and pouting. you had rehearsed what you were going to say to him over and over in your head as you waited, pissed.  the anger inside you skyrocketed the second ghost appeared at his door. he sauntered over to you, clearly seeing the ire spreading over your features. “what’s wrong, pet?” he asked you, his hand reaching out and skimming your chin softly. he tilted your head up with one bent finger so you were looking at him. “you mad at me?” you could hear the playfulness in his tone. god, his voice was so attractive when he spoke lowly like that. you momentarily forgot the entire reason you were sitting here waiting for him.  “I think that’s quite obvious.” you scoffed, shaking your head out of his grip.  “mmm. want to get it out of your system then, yeah?” he asked. you knew he didn’t mean letting you curse him out while he sat there and took the beating. he meant fucking you. you clenched your fists as ghost stroked his fingers through your hair, twirling the end of a strand absentmindedly.  “simon,” you began, ready to chew him out. before you could finish your sentence, simon was hunched over, his hands on his knees, level with you, placing a kiss on your jaw, his hand somehow grabbing your rising wrist without looking as you reached up to push him away. then he kissed your neck, and back up to your jaw. he saw the goosebumps rise on your flesh. he hovered his lips above yours. you could feel them ever so slightly as you spoke. His hand still clutching your wrist in his.  “we can’t just fuck every time we’re mad at each other,” your voice was much less confident now compared to mere moments ago.  ghosts eyes darted between your own, kissing just below your lips then hovering above them again. “sure we can." you gulped as simon pushed you back on his bed. you gave such little resistance that you wanted to scold yourself for being so weak. You saw ghost smile, knowing you were succumbing to him, barely able to even put up a fight. It was so fucking easy for him. You wanted this as much as he did. his hands teased the hem of your shirt as he finally connected your lips together. his tongue entered your mouth as his hands moved south, slowly unbuttoning your pants.  you groaned into the kiss, ghost’s fingers teasing your slit over your underwear. He pulled away and yanked your jeans the rest of the way off.  he left kisses along the inside of your thigh, stopping at your clothed core. he hooked his fingers along the hem of your panties and pulled them down painfully slow. he settled himself back between your legs, his hands sliding up to your waist and yanking you closer to the edge of the bed making you gasp. “m’sorry, pet,” he cooed, his voice laced with lust. you whimpered as he attached his lips to you, and began sucking and licking. your hands gripped the bed sheets as you felt one of his fingers slide inside of you, his mouth working your clit simultaneously. “m’sorry,” he mumbled against you.  you could barely hear him as you let him pump his fingers inside you, his mouth making obscene noises as he devoured you.  right before you were about to come, he paused. you whined as a now shirtless simon hovered above you. He pried the shirt from your body and leaned his head down to place kisses on your neck as he mumbled apologizes. “m’sorry. m’sorry. m’sorry. ” he whispered against your skin. he kissed your nipple then sucked it into his mouth. you groaned when he released it with a pop. “do you forgive me, pet?”  his hands came up to knead your breasts. you tried to clear your head as you spoke but it was hard when simon was sending waves of pleasure through you, making you arch your back into him.  “you don’t even know why i’m mad,” you said breathlessly.  you cried when ghost pulled away from you, a fist on either side of your head holding himself up. he looked you up and down before he spoke. “do you forgive me?” he asked again, ignoring your previous comment. god, why did he have to be so difficult sometimes? 

you sighed, most of your anger washed away the second he started kissing you anyways.  “yes. i forgive you.”  he smiled, “that’s my sweet girl,” he cooed before entering you without warning. you gasped, your hands immediately reaching up to hold on to him, nails digging into his back. “that’s right, pet. show me how angry you are.” he began to ram into you, your nails scratching and clawing at him, drawing blood, your head lulling in pleasure. ghost kissed your collarbone, then up your neck, then your lips. He groaned at the pleasure mixed with the pain from your claw-like fingers on his back. “Jesus. fuck—simon,” you mewled. his hips rocked against yours at a steady pace.  “tell me why you were mad at me.” you noted how he used the past tense and mentally rolled your eyes. “what?! now?” he didn’t slow his movements, giving you a serious look. he always wanted you to soften and forgive him before he even found out what it was you were pissed off about. He had a backwards way of looking at things. you told him through moans and gasps why you were mad. it sounded silly now that he was balls deep inside you. he didn’t stop rutting against you the entire time you talked. he laughed as you struggled to get the words out in coherent sentences, losing your place multiple times as he ground his hips rather harshly. “m’sorry,” he said again, but for an actual reason this time. he placed a soft kiss on your lips. “forgive me?” he asked, his eyes looking between your own, his hands pulling your hips up so he could hit you deeper. you basically screamed “yes! yes, i forgive you.”  simon groaned loudly, your walls fluttering around him, both of you orgasming in sync. he spilled inside you, his seed overflowing as he continued to pump lazily into you, every move making him growl before collapsing on top of your body. he rolled over so you lay on top of him now, his hand stroking your hair as he held you, a large, self-satisfied smile on his face as he looked down at you.

König 

♡ he hates when you’re mad at him. he can read it so easily on your features. it hurts to know he somehow hurt you. “what did i do?” he’d ask the moment he saw your brows furrowed and nose scrunched.

♡ he makes up for it by apologizing and promising to do better. promising to fix whatever it is you’re upset with him about.

♡ and he likes to drown you in sweet gestures. he’ll give you your favorite flowers, make you dinner, swoop in to lift something heavy that you were trying to life on your own, offer to carry you if you look even the slightest bit tired. and that’s not to say he doesn’t do that kind of stuff already, but he goes overboard when he knows you’re mad. he does it to the point that you finally break, usually laughing. 

♡ “i got that,” könig mumbles as he takes the heavy box out of your hands and sets it on the table. you scowl at him but say nothing. he watched you as you tried to grab another box from up high. he beats you to it, “got it,” he says. you turn to stare at him. “i can do this myself,” you mumble like a child. “i know,” he says softly. you roll your eyes.  later that day, he’s already stolen the dirty dishes from your hands and washed them, tied your shoe you when you started to reach down, grabbed a mug from a high cabinet and handed it to you. you were slowly breaking. when you began pulling off your hoodie, hot from all the running around, you felt two large hands slide over yours, stealing the hem from you and pulling it off. you couldn’t contain your giggle. “jesus, könig.” he smiled at you once the material was shed and began folding it in his arms.  he nudged you and you rolled your eyes playfully, letting him wrap his arm around you and kiss the top of your head.

Price 

♡ doesn’t like when you’re mad but also never thinks he’s wrong. however, my guy is smart enough to never admit that. he’s happy to admit to any fault, it’s almost infuriating how much of the blame he’s willing to accept. you even tried tricking him once: pretending to be mad at something you knew he didn’t do. he apologize immediately, pulling you into him and kissing the top of your head. you didn’t have the heart to tell him this was all a trap.

♡ he thinks it’s funny when you’re mad. even though he’ll take the brunt of your anger, he can’t help but chuckle. “what’s so funny?!” you asked in the midst of ripping him a new one. “just like the way your face gets all scrunched up when you’re mad,” he said before booping the top of your nose. “can we focus here, please?!”  “right, sorry, love. back to it then,” he said waving his hand in the air, encouraging you to continue your scolding.

♡ it makes it hard to stay mad at him for long. you always fold. he just accepts his wrongs to easily when it comes to you. “i’m still mad,” you mumble after letting your anger go as price took your words to heart, saying he was sorry, and promising to not hold back secrets from you.“yeah?” he asked a bit cheekily. he sauntered over to where you stood and wrapped his arms around you so your back was pressed to his front. he leaned down and kissed your cheek before talking softly. “and what could i do that would make you less mad?” his hands slid across your abdomen and down to your waistband. your instinctively fell back into his touch making him chuckle in his chest. “let me take care of you then, love.”

Soap

♡ johnny hates when you’re mad at him, especially if he knows its something he did really wrong. He gets so stressed out when he knows he did something to piss you off. And of course, the guys–knowing how much it bothers him–like to tease him about it. 

♡ “uh oh,” gaz snickers. “She looks fucking pissed,” price remarks, crossing his arms, enjoying the panic that is rising on soap’s face. “Good luck, amigo,” alejando pats soap on the back as you approach.

♡ he’s such a soft himbo, i imagine it’s hard to stay mad at him anyways.

♡ soap runs his hand through his hair as he gazes down at you. “Shit, baby. I didn’t think that’d piss you off so much.” you scowl up at him. “I’m sorry, lass.” he dips his head to try and kiss you but you turn your head to the side. Pain fills johnny’s eyes as he sighs. He scratches the back of his neck, hating that you won’t even look at him. He falls to his knees, grabbing your attention. He grabs your hands, “i really am sorry, love,” he pleads.  You look at him with slight panic on your face. “Johnny!” you hiss. “People are looking! Get up! Please!” you plead, trying to pull at his hands to get him to stand.  “No. I deserve this. I have to pay for my sins,” you can hear the teasing tone in his voice. You roll your eyes, subduing a smile.  “You’re such an idiot,” you say laughing, still yanking at his hands. Soap takes that as his moment to stand up and bury his head in your neck before you have the chance to switch back to angry mode. He pulls you into him, kissing your neck and up towards your lips making you giggle with a hand on his chest.

Alejandro

♡ kinda likes it when you’re mad at him??? He likes arguing with you, its fun getting you all riled up. He thinks its hot when you know what you’re talking about and you’re telling him whats what. And he loves the heat that sparks between the two of you were you’re both fuming and yelling at one another.

♡ “You got to be fucking kidding me, Alejandro.” “¿ahora que?” what now? he whined. He spun to face you, raising his brows and crossing his arms as if he had better things to do than put up with this right now. You were fuming with rage as he looked at you so expectantly. If your skin could turn the shade of a cherry tomato, it would have by now. You cussed Alejandro out, your hands raising and moving in the air as you yelled. Alejandro cursed back at you in Spanish, looking down at you with fire in his eyes. Finally, you both took a breath, your faces inches apart from one another having moved into each other’s space the more you argued, both of you having scowls plastered across your faces. You could practically feel the steam pooling out of your ears. “You have never been hotter to me than you are right now, mi amor,” he rasped out, his breath fanning across your lips. “God, you’re so infuriating!” He leaned into you, his hand snaking up and fisting your hair, pulling your head back so you had to look up at him. He gave you a devilish grin, “te encanta, bebe” you love it, baby. You let out a frustrated puff of air before your hands went up and grabbed the lapels of his shirt aggressively, yanking him down with all your strength to crash your lips together. He pushed you back so you slammed up against the wall, biting your bottom lip, drawing blood. You moaned, he grunted. You tore at his shirt and he slid his hand up to rest on your neck, putting just enough pressure to make you wet between your thighs. By the time this was all over, you would both be littered with bruises and scratch marks.

[atrirose]

͏͏𝒗𝒊. ͏MORE THEN JUST FRIENDS ! enha ͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏— ͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏ ͏& ͏ ͏𝐢

bsf(?)enha x f!reader. warning. none, kissing in jake’ + fluff wc.0.9k 🐰 seiu?!: after a century i’m writing hcs again yayy

— HEESEUNG LEE

let’s you bite him, very weird behavior but he has grown used to it, at first he was all confused as to why you feel the need to bite him like a chew toy but it’s okay your best friend(?) get you now, his biceps nom nom, but due to all this he has bite marks all over him which he is least bothered about but he does get asked if he is dating someone a lot which is confusing because why would people just assume he is dating out of the blue “yn you know i have been asked three times today whether im seeing someone and it’s all because of the bite marks you leave, people would think we are dating”

“do you want that to be a reality” he looks at you with wide eyes “are you hearing yourself” — “i am heeseung”

— JAY PARK

wears your hair tie which very bf coded and i wonder why he hasn’t asked you out yet? like which bestie goes around wearing a girls hair tie when he obviously is in the market? wearing it just makes you thing he is taken “do you love my hair tie that much you can’t even return it to me? YOU CANT RETURN MY OWN HAIR TIE TO ME” shoves a piece of cake in your mouth to shut you up “is it bothering that much, i will buy you more” which is weird because why not just return the one he has on his wrist, at this point he just wants be a wife.

“keeps me away from girls you know” oh so now he is just using you as an escape mechanism “keeps me a step closer to you” your ears turned red “so you wanna date me?” you ask

“that’s very multifaceted question” you hit his shoulders “big meanie” he giggled knowing damn well he is down right bad for you

— JAKE SIM

don’t at him but he has kissed you, like a full blown kiss not just a peck, for training purposes right? yes for training purposes so you both don’t seem like complete losers with no experience when you start dating someone, you can at least put each others name on the resume “do you wanna kiss?”

“no” jake looked at you with puppy eyes “why not” just because this is not WHAT NORMAL FRIENDS DO MR.HOT AND GENIUS BESTIES “your breath smells bad” eyes out like that sad hamster on tiktok with violin bg playing “UGH WHATEVER” you kiss him as he smiles between the kisses, knowing you can’t resist him (damn hot mf) “love ya see you after the match”

— SUNGHOON PARK

takes you on dates, and i get that it’s normal but it’s not normal when he is taking you out alone with him every other week to ‘treat you’, because normal friends totally don’t eat at a fancy restaurant together or go on a late night drive without romantic feelings like girl who are you kidding? “don’t you ever think all this dates we go to without our other friends who you reject because you only want to be with me is the reason why people think we are dating”

“yes” he said cuddling you on his bed “and like this is not normal too you cuddling me, WAIT WHAT YES?” he kissed you forehead “yes but we aren’t just friends either you know” butterflies

— SUNOO KIM

cuddles all the time, whether it is out, in school or hanging out at each others houses, you both are all up each others, which has been pointed out so many times but sunoo really doesn’t care, he would rather feel your soft cheeks next to his than hear people about how this can be a whole scandal and lower the chances of you both getting any partners because people think you both are dating “sunoo can i get some water please i’m dehydrated” you try to wiggle out of the sofa you both were cuddling “nooo i will be cold”

“no you won’t be ugh get off me big baby” you try to push him as he gets up “so now you hate me” obviously he is faking it but you feel bad “im not i’m sorry sunoo what do you want me to do”

“date me”

— JUNGWON YANG

unusually long eye contact, and not the staring contest kinda way, but a loving and soft way, like he is expressing how much he loves you by staring at you, even when you are not looking at him he is always admiring you, asked at multiple occasions why he was staring at you and he just replies with ‘can’t i look at my best friend’ like sure so normal for a bestie to look at his bestie with love doe eyes. so the way he looks at you with undivided attention you might think he is listening to everything you are saying but no you got him wrong.

he humming at you talking about some dog you found cute on tiktok but he isn’t actually really listening and registering anything you are saying, he too busy admiring your plump lips that he would give anything to kiss right now “and then a blue cat said heya bro” he still looking at you “hmm that’s cool”

“YANG JUNGWON YOU ARE NOT LISTENING TO ME” you said shaking him “i guess not, it’s hard to control myself from kissing you and still listen to you, i can’t multitask like that”

— RIKI NISHIMURA

has your face as his alternate face lock id, also lets you use his phone, you want his phone real quick okay have it, you want to see through his photos okay have it, you want to use his insta okay use it, the only thing you are off limits is the boys gc because shady business goes down there, people really think you are dating your bestie and how he is the most honest and trustworthy bf ever? like no he has thousands of feet pics in his camera roll and you haven’t heard any explanation from him yet? how is he honest.

“you are going through my dms?” riki asks as you play around with his phone “yeah and if that bothers you don’t worry im texting this pretty girl who slide in your dms, soon you would have a cute girlfriend all because of my rizz” he snatched his phone from your hands “what the hell i thought i blocked her? yn why are texting her-”

“why? did you get offended? i’m sorry i shouldn’t have, no matter how close we are” he face palms like an old man done with everything “i’m not offended because you texted her, i’m offended at the fact that i have such a dumb friend who can’t see i want her more then just friends” there star struck aren’t you

[loaksbitch]

this time it’s different, imagine neteyam knelt in front of you and begging you not to go after he betrayed you? c’mon now guys i can’t be the one who’ll only suffer with this idea that struck me 😕 — wc is 2.6k !!

warnings - vulgar language, neteyam cries you guys NETEYAM CRIES!! my poor baby. oc gets/feels betrayed, one slap mention, where neteyam who is the mighty future leader of the clan kneels in front of you and begs for forgiveness, he fucked up :(

like and reblogs are appreciated! i love you guys so so much and this is 1.2+ followers celebrating gift <3

“i trusted you.” — neteyam sully (★)

part (two) — (three) — (four) of this series.

the na’vi females are gathered to spend time together and talk teas while their significant others and soon to be mate left for a war party. you on the other hand being one of them, or so you thought as you all laugh and bring the old moments or funny moments you all had

“…and that’s how i met tar’key” one of the female navi blushes as she tells her story of how she met her mate years ago.

“that’s so heartwarming, oh mother eywa!” the other females giggle and awe. you’re silently sat as you try to ignore some of the noisy na’vi’s whispering until they mention the soon to be olo'eyktan and your ears perk up

“have you heard about the first born of the sully family being set up for a mate?”

you’re somehow confused and excited when they mention about mating because you knew it was going to be you. neteyam was going to be mated with you.

“yes! and i’ve heard she’s so pretty as to very similar to her mother’s beauty.” the other whisper

her mother? you never had a mother growing up…

“she’s so lucky, honestly imagine being the future mate of the future olo’eyktan? so dreamy.” the girls sigh imagining it and let a soft giggle out. you’ve frowned as you try to thinking deeply and try to make sense in what just the na’vi girls said

the female clan keeps murmuring and talking as they make friends with huge circle and a wooden fire in the middle of the circle, while you’re trying to put pieces together.

what do they mean “beauty of her mother.” when you didn’t even have one? neteyam and you were soon to be mated, yes you knew that and he told you he only wants you in his future but what the girls talked about was another completely different person

you wanted to run to neteyam and ask what you’ve just heard but he wasn’t near by, he has already left to the war party right after he made love to you as a good bye the whole night, you were crying mess being of how you loved this man as he cradled you to his body and held you tight.

you’re confused and somehow trying everything but decide to eavesdrop to what the two females are talking. “i haven’t seen her here, did she not want to join us?” the one asks before the other scoffs,

“of course she won’t, after all she’s the future leader of the omatikaya clan.” the other states, now you’re feeling way too desperate to know about her but it’s breaking your heart to figure out it’s not you

and this means? neteyam lied to you.

“never mind, let’s just get back to what we were list– oh mother eywa! she’s here! she’s here!”

your heart starts to beat faster as your eyes look around to know which one is the so called future leader of the clan. “which one? i see two girls standing!?” the females arch their neck to see more and the other pointing out makes you know who exactly they’re talking about

your heart doesn’t just entirely break one piece following the other, everything around you was blurry. you needed to leave right now.

“excuse me,” you stood up as you made your way out. the na’vi’s asked if you’re okay but you just shrugged them and told them you’re feeling sick.

once you stumbled your way out and walked far enough from the na’vi’s, you finally find yourself on the trees of sounds. where your lover and you exactly made love. of course you two were gonna be mated and doing the deed didn’t bother you at that time but right now?

right now you’re feeling the burning of your skin where neteyam exactly placed kisses and his skin touched you. your whole body felt dirty right the moment you figured out you’ve been… played.

now everything started to make sense, why neteyam always feared of you both getting caught, why he didn’t want you to meet with his family, why he never… a soft sob leaves your lips as your eyes close.

of course that na’vi was better than competed to you.

beauty? her. body? her. has a family? her. everything? her. your jaw clenched as you feel so foolish for blindly trusting a man… a fucking man.

the pain you’re feeling doesn’t compare to when you felt right after your mother abandoned you. this was making you struggle with breathing, your lung tightening with every try you’re making to let air in.

what did you do wrong to deserve all of this?

you’ve really been fooled, you knew everything was too good to be true. you’re now realizing how stupid you were to think the future olo'eyktan mating with some abandoned and adopted daughter who only served as a professional arrow shooter.

“eyaw, it hurts.” you cry, tears freely rolling down your skin. you cry to your mother nature your heart out as everything of this place reminds you of him.

you want to hate him but no, it only keeps hurting to even think about hating him. neteyam was everything to you while you’re nothing to him, you were ready to throw everything from him but he only used you and backstabbed you

meanwhile you’re crying your heart out to eywa, the clan has returned from the war party with few people hurt and non dead. neteyam was happy and eager to tell you the war went so perfect like it was planned. no death and few people hurt but his eyes keep wandering trying to find you

a tint of disappointment settles in him when he realized you weren’t there, but you promised you would watch him from far so the na’vi won’t be suspicious about you two. at least until he makes it official, and today is the day he will make it official to his parents you’re the one he wants

oh how he was so late for this.

neteyam figures out you weren’t anywhere here so he just shrugs his parents and tells them he needs air for a while. obvious that they’re proud of him today, jake didn’t bother and already shrugged his son off

neteyam tries to hide his excitement when people greet him as he made his way to your hammock.

eyeing the na’vi’s and once he checked no one is watching, he slipped in but was greeted with no warmth or scent of your body. “princess?” he calls for you but nothing talks to him back

frowning, neteyam leaves you hammock and climb down to think where you could possibly be. it doesn’t take him long to figure out where you are and jogs to the destination he thinks you’re found.

and just like he thought your body comes to his sight as you’re stood in front of the tree of sounds, your back facing him.

neteyam chuckles as he walks to you before wrapping his arm on your body and pressing himself to your warmth.

you in other hand feel your body tense with his skin touching yours. “i’ve missed you” he groans to your hair as he place kissed on the back of your head then to your neck. you don’t even try to say it back or turn around to hug him.

neteyam does fail to notice your odd behavior and step back a little giving you space to turn around to him but you’re just frozen. “princess?” he calls for you but you just try your best to compose yourself from falling apart

the man in front of you feels his inside worry before he’s forcing you to turn around and face him.

but what he was met with was what he never expected. you eyes are swollen and puffy like you’ve been crying for hours, “who did this to you?” was the first full sentence neteyam utters and you ironically scoff at his words

it was him, he was the one who did this to you.

he tries to cup your cheeks to his large palm but you step back as if his touch disgusts you. and in fact, it does disgust you right now. you know you’ll run back to him if he touches you and you’re not allowing that

“baby?” his breath hitches when you avoid his touch and his brain instantly start to figure out you’ve already found out but neteyam chooses to ignore it until you say it yourself

he tries again by stepping close to you but you were fast to speak. “is it true neteyam.” it wasn’t a question and the way you called his name darkly makes his heart hurt and tell him you’ve definitely had found out.

but he chooses to play dump.

“what is true, princess?” those pet names makes your stomach irrupt in nausea and you shake your head. “don’t call me that, i’m not your princess, never have been your princess.” the way you say it calmly scares him

sure thing neteyam fell for your calmness and mature self but right now he wishes you could just punch him or yell at him.

you’re trying to stay calm before slowly opening your mouth to speak. “you have a…” you can’t even finish the sentence feeling your throat close in pain. he again tries to play dumb but this time you hiss at him silently.

talk about happiness? it can vanish in a heartbeat.

the atmosphere as changed to a heavy one as neteyam watches your broken self in front of him.

“yes.” those three letters were enough to entirely ruin you. you stumble on your own feet feeling dizzy, neteyam tries to hold you from falling only for you to slap his hands away.

“look at first it was just a rumor but then my parents and her parents set us up, set me up.” neteyam starts to try explaining but it only hurts you more. neteyam watches your tears fall and his heart bleeds out, he really wanted to tell you

“i never loved her, i never want to be with her, i never want äeya.” neteyam steps closer, “i want you and you only” you’ve heard the name before, so many times actually that you grew up wanting to be äeya so bad.

the daughter of the tshaik that’s the perfect daughter from the clan and it didn’t surprise she had to be mated with him. what hurt you was him lying and leading you to his great fucked up game.

“i fall in love with you princess, i love you so much it always hurts.” you’re painfully silent and it eats him alive as he desperately seeks for something in you. “i trusted you..” you back away, his touch bringing nothing but pain

if someone from yesterday came to you and told you that this would happen, you would’ve shot your arrow at them but again look at you desperate for things your lover was saying were to be lie.

“with you— princess please.” neteyam doesn’t know why he’s pleading but he knows he wants to wipe those tears and take your pain away. “don’t touch me.” you warn when his fingertips held your small hands

“DON’T TOUCH ME!!”

neteyam froze at his spot, his tail locked between his legs. this was the first time you yelled at him, the first him he heard your true pain through your voice. “i hate you! i hate you! i. hate. you.” neteyam’s ears flatten at your words that were like daggers to his heart.

“don’t say that, please don’t say that baby, please.” he was begging you now. neteyam always chose death than being despised by you.

“you knew the whole time, neteyam” you’re saying it so clam and softly it’s making him feel like he deserves death and every painful torture to be done to him. “i told you i have no one and you were the only person i trusted with my everything and you were the only one i have.” you’re now crying

“how could you do this to me?”

how could he do this to you?

neteyam licks his lips and sniffles, he nods agreeing with you. “i was gonna make it official, today i was going to tell them you’re mine and i’m yours” your eyes widen but you quickly shake them off, you shake your head disagreeing with him

“i’m not yours.” the way you said it was not with in an anger but pure honesty, hatred and disgust. neteyam’s breath hitches again and his eyes start to whelm. “i was never yours.”

you were his, you promised yourself to him last night as he did, you were his first time and first person in everything. you were his future and his own actions took his future away from him.

neteyam could only watch your broken self in yourself and did nothing, the little abandoned girl you’ve hidden coming out and telling him everything last night before making love completely gone. he was met with your side he never thought he would see

“i’ll never be yours.” you knew your words hurt him and you definitely wanted them to just like he’s hurting you

neteyam suddenly kneels in front of you and pulls you by your hips, wrapping his arm on your waist and pressing his face to your stomach to hide himself from reality. “i never wanted you to find out this way, please let me make it right. let me make everything right, please princess.”

he doesn’t care you warned him not to call you that, no matter how hard you try not to be? you’ll always be his princess. you’re just frozen there with the man you trusted giving your soul to just take everything from you wrapped around you.

“let go of me.” you tell him and silently pray he does or you’ll kneel and hug him back.

neteyam’s body shake as he is now violently crying himself in front of you and you’ve never seen him like this. “neteyam, please let me go.” you try but no answer, only whimpers and sobs from the man knelt and face pressed to your tummy are heard

you purse your lips and place your hands on his hands to pry them from you. “please don’t do this” neteyam was the one begging. “we both are promised to one another last nig–“ you cut him off.

“there was nothing last night, last night was nothing but a mistake i did.” your words not only emotionally but mentally affect neteyam. once you start to leave with no words, neteyam panics and get on his feet quick

“you’re not leaving me…” he didn’t know the damage he caused until he realize he’s losing you. you ignore him and walk away but neteyam was fast to hold you by your hands making you turn and slap him across the face

you hate yourself for doing that but you hate him most for making you do that. “i said don’t touch me.” you say coldly, you’re now the woman he never knew. “and if you dare to try to come close to me again, neteyam,” your soft voice he knew wasn’t there, “i will kill you.”

you’re not just threatening a normal na’vi but the actual future olo'eyktan and you don’t feel a slightest fear when you do. “and trust me when i say that.” your words were familiar just like the first time he met you.

cold and unbothered of anything.

neteyam doesn’t say anything when you turn and leave but once you’re slightly far, your face turns ugly mess as you cry.

neteyam’s ears are still flattened as his tail is locked between his legs. right the moment you were out of sight, neteyam felt his world darken and went grey and gloomy. nothing would be the same with out you every again.

it was his fault this happened, he abandoned you just like your mom and everyone else. you hate him now and nothing’s gonna be the same. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry” he whispers as he’s standing right where you left him. right where you promised yourself to him last night. right where you gave yourself to him.

right where you trusted him.

i might make this a miniseries? i don’t know lmk in the comments though i’ll depend on my creativity and flow of plot,, i love each and everyone of you!! like + reblog are appreciated and not pressured

[maxlarens]

Hi, I have a smau request for Charles (based on c.ai bot lol, and the fact that I love painting), so the reader is invited by her friends to a house for vacation, her friends are all with their s/o and they also always try to set up reader with someone, that's when her and Charles meet, and reader finally gives it a chance because she knows her friends won't stop to set her up. They talk for a whole evening about what they do in life (reader is an artist/painter) and they get along really well. Eventually they get together and reader is very liked by the public, even if there will always be haters, but most fans thinks she's just very adorable (especially because of her insta/twitter posts)

CL: slip up and i call you baby

pairing(s): charles leclerc x artist!reader

summary: you love your friends, you really do. you just wish they’d stop trying so hard to set you up with random guys. [smau + written fic] (read on: ao3) (part 2)

fc: faceless

word count: 5.1k

warnings: mild sexual references

a/n: this is such a cute idea! thank u so much for sending it in!! u will not believe how much this idea gripped me like i never write one shots like this its just unheard of for me if im honest. anyway i know u asked for a smau so i will be doing a second part/continuation to this that is solely an smau to make up for that. (ALSO sorry for disappearing i was super sick for the whole week and have been getting my shit back together in the aftermath😭)

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ynusername italy we are in u!!!

Amalfi Coast, Italy

You’ve never been particularly boy crazy. At least not the same way your friends are.

There have been a few not-quite boyfriend’s over the years, but those relationships never last long. They never really get you, or they never really get the art thing. Which means, of course, that they don’t get you and never will— and that’s fine, you’re content with that. If living for your art means you’ll never be in love then so be it and frankly, good riddance to them.

For the most part, you’ve given up trying. You go on a few dates here and there, but you never let them stick around. Even the ones that seem interested in your paintings you don’t bother with— none of them really seem to be able to grasp what art truly is to you. It isn’t just paint on a canvas, it’s living, it’s breathing. You are only yourself with a way to make art.

It’s difficult to put into words.

So you don’t. Instead, you send texts that say ‘thanks for your time but this isn’t working out’ and you keep the men your friends try to set you up with at arm's length. You placate Chloe and her partner Rowan– who collects friends like they’re Pokémon– with, “he wasn’t my type” and “I’m not looking for a relationship right now”, which you suppose is true, but also isn’t the entirety of it. Yet, every time without fail, there’s a new boy at the scene of the crime.

Chloe doesn’t get it, none of your friends get it. You don’t try to explain it to them. So, y’know, here you are again.

Anyway, here’s the thing: they’re getting closer. Inexplicably, without knowing how you really feel about it all, Chloe and Rowan are getting better and better at picking the boys who are able to tempt you. Which is a pain really, because sometimes you’re trying to have a perfectly nice vacation in Italy without the lure of a boy you can’t let yourself have. But alas, these things generally don’t go your way.

You should know that by now.

Charles Leclerc is bang on the money, he really is. He is unbearably cute, like so cute that you have to leave the room when he walks in, because you don’t trust yourself to be in close proximity to him right now. You have a hard time looking at his face when you are forced to be around him. The dimples when he smiles, the squint of his eyes even when he isn’t. If you look too long you’re liable to stare and that wouldn’t lead to anything good at all.

He’s nice as well. So nice, just like Chloe told you. You try to pretend he doesn’t exist and he still asks you questions about your job and the area of Monaco you live in— like he’s even interested, like he’ll remember you two weeks from now. You try your best to be pleasant, to answer without it being like pulling teeth, and to ask questions of him as well. You’ll probably see him again after this, so best to not to go too far and act like you hate him. It’s difficult though, toeing the line between friendly and encouraging of more. Or it feels difficult for you. Charles doesn’t make even the slightest suggestion of the two of you being set up by your nosy friends. That’s unbearable too. Part of you wishes he’d just make a clumsy pass at you so you can rebuff it and make your intentions abundantly clear. But, obviously, he doesn’t, because he’s perfect or something.

It sucks. You hate him, you think.

Or you want to.

On the second day of the trip, you’re on the villa’s private beach, laying in the hot sun. Chloe, Anaïs and Bea are there; everyone else is either still sleeping off the wine from last night or swimming in the glittering ocean. You’ve got a secondhand book, a 2B pencil and a pair of sunglasses over your eyes. You’re trying to read but you just end up doodling, drawing your friends bikini-clad bodies over the text and shading grapes into the margins. Trying desperately not to accidentally put Charles Leclerc’s dimples, messy hair, or sloped nose to paper.

“So,” Chloe says conspiratorially, as you abort an attempt at drawing a slightly squinted eye with thick lashes, “What do you think of Charles?”

You raise an eyebrow carefully at her over your sunglasses, betraying nothing of your inner turmoil, “I think nothing.”

Anaïs laughs, rolling onto her back, “That’s such shit. You practically sprint away from him everytime he comes near.”

“I do not,” you answer too quickly.

Anaïs laughs again, louder. Chloe joins in and Bea raises her eyebrows at you like you’re a fucking liar. You frown, glaring a little before stubbornly turning your head back to your book. The conversation about Charles ends there, but unfortunately your actions have spoken for themselves. A chill of something like panic chitters up your spine and into your shoulders. You have to roll them to make the feeling go away.

As the sun climbs higher in the sky you lose some people to the heat and gain others. It’s just you and Chloe sweating onto your towels when Rowan and Charles finally give up on whatever game they were playing in the ocean. Rowan collapses unceremoniously into the space between you and Chloe, kicking up sand and getting water droplets all over you like he’s a wet dog. You let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated groan as you roll away from him, landing in the sand.

“Watch it,” you cry, “You’re getting my book all wet.”

Rowan laughs, “You’re drawing in it!”

“So.”

He pulls a face at you that makes you roll your eyes; then he turns into Chloe, shoving his face into her collarbone and flinging limbs over her. You snort, leaning over to snag the book off your towel before it gets dragged into the mess that Rowan is causing. You’re about to get up and go inside until you realise Charles is still standing there. Has, in fact, been standing there since Rowan ran over. Your breath catches, heart skipping a beat as you look up to find him standing there.

“Hey,” you smile briefly at him, quickly looking away from his damp hair and bare chest (–which is difficult to do because, holy shit–) so you can gather up your towel.

“Hi,” he replies.

He might smile back. You don’t look. You’re trying to get the image of his washboard abs out of your head. This proves difficult when you clamber to your feet and find yourself face to face with him.

“Are you heading back?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

God, you want to kick yourself. You’re being so awkward, and right in front of Chloe too, who may not be watching but is absolutely listening to you make a fool of yourself in front of a guy you have very firmly said that you are not interested in. It must be clear to him too, that you’re trying very deliberately to not be interested in him. You cant tell what would be worse; if that means he’ll think you’re a weirdo or if it means he’ll take it as a sign that he should make some kind of move.

Ugh.

“I’ll come with you?”

“Hmm,” you blink yourself back into existence, seeing the questioning look on Charles’ face, “Yes, yeah. Sorry.”

You say goodbye to Chloe and Rowan who barely look away from one another, still rolling around in the sand like teenagers.

“Gross,” you say to Charles, as the two of you trudge through hot sand toward the sandstone steps that lead up to the villa.

He laughs, a breathy thing that tapers off with a sigh, “A bit, yes.”

You don’t say anything else, but you find yourself staring at his back and the way his muscles shift and move underneath his tanned skin. At the top of the stairs you part ways, he smiles at you and you offer something awkward in return, trying to pretend you hadn’t been looking at him. You don’t think he notices, but your cheeks red burn anyway.

You don’t see him watching you leave.

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chloegarelli hungover, sunkissed and lovesick

Amalfi Coast, Italy

Dinner is a huge affair, as it always is on these trips.

You, Anaïs and Chloe spend three hours in the kitchen that afternoon making chicken fricassée and about a hundred different side dishes to go with it. Everyone crowds around the dinner table to eat and drink even more wine than the night before. Piero Piccioni plays on the old record player, crackling away as you laugh and talk and tell stories with your friends well into the night. You watch the sun set through floor-to-ceiling glass windows and you wish wish wish that you had your paints right now.

You brought along a set of oil pastels and one of your art notebooks, but it doesn’t compare at all to painting. If you could get your hands on cadmium yellow in all it’s hues, maybe vermillion and a powder blue, your lack of paintbrush or canvas wouldn’t even matter. You’d use your fingers if you needed to. It bothers you so much that you get up in the middle of clearing away the meal and go to your room for the pastels and notebook. You need to get it on a page at least.

You push a few plates to the side, folding out your notebook and immediately marking the page up with a creamy white pastel. Bea teases you when she comes over to take the rest of the dirty dishes, but you just mumble something unintelligible, too engrossed with smudging the sunset into something that looks like what you’d seen out the window. When the oranges and yellows blend to your satisfaction you take the black and brown and draw in the top of your friends’ heads, not thinking about how much attention to detail you’re paying to the shape of Charles’ side profile.

When you’re finished, you’re surprised to see that the table is cleared save for a few half-full wine glasses and a fresh bottle. Only Chloe, Rowan and Charles are still sitting by you. You’re listening to another Piero Piccioni album now, or maybe just the other side of the record. You remember saying goodnight to the others and saying yes to a glass of wine, so you’ve not been totally dead to the world, but it’s all in a bit of a haze.

You think this might be part of the reason why you can’t hold down a boyfriend. The disappearing into your art like you cant breathe until it’s finished. That may as well be the case if you’re honest.

You sigh, wiping your stained fingers on the next blank page, then you take a long sip from your glass of merlot, pretending you dont notice the others’ eyes on you.

“All done?” Chloe quips, somewhere on the border of teasing and being annoyed at you.

You look at her, your eyes just narrowing enough for her to notice. She does and purses her lips. You raise an eyebrow to ask okay, what’s your fucking problem? And you see her eyes flash to Charles. You follow her gaze to see him and Rowan pretending to look disinterested in your answer. Charles is tracing the base of his wine glass and absently biting the inside of his mouth. You have to tear your eyes away.

“All done,” you answer, tone clipped, before gathering your things (including the wine glass) and leaving the room in a move you hope doesn’t come off as too rude.

At your back you hear Rowan ask Chloe, “What was that?”

Chloe means well, you think as you wind through the villa, making your way to the balcony overlooking the private beach. She wants you to be happy and she thinks you need a boyfriend to be happy. But she’d found the love of her life in Rowan after only a few years of dating around and she doesn’t quite understand that it’s never going to work like that for you. There aren’t enough people out there that understand the kind of passion you have for your art and certainly not many that would also be compatible with you. You’re fine with that, but Chloe doesn’t know what to do with it. Especially not now she’s cottoned onto the fact that you have some kind of interest in Charles. It’s killing her.

It’s irrelevant though, whatever interest you have in Charles doesn’t factor into anything. He’s cute, he’s nice, but so were the dozen boys that you’ve already dated and not continued dating. So really, Chloe needs to stop pushing it because it’s pissing you off. You’re here for a holiday, not to be forced into conversations with a guy you don’t know. If she needs to have an argument to finally understand that, then so be it. You’ve been friends for years, it’ll blow over eventually.

You flick a switch and blinking lights illuminate the balcony. Fairy lights are wound up the posts and draped on the awning, intertwining with the lush green vines that have grown up through the wood slats. The air is balmy and the breeze light as you settle into one of two cushioned chairs situated by a coffee table. It’s perfect. You spread the oil pastels out next to your glass of wine and set your open notebook on your crossed legs, listening to the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

You’re alone for what feels like a long time but is probably only an hour or two.

When the sliding door clunks open you expect it to be Chloe coming over to have it out, but it’s not. Instead, Charles slips through the gap with the rest of the wine gripped in one hand.

“Hi,” he greets, smiling at you in a way that makes dimples carve in his cheeks, and dashing any hopes you have that he’d walk right past you.

“Hey,” you forget yourself for a moment and bite your lip on a broad smile.

He holds the bottle out toward you, offering more. You lean over your notebook and hold your empy wine glass up in acceptance.

“Merci,” you say, and in a moment of weakness (and probable wine drunk-ness) you gesture at the plush chair across from you.

Charles, somewhat caught off guard, looks between your outstretched hand, the chair, and your face, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly and finally taking a seat. Despite his apparent shock, you find it hard to believe he’d come out here simply to offer you some of the last of the wine. Surely, this is Chloe and Rowan’s doing. Though, strangely, you cant quite bring yourself to care.

He sets the bottle on the coffee table, next to your oil pastels. You lean forward to place a few back in their rightful spots, snagging your wine glass as you go.

Charles eyes’ scan your face for a moment, searching for something you suppose, then he points at your notebook, “Have you been drawing?”

You nod, “Mmm.”

You think perhaps the answer is a bit obvious. He seems to realise this, you watch a blush spread onto the top of his cheeks and he flutters his eyelids slightly, almost like rolling his eyes at himself. You don’t think about his eyelashes, thick and dark as they brush against his cheekbone, and you don’t think about his eyes, the lights reflecting off them, making them sparkle.

“What are you drawing then?” he asks after a moment of collecting himself, an edge of embarrassment to his voice.

You give in easily to the strange urge you have to show him, grabbing the notebook off your lap and holding it out for him to see what you’d been scribbling in the book for the past two hours. You let him take it off your hands, ignoring the spike of anxiety. He holds it gingerly, like it's a precious artefact (of course, to you, it is), which makes something warm bloom in your chest. You take a sip of wine and gesture for him to flip through a few pages, which he seems hesitant to do without permission. The book is angled in such a way that you can see most of the page, so you’re content to let him. Or at least you are until he flips to the page you’d started when you’d first come out here.

Panic drops like a stone in your gut because he’s looking right at a fully rendered drawing of his eyes. It’s in amongst some pillars strung with lights and covered in climbing vines; your best attempt at capturing the way the beach looked earlier in the day; and, perhaps your saving grace, Chloe half asleep on her towel. But the drawing of her is haphazard, it’s half-scribbled and half-finished, whereas the one of Charles eyes’ is as detailed as the sunset scene you’d done the page before. It had been something you just needed to get out, drawn in one of those hazes of yours. You’d felt better after it was done, your hands had stopped feeling like they were itchy.

Now, you itch to snatch the notebook off him, but you fear that would be even more incriminating. So you watch him look at the page and try to sit with the panicked feeling spreading in your chest.

Eventually, he points at the page, “Is this me?”

You bite your lip, breathing slowly through your nose to try and abate the blush spreading up your neck. You don’t say anything exactly, just shrug and rock your head back and forth in a kind of confirmation that doesn’t really admit anything. Though, there’s no denying the drawing is him.

“It’s good,” he says, seemingly stumbling over the words, “It’s very good.”

You frown into your drink, “Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

You know he means it. It’s not that.

“Yes,” you put down the wine glass, looking at him but avoiding eye contact, “I know. I know it’s good. I’m just… I’m embarrassed,” you admit.

He furrows his eyebrows– or it’s more that he squints and his eyebrows fold in with it. You watch his tongue dart out to run across the top of his bottom lip and you stamp down the less than innocent thoughts that come bubbling up at that. He waves the hand that’s not still holding carefully onto your notebook about for a moment, trying to conjure up words that he doesn’t have yet.

Slowly, he says, “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. I– It’s–”

He’s about to say flattering, so you cut him off, not wanting to hear the tone of it, whether it be pity or something else entirely.

You try to explain yourself, “Things get stuck in my head sometimes. Like after dinner,” you reach forward and flip the page back one, to the sunset, “I have to get it onto paper. Or… or… it just runs laps in my head for the rest of eternity, I guess. I don’t stop thinking about it.”

You cringe internally. You’ve just told him that you were so consumed by thoughts of his eyes that you had to draw them immediately. That is perhaps worse than just wanting to draw him because you thought he was cute. Charles raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised by your admission, but there’s perhaps also something sincere in there? You can’t pinpoint it, but it makes you feel a fraction better you think.

You sigh forlornly, “That’s weirder, huh?”

He laughs, properly laughs, and it sends some strange feeling skittering down your spine, “No. No, I get it. I don’t have any way to get it down as quickly as I’d like, but I definitely understand the feeling.”

You bite the inside of your lip, hesitant but still curious, “You understand the feeling? Really?”

“Yes,” he smiles easily now, relaxing more in the chair after he places your notebook onto the counter with a cautiousness you still don’t expect, “For me, with racing, it’s like I get an idea and I can’t sleep until I try it on track or talk about it with someone. Some of them don’t work, or aren’t possible, which is fine, but if it sounds right to me and it checks out with the people that it needs to, then, well, then it literally does run laps in my head.”

You laugh, mostly to yourself. You’re not sure yet if he understands what you’re saying, but he’s trying. That’s more than you can say for a lot of people. You try not to let that thought linger for too long.

“You think it’s similar?” you ask in a way you desperately hope comes across as curious and not accusatory.

He hums, waving his hand around again for words, “Perhaps. I think the urgency is the same. The passion is the same. Do you ever feel like something terrible will happen if you can’t–”

“Yes,” you’re a bit breathless in your haste to agree, to talk about this feeling with someone who understands, “Yes. I do. It’s like I need to put it somewhere before I lose it. Otherwise, it won’t be perfect, or it’ll be too late.”

“Exactly,” his eyes seem to light up, for a long second you watch the flickering lights reflect in them, “Exactly.”

“It’s never as good as I want it to be,” you admit, finding it easier to look him in the eye now that some strange barrier between you has been broken, “It’s never quite how I imagine it in my head.”

Charles points at your notebook, “These are very good, really. I don’t see how they could be better. But,” he shrugs, “Eh, I will win a race and still think of everything I did wrong.”

You nod eagerly in understanding as you lean back into the chair, finally relaxing into the cushions. It’s strange to have this conversation, knowing you’re talking about two entirely different careers, but feeling like they’re so similar. Maybe it’s just you and Charles that are similar, maybe your jobs have nothing to do with it? You don’t know, you just know it’s nice to feel like someone gets what you’re talking about.

Charles continues, speaking like he’ll explode if he doesn’t get this off his chest, “It’s there all the time, do you know what I mean? Maybe I’m not thinking about it every second, but it’s always there waiting for something to draw attention to it. And people ask what else is going on in my life, and of course I do other things, and I enjoy other things, but I want to be on the track. I want to be driving whenever I can.”

You nod again, more subdued now, “Mmm, right. I want to be making art all the time, and when I can’t it’s like missing a limb. To me art is– it– it’s like–”

“–breathing,” he finishes, almost the lilt of a question to it, but not really, it’s like he knows exactly what you mean… how you feel.

You exhale, long and slow, “Yeah. Like breathing.”

Both of you are quiet for a little after that. You’re trying not to stare at him, but it’s not easy. He’s looking at you almost blatantly and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks the longer he stares. The air feels thick with some feeling you can’t place. All you know is there are butterflies in your stomach and a smile keeps pulling at the edge of your pursed lips.

The smile takes over as you catch him starry-eyed in your peripheral vision, you mutter, “Stop that. Stop looking at me.”

“Why?”

You tip your head back so you can’t see him looking at you, “Because.”

“Because?” he laughs breathily, shaking his head at you, “Okay, well, tell me if I’m misreading anything, but I’m pretty sure that drawing of me in your notebook says something, at least.”

You run a hand down your face, sighing loudly, “Yes, okay. I suppose it does. But– I–” for a moment you struggle for the right words to explain yourself, “I guess I’m not really looking to date anyone.”

He tilts his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows and looking for all intents and purposes, like a confused puppy, “You guess?”

You nod, resisting the urge to just launch over the table and grab his face. He is very cute and he is making this so hard for you.

He sucks his teeth briefly, shrugging, “I’m not really either.”

“Alright,” you say, “Good.”

As over as that should make the issue, strangely enough it doesn’t feel like you’re done with Charles Leclerc and it certainly doesn’t feel like he’s done with you either.

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Amalfi Coast, Italy

You try to avoid Charles after that, you really do, but he doesn’t quite let you.

For a few days of the holiday you give him pointed looks and purse your lips a lot when he’s around. Chloe catches on straight away and that makes it all infinitely worse until she finally realises she might need to leave you alone (yeah, shocker). When Chloe finally forces everyone to get off your back about Charles, it becomes much easier to be around him. You’re not glaring at your friends while they make eyes at you, or worrying if you’re acting weird; you’re just allowed to be.

It’s nice. He’s nice.

But you knew that already.

Neither of you are looking for a relationship so there’s no pressure for it to be anything at all. But you have this sneaking suspicion that perhaps both of you are looking for a relationship with eachother regardless. You try to ignore the thought.

On day five, you’re sitting together on an outcropping of rock that overlooks the ocean and you’re letting Charles doodle in your notebook with a ballpoint pen. The bare skin of both your arms are pressed together, they stick with sweat from the hot midday sun but neither of you seem to care. As you watch him doodle inexpertly you can smell him— salt and sweat and whatever cologne he uses masking the very faint scent of burning rubber. Your hair, still damp, brushes his forearm, you wonder if you smell of acrylic paint and mildew from all the water cups you accidentally leave out for your paintbrushes.

You reach out to trace a line he’d made, “Here, it should be more like…” you taper off, taking the pen from his hand and quickly fixing the curve of the beach before handing the utensil back.

“Hmm,” he hums, giggling a little, “I guess that looks better.”

“You guess?”

He nods, “What if I had a very specific vision?”

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, leaning back to look him in the eye you tease, “A vision. Did you?”

He tilts his head down to look at you. You’re very close now, you can feel his breath fanning over your face. In the reflection of his sunglasses you watch your lips part slightly and your eyelids flutter. Your chest grows tight with anticipation and maybe a little bit of panic. Still, you reach out and slide his sunglasses up to settle in his hair. You’re a little careless, but you like the way his hair pokes out from them at odd angles. As he breathes out you hear it catch for a split second.

“Did you?” you repeat, knowing he won’t remember what you were talking about.

He blinks twice, still staring at you, “Hmm?”

“You said you had a vision,” you breathe.

“Oh,” as he says it, his eyes flicker down to your mouth, only for a second, but it’s long enough to you know you’re done for.

You both lean in at the same time, your noses sliding off each other in your eagerness. You breathe a kind of laugh into his mouth and you feel him try to suppress a smile against your lips. It’s slow for the first few seconds, just you and Charles figuring out how your mouths fit together. His mouth is warm and wet and so soft, and it’s easy to lose yourself in it. You move the hand that had adjusted his sunglasses, sliding it up his shoulder to the back of his muscled neck. Your fingers weave into the short hair at the base of it, your nails scratching absently there. He groans, ever so slightly into your mouth and it sends heat skittering down your spine, into the low of your gut.

The hand of his that isn’t clutching onto your notebook slips forward and winds around to press at your bare back. He pulls you closer to him as you slide your hand up to cup the back of his head, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Soon it’s a mess of tongue and teeth and Charles blindly shoving your notebook somewhere it wont slip into the water so he can grab you with both hands. He tastes like red wine and coffee and you love the way his fingers dig into your skin and the way his teeth have been grazing at your bottom lip, like he wants to sink into it.

You’re almost in his lap when you’re forced to pull away for air.

Foreheads pressed together, you breathe heavily into the space between you. Your hand is still stuck in his hair and one of his on the small of your back, the other holding your knee. The sides of your noses touch, you nudge yours against his affectionately, tempted by the proximity of his mouth.

He laughs and you feel it against your lips, intermingling with your own breath, “Alright. That was–”

“Yeah,” you finish, dipping forward to kiss him again.

You’re lost for another few minutes. Tongue and teeth and the sound of the waves crashing against the rock behind you. And his hand on your jaw and in your hair and pulling you closer closer to him.

He pulls away this time, turning his head to press your cheeks together, mouth at your ear, “So,” he drags the word out with a laugh, “are you looking for a relationship now?”

You snort unceremoniously, and tease, “Hmm. I guess I would be amenable to that.”

“You guess?” he asks— but not really needing to at all because you can feel his dimples pressing into your cheek as he smiles knowingly.

You nod, smiling too, “I guess.”

🎨 yes of course i made a playlist>> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6cAJaZjvK0V7SrmxoMosBX?si=ADlJGHxxQYKnlZ1jWFJxfw&pi=a-AI0MKbo3RTqE

taglist: (pls message if you'd like to be added to the taglist for charles. my yuck! one is full so need to start a new one😭)

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU ; — you can’t help but feel a little upset thinking that your boyfriend has forgotten your anniversary.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! f!reader, none, fluff! although it gets a tiny bit hawt at the end! ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! an anon suggested this drabble idea literally like sometime last year + the new szn finally gave me some motivation to write it! i hope u see this!

3 years.. 3 years and gojo didn’t leave you with so much as a “happy anniversary” as he left this morning. you’d have even taken an extra smack on the ass during your usual morning makeout session, the taste of his two sugar’s too sweet coffee on his tongue as it twists with yours and his hands on your waist.. but that’s it, that’s all???

so now you’re here, angrily stomping back to your shared apartment after the few errands you had to run today because you took the day off to celebrate. but your dumb, stupidly handsome boyfriend doesn’t even know what for as he rambles on the other side of the phone.

“can feel you poutin’, what’s gotten into my sweet girl? hm?” gojo hums like hes thinking about something, his same sickly sweet tone dripping through you like honey despite the way you want to be mad at him right now— you would’ve ignored the call all together, just to be petty if you didn’t know he’d turn up at the door a second later.

“nothing. i’m just almost home that’s all.” you’re lying and you know he can tell, he always could. he could pick up every slight, little change in your attitude like he seen right through you.

“oh yeah? nothing at all on your mind?” gojo drawls again, there’s a teasing lull to his voice and it makes your pout puff out even more before he breathes out a low chuckle and sighs. “and here i thought you were mad at me. you almost made me cry at work— who would take me seriously then, huh?”

“you’re not funny.” you huff out, short and a little clipped as you finally come to a stop infront of your apartment door — fiddling with your keys in your hand while your pout still rests on your features.

“you sure?”

you really can’t be bothered playing gojo’s games right now and as amusing as he seems to find himself, it’s only making you burn hotter — making your stomach twist with the lump in your throat that you’ve been fighting to keep down all day. you don’t want to get upset, but it meant a lot to you.

you just wanted him to maybe put in a little effort on the one day that you guys really get to celebrate eachother.

“positive. so i’m gonna g—“ you can barely finish your own spiralling, upsetting thoughts before your snapped response through your phone fades on your tongue. but suddenly, the tears youd been fighting to hold back all day seem to come so ruthlessly, gathering along your lashes as you gaze onto the ocean of red that greets you as you open the door.

you’re not sure how many bouquets there are waiting for you there. hundreds? thousands? sitting pretty along the floor, decorating the shared space so beautifully that you don’t even realise that you’ve gone quiet. ofcourse gojo would do something like this, and suddenly you feel a little silly for even doubting him.

“ah, fine. i guess i’ll get the guy to come pick all of those back up then, huh, sweet thing?”

but the smooth tone that sounds from your phone speaker sounds a little louder, closer when it’s accompanied by a long arm wrapping around your waist from behind as kisses are pressed up the side of your neck.

“but, you—“ you try but you feel so overwhelmed, so full of love as gojo’s large figure drapes over you from behind. his face is stuffed into the crook of your neck and you can feel the way his crooked smile sits on his features as it presses against your skin. he feels warm, although you’re sure he’s more than smug right now when he pulls away with an exaggerated gasp that cuts off your sentence.

“as if you’re perfect, good looking boyfriend would ever forget. what do you take me for, hm?” you giggle at that despite the way he’s teasing you again, squeezing at your sides until you’re meeting his gaze and you’re sure you must look so in love when you notice the way his features soften slightly.

“happy anniversary, princess.” gojo grins as he leans into kiss you breathless, twisting into your mouth as his tongue pushes past your lips and you almost rock back with how dizzy he makes you feel. but his hands are on your hips, keeping you close against his chest with a stability that you’d always found in him.

another long press of his lips with yours and you whimper sweetly as he pulls away to look at you, pretty gaze glowing slightly from under the snowy peaks of his hair before he’s smirking again, maybe a little wider this time.

“you gonna laugh f’ me when i tell jokes again? i can feel the tears threatening to start again.” he’s like a professional when his cheeky grin twists into an exaggerated pout, making you laugh again— a little harder this time before you’re pinching at his cheeks playfully and bringing him in for another quick kiss.

“you’re such a dork.” you tease and gojo groans against your lips like he’s offended.

“mmm, no thank you? oh i’m hurt, sweet girl. what’ll i do with you now, hm?” the look he gives you as he pulls away is suspicious, a raised brow as his head falls to the side and he really looks like he’s considering it. until the next moment his large palm is coming down heavy on your ass before his next handful squeezes.

“satoru!” you squeal but that only seems to make him chuckle as he leans down to kiss you again, rougher this time despite the way you’re both smiling giddily into the shared, messy press of eachother. almost too quickly finding yourself pressed up against the wall in the hallway as he melts into you.

“let’s see! oh, i’ve got a few ideas.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[aycius]

— WHEN YOU CAN’T SLEEP ‧₊˚

feat. satoru gojo, toji fushiguro, & nanami kento

warnings. none! just a whole lot of fluffiness

if you can’t go to sleep, SATORU will definitely try to help or (for lack of better words) force you to go to sleep. when he feels you shuffling around, he’ll grunt before placing his body on top of yours, hugging you tightly before mumbling “sleep” in your hair. 

“i’ll try if you get off of me. you’re crushing me to death!” you say and he contemplates for a few seconds, but ultimately decides that you’re a really comfortable body pillow. from how he’s laying, he can feel your heart beating and your soft, steady breaths and it makes him wonder why he never thought of using you as a mattress before. 

“promise?” and even though you nod your head, satoru can feel your smile on his collarbone which easily gives away that you’re not telling the truth. regardless, satoru still rolls off to the side and stares at the ceiling with you. 

“what’s bothering you,” he whispers, it’s soft and genuine and that alone is enough to make your heart throb at 2 am. it’s also really funny seeing his concerned look right now because he doesn’t know he’s overanalyzing the whole situation. 

you see, you didn’t eat dinner tonight. satoru ordered you takeout on his way home because he assumed you’d be hungry, but you weren’t, so you let him have yours. what you failed to realize though, is how hungry you’d be later on and now you’re facing the consequences. you finally sigh and turn your body so you’re face to face with him on the bed. 

“toru,” you bite back the laugh that wants to come out because of how serious satoru looks right now. you figured that you should tell him straight up to ease his mind of any possible negative thoughts he could be thinking. “i’m really hungry.” 

and satoru sighs, (you can’t tell if it’s of relief or disappointment so you choose the latter), and props his head up so his elbows are supporting him. “i am too.” 

“but you ate your takeout and mine.” you mirror satoru actions, propping your elbow to get a better look at his face and he blinks twice. you can’t tell if he’s lying or not.

“do you want food or not?” 

with that, you roll off the bed before stating, “i’ll get the car keys!”

it’s not until you tap TOJI on the shoulder for the fifth time that he blinks and slowly comes to his senses. poor guy, he can hear your mumbles but he isn’t fully able to process what’s going on because of how drowsy he is. at this point, you’re staring at him with teary eyes and all toji can do is deadpan, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. 

“i told ya not to read the ending of that book this late, y'know. if ya read it earlier, y’could’ve had more time to recover. ” he grunts. 

you sniff once and nod your head and all toji can do is roll his eyes as he brings you into a tight embrace. he can act irritated all he wants, but he finds it so entertaining that the book he recommended you to read really took this much of a toll on you. You guys went on a library date, (your idea of course), and he chose a random book for you without much thought, and boy was that a bad idea. 

“they didn’t end up being together, toji.” you wail, arms wrapping around his torso even tighter. 

“i know, baby. i know.” he sighs, planting a kiss on your forehead when you sniffle again. 

“toji, we can never break up. if i couldn’t handle the book’s break up, i won’t handle ours.” and he only chuckles, because honestly, why is this book putting thoughts like these in your head? it’s fiction, toji thinks, but then again, it’s you we’re talking about, so he smirks and let’s out a chuckle.

“can’t get rid of me, i’m in it for the long run, babe.”

NANAMI knows you’re not asleep. if there’s one thing you know most about kento, it’s how light of a sleeper he is. that’s why, even though you’re struggling to fall asleep, you try not to twist and turn around the sheets, though that fails. it’s only when you hear him clear his throat (even though he did it on purpose just to let you know that he was awake), you decide to gently tap his shoulder. he responds immediately, shifting to his side so he can face you. 

“yes, sweetheart? what’s up?” he asks, voice raspy and all. although it’s 2 am, you can perfectly make out kento’s beautiful face with the help of the moon light, via the sheer curtains in the room. you find yourself getting lost in his eyes and it’s not until he gently grabs your hands and intertwines it with his that you finally get the courage, (or at least attempt to), speak to him about your restlessness.

 but he understands – he always does. 

“i’m not feeling that tired either,” he winks, “let me make us some tea and talk.” 

you want to tell him that you know he’s completely exhausted, but he’s already pushing the both of you out of bed and to the kitchen. you figured that he may not mind staying up for a bit more.

[luveline]

Hi Jade! Congrats on 46k! You deserve it, you are such a wonderful writer!!!

I'd like to request eddie and roan at the county fair, for the first time with reader. roan is probably scared of the ferris wheel at first and eddie probably spends way too much trying to win both his girls stuffed animals

Eddie and Roan —Eddie tries to win a stuffed animal for Roan, and an argument ends in hot dogs. (step) mom!reader, 1k

When you met Eddie he was really skinny for his height and occupation. Weight is different for everybody. You didn’t notice he was slight until he was taking his shirt off for the first time, and you realised you could see the lines of his ribs. 

He was beautiful, of course, and you wouldn’t change anything about him then or now, but you have to confess that the happy weight looks good on him. It’s only a couple of kilos in the two years you’ve been together, but it’s enough to accentuate his arms when he swings Roan against his chest. 

“I’m not carrying you around all night,” he warns her. “Y/N told you those shoes would pinch your toes but you didn’t listen.” 

“I like them,” Roan defends. 

“They’re pretty, but they’re too small. We have to let things go, remember?” Eddie lets out a groan as she climbs his shoulders to hug the back of his neck, pulling his hair, and kneeing him in the neck. “Jesus, Ro.”

You grab her before she can do permanent damage. She is much more polite in your hold. 

Eddie gives you a grateful smile and puts his hand between your shoulders to keep everybody moving. The walkway between the porta-potties and the Balloon Pop is crowded with kids staring at the flashing toys, and it’s a task and a half to avoid mowing them down as you traverse the fair’s wet grass. 

“I’m surprised they still opened,” you say. 

“It’s a Roan miracle,” Eddie says. 

You can feel the girl in question staring at you. You look down at her and she beams. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Hi, mommy.” 

“Yeah, hi, baby, what are you staring at?” 

“You have the purple light on your face.” 

“You have pink and orange!” you say, poking her cheek gently. “Right here.” 

It will never stop feeling good to hear her call you mommy. 

You shrug her further into your arms, determined to carry her for the rest of the night lest she hurt her toes, Eddie steering you around the crowd to get a huge rainbow cotton candy, which Roan promptly gets lost in her hair. Eddie pulls off strips of green and blue to feed you while your arms are occupied, but then he pushes his fingertip against your tongue and you ban him from any further feeding. 

He’s still laughing when he notices something behind you. “Girls, look, there’s the Bean Bag Toss. Remember I said I was good at that one?” 

“Wow,” Roan says, and you can’t help thinking she’s talking just to you, proved when she adds, “mommy, look, they have puppies in coats.” 

The wall of the Bean Bag Toss attraction is covered in all kinds of teddies and stuffies, the most alluring being a row of adorable puppies in coats that make them look like ladybugs, sharks, and frogs. “They do have coats, that’s so cute. Should dad try his luck?” 

“I’m gonna win,” Eddie promises. “Pick which one you want, babe, I’m a winner.” 

You don’t bother sighing. Eddie’s promised her now, and if he doesn’t win, it’s gonna cost him something stupid to buy one under the table. “Ladybug?” Roan whispers. 

“Which one do you like most?” you ask knowingly. “If it’s the ladybug, choose the ladybug.” 

“I like her spots.” 

“I like her spots, too.” 

You and Roan step back as Eddie pays for three goes. Then another three. Then six. He’s not bad, per se, but he’s not winning, either. You and Roan don’t give up faith in him. 

“Come on, handsome, you can do it!” you cheer. 

“You can do it,” Roan echoes. “Go, daddy!” 

Eddie glances back at you both without shame. He grins, and he turns back to the game, and he throws the beanbag. It lands. He throws the next. Before you know it, the sixth one whacks hard into the back of the last pot, a clean win for the low low price of twenty five dollars. 

“Which one do you want?” the carnie asks. 

“Which one, bubby?” Eddie asks. 

Roan is shy but polite as she hugs your neck. “Can I have the puppy with the ladybug coat, please? The red coat?” 

The carnie passes it to Eddie, who quickly says thanks and passes it to Roan. She goes a little white in the face, a split second for you to worry, but she beams and buries her face in the puppy’s neck. “Thanks, daddy,” she says. 

Eddie grins. He puts his hand on her back, his rings catching the light as he scrubs her shoulder. “You’re welcome.” 

You catch his eye. 

“Want me to do it again?” he asks. 

“Nuh-uh, Munson, we have a ferris wheel to ride.” 

“Gotcha. Ro, why don’t we give Y/N a break, huh? Let’s walk on our own feet.” 

Ro refuses on the grounds that you are So warm. She’s not that heavy, you let her stay. Eddie wrestles her back into his arms by the hot dog cart, stating many reasons: he’s strong, you’re too beautiful for carrying, he wants to see the puppy up close, and he wants to show off his muscles. 

He says that last part slowly. You’ve been caught. 

“Well, you’re my boyfriend,” you argue. 

Eddie takes your hand. You’re happy, but you realise quickly that he’s trying to take your ring. “Wait, fiancé!” you correct yourself, dragging your hand back despite his pulling. 

“No, that’s okay, if you don’t want it–”

“Sorry, sorry! Ro, tell dad we have to get married.” 

“Ro, tell mom she has to stop calling me the wrong thing.” 

“Um, no fighting,” Ro says, “can we get hotdogs now?” 

“I’ll buy you two if you tell dad to stop taking my ring.” 

Roan puts a hand on Eddie’s cheek. “Dad, can you stop?” Eddie stares at her in silence for a moment, then nods with an eye roll. “Tada. I want ketchup and pickles and cheese, please. And curly fries?” 

[divinesolas]

Thinking about when Jace got teased by asking if he knew where he had to put his cock in… a fic about it would kill me

a.n: im sure this has been done a million times before but this is my take on it :3 this is prob not as smutty as you probably hoped but i hope you like it <333 only warnings are reader is a northern (no specific house) and oral (fem)

“You do know how the act is done i assume. At least in principle.” You see the way jace tenses next to you and aegon shoots you a pleased look. your face falls, this was not going to be good.

“Where to put your cock and all that.” You place a hand on jaces shoulder but he does not acknowledge you as you can tell he is growing angrier by the second. “Ignore him jace, he’s not worth it-”

“You can play the jester if you wish. but hold your tongue before my bethrothed.” Aegon says not more but you remove your hand from his shoulder as jace gulps down the remainder of his wine. You can tell he’s pissed. His jaw is clenched and his leg bounces up and down, eyes set at the wall.

You hate how hot he looks, how his stare has your thighs clenching together. You have only been betrothed for a few months now. You had taken a trip down to dragonstone to meet him when the trial suddenly was called and you agreed to join him and the rest of his family.

When you place a hand on his thigh his leg stops moving and his head turns towards you, eyes wide. You squeeze his thigh lightly as you lean closer to him, your words hushed. “Do not let him bother you jace.” The look in his eye is dark as they roam around your face and land on your lips. You hold your breath and your hand slips off his thigh as you turn away from him. There was no way he was going to kiss you but you can’t help but feel embarrassed still.

Your attention is quickly taken away by baela who asks you numerous questions about the north and you happily answer all her questions, assuring her you would be more than happy to show her around should she be interested in going there.

The night goes sour and you rush after jace who quickly storms out of the room after being dismissed. You call his name as you sprint down the hall but he does not turn to look at you or stop his movement until you are right next to him, in front of his room.

“Jace-”

Before you even realize it your on the bed with his head under your dress. His tongue lapping at your walls with his hands pressing against your knees to keep them apart. One of your hands covers you mouth while the other grips tightly at the hair on his head, with every pull he lets out a groan that sends shivers up and down your back.

You do not know how you even ended up here. He was just so angry about the whole dinner that he needed something to relieve his stress and he has vowed that has much as he wishes too he will not bed you before your wedding. But this was not him bedding you, he has not stuck his cock where his tongue is plunging in and out it did not count in his eyes.

He always has hated that you had to cover your mouth, always wishing he could just hear you fully but he only has one more moon cycle before he can fully, till then he can settle for the muffled sounds of your delight.

Aegon knew nothing of your relationship he had no clue why he let it bother him so much. He had no clue that jace had you crying his name on his lips more times than he can ever count, hes sure aegon has never even had a women release before but jace sure has and you were living proof.

perm jace taglist <3

@earth4angels @tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jacesvelaryons @ravenn-darkholme

[thatlittlered]

would've, could've, should've | aaron hotchner

warning(s): one whole curse word, smoking, stunning amount of fluff and a little bit of action

GIF by @littlecarmine

part one

part two

author's note: Sorry for the delay, hope it was worth it! I also want to thank the sweet anon for the ask with the Robert Siken poem, which I included here. Next part will be straight-up filthy smut, so stay tuned, fellow sluts.

Follow me @MadeofLilies on Ao3 and let me know if you want to be tagged here.

-.-.-

You don’t see much of each other for the next couple of days. Aaron is on autopilot, avoiding any chance to be alone with you. The rest of the team unknowingly act as a buffer and all he has to do is not look at you during work hours, keep the door to his office shut to not hear your laughter.

It’s a relief when you and Morgan are called to testify in court for a case. You’re somewhere far away for the day, where he knows you’re safe and he can go back to pretending nothing has changed.

The problems start when he’s not being kept busy.

 How much paperwork can one person do?

The stars align oddly in his favor and he’s into calls or meetings until long after everyone else has gone home. When ten pm rolls around, he finally calls it quits but sees no point in leaving in a hurry. It’s past Jack’s bed time, it’d be cruel to wake him up now and carry him back home when tomorrow’s Sunday. If all goes well, he can pick him in the morning and they’ll get to spend the day together.

His finger is hovering over Jessica’s number when he spots your name in his call logs. It’s silly and childish, but he hasn’t thought of you in a couple of hours and God.

Deep down, he knows he’s been incredibly unfair to you. He had to. Had to tell himself it was something outside of him causing him torment. An obstacle to overcome, a distraction to ignore. He had to act as if you were forcing your way into his life in order to be able to put up walls, but what have you really done except exist near him? He is the one to blame for allowing it to grow beneath his skin; succumbing to his need for some sort of intimacy when he could have -should have- nipped this at the bud a very long time ago. He recognized it within himself the other day, when he realized he could have -should have- kissed you.

But nothing is healed with a kiss. Only new grievances arise.

It’s where you go from there that matters and he finds himself unable to guide or be guided.

Where do you go from here?

When he decides to feed his insomnia with a cup of late-night coffee, he is yet again reminded of you. So, he calls, but you don’t answer and he pours another, completely indifferent to the idea of sleep.

It’s getting too late to be here, even by his standards. He tries calling again, but, no answer. He gathers his stuff to leave and there is a horrible feeling at the pit of his stomach when he settles inside the car. It’s only eleven and you always say you never sleep this early.

Another call, this time to Emily, who miraculously, picks up.

“Hello? Hotch?”

There is a deafening buzz in the background; loud voices and music blasting.

Aaron apologizes for the late hour and tries to be discreet when he asks about you. Says he needs to go over something about a case file but you won’t answer his calls and he got worried.

“Yeah, she’s fine, she’s right here with me, but it’s a little hard to get her right now. Is it urgent?”

“Uh, no, don’t bother her. Is everyone else there too?”

“Not everyone, just the two of us, Garcia and Morgan. Do you need them as well?”

You didn’t invite him, why would you? He would have never said yes.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

“Sorry, sir, I can’t make out much with all this noise. We’re at the ‘Matter’ if you need us. I’ll tell the guys to call you as soon as they can, okay? Have a good night.”

So, he drives two miles a little before midnight to come sit outside ‘Matter’, which is apparently a very busy nightclub downtown, half a mile away from the nearest parking spot he could find.

He doesn’t really know why he came.

He can’t come in and join you. Can’t ask for you.

They probably wouldn’t even let him in while dressed like this.

It’s very unclear what the next step is.

He knows it’s pointless to call you again when you’re probably too busy dancing and drinking with a great many people who are not him. Morgan has some trouble keeping his hands to himself when he drinks.

He sits on the curb of the street, cracks open the pack of cigarettes he snack out of the car’s glove compartment, always hidden below the insurance papers. Astoundingly loud music plays every time the doors to the club open and people come out stumbling, kissing sloppily and dragging each other away.

He just wants to see you and put this horrible feeling inside him to rest.

“No fucking way.”

He jolts at the sound of your voice and throws away the cigarette, putting it out with his shoe before he turns to see you standing outside the club. You approach timidly until you can be sure it’s him and when you step closer to the streetlight, he can really see you. The clothes you could never wear to work, the shoes you apparently spend all your money on. You’re beautiful.

He can’t possibly move until you’re sat beside him. For the first time in what seems like forever, now that he’s grown so used to it, you keep a very respectable distance between your bodies.

“You didn’t have to throw it away; I already saw you and,” you pick up the abandoned carton from the sidewalk and almost laugh at how immaculate it looks just having been opened, “I have so many questions. Since when do you smoke?”

His voice is quiet, unamused.

“Almost never.”

You look at him curiously and he thinks you would make a great interrogator simply by the way you make everyone around you spill their souls out if it will satisfy you.

“Sometimes when I’m very stressed.”

You hum, “I never would have guessed that.”

He laughs to himself and looks at his hands.

“Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of things that are not typical of me lately.”

You help yourself to a cigarette and he cups his hand over yours when the breeze makes it too hard to light up.

“Is that because of me? Am I a bad influence?”

“No. It’s me, I’m the common denominator.”

You hum again and smile at him teasingly in an attempt to lighten the mood, “Breakthrough.”

“So, this is what therapy is like?”

He wants to thank you, for always trying to make things as easy as possible for him. You open the door and difficult as it may seem, all he really has to do is walk through it.

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t smoke in session.”

“Oh good.”

You’re sitting closer again and Aaron doesn’t know how. He doesn’t think either of you moved. He keeps his eyes on the road in front of him, glances at you only from the corner of his eye. Your perfume mingles with the smoke of the cigarette and it’s all a haze to him.

“Why are you not inside?”

“I needed a breath; it was very loud and packed in there… and I finally saw your calls.”

He hums, unable to find anything else to say.

“Why are you here?

“I don’t know.”

He knows that is not a good enough of an answer.

“I always have this terrible feeling that something is going to happen to you.”

Your shoulder touches his and he can admire the smoothness of it, focus on each mark there to avoid the dreaded eye contact.

“Do you think that fear is reasonable, or is it rooted in something else?’

His eyes shut tightly, “Don’t do that, please. Don’t talk to me like I’m a subject.”

“You use your ‘agent tone’ all the time outside of work.”

His voice deepens, “I am aware.”

Heavy breathing.

“I’m sorry I did all that and then backed out at the last minute.”

“It’s alright. I think I knew you would.”

“See, that’s even worse.”

You look at his suit, the wrinkles that have formed in the shirt underneath from the hours of wear.

“Did you come here straight from the office?”

A sigh, “Yeah.”

You nod your head in understanding and move to put out what’s left of the cigarette.

“I’m alright. I’ve got the others too; they’ll take me home. You can relax now.”

“I don’t think I ever can.”

You don’t know what to say really. If what he needs is time, you can give it, but he seems undecided as well when he picks up your hand.

“I think I’m scared of what will happen once the line is crossed.”

A confession.

That, you did not expect.

“Aside from the complications at work, I just,” his hand rubs gently on the spot your watch has left its mark, “I have proved time and time again that I can’t handle any relationship beyond professionalism and once we stop being just colleagues, I will lose you completely from my life.”

“Do you think that line has not been crossed already?”

He laughs quietly.

You can both feel the bouncer looking at you and Aaron is suddenly aware of how vulnerable he is right now.

“I guess it has.”

You’re both quiet for a little while.

“I have to go back inside now, or they’ll start getting worried.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but no words leave his mouth.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell them you were here.”

That hurt. You know it, but what else was there to say?

“Maybe tomorrow you’ll know.”

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze before you leave and he’s left staring while you go back inside.

-.-.-

A little past two, the girls drop you off in a shared cub before going their separate ways and you rush to your apartment building, only to find Aaron waiting there.

“Well, you certainly have a thing for sitting on curbs.”

He looks tired, so tired, and alone in the empty street. It’s very hard to maintain your position when he always looks this beaten down in his most tender moments. You wish to care for him, love him back into happiness but that wouldn’t be fair.

Still, you can’t help but go to him and he is relieved that you sit closer this time.

“Have you been waiting here this whole time?”

“It hasn’t been that long.”

You softly take his right hand to look at his watch. His body relaxes at the touch.

“Huh.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, but I’m a little more drunk than the last time you saw me.”

Your skin glows under the soft moonlight and he notices.

It is technically tomorrow now.

“How drunk?”

His face moves closer and you can’t help but shiver at the sudden change. His breath is warm on your face. The words come out in a whisper.

“Not that much.”

That’s all it takes.

His lips press against yours once… then twice and then… he doesn’t stop.

You always thought he’d be one to kiss carefully and with absolute purpose, just like he does everything else, but he kisses like a man on fire. He seeks to quench something deep inside of him and you provide happily. The remnants of your lip gloss tingle on his mouth, as if kissing you alone is not enough of an awakening.

It’s becoming increasingly hard to keep up with breathing when he envelops you so, and cages you in the pleasant whirl of his scent. When you break away for breath, he’s quick to capture you once more. His hands come to your face to keep you there until he’s had enough, but how he can he ever have enough of you?

He only lets you go because he has to. You’re both practically panting and he can’t decide what to do. He wants to kiss you, look at you, touch you, but it cannot all be done at once. When your own hand comes to his face just below his jawline, he melts under the touch. His eyes are sunken, his body is begging for rest, but it would not come without you.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

His voice is low and breathy when he nods.

“Yeah…”

-.-.-

You walk upstairs, hand in hand, and Aaron can see your own exhaustion is taking over. Something started with that first touch. Your bodies wish only to find comfort near each other.

His breath is warm on your neck while you open the door, his hands softly placed on your waist with the excuse of keeping you steady. When you move to take off your shoes, he is behind you again, as if tied to you with invisible thread, and holds you gently by the elbow when he sees you struggling.

You’re suddenly very aware he is in your house again. Touching you.

“Can I get you anything?”

He shakes his head no, but you’re too focused on the way his hand moves languidly up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, before tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

He is so caring. So soft below the austere guise.

“I just need to take a shower,” you almost stumble backward and he thinks it’s the alcohol, but it might just be the feeling of his hands on your face, “I must have fifty different people’s sweat on me right now.”

“That’s okay. I’ll wait.”

His voice is soft – tired.

You turn on the lights for him in the living room and he gives a half-smile when you check on him again.

“I won’t be long.”

Once left alone, he gets to look around your house. He sees your carefully assorted nick-knacks and smiles at the framed pictures all over your bookshelves. He can’t help but notice you’ve chosen one, if not the only, photo of the team that he’s also part of.

He is important to you too.

He can see you in every corner of the room, in the books you buy and the realistic-looking-but-admittedly-fake plants sprinkled here and there for a lack of time to take care of any real ones. He can even see you in the soft material of the couch when he sits and lets his cheek touch the fabric. He has been here before in a dream, with your head in his lap.

The room is awfully quiet save for the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall and the sound of running water in the background. For a man that’s usually so good at sitting alone with his thoughts, he suddenly can’t stand it.

He knocks gently on the bathroom door and opens it slowly, only to be hit with the dizzying cloud of warm steam. Your head peeks behind the shower curtain and he can tell you got tired of standing and sat in the tub instead.

“Is it okay if I sit in here with you?”

You thought he’d sit on the toilet seat, but he crawls to the edge of the tub and sits on the bathmat with his back to you.

How close is close enough?

Now that he’s ventured, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be satisfied.

So, he closes his eyes and rests his head back on the, now warm, porcelain.

“Aaron.”

He doesn’t know if he actually fell asleep, but the water is now turned off and you’re looking at him. He realizes now, for the first time, that you’re naked behind him. Your hair and eyelashes are angelically wet, the sheen of water on your flushed skin is divine. He knows that you’d be warm if he touched you now.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

You smile at him -siren- and your hand grabs a handful of his shirt, staining it with water that reaches his body underneath and makes him shiver. You kiss him with plump wet lips and he reaches for you. His hand entangles in your hair until you’re both practically pulling at each other.

A less enamored man would have broken away just to sneak a peek at your bare skin, but he won’t. He is respectful even now, even like this.

“I should have kissed you the other day. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

It’s a whisper when his mouth leaves yours, but you catch it.

You hum, eyes glossy, “Would've, could've, should’ve.”

What matters is now.

He kisses you again – just one more time. You both feel like giddy, lovesick children.

“Can you hand me my bathrobe?”

The bathrobe is also impossibly soft to the touch and when you emerge clad in it, he thinks he’d like to hold you. The spell of the warm steam is broken outside, however, and being so close to your naked body suddenly becomes very serious.

You let him sit in your bed, still fully clothed, save for his suit jacket, and he closes his eyes again. The comforter underneath is lovely.

Is everything in this house soft?

Is this what it feels like to be loved by you?

You disappear inside the walk-in closet and reappear, now properly dressed in your pajamas. The bed dips when you sit next to him and he turns to you completely.

“I have a T-shirt you can sleep in, don’t know about pants though.”

Please. Just be here, with him.

He watches you leave, but it’s not long before you return with the aforementioned shirt. You laugh when he finally realizes he’ll have to sleep in his boxers.

“Don’t worry, I won’t take advantage of you.”

He throws a teasing look, but can’t possibly come up with a clever answer right now.

“I’ll go dry my hair and you can get dressed, alright?”

You are so gentle with your guidance that it makes him feel like a helpless child, but there’s a hidden relief at that. It’s nice; being cared for like this and there is something to be said about parallels, with you going now to do as you had done a week and a half ago in a Florida hotel and him waiting for you – on your bed.

It’s the same, but it’s different.

He hangs his work clothes carefully on the chair in the corner of your room and goes to sit on the bed, but feels too uncomfortable to climb under the covers. He knows you’d find his duality funny; how he goes from hungrily kissing you to being too embarrassed to join you in bed, even if it’s only for sleep.

You notice his stiffness when you come back in the room, but don’t say anything. It’s not exactly easy for you either, you’re just better at hiding it than he is. You choose to lead by example instead and turn off the lights before reaching for the one on your nightstand and climbing inside your bedding.

He only speaks to deflect attention from him again, “You have a TV in your room.”

“Jealous?”

He turns to look at you and you’re perched up on the plump pillows, smiling at him. Your hand reaches for his own over the comforter and you gently pull him to you.

He comes, of course.

“I don’t watch a lot of TV.”

“Of course you don’t.”

He joins you with his back on the pillows and his shoulder touching yours, but he’s still too stiff.

“What do you watch?”

“Mostly reruns of sitcoms-,” he laughs at that, “-Seinfeld.”

“Isn’t that show a thousand years old?

“You would know.”

He laughs again and you can almost make out a wounded pout on his face, but a kiss is enough of a cure. His shoulders relax and he gives in to the warmth and softness; be it the bed or you next to him. You can tell he’s barely managing to stay awake, but he still can’t let go completely. His head slumps backward again.

“Can we turn it on?”

You find the courage to caress his hair, admiring the softness of it and the discreet sprinkle of grey that you can only see up close.

“If you want.”

The quiet humming of the television and your breath in his ear, putting his mind to ease, are enough for him to finally sleep and you’re not long behind. His head is turned to the side where you are, hand tightly holding yours.

Later in the night, when you stir in your sleep, he pulls you further into him – wraps his arm around you completely and doesn’t let go.

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