#a RHYTHM fluttering like BUTTERFLIES

[comatosebunny09]

serve & protect [ prologue ] | sylus

— summary: you’ve stood dutifully by his side for years. seen him at his worst, not once letting that side of him deter you. can you blame him for craving more than your loyalty? — cw: royalty au, king sylus, femme reader, knight/bodyguard reader, mutual pining, brief mention of injury, marking, tension, jealousy, kind of a slow burn, will get steamier — notes: a reimagining of something i wrote a few years ago. heavily inspired by final fantasy xv & the beast within (2024) movie. tysm for reading! — now playing: waltz no.2 - cihat aşkın 

You would feel bad for badgering him if he wasn’t prone to disappearing like this. 

Prone to shirking off his duties like an entire kingdom didn’t rely on his guidance. 

You sigh for the umpteenth time amid the night-blooming jasmines. Fingers tighten around the strapped leather grip of your sword, fastened to your hip. Your feet move on autopilot, carrying you through the garden on a path you’re all too familiar with, the grass shining with dew and crunching beneath your feet. 

Your shift just began after a grueling week of training. Yet, you’ve already been tasked by his royal advisor with locating your charge before even shrugging into your coat. You’ve become something of a glorified babysitter these days, practically telling your liege when to eat.

If not for his advisor threatening to lop your head off—he could very well try—you would leave the king be. He hasn’t found much reprieve these days, what with neighboring countries pushing for peace treaties, reformation efforts to rebuild the outlying cities, and distant kingdoms shoving their daughters at him for marriage, amongst a slew of other issues.

It isn’t uncommon for your charge to slip away when the weight of the world is too much to shoulder. For him to retire to his private garden to catch his breath. He’ll never admit it aloud, but shouldering an entire kingdom on his own deepens the violet bags hanging beneath his eyes. The sleepless nights. The impending anxiety stewing in his gut.

Only you know of the secret passageways that lead to his most favored spots in the garden, where his servants get lost trying to navigate the network of rose bushes arranged like a labyrinth to keep them out.

It’s often your responsibility to fetch him since you work more intimately with him than anyone else. You know His Majesty’s habits like they were mapped on the back of your hand. You wouldn’t have it any other way; it’s nice to be the only person allowed into these private quadrants of his life.

A shock of white stains your peripheral, peacefully nestled between swaying hydrangeas. 

You near him, noting that he’s propped up on an ironwood bench. His head is lowered and crooked to one side, arms folded over a broad chest, lips slightly parted. A book rests open and forgotten on his thigh, legs crossed. You tamp down a smile when you realize he’s fast asleep.

“Your Majesty,” you beckon with a hidden fondness as your steps slow to a stop before him.

He doesn’t stir. Of course, you don’t expect him to. When sleep claims him, it’s hard to free him from its ivy-like crawl.

You kneel dutifully, bowing your head, your sword scrawling a thick line in the dirt. You caution his name again, the sound of your voice competing with that of the breeze threading through the leaves. 

Still nothing. Just the steady rhythm of his breaths and distant morning birds singing their symphony around you.

With a sigh, you incline your head to look up. And what a mistake that proves to be, traitorous butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

He’s a beautiful contradiction amid the soft stir of pastel flowers. A dark cutout of regality, slumbering like a dragon guarding its treasure. 

His hair is reminiscent of a thick blanket of snow, piling itself amongst the treetops. He wears summer skin in the midst of spring. Stretched taut over a pretty Roman nose, angular features, full lips. He’s ethereal, limned in the sun’s amber glow, a sight that could bring the end of days or sink ships to the bottom of the sea. Thick, furled lashes dance with dreams beneath furrowed brows. A gruff sound escapes his mouth as he lightly stirs before falling still again.

Even in sleep, he maintains the intensity with which he’s known to rule.

A quaint smile touches your lips. You quell an impulse to soothe the divot between his brows with your thumb. To smooth out the hard press of his lips together. A well-timed gust of wind kicks in, rustling the velvet-soft hair framing his face.

Your fingers twitch with an impulse to touch. To tuck those unruly locks behind his ear. You instead curl them into a loose fist on the ground, quietly chiding yourself for allowing such thoughts to trickle in. 

He is your charge—your king. Affectionate gestures like that are forbidden. A conflict of interest, no matter how harmless they may seem. 

Besides, you’re unworthy of touching him. There’s dirt caked beneath your nails and an ever-present film of grime adorning your cheeks. He should have someone of equal stature smiling at his side. A pretty, glittering doll in flowery dresses, well-versed in the tongue of nobility. In the art of being poised and prim.

You’re a mere servant. A shield to be used at his disposal, your hands battle-worn and skin sun-kissed. You threw away all hope for love when you took an oath, binding your life to his and pledging your fealty to him. 

He handpicked you to serve as his personal bodyguard, a decision you still grapple with several years later. Many seasoned knights served in the royal guard longer than you’ve held a sword. You would never do anything to jeopardize his trust, to betray his kindness. 

The affection that unfurls like lotus petals in your chest for him is deep-rooted. However, it results from serving under him for so long and nothing more.

At least…

That’s what you tell yourself whenever his gaze lingers a little too long, pilfering the air from your lungs. 

Or when his dexterous fingers brush over your wrist under the guise of reaching for something in front of you. 

When he presses a warm and possessive hand at the small of your back whenever you tour the citadel’s grounds with him, or he requests your input on something at his desk. 

When he flashes a rare quirk of lips that’s boyish and dimpled and disarming when he thinks no one else is the wiser.

You clear your throat, remembering yourself. Your voice is more assertive this time, dispelling the nebulous haze of your musings. 

“Your Majesty, please. You have to get up.” The urge to stroke his cheek returns. You squeeze your thigh to curb it.

As if the Gods grant you mercy, that does the trick. 

His lashes flutter, and his voice is thick and raspy, rolling like thunder over the horizon in his chest. You watch him blink away the bleariness, the scarlet wash of his irises causing your heart to pull. 

Your king studies you as if making out the colors and texture of your face. You try not to shiver under his scrutiny, instead looking away as warmth inhabits your face. You’ve always found his eyes to be one of his most devastating features. They could easily glean through the mist of your mind, your guise, reading you like the yellowed pages of a book, even without tapping into the power residing in his right eye.

Heat permeates through the thickness of your uniform when, after setting his book aside, he suddenly pitches himself forward, elbows digging into the pockets of his knees. He rests his chin atop his folded together fingers, and you don’t need to fully look at him to see the smirk crooking his lips. The scent of unfettered energy and stripped sandalwood rolls off his skin, curling around your senses, threatening to root your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

The air between you is rife with tension. So thick, you can cleave through it with your blade. Your king watches you amusedly, and you do everything within your power to resist the bewitching pull of his gaze. The comfort and strength he exudes.

When he speaks, you nearly jump fifty feet out of your skin. His voice is as devastating as his eyes, puddling in your stomach, turning your brain to smog.

“I knew you were there all along. That’s why I didn’t bother opening my eyes. I was merely resting them.”

You scoff despite the anxiety scorching your innards. Closing your eyes, you retort under your breath, though loud enough for him to hear, “Sure, Majesty. You were resting your eyes while snoring with drool running down your chin.”

Your charge releases an indignant sound from the back of his throat, reeling back to touch his face, mortified. Your shoulders shake with your quiet laughter, and you hide the round tug of your lips behind your fist.

“Funny,” he says, and he gives you a look. One he’s used to silence an entire court of hecklers, its sharpness boding danger.

You clear your throat, donning that straight-faced mask you’ve grown so accustomed to wearing. You’re friends—childhood companions—yet you know when to shift from candid to serious.  

Recalling why you were initially sent to fetch him, you stand to full height, brushing the dust off your hands on your thighs before snapping to attention. Your king raises a brow as if sensing something on your mind. 

“At ease,” he orders, his voice devoid of its usual sternness as he leans back against the bench, a long arm draped along the bench’s headrest. 

You get a good look at the veins peering through the cuffed sleeve of his button-up, spilling down his forearm to puddle at the back of his hand. You swallow against the barbs forming in your throat, your mouth growing dry.

“Speak freely.”

You nod, your hands clasped together at the small of your back. “You have a brunch date with the Queen of Universum today, sir.”

He blinks as if this information is news to him before recollection forms between his brows. His Majesty scowls, drumming his fingers on the bench’s rim impatiently. “Of course. Another noble here to throw their daughter at my feet.”

Your shoulders slightly drop at the dejection in his tone. You wish people weren’t so insistent that he take a wife. His father ruled just fine without one following the death of his mother. Still, having been around His Majesty so long, you understand why it’s imperative he marry soon. 

Your shoulder throbs dully, serving as your reminder. 

You try to ignore how the thought of some pretty noble wrapped around his arm makes you bristle, green-eyed feelings stewing in your belly. It would never be you—never could be you. You’re content with being his handler, watching him mutter obscenities over paperwork from your position at his door.

“How does that make you feel?” His Majesty suddenly asks, a teasing edge to his voice.

You blink, caught off guard. “M-Me?”

His chuckle is rich and endearing, and you unconsciously step back when he stands, swaddling you in his warmth and imposing aura. Stuffing a hand into his pocket, he pokes your nose, and you go cross-eyed looking at his slender finger.

“Yes, you. How does it make you feel, knowing that so many women would kill to take my name?”

He’s trying to get a rise out of you. Trying to weasel something out of you you’ve tucked in the deepest regions of your mind. You don’t humor him; instead, you give him a haughty look, your chin defiantly jutting forward. 

“I think anyone willing to marry you is clinically insane.”

He laughs at your brazenness, your teasing, full-bodied and soothing. Dimples crater his cheeks, and the softness washing over his eyes causes a smile to twitch your lips. Without warning, idle fingers scorch your skin through the fabric of your jacket, easing down your arm, past the crook of your elbow, further still…

You’re breathless as His Majesty coaxes a hand from behind your back, and you watch with slightly parted lips and through the wispy sweep of your lashes as he draws it to his mouth. His eyes drill into the hulls of your soul whilst his molten lips brush your knuckles. He kisses them with such tenderness, such reverence, as if you’re an idol forged from glass, meant to be preserved in a museum.

The sound of your pulse pounding like a war drum blots out every bit of noise around. Your throat thickens, tongue bolted to the roof of your mouth. 

“Good morning, by the way,” he drawls as if ensnaring you in a secret, his warm breath ghosting your skin, limber fingers scorching your hand to the bone. 

You snatch away quicker than you mean to. Smooth your palm down your thigh before pinching yourself, studying the blades of grass licking at your boots. You wish you hadn’t caught sight of the fleeting pain in his expression. Wish you hadn’t been the cause of it.

“W-We should get going, sir,” you divert, trying to hide the shakiness of your voice.

He pushes out a weighted breath, stuffing the hand once curled around yours into his opposing pocket. “Lead on, then, dear friend.”

“Right.” With a curt nod, you turn on your heel towards the patchwork of greenery you emerged from.

He follows wordlessly, closely, a towering presence at your back, footfalls weighted in the grass, swallowing up the sound of your smaller ones. Static charges between you, imbued with something potent. You practically feel his eyes boring holes into the space between your shoulder blades.

You try to no avail to quell your thundering heart. To ignore how your knuckles throb where his lips imprinted themselves on the rough stretch of skin. 

You wince, inwardly warring with yourself, praying that His Majesty keeps his hands to himself long enough to get through his meal with the queen. 

You could only dream he would behave.

His Majesty is as infuriating as he is handsome.

masterlist | next >>

[niki-phoria]

LOOK AT ME, CAN YOU BREATHE?

gestures of affection from svt performance team !!

KWON SOONYOUNG is loud. his affection comes in the form of playful teasing and stolen glances in your direction. his grin grows with each one; the corners of his eyes crinkle into crescents. 

silence is hard to come by around the members of seventeen. their voices blend into a familiar chaos you’ve grown fond of, but the noise is sometimes hard to break through. you could never complain, though, at how quick soonyoung is to make sure you’re heard too. 

“soonyoung,” you say. he pauses immediately, now turning to face you. the rest of the world disappears in mere moments. it feels like you’re the only two people in the room. 

when he leans in to hear you better, you heart starts beating just a little bit faster. soonyoung closes the distance between your bodies in mere seconds. his voice drops to match your own; his attention now entirely focused on you. “what were you saying, baby?”

WEN JUNHUI doesn’t do it on purpose. it’s almost become a habit for him - something he does without thought. your knuckles brush against jun’s before his hand casually slips into your own, intertwining your fingers together. 

his skin feels warm against your own, contrasted by the cool metal of his rings. your fingers fit together like two connecting pieces of a puzzle. jun’s thumb casually brushes against your knuckles, tracing miscellaneous shapes wherever he can reach. 

it’s a familiar feeling; one that sends butterflies swarming throughout your stomach. jun’s intimacy is quiet. it leaves no room for debate but easily goes unnoticed by unknowing passersby. 

it’s only when he casually calls your name that your attention is drawn away from the feeling of his skin resting against your own. jun smiles softly, lips curled upwards slightly and eyes crinkled at the corners. he gently squeezes your hand when he stands up from the table. “let’s go home.” 

XU MINGHAO’S gaze is captivating. meeting his gaze feels like staring into an abyss - deep and endless. you can all but feel the way he’s studying your features. his eyes sweep across each of your features, as if he’s admiring a sculpture in a museum. even when you briefly glance away, he’s always looking at you.

silence envelops the room. morning sunlight filters in through the cracks of your curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. heat floods your face as you finally break, glancing towards your barely opened windows. minghao offers a soft, fond smile in return.  

“you seem lost in thought,” you murmur. your voice is quiet, careful not to break the tranquility of the moment. “is something wrong?”

“no,” he replies. minghao’s voice is low and smooth. he shifts, slowly closing the distance between you. his gaze falls to your lips then, lingering for just a few seconds too long. “everything's perfect.”

your breath hitches in your throat when LEE CHAN gingerly cups your face. his thumb strokes against your cheek, lips moving against yours in a familiar rhythm. his hands roam across your body before he wraps them around your shoulders, deepening the kiss even more.

chan nips at your bottom lip when you finally pull away. his chapstick has transferred to your own lips, tinting them a faint shade of pink. “sorry,” he smiles sheepishly as he reaches up to brush a stray strand of hair in place. 

“it’s okay,” you stifle a chuckle when you pull away. your hands rest on his chest as you half heartedly push him away. “but i have to go now. really.” 

chan pauses. “fine,” he murmurs as he relents, but he doesn’t pull away. not yet. instead, his eyes flutter shut as he leans in once more. shivers race down your spine when he whispers, “just one more,” before his lips meet yours.

notes: gn reader but written with male reader in mind, around 150 words each, little tempted to make dino's into a full fic, i go back and forth on using their stage names vs real names and i still can't decide what i like more, first svt reaction :)) this idea was inspired by this post by @wonryllis !!

if you liked this fic, please comment, reblog, or leave feedback !! and if you want to support me, check out my seventeen masterlist <33

[ariestrxsh]

could you write a blurb of bsf!chris x innocentbsf!reader where she has never had her first kiss, so he teaches her and gets hard because he’s the first to ever teach her. her being the innocent girl she is she asks what’s poking her, so he teaches her that too (with her consent ofc😭)

i apologize in advance if you’ve already written something like this, i love your work by the way <3

Thank you so much. 💖 I hope you like this little bit I wrote for you. 😇

Chris gets hard while showing you how to kiss...

"It's so embarrassing," you said in a mousy voice as you hid your face, your cheeks turning rosey pink. "Don't be embarrassed, kid," Chris said, nudging your hands away from blocking his view of your flustered expression and giving you a warm smile after you'd admitted to him that you hadn't had your first kiss.

"C'mere. I'm gonna show you how," Chris motioned for you to sit on his lap. "Really? You'd do that for me?" You asked, resting your body weight on his thigh. He nodded. "Okay, don't overthink it. Just move your lips with mine, and put your hands wherever it feels right," he said before placing the edge of his finger under your chin to kiss you.

You felt a magnetic force pulling you in towards your best friend, his soft lips lightly grazing yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth, gently caressing yours with his. Your hand wandered towards his chest, and you placed your palm against his heart, feeling its quickening rhythm. He delicately moaned into your mouth, his lips vibrating against your lips.

You felt all the things you were told you'd feel during your first kiss; a swarm of butterflies fluttering in your stomach, a slight buzzing all over your body, and blood rushing to your head. Chris cradled your face in one palm while his other rested on the small of your back, steadying you on his knee, the kiss growing deeper and more passionate the longer it went on.

Suddenly, you pulled away when you felt something poking you in your leg. "What's that?" You asked, glancing down at the bulge in Chris' pants. "I'm sorry, kid. Now I'm the one who's embarrassed," Chris chuckled, his eyes slowly fluttering open from the kiss.

"What is that?" You repeated, your eyes widening as it twitched against the fabric of his sweats. "I can't help it. Kissing you really turns me on," he whispered, pulling you closer and leaning in to close the space between his lips and yours again.

You enjoyed the way it felt to kiss your best friend, but you started to grow a bit frustrated at the fact that he wouldn't tell you what it was. You decided to investigate yourself, your hand slowly moving down his chest into his lap. "Woah. Hey, what are you doing, kid?" Chris giggled, abruptly ending the kiss. "I'm trying to make it stop moving," you innocently told him, rubbing it back and forth and eliciting a soft whimper from Chris.

"Kid, you're making it worse," he hissed as his cock started to stir even more. "Did I hurt you?" You asked, sounding concerned and pulling your hand away. "No, it feels so good," Chris responded, his voice thick with lust. "Keep going," he begged, desire twinkling in his eyes as he placed your hand back in his lap.

"Do it just like you were doing before. Oh, that's it. Good girl," he whispered into your ear as you stroked it for him through the cotton fabric. You didn't know exactly what you were doing, but you knew Chris liked it, and you liked that Chris liked it. "Atta girl. You're doing such a good job," he told you, looking into your eyes and smiling as you started to rub it faster.

You could feel his hardness begin to throb against your palm while he praised you, encouraging you to keep it up. "That's it," he nodded, his glazed over blue eyes still locked on yours as his facial expression began to soften, a few guttural moans passing through his lips. "You're gonna make me cum," he moaned, all the muscles in his cock tightening before he released his seed, leaving behind a big wet spot on his grey sweatpants.

"Is that a good thing?" You innocently asked him, peering down at the mess wide-eyed. He chuckled, still trying to catch his breath and stroking your cheek with his thumb. "It's a very good thing. You were perfect."

[batboysanonymous]

The Quiet of Your Flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Summary: They said fire was cruel, devastating, but they never warned you how gentle it could be in the hands of the one who loved you most.

The wind outside the Autumn Court howled, lashing against the golden-streaked glass panes as if jealous of the warmth within. But inside, beneath the weight of roaring hearthlight and the hush of velvet silence, you were curled between the legs of Eris Vanserra.

His thighs bracketed your hips, strong and unmoving, a fortress of warmth around you. One of his arms was thrown lazily over your middle while the other toyed with the frayed edge of the book in your lap, fingers grazing your stomach in a rhythm you were certain was unconscious. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Eris knew exactly what he was doing.

Because he always did.

“I can hear your thoughts screaming,” you murmured, not looking up from the page.

The tip of his nose brushed against the back of your neck, his breath warm. “I’m contemplating how you look better in my colors than I ever have.”

You turned the page slowly, forcing yourself to ignore the butterflies that comment ignited. It was like this with him—always. Constant, quiet affection. In public, Eris was the untouchable flame, all snarled elegance and too-sharp words. But in private, when the world shrank to just the two of you and a fire lit to soothe his trauma-riddled bones, he became something else entirely.

Yours.

“You’re not even reading, are you?” you teased, glancing down at the book now abandoned in your lap.

Eris shifted behind you, and the arm around your waist tightened. His hand splayed across your abdomen, warm and possessive, while his head dropped to your shoulder.

“I’m reading you,” he said softly.

Your heart fluttered, then stumbled. Even after months of this—months of being mates, of learning the cadence of one another’s breaths and bodies—it never stopped catching you off guard when he said things like that.

“I should be annoyed by how smooth that was,” you said.

“And yet,” Eris hummed, “you’re leaning further into me.”

You hadn’t even realized you were doing it. Your spine had curved, your head now resting just below his jaw. The fire cracked softly behind you both, golden light pooling over the rug, over your bare feet tucked between his calves.

A silence settled. Not the tense kind—the kind you grew up dreading, fearing what came next. No, this was the gentle hush of contentment, where your body could breathe without defense, where your heart no longer had to beat like a war drum just to be heard.

Eris, always attuned to your moods, nuzzled the crown of your head. “Do you remember the first time you let me touch you like this?”

You did.

It had been a stormy night, not unlike this one, but everything had felt raw. New. You hadn’t trusted him yet—not entirely. Not the court, not the idea of soulmates. But he had waited. He’d read beside you with three feet of space between you both. Until, slowly, you’d crept closer. Inching, as if you feared he’d run if you touched him. But it had been him who stilled, holding his breath like a fragile thing when your fingers had brushed his thigh.

“I remember,” you whispered. “I didn’t think you’d let me.”

“You could set me on fire,” Eris said against your skin, “and I’d thank you for the warmth.”

Gods.

You turned then, adjusting until your legs draped over his lap and your body curled into his chest, your cheek pressed to the slow, steady beat of his heart. He welcomed you immediately, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you in like he couldn’t bear even a sliver of space between your souls.

This, you thought. This was who he was.

Not the High Lord’s heir with his biting tongue and crimson court. But the male who held you like he was afraid of waking from a dream.

“I love you like this,” you whispered. “When you let yourself be held.”

“I only ever wanted to be held by you,” he replied, his fingers already tracing the curve of your spine. “No one else ever touched me and made me feel... real.”

You stilled against him.

Because you knew what he meant.

How many years had he worn armor carved from silence? How many centuries had he been touched like a weapon, never a man?

Your hand slipped under his tunic, resting directly over his bare back. His body arched into the contact like it was instinct. Maybe it was.

“I want to kiss you,” he said.

You smiled, lifting your head. “Then kiss me.”

And he did.

It wasn’t rushed. It never was with him. Not in these moments, not when his hands were reverent and his mouth slow and certain. He kissed you like he was studying the pages of a book he never wanted to end. He kissed you like you were ink and starlight.

When he finally pulled back, your foreheads touched.

“You undo me,” he murmured. “Every time.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Then let me put you back together.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes glowing with something soft and golden. “You already have.”

You could’ve lived in that moment. Would’ve, if the world allowed. But eventually, your limbs tangled, and the fire’s glow dimmed, and you found yourselves stretched out fully on the rug, your head now pillowed on his chest while he read aloud.

His voice was a low, lulling timbre, reading stories of gods and mortals and beasts who found each other in darkness.

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his.

He squeezed once. “You make it quiet,” he said, not looking away from the book. “In my head. You make it stop.”

“I know,” you said. “You do the same for me.”

No promises were made.

None needed.

Because this was the promise: the steady touch of his hand in yours. The press of your body against his. The warmth of his fire as it lit the darkness between your ribs.

The quiet of love unspoken, but always understood.

And when you both finally fell asleep on the rug beneath the ember sky, it wasn’t to dreams of courts or war or pain.

It was only each other.

And that was enough.

Taglist: @fanficscuziranout, @willowpains, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff, @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch, @okaytrashpanda, @marina468, @tele86, @raccoonworld

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[areislol]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤlove varies

►— pairings. al haitham, ayato, zhongli, xiao x gn! reader

►— warnings. fluff, lowercase intended, nothing that i know of

►— a/n. do i love writing other unrelated things instead of focusing on my series? ... unfortunately yes.

►— wordcount. 2.8k

►— synopsis. how did they know they were in love with you?

al haitham — when he realizes the gnawing sensations and butterflies in his stomach won't go away.

al haitham's aloof and stoic, we all know that. he spends his days reading books and doing his (scribe) duties, he has no time for love or relationships, nor is he interested. but why is it every time you're around he feels this... bubbling feeling in the pit of his stomach? why is it that every time your gaze wanders off and locks eye contact with him does he feel so hot and bothered? he would push his thoughts and feelings aside, it was nothing more than a sickness of some sort.

al haitham prides himself on his logical approach to life. emotions, fleeting and unreliable, have no place in his carefully ordered world. yet, there’s a strange, persistent feeling that arises whenever you're near. at first, he dismisses it as a mild illness—a fever, perhaps? why else would his stomach churn, or his heart race every time you smile at him? why does his usually sharp focus falter when you so much as glance his way?

he tries to bury it in books and rationalize it through long inner debates, but nothing works. no sickness lingers this long. it’s only when he catches himself staring at the way your hair catches the light, his book completely forgotten, that it hits him: this feeling isn’t going away because it’s not something he can cure. it’s love, plain and simple, and it terrifies him as much as it captivates him.

—

al haitham never believed in distractions, especially not the kind that came wrapped in emotions. to him, feelings were fleeting, inconvenient, and often illogical. his days were meticulously structured—filled with books, research, and his duties as the scribe. he prided himself on being above the frivolities that consumed others, such as infatuations or love.

but then there was you.

at first, he didn’t notice it, not entirely. it started as a faint tug in his chest whenever you walked into the room, an unusual flutter he attributed to something as mundane as fatigue. perhaps he’d spent too many late nights reading. yet, the feeling didn’t fade—it grew stronger. he began to notice how his gaze lingered on you longer than necessary, how he would catch himself watching the way your hands moved when you gestured, or the subtle tilt of your head when you laughed.

then came the physical reactions—an uncharacteristic heat rising to his cheeks when your smile was directed at him, the unsettling way his heart seemed to stumble in its rhythm when your hand accidentally brushed against his. al haitham, a man of reason, began to feel like a stranger in his own body.

he dismissed it all as a passing annoyance. after all, emotions were nothing more than biochemical responses in the brain. surely, they couldn’t hold sway over him. yet no matter how much he buried himself in his books, no matter how many times he told himself it was nothing, the feeling persisted.

one afternoon, as he sat across from you in a quiet corner of the akademiya library, it hit him. you were completely engrossed in a book, your brows furrowed in concentration as you absentmindedly chewed on the end of your pen. sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting a golden glow across your face. in that moment, the world seemed to slow, and al haitham found himself utterly captivated.

it wasn’t just your appearance, though that was undeniably striking. it was the way you carried yourself, the way you spoke with such conviction, the way you made him feel seen without even trying. his chest tightened as a single, undeniable truth settled over him like a heavy weight.

he was in love with you.

it wasn’t a realization that came gently; it struck him like a bolt of lightning, leaving him breathless and disoriented. love, he realized, wasn’t something he could rationalize or compartmentalize. it wasn’t something he could read about in books or explain through logic. it was maddening, infuriating, and completely out of his control.

and yet, as you glanced up from your book and caught him staring, offering him a soft, curious smile, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. because for the first time in his carefully constructed, logical life, he felt something real. and he realized he didn’t want it to go away.

ayato — when he realizes that you see him for who he is other than his position (the head of the kamisato clan.)

being the head of the kamisato clan comes with weighty expectations, and ayato carries them with grace and precision. but beneath the polished exterior is a man often lost in his own isolation, unseen for anything but his title and duty. then there’s you—someone who doesn’t bow out of formality or tread lightly around him. you talk to him as if he’s simply ayato, not the dignified lord of a powerful clan.

when you tease him over his tea choices or laugh at his dry humour, he finds himself smiling without thinking. the realization strikes during one quiet moment, when your words bring comfort after a particularly exhausting day of clan responsibilities. in your eyes, he’s not just a leader or a figurehead; he’s himself. and for that, he falls deeply, irrevocably in love.

—

as the head of the kamisato clan, ayato has always lived under the weight of responsibility. every decision he makes is calculated, every word measured. to the world, he is a leader—refined, composed, and untouchable. to many, he’s a symbol of power, a figurehead to be admired or feared. but rarely, if ever, does someone see beyond the polished façade he wears.

that’s why meeting you felt so different.

at first, he assumed you’d treat him the same way others did—with reverence, deference, and perhaps a touch of hesitation. but you surprised him from the start. you spoke to him not as "lord kamisato" but as ayato, a person. you weren’t afraid to tease him when he mispronounced a word or point out when his tea brewing skills were “not up to standard” (your words, not his). instead of walking on eggshells around him, you treated him like an equal, even daring to call him out when he tried to dodge his own sister’s scolding.

he found himself drawn to the way you interacted with him. there was no pretense, no calculation behind your words. when you complimented him, it felt genuine. when you laughed at his dry jokes, it wasn’t because you thought you were supposed to—it was because you actually found him funny. it was refreshing, and he found himself seeking out your company more and more, even if he didn’t entirely understand why.

the realization struck him one evening during a rare moment of peace. the two of you were sitting in the gardens, watching the lanterns reflect on the koi pond. you had spent the day teasing him about some lighthearted matter, and now the conversation had settled into a comfortable silence. you leaned back, gazing at the stars, your expression soft and unguarded.

“you know,” you said, breaking the quiet, “you don’t always have to carry everything on your shoulders.”

he glanced at you, caught off guard. “what do you mean?”

“you work so hard to maintain the clan, to keep everything running smoothly,” you said, turning to meet his gaze. “but you’re more than just the head of the kamisato clan. you’re… you. and that’s enough.”

he stared at you, his usually quick wit failing him. no one had ever said that to him before—not like this, with such quiet conviction. for a man who had spent so much of his life being seen only as his title, your words were both a comfort and a revelation.

it was then that he realized what you meant to him. you didn’t admire him because of his status or his accomplishments. you saw him for who he truly was—the man behind the name, the person behind the role. and you accepted him, flaws and all.

his heart swelled with a feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to name before: love. it was a quiet, steady thing, not the overwhelming rush he’d read about in novels. but it was real, and it was his.

from that moment on, he knew he would do anything to keep you by his side. not as the head of the kamisato clan, but simply as ayato, the man who had fallen deeply, irrevocably in love with you.

zhongli — the way you both share a taste for the same things.

zhongli has always been drawn to the finer things in life—intricate details, carefully brewed teas, and stories steeped in history. it’s rare to find someone who shares his appreciation for life’s subtle intricacies. but when he watches you admire the craftsmanship of a simple teacup or pause to marvel at a seemingly insignificant flower, he feels an unexpected sense of kinship.

it starts with shared conversations about forgotten lore and ends with quiet strolls through liyue, where your presence feels as steady and eternal as the mountains he once ruled over. love sneaks up on him quietly, as natural and enduring as the ebb and flow of the tides.

—

zhongli has lived for countless years, long enough to see the rise and fall of nations, to witness the tides of history shift and settle. in his vast experience, he has always valued the small, refined pleasures of life: the perfect balance of flavours in a cup of tea, the intricate artistry of hand-carved jade, the quiet wisdom of ancient traditions. these are things he cherishes—things most people overlook in their fast-paced lives.

and then, there’s you.

at first, he simply appreciated your company. you had a quiet elegance to you, a way of seeing the beauty in things others might dismiss. he noticed it when your eyes lit up at the sight of a finely crafted tea set or when you lingered by a vendor's stand, marveling at the texture of a silk scarf. it intrigued him, though he didn’t think much of it at the time.

but over time, he began to notice how often your tastes aligned with his own. you never rushed through moments that deserved appreciation. you would carefully examine the details of an artifact or savor the layers of flavor in a dish, always finding something worth treasuring. the way you spoke about the world mirrored his own thoughts, as though you too carried an unspoken reverence for the things that endure.

one day, the two of you were strolling through liyue harbor, the air warm with the scent of freshly brewed tea and incense. you stopped at a stall selling old scrolls, your eyes drawn to a weathered piece depicting an ancient liyue legend. you traced the delicate ink strokes with your finger, smiling softly.

“it’s incredible, isn’t it?” you said, glancing at him. “how something so fragile can last through centuries, holding stories that might otherwise be forgotten.”

zhongli felt a warmth stir in his chest as he watched you. it wasn’t just your words—it was the way you looked at the world, the way you found meaning in even the smallest of things.

later that evening, as the two of you shared tea in a quiet corner of the city, he found himself stealing glances at you. you were deep in thought, your fingers lightly drumming on the table as you contemplated something he’d said. the golden light of the lanterns softened your features, and for a fleeting moment, he felt as though time itself had paused just for the two of you.

it was then that the realization struck him, gentle but undeniable: he had fallen in love with you.

it wasn’t a sudden or overwhelming feeling. rather, it had grown steadily over time, like the roots of a tree burrowing deeper into the earth. it was in the way you shared his appreciation for life’s subtle beauties, the way your presence brought a quiet comfort he hadn’t felt in ages.

zhongli, a being who had lived through eons, understood the value of things that endure. and now, he realized, he wanted you to be part of that enduring beauty—someone who could walk beside him, not just for a moment, but for all the moments yet to come.

xiao — when he realizes he has to face the reality of losing you

for centuries, xiao has kept his distance from mortals, believing it better to remain detached. but you… you found a way into his guarded heart without him even noticing. your warmth, your laughter, the way you bring color to his otherwise bleak existence—it all becomes something he clings to, even if he refuses to admit it.

he doesn’t realise how much you mean to him until the thought of losing you becomes too real. perhaps it’s a reckless fight or the fleeting nature of mortality itself, but the possibility of your absence leaves him cold, like the world has suddenly grown darker. it’s then that he accepts the truth: he doesn’t want to face a world without you in it. and for someone who has spent so long running from connection, this love feels both terrifying and inescapable.

—

xiao has always lived in the shadows of pain and solitude. as the vigilant yaksha, he has spent centuries protecting liyue from the lingering evils of the past, all while bearing the heavy burden of karmic debt. he has kept himself distant from others, convinced that his presence could only bring harm to those who dared to get too close.

but then you came along.

you weren’t like the others who crossed his path—fearful, reverent, or merely passing through. you were persistent in your kindness, always greeting him with a warm smile and a gentle presence that never demanded anything from him. though he tried to push you away at first, you never wavered. you brought him almond tofu, his favorite dish, even when he insisted you didn’t need to. you’d sit with him in silence on the balcony of wangshu inn, content to simply share the same space.

slowly, against his better judgment, xiao began to let you in. he found himself seeking you out in quiet moments, lingering in your presence longer than necessary. he would catch himself watching the way your face lit up when you talked about something you loved, the way you hummed softly when you thought no one was listening. there was a lightness to you, a warmth he hadn’t felt in centuries, and it terrified him.

he told himself it was nothing more than a fleeting connection, something he could sever when the time came. but that illusion shattered the day he saw you in danger.

you had gone too far from the inn, wandering into an area where monsters lurked. xiao had been watching from a distance, as he often did, when he saw the hilichurls closing in around you. before he even realized it, he had already teleported to your side, his spear cutting through the air with lethal precision.

when the fight was over, and you were safe, he turned to you, his heart pounding in his chest. the sight of you trembling, your wide eyes staring up at him in shock, sent a wave of emotions crashing over him. fear. anger. relief.

“why didn’t you call for me?” his voice was sharper than he intended, laced with a desperation he couldn’t hide.

“i didn’t want to bother you,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the ground.

his chest ached at your words. didn’t you realize that you were never a bother to him? that he would come to you, no matter where or when, if it meant keeping you safe?

that night, as he watched you from the shadows once more, the realization hit him like a dagger to the heart. he cared for you—more deeply than he had ever thought possible. and that care came with a terrifying truth: the more he loved you, the more he had to lose.

xiao had always prepared himself for the inevitability of loss. as an immortal, he had outlived countless humans, watched friends and comrades fall to time and battle. he had sworn never to let himself grow attached again, never to open himself up to the kind of pain that could crush him.

but with you, he realized, it was already too late.

the thought of losing you, of watching you disappear from his life, was unbearable. it was a reality he had spent centuries avoiding, but now he had no choice but to face it. because in loving you, he had also given you the power to break him.

and yet, despite the fear, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. because even if his love for you brought him pain, it also brought him something he hadn’t felt in centuries: hope. hope that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to face the darkness alone anymore.

ote: if you would like to be added to the honkai star rail taglist pls just ask me!! dont be shy

taglist 🏷️:  @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls @yuri-is-silly @khoiyyu @daydreaming-paradies if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!

[badbtssmut]

12. All aboard | Kinktober

When pirate Jungkook wants you, he wants you right now, even if it’s in front of the sailor men on his ship.

Contains: Dominant JK, having sex on a ship, in front of other people, on a table, they’re in a crisis but jk prefers pussy, missionary, standing fucking

—

The captain of pirates was not a man to wait— for battle, for treasure or for you.

Jungkook’s heavy boots thudded across the wooden planks them creaking underneath the leather boots as he marched through the dining room, in search for one person and one person only. The sailors around him froze, their eyes darting in any direction but towards their boss, no one wanting to meet his intimidating gaze.

When Jungkook’s hand found your wrist, the grip was strong, possessive. There was no hesitation in his touch, Jungkook always got what he wanted—and what he wanted now was you.

That moment he saw you? He fell for you, hard.

“Jungkook…” The soft whisper was like music to his ears and it was the only confirmation he needed. His lips captured yours, his touches demanding and needy for you.

—

You whimpered underneath him as he pushed every inch into your willing pussy, and you squealed underneath him.

“Yeah? Getting excited? Want cock?” He’d murmur, starting to rock his hips back and forth. His hand trailed to your throat, wrapping his fingers around it gently.

“Want cock.” You’d whimper in response, spreading your legs as far as you could. The sound of the sailors blurred into the background as you felt Jungkook pick up the pace. Along with his rhythm, the ocean picked up a little too, causing the ship to sway back and forth.

The sloppy sounds of your bodies combining made you even wetter, and you started to touch yourself, looking down at the way his length vanished inside of you before it was pulled out until the tip, before it plunged down again.

“A-ah!” The sight sent butterflies down to your stomach and you threw your head back.

Jungkook’s hand circled around the hem of your dress and he pulled it up, bundling the fabric together in his hand to show himself your body, but the sight was not enough. With his other hand he pulled down your bra, revealing your tits.

“That is more like it, show off those titties…” He groped them with both hands, kneading in them.

“Uhm, sir.” A voice sounded.

Jungkook turned in the direction of the voice and shot the sailor a murderous glare as he dared to interrupt.

“The waves are picking up we need—“

“Get it sorted and leave me alone.” Jungkook snapped, not bothering to listen. Instead he turned his attention back to you, his hands moving away from your breasts and to your waist instead, picking you up.

Your arms held onto his shoulders instinctively, and he started to bounce your body up and down, fucking you on his cock. The sensation made your sight blurry and you could do nothing but moan as you buried your face against his neck, gasping and moaning against his neck as you bounced on his cock his length slamming in and out of your tight pussy.

“Yes, more…” You tried to move your body too but failed, an embarassed chuckle coming from you.

The captain noticed and he gave you a kiss against your cheek. “Poor baby, want more cock but can’t?” Jungkook cooed, gladly helping you out. His hands gripped onto your hips tightly as he made you slam down his cock harder.

That’s it, that’s it…

You squeeze your eyes shut.

So much, too much.

"A-ah!” You let out a cry, shaky trembles coursing through your body as your eyes fluttered open and shut. Jungkook used your orgasm as he continued to bounce you up and down his cock, this time with a slower pace.

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

[landosjpg]

so high school | ln

the one where you feel like a teenager in love.

lando norris x fem!reader

word count: ~1.0k

warnings: fluff, smut (MDNI, +18), public masturbation, fingering, orgasm denial

note: i’ve been listening to this song on repeat for almost a week now, it’s so catchy and the GTA lyrics made me laugh so i had to write something inspired by it. it’s short but i hope you enjoy :) not proofread

being in love had never been as easy as it was with lando.

you had been in love before, sure, but your heart beat in a different rhythm whenever he was around.

you both had felt the spark between you the very first time you met. you could swear the sound of his laugh would always be your favorite song and something as simple as the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled made the butterflies in your stomach flutter all around every damn time.

“come on, tell me again!” your voice was high-pitched, it always was when you were with your boyfriend.

you heard lando let out a chuckle at your insistence, his body spread on the couch as you rested your head on his lap. his hand found yours, fingers entwining under the blanket that covered your body and you gave him a little squeeze, encouraging to tell you once more what you were asking.

“alright, alright,” he facetiously rolled his eyes, earning a giggle from your lips. “i thought you were the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen.”

you had heard his first impression on you about a thousand times before, but it always brought a smile to your face, being reminded of how enamored he was with you since the very first night.

“fuck, i could barely sleep that night because you wouldn’t leave my mind,” and you had felt the exact same thing.

you two had just clicked instantly, your friends surprised at the chemistry of the both of you.

despite of how crowded the club was that evening you met, it had felt like no one was around you. endless conversation and laughs that seemed to never cease lured you away from the presence of everyone else, and when his lips finally met yours hours later you felt your heart exploding. your bodies moulded together as if you were made to each other, smiles and soft giggles breaking the kiss every few seconds.

and wrapped in his arms you felt like you were sixteen again; and admittedly, no one had ever loved you quite like him before.

୨୧

for the almost eight months that you had been together, you and lando had always loved to invite your mutual friends over during the weekend. at the end of the day, they were the reason you two had met in the first place, and there weren’t enough words in the english language to just show how grateful you were.

every few saturdays all of you would reunite in your —his —living room, a few bottles of alcohol and snacks set on the tea table as you played some stupid drinking game. after that, you would just play the first movie that one of you could think of, lights off as everyone settled either on the couch or, most likely, on the floor, a little too tipsy to even bother getting comfortable.

that night it was american pie playing on the big screen as you cuddled into your boyfriend’s embrace under the soft blanket; it was chilly, the cool summer freeze making you need to cover the bare skin of your legs.

you softly sighed as your leaned your back to his chest as his arms circled around you; and then one of his hands was creeping under the blanket, fingers gently brushing the skin of your thighs.

you smiled at the comfort of his warmth, eyes fixed on the screen mindlessly.

but lando had had a little too much to drink that night, so his fingers slowly moved up, up, up, until they found the seam of your shorts. and the innocence of his previous touch was immediately thrown away the second you looked up to his face, eyes furrowed in confusion, just to meet his smirk.

“what are you doing?” you whisper-shouted, your thighs closing together as he tried to get closer to where he knew you wanted him.

and he shushed. that sly grin of his not leaving his lips.

you bit your lower lip and complied, legs slowly giving him access to your core as your eyes went back to the movie. with slow, teasing movements, he managed to push your shorts and your panties to the side, fingers finding the nub of your clit with ease. this was the most patient you had ever seen him, the tip of his digits slowly rubbing circles on you as he pretended to watch that stupid movie, not even looking at you.

your breath got heavier and unsteady as he touched you at a tauntingly pace, inaudible to everyone else thanks to the loud volume of the tv.

but when he slid his fingers down your folds, coating them in your slick before slowly pushing two of them into your hole, you couldn’t help a gasp from escaping your lips.

you felt your face heating up when the sound earned a look from some of your friends, and you tried your best to cover it with a chuckle. that scene better had been funny, you thought.

lando, however, seemed to find your situation hilarious. you looked up at his smile as he kept fucking his fingers into you slowly, and you could tell he was trying his best not to laugh.

as the seconds passed, stifling your sighs was getting harder and harder, your walls already clenching around your boyfriend’s digits. your fingers wrapped around his wrist, warning him that you were close, and that’s when he stopped.

the withdrawal of his fingers almost made you whine, and you shot a glance at him, this time, a disappointed one. he seemed to like how you responded, because his smile widened and he lowered his head to press a gentle kiss to your temple.

“later, baby. i want to hear those pretty sounds you make when you come,” he whispered into your ear before leaning back on the couch again, shamelessly cleaning his fingers on your thigh and leaving you craving his touch even more.

[thesecondhandwoman]

DOING YOUR MAKEUP

Mel x f!reader

Synopsis: Today you decided to try something new and let Mel do your makeup (since you loved her look yourself). But you soon came to realize that even doing your makeup could become intimate with a woman like her.

The golden glow of the late afternoon sun bathed Mel’s chambers in a wash of honeyed warmth. Silken curtains fluttered in the gentle breeze, casting dancing shadows along the marbled floor. A soft, delicate fragrance of jasmine and bergamot lingered in the air—the unmistakable signature of Piltover’s most regal presence: Mel Medarda.

You sat on a plush stool, nerves flitting about your chest like restless birds. You’d never been in her private quarters for this long. Sure, there had been evenings spent talking into the night, and moments of quiet intimacy that spoke volumes. But this? This was different.

Mel stood behind you, poised with a brush in one hand and a palette of shimmering pigments in the other. She was a vision of elegance, clad in a flowing, wine-red gown that bared her shoulders and arms, her gold jewelry glinting softly with every movement. Her hair, perfectly coiled and pinned, framed her face like the work of a master sculptor.

Her gaze flicked to yours in the mirror in front of you—sharp, knowing, and endlessly amused.

“You’re holding your breath,” she said, one perfectly arched brow lifting in mock disapproval. Her voice was like velvet, smooth and rich. “Do you not trust me, darling?”

Your lips twitched into a nervous smile. “I trust you with many things, Mel. My dignity, however, might be another matter.”

Her low, melodic laugh filled the room like the chiming of distant bells. Setting down her palette, she stepped closer, fingers lightly tilting your chin up to face her properly.

“Dignity,” she echoed, eyes narrowing in playful scrutiny. “We can afford to lose a little of that, don’t you think?” Her thumb brushed gently over your cheek, her touch warm and deliberate. “You’ll look magnificent when I’m done with you.”

Heat bloomed under her touch, a warmth that had little to do with the sunlit room. You swallowed and nodded, finding yourself already lost in her presence—as if that were anything new.

“Close your eyes,” she murmured, her voice a soft command.

You obeyed, your heart doing a gentle stutter-step. The world went dark behind your eyelids, leaving only the feeling of her hands and the quiet rhythm of your breath.

Her fingers moved with a painter’s precision, applying a cool, silky base to your skin. It felt like being brushed with clouds, weightless and soft. Her fingertips lingered at your jaw, featherlight, tracing the line there as if committing it to memory.

“Perfect canvas,” she whispered, and you could hear the smile in her voice.

“Flatterer,” you shot back, but your words lacked bite.

Mel hummed knowingly. “I never flatter, darling. I only speak the truth.”

Her fingers left your face, replaced by the soft press of a brush. It swept across your cheeks, delicate as butterfly wings. She worked with a deliberate patience, layering colors and blending them with masterful ease. You wondered if this was how she approached her council work too—precise, unwavering, in total control.

“What color are you using?” you asked, your curiosity winning out.

“Rose and gold,” she replied, her tone light as she brushed along your cheekbones. “Soft warmth. Elegance without effort. It reminds me of you.”

Your eyes flew open despite yourself. “Mel…”

Her eyes met yours in the mirror, golden and molten with quiet affection. For once, she didn’t tease. Her gaze lingered on you, steady as a heartbeat. “Keep them closed, love,” she said softly, and you could do nothing but obey.

Her touch moved to your eyes, and you felt the gentle pressure of her thumb on your brow. Brushes followed, sweeping pigments over your lids. Gold, most likely—bright, bold, and unapologetically regal. You wondered if you’d look like her by the end of it. The thought didn’t bother you one bit.

Time slowed, and for a while, there was nothing but the sensation of her hands on your skin and the steady rhythm of her breathing. You felt her lean closer, her breath a warmth against your temple.

“Tell me,” she murmured, her words curling around you like silk ribbons, “has anyone ever taken this much care with you before?”

You hesitated, not because you needed to think but because the answer was so obvious it almost felt foolish to say it aloud.

“No,” you admitted quietly. “Not like this.”

Her breath hitched just slightly, a sound only someone paying very close attention would have noticed. She didn’t answer, but her hands moved slower, gentler, as if to be sure you felt every stroke, every touch, every moment of her devotion.

“Mel,” you said softly, heart tight in your chest.

“Shh,” she replied, the warmth of her lips brushing your ear. “Don’t ruin my masterpiece.”

Your lips quirked at that, and she chuckled, the sound low and rich.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she stepped back. “Open.”

You did, blinking away the light as your gaze focused on your reflection. Your breath caught.

You looked radiant. No, divine. The blush on your cheeks was subtle but perfectly placed, catching the light just so. Gold shimmered at your eyelids, like twin sunsets caught mid-dusk. Your lips were bare, but somehow, even that looked intentional—natural beauty left untouched, unspoiled.

Your gaze shifted to Mel’s reflection, and you caught her watching you, eyes hooded with a kind of quiet pride.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, your voice hushed in awe.

Mel smiled, slow and knowing, like she had expected nothing less. “Of course I did,” she said, reaching for a small, glossy tube. Her eyes met yours, sharp with mischief. “But I’m not done yet.”

She uncapped it, revealing a deep, wine-red tint. Your eyes tracked its every movement as she turned it in her fingers. Instead of reaching for you, she tilted her head slightly and applied it to her own lips with the care of a woman used to wielding power in every action.

You watched, utterly entranced, as she slowly, deliberately coated her lips with the rich pigment. Her gaze never left yours. She pressed her lips together with a small “mm,” ensuring every inch of them gleamed with fresh color.

“Mel?” Your voice was already breathless.

Her eyes flicked to yours, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a smile so devastatingly sly it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Now,” she purred, setting the tube aside. Her gaze stayed locked on yours as she stepped forward, cupping your jaw in one hand, her thumb grazing your cheek in a slow, hypnotic sweep. “For the final touch.”

Your breath caught, heart thundering in your chest.

Her lips met yours, soft but firm, slow but certain. Heat blossomed where she touched you, a warmth that unfurled in your chest and spread through your limbs. Her kiss was the kind that made the world stop—not forceful, but inevitable. Her fingers splayed across your jaw, anchoring you to her, as if you were something precious that might slip away.

When she pulled back, her eyes flicked to your lips with satisfaction. Her smile widened as she traced her thumb just beneath your lower lip, catching a hint of the red she’d left behind.

“There,” she said, her eyes hooded and far too pleased with herself. “Now you match me.”

You blinked, breath still unsteady, and stared at your reflection. The soft red stain of her lipstick lingered on your lips, faint but unmistakable.

“You planned that,” you accused, lips curving upward despite yourself.

“Of course I did,” she replied smoothly, tilting your chin up with her thumb. “You’re mine, darling. Why not make it clear to the world?”

Her gaze softened then, something tender slipping past her armor. “Besides,” she added, her voice dropping to a murmur, “I rather like seeing my colors on you.”

Your heart swelled, too full for words, so you tilted your head forward and pressed your forehead against hers.

“Careful, Medarda,” you whispered, eyes closing. “I might just fall in love with you.”

Her breath hitched again, but this time, she didn’t hide it. Her fingers curled into your hair, steady and unyielding.

“Darling,” she whispered, lips brushing yours once more, softer this time, more real. “I’m counting on it.”

[hazelfoureyes]

Besties get Banged

Angel Dust x FemReader Smut

➽─❥Angel Dust x MaleReader Smut version

You didn’t think Angel liked you the way you did him, how could you? While sharing a profession, he was nothing like you. He was the star in every room he entered. After being booked on a shoot together, you find maybe Angel wasn’t so ignorant to your existence.

Warning/Promises: Angel x Reader do not fuck but they do get banged, Val is going to ruin shit but I ain’t writing that part, Foursome but no one cares, handjob, cum countdown 💦, masturbation, making out, porno, vaguely threatening ending from Val

minors dni (👁️👄👁️🔪)

When Angel Dust slipped into the dressing room of Val’s ‘sex dungeon’, you struggled to keep your smile down. You’d never actually worked together. The two of you had attended the same awards shows, frequented the same clubs, danced the same stages. But never graced the same screen. Every encounter left you more and more enthralled. Always the life of the party, but when the crowds would die down Angel would become so sweet, talking with an emotional intelligence many sinners seemed to have lacked or intentionally abandoned at death.

Angel threw himself at many people, sometimes jokingly, sometimes not. But you’d be lying to say it didn’t sting he’d never propositioned you.

“Mornin’,” he plopped into the make-up chair beside you, hand lazily combing through his bedhead.

Angel hoped you hadn’t seen him pause when he saw you. He didn’t get butterflies often, but you always managed to make his stomach flutter. He felt so silly, a kid with a crush.

You knew Val wasn’t going to let it be just the two of you. He enjoyed watching you both get fucked too much. ‘Besties get Banged’ was written on the clapperboard. Angel gave you a wink, “Ooh besties! Is this work or just another Friday night?” His elbow hit a soft spot in your ribs, making you laugh.

“Stop— st-stop that. Get on the bed.” Val used all four arms to separate you, “Bitch number 1 on the left side, Bitch number 2 on the right.” He sat in his chair, arm angrily motioning for the large demons to enter the set already.

It was a standard enough shoot, until you and Angel found yourselves both on your knees, eye to eye from across the pink heart shaped bed. One yellow and one black eye looking back at you, hazy with pleasure as he was fucked dumb by some piece of muscle with a dick attached.

He looked so beautiful when he felt good. You reached out your hand to him, then the other. Fingers laced together, you both moaned into the space between yourselves. Angel’s eyebrows rose up, tongue coming out. His face was so flushed, cheeks pink. You weren’t sure it was an invitation, but you pulled yourself to him and ran your tongue over his. The demon behind you followed your body, trying to maintain contact.

Angel’s eyes rolled closed, tongue pushing into your mouth. The kiss interrupted again and again as the repeated pounding into your holes pulled your lips apart, your entire bodies moving in rhythm.

“Hey!,” Val yelled, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Angel smiled at you, “Whats the matter Val?” He strained forward, capturing your mouth again.

“Stop kissing! You’re ruining it!”

“You never kissed a bestie? Awww,” Angel kept his lips near yours. “Val’s never had a real good friend before.”

Val’s antennae bristled, “Pull em apart, they’re making googly eyes at each other. Killing my fucking hard on. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Your bodies were slid away, fingertips still reaching out to each other. You were flipped onto your back, pacing brutal as if making up for lost time.

Angel watched you, mouth lonely. His cock leaking from just a kiss. Reaching down, he began to stroke himself while enjoying his own personal show. Your body bouncing with the thrusts, eyes watery. He arched his back, looking across to where your body connected with the other demon. You looked so wet, so inviting.

“Angel!” Val seethed.

Angel’s closed his eyes, imagining you around his cock and not his fingers. His eyes shot open when he felt hands on his face. His fear dissolved into relief as he saw you had scooted back towards him, pulling him down for an upside-down kiss. Breath hot, he moaned into your mouth.

“Uh Boss, should we stop em again? It’s kinda hot.” The shark demon behind Angel slowed.

Your fingers slipped through his hair, bringing him deeper into your kiss. There was nothing else in the room anymore but you and Angel. Tongue rolling over tongue, breathy moans exhaled and inhaled.

Val shook his head, “Let the little sluts kiss. If they wanna ruin my shoot so badly, be my guests.” His eyes aglow, Valentino exhaled his toxic smoke throughout the studio, sinister grin spreading across his face.

The demons continued as directed, you and Angel not having noticed the interruption you had caused. Angel’s mouth left yours, head resting on the mattress.

“Val’s going to kill us,” you tried to remember the name of the wolf demon pounding into you, knowing you had some sort of lines.

Angel’s teeth nipped your ear lobe, “He’s gonna do that anyway.”

You moaned, “Feels good when you do that.”

“Yeah?” The wolf asked. You wanted to kick him in the neck.

“Uuh, yeah. You… fuck me so good, Daniel.”

“Donny.” He corrected.

Angel got back on his elbows, “Literally no one cares, David.” Whispering now, “Roll over and come ‘ere.”

Douglas didn’t seem bothered, you using your feet to stop him and twisting around his cock to get back on your knees. The demons whose names neither of you cared to learn followed you again. Angel was pressed into you, two arms holding you against his body, one arm on your cheek, a fourth finding its way to your clit.

You gasped, Angel licking up your neck and chin as his hand expertly rubbed you. Regaining some bit of your brain, you reached down a hand to his cock. It was slapping against this stomach in time with the thrusts. Your hand only need to grip him, the other actor basically fucking him into your grasp.

Angel’s head craned down, sucking bruises into your collar bone, “I wanna fuck you so bad, it hurts.” Another whisper into your skin.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” your words faded in and out, volume jumping as your pussy took hit after hit. Angel’s hand electrifying every part of your body.

Angel pulled you as close as he could, bringing your hand from his cock to hold in his. Now him and his pre-cum were rubbing along your stomachs, pressed together tightly. “Wrong. So wro-uh.” Eyes rolling back, Angel’s words fell apart.

“You close?”

He nodded.

“Want me to count you down?”

A more frantic nod.

“Five”

You leaned in to kiss at his neck.

“Four”

A long drag of your tongue up to his ear.

“Three”

A kiss to his cheek.

“Two”

You bit at his lip, pulling it with you before letting it go.

“One”

Angel clenched his eyes, grip on you tightening as he came across your stomach, thick and hot. You heard the other actor moan, Angel’s ass tightening with his release.

You took the chance to kiss Angel again, lips soft and swollen from the long shoot. His cum dripped down your stomach and found its way to his hand, adding more lubrication to your wet pussy. Angel’s fingers eagerly used his seed to slip and slide over your clit.

The feeling pushed you into your orgasm, legs shaking as you tried to stay up. “For fuck’s sake,” Val could be heard shouting just past the studio lights.

Drawing him in for another kiss, less deeply now, lips sometimes on lips, and sometimes the chin and the cheek.

You stayed, holding each other, through the shoot. The other actors finishing their parts, cumming and making some puns about bosom buddies. When everyone else left the scene, and you two broke apart your hungry mouths to consider getting cleaned up and dressed, the air grew thick around you. Heads swimming now, a horny haze fell on set.

“Bravo, bitches. You ruined my shoot, only fair I get to ruin something now.” You both turned to see the lights gleaming off Val’s glasses. “Where should I start?”

༻Masterlist༺

My general tag list is called the Horny Little Deer Cult! To be tagged, you are more than welcome to ask to join

[secretlovezz]

Your Muse

Eddie Munson x Artist!reader

Summary: Eddie finds out what the little secret you’ve been hiding in your sketchbook is.

Warnings: Just fluff I think

Wordcount: 2,332

Eddie knows that you love to draw.

Since the day he met you, you have always had a pen or pencil in hand, doodling whenever the opportunity presented itself. Worksheets, no matter the class, filled to the brim with messy sketches of whatever came to your mind. Palms covered in hearts and flowers from when you got bored listening to your teachers' lessons. But most of the time you would dig into your backpack to retrieve the mysterious little black book that you spent most of your time drawing in.

It was a thing that you never let anyone look at what filled the pages of your sketchbook, not even Eddie had seen the inside of it, and as your best friend he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about what exactly you were hiding. On more than one occasion, though he hates to admit it, he had thought about taking a peek at the, what he presumed were promiscuous, pages of art you spent so much of your precious time working on but the thought alone made him feel an inkling of guilt that he just couldn't get passed.

“What are you drawin’ this time, huh?” Eddie’s question ends in a prolonged yawn; he’s laid back comfortably in your bed trying to take a nap but the scratch of your pencil against rough paper keeps his curiosity piqued enough to overcome his exhaustion from school for the time being. He stretches like a cat along the length of your bed and his feet dangle off the edge, toes wiggling after being still for so long.

You're sitting at your desk hunched over in a way Eddie is sure must be uncomfortable, but he doesn’t say anything because he knows his posture isn't much better. He tries to glance over the top of your shoulder for a chance to see what exactly your drawing but he wasn’t nearly quiet enough because you’re quick to shut the book before his eyes can even break over the hill of your shoulder and all he can do is grunt in annoyance in correspondence to your secrecy. A deep rumble releases from the depth of his chest before he roughly plants his face into your pillow. The smell of your shampoo is enough to make him forget his previous irritation.

Spinning in your chair to face him you smile in amusement, “Why are you so nosey? Wayne didn’t teach you to mind your manners or somethin’?” You're teasing him and he knows it, he lifts his hand just enough to flash you his middle finger and the melody of the giggle you let out in response to his antics makes the beat of his heart accelerate to an alarming rhythm and his stomach flutter with the most vicious of butterflies. He's never been more grateful for a pillow because he’s sure that the heat that’s spreading along the skin of his face is causing his cheeks to redden an embarrassing amount. He can’t believe that just the sound of your laugh has him practically falling to your feet in absolute devotion. He turns his head to glare at you but finds that the glowing smile stretched along your lips, lifting the apple of your cheek which further rounds your face, has his own face softening into a gentle grin that almost matches the brightness of yours. 

Eddie continues to look at you even as you turn away to gently guide your fingers along the worn leather of your sketchbook, there is a look of uncertainty that flashes in your eyes and if Eddie wasn’t paying close attention to you like he always does he wouldn’t have noticed. He makes an effort to change the subject, “We should order in some pizza or something, I’m fuckin’ starving.” 

“Aren’t you always?” Eddie swats your thigh just barley from how you spin your chair to avoid his hand, grumbling words you assume to be comebacks.

You laugh again and despite your previous comment you get up to make the call for your usual pizza with no argument, somewhat of a tradition when Eddie comes over, and dig into the bag Eddie had haphazardly tossed on the foot of your bed when he first got to your place for his wallet; you paid last time so it’s his turn.

The door to your room creaks almost eerily when you open it to step out and creaks again when you close it; he hates that sound. For a while Eddie doesn’t move, just lays comfortable listening to the faint sound of your voice in the kitchen as you order the food. Eddie wishes you had made the call closer so he can hear the sound of your honeyed voice even if it wasn’t aimed at him.

He looks around your room regardless of the fact that he’s been in there more than his own room as of late. His probing eyes find their way to your desk and on your desk, just as you had left it only moments ago, is the little black sketchbook he was always so curious about.

It was wrong, his desire to grab it so he could selfishly get a glimpse of something that was absolutely none of his business. It was a breach of privacy but he had never had such an opportunity, the book was almost always in your line of sight never fully giving someone the chance to open it. He looks at the door, ears straining to see if you were on your way back to the room, but he hears nothing and so, with shaky hands, he stretches his arm across the gap between your bed and the desk and gently grabs the book. The guilt pours in almost immediately and he sighs in frustration. In truth he doesn’t know why he’s so adament on finding out what’s in it, he guesses that maybe he doesn’t like that you feel the need to hide something from him- or maybe he was just greedy, wanting to know everything there was to know about you so that he may keep you closer to his heart more than you were to anyone else's-, he was pretty sure you trusted him he just wasn’t sure why you didn’t with this.

You’ve had no problem letting him have his quick glances at other drawings; the little butterflies you’d draw with precision along the lining of homework, or the randomly drawn eyes in between sections of your notes, why was this so different?

Eddie sighs once more before placing the book back onto your desk, taking care to place just as it was. 

The door opens just as Eddie lays back down and his heart almost bursts out of his chest at how quickly you did it. He still feels that sliver of guilt when you move to giddily plop yourself beside him, letting your fingernails rub at his scalp and rake through the tangles in his unruly hair with a pretty little grin sat perfectly etched into your face. He face plants into the pillow again.

“I almost looked through your sketchbook,” for some reason Eddie’s never felt more full of shame, “I didn’t though.” He says the last part sternly as if to reiterate that you can trust him enough not to try again. 

You stay relatively quiet, hand still making its way through the frizzy waves, fingers curling the hair around themselves in an attempt to create curls. Eddie usually enjoys your random spurts of touchiness, revels in it, because it only happens once in a blue moon- when you’re too comfortable to register the way you’re touching him so intimately, but right now it does very little to quiet his nerves in the way he hoped it might. He wonders if you're mad at him.

The silence is deafening, he’s not sure why he said anything at all, the undeniable need to hold himself accountable when it comes to you is aggravating. Even with the reputation of someone like him it was incredibly hard to lie to you. The time he snuck a bite of your lunch abruptly crosses his mind, he remembers how it took all of ten seconds of your frowning stare for him to give in and stop blaming Henderson.

The thought is thrown out the window when he feels your body cuddle up to him, “It’s you.” you whisper the words so quietly he almost misses it.

His head turns to you, for what seems like the nth time tonight, only to find you already looking at his face close enough he can feel the warmth of your breath against his shuttering lips. You’re so close, maybe too close because he’s sure you can see the way his pupils dilated and the way his nose goes a little red in correspondence. 

Eddie’s brows furrow, “What’s me?”

Your eyes dart to look at everything but his eyes, you look at the crease formed from confusion between his brows and the way it makes his button nose scrunch a little, the smile lines that are prominent even without his usual smug grin, you look at the pink of his lips and the way the skin peels from how often he bites at them, you do see the way his pupils dilate and how his nose gets red, “The drawings in the sketchbook- their all drawing of you.”

At first he just watches you, brown doe like eyes looking for signs of deceit or sarcasm as if he thinks you’re seconds away from laughing in his face and telling him “It was a joke” because he doesn't want it to be. He wants to know if you look at him the way he looks at you. He needs to know if you notice how the corner of his eyes crinkle when he laughs the way he notices the way your eyes shine like gold in the light of the morning sun. Do you take notice of the beauty mark that lays hidden under the shield of his eyelashes the way he takes note of and admires every visible mark and scar that litters your face and body? Do you see Eddie the way he sees you? He hopes you do.

The breath he takes before speaking is uncharacteristically shakey compared to the usual confidence he holds in his chest, “Yeah?” 

Your confirming hum, even with it being laced with uncertainty, has his heart soaring to heights of tenderness he has never felt before. He brings his hand to your face and lets his ringed fingers, calloused and scarred, delicately trace the features he swears were sculpted by some sort of deity before letting it settle against your warming cheek with an adoration that could make even the coldest of hearts leap. His touch is so filled with irrefutable love that it could be mistaken for worship in the purest of forms and God does it make your heart ache with a passion like no other.

The euphoric feeling of exhilaration that fills the both of you and the room has you both giggling like children, pressing your foreheads together at the ridiculousness of the situation, everything not having fully settled in your minds.

This natural feeling of contentment between the two of you is all Eddie ever craves. He hoped almost everyday for moments like this- to be the reason you light up with laughter even in moments of seriousness.

“So… Am I like your muse or something? Cause y’know I’d be totally flattered.” The words are muttered as to not disrupt the intimacy of the moment but the teasing tone of his voice is there and a smirk that has his smile lines deepening, a sight you treasure, inches across his flushed face. When you jokingly begin to roll away from him in response to his mocking his hands press firmly into the dip of your waist to keep you close, he couldn’t even possibly think of being more than a foot away from you right now and he’d never pass up the chance to hold you close.

Eddie rubs his nose against yours, his hair tickles your collarbone, “I think you basically confessed to me by the way, sweetheart.”

You think your best friend is the only person in the world who would still crack jokes during times like this. You cuddle your face closer to his letting your lips brush against his just enough to make his breath hitch, “Oh yeah? Maybe you just have an ego and think I confessed to you. I gotta admit Munson, that's a little presumptuous of you.” Your fingers brush a little of his dark hair out of the way.

His hand moves from your waist to your cheek to the back of your neck to tangle his fingers into the hair by the base, “Well maybe I’m feeling a little egotistical.” The kiss he then places on your lips is nothing short of intoxicating, a gentleness that doesn’t exclude the devastating hunger he feels for you. It’s all consuming and all him. His lips are softer than you imagine and as his tongue slides against the seal of your lips for permission to enter you can taste the faintness of the cigarette he had smoked before getting to your place. His tongue dances with your own sensually instead of dirtily and slowly instead of frenzied like he wanted you to feel every ounce of absolute passion he felt. You pull him impossibly closer, hands clenched tightly into the tattered fabric of his metallica t-shirt, only pulling away when you’ve both run out of breath.

Heavy breathing fills the silence of your bedroom and even with his exasperation Eddie trails his lips across your cheek and along your neck like he never wants to stop. “You should pose for me the next time I draw you.”

“I could pose naked.” He giggles immaturely just at the thought.

“Never mind, you ruined it.”

[mythicalmaven]

Untamed Desires | Lando Norris

This is a sequel to Secret Desires(pt.1) & Revealed Desires(pt.2) -But it could technically also be read seperately-

Masterlist

So, I decided to make a part three, since a few of you asked for another sequel! :) Hope you all like it & let me know if you want another part, because if enough people want that, I can make work of that :)

↳pairing: Lando Norris x f!verstappen!reader ↳word count: 4,7K ↳summary: In which the story continues after the reader (Max Verstappen's twin sister) had a rather spicy text exchange with Lando, leading two them tangled up in the sheets, unfolding into an interesting morning in her bed. Followed by an awkward , yet hilarious encounter with Max (I wrote the interaction between the reader and Max in English. I know they're supposed to talk Dutch with each other, but it was too much of a hassle to write everything in Dutch & then put the English translation behind it lol. So that's why) ↳content warnings: reader is Max Verstappen's twin sister, Lando is her best friend, but also more, friends to lovers, sexual tension, kissing, dirty talk, smut, 18+ content (MDNI!), explicit sexual content, handjob, blowjob, p in v, making love, praise kink.

The soft glow of the morning sun started to peek through the curtains of your Monaco apartment. The apartment you shared with your twin, Max. You stirred awake, a gentle warmth wrapping around you, and it took only a second to recognize the familiar touch—it was Lando. You looked down at yourself and saw you were wearing nothing but Lando's shirt from the day before. The memories of yesterday came rushing back, a small smile creeping onto your lips as you felt the steady rhythm of his breathing against your neck, his breath gently tickling the shell of your ear. He stirred, pulling you even closer into him.

“Good morning, love,” he whispered, his voice still thick with sleep as he pressed a tender kiss into your hair.

You turned in his embrace to face him, his arms instinctively tightening around you as his hand moved up to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You smiled at him, warmth flooding your chest. “Hi,” you murmured, the butterflies that had fluttered in your stomach yesterday still very much alive, if not more so now.

Lando’s gaze flickered to your lips before returning to your eyes—the eyes he could get lost in forever. His heart skipped a beat, nervousness creeping into his expression. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice hesitant, like he feared you’d regret what had happened yesterday.

A soft giggle escaped you, rolling your eyes playfully. “Of course you can kiss me, sukkel,” (idiot) you teased, using the affectionate insult, “I thought I made that clear yesterday.”

He let out a relieved breath, resting his forehead gently against yours. “Just wanted to make sure you’re still feeling that way,” he said softly, his voice filled with warmth. “I didn’t want to cross a line... just in case.”

An idea sparked in your mind, and a cheeky grin spread across your face. Slowly, you trailed your hand up his chest, your fingers brushing lightly over his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps as they ventured down to his lower abdomen. You paused there, feeling his breath catch in his throat at your touch.

Lando’s lips twitched into a knowing smile when he saw the mischievous look in your eyes. “What are you planning?” he asked, his voice low and playful.

Without answering, you pushed lightly against his abdomen, flipping him onto his back with a confident smirk. You moved gracefully, straddling him, your hips settling over his. You leaned down until your lips hovered dangerously close to his, barely an inch separating them. “Showing you just how much I don’t regret yesterday,” you whispered, your breath warm against his mouth.

Lando’s eyes darkened with desire, and before either of you could say another word, your lips met in a slow, tender kiss. His hands came up to cradle your face, holding you close as his lips moved against yours with an almost unbearable softness, as though he was savoring every second, every sensation. His thumb caressed your cheek, and you felt the heat of his touch seeping into your skin, making your heart pound in your chest.

The kiss deepened, but it remained slow, deliberate. You could feel Lando’s love in every movement of his lips, in the way his hands began to roam, one slipping down to your waist, the other tangling gently in your hair. His fingers threaded through the strands, and the tender pull made you sigh softly against his mouth. You felt him sitting up, pulling your body even closer to his, you still straddled on his hips. Lando's lips parted slightly, and you felt the soft glide of his tongue against yours, the intimacy of the moment overwhelming. The taste of him, the way his tongue explored you with gentle strokes, sent shivers down your spine.

Your hands weren’t idle either. You traced the outline of his jaw, letting your fingers travel down the curve of his neck and across his shoulders, feeling the strength beneath your touch. You pressed closer, feeling his chest rise and fall with each deep breath he took. Your hands traveled lower, caressing his sides before resting on his hips. Lando groaned softly into the kiss, the sound vibrating between your lips as his fingers tightened their grip on your waist.

Time seemed to slow down as the kiss stretched on, building in intensity but never losing its tenderness. Lando’s hands moved restlessly, like he couldn’t get enough of you. He pulled you closer, his grip on your waist firm as if he needed you nearer. His other hand, still tangled in your hair, gave a gentle tug, tipping your head back slightly so he could kiss you deeper. You felt yourself melting into him, lost in the slow, sensual rhythm of his mouth moving against yours, in the feel of his hands on your body.

The passion between you grew, and with it, Lando’s control began to slip. His kisses became a little more desperate, his hands more insistent as they roamed over your hips and down to your thighs, squeezing gently before moving up to your waist again. You could feel his need, the way his body responded to yours, and it made heat pool low in your belly.

As you shifted slightly on top of him, you felt something hard pressing against you, and you couldn’t help but grin against his lips. Lando groaned, his head falling back slightly as he bit his lip, embarrassed by his body’s reaction.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, breathless, his face flushed.

Your grin only widened. “Don’t be,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing as you ground your hips down slightly against him, feeling the way his body tensed beneath you. The friction between you only fueled the fire building between you, the kiss becoming even more heated as Lando’s hands gripped your hips tighter.

The sexual tension between you skyrocketed, the air thick with desire. You could feel Lando’s heart racing, matching the wild rhythm of your own, and the way his body responded to every little movement of yours sent a wave of electricity through you. But despite the growing heat, the kiss remained filled with the same tenderness, the same love, making the moment all the more intense.

Lando pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours as he gazed into your eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and filled with adoration.

A teasing smile played on your lips as you bit down gently, eyes locked with Lando’s, your fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path down his chest. Without breaking eye contact, you gave him a gentle but firm push, guiding him onto his back once again. His breath hitched, anticipation crackling in the air between you.

You lowered yourself, your lips brushing softly over the curve of his neck, leaving a trail of delicate kisses that sent shivers through his entire body. Lando sucked in a sharp breath, his pulse quickening as your hand traveled down, pressing firmly against his chest for balance. The intimacy of your touch was electrifying. Every small, purposeful movement of yours had his heart racing, but there was something more—a nervous excitement that swirled through him, making his breath stutter.

Though you had shared this closeness the night before, it still felt new, raw, and it was enough to leave Lando slightly vulnerable beneath you. His hands twitched by his sides, unsure whether to grasp the sheets or pull you closer. That same nervous energy made him even more aware of every inch of his skin that was under your touch.

“You know… yesterday,” you murmured softly against his neck, your voice a sultry whisper that sent another wave of shivers down his spine. “You made me feel incredible, Lando. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

A soft moan escaped his lips, but he tried to hide it behind a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed as your hand drifted lower. “I—” Lando stammered, but the words died in his throat as your lips trailed down to his collarbone, and then lower, over his chest, pressing soft kisses against his warm skin.

“I loved every second of it,” you continued, your words making his heart pound faster, your lips brushing against him with each syllable. “You made me feel things I didn’t know were possible. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

Lando’s breath hitched again, and he let out a quiet, almost desperate groan as your hand finally made its way to the waistband of his boxers, palming him through the thin fabric. His hips involuntarily lifted at your touch, a needy sound escaping his lips that he couldn’t suppress. The pressure of your hand sent jolts of pleasure coursing through him, his body reacting immediately to your slow, teasing touch.

“God, you’re—” His voice faltered, his head falling back into the pillow as he exhaled shakily. His fingers clenched the sheets beneath him, the tension in his body building as your hand moved over him, still with that maddeningly gentle pace.

You felt him twitch beneath your touch, the thin material of his boxers doing little to hide how much he wanted you. Your gaze traveled down his body, and you smirked at the sight of him beneath you, utterly at your mercy. You pressed another kiss, this time just above the waistband of his boxers, and he groaned again, his hips lifting in response.

“Do you want me to touch you?” you whispered against his skin, your lips lingering against his abdomen, feeling the way his muscles tightened under your touch. “Tell me, Lan”

Lando’s breath was shaky, but he couldn’t hold back anymore. “Yes.. I want… I want you, love. Please,” he managed, his voice barely more than a breathless plea. His heart raced in his chest, every nerve on fire as your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, teasing him.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, locking eyes as you hooked your fingers around the waistband. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the playful glint in your eyes, the way your lips curled into that teasing smile of yours. Lando’s mind raced, anticipation and excitement swirling together as you pressed a soft kiss just above the fabric, your fingers tugging slightly.

Lando lifted his hips eagerly, his body trembling under your touch, helping you slide his boxers down. His breathing was labored, chest rising and falling as his heart pounded with nervous excitement. Even after everything that had happened yesterday, there was something about the way you touched him now, the slow teasing pace you were setting, that had his body buzzing with anticipation, leaving him on edge.

You didn’t rush—your hands moved deliberately, almost reverently, exploring every inch of him as though you were memorizing every detail. Lando’s voice was raw as he praised you between soft moans, his hands tangling in the sheets, helpless under your touch.

Gently, your took him in your hand, your fingers wrapping around him, stroking him slowly, teasingly. Lando’s breath caught again, his entire body responding to you in ways he couldn’t control.

“God… you’re incredible,” Lando breathed, his voice shaky. He felt like he was losing control, his nerves on fire with every soft stroke of your fingers. “Please… don’t stop.”

You chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against his skin as your lips moved lower. “I’m not planning on stopping anytime soon,” you purred.

He let out another moan, louder this time, his hips bucking up into your hand. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice breaking with need. His fingers finally reached out, tangling in your hair, desperate for more, desperate for you.

Your touch grew firmer, more assured, and Lando couldn’t hold back the sounds that spilled from his lips. “Yes… just like that,” he panted, his head falling back against the pillow. “You’re… perfect.”

You smiled at his praise, feeling the power you had over him. Leaning down, you let your lips follow the path your hand had taken, placing a series of slow, sensual kisses along his length. Lando’s breath hitched, and he let out a deep, throaty moan as your tongue flicked against him, his entire body tensing under the overwhelming pleasure.

“Oh God, yes,” Lando gasped, his hand tightening in your hair. He was so vocal, every sound that escaped him only driving you to tease him more. “Please… please don’t stop.”

His hips lifted again, begging for more contact, but you kept your pace slow, wanting to savor every moment, every reaction. “You like that?” you asked softly, your lips brushing against him.

“Fuck… yes, yes, I do,” Lando stammered, his voice shaky with desire. “You’re… you’re driving me crazy.”

You smirked at his words, loving how undone he was beneath you. “Good,” you murmured.

You continued to kiss and tease him, taking your time, building the tension higher and higher until the room was filled with nothing but the sound of his labored breathing and the soft moans that fell from his lips. The more vocal he became, the more you wanted to push him to the edge, and you could feel the tension rising between you both, thick with desire.

Just when you sensed Lando was about to unravel beneath you, you lifted your lips from him, your breath warm against his skin as you kissed your way back up his trembling body. Your lips brushed along his chest, up to his neck, before you paused at his ear, your voice low, dripping with seduction. “I want you inside me, Lando,” you whispered, the words slipping from your lips like a promise, your tone sending a shiver down his spine.

“Fucking hell…” Lando’s voice came out in a shaky breath, a groan immediately following as he tried to steady himself. His eyes fluttered open, gazing up at you, and the sight had him nearly undone all over again. You were straddling him, still wearing his shirt from the day before. The way it hung loosely on your frame, the fabric just barely grazing your thighs, drove him wild. It was such a simple thing, but on you? It was the sexiest sight he’d ever seen.

Before he could fully process your words, he noticed you shifting, adjusting your hips. His mind raced, realizing too late what you were about to do. And before he could even react, you sank down on him, the sudden, overwhelming sensation making a loud moan tear from your throat.

“Fuck… baby..” he stuttered out, his hands immediately gripping your thighs as he tried to catch his breath. “That was… a surprise, thought I had to undress you first” His voice was thick with a mix of awe and desire, his eyes wide as he looked up at you, clearly blown away by your boldness.

A mischievous grin spread across your lips, a soft laugh escaping as you shifted your hips teasingly, savoring the way his body responded to yours. “I like to keep you on your toes,” you teased, your voice sultry as you rocked your hips just enough to make him groan again. “You like it?”

“Like it?” Lando barely managed to get the words out, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his hands roamed up your thighs, gripping you tightly. “I fucking love it.”

You could see the way his jaw clenched, his eyes dark with desire as he tried to hold on, his control slipping with every movement you made. The tension between you was electric, his hands gliding up your thighs to your waist, his fingers brushing over the fabric of his shirt that still hung loosely around you. He couldn’t take it anymore. With a shaky breath, he reached for the hem of the shirt, lifting it slowly, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours. “I want to see you,” he breathed, his voice low and filled with need.

You lifted your arms, allowing him to pull the shirt over your head, revealing your bare skin beneath. The way his eyes roamed over you, the hunger in his gaze, sent a thrill through you. His hands moved up to cup your breasts gently, his touch soft, almost reverent as his thumbs brushed over your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky as he leaned up to kiss you. His lips were soft, gentle, as though he was trying to convey everything he felt for you in that single touch. His hands never left your body, caressing you with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. “So perfect, baby,” he whispered between kisses, his lips trailing down your neck and over your collarbone.

You moaned at his touch, your hips starting to move again, grinding down slowly against him. The feeling of him inside you was overwhelming, the pleasure building with each movement, and you couldn’t hold back the sounds that escaped your lips. “Lando… you feel so good,” you whispered breathlessly, your hands sliding over his chest, nails lightly grazing his skin.

Lando’s breath hitched at your words, the way you moaned his name driving him wild. “Keep talking to me, love,” he groaned, his hands moving to grip your waist as you rocked against him, his eyes fluttering shut as he struggled to hold on. “You have no idea what it does to me when you’re like this… so perfect.”

You leaned down, your lips hovering just above his as you whispered, “You make me feel incredible, Lando. Yesterday, today… I’ve never felt like this before.” The words spilled from you with ease, knowing exactly how much it affected him. And it did. You could feel his body tremble beneath you, his grip on your waist tightening as a deep groan escaped his lips.

“Fuck… don’t stop,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire as he looked up at you, completely lost in the moment. His hands roamed your body, gliding up to your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin again. “I love seeing you like this… loving this.”

Your body responded eagerly to his touch, your movements becoming more deliberate as you rolled your hips, taking your time, savoring every second. Lando’s breath came in short gasps, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to keep his composure, but you could see how close he was to losing control.

“You’re mine,” he breathed out suddenly, his voice rough with emotion as his hands gripped your hips possessively. “You’re all mine… I don’t ever want to let you go.”

The intensity in his words, the raw emotion, made your heart race. “I’m yours,” you whispered back, your voice filled with just as much need. “All yours.”

Your words seemed to ignite something in him. Lando’s hands moved to your hips, guiding you as you rode him, his eyes never leaving yours, the intensity between you growing with every movement. The praise flowed from both of you freely, each touch, each breath, building the pleasure higher.

“Oh God, you feel so good,” you moaned, your head falling back as you moved faster, feeling the pleasure build within you.

“You’re perfect,” Lando gasped, his voice cracking with the strain of holding on. “So fucking perfect… keep going, baby, please.”

You could feel the tension between you rising, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable height. Lando’s hands moved up to your waist, pulling you closer, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to hold on. “I’m so close, baby,” he stammered, his voice hoarse, his body trembling beneath you.

The praise, the way his hands moved over your body, only spurred you on, making you push both of you closer to the edge. His fingers found their way back to your breasts, squeezing gently as he murmured more praise, telling you how incredible you were, how much he loved watching you like this, how he couldn’t get enough of you.

The buildup was slow and torturous, both of you savoring every second, the connection between you deepening with every touch, every moan. The way he praised you, the way he told you how much he adored you, left you feeling breathless, the pleasure mounting with every movement.

The heat between you and Lando built to an overwhelming crescendo, your bodies moving in perfect sync as the tension finally snapped. You moaned loudly as your climax washed over you, gripping onto his shoulders for support as wave after wave of pleasure surged through your body. Lando followed right behind, his hands gripping your waist tightly, his eyes closing as he let out a deep, guttural groan. You could feel him pulsing inside you, his body trembling beneath yours as he fell apart, lost in the sensation of the moment.

Both of you were left breathless, chests heaving as you collapsed against him, your foreheads resting together. Lando’s arms wrapped around you protectively, holding you close as you both tried to catch your breath. The room was filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, and you could feel his heart pounding wildly against your chest.

For a few moments, neither of you said anything, simply enjoying the closeness, the shared warmth. Lando’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, his touch tender and loving. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there as he whispered, “God, you’re amazing.”

You smiled softly, still trying to steady your breathing, your body buzzing from the aftershocks of pleasure. “You’re not too bad yourself,” you teased lightly, brushing your fingers through his damp hair.

He let out a soft chuckle, his chest still rising and falling with each breath. “I’m serious,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression filled with adoration. “You’re incredible, love. I’m so lucky.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, warmth spreading through your chest as you leaned in to kiss him again, this time soft and slow, filled with affection. “What a coincidence, I feel pretty lucky too,” you whispered against his lips in a joking tone, before pulling back slightly, your thumb brushing over his cheek.

A comfortable silence settled between you, filled with the unspoken understanding of just how much this moment meant. But after a while, you broke the quiet, the corners of your lips lifting into a playful smile. “I’m going to grab us something to drink. We could use it after… that.”

Lando grinned lazily, his fingers trailing down your spine as he nodded. “Sounds good to me,” he replied, his voice still a bit hoarse from all the moaning.

You carefully lifted yourself off of him, and he let out a soft sigh, watching as you reached for your discarded underwear. Slipping them on, you grabbed his shirt from the bed. Even though you had slept the whole night in the shirt, it still smelled like him, the familiar scent comforting as you pulled it over your head. The hem brushed halfway down your thighs, covering just enough to look decent, though it was obvious it wasn’t yours.

Lando’s eyes followed your movements, a soft smile on his face as he watched you get dressed. “You look better in my shirt than I do,” he said, his voice playful but full of admiration.

You flashed him a grin, grabbing his chin for a quick kiss before heading toward the door. “I’ll be right back,” you promised, feeling a little light on your feet as you made your way to the kitchen.

As you rounded the corner, your thoughts still filled with the warmth of the morning, you suddenly froze in your tracks. There, sitting at the kitchen island with a coffee in hand, was Max. His gaze lifted from his cup the moment he saw you, and a slow, knowing smirk spread across his face.

“Morning,” he said, his tone casual but dripping with amusement.

Your heart dropped, and a wave of embarrassment washed over you as you realized what you looked like—wearing nothing but your underwear and Lando’s shirt, your hair a mess, cheeks still flushed from what you’d just been doing.

Max raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his coffee, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “You know,” he began, his voice full of mockery, “next time you decide to screw around in the apartment, maybe remember it’s not just your apartment.” he stated, pointing at all the clothes that were scattered around the living room.

Your face went beet red as you stammered, “I—uh—I thought you wouldn’t be home until this morning.”

Max let out a low, sarcastic laugh. “It is the morning, sis,” he pointed out, gesturing toward the clock. “But I guess you didn’t realize that since you were too busy… fucking around with Lando.” He shot you a teasing look, his eyes flicking to the scattered clothes lying around the living room, confirming his suspicions.

You groaned internally, face flushing even more as you tried to defend yourself. “What? Why would you think it was Lando?” you blurted out, attempting to sound innocent, though it was clear Max wasn’t buying it.

Max rolled his eyes, pointing to the shirt you were wearing, the unmistakable Quadrant logo visible on the shirt. “First of all, you’re wearing his shirt,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And second, I’m not stupid. I’ve already heard too much from Charles and Lando to know what’s going on between you two.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, Charles and Lando… talked about it?”

Max shrugged, smirking. “You know how Charles is, he couldn’t help but tease Lando about the whole drunk ordeal. And Lando isn’t exactly subtle. Trust me, it wasn’t hard to figure out.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as you muttered, “Oh God, this is so embarrassing.”

Max chuckled, setting his coffee down. “Hey, relax,” he said, his tone softening. “I’m not mad about it or anything. Honestly, I’m happy for you… as long as he treats you right.”

You lifted your head, blinking at him in surprise. “You’re… okay with it?”

Max nodded, giving you a genuine smile. “Yeah, of course. But if he hurts you, I’ll kill him. Simple as that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, feeling a little more at ease now. “Thanks, Max,” you said softly, appreciating his protective nature, even if it came with some teasing.

Before you could say anything else, you heard footsteps behind you, and you turned just in time to see Lando walking into the kitchen. He was wearing his jeans, but no shirt, since you were currently wearing it. His eyes widened in surprise when he spotted Max at the counter, his gaze shifting awkwardly between the two of you.

“Oh,” Lando said, scratching the back of his head as he stood there, clearly caught off guard.

Max looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow. “Morning, Lando,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Lando swallowed, trying to keep his cool. “Morning… mate,” he replied, glancing nervously at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the awkwardness of the situation, shaking your head. “It’s fine,” you assured Lando, walking over to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Max knows. I mean, clearly.”

Lando let out a breath of relief, though he still looked a little flustered. “Right… well, uh, do you need help with those drinks?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.

Max snorted into his coffee, shaking his head in amusement. “Don’t worry, Lando. I've already had my fun with mocking her. You two can carry on with your breakfast,” he said, making air quotes around the word.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face. “Thanks, Max,” you said sarcastically. “I hate you.”

Max gave you a wink, his smirk never fading. “Anytime, sis. Just… next time, maybe be a bit quieter. I don’t need to hear you two going at it all over the apartment.”

Lando went beet red, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, leaning into him as you both tried to recover from the awkward encounter.

⁺⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺ ⋆⁺

masterlist

[justliketoreadsowhat]

Appreciate You

⚘ 𝐣𝐮𝐣𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⚘ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 if you squint

➤ 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐔𝐒𝐂’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝.

“𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧“ JuJu slumped down in her seat, distraught at the events from her final exam this morning.

“Well did you at least answer the bonus question?” You peered into her frustration in hopes to lighten the mood.

“Nah, those two extra 2 points wasn’t gonna help me do any better”

You sighed at her lack of confidence against herself . She wasn’t the most expressive person in the world but she was definitely straight forward when it came down to her dissatisfaction.

“Don’t worry about it too much Ju, whatever happens you’re still gonna pass the class”

Her eyes glanced over your expression, searching for a blink of hope in such a chaotic semester. You had been tutoring JuJu in accounting since early August, the class was by far one of hardest courses you’ve ever taken, yet you managed to pass with a 90% despite all the tears and weekly crash outs.

Juju on the other hand with her busy schedule couldn’t fathom the class, after her first failed attempt on a quiz, she quickly found her way to you.

“And then what happens after that?”

“What do you mean what happens? You get to your freshman year on a high note and never have to worry about the class ever again”

“M’not talking about the class, I mean between me and you” she stated, her leg slightly bouncing in rhythm as her nerves began to rattle throughout her mind.

A familiar flutter in your stomach that you’ve been ignoring since the day you’ve met her began all over again with her words. You’ve always found JuJu to be attractive but you wouldn’t make a move.

Some days you’d be so certain that she had feelings for you, the way she effortlessly made you feel like you were the only girl in the room. Other days felt like she’d rather be anywhere else than with you. It was hard to read her at times, her laidback persona made it nearly impossible to decipher her intentions.

“I don’t think you wanna spend another semester here with me in this cramped study room” peering over at the way her long legs cramped under the table. “You don’t even look like you wanna be here half the time”

Her eyes narrowed, dropping low beneath her lashes. “I do like being here with you, I jus hate the way you always have to pick up my shit whenever I fail at something”

Your butterflies soon diminished seeing her so disappointed within herself. It was hard enough having a lot of pressure weighing in on her, constantly having the spotlight being put on her as each game day rolled around, The stress she carried began to become unbearable.

“You’re not a failure” inching your body closer to her. “Everything you’re experiencing is a learning process on how to be better and it’s my job to help you do that”

A lingering silence fell throughout the small space as your words left in the air.

“Let me take you out on a date” she blurted, breaking the hush. “I wanna show my appreciation for you and everything you’ve done for me this year” slightly straightening her posture as her soft eyes searching for yours.

The soft thud of your heart began to fill your chest. You couldn’t help but smile at her evident sincerity. “Well since you asked me so nicely…” you trailed off bashfully, the sound of Juju smacking her lips as she sunk back down in the seat.

“Let me do my part for once. You’ve done more than enough for me ma” she stated confidently.

“Mm.. okay” you pondered around the thought of how serious she was, against your better judgement tOnly if you let me have me have the aux”

“Absolutely not” her tone reached an octave you never knew existed, brows furrowed in disbelief.

“Y’know for someone who wants to show their appreciation, you’re off to a terrible start”

A sly grin appeared on JuJu’s face “Imma make it up to you, just be ready in the next hour” she stated, standing to her full height.

Becoming distracted by her lengthy figure you couldn’t think of a comeback to her remark, accepting your fate. “Where are we going?”

“Don’t worry about it, jus bring your pretty ass and I’ll handle the rest”

⚘ 𝐬𝐮𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡��𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 & 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 iykyk. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐬, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 ! ღ

[ghostedgwen]

don't blame me | j.potter [part four]

note : I did not expect this series to go so well wotdaheal - you guys are sooo amazing and I am very very grateful, so happy to know I can provide an escape to people who need it through my writing, ily

warnings : more jelly jelly, james potter's mood swings, everything that's been simmering is now boiling over the pot, snogging?, oliver klove insert again idc I love my ravenclaw oc

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖯𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 - 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗍. 𝖲𝗈 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗒. 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 : 4.6k

The engagement party is everything you feared it would be - grand, ostentatious, and so very Potter. The Potters' ballroom is dressed to the nines, glittering under a ceiling enchanted to mimic a night sky full of swirling constellations. Chandeliers float in the air like stars, casting golden light on marble floors polished to a mirror finish.

Gold-trimmed curtains frame the tall windows, and a quartet of musicians plays a delicate waltz in the corner, the notes fluttering through the space like butterflies.

Guests arrive in waves, draped in velvet and silk, their laughter echoing as they sip on champagne and air kisses. You try to smile through it all, letting the opulence blur at the edges, until you hear the familiar sound of a bark-like laugh.

The Marauders have arrived.

Sirius Black walks in first, confidence personified, dressed in all black save for the silver embroidered waistcoat beneath his robe. He winks at a group of giggling girls before offering a shallow, mocking bow to a grumbling member of his family across the room.

Remus Lupin follows behind, a bit more subdued but no less striking in forest green robes, eyes scanning the room like he’s calculating how long he’ll be able to endure small talk before sneaking off for a book.

Peter Pettigrew trails after them, slightly flushed, slightly overwhelmed, but with a determined look on his face like he belongs here - even if he’s not quite sure how.

And then there’s James.

He arrives last, golden and grinning, one hand shoved into the pocket of his formal dress robes, the other smoothing a hand through his windswept hair. His eyes immediately seek you out in the crowd.

The Potters welcome everyone with warm smiles and practiced ease. Euphemia stands with Fleamont at the foot of the grand staircase, champagne flutes in hand as they call for attention.

“Thank you all for joining us tonight,” Euphemia announces. “It is our absolute joy to welcome you to our home to celebrate something very dear to us - the engagement of our beloved son, James, to someone we’ve loved as family for many years.”

You and James are ushered into the centre of the ballroom by polite applause. He grins as he raises your joined hands for everyone to see.

“She said yes,” he declares cheekily, lifting your hand higher. “Which is mad, really, because I’m me. But I like to think the ring helped.”

He flashes the antique ring on your finger, then holds up his own - a matching heirloom band that once belonged to his great-great-grandfather.

Yours, a delicate twin, belonged to his great-great-grandmother. The symbolism isn’t lost on anyone.

“Also a very happy birthday - to my soon-to-be Wife, she turned of age yesterday!”

The applause grows louder with some people shouting greetings and congratulations alike, and the champagne flows.

The party slips into a rhythm of laughter and music. Guests swirl around you in waves, offering congratulations and late birthday greetings.

James plays the role of perfect fiancé with surprising grace, his hand always at the small of your back, his smiles never faltering.

But your cheeks hurt from smiling - you haven't smiled for this long, your head spinning from the noise.

So you slip away, just far enough to lean against a marble pillar and breathe.

That’s when you see them - the Marauders, finally settled in one spot near the punch bowl.

“Care for a dance?” you ask, tone light, teasing.

Sirius raises a brow. “I’m flattered, sweetheart, truly. But I think my mother would spontaneously combust if she saw me waltzing at your engagement party. With you, no less.”

You snort. “So dramatic.”

“Always.” he gives a flip of his hair.

Remus, ever the gentleman, offers his hand. “I’d be honoured.”

You let him lead you onto the dance floor. It’s an easy, familiar kind of rhythm with him, your hands fitting comfortably together. He’s warm and steady, his touch respectful but friendly, and you find yourself smiling for real for the first time that evening.

“Enjoying yourself?” he murmurs, actually checking in on you.

“Trying to,” you reply with a tired smile. “This whole evening feels like I’m playing dress-up.”

He chuckles softly. “You wear it well, you look great.”

You return the compliment, calling him a handsome leprechaun. He laughed. He even managed to greet you a quick late birthday greeting, you thanked him of course.

You don’t need to look to know James is watching. You feel it, like a weight on the back of your neck. When the song ends, you curtsy and thank Remus. You barely get a breath in before James appears at your side, his smile a little too wide.

“Thought we weren’t dancing till the wedding,” he says, offering his hand.

“Changed my mind,” you reply simply, a smile tugging at your lips.

He pulls you onto the floor without waiting for more. This dance is faster, more playful, and you hate how easily you fall into sync with him. How your heart hammers when he spins you, how his laughter makes you forget how fake this is supposed to be.

At that moment, it wasn't fake - it was very real to you and some small part of you desperately wished that it was real to him too.

“Show-off,” you murmur after a particularly dramatic twirl.

“I live to impress,” he quips, grinning.

You’re still laughing as he leads you back to the edge of the floor, breathless. You both catch your breath while the other guests clamber on to the dance floor.

Sirius is waiting with a smug smile and two goblets. “Something to cool you both off.”

You accept one, not thinking twice, too thirsty to care. It’s strong - shockingly so but you didn't mind as you were gulping it down from thirst.

“Pads,” James coughs. “What the hell did you put in this?”

“Firewhiskey. Just a splash,” Sirius says innocently, managing a wink, “you’re welcome.”

Your ears failed to catch that. The boys watch in amusement - James' horror - as you downed the whole goblet in one go.

One goblet later, your face is flushed and your inhibitions dangerously low.

“So,” Sirius says, sidling up to you, “once you’re officially a Potter, does that mean I can start calling you Lady Prongs?”

You raise a brow, swaying slightly. “Sure but you get a new title too, Wet Dog.”

James chokes on his drink, you were very drunk and it was obvious with how you slurred your words - pointing at Sirius with a haze.

“That’s our cue,” he says, quickly stepping in, “we’re heading out. Tell Mum and Dad she’s off to bed early.”

Sirius salutes him with a grin. “Gladly.”

James wraps an arm around your waist, steadying your wobble as he guides you through the crowd.

“You’re such a lightweight,” he mutters with amusement. The comment is directed more to himself as he doubted you were sober to understand.

“M’not,” you insist. “I’m just emotionally fragile.”

He laughs, guiding you up the staircase and into the quiet halls. The distant music fades behind you, coulds till be heard though.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmurs.

You beam up at him., he lightly struggled to keep you in his arms. “I’m your cute wife.”

James falters.

“Merlin.”

You reach up and cup his cheek, thumb brushing the skin beneath his eye, swiping behind his round glasses and he felt so warm under your touch - you take note of how you could probably count his freckles if you were dedicated enough.

“My darling husband.”

He nearly drops you.

“You’re - this is - bloody hell.”

You giggle, nuzzling into his chest as he steadies you again, you felt so much warmer in his arms.

James tries to keep it light. “We should get you some water. Or maybe ten gallons of it.”

“Nooo,” you whine, still managing to slur a single word “you’re warm. Let's stay like thish!”

He glances down at you, flushed and soft and barely standing. His chest tightens, he drank in your drunk appearance.

Your eyes glossed from intoxication, cheeks puffed from feigned defiance at his words and he - he almost chokes. You were so cute.

“Okay,” he murmurs, giving in. “Just for a minute.”

You end up leaning against him in the hallway outside your rooms, your head resting on his shoulder. It’s quiet, just the two of you and the faint echoes of music below.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

He tenses slightly, anticipating just what your confession might be. “Of what?”

“Of wanting this too much.”

James doesn’t say anything for a long moment, you can both pretend you didn't say it - if he wanted, you can both pretend those words never escaped you.

Then he shifts, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“I’ll try not to hurt you,” he says quietly.

You hum, not putting much of your mind into your respone - like it was an instinct, “you will anyway.”

He doesn’t deny it.

Eventually, he coaxes you to your door and waits as you fumble with the handle.

“Sleep well, darling wife,” he says with a crooked smile.

“Goodnight, husband dearest,” you reply, and slip inside before your heart can betray you.

Behind the closed door, you lean against it, hand pressed over your heart. Even drunk - he still shook you to the core.

And James, still standing outside, runs a hand through his hair and whispers to the empty hallway, “I think I'm in love, Merlin - fuck. I know - shit.”

The engagement party was the kind of spectacle that lingered in the air like perfume - thick, sweet, and impossible to ignore. But after the haze of Firewhiskey, too-tight smiles, and pretending not to notice James Potter’s eyes on you all night, the rest of the holiday slipped into a blur.

Your days were spent apart again, the Potters whisking James off to wedding meetings and more fitting appointments while you were handled by stylists and tailors and family members asking about table arrangements like your opinion mattered.

You barely saw him, and you did not know it at the time but it was probably for your own well-being, after that Firewhiskey thing.

A nod across the breakfast table. A silent pass in the hallway. Not even a whispered word when your rooms shared a wall.

And then, suddenly, it was January again.

King’s Cross was brimming with students and parents bidding their farewells, owls flapping overhead and trunks being levitated into compartments by frazzled prefects. The cold nipped at your ears as you hugged Euphemia goodbye, her lipstick leaving a smudge on your temple, and gave Fleamont a brief, polite hug.

"Be safe, sweetheart," Euphemia said warmly. "Write to us. And James, do help her carry her bag - "

But James was already beside you, fingers curling around your wrist, eager to jump on the train like he was gonna explode any moment.

"We’ll find a compartment," he muttered, not looking at his mother as he tugged you toward the train - you bid them and your parents a rushed farewell as he whisked you away.

You barely had time to protest before he pulled you into an empty carriage and shut the door behind him, drawing the blinds on the windows as well.

"Okay," you said, catching your breath, your trunk settled beside you. "Dramatic much?"

He didn’t laugh, he looks like hell.

Instead, he watched you with that unreadable expression, arms crossed over his chest like he was bracing himself -

"So," he said. "You remember anything from that night?"

Your brows furrowed. "The engagement party?"

He gave you a look, one you didn't know how to take. "You were drunk."

You blinked at him, confused. "I mean. . . yeah, but not that drunk. I remember dancing. With Remus. With you. Sirius and the Firewhiskey. Sort of," you scrunch you nose in distaste. "Why? Did I say something embarrassing?"

James exhaled slowly, as if he had been defeated and you frown at the action. He then shook his head. "No. Doesn’t matter. Forget it."

You frowned. "James,"

"Drop it," he said, a little more sharply than he intended -

And then the moment was gone. He slouched into his seat after putting both your trunks away, and stared out the window, and you sat across from him, feeling the silence stretch and twist between you.

Before you could try again - it was odd to have him behave this way, the compartment door slid open.

"Oi! We were wondering where you two buggered off to," Sirius announced, barging in with Remus and Peter at his heels. Remus gave a nod of greeting. Peter stumbled in, arms full of sweets.

Sirius took one look at the seating arrangement and flopped beside James, slinging an arm across the back of the seat. "So. Did you finally kill each other or just get tired of pretending to be in love?"

"You’re so charming," you said dryly, Sirius Black sends a wink your way.

"It’s a gift."

A sudden stampede of feet passed by the door - first-years giggling as they bolted down the corridor.

Then -

"You lot better not be setting things on fire again!"

The voice made you sit up straighter. Lily Evans appeared at the door, her Headgirl badge gleaming, her red hair pulled back in a no-nonsense braid.

Her eyes scanned the compartment, pausing briefly on you and James sitting opposite each other. Then she looked at the boys.

"Just checking in. You haven’t hexed anyone yet, have you?"

Sirius put a hand on his heart. "We solemnly swear that we are up to no good."

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. To a smile? or annoyance? you couldn't really tell.

"Hi, Evans," you said. Being the first one to address her properly.

"Hey," she replied, offering you a small smile. Her eyes flicked once more toward James, who remained studiously focused on the window. Odd.

Lily’s gaze lingered, curious but unreadable - her emerald eyes looked somewhat brighter when angry, like they're been set ablaze.

Then she turned to you again. "Hope you had a nice holiday, ____."

"You too," you said, replying quickly - she was almost intimidating.

She nodded to Remus. "See you at the meeting."

And then she was gone, disappearing down the corridor in pursuit of the wayward first-years.

Peter gave a low whistle, nudging James potter with a kick of his feet. "You didn’t say a word to her, Prongs"

James shrugged. "What’s there to say?"

Sirius grinned. "Oh, it’s the dawn of a new era, isn’t it? No more pining over Evans. Out with the unrequited, in with the loyal husband."

You stared at your lap, willing your heart to slow down.

James didn’t deny it.

You didn’t look up.

Because if you did, you’d find his eyes on you again, and you couldn’t afford to read too much into it.

Not now.

Not ever.

The welcoming feast was a blur of candlelight, floating pumpkins still leftover from the extended Yule décor, and a hundred conversations overlapping in the Great Hall. But your ears only caught one whisper:

“Did you hear? James Potter’s engaged.”

“It was in The Prophet!"

“Apparently she’s a Ravenclaw.”

"____? No way!"

You kept your head down, focusing on your plate as your housemates swarmed you with questions. You should have known it would be like this.

"What’s he like?"

"Did he propose on one knee?"

"Are you going to get married after graduation? Can I get an invite?"

You gave them nothing but polite smiles and vague answers. Mostly, you just wanted to eat your dinner in peace but that was too much to ask in the ever so noisy halls of Hogwarts.

Across the hall, James Potter was throwing you glances that could melt steel - Merlin, he's been moody since the train, what's got his wand on a twist?

"Okay, he’s been staring at you since the bread rolls," your roommate whispered.

"No, he hasn’t."

"He has. Look - now."

You refused, despite Macmillan's egging and nudging.

You stabbed your roast potato instead. Because if you looked at him, you’d remember how he looked, illuminated by a single birthday candle - leaning in closer and closer and -

You were going bloody mad.

Just as dessert plates were vanishing and sleepy students began to stretch and yawn, Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat, addressing the crowd.

He clapped his hands once, and the room fell silent. He opened by greeting everyone a happy new year, and hoped the holiday break has been exciting.

“Before you all scurry off to your dormitories,” he said, “one small note. After reviewing inter-house interactions, and noting that our usual pairings have resulted in several minor. . .explosions, we’ve decided to shift things a bit.”

The students muttered among themselves - you weren't liking the taste of this as you eye the old man.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

“Starting this term, Ravenclaw will now be paired with Gryffindor for Potions, Herbology, and Astronomy.”

Your stomach dropped.

You would now share three classes with James.

You groaned into your hand, while the students erupted into loud chatter over the announcement.

A fiftfh-year beside you whispered, "Ooh, you get to see your fiancé more! Lucky."

Lucky.

Sure.

You flicked a glance toward the Gryffindor table and caught James looking smug.

Smug.

Arrogant.

Golden.

He winked - and he was back.

You wanted to throw your goblet at his head.

And maybe kiss him afterward.

Which was the problem, because every act of violence towards him warranted a snog - a bloody snog!

You can only dread your fate, because now, there would be no escaping James Potter. You had hoped you could still your hammering heart during classes.

But all that was thrown out the window of the highest tower in Hogwarts. Poof.

This term was going to be hell.

In Potions, Slughorn paired you and James together because "What better way to ensure inter-house unity than with our most promising pair?" He said it with such cheer you couldn’t even groan properly. James sat beside you, all long limbs and casual confidence, swinging his legs under the table like he owned the place.

"Alright, partner," he whispered as he opened your shared textbook. "Let’s brew this Love Potion with the care and precision of a well-adjusted couple."

You nearly knocked the cauldron over, almost choking in your spit from the absolute tosser that he was being again. Long gone is his moody mood swings.

"Stop calling it that."

He just smiled, you pretend like it didn't tug at your heart.

"Would you prefer the good ol' 'Wife', then?"

You stirred the mixture aggressively, already following the instructions on the book - dumping the appropriate ingredients in.

"Try 'lab partner who will drown me inside this cauldron if I don't shut the bloody hell up.'"

He laughed, low and fond, and leaned closer. "See, this is why our upcoming marriage would be full of spice."

You refused to let the heat on your face be visible, you kept your head lowered as you pretended to focus on the potion brewing.

He was actually a decent partner despite the teasing - he was a competent potioneer, following the instructions smoothly and you worked well alongside him.

Ignoring his remarks about how well you two suited each other, a perfect couple, he joked.

"Ah! A perfect Amortentia! Splendid work, you two. A true match." Slughorn cut into the two of you, having just finished your potion.

The whole class turned to look, intrigued. You wanted to sink into the floor.

The scent curled from the cauldron in delicate spirals - iridescent, shimmering steam wafting upward. Amortentia, the most powerful love potion known to wizardkind, distinctive for its spiraling smoke and the unique scent it exuded for each individual: the smell of what most attracted them.

You leaned forward, just slightly.

The smell of old parchment hit you first - familiar, comforting. Then cinnamon, warm and sharp. And something else. Pine and the scent of storm-kissed air, like the moment before rain. It wrapped around your senses. It smelled like James.

You jolted back. You already knew the answer was him, but it was still air knocked off your lungs to confirm further.

James, beside you, had gone unusually quiet.

"What did you smell?" you asked, too curious to stop yourself.

He looked at you for a long moment, then tilted his head with a teasing grin. "You tell me first."

You gave him a look. "Absolutely not."

He smirked. "Fine. Fresh ink. That book smell. The scent of the stands on Quidditch day." He paused, then added, softer, "And something like honey and citrus. Weird, right?"

Your breath caught. You tried not to let it show though.

That was your shampoo.

You stirred the potion a bit too vigorously, and it nearly frothed over.

"Definitely weird," you mumbled, mind flying off - barely remembering his reaction when you replied with your own answer.

He nudged your foot under the table, and the air between you buzzed - you ignored the gesture.

That evening in the common room, you caught yourself sniffing your own hair. Desperately so, wondering if he knew it was your scent - or maybe, Evans uses the same brand -

Astronomy was the final blow - or not, just the dramatics.

The class had been reassigned to night sessions on Wednesdays. The sky above the Astronomy Tower stretched wide and dark, spangled with stars.

As you were top of your year in theory (right behind Evans), you found yourself explaining planetary alignment to James as he balanced a telescope and a Chocolate Frog simultaneously.

"You know," he said, voice soft in the dark, "I never really liked this subject. Too slow. Too cold. But it’s not so bad now."

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t - too scared of what you would confess under the stars this time.

Because the moonlight caught in his hair, the wind was gentle, and his voice had a kind of warmth that sank right under your skin - you keep repalying that night, on your 17th in your head.

James Potter was slowly, relentlessly, becoming impossible to ignore - not that you ever not minding him.

And you were falling.

Hard.

You excused yourself before the class ended, blaming the cold. But your heart knew better.

You were in trouble.

The rest of the week unfolded in dizzying episodes that left your head spinning.

On Tuesday, James charmed your quill to draw little snitches every time you wrote his name. You only found out after realizing your entire essay for Arithmancy was covered in golden-winged doodles. He just smiled, cheek resting on his hand as you smacked him with the scroll - ignoring the implications.

Wednesday, he conjured a bouquet of enchanted bluebells to hop into your satchel after Charms. "For the Ravenclaw in bloom," he said. You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly stuck, but you kept the flowers anyway - they're well-preserved, in your dorm.

Thursday, you dropped your Astronomy notes and James helped gather them, fingers brushing, lingering. You’d both looked up, breathless. And then promptly looked away.

By Friday, it was unbearable.

You lied to one of your housemates, claiming you had something urgent on the other side of the castle, and traded patrol rounds. That way, instead of James, you were paired with Oliver Klove—a tall, charming, and mild-mannered seventh-year Ravenclaw with a relaxed gait and glacier-blue eyes.

You never saw the appeal in him but if it wasn't the Black brothers making girls squeal, it was one Oliver Klove. Tall, dark and handsome - those blue eyes were just a bonus.

His parents must've been very beautiful people to come up with him. You were besotted with James Potter, but you also had eyes and they are liking Oliver Klove very much.

He was easy company, and you found yourself actually relaxing for once during patrols - I guess that's another, he's unline Sirius who flirted in all the ways, and not Regulus who was weird and mysterious.

You were at peace until James found you.

He stood frozen in the corridor, eyes sharp behind his glasses as he processed the scene: you and Oliver walking side-by-side, laughing about something he hadn’t been there to hear.

"Where's your partner?" Oliver asked him politely, trying to strike conversation - pretending like he doesn't read the fury in the lion.

"I could ask the same," James replied, cold.

You winced at his tone and how awkward this will get. "I swapped shifts - because I had errands to run."

Oliver caught on to the lie but neglected to throw you under the bus, he only raises his hands in surrender at Potter, making a comment about not trying anything with a girl promised to another.

James didn’t reply. He turned on his heel and stalked off. But instead of disappearing, he grabbed your arm and tugged you along.

"Hey! James - "

"You're with me tonight."

You threw a look over your shoulder at Oliver, who gave you a bewildered little wave before vanishing down the corridor, deciding he wasn't gonna ask - he'll just continue his patrols and pretend he saw nothing.

James dragged you all the way to the Astronomy Tower.

You yanked your arm back, throwing him a harsh glare. "What the hell was that?"

He turned on you, furious and flustered. "I show up for patrol and find you laughing with - Klove of all people - like nothing's weird about it?"

"It isn’t weird. He’s nice. I needed a break from your constant flirting." and leading me on, but you neglect to say the last part.

"Flirting?! You think this is -" He stopped, dragging a hand through his hair, the action was laced with frustration. You watch him, on edge. "I’ve been trying to tell you - "

"Tell me what? That I’m just another conquest until you get bored again? That Evans doesn't do it anymore so you decide I'm next on your list because I'm conveniently your bloody fucking fiancé?"

His eyes snapped to yours, those hazel pairs set ablaze. "Don’t. You know it’s not that."

The silence pulsed. Your heart beat painfully in your throat, the tension was rising and somehow - it felt awfully hot in the Astronomy Tower. This might actually be the day you throw someone off here - you.

"Then what is it?" you whispered.

He stepped closer. "You. It's always been you. And if I have to spell it out - I’m in love with you."

The air vanished from your lungs. He doesn't stop talking as he closes the distance between you two, grabbing to hold your hand - "You have me, completely and utterly besotted with you."

You barely managed to breathe before you surged forward, and your lips met his in a kiss that stole everything else away. It was hot and desperate, his hands in your hair, yours tangled in his robes, mouths slanting, pressing -

Hands slipped beneath fabric. A gasp. Your back against the cold stone wall.

Then, through the haze, you said it:

"What about Lily?"

James froze - that caught him off-guard, the last thing he expected you to say, mid snog.

You looked at him, breathless and trembling - anticipating.

He cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "Evans - Evans was. . . the past. I liked her, Merlin - I won't deny that and pretend it wasn't a thing, " you could hear and see the sincerity pour out of him with every word. "But I love you. Not Evans - and Godric knows she'll never give me the time of day."

You allow those words to sink in.

"She's not the one who's matching rings with me, she's not the girl who'll slowly walk towards me down the aisle - it's you, it has always been you."

James lets out an exaspherated sigh. "I was just too bloody stupid to know that."

And somehow, impossibly, that was enough.

to be continued . . .

part five(final) | masterlist

[miiyas]

UNIVERSE

in every universe, you’re always his

fluff, wc: 462, gn reader, talks of marriage and weddings, not proof read

“do you think in another universe we live in a different scenario ..?” your voice whispers into the darkness of the bedroom, body pressed against chuuyas warm one with your head resting gently on his extended arm, using his muscles as a pillow. you rest on your side while he lays on his back and you draw small shapes with your fingertips on the scars that bump on his collarbone, closed lashes fluttering gently at the butterfly touch.

“it’s too late to be talkin’ ‘bout this shit.” you hear him grumble out, shifting his position to his side so he can lay face to face with you. his eyes are still closed and his brows are furrowed. bringing up the hand that caressed his collarbone, you massage the brows by lifting them up, smiling gently.

“i mean, do you think that in another universe, we would live in a small apartment with that dog you want so much and a good paying nine to five ..” your question didn’t seem like a question anymore, more of a dreamy world where things aligned perfectly and your boyfriend didn’t come home at the late hour of two in the morning, only to leave four hours later.

“we wouldn’t be living in a small apartment, i’d make sure.” chuuyas voice gruffs out, kissing your wrist gently with a lazy hum, your hand traveling up to the roots of his hair, combing through it with your fingers. you grow quiet, hiding your growing smile by smudging it on chuuyas arm. the two of you are closer than ever and you can hear the soft breathing that exhales out in familiar rhythm.

“in every universe,” he starts, his voice low and not quiet reaching whisper level, which only makes you scoot your body closer to hear. “you’d already be a ‘nakahara.’”

your heart stops and skips a few beats for a moment. all breathing in your lungs is paused as you feel the growing heat in your cheeks spread, a light chuckle escaping your boyfriends lips.

“‘n i’d get you the prettiest ring the world has to offer, and it’d be the wedding if everyone’s dreams,” you watch his eyes crack open gently and feel a tired hand tuck in your hair, remaining on top of your shoulders with rough fingertips brushing against the back of your neck. “and you would look absolutely drop dead in white.”

you’re quite unsure of how to respond, eyes wide and cheeks ever so flustered. the blanket creeps up to your shoulders as chuuya kisses your forehead gently before mumbling of how stupid this whole conversation was and how he still needs his sleep.

even if things are better in another universe, you can’t help but be content with this one.

[leirastar]

New World | Chapter 11

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 3.5 k | 15 minutes Warning: mentions of prisoner

The room was still. Sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, casting a soft glow on the polished floors of your quarters, still reeling from the conversation with Yunho. His words echoed in your mind, particularly the one that made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite explain:

“My Queen.”

The way he had said it, so casually, yet with such weight, like it was a title that naturally belonged to you. The words sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach, an odd mix of happiness and fear that made you feel dizzy. It was as if something in you both wanted to believe it, yet the weight of it was suffocating. It was too much, too sudden, too confusing.

The flutter in your chest turned into a whirlwind of emotions, a clash of excitement and dread. Why had he said it? What did it mean? Was he truly ready to embrace this reality, or was he just playing a part in something much bigger than you both?

His words felt like an invitation into a world you weren’t sure you belonged to, and it left you tangled in a knot of hope, uncertainty, and fear. You couldn’t shake the confusion that gripped you, and it made your heart race in ways you didn’t understand.

You sighed, rubbing your temples in frustration. Everything felt so overwhelming, too much to process. How had your life turned into this whirlwind?

Glancing around the room, you took in the surroundings once more. The bedroom was large, open, and inviting, its elegant design a stark contrast to the storm of emotions inside you.

The centerpiece wasn’t the bed, but the open design that connected the room to the water outside. Beyond a set of wide, arched windows lay the royal lake, its surface glittering like liquid glass. Steps led directly from the quarters into the water, the architecture seamless and inviting. Drawn by the view, you moved to the edge of the room and let the breeze brush against your skin.

You descended the stone steps cautiously, the coolness of the water lapping at your bare feet. A sigh escaped your lips as you sat there, trailing your fingers across the surface. The water’s gentle rhythm soothed your frayed nerves, its tranquility a stark contrast to the storm inside you.

But your peace was short-lived. A knock sounded at the door, low but firm, making you rise instinctively. You turned, brushing off droplets of water as you stepped back into the room.

Your eyes were drawn to the figure standing in the doorway, framed by the stone pillars—His Majesty, King Seonghwa.

If Yunho’s presence was commanding, Seonghwa’s was mesmerizing. He was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful beings you had ever seen. His white hair shimmered like spun silver, and his wings—three layers of pristine feathers—looked almost ethereal. Subtle streaks of gray adorned a few feathers.

His robe, though regal, was discarded, leaving his form more relaxed yet still commanding. The fabric, a pristine white with silver embroidery, had been cast aside, revealing the sleekness of his attire beneath.

His tunic was a muted, almost ethereal shade of silver, tailored perfectly to his frame. But it was the crest of his house, still visible on the fabric near his chest, that caught your eye. It was intricately stitched, a symbol of power and lineage, standing out starkly against the soft material of his tunic. The design was simple but unmistakable — a dove and flower, surrounded by faintly glimmering stars. It was a quiet yet undeniable mark of authority, and seeing it made your heart skip a beat.

Seonghwa’s gaze softened as he stepped into the room, and you could feel the calm that radiated from him. He carried a silk-wrapped bundle in his hands, the fabric glinting faintly in the light. Bowing his head ever so slightly, he addressed you in a voice that was calm yet authoritative.

“I trust I’m not intruding.”

You straightened instinctively, caught off guard by his sudden presence. “No, Your Majesty,” you replied, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Good. I trust everything is to your liking?”

You hesitated, a flicker of dry humor breaking through your unease. “I can’t say I’ve ever had a lake in my room before.”

His lips curved ever so slightly into a polite, almost imperceptible smile. “An unconventional touch, perhaps,” he said, his tone light yet measured. “But I am pleased it has not disquieted you.”

With a refined gesture, he extended the silk-wrapped bundle toward you. “I thought you might find these useful.”

You hesitated for a second before accepting it. When he extended the bundle to you, his fingers briefly brushed against yours. His hands were warm, steady, lingering just long enough for you to notice.

A flicker of something—awareness, curiosity—sparked in your chest before you could push it away. It was nothing. A fleeting touch, meaningless.

Yet, as quickly as the moment came, you dismissed it. Or at least, you tried to.

You untied the delicate silk wrapping, you found a finely crafted leather journal inside, its cover smooth and inviting. Beside it was a small ink pot and a quill. And then, nestled among them, a charm caught your eye: a silver leaf, its delicate design shining faintly in the light.

“Yunho mentioned that you write often,” Seonghwa explained, his tone polished and deliberate. “A new journal seemed fitting. The charm is from town; it is said to bring clarity of thought.”

Your fingers traced the journal’s embossed cover, a flicker of gratitude softening your expression. You hadn’t realized how much you had missed your writing. It had been an outlet, a place to express your thoughts, your frustrations. A way to make sense of the world around you. Now more than ever.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. This is… very thoughtful.”

“Seonghwa,” he corrected gently, the faintest hint of warmth touching his otherwise composed features. “Formalities are unnecessary.”

The casual correction surprised you. He was every inch a king—regal, primmed, proper, and yet there was a gentleness to him that felt disarming.

“I hope you are finding yourself more at ease,” he said, his gaze steady, scrutinizing you with interest.

Your lips tightened briefly before you answered. “It’s overwhelming,” you admitted. “To say the least.”

A faint shadow of understanding passed across his face. “I can imagine,” he said, his voice as smooth as glass. “The unfamiliar can be daunting, but I trust that with time, you will grow accustomed to the rhythms of this place.” His eyes flicked toward the lake, a small nod of approval accompanying his words.

“It seems the waters bring you some comfort.”

“They do,” you replied softly. “There’s something… calming about them.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” he said with a dignified nod. “It is my hope that you will find solace not only in the surroundings but in the people as well. Trust, after all, is built over time.”

His words were like carefully polished stones, each one weighted and deliberate. You studied him, struck by the way he effortlessly commanded the conversation without overpowering it.

After a moment of pause, he continued, his tone now edged with quiet gravity. “I understand that recent events have unsettled you. Yunho’s actions may not have been what you anticipated, but I assure you his intentions were not borne of malice. He made a choice he believed necessary, though it was far from easy.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the journal, your mind tangled with conflicting emotions. Could you truly believe that?

“If you could give us a chance,” Seonghwa continued, his gaze steady and resolute, “I think you would find there is more to this than it seems.”

There was a pause as you struggled to find the right response.

Your fingers traced the journal’s edge absently, searching for the right words. “It’s… a lot to process,” you admitted quietly, glancing toward the lake. “Everything here feels so far removed from anything I’ve known.”

You met his gaze, the strength of his conviction unnerving yet oddly reassuring. When you glanced back at him, his expression softened—though only slightly.

He inclined his head, the motion as graceful as a courtly bow. “Well then,” he said, his tone as composed as ever, “I’ll take my leave. It might do you some good to rest. If you have any questions before I leave, I would be glad to answer them.”

He waited, as though giving you space to speak, but when no words came, he turned to leave, but your voice stopped him.

"May I… roam the grounds in my free time, Seonghwa?" you asked, hesitant but steady, testing his name on your tongue.

The faintest flicker of amusement crossed his features, a rare break in his otherwise stately demeanor. “Of course,” he replied, a small, knowing smile softening his words.

“You are not our prisoner, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost amused. “Though, I must admit, if you were, I would not mind having you stay a little longer.”

The softness in his voice caught you off guard, but it was the subtle flirtation that sent your heart stuttering in an unfamiliar rhythm. It was a shift—gentle, deliberate, yet entirely unexpected.

A part of you wanted to dismiss it as nothing, a passing remark wrapped in courtly charm. But the way he said it, the measured grace of his words, felt like something more. There was no teasing smirk, no overt playfulness—just quiet sincerity, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

Heat crept up your neck before you could stop it, your pulse betraying the composure you desperately tried to maintain. He was…flirting?

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, but the steady, knowing glint in his eyes only unsettled you further. It was as if he could see the exact effect his words had on you—and that realization only made it worse.

Seonghwa inclined his head once more, his movements deliberate and fluid. “I trust you’ll make the most of your time here,” he said before turning to leave. His wings flared briefly as he departed, the light catching the faint streaks of gray in a way that made them shimmer like molten silver.

As he departed, the quiet of the room seemed to deepen, though his presence lingered, like the memory of a breeze brushing past. Left alone, you glanced down at the journal in your hands, the leather warm against your fingers.

Whatever this place was, and whatever these people were, you couldn’t deny the weight of their power—not just in their roles as kings, but in the way they unsettled everything you thought you understood.

Morning spilled over the castle like molten gold, casting long shadows along the polished stone halls. The quiet hum of activity beyond your door reminded you that the world was still moving, even if your thoughts seemed frozen in time. After last night’s encounter with Seonghwa, you felt less frayed but no less unsure of your place here.

Seonghwa had been thoughtful enough to ask a maid to bring you dinner, but aside from the honeyed fruit, everything else had remained untouched. The food was rich and plentiful, but you hadn’t had the appetite to finish it. The unease from last night still lingered, thick in the air of your room.

The journal he’d gifted you sat on the desk, unopened, the silver leaf charm glinting in the sunlight. It was beautiful—thoughtful even—but you hadn’t yet brought yourself to write in it. Instead, you paced the room, your unease building until staying put became unbearable.

You needed air.

After confirming with a guard that you were free to roam as you pleased, you stepped out into the winding corridors of the castle. The architecture was stunning, each hallway leading to grander sights than the last, but the scale of it was overwhelming. You wandered aimlessly, your footsteps echoing off the high ceilings until the sound of voices pulled your attention.

You followed the noise, turning a corner to find yourself in an open courtyard. The space was alive with movement—courtiers chatting, attendants scurrying, and in the center of it all stood King Mingi.

He was hard to miss. Towering and broad-shouldered, he had a presence that was both commanding and oddly approachable. His wings, shades of grey with gold-brown tips and a few white spots scattered throughout, stretched lazily as he gestured animatedly, laughing at something an attendant said. The sunlight caught the light on his feathers, giving them an almost ethereal glow.

You knew him by reputation, of course. King Mingi, the one who commanded the dragons of the northern winds. Stories of his cunning had spread far and wide—of how he could outwit his enemies in an instant, maneuvering with the swiftness of a falcon on the hunt. His reputation for ruthlessness was only balanced by his sense of honor; there was no mistaking that he was respected. His charisma made him approachable, yes, but it was tempered by a sharp intelligence that always kept others on edge.

He had a way of drawing people in, captivating them with his natural charm and effortless wit, but you could never forget the underlying strength beneath that affable exterior. When it came to protecting his kingdom and his people, Mingi was as fierce as the dragons he commanded—quick to strike, but with a level-headed precision that always ensured victory.

Spotting you, Mingi’s laughter stilled, and his expression shifted to one of warm surprise. “Well, if it isn’t our newest arrival!” he called out, his voice as rich and easy as a summer breeze.

Your steps faltered. You weren’t sure what to make of him—his energy was so vastly different from Yunho’s quietness or Seonghwa’s regality.

“Don’t just stand there,” Mingi said, striding toward you with a grin. “You’ll look like a lost fawn, and we don’t need anyone thinking we’ve kidnapped you.”

His casual humor caught you off guard, but it was disarming in a way that loosened the tension in your shoulders.

“I don’t think anyone’s assuming that,” you said, your lips twitching toward a reluctant smile.

“Good. I’d hate for rumors to start flying before you’ve had the chance to get to know us,” he replied, gesturing for you to follow him.

Without waiting for you to agree, Mingi led you toward a quieter part of the courtyard, where a few marble benches overlooked a vibrant garden. He plopped down on one of them with a theatrical sigh, patting the spot beside him.

“Come, sit. You look like you’ve got questions—probably more than I can answer, but I’ll do my best.”

You hesitated, but something about his open demeanor made it impossible to refuse. As you sat, you found yourself relaxing despite the strangeness of it all.

Before you could say anything, Mingi smiled, his eyes gleaming with a touch of formality. “Ah, but where are my manners?” He stood with a graceful motion and gave a low, sweeping bow.

“Mingi, King of Aeros, at your service.”

Surprised, you swiftly returned the gesture, curtsying in respect. “Y/N, a humble guest.”

He grinned, clearly pleased with your response. “A humble guest, indeed,” he teased, but there was warmth in his words. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you properly.”

“You’re not what I expected,” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

Mingi raised a brow, clearly amused. “Oh? What were you expecting? Doom and gloom? A tyrant with a crown?”

“Maybe not that, but…” You trailed off, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

He chuckled, leaning back and stretching his wings slightly. “I’ll take it as a compliment. Though I’m guessing you’ve met Yunho and Seonghwa already—they don’t exactly scream ‘warm welcome,’ do they?”

Your silence must have said enough, because Mingi’s grin widened.

“Thought so. Don’t get me wrong—they’re good men. But Yunho can be a bit… intense, and Seonghwa’s probably too polished for his own good.” He leaned closer, mock conspiratorial.

“They forget how to be human sometimes. You’ll learn to balance them out.”

His words, though lighthearted, carried a surprising depth. It was clear he understood his fellow kings well, and you found yourself appreciating his honesty.

“I’m still trying to figure out where I fit in all of this,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.

Mingi tilted his head, studying you with a seriousness that felt out of place against his earlier levity. “I’m sure you’ll come around to figure it out. And you’ve got all of us to help you, whether you like it or not.”

You met his gaze, searching for something—reassurance, sincerity, a reason to trust in his words. Did you even want their help? The thought lingered, unanswered, as you studied the quiet determination in his eyes.

But the weight of it all pressed too heavily on your chest, so you looked away, shifting your gaze back to the palace garden. The rustling leaves and distant blooms were easier to face than the uncertainty stirring inside you.

“You know,” Mingi said, his tone shifting as he glanced away for a moment, “Yunho and I grew up together. Our kingdoms are close, and we’ve always visited each other. When we were kids, he was the type to get lost in books and plans, always thinking about the future, even when we were just supposed to be playing.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really? That doesn’t sound like the Yunho I’ve met.”

Mingi grinned, a nostalgic glint in his eyes. “He was serious back then too, but he had his moments. He used to try to act like the perfect heir to his kingdom, and I’d always joke about how he should just let loose for once. He’d get frustrated, but then I’d drag him into mischief. Like the time we swapped the royal food orders—no one could figure out how the feast ended up with desserts as the main course!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the image of the usually composed Yunho involved in something so playful. Mingi’s smile softened a little.

“He still acts like he’s got a whole world on his shoulders. People think he’s distant, but he’s got a heart of gold. He just… doesn’t show it as much anymore.”

Mingi shrugged, leaning back against the bench, his usual carefree demeanor returning. “But hey, don’t let his seriousness fool you. If you ever catch him in one of those rare moments where he lets his guard down, you’ll see a side of him that’s not as intimidating.”

Before you could respond, a new voice interrupted.

“Mingi, you’re supposed to be at the council meeting. Or did you forget again?”

You turned to see King San approaching, his stride slow, deliberate—like a predator who knew he had already won. His presence was magnetic, and he wore a black and red coat, heavy with gold embroidery and long, glistening tassels that swayed with each movement. The deep crimson sash across his chest was embroidered with intricate designs, each golden thread catching the light like embers in the dark. His silk shirt was left slightly open, revealing just enough to tease, the sheen of the fabric only adding to his careless, devastating allure.

Despite his smaller stature, his physique was anything but. Broad shoulders and toned arms filled out the ornate coat, the sharp tailoring only emphasizing his solid build. He carried himself with the ease of someone who never needed to prove his strength—he simply was.

San’s gaze was unreadable, dark eyes half-lidded as if he was amused by something only he understood. His lips curled into a knowing smirk—dangerous, inviting. He didn’t need to speak for the air to shift around him, for the weight of his presence to settle deep in your chest. He was indulgence and fire, arrogance and ease.

“Ah, San,” Mingi said, unfazed. “I was just making sure our guest here did not get lost. Important work, you know.”

San sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Important work or not, you’re late. Again.”

Mingi shrugged, his grin unapologetic. “You worry too much. It’s bad for your complexion.”

San didn’t even spare him a glance, his attention shifting to you instead. He inclined his head slightly—not quite a bow, but still carrying the weight of his status. His smirk was lazy, just on the edge of teasing. Knowing. “Getting the grand tour, are you? Let me know if Mingi actually does his job, or if I need to find someone more competent.”

“Thank you,” you said, unsure how else to respond to the stark contrast between the two kings.

San nodded, his gaze lingering for a moment as though assessing you. Then he turned back to Mingi, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You can finish your ‘important work’ later. For now, the council is waiting.”

With a resigned sigh, Mingi stood, his wings folding neatly behind him. “Duty calls,” he said, winking at you. “Don’t let him scare you off—he’s not as tough as he looks.”

San shot him a glare, but there was no real heat in it.

As the two kings walked away, their banter fading into the distance, you found yourself smiling. For the first time since your arrival, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter. Maybe, just maybe, you could find your place here after all.

Masterlist

ten | twelve

A/n: Hi star, it took a long time to make this. its been sitting in my draft for weeks. but i hope you enjoy. i will be taking a break since i have mid exam for a few weeks. but i will make room to write. im sure you’ll be able to enjoy the next couple of chapters more. i also have a small gift for you! not exactly small but as i promised in my a/n note in chapter 4. I HAVE CREATED THE MOODBOARD FOR THE KINGS! ALTHOUGH, i am not sure when i will be uplouding them because (another surprise) i will be releasing side stories of when they were young! this way you will be able to connect deeply to the characters i've created. there will be angst, love, adventure, friendship, and etc. i will uploading it one by one after a chapter that is associate to the topic of the character. and if you are able to guess who might be the first character i wrote for (not the first one i will publish), i might even give you a spoiler hihi!

Coming soon!

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@ffenjoyerdazme @lostxxgirl @xh01bri @neemaxx @furfoxsake22 @Thejentheredhead @soulphoenix1618 @pixie0627 @hannahdinse8

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[toxicanonymity]

the interruption

Javi x Steve x you drabble.

WARNINGS: 18+ Piv, m/m rimming & anal, creampies.

You're face-up on the bed, legs mostly together, stuffed with Steve Murphy's cock. He's supposed to stay with you while Javi runs to the precinct, and he was balls deep before Javi even got to his car and realized he had the wrong keys...

Javi warns, "don't move" as approaches the bedroom. Apparently, he's in no hurry. He takes his time unbuttoning his shirt while his jeans tighten at the sight of Steve's spread cheeks straddling you. As good as it feels being packed with cock, you'd love for Steve to move. He doesn't. He glances down at your tits and lets out a barely audible, closed-mouth moan.

You mouth, "Is he mad?" and Steve flashes his eyebrows as though to say, let's hope so.

Steve's nose twitches and he stretches his top lip down, curled over his teeth like he has an itch he can't scratch. You scratch his mustache for him as soon as Javi turns his back.

The next thing you hear is a bottle of lube popping open, then squirting. Steve wets his lips and looks at you darkly. He looks at your mouth like it's killing him not to kiss you.

Javi kneels onto the bed and straddles your ankles behind Steve. Javi slowly pumps his own cock and Steve twitches inside you in anticipation. No one speaks. Your chest is filling with butterflies.

Javi spits on Steve's spread crack and lets the saliva slide down before using his thumb to smear it into his asshole. Javi lowers his head and buries his face in Steve's ass. A growl rumbles in Steve's chest and he closes his eyes. You dare to reach up and rake your fingers through his hair. He opens his eyes, then looks at your lips. You pull his head down, and before your lips meet, Steve gasps and his cock jerks inside you.

You're dying to wrap your legs around him, pull him deeper, but your legs are pinned to the bed. You yearn to feel his mouth on yours. "Mm," he grunts and his cock swells and twitches again.

You whimper, "please."

Javi's voice is partly muffled when he remarks, "I heard one please..."

Steve rolls his eyes with a silent chuckle. You mouth, "Please."

"Mmm," Steve's hum turns into a sigh. "Please," he whispers.

Steve's skin peels off yours as his spine curls forward. He looks down at your tits and wets his lips. You want to kiss him so bad you're salivating. Javi's silhouette emerges behind Steve, placing one hand on Steve's back as he lines himself up between Steve's pale buttcheeks.

Javi grabs on for leverage, and Steve's neck vein bulges and as Javi's lubed cock slides into him. The look of pleasure that spreads across Steve's face sends a shiver down your spine, making you clench on his cock. You glance up at Javi, and Javi snarls back as he bottoms out with a punch of his hips that fills you all the way up with Steve. Oh, God.

Javi keeps his eyes on you, and you try to return the attention, but Steve's wrecked face is closer, and the way he looks at you makes your heart flutter, makes you pinch your eyes shut, makes you dread the moment he pulls out.

Your stuffed insides are swollen with tension, ready to burst any moment. Overwhelmed by pleasure, tears push through your lashes, and you whimper "mm mm," broken by the rhythm of Javi pounding Steve.

"Fuck," you whine, trying to hold off another minute, trying to savor this before you cum. "Oh, God," you whimper.

"You're--oh, fuck-- you're okay, baby," steve pants. The air is thick and dirty with moans. "Hey," he whispers and your eyes meet his. Tears stream down your temples. Steve lowers his head to plant a quick kiss on your forehead but he doesn't make it there in time before a sharp thrust from Javi makes him groan as he lurches deeper into you. Javi grabs him by the hair, and Steve's Adams apple and bulging neck vein hover over your face.

You whimper and your hips lift, still pinned to the bed by these men who sound more like animals right now.

Heavy breathes and moans. The salt of sweat, the smell of sex. Pressure building in your gut.

"Eyes on me," Javi commands, and you obey. He releases Steve's hair, and his hips slow down.

"Good girl," Javi coos. You bite your lip and watch Javi's glistening neck. Steve drops his head with a low moan that lands in your ear. Jesus, fuck, he feels so good. You're so, so full-

You hear yourself unravel as the climax rips through your body, clenching your muscles, making your hips lift. A massive but short lived wave of relief before it seizes you again and doesn't let you go. You quiver around Steve's cock and he unleashes a string of curses, followed by a hot load that keeps you seeing stars.

By the time you can fully breathe again, you can barely keep your eyes open to watch Javi cum.

Javi's chest heaves and glistens as he finishes with a sigh, and Steve releases the last of his load in your depths.

You can't keep your eyes open, but feel Javi getting off the bed and hear him smack Steve's skin. Steve sighs, "mm."

Steve rests his forehead on the pillow next to your head. You lie there breathing, and when you open your eyes, Javi is tucking in his shirt.

Steve pulls out slowly, anticipating your whine.

"shhh," he whispers, then kisses you on the forehead. He lies half on top of you, and you'll be grateful for his body heat as your swear turns cold.

By the time Javi's out the door for real, you and Steve are dozing off in the wreckage.

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Thank you for reading 🖤🖤 please consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed.

Javi & Steve x you fic recs