#also I’m not exaggerating I hear literally every step she takes because she stomps around

[lesbiansanemi]

The sheer desperation and frenzied manner that I keep telling myself “just one more week just one more week just one more week” to keep from snapping and going fucking insane is honestly getting concerning

[1zashreena1]

Emotional Spanking -8

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: Princess has an emotional epiphany, a panic attack, a visitor, and a pleasant disciplinary action. In that order. 

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

SMUT. SPANKING. FEELS. the L word, previously completed kink negotiations, plus size woman+fit man, soft!Diego, immediately followed by hard!Diego, overwhelmed Princess, He Licks Everything, is a relationship happening??, literally no one knows, not even them

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

This piece is my baby.  My heart is in this one.  You have been warned.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic​​​ @symbiont13​​​ @nicke0115​​​ @bunnykjm​​​ @rosee-sensuelle​​​ @girlpornparadise​​​ @mandoplease​​​ @heresathreebee​​​ @xxsteph-enrixx​​​ @jetiikad​​​ @joalsglasses​​​ @mutantcookiesecrets​​​ @demoncatstone​​​ @squidlywiddly87​​​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog​​ @poeedamerons​

Whoever is banging on your door at 6:45 on a Monday morning is relentless. You know it's not your downstairs neighbors; the second floor apartment is still empty because your landlord is actually very sweet and doesn't just screen future tenants for ability to pay the rent, he tries to make sure they'll fit in with the current tenants too. And the little family on the first floor has that loud-ass two year old. There's no blabbery baby talk and the sound of the impact is damn near at the top of the door. So it's definitely Stranger Danger.

You're just going to wait it out. They have to give up at some point. And you've just spent three days ignoring literally everything in the universe, so really,  the odds are in your favor here.

Except… you live in a tiny little town. The population on the sign says 570, but they were being generous in counting all the farms within a 10 mile radius. No one comes to your door accidentally. People don't wander up three flights of exterior stairs on an old farmhouse in the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch Country while it's barely above freezing and still dark out. So there are two options:

Serial Killer.

Or, ugh, someone who knows you.

They're not stopping and it's starting to piss you off.

 "This better be a fucking murderer!" You mutter as you stomp to the door.  Impressive really, considering your pajama pants are over a foot too long and the apartment is carpeted. You reach the door and turn the deadbolt (banging still going on), unlock the doorknob (really, this is just excessive), and yank the door open with a war cry. 

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

Its Diego.

Its Diego looking... odd? You take a split second to catalogue his appearance, it's like a reflex at this point because you can't not ogle him every time his existence is within your range of sight. He's not wearing a belt?? His shirt is half untucked and his jacket extremely wrinkled. One side of his hair is completely flat, as if he slept on it, and his squinted eyes are very, very red. Like he just came off a three day bender. Or he's been crying, your traitorous brain oh so helpfully supplies.

Diego, frozen mid-bang, also takes this time to look you up and down. His eyebrows raise and his brow furrows, clearly not impressed. You're wearing the same pair of pajamas as the last three days. Mismatched socks (one is orange, the other neon green), the overly long drawstring punjammy pants with one cuff rolled up from your stomping, a shelf bra camisole that lost its ability to function as a bra sometime in the last decade, no make up, and your somehow greasy yet simultaneously frizzy floop of curls.

Softly, but with great feeling, he rasps, "What the fuck, Princess?"

Oh no, this is Not Good. This is so, very, incredibly, horrendously bad. Your right arm tenses in preparation to slam the door in his face. His left hand shoots out to land on the door, his arm taut to hold it motionless. He's keeping the door pinned to the wall so he can continue taking up all of the open space of the doorway with his massive body. You snarl silently at him but let go of the door because you know this is the one man who actually can physically overpower you. And you don't need a shattered door to match your shattered pride.

You aim for unbothered dismissive bitch when you ask, "What are you doing here?" 

You fail spectacularly when it comes out in a tremulous whisper. 

Instead of waiting for an answer you spin around and go left into the living/dining/kitchen largest-space-in-the-apartment all-purpose room. You collapse on your tiny sectional and tuck your feet up under you to sit cross legged. You can hear Diego slam the door and follow after you.  As he comes around the chaise of the sectional you reach behind yourself and grab the crocheted blanket your mom made off the back of the couch and desperately try to hide in it. All you want is to become invisible. Diego, of course, is not going to allow that. Asshole.

"What am I doing here? You have not answered anyone for three days! Not your normal phone, not the phone I gave you, not even a Facebook message from your mother! Your sister told Lisa that no one can reach you. Lisa called Julio! What have you been doing?? Clearly you have... gone nowhere…?"  His speech started off barking but had shrunk to down to a horrified whisper as he took in the state of your apartment.  Everything is everywhere.  There are dirty dishes on the breakfast bar. Hair bands scattered across every horizontal surface. A lone lip balm is abandoned on the floor among a sea of used tissues. 

--------

This is so not the woman he knows. There's no sarcastic snark of an answer. That woman would never leave something as important as a lip balm on the floor. Shit, she uses packing cubes for fuck's sake. As he kneels down to retrieve the tube of mint goop he hears it. The one sound that always makes him freeze up and opens a sinkhole in his belly: She's crying.

This unflappable woman who makes eye contact with all of his men, who never hesitates to lecture him on 'feminist theory', who gleefully stuffs an entire slice of pizza into her face while sitting in the VIP booth at the club with skinny models looking on in horror, and once called his bluff about putting on a show in the back of a limo by winking and telling Julio to watch them as she pushed him to his knees in front of her while simultaneously yanking up her miniskirt… is crying.

 And it's probably my fault. He's almost certain this is his fault. Who else could make her emotional like this? Is someone else important enough to be worth her tears? It had better be my fault. If it's someone else I will kill them.

He looks up to see she has wrapped herself entirely in that weird fuzzy blanket her mother somehow made. The whole blanket creation process had been a mystery to him despite listening to her mother explain it step by step. She even has it over her head like a hood. Which would be adorably hilarious if she weren't ugly crying. Ew, please stop.

It only takes two shuffling steps on his knees to reach her, the living room is so small. He wraps his hands entirely around her forearms and pulls her own hands from her face. How is she beautiful with snot running from her nose? Only for her to flinch backwards. Okay, ouch. 

"Look at me." He demands. She just scrunches her face harder. He tries a softer tone, "Please?"  That does it. Those bottomless eyes come up and they are so, so lagoon green rather than the normal deepest blue of the open sea. How does she do that?

"Tell me. Talk to me, Princess. Let me in." 

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

How does he do that? This large, intimidating, powerful, volatile man should not be able to make you feel safe of all things.  Blurting out your feelings to Lisa had been terrifying. Realizing what had just come out of your mouth had brought on a sense of fear so acute it was nauseating. But here you are, staring into that pleading chocolate gaze and wanting nothing more than to answer him. 

You can vividly remember the conversation that triggered this entire mess:

You came home from another insane weekend in New York and desperately needed to ruin your best friend's day with extremely detailed descriptions of your depravity. Lisa being Lisa, acted exaggeratedly horrified to hear that you demanded he fuck Franchesca in the bathroom so you could go down on her after to lick out his come while he then fingered you. Okay, maybe she wasn't  exaggerating… much. But she knows you. She was not surprised that you wanted to watch him rail Franchesca over a bathroom sink but he insisted on trying to choke you with his tongue while he did it. And she is not shocked that you licked Franchesca off in under two minutes-- or came for him just after. Lisa is still laughing about the finality of Diego's abrupt dismissal of Franchesca the second you come all over his hand when she tells you, "That asshole is a full on freak, girl. Perfect for you!" 

And the moment of your damnation, a soft sigh of an admission, "Yeah. I love him."

And you had removed yourself from all human contact for 3 days immediately following that. No social media, no phones, no internet. Nothing.

...so here you are.

His gigantic hands are wrapped around your forearms, fingers so long they overlap his thumbs. You're not afraid of those hands or their assumed capacity for violence. You should be; you know that, you're not stupid. Or maybe you are. After all, you trust this man who runs the most powerful fucking drug cartel in the western hemisphere and you've never even gotten a speeding ticket. While you've been lost in your musings, he released your forearms only to cup your face in those ridiculous hands. Those hands you love, you fucking dumbass. 

No other man has ever touched you like this. Never touched your face with reverence,  handled your body with an almost jealous possession, or ripped your heart open ever so gently with an earnest expression. He listens, enthralled, when you go off on a rant. He watches where you look while you're out and about. Like a hawk, he notices every shiny little thing you linger on, only for you to find it hidden in your luggage on the way home, wrapped neatly in a tiny box. You once told him that you don't like your elbows touched, it produces some weird overload sensation in your nervous system. And he never took your elbow in hand again, shifted to a hand on your lower back (or your ass, of course. Always a classic). He never seems to care what size is on the tag of the clothes he gets you, only that you like them and you like the way you look in them. He throws his head back with booming laughter when you scream obscenities at traffic. He always thanks you when you make food. Even if he does have to peel the cheese off… he just gives it back to you.

You may have gotten used to the private jet, the SUVs that cost more than your parent's house, the way every restaurant where he takes you has no prices, hell sometimes there isn't even a menu. You've even grown accustomed to the jarring dichotomy of coming home to an apartment the size of his penthouse bedroom while still dripping in precious stones and stuffing your new Louboutins in your purse for the three story climb.

But you're almost certain you will never be over the way your cardiovascular system seizes up when he captures you with a single look, or the functional failure of your lungs when his eyes crinkle with laugh lines, the complete implosion of your stomach when those damn dimples appear, or how your entire reproductive tract clenches with need when he licks his lips, and when your brain stutters to a halt because he lays those hands on your shoulders and swipes his thumbs up your jawline to stroke the pulse point under your ears while leaning his forehead on yours.

You realize you've just been staring at him like a moron for what must be for-fucking-ever. You can tell it's been a while because his eyebrows have lowered and he's starting to look a little defeated. You can feel the weight of his hands easing from your cheeks as he begins to pull back from you. Oh no you don't, you gorgeous fucking asshole.

You slap your hands down on his shoulders with entirely too much force and fling yourself off the couch directly into his lap with a level of violence usually reserved for people who won't put their phones away in a movie theater. He grunts with the sudden addition of your weight and teeters backwards for a second before smashing you into his body via the vise of his arms. You bury your face in his neck, where his stubbly beard catches on your stupid frizz, card your fingers through his amazingly soft hair, and start a whole new round of bawling. 

He's kissing the side of your neck, nuzzling into you like he wants to be inside your skin with you. His fingers are spread wide across your back, he's trying to touch as much of you as possible all at once. You can hear a soft, keening whine but you have no idea which one of you is making it. Does it even matter? 

The noise stops when you feel his teeth gently sink into the join of your neck and right shoulder. Oh. Guess it was him. His right hand dips low to palm your ass cheek and flatten you further against him. You automatically squeeze your legs around his hips in response.

You realize he's not hard. The shock of this revelation further delays you in understanding that someone is talking. And that someone is you. 

"Please please, I'm sorry, please." Hiccup. "Its never- I've never been. I'm scared. It's too much and I'm scared." Another sob. "You keep leaving and it's just. What i-i-i-if you don't come back?" A stuttering inhaled gasp. "Who am I w-w-w-without you? What do I do?" A coughing sob. "You m-m-m-make me weak like this and I fucking h-h-hate it!" And you dissolve into another round of wailing sobs. You know you're practically screaming but you can't seem to stop. Your left hand is clawed into his hair and your right is fisted in the collar of his jacket, ruining the Armani. You're fairly certain the mess of snot and drool leaking out of your face isn't doing any favors for his shirt either.

He's just… letting you. Just letting you ruin his stupid expensive clothes and have a meltdown all over him. Like this is okay. Like it's no big deal. His left hand is rubbing circles over your ribcage while you howl. He releases your neck to raise his chin and tuck you up underneath it. Rubbing his goatee over your hair, then kissing the top of your head so incredibly gently. That can't smell good, you think hysterically.

Your sobs are finally starting to ease but he hasn't made a move to let go yet. You start to wonder how long he's going to kneel here holding you. Can it be forever?

It finally registers that his breathing is rough, labored. His shoulders are shaking under you. Now you're legitimately frightened. 

"Diego?" You finally work up the nerve to speak. You hate the way your voice sounds like a small child. "...baby?"  He is slowly stiffening under you and not in the fun way. You start to pull your face back from his neck only for his left hand to shoot up into your hair and hold you in place. It's not painful but it's definitely not soft either. Your breathing is starting to speed up. You instinctively know something important is about to happen. And it terrifies you.

He is holding you so tight its bordering on painful when he finally speaks into your hair.

"Why. Tell me why you fear that I never return. You are not weak. And this is not hate." He uses the hand in your hair to pull your head back. You fight it at first, it's just your nature. Then you squeeze your eyes shut and let him move you like a ragdoll. With no vision you don't know what he's doing until you feel the press of his forehead against your own. He bumps his nose against yours then rubs his bristled cheek against your soft one. You realize he's rubbing you like a cat and it makes you smile ruefully. My Murder Panther.

With his lips pressed right to your ear, he rumbles ever so softly, "Tell Diego, Princess."

Your whole body seizes up with the sensation. Oh, you fucking bastard. You would say it aloud except the undercurrent of fear in his voice gives you pause. He's afraid. He's afraid of you. Of the possibility of your rejection. Just like in the kitchen when he blurted out that he wanted to keep you. The way he froze, paralyzed in fear, after he whispered that he loved you. It's the same soft, lost little boy voice, the slight tremble in tone, the uncertainty. 

And this time...this time, you can't take it. Tears slowly slip down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut even tighter. You remember the night you met. His breathtaking smile when you turned the tables on him. Those damn dimples. When you felt the gun in the back of his pants. The moment you decided to do what you wanted and not what you should. Fuck it.

You press your own lips to his ear, his grip in your hair pliant enough to allow it. He's shaking under you. The fingers of his right hand are digging into your hip like claws, you find the pain grounding. Knowing that you're in control of this entire moment is both thrilling and terrifying. You could break him, right here and now. Fuck it.

And he would let you. This rich, powerful, enigmatic man who has already confessed his love to you. Fuck it.

"Diego.." You breathe into his cheek. He shudders under you and sighs out in a broken whimper. 

Fuck it.

"Diego… I love you."

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

There's a long moment that nothing happens. Everything is frozen in place. He doesn't even breathe for fear that he'll wake up from this, just like the dream from a few weeks ago.  When he does remember to inhale it's a raspy choke of a gasp. It hurts, he realizes. Is it supposed to hurt? 

His eyes are burning. Taking an immediate red eye flight from LA and then driving three hours to her place was probably not his best plan, but he had been terrified. He had needed to have her exactly where she is right now.

He loosens the grip in her hair and turns his face into hers to rub his wet lashes on her cheek. Her hands are coming forward to frame his jaw, hands so tiny and soft. He has refrained from saying it himself for fear of scaring her off. He knows its selfish and he doesn't care, he wants to hear it again. Over and over. Until it stops hurting.

"Diego?" Her voice is so soft, harsh from crying yet still so high. He opens his eyes to see that she still has hers closed. He slides his goatee over her skin until his lips hover over hers.

"Again." He murmurs, "Please, my princess. Tell me you will let me keep you."

‐-------------------------

This couldn't hurt more if he'd reached into your chest and snatched your heart with his bare hands. He sounds so small and hopeful, so vulnerable. Am I his first? The first person to love him?

You can't stand this man begging for your affection. You find yourself wanting to give him everything.  Your secret is already out; in for a penny in for a pound, right?

You take a deep breath and dive in head first because you're a fucking Scorpio, damnit.

"Diego, baby." You stroke his cheeks, petting down his stubble with the direction of the growth. Just like you would pet any other cat, you find yourself grinning. You open your eyes to see him so close its dizzying. His are shut but his expression is pure yearning, eyebrows drawn down and brow furrowed, jaw tensely solid, wet lashes stuck together in spiky pieces. "I love you." 

He chokes and his eyes snap open to meet yours. Now it's your turn to muck up the basic process of breathing. There's so much everything in his eyes you feel like you're drowning. Every fucking romance novel cliche was right.

"Again." He demands. In typical Diego fashion, he wants it and he wants it now. You can't help your smile growing wide. There's my Murder Panther.

"I love you." You maintain eye contact while leaning your forehead against his. "I love you." Its like you can't stop yourself. You brush your lips over his goatee, he chases you back to ghost a kiss on your lips. "I love you." Its just pouring out of you now.

"I-" Kiss.

"Love-" Kiss.

"You." Kiss. 

You expect him to keep kissing you. To slide that perfectly wicked tongue between your lips and drive you even further insane. But he doesn't. He pulls back to pant in your face, then closes his eyes and whimpers. You watch the play of emotions across his features, so quick you can't identify a single one. He finally gathers himself into some cohesive comprehensible thought and speaks:

"I dont. I have never. You have to, to do the...uhh… help?"

Or not.

You can hear so much in that soft rumble. Fear, relief, uncertainty, pleasure, hunger, but most of all, trust. He's trusting you. Trusting that you know what to do. Trusting that you can lead him on this new path. Trusting that you'll take care of him. This man who leads the largest criminal outfit on the continent and is intimidated by nothing, entrusts his being to you. It's like being stabbed in the heart, a searing pain that brings tears to your eyes and a painfully wide smile to your lips.

You slide the thumb of your right hand forward to swipe over his cheekbone. Your left hand goes back to stroke his hair. He nuzzles into your right hand, beard both soft and scratchy. Just like him, all contradictions.  You can see his lashes flutter and you open your mouth to speak but…

Wait a minute.

Seriously???

"Diego… Are you staring at my tits?"

He's not even remotely repentant. "They are just. Right There! And no bra!"

You throw your head back and laugh. You laugh so loud it hurts your throat and brings tears to your eyes. You laugh until you're gasping for air. When you finally open your eyes and look at him your heart tries to crawl up and out of you just to get to him. 

He's staring up at you, eyes wide with adoration and jaw hanging open in wonder. You bend forward to rest your forehead on his again. "You soft little Murder Panther." You don't even bother trying to hide your ridiculously pleased smirk.

His right hand slides up your hip to your lower back while the left lowers slowly from your hair to the back of your neck. His lips curl up at the corners. His gaze is still soft as he murmurs, "Only for you, my princess."

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

She's so soft in his arms. Relaxed and loose, trusting that he'll take her weight without buckling and keep her safe from falling. It makes his chest ache and his eyes burn. He raises his chin, bringing his lips to her, only she dives down for him at the same moment, colliding together just this side of too much, too fast. Always so eager, the thought makes him groan deeply. She shivers in response and whines, so high pitched it makes his ears ring.

She's curling her fingers in his hair, using the leverage to tilt his head to the angle she wants while he kisses her. He's rubbing his lips over hers, making sure to apply enough pressure that her fair skin will show the beard burn later. When he feels her left arm begin to tense he goes to draw back to look at her… only for her to yank on his hair. He yelps, and she seizes the opportunity to delve her tongue into his mouth. Holy fuck, she is perfect.

And then she's abruptly pulling back. No no no no no no! 

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

Like a slap upside the head, you suddenly remember that you haven't showered...for three days. Fuuuuuuuck.

"Wait, wait Diego, hold on-" In the time it takes you to whine those five words he's already moved on to your neck. His left hand is threaded back into your hair and holds tight close to your scalp to gently but steadily pull. Just how you like it.

"Uhhhhhhhhh wuhhh…" Oh yes, so eloquent. He's rubbing that fucking goatee everywhere and you're about fourteen seconds away from passing out. You put your hands on his shoulders and start to push him backwards. He growls in displeasure and you whimper. Okay, maybe a little more, your traitorous brain isn't even helping here. You try again, "Baby, baby. I haven't. Oh god, yes. Uhh huh. Wait, just, can you pause? Mmmmmm… Oh my god, Diego stop!" Apparently barking works.

He growls again but manages to disengage from tormenting your neck with one last long lick. Do not think about that tongue! 

"Fucking what?" He mutters, breathing hard. "I cannot have you? Now?" How very Diego. He's blinking at you in agitated confusion, pupils blown wide and flushed lips parted. His hand in your hair is shaking, the other has sunk back down to grip your ass very, very securely.

You can feel your face flushing with embarrassment. Your gaze darts off to the left, this is mortifying.  "I haven't showered in three days. I smell." When you finally manage to make eye contact again he's grinning. Oh no.

"Oh si, Princess. I can smell you." His tone is arrogant, but the thickening of his accent betrays just how aroused he really is. His left hand slides down to your butt, too. That grin is all teeth, Pure apex predator. 

"Yeah, that's what I me-yeeeeen!" He doesn't let you finish. Instead he slides both hands under you, where ass meets thigh, and picks you up to deposit you back onto the couch. You always squeal in delight when he picks you up, That is never gonna get old. The moment your weight is on the cushion he brings his hands forward and then around your inner thighs to spread your legs wide. Before you can even register what is happening he dives down into your lap, burying his face in your crotch and inhaling deeply. 

While your brain has stalled in shock (because Are you fucking serious?) your hips have decided this is a great idea and lurched forward to practically hump his face. His exhale is the longest, loudest, sexiest groan you have ever heard. Your hands fly to his hair, but instead of pushing away they are definitely holding him in place. He's rubbing his face against you, turning his head from side to side, moaning endlessly like he can't get enough. 

Your brain finally catches up and you abruptly cut off the whine that's been pouring out of you. You just have to open your mouth, "Are you fucking serious right now? You like that?!?" 

With one last hard rub of his face against you, (FUCK YES, rub that bearded chin on my clit) he pulls back to look up at you. And if you thought he looked aroused before, he is positively wrecked now. His eyes are slitted in pleasure, brows drawn together with need, jaw slack, mouth open and panting. He doesn't keep you waiting for an answer. "Well, not your normal sexy bakery scent. You smell like you but just, more. Damn delicious." He growls. 

Okay, two things: 

You file 'sexy bakery' away for later discussion because wtf, lol.

And. And he really means that. He's dead serious. He has a death grip on your inner thighs, his hands are like steel. As if he's afraid you'll try to push him away, to stop him. Fat fucking chance, babe.

You cup his face with both hands and smile softly down at him. In wondrous amazement you whisper, "Holy fuck, I love you." The transformation of his expression from blissfully needy to Horny Murder Panther is damn near instantaneous.

"Good. Now gimme this pussy!" He orders. 

You laugh, but your hands fly to the drawstring of your pants in obedience. He erupts into a flurry of actions, pulling his jacket off to dump it on the floor behind him. He only gets as far as unbuttoning the cuffs on his sleeves before giving up and just ripping the shirt up and over his head to join his jacket. The sight of solidly muscled chest rippling like that short circuits your brain. What were you even doing? Was it drooling? Its definitely drooling now. 

His hands come back to your thighs, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh. He yanks you forward until your ass is hanging off the couch. You snap back to awareness and start frantically pushing your pants down. He grabs the waistbands of both your pants and underwear and hauls the whole mess down your legs at what has to be record speed. Before you have a chance to do anything else he's burying his face into your pussy like a starving man. 

He uses his flattened tongue to give you a long, slow, torturous lick from the bottom of your entrance to your clit. Your back arches to mirror his movements while you sob in pleasure. Then he does it again. And again. Over and over in an endless loop of wet decadent friction. He grips the backs of your thighs, the heels of his palms brushing your ass while his thumbs are buried in the creases where leg becomes hip. He pushes your legs back more yet, widening you further and practically folding you in half. You can't even bring yourself to be worried about how your squishy stomach compresses into rolls. Diego certainly doesn't care.

He changes tactics to latch onto your clit. Sealing his lips around you, he alternates between hard suction and softly sliding his tongue up under your hood to drive you mad. The direct pressure is almost too much, you whimper and squirm after only a few rounds of this. He leaves off and you think you're catching a break to breathe. You are so, so wrong.

He goes lower to literally lick you from bottom to top.

With a shriek, both of your hands fly to his head. "Holy fuck. Oh my god, oh my god. Baby. You. Oh god. Baby, fuck yessss… " What started out as some kind of blasphemous incantation ends in you hissing with unadulterated sin. He moans against you in response but doesn't stop. The incessant long strokes of his tongue have you closer to orgasm faster than you can ever remember it happening before. Your legs are shaking and tears are pouring from your eyes. You reach your right hand down to touch his left where he's holding your thigh, needing something, anything, to ground you. And he laces his fingers with yours. 

Your heart clenches. "Diego…" you whisper for him, sobbing from the intensity of everything. With a choppy groan he refocuses on your clit, ferociously determined. Your entire abdomen is tense, you're wound too tight. He presses his flattened tongue against you even harder, shortening his strokes just to cover your clit. It feels infinite, you can't tell where one lick ends and the next begins. Just constant, unyielding pleasure. It's too much, holy fuck it's too much, never stop.

Everything clicks into clear focus. Your pussy compresses tight on nothing, and then you snap. Your whole body seizes up with your orgasm. For one long, terrifying moment your heart pauses and your breathing stops. It all comes crashing back together and you suck in a lungful of air with a choking sob. Waves of agonizing pleasure wash over you, your body shuddering with each one. He's still pressing that incredible, miraculous, entirely evil tongue to your clit. Holding fast and drawing your climax out as long as possible. Growling against you with heavenly vibration. As the rounds of your clenching cunt ease in both intensity and frequency he slowly slides up and off of you. 

He rests his sweaty forehead against the inside of your right thigh, panting so hard his breath is hitting you with almost physical force. You pry your right hand off your own thigh, keep your fingers laced together, and bring his hand up to your chest where you lay it over your heart.

You keep your eyes closed while you brokenly cry. "I love you, Diego."

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

His right hand snakes up your body to slide around the back of your neck. He's pulling you forward, sitting you upright. His left hand slides back down to your hip where he grips you tightly and pulls toward him simultaneously. Your eyes pop open when you feel like you're going to fall off the couch. 

Diego scoops you back into his lap with your momentum and proceeds to just stand up. You yelp in surprise as your arms shoot around his neck to hold on. It takes a second to realize that you're essentially just sitting on his left forearm, his right hand is still gripping the back of your neck tightly. You moan in pure arousal, hiding your face against his shoulder. The fact that he just tosses you around like a ragdoll is so mind-meltingly hot. The sheer bulk and breadth of him never ceases to render you speechless. There's just so much Diego that he blocks out everything else. Its overwhelming in every sense. Let me just drown in Diego.

By the time you've contemplated your fate, bodice-ripper romance novel style, he's made it halfway down the hall to your bedroom. You tuck your legs tighter around his torso, the hallways in an old farmhouse aren't exactly spacious, and he purrs against you in response. Your body's physical reaction is so strong that you choke. Is there anything about this man that does not turn me on? 

He makes it to your bedroom without incident (a miracle, really, considering it looks like a bomb went off in your apartment) and deposits you on the bed. He's been so incredibly gentle with those huge hands that it takes you by surprise when he firmly grasps your jaw and growls at you. "Look at me."

You swallow, hard, and open your eyes. He's staring at you so intensely, his gaze unreadable. He uses his grip on you to slowly push you down onto your back. You don't even try to fight it. You're not sure what he's doing but it's very clear that he needs to do it. He squeezes your jaw with purpose and you blink up at him in confusion. He cocks his head and regards you like… well, like prey.

It's been a long time since he has made you nervous like this.

He finally releases your jaw to slide his hand down your throat and rest it over your pounding heart. He pulls the neckline of your camisole away from your body then allows it to softly snap back against you. "Take this off." His growl is quiet, but it still sets off alarm bells in some primal part of your brain. He sees the hesitation in your eyes and barks out, "Now!"

You whip the top off over your head before he loses any more patience and rips it off of you in shreds. His hand is back on your jaw, ensuring you look nowhere but at him. His breathing is harsh, you can see a muscle tic in his left cheek, and his eyes are wild. Feral, you shiver with the thought. "Stay, Princess." He orders softly and releases his hold on you. 

You don't dare move.

He straightens back upright and his hands go to his pants. You have a brief moment of hysteria, Have fun getting those impeccably tailored pants over that massive cock, but you manage to stifle the thought and keep your expression steady. He's toeing off his shoes while undoing the button, then pulling the zipper down. You watch his hands in fascination. It's an obsession you have no plans of shaking. He manages to get the pants over his hips with no problems, a complete lack of underwear always expedites the process. 

He moves to climb on the bed and you spread your legs for him like a reflex. This man has had a profound effect on you. Before you get too far he throws his left leg over both of yours, straddling you and effectively immobilizing you. You reach up for him as he plants his elbows just outside of yours and cups your face in those hands you so adore. Your own hands land on his shoulders and he allows it, for now. You try to urge him down on top of you, but he's not budging. You want to touch more, feel all of him, but he's just looming over you to block out the rest of existence.

His hands are like iron, caging you in to bend you to his will. His eyes search your face, you have no idea what he's seeking. Finally, he rumbles down at you, "Do you know what you did?"

The question is soft, dangerously so. You can feel yourself starting to shake. You have a sneaking suspicion that there is no right answer so you just shake your head in a 'no'. He cocks his head again and you find yourself blinking rapidly. His eye twitches when he finally answers, "You scared me."

You're shocked. Never in a million years would you have expected this man to straightforwardly admit fear. He leans in close to your face and your breathing hitches. "I'm sorry." You whimper. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I never meant to scare you." You don't even recognize your own voice. Its small, plaintive and timid. 

He moves back upright and kneels over you. His expression is only becoming more fierce. You start to draw your legs out from under him, curling up some, instinctively seeking to protect yourself. "You didn't mean to?" He rumbles incredulously. His eyebrows are rising and you can feel actual anger radiating off of him. 

He snaps, "You didn't mean for me to drop everything I was doing?" And faster than you can comprehend his right hand comes down on the outside of your left thigh. The sharp sound of the slap echoes in your tiny room. Your jaw drops in shock, then the pain blooms out from the point of impact. You look from his face to his hand, then back again. "Diego, I--"

"You didn't mean for me to cancel two drop receivements and a business meeting?" His hand comes down again, but you're already moving. You try to turn away, rolling your legs to the right. His hand lands on your left hip, fingers long enough to catch the outside of your cheek. You shriek and start trying to escape in earnest. His left hand shoots down and grabs both of your wrists, stopping you from pulling yourself away from him. "Diego! Wait, I don't--" 

He clamps his legs around yours and uses your momentum against you to turn your hips entirely to the side. He has both your wrists pinned down in a bruising grip. Your shoulders are flat on the bed, there's nowhere you can hide your face. "No! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause--"

"You didn't mean for me to take an immediate flight across the entire country?" This time the slap lands fully on your ass. And it hurts. You yelp as tears spill over your cheeks. "No! I'm sorry! Please--"

"You didn't mean for me to drive two hours from the airport after I've been awake for almost two days?" His volume has risen, he's practically yelling. His hand comes down again, lower this time to catch the bottom of your cheek, where it becomes the tender skin of thigh. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! No I didn't--"

"You didn't mean for me to find you here like this? Having some sort of tantrum like a child?" He roars. This time there are three slaps, one right after the next, all landing in the same spot. Your shrieks are coming out in stutters, interspersed with gasping inhalations. "No! No no no! I'm sorry! I'm sorry Diego! I'm sorry!" You're sobbing with it, choking on humiliation. You can't hide your face, there's nowhere to run from this.

"Or you didn't mean for me to find out that you cared? Huh? That you love me!" His voice cracks over the sound of his near constant strikes. You're wailing in tears, "Yes! Yes! Okay! Damnit Diego, I'm sorry! I was afraid! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry…" you dissolve into incoherence. 

He releases your wrists and grabs your face again. You try to push him away, but you're too weak. "Look at me! Look at me, Bicki!" he hisses. You shake your head no. "Mirame, Princesa! Please, please." His voice is hoarse, dripping with fear and desperation. You open your eyes to find him right in your face. His expression is twisted up with pain and desire. "You cannot do this! I have to know you are safe! Protected! Let me keep you!" 

It suddenly dawns on you what he means with 'keep'. He wants to protect you yes, but what he really means is 'have' you. Present in his life. At his side. Your heart in his keeping.

His hands are stroking you, over your hair, down your arms. He grips your hands tightly, bringing them up to his face. You hold onto him, your only constant in this. "Diego.." you hiccup. Then, with no warning and no conscious command on your part, you slap him. Hard. 

You're both frozen in place, equally shocked. Staring at each other in escalating tension. You sniffle and it launches him into action.

He grabs your left hip in a bruising grip, pushing your leg to your chest, pulling it out from under him so he can get between your thighs. You frantically claw at his shoulders, his biceps, anything to pull him closer. You need him. Right now. You need him so deep inside you that you don't know where he ends and you begin. 

He slides home in one powerful thrust. Your whole back arches and you grimace in excruciating ecstasy. The stretch of it burns, it hurts so perfectly. His left hand is wrapped around your left thigh, holding you open for him, his right on your left shoulder, keeping you steady and still for him to bottom out. He stays there, grinding his cock into you as far as possible. Still trying to push the last few inches into you. Your vision blacks out and you scream yourself hoarse with your orgasm. 

When you come back to awareness he's kissing all over your face, murmuring your name. You turn your face to his, seeking. He fits his lips over yours and you both moan. You pet over his shoulders, reach back up to tug on his hair.

He starts a steady rhythm of long, slow strokes. You can feel every damn inch of him and it's so incredibly, deliriously good. You open your mouth to him and he deepens the kiss, tongue moving to match his hips. He tastes like you. All you can smell is his cologne, underscored by pure lustful male. This is indescribable. Each and every one of your senses is nothing but Diego.

His right hand glides down to cup your breast, hefting the weight of it and rubbing his thumb over your nipple. You break off the kiss to throw your head back, whining in pleasure. His lips trail down your neck, beard leaving fire in his wake. He laves his tongue over your nipple before latching on and suckling. You can feel another orgasm approaching, and so can he.

"That's it, Princess. Come for me. Show Diego what a good girl you are." His hoarse voice and soft commands push you right over the edge. You're rippling down around him, sobbing and nodding. Yes, yes, your perfect little princess. 

He picks up the pace, the force of his thrusts rocking the bed into the wall with a steady banging. You can't seem to care. You're whining and pleading, "I'm sorry, please please. Yes baby, yesyesyesyesss…" 

"I know," he coos softly to you. "You are so very sorry, aren't you?" You're nodding desperately in agreement. "Will you do this again? Huh?" You shake your head 'no' so fast it makes you dizzy. His words would be condescending if his tone wasn't so very emotional. It's okay. You need him to vocalize what you can't. And he knows it. He knows you.

He pushes your left leg out to the side, sliding his right hand up your thigh to grip your hip. His left hand travels down your back between you and the bed. Through nothing but raw power he lifts your wide hips and rotates you so you're flat on your back and fully open to him. You keen at the show of strength, just like he knew you would. 

"Are you going to be a good little Princess for Diego?"  When you don't answer he pulls back and stops. Your eyes snap open and you whimper in desperation. He's watching you, waiting. His brows are drawn together in concentration and his jaw is set tight. Those beautiful brown eyes are nearly black with hunger. He digs his nails into your hips while he waits. 

You struggle with gathering enough oxygen before you can answer, "Yes, yes I'll be good. Be good for you, I promise!" You aren't sure who is in control of your mouth right now. You don't feel like you have any control. He rewards you by filling you up completely. Your eyes roll back into your head, taking all of him at once always steals your breath. 

He stays fully sheathed and leans over you. Bringing your knees up to your shoulders and his face to yours, he takes your lips under his. You sob into his mouth, you can feel the head of him pressing against your cervix. He nips your bottom lip then swipes his tongue over the sting. "Does my princess want this? Does she want Diego to keep her?" 

You cling to his shoulders. Closing your eyes in chagrin, you nod. He keeps his face pressed to yours. "Tell Diego. I need to hear it!" He hisses. 

"Yes. Want you to keep me. Please." you whisper, broken and needing.  He rears back and starts a frantic pace. His thrusts are short and brutal, stabbing directly into the core of you. You can do nothing but howl in pleasure and take it. Your spasms around him are nearly constant, one after another you come in rolling waves. You're begging, or cursing, hell, you have no idea what's coming out of your mouth at this point. 

He brings the weight of his torso down on you, crushing you into the bed. "Come! Come now! Come, my princess, come for your Diego!" His words are a command, but his voice is begging.

You're bawling again. "Yes, yesyesyes. Diego, Diego pleeeeease!" You have no idea if he can understand you. You're pretty sure only dogs could hear that. "Please Please please please please, baby. Please. Need you. I love you!"

He buries his face in your hair and drops your legs in favor of engulfing your shoulders in his embrace. You wrap your legs around his hips, you have to keep him as close to you as possible. Your arms snake around his torso, squeezing tight to bring your chest up against his. He's grunting, his thrusts becoming erratic. 

Then you hear him. His voice is quiet, words pleading, "Come. Let me keep you. Please, please. C-come. Princess, need you. Come home with me!" You nod tightly, sobbing silently as he freezes up in orgasm. He chokes out a groan, then collapses on top of you. You welcome the weight of him. He nuzzles into your neck, tickling you with beard and a big sigh. "Love you."

It hurts. It hurts deep in your chest. You hope it never stops hurting like this.

He retreats out of you, faster than you would like. You're pretty sure he forgets just how large he is. You feel wrung out, stretched out of shape and hollow. He pulls his right arm out from under you and rolls off to flop face-up on your right side. His left arm is still trapped under your back. Do you care that it's lumpy and uncomfortable? Nah. You unearth your right leg from under both of his and he makes a whiny huff about it.

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

He's struggling to catch his breath. He didn't mean for things to get so… out of hand. So to speak. She always does this to him. She withholds her more serious emotions and it drives him crazy. She never makes a fuss about his responses, never freaks out when he shows her affection, never gasps in shock when he gives her his ultimate deference. She acts like she has no deep feelings for him and it makes him want to beat it out of her. Apparently that is the correct method.

Her body is relaxed and casual on his arm. But he's greedy and doesn't want her to seal off all those delectably vulnerable emotions she just displayed. Soft, pliant, obedient, needy Princess is his new favorite.

He rolls her into his side with his trapped left hand while rumbling softly, "Come here." And she does. She snuggles into his side willingly and it makes him feel so soft that it's disgusting. Or maybe that's the guilt. She didn't agree to the spanking before hand. She didn't even know it was coming. Honestly, neither had he. His next thought feels like a stab to the lungs. What if she is afraid of me now? Did I hurt her? This is disgustingly emotional.

"Princess?" She sighs a soft 'Mmmm' in answer. She burrows into the coarse hair and soft skin of his underarm. Is, is she sniffing me?? He decides that ignoring her utterly adorable weirdness and addressing the ceiling is his safest option at this point. "Are… are you hurt? Did I hurt you?" 

Her left hand freezes on his chest. Her face slowly creeps into his field of vision from the bottom left corner. Her expression is… mystifying. He keeps his head still but moves his eyes to his peripheral vision to squint at her in concerned concentration.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her lips curve up in an absolutely evil grin. That damn left eyebrow arches imperiously and he is completely certain that she will be the death of him.

"Did you hear me use the safeword?"

[artbymavy]

May I request: sokka doesn’t know how to flirt with boys (“hey jerks, can I watch your jerk bending?”) and annoying zuko until the two get their shit together?

Considering it’s literally canon that Sokka sucks at flirting, this seems pretty likely to me honestly. Sorry for the long wait on this, but I hope you enjoy!

Sokka liked to imagine that years from now, long after the exploits of the avatar and his friends had passed into legend, that people would speak equally highly of this night. The building of Republic City’s air temple had finished just a few days before, and that in itself was a historic accomplishment. But tonight, they were to commemorate their success with what Sokka hoped would be an even more historic party. Officially, it was a ball to be attended by only the highest members of the courts of the four nations. But to Sokka’s knowledge, and only marginally more unofficially, the citizens of the young city were sure to be having celebrations of their own that would surely continue into the night and possibly into the following day. Or two. And he hoped that, just this once, they could all be remembered as the reason people had something to celebrate that didn’t involve any bloodshed beforehand.

 Sokka also knew that they were getting a much better deal. By now he had learned these while events were always incredibly glamourous, and to be included on their guest lists was considered a great honour, they happened to have the fatal flaw of being incredibly stuffy and boring. Especially these days. As he and his friends got older, it seemed to be becoming increasingly difficult to gather them all in a room together at the same time. He doubted tonight would be any different.

 He had arrived with Katara and Aang, both of whom were ecstatic over the completion of the temple. Sokka knew how important this night was to Aang, and took no offence when in just a few minutes he had lost sight of the pair when Aang’s excitement had proved too much to keep them by his side. Since then he had mingled with the crowd, exchanging niceties with the near-strangers, the stiff fabric of his clothes growing increasingly irritating when his high collar chaffed against his neck as his head was forced on a constant swivel to catch the various directions he was being called from. He was about to excuse himself and slip outside when he caught sight of two familiar face. Sighing with relief, he excused himself from his present company and made his way over to them.

 “Toph! Suki!” He called.

 Hearing Sokka’s familiar voice, Suki turned quickly, raising her hand in greeting. Though her response was lost in the noise of the crowd, Sokka knew she was just as pleased to see him as he had been to see her.

 Sokka pushed his way between the masses of people with gentle insistence, eager to see his friends. When he finally reached them, he was welcomed with a firm punch to the shoulder, which for once he actually appreciated.

 “Took you long enough Snoozles.” Toph grinned broadly at him, clearly pleased with herself.

 “Sorry, it’s so packed in here I can barely even move!” Sokka lamented.

 “You’re telling me! People keep stepping on my feet!”

 Sokka laughed at that, noticing for the fist time that, while someone had managed to force Toph into an elegant dress worthy of the occasion, they hadn’t been able to convince her to put on shoes, though he was sure they had tried. Evidently, no one would be making a lady out of Toph any time soon. “Well you can take a girl out of the mud…”

 Suki giggled, and Sokka turned to look at her. Dressed in fine gold and green silks, a few stray hairs falling from her elegant up-do to kiss her ivory-painted cheekbones and frame her stunning face, she stood out even amongst the crowd of similarly coloured earth kingdom citizens.

 “Now you on the other hand, Suki,” Sokka sighed, exaggerating his infatuation only slightly, “you look radiant as always.” Though he and Suki were no longer together, he couldn’t deny there was no chance he would meet a more beautiful girl tonight than her.

 “Thanks, Sokka. You clean up rather nice yourself.”

 Sokka could feel his cheeks heat at her compliment, and found himself almost grateful when Toph interrupted before he could respond and make an ass of himself.

 “Have you seen any of the others, Sokka? It’s hard to tell what’s going on in here with some many people stomping around. Some air temple this is.” She snorted at her own joke, and Suki rolled her eyes.

 “Yeah, I came in with Aang and Katara, but I have no idea where they’ve gotten too. I’m just happy I found you two.”

 To say he was happy was really quite an understatement – Sokka couldn’t even remember the last time he had the pleasure of the company of so many of his friends. Only one person remained still unaccounted for.

 “What about Zuko? Wasn’t he supposed to be here tonight too?” Toph asked, as if reading his mind.

 Sokka felt his mood turn sour, remembering how unpleasant his last few interactions with Zuko had become. And how they had been avoiding each other recently. Or he had, at least.

 “How should I know? It’s not like he talks to me any more than you guys.”

 “Oh, is that right?” Toph drawled. “Because I seem to remember you two being practically attached at the hip the last time we were together.”

 “Yeah well that was a while ago.” Sokka snapped. “Look, if you’re so eager to see him, why don’t you go look for him yourself.”

 Toph only shrugged in response, not particularly interested in whatever petty conflict her overly dramatic friends had cooked up in her absence.

 “Okay grouchy, I guess I’ll find our friends on my own then.” She disappeared into the crowd without another word, waving goodbye to Suki as she went, but hardly caring if she had offended Sokka or not. He would get over it, of that much she could be sure.

 Sokka crossed his arms over his chest defensively despite her departure, wearing an angry pout as he bowed his head to sulk. Toph wasn’t one to coddle, and she wouldn’t have thought it to be such a sore spot, but he hardly appreciated the reminder of how strained their relationship had become recently.

 He was shaken out of his sullen state by Suki’s gentle touch as she looped her arm through his, leading him gently away.

 “Hey. Walk with me?”

 For a while they were silent, Sokka stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the reason for his sudden bad mood, and Suki politely trying to allow him the time he needed. But eventually she had had enough, breaking the silence of her own accord.

 “So… are you going to talk to me about what’s going on with you, or am I going to have to guess.”

 “Nothing’s going on, Suki. You don’t have to worry about me.”

 Suki snorted, rolling her eyes. “Alright then, apparently I am going to have to guess. And my guess is you finally found the courage to tell Zuko how you feel, and things didn’t go very well.”

 Startled by both the casual implication of her words and her calm surety in them, Sokka fell prey to his own defensive instincts. “What? What are you talking about? I don’t have feelings for Zuko, that would be…”

 “Sokka, it’s okay, you don’t have to pretend on my account.”

 Sokka considered her carefully. Her reassuring smile, her kind eyes, the way she seemed to radiate warmth and comfort like no one else could. Who could he confide in, if not her? Who knew him better than she did? Obviously even better than he had realized. He sighed heavily, allowing himself to feel the ache he usually tried to disguise, and decided that however difficult it might be to share his feelings, it would be worth it.

 “I – I didn’t tell him anything. I tried. I thought maybe – maybe he felt the same. But every time I got close, he would just get annoyed or upset with me. Eventually, it just got to be too much, you know? So, I stopped trying.”

 It wasn’t the idea that Zuko might not return his feelings that hurt. He thought, in time, he could have overcome that. Knew their friendship was too strong to really suffer for it. No, what really hurt Sokka more than anything was realizing that might hate him for his feelings – might grow tired of dealing with them. Tired of him.

 “I’m sorry, Sokka.” Suki squeezed is arm warmly, offering him a sympathetic smile. “So, what did you say to him?”

 “I don’t know I just – I thought he might feel the same, but I wasn’t sure, so I figured I’d, you know, try and feel out the situation a little. Be delicate. Try and find some use for my considerable… diplomatic skills, so to speak.”

 Sokka knew there was a chance, however sure he wanted to be, that Zuko might not return his favour. He thought it best test the waters somewhat, before jumping straight into their depths. But Suki was regarding him somewhat suspiciously now, one brow raised, examining him intently.

 “Meaning?” She asked, drawing out the word carefully, wariness evident in her voice.

 “I guess I tried… flirting a little?”

 Suki’s face contorted suddenly, and a peel of laughter escaped her lips before she could stifle it.

 “Suki…” Sokka whined, anger and embarrassment blooming in his chest.

 “Oh, Sokka I’m sorry! But, you must know, don’t you? No wonder Zuko has no idea!” She smothered her laughter as quickly as she could, whipping the tears gathering in her eyes away before they could ruin her make-up.

 “What are you talking about?”

 “Sokka, you’re terrible at flirting. I’m so sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but you really are just absolutely the worst at it. And well… Zuko isn’t exactly the best at deciphering those types of things at the best of times. You poor boys, you really are quite the pair.”

 It smarted a little, to have it suggested that the reason for his misfortune was his own clumsiness, though it did light a little flame of hope in his chest. Still, he wasn’t quite ready to admit his ineptitude just yet.

 “Well you went out with me.” Sokka muttered bitterly.

 “I sure did, and believe me it had nothing to do with your… let’s say diplomatic negotiations?”

 Sokka snorted indignantly. But Suki’s assurance had given him pause. Could she be right? Was Zuko’s apparent sudden distaste for his friend only caused by Sokka’s awkward and uncomfortable ramblings as she suggested? Did he really still have a chance to make his true feelings clear? He hardly dared hope that Zuko might return them, but at least all he had lost so far was his pride, and not the friendship of someone so important to him.

 “Sokka, just because Zuko didn’t respond to your flirting, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have feelings for you.” Suki said, giving voice to his thoughts.

 “Maybe…”

 He almost didn’t want to believe it was possible. In a way, it was easier to keep believing he had already done what he could, and what he wanted was simply out of his reach. But if what she said was true, then the only way to make his feelings known was to be truly open about them. And that was something Sokka dreaded.

 “I really think you should just tell him. I promise, things will work out okay.”

 “Whatever.” Sokka sighed. “I doubt I’ll get the chance anyways. It’s not like he’s…”

 Before he could finish lamenting Zuko’s absence, he spotted him just below them. From their vantage point on the balcony they could see clear across the ballroom to where Zuko stood amidst a group of foreign dignitaries. Sokka could hardly believe he hadn’t noticed him before, for he was absolutely dazzling.

 Though he had seen him dressed as fine as he was tonight on several occasions, somehow he looked even more striking than he remembered. His tall, elegant form was clad in rich red and gold that stood out amongst the cooler shades of those around him. The crimson of his long robes pooled like blood against his pale skin, and Sokka was suddenly aware of the intensity of his own heartbeats hammering against his ribs. Plates of brilliant gold sat atop his shoulders, extending into a high collar at his neck, leaving only the smallest sliver of his throat bare. His hair must have gotten longer since they were last together, for now Zuko wore only half pulled back from his face, secured into a sleek bun which held his delicate crown, while the rest fell loose upon his shoulders and down his back, held straight and dignified. It was abundantly clear to Sokka that, however much Zuko might prefer the comfort he found with his friends to the demands of royal engagements, he was obviously born for this.

 Suki cleared her throat politely, and Sokka snapped his mouth shut quickly. He hadn’t even realized he had let it fall open. He felt his cheeks heating as he turned to try and offer explanation to his friend, but she only smiled a him knowingly, nudging him with her shoulder and coking her head in Zuko’s direction.

 “Go get ‘em, handsome.”

 Sokka laughed nervously, smoothing strands of hair from his face as he worried his lip between his teeth. But despite his apprehensions, he needed no more encouragement to take his leave.

 He descended the small marble staircase separating them quickly, calling out in the hopes of ensuring he did not lose his friend.

 “Zuko! Hey!”

 Hearing Sokka’s voice, Zuko turned towards him, spotting him from across the dance floor and raising a hand in greeting, beckoning him over.

 He watched Sokka as he weaved his way through the crowd with rapt attention, a warm smile on his face, his focus undivided by those he had been speaking with only moments before. Finally, Sokka reached his side, and for a moment, he was nearly at a lose for what to say.

 “Zuko it’s – it’s good to see you.”  Sokka stammered. Zuko hummed in agreement, a sound that would have been lost had they not been standing so close.

 “You look very…” Sokka’s mind fumbled for the right words to describe just how lovely Zuko looked tonight in his fine fire nation garb – “red.”

 Damn it. Maybe Suki was right after all.

 “Oh – well…” Zuko’s cheeks began to colour the shade Sokka had mistakenly given as compliment.

 “It is very warm in here.” He finished rather defensively.

 “No, I uh – I meant to say that you look nice – very nice tonight.”

 “Oh.” Zuko’s blush deepened, but his smile returned as he smoothed a hand over the shoulder of Sokka’s jacket. “Thank you. So do you.”

 The admission was somewhat quiet, low enough to keep it from prying ears.

 “Well then, maybe it was worth wearing these uncomfortable clothes after all.”  Sokka added in a tone he must have thought was suave and charming.

 “Of course it was, Sokka.” Zuko stated flatly. “As much as you dislike it, it is important to dress appropriately to such events.”

 “Because you like it, Zuko. That’s what makes it worth while.”

 “Ah I – oh.” Was all Zuko could stammer in response.

 Okay. Suki was definitely right.

 They stood together for a while without speaking, but their silence wasn’t uncomfortable. While none of Sokka’s more subtle cues had landed, he had at least managed to clarify his meanings, and Zuko hadn’t seemed to take them too poorly. He thought, perhaps, he could stand one more attempt. He had to.

 “The music’s nice tonight, don’t you think? No wonder the dance floor is so crowded.” Zuko nodded, humming his agreement.

 “Do you think – Do you think maybe they have room for two more?”

 Zuko turned to look at Sokka, who couldn’t help but hold his breath as he was raked over by golden eyes, which after only a moment went wide as he seemed to finally understand Sokka’s meaning.

 “Sokka,” he began hesitantly, “are you trying to ask me to dance?”

 “Yes,” Sokka blurted quickly before he could lose his nerve, “I am.”

 A soft, petal-pink returned to Zuko’s cheeks as he dipped his head slightly, a single strand of hair falling from behind his ear to shroud his face, behind which he appeared to hide rather gratefully.

 “I – I’m not very good at dancing.” He murmured.

 Sokka sighed heavily, shaking his head as he admitted final defeat and turned to leave. “Just forget it.”

 Zuko caught his sleeve before he could get far, pulling him back towards him, his blush deepening to near-scarlet, but he held Sokka’s gaze with resolute intensity.

 “But, I’d really like it if – maybe you could teach me?” The hopefulness in his voice was raw and apparent, and for the first time, Sokka let himself hope too.

 A small, delicate smile spread on his face as Zuko slipped his hand into Sokka’s, and Sokka could hardly believe his own bravery as he slid an arm about his waist, pulling him just a little closer.

 “Yeah, okay. I’d really like that too.” He breathed softly.

 A breathy, nervous chuckle escaped him as he led Zuko out onto into the ballroom. True to his word, Zuko spent much of the night treading painfully on Sokka’s toes - but Sokka didn’t mind. He could teach him to dance, he knew it. He would keep trying, even if it took the rest of their lives.

[kiruuuuu]

Doc/Lion oneshot in which they kiss and make up after a fight. And, uh, other things. (Rating E, utter filth + fluff, ~5.2k words) - written for the ever so wonderful @icezero09​ (and welcome back to tumblr!) 💖 Thank you so, so much for commissioning me again :) You’re a joy to write for! Find my commission info here ♥

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It’s rare for Lion to hesitate in front of his own damn apartment, keys jangling forlornly in his half-raised hand and a dull, empty feeling in his stomach.

The first time he did so lies a while back and was entirely self-imposed: following one of the most memorable nights in his life (and with his past, this means a lot) as well as a terrifying confession, he announced a trip to the nearest bakery for croissants and fresh coffee, knowing full well he was allowing for an escape. Upon his return, he rested his forehead on the cool, off-white lacquer of his door, hoping to affect reality by repeating a mantra in his mind, over and over again. Please be there still. Please be there still. Please be there still.

When he was greeted by Doc, in his underwear, subtly complaining about his fridge being worryingly empty, he could’ve burst from the pure joy exploding in him.

Another time he wavered because of a question he was about to pose, a question which had occupied his thoughts for weeks by then. The prospect of not being refused was thrilling with how much he wanted to turn his regular visitor into a permanent resident, yet they’d only been together for a few months by then. It might’ve been too early, too much of a commitment to move in together, too much to ask to share their living space. Lion had gotten lucky with his flat, snagged one with large windows, evening sunlight, spacious enough for a dedicated office and both a bathtub and a shower, and picturing Doc becoming a part of it all filled him with giddy anticipation. Regardless, the possibility of being turned down remained and so he gathered his courage in front of the very door which would become their door after a dizzyingly short amount of time.

Right now, he’s also mentally preparing himself for a potentially difficult conversation, though there are entirely too many ways it could go. The backpack dangling off his shoulder is not getting any lighter and neither are the memories of red dust, large tents lined up one after another and helplessness etched into faces. He’d volunteered for the deployment despite knowing it’ll leave him without closure – diseases will always rage on somewhere and their efforts might make a difference in one town, one city, one region, one country, but ultimately it’s like trying to fill up a swimming pool using only a cup. What he needs now is a hug, a little bit of peace and no responsibilities other than buying groceries. He loves his job, it gives him purpose and direction in life, and yet he can’t deny it drains him sometimes until there’s no energy left.

Definitely no energy to continue arguing.

“I’m home!”, he announces into the quiet once he’s discarded his shoes and hung up his jacket, receiving no response. He was looking forward to coming home throughout the entire flight, picturing a warm welcome, an apology, something along those lines and is genuinely annoyed to encounter none of it. The kitchen is empty and so is their bedroom where he drops his backpack onto the mattress he’s missed dearly (among other things), but in the living room he finds Doc in his usual armchair, sipping coffee with a book in his lap and looking up once Lion appears in the doorway.

He’s gorgeous.

It shouldn’t come as a shock but does nonetheless, two weeks of absence facilitate taking a step back and looking at him in a new light; almost as if he’s seeing him for the first time again. He looks… warm, even inviting, his kind eyes making up for the disapproving curl of his mouth, body relaxed and showing off his sculpted arms in the short-sleeved polo he’s wearing. Even casually, he dresses like he’s been invited to an informal business outing; Lion has never seen him just in sweatpants and supposes this is one of the reasons why Doc always comes across as distinguished. And he’s never wanted anything more than to curl up in his lap, cling to him and never let go.

Doc runs his gaze up and down his body, causing a pleasant tingling and maybe, just maybe he’s in the mood for -

“You look like you need a shower.”

His calm words are ice cubes on Lion’s skin. He’s not wrong, a fourteen hour flight will do that to anyone, but it’s far from what Lion has been hoping to hear. “Yeah”, he snaps without meaning to sound this harsh, “I probably do.”

The argument from before he left continues in his head while he’s basking in the heat of the water drumming down on his skull: he was only doing his job, after all. That’s why he got hired – he’s a professional and refuses to let emotions interfere with his work, and that’s a good thing, isn’t it? He nearly drops the shampoo bottle in agitation and hits his elbow on the cool tiles as he proceeds to weave an impenetrable net of arguments in his mind, counters everything Doc could throw at him effortlessly and recalls the things they spat at each other two weeks ago.

Ultimately, it was his jurisdiction seeing as it was a containment issue, albeit a relatively minor one. He planned on taking the necessary steps while Doc undermined his authority along the way, much to his irritation – maybe he did misdiagnose the boy and paint a picture more grim than reality, yet the scheduled tests would’ve cleared it up without a doubt and brought both the child as well as his mother the deserved peace of mind instead of sending them home from quarantine early. In the grand scheme of things it didn’t matter whether she had urgent appointments to get to and the boy was frightened almost to the point of hysterics, not if their staying overnight would’ve ensured they’re good to go, so Doc was entirely out of line by declaring them safe and allowing them to leave.

Even though they were safe. Lion admits that. Everyone knew, but regulations are there for a reason and why allow for making mistakes when there’s safety procedures which benefit literally everyone and hell, he’s getting worked up again.

He curses under his breath and shuts the water off. It’s about the principle of it all. Doc can’t continue being as lenient as he is and it’s bad enough Six and the others are catering to his bleeding heart, Outbreak being only one of the many examples Lion can think of – if they’d lost some of their best ops going on that frankly idiotic suicide mission to save Macintosh, it would’ve been a disaster. The fact that it happened to work out is irrelevant.

Angrily, he shrugs on one of his nice shirts out of spite, buttoning it while glaring at himself in the mirror. He’s going to show Doc what he’s been missing out on these past weeks. Maybe he should casually drop a few names to make Doc really regret not talking to him while he was in Africa. Well. It’s not like he messaged or called Doc, but again. It’s about the principle of it all.

While dressing fully, he prepares an opening sure to grab Doc’s interest while simultaneously sounding dismissive, ends up stomping into the living room to deliver his short speech and is about three syllables in when he realises Doc isn’t even there anymore.

“… Olivier?”

He turns around to an amused-looking Frenchman in the kitchen, lifting a cup to indicate it’s for Lion and he dares to still look utterly irresistible. Lion pushes away the mental image of just tossing the mug into the sink in favour of tracing Doc’s jaw line with his tongue (but fuck, it’s tempting) and instead blurts out something he doesn’t even mean, something which needs far more context than, well, nothing: “I wish people stopped listening to you all the time.”

Doc’s face turns stony and Lion wants to kick himself. “Or we can fight instead of catching up”, he mutters and slams the coffee onto the counter, causing it to slosh over. “That’s fine too.”

Lion has joined his lover in the kitchen now, brows scrunched together. “I don’t want to fight”, he states lamely.

“No. You just want to rehash an argument for which we found no solution while insisting you’re right. Big difference.”

Alright. Maybe he wants to fight a little, if only to get a rise out of Doc who’s infuriatingly composed still. “I met some of your former colleagues from MSF”, he tactically switches topics to hopefully appease his boyfriend enough in the meantime so he gives in once Lion pushes the previous issue some time later. “Martina says hi.”

“I know. We talk regularly.” Ouch. The cutting quality of the remark is not lost on him: Doc is pissed that he didn’t even let him know whether he arrived safely. “She also tells me you got shot.”

This, at least, he can de-escalate. “I was shot at, but not hit.”

“Martina mentioned blood.”

“It was a graze shot on my side. It’s healed already.”

Doc seems thoroughly unimpressed – not undeservedly, Lion has been known to either downplay or exaggerate his own injuries wildly, though he hasn’t told anyone the real reason. Pretending he was worse off than it appeared ensured a trip to Doc’s office, and acting as if everything was fine surely impressed the Frenchman once he was there. A foolproof system. “If you say so.”

“I say it because it’s true. Were you worried about me?”

Brown eyes turn even darker at the teasing question. “Of course. Every day, Olivier. Just because you behaved like a temperamental child doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.”

Lion sputters in indignation. “I did not. If anything, you were worse, you broke the fucking vase!”

“Only because you implied the lives of my colleagues are worth less to me than those of civilians.”

“I only did that because you said I care more about rules than I do about humans in general.”

“You also slammed the door and actually stomped your foot. I’m not the immature one here!”

“And yet you sat here and pouted instead of checking up on me despite being worried just because you need to be right -”

“I am right. And now show me your stupid wound!”

“There is no wound, Gustave!”

“We both know you’re lying, come on.”

“Do you really trust me that little?”

“Have you given me enough reason to trust you?”

And that does it. That is it. Lion is seething at this point, all the pent up frustration and worry boiling over as a result of Doc’s consistent nagging, his denial of Lion being right concerning protocols, the silence during the previous weeks and his insistence on being always correct, it’s too much. He snaps.

With one swift motion, he rips his shirt open, presenting his naked torso to his lover, and growls: “Does this look like I’m fucking injured?!”

Doc stills.

And during the brief silence which follows the animalistic gesture, Doc’s eyes are glued to Lion’s chest, sun-tanned and skin smooth with only the faint hint of a scar on his ribs, a mark which will completely fade in months. Around them, torn-off buttons plink and bounce on the floor.

Lion knows what he looks like, knows his lugging around heavy equipment paired with fewer meals and small portions has made his muscles stand out, contoured him flatteringly and harmonises with his slightly bleached auburn hair. He probably smells like sunlight.

Maybe this ended up a little too dramatic.

“You need to fuck me right now”, Doc tells him, tone serious, “we can argue later.”

… or maybe this had just the right kind of flair.

Before he’s even processed the words, Doc’s hands are already pulling on his belt and fuck, getting with the program has never been this seamless. He angrily swats his lover’s hands away to complete the task himself, flinches involuntarily when soft lips latch onto one of his nipples and presses out a groan upon feeling teeth on the sensitive skin. It’s all a little too sudden so he’s only half hard when Doc yanks his trousers down, but watching him sink to his knees without hesitation and lick his way from the base to the tip does wonders to remedy this.

Lion threads his fingers into dark, wavy hair, still reeling from what on earth just happened, is still happening, yet he couldn’t be further from complaining once Doc wraps his glossy lips around the head and flattens his tongue against it. His mouth is hot and wet and Lion feels himself swelling inside the cavern, blood rapidly filling his stiffening shaft while Doc mercilessly sucks him into full hardness. He makes for a beautiful picture like this, more submissive than he usually lets himself be, especially in context, though when he glances up at Lion, there’s still something defiant in his dark gaze.

So that’s how it’s going to be.

His grip tightens and he begins guiding Doc’s movements, pulling him further onto his cock with each bob and causing first a strangled moan and then a warning hum which he disregards entirely. There’s some residual anger still and it bleeds into Lion’s motions, makes them a little rougher than normal. Doc’s tongue is slowly driving him insane with the way its tip seeks out all his most sensitive spots almost out of spite, how it massages the underside, swirls over his slit and curls around the glans, and the sweet pressure of his lover sucking on him only adds to the dizzying mix of stimulation. Not only does it feel mind-blowing, it feels like triumph.

Idly, he debates leaving it at that, interpret this phenomenal blowjob as a concession of defeat from Doc and never bring up their earlier argument again – it would certainly be worth it, Doc always looks so beautiful after he’s swallowed Lion’s come, dazed and proud and like his reading glasses would be askew if he put them on. Doc’s slight resistance might be just for show but Lion relishes it nonetheless, keeps dragging him in while testing out the limits, lets up a little when Doc pinches his thigh after a particularly deep swallow – and then he notices Doc palming himself through his trousers.

He seems to be enjoying this just as much as Lion is.

Inside Doc’s mouth, his cock gives a vicious throb at the sudden surge in desire and earns a helpless moan in return. Lion pictures it briefly, him fucking Doc’s throat while his lover pleasures himself, trapped between focusing on Lion’s dick and his own erection, and his hips involuntarily thrust forward at the mental image. Doc, not expecting it, withdraws while gasping, robs Lion of his delicious wet heat and glares. The hand between his legs, however, is not stopping.

Belatedly, Lion realises this isn’t a submission, if anything it’s an act of war – Doc is taking what he thinks is his, rendering Lion useless in the process. He’s furious but unable to keep his hands off Lion. And if that isn’t the hottest thing he could’ve hoped to encounter today.

“Get up”, he orders hoarsely, throat dry, and doesn’t waste any time undressing his lover as soon as he’s obliged. All his clothes are quickly discarded and tossed somewhere, and with every new bit of skin revealed, Lion’s impatience grows: he wants this man, and he wants him now, wants to show him without a shadow of a doubt how much he desires him… but also make him admit Lion was right.

Doc’s skin is warm under his palms and his tongue slick against Lion’s own. Their making out is almost desperate and not at all befitting a loving reunion after a prolonged absence, but neither of them mind while their lips glide over each other, hands roaming over bodies. Doc moans into his mouth when Lion grabs a handful of his ass, and refuses to break the kiss even as he’s lifted up and set down on the table. His legs wrap around Lion’s hips and he pulls him closer, ankles locked, the gesture possessive but encouraging, and both of them voice their pleasure when their erections rub against each other, Lion’s spit-slicked and Doc’s just as hard now.

“Missed me that much, Gustave?”, he teases in between ravenous kisses and almost loses his balance when Doc’s legs shove him a little in protest.

“Don’t be so smug and get the lube.”

“Why don’t you get it yourself if you want me so much?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

They glare at each other and it’s tough not to allow the challenging expression to melt into an amused smile over Doc’s visible frustration. He’s clinging to Lion still, resistance clearly written in his features – if it was for him, he’s not going to give up any time soon. The realisation of what he’s going to do next makes Lion’s dick jump in anticipation and he turns out to be right: if Lion has leverage over his lover due to how horny he is, he just needs to level the playing field. And so he lightly sinks his teeth into Lion’s shoulder, grabs his cock and drags the nails of his other hand over Lion’s ribs. The faint pain is transformed into roaring want immediately upon Doc lightly jerking him and holy shit, why have they never had angry sex before?

He curses quietly, whispers Doc’s name and earns a sharp nip to his jaw; if he wants to keep up, he needs to act. Blindly, he reaches behind him and fetches the bottle of olive oil from the counter while thrusting into the unforgiving grip. The feeling is divine, almost as good as Doc’s mouth and he hears himself groan in bliss after his lover has spat into his hand and eased the slide considerably, producing a whole other kind of friction. He’s got something better, though.

As soon as his oiled-up fingers curl around Doc’s thick shaft, the Frenchman pauses. Takes a deep breath. And expels it again with a sound akin to a whine when Lion begins stroking him leisurely, thoroughly enjoying the way his lover relaxes into him before being aware of doing so. And once he notices, it’s back to struggling.

They relentlessly exploit each other’s weakspots, Lion sucking a purple bruise onto Doc’s neck, right below his ear, and Doc massaging his balls, nearly causing his knees to give in, fingertips brush over nipples, lips latch onto sensitive patches of skin, and all the while they’re simultaneously pushing each other away and pressing closer. Breath mingling, they’re becoming one already, pawing and kissing and attempting to dominate. They’re both worse for wear by now and so Doc doesn’t even protest when Lion orders him to lie back and spread his legs. Fingers generously coated in olive oil, Lion runs them over his lover’s entrance teasingly before inserting just one.

And oh.

Doc’s cheeks darken when Lion adds a second finger without hesitation, finding his insides pliant and wet already – or rather still.

“Couldn’t even wait until I’m home”, Lion tuts and watches, full of wonder, as Doc swallows even a third digit easily.

“If you hadn’t given me the silent treatment, you might’ve gotten some photos”, the other Frenchman retaliates through his teeth, though his grimace slips a little when Lion strokes over his prostate. Being this familiar with his body pays off more often than not.

“And if you hadn’t given me the silent treatment, I’d have talked you through it.” Lion’s own dick is rearing to go, pulsing impatiently at the sight of Doc’s hole stretching around his fingers, and yet he resists the temptation to enter him and instead goes back to jerking him with his free hand. Doc looks like he’s going to start drooling any second now, his resistance forgotten in favour of grinding against Lion’s hands. “I would’ve told you that you’re doing so good, that you look beautiful, that you can take even more fingers than that. How much I want you. That you should imagine it’s me pushing inside you.”

He’s putty in Lion’s hands now, was shoved over the threshold by overwhelming need and has turned malleable, soft, desperate. Lion has won, and victory has never felt sweeter than right now: the person with whom he hopes to spend the rest of his life all laid out in front of him, blinking up at him dazedly and with so much love obvious in chocolate brown eyes that Lion’s heart threatens to burst for a moment.

“Please”, Doc says quietly. And Lion doesn’t make him say it twice.

Slicking up his own cock already forces a moan out of his throat, so he doesn’t expect to last long – not with how long he’s had to wait for this, not with how tight the ring of muscle was around his three fingers. It doesn’t matter, he’s sure they’ll be having a second round later. Carefully, he lines up the tip and pushes in with minimal resistance, both of them moaning when the head slips inside, and once he’s fully bottomed out, he takes a moment to revel in familiar feeling of Doc clenching down on him. Oh, how he missed this. How he missed the disbelief written all over Doc’s face when Lion rolls his hips and brushes over his sweet spot, how he missed the filthy sounds they’re producing together, how he missed the feeling of another body against his own.

Once he slams inside the first time, Doc is already incoherent and the half-syllables he manages only convince Lion to not let up, increase force and speed and intensity to make him forget his own name, to make him forget he ever belonged to anyone else. His lover’s crotch is an oily mess but it’s just perfect for him, allowing him to wank him hard and fast, rapidly building pleasure in time with his thrusts – Doc doesn’t suspect anything yet, thighs trembling already from how deep Lion invades him with every motion, from how calloused fingers run over sensitive flesh. He must think Lion impatient or close to the edge but couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s only just started.

When he ceases his ministrations just as Doc’s abs begin to flutter, giving away his impending orgasm, he expects his lover to react with indignation, possibly take matters into his own hands or at the very least glare at him, but when his eyes open, they’re so full of devotion and acceptance that Lion is momentarily floored. Instead of fighting him, Doc tightens his legs and drags him in, turns the hard thrusts rocking his body even more brutal and unforgiving despite panting already, despite squirming away from the overpowering pleasure. He doesn’t protest when Lion massages his dick once more, struggles to hold it with how fiercely it’s twitching, and even when he stops again due to Doc’s mewling nearly reaching peak volume, the man in front of him tolerates the torture.

Lion keeps up the merciless rhythm of his hips, fucks his way towards a well-deserved climax and marvels at the beauty laid out just for him, but it bothers him how… accommodating Doc has become even though he’s nothing if not stubborn. And yet he rewards Lion’s movements with loving gazes, contracts around his shaft to increase the sweet, sweet pressure, and lets endless, blissful noises drop from his lips. Lion can feel Doc’s toes flexing against his back, so he must be hitting just the right spot and he’s so caught up in his own lust, so focused on the erotic sensation of driving into the person he loves, of making both of them feel good, that it takes him embarrassingly long to understand.

He leaves Doc hanging on the edge again and explores his shapely chest with a slick hand, leaving glistening trails on darker skin, but it clicks when his palm travels all the way up, barely brushing against Doc’s throat. Because he tilts his head back, willingly exposing the vulnerable body part. And Lion gets it.

It doesn’t matter that they disagree on certain topics, their views are unlikely to change and so neither of them will budge, but what does matter is that they love each other regardless. That they accept each other the way they are, and even if they might be angry, their passion and commitment remains untouched. This is why Doc is handing himself over so willingly: his trust is unshaken.

And Lion interrupts his motions to lean down and kiss him, channel all the love and faith and desire he feels for this man into the gesture while burying both hands in Doc’s hair, cradling his face. The smile he feels against his mouth tells him that Doc understands, and when Lion starts grinding against him a few seconds later, both of them gasp.

“I missed you so much”, Lion mutters against parted lips and now everything is pouring out of him. “Fuck, I thought of you every free second. You feel so good, Gustave, you have no idea how good you feel. You’re amazing. I love you so much.”

Doc moves against him, eyes open as he clings to the taller man like his life depended on it. “I love you too, Olivier. And you’re so deep -”

“I even dreamt of you. I still can’t believe this is real, sometimes. You look so fucking hot right now, I want to fuck you until you can��t walk.”

This earns him the very first genuine, absolutely brilliant smile ever since he came back. Doc licks his mouth open and plays with his tongue until they’re both breathless and gasping before whispering: “Do it.”

So Lion does.

He pulls out, half drags Doc off the table and turns him around so his feet are (already unsteadily) on the floor, torso resting on the wooden surface with Lion behind him, and slams home in one fluid motion. From there, it’s a veritable mess, a maelstrom of sensation and want, a barrage of stimulation muddling Lion’s perception entirely. He’s vaguely aware of waves of divine pleasure rushing through his entire body with each thrust, notices Doc looking back at him pleadingly over his shoulder, incredulity lining his features and increasing with every strangled sound. It’s pure heaven, skin slapping sharply on skin, his cock rubbing over Doc’s prostate with every thrust, causing him to whimper and writhe and his legs to almost give in, and all the while he insistently drags Doc’s hips to meet him so he can reach as deeply inside as possible.

The fast tempo wrecks them both, sweat is starting to bead up on Doc’s back and Lion’s forehead, both of them completely lost in their own pleasure, in each other, in the feeling connecting them – and when Lion reaches around to jerk Doc in the same unrelenting rhythm as his motions, another hand closes over his own, squeezes it more tightly and demonstrates just how Doc likes it right now. Knowing how much he enjoys the deep and thorough penetration only serves to cloud Lion’s thoughts further and, in contrast, sharply brings his own desire into focus, steadily building up with every time he invades his lover so intimately until he can’t take it anymore.

When he comes, he folds in half and moans unselfconsciously into Doc’s hair, loud groans wrenched from him with every delicious wave of pleasure rolling through him. The relief is immeasurable, rushes through his veins like liquid electricity and has him shuddering violently in time with his small thrusts accompanying the contractions in his lower muscles. He’s barely aware of Doc’s hand speeding up in desperation but suddenly becomes keenly aware of his lover climaxing below him due to the hard clenching around him all of a sudden, the spasms milking him even further and his own moans mixing with Doc’s. They both shiver, prolong each other’s orgasm with minuscule movements and only come down slowly from their intense high, aftershocks making their muscles twitch and cocks throb.

Doc lets out a content sigh which Lion mirrors, but when he pushes against the larger body draped over him, Lion refuses to budge. He’s still coasting on the elating feeling of loving and being loved, of sharing intimacy, and if he doesn’t say it now, he never will.

Lips brushing over warm skin, he murmurs: “I’m sorry. I… rules help me do the right thing and I’m afraid of acting without them. I’ll try to think for myself more instead of blindly relying on general instructions which might not fit the situation exactly.”

His lover huffs a quiet laugh and catches one of his hands in his own, interlaces their fingers to show him he appreciates the apology. “I’m sorry too. I let my feelings interfere with my work which can be dangerous. I’ll try to take a step back and assess situations more objectively.”

It’s such a relief to hear these words that Lion nearly tears up at the realisation that he’s forgiven, that he made a concession only to be graced with one in return, that they’re equals after all, both human and thus flawed in their own way. They’re both wrong if the result is them not speaking to each other, and the insecurity of what their fight might mean for their relationship melts away, leaving behind nothing more than a fuzzy feeling.

This time, when Doc moves, Lion withdraws gingerly and stands up straight, pulling the other man into a tight embrace once he’s turned around. They kiss slowly and sweetly, both of them smiling into it since they can’t help it and when he playfully peppers the side of Doc’s neck in kisses, his lover reacts with a chuckle.

“That was awful”, Doc tells him matter-of-factly. “Let’s never do that again.”

And though Lion has to agree that the past two weeks rank among the worst of his life, he can’t help but clarify: “You don’t mean the angry sex though, right? You looked so incredibly hot, blowing me while furious.”

Doc snorts, visibly embarrassed, and shakes his head slightly. “If you liked that, I… guess we can have a repeat performance. Just without all the nonsense before it.”

“Yeah. I agree.” Lion takes the opportunity to eye up his boyfriend, take in his messy hair, the shimmery smears all over his body, the absolute mess between his legs – and it looks like he did drool on the table after all. “You look like you need a shower.”

The grin spreading on Doc’s face is almost mischievous and has Lion falling for him all over again, not that he’s letting it show just how smitten he really is. “And I do hope you’re going to accompany me, mon amour?”

How could he say no to that? “We have a lot of catching up to do”, he agrees and drops his gaze to see some of his semen running down Doc’s thigh.

Maybe he’ll end up having to shower three times today.

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Tomorrow Never Came PT. 6 (SMUT)

Summer is gone, and with it, your mysterious stalker as well. It’s been two months since the confrontation in the bar, and you’ve mostly forgot about his ominous warnings - but now you realize that you have only half a year to finalize your plan of attack with nothing to go on and no idea what to do. So, you take a risk, one that almost completely ruins everything and gets you caught out by Roger. And speaking of Roger...

Read PT. 1 here | Read PT. 2 here | Read PT. 3 here | Read PT. 4 here | Read PT. 5 here

(a/n: DOT DOT DOT so I forgot one of the guys names was already William SO I changed creepy future stranger guys name to Weston srry im a mess. also..... this is IT folks FINALLY the roger x reader fluff/smut i have been waiting to write we’ve all been waiting for in this series. its.... something)

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay, darling? I can let Roger go on his own, he’s a big boy.”

Freddie was curled up with you on the couch, having forced his way into an impromptu cuddle session with you after he saw that you were bundled up in a blanket, drinking tea and scribbling in your notebook. He felt terrible, seeing as he and Roger were going to a party that night, one you’d opted out of on the claim that you were working on your resume so you could get a better job than the café.

“Freddie, go on,” you laughed, giving him a gentle shove, and he exaggerated your strength as he pretended to nearly fall off the couch before laughing and giving you a shove in return. “Go on, you scoundrels. I’m happy right here.”

Roger was watching from the front hallway, leaning against the wall and smiling at the banter between the two of you. He looked good tonight, mouthwatering, actually – he was clad in one of Freddie’s black silk shirts, only the bottom half of it buttoned, and several necklaces laid across his dainty collarbones. The silk shirt was tucked into leather pants, and he topped it all off with black messenger boots, having refused to put on Freddie’s platform boots for a good part of an hour. There was something missing, though, and you couldn’t put your finger on it until you literally spotted it on the dresser as Freddie passed it, bumping the brim with his shoulder.

Freddie and Roger were about to leave when you scrambled to your feet, calling out, “Hey, wait a minute!” Grabbing the black newsboy cap off of the dresser, you padded over to the two of them, stopping in front of Roger as he raised an eyebrow before ducking his head, letting you put it on for him. “There. Perfect.”

Freddie rolled his eyes playfully before giving your side a pinch and kissing you on the cheek, then flouncing out of the door and leaving you alone with Roger for the moment. Roger watched Freddie with a small grin, then turned back to you, a questioning look in his eye.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go?” he asked, fixing the cap so it laid right on his head. An unruly hair stuck out and caught on the brim of the cap, so you reached up to tuck it back into its original place, smiling.

“I’ll be fine here, Rog. Don’t have too much fun without me, though,” you warned jokingly, and Roger gave you a goofy grin before leaning in and quickly giving you a peck on the cheek, starting out the door.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!”

And with that, he’d closed the door, leaving you in silence as you walked back to the couch, slumping down against it and sighing. It was always nice having the flat to yourself, but tonight you were on edge a bit. Deciding that a nap would be the best to take your thoughts off your mind, you crawled back under the blanket, getting comfortable again as you closed your eyes, dozing off quickly to the sound of cars honking and dogs barking outside your window.

When you woke again, it was significantly darker outside, and you sat up to yawn and stretch, a heavy weight settling over you in the room. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something was making you uneasy still. Maybe it was the fact you were half a year closer to that day and just as nervous as when you began, or just the fact that you were still planning on completely winging your ‘save the day’ tactic. Or it could have just been the terrible Chinese Roger had basically forced you to eat because he swore up and down that it was the best.

In any case, it was too dangerous to be as confident in your ignorance as you were. But at the same time, you remembered your uncle’s warning that the past would fight back if you were to impose on their daily lives – that’s why he’d urged you to move into this apartment. It provided a decent enough vantage point without letting you interact with the two. You’d cut it close with your mom, but thank God it was in a different part of the city. You were reclusive enough as it was, staying inside all day on Sundays to avoid chancing a run-in with her, seeing as she came to church every single weekend. You’d hoped you could go the whole time without seeing her to make it hurt as little as possible, but that moment in the little market had eliminated any chance of that.

6 months without seeing your mom was rough. Even if she wasn’t mentally there for quite a while before you’d came here, she was still your mom, and to see her suffer like that was hell. It was almost worse being here, but you had to remind yourself that barely any time was passing there. She most likely wouldn’t have even moved an inch by the time you got back, which was horrifying and relieving at the same time. Hopefully, if you managed to pull this off, she would be moving when you got back.

God, the thought of her smile when you got back. You felt a small smile come to your lips as you stood back up, ambling over towards the window to peer out of it. Night had settled in, the streetlights making the front of the church even more ominous as you gazed down at it, humming to yourself. “All for you, mom.”

That’s when you saw them. Both of them, William and Ted, exiting the church, standing on the steps. The street was mostly empty, and they mulled around on the steps as they pulled out packs of cigarettes, lighting up and seeming like they were deep in conversation as you stared at them in mild horror. A faint dizziness took over your senses, but a pinch to your arm by yourself brought you back to reality, and you scrambled to find your shoes and a light jacket before you were flying down the stairs.

What came over you, you had no idea, but you had to get down to that alleyway to hear their conversation. You felt like you owed it to your mom, and you needed to know what type of guys these were before everything went down. As you rounded the last set of stairs, heading down it, you heard Weston’s voice in your head, and you skidded to a stop as your hand came to rest on the door that let outside.

“It can’t be fixed.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you muttered, pushing open the door and stepping out into the cool night air. There they were, right across the street, chumming and smiling like they weren’t some of the scummiest people on this side of the city. They took no note of you as you crossed the street, slinking into the alleyway next to the broad staircase before you settled your back against the cool stone of the wall surrounding the steps, crossing your fingers that they weren’t planning on taking a stroll.

“Stop while you’re ahead. Reset.”

Shaking your head, you pushed Weston’s voice out of your mind again and tried to focus on the two morons that were literally maybe 10 feet from you, just on the other side of this wall. Scooting over to the edge of the wall for optimal listening, you curled up as small as you could, hiding yourself as you started to register the sound of two men talking.

“Yeah, we should be able to get something set up soon.”

A drag from a cigarette. A pause. “Diane said she’d be able to come and help tomorrow.”

Not your mom, but you wondered if it was the same Diane who your mom had brought over for dinner a few times when you were a child. She was frail mentally and physically even in your early years, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when she passed away around your pre-teen years.

“Heh. Diane.” An awfully lecherous snicker was shared between the both of them, and you almost gagged at the sound of it. Honestly, they sounded horrid, and you seriously questioned your mom’s judgement of them as good people in the first place. But then again, this could be how they spoke in private. They probably didn’t have a clue that a 21 year old from 2018 was sitting on the other side of the wall in a pile of trash, spying on them. That didn’t excuse them, of course, but it definitely explained the lack of judgement.

“Did you hear she’s seeing Dan now?” Dan? Your Uncle Dan? You’d never know he dated Diane. This convoluted mess of people was quickly overwhelming you, and you started to feel dizzy as you tried to keep up. “What’s he live, a few blocks over?”

“Yeah. I’d like to pay her a visit right now, know what I mean?”

Eugh. Gag again. One of them cracked up, laughing before you heard the sound of a light stomp, probably putting out a cigarette. “No disrespect to Daniel, but how is he getting it from a girl like that? She is one gorgeous piece of ass, I’d like to-“

You knocked over a can of trash as an earsplitting ringing sound started resounding in your head, making you double over in pain. It took all of your strength not to cry out for help, and in a daze, you crawled over until you were curled up behind a trash can. One of the men’s shadows appeared around the corner moments later, and you held your breath as you tried to recover from the ringing that was slowly fading. Pressing your eyes shut, you felt hot tears rolling down your face, faintly hearing something akin to “Probably a rat getting frisky. Let’s go inside.”

It felt like years as you sat out in that alley, your eyes shut tightly, fighting the ringing, but it was still there, faintly, and you opened your eyes as you sighed in exasperation. But the sigh caught in your throat as you came face to face with your mom, 2018 mom, sitting in a rocking chair across the alleyway.

“You’re saving me and not Diane?” Her voice was eerie, an echo of herself as she tilted her head impossibly far to the side, too far to be a physical reality, and your mouth dropped open in horror as you watched her, unable to move, unable to speak.

As soon as you blinked, she was gone, no evidence of her presence there at all, and you could feel your body scrambling to your feet, although you weren’t cognizant and telling yourself to do so. Leaden feet carried you across the street, hurtling you through the front door of your building, and before you knew it, you were up the stairs. When you rounded the corner to your floor, the nightmare continued.

Your 2013ish era mom and dad were smack dab in the middle of the hallway, screaming at each other. The sound was deafening, like someone had taken a stereo system and put it together in your brain before cranking it up to full volume. Clutching at your ears desperately, you sunk to the floor as you tried to block out the sound of them bickering, but it was no use. They were there, in your brain, screaming their heads off. It felt like you were 15 again, yelling desperately to try and break them apart, but nothing worked. They were too far in, too far gone to go back on what they’d said now. The arguing would go all night long. Your head was pounding as you dug your fingers into the side of your face, more tears spilling out of your eyes as you started to beg, plead for it to stop.

Another blink. They were gone. The sound had stopped abruptly, and you were alone in the hallway. Face wet with salty tears, you glanced around like a trapped animal, spotting a clock on the wall. It was just before midnight – you’d only been out in that alley for maybe 20 minutes. And yet, you were exhausted like you’d just spent a day running nonstop.

Slumping back against the wall, you let more tears run down your face and closed your eyes, your head falling back with a thud against the wall. “Fuck me, Dan wasn’t joking,” you choked out, wiping some mucus out from under your nose with the back of your hand as you tried to take deep breaths and calm down. Understatement of the century, the past will fuck with me .That was a fucking nightmare, not just a casual ‘Don’t do that.’

You could hear someone coming up the stairs and you sighed as you tried to will yourself to your feet, but nothing was happening. All of the energy in your body was gone for the moment – it would take a literal miracle to recharge you.

“Y/N, bloody hell, what happened to you?” Roger’s voice rang clear through the faint buzzing now in your ears, and you looked up at him while shooting him a pitiful attempt at a smile. “You’re bleeding!” His observation was slightly horrified, his worry only amplified by the slightly tipsy state he was in.

“Am I?” you wondered aloud, holding a hand up to your face and coming into contact with a small stream of blood running down the side of your face, pooling near your hair from the angle you’d been holding your head at. Must have been digging my fingers in harder than I thought. “Shit, I am. I’m sorry.”

“Christ, don’t be sorry,” he muttered, crouching down to your level and nearly falling off balance as he did so, holding on to the wall near you before repeating himself. “What happened to you?”

You shrugged, wiping away the rest of your tears before laughing softly at the state of yourself. “I’m a clumsy moron, I guess.” After that, you made finger guns at Roger and started to close your eyes, mortified that he of all people was the one to find you like this. As your eyes fluttered shut, you felt a strong hand encircling your arm and vaguely sensed that Roger was pulling you to your feet, leading you down the hallway back to the flat and pulling you towards the bathroom once you’d gotten inside.

In no time at all, you found yourself perched on the closed toilet lid, Roger cleaning up the blood from the side of your face as he watched you with an apprehensive expression, not sure what to make of finding his roommate out in the hallway, crying and bloody.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d ask if you were on the rag,” he joked as he dabbed at the side of your face, chuckling when that got a small smile out of you. “Just taking the piss, don’t beat me.” After another pause where you didn’t even attempt to pick up the conversation, just watching him with a guarded stare, he swallowed hard. His cheeks were a bit red from the alcohol in his system, and you could tell he was overheating in the cramped bathroom from the small amount of sweat forming on his forehead. “Y/N, you worry me.”

That made your heart flip as you furrowed your eyebrows, the expression change enough to make Roger pull his hand away shakily and fumble for a band-aid, nervously avoiding what seemed like a critical look from you. “Why are you worried about me?” you asked, genuinely curious as to why this 70’s sexpot of a roommate was even halfway concerned with your well-being when he was literally on his way to becoming one of the biggest rockstars of all time.

“Because,” he mumbled, opening the bandaid and applying it carefully as he avoided your gaze, more for his sake than anything. “You’re my flatmate.” An eyebrow raise from you made him sigh, and he dropped the wrapper in the trash before starting to clean up his mess. “Okay, you really want to know? Because Buzzed Roger is about to get real.”

“Third person,” you reminded him, and he gave you a nasty look before starting to wash his hands, clearing his throat.

“You go and work all hours of the day, write a bunch of shit in your notebook when you’re here, we have to beg you to come out with us, and when you do, you end up leaving early or…. or, I don’t know, like that one night, when you ran off with that old guy without checking in with us, and then came back looking like you’d just been through the wringer!”

“Didn’t know I had to check in with you before I left with a guy,” you replied, almost in a haze as you watched him dry his hands, looking at you with an unfathomable expression.

“Well, damn it, you should!” he replied irritably, throwing the towel down on the counter. The sudden outburst actually shocked you, and it must have registered on your face as well, because he was immediately apologizing out of his ass for freaking out. “Shit, no, I’m sorry, god damn it, I just found you all beat up in the hallway and now I’m yelling at you, just hit me, I’m such a knobhead-“

“God, Roger, I’m fine, breathe,” you interrupted, climbing up off the toilet and coming over to look at yourself in the mirror. “Woof.”

“Woof?” he repeated, also looking at you in the mirror. Your face was tear stained, but free of blood, and the redness around the rim of your eyes had mostly disappeared by now. He thought you looked as adorable as ever. Sure, you were a bit messy from your brief stint as a spy, but he didn’t know that, and he marveled at the way you managed to make his heart skip a beat even when you were fresh from crying.

“Just looking a bit rough, is all,” you murmured, wiping at your under-eyes before sighing and making your way out into the hallway, headed for the kitchen. “How was the party?”

Your attempt to change the subject was not lost on Roger, even as drunk as he was, but he chose to mostly ignore it since it seemed to bother you when he’d asked about it. Instead, he followed you to the kitchen, watching you grab two glasses of water. “It was alright. Freddie’s fucking plastered and left without me, so I came back here ‘cause…” he trailed off, shrugging and pursing his lips a bit.

“Because why?” you asked, taking a drink of your water before you handed him his, which he accepted gratefully. The smile on his face as he took a drink rejuvenated you a bit, making you feel less dead, so you decided to crack a joke to see if he bit. “You miss me?”

“No!” he replied defensively, an even deeper red covering his cheeks as you sipped at your water, just watching him. Getting no reaction was even worse than getting a bad one to him, and he stuttered as he fell over his next words, a certified hot mess in a silk shirt and leather pants. “I didn’t mean no like that, God, I meant- I came back because- ugh! Fine. Yes, okay? I missed you. I wanted you to be there with us. It made me sad when I thought of you being here all alone, without us, without me and Fred.”

Despite feeling like you’d just crawled up through the crust of the Earth, you couldn’t help but smile slyly at that, forgetting all about the nights events. “Roger Taylor missing me? I feel honored.”

“You should,” he muttered, taking another drink and trying to hide his embarrassment with a biting tone as he avoided eye contact once again. “I don’t even have to ask if you missed me, I already know the answer to that one. Freddie misses me even when I’m gone for two minutes, so you? You were probably missing me before I got out of the door.”

“Well, someone’s got an ego,” you mumbled, finishing your water before sitting the glass in the sink. Roger laughed at your comment, following you as you made your way to the couch, grabbing your hand and trying to tug you to your feet when you attempted to lay down. “Hey, I’m trying to sleep here. Obviously, I’ve had a rough night.” Although you had obviously had a terrible night, you secretly hoped he would disregard your words and stay, or something similar to that.

And he did. He mocked your voice in a high-pitched imitation as he wrapped his other hand around yours, pulling you to your feet. “You’re mad if you think I’m going to let you sleep on the couch tonight. You’ve had a rough night.”

Groaning playfully as you let him raise you back to a standing position, you followed him down the hall, smiling far too widely at the feeling of his hand around yours. “Rog, you don’t have to share your bed with me. I’m fine.”

“Tell that to the bandaid on your face.” Rolling your eyes, you followed as he led you into his room, letting you go sooner than you’d wanted him to, and you gave him a teasing deadpan look before you crawled into his bed, grumbling playfully. “Oh, don’t pretend you aren’t happy to sleep in a bed for once.”

“You’re not wrong, actually.” You had to laugh at that, and as you laid down on your back on the far end of the bed, Roger chuckled and began to unbutton his shirt. He strolled over to the closet as you watched him, silently admiring the ripple of his understated muscles under his skin as he shrugged the shirt off, tossing it into the closet before starting to unbutton his pants. Out of politeness, you shifted your eyes up to the ceiling – as much as you would enjoy the view, you had to restrain yourself. “If you really wanted to know, yes, I did miss you once you guys were gone.”

“I told you, I already knew,” he teased, crawling into bed once he’d gotten in to boxers and a tshirt. When you scoffed and rolled over to face away from him, he laughed and tugged you back down to your original laying position, propping his head up on his hand and he looked down at you. “Don’t ignore me. I can kick you out of here lickety-split, sweetheart.”

“You wouldn’t do that. You’re too much of a softie,” you snickered, pulling the covers up over your shoulders as you turned on your side to face him, clutching the edge of his duvet.

Raising an eyebrow at that, he gave you an almost insulted look before he spoke. “Roger Taylor, a softie? I’ll have you know-“

“When will you ever stop talking in the third person?” That irritated him a bit, and you could tell from the way his mouth twitched as he tried to calm down and not say something snarky back.

“You’re being real mouthy for such a weak thing, you know that?” he asked, sitting up a bit on his elbow and daring you with his eyes to talk back. It was almost like he wanted to you to, like the banter was fueling him, getting him closer and closer to snapping.

So, you did. “Weak thing? That’s rich, coming from you.”

Now he was pissed. “You little rotter, you- I ought to…” he trailed off, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fist, searching for the right words to say. But nothing was coming to mind, not until you prompted him.

“You ought to what, tough guy? Shut me up? I’ll have you know my right hook is mean and-“

Roger’s hand clamped over your mouth all of a sudden, silencing you immediately and making your eyes widen a bit as he stared you down with something unmistakable in his eyes. You’d seen it before, but never quite this pronounced. Hunger. A ravenous hunger, almost to the point of lasciviousness. But there was still a fondness in the way he held your jaw, his fingertips just tight enough to silence you but nowhere near tight enough to leave any marks. And then his fingertips moved away, uncovering your mouth and quickly running over the small bandaid on the side of your face, his breath hitting your lips and smelling of alcohol and something minty. His thumb stroked at your chin once, then took a hold of it with his thumb and index finger before leaning down over you and pressing his lips to yours.

He was impossibly gentle with his kiss to contrast that fierce look you’d just witnessed, testing the waters before he got in too deep, and that set your skin on fire. You tangled with the fact that Roger Taylor, your roommate of 6 months and currently one of your closest friends on top of being a future fucking rockstar, was kissing you. It took you more than a moment to realize you’d been frozen in your spot, but when you did finally realize, you moved your hand up to his wrist and halfway wrapped your fingers around it, barely gripping his arm as you kissed back while your brain was going haywire at the current situation.

Gentle kisses quickly gave way to frenzied, impetuous kisses, the overwhelming smell of alcohol and Roger’s cologne more intoxicating that any liquor you’d ever tried before. His hands explored your body languidly, taking his time touching and feeling anything he could get his hands on. You were about the same, your hands sneaking underneath the back of his shirt and coming to rest on the heated skin of his back as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, swirling it around yours and eliciting a quiet purr of appreciation from you in response.

That perked him right up, making him double his efforts as he moved his hands to your ass, gripping it and pulling you on top of him as he rolled onto his back. Straddling his hips, you pulled away to catch your breath and sat up, Roger’s heavy eyelids fluttering open to find you pulling your shirt off and looking down at him, panting ever-so-slightly from the breath-taking makeout session you’d just engaged in.

Really, he didn’t say much, but his demeanor and expression gave everything away as his hands came to rest on your thighs, his eyes devouring every inch of skin you’d exposed by the simple action. And then he was pulling his shirt off too, tossing it to the side as you pulled your bralette off, hissing at the cool air that suddenly directly hit your nipples.

The feeling didn’t last long, however, for Roger sat up and immediately started to place sloppy kisses along your collarbone, making his way down until he left an open-mouthed kiss to one of your nipples, teasing the other with his thumb and making you shiver. Running a hand into his hair, your let your eyes flutter shut as you zoned out, reveling in the feeling of Roger’s mouth on you, hot and desperate.

For a moment, you questioned whether doing this was okay in the grand scheme of things. After all, what if this was the magnum opus of fuck-ups you could do here? But then Roger’s hand ghosting up your thigh before grabbing your ass distracted you, making you breathe out his name in surprise before pressing your ass back against his hand. His grip tightened just a bit when your hips shifted over his and your clothed core briefly passed over his cock, which was beginning to strain against his boxers a bit.

“God, do that again,” he mumbled against your chest, resting his forehead against your collarbones as you began to grind down against him, his hands flying to your hips to guide you in just the right way to drive him crazy. Soon enough, his hips were rutting up against you, needy for any kind of friction he could get. The two of you rocked against each other, getting yourselves off just on the feeling of what could happen if those layers of clothes were eliminated.

Sooner or later, you supposed you’d seen this coming – you and Roger – but never did you imagine it would be so impromptu. Sure, you’d done your fair share of flirting back and forth, but this had been so out of the blue. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he was still slightly intoxicated and you were at your most vulnerable, but you didn’t care anymore. All you cared about was getting all of Roger, skin on skin, body to body, fully being one with him.

“Rog,” you almost moaned, tugging his hair back so he’d look up at you. With a half-focused grunt, he raised his eyes to yours as he slowed down his hips, looking delectably keyed-up with his fucked out eyes and parted lips. “Have you got a condom?” you asked, taking his face in your hands so he’d focus completely on you. Nodding as his shaky, irregular breaths hit your lips, he licked his lips and nodded over to the desk.

“Top left drawer, to the left in the very back,” he managed to say, hardly wanting to let go of your hips but doing so once you pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips before crawling off of him. He watched as you went, pushing his boxers down and off without tearing his eyes away from the curve of your ass that was peeking out from under your shorts, which you dropped to the floor on the way to the desk, leaving you only in some panties that left even less to his imagination. Digging through the drawer, you finally found one and snatched it up, putting it between your teeth before shimmying out of your panties too as you turned to face Roger again.

A small smile played at the corner of his lips as you made eye contact, and you found yourself blushing as you took the condom wrapper out of your mouth, carefully making your way back over to him and trying to subdue the redness of your cheeks. Coming to kneel between his legs, you tore the package open with the help of your teeth and pulled the condom out, glancing up at him to find him watching your hands with interest. So, you looked back down and started to roll the latex on to his impossibly hard member, keeping your touch light, which made him squirm a bit and grip the sheets until you’d gotten it on fully. Then you threw your leg over his hips, straddling him again and leaning forward to meet him for a kiss, which he eagerly reciprocated.

His hand took on a firm grip of the nape of your neck, keeping your lips against his as he wrapped his other arm around your waist, flipping the two of you so that he now had you pinned down to the mattress. Taking his cock in his hand, he ran the tip along your folds, velvety smooth and practically dripping at this point. You moaned into his mouth when he pressed the tip against your entrance, wrapping your arms around him and trying to press his hips closer to yours, which he took as an invitation to push into you. A strained groan left his mouth as he pulled away from the kiss, and when he bottomed out, you felt him still for a moment inside of you.

After a short and sweet pause, he started moving again, beginning to thrust in and out of you at an initially unhurried pace. All he focused on at the moment was the small whimpers and moans of appreciation that were leaving your lips irregularly, making him groan your name as he rolled his hips achingly slow, wanting to savor the moment.

But you couldn’t stand it. The suspense was killing you – you needed the frenzy, the rushed passion, or you’d get lost in your thoughts again, and you didn’t want to ruin this moment. So, you rolled your hips up to meet his thrust, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck before you murmured in his ear, “Fuck me, Roger. Let me have it.”

He trembled at the sound of your voice, nearly failing to support his weight on his arms before he nodded, breathlessly pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Then he began to thrust faster, harder, and the sweet, high-pitched moans that you let go were enough to make Roger let out a string of curses before burying his face in your neck, panting harshly as he dug one of his hands into your hips, pounding into you at a feverish pace.

“Oh my god, Roger,” you breathed out, curling up your fingers in his hair and against his back as you felt your eyes flutter shut. Your back arched up in pleasure when he angled his hips, thrusting deeper and slower for a moment, and an almost-pornographic moan tumbled out of you, gaining an equally sinful moan from Roger in response.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he mumbled between pants, trailing love bites along your shoulder before snapping his hips forward and eliciting a surprised cry of pleasure that was sure to wake up all of the neighbors. “Wish I could have fucked you senseless the moment I met you.”

“Wouldn’t have been opposed,” you laughed brokenly, cut off by another snap of his hips that buried him deep inside of you. “Oh my god¸ you’re-“

You cut off as you felt a shiver run up your spine from the feeling of Roger moving his hands to your shoulder as he sat up a bit, using your shoulder as leverage so he could continue to thrust deep into you. He was still sweating, probably worse now, but so were you, so you didn’t mind. His hair was an absolute mess from your desperate tugs on it, and he looked about as close to an orgasm as you did.

“I’m what?” he asked, slowing down his hips for a moment and expertly rolling them as he watched you expectantly. It took all of your remaining brain functions to try and remember what you were going to say, too focused on the way he filled you with each thrust to recall the whole thing.

“I said you’re so good,” you breathed out, and with a low moan that caused another shiver to run down your spine, Roger sped up gradually, sending all of your senses haywire as you neared your high. “I’m close, Rog.”

“Let go, sweetheart,” he groaned, gazing down at you through heavily lidded eyes as he steadied his pace, reaching down to rub your clit on top of that. The overstimulation was enough to send you over the edge, and you squeezed your eyes shut as you came, Roger still pounding away into you while you chanted his name like a prayer, over and over, experiencing probably one of the best orgasms you’d ever had.

Roger felt himself getting sloppy as he watched you ride out your high, and a strangled groan left his lips as he sped up his thrusts, chasing his own high in the wake of yours. You opened your eyes finally to see how close he was, so you wrapped your legs around his hips and dug your heels into his back, pressing his hips towards your as you tugged him down for another kiss again. “Come for me, please, Rog,” you begged between kisses, Roger only responding with a broken moan before he pulled away from the kiss completely He thrusted into you a few more times before letting out a long, drawn-out moan and spilling out into his condom, rocking his hips forward a few times to ride out his own high.

“Y/N… oh god, Y/N,” he panted, resting his forehead on yours as he finished himself off. Reluctantly pulling out once he was done, he crawled off you to dispose of the condom, coming back with a towel from his closet to clean you up. You closed your eyes, throwing an arm over them as he did so, absolutely exhausted from the whole day, and almost found yourself dozing off before he crawled back into bed with you, still completely naked but far more satisfied than before. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a spooning position with him, but it seemed more intimate than anything. The fact that you two were still completely nude didn’t seem to arouse any overtly sexual feelings – you just wanted to be in his arms, and he just wanted you in his arms. It was mutual, the unspoken affection between the two of you – no words needed to be said as he pressed a small kiss to your shoulder before settling in and pulling the blanket over the two of you.

You didn’t even have to say goodnight, the both of you just dozing off in each other’s company. For two people who could never shut up around and about each other, you were, for the first time, completely silent, just happy to be alive, and happy to be in love. Love? Am I in love with him? God, how scary is that? Roger made a quiet noise in his sleep and twitched a bit, pulling you closer and nuzzling your shoulder.  So worth it, though.

PT. 1 PT. 2 PT. 3 PT. 4 PT. 5

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[gladio-to-meet-you]

God of Destruction (ft the Chocobros, Nyx, and Luna)

This draws some instances from things that have happened to me, I'll leave y'all guessing which is real and which is fabricated

Not proofread, hope you guys enjoy it/maybe even get some laughs from this!

I’ll work on other prompts I have, but I may not post anything else today, idk for sure though

~~~

Ignis

You took it upon yourself to try and lighten the burden laid upon his shoulders since you managed to get put of work early. There was pep in your step as you hurried home to change and rush out to the store. You planned to surprise him with dinner! He'd have one less thing to do and you could prove that you did know your way around the kitchen, at least enough so that he didn't have to constantly cook for you guys. You pointedly decided to ignore the precious mishaps that had happened that he teasingly brings up every one in a while; you were better now!

After getting the necessary ingredients, you pay and leave and practically run home so you have time to finish everything. It all started off okay enough, you felt confident enough that things would work out. That was before you nicked your finger and had to clean and bandage it to avoid contaminating the food. While hurrying to the bathroom for the bandaids, you managed to knock a ceramic baking dish off the counter.

By the time Ignis walked in, ready to make dinner and just relax, talking about the day with you, he's met with an absolute mess. You're still in the kitchen, fingers covered with bandaids and cursing as you try to clean up the shards in the floor with smoke lingering in the room, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. "Oh, honey, let me get that," he'd say and sweep you off your feet to deposit you on the couch where you wouldn't risk cutting your feet up. There would be a fond smile curling his lips as he opened the windows to air the place out and went for the broom, deciding take out sounded nice.

Prompto

He thought you were just exaggerating your bad luck with electronics until he had the privilege of living with you. Then he saw what you meant. The gaming system you guys bought together would only turn on and work right, not freezing, if he turned it on. The coffee pot would always make a mess the first time you used it and it would always come out tasting burnt. Your laptop was a lost cause. Your phone that was newer than his was spastic with you, you'd have to restart it once or twice a day and delete and reinstall apps to get them to cooperate.

But the best - the worst? - of this was that he accompanied you into your office one day so you could print some papers off to turn into your boss before the weekend and he got to see just how bad the electronics you used the majority of the day reacted. After an hour of computer problems and having IT come back two separate times for completely different issues, you pointed at your partner and gestured to the computer. "I don't want to be here all day, help!" You demanded in a small voice, stomping your foot, moments away from pouting.

He laughed a little at the situation but sat down and followed your instructions to find the particular file that needed printed off. Once the papers were handed in, he draped his arm around your shoulders as you guys left the building. "I thought you were kidding, babe, but technology hates you. But that's okay, I'll help you any day! In all seriousness though...why do you have an office job?"

Noctis

You decided that since Noctis had caught dinner, you’d try to help Ignis with cooking it. You forgot that since you guys were camping, that meant dealing with a campfire. You hadn’t ever done more than roast some marshmallows over the fire, you didn’t trust yourself. But since you had spoken up, Ignis gladly accepted your help.

So you sucked it up and followed his instructions very carefully, from helping him prepare the fish and the fire to actually starting the cooking process. You made sure you copied every moment he did so you wouldn’t mess it up. You were envious of the other three that were just sitting around, waiting for dinner to be ready. Noctis and Prompto were huddled together on their phones, probably playing King’s Knight, while Gladio appeared to be reading.

It wasn’t until you and Ignis both smelled something burning that you turned back to the fire, only to screech in alarm. You had somehow managed to catch your jacket on fire when you set it down?! You rushed forward and yanked it away, dropping it on the ground and immediately stomping on it to try and put the fire on the sleeve out. After you panic passed, you heard Noctis wheezing with laughter. “You weren’t kidding, were you? You really are a danger magnet,” he teased you as you all sat down around the fire with dinner, you sitting a bit further away than normal after that.

Gladio

He had been with you long enough to realize that if anything at all could go wrong, it probably would. He started carrying around a small first aid kit with him, knowing it would be used at some point by you. He’d seen you trip over nothing, break things with an ease that betrayed your small size, and he’s seen the really bad days where things just keep going wrong one after another.

He thought he had seen it all, but he was wrong. You guys went to one of the first places you had gone on dates to, hoping to recreate one of your first dates. While waiting on food, you mentioned running to the bathroom. He realized that by the time the food was delivered, you were still nowhere to be seen. Instead of freaking out like he would’ve when you guys first started dating, he just sent you a text inquiring where you were.You looked down at your phone and then back at the door that had been a barrier for that last couple minutes.

You hesitated on responding and tried turning the door knob to open the door again. Nothing. It wouldn’t budge. So you bit the bullet and sent Gladio an SOS message, requesting he get the owner to free you from the damn bathroom. You heard his laughter before he got within ten feet of the door so you stomped your foot as you pocketed your phone. “Stop laughing, Gladdy! It’s not funny!” You pouted as you heard the two men discuss the best way to handle it. In the end, the hinges were removed so the door could be moved out of the way and you could leave the bathroom. The owner was apologetic as he had been told before that the lock had been sticking and even let you guys eat for free.

Nyx

This man had seen your destructive powers in full swing before. You had gone to the bar together and you broke no fewer than five glasses in the span of ten minutes. You had managed to knock the table over and spilled everyone's drinks while simultaneously breaking them as they hit the ground. The owner was actually pretty cool about it, saying he had new glasses he hadn't been able to put into rotation yet, so it wasn't a big deal. The mess was cleaned up and your group was jokingly given plastic cups after that.

However, after that night he didn't expect it to get any worse, he thought he had seen it at its worst. Nope, not at all. He took you to a newer restaurant that members of the Glaive had told him about, saying it was great food for the price and he wouldn't regret it. He didn't regret the food. He regretted letting you drink there and allowing you to go to the bathroom unsupervised, knowing your luck got worse the more that you drank. You hurried out of the bathroom, eyes a bit wide, and giggles escaping your lips. You were glad Nyx had been in the process of paying the bill when you left the table because it would make for a quicker getaway this way.

You tried to school your face into a serious one, but your lips kept twitching and he eyed you cautiously, knowing something had happened. especially when you got back to the table and started grabbing the takeout containers. “We need to leave, now,” you whispered urgently. When you got out of there and to his car, you collapsed into the seat laughing until you were crying and gasping. He had to wait until you calmed down to hear your story, and even then it was interspersed with you laughing. He finally heard the story and couldn’t help but laugh in astonishment. You had heard someone in the bathroom make an “oop” sound and found out, by asking and revealing that you were probably as tipsy as they were that they had broken a handle off the sink. You went to the other sink and the hot water handle literally came off in your hand as you tried turning the water off. You had both replaced the handles and tried to discreetly leave the bathroom.

Luna

You made sure you spelled it out for Luna, how badly accident prone you were, how bad your luck seemed to be on the daily, but she waved your concerns away. You guys hadn't spent a full day together since you got together, both busy with your duties, but she had seen some of the cuts and bruises you came home with. She never brought them up because they were always minor though, trusting that you'd say something if you got into a fight or something. "Babe, I'm serious, I should just live life bubble wrapped in a protective bubble!"

She'd giggle at the mental image that would provoke and assure you, again, that everything would be fine on your date. It was like your luck took that as a challenge and accepted it with gusto. On the way to the little bistro you guys planned to eat lunch at, you tripped no less than three times and it was a short walk! You also almost fell into traffic when someone bumped into your side as they passed.

At the bistro, you expected things to calm down. Nope! You went to sit in your chair and when it shifted, you knocked your phone off the table and in the process of bending over to get it, you smashed your head into the edge of the table. When you jerked up from that, you rocked the table enough to rattle the drinks and splash them over the table. You paused to take a deep breath and reached for the napkins to clean up the mess while Luna was still at the counter and somehow managed to give yourself a damned paper cut from the napkins you had grabbed. "Luna, that's it, I'm done, I'm going home to live in my bubble!" You called to her with a pout. She giggled as she came back to make sure you were okay, deciding that maybe you hadn't exaggerated that much.

[seokjingiggles]

Full Speed Ahead

genre: fluff, angst

member: jimin

words: 2779

Wild animals can have bigger hearts than humans.

I had a lot of fun creating this and I would love to do more requests hehe :)

Again, thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy it! ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

What began as a minor quarrel at dinner escalated into a monstrous fit of yelling, insulting, and slamming doors within minutes. You were enjoying a romantic steak dinner with your boyfriend when you brought up “the topic” for the millionth time this week.

“Jimin, it's not that I think you don't love me anymore. It's just that you leave before I even wake up and come home an hour before I fall asleep. I literally have you for just an hour a day. I'm your girlfriend, aren't I? Don't I deserve a little more of Park Jimin than your stupid band?”

Being needy was one thing, but bashing his best friends was something Jimin could not and would not tolerate. Ever.

Jimin abruptly stood up from his chair, not bothering to push it back in. He glared at you with stone cold eyes as he stormed closer to you.

“Call them stupid one more time.” His voice sliced through the air.

You knew you were getting into dangerous territory, but to be honest, you were tired of his bullshit and stubborn enough to not consider what you were getting yourself into. 

“If you think seven boys singing a bunch of lousy songs for eleven year old girls is more important than spending quality time with your girlfriend, then yes. Your band is very stupid.” You crossed your arms in defense to conclude your first move.

Fury flashed across his already flaming expression. He menacingly hovered above you and stuck a finger in your face, just inches from your widened eyes. Maybe you were going overboard.

“You don't think I try to come home sooner? You don't think I work my ass off in that practice room so I have more time to be with you? You don't think the company hates me for lying about sick days? You don't think the fans despise me because of you? I go through a lot of shit for you, Y/N. And if you’re stupid enough to not realize that and be thankful, then you can leave. I've only been good to you. What have I gotten in return? Nothing.”

You pressed a hand against his chest and pushed him away. He was exaggerating things just so he could be right. He was trying to put all the blame on you and it was time to defend yourself. You smacked his finger out of your face. Jimin looked as if steam was spewing out of his ears.

You narrowed your eyes and snarled, “Are you fucking blind? I iron your clothes, wash the dishes, clean the house, do the laundry, buy the groceries, make breakfast, lunch, and dinner, take out the trash, wash the windows, vacuum the floors, and I even bring you homemade lunch every day! I call your parents when you’re disgusting enough to not want to talk to them. You haven’t seen them in two years and your mother cries every time she calls because she misses you. She asks me how you’ve been but I can never tell her the truth. I don’t even know myself and I fucking live with you! I guess I’m the servant of the house based on how you’re treating me. Definitely not your girlfriend that shares a life with you. Next time, I’ll tell your mom that you’re doing just fine. Neglecting your family, spending all of our money, wrecking the house, staying up late doing who knows what. Yeah, she’ll definitely appreciate that from the son she worries so much about.” You were breathing hard and Jimin’s chest was heaving from bottled up anger. He was smoldering and you didn’t want to hear any more of his bullshit excuses. You walked straight past him and locked the bedroom door behind you, making sure to slam it hard enough to make the chandelier tremble. You stood with your back against the door. Rubbing your eyes with the palm of your hands, you knew you had taken it too far. 

Jimin’s hasty footsteps thrashed towards the bedroom. The door shook as he pounded a fist against it.

Clearing his throat he snarled, “You've always been a slutty, needy bitch. I can't even remember the last time I enjoyed having sex with you. Hell, I despise kissing you. You talk about Jungkook way too much to “just be friends.” I've seen how you look at him. I've seen how your eyes glide across his muscles. I’ve seen how you shamelessly bite your lip when he talks to you. You never look at me that way anymore...And you're telling me you miss me? I'm such a dumbass for ever believing in your bullshit. You never loved me and I wasted so much time and money on you. I deserve better than scum. Get the fuck out of my life. I can't even breathe right knowing I'm in the same building as you. Go fuck yourself.”

And with that, he grabbed his coat and left the apartment, shutting the door with enough force to make the entire apartment quake. You jolted as a picture of Jimin and you fell and shattered on the ground. That was the first Christmas present you had ever given him. Your back slid down the door until your butt plopped on the floor. The tears you had been holding back for the past few weeks had finally defeated you. You sobbed loudly into your hands, wailing apologies and yelling at yourself for being so selfish and vile. You felt enraged and hurt. This was really it. Jimin had left for good this time. His piercing words lingered and made your head throb. He was right. He didn’t deserve you. He deserved someone who understood his busy schedule and accepted him for who he was. You felt sick to your stomach and ran to the toilet to retch in the bowl. You winced when you saw your complexion in the mirror. Your makeup was smeared all over the place, your hair was a tangled wreck, and your eyes were red from bawling tremendously. You had to avert your gaze from the mirror, too disgusted in yourself. 

It was time to move on.

You didn’t want to be this person any longer. You didn’t want to be the girl always waiting for someone else. You wanted to be with someone who wanted you, who needed you. You wanted to share love with someone so strong that nothing could wear it down. Park Jimin wasn’t that someone.

You packed a hefty duffel bag with various clothes and possessions. This time, you didn’t bother to wash the dishes or clean up the broken glass from the picture frame. The last thing you did before you left the apartment was write Mrs. Park’s phone number on a piece of paper that you stuck to the fridge. Jimin never bothered to save his own mother’s contact in his phone.

As you waited for a cab to pick you up, you took several long, deep breaths. You had no idea what the hell you were doing. You didn’t have any family in the city and most of your friends were also friends of Jimin’s. You didn’t want anything to do with him right now so you were on your own. You checked the time on your phone. It was getting pretty late and the city wasn’t getting any warmer. You rubbed your hands together as you saw two beams of a car’s headlights scythe through the air. Your cab arrived.

“Hello there. Do you need any help with your bags?” the driver said as he turned his head to face you.

“No, no. I’m fine, thank you.” You placed your duffel bag next to you and let your hands rest in your lap.

The cab driver sensed your weary tension and smiled kindly. “Alrighty then. Where to this late at night?” 

You hadn’t thought this far yet. Looking through the window at the moon, you concluded that you would figure everything out in the morning. “Just get me away from here. I don’t care,” you murmured and rested your head against the window.

The man sighed and started the engine. He seemed nice enough. You hoped he wouldn’t ask anymore questions about you.

The ride commenced with ease. You closed your eyes and set your mind free. You ignored the pestering responsible portion of your brain that refused to stop blaring at you to go back. You fell asleep, careless of everything, ignorant of the world around you, and oblivious to Park Jimin.

Within an hour, Jimin was back at your shared apartment. He originally had planned to see his friends, go out for drinks, and not worry about the next step. But when he pulled into their dorm’s driveway, he realized that he had taken your car keys on accident. His fingers fondled with the pink Apeach character keychain he gave you for Christmas three years ago. Jimin was pretty terrible at giving sentimental gifts, but you loved his first Christmas present all the same.

What the hell am I doing? She must be devastated. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have said those things. What is wrong with me? 

Jimin bolted home and scurried up the stairs to the third floor of the apartment complex. He was already crying imagining how hurt you must have been. He felt so shitty for everything he had said, everything he had done. Unlocking the door and bursting in, Jimin said, “Y/N, I’m so so so sorry for everything. I didn’t mean any of it...Y/N? Where are you? Y/N??” 

His hands were shaking as he turned the knob to your bedroom. You weren’t there and all of your clothes were missing. Not wanting to believe what was happening, Jimin tore through every room, every closet, searched behind every door, ran down the hallways asking the neighbors if they saw you, and called all of his friends begging to tell him where you were. He trudged back to his apartment empty-handed and crying. He lost you. You were gone and you were never coming back. Jimin messily ran his fingers through his hair and screamed your name at the top of his lungs with no response. He stomped his feet and dug his nails into his arms in frustration. Why did he do it? Why did he spit out such horrid lies at you? Why was he such a ravaging beast? You were right. Jimin didn’t care about anyone. He wasn’t considerate of his actions and he didn’t have the heart to tell his mom he was dying on the inside because he had so much love to give you but with so little time each day. He didn’t know how to tell you that he was tired. Tired of having to put on a smile everyday to please his fans. Tired of leaving when it’s still dark out and coming home just to kiss you goodnight. He hated putting you in this situation. You deserved so much more than what he could offer. And now, he couldn’t give you anything.

Jimin collected himself enough to sit down and text you. He couldn’t pour out his heart through texts but he tried anyway. He left you hundreds of texts and voice messages confessing things that he was too shy to say aloud. You didn’t respond. His heart broke at the realization that he was nothing to you anymore.

You woke up to the screeching of tires and your head almost hitting the car seat in front of you. You yelped in shock as you saw what made the cab stop so abruptly. Two deer, a male and a female, jumped, just feet away from the vehicle. You watched in awe as the male deer licked his mate’s ear as she searched him for wounds. Seconds later, they scurried off the road and into the darkness. Ironically, it was the most humane behavior you had witnessed today. They looked out for each other. The animals blindly ran into the road, unknowing and naive, and mercilessly faced death. But it didn’t matter because they did it together. They shared a bond so intimate that they were willing to risk it all for their love. They suffered together and cleaned each other’s wounds. And in the end, they ran off, untouched, and even more in love.

You checked your phone.

479 texts and 24 missed calls from Park Jimin

He loved you, and you loved him.

“Stop the car!” you hissed, hot tears forming around your eyes.

The driver swiftly hit the brakes and turned to face you. He was grinning, as if he knew what you were about to request.

“I’m sorry, but can you take me back to where you picked me up? I don’t know where we are and I wanna go home. I love him and miss him and wanna kiss and hug him. I wanna  be in his arms and cuddle up until we fall asleep, his hand around my waist and my hand stroking his hair. I wanna see him again and tell him how much I regret saying all those things and leaving him. I wanna forget about all this and start over. I wanna tell him everything’s okay and that his mom loves him. I wanna be with him forever and the thought of him being alone, thinking that no one wants him will kill me unless I see him again. Take me home.”

The poor driver blinked with wide eyes. In his twenty-three years of working as a taxi driver, he had never seen a girl empty her heart teeming with that much love before. He spun the car around and raced home, full speed ahead.

You thanked the driver and handed him whatever cash you had on you. You bustled out of the car and practically threw yourself into the apartment complex. If you didn’t get to him soon, your heart was going to burst.

You fumbled with the keys in your sweaty hands. They slipped and you reached down to get them. As you crouched down, you heard crying from the other side of the door. Hand on the doorknob, you took a deep breath. What did you do in your past life to deserve Jimin? You started the fight that made him decompose.

You heard his faint, quivering whispers from inside. “Why, God...I’m begging you. Y/N. Please come back. I can’t live without you. I can’t...”

You found yourself inside the living room, walking as fast as you could, beelining towards him. His face was in his hands and his shoulders were shaking. His toes were curled and his disheveled hair stuck out in all directions. He looked up at the sound of the creaking floorboards. Jimin’s face was red and blotchy. You shrunk at the sight of his condition.

Unsure if you were really standing in front of him, Jimin hesitated and stood up quickly. He wiped his nose and made desperate eye contact with you. Your eyes watered.

“I’m sorry,” you both uttered at the same time.

You paced towards him and clutched his hands. “Jimin, it was my fault. I had no right to confront you about something I know you can’t do anything about. I was just frustrated and lonely because I barely get to see you anymore. What the hell was I thinking walking out on you like that? You must’ve been worried sick. My heart aches just imagining you sitting here by yourself crying, thinking that you fucked up, even though I’m the one to blame.” You searched deep into his eyes, your look telling him things you couldn’t muster to say.

He squeezed your hands and replied in a raspy voice. “I didn’t do any better by screaming at you like that. The shit I said was cruel and unfair. I didn’t consider how and why you were feeling so alone. I’ll talk to the company and try to change the schedule. I’ve always wanted to see you more. I would drop everything just to be with you. And when you disappeared, I felt like I was going to die. My life lost purpose. Everything around me crumbled because I thought I lost you,” he whimpered as he gathered you into a hug.

“But you didn’t. I’m not gonna let you lose me. Never again.” You snuggled up to him, placing your ear against his chest. You felt his heart thump steadily and your lips curved into a smile. His cologne had worn off and his musky scent swaddled you.

You were glad to be home.

Uhh I was nOT expecting the rebranding yesterday !!! They’re really growing up now :”))))

Tyvm for requesting and reading! Accepting requests/asks! ❤️