#all memories of rose are slightly off slightly missing

[r0setyler]

thinking about how the memory tardis had one piece of rose in it, her missing poster, and how that is representative of rose's narrative, she's missing... there are pieces of all the other doctors, of yaz, of river, but rose's thing isn't the jacket donna found, isn't some sort of actual rose, but is literally just her missing poster, because even to the memory tardis, to the doctor, she is missing. where is she? have you seen rose tyler?

[coqhee]

LOSE MY BREATH

✷ enhypen's reaction to wearing what you wore on your first date

day 24 of melodies to memories ― ot7 x f!r fluff ⨯ petnames skinship kissing ⨯ 1607

em's note ★ not really an advent anymore is it but that's ok!! i refuse to abandon this since we're really just 2 fics off (one now!!)

���── ♡

LEE HEESEUNG

heeseung would be coming home from work ready to go out on your date then WOW

tries to play it cool at first, giving you his usual charming smile, but you can see the way his gaze lingers

quickly tries to recompose his cocky-sweet persona, and makes sure you know how perfect you are

“hi bab- woah” he’d say as he looks up after putting his bag down.

“hm?” you pretend to mindlessly hum as if you didn’t plan it, smoothing down the fabric of your dress as if it was just another one of those expensive dresses he’d buy you.

“you look prettier than the first time i saw you in this” heeseung grinned, looking you up and down.

“oh, please,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, but he doesn’t miss the way your cheeks flush at his words.

he smirks knowingly, stepping closer and tilting his head slightly. “no wonder why you asked to go to that shitty diner again,” he snapped, the pieces all falling into place.

“mmhm,” you hum again, this time a bit smug as you shrug. 

“c'mon let’s go get food poisoning or something,” he leans in close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before taking your hand in his and leading you out to the car. 

more under the cut!

─── ♡

PARK JONGSEONG

comes home with roses then BOOM jaw on the floor

it’s not even that he recognizes that you’re wearing what you wore on your first date he just thinks you look absolutely stunning

being the gentleman he is, when he does realize, he’s sending compliments your way the whooole night

“you look amazing, sweetheart,” jay quickly regained his composure with a smile on his face after seeing you in the same stunning dress.

“notice anyyything different?” you asked, drawing out the words teasingly.

he narrows his eyes playfully, stepping closer to you with a hand rubbing his chin in mock thought. “hmm, let’s see… is it the shoes? no, wait—it’s the way you’re absolutely glowing right now.”

“mm mm” you hum out loud while he takes one long look and realizes.

“no way,” he breathes, his smile growing impossibly wider as he steps even closer, his hands gently resting on your waist, reality clicking in “you actually kept it all this time?”

you nod and grin, pleased with his reaction.

─── ♡

SIM JAEYUN

poor bro doesn’t even realize cause he’s just so in love with everything you wear

as soon as you tell him though he’s running back to his room to find that dorky striped shirt he was wearing

he’s trying to recreate EVERYTHING from that first date

“you really don’t recognize what i'm wearing?” you sigh feeling a little disappointed, yet incredibly understandable from jake’s perspective. you have way too many outfits for your own good.

“i seriously don’t know angel, im so sorry,” he pleads, scratching his head desperately trying to figure it out.

“it’s what i wore on our first date,” 

"no way." jake’s voice drops to a whisper, as if he’s just uncovered the biggest secret of the century.

you nod, your grin growing wider as you cross your arms. "way."

his face drops to a look of shock and runs to his room. a minute later, he emerges, proudly wearing the very green and white long-sleeved shirt he had donned on your first date. the one that was a little too big on him back then, and still is now, though it somehow manages to look even cuter.

“ta-da!” he exclaims, throwing his arms out with a grin, though it falters slightly when he notices the faint ketchup stain still adorning the hem.

“oh my god, jake,” you laugh, covering your face with your hands. “you kept that?”

"of course i did," he says, feigning offense as he spins in place to show off the shirt. "this bad boy is iconic. and now, we match." as he extends his hand to help you up from the couch, pulling you into his arms for an embrace while smiling into your neck.

─── ♡

PARK SUNGHOON

immediately notices since he bought it for you so you could accompany him to some charity gala his parents asked him to bring a date to

he’s fully in the moment asking you to do a spin for him, again and again

he don’t gaf about the date anymore

“i think you made it prettier than it was already,” he smiles warmly

you can’t help the heat rising to your cheeks at his words, his warm gaze making you feel like the most precious thing in the world.

“oh, stop,” you mumble, swatting lightly at his chest, though the smile pulling at your lips betrays your feigned humbleness.

“what?” he teases, catching your hand mid-swat and holding it on his own. “i’m just being honest. you make everything look better—always have.”

you roll your eyes, but your heart is beating just a little faster. “you really don’t have to lay it on so thick, hoon. it’s just an outfit.”

“just an outfit?” he repeats, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. “baby, this is the outfit. the one that made me think, ‘wow, i’ve got to do everything i can to make sure i get a second date with her.’”

you laugh, shaking your head. “you’re so dramatic.”

─── ♡

KIM SUNOO

of course he’d remember that outfit cause you chose to match on your first date as if you were already a couple

though actually, you didn’t even remember what you wore and he’s the one to call you out

he’d fake pout and be dramatic about how you don’t love him

“you realize what you’re wearing right?” sunoo asked with a crinkle of his nose from smiling seeing you in it.

“huh? is something wrong? i know it’s a little small on me now, but i haven’t worn it in a while,” you say worried, checking yourself out in the mirror feeling a slight bit of self doubt.

“what? no it looks great sunshine, don’t worry. you look amazing as always” he reassured, stepping closer, his hands brushing against your waist as if to emphasize his point. “it’s just… that’s what you wore on our first date. is it some special occasion?”

“oh it is! no wonder i haven’t worn it in a while,” you saw his face shift immediately into a pout.

“you really don’t remember? are you sure you even love me?” he asked, fake wiping a tear from his cheek.

you couldn’t help but laugh at his dramatic tone, rolling your eyes. “oh, stop it. of course i love you, you big baby.”

─── ♡

YANG JUNGWON

another bf that remembers for SURE!!

you two weren’t even going out anywhere but he thought he’d clean out your closet for you as a favor since it was a mess and the second he laid his eyes on it he wanted you to wear it again

jaw dropped eyes bulging yet hyping you up at the same time saying you should live in that outfit. 

“baby c'mere,” jungwon called out from your room.

“yeah?”

“put this on,” he’d hold out a lump of clothes and you quickly took the pile and changed in the bathroom.

you stepped out of the bathroom, the clothes now on you, and he looked up from his phone, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“you look—" he paused, clearly taking in your appearance with a pleased expression, "absolutely perfect. this is what i was imagining the whole time.”

you raised an eyebrow, a bit of confusion flickering in your mind. “seriously won? it’s just a hoodie and jeans.”

“yeah but it’s the hoodie and jeans you wore on out first date, and you look amazing.” you rolled your eyes at his praise

“mmkay loverboy,” you giggled pulling him in for a small kiss before heading back out to the kitchen.

─── ♡

NISHIMURA RIKI

surprise surprise, your first date outfit was his hoodie cause you spilled on your shirt 5 minutes in

of course he likes seeing you in his hoodie and he can’t help but wanna giggle on the inside but he’s gotta keep the nonchalant act up

complain about you taking specifically that hoodie but it basically became yours the second you put it on

“i swear, do you only like the hoodie cause i gave it to you on our first date?” riki asked with mock annoyance when he saw you in it, waiting for you to get ready faster.

“mayybe maybe not, either way im still gonna wear it,” you smirked running past him to the door to put your shoes on. 

“hey, no fair!” he called after you, his voice light and teasing. “you can’t just run away from me like that, especially when you know how much i love seeing you in that hoodie.”

you shot him a playful glance over your shoulder, pausing for just a second before continuing to slip on your shoes. “oh, i’m just giving you a little taste of what it was like back then. you remember how i looked when i first wore it, right?” you teased.

he brought his nose down to sniff the clothing scrunching his nose. “now it smells all like you,” he sighed, joking with no actual complaint in sight. “guess i have to get myself a new one,”

“oh shut up, you like when i wear this hoodie so stop whining and lets go,” you rolled your eyes as you turned around to look at him smiling at the tall man, admiring the way his eyes gleamed in adoration.

─── ♡

melodies to memories tl (open!): @wonziz @hhmnya @ourhees @lovuegi @letmein2urheart @firstclassjaylee @ancnymcnzjy

@ coqhee 2025. all rights reserved

[p0orbaby]

In Vino Veritas

summary: you’re drunk, aitana is missing and whose house is this?

warnings: alcohol

a/n: this is cute, and it’s made me want to write for tana more

word count: 2.5k

-

The music pulses around the house, loud and relentless, like it has a personal vendetta against silence, and you feel it vibrating through your bones. It’s some mainstream electronic track, too cheerful for the kind of reflective mood tequila usually grants you. Everything around you is a little hazy, a bit too bright, and you’re squinting at it all, like you’re looking at the world through frosted glass.

The wallpaper here is too clean, too deliberately “vintage,” with little pink roses blooming in neat, identical rows. You imagine, briefly, peeling the wallpaper back, layer by layer, finding more roses, more decades of them, stacked on top of each other like memories no one wants to talk about. But that’s a thought for another time, another you, one not stumbling over someone’s overly expensive thrifter rug and nearly tripping on a pair of boots discarded in the hallway.

Where the hell is Aitana?

It’s around the fifth time you’ve drunkenly circled the house when you spot Sunglasses Guy, a figure that almost feels like a test placed here by some malevolent spirit—an obstacle on your journey. He’s in the kitchen, leaning against the counter like he’s in a photoshoot, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. Indoors, sunglasses on, even though it’s dark outside. He’s got that air of self-importance, like he’s convinced that sunglasses are mysterious, that people look at him and think, Wow, who’s that? In reality, they’re thinking, Why is this guy wearing sunglasses in the dark?

He nods at you, a slow, deliberate motion, clearly trying to make you feel “seen” in some profound way, as if this is a moment the two of you will remember forever. But all you remember is your drink, the way it sloshes precariously as you shift your weight, and the way he leans in, smelling faintly of something vaguely woody and way too expensive.

“Do you know what NFTs are?” he asks, his voice low, a little sultry, like he thinks NFTs are the new “what’s your sign?”

You stare at him, and the words that spring to mind are “sunglasses,” “pretentious,” and, inexplicably, “parsley.” You’ve no idea where “parsley” came from, but your mind clings to it like smoke on cotton. “NFTs,” you repeat, as though it’s the punchline to a joke he hasn’t told. He takes this as an invitation to launch into what sounds like a memorised TED Talk, and you wonder, briefly, if you could just interrupt him by throwing your drink on his shoes.

“Aitana!” you yell instead, desperate, cutting him off mid-monologue, which he handles with a slightly indignant flick of his eyebrow.

“Where’s my girlfriend? Have you seen her?”

The phrase my girlfriend makes you beam internally. There’s a glow that forms when you think of her, a warmth that starts in your chest and blooms outward. She is, after all, the reason you’re here. The reason you even pretend to tolerate these kinds of social gatherings, with their sunglasses indoors and their endless monologues about digital assets.

He blinks, trying to recover from the abrupt derailment. “Uh, blockchain—”

“Ugh,” you mutter, interrupting again, giving him a very distinct dismissive wave, the kind of wave that says Please stop talking or I will find a way to escape this dimension entirely.

A girl nearby spills beer on your shoes. She mumbles an apology, not that you’re in a state to care; you brush it off. Aitana is the focus, the centre. Shoes don’t matter when you’re looking for someone who does.

Then, finally—finally—you see her. She’s leaning against the far wall, her posture so casual, like she’s posed there on purpose, like she’s an ad for the kind of life you’re pretty sure only exists in those short films that play before foreign films at independent cinemas. She’s listening intently to some guy in an aggressively patterned shirt, nodding along like he’s actually saying something worthwhile, and you can’t help but marvel at the patience it takes to look interested when you’re not.

“Oh my god, she’s so beautiful.” It’s supposed to be a whisper, but it comes out loud enough that a girl nearby laughs. You’re only mildly mortified; who cares? Aitana has just noticed you across the room, and now she’s looking at you with that expression, the one that melts your insides, that says, There you are.

You start walking toward her, though “walking” might be generous. It’s more of a determined stumble, like a baby deer on its first attempt at standing. Your brain registers that you’re approaching her, but your legs aren’t quite sure if they’re fully on board. At some point, you even have to pause and grab a nearby chair for balance, flashing a sheepish grin at a couple nearby who look half-amused, half-concerned.

“Aitanaaaa,” you call, drawing her name out like you’re serenading her. She’s already moving toward you, though, weaving gracefully through the crowd like it’s easy, natural. You think, Of course she’d come to me. Of course she’d know that I need rescuing.

“Hi, cariño,” she says softly, her voice lilting with that soft Spanish accent that, even now, sends a thrill up your spine. And it’s so gentle, so warm, like she’s wrapping you up in some invisible blanket. You lean into it, the warmth, her presence, like a moth to a flame.

“You’re so pretty,” you blurt out, your words tumbling over each other in their eagerness. “Like, stupid pretty. Like, why are you even with me?” Your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, as if the two of you are sharing a secret in a room filled with strangers. “I’m a disaster. I can’t even find the toilet in this place”

She laughs, this soft, lilting sound that feels like honey, thick and golden, spreading warmth from your chest to your fingertips. Her hand settles on your shoulder, steadying you, pulling you closer, and you realise how desperately you want to bury your face in the crook of her neck and just exist there, where things are quiet, soft. She smells faintly floral, and you realise it’s that same perfume she always wears, the one you borrowed once and promptly drenched yourself in until she told you, with a smile, that subtlety might work better.

“Why am I with you?” she echoes, the question hanging there between you, laced with a smile, with that familiar mischief. “Because I love you. And because you’re funny. And because you make my life interesting”

“Interesting?” You narrow your eyes, leaning back slightly, pretending to be offended. “I thought I made your life amazing. Like, top-tier, VIP-section amazing.” You’re about to launch into a whole speech, but your brain hiccups, lost somewhere in a thought that doesn’t quite finish. You grin at her instead, and she just shakes her head, amused.

She grins, and it’s that cheeky, self-assured grin that makes you both melt and want to argue. “That too”

It’s at this moment, this little pause, that you get an idea. It’s not necessarily a good idea, but it’s there, persistent, because your tequila-fuelled brain won’t let it go. “If you were a sandwich,” you say seriously, “you’d be the kind with all the best fillings. Like, avocado and caramelised onions and, like, artisanal cheese. And I’d eat you every day and never get bored”

She laughs, that infectious, melodic sound, and you feel a swell of pride that you can make her laugh like that, even in your current state. Her eyes soften, that look of adoration flickering there, just for you, and she reaches up to brush a strand of hair off your face. Her fingers are warm, soft, and your eyes flutter closed for a moment as they linger on your cheek.

“Come on, let’s get you some water,” she murmurs, her voice gentle as she takes your hand in hers, and there’s a comfort in that touch, in the way her fingers intertwine with yours.

As she guides you through the crowd, you find yourself staring at her hand in yours, marvelling at how naturally it fits, how perfect it feels, as though it’s always meant to be there. The thought makes you feel almost childlike in its simplicity, but you hold onto it.

“You’re the best, you know that?” you say as Aitana threads you through a crowd that’s moving with the sludgy, undulating rhythm of a creature with too many limbs. Faces pass by in flashes of laughing mouths and narrowed eyes, pupils blown wide by God knows what, maybe tequila, maybe… more. None of them matter, though. They’re simply the backdrop to this little tableau: you, lit up and fizzing, tethered to the only person in the world who’d think to take your hand and lead you to salvation (water) instead of just letting you unravel on the sticky floor of someone’s overpriced house.

She looks at you like you’re amusing, like she’s doing you this great favour by holding your hand in public. “I know,” she says, her mouth quirking in that way that makes your chest feel both hollow and unbearably full.

And then you stop—there’s an odd elegance to it, almost like a dance, because she half-turns, looking back at you as if she knew this was coming. Like she’s been expecting you to stop her and do something wild, something foolish. The patience in her eyes, well, it almost feels like she’s giving you permission to make an idiot of yourself. Again.

“I want to kiss you,” you announce, dead serious, as if declaring something truly revolutionary.

“We’re in the middle of a strangers house.” She says this lightly, but she’s already leaning in, her chin tilting, the light catching in her hair just so, like it’s the climax of some impossibly chic music video.

You want to tell her that kissing her here, now, with people everywhere and the taste of cheap tequila in your mouth, is the single most important thing in the world. That nothing in this moment matters, except her—your Aitana, who has somehow, against all reason and logic, decided to love you back.

So, when she presses her mouth to yours, soft, barely-there, like you’re made of fine china, you think you might just melt into the floor. The crowd around you recedes; they fade away, just shadows in the periphery, and it’s as if you and Aitana are standing in a bubble, suspended in time. You’re floating, really, an ethereal, drunk ghost of yourself. She’s kissed you like this a thousand times, but right now, it feels so outrageously perfect that you think, absurdly, that maybe you don’t deserve it. Like you’ve somehow won this cosmic lottery.

When she pulls back, you’re vaguely aware that your mouth is still open, probably looking ridiculous, but she’s smiling at you, all fondness and amusement, as if to say, “Yes, you’re a total disaster, but you’re my disaster.” It’s a little terrifying, if you think about it too long.

“See? This is why you’re the best,” you mumble, clutching her a little tighter, almost swaying in place.

She tilts her head, giving you this look that’s so completely Aitana, so fully her, it borders on cliché. “You’re a mess,” she says, but her eyes are bright, shimmering with something almost mischievous.

You shrug, proud, defiant. “I’m your mess”

“Yes,” she agrees, not even trying to hide her smile, “you are”

And with that, she’s tugging you along, moving with a fluidity that makes you wonder, briefly, if she’s choreographed this entire evening just for you. You’re half-convinced she’s orchestrated the entire universe to align with this moment—the sounds of people talking too loud, the stickiness of the floor, the faint scent of stale beer and expensive perfume all melding into a cocktail that feels uniquely yours. Aitana, your perfect Aitana, leading you through this mire like she’s guiding you through a rainforest or a canyon, somewhere treacherous and fraught with danger.

You stumble into what you desperately hope is the kitchen, but honestly, it could just as easily be a poorly-lit hallway or an oddly-configured living room. Someone has drawn a Sharpie mustache on a framed photo of a golden retriever; the countertop is littered with crumpled napkins and red Solo cups, each one bearing the lipstick marks of strangers.

“I’m gonna drink, like, four litres of water,” you declare, full of bravado, as she hands you a slightly dented plastic cup that smells faintly of gin.

“Good idea,” she replies, crossing her arms and watching you with that expression she gets sometimes, like she’s trying to contain her fondness, keep it manageable, as if loving you too much would somehow be irresponsible. Like her heart could actually explode if she indulged herself too much.

You take a sip, but you’re not really tasting the water. No, you’re watching her, the way she brushes a loose strand of hair out of her face with her pinky, the way her eyes are this exact shade of dark that you’ve spent hours trying to name in your head. Like burnt caramel, maybe, or wet soil. It’s frustratingly poetic, the way she looks at you, like she knows every ridiculous thing you’ve ever thought and loves you for it anyway.

“Aitana,” you say, fully serious, as if you’re about to impart some life-altering wisdom. “You’re my favourite person ever”

“I know,” she replies, but there’s something so gentle in her voice that you’re pretty sure she means it as much as you do. She reaches out, smoothing a stray hair behind your ear, a little gesture, the kind that’s both tender and practical, reminding you of the time she told you to cut your nails because you scratched her during a tickling fit. Practical, pragmatic Aitana, the girl who brings you plasters when you’ve tripped up the stairs and curses in Catalan when she stubs her toe but tries to blame the wall for it.

“No, but like…you don’t understand,” you say, stumbling over your words, the alcohol making you louder and sloppier than you’d like. You lean in closer, conspiratorially, like you’re about to reveal some great cosmic secret. “I’m so in love with you. It’s, like, a problem”

She laughs softly, the sound low and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. She pulls you into her arms, your head pressing against her shoulder, and you breathe her in, that familiar scent that’s all her—floral and a little musky, layered with the faintest hint of some expensive perfume you’ve never bothered to learn the name of.

“It’s not a problem,” she murmurs, smoothing a hand down your back. “It’s perfect”

And it is. Perfect, that is. You’re here, tangled up in her, your thoughts swirling in a chaotic, messy cloud of tequila and love, and it’s perfect in this fragile, unsteady way. You’re her mess, her drunken mess, and there’s something so intensely beautiful about it, you think you might actually cry.

“I’m never letting you go,” you mumble, your words muffled against her shirt, which is soft and smells like laundry detergent.

“Good,” she replies, holding you a little tighter, as if she means it more than anything. “Because I’m not going anywhere”

[pcr-alice]

DPxDC - Missing Persons

also on AO3

It started so quietly no one really noticed.

People were disappearing. A veteran from the mountains, a firefighter from the city, a surfer from the coast, and on and on. All gone without a trace. The local authorities investigated, of course, but they never found any leads. After some time, the people were simply written off as missing, and their communities moved on. They remained forgotten until the Justice League got involved. Their systems flagged the uptick in disappearances, and once a Bat took a look, they were immediately suspicious. It took another Bat before the link was finally found. And it took Red Hood disappearing to confirm it. The missing people all had previous close calls with death. And so the League followed protocol – they announced an investigation.

The disappearances stopped.

It was a relief at first. There were far too many people who fit the profile, and none of their analysis could discern a usable pattern from the previous disappearances. But as time stretched on, they got nervous. Surely whatever this was wouldn’t just stop once noticed? What was going to happen next, and when? Justice League Dark got involved. Only once John Constantine started poking around did they find a lead, and even then only thanks to dumb luck.

When Constantine was finally dragged to the town where one of the early disappearances occurred, he zeroed in on an old woman living in a care home. As it turned out, she was mildly magically sensitive. Apparently her grandmother was a witch or something of that sort. But crucially, she had suffered a nearly fatal heart attack almost a decade ago. And she was all too happy to talk about the ‘nice young man’ from her dream who offered to take her away.

She granted Constantine permission to dive into her memory to learn more. Whatever he learned did not make him happy. He said he’d be back after a quick trip to Hell and disappeared, much to Batman’s irritation. But true to his word, surprising some, he returned with slightly singed clothes and a book.

So here he was, chalking sigils onto the floor. Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and Green Lantern watched him work in silence, likely trying to wrap their minds around the fact that there was a so-called Ghost King who they were about to request an audience with. Constantine finished up his work and stood at what they all assumed was the front of the circle he had just drawn.

“I do all the talking, yeah? These ones can be tricky.”

Without waiting for a response, he waved his hand, magic glowing at his palm. The circle responded in kind, pulsing white then fading into a harsh, vibrant green. A large black, green, and red elaborately-decorated sarcophagus rose inside the circle, appearing to phase straight through the floor.

“Dramatic fuckers, eh?” Constantine muttered.

A thick fog billowed out alongside it, quickly surging out past the boundary of the circle. It spread upward, threatening to fill the entire room. Constantine cursed to himself and waved an arm, clearing out the fog around them even as it thickened throughout the rest of the room, obscuring the view of the ceiling and walls save for the door directly behind them.

A deep voice echoed through the room with no discernible source. Everyone tensed.

“Who would dare wake the sleeping tyrant?”

A pair of bright green slits appeared from the depths of the fog and widened into eyes.

“Eugh, it’s you.”

The voice lost its echo. It sounded annoyed but entirely human and...young? That didn’t stop Constantine from clenching a hand into a fist, charging magic and preparing for an attack. The eyes moved closer, revealing a pale face and snow-white hair that floated in an unfelt breeze.

“Peace, Hellblazer.”

A lanky figure stepped forward onto the sarcophagus from where they were floating. They wore all black save for their white gloves, white boots, and previously visible head. With an audible thunk they plopped down on the foot of the sarcophagus, one leg bent upward to rest their chin on and wrap their arms around.

“I mean you no harm.”

There was a pause as the others waited to see how Constantine would respond.

“We met?”

“No, but I know of you. And I must admit, I’m disappointed to see you working with the likes of them.”

They gestured to the others in the room.

“Yeah, well,” Constantine relaxed his fist but lost none of his tension, “Don’t meet your heroes.”

The stranger scoffed.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just enjoy seeing demons annoyed.”

There was another tense pause as the stranger lazily looked over all those present. Constantine broke the silence again.

“Who might you be, then?”

The stranger slowly dragged their gaze away from Wonder Woman and back to the magician. After a pause they spoke.

“You may call me Ambassador.”

“Ambassador to ghosts?”

“If you’d like to think of it that way.”

Constantine straightened his posture.

“We would like to formally request an audience with His Majesty The King to discuss what we suspect is ghost activity in our world.”

The ambassador stared back in silence with squinted eyes before sighing and thumping their forehead to their knee.

“Where to even begin…” they whispered to themselves.

“Okay, let’s start with this.” They slapped the side of the sarcophagus and looked up. “What part of ‘sleeping tyrant’ wasn’t clear?”

“I was under the impression His Majesty was recently crowned and well-respected?”

The ambassador pinched the bridge of their nose and groaned.

“Ancients...”

They hopped to the ground without warning, causing everyone to flinch into defensive stances. If the ambassador noticed, they gave no indication.

“The king is a tyrant, he is trapped in forever sleep again, and I’d like to keep it that way this time.”

Constantine opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted before he got a chance.

“Speaking of which, how’d you even summon him?”

“Summon?” Constantine choked out, clearly surprised.

The ambassador walked toward Constantine, making everyone save for him slide backwards a step. They looked down at the chalk marks on the floor.

“Ancients, this is archaic. Where’d you find it?”

After a few seconds of silence, the ambassador looked up at Constantine.

“Well?”

“Ah...Merlin.”

The ambassador raised an eyebrow.

“What? It’s bloody true!”

The ambassador huffed out a laugh and walked back to lean against the sarcophagus and cross their arms.

“Can’t fault his demonology, but this circle is Bad. I suggest you lose it.”

Constantine opened his mouth to speak, but was once again interrupted, this time from an unfamiliar voice echoing through the room.

“Lord Phantom.”

Everyone flinched as a set of black armor coated in purple flames stepped into view from the fog.

“’Sup Frighty?”

“The dark one is marked.”

The ambassador flicked their eyes to Batman and stared for several tense seconds.

“So he is. Just like the other one, but actually concealed. Must be barely contaminated.”

The ambassador squinted and tilted their head.

“Sure enough. It’s weak, but there’s a family bond there.”

Batman clenched his fist.

“Where is Red Hood?”

The ambassador straightened their head, unflinching and unblinking.

“Safe. And being cared for.”

Before Batman could respond, yet another voice echoed from the fog.

“These are the ones?”

The ambassador turned their back to Batman and groaned.

“Is anyone not coming?”

A giant, four-armed, blue-skinned, armor-clad woman stepped out of the fog with two sets of crossed arms. She had the smallest smirk on her face.

“Apologies. I wished to see those who would obstruct our evacuation.”

Superman and Green Lantern perked up and shared a short look of confusion. The woman turned her head to Wonder Woman, her smirk replaced with a grimace.

“I am disappointed to see one of my kin among them.”

“I thought she might be, but I wasn’t sure.”

Wonder Woman stepped forward.

“My Lady, I –”

“You were not asked to speak, Child.” The woman snapped.

Her voice shook the floor underneath them. Wonder Woman flinched and stared up at her with wide eyes. The heroes tensed for a fight. But to their shock, Wonder Woman slowly raised her arm to press a fist over her heart and bowed her head in deference.

“I will make my displeasure known,” the woman growled, voice still angry but no longer violently.

“Take Dora with you.”

“Do you think me unable to fend for myself, Little One?” Her mouth curved up into a fond smirk again.

“I know better than to doubt you,” they briefly smirked back, “but given my limited experience, I don’t hold them in high regard.”

After a pause they tacked on a “no offense”.

“None taken.”

The woman stepped backwards and faded into the fog. Superman took a step forward, eyeing the armor cautiously.

“Ambassador, my apologies for our unpleasant first meeting.”

He waited until the ambassador gave him a slight nod.

“May I inquire what your companion meant by ‘evacuation’?”

“Exactly what she said. Our kind are being hunted, and we are trying to save them.”

“In that case I must apologize again. We were not aware of this unfortunate situation. Had we been provided an explanation, we would –”

“Typical,” the ambassador scoffed, “your primary patron government is committing a genocide, and yet we’re at fault for not properly informing you.”

Superman was smart enough to bite back his standard “we’re independent” retort. Green Lantern stepped forward instead.

“If I may, Ambassador, my name is Hal Jordan. I am a member of the Green Lantern Corps. We are a wholly independent organization dedicated to peacekeeping across the galaxy.”

The ambassador looked him up and down slowly before turning their head away dismissively.

“I don’t talk to cops.”

The heroes were stunned to silence. The ambassador turned to the floating armor.

“Prepare the Keep. I’ll ward against this circle once the sarcophagus is back in its place.”

“My Lord.”

The armor bowed its head then faded into the fog. Batman stepped forward.

“We have no involvement in the violence against you or your kind.”

The ambassador turned to stare at Batman for several seconds, squinted eyes glowing brightly.

“You’re an excellent liar, Batman.” The fog crept forward and wrapped around their legs. “Unfortunately, I know you’re full of shit.”

“What points you to that conclusion?” Batman kept his voice neutral and steady.

The fog had risen to the ambassador’s chest. They scoffed.

“There are photos of you with Amanda Waller.”

Batman’s fist clenched harder.

The ambassador turned to look at Constantine as the fog enveloped them, leaving two glowing green spots.

“I suggest you not push this any further, Laughing Magician. There are some things in this universe that trump even your luck.”

The glowing green eyes closed, and the fog faded away, leaving an empty summoning circle and untouched room. After several seconds of silence, Wonder Woman finally raised her head and spoke.

“I must return to Themyscira, perhaps for some time. If that was who I believe it to be...something has gone very wrong.”

Superman glanced over the others, who were all still silently processing the encounter. He turned back to Wonder Woman to give her a nod, and she quickly walked out of the room.

Constantine reached into his coat and pulled out his flask. He unscrewed the cap with a heavy sigh and downed whatever was left. He looked tired and annoyed, same as he always did. But Batman could tell he was shaken.

He looked away from Constantine and back to the empty circle again. There was a lot of concerning information to process, but one key thing did slip through. The knight had called the stranger ‘Phantom’. He had come across that name once before. One of three legible words on a burnt piece of paper in an abandoned and destroyed facility. A facility that stank of a classified government cover-up. A facility Waller had sworn up and down she knew nothing about. But he had a lead. The other two words. Amity Park. A small town that only existed if you looked at paper maps printed several years ago.

He had to act quickly.

[fear-is-truth]

how would patrick react if you decided to get back with him because you missed him?

https://www.tumblr.com/fear-is-truth/769447057976115200/how-do-you-think-patrick-will-react-when-you-try?source=share

breaking up then getting back together with patrick bateman .ᐟ.ᐟ

tw ; violent fantasies, allusions to sex & murder

part one here | • a/n: sorry if it’s ooc; i rlly tried

when patrick bateman opens the door, he is already bracing for his downstairs neighbor—the insufferable bitch who always complains about his morning jump rope routine. he has the same rehearsed excuse lined up, something about “the physics of soundproofing in luxury buildings” followed by a swift door slam in her face. even as his mouth is ready to deliver it, part of him is fantasising about cutting off those ears with a serrated blade and sending them as a gift, maybe with a tasteful balenciaga ribbon.

but it’s not her.

it’s you.

patrick blinks, his entire body stiffening, like his brain short-circuits for a seconds. you’re standing there, in the hall, and he doesn’t know what to say. for weeks, he’s been trying to erase your absence—or at least dull it—by throwing himself into other pursuits (fucking prostitutes who vaguely resemble you, at least in the right light) and nightly excursions into back alleys with a knife. but now, you’re here, standing in front of him, and he feels… blindsided.

his eyes sweep over you instinctively, taking in every detail of your outfit. the shoes you’re wearing are gucci—acceptable. still well-kept but with a slight scuff on the side. he notices the faint wear on the soles and thinks about how he’d replace them for you if he could. the dress—valentino, tailored well, though the stitching at the hem could have been tighter, sexier. your body deserves better, patrick thinks with a slight pang in his chest, prettier than you give yourself credit for, prettier than the way you dress.

then his gaze catches on the necklace. cartier. an elegant piece with a single pendant that rests at your collarbone.

before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “that necklace… it’s a good look on you.”

your hand immediately drifts up to the pendant. you touch it lightly, almost shyly,

“patrick… you bought me this. remember?”

he does.

the memory hits him like blunt force trauma, dragging him back to valentine’s day. he’d spent months securing a reservation at dorsia—screaming matches with disinterested reservation mangers over the phone, begging, bribery. it had all paid off when you walked in wearing that pink chanel dress—soft, romantic, a shade that reminded him of fresh roses. it fit you like a glove, like you’d stepped straight out of a vogue magazine. you’d squealed when he handed you the tiny cartier box across the table, your eyes wide, so bright. even patrick believed that day was perfect.

and, of course, the night. he remembers that, too. vividly. the way you were both tangled in his egyptian sheets, the way your perfume and sweat lingered on his skin after.

his mouth opens slightly, then closes. the silence stretches between you, thick and awkward, until patrick finally steps aside and motions for you to come in.

for the first time in weeks, patrick bateman feels… something. he’s not sure what “something” is, though. relief? hope? pathetic gratitude? he doesn’t know, and he hates not knowing. what he does know is this: whatever void you left behind, nothing—not the women, not even the killings—ever came close to filling it.

𝜗ϱ ┆ shock & silence

patrick wouldn’t know how to react at first. when you show up at his door, he’d open it, expecting another downstairs neighbor—bitching about the noises he makes when working out—but seeing you there would render him momentarily speechless. there’d be no theatrical display of relief or joy. instead, he’d stare at you in silence, until..

“you’re here,”

𝜗ϱ ┆ letting you in back into his world

patrick would step aside, letting you into his pristine apartment. the act of letting you back into his space would be his version of an emotional response—a silent acknowledgment of your importance to him.

he wouldn’t ask why you came back, at least not immediately. part of him would be terrified that questioning your return might push you away again. instead, he’d default to his usual routines, offering you a drink (with a coaster, of course) as though nothing had happened.

“do you want a perrier? or… something stronger?”

𝜗ϱ ┆ processing your return

while he wouldn’t outwardly express much, patrick would be reeling internally. your absence would have deeply shaken him, even if he didn’t fully understand why. in your time apart, he’d tried to fill the void with meaningless hookups and violence—screwing sex workers who vaguely resembled you, killing homeless people—but nothing could satisfy him. your return would force him to confront feelings he doesn’t have the tools to process... patrick doesn’t feel love in the traditional sense, but he’s capable of obsession and fixation, and you are irreplaceable in his world.

𝜗ϱ ┆ a shift in his behaviour

despite his relief at your return, patrick would remain on edge. deep down, he knows he’s incapable of forming a normal, healthy relationship, and the fear of losing you again would eat at him. you’d notice him becoming even more meticulous and controlling than before, as he’s trying to construct a perfect version of reality where you never leave again.

[redvexillum]

A/N: Please be gentle with me during Smutmas, my writing sort of feels like it deteriorated. But to @redfoxwritesstuff you have my permission to pop party poppers around her when she posts her story tomorrow. She dislikes colours /nsrs

SUMMARY: You have reunited with Alastor in Hell, and after celebrating a holiday party at the hotel, he decided to take you back to his room. He has a gift for you, after all, and it’s meant to make up for all the missed opportunities you two had back when you were both alive.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, soft!alastor, somnophilia, tentacle s♡x, p in v, overstimulation, oral s♡x (m!receiving), established relationship, past human relationship with alastor mentioned

The room was a sanctuary of quiet intimacy, a haven far removed from the cacophony of the holiday party outside. The heady aroma of the bayou mingled with something ineffably him—earthy, dark, and comforting. You inhaled deeply, the scent curling through your senses like a caress, as you swayed slightly. The spirits you’d indulged in earlier still buzzed warmly in your veins, giving the moment a hazy, golden hue. 

Alastor stood with his back to you, his silhouette framed by the low flicker of ambient light. He’d whisked you away from the festivities, murmuring something about a gift. The word had lingered, foreign on his tongue—he wasn’t one for giving, not like this. In all the time since your reunion in Hell, you couldn’t recall him ever presenting you with anything tangible. 

"Al?" Your voice was a gentle tease, the nickname rolling off your lips with the kind of easy familiarity that made your chest ache. A giggle bubbled up, warm and effervescent, the alcohol making your joy feel boundless. 

You caught the faintest intake of breath before he turned to face you, and the sight sent your laughter spilling over. There he stood, cheeks tinged with a rare pink flush, a comical yet oddly endearing bow pinned to his chest—a stark forest green against his usual ensemble—he was a walking Christmas decoration. The contrast of the absurdity with his usual self-assured demeanour made the sight even sweeter. 

“Am I supposed to unwrap you, Al?” you teased, your laughter falling into the space between you. You saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes—he must have remembered Angel Dust’s teasing question to you the week before about what you wanted for Christmas. 

Without thought, your body moved toward him, an instinct as natural as breathing. Your arms slid around his waist, your head tilting up to meet his gaze. 

“You could’ve asked for anything, cher,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, like a melody meant only for you. His arms wound around you, pulling you closer. “Anything.” 

The words struck a chord that resonated deep within you, their weight pulling you back to memories you’d tried so hard to bury. Before death, fate had been a cruel mistress, ensuring your lives had brushed against each other without ever fully entwining. You had died first, your last breath spent shaping his name in a barely audible whisper. 

“Alastor,” you said now, his name a prayer, a plea, a promise. 

His grin softened, and for once, the edges seemed less sharp, less dangerous. His hands rose to cradle your face, his touch achingly tender. His lips brushed yours in a fleeting kiss, a whisper of what was to come, before he dipped lower, capturing you more fully, tasting you as though he’d been starved for centuries. 

In this place, there were no barriers—no rigid societal expectations, no cruel husband to keep you chained to despair. Hell, for all its torment, had given you the one thing life had denied: him. Wrapped in his arms, you felt an unshakeable truth—you could endure anything, so long as he was by your side. 

“Do I get to unwrap my gift now?” you asked breathlessly, pulling back just enough to toy with the satin ribbon at his chest. Your fingers traced its silken loops before catching the end of the bow. Slowly, teasingly, you pulled, the ribbon unravelling with a soft whisper. 

Before you could revel in your playful victory, a sharp snap of his fingers sent a shiver skittering across your skin. The temperature shifted, a sudden, electric charge filling the air. Looking down, your eyes widened in astonishment. You were completely bare, while he remained impeccably dressed, the undone ribbon dangling mockingly against his chest. 

His grin grew, all teeth and mischief, his voice honeyed with amusement. “My, my, cher, you do get to unwrap your gift... but I thought it only fair to claim mine in return.” 

Before you could retort, he guided you to the bed—its crimson sheets flawlessly pristine. You rolled your eyes, only for the motion to be cut short as he turned you to face him. His hands found your waist, and in a sudden collision of bodies, he tumbled you both onto the bed. 

The mattress cradled you as he loomed above, his frame bracketing you in. His grin never faltered, the faint glow in his eyes smouldering with something darker, hungrier. The world outside ceased to exist, replaced by the magnetic pull between you, and the unmistakable sense that you had never been more wanted. 

The atmosphere between you simmered with tension, the kind that sent electricity crackling over your skin and left your breath coming in shallow gasps. Alastor's grin was sharp, mischievous, as he leaned in closer, the weight of his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. 

“Let’s see,” he purred, his voice rich and low, wrapping around you like velvet. His hips pressed forward, and the firm heat of his arousal met your core, a jolt of sensation tearing through you. “My gift to you is making up for all the missed...” He paused, his grin widening as he rolled his hips ever so slightly, the friction drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. “...opportunities.” 

“Missed opportunities?” you murmured, your tone a sultry challenge as your fingers drifted to the buttons of his trousers. Your touch was teasing, light, deliberately slow as you felt the way his body tensed beneath your fingertips. 

His forehead dropped to yours, his crimson gaze locking with yours, and for a brief moment, the playful glint in his eyes gave way to something deeper, more ravenous. “And your gift to me…” His lips brushed against your nose, his grin softening into something almost tender. “Is your soul.” He kissed you again, a quick, fleeting press of his lips. “Ah, figuratively speaking, of course.” 

A laugh bubbled from you, soft and genuine, though your voice trembled with the undercurrent of arousal. “Naturally.” 

For a moment, time seemed to stop. His gaze softened as he studied you, as if etching every curve, every detail, into his memory. Then, as though compelled by something far beyond words, he kissed you again. This time, it was slower, lingering, his lips moulding to yours with an almost reverent hunger. 

His free hand drifted downward, deftly undoing the buttons of his pants. The air between you grew thick with anticipation, the faint sound of fabric shifting almost drowned out by the quiet, shared breaths and the soft, broken moans slipping past your lips. 

“Cher,” he whispered, the word dripping with longing as his forehead stayed pressed to yours. His hips moved, dragging the head of his cock down through your slick folds, sending a shiver racing down your spine. His lips barely parted from yours, the taste of rye and something darker lingering in the kiss. “Cher,” he sighed again, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance, pulsing with restrained need. 

Your legs wrapped around his hips, urging him forward, and the sensation of him stretching you, filling you inch by inch, stole your breath. The molten heat of him seared into you, leaving you trembling beneath his touch. 

“A-Al,” you gasped, your voice breaking as you clung to him, needing him deeper, closer. His groan vibrated against your throat as his head dropped to the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. 

The moment his hips met yours fully, he stilled, shuddering against you. His claws threaded through your hair, their tips grazing your scalp, sending a tingle of sensation. His cock throbbed within you, the intensity of his presence overwhelming. 

The soft fabric of his suit teased your skin, your hardened nipples brushing against the lapels. Heat built between you, your clit pulsing with aching need. A small, desperate moan escaped you, and Alastor chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through you. 

“My, my, how awfully impatient, darling,” he teased, though his tone was thick with lust. Without warning, he drew back and thrust forward sharply, the force drawing a sharp cry from your lips. 

He pulled back, his grin morphing into something more wicked, more predatory. Sitting upright, he kept himself buried deep inside you, his sharp red eyes alight with sadistic glee. Shrugging off his jacket, he let it fall carelessly to the floor before setting to work on his shirt buttons. His hips rolled against you with a steady rhythm, pulling soft whimpers from your throat as he worked. 

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice heavy with a mix of affection and delight. His claws fumbled with one stubborn button before he tore the shirt open, the buttons flying, a few bouncing harmlessly against your skin. The fabric joined his jacket on the floor, revealing a chest marred with scars. 

Your gaze lingered on them, but before you could look too closely, his fingers gripped your chin, forcing your eyes back to his. “Eyes on me, cher,” he commanded, his tone sharp, yet dripping with desire. 

He thrust hard, the slap of skin meeting skin filling the air as you cried out, your walls tightening around him. “Good girl,” he murmured, his cock pressing against the sensitive spot deep within you, drawing another desperate moan from your lips. 

He hadn’t changed—not truly. Alastor was still a contradiction, a walking paradox of hard and soft, cruel and kind, cold and impossibly gentle. 

His pace quickened, the friction between you building until every nerve in your body felt alight with pleasure. The wet sounds of your arousal mingled with his laboured breaths, and you felt the tension coil tighter and tighter, drawing you to the edge. 

Just as you were about to fall, he buried himself deep with a final, forceful thrust. His teeth gritted, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as his release flooded into you, hot and thick. He moved lazily, shallow thrusts prolonging the sensation as he spilled every last drop, your walls clenching greedily around him. 

He slowed his thrusts to a near standstill, the aching stretch of him buried deep inside you. His chest heaved above you, rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm, as if savouring the moment. His hands pressed firmly into the mattress on either side of your head, caging you beneath him. His eyes glinted with something dark, something possessive, as he leaned closer. His thumb brushed a damp strand of hair away from your sweat-slick cheek, the gesture almost tender. 

“Don’t worry, cher,” he murmured, his voice a low, sultry promise that sent shivers racing down your spine. “The night isn’t over yet.” 

Before you could respond, his form dissolved into shadow, leaving only a fleeting warmth where his body had pressed against yours. A gasp escaped you as he reappeared beneath you, his sudden shift causing a rush of his seed to slip free from your core. Strong arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you flush against his chest. His warmth seeped into your skin as his breath brushed against your ear. 

“Alastor?” His name tumbled from your lips, barely a whisper, the question laced with curiosity and anticipation. But his answer was not words—it was action. His fingers found your swollen clit with ease, circling it with maddening precision. “Ah!” you cried out, your head falling back against his shoulder. 

Your thighs quivered as your legs fell apart instinctively, granting him full access to your trembling body. His chuckle rumbled against your back, a dark, pleased sound that only heightened the heat pooling in your belly. 

As his seed lazily trickled from your entrance, a cool, gelatinous pressure filled you, making you gasp. The sensation was unlike anything else—a shadowy tendril easing its way inside, gliding with ease. “O-oh,” you stammered, your gaze dropping to the writhing darkness between your legs. 

The tendril curled, brushing against your most sensitive spot with unerring precision. “Th-that’s…” Your voice faltered, stolen by the mounting waves of pleasure. 

Each deliberate motion of the tendril sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, your inner walls clenching around the inky form. Alastor’s fingers, however, were merciless. They danced over your clit with a teasing rhythm, bringing you to the edge only to stop, denying you release. 

Your breath hitched, and frustration bubbled in your chest as you squirmed against him. The corners of his mouth twitched with suppressed amusement, his grin as infuriating as it was captivating. “Patience, cher,” he purred, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. 

That kiss spoke of unspoken promises, of history shared between you—a silent claim that you were his. 

“Cher, you can hold on longer, can’t you?” 

“Cher, let me have this just a little more…” 

“Cher, my darling… stay with me forever…” 

Each whispered plea dripped with longing, wrapping around your heart even as your body begged for release. Soft mewls escaped your lips, your abdomen tightening as you teetered on the brink. But just as you thought you’d fall over the edge, his movements stopped entirely. 

“Al, please,” you whimpered, the words trembling with desperation. 

But no answer came. Instead, you felt his breath grow softer against your skin, his touch slackening. 

The soft cadence of Alastor’s breath ghosted over your damp skin, and the weight of his wrist rested limply against your thigh. For a moment, you thought he was catching his breath—teasing you with the stillness of his body before surging to life again. But as the seconds stretched into an eternity, the truth hit you like a cold slap.

He had fallen asleep.

Your chest heaved with indignation and disbelief. The shadow tendril nestled deep within you remained still, its presence a cruel tease against your quivering walls. Every nerve in your body was strung tight, the edge of an impending climax so tantalizingly close yet utterly unreachable. The audacity of him—Alastor!—to leave you hanging like this was almost enough to spark genuine outrage.

Desperation clawed at your senses, and your gaze fell to the inky black tendril still rooted inside you. A spark of determination flared as your trembling fingers trailed down to your abdomen, tracing the faint bulge the tendril made as it rested within you. You bit your lip, resolving to take matters into your own hands.

But just as your fingers brushed your swollen clit, a cold, serpentine tendril coiled around your wrist, halting your movements.

“What th—mmph!” Your protest was cut short as another shadow slipped between your parted lips, pressing insistently against your tongue. Shock and indignation flooded your senses, but they were quickly overshadowed by surprise as multiple tendrils sprouted from Alastor’s form beneath you.

Before you could react, they lifted you effortlessly into the air, suspending you above the bed like some obscene starfish. Your limbs were splayed wide, leaving you utterly exposed, while Alastor remained oblivious below you.

A flush of heat rose to your cheeks—not from arousal this time, but sheer disbelief. “Are you kidding me?!” you wanted to scream, but the tendril in your mouth reduced your complaints to muffled, garbled sounds.

The shadows pulsed and writhed, their cool, slick texture a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your overstimulated skin. One tendril inside you shifted, dragging ever so slightly against your inner walls, and your breath hitched despite yourself. The sensation sent a jolt of delicious pleasure coursing through you, making your toes curl in response.

“Alastor…” you moaned around the obstruction in your mouth, your voice a mix of frustration and pleading. But he didn’t stir—not even when his shadows began to move with more intent, exploring and teasing your body with eerie autonomy.

You tried to wriggle free, tried to regain some semblance of control, but the tendrils held you firm, their grip unyielding. The one within you began to pump lazily, its pace maddeningly slow, as if savouring your predicament. Another coiled around your waist, pressing you down, while a thinner tendril circled your sensitive clit, brushing it in featherlight strokes that sent shivers up your spine.

Your body betrayed you, arching into the relentless sensations.

The tendril in your mouth withdrew briefly, allowing you to gasp for air. “Al-Alastor,” you managed to rasp, glaring up at the ceiling. “You’re—mmph!” Your words were cut off as the shadow returned, plunging deeper and muffling any further complaints.

Your body burned with overstimulation, your walls pulsing around the tendril that began to move again, gliding in and out with excruciating slowness. Its tip curled, grazing your g-spot with surgical precision, the sensation making your toes curl. The obscene sound of slickness filled the room, each thrust sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. 

Tears pricked your eyes as the denial of release became unbearable, but the tendril between your legs showed no mercy. It swirled against your inner walls, driving you higher and higher, until the coil in your belly snapped violently. 

Your body convulsed, a scream muffled by the tendril in your mouth as your orgasm tore through you like a raging inferno. But the tendrils did not stop. They pressed on, their relentless movements prolonging your pleasure until it blurred into overstimulation. 

Another orgasm built, faster and sharper than the first, and your head lolled back as tears spilled freely down your cheeks. Your muscles twitched violently, your hips bucking as another wave of ecstasy crashed over you, leaving you trembling and spent. 

Before you could catch your breath, the tendrils shifted, flipping you onto your stomach and angling your hips upward. Your lips were now mere inches from Alastor’s softened cock, lying exposed against his trousers. His tendrils, however, showed no signs of stopping. 

The one inside you continued its rhythmic pumping, keeping you teetering on the edge of pleasure and overstimulation. Your body quaked as yet another orgasm loomed, relentless and inescapable. And still, Alastor slept.

You were trapped between torment and ecstasy, held captive by his powers even in his unconscious state. Each movement of the tendrils, every teasing caress, reminded you that you were his in every sense of the word—and he, whether awake or asleep, owned you completely. 

The shadow tendril withdrew from your mouth in a slow, languid motion, leaving you gasping for air. Saliva trickled from your lips, pooling in shimmering droplets on Alastor’s cock. The sensation stirred him slightly, a twitch signalling his body’s eager response to your presence. Your limbs, trembling and weak, were now bound snugly behind your back by the same inky restraints. Gradually, they guided your body downward, your lips brushing against his softening member. 

A faint exhale escaped you, warm against his sensitive skin, and his cock twitched in reply, stirring to life as blood began to fill him once more. 

“Alastor…” you murmured, your voice rough and tinged with the weight of exhaustion and desire. The air was thick with the scent of sex—a heady, intoxicating blend of sweat, musk, and release. Just as a fresh wave of sensation overtook you, the tendril inside you shifted, pressing deeply against your cervix. Your mouth fell open in a soundless cry. 

A slender tendril of shadow slithered around the base of Alastor’s cock, guiding his thickening length toward your lips. Inch by inch, it slid past your tongue, filling your mouth with salty, musky warmth—the combined flavour of both of you. 

“D-darling…” Alastor’s voice cracked faintly, a low, drowsy murmur. His hips jolted the moment your tongue swirled around his sensitive tip, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he was awake. But the lazy thrusts of his tendrils inside you told another story. He was still lost in his dreams, his powers acting entirely of their own volition. 

The thought sent a shiver through you. You wondered if Alastor dreamt of you, dreamt of this. 

Your lips tightened into a seal around his now fully hardened cock, your head bobbing slowly as you savoured the weight of him on your tongue. Each movement was purposeful, drawing out his pleasure as you worked him with your mouth. The wet sounds of your efforts filled the room, each slurp and suck echoing alongside the squelching rhythm of the tendril thrusting inside you. 

Your breath hitched when the tendril quickened its pace, its thick, writhing form pushing you toward another peak. “Mmf—!” Your cries were muffled by Alastor’s length, his cock throbbing insistently against your tongue as you gagged lightly. Immense pleasure overwhelmed your senses; every nerve ending felt raw, every touch electric. 

The tendril inside you coiled and thrust, dragging against every sensitive spot with ruthless precision. When it pressed hard against your cervix once more, your body seized, and a scream tried to escape around his cock. Spasms wracked your frame as a gush of wet warmth spilled from your core. 

Alastor’s body responded in kind. His hips bucked, his cock surging deeper into your throat as a guttural growl escaped his lips. Thick ropes of his release filled your mouth, the bitter saltiness coating your tongue and sliding down your throat. You swallowed instinctively, your breath shuddering as the tendrils binding you moved once more. 

They flipped you effortlessly, turning you to face Alastor’s peaceful visage. His expression was serene, utterly unaware of the chaos unfolding around him. Shadows curled and slithered along your body, their cool touch contrasting with the heat of your overstimulated skin. 

“Al-Alastor…” you rasped, voice breaking on a moan as the tendrils grew thicker, stretching you to your limits. The slick noises of their movements mingled with your cries, filling the room with the notes of your surrender. “H-how many…?” you whimpered, your words dissolving into incoherence as one tendril flicked over your swollen clit. 

Tears welled in your eyes as another orgasm built, your body trembling with the relentless onslaught of pleasure. Alastor’s earlier promise echoed faintly in your mind—he’d make up for all the missed opportunities.

You hadn’t expected this.

The tendrils’ rhythm grew merciless, coaxing another scream from your lips as they found another perfect spot deep within you. Your body convulsed, overwhelmed by yet another climax, the waves of pleasure crashing over you with brutal force. 

For a fleeting moment, you hated him—hated his unrelenting power, hated his absence at this moment. But beneath that frustration burned something deeper, something primal: a longing for him to see what he did to you, to witness how completely he owned you. 

As you trembled through the aftershocks, you swore you’d make him pay for this. When morning came, you’d demand retribution—a night where you held the reins, where you edged him to the brink of madness. 

But for now, as the tendrils shifted again, coaxing yet another orgasm from your spent body, you could only give in to his power. You clung to the pleasure, to the rare, dizzying sensation of being utterly ravished. 

A weak, breathless laugh escaped you as his arms instinctively curled around your trembling form. His shadows retreated, their touch replaced by the steady warmth of his hands. 

Your muscles quaked as the final wave of bliss overtook you, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion pulled at your limbs. Somewhere in the haze, Alastor stirred, his his crimson eyes opening to find you sprawled and trembling in the aftermath of his power. His grin widened as realization dawned. “My, my, cher… it seems I missed quite the show.” 

“You’ve always had such a soothing presence on my twisted soul,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety hum that wrapped around you like a warm, toasty blanket. His eyes softened as he pressed a tender kiss to your sweat-damp brow. “I haven’t rested this well in ages,” he added, his words brushing against your skin like a gentle caress.

His arms pulled you closer, his embrace firm yet comforting, as if shielding you from the world. “I’ll take care of you properly in the morning… so rest now, cher” he whispered, his voice trailing off into a soft hum.

You couldn’t help but relax into him, the weight of his arms around you melting away the tension that had held you so tightly. Your eyelids grew heavy, each blink slower than the last, as his warmth seeped into your bones. His presence was a lullaby, coaxing you into a peace you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

As you drifted into the edges of sleep, a faint smile curved your lips, your body thoroughly spent but your soul somehow alight. Indulging in the quiet hum of his breathing, you felt a rare sense of satisfaction settle over you, a fullness that made you feel whole in a way you hadn’t dared to dream of.

But just as the lullaby of slumber began to pull you under, you thought you heard it—soft, so soft you almost dismissed it as a figment of your imagination.

“My love.”

The words lingered, wrapping around your drowsy mind like a bittersweet ribbon. Your heart stuttered, warmth blooming in your chest, only to be tempered by the ache of reality. A faint, forlorn smile tugged at your lips, even as exhaustion claimed you.

That couldn’t be right. Alastor… he didn’t do love. Not in his lifetime, nor the next.

For someone like him, love was an abstraction, a concept too fragile for the sharp edges of his world. And for someone like you, love was a distant star, shining brightly but always unreachable.

Still, it was nice to imagine.

Just for tonight, you allowed yourself the indulgence. To believe, even fleetingly, that you were his love. That in the quiet moments when the world felt so far away, and it was just the two of you, he might feel something more.

For tonight, it was enough.

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[focusonkayjay]

between the ride and the roses (11)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 5.8k

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: explicit content, mature language, mentions of strained marriage, divorce, expectations etc

A/N: so many things happening in this chapter and ahhh this jungkook is such a dream. when is it my turn to experience something like this?? like when are these fantasies going to come to life. anyways, i love where this is going and can't wait to upload the next chapter, stay tuned !!

part 11: cruising in the wildflower meadows

It’s Friday now, and the town is slowly slipping back into its usual rhythm after the frenzy of the town fair. The streets are quieter, the market stalls no longer filled with bright lights and bustling voices. The buzz of the fair has faded, leaving only the soft, steady hum of the regular daily life.

It's been two days since the fair and the unforgettable moment you and Jungkook shared at the beach, and though the days have been filled with work and routine, you can't seem to shake the memory of it. The kiss, the apology, the way he held you so close... it still feels so vivid even now, just like the moment it happened, and a soft smile curls on your lips whenever you catch yourself thinking about it.

You can’t help but look forward to Sunday, because that's when you both have planned to go out on a date as both of you have your day off then. Jungkook had kept the details of the date a mystery, only telling you to be ready by 4 p.m. and that he would come to pick you up.

The anticipation is thrilling but also nerve-wracking. What’s he planning? What’s this date going to be like? You don’t know, but you’re excited, and you can’t wait to see him again.

Today, however, after a long day of tending to customers, something shifts inside you. You suddenly have this overwhelming urge to see him. For some reason, you couldn’t catch even the briefest glimpse of Jungkook all day, and you feel a little disappointed.

You want to see him, to talk to him, to just be in his presence again. So once you close up for the day, you decide a short visit next door wouldn't hurt.

Carrying your bag on your shoulder, you head towards his place next door. You don’t exactly know why you want to see him, maybe you just miss him, maybe you just want to see him up close. But as you walk towards his shop, you realize how you've been feeling lighter and brighter these days, ever since everything between you and Jungkook started to click.

The evening air is crisp, as you walk towards his shop, your heart beating a little faster with each step. When you reach the window, you stop to peer inside, holding your breath. Through the glass, you spot him in the center of the shop, bent over a bike, his hands working diligently.

He’s so focused, so absorbed in his work, you can’t help but stare. You hesitate for a moment, taking in the scene. He looks… absolutely irresistible. He's sporting a pair of navy blue mechanic overalls, the kind that hug his broad frame just right, outlining the muscles of his chest and arms as he moves.

The fabric stretches and pulls with every motion, highlighting his strength and grace in a way that leaves you momentarily breathless. His hair is slightly damp, a few strands falling over his forehead, and the hint of sweat on his skin only adds to his rugged allure.

His face is filled with concentration, a few beads of sweat dripping down the side of his temple. The sight of him like this, so raw and focused, has you feeling some type of way.

It’s almost too much to handle... the roughness of the mechanic look mixed with the soft, intimate aura surrounding him, a contrast that stirs something deep inside you.

As you stand there, your heart races, and a rush of warmth spreads throughout your body. The longer you watch him, the thicker the air seems to grow, the space between you charged with something unspoken.

Even though he still doesn’t seem to notice you, so engrossed in his work, you just can’t stop staring. His hands are steady and skilled as they move over the bike, his body leaning into the task, his face so focused that it almost makes your throat go dry.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, somehow he glances up, his gaze locking with yours through the window. Time seems to slow as his eyes meet yours, and for a brief, fleeting moment, there’s this unspoken connection.

His expression lights up the minute he sees you, and he's quick to drop all the work he's doing. He hastily wipes his hands with the rag near him, his movements sharp and urgent, as if he's been waiting for this moment.

Without a word, he makes his way towards the door, his footsteps quick as a smile adorns his lips, almost as if he wants to close the distance between you as fast as possible. When he pulls the door open and steps outside, the first thing that hits you is just how insanely good he looks.

The overalls hug his body in a way that leaves little to the imagination, the fabric stretched taut over his chest and shoulders, a reminder of just how strong he is. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing the intricate tattoos on his forearms. The sight of them, along with the slight sheen of sweat on his skin, makes your knees feel weak.

He takes a step closer, his hands holding the door open as he innocently looks at you. His gaze is calm, clueless about the wild thoughts racing through your mind.

Your heart races, each thump growing louder in your ears. You try to steady yourself, but the proximity of him as he walks towards you, is making everything spin. All you can think about is how gorgeous he looks, how he simply approaches you so casually, completely unaware of the storm he’s stirring inside of you.

He stands right in front of you, his lips curling into a soft smile. There’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he notices your flustered state, though he doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he breaks the silence gently. “Why are you standing outside? Come on in.” he says, walking towards you, his hand reaching out in a simple, inviting gesture.

You hesitate for a moment before slipping your hand into his, the warmth of his touch sending an unexpected shiver up your spine. He guides you inside, and as the door swings shut behind you, the world outside feels like it’s miles away.

Once you’re in the middle of the shop, he turns to face you fully. “Hi.” he says softly, the word laced with a kind of boyish charm that feels entirely at odds compared to his rugged appearance.

You take a shaky breath, trying to calm the storm of nerves in your chest. “H-hey.” you manage, though your voice betrays you, trembling slightly. The second the word leaves your lips, you inwardly cringe. Why did you sound so flustered? You’re an adult, for heaven’s sake. You should be able to greet someone without stumbling over a simple syllable.

Jungkook’s sharp eyes don’t miss a thing. He notices the way your shoulders are slightly tense, the way your gaze flickers everywhere, evidently avoiding him. His head tilts just a little as he studies you, his expression shifting into something softer, more amused. And then it hits him, the reason for your unease.

Was it him? Was it the way he looked right now? His rolled-up sleeves, the grease smudges on his skin, the damp strands of hair sticking to his forehead? He realizes it all at once, the way you’re nibbling on your bottom lip, the faint blush creeping up your cheeks.

The thought sends a spark of satisfaction through him. Were you really this affected by him? The idea sure is intoxicating.

You realize Jungkook has caught on to your odd behavior when a faint smirk curls at the corners of his lips. His eyes darken slightly, lingering on your flushed cheeks, and there’s a spark of amusement dancing in them. He knows. He’s fully aware of the effect he’s having on you, and the realization only seems to fuel his confidence.

"Sooo, are you planning to stand there all day or..." he drawls, his smirk widening as he leans casually against the bike beside him "Are you going to tell me what brings you here?" His tone is teasing, his eyes looking into yours, refusing to let you escape.

You freeze for a moment, the words escaping you as your mind scrambles for an answer. Why are you here, again? What was the reason you decided to come by? You feel your face heat up further, and before you can form a coherent thought, a nervous hiccup bubbles up from your chest.

You try to stifle it, but it comes out again, followed by another one, and then another, like a series of embarrassing hiccups you can’t control.

Jungkook’s smirk deepens into a soft, amused smile as he watches you struggle to regain your composure. He can’t help but notice just how undeniably cute your flustered state is.

The way your eyes dart around, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, it all just makes you look even more endearing to him. He watches as you attempt to swallow the hiccups, each time your face reddening more, and he just can’t suppress the chuckle that escapes him.

"You're so cute." he says under his breath, more to himself than to you, the fondness in his voice making your heart skip a beat.

You manage to clear your throat, but the hiccups don’t stop, only intensifying the awkwardness of the moment. Jungkook shakes his head, still grinning as he steps closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently guide you towards the counter.

"Come here." he murmurs softly, his voice low and inviting as he guides you to one of the chairs by the counter. "Let me get you some water." You settle into the chair, trying to suppress the wave of embarrassment washing over you while he moves to the other side of the counter. His hands glide with practiced ease as he opens a cabinet, the soft clink of glass breaking the silence.

Your eyes follow him for a moment, but then your thoughts drift... back to that night. The memory of tending to Jungkook’s wounds at this very counter surfaces, vivid and consuming.

You can still feel the tension that hung in the air then, how his closeness made your heart race, how the moment seemed poised on the edge of something more. A soft sigh escapes you, and you shake your head lightly, trying to push the memory away and ground yourself in the present.

But grounding yourself feels impossible. Every time you glance at him, every movement he makes seems to spark something primal in you. It’s maddening... the effect he has on you. You’ve seen him countless times, but somehow, this is different.

It’s like every nerve in your body is hyper-aware of his presence, reacting in ways you can’t control. Heat creeps up your neck, your thoughts veering into uncharted, unrestrained territory, and you find yourself silently berating your own mind.

It’s ridiculous, really. All it took was the sight of him in those overalls, hair messy and skin glistening, to turn you into this mess of emotions and unhinged, unholy thoughts. You can’t decide whether to be mortified or just accept that Jungkook, in his current state, is your kryptonite.

You try to push all your thoughts away, focusing on him as he returns with the glass of water. He hands it to you with a soft smile, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that makes your pulse race. "Here." he says, his voice gentle. "Drink up. Hopefully, that’ll help." he smiles.

You take the glass from him, your hand brushing his for just a second, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like you're going to crumble. Jungkook watches you closely, a playful glint in his eyes as he notices how you’re avoiding his gaze. You take a sip of water and place the glass back on the counter, trying to compose yourself.

Your eyes dart from side to side, as if you’re looking for anything else to focus on but him, and it only makes him smirk wider. He leans in slightly... his voice, low and steady, but with a teasing edge. “What’s gotten you so nervous?” he asks, his words almost a challenge. He already knows what’s making you flustered, but the way you react is too irresistible to pass up.

You shift awkwardly, glancing anywhere but directly at him, and Jungkook can’t help but revel in the sight of it. The way you nibble at your bottom lip, the way your eyes flicker around the room as if you’re searching for an escape, drives him absolutely wild.

He can feel his patience thinning by the second, the sexual tension hanging thick in the air between you both. It’s all he can do to stay in place, watching you squirm. His heart races, his fingers itching to reach out and pull you into him, to close the space between you and finally do something about the way your nervous energy makes his chest tighten.

He’s trying to hold back, trying to be patient, but every second you look away from him only makes him want you more. The way you look so vulnerable, so flustered... it’s intoxicating.

Unable to fight it anymore, Jungkook walks around the counter and inches closer to you, his movements deliberate and slow, like he’s savoring every moment.

You don’t even see it coming as he suddenly pulls you up, his hands gently but firmly gripping your waist. Before you can react, he hoists you up effortlessly, making you sit on the counter with him standing right in front of you, his torso between your thighs.

A soft gasp escapes your lips at the sudden movement, the sound almost lost in the electric air between you. The moment his warmth presses against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs through the jeans you're wearing, your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind, leaving nothing but a haze of sensation.

His hands find their way to the sides of your thighs, firm yet gentle, and with a swift, confident motion, he pulls you closer, jerking you forward until there’s barely any space left between you.

You find yourself staring into his eyes, your breath caught in your throat as the situation spirals into something you can barely comprehend, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on. His gaze sharpens, his brow arching in amusement as he tilts his head. “So, you’re only going to look at me if I hold you like this?” he teases, his voice smooth, the words sinking into you like a challenge.

Your response is silence, your lips parting slightly as your eyes flit across his features, his sharp jawline, his piercings, the mole under his lip, the intensity in his gaze. Despite your attempt to maintain composure, you find yourself savoring the intoxicating closeness between you.

“You’re driving me insane, you know that?” he murmurs harshly, the frustration in his voice laced with something more primal. His hands slide to the small of your back, the pressure firm yet electrifying as he pulls you flush against him. His breath is hot against your face, each exhale a teasing whisper against your skin.

The closeness overwhelms you, the tension snapping something inside. Before you even realize it, your hips buck forward, meeting his. At that, a groan leaves Jungkook's lips as the feeling sends a jolt of pleasure through his system.

His eyes flash towards yours, dark with something wilder than before, a spark of desire. The gaze pins you to your spot, a challenge, a question, as he moves closer still. You swallow thickly, your pulse thundering in your veins as you hold his gaze.

Jungkook's fingers dig into the small of your back as he brings you closer still, until you can feel every hard line of his body against yours, his erection pressing against your core through the fabric of his overalls.

His hot breath, his hard body, his overwhelming presence, the way his fingers burn against your skin. It's like being consumed by fire, like drowning in his touch.

A choked gasp escapes you as he trails his lips down the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes close and your hands curl against the counter at the sheer sensation, your knuckles turning white. You can’t take much more of this, of being so close, yet so far.

And it’s like the entire universe is conspiring against you, because just as the moment between you and Jungkook begins to sizzle, the sound of the front door opening shatters it like glass. Startled, you and Jungkook separate, the heat of the moment still lingering in the air.

Still perched on the counter, you glance towards the door and see Yoongi standing there, frozen mid-step. His eyes are wide, as though he instantly regrets walking in, the realization of the awkward timing dawning on him.

Jungkook, standing beside your knee, looks equally caught off guard, his chest rising and falling heavily, his confusion evident. And despite his best efforts to maintain composure, it’s clear that some things are harder to hide... his flushed face, the way his jaw tightens, and the very visible evidence of how affected he is by the moment you just shared... his erection.

“I…” Yoongi begins, his voice breaking the silence, but he seems to falter, his gaze flicking anywhere but directly at the two of you. “I... umm... my phone.” he stammers, awkwardly gesturing towards a table at the far end of the room.

His unease mirrors yours as he steps inside, clearly trying to make this as quick and painless as possible. He keeps his eyes locked on his destination, his movements careful as he retrieves his phone, doing his best to avoid glancing in your direction.

However, before he leaves, Yoongi pauses at the door, glancing back over his shoulder at Jungkook specifically, with a sly look that he doesn’t even try to hide. "Didn't mean to cockblock… but it would be better if you guys did this some place private… just a suggestion." he says, the teasing smirk on his lips making the heat in your cheeks intensify tenfold.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens as he meets Yoongi’s gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly in exasperation. But before Jungkook can say anything, Yoongi gives a quick wave and is out the door, leaving the two of you alone again.

"Fuck..." Jungkook mutters under his breath, his hands quickly covering his face in embarrassment. You, still trying to process what just happened, find yourself staring at his flustered expression, and an involuntary laugh slips out.

"It's like our thing." you suddenly say, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Jungkook lowers his hands, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at you in confusion. "What?" he asks, genuinely puzzled. "Getting interrupted... it's our thing." you giggle, the tension breaking as the absurdity of the situation finally sinks in.

Jungkook can't help but laugh at your comment. Despite how embarrassing this moment is, with you here, it doesn't feel quite as mortifying. In fact, he's oddly grateful it was Yoongi who walked in on you both, and not Jimin or Hoseok because he knows all too well how that would've turned out.

"Well...that was something." you shyly say, slowly getting off the counter. Jungkook grins at you, a soft, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he steps closer, his hands instinctively finding their way to your waist.

It’s like he can’t help it anymore. Ever since the first time he held you there, he’s been addicted to the feeling, constantly looking for an excuse to pull you closer.

"I'm sorry." he whispers, his gaze softening as he looks down at you. "I didn’t know Yoongi was going to come back. I genuinely thought he was already home." he slightly pouts.

You chuckle, shaking your head. "It’s not your fault." The laugh that escapes your lips feels light, almost like the tension from earlier has completely melted away.

Jungkook's smile widens as he watches you, his eyes practically sparkling with admiration. "Now that I think about it, I never got to hear why exactly you came here." he says, the playful grin never leaving his face.

You hesitate for a moment, then, with a soft sigh, you admit, "I just wanted to see you." The words feel natural, like they’ve been building up inside of you for days and you know there’s no point hiding it now.

His heart does a little flip at your honesty, and before he can stop himself, he presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. The tenderness of the gesture makes you feel warm inside, and the simple affection causes a flutter in your chest.

Looking around, he realizes it’s getting late, and though every part of him wants to stay and savor this moment with you, he knows he has to let you go. "Want a ride home?" he asks, his voice low and sincere.

And honestly, who are you to say no to that?

//

Sunday arrives, and the day of the long-anticipated date is finally here. You’re in your room, standing in front of your mirror, eyes darting between a pile of clothes scattered across your bed.

The excitement is palpable, but so is the indecision. You want to look cute, but not too over-the-top. You want to be comfortable, but still impress him. The usual "what to wear" dilemma feels a bit more significant today.

You settle on a white, frilly lace skirt that hits right at the middle of your thighs, the delicate fabric floating around your legs, giving you a sense of whimsy. It’s just the right mix of sweet and playful. You pair it with a soft blue top that complements the skirt perfectly. The top is simple but elegant, with a delicate lace trim along the neckline that adds just a touch of charm.

It hugs your torso gently, emphasizing your figure. The color reminds you of a clear summer sky, and the way the soft fabric feels against your skin adds a layer of comfort that makes you feel at ease despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

As you finish getting ready, you glance at the clock on your wall. "3:47 PM." You're supposed to be ready by 4, and you still don’t have the faintest idea of where Jungkook is taking you, or what the date will be like.

The uncertainty only heightens the excitement, but you decide not to overthink it. It’s more about the fact that you’ll get to spend time with him... just the two of you and you honestly can’t wait for that.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your chest, and check yourself one last time in the mirror. Your hair’s styled just right, not too perfect, but enough to give you that effortless, yet polished look.

Right on cue, you hear a familiar rumble outside the window and your heart skips a beat. You walk over to the window and peek outside. There he is, revving his motorcycle. The sleek, black bike gleams under the afternoon sun, and he’s standing beside it, a grin on his face as he looks up at your window. Your breath catches in your throat as your nerves tangle with excitement.

You grab your purse, quickly walk out the door, and make your way down to meet him. Jungkook’s eyes light up when he sees you, his smile widening. “You look beautiful,” he says softly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. His voice sends a warm rush through you.

“Thanks,” you reply, trying to hide your flustered smile as you approach. "All ready for today?” you ask, wiggling your brows. He chuckles. “Of course. Hop on. I’ve got something planned.”

You follow him to his bike, and he offers you a helmet. After slipping it on, you climb onto the back of the motorcycle, wrapping your arms loosely around his waist. As soon as you’re settled, the engine roars to life, and you both take off, the wind rushing past you as you zoom through the streets. The feeling of the open air, the rush of speed, and the closeness between you fills you with a sense of freedom.

As the ride continues, the anticipation is building in your chest, but you’re too caught up in the warmth of his presence to care about the unknowns of the date.

Soon enough, Jungkook pulls up to a stunning garden, a hidden gem filled with colorful blooms and greenery that seems to go on forever. The air smells fresh, and the soft chirping of birds adds to the peaceful atmosphere.

He parks the bike and helps you off, guiding you towards a secluded spot by the flowers. He’s already laid out a blanket under a large tree, and as you sit down, you can’t help but marvel at how thoughtfully he’s planned everything. There’s a basket too, filled with snacks, fresh fruits and drinks.

"Wow... this is... this is beautiful." you breath out, stunned by the gorgeous set up in front of you. He grabs your hand, pulling you closer to the blanket and the both of you sit down side by side, your eyes taking in the beauty you're surrounded by.

"When did you set up all of this?" you ask, honestly amused by how thoughtfully this whole set up was curated. Jungkook shrugs, not wanting to bother you with the details. "Magic!" he says, acting like he's letting you in on a secret.

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the giggle that leaves your lips. This feels perfect. Everything about it. You already know this is the kind of date you’ll never be able to forget... not that you want to, anyway.

Gradually, the sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over everything. Jungkook sits beside you, his arm brushing yours, and the two of you fall into easy conversation.

“Growing up, I had a pretty chaotic childhood.” you say, your voice soft as you glance over at him. He looks over at you, his eyes curious, waiting for you to continue.

“My parents had a strained marriage, lots of arguments and drama. I spent most of my time with my grandma. She was this... she was this amazing woman, full of life and... and love, and she had this thing for flowers." you pause, the image of your grandma appearing in your head.

"I remember helping her tend to her garden every summer. It was like her little escape from everything and i guess... that’s where I got the motivation to open my shop. Flowers always felt like home to me.” You smile, a warm feeling spreading in your chest as you remember your grandma’s gentle hands working with the delicate petals.

Jungkook listens intently, nodding, his expression soft. “That’s really beautiful...” he says quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So that's your special connection with flowers, huh?” he concludes.

You nod, the memories flooding back as you continue. "It’s not just about selling flowers..." you explain. "It’s about sharing that peace and calm my grandma gave me, helping people create their own moments of beauty and joy. I've always wanted it to be more than just a business... it’s about... it's about a connection. I want to bring a little bit of that serenity into people’s lives."

Jungkook listens, his gaze thoughtful. He then leans back, looking at the sky before his eyes meet yours again. "That’s really inspiring." he says with admiration. "I'm glad you were able to bring it to life... your shop.... it's truly beautiful."

You laugh softly, feeling a sense of connection that’s deeper than you expected. "Thank you."

He smiles and takes a deep breath, his voice turning slightly more serious. "For me, it’s motorcycles."

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "I know it sounds cliché, but my parents... they always wanted me to be a prosecutor. They had this idea of me following a traditional path.. you know.. law school, a stable career, all that. But I’ve always been more interested in bikes. I guess you could say... that was my calling."

You tilt your head slightly, intrigued by his words. "So you just... dropped everything?"

Jungkook nods, his expression softening. "Yeah. I gave up everything... the expectations, the dreams my parents had for me. I wanted to be true to myself and that's why I opened my own shop, where I could focus on something I truly enjoy... I've always wanted a place where I could connect with people who shared the same passion. It's not just about bikes for me... it’s about the craftsmanship, the freedom, and the bond with people who appreciate it just as much as I do."

You smile, feeling your heart swell at how passionate he sounds when he talks about his shop. “That’s amazing.” you say sincerely. “You really went after what you love.”

Jungkook shrugs, but there’s a hint of pride in his eyes. "Yeah, it wasn’t easy, but I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. I think it’s worth it, though, you know? To be doing something that makes you feel alive." You nod, agreeing with him. His words stay with you as the evening deepens and you both shift conversations effortlessly.

You both relax further into the moment, and Jungkook notices a bunch of wildflowers near him on the ground. He carefully plucks a bunch of them and then proceeds to gently tuck them into your hair, his fingers brushing your skin as he arranges them. You smile at him, feeling a mix of joy and affection. His touch is gentle, and it makes your heart flutter.

“I think these flowers suit you.” he says softly, leaning back to admire his work. “You look even more beautiful with them in your hair.” he comments. You laugh softly, feeling the warmth spread through you. “Please...” you say, your voice filled with shyness.

Jungkook then pulls out his phone and asks if he can take a picture of you, a moment to capture your happiness. You agree, and he takes several shots of you, making you laugh with his goofy comments. You feel completely at ease with him, the world around you feeling perfectly still as you enjoy the beauty of the moment.

As the sun begins to set, the sky transforms into a breathtaking array of pinks, oranges, and purples. It’s as if the entire world is in perfect harmony. And when your gaze shifts from the sky to look at the beautiful man beside you, your eyes meet.

Smiling softly at you, he leans in, his gaze soft and affectionate, and you feel your heart race. He moves closer to you, his hand gently resting on your cheek, and in one fluid motion, he kisses you. It’s slow and tender, and for a moment, you feel like this is a dream.

When you pull apart, he whispers, “You know... I really really like you, right?"

You smile softly, your heart full. “Me too... I really really like you too.” you reply, feeling an overwhelming sense of connection. You feel his hands leave your cheek and reach for your hand that rests on the blanket. And like it's second nature, he carefully intertwines your fingers together.

As the sun sets completely and the sky darkens, Jungkook helps you up, clearing the blanket and folding it up. He grabs your hand, leading you towards his bike. “There’s one more part to the surprise.” he says, grinning. You're shocked, but you don't question him, simply allowing him to lead you through the night.

You both ride through the chilly night breeze, heading to a quaint diner that sits at the edge of the city. The soft glow of neon lights illuminates the cozy little restaurant. Jungkook parks the bike, and you both walk in, settling into a booth.

Not wanting to sit face to face, you slide in right next to him, the small space between you filling with warmth. It feels so much more better like this. Lesser distance, more closeness. The food is comforting and simple, but it’s the conversation that makes the meal so special. You talk about everything... your dreams, your hopes, your favorite memories. You both laugh, share stories, and it feels like you’re in your own little world.

When the meal ends, you both step out into the cool night air, but something feels different. The day has been so perfect, and you so badly don’t want it to end.

As you make your way to the bike, a sudden chill runs through you, and just as you’re about to climb on, the first raindrop falls. Then, suddenly, it’s pouring. The heavy rain drenches you both, and you quickly seek shelter under a nearby tree in the parking lot, trying to protect yourselves from the downpour.

Jungkook’s quick to react, pulling off his jacket and draping it over your head to shield you from the rain. His closeness in the downpour feels intimate, like the two of you are sharing this private moment away from the world.

“Maybe we... maybe we should head to my place until the rain stops.” Jungkook suggests, looking up at the sky, which shows no signs of letting up anytime soon.

You hesitate for a moment, the rain soaking through your clothes, but then you nod. You can’t really say no, especially since the rain isn’t showing any signs of stopping. The thought of waiting with him until the storm dies out, however, feels comforting, and you find yourself agreeing.

Jungkook offers you a soft smile and takes your hand. “It’s not far from here, so hopefully the ride won't be too hard. We can hang out there until the rain clears up.” he says.

A wave of nervousness washes over you, but you nod, knowing there’s no real reason to refuse. You can feel the excitement, anticipation, and the electric connection between you as you both climb onto his bike, the rain pelting down around you.

The ride back to his house is different this time... faster, wetter, but also full of excitement. By the time you arrive, you’re soaked to the bone, but the warmth of his home provides a comforting refuge from the storm. You both rush inside, giggling, laughing and drenched, and as Jungkook shuts the door behind you, he looks at you with a playful grin.

“Guess we’re stuck together for a little longer.” he says, his eyes full of affection. You smile, feeling a flutter in your chest. Whatever the weather holds, you know one thing for sure... this date has been more than perfect, and even though you're nervous, you’re curious and eager to see where the night will take you.

<- part 10 // part 12 ->

series masterlist

taglist:@kimyishin @ghijkd @dolligguk @mimi1097 @jksusawife @yooforeaa @abbie1847 @myjungkookthighs @thesarcasmqueen-22 @fairypjminie @lovelytaes-blog @jjeonjjk7 @daddyjeonnn @vantelover1306 @jeeykey @shellyyy177 @daskewl @blackswan18 @korian97 @minimoninini @ericawantstoescape @rpwprpwprpwprw @tokkiggukie @jaytheatiny

[rroseselavyyy]

daylight - myg

pairing: yoongi x female reader

warnings: suggestive content, hints of smut

a/n: this fic is based on a reeeeeaaally sweet request I received a long time ago :( I literally have zero motivation to write, but I thought I could at least edit and then post something that has been rotting in my drafts 😩

"I'm coming!" You had just stepped out of the shower and get into your fluffy pyjamas when you heard the sound of your doorbell, running to the door with quick steps as you dried your hair with a slightly damp towel.

You opened the door slightly to see who it was, and when you realized it was none other than the love of your life you'd been deliberately avoiding for two weeks, you couldn't help but stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

It was weeks after you had a huge fight over something silly, leading to the events of your leaving him behind in your shared apartment, so you couldn't believe your eyes when he stood in your doorway with a bouquet of your favourite flowers.

He looked at you with those feline eyes and you could swear that a thousand stars burst open in your swelling chest, it was almost impossible not to be filled with joy at the fact that he was here to see you.

He placed a hand on your waist and pressed his lips to yours before you could say anything, for once the yellow roses became symbols of passion rather than farewell, like the burning heat that radiated from your bodies. His lips moved over yours in a way that said how much he missed you, manoeuvring you into your apartment by holding your waist and making you step back.

"What's gotten into you?" Eyes half-closed, you whispered against his lips as he pressed your body against the wooden door after closing it. "I missed you."

You tucked a sweaty hair behind his ear, your chest rising and falling against his as he studied your face with eyes as dark as the night sky. "Sex won't solve our problems, you know that, right?"

He giggled sweetly in your ear before pressing his lips to your cheek. "Is that all you can think about when it comes to me, doll? No wonder we can't even communicate our problems."

"You're practically pinning me to the door, you dumb fuck. What am I supposed to think?"

He said nothing and you, and you, never able to resist your burning desire for him, surrendered to his chaste kiss with an insatiable hunger. He swept you off your feet and wrapped his arms around your waist as you stood on your tiptoes. The long forgotten petals of the roses he had bought for you traced your footsteps as you held them loosely behind his neck with trembling hands and let him take you to your bedroom.

That's how he ended up in your bed that night. Soft and sweaty, like the perfect teddy bear to wrap your arms around.

He watched your eyebrows knit together as you muttered something against the pillow where your hair was shamelessly sprawled. As usual, you were arguing with the characters from the novel you had recently read, a tradition you had picked up even before you were still with him.

You never knew this trait of yours, that you were talking in your sleep, it was never even mentioned. Still, he knew it like the back of his hand. He knew it like the rhythm of your heartbeat which he had learnt after long nights of holding you in his arms, chasing away the nightmares.

Once upon a time, you were the reason he wanted to stop time until the sun came up. He loved to hear the secrets you kept, how you hated your professor, how you wanted to tear his hair out.

As his eyes traced the rose-tinted patterns from your neck to the soft flesh of your belly, the memory of last night's events brought a smile to his lips, a smile that brought a sky full of stars into his irises with genuine happiness.

He could never have fallen more in love with you as you lay there like an angel, the faint daylight coming through the curtains painting you in glitter like a second layer on your skin.

It was the moment he knew he needed you to the end of time, wrapped in his bedsheets, with his ring shining on your delicate finger.

[asharasasylum]

♡ drabble rafe cameron booklet - entry 2

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗ warnings: dark fic!! allusions to non con and dub con. allusions to smut. step-cest. perv! Rafe. manipulation. drugs. slightly naive reader. 18+

“Are you still angry with me?” 

Rafe twisted his head around, finding you standing in the hallway, gazing over at him as you chewed on your bottom lip. 

You were supposed to be in the Bahamas with Dad, Rose and Wheezie, and yet a few hours before that he had found you standing in Barry’s yard with an overnight bag and a suitcase like you were about to take residence. He had been pissed at the sight, and you knew Barry’s lingering stares over your frame hadn’t helped. The memory made your stomach churn, recalling Barry’s leering eyes heavy on your bare legs as you made your way towards Rafe's truck. While Rafe hadn’t ever really played the protective older brother type, you were sure it wasn’t nice to see his so-called friend staring at you in that way. 

But Rafe wasn’t as tense now and you were sure the joint between his lips had something to do with it. 

“Come here,” he said, nodding his head for you to get closer. 

You could feel the corners of your lips tug upwards, but you fought off the smile as you stepped closer to him, not knowing yet if you were in his good books. As soon as you were within reach, he wrapped an arm around your waist, yanking you down into his lap. You tried to slip away, making yourself comfortable but with Rafe's arm pressed tightly against your stomach and his darkened gaze narrowing at you, all you could do was relax into the position. 

Rafe exhaled, blowing the smoke to the side as he continued to just stare. You hated the silence between you. Rafe was only ever silent when he was stewing on angry thoughts, seconds away from speaking up about them. And that was never usually in the calmest of manners.

“Please I-” 

“Dad would kill me if he knew you were here,” he stated. 

His gaze hardened, jaw clenching and you shuddered at the sight of it. 

“You know that right?” 

You nodded, parting your lips to speak, to explain yourself but he simply wasn’t having it. 

“I already have so much on my plate.” His hand dropped to between your thighs, gripping one of them with a tightness that had you wincing. “And now you want-” He squinted his eyes, leaning in closer to you. “What is it you want?” 

“I was worried about you,” you told him truthfully. 

His eyes flickered at that and he leaned back into his seat, taking a long drag of his joint before his eyes settled on you again. 

“Dad has Rose and Wheezie,” you started, fingers tracing patterns against his hand, hoping to ease his tense body. “And Sarah—” 

Your eyes drifted at that, breath catching in your throat as you recalled your younger sister. You missed her. 

“Wherever she is— has the pogues.” You turned your eyes back to him and rested your hand on top of his. “And you need someone.” You shrugged. “I just thought I could be that someone.” 

Rafe rolled his eyes, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest as he breathed out the smoke, shaking his head. 

“Forget it,” you said, moving to stand up. 

But Rafe stopped you, holding you against him. “Don’t be like that.” 

“Do you always have to mock me?” You could feel your eyes watering and not wanting him to see how much he was upsetting you, your gaze moved elsewhere. 

You heard Rafe sigh from beside you before you felt his fingers curl around your chin, twisting your face to look back at him. His lips were curved into a knowing smirk, voice teasing as he whispered, “You’re sweet.” 

You weren’t entirely sure why but you shivered at his tone, goosebumps erupting over your flesh that you wished to hide. 

Sensing the tension in your body, Rafe’s hands rubbed up and down your thigh as he told you to relax. The word rolled off his tongue in a soft hum and it only served to make you more rigid on top of him. It didn’t stop him though and you felt heat swirl in the pit of your stomach as he shifted his hand up higher. 

“Rafe,” you squeaked, clamping your thighs tightly together. 

The humour seemed to drop from his face and before you knew it he was placing the joint to your lips. “Relax.” 

His darkened gaze had you wanting to appease him and after a little bit of hesitation, you took a hit. All while you sucked in the smoke, Rafe smiled but it wasn’t his usual mischievous smile, there was a wickedness there that you hadn’t seen before. One that had clenching your thighs around his hand a bit harder. 

If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Instead Rafe pressed his thumb against your lips, making you hold the smoke until he dropped his hand back to his side with a satisfied sigh. 

Your lungs burned and you coughed as you exhaled, which of course made Rafe laugh once again. 

“You good?” He asked. 

You nodded in response but minutes later you weren’t feeling so good. 

You had only been high two times in your life before this, once when Sarah had convinced you to smoke some of Rafe’s stash that she had found hidden in the yacht and another time when Rafe had found out, and told you that he wouldn’t rat either of you out if you smoked with him as well. Both times you had fallen asleep quickly after, the high short lived as you drifted into a deep slumber. 

It was no different this time, your mind already slipping from the few hits Rafe had persuaded you to take. 

You were relaxed, a bit too relaxed. Your head rested against his shoulder and your thighs were parted a tad, just enough for Rafe to slip his fingers under the bottom of your shorts. 

You should have protested and you went to but Rafe’s other hand was firmly gripping your chin, keeping your head close enough to his to bring his lips to yours. Before you could react, he blew smoke between your parted lips, closing your mouth once he was done and opening it a few seconds later. 

Rafe continued to do this for a while, only taking moments from your lips to take a drag from the joint. He had you firmly distracted, mind becoming so hazy that you weren’t really paying attention to the way his lips were pressing further into yours with each blow, or the way his fingers were lodged all the way into your shorts. 

Eventually he pulled back, and the weed in your system started to take full effect as you fell back. 

Your head fell back into the cushions, and while you tried to fight sleep, blinking your eyes at Rafe, you couldn’t. Your body felt numb as your mind became fogged and the last thing you felt was your hips lifting, as your shorts were being dragged down your thighs. 

reblogs and comments are always appreciated

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Promise Woven in Silk

18/12: Letters & Lingerie Kink - Tom Bennett Word Count: 2.1k~ | Warnings: suggestive letters, masturbation (m), p in v sex A/N: thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for checking my Tom Bennett was cunty enough 🤭

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

Tom couldn't wait to be off this fucking boat.

It was a sort of slum in motion, but with the threat of being killed or drowned.

He made his own fun, practically forcing people's hands into betting on the day his canary laid an egg, pissing off the commanding officer and choosing rather colourful language when he was speaking to people of a higher rank than him. Not like he gave a shit.

But he only did those things because he was Tom.

It didn't make him really happy.

The only thing that managed to pull a smile to his face were letters with her handwriting on the front.

It felt wrong to call her a sweetheart so to speak. After all, at first there was no expectation of anything deeper, not wanting to get involved in something so trivial before he decided to disappear abroad. But it was exactly that expectation that drew him to her.

She wasn't desperate and needy. And yes, he'd tease her for it, but she was so fiercely independent, she turned her nose up at how a woman should conventionally act towards someone she liked.

He loved her for that.

He leapt onto the top bunk, checking the room was clear before pulling the sealed letter from his pocket, the paper slightly crumpled with her swirly feminine handwriting decorating the front.

Dearest Tom,

I hope you are settling into navy life well and are not causing too much trouble for the people who have the displeasure of being around you all day and night. 

He smirked. She knew him too well.

As I write this, my stomach flutters at the thought of your upcoming shore leave. I have been entirely too impatient to not tell you that I have concealed a great secret from you, one I should hope you will be pleased to uncover upon your return to me.

Picture me, with delicate lace trimming framing the curves of my body, meant for your eyes only of course. The fabric, as smooth as a moonlit ocean, holds promises of stolen moments where you are once again by my side.

I must confess, once you are back I scarcely think I could ever let you go again. The mere thought of you being here with me has a pleasant, exciting effect on my inhibitions. An effect, I dare say, you are keen to replicate.

I anticipate the shared warmth of our reunion, one I have no doubt you have sorely missed.

Yours in fervent longing…

He swore his mouth was agape, before a sly grin slipped onto his face.

Jesus Christ.

Tom's baby blues flitted over her handwriting, as if needing to commit the words to memory over and over to make certain he was reading the same thing.

His fingers gripped the delicate paper noticeably tighter as his mouth went dry.

Cheeky fucking minx.

Completely naturally, he brought the paper to his face, sighing longingly at the familiar scent of her perfume. She'd no doubt spritzed it a few times before sealing it, intent on torturing him even further as if the words alone had not done so.

Her scent flooded his mind, making way in his brain and pushing all the blood there south, his manhood pulsing almost uncomfortably at the memory of her.

The way he'd left her lingered there.

She had his white shirt around her shoulders and completely nothing else, her breasts peeking teasingly against the thin fabric as if to tempt him to stay when she knew he couldn't.

He'd almost jumped right back on her when she rose to her knees and plucked the post-coital cigarette from his lips to have a sweet, shallow drag of her own, her eyes aglimmer with mischief and sparkled with lust. 

And he's not ashamed to say that the image of her lips around the cigarette had him wishing they were around him instead. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, massaging the length that would not fit in her perfect mouth.

And so here, miles and miles from her, but unable to think of anyone or anything but her, he slipped his hand into his trousers, keeping her letter close to his face and pumped himself needily, imagining it was her grinding her hips atop him, her moist lips parted with those sounds he loved so much slipping forth.

He spilled himself over his knuckles in no time with a choked moan that he had to keep quiet.

It was sweet, sweet torture.

“Cheeky. Fucking. Minx.”

Tom practically skipped through off the train onto the platform, resisting the urge to break into a run as he played the route to her flat in his mind and how to get there the fastest.

It felt like he'd had a perpetual need for her ever since he read her words, which was more akin to pornography than an innocent love letter, having the desired effect of keeping him rock hard, fists clenched and jaw tightened.

God, she'd pay for that.

His boots thumped as he made his way up the back stairs to her flat, fists rapping on the door rapidly and excitedly, his chest feeling all tight and fluttery.

Every second there was no answer, his leg bobbed with anticipation.

Tom's tongue poked his cheek as the door slowly cracked open, a smile working its way to his face.

Her hair was waved over her shoulders, a satin dressing gown around her and tied at the middle, accentuating her waist, with her legs all bare and poking tantalisingly out beneath the rich fabric.

She herself gave a smirk, pulling the cigarette from her lips with two of her manicured fingers.

“Hello, sailor.”

Fuck, her voice.

She squeaked in surprise as Tom's tall form had to twist to force his way in, his bag forgotten to the floor with a thud, finding better purchase on her body as he surged down to meet her lips halfway. She smelled and tasted just as he remembered.

Bodies touching and smirking between fervent kisses, he mumbles between them, “Hello, beautiful.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and equally sank to that spot between her thighs that grew moist, aided by the endless weeks without his presence.

“I can't believe you sent me such racy letters. You just want to get me in trouble, don't you... and believe me you're doing a fantastic job at it.”

She hummed, pulling away to look up at him, smirking as he plucked the cigarette from her to take a drag for himself.

“You've got to have something to look forward to on shore leave, Bennett.”

He grinned with all his perfect teeth, stubbing it out once he was done with it and running his tongue over his lips.

She scrunched her nose, her hands around his shoulders as she craned up to meet his misty gaze, “in any case, I don't know what you mean. My letters were perfectly well-meaning and innocent.”

He scoffed, the smoke leaving between his pink lips, blonde eyebrows raised, “innocent? Those letters could be classified as a war crime.”

Her lips part involuntarily, warmth gathering in her gut as his hands lay flat either side of her waist.

"Now, where's my promised prize? To celebrate my return.”

She bit back a grin, her hands sliding down his chest to the tie at her front, fingers pulling it loosely unbearably slowly.

Tom swore he ascended to heaven once the silk parted to reveal what she'd promised beneath, a delicate lacy number that seemed to drift over every curve and left very little to the imagination.

 “Now that's what I call a greeting and my reward.”

His hands assisted in pushing the silk off her shoulders, leaving her standing in her silk sleepwear, the front dipping right where the shadow of her breasts appeared.

He grinned like a schoolboy, raking in every piece of her he'd been unable to see for weeks. God, maybe even months.

“You know, I almost thought you were lying in your letter and you didn't actually have this... but you surprised me.”

Her eyelashes fluttered as they both leaned in, dragging his nose over her cheekbone and placing several kisses, too chaste for his nature, along her jawline.

“I couldn't possibly do that to you, Tom.”

She giggled girlishly as his hands were now unable to stop their journey around her body, squeezing and moulding the flesh to his palm as he guided her to her bed. He stood, looking down as she lay there waiting for him with that honey-like gaze, biting her lip when she saw him work on his own clothes.

Once he got to his belt, she lifted her hands to the straps of her brassiere, to pull them down, until Tom tutted at her, kneeing her legs apart in reprimand, earning a confused expression.

He loved it when she looked all dumb like that.

He smirked, “Maybe I want you to keep it on. You look good in it.”

At this she lowered her hands, eyes glimmering with mischief as she watched him struggle with his belt.

She smiled smugly, “have you gone soft on me, Tom Bennett?”

“Soft is the opposite of what I am right now, love.”

A soft giggle slides past her lips as Tom looms above her, shoving his trousers past his hips as they snag on nothing, his eyes hardening  the more frustrated he gets. But it quickly dissipates, core clenching around nothing once he pulls himself from his underwear, hardly having to stroke himself to full attention.

His fingers creep along the side of her thigh beneath the delicate lace, swiping the pads of his fingers against her, grinning widely when he finds his words and actions have had the desired effect, her hips twitching upwards at his touch. 

“Oh, love. You’re fucking soaked for me.”

His ministrations become rough almost instantly, tugging the silk to the side and running the fat head of his cock, red and weeping against her womanhood. She watches the way his chest inflates and deflates with heavy breathing, at how the dog tag there glimmering in the low light around his neck, looking down between them, the air feeling hot and only the sounds of pure carnal desire rumbling in their throats. 

“Tom - please -”, she mewled longingly, trying to move her hips to gain friction as he teases her bud with the tip of his length. 

A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest, “God I fucking love it when you beg. What do you think, should I make you do it again?”

She shakes her head quickly, closing her eyes and turning away with a warm face at the intensity of his gaze down at her. 

He huffs another laugh and lays atop her, pushing her leg apart with his knee and pressing a kiss to her temple, “It’s alright, love, too fucking impatient for that.”

Her mouth falls open, warmth flooding her as he pushes into her agonisingly slowly, splitting her apart on his length to slide into her slick walls. Tom can’t help but screw his eyes shut, burying his face in her neck and inhaling her perfume as her warmth squeezes him and her fingernails leave crescent-moon shaped marks on his back.

He barely waits to reach the end of her before he moves, his hips meeting hers softly at first, but increasing in vigour once he hears her tiny little whimpers, and the way she presses her lips together to try and be quiet. 

Ever stubborn. 

Skin meets skin with quiet smacks, neither needing to say anything (except for the occasional ‘fuck’ encompassed by a low moan from Tom) but just basking in this closeness they’d been deprived of in all the time they’d been away. He is sure he could stay between her legs all fucking day, squeezing the flesh of her thighs and tasting her lips on his. 

“Fuck - ‘m gonna-”, he moans lowly, his hand running up the nape of her neck and pulling the strands of her hair through his fingers, not enough to hurt. Her core tightens around him, head thrown back into the mattress, lips parted. 

“oh - fuck, yes-”

With a choked moan, he takes her over the edge with him, holding her so tightly that had he been in his right mind, he’d think he was hurting her. But she doesn’t protest. She only loosens her grip on him when his thrusts falter to a stop, but his length remains tucked inside her, shuddering when he feels her core clenching around him in the aftermath of her peak.

His normal attitude clouded by the haziness sex, he rests on his forearms above her, giving an exhausted smile that she returns. 

“That the greeting you were hoping for?” she asks, her breath coming in short, hot pants.

And just like that, the Tom Bennett grin returns, leaning down to capture her lips again, “Yes, but I’m not done with you yet.”

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[g1rlr0b1n]

Yet another commission by the amazingly talented @ookamihanta!!! Go check out their page to see more art!!! Their commissions are still open so go check that out as well!!! I highly recommend them!!! 👹

Gods and Demons (Preview)

Damian's preparations for departure were almost complete when Superman hailed him down. For a moment, Damian considered pretending he had not seen him, but ultimately rose to meet the two men who had now landed gracefully beside him and Goliath. He was familiar with the man known as Superman, but the second man was a stranger to him. He was tall with wavy dark locks framing a sharp jawline and piercing steely grey-blue eyes, he bore a resemblance to the other man. He had a pretty good idea now of who he might be. The man's attire was peculiar though, causing Damian to wrinkle his nose slightly in disapproval. He wore a black suit adorned with shimmering silver stars, his deep crimson colored cloak billowing behind him. The most unnerving part of his uniform however, was the obvious missing "S" shield in the center of his chest, leaving the skin underneath exposed for all to see. Damian quickly averted his gaze, focusing back on Superman. “What’s this?” Damian's features contorted in suspicion as Superman extended a piece of paper towards him.

“An olive branch” he replied calmly, then motioned to the tall figure standing next to him, Kal-El cleared his throat, “this is my son, Zod-El. He will be stationed in Tibet with you for the foreseeable future.” There was a moment of tense silence as if to allow for Damian to process the information. Then, Superman spoke again, breaking the stillness. "Consider him an ambassador of good faith," he said firmly.

Damian scoffed, crossing his arms, “Tt. More like a spy to make sure I behave," he retorted with a sharp edge to his voice. The Justice League's true intentions were clear, they had their own agenda, but he intended to manipulate it to his advantage. Despite their lack of trust in Damian's ability to change the League of Assassins, it gave them an excuse to keep him under observation and under their protection. They needed to keep Damian alive regardless of his intentions because the absolute worst case scenario for them would be for him to lose control. It was an obvious choice, he was the only option with ties to the Justice League and a genuine desire to make the world better, even if his methods had not been received well by them. He could only stand to benefit from such a relationship, nonetheless, he’d make them work for it.

Superman let out a weary sigh, his broad shoulders slumping in exhaustion, “you agreed to observation after the attempts on your life," he reminded Damian sternly. The mention of those close calls made Damian flinch slightly, the memories still fresh and painful. Ever since his grandfather’s passing things had not gone as smoothly as anticipated, with everyone with even the slightest of claims coming out of the woodworks, but he survived and he’d continue to do so. Of course, some extra protection would be prudent, even though he had managed to reunite his family giving him the most claim, the attacks still occurred. His mother had even begun to express concern, certain that there was a rat among his inner circle. Damian didn’t want to consider that, the notion that the people he cared for most wanted him dead. Although it was a reality that he hated to admit, he could probably benefit from an impartial set of eyes and ears. Yet, Damian was proud if nothing else and he refused to allow anyone to think him weak.

"That may be," Damian huffed, "but I never agreed to an indefinite placement and certainly not from one of your B-list cast offs." His lip curled teasingly as he surveyed the man clad in black in front of him. He was curious to see how he would react.

The man grit his teeth and extended a hand with a forced smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Dam-”

Damian interrupted firmly, his piercing gaze fixed on the man's face. “You may call me The Demon’s Head.”

The man chuckled nervously as he pushed back some unruly curls from his forehead. “No offense but...” he hesitated before continuing, “I’d rather call you anything else.”

Damian's lips curled into a menacing smile, his pearly whites barred behind a mask of feigned politeness. "Then, may I have the pleasure of calling you Jonathan?" The man remained silent, his expression guarded. Damian pressed on. "surprised that I know your other name?"

He cleared his throat, his voice betraying forced calmness as he responded, "Not really...and it's just Jon."

The smile fell from Damian's face, replaced by a look of disdain, "I'd rather call you anything else." The lack of push back from his opponent was slightly off-putting, it was simply no fun if they just stood there and took it. But then again, what did he really expect from the son of the Big Blue Boy Scout, always so righteous and obedient.

The tension between them hung heavy in the air, like a thick fog that refused to dissipate. Goliath finally broke the awkward silence with a restless shift, his large frame causing the ground to tremble beneath him. "I see there's no point in arguing with you," he grumbled, casting a patronizing look at Jon. "If Super Slut is ready to depart, then we shall." With the grace of a seasoned rider, Damian pulled himself up and swung himself onto his fiery red companion, feeling the heat emanating from its powerful body. Beside him, Jon effortlessly lifted himself off the ground and into the air. The bat dragon spread its massive wings and with a few strong flaps they ascended into the sky.

[broidobe]

babes, we need more izzy stradlin!! ilove and live for your headcanons and fics

𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤

looked at this message, almost cried. i literally love you all so much.

lucky for you, i've had this coming lol.

⁎⁺˳✧༚guns and roses masterlist

backstage at a guns n’ roses concert was a world of its own—one you’d slowly gotten used to but never fully understood. you sat perched on the arm of a beat-up couch, watching the madness unfold around you. duff was chugging a bottle of whiskey like it was water, axl was pacing while shouting about a delay, and slash had somehow misplaced his top hat again.

izzy, your boyfriend, was leaning against a wall, guitar in hand, quietly tuning it. he looked like the calm eye of a hurricane amidst the chaos. that is, until he glanced up and saw you looking at him. his cheeks flushed instantly, and his fingers stumbled over the strings, producing an awkward twang.

you smirked. “everything okay, lover boy?”

“uh, yeah. fine. totally fine,” he mumbled, looking down at his guitar as if it had personally betrayed him.

izzy wasn’t great with words—he never had been. but every day since you’d started dating, he’d found ways to remind you how much you meant to him, even if speaking wasn’t his strong suit. like the bouquet of roses he brought home after every single band practice—no exceptions.

“babe, you’re going to make florists rich at this rate,” you’d teased once.

“i don’t care,” he’d said, ducking his head. “you like roses, so…”

backstage, the antics continued. slash finally found his hat—on top of the amp he’d used five minutes ago—and promptly lit a cigarette. axl was still yelling, this time at the sound guy, and duff had started an arm-wrestling match with one of the roadies. you glanced at izzy again, and your heart softened at the sight of him watching you like you were the only person in the room.

“c’mere,” you said, crooking a finger at him.

he obeyed immediately, setting his guitar down and crossing the room in a few long strides. “what’s up?” he asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

“sit,” you commanded, patting the couch cushion in front of you.

izzy sat without protest, his tall frame folding awkwardly onto the seat. you slid off the armrest and settled behind him, gently running your fingers through his dark hair. he melted under your touch, letting out a soft, almost inaudible sigh.

“you know,” you teased, “if you let me braid this, you’d look even better on stage.”

he chuckled nervously. “yeah, uh…maybe. if you want.”

you started weaving a simple braid, your fingers working methodically as you spoke. “you okay? you’ve been quiet.”

“i’m fine,” he said quickly. too quickly.

“uh-huh.”

he hesitated, then turned his head slightly to look at you. “i’m just…nervous, i guess. about the show. and about you being here with all this craziness.”

“izzy,” you said softly, “i’ve seen worse. remember that time duff tried to teach me how to play bass and ended up falling over into a drum kit?”

he cracked a smile at the memory. “yeah, that was…something.”

you finished the braid and rested your chin on his shoulder. “i’m here because i want to be. chaos and all. and you’re going to kill it out there, like you always do.”

he turned his head just enough to kiss your cheek, his lips lingering for a moment. “thanks. you always know what to say.”

“unlike you,” you teased, grinning.

he laughed, a quiet, bashful sound. “yeah. but i’m trying.”

“you’re doing just fine, lover boy.”

his laughter grew louder, and for a moment, the madness around you faded away. it was just you and izzy, the calm in each other’s storm.

axl’s voice cut through the moment, loud and impatient. “izzy! get your ass over here! we’re on in five!”

izzy groaned but stood, offering you his hand. “you coming?”

“wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you said, lacing your fingers with his.

as the two of you headed for the stage, hand in hand, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for every crazy, chaotic moment. because no matter how wild things got, izzy always found a way to remind you how much he loved you—awkward words, roses, and all.

[psiroller]

OkOk, so I know you’re currently in the middle of writing who knows how many more dunmeshi fics, but have you considered Tall-man x Tall-man Chillchuck and Laios yet? Maybe for a quick little drabble or something? I feel like that could go somewhere maybe.. If not this is just me rambling 😔, so feel free to ramble back and have a good day <3

oh anon. you found me juuust as i was raring up to procrastinate. you are in luck. CHILAIOS/656 WORDS/TALLCHUCKXLAIOS/CONSIDER THIS BREAK THE LOCK CANON

“Okay,” Chilchuck said, his voice deeper and rougher than Laios was used to. “What’re you staring at?”

Laios blinked. “You, obviously.”

“But aren’t you used to this shit yet? Do I look different now that you’ve changed back?”

Laios cocked his head. The changeling effect had worn off for Laios a few hours ago, but Chilchuck was still a tallman. Maybe because he was lower to the ground, he got a larger payload? Laios had made extra sure they’d scrubbed everything off him, so it was only a matter of time. Laios didn’t like to think about the possibility Chilchuck never changing back, but with his taller stature returned he could properly appreciate the differences. Chilchuck loomed over Laios as a dwarf and was still taller than him now. His cheekbones were higher, his face stretched along a taller jaw, stubble emerging so soon after a morning shave. Yet, besides the slightly sunken and tired look, Chilchuck’s eyes were still the same; pitch dark in low light, amber-brown in front of the fire, intense when met.

“You do,” Laios said, “but you don’t. I keep noticing little things.”

A blush rose on Chilchuck’s gaunt face, scratching at the nape of his neck. “Well, don’t get too invested. It’s gonna wear off soon.” He rubbed the pressure point on his temple. “Hopefully.”

“It will,” Laios assured him, and scooted closer. “But it’s fascinating… I wonder how the changeling spores decide what form to change someone into?”

“I guess whatever’s funniest,” Chilchuck said with a wry grin. “You saw Izutsumi.”

“I don’t think you’re funny looking, though,” Laios frowned, his eyebrows pinching together. Chilchuck pshawed at him and put a hand on his face when he got close. Laios pushed against it and wriggled, an over-affectionate dog held at bay.

“It’s supposed to make me look freakish to everyone else, so I die alone, right?” Chilchuck said. “Half-foot to tall-man makes sense. I’m twice the size of the biggest guy in my family. Imagine if I came home to my kids like this when they were young.”

He frowned at that, the dark humor sucked out of it by frank darkness. “And an elf to a half-foot,” he went on, trying to wipe the annoying concern off Laios’ face, ���That’s gotta be a nightmare. We’re the lowest of the low to them, right?”

“Chilchuck.”

Laios was back in Chilchuck’s space, having evaded his hand, or Chilchuck had let him. It didn’t matter. Chilchuck’s hand found Laios’ shoulder but he didn’t shove. Chilchuck hated being observed so closely, but he made endless exceptions for Laios.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. Chilchuck honked out a laugh. “I’m serious!” Laios barked, and Chilchuck petered out. “I mean it, Chil.”

Chilchuck rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s a shame, since you’re never gonna see this face again.”

Laios held his face and turned Chilchuck to face him, to kiss him. Their faces fit together unevenly even though they were the same size now. Laios scratched his fingers through Chilchuck’s stubble and nuzzled their noses together, did that creepy thing where he opened his eyes to watch Chilchuck as they kissed that always drove him crazy. Laios reached up to touch Chilchuck’s ear, finding a nick in his ear that Marcille could never fully heal all the way, and Chilchuck grumbled as he felt—something like it, it was doing something for him, but maddeningly dull compared to his memory.

“That’s just it, Chil,” Laios breathed. “Seeing you like this, as cool as it is…” he grinned sadly. “I miss you as you are.”

When Laios brought up his other hand to cup Chil’s head, there was a rush of something electric. As he drifted back into reality, he was engulfed in Laios’ warm shadow, and they couldn’t easily interlock their hands. Chilchuck gripped the broad gap between Laios’ middle and ring fingers, and thanked the stupid mushrooms for letting them fit together properly again.

[loveforneteyam]

❝your mighty warrior❞ ( I. )

golden eyes

summary: you never thought you'd see your lover's golden eyes again. and when you did, he didn't recognize a single part of you. pairing: neteyam x omaticaya!reader wordcount: 2.8k contains: angst, major spoilers for atwow, mentions of character death, blood, memory loss, sad guilty lo'ak, lo’ak x reader is platonic! notes: the first part, here we go! if i get things with the timeline messed up just ignore it haha. my heart breaks for lo'ak in this, but i hope you all enjoy!

paskalin : term of endearment oeyä tìyawn : my love tanhí : small, bioluminescent freckles

masterlist | series

The water is still in the night. Its chaos—violent waves that crash and collide—disappears once the darkness blankets over the sky. The surface of the water reflects the stars, small freckles of light in the face of the ocean. Although gentle tides push and pull, the vast sea is silent as it sleeps.

There is a beat to be heard; a pulse from under the water, under the ocean floor, from the very core of Pandora. A strong, mighty rhythm that shakes the ground. But this heartbeat does not come from the Great Mother.

In the quiet of the night, the reflection of the sky in the ocean is disrupted. Calloused fingers break through the barrier, reaching past the thin veil. He grasps the air like a rope. The crown of his head splits the sea in half. The moon pulls him to her; his body, strong and powerful, ascends.

──

It was his mother who pressed his eyes closed when they were void of life. The blank face of your lover glared into your soul. The grip he had on your hand--desperately clinging onto you like it would heal the hole in his heart--vanished, and you were left to imagine his fingers were still intertwined with yours.

You remember the wave of realization on his father's face, how his ears slightly dropped and his bottom lip quivered when he noticed that the bullet had gone straight through his eldest son's chest. Crimson collected in his shaking palms. You knew then that there was nothing to be done. Nothing except to sit next to Neteyam, your prince, as his soul moved onto the Great Mother.

His funeral was inevitable. After the war was over, it was time for the Suli's to say goodbye. You stayed with his brother, Lo'ak's hands placed in yours, as Neteyam slowly sank deeper towards the ocean floor. His frame became smaller and smaller, until he was completely engulfed by luminescent tendrils. Your lover was no more.

The family struggled to carry on without him. You remained close with his siblings, thankfully. Kiri mourned by your side. For a time, it had been just her and Neteyam. He was born less than a month before her and she considered him to be her twin. Tuk was young, but old enough to understand, “He is with Eywa”.

Lo'ak, however, was almost never to be seen. If you managed to catch a glimpse of him, he was silent and reclusive. He even ignored Tsireya, who asked you multiple times if he was alright; you never had an answer.

Despite your great loss, the village of Awa'atlu continued on. Every morning, the fishermen and farmers rose early, the healers prepared their supplies, and the hunters readied their ilus to dive through the sea.

Life continued on as if Neteyam's soul had never been ripped out of your blood-soaked hands, as if his eyes had never looked their last to you. It broke your heart.

──

Although Jake Suli had finally recognized his youngest son for his true potential, it was too late. Lo'ak put the blame for Neteyam's death on himself. He accepted that he would forever carry that weight with him, no matter where he ran to or hid.

You knew that when he was nowhere to be found, he was somewhere far off in the sea on Payakan's fin. He stayed out late and missed ceremonies and Suli family meetings; it was Neteyam who always pushed Lo'ak to participate. But even when he laid underneath the stars on the back of Payakan, the ocean water gently lapping at his skin, the guilt still sat in his chest like the bullet in Neteyam's heart.

Without his older brother, Lo'ak ceased to exist. He refused to meet his eyes or even speak to his mother. He made himself an outcast before his family could. You recognized that the void in Lo'ak's life was the same one tearing you apart, so you felt that it was your responsibility to look after him.

"We must be strong," Neteyam had told you the night you left your home in the forest. You said goodbye to your family to be with him. He'd placed his palm over your heart. "In here."

It was eerie how you could still feel his touch as if he were right in front of you. Neteyam would've wanted you to stay strong for Lo'ak, and you would do anything to honor your mighty warrior.

Unfortunately, looking after Lo'ak wasn't easy when you could never find him. Two days had passed and you hadn't seen him once. You knew not to worry--Kiri noticed your concern and said she'd seen him with his tulkun just outside of the reef. "He didn't seem like he wanted to come back."

By that night, you'd given up. After a great feast held for the birth of Tonowari and Ronal's child, you separated yourself from the others and sat alone on a far-off shore. The ocean life illuminated the darkness around you, small specks of teal and gold light scattered in the water. Your feet had sunk into the wet sand as the calm waves kissed your ankles.

While the ocean held many wonders that continued to fascinate you, it left a bitter image burned into your memory.

There was fire off in the distance, gunshots and explosions, but they were all the least of your concern. You shook as you held his body in your arms. The water had turned violent, as if the Great Mother knew of the war taking place. Sharp, chaotic waves crashed against a rocky landing. Crimson pooled in the grooves of the rock, running down the sides to where it diluted in the vast sea.

You never allowed yourself to remember anything past that. The ocean had not redeemed itself just yet. You pulled your knees to your chest so your feet were out of the water. The silence of the night would never be peaceful; if it was quiet enough, you could still hear his voice in your ear.

Fortunately, the silence broke. Soft footsteps in the sand were trailing towards you, and wide, golden eyes met your small frame. Lo'ak had not expected you so far away from the village, alone, at night. "(y/n)," he froze. "What're you doing here?"

"Lo'ak," you let out a breath of relief that you'd been holding for the past few days. You stood and brushed the sand off of your legs. "I've- We've been looking for you. Your mother and father have been so worried."

He frowned at the mention of his family--of his father. He refused to even imagine what they could possibly think of him. "I was just out," Lo'ak tried to dismiss the topic and swiftly walked past you, his shoulder barely brushing yours. "I'm fine."

The remnants of your heart cracked once again. Even when a hand reached out for him, grasping onto his fingertips, he'd pull away. The fear of rejection--the thought of placing his trust in someone with only betrayal in return--was too great. Lo'ak would abandon others before they could abandon him.

"Lo'ak, please." your hand gently grabbed his shoulder to turn him back to you. He stood a few inches over you and refused to look down to meet your eyes.

There was a soft spark in his chest, and you could see the flame beginning to grow. "What do you want, (y/n)?" He retorted with a sigh.

"You know what it is, Lo'ak." You brushed your hand down his arm to meet his palm. You placed his own hand on top of his heart. He sighed, breath laced with heavy regret and guilt. Lo'ak knew that whatever he'd been hiding for the past few months would be coming up right there in front of you.

He practically collapsed onto the sand, feet set in the water and arms wrapped around his legs, but he quickly pulled himself away from the shore, just like you had earlier, once the memories began to feel too real. You sat right by his side and looked off to the dark horizon. The two of you stared with broken hearts. "Have you gone to see him?"

There was silence, apart from the gentle lapping of the waves and the village in the distance. "No," he regretfully looked down at his lap. "Have you?"

You shook your head, "No." Your response wasn't much better.

For as much as the two of you missed him, neither of you had gone to the Spirit Tree like the rest of the Suli family. The only images of Neteyam that you had left were the memories still burned into your vision. “I’m afraid to forget him,” Lo’ak admitted. He bit the inside of his cheek. “But I’m too scared to see him again.”

You looked to him with sympathetic eyes. For the first time since his brother’s death, Lo’ak broke. Three tears left a trail down his face to where they dropped off his skin and onto the sand. “I don’t know much about spirits,” you began. You set a firm, reassuring hand on Lo’ak’s shoulder. “But Neteyam loved us with all his heart. Even as he rests with the Great Mother, he loves us.”

He tried to nod along to your words as if he would better believe them. Lo’ak gently gasped before a quiet, broken sob left his throat, “I know it’s my fault.” His shoulders heaved. “If I hadn’t made him go back for Spider or- or if I stayed behind instead of him..”

“Oh, Lo’ak,” you cooed, turning towards him and engulfing him in a hug. He leaned his forehead down onto your shoulder. This was the first comfort he’d felt in months. “We can’t tell ourselves those things.”

His tears collected on your skin. “My brother,” he whimpered, “is gone.”

Your fingers gently caressed the back of his head, tracing over his braids. You shushed him, “There’s nothing we can do.” How could you affirm this to Lo’ak when you couldn’t even accept it yourself? You pulled away so you could look him in the eyes.

“I miss him too much.” Lo’ak wept.

Holding his face between your gentle hands, you nodded. Together, your tears soaked the sand beneath you; the two of you could’ve created an entire ocean. “I miss him, too, paskalin.” Your thumb soothed cheek and wiped away the tears from his eyes. “But we must stay strong for him.

“All we can do is remember. One day, we’ll be strong enough to see him, I know it. But for now, we must be strong,” You put your hand over his heart. The beat of his soul turned steady; you remembered how Neteyam’s slowed to a stop, and for the first time since his death, you pushed the memory away without a single tear. “In here.”

Lo’ak closed his eyes and calmed his breath, allowing the feeling of your palm on his skin to soothe him. He’d opened himself and poured out his heart. Now, he could heal.

The night continued on, and you stayed with Lo’ak throughout the dark reign. He could take however long he needed. You would comfort him through whatever war he created in his mind. The tide came in, brushing water against your knees, but the two of you remained.

Finally, he opened his eyes. “We should return to the village.” Before, Lo’ak spoke bluntly with a dismissive mask to cover how broken he truly was. Now, his voice was firm and strong.

“Are you sure?” You warned. He stood and you cautiously rode with him.

His hands, which had been balled in tense fists, released themselves. Lo’ak nodded, “I’ve been too focused on my brother that I’ve forgotten the rest of my family. Do you think they’ll forgive me?”

With a sweet, proud smile, you offered, "They already have."

──

The path back to the village was peaceful given that you and Lo'ak had come to terms with your grief. He had warned you that his parents would most likely be angry when you returned since it'd been hours since they'd last seen you and days since they'd seen him. You'd consoled him, "We'll get through it together."

It was strange that in Neteyam's absence, you and Lo'ak were able to replace the void with each other. Although he was only a year younger, you'd always felt a sisterly love for him, the same way that you felt for Kiri or Tuk. Now that your connection with Lo'ak had healed, maybe you could too.

Life ahead was beginning to look a little brighter in that moment as you walked on the shore.

But your peace was short-lived.

The village was close enough that you could see the pods, docks, and several Metkayina men with glowing lanterns that noticed you and Lo'ak approaching. They called out and, together, the two of you rushed to them.

"What is wrong?" Lo'ak prodded, trying to look past their broad shoulders at the commotion that was collecting in the village.

You tried as well but they were too tall compared to you. "You must come with us," one of the men said. The flames in the lanterns gently flickered but you could well enough see Kiri running in the distance. Her eyes were wide with fear like she'd seen a ghost.

"Kiri!" You exclaimed.

She pushed past the men and, out of breath, embraced Lo'ak. "Brother!" There were tears falling from her eyes, only you had expected her to happily cry at the sight of Lo'ak. Instead, she wept. "You must come. Come, (y/n)."

Kiri led you both back to the village, the men following after you to provide light. Almost every person in Awa'atlu--man, woman, young, and old--crowded near the shore. They yelled and gasped, cursing and praying. The three of you struggled to push past everyone, accidentally stepping on tails and toes and bumping elbows and shoulders.

Everyone seemed to look at you and Lo'ak with sympathy. Lo'ak sensed it as well, and looked just as confused as you were.

The crowd was like a hurricane, and in the center, the eye was calm. Jake and Neytiri kneeled on the ground, Tuk crying into her father's arm. Tonowari, Ao'nung, and a collection of soldiers held the people back. Ronal sat across from Neytiri, muttering a prayer with her eyes shut. Kiri ran to her mother's side. Tsireya rushed to Lo'ak as he collapsed.

Your heart stopped.

On the ground, where the ocean met the sand, a figure laid. He had strong legs and arms, a strapping abdomen, and calloused palms and fingers. There was a scar on the outside of his right thigh. Tanhì scattered across his body like the constellations reflected on the ocean.

Your prince. His ghost would forever haunt you. What had you done wrong? What had you done for the Great Mother to curse you like this? Just as you could feel your wounds beginning to heal, your heart crumbled again.

You fell to your knees, placing your hand over your mouth to cover the ear-splitting wail you released. You could fully see your Neteyam now. Just as you had remembered it, but his eyes were gently shut. Neytiri cried alongside you, and your heart almost broke even further until you heard her whisper, "Thank you, Great Mother. Thank you."

What was she grateful for? Jake noticed your confusion, and with a hopeful smile, he took your hand and placed it on Neteyam's heart. Underneath the weight of your palm, you felt a gentle pulse. A steady, soft rhythm that rocked your core. Your tears stopped, a cry stuck in your throat.

You looked down to his body and gasped. "Oeyä tìyawn," you whispered out to him, hoping he would hear it. Through just two words, your voice called out to him.

Golden eyes, that you thought you would never see again, opened.

His father gasped; his mother laughed; his sisters cheered, and his brother bowed with his forehead touching the ground. Neteyam's mighty heartbeat reached across Pandora.

"Ma 'Teyam," you smiled. You could taste your own tears as they reached the corners of your mouth. For the first time in months, you weren't crying from a split in your heart--you cried at the feeling of it healing. You were foolish to think the Great Mother would curse you. "Thank you, Great Mother."

Only two minutes had passed until you noticed the laughter and cheers of others had disappeared. The night had become silent again. Your smile fell when you recognized that Neteyam had not yet embraced you. In fact, he stayed frozen on the ground.

His eyes were still open, but they were wide and full of fear. Tuk reached for his hand, and he quickly pulled away with a scared gasp. He flinched when his own mother caressed his cheek. "Neteyam," she pleaded. Finally, his eyes met yours. You looked to him with desperate affection, practically shooting beams of love towards him. Your stomach dropped when you noticed it.

Your prince did not know who you were.

taglist: @m4nd0l0r @slythermania @angrypomeranianwifey @afro-hispwriter @neteyamsgirll @sopiasleeps @sassy-persona @islamovice17 @danyxthirstae01 @argentnoble @ilovehotd @freyabear @vxncxntt @loquatious-josephi-krakousky @virginslutsstuff @brooklynscherry-z @elvyshiarieko @sharni07 @sillyfreakfanparty @23victoria @froglogblog @neteyamoa @lilprettypetite @littlecurlyhairedbabe @theflowerofpandora @howcl @hlhl99 @dreamergirljen @tejas-kris @osumarusjade

[milliesfishes]

hiii i know you don’t write smut but i don’t think this falls under smut? but if it’s uncomfortable to write about please ignore!!

billy with reader who only feels loved when she sexualizes herself and how he would kinda comfort her about that. like maybe he comes home and shes all perfect for him even though deep down shes having a bad day and just wants to cry and he’s just like im not here for any of that stuff im here for you.

꣑ৎ౨ৎbilly when you feel like you have to sexualize yourself꣑ৎ౨ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Wrung dry from the day's demands, you collapsed into the kitchen chair, fanning a hand over your eyes and taking in a deep breath. The memories of earlier were frozen solid to you like icicles in the winter, and you were trying to melt them, let the water flow through the stream of your mind elsewhere.

To your dismay, it was fruitless.

It felt as though nothing could go right. You woke up an hour later than you had wanted, which had set you back on chores. When you tugged your dress on, there had been a sickening tear that announced a new absence of stitches under your arm. The porch outside that needed sweeping had been littered with cobwebs that caught the bristles of your broom and made you shudder at the texture. And on your way down to the garden you had tripped on a loose board poking from the steps, skinning your knee bloody on the way down.

Holding back tears, you continued and tried to find a silver lining. One of your tomato plants was blooming beautifully, although the rest had been consumed by pests. You had been able to finish your chores, although it was now almost sunset and you'd had to start supper late.

Soup was boiling on the stove, and you hesitantly rose to peer into the pot. Just about done. Billy would be happy to have a hot meal when he came home.

Billy would be home soon. Your eyes widened and you rushed down the hall to the washroom, where a little mirror was positioned over the sink. Looking at your reflection, you nearly cried. The day's events had indeed taken a toll on you. Pinching your cheeks, you reached for your brush and combed it through your messy hair. The tangles pulled at your scalp and you winced slightly, pushing through.

In order to finish your chores in a timely manner you hadn't bothered to swap out your torn dress, and now you debated quickly rifling through your collection to change it. But when the familiar sound of heavy bootsteps on the porch graced your ears, you disregarded it, deciding to keep your arms down.

The door swung open, a creak announcing Billy's arrival. You plastered a sweet smile to your face and took in a deep breath. Be his girl.

Instantly when you saw him some of the tension melted away. He set his hat on the wall hook, unfastening his gun belt and slinging it over the chair by the door. When he saw you, a broad smile lightened his face, and he held his arms out. "There she is."

You ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck and letting him lift you off your feet. It took all but two seconds for you to remember your dress and you winced but moved on. Billy buried his face in your neck, pressing a kiss there that made you giggle. "Been missin' my girl all day."

"I missed you too," you murmured, ignoring the way his gentle touch made you want to cry. There wasn't any way you would dream of telling Billy about your train wreck of a day. Not when he was out risking life and liberty under the watchful eye of the law. Your problems paled in comparison.

The least you could do was give him something nice to come home to. Whether it be kisses or your bare body later.

With that in mind, you pulled back and nudged his nose with yours, making him smile before you caught his lips in a kiss. He obliged eagerly, shifting you so he was holding your thighs up, his hips between them. You pushed down any feelings of negative variety, focusing on the kiss. He needed to feel good. That was your priority.

Billy broke the kiss, giving you a fond look. "It smells good, didja make somethin'?"

Nodding, you kept your smile pressed in place. "It's on the stove."

"Ah!" He set you down, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his side, smacking a kiss on your forehead. "You'll turn me into a kept man, darlin'." As he pulled you into the kitchen, you felt as though you were batting away your feelings with a stick. They kept rebounding, but you were able to keep them at bay.

Dinner was a painful affair. If it hadn't been Billy sitting across from you there was a more than likely chance you would have broken into pieces. He chattered about his day, grinning broadly at you through mouthfuls of soup.

Inside you were boiling, about to spill over. The sunset was a brilliant orange through the window, and you stared at it for a moment, getting lost in the stark fall color painted on the cerulean sky. The same blue as his eyes. You breathed in once, frustrated at yourself. Why were you still upset? Billy was home, it was all okay.

Even though you told yourself this over and over, the feeling did not dissipate. And you stayed quiet, nodding at what Billy was saying absentmindedly.

It was only when you realized he had stopped talking that you looked back at him, eyes wide. His brow was knitted, and you chided yourself. You stopped paying attention and now he's worried. He shouldn't have to be worried because of you.

"You okay, angel?" Billy reached for your hand, squeezing the fingers.

"Yes." You nodded, pasting the smile back on. "Yes, I'm fine. Everything is fine."

He didn't look convinced, and you panicked, standing up and going to him. Slotting yourself between his legs, you took his face in your hands and brushed some of his hair back, searching his eyes. Billy gazed up at you, blue eyes showing nothing short of devotion. You internally breathed a sigh of relief. He loved you. He still loved you.

Billy's hands found your waist, and he pulled you down to sit on his thigh, legs tucked primly between his. He watched you for a moment, fingers stroking your sides. You felt a jolt of anxiety, worried that he was worrying.

Leaning in, you kissed him soundly, rubbing his cheek with your thumb. His stubble prickled your skin, and you pressed your chest to his, making him grunt. One of Billy's hands found your lower back, pushing you into him. Your mind calmed just slightly at that; thankful he still wanted you.

Taking his other hand, you used it to cover one of your breasts, lips moving fluently. Billy paused, nuzzling your nose before he dove back in. You shifted on his lap so you were straddling him, your movements methodical. The feeling of dread was mounting in your chest, as if there were a solid mass poking your ribs.

You tried to ignore it. But before you could stop, a choked breath escaped your lips, and you pulled back, chest heaving as your eyes fell to his shoulder. In an instant Billy's hands were on your waist, rubbing carefully. "Sweetheart?"

The tenderness in which he delivered the name sparked tears in your eyes, and you refused to look at him, nodding hastily. "Yes. Yes, everything's fine. I'm fine, I'm-" your breath hitched, and you blinked rapidly, risking a glance at him.

Billy was frowning, eyes brimming with concern. He moved his hands soothingly on your waist. "Baby...what'sa matter?"

"Nothing." You leaned back in and kissed him. His lips nudged yours, but his expression didn't change, eyes not closing. You grew tense with anxiety again, taking his face in your hands and kissing his nose. Then his lips again. Billy remained looking at you.

It wasn't working. You reached for his hand, tried to position it on your breast again, but he lifted it to your face, settling his palm on your cheek. The way he was watching you made you want to crawl into a hole and bury yourself alive. He thumbed your temple, looking at you like you were a code he wanted to break. When he spoke, it was a single word. "Angel." You swallowed, and he continued. "Angel, what'sa matter?"

"You wanted to..." you tried once more to put his hand on your breast. But he shook his head and repositioned it on your face, causing your cheeks to fill with color.

"Not if you're not feelin' good, sweetheart." The way he said it only dug a deeper chasm inside you. Guilt overwhelmed your senses as you figured you had done something wrong.

That was when you broke. The dam all but crumbled, and your cheeks flooded with the tears you'd been wanting to shed all day. You hid your face in your hands, too ashamed to look at him. "I'm f-ine."

He was pulling you in now, hand on your crown carefully guiding your face to his shoulder. Billy held you tight to him, and you broke down, shivering between his arms.

"Shh," he soothed, rocking back and forth. "Deep breaths, honey. Deep breaths. I've gotcha. It's okay." Billy traced shapes into your back, noting when you untensed. "There you go. Atta girl."

You kept your head where it was, almost hiding from him. Against his shirt, your cheeks flushed with humiliation. He was never meant to see you like this. The thought was what made you sit up fully, hurriedly wiping your eyes and avoiding his. "I'm sorry, I'm-"

"'s okay...sweetie..." Billy squeezed your sides gently. "Nothin' to say sorry for. What happened?"

"Just had a bad day." You waved a hand, setting it on his chest alongside your other one. Rubbing him there slightly, you tried to smile. "I'm okay."

"Hey-" Billy's hands framed your cheeks, and you stopped, worried you'd done something wrong. He held you still for a moment, letting the silence fill the air. Then, quietly, "'s okay to have a bad day. You can tell me."

You felt something pinch inside of you, brushing your bones with words you'd never been told before. Billy furthered it, saying, "Baby...you don't have to pretend it's okay."

Now you were stripped bare in front of him, down to the core. Billy smoothed your hair, tucking some behind your ears. Your bottom lip trembled, and he hushed you gently, rubbing your back. "Why don't you go lay down for a minute, hm? And I can clean up here?"

You began to protest, but he shook his head, tilting his head to press a kiss to your temple. "Go get ready for bed, mkay? I'll be along."

Shamefully, you let him stand you up, sending you off with a kiss to your hairline. You tearfully prepared yourself for bed, removing your torn dress and setting it aside for mending, donning a nightdress and getting under the covers, lying on your side and shutting your eyes.

Billy joined you in practically no time, the sounds of him removing his work clothes and setting his boots aside evident. When he pulled the covers back and rested a gentle hand on your hip, you turned into him, nuzzling against his bare chest. He wasted no time in wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

As he held you, the feeling that you had been shoving at all day began to melt. And when you opened your eyes, he was already looking down at you, face calm as you began to relax. Billy pressed his lips to your hair, sheltering you in his arms. When he spoke, it was softly. "You don't have to worry 'bout bein' okay all the time. Don't want you to be hurtin' so bad 'n feel like you have to hide it." He swiped a thumb over your cheek. "Don't hide it."

You took in a shaky breath, burrowing into his arms. "I just wanna be happy for you. Make you feel good. You have so much to worry about."

"Honey-" Billy braced his hands on your cheeks, searching your eyes. He touched his lips to your nose, making you smile just a little. "Havin' one bad day doesn't make any difference. You're always so happy, my happy girl." He softened when you leaned into his palm. "'m not here to use you, sweetheart. I love you. 'm here for you."

"For me." you repeated it quietly, and he kissed your forehead, nodding.

"For you," he affirmed. "I love everything you give me because it's you."

Something warm was blooming in your heart. You breathed in once, suddenly understanding the magnitude of how much he really loved you. Somehow in all your time with him you'd never realized he was here to stay. A secret voice within had convinced you that it you weren't perfect he would use it to leave.

But Billy wasn't a man who tossed things aside. He'd been running all his life and now he wanted to stand still.

He wanted to stand still with you.

"I love you," he whispered, tucking your head under his chin. And for the first time you realized he wasn't saying it to fill the air.

It was a promise. one never to be broken.

As he brought you close so your ear touched the space over his heart, you felt that promise being fulfilled. You gave him devotion and so he would return it. Was that what love was? Looking up at Billy, you wondered to yourself, amazed at this new discovery.

You felt it in the way he watched you. He said it again, sparking something that felt like springtime in your heart. "I love you."

It soaked your tongue like sugar, a true smile sweeping away the dust your false ones left behind tonight.

"I love you too."

[borderlandsresearcher]

MK1 Girlies x Reader:

What She Smells Like 🪷

WOMEN LOVERS COME GET Y'ALL FOOD!!!

CW: suggestive, mentions of polyamory, gn reader, not proofread.

(A/N @ the bottom)

Kitana

-lotus flower, cherry blossom, rose

* Kitana's fragrance is a comforting mixture of various native Edenian plants, as she spends most of her free time frolicking in the palace gardens. Every night she is greeted with a warm, steaming bath, littered with petals from her favourite flower. She loves nothing more than soaking in the essences of her homeland, feeling connected to both herself and nature.

* When she's on duty serving her sister, the leather from her armour overwhelmingly distracts from her natural scent. She found a way to kombat this by leaving small flowers in her pockets and spritzing on the perfume she made between each break.

* When you're not around, she misses your scent more than anything. She'll steal one of your shirts and cuddle with it until she falls asleep. She has gotten too used to you being around, and it devastates her everytime you leave.

* Because of this, you leave behind a bottle of your perfume for Kitana each time you know you will be gone for a long period of time. She is slightly embarrassed when she finds out you know about her habits, but is grateful for your thoughtfulness.

Mileena

-dark cherry

* Smells like you/Tanya let's be honest

* She tries her best to maintain a consistent scent by using various products, ranging from perfumes to body creams to lip gloss!

* Her scent may be a little overwhelming at times, but with the amount of running around she does it tends to wear off throughout the day.

* She sweats quite often, especially during training. Neither you or Tanya seem to mind, expressing that you both love her no matter how smelly she is after training 😆

Sindel

-lavender, sage

* She bathes in various flowers, similar to Kitana.

* During the mourning period of her late husband, she would burn many plants in his honour. She did this so often that the smoke would rub off on her, following her throughout the day.

* When she's feeling down, she allows her daughters to braid flowers into her hair, the aroma complimenting her feminine aura.

* Just like Kitana , she craves your scent whenever you aren't around.

* When Jerrod returns as Ermac, she is overjoyed. She now gets to revel in the warmth of her lovers, appreciating each of your unique scents.

Li Mei

-lavender

* Li Mei learned all of her beauty tips from Sindel, including proper perfume application.

* Sindel gifted her with a vial of lavender perfume from her personal collection for her to sneak into the Umgadi inner sanctum, although she never used it ...

* That was until she was disgraced, and she deeply missed the smell of her empress. She wore it as frequently as possible, and as she climbed her way up the ranks to First Constable, she was able to afford as many bottles of liquid lavender as she desired.

* To you, it was simply the scent she enjoyed. But to her, it was a reminder to whom she serves, and the memories she had lost along the way.

Tanya

-Almond, vanilla, coconut

*The Umgadi are strict on cleanliness, but not so much on luxuries such as perfumes or scented creams. It borders on the line of vanity, which they frown upon. Fortunately, Edenian women tend to value their hair above any other beauty aspect, a trend indirectly started by Empress Sindel.

*The Umgadi embrace this tradition, and allow for the sisters to indulge in frequent haircare, as long as it does not distract from their duties.

*Tanya takes advantage of this. She not only wants to look, but to smell good for both you and Mileena. She works scented oils into her hair, perhaps a bit more than what she actually needs, but anything to make an impression on her lovers. And if you're lucky enough to get some alone time together, she'll let you do it for her, as well as returning the favour.

*Begins to smell like you/Mileena if she's around you long enough.

Ashrah

-dragons blood, rose

* Demons emit a strong musk depending on their mood.

* When she's happy, she'll smell of dragons blood and roses, which is the one you are most accustomed to, seeing as your presence brings her joy.

* When sad, she smells of rain and moss. It is your least favourite scent for this reason...

* When she's lustful, she'll smell of cinnamon and other spices. You and Syzoth are the only ones to have witnessed such a scent.

Nitara

-blood orange, amber

* Despite what you may think, Vaternians care quite a bit about the way they smell, as they are always seeking a potential mate.

* Although, these scents will usually consist of things that attract their own kind, such as human blood.

* But for you? She goes the extra mile. Bathing herself with citrus, spending the few coins she has on exotic Sun Do spices to rub into her clothes, and even changing her diet to animal blood as to not attract others. You are the only mate she desires.

Khameleon

-Tea tree, peppermint, coconut

* Like Tanya, she takes advantage of this loophole. Before she met you, she never really paid attention to how she smelled. The only requirement was that she was clean and presentable in the eyes of the royal family.

* When the two of you started seeing each other, she started to notice little things she normally wouldn't in other people. Your scent, the way you breathe, the way your heart beats fast when she lay on your chest during those rare private moments-- she noticed it all.

* All she wanted was for you to see her the way she sees you, so she goes to Tanya for advice. Now, the girls pamper their hair together, giving each other knowing looks as they do so.

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

A/N: Hope this was alright, lemme know your thoughts and whether you agree with my choices or not!!! I am open to constructive criticism :)