#and i can’t do anything but lay in bed and cry and it’s not fair idc

[szczylpierdolony]

suicide is so unnecessarily dramatic and for what

[slytherinshua]

YOU, ME, AND BULBASAUR

genre. fluff. warnings. neck kisses. gunwook is extremely cute and i'm extremely delusional and in love with him. mention that reader wears makeup and dresses. pairing. gunwook x fem!reader. wc. 700. request. no. a/n. i saw gunwook like indirectly kiss taerae's neck and it made me think of just how much of a neck kisser he would be 😭 and if you know me you know i'm a neck girl and that just made me so delusional like i'm feral rn it's not okay??? also can we talk abt how fucking cute gunwook's rosy cheeks are LIKE HES THE CUTEST EVER IM GONNA CRY.

“why are you getting all pretty? you going somewhere?” the tired husky voice of your boyfriend makes a smile start to form on your lips. gunwook had been sleeping peacefully until 2 minutes ago, hugging your pillow to his chest, still tangled under the sheets. you wished you could’ve stayed in bed with him, but you had a meeting early in the morning.

“just a work meeting. wish i could’ve slept in with you, wook.” you glanced up at him apologetically through the mirror, frowning at his sleepy pout and messy hair.

“not fair…”

“i know, baby. but i’ll be back in 2 hours and then we can cuddle.” you assured him, finishing the last touches on your makeup and hair. you turned around to face gunwook properly, ruffling his bed head as you stood up.

“can’t you just stay?” gunwook asked, following you to your closet like a lost puppy.

“it’s an important meeting…” you tried your best to stay firm and not let your boyfriend have so much affect over you. but it was hard, especially when he started planting small kisses on your neck as you sifted through your hangers to find a dress. you felt a small nip land to the dip in your shoulder and neck and you gasped.

“gunwook!” you hadn’t realized he was this clingy this morning. he didn’t stop despite your reaction, pressing a softer kiss over the spot he had nibbled. you willed yourself to not get too focused on his lips on your skin, to instead figure out what you were going to wear to your meeting. but he made it so hard to even remember why you were trying to get up in the first place.

“wouldn’t you rather just stay here? with me? and bulbasaur?” he pleaded, pressing a kiss to your neck between each word. you smiled at the mention of his bulbasaur plush that you had gotten for his birthday— he slept with it every night, opting to cuddle it when you couldn’t sleep with him.

you gripped the side of a navy blue dress, hanging on your last thread, gunwook seconds away from snapping it. was the meeting more important than your clingy boyfriend? did you actually want to spend the morning in a room with a bunch of grumpy middle-aged men when you could be cuddling with your boyfriend?

“you’re lucky you’re cute in the morning…” you sighed, dropping your hand from the dress, and your boyfriend knew he had won. you could feel his victorious smile against your neck as he pressed one last kiss behind your ear. and then he started steering you towards the bed until you both fell onto the soft mattress, him laying on top of you. he nuzzled his face in your chest and closed his eyes, completely content now that he was sure he had you for the entire morning.

you looked at his sleepy face, dark hair falling over his eyes, cheeks dotted with rosy stains, cherry lips formed into the most beautiful smile. you brushed his bangs away from his face, feeling his warm skin underneath the palm of your hand. god, he took your breath away even when he wasn’t doing anything.

“since you made me miss my morning meeting, at least give me a kiss.” you nudged his chin with your hand, and he opened one eye to look up at you. he didn’t waste time after hearing your request, quickly picking himself up to hover over you and press his soft lips to yours. he sighed, finally being able to taste your lip gloss that he had watched you apply minutes ago. he had been tempted to steal a kiss from you then as well, but he was considerate enough to not ruin your makeup until he was sure you were his for the morning.

gunwook’s lips always felt like pure bliss against yours. the weight of his body on top of you was like a weighted blanket, and you were determined to not move from the position for at least another hour. gunwook was right, you would always much rather spend the morning with him… and bulbasaur. 

↳ zerobaseone taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @okshu,, @chewryy,, @haecien,, @sobun1est,,

@emmylksblog,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @chenleszone,, @sxmmerberries,,

@talking-saxy

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Animal Town (2) | Only Human

Part 1

You awake from your midday nap to the sounds of shouts from a man and a woman. Sounding like the latter is in distress you immediately run for your bat opening up the door facing the road. To find a billy goat man pulling a cow woman towards your doorstep; similar to their animal counterparts the man is short and wide sporting a dirtied tank top sleek with sweat. The female cow being pulled by tiny horns on her head is bent awkwardly wearing a revealing top with underwear and a jockstrap. Before you need to say anything the billy goat man is gruffing in your direction.

“Oh, so this is where the rumored human is. Well, aren’t you pretty?”

You don’t bother answering that. “What are you doing to here and what are you doing to her?”

Your question has him looking at the crying girl and spitefully pulling her closer as her knees buckle to the ground. All the while she’s crying and pleading incoherently. None of that seems to bother the goat man though as he spits in disgust.

“I’m showing this heifer ain’t nobody gonna want her! Dry as the Sahara this cow is she ain’t give make me any money for the food she eats.”

For emphasis he throws her to the ground, waiting for her to crawl back to him. When she opens her mouth to continue pleading he kicks the sandy dirt in her face. It makes you sick. 

“I’ll take her.”

They both look up at you in surprise. The billy goat man belts out in laughter as a disgusting smirk spreads on his face. 

“Oh, I see! Looking for another kind of milk, huh? Good luck with that!” He kicks at her again as he turns back to his truck. “Enjoy it Heifer you might actually be of worth for once.”

As he speeds off in his rickety, rusted truck she cries out making a desperate attempt to follow. Tripping over the dirt, barely a couple steps in; scraping her knees in her unconventional wardrobe. She crumples into herself crying with her hoarse voice, you let her go on for awhile before lifting her up and into the house.

You don’t know the ethics or the inner workings of farming when it comes to hybrids. Only barely catching the surface of the unregulated and often cruel practices that ensue because it’s a market for hybrids to be typically successful. With this in mind your careful to be gentle to not take it personally when she refuses to speak to you. You can’t imagine what she’s gone through.

“Here’s a towel and some soap and a washcloth. I ran a bath for you.”

“.....”

“I’ll come check on you in a bit. Take your time.”

She only wordlessly follows your commands with a sullen look on her face. Even when Titan comes around poking and prodding at the new face, she hardly reacts. 

“Hey, you! What’s your problem, huh? Why aren’t you smiling, huh? Why are you wearing (Y/n)’s clothes? It’s not fair!”

“Hey Titan give her space she’s having a rough day!”

“Well when I’m sad I just go to you. Why can’t she do that?”

“Sometimes I just don’t make everybody happy, Titan. And that’s okay.”

“That’s stupid.”

“.....Waaaaaaaaa”

“Titan!”

“Sorry!”

After canceling your dinners with the neighbors for the week much to their displeasure you settle her into a bedroom close to yours. Just in case. It isn’t until the next morning that you wake to tears on your face. Sitting above you her bust taking up most of your vision is the cow woman silently crying as she pulls at her teats only for nothing to come out. 

“I’m useless. I can’t even do this for you!”

You spend the day comforting the cow woman who’s drenching herself in endless tears. With lots of assurance that you ask for nothing from her and talk to her about her ‘job’ she finally opens up.

“...It’s Eudora.”

“Eudora…that’s a beautiful name.”

“It was what they called my mother before…he…took over. She never officially bequeath it to me…because she never got to retire.” 

Lots of hugs and praise are what fills your days with Eudora. Breaking the unhealthy practices regarding eating and what she did throughout the day. Instead of letting her lay in bed and stew in her dark thoughts, you invite her to your picnics and follow after Titan as he explores the groves of your property. Without the fear of not producing milk or verbal abuse she finally starts to smile and actually taking your advice. 

“You are a queen Eudora, just like the others at that farm.”

“Hahaha me? A queen?”

“Yes!”

“Is this some city thing you guys call people?”

“Kind of but the point is, is that you barely realize how gorgeous and desirable you are just because. It’s a way to remind you of that.”

“....Wow…that’s really sweet, (Y/n)....”

“Just being honest–”

“That’s not fair if she’s your queen I wanna be your king!”

“Titan, she’s not mine. She’s nobody’s but her own.”

“💜”

“Gross. Can I still be your king (Y/n)!?”

She really starts to settle in as your roommate, helping you with your growing list of chores. Learning alongside to cook with you as you entertain the neighbors that continue to visit so eagerly. Despite letting herself get pushed to the side when they come around she’s really come into herself. Taking the clothes you’ve given her and styling it into something that works for her. Spending time and your money into her appearance. And if that wasn’t great enough she woke up to a curious surprise. 

“AAAAAhhhh!”

“W-what’s wrong!?”

“Milk spots!”

“What?”

“I’ve got milk spots! I’m leaking!”

Turns out all her body needed was a little TLC and it felt the need to lactate better than she’s ever had before. Days in the past spent blissfully walking through your fields are spent milling herself into whatever glasses you have. As it continues it gets worse better enough so that she eventually has to call on you to help. It’s a tad awkward for her to fling the maternity breast pump you bought for her as she demands you do it for her. 

“E-eudora c’mon I’ve never done anything like this I’m not going to—”

“NO!! I NEED YOU TO DO THIS! Otherwise it’s going to take all day!”

So there goes an hour in the morning to help her release the gallons of milk her happy body produces. Constantly hearing the wanton moans of the cow woman you’re doing such a big favor. When you're finished, you have Tank frantically sniffing you both for some odd reason as he comments about the suspicious noises he was hearing.....from miles away. Eudora doesn’t bother clearing up the misunderstanding you just aren’t picking up on.

“So I believe you too were awfully loud this morning”

“Oh, you heard us, did you? Lucky dog, I’m sure you wish you were in my position.”

“Uhm I don’t know why Tank would want to do what you were doing.”

Tank is whining. “It doesn’t smell like what I think it was.”

“Ha just because you can’t smell it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Well if you’re smelling milk then that’s accurate. Eudora made way more than we can cook with so we’re going to take it to the market today.” 

“oh…milk….The kind that comes from-?”

“Her? Yeah. What kind of milk could I be talking about?”

“Come on, (Y/n)! We’re going to lose daylight talking to him.”

“I–I–wanna come too!”

With all the publicity from the suddenly amazing milk from the odd human that’s recently moved in floats around. Of course, the sweaty gross billy goat is circling back to your place. Spitting and pointing when you finally come out to the enraged short man. The cow woman and the dog boys on your property at the time are all on guard.

“I want ‘em back! You cheated me you hairless skank!!!”

“You can’t have her if she doesn’t want to go!”

“Why you–”

“Grrrr!”

“Wait (Y/n)...I’ll handle this.”

She agrees to go with him. Kissing you on the cheek as she promises she’ll return by tonight. It feels like you’ve failed as she walks into the passenger seat with her now confident strut and proud smile in an outfit she feels comfortable in. It feels like you’ve lost that is until that rickety truck pulls up again in the dead of night. Tiffany staying up with you after attempting to put you to sleep and joining you as you run to see if your friend truly had returned. 

“I’m back~!” 

“Eudora!” 

The hug is your victory and it’s also a little off center. 

“Uh, heels?”

“A gift from the girls back home. Turns out the ownership of the farm was recently called into question and I’ve recently been included in a new business venture. An opening was recently made.” 

“Does this mean you’ll be moving in back there?”

Eudora hates how eager Mama Tiffany sounds with her speeding tail.

Eudora delights in the wagging slowing down with her next words

“No, I just figure I’ll be contributing a bit more to the home. Is that alright (Y/n)?”

“Of course, I’m so proud of you Eudora!”

Mama Tiff is livid along with her sons as she watches the cow-woman move in with designer bags and start paying to reinforce the fence on your property starting with the flap Titan loves sneaking in through. From then on she too comes with you when you head into town, not afraid to pull down her designer pink glasses to verbally put down anyone still brave enough to talk down to you. But by now it isn’t all hateful talks, she’s still chasing off anyone with mildly too positive intentions.

“Look feline if you don’t back off now I might be convinced not to starve your family.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Ah, but I can. Would you like to see?”

She’s sure she doesn’t need the extra help from your puppy neighbors but she’ll take it. If only to keep her nails clean, she’ll stick to her own strengths. Happily pulling you behind your market stalls because she desperately needs to be milked. She only trusts you–her human to do such a thing. No one else in this town is worthy of squeezing the liquid magic she can create than you– her dear one and only human.

“Come (Y/n) I need you. You are my special human—the only human I trust to help me fuel my empire. You won’t refuse me, right?”

Part 3: Here

Taglist: @midnight-nightmares @xrenka @candlesworlds-blog @00hellohello00 @lem-hhn @kawaii-cakes

[bokunoheros]

TAGS/WARNINGS: reader is gender neutral but afab, inappropriate quirk usage (temperature play), pro hero!shouto, shouto and the reader are married, cumming inside, kinda lazy ending bc i wanted to work on day 8 (threesome ft. todobaku) and didn’t know how to finish it lol GENRE: SMUT SUMMARY: shouto can’t help but tease you despite the way you’re always so good for him. WORD COUNT: 2K 🦊’s A/N: god not my ass opening the first two days, anyway here’s my husband ❤️// also, this fic would have been significantly longer had i not previously exhausted myself on this one (pleasepleaseplease read it i put in sm work)

     if shouto todoroki was anything, it was resilient and persistent; throughout his childhood, all throughout the course of his hero training, even with all the setbacks and massive traumas he faced, and now: where you lay squirming and crying beneath him, begging for him to just fuck you despite your cunt already being stuffed by three of his thick, ice cold fingers with your legs tossed over his broad shoulders with his mouth dangerously close to your clit, breath disgustingly hot, making for a sensation that had your overstimulated, puffy pussy drooling as goosebumps rose over your flushed, sweaty skin.

     even with the way his cock twitches in his too-tight briefs, shouto simply shakes his head with a soft, patient smile and hushes you gently. 

     “shh, just one more; cum for me one more time, and i promise i’ll give you what you need,” he coos, gazing up at you from between your legs, his striking, heterochromatic gaze ensnaring your own watery one as you bite your lower lip and nod, eyebrows scrunched up as you wiggle your hips, trying to get away from his frosty fingers despite your agreeance to one more orgasm mere seconds ago. but you knew better—”one more” was never just one more, because there was always another one after that. and another. and probably another after that, because shouto was just that addicted to you: your body, the noises you made, the way your eyes rolled back when he made you cum, or the way your back arched so deeply off the bed as your oversensitive, fucked-out body tried to cope with the feeling of another orgasm.

     jesus, you swore this man would be the death of you.

     “sh–shouto–!” you sniffle, thighs trembling as you prop yourself up on your forearms and look down at him.

     “what is it, love?” his voice is soft and soothing, steady, if not a little breathy, as if he wasn't insanely hard right now—beyond desperate to get his dick wet; while instead, he was knuckle deep in your drenched cunt, playing with you like you were some toy (his favorite toy, really <3) while you whine about how you can't take it anymore.

     “if you want, we can stop all together right now,” shouto suggests in a teasing voice, crooking his fingers upwards inside you as he does so, and he can't help but chuckle at the way your voice cracks slightly when you let out a pitchy no and shake your head; you knew when he said stop entirely, he truly meant entirely—meaning you wouldn't get any of the dick you had waited so, so, soooo patiently for!

     “y–you're so unfa–fair!” you protest, back arching upwards as he brings his hot mouth closer to your disgustingly wet cunt before wrapping his plump lips around your swollen clit, suckling on it gently as his skilled fingers work against your gummy inner walls and you can't help but shudder at the feeling of the frosty digits in contrast to his almost burning mouth, and it's all you can do to whimper and try not to cry as he works you up to another orgasm. you don't even know what number it was anymore. four? five? fuck, your brain was so fuzzy—and you had not only shouto's skilled tongue and fingers playing with your pussy, but the active use of his quirk as well.

     “and?” is all he says as he pulls his thick fingers from your aching cunt with a disgusting schliiick sound so he can make out with your drooling pussy — taking your whole mound into his mouth as he pressed his suddenly ice cold tongue against your slick entrance and engorged clit before the tip of it slowly traces over your inner folds. 

     “nnngh, fuck,” you moan softly when he suddenly dips the freezing muscle into your welcoming heat, making a mental note of the way you tasted, a grin spreading over his glossy lips as he eats you out with nothing but love in heart. 

     shouto was always such a giver in bed — don't get me wrong, he certainly loved being on the receiving end of many things, but he loved being the one to give you (often overwhelming) pleasure the most. he thinks he could get off on your satisfaction alone (and he has before), and he can’t help but let out a low, drawn-out whine as he humps the mattress beneath him, dick straining against his sickeningly restrictive underwear, drooling enough to create a wet patch on the bed where he'd been rutting his hips against the comforter (as long as it can be cleaned later, the youngest of the todoroki family never minds making a mess).

     “soon, honey, soon,” shouto murmurs against your cunt in response to your pitiful swear. “you've earned it,” he praises you, voice a mere whisper, laced with nothing but adoration for you. he was always so proud of you when you managed to withstand his teasing — the way his calloused hands would trail over your body, both extreme temperatures as he toyed with your already stiff nipples thanks to his near feather light touch having trailed already before touching your properly. god, you hated how patient this man could be sometimes, it was truly sickening. because one thing about shouto was that he always took he sweet fuckin’ time with you in the bedroom (and as a result, he hates quickies—he doesn't believe in rushed sex where neither partner can enjoy themselves in full).

     the saccharine tone of his voice had you clenching around nothing as he presses his tongue flat against your clit before circling the freezing muscle around the throbbing bundle of nerves, rapidly cooling it down to an almost unbearable degree. 

     one of your hand comes down to thread itself into his hair, pulling his face closer to your cunt, to which he had no objections, and it isn’t long at all before the familiar knot in your stomach is snapping for the nth time tonight and you’re shamelessly crying out shouto’s name while your back arches deeply off the bed as your husband continues to eat you out throughout the duration of your orgasm.

     “sho—shouto!” you squeal, legs squeezing shut around his head and he lets out a content sigh as he looks up at you with a half-lidded heterochromatic gaze. 

     “i know, baby, i know, you’ve done so well f’me,” he coos gently, pulling away from your cunt and sitting up on his knees in order to tug his boxers down, groaning loudly when his cock finally sprung free and hit against his lower stomach. “fuck,” he hisses, flushed, mushroom headed tip swollen and leaky. 

     “wan’ you s’bad, sho,” you whine, impatiently rolling your hips upwards. 

     “yeah? ‘m all yours, sweetheart,” he says while moving to position himself over you, one hand wrapped around his pretty dick in order to align it with your dripping slit before slowly pushing in, biting his lower lip and letting his head hang down in the crook of your neck to hide his flushed face.

     it takes a moment for him to bottom out, and when he does, you both let out a drawn moan, staying like that for a minute before shouto slowly starts to fuck you, hips moving languidly against yours. his dick throbs deep inside you while the flushed head presses against your g-spot and your hands quickly find purchase on his broad and scarred back, nails digging into the skin there as you cry softly beneath him, mindlessly babbling about how big he was and how good he felt, all of which only fueled shouto’s desire to fuck you stupid (as if he hadn’t already). 

     “mmmnnfgh,” you whimper, raking your nails down his scarred back as you wrap your legs around his waist and cross them at the ankle, pulling his hips flush against yours, his usually neatly trimmed peppermint colored pubes tickling your skin. “oh, baby—you’re fillin’ me up s’good—s–so good,” you coo breathily into his ear, fanning the flames of his ego. “you’re s’fuckin’ big, sho—” so big you feel almost nauseated by the way he thrusts slowly but deeply into you. “nngh–fuck!”

     shouto feels his cock twitch and drool inside you at your praise, and his face only gets hotter as he attaches his cool, slightly chapped lips attach themselves to the junction of your neck and shoulder, biting down gently before sucking on the skin. todoroki usually wasn’t one for marking you up in places visible to others, as littering your body with little hickies and bruises where only he could see was typically more than enough for him, but right now…. he couldn’t stop himself from sucking and nibbling on your neck, relishing in the sweet little noises you couldn’t seem to stop making. 

     shouto feels like he’s drowning in you; your scent, the pathetic little mewls you couldn’t stop from slipping past your mouth, the feel of your body against his, the way your pussy flutters around his dick, squeezing him so tightly he swears as his breath hitches in his throat and his hips stutter against yours as he tries not to immediately cum from the feeling.

     “jesus, honey—keep squeezin’ me like that n’ i don’t think i can last much longer,” he groans, trying to maintain an even pace despite the way he falters ever so slightly in his rhythm as he brings his face up from your neck to rest his forehead against yours—always one for obscene intimacy—and breathes heavily through his nose in attempt to catch his breath as his heart hammers away in his chest. 

     “‘m s–sorry,” you stutter, lightly raking your nails up and down his back before they clasp together behind his neck, glossy lips parted and needy for his own. leaning up slightly, you’re able to steal a kiss from him, hands moving to cup his cheeks tenderly as you tilt your head for a better angle.

     “nngh—” he moans softly against your lips, his left hand trailing down your side in a teasing manner as it snakes its way between your legs to rub softly at your oversensitive clit. 

     “cum in me, shouto—please,” you mumble against his plump lips and you can physically feel the way his dick twitches inside you at your words, and it's all you can do to whine at the combined feeling of his cock buried so deep within you and the near scorching heat of his calloused fingers against your throbbing bundle of nerves.

     his eyes fly open in shock at your words and he has to pull away from the kiss to ask if you’re sure and you nod pathetically, rolling your hips upwards and moaning softly to confirm his ask. after that, it’s only a few more thrusts before both you and your husband are cumming with a loud cry as he stills his hips flush against yours, as he finishes deep, so deep, inside you.

     “god,” you whimper as he slowly pulls out and moves to lay next to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pulling you so that you were lying chest to chest, catching your breaths together as you bathed in the quiet afterglow of sex. cleaning up could wait for another five minutes, right? you both deserved a moment of rest after all that.

     as you lay next to your doting husband, icy fingers ghosting over your ribcage down to your hip bone, following the dips and curves of your supple figure, chilling the heated skin along the way. closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, focusing on inhaling your husband’s somewhat musky scent as compared to the sticky feeling of your sweaty bodies pressed together.

     “let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” he suggests softly, to which a warm smile spreads across your face and you nod mindlessly. “‘ll draw you water for a bath,” he offers, starting to get up until you throw a leg over his hip and pull him closer. 

     “five more minutes…. please? ‘m so comfy,” you mumble, and shouto’s barely able to catch it, but he does, and a gentle smile stretches over his lips as he agrees to your terms.

return to KINKTOBER | S. TODOROKI M.LIST

[astermath]

hiya! i’m a really big fan of your stranger things work and I was wondering, if youre comfortable of course, a steve x reader period imagine where reader tried to hide their period from Steve, but he finds out and is super fluffy and sweet about it? thank you!

HAHAH wow i have let this ask stew in my inbox since last year thats CRAZY im so sorry my dear,, i was going through old asks and i rlly like this prompt actually so here u go, i hope u enjoy!!!!

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

tags: established relationship, obv mentions of periods / menstruation, reader is referred to as female, steve being dense at first lol, regular sized font below!

wc: 1.4K

notes: while the reader in this fic is female, i am well aware not everyone who has a period is a girl, and not everyone who's a girl has a period!

Steve is one attentive boyfriend.

It’s the early stages of your relationship, the golden era, the honeymoon phase. And while you’re a still a bit nervous about it all, you couldn’t be happier, because he does it all right.

He knows your favourite snacks, what music you like, what makes you laugh, what makes you cry. He’s starting to figure out your ins and outs, and it’s almost crazy how quickly he’s catching on. You have no reason to feel judged by him at any point, he truly is comfort poured into the shape of a person.

So then why are you staring at your phone right now, struggling to dial his number and just tell him why you can’t make it to your date?

It’s not usually this bad, at least it hadn’t been for a while, so why now, of all moments, must you be forsaken to be terrorised by your period?

You bite your lip, laying flat onto your bed, hand over your lower stomach. It's right where the pain is just gnawing at you, just like the guilt is. But you know you’d feel even guiltier if you just stood him up, he doesn’t deserve that. You sit up, a tad slowly to save yourself from another cramp, and swallow your nerves for now.

“I’ll just… Tell him I’m sick. Yeah… Yeah I can do that.” You think to yourself.

The combination of his number had started to feel natural to your fingers now, unlike how anxiously you pressed the buttons the first time, triple checking before finally pressing call. You're triple checking again now, more so because you're not sure you can handle hearing the defeat in his voice when you tell him you can't make it.

The phone barely gets a moment to ring before he picks it up, and his all too familiar sweet voice comes through the device.

"Hey babe, everything okay over there?"

You pause a moment before replying. "How did you know it was me calling?"

"Lover's intuition." He chuckles, and it makes your heart flutter. It's not fair how easy it is for him to do that to you, but you enjoy it nonetheless. "So, what's going on?"

"I, uh..." God, getting the words out is like pulling teeth. But you'd rather die than let him think you just got cold feet about your movie date. "I'm really not feeling too well right now, Steve... I'm-- I'm so sorry, I'm gonna have to cancel for tonight." Your eyes are welling up with tears before he even gets a chance to reply, just imagining his pretty face losing its bright expression when hearing your unfortunate news.

"Oh," damnit, he does sound sad, "that's okay, uhm... Is there anything I can do? What kinda sick is it?"

Shit, he's gonna make you say it, isn't he? You know Steve is a mature guy, he knows about periods, knows how they work, but you've been told to suck it up and get on with it before... A part of you is still disappointed that you just can't.

"U-Uhm... It's more like, a stomach thing, I guess?" It's the best way you can put it for now, hoping it'll put his worries to rest.

"Okay, I see..." You can nearly hear him thinking, the subtle noise of bags being moved and a fridge being opened coming through the phone. "Uh, how aboouuut... I come over to yours, and we just watch a movie at home? I still got a couple of tapes we haven't gotten to, and I can bring some light snacks that won't upset your stomach too much."

The thought of Steve caring for you while you're sick sends a warm feeling through your entire body. God, how does he just keep getting better? But you can't lie to him, right? It's not like you're really sick, unless you count the curse of menstruation as a symptom.

Before you get a chance to explain, he's talking again, and by the ruckus in the background you can only guess he's rushing to grab all his stuff. "I'll be heading out in a bit, I'll stop by the corner store too, stay put for me alright? See ya in a bit!"

You're sure he didn't realize he wasn't letting you talk, but frankly, you probably couldn't even come up with a response on time anyways. Right now, you just have to worry about looking somewhat presentable, and maybe figure out a way to tell him you're not actually sick.

By the time you've brushed your hair and brushed some mascara onto your lashes, you're already hearing the doorbell. You just manage to pull a fresh shirt over your head, before stumbling down the stairs and stopping in front of the door. With a deep, loaded, sigh you open it, to reveal your boyfriend.

Hair messed up, plastic bag in hand, jacket haphazardly thrown on. He clearly rushed to be here, still panting a little, but in your eyes, he's the image of your guardian angel, your saviour in need.

Before either of you know it, you're crying again, your freshly applied mascara now leaving thin black streaks over your cheeks. Your hands go up to cover your face, embarrassed, not even sure why you're sobbing all of a sudden. The feelings just hit you like a freight train, rocking you before you even have a time to rationalize.

Steve's expression falters, the bag he had in hand dropping to the floor in an instant, stepping in closer so he can carefully wrap his arms around you and pull you to his chest. Not too tight, he doesn't want to startle you. He's a bit distraught; he's really only seen you cry at a sad movie scene before, so he's a bit unsure as to what's caught you to be so upset right now.

"I-I'm sorry..." you manage to mutter through your incoherent sobs and sniffs, effectively ruining the front of his shirt in the process.

"Hey, hey..." His big hands go up to your face, gently cupping your wettened cheeks as he looks into your teary eyes. Hell, the image of you is almost enough to make him break too. "What're you sorry for? You can't help it that you're sick, right?"

The reminder of your lie makes you want to break eye contact in shame, but it's hard to force yourself to lose sight of that soft, caring gaze of his.

"I," sniff, "I lied, I'm so sorry Steve, I-- I'm not sick, I just... I have..."

He watches you expectedly, not upset, just curious. You'd surely have your reasons if whatever caused you to cancel is making you this upset.

"I'm... I'm just on my period and it-- it hurts really bad, it's not even usually this bad, and I felt like I was overreacting and I feel so bad and--" Your ramble gets cut short by his chuckle, the same one that nearly caused you to melt over the phone earlier.

"W-Wha... Why are you laughing?" You're not sure if you should be happy or worried, you're already experiencing so much at once, it's hard to pick one emotion to feel.

"Nothing, it's just, well," he picks up the bag he dropped, opening it slightly to show the bars of chocolate, candy and your favorite chips inside. "I had a feeling."

The sight of it makes you snap out of your state of distress, and you can’t help but crack a smile through your tears. “Seriously? How?”

He shrugs, a sheepish smile adorning his face. “I told you, lover’s intuition.” He pulls you back to him and kisses your head. “There’s another bag in the car with chicken soup in case I was wrong.”

You both laugh, just hugging on your doorstep for a moment. You have to let it sink in, that maybe Steve just is that sweet and considerate of a guy.

“D’you wanna go inside, or does standing outside help with cramps?” He pulls back a little, and you fight the urge to poke him in the ribs for his sarcasm. You love it either way.

“Yeah, let’s go inside. We can watch When Harry Met Sally and I can cry my eyes out again. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

-

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[skzdarlings]

06. sharing a bed series ; skz ; felix

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 6/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: sexual content. enemies2lovers, sharing a bed trope. bodyguard au. a dose of angst. open ending. past violence and parental abuse mentioned. ongoing perilous situation and forced proximity. not the healthiest dynamic lol. spanking, some rough play, hair-pulling, throat-grabbing, overstimulation, crying during sex, mention of past unprotected sex, a more dominant felix and a kinda bratty reader.

-

You kick open your bedroom door.  As usual, no one is home except for you and Felix so you are free to scream and curse and stomp all you want. 

“I can’t fucking believe you!” you shout among a flurry of other colourful words.   

Felix enters behind you with his hands in his pockets, looking as nonchalant as ever. 

Felix’s perpetual calmness is half the reason your father hired him.  The other reason is that Felix was the best behaved boy in the world who grew into the most pristine, perfect man.  Your father did not claw his way to the top of the industrial world by settling for anything less than the best.  Lee Felix is the best.  Your father trusts him with everything and anything, including wrangling his rambunctious daughter.  Felix’s job is to guard and protect you – from others and from yourself.   He is annoyingly good at it.    

Felix is the prettiest, loveliest, sweetest man on the outside, particularly selected for his unassuming attributes.  An obvious bodyguard figure draws unwanted attention.  Felix, however, attended high school and college with you, posing as a fellow student and never looking out of place, always appearing gentle and ordinary and kind.  Behind that, he is a lethally competent bodyguard.  Your skinny, freckled, fair-haired watchdog can subdue any adversary. 

Including the one tonight. 

“I was just doing my job,” Felix says.  He closes your bedroom door and locks it out of habit even though you are home alone.  He is still completely uncaring to your crisis, as fucking usual, wandering around like he is a sensitive little lamb, smiling and content. 

You throw yourself down on your bed with a dramatic heave. 

“You broke his arm!” you cry.   

Felix is standing at your desk, removing his work equipment.  He is dressed like a civilian for the most part, denim pants with a windbreaker and a button-down over a t-shirt.  He lays the jacket over the back of the chair and sighs, looking at his reflection in your vanity mirror.   He runs a hand through his hair, still casual, feathering the dyed locks so they flutter back into place.   

“I was just doing my job,” he repeats.  He undoes the button-down and tosses it aside, then kicks his shoes under the desk.  

Felix is all sharp lines and harsh angles, slender but athletic.  His cheekbones are high, his angular face softened by his dark eyes and endearing freckles.   That sweetness is juxtaposed by the gun harness strapped across his back. 

You swallow.  The harness hits the floor, then he grabs the back of the t-shirt and yanks it swiftly over his head.  It joins the pile of discarded articles. 

He sits on the desk chair with a distracted sigh, dutifully disassembling the gun for an inspection or cleaning or whatever nonsense Felix has decided is more important than your conversation.  

“His arm,” you repeat.  “You broke his arm.  He was a completely innocent guy!  I’m allowed to flirt with guys!  Just because you’re my daddy’s good dog and he doesn’t let you get your dick wet, doesn’t mean I have to suffer too.” 

Felix looks at you, his mouth a thin line with his unamused smile. 

“Cute,” he says.  He drops the smile and his distinctive deep voice drops another decibel when he says, “You can flirt.  Just not with him.”

“His arm—”

Felix closes the gun and puts it on the desk. 

“I think he was lucky I didn’t rip it off for grabbing you like that, don’t you think?”  Felix says.  He asks it so nicely too, tipping his head imploringly, like he really wants an answer.  Not that he waits.  Just as soon as the smile comes, it goes, replaced with a eye roll as he gets to his feet. 

“Get ready for bed,” Felix says.  “And, mmm, that’s not a request by the way.  I’m phoning your dad to tell him we’re home safe.” 

He doesn’t give you a chance to argue, just leaves the room while reaching into his back pocket for his phone.  He closes the door behind himself, leaving you to fume by your lonesome. 

Out of rebellious frustration, you do not budge an inch.  You cross your arms and sit back on your bed, still dressed in your evening outfit.  You can distantly hear Felix speaking in a formal voice and it makes you twitch with anticipation. 

Felix being so professional is simultaneously his most annoying and most attractive quality.  Annoying, because he really never falters on the clock.  Attractive, because it wouldn’t be any fun pushing him to the boundaries of his rules if he wasn’t such a stickler in the first place.

When Felix returns, still wearing nothing more than his jeans, his expression immediately turns exasperated.  He closes the door and puts his hands on his hips, staring down at you.  

You stare straight ahead, arms and ankles crossed.   You and Felix have shared a bed since the day he was hired, back when you were teenagers, as you were in the habit of sneaking out at night.  You were not intimidated by the chubby-cheeked teenage boy, gleefully slipping past him while he slumbered – until suddenly you were being yanked back through the window.  You learned the hard way that despite his appearance and disposition, he was an especially skilled martial artist.    

As your father continues to accrue enemies in every market, you cannot live life on your own, not without endangering it.  You still need Felix.  You still share a bed.  Everything you do, you do with Felix, whether you like it or not.  Felix expresses little feeling on that front, a perpetual font of seeming sunshine when he isn’t breaking someone’s arm.

You know you are being mightily petulant by keeping him up, but you don’t care.   If you can’t have what you want then neither can he.   You can stay up all night, just staring and glaring at each other contemptuously.  You are happy to let all that mutual disdain simmer through its achingly slow burn. 

“Really?”  Felix says.  “Do we have to do this tonight?” 

“I’m not doing anything,” you say.   

“Right.”  He laughs dryly but sits gingerly on his side of the bed.  He smiles, his eyes crinkling sweetly with pleasure.  His hair is getting longer again, sweeping his neck, and you watch as he delicately tucks some behind his ear.   He leans on one arm, looking at you.  “I’ll ask you nicely then, sweetheart.” 

Ooh, that’s a low blow and he knows it.  The word sweetheart always sounds so rich in his mouth, his accent softening the heart of it.  Hopefully he misses the way you melt, but you doubt it. 

His smile only deepens. 

“Please, please get ready for bed,” he says.  “It’s been a long day, yeah?  And we’re both so tired.  Come on.  Let’s go.  Just need some rest I think.  Yeah, yeah, let’s go.” 

You do not move.    

You hear him sigh, a melodic sound.  He runs his hand through his hair again. 

“All right,” he says, soulfully.  “All right.  Fine.” 

You hear the sharper inflection in his tone but you react a moment too late.  Your bed is big, big enough you could starfish without even brushing his side of the bed, so it takes you a second to scamper to the opposite side. 

That second is too long.  Felix reaches out and grabs you by the calf, dragging you across the bed.

“Don’t you dare,” you say, kicking at him to no avail.   “I’ll phone my dad!”

He is completely undeterred by your dramatics, only sighing when he hauls you over his lap. 

“Go ahead,” he says.  “I’m allowed to use, uhhh, what’d he say… discretion… mm… to discipline you if I think I need to.” He puts his phone within your reach.  It is not a genuine gesture of goodwill so much as it is taunting you because you both know your father would take his side.   “Well?” he asks.  “Do you want to phone him?”   

“I hate you,” you say.

“I know,” he replies.  “Sorry.” 

He sounds like he means it, though it’s hard to believe him when he flicks up your dress and swings his open palm across your ass.  His hand comes down four more times before he neatly fixes your skirt again. 

“Bed time?” he asks brightly, like everything has been solved with no problem. 

You crawl off his lap while grumbling irritably, doing your best to ignore the smarting on your behind when you turn over to glare at him.  He is just smiling at you, that thin-lipped way he smiles with dry humour. 

“I hate you,” you say again. 

He waves his hand, gesturing the vaguest, blandest sentiment of meh with its wiggle.  

“I’m just doing my job,” he says for the millionth time. 

“Really?” you reply with as much sarcasm as he usually gives.  He hears it, tilting his head like a curious cat, as if he has no idea why you could possibly be upset with him – though the stupid little upturn to his lips tells you that he knows exactly why.  

You hate him.  You really, really do hate him.  You have never hated anyone the way you hate him and you want to shout it from the roof.  But you can’t do that.  You can only say it to his face in private, in whatever way you can.  

You reach without warning, cupping the bulge between his legs and finding a lot more than a denim crinkle.  His gaze darkens, his hand covering yours warningly, though he doesn’t lift it away.

You adopt a saccharine sweet tone when you speak.

“Do you tell my daddy that when you discipline me you get hard?” you ask, batting your eyelashes. 

He moves your hand to his thigh instead, shaking his head. 

“Stop being silly,” he says.  “Go get ready for bed.” 

Your eyes follow him as he stands.  He doesn’t get far when you grab his belt loop and tug him back.   Felix has fast reflexes and is incredibly coordinated, so you find it hard to believe you sincerely bested him, but he stumbles as if you did.   He stands where you want him, where he’s close enough for you to kneel on the bed and press your face right against his bulge. 

He says your name in a warning voice, his already deep voice dropping more.

“I wonder…” you say, nuzzling your nose against the ridge in the denim, where you can feel him hard and getting harder still.  “When my daddy asks you what we do all day,” you say, flicking your eyes up to his, “do you tell him your dick spends more time in my mouth than in your pants?”

His nostrils flare with his next breath. 

You smile, victorious. 

“He still thinks you’re his perfect soldier, doesn’t he?” you ask.  “You can do no wrong.  Little does he know…”

“I do my job,” Felix says.  “And I do a good job.  Okay? That’s all that matters.”   

You start to open your mouth, one hand climbing towards his fly.   You stop with a gasp when he fists a chunk of your hair, tugging your head away from him.  It sends a hot shock rippling through you, flooding you with the recollection of all the times he grabbed your hair and pulled you closer, the times he cupped your head and put himself in your mouth despite knowing better, the number of times he fucked between your pretty lips and forgot to be proper, cursing so much it was practically poetry. 

This time he guides you away and you whimper miserably.  He does not loosen his grip, his fingers threading closer to your scalp so it both hurts less and holds stronger.   He knows better than to just let go.   He knows you perfectly.  You glare at him. 

“Look at me,” he says, because your gaze dropped to his bulge again.  “I said look at me.”   He tugs your hair so you obey, giving him your most annoyed expression.  “You’re listening, yeah?” he says.  He doesn’t wait for an answer.  “You’re going to go to your closet.  Get ready for bed.  Sleep.  You’re going to do that,” his voice turns frighteningly pleasant, “or I’m going to carry you over there and get you ready myself.” 

“Like when we were leaving the club tonight?” you ask just as sweetly.  “And you put me over your shoulder then, oops, something happened when we were in the limo, didn’t it?” 

He lets go of you, exhaling tiredly in a high-pitched breath.

“Where did all your pretty rings go, Felix?” you ask, reaching for his bare hand, usually adorned with rings.  “Did they fall on the floor in the limo when you decided you had to shove your hand up my skirt?”   

Leaving the club, you were both wired.  Felix was honestly justified in breaking that guy’s arm.  You purposefully chose the creepiest, shadiest guy in the club to lead on, knowing Felix would appear two seconds later to rescue you.   He always does.  No one else ever pays you any personal attention and your life is too complicated for romance, so you thrive on the feeling of someone caring enough to always find you – even if it’s literally his job. 

You also like getting mad at him for overreacting, but you like his overreactions.   Him twisting and breaking that creep’s arm honestly turned you on.  It also got Felix all worked up, a bit pissed because you were being irresponsible again but nonetheless heated.  You thought for sure he’d take you home and go crazy and fuck you in the foyer.  Instead he put up the limo divider and one-by-one removed his rings, giving you ample time to refuse before he covered your mouth tightly and slid his other hand up between your thighs. 

Of course, despite bringing you to the edge several times, he never let you finish.  Because he’s the worst. 

And now you’re all worked up and he’s shirtless and being a stupid, pretty, two-faced bitch.

“I—”  you start. 

He rolls his eyes and says, “I know. I know.  You hate me.  Now go.”

You get up, stomping all the way to your walk-in closet.  You can’t even slam the door because it’s a sliding one, but you make the biggest possible demonstration of closing it anyway. 

You get ready for bed.   You briefly consider dressing provocatively or even strolling out there naked, but in the end you decide to just dress in your ugly, comfy, over-sized t-shirt and march angrily back into the room. 

Felix is gone when you return, probably off to double-check the house security one last time before joining you.   You could try climbing out the window and down the terrace, just to be ridiculous, but he’ll catch up sooner than later and be even more annoying about it.   So you get into bed and turn off the lights, laying down with a huff, blankets pulled up to your chin. 

You get a bit dozy before Felix returns, the creaking door snapping you awake.  You look over your shoulder and watch him finally shuck the jeans.  He gets into bed in his boxers, removing his earrings once under the covers.  He puts on the bedside table, then double-checks his gun is in the drawer, then and then only then does he lay down. 

The big bed leaves an ocean of space between you.  You roll over to face him.  His eyes are closed but there’s no way he is already asleep. 

“Felix,” you whisper, even though the big house is empty, “I’m cold.”

“There’s another blanket in the closet,” he says without opening his eyes. 

You slide across the bed, close enough to reach out and put a hand on his chest.  He opens his eyes and stares straight up. 

“I need a cuddle,” you say.  “Or I’ll have nightmares.” 

“You’re not a child anymore,” he says. 

That is maybe one thing you miss about the time before you and Felix started… this.  When things were still innocent between you, he would often let you snuggle up with him.  Now, he keep his distance.  Now, he doesn’t hug or hold you. 

So no one does.    

“We’re still young,” you say, a dumb argument, but you’re tired and out of ideas. 

“I was never as young as you,” he grumbles, more to himself than you.  He seems to realize what he said and shakes his head.  He pats your hand on his chest then rolls over, leaving his back to you. 

You slowly return your hand to yourself, staring at the back of his head with an uncharacteristic prickling of tears. 

Felix doesn’t talk about his life before this.  You just know that it was somehow worse.   Worse than being a watchdog.  Worse than giving up years of his life to protect someone else.   Worse than the times your father wanted to discipline you but learned that if he hit you directly you would just patch yourself up and move on, but if he hit Felix then you would break down and offer anything to make him stop.  

You can see a couple faded scars from those times, faint lines that cross his back, remnants of old belt lashings.  You touch one now, tracing your finger lightly from one end to the other.  You watch a shiver roll down his spine.   He doesn’t turn around. 

Giving up, you roll away, back to your distant side of the bed.  You close your eyes and will yourself to sleep, but it just makes you well up with tears.  You sniffle, rubbing your nose messily on the back of your arm.    

Fabric rustles.  You suck in a breath when Felix slides up behind you, pulling you into the middle of the bed where he holds you snugly in his arms.   You immediately roll to face him, throwing a leg over his hip and burying your face in his neck. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, nothing else. 

“I hate you,” you say, then press a kiss just under his jaw.

“I know.”  He cups the back of your head as your kisses move down his neck.  “I know.” 

You make it to the middle of his chest before he turns you onto your back and gets up over you.  He kisses you properly, thumbs wiping your tears as his mouth makes you forget about the reason you cried at all.  All that matters is kissing him back, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him close as possible.  His sounds of pleasure are so deep and rough and rumbling. 

“Fuck me, please, please,” you say, pushing your fingers into his hair. 

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“You know we can’t do that,” he says. 

“We’ve done it before,” you say, purposefully canting your hips to rub against him, reminding him you are still so hot and wet from his finger-fucking, that only stupid underwear keeps you apart.  It has the desired effect, his brow furrowing as he holds himself still above you.  You peck his lips and string your arms around his neck.  “You know I’m on birth control now for that reason,” you say, a little sweetly, smiling up at him.  “Remember?”

He drops his face in the crook of your neck and makes an even crazier sound, shaking his head. 

“That was very, very irresponsible of us, you know,” he says. 

“Mhm,” you say, sliding your hand down his body to his waistband.  “It really was.  But it felt good, didn’t it?   Dangerous.  Coming inside me like that.”

Felix is right; that incident was very irresponsible.  You had already started your little cat-and-mouse game and ran out of condoms one night.  Because the two of you only have sex with each other, when that happened, you usually just fooled around until he pulled out. 

That time was… a lot.   You were pressed so tightly together and you were being painfully quiet because you weren’t home alone.  It was such a stupid time to mess around, but common sense leaves you when Felix is involved. 

That feeling is mutual.  Felix knew better too.   If he got you pregnant… the fallout with your father would be catastrophic for both of you.   Still, for that moment he was inside you, with your fingers laced together and pressed by your head, with your legs tight around him and his face in your neck, nothing else seemed to exist.  You were two normal people who were allowed to do whatever they wanted with whoever they wanted.  It was a breathless, momentary fantasy, holding him tight and telling him to come, shuddering at the noise he made as he did just that.   You didn’t even panic after the fact.   You let the moment linger for as long as it could, still pretending you were normal, still pretending it was fine. 

You started birth control soon after, telling your father it was to regulate your period.   He waved it off, not wanting to hear more.  

Your father has truly never suspected a thing.  He doesn’t see the people around him as people, just objects, so it makes sense that he sees nothing in Felix but a soldier.  He doesn’t know anything about Felix.  Doesn’t know the pattern of his freckles or how his eyes crinkle up when he smiles.  Doesn’t know he has a sweet tooth and will dump a thing of sugar in nearly everything.  Doesn’t know what he finds funny, doesn’t know what makes him sad, doesn’t know anything at all.  

You drag your calf up the back of his leg.

“Felix,” you say. 

He gives you no chance to say more.  One second you are in limbo, the very next he has shoved down both his boxers and your underwear and is already pressing into you.  Only nonsense leaves your lips after that, your eyes closing as he works your body like a familiar and well-loved instrument.   He knows it as well as you do.  As you do his.  It’s easy to work him up, to get him as close as you. 

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, changing position so he’s kneeling.  He puts one of your legs up against his chest, levelling you with an amused smile.  “You’re trying to get me to finish first,” he says. 

“What? Noooo…”  Your giggle turns into a gasp.  You can be as loud as you want but you bite your fist anyway, hiccupping with a choked back sob of pleasure when he finds an angle that makes you see stars. 

“Yes, you are,” he says.  “But you won’t win.” 

“I will,” you say.

“Uh-uh,” he says. “Sure.” 

He makes you come twice before he does.  He even starts pushing you towards a third but you are so oversensitive that it makes tears fall.  He cups your chin and looks at you, cursing. 

“You’re so mean,” you say, smiling through your tears.  “Getting off to me crying.”

“I’m—not—I just—”

“Liar,” you tease.  “You totally are.”

He just giggles.  Then he flips a switch and goes from cute to something else, grabbing your throat and fucking into your oversensitive pussy so good and hard that you cry out.

“Shhh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he says.  “Got you.  Got you.  I—”

You kiss him and he comes, sinking into you with dick and tongue and breath, filling you and surrounding you.  

You hold him close, arms tight around him, his sweaty forehead pressed to yours.   When he tries to lift away, you pull him back, making him laugh softly. 

“Stay,” you say, and repay his torture by squeezing him inside you, knowing it will make him twitch and jerk with oversensitivity of his own. 

“You never make it easy for me, do you,” he says with no animosity. 

You shake your head and smile like you’re proud of that.  He laughs then kisses you.   The kiss is good and thorough and sweet, completely loving, affectionate.  It gets your heart racing despite everything you just did.  You rest your hands on his chest and gently push him back. 

“I still hate you,” you say, because you have to say it, because the opposite would be too dangerous to ever say.  You can’t even let that word enter your thoughts, certainly never let it leave your lips.  If you held that word in your mouth for even a second, you would become addicted to it.   So you glare at him with all passion you can muster and say,   “I hate you so much.”   You sniffle when he wipes your tears away.   You turn your face.  “I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anyone.” 

“I know,” he says in a strained voice.  He presses his forehead to your temple and exhales.   “I know, sweetheart.” 

[merrybloomwrites]

I Like to Watch - Harry x Louis x Reader

Summary: When you're boyfriends ignore you on a day you thought you'd spend together, you begin to act out. The punishment doesn't go as planned, leading to the boys taking care of you after.

Word Count: 4K

CW: BDSM themes, dom/sub themes, spanking, punishment, use of safeword, subspace, subdrop, aftercare

AN: This story contains BDSM themes but is in no way a rulebook for these types of relationships. Always do your research before taking part in a dynamic like this. All aspects in play are discussed by the characters and agreed upon prior to the story.

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There are a fair number of people that know about your relationship with Harry and Louis. Your families, close friends, some lawyers and members of Harry and Louis’s respective teams. 

But no one, not even your best friends, know about that special part of your relationship. It’s a secret the three of you protect wholeheartedly. Because if someone were to slip up and reveal that the three of you were dating, and have been for almost three years, well that you guys could handle. But if the whole world discovered you also dabbled in BDSM? That would be much harder to come back from, and the consequences to both of your boyfriends careers could be devastating. 

So you keep this information just between the three of you. It brings you even closer together, having something that is just for you. 

It started about a year after the three of you were officially together. And it started subtly. Little ways in which Louis would act in the bedroom. It was clear quite quickly that Louis is purely dominant in nature. He never submitted to either of you. You know this need to be in charge comes from years of being told what to do by management. So much of his life is dictated by other people, and this is the one place he can take complete control.

Harry sometimes feels this way as well. Occasionally, he’ll help Louis and the two of them will be the perfect pair of doms for you. Other times, he needs to turn his brain off, and spends a night submitting to Louis alongside you. 

But you always submit. In the bedroom, at least. For you it’s a lovely escape to let the two men you love and trust have control of you. When it comes to your relationship, you’re in charge of most of the day to day life stuff. You do the cooking, the cleaning, the scheduling, all of the at home mental load falls on your shoulders. 

But when the three of you do a scene together, you can just let go and take what they’re giving. You’re aware that technically the submissive truly runs how the scene goes, that if you’re uncomfortable about anything Louis will immediately stop to check on you. 

Due to their busy schedules it���s hard to find time to do scenes together. They take time and planning, and Louis always wants a free day after, in case you or Harry falls deep in subspace and needs extra time to recover the next day. Of course you all have plenty of vanilla sex, but the more intense stuff only happens on occasion. 

The last scene you all did together, in which Louis and Harry tied you up, edged you until you were crying, then made you come multiple times, was almost three weeks ago. Which is maybe what caused you to start acting out. 

You wake up on a beautiful Friday morning, the start of a three day weekend with nothing planned. You’d hinted the night before that it would be a good opportunity for a little extra fun, but you’re not sure they got the message. The bed is empty, no warm body next to you, no fingers gently rubbing your back, no lips meeting yours in a good morning kiss.

So no, not exactly how you’d hoped to wake up.

You decide to get dressed before heading downstairs. If Louis and Harry can’t bother to lay with you in bed on a day off, they certainly don’t deserve to see you in your panties and t-shirt, a sight they both adore. 

The kitchen is empty, no sign of either of your boyfriends. Disappointed by their absence, you grab a banana, a bowl of cereal, and brew yourself some tea. 

After finishing your breakfast you clean up, and try to locate the boys. It’s weird that they’re hidden away; normally days without work mean the three of you doing everything together. It takes a minute for you to find Louis. He’s in the home office, and when you peek in to say hi he holds up a finger, telling you to wait since he’s on a phone call. 

Bothered by the obvious brush off, you keep searching, and finally find Harry in the studio. “Good morning love,” he says. “I woke up with an idea and just have to get this on paper before I forget. I’ll be out soon,” he continues before turning back to his notebook. 

Well, at least he looked you in the eyes and spoke to you. Bare minimum in your mind. 

Feeling very put out, you walk back to the living room. Sitting on the couch, you scan the walls. You thought you had finished decorating this room months ago, but something about it has been bothering you. It felt like something was missing. 

Finally, you decide that it’s the huge blank spot on the one wall. It needs a piece of artwork to fill in the space. For the next half hour you scour the internet and find the absolute perfect piece. Just the right size, color pattern matching the palate of the room, and the art style exactly what you all like. The only issue is the price. 

Not that there wasn’t enough money in your shared account to more than cover it. But technically you’d finished decorating the house already. So anything else that’s considered a big ticket item needs to be discussed between the three of you. 

The first thing you do is reach out to the seller to express interest. At least get the ball rolling until you could talk to the boys. After a few minutes of back and forth emailing, you learn there’s another interested buyer. So now there’s a time constraint or you’ll lose the piece. 

Another hour passes with no signs of either of them, and you make the executive decision to seal the deal. With confirmation that the painting is now yours, you feel slightly better. 

Realizing that you probably need to entertain yourself a bit longer you grab the book you’re reading and settle in. Two chapters later you finally hear Louis voice call out, “Love, where are you?”

Despite your annoyance at being brushed off earlier, you can’t help but smile when he walks in the room. 

“There you are,” he says. “I just got an alert about a purchase for over 6 grand on one of our cards. Do you know anything about that or is it a potential scam?”

Of course. That’s what got his attention. You keep the smile on your face so as to not look guilty for breaking a rule and explain, “That was me. I found a painting that will finally complete this room. Even Harry said it felt like something was missing.”

“Okay, but you’re supposed to talk about big purchases with us first,” he replies. 

“There was another buyer. I had to act fast and you two were both so busy I didn’t want to interrupt.” There. Now you look like a thoughtful girlfriend.

 “Alright, just make sure we can have a conversation before you buy anything else that’s not a necessity. I’ve got a couple more calls to make before I can wrap up for the day.”

Louis walks away, and your good mood leaves with him. How dare he come out just to lecture you? And he didn’t even look at the painting you chose. He didn’t even greet you, or give you a good morning kiss. 

And looking at the clock, it’s actually already afternoon. And you’ve barely seen your boyfriends. On a day that they weren’t supposed to be working. 

Letting out an annoyed sigh you get up to make yourself lunch. You take your time, grilling some veggies and chicken as well as making a dressing and putting together a delicious salad. You eat slowly out on the patio, phone propped in front of you playing your favorite show. 

Eventually the door opens and both Harry and Louis walk out to join you. 

“You ate lunch without us?” Harry asks. 

“It’s almost 2 in the afternoon,” you reply. 

“Shit, is it really that late?” Louis says. 

“Yea, I finished eating a while ago. I’m gonna go clean up. There’s more of everything in the fridge if you want to make your own.” With that you grab your plate and walk inside. You wash your dishes, taking out some of your irritation by scrubbing everything meticulously. 

The boys come back inside and Harry says, “We’re gonna run into town for a little bit, got a couple of things to pick up. We’ll be back by 4.” They each give you one quick kiss, and just like that, they’re gone and you’re left all alone. Again. 

Since they would be gone for two hours you decide to put in a movie to pass the time. Normally you would clean, or organize, do something productive. But you had finished all the chores yesterday expecting to be busy hanging with the boys today. But no, they were too busy for you. 

You grow more frustrated, and by the time the movie is halfway over you’ve come up with a plan. 

See, normally you would never do what you’re about to do. The dynamic that the three of you have is mostly reserved for when you specifically do scenes. But you do have a couple rules to follow all the time, the most important being: your pleasure belongs to them. Meaning that touching yourself without their permission is not allowed. 

And you like that rule. You’d rather get off with them than alone. Masturbating used to be a chore to you, just a means to an end. Orgasms are just so much better when Louis or Harry (or both of them) is the cause. 

But right now you don’t care. If they’re not going to give you pleasure, you’ll do it yourself. Rules be damned. 

You turn the movie off and go to the bedroom. It’s been a while since you’ve done this, and it feels a little silly when you start. But after removing your clothes and laying on the bed you shut your eyes and just do what feels natural. 

You go slow, starting by teasingly running your fingertips along your skin. Time passes, and you’re lost in these touches, hands moving to your breasts, then down to gently rub against your clit. 

But just as you’re really getting into it, you hear a voice next to the bed say, “And what do you think you’re doing?” You startle, not having heard the boys get home. However there’s no denying Louis standing there looking quite serious. Harry is next to him, intrigued and maybe a little excited, like he knows what’s going to happen next. 

“I asked you a question,” Louis says. 

“I’m taking care of myself,” you reply, an edge of sass in your tone. 

“You know you’re not supposed to do that without my permission. That’s the second rule you’ve broken today. Almost like someone wants to be punished.”

Maybe he isn’t wrong. Maybe you were acting out on purpose. Either way, it looks like you’re finally getting what you want: their attention. 

“Lay on the bed, on your stomach, hands holding onto the rails of the headboard,” he commands.

“Yes sir,” you reply before doing as told. You feel vulnerable, laying there naked while they’re still fully dressed. But part of you likes that, thrives on that power dynamic, loves the embarrassment that comes with being so exposed. 

“Harry?” Louis says. 

“Yes, sir?” Harry replies. Okay, so Harry wants to sub today too. The easiest tell is simply how he addresses Louis. Using his proper title means Harry wants to give up some control today as well. 

“You’ve been a good boy lately. Though you did wear a shirt that says ‘I like to watch’ at the ballet last week. Very cheeky of you. Still not enough for a punishment so how about some pleasurable torture? Have you sit on the chair in the corner and watch as I punish our girl and then reward her after. Listen to her sweet sounds and not be able to do anything about it. Maybe tie you to the seat and give you a gag so you’re not tempted to misbehave. How does that sound?”

“Good, sir,” comes Harry’s breathless reply. 

“What’s your color?” Louis asks. 

“Green.”

“For which parts?”

“All of it,” Harry replies without pause. “Green for the restraints, green for the gag. I watch to watch without touching.”

“Very well. Sit on the chair. Clothes stay on.” There’s a lot of noise behind you as Harry does as he’s told. You hear Louis ask Harry if it’s too tight, to which Harry replies, “No, it’s perfect.” Okay, so Harry is now tied to the chair. You could turn and watch what’s happening, but you don’t have permission to and the last thing you should do right now is break another rule. 

“And you still want the gag?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright. How do you give your color when you can’t speak?”

“With the clicker,” Harry answers. There’s more movement then Louis says, “Practice your colors. What is green?” You hear one click. “And yellow?” Two clicks. “Red?” You hear multiple rapid clicks, the unspoken signal for red. 

“Good boy,” Louis says, and you hate that Harry is getting praised when you’re getting punished. It’s not fair. 

“And now for our naughty girl,” Louis says, much closer than before but still standing out of your view. “What should I do with you?”

Your belly tingles, with nerves, with excitement, with arousal. It’s always crazy to you, how a scene can fill you with so many contrasting feelings. 

Louis hand gently slides along your bum, this first touch nearly electric after being left alone for so long. “I think we’ll stick to a classic today. A spanking to remind you who’s in control here.”

You’re almost shocked at the simplicity. It’s been a while since you’ve been spanked, the three of you often doing more creative punishments. But you find yourself craving it. You don’t love the pain, since you don’t really have a pain kink. However you do love how perfectly submissive it makes you feel. Laying out, bare ass on display turning redder each time Louis hand or paddle comes in contact with your skin. And the aftercare is always wonderful, soft hand rubbing lotion on your stinging skin, quiet praises of how well you did, and hours of cuddles. 

For all of these reasons you reply with a quick, “Green, sir,” when Louis asks for your color. 

“Very well. I’m going to warm up with my hand,” Louis informs you. 

His hand, which had been resting on you, is removed, and you brace yourself for the first smack. When it doesn’t come for a few seconds you relax. Big mistake. 

Sharp slaps are given to both of your cheeks, and you let out an involuntary gasp. You quickly clamp your mouth shut, afraid you’ll get in more trouble for making a sound. Louis notices and says, “You may make noises, but I don’t want to hear you speak unless it’s to call a color. You can always color at any time, understand?” He’s gentler at the end, slipping out of his dominant persona for a second to reassure you.

“I understand, sir,” you reply, knowing these are the last words you’ll be speaking for a bit. 

He gives no warning before raining a series of smacks, alternating cheeks and making sure to get full coverage so no skin is left untouched. After what feels like hours but is probably only a couple minutes, he stops, hands gently rubbing the skin once again. 

You’re already feeling a little floaty, and it’s nice to sink into this special mindset. You hadn’t realized how guilty you felt about breaking the rules, but knowing that you’re going to be forgiven after the punishment has you feeling lighter. 

“You’re doing well. I’m going to switch to the paddle now. I’m thinking 6 per side for the extravagant purchase this morning, and another 6 per side for touching yourself without permission. So 24 total with the paddle. What is your color?”

“Green, sir,” you reply, your voice taking on an airy quality and alerting Louis that you’re starting to slip. He checks your face and sees no signs of pain or distress, and can tell that it’s the good kind of floatiness you’re feeling. 

The first hit comes, and it’s more intense than you remember. You don’t love the paddle, you prefer Louis' hand since then you can feel him. But you’re not supposed to like it. This is a punishment after all, and once you get through these spanks, you won’t have to feel guilty. And you’ll get a reward. So it’s all worth it. 

A few more smacks come, and you slip further into subspace with each thud of the paddle against your sore bottom. Your surroundings start to blur, all you can feel are the sheets below you and the wood of the paddle, all you hear is the repetitive swing and thud of it moving through the air. 

The feelings of loneliness from earlier start to flood back in. You remember how much you wanted to hear the boys, see them, feel them touching you. And they’re still not there. 

You think they came in the room with you, but now everything is fuzzy. What if they’re not actually there? Did your mind make that up? What if some awful machine is controlling the paddle and it just keeps hitting you forever? 

You aren’t aware of the sounds you’re making, how your quiet grunts turn into gasping breaths, but Louis notices. The swats stop and finally you hear Louis' voice, but it sounds like it’s coming from underwater. 

“What’s your color?” He asks. 

You know you should answer, that one word will make this stop, but you can’t think of what it is. 

“Baby, can you tell me what your color is?” He asks again. 

He turns your head so his eyes can see your glazed, unfocused one. When his face finally comes into your view, all you can say is “daddy” through a broken sob. 

Immediately Louis knows what you can’t tell him: that your color is red. Internally he’s kicking himself, mad and disappointed in himself that he pushed you too far, that he didn’t see the signs that it was too much, that you were slipping too deep. 

“It’s okay baby, daddy’s here, I’ve got you,” he says. 

You hear two clicks from the corner of the room, but you can’t currently remember what that means. Louis knows, and he can’t believe he did such a poor job that both his subs needed to color during the same scene. 

“Baby girl, I just need to check on Harry and I’ll be right back.” There’s a shuffling noise, then a piece of fabric is placed on the bed next to you. It’s soft, and smells like Louis. You clutch the sweater in your arms as he walks to the other side of the room. 

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Louis asks as he removes the gag. 

“Nothing, I’m ok, just please untie me so I can help with Y/N,” Harry replies. 

“Okay. Are you in headspace at all?”

“No, completely coherent,” Harry answers. 

You hear the conversation but it has somewhat of a dreamy quality since you’re still so deep in subspace. A moment later, gentle arms are shifting you, dressing you in clean boxers and an oversized t-shirt. Someone lifts you off the bed, before placing you back down so you’re cradled sideways on a lap. 

“Daddy?” You ask.

“I’m here baby,” Louis replies, letting you know that he’s the one holding you. The bed shifts and you watch with bleary eyes as Harry sits against the headboard next to Louis. He lifts your legs to drape them over his lap and runs his hands up and down your shins. 

“How do you feel?” Louis asks. 

“Good,” you sigh. 

“You sure? You were pretty upset just a minute ago baby,” Louis continues. 

“Yea but now you and Harry are here. I just didn’t like being alone.”

“We’ve been here the whole time, lovey,” Harry says, and you try to focus your eyes on his face.

“No you weren’t, you were both gone and I was all alone.”

“Do you mean earlier when we went and ran some errands?” Louis questions. 

“No. Here. Just now. You both left. I couldn’t see you, or hear you or anything. There was no one here and it just hurt because the paddle kept going and I didn’t know if it'd ever stop because neither of you were here to make it end,” you explain with tears starting to roll down your face. 

“It’s okay baby, we’re here, we’ve got you,” Louis says. 

“We’re both here, we’re not going to leave you,” Harry says and he leans over to gently wipe the tears off your cheeks. 

The three of you stay like that, the boys holding you and whispering reassurances that they’re still there. Finally, you start to come up from your subspace. 

“Hi there,” Harry says, seeing your eyes focus on his. 

“Hi,” you shyly reply. 

“You back with us?” Louis asks, his lips pressed against your hair. 

“I’m back,” you confirm. 

“Are you ready to tell us what happened, or do you need some time?” He questions next. 

“I’m ready. I guess I was just sad and upset that you both were too busy for me today. And then it kind of turned into a sensory deprivation thing when I started slipping. I couldn’t see either of you, and no one was making noise, and then when you used the paddle I couldn’t feel you either. My brain just started spiraling and coming up with all of these crazy scenarios. And then I couldn’t call red because I’d convinced myself no one was there to hear it.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t notice what was happening sooner,” Louis says. “Is there anything extra you need for aftercare?”

“Just stay with me. I need to know you guys are here with me.”

“We can do that,” Louis says. 

“Absolutely, we’re not leaving your side for a second,” Harry adds. 

They keep this promise all weekend. After a few more minutes of cuddling they start the next step of your standard aftercare, getting you juice and a snack, followed by a bath. Louis gently dries you off and rubs lotion on your bottom to help with the sting. 

They spend the rest of the weekend absolutely doting on you. Harry insists on carrying you almost everywhere you go, and cooks all the meals that the three of you enjoy together. 

Saturday is spent mostly in the living room watching movies. You experience a mild sub drop, feeling cold and small, and the boys keep you cocooned in blankets while they take turns holding you in their laps. They keep reassuring you that you're good, that they’re not mad, that they love you. 

Their constant care helps regulate your emotions, and by Sunday you’re feeling better. Your painting arrives and Harry helps hang it. They both compliment it, and everyone agrees it ties the room together perfectly. 

Even though you insist you’re feeling just fine by Sunday evening, they insist on taking Monday off as well. You all go on a scenic drive, windows down to breathe in the fresh air. Harry and Louis surprise you with a packed picnic lunch which you eat in a lovely meadow. 

Two weeks later, when the three of you have your next scene together, Harry and Louis take turns focusing completely on you. This time it’s about your pleasure, them giving you as much of it as you can take, their hands never leaving you for a second as they worship your body together. 

And when you wake up each morning wrapped in their arms, you know everything is going to be just fine.

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

Thank you for reading! I do have two more Harry x Louis x reader stories planned, but requests are open!

[hunterofartemis7]

Pt.10

Damain: well?

Asshole doctor: I have nothing to apologize for! She’s just a teenager with and her pregnancy hormones make her exaggerate!

Jason; pregnancy hormones!?

Raven:…..

Kori: shit

Tim: you’re pregnant!?

Raven:..*nods, tearing up again* I wanted to tell you myself…..😣

Jason: *draws his knife* okay so not only will you pay for making her cry the first time and insulting her, but also for ruining her chance to tell us she’s pregnant on her own terms!

Asshole doctor: you can’t do anything to me! We’re in a hospital! The security will have you arrested!

Tim: good point. *drags him outside by his hair*

Damian: *smirks*

Dick: we got this asshole covered little d. Go back with Rae and see your baby.

Raven: thanks dick..

Dick: don’t mention it, and congratulations!! *hugs her tightly* we are so celebrating after now I gotta go! *runs after Tim*

Jason: *ruffles her hair* congratulations kiddo. *follows dick and Tim outside*

Very Nice doctor: Miss? Are you ready?

Raven: *nods*

Very Nice doctor: alright. *brings her back in the room with Damian and Kori* Did he check any vitals before being an ass?

Raven: no…

Very nice doctor: I’m sorry Hun. I don’t know why he wasn’t fired yet. *checks her blood pressure, blood sugar, heart rate breathing etc.*

Damian: *staring her down like a hawk*

Very nice doctor: don’t worry sir, I’m got gonna hurt her

Damian: hm

Very nice doctor: well your BP is a bit high, but that’s to be expected considering what just happened. Blood sugar is also a bit lower than we’d like, but Your heart and lungs sound good.

Raven:..is that gonna hurt the baby?

Very nice doctor: right now it shouldn’t. You’re stressed so it’s understandable to have a higher BP than normal. Your blood sugar is more what I’m worried about. Have you eaten anything today?

Raven: yeah..but I can’t keep anything down

Very nice doctor: how often are you throwing up?

Raven: pretty often..I don’t exact times

VND: that’s okay hun. And it says in your records your anemic right?

Raven: *nods*

VND: are you on any iron supplements?

Raven: no ma’am..

VND: okay. If its alright I’d like to put you on some for the rest of the pregnancy, as well as prenatal vitamins and some meds to help with the nausea

Kori: are all these meds good for her?

VND: yes. One is just vitamins, the other is similar, mostly just to get some iron in her system. The nausea meds are the only “medication” she’ll actually be on. And don’t worry, I won’t prescribe her anything that wasn’t safe for her and baby.

Kori: okay.

VND: now with all that out of the way, you ready to see your baby?

Raven: yes!!

VND: *smiles* okay, lay down hun.

Raven: *lays down on the bed*

VND: *puts a blanket over her and pulls her hospital gown up* fair warning, this is gonna be cold. *gets that weird jell stuff that they use for ultrasound and puts it on her belly*

Raven: *flinched from the cold*

VND: sorry

Raven: it’s okay..

Damian: *holds her hand beside her*

Raven: *small squeeze*

VND: you ready?

Raven: yes

VND: *puts the wand (I think that’s what it’s called) on her abdomen*

Raven: *watching the screen waiting to see the baby*

VND: *points at the small bean* and there’s your baby

Raven:..🥹

Damian: *smiles with happy tears in his eyes* it’s small🥹

VND: yes it is. Your 6 weeks right now, and baby has a strong heart beat

Kori: 🥹 it’s so precious..

Raven: *happy crying* our baby..*looks at Damian* I can’t wait to meet it..🥹

Damian: *kisses her and her belly* I can’t wait either. I’m already in love with it

VND: you two are adorable

*meanwhile outside*

Cop: so one more time….why are you beating up a doctor?🤦🏻‍♀️

Jason: cause he is very very rude and unprofessional to his patients and made our sister in law to be cry.

Tim: and we have about 200+ different complaints about him that the hospital keeps throwing in the trash

Cop:….i don’t get paid enough

[whyse7vn]

KIM SEOKJIN

RIGHT:

The moment doesn’t feel real.

You stare up at the white ceiling. The room is dark you can barely see it.

It’s late. How late?

You turn your head to the left a small digital clock now in view.

11:45 PM

It’s late.

The moment doesn’t feel real.

It’s like you’re here but you’re not here.

Your gaze is on the ceiling again. Your laying on your back, fingers intertwined resting on your stomach. Your mind thinks back to the clock.

The clock, there’s a shift in the covers next to you, that’s not your clock. Your eyebrows furrow, there’s another shift.

Oh

right.

That isn’t your clock. This isn’t your bed. You turn your head to the right. His back is to you. This isn’t your house.

“Jin?”

“Mmh?”

His response is instant. He turns around and cuddles into the side of your body. His head now rests in the crook of your neck. You can feel his breath on your skin. His right arm wraps around your torso.

Suddenly you’re hyper aware of everything. The clothes you wear despite being Jin’s and way too big for you, feel as if they’re tightening around your skin. The room feels busy. Your body is hot. The part of Jin’s body that rests ontop of you feels as if it’s burning.

You tell yourself this is normal. The sharing a bed part, the cuddling part. Ten years of friendship makes this normal, for you guys anyways too many secrets shared too many embarrassing moments witnessed to freak out over such trivial things.

Ten years of friendship.

Friendship?

Today felt like anything but ten years of friendship. He had cooked for you

just for you

on valentine’s day. No questions asked no plans made he just did.

He didn’t know you were coming but still did. For you.

Just for you.

You laughed, danced a little, drank a little, cleaned together, watched a movie and now you’re in bed together.

Just as friends?

No. There was too much tension in the air today, way too much tension. Sure Jin has never really shown any outward romantic interest in you like say Jungkook and Taehyung have but then again not everyone is Jungkook and Taehyung and not everyone shows affection and like Jungkook and Taehyung do.

Maybe you’re overthinking this. No you’re definitely overthinking this. You shouldn’t even be thinking about this.

Not even a full week ago you—

Guilty.

You feel guilty now, real fucking guilty.

You breath quickens. Your mind spiralling.

Taehyung and you just— and what about Jaehyun? Would Yoongi be mad? Is Hobi really ok? You should call Jimin but have you been ignoring Kook? what about Joon?? Isn’t it Jaehyuns birthday today? And Jin—

“Hey”

His voice gentle

concerned.

It brings you out of your spiral almost instantly.

“I’m here, don’t cry i’m here”

You were crying? You hadn’t even noticed.

Jin now sits up on his side, one arm supports his weight the other gently wipes your tears away.

“Breathe with me baby, breathe you can do that f’me can’t you?”

You nod your head not trusting your voice in the moment. Tears cloud your vision. You breathe.

Nothing feels real.

“There you go, doing so well let’s slow down a little yeah? It’s just you and me i got you nothings gonna hurt you i promise”

You wordlessly nod once more and attempt to slow down your breathing.

A few “Good girl”’s and “I’m here”’s later your tears stop and your breathing is back to a somewhat normal pace.

You’re embarrassed.

“I’m sorr—”

“You don’t need to apologise”

Your hands cover your face.

“What’s on your mind?”

It’s such a simple question but it almost brings you to tears once more.

What’s on your mind?

What isn’t?

Who isn’t?

You feel disgusting. Like a whore.

It’s ironic really. You’ve been called a whore for practically your whole career by fans, friends the media sometimes as a joke other times not. But you’ve never really felt like a whore sure you’ve done your fair share of sleeping around couple dates here and there but you’ve never felt as gross as you do now.

What’s on your mind?

You think back to Jin’s question.

“You” Its partly true.

“Me?”

“Yeah”

There a beat of silence.

You’re the one to break it.

“Do you think…

i’m a bad person?”

“I could never think you’re a bad person”

He pauses.

“We could never think you’re a bad person”

“We?”

“The remaining 6 of us i don’t need to name them do i?”

He smiles at you.

You frown, you’re not convinced.

“You don’t know that though”

“I know”

“Even if—”

“Even if. Especially if.”

“What?” You’re caught off guard by his answer.

“You don’t even know what i was gonna say”

“I have my theories”

“Which are?”

“How about we got theory for theory?”

“You’re the one with the theories i’m the one with the facts”

“I guess you’re right”

“I normally am”

“Normally?”

“Yeah…don’t really know if i’ve been doing things right lately”

“Why?”

You sigh.

What do you have to lose?

You look him in the eyes.

now or never

“I-i slept with Taehyung”

“And that wasn’t right?”

“Well it was. It-it felt right it was right but i didn’t just sleep with him it was more than that and-and now i’m here with you...”

“Being with me isn’t right?”

“No! i’m not saying that i’m just saying being with you feels right too and that isn’t right”

Jin doesn’t speak.

“Like i’m feeling things for too many people and that isn’t right”

You’re met with silence again. You feel defeated. You feel stupid. You feel exposed.

“Says who?”

You look at Jin puzzled.

“Well technically no one? but thinking about everyone’s feelings tells me it’s not right”

“Now that’s not right, personally i see no wrong in you feeling right with Tae and me”

“Really?”

“Really”

“You know when i say right i mean feelings? like i mean romantic feelings“

“I know”

He caresses your face.

“I’ve known”

His last sentence hits you hard for some reason. He’s known? He’s known that you were talking about romantic feelings? Or he’s known it’s not just him and Taehyung? Maybe he had known that you never really liked Jaehyun as much as you should have? Perhaps he had known you feel guilty? Known you can barely look yourself in the mirror anymore? Or is it that he had known you almost found yourself at Jimin’s apartment today?

“You don’t owe anyone anything you know that right?”

Your eyes sting. He continues.

“You shouldn’t feel like you have to choose. I would never make you choose. I know you need the other members as much as they need you as much as i need you. If being with them feels right as much as it feels right being with me who am i to deny you?”

There’s so much you could say right now. So many things you want to say, to ask. You open your mouth to speak but the words don’t seem to find you.

You bite your lip, tears spot your vision once more. You’ve cried an awful lot today first tears of guilt and now tears of sadness? Or perhaps it’s relief? You’re unsure.

Just like you’re unsure on whether this moment is real or not. Unsure if you’re even here. Unsure if this is right.

You can barely make out Jin’s figure between your watery vision and the darkness of the room. His hand now strokes your hair.

“Thank you” The only words you’re able to say. You don’t even know what you’re thanking him for or if you’re even thanking him.

“Thank you” You repeat. The only words that feel right to say in this moment.

He kisses your forehead “Let’s get some sleep yeah?”

—

1.3k words of pure shit my fault guys 😅🤗

if it wasn’t clear this was valentine’s day here for context

tags: @piw6n @92jinnies @birdie-vhs @kooksmilitarywife @hob3loveofmylife @jujubiism @bloopkook @ratchetpizza1 @myntalks @arloo00 @watamotee33 @y2kcy3brz @taiwan0618 @freyadanvers @gguksbeloved @raetf @bbsantc @winuvs @medicinemybish @bxnnyhime @leleluvsbts @baetukki @zyaaaszn @thelilbutifulthings @jazminethecreator @k4ngelz @jmnscutie @threeopossumsinacoat @cynicalyoongs @lightningpussy54 @eunthv @gigiiiiislife @lowkeykin @elissasimp @socksfirstalways @knjlvr06 @lailaisarmy @thvkives @xstfudaisyx @xxxanimangxxx @solstice34 @ml8dy @hoeforseoks

[mackenzielovee]

let me in — joel miller

summary: joel has secrets, and when you try to dig deeper, he shuts you down.

content warnings: swearing, smut (fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, PinV sex, dirty talk) verbal argument, mention of death, guns, shooting

pairing: joel miller x fem! reader

navigation | my writing

     The radio in the living room plays softly, distracting you from the humidity and frustration you feel in your bones. It’s late — way past the time Joel told you to expect him back — and he knows you can’t sleep without him. 

You lie in his bed in only a tank top and panties, tossing the sheet off of your body and onto his side of the bed. You groan for no one to hear, because the apartment is empty. As usual. 

You swore to yourself you’d do some tidying up while Joel was gone, but you hadn’t. Instead, you read one of Joel’s favorite books, which you only know based on the fact that the spine is cracked in four different places. 

You’ve asked him about it, but he doesn’t tell you much about it. He doesn’t tell you much of anything, in fairness. He’s quiet, brooding, and reserved, but from what you’ve been able to gather about him, it’s for a good reason. 

Now, you stand from the bed and walk over to the couch, to the book, and pick it up. Without even pretending to read it, you flip right to the page and pull out the single polaroid picture you discovered months ago. You’d never worked up the nerve to ask him about it — about her — but you can tell it’s from before. From his first life. 

You stare at him; at the stubble on his chin, the style of his hair, and the goofy smile on his face. It’s a far cry from the man you know now — gray hair, gray beard, and not a single smile given since you’ve met him. The girl beside him, the one who you’re sure is the reason for his wide smile, is beautiful. As much as you want to know who she is, you’re too scared of him to ask. 

The turn of the lock at the door draws you out of the polaroid, which you slide back into the book and toss onto the coffee table before Joel shoves his way through the door. 

He closes the door loudly behind him, then turns and locks it immediately. When he faces the apartment, when he faces you, his shoulders fall and his eyes close, as if the sight of you is enough to relax him just enough. 

“Hey,” you murmur. 

“Waiting up for me?” he asks gruffly. 

He tosses his bag down on the floor, then removes his gun from the waistband of his jeans against his back. He sets it down on the coffee table as he makes his way over to you, collapsing on the other end of the couch and covering his face in his hands. 

“Maybe,” you shrug, scooting closer, “You’re late.”

“Got held up,” he replies, content with giving you no more information than that, “Anyone come to the door?”

“Not like I could answer it if they did,” you remark. 

He scoffs, and when you lay your legs over his lap, wanting some form of physical touch from him, he brings one hand down to your skin. Slowly, his calloused fingers stroke up and down your skin, and your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s doing it without even thinking about it. 

“Yeah, well, I’d never forgive myself if you opened it and…” he trails off, clenching his jaw hard.

You don’t question him or beg him to finish his sentence, but when his palm stills on your skin and his hand wraps around your calf, you watch him carefully. 

His eyes dart over to that copy of the book, and he stares at it for a long moment before he looks away. To the floor, to the radio, then over to you. Offering him a gentle smile, you feel him squeeze your calf twice, which is his way of ushering you over to him. 

“Rough day?” you change the subject as you move across the couch, cuddling into his side. 

His arm wraps around you lazily, but his feet remain planted on the floor. He’s warm, overly so, and his shirt houses patches of sweat and dirt. 

“Same as always.”

“Are you hungry?” you ask him. 

“No. This is good.”

You smile victoriously to yourself and nod against him, then cuddle in deeper. Despite his dirt and sweat, you wouldn’t trade his comfort for anything. 

“Joel,” you say quietly after a minute of silence, “Can I ask you a question?”

He nods when you look up at him, “Yes.”

“Well,” you sit up, staring at him for a long moment before turning, leaning toward the coffee table, “I was reading this book earlier, and I found—”

Just as you open it to show him, he stands. It’s abrupt and aggressive, and you freeze immediately. When you look up at him, his chest heaves and his eyes are wide, but before you can question him, he snatches the book from your hands. 

“You’re touching my fucking things?” he shouts, “What gives you the right?”

Your lips part but no sound comes out. You tense and scoot to the very edge of the couch, holding up your hands to show that you meant no harm. 

“Joel, please, I’m sorry—” you stutter out, but he shakes his head. 

“Fuck your sorry. If it’s not yours, don’t fucking touch it.” 

He takes the book and storms off, not noticing the way you start to shake as he yells. His boots scuff against the wood as he rushes into his bedroom, leaving you alone on the couch. Then, you listen as he removes the floorboards and moves things around, of which you’re assuming he is stashing the book and the picture in there. 

Your eyes close and you make yourself small on the couch, tucking a blanket over your body and resigning to sleeping there. 

Except you don’t sleep. 

You lay there and stare at the ceiling, listening to the soft hum of the radio that neither of you bothered to turn off. You can hear Joel as he moves around in bed, most likely trying to get comfortable in the humidity and the anger. 

You feel as if hours have gone by before he stands. You listen to his footsteps as he comes out of the bedroom, and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t have to fill any awkward silences or feel as if you should try and defend yourself. 

Convinced he’ll grab water and head back to bed, you’re more than surprised when you sense him at the edge of the couch, by your feet. More than anything, you want to peek. You want to see his scowl, the crease in his brow, and the frown that lines his lips. Instead, you focus on keeping your breathing steady. 

This does not deter Joel in any way. He walks the length of the couch and kneels in front of you. His warm palm ghosts over your cheek, and when he brushes hair from your face and behind your ear, you finally allow yourself to peel your eyes open. 

He stares at you for a long moment, and you stare back, memorizing every crease, every line, every bit of those big, brown eyes. 

“Hey,” you whisper. 

“Hey, baby,” he replies in a low voice, swallowing before he speaks again, “You never came to bed.”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance, “Didn’t think I was welcome.”

He sighs and looks down at the floor, shifting his jaw around as he debates a response. You don’t dare move a muscle out of fear that he will pull his touch from you, and you need it more than anything at this moment. 

“You’re always welcome.”

His voice is quiet, low, deep. It makes your heartbeat a little faster and your stomach fills with warm honey. When he sees your lips tip up in a smile, he scoots closer to the edge of the couch. 

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you mumble, “I just—-”

“I know,” he stops you carefully, “I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

You reach up and cup his wrist in your palm, stroking his skin carefully and gently. 

“It’s okay,” you reply. 

“Will you come to bed, please?” 

Before you can even give him an answer, he stands and tucks his arms underneath your legs and back. You giggle when he picks you up, then toss the blanket back down onto the couch. He shakes his head when he sees you in your tank top and panties, then gives your forehead a forceful peck. 

“How are you not hot in all these clothes?” you ask him as he walks through the apartment with you in his arms, “You’re never going to sleep.”

“Who said I want to sleep?” he raises a brow, and when he reaches the foot of the bed, he drops you down onto the mattress. 

You squeal and scramble around in the sheets, sitting up and looking at him with wide eyes. He smirks and unbuttons his shirt, then peels it off and tosses it onto the floor. You sit up on your knees and unbutton his pants, then slowly unzip them while you stare up at him with innocent eyes. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he practically groans as he shoves his pants to the floor, “You know those eyes get me every fucking time.”

“Sorry,” you mumble halfheartedly. 

He groans again when you lay back on the mattress and gesture for him to join you. He crawls in and kicks off his boxers, then shoves a grabby hand up your tank top. 

When his lips meet your throat, you shove your hips up into his. He growls and takes your skin between his teeth, eliciting a moan straight from your lips. 

“Want this off,” he demands, waving your tank top away before his hands wander down to the waistband of your panties, “These, too.”

You nod and obey, willing to do anything he asks if it means he doesn’t stop touching you. He takes it upon himself to tug your underwear down your legs while you pull your tank top over your head, exposing your entire body to him. 

Nobody knows you like Joel. That is a fact you’re sure of. Nobody knows how to bring you to orgasm after orgasm. Nobody knows how to care for you, provide for you, and keep you safe like Joel. Which is the primary reason why you pull him closer, threading your fingers through your hair and letting out little whimpers as his hands roam your body. 

“Please,” you whine, “Joel, please. I need you.”

“I know, baby,” he says into your neck, against your jaw, as his nose nudges you to angle upward, “Not going anywhere.”

You nod desperately against him as he shifts and hovers his lips over your own. He pulls back and you chase him, begging silently for a kiss. Without wasting another second, he gives it to you. His tongue explores your mouth instantly and his hand trails down your body, dipping between your legs and groaning when he feels how much you want him. 

“Joel—” you pant when his fingers tease you; not inching inside, but simply feeling you for now. 

“I said, I know,” he repeats, “Relax. You know you can’t take me without my fingers, first.”

You nod, and nod, and nod, and when he finally slides his fingers inside you, a loud moan sounds from your lips. He keeps your hips down with his own, keeping his body on top of you and using his thumb to strum over your clit. 

“Oh, that’s it,” you cry, but when he hits that spot, that spongy spot that makes you scream, Joel groans. 

“No, that’s it,” he corrects, kissing you again, “I always find it. Always.”

“You do, you do,” you pant, silently begging for more as you clench around his fingers, “Oh, Joel, almost there.”

“Let me feel it, baby.”

The circles he rubs into your clit quicken, and when he scissors his fingers inside of you, you fall over the edge. He rides you through it, not daring to stop or slow down as you ride out your high against him. It isn’t until your moaning comes to an end that he pulls his fingers from you and kisses you again — this time, softer and sweeter. 

You cup his cheeks in your hand and pull him back, looking up at him in admiration and kissing the tip of his nose just to watch his lips tip up. He definitely seems more relaxed, but you want him to be relaxed completely. 

Much to his surprise, you sit up and push on his shoulders, guiding him so he sits with his back resting against the wall. His eyes widen when you climb onto his lap, then kiss your way up his chest, neck, jawline, cheeks, and finally, his lips. 

“Baby,” he whispers against your mouth.

You pull back and smirk, “I know, Joel. Just relax.”

He swallows and nods his head, then rests his palms on your hips. You take him in your hand and line him up with your entrance, sucking in a deep breath before you start to take him. He guides you down by your hips, then hisses when he feels you welcome him in. 

“Oh, fuck,” he cries out, “Needed this so bad. Needed you so bad, goddamn.”

You bite your lip in both pain and pleasure as he stretches you out, and you are still on top of him before you even consider moving. 

You grind your hips into his and he whimpers, hands now digging into your skin to try and keep you still. You lazily try to pry him off by rolling your hips again, but his grip only tightens. 

“One second, fuck, just hold still,” he commands roughly, “Unless you want me to cum right now.”

You give him a smug grin, “Well.”

“Hush,” he grunts, “C’mere.”

You obey and lower your head, connecting your lips with his again. You kiss him until you feel his grip on your hips gradually loosen, and when his hands fall from your skin altogether, you proceed. 

You begin to move up and down at a slow, steady pace with only one goal in mind: make Joel feel good. Take that stress, that pent up seriousness away. Smooth over his rough edges and let him know that even if he loses it, even if he holds his cards close to his chest, he will still always have you to come home to at the end of the day. 

“That’s so fucking good,” he swears, bringing his hands back up to help guide you, “Can’t believe you take all of me, baby.”

“Hmm, took a while,” you hum, teasing him before giving him another kiss.

He quickens your pace with his grip, and when that’s not enough for him, he starts thrusting his hips up into you. He listens as you cry out for him and lock your arms around his neck, letting the pleasure wash over every inch of you. 

With Joel, you swear he can feel every spot inside of you and is determined to hit it each and every time he fucks you. He doesn’t try to be gentle or tender; he is determined to draw every ounce of pleasure from you and he knows just how to do it. Rough, hard, and unforgiving. 

“Oh, fuck, Joel,” you whimper, “That’s it, that’s it—-”

“I know, almost there, just keep going for me a little longer, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, tightening around him. 

His hips buck up involuntarily when you tighten, and when you realize how close he truly is, you do it again. His thumb desperately finds your clit and rubs hard, but when that proves to not be enough, he draws his hand back and taps it twice with his fingers. 

You finish almost immediately after; falling into his chest as you moan loudly and ride out your high. Joel’s release comes only seconds after yours, and if not for the way he keeps himself pressed up inside you, you wouldn’t even know. 

You collapse into his chest and cuddle into his neck as you come down from it all. Joel breathes heavily above you, and his hands stroke down your back lightly in a comforting motion. You can feel your heart swelling in your chest, and the desire to tell him rests on the tip of your tongue. You don’t tell Joel often because Joel never initiates it, but you know he loves you. He always says it back, he just never says it first. 

“You’re amazing,” he whispers. 

“So are you.”

He lifts you up and pulls himself out, then gently sets you down on the bed beside him. He stands, tucking his boxers back on over his naked body. Your eyes follow him as he takes a few steps away, then turns back. 

“Water?” 

You nod, “Yes, please.”

You rise from the bed and use the restroom, then return and fish your tank top and panties from up off the floor. Joel watches as you tuck them over your body, then crawl back in bed beside him. You pull the sheet over your bottom half and do the same to him, then take the cup of water he’s offering you. 

“Her name is Sarah.”

Your eyes dart back up to him as he speaks, but you don’t understand his words. You pull the cup away from your lips and wipe your mouth with the back of your palm, then clear your throat.

“What?”

“The girl in the photo,” he clarifies, then leans over and grabs the polaroid out of the back pocket of his pants. He holds it out to you and nods for you to take it, then grabs the cup of water back from you, “Sarah. My kid.”

Your eyes widen slightly, “Your kid?”

He nods exactly once. You look up from the picture and to him, examining the way he clenches his jaw and puffs out his chest. As if he’s reliving some secret memory in his mind and he’s on the defensive, even though he’s really just in bed with you. 

“Love of my life,” he murmurs, his voice somber. 

You scoot closer to him, and when he doesn’t object, you put your head down on his chest. His arm wraps around you the same way it did before, but you love how you can feel more of his skin now. More of his warmth. Suddenly, the humidity and the heat don’t bother you. 

“Did she…” you trail off, not knowing how to ask your question. Thankfully, he knows what you’re trying to say, because he shakes his head. 

“No,” he replies, glancing at the photo over your shoulder again before adding, “She was shot.”

You tense and sit up, looking over into those brown eyes. Immediately, you can tell. He was there. He saw it. He’s been mourning her all this time, which is why he got so defensive over the book and the photograph. It’s why he doesn’t say much, or smile much, or volunteer much about himself. 

His heart was broken beyond repair once, and in this moment, you count yourself lucky to even be able to hold a piece of it. 

“Joel,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the tears forming in your eyes, “I’m so sorry.”

He nods carefully, then removes the photo from your fingers and places it on the small, cluttered table beside the bed. You want to say something, anything, but you know there aren’t words to reconcile his loss. 

“You don’t need to be.”

You run your hand up his arm and shoulder, to his jaw, then cup his cheek. Your thumb strokes over his beard and you pay extra attention to his gray patches, although he knows you love every inch of him. 

“You can tell me about her. If you want,” you offer. 

He swallows roughly, and you’re unsure of the response you’ll get. Slowly, he grabs ahold of your hand, the one on his face, and tangles your fingers up with his own. 

“I, um,” he frowns, looking down, “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“Okay, that’s fine. But, when you are, I’m here.”

He nods, “I know.”

He tugs you back into his chest by your entwined hands, letting you slot into his side the way you always do. He readjusts the sheet around the two of you and slides down further on the bed, silently telling you that he wants to sleep, but he isn’t willing to release you to do so. 

“Joel?” you say after a minute or so of silence. 

“Yes?”

“I love you,” you tell him, closing your eyes after the words escape you. 

He’s silent for a beat too long, and you’re convinced he isn’t going to say anything back. 

“I love you, too,” he says. His voice is deep, and you can tell there’s a lot of emotion there. He leans down and kisses your forehead, then lays back on his pillow, “Get some rest.”

“Okay,” you reply, “Goodnight.”

“Sweet dreams, baby.”

You smile to yourself in the darkness. Even though a perfect world with Joel would look entirely different to you, as you lay underneath a singular bedsheet in a tank top and underwear, you think that you’d do anything for him, and he’d do anything for you. That’s about as perfect as you can get.

a/n: ahhh my first joel fic in the books! i hope you guys enjoyed. reblogs are very much appreciated, as is feedback. i would love to hear any and all comments! thank you so much for reading!

*i no longer have a tag list! follow @mackupdates for updates!

[2kiran]

“THE STARS LEAKED, BUT NEVER GOT FAR”

pairing: könig x reader

genre: smut, angst

reader is a male. dom!reader x sub!könig

cw: lowercase typing, könig is sad, hurt/comfort, abandonment issues, google translated german, handjob, pet names, anal sex, gentle sex

after a close call in a mission, könig won’t leave you alone.

the moonlit sky’s light cascaded to your window, shattering the shadows that filled your room. it was late, clock reading 02:00. you couldn’t sleep, your injury from the mission earlier made your body suffer and system awake. you lay on your bed, gazing at the ceiling.

a knock broke the silence, awakening you further from your conscious slumber. you stood up, limbs aching from how stiff they were. “hello?” you yawn, rubbing your eyes with your free hand as you opened the door with the other. there stood könig. his eyes barely peeked through your door, his tall stature having him bend down to see you. “könig? what are you doing here?”

he fidgeted with his hands, nervousness seeping into his posture. “can i come in?” he asked cautiously. you moved to the side to allow him to enter your small room. you gestured for him to sit down with you on your bed. “anythin’ wrong?” concern evident in your face and tone, it was unlike for könig to come into your room at the dead of night. “i’m just-” then he snapped, voice wobbly and tears pouring from his eyes. alarms blared in your head.

“könig?! why? did something happen?” you made him face you, left hand on his shoulder and your right holding one of his. “i’m- i’m scared of lo...losing you.” he said in between his stutters, more tears cascading as the words left his mouth. you’re surprised at his outburst. you didn’t expect that he, your colonel, would be this afraid of you gone. your injury must have awfully terrified him.

you squeezed his hand in reassurance, “you won’t lose me.” you said. “what- what if it had been worse? i can’t b-bear the thought of you... d-dying. you s-scared me,” his accent became apparent through his sobs, “i can’t- you should’ve listened to me!” a weak not-so yell, his hand lightly punching your shoulder. “i know, i’m sorry.” a small smile spread across your lips, he cared for you.

“d-don’t do that again,” he hiccups, “they c-could’ve killed you a-and i wouldn’t have b-been... a-able to do anything about it.” more tears, “i can’t... i can’t lose anyone else, especially n-not you.” his hood was stained with his tears. “i won’t.” you pulled him into a hug, his head on your chest. he sobbed more loudly now. he squeezed you, an assurance to himself that you were real. you grunted in pain, he squeezed you a little too hard.

he suddenly freezed, sobs weakening. this made you confused, you looked down at him and shifted yourself in a more comfortable position. something bumped your inner thigh and you became frozen. könig wanted to cry even harder and run away out of embarrassment, but you kept him caged in with your hug. “are you...?” you carefully questioned, making sure your tone didn’t sound judgmental. “m sorry, ‘m sorry. i didn’t mean to-” you cut him off, “it’s okay, don’t worry.” you rubbed your hand up and down his back to soothe him. “do you want me to help you?” you mentally slapped yourself in your head, he wanted to vent out his feelings and scold you for disobeying, not have sex with you!

he weakly nodded, pulling you impossibly closer. “lay back for me?” he obliged with your request, “on your elbows.” there he lay, using his elbows for support to be able to properly look at you. you intertwined your fingers with his, kissing his gloved knuckles.

he lifted his mask above his nose, revealing the bottom part of his face to you. a scar littered his jaw, fair skin and crooked nose exposed to you. pink, full lips with a perfect cupid’s bow parted just for you.

you pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, “you’re beautiful.” his eyes sparked at your compliment, a blush forming on his cheeks. “d-danke.” (thanks) he hiccuped.

you kiss his jaw, lips tracing to his neck down to his collarbone. könig whined impatiently, troubled hands grabbing your shirt’s collar and pulling you into a kiss. you tug at his closed mouth and he parted his lips in response, allowing your tongue to enter. your tongue fought with his, a moan leaving him.

a thin trail of saliva connected your mouth to his as you pulled away to breathe. he cried for more, and you can’t deny him no longer.

“könig.” his name leaves you breathlessly, “do you want to take it further?” before you were finished speaking those words, he nodded eagerly. “please.” he pleaded not only with his voice, but with his eyes too. you kiss him once, before you slip your fingers into his pants and pull them down along with his boxers. his cock practically begged for attention, your attention.

you sat on your knees on the bed and you grabbed his knees, letting his legs rest on your waist and manuevering him to reveal his hole to you. he was... wet?

you didn’t intend to stare, but him hiding behind his hands made it evident that it seemed that way. “i- i prepared myself... earlier. i mean- i didn’t plan on doing this with you! i just... you were on my mind before i... es tut mir leid.” (i’m sorry) he rambled, tumbling over his own words. you rubbed his hip.

“hey, it’s okay. i don’t mind that.” you shushed him, beginning to stroke his cock. he bucked his hips up at the sensation. you pulled your pants and boxers down, revealing your own aching one. he seemed impressed at your size, because his eyes widened at the sight. “you think... it’ll fit?”

his tone was uncertain but his eyes glinted in excitement. the corners of your lips threatened to curl upwards in a form of a smile. “i’ll make it fit.” with that, you inched yourself inside his hole. taking it slowly for him to be able to adjust.

“ah, scheiße.” (ah, fuck) he gripped the sheets below him. he was big himself, about 10 inches. a lot of people assumed he was born with his height to make up for what was in between his legs, but they were so fucking wrong. you were now inside of him down to the hilt. you noticed that könig began to sweat. “relax, sweetheart.” you attempted to calm him down.

“b-bitte bewegen.” (please move) he wiggled his hips impatiently, and you took that as your cue. you pulled back until only the tip of your cock was inside, and you suddenly thrusted in. “mmf– mein gott...” (my god) he moaned. he wasn’t completely over his worries, so you fucked him gently to soothe his overwhelming thoughts. “wait... your injury– nng!” you stroked his cock, synchronizing it with your thrusts. “i’m fine.” you assure.

“i don’t wanna hurt you.” he grabbed your wrist almost in protest. “könig, i wouldn’t be doing this with you if it hurt me.” you replied. he was so cute. his lips trembled as he twitched.

you dragged your cock against his walls, finding his sweet spot soon after. your hips followed a steady rhythm. he really was a sight. a star whom leaked tears for you, one who traces after your being and does not stay too far away. one who will forever refuse to leave you alone. he longs after your presence, just as much as you long for his. it’s like you were made to be together, a reflection of one another.

“mein liebling, ich bin nah dran.” (my darling, i’m close) he gasped as you repeatedly hit his prostate, not giving him any rest. a few more thrusts, he came. his cum flowed in between your fingers. you weren’t quite there, yet. “schatz, i- nngh. h-harder.” (treasure) you thrusted just a little harder as he requested, friction increasing as he whined louder. his words were mixed in german and english. you marveled over the fact that you broke him enough until he couldn’t speak a comprehensive thought in one language. he began to meet with your thrusts, his thighs shook with every movement.

he adored you with every single fiber of his soul. if this was a dream, he’d rather be in his slumber forever. it’s selfish, he knows that, but with every kiss and word dedicated to him he refuses to let you go. “hngh– please tell me you won’t.. ah! leave me.” he begged, his hands now on your forearms. “i won’t, i won’t leave you.” you groaned as you got closer to the edge. “don’t d...do that again” he whimpered, “mhm, i won’t, könig. ‘m sorry. where y’want it?” you rushed your words out, nearly reaching your peak. he was going to cum again too.

“in me. fuuck, feel s-so good. bitte, hör nicht auf. ich brauche dich so sehr, nngh!” (please, don’t stop. i need you so bad) he whined, you came inside of him and it triggered his. as the last few spurts left you both, you laid on top of him, not quite leaning your full weight on him. you panted, feeling your cum leaking from his hole down to your softening cock.

“feel better?” you ask, a lazy smile forming on your mouth. he hummed in agreement, “stay with me for a while, mein schatz.” (my sweetheart)

masterlist

[mo0nfairy]

Jill with a virgin reader is making me salivate, honestly ANY Of them w a virgin reader. Ada literally can’t stop cooing and awwing at reader long enough to acc fuck them, Leons savour complex is going OFF. Carlos is crying, bcs he? Gets to be the first? And Jill asks if anyone is going to fix that, and doesn’t wait far an answer

omgggggg don't even get me started. i actually imagined y/n in unchained melody to be a virgin, since most of their adult life has been spent in umbrella's captivity. but, with most of my stories, i try to keep y/n's character as vague as i can without making them bland. so, ultimately, you all get to decide whether your reader insert is a virgin or not.

tell any of the four you are a virgin, however, and they will surely lose their minds. all in their own unique, intricate ways.

yes, leon's savior complex goes haywire, but full honesty.... he feels really guilty. of course, his delusional mind does its usual mental gymnastics. he reaches the conclusion that your virginity is because you spent these past several years saving yourself for him. and he, to put it bluntly, is a slut. sure, none of the bodies he brought to bed meant anything to him, nor did they really bring him any pleasure. but his body count is sky high, while yours hasn't lifted an inch from the ground. nonetheless, he finds comfort knowing you are the one he will lay with for the rest of his life, and vice versa.

ada, on the other hand, thinks societal standards and regulations surrounding the concept of virginity are complete bullshit. your whole disposition changes just bc of one pencil dick? yeah right..... that being said, when it is you looking up at her, all doe-eyed and shy with your confession, she can't deny the possessive, animalistic nature it stirs inside her. having complete responsibility of your pleasure and experience has her itching to sink her claws into you. more than she is willing to admit.

carlos differs from all the four as he is not the most sexual person ever. however, he has had his fair share of one night stands in the past. all that locker room talk from other soldiers turned him into a playboy, of sorts. all the names on his body count were really only there to give him an ego boost. now, with you and all your heavenly glory in his life, carlos is a changed man. virgin or not, he always treats you like your skin is made of fine china. in this scenario, however, he is horrified at the prospect of even pressing too hard on a muscle. you can have carlos as your first, of course, but be prepared to constantly soothe and assure him of your safety.

and last, but certainly not least, we have jill. oh, boy...... the words "i'm a virgin" may as well be a lethal weapon, because not a picosecond is wasted before she is tearing into you like some crazed animal. she is not soft or soothing like the others, no, she is rough and aggressive, and most importantly, cocky. constantly boasting about how you needed a real woman to fuck you right, how nobody else could make you feel the way she does, and just how fucking soul-crushing you look with her hands all over you. in the end, your confession will inevitably lead to you beneath her. and you'll be lucky if you can stand on your feet for the next few days.

my best advice, keep your sexual history a secret. whether you've brought hundreds to bed or zero, simply alluding to sex will have them all sweating and squirming with need. if you do confess, however....... i'll keep you in my prayers.....................

[sellasstories]

SWEET

word count: 1.5k

pairing: paige bueckers x azzi fudd

⚠️warnings⚠️

hurt/comfort, angst, swearing

prompts:

paige is upset at her team and misses azzi

pazzi are each other’s person but haven’t figured out exactly what that means

title from the cas song (somewhat inspired)

Paige breathed a sigh of relief when the final buzzer sounded. It should’ve been a relatively easy game, but this season had been anything but easy so far and she hadn’t been taking anything for granted, especially since Azzi got hurt again.

Azzi…. through the photos, autographs, and media, Paige couldn’t help her mind from drifting back to her. Azzi, her rock, her person, her best friend… maybe that last one wasn’t quite right anymore. They hadn’t put a label on anything yet, but she didn’t think that the parameters of “best friends” quite explained what they were to each other.

All she knew was that Azzi should’ve been a part of the win, not laying in a hospital bed. She knew sitting there watching must’ve been killing Azzi as much as it was killing Paige to not have her on the floor.

The team was already chattering excitedly when she stepped onto the bus.

“There she is! P-SKIII!” cheered KK, trying to get her to join in on whatever silly dance her and Aubrey were doing.

“Thanks KK, but I’m too tired for all this. I think I’mma go pass out in the back if anyone needs me.” She ignored the confused looks of most of her teammates.

Aaliyah must have seen the look in her eyes because she spoke up suddenly. “You guys heard her, her back hurts from carrying your sorry asses with her 34 and 12!”

As everyone laughed, Paige shot Aaliyah a grateful look and went to sit down. After making sure that no one was paying any attention to her, she pulled out her phone and called Azzi, who picked up almost immediately.

“Congratulations! I watched the whole thing and I’m so proud of you guys!” Azzi’s excitement was painfully fake, even over the phone.

“Thanks,” Paige mumbled hollowly. “You know you don’t have to pretend with me, right?”

“I know, it’s just that you finally got a win and we really need those right now and I… didn’t wanna take away from that, I guess,” Azzi sighed. Her voice had lost all its prior enthusiasm.

Paige wasn’t prepared for how broken Azzi sounded. Despite her best efforts to blink them back, her eyes began to fill with tears. “Don’t worry about anything like that. It wasn’t a good win and we both know it. I guess I played fine, but where is the rest of this fucking team?”

Paige knew it was unfair, but she couldn’t stop herself from saying it. “Where are you, Az? I need you.”

The call lapsed into silence, Paige trying to stop the tears from leaking out of her eyes while, alone in a hospital bed, Azzi’s cheeks were already wet.

“No, Azzi, stop it. You’re not allowed to be crying right now,” Paige leaned her head against the bus window.

“How did you kno- whatever, you’re literally crying too, baby,” Azzi was quick to reply when she heard the tremor in the other girl’s voice. “I should be there for you, I don’t know why shit like this keeps happening.”

Paige gave up on wiping the tears now freely flowing down her face.

“I can’t have you crying because of me, I can’t. It’s just a game- well it’s not just a game but it’s also not your life. You shouldn’t have this — shouldn’t have my problems — on your mind as well! It’s not fair to you, it just isn’t.” She went silent, realizing she’d let slip more than she’d intended to.

“How can you even say that when you’ve cried over me more times than I can remember?” Azzi asked incredulously. “You’re right, Paige, it’s not just a game, it’s your whole life, and mine! It’s the reason I’m here right now, still fighting for a chance at one of the most important things in the world to me, to both of us.”

So many miles away, Paige’s broken sigh was a shot straight through Azzi’s heart.

“I’m tired, Azzi. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be… I miss you.” The last part was whispered like a confession, Paige seemingly still not sure if it was something that she could just say.

“I know, P. None of this is fair. I miss you too.” It came out easier for Azzi. She’d always been better at stuff like that.

Neither girl knew what to say after that, the only sounds on the call being soft breathing and faint sounds of rain hitting the bus’s windows.

“It’s raining here, like a lot. It’s kinda soothing if you close your eyes,” Paige broke the silence, her voice a bit rough.

Azzi wiped her eyes, squinting at the curtains drawn over the window in her room. “I think it’s raining here too,” she finally said.

Paige sat in silence as she listened to Azzi call for a nurse to come open her window.

“It is kinda nice, you’re right.” Azzi took a deep breath as the soft pattering of raindrops filled her ears.

“Can I say that I miss you again?” Paige asked after another long silence.

“You can say anything to me.” Azzi’s voice was suddenly groggy.

“It’s late. I think you should go to sleep. I’ll see you when I get back.” Paige couldn’t hide the fondness in her voice.

“No, I’ll stay up with you. I’m not even tired, I promise.” Azzi tried to argue despite the heaviness of her voice.

Paige waited a while before answering. “You know it’s gonna be another couple of hours. I don’t mind, I promise.” She mirrored Azzi’s words.

There was nothing but silence on the line.

“Hey, Az?” Getting no response, Paige listened for a few minutes before she hung up, Azzi’s peaceful deep breathing eventually coming through.

She looked ahead at her teammates still celebrating and decided she’d just try to get some sleep herself.

•••••

The light knocking on Azzi’s door blended with the sounds of the rain, not waking her up. “I can come back tomorrow, she should probably sleep,” Paige sighed, trying to hide how close she was to breaking down again.

“Are you sure? I think she’d want to see you,” The nurse looked confused. “She seemed quite adamant when she told me to let you in any time, no matter what.”

Paige was speechless. It wasn’t even all that surprising as she knew that she’d do the same for Azzi, but the confirmation of those feelings being reciprocated meant a lot more to Paige than she thought it would.

Seeing Paige’s indecision, the nurse placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m just going to unlock the door for you, honey, and you can figure out what you want to do,” she said kindly. “You’re a great girlfriend, by the way,” she tossed over her shoulder as she walked away.

“We’re not-” Paige started to say automatically, trailing off when she realized that she liked other people thinking of her and Azzi that way.

After hesitating outside the door for another minute, Paige slowly turned the handle, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Azzi’s room was dark, the only light being the sliver coming in from the hallway. It illuminated her sleeping face, and she looked so peaceful that Paige almost left again, not wanting to disturb her at all.

Shutting the door, Paige was fumbling for the switch on a lamp in the corner of the room when she heard Azzi’s blankets rustle.

“…Paige?” She mumbled, rubbing her eyes as Paige located the switch and light flooded the room.

“Hey, I’m here,” Paige said softly.

Azzi opened her arms and Paige crawled into her bed, neither of them minding that the size of it forced their bodies to be pressed against each other.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” Azzi pressed her lips to the top of Paige’s head, her fingers combing through blonde hair.

Paige lifted her head to meet Azzi’s eyes. “Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you were actually resting like you were supposed to be,” she smirked, dodging the other girl’s attempt to flick her forehead.

Azzi’s retort was cut off by Paige’s lips pressing against hers, both girls smiling into the kiss. They pulled apart, foreheads pressed together.

In the intimacy of their little bubble, Azzi allowed a confession to slip out. “I’m glad you came. It means a lot.” The words may not have been anything novel, but she could tell that Paige understood why she said them so solemnly.

“Azzi, I…” Paige swallowed, embarrassed, and buried her face in Azzi’s neck.

“I know you do, P,” Azzi reassured her with a soft smile. “Me too. You don’t have to say it.” She knew that Paige wasn’t ready, and that was okay. She was here in Azzi’s arms, and for now, that was more than enough.

[ickyarson777]

Ooooh requests! I have one! I am dying for gamer boyfriend iii. Maybe playing games with him? Or just snuggling up with him, playing with his hair, while he slaughters digital zombies? XD Whatever you think!

GODS YES PLEASE

ahem anyway, of course love i can definitely do that for you! and thanks for the request! i hope it lives up to your expectations!!

content warnings: none!! just fluff and games today. tried to stay as gn with the reader as i could. only things used for them is 'love,' and 'lovely.'

notes before we start, this is about *not* about the actual people in the band, just the characters they’ve created on stage.

that being said, here you go! it's a bit short, wish it was longer but this was fun to write :)

Word count: 843

I curled up in bed, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, glancing every now and then at III, back facing me as he played his game. Since he’d downloaded Skyrim, he’d been playing it every chance he got. He talked a lot while playing, so I now had my own fair share of knowledge about the game.

“These damned draugr,” he’d mutter every now and then. “Fuck, dragon’s gonna eat my ass!” he’d groan as his character got snatched up. 

He was never one to scream angrily while playing, something I appreciated. He would, however, get very worked up, shaking me around and celebrating when he finally would pass a section of the game that was giving him trouble.

He’d lean over, ask if I saw how many times he’d died trying to pass that specific section, I’d tell him, laughing, ‘yes, I did see you die over and over, you sure you didn’t do it on purpose?’ He’d gasp in mock offense, ‘Seriously love? You think I’d willingly get fucked over by that shit over and over like that?’ then he’d lean in for a kiss, something to make up for the lack of focus on me, and get right back in. 

Tonight however, we played together. He’d recently bought a Nintendo Switch, and we’d spent the past couple nights staying up playing Mario Kart. We sat next to each other, leaning forward on our knees, deeply focused on the race. I’d hit him with a shell, he’d throw a banana peel. Each time I overtook him, or vice versa, the other would cry out in both frustration, laughter, or an attempt to rile the other up. Eventually after we’d played for a few hours, we’d lose count of the score and take a break to go get some snacks from the kitchen. After making our way back to the room, arms full of snacks and drinks, we’d lay back in the bed and he’d talk my ears off about anything and everything he could think of. 

“There’s a new Zelda game that came out, a sequel to Breath of the Wild! Supposed to have two whole new maps and shit,” he’d tell me, running his fingers through his long hair. “Can’t wait to play it.” 

I smile at him and yawn softly. 

“Getting tired, love? Or tired of losing Mario Kart,” he said with a stupid smirk. 

I scoff at his question, “You’d like to think I was losing wouldn’t you?”

He chuckles at me, “Of course I think that, ‘cause it's the truth.”

“Whatever,” I say , rolling my eyes. I lean back in the bed and slip under the covers. “Think I’m done for the night.”

He sighs dramatically, “Guess we’ll have to settle our score tomorrow then.”

“Mhmm,” I hum in agreement. I watch him as he picks the controller up again, and closes the game. He turns the tv down a bit, and opens Skyrim again. I watch through eyes fluttering, trying to stay awake a bit longer as he begins his in-game trek across the map, trying to reach new locations, every now and then stopping to fight some monster, creature or enemy in his path. Carefully, I nudge him with my foot and he glances back at me. 

“What’s up, love?” he asks.

I hold my arms out to him, wanting to cuddle up to him. He smiles at my gesture and crawls across the bed, leaning back against me, head on my chest, still facing the screen. I kiss the top of his head, and run my fingers through his hair, and listen to him talk. He’s always so loud, but now he mutters queitly to himself, perhaps trying to mind my tiredness, perhaps feeling his own tiredness start to take over. 

“Love you,” I murmur sleepily into his mess of red hair. 

“Love you too, lovely,” he mutters and then exclaims loudly, “Motherfucking dragons!”

“III,” I groan, having been snapped out of my almost sleep. 

He chuckles, “Sorry love.”

I smile, taking strands of his hair and braiding them carefully. “It’s ok,” I tell him. “What are you doing in the game?”

And then it begins again, his nonstop talk about the game. Eventually his accent gets thicker with sleep creeping into his voice, and I have no idea what he’s saying anymore. I drift off into my own slumber.

At some point, he’s gotten off the game and shifted to lie next to me, because the next morning, I wake up to him, arms lazily wrapped around me, mouth hanging wide open, soft snores excaping his mouth. I smile at his goofy expression, his messy hair tangles and spread over his pillow, over his face. The quiet moments with III are rare. Odd but not uncomfortable. 

I curl up next to him, and drift off to sleep again, knowing the moment we both wake up, its back to the games again.

‘Gonna need my rest if I’m gonna beat his ass at Mario Kart,’ is the last thing I think before drifting off again. 

---

how do you end stuff like this :')

anyway pls y'all give me more

[back2bluesidex]

Enchanted - KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon X Reader

Theme: Angst with a happy ending, exes to lovers au.

Request:

HIII i want to make a request for the TS song drabble game Can you do Namjoon x Enchanted the genre maybe angst? fluffiest Its one of my favs ..this idea came to mind while remembering the lyrics.. what if Namjoon lost his memory and reader was a museum crying staring at Nam´s favorite works and then they meet and maybe they fall in love again.. leaving an open ending if he ever got his memory back or not. or maybe he did! whatever you want is fine :)

Song: Enchanted

Word count: 1k+

Warnings: Major character accident, partial amnesia, angst, pining, crying, suffering, reader gets called a bad luck.

Minors and Karens Are Not Allowed in this Blog!!

A/N: A huge thanks to you, anon, for offering this brilliant idea. I changed the storyline a bit so that it fits within a drabble length and I hope you like it.

also, a very happy birthday to our best boy Kim Namjoon. I hope he is happy and healthy just as he deserves to be.

"What are you doing here?"

"eomeoni, I- I"

"Didn't I tell you to keep your distance from now on? Didn't you ruin enough?" 

"Please.. I will - I want to see him once. Please. I promise I won’t even step near. I will just take a look. Please eomeoni?"

"No! You - You are bad luck. Look what you did to my poor son. He was rushing to see you just because you fainted and look who's laying on the death bed now!"

"eomeoni.."

"Stop calling me that! You are no one to me! you are no no one to Namjoon. Leave right away or I'll have to report you." 

The conversion reels in your head as you stare at the man from afar. 

It's been a year since that dreadful night, the worst night of your life. It's been a year since you last saw him, heard his voice, until today. 

Your heart rips apart seeing him standing so gracefully with practiced elegance. Nothing has changed. He still looks the same. It feels as if it was just yesterday when he took you to the art fair and bought you that handmade clay-framed mirror. 

But you know things are far from being so simple, if anything then everything is much more complicated than ever. 

While you still stay awake each night, spending a fair share of time shedding tears for him, he doesn't even recall your name. He doesn't remember who you are, what you sound like, how your touches feel, or the time you two shared being so in love. 

You had vanished from his life long ago, vanished from his memories leaving absolutely no traces behind. 

He forgot you, even if you know he never intended to, even if you know it was a cruel decision of fate, he still forgot you and you can't change a thing about that. 

Silent tears fall from your eyes as you stare at him. Only you know how much you want to run to him, hold him tightly in your arms and tell him that you have waited for him, tell him that you have never stopped loving him, tell him that you love him more than anyone ever can. But you can’t.

And even if you do all these, what will be Namjoon’s reaction? He will just shove you to the ground thinking you are a crazy woman trying to throw herself at him. So you decided to leave. Meeting him unexpectedly here in the gallery should be more than enough for you. You can’t ask for more. You have no right to ask for more. 

You turn your heels to leave but you hear a faint voice calling you from behind. 

"Excuse me.." it's his voice. It's Namjoon. 

You start to panic. Contemplating whether you should run away or give in, you stay planted at your own place. 

"Hey. Um.. I am sorry to bother you but I- uh saw you staring at my direction and you seemed to be really familiar.. So, do we know each other?" Namjoon's voice is unsure and filled with confusion.

Your heart breaks. You know you should have not expected him to remember you but his confession still makes you weak on your knees. 

Blinking several times and gathering some strength, you turn around and face him. 

He's just as handsome as he used to be, if not more. 

Seeing you silent, Namjoon clarifies, "Sorry if I seem weird with my questions. I actually got into an accident last year and lost some of my memories. So I tend to ask people who they are if someone seems familiar to me. And you.." he pauses, his eyes raking through your face as if he's trying to find a clue "you seem to be someone very close to me." 

"I- I think you got the wrong idea. I mean - I, no, we.. we knew each other through some common friends but weren't exactly close." Your words fumble over each other much more than you would like. 

"oh- sorry then." A sheepish smile takes over Namjoon's face. 

His dimples make you sick and you want to run away from him. 

"I gotta go-"

"May I know your name?" 

You two speak out at the same time.

"Y/N. It's Y/N." You say hurriedly. 

"Yeah... Y/N" Namjoon whispers. 

You don't know if you're imagining things or not, but a flash of sadness passes through Namjoon's features. 

"I don't wanna sound like a creep but-" he hesitates.. "I would love to have a cup of coffee with you." 

"I am so sorry but I kinda have to go." You reply with your heart breaking into a thousand pieces all over again.

"oh.. then, can I at least have your number? Please?" Namjoon pleas. His voice quivers a bit or maybe you're just hearing things. 

You don't know what you should do. You don't know why life is playing these games with you. You don't know where this will go but what you know for sure is that you're enchanted to meet Namjoon again. So you give in and take another chance. 

"Sure." You murmur. 

Namjoon pulls out his phone from his pocket, unlocks it and gives it to you. 

As soon as you take his phone in your hands, your world starts to spin, eyes start to blur, hands start to shake because it's you. It's your picture saved as his wallpaper, the one from the art fair, under cherry blossom, wearing the same hoodie Namjoon is wearing right now. 

When you look up at him you find that his dark eyes are full to the brim with tears, which may start falling anytime. He looks as broken as you do.  

"The story line didn't end there, Y/N. It was the very first page. And... And I was enchanted to meet you. I would do anything to meet you again." 

"You- y-you remember me?" your words get choked.

"How could I not? You are deep-rooted in my heart. My brain may have forgotten a period of time but heart kept on trying to make me remember you. And it was successful." Namjoon smiles through tears, so do you.

"I hope you are not in love with someone else, you don't have someone waiting on you." he whispers, stepping close to your body.

"No- I don't." you reply, taking a step towards him.

Namjoon comes closer, cups your face and connects your forehead with his as you two intertwine your lives again standing in the middle of the gallery.

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @soraviie @sukunabitch @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae

[peppymintdreams]

Heey, Can you maybe write about Andrew and darling after a fight?

After the Fight

Andrew Marston x Darling

Both of whom are getting ready for bed but the events of just a few minutes resurface into a much bigger deal resulting in some actions

The bedroom was oppressively silent, save for the occasional shifting of sheets as Andrew and Darling lay in tense, mutual resentment. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, yet here they were—back to back in bed, their earlier argument unresolved and bitterness radiating between them. Neither spoke, but both were wide awake, their anger festering under the thin guise of sleep.

Andrew was irritated, though he tried to ignore it, swallowing his frustration as he stared blankly at the wall. He heard the faintest sniffle behind him, followed by a shaky exhale.

"Are you crying?" His voice was flat, but there was an undercurrent of weariness and exasperation.

Darling didn’t answer, but their trembling breaths gave them away.

“Christ, Darling,” Andrew sighed, rolling onto his back. “Why are you crying now? We’ve been over this. I’m not doing this again tonight.”

Darling sat up abruptly, wiping their cheeks with trembling hands. "I’m crying because I don’t know what else to do, Andrew! I hate going to sleep like this. I hate that you won’t even talk to me properly.” Their voice cracked, and the sound hit Andrew like a blow, though he tried not to show it.

“You hate it?” he retorted, sitting up as well. His brow furrowed, irritation bleeding into his tone. “And what exactly do you expect me to do? Keep arguing until sunrise? Apologize for something I didn’t do just to make you feel better? You’re not the only one upset here!”

Darling’s lip quivered, their words caught between a sob and a scream. “You act like I’m the one who’s being unreasonable, but you don’t even care how I feel, do you?”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” Andrew snapped, his hand raking through his hair in frustration. “You twist everything into me being the villain. I care, Darling, but I don’t know what you want from me anymore. What am I supposed to do? Tell me, because I’m tired of guessing!”

The tears spilled faster now, uncontrollable and hot. Darling’s chest heaved as they grabbed their coat draped over the chair by the window.

“What are you doing?” Andrew asked sharply, his irritation momentarily replaced by confusion.

“I can’t stay here,” Darling choked out, slipping their arms into the sleeves of the coat. “I can’t sit here and listen to you talk to me like this. I need... I need to go.”

Andrew swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing quickly. “It’s the middle of the night, Darling. Be serious.”

“I am serious!” They fumbled for their keys, barely able to see through their tears. “I can’t be here, Andrew. I can’t do this right now.”

Andrew’s frustration wavered, replaced by a twinge of panic as Darling headed for the door. “You’re not thinking straight,” he said, his voice softer but still tense. “Running off into the dark isn’t going to fix anything.”

Darling paused at the doorway, their back to him. “I don’t know how to fix this,” they whispered, their voice breaking. “But staying here and feeling like I’m nothing to you? That hurts more than leaving.”

Andrew’s chest tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing, his pride and guilt waging a silent war. “Darling...”

But the door clicked shut before he could finish.

Andrew stood in the empty space they’d left behind, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. He cursed under his breath, his heart pounding harder with each second of silence. He told himself to give them space, but deep down, the thought of them wandering alone in the cold was unbearable.

Grabbing his own coat, Andrew muttered to himself, “You’re a bloody idiot, Marston,” before slipping out the door into the night.

He had to find them. Even if it meant continuing the fight, even if it meant swallowing his pride, he wasn’t about to let them leave like this