#Series: To Touch the Sun (With You) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wriokitty · 1 month ago

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i adore you (can’t you see you’re meant for me?) — ft. sylus

sylus likes to sleep late in the mornings, and you like to admire him. the two are just a series of steps that bring you to where you are now: on top of him

— word count: 4.7k words — it’s literally all pure filth with no plot idk what to say atp

— before you read: female reader ; established relationship ; sleepy sylus ; banter and teasing ; reader rides his abs (do not look at me) ; praise kink (it goes both ways tbh) ; blow jobs ; cum eating ; reader has an obsession with his veins (it is her not me okay?) ; sylus wraps his hand around her throat (but no choking) ; body worship + one clit kiss ; nipple play ; morning sex ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; do not be fooled it is all pretty soft i promise

— comments: i am new to this game and i haven’t gotten too far go easy on me for this one :( i dedicate this to all my sylus loving nonnies in my inbox thanks for helping me figure out this game LOL. and kass. ily kass

Sylus sleeps more when the sun is out than when it’s not. You don’t mind it so much—not when the view is what it is.

(He’s pretty, and so is the sun. The two combined make for an even prettier picture. You think, if you weigh your options, there are certainly worse things out there than sitting beside your sleeping boyfriend and waiting for him to wake up.)

It’s hard to keep your hands to yourself, though. His hair is too tempting not to brush away from his face. And while your hand is right there, it’s a little impossible not to cup his cheek for a moment. And, well, if you’re already touching him, you might as well let your hand slide down to his chest and rub circles against the skin. He leans into your touch subconsciously anyway—it’s not hurting him. It’s helping.

(You like telling yourself plenty of things to justify your hand and his skin having an early morning rendezvous.)

“Bored, sweetie?” His voice is always deeper when laced with sleep than it usually tends to be. You stiffen, moving to pull your hand away, an apology already prepared on your lips for waking him when he catches your wrist, eyes still closed. “I didn’t say to stop, did I?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you huff, letting him guide your hand back to his bare chest. It rises and falls slowly, so warm and firm under your palm that it’s a little dizzying.

“Am I?” He cracks an eye open, “I was just enjoying a little tenderness. I wonder why I can’t ever seem to receive something so sweet when I’m awake.”

“Precisely this reason,” you say flatly. He raises a smug brow. Just to humor him, you add, “Your ego can’t handle it when you’re awake.”

“What, that you find me too irresistible not to touch?”

“Sylus, go back to sleep,” you grumble, shuffling away from him with a face that feels unbearably hot under his half-lidded gaze. “You’re easier to get along with that way.”

“I don’t know,” he all but purrs. In a swift motion—swift enough that you let out a shrill squeal—his hand tugs at your arm and pulls you close enough that he can hoist your body to sit on his lower belly. “We get along pretty well when we’re wide awake, don’t you think?”

His hand hikes up your (well, technically his) shirt and rests on your hip, nothing but the thin fabric of your panties separating you from him as you’re seated on top of him. You shiver lightly when his thumb caresses your hip bone, a satisfied hum pulling from his throat at the feeling of goosebumps rising against your skin.

“Sylus,” you breathe, squirming over him—but you can’t say much else because you cut yourself off with a soft gasp when you hear the distinct sound of something tearing.

Fabric.

More specifically, your fabric. Your underwear—which was a rather nice pair too, you think woefully—is torn into two pieces, one held in Sylus’s hand like some form of victory, while the other falls against his belly with nothing holding it together around your hips.

You blink. He gives you a large Cheshire grin.

“Sorry, sweetie,” he says, not so apologetically, “They were just in the way.”

“I liked those!” You hiss, glaring at him, “They were nice!”

“What, you don’t think I can buy you more? I could buy them faster than I could rip them, I’m sure.”

You have your doubts about that last part—but it’s still persuasive enough that you’re no longer as mad as you were just a moment ago. But you’re still petulant, pouting as you huff, “You ruin everything.”

“Mmh,” he hums, closing his eyes, voice still a low drawl from sleep as he says, “Are you sure? Because I can feel you dripping already, sweetheart.”

Shame floods your system quickly, but lust is faster. Stronger, too, perhaps—because you don’t have it in you to be ashamed for too long before you grow impatient. With a deeper pout, you press your hands against his chest, leaning lower until your mouth hovers over his.

“Can you blame me?” You breathe against his lips. “Just look at you.”

He stiffens. Just barely, of course. Just enough that you can hardly even detect it, but you do. You do because you know him. And you know that when Sylus teases, it’s really just to deflect from his need to shift the attention to yours—like he doesn’t want you just as bad. Like he’s not just as hard as you are wet in his boxers. Like he doesn’t need to feel you just as badly as you need to feel him.

But he likes to keep the upper hand. It starts with two hands on your hips, firmly squeezing them before slowly rocking them against his abs. Your bare cunt (courtesy of him destroying a perfectly good pair of panties) glides along the ridges and indents of his muscle. Very well-defined ridges and indents of muscle, too. You tense, letting out a shaky gasp as your clit rubs against his hard-planed physique.

“If you like it so much, why stop at just a look?” He chuckles, “You’re more than welcome to feel, too, sweetheart.”

He’s so sickeningly proud of himself, you can’t help but think bitterly as soon as your hips start grinding against him of their own accord. He’s so pleased and amused and deeply content with the sight of you falling apart over him. His eyes are hungry, and they don’t stray away from you for a single second. They don’t miss a single twist in your expression, nor do they have the decency not to stare shamelessly at the image of where your pussy meets his midsection, where your slick pools and coats his skin and makes it glisten as you make a mess on him.

He hums, large hands leaving your waist buried in their frames as they guide you at a slow, steady pace. “Bet that feels good, doesn’t it?” He grins—and oh, he’s aggravatingly happy as he laughs breathlessly, “You look like you’re about to fall apart. Don’t worry, I’m right here. You can’t fall far.”

You would say something smart if you could. Maybe even reach back and palm over his crotch that’s rudely tight against his boxers. But you can’t. Not when your clit rubs against his warm, heated skin and leaves jolts along your spine. All you can manage is a pathetic, “S-Sylus, please—”

“Oh? Please what? Please more?” He coos.

Something of a dull ache builds into this deep, throbbing need to feel your walls hug around something. To constrict around and latch onto something warm and big and full—something like him. Something like the way he fucks you into the mattress and makes you feel like he’s so deep in you, you can feel him in your throat.

That’s what you want—but of course, you’re naive if you think that’s what he’ll give. For now, at least. For now, he’ll tease, and tease, and tease until he can watch you crumble just the way he wants to witness. And you’re close to that, too—you know it, and so does he. He can tell by the way your wetness drips onto him in a messy pool, making your cunt drag against him easier, smoother. He can tell because he can all but feel the quiver of your walls clenching around nothing, empty and desperate for some sort of building friction. And he can especially tell because of your face—that devastating look on your face when you’re so close to the edge you can just practically cling to it with the tips of your fingers as it dangles teasingly in front of you.

“More,” you plead, “Want you. Want to feel you.”

“Oh, but you’re almost there,” he says in faux sympathy, soothing you with a sleepy, smug little grin. “Surely, you can take it just like this, can’t you? You’re better than that—I know you are.”

His words take you to the edge. You plummet off of it, in fact, practically collapsing against his chest as he holds you upright with a firm, strong grip and guides you through your orgasm. You gush around nothing, making a wet, sticky mess on his skin as you cum against him, grinding your clit as much as you can along every indent along his hard, built muscle.

“Sylus,” you whimper, “oh—f-fuck.” Your body quivers for a few more moments before you slump against him, burying your nose into his neck. “You’re despicable,” you bite the skin lightly.

He laughs. It’s low from the sleep that’s still clinging to his voice but boyish enough that your heart skips a beat. “Am I? You seemed to enjoy it.”

You shuffle to curl into him more, but your leg brushes against the bulge in his underwear—a small, barely-there sound pulls from his throat. Something caught between a gasp and a moan that makes you pause before you grin against the crook of his neck.

“Guess I should pay you back, hm?”

He watches, pupils dilated and eyes half-lidded as you pull away and kiss from his collarbone to his pecs. A rise of goosebumps litters his skin, too—just like they did on your skin earlier. You silently revel in that victory, making your way lower, lower, lower. But it’s painfully, obnoxiously, ridiculously slow.

“Don’t be a tease, sweetie,” he hisses, grunting as you kiss down his torso, the well-defined muscle of his abs flexing under every touch of your lips.

“Who, me?” You blink, batting your lashes sweetly, “Oh, I’d never, baby.”

Your lips graze over the skin that’s still marked with your essence as you kiss and suck along his torso, a trail of marks left in your wake and declaring him yours. You can taste yourself from just a few moments ago—the moments when you rocked your hips into him and fell apart, when he held you through it with a sleepy smirk. The image of his smug face makes you glance up at him with a flustered look, and almost as if he already knows, his gaze is on you. Waiting. Smug here in person just as much as he was in your memories.

“What a naughty thing,” he drawls, teasing glint in his eyes. “Did you get a taste of yourself? I’m sure now you have an idea of why I find it so…addictive, don’t you?”

He’s filthy. Cocky, too. And more often than not, he’s absurdly prepared with smart comments. Just to even the playing field a little, you decide he could use a little relentless teasing of his own.

“Oh, I can think of a thing or two just as addictive,” you smile innocently—and just like that, you lean in to kiss against a pale, blue line across his porcelain skin, pulling away to admire the veins that mark his body. Something in you aches for him all over again—something that you don’t like to admit happens from just the sight of something like his veins. But you pay careful attention to them anyway, leaning down and pressing soft, feather-like kisses against his lower belly, feeling him stiffen tightly underneath you as his breath gets labored and slightly erratic.

He’s impatient. You glance down at him, cock hard and strained against his boxers, the beginnings of a wet patch dampening the skin from pre cum dribbling from his tip. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

“Don’t you ever get tired of your games?” He grits, involuntarily twitching his hips to chase some friction.

“I could ask you the same question,” you snort.

“Yet, it seems I’m always the one spoiling you,” he retorts.

There’s some bit of merit to that, you suppose. So you give in, humming as you kiss along his v-line, one finger looping under his waistband while giving a small tug downwards. He lifts his hips instantly, letting you pull off the offensive piece of clothing that separates him from your touch.

It’s flushed, his cock. Swollen, flushed with a pretty rosy shade at the tip, and glistening with leaking pre cum. You lean and give the thick vein along the underside a series of kisses tracing upwards before pressing a delicate one to his tip. He groans, and his cock twitches at the contact, his eyes fluttering closed as he bites his lip.

“Pretty,” you observe, smiling softly at the sight of him.

He scoffs, lips almost a pout as they curl into a frown. “Then do something about it,” he insists.

You think you’ve sufficiently teased him enough, so you do—you take him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, as your tongue and the wet heat of your mouth envelop him and make him tense for a moment before his body goes slack. A deep, throaty groan rings through the room, the sound making something do a flip in your lower belly.

“Fuck,” he whispers, breathing heavily. “You…you’re so good at this.”

The praise does something to you that you’re not proud of. Some flash of an ache deep in your core that you don’t want to focus on, so you pay closer attention to him instead. Your tongue swirls over his tip as your head bobs up, tracing down that pretty vein of his as you take him down your throat once more. What you can’t fit in your mouth—because there is enough of him that you can’t fit in your mouth—you pump with your fist, wrapped around the base of his shaft.

Sylus has a lot of veins. You admire them long enough to know them all by heart. The ones along his hands that you love to trace when you hold them in yours. The ones along his arm that you love to eye when he’s working out. The ones along his abdomen that you trace every once in a while with the tip of your finger when you have him to yourself in private. And the long, pretty one along this inner thigh—the one you see only when you’re like this: between his spread-out legs with your mouth around his cock.

Your free hand moves to lay over this thigh, gently rubbing into the skin as if to anchor him as he throws his head back and groans. Your eyes are trained on him, staring up at the twists of pleasure in his expression and the crinkles in his eyes as he closes them tightly and moans. But you don’t have to look at your hand to know your thumb is tracing along that vein. You know it better than you know yourself, you think—his body is so easy to memorize. So easy to get to know and keep ingrained in your brain forever.

His thigh flexes under your touch, and you hum around him, the vibrations around his length making his breath hitch as he curses under his breath.

You pull away with nothing but a string of saliva connecting you to him, his eyes glancing down at you sharply for the interruption. But you smile, equal parts soft and equal parts smug. Gently, you press a wet kiss to his thigh, right over the same pale blue line you traced just moments ago, as you murmur, “You’re so pretty. You know that?”

“I’m flattered,” he says tightly, warily staring down at you with hungry, desperate eyes. “I’m sure you can save the flattery for later, though, can’t you?”

“But what if you think I’m just using you for your body?” You gasp dramatically, “Can’t have that, you know. I have to appreciate you more.”

“Teasing can easily be reciprocated, you know, sweetheart,” he grits, “Or have you forgotten that so quickly?”

“Oh, I’m aware. I’ll take my chances.” Your lips trail up his thigh until it reaches the base of his cock. You press another kiss against it, murmuring a quiet, “I love you.”

His cock twitches—it’s like it responds to every soft word of affection and every littlest bit of praise. For all the denying and for all the impatience, too, Sylus loves the attention. Thrives under it, even—it does something to his ego that you know you probably shouldn’t help stroke, but you can’t help it.

You press one more kiss to his swollen tip before murmuring, “Mine,” and then you take him down your throat once more—faster this time. Your head bobs up and down his length, lips wrapped around him as you swallow every now and then.

His hand flies to his hair, tugging at the soft, silvery strands as he groans deeply, hips pushing up to meet your pace and thrust deeper into your mouth.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he hisses, “Just like that, sweetheart—shit.”

He spills down your throat not too long after. Warm, sticky ropes of cum that paint your mouth with every twitch of his cock, filling you enough that some spills from the corner of your mouth, dripping along your face and collecting at your chin. You swallow what you can, working him through his orgasm, listening to the sweet, lust-hazed sounds he makes as pleasure burns through every nerve of his body.

He slumps back when he’s finished, panting with an arm over his eyes while you wipe your chin and swallow before climbing up his body and slumping on top of him. He wraps an arm around your waist instantly, humming lowly as his large, warm hand rubs into your lower back.

“Had your fun?” He raises a brow.

You grin cheekily, kissing his jaw as you murmur, “I think you had more fun than me, but what do I know?”

He chuckles. It’s low, and the sound vibrates through his chest so that you can feel it under you. There’s a small bead of sweat along his temple, and his face is flushed a soft shade of scarlet that you admire—it brings out the deep crimson of his eyes even more from here.

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper.

“How many times will you remind me of that?” He asks, bringing a hand to your chin, tilting your face up, and inspecting you carefully. “You’re making me feel bad. I haven’t reminded you how stunning you are nearly enough times.”

“You could always start now,” you wink, “It’s never too late.” He laughs again. Deep, genuine, soft. Sylus is a lot of things. You think your favorite is in love.

“Do I really have to remind you?” He whispers, voice husky as he slowly shifts your body to lay under his, flipping you over as he hovers over you. “You don’t already know how beautiful you are—how you drive me insane?”

“A reminder wouldn’t hurt,” you blink innocently. “What if you’re secretly getting tired of me?”

His eyes flash with something dangerous at that. You only meant it as a joke, of course—he loves deeply. So deeply, you don’t think you’d escape him even if you wanted to. (Not that you do, of course. You’re quite happy knowing your place is beside him.) You know he’s never tired of you—quite the opposite, in fact.

But you like teasing him. Getting under his skin enough that his hand moves to your throat and wraps around it firmly—not quite tight enough to block your air flow, but enough to serve as a light warning.

“You think I would get tired of you?” He challenges. Offended. In disbelief. “Tired of this?”

Just like that, the familiar sound of fabric tearing rings through your ears again. It’s a sound you seem to be getting more and more used to the longer you date Sylus. And yet, every time, it pulls the same sound of disbelief from your throat as you gasp at his audacity. But before you can speak, before you can scold him for ripping your (his) favorite shirt straight off of your body, his hands curve around your tits, molding against them perfectly as if they were made to cup them. His thumbs roll over your nipples, humming in approval as you whine softly at the feeling.

“Sylus,” you pant. (Regretfully, you think that’s the only collection of syllables you can manage anymore on this fine morning.) “W-wait—”

“Wait?” He pretends to gasp in shock, “But we’re just getting started. I was just about to show you all my favorite parts of you—they never get old. Would you like to see?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he leans down, latching his lips around one pebbled nipple, sucking and nipping lightly at it as his thumb rolls over and pinches the other one. Your back arches into his touch, a soft moan spilling from your lips as he grins against your chest.

“Here’s a favorite, for starters,” he murmurs. “And here—” he kisses along your belly and makes his way to your hip bone, biting lightly at the flesh and making your breath hitch, “—this is certainly a memorable place too, isn’t it? Can’t keep my hands off of it.”

Finally, his hands slowly pull your legs apart, exposing the wet, dripping mess that is your cunt, folds puffy and waiting for him. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your clit, smiling at the small whimper you let out from the sensitive touch before he says through a low, breathy whisper, “This, however…this has to be my favorite part of all.”

“Okay,” you whine, pulling at his arms with a plea, “I get it, okay? I need it, please.”

“Well then,” he huffs out a soft laugh, “Who am I to deny?”

He’s level with you before you can blink—mouth on yours with a heavy, heated kiss that sends your brain into a fogged state as you kiss back. All you can register is soft flesh, pressure against your mouth, the taste of his tongue on yours, and hot and heavy breath seeping into your lungs while he inhales yours. It’s slow, the way he kisses you—but still undeniably needy. He chases after your mouth as soon as you pull away to breathe, a soft gasp pushing past his throat at the loss of contact. As if it might kill him. As if he might die without your breath down his throat, keeping him alive.

“Do you want it, sweetheart?” He breathes erratically, “Because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“I want it,” you practically beg, “I want you.”

He’s hard again—stiff between his legs and throbbing at your words enough that his cock does a little jerk on its own, like it’s responding to you itself. He drags it along your entrance, rolling slow circles against your folds and coating his tip in your slick, earning a sharp inhale from you as he groans at the teasing friction against the head of his cock.

“I always want you,” he breathes.

He pushes past your folds as he speaks the words against your mouth, letting you swallow up the low moan he lets out as your walls wrap around him little by little. It’s painstakingly slow. Inch after inch after inch until the blunt head of his length presses deep into you, nudging against a soft, sensitive spot in your walls that makes your whole body react with a quiver. He curves into you perfectly, thick and deep and so, so full.

“Ready?” He smiles tenderly, gripping the fat of your thighs and hooking them around his waist, leaning to kiss one of your knees as you melt into the mattress and nod.

“Please,” you whine, “Need it—need you.”

There’s a sharp thrust of his hips at that—he pulls out until he’s almost completely left your warm cunt before slamming back in past your folds, pressing mercilessly against your sensitive spot. It’s partly because he has your body memorized but mainly because his body is practically made to mold into you. It’s like he fits you perfectly, curves into the shape of your body like the shape of his was hand-made to pair with yours.

When Sylus fucks you is when you see past his exterior the most. When his eyes hold the most emotion, staring at you like he can’t believe you’re his. When his hands shake for once because he doesn’t know if he deserves the weight of you in his hold. When his breath is the most labored and uncontrolled because you steal every breath from his lungs, and selflessly, he gives up air for you. When sweat coats his skin and makes his hair cling to his forehead because when he loves you is when his body is most responsive, most affected.

When Sylus fucks you is when you love yourself most. Because how could you not when he pays such close attention to you? Thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles just the way he knows drives you crazy, watching your face closely for every reaction? How could you not when close is not nearly close enough, when he presses his chest against yours and buries his face into your neck to all but melt under your skin? It makes you feel desirable. Beautiful. Lovable.

So easy to want.

So easy to lose control to.

So easy to need.

“You feel that, don’t you?” He mumbles, panting harshly as he grunts when you squeeze around him at the sound of his labored voice. “Feel me? How badly I need you? How crazy you drive me? Feel how hard I am for you? Don’t tell me you think I’d ever get tired of that.”

“I know,” you whine, “I know, I know, baby—I promise.”

You let out a small squeal when he angles your leg higher, thrusting deeper into your cunt, pressing harshly where you need him most with his tip in a dizzyingly punishing pace and a harshly rough deepness that makes your vision blur. Almost go blank, even.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands.

“I love you!”

“Tell me you need me,” he adds, so selfish and needy for your approval. To know you’re nothing without him like he’s nothing without you.

“N-need…fuck, I need you,” you stumble over your words as your orgasm comes closer and closer, creeping up on you enough that you can’t catch your breath fast enough to keep up with him.

“Tell me you’re mine.” This time, it comes out as almost a plea.

“Yours,” you sob, body on the precipice of breaking all over again, “Yours, yours, yours.”

You cum as soon as you say it. Harder than maybe ever—it’s like being reminded that you’re his makes your body react tenfold. You fall apart with a shrill cry of his name, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a bruising kiss as your nails press indents into his skin.

He groans in pleasure at the slight pain, melting against your lips, an open-mouthed, wet kiss working him up to his own orgasm. His first one was a slow build-up—but this one happens quickly, coming out of nowhere and hitting him full force, his hips stuttering for a moment and losing rhythm as he sloppily thrusts into you.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

Your voice rings in his ears, aiding him through his pleasure as he fucks his thick, sticky release deep into your folds, sharp thrusts that match the harsh twitching of his cock.

“Ngh,” he grunts, “Sh-shit, sweetheart.”

Finally, when you’re both done, breaths frenzied and harsh as you try to make up for the lost air in your lungs, he slumps over your body and hides his face into the crook of your neck, practically purring as your shaky hand buries into his sweaty locks and strokes the soft, silvery strands.

It’s quiet, just the sound of your breathing eventually shifting from heavy to slowed as you finally catch it, the quivering of your body dissipating, too. Your fingers journey their way from his scalp to the back of his neck, lightly making a feather-soft trail along his bare back as he shivers from the touch.

“Don’t fall asleep after I showed you a good time,” you pout, “It’s rude.”

“You were the one that woke me for a good time,” he mumbles, amused. “That’s equally as rude.”

“I did not,” you huff, “You were the one who escalated it. I just wanted a peaceful morning.”

“I don’t know,” he grins against your skin, pressing a chaste, warm peck where it's closest to his lips, “I’m feeling pretty at peace, wouldn’t you agree?”

so uh..........basically i got the card where u measured him for clothes and i saw a vein in his abs and lost my mind. so. here is the product of that. i REFUSE to be told this is not a completely totally normal reaction. thank you!

#—rivistyping!#sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #sylus smut #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace x reader #lds x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #lnds x reader #love and deepspace smut #lds smut #lads smut #l&ds smut #lnds smut #l&ds sylus

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illyrianbitch · 5 days ago

Text

Are We Still Friends? — Part Five

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: A chance encounter offers a break from your tangled thoughts about Azriel. Meanwhile, Az reaches a pivotal realization.

Warnings: training, sparring and weapon use, severe overthinking, longing, brief use of recreational drugs (lovely 'mirthroot')

Word Count: 7.1k

Part Four | Series Masterlist |

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Even in the early hours, the heat was suffocating.

You’d been half-tempted to cancel on Mor, to crawl back under the covers and enjoy the blissful cool of your room. But you knew better. Mor would’ve winnowed straight into your bedroom, dragged you out of bed, and reminded you that you’d made a promise.

So now, here you were, on the training grounds, sweat already collecting at your brow, watching Azriel and Cassian spar on the far side.

Both of the males were dressed in their usual head-to-toe leathers, though Cassian seemed just as bothered by the weather as you. You’d noticed he’d trained shirtless more often lately, something you attributed to the presence of his mate, but today he was fully covered. It probably had something to do with the steady, focused gaze Az held. Something to be cautious of. Wary.

Unlike his brother, Azriel’s expression was detached, as if the sun didn’t touch him at all— like he was completely unbothered by the sweltering heat. His wings shifted slightly against the back of his leathers, but that was the extent of his discomfort, if any.

You’d never visited Illyria in the summer months, never experienced the full brutality of its heat. Perhaps it was there, under that oppressive sun, that Azriel had learned to manage heat in such attire. But, then again, Az was entirely too skilled at masking what he actually felt.

Something about him, now before you, made you want to continue staring—his wings, the way his body moved with the smoothness of a predator, the effortless strength in the curve of his form. Lately, everything about Azriel had been doing that— distracting you. Overwhelming you. Calling to you like a siren song. His voice, his smile, the way he moved.

A laugh from Mor pulled you from your thoughts.

"It’s a shame the healing balm worked so well," Her voice teased from behind you. You turned at the sound, watching as she tossed a sword from one hand to the other with an ease that was almost poetic. "Seeing you turned me into a softie, you know. All those bruises and that pouty face— I had to go easy because I felt bad for you.”

You snorted, catching the blade she tossed your way. "Oh, so that’s the only reason I beat you last week? Because you were going easy on me?"

Her grin widened. “Yeah. But Runa got too many hits on you. You’re rusty. So maybe I’m not doing you any favors by going easy." She raised an eyebrow. "Maybe Cassian’s been going too easy on you, too."

“Or maybe,” you shot back, stepping into the ring, “I was just going easy on a citizen.”

Mor’s laugh was loud and unapologetic as she followed you. "You’re saying that like you didn’t know exactly who she was when you threw the first punch."

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head as you squared up to her. “Okay, can we maybe stop reminiscing over my recent regrettable actions? Please?”

“Never.” She slid into a stance with ease. “But if you beat me, I’ll stop laughing about it for a week.”

“Only a week?”

“That’s all you’ll get, babe.”

You rolled your eyes, lips still curved in a grin. “Fine. Deal.”

And then, without hesitation, Mor lunged. Your blades collided with a sharp ring, the sound vibrating up your arms. You let the adrenaline of the fight pull you out of your thoughts, focusing on the female in front of you.

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that before anything else, Morrigan was a warrior. Graceful, clever, and impossibly skilled. The kind of fighter who didn’t rely on brute strength but on speed, precision, and an uncanny ability to read her opponent. Skills she’d learnt to outmaneuver and beat males that may have been twice her size, twice her age. And if you looked hard enough, past her glittering makeup and the plethora of gold jewelry she adorned, you’d notice the scars scattered across her body, small slices from knives and swords that didn’t have enough time to heal during the first war.

Mor didn’t hold back, her strikes coming faster, sharper, until your muscles burned from the effort of keeping up.

From across the ring, Cassian’s booming laugh carried over, followed by what sounded like a gruff remark from Azriel. You glanced over almost instinctively, your eyes following the movement of Az’s shadows. They twisted around him, stretching into the shaded spaces between Cassian’s body and the ground, curling around the general’s feet in an attempt to constrict his movements.

Mor’s grin widened as she caught your sword mid-swing. “You’re distracted,” she said.

You twisted to break free, stubbornly meeting her gaze. “Am not.”

You tried to return to the rhythm of the fight, but Mor was right. You were distracted. Every glance in Azriel’s direction made your heart race, your mind spiral. Even from across the yard, you could feel the heat of his presence. It threw you off balance. And before you knew it, Mor disarmed you, sending you crashing to the ground with a grunt.

“Like I said,” she hummed, smirking as she extended a hand to help you up. “Distracted.”

“Maybe a bit.” You winced, rolling your shoulders as you stood straight. “I have too much on my mind. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Mor tilted her head. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head, wiping at the sweat on your brow. “That’s the last thing I want to do, actually.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing you before she nodded. “Well, we just got some new weapons last week—I’ve been dying to test them out.”

You raised a brow. “What kind of weapons?”

Mor shrugged. “Not sure. Rhys says they’re lighter. I think you’ll like them.” She grabbed your discarded sword, tossing both it and hers onto the rack with ease. “You’re too cautious for a regular sword anyway. You don’t like getting hit.”

“No one likes getting hit.”

“True,” she said, laughing slightly as she bumped your shoulder. “But you’re smart about it. Always letting them exhaust themselves first.”

“Go get them,” you nodded to her. “I want to try them out.”

Mor grinned. “Good. Then I can start kicking your ass with them, too.”

She turned to leave, and you watched her go, ready to grab some water. But then, just as you were about to turn, you felt it—a presence behind you. You knew it in your bones, from the soft breeze you swore his shadows danced in, that it was Azriel. Still, when you turned and saw him standing there, you felt unprepared, like something in your chest tightened, hot and sharp, like heartburn. You shoved it down, burying it deeper, just like you had been doing all week.

He raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re really gonna let her beat you like that?”

You ran a hand over your face, trying to settle your racing pulse. “What can I say, it’s been an off couple of weeks.”

It was hard not to notice how close he stood, the way his presence seemed to fill the space, pushing the air around you in a way that made it harder to breathe.

“Yeah,” Azriel glanced at you, and his expression softened just a fraction. “Are you okay? I mean, now?”

You nodded too fast. “Yeah. Just hot. Overwhelmed.”

He studied you, his brow slightly furrowed, but there was something else behind it. Something he wasn’t saying.

“You can’t possibly be comfortable,” you said, gesturing at his leathers. “Aren’t you boiling alive?”

Azriel tilted his head as if considering your question, then replied evenly, “I’m alright.”

“You’re lying,” you replied, narrowing your eyes at him. “You have to be.”

That earned you a faint smile, a quick twitch of his lips that you might have missed if you weren’t already watching him too closely.

“You’re welcome to try them on,” he said smoothly. “See how they feel.”

You blinked, a small flutter echoing in your chest at the teasing edge in his voice. You frowned and said to him, “I’m wearing the exact same thing as you.”

“Mine are different.” His smile tugged again. “They’re cooling leathers.”

“Really? That's a thing?”

The look he gave you— a mix of amusement and something else— told you everything you needed to know. You scowled at him, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re messing with me.”

When your eyes met his again, they were practically glowing in amusement. He shrugged, and his shadows seemed to dance with the motion— still clinging close to him, hiding from the sun, but seemingly content despite it. He gave you a quick, warm smile— as if he were afraid for the rest of the public to see.

“I am,” he replied, leaning closer. “My leathers are, sadly, just as basic as yours.”

The sunlight caught in his hair when he stood like this, painting it with faint golden streaks. Along with your growing frustration at the heat, your stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight of him. You fanned your face with one hand, trying to ignore the ache building in your chest. You blamed the sun for making it tight.

You suddenly became aware of your presentation—of the disheveled way you must have looked. Your hair had fallen loose during the sparring with Mor, strands clinging to the sweat at your neck, a messy halo around your face. You reached back, gathering it in both hands, attempting to tighten the hold of your hair tie. As you twisted it around, the elastic snapped, the sharp sting of it flicking against your skin.

“Shit.”

A quiet sigh left you as the broken tie dangled uselessly from your fingers. Of course. As if you didn’t already feel like disaster enough. You pushed your hair back again, fingers combing through the tangled strands, debating whether to leave it down or try to secure it with something else.

You realized, quickly, that perhaps this small inconvenience was a blessing in disguise— a reason to walk away from the conversation, to regain control of your scattered thoughts. You opened your mouth to excuse yourself, to say you needed to go put your hair up, but before you could, Azriel spoke.

“Wait.”

You paused, turning back toward him as he reached into one of the hidden pockets of his leathers. When he pulled out a hair tie, your eyebrows shot up.

“What—”

Azriel’s expression was uncharacteristically sheepish as he handed it over. “You always wear the same one. I noticed the band was wearing out. It was only a matter of time before it broke.”

“You… noticed that?”

His shadows shifted around him, curling between you two, and he subtly gestured toward them with his chin. “They did.”

Your fingers closed around the band as you stared at him. “So you’ve been carrying this around just in case?”

He nodded and you blinked at him, unsure if you should laugh or melt into the floor. “That… is very considerate of you.”

Az glanced at you, quiet for a moment, before he replied. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to snap and pick a fight with someone because you're overstimulated with your hair clinging to your skin. I’m just trying to protect the public.”

You rolled your eyes at that, though the thought of your family endlessly reminding you of your actions over the past few weeks made the corners of your mouth twitch. The infamous calm you’d prided yourself on—gone. You’d be hearing about your fight with a citizen for at least the next century.

“Shut up,” you said, but your heart still stuttered painfully. “But, also, thank you,” you added, focusing on twisting your hair into a knot to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Better?”

Your throat felt tight as you looked up once more, meeting his molten gaze. “Yeah,” you said. “Better.”

Azriel nodded, stepping back to give you space again. But you caught the faint curve of his lips, the small, quiet smile that made your chest ache.

You felt some relief as the wind ruffled your now-updo, but your thoughts circled.

Azriel had proven to be a male of his word. He’d spent the past two weeks showing you, in every way he could, that he was sorry. It wasn’t loud or showy—Azriel never was—but his apology seeped into the small, thoughtful things he did. Helping with reports, lighting your room’s fireplace when it got too cold. Nothing demanding, but everything that proved he was trying.

It almost felt normal again, like you and Azriel had fallen back into your usual rhythm. Your routine.

Almost.

“Good luck,” Azriel said, nodding toward where Mor was returning with the new weapons. He leaned in slowly, his shadows drifting between your shoulders, curling in the pocket of shadow created by your closeness. “And, if you want… we can go flying afterward. To celebrate you beating Mor.”

The idea of being so close to him, of having him hold you to his chest, feeling his heartbeat against yours as he carried you, made your stomach churn, made you feel nauseous. Nervous. But you nodded anyway, smiled like it was just another plan, like old times. It felt tight. Diplomatic.

“Okay,” you managed to say.

Azriel smiled, and you heard Mor’s voice asking what you were conspiratorially talking about. You didn’t answer, didn’t bother to pay attention if Azriel answered, either. The new, sleek steel weapons she’d returned with felt different in your hands. Lighter, faster. Mor had been right—these suited you better. But it didn’t matter. You were too lost in your head, too tangled in your thoughts.

Even if Mor had kept her eyes closed, she still would’ve won the next fight. You weren’t focused enough to stand a chance. There was a brief, confused look in her eyes when she realized how easily she’d taken you down once again. But she didn’t press, not even as you yielded for the day and ran home, slipping into a cool bath with the hope that it would clear your mind of everything that tainted it.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You stacked the last of the reports on the living room table, smoothing your palm over the top page before grabbing a scrap of parchment.

Rhys—went through the latest proposals and highlighted the ones most viable. Let me know if you need anything else.

You stuck the note on the pile and stepped back, scanning the work you’d spent the past few weeks compiling.

Rhysand would be by later to go over them with Azriel—discussions about Hewn City’s reformation efforts, the best way to bridge the centuries-old divide between the Court of Nightmares and the Court of Dreams. You’d done your best to outline a path forward, to present the grievances of its citizens in a way Rhysand could use to negotiate.

Your fingers drummed idly against the edge of the table before you caught sight of your wrist. The small hair tie sat there, snug against your skin. And although it was nothing, just a simple band, it felt as if it were burning. You weren’t sure why you were still wearing it—why it wasn’t in a pocket or left in your room, ready to be summoned when needed. You ran your fingers over it, jaw clenching as frustration rose in you, sudden and sharp.

At what, exactly? You didn’t know.

You did know, however, that it was likely related to Azriel.

You’d been avoiding him since the other day at training. Since he’d given you the small elastic now circling your wrist.

It wasn’t intentional, not really, but you’d been thinking too much. Feeling too much. Uncomfortable in your own skin, hyperaware of yourself and Azriel in ways that made your stomach twist. Like pressing against a tender bruise.

The anger you’d been holding onto—the indignation that had burned hot and bright in the aftermath of your fight—faded much faster than you’d expected. You still wanted to be angry, to hold onto the grudge that felt like armor, but Azriel made it impossible. His kindness had chafed against you, rubbing away at the edges of your resentment till all that was left was an overly aware sense of him. Of his presence, his care. His devotion to something as simple as your forgiveness.

You’d forgiven him within a week, had taken all of his baked goods with open arms, had expressed appreciation for the times his shadows brought you snacks during your late nights with Rhys and Feyre, going over negotiation plans for the reformation efforts.

But Azriel was being too nice now. Too thoughtful. Too much. And it was starting to wear you down.

You were noticing him in ways that felt deeper, heavier, and far more dangerous. It was overwhelming, this shift in perspective—like seeing him in a new light that illuminated details you’d never thought to look at before. The slope of his shoulders, the way he always seemed to be aware of you, even when he wasn’t looking at you. You felt blinded, too rushed to adjust to this new, backlit version of Azriel.

It stressed you out— made you want to sit down and create a list, sort through the pros and cons like some sort of strategy meeting. Analyze the feelings bubbling in your chest until you could pin them down and find the most equitable, profitable, and logical path forward. The right direction to take.

Realistically, you should wait it out. Let the feelings settle and fade before they could complicate the beautiful, solid friendship you’d built over centuries. You weren’t even sure what you were feeling. You couldn’t risk something so vital over emotions you didn’t fully understand.

The front door clicked open.

You turned at the sound of footsteps, eyes falling on Azriel’s figure as he stepped inside. His hair was a little mussed, dark strands sticking to his forehead like he’d flown through the midday heat. A faint flush tinted his cheeks, and for a moment, you wondered if the sun was still blazing in the midsky—if the warmth on his face was from exertion or simply the sun pressing down on him.

He took two large strides before his hazel eyes landed on you. His expression shifted, then, brightened, as if he hadn’t expected to find you here. The soft tug at the corners of his mouth, almost a smile but not quite, was enough to send your pulse into a sharp, erratic rhythm.

“Hey,” he said, lightly. “You’re home.”

“That I am.” You smiled and met his eyes. “Hi.”

He hesitated for a moment, then stepped farther into the room, something small and wrapped in plain paper in his hand.

“I’m glad I caught you. I have something for you,” he said, holding it out to you.

You blinked, glancing between him and the package. “What is it?”

“Some tea,” he said, his gaze flickering to yours before darting away. “For sleep.”

“For sleep?” you repeated, taking the package carefully, his shadows greeting you with a gentle circle around your wrists.

Azriel nodded, his hand falling to his side. “I noticed the other day. When you were sparring with Mor. You were leaning more on your left. You do that when you’re tired.”

Your chest tightened, your fingers curling instinctively around the package. “It was that noticeable?”

“Yeah,” he said. “ To me at least. I thought this might help.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, the simple thoughtfulness of it wrapping around you like a weight you weren’t ready to carry. You opened the package carefully, revealing a small tin filled with pouches of tea. You swallowed, staring down at the item in your hands.

“Thank you. This is…” You trailed off, your voice failing you. “This is really sweet, Az.”

“Let me know if it helps,” he said, shifting his weight slightly, his wings twitching behind him. “If you like it, I’ll get more.” He gave a small, almost tentative, smile. “Or maybe I’ll try it myself.”

You nodded, clutching the package tighter. “Okay. Yeah. I will.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you. You turned, intending to step away, to put some distance between you and the sudden awkwardness settling in your chest. But as you moved past him, Azriel stepped closer, just enough that the space between you disappeared. For a moment, you were not quite touching, just close enough that you could feel the heat of him, the faint scent of night-chilled air and cedar.

And then his hand caught yours. When you glanced back at him, his expression had softened, a sense of concern flickering in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low, intimate. Like he was sharing a secret despite you both being the only ones in the room.

Your breath caught. You could see the faint crease in his brow, the way his gaze searched your face like he was trying to find his answer there, in your features. “Yeah,” you said quietly, even though your heart was pounding.

“Are you sure?” he pressed. His thumb brushed over your skin absentmindedly, as it usually did when he soothed you on bad days. Your breath hitched at how intimate it felt now, how aware it made you of his touch. “Are we okay?”

You blinked, frowning at his words. “Yeah, of course. Why would you ask that?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. I just…I feel like I’ve barely seen you lately.”

“I’ve been busy,” you replied quickly, but the excuse felt hollow even as you said it.

“Yeah,” he murmured, but something in his tone made you think he didn’t believe you. After a moment, he added, “Are you still mad at me?”

“No,” you said after a pause, and it was the truth. You weren’t angry at Azriel, not anymore. It had completely faded, morphed into something else entirely.

You felt guilty about how you'd been acting, how you'd resorted to avoiding him in an effort to make yourself feel better. Because, despite you telling him otherwise, you knew Azriel was interpreting your distance as proof that you were still mad.

Azriel nodded, but his expression didn’t quite relax. His hand tightened slightly around yours. “But you’d tell me, right? If something was wrong?”

“Of course.”

His gaze softened further, his eyes almost pleading. “Because I always want to know,” he said quietly. “If something’s wrong. I want to know.”

You couldn’t breathe. His hand was still on yours, his thumb brushing soft, slow circles over your skin like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. You were going to vomit. You were going to be sick. You had to leave. You had to get out of here before you did something reckless, before you said something you couldn’t take back.

“I know, Az. But, I should… I need to go,” you said, stepping back and gently pulling your hand from his. “I have a lot of errands to run.”

Azriel blinked, his brows drawing together in confusion. “Oh. Okay.”

You clutched the package tighter to your chest, avoiding his gaze as you backed toward the door. “Thanks again for this. Really.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then stopped, nodding instead. “Let me know if it helps.”

You nodded quickly, forcing a tight, polite smile before slipping out of the room.

When you made it upstairs, you grabbed a coat, barely paying attention to which one, and were out of the townhouse before you had the chance to run into Azriel again. You didn’t know where you were going—only that it needed to be away from him.

For a strange, fleeting moment, you found yourself wishing you were angry at him again. Wishing he was being stubborn and unfair instead of sweet and thoughtful. It had been easier then, even when it hurt, because at least you’d known how to deal with it.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Velaris buzzed with midday energy, alive with movement and the sounds of life. The streets teemed with couples strolling hand in hand, children darting between legs, their laughter woven into the hum of conversation. You wove through it all in a haze, your mind spinning like a top. For a brief moment, you scowled at the love surrounding you—wondering if it had always been this prevalent, this visible, this... everywhere.

You hadn’t come up with a plan since leaving the townhouse, still unsure of where you were going—or if you even wanted to go anywhere at all. All you knew was that you needed to keep moving. Moving meant you were occupied. And being occupied meant you could at least try to ignore the noise—both the loud thoughts and the feelings twisting inside you. But no matter how fast you walked, how hard you tried to lose yourself in the busy streets, the fluttering in your chest wouldn't let you forget.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what it meant, even as you fought with everything you had to deny it. But maybe... maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe Selene had gotten into your head and now you were overthinking everything—reading too much into Azriel’s kindness, his care. You’d seen it before, convincing yourself of something that wasn’t true, spiraling until you couldn’t trust your own judgment.

You didn’t see the person you bumped into until it was too late. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, shaking yourself from your thoughts, but when you looked up—

“Oh,” you said, startled. You blinked at the male before you. “Hello.”

The golden light caught his hair—a rich, burnished brown that framed sharp, handsome features. Made them seem almost celestial.

Adrin smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, two small dimples forming at his cheeks. “Y/n. Hello.”

“Adrin,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No harm done,” he said easily. His tone was light, but there was a flicker of concern as he studied your face. “Are you…doing all right? I heard about what happened.”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, nodding. “It's a long story. But everything is okay.”

Adrin tilted his head, and although the smile was still there— that warm welcoming smile— his brows drew together slightly. “You seem…bothered. Long day?”

You huffed a small laugh, rubbing absentmindedly at your chest. “Something like that.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “I know the feeling. It’s been one of those days for me, too. I was about to try and make it better—clear my head a little.” He hesitated, then added, “You could join me, if you’d like.”

You blinked at him. “Oh, no, I don’t want to interrupt your plans—”

“You wouldn’t be.” He was quick to shake his head. “Really. I’d like the company.”

You hesitated. Thought through the idea. You liked Adrin. And while you wanted to run—hide away, retreat into the quiet of your own mind—you knew it would only make your thoughts spiral faster. But being around your family, or anyone who might see through you immediately, made you itch with unease.

Maybe this was exactly what you needed. The chance to be with someone who wouldn’t pry, someone who seemed genuine in his invitation.

“Sure, yeah. What are you thinking?”

Adrin’s lips twitched into a small grin. “I might have just the thing we both need.”

An hour later, you found yourself at his apartment, stretched out on his balcony overlooking the city. The air was cooler here, quieter, the noise of the streets below softened into a distant hum. The smell of mirthroot curled in the space between you, something so distinctly warm and earthy.

You breathed it in, already feeling lighter, like you were melting into your chair—but in a good way, not like earlier, when the heat had pressed against you relentlessly.

You took a slow pull from the rolled mirthroot stick Adrin had handed you. For the first time that day, your shoulders eased.

“Feeling any better?” he asked.

You exhaled slowly, watching the plume of smoke dissipate into the air. A soft laugh escaped you.

“Oh yeah. I kind of forgot how much I like mirthroot. This is dangerous.”

Adrin chuckled, and you glanced over at him, watching as his lips curved into a lopsided smile—only one dimple visible now. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

You tilted your head, studying him further. “I wouldn’t have expected you to be into this,” you said, gesturing to the rolled stick in your hand.

His brows furrowed. “Why's that?”

You shrugged, still smiling, your face warm—not from embarrassment, but from the pleasant haze settling over you. “I don’t know. You’re from the Dawn Court. You’re a healer. You just seem disciplined. Like, above this.”

Adrin let out a full, rich laugh, the sound making your grin widen. “Please. Let’s go through that again. I come from Dawn. I’m a male healer. A pacifist, even.”

You paused, letting his words replay in your mind before it finally clicked.

“So it makes total sense,” you said, correcting yourself.

Adrin nodded sagely, and another small round of laughter followed, easy and unhurried. You realized how much you liked that about him. That his presence wasn’t demanding. That he let things be light. Maybe that was why it was always easy to converse with him whenever you’d stopped by Madjas.

You inhaled again, letting yourself sink further into the feeling, into the rare quiet of your thoughts. Even now, though, even floating, something tugged at you. Some part of you that refused to be fully untethered. The rational side of your mind begged for a break from the relentless circling of your thoughts, but you shoved the worst of them away, opting instead to focus on the ones that didn’t hurt.

“Hey,” you said suddenly. “Can I ask you a really weird question?”

“Sure.” Adrin straightened slightly, tossing you a quick glance as he brought his mirthroot to his lips.

You hesitated, but the mirth haze had worked through your nerves, made you bolder, more loose lipped. “Do you have a crush on me?”

He choked on his next inhale, coughing before looking at you, eyes wide. “Sorry?”

“Nevermind. That was weird. Sorry,” you said quickly, looking away, waving it off. “Forget I said anything.”

But he shook his head, smiling faintly as he leaned in slightly. “No, it’s okay. I’ve always appreciated how forward you are. Honest. It’s refreshing.”

You blinked at him. “Really?”

He nodded. Then he paused for a moment, contemplating. “If you’re asking if I find you attractive, the answer is yes. I think you’re beautiful.”

Something in your chest tightened.

“But,” he continued, “I wouldn’t say I have a crush on you. That feels… shallow. I don’t know you enough to call it that. It would be liking the idea of you. I don’t like doing that.”

His honesty was just as refreshing as he claimed yours to be. It loosened something in your chest—some small guilt that had settled when Mor first suggested you go out with him. Guilt at the idea that someone you’d grown to enjoy might want something from you that you couldn’t give.

If only everyone was this articulate. If only Az—

You shoved the thought away and exhaled slowly. “That’s… a really nice answer.”

Adrin smiled again, but this time, it was smaller, softer. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” you admitted, shaking your head. “It doesn’t.”

“Good,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I have no expectations here. I enjoy the friendship we’ve built—if you’d call it that.”

“Of course I would,” you said softly. A small chuckle escaped your lips as you raised your rolled mirthroot and nodded toward the one between his fingers. “And if I didn’t consider you a friend before, you’re definitely one now.”

Adrin’s laugh rang out, warm and melodic, filling the space between you. It was soothing, like the sound itself carried the calm of his healing touch.

You settled into a comfortable silence, the easy rhythm of conversation lingering between you as you both watched the city below. But then, without warning, your mind wandered once more.

This time, it drifted toward the upcoming event Rhys was hosting—a formal gathering to show appreciation for allies and those who’d supported him. At his own home, too. A gesture of humility. You could already picture the glittering decorations in the River House, the couples dressed to the nines, gliding together in effortless, practiced harmony.

Usually, those scenes didn’t bother you.

You’d never minded attending events alone, enjoying the freedom to slip in and out of conversations as you pleased. But now, the thought of walking into that hall, of watching so many people in love around you… It grated. And you knew exactly why. Azriel’s words, his reasoning for changing while dating Selene—how everyone was falling in love, moving on—echoed in your mind, and you hated how tightly they clung to you.

They’d made you feel like something was wrong with you for not actively seeking out love. For being content with being single. Alone.

You glanced at Adrin.

“Adrin,” you said, clearing your throat. “Are you busy this weekend?”

“I don’t believe so. Why?”

“There’s an event—Rhysand is hosting. It’s an appreciation for those who help him. I was wondering if you’d want to come with me. Considering everything you’ve done to help Madja… and us.”

His brows lifted slightly, surprise flickering in his expression before he smiled. “Really?”

You nodded, waiting and watching him as he thought through his answer.

“The company of a friend is always nice for events,” he said finally.

Your heart stilled at his use of the word "friend.” It felt reassuring. Safe. A reminder that he truly didn’t hold any expectations, just as he’d said only a few minutes prior.

“Yes,” you replied softly, a small smile curling your lips. “It always is.”

“I’d be honored to go. Thank you for the invite, Y/n. I’ve never been to big events like that.”

You laughed lightly. “If you keep letting me smoke your mirthroot, you can come to every event with me forever.”

He grinned, shaking his head, his hair falling across his forehead in an effortlessly charming way. “Is that what I’ve become now? A drug dealer and a friend in one?”

“Yes,” you teased. “A breath of fresh air, really.”

You both fell into another comfortable pause, settling into the easy rhythm of each other’s presence. You wondered what was going on inside Adrin’s mind. His eyes had grown distant, like he was retreating into his thoughts. He had mentioned having a long day too. You hoped he was feeling better now, just as you were, that perhaps your company had offered him what his had offered you—a reprieve.

Adrin reminded you of someone else in your life. Someone with teal eyes and the same easy, friendly humor. You smiled at the fleeting thought that crossed your mind, something quick and bright, like a shooting star.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel’s meeting with Rhysand had taken longer than expected, forcing both males to venture to the Hewn City itself. By the time he returned home, the city of Velaris was already asleep.

Azriel felt conflicted as he passed by your door, his shadows lingering just long enough to confirm that you were safe and asleep in bed. He was relieved, glad that you were finally getting the rest you needed, but a deep, quiet disappointment gnawed at him.

He was planning to catch you one last time today—to talk, even for a moment. To tell you about the meeting with Rhys and how brilliant your plans were, how he was praising them despite you not being there to bask in the compliments. He knew you loved the feedback, knew you loved hearing how your hard work paid off. It always did.

But Azriel knew, even then, the conversation would feel off.

Things had felt off since the night he apologized—and even his shadows had confirmed it wasn’t just in his mind. That he wasn’t simply overthinking.

You’d said you weren’t mad anymore, that you two were okay. But Azriel still felt, still knew, that something was wrong.

Things weren’t normal. They weren’t hostile, and Azriel was beyond thankful for that, but it wasn’t comfortable like it used to be. You seemed to be hesitating around him. It gutted him to think that he had made you wary, made you overthink how you acted around him. He’d stripped himself of his own comfort.

Azriel stepped into his room slowly, feeling the weight of the day begin to catch up with him the moment he crossed the threshold. The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, he just stood there, leaning against the frame as he let the quiet settle around him.

The familiar emptiness of the room greeted him. His dresser was bare, the surface wiped clean once again. Mor had, strangely excitedly, offered to clear it out for him when she first learned about Selene’s betrayal. Despite the anger simmering inside him, Azriel had made her promise not to take any drastic measures—he didn’t want her to engage with Selene at all. Mor had reluctantly agreed.

Azriel took a few more steps into the room, and with each movement, the exhaustion that had been nagging him all day seemed to settle more heavily on his shoulders—his body was sore, his mind buzzing with a thousand half-thoughts.

His shoulders slumped as he sank onto the edge of the bed, his hands moving to rub his face, fingers dragging through the mess of his hair.

Azriel hadn’t placed all the items Selene moved, the minimal decorations he owned, back where they belonged yet. But he opened his bedside table and grabbed the one thing he was thinking about—the strange clay creation of him you’d made.

His mind wandered to the night he cleaned your wounds and apologized.

He’d traced the change back to that moment.

Azriel didn’t know why he felt disappointed, why he had expected something different from that interaction. He’d apologized, finally, as he’d intended to—though too late, he told himself, because you’d gotten hurt. But you had accepted it, had looked at him with that same softness he’d come to admire, and accepted it. You’d cracked a joke. You both laughed. It had felt simple again, natural, like Azriel had finally found his way back to himself. But something in him sank when he’d said that one line—when he said he didn’t know why he’d entertained the idea that you’d ever have feelings for him.

He wasn’t sure why, but it tasted so wrong—sour, like something rotten.

He let himself sink further into his thoughts.

Azriel had never seen himself as lovable. At least, not in the way everyone else was.

From the moment he was thrown into that dungeon as a boy, he’d believed he deserved every punishment, every scar, every moment of suffering. The people who should have loved him—the people who were supposed to care—had only taught him he was a burden, something broken and unwanted.

When he left that darkness behind, it followed him, reshaping him into something sharp and unrelenting. A weapon. He became what was needed, what a High Lord required, committing acts that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He wore those deeds like armor, each one another layer of the male he thought he had to be.

Love, he assumed, had to be just as hard. How could it not be? He was unworthy of the softness others found so easily. While Rhysand, Cassian, Amren, and Mor managed to find it, to hold onto it despite their own sins, Azriel had only ever known heartbreak.

So he told himself that love—for him—would never be simple. It would require blood, pain, sacrifice, and suffering. He thought love needed to ache in his chest, leaving him hollow and desperate, clawing for scraps of something he couldn’t quite hold. That it had to be fought for with every ounce of strength he had. And maybe even that wouldn’t be enough.

Something had changed, though, regarding how he thought about love.

His fingers brushed the rough edges of the clay figure in his palm. It was uneven and messy, painted in smudges that bled into each other. The proportions were laughably off—the wings crooked, the body too long—but it fit perfectly in his hand nonetheless.

He held it carefully, turning it over as his chest tightened. You’d made this for him, drunk off your ass and laughing with the others, your hands coated in clay. You’d sculpted a miniature version of him without a second thought.

And though it wasn’t a gift, though you hadn’t even mentioned it after that night, Azriel kept it. Kept it somewhere safe, somewhere he could easily grab it and remind himself that if someone as kind as you could love him, care for him the way you did, then he must not be as awful as his mind often tried to convince him he was.

You’d seen the worst of him—all the jagged edges and dark, unspoken parts. He was the softest with you, a side of himself he never showed anyone else, but somehow also the worst. You’d heard the things he’d done, seen him caked in blood that wasn’t his, and still, you had sculpted him. Still, you thought of him when you were having fun.

Azriel had begun to realize that, in reality, love seemed to be… patient. Gentle.

The love his family had found was hard at times, yes, and needed to be fought for, like everything important. But it was kind. Natural.

And so Azriel thought long and hard, the clay figure resting warm in his hand, his shadows curling and twisting softly around him. They whispered your name, over and over, like a quiet, delicate prayer.

And that was when everything clicked into place.

That deep longing he felt to see you, that comfort he found in your presence, the ability to be open, bare, seen, and unafraid—

That feeling was love.

He was in love with you.

And he suddenly couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: hey yall.... how we feeling?????

so like im invested. and also i kinda love Adrin like yesss gimme a stoner healer man who respects a persons boundaries and doesnt crush on the idea of them before knowing them!!!

and yesss for azriel being in love!!! hes gonna be struggling with this new realization, fighting the Voices in the corner of his room and being jealous over things he doesn’t need to be jealous over. mmmmmm delicious

i do believe….there may only be one (1) part left 🫢

as always— thank you for reading 🫶🏻

and don’t forget your daily clicks for palestine !

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

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risuola · 8 months ago

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ENTRY #11 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // I starve for your touch yet fear to savor it.

contents: arranged marriage!au, nudity, reader discretion is advised — wc. 1690

a/n: there was no way i wouldn't write a fic based on this picture. just no way.

series masterlist

Satoru loves to sleep naked.

The beauty of his innate technique, the blessing that he mastered to no end, has stripped him off one of the most basic human needs — touch. He wasn’t missing it that much, he thought, but there was something in letting go of everything and allowing himself to be wrapped in the silky layers of bedsheets that made his body crave the feeling.

He has always picked expensive garments, the ones with soft fabrics and luxurious feel, despite everyone telling him it’s unreasonable to spend so much on a shirt or a pair of trousers, but to him, it did matter. To him, that was the only thing touching his body when a thin layer of infinity effectively forced everything else back. To Satoru, touch was forbidden, threatening. It was a vulnerability that he, the strongest, couldn’t afford.

But that until he’s met you. Until he’s married you.

You were one of not many people he’s made an exception for. You were able to touch him whenever you wanted because the protective surface of endless matter let you in. Because he himself altered his technique to make you capable of laying your hands on his body.

He longed for your touch. So soft, and delicate, and warm. He craved more of it and yet, despite being shameless and confident, he has not allowed himself to sleep bare even once since the day you and him were bound by the knot of matrimony. It would cross boundaries he wasn’t sure you’d wish to cross; it would make you uncomfortable, awkward maybe — and he liked the way your relationship looked like now. He liked the late evenings you talked quietly, alone and intimate in the warm embrace of sheets and your own house.

For you, he let go of the way he used to sleep before because you were worth the sacrifice, but now, you were gone for few days. You were sent on a mission away from Tokyo and the hours Satoru spent alone in bed, thinking of nothing more but your fingertips on top of his skin, made him desperate — and so, he allowed himself the comfort of soft cotton and silk.

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

You were tired. Exhausted even, by the intense fight you had to pull through, by the uncomfortable nights spent in the dingy hotel room, by the humid weather and rains. In moments like this, there was nothing you envied more in the world than your husband’s ability to warp from one place to another, but you got lucky. Incredibly so, because Ijichi offered you a ride home two days earlier than you were supposed to head back and you thanked all gods and devils for that man’s kindness. He was willing to put on some more road just to get you home.

“Thank you so, so much, Ijichi,” you kissed his cheek — a ghost of a peck that made him all red and steamy and you felt giddy for a moment, seeing the tips of his ears turn crimson. Adorable. You liked him, he was dutiful, polite, trustworthy and constantly terrorized by your husband, so you were determined to at least be the Gojo he likes.

“You’re very welcome,” he mumbled and fixed the frames on the bridge of his nose, pushing them up with the tip of his pointer finger. “Have a good rest.”

“You too, Ijichi.”

Then, he was gone and you were stepping into the house with a deep sense of relief washing over you. Home sweet home. If you were to guess, it was most likely somewhere around 4 am, way too early for anyone to be up — especially your husband — so you gave it your all to stay as quiet as possible. The sun was just showing its first rays from way below the horizon line, crawling up with golden hues and breaking the nightly, navy darkness.

On your toes you moved across the house. It seemed as if Gojo was spending his time alone quite ordinarily — you saw a modest stack of empty takeout boxes, much less humble pile of candy wrappers and his uniform jacket thrown over the couch backrest, along with few other little items that you struggled to differentiate in the nocturnal haze.

You put down your bag, hung up your coat and pushed off the shoes. Ghosting your way towards the bathroom, you were desperate to wash away the combat residuals. You lathered up the shower gel in a rush, desperate to rest and sleep in the comfort of your own bed and then, wrapped in the towel, you tippy-toed to the bedroom, but—

“Came back earlier?”

—you truly didn’t expect to be met with a sight like this. Your husband was awake, just barely, most likely awaken by the water running in the bathroom. His eyes were closed, hidden underneath his forearm and shielded from the lights that were slowly creeping inside, between the dark curtains and onto his face. His body seemed relaxed between the sheets. The softest, gentlest lines of golden glimmer that painted its patterns over his uncovered chest and leg, his hip and one of the muscular arms. The duvet was covering less than half of him, hiding a part of his stomach, the other leg and—

“You’re staring.”

Satoru didn’t even have to look at you to know that your gaze was lingering on his frame. On his very, very naked frame, just barely concealed by the comforter.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks and reaching the tips of your ears and you thanked the darkness for hiding it away. You walked around the bed, hoping to find your pajama where you left it and trying to force your head out of the gutter. You heard your husband letting out a deep exhale and then, a soft hum. His voice was as melodic as always, though you could tell how much sleepiness was laced into it.

Satoru should’ve notice you when you entered the area of your house, but he didn’t. Tired by his own job, by the classes and all of the meetings, he allowed himself to lower his guard and when he realized you’re home, he contemplated for a moment getting up and dressed, but he just didn’t want to.

“You’re exhausted, screw pajamas, just come here,” he said before he managed to think twice about it. It was a daring offer, inappropriate even and he opened his mouth to apologize for it, but then, you rendered him speechless.

Your weight felt good on top of him. You lay your body over his own with feathery gentleness and carefully maneuvered your way to rest on his chest completely. The touch of your skin flush to his own made his brain to short circuit, it felt divine, too good to be true and just so very right, he couldn’t say a word.

“Is that alright?” You asked quietly, pressing your ear right above his heart and letting out a breath that you held for a little too long. Your face felt hot, you were flushed and flustered but also oddly at ease with the current position and you wondered for a moment if it was the tiredness that made you so bold.

“More than that,” he replied, pulling the covers to hide you beneath them. He allowed one of his arms to snake around your waist and his lips to kiss the top of your head. “Rest. Sleep well, wifey.”

“Good night.”

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

10:19 AM

Satoru thought he was dreaming, but the weight on top of him felt too real. The soft scent of citrusy shower gel that lingered on your skin filled in his lungs each time he took a breath in and there was a tickle, he realized — every time his chest raised, a strand of your hair seemed to be moving against his jawline. You were not a dream.

He opened his eyes, blinking few times, adjusting them to the bright light that forced its way into the bedroom and then, he looked at you. You were still very deep asleep, he could tell based off the long inhales you were taking, slow and relaxed, fanning against his peck rhythmically. Your body was mostly on top of him, you were on his chest, your leg was between his and only your hips were resting on the bed. He still had his arm around you, as if making sure you were as close as possible.

It felt incredible. Intimate. It was everything he could have wished for. A touch, skin to skin, so intense it almost took his breath away. He felt nauseous at the thought, realizing that it’s the first time in his life, he’s that close to someone. So impossibly close that just a little bit more and you’d become a part of him. His heartbeat quickened.

It was so right. So awfully correct and at the same time, so very threatening. He felt helpless. Vulnerable. He was at your mercy, he was robbed of everything what made him the strongest, because at this very moment, he was bare. Uncovered before you, wrapped in an embrace that felt loving, that felt soothing, addicting, but if you only wished to hurt him, you’d—

You moved, shifting your weight a little bit, adjusting the position and the way your hand run down his side made him shiver. A soft sound escaped your throat when you let out a deeper exhale. He felt your fingers squeezing the flesh above his hip and then, you relaxed again.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” you whispered, not bothering to open your eyes, and Satoru held his breath. “Relax…”

And he chuckled. His chest vibrated below your ear and the adorable sound of displeasure you let out made him lose all of the tension. He turned, twisting his body inside your embrace to face you fully and he squeezed you with both of his arms, pulling you close. So impossibly close, and you whimpered, suddenly enclosed in a tight hold of your husband’s limbs. That was it for your sleep.

You could get used to it.

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corinthianism · 1 year ago

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corinthianism's fic recs

here are my personal favorite fanfics! idk how often i'll update this, but i hope you like them as much as i do :) *indicates smut

last updated: march 26, 2024

MARVEL

loki laufeyson - from the void, with love — by whirlybirbs (my fav fanfic of all time!!! i think about this fic several times in a day bro) - riptide — by starks-hero - the tailor* (series) — by birdofhermes (ao3) - time after time (series) — by goldencherriess (ao3) - a friend from work — by cozy_the_overlord (ao3)

thor odinson - god of fertility* (request) — by charnelhouse - highway don't care (but i do, i do)* (part one, part two, part three) — by spacelabrathor

peter parker (andrew garfield) - agree to disagree — by delicate-dorothea - nerdy peter (request) — by webslingingslasher - good boy x bad girl trope (request) — by webslingingslasher - hold you here, my loveliest friend* — by p3mybeloved - your friendly neighborhood sensitive spider* — by jin0 - glad you're home — by withahappyrefrain - the mechanics of a soul — by irndad - 3 is the magic number* — by withahappyrefrain - crush — by ptersparkers - as it goes — by forever-rogue - here comes the sun (part one, part two, part three) — by withahappyrefrain - stability, reciprocity, and a romance for the ages (series) — by privateanxieties (ao3 - need an account to read)

steven grant (moon knight) - hold me close — by stormkobra-5 - gift of min* — by astroboots - puzzles* — by stormkobra-5 - first time* — by luvpedropascal - domestic adonis* — by peterman-spideyparker - where it starts — by silversweetpea - fallen from heaven, grown on earth* (series) — by davosmymaster (ao3) - call me poe* — by kittyfandom (ao3) - elemental — by batsingotham (ao3) - the boy with the thorn in his side — by eating_flowers (ao3)

marc spector (moon knight) - not him — by loud-mouth-loser - it's worth it, it's divine* — by the-archxr - i'm getting to know someone — by davosmymaster (ao3)

wade wilson (deadpool) - tea and sympathy (series) — by bucketsoffrogs (ao3)

SHERLOCK (BBC)

sherlock holmes - your hidden strength — by okay-j-hannah - sublime dexterity* (part one, part two) — by daydreamtofiction - literally everything by starks-hero

SUPERNATURAL

sam winchester - playing house (part one, part two) — by uncouth-the-fifth - baby i'll stay (heaven can wait) — by uncouth-the-fifth - move over.* — by ggwritesstuff - where's your head at?* — by beau55515 - birthdays: sam winchester style* — by karleekarma (ao3) - the comforts of home — by zepskies - under the hood* — by shawslut

dean winchester - whether you like it or not — by kbeautimous (ao3) - reading you wrong — by zepskies - cherished — by thatonewriter15 (ao3) - soft touch — by wearywinchester - i love her, that's why* — by kaleldobrev - drivin' me crazy* — by lis-likes-fics

castiel - salt n' lick* — by aperfectgrace (ao3) - a bite of apple pie (series) — by ac_deanc (ao3)

THE SANDMAN

the corinthian - bring me a dream* (series, ongoing) — by placeinthemiddleofnowhere - nihil — by lis-likes-fics

dream/morpheus - sweet dreams (are made of this) — by stranger-nightmare

CRIMINAL MINDS

aaron hotchner - from eden — by heliotropehotch - gold star — by honeypiehotchner - love, an abstract concept — by luveline - honeymoon phase* (series) — by hotchsbitch (ao3)

THE BOYS

soldier boy (he's absolutely horrible but so. so. hot.) - break me down* (series) — by zepskies (go read their other stuff too!) - talk to me — by zepskies

homelander (also absolutely horrible. would sleep with him.) - if i can't have you — by watchstarscollide - milky white* — by after-witch

GAME OF THRONES

jaime lannister - i'm not made by design — by ichorai (this legitimately changed my brain chemistry)

STAR WARS

obi-wan kenobi - like turning on the light* — by full-time-make-believer (deactivated acc) (this also changed the trajectory of my life) - where it wasn't* — by 221bshrlocked - your thoughts are loud — by spidersbane - empty me out* — by 221bshrlocked - house of memories* (series) — by meshlasolus - bad idea, right?* (series) — by mischiefling (ao3) - you make me feel like dancing — by saradika (ao3) - it's a wonderful lie — by firstofficerwiggles (ao3) - temptation's kiss — by karasong (ao3) - you make my dreams* — by wickedscribbles (ao3) - like a living mirage — by karasong (ao3) - broken drought* — by rosalindbeatrice (ao3) - never grow up — by doihavetoloseyoutoo (ao3) - never ending story — by kybercrystal (ao3) - volveré* — by kxnobi (ao3)

din djarin (the mandalorian) - the savior* (part one, part two, part three) — by dindjiarin - significant — by softlyspector - touching din — by archieimagines - uncharted territory* — by pedrito-friskito - creed* — by wheresarizona - home is wherever i'm with you* (part one, part two, part three) — by saradika

DRACULA (BBC)

count dracula - the székely* (series) — by theplumsoldier

LOTR/THE HOBBIT

thranduil oropherion - a boon* (series) — by inksplots (ao3) - beauty and the beast (series) — by tamurilofrivendell (ao3)

DOCTOR SLEEP

dan torrance - of monsters and men* — by helaintoloki & obitwo - domestic life (headcanons) — by thornsinmycrown - smut alphabet* — by daincrediblegg

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demigods-posts · 10 months ago

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annabeth taking the knife for percy was peak impulsiveness at that stage of their relationship. because up until this point of the series. if i'm remembering correctly. all of annabeth actions were calculated. even her stubborn actions had merit. but taking the knife? knowing he was invulnerable? but taking the knife? knowing that him watching you cry out in agony hurt him just the same if he had been stabbed? but taking the knife? and then lying on a cot in the glisten of the setting sun? vulnerable and slow? grounding him like he's the one who needed saving? like watching you bleed out is enough to kill him? and touching the small of his back brings him back to life? impulsiveness turned romantic. turned angst. turned 'all the words i didn't say but you heard them anyway'. don't talk to me.

#percy jackon and the olympians #pjo text post #pjo #pjo headcanon #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #percabeth headcanon #percabeth angst #percabeth AGH #annabeth

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rafecameronssl4t · 3 months ago

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Chosen || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader (love island au)

Summary: (lil backstory) you and Rafe have been a couple since day one and are pretty closed off but a new bombshell has come and chose Rafe for a date and now it’s time for her to choose who she wants to couple up with.

Warnings: angst

Word count: 2,070

A/n: Inspired by the whole ordeal between rob liv and leah in love island usa lol SECOND PART IS HERE

MASTERLIST (love island au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The villa was buzzing with the usual pre-recoupling jitters, and as you sat at your vanity, carefully applying the final touches of makeup, you heard Rafe’s voice echo down the hallway. “Babe,” he called out, his tone relaxed yet filled with that casual affection you’d grown to love. “Yeah, I’m in here!” you responded, smiling to yourself.

Through the mirror, you caught the familiar image of him entering, his sandy-blonde hair tousled, sun-kissed skin accentuating the sharp angles of his face. Your eyes met in the mirror, and the edges of his mouth softened into a smile that made your heart flutter.

“You okay?” he asked, stepping closer and bending down to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder, lingering just long enough to make you feel like he was truly checking in. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” you chuckled, meeting his eyes in the mirror with a playful glint. He watched your reflection intently, as if trying to read your every expression.

“Just making sure,” he murmured, pulling a chair up beside yours. He settled in, crossing his arms, his gaze steady as he watched you apply the last bit of powder. You raised an eyebrow, feigning a casual tone. “Why? Should I be worried? Is there something you’re not telling me about your date with Kayla?” You smirked, trying to keep it light, but deep down, you were fishing for any reassurance you could get.

His hand found its way to your thigh, his grip warm and reassuring as his thumb brushed soothing circles. “No, of course not,” he said, his tone calm yet firm. “I told you everything, and, honestly, I don’t think she’ll pick me. We don’t have that spark—you and I do, though, yeah?” His eyes held yours, his expression open and genuine.

His gaze was steady, his smile reassuring, and despite the flicker of insecurity, you let out a slow breath, his words sinking in and soothing the lingering doubts in the back of your mind. “Okay,” you said finally, a genuine smile breaking through as he chuckled.

“You’re adorable, you know that?” he said, leaning in to press a series of soft kisses along your bare shoulder making you giggle, a genuine, unrestrained laugh that he seemed to crave as he pulled back, grinning. “What are you wearing tonight?” he asked, scanning the room with an approving gaze as his eyes landed on the green dress you’d laid out on the armchair nearby.

“That one.” You nodded toward the dress, and he hummed, his smile widening in approval. “Good choice. It’s gonna drive the others crazy.” “Glad you think so,” you replied, warmth creeping into your cheeks as you noticed the way he looked at you—like you were the only person who existed.

“Well, I’ll let you get ready,” he said, standing up and moving behind you. Through the mirror, you caught yourself staring. How could you not when Rafe looked so... edible. He met your gaze in the mirror, catching your look, and smirked. “Like what you see, Mrs. Cameron?” he teased, his voice dropping to a playful, almost dangerous tone that made you laugh.

“Very much,” you replied, tilting your head back as he leaned down, catching your lips in a kiss that was both soft and full of promise, a reminder of the bond that the two of you had since day one. But before things could get too heated, you gently placed a hand on his jaw, pushing him back with a giggle.

“Alright, alright, I’m going!” he said, chuckling as he stepped back. Before he could leave, the door opened, and you both turned to see Kayla enter, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Rafe. “Hey,” Rafe greeted her casually, his tone polite but distant. You watched them exchange brief smiles before looking away, busying yourself with your lip gloss as Kayla approached her drawers.

“Hey, Y/n,” she greeted you brightly, her tone friendly as she settled beside you. “Hey,” you replied with a polite smile. “Excited for tonight?” “Oh, definitely!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’m so ready to sleep next to someone again; it’s been way too long.” She giggled, and you chuckled in response, keeping the mood light even as you fought off a pang of unease.

“Do you know who you’re choosing?” you asked, carefully applying your lip gloss as she fiddled with something in her drawer. She nodded confidently, her fingers tapping lightly as she glanced at you with a knowing smile. “Uh-huh. I knew who I was gonna pick the second I walked in here.”

You nodded, hoping your expression didn’t betray the subtle tightening in your chest. It was in these little moments that the villa’s intensity hit, the constant swirl of emotions and unspoken fears. But as you caught a glimpse of your own reflection, you reminded yourself of the quiet confidence in Rafe’s words, of the unspoken bond you’d built.

The night air felt thick with tension as everyone gathered around the firepit, the familiar crackling flames casting flickering shadows across the group. You sat beside Rafe, his arm draped casually over your shoulders. The warmth of his touch had been a quiet comfort, his thumb tracing soothing patterns along your skin—a small reassurance that whatever happened tonight, he was there.

But as Kayla’s voice broke through the murmur of anticipation, her words twisted the air around you, each one slicing deeper than the last. "I'm coupling up with this person because, from the moment we started talking, I definitely sensed that we had potential and that there was a spark there that I want to explore," Kayla said, her tone confident and unwavering as her gaze locked on the group.

Your eyes dropped to the flames, heart pounding, silently willing her words to be about someone else. When she finally spoke his name, “The person I want to couple up with is… Rafe,” the world seemed to freeze. Your breath hitched, and a wave of shock washed over you, cold and biting, despite the warmth of the firepit. Around you, a few gasps broke the silence, the girls’ faces mirroring the same surprise that you felt.

Your eyes darted to Kayla, disbelief clouding your expression, and then turned to Rafe, who sat motionless beside you, his face an unreadable mask as he stared blankly at the ground. “Really? Nothing to worry about?” you said, your voice low but sharp, brushing his arm off your shoulder. Anger surged through you, raw and uncontainable. You’d trusted him, taken his reassurances at face value.

And now, every promise felt like it had shattered between you. Rafe’s shoulders slumped slightly as he raked a hand through his hair, a long sigh escaping his lips as he shook his head. “Rafe, you look surprised at Kayla's decision,” the host, Sophie commented , looking at him expectantly. He hesitated, his gaze finally flickering up to meet Kayla’s. “Yeah, uh—I don’t know what to say, really,” he mumbled, the frown deepening across his face.

“I thought I made it clear that I wasn’t really interested,” he shrugged, but his words felt hollow to you, hanging in the tense air between him and Kayla. Kayla’s eyes flashed with indignation, and she crossed her arms, a hint of challenge in her expression. “Wow, yeah—that’s not how I felt during our date,” she said with a pointed look, and you felt a pang of betrayal twist in your stomach as her words settled over you.

The whole night, the small reassurances Rafe had given you, the gestures, the closeness—it all felt tainted. Sophie's voice cuts through, pulling you from the storm of emotions swirling within you. “Well, Kayla, if you could switch places with Y/n… and Y/n, if you could come stand beside me.” Standing, you avoided looking at Rafe or Kayla, the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

You forced yourself to breathe as you stepped away from the firepit, feeling the collective gaze of the group on you. “Y/n, you are now single, which leaves you vulnerable here on Love Island,” Sophie announced. You nodded slowly, your jaw tight as you bit down on your bottom lip, desperately holding back the flood of emotions welling inside you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Rafe looking anywhere but at you, his gaze flickering across the ground as if trying to distance himself from the situation. The sense of betrayal weighed heavily on you, every unspoken word thickening the air between you. As soon as Sophie left, the girls immediately swarmed around you, their arms linking through yours as they ushered you away from the firepit and into the makeup room.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered to Sofia, who gave you a sympathetic squeeze. “Honestly, you deserve so much better than that,” she whispered, her hand rubbing comforting circles on your back.

Rafe’s voice was soft but strained as he appeared behind you, his presence looming uncertainly. “Can we please talk?” His tone was laced with a vulnerability you weren’t used to seeing in him. His gaze drifted to your face, catching the redness around your eyes, the remnants of tears. You sighed, dabbing away the traces of mascara that had smudged beneath your eyes.

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about, Rafe.” You shrugged, brushing him off as you tried to compose yourself. “Y/n, please,” he insisted, the desperation in his voice tugging at the edges of your anger. “I swear to god, I was making it crystal clear that I wasn’t interested. I told her, over and over, that I was in a happy situation with you.”

You felt the flicker of an ache under your ribs, a small crack in the wall you’d put up. “Then why, Rafe?” Your voice rose, bitterness spilling over. “Why did she pick you? She wouldn’t have done that out of the blue if she didn’t think there was something real, something genuine, between you two.” Your words struck him, and he took a small step back, almost flinching.

He opened his mouth as if to argue but stopped, as if suddenly unsure. “I don’t know why she chose me,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “But you have to believe me, Y/n. None of this meant anything to me—she doesn’t mean anything to me.” He looked at you, and for a split second, you caught something raw, almost pleading, in his expression.

But the anger and the hurt still clouded your heart. You shook your head, exhaustion coating your words. “I’m just… I’m really tired, Rafe. I just want to go to bed.” You didn’t meet his eyes, the weight of the evening pressing down on you. He paused, the silence stretching painfully between you both. “Right. Good night, then,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a sadness that lingered in the air as he turned and left.

By the time you walked into the bedroom, Sofia was already there, her arms opening for you without a word. You melted into her embrace, the comfort of her support soothing your frazzled nerves. “You’ll be okay,” she whispered, squeezing you tightly before you finally pulled away, giving her a small, grateful smile.

As you made your way to your bed, your gaze involuntarily flickered to Kayla’s. She lay there, already settled in, Rafe’s pillow on the other side, and it made your stomach churn. You slipped into bed, laying in the center, feeling an aching emptiness beside you. Rafe should have been there. His warmth, his steady breathing as you fell asleep, had been a constant.

Then, as if on cue Rafe walked into the room. His eyes skimmed over you for a second before he headed toward Kayla’s bed. The air was thick with unspoken words, unacknowledged feelings, and for a moment, you wanted to reach out, to say something, but you held back, the bitterness fresh in your chest. Rafe leaned over, whispering something to Kayla, though you couldn’t make out the words.

Then, without warning, he grabbed his pillow, stepping away from her bed and heading out of the room. You caught Sofia’s gaze across the dimly lit space, her knowing look meeting your own. She offered a small smile of understanding, and you returned it faintly before letting your eyes drift shut, hoping sleep would bring a break from all the emotions.

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jaggedamethyst · 2 months ago

Text

golden boy | jayce x female reader

1.7k words

content: fawk it, jayce making a damn vibrator with hextech…and suspending my disbelief that they even knew what that was and he legit created it idc!! walk with me girl!!!

18+ minors dni, angst, pathetic! jayce, kinda mean but closed off reader, pining (?), some fluff, smut duh, vibrator used on reader…also jayce is kinda a sarcastic mf here

notes: idk what came over me guys, but I feel like this could end up being longer than just a one shot bc the angst made its way in like usual. also jayce is a smartie pants, leave him alone guys.

update: part two is up now!

series masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

He heard you before he saw you, your light saunter approaching him. Jayce had to immediately curse himself, because while he was rather smart, his reflexes were damn slow. He didn’t even think to cover his sketches before you were already close enough to crane your head over his shoulder.

A hand found his back, rubbing it encouragingly. “What ya workin on?”

Jayce was someone who loved to be affirmed. You both knew that. So before even registering the odd shapes you were looking at in his drawings, you wanted to let him know you were there and that any stress that lingered would soon dissipate. You were confused, then, when he rose quickly. He used his broad shoulders and back to block your view.

He smiled, clearly caught off guard. “Just some new stuff…you know…the mind never stops!” His cheeks soon blossomed with a rosy sheen across them. There was a sympathy in your gaze, but an even larger feeling of intrigue.

Jayce was easy to distract. As much as he loved to work on his creations and improving Hextech, he was also extremely needy. This often left him quite impressionable under your touch. Over the course of your relationship—which you would admit wasn’t actually a thing—you used this to your advantage.

You approached him slowly, an arm outstretched toward his face. He instinctively learned towards the palm of your hand. You intended to at least plant a kiss on his cheek, but he was a lost puppy these days. Just that action alone was enough for his body to relax into you. You had an opening. You slipped your hand behind him under the guise of stabilizing yourself on his workbench—grabbing a handful of the loose pages.

With a squeal you backed up, and spun around. “Wooooo what do we have here!”

“Wait-“ he turned between you and his work, “you tricked me?”

Holding the papers up toward the light to inspect them, you quirked a brow. “All in a days work, babe. Although…I don’t exactly know what I’m looking at here.”

Jayce was exasperated, how humiliating for you to have found these—even more that they weren’t even done. He was a scientist, after all. He needed time to finalize and test every possibility. He didn’t want to fight you for the papers—couldn’t really.

“Its just,” he sighed, “some stuff for you- or um, us?” He didn’t mean to sound like it was a question, a chance. It was definitive. He knew numbers and percentiles the same way he knew you. There was a desire there to be something more than just this. But he was entirely too passive to ever tell you. So he worked tirelessly at the only thing he knew you would show up and stay for. He didn’t mean for us to sound like a question, but it was.

You’d turned your back by then, the best angle of the sun shining towards your back and thus highlighting the drawings. Your intense gaze had faltered, your shoulders slumping. Like any other feeling you’d felt for Jayce in the last two years, you pushed it away—relying on humor as a shield. People are too fickle; you liked your independence and didn’t want to get hurt. Not again.

You ignored that feeling in your stomach that said to not be mean to him again, you knew he didn’t deserve it. You just couldn’t help it. Without acknowledging the weight of his statement, you continued, “what do they do?”

He senses your lack of focus, hastily snatching the pages from over your head. They quickly found their way back into a folder and cast aside.

“Well…its for,” his eyes purposely avoided yours. The ceiling was suddenly really amusing.

“Way to leave a girl hanging,” you scoffed, turning towards the door. “I just wanted to check in, but I will come back when I am wanted I guess.”

You didn’t take him seriously. That wasn’t new, but the feeling of wanting to do something about it was definitely a unique occurrence.

Before he could grasp what he wanted to say, the words flew from his lips. “Sit down.”

You stopped in your tracks, intrigued and slightly turned on by the firmness in his tone. “Scuse me?”

“You should sit…sit down. Over there.” He gestured towards a couch he’d made in his workshop. You complimented him on it once, knowing he’d made it just because he could. That was something you liked about him, undoubtedly. He had the capabilities to do so much more than he could even conceptualize and you wanted that for him. But the hopes for his future, rubs on his back, and longing gazes were too much for you.

Despite this, you were never one turn down a man like him finally standing up to you. You shrugged, “Sure, whatever…I’ll sit.”

“Good.”

The man turned quickly to retrieve one of the items he’d drawn in his sketches. This specific one was made with you in mind. It took so much dedication to perfect, but little effort to actually create, really. He’d think of your time together, the praise that would leave your lips each time he’d even breathe near your clit. The way your body would writhe against his. It was intoxicating. He figured something to make that even more special for you was due. But how could he just keep giving to someone who didn’t want to truly have him.

He wasn’t brainless. As much as he loved to hear it, being a good boy felt demeaning sometimes. He was a man, and he wanted you in a way you refused to see.

He’d show you.

“Take off your clothes.”

Jayce explained to you once that the body had red blood cells, that they carry oxygen. It confused you, now, because you were damn sure weren’t bleeding all over his chair and yet every single breath in your body was gone.

“What?”

“Clothes. Off.”

“In a I’m gonna experiment on you kind of way, or we’re gonna fuck kind of way because-“

“Both.”

You didn’t want to seem too eager, but damn you wished you had less pieces of clothing on right now. As you stripped, you were grateful then for the warmth of the forge. The sudden chill on your skin caused you to shiver. Jayce appeared suddenly, something in hand.

“I am actually not sure what to call this,” he showed you the object in the palm of his hand. It wasn’t very large, or maybe his hands made it seem smaller, you weren’t sure.

“Thats okay,” you leaned back on the couch, “show me.”

He was on you immediately, an eagerness on his lips you’d never felt from him before. You were usually the one in charge. So when he pushed you flat on your back, his clothes still on, you felt the difference. He’d swung his leg over you, now straddling you. You were too distracted by the kisses trailing over you to realize he’d reached between you two.

He made his way around your neck and toward your ear. “Let me know how this feels.”

You gasped, a vibration hitting your body unlike anything you’d felt before. Jayce was skilled in many ways but this was—wow. You met eyes with him, words struggling to form in your throat. Your brain seemed to have been empty, too.

He let the feeling pulse before slightly circling you, teasing you.

“So this, is what I have been working on.” He surveyed the way you gasped underneath him, looking into the distance. “Its not quite done yet, but I had to change some things here and there to make it better. Ya know, make it ergonomic, not too loud, stuff like that.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but all you managed was a frustrated groan. He was pissing you off. How could he be making you feel this good and talking like a fucking nerd right now.

“I also thought about sensation…what you like,” he smirked a bit. He was proud of himself. “Sometimes when you’ve had a particularly hard day, slow and deliberate does the trick, right?”

He continued to press into you, urging an answer from you. It was quite interesting how the tables seemed to turn but he didn’t complain. This is what he wanted—you helpless and confused under him while he ruined you for anyone else. He was tired of hearing how you couldn’t be tied down. Jayce Talis was no idiot, you were holding back.

“Isn’t that right sweet girl?” At the same time he questioned you, he’d raised the speed on you. A buck of your hips immediately after. “You don’t have to answer, I know.”

Sweet girl. He’d never said that before. The undertone of him trying to rile you up while simultaneously being his usual endearing self was too much. Your hands had found your face, a sudden embarrassment looming over you. That didn’t stop him.

“But, because I care about you feeling good, I added another feature.”

You felt the continuous sensation increase sporadically and then back down, chocking out a whine.

“Intuitive right?” He used a free hand to brush the hair from your collarbone, latching his lips there. He spoke into your skin, “Essentially, I used the Hextech to not only control the stimulation but to work at the users command with little effort.” He paused, wanting to see you. “So when I do this,” a surprised yelp from you, “or this, you really feel it.”

He’d never been more proud. You were often one to lead him, and he liked it. But now, with you here helpless, he couldn’t help but urge you on. He continued to ramble, speeding up to a pace he knew left you unraveling.

You couldn’t take it. It took everything in you to get the energy to yank his hair and finally speak, “Jayce-“

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“Can do,” and with that, he sucked down on your chest. He knew you’d loved that.

The entire ordeal felt like years when in fact, it had only been a few minutes since he started in on you.

“You go ahead and finish, I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t much longer before the heat in you exploded, a series of groans clawing its way from your vocal chords.

He’d continued to coax more from you, he felt he was owed as much.

Eventually sleep overtook you, the man recognizing the familiar lull that creeped up on you.

He spoke, mostly to himself, “we’ll talk later.”

You replied, to his surprise. “Sure thing, golden boy.”

part two

#jaggedamethyst #angst #arcane #jayce talis #arcane jayce #jayce talis x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce league of legends #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x y/n #golden boy

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sunflowerwinds · 22 days ago

Text

sugar, sugar | v.a

summary: vi has crept up into your mind and is keeping put so to try to relieve some of that bubbling crush energy, you bake her some protein muffins. after delivering them to her, she invites you to isha’s birthday party. meeting her entire family is nerve wracking but you’re welcome with open arms.

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: modern!au, kick-boxer!vi, reader is an actual sweetheart, MY family (vander, isha, ekko, jinx, & sevika mentions), fluff and flirty tension, kind of slowburn but not really.

word count: 5.5K

a/n: what do y’all think of my new pfp?😝 i’m so glad everyone has enjoyed that first part of this little series. the overwhelming amount of support has touched my heart, i’m so sorry this took two weeks to come out i will try and be faster with the next part <3 & would 3 parts be too short? lmk in the replies!

— TWO

Making protein muffins was harder than you thought.

You had tried out multiple recipes with different flavors within the span of two days and it was driving your grandmother and your sister up the wall. Her kitchen now smelled like a mixture of all the different scents that were giving her a headache.

They were either dry, not enough flavor, too dense, not fluffy, too strong, etc. The list went on. But finally, on the third day of anxiously cooking, you perfected a beautiful and delicious batch of pumpkin muffins with a few blots of chocolate chips.

Ever since you found out that Vi worked at a kickboxing studio, it sparked an idea in your brain. You could bake some protein muffins to give her. Worried she wouldn’t like them, you double checked with her. You open your text thread with Vi, grinning at the last message she had sent you of the actual address of the studio so that you wouldn’t get lost.

Anxiously tapping your fingers on the steering wheel, you stare at the sign above the studio with hesitation. You had done yourself up a bit; just a tad. Okay, a little more than a tad.

This was Vi’s first time seeing you outside of work and you wanted to make a better impression than messily tossed up hair and bundled up layered outfits. You sported a mini black skirt with a pair of opaque tights with an over the shoulder cherry red sweater, your hair left in its natural state. You stare at the black marker writing of Vi’s name on the box in the passenger's seat of your car.

Would she think you were trying too hard?

No, no, no overthinking, you scold yourself. You tug down your sun visor on your driver’s side to double check your makeup before grabbing your purse and the box of muffins for Vi. You open your driver's side to step out onto the gravel parking lot, sucking in a deep breath to calm your nerves as you tug on the cold handle to the door of the studio.

The moment you stepped into the dim lit area, you spotted Vi almost immediately. A black compression athletic tank hugged her upper body, showing off her muscular upper body. Her bandaged hands were landing blows to a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. The sound of her soft grunts and the clinking of the chain holding it up the heavy vinyl bag echoed within the space.

You stand at the edge of the large mat covering the area, unknowingly frozen in place at the sight of Vi’s veins popping out of her biceps with each punch she was throwing. You snap out of it when you realize how long you might’ve been standing there for, clearing your throat and shaking your head at how embarrassing that was.

“Vi, hi!” You wave from across the rubber gym tiles at her panting figure, a bright smile on your face.

Vi lowers her balled up wrapped fists that had been previously punching the bag to wave back at you, a smile creeping onto her lips at the sight of you holding the little tray of homemade treats. You looked like a doll out of place in this sweat-ridden studio in your adorably cozy outfit.

Vi made her way over to where you stood at the edge of the mat, eyes panning up and down as subtly as possible. Seeing her outfit up close caused a heat to tickle the tips of your ears. You swore you could see her abs through the material.

“Hey, cupcake. Those for me?”

“Yep! Thought I’d drop them off before I… head out.” You cleared your throat, nervously smiling at her as you fiddled with the cardboard of the box you had bought for this.

Vi grabs a small towel from a foldable chair where parents would sit through classes to wipe over the back of her sweat-ridden neck. She was so close to you that you could feel the heat radiating from her skin. You couldn’t tell if you were staring at her as obviously as you thought. Worried you were going to seem like an absolute creep, your eyes blink as they focus on her face.

“Yeah? You have plans today?” Vi hangs the towel around her neck, crossing her arms over her chest.

The movement caused your eyes to flicker down to the protruding muscle. You were sure this time you were staring as her dark tattoos were glistening underneath the thin layer of moisture from her workout. God, you could hear your grandma now teasing you for getting distracted by muscles of all things.

“I mean I’m just going to the grocery store. Need a few more things for Isha’s cake.” You nod to confirm, flickering your eyes back up to hers.

They were somehow even more captivating than her biceps. Her lips twitch into a small grin, nodding slowly.

“The people at the store are very lucky.”

You couldn’t fight the smile that crept onto your lips.

“Shut up,” you look around at the equipment and trophies around the room to try and hide the heat that was undoubtedly forming on your cheeks. “Were you just working out here? Or did you have a class?”

“Yeah, I had a class earlier but it was for mostly 6 to 8 year olds so they didn’t beat me up too bad this time,” Vi jokes as she reminds you of her injuries from the last time you saw her.

You chuckle as you can only imagine seeing Vi with a whole group of children, gently encouraging them to take hits at her. Oh, your heart skipped at the thought.

“Yeah, I mean you look good now.” You blurt out without thinking.

Taking way too long to realize what had stumbled out of your mouth, Vi’s brows raise at your words as the faintest of smirks forms on her lips.

“Yeah?”

Your eyes flicker up to hers, self-consciousness washing over you once that realization sets in. Your mouth opens as you grip the box as some sort of comfort to ease the humiliation creeping up your neck.

“Not that you don’t look good all the time because you–you do! I mean, I don’t see you everyday but I’m sure you do,” you try and recover, voice becoming softer as you trail off.

Vi unfolded her arms from her chest to reach forward to rest them on your shoulders, faintly chuckling at your panic. “Cupcake, relax. I knew what you meant.”

You suck in a deep breath at her touch but you mask it as attempting to calm down from your frantic words.

“Okay, yeah. I’ll just leave these with you now,” you pat the top of the box, looking into her eyes. “I’ll see you soon so you can pick up the cake at the shop?”

Vi nodded in agreement with the set plan, taking the box of muffins from your hands. You nearly frown at the loss of touch that was somehow burning onto your skin even though you were wearing a thicker sweater.

“Yeah, I’ll see you soon but,” she clears her throat, moving the box to rest on one of her forearms as she brushes her front pieces of hair to the side. “Did you want to come to Isha’s birthday party?”

“Seriously?” Your smile widens.

Vi nods, eyes crinkling a bit from her smile matching your own.

“Are you sure?” You question, fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater. “It won’t be awkward not being family or anything?”

“No, I mean. It’s a small party but I think you’d have fun,” Vi shrugs her shoulders, suddenly becoming more sheepish. “Isha wants you there. Couldn’t stop talking about the nice bakery lady.”

“Just Isha?” You tilt your head, hopeful that she would give you the answer that you craved.

Vi taps on the box with a small smile. “I want you there, too.”

Oh, your gram would be jumping with glee seeing this interaction. Your face ignites a flame at her honesty, nodding with a beaming smile.

“I’ll be there. I’ll just bring the cake then.” You nod, pushing back flyways from your hair.

“Okay, good. I’ll text you the address, cupcake.”

You nod for what felt like the millionth time at the pink haired girl, taking a step back to try to force yourself to leave her warm presence.

“Okay and if you like those, uh, muffins, let me know if you want any other protein snacks. I like a good baking challenge.” You motion to the muffins.

Please say yes, you internally begged.

“I will. Though, I doubt I won’t like them if you’re the one baking them,” Vi assures your frantic mind.

You grin at her awkwardly, not knowing how to take these little flirty gestures she would throw at you. At least, you thought they were supposed to be flirty.

“Okay, okay,” you wave your hands, chuckling sheepishly to yourself as you realize you’ve probably overstayed your welcome. “I’ll leave you to… your boxing stuff.”

Vi chuckles at your wording, pointing to the clear door.

“Have fun shopping. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you, Vi.”

You felt like throwing up from your nerves.

You had texted Vi later that day after dropping off the muffins what you should wear so that you wouldn’t be either too overdressed or underdressed. It was a child's birthday party, for God’s sake but you still didn’t want to be too out of place especially around her family.

from vi ♥︎ | Do you have any options?

to vi ♥︎ | kind of? i have ideas of what i could wear but i’m stuck :/

from vi ♥︎ | Let me see and I’ll tell you what looks best!

You nearly dropped your phone on your face at the message. Standing up from your bed, you scurried to your closet to pick out two options as you didn’t want to bombard her with photos of yourself. You quickly change in your planned outfits minus the shoes, sending both of them to her. You were panting from how you switched from one to the next.

from vi ♥︎ | Fuck, you look good in both

from vi ♥︎ | I was expecting this to be an easier decision but you really just look good in either.

to vi ♥︎ | violet :(

Could she tell how flustered you were from behind the screen?

from vi ♥︎| I’m serious

from vi ♥︎ | But if you want me to choose, I’ll say the first one!

to vi ♥︎ | thank youuu! i was stressed about that lol

from vi ♥︎ | You’re going to be fine. I promise :)

to vi ♥︎ | really?

from vi ♥︎ | Yes. You’re the lady bringing the cake. No one can hate the lady bringing the cake, duh.

to vi ♥︎ | yeah, yeah, okay. i’ll relax now.

Now you were standing at the front door of the small suburban home in that very outfit that Vi had chosen; a white tee with an espresso brown cardigan over it and a pair of your favorite baggy dark wash jeans. Your hair was half-up, half-down and your cleanest pair of Docs. You rang the doorbell just a few seconds ago, patiently waiting for someone to answer the door.

If you held your breath, you could hear muffled footsteps approaching the wooden door. The sound of the locks unlatching signals you to straighten your back, preparing yourself for whoever was going to answer the door. The hinges creak as it swings open to reveal Vi, sporting a welcoming smile.

Similar to you, she was wearing a brown cut off sleeve top, a white tank top underneath the open torso portion and a pair of black jeans. You try not to read into the matching colors too much.

“Hi! I was so scared I got the wrong house,” you chuckle as you stare into her eyes.

“Nope, you got it. Everyone is in the back. Come on,” Vi reaches for your hand, tugging you through the small house halls.

You nearly drop the cake as you urge her to slow down, releasing soft chuckles at her eagerness. You glance around at the cozy walls of the home, catching a few glances at a few family photos hanging and set up on shelfs. You made a mental note to try and sneak inside to get a closer look at those.

You step through a white chipping back door, Vi guiding you to the birthday party set-up for the precious child. Green streamers hung on the wooden fence to appear as vines as a photo op and a foldable table that was filled with wrapped and bagged presents with Isha’s name in balloons with a few animal print ones surrounding the inflatable letters as music played from a speaker. It wasn’t the coldest day as it was nearing the end of November but there was a slight breeze and the sun was shining beautifully to really wrap up the sight of this unknown family.

You hold up the cake underneath the white box, subconsciously gripping onto Vi’s hand due to the anxiety swimming through your veins.

“Come on. I want you to meet everyone,” Vi insists, a charming smile on her face as she walks up to a group of people that were sitting at a round table that had a jungle leaf tablecloth over it.

The whole table had cups of drinks in front of them, talking amongst each other with animated features.

“Hey guys,” Vi speaks up, her hand still holding yours gently.

A chorus of greetings overwhelms you in a good way as she goes around the table to name them off one by one.

“Okay, this is Jinx, my other sister,” she points to a pale skinned girl with two electric blue hip length braids, a few strands coming from the front to frame her face.

The girl smiles at you with kindness, eyes widening as she seems to realize who you are.

“You’re the bakery girl? That donut was delicious. I have full trust that the cake will be amazing,” Jinx nodded with a wink, leaning into the darker skinned boy next to her.

“That’s Ekko,” Vi chuckles as she points at white haired boy.

“Hi. Nice to meet you,” he grins at you, nodding his head at you to show his acknowledgement of you.

“Hi!” You reciprocate the gesture, looking at the more broad woman on the other side of him.

“And Sevika. Don’t let that mean face scare you. Just wait until Isha comes down from the bouncy house.” Vi gave your hand a squeeze, a teasing grin on her face.

Sevika huffs at the pink haired girl's words but manages to press a semi-warm smile on her face in your direction. You nod with a more timid ‘hi’ leaving your lips. You didn’t want to say it out loud but she scared you a bit.

Okay, she scared you a lot.

“I think my dad’s inside but I’ll go let Isha know you’re here. Be right back.” Vi, after what felt like ages, released your hand to walk over to the bouncy house that was filled with a few more kids around Isha’s age.

The second her warm palm left your own, a wave of alarm washed over your features now being left alone with people that were closest to her. You turn to the group with the calmest expression you could muster to attempt to hide how nerve-wracking this was for you.

“You can relax, you know,” Jinx was the first to speak, tilting her head at your tense figure. “Here. I can take the cake. I’ll put it in the fridge.”

She stood up, reaching her pale hands out to you to take the cardboard box from you. You thank her quietly as you allow her to relieve you of that worry, leaving you alone with Ekko and Sevika.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be awkward,” you shake your head, taking the seat opposite to Sevika to leave Jinx’s spot still open.

“Vi told us how nervous you were so we were kind of expecting it,” Ekko admits which makes you wince a bit. “But, hey, we could do some ice breakers? Tell us something that’ll ease the tension.”

You nod at Ekko’s offer, pondering for a moment as you pick out a random fact from the depths of your brain’s memory log.

“Oh, I went to the hospital when I was 7 because I swallowed my Polly Pocket’s purse because my grandma said I had ‘wanted to know what it tasted like’.” You offer, glancing between the two strangers in front of you.

Sevika raised one of her palms to cover her mouth like she was trying to hide her amusement from your sentence. Ekko’s eyes widened as he snorted back a laugh, causing you to proudly smile at yourself on succeeding on breaking the ice just a bit.

“Jinx nearly burned my hair off when we were kids. She was obsessed with making homemade bombs,” Ekko shared with you, pointing to a mark in his eyebrows. “I still can’t grow hair in this spot on my eyebrow because of it.”

“I got this scar from her kicking me in the face when she wouldn’t go to the dentist when she was 9,” Sevika pointed at her half an inch scar on her top lip with a shake of her head.

“Okay so what I’m hearing is to stay clear of Jinx,” you joke.

This seemed to ease the tension between you and the two completely, them nodding to confirm. Slowly but surely, everyone started sharing stories of their childhood as did you. You learned alot about Vi and her little family through these two, feeling more connected to them already. As you shared what your jobs were like, you feel a smaller frame tackle you from the side. You look down to see a head of wild bronze waves cling onto your arm.

It was undoubtedly Isha. Vi stood behind her with a sweet smile, folding her arms over her chest before she pats Ekko on the back as she sits herself down on the other side of you. You send her a quick glance, her brows raising as if to check up on you and you nod to assure her.

“Hey birthday girl,” you look down at her, golden eyes staring into yours.

She makes a delighted sound, snuggling more into you. You rub a hand over her back for a moment before raising your hands to sign that she looked cute, motioning to her adorable birthday sash and bunny ears over her black and white striped tee.

Signing right back to you with an elated smile, she says; ‘you look beautiful.’

Your heart tightens at her kind words, signing a ‘thank you’ before tugging her into a gentle embrace. Her back was a bit damp from what you assume is the sweat from jumping around in the bouncy castle.

“She’s excited for her cake,” Vi hums as she stares down at her sister with a teasing grin.

Isha nods enthusiastically at her words to confirm said excitement, looking over to Ekko and Sevika and signing something that you didn’t pick up due to her turning away from you. They both nod, eyes following over to Vi’s figure next to you with raised brows. You turn to look at Vi in confusion at the silent communication but choose to mind your own business as Vi’s cheeks seem to match her hair now. You didn’t want to embarrass her further.

“Alright, who’s hungry? The pizza’s here!” A deep English accent comes from behind the group, a burly yet kind looking man comes from the back door which you came from carrying five pizza boxes.

Jinx trails behind him with two bags of ice stacked on her own arms.

“You hungry, cupcake?” Vi places a hand on your shoulder, jerking her head over to the man.

You suck in a deep breath at her words, feeling Isha’s fingers wrap around your own that were resting in your lap. You were unbelievably hungry but knowing that this was going to be your first impression of Vi's father made your stomach churn, attempting to suppress your hunger.

But you push through.

“Yeah, I could eat,” you nod to confirm, turning your head to the side to give her a composed smile.

Sevika and Ekko followed you and Vi’s lead as you both stood up from your seats again to walk across the slightly overgrown grass, nearly tripping as a few more children passed by your hips and legs to run towards the table full of cardboard boxes of pizza.

“Hey, hey, slow down. One at a time,” the man told the group of kids, pointing at them to grab the disposable plates.

“Dad,” Vi called, taking your right hand once again while Isha still clung to your other.

“And who is this, Violet?” He questions his daughter as he places a slice on a child's plate in the line they formed.

“Hi!” You speak up before Vi could as you introduce yourself.

The man nods at your introduction, a friendly smile on his face as he plates another child’s plate. His eyes flicker to his eldest daughter with a raise of his brows before focusing his attention on you.

“Vander. Vi’s told me alot about you,” he states as he points to the pink haired girl standing next to you. “You’re the sweet lady who made Isha’s birthday cake. Got to say, I saw it in the fridge and it’s absolutely perfect. Thank you for doing that for her.”

You felt overwhelmed by the compliments from the man, strangely having the urge to hug him but only tighten your grip on Vi and Isha’s hands.

“Oh, it really was so much fun to make too. I don’t get a lot of cake orders so I was excited to test myself, I guess,” you assure the man of your adoration with the job.

“You work up an appetite baking? We’ve got some fine cuisine here,” his voice was playful as he motions to the greasy boxes.

You nod to confirm which resulted in a strong Dad-like laugh to leave Vanders’ throat before he raised a hand to clap on your shoulder, tugging you towards the boxes now that all of the children had gotten their own pizza slices. You release the two sister’s hands before looking up at the man.

The entirety of the birthday party quickly became a party game frenzy after everyone hounded down their greasy food. There was cup stacking; Vi won that one, pin the tail on the donkey; Isha won that, limbo; you almost broke your back trying to do that, etc. You saw a more eccentric and playful side of Vi, cursing her for being such a bright person around her family.

It made her all the more attractive.

When you ended up being her partner for the wheelbarrow race, you felt like a freak for those good few seconds where you were holding her legs up by her ankles so she could use her hands to ‘run’ across the grass. You kept your eyes straight forward for as long as possible.

They lingered a bit downward because why the hell did her ass look good in black jeans? You nearly won but Isha and one of their little cousins who had come to the party won that round due to you being… well, distracted for a moment. She stuck the middle finger up and stuck her tongue out at Vi quickly before Vander could see, causing you and Vi to gasp before she celebrated with her cousin again with a cheeky grin.

Your real enemy ended up being the three legged race. You and Vi’s hips were touching, arms interlocked as a bandana was being tied around your thighs to keep you from separating. You suck in a deep breath as Sevika tightens the fabric, patting the area to tell you two it was good.

“Good luck,” Sevika tells the two of you, standing back up to move on to Ekko and Jinx who were next in the lineup.

Vi grins at the elder, looking over at you as she brushes her hair out of face.

“Who do you think is going to win, huh?”

“I know you want me to say us but I have high hopes for Ekko and Jinx. She’s very scrappy,” you admit with a soft laugh, your hand twiddling with a loose fabric on your cardigan.

Vi nods slowly in agreement at your words.

“And Ekko?” She hums.

“He matches that,” you lean in closer before pulling back as the wind blows your hair a bit.

This Vi chuckles at, not denying that accusation. Vander moves to the front very end of the fence of the backyard, cupping his large hands around his mouth to shout the countdown.

“On your marks,” he yells, “get set.”

He pauses dramatically before raising his left hand upwards to mimic a flag and slam it back down before yelling out: “Go!”

You and Vi immediately start to move yourselves forward, Jinx whining that you two were cheating already. Vi’s hard bicep tug into your own as she tried to keep you two from tripping.

Isha and one of her cousins were catching up to you quickly, their little legs beating you. Some force was on your side that day as you had stepped forward with your free leg and rolled your ankle a bit on what felt like a toy.

It happened too fast for you to comprehend but you fell to the ground. You turned to your back side without thinking and nearly twisted your ankle doing so.

Vi’s hand attempts to grab your forearm but in doing so, falls over with you. Her body covers your own, her weight laying on top of your own. You groan at the impact hitting your stomach and chest, looking down at your legs to see that the fabric of the bandana had ripped which was what caused Vi’s body to be on you and not next. Her body shifts to lift her upper body up to relieve that ache in your chest.

Vi lifts her head to stare down at you with a concerned expression, hands on either side of your head.

“Shit, are you okay?”

You tilt your head down to how Vi’s hips were pressed into yours and look back up to stare into her twisted expression.

“Yeah, I’m… good,” you lied through your teeth as the back of your head was now throbbing.

Vi’s eyes were searching your own for any sort of discomfort. Your chests were centimeters apart as you breathed heavily to try and catch your breath, eyes boring into one another's. Suddenly, your head and backache were forgotten about. You swore for just a moment Vi’s eyes flickered down to your lips before pushing up off of you, grunting as she stood to her feet.

She brushed off her jeans before leaning forward to wrap her hand around your forearm to help you up and off the grass. You allow her to tug you upwards to your feet, avoiding her glaze like the plague.

“Ekko and Jinx take the cake!” You hear Vander start to clap, wincing out loud. “You two alright? Kind of got caught up in the competition for a moment there.”

“Fine, Dad,” Vi replies as she watches you brush off your own legs, sucking in a deep breath. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“A little headache but I’ll survive, Vi.” You shake your head, brushing your hair out of your face with a lighthearted chuckle.

You two sadly couldn’t speak for longer as Vander announced it was time for cake. Vi’s hand lingered on your arm as she ushered the two of you to the set-up, watching as Jinx carefully came out with the lit birthday cake. Your eyes round with admiration at Isha scrambling to sit still in her chair as her big golden eyes widen as everyone starts to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to her.

Watching the scene unfold sent a bittersweet sense of comfort, remembering how you were once that small with a family like this. You hoped Isha could have this forever, security and love wrapped into one. If a tear left your eye, you’d disguise it as it being from the impact just a few moments ago.

The party died down slowly as adults and other family members came to pick up the other children that were at the function, getting pieces of the cake shoved into their palms that Vi had been praising since she took her first bite. Feeling like you had overstayed your welcome as the family was now gathered in the kitchen area to clean up, you quietly tell Vi that you should probably head home.

“Oh, yeah, I’ll walk you out,” Vi holds her finger up to Jinx, Ekko, Sevika, and Vander who were in the middle of a conversation.

“Aw, what? You have to go home already?” Jinx furrows her brows, huffing out a breath. “I didn’t even get to embarrass Vi in front of you yet.”

You chuckle at her words while Vi grumbles a sound of annoyance at her sister.

“I’m sure you’ll do it soon enough. And yeah, I got baking duties to tend to.”

“Well, I hope we get to see you more often and not just so you can bring us cake,” Jinx stepped forward to give you a quick hug.

You pat her back with a new sense of welcoming into Vi’s family, nodding in agreement with that statement. You say goodbye to everyone, making sure to sign Isha one more ‘Happy Birthday’ to which she signs back what you think is ‘Bye, pretty cake lady.’

As you walk down the halls to the front door, Vi questions: “What are you baking next?”

Catching you off guard, you ponder for a moment.

“Well, I’ve been dying to make some cinnamon rolls but kneading the dough can be tiring.” You huff as you watch Vi open the door for you, allowing you to step onto the gray concrete walkway that leads to the driveway. “Why?”

“Just… wondering.”

Then an idea sparks in your head as you lean against your car, turning to face Vi with a hesitant smile.

“Did you want to come over to mine to help me bake them?” You offer quickly before you could fumble and retract the statement.

Vi’s dark brows raise into her hairline at your invitation.

“You just want me to knead the dough, don’t you?” She teases.

You blow out a breath of air as you shrug your shoulders as if it wasn’t the first thing you thought of. “I mean, if you really want to. I wouldn’t mind it.”

Vi purses her lips as she nods, trying to repress her beaming smile. “Yes, I do want to.”

A sense of accomplishment washes over you at how you successfully made it through today without having any major screw-ups.

“I really had a good time today. I forgot how much fun birthday parties can be,” you grin sheepishly as you stand by your car, the sunset lighting up the side of your face beautifully.

Vi’s smile only grew at how stunning you looked.

“I told you that you would. You should come over more,” Vi shrugged her shoulders, tilting her head at you.

You hum with a playful smile as you bump your shoulder with hers. “So I can get multiple concussions? I don’t think so.”

“Well, I can promise I can try to prevent as many of those as possible.”

You chuckle out an ‘okay’ at her words, fiddling with your cardigan sleeve. There was a beat of silence between the two of you, the soft breeze sending shivers down your spine. Your bad habit of admiring her silently; nearly creepily hit you when you made eye contact with her, her brows raising at you challengingly.

“Right, yeah, so I’ll let you know when I have everything to make the cinnamon rolls,” you stated as your hand hovered your driver's side door handle, snapping out of your temporary trance.

Vi’s arms folded over the front of her chest, scuffing her shoes on the concrete of their driveway as she rocked her on her heels.

You find her eyes once again, taking in a confidence wielding breath as taking a step forward to wrap your arms around her neck. Vi was taken aback for half a second, breath hitching before she let her arms drop from their spot to hold you up your torso with one arm as the other raised to cradle the back of your head with her hand. You bury your head into her neck to cling onto the warmth for as long as you could.

“Thank you again for coming, cupcake. I’ll see you soon, alright?” Vi says gently into your temple, sliding her hand off of your head.

“Yeah,” you suck in a deep breath, “I’ll see you.”

Achingly doing so, you detach yourself from her embrace to finally get into your car. Vi stood in the driveway as you reversed and drive off, waving at you until you were down the road.

previous part -> next part

TAG-LIST: @strawberrykidneystone @lovinglynny @kylorey25 @loserbaby66 @eddiesdrummergf @jokermoonie @ranxiaolong @morphids @gayandcurious @oatmatchalatte @iamastar @saviourcomplexgf @vihxh7 @jinxjinxjinx12 @krilara @unear7hly @magical-rush

#wlw #sapphic #lesbian #vi fluff #vi x you #vi arcane #arcane show #arcane violet #arcane vi #arcane vi x reader #arcane league of legends #arcane league of lesbians #vi fanfic #vi #vi x reader

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mystiika · 7 months ago

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peeta tag drop

#peeta #tag drop #p. mellark. appearance — you mirror what the world mirrors to you #p. mellark. character study — our lives aren’t measured in years but measured in the lives of people we touch around us #p. mellark. likes — kindness accomplishes what force cannot #p. mellark. v. u — shadows cannot see themselves in the mirror of the sun #p. mellark. v. 1 — all of life is a series of problems we must try & solve #queue.

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juletheghoul · 4 months ago

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ache

a/n: another dope, unhinged request that sent me clean into the sun. I will have girl reciprocate in another chapter! Thanks so much for loving my version of Marcus, hopefully you like where this is going. This is un-beta'd, barely edited. All mistakes and errors are mine! Hope you enjoy what I came up with! (this is before chapter IX)

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus' pov, Marcus makes girlie squirt, *feelings*, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance), Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.6k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

----

He’d been away from his home for longer than he wished to be. Away from her.

He’d been resigned to be gone for two days, three if he was being generous. That was the time he’d been prepared to spare. Those three days had stretched to three weeks.

An endless parade of niceties and feasts and courtesies extended. His presence was essential it seemed, and so he’d had to grit and bear it. He’d slept in those foreign beds and craved her warmth, her smell and her touch so much so that a rage filled him, a restlessness that only soured his mood more and more.

Had he not put his foot down he might have been gone from his house for three months instead of three weeks. He’d fought wars quicker than this.

Only when he was on his journey back home, back to her did the smile return to his face. Only waning when his journey had taken longer than expected, and by the time he’d finally stepped foot inside his house the moon was high, and she was sleeping peacefully in her bed. He’d watched her for a time from her doorway, almost willing her to sense him and wake. She didn’t, and he didn’t have the heart to disturb her, so he retreated back to his chambers and fell into a fitful sleep.

Even in his dreams, she haunted him. He could smell her, feel the warm clutch of her cunt around his cock, hear her passion in his ear. He could taste her lips, could feel himself spilling inside her.

He woke with a gasp, cock aching, heart racing and sweat beading on his brow. The moon was still bright, and the hour late, or early, he could not tell. The only thing he knew for certain was that if he didn’t go to her now, he’d die.

The heavy blanket of sleep shifts to gossamer, fine as silk. The dream, so clear just a moment ago slips away, forgotten as your room comes back into focus. A heavy weight presses beside you, a soft caress pulls you further into wakefulness. Too tired to be scared, you turn towards the feeling, the soft press of familiar lips at your shoulder and are both startled, and delighted to see your Dominus in bed with you. He’d been gone so long, you almost wept to be within his embrace once more.

“Dominus, you’re home.” It’s not a question, more a sleepy, contented statement.

“Yes, Girl, I am at last home.” You press closer, heart swelling that he would crawl into your bed with you. His passion so great, it pressed hot and hard against your belly. “I dreamt about you Girl, could not wait until morning.” His hands roamed, sweeping from your back down to grab at your ass, pulling you ever closer in the quiet dark of your chamber.

“You dreamt about me Dominus?” You smiled into the warm skin of his neck, butterflies swarming in your belly at his confession.

“Yes Girl, I was hoping you would be awake when I got home, I wanted you so bad I ached but you were asleep and I couldn’t bring myself to wake you. I found no peace in sleep, even in my dreams I craved you.” His lips descend, soft and so welcome where they meet yours, his tongue insistent. “Did you miss me Girl?” He shifts, pushing you onto your back and fitting himself between your thighs. the heft of him makes your cunt turn to liquid. The absence of him these three long weeks had been difficult, so accustomed had you become to him taking you that feeling him now could have made you weep with joy.

“Yes Dominus, I have been so empty without you, I have missed the feel of you here–” You reach down and grasp him in hand, delighting in the gasp he breathes into your face and guide him into your soaked cunt. “I missed you here Dominus, needed you here desperately. I have gone without your gift for so long.”

His forehead is pressed to yours, your legs bent and high on his ribs while you both catch your breath. Your heart races as he adjusts and rests on his arms, bracketed around your skull. Your nipples harden against his chest as he presses soft kisses to your face, your cunt leaks when he starts to move, a slow, but heavy thrust. His cock is so stiff, so filling that it takes a moment for you to adjust, for that stretching burn to subside.

The moans slip out with every push and pull of his hips into yours and when you move your legs a little higher and tilt your hips he hits something divine. His cock pressing against an undiscovered, almost forbidden part of you with every roll of his hips.

“Is that where you like it?” He keeps his stroke steady, hitting the spot he knows he’s found and you can barely form a thought, all you can focus on is the fullness, on the delicious feeling in your hips, in the deepest part of you. “Answer me Girl, did you miss me fucking you?” He doesn’t speed up, only thrusts harder.

“Yes Dominus, yes, I missed it so much–” He moans and it heightens the pleasure building in your core, in the base of your spine. His tongue is obscene in your mouth, your hands clutch at him, moving from where they clawed at his back up to curl into his waves, gripping at him like talons.

His pace picks up, faster, harder and the feeling grows, something heavy, something altogether too big building unlike anything you've ever felt before. Big enough to almost frighten you. You pull away from his kiss, frantic to warn him.

“Dominus, wait–something–God’s above–” You moan out because he doesn’t stop, he only shifts cat-quick to push at the back of your thigh up towards your chest, opening you up wider and hitting at that same spot harder.

It’s so loud, the wet plunge of him into the cunt he owns, the cunt that weeps and gapes for him and him alone. Your heart races, sweat beads at your hairline and his, the sound of the bed rocking with his movements; all of it ignored and unimportant compared to the feeling.

“Dominus–” your eyes drift down to where he fucks into you, hands pressing at his chest as the crushing wave inside finally crests.

Your body pushes him out with a wet gush and a scream. Your hands claw at him, your body bows almost on its own as you soak him in your climax. He doesn’t stop, instead he holds you down, his strength showing it’s face as he fucks you through the strongest climax of your life.

“That’s it Girl, take it, take my cock, and my gift.” He groans it, filling you to the brim despite your inability to do anything but lay there under him, soul outside your body, and shake with the force of the pleasure he’d given you.

He smiles as he cleans himself after, moving to you to wipe down the mess he’d made of your sex.

Your legs still shake.

“I had heard rumours in my youth that if you were skilled enough, you could pleasure a woman enough to make her burst like a fountain.” He has a smugness about him as he presses the damp cloth to your skin. You are silent still, shocked at the way he’d made you feel, at what he’d made your body do. “You are the first to prove them right. Have you ever done that before, Girl? Has any other man ever made you do that?”

“No Dominus, I have never felt anything like that before.” A shyness creeps in, a vulnerability you don’t know how to express. Your eyes cannot quite meet his and despite the pride you can see in him, he senses it.

“Did you enjoy it? I do not want to chase that again if you did not enjoy it.” He tosses the rag back into your basin, and slips into your bed with you, gathering you into his arms. You are grateful to feel his warmth, to have the comfort of his embrace.

“I did Dominus, I enjoyed it immensely, I am just–I–I,” You stutter, unsure how to explain how you feel and the curiously emotional response that amount of pleasure has borne in you.

“What is it Girl, tell me. I wish to understand.” He pulls you into the crook of his neck, his hands rubbing at your back.

“I do not know Dominus, It is strange. The pleasure was great, greater than any other time we have lain together but it is so much more. It is as though now I am tied to you, I cannot get close enough. If you leave me here now, in this bed I shall die without you.” A shyness creeps in and warms your face, an embarrassment at the intense need you have for him now. So much more than when you are aroused.

“I will not leave you, Girl. I would never leave you. I must confess, seeing how much you enjoyed that changed me as well.” He pulls your sheet up, tucking the both of you in for what is left of the night. “There is an intense pride in me now, that I could be the one to make you feel that good.”

“You always make me feel good, Dominus.” You press your lips to his neck, rubbing at his chest while you make yourself comfortable in his embrace.

“As do you, Girl. I was a mess while away from this house, away from you.” You smile into his neck before moving up to press your lips to his. There is no more need for words after that, instead you both fall into an easy rhythm of soft kisses, and gentle sweeps of your palms. A reacquainting of yourselves with one another, as though it’s been years since your last meeting instead of less than a moon’s turn.

In the safety of the dark, it was okay. The lines of your roles could be blurred, you could kiss him as often as you pleased, you could press yourself closer, and speak words of devotion without fear. You could ignore that this was a slaves bed and not his place.

When morning came, you would wake alone and serve once more, but here, in the dark; that could wait.

Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @its-nebuleuse @missladym1981 @inept-the-magnificent @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @ladyofmidlo72 @greenvita @honey-on-your-tongue @ladylovesloki @alexiamargot06 @purple-fig @picketniffler @somedayheaven @flw3rrr @lizzie-cakes @bunnibitez @kluvspedro

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x you #general marcus acacius #general acacius #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x female reader #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #the general

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hoseoksluna · 11 months ago

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LIQUID STARS | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. bam)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.8k

summary: to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your cunt and your virginity.

playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine

warnings: size kink, heavy dd/lg themes, provocation, dry humping, dirty talk, mentions of porn, oral sex (f. + m. receiving), multiple orgasms & countdown, dom/sub dynamics, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), first time, jealousy, inner child healing, plushie used during intercourse, jungkook fucks her numb & dumb, praise kink, cum eating, pet names and the establishment of a title, bondage, raw sex, tummy bulge, desperation, pain felt during intercourse, squirting

note: as difficult as it was to write this, i'm immensely thankful. this changed my life; it healed me and i'll dream about it for a long, long time. i was as exhausted as oc once i finished this, because i truly did give my all. everyone, this is part four to my series 'wine' and therefore the very end. this is the very beginning of jungkook's and oc's relationship. can be read as a standalone as there aren't any quirks from the other parts (except for bunny), though if you wish to read them now, now is the perfect time. now you can see the beautiful gradual development of their relationship. please, enjoy as you read and let me know your favorite parts bc i need to talk about this. heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that can be uncomfortable for some. thank you! and thank you for all the love on this series. i'll never forget it. i love you, guys. ʚɞ

side note: give some round of applause for 3D daddy provider jungkook everyone!! he deserves it!!!

Silky lilac bows adorn the tops of your pigtails that cascade down in loose braids, sprawled on the cotton of his pillow and on the soft belly of a bunny plushie. There are still traces of sunlight left on the bedding, which dissolve, little by little, into nothingness as the large star goes down, saying goodbye. It’s lightweight, the atmosphere—homely almost. And much to your surprise, you feel relatively at ease, despite the fact a man lies on top of you—a man you have a certain liking for.

It was natural for you to end up here and you, yourself, wished for it, even. Deemed it was only right after the man took you around for a walk while his silly Doberman guarded each and every step both of you had taken in sync, especially so when he persisted in buying you a small plastic ring of the same bunny you’re lying against. He didn’t even forget about his own canine friend waiting outside patiently like the obedient dog he is, and fed him the snackies he got for him as soon as he returned from the shop. You swore Bam was as giddy as you when he received his gift.

Now the ring glints in the last rays of the sun. His, too.

While yours is as white as the cloudy morning sky, Jungkook’s is as black as the drowsily dozing night sky. You think it’s the perfect contrast between the pair of you. Not that you should be noting these things, considering you’re just friends. But his skin is satiny soft, painted in impressionist tattoos, while his muscles, that his well-fitted T-shirt graciously allows you to see, are strong. You’re sure he could just lift you and throw you around without much of a strain. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s such a striking image of pure beauty. How could you not notice these intertwinings when they’re this lovely?

You like him—without a shadow of doubt. Can feel the call of an emotional attachment forming the more he studies your skin with the tip of his index finger, embellished with the Miffy ring, and it’s owed to the fact you’ve never been touched this way before. No one has ever come this close, no one has ever been interested in the moles scattered upon your shoulders, in the veins that make the pathway to the column of your neck. No one has ever gazed twice at them—but Jungkook?

He hasn’t stopped looking at them ever since he laid you down in the middle of his bed.

How could you stop such a call? Such a lull, such a magnetic pull. You know you should, but for the meantime, you simply don’t want to. Can’t lose this moment, can’t lose this once in a lifetime opportunity—

Jungkook presses his lips against the prominent mole in the center of your left shoulder. Those pretty, puffy lips, closing against your skin, the smallest dart of tongue swiping past. It shocks you for a moment before the feeling dissolves beneath, adjusting within the freshness of your system. How could you refuse such dynamic poetry, expressed against your own forlorn body? When it’s so blatant that it’s natural, that your body willingly accepts it without a fight.

You couldn’t.

Stretching your fingers between the thick strands of his hair, you close your eyes to savor the feeling of being wanted. The movement of his mouth, going even as far as to the first vein rooted in your arm—following it with those half-closed pillows. Up, up until he finds the line of your collarbone. Jungkook pauses there, simply breathes against you before he interperses little pecks there, nibbles and gentle swipes of tongue. The lining of your top won’t let him go further down, so he changes direction—relies on the pathway of your veins to guide him to your neck. And there… at the first contact, you grip the roots of his hair.

His kisses and nibbles are much harder here. And what’s worse, he takes the sensitive skin into his mouth and sucks. You fail at containing the whimpers that break out of your mouth and Jungkook reacts to them. Hums ever so deeply, rocks his hips against the mattress. You wish you were a bit bigger so you could feel the collision, but you’re just so small compared to his large form. You imagine he’s writing down the poems collecting inside of him with each cursive roll of his tongue. Wonder if there’s enough paper on your skin for all his words.

“You sweet little thing,” Jungkook coos onto the crook of your neck, dragging his lips up and down before he stops at your jaw. You feel the warmth of his breath and his body heat seeps into yours, creating unity, blackening the ink. It feels strange, it feels so new. Brisk and springlike, like fresh air in a stuffed room. You want to stay here for a long time, tasting the wholeness of spring captured in him. You want his words to flush you red with the tinge of the entire sunlight that opens the buds of flowers during all seasons in a loop. “Can I kiss you?”

You haven’t gone beyond the innocent touching of hands with him. You brim with a tight feeling of thankfulness that he asked you such a graceful question, although something else steals your attention entirely.

“Little?” you say, the smile on your lips pulled so taut that it quivers ever so slightly. It makes you crazy that he calls you that, but you play the game. Revel in it. “What do you mean little? I’m bigger than you.”

Jungkook cocks his brow at you, mouth falling into a lopsided grin. He sits back and you feel a whiff of coldness pass by the perimeter of your body, as if someone opened the window and let the winter air in, when it’s just his brief distance that caused it. The forming attachment in you tenses and before you can think about your actions, your hand finds his knee, his thigh and traces slow patterns there. Jungkook suddenly squeezes your waist, surprising you, and the ecstatic fluttering of butterfly wings break havoc all over your body. The solidness of his hands, their weight, their firmness, giving life to your body, meaning. You note how his fingers touch when he has his hands enveloped around you like that. And the inkling that your body matters in his hands like that slips into your mind, spreading through its axis.

You bite your lower lip. A small ache begins to grow in your intimate parts. It’s so nice to be wanted, to be considered good enough to be touched, to be kissed.

“You? Bigger than me?” Jungkook squeezes your waist again. Sucks in a breath through his teeth. Smiles softly; in a way that you find unbearably endearing. “No, you’re just little. Just a tiny, little bug. So tiny in my hands.”

For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it.

He leaves his hands there when he bends over you, hovering his lips over yours. His weight, his heat. You sigh against him in relief, in a newly blossoming excitement that he’s back again. You spread your legs wider, feet grazing his calves—

“Let me kiss you, please.”

You’d give in, but the game is just so pleasurable.

Your laugh is but a breath. “You wanna kiss me?”

You exhaled, he inhaled.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Since when do friends kiss?” You cock your eyebrow at him just like he did, prodding your tongue on the inside of your cheek.

He hovers a little bit higher above you, hanging his head in defeat, sighing. Places his hands in fists on either side of you, caging you in.

“Premium friends do,” he mutters, lifting his head, face all serious. You dig your toe into the toned muscle of his thigh, twirling sweet little circles, gliding up and down. Watch as his eyes lid and he tries to control it. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you.”

Your body panics, but you will it to relax.

“Does that come with the premium subscription?”

Jungkook purses his lips, supports his weight on one hand as the other, the tattooed one, grips your jaw. He squishes your cheeks, bites his lip once—seemingly ponders whether he should play your game or not before he lets go of your pout, but still keeps his hand there. He traces the shape of your lips with this thumb, feeding his desire to kiss you with scraps.

“Yes,” he utters. “Kisses, orgasms, my dog. It’s all—”

Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms.

“I get to take Bam?”

Jungkook tuts at you. “You get to take me,” he corrects you. “Though, can even such a little thing like you take me?”

Probably not. Definitely not.

“But what about Bam?”

He looks at you as if he couldn’t believe the words you’re saying, turning his head slightly to hear you better. Then, he scoffs, running his tongue across his lips swiftly, letting them express the enjoyment of your provocation by stretching into a smirk. He places his hand back on the right side of you, thinking over his words.

“Bam is mine, but you can pet him. You can kiss him.” You can hear the feigned venom in that word as he spits it and you grin, pleased with yourself. You enjoy doing this to him. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you take him out for his walkies.”

You gasp slowly, fingers absentmindedly gripping his thigh. Butterflies buzz you with a mere hint of arousal and to convey it, you wet your top lip with the tip of your tongue. The dominance, the principle of proving to him whether you’re deserving of something. Your heartbeat quickens, reaching for him with each swell.

Oh, you’ll be good. You’ll be good until he’s sick of it.

It seems he’s as pleased with himself as you were with yourself, reading your body language as he beams down at you, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. You want to stick your fingers there, pinch the skin at the corners of his mouth. Feel them, kiss them—

“Deal.”

Jungkook blinks at you. He most likely expected you to be difficult. You like the look of surprise on him. A sweet kind of glint perches itself upon his irises. You’re at awe of how he manages to be so adorable and alluring at the same time. You could never understand it. You deem he must be otherworldly.

“A kiss to seal the deal?” he tries, raising his brows, lowering himself to his elbows.

He skims his lips across your cheek, descending to your neck. Places one, singular kiss there. Lifts his head to hear your answer, a soft curtain of hair falling across his forehead.

You make a face as if you’re thinking about it.

Jungkook groans.

It’s cold, the way he turns away from you and it startles you—but then he slides his hands under your back and lifts you with ease, sitting you down on his lap. He moves you from the muscles on his thighs to the hardness of his intimate parts and you groan at the feeling of it. You’re wearing an airy short skirt with tights and knee socks underneath, the barrier so thin that you feel the solid, thick shape of him right under your femininity.

You rock against him once. Jungkook lets out a sound akin to yours, fingers flexing—hands almost reaching for your behind before he decides against it and keeps them planted against your back.

He desires your consent. And that makes you feel light-headed. Tipsy on the wholeness of him, on the pleasure coursing through your body.

You rock your hips again—and this time, Jungkook whimpers.

You take your hands and, slowly, you make a pathway down his chiseled chest. He twitches against you when your fingers pass by his nipples, his body following and squirming along. And once you reach the definition of his abdomen, your hands rise and fall against its quickening movement as his lungs heave. You’re mesmerized by his reaction to your touch. It’s as if it was his first time as well and something about that makes you woozy, savage and absolutely feline.

And something about the way you’re allowed to do as you please, whereas he’s not, strengthens that state of mind, enriches it, thoroughly worsens it.

You want him.

It began with a ring and ended right here.

And the process of your decision starts at his hips, finalizes at the pebbles of his nipples and finishes completely at the sides of his neck. He gives you the same, if not better, reaction, his manhood moving against you, and it’s settled.

The giving of virginity to seal the deal, not just a kiss.

Hovering your lips against his, you slip your hand to the place where you’re connected to feel up the shape of him. You moan onto him, vigorous power seizing you, propelling you to wrap your fingers around him. The breaths Jungkook emits are desperate, tortured, wafting over you, intoxicating you. It fills you with confidence unlike any other that you’re able to coax such a thing of beauty out of him—that you, the artist, have the upper hand momentarily while he doesn’t.

And he waits, depends on you. You want to cry due to how happy it makes you, due to the way it suffuses an empty part of you, left abandoned by someone who should’ve taken care of it a long, long time ago.

Because of that—if it’s kisses that he wants, you’ll give him as many as his body desires as a thank you.

“You’re so hard against me,” you whisper.

Jungkook grips your waist hard.

“If you want it, you have to seal the deal,” he mimics your intonation, voice deep, tingling your tummy.

“I want it.” You clutch both of your hands on his jawline, thumbs finding the invisible dimples.

“Kiss me, then.”

You whimper at the longing to do so. Your tummy clenches, butterflies inside swarm around and—

When you close your lips against his top lip, they burst into smithereens. Jungkook sighs in relief, enveloping you in his warmth.

The kiss is hungry. You expected his first taste of you to be careful, contemplative, but he goes all in. Takes charge of the lip lock, swallowing you whole, moving against you, uttering low sounds that make your head spin and you just comply. Accept that you’re the one who submits to his craving and you find yourself liking it; find yourself wanting to deepen your submission.

You wrap your legs around his waist, your head tilted as you reciprocate all of those hard kisses. When he comes up for air, he just gazes down at you, out of breath. One hand still on your back, the other cradles your cheek. There’s something puzzling in his eyes, as if he was fighting something within. You’re radiated by that energy, heavied down by it, letting him pet you like a puppy while you wait for the next step.

“You’re so good that I’m considering letting you take Bam out,” he breathes, curling a wisp of your hair behind your ear. “Sweet little thing.”

He pecks you once. You grind against his manhood and as he shortly groans onto your mouth, you splutter into giggles. Behind you, as if he heard him, the dog peeks his head out of the door, giving his Daddy a questioning look. Jungkook chuckles.

“Bam, house.”

The dog leaves and Jungkook sinks his fingers into your hair, sighing. Kisses you, again without tongue—only does what you’ve allowed him, but you overflow with the desire for more. He’s so considerate, so respectful and while you’re grateful for it, you want to break it. Your trust in him, made whole by all that he’s done for you, settled within you, made a bed in the sensitive parts of you that now shine. He doesn’t need to remain there—you want to go beyond that.

“Touch me, please.” You look up into his eyes as you say it, willing them to see with all your energy how much you want him.

He rubs soothing circles on your back. “If I touch you, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.”

You lift your butt ever so slightly and bounce down on him, your skirt furling. Jungkook moans, pleasing you to the core. It’s bratty of you, but it serves him right for being so stubborn, so firm in his control. You want to break him.

“Can’t you see how much I want that?” you purr, bunching the cotton of his T-shirt in your fists.

He merely shakes his head, licking his lower lip, fucking with you. He tugs on one of your braided pigtail, the other hand gliding to your hipbone. “This little girl is horny? I couldn’t tell.”

A yellow light, sleepy in nature, spills through the blinds, latching onto the side of your neck. His eyes flick to it and his teeth sink into the wetness of his lip. He looks back at you when he says, “what was it that made you horny? The neck kisses?”

He straps both of his hands to your hipbones now, adjusting you so your sweetest spot rests against his cock, rocking your hips like he wants them to. He swallows down his noises, makes room for yours. You figure he wants to hear them.

You think about what made you horny. His respectful behavior. An electric spark spasms in your core at the memory and you roll your body against his at the impact—nipples pebbled, grazing below the hardness of his pecks. You moan loudly. He breathes heavily, can’t for the life of him contain that, gripping you with strength that will surely leave bruises. You add it to the list.

His control—the momentary, delicious lack of it, too. The dominance that follows it. His noises and how unrestrained he is when it comes to them. The allure and the attractive charm of his looks, blended with that insufferable cutesiness. His hard cock. The neck kisses, too, of course.

You summarize your answer and you tell him, “you.”

A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.”

Fuck, indeed. Fuck the steady rhythm—Jungkook speeds up your movement, the pace so fast your pigtails and your ribbons bounce, tits following suit. Your breath falls in step, moans echo within the walls of his room. He kisses you harshly, but that doesn’t silence you. He swallows your noises down, grunting.

“You wanna know what made me hard for you?”

You nod your head, lips forming a natural pout at the loss of contact.

“Those fucking pigtails of yours. The knee socks. How tiny you are in my hands. Seeing you lose your fucking mind when I kissed your neck. Those marks I left behind, hm, fuck yes. Those marks made me crazy,” he mutters, staring you down. “And you know what else?”

You wait for his answer as white flashes blind you, your roaring orgasm beckoning you close. He doesn’t stop rocking you against him, not once. Fills your brain with emptiness with his words coated wet by his dominant energy. You feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of your panties.

“Your brattiness,” he says. “I want to fuck it out of you and make a good girl out of you that won’t misbehave again with her smart words.”

A faint part of you, half affected by the pleasure he gives you, arises to stand up for you. “But I was good and you said so.”

He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly shaking his head. Slows down the pace so you’re able to hear him loud and clear, your orgasm backing away. “You see the thing is with little bratty girls like you, even when they act good for me, there’s still that dark little side of them that hides. Unless I fuck it out of them, they play with me. And trust me, I like the game until I don’t.”

You frown at him, but a moan betrays you. A fight throngs inside of you, his dominance yet again permeating you, causing you to flourish, but on the other hand, you don’t like being added to the mix. You want to be the only one—and it makes you angry that he had someone like you before you, that he even said it altogether. Though unfortunately, that’s something you can only keep to yourself.

The forming attachment breaks, splitting into two, with the knowledge that your wish is futile. You understand he said it for the sake of the role-play that you both naturally, wordlessly established through sexual attraction, but you still have a lot of getting used to within the dynamic. He’s experienced, you’re not. Though, when you think about it, he doesn’t know a thing about your purity. You never told him.

You blame yourself for your own pain. It’s your fault—you should’ve had a conversation with him about it before you let him do anything to you, instead of playing flirty games with him. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if he knew you were a virgin. The thought of what you’ve done stains you, makes you feel filthy, but you will it to kneel inside of you like a wounded animal. You need to be strong if you don’t want to storm out of his room in tears.

No attachment, no liking.

Just sex.

There’s still a frown to your face, despite the fact you set yourself free with your decision. Jungkook chuckles at it, oblivious to your internal storm.

“You didn’t like that, did you?” You didn’t like being compared to other girls he’d been with; there’s nothing to be said of the like about the role-play aspect. Being called bratty did rouse a moan out of you. “You prove my words right.”

You roll your eyes. Jungkook grips your ass hard and spanks you. As the sting reverberates, along with it comes the realization you got what you wanted.

You broke him.

And now you have to face the repercussions.

Good thing you’ve sobered up from the stupefaction of your arousal.

You cradle his face and kiss him deeply in effort to change the narrative. No feeling of affection from earlier hangs upon your heart and you find that it’s easier like this. No strings, no pain. It relieves you—so much that you sense a layer of lightness to your body and tiny, manageable tears well in your eyes. You get to enjoy this after all.

There’s radiance to your eyes, rooted in hope, and true softness to your words when you say, “I want you to fuck it out of me. I want you to be my first.”

You want to be different—your pride is uninfluenced by your decision. If he fucks it out of you, the new narrative you’re longing for will fully take place and make living through this bearable. You know you can’t have him the way you’d like, but if fate wrote that you’re to have him this way—you don’t mind altering it to the little desires you’re allowing yourself to have.

Once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t lose it.

Jungkook is left astounded by your words, eyes widening, shock evident on his features. Like your words, he softens, unclenching his fingers from your suppleness, the darkness in his irises making a way for gentleness to come through. He rubs the small of your back, hands ascending to your spine, feeling the clip of your bra, until he finds the nape of your neck. He holds you there, tenderly, as if you were a porcelain doll he now was careful not to break.

The change in his demeanor is stark. It surprises you as well—and like everything that has happened within the hour, it isn’t something you expected from him. The emotion that emerges from the roundness of his eyes touches the hardness of your decision, tries to get through, pokes a gap inside, letting the light in.

He tucks his darkness back inside. Strokes the back of your head, the silky ends of your ribbons sifting through his slender fingers. You relax against him and your body does it for you. It welcomes his tenderness, glad for the truth to be out. You fight against it—against yourself, willing your decision not to break but remain firm.

No strings, no pain.

But to no avail. The light spreads. His light. Celestial twinkles of stars, small parts of him that make him who he is.

“You’ve never had anyone before me?” he husks, regret glossing over his eyes, holding your head firmly as he awaits your answer. More stars spill like liquid.

You shake your head ‘no’, your chest tightening.

He kisses you and there’s something different about the way he does it. Now you can sense the carefulness you searched for earlier and you taste the primal core of loving care in the movement of his lips. The kisses are long, deep. As if you’re a different person now, a girl unlike any of the ones he mentioned. Someone who matters, someone who’s solid. You’re back at the beginning.

A lump forms in your throat.

“You sure about this?” he asks.

One part of you, greater and illuminated by his stars, wants it gently like this, with flowers of innocence and purity besprinkled across his features, never leaving you out of his sight, taking care of you. But you fear that if you allow him to be tender, your heart will choose him again and cling to his side. The other, more faint part of you, affected by your decision, thinks it’s better to stick to the role-play, for there’s the aspect of illusoriness that will not bruise anyone’s hearts, especially not yours. It will make you horny, Jungkook will get you off and, glowing, you’ll go home.

You can’t decide. It’s too much of a heavy weight to bear on your shoulders. You can’t do it.

You need him to say the word. You need him to decide what will be the face of the trajectory of your premium friendship.

Flowery or deceitful?

A small candlelight in you hopes for gentleness and purity before your fear unfairly puffs it out.

“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.”

Jungkook lays you down and, at last, you feel his manhood against you. He bends to pepper apologetic kisses along the column of your neck and you feel the authenticity of his regret, thrumming against you warmly. Your breath hitches in your throat, the principle of the candlelight in you not being a high hope after all—

“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about this better.” A kiss to your cheek; you stifle your sobs. “I should’ve checked in with you, but I jumped straight in. This was a mistake on my part. I’m sorry.”

He blames himself, not you.

You want to remain stoic, but his authenticity beckons yours to come out and envelop him whole, gives access to your emotions and you can’t stop the miniature teardrop from flowing down the side of your nose. Neither can you stop the words that follow its footsteps.

“I should’ve told you first,” you whisper, sniffling. Jungkook furrows his brows at the expression of your pain in tender emotion, wiping it away. “But I was bad—reckless.”

He chuckles softly, caressing your hair. “You’re an angel. Sent to my side for me. You weren’t bad. I didn’t mean what I'd said.”

His words, his touch, the kiss he adds to your cheek to punctuate his sentence—Jungkook erases everything that has just happened.

Newness rushes in your chest, the pouring of spring into summer permeates your whole being. You hear the birds sing, the rustle of flimsy flower petals on tree branches as the warm wind grazes it with its touch. Jungkook seals this feeling by pressing a kiss to your sternum.

He said it, so it must be so. You trust him.

The firmness of the cage around your decision unlatches. Doesn’t fly away like the birds. Is a little bit afraid of peeking out. The candlelight returns to light up the room around that cage, blossoming into the sun.

“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” he says, looking up at you from the place where he dragged your top down to kiss your skin.

The sun rays in you absorb all of the darkness. The firmness extends one wing.

You run your fingers through his hair. Figure the only thing the summer in you is missing is the heat. You want him, you want sex and you don’t want to think about feelings or consequences. You don’t want to choose between anything anymore. You just want to enjoy yourself.

“I meant it when I said that I want you to be my first,” you say, fingers curling around his ear. Jungkook leans into your touch and it’s as if he’s massaging the wing to alleviate it from a cramp due to being tucked in for so long.

“Okay,” he sighs, taking your hands and pinning them on the pillow and bunny above your head. He sits up, examines you and you wonder if he can see how truly fragile you feel. “Do you trust me?”

He’s had half a year of going out with you, mingling his life with yours, spending money on you and treating you like an absolute treasure to build your overall trust. And what he did just now? How he erased your pain? Your nod is immediate; you don’t need to think twice.

“Of course I trust you.”

“Good.” A soft smile. “I’ll make sure your first time will be beautiful for you.”

Your heart thuds. His words steal all the breath in your lungs, smoothing out the surface of your body for his stars to fill. Tears prick at your waterline.

“Are you scared?”

You’re an empty canvas.

“Not anymore.”

Jungkook nods, gladness pulsating off of him. “I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you, not even once, okay?”

“Okay.”

He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and yanks it down. “How many times do you wanna come?”

The ridiculousness of the question makes you laugh and you hide your face beneath your palms. “To be honest, I don’t expect to come at all. It is my first time after all.”

You marvel at the honesty seeping out of you. His work, no doubt.

Jungkook frowns, ridding you of the skirt, fingers hooking under the hem of your top. At the reveal of your pink, flowery, see-through bra, he stops altogether, stunned. He fondles the material, grazing over your soft nipples, at last reaching the embroidery of the small petals. He gasps in wonder, eyes flicking to your intimate parts to see if you’re wearing a matching set.

The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy.

Jungkook smiles at his discovery. Is hasty as he drags the nylon of your tights down your legs, along with your knee socks.

“I’ll decide how many times you come for me, then.”

Heat pools in your femininity. There it is, the dominance that you love. Yet this time, it’s laced with his gentleness. Heaven on earth—a meadow full of flowers in the middle of summer. Like the ones on your lingerie.

Joy grasps your heart. “Do I get to know before you start?”

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss on your tummy. “What, you wanna count them down for me?”

You asked just because, but the idea excites you. You nod.

Your response prolongs the rumble of his laughter and you feel its vibration as he kisses his way up to your clothed breasts. You’d think he’d focus his attention on them, but he straightens—reaches for something behind him and retrieves your white knee socks. He bunches them in his hands and puts them on you as if he were dressing a child.

Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs.

Smoothing the material over your thighs, he lies back down against you, lips latching on the spillage of your breasts that your bra gives him. While it feels dizzying, you still want to know the number. You poke him in the bulging muscle of his arm and in the process, you flush his cheeks red.

Jungkook pushes your tits together and licks over the line in the middle. The sight of the shine of his wet tongue against it drenches your pussy, ruining your pretty underwear, and you want him there, on your sweetest spot. Your nipples stand to attention and Jungkook listens to their call, thumbs brushing across them.

You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach.

“Two times when I eat you out; two times around my cock,” he answers finally, awakening your butterflies. “How many times is that, then?”

Amidst the pleasure, you do the math. “Four.”

“That’s right. You think you can do that for me?”

You’re not sure. In fact, you’re not sure of anything—lost in his touch, in his energy.

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, skimming his face for a sliver of disappointment in his features.

You find none. Only tenderness—round, soft eyes, brown in the light he radiates, nose and mouth buried in your tits, sucking on the skin, making you feel good.

“That’s okay. We’ll try together. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t come as many times. Or at all. I promise.”

Your chest clenches. You grab his face and kiss him, licking over his bottom lip before you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook grunts, rolls his own muscle over yours, tasting you, feeling you. He inhales sharply against you, once again taking charge of the kiss, taking each and every thought and negative feeling you had and crushing it to smithereens.

He lifts you and switches places with you, sitting you down on his lap with your back supported by his chest. He roams his hands all over you—tits, tummy, hips, sides and thighs while he busies his mouth on your shoulder. As your eyes follow each movement, you notice the marks he embellished your breasts with and your arousal grows—so much that you take his wandering hands and hook them under the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down your thighs.

There’s a change to his breath when his index and middle finger feels up the fleshiness of your cunt for the first time. Hard, raggedy and absolutely tormented. He glides those digits up and down your dewiness, listening for the squelching sound that makes his cock twitch beneath you.

He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear. “How do you touch yourself?”

A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat.

Jungkook sees you.

“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer.

“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.

“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re not really sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind.

When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—

“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax.

“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side.

He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise.

And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.

He stills the buck of your hips.

You widen your eyes at the new feeling of fullness and, panicking and constricting around him, you look at Jungkook, who merely strengthens his hold around you.

“Trust me,” he says, breathing heavily. He doesn’t move his fingers past his first knuckles; he lets you adjust to the size. Gives you a kiss full of tongue to distract you. “Does it burn?”

You begin to pant against his mouth, the high of your orgasm long gone. You’re uncertain to count it as one when it was so short lived, ruined by the sudden plunge of his digits. But much to your surprise, you don’t detect any burn in your walls that he speaks of, which you realize was his intention.

“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.”

He kisses you again. You feel your lips go numb, eyes lidding at the pressure you feel as he sinks his fingers a little bit deeper and begins to move them sluggishly, your slick creating another ring for him around his fingers. You try to meet his thrusts as the visceral sensation of being filled by longer, thicker fingers settles within you and takes roots. You discover that movement is the key to parting the uncomfortable feeling and it steps to the side to let the pleasure walk forward.

Jungkook presses his palm flat against your clit, guides the pleasure to envelop your body when he plunges his fingers deeper, past the second knuckles and fucks you in swift jerks. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan and he fills in the sound, expressing his fiery delight for you at the clench of your walls against him, accommodating for him, for his desire to stretch you out, so when he finally enters you, no pain comes to greet you.

Deeper and harder—yes, that’s what feels good. You roll your body, becoming waves of the sea as wetness and the build up of pleasure—seafoam—is all your senses wrap around.

“Feels good, baby?”

His need to check in with you speeds up the nearing expansion of your orgasm. Pointer and pinky finger digging into the skin of your backside, you watch the in and out motion, the digits coming out wetter and wetter each time.

“Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna come. I’m so close.”

It’s quicker. Way quicker than your first tiny orgasm. He slips in and out of you so smoothly—you’re obsessed with the sight, ravaged by it entirely. You grind your hips and fuck yourself back, picking up the pace but slowing down instantly when you feel yourself at the peak of your climax.

You want to prolong it. You love the feeling too much to end it too soon.

Jungkook stops your movements fully.

“I want to be the one who makes you come,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one who fucks your brain out. I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. Fuck, I want it so bad.”

His hand drifts to your neck just to hold you there, the other, the busy one, fingers you harder, your fast approaching orgasm blinding your senses. Your drenched cunt squelches around him, the sound so lewd it causes you to seek comfort—your hand flies to his on your throat, fingers wrapping around his wrist, the tip of your pointer reaching the fat bulb of bunny’s head on his ring.

Harder and faster. A scalding fire burns you and you just take it. Loll your head back against his shoulder, giving him the space to grip your jawline. Flames grow closer and closer, leaving a layer of sheen on your body in its wake. You feel the sudden need to pee.

“Oh my god, Gguk—” Your muscles tense. Close, so close. “Gguk, Gguk—”

“What, baby? What’s the matter?” he husks, squeezing your neck once. “You’re gonna come for me? Gonna come on my fingers?”

You nod quickly, too quickly. Flames of the sun, licking you. Flames of the summer heat. Just what you wanted.

Jungkook opens your jaw, swirling his tongue around yours. “Let go. Come for me. You can do it, I got you—I got you. Come for me, baby, please.”

Obeying his desperate order, you do.

A small stream of your pleasure, a faint fountain, trickles out of you and into his hand. He gasps, in unison with your whimpers, and you’re transmitted elsewhere. The wildly colorful, blooming meadow on a hill, overlooking the languorous sea and he’s there. Reaches behind himself. Offers you his hand. The wind ruffles his black hair, sweeps it back and you’re giddy—as giddy as Bam, as giddy as you were in the moment the slid the white bunny ring on your finger—to take the last two of his slender fingers, the pinky and the ring, and sit with him by the edge of the cliff.

“Did so well for me.”

The whisper takes you back and you awake.

You’re different. Incandescent. Of life, of stars and its light, of growing fondness for the man you sit perched on the lap of, whose fingers still remain sheathed inside of you. He changed you. Perpetually, absolutely. He changed you and made you into something new. Something that is softer, more elegant—smaller but assertive. Alluring and kind. Indisputably good.

He fucked everything negative out of you with his fingers. Left the vast canvas of stars inside of you.

You’re no longer a plain spread of cotton, but a living, breathing artwork. His artwork.

Once he fucks you with his cock, you wonder what further internal changes are going to occur within you.

You feel a great deal of gratitude for him—and you want to reciprocate all that he’s done for you. You want to work hard at it. Spoil him. Make him whimper. You believe he deserves it.

“You finger yourself often? How come you took my fingers so well, hm?”

You’re panting, unable to speak. Absorbing the sharpness of the stars, acclimatizing to the change.

“I guess you do, huh?” he deduces. “Good little girl, preparing herself for me.”

For the life of you, you can’t catch your breath.

Jungkook kisses your cheek deeply. Pecks you on the same spot a hundred times, slowly taking out his fingers. Lets you see your slick coating his fingers and, softly, you gasp at the little ripples of wrinkles upon the tips of his fingers, mouth parting.

And then he sinks them into your mouth.

His hardness twitches behind you and you moan, your daintily bittersweet taste making your head spin. And when you look at him, you’re met with the utmost pink-dusted adoration painted on his face. You kiss it, inhaling it, letting it flow into your system so it suffuses your bloodstream, letting him taste you. You may not feel your lips, but the sentient poetry of the stars begins to sing in you. His stars. You feel like a flushed floweret visited by a bee. Spent, but happy.

Happy to be wanted.

Good, because he said you were.

As if internally intertwined with him, you feel the identical heat tinge your cheeks.

He says nothing as he lays you down and spreads your legs back to the way they were. Though when he’s graced with the sight of your bare cunt in all her glory, his face says everything that his mouth isn’t capable of. Hunger and torture—lips agape, corners of the mouth shiny with the rush of drool and Jungkook wipes it away, then lowers his fingers to your clit, to your lips, becoming more acquainted with this intimate part of you that no one had seen before him. He traces your small hole, even going as far as to your other, tinier hole and you yelp, stopping his exploration.

Jungkook merely chuckles, eyes darting to yours. “You’re so pretty.” You grow so hot that you think you must be on fire. “Especially there.”

You mewl, shrinking, hands looking for anything to hold and finding his bunny plushie. You take her into your arms, inhaling a scent that could never be hers. You recognize immediately whose it is.

Musk, vanilla, wood.

The thought of Jungkook cradling her while he sleeps moves you and you pout.

“How we feeling?” he asks, still caressing your fleshy cunt, dripping with dew.

Overjoyed. Overstimulated.

Heavenly.

“Good.”

A foxy smile. “How many orgasms was that, hm?”

You don’t know where your shyness comes from and why it chokes all of the words you want to say. You bury your face in bunny for a moment, taking a breath to fight against it, so you can please him because that’s all you yearn to do.

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Jungkook stifles a laugh and it makes you feel terrible. And it’s worse when he leans over to kiss you, turns his head at the last moment and faces bunny.

“Bunny, how many times did she come?” he asks her, offering her his ear to hear her answer. Looks at you. Widens his eyes. Gasps. “Two,” he mouths. Listens some more. Nods. “I know she thought she wouldn’t come at all. Crazy, right?” Then he lets out an endearing sound. “She said she’d believed you could do it the moment you said it. She’s so happy for you. How cute,” he coos.

You giggle, the bridge in your throat loosening, light flooding you, over and over, until you think you can’t take any more of it. You feel so full, so happy and the sensation threatens to pour out of your tear ducts.

It heals something within you—that he treats you like this at your most vulnerable state. Your inner child flares, the stars the strength that fixes her stoop, helping her arise, stand straight, stand powerfully.

He smiles down fondly at you. “So what number are we at?”

You hide your face behind your hands. “Two.”

“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.”

You drop your hands and with as much energy as you can muster, you repeat the number.

He purrs, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.” As a reward, as if the praise wasn’t enough, he kisses you deeply. “Will you let me taste you?”

You swallow his desire, but speak up your own, “I want to taste you first, please.”

Jungkook hums, curses under his breath. He straightens and kneels before your form, fingers pinching the back of his T-shirt and pulling it over his body. You catch the sight of his broad shoulders, of each dip and muscle, and your irises grown in width. Him ridding himself of his clothes dishevels his hair and as he untangles his arms from the material, he smiles down at you, noticing your stare.

He caresses the back of your thigh before his hand flies to his hard length. He palms himself once, then continues to undress—tugs his sweatpants down to his knees, though he doesn’t bother himself to fully take them off. The shape of him is more prominent through the fabric of his white Calvins, the bulge of his mushroom wet and pellucid, and you sit up, hand itching to touch him, to join his in making him feel good, but he cups your chin—forcing you to look up at him.

He swipes his thumb over your lips. “You want it?”

You nod. “So bad.”

Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough.

“Touch it,” he orders and both of your hands listen, wrapping around his girth, squeezing beneath the head of his cock. The thickness of him makes you see the light of the stars that you sense fluttering feverishly inside of you. Your mind is too empty, too washed out by your orgasm, by the change that you don’t even think about how you’re going to take him. Jungkook hisses, tilting his head back before he looks down at you intently. “You did this before?”

You’ve never seen one in real life before, let alone touched one.

“I’ve never let anyone get this close.”

Jungkook strokes your pigtails. “How come you know what to do then?”

Instinct or memory from porn you watched—you don’t know, it all blends together within the fuzziness of your mind. And you tell him.

“I watch a lot of porn.”

Jungkook smiles coyly and it strikes you. You’ve never seen him smile this way before or, even, feel this way before. All you know from him is dominance, dominance and dominance.

You release him from the confines of his boxers and repress your gasp. His ever glistening tip reaches just below his navel and the thickness of his girth obscures most of his pubic hair. Along with the sound of your surprise, you also have a hard time swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth.

“I want you so bad,” you whisper, needy eyes looking up at him. Shy, too shy to let your gaze linger at the most intimate part of him.

He sucks in a breath at your words, hissing. And you need him inside of you all over again.

Fuck fuzzines in your mind. You’re fuzzy all over. Wrecked with nerves, suddenly. Your hands tremble, hovering in front of his manhood. Jungkook covers them with his, soothing you, and guides you to his shaft. Wraps your fingers around him. Doesn’t let go.

The feel of him under his supervision is slow. He allows you to take in every ridge of him, every vein—the softness of his skin, the warmth and the weight. Round after round, up and down, until you get familiarized with him. A trickle of his male essence drips down the side of him and your tongue instinctively darts out. Like your hands, Jungkook’s breath shakes and he anticipates your next move, despite the fact he’s in charge.

He’s been patient all this time, giving you the time you needed. But that hardly applies when you have him in your hands, when you own his neediness. His whimpers while he waits coax your slick out of you, soaking the bedding beneath you and you can’t take it anymore.

Neither, evidently, can he.

“Baby, please,” Jungkook croaks out. Tortured, so terribly tortured. Grip tight and clammy around your hands.

So vulnerable.

You ache.

You lick up a stripe of his essence on the side of his cock and Jungkook shudders. Shifting onto your knees, you show him the milkie on the tip of your tongue and Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. Kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Moans, lowly. Then, he holds his girth at the base and pushes your head.

When you take him, a mewl ripples around the thickness of him. His eyes roll back and his grasp of your hair tightens, burning your scalp, adding to the fire. He lets you feel it out; lets you figure out what to do, testing your knowledge from the porn you’ve watched. And the tensing of his stomach divulges his strained effort not to fuck your mouth.

You go slow about it. Swirling your tongue around that rosy head of his, along that delicious ridge, licking a flat stripe across that line of his slit. Getting to know him in all those intimate places, relying on your senses—on them to tell you what he likes. Your hand begins to move on its own, gliding back and forth in tandem with your tongue stimulating his sensitivity. You try not to think about how you can barely fit him in your mouth, because if you do—you’ll ruin his bedsheets.

But then Jungkook hums in approval, sending a gush of wetness out of you and you whimper—you whimper at the worsening ache you feel, at the helplessness that pools in your system by being just so filthily wet and horny.

He moves your hand faster. Breath jagged, bedroom eyes zeroing down on you. And then—

Jungkook moans your name. Over and over, clenching and unclenching his hand on the back of your head.

“Don’t have to teach you shit,” he spits. “You just watch porn all day, don’t you? Naughty girl.”

Losing control for a split second, he rams his cock into your throat—and you don’t panic, you don’t yelp. Instead, you groan.

He pulls you away from him with a sharp tug. Kisses you harshly. Shoves you down into the pillows with one push on your sternum.

Bending you in half, he drinks your cunt. Lips immediately suck on your needy bundle of nerves and it’s so fast you don’t even know which part of you he’s focusing on because he’s everywhere. Clit, hole, clit, hole—sucking, licking. Alternating, alternating so swiftly and deliciously that you completely lose your mind.

And then he lifts your hips and holds them in the air, wanting you to see what he’s doing to you. Like you, he darts out his tongue and teases you, hovering the muscle above your clit. Shiny, nimble, capable of doing unspeakable things to you. He watches as your pussy drools for him and he chuckles darkly. Tongue lowering to collect it, but unlike you he never does it. He lets the dew trickle down your skin.

“Cute little pussy. So wet. Wetter than when I fucked it. You liked playing with me on your knees, didn’t you?”

With your fucked out brain, you don’t think it’s taunting what he’s doing. You deem it’s just him reveling in what he’s able to do to your body—in the fact that he owns it, that he teaches it new things. The glint in his dusky, lustful eyes proves it.

Jungkook drags a long stripe on your clit, making your eyes flutter closed and your teeth to sink into your bottom lip to cage in your moans.

“Talk to me.”

You can’t. You don’t know how to talk.

He stares you down.

No answer from you. Just hard pants. Pussy drooling.

“I won’t play with you, then.”

Panic. “No.”

He cocks a brow at you. “No?”

Silence.

He begins to lower you down but you grip his forearm.

“Jungkook.”

Bent over above you, head low, he merely flicks his eyes to yours. Duskiness, such blackening duskiness in those orbs.

“Beg.”

All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you.

Lucky for you, that word he wants is the one you haven’t forgotten.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

You groan in frustration.

“Be nice or—”

“Please, lick me.”

That dark chuckle. You feel yourself becoming obsessed with it.

“Where?”

A challenge. Your throat dries up.

“There.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly, making a sound that expresses just how much he didn’t like that.

“Try again. Last chance, little girl.”

The loving smile on his face says everything about how that threat is feigned. You hear it tell you—you have as many chances as you need. He’s merely encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone.

And something about that mellow, hidden kindness gently ushers you to do just that.

“Lick my clit, please.”

A hum. A long stripe on that sensitive, thumping spot. A roll of his tongue forward and backward.

“Like this?”

You choke out a moan.

“Yes, please.”

“Or—” He blows on you, causing you to tremble. “Like this?”

He shakes his head against you briskly, not yet at a full tilt. Just like his, your body shudders in his hands and he tightens his grip on your supple hips. You can’t take it, the pleasure is overwhelming and—

“Look at me,” he orders and you open your eyes, immediately. “Like this?”

Jungkook adds more pressure and rapidness to the movement, leaving you glazed sweetly in the sheen of his saliva. He moves your hips up and down on the firmness of his tongue and you scream, taking a strong hold of his hair.

“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”

Shocked, Jungkook groans against your pussy, slowing down to ingest what your mouth has just uttered. It’s more than natural to call him by a title like this, instinctual, innate. It fits him so well and it drenches your pussy, your slick amalgamating with his liquid love. You’re certain he feels the rush.

Your Daddy.

You roll your hips against his tongue. Dark and more dark, those eyes of his. Bottomless pit.

“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.”

The whimpers you let out are pathetic and Jungkook shudders at them, groaning. You whine the title over and over again, a verdant, dreamlike litany of your feminine sexuality pampered, cared for, supervised. Jungkook accepts the gravity of it all, each declaration propelling him to suck your clit harder, bruises forming on your hips from his deathly grip, black eyes never leaving yours, hypnotizing you.

And when you come like this, it’s unification what happens.

You’re bound to him and he’s bound to you.

Daddy and little girl.

Throughout your sexual experience today, you had a hard time accepting things but this—this is something that slept inside of you all your life and just now has been awoken to a flickering canvas of bright stars. You feel it blink, adjust to the piercing light, before it smiles dolefully—happy to be conscious, happy to be caressed.

Jungkook kisses you and takes his time. The taste of your femininity, the fresh coldness of your change, the strong wine of his desire. You’re drunk. You’re slurring your mewls.

And one thing about unification, it’s a mirror.

You swallow down the same mewls, uttered by his throat.

“Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he whispers, adjusting between your legs. “Will be gentle. You’re safe with me.”

He rakes the tip of his length along the entirety of your little sea-kissed seashell.

“You want it? You want Daddy’s cock inside of you?”

Jungkook looks into your eyes deeply as he asks you that question, the tip ready at your significantly smaller hole. He peppers kisses along your jawline and chin.

“I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you murmur, brows furrowed.

He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“We’ll chase the pain away,” he promises.

Your frown deepens.

“But what if it doesn’t fit?”

You expect him to chuckle, but he does no such thing. He absorbs your worry by kissing you tenderly. Then he glances at your body. Remembers he never took off your bra and fixes his mistake.

“You may be small, but you were made to take me,” he says and your heart skips a beat; you wonder if he understands the gravity of his words as they take roots within you, rising to bloom into splendid flowers. “Besides, my dick is tiny. You won’t even feel it.”

It is so far from the truth that you burst into giggles. He laughs along with you—a mirror reflected.

Stars and flowers. Sea and freshness. You were made to take him. You trust him.

He kisses your breasts, licking over your nipple—but briefly. Holding his shaft, he asks if you’re ready. You nod, your fingers desperately searching for his and Jungkook notices. Sinking slowly inside of you, he grabs his bunny plushie and tucks her into the crook of your elbow.

There’s a pinch of pain, blended with the feeling of discomfort as your walls stretch around his head.

Seeing it painted on your face, Jungkook draws close, enveloping you and bunny in his heat. Pushes a little more in. You wail softly, the pain intensifying. Fear intermingles with your features and Jungkook—the worry in his countenance makes you almost weep.

“Hold onto me,” he says, brows scrunched, so—so serious. “Relax, baby. I got you.”

You hook your arms around his neck, bunny sandwiched between your chest and his. Jungkook saves this time to let you adjust around him.

“I know it hurts,” he whispers onto your mouth, index finger, the ringed one, stretching to graze your cheek. “Just relax your muscles for me. It’ll feel good soon.”

You nod, trusting him.

He pecks you. Smiles.

“How many orgasms are we at?”

You roll your eyes, your own smile threatening your lips. “Three.”

Jungkook hums. Pecks you again. You feel your walls loosening, little by little.

A smug smirk. “You didn’t expect that, did you?”

“You obliterated my expectations.”

“Just wait until I fuck you properly.”

You blush, eyes twinkling.

“Pretty girl.” He kisses you and you feel your attachment forming again, though this time—newly. As light, as free as an entanglement of seaweed upon seashore, you and him. Connected. Bound. No fear, not even a hint of it. “I heard you watch porn.”

Your flush deepens. Jungkook sinks a little deeper. A faint pain—nothing bad.

“Who told you?” You laugh, the sound ridding you of your shyness.

But Jungkook grows solemn.

“Tell me what kind you watch,” he whispers, angling his head to give you a tiny kiss.

Your cheeks hurt from the smiling, from the onrush of emotions within you, sloshing to and fro. You feel hot all over.

“The one where all the focus is on the girl,” you whisper back. “The guy uses all kinds of toys on her and she just takes it. Comes so many times and there’s a countdown for it.”

Humming, he begins to nibble on the skin beneath your jaw, making your breath shallow. He pushes in another inch—and the pain is worse. You tighten your grip around him.

“And how many times do you come when you watch it?” Deep, deep is his voice, the calmness to your nerves due to the pricking you feel.

“I don’t stop coming.”

Jungkook swears under his breath and clenches his digits into a fist beside your head.

“And you finger yourself?”

You nod, confidently. Another inch. He smiles at your confirmation of his deduction.

“How many fingers?”

You scoff. “Just one.”

“Well done,” he praises, kissing you once, keeping his mouth on you even as he asks, “ready?”

You nod, again, even though there’s fright to your eyes. He sees it and he brushes his eyelashes against your eyelids while he kisses you, taking it all away. And he doesn’t stop, even as he pulls out and thrusts back into your heat. Gently, so awfully gently.

He didn’t break his promise.

Jungkook rocks his hips in slow, sensual, prolonged staccatos, moaning into your parted mouth. You’re so focused on him—on the bulging of his muscles on the either side of your head, the broadness of his shoulders, the slick sweat dripping down his neck, right from the top of his tattoo; on the sheerness of his pleasure as he moves in and out, carefully so as to not frighten you, that the pain quickly subsides.

And there you feel it.

The sensation unlike any other.

He rams into you, seeing the wrinkle between your brows smoothing, the lust clouding your eyes as the delight spreads all over your body, bringing along little dots of goosebumps. The night sea, windless, still hot from the afternoon’s goodbye kiss. You feel it—and you feel it deeply, sinking inside of you with every inch of his manhood. So much that you meet his thrusts.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck yes,” Jungkook murmurs, enraging the waves within. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked?”

Stars and its light. He picks up the pace, hooking your leg over his shoulder, entering you deeper and deeper, giving you more than half. The thrill of feeling so full—you curse, you moan, you can’t hold it in, even if you tried. And Jungkook coos at your conveyance of the pleasure he’s giving you, never lifting his eyes off of yours, off of your features, your emotions. Surveying you, controlling you, making sure you’re okay—more than okay.

You sense the pressure coil deep within your core, the sense of your climax approaching and you’re astonished at how quick it is. You halt your own movements, needing—wanting him to be the one to get you there, the one who owns your orgasms.

“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock.”

He fucks you harder, making you cry out. Deep, deep staccatos, so different from the slow, languid ones. You can’t catch your breath, the sea within you sloshes violently and then—

Softly, you sprinkle him with your fountain of pleasure. Not enough to drive him out, but sweetly enough to force him to groan against you and pound you harder into the mattress. Continuing as if you hadn’t come.

You don’t have the time or the space to think about what just happened—he fucks each and every thought of you.

“My little squirter,” Jungkook mutters, kissing you. “One more, baby. One more for me and I’ll paint you with my cummie. Hm, you want that?” You’re gone, flung out of this world into a tranquil island. The palm trees, the sea and his cock. Your emotions are numb, body limp. All you feel is his cock, ramming and ramming into you. “Or you wanna swallow it for me like a good girl?”

“Swallow, please,” you croak out and Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Rewards you by giving you the full thing, filling you balls-deep.

“You feel me?” He kisses you, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth.

Glorious, glorious delight. You can’t breathe. Too much.

“I feel you—” You lift your head to look down where you’re connected. “I—I feel you in my stomach.”

Sitting back, he lifts your hips and palms the bulge just a little bit above your mound. Feels it move under him once he resumes fucking you. He replaces his hand with yours, keeping you distracted as he undoes the ribbon in your hair and ties your wrists with it. Right there above the bulge, where he fucks you. Then he latches onto your hips and jackhammers his cock into you, watching as your tits along with bunny bounce with each slam.

“You look so pretty like this, tied up for me, taking all that I’m giving you,” he says, thumbing your clit, making you cry out. “Such a good fucking girl for me. I’m bringing you up so well.”

“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.

“Yes, that’s right. Daddy is fucking you so good.”

White flashes. Seafoam. The pressure in your tummy deepening and deepening. The roar of the night sea and your body following—you come all over him, painting him iridescent with your dewiness. His joggers, dragged halfway down his thighs, his boxers are all ruined—pelvis, thighs and cock glistening. It’s such a beautiful image to you that it suffuses you with energy and you begin to speak.

“Please, come for me.”

Surprised, Jungkook chuckles. “Don’t you have orgasms to count down?”

The ever persistent need for control. You kiss him, slip your tongue into his mouth to shut him up and you struggle against your ribbon, for the feeling of kissing him without your hands makes you feel iffy.

“Five. I came five times for you just like you wanted,” you whisper. “You fucked me so good. I’ll never forget it.”

And it’s the truth.

Jungkook pecks you once deeply, humming into the kiss. He pulls out of you and whilst he strokes his cock, his fingers tug down the ribbon around your wrists. You take your place on your knees, gazing with awe and hunger at his shiny length. And as if he needed it, he plunges his fingers into your mouth for more lubrication. Then, grabbing your jawline gently, he pulls you in towards his cock, letting your lips play with his tip the way you like it as he jerks himself off. You flick your tongue under the ridge of his head and his length twitches, stunning you. You do it again, more rapidly, and you don’t stop until Jungkook begins to tremble. Pulling him inside your mouth, then out, flicking faster and faster. Repeat.

Jungkook grunts.

“Yes, like that, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna come for you.”

He announces it, but it still comes as a surprise when the first rope of hot cum spills onto your flushed cheek. You suck him harder for a moment before you stick out your tongue, eyes flick up, as he empties his balls for you, his hand never ceasing the swift tug on his length.

And he just keeps coming. Rope after rope. Liquid star after star.

And you swallow it all.

Spent, sweaty and breathless, he helps you swallow it. Dragging his fingers to the places your tongue can’t reach, he feeds you his cum and you suck on his digits. Your heart thuds in your ribcage, especially when he begins to play with your tongue, smiling down at you in that dopey way.

He pats you on the cheek once you show him you’ve swallowed it all.

“Good girl. Good little princess.”

That you are. A changed person for all eternity.

“Is your tummy full?”

You nod, beaming vehemently up at him, the aftertaste of the bitterness of his liquid stars still wafting through your senses.

The three forbidden words rise in your tongue, even though you don’t believe them—you think it’s just the opulence of new emotions and experience that forces those words on your tongue. But they remain adamant when he bathes you clean, when he brushes your hair and gives you his clothes to wear to bed. They provoke you right there on the tip of your tongue when he gives you his zipper hoodie to wear on his balcony once you tell him you need a smoke and he joins you, giving you his pack of cigarettes.

And they come off the edge, in a different form, when you tell him of how he changed you while you hold his hand and he caresses your damp strands with a cigarette propped between his index and middle fingers, kissing your cheek. The smoke fixes a makeshift halo around both of your heads. One body, one halo. Bound.

“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”

What you don’t know is that those mere words changed the entire trajectory of his life. Yours, too.

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two, part three

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot

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