#and it was like so intimate and sweet and I remembered I stared at her like ���� for the longest time after lmfao

[crybaby-bkg]

Bakugou is a stumbling, fumbling nerd at best. But once he realizes that you become even more flustered than him? The fucker won’t leave you alone.

He’s not a fan of PDA, mainly because he doesn’t like seeing it so he doesn’t like acting it out in turn, but he grabs your hand one day while you’re out. Paparazzi is swarming you and he doesn’t want you getting lost in the crowd, so he plucks your hand from where it’s tucked in your (his) hoodie pocket. He snatches you up against his side and pulls you in until his hand drops yours to protectively wrap around your shoulders instead, bringing you against his chest. He thinks you might be hurt after you get inside, when you’re too flustered to look him in the eye for a while.

So he tests, experiments with you. Gives you a sweet little kiss on the lips when your friends are around, when fans are looking. He watches how you always smile a little, bat at his chest and push him away because now that he’s seen you like this, he’s gonna want more from you. At private parties, he has no qualms about rubbing your ass while you stand there, mid conversation with someone. You keep stuttering over your words and trying to bat him away gently, and he wouldn’t typically do this, but you’re so cute. So cute when the person finally walks away and you punch softly at his chest in embarrassment, how you squeak when he pulls you in a hug just to grab another handful of your ass.

Omg and doing joint interviews together!!!! Usually he’s pretty private about everything, but he likes sharing little details—not to embarrass or humiliate you, but because he knows you’re getting flashbacks of tangled sheets and sweet nights whenever he mentions a little detail. Or maybe, you find yourself patting his thigh jokingly, before looking over at him, a smile stretching your face. But the evil little fucker is only smirking at you, his eyes low, posture slumped as he spreads his thighs just the tiniest bit wider. He doesn’t even say anything, just glances at how high your hand is on his thigh before looking back up at you, an eyebrow cocked. You snatch your hand away as if he’s burned you, and the interviewer can only laugh. ANNOYING!!!!! (lovingly)

[simpingland]

Req: Can you write something with Ewan Mitchell and his co-star (pronounced feminine) where they are on the set of season 2 and how he is surprised by every performances that fem gives (Fem's character is bad and perverse), since since the recordings of season one he was already staring at her surprised by her actings and now with Season 2 he wants to spend more time with her, plus he likes her.

The Rehearsal// Ewan Mitchell x Fem!actress

Summary: Ewan is a method actor and it has been working fine for him. But he regrets this decision when season 2 of HOTD starts with a love scene, being partner with a lovely talented actress who propaply hates him and his mathods. But nothing is better than asking for help when one needs it, right?

|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|

Ewan watched from the monitor, patch removed but wig still on, your close-up was impressive. One look at you and you could see all the ambitions that were going through your character's mind, and he himself regretted not having told you yet. The good news was that filming for season two had just begun, and in this new season, Ewan had the opportunity to do scenes only with you.

They shouted cut, and you immediately broke into a smile, laughing after such an intense scene. You received compliments as you were photographed to keep the raccord straight.

"Congratulations, that's a good start," the director said to you. "Remember you have a special sequence tomorrow, get a good rest."

Yes, you remembered. And Tom (who played your brother Aegon) smiled mischievously at you. It was a kissing scene with Ewan, with whom you had barely exchanged a word since the moment you were confirmed as part of the cast, a year and a half ago. You only spoke a little at the audition, which was a chemistry test, and he was a sweet, unassuming guy. When he was announced as the official actor of Aemond... it was something different. You didn't interact in the scenes in the first season, his scenes were shared more with Fabien and Tom, while you had shared scenes with Olivia and Phia (Alicent and Helaena). The chemistry your characters were supposed to have was only hinted by the placement of you both in the scene or montages of shots that you only saw once the series was released. And in the meantime, Ewan had stayed away from all those with whom he didn't share any dialogue, with the excuse of staying focused on his character. Tom had already told you numerous times that Ewan thought you were a fantastic actress, but you always responded the same way.

"If he does, let him tell me so. Then I'll be flattered.”

When the script for the second season came, both of you, in your respective homes, had your hearts skipped a beat. Your character would approach Aemond in the throne room in the middle of the night. And there they not only talk, but share a kiss that promises to go further in the following seasons. Aemond confessed his love for your character, and being that it was a story taken from the world of Game of Thrones, it was sure to end in much more intimate scenes. Normal for actors and comfortable for a cast that was so friendly and close. But with Ewan being so distant and serious? It was difficult. You didn't even dare to call him. Nor did he call you. What you did do was call Tom.

"She hasn't spoken to me once since we started filming. I've seen her look at me sometimes, like she's trying to talk to me but then, before I could say a word, she's gone quiet again. Tom...I don't think I should take being a method actor so seriously," he said to the other actor.

"It amuses me immensely to be the connecting point for both of you. Don't worry, Ewan, she's a sweetheart, and very understanding. She knows that everyone has their own procedure. So if she has respected your method, you should respect hers."

"And what is her procedure?"

"According to Phia, she loves to walk back and forth repeating her lines in a thousand ways."

Right, Ewan saw the video Phia sent around the group so everyone could see how lunatic you looked. And even there, after discovering you were being filmed, you smiled tenderly at Phia asking her to stop. What else would he have missed since you weren't talking?

You had already taken off your wig, your hair was loose and your dress had been off for quite a while. You were waiting to take off your make-up when your trailer was called. You were expecting anyone, happy to have any interaction with the wonderful team around you, but when you saw Ewan, the smile must have dropped a little.

"Sorry if I'm intruding. Is it late?" Ewan asked you as he saw your friendly greeting getting lost in the air.

It wasn't dark yet, and the next day's filming was starting early, so you genuinely didn't know what to say to him.

"Well... I have to finish off some of the lines for tomorrow.’

The lines you had to say with him, and he knew that. But since that wasn't an invitation, Ewan understood instantly and nodded.

"Well, I just wanted to tell you...it's been an awesome first day of shooting for you. It's no wonder you're a fan favorite."

That made you blush.

"Well, that means a lot coming from you."

He smiled sheepishly at you, you were taller than he was, standing on the trailer and he was on the grass a few stairs down. And yet he seemed way too big.

"I promise I'll be on time tomorrow so we'll have plenty of time to rehearse," he said, trying to get out of the strange conversation he had started.

You nodded and watched as he walked away, the patch in his hand and taking off his seatbelts. Did he come with the intention of chatting? My God, you'd had a chance to talk at length with your fellow cast member and you'd wasted it? You needed to go over the scene as much as possible!

"Ewan!" You called out to him, hanging almost on your doorstep, he turned with that agility that is so engaging on screen (and in person). "Are you done for the day?"

"I've got to get out of my costume. But...yes, I'm done."

"Would you mind..." you mumbled in an exaggeratedly loud voice for him to hear. How embarrassing. "Would you mind dropping by again to rehearse?"

Ewan stood still for a second. He watched you from afar, so affectionate and shy, totally contrary to your character, and felt a deep tenderness.

"I'll be back in half an hour," he promised you.

You looked forward to it, and you'd be lying if you didn't say that you'd put your make-up back on a bit. Ewan, on the other hand, was hurrying more than usual to remove his own clothes, forgetting to remove his fake scars in the rush that followed him. He was punctual, and in thirty and a half minutes, he was knocking on your door again.

"I really appreciate you doing this, Ewan," you said as he climbed into your trailer.

"Don't worry, it's going to be fun."

You looked at each other for a second, smiling, kind of gawking, which was nothing like the scene you had to recreate.

"How do you prepare for a scene?" You ask.

"I listen to some music. But I want to try what you do. "

He looked at you expectantly, and you suddenly felt embarrassed. Like the girls at the school function.

"So... I close my eyes, and I create a map where everything looks a little bit like the set."

"And what do we choose to be the throne?" Ewan smiled, which made you blush even more.

"Well... "There was a fully finished teacup, with the inelegantly squeezed bag next to it, dripping. You'd forgotten to clean it up completely. "That cup itself."

Ewan frowned slightly, teasingly, and nodded. The next step for you was harder to explain.

"Now, Ewan, I need some space."

He sat down on your couch, script to one side, the bastard having already memorized it all. And from there he watched live what he'd been craving for months, watching you pace back and forth. You read the annotations and your lines.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did," Ewan replied, intoning in the silky voice he gave Aemond.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." though you paced, your hands and gestures maintained theatricality, and you repeated the phrase three more times, all with trapped deliberation. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me."

"What pantomime do you mean?" replied Aemond.

Then your character stopped looking at Aemond to stare at the Throne. In this case you stopped to stare at the ugly teacup. You had to hold back a smile. Ewan looked at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been." Ewan got up from the sofa and approached you, as Aemond does with your character. "It is a crude, chaotic and ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

Then the laughter you'd been holding back escaped, unable to think of the mug as anything else. And Ewan laughed with you, all the tension disappearing instantly. Now he could understand the affection with which everyone spoke of you.

"I'm sorry, really," you said, getting serious again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, this is fun. I'm going to try your method. Shall we close our eyes?"

"That's right."

You closed them at the same time, thinking about the huge room, illuminated by a silver light that simulated the moon. And after a few seconds, Ewan opened his eyes to look at you. Although you didn't have your white hair, or the elegant dress, your eyes were the same, as beautiful and bright as they were behind the cameras. And he had the privilege of being the focus of your attention and having them in the foreground.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered close to your lips.

"That you tried at least" you whispered back.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as sharp as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

Then came the kiss. You looked into Ewan's eyes, up his nose and down to his lips. What was there left to throw yourself? Not much, but with him being so reclusive, with that being one of the few times you spoke to each other, it felt strange to pounce on him without consent. So you walked away, leaving the scene there.

"We can work this out with the director and the intimacy coordinator, if you like," Ewan suggested, a little flushed and extremely sweet.

You poured him a cup of tea while you discussed the romance that your characters might have developed over the years that the series skips. You imagined romantic scenes that might have led up to that kiss and concluded that they were a toxic couple, but possibly better than Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"You know, I love the way you act and I love that I discovered your process," he confessed. "I think the admiration part is not going to be too hard to act out."

"Oh...my process is really ridiculous, everyone laughs at me. I'm glad it at least works. But it gives me a hard time at auditions," you laughed nervously.

"Well, it's true that it's fun to watch. But it's certainly worth it. I don't think you have anything to envy the others, you're...magnetic." He said it with a seriousness that moved you, adding to his intense gaze. "I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to tell you sooner, because I've been thinking about it since the day they put me in the same room you were in, back at the audition.”

You froze a little, so you just said what you felt in the simplest way and with the most honest smile.

"Thank you."

Ewan took the last sip of his tea and before he left you remembered one of the thousand questions you had for him.

"Is there a reason you haven't removed the scar? Something to do with method acting?"

"Scar?"

You touched his cheek, where the scar began, and Ewan understood instantly.

"Ah, gee, I completely forgot to go through makeup. I'll get a telling off tomorrow."

"Not if you sleep on it until tomorrow" you joked. "Let me help you, I love fake wounds."

You stood next to him, towering over him a little, and lifted the thin layer of silicone with the delicacy you had seen in make-up artists. You were envious of the woman who was in charge of characterising a person as curiously attractive as Ewan. He also smelled exaggeratedly good.

When you took it off, you threw it into the creepy teacup from earlier.

"I've almost run out from, the costume department before," he justified himself. You took the opportunity to wipe that part of her face with a makeup remover wipe. "I usually do this part myself..."

"I know, but I like it..."

And while you were stroking his face with the excuse of cleaning it, Ewan was watching your lips, and didn't notice that you had noticed. You pushed the wipe away, stroking his chin, and at the same time, you both pressed your lips together. A strange kiss, something special, sweet and soft. You stretched it out, standing almost still, afraid of what would happen if you broke apart. When you finally did, you looked at each other with a look of confusion, though neither you nor Ewan pulled away.

It was a dangerous idea, he was your partner, and you had been unprofessional. You broke away.

"I think you should rest. I've distracted you too much." Your tone came out agitated and Ewan rose slowly.

"No, it's all right. I liked it. I liked everything. Didn't you?" He had emphasised the word 'everything' and was looking at you with lambent eyes.

"Yes...I loved being with you."

He said goodbye with a smile of his, and you bowed at your door like a little girl. Most of the team had already gone to rest and you barely noticed.

You had to put on more concealer than usual the next day because of the lack of sleep you'd had from that strange kiss. Ewan had kept his promise and had arrived a good while earlier to re-rehearse the scene. You did it without the kiss or the lights, just with the director's instructions and with your cheeks flushed as you exchanged glances.

"Did you practice with the kiss?" the intimacy coordinator asked you.

You were completely silent. Ewan answered for you.

"Not really, maybe it's better to give a first kiss at the moment of the shot. More realism."

"Well, then I guess you've worked out the sexual tension and dynamics of your characters."

Ewan nodded and smiled, which made you smile. Had he put hours of sleep into your little meeting yesterday? Yes, he had, and he told the woman who was putting on his scar who asked him who had removed it the day before. When you returned to the set, lights on, costumes on, cameras rolling, Ewan looked at you in the distance, asking you with his eyes if you were ready. You nodded with a shy smile, and began to act when they shouted action.

Aemond, still dressed and coming from the castle library, walked into the empty throne room to watch you. You walked behind him, in a smart dressing gown, your hair loose and trying uselessly not to make a sound. Aemond then spoke aloud.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did."

You approached Ewan, who still wouldn't look at you.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." You leaned into him a little, as the director had recommended. He was so tall and so tense that you felt as safe as if you were leaning against a stone pillar. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me." Then Aemond would look down to see you out of the corner of his eye, which made your character - and you - nervous.

"What pantomime do you mean?"

Then you looked at the throne, now there was no laughter to disturb you, only the terrible seat of swords before you. And Aemond was looking at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been. It is a brutish, chaotic, ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

After a pause, he turned fully around to look at you, his height becoming primordial in that short distance. In that low light, Ewan's visible eye looked into your eyes, dropping to your lips subtly.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered in his velvety tone.

"That you tried at least" you replied trying to keep your composure. If they knew how hard you were struggling not to fall to your knees at that moment they would have nominated you for an Emmy by now.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as clever as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

He stroked your face gently, something that coming from Ewan was tender and expected, immensely pleasing, but then you remembered that Aemond could never be so gentle in the face of his urges, and you let your own out. You pressed yourself against him, pressing your lips together with all the assurance you had longed for the night before. You could feel Ewan intensify your kiss even more, placing his hand on your neck. All the possible kisses that had been going on in your head during the night were now dwarfed by the kiss that was happening right there. As fierce as your characters, with the longing you had just discovered that you and Ewan had shared for a year and a half.

It was only when they shouted 'cut' that you broke apart, catching your breath and barely breaking away. Some applause, chatter and comments from the team, you could hear little of what they were saying. You pulled away flushed, laughing at the sudden intensity. You looked at the director as Ewan smoothed his jacket.

"Let's look at the shot, I think it was simply perfect, congratulations."

Another round of applause, and you felt Ewan brush your unruly hair out of your face, stroking it as he ruffled your hair.

"What a pity not to have to repeat this scene..." He confessed.

"That's the thing about being so talented," you joked.

"Obviously..." he removed his patch and turned back to you to ask in a quieter voice, "although I'd love to have more private acting classes with you..."

You smiled at the hint.

"I'll give them to you if in exchange you let me remove your fake scars again."

"Deal."

[whytheylosttheirminds]

I Remember Everything - Rafe Cameron (Chapter 6)

Summary: You left the island two years ago, leaving the love of your life a shattered man in your wake. Now, when you return, you find the sweet boy you once loved has transformed into a monster of a man. How can you detangle the real Rafe from the terrible things he's done?

Timeline: begins toward the end of obx season 3 and is mostly canon.

Content: this story contains sexual content, alcohol and drug abuse, and brief mentions of violence. All chapters are 18+, minors do not interact!

⯎series masterlist⯎

One Year Earlier…

The car door opened just a crack, an attempt to keep the torrential rain from getting on the nice leather interior. Your mother struggled to enter the front seat without bringing the elements with her.

“Just get in,” Ward encouraged. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t want to get an invoice for detailing,” she explained.

“What kind of person do you think I am?”

She gave him a knowing look, now fully inside the car and safe from the storm.

“I don’t think you want me to answer that,” your mother said.

The windshield wipers squeaked against the glass as they swished rapidly. Your mother folded her hands in her lap as she took in the luxurious vehicle with judgment. Ward picked up on her distaste, but simply chuckled and shook his head. He had given up any attempt on getting her to like him back when they were in high school together. She had always thought him a showman, putting on a display she wasn’t interested in watching. He may have the rest of the island fooled, but she saw straight through him.

She flinched as he reached across her, calming when she realized he was only opening the glovebox. He pulled out a stack of envelopes held together with a thick rubber band. He dropped them in her lap unceremoniously, right on top of her folded hands. She didn’t pick the stack up right away, looking down at the one on top with a deep sigh.

“How many?” She asked.

“Seventeen,” he placed his hands on the wheel as if he was bracing himself. “They’re still coming once a week, like clockwork.”

“Have you read them?” She mumbled, still staring down, her eyes running over the handwriting, a prominent frown on her face as she studied the familiar little curve at the top of each letter “a”.

Ward’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, as they arrived at the conversation he was waiting for. “No, I haven’t, and neither should you. No good would come of that.”

Faint tears began to form at the crinkled edges of her eyes. The moment she felt them she pushed them away, sitting up straight and shoving the stack of letters into her purse. 

“I don’t know,” she shook her head, clutching her purse firmly to her lap.

Ward sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t sure how many more times he could have this conversation before losing his cool completely.

“We did what we had to,” he reminded her. “Look, I don’t like it either. But it was what’s best for both of them. And it’s too late now. We need to move forward. They will, too…eventually. Trust me.”

She looked him square in the face as she grabbed the door handle, preparing herself for the mad dash back to her own car across the vacant parking lot.

“I will never trust you, Ward,” she swore.

With that, she opened the door. She had one leg out, ready to hop down from the truck bed, when he grabbed her arm aggressively, making her gasp.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” he warned through gritted teeth.

“I already have.”

Now…

Rafe looked up at you nervously, his eyes running up and down your face, looking for any reaction. He was on one knee in front of you, holding up the promise ring you were sure you’d never see again. The sight was so surreal you didn’t know how to react.

You were slowly coming back to earth after the heavenly feeling of being intimate with Rafe again. All of the emotion that had clouded your mind was clearing and the events of the past few days came back into view. Rafe spitting on the waiter he’d thrown in the dirt. The disgust on his face when you’d first said his name on the beach at the island club. The way he had pushed himself off of you just a few hours ago before sending you running out the door crying. The man who was kneeling in front of you right now was not the boy who had first presented you with this ring over two years ago.

But still, he had the same desperate vulnerability in his eyes now as he’d had then. That day you had thought surely the next time he presented you with a ring, it would have a diamond on it and he’d be asking you to marry him.

The image of you in a white dress, Rafe waiting for you expectantly at the end of the aisle, flashed across your mind. Suddenly, it wasn’t you in the white dress you saw, but your mother. Your eyes widened and you snapped back to the moment, realizing that your mom’s rehearsal dinner was tonight and you had told her you would make it. She said she didn’t want you to, but she always said things she didn’t mean, and this might be your last chance to fix things with her.

“What time is it?” You blurted out.

Rafe blinked back at you in surprise. He had prepared for either a rejection or an embrace, not to give you the time.

“I…uh, what?” 

“I left my phone at your house,” you explained. “Do you know what time it is?”

Rafe reached into his pocket with the hand that wasn’t holding the ring and checked his phone.

“It’s four,” he informed you.

“Shit,” you walked around him and headed towards the door of the lifeguard tower. “I have to go!”

Rafe stood, shoving the ring back in his pocket. “What? Why?”

He followed you out the door of the small office. Once you were on the porch of the tower, you looked around quickly for any sign of the beach patrol you had been dodging, but the coast was clear. You turned back to him, blushing slightly at the sight of him hurrying to buckle his belt.

“It’s my mom’s rehearsal dinner,” you told him. “I need to get ready, I don’t even have anything to wear. Shit!” 

You descended the steps of the tower quickly, side stepping the rotted spots in the wood. Rafe followed you down, catching up with you at the bottom and rounding you so he was blocking your path to the beach’s exit.

“You’re still going?” He asked, his tone a swirl of anger and hurt.

You blinked back at him, feeling like the answer was obvious.

“Yes? It’s my mom, Rafe,” you said defensively.

“Didn’t she kick you out?” He questioned.

“Kind of. I mean not technically…it’s complicated, Rafe. You know how she is,” you struggled to explain. 

Rafe rolled his eyes slightly before looking over your shoulder, nodding.

“Fine,” he said. “C’mon, you can come get ready at my place. You can borrow something from Sarah.”

“Thank you,” you said, relieved that his frustration hadn’t escalated any further. 

You rode back to Tannyhill on the back of his bike, wearing his helmet, relieved that your identity was shielded from the nosy looks from his neighbors as you passed. You wondered how many girls they’d seen Rafe bring back to the house on his bike over the last two years. Your stomach twisted at the thought and you subconsciously squeezed him tighter, your arms around his abdomen.

You followed Rafe into the house wordlessly, nervously picking at the skin around your fingernails, wondering what had suddenly made him go so quiet. Once inside the door, Rafe dropped his keys on the table in the foyer and walked toward the kitchen. You stood there for a moment, taking in the house. You ran your hand along the back of the couch, Rose had gotten a new one, and you hated that anything had changed, even something so small. 

After a few minutes, when Rafe still hadn’t come back from the kitchen, you took it upon yourself to walk up to Sarah’s room, searching through her expansive closet for something to wear. You settled on a short black dress with spaghetti straps. It’s certainly not something your mother would have picked for you to wear, but showing up underdressed was better than not showing up at all, right?

Rafe skulked in the kitchen for a while, slowly twirling the glass of bourbon he’d poured himself, but not taking a sip. He couldn’t believe you were still going to your mother’s rehearsal dinner. He had been naive, thinking that your mother kicking you out and the moment you’d shared in the lifeguard tower had finally sealed your return to him. Maybe you would never fully be his, maybe he would spend forever fighting to be first in your life. He hadn’t fought enough before, he should’ve gone after you, should’ve tracked you down. He threw back the bourbon in the glass and slammed it onto the counter with a sense of purpose.

As you leaned closer to the mirror to apply some mascara you found in Sarah’s bathroom, Rafe appeared in the reflection behind you. He leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms, watching you. Once you had finished applying the makeup, you stood and met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. You offered him a small smile, but his face remained still as solemn eyes held your gaze. Your smile faded when you felt the intensity of his look. You stood there for what felt like hours, just looking at each other. A look full of history, of unspoken words. The more you looked at him, the quieter the noise in your head became. All of the questions, the worry, the mystery faded and all that was left was him.

After a while, Rafe dropped his crossed arms and stood up straight, now folding his hands behind his back, emphasizing his firm chest under his t-shirt. He began walking toward you slowly, still not dropping his eyes from yours in the mirror. Goosebumps rose on your skin and your heart rate spiked, but you didn’t dare look away.

Once behind you, his chest less than an inch from your back, he dipped his head low and placed the softest kiss on your shoulder. The gesture was so tender, watery tears pricked the corner of your eyes. The brush of your soft skin against his lips undid him, and now it was him who was sniffing you, nose nuzzled into your temple, inhaling the scent he had craved so desperately for years. The glory of you invading his senses undid him and he had to place his hands on your waist to steady himself.

You leaned back into him as one of his arms snaked around you, his hand flattening against your stomach. He began peppering kisses up and down your neck, and you let your head drop back to lean into him. His other hand slowly crept up your torso until it rested over one of your breasts. It wasn’t crass or harsh, nothing like the way he fondled you on the couch just this morning. His touch was revervent, the way you hold something you lost and thought you would never find. 

You watched the embrace in the mirror and he continued dragging his lips over your skin. He was wrapped around you like a snake, completely enfolding you. Your eyes lingered on his arms, enchanted by the sight of his large, veiny hands on your body. Those hands that you knew so well, even after all this time, you could pick them out of any lineup. You never managed to unlearn him. You’d know him forever, even if you never saw him again. Your heart swelled with emotion at the thought.

The sensation of Rafe nipping at your earlobe pulled you from your thoughts and your knees went weak. You reached an arm up behind you and ran your hand over his shaved head, nails lightly scratching his scalp. 

“Thought you hated my hair,” he chuckled into your ear.

“It’s just different,” you breathed as he squeezed you under his hands just slightly. “You’re different.”

At this, he looked up and met your eyes in the mirror, his chin rested on your shoulder. He looked bashful.

“Bad different?” He asked, an edge of vulnerability in his voice.

“I haven’t decided yet,” you admitted honestly.

“What can I do to help you make up your mind?” He teased, easing some of the intensity of the moment. 

You smiled back at him in the mirror and he ate it up, heart soaring at his ability to change your mood with just his words. Maybe if he kept talking he could convince you to stay, to ditch your mom’s rehearsal dinner and never leave his side again. 

“I dunno,” you shrugged, challenging him with your eyes, hoping he would pick up on the hint that you want him to take control of the moment.

“Would this help?” He grips your breast tighter, making you gasp at the sweet pressure, 

“Mhm, I want more,” you closed your eyes and laid your head back full on his shoulder, surrendering to him.

He pulled the thin strap of your dress between his teeth, dragging it off slowly to reveal more of you. Once the strap has fallen fully down your arm, he licks a strip up your neck. When his warm tongue filled the shell of your ear, you sighed blissfully. When he pulled his mouth away and blew gentle air against the moisture he had just left, you fully swooned, swaying into him. 

He rocked with you and started rubbing his hand over your stomach, your hips, the curve of your ass.

“You want me to keep touching you like this?” He asked, genuine interest in your answer.

“Yes, I love it, Rafe,” you said. “I need you.”

“Tell me where you need me, baby,” he groaned into your ear, your eyes now squeezed shut so you could take in the perfect sound of his voice. 

“Everywhere,” you were losing your ability to stay engaged in the banter, the feeling of his hands too electrifying.

Rafe notices how you’re fading, and decides not to ask any more questions. The hand on your ass moved further down, to the hem of your dress. He ran the pads of his fingers over the soft, plush skin of your upper thigh. He lifted the hem up until he found the edge of your panties, hooking his thumb over the waistband and leaving it there for a moment. He kissed your jaw sloppily and started dipping the rest of his fingers under the thin fabric one at a time. 

You braced yourself on the edge of the sink with one hand, while the other slid down his forearm until you found his hand, guiding it to feel the wetness now dripping between your thighs.

The realization of how wet he made you mixed with the feeling of your silky cunt hit him like a truck. He groaned and pushed the hardness in his pants against your ass. Your other hand shot to the sink edge for stability as his hand took over, his fingers beginning to dance over your clit.

“Oh my god,” you moaned.

“This what you want?” He asked, his voice huskier than it had been a minute ago, as the feeling of your soft curves pushing against his erection sent shock waves through his body.

“Baby…” was all you could bring yourself to say.

“Missed hearing you call me that,” he confessed.

You opened your eyes to meet his, but saw that his were now clenched shut as he focused on making you feel good. In the reflection, you caught the clock on the wall, your mom’s rehearsal dinner was beginning soon.

“Rafe,” you tried to pull his attention.

“Y/n,” he moaned, misunderstanding your tone.

“No, Rafe,” you tapped his arm to get him to open his eyes. “I have to go, I’ll be late.”

Rafe shook his head. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He said it a bit harshly, his fear manifesting itself into anger as it so often did.

“But-” you started to protest, but were cut off when he sped up the movement of his fingers, pinching slightly and rolling your sensitive clit between his fingers. “Fuck!” You nearly yelled as your body jolted forward.

“That’s it, just let me finish what I started,” Rafe said, his thumb taking over circles on your clit while his first finger reached down to dip into you.

You tried to talk, tried to tell him how good it felt, but no words came from your open mouth. Your knuckles were white from your tight grip on the sink. You pushed back into Rafe, wanting to share the pleasure you were feeling with him, but he pulled his hips away from you.

“Nah, not right now,” he said. “I’m on the clock here, baby, I gotta focus.”

He plunged a second finger into you and curled them upward, finally hitting your favorite spot that he knew so well. He had spent so long memorizing how to unravel you, he couldn’t forget if he tried.

Soon enough, he succeeded, and you unraveled completely. Rafe watched with unblinking eyes as your orgasm had you bent over the sink, crying out his name. He pulled you toward him, holding you up, as he whispered reassurances into your ear.

“Rafe, I-“ you cried.

“I got you, baby,” he cooed. “I always got you.”

Finally, your breathing steadied and you came back to earth. You turned in his arms and his hands rested on your lower back. Stretching up on your tiptoes, you wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a grateful kiss to his lips.

“You still my girl?” He asked earnestly.

“Always.” 

You said it without really thinking, and immediately wondered if you shouldn’t have. Rafe clearly couldn’t see the doubt on your face as his own was filled with relief and affection.

Just as he leaned forward to kiss you back, his phone dinged in his pocket. He rolled his eyes, annoyed at the interruption and you giggled, delighted that he only wanted to be with you right now. He reluctantly checked the text.

“Your car is ready,” he explained.

“Oh, good!” you had honestly forgotten that your mom’s car was even gone, the morning feeling like a lifetime ago. 

“I’ll go get it for you,” he offered. “You might, uh, wanna redo your makeup.”

You turned quickly to look at your reflection in the mirror, the mascara you had just applied was smeared from the sweat Rafe had caused you to break.

“Oh my God,” you laughed. “I look like a racoon!”

“A cute one, though,” he said, planting a quick kiss to your cheek before exiting the room. 

You blushed at the simplicity of the moment, and the sweetness of the comment. For a moment, you let your mind drift into some delusional future where this is your home, and you are his girl, and none of the past two years happened. 

But they did happen. Your bubble burst and you were suddenly back in the real world. This isn’t your house, and there were so many obstacles in the path to the future you were still inexplicably clinging to. The biggest of them being that you weren’t sure you actually knew the man you just promised yourself to. The man who yells and fights and gets arrested. The man who managed to break your heart and stitch it back together in the span of a few hours.

The man who never answered any of your letters.

It started so innocently, you wandered down the spiral stairs to the floor Rafe’s room was on. You walked around his room with your arms crossed, taking in the familiarity of it. You opened his top dresser drawer, immediately closing it again, feeling strange about poking around. But you had to know.

You began rifling, opening every drawer and digging through it, not even bothering to set them back to the way they were when you were done. You told yourself you were just looking for the letters, curious if he had read them or kept them sealed, or even ripped them to shreds. But if you were being honest, this wasn’t just about the letters. Rafe still hadn’t given you the answers you were looking for, about what happened to his dad or how he ended up getting arrested. You were too scared to bring it up again, the whiplash of his mood swings today making you dizzy. You figured if you were going to get answers, you’d have to dig for them yourself.

You made it through Rafe’s room without finding anything significant. He had a few joints rolled up in his desk drawer, but there was nothing that satisfied your craving for understanding. 

You repeated your desperate actions in his bathroom, then Ward and Rose’s room, where it appeared Rafe had been sleeping, a mystery you’d solve another time. You made your way to Ward’s office, the room you were never allowed in when you were kids. You dug through the desk drawers, the filing cabinets, the old antique hutch - nothing. Then you remembered a time in high school when you and Rafe had snuck in here, needing to find some spare cash for concert tickets you had begged him for. Rafe had snuck into his dad’s safe, behind the painting on the wall. 

You slowly walked over to the painting, wondering if this was officially going too small. You didn’t remember the passcode to the safe, so maybe it was pointless, but something in you told you to try. You slowly pulled the painting from the wall, eyes widening at what you discovered behind it.

On one side, a gun. On the other, a pile of gold, diamonds, precious stones - a real life treasure chest. Apart, they could have many meanings. But next to each other, tucked away in a manner that was clearly not meant to be discovered, they told a story. You did not know how that story began, but you had the sinking feeling it hadn’t ended yet, that it was still unfolding, and that the moment you opened this door you had unwittingly become a character in it. 

Without really thinking, you reached out and picked up the gun. You were surprised at how cold it was against your skin. Your eyes widened when you realized how strange it was that you had even touched it, and you subconsciously held it further away from you, as if it was a cursed artifact. Something about the weight of it in your hands sent a chill down your spine. You were overcome with a sense of darkness, as though something sinister had entered the room. But when you lifted your gaze from the foreign sight of a gun in your hand, you found that the only thing that had entered the room was Rafe.

(Chapter 7)

a/n: she's aliiiive!!! I'm so sorry it's taken so long, life is crazy. I missed these two so much. If you're still here THANK YOU for sticking with me!!! I know this chapter is shorter than the others, but I had to get something posted and this is what I have. The rest of the story lives in my brain, alive and well and will be posted at some point I promise!! I think I have 3 or 4 chapters until I've told the full story.

[okwonyo]

（ 标题 ） A QUIET LOVE.

PREC𝒾S ⠀⟡​⠀sweet whispers exchanged in a library.

( 엔하이픈 정원 ) ୨୧ f .. r 5OO fluff established relationship ── kissing skinship ⠀ ｡｡ ⠀ recue𝒾l

지아 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒ㅤ for @amouriu 🎀

( ˊᗜˋreblogs&feedbacks · C𝑙𝑖CK )

the first thing you feel when you regain consciousness, one step out of the dream world, is the warm feeling of the autumn’s sun resting on your cheek. it contrasts with the cold outside that somehow enters into the warmth shared between all those bookshelves. 

you don’t really know how or when you fell asleep on that table. only your eyes going back and forth behind your closed eyelids seem to look for something. your brain, however, daydreams about those soft fingertips massaging your skull and the scent of its owner all around the place.  

the person’s voice is soft and teasing, you can remember it lulling you to sleep. the last thing you saw, will forever be engraved in your mind— that cat-like smile, those dimples and big dark eyes. 

when your eyelids finally open you are met with the eyes you that can't get out of your mind staring right back at you and your heart jumps in your chest. 

the sun rays somehow reach them, enlightening the pretty colors of these iris. 

then all of it comes in a flash, the initial studying, then the cookie you shared, the book you read and the kiss he gave you after you groaned and laid your forehead on the wooden furniture.

and now, here you are seeing jungwon upside down. 

“hi,” he says quietly, before removing a stray hair from your face. 

the movement is as gentle as the face of who it comes from. it sort of gets you starstruck— your breath catches, your eyes feel like they are shining and your cheeks are getting warmer by the second. 

it is always so easy for jungwon to get you nervous without doing much, like some kind of godforsaken wizard. 

you consistently feel like a middle schooler talking to her crush when you respond. avoidant, shy and even a little mean, if it wasn’t for the obvious smile on your face and fondness in your voice. 

“were you watching me sleep?” you ask him, and he giggles like it won’t make your whole stomach swirl. 

he says nothing. although his palm tenderly cups somewhere around your cheek. you close your eyes when you see him tilting his chin so his lips can reach your forehead, he plants a loving kiss on it. 

his warm palm leaves its place to the sun again and his eyes meet yours one more time, he looks silly from upside down, “you looked so peaceful,” he tells you. it feels really intimate with his face being a bit pink like yours. “i couldn’t get my eyes away from you.” 

he is way too close to say anything like that without the surface of your face burning. 

you could do so many things right now. like kissing him or telling him that he is so beautiful that you are pretty sure he is the only thing you see in your dreams at night. 

but jungwon wouldn’t love you if you weren’t you. and who you are is someone who, before telling your boyfriend how much you love him, will whisper, “you are such a creep,”

(then, kiss him.)

ㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open.

[erwinsvow]

how dad's best friend rafe and reader met ♡

"do you need anything else, mister cameron?"

the soft-spoken words come from somewhere behind him—and said with such sincerity he's a little taken aback. rafe's been to a million and one of these—events and outings and even smaller, more intimate dinners at home like this one—but the wife of whichever business partner he's entertaining this time has never asked this specific question in this specific way.

you sound young, pretty. it's not surprising—half the men at his work are a walking, talking stereotype with a divorce under the belt and a young girl on their arm, and you must to belong to one of them.

he turns around getting ready to tell you he doesn't need anything, but when he's face to face the sentence seems to evaporate into thin air.

you're not one of them—the wives who plaster on a smile and make small-talk while keeping one eye on the clock. no, rafe is sure that you're not.

he was right about two things at least—you are young, and you are very pretty. you smile sweetly at him, eyes blinking in anticipation of his answer.

his own eyes flicker down, first to your left hand. a breath releases by itself, the relief of not finding a wedding ring or engagement band on your fingers completely evident. then they wander down a little—taking in the hem of your dress which dances above your knees. finally, back to your waiting eyes, a little concern dancing around them.

"mister cameron?" it snaps him out, and rafe clears his throat. his hand tightens around the glass of scotch he's been clutching onto, and any tighter will have it shattering.

"no, no, m'fine, thank you. and it's just rafe, actually. rafe is fine."

your polite smile deepens a little, eyes meeting his own and then looking away quickly. he doesn't need your words to tell him—body language and those pretty eyes are enough for a guy his age to decipher you completely.

you're a little flustered, maybe you weren't expecting his response. now that he thinks back a little, just over the last half-hour he's been here, he's seen you floating around, each time with a drink in your hand, off to deliver it to whichever coworker of his was an asshole enough to make you fetch a drink instead of getting it themselves.

it doesn't make much sense—you're here as a guest too, not a waitress, and you know names before introductions are made, and yet-

"i don't know if my dad would approve of that," you say with a laugh, a sweet, sincere laugh to match all of your other sweetness.

things start clicking—remember the name on the invitation for tonight and the coworker who always talking about his family and then it finally comes back—'my daughter's home from school, so you'll get to meet her.'

"yeah." it comes out quiet.

rafe clears his throat, suddenly feeling a little tight even though he was just fine a moment ago. he takes a sip of scotch while looking back at you, and this time he drags it out. starting from your cute heels to your matching dress, the long expanse of exposed skin in between them. how you play with your hands while talking to him, particularly fiddling with that left ring finger. it just makes him think he should get you something to put on there, something to play with instead of your soft skin.

"yeah, kid. wouldn't wanna make him upset, would we?" the question teeters on the edge of teasing. he doesn't want to be too upfront, doesn't want to make you uncomfortable.

what rafe's failed to recognize is the way your eyes have been glued to him since he walked through the door. how you had to go through a seemingly endless list of your dad's work-friends before you could make your way over to the one you wanted to talk to. and while he's taking in you, you're taking in all of him, staring up at a man who towers over you wondering what exactly is hiding underneath his suit jacket.

"i mean.. he doesn't have to know everything. right, rafe?"

"yeah, kid.." he falters, staring at your expression trying to understand what you're really thinking. you smile back at him brightly, taking a step closer. "right."

[morganas-pendragons]

ease | celebrimbor

honest to god, I got this concept in the shower and it would not leave me alone. the prompt was found in the depths of the celebrimbor x reader tag (disclaimer: I am not a Tolkien reader, but I did grow up watching the movies and have done some research into the Silmarillion as I've been watching ROP) and this was born.

I've just found out some of the fates of these characters and I kid you not... I have a full fledged idea for a Celebrimbor/OC fic if my brain keeps this up

set during s2 of ROP, light spoilers ahead

prompt is here / this reader is a half-elven female who is gifted with magic. like I said, I am new to writing for this verse, so please be gentle.

***

You don't remember much about how you ended up in Middle Earth. There are glimpses, sweet fragments of memories that surface every now and again, but that is simply all they are. Glimpses of a time that has long come and gone.

Glimpses of who you were gone with it, like the receding tides of the ocean drifting further and further away.

The one thing you do remember with astounding clarity is your arrival to Eregion. You remember the front gates and how tired you were, and more importantly, you remember Celebrimbor. His complete and utter astonishment at your arrival was puzzling.

You didn't figure out why until later.

"Forgive me, but my healer tells me you have difficulties with remembering where you came from," He's standing in front of you where you sit in the healer's chambers of Eregion. You're surprised that they even let you in. Maybe he took pity on you. "Your injuries are minimal given how long he believes you were out in such conditions. Given your physical attributes, I would say you are at least Elvish. That would explain some of this. Do you remember your name?"

You didn't. The only things you had to remind you of who you were was the cloak around your shoulders and the circlet in your hair. A fine thing, crafted from what Celebrimbor later told you was pure silver.

"No... no, I don't." You shake your head and wrap your arms tightly around yourself. He can't help but soften. You seem very lost. Celebrimbor is not one to take in lost souls, but there is something about you that draws in rapt fascination, and he is not willing to turn you away. "But you were kind enough to take me in. Why did you do that?"

"You are no threat upon us. Now come. Let me introduce you to the great kingdom of the Elven smiths."

He extended his arm to you hesitantly. You found yourself taking it, staring up at him through a curious gaze as he dove into the history of Eregion.

Weeks passed. You noticed the longer you were present in Eregion and in the forges that Celebrimbor was very particular about who was allowed to remain in his presence for long. There were his smiths, and his servants, but there were very few who were truly allowed to know him on a more intimate and vulnerable level.

You found yourself wondering why.

On a quieter day in Eregion's forges, you venture out of your room in search of Celebrimbor. Most of the staff is familiar with your presence by now. You've heard the whispers. They wonder how a forsaken Elf has managed to find her way into their King's good graces after such a short amount of time.

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd arrive. Come. I have something to show you." Celebrimbor greeted. You followed him around the edge of the forge to a table in the center of the room where a familiar silver circlet sat. Your eyes widened. You had been wondering where it went. "I was given enough moonstone from a recent discovery to restore your circlet and add a singular gem to the center. What do you think?"

Again the eyes and ears are drawn to the pair of you. You can feel their questions burning through the air: Why her? Why is she in his good graces? What does a forsaken elf have to give to the King of Eregion and the Master Smith?

"Might we have a moment in private?" You ask. There is no hesitation in his response. Celebrimbor dismisses his smiths, and in mere minutes, the two of you are alone. He seems perfectly content to be with you where no other eyes can see. "I don't understand. We've only just met, and I don't even know who I am, but here you are reforging and creating something so beautiful for a stranger," You pick up the circlet with delicate fingers, turning it over to gaze at the gem in the center. It's a very delicate design that incorporates much of the Elvish culture within it. "Why?"

There's a beat of silence that you interpret as apprehension. Answering this question requires a certain sense of vulnerability that he so often shies away from.

What he does instead surprises you.

''Because," Celebrimbor's voice drops to a whisper as he settles the delicate circlet in your hair, and you can't help but smile at how gentle it is. "You are.. different."

That's all he leaves you with. You're left to wonder what about you is different. What about you puts him so at ease.

***

You know something has changed when you start to have premonitions of a tall, regal Elvish man with blonde hair calling himself Annatar. You watch Celebrimbor look on in complete and utter fascination of the glory that stands within his Forge. They're talking about more rings. Rings for Dwarves and Men.

Rings just like the three Elvish ones you had helped name. You'd been privy to their creation and had overseen the preparations yourself with Halbrand. This Annatar... That is not Halbrand, and he is certainly not someone you'd trust.

Not after Galadriel's warning.

Celebrimbor had not told anyone outside of Galadriel, Elrond and The High King of your origins. What little the two of you could come up with about them. All the five of you are aware of is that you hold a great power with magic that brings the skill of healing and persuasion of any life form, and that you fell to Middle Earth within its vast oceans and found yourself destitute mere miles away from Eregion.

"It's almost like your coming was a sign."

Your visions turn out to be correct, much to your horror. Annatar calls himself Celebrimbor's partner and again urges the need for creation of more rings. It's suspicious. Part of you wonders why he is so insistent upon more rings when just the rings for the Elves has proven to be more then enough.

It saved them from having to leave Middle Earth.

After Annatar's brief disappearance, you find yourself lingering in your chambers with your circlet poised in your hands as you internally fight through all the evidence you have lingering in your head. Celebrimbor doesn't know what to make of it, and neither do you.

That turns out not to be your concern once you see him trudging past your bedroom, muttering to himself in Sindarin as he attempts to massage his shoulder with his hand.

"Celebrimbor?" You call, mindful to call quietly so that his smiths and the staff do not hear you. He always hears you. Always has, always will. "Are you alright?"

His aspect says one thing, but his eyes say another. "There is always tension that builds within the muscles and tendons of the body after working vigorously in the forge. I am just stiff. It is not a concern you need to bother yourself with-"

You raise a brow at his veiled attempt to console you. It doesn't work. Glancing over your shoulder, you quickly follow on his heels to his chambers where you slip inside just before he can shut the door.

He freezes. The two of you are alone. Properly alone.

"This is quite.." You falter in search of the right word. "If anyone knew I was in here, it would arouse suspicion. I can tell you're in pain. We both know that you cannot alleviate that on your own." You pause to interject, "Only if you truly want the help. I would be happy to serve."

Realization dawns in his eyes. Neither of you are properly aware of how close you really are to each other, much less the fact that your hand is pressed against his heart. It flutters under your touch.

He's nervous.

Your creased brow softens when Celebrimbor winces again at the turn of his head, and your eyes focus on his neck. "I am in a great amount of pain," He confesses quietly. It's quite a feat for him to be so willing to be vulnerable with you. Especially when you have yet to see him ask for help from anyone else, including Galadriel or Gil-Galad. "And I would be much appreciative of the help."

Celebrimbor would never admit it out loud, but something swelled within him at the sight of your smile as you rushed back to your chambers to gather the oils you had stored there. He had come to care for you a great deal. That was dangerous. There was too much at stake with his House and his past... A past that he would rather never speak aloud for fear of having to truly relive it.

"You'd be more at least if you lie down," You remark softly, laughing as his eyes snap open in alarm. "The oils only work with skin contact. Are you okay with that?"

It takes him a moment to realize what you're doing: You're both asking for his consent, and you're giving him the opportunity to say no. It's just another thing that draws him to you.

You turn away to grant Celebrimbor a modicum of privacy while you prepare yourself and the oils you brought. By the time you turn around, you nearly drop the vials. You should have assumed he'd have scars. That there would be old burns and far more muscle that he could hide under those robes.

The only piece of clothing he was wearing covered very little.

"Celebrimbor," You whisper. He cannot help the shiver that runs down his body when your fingers come into contact with his spine. It has been centuries since he had last allowed himself to be touched, and to be touched in such an intimate and positive way was foreign. "Are you in pain?"

You already know the answer to this question. He lays down on the bed and tucks his hands under his forehead. There's several moments of silence that pass before you hear him murmur, "I have been in pain for quite a long time, nin tinu. There has only been one thing that alleviates it."

The Sindarin that rolls off his tongue rings clear in your head. My star.

"What eases your pain, My Lord?"

Your oiled fingertips, doused in lavender oil, have just made contact with his shoulders when he answers: "You. It has been you from the moment you entered my gates, and it will be you for however long you remain here, if you wish to remain here in Eregion with me."

You mull over his words as your fingers travel his skin. You mark your touch with firm yet gentle presses against the valleys of his back, dragging your fingers across raised scars that arouse much curiosity within you. Celebrimbor melts into the bed beneath you as he allows himself to absorb a touch he had not realized he craved so deeply for an entire lifetime.

"You have introduced me to such a peace since I have been here. A peace that comes from being in the presence of people who truly care about you, of people who truly want the best for you. That's why you have not told anyone of my heritage. That is why you keep me so close to your side. To protect me." Feeling emboldened, you bend your head to lay a gentle kiss at the space between his shoulder blades. Your ministrations have had their desired effect, because the moment you dig your fingers into where he'd been trying to massage earlier, it elicits a low groan from his chest. "Never has this destitute elf felt such peace as I haven learning how to love from you. I would be honored and privileged to remain in Eregion with you."

He's thankful in that moment that his face is hidden. Celebrimbor grimaces as tears prick the back of his eyes, blurring the sight of the blankets beneath him. He'd never experienced something as trivial as being loved in such a gentle, genuine manner.

"Dorth... nev na nin."

Again it rang clear as day. You were realizing the longer that Celebrimbor spoke in the Sindarin tongue that you were most definitely familiar with it.

He's asking you to stay with him. Permanently.

"Roll onto your back," You whisper. He complies with ease, showing you a stunning shade of hazel in the eyes that look back at you. "I-"

It's right there on the tip of your tongue as fingers stained with lavender oil linger right at the hair on his temples. You know you've loved him for a while. It's not the hesitation in confession, it's in his response.

His lips part of their own accord as you bend your head to press your forehead against his own. You both want to kiss the other, and badly, but this act alone is intimate enough.

"Don't say it. Not yet." His breath fans over your face as he shudders, eyes flickering upward to meet yours through the hair that veils your face. "Just let me..."

Celebrimbor parts your hair to tuck it behind your ear and lifts his head just enough to graze his lips against yours. It's barely a kiss, more the ghost of a kiss then anything, but the way it puts your body at such ease speaks more then a real kiss could've.

You're laughing when you part. He doesn't know why. What Celebrimbor does know is that the stiffness in his muscles is gone, replaced by an inexplicable warmth he's never quite felt before.

The shade of your eyes has been illuminated by a silver the same color of the jewel in your circlet, which is now glowing from where it sits upon your head.

He'll have to question that later.

"Why are you laughing? It's quite inappropriate to laugh in such a circumstance-"

You press your fingers to his lips. Celebrimbor is blushing so hard you're sure that his cheeks will stay that color for the rest of the night.

"If you wanted to get unclothed in front of me to have me touch you, all you had to do was ask."

[turvi]

Rumors -2

WARNING: MESSY TIMELINE. DOES NOT FOLLOW CANON. CURSE WORDS, INJURIES

Part 1

Her eyes were trained on him. The chaos around her starts to fade as usual when she sees him look at her. Now that he knows how she feels there is a different kind of intensity in his eyes. It is like the world around her doesn't exist. The usual noise of James and Sirius chattering dulls as she studies his face. There may be a lot of distance between them physically but the way Severus and Y/n look at each other feels more intimate than the act of intimacy.

Their spell is broken at the sound of James cackling. Y/n gulps taking deep breath. Feeling as if Severus just saw every inch of her soul, Merlin she never felt this vulnerable but it feels so good.

Y/n clenched her jaw as she saw fellow Gryffindor students pointed at Severus and giggling. "He deserves it" she looks at the source of voice. James in his true fashion looked smug, as if he truly believes what he says. Y/n looks back to find an empty spot where he was sitting she takes one last bite of her cold breakfast and gets up.

"hey where are you going?" Sirius asked with a smirk that is ever- present on his face. Y/n shrugged her shoulder "nowhere specific, the weather is lovely might as well take a walk".

Before Sirius could speak again Y/n quickly walks and rushes out of the Great Hall.

.................................

Potions is a rather difficult class for Y/n, not because she has difficulty making potions but because she often gets distracted by Severus' hands. While trying to remember how many times she has to stir the potion her eyes would wander and study how gracefully and expertly Severus chops the ingredients.

Even Y/n does not understand how she finds beauty in what the world has deemed to be ruined and damned but one glance at his face and her heart throbs at the way the sun creates shadow on his face, the way she can spot a few freckles on his nose and kiss each of them.

"....L/n"

Y/n is pulled out of her daze by Slughorn's booming voice. She tensed up as she saw him checking her potion "Hmm there is still some room for improvement but well done...you certainly have improved in your potions. Not the best like Evan's potion but well done"

"Well... as long as I am not failing," Y/n thinks. But her thoughts are interrupted again when she feels like she is being watched. She tries to ignore it but ultimately looks around the class to find Severus staring at her. The students start to murmur as they catch him staring at her, looking at Y/n in pity, already creating stories about how the disgusting monster is plotting to prey on the sweet Y/n.

....................................................

A few days passed but for Y/n it felt like the days were blending. After that conversation, Severus has not spoken to her and truthfully after her experience with other boys she did not expect much, how would you expect Severus to feel for Y/n like he feels for Lily. Maybe it is her destiny to love Severus and watch him love Lily. Maybe in the next lifetime, she will experience how it feels to be loved by Severus Snape.

Y/n's best friend Carol watched her continue loving one man who has loved only one girl and she could not take her best friend long for the man that could never be hers. "Y/n don't you get it, he is an obsessive creep he will never love you back."

Y/n sighs "Carol...you cannot control your feelings. I let him know my feelings if he doesn't reciprocate that is fate but don't tell me not to love him...I cannot do that." Her voice cracks, she does not understand how she can feel so deeply for someone so damned.

Carol declares defeat with a sigh. She feels Y/n is digging her own grave, as loving Severus Snape could only result in pain and agony. She thinks Y/n is naive, but Y/n knows Severus Snape could ruin her with just one look at her. She only wants to give him one chance to show his true side, show her who Severus Snape truly is and that day approached soon.

.......................................................

The weather has always been gloomy here in Hogwarts, it is so rare to see even a sight of the sun. Yet somehow Y/n felt unease in her chest when she saw thunder clapping outside the window, ignoring the usual chattering of her cousin and his friends until she heard "we leave immediately after dinner."

Y/n immediately turns around to face James "wait wait go where where....go why?"

James sighs dramatically, putting his hand on his chest. "Ah, my little cousin does care about me." Y/n rolls her eyes. "Don't be silly. What are you up to now?" Ever since she has known her cousin she has seen a smirk on his face and she has learned one thing- he is up to no good. His teenage boy brain always trying to find the adrenaline in low-grade pranks. "Well...we know that Snivellus is hanging around the wrong crowd like the evil git he is. We want to catch him and give him hell. He deserves it for calling Lily....mudblood"

Y/n bites her tongue. Don't say anything....don't say anything....don't say anything. "Well, what if this wrong crowd is with him, James? You know you are talking about death eaters...they are not your regular students who would back down with a simple Stupefy or something.". She is terrified, the dread in her chest only grows. Even if James can be annoying and plans to trouble Severus....he is going after something that could lead to a fate worse than death.

Sirius pats her head and it takes everything in her not to glare at him "y/nn we have been following him. We know his schedule. We will follow him to the Hogsmeade and get him... before he meets the death eater." Sirius lets out a chuckle as if this is hilarious "he will be in such a state even those guys will see what a weak boy he is."

James chimes in laughing even louder "he will piss in his pants." Y/n grits her teeth. The cackles of the boys make her shiver, she desperately looks at Remus who as always... looks away. "James please..." she interrupted their moment of joy, James looked at her, pride filling his chest as he responded, "come on then".

The marauders step out and the thundering only gets more aggressive...almost as if warning about the danger that looms over the group. With every step they take fear starts to consume her heart. Y/n cannot decide who she fears more- the marauders or the death eaters, but she has one goal clear in her head...save Severus.

......................................

The marauders stay hidden in the shadows, waiting for Snape, but they can't even spot the dungeon bat's shadow. The speed of the wind picked up as the group's eyes focused on the street leading to Hogsmeade. Y/n crossed her fingers silently, wishing Severus would not come. Then immediately, Peter spoke up, pointing towards the High Street: "We should look there."

"Wait...why do you think we should specifically look there? We will be easily spotted" Y/n pointed out, only to be shushed by her cousin. This is not good. "James, please let's go...look, even the weather is getting worse."

"Sweetheart relax...we just want to make Snivellus piss in his pants...we can deal with some death eaters" Sirius responds giving Y/n his charming toothy smile which made Y/n grit her teeth. Oh, how Sirius was wrong. As everyone ran towards the High Street, her eyes frantically looked for Severus, now a different fear started to consume Y/n. Where is Severus?

Before anyone even had a moment to take in their surroundings they were suddenly targets of spells coming out from the wands of death eaters that were approaching them. Remus and Y/n immediately take charge as Sirius and James find their bearings. As she casts Protego, Remus looks back at the two "where is Peter?" Before they can speak up one of the death eaters strikes Y/n with an Expelliarmus immediately breaking their shield "no time we have to hide".

James shrieks as he gets hit with a spell on his shoulder, making him bleed, Sirius immediately picks him up as he also strikes spells trying to keep the death eaters away.

"Crap they blocked the only way we can go back" Remus nervously looks at the 3 death eaters that were coming towards the group. Y/n whispers "lets go towards the Cemetery we'll figure a way out". Remus puts another Protego as they run away from death eaters. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she and Remus casted spells defending themselves from the death eaters that were closing in...Peter still nowhere to be seen and as the rain starts to get heavier it became more difficult to navigate the alleyways.

Y/n yelps and stumbles as she gets hit on her leg, Remus slows down but she pushed him as she tries to run "don't stop just keep running". She winces as she tries to run. The boys run quicker than her and she realized she has a lot of ground to cover when suddenly she gets hit again that made her fall.

She picks her wand immediately to defend herself but gets hit with another spell that made her drop her wand. Y/n's heart rate spikes up as the death eaters walk closer to her. She tries to get up but her wounds make her cry in pain. As they walk closer she immediately grabs her wand again casts a stupefy and limps towards a dark alley. She looks back and groans as she saw the death eaters running after her again but as she turned around she bumped into someone. Her eyes widen as she saw the death eaters standing in front of her as soon as she raised her wand he gripped her wrist and turned her around, pulling her towards his chest. In that moment Y/n knew she was going to die. But to her surprise this death eater—quite skillfully disarms the death eaters, and casts the obliviate spell on him.

Wait his voice sounds familiar. Before she gets to wrack her brain the death eater picks her up bridal style and they vanish amongst a black cloud before the other death eaters could come to their senses.

.........................................

She feels like her head is spinning when they finally reach somewhere. Y/n looks around and it looks like a very old house . The scent of herbs oddly makes her feel safer even though right now she is in the arms of a strange death eater.

The death eater gently takes her to his bathroom and seated her on a stool. Y/n's eyes follows his move carefully. As soon he points his wand towards her she points her wand towards his.

"That is of no use you silly woman. I was able to disarm 3 very skilled death eaters in one move...what makes you think I cannot do the same to you"

Severus.

Y/n tries her best not to smile... cursing her stupid heart. After all what he said was also a bit insulting. She lowers her wand. "I think I did quite well". At that Severus furiously took his mask off. "What were you thinking coming there with those idiots...do you have any idea what would have happened to you if those bastards got their hands on you?"

Y/n huffed. Even if the sight of this man makes her heart flutter he has a mouth full of insults that makes her grind her teeth. In that moment of silence her brain has awfully reminded her that this is the first time she is talking to Severus after that day she confessed her feelings for him. As Severus casted a healing spell on her wounds one thing was clear in her head. She does not regret her words.

"Are you going to tell me what you were doing there or are you going to sit there like a statue"?

Y/n fiddled her fingers as she quietly spoke "they were planning to pull another nasty prank on you. I couldn't just sit there. I came along so that I could somehow...help you get away from them"

"Clearly, I didn't need your help," Severus growled as he looked into her eyes, which were trying their best not to shed a tear. Does he hate her that much? Y/n looks away from his eyes only to feel his cold finger under her chin, which makes her look back towards him. "Y/n...if James would have hurt me...beat me till I was unconscious I would have been able to tolerate that but...but if something would have happened to you...I would not have been able to live with myself."

Y/n gulps, her heart beats so loudly she fears it might be the only sound echoing in the house. She felt a shiver up her spine as she felt his cold finger slowly make its way from her chin to her throat "I can't help but fear what would have happened to you if I came even a second late...I cannot even begin to forgive myself for the injuries you have sustained right now".

Her pulse quickened as Severus wrapped his hand gently around her throat "you are insane if you still want to love me because this...the double life, the death eaters...this is a part of my life in such a way even if I try I will not be able to detach myself from it...if you get involved with me...you get involved with this".

"I love you....so much" Y/n's voice wavered as his thumb rubbed her throat. Severus groaned "you are so stubborn". Y/n gasped as Severus finally closed the gap between them and kissed her, chasing the taste of rain on her lips. At that moment Y/n forgot all about her pain, about how James might react, about how cold she was right now and could only focus on how Severus tastes. Despite the pain in her body, her hand flew to his hair, letting Severus in between her legs and rendering her speechless.

Severus pulls away from her lips with a wet pop and it takes her a few minutes before she can open her eyes. As she does, she looks at him fondly, her eyes not able to look away from the supposed damned boy that stood in front of her, his hand still wrapped around her throat. She can't help but let out a whimper as Severus in his baritone voice whispers a soft promise in her ear, sealing it with another passionate kiss on her lips that made her knees weak.

I love you so much...I will protect you until my last breath, love. I promise.

A/N: Sorry this was late I got a part-time job now. IF YOU LIKE THIS REBLOG AND COMMENTS PLEASE. If you want your tag removed you can send a message

@alldaysdreamers, @sevprince-91, @deafeninginternetcreator

@midwestemosblogblog, @randomcreator-09, @simmahv

@wompwompsad, @liviacarol88-blog, @marie-snape

[tarjapearce]

Lips anon! I think one of the most intimate moments between mother and child is the first hair wash. Especially for curly babes. I'm just imagining the wife remembering Gabi's first wash while doing Benji's. Gentle scrubs and lots of suds. She puts him to bed, and Miguel comes home from work. They decide to bathe together since both the kids have been put to bed. Then they have their own intimate moment with her washing and massaging his scalp and stuff lol just something really fluffy I thought of

THIS IS SO SWEET OMG ❤️❤️❤️.

And the perfect chance for them to makeup 👀

A bit long ❤️ Hope you like 🥹.

Sudsy hands gently massaged Benjamin's head, his little feet splashing water, reacting with an uneven toothy grin whenever you cooed him. You kneeled by the enormous bathtub as you bathed him.

His rubber raccoon floating next to him along some other toys. Long lashes twinkled with the warm water, chubby and full cheeks moved as your baby babbled.

"Oh, I like the soapy water too, specially when it's warm." You rinsed his head carefully removing the baby scented shampoo from his head.

"There you go" You wrapped him in a raccoon themed towel, a matching set you had gotten in the baby apparel section at the super. You dried him well, put on a diaper and some comfy pjs.

You heard Miguel's heavy steps on the bathroom, preparing the tub for his use as you put little Benjamin to sleep and kissed him goodnight. You checked on Gabriela and kissed her forehead before tucking her in the sheets and closed her window.

Kids were asleep, and you only had one space to go back to. Hesitant steps made you approach your room that for some reason had turned into a silent battlefield. Ever since the fight, the tension between you and Miguel had only strengthened; but were careful enough to be a subtle as possible about it, the least you two understood much was that your children were definitely staying out of whatever was brewing.

You closed the door as you rummaged through your drawer of pjs, looking for one to change into. He passed next to you, grabbing a towel but stopped in his haste. You were tiny next to him, but with the current state of your emotions, you felt away. Away from his touch, away from his warmth, away from him.

He hated himself for creating this rift between you, but loathed even more the fact that you were giving him space. Being at odds with you didn't sit right in his chest. And the three days you had spent away from echother, yet in the same bed, made his heart to beat painfully. He'd never forget the way you were tucked on your side, wiping tears, shielding from whatever word he was about to spill. He didn't sleep that night.

He felt your body stirring awake around seven, ready to prepare Benjamin's bottles and wake Gabriela up for school.

His massive back faced you as you said your good mornings. There was no kisses on his cheeks to wake him up, No hug from behind and the nuzzle of your nose on his neck. None of your feathery eyelashes tickling the skin of his cheek. Just a meek and distant Good morning.

Gabriela was too busy with school to actually notice the awkward and forced interactions between you two. And for once he was grateful that Benjamin was... well. A baby.

Seeing him tense next to you made you recoil even more to your spot, not wanting to trigger another fight. His jaw clenched as his throat constricted. Even though you had said that you weren't afraid of him, your body language acted so cautiously around him. Wary to not make anything that would get him talking to you like the night you fought.

He didn't know who was to blame, his rising and brewing anger, or Alonzo. He sighed snd looked at you.

"Can... Can you" He trailed, unsure of his question, "Can you join me at the bathtub?" his voice gentle and careful.

The question threw you off guard, you stared at him for a couple of seconds and nodded.

He threw a couple of lavender bath bombs, your favorites, in the bathtub as the foam bubbles were rising. You removed your clothes and wrapped yourself in a towel. You were the first one in getting in. He joined you a couple of minutes later. You were across him, the foam almost engulfing you as he sat in front of you.

The warmth of the water made your tense muscles to relax slightly. His hand caressed your forearm and pulled you closer to him. Face to face as some water splashed on the floor. He was warmer than the water, a touch you had longed for the past three days.

Tears welled up in your already glossy eyes, he cupped your face and wiped out your eyes.

"Im sorry." His forehead colliding softly against yours, breath fanning over your lips.

"I just... What is going on, Miguel? Have... I done something-"

"No. no. Far from that. I've been an idiot. Me he comportado como un completo imbécil y en el proceso te lastimé. También a Gabi." (I've been an ass and I hurted you and Gabi in the process.)

You didn't have to know spanish at full to know he was admitting his mistakes.

"Im just worried, Miguel. I don't know what is bothering you or where this anger comes from, but... seeing you punching that man-"

"Scared you?"

"A bit. Yeah."

He casted his gaze down, shame washing over him.

"It's... so much going on that, seeing that man touching you was the last straw. My job is transferring me to another unit without consulting me, the house renovations are surely taking a good chunk of the savings, and... Gabriel is just... he barely talks to me anyways."

You grabbed a washcloth and soaked in showel gel, then began gently lathering up his torso with it, as if washing away his worries.

"Maybe he is just busy, you both have demanding jobs."

"I don't feel like I'm doing a good job as a husband and a father." he blurted

You nearly gasped at his confession, and cupped his face, conveying all your love with a single touch.

"Mostly of the time I come home you're ready to put Benjamin on his crib, Gabriela is too tired to play and... you." You shook his head and kissed him.

"No. Don't say that, please." you broken voice made his eyes snap at you.

"Gabriela and Benjamin love you. So do I. Is because you work so hard we try our parts as well. We try making things easier on you because I know it's hard."

"Still isn't an excuse to hurt you and my daughter."

"All I am asking is for you to tell me when something is bothering you. We are a team, Miguel." Your hands made him look at you, and you kissed him softly.

"I am here. I am your wife. We are a team. We don't do things solo anymore okay?"

He took your hand and kissed it, then twirled you around so your back was resting against his broad chest. His frame engulfing you.His arms securing you as his lips kissed your side of the head.

"I hate when we fight."

"Hm. Same." you nodded as your fingers entwined with his.

"I promise to do better. To communicate more."

He grabbed the washcloth and gently washed your arm to then kiss your neck

"Can't lose you over stupid shit."

"You won't. I love you too much to give you up so easily." His hands gently caked a bit of your rose scented shampoo on your head, dexterous fingers massaging your scalp with devotion. His chest finally got rid of that constricting and choking feeling.

"Still, I'm sorry."

"I accept your apologies. I'm sorry too. Should have talked to you sooner instead of just... letting this to grow bigger."

He nipped at your earlobe and kissed your cheek, peppering it in affection.

"We good?"

"Only if you massage my shoulders." he chuckled at your petition and squeezed you tighter against him.

"Te amo, chaparrita." (I love you, little one.)

[lanabuckybarnes]

| Lady Blue |

Falling in love with your best friend wasn't something you ever anticipated, you had a role to fulfil and your hand was sold. Yet your heart longed for him.

✧Pairing✧ Knight!Steve Rogers x Princess!Reader (Fem)

✧Warnings✧ Fluff, A Little Angst, Talks of Arranged marriage, John Walker (ew), Name Calling, like the teeniest bit of violence, Hurt, Brief mention of injury, Sweet ending

✧Word Count✧ 2.1k

✧Author Note ✧ I WROTE SOMETHING THAT ISNT SMUT!! — happy birthday Stevie Rogers 🥳

You don’t know when it happened, when that little crush became something more, when the hugs became intimate and the kisses were on the lips rather than on the cheeks.

Steve Rogers, your best friend. You’d been born beds apart, your mother a queen and her best friend a noblewoman. You weren’t sure if they planned it or it was fate but they both ended up with child and gave birth almost exactly on the same day.

Steve was headstrong, and a leader. He always made sure you were safe and protected, it was cute how doting he was because ‘he was older’. You were quick to comment how it was only by a few hours.

You were inseparable as kids, spending most of your time in the fields of blue flowers that decorated the walk to the large castle. It’s how you earned the name, Lady Blue - a flower crown of blue atop your head always.

Your infatuation grew for him as you aged into a teen, you weren’t around each other as much because of duties taking up most of your time but you remembered something about absence making the heart grow fonder and you could attest to that.

Steve was away most of the time on the other end of the city, training in the ring to become a knight, his dream. You were stuck in the palace, studying history and languages to be a great queen although you spent much of your time staring out of the window and imagining you and Steve doing the same things you did as kids. Living.

You lied.

You remember exactly when it happened.

Steve's graduation, he finally wore his purple cloak and had his royal etched sword around his hip. Drinks flowed left and right, the night filled with laughter and singing, all muffled behind the thick glass doors leading out to the courtyard where you and Steve sat watching the birds bathe in the fountain.

“How was it?” You asked, both hands soothing over his larger, calloused one, running over each scar and healing wound he donned.

He breathed out slowly, as though you were one of the small birds that he had to tiptoe around so he didn’t scare them off. He knew that you would never be scared of him but he couldn’t shake that feeling, you were so dainty beside him. To think that once upon a time you were a head taller than him.

“It was fine, made some friends” he nodded off to a pair of iron-clad men clinging to each other singing an old folk tune. “Sam and Bucky, they’re wild but they are good guys.”

The air around you thickened if it were possible, something going unsaid between you two, a rope pulled taut that threatened to snap. Steve’s eyes studied you, thoroughly enjoying the sight of you by his side. You looked beautiful, eyes twinkling in the moonlight as your eyes returned to the fountain, your hair shining. You had grown up and become such a beautiful soul that he knew you were.

“I missed you.”

“Hm?” You looked up at him, confusion and curiosity carved onto your features.

“I thought of you all the time being out there, when it got tough and I needed some of those princess bear hugs you gave me” You giggled at his words, bringing about his chuckle. Your knees knocked as you leaned closer, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I missed you too Stevie.”

“Princess” he murmured after a moment, taking a few deep breaths to quieten his pounding heart, although when he looked down at you it skipped beat after beat anyway.

“Ser Rogers” you teased with a cheeky smirk, the sparkle in your hues growing as you almost challenged him to speak. I dare you, your eyes cried out to him.

Steve was never one to back down from a dare.

His lips were on yours before you could even think, embracing yours in a way that left you dizzy before shocking you into action and kissing back with the same ferocity.

Snap, that rope between you broke.

After that night you’d both chosen to keep your love a secret, your father was strict and unforgiving, he would not stand for his daughter dating someone lower than a future heir despite it not being your choice. Even years later, both of you adults still sneaked around like you did when you were teens.

Your door shook with heavy knocks, Ser Barnes’ voice booming from the other end.

“My Princess, the King wishes to see you at once.”

You groaned and let your eyes fall shut again until soft kisses trailing up your shoulder and neck brought a smile upon your face.

“Come on Lady Blue, can’t disappoint Father now” he joked, deep voice raspy from sleep, vibrating against your ear.

Even after all these years each moment you spent with him felt like you were falling in love with him for the first time, diving straight off the deep end and into your sheets with him.

You stood, helping him into his gear so he could slink off and allow your handmaidens in to help you dress.

“I love you” he whispered into the top of your head, placing a chaste kiss there before tilting your chin up to slant his lips against your own. Despite the shortness of it, you were left breathless when he parted, turning on his heel professionally and making his exit.

A ball of dread settled in your stomach at the thought of today’s meeting with your father. For months now he’d been adamant that you were to be married by the end of the year and set about finding suitors, each time you rejected them he’d bring up another. But you loved Steve too much.

You knew it wouldn’t last forever, it couldn’t. You were noble, bound to marry a prince and join two kingdoms in matrimony. He was a knight, he swore an oath to protect you from harm, nothing more.

All of that knowledge didn’t help it hurt any less when you stepped into the throne room, your eyes landing on potentially the worst prince your father had brought to you yet.

The king from the neighbouring place and his son, John Walker. A self-proclaimed prophet that was bound to rule all over the land.

“You will marry Prince John Walker” your father announced, the smug sneer on the prince’s face had you wishing you’d had breakfast before coming here so you could have something in your stomach to throw up.

You were bound to marry a pompous, arrogant, narcissistic man and leave the man who’d loved you since day dot.

You wouldn’t stand for it.

“I will not marry John” You challenged, something you’d only done a handful of times in your life. Your father’s nostrils flared, his jaw clenching and eyes wild.

“Excuse me?”

“I will not marry him” You repeated.

“You don’t have a choice young lady” he rose from his throne, stomping down the steps until his face was in yours. Your legs wobbled as you tried to stand your ground against your father's presence.

“You will marry Prince Walker, you will join our kingdoms and you will bear his heirs, I am sick of you rejecting everyone I introduce you to so I made the decision myself.”

“I won’t” you yelled this time, hurt and angry bubbling into rage “because I love another.”

The words slipped out your mouth, your hand slapping around your face far too slow to catch them.

The room fell silent. Pin drop silent. Steve stood at the entrance of the hall, head hung low to hide the reddening of his face, his hands clamping into fists at his side.

“Who?” Your father’s hand clamped onto your chin, your jaw throbbing in pain at the hold.

“Ser Rogers” you hissed, falling into a pile of clothes and pain when your father’s hand let you go.

“You wench!” he spat in disgust.

You tried to argue, tried to plead with your father but he shrugged you off.

“Ser Barnes, take my daughter back to her room, I want some time with Ser Rogers. Alone.”

You didn’t struggle as Ser Barnes picked you up from the floor, hoisting you over his shoulder. You couldn’t even look at Steve when you walked by.

Ser Barnes set you down on your bed softly, patting the top of your head as you stared off into space, tears rolling down your cheeks. He left and came back with a small glass of water and a muffin which you refused to eat.

Once Bucky left you crawled up to the head of your bed, stuffing your face into your pillow and staining it with black from your mascara. Your door was on constant watch in case you got any big ideas. The Blue Daisy’s had bloomed but you couldn’t leave, you weren’t allowed to leave.

As day turned into night you shifted to look out at the setting sun. Your dinner lay untouched on your table, your focus set firmly on the world outside, families rushing to pack up their markets before the evening rain.

“Lady Blue” you recognised the voice.

“Bucky?”

“Can I come in?” He asked. You hummed your confirmation and the huge brunette slipped in.

“Steve—he’s being shipped off. Tonight.” He explained his stormy eyes on you, watching you process the information.

“So what? It’s not like I can stop it” You answered bitterly, a shell of the woman you usually were. There was no hint of cheer or teasing in your tone like there once was, it had all been left in that throne room.

You took note of his heavy sigh before he inched further into the room, Only then did you gaze up at him. In his hands was a set of clothes, the kind commoners wore along with a large black cloak and a purple velvet pouch.

“Do you love him?” He asked, eyes searching yours.

“More than anything” you replied without hesitation.

“Then we better move.”

“W-what do you mean?” You stood, head tilted and brows furrowed. You just barely caught the clothes that Bucky threw at you.

“His ship leaves in an hour, if you don’t hurry and get changed we’ll miss it”.

You could’ve kissed Bucky.

The shipyards reeked of fish and shit, but you couldn’t care about that. Not now. Hopping off of Bucky’s white steed you pat its neck before looking up at him.

“Thank you, Buck, I don’t know how I can repay you.”

He smiled, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles.

“You can get on that ship and live your life Lady Blue. I’ll see you soon” he flashed you one of his pearly white smiles and turned the horse, setting off the way he’d come.

You darted onto the ship, eyes scanning the faces of workers and guests until they fell on the man that you were doing all of this for. Any doubt that boiled in your stomach melted away leaving only one thing remaining, that deep love that Steve gave you. He didn’t turn until you were standing in front of him.

“Princess?” his shocked voice sounded as he looked up at you. He looked tired, his skin pale and a nasty bruise was forming over his cheekbone. No doubt thanks to your father.

“I’m here” you squeaked as he pulled you down into his arms, his warm body and vanilla scent putting you at ease instantly despite the incessant rocking of the ship.

“You're here” he replied, words vibrating against your hairline before he tilted your chin up and stole your lips in a kiss. Just like he had stolen your heart.

“So you do that…yep and then you twist the stalk around…that’s it!!” You cheered as your son finally wrapped the flower correctly, his big blue eyes almost disappearing behind his lids as he squealed in excitement.

“What’s all the yelling about huh?” Steve emerged, tanned skin glowing, covered in a layer of sweat and dirt, an axe resting over his shoulder.

“Daddy look” your son preened, raising the bundle of blue flowers high in the air so the blonde could see.

“Ahhh is Mama teaching you her old tricks huh?” He smiled, kneeling to place a soft kiss on his forehead before doing the same to you.

“Mhmm gotta make sure he can help me every year, isn’t that right baby?” You plopped your finished flower crown onto Steve’s head before ruffling your son's curly locks.

Despite the running, the fighting and the endless struggle to get to where you were now, you could say you’d do it all again to be sat between your handsome husband and his doppelgänger son—in a field of blue daisies. You would do it all again to be home.

I DO NOT give permission to have my work copied, translated or reposted. If you see my work anywhere else except on this page I have not given consent for it to be used.

Comments, Reblogs, Likes & Asks are always appreciated, although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience. They let me know that you are enjoying what you read and give me motivation to write more.

Thanks for reading~

[mr-ys-phantasma]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Chapter 1. - Chapter 2. - Chapter 3

Chapter 4. - Chapter 5. - Chapter 6

Chapter 7. - Chapter 8. - Chapter 9

Chapter 10. - Chapter 11. - Chapter 12

Chapter 13. - Chapter 14. - Chapter 15

Chapter 16. - Chapter 17. - Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Word Count: 1162

Chapter 19:

"If you two are the same, then I should be concerned," Agatha said, eyes narrowed at the two of you.

"Agatha," you exclaimed in shock, taking a step back.

Surprisingly, Rio's grip was loosened; though you swore, you felt the slightest of resistance coming from her fingers.

"Came to join the party, sweetheart?" Rio asked with a smirk, clearly not caring how intimately was caressing and looking at you just a moment ago.

She even dared to draw you back towards her, trying to place her hand around your shoulders, but you resisted; any influence she might have on you was long gone.

"There is no party," you argued, fearing Agatha might get the wrong impression.

After all, she didn't know you knew Rio already, and you were not sure how she would react. Judging by the glare in her blue eyes, you started to suspect she was connecting the dots and was not happy with it.

"Return to the others, Y/N," Agatha said, nicknames and sweet tones long gone; something that only existed when things were serious.

When she was serious.

Instead of sweet and teasing words or remarks, there was this hidden warning buried beneath layers and layers of ice but still visible to anyone paying even the slightly of attention to it.

You felt the need to say something, to argue she could not order you around; you were an adult and a powerful witch, not that young, shy girl she had met during a full moon ritual.

Your lips parted, and yet Agatha stopped you from uttering a single word. "Now,"

It felt as if you were standing on thin ice, carrying yourself above a frozen vast lake. Cracks had formed on it, cracks that threatened to break the ice beneath your feet and let you sink into the cold dark waters beneath.

You would think someone of your status would have no fear of such things, but even the wisest of beings knew when to step back.

You knew there was no place for argument, and even if you tried to make any, the cracks would grow and multiply as Agatha's anger would rise.

In the end, you would fall into the cold waters, and you might lose what you had built so far with Agatha.

Defeated, you walked towards her and noticed how intensely she was staring at Rio as if waiting for her to make a move.

She didn't do anything, not even tried to hold you back and simply watched you walk the same way Agtha had come; not once looking away from her lover... and yours.

Once you were far away, Rio rolled her eyes at the drama. "Come on, Agatha. We were just having fun. " she placed one hand in her waist.

Agatha took a few steps closer. "There is no fun there, Rio," she corrected her former lover. "Y/N is off the limits,"

This intrigued Rio. "Is that jealousy I peeked up, sweetheart?" She asked mockingly. "Didn't expect you to be so possessive of your little toy."

Rio knew that Agatha did not like how she called you, referring to you as a lifeless item to be passed around.

"She is not a toy, and she is not part in any of this. So leave her out, " she hissed faintly.

Yet she could not keep that intense stare and angry attitude for long. The trial, the almost loss of the boy... they had mentally drained her. Rio could see it in her blue eyes, feeling this need to hug and comfort her for a change.

Then she could go back in teasing, annoying and even trying to kill her.

"What do you fear, Agatha?" She asked as she started to slowly walk around the magicless witch. "Think of what we could do if she were to join us," she continued, one hand gently being carried across her back as her tone was a taunting whisper in her ear. "Three is the magic number, and we all remember what happened to the last three witches that paired together."

Agatha would lie if she said she didn't think about it carefully for a moment.

Three was a powerful number in magic.

Three faces of the goddess

Three fates

Three moon phases

Three basic elements

Three rings to the Ballad

The number three was everywhere, amplifying powers with its multiples. Hence why covens aimed to have member numbers equals multiples of three.

And, of course, there were the rumours of a triple witch bond.

Three witches bound together by more than just coven rues. Three witches amplifying one another, making them a very high-level threat when serious.

"It is a cursed idea," Agatha managed to say, though even Rio saw right through it.

"Come on, sweetheart." She said as she stood now in front of her. "We both know those are the words of old hags, too afraid of change,"

Agatha continued to stand her ground against the idea. "It would never work. She is not that kind of witch. "

Rio smiked. "Are you sure about that?" She asked, making Agatha arch an eyebrow. "I believe we both know what kind of witch she can be. You know when the... moon is just right," she whispered the last few words and chuckled before walking away. "Think about it, love. It is never too late"

Agatha did not even turn to look at her, those last phrases having gotten stuck in her head and were being repeated like a broken record.

"You know when the... moon is just right."

Something didn't click right there with Agatha, for one simple reason... how did Rio know?

No matter her role, no matter her 'skills'; this was of something she could not know. Unless she had witnessed it first hand. Unless she had been more preset in your life than you let others know.

A frustrated sound left her lips, and Agatha rubbed her hands against her face; trying to regain her composure.

The Road, the Boy, the fact that she was powerless and that Rio was present; did not help with her mentality or her sanity.

Having this new riddle into the puzzle... it was simply becoming too much.

Agatha pinched the bridge of her nose and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. She had to think of this through, and most specifically, she had to prioritise stuff.

Any questions she had about you and Rio had to wait until you were off the Road. Then, she would sit you down and tie you if she had to until you would spill everything and then apologise for hiding it.

Left with no choice, she started to walk back to the others; taking notice of the warm pyre they had built and how cosily they had sat around it. Even Teen had joined, looking as if he was never in front of Rio's door.

Chapter 20

[a-aexotic]

Could you do soft Rafe being in love and having a secret relationship with someone opposite him like she’s so sweet and shy. She’s a kook but she’s friends with the pogues. Maybe some fluff and implied smut and he’s giving her aftercare? And also he’s just admiring her and being totally obsessed with her. Reader is blushing when he compliments her and tells her how much he is in love. How she understands him and is always there for him at his worst times.

I got carried away. Sorry 😭

ren's notes hi! ofc i can, omggg and don't worry ab it, the more descriptive, the better! i hope u enjoy! i love rafe's buzzcut sm

pairing. rafe cameron x fem!reader requested? yes no

warnings. fluff!, lowkey childhood enemies to lovers??, secret relationship, ooc rafe/sarah, a mention of a fight with ward, a few kisses and illusions to smut

summary. you've always lived next to the cameron's, what happens when you start getting closer to the older cameron?

➜ missing out on updates? ❪ navigation. masterlist. taglist. ❫

The Camerons have lived across the street from you for as long as you could remember. Morning brunches, summer yacht parties and Christmas's were always spent at the other's house. Ward was your father's best friend since they were children and they wanted you and Rafe to be the same.

But, time and time again, forcing your children to be friends proves to be not the best idea. Rafe started to dislike your presence more and more each time.

You weren't the problem. His father was. He would always compare you to him. "Why can't you be more like Y/N?" He'd heard this all his life so it was only natural that he'd start to dislike you despite the absolute angel you were.

You never held anything he said against him. You knew how complex his relationship with Ward was and you knew it wasn't his fault he didn't like you.

Rafe tried to hate you, he really did. But he just couldn't. You were the most caring person he'd ever. He'd only ever treated you with disrespect and unkindness but you still looked out for him.

Rafe was a softie at heart; so he started to like you more than a friend. And after you both shared a small kiss under the mistletoe on Christmas Eve at the L/N's, you started to date.

In secret, of course. Rafe didn't want to give his father the satisfaction of knowing he set you both up.

You and Rafe's relationship was only known by your best friend, Kie and his sisters and best friend, Wheezie, Sarah and Topper. Topper wasn't mean to find out, it just slipped from Sarah. They were all sworn to secrecy.

Rafe was delicate with you, always. He loved how caring you were and he always made sure to be just as caring with you as you were him.

You and Rafe sat at the beach, talking. This was how you two spent your nights; outside, in the back of his pickup truck watching the waves and the bright stars.

"I kind like how no one knows about us." You confessed with a small giggle as he nodded, putting his arm around you and pulling you close to him.

"Yeah, me too. It makes it more intimate." Rafe whispered as you both stared out to the ocean. "But sometimes, I want to make sure everyone knows you're mine."

"Me, too." You replied. It was mostly Rafe's wish to keep it private, it's best for both of you. He didn't want the island to have more to gossip about, he felt like it would be less of a strain on your relationship. He knew his father would make it difficult as well.

Rafe's relationship with his father was the one thing you and Rafe argue about. You think he should make more of effort to be nicer and he just wants to cut him off.

You considered yourself pretty close with Ward until Rafe's 18th birthday. You made it your mission to make sure everything was in place and perfect for Rafe. And it was perfect until Ward decided he needed to have a talk with Rafe.

This talk turned into a big fight almost immediately and Ward essentially had ruined Rafe's birthday and your hard work. You'd been with Rafe for about 2 months at that point, and you've known Rafe your entire life and you'd never seen him so distressed and angry.

He was in your room after the party and he was silent. He wasn't crying or screaming in anger - he was just silently laying in your bed. Your heart broke in two seeing Rafe so defeated. He was so strong (both mentally and physically), that's one of the reasons you admired him so much. But tonight, his will to fix his relationship with his father broke.

You had just taken a shower to give Rafe some space and you came back to see Rafe still hadn't moved from his spot. His father's words always had an effect on him, more than he wanted. He wanted to hate Ward but he truly couldn't - all he ever wanted was his validation.

You walked up to Rafe and embraced him tightly, quietly. You stayed like that for a couple minutes, Rafe basking in your presence. He moved his head upwards so he could look at you.

He couldn't help but break a small smile as he examined your gorgeous face. He was grateful that you were his - just his. That he had one person in this entire world who loved him for him, not for anything else.

"Thank you." Rafe whispered.

Your expression changed to a confused one. "For what?"

"Everything, baby." He paused. "The party, the cake, the effort you put in... and for loving me regardless of what everyone says about me."

You put your hand on his face, rubbing it slightly, comfortably. "None of it matters. I'm going to love no matter what they say because they don't know you like I do, okay?"

He hadn't heard anyone say that before. He's never been loved unconditionally since his mother and it felt so good to be loved again. He leaned up to kiss you.

It was a hard but passionate kiss. He pulled you in closer by the waist, then put his hands on your face to deepen the kiss. You pulled away from the kiss and you put your forehead on his, taking a few breathes.

You and Rafe locked eyes and he put his fingers in your hair, pulling you in for another kiss. He pulled away and looked deep in your eyes. "I wanna show you..." he paused. "How grateful I am, for you."

You nodded and he kissed you again, moving backwards into the bed so that you could get on the bed with him. He laid you down and you began to kiss again, this time with more fervor and desire than before.

That entire night Rafe was showing you how much he loved you. He loved being inside of you; he loved how close you were and that how it felt like there was no one else in the world but you two. He didn't do it for pleasure, that part was just a plus. The idea of combining with you in such a sensitive and soft way made Rafe love you even more, if that was even possible.

When you were done, Rafe wouldn't let you move. You were tired from not only the previous activities, but that entire day. Rafe got up to go get you water and after that, you both laid in comfortable silence.

You laid your head on his chest as you both drifted into a calm state of sleep.

"I love you." Rafe said for what seemed like the millionth time that night. You brought your hands to his, holding them.

"I love you, too."

[copinghex]

Lie | T.S

Summary: The end of vendetta brings the crisis in Tommy's marriage to light. When his attempts of conciliation fail he refuses to face the truth, finding much more comfort in a lie.

Tommy felt his heart gripping on his chest hearing his wife's laugh from across the living room. Not exactly melodic or exemplary from a lady, but genuine and deprived of worries, something he hadn't heard in months.

The end of the vendetta didn't bring the relief he thought it would, with John's death and a crisis in his marriage, he didn't have much to celebrate.

Nevertheless, the party went on, Arthur talked to Bonnie with the same excitement a father would to a son, Ada and Finn seemed to be rebounding after so long apart, Lizzie and Polly had their own internal jokes going on, Linda seemed to have a hard time socializing and at last, Tommy's wife chatted with Aberama while he stood alone in a corner.

He bit his inner cheek, jealousy taking over his most rational side, he used to make her laugh, even after the war killed his youngful sense of humor, his ironic or critical remarks rarely failed in putting a smile on her face. However, he was well aware of the space growing between them, if he didn't do anything the chances of losing her were huge. Clearing his throat, he raised a toast, distracting her from Aberama and initiating his plan to get her back.

As the night fell on, the guests naturally collected themselves. Finally, Tommy was alone with her, the bedroom felt as tense as a battlefield, a step wrong and he's out of the game. 

Sitting on the edge of bed while she removed her jewelry on the dressing table, he tried to start a conversation.

"It's over," he referred to the vendetta.

"...it is," she sized him up through the mirror, "the children are happy to go back to school," 

"Yeah," Tommy breathed out, surely the months every Shelby had to be recluse affected their learning process, he couldn't help but to feel guilty, his babies doing well in school was one of his biggest prides since he didn't have this privilege, still, at least they were alive and everything would go back to normal, "could've been worse," 

"Yeah, I wish John's children could go back too," she pursed her lips hesitantly, "y'know, sometimes I-"

"Yeah?" Tommy encouraged, surprised by the cold way she brought John up.

"Sometimes I wonder what it would've been like if none of this happened, it started with the guns and we never had peace after," she looked down at her own hands, "sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't have been easier if Polly, Martha and I still ran the business and you- you and Arthur-" 

She gulped, getting completely silent. Tommy felt his lips dry staring at her, did she just admit she wished he was dead? Taking a drag of his cigarette, he preferred to believe his paranoia got the best of him. He had to believe it or he'd go mad, if one of the few things keeping him alive wished he was dead, there was no point in everything he'd done for him, her and their family.

"Anyways, I- hm," she continued, "I think I'll take a shower before bed," 

"C'here," Tommy reached for her arm, what should've been an affectionate gesture of pulling her to his lap felt awkward and forced.

Her body was rigid in his embrace, seeming to avoid touching him more than necessary. His arms locked around her waist and his lips rested on her shoulder, at the same time she held his forearms with certain pressure, as if she could push him away at any moment.

The sweet scent of her perfume intoxicated Tommy's senses, he barely remembered the last time they intimately touched each other and by then, feeling her soft skin and her comforting weight on his thigh, he craved her badly.

"I love you," he whispered, still focused on putting their marriage back on the tracks, uncomfortable silence started with her lack of answer, he had no other option but to continue, "I know I pushed you away in the last months, I was-"

"Scared," she cut him off, "I know," 

"...and it's over now," Tommy completed, "now we have all the time in the fucking world," 

"To do what?" 

"Well, for me personally," he changed his tone, sounding hopeful, "to take care of you," 

She sighed, pushing his arms away from her waist and cupping his cheeks, a pout showed on her lips as if she'd just been asked to do a long, boring task. 

His eyes fell to her lips darkening with lust, he was the one to initiate a kiss, slow and full of desire. An unfamiliar, complaint-like sound left her lungs as he laid her on the bed, trailing the way down to her neck and collarbones.

Usually, Tommy's passionate acts would've ignited her fire, giving her shivers and the overwhelming urge of being close to him. That night wasn't the case, she laid down in silence, watching him lift her dress and massage her thighs in a pathetic attempt to turn her on.

When he removed her underwear and put his head in between her legs, she struggled to keep quiet, regardless of everything his tongue was still skilled, licking circles on her clit as his fingers toyed with her entry.

Soon, she came undone, a tiny smile crawled into Tommy's face, that was a good sign. However, as soon as she closed her legs, pushing herself up into the mattress, far from him, he realized an orgasm wouldn't be enough to win her favor back.

He kissed the exposed part of her thigh and smacked her arse before heading to the bathroom. Tomorrow would be a new day and with some luck, she'd recognise his efforts.

The morning arrived suspiciously quiet in the Shelby household, Tommy sat alone in the large dining room, the table was already set for breakfast but his family was nowhere to be seen.

The scene looked like a joke of poor taste for those close to the family, Thomas Shelby, known for skipping meals, was the first to get on the table. 

He peeked at the clock, frowning as he realized everyone was terribly late, the children would miss some classes and his wife usually didn't stay in bed until late hours.

After two or three cigarettes, the food went cold and he was ready to go search for them. It wasn't necessary when his babies ran through the door and grabbed bread from the table.

"I'm gonna miss three more classes today, daddy," Florence, the youngest, started.

"Mama said she'll call the principal to explain what happened later," Anthony, his firstborn, completed.

"Oh, yeah?" Tommy asked, "And what happened, my boy?" 

"I don't know," he shrugged off.

"She forgot to wake me up," the daughter explained, "the driver will go real fast so I'll get the french class!" 

"That's a rhyme!" Anthony pointed out.

As they giggled to themselves, the worried mother showed up wearing pajamas covered by an expensive robe.

"I told you to go straight to the car!" she scolded.

"We wanted to talk to daddy!" Florence argued.

"Well, I suppose you just did," 

With the mother's final words, the children lowered their heads and walked out, leaving her and Tommy alone.

"Flora said you forgot to wake her up," he commented.

"Tommy, I-" she whined, annoyed by his tone, "I got an important call, alright?" 

"Whose call?" 

"From the institute!" she took the seat beside him, "What the hell was I supposed to say? Call later, I have to get my children ready for school? The maids are here to help with this too!" 

Something was deeply wrong, from her defensive tone to the said institute call at early hours in the morning. As much as it hurted to realize, Tommy knew she was lying to him, he only had to find out why.

"At least we'll have fucking breakfast together," he ironically spat.

"Oh, isn't that great?" she retaliated, filling her mouth with a piece of cake and avoiding looking at him.

The minimum appetite he had earlier was completely gone with the conflict. All he wanted was to have breakfast with his family, mainly with her, so she'd warm up to him again.

Everything went absolutely wrong and as a matter of fact, felt worse than yesterday.

"Look, I just-" Tommy started, "I just wanted to have breakfast with my family after a fucking vendetta ended, can I do that?" 

"I don't know, can you?" pouring herself a cup of tea, she stood up from the table and headed out, "I'll change off these pajamas," 

Watching her leave, Tommy squinted, thinking of what else he could do for her to go back to herself, because that wasn't her, that cold, dismissive woman surely wasn't the one he married. As a last shot, he decided to offer what his kin seemed to like the most about him - his money.

Another day went by and they didn't have much contact. Still, when nighttime came, they were unavoidably reunited in their shared bedroom. With the children in bed, the house was quiet, if it weren't for the lights on, anyone watching from outside would think it was empty.

"Did you speak to the principal?" he asked.

"Did," she sat on the end of bed, putting moisturizer on her arms.

"And?" 

"They'll have some extra homework, he said they're smart children, they'll recover soon," she explained, "and about those months they missed, they'll stay until later hours twice a week," 

"And the institute?" 

"What about it?" she gulped.

"Someone called at fucking sunrise," Tommy questioned, "I imagine it must've be something important," 

"Yeah, hm-" she stuttered, "someone wanted to make an anonymous donation," 

"Oh, there's no registers in the book," 

"Because I haven't made any yet," she argued, "what is it, Tommy?"

"Just curious," 

She scoffed, turning her focus to herself.

"I've got something for you," he continued.

Her eyes slightly widened, it had been a long time since he surprised her, "For me?" 

Opening the wardrobe's drawer, Tommy took a black velvet box, he stood in front of her and revealed a diamond necklace sparkling in its expensive glory.

"What did I do to deserve this?" she quietly asked, "It's not even my birthday," 

"Does a man need a reason to gift his wife?" 

"I suppose," she allowed him to clasp the jewel around her neck.

"Well, what do you think?" 

"It's beautiful," she pouted, "thank you, Tom," 

His shoulders dropped with her carelessness, she not only didn't seem excited, she seemed sad, tense about something he couldn't guess. Caressing her shoulder, he tried to get something out of her, "Are you alright?" 

"Yeah," 

"So what's with that face?" his hands traveled from her shoulder to her cheek.

"Nothing, I just had a long day," she removed his hand from her. 

Tommy watched her take the necklace off, get a blanket and make herself comfortable in bed, as if he wasn't even there, as if both he and the diamond were irrelevant. Then she peeked at him, silently asking if he wouldn't lay down.

Turning off the lights, he went back to his office, it wasn't an invitation to lay down with her, she only wanted him to stop demanding her attention. Tommy felt like he ran out of options, there was nothing to do but wait until the situation reached its peak.

Two months went by, time in which they practically lived alone, the others presence didn't add anything, few words were spoken and physical touch seemed forbidden. 

No words could express how much Tommy missed his wife, to have her greeting him when he got home, to hear her excitedly dumping news from the institute on him, to feel her neediness in kisses that were meant to be a simple goodnight peck.

Frustrated and irritable, he decided to go home earlier on a cold Friday evening, he'd never expected the scene that welcomed him home. She happily talked to someone on the phone, laughing like she hadn't for long, realizing he was home, she put the phone down.

"You're early," she greeted.

"Who was that?" Tommy was quick in asking.

"Oh, just a friend of mine," 

"Friend," he nodded, "he must be really fucking funny, right?" 

"Her," she corrected, "and yes, she's really funny," 

"You should invite her over, maybe she can bring some fucking happiness to this house!" 

"What the hell are you talking about, Tommy?" she shrunk her shoulders, intimidated by his loud tone.

"I'm talking about you talking on the fucking phone like everything is alright," he pointed out, "as if you hadn't fucking ignored me for two fucking months!' 

Sucking the air between her teeth, she whimpered, "I'm sorry," 

"What?" he froze, he expected anything from her except tears and an apology.

"I'm so sorry, Tom," she cried out, "I just- I didn't know what to do with everything we went through, I didn't know how to deal with it, I didn't know what to tell the children- I-

"Hey, hey-" he interrupted, guiding her into his embrace, "you could've said something," 

"Say what, Tommy? It 's pathetic!" she hid her teary face on his neck.

"I know, love," he soothed, "should've told me earlier" 

"I'm sorry,"

"I know," 

Holding her tightly against him, his most selfish side feasted on their closeness, she went back to him even if she had to fall apart for it.

"Let me make it up to you," she whispered, hands moving to his waist.

"Hm?" 

"I've been such a terrible wife," she lifted her head and looked into his eyes, "and you kept up with me, let me thank you," 

"Thank me, eh?" he teased, "and how would you do that?" 

"However you want me to, sir," 

Tommy gently held her neck, bringing her face closer to his. In this circumstance, he could have her in any way he wanted, she wouldn't argue. Nevertheless, he didn't want roughness, he wasn't even mad at her anymore, all he wanted was to be desired by her.

"Take me upstairs, hm?" she continued, brushing the tip of their noses together.

Three hours later, they laid together in bed, while Tommy stared at the ceiling trying to find out what exactly went wrong, she was in deep slumber. Considering her tone and apologies, he expected some passionate love making or at least something that wasn't her just laying there, uninterested.

Peeking at her, he didn't know what else to do, perhaps he was the one getting mad after all, missing a sort of relationship that only happened in his head. Officially, there was nothing else to do.

The only thing to change in her behavior was from then on, she had her eyes on Tommy all the time, observing, seeming to wait for the perfect moment to something.

After another four long weeks, he learned what she was waiting for. On a warm evening, Tommy took some time away from the business and sat under a tree, enjoying the sun rays on his skin.

"Can we talk?" she asked, sitting beside him.

Arching his eyebrows in surprise, he positively nodded.

"Tommy, I don't know how to tell you this," she hesitantly started, "I don't even know if I'm doing the right thing by telling you this," 

He felt his body tense with her tone, as if it was a bomb about to shell.

"I've been avoiding it for the last months because I thought it'd be temporary, I thought it'd be something that'd end soon and I'd go back to you but- ugh-" she sighed, "There's someone else," 

Tommy's throat burnt, he couldn't even believe his first reaction was the urge to cry. Still, his face remained blank, he looked away from her and frowned, as secondary emotion, rage came in a wave.

"Who is he?" was all he managed to ask.

"It doesn't matter," 

"Yes, it does," he threateningly drawled, "I wanna know who you consider a better fuck than me," 

"It's not about the sex, Tommy," 

"What is it about then? The dresses and jewels I filled your wardrobe with? Or perhaps the driver I picked wasn't of your liking-"

"I'm not going to fight you," she cut him off, "I've said what I had to say and now there's this, he wants me to move with him," 

Tommy gulped, some fucker had been planning to take away his wife right under his nose and he hadn't done anything about it.

"And I think I will but only if I take the children with me," 

"Oh," he scoffed, "and what makes you think I'll allow that?" he challenged, in any other circumstance he would, knowing how much children usually were attached to their mothers but his ego was hurt.

"The judge will decide that," she calmly answered, "he might not let a cheater have them but he certainly wouldn't let a gangster either," 

"...you wouldn't," Tommy argued, perplexed by her coldness. His beloved wife just threatened to snitch on him.

"I don't want to, so don't force me," 

Tense, dangerous silence fell between them, both looked away from each other, without any words left to speak, they could hear the laughs of their children playing in the garden.

Few minutes passed, the longest in Tommy's life, he often had moments like this, in which his life course could be permanently altered in a matter of seconds.

"Don't do it," he started, still not looking at her.

"I'll not if you-" 

"None of it, don't take the children, don't leave me," the second their eyes met, he sensed hesitation on her, so he continued, "don't you love me?" 

"Tom, I-" she softened up.

"Did you ever?"  

"Of course I did, a lot!" she quickly answered, "But if I say I do now I think it'd be a lie," 

"...so lie." 

[hyunfilms]

this time around (lee felix) | one shot.

—summary: life decides it's finally the right time.

—pairing: lee felix x f. reader

—genre: (18+) exes to lovers | fluff, smut

—word count: 3.9k

—content/warnings: blue haired felix 😮‍💨, cussing/mature language, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex - but not super descriptive!!, lots of kisses and intimate/sweet moments, use of pet names: baby/angel/love, oc’s friend also uses ‘baby’ in a platonic way, quickly edited so pls excuse any mistakes!!

—INSPIRED BY: LOVE ME AGAIN - V

It’s funny how life works.

Especially when you’re sitting at this wedding, sipping on another glass of rosé— staring at the one man who, at one point, meant the entire universe to you. 

Then, it’s also funny how life works; when life decides that this is your person, just not the right time.

“Girl, can you go and do something? He keeps looking at you. And don’t tell me he isn’t because I can see that blue head from miles away.” One of your bestfriends since college said. He nudges your arm, making you almost choke on the sip you just took.

“No, Reggie!” You almost whine, turning towards him. “It’s been so long, I don’t even know what I’d say to him.”

“Okay, but baby, he looks like he’s dying to talk to you. Poor Felix. Y/N always playing her goddamn games.”

“Quit it.” You nudge him back and he snorts.

“I’m kidding. But seriously, he looks like he wants to talk to you. Who cares if it’s been so long? I’m sure the conversation will flow perfectly. Give it a chance.” He takes a sip of his own cocktail. “Besides, if I remember correctly, you were head over heels for that man just as he was for you.” You sigh, setting your glass down— quickly reminiscing about the past.

You might have been young, and you may not have experienced everything life had to offer yet; but to say Felix was the love of your life would be an understatement.

He was everything to you.

Love, adoration, fun. 

Sweetness.

He was also sadness, anger, hurt. 

Pain.

Everything that entails love; being so, so in love.

And it’s just unfortunate that it wasn’t the right time because Felix was someone you pictured your life with. Everything about the relationship was right, and equally balanced. He showed you just how much he loved you and how much he adored you. You had more good times than bad with him. He taught you how to communicate better, to express your needs and wants, to enjoy life and live in the present moment.

He taught you so much that he really is part of the reason why you’re the person you are today.

After the three years of dating, Felix was graduating college and you were going into your senior year. Understandably, you felt like you needed to experience your last year by yourself, and you felt like Felix needed to figure out his plans moving forward. As much as you loved the way he factored you into every decision, you felt like it was wrong for him to do so— for him to feel like his life revolved solely around you. And of course, you loved him. This would’ve worked. But, it wouldn’t have felt right.

You needed to find yourself without Felix, and vice versa. 

Breaking up with Felix was probably the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, but he understood. And because he loved you, he let you go. There was no bad blood, no hint of hate or anger; Felix had only left with more love and hope, praying that you’ll be okay.

Maybe one day, you’ll find your way back to each other.

It’s funny how life works.

“I’m not going to force it. I’ll let it happen if it happens.” You look at Reggie, taking another big sip of your rosé; eyes quickly glancing over to Felix from over the glass. He’s still conversing with a few mutual friends, eyes meeting yours from a distance. His eyes are soft, facial expression slightly unreadable. 

Pressed, crisp black button down with the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. Silver watch adorning the left wrist, slacks sitting nicely on his frame.

You’re sure of the butterflies you feel. It’s crazy how Felix still has this effect on you. 

You clear your throat and revert your attention back to Reggie with a: “Can we go dance?”

“Now you’re talking.” Reggie laughs, grabbing your hand and leading you to the dance floor for a dance with other friends. The majority of the time you’re on the dance floor, you’ve temporarily pushed your thoughts and feelings away to enjoy being around friends you haven’t been able to hang out with or see in quite some time. You’re enjoying yourself, singing and dancing along to the music blasting in the venue. At one point, you don’t realize that Felix and his friends have joined in, creating one huge crowd in the middle of the dance floor that’s become the life of the party. 

“Hey, I’m gonna go to the bathroom and get some air. I’ll be back in a few.” You say in Reggie’s ear. He nods, throwing up the ‘okay’ sign to acknowledge that he understood you through the loud music.

“You need me to come babysit your ass?” He leans near your ear to quickly ask.

“I’ll be fine!” You laugh, rushing off to the bathroom to relieve yourself from all that rosé. You take a couple of moments to freshen up and pat away at your makeup, hoping to keep it together for the remainder of the night. You fluff your hair a bit before giving yourself one last look before walking out and heading towards the back end of the hotel.

It’s a beautiful night tonight— one where the stars are twinkling brightly above, dotted throughout the night sky and circling around the full moon. There’s a faint breeze that feels awfully good on your skin right now, the waves crashing against the surface just right below the hill where the hotel sits. 

“Hey.” A familiar, deep voice comes from behind you. You fiddle with your fingers a bit, bottom lip tucked underneath your teeth as you turn and come face to face with Felix— eyes completely fixed on the one man whom you’ve always loved; the one man who, at one point, meant the entire universe to you. “I’m sorry, I just came outside to make sure you were okay. But, I guess I should’ve figured it was since Reggie was still—” Felix shakes his head and lets out an embarrassed chuckle. “Nevermind. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Thank you for checking. I—” You lazily point at the sky. “I just needed some air. Was getting really hot in there.”

“Yeah it was.” He laughs a bit. “You sure you’re doing okay? Do you need me to get you water or anything?” Typical Felix, you think. He’s still the same. Everything about him has remained unchanged.

“I’m okay, Felix. Thank you.” You respond softly. “It’s nice to see you.” He digs his hands into his pockets, head tilting to the side.

“It’s nice to see you, too. It’s been so long.” He smiles. He’s the first to step forward and envelope you in a hug, taking in his scent as you hug him back. Oddly enough, everything feels the same. Felix’s hugs have always been the best, and part of you hates having to part once the moment is over. “You look amazing, Y/N.”

“You do, too.” You point at his hair. “Though, I have to say the blue hair was a surprise?” He laughs and nods.

“Uh yeah, was kinda a bet with some of my friends.”

“It looks good though, you pull it off well.” 

“Thank you.” He licks his lips before nodding towards the bench further down the path. “Do you wanna catch up?” He pauses. “I-I mean it’s fine if you wanna get back to the party, totally understand. I just thought we could kill two birds with one stone and–”

“I’d love to.” You cut him off with a sweet smile, letting Felix lead the way to the bench. 

And so here you are, sitting side by side with Felix— enjoying the night while the music continues to play in the background. You start by telling Felix what you’ve been up to all these years, how your parents have been, living life in the city. Felix says he’s been in and out of the city, traveling back and forth between Australia to hang out with family in between work. You share lots of laughs when you update each other about family and their whereabouts, reminiscing about the times when your families would have lots of fun together. The both of you also talk about how it’s been awhile since everyone’s been under the same roof, but it’s a nice occasion to be together. Then, somehow, the conversation shifts to love and dating. You awkwardly tell Felix that you haven’t really been in a serious relationship since graduation. You’ve dated around, but nothing felt right.

Nothing felt equally balanced, or like it was meant to be.

But, it’s okay. You reassure him you’ve been okay focusing on you and doing your own thing. In time, you’ll welcome whatever is meant to be in your life. And Felix tells you he’s glad to hear that— that he’s also dated around but things just didn’t feel right, either.

“Y/N.” He calls for you as he looks out, then shifts his attention back to you. “Are you happy?” He looks at you, really looks at you, and he doesn’t take his eyes off of you. Almost like he’s doing his best to read you, to find the answer deep within your orbs, your body language.

“I guess so, yeah.” You softly smile at him before looking at the view. “Are you?” He shrugs a bit.

“Yeah. Think so.” He licks his lips and lets out a small breath. “As long as you’re happy, then that’s all that matters to me.”

“Thanks, Lix.” There’s a comfortable silence that falls between you two after that conversation. But, something shifts in the air; shifts enough to the point where you feel Felix’s eyes rest back on you from your peripherals. The sudden tension could be felt from miles away, but you’re not sure how to act on it. The simplest thing you could do is—

“I’m sorry, is there something on my face?” You break the silence and ask, a bit confused as to why Felix just keeps looking at you, staring; fixed. He lets out a small laugh before shaking his head.

“No, there isn’t. I just—” He pauses. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. Always been. I can’t help it.” He says, eyes softening again as he settles on your features. He gently brushes the hair away from your face, thumb trailing down to your cheek to caress the surface. You lean into his touch a little more, having to pull away when you realize the reality of this all.

It’s funny how life works.

“You know.. I think I’m gonna call it a night.” You shyly chuckle and look down at your lap, hands awkwardly rubbing away at the fabric of your dress as you let the excuse linger in the air for a second. “I didn’t realize how exhausted I was after all that dancing and singing.” Felix chuckles. He feels a little embarrassed, but he also dug himself into this one. He shouldn’t have reached out so quickly. He couldn’t help it.

“Do you need me to drive you anywhere?”

“No, I rented out a room for the night solely for this reason.” You stand with Felix following suit.

“Let me walk you to your room then?”

“Oh, you really don’t have to Lix. I’ll be okay.” He smiles hearing the nickname roll off your tongue.

“I want to.” You look at him with a small smile and nod.

“Okay. I just need to grab my things.” He follows behind, keeping a safe distance just to keep you comfortable– not knowing that you’d rather have him close than far away.

Inside, everyone is still keeping up the energy except for a few that have either left, or decided to sit down for the remainder of the night. Reggie is drinking water at your table, and he can’t help but throw a certain look your way when he sees you walking in with Felix following right behind you. You catch on though, and you simply shrug while Felix returns to his friends to let them know he’s heading out.

“Okay so.. what exactly is happening here? Miss ‘It’s been so long, I don’t even know what I’d say to him.’” You roll your eyes and grab your things.

“I’m heading up to my room. Felix is just walking me there.”

“Walking you all the way up to the second floor? Goodness me.” You laugh and shake your head. 

“You should get to yours soon, too.”

“Mhm, I want a progress report tomorrow morning.” He puckers his lips before eyeing you up and down. 

“Stop it.” You glare at him. “I love you, goodnight.” You simply tell him before turning on your heel to bid your other friends goodbye, along with the bride and groom.

“Get it girl, I love you too!” You hear him respond just as you continue your goodbye’s until you’re near the entrance, with Felix waiting right outside the doors in the hallway. 

“Hope you’re ready for a good long trip up to the second floor.” Felix laughs.

“Yeah, sounds pretty exhausting, honestly. It’s been a night.”

“It has, but I had lots of fun.”

“I did too.” He steps inside the elevator after you, leaning back against the railing. He eyes your figure, the way the dress hugs your curves nicely, heels strapped around your ankles. You’ve always been so beautiful; everything about you, inside and out. You can see the way Felix is focused on you through his reflection on the elevator doors in front of you, and it makes your heart do flips.

Because he does that thing he always does— when he tilts his head at a certain angle just to see you, read you, perfectly. Knowing you’ll meet his eyes at some point just for him to pull you in closer.

To plant a kiss on your lips,

Down to your jaw,

Collarbone—

“Y/N, is this not your floor?” Felix asks, breaking you out of your thoughts when you realize he’s holding the elevator doors open.

“Oh, right. Yeah, sorry. Just zoned out for a bit.” He lets out a tiny laugh as he watches you walk down the hallway, turning right at the end to get to the second door. You tap your hotel key against the reader, hand twisting the handle to unlock the door. Before you can open it fully, you turn back to Felix— seeing him quietly standing there with his hands dug into his pockets. “This is me. Thanks for walking me to my room, Lix.”

“Course. I guess I’ll let you be.” He smiles toothlessly at you. Your inner dialogue is conflicted right now, wondering if you should just let him be and let this end right where it is—

While the other half is yearning to keep him around, to have his company, to just be with him even after all these years.

“Have a good night, pretty girl.” He continues, hoping that he really doesn’t have to part with you right now. He’s not gonna force it though, and he’s not gonna say anything else— even though he feels like he has a lot more to say to you tonight. Maybe this is how it was meant to be after all, which Felix will have to learn to put to rest if it truly ends this way.

But, before he can turn on his heel to walk away, you follow up with:

“Actually, do you wanna just stay and hang out a bit more?”

“If it’s not a bother.”

“Never. Sorry, I should’ve asked earlier. I just didn’t want to make it awkward or whatever.”

“Could never be that way with you, Y/N.” You chuckle, stepping in and letting Felix follow you in. You set your clutchbag onto the side table at the corner of the room, undoing your heels and setting them aside. 

“God, that feels amazing.” Felix laughs as he sits on the edge of your bed, watching as you get comfortable. “I can’t wait to get comfortable. You have a room here, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you wanna change and just come back here? I feel bad that I’ll be the only one getting comfortable.” He laughs a bit and shakes his head.

“I’m good for now. I promise.” He watches as you undo your necklace. “Need help with your dress?” You look at him through the mirror as you set your necklace down onto the drawer and silently nod. “I got you.” He says, getting behind you to help you unzip your dress. It’s something small, but so intimate and sweet.

And with Felix, it feels perfectly right. Even if years have passed. You never feel out of place with him, and he only feels like home to you.

He slowly unzips your dress, eyes trailing down as his hand falls down to the small of your back. You feel his breath tickle the back of your neck, body only inches away from yours as he keeps his position there.

“Felix.” You softly call his name, and he can tell. He just knows. He looks at you through the mirror, hand slowly wrapping around your waist.

“Is it weird to say that I’ve really missed you?” He says lowly as his eyes trail down your neck this time, fixed on the weak spot that he remembers so, so well.

“No. I’ve missed you, too.”

“I mean it.” His fingers are fiddling with the strap of your dress. “When I saw you tonight, you were all I could think about. Not that anything’s changed, but—“ He lazily slips the strap down, letting it fall to the side as his finger traces a line up your arm; to the curve of your shoulder. “I just couldn’t believe that I was finally seeing you again.”

“Lix.” The way you breathily release his name from your lips tells him everything he needs to know. You’ve missed him too, you’ve really, really missed him, too. And of course he feels the same way you do— absolutely. If it wasn’t for shit falling into place at the wrong time, Felix was sure that he’d still be loving you the way he was before.

No question.

Nothing has changed. The love he’s had for you will always mean more to him than anything in this world.

Felix still feels like love, adoration, fun.

Sweetness.

And if you let him, he would also feel like sadness, anger, hurt.

Pain.

Because Felix is love, and everything that love entails. 

“Missed everything about you.” He says, planting a feathery kiss on your shoulders. “Missed the way you laugh.” Another kiss on your shoulder. “The way you smile.” Another near the base of your neck. “Just you.” He says near your ear, reading your expression. You bite onto your bottom lip and finally turn to face him, his hand coming back up to rest on your cheek. “Always been you, love.” His thumb is caressing the surface, giving you leverage to plant a kiss on the palm of his hand.

“Always been.” You mutter back, allowing Felix to fully take you—all of you— in this moment. 

Sooner or later, your dress is on the floor while you continue to keep your lips pressed against Felix’s in the heat of the moment; afraid to break the kiss and create distance. You don’t ever want Felix away from you again, no. You want him close— with you, for you, by you. 

Just you.

He takes his time with you, letting his hands roam across every inch of your body while he takes you in and settles in between your thighs; pressing his pink, plump lips across your body like he’s soothing you, making up for the years that you’ve lost. 

You’re tangled up in him, but you find that there’s no other place that you’d rather be than here; giving Felix the freedom to love you, love on you, however he chooses to tonight. You trust him to take care of you because he always has, and he always will.

It’s not long before your hands are gripping the sheets, repeatedly calling Felix’s name like a mantra. He praises you as he picks up the pace, pounding relentlessly to show his need for you. His lips graze the surface of your neck, collarbone, chest, whispering sweet nothings into your skin:

Missed everything about you.

So perfect for me, love.

So beautiful, so pretty.

Always been you.

All about you.

He continues, and continues— holding you close to his body while he tries to go slower, deeper; hitting all the right places that you like so much just to hear you, see you, writhe underneath him. 

You.

Let me be yours.

“Fuck, Lix. I’m close—“ Is the only thing that you’re able to say as you feel the coil within you threatening to unravel. And he must feel it too with the way that his hips begin to stutter, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he tries to hold on. He feels your walls completely tighten around him, pulsating as your face contorts in pleasure and a silent moan leaves your lips. 

“Baby, where do you want me— fuck— I’m—“ Felix barely lets out. You reassure him that he’s okay to let go inside of you, and not a second passes before he’s painting your walls. His forehead falls onto yours just as the both of you come back down from your highs, focusing on regulating your breathing after the intense pleasure that washed over you. “Are you okay, angel? You’re not hurt, are you?” He asks, close to a whisper. He kisses you lightly on the tip of your nose, before he seals one off on your lips. He holds it there for awhile before pulling back, realizing you still have yet to respond to him.

“I’m okay. Not hurt.” He nods.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Felix takes his time cleaning you up and soothing you, helping you get washed up and ready for bed just before he leaves to do the same.

For a moment, you feel like everything is over. That maybe, that was the closure you needed to finally close off that chapter in your book. That maybe, that was it to Felix and you’d return to being [somewhat] strangers again. It makes you a little scared, a little anxious.

But, it all blows away when Felix comes back, dressed for bed just as he had said. He shuts off your lights and slips into the bed next to you, pulling the sheets up so that you’re comfortable.

“For a second, I didn’t think you were actually going to come back.” He lets out a small, breathy laugh as he wraps his arm around you and pulls you flush to his body.

“What, why not? I’m here to stay, love. Not going anywhere.”

“Even when tomorrow comes?”

“Even when tomorrow comes.” He kisses the back of your head. “Unless, you have other plans already?”

“No. Just you.” He chuckles.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” You snuggle closer to him, allowing his warmth to completely envelope your body. Before you know it, you’ve fallen into a deep sleep in Felix’s arms, and he does too. Even when the morning comes, you still find yourself wrapped around Felix and snuggled against his body, light kisses being pressed against your head when you wiggle in his arms.

It’s funny how life works.

Because this time around, Felix is here, lying beside you; making things feel right, connected. Balanced. You shift in your position to look at him because this time around, you’re staring at the one man who, up until now, still means the entire universe to you. 

Then, it’s also funny how life works; when life decides that this is your person, and this is finally the right time.

This time around. 

—perm taglist: @ppiri-bahng @jihanlovic @meloncremesoda @sweetlikecherry @asjkdk @hanji-cafe

[f10werfae]

Bimbo Babe

pairing: Steve Rogers x Bimbo!Reader

Summary: Y/n stupidly keeps shoving her tits and pussy into Steve’s face until he finally has enough and has to have them smothering his face (Dom!Steve) (Mean!Steve)

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated/Disclaimer 18+

Chris Masterlist, Full Masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Thank you Stevie” Y/n beamed naively, leaning up to press a glossy kiss onto the man’s stubbled cheek, feeling his large hands pull down her skirt once again. “Stop showin’ your ass off like the slut you are, s’not funny” He warned cocking a brow as she stared back seemingly innocent, “What you don’t like it?” She frowned turning around and wiggling her hips against him, not only was she a bimbo, but a tease.

“No panties either? Leaking all over my hand like a broken fountain, you really are a bimbo” He taunted letting his hands feel through her slick folds, all her juicy goodness lathering him in her sweet earthy scent. “Can’t help it, she needs attention” Y/n sighed out, she may not be the smartest woman, but she knew how to get her way; even with Steve Rogers.

Having joined the compound a few months prior as an assistant to Tony, Y/n found herself drawn to the blonde man in the tight blue suit, his bulge and ass teasing the world with each stretch. Their first intimate encounter was one to be remembered,,,

Steve had walked into the compounds laundry room to see Y/n with her tits out of her dress, her hands massaging them tenderly as she hissed out in pain, something about her period coming. “Can you help my tits Stevie? They’re so sore” She whined pressing her breasts together, the blue eyed man standing there wide eyes and bushy tailed, his cheeks a nice hue of pink as he nodded. Walking over he buried his face between her tits, letting himself be smothered by them, her scent filling his nostrils as he pushed the tits to fully cover his ears. His head moving around to suck on each globe evenly, even pushing the nipples together so he could suck them both at the same time, massaging the skin around them to help with her tension.

Spitting down the valley of her breasts he would make her suck her own nipple, joining her and kissing with it between their lips.

“Hmm thank you honey, they feel way better now” Y/n giggled after a good half an hour of Steve just playing and sucking her tits, simply putting them back into her top and walking away as if nothing had happened. As if what happened was somewhat normal, that’s when Steve clocked onto her somewhat lack of intelligence. Although it seemed as if she was only like that to Steve, dumbed out and ready to be taken.

“I think she’s just tingly, can you feel her out?” She whimpered pulling her skirt all the way up, exposing her pussy and ass to Steve, his fingers going in slow circles on her swollen lips, his other arm wrapping around her waist to bring her back closer to him; but this clearly wasn’t the best position.

Within seconds he had lifted her onto the counter, her pussy lips slightly parted against the cool marble as he bent down to look at her cunt, her little clit peeking out shyly as he smirked and leant closer to give it a kiss; watching on as he visibly saw her clench around nothing. “She’s so cute, it’s like she wants to kiss me back” Steve taunted using his pointer finger to rub slowly on her button, his lips kissing Y/n’s cheek sweetly.

Y/n could do nothing but squirm and whine at the sensation, her poor little head couldn’t even fathom the way he was touching her, all she knew was that it felt good and she wanted nothing more than for him to keep going. Turning her head she caught his lips with hers, pecking his reddish lips softly before throwing her head back as she felt his finget prod at her hole.

“Maybe you can put one in? Please”

“I don’t think so, I think i’m going to kiss your pretty pussy until she gives out on my tongue” He kissed his teeth once she jerked her hips forward, if this was the only time he’d be able to do this, he sure was going to savour it. Y/n spread open her pussy, the flesh glistening with her arousal, her face huffed and pouted out desperately.

Bending down Steve placed an open mouthed kiss right onto her cunt, his eyes trained on hers as she gasped, with his tongue pushing out spit to wetten her folds; strings connected his mouth to her warm soft centre. “First I caught you playing with yours tits, now your ass was hanging out, what’s next? You’re naked waitin for me on my bed?”

“I did that yesterday, but you weren’t home” She whispered spitting down onto his tongue which was outstretched, using her own saliva to soak her pussy. “Yeah? Is that why when I got home my pillows were wet? Did you fuck yourself dumb on my pillow?”

“Mhm I-I did” She whimpered as he pushed his tongue in deeper, licking a stripe up to her clit, his mouth suctioning around it to suck gently. “My dumb little baby, walking around half naked like some whore, aren’t I right?” He growled against her thigh as he sucked on it to leave a purplish bruise, putting a matching one on the other thigh, wanting nothing more than for her thighs to clamp around his head to smother him just like her tits.

“I’m not dumb! Im- Ow!” Y/n squealed feeling his teeth sink into her thighs, “Don’t play stupid with me, you’re my bimbo babe, my fuckslut” He smirked giving her pussy another passionate kiss, making her jealous that it wasn’t her actual lips receiving the same attention. It wasn’t long until his kisses turned into a makeout with her cunt, his tongue sucking and licking her clit, as if he was sucking her tongue; which was yet to happen but she hoped it’d be soon.

Y/n felt her stomach start to coil, his slow sensual kissed overstimulating her clit to a point of craziness, his hands locked onto her tits which he had grabbed out of her top, tugging on her nipples as if he was trying to milk them. “Come on baby, wet my tongue with your perfect pussy, m’ getting thirsty; or else i’ll havta knock you up n’ drink from those pretty tits instead”

Honestly Y/n didn’t mind either or, her brain clouded with nothing but want for the man in front of her, want that had started all those months ago.

Picking up the pace he started motor-boating her pussy, squeals and grunts leaving her lips as his tongue went crazy, his face covered in her juices. Steve chuckled like a mad man at the feeling of her thighs finally clamping around his head, her hole sucking in his tongue as she came around it, her body shuddering with each release.

“That’s my pretty bimbo, next I want your ass on my face, can ya do that for me or do I need to show you how to do that too?” I mean he does have America’s ass,,,

———

psa: I think this is my first Steve Rogers fic? Hope I did it justice😭

library blog: @f10werfaes-cosy-collection

Taglist

@pandaxnienke @patzammit @thereisa8ella @mrspeacem1nusone @evanstanwhore @itsaylayay1213 @kimhtoo17 @chrisevansdaughter @vrittivsanghavi @dumb-fawkin-bitch @bxdbxtxh15 @madebylilly @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @royalwriteroftheuniverse @fdl305 @mirikusashes @marvelgurl @xoxokiaraaxoxo @caps-shield1918 @uwiuwi @stormcloudss @adoreyouusugar @imboredat2am @cevansgurl @girl-of-multi-fandoms @meetmeatyourworst @misshale21 @hallecarey1 @nikkitc0703 @mischiefsemimanaged @oliviah-25 @s-void @aerangi @roofwitty779 @ravenhood2792 @feltonswifesworld87 @alina02 @alexxavicry @mdpplgtz03 @angelmather1 @bval-1 @stuckysgirl27 @wintasssoldier @daddymack01 @acornacre @thebaileybugle @seungcheol17daddy @angelic-dreams13

Hope you all enjoy this Fic!

[iamgonnagetyouback]

chef!sirius x reader who talks to her 'secret admirer' in front of him

You sit at the small kitchen table in Sirius’s flat, a mischievous smile playing on your lips as you glance over at Sirius, who’s busy chopping vegetables with practiced ease. The smells of garlic, onions, and herbs fill the kitchen, and you can’t resist—this is the perfect moment to execute your prank.

You pick up your phone and, making sure Sirius is within earshot, start your act. “Hello? Oh! Yes, I remember you!” you say, injecting your voice with just the right amount of fake surprise and excitement.

Sirius’s knife pauses mid-chop, but he resumes after a moment, though you catch the faint furrow in his brow. Ignoring it, you continue, raising the drama. “Oh, you're so sweet! Wow, I can't believe you think that about me! Oh, stop it—you’re making me blush!”

Sirius’s brows knit together, and he glances your way with suspicious curiosity. You can almost feel the intensity of his stare as he chops a bit harder than necessary, clearly trying to eavesdrop without seeming too obvious. You put on a show, gushing about your 'secret admirer.'

“You think my eyes are what?” you giggle, exaggerating a girlish laugh that makes Sirius almost slice his finger. “No, no—you’re the beautiful one! Oh, you charmer!” You throw in a dramatic hand gesture, flicking your hair over your shoulder for added flair.

Sirius's patience visibly wanes. He clears his throat. “Who’s that?” he asks, tone casual, but his eyes are narrowing suspiciously.

“Oh, it’s nothing, Sirius!” you wave him off, giving him a cheeky grin. “Just a friend.” You make a big show of turning your back to him and lowering your voice like you’re sharing a deep, intimate secret with the imaginary person on the line.

The next few minutes are filled with you exaggerating every possible compliment, peppering in things like, “You’re just the sweetest person, aren’t you?” and “Oh, you’d love to take me out on a date? How romantic!” You catch Sirius rolling his eyes every now and then, his lips pressed together in a thin line as he chops more furiously.

When you mention that your ‘secret admirer’ suggested a home-cooked meal, Sirius can’t hold back any longer. “So, who’s the chef, then?” he asks, voice tight, clearly annoyed by being out of the loop.

You smirk. “Oh, they want me to cook for them tomorrow! Isn’t that sweet? I’d love to make them dinner,” you say with exaggerated sincerity. The silence that follows is thick, and you barely suppress a snicker.

Sirius’s expression shifts from confusion to sudden realization, and then—oh, he’s not playing fair. A sly smile tugs at his lips, and he puts the knife down, wiping his hands on his apron. He’s clearly caught on, but he’s not going to let you off the hook that easily. “You know,” he says with an all-too-innocent tone, “I think that’s a wonderful idea. But how about I cook instead? I’m sure your ‘admirer’ would love my famous pasta.”

You blink, caught off-guard. He’s supposed to be pouting, not turning the tables! “Uh, well, no, I was going to—”

“No, no, love,” he interrupts, smiling like he’s won the lottery. “I insist. You’d want to impress them, right? And… well, we both know you struggle to boil water without setting off the smoke alarm.”

Your face scrunches up in a pout, but the teasing gleam in his eyes makes your heart melt. “I can cook!” you argue, crossing your arms defensively. “I just—prefer your cooking, that’s all!”

Sirius steps closer, his voice dropping to a mock-serious whisper. “Oh, sure, I’m sure your ‘admirer’ would be thrilled to try your famous burnt toast or your… unique way of scrambling eggs.”

You narrow your eyes at him, fighting a smile. “It’s called creative cooking, you culinary snob!”

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a light kiss to your forehead. “I knew it was a prank, you little menace. You’d never dare to cook dinner for someone you actually liked. Besides—” he grins, “I’m the only one who gets to flirt with you in my kitchen.”

You let out an exaggerated huff, but you’re already melting in his embrace, giving in to his playful warmth. “Fine,” you grumble, though you can’t help but smile up at him, “but you have to admit you got a little jealous.”

“Me? Jealous?” he scoffs dramatically, dipping you backward like in a cheesy romance movie, his face hovering inches from yours. “Never. I was just concerned for the health and safety of your mysterious admirer. No one should be subjected to your ‘cooking’ without proper warning.”

You both dissolve into laughter, and you can’t resist wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulls you back upright, grinning down at you like you’re his favorite person in the world.

“Admit it,” you tease softly. “You were jealous.”

“Maybe a little,” he concedes with a smile, leaning in to kiss you softly. “But who could blame me? My kitchen, my girl—no secret admirer is stealing you away.”

You laugh, squeezing him a little tighter. “I guess I can let you cook for me, just this once,” you tease, though both of you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sirius chuckles, ruffling your hair. “How generous of you. But just for that, I’m making my best pasta tonight. And maybe, if you’re really nice, I’ll let you ‘help’ by setting the table.”

“Oh, such an honor!” you say with mock seriousness, earning another laugh from him.

He pulls you close again, resting his forehead against yours, his playful expression softening. “I don’t need fancy pranks or secret admirers, love. You’re stuck with me—bad cooking, cheesy lines, and all.”

You smile up at him, feeling warmth flood your chest. “Deal,” you whisper, giving him a quick peck on the nose. “But just wait until my next prank. You won’t know what hit you.”

He laughs, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Bring it on. But fair warning: I’m keeping an eye on you, troublemaker.”

As he goes back to chopping vegetables, you take your place at the small kitchen table, feeling perfectly content in the warmth of his presence, the comfort of his laughter, and the knowledge that, prank or not, you’ve found your favorite place in the world—right here, by his side.

[worldsover]

Hourglass ft. Saerom

length ✦ 15.6k

genres ✧ anal; fwb!Saerom

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth, lips parched. Though you asked Saerom for water, you didn’t need to be directed. You remember the important things. Cups in the third cabinet from the right. The water pitcher in the fridge. Everything else about her home is slightly off in your memory. An experimental flick of a switch, so she has yet to replace the lights in the range hood, and now they blink instead of being merely dim. Turn that back off. A different blender, no doubt more robust for all the shakes she makes. New polaroid photos of Saerom and her members on the fridge. Even pictures with Gyuri, but nothing recent as nine as you expected. So that’s what one year looks like.

"Are you gonna hang out in my kitchen all night?" Saerom asks as she walks in, arms crossed and smirking. For all that's changed in Saerom's home, how little has changed with the woman herself? The blunt bangs are new and of course, you’ve never seen this outfit, the flattering blue tube top and denim skirt, but you expected as much with all the clothes she went through. Beneath it all, though, was the same supermodel-esque Saerom. Emphasis on beneath. Beneath, what you were most intimately familiar with. Beneath, what you’re imagining at this very moment.

"Wasn’t planning on it. just taking in how long it’s been," you say. "I like the new painting in your living room, the one with the flowers."

"Thanks. I made it, actually. Little hobby I picked up in our… downtime. But yes. You're right. It has been long." Her words are sharp. The next one is sharper: "Bedroom." 

Saerom’s eyes fill in the rest of the directive. Now. We’re going to fuck. Stop wasting time. Dumbass. You didn’t realize how many words could fit in a gaze. Or some of those meanings are conveyed through her narrowed eyelids. You weren’t fluent in the language of the unspoken, but that wouldn’t stop you from trying.

In the time it takes to decrypt the whole one-word message (she’ll at least let you grab that drink, right?), you realize you’re gazing back. 

Saerom shakes her head and laughs to herself. "It’s like you’re doing this on purpose."

She walks away, but this lingering look of yours is deliberate. Saerom knows it as she looks back and now her smile is much naughtier. She might not know that you’re first staring at her bare shoulders. You want to touch them, massage them, lick them, kiss them, everything. 

Water wouldn’t help your thirst anyway, so you follow Saerom to the bedroom. The familiar last room of the hallway, on the left, its location is seared in your brain. You’d know it sober but horny, and drunk but hornier, so you path in the same footsteps you always did. You only lag behind Saerom for self-evident reasons, your eyes on the target of desire, her pert rear. This time, with the close fit of her skirt, you can make out the shape of your favorite shape to make out with. Her cozy, pillowy thighs look perfect as ever to rest your head upon as well.

The mere act of walking into the room stirs heat in your core. You can’t help but associate this room with the carnal. The only lights in the room are the moonlight filtering through the window and the warm lamp in the corner, and the dimness reminds you of your many restless nights.

Saerom sits on her bed, those thighs settling down and squishing in just the right way. Heat turns to pressure, in turn, turns into a cock imprint on your pants.

"I still don’t like how you just stand there," she says.

Her words make you shift weight from one foot to the other. You should sit, approach, anything, but no, you continue to stand. "You leave me speechless sometimes. I can’t help but watch."

"That’s sweet." Saerom gets up and walks up to you until there’s barely any space between you and her. "But I need you to do more than watch. Especially since you’ve taken this long to see me again."

"You changed your number," you say. But you already knew this was a flimsy excuse.

"And you could’ve DM’ed me. Texted any of the other members." Saerom scoffs. "You could’ve tried. Anything. Apparently it took us literally bumping in the mall to meet again."

A centimeter from making out, minutes away from sex, this wasn’t the time or place to bring it up. However, you had to bring it up at some point. When you hold her hand, Saerom freezes, caught off guard. 

"I’m sorry," you say. "You know me, how I overthink things. It’s not like we were dating or anything. just, you know, friends that did a bit more than friend things."

"In that case… " The vexing half-smile, half-frown on Saerom confirms your self-awareness—at least you know that you’re overanalyzing the shape of her lips. "You could’ve been a better friend."

Why do you talk at all? What a mistake speech can be. As you look down, away from Saerom’s eyes, your grip on her hand loosens. Despite being in this beautiful and blatantly horny woman’s bedroom, you think about walking away in shame—

But her fingers clasp.

"Not this time."

Words into actions, Saerom grabs your shirt with the free hand and pushes you toward the wall. No, there is no escape, when you look down into the intoxicating image of her cleavage, when her breasts press up against you. Your cock hardens in your pants and pushes up against her waist, turning the rest of you into a melting painting (in which you’ve become modern art and don’t care to debate your artistic merits). All the worries disappear in a heartbeat as you recall this exhilaration. At one point, this was an addiction for the two of you: you were both in the middle of promotions and found time to fuck every day for a week straight. You learned her body inside and out.

Time to relearn.

It’s 9:03, the clock above her bed.

You gently place your hand on the back of her head, the other hand between her tube top and skirt, feeling the warmth of her back. 

You lean in.

The lesson starts with the taste of her lips. It might be sweeter than usual, or it could be time twisting the taste, though either way, the flavor honeys you in deeper. The focus of your touch is split between melting into her mouth and gripping, relearning, the various parts of her perfect body. What was a gentle hold becomes a clingier clasp of her hair, and she does the same to you. Another pull, Saerom grips the neck of your shirt, clamoring for you to somehow get closer (space between the two of you is at a premium). Your hand on her back follows the groove of her spine—no, make a detour to get a feel of the muscles in her lean back, lats, and all that. You end up under her top where you tempt to pull it off, but no, not yet, you’re getting a feel of things, reacquainting yourself. Warm skin becomes warmer, becomes the canvas for subtle beads of sweat. Get used to that too, because you’re guaranteed a full-body workout tonight.

Warmth spreads to her breath, or at least you gain a keener awareness of its heat on your lips, its subtle nostalgic taste. Awareness becomes a small thorn: you and Saerom need to breathe, so you draw back. 

9:07, but it feels like 9:03 and thirty seconds give or take leaning on the side of give. When you look into her eyes instead of the clock, it’s not a matter of seconds or minutes—months that have passed you are coming back in these familiarly firing nerves, where spikes of bliss rewind you to the visceral parts of your memories.

With how Saerom’s hands are latching onto your clothes, under your clothes, she might as well rip them off now. While your lips return to hers, your hands are taking a more subtle approach, your fingers drawing and memorizing the lines and curves of her body. Starting at her forearm, you track her muscles, from her svelte but sturdy biceps to her firm delicious shoulders, the sum of her efforts working out. You remember her habits as a welcome contagion that’s spread to you, the stretches she’d do after an intense session of fucking, the ungodly huge jug of water she’d gulp down—simple things in your daily life that you took for granted. Then, her eager tongue slides into your mouth and you’re back in the moment, your digits moving toward the crook of her neck. She always had a particular sensitivity here, a simple press of your fingertip into her skin earning a surprisingly loud moan, though it might also be your tongue pushing back into her mouth. 

You want to pretend that you can keep up this momentum of appreciating the small details, want to remind Saerom of your dexterity; however, your hands find themselves on her tits, over her tube top. Your squeezing and groping are only recompenses for Saerom’s mounting lack of restraint. She’s rubbing her crotch against your erection—does she want to make you unload in your pants? Because she could, easily—she has one leg hooked around you, and she’s making your massaging of her breasts seem tame in comparison to the nails starting to dig into your back.

Saerom and you have never kissed like this. Never kissed like you were trying to escalate from a little scrap to an all-out battle royal. It’s not tongues sliding, but tongues dancing, not hands feeling, hands taking and sinking and grabbing as if you might lose yourselves another year—why bother with what was lost, but instead, the things you will lose. The time, your mind, all control. Don’t try. Let go.

You’re only kissing, so why is there so much saliva? Each escape for air is made a mess by more and more thin bridging strands of spit between your lips, and more is exchanged when your mouths converge again. And you only take breaks for Saerom’s jaw or her cheek or her nose, giving each sculpted feature the kisses they deserve, and Saerom only takes breaks with her thumb on your lip—she sticks out her tongue, showing off the bubbly spit she’s pooled in her mouth, and you’re happy to receive before these breaks have to take a break: you need to kiss her again/she needs to kiss you again.

You’re only kissing, so why is there so much noise? A deep guttural noise nearing growls from out of your mouth meets the unexpectedly cute high-pitched moans out of Saerom at the lips’ points of contact, maybe amplified by the meeting of tongues or the lewd exchange of spit. But the erotic makes way for the romantic, and the two of you resonate in a shared low hum as you slow your pace, control your breathing, trade smiles and giggles and longing looks, no need to rush.

But then, there’s no need to rush, and you’re only kissing, so why is your heart racing out of orbit? And this isn’t close to the first time you’ve kissed, so why can you feel Saerom’s heart beating the same hurried way? The answer is obvious in hindsight. The past is an eternity and the present is infinitesimally small, contained to a single point; that is, your hearts are making up for the lost time.

(Only kissing, yet pulses inside you already threaten to end it here, how embarrassing. (But then on second thought, absolutely nothing to be ashamed of with Saerom's unfair allure.))

All this in a kiss, in a pair of lips upon another. Two selves are reduced to two bodies, flesh and all. Look at Saerom when you pull away, and you’re back to two selves, mind and all. Swipe away the long hair that’s fallen on her face, and help fix her thick bangs. She smiles at you.

Glance at the clock again, and it’s 9:18, closer to 9:04 in your mind. You might have discovered time travel.

She pulls you off the wall—you didn’t notice that you were sagging against it, that you’ve lowered yourself nearly face to face with Saerom—and then she brings you toward her bed. A light push knocks you off balance, though you land on her mattress.

"Smooth," you say, and Saerom giggles.

You reposition so that you’re sitting on the edge of her bed. Soft, springy, doesn’t make too much noise even when two people are testing the limits of its suspension—you remember all that well. The sheets always dried surprisingly quickly if you hung them outside overnight. Plus, it’s the exact height for you to place your feet on the ground, and for Saerom’s head to lean against your thigh. There, kneeling, as if home inside her home, she watches your cock twitch under your pants when she paws at it experimentally.

"And you’re frustrated when I watch," you say.

"Hey, you can’t say I’m just watching." Saerom rubs you up and down over your pants and your jaw clenches. "But you’re right."

When Saerom gets a hold of your shirt, you raise your arms.

"You’re still in good shape," she says, smiling proudly.

"Thank you. I definitely don’t miss the diets, but I’m happy they got me in the habit of working out. Plus, you gave me plenty of motivation."

"Mhm." She traces your abs. They aren't washboard muscular (read, photoshopped) since you’re not lifting your shirt for audiences anymore, but they are decently taut, hinting at a six-pack. As you said, you were over the sort of daily sweet potato diet to keep that up. But for this reaction, Saerom's half-lidded eyes gazing at your midriff, you’ll gladly keep up your other routines.

Saerom then tugs your waistband, taking both your pants and boxers an inch down, then another, teasing you with the incremental progress. You can only sit still and keep your hands on the mattress’ edge. When your cockhead pokes out, she smiles, then forgoes any inhibition, stripping you straight down to your ankles. Your shaft springs free, and it nearly hits her face, but Saerom instinctually dodges it. Saerom ducks under your dick, centering it over her face, and she lets out a long exhale. Warm air flows around your length, though the jolts racing up your body are cold. 

"I miss this cock. None of my toys compare." With a light frown, Saerom rests her head on your thigh again. She lightly and playfully traces your shaft with one finger.

"You really know how to boost an ego—ahh." Your jaw is wide, breaths ragged when her fingertip circles around your frenulum, the spot sensitive to her agonizingly light touch.

"Oh. Is that precum? Already?" Saerom’s narrowed eyes change focus from the slight pulses of your cock to your transfixed gaze, and that alone earns another white drop. Her finger traces up, and now she’s drawing circles at the top of your cockhead, smearing stickiness around.

"God, Saerom. You’re so fucking hot." Her touch pulls the truth out of you. It didn’t need to be spoken, but by her smile, it’s always worth stating the obvious.

She licks her lips, cleaning a bit of drool. Breathily, Saerom says, "Fuck. Should I just make you cum like this? With my fingers? It’s only fair. It’s only been me and my fingers all this time."

As much as you want to fuck her every hole open, you can’t deny that the prospect of being brought to the brim with her deft touch alone is tempting. "I said I’m sorry."

"Maybe if you say sorry enough, we can fuck." Saerom puts one hand around your cock and she’s barely doing anything, a lazy twist here, a half tug there.

"Sorry," you say, your upper teeth latching on to your lower lip. "Seriously. I miss you. I should’ve at least tried a little harder."

"Oh, we’re getting sappy now?" Saerom adds another hand—one isn’t enough to wrap fully her fingers around you—though it’s still awfully insignificant motions, sending erratic sparks throughout your body.

You shiver, hiss, and tense up. "Sorry. Please."

"Fffuck, I like the sound of that. the way your voice catches in your throat." She reaches down for your balls, jumpy at the faint graze of a nail. "What if I just milk out everything? I know how much you can cum. That would be so hot. When was the last time you came? Were you thinking about me?"

A week ago, and yes. Of course. You don’t want to admit those, and neither will you admit that a whine is coming out of you, yet even if you were silent, your hips are bucking on their own as you fuck yourself into Saerom’s hand.

Saerom says, "Oooh, are you—"

"I can’t take it anymore." You pull her up then push her back down onto the mattress, then you’re on top of her. You support yourself above Saerom with one arm and look at her carefully. Her face is a masterpiece, her body the work of a master craftsman. At your obvious overflowing lust, she looks to the side, bringing her wrist up to her mouth in a gesture of embarrassment you’ve never seen from Saerom.

Saerom’s reactions renew your confidence as if time never happened, so doubt’s seed could not have grown how it did, and you carry a sure smirk inspired by the cockiness once found on stage. You’re reminded that despite your indecision everywhere else—why the two of you never progressed past mere acquaintances—you were a man of action in the bedroom. That’s what Saerom wanted out of you. Saerom being shy might be an act, might be sincere, but it works either way. With this new upper hand, you grab Saerom’s wrist to unblock her face, too pretty to be shy about.

"We’ve done this plenty of times," you say, pinning Saerom’s arm to the bed.

She turns her head toward you but she can’t make eye contact. "It’s been a while."

"You're right. It has been long." You go in for a kiss, and she closes her eyes; however, you dodge her face.

"Fuck you." Saerom hits your chest and pouting. Then, her lips transform to a different contortion when you go straight for the neck. "Hnn, not too much. Remember last time you left hickeys on me? My makeup artist wouldn’t stop teasing me about it."

"Maybe I should mark you enough that makeup won’t be enough," you say, and her eyes go wide. "I’m kidding. Just a little payback for teasing me with your hands." 

So instead, you aspire to leave your small marks on the other parts of the body. Where no one else but you will see. First, a softer kiss on the end of her collarbone right under her neck. With the floral notes of her shampoo mixed with the fainter sweetness of her body wash on her soft skin, your nose is tempted as you kiss along the rest of her collarbone up to her shoulder; from there, you’re led down to her armpit.

"Your body is perfect, Saerom." 

She’s already ticklish from the playful kisses of her armpit and her ribs, but something about that crook under her arm compels you to lick—it’s the scent of her body wash once again, as well as a hint of vanilla, possibly from deodorant. Saerom is also starting to sweat, lending a barely noticeable musk and salty taste, and that only fuels your tongue further.

"Stooop, nh, nuh, no, why do you keep licking there? It’s dirty," Saerom says, squirming and laughing. This high-pitched tone is unfamiliar, easier to imagine coming from one of the maknaes such as Jiheon or Nagyung instead.

"It’s not." You’ve slathered her armpit in saliva by now. "Kisses aren’t enough. Every part of you deserves to be worshiped. What if I worshiped your whole body with my tongue? Gave you a tongue bath?"

Saerom can’t look at you anymore, yet she can’t stop smiling. "Wh-whatever you say."

You soon leave her armpit to fulfill your promise. You’re leaving a light trail of saliva down her arm, you suck each of her fingers, the knuckles, the interdigital folds, leaving no stone unturned. Returning up to Saerom's shoulder, you realize your folly of asymmetry, having only licked and kissed the right side of her upper body. You swipe your tongue across her neck.

"I don’t know what it is, but I can’t stop thinking about your neck or your shoulder or your collarbones. Should I take my cock out right now and jerk off onto them?"

She bites her lips, and her thighs rub together.

"Just imagine your neck and shoulders all drenched with cum. Dripping down to your tits. I swear I could leave a whole river of thick white semen down your cleavage, make a mess of your tits just as collateral damage," you say as you finish your job of licking up Saerom’s left arm, shoulder, armpit.

With your rising initiative, Saerom’s hands can’t lie inactive by her sides. She first adds to the rubbing of her thighs with her hands—not enough—reaches between her legs—not enough. You know this, have seen this, enough to understand she’ll be on a tortuous brim for as long as you’re not inside her. And so be it, her decision to make, because you’re happy to let her dance on that dizzying outskirt as you pull her top down to her midriff and kiss and lick her breasts. Going in a circle around each one, you find yourself lingering much longer here, again covering her skin with saliva as you sense every goosebump with your tongue. Here, on her sizable tits, you’ll leave the marks that she’ll think about when she’s on stage. Under whatever stage outfit she’s wearing will lay your claim, your worship, and no one else will know but you and Saerom. Sweet secrets, another unspoken language.

The noises that come out of Saerom when you suck on her nipples aren’t speech but they’re too loud to count as unspoken. Your tongue, lips, teeth, and every part of your mouth partake in playing with the nubs as they harden but before long, you pull the top back up. You’re carefully slow because you want to see her breasts squish against the deep neckline of the clothing before it’s hidden.

Slow breaths and raised brow, Saerom glances at you with your sudden intermission.

You tell her frankly, "It’s a cute top, and I want to watch how your tits jiggle when you ride me."

Her quiet, acknowledging "mm" becomes a longer hum when you move downward. You take time leaving a kiss on each rib before worshiping her perfect abs with your tongue. Though you can feel Saerom writhing under you, you’ve been too focused on your task, so you look up to see her reaction. However, as you tongue at her belly button, she doesn’t look down at you in return; instead, Saerom is arching back and looking straight up at the ceiling. Her hands flatten on the bed, right by her head, elbows up. Every muscle is stretching, tensed.

"I didn’t think you’d like this as much as you do."

At your words, Saerom finally looks at you, her eyes unfocused, and she only nods, lips tight.

When you’re done with the upper half of her body, you decide to multitask. If she could form words, she’d be begging for you to move up instead of down from her thighs, but you’re also removing her skirt while you move down to her feet. After you unbutton and throw the skirt off to the side, you give her toes the same treatment as her hands. A thorough tongue washes each ridge, each sole, until her body is tongue-bathed top to bottom as promised.

All except for one part. Looking at the dark spot on her blue panties, it’s safe to say your mouth has plenty of cleaning left. You don’t mind doubling back with your trail of kisses up her leg, especially since it earns more cute strained noises from Saerom’s lips, and then it’s a third and final path down her legs.

"Saerom, watch."

She mouths "fuck" as you bite the waistband of her panties and gingerly pull.

From her waist to her knees, the panty-pulling with your teeth was careful and teasing. You want to say you kept your eye contact the whole way through like a suave playboy, but a glint in the corner of your vision steals your attention. Saerom is immersed in the whole range of light’s temperature, the cool ambiance of the moon, the dim yellow of her small lamp, yet it seems all of light has collected onto her dewy slit. The thought of tasting her nectar hurries you. You stop using your teeth, your now feral hands damn near tearing them off from her ankles.

"Woah, careful with—" 

Then Saerom’s mouth seals when you seal your mouth around Saerom’s pussy without hesitation. This feels right, home, the past in the present, between Saerom’s thighs with your face right at her crotch. You don’t feel a drop of shame because there’s too much dripping already. Two dark pink wavy folds—you set your thumb on one, index finger on the other to hold them in place. The destination of your voyage of kisses and licks, you give plenty of passes of your tongue to the swelling nub of her clit, passes of your lips to her lips. Are you drooling? Or is that Saerom’s boundless juices? Either way, they mix in your mouth, the salty flavors, the addicting musk, and the slightest metallic tinge.

"Fuck, that’s delicious," you say while you gauge her response. You didn’t notice until now that Saerom has two hands in your hair, or that she’s pulling and pushing you to return to your station. You delay a moment to tell her: "Am I remembering wrong? I’ve never seen you this wet."

Saerom first works through her ragged breaths before she can talk. "Yeah, agh, I haven’t cum in a couple of months. You’d be surprised. How busy I’ve been. And, I guess, I was hoping, this exact thing would happen."

"You know you could’ve called too, right? DM’ed me, whatever." You’re surprised you had the wherewithal to bring it up while Saerom’s slick is on your chin and lips.

Saerom whispers, "I’m sorry." Then she closes her mouth. Her grip on your hair loosens. 

Of course, it’s too late for regrets and apologies now. You revisit your favorite place to taste in the world—fuck a restaurant, fuck a bar, everything you need to taste and drink is right here. And quickly, there’s no way Saerom can keep her mouth closed or her hands off your hair with all the oral pleasure you give.

"So, so good, good, ahh, fuck." Saerom’s tongue can’t stay in her mouth, dangling casually as her jaw opens wider in bliss.

As your right hand spreads her folds again, your lips suction and your tongue laps at the top of her cunt, servicing her clit, as well as below, digging deeper at the source of all the wetness. You lick exhaustively, collect every drop you can—you can't. Too much leaking fluid to avoid making a mess of her sheets.

"Fuck, fuck, goddammit, fuck."

Though your free left hand is mindlessly on your cock, stroking, there’s no actual need to touch yourself. You could be as hard as steel as long as you’re eating Saerom out. You heighten Saerom's stimulation, sinking your fingers into her thighs, kneading and massaging—earn a few giggle-infused moans—then you move to where your face is being turned into a canvas, a girl-cum rag. There, you add a finger, then two into her slit. Now your mouth and digits are working in tandem, pumping in and out, exploring her pussy, relearning, to turn Saerom’s brain into mush.

You could’ve been doing this for two minutes or two days, fuck the clock, fuck worrying about time and its immaterial decay on the world. It’s only when you hear Saerom’s profanities die down that you slow down too.

She works up the ability to talk again: "S-stop. I love how you eat me, but I need to ride you. Now."

One last kiss on her pussy lips. "I was thinking the exact same thing."

In honesty, you were also thinking about how your jaw is tired or how your neck is strained, but those would’ve been fine sacrifices to make for Saerom. If you needed to stay there an hour to make her cum three times, you would’ve done it—maybe that would’ve made up for a lost week? So just over two straight days to make up for a whole year? No matter.

Saerom nudges at your shoulder and gestures for you to get up. It takes a while for you to reorient yourself—right, she’s just lying in her bed as if it were any other night, except you’re in between her legs. She sits up and scooches over so that you can replace her reclined position. Listening to Saerom recollect her breathing and watching her stare at your erection pointed straight at the ceiling, you realize she’s also reorienting herself. Don’t give her time: you grab Saerom’s hand and she falls right on top of you, hands at your sides. A mirror of your stances moments ago. She’s surprised at first, her mouth in a circle, and then her smile grows. This smile deserves awards, and more light, if only you had a floodlight on your face. All you get in this room is a dim ambiance, but you’ll take every photon you can get. 

Traveling in time, you think about when you and Saerom fucked the first time. Five years ago, you were both rookie idols without the luxury of a bed. Far bolder back then, Saerom was riding your cock in the dark corner of an empty sound stage, and your hands and back were meeting the cold hard floor, the two of you risking your careers for a spontaneous fuck.

Now the two of you are in different places in your life, yet you end up in the same place regardless. 

Guess it’s 9:34:40—you can’t actually look at the clock above and behind your head as you lay in bed, and Saerom’s hair is in your face.

A breath, and then you’re overwhelmed by Saerom, her tongue in your mouth, her hand on your cock. You’re happy to lose control at this moment. For the rushing thrill of the idea of this beautiful idol fucking you, or for the physical manifestation of this desire, her pussy embracing your cockhead in the first penetration and the weight of her body and her kiss all crashing into your heart, you gladly sacrifice this exact minute for the compressed eternity to compress further, too much to contain, and it uncollapses—what was a single point containing all the beauty and warmth in your head becomes a cascading chasm, a pointillistic cloud, each little dot a snapshot of all the sensations. Beyond thrust for thrust, your thoughts flash ripple by ripple.

Saerom’s cunt slowly slides down as she pushes against the girth of your cock. Your hands are trying to compete for tightness of grip on her asscheeks, but they’ll never compare to the closeness with which her labia grasps around your cock. The tangy taste of her juices lingers on your tongue, mixes with her mouth's taste when you kiss—mostly the saltiness of saliva at this point, though you’ll drink up every last drop. You smell sweat and the trace of sex against the sweet scents of her skin and her hair. Listen to the slow squelch of her soaked hole because for once you’re both silenced by this kiss, deeper than before; open your eyes, watch Saerom’s need in action, and take in that every stimulated sense is but a small part of the single motion of Saerom lowering her ass into your crotch.

It was never that deep was it? It was just sex, just a basic carnal act. There was longing, there was the low light of the room, there was a closeness you forgot, and none of it mattered. For all this thinking, there is no real thought or purpose. There’s nothing so profound about it except for how much happens all at once, and in that inundation of self, the simple profane is newly profound. Balls slap against her ass. It is that deep.

Guess it’s 9:34:45, and it doesn’t matter what the time really is for the rhetoric either. The seconds have been stretched like Saerom’s pussy around your dick. The dots have danced.

She takes in the feeling of your length all the way inside of her, her eyes wide when she looks at you as you stop making out. You have to resist the urge to spank her ass, to start pounding up, upside-down jackhammer, so your hands slide up to her waist holding her.

Saerom feels her midriff, and you notice the slightest bulge of your cock against the slimness; she rubs it. "Fuck. I miss this. I miss you."

Somehow you find it in yourself to snark: "We’re getting sappy now? While I’m this deep in you?"

She growls quietly and holds your jaw. "Shut up." And if her words weren’t enough, she’s back at it with her tongue finding residence in your mouth. 

Saerom then pulls away from Earth’s gravity, lifting her ass. It isn't nearly as slow as the insertion, but it's just as serene a sensation. All the pulling and pushing, it’s everything you remember with Saerom—it’s more. Riding your dick becomes effortless for Saerom, gravity barely a nuisance as her bouncing hastens. Second nature returning in seconds.

You’re becoming less of an active agent, more of a recipient of pleasure, barely holding on by Saerom’s waist. While you certainly feel like you're pounding her pussy, she’s the one putting in all the work. You can imagine it’s tiring for Saerom, but if it’s half as good as it feels for you, then any amount of exhaustion doesn’t matter.

Her unbridled passion eventually subsides though, replacing the forceful slams of her butt with slower and more conscious motions. Though she still has her lips on yours, it’s a lazy placement. Not as much of a kiss. You'll take it. Saerom also isn't bothering to support herself with her arms by your sides, opting to lay on your chest instead. Your cock goes in, tick, tick, tick, out, tock, tock, tock. Many beats, many seconds, and many breaths between each plunge. Then, even the slick sliding of Saerom’s cunt on your cock gives way to more of a grinding motion. She twists her hips, bringing her ass around in erratic ellipses. A whole new host of euphoric sensations on your cock. You’re reacquainting with her tender inner muscles, clenching on your shaft. Your fingers around her midriff press into her skin, your eyes roll back, and you have to tense your jaw.

A grinding halt. 

Saerom is inert, warming your cock. Her head is on your shoulder, mouth on your neck (while not actively suctioning, the sensation of her plump lips sends shivers throughout your body regardless). She stirs, straightening her back again. There’s no way you want to let go of her waist, want to have her stop kissing you, want to remove the weight of her tits and whole body on top of yours—Saerom’s curves are ergonomic with how well they fit on you—however, she sits up, her knees on each side of your waist, back straight. Your dick is a stanchion, its tip poking at her entrance, and you don’t mind trading the feeling for the image.

A grinding start.

Instead of only feeling the twisting and the back-and-forth movements of her hips, now you get to watch it, doubling the thrill. Saerom’s eyes are filled with lust and she’s biting a finger, her other hand on your shoulder. Everything about Saerom hypnotizes you, and you can’t keep your hands idle. You return to sinking your fingers into the mass of her ass, then you’re exploring her curves again in this new context.

There's a large mirror leaning against the wall across from you, right in position to show off Saerom's backside. This is the first time this year and this night that you've got a good view of her bare butt. Perfectly round (you'll redefine circles to be second place if you have to) and ample enough for your digit to make a significant crease. Her ass is a famed masterwork, lusted over by many but not seen in true pure form except by the incomparably fortunate you.

Upon your renewed vigor and thirst, Saerom restarts her ride, the chaotic grinding becoming a focused lifting and dropping of her whole self. She has to hoist her knees up to squat on your cock. The image is accompanied by sounds, making the trade worthwhile. The flesh of her ass slapping and slamming against your crotch echoes her bedroom, some slick noises in there too. Her hands clench into fists by her side as she savors the stretch of her pussy.

This brings you back to the last time you fucked: a year ago, in a love hotel, a careless drunk hook-up. Saerom rode you cowgirl expertly then, and it seems she’s only gotten better now. You’d think the self-admitted lack of practice would show—but once more, she proves that time hasn’t passed between this year and last.

While Saerom seats herself into your perfectly plumb penis repeatedly in her cowgirl ride, not missing a beat or bounce, you get exactly as you wish: the hypnotizing view of Saerom's tits jiggling in the confines of her blue tube top. You get the most beautiful demonstration of physics with each bounce of her breasts. Then you take physics itself into your own hands, grabbing each breast and squeezing over the fluffy fabric. At your rough fondling, Saerom lets out some higher-pitched whimpers in between her constant pleasured groan. She rides down into your cock harder, and you let go to see how wildly her breasts can bounce. Saerom's mouth is open in bliss; yours is more in awe, her breasts bouncing up and down as if wanting to be freed of the top themselves. You'd be inclined to agree.

Thus, with a grunt that gets Saerom's attention, she stops bouncing and lets your dick rest guts-deep inside of her. She shudders. You sit up, a burn in your abs that you cast aside. Saerom raises her arms and you pull upward, watching her boobs squish, then pop out from under the tube top. You're tempted to re-clothe her just to see that again (squish, pop, boing, immature sounds accompanying the sight in your head). However, with the article of clothing already around her elbows, you might as well finish the job. No more hesitation, you toss the blue top right into her laundry basket (nice shot).

Saerom pushes your chest, returning you to your recumbence. You don't mind her forcefulness—in fact, you cherish whenever Saerom handles you roughly. You know exactly what that leads to. She lifts her entire body up, unsheathing your glistening cock, then drives herself back down. This first bounce is deliberate. She's watching your reaction, no doubt giving you a satisfied smile because of your weak groan or your face twisting with pleasure before she restarts her ardent riding.

Yet again, all these places for your eyes to land upon—her thighs jiggling as she springs up and down, your cock appearing and disappearing inside Saerom, the thin sheen of sweat covering the entirety of her flawless skin—yet there was only ever one possibility after flashing through those equally addicting sights. You're fixated on Saerom's soft tits, unrestrained by the shackles of clothing. They freely ripple, rise, fall, rise again, her nipples drawing some invisible erratic path in the air like the chaos of a double pendulum. There is no predicting the movements, but you're staring as if you're trying your damnedest, knowing that you'll fail. Happy that you'll fail.

"What do you like better, hmm? Watching my tits bounce with or without clothes?"

What an intriguing question. (You're jealous of her ability to form cogent thoughts in this situation.) You're not sure. Obviously, seeing her tits completely exposed, her brown nipples in plain view is a sight you never want to relinquish. However, the bounce of her tits within the tube top is oddly compelling. It's the sort of view you could get equally as an audience member or as an average fan replaying the same three seconds of a fancam—you get the privilege of getting to see this Saerom from a whole new angle.

Not even the most advanced camera can capture the full extent of your senses being. The perfect POV video of Saerom riding cowgirl will never convey the heat of Saerom's core, the constant clamping of her cunt around your cock.

But then, if you had a camera and had to hold it right now, you'd have to let go here in confusion.

Saerom leans forward and places her hand palm down on the bed by your sides.

You're surprised at her action and, at her hitherto wordlessness, you're also surprised at her saying "I'm going to ride you as hard as fucking possible."

What an intriguing declaration. Wasn't she already doing that?

She lifts her ass and does not lie and rides you as hard as fucking possible. Never doubt her. You knew intensity came in the form of horny Saerom, didn't know it could lift your soul past the stratified layers of atmosphere above this very home, where jet streams blew past and didn't compare to her speed or didn't compare to the air knocked out of your lungs.

Wanting to hold back from cumming, you slow down—well, you want to slow down, but it's not really up to you, judging by Saerom staring off into space with a slack jaw, by the insistent motion of her hips. Maybe she'll ride your cock until you both die or neither of you may die and she'll be fucking you cowgirl until heat death? She's in a trance, cock-drunk, lust clouding her brain, and you have the same fog, though the fog is also pulsations that you want to delay. Now a dynamic duo, heat and pressure cook inside of you, and you could unload and breed and fill Saerom any second now. You have to physically hold her from fucking into your cock.

It isn't until your fingers grip hard—you might even be leaving traces of nail marks—that Saerom is pulled out of her rhythm, panting. She whines and pouts and after brushing her long hair aside, looks at you with an empty-headed expression. "Wh-what?"

You try your best to maintain composure, but really your whole body is dedicated to clenching every muscle so that you don't orgasm on the spot, despite her now sitting still. "Reverse cowgirl," you say, keeping up your false resolve.

Saerom nods mindlessly, raising her ass. It's more honest of her, commendable, to eschew the pretense that she had anything in her mind. She gets into position for reverse cowgirl, kneeling with her legs hooked under yours, her ass placed right in your lap. Instead of a reflection a few meters away through the mirror in her prior cowgirl stance, now you get a perfect close-up. Sweat, pores, goosebumps, all that texture in the dim lighting of her bedroom. More than ever, you want a spotlight—having no such device, you aspire to paint bright red with your hand—smack, a loud one, like a whip on her right cheek, and at once you get the vividness you want.

She gasps and looks back, the vixen smugly grinning as if to say "one more".

It's too easy to fall in, to give her what you want, and her left cheek recoils nicely in the same way. It's tempting to keep going, to keep submitting to the little diversion that makes this moment and night last forever. But if the shape of her ass is tempting, her tight asshole is a drug to an addict, and you've unknowingly abstained for far too long. Right now, do it, take your cock, align it with the entrance, and thrust into her. You want to… but you also know better than that.

Besides, Saerom takes the matter into her own hands—hand, as she reaches back to hold your cock. She softly places your shaft between her supple cheeks and after a quick wiggle of her hips to situate herself, she starts sliding her ass up and down your length. This buttjob alone is enough to make your balls twitch, to make you jumpy at the prospect of cumming early once again.

Her rhetorical words don't help—"You know how many times I’ve thought about you and fucked myself in front of this mirror?"—because now, you're picturing it, and the images overlap in your mind. In the mirror and in your imagination alike, her deft fingers are teasing herself, crawling between her legs, and rubbing her clit. In this imaginary world, the juices from her cunt are being wasted on the floor or on the sheets or on a towel if she were so poised; in the real world, there is no waste, as this nectar finds its way onto your cock, whether it be dripping right into you or by her moist hands reaching back to keep your shaft in place.

The undulation of Saerom's hips is much gentler than her previous ride—she must have recognized why you wanted her to stop in the first place. You'll happily take the sparks of pleasure that this lazy friction gives you, your cock neatly nestled in the crack of her backside.

"I can even show you later," Saerom says.

"Show me what?" you ask.

"Ahh, don't worry about it." Once more, she grabs your cock behind her, but this time she's twisting her whole upper body to look at you. There are so many targets for your inevitable cumshot: her arched back has the perfect valley for your seed to run down, toned muscles to paint white; the thought of cum streaking down her tits could make you bust on the spot; and sullying Saerom's alluring face is naturally a favorite pastime of yours, especially making her sharp jawline drip with cum as you feed your load right onto her lips, or maybe you should make a mess of her bangs.

Anyway, what were you supposed to be worrying about? Whatever it was, it wouldn't matter compared to Saerom aligning your cockhead at her entrance, plunging your whole length at once, at twice, at thrice, and then it's a blur of bliss.

You want to say it's the same as a few minutes ago—after all, what's the difference except turning around—but her velvety walls surrounding your cock feel completely novel to the regular cowgirl position. Your shaft is pointed at an angle different enough to give you whole new sensations of pleasure, and if not for the momentary reprieve of the teasing buttjob, you'd climax in the first few thrusts. That doesn't include the whole new visual stimulation of her perfectly perky ass lifting and dropping in rhythm, its fleshy weight ricocheting with each downward collision.

Again, you feel inert, more like a toy being used than a person having sex. In a way, it's fine, natural even with Saerom's eagerness. There's only so much touching and fondling you can do until it seems a waste of energy—you don't need to do anything to keep Saerom bouncing on your cock as long as it's hard. And for your part, you're getting sweat and moans and jolts of pleasure extracted out of you without any effort. However, naturally, you want more participation, to feel more involved.

Therefore, your first course of action is to sit up, breaking Saerom's rhythm, and she looks back at you, her breaths heavy and sporadic. It reminds of you the classic ending fairy, her chest rising and falling, but you get to watch her breasts in their full bareness moving with each exhalation. Then, you grab her with two hands by the waist—by now, a gesture you've repeated a hundred times, and thus you know exactly where to put your fingers to have her held still, like her hips are handles. Keeping up this tight grasp and never fully unsheathing your cock, you reposition the two of you until you're both kneeling, with you behind Saerom.

Her back rests against your chest, and her long hair is right in your face. You take a moment to smell Saerom. Maybe her shampoo is lavender or rose—you're a Flover, not a florist—but for certain, you haven’t smelled it before. Then, you brush her hair with your fingers, all disheveled by the continuous bouncing and riding.

You take a nibble of her ear, and you can see the whites of Saerom's eyes for a moment in the mirror, your face next to hers. "My turn," you whisper into her ear.

Saerom gulps, barely maintaining eye contact in the mirror.

This position, inspired by JAV, is perfect for your goal: repay Saerom's passion by getting the leverage to piston into her pussy as hard and fast as possible. It starts by taking her arms, hanging listlessly at her sides, and pulling them behind her back.

Caress her face one last time—call it the moment's final tranquility. The silence save for the air passing your lips. The darkness save for glimmers of light, the night in the window.

Your hips snap into place, back and forth, cock going in and out, rhythm accelerating all at once, drag racing. You're already at your top speed, your peak strength, fucking your whole soul into Saerom. Clap, clap, clap, the audience and the performers on the stage of the bed are the same. The uproarious applause cannot be conceited because neither of you has your hands free.

Saerom yelps and moans, and you can't tell which is wider between her mouth and her eyes. The observational task through the mirror becomes harder as her hair swings wildly, long dark strands haphazardly strewn about her face, plus you get distracted by her breasts swinging even more wildly.

At least you now have an answer to Saerom’s previous open question.

Each of your words is punctuated by one or two or three thrusts (actual punctuation omitted for readability): "Can’t believe I haven’t fucked your tits yet or your throat or your tight little—" Well, these plunges are powerful enough—CLAP, CLAP—to merit the interruption, as it completely breaks the flow of what you were saying "—asshole. Fuck!"

Asshole, fuck—you want nothing more than to do that Saerom right now, temptations and jitters and dry throat as you look down and see that vulgar entrance, and it completely breaks the flow, slows down your thus-far dogged pace.

Her hands are shaking so you let her wrists go, and you expect her to fall forward (you’re looking forward to that, aren’t you? Saerom face down ass up, a lucid dream’s image); instead, her limbs limp at her sides, and she leans into your chest, returning the warmth and sweatiness and softness of her back—firmness of her lats and shoulder blades. 

She takes a deep breath. You nuzzle your chin onto her neck, and Saerom giggles—then she’s silenced when you wrap your arms around her: one arm around her tits, compressing them while you toy with a nipple in your hand, with the other arm around her neck in a stranglehold. You aren't aiming to asphyxiate Saerom (the force of your cock can make her as light-headed as you want her) but rather, to have her whole body in your complete control, manhandling her like a plastic sex doll.

It’s fair play to how she rode you mere moments ago (or maybe it’s been much longer; the clock might tick above you, but its count is worthless in this situation). You didn't need words to know how much she enjoyed this push and pull. You could hear it, see it, every sense attuned to your mutual pleasure. You’re not just fucking Saerom’s plush cunt. You’re pinching and rolling her nipples. You’re sucking on the back of her neck.

Emboldened by the few weak moans that escape Saerom, you’re back to that ardent rhythm, though long and deep strokes of your cock are replaced with quicker and shallower drives. Two people can’t get any closer than this. Your dick is repeatedly entrenched in Saerom’s cunt while the rest of Saerom’s body is held tight in your embrace. Close but there’s distance: she can’t look at you, her pupils rolling up.

This hold becomes tedious, even with Saerom having the defined abs to give her core strength for days. What would be a relaxed position—the two of you kneeling, Saerom in your lap—becomes tiring when it involves the exercise routine of sex. You take all the pillows from behind you, place them in front of her knees, then push her down with a hand on her back with the pile of pillows for support. You're positioned perfectly so that her face is at the edge of the bed, more importantly, visible to the large mirror opposite to the bed.

Look at yourself. You're exhausted, crease lines on your face, sweat on your brow.

Saerom's exhaustion is more beautiful—if not beautiful, compelling (it is beautiful, don’t philosophize now). It makes you want to pump harder, to find out if you can drain her of her stamina first. A tall task, you've seen the woman's more intense workout sessions too, experienced it first-hand in your past marathon weekends of fucking.

Hissing, you carefully extract from Saerom, then smack her reddened sore buttcheeks with your shaft. Her fucked cunt gets some cock-slaps too, a tactical delay that earns a few cute yelps from Saerom. If you’re going to cum, you’ve decided it’ll be here, with Saerom face down, bent over pillows, her ass up for you to squeeze, watch jiggle, and plunge into. Doesn’t mean you’ll cream her cunt in one more stroke. Savor this as long as you can. 

One more hit of her pussy lips with your dick. A dripping string of her juice flicks off.

A fistful of hair, you pull while you begin slamming your hips forward. You shove your cock inside, again and again, a slow rhythm, no rhyme, like there's a point you're trying to make by fucking Saerom into the bed. If there had to be a point, it’s that your dreams materialized too easily because even your lucid dreams didn’t go this well. And further, though not much further, following this logic, you fuck Saerom’s pussy with thoughts of another hole. An even tighter hole, somehow. Too tight. Visions of Saerom’s anal grip have your fingers digging into Saerom’s back, have you pushing too hard for this denouement. You have to be measured about your penetration, needing to pull her into you. If nothing else, ensuring she doesn't slump past the edge of the bed. Saerom is the pile of pillows underneath her, soft and lifeless and you wouldn’t mind spending all day in her.

Burying and unburying yourself into Saerom, your dick is soaked in slick and raw, sore. All this pounding is getting to you. A heady mix of hormones and heat. You’ve done your job. Saerom can barely keep her eyelids up, her every breath heavy and slow. She doesn’t even move.

This is your final ramp-up, the pace almost numbing, and then the internal throbs come out of nowhere—you can’t delay your end much longer. These past few minutes have been completely devoted to your stimulation, so it was only a matter of time. You push your knees down into the mattress now, having to hold onto yourself as much as Saerom. (What part of self you’re holding onto is a question you won’t or can’t answer.) feeling the familiar pulses of climax in two of your strokes, you're tempted to clamp down on her waist and keep your cock buried inside.

But then, you look at her ass. The roundness is so perfect and, like with her face, the only thing worth doing to perfection is to flaw it.

Here begins the end of all journeys.

Here, in this beautiful moment, you understand, the dots, tiny prickles of pleasure were grains of sand. They return in an overbearing way. Your mind is an infinite beach, where time stands still and then gives way to waves and the tangy orange sunset. This is sweet and fruitful perfection, the orgasm temporary but more real than any existence can claim. The shape of Saerom’s body, the sandcastles, the nostalgic memories, you’re damn near tears at the thought, but this is a cry of bliss as you moan and let everything out.

A long first short of semen lands on her back, creamy white streaking down the dips. With Saerom bent over, the cum runs down toward the back of her neck in the central valley of her spine. You're tempted to keep unloading there. But, after seeing her ass rise and fall, you then aim for her buttcheeks, giving each one an equal amount of love, mixing sweat with seed. You watch them clench as Saerom feels the warm sticky load, watch them ripple as heavy breaths make her whole body lurch back and forth. How hypnotic the pendulum. You cum more ropes than you expected, absolutely drenching her backside. You only know that Saerom is awake because she brings her hand to her neck, where your semen collects, then licks her hand to taste.

The two of you catch your breath. You want to sit against the back of the bed, your body slack and lacking energy, but you take the initiative to grab a big handful of tissues and clean the mess you've made on Saerom's backside.

Eventually, you and Saerom lie on the bed. She holds your hand. You look at her and let quiet wash over you both for a while.

To break the silence, you ask, "You okay?"

The end of the journey is only the start of a new one. Cyclic. Possibly infinite. Saerom’s answer to your question is a question: "Do you want to fuck my ass?"

You pause. Definitely infinite, judging by time's nonmovement. The answer is obvious, your "yes" breathless and nearly the neediest you've found yourself.

"I’m gonna shower," she says. "Also, I’ll need you to get hard for me again." 

"I’ll help you clean up then." After all, what could re-spark your erection more than soaping Saerom down, watching water drip down her curves? But when you get up, she places a hand on your shoulder. 

"I have a different idea." Saerom grabs her phone, opens up photos, and goes to the hidden album.

Your jaw drops while she smiles, stands, and heads to the bathroom.

Top left of the screen, 10:04, but never mind the time. You’re not sure where to begin, so you open the latest. A simple selfie in her bathroom with naught but a towel around her waist, the steam of a hot shower in the air. You didn’t think a selfie could be art, and then you see her wet hair and the droplets of water making trails down her tits, and you’d proudly have a print of that hanging in your living room.

Careful, don’t go crazy stroking yourself—wait, when did you even start doing that?—keep a casual pace of your hand up and down your shaft.

Spoiled for choice, you tap the gallery at random and find a video of Saerom on her bedroom floor. Her clear suction dildo is attached to some large book, weighing it down. Clever. (Note that the proxy cock is about the same size and shape as your real one.) She aligns its silicone tip, looks at the camera, wasn’t lying—your name’s but a whisper as she sinks down into the toy. Then she starts riding, and you understand her practice was studious. It’s like a dance perfected, how she makes her body move on her knees, tits bouncing, eyes unwavering. The same way she was riding your cock earlier. So that’s where she got the practice.

There are plenty more racy images, particularly artful ones of her nude silhouette as a shadow against her wall and less than artful pictures of fingers spreading her perfect pussy lips. Other short videos arouse you equally: a 2-second video of Saerom pulling her jeans down to her thighs, enough to show off the squish of her butt cheeks; an 8-second video of Saerom taking off her shirt in a public toilet to flaunt her bralessness to a mirror before running to a stall at the sound of the door opening; and an hour-long video of a cheerful Saerom dancing to various songs, nude in her living room. Actually, that video was only 7 minutes long. Felt like an hour though.

The sound of water flowing from the bathroom stops. Saerom should be coming out soon. You didn’t realize how tightly you were gripping your shaft.

It’s unbelievable the sheer number of pictures and videos there were in the phone’s gallery. Had to be at least one for every day since you last met her. It’d be difficult to quantify which was your favorite, and which one you would masturbate to the most.

However, the answer was clear. The hottest video, or set of videos, was yet another dildo. This one isn’t as girthy as the clear suction dildo, as she holds it in her hand. Two key differences. First, this pink phallus had little marks on it. Each subsequent video had another mark, a centimeter deeper. In some of the videos, she’d be fully nude while in other videos, she’d have a hoodie or oversized shirt on, but nothing else, leaving her bottomless. Sometimes it’d be daytime, birds chirping, sun shining into the room, and other times, it was at night, dimly lit as the room is now. Second, and more importantly, is that every video had the same format: she sat comfortably in her bed, legs spread, then she took lube, coated her fingers (initially one, but then it became two, three), and slid them in her ass—the fingers were only the start though; afterward, she kept her anal entrance relaxed as she spread lube onto the pink dildo, then slid the toy inside herself at an extremely gentle pace.

She had already been able to take your dick in her ass, though it wasn’t the most pleasant experience back then. You enjoyed it visually, but seeing the strain and discomfort on Saerom put you off of it (not to mention the wrenching tightness for you, barely inserting a third of your length). You thought you’d have to save the anal experience for another day. Didn't think it'd be today. Plus, the mere concept of progress here, the enjoyment she’s having, is somehow making you harder than ever, as if you didn’t just cum five minutes ago.

You can even find where Saerom hit a plateau in the middle of the collection of anal training videos. She had a pout on her face and rolled her eyes when she couldn’t push the pink dildo deeper inside her asshole. In the next video, she tried the same length but with a bullet vibrator on her clit—even used tape to hold it. Not only did it help, to get the toy deeper inside, but she also squirted all over her phone camera.

The door opens, greeting Saerom to the sound of her moans from her phone until you quickly pause it in surprise. Nothing on but a towel. Picturesque. In her hand, a bottle of lube.

"Oh, hey. I remember buying that," you say, pointing to the bottle. "Did it expire?"

"I didn’t think about that." Saerom examines the bottle. "January 2024. Should be fine."

She stands in front of you, drops her towel, and you thoroughly examine her figure. The hourglass curves, you want to make her toss and turn, forget the time. The sole sure sign of the time's passage is that night falls differently, moonlight mixing with the small lamp—now on the ground, not sure when that got there—casting subtly new angles of shadows on Saerom. In all lights, she looks ethereal, contrasting her casual attitude. A light smile, she dusts off her bookshelf. A light step toward her desk, she readjusts a potted plant. Like she forgot you were here for a moment, a light giggle as she remembers your presence and takes her phone back. 

"I take it you liked what you saw?" Saerom declares, rhetorical.

Right, you should nod here. So nod. But you’re holding your breath too, nodding emptily. You’ve decided she doesn’t look ethereal; she is ethereal, immaterial, of another world. You can’t touch her even though you did, consequences of ethereality you can hardly endure. Endure you shall because you must. Her nude form is unmatched. Her ass is unmatched. Your hands on her ass were a ghostly dream.

Saerom walks around the room, cleaning more. You’d offer to help but you’re simply awestruck, your eyes like a hawk. She fixes the lamp, the pile of pillows, and the clothes laying around on the floor.

Returning your gaze, she eyes your erection. Saerom points, and you’re back in position, and she's back to the floor, lube still in hand.

You sit on the edge of her bed. Soft, springy, doesn’t make too much noise even when two people are testing the limits of its suspension—now you're sure of it. With the wet mess, hopefully, the sheets dry as you remember. Your feet are right on the ground, but there's something different this time. The tension and doubt of earlier are silent; if you had to take a stab at it, you've never seen this sort of raw hunger from Saerom as she's kneeling between your legs. Your cock twitches, free in the air, when she licks at it experimentally.

"You don’t have to do this. Your pics kept me hard as a rock." Look, a statement as dumb as not contacting Saerom.

You're fortunate that Saerom is set on getting your dick in her mouth. "Shut it," she says, "you know how much I love sucking this dick."

"Right… but remind me."

A smirk tugs at the corner of Saerom's lips, then a soft exhalation. The warm breath sends tingles through your cock to the rest of you. What is there in the rest of you? You can only wonder when Saerom starts to give the same licking worship to your cock as you did to her whole body, spending as much time bathing you in her saliva. Her tongue is soft, wet, and all over your shaft, and the smooches on your cockhead plant your feet down into the ground. Your fingers curl. Five into the air, five into her hair. Let her go. She has work to do.

Saerom, relinquishing her momentary trance, opens the lube bottle. She squeezes a dollop onto her hand, can barely match the amount of saliva that she’s already drooling. Saerom tries her best to go to work, to give you a blowjob while applying the lube at the same time. Her palm rubs the cool lubricant onto your shaft, fingertips work all the half-viscous fluid around your whole cock—makes sure plenty is under your tip (does that part even need to be lubricated like that, or is she just toying with you?)—then she uses her dextrous tongue to spread the lube further. Pulling back, Saerom seals her lips on your cockhead, cheeks hollowing as she sucks and uses both hands to stroke you up and down. She’s diligent, but all that lube ends up being washed away by the excess of spit from her eager mouth bobbing down into your length, impulsively taking you into the back of her mouth. A waste, though you’re going to buy new lube for her soon. She has work to do, and you’re not stopping her for now.

You can tell that taking you into her throat isn’t on purpose; however, Saerom is so captivated with sucking your cock that she ends up gagging a couple of times. You're worried at first, pulling your hips back, but Saerom looks at you with puppy eyes and a pout on your cock—as if to ask why you took away her favorite toy, and imagine a harrumph for theatrical measure. At the unexpected, unspoken brattiness, you raise your hands. If she wants saliva streaming down her chin to get your full length into her throat, so be it. So be it that she wants her eyes to water.

A question Saerom won’t answer, too busy: you've already given her what she wants, so why is she whining and humming on your cock like it isn’t enough? Then you realize she knows what she's doing, knows how the vibrations are getting from your cockhead to your real head. knows how the foamy slobber makes her lips feel extra soft and pillowy. Amen to all the fluids, holier than water can get.

Having eaten her out however many minutes ago, you empathize with how tiring oral service gets. When Saerom finally pulls back from your dick, she exercises her jaw, moves it side to side, and stretches it.

Fix the thick strands on her forehead, putting the bangs back in place. She might have just showered, yet you could easily have mistaken her damp locks for being wet with the mess she’s made in her blowjob.

Saerom wipes the excess of saliva and licks her palms, then grabs the lube. This time, she’s more careful. More handiwork spreading lube than mouthy work as she kisses and tongues your tip with greater restraint.

In such a sensitive state—your previous orgasm wasn’t that far in the past—even the faint grazes of Saerom’s tongue draw out involuntary moans from you, and your mouth is a tight contorting curve. Something of a smile, something of a frown. You manage to ask regardless, "How does it taste?"

"The lube? It’s a little sweet, but not the best flavor. Here." Saerom squeezes a drop onto her hand and offers her finger to you. 

You wrap your lips around her middle finger, and you forget you were supposed to be tasting something as you made eye contact with her. Saerom smirks back. Is it a fruity flavor? Maybe it’s flower yet again, to match her shampoo. Doesn’t matter. You keep her finger in your mouth, and she laughs when you give it a soft bite before she takes her hand away.

"I, for one, prefer the taste of this cock." Saerom licks in a circle. "It’s musky and sweaty and salty, and I love it. Especially when pre-cum comes out like this—" she tongues at your cock’s slit, and you shudder.

Pretend that time is unwavering, a force inerrant, yet your mind can do so much to trick you, to make the past/present/future all toys in the same room converge. Turns to dots, to visions. You could be sitting here as you are, a passive man for the rest of your life (for all you know, this night will be the rest of your life), or you could be making good on promises.

You have work to do. This is the unthinking reverie of a man possessed by visions of a single thing you’ve been waiting for, for a year, for a lifetime, for dreams eternal. Don’t call it a reverie. Your actions are not light. You pull Saerom up from her kneeling stance, a hint of unnecessary rabid strength. This force is used in place of words, forgoing language in a new way. Your grip on her hand says something. If only you could say what it is. And she never liked when you just stood there silent, but her mouth is open and her eyes are needy.

Her brows are raised when you shove, and her yelps are unsurprisingly filled with surprise when you bring her to her desk, unforgiving in how you lever her arm back, grab wrist, animal thoughts, smack, one, two, the orbs of her ass jiggle. You’re in a human place, a human still. Posthaste, clearing the haze in your head, you clear out the stationery from the middle of the desk. There’s the rest of her, perfect, yet it middles to the true perfection of her asshole. You lay your cock between her asscheeks, left hand cupping their heft.

Saerom needs something from you, but she’s so beautifully compromised. Her arm is bent back, her wrist tight in your grip. Her legs are straight, but you see the buckle in her knees—it’s taking active effort from Saerom to keep her ass lifted in the air for you. All the while, her face is right on the desk, and she twists her head to look back. She’s pleading with her eyes. Put it in, put it in. Why say it out loud when the soft whimpers tell you as much.

Despite all the primal force and exhibition, you’re no animal. As much as you want to dive straight in and impale your whole length at once, she needs to acclimate even with her diligent practice with toys. Besides, it gives you an excuse to admire her ass when you push your lube-covered cock’s tip against her tight sphincter. Leave it there, for a breath, for two. Deep breaths. Long breaths. Breaths that let you stare at Saerom’s ass until time ends because you’ll never tire at the shape outlining sublimity, the weight so perfect, the firmness of the glute muscles, the smooth and light skin marked red by your hand and beginning to bead with sweat, the crease into her equally ample thighs. Your tip is at the start of anally penetrating Saerom, and all you can think about are the two surrounding cushions. You will never tire of staring at Saerom's butt.

You do tire of having only your tip in the chokehold of Saerom’s tight entrance. So eventually, you push in, a glacial rate, a tectonic rate, eras, timescales for scientists. The minutes dilate like you’re pushing against a law of physics, a speed limit, even if your length is plunging into Saerom’s ass as slow as it can. New paradoxes, record it. The waves propagating throughout your body, at one inch, at two inches, three, four, five, etc, record them. The snug ring of her asshole is almost at the base of your shaft, yet there’s a complete saturation of bliss, record it. All this pleasure must be recorded rigorously in your mind as charts and tables flash by in an attempt to put numbers down to the innumerable.

Saerom’s back arches on this first penetration, her eyes rolling up into her head, where she isn’t thinking about anything, and now you aren’t either. Saerom’s anal walls are built like a cocksleeve to hug and clamp around your shaft. With this inexorably tight hold, you can’t move, a statue, marbled by pleasure.

Looking back at you, Saerom frowns, her thinking returning. She doesn’t speak but she says why the fuck aren’t you totally inside, and you can hear it out loud in the bedroom only filled with ragged breathing. In frustration, she lifts her ass higher by tiptoeing, and you have to grab something, the edge of the desk, her waist, whatever you can. You look down, and her legs are trembling now. Long groans escape you and Saerom when you’re finally guts deep, finally inside her ass with your whole length. Never have you gone this deep inside Saerom; the last anal attempt was more half-assed. Now you're stretching Saerom in places she didn't know she had, content with her warming your cock.

You pull back, squeeze a bit more lube on your cock for good measure, and begin anally fucking Saerom in earnest. Can’t let patience rule you. Her pussy is tight; this ass has a complete throttlehold. To ram into Saerom’s asshole means you succumb to the constriction and thus what would be a torrid rhythm is turned spasmodic—fierce, yet subject to fits of paralysis, where you return from fleshly lust to scientific observation. Metrology in mind, you measure the precise amount of your dick inside of Saerom's butt, calculate the forces with which her asscheeks jiggle.

Nothing so surgical about your hands as you pull by her hair bundled in your fingers, enough to lift her head off the desk. Saerom looks at you with a nearly crazed frown—no, that’s her smile upside down—mad lust in her eyes, and teardrops every time her asshole is impaled by your shaft, down to the balls.

As much as you’re fucking Saerom, Saerom is fucking you. Regardless of her submissive position bent over the desk, she backs that ass up into you, and her smile shifts from smug to wild to docile and pliant with every thrust.

Thrust back and you see her gaped asshole, the width and consequences of your cock's pounding. It’s winking, at a rapid rhythm somewhere between her breaths and her heartbeat.

Who cares that you're in the middle of fucking Saerom’s unmatched ass—you can't help but get on your knees.

"Oh, fuck," Saerom says, "what are you—ohhh." 

Your tongue finds itself in Saerom’s used and stretched-out hole. One hand is holding an asscheek with a firm grip while the other hand is teasing her pussy lips. You drive your tongue deep enough that her asshole can’t just relax, can’t just ungape itself from being this well-fucked—it’d be a waste of effort and time, and you haven’t eaten out this perfect ass yet. The flavor is foreign but welcome, or whatever. Your lips refuse to release from her widened hole regardless of taste, and your tongue will rival Gluttony’s sin in your relentless analingus. If you do release, it’s only to kiss each of her plump cheeks, to give them the love they deserve, but her anus deserves more love with the bliss it sends to you. Give that love, and romance is returned in a thrumming moan, vibrating through the wood of the desk on which Saerom’s head lays.

In search of deepening that pleasant noise, you fully focus your hands’ attention on her leaking cunt. There were already clear strings leading from her slit to her thighs, from between her legs to the floor, but when you begin to insert fingers into her untongued hole and circle her clit, the leak becomes a whole-hearted drench. Saerom near crumples, slumping at the desk, your active hands keeping her from totally sliding off. The pitch of her voice heightens, and her whole body shakes.

"I’m f-fucking, cu-cumming!"

Your fingers are battering into her pussy, your tongue is sloppily tending to her asshole, and you’re kneeling next to a puddle growing as the spray from her cunt reaches its maximum pressure—

Catch her. As she shudders and limps into the floor as you envisioned, you hold Saerom as you two sit and inhale and exhale and inhale and—and slowly now, exhale.

"Slowly now, exhale," you say.

Saerom turns her head, eyes like a stray cat fed. Look deeper, and it’s more like there’s nothing there past the sclera’s white, the iris’ dark brown, dim of her pupils. The colors and shapes are all in the right places, sure. Nothing. Stroke her cheeks, its high bones, and her nose and her jaw. Be careful with those. Don’t get a cut on their sharp edges. The thought evolves: how sharp can she be? Her words and glare can cut, at times. Here, she’s feathers. She’s clouded; no, she's clouds. She’s fur. Looks back at you, the quietest smirk, like this one doesn’t say anything—she can be a cat, sure.

Though your breaths are now steady, you have to carry her as you relocate your two bodies to the bed. While Saerom’s orgasm has racked her, you are not faring much better. Truly flagging, it takes a whole minute until you’re both lying on the mattress—the clock you forgot or pretend not to care about said 10:28 with its longest hand up, then 10:29, longest hand up again when you look again.

Your arm under her neck, Saerom looks at you. "So we’re done for the night?" she asks.

You laugh weakly. "You’re asking like we’re not."

Saerom rolls her leg over your waist, hooking your erection between her calf and thigh to make a point.

Again, your laugh has little air to it. As much as you want to go on forever, spend all the moonlight fucking Saerom’s ass, you don’t have the energy left to move. You close your eyes, sorry in your heart for ignoring her succubine advance for a final round.

You’re going to sleep. One or five or thirty minutes pass. Can’t tell. The internal hourglass is too tired. Sand won’t even fall. There should be an ending here regardless.

Weight. Instead of an ending and empty darkness of sleep, weight, and heft, the now intimately familiar but always welcome warmth and plushness of Saerom’s butt against your crotch. You feel her hair scattered on your face, tickling and itching, and you half open your eyes, but you stay stock-still. Instead of next to you, Saerom is lying on top of you.

You should’ve known this would happen. It’s not the first time she’s done this to you, not even the first time on this bed. When you were stressed from the responsibilities and the changes of your new non-idol occupation, you answered a Saerom booty call, expecting to have fucked out your tension and worry. However, the moment you lay on her bed, you fell asleep—then woke up to Saerom sliding down onto your cock like it was a bomb that would explode at the slightest bump.

You didn’t complain then, and when you watch Saerom apply lube on her thighs, making them shiny and wet, you don’t complain now. The muted glimmer of her pale skin, her thighs giving way to your cockhead as it pokes out with each slide, yet those don’t compare to the loving caress of her flesh on your shaft.

Saerom must know you’re awake. There’s no way you can ignore the coolness of the lube on your tip, or her finger smearing the small beads of seed on your slit. She carries on yet, the sluggish up-down motion of her legs becoming a back and forth: she moves forward to slide your length against her pussy lips, then moves back to give your shaft her thighs' full embrace.

You buck up into her labia, her thighs, and that’s when she gives up the game, a chuckle as she shakes her head, moving hair off your face.

"Look at you," she whispers, "pretending to be asleep."

You groan when she grasps your shaft carelessly. "I didn’t want to interrupt."

She sits up, grabs the lube, applies more to your length by stroking and twisting, then guides your cock into her asshole before leaning back into your chest.

Kiss her neck. Lightly, with pecks, you didn't forget. It matches the verve with which Saerom fucks her ass into you.

That is to say, none.

Unlike with the desk, this is the laziest anal sex you’ve ever had. Every few seconds, a deliberate rolling of her ass. In, out, this piston couldn’t drive a toy car. There’s purring like a car anyway: guttural sounds from deep within your throat, Saerom matches them, still not used to the brute stretching of her asshole. If her pussy is a natural moist velvet that enveloped your cock, her asshole is the closest thing you can imagine to a sex toy, made to wring your cock out, lube fully necessary for the tightness. She's almost stuck on your shaft, making each act of pulling out a whole grippy ordeal.

After enough of this lethargic penetration, you endure the ordeal and unsheathe fully.

There's only one way this can end. You truly understand how this night is a cycle. The giver becomes the receiver; the subject becomes the agent—the push and the pull are bound in sequence.

Never any words to communicate the time to switch where they aren't needed and are a waste of oxygen by now. (You, the liar or the fool, must know you're fluent by now.)

You peel Saerom off your cock, setting her aside on the bed. You're not so gentle when you flip her over. She sits up, kneeling, facing away from you (facing the dear enemy, the clock, above the head of the bed). Hands on knees, she wiggles her ass and looks back at you. The soles of her feet are equally inviting, toes wiggling. (You want to bite them.) She bites her finger. Never fails to make you act.

You're quick to your feet, standing by the edge of the bed, and then grab Saerom's waist and pull her toward you. Falling forward, she gets on all fours.

Push.

If the rest of your life could be defined by pushing and pulling with Saerom, that would be fine by you.

Cock in her asshole, nothing more.

Fine, there's a little more. You're holding your shaft, your thumb on your tip, and you tease Saerom's anal entrance one last time. even if this hole has acclimatized to the exact mold of your dick's shape, evidenced by its continued gape, you can't help but savor a final time. You rub your tip around in a circle.

Enough of that. You push an hour into a minute, pull a minute into a second, push a second to the wayside. There is no truly timing in the animalistic act of doggystyle, especially not with Saerom. Hands in her hair, hands on her back, hands spanking hard against her ass, hands cupping her breast as you bend over and kiss where your fingers dug in, every thrust consolidating into one. You're under some self-made thrall, and Saerom is in that same complete thrall. With her feet keep kicking up at the sheer bulldozing force into her very guts, you take one moment of not having her ass in your hands to knead her soles. Then you're back inside, making sure that mold-tight hold of her asshole is perfectly set, or whatever was there is being rearranged. How you're fucking Saerom on all fours, it's like you're rushing for an ending, and you get what you want soon enough.

A single fiber of your being and your soul (in other words, hormones and nerves) becomes a quivering fire, then two fibers, then four, and the pretty pattern flowers into something equally pretty in its chaos.

As this night can't last forever, the doggystyle position can’t last either.

She falls back down, face onto the mattress, and she spreads her legs in a split. You keep pounding, your false energy like the retreating soldiers of a battle sounding off their final shots, and as you do, you massage her ass. Saerom shouts into her pillow at your throes, though it's equally spaced with satisfied hums at your unfailing handiwork. Hands are the only part of you that fail to fail. You want to fill her insides with cum, to destroy the crumbling dam of your restraint. Want to paint her guts white. Want becomes need. You’re fucking her hard enough to turn the necessary into the truth. 

"Saerom, I’m…" Finish your sentence. You can’t.

Saerom has her own idea about this ending anyway.

She pulls herself off you. Her tight anus is reluctant to let go of your pulsating cock (you empathize). Saerom rushes to your waist, crawling down to the floor and onto her knees in front of you. It gives you a second to breathe—no, it doesn’t; Saerom’s lips are sealed around your cock already. By the look in her eyes, she wants to suck your soul out. All uncertainty thrown aside, she pushes herself down into your length with a repeated rhythm. Each loud and forceful gag of her self-throatfucking comes with a mess of spit that stains her bed, waterfalls onto the floor.

However, you have the final say.

Grab her hair, pull your cock out of her mouth, and stroke yourself as you aim down.

The first shot hits her chin, dripping, but the other jets of cum cover her neck, her shoulders, and her collarbone, exactly as promised. There are no revelations in this orgasm—unfortunately, you haven’t been superhumanly recharged. The edge of your sight blackens and your knees halfway give out. For this is purely physical. Pure hormones and static sparking pleasure to your body as you stroke your cock to Saerom’s visage and form, and quivering fire is jittery lightning when you cover all that unblemished skin in sticky cum, vulgarizing, fulfilling promises sexy.

Your mouth is dry. Everything else too.

A phone is handed to you. A picture is taken. A smile is on her lips. (A final lesson, smiles don't drip the same way cum does.)

There should be an ending here, but see, climaxes are the true ending, and the true ending is just a necessity. As you and Saerom cuddle, there is an understanding. Comfortable, but uncomfortable. The future, a future, between the two of you exists in some uncertain state. The two of you might find something deeper in this bond, or might never know anything more than friendship and sex. Don’t think too hard for now. It exists unspoken, for now. Whatever would exist is far away from the confines of this bed, and this hold on her body, and eyelids lowering with the understandings between you intertwining—not solved, but trying; if it were solved, then you would just say it right now. We’re together. We’re not together. We’re just fucking. Who cares. If it were solved, there would be no ambiguity to the ghost touch of Saerom’s fingertips on your back and a breath trying to let a word out but letting that warm air become past sand in the glass bulbs and the upper bulb is damn near empty.

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AFF, AO3