#and he desperately wanted a lover who was his equal

[baldursgarbage]

another gale headcanon

listen we all know Gale is a man of experience in all sorts of ways. He’s certainly no blushing virgin and he seeks knowledge nobody’s business. However, I imagine that life with Mystra was highly serious and hardly ever silly. Spells were perfect, recipes (even new ones) had to be delicious, even sex had a level of solemnity to it. There was no spontaneous dancing in kitchen or playfulness in the bedroom.

So, I imagine it had been a veryyyy long time since Gale has let go and just… danced. Sure, it wasn’t long ago that he was expertly leading in a waltz or tango, but just letting go? just goofily feeling the music? it’s been a LONG time.

I picture the gang at some sort of outdoor festival/tavern with jaunty music and Tav calling Gale over for a dance. He instinctively assumes position, hand on Tav’s hip, ready to lead and Tav is just like? huh? not what i meant! Tav takes Gales hand and guides him to the center of the dance floor and just starts groovin to the beat and making it up as they go. At first, Gale is stiff as a board and unsure what to do, but eventually relaxes and starts moving to the music. He starts laughing. He starts having fun in a way he hasn’t had before, at least not for many years.

Being with Tav is the beginning of Gale taking himself less seriously and finding more joy in things he’s always loved.

[jester-lover]

P4 Relationship Headcanons

Authors Note/ I have read the manga up to the last English translated volume, but I’ll stick to the public school arc characterizations of them for convenience’s sake.

CW/fem! reader but otherwise no physical description , fluff, kindof accurate Victorian courting, a little angst, manga spoilers! I most definitely forgot this arc was getting animated, so I’m late, might be a little OOC, it’s been a few months since I read the manga

Edgar Redmond

Flattery was his main method of gaining your affections: descriptive poems sent to your mailbox, tulips and chocolates left on your doorstep by a mysterious admirer—a carefully held facade that fell apart when Edgar realized just how badly he wanted your affections returned.

While he has always considered himself a free spirit, capable of swiftly moving from one lover to another, he has an epiphany when he realizes he needs exclusivity with you. Edgar has found something beyond flings with you, a woman who can truly make him nervous; make his heart beat against his chest every time you bless him with a glance.

He isn’t always the most touchy lover, but he tends to take your arm in his while the two of you are out together. (He’ll do nothing more, as he doesn’t want rumors to spread around your private relationship.)

Edgar tends to fuss over you a bit, fixing your dresses, brushing his fingers over your coat, and generally keeping your appearance looking tidy; it’s an act of service that displays his affections for you.

Lawrence Bluewer

When I say all of his sisters gang up on him to tease him about his crush on you, I mean it. Lawrence tried his best to keep his love for you a secret, but his yearning glances over his glasses reveal his truth. They encourage him to speak to you, giving him advice about what women like. (Trust me, he needs it.)

Lawrence is a very dedicated man, particularly when it comes to you. He holds up all of the important customs of an exemplary Victorian man and treats you as an equal in all matters.

He’s adamant on listening to your opinion on matters involving the two of you, but he’ll also ask for your opinions on issues in his home and dorm. Your opinion is important to him.

Lawrence is a very intelligent young man; if you ever find yourself struggling with your schoolwork or a matter of principle in your personal life, he’ll help out to the best of his ability.

Call him by any affectionate nickname, and that carefully held stoicism crumbles before you, and a red tint suddenly appears on his pale face. The only time he ever broke his own rules was after the cricket match, when he embraced you tightly in the stands after winning, so much more proud of his victory now that you had seen it.

Herman Greenhill

It feels as if someone has struck him in the heart each time he lays his eyes on you. He can feel the warmth of his skin and the sweating of his palms each time he tries to talk to you without stumbling through his words. Herman is so utterly rigid and awkward around you, it’s completely obvious he’s head over heels.

He’s often flustered around you, even when you’re already courting, as one of his ideals of chivalry and respect is treating ladies kindly. He acts like a strict old man and a shy schoolboy at the same time, wanting your touch so desperately but bashing himself for it.

You will probably have to enact most of the affection between the two of you, sneaking kisses when your chaperone turns away, holding his hand when you walk into a more private corridor of his residence, and cheering loudly at his games. The easiest way to get a reaction from Herman is by showing off your stockings; he’s a sucker for good hosiery.

Despite his proud and sort of arrogant personality, Herman is a shy and careful lover; he remembers all of your favorites and special days, and he loves receiving your praise. Whenever he achieves something, he immediately looks to you, waiting to see what you make of him.

Gregory Violet

You wouldn’t even know of his existence when he first saw you, but he was always there, with a thick black sketchbook filled with drawings of you, going about your daily routine and interacting with others in a way he only wished he could. The sheer amount of yearning he does could put the poets to shame.

You are his muse; even when Gregory is creating something completely irrelevant to you, he’ll remember you; you are so infused with everything he makes. Because he has put you on this goddess-like pedestal, he doesn’t think he deserves you, which is why he’s so surprised when you agree to court him.

Gregory’s affection comes in bursts; some days he’ll be too nervous to look you in the eye, but other times he’s practically joined at your hip. He’s not the most talkative lover, but when his eyes flit through you, examining you closely with a blush stretched across his features, he appreciates you like you are art.

He plays the role of the gentleman in public, keeping his respectful distance, but he often seeks your comfort in the few moments you can sneak alone, laying his head on your lap as you brush through his two-toned hair and rambling uncharacteristically about the struggles of his role. He’s a non-conformist, and he often wished the society you lived in wasn’t so strict, so that you and him could act as wild and free as you did in the leather binding of his sketchbook.

[felixknow]

Hannie's Fixation pt. 5: Finale

Hannie's 🍒 fixation | Hannie's 🦪 fixation | Hannie's fixation pt. 3 | Hannie's fixation pt. 4

general: friends to lovers, more desperate hannie, happy ending, f!reader, curvy reader implied

nsfw: boob play/fixation, oral and fingering (f!receiving), condom use, hannie doesn't last long (he's just so obsessed he can't help it)

He opens the door so quickly that you’re sure he was standing just on the other side waiting for you to knock.

“Hi,” he says on a breath, sounding relieved, almost as if he didn’t think you’d actually show up. One of his arms finds your waist as you step inside; with the other he closes and locks the door behind you.

“Hi Hanji.”

He hugs you tightly, laying his head on your shoulder. You hesitantly hug him back, unsure if this sweet moment will stay sweet or if he’ll start trying to fuck you the second your arms wrap around him.

He doesn’t, though. He just holds you for a long moment in silence, his arms locked around your body. This is more like the Hanji you’re used to. Your best friend, your Hanji, who had never shown any interest in your body until last week and lately has seemed to only like you for it. Now he’s his soft self again, wanting a cuddle and a quiet evening. For now, at least.

“I love you,” he mumbles pitifully, and you sigh softly.

“I’m not mad at you, Hanji, it just feels weird.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We should have talked about it first.” He lets go of you and stands back, his hands falling down to find yours as you release your hug on him in turn. “Do you want to talk about it now? Or after?”

“You’re such a horndog,” you scoff, rolling your eyes unseriously. “Here I thought you were about to have a serious moment with me and you’re still just set on getting in my pants.”

“You said I could! You said you’d come over and we’d fuck and then we’d talk!”

“Yeah, and you’re the one who just acknowledged that we very well should have had a conversation before we started doing anything sexual with each other.” While you talk, Han starts pulling you toward his room, and you willingly go with him, though you do make him put effort into dragging you along.

“Well a promise is a promise, y/nnie,” he insists. “And you promised I could hit at least once.”

“You say promise very liberally, Han Jisung. I don’t think I promised my pussy to you.”

 His head whips around to look at you, his eyes wide and excited, his lips parted and open so you can see a peek of his teeth. You don’t even have to look down all the way to see the tent in his pants.

“That’s so fucking hot. You did, though. You promised I get your pussy. Oh, fuck, I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he says excitedly, drawing you in again by your hips. He tries to lean in to kiss you, but the feeling of his boner against your crotch makes you laugh nervously and lean away from his face.

“You’re ridiculous. Not a serious bone in your body, I swear.”

“Oh, I’m serious. I’m reeeeeally serious, and this serious bone is going to get into your body.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you insist again, still trying to push against his chest to make him let go of you.

“Please, y/nnie, pleeeease.” Han makes kissy noises, still leaning in, still holding the small of your back to keep you close.

“You don’t have to beg me, you know,” you mumble, finally giving in to him and letting him kiss all across your cheek and your soft jawline.

“But I don’t know what else to say,” he says back in an equally low voice. “And I want you to know how bad I want it. I’m not just asking you ‘cause I’m horny, I’m asking you ‘cause it’s you.”

You take a second to silently process his words, and his shiny brown eyes watch you carefully. You don’t say anything, though, electing instead to lean in and kiss him properly on the lips for what you think may be the actual first time your lips have touched his.

Han’s quick to pull you backwards the rest of the way into his room. You stumble together to his bed, and he falls ungracefully backwards when the back of his knees hit the bed, and he pulls you down on top of him, letting out a very dramatic whine of protest when you try to avoid straddling him.

“Sit,” he mutters against your lips, still trying to kiss you while he talks even though it’s a little awkward and creates a weird ratio of lips to teeth to tongue.

“Thought you wanted to fuck me?” you pant into his mouth. One arm wraps around his shoulders and the other hand tangles in his hair. “Wouldn’t you rather me lying down?”

“You’re so right,” he groans, shifting you both to the side until you’re tumbling off his lap and into his soft bed. The scent of his shampoo and cologne instantly surrounds you and eases the last bit of nerves you had about this. This is your Hanji. 

Han’s shaky hands make quick work of your clothes and his in a back to back pattern. His shirt, then yours, then his pants, then your bra. He can’t help himself from playing once he sees your boobs right in front of him again. 

He moans as soon as his mouth closes around your nipple. Your skin is so warm and soft, and the scent of your skin fills his nose to the brim, and his eyes flutter closed and he’s never been so happy to have someone in his bed. He sucks and pinches opposite nipples, playing and indulging more for his own pleasure than for yours just like the first time he’d gotten to touch you.

When you moan and whisper his name, you break his trance and he sits back up, lips shiny with spit where his mouth hangs open like it’s still searching for your breast.

“Does that feel good for you?” he asks, almost in a daze. “I should have asked.”

“It does,” you nod, reaching up to fluff up his already messy hair. “I think ‘cause you like it so much so you’re really good at it. It feels good.”

A smile breaks his open-mouthed expression, and he gives you another quick yet searing kiss before kicking off his underwear and dragging your leggings and panties from your body in one quick motion. Once he’s gotten them off your ankle, then the other, he grips your leg firmly to hold it in place while he kisses it from the inside of your ankle all the way up to the top of your thigh. You assume that he’s going for your cunt, maybe looking for the taste of you before he fucks you, but instead he continues up, peppering kisses and spit up your soft stomach, your chestbone, and up your neck.

“Can we do it?” he whispers in your ear. “You’re sure I can?”

“Yes, Hanji,” you chuckle. “Fuck me. Let me feel you inside me.”

He moans in your ear in response, humping against your thigh like a horny dog for a second before peeling himself off of you to scurry away into his ensuite bathroom. You watch through the doorway as he opens the top drawer, pulls a whole box of condoms out, and comes running back to the bed, unattended cock bobbing as he does.

“Did you already have those or did you buy those just for this?” you ask without considering if you really want to know the answer. Once he looks up at you with his cheeks flushing red, you decide, “Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

Han just nods apathetically and opens the box, pulling the roll of foil packets out. He tears one off carefully, tosses the box down onto the nightstand, then hands the single condom to you.

“Will you…?” 

You look up at him with wide eyes, but then nod and sit up, understanding what he wants.

“Yeah, of course. Come here.”

Hanji crawls onto the bed and kneels between your spread legs, and as your fingers tear the corner of the packet open, he tilts your chin up and kisses you again. When you try to pull away, his shaky, whiny breath asks you to stay.

“I need to see the condom to get it on you,” you mumble against his lips, and he sighs, leaning his forehead against yours. You both look down, then, watching your fingers carefully remove the condom from its packet. You make sure it’s facing the right way before pinching the tip and settling it against the head of Han’s blushing pink prick.

“Ahh,” he moans softly, biting his lip to try to stifle himself as more sounds beg to be released. He’d been so good about not touching himself under the guise that it would make him last longer when he got to finally get inside, but now he realizes the flaw in his plan as you slowly roll the condom down his length. He feels like he’s so pent up he could bust right now.

“Maybe I should finger you first,” he says unsurely, sitting back to look at your whole face and gage your expression.

“Why? I’m wet enough, I can assure you.” Your hand dips between your thighs and expertly dips into your heat, slipping against your labia both on the way in and back out. “See?” You hold up your two sticky, shiny wet fingers to Han, and his cock noticeably twitches.

“Oh my god.” His hand darts out to grab your wrist, and in the blink of an eye your fingers are in his mouth. His tongue swirls around and between your fingers, sucking every bit of taste from them as he can.

“Okay, actually,” he says when he releases your fingers. “I need a taste first.” He gently pushes you back, and you comply, butterflying your legs out to the side as Hanji lays between them.

Just like when he couldn’t resist sucking your tits as soon as he saw them, he goes at your pussy like a man starved, not for your pleasure but for his own.

He laps at your cunt, licking bottom to top multiple times until he can’t tell what’s your wetness and what’s his spit. Then he parts your labia with his fingers and flicks his tongue over your clit incessantly, taking your breath away.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, hands digging into his hair. “Hanji, you’re not going easy on me.”

He hums in half-ass acknowledgement, suckling, trying to give a little extra stimulation to your clit before his fingers prod at your vagina. Once again he makes you moan when two slide in, and once again he doesn't go easy on you as his fingers immediately begin to curl upward, looking for that perfect spot that will make you pull his hair and forget how to talk.

“Han-- Oh fuck-- Hanji, I thought-- I thought you were gonna fuck me. If you don't stop I’m gonna cum.”

Han’s rhythm falters, his tongue slowing and his fingers stilling. His previously closed eyes open and he peers up at you.

“Would you beg for it?” he asks, dipping his head back down to suckle at your clit again. “How many times have you heard me beg for it?” His fingers slowly begin to move again, teasing as they drag against the bumpy flesh inside your vagina. “Would you? If I kept eating you out instead, would you beg for my dick?”

“Mmm,” you whine, squirming, almost too embarrassed to admit that you would. But then his expert tongue comes back into play, circling around and around and you whine loudly and blurt it out.

“Please, Hanji. Please fuck me. I want your cock so bad. I want it inside me, please.”

You swear you hear him gasp as his head flies up, his eyes open wide, his drenched mouth hanging open yet still smiling. His fingers are out of you and quickly planted into the sheets beside your body as he almost literally leaps upward to align himself with you.

“Oh, fuck,” he grunts, hips already bucking as he tries to line his tip up with your pussy. “That was so fucking hot. God, I need you so fucking bad.” He ends up bumping your clit several times, whether on purpose or not, before he finally catches on the opening of your vagina and jerks forward an inch or two. His whole body jerks and his head hangs low and you sweeeear for a second he just came, but then he sinks fully into you with the longest, most pornographic moan you’ve ever heard in your bedroom life, and you know your dramatic best friend is just taking his time enjoying you.

“Oh my god,” he whines, kneeling between your legs with your hips fully touching. He lays his torso on yours, his head and soft hair landing on your chest. He pants like he’s trying to catch his breath and he keeps blessing your ears with these tiny, whiny moans. “You feel so good,” he mutters.

His hands roam your arms trying to your find your hands, and when he makes purchase and intertwines your fingers, he’s pinning them to the side of your head and raising himself back up above you. The feeling of him shifting inside you makes you clench around him, and you both moan when his cock twitches.

There’s one thing you can’t say about this encounter, and that’s that it lasts very long. He begins apologizing as soon as his hips start their work, his practiced dance rhythm keeping him perfectly in time as he fucks you.

“I’m so sorry y/nnie,” he huffs, “I’m gonna cum so fast.” He brushes his thumbs against the sides of your hands. “I want you so bad. I want you so bad.”

“Hanji,” you moan, squirming your hips up to meet his. “Feels so good. Ahh, fuck. Fuck, you can cum whenever you want. Just don’t leave me hanging.”

“Would never,” he swears, furrowing his brow. “Nng, fuck. I’m gonna make you cum so good. Gonna make you feel so good, y/nnie.”

“Please, Hanji. Make me cum.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice keening upward an octave. “Yeah, y/nnie. ‘M gonna make you cum. ‘M gonna-- ahh!”

He doesn’t have the resolve to stop himself when it feels so good. Instead he buries himself as far as possible when he cums, imagining the way his hot spurts look filling up your pretty pussy, even though he knows the condom catches it all. It doesn’t stop him from picturing you leaking pearly white for him to slurp up and spit back into your mouth.

Another time, maybe. Another time.

“Y/n,” he sighs, letting go of your hands finally as he gives you a few more weak thrusts to milk the last good feelings from his orgasm before it gets too sensitive. “I love you.”

“I know, Hanji,” you say, softly smiling at him. “Love you too.”

The corners of his mouth twitch in a way you can’t read as he pulls out of you with a final sigh. He carefully rolls the condom off and ties it off before running it to the bathroom to drop in the trash.

As soon as he’s back in the room, he’s nestling between your legs again, wasting no time in sliding two fingers into you and circling your clit with his tongue.

“Fuck me with your fingers,” you tell him, guiding him to your orgasm. He does what you tell him, speeding up when you want, going harder, staying “just like that” until you’re cumming around him, leaking a good bit of watery cum that he excitedly notes in the back of his head for future exploration.

He licks you clean, teasing with the tip of his tongue around your swollen clit and sensitive hole a few times before finally relenting to your pleas of “enough, enough.”

When he finally lays down beside you, hugging you tightly despite your whining that it’s too warm, you’re both too sweat-sticky to be cuddling right now-- he tells you he loves you again.

“This is the third time you’ve said that in the last half-hour.”

“Yeah and you only said it back once.”

“I love you, Hanji,” you say in a teasing tone.

“Love me how?”

“Huh?”

“Love me how?” he repeats, flicking a stray piece of hair out of his eyes. “Because I love you like I’m trying to date you.”

“What?!” 

“Ahh, I’m so lame,” he says, visibly cringing at your shocked reaction. “Post nut clarity is stupid. I’m being so blunt! And boring! I just feel so good and I love you so much and you’re so beautiful and I want you so bad.” He hugs you tighter, sighing and pouting at you. “Do you feel the same, y/nnie? Do you love me?”

“I-- Yes, Hanji, I do. I love you. I wouldn’t have ever let you touch me if I didn’t want you as more than a friend.”

“Say you’ll be mine,” he spits out quickly, nearly stumbling over his words in excitement. He hooks a leg over yours and forces both of you to squirm and writhe as he exclaims, “I love youuuu! Say you’ll be mine! Say it!”

You laugh, trying to fight against the wriggling, but his grip is too firm around you.

“Okay, okay! I love you, Hanji! Let’s do it! Let’s be a couple.”

His movements stop immediately and he beams a breathtaking smile at you.

“That’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

“Oh, stop.” you say bashfully, playfully shoving him back, but this time he actually does let go of you and flop onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, still smiling.

“We should wash up,” you tell him softly, turning to get up.

“We?” he asks excitedly, and you barely bite back a giggle.

“I said what I said, didn’t I?”

[dekariosclan]

Imagine Gale as a talented and impressive young man, able to compose the Weave at will, skilled in a way that few can match, and favored by the Goddess of Magic herself. Imagine that because of these accomplishments, he’s caught the eye of a few up-and-coming magic adepts, and he falls in love with one of them—his first real love. Gale isn’t one to toss the ‘L’ word around lightly, so when he tells them he loves them, he means it; he gives himself over to them completely.

And in return, they love him for his potential. For his status. For the magic he can command. They love the wizard they see on the surface, but not the man underneath. They are attracted to his power, but not to him.

So of course the relationship fails, after the thrill of his magic wears off. But because Gale is a resilient young man and he’s caught the eye of so many, he soon falls in love with another.

And then it happens again. And again.

And each time Gale’s heart is ravaged, his ambition to become a better wizard grows, because he’s being shown time and time again that his magic ability is all that matters.

So much so that, by the time Mystra decides to elevate him from Favored to Chosen to Lover, he welcomes her with eager, desperate arms. Because if all his worth is in his magic, and that’s all he has to offer, and that’s all anyone wants from him, who better to love him than the Goddess of Magic herself?

Except…there’s a nagging voice in the back of his head that whispers she doesn’t really love him. There’s anxiety in his heart as time passes, and he reaches both the limit of what his talents can do and what Mystra will allow him to do. And most troubling of all: a growing panic that, just like his other lovers, she will soon grow tired of him and discard him if he can’t improve his magic any further.

He tries pouting, and pleading, and begging her to let him take more power, to let him be more for her, but she refuses. Smiles patronizingly. Tells him to be patient. But Gale can’t be patient when his power is tied so closely to his self-worth; he can’t be patient when doing so in the past has only ever lead to heartache.

So he does what he believes will be a Grand Romantic Gesture, one that will finally put him on equal footing with the woman he loves. Instead, it turns out to be a folly that dooms him and destroys his talents. And just as he’d always feared, Mystra tosses him aside the moment his magical gifts are gone—because what’s left of him holds no value for her.

————

Imagine Gale in his tower, alone, afraid, the ever-hungry orb in his chest, with only his tressym there to help him. No other friends to speak of. His colleagues forced to keep away for their own safety. His magical talents utterly stripped down, so that even when he does try and distract himself with illusions, he’s bitterly reminded of what he used to be capable of. Waking every morning wondering if it will be his last, ending every day full of loneliness and disappointment.

…and then he meets Tav.

At the lowest point in his life, at his most vulnerable, when he knows he’s going to be considered a burden, he meets this stranger and their group. So he does what he can to be useful—assigning himself to be camp cook, offering up his (now meager) magic skills, turning the charm up to 11—as he desperately hopes this will somehow work out. He’s pleasantly surprised when, after providing only minor details of his condition, Tav agrees to help him. He’s even more surprised when they actually follow through.

Imagine how Gale feels as Tav treats him kindly. As he grows to trust Tav, and then grows to like them. Imagine his surprise as he opens up and shows them more and more of himself, and they don’t turn him away.

But then his condition worsens. And he has to reveal everything: the foolish mistakes he’s made, and how dangerous he is as a result. He clings to Tav’s hand as he shows them his folly. He’s at their mercy now, and he knows this might be the last time he’ll ever feel the touch of another being, if they decide—and Gods, why wouldn’t they decide?—to cast him out.

…but they don’t. They don’t. Instead, they tell him to stay.

Imagine the relief Gale feels. The gratitude. And perhaps…just a hint of something more. Something that he dare not name, but that flares to life every time he thinks of how warm their hand was in his. Something that feels dangerously close to jealousy, when he’s had too much to drink and sees Tav smiling at another…

But he knows these are all foolish thoughts, because he has nothing to offer Tav. They are wonderful just as they are, but he…he is an empty shell of a man, a discarded husk of a wizard, and while they might tolerate him, he could never believe they might actually want him.

And besides, he still thinks of Mystra. He still longs for Mystra. She who cast him out, but to whom he still feels tethered. Sometimes he needs to cocoon himself in the weave, just to try and calm his fears and bring some joy back to his life, because magic is his life. And sometimes he just needs to see her face, even though that hurts as much as it heals.

One night he’s lost in thought, having conjured Mysta’s image after settling down at camp. Thinking that even if she hadn’t ‘loved’ him—certainly not in the way he’d loved her—she’d given him enough otherwise, hadn’t she? She’d amused him and been amused by him, they’d shared countless pleasures, why hadn’t he been satisfied with that?

Gale is so lost in thought he doesn’t realize Tav has come up behind him. Until they ask a question, startling him out of his trance. He’s a bit shaken, so he tries to turn the conversation from Mystra to the weave itself. And then a wonderful idea occurs to him, something that he’d been toying with already: what if they were to conjure the weave together?

He can show Tav how important magic is to him, let them experience what he does, perhaps even impress them a bit. But most importantly, share a moment with them. As friends would do…

He’s elated when Tav agrees. He leads them through the steps effortlessly, and they’re a surprisingly good student, following his instructions correctly (if a bit clumsily). He’s as excited as they are—perhaps even more so!—when they succeed in channeling the weave.

It’s such a pleasant, familiar feeling for him, like coming home to his tower in Waterdeep. Even as the weave connects him with Tav and makes them one, he’s easily able to hide his innermost thoughts, because he’s done it so many times before.

…but he’s forgotten that Tav has not.

————

Imagine Gale knowing every romantic partner he ever had only wanted him because of how he could raise their status, or how he could amuse them, or how he could command magic for them. And, each time, he was happy to oblige them, even desperate to oblige them, because if that was the price of their love, then he was sure it would be worth it.

But it still all came to nothing.

Now imagine Gale connected in an intimate way with someone he likes very, very much—while being what he considers his lowest, most worthless, and most humbled self. As far from the powerful, impressive wizard he once was as he could ever be. And suddenly a vision enters his mind from the lovely creature standing next to him. Only, to his complete and utter shock, it isn’t one where he is providing them with a service, or wowing them with his magical ability, or granting them some kind of power from one of the spells he commands.

Instead, when he sees their desire laid bare before him, it’s a vision of kissing him. Of holding his hand. The two most basic forms of affection and physical connection. The two things that he would still be able to offer them even if every last ounce of his remaining magical abilities were stripped from him. The two things he could share with them even if he was no longer Gale of Waterdeep, and just plain old Gale Dekarios instead.

Imagine the embarrassment and trepidation he feels at first, because surely he is mistaken?…and then the elation when he realizes that he is not. So much elation that his concentration is broken, the weave dissipating as he forgets about channeling it, as he forgets about Mystra. Because all that matters to him now is the image before him—the most pleasant and welcome image he’s seen in a very, very long time.

Imagine how that would feel…and how besotted, enamored and completely devoted he’d be to Tav afterwards. To know that someone finally—finally—just wants him.

Just imagine.

[le-monchou]

you say you want passion || leona kingscholar

Every halloween, there was something to expect from this world. Not that you could ever rest or relax in your world either, but damn, at least you didn’t have to fight spectres, or chase down one of the students because they were the ghost princess’ selected husband, or even fight people who wanted to eradicate magic from this world or trap rich buffoons (including your own lover) in an odd and terrifying amusement park for all of eternity. 

But right now, none of that matters, since your lover managed to get the two of you some down time, in adult speak. In his words? I am going to ram you against the wall and fuck ya till you scream. And that is how you ended up like a piece of meat on a stand, in what could technically be the living room of a paper house, paper graves lining the surrounding and the horizon, but the man in front of you demands all your attention, which you are more than happy to give. 

Hooded, lazy eyes roam your body, the owner dressed in a striped three piece with an overcoat reminiscent of the skeleton man who led you here deep inside the book. Inside an equally dreary house painted grey, the man wordlessly asks you to spin with a none too equolent spin of a gloved finger, but you find it very hard to ignore, getting on your knees on a padded floor that felt like the pages of a book and greeting him. The man rolls his only visible emerald eye, removing his eye patch and leaning in for a deep kiss, tongue prodding at your lips. 

“Strip.” he whispers against your lips, and you tug at the embellished overcoat as you bite his lower lip and Leona groans despite trying not to, but when has he ever been able to stop it? You drive him madder than the hatters that once dealt with mercury with their bare hands- but maybe, just maybe, you were his mercury, and he twists his body so you can strip him, occasionally tilting his face upwards as you crawl and place yourself firmly on his lap, kissing and sucking and nipping at his face and his throat as you open the first three buttons of his shirt nestled under his vest. 

“You first,” you mutter in a way that is silky and sullen, and Leona chuckles as his hands make their way to your neck, supporting you while he kissed you as you whined against his lips about how unfair it was that he looked so good, and he chuckles again when he pulls away to admire your swollen lips and he feels the blood rush to his dick almost immediately- he knows exactly how to put that mouth of yours to work. 

And so do you, it seems, as you sigh and slip off his lap, and Leona makes quick work of his pants as you help him tug it down to the floor, and you push the flyer in your own pants down as you hum with anticipation. “Easy, beastie,” Leona murmurs as he spreads his legs wider, and you kiss his inner thighs, sucking and biting in a manner that is so him, and he moans as you finally take his length, kissing and licking the underside before putting it in your mouth, choking at halfway as Leona sighs above you. 

Then, you feel Leona shuffling above and around you, guiding your head gently with a gloved hand, and you close your eyes and you take him in deeper and a hand slides slowly towards your still-clothed cunt, desperate from some friction and relief. “Mm, beastie, gonna cum…” you hear him murmur above you, and suddenly, abruptly, you’re pushed away, and eyes snap open as he tilts his head and smirks, before pulling up his pants and picking you up in a bridal sweep, pulling you to a bedroom where there was a permanent curtain drawn. 

Tossing you onto the bed, Leona crawls on top of you as you trace the outline of his chest peeking through the opened buttons of his suit, and you tug at his tied hair as you pull him into another kiss, and he doesn’t bother fighting you, freely giving you whatever you need from him. “Only the best for my queen,” Leona  murmurs as he pulls away and tosses his shirt and vest away, choosing to keep his pants on this time as he pulls yours down, leaving your underwear on as he dives between your legs. 

“Meanie,” you half-huff, huff-breathe as you still spread your legs, and Leona smirks audibly before kissing your inner thigh, kissing and sucking your flesh, occasionally kissing the fabric of your underwear and tugging at it. You, on the other hand, groan at the sudden attack between your legs, and when his nose brushes near your cunt again, you slam the sides of his head with your thighs, waiting for him to yield. “‘Kay, beastie, no need to get aggressive,” he murmurs as he tugs on your underwear, and that’s how you know you’ve won, when he dives in and eats you out like you’re the last meal he’s had in ages and the last meal he’ll have in life. 

You hear more shuffling beneath you, and a wet, squelching sound as Leona strokes himself, a pause followed by a long sigh right against your cunt as he continues getting you off with little regard to his own pleasure. Meanwhile, the sheets of the bed begin feeling more and more like the pages of a book, signalling the end of your time with him, but you don’t have the heart or the mind to tell him to stop, not when you’re so close, damn it. "Leona, I'm close," you hiccup and sob with the overstimulation as Leona redoubles his efforts, adding a finger or two to speed up the process and bring you to your climax. 

As you come down from the high, Leona pulls away to wipe the edges of his mouth, and you sigh in a mix of loss and bliss as he shoots you a toothy grin from above. “You didn’t come, did you?” you murmur as you raise a weirdly sore arm towards your lover, who dodges the question while leaning into your palm. “Leona.” He shushes you, kissing your palm as you wrestle your hand away from him and sit him down (metaphorically, of course) on the bed, and he looks up at you with the most lovesick look in his eyes as you rest your arms on his shoulders and kiss him gently before stripping him, stroking his cock to full length before taking a deep breath in. 

“Cold feet, beastie?” Leona teases quietly as you roll your eyes and push yourself down, breathing in and out as Leona leans in to kiss you gently with sighs and murmurs of how beautiful you are, you’re perfect, absolutely wonderful, and Leona supports the back of your neck as you take him all in, and sighs again and again as he pushes you onto your back on the bed. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect. How could I want anyone so much it hurts, beastie?” he murmurs in a fix, eyes blown out and wide as he pulls out and pushes himself in again as you moan loud and clear, grabbing onto the stands of his hair that fell from his ponytail. 

“Mm, you’re perfect too, Leona.” you moan and scream as you close your eyes, tears forming under your eyelids at the feeling of being full and filled with love, and you feel a large, warm hand on your cheek wiping at something, before kisses peppering themselves all over. “Beastie, open your eyes.” your lover murmurs before whining suddenly, and he flushes before he whispers a quiet gonna cum, wanna cum as you nod your permission. 

“No condoms,” he breathes as you shake your head. “I’ll pull out.” You shake your head again as tears fall down your cheeks again, and despite the emotions surging in both of you, he laughs gently, wiping the stray tears that fall. “Beastie, as much as I wanna have kids with you, that’s a discussion for later, hmm?” You moan quietly as he pulls out as strokes himself to finish, and you sit up slowly to watch him as he smirks and winks after catching your eye. 

“Cute.” you whisper as he beckons you with his index and ring finger gently, pulling you onto his lap once again before bending his head and kissing and sucking your chest, and you hug him loosely as you watch the bruises bloom under his careful consideration, and Leona smirks. “Still think I’m cute?” You nod as you kiss his forehead. “Yeah.” you smile as he rolls his eyes fondly before setting his head on your chest. “You’re perfect.”

word count: 1486 words; song: birthday sex; header: @.cafekitsune

tags: @aivy-saur, @nemisisnemi, @glidiaxoxo, @puowei, @vauxxnm @loser-jpg, @fungifanart (idk if you will read it but think of it as an alternate universe??)

[yourstrulysylus]

Burn the world for you

The room was filled with a thick tension, the air practically crackling with the animosity between them. They had been lovers once, but now they were nothing more than enemies - their love reduced to a distant memory.

Sylus stood across from you, his eyes burning with anger as he spoke. An unexpected visitor trespassed in his house as the thunderstorms being heard across from the windows at night.

“What do you want, my Queen?” He spat out, his voice laced with venom. He was standing in his own study the only place where he would find solace and it was something that he always maintained in his manor since this was the very room where their love began and he felt that it was about to end here as-well.

She pointed her silver revolver at him while his body stiffened with the silent threat of violence in his presence. The audacity to aim a gun at his own home and yet he chuckled as his eyes playfully glinted at the woman that he once loved before him.

She was silent and he didn’t like it - he missed her witty remarks. Their conversations where he feels like the world does not matter but them. Her voice. He would do anything just to have her utter a word disclose her reasons as to why she was here standing before him wearing that beautiful dark maroon strapless dress that shows off her perfect curves and that fine slit of her skirt that reveals a bit of her long leg that’s laced with a black stockings to pair with her high heels after all these years.

Of all things she chose to wear a ravishing dress while attempting to annihilate him. He caught a glimpse of her scent. Oh my love. Her familiar sent shivers down to his spine because he knew how much that was his favorite perfume of hers. Pomegranates and black orchids.

“You really want to go down this path, my lady?” He mocked her knowing that her powers may be an equal to his however not exactly experienced as he was putting it into good use.

She clicked the safety lock off as a response so he pointed his gun at her as well, a flawless aim all it takes is one shot and it shall be done. The sound breaking the silence of the room his eyes brows frowned his body tensing as he realizes the gravity of the situation.

“You’re serious,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff. “You’re really gonna do it.”

He heard her gasp the sudden surprise on her face giving away the awful feeling that she had at that moment despite the intense situation a part of him was amused by her reaction.

“What’s the matter, my love?” He asked, a small smirk on his face. “Suddenly having second thoughts, aren’t we?”

She used her evol to get closer in a snap now both feeling each other’s breaths approximately she pointed her gun at his head intensifying her aim. This moment felt like a deja vu - as that lifetime ago he was forcing her to resonate with him desperate for her to remember their life together. Their marriage.

His smirk faded instantly replaced by a sudden surprise and disbelief. He tensed further as she pressed her gun harder at his head the cold metal scraping against his skin.

“You’re insane,” he said, his voice low and dangerous he pointed the gun deeper at her chest where her aether core is - her heart. He was only mirroring her actions.

“They sent me to kill you.” She finally spoke.

His expression hardened, his eyes darkening with anger. Was that really the reason? He could use his evol at this very moment to see if she was telling the truth but he loved her too much to doubt her word.

“Ordered to murder me? By who?” He frowned but his voice softened now that she’s standing close before him.

“My father, he knows you’re after his kingdom and then bedded his daughter? You provoked him more than enough times.”

He changed his position he was now standing beside the door of his study by using his own evol while she’s now by his window distancing himself to compose himself once again. He was being hunted and now his love was the chosen one to kill him.

The guns were still aimed at each other the metallic click of the triggers still filled the air. The air in the room was thick with tension, the weight of the situation almost suffocating.

He locked his eyes with her his gaze unwavering and intense. “You’re not pulling that trigger, my love.” He said as a matter of fact tone. “You’re too much of a spoiled precious little kitten to do it.”

Not looking away from his gaze she said,

“Try me.”

Time seemed to slow down as he watched her cock the gun and aim it at herself she pointed it at her own neck where her carotid artery is located a fastest way to take one’s life. His eyes widened with horror a mixture of panic, confusion and shock. He lunged forward and caught her lifeless body his hands trembling as he gently caressed her face. His eyes were filled with despair and misery - he felt like he’s losing his breath at the scene before him.

He gently placed his forehead against hers “No, no, no..” she placed her hand to cup his cheek slightly tasting Sylus’ salty tears on her mouth.

“I’d rather die than kill you.”

His hands continued to cradle her lifeless body as he whispered to you his voice thick with grief and despair.

“You… your foolishness this isn’t what I…” his voice shaking “you’d throw your life away like that just to keep me alive? I could have died with you.”

“Sylus, I love you.” Her eyes closed as she said her final words her hand fell from his cheek. The sight of her still lifeless body was too much for him to bear. It took him a few moments to compose himself still holding her in his arms and vowed to himself that he would burn the world for her.

[sarahscribbles]

First of all, I love you 💜

Second of all, I have a drabble idea!

Loki and reader have been in a romantic relationship for a bit and everything’s been pretty vanilla so far. How would Loki react to reader telling him that she’d like to explore more kink in the bedroom? Specifically that she wants him to be in control?

Can’t wait to see what you do with it, if it inspires of course 😘

I'm rereading this after just finishing the fic and realising that it doesn't touch on the reader wanting Loki to take control. I'm sorry! But I hope this is enjoyable nonetheless!

𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐛

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢��𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐲

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 & 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟓.𝟑𝐤

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐦!𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Six months, three weeks, and four and a half days. And counting,” you breathe out so softly that you don’t think Loki hears you. 

He’s tangled around you tightly in a warm cocoon of cream sheets, as he has been for the past few hours. You had other plans for this afternoon, but when Loki coaxed you back beneath the blankets with those big green eyes and award winning pout, those plans suddenly became very unimportant.

He’s good at that, you’ve come to notice, but you’re equally as good at knowing when to push and when to bend. An unfolding crisis somewhere deep in South America? He’s on his own. A Sunday afternoon of grabbing a coffee and wandering around your favourite second hand book shops? That can wait. 

For Loki, nearly anything can wait. 

The heat of your lovers body is seeping pleasantly into your own, as is his endless affection. That head of beautiful black curls is dipped beneath your jaw, errant strands brushing lightly over your exposed skin, and the low, quiet sounds of content that have flowed from him in an unbroken stream have only placed more of your heart in his capable hands. 

It’s difficult to focus on anything but the warm, heavy weight of Loki on top of you. He’s safe and solid and as familiar to you as the beat of your own heart. His hand has been gripping one of yours for as long as his cock has been hard and brushing against your stomach, desperate to take you, but not without first fulfilling his promise to worship you.

Your beautiful, benevolent god.

You take a shaky breath in, preparing to try and speak again, but the words get lost in transit between your brain and mouth when Loki’s warm lips latch onto the sensitive skin below your jaw. It pulls a ragged moan from deep in your chest, and makes your fingernails curl into the soft skin of his shoulders. You have no idea how many bruises now cover your neck and collarbone, but you know that it’s not enough. 

You want everyone who looks at you to know that you belong to Loki body, mind, and soul. 

“I hadn’t realised you had been keeping count, dove,” Loki replies, running his tongue soothingly over the area he’s just marked. Already, you can feel the first petals of a bruise begin to unfurl beneath your skin, and it makes you thrum with need. 

There’s an undeniable smile in his voice, which you mirror happily against him. His skin is warm and flushed when you press a chaste kiss to his temple, and you swear you hear him purr when you tangle a hand in his hair to lightly scratch his scalp.

“Of course I have. I’m calling it my longest spell of unbroken happiness,” you reply through a grin, unable to stop your hand running down his naked back to squeeze his ass. 

His hair tickles your collarbone when he lifts his head. Loki says nothing as his eyes find yours, but you watch - almost transfixed - at how they sparkle above you. He’s looked at you like this countless times before, yet butterflies still erupt joyously in the depths of your stomach.

It’s a feeling of joy that mingles with a quiet sadness that he’s so unused to being loved. He’s not familiar with being loved on and adored and treated like the most important thing in the universe - something that you fully intend to change. You’ll love him for as long as he’ll have you; you’ll love the good, the bad, and everything in between.

You’ll love him exactly as he is. 

You notice the faint tinge of pink that creeps beneath his cheeks even in the golden half light of your bedroom. It’s endearing, really; this stoic and aloof god blushing because of a few soft words. 

Because of you. 

“Darling thing,” Loki whispers eventually, and presses his lips gently against yours. 

His mouth is warm and soft, but it’s still insistent and you yield easily to his touch. He’s almost flush against you - so much so that you can feel the steady thump of his heart in his chest - but you still need him closer. You pull your hand reluctantly from his to twist it greedily into his raven curls, clamping him firmly to your lips like it’s the last kiss you’ll ever share. Before long, you feel the warm press of his palm against your cheek and the silken softness of his thumb on your chin, gently pressing down so he can kiss you deeper. 

This is what heaven is, you imagine; lying beneath the man you love more than life itself while he worships you so ardently. He looks at you like you hung the moon and if your sands of time ran out tonight, you would greet death happily.

You whine weakly when Loki’s lips leave yours, but it melts to a moan when those same lips find your jaw once more. His hand stays curled around your cheek for leverage as his lips press to your skin again and again, and you can’t help but to gasp at the dull drag of his teeth as he continues lower. 

Loki begins a lazy trail of wet kisses along your collarbone and between the valley of your breasts, but ignores how your nipples harden and beg for his attention.

“Lovely, lovely thing,” he murmurs quietly against your stomach, sliding his hands to your hips to hold them firmly in place when they lift upwards in search of more. 

“Bastard,” you say airily.

Loki silences you easily with a slow drag of his tongue from your navel to the crease of your right hip, something you know he’s chosen to do intentionally. Your cunt aches madly for him, for his fingers, his tongue, his cock - whatever he’ll give you. You only want him. 

You’ll only ever want him. 

He starts to suck bruises into your inner thigh so attentively that you swear you could cum from that alone. His hands are still locked firmly around your hips to keep you pinned to the bed and, no matter how much you squirm, there’s no way to escape his vice like grip. 

It’s an intoxicating thought - having Loki be in control - and a long held fantasy that you know he shares. It’s one you’ve both tiptoed around for the past few months, one you’ve spoken about only the other night, and one you no longer think you can ignore. 

“Wait,” you say softly, quickly, when two warm hands begin to press your thighs further apart.

Those same hands are off you in an instant and you try not to protest at the sudden loss of their familiar, comforting warmth. 

“Alright?” Loki asks, that smooth, deep voice laced with concern and apprehension. 

Quickly, you cup his cheeks in your hands and trace your thumbs soothingly over his flushed skin. “I’m fine.” You promise with a small smile. “I was only thinking about something.” 

The worry etched in his face slowly melts away as he studies you, and he eventually raises one elegant eyebrow in question. “Oh? Do continue, dove,” he replies, turning his face to place a kiss to the palm of your hand. 

Your skin tingles pleasantly in the wake of his touch, as though your soul recognises its mate from the briefest of caresses. “I was thinking that I’d like to try something different, like…like what we talked about the other night,” you say quietly, feeling your cheeks begin to burn. 

Loki is silent for only a moment, but you watch his eyes gradually light up with desire and sparkle with excitement. Against your stomach, you feel his cock twitch. “Are you sure?” he asks intently, curling his fingers around your wrist. 

You nod quickly, already feeling the first twists of anticipation deep in your stomach. “Yes. I trust you.” 

Something in his eyes softens and he leans in to kiss you slow and gentle, like nothing in the world matters to him more than tasting you. “I do so love you, my darling girl,” he murmurs, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. “You remember the system we discussed, yes?”

You nod again. “Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for ok,” you repeat back, already thrumming with excitement. 

It’s something you’ve wanted from the very first time Loki took you to bed. You trust him more than you’ve ever trusted anyone. You trust him to be careful and considerate. You trust him deeply enough to submit to him. 

At hearing you repeat his system, Loki smiles widely at you. “Good girl,” he says, and kisses the tip of your nose. 

You wriggle with anticipation beneath him. Loki sits back on his knees and reaches to take both of your wrists in his grip. He holds them loosely and slowly strokes your skin with the pads of his thumbs.

“This may feel a little odd at first,” he says before a gradual soft tingle courses through both your arms.

It feels like a warm summer rain shower, like the first pleasant lick of a fire after a day in the cold, and then you watch as your wrists are encased in shimmering ropes of green. It’s bewitching to watch Loki’s magic at work. So often, you’ve seen it in the throes of battle and watched how easily he can bring an enemy to their knees, how ruthless he is in wielding magic as weapon of torture when the lives of his friends are at risk. You’ve seen first hand how it can destruct and destroy.

To then watch as he creates something so beautiful…

Gently, Loki then folds your arms back until they touch the headboard and another pleasant surge of warmth locks them in place. You tug experimentally at your bindings, but your arms don’t move. You’re fully restrained to the bed.

And fully at Loki’s mercy. 

He drinks you in as you lie bound before him. There’s a new intensity to his gaze that makes you ache for his touch and burn for his kiss. Sparkling green eyes run slowly over the length of your naked body - like a predator eyeing its prey - and you have to swallow a moan when the tip of his tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

“Colour?” Loki asks softly, ghosting his fingertips along the outside of your thigh. 

“Green,” you answer immediately. 

He gives you a devastating wink. “That’s my girl.”

The pride in his voice is so palpable it almost makes you weep with love for him. The list of things you’d do to make him proud, to be his good girl, is endless - something you have no doubt that he knows. 

Nervously, you wait for what’s to come next, but Loki seems in no rush to move things along. Your arms flex impatiently against the headboard, making the wood creak quietly, and it pulls a smirk across Loki’s handsome face. 

“You aren’t going anywhere, dove, not until I say so.” His voice rolls over you like liquid silk. 

He sounds menacing tonight, like you’re his captured prisoner, but your love for him is burning through your blood. Despite the restraints binding you securely in place, you know that you’re safe. Loki would sooner see the world burn than let any harm come to you - it’s one thing you’ve never been surer of. 

“You’re making me nervous just staring at me,” you say through a laugh. 

Loki begins to slowly trace the tip of a single finger along the inside of your thigh, and it’s enough to make a trail of goosebumps erupt in its wake. His touch is soft and sweet, yet somehow still menacing enough to make your heart rapidly pick up speed. 

“Good,” Loki purrs. “I want you to be nervous. I want that brilliant mind to run wild with the possibilities of what I might do to you next.” 

His finger stops just shy of where you’re throbbing for him and he throws you a wicked smile. It’s dazzling and seductive and pulls a near guttural groan from deep in your chest. Hot arousal is searing through your veins and blazing ferociously through your core. The man before you is sin and salvation, he’s thrill and torment, and you aren’t sure you’re going to survive this night. 

Before you can reply, Loki is silently leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. “We’ll take this slow, dove. Colour?” he murmurs against your flushed skin. 

You breathe in shakily because the raw need to have this man has all but robbed you of the ability to speak. “Gr…green.” 

Loki lifts his head to catch your lips in a deep, chaste kiss. “I love you, my darling.”

You’ve lost count of how many times he’s said those three words in the past six months, but each time you hear them a golden glow of warmth expands deep in your stomach. This beautiful, wonderful man loves you, an unremarkable little mortal. 

He sits back on his knees again and you take a moment to appreciate the beauty of his body. The defined chest, the tight stomach, and those firm thighs that are slightly parted atop the bed.

He’s also achingly hard. 

You drink him in hungrily until your attention is pulled to his hand where that same shimmer of emerald green is dancing softly in his palm. When it fades away to nothing, and you take a few seconds to study the scrap of black silk that remains in its place, you realise that Loki is holding a blindfold between his fingers. 

It sends a shiver down your spine. 

“I’m going to place this over your eyes. Alright?” he asks, intently studying your face. You nod your consent, but Loki doesn’t move. “I need you to say it, dove.”

His voice is so gentle that it almost makes you weep. How did you get so lucky as to call this man yours?

“It’s alright,” you assure him quickly. 

Loki moves closer and leans forward to raise your head off the pillow. With care, he slips the blindfold over your head and, in only a matter of seconds, your entire world goes black. You stiffen at the sudden darkness, but quickly feel Loki’s lips press firmly to your forehead. 

“I’m right here,” he soothes you, cradling your head to his lips in one large hand. “Tell me your colour.”

Your answer doesn’t come immediately. You hate the dark - always have - but you can feel the heat from Loki’s body as he holds you close, you can hear his steady breathing and the beat of his heart in his chest. You haven’t been cast adrift into some endless void - you’re in your bed and safe in your lovers arms. You’re ok. 

“Green,” you tell him honestly. 

Loki places one last kiss to your forehead. “Good girl.”

He lays your head back on the pillow and you hear him sit back on the bed. There’s a sudden coldness from the absence of his body, but then his hand is curling around your hip in silent reassurance that he’s still right there. 

“Oh, my darling girl, you do look so beautiful like this,” Loki says, lightly running his thumb back and forth over your hip bone. “So beautiful and all mine.”

Mine. 

His.

It’s all you ever want to be, it’s all you have been since the very first time he kissed you. Your heart belongs to Loki, and you know now that it will belong to Loki until it beats its last. 

“Kiss me. Please,” you half whine, suddenly overcome with the need to have his mouth on yours. 

You hear his quiet laughter and feel the soft tickle of his hair over your breasts as he leans back in. “How could I possibly deny you that, my darling.” 

Seconds later his warm mouth is on yours. He kisses you deeply, so deeply that you try to wrap your arms around him before you remember. Loki grins against your lips and you squeal into his mouth when a finger and thumb then flick your nipple. 

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you goad him breathlessly when his lips leave yours. 

“And you’ll take every second of it,” he replies easily, and you can hear the smirk that’s spread wide across his face. 

You feel his lips at your neck again as he continues adding to his patchwork of bruises, and each time he sucks at your skin, you become increasingly aware of the searing need burning between your thighs.

As best you can, you turn your head to give him more access and he happily obliges. “Mine,” he says firmly before running his tongue along the column of your throat.

You moan shamelessly beneath him, arching off the bed and locking your legs tightly around his hips. “Yours,” you reply easily, digging your heels into his perfect ass. 

“Good girl,” Loki purrs, beginning to move further down your chest. “Very good girl.”

His lips are featherlight as they explore your skin, and the gentle caress of his hair along your abdomen keeps you grounded in the darkness. It’s all too easy to get lost in the haze of his worship, to fully relax into the soft sheets while he lavishes you with attention. You’re so blissfully drunk on this man and the love that he drowns you in…

“Fuck!” you yelp when Loki decides to sink his teeth into an erect nipple and pinch the other between his thumb and forefinger. 

There’s a quiet roll of amused laughter, and then his warm tongue darts out to soothe while the pad of a thumb runs softly over the other. “Sorry, my darling. I couldn’t resist.” 

You wish more than anything that you could see his face, especially when he repeats the previous action over and over. You want to watch his beautiful face and sinful tongue, you want to run your hands over him and twist them in his hair, but no matter how much you tug at the restraints, your hands remain frustratingly locked to the headboard. 

“Ah, ah, darling. That isn’t going to help you at all tonight,” Loki teases, and you feel him stretch up to kiss you again. 

You allow it, but still whine desperately into his mouth. “Please. I need to touch you, Loki. Please.”

He only kisses the tip of your nose. “Not yet. Colour?”

You huff out a sigh, but eventually mumble, “green.” 

“Good girl.”

There’s a quiet rustle of sheets as Loki sits back on the bed, but the soft touch that you’re anticipating doesn’t come. You’re aching for the caress of his hands or the teasing brush of his lips, so much so that you can almost feel their phantom touch if you concentrate hard enough. It’s easier in the darkness the blindfold provides - the cool silk acts like a film screen for all the filthy scenes your mind plays on a loop, each one more depraved than the last. Loki, you’re coming to learn, has a deliciously filthy mind, and he’s all too content to leave you thrumming and squirming at the endless possibilities of what he’s going to do next. 

His silence continues, making you strain to catch even the quiet sound of his breathing. You can’t and it makes your heart begin to race unpleasantly. 

“Loki?” you call out, hearing the hitch in your voice. 

Instantly, a large, warm hand is settling over your knee. “I’m here. Forgive me, I lost myself admiring the beauty before me,” he murmurs, running his thumb soothingly along the side of your knee. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you say through a smile. You can’t see him, but you know he’s gazing at you with those soft eyes that never fail to make you blush. 

“I don’t believe you truly want that,” he replies quickly, a smile evident in his own voice. His palm slides easily round to your inner thigh and you feel the other mirror it. Slowly, he pushes your thighs apart on the bed, opening you fully to him. “All for me, dove?” he purrs, shifting on the mattress so you feel it dip beneath you.

The sound of his voice - deep and dripping with desire - has you slick and aching for him. Your need for him is so fervent that your hips roll off the bed in a desperate search for him, but the only thing you hear is Loki’s quiet, amused laughter. He runs his fingertips teasingly along the inside of one thigh, pulling a groan from deep in your chest and lighting a blazing fire in your blood with just a simple touch. 

Such is the power of a gods touch. 

You whine loudly and yank at the magical bonds of Loki’s restraints. They haven’t budged an inch all night, yet you still pull at them ceaselessly. You desperately want to see your lovers face, to see the intent look in his eyes that promises pleasure you can only dream of, but Loki doesn’t move, doesn’t make any sign that he’s ready to free you just yet.

“Please,” you whimper pleadingly, feeling so wildly aroused that the simple brush of his fingertip could send you hurtling over the edge. 

“Patience,” Loki purrs smoothly. 

A string of curses slips swiftly from your lips in tandem with your hips bucking off the bed in frustration, but Loki’s warm hands move quickly to pin them back against the mattress. 

“I believe a gag may be in order next time, dove,” he says. His voice is teasing, but there’s a quiet undercurrent of warning running beneath that he will gag you.

It sends a fresh rush of heat straight to your aching cunt. 

“Fuck. Do you promise?” you breathe out before you can stop yourself, already close to dizzy at the idea of Loki gagging you. 

This time, Loki’s laughter is wholly unrestrained. “I love you, my darling little minx. You have my word that there will be many nights of exploration after this one.”

His hands are still curled around your knees, and the next thing you feel are his lips pressing to your inner thigh. He works slowly, methodically, kissing and sucking and nibbling your sensitive skin until your eyes roll back in the darkness. It’s something he’s done countless times before, but the addition of the blindfold only amplifies the sensation. 

In the darkness, you focus on the warmth of his lips and the wetness of his tongue as they move along your thigh. You feel the tickling caress of his hair and the way his fingers push your thigh closer to his lips. You feel his love for you in every sweet and teasing nip of his teeth. 

This man loves you, and you couldn’t ask the stars for anything more. 

His lips continue a warm path along your thigh, making you tingle beneath each touch. He takes his time sucking bruise after bruise into your willing flesh, ensuring that you’ll be covered in his marks tomorrow. His touch is intoxicating and you can’t help but to part your thighs wider as he edges closer to your aching cunt. He’s so close that you brace for the first electrifying feel of his warm, sinful tongue. 

But it’s a touch that doesn’t come.

Instead, you feel his lips press to your other thigh to begin the same slow, torturous ascent.

“Loki, for fuck sake!” you groan with another frustrated buck of your hips, but it’s so perfectly Loki that a laugh is soon to follow. 

You feel him grin against your thigh. “Perhaps a lesson on patience is needed tonight, yes?” he replies smoothly and nips gently at your skin. 

Loki doesn’t wait for your answer and, purposefully slowly, works his way along your thigh. This time, though, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of your impatience. You moan his name shamelessly and sigh blissfully at each warm press of his lips. As expected, it doesn't take him long to finish marking you. 

“You’re going to be the end of me, you little vixen,” Loki teases, though now his voice is heavy with lust and raspy with need. 

Although you can’t see him, you know exactly how he looks on the bed before you. You know that his usually immaculate curls are now falling haphazardly across flushed cheeks, and that his eyes are glittering with desire. You know his cock is stiff and aching to be inside you, only made bearable by swift, short strokes while he’s ravished you. 

You don’t need to see him to know that he’s craving you just as desperately. 

“I have no idea what you mean,” you reply innocently. “You said - oh, fuck!”

An affectionate taunt had been taking easy shape on your tongue, but the words fall into the air when Loki finally presses his sinful tongue to your cunt and licks a slow, firm line all the way to your clit. It pulls your back off the bed and makes the headboard groan loudly with how forcefully you yank against your restraints. You need more. 

“Yes, dove?” Loki asks, an unmistakable smugness dripping from two words.

You swiftly shake your head against the pillows. “Not important. Do that again. Please!”

Every inch of you is crying out for him, burning for him, and you don’t think you can stand another second without some part of his body inside yours. You need him.

“But of course,” Loki murmurs.

You don’t have time to entertain how easily he obliges you because he buries his tongue back in your cunt, licking and sucking and teasing until that coil of arousal begins to wind tighter and tighter in your core. 

The blindfold is still snugly around your eyes, but you can perfectly picture your lover in your minds eye as his head bobs between your thighs. You want to pull him closer as your climax builds, or have the simple, reassuring feel of him beneath your fingertips, but all they caress is the night air of your room. 

Between your thighs, Loki continues to expertly propel you towards release, and the sounds of his contented moans only adds fuel to the flame. His name slips easily from your lips in a breathless chant as your orgasm crests and, quickly, your entire body tenses in preparation, read to fall through the freefall…

But then Loki’s tongue is gone. 

You flail wildly on the bed and your hips buck desperately in a fruitless search for Loki’s mouth. “Loki, what the fuck!” you whine. 

“Shhhh,” he soothes you quickly, laying a warm hand across your thigh and stroking your skin with his thumb. “Tell me your colour, darling.”

Despite the absolute frustration he left bubbling in his wake, you can’t deny that you enjoyed it. “Still green,” you answer after only a moment of hesitation.

The bed frame creaks beneath you and then you feel the warm press of Loki’s lips on your forehead. “Good girl,” he whispers, then moves to position himself back between your legs. “Then consider this your lesson in patience.”

His mouth returns to your cunt and this time he takes his time building you back up. You want to roll your hips against his tongue in encouragement, but two hands pin them firmly to the bed, forcing you to endure whatever he decides to give you. 

Loki does everything he knows you love - every pattern and every rhythm - and when he then slips two fingers inside you, you feel the beginnings of what promises to be a cataclysmic release.

“Loki…,” you whine out a warning, balling your hands into fists so tight that your nails pierce your skin. 

Just as you’re about to tumble over Loki stops again, ensuring that your orgasm slips from your desperate fingertips. A frustrated sob catches in your throat, but Loki soothes and praises you through it, peppering your face in sweet kisses and cradling your cheek in his hand. 

“You’re sick for making me enjoy this,” you half laugh while he continues holding you. 

He laughs freely and deeply and presses yet another kiss to your temple. “I’m terrible, I know. Only twice more, my darling, I promise,” he murmurs softly in your ear. 

Easily, you allow him. 

By the fourth time, your thighs are shaking and a single tear of frustration leaks down your cheek from behind the blindfold. 

“Loki…please,” you beg him softly as the pad of his thumb gently brushes it away.

Little more than a second later, the familiar warm shimmer of his seidr trickles through your body, effortlessly dissolving the silk of your blindfold and the dancing green glimmer of your restraints. You lower your arms gratefully and blink a few times until Loki’s handsome face comes into full focus before you.

“There she is,” he says quietly, taking both of your wrists in one large hand to bring them to his lips. He runs the other gently over your skin until the dull ache that had settled into your bones fades away to nothing. “I am so very proud of you, my darling girl. You were magnificent,” he continues, swiftly dipping his head down to kiss you deeply. 

You pull your hands from his to greedily wrap them around him, taking in every inch of him beneath your roaming fingertips as though you had never touched him before. 

“Please,” you repeat, twisting a hand into his hair as he rests his forehead against yours.

He captures your lips in another quick kiss. “No more begging, dove. I am yours.”

Loki holds your gaze as he lines himself up and finally, finally, inches inside you. You’re more than ready for him, and he groans deeply at the feel of your cunt clenching around him. 

“Perfect,” he grunts. “Fucking perfect.” 

He shudders as he bottoms out and you see how his fingers dig into the mattress at your side. He’s as pent up as you are - perhaps even more - and you know that neither of you are going to last long after the last hour. 

Brazenly, you run your hands along his muscled back to squeeze his ass, biting back a smirk at the look that crosses his face. It’s the final straw that breaks him, and finally his hips begin to roll against yours. 

“Mine,” he rasps in your ear, arching his back to roll into you in long, deep strokes that have you moaning his name like a prayer. 

“Yours,” you breathe back, clutching him to you like a life raft as your orgasm begins to crest. 

All it takes is a few more thrusts of his cock to send you soaring off the edge. You grasp at him wildly and cry out his name so loudly that it rings off the walls. Your climax consumes you, makes the edges of your vision dance white with stars, and it drags Loki under only seconds later. 

Your name is an unbroken melody on his lips, a prayer of adoration to the goddess who granted him his salvation. Through half lidded eyes you watch how he loses himself to his release - jaw slack, eyes closed. The sight of him consumed to pleasure because of you is enough to have a second wave of your own pull you deeply beneath its surf. 

Vaguely, you feel Loki bury his face in your neck and you stretch a limp arm over his shoulder to hold him to you. He’s panting hard and you place a lazy kiss to his temple as you both bask in the golden afterglow of love. 

You smile as Loki nuzzles in closer and traces nonsensical shapes along his back. By all accounts you should be exhausted, but you’ve never felt so invigorated and hungry for the man lying in your arms. 

A turn of your head prompts Loki to lift his and glittering green eyes lock lovingly with yours. 

You smirk up at the man who you fall more in love with every single day. “Again?”

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[whirlybirbs]

BEYOND THE VOID — !

1. THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

( MASTERPOST   |   AO3  |    SPOTIFY ) summary: torn from time yet again, it's thursday. six months pass. while you grapple with a newfound uncanny ability to premeditate, loki grapples with the fact he's slipping back into his old self without you. enter brad wolfe. now playing:  a whole lots gonna change by weyes blood word count: 3.3k pairing: loki / f!reader, established in from the void, with love tags: enemies to friends to lovers, soulmates, we-are-in-love-in-the-future but how did that even happen, angst & comfort, redemption arc, lots of time travel, loki season 2 (2020) spoilers a/n: finally, they return in "beyond the void". i can't thank everyone enough for the unending enthusiasm for this little project of mine. it's fitting to have the first chapter release with an eclipse. this is for all of you :) the beautiful gif for this chapter is from this set by @tomshiddles.

"Okay."

"Okay."

There's a long stretch of silence between Darcy Lewis and Jane Foster. 

In the liminal stretch of the apartment building's hall, there's little sound except the loud drone of some horribly, desperately sad song beyond the door of Unit 1131. The two women share a long look with one another, and then Darcy gestures urgently to the door.

"Go ahead," she nudges her colleague. 

"What?" Jane asks in a harsh whisper, "No, you knock." 

"You were the one that said we needed to do an intervention—" Darcy argues back in an equally low tone.

"Oh, so now this is on me?" Jane fires back, "She's our friend—"

"Our friend who has been babbling nonsense about things that have not happened and has been seriously obsessing with that Low-key dude—" Darcy rushes out, bringing her face closer to Jane's, "I don't even know what we're walking into here!"

Jane inhales. She pinches her brow. With a long rub of her face, she exhales. Then, she knocks.

She gives Darcy a 'happy?' look before stepping back and crossing her arms.

Almost immediately, the music stops. There's the sound of a shuffle. A meow. And then, the door opens only wide enough that one exhausted eye can peak through the chained gap.

"Heeeeeeeeeey, girl!" Darcy chides, waggling her hands in the air, "Surprise!"

On the other side of the door, your heart clenches. 

It feels a little bit like a cruel joke, y'know?

All that wishing, begging, clawing to go home and — well... you are. You're home. You've been home. For six months, you've been home in New York City. You're back in that little studio apartment, with Sigurd, with your research, with your doctorate. 

ALL I WANT  TO DO IS  GO HOME.

You try your best to give both Darcy and Jane a smile, but it comes out mangled and exhausted and not quite right. You've been crying. Sort of par for the course these days.

"Oh, uh... Hi guys."

Sigurd meows.

"You got a sec?" Jane asks, raising a folder in her hands, "We, uh... Erik gave us some new anomaly data to look over and we figured... you're the one for the job! Y'know? It's... kinda... your thing... have you been crying?"

Your eyes dart between them both. You wet your lips.

"No. Nooo, no. It's..." your mouth hangs open as you search for a reason, "...Allergies."

There's a beat of embarrassing silence, and then Darcy moves fast as lightning. She wriggles her arm through the gap and unlocks the chain — almost as if this is definitely something she's mastered before — before pushing her way through the doorway of your apartment. Jane follows close behind, and Sigard squawks as he scurries away from underfoot. 

The infiltration is almost immediately regretted because... woah. 

Like, big woah.

Darcy has seen crazy. Like, she has an Uncle on her Dad's side who is totally in on the whole "they're coming for our thoughts" thing and does not leave the house without at least six layers of Great Value tinfoil stuffed under his baseball cap. She knows crazy. She works for Erik Selvig. 

But this?

This is, like, soooooo above her pay grade. 

Jane's jaw is slack. The folder is immediately forgotten on the kitchen island in favor of the wall-to-wall documentation of... whatever the hell this was. 

LOKI MISSING? in the center of it all, with string and equations and runes and news articles and tabloid pages. There's an alarming amount of photos of the God in question pinned up beside ramblings on... Time? And... Quantum mechanics...? 

There's another loooooong stretch of silence. And then, Darcy and Jane both turn slowly to look at you pressed against the door.

You swallow.

Your face is set in horror.

"It's not what it looks like—"

"Uh, dude, it totally is what it looks like—" Darcy starts, stepping closer to the board and pointing a black, manicured finger at a paparazzi photo of Loki being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower, "What's with all the Loki paraphernalia?! Need I post a lil' throwback Thursday to when he tried to kill us all?"

IT'S THURSDAY AGAIN.

You wince. "You wouldn't understand—"

Then, it happens.

The same thing you've experienced dozens upon dozens of times these last six months happens again: A rush of chatter in your mind, a cacophony of whispers that claw at your thoughts and flood them with has-beens and will-be's. A million things all at once, a little bit of everything from all of time, and then— one thread. One thread that stands out against them all. 

"Jane, don't."

Across the room, Jane's fingers pause on the contact number for that pretty S.H.I.E.L.D. agent they've met once or twice now — the one who is managing the Asgardian anomaly cases. With Loki missing, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been desperate to track him down. If this is a lead... If you know where he is...

Jane's face freezes.

Her brows knit.

Your face is split in panic. "I know you think calling Agent Hill is the right thing to do, but—"

"...How did you know I was...?" Jane's voice falls off, her eyes searching your face.

Your voice splinters as you step forward. "If you call Agent Hill, she is going to section our entire division within the week. Thor will be exiled from Earth on conspiracy four days later. We will sit in a cell for five years until they decide we have nothing to do with Loki's disappearance from Asgard."

Darcy's eyes bounce between you and Jane.

"Why are you saying all that like you know it's going to happen?" Jane asks slowly, putting her phone down and closing the gap between you. "Doc, what's going on?"

Your eyes flicker with fear. 

And then exhaustion. The walls you've built to keep this away from the others crumble with one worried look from Darcy, and you crumple against the kitchen counter. 

Your voice is far away.

"It all started that Thursday."

You thought it would be better now that someone knows. 

Truth be told it might be more trouble than it's worth if not to soothe the burden of secrecy — because Darcy keeps treating you like a Magic 8 Ball that, when shaken, is going to spit out readings on the future. 

It isn't that easy. I mean, if it was, you would have definitely done everything in your power to avoid the commute traffic this morning. 

You don't know why it happens. Or how. You have a theory it has something to do with Alioth, but... without any sort of control, there's no way of knowing. All you know is that in those moments, you're presented with a weave of potential sequences. And in those moments, you can choose to act. Or not. 

So far, acting seems to be the best course of action. 

But, yea, no. No fortune-cookie-level stuff. No crystal ball, no tarot cards. Just... weird time-whispers. And a migraine that seems to never go away. And dreams. Really vivid dreams. Dreams that happen? And dreams that don't.

If it was a horoscope sort of thing, maybe you wouldn't have missed your morning bus after waiting in line at that coffee shop three blocks down. They always make your coffee a little too bitter, but the girl behind the counter is an NYU grad student you recognized from a mechanical engineering lecture you sat in on three months ago. You've got a soft spot for her. She's always nice to that guy in the baseball cap who seems unhoused. 

You hope it all works out for her in the end. 

But, Christ this coffee is bitter. 

You buzz into Stark Labs at 9:37 am, and you're setting your stuff down at R&D by 9:43 am. 

Bruce Banner looks up briefly from his work to slide you a welcoming smile. You return it gently as you settle down on your stool and reacclimate yourself to last week's work. 

Mondays, man.

Tony is, as always, later than anyone else. His entrance is followed by the usual boisterous chatter meant as a morale booster. More often than not it's a genius-level comedy routine built on absolutely torturing Dr. Banner. You opt, more often than not, to refuse to enable the bad behavior. 

Any laughter is buried deep into these readings from the Tesseract. 

And so this has been home for the last four months. 

Avengers Tower. R&D. Erik Selvig's Research Team. Theoretical Physics and Quantum Mechanics. Day in, day out.

No TVA, no TemPads, no Sylvie, no Mobius, no Capybaras. 

...No Loki.

But, plenty of whispers. 

It rocks you out of your focus, iced latte halfway to your lips as you're rooted in this little pocket of voices and threads and whisps of time. There's a thousand, then a hundred, then one. 

Your voice is soft.

"Bruce, try the equation again."

From across the room, Tony's voice dies down and Bruce's eyes rise to meet yours. He points to himself, with a questioning raise of the brows.

You nod, then continue to take a sip of your coffee.

And so Bruce does. Wordlessly. And, after a minute, he looks up with a grin.

"So it was right."

"Woulda never known if Iron Dick over here didn't shut up for one second."

Tony's grin is bigger than Bruce's as he meanders over to your lab table and throws an arm around your shoulder. He squeezes you gently. You avoid his eye contact — and in doing so, you miss the momentary grace of concern. 

(Tony has known you for a few months now. He knows you adequately enough to gauge that your triple-shot espresso should have been a sextuple. The bags beneath your eyes are dark. There's an edge there. Something jumpy. You're exhausted.)

"Now, that was mean."

"You're torturing him," you fire back lightly, non-the-wiser to his scrutiny. 

"It's called exposure therapy—" Tony croons, leaning back and thumbing through some of the notes on your desk. You allow it. 

Good. Still sharp. Still better than anyone else at what you do. 

"Exposure to workplace terrorism?" You rib back with one cocked brow, "No offense, Bruce, but I like you better not green. Okay, Tony?"

"None taken!" Dr. Banner calls lightly from across the room. He's working on the second part of that equation now. 

"Sure, sure, alright, Doc," Tony heads your words, raising both hands and stepping back, "I guess someone hates fun."

"Absolutely," you say blankly, chewing your straw; you point at him, "No laughter."

"None," Tony waggles a finger.

"Not a peep," you remark causally as you spin in your stool and snag your pen from the drawer behind you. 

"Any news on the other green guy we hate?" Bruce asks slowly, eyes bouncing between you and Stark. 

Your blood goes a little cold. Just like always. It's hard not to react — especially when that other green guy is all you think about day and night.

WHEN YOU LOSE HIM YOU WILL DO ANYTHING TO GET HIM BACK. 

You wordlessly shake your head. You shrug. Bruce turns to Stark. Tony is hunched over his bench. His words are a bit muffled by the soldering project he's turned his attention to. 

"None. According to Thor he just up and poofed. He was in the middle of atoning before the Buckingham of Asgard and... just warped on out."

So you've heard.

"Hill has been working every lead she can but... the Asgardians are a little touchy-feely on the whole 'earthlings in the domain of the Gods' thing."

"Understandable," you mutter absently.

Tony sits up. "Only time will tell."

...Indeed.

Home.

Unit 1131. 

Lonely.

It wasn't before all this... It was full to the brim with contentment. It was comfort, it was bliss. It was indulgent mornings slept beneath the covers and bright music in the kitchen. Cheap wine from the liquor shop on the corner and homemade meals. It was "I finally made it". 

Now, it's none of that.

Because he's out there — and you know that you don't belong here anymore.

You drop your bag by the door. 

Your boots follow in a trail. 

Sigurd mews expectantly, and you scoop him wordlessly into your arms as you weave through the chaos of papers and books. Your carpet is hidden beneath a layer of obsession masquerading as research.

But, there's one thing that pulls you back in each time.

It's that photo. 

The one Darcy had pointed at earlier.

Loki is being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower. He's looking back at something, and his expression is broken.

It's you.

You know he's pleading with Thor at that moment through a muzzle, desperate to call your name. He's looking at you, being whisked away by S.H.I.E.L.D. as they clear the area, and your voice is silenced by grief. 

You wish you had called out to him then — told him you'd find him again. 

Regret is a hell of a thing.

Grief, too. 

How do you mourn something you never really had? Not here, not in this timeline. 

So you stand there, in the dim lights of your apartment, staring at the photo. And you cry. Just like every night, for the last six months.

In your desk, that magical little daisy made of grass waits.

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

That's the mission.

Mobius M. Mobius thinks it's funny — back then, man if only he would have known that lil' hunch of his was right. Maybe a part of him did. And... Now? Things are different. I mean, everything is different. The TVA is different. 

Loki is different.

They say to be loved is to be changed an' all that. 

The first thing out of Loki's mouth was your name when Mobius finally saw him again — and then a word vomit of panic, induced by the death of He Who Remains and... time-slippage as OB called it. Lotsa moving parts. Lots to keep track of. But, ultimately, they're in a better spot than they were yesterday. 

1.) Loki is no longer falling through the metaphorical cracks in time. 

2.) Mobius did not get toasted alive when standing before The Loom.

3.) He never, ever, ever has to do that again.

And now!

They're in London. 

1977, huh. Zaniac. 

If they find Sylvie, they find you.

...Unless you find him first.

Loki isn't exactly thrilled. 

No, Loki knows better than to get his hopes up. Sylvie isn't here. He already told Mobius that. It's too safe. It's a damned movie premiere. There are no radiation burns, no falling stars, and no rampant gunfire. It's too quiet. 

It's a movie premiere and you're out there, somewhere, alone. You're... you're lost. He can't protect you here. He can't protect anything. You... You're all he has and you're gone. 

And he's here, wasting his damn time. 

Brad Wolfe is about to waste more of his time. 

Loki's gaze is sharp. His strides are long, and as they approach the fray, the God stands amongst the tallest of guests. He cuts a mean profile. It's times like these that Mobius remembers he is a God.

(It's times like these that Mobius can also see the ever-increasing edge in his partner-in-time. It's a little... worrisome. But understandable. I mean, rip a God's soulmate from his hands and see what happens, right?)

"So, he's an actor now?" Loki comments off-handedly, his irritation grating his heartstrings in a way that reminds him of who he was before all this. He hates it. But, he's angry. He will get you back. Without you...

Without you, he doesn't know what he'll do.

"Or he's undercover."

As they weave, Loki's brows knot in distrust. "Looks pretty real to me."

It smells like cigarettes and perfume, and the flashbulbs bite sharply into Loki's peripherals. The raven-haired trickster winces, tucking his hands into his slacks. 

On the red carpet, X-5 moves from interview to interview. Occasionally his laughter rises above the clamor. Each time, Loki's nostrils flare and he rolls his eyes. 

It's when he reaches the end of the line that Mobius moves in. 

"Will there be a Zaniac Two?" 

The look on Brad's face says enough for Mobius to know there's more going on here than just an undercover bit. Brad's laugh, as equally pained as his smile, just cements the fact. 

"Mobius! Woah!" A clap on the shoulder, a big hug. "I used to work with this guy!"

Still a show. Still a weasel trying to survive on his little slice of time. 

"We're going to need to catch up," he begins, backing up slowly, "You know, why don't we chat after the show?"

"How about now, maybe?" Mobius counters just as Brad turns on his heel and comes face to face with Loki. 

The God sneers.

"Woah. Okay, ha, whole gangs here!" he chirps, "Isn't that... great? Wow. I mean, you look — you look great, Loki."

"Why thank you, Brad."

Brad's eyes are manic, and he's searching the crowd quickly — no doubt looking for an exit. Then, they catch something. When Brad claps his hands together and pats them on both Loki and Mobius' shoulders, the two TVA agents pause.

"Everything alright?" Loki asks, head tilting in faux concern.

"Everything is great, actually, because when I was here," he begins, words quick and anxious as he tries to weave some sort of story, "I met a mutual friend!"

"Sylvie?" Mobius asks tightly.

"No, no, uh, better—"

Loki's jaw tightens. Enough of this. "We have some mutual friends back at the TVA who would like a word, as well—"

"Doc!" calls Brad after finally finding her in the sea of people, turning on his heel and calling out over his shoulder, "I got people I need you to meet!"

And just like that, it's like Loki's whole world splits wide open again.

In the fray of photographers and journalists, in the fray of drinks and the haze of smoke, there's you. You're smiling at Brad, positively beaming. You're bright as a star and Gods, there's no one in the room when you step forward with a laugh.

Your dress is green. Your hair is different.

There's a beauty mark on your left cheek. His version of you has a scar that lies there. A mistimed gift from Sylvie before their period on Lamentis. 

"Doc, these are some of my friends from work," Brad points, his hand falling along your waist in a way that makes Loki's blood boil; the ex-TVA Hunter leans close to your cheek, "They're the real deal."

You laugh into your drink, then extend your hand to Mobius. He's trying his best to hide his growing dread. "It's a pleasure."

Mobius takes it and shakes it gently. "And how do you have the pleasure of knowing our starlet, Brad?"

Damn it. He's losing Loki in real time here.

"Doc here did all the practical effects on set for Zaniac," Brad's eyes connect with Loki's — but the God is focused on only you... Her. Until Wolfe digs in with a low murmur meant to do just what it does, "She's a real wiz with her hands."

The God's face snaps. He will kill Brad, he decides. But, then this other-you moves to offer her hand and he can't help but melt. 

His fingers are trembling when he touches her skin. 

"Have we met before?" comes the soft lilt of her voice — this Variant's eyes are brown. They search Loki's face for a shred of recognition but all that's there between the two of them is raw attraction. A law of time and space unhindered by meddling hands. No matter where, no matter when, you will find one another.

Loki's mouth is dry. Your lipstick shade is a dark rogue. He thinks about that kiss back in the Void. He's stuck there, with your hand in his, when Brad bolts.

Her face contorts in confusion. She pulls away. But, Loki lingers. 

He has to... He...

He needs you back. 

Now. 

[inkdrinkerworld]

Talk Too Much

Pairing: Remus Lupin x loud but shy!reader

Cw: college!au, fluff, kind of friends to lovers, obliviousness by Remus for a while, drinking (mentioned), smoking (cigarettes), I think that’s it

Wc: 2.2k

You’re a loudmouth. Through and through. Of all your friends, you honestly think you and James would be the ones to never shut up or run out of words.

That is until Remus transfers into the school and infiltrates your friend group and suddenly you find the words can run out.

It’s not on purpose.

It seems to take you over purely by coincidence- the way your throat gets dry and your tongue seems too heavy to form the words you want to get out when Remus seems to be paying attention to only you. His gaze isn’t unwelcome- that’s the entire problem.

You like the feeling of being what he looks at, but it feels too good, too natural.

His honey eyes that are just lightly flecked with green, and his sharp jawline that’s adorned with silvery scar tissue that somehow makes him even more handsome.

He’s also always got a cigarette to fiddle with.

You’ve only seen him smoke twice, and had been mesmerised by the way his cheeks hollow and how he blows the smoke out and it seems to curl around him like it’s unable to obey his exhales in the opposite direction.

He reminds you in a way of Charlie Dalton and Stephen Meeks.

Fctional characters who Remus seems to emulate in his confidence (from Charlie) and a sort of confidence that’s self-assured yet mild at the same time (a mix of the two) and that in itself makes you fall a little more for him.

It’s overwhelming- this attraction to him. It confuses you and has you tripping over words in your head, far less for if you voiced them and all that was heard were clunky excuses for sentences.

What makes your sudden bouts of silence obvious is the fact that your friends have caught onto you.

It’s not like it’s exceptionally hard to decipher either- you’re not really good at being subtle.

You suspect James and Sirius are taking bets on when it’ll all be too obvious for everyone to walk around it and you desperately hope that it takes months while simultaneously hoping it takes only weeks.

Remus notices the way your body freezes when you realise you’ve caught his attention in your storytelling. In his mind, it’s because you don’t like him.

The way you shrink down and suddenly go silent the moment his eyes set upon you, the way you remain quiet even though he sees the way the corners of your mouth twitch with something to say.

He thinks he’s put you off somehow, especially when the second he’s gone a little ways away to get a drink or get his lunch, you seem to perk right back up and dive into storytelling once more.

It bothers him so much he asks Sirius about it- a mistake in itself, because Sirius only pokes fun at his friend.

“If you can’t realise why she goes silent the moment you stare at her Lupin, I can’t help you.” Sirius walks off leaving Remus even more perplexed, moreso when he hears Sirius says, “How’s he so thick for someone doing so many higher classes?”

It bewilders Remus for weeks, your always sudden vows of silence and then your equally sudden broken vows.

You’re all at a house party when it comes to an almost end.

You’re dressed pretty like always, a skirt that hugs all the places Remus longs to touch and a top that shows a sliver of your stomach and Remus catches a glimpse of jewellery hanging in your navel.

Your ears have a pair of hanging bat earrings, and your necklace is your standard one- he’s sure he’s never seen you without it.

You’re smiling and laughing with Marlene and Mary as you walk in. Remus wants to figure out why you dislike him so, he desperately wants to change your sour opinion of him. He’s going to at least try to do so tonight, if you can stomach looking at him.

“C’mon losers,” James’ loud voice is unmistakable, “We’re playing seven minutes in heaven.”

Remus is only approaching when he hears your teasing,

“Are we taking a blast back to Year 9 Jamie?”

James nods, “Yeah we are, and would you look at that you and Lupin are up first.” You’re sure there’s an evil little grin on James’ face when you look up and find Remus standing there in his soft brown sweater and jeans.

You can smell a little of the cigarette he’d smoked before coming in, but mostly you smell his citrus, pepper and amber cologne.

It’s heady and you swear your brain gets a little drunk on it.

“Get going you two,” Sirius teases and you sigh standing.

Remus’ mind is reeling, wondering how he’s going to get back at Sirius and James and the rest of your friends that he knows are in on this too.

Out of ear shot of your friends as you both go to the nearest room, Remus says lowly, “You don’t have to come in. I’ll just tell them we talked.”

You look up at him, eyes wide and Remus takes your surprise as a moment to admire you up close. He counts three beauty marks near your right eye, another on your neck just under your chin, and one on your nose. He’s distracted by you for a good long while that he doesn’t register you’ve spoken till he sees you walk into the room and gesture for him to follow.

It’s tense, a silence neither of you are sure how to break.

You think Remus is the most gorgeous man to be placed on the Earth, and Remus thinks you find him repulsive.

You watch Remus climb onto the bed, his long legs crossed at the ankles as his back presses against the headboard.

His casualness makes him look even more attractive and while you’re aware that you’re staring at him, you can’t make yourself stop.

‘Now or never,’ he thinks to himself before asking, “Have I offended you somehow?”

There it is, laid open and bare. The question hangs in the air, like the most tantalising yet foreign fruit you’ve ever seen.

“No?” It comes out like a question. One Remus takes as a chance to explain.

“It’s just that you’re always talking or telling a story with the others, and as soon as I’m near earshot you go silent and you can’t meet my eyes. So I’ve been thinking that maybe I’ve offended you, and I just wanted to say sorry for if I did- directly or indirectly.”

Remus’ attractiveness has been upped by a thousand- you’re sure all the love deities are having a laugh at your hopelessness.

You can’t meet his eyes now, even as you sit on the bed, so close to him that your biceps brush each other’s. “You haven’t offended me.”

Your voice is much softer than he’s ever heard it. Remus thinks this must be the softest you’ve ever spoken in your whole life.

“I haven’t?” he asks and you shake your head. Hazarding a glance at him, you find Remus leaning his shoulder down, his chin tucked as his eyes roam your frame.

“N-no,” your stutter gives you away slowly. “You’re just different from the others.” It’s not a clearer explanation, but the gears are turning in Remus’ head all the same and you can tell.

“Different how?” Remus doesn’t want to assume anything and that’s what causes the gears to come to a screeching halt.

You sigh, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. Remus has never seen you this unsure. Everything you do is with confidence and ease, like you were just made to walk, talk and move the way that you do. Like it was as easy as breathing.

Maybe it’s the way you take your time to consider your words, or the way you fiddle with your clothes or even the way your breathing changes as he leans just a bit closer that makes Remus smile a little.

“Will you look at me for a second, darling gwerthfawr?” The softness of his tone and the way his accent changes to something a little more melodic makes you more jelly-like than you usually are in his presence.

“Hm?” you hum and Remus smirks. Silvery slithers of scar tissue moving with his mouth and making him look wicked in a way that has you falling a little more in love with him.

“Why don’t you like looking or speaking to me?”

Remus doesn’t let you turn away, doesn’t let you tuck your cheek to your shoulder as you deliberate what you want to say. No, instead, the menace holds your chin and stares at you, holding your gaze and making your brain cloud even more as his cologne and attention wash over you.

“I like looking at you,” you admit shyly, the confession coming from your lips with hesitation. Like Remus will be repulsed by the fact that you like looking at him. “But you make me nervous.”

The words are suspended in the quiet of the room. All there is the muffled sounds of the party going on in the living room, and then yours and Remus’ breathing.

“I make you nervous?”

Sirius and James burst through the door, wide smiles that turn into shocked smirks at your positions.

“Well love birds, sorry but your seven minutes are up.” Remus staggers in letting your chin go, but when his fingers slacken, you leave the room, belly in knots in the almost wordy confession.

“So, how’d that go?” James asks him as you bend the corner- he’s sure that Lily and the other girls will be doing the same with you.

Remus flops on the bed, “Nothing that concerns you two gits.” His mind is racing with possibilities of finishing this conversation.

Sirius boos, “After all that planning to get you two in here and snogging each other’s faces off, that’s the thanks we get?” Walking out with James who’s shaking his head.

-

“But you make me nervous,” repeats in his head for days. He’s not dense by a mile, but Remus has a hard time figuring out what about him makes you nervous.

Sure he’s tall and a little serious, but he’s not as intimidating as he’d first thought Sirius was. Remus doesn’t want to turn to his friends, sure they’d tease him endlessly for being ‘thick,’ and then more than likely tell you and that would just make you even more nervous to look or speak to him at the very least.

What Remus does do, is consult the best person he knows that will give him impartial advice; books.

There’s always a book for any occasion, so he delves deep. Behavioural analysis books, books on people with social anxiety (which he doesn’t think you have because it’s just him that gets the selective mutism) and even at the end of it, he turns to romance novels. Something must stand out.

It comes to a head when Remus comes to the library when you’re busy typing away at your essay. You feel the presence, the warmth of his pepper and amber cologne as he pulls the seat out beside you.

Remus doesn’t say a word as he sits down. Instead, he pulls out his laptop and begins typing at the same essay prompt you’re working on.

You’re hyper aware of everything he’s doing- every breath, every sigh, every harsh backspace and enter.

Remus doesn’t seem to be half as affected as you are and it has you whispering, “What are you doing here, Remus?”

He hums, tapping his forefinger near the touchpad. He finishes his sentence and then turns to you. “Working on that essay due tomorrow.”

You frown, lips pulled downwards as you think of your next words. “You know what I mean, why are you sitting beside me?”

Remus sighs, head hanging off the back of the chair. “I want you to not be nervous around me anymore. I also want to know why I make you nervous.”

You swallow, mouth suddenly dry.

Remus turns to look at you and the amber lighting of the library makes his skin look sunkissed and supple. His honey and sage eyes blink owlishly at you, no sign of rushing you along for an answer.

That was something you had learnt while silently watching Remus. He’s always actually listening- not just listening to respond.

“Because,” you start, eyes darting all over his face in search of any insecurity in it. “You always seem so hyper focused on what it is I’m going to say next and it flusters me.”

Remus’ face morphs into a smile, his lazy expression from before melting away as his eyes warm to your embarrassed whisper.

“So it’s not dislike?” He asks, hands itching to tip your chin up like he had the other night.

“Are you going to make me say it out loud?”

“Poor girl,” he feels much more confident now. Now that he knows for sure that you don’t hate him and that you might actually like him as much as he likes you, he can be a little more flirty.

His hand reaches for your wrist, thumb running back and forth around your pulse.

You scowl, more than a little bashful to have exposed your feelings to Remus. He doesn’t mind.

No, Remus feels over the moon. Enough so that his hand moves from your wrist and his forefinger hooks under your chin so you’re making eye contact again.

“I like you too. Just as much,” it’s his turn for a whispered confession and you hope to all hell that he can’t feel the thundering of your pulse. “Maybe more.”

You feel your body buzz under his attention. Remus leans in closer, “Let me take you out after this? We can go somewhere quiet and have a proper ‘first’ conversation.”

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I feel like, Young!Pathetic!Konig would do REALLY well with a Older!Lady-Cougar!Reader, She's maybe been divorced twice and looking ta maybe become widowed this time? May-haps her current hubby has wealth and power but is a few screws short of being a good man towards our poor reader, and there's that Pesky prenup that makes it so she won't get ANYTHING in a divorce...buuuttt if the bastard has a bit of an....*Oopsie doodle*.... Maybe she's looking for someone to take care of her problem, and maybe she likes this young soldier boy, whose all too happy to help with *whatever needs* she might have? Likes how desperate he is for just her hand on his arm, likes how he's on his need begging for just a *taste* Likes that she can teach him how to please a woman, how to make her moan like no lover before....Likes how willing he is to kill the man she's married too...

Asfdf my brain short circuited ❤️ I know I said somewhere that I don’t write cheating but if it’s cheating a bad man with an even worse man König….

CW: 18+ MDNI. Age difference, F!dom/M!sub undertones, praise kink, cheating (your husband is an old dick), mating press & other shenanigans, murder & mentions of blood, König is a lovesick yandere in the making.

It was just one night.

Just one night to satiate your needs because your husband for sure never takes care of them.

But then the young pup you picked off from the pub pops into your workplace next week... With a large bouquet of flowers in his hand and a box of chocolate in the other, your desperate little “detour” looks like a boy who just got laid for the first time in his life.

“König…” you sigh and pull him to an empty breakroom before all your colleagues see you’ve cheated on your beloved husband with a man at least ten years younger than you.

“You can’t be here,” you start, trying to ignore the happy, greedy stares this little—big—soldier gives you.

He’s all the equal to his alias, looking like a king in the making with those wide shoulders and that fierce stare. But his hands are shaking, he guides those eyes to the floor as he puts the gifts on the table littered with crumbs and coffee stains, switches his weight from one foot to the other once you start to tell him how it is.

He listens dutifully as you try to explain how it was only one night, that he was incredibly lovely and you had so much fun but that you can’t see each other anymore. It was wrong of you to do so in the first place, you’re married, and you’re so, so sorry... You were just so sad and lonely.

You tell him he’s a good man. That he’ll find someone special, some lovely girl to call his own. He will find someone who can give him what he wants, someone who will cover him with kisses for bringing her flowers and sweets.

You try to explain it to him even as you get slowly chased into a corner, you try to tell him what a catch he is even when you get pinned to the wall by a hard, lean chest.

You try to tell him that he’s the perfect man for some other girl even when he pulls your strings aside and bullies his cock inside you.

One minute is all it takes as he huffs and groans and fucks you against the wall, your moans and his grunts barely muffled by shirts and fists and lips and skin. There’s lipstick on his clean, white shirt after he’s done with you, teeth marks where his shoulder meets his neck, a spittle of cum on your skirt as he pulls it down with shaky hands.

“Sorry,” he murmurs in your ear. “I just had to see you. I missed you so much...”

Your cunt is what he missed, any woman could see that. Got a taste of it last weekend and wouldn’t let you leave his place at all; a small, miserable flat of 25 square meters, with burned rice on the stove and a thin, cum-stained mattress on the floor. He fucked you on that mattress, four times because on the fifth attempt to part your shaking thighs, you told this horny lad you need to go home.

“I know, big boy. I missed you too. But you need to go now,” you say to your pretty lover. Ugly but pretty, in his own way, his utter lack of cruelty is what makes him beautiful in your eyes.

“I don’t want to,” he dares to argue back and claims your mouth, kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before.

“You have to,” you moan. “König–”

“I love you.”

You’re huffing, panting into each other’s throats as you realize he’s even younger than you thought. Fell in love with your cunt so easily, this big runt, thinks it’s meant to be just because you’re wet and he’s hard.

“Don’t be silly,” you huff and look at the drowsy smile, the messy state of this lovesick man before you fight your way out of his lap.

You want to cry, wail, scream from the injustice. Where was this silly young golden retriever six months ago? Why didn’t you meet him when you were single and sweet? Now you’re trapped in an unhappy marriage with some old fool who was cunning enough to trick you into a ludicrous deal with him. The prenupt you discovered only later, after he swore that you wouldn’t have to work a day in your life and that everything that belonged to him would be yours one day. In reality, you’ve had to beg for every crumb, act the part of a trophy wife who also has to work herself to death. And he won’t even fuck you, only wants you to massage his back and his cock while you’re left all alone without love, without a single kind word.

But König never lets you go: not in a way you beg him to, no, he always shows up at your door. Sneaks into your lonely room from the window, licks you to ruin while you laugh and tell him no, fucks you three times a night, crawls under the bed when a cleaning lady almost catches you two. He shows up at cafes, restaurants, conferences, parties, everywhere where you go but your husband won’t.

He’s so reckless that you have to teach him to be more patient, more gentle. You guide his fingers and his head, even his cock, while locking your eyes with his so that he knows when he’s doing it right. You praise him for a good, unhurried fuck, cup his face and kiss him when he gives it to you nice and slow. Anyone can see he'd want to ram it in until there’s nothing left of him and you, but you kiss and kiss and kiss him until the poor boy moans and cums without permission, just from that tiny taste of intimacy and love.

He gets pets, smooches and caresses, blowjobs that leave him shaking and breathless on the bed. He looks like he has no brains left after you’re done with him, looks a little helpless when you climb on top of him and help yourself with his cock after he only just came.

He’s always up in no time, especially if you tell him he did well. Stares at you and your breasts like you’re a vision from heaven, drools on them once when you won’t let him have a lick. Mopes when you laugh at his predicament, and won’t stop brooding even when you give him a kiss on the tip of his nose.

But he’s never mad at you for long, not if you call him sweetie or your silly apple crumb, not if you let him fall asleep in your bed, partly on top of you. There’s always a wet spot on your back if he’s the big spoon, he begs you to sleep naked as he does, says it’s better for your health and then teases you with his fingers come morning, probably thinking he’s so very clever. Takes you to the theater and offers you expensive port wine and cake, tells you how to steal a car, how to shoot any gun. Gives you a hungry kiss in public when you tell him he has to act like he’s your cousin from abroad, vanishes for weeks to his training, sends letters instead of texts, and tells you he’s going to be a big boss someday.

It’s hard to imagine this serious but silly mess as an intimidating officer, not even when you know he has the size and looks for it. He’s too innocent and needy, doesn't know how the real world works yet. Thinks he’s immortal just because he’s young...

There’s a certain darkness in him, and you mistake it for the remnants of some turbulence of his teenage years, just some wrath of a boy who never got what he wanted. Who wouldn’t be a little pissed and impatient in their twenties? He probably doesn’t even know what he wants: hell, you don’t know what you want.

“Like this...?” He asks demurely when he lifts your knees to your ears and sinks his cock into you inch by inch, carefully as if it’s the first time you’re making love.

“Just like that,” you whisper as he spreads you so wide you can’t even breathe, fills you up deliciously, like no one else before. His eyes never leave you, not even when he uses your hole as a place to bury himself and all his bad memories, not even when he makes you squirt like you’re nothing but an oasis in a desert that never ends.

But you know he comes to you for other things than just that.

He comes to you for kind words, breathy praise, soft touches and ruffles of his hair. He comes to you for practice and to get his sense of self in order. He’s your pretty knight in shining armor when others have called him ugly, he’s your strong bull when others have ridiculed his disproportionate limbs. He’s your safe haven, your sunshine, your crazy, silly man, your soldier and your savior, and he soaks up your love and attention like a sponge: every drop gets gulped down like he’s a man dying of thirst. He doesn’t take sips, he doesn’t know how to, and you on the other hand don’t know how to quench the raging drought inside him, long after yours has been satiated.

You sleep like Romeo and Juliet just before their death, and fuck like rabbits in the spring. He takes you in the car, in the closet, in the toilet, in other people’s beds, even at the alley one night.

“I love you,” he always says after he has spilled his cum – it’s like a ritual or a prayer, and you always reach for the baby hairs of his neck in return, and give them the gentlest caress.

“I love you too,” you whisper one night – it just slips when you stroke his cheek. It never comes as a surprise that he gives you the most miserable pair of puppy eyes you’ve ever seen.

He knows about your situation, knows enough that you’re trapped and unhappy. But you never knew he saw you as a victim. If anything, you feel like he’s the victim here. Poor boy, saving what little he has for a future with some woman who knows nothing about true love... You’re not the one for him, you’re not even a silly little sex kitten any young soldier would want to play with. You’re just some bored, abandoned wife who wants to feel something, mean something to someone. But you love him enough to know that you’ll let him go when he wants to move on. As bitter as it makes you feel, you know you’ll give him to someone younger and more beautiful, someone who will love as passionately as he does. Anything to make him truly happy.

But the next evening, König doesn’t climb in through your window. He uses the door, the inside door, and you jump from the bed and hurry to him in your nightgown, the only gift your husband ever gave you.

“I killed him for you,” he says, your soldier boy from Austria, your good, good boy with a good, big cock.

You only now see that his hands are stained in blood, and nothing shakes anymore: your wannabe sniper is as calm as ever when he confesses he’s murdered someone.

“...What?”

He comes to you and cups your face, the blood on his hands both wet and cold. You’ve never seen him so peaceful, not even after he’s had a good fuck. The boy who no one ever loved has turned into a man, but what kind of man… You shiver in his clutch, unsure if you’re about to suffer a heart attack from fear or love.

“He didn’t suffer... Much,” he says, his cracked lips only a breath away from yours. “Knives can be messy…”

You gulp while staring into the deep, dark abyss of his eyes, the innocent baby blue nearly swallowed by the darkest of all loves.

This is not how you thought things would go… You were supposed to give the old man the finger and divorce during the summer. Put your finances in order so that you can escape. Maybe fuck König on the side and see if he’s still the man of your dreams once you’re happily divorced.

Now he’s telling you you’ll marry as soon as possible, or that if you want a summer wedding, he can wait a few months… He tells you you have nothing to worry about, he won’t go to jail, not this time. He’ll take care of you now; he just got promoted. You don’t ever have to be sad again.

“Don’t worry, my love,” he says when all words have finally escaped you. “Now we can be together. Forever…”

[murdockparker]

Roses and Regrets - Part 1

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Freshly out of mourning, Lady Barlow, née (Y/L/N), makes her re-debut in society. If only she could simply ignore a certain viscount...

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: none. enemies to lovers!!

A/N: I didn't expect this lil requested fic to turn into such an event, let alone a multi-part story! so, you're welcome or I'm sorry?

next part

__

She was perfectly happy. 

Well, supposedly right now she wasn’t. 

Her husband, Lord Barlow, had passed away ten months ago, leaving her with an empty estate, a shiny title and more money than she knew what to do with. Lord Barlow was an old viscount, desperate for an heir and willing to do anything to get one. 

In came Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

Young, beautiful and well-bred, she was the perfect choice for any man of the ton. If only her father hadn’t a penchant for gambling. Perhaps she’d be married to a man more suited for her rather than the oaf of a dustbin she was forced to be with. She was no fool in believing in a love match for herself, rare and far between as they were, no, but she did have half a mind to imagine a kinder man as her husband. A man who perhaps cared even a little bit for her wellbeing. 

No matter. 

A dead man cannot care for her wellbeing either. 

“Lady Barlow,” a maid knocked, entering the ornate drawing room.

“Yes?” (Y/N) did not look up from her reading—the newest edition of Whistledown had just been delivered. While she herself was never one to gossip terribly, it was quite fun to keep up with the circus of the season. 

“Do you plan on attending the Danbury ball this eve?”

“I do not see the point,” she scoffed playfully, “after all, Meg, I am but a widow in mourning.”

“Perhaps her ladyship should reconsider?” Meg asked gently, placing a new pot of tea next to her lady. “I rather think it has been a socially acceptable amount of time since your husband’s passing.”

“If I am not to enjoy the perks of being a widow,” (Y/N) sighed, finally looking up at her favorite lady’s maid, “whatever is the point?”

“Perks that Viscount Barlow has graciously allowed you to use during your time of mourning—”

“The current viscount is all but twelve,” (Y/N) reminded. “He has no use for this estate in Mayfair until he himself becomes an adult, in which, I am sure he and his mother will come to make use of it. I believe if my maths are correct, that leaves me all of six years or so to use this home.”

“Forgive me my lady, but should you not be looking for a new husband, then?”

(Y/N) smiled at Meg. She enjoyed their friendship, her maid being only a handful of years older than herself, it made for a likely pair. “No one wishes to marry a widow,” she said simply, “widows are damaged goods. Every sensible man of the ton will be wanting a pretty little virgin instead.”

“My lady!”

“What?” She barked a laugh. “You know it to be true.”

“Regardless,” Meg said, clearing her throat. “Lord Barlow passed nearly a year ago, the period of mourning is rightfully over. You are expected to rejoin society.”

“Dreadful.”

“It is expected,” Meg repeated.

“It does not make it any less dreadful,” (Y/N) said. “Very well. Pull a dress and prepare a bath, it seems the ton gets to see my dreary face once again.”

—

Anthony Bridgerton was a man scorned. 

Particularly by his own mother in this very instance. How foolish he had been to share his intentions of marriage this season with her—for now she spread the news like a wildfire. Every desperate mama and her equally desperate daughter came flocking to him like bees to honey. 

It was only now, in the dark corner of the ballroom, that he found a respite.

“Looking a bit green, Lord Bridgerton,” a voice beside him called out. 

“I am not—” Anthony had huffed a reply before even knowing whom he was speaking to. “Lady Barlow.”

“I am shocked you can recall my name,” (Y/N) laughed over her champagne flute. “Considering how many new ones you’ve had thrown at you this eve.”

“You are out of mourning.”

“Is that a question?”

“It was an observation,” Anthony corrected.

“What gave it away? My bright dress? No tear stains left on my cheeks?”

“You are here, out and about,” Anthony said. “And, forgive me for not playing along with your delusions, but I do not think you cried much at all for Lord Barlow’s passing.”

“How dare you assume such a thing,” (Y/N) faux gasped. She had intended on pressing a hand to her chest. Intended, anyway. Somehow she forgot all about the champagne currently residing it her grasp. “Damn… this was a new dress too.”

“Good God,” he laughed. “First you are spilling all over yourself like a child and now you are cursing—tell me, do all married ladies act like you?”

“I am a widow,” (Y/N) had found a cloth and begun dabbing up the spill. It had only dribbled at most, but still, it was a new dress. “I rather think I can act the way I please.”

“Like a drunkard?”

“Like a free woman,” she said, fighting every childish urge to stick her tongue out at the viscount. “I am only here to show my face, prove I am still alive and I shall go about my merry way.”

“Lady Danbury is a widow,” Anthony noted. “Yet she still mingles with society.”

“I am not Lady Danbury.”

“You are not.”

“Do you not have young misses to go and woo?” (Y/N)’s eyes hardened. “Take your pick from the litter, Lord Bridgerton, any of them would be pleased to spend such valuable time with you.”

“Are you insinuating you are not?”

“I rather thought it was a statement, yes,” (Y/N) said.

Anthony’s eyes went only a fraction wider, nostrils flaring. “Well, if that is what you wish—”

“It is not a mean of wishing,” she laughed, “but really a necessity.”

“Good evening, Lady Barlow,” Anthony sneered, smoke practically coming out of his ears. If (Y/N) had half a mind she’d call for the authorities to put that fire out, instead, she simply finished her drink and smiled wistfully at the dancing ballroom, feeling fulfilled. 

—

Dearest Gentle Reader,

The season is in full swing thanks to the mark of Lady Agatha Danbury’s ball, a notable and traditional first event of the London scene. Eligible young ladies now on the Marriage Mart were enjoying their first taste at what fine society has to offer, however taxing or daunting it may be. 

Our resident Capital ‘R’ Rake, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton is finally deciding on a wife, surely making him the finest catch of the season. Matchmaking mamas and their young ladies alike were seen flocking to him like petulant children asking their parents for pin money, thanks to his own mother, Lady Bridgerton’s declaration of such an idea last night. The viscount seemingly had enough of the attention, taking like a wallflower and hiding away in the back of the ballroom near the end of the evening. 

His company? None other than Lady Barlow, evidently out of mourning as of last night. While the this Author is under good authority that the match between Lady Barlow and the late Lord Barlow was not a love match, given their fourty or fifty year age difference, it has taken the new dowager viscountess longer than most anticipated for her to get back into the season. A woman as young as Lady Barlow would be eager to find another husband to support her, but something tells me that she is quite enjoying her time as a widow and will not easily give that up. 

While this Author has very little idea of the actual nature of the relationship between Lord Bridgerton and Lady Barlow, it is only to be assumed that it is simply not a favorable one. The two were seen making a scene by the refreshment table, a scene that went unnoticed by many prying eyes of the ton, leaving Lord Bridgerton storming away and Lady Barlow with the winning hand. 

Good show, Lady Barlow. 

Lady Whistledown Society Papers

—

“Brother! You are in Whistledown!” Eloise sang to no one in particular. 

“I have no care that I am in that gossip rag,” Anthony ground out, rustling his newspaper. “I can only imagine it is just another advertisement of my search for a wife this season.”

“Er, yes, however—”

“However?” Anthony’s attention immediately shot up to his sister, newspaper be damned. 

“Who is Lady Barlow?” Eloise asked. 

“No one of importance,” Anthony could feel his temperature rising. 

“Lady Barlow?” Benedict laughed. “Is that who you were talking to last night dear Brother? Is she not still in mourning?”

“No.”

“No it is not who you were talking to, or no she is not still in mourning?” Benedict gave his brother an amusing glance.

“Oh, according to Whistledown—”

“Sister—”

“Eloise, you may not recall Lady Barlow, given you only just came out this season,” Benedict began, deciding that this conversation was very much worth his time this morning. “But she used to go by Miss (Y/L/N) before her marriage to the late viscount.”

“(Y/L/N)…” Eloise looked to the ceiling, finding nothing in particular. “Oh! Is she not the woman who—”

“I am taking my leave,” Anthony said abruptly, newspaper all but forgotten. 

“Escaping, Brother?” Benedict asked. 

“I have calls to make,” Anthony sneered, ignoring the pleased face his brother was making. “Excuse me.”

“It seems Lady Barlow is a touchy subject,” Eloise noted as her eldest brother left the drawing room. Benedict snorted. “What?”

“You do not even know the half of it, dear Sister.”

Anthony Bridgerton, did not in fact, have any calls to make. He had no impressionable interactions last night to warrant such a visit to anyone—the Queen was still in need of naming her diamond, after all—but he had no desire to stay and be berated by his family this morning. He truly had no plan, no thought in his head on where he was going, he just simply was. 

Apparently he was going to the park.

It was still early in the day, few people graced the park at such an hour. The few who did, however, were too busy reading the latest Whistledown to even notice him. Anthony saw a handful of post boys running opposite of his direction on his way here, it was only natural they scoped out this location. He knew it was going to be a problem the minute they finished reading—if Lady Whistledown truly wrote about him, which he had no reason to believe his sister was lying about, all eyes would be on him.

“Might as well enjoy the peace and quiet for now,” Anthony exhaled. He took a quick glance at his watch—half past eight. Hardly could he recall a time he took a turn about the park on his own, usually he was in the company of his family or holed away in his study worrying about expenses and the like, never did he take a moment to actually enjoy the grand weather such as the kind today. Determined to enjoy it, he sat down on a favorable bench and watched the birds swim across the pond.

“Unbelievable.”

He turned his head, only to find Lady Barlow dressed in a rather pleasantly pink dress and matching hat, a look of distaste on her face.

“I didn’t take you as the park-going type, Lord Bridgerton,” she nodded, folding her hands. She had been carrying a small red book in one of them. “Especially at such an early hour, too.”

“Lady Barlow,” he nearly sneered. “Can a man not enjoy the park?”

“Oh surely a man can,” (Y/N) agreed. “But you? You are no man.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It seems to me that you’re sitting in my spot,” she ignored his quip, readjusting her stance in annoyance. “This is where I come to read.”

“Can you not read elsewhere?” Anthony asked. “There is an entire park at your disposal.”

“No,” she hummed. “Afraid not.”

“No?” He laughed. “Surely out of the entire park you can find a suitable spot to read your—let me guess—romantically inclined fodder?”

“Poetry,” she corrected, “and no, I cannot simply read elsewhere. The shade is just right under this tree and I rather like overlooking the pond between my chapters.”

“Shame I got here first, then,” Anthony clicked.

“You…!” (Y/N) scoffed, fighting every urge in her body to stomp her foot. “You are an impossible man, surely you know that?”

“I thought you said I was no man?” Anthony’s brow quirked. “Or perhaps I misheard?”

She scowled. “You are not amusing.”

“On the contrary,” Anthony leaned back on the bench, stretching his arms and taking his claim. “I find myself very amusing.”

A duck quacked from the pond, either laughing at the viscount or agreeing with him—it was hard to tell. 

“You leave me no choice,” (Y/N) said sternly, taking a seat on the other end of the bench—feeling worlds apart from the man on the far side. In actuality, it couldn’t have been more than two feet, three at most.

“Truly?” Anthony laughed humorlessly. “You cannot be serious.”

“Hush,” (Y/N) said, opening her book in earnest. “I am trying to read.”

While there had been no guns drawn, this was a duel, in every sense of the word. Both parties sitting still as statues, Anthony’s gaze trained on the pond, (Y/N)’s on her book. Occasionally, she’d flip her page to the next, huffing every time Anthony still did not get up and move on. 

Stubborn. Both of them.

“Will you be quiet?” Anthony said, growing exasperated. “I cannot think when you are breathing so loud—” 

“You wish for me not to breathe?” She shut her book. “I never anticipated you’d wish me dead—”

“Please,” Anthony said. “You know that is not what I mean at all.”

“I never know with you. You, Anthony Bridgerton, are an enigma and I hope I never have the pleasure of truly understanding you,” (Y/N) said, fingers whiting from her grip on her book.

“So you admit it would be pleasurable?”

She wanted to wipe that grin off of his face, how, she was unsure. Idly, she thought about how a good smack to his cheek would feel. Painful in the moment but oh-so wonderful after, cathartic, probably. “I am not getting up.”

“Neither am I.”

“I am willing to die on this bench,” (Y/N) spat.

“Funnily enough,” Anthony’s voice dropped, “so am I.”

“How are you to find your viscountess on this bench?” She asked, angling her body towards the torturous man. “Surely you do not expect her to just walk past?”

“I am sure I can manage,” Anthony said calmly. “Many young ladies will walk this way when they see me sitting here."

“Even with another woman sitting beside you?”

“I rather think they’ll find you easy to ignore, I know I do.”

“Ha! You are truly something else, Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) sat straighter. “Insulting a polite woman in public?”

“You are the furthest thing from polite,” Anthony leaned in. “Rude, ostentatious, quite full of herself—”

“Might I offer you a mirror?” The grip on her book tightened, cover bending from the force. “Or are you afraid you’ll see horns?”

“Oh, do they match yours?” He nearly sang. 

“Funny,” she clicked, finally setting her book down, lacing her fingers together in her lap. “You should run a comedy act at the circus, seeing as you are a right clown.”

Anthony stood up, whether by the force of his breath or sheer spite he will never know. “You are the most ridiculous woman I have ever met.”

(Y/N) met his height, now standing as well. “And you are the most irritating man I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

“I am going to walk this way,” Anthony said, forcefully pointing to his right, eyes not leaving hers. She did have the most remarkable eyes.

“And I will walk this way,” she pointed to her left, less force in her action but seething all the same. “Have the day you deserve, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Why you little…!”

She had already turned and stomped away, a fuming smudge of pink against the greenery of the park, growing further away with every step.

“What a wretched woman,” he mumbled, looking down at his watch again—nine on-the-dot. In the corner of his eye, something bright red caught his attention. Her book. She had left it behind.

Perhaps he would burn it.

Perhaps he would just put it in his pocket and carry about his day.

In the pocket it went. For now.

[gregrulzok]

Devil's Minion is an interesting title though, isn't it.

I mean one of them is a creature designed and all but required to kill. He could eat animals, technically, but we know that isn't sustainable long term - even Louis, who genuinely tried it, wanted it so bad, couldn't keep the diet up for long. That's just not sustainable for their bodies, not what they were made for.

And the many long centuries of isolation, many long centuries of being unable to go out during the day, to talk to people without raising suspicion - and the changing of times, watching the culture shift and drift away from you without being able to fully follow it... Anyone would be distant from humans, from humanity, it's a shift in the psyche supported from every angle to make you view people as prey rather than equals.

And then the other? Human. A guy. He had relatives, friends, probably. He's more than likely lost people before, knows the grief of death far more intimately than a being designed to take two or three lives in a day ever could.

And yet, night after night, he holds the hunter in his arms. Cuddles up to him, ignores the fact that any warmth in his lover cost another human being their life. He ignores the pain and suffering they went through despite being fully equipped to understand it, ignores the grief and heartache he knows their close ones must be feeling - more than that, he takes pleasure in it! He drinks the blood of the monster, for no reason other than his own pleasure, and he tastes in it the wails and screams and desperation of those that were killed for it, and he's addicted to it. He wants more. He craves it, needs it.

More than THAT, even, he wants nothing more than to be part of it. To have the power to take human lives, to be the same as the alleged devil. Armand had no choice in the matter, not really, and has no choice but to kill - Daniel wants it, more than anything, he's constantly preoccupied with it, begs for it over and over and over.

.

And on the other hand, it's Daniel who gets his wishes granted. Daniel who can point at anything he wants and have it in his possession the next moment. Sure, he has to follow Armand's whims and impulses, teach Armand, follow him everywhere, but at the end of the day Armand is serving Daniel as much as he is himself, if not more.

And it's Armand who has to, through arguments and tears and heartache, defend what he sees as the one boundary he set in the relationship. The one line he has begged Daniel over and over again not to try to cross, Daniel has to test again and again.

He'll do anything for Daniel, anything, except for the one thing that would hurt him most - and its still not enough.

...

Devil's Minion, huh.

[rispwr]

If i were you i'd do me - JK - MDNI - 6

pairings : fuckboy! jk x fem! reader, established relationship, mentions of smart! namjoon x oc, slow burn, enemies to lovers

contents/warnings : smut, rejection, new character apearances, car sex, semi public sex, implied sex, smut, jealousy, i think that's all. let me know if i missed any

taglist : comment if you wanna be added to my taglists) @crazyovayou @minghaosimp @pitchblack0309 @kpopsmutty69 @ririkookiemonster

word count: 6k words, kinda short

context : Jungkook, the notorious campus heartbreaker and player, unexpectedly becomes your groupmate alongside Namjoon, the guy you’ve secretly admired for ages. However, it seems your feelings have started shifting from Namjoon to someone else entirely unexpected…

Not proofread

The days had started to blur together ever since that revelation. Two weeks had passed, and the heaviness of everything still lingered. Hoseok had been distant—he hadn't visited our house at all. It was understandable, given the circumstances. Finding out that the woman who raised you wasn't your real mother and that your entire past had been a lie was more than anyone should have to deal with.

Mom and I tried our best to comfort him, but he was in his own world. Instead of Hoseok coming to us, Mom and I had taken to visiting him at his place. It was our way of making sure he knew he wasn't alone, that we were still his family, no matter what.

This morning was no different. "Ready to go, Y/N?" Mom called out from the front door.

I grabbed my jacket and met her downstairs. "Yeah, let's head out."

As we drove to Hoseok's place, I couldn't help but feel the weight of it all. Hoseok had always been a light in my life—his positivity and energy were infectious. But now, things felt different. He'd withdrawn, barely speaking when we visited him. I just hoped today would be better.

When we arrived at his apartment, I took a deep breath before knocking on the door. Mom and I exchanged hopeful glances as we slightly opened the door.

As we walked inside, the familiar coziness of his apartment greeted us. The place had always been filled with life—plants, art, music—but lately, it felt quieter, more somber. Hoseok had been spending most of his time in his room, avoiding the common areas as much as possible.

Mom and I exchanged another glance before walking toward his room, hoping to pull him out of whatever funk he was in. "Maybe we can cheer him up a little," I whispered to her.

"Let's hope so," Mom whispered back, her voice laced with concern.

When we reached his bedroom door, we could hear muffled voices inside. I raised an eyebrow, curious. "Is someone else here?" I asked, turning to Mom.

"I don't know," she replied, equally puzzled. "Maybe he's on the phone?"

We both stood there for a moment, debating whether to knock or just barge in. In the end, Mom knocked softly. "Hobi, we're coming in, okay?" she said.

But there was no response, just more muffled sounds, now a bit more frantic.

My curiosity got the better of me. I gently pushed the door open, and—

Chaos.

The door swung open, and the sight before us was not what I had expected. At all.

There, in the middle of the bed, was Hoseok. With Yoongi. Doing it.

Time seemed to freeze as my brain tried to catch up with what my eyes were seeing. Hoseok's eyes went wide with pure panic, and Yoongi let out a high-pitched yelp. Both of them scrambled to grab the blankets, desperately trying to cover themselves.

"Oh my GOD! What the—WHAT THE HELL!" I screamed, my voice mixing with my mom's equally shocked shrieks.

"OH MY GOD, MOM!" Hoseok screamed back, his face as red as a tomato as he tried to bury himself under the blanket, utterly mortified. "W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

"We—we didn't know—OH MY GOD!" My mom squealed, her hands covering her face. "We didn't see anything—well, actually, we did, but OH MY GOD!"

Yoongi looked like he wanted to crawl under the bed and disappear. "This is—this is not what it looks like!" he tried to stammer, even though it was exactly what it looked like.

I grabbed my mom's hand and yanked her out of the room, slamming the door behind us. Both of us stood there in the hallway, eyes wide, hearts pounding.

"What. Just. Happened?" I gasped, trying to catch my breath.

Mom stood there, just as stunned as I was. "Did we just walk in on your brother and Yoongi?"

"Yes. Yes, we did," I replied, feeling like the entire world had tilted on its axis.

We made our way to the living room and collapsed on the couch, still in shock. There was a long, uncomfortable silence before I finally broke it.

"I can't believe it," I muttered, shaking my head in disbelief. "Yoongi? With Hoseok?"

"Of all the people..." Mom murmured, her hands still trembling. "I didn't even know Yoongi was—well, I didn't know he was interested in men, let alone your brother!"

"I mean... I guess I never really thought about it," I said, my mind still trying to process the bombshell we'd just walked in on. "But Yoongi? And Hoseok? What are the odds?"

Mom let out a breathless laugh, still dazed by the situation. "I guess we all have our secrets."

An hour later...

After what felt like an eternity of sitting in awkward silence, I heard the creak of Hoseok's bedroom door opening. I glanced toward the hallway, where Hoseok and Yoongi appeared, both looking sheepish and extremely embarrassed.

Hoseok was the first to speak. "I... uh... I'm sorry you had to see that." He couldn't even look at us, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

Yoongi, standing behind him, nodded quickly. "Yeah, that was... not how we wanted you to find out."

Mom, to her credit, had managed to compose herself somewhat. She cleared her throat and smiled awkwardly. "Well, I suppose we should have knocked first. That's on us."

I nodded in agreement, though I could still feel my face burning with embarrassment. "Yeah, sorry about that."

There was another awkward pause before Hoseok finally looked up, his face still flushed. "I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you guys. Yoongi and I... we've been seeing each other for a few months now."

That revelation hit like a ton of bricks. "Wait, months?!" I blurted out, my eyes widening. "How did I not know about this?"

"We were keeping it quiet," Yoongi said, scratching the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable. "We didn't want to make things weird, especially with everything that's been going on with Hoseok and his... family stuff."

I glanced at Hoseok, who nodded. "Yeah, I didn't want to add more to the pile of crazy. But... Yoongi's been there for me through everything. I don't know what I would've done without him."

The sincerity in his voice made my heart soften. As much as I was shocked by the whole situation, I could see the love and support they had for each other. It wasn't just some random fling—they really cared about each other.

Mom, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up. "Well, Hoseok, I'm just glad you have someone who's there for you," she said gently. "We want you to be happy, and if Yoongi makes you happy, then that's all that matters."

Hoseok's face brightened a little, relief flooding his features. "Thanks, Mom. That means a lot."

I nodded, trying to wrap my head around the situation. "Yeah, I mean, I'm still processing the whole... uh, scene we walked in on, but... I'm glad you have someone who cares about you."

Hoseok let out a small laugh, his cheeks still pink. "Yeah, sorry about that. Definitely not how we wanted to break the news."

Yoongi smirked, a hint of his usual confidence returning. "Well, at least now we don't have to hide it anymore."

I laughed along with them, the tension finally breaking. "Yeah, but maybe next time, lock the door?"

"Noted," Hoseok replied with a sheepish grin.

Later that evening...

I stood in front of my house, my thoughts were already on the evening ahead. Jungkook had texted me earlier, asking if he could come over, and I'd agreed. It had been a while since we spent any real time together, especially with everything going on in my life.

I unlocked the door, stepping inside as the familiar warmth of home enveloped me. The scent of something cooking drifted from the kitchen—Mom was always up to something, keeping herself busy. I texted Jungkook to let him know I was home, and soon enough, I heard a knock at the door.

When I opened it, there he stood, leaning casually against the frame with that signature grin of his. "Hey," he said, his voice low and teasing.

"Hey yourself," I replied, stepping aside to let him in.

We barely made it to the living room when my mom's voice called out from the kitchen. "Oh, Jungkook! Is that you?" she asked, peeking around the corner with a smile.

Jungkook offered a polite bow, looking slightly embarrassed by the attention. "Yes, it's me, Mrs. kim. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm good, dear. How about you? Still causing trouble on campus?" she teased, knowing full well the rumors about his reputation.

Jungkook chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not as much trouble anymore, I promise."

I rolled my eyes and nudged him playfully. "Yeah, sure. He's a good boy now, right?"

Mom gave us both a knowing smile, clearly amused. "Well, that's good to hear. It's about time, isn't it?"

"Mom!" I groaned, shooting her a look as Jungkook's cheeks tinged with pink.

Before she could say anything else embarrassing, I grabbed Jungkook's arm. "We're going upstairs, okay?"

"Uh-huh," Mom replied, but just as we turned to head up, her voice rang out again. "I'm sure you have an IUD, right?"

My eyes went wide in horror. "Shut up, Mom!" I yelled, my face burning as I dragged Jungkook up the stairs with me.

Behind us, I could hear her laughing to herself. "Just saying!" she called after us.

When we finally reached my room, I closed the door behind us, leaning against it for a moment, trying to shake off the embarrassment. Jungkook, meanwhile, was grinning like a Cheshire cat, clearly entertained by the whole situation.

"Your mom's hilarious," he said, dropping down onto my bed with a sigh.

I gave him a mock glare. "Yeah, well, I have to deal with her all the time, so trust me, it's not as funny from my end."

Jungkook just chuckled, patting the space beside him on the bed. "Come here."

I rolled my eyes but joined him, stretching out beside him as we settled in comfortably. The familiar ease between us took over, and for a while, we just lay there in silence, listening to the faint sounds of the house around us.

Then I felt his eyes on me.

I turned my head to look at him, and there he was—those big, doe-like eyes staring at me with a softness that made my heart skip a beat. Jungkook had this way of looking at me, like I was the only person in the world. It was impossible to resist.

I groaned, playfully smacking his arm. "What do you want?"

He blinked, feigning innocence. "What? I can't just look at my girlfriend?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh, sure. Spill it, Jungkook. What are you up to?"

He hesitated for a second, then smiled sheepishly. "Okay, so... there's this party tonight."

I groaned inwardly. "A party? Really?"

He pouted, leaning closer. "Come on, it'll be fun. Can you come with me?"

I sighed, giving him a look. "Can't you just go by yourself? You don't need me there."

"Nooo," he whined, scooting closer until his head was practically on my shoulder. "I wanna be with my girlfriend."

The way he said it made my heart flutter, but I wasn't going to give in that easily. I turned to face him, narrowing my eyes. "You don't want to let people know that the infamous campus fuckboy Jeon Jungkook is actually a baby when he's with me, do you?"

He huffed indignantly. "I'm not a fuckboy."

I raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Oh? Then what are you?"

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a soft, serious tone. "I'm your boyfriend."

His words sent a wave of warmth through me, making my cheeks flush. I hated how easily he could get to me like this, how one simple sentence from him could make my heart race. I looked away, pretending to be unaffected. "Fine, fine. I'll go with you," I muttered.

Jungkook grinned triumphantly. "Really?"

"Yeah," I said, still avoiding his gaze. "But only if Sora can come too."

"Sora?" he asked, confusion flickering across his face. "I have no idea who that is, but... okay, sure."

I smiled, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "Great."

Jungkook gave me a curious look but didn't push it. Instead, he wrapped his arm around me, pulling me closer until I was tucked against his side. "Thanks for agreeing to come. It'll be fun, I promise."

"Uh-huh," I mumbled, resting my head against his chest. "You better be right."

Later that evening...

We had spent the rest of the afternoon lounging around, talking about random things and just enjoying each other's company. As the evening approached, I reluctantly started getting ready for the party. Jungkook, of course, was no help—he just lay on my bed, watching me with amusement as I tried on different outfits.

"You know," he said, his voice teasing, "you could wear a garbage bag, and you'd still look hot."

I shot him a look. "That's not helpful, Jungkook."

He laughed, sitting up. "Okay, fine. How about this?" He pointed to the outfit I had on— a really cute red lacy dress, hugging my curves nicely.

I glanced at myself in the mirror. It wasn't fancy, but it was comfortable, and that was all I really cared about. "Yeah, this works."

Jungkook grinned, hopping off the bed and coming up behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder as he looked at our reflection. "You look amazing," he murmured.

I smiled, leaning back into his embrace. "Thanks."

After a few more minutes of last-minute adjustments, we were finally ready to go. As we headed downstairs, I mentally prepared myself for whatever chaos this party was going to bring. With Jungkook, you never really knew what to expect.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, Mom was waiting by the door, clearly still amused by our earlier interaction. "Going out, I see," she said, her tone playful.

"Yeah," I replied, grabbing my jacket. "We're heading to a party."

Mom raised an eyebrow. "Behave yourselves, okay?"

I groaned. "Mom, seriously. We'll be fine."

She just laughed, giving Jungkook a wink. "Take care of my daughter, Jungkook."

He smiled politely, nodding. "Of course, Mrs. kim. I always do."

With that, we finally made our way out the door and into the cool evening air. As we walked to Jungkook's car, he reached for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. It was a small gesture, but it made my heart swell.

"So," I said, glancing at him. "What kind of party is this, anyway?"

Jungkook shrugged. "Just a casual one. A few friends, some drinks, music. Nothing crazy."

I raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Uh-huh. I'll believe that when I see it."

He laughed, squeezing my hand. "Trust me, you'll have a good time."

on the way to the party.

"Baby, if ever you don't wanna be here anymore, just tell me, hm?" he said, glancing over at me with a tender look in his eyes. His concern was so endearing that I couldn't help but smile softly at him.

"Okay," I nodded, feeling reassured by his protective tone. Jungkook was so different with me, softer, caring. It still caught me off guard sometimes, given his infamous campus reputation.

Soon, we arrived at the party. As we pulled up, it was clear that the night was already in full swing. The chaos hit us even before we got out of the car—music blaring, people dancing wildly, and the unmistakable scent of alcohol hung in the air. I could already tell that half of the partygoers were drunk.

Jungkook stepped out first, rushing to my side to open the door for me, always the gentleman, even at a place like this. I took his hand as he led me through the crowd, his grip firm and protective. Just as we made it through the packed entrance, I spotted Sora, one of my closest friends.

"GIRLYYYY!" I squealed, rushing over to hug her tightly. It had been a while since I last saw her, and seeing her at the party immediately made everything feel lighter. Her energy was contagious.

Sora hugged me back, spinning me around dramatically before pulling away, her eyes landing on Jungkook. She scrunched up her nose in mock disgust and leaned in closer to me, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Is that the infamous Jeon Jungkook who has fucked every girl on campus?"

I winced, knowing Jungkook heard that. "Yeah, he's my boyfriend," I whispered back, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. There was something so ironic about the whole situation—everyone on campus thought they knew who Jungkook was, but the boy I knew was completely different.

Sora's eyes widened in disbelief, her mouth agape. "Girl, how the hell did HE pull YOU???" she exclaimed a bit too loudly.

I heard Jungkook clear his throat behind us. "Excuse me, I can hear you," he said, trying to sound serious, but the playful smirk on his lips gave him away. He wasn't mad—more amused, if anything. I turned around to see him crossing his arms over his chest, pretending to act offended.

Before I could respond, a group of guys approached us—Jungkook's friends, as I quickly recognized them. Jimin, Taehyung, and Mingyu were all grinning widely as they came up to us, clearly enjoying the chaos of the party.

"Hey bro—oh, who's this pretty lady you're with?" Mingyu asked, giving me a once-over with a playful grin. I knew instantly he was teasing, but Jungkook's arm tightened around my waist possessively.

"Don't even think about it, Gyu. She's my girlfriend," Jungkook declared, his tone light but firm. His friends laughed, but the look in their eyes showed they knew better than to challenge him.

Jimin nudged me gently. "Tell us if he hurts you, Y/N. We'll back you up," he said with an exaggerated serious expression, clearly joking, though I could tell there was a hint of genuine care behind his words.

Taehyung joined in, putting his arm around Jungkook. "Hey, hey, you're forgetting you guys are my friends too!" Jungkook laughed, shaking his head as his friends continued to tease him.

The party was in full swing.  People were scattered everywhere—some dancing wildly, some slouched on couches deep in conversation, and others already passed out from drinking. I was mingling with Jungkook and his friends, the warmth of his presence at my side keeping me grounded amidst the madness.

But Sora, my ever-lively best friend, had shoo'd me away. I could still see her from where I stood, sitting on the couch by herself, a drink in hand, the picture of contented solitude. I knew she didn't want to feel like a third wheel, and in her usual carefree manner, she seemed to enjoy her own company for the time being.

As Jungkook talked to Taehyung and Mingyu, I caught sight of Namjoon walking towards Sora. My heart did a small, familiar flip. There was a time when I'd had a crush on Namjoon, and while those feelings had long since faded, the sight of him still gave me a strange sense of nostalgia.

Namjoon, always composed, always so cool, sat down next to Sora, a gentle smile on his lips as he greeted her. "You alright, pretty?" he asked, his deep voice carrying over the music.

Sora looked up, a little surprised to see him, but she quickly gave him a smile in return. "Hi," she said, taking a sip from her drink.

Namjoon leaned back on the couch, his body language open and relaxed. "What's up?" he asked, his eyes flicking over her face with mild concern. He had a way of reading people, always tuned into the little details.

Sora sighed, twirling the straw in her drink lazily. "Just bored. Shoo'd Y/N and Jungkook alone 'cause I didn't wanna be a third wheel," she explained with a slight eye roll.

Namjoon's smile widened, his dimple appearing. "Wanna change that?" he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes. Before Sora could answer, someone came over and interrupted their conversation.

"Hey! We're about to play spin the bottle!" the guy announced excitedly, clearly already a little tipsy. He was gesturing to a group forming in the middle of the living room. "You guys in?"

Sora didn't even hesitate. Her eyes lit up with excitement as she grabbed Namjoon by the arm, dragging him towards the circle before he could protest. "Come on, let's go!"

Namjoon glanced over at me, his expression one of mild amusement as Sora pulled him into the game. I gave him a small wave and a smile before returning to my conversation with Jungkook, who was blissfully unaware of the little interaction happening just a few feet away.

But my mind kept drifting back to the game. Spin the bottle always had a way of bringing unexpected drama, and as much as I tried to focus on the conversation in front of me, I couldn't help but feel a little nervous. What if Sora ended up with Jungkook? I trusted her, of course, but it would definitely make things awkward, especially since Sora didn't know about my past crush on Namjoon. The situation felt like a ticking time bomb, and I silently hoped for the best.

As the game progressed, I glanced over at the group every now and then. People were spinning the bottle, laughing, and occasionally disappearing into various rooms for the infamous "7 minutes in heaven." Sora seemed to be enjoying herself, laughing with Namjoon, who looked more relaxed than I'd ever seen him at a party.

Then, it was Sora's turn.

My heart skipped a beat as she leaned forward to spin the bottle. The room seemed to quiet down, everyone watching as the bottle made its slow, torturous rotation on the floor. My eyes followed its every move, dread building in my chest as it spun closer and closer to Jungkook.

Please, not Jungkook, I silently begged.

The bottle slowed, inching its way past Jungkook and landing squarely on... Namjoon.

Relief flooded through me, I watched as Sora turned to look at Namjoon, her eyes wide with surprise but quickly morphing into a playful grin. Namjoon raised an eyebrow, glancing at me briefly before standing up. He shot me a small, reassuring smile, though I wasn't sure why he felt the need to comfort me.

"The third bedroom to the right!" one of the guys yelled, his voice cutting through the room's din. The crowd cheered as Sora stood up, grabbing Namjoon's hand and dragging him toward the stairs with a laugh.

my eyes dragged as i watched them disappearing up the stairs together. There was something surreal about it—seeing my best friend and the guy I used to like head off for "20 minutes in heaven." I wasn't sure how to feel, but I did my best to shrug it off. Sora didn't know about my old crush, and Namjoon was just a friend now. There was no reason to be upset.

I turned my attention back to Jungkook, who had noticed my distracted state. He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, "You okay?"

I nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just... thinking about sora"

He smirked, clearly amused. "Worried about Sora?"

I blinked, surprised by how easily he read me. "yeah, I just—"

"Relax, babe. Namjoon's a good guy. Sora's in good hands," he said, squeezing my hand gently. His words should have reassured me, but they only made my thoughts spiral further.

The clock seemed to tick slower in the dimly lit room. Namjoon sat on the edge of the bed, his heart racing for reasons he didn't quite understand. Across from him, Sora was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the bed frame, swirling her seventh drink around lazily in her hand. Her cheeks were flushed a deep red from all the alcohol she'd consumed, her lips slightly parted as she hiccuped softly, a tipsy smile on her face.

Namjoon hadn't anticipated this turn of events. He had agreed to the game, figuring it would just be a silly, harmless round of "20 minutes in heaven." Maybe they'd laugh, maybe they'd talk, and then head back downstairs. But as the minutes ticked by, it was clear that Sora wasn't just tipsy; she was completely wasted.

"It's fine if you're not okay with this, Sora," Namjoon said gently, his voice filled with concern. He wasn't sure if she fully understood the situation, or if she was even aware of how out of it she was. He knew Sora could handle her alcohol—she was no stranger to parties—but tonight seemed different. Something was off.

Sora tilted her head up, giving him a lopsided grin. Her eyes were glazed over, barely focusing on his face. "It's fine, Joon," she slurred, her voice heavy with the effects of the alcohol. "I want you."

Namjoon's breath hitched in his throat as Sora suddenly lunged forward, pressing her lips against his with a surprising amount of force. Her kiss was sloppy, tasting overwhelmingly of alcohol. He could feel her hands fumbling at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, but there was nothing about the situation that felt right to him.

Gently, but firmly, Namjoon pushed her away, breaking the kiss. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the bitter taste of alcohol still lingering on his lips. "Sora," he said softly, his voice filled with worry. "How many drinks have you had tonight?"

Sora blinked at him, her head swaying slightly as she tried to focus on his face. "Uhm... twelve?" she replied, giggling at her own inability to remember. She flashed him a tipsy smile, her eyes half-closed. "But who's counting, right?"

Namjoon frowned, feeling a surge of protectiveness for her. This wasn't the Sora he knew—the sharp, witty, confident woman who could hold her own in any situation. This was someone drowning in alcohol, trying to numb herself from something deeper. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Sora, no way I'm going to take advantage of you," Namjoon said, his voice firm but kind. He placed a hand on her shoulder, keeping her steady as she swayed slightly. "I'm not that kind of guy."

She looked up at him, blinking slowly, as if trying to process what he was saying. But instead of responding, she giggled again, leaning her head against his chest. "You're sweet," she mumbled. "But I'm fine, Joon. I can handle it. I'll drink those 15 shots for you." Her words were slurred, but her tone was playful, as if this were all a game to her.

Namjoon shook his head, his frown deepening. "Sora, you're drunk. You don't have to do that."

But she didn't seem to hear him. She was already pushing herself off the bed, wobbling unsteadily as she stood. Namjoon quickly stood as well, placing a hand on her arm to keep her from falling over. Sora's laughter echoed through the room as she stumbled toward the door, determined to go back downstairs and take those shots.

"Sora, wait," Namjoon said, his grip on her arm tightening slightly. "Let's just stay here for a bit, okay? You need to sober up."

But Sora was already reaching for the door handle, her movements clumsy and uncoordinated. Namjoon sighed, realizing that reasoning with her wasn't going to work. He had no choice but to follow her downstairs, keeping a close eye on her to make sure she didn't hurt herself.

Sora immediately headed for the table where the shots were lined up, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Sora, seriously, you don't need to do this," Namjoon tried again, his voice strained with concern. But she wasn't listening. She grabbed the first shot and downed it without hesitation, slamming the glass back on the table with a triumphant grin.

"One down!" she yelled, already reaching for the next one.

Namjoon stood by her side, his arms crossed, feeling a sense of helplessness wash over him. He didn't want to be the killjoy, but he couldn't stand by and watch her drink herself into oblivion. He knew something deeper was going on, something she wasn't talking about.

As Sora reached for the second shot, Namjoon stepped in, his hand gently covering hers. "Sora, stop," he said, his voice more commanding this time. "You're going to make yourself sick."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and confused. "Why do you care so much?" she asked, her voice soft and vulnerable.

Namjoon's expression softened as he met her gaze. "Because you're my....friend," he said hesitantly. wasn't so sure if he wanted the friend as label for them. "And I don't want to see you hurt yourself."

For a moment, Sora just stared at him, her drunken haze lifting slightly as his words sank in. Then, slowly, she let go of the shot glass and leaned into him, resting her head on his chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice small. "I just... I just didn't want to feel alone tonight."

Namjoon wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she trembled slightly in his arms. He didn't say anything, just let her rest against him, offering her the quiet comfort she so desperately needed.

After a few moments, Sora pulled back, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I guess I've had too much to drink," she admitted, her voice shaky.

Namjoon smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Let's get you some water, okay?" he said, guiding her away from the shots and toward the kitchen.

As they walked, Namjoon couldn't help but glance back at the crowd, where the game was still in full swing. He spotted me sitting with Jungkook, both of us laughing and enjoying ourselves, completely unaware of the emotional rollercoaster that had just unfolded upstairs.

In the kitchen, Namjoon filled a glass with water and handed it to Sora, who took it gratefully. She drank slowly, her hands still shaking slightly from the alcohol. Namjoon watched her closely, making sure she was okay.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly, leaning against the counter as he waited for her to finish drinking.

Sora looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of embarrassment and sadness. "It's stupid," she mumbled, setting the glass down on the counter.

Namjoon shook his head. "It's not stupid if it's making you feel like this."

Sora sighed, running a hand through her hair as she leaned against the counter next to him. "I just... I had a crush on this guy," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But he rejected me. And I guess I just... I don't know, I wanted to forget about it tonight."

Namjoon frowned, his heart aching for her. He knew how hard rejection could be, and it was clear that Sora was hurting more than she let on. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "That sucks."

Sora laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "Yeah, well, it happens, right? Can't win them all."

Namjoon didn't say anything, just stood by her side, offering her silent support. After a few moments of silence, Sora turned to him, her expression softening.

"Thanks, Joon," she said quietly. "For being here. And for stopping me from doing something stupid."

Namjoon smiled, his dimple appearing as he reached out to squeeze her hand gently. "Anytime."

As the night went on, the party continued in full swing, but Namjoon and Sora stayed in the kitchen, away from the chaos. They talked, laughed, and slowly, Sora began to sober up. By the time the party was winding down, Sora was feeling more like herself again.

"I should probably get home," she said, standing up from the stool she had been sitting on. "Before I do something else I'll regret."

Namjoon chuckled, standing up as well. "I'll bring you home," he offered.

Sora smiled, grateful for his kindness. "You're a good guy, Joon," she said as they made their way to the front door.

Namjoon shrugged, a shy smile on his lips. "Just doing what any friend would do."

As they stepped outside into the cool night air, Sora took a deep breath, feeling more clear-headed than she had all night. "You know," she said, glancing over at Namjoon. "I think I might have a crush on you now."

Namjoon raised an eyebrow, shocked.

The night was quiet outside the car, a stark contrast to the chaotic party they'd just left. Y/N and Jungkook were laying down in the backseat, the engine off, but the warmth of the night kept them comfortable. The windows were slightly fogged up from their relaxed breathing. Y/N shifted slightly, her head resting against Jungkook’s chest as she sighed, her fingers lazily playing with his.

"I feel bad for Sora," Y/N murmured softly, breaking the silence.

Jungkook, who had his arm wrapped around her waist, tilted his head slightly to look down at her. "Why’s that, baby?"

Y/N’s eyes fluttered as she blinked up at the ceiling of the car, her voice tinged with sadness. "Her crush rejected her. I saw how much she was drinking, and she just seemed... I don’t know, lost. I hate seeing people like that."

Jungkook’s fingers traced absentminded patterns on her side, his touch light and soothing. "I get it," he said softly. "But Namjoon’s got her now. He’ll take care of her. She’ll be alright."

Y/N nodded, her eyes closing for a brief moment as she breathed in the comforting scent of Jungkook's cologne. "Yeah... Namjoon’s a good guy," she said, her tone thoughtful. But there was something else bubbling underneath her words, something unspoken that she couldn’t quite put into coherent sentences.

A silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. They both were wrapped in their thoughts, the events of the night playing back in their minds. Y/N felt her pulse slow, the alcohol leaving her system bit by bit, but her body was still buzzing with energy—though not from the party anymore.

"Jungkook?" she whispered, breaking the silence once more.

"Yeah, baby?"

She turned her head slightly, her lips brushing against his neck as she spoke. "Would it be kinda crazy if I said I want you to fuck me so bad in the car right now?"

Her words hung in the air for a split second before they sunk in. The shift in Jungkook’s demeanor was immediate. His body tensed beneath her as his breath hitched in his throat, the playful and relaxed atmosphere turning into something electric in an instant. Without another word, Jungkook’s lips crashed into hers, the intensity of his kiss matching the sudden fire that had sparked between them.

He rolled on top of her, his body pressing her down against the seat, his hands sliding down to her waist. His touch was firm but teasing as his fingers ghosted over the curves of her body, exploring the soft fabric of her dress that hugged her figure perfectly.

"You’re so hot in this dress, baby," he murmured against her lips, his voice husky and breathless from the kiss.

Y/N smiled into the kiss, her hands finding their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. "I should wear it more often, huh?" she teased, her voice dripping with seduction.

Jungkook growled softly, nipping at her bottom lip as he pulled back just enough to look down at her. His eyes were dark, filled with desire as he took her in—the way her hair spilled out over the seat, the way her lips were slightly swollen from their kiss, and the way her dress clung to her body in all the right places.

"Nope," he said, his voice low and possessive. "Save it for me."

Y/N’s heart raced at his words, a shiver running down her spine. There was something about the way Jungkook looked at her, the way his eyes drank her in like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, that made her feel completely and utterly desired.

His hands roamed her body, fingers tracing the edges of her dress as he pushed the fabric up, revealing the soft skin of her thighs. Y/N gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders as his touch sent sparks of electricity shooting through her.

"Jungkook..." she whispered, her voice breathy.

"Shh, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing against her neck as he trailed kisses down her collarbone. "Let me take care of you."

His words were a promise, a vow to make this moment about her, to worship every inch of her. His hands continued their journey up her body, pushing her dress higher until it was bunched up around her waist. Y/N bit her lip, her breath coming in shallow gasps as his hands slid beneath the fabric of her panties, teasing her with the lightest of touches.

Jungkook’s lips found hers again, kissing her deeply as his fingers brushed against her most sensitive spot, drawing a moan from her throat. He smirked against her lips, his fingers moving with more purpose now, knowing exactly how to make her body react.

"You’re so wet already," he whispered, his voice filled with pride. "All for me, huh?"

Y/N’s response was a soft whimper, her hips bucking against his hand, craving more of his touch. "Only for you," she breathed, her hands gripping his hair as she pulled him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him against her.

Jungkook groaned softly, his free hand gripping her thigh as he positioned himself between her legs, the fabric of their clothes the only thing keeping them apart. The tension between them was unbearable, the need for each other growing with every passing second.

Without another word, Jungkook pulled away from her, his hands fumbling with the buttons of his jeans as he kicked them off, his movements quick and desperate. Y/N followed suit, slipping her panties off and tossing them aside, her eyes locked on Jungkook’s as he hovered over her once more.

"You sure about this, baby?" Jungkook asked, his voice low and filled with lust, but still carrying a note of concern. He always made sure she was comfortable, that she wanted this as much as he did.

Y/N nodded, her hands reaching out to pull him closer. "I’ve never been more sure of anything," she whispered, her voice filled with need.

That was all the confirmation Jungkook needed.

He positioned himself at her entrance, his eyes locked on hers as he slowly pushed inside her, both of them gasping at the sensation. Y/N’s nails dug into his shoulders as he filled her completely, her body arching off the seat as pleasure surged through her.

"Fuck, baby," Jungkook groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder as he began to move, his pace slow but deliberate. "You feel so good."

Y/N could barely form coherent thoughts as he thrust into her, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing over her. Her hands roamed his back, nails leaving faint marks on his skin as she clung to him, her body trembling with the intensity of it all.

"Jungkook," she moaned, her voice breathy and desperate. "Faster, please."

Jungkook’s eyes darkened at her request, and without hesitation, he quickened his pace, his hips snapping against hers with more urgency. The car rocked slightly with each thrust, the confined space making their movements even more intimate, every touch, every kiss, amplified by their closeness.

Y/N’s moans filled the car, her body completely consumed by the pleasure Jungkook was giving her. She could feel herself getting closer, the tension building in her core with each thrust. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she teetered on the edge of release.

"Come for me, baby," Jungkook whispered in her ear, his voice rough and filled with desire. "I wanna feel you."

That was all it took.

Y/N’s body tensed as her orgasm crashed over her, her back arching off the seat as she cried out his name, her body trembling beneath him. Jungkook groaned at the sight of her coming undone, the feeling of her tightening around him pushing him over the edge.

With a few more thrusts, Jungkook followed her, his body tensing as he spilled inside her, his moans muffled against her neck as he rode out his own release.

For a moment, neither of them moved, their bodies still pressed together as they caught their breath. The only sound in the car was their ragged breathing, the tension slowly ebbing away, replaced by a soft, comfortable silence.

Jungkook pulled back slightly, his eyes soft as he looked down at her. "You okay, baby?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Y/N smiled up at him, her fingers brushing his cheek. "More than okay," she whispered, her heart still racing.

A/N : okay okay did you guys miss me?? i missed yall tooo. this was kinda short, i know. but i'll make sure to make the few of the last chapters worth it for you guys. thank you so much for taking ur time to read. tho i didn't reach my goal for 15k words i'm sure i'll get it soon

[coolstoriesbro]

BEDROOM HYMNS BY PROSEOVER-BROS

FANDOM: The Walking Dead

TITLE: Bedroom Hymns

STATUS: Complete

ERA: Season 7

PAIRING: Negan Smith x Female Reader (No Use of “Y/N”)

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

SUMMARY: On the night of the lineup, Negan took one look at you and knew that he had to have you. What you never anticipated was just how desperately you would end up wanting him back.

RATING: Mature (Minors DNI)

WARNINGS: Enemies to Lovers, Angst, Language, Sexual Situations, Dirty Talk, Begging, Praising, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Teeny Bit of Fluff

A/N: I don’t think it’s a surprise to anyone that I love Negan just as much as I love Daryl. Needless to say, seeing JDM’s sexy ass on my screen again every week was just the inspiration I needed for this smut-fest. Hope you enjoy! If so, comments/likes/reblogs would mean the world!

What the fuck am I doing here?

The same question had been repeating itself in your head as your reluctant footsteps brought you to the outside of Negan’s apartment. All of your instincts were screaming at you to get far away, but before you could so much as knock, the door swung open to reveal that smug, irritatingly beautiful face.

You knew he’d been waiting for you. When Simon had made a beeline for the truck the moment you returned from that afternoon’s run, it was a dead giveaway. Not to mention the fact that Negan had you hauled back the second he realized you’d snuck off in the first place.

Earlier that morning, you’d heard a group of the Sanctuary’s scavengers talking over breakfast. Today’s run was supposed to be through a neighborhood ten miles west of Alexandria. This was your chance. Your plan was to return, but only long enough to pack your things and get gone before anyone knew the wiser. The last thing you wanted was to create any more trouble for Rick and the others when all they’d ever done was help you.

Unfortunately, your entire plan went to shit when Negan had gotten in touch with Mike, the Savior who was leading the expedition. You’d overheard their conversation on the radio, listening as Negan ordered Mike to bring you back to the Sanctuary if he wanted to keep his balls attached to his dick. If Mike had been anyone else you might’ve felt bad for getting him into trouble, but he wasn’t. Mike was a Savior, and therefore not worth one damn bit of your sympathy.

He drove you back to the Sanctuary, bitching about the waste of fuel and resources the entire way, and when his truck pulled up right outside of the towering building, you turned to face him.

“If you were stupid enough to believe that he’d let me go in the first place, you deserve whatever you have coming.”

Mike snarled, opening his mouth to no doubt call you a bitch or a whore, but by the time the insult traveled from his pea brain to his mouth, you’d already opened the door to the passenger side and jumped down from the truck to an awaiting Simon.

“What is it about you?” Simon asked by way of greeting. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re hot as hell, but there are loads of hot women for him to choose from. Women whose job it is to please him. Why’s he so enamored with you?”

“Oh, enamored!” You exclaimed sarcastically, earning a glare from the man who had the bushiest mustache you’d ever had the displeasure of seeing. “Someone’s been brushing up on their vocabulary.”

When Negan’s right-hand man crossed his arms and raised an equally bushy eyebrow as he awaited your answer, you rolled your eyes and strode past him. “Just lucky, I guess.”

The truth was, you didn’t understand Negan’s obsession with you either, but it went all the way back to the night of the lineup. That night and the fear you’d felt as you anxiously awaited his arrival with the rest of Rick’s group would stay with you forever. You’d all heard plenty about the Saviors’ infamous leader, but none had ever crossed him. Once the group had honored their agreement with Hilltop and attacked what they’d thought was the Saviors’ only compound, you’d assumed Negan had been included in the body count.

That assumption had cost Glenn and Abraham their lives.

You would never admit it, not to Negan, not to yourself—not to anyone—but the moment that the door to the RV swung open, you were just as attracted to him as he was to you. He may have been the man that both Hilltop and the Kingdom had warned your group about, but even you couldn’t deny that he was beautiful—psychotic or not.

As hard as you tried to fight it, your attraction to him had only grown since that horrible night, and after finally succumbing to it when you’d shared a kiss with him just yesterday, you’d gone out of your way to put some distance between the two of you. Until now, when you knew that continuing to avoid him could result in something horrible for Alexandria.

“Well, look who it is!” Negan exclaimed as he appeared in the doorway, opening his arms wide. He was attempting to hide his anger at finding his bed empty that morning with his typical show of bravado, but deep within his hazel eyes, you knew that the anger was laced with something else.

Hurt?

No, it wasn’t possible.

No fucking way.

This was Negan. He wasn’t capable of that emotion.

You brushed those thoughts to the back of your mind, finding it very easy to act as if it hadn’t happened when he continued with his usual theatrics. After allowing him to lure you to his apartment with dinner and drinks the previous evening, Negan had convinced you to stay the night, and you’d agreed, mostly because you didn’t want anyone to catch you leaving his bedroom so late. The entire evening had been established as a way to pay him back after he’d agreed to let Dr. Carson go to Alexandria to treat Carl, who had developed pneumonia after going on a run in the rain with Daryl and Sasha.

When you woke up that morning, it was in Negan’s bed, but he’d at least played the part of the perfect gentleman and taken the couch, which made it easy for you to slip out just as the sun was rising, completely unnoticed.

“What do you want?” You snapped, annoyed.

Stepping back, Negan opened his door wider to let you in, the flash of emotion you’d just seen on his face quickly forgotten as his signature grin replaced it, stretching wide across his handsome face. Foolishly ignoring your conscience for the second time that day, you stepped forward, entering his apartment.

“Pretty sure you know the answer to that question.” He grinned.

“And you chose me rather than forcing yourself on one of your ‘wives’?” An exaggerated gasp left your lips as you placed a hand to your chest with mock pride. “I’m honored.”

Negan shut the door behind you and within seconds you could feel him on your heels, his warm breath ghosting the back of your neck. “You really think I need to force myself on anyone, darlin’?”

Ignoring his proximity, you moved away, stepping over to the kitchenette and mindlessly running your hand over the counter. Turning to face him now that you’d put some distance between the two of you, you crossed your arms over your chest and narrowed your eyes at him.

While Negan may not have noticed you leaving his bedroom that morning, someone else had. Sherry. The two of you had walked back to the cafeteria where she’d filled you in on how she had become Negan’s wife just a few weeks ago. It was an ultimatum that she’d agreed to in order to keep her real husband from receiving a worse punishment than the iron.

“I am not a rapist.” Negan continued defensively. “Every one of those women have come to me, willingly.”

“Willingly?” You scoffed, glaring at him in disbelief as your anger began to mount. “When you threaten to kill someone’s husband unless they agree to be your whore, that isn’t willingness, that’s desperation—and you fucking know it!”

Negan rubbed a hand down his jaw as he stared at you, but for once he didn’t have a witty comeback to toss your way. If the circumstances had been different, you would’ve celebrated such a victory. The man who never shut up, finally silenced? It certainly was a sight to see. As it was, you weren’t exactly in the mood for celebrating.

“That’s right, I talked to Sherry. Try again, asshole.”

For a moment he remained silent, tapping two fingers against his bottom lip as he appeared to be deep in thought. But when he met your eyes again and you watched as that wicked grin returned to his features, you knew that he felt no sense of shame, and your victory over him was short-lived.

“Ah, I know what this is . . .” He began, his deep, gravelly voice practically purring as he sauntered closer and lowered his hands to your hips. “You jealous, baby?”

Rolling your eyes in pure disgust, you covered your face with your hands, groaning loudly. “Oh, I fucking hate you!”

Negan’s grip moved from your hips to your forearms, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe for a brief, absurd, fleeting moment I didn’t absolutely despise you last night—but that’s over. Done. I want to go home. I want to go back to Alexandria.”

For a moment, nothing was said. He worked his jaw as he took in your words, but refused to believe in them. “Not happening.”

“Why?” You hissed, pushing his hands away when he attempted to return them to your waist.

Negan frowned but didn’t reply.

You couldn’t believe that you’d managed to stump him twice in one night.

“I asked you a fucking question.”

“Take it easy.” He warned you.

“Take it easy?’” You laughed, outraged by how nonchalant he was being. Negan, who could put your potty mouth to shame, even on an off day. Nowhere near in the mood for this, you slammed your hands up against his chest, throwing all your weight forward and shoving him as hard as you could.

“Why the fuck not, Negan? Rick and the others have been killing themselves getting you everything you’ve asked for. They haven’t let you down once!”

Before you could fully remove your hands from his chest, he grabbed you by the wrists and pressed you to the wall, crowding your body with his.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You absolutely hated yourself for the abrupt feeling of desire warming in the pit of your stomach as he closed in on you, those dark eyes staring you down in a way that made your heart race.

“Because I’m not letting you go. Because it’s different with you. I felt it—you felt it. I fucking know that you felt it.” Raising his hand, he moved it forward to cup your chin, his thumb and forefinger dipping down to graze the sides of your neck. “And I haven’t fucked any of those women, not since you got here.”

“And what do you want for that? A prize?” You hissed, desperately trying to keep your train of thought on what was important. “This isn’t me being jealous of your harem, this is me being disgusted with you for taking advantage of these women in the first place.”

“Didn’t seem to bother you last night when you kissed me.” He murmured, his eyes darting down to your lips.

“You kissed me.” You corrected him.

“And you kissed me back.” He smirked.

Lowering his hands from your face, he placed them over your hips once more and pulled you flush against him, letting you feel what thoughts of the previous night were doing to him. You closed your eyes at the sensation as he molded your body to the erect outline of his cock, your resolve weakening.

“That was a mistake.” You whispered, hating the pathetic sound of your voice.

“You don’t believe that.” He argued.

Biting into your bottom lip, you swallowed hard but said no more, not sure that you could trust what might come out of your mouth next.

Suddenly, Negan scoffed. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

Finally opening your eyes to look at him, you narrowed them into a glare, daring him to elaborate.

“I let you pick the job you wanted, excluded you from the point system. Hell, I even let you take that hick piece of trash’s place—"

At the mention of Daryl, you swung your hand out and slapped him across the face so hard that it left your palm numb and stinging. Negan’s head whipped to the side from the impact, and when he looked back at you, that smug smile was finally gone from his lips.

“Don’t you fucking call him that.”

Negan growled and in the blink of an eye, pressed you back once more, slamming his free hand against the space beside your head. Your back connected with the dry wall, a startled gasp leaving your lips as you stared up at him, wondering if you’d finally gone too far. Moving his hand to your throat, he gave it a gentle squeeze but even as you felt your heartbeat quicken from the contact, you weren't scared of him. This wasn't fear you felt, this was something else entirely, and when his eyes darkened and he lunged forward to roughly press his lips to yours, you kissed him back rather than allow yourself time to think about what that feeling was.

Negan’s kiss was hungry; his mouth devouring your lips, tongue, and every single moan that escaped you while his strong hands held your face far more gently than you’d ever thought him capable of. Opening and closing your mouth against his, you returned each of his kisses with equal fervor; a mixture of passion, anger, lust, hatred—every single emotion you’d ever felt for him, merging into one—your hands clutching his shoulders as he moved you from the wall and carefully backed you over towards his bed.

Gently breaking the kiss, Negan stared down the several inches he had on you, the look on his face very much resembling a starved man. With your eyes on his, you opened your mouth to speak when a sharp gasp left your mouth instead, his hands having found your ass and lifted you into the air against him before gently setting you down on his bed. Over the next moment or two he took his time removing your button-up flannel, tank top and jeans, his lips tenderly kissing every new inch of skin that became exposed to him.

Moving his hands to unclasp your bra, he let it drop to the side before lowering his body over yours. Negan had always considered himself an ass man, but with you he didn’t want to graze over a single body part. Pressing his lips to your neck, he used both hands to cup your beautiful breasts to his face, and you welcomed the rough feel of his calloused hands and warm tongue as his mouth lowered to each smooth mound long enough to tongue both of your nipples into stiff peaks. His hands continued their descent to your hips, your thighs, your ass, until finally he hooked his thumbs beneath your underwear and pulled it off.

Quickly removing his own shirt, Negan loomed over you, his eyes greedily taking in every inch of your body with a groan that let you know he was loving what he saw. Wasting absolutely no time, he grabbed you beneath your knees and dragged your ass to the center of the bed as he kneeled, pulling you close to his face and dipping his mouth between your legs. Breathing heavily as you allowed your body to recline against the pillows, you tilted your chin, watching as he skimmed the soft skin of your inner thighs, the scratch of his beard and feel of his lips teasing you mercilessly.

“Look at my beautiful girl,” He grunted in awe, groaning at the sight of you completely spread before him, pink and smooth and glistening with your slick arousal. You’d been wet from the moment you saw his face and heard his voice when he’d first opened that door, and if he’d given you any time to think it through you’d probably be a little embarrassed, but then he leaned forward to lay a sloppy kiss over your wet heat and all those thoughts of shame faded away.

“Fuck—" You cursed, tossing your head back as his mouth found your clit with ease, his tongue darting forward to caress the tiny bundle of nerves as he used his lips to suck it further into his mouth. Instinctively, your back arched and your hips lifted off the mattress to be closer to his skilled mouth as he feasted on you. Anticipating your response, Negan slid his hands beneath you to grip your perfect ass, anchoring your body to him with his hands and mouth as his eyes traveled up to your face. He’d waited far too long to see you at his mercy, and he wasn’t going to miss a goddamn second of it.

After a few more moments spent skillfully eating your pussy and learning just what you liked, one of the strong hands clutching your ass slid from beneath you and returned a second later when he thrust two of his long fingers inside of your tight cunt, stretching you. Negan lifted his head for a breath and groaned against you as he felt resistance meeting his knuckles.

“So fuckin’ tight, aren’t you, darlin’?”

Staring down at his beautiful face nestled between your thighs, you nodded eagerly, jerking your hips to the rhythm of his fingers as you shamelessly began to fuck yourself up and down on top of them. You wanted more—you wanted him—and anything less wasn’t going to satisfy you for long. Snaking a hand along your abdomen, you slid it up between your breasts and shoved a closed fist against your lips, biting the skin of your knuckle.

“Fuck,” He hissed, his eyes hooded with pleasure as he watched you move your beautiful body in sync with his fingers, your breasts bouncing with each movement as he curled his fingers inside you to graze that tightness within that left you writhing with pleasure. You were a goddamn treasure, and he was loving every second of this. “And so fuckin’ wet for me, too.”

Lowering his head once more, Negan lashed his tongue over your clit again and again, slowly but insistently while he continued thrusting his long fingers in and out. He could do this all goddamn night if that’s what it took, but with the way your body was starting to shake against his mouth and fingers, he knew you were close.

“Come for me, baby.” He breathed against you, twisting his fingers deep inside as he hummed over your clit. “Let go.”

“Oh, fuck—Negan!” You cried out, feeling that beautiful heat building up in your stomach and licking down to your core, your toes curling as your body began to jerk and spasm with the most intense pleasure you’d felt in years—maybe ever. Negan lapped up every bit of your release, taking his time as he cleaned you up, his graying beard and chin glistening as he climbed back up your body.

Your breathing was beginning to slow back down, but before you could get it back to normal you caught sight of his face and lifted your hips to pull him forward. Grasping his chin, you pulled him into a heated, messy kiss that he all too happily returned.

“You want me to fuck this pretty little pussy now?” Negan murmured against your lips before leaning forward to give you another soft, languid kiss. Hearing your eager moan of approval, he grinned onto your lips as he slid his tongue forward, letting you taste yourself. Tucking his hand behind your head, he threaded his fingers through your hair and gently tugged back so that your eyes were level with his.

“Then you’re gonna be a good girl and look at me while I do it.”

Negan watched as you processed his words and as your expression went from aroused, to pissed, then back to aroused again. But he knew that he had you. Of course, it was a risk, and if it hadn’t paid off he wasn’t sure he’d be strong enough not to beg for your forgiveness. Not allowing you any time to change your mind, he slipped his middle and index fingers forward to spread your slick folds, pressing his forehead to yours as he felt you shudder beneath him.

Not letting up, he found and stroked your swollen clit, rubbing torturous circles around it with the pad of his thumb and eliciting a sharp gasp from you. A beautiful, overwhelming shock went straight back to your core; your nerves still heightened and sensitive after everything he’d just done to you with his mouth.

“You want it?” Negan repeated himself, though his tone didn’t sound the least bit impatient. He was enjoying this far too much. Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to the smooth flesh of your breasts, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses across your taut, pink nipples.

“Negan . . .” You whined.

How had you become so desperate for this man? Your enemy? How could you let him touch you with hands that had murdered your friends? Kiss you with the same mouth that had humiliated Rick, time and time again? You hated begging, and you hated the idea of begging him of all people, but in that moment you needed him to fuck you more than you needed air to breathe.

“Not good enough, baby.” He murmured. “Let me hear you say it.”

Fucking prick.

Kicking your pride to the curb, you stared up at him and nodded quickly as your teeth found your bottom lip, your gaze going from his face to the erection in his pants, then back to his dark, hazel eyes.

“I need you, Negan.” You begged, practically whimpering as your hand splayed out against his chest to grip the dark, coarse hair that grew there. “Now.”

“That’s my good girl.” Negan praised you, another smirk taking over his features.

The floor creaked beneath his weight as he stepped down from the bed to unbuckle his belt, his jeans and boxers soon joining the pile of clothes on the floor. Spitting onto his palm, he took his massive cock into his hand and gave it a few leisurely strokes as he stared down at you. Jesus. He was just as huge as he’d always assured you, and part of you fucking hated him for that.

Climbing back over you, Negan captured your lips in another kiss as he slid between your thighs, slapping the thick tip of his cock over your clit a few times before inching himself inside of you, his eyes watching as your mouth fell open in a gasp; completely overwhelmed by the sudden fullness. Meeting each other’s gaze, you both slowed to stare at one another, clearly overwhelmed by just how fucking incredible it felt to finally be joined.

When you thought back to your fantasies of fucking Negan, you’d always wanted him to take you from behind, but it was clear that he wasn’t going for that. He absolutely would not provide you with any opportunity where you could pretend this wasn’t happening. The knowledge that he would only fuck you on his terms aggravated you to no end, but if you were being honest with yourself, you loved watching his reactions to the things your bodies did together. The way his brow furrowed as he thrust forward; the way his lips parted to elicit a husky groan of bliss when he finally buried his cock deep within you. And that smile. That insufferable, shit-eating grin that spread over his face, dimples shining through his scruff, all while his eyes stayed locked on yours. You wanted to slap it off and kiss it all at the very same time.

“Jesus-fuckin’-Christ,” Negan hissed, thrusting his narrow hips forward and burying his cock deep inside what had to be the sweetest, tightest heaven he’d ever had the pleasure of fucking. He looked down, mesmerized as he watched your tight cunt swallow him whole, in and out, over and over, delighting in the sounds you made as he stretched you inch by inch and you lifted your legs to wrap around the back of his thighs and ass.

“Uhh, Negan! Mmm . . .”

Your body reacted instantly to everything he did, your hands clutching his chest as you rolled your hips against his again and again, giving as good as you got. This man might be a monster, but he knew exactly what your body needed, and for right now that was enough to help you temporarily forget all the things that he’d done to the people you loved.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good,” Negan hummed, digging his fingers into your hips as he steadied himself, pulling them just how he needed as he set up a steady rhythm. The sounds of his grunts and the wet, obscene noise of his cock going in and out of your pussy as it impaled you at such a delicious angle grew louder, and you could only pray that no one was loitering around in the hallway when you cried out his name while he fucked you harder, deeper, and better than anyone else ever had or could.

“Say it again,” Negan grunted, leaning over your body to gently palm your throat, pinning you in place as he used his other hand to swipe his thumb over your clit. “Fuckin’ say my name, baby. ”

“Negan,” You cried, not even ashamed as you felt him circling hard at your clit. “Fuck, Negan, fuck!”

Every time your hips rose to meet his—your movements, your expressions, your cries, his name on your lips, everything you were, everything you did—it all pushed him further to the edge. Anticipating that you were close, he quickened his pace, knowing that he wouldn’t be far behind.

“Look at me while you come all over my cock, pretty girl.” He demanded as he moved his hand from your throat to your mouth to trace your plush, swollen lips.

As if out of instinct, you flicked your tongue forward, lashing over the pad of his thumb and earning a low growl from him when you did exactly as he said, holding his gaze as he teased your climax from you, that delicious warmth fluttering through your stomach, then down further as your cunt pulsated and throbbed over his cock through every wave of your pleasure.

Gripping your hips, Negan moaned with you, lost entirely in your gaze as he chased his own release. Lowering his head, he met your lips once more in a bruising kiss as his cock swelled inside of your cunt and he spilled himself deep inside of you with several, brutal strokes.

Finally spent, Negan rolled to the side, reclining against the mattress and breathing deeply as he rested his hand over his abdomen. For a moment the two of you laid in peaceful silence, but only for a moment. Finally coming down from your high, you moved your palms to the mattress, about to push yourself up when Negan grabbed your right hand.

“Stay.” He said softly.

Quickly looking over at him, you frowned, about to shake your head no when he gripped you harder.

“Look, you can go back to goddamn hating me tomorrow. Just . . . just give me tonight first.” He pleaded.

Watching closely as he held your gaze, you found yourself at a loss for words. In that moment, Negan was being completely vulnerable, and he was letting you see that—more than that, he was begging you to stay. After a few seconds, he looked down, assuming you were going to deny him anyway, when you suddenly squeezed his hand back.

Rather than answer right away, you took his face in your hands and leaned forward to press a slow, tender kiss to his lips. When you broke it a few seconds later, you opened your eyes to find him staring at you searchingly.

“Tonight," You promised. “You can have tonight.

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 147 }

light in the darkness.

antares!sung jinwoo x fem.reader

warnings: some suggestive themes, but nothing too explicit. still, if you’re a minor, or don’t wish to read it, i highly suggest you skip this story.

the monarch of destruction hated the fact that he had been trapped in some weak human’s body the moment he awakens. currently, he looks in the mirror while mocking such weak features, hating his boring grey eyes and the way his black hair fell across his face. as he was berating his reflection, a series of knocks were heard coming from his apartment.

he clicks his tongue in annoyance, walking away from the bathroom. he takes great strides toward the door while complaining, “who dares to disturb me at this hour?”

he slams the door open, making a shy and meek looking woman jump back in response. he glares down at her, yet felt his chest twist painfully at the mere sight of her.

“who are you?” he manages to spit out at the girl, all while feeling his heart racing from within the confines of his chest. what was this? did the meek human fall in love with an equally meek woman?

she seems taken aback by his question. “jinwoo, did you hit your head? i’m your girlfriend, remember? and i wanted to check on you. people were saying that you had a fever and had to miss out on yesterday’s raid… so i came here to see if you needed me.”

ah, so his assumptions were correct, she was someone important to this weak human after all. the fact that this woman was his lover made things a bit more fun for him-

how positively amusing.

perhaps he should have some fun with her after all?

“i do need you. you’re coming with me, love.”

her eyes widen in response to the sudden, deep tone of his voice, letting out a gasp when he steps closer to her.

smirking down at her, antares’ eyes glow red the moment he takes her into his arms and carries her back to his bed. he basks in her stutters and tosses her body against the mattress, kissing her deeply in response.

her soft moans was enough to set his heart aflame; this human heart was completely and utterly devoted to her as he slotted his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. despite how this was the first time he ever kissed her, it was as though this newly reborn body of his remembered her. each kiss felt like a homecoming he didn’t wish to move away from, his lips kept locked with hers as he uses his hands to gently brush back the fabric of her clothes.

his hands work on sliding off her clothes in a fast pace as he dominated her, suddenly not minding this pathetic human form of his-

because he knew that when he finally possessed her body… then she wouldn’t be torn apart by him.

the moment the woman was left bare for him was when he pushes himself deep inside of her, basking in her moans while trapping her against the sheets. the feel of her warmth surrounding him was like his own personal sanctuary as he groans in response. he holds on to her hand while moving with a desperation, feeling his heart become lighter when her arms wrapped around him, practically clinging to him as he became one with her over and over again.

and when he finally reaches his peak, he spills everything inside of her with a growl-

claiming her as his completely…

{ … }

jinwoo awakens with a start, eyes going wide as a deep blush paints his features.

his heart was pounding at the memory of that strange (yet seductive) dream. he sits up in bed, allowing the blankets to fall from his form as he looks down at you, still sleeping peacefully from beside him.

he remembers the dream vividly, making his heart pound as he began to ache for you. leaning over to admire your sleeping features, he thinks to his soldiers who were currently watching him.

close your eyes and give me some privacy with your queen.

each of his shadow soldiers nod in unison before disappearing out of sight, allowing jinwoo to hold you in his arms as his lips met with yours in a sweet kiss. his gentle movements were enough to help you awaken, meeting his gaze with a tired, but loving, smile.

“hey jinwoo…” you call out his name sweetly as he takes a hold of your legs and wraps it around his waist.

“ah…?!” you began to feel flustered when he lay you back down on the bed, eyes becoming dilated with desire for you as he gently frames at your face with his two hands.

“will you let me… make love to you?”

he could feel the embarrassment coming off of you in waves, but jinwoo knew he had to do something to get rid of this jealousy…!

“i-i-“ you were stuttering, but jinwoo was practically pleading at you.

“please… i just… i just need to feel you, that’s all.”

he watches as you purse your lips while looking away from him, your cheeks completely heated up in response to his request.

“f-fine…” you finally relent to him with a pout, earning a smile from him.

with his eyes glowing brightly with happiness, jinwoo hovers over you and begins to kiss you, allowing his hands to admire and touch each and every inch of you.

even though he knew that it was all just a dream and that you never once slept with a version of him that didn’t exist, jinwoo couldn’t help it-

you were his and his alone; there was no way he’d allow a selfish and alternate version of him claim you.

which was what prompted him to make love to you for several hours while in the safety and comfort of his bed, basking in your sighs of his name as he thanked the gods for allowing this to be his reality.

a.n. - my face is so hot while writing this! i’m still not brave enough to write detailed intimate and nsfw things with jinwoo, even though i have had many fantasies ahhhh everyone do not perceive me right now !! 😭😭😭😭

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[jude-duarte-wannabe]

Hi hi!! This is a large order if you are up for it!

- Carrot cake, apple tart, & a chocolate chip cookie

- Coconut milk, and a (light/tipsy) Irish coffee

Could you get either Carlos or Alex (F1) to serve it please!

we can't be friends

order up!

hi lovely <3 thanks for the request, i do love a good friends to lovers story, your chosen prompts will be bolded.

pairing; carlos sainz jr x female reader

blurb; one too many drinks down the hatch and you decide to shoot your shot with your best friend who you've wanted for far too long.

warnings; dirty talking, drunk sex, choking, google translated spanish, soft sex turned rough, spitting, drunk makeout session, doggy style, hair pulling and creampie. [let me know if i missed anything!]

irish coffee; drunk sex coconut milk; friends to lovers carrot cake; "dirty girl" chocolate chip cookie; "did you just call me pretty boy" apple tart; "what do you mean you want me to choke you"

word count; 4.4k

currently playing; just friends by why don't we "i got tunnel vision, think it's time that i confessed, if i could just get my arms around you, baby, don't you say that we're just friends, when you know we could be lovers instead wanna give you a night you'll never forget"

“i never knew i could want you like this” carlos’s breath was hot against your neck as he nipped at the sensitive skin behind your ear.

you'd know carlos practically your whole life having grown up together since your families were super close, you'd watched eachother go through relationship after relationship each one a bigger disappointment than the last.

somewhere along the way you'd seen a different side of carlos when your date canceled and so you asked carlos to dinner instead, you saw him in a new light that night.

ever since there you'd had a thing for him, you'd craved his touch and yearned for him in a way that no one should ever yearn for their best friend.

you could feel your heart racing as carlos's lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, you tangled your fingers in his dark curls, pulling him closer.

"carlos," you breathed, barely able to any form coherent thoughts amongst the fog swirling in your brain. "we shouldn't..."

he pulled back slightly, his brown eyes searching yours. "do you want me to stop?"

you knew you should say yes after all this could ruin everything - your friendship, your families' relationship, but looking into his eyes, feeling the heat of his body pressed against yours, you couldn't bring yourself to push him away.

"no," you whispered. "don't stop."

a slow smile spread across his face as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, all those years of pent-up longing and desire poured out as you kissed him back with equal fervor.

his hands roamed your body, gripped at your waist, pulling you closer by the second “do you really want to do this here” you giggled.

"maybe not" carlos murmured, his lips trailing down to your collarbone. "but i don't think i can wait much longer."

you shivered at his touch, your fingers tangling in his dark curls, the storage closet of the upbeat club you'd started your night in was cramped and dimly lit, the scent of cleaning supplies mingling with carlos's addictive cologne.

you knew that anyone including another driver or one of their girlfriends could walk in at any moment, but the thrill of possibly being caught in such a compromising position only heightened your desire.

"we shouldn't," you whispered halfheartedly, even as your body arched against his, desperate for his touch.

carlos's hand slid under your shirt, his fingertips tracing patterns on your bare skin. "tell me to stop," he challenged, his voice husky.

instead of responding, to him you captured his lips in a searing kiss, all thoughts of propriety flew from your mind as carlos pressed you against the shelves, his body hot and hard against yours.

“i don’t ever want you to stop but surely we can take this somewhere more private” you asked, holding up the key card to your hotel room “my hotel’s not far.. lets get out of this fucking club”

carlos's eyes darkened with desire as he saw the key card. "lead the way," he growled, reluctantly stepping back to let you open the door.

you peered out into the hallway, making sure the coast was clear before slipping out of the closet. carlos followed close behind, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back as you weaved through the crowded club.

the pulsing music and flashing lights seemed to fade into the background, your senses hyper-focused on carlos's touch and the electricity crackling between you.

as soon as you stepped outside, carlos hailed a taxi with impressive speed. the cool night air did little to temper the heat building between you.

in the backseat, carlos pulled you close so that you were practically straddling him, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss that left you breathless.

"how much farther?" he murmured against your neck.

"no clue, lets just enjoy this chico bonito"

carlos chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin, his hands roamed down your back, pulling you even closer.

"did you just call me pretty boy" he asked in an amused tone, pulling your hips tighter against his own.

"why... do you like it" you asked, breath hot against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair ends.

"mmh, i like the sound of it" he purred, nipping gently at your earlobe, the taxi hit a bump, jostling you both.

you giggled, steadying yourself with hands on his broad shoulders, outside the window, streetlights blurred past in the darkness, the taxi driver seemed oblivious to your passionate embrace in the backseat.

carlos's fingers tangled in your hair as he guided your lips back to his, your kiss deepening, tongues dancing, as heat built between your bodies, you shifted your hips, grinding on carlo's lap which elicited a low groan from him.

"dios mío," he breathed. "you're driving me crazy, mi amor."

you smiled wickedly, trailing kisses along his jaw. "you should call me that more often" you suggested, hands beginning to trail down his chest, pulling him even closer by the fabric of his shirt.

carlos chuckled, his breath hot against your ear. "mi amor," he whispered, voice husky with desire. "mi vida, mi corazón." his hands roamed your back, fingers tracing patterns that sent shivers zapping up ans down your spine.

you nipped at his earlobe, reveling in the way his body tensed beneath you. "keep talking," you murmured and he obliged, a stream of spanish endearments falling from his lips as your fingers snuck beneath the fabric of his button down, seeking out his warm skin.

"easy..." carlos hissed, gripping your wrist in between his fingers "let's not undress in front of the taxi driver now" he chuckled, the sound of it almost made you moan.

you reluctantly withdrew your hands, fingers grazing along his skin with a featherlight touch, but you couldn't however resist pressing a heated kisses to skin of his neck.

carlos groaned softly, his fingers gripping waist, the taxi lurched to a stop and the driver banged on the partition window, carlos reached for his wallet, lifting his hips which caused his crotch to press against your core as he retrieved it from his back pocket.

he practically threw some bills at the driver before pulling you out of the taxi and onto the sidewalk, the cool night air did little to calm the fire burning beneath your skin or the deep rooted desire you felt for your best friend.

you managed to remain composed making your way through the lobby and into the elevator, where carlos nipped and nibbled at the skin of neck.

carlos tugged you close, his lips finding yours in a desperate kiss as you fumbled with the hotel key card, you pushed him against the door, drinking in his gasps and sighs like they were a drug that you needed to survive.

"dios mío," he breathed as the lock finally clicked open, the two of you tumbled inside, hands roaming and clothes flying, landing in different corners of the room to be forgotten, carlos lifted you easily, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bed

he laid you down, dark eyes roving over your form and with a burning desire simmering beneath his skin, his hand skimmed up your body, roaming over your soft form with featherlight touches.

your breath hitched as his fingers danced across your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake, carlos leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck, hot and insistent as you arched against him, a soft moan escaping your lips.

"hermosa," he murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky with need, his hand tangled in your hair, tugging gently to expose more of your neck to his hungry mouth.

you ran your fingers down his back, feeling the muscles ripple beneath your touch as carlos's lips found yours in a searing kiss, tongues tangling as passion consumed you both.

your bodies pressed together, skin on skin, the heat between you building, he pulled back slightly, dark eyes meeting yours, filled with a mix of desire and something deeper, more tender.

"how could i never see you... right in front of me too" carlos mumbled, thumb running over your cheek gently "what do you mean" you questioned.

carlos let out a soft chuckle, his breath warm against your skin. "all this time, i thought we were just friends, but now..." his voice trailed off as he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.

your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears as you gazed into his soft soulful brown eyes, eyes that you loved so dearly "now what?" you whispered, barely able to form the words.

his hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. "now i see you, really see you and i can't believe i was so blind before."

you closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. "carlos, i-"

but before you could finish, his lips were on yours, soft yet urgent, the kiss deepened, years of unspoken longing pouring out between you. when you finally broke apart, breathless.

carlos cupped your face in his hands, fingers tracing down to your jaw. "i mean, we've been friends for so long and i-" he trailed off, unsure of if he should say what was on his mind.

your heart raced at his words, hardly daring to believe that he could possibly be about to confess that he loved you like you loved him. "carlos... mi sol, what are you thinking?" you whispered.

carlos's dark eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty as he took a shaky breath, his hands still cradling your face with a gentleness only he had ever shown you.

"i... i don't know how to say this without risking everything we have," he murmured, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

you leaned into his touch, your own hands coming up to rest on his wrists. "you can tell me anything, carlito, you know that."

he nodded, swallowing hard. "the thing is, i... i think i'm in love with you, no, i know i am and i have been for a long time and i can't keep pretending that i don't feel this way anymore."

your breath caught in your throat, joy blooming in your chest as you shivered at his confession, you'd harbored secret feelings for carlos for years, never imagining he might reciprocate.

"carlito" you breathed, a smile spreading across your face. "i love you too, i've been waiting to hear say you loved me for years... your everything to me.. mi alma, mi amado... mi vida"

carlos listened to the words spilling from your lips intently, his heart practically leaping into his throat, he had to be hearing things, this had to be some kind of dream.

hearing you say that you'd longed after him for years.. his childhood best friend.. in love with him for years and he had never noticed.. how stupid could he be.

for a good few seconds, carlos was speechless and unsure of what to say, his mind still trying to catch up and comprehend what he had just heard, his hands that cupped your cheeks pulled your face closer.

"mi vida" he mumbled "your life" the way he'd worded himself sounded like a question and while you weren't sure, you still answered.

"mi vida.. my life, i live for you carlito" you confirmed, carlos’s heart raced, he had a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him, he had spent years not seeing what was right in front of him, and now it felt like everything had shifted in an instant.

his eyes searched your own, wanting to find the truth, the depth of what you were saying. “you... you really mean that?” his voice was barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid to shatter the moment that had been created between you both.

“i do” you replied “i’ve tried to hide it but it’s always been you, carlito. always.”

carlos took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as all of the memories flooded back—every shared secret, every late-night laugh, and every moment that you'd ever shared together, how could he have been so blind.

with a gentle pull, he leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours. “i’ve been so stupid,” he admitted, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “i should have known., i’ve felt it too, you know, i just didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

you felt a warmth bloom in your chest at his confession, in that moment, everything around you faded—the distant sounds of the city, the buzzing of life outside, even the weight of uncertainty.

all that mattered was him, and the soft intensity of his soulful brown eyes drawing you in.

“carlos,” you murmured, your heart thudding against your ribs, no answer came from him and soon a silence stretched between you, heavy with anticipation.

slowly, almost hesitantly, carlos closed the distance between you both, his lips brushing against yours, it was a tentative kiss at first, much unlike your previous ones, a gentle exploration of what had long been buried beneath years of friendship.

he soon deepened the kiss and you felt yourself dissolve into the warmth of his embrace, your hands wound their way into his hair tugging on the locks softly as he slipped his tongue past your parted lips with eagerness.

a soft moan escaped you as his tongue explored your mouth, sending shivers zapping up your spine as his hands roamed your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

you pressed yourself closer, craving more of carlos's intoxicating touch, the world around you seemed to fade away until all that existed was the two of you, lost in the moment.

his lips left yours to blaze a path along your jaw and neck, you tilted your head, offering better access as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin.

your breath came in short gasps, and desire coursed through your veins.

"we should stop," you whispered half-heartedly, as your body arched into his, carlos pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire as they met yours. "do you really want to?" he asked, his voice husky.

"don't you dare stop" you whimpered, desire taking over any rational thought left in your mind as you stuck out your tongue, asking him with eyes for something you'd never let anyone else ever do.

carlos understood what you wanted, fingers gripping your face "dirty girl" he murmured but the smirk currently decorating his handsome features told you he loved it as he spat into your mouth and you then swallowed with eagerness.

a shiver ran through your body as you savored the taste, your eyes locked onto carlos's intense gaze as his grip on your face tightened, fingers digging into your skin as he leaned in close, his hot breath ghosting over your ear.

"you want more, don't you?" he whispered, his voice low and husky, you nodded frantically, beyond words at this point.

carlos chuckled darkly, trailing his free hand down your neck and across your collarbone. "such a greedy little thing, i wonder just how far you'll let me go?"

you gasped, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through you at the thought that appeared in your mind, this was uncharted territory for you but there was no one you trusted more than carlos and no one you wanted to explore this idea with more than him.

"further than you might think.." you murmured, bringing his large hand up and laying it against your throat "i want you to choke me" you asked and he stilled, not moving an inch.

"what do you mean you want me to choke you" carlos asked in a flabbergasted tone, surprised that you would ask such a thing but not at all against it.

you smiled softly, a mixture of shyness and desire flickering across your face. "i mean exactly what i said," you whispered, pressing his hand more firmly against your neck. "i trust you, carlito, i want to feel how strong you are"

carlos hesitated, his dark eyes searching yours, you could see the conflict within him - the desire to please you warring with his innate protectiveness over you, one that had been present your whole lives.

"i don't want to hurt you," he said softly, his thumb caressing your jawline.

"you won't" you assured him, your pulse quickening beneath his touch. "i'll tell you if it's too much, please, i need this, i need you mi vida" you begged, your tone was almost pitiful.

something in your voice must have convinced him because you saw the moment his resolve crumbled and his grip tightened ever so slightly, a thrill running through your body. "if you're sure," he murmured.

carlos's fingers flexed experimentally against your throat, his touch both gentle and firm at the same time, you felt your breath catch, a delicious tension coiling in your belly.

"like this?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

you nodded, unable to speak as the pressure increased bit by bit, each time more pleasurable than the last, your eyes fluttered closed, savoring the heady mix of vulnerability and arousal.

carlos's free hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your parted lips.

"open your eyes," he commanded softly. "i need to see you." his voice was almost a whimper, a sound which would drive you crazy by the end of the night if kept hearing it and so you obeyed, meeting his intense gaze.

the raw desire you saw there made you shiver as carlos leaned in, his breath hot against your ear.

"tell me if it's too much," he whispered before capturing your lips in a searing kiss, one that if his hand was not currently wrapped around your throat would have left you completely breathless.

your leg hooked around his waist, pulling his crotch tighter against yours in the mix of your passionate embrace.

carlos groaned against your mouth, his hips grinding against yours in response, the friction sent sparks of pleasure coursing through your body.

his hand at your throat tightened ever so slightly, the pressure intoxicating, you broke the kiss, gasping for air. "more," you pleaded, your voice husky with desire.

his dark eyes blazed as he looked at you, pupils blown wide with lust and then without warning, he spun you around so you rested on all fours, his crotch pressing against ass as he tugged on your hair to whisper against your ear.

"is this what you want?" he growled, his hand sliding down your side to grip your hip possessively to which you could only whimper in response, overcome by the sensations he was awakening in you.

"answer me," he demanded, his voice rough with desire, his fingers dug into your flesh, sure to leave marks and while you didn't know in the moment, he would kiss them better later, angry at himself for having hurt you.

you gasped, struggling to form words as heat pooled in your core. "y-yes," you finally managed to stammer. "please carlito.."

carlos chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "such a needy little thing," he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck.

his free hand snaked around to caress your stomach, inching lower with agonizing slowness.

you arched into his touch, desperate for more and he responded by grinding against you, his hardness evident through the layers of clothing still separating you.

a moan escaped your lips as carlos nipped at your earlobe. "i'm going to make you scream my name," he promised, his fingers finally reaching their destination.

your breathing hitched as carlos's skilled fingers teased you, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, you clutched at the bed sheets beneath you, arms and legs becoming unstable.

"please," you whimpered, beyond caring how needy you sounded.

carlos chuckled darkly, his lips trailing down your neck. "so impatient," he murmured against your flushed skin, he pulled back slightly, his intense gaze meeting yours over your shoulder as his fingers continued their torturous ministrations.

you squirmed beneath him, desperate for more friction. "tell me what you want," carlos commanded, his voice husky with desire.

"you," you gasped. "i want you. all of you." a wicked grin spread across his face. "as you wish”

carlos's fingers finally relented, drawing a frustrated whine from your lips but your disappointment was short-lived as you felt him shift behind you, his muscular body pressing against yours.

his lips found your ear, hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he whispered "are you ready for me, mi amor?"

you nodded frantically, words failing you as anticipation coiled tightly in your core, with agonizing slowness, carlos moved aside the thin soaked fabric of your panties and began to enter you, stretching and filling you exquisitely.

you moaned, low and needy, as he bottomed out, your bodies flush against each other.

"so perfect," carlos groaned, his hips beginning a steady rhythm that had you seeing stars, the only sounds that could be heard within the walls of your hotel room being; the shared moans and gasps that escaped you both, the clapping of his hips against your ass as he pounded into like a rabbit experiencing his first heat and the sticky sound of your arousal.

you pushed back against him, matching his movements and chasing your pleasure.

carlos gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh as he increased his pace, the headboard banging rhythmically against the wall, only adding to the symphony of passion.

you buried your face in the pillow, muffling your cries of ecstasy as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

"god, you feel amazing," carlos panted, his voice husky with desire, he leaned forward, pressing his chest against your back and nipped at your earlobe "fucking made for mi vida"

the change in angle sent sparks of electricity through your body and you shuddered beneath him.

your fingers clutched desperately at the sheets, your knuckles began to turn white as you gripped tighter, a moan escaped your lips, the sound muffled by the pillow beneath you.

carlos's hot breath ghosted across your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "that's it, mi amor," he growled, his hips snapping forward with increased fervor. "let me hear you."

you turned your head, gasping for air as the pleasure built within you, carlos's hand slid down your side, fingers digging into your hip as he pulled you back against him.

the room filled with the sounds of skin on skin, heavy breathing, and desperate whimpers.

"carlos," you breathed, your voice wavering with each thrust. "i'm close... so close..."

he groaned in response, his movements becoming more erratic. "come for me, cariño," he commanded, his lips brushing against your shoulder.

your body tensed as waves of pleasure washed over you, carlos's name escaping your lips in a breathless moan, he held you tightly as you shuddered against him, climax hitting your harder than it ever had before.

you collapsed against the bed, carlos's hips still smacking against your own as he chased the release he so desired.

carlos's pace became more erratic, his breathing ragged as he neared his own peak, fingers digging into your hips, holding you steady as he thrust deeper.

you whimpered softly, oversensitive but reveling in his passion, you clenched around him and carlos's release soon followed, painting your inner walls white with his cum, as a guttural groan escaped him.

carlos had finally found his release, his body tensing as he pulsed inside you, he collapsed beside you, both of you panting heavily.

as your breathing slowed, carlos pulled you close, nuzzling into your neck, his lips brushing agaisnt your skin as he murmured words of affection.

you smiled, feeling sated and cherished in his arms, your fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest as you basked in the afterglow of you lovemaking together.

as your breathing slowly returned to normal, carlos peppered soft kisses along your neck and collarbone. "te amo," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

you turned to face him, drinking in the sight of his flushed cheeks and tousled hair.

"i love you too," you whispered back, tracing your fingers along his jawline, carlos pulled you closer, nuzzling into your hair, the gentle rise and fall of his chest lulled you into a peaceful contentment.

"that was fucking incredible" you breathed and carlos chuckled softly, the vibrations rumbling through his chest. "you're incredible," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

a pleasant shiver ran down your spine as you nestled closer, relishing the warmth of his body against yours, your fingers lazily traced patterns on his skin, mapping the contours of his muscles beneath.

"i never want this moment to end," you sighed, your eyes fluttering closed, carlos's hand found yours, intertwining your fingers. "then let's make it last," he said, his voice low and husky.

he tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss that made your toes curl, as you melted into the kiss, the world around you faded away, there was only carlos, his touch, his scent, the taste of his lips.

“it’s official you know” you giggled lightly when the kiss finally broke

"what's official?" carlos asked, his eyes dancing with amusement as he gazed at you.

you propped yourself up on one elbow, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. "that we can’t be friends anymore because you've ruined me for anyone else, no one could ever compare to you carlito."

carlos's expression softened, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "good," he said, his thumb gently caressing your skin. "because i don't plan on letting you go, ever."

your heart swelled with emotion and you leaned in to press a tender kiss to his lips, as you pulled back, carlos's eyes roamed your face, drinking in every detail as if committing it to memory.

“you've changed everything" carlos whispered, his voice filled with wonder. "i never knew i could feel this way."

you felt a warmth bloom in your chest at his words. "me neither," you admitted softly “my feelings for you were always the same until i saw you in different light”

you giggled at the thought “look at us, two childhood friends.. falling in love” carlos pulled you closer as his arm tightened around you, pulling you flush against him.

the heat of his skin against yours sent a delicious tingle through your body, you could feel his heart beating steadily beneath your palm, a soothing rhythm that matched your own and hopefully it would continue to match yours forever.