#I’m just so tired of feeling like I’m not doing enough and even when I am that it just simply doesn’t matter. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrsfancyferrari · 1 day ago

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More Kisses?

Summary: LN4 + “One kiss is just never enough.”

Song: Mitski – My Love Mine All Mine

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 5.8k

The moment you stepped into your shared apartment, the weight of your decision to impose a "kiss ban" hung heavily in the air. You had just returned from spending time with Lando’s family, a chaotic gathering full of laughter, inside jokes, and the unmistakable warmth of family love.

It was delightful, but you couldn't shake off the feeling that Lando’s relentless affection was bordering on overwhelming, even if it was sweetly intoxicating.

“Babe! I’m home!” you called out, hoping to summon him from whatever corner of the apartment he was in.

You heard a loud crash and then a string of colorful curses that made you stifle a laugh. He really should have been more careful. A moment later, Lando appeared, looking slightly disheveled, his tousled hair more charming than ever.

“Baby! You’re back!” he exclaimed, his green eyes lighting up. He rushed over, arms outstretched for a hug, but you placed a gentle hand on his chest, stopping him just short of closing the distance.

“Wait,” you said, your tone firm yet soft, feeling the butterflies in your stomach flit around. “We need to talk.”

Lando's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Talk? About what?” He leaned in closer, the teasing smile on his face betraying his eagerness to press his lips against yours.

You sighed, taking a step back to put some distance between you. “About the kissing,” you said, trying to keep your expression serious despite the laughter bubbling inside you. “I think we need a ban.”

“A ban? A ban on what?” he asked, incredulity creeping into his voice.

“Kissing,” you clarified, your heart racing as you felt his gaze bore into you, almost as if he was trying to understand the madness that was your idea.

He chuckled, tilting his head as he tried to gauge whether you were joking. “Are you serious right now? You want to ban kisses? How does that even work?”

You crossed your arms, trying to maintain your composure. “Oscar suggested it. He said he’s tired of watching us kiss shamelessly in front of him. And honestly, it’s getting a bit out of hand, don’t you think?”

Lando’s expression shifted from amusement to genuine concern. “But I can’t help it! One kiss is just never enough!” He took a small step toward you, his playful demeanor shifting into something more sincere. “You know I just love being close to you, right?”

You felt the warmth creeping up your cheeks, the sincerity of his words hitting you like a wave. “I know, and I love that about you, but we can’t just… kiss every second. We need some boundaries. Maybe we can focus on other ways to express our love, like words or…” You trailed off, searching for a distraction. “Cooking together?”

Lando’s brows furrowed deeper, and he chuckled again, albeit a bit resigned this time. “Cooking? Really? You think that’s a fair substitute for kisses?”

“I mean,” you shrugged, trying to sound casual, “it’s definitely less distracting. Plus, I make a mean spaghetti.”

He shook his head, a smile breaking through his mock frustration. “You know I can’t resist your spaghetti. But can’t we do both? Kiss and cook?”

You tried to suppress a giggle. “See! That’s exactly what I mean! You can’t even think about anything else but kissing!”

“Guilty as charged,” he replied, smirking. “But only when it comes to you. It’s like every time I look at you, I just… I want to kiss you. You’re irresistible.”

A flutter of warmth settled in your chest at his admission, but you had to stay strong. “So, no kisses until further notice,” you said, attempting to sound authoritative, though the twinkle in your eyes gave away your struggle.

Lando sighed dramatically, flopping onto the couch with mock despair. “This is a dark day in history. My heart feels like it’s been put in a cage.”

You laughed, the tension dissipating slightly. “It’s just a temporary ban! We can revisit this later. For now, let’s focus on some quality time without the kisses.”

He leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “Fine, but if I’m going to be tortured with this ban, you’d better be the one to cook.”

“Deal,” you said, walking into the kitchen, still smiling. You could hear him mumbling exaggeratedly about the cruelty of your ban as he followed you.

As you began to gather the ingredients for spaghetti, Lando leaned against the counter, watching you with a fond expression that made your heart race. “You know,” he said, “I can’t believe you actually put a ban on kissing. It’s like trying to stop a wildfire with a bucket of water.”

“I just want to enjoy our time together without feeling like I’m constantly on guard against your lips,” you replied, trying to stay focused on the task at hand.

“On guard? You make it sound like I’m some sort of villain, lurking in the shadows, waiting to steal a kiss,” he laughed, and you could see the mischief brewing in his eyes.

You turned to face him, hands on your hips. “You kind of are! Always sneaking up on me when I least expect it.”

His grin widened. “Okay, fair point. But can I at least get a kiss before we start cooking? Just one? A tiny one?”

You shook your head, fighting back a smile. “Nope! That’s against the rules!”

He pouted, an exaggerated look of disappointment crossing his face. “This is torture, and here I thought we could enjoy a peaceful evening together. How can we have peace without kisses?”

“We can enjoy each other’s company! We can talk, laugh, and maybe even—”

“Cook,” he finished, his voice dripping with faux resignation. “Right. The not-kissing evening.”

Despite the ban, the energy between you felt electric, even with the kitchen separating you. You busied yourself with chopping vegetables, trying to ignore the way Lando was still watching you, as if you were the only thing in the world.

Suddenly, he took a step closer, his tone shifting to something more playful. “You know, I’m still going to try to sneak in a kiss, right?”

You glanced up, your heart racing. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, I would! The ban may be in effect, but I’m nothing if not persistent.”

You shook your head, a laugh escaping your lips. “You are impossible!”

“And yet you love me for it.” He leaned against the kitchen island, a smug grin on his face.

“Maybe,” you said, rolling your eyes. “But you might just make me regret this decision.”

“Challenge accepted!” he declared, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

As the evening unfolded, you both settled into a rhythm, laughing and talking as you cooked together. It felt nice, invigorating even, to focus on something other than the usual frenzy of kisses.

You could see the effort Lando was making to respect the ban, though every now and then, he would inch closer to you, his lips parting as if to tease.

When dinner was finally ready, you plated the spaghetti and sat across from each other at the small dining table. As you took your first bite,

Lando leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, a mischievous glint still in his eyes. “I have to say, this is pretty good, but it would be better with a kiss.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You are relentless!”

“It’s a gift,” he said, winking at you. “Just think of me as your charming little devil.”

By the time dessert came around, a rich chocolate cake that you had made for the occasion, the kiss ban had become a playful game between you two.

Lando would swoop in close, pretending to lean in for a kiss, and you would laugh and pull away, your heart racing at the prospect of breaking the ban.

But as the evening wore on and you both sunk into comfortable conversation, you found yourself forgetting about the kiss ban, enjoying his presence more than you thought possible. And despite the kisses you both were missing, the connection felt even more profound.

Eventually, you both settled back on the couch, empty plates pushed aside. Lando pulled you against him, his warmth enveloping you. “Okay, I admit it,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “This wasn’t so bad.”

You smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I agree. Maybe we can keep this up a little longer, at least until we get better at cooking together.”

He chuckled, “So no kisses for the rest of the week?”

“Let’s see how we do,” you replied, your heart fluttering.

Lando paused, his expression turning serious as he looked into your eyes. “But you know, as much as I love our cooking time, I might just have to break that ban. Because even if we can’t kiss, I don’t think I can ever stop wanting to.”

And just like that, the air shifted. The warmth between you felt different now—full of unspoken promises and an electrifying tension that made your pulse quicken.

With a sly smile, he added, “And besides, we both know that one kiss is never enough.”

You laughed, your resolve crumbling as he pulled you closer, and despite the ban, you felt drawn to him.

You laugh, a nervous sound that betrays the flutter in your stomach. “No, Lando,” you tease, a hint of desperation in your tone. “You know the rules.”

He pouts dramatically, his bottom lip jutting out. “But rules are made to be broken, right?”

“Not these rules,” you reply, shaking your head, though your resolve is crumbling under the weight of his gaze.

The air was electric at the paddock, filled with the buzzing excitement of race day. You watched as cars sped around the track, the sound of engines roaring sending adrenaline coursing through your veins.

It was a familiar thrill, one that you had grown to love, but today your attention was focused on someone else entirely—Lando Norris, your boyfriend.

You felt a playful smile creep onto your lips as you caught sight of him in his racing gear, deep in conversation with Oscar Piastri. Lando had always been a charismatic figure, effortlessly charming those around him, but today he looked particularly grumpy.

His brow was furrowed, and every so often, he would steal a glance in your direction, his emerald green eyes narrowing as if he were assessing a challenge.

The ban on kissing had been Oscar's idea, a playful experiment to see how long you could go without stealing a kiss from each other. The previous night, you had both agreed to limit your displays of affection, only allowing cheek kisses.

But as the hours passed, you found yourself relishing in the way Lando's frustration grew with each passing moment. You couldn't help but tease him a little, especially since you had applied a fresh coat of cherry-red lip gloss before leaving your hotel room.

“Why do you keep putting that on?” he had grumbled earlier, eyes glued to your lips as you made a show of smoothing the glossy layer over your mouth.

“Just a little something to brighten my day,” you had replied, your smile as sweet as the gloss itself.

It was hard to suppress your laughter as you saw him trying to sneak in a kiss whenever he thought you were distracted. You caught him several times, his lips almost brushing against yours before you playfully swatted him away.

“Lando, no! You know the rules!” you giggled, feeling slightly bad for how much fun you were having at his expense.

Now, as you walked through the paddock, you could sense Lando's irritation radiating off him in waves. You caught Oscar giving Lando a concerned look, and it made you chuckle softly.

“Why is he mad all of a sudden?” Oscar asked, clearly confused, as Lando shot him a pointed glare.

“Oh, nothing,” you said innocently, crossing your arms and feigning ignorance. “He’s just mad that you suggested a kiss ban.”

Oscar blinked a few times, and then a mischievous grin spread across his face. “Serves him right for traumatizing me for so long,” he replied, clearly enjoying the banter.

Lando rolled his eyes dramatically, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward as if he were fighting a smile. “You guys are hilarious,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Really, I’m just having the time of my life.”

You felt a pang of guilt at his obvious frustration, but the way his eyes sparkled with annoyance made it hard to take him seriously. It was cute how he managed to look both adorable and sulky at the same time.

“C’mon, Lando! Lighten up! It’s just a kiss ban,” you teased, leaning closer, knowing full well how that would drive him even more wild. “You’re not really mad, are you?”

“Yes! I am!” he shot back, but the way his voice wavered made it evident that he was only half-serious.

“You know you love it,” you replied, your voice softening a little. “It’s like a game.”

“More like a punishment,” he huffed, crossing his arms tightly across his chest as if he were warding off a chill.

“Let me ask you this—what’s the worst that could happen?” you challenged, relishing the chance to push his buttons just a little more.

“The worst? I could explode from all the pent-up affection,” he shot back, his expression playful yet pained. “Or, I could just look at your lips all day and die of frustration!”

“Drama queen!” you laughed, clearly enjoying the effect you had on him.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, but the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

Oscar, who had been quietly observing the back-and-forth, couldn’t help but chime in again. “So, you’re telling me that if I suggested a kiss ban for you two, Lando would actually listen?”

“Oh, he’s definitely listening,” you replied, suppressing another laugh as you saw Lando squirm.

He rolled his eyes dramatically but couldn’t hide the glimmer of amusement in his gaze. “A kiss ban? Really? What’s next, a no-hug policy?” His tone was light, but you could see that he was slightly intrigued.

“You know how competitive you can get,” you said, your tone playful yet sincere. “I thought it might be fun to see if you can keep your lips to yourself for an entire week.”

“Challenge accepted,” he said with mock seriousness, crossing his arms defiantly.

Oscar chuckled. “Good luck with that, Lando. I’ll be impressed if you manage it.”

“Please,” Lando retorted, feigning confidence. “I could go a month without kissing her if I wanted to.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a laugh. “Oh really? Is that a promise or a threat?”

He stepped closer, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let’s just say it’s a motivational tactic. No kisses means more energy for the track. I’m going to be unbeatable.”

You pretended to think for a moment, placing a finger on your chin. “Or you could just use the energy you gain from kissing me. That might work too.”

Oscar, who had been quietly observing the back-and-forth, couldn’t help but chime in again. “I don’t know, it sounds like a pretty solid strategy, Lando. Maybe you should reconsider this kiss ban.”

“Please,” Lando replied, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m fine. I’m focused. Kisses are overrated.”

You smirked, enjoying the banter. “Sure they are. Keep telling yourself that.”

Just then, Lando's team principal called him into a meeting. He glanced back at you, a slight frown on his face. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t go forgetting how much you’ll miss me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied, trying to sound indifferent, though your heart raced.

As Lando walked away, Oscar turned to you, shaking his head with a smile. “You’re really going to keep him like this the whole week?”

“Absolutely,” you replied confidently. “Consider it an experiment.”

“I’ll be curious to see how it goes. You might just find out that he’s a lot more disciplined than he looks.”

“Right,” you said with a scoff, leaning against the wall. “He’s as disciplined as a puppy in a room full of chew toys.”

Oscar laughed, then said, “Well, I have to run. I’m meeting my girlfriend. Just try and keep him like this the whole week, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best,” you promised, waving goodbye as he walked away.

With a determined grin, you headed back to the hospitality suite, a perfect plan forming in your mind. Lando was competitive, and if you challenged him like this, he would rise to the occasion.

By day three, it was a different story. The ban became a tangible presence in the room, and Lando was unmistakably more restless, his eyes often drifting to your lips.

You couldn’t help but smirk at his struggle, fully aware of how the ban was eating at him.

Lando lay sprawled on the couch, his head resting on your lap, looking up at you with those playful eyes that were now filled with a hint of desperation.

“You know, I could break the ban if you’re just addicted to kissing,” you said, running your fingers through his hair, relishing the way he sighed contentedly at your touch.

“Not a chance,” he replied, his voice low, eyes narrowing with playful determination. “Nope, I’ll win this challenge.”

“Are you sure? Because I feel like you’re going to kiss me now,” you teased, leaning in slightly, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, your lips tantalizingly close.

Lando’s gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips, and you could see the battle raging within him. “If you keep doing that, I might lose my mind,” he murmured, his voice thick with longing.

“Good! That’s the idea,” you said, biting your lip, thoroughly enjoying this little game.

“Seriously, though,” he said, sitting up and shifting closer, “you’re being cruel. I didn’t think you were capable of this level of torture.”

You laughed, a sound that echoed through the room, and you shifted away slightly, just to watch his expression shift from determination to pure yearning. “I’m just testing your willpower, my love. Think of it as a character-building exercise.”

“A character-building exercise? I’m going to come out of this a complete wreck,” he retorted, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the couch, trying to appear indifferent.

You smirked. “You have no idea how much fun I’m having right now.”

“Just wait until I find a way to get you to kiss me,” he said, his voice dripping with playful confidence.

“Oh, please. You think you can outsmart me?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Lando leaned forward, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Just watch me.”

And so the days rolled on. Each moment was a delightful mix of tension and playful banter. You found yourself glancing at Lando more often, his lips pulling you in like a moth to a flame.

You reveled in the way he tried to distract you, often resorting to exaggerated stories about his day or silly impressions that made you laugh until your sides hurt.

But all the while, his eyes would betray him, flickering down to your lips, his desire barely contained.

On the morning of the fourth day, the atmosphere had shifted. Lando entered the kitchen, his usual buoyancy replaced by a grumpy pout. “This ban is ridiculous,” he grumbled, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

You looked up from your spot at the table, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. “What’s wrong? Can’t handle the heat?”

“I think I’m going to combust if I don’t kiss you soon,” he replied, his voice laced with frustration as he leaned against the counter, looking positively adorable in his grumpiness.

“Ah, but that’s the challenge, isn’t it?” you teased, savoring the power of the moment.

“Challenge or torture?” he shot back, running a hand through his messy hair. “Because I’m starting to think it’s the latter.”

“Keep it up, and you might get a reward,” you said, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Reward?” he echoed, his interest piqued. “What kind of reward?”

You stood up, moving closer to him, your heart racing as you sensed his breath hitch in response. “A kiss, of course,” you whispered, inching even closer.

He leaned in, eyes darkening with longing. “You’re such a tease,” he breathed, his lips almost brushing against yours.

“Maybe I am,” you admitted, your pulse quickening as the distance between you closed. “But you love it.”

“I hate it,” he said, but you could see the cracks forming in his resolve. “Okay, I hate that I love it.”

And then he was right there, his lips hovering tantalizingly close, and you knew the kiss ban was on the verge of breaking.

“Just one little kiss,” he urged, his voice low and pleading, a hint of desperation coloring his tone.

You felt your resolve crumbling, but you couldn’t let him win so easily. “No, not yet,” you said, stepping back, savoring the way his eyes widened in disbelief.

“Why do you do this to me?” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in mock frustration. “You’re driving me insane!”

You laughed, a melodic sound that echoed in the kitchen. “That’s the point, love. Remember, this is about restraint!”

With a dramatic sigh, Lando rolled his eyes, but you could see the challenge in his smile. “Fine. I’ll hold out. But you’d better prepare for the consequences of this little ban once it’s over.”

“Oh? And what are the consequences?” you asked, feigning innocence.

He stepped closer again, his gaze locked onto yours, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I’ll make you regret every single second you made me wait. Trust me; it’ll be worth it.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt the thrill of anticipation surge through you. “I’m looking forward to it,” you said, your heart racing.

The days stretched on, each filled with the electricity of desire, laughter, and playful banter, but also with the sweet ache of longing.

You knew that the end of the kiss ban was near, and the tension between you was growing thicker with each passing moment.

You had managed to keep it up for a week, but now, as the sun peeked through the clouds on race day, the ban was set to lift. You had concocted a plan to reward Lando after his race if he performed well.

Little did he know, it was the last day of the kiss ban, and you were ready to make it worth the wait.

The moment you stepped into the paddock, hand in hand with him, you felt a surge of excitement. Lando was starting in pole position today, and you could tell he was nervous.

He had that familiar furrow in his brow, his eyes darting around, and you couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked when he was deep in thought.

“Don’t worry,” you said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be fine. Just remember to breathe. And if you do really good, you might get something you’ve wanted,” you added, trying to keep your gaze forward as you teased him.

Lando stopped in his tracks, turning to you with wide eyes. “Really?” he muttered, disbelief lacing his voice.

You nodded, a mischievous grin spreading across your lips. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

As you walked into his garage, the tension was palpable. Lando’s team members were bustling about, making final adjustments to his car, while you took a moment to admire the way he carried himself, radiating determination and focus.

But you weren’t going to let him off easy. You had chosen a dress today that hugged your curves perfectly, knowing it would drive him wild.

“Hey,” you said, leaning against the garage wall, your dress swirling around your legs. “You know, I’ve always thought pole position looked good on you.”

He shot you a sidelong glance, a hint of a smile breaking through his serious facade. “And I’ve always thought that dress looks even better on you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you playfully rolled your eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Norris.”

“Come on!” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You know I can’t resist a compliment.”

The race was getting closer, and Lando’s focus sharpened. You knew he needed to concentrate, but you couldn't help but want to poke a little fun at him.

Every time he leaned in to give you a kiss, you’d push him away playfully, teasingly. He’d groan in frustration, and the sound sent shivers down your spine.

“You know, if you want to kiss me, you could just ask,” you said, pretending to ponder deeply.

“I’m trying to be a good boyfriend here!” he huffed, running a hand through his hair, making it even more tousled. “But it’s hard when you keep pushing me away!”

“Maybe I like watching you squirm,” you teased, stepping closer just to see the way his eyes darkened with desire. “Aren’t you the one who said patience is a virtue?”

“Not when it comes to you!” he exclaimed, leaning in again, but this time you sidestepped him, letting out a laugh that echoed through the garage.

“Focus on the race!” you instructed, trying to catch your breath from giggling. “I want to see you win, remember?”

“Right,” he said, eyes narrowing playfully. “Just you wait. After I win this race, I’m going to claim that kiss whether you like it or not.”

You smirked, knowing that he was already thinking about the celebration. “Big talk for someone who still needs to get through the race. Now go on, do your thing!”

With that, Lando stepped into the car, the world around him fading as he prepared for the race. You took your position on the sidelines, heart racing as the engines roared to life.

You could see the determination etched on his face through the visor, and you couldn’t help but cheer him on, your heart swelling with pride.

As the race unfolded, every turn and pit stop was a thrill. Lando maneuvered through the track with skill, your voice mingling with the cheers of the crowd as you called out his name, urging him on.

Every lap that went by, you felt the tension build—not just for the race, but for what awaited you both afterward.

When the checkered flag waved, and Lando crossed the finish line first, a scream of excitement escaped your lips. The crowd erupted into cheers, and Lando’s team surrounded him in jubilation.

He climbed out of the car, his face flushed with adrenaline and happiness, but you noticed something else in his eyes—an eagerness that had been brewing all day.

He spotted you among the crowd and sprinted over, pulling you into a tight embrace, his excitement wrapping around you like a warm blanket. “I did it!” he exclaimed, breathless and grinning.

“I knew you could!” you cheered, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “You were amazing!”

“Now, about that reward…” he said, his voice low and teasing, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You laughed, a sound that mingled with the cheering crowd. “I suppose I owe you something for your incredible performance.”

His smile widened, and you could see the flicker of hope in his gaze. “So, are you saying the kiss ban is officially over?”

You nodded, feeling a wave of anticipation wash over you. The moment felt electric, charged with the unspoken promise of what was to come.

“Good, because I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he said, taking a step closer, the crowd fading into a blur around you.

With a teasing glint in his eye, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his. The kiss was intense and fiery, expressing raw desire and strong emotion, as if all the days of restraint melted away in that one shared moment.

When you pulled back, breathless, he grinned down at you, his gaze unwavering.

“There’s more where that came from,” he said, voice laced with a hint of playful challenge.

Before you could respond, he had to leave you to celebrate with his team, ready to bask in the glory of his victory. As he walked away, you could still feel the heat of his kiss lingering on your lips, a sweet reminder of the moment.

You watched him interact with his team, the way they lifted him in excitement, the way they all celebrated together.

You felt proud, not just of his victory on the track but of the man he was—the kind, passionate, and fiercely dedicated individual you had fallen for.

You lean against the wall of Lando's driver room, the scent of motor oil and sweat mingling in the air, a stark reminder of the adrenaline that pulsed through the circuit just hours earlier.

You glance at your phone for the umpteenth time, the clock ticking slowly, each passing minute amplifying your anticipation and the thrill of waiting.

Finally, the door creaks open, and you straighten up, a smile breaking across your face. "Congratulations, champ!" you exclaim, clapping your hands together. The thrill of his victory races through you like the engines outside.

Lando steps in, still clad in his race suit, sweat glistening on his brow, his eyes bright with triumph. But instead of the celebratory embrace you expect, he surprises you by quietly locking the door behind him.

In an instant, he crosses the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours, hard and urgent.

Your breath hitches as you lean into him, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer against the wall. It feels like the entire world outside has faded away, leaving just the two of you in this charged moment, hearts pounding in sync.

But just as quickly as he kissed you, he pulls away, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “What if I want a kiss ban, love? I want to tease you too.” His grin is too wide, stupid and cocky and beautiful.

“Lando, please,” you beg, aware of how desperate your voice sounds. The kiss ban affects you as much as it affects him; you’ve tried not to show it, but the tension is electric, and every moment apart feels agonizing.

He laughs softly, a sound that resonates in the small room, yet his eyes twinkle with mischief. “Okay, okay.” He leans closer, brushing his lips against yours again, but stopping just short, leaving you longing for more.

“Stop teasing me!” you complain, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “I thought the kiss ban was supposed to be fun, but it’s just torture.”

“Isn’t that the point?” he counters, his voice low and playful. His fingers trail along your bare skin, igniting tiny sparks wherever they touch. You shiver at the contact, unable to suppress a soft moan.

“Lando,” you whine, your hands finding their way into his soft hair, pulling him closer as if that might close the distance between your lips.

His breath quickens, and you can see the effect you have on him—his eyes darkening, his focus entirely on you. “Okay, I’ll give you a little something,” he murmurs, lips nibbling at yours, teasing but never fully committing.

You can feel the weight of the moment building, an undeniable tension that thrums through you both.

“More, please,” you plead, leaning into him. “You can’t just do this and not follow through.”

He chuckles, and the sound sends a thrill down your spine. “And what if I don’t want to? What if I want to see just how far I can push you?” His teasing words only heighten the desire coursing through you.

“Is that really what you want?” you ask, biting your lip. “To make me crazy?”

“Absolutely,” he says, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re far too serious sometimes. This is just a bit of fun, love.”

“Fun? This is more like torture,” you respond, rolling your eyes playfully but unable to hide the smile creeping onto your lips.

“Ah, but isn’t it thrilling? The way you’re practically trembling for me right now? I could get used to this,” he replies, leaning in just enough to brush his lips against yours once more.

Your heart races, and you let out a soft moan, eyes fluttering shut as you lean into the touch. You want more—need more. “Lando,” you breathe, feeling utterly exposed yet exhilarated. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he replies, his voice a low whisper as he continues to tease you, brushing his lips against your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw. “But you love it.”

“Maybe I do,” you admit, arching your neck, giving him more access as you melt against the wall. Your skin tingles where he touches you, and every brush of his lips sends shivers racing through you.

He pulls back slightly, his breath mingling with yours, and the moment feels electric. “I love how you crave me, how you can’t get enough,” he says, his gaze intense, searching yours for the truth in your confession.

“Lando…” you whisper, unable to contain the longing in your voice.

“Shh,” he hushes, finally closing the distance and kissing you deeply. The world melts away once more, and you lose yourself in the warmth and passion of his lips.

His hands move to your back, holding you tightly as you both surrender to the kiss, hearts racing, breath mingling, bodies pressing together in the warmth of the moment. . . .

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knavesflames · 2 days ago

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Arlecchino’s Christmas Gift

Hello omg sorry for not posting I’ve been crashing out in terms of physical health (yes yes, I’m sick again, yay me!!)

Anyway, a little Christmas present for you all. Apologies if the standard is not Normal, but it will be soon.

Word count: 1497

Contents: soft Arlecchino, bottom!Arlecchino, fingering

Nsft utc<3

Christmas is a busy time for the House of the Hearth. With God knows how many children, Arlecchino works hard to make sure they all have a lovely day. Barbecues are out of the question, the snowflakes sticking to the ground a definite rejection of yet another barbecue. Instead, she opts for cooking a huge feast (or rather, you cook, she tells you to stop adding seasoning).

Watching the children eat and open the gifts she’s spent too much mora on, you can see that her eyes have softened significantly, even if her smile is small and barely there. “I don’t want gifts,” she’ll mutter when you ask her what she wants, she does it every year. “Gifts are unnecessary and superficial. The children receive them because they are children.”

You think she says this because she doesn’t know how to receive gifts. The House of the Hearth before was.. unkind, to say the least. The poor woman has been so busy, she’s barely had time to think about herself (you wonder if that’s the point), you know very well that the children are her priority, always. You, too. She’s made it abundantly clear multiple times to multiple times that it’s you and the children who come first.

When you see her sigh and wipe her forehead in slight frustration, you start to get an idea of what you can give her. Something she wouldn’t deem superficial, something she looks like she needs. And of course, when you excuse yourself early with the claim that you’re ’so tired’ and ‘the day has been exhausting’, she lets you leave with a soft kiss on your forehead and a murmur of affection. You don’t go to sleep, though, no. You wait until you hear the children leave the main dining hall and shuffle to their rooms to sleep before you start putting your plan in motion. You know she won’t go to bed for a little bit, she never does.

You waste no time in making yourself her gift. Putting on the lingerie you know she adores, dimming the lights and putting the small box of.. objects, by the bed, you position yourself comfortably. With clumsy movements, you manage to tie the ribbon around your wrists the way she’s done to you so many times. You admit it’s difficult, doing it with one working hand, but you get it done well enough. Then, what else is there to do but wait? The whole idea is for her to feel better and have whatever relief she desires, but you can’t help but feel excitement bubbling inside of you with every second that passes. She doesn’t feel good unless you feel good. That became obvious when she couldn’t cum until you were just as desperate as she was.

You let out a small breath when you finally hear her soft footsteps, and you’re trying to picture her reaction in your head. For some reason, you suddenly become nervous— what if she just wants to go to bed, or what if she just hates the idea? The ideas run through your head until—

“My dear?”

Your thoughts are cut short when your eyes snap to her. She looks a little shocked, her lips parted slightly, and her eyes scanning you, but she doesn’t seem repulsed or uninterested.

“Merry Christmas. You dislike gifts because they’re superficial, but I’m not, am I?”

Arlecchino swallows, her throat suddenly dry. You’ve always been the thing that gets her to react the most, both of you know that. Her words falter for a second before she manages to murmur.

“No, no you are not,” taking a step forward, then another, her hand reaching out to graze your skin gently. “Archons, look at you. You’re beautiful. All wrapped up, too.”

You smile sweetly at her, all worries dissipating at the look on her face. For someone as ruthless as her, she certainly softens up when you’re around, her touch gentle and her words quiet.

“How long did that take you? Wrapping oneself with one hand is a difficult task, no?”

“It took a while. Worth it to see your face. You can undo it if you want, or you can keep them like this.”

“Stay like that.”

“Okay.” Your own words are a whisper, and you continue to smile softly up at her. Her hands are delicate when they move over your skin, nails gently scratching in the places she knows makes you shiver.

“You wore my favourite.”

“For you.”

“You’re too good to me.” A breath, barely a whisper, but it’s heard nonetheless. It was only for you to hear anyway. She leans down, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips until you return the kiss, letting her tongue meet yours with a soft sigh. You go to wrap your arms around her, before remembering that you have, in fact, tied yourself up. You think you feel her smile slightly into the kiss before her hand wraps firmly around your binded wrists.

Her kisses move downwards, sucking gently at the pulse point of your neck to feel you shiver. She seems to enjoy doing that, working you up only to make you wait. But, as promised, it’s her turn tonight, so you don’t complain. When she’s satisfied that your hands will stay in place and won’t struggle to get out of the ribbon restraints, her hand moves, fingers ghosting the hem of your underwear before slowly pulling it down. You help her, lifting your hips and stretching your legs so they’ll come off as quickly as possible. When they do come off, landing on the floor with a quiet noise, she leans on the bed, knee parting your legs.

Arlecchino grumbles when she realises she’s still fully clothed, and you think you see her hands trembling as she quickly fumbles to unbutton every single button she has and shed the fabric. She returns to her place soon after, her bare skin warmer than flames against yours. Her knee resumes its actions, pushing your legs apart until it meets your core, already aching. You gasp, and she relishes in the sound. She does the movement again before stopping. Digits move swiftly in finally unwrapping the ribbon around your wrists, tossing it to the side.

“I need you,” Arlecchino mutters, almost like she’s embarrassed. “I need you. Please.”

“How?” Although you enjoy occasionally being dominant, you can’t bring yourself to tonight. The poor woman has been so stressed, and this is her gift, after all.

“You know how.”

“Fingers or tongue, Peruere?”

She gasps at the usage of her actual name, her movements of her hands caressing each part of your body she can reach before she manages to speak.

“Fingers. Please.”

So, you waste no time in letting your own hand slip between her legs, moving until you find her clit. You give it a few experimental rubs, finding a rhythm she seems to enjoy before letting your lips land on her neck. You’d tease her for the quiet gasps she lets out, or for the way your fingers slide so easily into her, but you don’t think you have it in you, especially not when her hips start rocking into your hand with a rhythm so messy it’s almost pathetic, in an affectionate way. But she’s getting impatient and frustrated, and she can’t chase what she wants so badly with the rhythm she has.

You let her try for a bit longer, but the small whine that escapes her usually quiet mouth almost makes you feel bad. So, your free hand moves to her hip, gently stopping her before guiding her into a rhythm that causes all sounds to cease— only out of pure pleasure, her mouth hanging open and her eyes, usually so piercing, squeezed shut.

“It’s good?” You hum, struggling to contain the small giggle at the sight of her as needy as she is now.

“Quite.” Comes the only strained reply before her head buries back into your neck. She’s close, you can tell that much by the way she clenches around your curling fingers again and again.

“Are you going to cum for me, Peruere?”

“Yes, for you, yes.” She rasps out. It’s a struggle for her to get out any words at all by this point, and anything she does get out is less than coherent. Then her body tenses, she lets out a sound you know all too well— a mix of a grunt, groan and a whimper all in one, before she collapses onto you, her legs shaking.

You mumble sweet praises into her ear, stroking her now tousled hair until she regains her breath and stops trembling.

“Merry Christmas.” You chuckle, kissing her shoulder.

“That.. may have been the best gift I have ever had. My birthday is in August, if you’re curious.”

She’s being silly, you know that much, but you have one too many ideas to let them fizzle out now.

176 notes · View notes

muniimyg · 2 days ago

Text

♡ 01: baby, i'm a dog

series m.list // taglist

note: welcome to part 1 !!! this fic is def a diff vibe ,, kinda chill and jus sad LOL … tbh if i hate it i’ll jus edit it as a one shot cos #yolo #idc but also…. i fear this jk is a vibe

the cabin's front door slams shut behind jungkook.

his laughter spills into the cold air as he jogs to his car, tossing the keys to taehyung mid-stride.

the hoseok and nam joon had roped him into a last-minute supply run—apparently, they underestimated just how much beer and snacks a group this size could burn through in one night. the crunch of snow under his boots and the slap of wind against his face brought a sharp clarity, a brief reprieve from the weight he'd felt the entire drive up here.

he works nonstop all year… he only gets a few days of vacation. yet, this is how he spends his precious leisure days.

a part of him is still trying to figure out why he even came.

"think fast, shithead!" taehyung called, tossing the keys back.

jungkook catches them effortlessly, smirking as he spins them around his finger.

as he opens his mouth to make a comeback, the sound of tires crunching over ice makes his chest go tight. instantly, he recognizes that it’s yoongi’s girlfriend’s car—but something about the way it’s driven pulls him further into himself.

jungkook is a car guy.

he’s the car guy and knowing cars means knowing the people behind the wheel.

the way they park, the way they brake, even the rhythm of their turns.

and this car?

it parks too carefully, too smoothly.

it’s muscle memory that makes him stand straighter, his heart stumbling over itself. because he knows exactly whose hands are gripping the wheel before he even sees your face.

taking a few steps back, he watches as the suv rolls into the driveway, something heavy settling in his chest.

the sound of the car door opening snaps him out of his daze.

and it all suddenly feels like a fever dream.

with the snow falling slowly and the way his heart skips a beat—you step out and completely stop his world.

you’re bundled in a cream puffer jacket and your cheeks flushed from the cold…

and you smile at him.

like, really smile at him.

and jungkook thinks to himself;

fuck.

you’re still so pretty.

so fucking pretty.

then, his mind blanks.

he doesn’t know how to move, doesn’t even know how to breathe. all he can do is stare.

“jungkook!”

before he can even respond, you’re walking toward him, arms open.

he freezes when you hug him.

it’s not long—just enough to share a little warmth—but it’s enough to knock the air clean out of his lungs.

three years.

it’s been three years since he’s seen you, and now you’re here, wrapping him in a moment that feels too easy for all the time that’s passed.

is... is this easy for you?

because he can't breathe right now.

“i convinced her to come last minute,” yoongi’s girlfriend, mei, says. she’s practically bouncing with excitement. “the weather grounded her flight, and i told her it’d be way better to spend a few days with us than to sit around waiting.”

you pull back from jungkook and smile up at him like it’s nothing.

like he hasn’t been caught in the shockwave of your presence.

like you aren't the love of his life.

“figured it’d be fun,” you say lightly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. you glance around and squeal at the sight of your old friendgroup. “plus, i missed you guys.”

the others swarm in, laughing and throwing their arms around you, saying how long it’s been. jungkook hangs back, struggling to keep up with the reality in front of him. this wasn’t how he thought this trip was going to go.

as jin and yoongi haul your bags toward the cabin, you turn back to jungkook. your shoulder bumps against his as you tilt your head.

“is it okay that i’m here?”

he blinks at you.

“why wouldn’t it be?”

your shrug and look around. “nam joon’s your friend. this is his family cabin… i’m just your—“

“it’s fine,” he interrupts you.

silence.

then, you break it with a question and your signature soft tone.

“did i surprise you?”

jungkook nods stiffly, words caught in his throat.

"good."

... is all you say before you’re gone, following the others into the cabin, leaving him standing in the cold.

it takes a second, but his feet move on their own, trailing after you without a second thought. like a dog, he thinks, tail wagging behind its owner.

his hands clench into fists at his sides as he walks, the cold biting at his skin through his jacket.

you're here.

you're actually here.

they have invited you over and over again to friendgroup trips and you've only attended a handful of times. take note that those specific times were the ones where jungkook had rsvp'd no.

so this...

this?

this is completely beyond him.

you... in the flesh feels like some cruel cosmic joke to him. the kind of joke where the punchline cuts deep and leaves a scar.

three years.

three fucking years of trying not to think about you, of convincing himself he’d moved on.

three years of pretending he didn’t still see you in every corner of his life. he told himself he'd be ready for this moment if it ever came—that he'd have the right words, the right attitude, anything but the mess of disbelief and guilt twisting in his chest right now.

but here you are, running into his arms like none of it matters. like the years apart haven’t clawed at him the way they clearly didn’t claw at you.

he knows he shouldn’t be surprised.

you always were good at carrying things with grace, even when he was busy breaking them—breaking you.

a part of him feels bitter. he wishes you had a mean bone in your body. perhaps, he'd feel better... but you don't and all he's can think about is how good you smell.

“what the fuck," jungkook mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face as he steps into the cabin.

the warmth inside doesn’t reach him.

not really.

his heart is still somewhere out there in the cold, stuck in that driveway where you looked at him like nothing’s changed.

like he’s still someone worth smiling at.

as you get settled, jungkook and taehyung excuse themselves again and leave for their little grocery run.

when they come back, an hour later—the plastic grocery bags cutting into his fingers as he kicks the snow off his boots.

laughter drifts from the kitchen, light and easy, mingling with the clatter of pots and pans. the scent of something savory hangs in the air, and for a moment, he lets it lull him, the warmth easing the tension in his shoulders.

“finally,” yoongi groans, swooping in to grab some bags from jungkook. “we thought you guys got lost or something.”

“tae couldn’t decide between doritos and cheetos,” jungkook mutters, rolling his eyes as he shrugs off his coat. “turns out we needed both.”

“damn right we did,” taehyung calls from behind him, slamming the door shut with his foot.

jungkook lets their banter fade into the background, his eyes instinctively drawn toward the kitchen.

you’re there.

standing near the counter, sleeves rolled up as you stir something in a pot. your hair’s pulled back, a few loose strands framing your face. you’re laughing at something yoongi’s girlfriend says, your hands moving gracefully as you gesture, completely at ease.

the view of you is so clear, yet so vivid in his memory.

it makes his heart ache.

it’s like you’ve always been here, laughing, stirring pots, and looking so effortlessly beautiful it makes his chest ache.

like he’s coming home to you again.

“earth to jungkook?” jimin snaps his fingers in front of his face, smirking when jungkook blinks, caught. “you good?”

“yeah.” the word comes out too sharp, and he clears his throat, shrugging past jimin. “just gonna change.”

he doesn’t wait for a response and heads upstairs. the weight in his chest grows heavier with every step, a knot tightening in his stomach. when he reaches his room and pushes the door open, he freezes.

his bags aren’t where he left them.

instead, a collection of white baggage are stacked neatly in the corner. irritation flares, but it’s quickly doused by confusion—and a sinking realization.

“jungkook?” your voice calls softly from behind him, and he turns to see you at the top of the stairs, slightly out of breath.

you’re holding onto the banister, your other hand fiddling with the hem of your sweater. the soft fabric brushes your fingers as you glance at him, your expression tentative.

“the girls—um—mei, bria, and the others—they thought it’d be better if we moved your stuff,” you say, stepping closer. your voice is calm, and measured, but there’s a nervous energy in the way your eyes dart toward his. “i told them it wasn’t necessary, but they figured it’d be easier if... well, you know.”

jungkook leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.

“so you’re gonna take my room?”

“it was our room for three years.”

“it’s been three years.”

“that’s true,” you hesitate, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “they put your stuff in jimin’s room. but i was just coming up to say, i can totally switch and room with joon’s girlfriend and make joon and jimin room together. i mean, it’d be a good chance to bond—”

“take the room.” his voice cuts through your rambling, low and firm.

your eyes widen slightly.

“are you sure? i really don’t mind—”

“yeah,” he says, shrugging. “the only other option would be to share it with me… so…”

you pause, a laugh bubbling out before you can stop it.

“that’d be crazy, right?”

something flickers across his face, too quick for you to catch. then, he straightens, his expression calm but his words heavy.

“would it be though?”

the question hangs in the air, your laughter fading as his gaze lingers on you. his tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s something beneath it—something you can’t quite name.

you look away, brushing your hand over the doorframe as if needing something to ground you.

“thanks, jungkook,” you say softly, the words carrying a warmth that feels too intimate. “i appreciate it.”

but before you turn, your hand reaches out, ruffling his hair in that way you used to when you thought he was being ridiculous.

his breath catches, and he doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink as your fingertips graze his scalp.

then you’re gone, your footsteps fading as you head back downstairs.

jungkook exhales, his head tipping back against the doorframe as he stares at the ceiling. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, the weight in his chest now impossibly heavier.

by the time jungkook come down the stairs, the sound of laughter and chatter filling the space he follows behind you, catching the way the group immediately perks up. all eyes turning toward you both, and jin yells out, "look who finally decided to join the party!"

taehyung grins, his voice too cheerful for someone who clearly has something up his sleeve.

“you two are late to the conversation, so you’re being voluntold to go back to town and grab some oil. we forgot to buy oil.”

jungkook freezes mid-step, his brows furrowing.

“the fuck? i just got back. are you serious?”

you turn and see jungkook’s frustration bubbling up already as he turns to bicker with the guys, his voice rising in playful annoyance. “hyung, you couldn't just... check the damn list? are you fucking serious? i don’t want to go back—”

taehyung laughs, “we were too busy enjoying ourselves. you had fun with me! remember? we got both—”

“fuck that,” jungkook huffs. “i’m not going back—”

“you have to—”

“no, i don’t.”

“jungkook, you’re the youngest too—”

“why does that fucking matter?”

the group chuckles, but jungkook’s not laughing.

you watch jungkook’s face twist with irritation, the way his jaw tightens with every word that’s said. he’s always been like this—quick to snap when he feels cornered. it’s like he can’t stand being told what to do.

he can’t.

god, he really hates being pushed around.

you’ve always known that about him. yet, a part of you feels bad for him.

“no. fuck that.” his voice is sharp, a little louder than it needs to be. “i’m not going back—”

the others try to reason with him even more, but his deflection is clear.

it’s always the same with him, especially when he feels like he's being challenged. you can’t help but shake your head a little, a sigh almost escaping your lips as you glance at the group, waiting for the inevitable back-and-forth.

he’s the youngest, of course. always the youngest. always expected to just follow along, to do things because it’s “his turn” or whatever bullshit they’re using this time.

you feel your own resolve settle, the urge to take control bubbling up before you can stop it. without even thinking, you walk over to taehyung, reach over, and grab the the car keys from his hand.

you do it quickly, not even glancing at anyone else, just deciding in that moment that you’ve had enough of the back-and-forth.

“oil. anything else?” you ask, your tone light, almost too casual, as if this is no big deal.

you hear the group chuckle, but you're not listening to them.

you’re watching jungkook now, his surprise registering only for a second before the annoyance flickers back into his eyes.

he doesn’t have a choice now.

he hates this.

jungkook rolls his eyes, but it's too late—he knows it’s happening now. he snatches the keys back from your hand with a heavy sigh. he doesn’t look at you, but the slight dip in his shoulders gives him away.

he’s still annoyed, but it doesn’t matter.

not if it’s about you.

suddenly, he’s putting his boots on and slams the door. then, the sound of his car engine starting fills the silence. everyone turns to you in disbelief.

“huh," you tilt your head. "i guess he's driving.”

the car ride is silent, the engine purring smoothly beneath you.

jungkook’s car is new (to you, at least) and he drives like he’s trying to put as much distance between himself and the group as possible.

his knuckles are tight around the wheel, and every so often, his eyes flicker to you, then back to the road. you can feel the tension building up again, but neither of you says anything.

the store comes up quick, and you both slip inside. jungkook grabs the oil without a word, and as you stand by the aisle, you notice the carton of oat milk in his hand—your favourite brand too.

you blink.

“they didn’t ask for oat milk.”

he doesn’t look at you as he sets the carton into the basket, but there’s a quiet, almost hesitant shift in his posture.

“yeah. i know.”

you want to say something, anything, but you swallow the words.

it’s just oat milk.

back in the car, you both buckle up in silence, and jungkook starts the engine with a soft grumble. the snow outside is heavier now, falling in thick, swirling sheets, the road barely visible.

the car stalls.

jungkook curses under his breath, his hands working over the wheel like he’s already analyzing what’s wrong. you watch him, knowing he’s not going to admit it, but it’s obvious.

“looks like we’re stuck for a bit,” he mutters. “better wait for the snow to calm down.”

you lean back in your seat, the quiet pressing in. there’s nowhere to go but forward now, and it’s strange, this calm in the middle of nowhere with him beside you, neither of you saying much.

the snow pounds against the windshield. jungkook shifts in his seat, tapping his fingers against the wheel as he watches the storm.

as jungkook stares at the snow pounds against the windshield, you stare at him.

you wait for him to say something.

anything.

but jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes.

his gaze is fixed on the road, his hands tight on the steering wheel. you can feel the distance between you two—the years, the hurt, the things that never got said. the things you did say…

“so,” you start, your voice soft, the words almost hesitant. “how are you?”

jungkook scoffs.

“don’t.”

“don’t what?” you ask. “it’s been a while. i only really see what you’re up to via social media. you opened your own shop, right? i’m so proud of you. i know how long you’ve wanted to do that.”

jungkook nods.

“yeah…” his response is immediate, but detached. “yeah, i mean… it was a lot easier when i got the right clientelle. so yeah, still doing that. luxury car mechanic bullshit. it’s... all right. not much to update you about.” his tone is nonchalant, almost like he doesn’t care, but you know it’s a front. it’s always been easier for him to hide behind that mask of indifference.

“i’m sure there’s something—”

“i fix up cars people can’t even pronounce the names of. not a lot of excitement there. just... polishing up things people break, and making money for it.”

“okay,” you nod, your fingers tracing the edge of your seat. “jungkook, it’s me. don’t underplay this with me.”

he shrugs.

for the first time in three years; you feel it again.

you feel this… sense of anger? annoyance?

hurt.

jungkook is well known in the city.

he's the go-to mechanic for luxury cars—bentleys, ferraris, lambos—if you've got money and a car that needs fixing, you go to him… and while we’re here; let’s brag about it.

jungkook is not just any mechanic; he's the top of the game. he’s the most trusted in the industry, and somehow, he's built a reputation that makes even the richest clients feel like they’re getting something special.

most of them don't know it, but jungkook is lucky—unbelievably lucky.

he didn’t come from money, didn’t grow up with connections or a silver spoon in his mouth. hell, he's still the kind of guy who wears sweat pants and a hoodie to work… but he's got an uncanny knack for fixing cars, his hands working like magic around every engine and every screw. it's a skill that came naturally to him, no effort needed—he was born with it.

and that, somehow, has carried him through life.

the thing is, jungkook knows he's a loser.

a lovable one, sure, but a loser nonetheless.

he might be great with cars, but he's not the type to flaunt his success. his garage is both chaotic and high-end, a mix of organized chaos and state-of-the-art equipment, the kind of place that looks like it’s one bad day away from falling apart, but in reality, it's the most trusted name in the city.

he's rough around the edges, but that's part of his charm. he's got the grit to keep going when things get tough, but he stumbles through life in a way that makes everyone around him laugh—except when it comes to cars.

then, he's all business.

the fact that he's self-made, that he’s built everything from the ground up, doesn’t even fully sink in for him. he never asks for anything. the success just... happened, like it was meant to.

in the same sense, he’s a scumbag.

he’s gotten into trouble before, and he’s made his share of mistakes. but somehow, with the luck he’s got, he always lands on his feet. and that’s why, despite being a mess in every other part of his life, jungkook is the guy you call when your sports car breaks down in the middle of nowhere.

in fact, he’s the guy to be with in the middle of a snowy road.

yet, with all these thoughts… you figure not to push it any further.

the silence stretches again, but this time it’s not quite as awkward. it’s still heavy, though—thick with the things that were never said. and you can feel it, the weight of all that unsaid stuff, but something else creeps in too. a quiet yearning, a reminder of the closeness you once had.

“how’s work for you?”

you clear your throat and chirp up.

“it’s good. great, actually. dior signed me to be their permanent event planner. i got to work with ysl and chanel last year so that was cool… lots of travelling… i don’t know. it’s been… fun. i think i’ve done a lot since...”

“that’s good,” jungkook breathes. “i’m happy for you.”

“really?”

“really.”

you let out a relieved breath.

“you know, i always refer my clients to your shop. truth be told, i found out about your shop through them before you even posted on social media.”

he flicks a glance at you, but it’s fleeting.

“why?” he scoffs, but there’s no real anger behind it, just frustration. “you shouldn’t have…”

you wince slightly, but it’s not a judgment. you get it. you always have. the way he pushes people away, like he’s afraid of being too close to anyone, like caring might break him.

“we were in it together,” you reply, your voice quiet but warm. “life. our careers… everything. just because it didn’t work out between us doesn’t mean i was going to leave it as it was. i couldn’t help it. i thought of you whenever my clients complained about their cars. i thought of you whenever your favourite model drove past me. i thought of you, jungkook. how could i not? we spent three years together… so, don’t do that please. don’t act like the past three years haven’t been good to you… because as much as i could, i tried to send you some good. there was good.”

“okay,” he huffs out a breath, his shoulders tense. he’s quiet for a beat too long, and just when you think he might shut down, he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible. “i appreciate it. all of it.”

“you’re welcome,” you smile.

then, you turn and watch the snow falling heavier now, the world outside becoming more and more a blur.

“you know,” you say, your voice almost teasing, trying to ease the weight of the moment, “your mom calls me on my birthday every year.”

his eyes flick to you again, almost imperceptibly, but it’s there. a flash of something in his eyes. a crack in the cool mask he’s built up.

“sorry,” he apologizes. “i… shit, ___. you know, you’re her favourite.”

“don’t be,” you smile, though there’s a hint of sadness in it. “she’s my favourite too.”

then, he’s quiet again, but this time, there’s a softening to his expression, the edge of defensiveness slipping away.

you let the silence settle again, the two of you wrapped in the quiet of the car and the storm outside. but this time, it feels different. not easy, not perfect. but it feels like maybe—just maybe—this is the first real conversation you’ve had in years.

and that’s enough for now.

the cabin feels smaller when you get back, and the weight of jungkook’s presence only makes it tighter. the group’s immediately apologizing, teasing him about the oil run, their words sharp but light.

“we totally forgot, man,” taehyung says, looking guilty. “guess you guys are our personal delivery service.”

jungkook doesn’t respond, his face already scrunching into an exaggerated grimace as he heads straight to the kitchen to help. you’re unsure if it’s from irritation or just sheer exhaustion.

maybe both, you think as you follow him.

but the moment passes quickly, and you’re both swept back into the warmth of the group’s energy.

it’s dinner time soon after, and the room is buzzing. the conversation is loud, comfortable, with everyone laughing and sharing stories. jungkook and you sit across from each other, the space between you both thick and quiet. your presence seems to be the only thing that pulls him from his usual nonchalance—every time you speak, even the smallest comment, he cracks a smile, almost like he can’t help it.

yoongi catches it first, raising an eyebrow at jungkook.

“what’s up with you, kid? you only smile when ___ talks. what? the rest of us aren’t funny enough for you?” his voice is teasing but his gaze lingers, as if looking for something more.

jungkook rolls his eyes, brushing it off with a half-hearted scoff.

mei, sitting next to yoongi, shakes her head. she nudges you and you laugh it off. then, you lift your face and meet jungkook’s eyes. he offers you a short-lived smile.

you take it.

the jokes keep coming, but the way jungkook’s eyes flick to you each time you speak doesn’t go unnoticed.

it’s subtle, the way his lips curve just a little, how his eyes soften just a fraction whenever you make a joke or offer your thoughts. but it’s enough. the others catch it, too, exchanging glances behind their drinks, a quiet realization settling between them.

after dinner, everyone migrates to the living room, pulling chairs and sofas closer to the fire. taehyung sets up the drinks, jin and hobi are already messing with the fire, adding logs with unnecessary dramatic flair, and namjoon is flipping through a deck of cards.

“we should play charades,” jimin suggests, his voice light as he pours more wine into his glass.

“charades? yeah, we could use some entertainment,” jin agrees, his gaze drifting between the group. “but i’m not going easy on you guys.”

you end up on the same team as jungkook.

when it’s your turn to act out a word, you both fall into an easy rhythm. your gestures are sharp and exaggerated, and jungkook picks up on your cues instantly, his movements smooth and fluid. there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you, the way your eyes meet for half a second before you both act out the next part of the clue.

honestly, it’s like no time has passed since you last did this, and everyone else watches with mild surprise, the chemistry between you two almost palpable.

nam joon and taehyung share an amused glance, their eyes widening slightly, while jin snorts quietly.

“okay, okay, we get it. you two are too good at this,” jimin says, shaking his head with a laugh.

“they’re like a team built for charades,” namjoon mutters, and yoongi, always perceptive, smirks.

“it’s like they can read each other’s minds,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you both. “almost makes me uncomfortable.”

you can feel the weight of their glances, the way they subtly watch every interaction, waiting for something to shift. and when the game finally wraps up, everyone is drunk, laughter louder and voices more relaxed.

conversation moves from silly jokes to more serious topics, the kind that happens when the alcohol hits just right. somehow, everyone feels like they’re safe enough to let their guard down.

hoseok mentions work—how it’s been a mess lately, how nothing seems to be going right, and the conversation shifts into the stress of adulthood, of managing expectations and responsibilities.

“sometimes it feels like i’m drowning in it,” hoseok admits, rubbing his temples. “i mean, we’re doing okay, but god, it’s like every time i take a breath, there’s another problem.”

“sounds about right,” taehyung agrees, sipping his drink. “adulting sucks.”

the conversation flows around you, but then someone cracks a joke, and you reply with your usual snark. jungkook chuckles, and it’s a real, honest laugh, something that sounds familiar, something that feels like the version of him you used to know.

bria, who’s been quiet for most of the night, turns her gaze to jungkook, her eyes flicking between him and you with a raised brow. it’s obvious she’s drunk, so jungkook mentally prepares for the worst.

“jungkook?”

“what do you want?” he sighs. “you’re drunk so choose your words carefully, bria. last time we talked while you were drunk like this, i made you cry for an hour.”

bria rolls her eyes at jungkook.

“guess it’s my turn then,” she inhales deeply. “my turn to make you cry.”

jungkook gulps, but he tries his best to mask his fear.

he knows exactly who she’s gonna target.

“yah, do you think you’re slick or something?” bria asks. “why do you always laugh at ___'s jokes but no one else’s? you look at her and practically salivate. are you a dog? do you like her or something?”

the group goes quiet.

it’s then everyone realizes that it’s bria’s first cabin trip. even yoongi, who’s usually too aloof for moments like this, pauses, his gaze sharp as it flicks between you and jungkook. there’s a tension, thick enough to make your chest tighten, and you feel the eyes of the group on you.

it’s like the breath has been knocked out of the room. bria’s words hang between you and jungkook, heavy and unwelcome.

for a second, no one says anything.

you can feel the heat in your cheeks, the way everything seems to slow down.

your mind races.

“we’re exes.”

bria’s voice cuts through the silence again, softer this time. “oh, shit… fuck, right. yeah. i remember now… i guess it never clicked because i’ve only known you for a few months…”

“yeah,” jimin pulls bria close. he gestures towards the direction of their room. she shakes her head, refusing his obvious cue. “babe, let’s get you to bed—”

“no, wait… just w-wait. you and ___? but you two... are literally perfect for each other. what happened?” bria blurts, her tone genuine and almost searching.

you catch the way jungkook’s body tenses up.

from across the group, you chase for his eyes. they meet for the first time all night and you swear—there’s a flicker of something there.

something soft and promising.

something almost like love, but a lot like loss.

as quickly as you see it, it fades away. so, you offer him a soft smile. then, shake your head slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. it’s a signal.

don’t answer.

but he doesn’t look away.

and then, as if the silence is unbearable, jungkook speaks, his voice low but steady, almost like it’s been waiting to come out for too long.

“i fucked up,” jungkook admits. “i fucked up like everyone said i would.”

#bts fic #bts angst #jungkook exboyfriend #jk exes to lovers #jk e2l #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook boyfriend #jungkook second chance #bts fanfic #bts jk

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tfwbluu · 19 hours ago

Note

what do u think riki’s kinks are

KINKS

pair: ni-ki & f!reader. warnings: dom riki mostly, it’s just descriptive with some lines here and there, we’re talking about kinks so there’s that wc: 0.8K

a/n: i don’t want to be repeating myself from my previous works so let’s do with the ones i haven’t done yet. it’s ok if yall don’t agree with me, these are just my personal opinions !

Toys. He’d love the idea of teasing you with them, maybe fucking a dildo into you or pressing a vibrator against your clit until you were trembling. And if he caught you using them while he was gone? Oh, he’d make sure to turn it into some sort of punishment.

“C’mon, angel,” he taunted, his voice low and teasing as he pressed the vibrator against your clit just enough to make you squirm. His other hand worked the dildo in and out of you at a slow, deliberate pace. “You were fucking yourself on this earlier, couldn’t even wait for me. So now, this is all you get.”

Bondage. He’d definitely be the type to tie you up, relishing the control it gave him. Whether it was your hands bound behind your back or stretched upright, or your legs tied open to keep you completely exposed, he didn’t care as long as you couldn’t stop him from doing exactly what he wanted. He loved the sight of you spread out, helpless to his every touch, unable to hide from the pleasure he gave or the punishment he delivered.

“You’re sensitive?” he’d murmur, a sly grin spreading across his face as he pounded into you relentlessly. “I never imagined you’d be this sensitive, but I love it.”

Size kink. Have you seen his build? He’d absolutely use it to his advantage. His massive hands would engulf yours, his broad frame could easily cover you completely, and no matter your height or build, he’d always make you feel small. Especially when it came to the size of his cock—he’d relish the way it stretched you, the slight bulge it created against your stomach, or how easily he could manhandle you into positions you never thought possible. Greedy and insatiable, he’d do whatever it took to have you just the way he wanted.

“You’re so tiny beneath me, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hand drifted down, caressing the visible bulge in your stomach. “Look at you,” he murmured, his tone low and teasing, “taking my cock so perfectly.”

“Too much?” he’d tease, thrusting in slowly, his grin widening. “But I’m not even fully in yet. Just wrap your legs around me, angel. I know you can take all of me. Wanna be a good girl for me, right?”

Dacryphilia. He probably didn’t even realize it until he saw you like this—your lips stretched around his cock, tears and drool spilling down your face as you took him deeper. The sight drove him wild, something about you spurring him on, sending a rush of heat straight through him. He’d wipe away your tears with his thumb, the motion surprisingly tender, even as his hips kept moving, his voice low and strained.

“F-Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” he’d groan, his head falling back for a moment before his eyes met yours again. “Feels so good, angel. You’re the only one who can make me feel like this, y’know?”

Choking. He loved using his big hands to grip your neck, especially when he was wearing rings. The cold metal pressing against your flushed skin made your head spin. His grip was firm, just enough to leave you breathless, or sometimes he’d use it to hold you up from behind.

Neck grabs, deep grunts, the desperate roll of his hips against yours. “You wanna cum, yeah? Then cum for me, baby,” he growled, his voice heavy with need.

“Haa, tired already?” he mocked, his tongue clicking in feigned disapproval. “Tsk, tsk, tsk... always leaving me to do all the work.” His hand tightened around your neck as he pulled you up, continuing to thrust into you without missing a beat.

Missionary. He’d absolutely thrive on seeing the raw effect he had on you. With his cock buried deep inside you, he’d watch every flicker of pleasure on your face, loving the way your lips parted for soft moans or how your body twitches when he teased your sensitive nipples.

“Look at me, pretty,” he’d murmur, his voice deep and commanding. “I wanna see how good I make you feel.”

Eye contact would be non-negotiable. He needed to see the way your gaze melted with desire, and if you wanted to cum, you’d have to look right at him.

“You’re close?” he’d ask, smirking as he slowed to a torturous pace, drawing a whine from you. You begged him, finally locking your eyes with his.

If you didn’t? He’d slow down, torturously edging you, leaving you trembling, desperate, and on the brink of tears. Only when you finally obeyed, locking your eyes with his, would he give in, pounding into you relentlessly until you were completely undone.

“Eyes open, sweetheart,” he cooed, his thrusts picking up again. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Gonna cum for me now, mhm?”

#( tfwbluu )#enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen smut #enha smut #niki smut #niki x reader #riki smut #riki x reader #ni ki smut #ni ki x reader

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tragedy-of-commons · 3 days ago

Text

HOMECOMING.

── dan heng x gn!reader

summary: Your boyfriend invites you to spend Christmas break with him and his eccentric (but lovable all the same) family. You oblige.

contains: modern and university au, established relationship, comedy and tooth-rotting fluff, christmas shopping, the astral express fam all make appearances (pre-2.7), setting is very american-inspired (sorry), cringefail exuberant reader, one hurt/comfort scene

word count: 11.4k oops

taglist: @singularity-sam, @mitsvriii, @tetrachrxmacy, @bladism, @mikashisus

notes: for @azuresaqua, written for the @/stellaronhvnters secret santa 🎄 this took all month, but i hope you like it crys!! also this totally looks fine on dark mode. if you think otherwise then ummm SHHH. dividers by @/cafekitsune!

Your phone blares with its usual grating ringtone, startling you out of your reverie.

Scrambling to pick the device up, you’re pleasantly surprised. So much so that you drop the sweatshirt in your free hand mid-fold. The caller ID reads Dan Heng, lighting up your homescreen with his contact icon.

A warmth buzzes in your chest as you look it over, a giggle erupting from your throat. The selfie is of you and him, with Dan Heng looking particularly spacey in the midst of the bustling street.

You’re now considerably less bored. You’ve been looking for an excuse to procrastinate doing your laundry all day, and it just so happens to entail talking with your lovely partner. Not waiting any longer, you clear your throat, tap the green accept button, and press the speaker to your ear.

“Hi, darling!” you chirp, shifting to sit more comfortably, “I miss you. How’re you holding up? Still in the library studying the day away?”

The other line crackles with life. “Hello. I feel the same,” Dan Heng informs you matter-of-factly, his cadence clear as a river. “And no, I’m not there anymore. It was… too crowded for my liking.”

That’s no surprise. Finals are upon the whole campus in a few days, and it shows. There is a distinct, depressing atmospheric pressure that weighs upon your fellow students.

The scourge of exams, the final boss of the semester, the enemy of mental fortitude and peace. Though Dan Heng loves your university’s expansive library, you can imagine he’d be less enthralled when a hundred tired young adults are populating it to cram.

“Yeah, I can imagine,” you wince. “Well, look on the bright side. We’re almost done, yeah? Soon enough, the library will be solely your domain once again, and you can be a doll and skim the archives in my stead.”

His voice takes on a sarcastic lilt, affection hidden underneath the words like a hard-won reward. You think it’s an indulgence for him. “If my memory serves correctly, I had to smooth things over with the librarian on your behalf. I don’t think it’s a wise idea for you to loiter there any longer, as energetic as you are.”

How cheeky! Honestly, you’re not even that loud. Sometimes you laugh a little too hard at benign things (like the way some book titles sound out of context), or react too vibrantly at the wrong times (like exclaiming profanities after tripping over your own feet), but those aren’t crimes.

Even now, ruminating over this reasoning, you still don't understand how you got banned from the library. Unreal.

“Hey, come on now! I don’t even loiter… I just want to spend time with you, even if studying isn’t something I burden myself with. That guy has it out for me,” you insist, growing smile threatening to split your face in two. “Anyway, I’m not saying this to be rude, but…”

“But?” Dan Heng asks cautiously.

“You normally don’t call first. Is everything okay?”

You mean it when you ask. Though you love your boyfriend, he isn’t the best at initiating longform communication. Sometimes you’ll get a text with a link to a video he found interesting, or he’ll update you with life (mostly just classes and endless papers), and then you’ll respond by quadruple-texting and then maybe calling him. For hours. And then asking to come over to his dorm. And then falling asleep with him. All at your request, which he doesn’t seem to mind.

That being said, it’s atypical that he takes up the mantle, which makes you worry. And if you worry, Dan Heng feels guilty. Trying not to be patronizing, you patiently wait for him to speak on his own terms, humming to yourself idly. You could, y’know, do your laundry, but you’re not gonna do that. Free will is so cool and awesome.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” he assures, words measured. “I just have something I’d like to run by you, but I didn’t want to interrupt if you were busy.”

“I’m never busy! Spill!” Extremely curious, you pluck your phone from your ear and put Dan Heng on speaker. While you’re at it, you also stand up and pace the short length from your bed to the door of your suite, clothes abandoned on the floor.

“It’s about this winter break. We haven’t conferred on plans yet, but I was planning to ask you if you’d meet my… my family. Of course, it all depends on your availability - don’t feel too rushed to answer, I’d just like to know in advance so I can get things in order on my end.”

Woah, what just happened? You stop walking to think, gears spinning and grinding and pushing all sorts of implications. His family.

Dan Heng has one, yes, he divulges details every once in a while and elaborates on his mishmash of a homelife when you ask, but you’ve never heard him refer to these mystical figures as family. They’ve always been referred to as my friend, followed by their name. You know them well, committing each to memory despite not having met them yet: March, Caelus, Welt, and Himeko.

Of course, you pester your boyfriend about them. Nothing too invasive, just remembering the important details. Asking for updates about March’s creative ventures or inquiring if Himeko’s coffee has gotten any more palatable, to name a few.

In turn, Dan Heng would make a comment about how they also pester him about you. It’s like a big game of telephone - this indirect communication is what you’re used to. It’s kind of surreal to think about actually meeting them after all this time.

Then the joy comes. He wants to share this part of his life with you. Is this the natural next step in your relationship, like all seasoned married couples fondly reflect back on? Dan Heng wants to spend three and half weeks with you, uninterrupted, at home. His home.

Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them away, grinning like an absolute fool. Does he really think you’ll say no? You’d already do anything to make him happy. Despite being several buildings and crosswalks away from him right now, your hearts feel impossibly close together.

(It’s not like you have anything else planned.)

That thought is pushed away as quickly as it comes. No time for you to be bitter when it’s the season of giving and all things cheerful! This opportunity is nothing short of a blessing… you’re saved from being cramped up inside the inevitably deserted hall for the entirety of break. You’re saved from having to admit to Dan Heng that I have nowhere to go and nothing to do like everyone else.

Shock, joy, relief.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, breathy. With a repressed-young-man-trained-ear, you catch a soft sigh of relief dissipating on the other line. “Yes, of course I want to meet them! Dude, this is so exciting! What if I died? What if I blew up the entirety of campus in my merriment? What then?”

He is far too used to your theatrics to react too strongly to them at this point. “...I wouldn’t put it past you. But I’m glad you said yes. There’s just the issue of details to work out.”

Dan Heng proposes different times on different days to leave. Well, he probably went more in depth than that - he likes to schedule and plan for the future, even if he doesn’t always stick to those self-imposed regulations in the end - probably droning on about the cost of gas or something. But you’re way too shell-shocked to respond coherently, muffling squeals and noncommittal hums that give away exactly how much you’re not paying attention.

Digesting about half of the information, you bring up what you have left to do before winter break after he does the same: registration for next semester’s classes, turning in textbooks for certain courses (thank the stars renting is affordable here), and the remaining days riddled with finals.

Despite how daunting these tasks are for others, you find yourself enjoying the denouement. Guessing on scantrons has gotten you pretty far, and the other obligations can be swiftly eliminated through sheer will and lots of Christmas music. Your Spotify listening history must look like some kind of tinsel-festooned warzone.

This will be your first ever Christmas with Dan Heng. He’s never been extremely festive by any means, but you cajoled him into a matching Halloween costume a month ago, and he is fond of horror movies despite how silly they can be, offering little bits of trivia or his critiques on the film’s score.

You think this holiday, spent at his home, in his hometown - will be the source of many happy memories. It’ll also, hopefully, be another endless source of teasing.

Images flit through your mind, the most notable of which being your stoic boyfriend in a truly hideous red and green sweater. You snicker to yourself until your amusement is disturbed by Dan Heng promptly clearing his throat.

He says your name in that soft way that makes you weak in the knees. You’re under his spell just as much as he is under yours. You should take to reminding him of that more often. “Just to be clear, is this alright with you?”

It’s so much more than alright, you think. Winter, for all of its bitter cold and unforgiving responsibilities, still teems with life as the leaves die. For every day you’ve spent alone during the last two Christmases, you’ll be repaid with one in kind spent with Dan Heng and the people he trusts most.

You’re blessed with the sweet thought that you’re now a part of those treasured, trustworthy few as well.

You know you’ve been treasured for a long time, but feeling it actualized, solidified in action, is as homey and warm as a burning hearth.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I am, darling. I’m so excited that I think I’m shaking!”

You tighten your grip on your phone, almost leaving indents in the shitty case, attempting to still your vibrating fingers. His response is a mumble along the lines of you should probably eat something, and I’m glad. Dan Heng can be a little awkward, especially over the phone, but that just speaks of his sincerity. He’s glad you’re coming.

You scuttle over to the window beside your bed, yanking the blinds askew to peek outside. A glimpse of the first frost coating the student parking lot promises something more. Something magical and childlike.

Joy. You have a feeling you’re going to be extremely insufferable to any and all scrooges (people rightfully sick of dealing with your chipper attitude) in the coming days. Oh well, they can suck it up because it’s the most wonderful time of the year, and you’re in love with the most amazing person in the world.

You tell him not to worry, which he sighs at, and then the brunt of the conversation is over. The following silence is calm but electric, dragging on for just the right amount of time. A well-deserved respite, you think.

“I love you,” you confess.

“...I love you too. Touch base soon.”

With that, the call ends abruptly. Your cheeks feel hot and you’re reinvigorated, daydreaming of Dan Heng’s expressions obscured by distance - you want nothing more than to see him, but you know your partner well enough to realize when he needs a break; to realize when he needs his alone time. You would never begrudge him for it.

That was a fucking whirlwind.

You shove your phone in your pocket after nudging the blinds back in place. There’s so much to do, and you’re definitely gonna need another run-down of the schedule (preferably in person), but for now, you’ll let yourself be over the moon and overrun with task paralysis.

Triumphantly, you turn to flip off your abandoned pile of laundry. Free will is so cool and awesome.

“We are so back!”

You’re so impatient that you’ve started counting the hours.

The final stretch is a lot more boring than you thought it was going to be. Picking a time to check out of your dorm, fixing up any scuffs on the walls from your shitty posters before room inspection, actually passing your classes. The normal stuff.

Both you and Dan Heng decided that you would leave at around three in the morning on the first day of break. It sounded bewildering at first, and you had levelled him with a look that made him hurriedly elaborate.

“In order to get there at a reasonable time, it’s the best way to go,” he’d said over coffee. “The drive isn’t more than a few hours, but if we leave right after routine inspection, we’d be arriving in the middle of the night.”

Though the mental image of showing up on a quaint little home’s doorstep in your pajamas and waking up the whole neighborhood with your knocking is funny, it’s not funny enough to quell your nerves.

You’ve noticed, usually in the midst of trying to be productive, that the excitement is weighing heavily on your heart. Your hands are perpetually shaky, you’re sweating disgusting buckets, and you’re sure you look as if you’ve lost your marbles to any soul brave enough to strike up conversation.

That last part came to your attention when Bronya, your desk neighbor in your Interpersonal Communications class, dared ask you if she could borrow a pencil. She barely got the question out before she asked if you were alright. And if Bronya asks you if you’re alright, it means that you must look terrible.

Sure enough, you are getting less and less sleep, and you’ve been prone to twitching. In retrospect, you probably had that wild look in your eye that screamed I am at rock bottom and it’s in the public’s best interest that I’m contained.

But you’re not at rock bottom! You’re just nervous, and it’s weird when you’re nervous, because such an occurrence is as rare as a blue moon. You’re going to be meeting Dan Heng’s family in a matter of days, and you’re expected to behave as a normal, functioning member of society. Unbelievable. Even the love of your life has noticed the difference in your behavior - he seems disturbed but respectful.

You recall him asking if you were ill, which you had vehemently denied. Then he kissed you under the thin covers of his bed, and everything was fine for a moment.

But you think you’re feeling better on this day in particular. To distract yourself from the anxiety, you’ve sunk deeper into the holiday cheer. With Dan Heng at your side, you’ve blown off classes for the day to go gift shopping. The outlet mall near your university is always bustling, but during this time of year, you’d think there’s an overpopulation crisis wreaking havoc on your city.

Escalators are crammed with excited children dragging their parents along, there are decorations painstakingly put up in every nook and cranny, and you have a mission to see through.

“Thanks for ditching to help me out,” you preface. “It’d be way too difficult to shop for your family on my own. Just the idea of stress-buying things they may not even like… ugh. Also, wow! I realized you haven’t told me jack shit about them! I’m actually clueless.”

Dan Heng is not amused, but he doesn’t outright refute your assertion. “I suppose you have a point. And I didn’t ditch class,” he emphasizes, ears red. “Psychology got canceled.”

Here, among the sea of people, Dan Heng looks his least confident. While you, the person known for befriending every stray cat you meet, look your best.

The juxtaposition makes you feel fuzzy, and you know in your heart that he would've helped you anyway, even if he had class. He can be so obvious but so subtle at the same time. You tug on the sleeve of his sweatshirt once, purely affectionate.

“Right. Uh, where do we start? Who’s the easiest to shop for?” you wonder aloud, crossing the stretches of marble and doing your best to peer down the massive store-lined strip. “We could start with March. She’s into crafty stuff, right?”

Your boyfriend tames a cowlick in his dark hair. “Yes. You seem to have a plan figured out already, but she uses up heaps of film while taking photos. An arts and crafts store would likely have the 600 type for her Polaroid. That’s what I had in mind in terms of a gift she’d appreciate.”

“We seem to be on the same page, but that just sounds so… impersonal! Bit of a safe choice, don’t you think? Let’s play it by ear and see what they have. I’m sure she’d also appreciate something handmade. I think I have enough time to DIY a gift; they probably have kits for all sorts of stuff.”

Dan Heng is starting off in the direction of the correct storefront. The display window is easily spotted, plastered with all kinds of paper mache ornaments. “You don’t need to fret. Knowing her, she’ll love anything that comes from you.”

You blink, grinning. “Really? Didn’t know I was so popular.”

“You have no idea,” sighs Dan Heng.

Warmly titled Make n’ Create, the door chimes, signifying your entry. Immediately, you’re assaulted by the smell of candles - a few hundred thousand, you hazard.

Scents of vanilla and evergreen paired with cinnamon burn your nostrils as you survey the aisles of winding shelves overflowing with endless possibilities. Almost forgetting to return the greeting of the woman behind the counter, you snap out of your stupor and drag your boyfriend along.

Everything looks enticing… your savings account is telling you to be responsible, but your heart is telling you to snatch up and squirrel away any item of interest just in case. You wander the marble floor under the bright fluorescents, humming under your breath. “Hey, we can probably save some time and split up. Could you go look for the film? We’ll definitely get that along with whatever catches my eye.”

Relieved to have something to do, Dan Heng nods and disembarks from your side, perilously weaving between other shoppers buzzing with excitement. He mentioned that he deliberately put off Christmas shopping since you insisted on doing it together, the thought alone satisfying.

The prospect of scrawling both of your names on the same box, passed off into eager hands. The words will read From: Dan Heng and his partner.

Rounding a corner, the pottery and ceramics section calls to you like a siren. There are stocks upon stocks of white, unpainted Christmas trees and wreaths, advertised as blank canvases to decorate as your own - paint included. Those are cute, but something relevant year-round would probably be received better.

Impressions, impressions. Your gaze drops lower, dutifully searching…

Aha!

Ceramic jewelry dishes. Same gimmick as the trees and wreaths, but not necessarily seasonal. There are a few different types among the kits - heart-shaped, some with hinges that open and close, even some with music box elements with heftier price tags.

Your intuition slaps you across the face multiple times. March will love one of these, you just know it! Cautious, you spare a shifty glance from left to right before squealing to yourself. The package in your hand is crisp and promising as you check over the price and instructions.

Dan Heng returns to witness your perfect find. You know this because you recognize the soft padding of his footsteps anywhere (which is not creepy). You turn to see him and the fond look in his eye - and the aforementioned packages of film he’s clutching.

“Hey, you,” you chuckle. “You found it, great! Anyway, look what I stumbled upon. Do you think she’ll--” “Yes,” he breathes, suddenly decisive. “She will. Especially the heart one.”

Quickly heeding the ever-rare suggestion from Dan Heng, you discard the now inferior package and seize the heart-shaped one. “I trust your judgment. She has good taste, honestly. Thanks for your help, love, I appreciate it. I know for a fact she likes pink, and though my hands are a little clumsy… I’ll make a masterpiece outta this, trust me.”

He exhales through his nose. That’s a laugh if you’ve ever heard one. “You sound so resolute…”

“Duty-bound, if you will,” you grin. “We can move on to the next place if you’d like. Didn’t expect to be done here so fast.”

“...wait.”

You tilt your head, following his line of sight back to the shelves. He seems transfixed on something else there, and a few seconds go by in silence as you’re left to figure out what it is on your lonesome.

Dan Heng has gotten better at speaking his mind - he was never bad at it, but sometimes words get tangled up in his reticent hesitation. You understand this well. So, you try to determine what’s caught his eye. The understanding you come to is a nice one. The lowest rung of the shelf, almost overshadowed, are more ceramics - no surprise there. But it feels like fate the way that they’re displayed; two sturdy coffee cups with intricate handles, then a miniature raccoon forever inlaid with a devilish expression, practically commanding a paintbrush to make its mischievous grin come to life with color.

Himeko, Welt, Caelus.

You laugh, loud and bright, grabbing your boyfriend’s hand with a conspiratorial grin. “Four birds with one stone, huh? We’re gonna need a cart!”

Dan Heng is blushing. It’s subtle, not at all burning or obvious to any nosy bystanders, but it’s enough to make your heart sing with delight. You take it he’s glad that you picked up on his thoughts so wordlessly.

He excuses himself after muttering something about going to get the cart while you smile like an idiot. A lovestruck idiot. A lovestruck idiot with a soon-to-be overdrawn bank account.

…well, not exactly. After you gather everything and go to check out, he insists on paying for all of it. You make sure to argue with him in front of the very amused cashier, reaching a compromise in no time at all thanks to your amazing negotiation skills. He’ll pay for this load (whatever), and you’ll pay for any remaining splurges today. It’s only natural you need to stop by a few more places, considering March has two gifts while the others only have one.

By the time Dan Heng’s social battery is drained and yours is frayed, you have everything. An apparel outlet that you would’ve never stepped foot in normally now has your patronage; a golden brooch in the shape of a rose (that’s surprisingly affordable) for Himeko, a classy but patterned tie for Welt, and a trendy jacket for Caelus.

You think you’re the most jealous of that last one - it has many pockets and takes up enough space to suffocate a small orphan.

Hauling the bags into the icy parking lot, you suddenly stop in your tracks, feeling the generous weight of your spending in the process. “Hold on.”

Your tired but loving partner heeds your command. “What? Is something the matter?”

“We forgot to shop for each other,” you point out, sheepish and breathy. Seems you’ve both been so caught up in the tradewinds that you forgot. “Should we go back inside?”

“No,” he blurts, “I’ve already acquired your gift.”

Gobsmacked, you almost drop your share of the bags. He’s been holding out on you?! The surprise quickly fades into mushy limerence before it dulls. “Huh? When did you do that? Oh shit, I haven’t gotten you anything yet… dude, I’m sorry, I’ll head back inside, all secret mission-esque and find you something while you wait in the car--”

Dan Heng shakes his head. “You… you don’t have to.”

The hell? Does he even know how Christmas works? “Of course I do, come on,” you push forward. Knowing you’ve already forgotten where you’ve parked, he strides out in front of you and leads the way, preparing to argue his case. “We’ll put these in the back, and I’ll find you an amazing gift, you’ll see.”

You both reach his little beat-up sedan (which you’ve aptly named Granny), while he fumbles for his keys. He sighs, rolling the frigid joints in his shoulders as he opens the driver’s seat to unlock the trunk. Setting the bags down on the gross pavement is unfortunately inevitable. You throw the thing open, already loading.

Dan Heng’s rebuttal is almost startling.

“I don’t need an ‘amazing gift’. I have you.”

You freeze. Where did he pull that from? Are you hallucinating again? Is this like the time you stayed up for two days straight to half-ass a dozen unfinished assignments? Or maybe it’s selective hearing… such a line is probably from an old romcom that you’re mentally regurgitating and then projecting onto him.

But you don’t tease or ask him to repeat it. Instead, you choose to fully believe and embrace that compliment, warming your heart and your cheeks. His expression is obscured from your position, but he probably looks the same.

“I’m… really glad you think so, Dan Heng,” you almost whisper.

Before he can say anything else that’ll ruin the moment, you decide that’s your job! and slam the trunk closed, deafeningly loud.

“But that’s unacceptable! I’ll find you something perfect in the coming days no matter what!”

You hear him sigh before you hear his approaching footsteps. “Try not to stress too hard about it. Also, open that back up, there are more bags.”

“Oops,” you giggle. “Why not ask me nicely, like in that Romeo way you did five seconds ago?”

Your other half rightfully elects to ignore you.

As you finish wrapping up with him at your side, the subsequent ride back to campus is in comfortable silence. The buzz of what’s to come lingers on your mind as you stare out of the passenger window at the familiar scenery. You’ll find time to squeeze in finding a gift for Dan Heng, you’ll make sure of it.

But for now, what to pack for the impending trip…?

You wake to the sound of your blaring alarm. Scrambling for your phone to make the thing shut up, you’re blinded by the time. It’s 2:30 in the morning, you’re disoriented, and you desperately want to go back to sleep. But when you really come to a minute later after hitting snooze, it all sinks in.

Your room inspection is over with, your finals have been taken (you didn’t fail any of them, yay), and you have to leave campus with Dan Heng in about thirty minutes. Surreal that you’re awake at this hour, you go about getting ready - this includes texting the man of the hour to make sure he didn’t oversleep.

To your satisfaction, he responds swiftly. To your horror, he mentions that he’s ready and waiting. Unfair, in your opinion - why is he always punctual, and why are you always late?

You look in the mirror at your haphazard reflection. Not too shabby; just a leisure t-shirt and some sweatpants, pulled together by the thickest jacket you have since it’s grown even colder out. Your bags are already packed and practically bursting at the seams, loaded with your essentials, and of course the presents for Dan Heng’s family.

You spent all of your free time crammed between everything else painting the ceramics while he wrapped and made everything else look pretty.

(You almost got crudely mixed pink paint on your dorm wall - well, you did just a little bit. Luckily it came off without the need to go sprinting to the nearest hardware store in pursuit of a cover-up job. That would have been bad. Very bad. Also, you left the primary suite door open to ventilate, and at least three students walking down the hallway witnessed your perfectionism-driven breakdown. Also, your suitemate hates you now.)

All of that’s over, though. Making sure you have everything once, then twice, then three whole times - you decide it’s finally time to go. You lug everything out of your dorm, down the hallway, into the elevator, and wait as it descends.

You check your phone, updating your boyfriend as the cabin grinds to a halt on the ground floor. Outside is nothing short of beautiful, if not hypothermic.

Snow falls in tiny flurries that make the dark cement purgatory look like a dream. The floodlights leave some corners of the parking lot shadowed, but illuminate Dan Heng just right. You spot him and his old ass car smack dab in the middle of all the empty spaces, just about everyone having vacated already.

“Hi, darling,” your breath syncs with the air as a wispy cloud. You kiss his cheek. “You ready?”

“I have been for the better part of an hour,” he informs you, perhaps a little grumpy from waking up so early - or it could just be that wry sarcasm rearing its head.

You find that Dan Heng is neither an early bird nor a night owl, oscillating between the two like nobody’s business. He’s up when he needs to be, including now, softened under the touch of your lips.

And so, without much fanfare, the road trip commences. It’s notably different than the other times he’s chauffeured you around - so silent and grave. It kind of puts a damper on the Christmas spirit you’ve so painstakingly adopted, but you think twice about cranking the radio. He is the one driving, after all.

You offered to switch with him halfway, and to his credit, he thought about it. But then Dan Heng politely shook his head and muttered something about bad weather and hydroplaning. Whatever a hydroplane is, you aren’t sure what it has to do with you being untrustworthy behind the wheel.

The pleasant blast of the heater, the occasional robotic warbling from the GPS app, and the noise of the light drizzle outside are your more talkative companions. You’re getting antsy; you feel it in the bouncing of your leg and how you mindlessly chew on the dead skin of your bottom lip.

Should you try to ignore it? Put on your headphones and tune out? The thought is appealing.

Instead, you pipe up a few minutes before you’re due to turn on the interstate.

“Wanna get coffee?” you singsong. “I mean, you especially are going to need the caffeine to keep awake. Sleep deprivation is, like, the number three reason people get into car crashes.”

Dan Heng huffs in amusement. You’re glad that got some kind of reaction out of him, glad that the stoney silence has been broken. But if you’re being completely honest with yourself (which you really hate doing), this detour suggestion is just an excuse to delay the inevitable. For all of your joy, lingering anxiety chips away at your trademark smirk.

You decide to bribe him just a little. “I’m buying.”

He turns into the nearest place without any further prodding. The coffee, which you have successfully paid for by the way, is nice. The searing light of the menu options, clambering over Dan Heng to place your orders as loud as you can because you know it’s hard for them to hear anything - fleeting memories of taking orders at your high school part-time job and all that.

As you take the cup holder tray from your partner, ferried through the drive thru window, he speaks up, much to your chagrin.

“You’re nervous,” he says, leaving no room for doubt. You continue to situate the drinks and glance into the side view mirror, taking a sudden rapt interest in the line forming behind you.

You decide to lie. Maybe he’ll be merciful and let you work this one out on your own. “Me? Nervous? Whatever gives you that impression? Perhaps you needed the coffee more than I thought… poor Dan Heng, so tired that he’s hallucinating…” you whistle.

Gaslighting, unfortunately, doesn’t work. Persuasion check must’ve rolled off. Dan Heng says your name, soft but stilted in a way that makes your heart ache. He rolls out of the drive thru after checking the rearview mirror, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. They gain their color back after he realizes you’re staring at them.

“I’m nervous too. Extremely.” You’re back on the highway, and you fiddle with the GPS to get yourself back en route, taking in his words as they come. Dan Heng is being candid with you; encouraging. “Going back home is always an… ordeal.”

You deflate a bit, conflict warring on your face. Considering how flustered he gets when you dote on him, albeit within his limits, you can’t imagine how exhausting being fussed at from all angles would be. Not like he’s a kid, but that he’s returning home after another semester of being independent.

“Yeah, um, I can imagine. I don’t know much about that stuff, but it’ll probably be amplified with me coming with you. We’ll get through it together and have a great time.”

You say it to convince yourself more than him, but it works. Perhaps that was his plan all along?

“Yes,” agrees Dan Heng. “We will.”

The interstate stretch, predictably, is the most sizable chunk of the trip. Temptation whispers in your ears tantalizingly, the idea of a nap or two at the forefront of your sleep-addled mind. The soft pitter-patter of the rain against the windshield battling with the snow makes it even harder to resist.

So, you doze soundly in your reclined seat, nice and warm. You think you feel a hand, cold and calloused, brushing against your cheek, but fighting it would require waking up to demand he focus on the road! It retracts, and you’re out for a good long while.

You know that for a fact, because when you wake up, dawn is encroaching. The stars are still visible against the bleeding horizon. You feel much better, even if Dan Heng suppresses a smile at your expense - you seriously must look wrecked from a few simple hours of rest. Geez.

You yawn, waking up to chat. Your boyfriend looks unruffled, cool eyes scanning road signs for a place to apparently fuel up.

He tells you that there’s only about an hour or so left, the ETA checking out. Nerves flood your system, but after a deep breath and stepping out to stretch your legs, you feel better.

“Who knew you were so good at pep talks,” you tease, if not to hide the fact you’re completely enamored with him. You fill up the tank after he cuts the engine, purposefully yelling so he can hear your words through the rolled up windows. “My man, the motivator!”

You hear his ensuing groan, claiming mental victory as the pump dings. Easy.

Staring at the signs of his hometown, a foreign sense of wonder engulfs you as you split from the interstate. Has that diner been there since Dan Heng was a kid? Did he even spend all of his childhood in one place? Should you ask, or is that too invasive?

The trees lining the grassy outcrops are tiny and thin, likely just having been planted by the city. How much has changed since you’ve started monopolizing his time?

Your questions spill out, and he does his best to answer them - but he also seems nostalgic, wistful and pained. Your earlier revelation rings true; you don’t know much about Dan Heng’s past.

That’s slowly changing as he tells you some stories, though his words are messy and create a muddled image in your head. You don’t push too far, chattering his ear off in response to keep things lighthearted.

(Maybe you’ll be more open about yourself too. Maybe.)

Then you careen into a residential area. It’s more suburban than you expected for a city-town hybrid of this size, streets of apartment units and then gated communities of houses. You whistle because you’re almost there, you can feel it!

“Which one is it, huh?” you pester, practically pressing your face against the glass. “Come on, pick up the pace a little!”

“I am not keen on getting a ticket this far in. A few more turns.”

True to his word, a row of townhouses come into view. They’re not massive, but the few you see are brimming with character. Full, decadent awnings and aged brick matched with just the right colors to make your brain happy. They look lived in, filled with memories that you’re eager to digest and, hopefully, be a part of.

Dan Heng pulls into the driveway of the oldest-looking one and parks. The GPS drones on, informing you of your arrival. Your anxiety has almost entirely abated at this point, thank the heavens and stars, and it’s near time to face the music with open arms.

“What a nice place! I guess we should greet them, and then start unloading?”

He nods. It’s still cold out, but less so than at school. Stepping out onto the pavement gives you a little thrill, and you trail behind Dan Heng, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets as you stare at the front door.

It has a little brass knocker in lieu of a doorbell, and you reach out to grasp it on instinct. Your hand brushes his that had reached out at the same time.

You wiggle your eyebrows at him.

He sighs and finally knocks after you reel your grubby hand back. It all comes down to this - kind of anticlimactic from someone else’s perspective, but paramount from yours. Who will answer the door?

The answer is immediate: Welt. The thing creaks open, revealing a tall, older man with graying brown hair and glasses. He’s utilizing a cane and looks exactly like you imagined, distinguished and fitting right into the scene with his creme turtleneck and kind eyes. He regards you both, first Dan Heng, then you.

“You’re here early. Welcome back - and I see you’ve brought them, as promised,” Welt’s voice is warm, and you get the feeling the small smile he’s wearing is quite rare. “Come in, we’ve been waiting on you two. It’s an honor to meet Dan Heng’s esteemed partner.”

You’re utterly awestruck, responses forming on your tongue only to dissolve into garbled nothings. As you robotically follow inside, you watch as Dan Heng falls into an awkward-looking side hug with Welt - quickly averting your eyes so they can have a moment. Then, you can’t contain it anymore, speaking to your heart’s content.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too. I’ve heard a lot - well, not a lot, but enough,” you ramble unapologetically, taking in the decor of the foyer, “and I’m really excited to be here, you have no idea. Are those Ray Bans? You have a lovely home!”

Your boyfriend, wetting his chapped lips, communicates silently with Welt. You think it’s something like a greeting, a familial synergy you can’t quite grasp yet. Maybe it’s a warning: I am dating an idiot chatterbox, please be nice to them.

That seems unlikely; necessitates further observation. This is just like Animal Planet.

“Thank you, I recognize your sincerity. It’s a rare trait, these days,” he mutters mostly to himself, probably reminiscing on some mysterious past. He goes on to curtly answer your more frivolous questions while leading the two of you deeper inside. Dan Heng squeezes your hand and you share your own telepathic glance with him.

This is going well!

The interior of the living room is striking, bearing the marks of age and care. You recognize most of the furniture as antiques - leather couches and loveseats with beautiful upholstery, a sage grandfather clock standing tall near the stone fireplace, and overflowing bookshelves that’d satiate even the most voracious of readers.

Paintings adorn every wall, not a square inch left blank. The mantle boasts many trinkets and baubles of various cultures, some of which you recognize - and some of which you don’t. Those could definitely be a great conversation starter!

So charming, so quaint, so rich in history! You’d wax poetic and stare at each nifty little thing until your eyes bled if you could.

“Darling, I didn’t know you were so well-off! Maybe I should start calling you Mr. Old Money.” “...please don’t.”

Welt hides a chuckle in his gloved hand before surveying the room. “It seems everyone is doing their own thing. I’ll go get Himeko, she must be in her study,” he throws a look over his shoulder, uttering your name with just the right amount of phlegm. “Welcome. Don’t be afraid to make yourself at home.”

And you’re left alone to breathe for a short minute. You run your thumb over Dan Heng’s knuckles reverently, pondering aloud. “He’s so cool! He’s an animator, right? I’ve heard you mention something like that before.”

He nods. “Indeed. He’s worked on various pitch bibles for all kinds of IPs, but he’s more content on assuming quieter roles in the industry, or so he’s told us. His passion is what carries him, not the spotlight.”

“...that’s a great way to live,” you marvel. The air feels vulnerable after that, the nature of something as intangible as family running through the undercurrents of the house. “Do you think he’s right for being so humble?”

“It is not my place to comment, but… I can say that I look up to him,” he admits, giving your hand a shy squeeze. “Himeko is similar. She’s--” “--enthralled to finally meet your acquaintance?”

A new voice cuts in. Himeko is also a vision, donning a winter shawl that wraps around a sepia-colored dress with tights, topped off with a beret. She looks absolutely stunning, and you’re overwhelmed with the urge to compliment her profusely. She stands at a comparable height to Welt, expression softened with mirth.

“It’s long since overdue,” Himeko extends a handshake which you take. Your jaw must be scraping the floor, which Welt and Dan Heng see fit to ignore.

She whips a ruby curl out of her face to scrutinize you - shit, you probably should’ve worn something nicer. First impressions and all that!

She greets Dan Heng with a hardy embrace after letting your hand go. He stands rigid.

“I was beginning to think he was making you up,” she teases. “When you both settle in, we have a lot to catch up on. Can we help you with your bags?”

You grin at your boyfriend, nudging him with your elbow. “Whaddya say, huh?”

He nods, shoulders slumping as if he’s made it past some great obstacle.

“Great,” Welt interjects, heading back towards the front door with Himeko in tow. Dan Heng turns to you, voice akin to a whisper.

“March and Caelus are probably in their bedrooms or,” he sighs, “conspiring elsewhere. If you’d like, you can go on and look around while we deal with the luggage. It’s a lot to get used to, and you’re better off getting your curiosity out of your system.”

You gasp, splaying a hand over your heart. “You say that like I’m some unruly child! I’m not going to break anything…”

Dan Heng gives you a look.

“...this time,” you begrudgingly add.

Before he can hurry after them though, you gingerly (roughly) grab him by the collar and give him a smooch. It’s over as quick as it began, and you barely get a glimpse of his scandalized visage before you set off to explore.

The adjoining hallway leading you out of the living room is painted stark white, all kinds of framed photographs hanging on display. Most of them are noir shots of famous people; movie stars, historical figures and the like. You stop in your tracks to look each of them over.

Some aren’t so impersonal. For example, there’s one of Himeko standing in a train station, posing on the platform with a massive and austere steam locomotive behind her. There is also a gray-haired dude at her side, pointing at the train with an exaggerated expression of shock. Caelus. And the photo’s signature - March 7th.

Right on time, before you can continue snooping, you hear the distinct noise of bickering further down the hallway. You grin, sensing drama like a blood-sniffing shark.

The muffled racket becomes clearer as you approach what is probably a bedroom door, and you hesitate for only a second before not-rudely throwing it open. You can deal with the consequences later. After all, this sounds more like banter than a serious argument - you would know!

The first thing you see are two figures with their backs turned to you. Pink and gray hair hunched over a desk - Caelus sitting and clicking furiously with March pointing at the one of the three flashing monitors, posing a threat to this hell of a gamer setup.

“You actually suck at this! Log off already, Dan Heng and his guest are going to be here soon,” she chastises as Caelus huffs, him dying moments later (in Pac-Man of all things). “Seriously, this is as boring as watching paint dry. I don’t know how you have so many viewers…”

You blink, scrutinizing the monitors again. Yes, there’s Pac-Man, but there’s also a live chat that seems to be going crazy, dozens of messages burying even more dozens of messages. There’s a facecam too, framing all three of you - wait, three?

Oops. You’re live on Twitch.

“March is just a grade-A hater,” Caelus declares to his audience, “always betting against me. I’ll have all of you know that I, Whisperer of Dumpsters, Toilet Destroyer--”

A groan. “Not this again.”

They seem oblivious to the fact that you’re here, and you clamp a hand over your mouth to suppress a laugh. Clippers must be going nuts right about now…

Dan Heng never mentioned that Caelus took this career path - but then again, you can imagine he was trying to avoid the headache of you pestering him with stream references. Either way, you’re here now, and you’ll be damned if you pass up an opportunity this golden.

“They’ve been keeping me in the basement for three years!” you yell, causing both of them to jump and turn in bewilderment, “They’re frauds, kidnappers, liars--”

“We’ve been what?!” March shrieks. She’s either 1.) quickly adjusting to your improv and playing along or 2.) now wholeheartedly convinced that you’ve been held captive here under the floorboards.

The chat lags from how fast messages are coming in, and Caelus cackles maniacally before mashing a shortcut on his keyboard to switch to a Be Right Back screen. What a performance, and you also burst out in laughter, not unlike his.

“Well, you certainly uh… made an entrance,” March grimaces, looking only slightly mortified. That sourness fades into a friendly smile as she scratches the back of her head. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Oh my god, c’mere!”

Caelus stares at you with beady eyes as she bounds towards your form in the doorway, engulfing you in a giant hug. You feel like crying again. This was supposed to be unserious, but you can’t help but already feel at home.

“It’s nice to meet you too. Your hair clips are so cute!”

You exchange pleasantries for a moment before you hear creaking. Caelus has stood up now, an unreadable expression on his face as he approaches slowly - like molasses slowly. One menacing stomp in front of the other like he’s trying to intimidate a bear. You tilt your head curiously while March spins around to look at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Group hug. Bring it in,” he answers cryptically.

March wrinkles her nose. “Why do you sound like that? You’ll creep them out!”

Caelus turns to you, looking for confirmation. Immediately, you understand what you must do. This chemistry you share with this kindred spirit should be studied in a lab under a microscope.

“Collective embrace,” you parrot. “Bring it in.”

“...so you’re both weird, huh? Just great.”

You respond by smushing both of them in a crushing hug, a chorus of giggles echoing off the walls, all three of you being the perpetrators.

This year’s holidays are off to a great start.

Things surprisingly don’t drag on.

What that means is a little hard to quantify; nebulous like carbon monoxide. You can’t see it, you can’t taste it, but it certainly takes its toll.

The first day comes to a close after a shared dinner, a feast, really - you’d never seen so much food in your life and you scarfed it down like a starving man in between conversation on every topic under the sun. You’ve fallen into the swing of things so naturally, and while that’s good, it’s a little too good.

You’ve never considered anxiety to be a formidable foe in your life. You carry conversation, pass the cornbread, spice up everyone’s lives (sometimes at the detriment of your reputation), and most importantly, you do it with a smile.

But after a night or two spent in Dan Heng’s almost spartan bedroom, tossing and turning, you’re starting to believe you’re in more trouble than you thought previously.

The nerves are easy to suppress when you’re bouncing energy off someone else, lost in the moment, because you do truly enjoy the socializing - but that feeling lingers.

And when you’re left with nothing to do, staring at the ceiling with a vengeance on the third night of your stay, all of the doubt catches up. It gains ground until your heart thunders in your chest.

You’ve learned that Himeko is buddy-buddy with the department of transportation, doubling as an engineer and cartographer. She’s even had a part in restoring defunct trains to their former glory, spearheading many vacations along the way.

(You don’t deserve to be privy to such a meaningful story.)

Caelus can’t ride a bike. Neither can you. Upon coming to this seismic revelation, he offered to take the plunge with you in an attempt to learn if you were interested. You agreed before he could even get the full sentence out.

(You’re only good at goofing around.)

March insisted that you be a temporary proofreader for her own university essays, most of which being on topics you could never wrap your head around in a million years.

Shenanigans ensued until you ended up denouncing higher education as a whole, choosing to believe in her own freestyle structure rather than whatever hellish rubric was being peddled.

(You’re too airheaded to help in a normal way.)

You’ve even grown closer with Welt. You two listened to the crackling of the old gramophone in his respective study, chiming in with your own thoughts on his archaic but classic music taste. There was a little bit of discussion on media preservation, your earnest passion pairing well with his own.

(You’re coming off too strong.)

But you feel the worst about the man sleeping next to you.

You’re supposed to be in your highest spirits, but Dan Heng has gotten good at spotting your tells. The tightness of your smile comes off as overjoyed to your new friends, but strained to him. The guilt of possibly ruining it all is unforgiving, tightened about your neck like an evil scarf.

He knows something’s up, and you know that he knows. It’s on you for not being forward about your struggles - hell, you’ve scolded him countless times about how he clams up about feelings and all that mess. You’re just a little bit of a hypocrite, then. What would you even say on the subject?

Sorry I’m such a buzzkill? Sorry I haven’t been more open with you? Sorry that I’m the actual wors--

You muffle a sob, burying your face in Dan Heng’s pillow. You just need to calm down, even if that means getting snot on his nice shams. You hiccup, and to your muted horror, the mattress creaks with movement.

Voice rough with sleep and alarm, Dan Heng calls out to you. You tense but otherwise refuse to lift your head up from your comfy sanctuary, chest rising and falling in snappy bursts.

You can’t face him like this, so tangled in everything you feel. You feel so unbelievably guilty, even if a more sensible part of you knows you’re just overthinking.

“Please look at me.”

If you’re making comparisons, Dan Heng must be the wind. Gentle and mild like a calming gale, never a torrent eager to knock you off your feet. No, he is sobering like a wayward breeze. His plea is so soft, and you only hate yourself a little bit for giving in and meeting his eyes.

His hair is sticking up in every direction just like yours. It’s not a foreign sight - you’ve slept in the same bed at least a hundred times, but the worried frown tugging at his lips is new. You sniffle and wipe your face, words a jumble of nonsense.

“Try to breathe. It’s going to be alright,” he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’ll wait.”

That last part might sound impatient in some other context, but right now, it’s resolute - it’s a promise. He’ll wait until you’re ready, however long that will take.

You crumble, shakily inhaling and exhaling until you sit up to mirror his stance. You fumble to embrace him, which he accepts readily - not unused to your spontaneous acts of affection.

However, there’s a stutter in his movements. He’s not used to seeing you so put out, you hazard, unable to even produce coherent speech.

“I love you so much,” you gasp.

“...is that what this is about? Or is there more?”

Dan Heng strokes your hair through your tearful explanation. You know you don’t make a lot of sense right now, but it’s all you can manage. He still listens with scholarly attention to detail, not doting or prying. He’s here. He’s here for you, just like you are for him.

The dam has burst. “Have I ever told you about my family?”

“No,” he admits. “Do you want to?”

So you tell him enough. You only paint a vague picture; recounting endless disagreements and fighting, being kicked to the curb and ostracized, scrambling to pick up the pieces of your barely adult life before being thrusted into college all alone with no one to watch out for you. You’ve only dropped hints beforehand - after all, who wants to reopen old wounds?

Silence can be just as powerful of a response as spoken words. Dan Heng understands, you know that already, but the way he holds you is compelling evidence alone.

Dan Heng’s family is wonderful; being part of it makes you feel a little sick inside, somehow made worse by his ministrations. “It may be unfair of me to say, but… I think I know how you feel. My life before I came to live and travel with everyone was lonely. Lonely and painful, and you don’t deserve to feel that way. Ever.”

When you don’t respond, he continues.

“But I’m now content to call them my cherished companions. And you,” Dan Heng emphasizes, syllables unsure despite his best efforts, “are one of them as well. We haven’t pried too much into what is painful, but I’ve always felt like we’ve never needed to. That was my mistake.”

He makes a point of thumbing the residue of your episode away, an apology in and of itself. Of course he blames solely himself, you muse, biting back a playful reprimand that wouldn’t land well right now. Your breathing regains a semblance of normalcy as you muster up enough gusto to respond.

“No, don’t be silly. I want to talk to you more about our lives before each other, I think. Together, y’know? I-Isn’t that just so romantic? Being emotionally constipated doesn’t do either of us any favors.”

Your tone has lightened, enough for him to notice and furrow his brows in concern. Given, you rebound at the speed of light, never wishing to linger on the bad - partially because sadness is unpleasant and uncommon, but mostly because you feel like you’re unable to. That’s just how you are. However, the way he looks at you is encouragement enough to move forward.

You feel better, you do, but your eyes are still red and puffy. The night outside is still cold and unpredictable.

“Whatever you need,” Dan Heng nods. He can only be so sworn in his promises - so determined - before you crack a smile.

“Alright, easy on the white knight talk,” you chuckle. Realizing how close you actually are, there’s a pause. You can smell the mint of his shampoo, and your arms are tangled with his in some kind of human knot that’d have Houdini sweating. “It’s weird…”

He stares at you, unimpressed. “I thought you wanted me to talk to you in a ‘Romeo’ way.”

You only huff, unable to come up with a retort for once, which is fine. You wipe your face again and drag him down with you back onto the bed, which he allows, because Dan Heng is too good for you and also happens to be a complete pushover. At least you can use your frazzled, unstable emotional state to get what you want.

Case in point: you spoon him. The covers assume their original position after you wrangle them to behave, holding him close from behind. A little part of you does this so he can’t see if you start up the waterworks again, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“It’ll be alright,” Dan Heng reminds, surrendering to your whims as always.

The dust settles and you’re inclined to believe him. There is still much time left, with Christmas day being the focal point of your visit, and you’re starting to get sleepy again. That’s always a good sign; sleepy, relaxed, and with a head drained of pressing worries - at least for the present moment.

Your eyes close, bereft of tears as you murmur your agreement.

To your surprise and horror, this house didn’t have a Christmas tree. It’s not like it mattered that much, but it was still shocking nonetheless. With a building exploding with life, there wasn't an evergreen decked out in ornaments or a pine covered in lights to tie the room together.

Honestly, where were they going to put their presents?

However, you forgave this transgression a day or two later under the condition that you would be allowed to pick one out. Everyone seemed to be fine with it, with you offering to cover the cost this close to the 25th - and your determined expression that would’ve been pointless to argue with. Santa Claus works hard but you work harder.

Caelus and March jumped to go with you, much to the others’ relief, and that was more than enough hands on deck for you to hop in Caelus’s car and drive to the nearest tree farm in the dead of winter, borrowing some mittens and a cute knitted hat from March so you wouldn’t become a human popsicle before your 30s.

Uh, you did get a bit lost. You had to interrogate the shit out of the GPS and one poor local to get there; the latter was not your fault by the way! Caelus just so happened to be carrying a bat and had a concerning look in his eye. That put you in good enough standing to make it there, even if the selection of trees were picked over, leaving only the runts on sale.

All three of you turned away with your hands empty, opting to make a last minute shopping trip to the mall to buy a fake one. You were against it, but your suggestion to buy three small trees and place them really close together was vetoed. “Majority rules” is totes unfair…

But the mall trip turned into a lot more when you actually got there. Both of them ganged up on you with a reminder that you haven’t gotten Dan Heng a gift yet! Honestly, you could say you regret confessing that to them earlier, but you totally needed to hear it.

Imagine you, waking up on Christmas morning with nothing to give the love of your life! Deplorable, unforgivable, and tragically heartbreaking.

And you had a council there to help you; people that know Dan Heng just as well as you do.

“He’s so hard to shop for,” March had groaned, flicking through racks of clothes with a dark aura surrounding her. “Trust me, I’ve tried in the past. He always says he’s fine with anything, giving me zero hints…”

“Maybe get him nothing,” Caelus suggested after, more occupied with trying to steal coins from the nearby wishing fountain. Like one does. “You could run him over and he’d thank you politely.”

Similar experiences there. He’s always been more attuned to your wants than his own, which you’ve been trying to get him to work on at his own pace. Unfortunately, the place was about to close for the night since you already spent the day gallivanting around.

The burly mall security guard looked dangerously close to kicking your trio out, with at least one of you kicking and screaming, so you had to leave empty handed again.

The others assured you that you’d find a present in time. You decided to go with the flow and hope that the heavens above would drop one into your lap by the day of.

Spoiler alert: they didn’t! Because Christmas day is now here, and it all seems hopeless. Well, aside from the fact that you’re all settled around the coffee table and a big, burning fire is roaring in the fireplace.

There’s still a smile on your face as Welt and Himeko tear open their presents with wise, softened gazes. You can’t let your own mistakes ruin the moment, after all.

“Truly, thank you both,” Himeko croons, looking over her respective mug and brooch with awe. “I was prepared to perhaps play up the excitement a bit, but… I’m very impressed. Dan Heng, you’ve picked well.”

He flushes. “They helped me,” he nods to you.

“No,” she laughs, “I meant you picked a good partner.”

Before you can stammer out a reply, Welt chimes in. He’s inspecting the quality of his tie with muted gratitude - his new mug seems to only serve as a reminder that he has to drink Himeko’s coffee out of it. Hey, at least your heart was in the right place!

“I have to agree. Both of you must have collaborated seamlessly to shop for our preferences.”

Caelus, wearing his big ass jacket that you and Dan Heng bought him, sprawls out across one of the couches like a housecat. “This is a lot better than what you got me last year, Cold Dragon Young.”

Dan Heng bristles and you burst out laughing at the expression he’s making. “Cold Dragon what?”

“Ignore them,” he pleads, lips twitching upward just a smidge; a ghost of a smile. Dan Heng really does like the teasing more than he lets on.

March was almost reduced to tears by the jewelry dish you painted for her - which is more of a jewelry box at this point - but she recovers from her reverie and endless thank yous to giggle at your partner’s expense, something that’s swiftly turning into a group effort. “One time, we all got roped into fistfighting these bad guys in a club, and after Dan Heng took care of them--”

“I was left with no other choice--”

“--then that became his ring name. Cold Dragon Young!” she finishes.

Himeko and Welt exchange an exhausted look. You immediately decide that the moniker is going to become his contact name in your phone until the end of time. You also start wheezing (and also kind of blushing) at the idea of Dan Heng, the near-pacifist, duking it out with someone. “S-Sounds like you guys have been everywhere…”

“...we have,” your boyfriend clears his throat. You sense a topic change, or even a segue, drawing your attention. You sit up a little straighter and wipe the comically-induced hysteria from your eyes.

He’s looking at you expectantly with some of the earlier heat coloring the tips of his ears. The room lulls into silence as he makes his way over to the tree to retrieve a box from underneath the branches, wrapped in pastel yellow with no bow.

Dan Heng hands it over, and when your skin brushes against his for a fleeting second, you feel the clamminess of his palms.

“Oh, me next?” you blink. Shaking the thing a bit too aggressively, listening for any indication of a bomb (just in case), you get a good feel of its weight. Light and mysterious. You’re too busy making mental guesses that you don’t notice Welt shepherding the others out of the room.

“Yes. I hope you like it,” he watches as you tear open the wrapping paper and the box itself. Dan Heng is so beautiful it’s almost criminal, unintentionally batting his lashes in a way that has you swallowing drool.

You scoff. “Of course I will!”

Inside the box rests… two tickets? Your mind jumps to movie tickets first and foremost, but that’s obviously not the case; the ones here are golden with faded ridges and accented with red, sparkling as you fawn over them. Then you read the printed text lining the bottom of the thin cardstock.

The Astral Express. They’re two boarding passes.

“No way,” It’s the name of the restored steam locomotive in the picture, the very same one that Himeko told you about working on during the height of her career. “Does this mean…?”

Dan Heng drinks in the surprised part of your lips, scratching at his neck. “You mentioned that you wanted to travel. I, and the rest of us, thought you’d like to accompany us on a trip. If you don’t want to, that’s perfectly fine,” he promises. “I can get refunded, and we’ll all stay. But it’s scheduled to start the day after tomorrow and last until the new year.”

You don’t want to cry again, even if they’re happy tears, so you launch yourself into his arms as a welcome distraction. You may be imagining it, but you think you feel him slump in relief. Again. How long will it take to get it through his thick skull that he could never disappoint you?

“Duh, of course I want to! Darling, what kind of jerk would I be if I said no and made everyone cancel their plans? Oh my god, oh my god--”

“You m-may want to breathe.”

His concern is so genuine - that’s not even meant to be teasing. You scream into his shoulder, already thinking of nights spent in velvet cabins and days spent watching the cross-country scenery go by on the silver rail. With good food. Lots of it.

“I’m breathing,” you huff, in fact, short of breath. “Thank you, Dan Heng. I love it so much.”

You pull back, box and tickets still safe in your grasp despite your earlier flailing. The magical moment fizzles, your joy stunted as guilt emerges. “But I… I didn’t get you anything. I’m so sorry, we shopped all over, and everything’s been so hectic…”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I meant what I said.”

“Huh?”

“When we were shopping all that time ago,” he clarifies. “I don’t need anything but you. And with the others coming along,” Dan Heng gestures to the tickets, everyone else’s likely stowed away somewhere safe, “It’s the best gift I could ask for, more than I could ever want.”

You don’t rebut him this time.

The guilt has all but vanished, and you pull Dan Heng into a tender kiss. This has, no joke, probably been the best break of your life so far. Not to mention you have a whole new trip to look forward to, with a whole new family at your side.

Just as you think this perfect moment is unshakable, hoots and jeers break out from behind you. You whip around, dazed, and Caelus is cheering both of you on like his life depends on it.

“Wooooo! I told you they’d like it, dude! May your love burn bright for years to co--”

…then March clamps a hand over his mouth and hauls him away.

Dan Heng is so embarrassed that he chokes on a laugh. You make sure to join him in kind, the present moment also holding the infinite possibilities of the future.

thank you for reading! it means the world to me 🎅🎁

#hvntersecretsanta #✧ my writing #dan heng x reader #hsr x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #hsr dan heng #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng x you #hsr x you #dan heng hsr x reader #hsr fluff #dan heng x gn!reader

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godmadeaterribleerror · 1 day ago

Text

Chapter 6 - Everything I Do

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), light fluff, mutual pining, light angst, love confession, smut (handjob, fingering, p in v sex), Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.

Summary/Warnings: The Mark reaches a breaking point. Usual Warnings, little angst, lotta smut.

Author's Note: I am of the firm belief Rowena would’ve said cunt religiously if the CW wasn’t full of a bunch of pussies.

Chapter title from Video Games by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 8.7k

Read on A03!

Chapter 5

Dean can breathe. Not easily, but he can. He can feel the weight of something airy and thin wrapped around him, stuck to his skin and far too heavy. There’s a hand on his brow, and it’s not the right one. Dean’s not sure what the right one would even be, but he knows it’s not this one. This one feels a little wrinkled, and the nails are too long, and it doesn’t satiate the betterlust. It’s just there, pressed to his skin like it’s looking for something and not all too pleased with what it finds.

The longer it’s there, the more the betterlust pounds and stabs and scrapes at him. Rots his guts and carves open his skull and rips through his chest. It’s searching for something that’s not there, and Dean’s head is too clouded with pain and ache and sickness to figure out where he should even be looking. Not in the hand. Not in the thing around him like a shroud–hot and clinging to him like a plague—but maybe somewhere close. Because wherever Dean is—he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t have enough of a brain to guess right now—it’s unfamiliar, but feels right. He’s lying on something soft, and it smells good, and when his fingers flex, they’re tracing over an impression left on the area next to him. An indent left on the space by something that could curve and press into Dean exactly like he wants. Craves. Needs.

The betterlust starts to flare and bellow, almost drowning out the low voices around him, and Dean knows he might die if he doesn’t find what fits into that impression and take it.

“How long has he been like this?”

“I’m not sure, a few hours?”

“Well can you try to be sure, Samuel?”

“I got here the same time you did, how am I supposed to be sure-“

“Ask our resident Dean Expert, the poor girl has been stuck with him all week-“

“No, I’m not going to make her do more. And, uh,” there’s a long sigh, and Dean still isn’t really sure what’s going on, or who these people are, or why they’re talking about him. “I don’t think it’s safe for her right now. To be around him. He said he didn’t want her-“

“He obviously lied, you idiotic boy-“

“He didn’t want her to know, Rowena. And it’s not my place to tell her-“

“She’s a big girl, she’ll survive a little bit of emotions.”

“He’d, he’d fucking kill me-“

“And he will kill himself if he does not accept what he needs! It’s quite honestly a miracle he was a stubborn enough arse to resist the Mark’s demands this long.”

Dean’s really fucking confused. There are two voices, one that sounds a little like his and one that very much doesn’t, and they’re both talking about him like he’s important. He doesn’t feel important. He mostly just feels tired, and bad, and sick. Sweaty and hungry and desperate for something he can’t name, but they say he needs to name or he’ll die, and he doesn’t even really know what names are right now-

“If I tell her, this becomes her responsibility-“

“Well, Dearie, I wasn’t aware you were stupid and blind-“

“Hey-“

“You cannot look me in the eyes and say that she would not welcome the responsibility, boy. She is so pathetically obsessed with him it makes me feel ill.”

Dean felt his mouth try to frown—he can’t figure out how to move, so it more of a twisted grimace—as he racked his mush of a brain to figure out who they could possibly be referring to. He couldn’t remember names, but he could remember presences. Remember that the voice like his was good, and he was supposed to protect it. The voice that wasn’t like his was bad, and kind of a bitch, but helpful when they ran out of options. There wasn’t a third voice, but there was a smell that he really liked. Loved. Craved. Needed-

That was the imprint. And it wasn’t here right now, but the betterlust and already spiraling around it and constricting his lungs as he tried to find it. He needed it, and it didn’t need him, and he was going to die-

“I know,” the familiar voice sighed. “Believe me, I know, but I can’t ask that of her-“

“She’ll shred your sorry arse apart if you don’t-“

“And Dean will put a bullet through my brain if I do!”

“He will die before he gets the chance. Have I not made it clear that, unless Dean receives the help our lovely, pretty, lovesick-“

Then the voice that wasn’t like Dean’s said a name, and the betterlust exploded inside him. He knew that name. He’d die and kill and cut himself to pieces for that name. He wanted it. He couldn’t have it. He needed it, more than he needs air or water or food or music. The betterlust demanded it, and was shredding apart his insides because he refused to take it, but was also lending him the strength to find it. To find Her. Dean needed to fucking find Her, or nothing would ever be good again-

His eyes fly open, and for a long movement everything is only a blinding blur of color. There’s noise around him—both voices shouting words that sound like they’re for him but he can’t understand—and Dean’s brain kicks into a vigilant, borderline feral function as he hauls himself up, something pushes him back down, and the betterlust grew feral.

“Rowena, grab the other arm-“

“I am not meant for brute labor, Samuel-“

“Are you fucking kidding me-“

Dean roars Her name clawing and grabbing at the air to try and go, try to get to Her, because he was going to fucking die, and the betterlust told him She could fix this, make this better, make Dean better-

“Oh for- Fine.”

The voice not like Dean’s says something he can’t understand, his whole body tightens. Like a weight has been dropped on his chest, and ropes have been wrapped around his limbs, forcing him to collapse back onto the bed with a noise that might have been a whine.

“Dean.” Rowena appears in his vision, her face drawn in annoyance. “Blink twice if you understand me.”

Dean scowls, but blinked twice.

“Good. Are you going to try and kill us again?”

Dean glowers at Rowena, keeping his eyes wide open in a gesture of no, and she sighs.

“Good boy. I’ll let you up, but if you ever try and grab my hair again, I’ll make you regret having hands, aye?”

The tension vanishes from Dean’s body, and he sits up slowly, pinch the bridge of his nose to try and curb the pounding ache behind his eyes, taking deep, mechanical breathes to get some fucking control over his body. Over the betterlust. Over himself.

“Dean, are you feeling okay?“

Sam looks worried. He’s frowning and scanning over Dean with concern, like there will be wound on his skin they can patch up to fix this.

But only one thing can fix this. And Dean still isn’t strong enough to not know where She is, not when all he can remember is dragging himself to Her room, and hearing her voice, and seeing her pretty face before it all went dark.

Dean mutters Her name, his voice low and gruff, and Sam and Rowena freeze. “Where is she.”

“She’s eating.” Sam mutters, bracing his hands on his hips. “I told her to get some rest. You freaked her out, dude, she-“ Sam shakes his head, giving Dean a look he doesn’t understand, and doesn’t have the energy to try and decipher. “She was really shaken, when we got back. She needs-“

“She needs you.” Rowena interrupts Sam, and he shoots her a venomous glare. “You’re too much of a meat-headed dolt to see it, but that darling girl looked as if she’d been devastated over you.”

“Rowena.” Sam hisses. “We agreed-“

“You agreed. I made no promises-“

Dean raises his hands—they both need to shut up, or his skin will fly off his body—and their argument stutters off.

“How bad is it.” He looks to Rowena, the moment alone an act of labor. “And don’t try to lie or sugarcoat it. How long I got.”

Rowena sighs. “If you insist on keeping your head up your own arse, a day. Maybe two.”

“But we’re going to try to reverse it.” Sam jumps in, his voice desperate. “And Rowena gave you something to keep you going-“

“But, as I told your brother,” Rowena’s words are harsh, and Dean appreciates it. This really isn’t the fucking time for dancing around anything. “It is a very temporary solution, and the reversal will take time you no longer have. There is an obvious fix to your little problem-“

Dean lets out a dry chuckled. “My problem? Last I checked, Rowena, you were the one who fucked this up-“

“I did not fuck anything up, you petulant man child-“

“Rowena-“

“No!” Rowena cuts off Sam with sharp words, holding Dean’s glare. “I did my job, Dean Winchester, but you are too much of an arrogant, brooding little cunt to do yours.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Watch it, bitch-“

“I did not have to help you,” Rowena hisses. “But that poor, desperate, lovesick woman begged me to. You know exactly what you need, and you are too cruel and stupid to do it.”

Dean’s hands curl into fists on the sheets. “I said fucking watch it-“

“She’s right.” Sam mutters, and Dean’s gaze whips to him, his mouth falling open at Sam’s pitying, exhausted expression.

“I’m sorry, I must be going insane, because there’s no fucking way you just sided with Rowena-“

“I didn’t side with her.” Sam snaps, running a hand over his face as he shakes his head. “I’m just trying to get you to think for five seconds. I’m trying not to lose my brother because he can’t see what’s right in front of him-“

Dean scoffs. “There’s nothing in front of me, Sam. Rowena botched the spell, and now I can’t do anything but-“ He cuts himself off with a groan, a stab of pain twisting over his ribs, and Sam throws his hands in the air.

“For crying out loud, Dean, you’re dying because of this self-righteous, sacrificial bullshit you always pull! Rowena didn’t botch the spell, you’re just refusing to give the Mark what it wants, and until you do-“

“It doesn’t matter what I want!” Dean roars, slamming a hand down on the mattress. “Fuck, Sam, I’m not going to force myself onto her just because-“

“Because you think she’ll say no?” Sam rolls his eyes. “Dude, you can’t be stupid enough to really believe that-“

Dean scowls. They don’t fucking get it. Sam and Rowena don’t know Her like Dean does. They don’t understand that She would say yes, but she wouldn’t really want it, and Dean would stain and mark Her in a way that they’d never come back from. She’d never smile at him the same, and he’d have to die alone in the dirt when she finally got the memo that he wasn’t worth helping. When She left him, her soul more tainted than when she’d found him. When his poison sunk into Her skin, and she would still be so pretty and amazing, but ruined and marred from Dean’s touch. From how weak and pathetic and toxic he was.

He couldn’t do that. He’d rather fucking die.

“Just drop it, Sammy.” Dean mutters, his gaze falling to that imprint of Her on the bed. Her bed. Dean was finally in Her bed, and he didn’t even get to enjoy it. “It’s not happening. And you’re not going to convince me, so either fix this, or let me die without goddamn yelling at me.”

There’s a moment of wired silence, Rowena silent in the corner of the room as Sam and Dean glare at each other, and Sam shakes his head like he can’t believe Dean’s nerve. Like Dean isn’t saving the only good thing they both have. Protecting the only person that’s stayed with them, that they both love, even if Dean’s love is made of undying, animalistic, grime and dirt covered devotion, and Sam’s is purer, softer affection that could never cut and scar Her like Dean’s.

“She was crying.” Sam finally says, his tone colder than Dean’s heard it in a long time. “When we got back, she was sobbing, Dean. Have you ever seen her cry? Ever?”

He hasn’t. Dean has seen Her grit her teeth and bite back sounds of agony from injuries, seen Her scream and flail when they’ve lost people, and seen Her so angry it scared him a little, but he’s never seen Her cry. She didn’t cry. Her eyes got glossy, and her voice grew tight and choked, but she didn’t cry. Sam has to be lying, and he doesn’t look or sound like he is, but he has to be. She doesn’t cry, so why the hell would that be the truth? But why would Sam lie, and why has She stayed this long, and fuck, everything hurts and Dean’s too damn tired to figure out what the hell Sam is trying to tell him but the betterlust is scratching at his heart to know-

“Sam,” Dean swallows, watching his brother carefully. “I-“

There’s a knock at the door, and everything in Dean flies to the sound. It’s Her. Before Sam’s hand is even on the doorknob, Dean somehow knows it’s Her. Here. Maybe for him, maybe not, but the betterlust doesn’t seem to care because it’s Her-

She looks horrible. Still so fucking pretty, but horrible. There’s a slump to Her posture as she stands in the door—hair tangled and shirt wrinkled—and Her gorgeous face is slightly puffed. Her lips pouting. Her eyes lined with red.

Like She’s been crying.

Sam says Her name in question, and when She speaks her voice is hoarse.

“Look, I know you to told me to rest, but-“ Her mouth falls open as her eyes land on Dean, and Her sharp inhale feels like it shoots adrenaline right into his blood.

He tries to offer Her a winning, I’d be happy to see me too smile, but it doesn’t feel right on his face. It feels too vulnerable, where it’s always been like a shield. It feels like it’s a lie, or trick, or act of cruelty when Dean’s rarely met a woman who doesn’t flush and giggle under that attention. It’s supposed to make him feel good from their happy, hopeful eyes. It’s supposed to make them feel good from Dean’s well-crafted, carefully wielded charm.

But right now he still just feels like shit. Bottom of the gutter, horrible, flea-ridden and matted shit. A fucking piece of shit that might have made Her cry, and isn’t even smart enough to know why.

He tries again, making the smile wider, adding his most casual drawl. “Hey, Sweetheart-“

She makes a strangled sound—loud and pained, making the betterlust start to snap at Dean’s brittle spine—and all but runs to the bed, almost falling to Dean’s side as Her hands begin to grab at his face and run over his skin. Angling him for Her to examine with frantic eyes and words, igniting little paths of insatiable fire wherever She touches.

“Are you okay?!” She turns his head to the side, her fingers tracing his jaw and cheek like boils or scars might have just appeared. “Your fever is gone,” the back of Her hand presses to his brow, flipping to touch it with Her palm. “But shit, you’re covered in sweat-“ Her glare whips around to Sam, Her grip still tight on Dean’s face. He doesn’t really mind. The betterlust is still trying to climb out of his throat, but he can fight it—for Her—and this can be enough. It’s all he’ll get before he’s gone anyway. Her touch, and loud almost furious shout at Sam. “Why didn’t you change the sheets like I told you to-“

“He was dead weight,” Sam says Her name, his voice a hell of a lot kinder than when he’d been talking to Dean. “And you also told us to make sure he got some rest. Rowena said the fever broke, and he’s lucid again-“

“But this is gross Sam, and you could’ve moved him if you tried-“

“Moved him where? He started freaking whimpering when we took away your comforter-“

Dean scowls. “Can you guys stop talkin’ about me like I’m not right fucking here-“

Her gaze turns back to Dean, the odd, aggressively mind-numbing panic and care returning to her eyes as she begins to examine him once more.

“You seem better, but you’re redder than you should be, and, shit, was that scar always there-“

Her finger’s trial over Dean’s chin, dangerously close to his mouth, and he has to bite down a groan as he says Her name. “That’s been there at least a decade-“

“What about this one-“

“Three years, you were there when I got it-“

“Fuck, you’re right.” She shakes her head, Her eyes suddenly boaring into Dean’s and settling warmth in his gut. “Well, are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt, or feel sick, or feel numb-“

“Sweetheart.” He catches Her hand, and she falls silent with wide eyes. “I’m-“

“And,” She moves his gaze onto Her’s, and fuck She’s always so pretty. Even when She’s pissed at him. Especially when She’s pissed at him. “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me, Winchester, I’ll stab you-“

He chuckles, and it’s dry and low, but maybe the realest sound he’s made since he woke up. “I don’t doubt that, Sweetheart.” He drawls, and she lets his guide Her hands away from his face. “But I promise, I’m feelin’ better.”

She nods slowly, and Dean pretends he can’t see Sam’s eye roll in the background.

“Oh. Okay.” She turns at Sam and Rowena, her voice slightly unsteady and weak. “Have you, um, have you both been in here? The whole time I was eating?”

Sam nods. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” She swallows, and Dean notices Her body go slightly rigid. Sam must notice too, because he tilts his head and frowns at her.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just…” She trails off, staring at her nails as her voice drop to a mumble. “There’s a lot of people in here. Makes me nervous.”

“Shit, sorry.” Sam says Her name, his voice apologetic. “Didn’t know that. We can go, if you want.”

There’s a long moment where She’s just staring at Sam, Her mouth slightly open, and her body curled in on itself like she’d been punched. Sam repeats Her name, his voice cautious, and when She snaps out of it, her voice is still soft and anxious.

“That would be good.” She whispers. “Thank you.”

Sam nods. “No problem. Me and Rowena,” he shoots the witch a glare, and she rolls her eyes. “Are gonna go try to fix this. Text me if you need anything, either of you.”

She hums an acknowledgment, Her attention never leaving Dean as Sam and Rowena close the door, and Dean’s whole existence begins to curve into only the feeling of Her as her fingers trace over the back of his hand.

After a long moment of silence—only the sound of Dean’s heart in his ears and the shifting of blankets under their bodies—she swallows, her voice barely a breath. “They can’t fix it, can they.”

He blinks at Her. “They’re gonna get it-“

“Don’t lie to me, Dean.” She gives him a soft smile that makes her look like she’s already grieving, and something in him lights up and withers away in the same second. “Please.”

He swallows. He is really tired of lying to Her. And he can say something closer to the truth and still hold his ground. He’s not quite that weak. Not yet.

“It’ll be close.” He grunts. “But I’ve survived worse. I just gotta pull through-“

“You don’t, though.” She whispers. “Rowena said you just have to-“

“Rowena can eat me.” Dean mutters, glaring at the door. “I’m not doin’ whatever the hell the Mark tells me to, that was the fucking point of this.”

“The point was to help you, Dean.” She sounds so freaking sad, and it’s pulling Dean apart. His will and mind all being reduced to Her. Too good and pretty to be sad. And it’s just Dean. She shouldn’t be this sad over only Dean.

“Sweetheart-“

“I don’t,” She swallows, speaking over Dean with quiet, soft words. “I don’t know why you’re being such an ass, Dean. Why can’t you just do what the betterlust wants? Isn’t it what you want-“

“It is.” Dean has to push the words through his teeth, because She so close and it’s not close enough and everything fucking hurts. “But I can’t have it, so we’re dead in the water. But Sammy and Rowena-“

“Dean.”

He can’t look Her in the eyes. Her voice is so gentle and nervous, and he’s not strong enough to look Her in the eyes and see all that worry and pity in them. He can barely even grunt an acknowledgment for her to continue.

“What do you want?”

“I’m not gonna-“

“Is it me?” She whispers, and Dean’s eyes shoot to Her’s. He can’t breathe. He can’t do anything but stare at Her and try not to die as he realizes this is it. This is how he loses Her. Forever. This is the last time he gets to look at Her and bask in her beauty and kindness, the last time he gets to drown in the smell of cherries and feel a little more alive under Her touch.

But She doesn’t look afraid, or disgusted. She just looks urgent. Desperate. As confused and hopelessly hopeful as Dean feels.

And he can’t speak, or think, or do anything but stare at Her as she speaks again.

“Dean, do you,” She takes a shaking breath, and Dean needs to touch Her. “Do you love me?”

——————

He’s not saying anything. Dean’s looking at you like you’ve shot him right through his heart, ripped it out, and taken a bite. Gaping like he’s trying to ask you for it back but can’t find the breath to, blinking like he’s trying to test if you’re really there. He reaches a hand up to run over his own face, reaches out to touch you—trace broad, calloused fingers over your cheekbones and jaw, over your chin like he’s wiping something you can’t see away—and jerks back suddenly, like you’d hurt him. Burned him. Branded him.

He’s branded you. You’re never going to forget his voice in your head, sounding like he’s overdosed on something awful, and doesn’t think he’ll come back down. Like he’s trying to cleanse himself of something by whispering words that will either haunt you past the grave or feed you for the rest of your life. Your heart will never forget the way it stopped for only a second before kicking into a pace that was all too fast when Dean’s eyes closed, and your hands will always remember the cold fever of his skin.

“Dean.” You have to make your voice strong. Steady, like you’re demanding something from him and not praying to him. “Please-“

“Why-“ His voice is hoarse, almost strangled, and it makes your every muscle feel a little weaker. “Why would you ask that.”

“I’m, I can’t tell you, just please answer me-“

“Did Sam tell you-“

“Sam?” You frown, shaking your head slightly. “No, I just, this has nothing to do with Sam-“

“Then why the hell are you-“

“What would Sam have told me?”

Dean falls silent, opening and closing his mouth as he goes red, his eyes looking almost feral. He looks like a cornered animal, something starved and needy, unsure if it should bite the hand reaching for it or grab it and never let go.

You want to hold him and never let go. You want him to grab your hand, and hold it, and never think to drop it again. You want to hear him say those words again, and have his voice be certain. You want to touch him, no matter if he’s like this or breaking or furious or—in those rare, priceless moments—happy. And you need to know. Dean’s never owed you anything, and he never will, but if there’s only one thing that he can offer you in universe, it would be really nice if it was this. If Dean ever gives you anything, please, dear God, let it be this.

“Dean,” you whisper, moving your hand to his knee and holding his almost fearful, rabid gaze. “Please answer me. Tell me what Sam-“

“He,” Dean swallows, voice gruff. “He wasn’t supposed to say anything. He fucking swore he’d never-“

“He didn’t.” You repeat, unsure if he’s even understanding the words out of your mouth. “All I’ve talked to Sam about is the spell. But why-“

“Rowena.” He mutters, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “Rowena must’ve open her bitch mouth-“

“I haven’t really talked to Rowena at all-“

“Must’ve been some fucking spell-“

“Dean!” You scream, your nails digging into his leg like you can hold him with you forever. “It was you! You told me you loved me! You had a fever and you told me you loved me, you said my name, and I just,” Your voice cracks, desperation starting to break through your blood, out of your mouth in spit. “I need to know, please, you need to tell me if you meant it-“

“Sweetheart-“

“Please.” You refuse to look him in the eyes. The moment you look in Dean’s deep, pretty eyes you’ll know what he’s thinking, and you’ll lose him forever. Everything in you is screaming to know, but you’re still not able to just look into Dean’s eyes. “Dean, please tell me.”

“Why.”

For a second you’re not sure if you heard him right. The question startles you enough to make you look up, and the moment you see him something snaps inside of you. He looks wounded. Nervous. Almost as afraid of you—of your words, and what they might be capable of doing to him if you use them wrong—as you are of him.

“Why would you need to know.” He rasps, staring at his own hands. Flexing in his lap, seemingly against his will. “You’re not- It’s not somethin’ you’re-“ He looks up to you, his eyes almost pleading. “Why would you give a shit about-“

“About you?”

Dean’s throat bobs, his nod short, and you summon more bravery than you’ve ever been capable of before. Enough to reach out, over the space between your bodies that so small—but still feels like miles—and place your hand on his cheek. Keeping his gaze on yours.

“I always care about you. I-” You take a shaking breath, the last words falling off your tongue. “I love you.”

Dean’s hand shoots up to cover yours. To hold you against him, with a grip that tells you he might be trying to sear his skin into yours.

“You-“ His voice is so soft. His hand over yours is like iron, but everything else about him seems to be dreamlike. Hazy and uncertain, both of you watching each other like you’re sure the other will vanish if you look away. “You love me?”

“Yeah,” you try to smile at him, and it’s not charismatic. It’s pleading and tragic and so fucking delicate. “I do. I mean, I have. For a while.”

“How-“

“Four years.“

He blinks at you. “No, I, I meant-“ He swallows, shaking his head. “I meant how. How did that happen.”

It’s your turn to frown at him. “How did that happen?”

“You shouldn’t love me.” He mutters, his hand over yours flexing. Like he’s trying to pull it away but doesn’t know how. “It’ll get you hurt.”

You raise your brows slightly, running your thumb over his cheek. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “That’s not what I-“

“Are you?”

“Of course not, I’d never-“

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter why-“

“It does.” You whisper, folding your legs under you to rise on your knees, dropping your brow to his. Holding his gaze the whole time. “It matters to me, Dean.“

He makes a choked sound, but doesn’t move away. “Why?”

“Because I love you.” You whisper. “And it would be really cool if you loved me.”

Dean’s only staring at you, his eyes flicking between your own, slightly blurred gaze that can still see him so well, and your lips.

“And it happened,” you push on, your voice growing a little weak when he still doesn’t respond. “Because it’s really easy to love you, Dean Winchester. You’re a good man.” You offer him a smile, and his own mouth falls open just a little. “And even if you don’t love me, I wouldn’t have you any other-“

Something in Dean’s eyes flickers, and he moves before you’re sure what’s happening. Yanking you into his lap with his hand—fingers now tangled in yours—catching you with an arm around your waist, and kissing you.

Kissing you. Dean’s kissing you.

Your body sparks into action—even as your brain becomes fogged with a hazy, Dean-shaped lust—and you fist a hand into his shirt, pulling him as close as the world will allow. He’s holding you so carefully, leaning down in a slight dip, and there could be a storm raging around you instead of the soft, romantic rain this feels like it belongs to, but you wouldn’t know. Because this is a kiss people wage wars over.

It’s louder than music in your ears and electric in your blood, but sparks isn’t a strong enough word. It’s like lightning. Shooting through your spine and lighting up every nerve in your body to Dean. Soft lips molding perfectly into yours, warm and calloused hands skillfully mapping over your skin, a groan down your throat that you can feel settle in your lower gut and start a wildfire. You’ve been hungry and you’ve never dared to eat, but Dean is here now and you’ll either be starved for the rest of your life or never want for anything again.

When Dean tries to pull away, you just follow him. Chase after his lips with yours, trying to get just a little more before this all comes tumbling down. Before the thought can even dare to cross Dean’s mind—that he’s not good for you, and he should go—because this is all you’ve ever wanted and you’ll be damned if you don’t cling to it for as long as he’ll allow. You’ll fall all the way down, until your body is only supported by Dean below you, and you’ll forsake oxygen until your body demands it. Maybe a little while after, too.

And Dean doesn’t seem to care to let you go. Every time he tries to pull back it’s a jerked movement, and every time you collide again he grows more and more feral. His groans turn into deep, animalistic growls, and his touch on your skin becomes rough. Not painful, never painful, but urgent. Uncontrolled. Pulling at your skin like he’s trying to meld it into his, kissing you with bruising force, bucking up into you with his hard cock brushing your inner thighs.

You grind down onto him once—when he hits closer to where you’re beginning to ache for him, and your own need grows stronger than you’re desire to let Dean control this—and he bites you. Dean catches your lip between his teeth, sucks in into his mouth, and grins like he’s won a prize when you whine a plea of his name.

“Holy shit,” he mutters your name, pressing his brow to yours as you both catch your breath, grabbing your waist to stop the next roll of your hips. “I’m not- I can’t do this to you-“

“You’re not doing anything to me,” you whisper. “I love you. I want this.”

Dean catches your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles and staring at the movement, his voice so low you almost don’t hear it. “Say you’re lying.”

You blink at him, and shake your head. “No.”

His eyes flash, shooting back to yours as he grunts your name. “You need to say you’re lyin’ right now, or I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” You lower your face back down, until you’re sharing Dean’s every breath. “Fuck me? Actually say you want me?”

His throat bobs, voice rough with lust. “You, I can’t fucking control it, sweetheart, if you’re fuckin’ with me you need to take it back now-“

“Dean.” You grab his face between your hand, forcing his darkened gaze back to yours. “Answer my fucking question.”

He shakes his head weakly. “You don’t-“

“I love you.” You hiss. You need to make sure he feels it, in the slightly spit on his face, that still tastes a little like him because it’s pushed through lips that are swollen from Dean, and Dean alone. You glide a hand down his chest, the kiss apparently fueling something bold inside you that hadn’t been there before. Your fingers trace down, over his abdomen—hardened from work but still soft in all the best places—and Dean takes in a sharp breath, his hands on your hips tightening enough to leave a mark, and you lean back. Just enough to open space between your bodies, just enough for you to palm him through his sweatpants.

He’s huge, and twitching under your careful, light fingers, and God, you need him inside of you in any fucking way—between your hands or filling your mouth or buried deep into your cunt—but Dean’s still just staring at you. His chest heaving, eyes so dark and wanting you might cum just from his attention, and nostrils flaring as you move your hand up, resting right over the hem of his pants.

“I love you, Dean,” you whisper, the rush of confidence barreling down as you wait for him to do anything. “And you need to tell me now that you don’t love me, or-“ you take a long breath, dragging up the last bit of your nerve. “You need to say you love me, and do something about it.”

Something shatters in Dean’s gaze for the last time, and whatever war he’s been waging with himself reaches a brutal end as he surges back up, kissing you with all spit and bloody need. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever dared to have on his tongue, and he might be trying to chew off a bit of you to keep.

He won’t need to. He has you. He’s had you for a while, and when he leans back to watch you with glazed, hungry eyes, his words seal some deep, fragile part of you to him forever.

“I love you,” Dean grunts your name, scanning over your face like he’s afraid the words will yank you from his hands. They won’t. “I need you. I gotta have you, but I’m- I’m not in control of it right now-“

“I can take it.” You push your hand into Dean’s sweats, taking his cock in your hand. He groans, eyelids fluttering, and when you run your thumb over the head of him—pressing into the weeping slit and squeezing just so lightly—he hisses your name like a prayer. “Please, Dean. I want it. Please.”

You pull down his pants with your free hand, taking his boxers with them, and start to slowly pump your hand up and down his impressive length. There will be bruising marks of Dean’s hands of your hips for a while, but you’ll survive. It’s worth it, to watch him unravel below you, to see Dean’s pretty eyes grow glazed with lust for you, feel his dick throb and hips jerk under your touch, hear his low growls and grunts as his jaw clenches and he doesn’t pull you away.

“God,” he moans your name, and you start to squirm above him, desperate for a bit of your own relief. “I wanna- Wanna taste you. Fuck you. Ruin you-“

“So do it,” you slip your other hand down—trusting Dean’s hold to keep you upright—and squeeze his balls. “You say you love me, Dean, but you haven’t proved it-“

The words do exactly what you’d wanted them to. Dean yanks your hand from around him, crashes his lips into yours with a fervor that might have been dangerous if it didn’t taste and sound and feel like Dean, and lets go.

His every movement is rough and uncontrolled, because his tether over every bit of will that had seemed to keep him restrained is gone, and in its wake is only the Mark. All its lust and fury and hunger, primal and focused on you. On taking what it wants.

And you’d give it to him, even if it left a few marks on your skin and bruising on your heart, but you realize that the Mark doesn’t seem to just want to use you. If it did, Dean wouldn’t be sucking on your neck and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while tracing big, warms hands around your body to palm your breasts. He wouldn’t allow you to grind onto him, or whimper his name, or scratch at his skin as he pulls you apart with barely anything at all. When he flips your over without any effort—only a low grunt and flex of his muscles—you feel like the most priceless bag of flour in the word. Perfect to be tossed around like that forever, but worth more to him—more the Mark—than just another body.

And you can’t see him anymore, but you don’t need to. You hear the sounds of him shuffling behind you, the muffled noise of his shirt being tossed onto the floor, and then his voice. Low and feral and saying your name in a way that makes your knees weak.

“Up.” He grunts, and you whine when he angles your hips up and pulls down your shorts, you already wet cunt being hit by the cold air. “So fuckin’ pretty, gonna ruin you, baby. You’re never gonna even think about a cock that’s not mine again-“

You nod a little stupidly, wiggling your ass back into him and moaning when his still-clothed erection presses right into you. “Fuck, Dean, please-“

He spanks your pussy—just once the stinging pleasure shooing up your spine—and you bury your face in the sheets to stifles your desperate moan.

“Need ya’ to listen.” He mutters. “You’re gonna have to talk to me, baby, lemme know what feels good, what you’re likin’, what you need more of-“

“You,” you gasp, and Dean chuckles, running a taunting finger between your folds. “God, I need you, Dean, need you so bad-“

“You need me?” He pushes the finger into your cunt, his body moving to covers yours as he whispers in your ear. “Need me to fuck this tight little pussy until you scream? Goddamn prove you how much I’ve wanted you, how much I’ve always wanted you-“

“Yes.” You nod frantically, grinding your ass up into him. “Show me, please show me-“

Dean moves your head to the side, capturing your lips in a long, slow kiss, and hums in satisfaction when he crooks that finger right up against that deep, sensitive spot inside of you, and your hands start to claw at the sheets.

Then he’s gone. Without warning Dean draws back, yanks his finger out without warning, spanks your pussy again—chuckling at the high, needy sound that escapes your lips—and presses one hand to your lower back to still your writhing as he shuffles behind you

“Tell me whatcha want, baby.” He mutters, moving his hand to rub up and down your thigh. “And I’ll get it for ‘ya. But you have,“ He slaps your pussy one last time for emphasis, and you can only moan. “To say what you-“

“Your cock.” You whisper, spreading your legs wider for his to see. To look at your wet pussy—need dripping down to your knee—and take whatever the Mark is asking of him. “Want your cock Dean. Want you to fuck me, no holding back, please-“

He slams into you without warning. Burying himself at the hilt in one brutal movement, groaning above you as you go limp under him, trying only to twist and touch him, only to push back and somehow get him deeper. You feel so full, so fucking high on the stretch of Dean inside you, but it’s not enough-

“God, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good.” Dean starts to massage your ass, with one hand, the other holding you up in the air for him to use. “Better than I dreamed, feel like heaven, gonna fuck you so good like you deserve-“

“Dean, fuck-” you clench around him, the praise feeding right into your cockdrunk daze of Dean, and he groans.

“Don’t do that,” he grunts your name, and it sounds like an order. “I ain’t gonna last if you-“ He moans as you squeeze around his massive cock again, and pulls all the way out before slamming back into you with a growl.

Your mouth falls open, a sound like a mewl escaping your mouth, and Dean starts to fuck you. Really, properly fuck you into the mattress, with low groans and an unforgiving pace, bumping your cervix and snaking a hand around your stomach to pull you up to his chest, rubbing your clit until you’re wrecked and seeing stars, thrusting up into you like a jackhammer and keeping you so blissfully pleasured and warm.

“So fuckin’ good,” he growls your name in your ear, and you squeak. “Takin’ this cock so fuckin’ well, all warm and tight, made for me. You were fuckin’ made for me-“

Dean’s thumb and fore finger roll your clit in a tight circle, and you cum with a scream. Light and color lining your vision, the far-off sound of Dean’s filthy praise making your orgasm ride out and out and out until you’re sure you’ve reached something like heaven. Your vision is still blurred when the satisfaction has washed fully through you, and you realize Dean’s stopped moving.

His hand tangles in your hair, angling your face back for him to see, and fuck he’s so handsome. Breathing heavy in your ear, lips puffed from sucking and kiss your skin, eyes glazed but still focused on you.

You must look like an idiot. Your expression is slack and needy, your eyes glazed a lips parted, but Dean looks at you like you’re a diamond and his cock twitches inside you as your eyes meet.

“Shit, baby,” he mutters. “You gotta say somethin’-“

“That-“ You let out another moan, your pussy still fluttering around him. “Good.”

He chuckles, kiss the very corner of your mouth with a smirk. “You got full words, Sweetheart?”

You swallow, the full feeling of Dean—throbbing inside you, still rock hard, pushing against that heavenly spot but with just too little pressure to send you over once more—crashing into you, and you say the only thing you can think of.

“Keep going?”

He stares at you for a second, then shakes his head. “No, I- I’ll be fine, I can take care of myself-“

“Want you to use me.” You’re practically whining, and you’d be more embarrassed if the words didn’t make Dean jerk up into you. “Please-“

He groans your name, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. “I’m not- you’re-“

“I said don’t hold back.” You whisper, rolling your hips against him and feeling pride glow in your chest at his moan. “Fuck me, Dean. I’m yours.”

And there it is again. You say the exact right thing, the thing you knew would work, and Dean gives in. He shoves you down, flips you onto your back—pulling out for only a second as he adjusts you under him—and starts to fuck you like an animal. Rutting into you at a near inhuman speed, hitting your cervix with every thrust, every word a low growl that coils release tighter and tighter in your lower gut.

“So fuckin’ greedy,” he grunts, slamming a little rougher. “Wantin’ more, begging me to fuck you, so fucking pretty comin’ apart on my cock, tell me how good it feels, baby-“

“Good,” you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as the bed creaks around you, your whole body overwhelmed with pleasure. “Feel so full, Dean, feels so good, you’re so fucking big-“

He groans, and you start to babble. You’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, because every word feels like it’s spilling from your mouth. But every inch of your brain trapped in Dean’s skin slapping against yours, his muscles flexing around you, the low and primal sounds rumbling out of his chest as his movements grow sloppy and his cock starts to throb inside of you, and you couldn’t think about anything else if you tried.

“You feel so good, Dean, please don’t stop, want you to cum, I-“ You gasp as he starts to kill up your neck, your hands shooting into his hair. “Fuck, Dean, please, so good, God, I love you-“

His mouth slams into yours, and your orgasm rushes through you like a tidal wave. Longer and powerful, leaving you so fucked out you can only whine under Dean’s body, toes curling and eyes rolling back in your head as your pussy flutters around him.

Dean pulls out, keeping one hand gently on your knee as he pumps himself with an almost blurring fist, and cums over your abdomen and thighs. It’s hot and sticky, and part of you wishes you’d had enough of a brain to ask him to let you taste it, but you’re so completely spent that when Dean collapses over you—a heavy, comfortable weight you’re more than happy to be trapped beneath—your brain wipes every other thought but Dean away, and you decide to just stay here. Where Dean’s face in buried in your neck, and your sore from all of it but there will never be a better pain to experience.

“I-“ Dean breaks the silence, words muffled in your skin. “I feel better.”

“Oh.” You huff a soft laugh. “Good.”

“What, uh, what should we tell Sammy?”

You tug on his hair, just enough to move his gaze back to yours. “That we had sex?”

“No,” Dean groans your name, a smile pulling at his lips. “About the Mark. But we should tell him that-“

You make a mock, dramatic gasp. “Dean Winchester, are you going to brag about sex to your brother-“

“It’s sex with you, Sweetheart.” He winks, rolling you both over and caging you comfortably against his chest. “And Sammy’ll be thrilled to hear it, he’s been on my ass for years-“

“Years?” You squeak. “How many years?”

He shrugs. “I dunno, all of them?”

“All of them?! What do you mean all of them-“

“I mean since I met you.” Dean starts to rub soothing circles on your back, his mouth curling in smug amusement. “Deep breathes, baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

You flush, still not really use to the baby thing. Or Dean’s hands on your skin, every touch lingering like an imprint that will never even try to fade. “Shut up-“

He shakes his head. “Nah. You love it.” A boyish, wide smile splits over his face. “You love me.”

You might die. You might explode into a million, tiny pieces of confetti and shimmering glass, because Dean looks so happy. There are no ghosts in his beautiful eyes, no loathing or dread stained over his perfect face. He’s happy, here, with you, and you’re not cruel enough to stop yourself from crawling up his chest and pressing a soft, sweet kiss to his lips.

“I do love you,” you mumble against him, straddling his torso as you push yourself up flat palms. “But I’m still gonna tell you to shut up.”

He chuckles, the sound rolling and humming right into your blood. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dean reaches up to tuck a little hair behind your ears, and freezes, his eyes trained on his forearm. On the Mark.

“We, uh,” he clears his throat, watching you carefully. “We do need to figure out what we’re gonna do about this.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “We do. But I, I think-“

You cut yourself off, taking his hand in yours and running light fingers over the Mark in thought. Dean stares up at you with a slight awe in his gaze that makes you feel almost important, and your words fall to a soft breath.

“If you want.” You whisper. “We can turn it back-“

“No.” He shakes his head, sounding almost panicked. “I’m not goin’ back to that shit, not now-“

“Dean.” Your fingers still on his arm. “Was it me? That the Mark wanted?”

He swallows, but nods, and you sigh.

“We’re going to have separate sometimes. And we can figure out the bloodlust-“

“We should have to figure it out though, you don’t gotta put up with that-“

“I know.” You smile at him, and it’s not hard. Smiling at Dean is never hard. “But I will.”

“Do you-“ He stares at you, tangling his fingers in yours. “Do you not want me to keep the betterlust? You can tell me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to, for me-“

“God, no.” You shake your head, squeezing his hand. “I’m just, I’m worried about what might happen when the betterlust decides I’m not enough. Or when this, um, when you-“

Dean says your name, slow and firm, and you swallow. “This is it for me. It’s you, and the Mark knows that. You’re gonna be more than enough, hell, you’re more than I deserve-“

“That’s not true.” You mumble. “You deserve the world.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand. “It’s adorable that you really believe that, baby, but-“

You scowl at him. “It’s the truth, Dean. You’re a good man, I meant what I said-“

“I know you did.” His charming, cowboy grins falters slightly. Not falling, but twisting into one you’ve never seen before. Still roguish, still well designed and stealing your breath, but with a slight crack that allows you to see deeper. To see the lonely part of him, that really thinks you don’t belong here with him. That’s trying to drag you into him, because he’s certain you’ll start running if he doesn’t. “But this,” he nods to the Mark. “Is still gonna be a problem. I’m still gonna be a problem-“

“You’re not a problem-“

He says your name, the word careful and tender and holy from his lips. It’s the best way you’ve ever heard it. The only way you want to hear it again. “Do you want me to keep the betterlust.”

You purse your lips, and nod.

“Words, baby-“

“Yes.” You whisper. “But I need you to promise me that if it stops working-“

“It won’t.” He shrugs, his voice flat, as if he’s speaking in fact. “And we’re gonna keep looking for a way to get this son of a bitch off. But we’re doin’ it together.” He pauses, scanning over your open features. “If that’s what you-“

You lean down, silencing him with a long, easy kiss. It’s not desperate anymore, but careful. Like you’re making art, or starting to spin a web that could unravel with a single tug, but neither of you will let it. You’ll never let this—whatever this becomes—fall apart. You’ll put your whole life into keeping Dean, fighting for him and helping him and reminding him that he’s not really a burden. Letting him remind you that he really does want you, and he’s never going to allow you to doubt that again.

“Together.” You speak against his lips, letting your content breath fall into his mouth. “I’d like to stay together.”

He nods, mouth curving into a grin. “Alright then. Together.”

End Note: Thank you so so much for reading!!! I've had a lot of fun with this one, and I'm so happy y'all have as well! I hope to see some of you soon for the next one, and if not, thank you. no matter what!!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @brtodd @panicking-outside-the-disco @megara0224

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @spacecowgirl126 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear @lovewolfspirit

@lordofthunderthr @nightxcreature @underground-secrets @amberlthomas @kamisobsessed

@tcedenslash

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vanesycho · 13 hours ago

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• bf!chan x f!reader | m.list

| just chan comforting you because you feel upset

author's note | I'm bad at writing comfort fics, I'm sorry @hyunjins-orange-slice-too

word count | 0,8k

The door knocking, making you fidget uneasily. “Come in.” Chan stuck his head out of the door and looked at you for a moment, you could hear him take a deep breath. “Your favorite.” You looked at the drink he had placed on the table next to the bed and tried to give a small smile. Chan sat down next to you and held your hands tightly, warmth wrapped around your body, then a small kiss on your forehead slowly began to calm your body that you hadn’t even realized was tense.

“I waited until you told me, baby, I knew you wanted to be alone but I couldn’t take it anymore, I’m sorry. Please tell me what's wrong. Because I don’t know how much longer my heart can handle seeing the person I love like this.” you swallowed hard, the words were hard to get out of your mouth, but Chan was calm, waiting for you, like he always did. He looked at your face patiently with a small smile on his face while his thumb stroked your hand with support. “I don’t know…” you mumbled, it seemed like just one word that came out of your mouth was enough to make your tears come, all those feelings you had been holding inside had been waiting for you to speak, and now you had succumbed to the explosion of emotions.

Chan put one hand on your shoulder and pulled you closer to him, his other hand went to the back of your head, he started to gently caress your hair, your tears were soaking his shirt without waiting any longer and he let you cry with the small kisses he placed on your head. Until you released all your emotions, as much as you needed. "It's okay, I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. Cry as much as you want, I know you need it, don't hold it in."

You didn't talk for a while, he gave you as much time as you wanted to explain yourself more easily, when your breathing started to become regular he pulled back to look at your face, when you raised your head to look at him, you noticed that his eyes were filled with tears "You're crying.." he smiled, placing his hands on your cheeks "You know I can't stand to see you cry...Now. Are you ready to tell me?" you nodded in agreement, he wiped your tears, waiting for you while caressing your cheek "I.. Everything is piling up, I don't know how to deal with so many emotions. My body is tired, it feels like I've been running non-stop for years, I can't sleep properly, I can't eat, my mind is always scattered, my heart is aching, I can't do the things I used to love. I don't want to do anything..even breathing is hard-"

You couldn't finish your sentence, as you were faced with another round of tears, Chan kissed your flowing tears one by one, "Why do you let yourself experience these feelings alone, hm? Why do you take all the burden on yourself? Is my role in your life only to be there when you share the good things? No. Why do I exist if I don't kiss every tear you shed during your bad moments and tell you how much I love you and that you don't deserve this treatment you show yourself?" you couldn't answer, he gently grabbed your chin and made you look at him, "I love you so much, more than anything. Every time I see you like this, a piece of my heart breaks. Please don't hide anything from me, I will listen to you no matter what. You know I will never judge you, right? I want to be the person you come to when even the slightest thing happens to you in this life. So please don't leave yourself alone."

You nodded, every sentence he said soothed your heart. He pulled you closer to him and let you rest on his chest, you let out a breath as his heartbeat caught your ear "I'm sorry if I made you worry and upset-" he cut you off "Don't apologize for anything. You didn't do anything wrong. Of course I will worry about the person I love, and remember that you will never upset me. Well..I can get hurt 'a little', but I will forget about it right away, you know that I can't stay mad at you and can't fall asleep without your scent at night." you smiled slightly as he said the last sentence with a laugh.

The pounding of his heart and the tiredness that came with crying made you close your eyes. Chan, noticing the slowness in your breathing, whispered, "Baby?" you hummed, when he realized that you were sleepy, he made you lie down comfortably on the bed and took you in his arms again. The 'I love you's he whispered after each kiss and caressing your head were getting more and more blurry. Even after you surrendered to sleep after a while, Chan didn't stop, he continued to tell you how much he love you, to make sure you heard them even in your dreams.

#skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz angst #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids x reader #bangchan imagines #bangchan fluff #bangchan angst #bang chan imagines

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thenewestxmen · 1 day ago

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I am convinced that Wade had a really hard adjustment when Logan came into his life.

After I called after Logan when we returned to my home universe, I welcomed him into that shitty apartment. The only thing I regret informing Logan of is that it was a one bed apartment with a pull out couch. The second I got home. I introduced Althea to Logan and Logan, Althea. That night as everyone was welcoming Logan, mini Logan, and I back home, I announced we would in fact be moving out. Al already sometimes pays rent, and her disability insurance and checks should cover her. Logan doesn’t have money so he will stay with me, at least until he scrapes up enough money or sobriety to get his own place. That night, Wolverine takes the floor.

“You can take the bed, I can take the floor unless you’re feeing a little hot.”

“The floor will do fine.” He says in a firm voice. He’s pretty much too tired to argue or call me a bitch.

As I lay awake, insomnia slapping me across my ugly nutsack of a face, weirdly the only thing I can think of is what Logan said in the Honda Odyssey. The few hours ago, Vanessa had come over, she started to brag about Dermot or whatever his name was. “You couldn’t save a relationship with a god damn stopper!” His voice rang in my ears. “Gimme the dog and talk to the girl.” He had said. What’s the point? Some boring guy at her workplace was able to land her and I couldn’t. Figures, when I met her I literally paid her to tolerate me. I have no clue why she stayed after that. I attempted to flirt, but honestly… I’m not interested. I know, I know. I was willing to go back in time to get her back when she died, I know I blew myself up too. But honestly, what is so great… not to sound rude, but honestly, I’m a world famous merc and literally unable to die, so messed up I got an amazing sense of humor. And she was a stripper and left me when things got a little rough. I chatted with her a bit at the homecoming party, but after that, my eyes wandered… to Logan. Aw shit. The guys is hot. Come one Wade, pull yourself together!

Now I’m laying on the pull out, he’s three feet from me, sleeping and snoring softly. But still even though I’m just now realizing how incredibly handsome he is, how perfect even, it’s not the first time I’ve felt attracted to him. In the void, he held my hand and decided to die with me to help me. But even after he did so, his hurtful words still ring in my ears. My stomach weirdly hurts, like a cold pit dropped down my throat. That when I realize my face feels hot, and burning teas stream down my face. This doesn’t often happen, or at least not usually when I’m insulted. But Logan’s words really hit me hard I guess, and just now, as the words sink in a bit more, they push and force the salty hot tears out of me.

“Hmm… Wade?” I hear from behind me. Logan woke up and heard me… quickly I wipe the tears and turn to face Logan, resting my head back on the pillow. I hope my face isn’t too red and puffy, even through the darkness and lighting my scars make.

“Sleeping soundly peanut?” I say in a sexual voice. Although my dumbass self forget that little Angelbaby has great senses. I can see it on his face. He smells my salty tears.

“Why the fuck are you crying?” Logan says in tired deep voice.

“Im not crying, it’s just the moonlight reflecting off of your sugary tits into my eyes, so they look all shiny.” I say, half assed excuse. Obviously he doesn’t buy it and gets up, walking over to me, and starts laying on the other side of the pull out.

“What’s wrong bub.” Why the hell do people ask that question when I’m trying not to cry?! I just burst into tears.

“You… I… I can’t do anything right… you’re stuck we me, in my own universe! In my shitty apartment, stuck with a nutsack faced fucking failure.” I say in gasps for breath. He just pulls me in, holding me for a moment as my chest hurts and strains. Everything’s a wreck, I don’t want this life. I don’t want to live forever, I don’t want to be a merc or car salesman, I don’t want to be depended on. Logan just hushes me.

“It’s alright…” he says. He’s awful at this comfort shit but his deep smooth voice and warm embrace is rather soothing. He allows me to cry, soaking his shirt. I cry until I’m trembling and my jaw and chest hurts. Even when I stop because of the pain, he holds me. Everything is a mess and I want everything to be all better. I’m moving and the Wolverine is depending on me for a place to live and I am a mess and can’t have a good relationship with anyone… the closest thing to one is with my blind elderly roommate who despises me. Logan rocks back and forth, hushing and humming. He will occasionally say, “it’s ok Wade…” or something. My chest starts to stop aching and I just let him hold me, letting my eyelids close. I don’t know what I’ll do tomorrow, and I’m not looking to finding out. Everything’s a mess, and it’s all my mess.

authors note: should I turn this into another fic series? This is going well, I think I could go off this into a series, idk. Sorry I didn’t post this earlier, it took a while to write this bcs I was busy.

#logan wolverine #deadpool #logan howlett #deadpool and wolverine #wade wilson #poolverine #blind al #x men #i love these idiots

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1425fivefive · 3 days ago

Note

norstappen + begging please?

post-2024 austria norstappen begging (for the kink prompt ask)

Lando doesn’t say anything when he opens his hotel room door, just goes over to the desk chair and curls up in it, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees. Max can tell he’s been crying, his face a blotchy pink, his eyes red-rimmed.

“Fuck, Lando,” Max says, chest aching at the sight.

Lando makes a small, hurt noise, but he says, “Don’t fucking—don’t you dare fucking pity me.”

“I’m not,” Max lies.

Lando lets out a sob, bringing a sleeve up to scrub at his cheek. “I know you fucking do,” Lando says, voice shaking. “And you’re not even—you’re not even fucking sorry about it.”

“I am,” Max says. “I am, fuck, Lando, I—” Max trails off, running a hand through his hair.

When he’d made the move, he hadn’t thought it’d been over the line. He thought there was enough space, he thought Lando would brake, he thought Lando would back off and try again on the next lap. He hadn’t meant to puncture Lando’s tire along with his own. Hadn’t meant to send them both limping back to the pits. Hadn’t meant to force Lando to retire the car.

But Lando’s looking at Max like he doesn’t even recognize him. Max feels a flutter of panic at the idea that this might be something Lando can’t forgive. That maybe Lando thinks Max wanted to ruin Lando’s race.

Max takes a step forward, reaching a hand out. “Lando—”

“What?” Lando snaps. “What the fuck do you want Max?”

Max thinks about how it’d been early in the season, when Lando had been giggly and pliant in bed. When they’d fucked and played video games after, Lando’s feet in his lap. It’d been easy and nice and perfect, and Max hadn’t realized exactly how perfect it was until he’d lost it.

“Lando,” Max whispers, cringing at the desperation in his voice.

Lando wipes his nose with the sleeve of his sweater, glaring at Max. “You can’t fuck me if that’s what you want,” Lando says. “That’s—I’m not fucking doing that.”

“I wasn’t—” Max breaks off on a groan, desperately trying to work out the right thing to say.

Maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all, maybe he should just—

Max sinks to his knees in front of Lando.

“Oh my god,” Lando mutters. “You are here to fuck me.”

Max’s cheeks flush and he shakes his head, frantic. “No, I—fuck, Lando, I’m trying—” Max grabs the arms of the desk chair, pulling it toward him.

Lando yelps, legs flying down to land on either side of Max, crotch directly in front of Max’s face.

“Let me suck your dick,” Max says. “Let me—I’m trying to apologize, Lando.”

Lando lets out an indignant little huff, but he’s staring at Max intently, like maybe he finally wants to hear what Max has to say.

“Please,” Max whispers, bringing a hand to slide up Lando’s thigh, playing with the hem of Lando’s shorts. “Please, Lando.”

“How bad?” Lando asks.

Max frowns, confused. “What?”

Lando flushes, sinking into his hoodie. “How bad, like—how bad do you want it?”

“Your cock?”

Lando bites his lip, nods.

Max lets out a slow exhale. He can do this. If this is what he needs to do to make Lando see how much he means to him, how much Max cares about him, fine. He’ll fucking beg.

“So bad, Lando,” Max murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to the inside of Lando’s thigh. “Fucking love your cock.”

Lando lets out a whimper but he stifles it immediately, frowning down at Max, clearly trying to seem in control. “Keep going.”

“Missed it so much, Lando,” Max breathes, pressing a kiss to Lando’s other thigh. “Love the way you taste. Please let me suck you.”

Lando whines, but he snaps, “You can’t come tonight.”

Max’s cock aches but he’s not a teenager. He can make it through a night if that’s what Lando needs.

“And you can’t fuck me,” Lando continues. “I won’t be sucking your dick either, so if you’re doing this because you, like, expect me to return the favor or something—”

“I’m not,” Max says gently, rubbing his thumbs over Lando’s skin, trying to soothe him. “Let me do this for you.”

Lando’s eyes are wide, pupils huge. Max knows Lando’s going to let him.

But Lando says, “I haven’t, like, forgiven you yet.”

The yet feels important. Like maybe if Max does this well enough, maybe—

Max brings his hands up to the waistband of Lando’s athletic shorts, tugging them down Lando’s legs, revealing Lando’s cock, thick and hard.

“Fuck, Lando,” Max breathes. “So fucking pretty.”

Lando whimpers at that, thighs spreading. “Say please again,” Lando orders, voice breathy.

“Please, baby,” Max groans, staring at Lando’s cock, imagining it in his mouth. “Please let me suck your pretty cock.”

“God, Max,” Lando moans, and he fists a hand in Max’s hair, dragging him down to his cock. “You can. Please, I—” Lando breaks off on a whine as Max drags his tongue over Lando’s length.

Max flashes his eyes up to Lando’s, holding his gaze as he sinks slowly down Lando’s cock. He manages to get all of it in his mouth, choking around it, eyes watering.

Lando’s staring down at him with a dazed expression, cheeks flushed, lips parted. But his fingers tighten in Max’s hair and he breathes, “Good boy.”

Max moans, brings a hand up to play with Lando’s balls the way Lando likes, and tries to show Lando exactly how sorry he is.

#kink prompts #norstappen

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starryjkoo · 2 days ago

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will always find it so interesting how army made the "jk is a minimoni anti" joke about him being jealous over namjoon....

https://x.com/jklovesjoon/status/1870891537451950488

Oh my god, that video 😬 just… so corny and unfunny. My thing is, why wouldn’t they just make it a namjikook throuple thing - aren’t ARMYs all about poly-BTS? That’s why the ARMYs who make it about only n*mkook are so transparent to me… 👀

Anyways, imo one of the reasons for this is because there’s actually a lot of HL x JM/JK shippers in this fandom who feel a similar way about Jikook as tkkrs do (just not as extreme lol). Maybe 90% of the fandom are shippers & that also includes a lot of HL x ML shippers who operate like, well, shippers. It doesn’t really matter if they think their ship is real or not, it’s still pretty common to feel jealous/resentful when another “rival” ship is getting all the moments they want for their own ship - especially when a lot of BTS shippers are basically Y/N’s who heavily project onto one member of their ship while being infatuated with the other.

This is pretty common in shipping in general, tons of fictional ships have absolutely batshit insane fanwars so it wouldn’t surprise me if there were lots of non-serious BTS shippers who also got weird and dismissive about Jikook out of the same kind of petty jealousy that tkkrs feel. They don’t even have to be a shipper to feel that way tbh, some people are just really attached to the idea of their faves being the closest (and I’m not saying everyone who ships other pairings that involve JM/JK feel this way, plenty are normal and even like jkk, but there’s definitely a large enough group who are super weird about it…)

I think this is one of the reasons why so many Jikook moments get so heavily OT7-ified compared to other duos. The way that the fandom still refers to JK’s JM live as JK’s "BTS content" live is the biggest example of this to me, it’s actually insane. I remember the way the quotes were just full of people talking about how much JK “missed his hyungs” and how he’s “watching BTS content just like me!”. It felt like none of them even acknowledged that it was a Jimin teasing video either, the whole thing was pretty wild. It's sort of the same situation with AYS and the kinds of clips that would circulate ARMY spaces vs the ones that were noticeably absent.

Like, can you imagine how many ARMYs were probably a little bothered by JK saying that the AYS trips were the best of his life? - literally every brand of JK shipper + the really intense OT7 ARMYs who want to think that they’re only happy as seven and have no individuality outside of being a group, hopefully you know the sort of ARMYs I mean, obviously I know JK loves the group and I’m sure the next BV will be very meaningful.

Anyways, sorry for giving you such a long and serious answer to this lmao 😭 it’s a petty rant and not that big of a deal or anything, but it’s just kind of tiring the way this fandom is constantly downplaying jkks bond, picking it apart and making it about other members. It would be nice if they could just give jkk their flowers and celebrate their moments w/out so much obvious jealousy or whatever. And ofc I don’t care what other people ship or if someone wants to make that whole mini/moni thing about nmkook because they ship it, it’s just annoying that those people will pose as non-biased ARMYs and how all of that has really impacted the whole fandom climate & how jikook are treated/talked about. It’s definitely not the end of the world or anything, but it annoys me enough to rant about every now and then lol.

Also, ofc I know there’s plenty of cool non-jkkr ARMYs who do totally appreciate and hype Jikook!! Maybe even the majority of them are totally normal about it, it’s just that there's enough people who are like this that it’s noticeable and annoying.

I was talking about this with someone the other day but - I’m not sure if you know what a “NOTP” is - I’m pretty sure Jikook make up the majority of NOTPs in the fandom lol.

#discourse #ask #anon #jikook #sorry for all the fandom discourse posts 😭#not sure if ppl dislike these sorts of posts in the tag #also the way the vid #doesn't even make sense #bc the videos are JK being jealous OF NJ #not over him #meaning it hints more at jkk? 😭#but ofc they wouldnt understand that #well ill stop #ppl can like what they like #but a lot of armys are annoying because #theyre all biased and shippers but pretend not to be 😭

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biblical-chronicles · 1 day ago

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Back to you

_________________________________________________

where Noel finally returns from tour, and in the quiet of their little flat, him and the reader take the next step in their relationship [18+]

_________________________________________________

The tour was finally winding down. After weeks of endless driving, lugging gear, and crashing on questionable sofas, Noel was ready to be back home—to see you. The Inspiral Carpets gigs had been mad, as usual, and while he loved the buzz, the energy, and the music, his thoughts always wandered back to your little flat and your laugh, the way it could drown out even the loudest amp in his head.

He let himself in quietly, the key turning in the lock with that soft click he’d missed hearing. The smell of your home hit him immediately—a mix of your favorite candles and just... you. It made his chest feel tight in the best way.

You must’ve heard him, though, because before he could even drop his bag, you came flying out of the bedroom, your socks sliding across the floor as you threw yourself at him.

“Noel!”

He caught you just in time, your arms locking around his neck as you kissed him full on the mouth. He laughed against your lips, a little breathless, but didn’t waste a second before kissing you back. His bag thudded to the floor as his hands settled on your waist, holding you as close as he could.

“Bloody hell, love,” he mumbled when you finally pulled back to breathe. “Missed me, did ya?”

“Missed you?” you repeated, your voice pitching up in mock disbelief. “You’ve got no idea, Gallagher. I’ve been losing me mind without you.”

He grinned, cheeks going a bit pink under your scrutiny. “You’re makin’ it sound like I’ve been off for years.”

“Feels like it,” you huffed, tugging him by the hand into the living room. “You’ve been gone ages, Noel. Ages. I mean, how’s a girl supposed to cope without her boyfriend, huh?”

“Dunno,” he said with a smirk, “seems like you managed alright. Flat hasn’t burnt down or owt.”

“Cheeky bastard,” you muttered, but your smile gave you away.

You sat him down on the couch and immediately curled up next to him, your head finding its usual spot on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you, the tension in his back easing as he leaned into you. This—this was what he missed.

“Tour alright?” you asked after a moment, your voice softer now.

“Yeah, same old,” he replied, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Lads are mad as ever. Good gigs, though. Couldn’t wait to get back here, sick of havin’ no decent brew.”

You laughed, pressing a hand to his chest. “Ah, so that’s what you missed most. Me tea.”

“And this.” He squeezed you lightly, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Reckon I’ll put up with you if you keep supplyin’ the brews.”

You pinched his side, making him yelp and laugh.

After a while, the two of you moved to the bedroom. Noel stripped down to his boxers while you rifled through a drawer for your comfiest pajamas, the ease between you two so natural it was like he’d never been away. When you finally crawled into bed, you tugged him down beside you, tucking yourself into his side.

“God, I love you,” you murmured, the words tumbling out like they’d been waiting for weeks.

He blinked, a bit caught off guard even though you’d said it before. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, propping yourself up on your elbow to look at him. “I’ve missed you so much, Noel. And not just in the ‘wish you were here to do summat for me’ kind of way. Like... properly missed you. The flat felt so empty without you. I’d just sit there thinking about you, wondering if you were okay, if you were tired, if you were eating enough—”

“Christ, you sound like me mum,” he teased, though his voice was softer than usual, his cheeks coloring.

“Oi, I’m being serious!” you said, poking him in the chest. “You’ve been lugging around gear for weeks, Noel, and I know you don’t take care of yourself like you should. I just... I love you, alright? And I want you to know that.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as he gave you that small, shy smile you loved so much.

“Love you too,” he said, the words quiet but firm, like they’d been there all along. “More than you know, love.”

Your heart swelled, and you leaned down to kiss him, soft and slow. He pulled you closer, his hands splaying over your back as he deepened the kiss. When you finally broke apart, he was grinning up at you, his shyness giving way to his usual cheeky confidence.

“Right, you’re stuck with me now,” he said, his voice playful but warm. “No gettin’ rid of me. Not after a speech like that.”

“Good,” you said, your smile matching his. “I don’t want to get rid of you.”

The moment hung between you like the soft glow of the streetlamp outside the window, its light filtering through the thin curtains. Noel’s eyes searched yours, his hand cradling your cheek as his thumb brushed lightly over your skin. There was a gentleness in his touch that made your heart ache in the best way, and before you could overthink it, you leaned in again, your lips meeting his.

This kiss wasn’t soft or tentative like before. It was deeper, fuller, charged with a longing that had been building for weeks. Noel responded instantly, his hand slipping into your hair, holding you steady as his lips moved against yours.

You shifted closer, your fingers trailing up his chest before wrapping around his neck. The heat between you grew, and when his tongue grazed your bottom lip, you opened for him without hesitation. The soft groan that rumbled in his throat sent a thrill through you, and you pressed yourself tighter against him.

It was a blur of hands and lips and quiet sighs, your bodies moving like they’d been waiting for this moment all along. When his hand slid down your side, resting just above the curve of your hip, you gasped into the kiss. It wasn’t planned or deliberate; it just happened—a small sound of want slipping out before you could stop it.

Noel froze, pulling back slightly as his eyes flicked open. His cheeks were flushed, his lips kiss-bruised, and his chest rose and fell like he’d just run a mile. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice husky but tinged with concern. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Don’t apologize.”

His brows knit together. “But—”

“I want this,” you said firmly, your voice soft but steady. “I want you, Noel. I’ve never been more sure about owt in me life.”

The weight of your words hung in the air, and you saw the conflict flash in his eyes—hesitation, protectiveness, and something deeper, something tender.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean... I know you’ve not... y’know.”

You nodded, your fingers stroking his cheek. “I know. But I trust you, Noel. I love you.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, all he could do was look at you, like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. Then, with a shaky exhale, he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, your hand cupping his face. “Takes one to know one.”

He let out a breathy laugh before capturing your lips again, his touch more deliberate this time, but still gentle—always gentle. He took his time, his fingers trailing lightly over the fabric of your clothes, testing and teasing as though he was afraid of rushing anything.

“Does this feel good?” Noel asked, his voice low and rasping, barely louder than a breath. His blue eyes met yours, searching for reassurance, for a sign that he was doing it right.

You nodded quickly, your heart racing, but the shyness that crept into your chest made it difficult to speak. You bit your lip, your gaze flickering down as heat rose to your cheeks.

“Oi,” he said softly, tilting your chin up with his fingers so you’d look at him. “Don’t get all shy on me now, love. Just tell me, yeah? Want to get it right for you.”

His honesty made your stomach flip. Taking a deep breath, you whispered, “It’s good. Really good.” Then, swallowing your nerves, you added, “You can... you can touch me a little more, if you want. Just, um, here.” You guided his hand to rest on your waist, the contact sending a spark of warmth through you.

Noel’s lips quirked into a small, reassuring smile. “Here, yeah? Alright.” His hand flexed slightly, his thumb rubbing lazy circles against your side through the thin fabric. “How’s that?”

You nodded again, your voice catching. “Perfect.”

Encouraged by your response, Noel leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, then another just below your ear. “What about this?” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and a quiet sigh escaped your lips. “It’s nice. I like it,” you managed, your voice barely audible.

“Good,” he said, his own confidence growing. He shifted closer, his hand trailing higher along your side, careful and unhurried. “If I do anything you don’t like, just say the word, alright?”

“I will,” you promised, your hand resting over his as if to anchor yourself. “But you’re doing everything right.”

As his fingers brushed the bare skin where your top had ridden up slightly, your breath hitched, and Noel froze. “Too much?” he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “It’s—it’s good. Just... maybe slower?”

He nodded, his expression softening. “Slower it is.” His touch became even more deliberate, his movements tender and precise. “You’ll have to keep bossin’ me about, though. Can’t be fumblin’ through it like a clueless muppet.”

A quiet laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you glanced up at him, your shyness melting under his warmth. “You’re not fumbling. You’re... amazing.”

“Yeah, well,” he teased gently, his lips brushing your temple. “Got a decent teacher, haven’t I?”

You smiled, your hands moving to rest on his shoulders. As his hand continued its soft journey, your nerves ebbed away, replaced by a sense of closeness that felt both thrilling and comforting.

For a few moments, you simply enjoyed the way he touched you, his calloused fingers so careful as though you were something precious. But there was a small ache in your chest, a yearning that made your voice tremble when you finally spoke.

“Noel?”

“Yeah, love?” he murmured, his lips now pressed softly against your jaw.

You hesitated, your hands tightening slightly on his shoulders. “Could you... um... touch me here?” You reached up with shaky fingers and gestured to your chest, your cheeks burning as you avoided his gaze.

Noel froze for a second, his eyes darting to yours as if to confirm he’d heard you right. “You sure?” he asked, his voice hushed but steady, his hand hovering uncertainly.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I’m sure. I just... I trust you.”

Those three words seemed to undo him. His expression softened, and he exhaled deeply, his free hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “Alright,” he said, his voice a quiet promise. “If that’s what you want.”

Slowly, his hand moved to your chest, his touch featherlight at first as though he was afraid of overstepping. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low but filled with care.

“Yes,” you whispered, your breath hitching slightly at the sensation. “It’s good.”

His thumb brushed experimentally over the fabric, drawing a soft gasp from your lips. His eyes darted to yours again, checking in even as his confidence grew. “Still good?”

“Yeah,” you managed, your voice trembling slightly. “Really good.”

Encouraged, Noel leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips that was both tender and deeply passionate. You clung to him, your fingers threading through his dark hair as you pulled him closer, needing more of the warmth and safety that only he seemed to provide.

“Noel,” you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling but sure.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to search your eyes. His chest rose and fell quickly, his breath mingling with yours as he studied your expression. “Yeah, love?”

“I want... more,” you murmured, your cheeks flushing as you fumbled for the right words.

Noel’s brows lifted slightly, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “More, eh?” he teased gently, his voice low but still tinged with that cheeky edge that made your heart flutter. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific, sweetheart. I’m not exactly a mind reader.”

Your lips parted as a nervous laugh escaped, but your hands betrayed your intent, sliding down to the hem of your top. With a deep, steadying breath, you started to lift it, exposing more of your skin to the cool air of the room. “I just... I want you to touch me here,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced down toward your chest.

Noel’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed frozen in place. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, his voice more serious now as his hands moved to gently cover yours, stilling your movements. “I don’t wanna rush you into anything.”

“I’m sure,” you said, looking up at him with a mix of nervousness and yearning. “I trust you. I want this—I want you.”

His breath hitched at your words, and he nodded, his hands releasing yours but remaining close, ready to pull back if you changed your mind. As you slid the fabric up and over your head, leaving your upper body bare before him, Noel’s eyes softened, his gaze lingering on you with a mixture of awe and tenderness.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. One of his hands reached out hesitantly, his fingertips brushing against your bare skin. “God, you’re beautiful.”

The reverence in his tone sent a warmth flooding through you, and you smiled, leaning into his touch. “You can use your mouth, too,” you whispered, your cheeks burning as the words left your lips.

Noel’s gaze snapped up to meet yours, his cheeks coloring slightly even as a slow, cheeky grin spread across his face. “Me mouth, eh?” he teased, though his voice was tinged with shyness. “You’re full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?”

“Please,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly, he leaned in, pressing a trail of soft kisses along your collarbone before his lips finally found their way to your chest.

Noel’s lips moved slowly, almost reverently, over the soft curve of your chest. His breath was warm against your skin, sending tiny shivers dancing down your spine. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every moment, every reaction you gave him.

When his lips finally closed around the sensitive peak of your breast, a sharp gasp escaped you, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders. The sensation was both tender and electrifying, a mix of heat and softness that sent your pulse racing.

He hummed softly against you, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation that made your toes curl. His tongue flicked gently, tentative at first, as though testing what you liked. When your fingers tightened in his hair and a breathless whimper slipped from your lips, it seemed to spur him on.

“Like that, do you?” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin but still carrying that cheeky charm.

“Y-Yeah,” you managed, your voice trembling with both nerves and pleasure. “It’s... so good, Noel.”

Encouraged, he took more of you into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before gently sucking, his hands bracing your sides to steady you as you instinctively arched closer to him. The combination of his mouth and the way his hands held you—strong but tender—made your head spin in the best way.

The quiet moans and sighs you couldn’t hold back seemed to fuel him further, and he alternated between gentle sucks and soft kisses, his teeth grazing lightly just to see how you’d react. When your breath hitched and a quiet, broken moan escaped, he pulled back slightly, his lips glistening as he looked up at you with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Didn’t think I’d have you makin’ sounds like that,” he teased, his voice low and husky, though there was an unmistakable fondness in his eyes.

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed, not when he was looking at you like that. “Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice soft but sure as you gazed down at him.

His expression softened at your words, the teasing edge giving way to something more serious, more intimate. “Don’t plan to, love,” he murmured before lowering his head again, his lips and tongue lavishing the same attention on your other breast.

The way he explored you, so attentive and eager to please, made your heart ache with affection. You couldn’t help but thread your fingers through his hair again, holding him close as he worked, every touch and flick of his tongue sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were flushed, his breathing heavy as he looked up at you. “You alright?” he asked, his hands gently rubbing your sides. “Not too much, yeah?”

You shook your head, a dazed smile spreading across your face. “It’s perfect,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss him

The kiss grew sloppy but no less intense, all wet heat and stifled moans. When your fingers tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck, he groaned against your lips, the sound making your thighs clench around him instinctively. You arched into him, your body pressing flush against his chest as if trying to get closer, though there was no space left to close.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, his voice thick and gravelly, as your movement caused your chest to brush against him. His hips twitched beneath you, the involuntary reaction drawing a surprised gasp from you.

You pulled back just slightly, panting, your lips swollen and slick as you gazed down at him. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes blown wide with desire as he looked up at you. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmured, his accent even thicker than usual, his voice a low rasp.

A shy smile tugged at your lips, but before you could respond, his hands slid up your sides again, and he leaned forward to recapture your mouth in another searing kiss. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you dizzy, your body responding instinctively to the overwhelming closeness.

When his hands gripped your waist firmly, guiding you to settle more securely in his lap, you gasped into the kiss, the sound turning into a quiet moan when his tongue dipped into your mouth again. His groan in response was just as guttural, the vibrations against your lips making you arch into him again.

“Noel,” you breathed when he finally pulled back, his lips trailing down your jaw and along the column of your neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that left you trembling.

“What, love?” he murmured against your neck, his voice laced with a teasing edge as his hands skimmed your sides again, his thumbs brushing just under the swell of your breasts.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but filled with enough need to make him shiver against you.

His hands tightened on your waist, and he pressed another kiss to your neck before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “Not plannin’ to,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, cheeky grin. “Long as you don’t start shyin’ up on me now.”

His cheeky grin widened as he saw the way your eyes darkened, your breathing uneven, your lips swollen from his kisses. You didn’t hesitate, surging forward to kiss him again, a deep, desperate kiss that left no doubt about what you wanted.

“Noel,” you murmured, breaking the kiss just enough to meet his gaze. There was a hunger in your eyes that made his teasing grin falter for a moment, replaced by something deeper, more serious.

“Yeah, love?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, his hands steady on your hips.

“I want you,” you said, your voice breathy but sure. “I really, really want you.”

He blinked, his expression shifting to something unreadable for a moment. “You sure?” he asked softly, his hands pausing their movements to hold you steady. “I need to know you mean that.”

You nodded, your hands trembling slightly as they moved to his chest. “I mean it, Noel. Please.”

His grin returned, softer this time, as his hands slid down to rest on your thighs. “Alright, then,” he said, his tone both teasing and reverent. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, his hands gliding up your thighs to the waistband of your bottoms. His fingers toyed with the fabric for a moment, his grin turning wicked as he felt the heat radiating from you. “Fuckin' hell, love,” he murmured against your lips, his voice dripping with teasing amusement. “You’re soaked already. Didn’t know I had that kinda effect on you.”

You flushed, burying your face in his shoulder with a groan. “Shut up,” you mumbled, but your hips shifted instinctively, pressing against his hands.

“Oh, no, I’m enjoyin’ this far too much to shut up,” he teased, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband to tug your bottoms down slowly. “Guess you’re just as mad for me as I am for you, eh?”

You didn’t answer, too focused on the way his hands moved, the way he touched you like you were something so precious. He helped you lift your hips to slide your bottoms and underwear off, tossing them aside carelessly before settling back to look at you. His eyes swept over your body with an intensity that made you shiver, a mixture of reverence and desire that left you breathless.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he said, his voice almost reverent as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your stomach, then lower, his lips trailing over your skin in a way that made you tremble.

“Noel,” you whispered, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way back up your body, his hands steady on your hips.

“Alright, love,” he said softly, his tone turning serious as he shifted to align himself with you. “Tell me if you want me to stop, yeah?”

You nodded, your hands gripping his shoulders as you looked up at him. “I won’t,” you said, your voice filled with quiet confidence. “I want this. I want you.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss you again, his movements slow and deliberate as he pushed into you. The stretch was unfamiliar but not unwelcome, and the way he watched your face, gauging your every reaction, made you feel safe, cherished.

“You alright, love?” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing as he paused to let you adjust.

You nodded, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you exhaled shakily. “Yeah,” you whispered. “You can move.”

He did, starting slow, his movements careful and deliberate as he found a pace that made you gasp. His hands roamed your body, his touch both grounding and electrifying as he whispered soft praises and teasing comments against your ear.

His hips moved with a steady rhythm, but his breaths were erratic, loud moans slipping free despite his best efforts. The sound sent a rush through you, knowing he was as undone as you were. “God,” he groaned, burying his face against your neck.

You arched into him, your hands running down the planes of his back, urging him closer. “Noel,” you gasped, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling gently. “You’re perfect. You’re making me feel so good.”

Your words sent a visible shiver through him. He lifted his head, his pupils blown wide as he looked down at you, his expression a mix of awe and desperation. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly, his vulnerability stark and beautiful.

“Of course I mean it,” you replied, your tone filled with earnest affection. You pressed your forehead to his, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “You’re everything, Noel. Everything.”

His breath hitched, and he leaned down to kiss you, messy and fervent. He moaned against your lips, the sound deep and guttural, making you feel as though you were the only thing holding him together. “Fuck, love,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smiled, pulling him closer with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. “And you’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” you whispered back, your lips brushing against his. “So good to me, don’t stop, please.”

The praise made him falter for a moment, his rhythm breaking as he let out another moan, this one louder, raw and unrestrained. “God, you’re killin’ me, sayin’ things like that,” he admitted, his tone shaky. His hands gripped your hips as though grounding himself, his breath hitching as he moved deeper.

You clung to him, tilting your head back as waves of pleasure coursed through you. “Noel,” you gasped, unable to stop yourself, “you feel so good, so perfect. Please, don’t stop. I need you.”

His response was almost immediate, his movements growing more urgent as his forehead dropped to your shoulder as he let out another loud, desperate sound. “Christ,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whimper.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as the tension building within you suddenly snapped, another loud cry of his name spilling from your lips. The sound seemed to push him over the edge, his body trembling as he followed, his voice a mix of ragged gasps and broken moans.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the room filled only with the sound of your mingled breaths. Then he looked at you, his cheeks flushed, his expression soft but filled with a shy sort of pride. “You alright?” he asked, his voice still shaky.

You smiled, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. “More than alright,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “That was everything, Noel, I love you.”

His lips curved into a small, bashful smile as he pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “I love you too” he murmured.

_________________________________________________

Bit long, maybe, but there you go, roadie Noel lovers (I’m right there with ya—give me all the Noel eras tbh).

Just felt like he’d be proper sweet and gentle, takin’ it slow and all that, hope you lot like it xx

#oasis x reader #oasis one shots #oasis band #noel gallagher x reader #britpop x f!reader #britpop x reader #britpop fanfiction #noel gallagher x you #noel gallagher x f!reader #noel gallagher smut #noel gallagher fanfiction

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