#and sometimes you’d even regret getting his attention

[howlsofbloodhounds]

why has no one done the nasty dog trend thingy with killer being the subject. its always killer thirsting on everyone else even though the lyrics fit killer too.

“Get your mangy ass on” he’d say something like that shit. just look at the disdain he holds for swap

“me and cat mama” he’s literally a cat dad.

“back to the kitty cause she’s kinda pretty” not only cat dad, he is literally PRETTY. he is pretty do you hear me

yeah sure whatever killer is thirsty or flirtatious or whatever and a nasty dog.

no more of killer thirsting after everyone else more of people wanting killer’s attention or affection and not fucking getting it because whoever is not even noteworthy of his curiosity his ass is hard to get and not even intentionally he just doesn’t care enough to pay whoever any attention

[midday-clouds]

Yandere Batfamily x Neglected & "Immortal" Reader 》I Part II Part III Part IV

There are many yandere batfam x neglected reader but I can't get enough of them--- So here is a silly story idea I have

I don't go into too much detail about how the reader is immortal but I'll probably share about it another timeee

CW: Neglect, Self-Degrading, Kidnapping, Violence(Being shot at), Blood, "Death"

Reader is a product of a hookup between Bruce and some random other woman, your mom

You and your mom had a decent relationship. The two of you would help each other out and have fun playing games. You were so content without knowing who your father was.

Your world begins to collapse when your mom doesn’t come home one day. A bunch of strange people suddenly come into your house and drag you out. You never understood what happened that day besides that you were now alone.

After your mother is announced dead, you find out that you are related to the millionaire, Bruce Wayne. You don’t know much about him but still find yourself put on the Wayne Manor's doorstep

Bruce had just gone through the loss of Jason and had just taken Tim in. He would have happily made some space in his schedule but a case always comes up and makes him forget about you.

Due to Bruce being too busy, you never properly mourned for your mother. Alfred would try to help you but you needed your dad.

For the first week, you locked yourself in your room, almost immediately forgotten by the rest of the family. Alfred would bring meals to your room, knowing that you aren't ready for any sort of interaction in this state. 

Alfred tries to convince Bruce to prioritize your health but there is always a case that takes up all of his attention

After that first week, you become comfortable enough to try and get out of your room at least.

With you around the manor more, the family begins to see them more often but not enough to care.

All of them were busy being vigilantes and weren’t interested in connecting with you. Sure, don't mean to neglect you, but some criminals just don't know when to stop

This worsens your mental state, making them regret not trying to bond with their family earlier. If they had tried in the beginning, then maybe they would have made connections with your new family. Now it feels like they've lost their chance

Alfred would do his best to comfort you but he could only help so much.

When you met Dick, it was when he was stopping by to talk to Bruce. You both had a fun conversation together but that was it.

After that first interaction, you tried to talk to Dick more often when he stopped by, but it seems the first time was just lucky. Dick always had something that didn't allow for a quick chat,

Meeting Jason was honestly terrifying. You were in the kitchen when you heard some noise from outside. It's dark outside so you walk up to the window to see what the sound was

Because of the darkness outside and lights inside, you mainly just see your reflection when looking outside

You squint your eyes to try to see past the reflection when a red helmet pops up and frightened you

Falling onto the ground, you stare in shock at seeing the stranger open the window and step inside

Jason tries to relax your nerves by taking off his helmet, showing he isn't a threat. It doesn't help much when you don't even know who he is

He explains himself after seeing your confused look and you both end up having a small conversation. It was nice until Bruce came in and pulled Jason away.

You never seem to meet Jason again

There were very few instances where you interacted with Tim. Even though you lived in the same house, Tim was always busy.

You’d both exchange small greetings when seeing each other in the hall but that was it. You didn't want to disturb him so you never stopped by his room

you hoped that when Tim had free time, the two could hang out. However, Tim always made plans that you couldn't fit into

Sometimes you would hear that Tim has been playing a game with his friends and you would play it but by yourself.

After a couple of years, Damian enters the family and you were so excited

Because Damian was new to the family, you thought it would be the perfect opportunity to bond with him

That didn't go well. He almost stabbed you

Your opinion of Damian was quick to go sour.

Damian's acts to show authority have gotten you scared of walking around the manor and frightened of animals. Specifically Titus.

It is quite unfortunate as you love animals and to have a dog in the family would bring you so much joy. Too bad Titus has attacked and chased you on multiple occasions

You didn't know what to do with the violence Damian had been taking out on you. You don't feel comfortable talking to Bruce and don't want to bother Alfred. This leads to you bottling up your emotions and locking yourself in your room

During your time, you spent reflecting on your life. Being in the manor isn't helping your mental health so it would be good to go outside more. Due to your constant attempts to bond with your family, you don't spend too much time with your friends from school

Seeing this as another perfect opportunity, you make plans with your friends to get out of the house and have a bit of self-care

Once the day comes, you quickly pack a small backpack and leave the house, only leaving a note for Alfred that says where you're at.

Finally getting some “fresh” air and being surrounded by those who feel more like family than your real family

You all have the best day and make plans for more get-togethers. 

It may not be the safest to be out so often but you’ve lived in Gotham your whole life, you know the safety procedures to stay safe. There isn't much news on you so people don't even recognize you as Bruce’s kid

Of course, something had to happen

You and your friends had just finished a fun day and you realize that your bike was stolen, meaning you don't have a way home. Your friends offered to take you home but you declined out of politeness. If something does go wrong, you ask your friends to call you to check up on you

Your walk home is longer than expected and it’s getting darker. As you walk through the streets of Gotham, you’re suddenly pulled into an alley and are threatened with a gun

There a three masked guys and one of them seems to have recognized you as Bruce’s kid, changing their plan to use you for ransom

You’re knocked out and taken to an abandoned building where you’re tied up to a pipe in the back

The kidnappers have a ransom letter and take it to the Wayne manor, including the small backpack you carried around

Unfortunately, Alfred was on his month-long vacation and Bruce was the one to receive the letter

He takes the time to contact "all" his kids and they're all perfectly fine and he doesn't recognize the backpack that was sent with the letter. There was a wallet but no ID card of any kind. The letter also didn't have a name on it.

Bruce brings up the case to the rest of the family but they agree that it may be a scam. 

The letter was likely from some desperate person who was trying to trick Bruce into giving money so it was put on the side while the family worked on a bigger case. 

Because of this, you’re held hostage for an unknown amount of days before the kidnappers get tired of waiting and shoot you in the gut out of frustration 

You’re filled with immense pain from the bullet before darkness consumes you.

More days pass before you wake up, still tied to a pipe and blood stained clothes

It seems your kidnappers had left your body behind rather than getting rid of it. You’ve been struggling with the rope since you have been taken and it was paying off because you can see that you can almost get your hands free.

Once you're out of the building, it is midnight. You immediately run back to the manor the moment you find a family path.

No one is there to notice you make your way back to your room. Because of how long it's been, you don't leave a trail of blood. Maybe some dirt but hopefully it won't be too hard to clean up

You debate on what action to take next. Looking in the mirror, the injury from the bullet is gone and you don't want to go to the hospital

One thing that is clear though is that you are extremely hungry and how dirty you feel. With this on your mind, you do your best to clean yourself up before going down to the kitchen

You don't feel comfortable talking to anyone so thankfully the rest of the family is busy at night,

Once you are sure no one is around, you take a bunch of snacks and hurry back to your room

In your room, you eat everything until you finally feel full. Hopefully, you don't just throw everything up because it feels so nice to finally have something in your stomach

Your nerves begin to relax and you truly take in the events that happened

How are you still alive? You were shot and haven't had food for days. What happened? Did Bruce not get the ransom letter? Why did no one save you? Did your friends call you?

Quickly remembering your friends, you look for your phone but are unable to find it. Not wanting to worry your friends, you open up your laptop to contact your friends through there. You see that you've gotten multiple calls and messages from your friends and it honestly makes you happy, knowing that there were people that worried and cared about you. You quickly text your friends and tell them what happened (Not mentioning how you survived being shot)

During your chat, the topic changes to college stuff. Your senior year has just ended a couple of weeks ago and it would be good for you to move out and be closer to those that make you happy. Also, after the kidnapping, you don’t want to be near your current family. They were the reason you were kidnapped and didn’t even bother to help you

Your friends suggest going to college outside of Gotham, perhaps in Bludhaven.

After many years of being stuck in a family that does nothing but hurt you, you got an acceptance letter for a school in Bludhaven. You were so happy and had a small celebration with your friends. Unfortunately, none of your friends would be joining you but you couldn’t wait to truly be free. 

Alfred returns from his vacation and reviews all the work that he left behind, along with Bruce’s mail. He knows Bruce has likely already reviewed them but it helps Alfred get back on pace with his work

He finds the discarded ransom letter and immediately checks up on you.

When he goes to your room, he finds the room empty besides some items that you weren’t planning to bring to college with you. This worries Alfred more and goes to Bruce’s office to confront him about the letter.

Bruce is filled with immense guilt when he realizes he forgot that you existed and now you could be dead in an abandoned building. Him and the rest of your family completely forgot about you

Bruce has an emergency meeting with everyone where he explains the situation. Once a plan is set, they all go out in the night to find you. However, they only find loose restraints with dried-up blood and a broken phone.

When the family returns to the manor, Tim goes to his room to fix the phone, Bruce and Damian go to the Batcave to review the cameras, Dick and Jason decide to visit your room

With Alfred’s help, Dick and Jason find your room and take a look around. It isn’t the biggest and barely has anything in it. 

Jason finds some old and filled journals and looks through them. There is a checklist for school work, notes to yourself, and personal entries. He understands the emotions you put in your journal and wants to protect you. Especially when he reads your last entry about your kidnapping 

Dick looks at the decorations you have on the wall. There are some glow-in-the-dark stars, some posters from school events, etc. One of the posters is for a theater show and he wonders if you were a part of it. Either an actor or tech person, Dick wonders why he never heard about your shows. He attempts to take a poster off the wall but the tape used peeled some of the paint off the wall.

Bruce loads up the camera and looks at what happened the day the ransom letter was given to Bruce. You had this happy smile as you made sure you had everything you needed before going through the front door. About a week later, Bruce sees you on the camera, in bloodied clothes and completely exhausted. This brings a wave of relief to Bruce while Damian looks closely at the camera footage. The front of your shirt is covered in blood and has a hole in it, but you seem completely uninjured. 

The last thing the two see of you is you slowly taking your stuff out of the manor and officially moving out

Bruce and Damian find your room to update Dick and Jason on their findings.

They’re thankful that you’re alive but still need to see you in the flesh. Looking around your bedroom, there aren't many clues about where you have gone. 

Tim takes a few days to fix the damage on your phone. At the very least, he needs to save the data that was kept on the phone. After messing with a few parts of your phone, he transfers all the data to his computers.

Once everything is saved, Tim lets his curiosity get the best of him and looks through all of your stuff before informing the rest of the family. All your photos, text messages, etc. He sees all the calls and voicemails your friends sent you on the day you were kidnapped.

Tim continues to learn more about your interests and your efforts to spend time with the family. You ranting to your friends about only playing a game or reading a book because someone in the family has read or played it.

Tim ends up having a copy of all your data for personal use before speaking to the rest of the family

Your phone is finally fixed and Tim can use it to find the location of your laptop. All the way in Bludhaven

With new hope, the family begins their search for you

They just need to take you home and keep you safe

Forever

[yinemw]

𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

context: taking a bath with bf Viktor (gender neutral reader) I’d also like to add that this is my first time writing for a disabled character. Personally I’m not disabled so I wouldn’t know how that feels like, and it is not my intention to offend anyone or make Viktor’s disability the main focus in my writing. If anything is offensive or you guys have any tips or criticisms, I am happy to learn and fix anything!

warnings: nudity, nothing explicit though

character: Viktor from Arcane

m.list

“Is it working?” you asked innocently from behind Viktor, hands on his shoulders as you gently massage his muscles. Maybe a bit too softly for Viktor, he knew why though, you were always scared to hurt him, ever since the surgery on his back you were always extra gentle during your massages. So he knew why your fingertips sometimes felt feather light against his muscles.

“Oh uhm, yes” he answers, having been lost in his own thoughts as he looked down at the floor. Thinking about hextech as usual, new ways to improve and understand it. Wishing he was at the lab with Jayce, he didn’t like when you and Jayce wanted him to rest. “I’m feeling fine, let’s go to the lab”

“Viktor no” a sigh slips past your lips as you hold him down by the shoulders, making sure Viktor didn’t get up from the bed. The room dimly lit by a few candles and the moon shining from between the curtains. “It’s late—”

“Jayce is probably there”

“So you’d rather spend time with Jayce than me?”

“No that’s not what I said, it’s the hextech”

Your eyebrows furrow and fingers stop working on his shoulders. “You’d rather spend time working on hextech then spend time with me then”

He could hear the hurt in your voice and regretted his words. This wasn’t the first time you two had discussed the lack of time you spent together as a couple. Yes you saw each other at the lab every day, but it wasn’t like you were spending time with your boyfriend, it was spending time with your co-worker. “That’s not what I meant, and you know that” Viktor looks over his shoulder at you, leaning his forehead against yours. “I just feel restless…”

You knew that, you always paid more attention to Viktor than anyone else. It wasn’t because of his condition or anything , your gaze often just naturally wandered over to the pretty man. It was hard to take your eyes off of him, so you always saw the change of body language, knowing when he feels restless. “I know a way you could relax…since this massage clearly isn’t helping”

★

“Are you…joining me?” Viktor asked softly, leaning on his cane as he looked down at the bathtub. A few bubbles covering the surface of the warm water.

You light the last candle, placing it by the sink before turning to him. “If you want”

“I want” was all he said, letting his cane lean against the counter as he started to undress. Feeling your soft hands graze his skin as you help him, not like he necessarily needed the help to undress, but it was much appreciated. Today was just one of those days where everything seemed dull and dark, his body and mind both tired and restless at the same time.

With a little more help, Viktor sunk into the warm water of the bathtub, eyes closing as his mind wanders back to hextech. “I should be at the lab…”

“I will drown you”

A small smile spreads to his lips as he cracks open his eye to watch you undress. His beautiful significant other, the person who had stuck with him through everything. Who puts up with him and his stubbornness every single day and turned it into something amusing instead. “You’re beautiful” he mumbles, the words said in his accent seemed to have an even bigger effect on you.

Clearing your throat to pretend like nothing, you slip into the water. Sitting on the opposite side of the tub, knees held to your chest due to the small space. “We need to get a bigger bathtub” you say after watching some of the water spill over the edge.

Viktor had closed his eyes again, the tips of his hairs also submerged in the water. He felt light, and warm. It helped soothe his aches and pains, even if it was only a little, it was enough to make him feel more laid back than usual.

Finding a wash cloth and some soap, you gently start to rub it against Viktor’s skin. Starting with his shoulders, you lift his arms slightly to make sure you get every part of his body. You knew Viktor liked when you did this, the smell of your body wash and the gentle touch against his skin was always comforting.

But it wasn’t enough, wasn’t intimate enough. Discarding the washcloth, you decided to use your hands only. Skin to skin contact, to feel his muscles and skin against your fingertips. The soap making little bubbles float to the surface of the water, covering up his bare body. Some of the bubbles getting stuck to his neck and chin, glistening in the flickering lights of the candles.

“You okay?” You ask, just in case. He hadn’t said anything and his eyes had been closed the entire time. The sound of his soft breathing and water droplets filling the room.

He opens his eyes slowly, golden brown eyes meeting yours. Eyelashes wet due to the steam. “Yes” he answered simply, lifting his arms out of the water and tracing his slender hands across your chest and stomach. Innocent and soft touches against your skin, he pulled you closer to him. Not satisfied until you laid down between his legs. “I want to stay like this…you must be tired too”

He was right, you were tired, you just didn’t seem to realize until you felt how comfortable it was to lay against your boyfriend. You settle between his thighs and get into a more comfortable position, back rested against his chest. Viktor’s arms circling around your waist, holding you close and making sure you don’t slip underneath the surface of the water. His chin resting on top of your head, your body felt so soft and warm against his.

When Viktor first moved to Piltover he never understood the pleasure in taking a bath. To simply sit and soak in the water when there was so much else to do. But his whole perspective changed when he started dating you. You changed him, made his life easier, made his life brighter. As much as he wants to work at the lab, to build hextech into something that can help people, you made him realize that’s not all his life is about. So he tries to soak up every moment he has with you, and baths became a frequent routine in your relationship.

“Vik, did you fall asleep?” You chuckle softly, hearing how his breath slowed and how his arms loosened around your body. “We are going to turn into raisins if we stay here any longer, come on mister scientist”

Viktor groans, mumbling something under his breath as you force him out of the tub. Though he had to admit the water was starting to get a little too cold for his liking. And even if he would have preferred to stay a little longer, he couldn’t fight his smile as you tease him about his grumpiness.

“Do you enjoy making fun of a burnt out scientist, hm?” He teases back, throwing his towel over your head before starting to make a move to the bedroom. Still butt-naked, taking only his cane with him, the door to the bathroom wide open as he walks out. “I can feel you staring”

“Shut up!” You yell, though he wasn’t wrong. Taking a few extra seconds to admire his back, the way some water droplets still slid down his skin from the tips of his hairs. It wasn’t a view you could get sick of seeing easily.

After getting ready for bed, you join Viktor in the bedroom, seeing him already lay on the bed. Covers pulled up to his chin and eyes closed, though you knew he wasn’t asleep, his little snores were hard to miss.

“Oh to be a pretty sleeper”

Viktor only smiles sleepily, feeling the bed dip underneath your weight. He didn’t have to open his eyes or do anything, you naturally moved between his arms, molding to his body like a puzzle piece.

“So the bath helped you relax?”

“It does every time”

“Mmm good” you nuzzle into his neck, breathing in the scent of your body wash. His skin still a little damp and warm, some of the wet strands of his hair sticking to your forehead. You could feel how Viktor’s body went limp in your embrace after a few seconds. The room filling with his soft snores. If he fell asleep so quickly you knew he wasn’t lying, the bath really did do wonders.

“Goodnight Vik…sleep well my love”

[missdynamighttt]

About the interview thing where Bakugou say "when I make love to my wife", here is a few more lines he could say! Imagine Bakugou softer when talking about that. He has a lost look and a strange smile on his face, all because of his girl.

"The bed it's our kingdom and she's my queen".

"That's where I belong. In her."

"Being a hero is just my job, something I'm good at for a while. But making love to her? There's nothing better. Knowing that I'm the only one who can make her feel like that, who can adore her like that... And she's the only one for me too. Nothing else matters. Not the fights, the danger, the villains, the paperwork, the pressure or the expectations. Just a husband and wife loving each other all night along."

And in this context, Bakugou would say that he finds pathetic and sad that a man only lasts a few minutes and only one round. Sometimes he hears his fellow heroes talk about sex and he can only feel sorry for their girlfriends, but also proud to know that his wife will never know how those girls feel, because for Katsuki Bakugou if a man is not willing to last at least all night, if each round does not last more than 10 minutes, if he does not have his woman crying with pleasure and love, If he doesn't make her not remember how many times she came, if he don't have sex with her every single day without miss, if she is not on the verge of fainting without being able to walk the next day, is the man really a man or just a poor attempt?

as your husband walks through the threshold of your home, the sound of the lock clicking behind him echoes in the quiet room. katsuki immediately notices the change in the air—there's an awkward tension that wasn't there when he left.

you’re avoiding his gaze, busily moving around the kitchen, trying to keep your mind occupied. you’re embarrassed, the thought of his words replaying in your mind again and again.

the fact that he shared such... intimate, genuine thoughts with the entire world... it wasn’t that you were ashamed, but the sudden attention on your private life caught you off-guard.

"so... you’re gonna act like you didn’t just see me on tv?" katsuki says with a hint of curiosity, and a touch of worry as he notices how your back was turned away from him.

without a word, you feel the heat of his body as he presses himself against your back, his strong hands settling on your waist. he presses his lips to the side of your neck, warm and soft against your skin. it starts off slow and gentle at first, but there’s an underlying urgency to it, a need for your attention.

"i'm sorry, baby," he murmurs between kisses. "i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, alright?"

"katsuki," you scold as he apologizes, your breath hitches when he places a particularly slow kiss on your collarbone, warmth from his affection still lingering in your chest.

"i’m sorry… but i don’t regret saying any of it. you’re my wife, and i’m fuckin' proud of it. i'm the one who gets to love you like this. i'm the one who gets to fuck you so hard you see stars."

katsuki doesn't stop kissing you, his kisses growing more insistent, but you don’t let him off the hook so easily. you finally turn around, gently pushing him back, even as your heart races.

"i just can't believe you said all that. on live tv," it’s clear you’re not mad, unsure of how to handle this side of him— this soft, unfiltered honesty as his lips trail down your neck to your shoulder.

his fiery gaze softens just a little, and then presses another kiss to your lips, this one slower, deeper, as if to reassure you. "i know, baby, i'm sorry. just… don’t ignore me, okay? it hurts."

"you’re unbelievable," your voice holds more affection than you’d like to admit. "you just gonna let millions of people know how much stamina you have, huh? bet they all think you're some kind of—"

sex god. but before you can say it, katsuki presses a firm kiss to your lips, cutting off your words, his hands slipping around your back to pull you in even closer. he doesn’t let you retreat this time, his lips working their magic on you, unable to ignore the way your body betrays you.

"don't fuckin' care. you're still my wife, sweets. you’re the only one who matters to me. maybe i just need to show you how much i love you. properly."

you scold him with a half-hearted shove, but there's no real heat behind it. "you really know how to make a woman want to kill you and kiss you at the same time, don’t you?"

as he pulls away just enough to look you in the eye, feeling the heat of his gaze. you can’t deny the way his words, his kisses, have melted the tension between you. "you know you're the only one for me, sweets. always."

"i know. but you’re still crazy for doing that."

he chuckles, pulling you close, burying his face in your hair. "yeah, well… crazy’s what you get when you’ve got an amazin' fuckin' wife like you."

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ SHAMELESS KATSUKI ENJOYER NUMBER TWO OMGOMG

[spidercat2099]

Kento doesn't go out for drinks... usually.

Nanami hadn’t planned on going out for drinks that night. He never did. He’d perfected the art of declining invitations with a polite yet firm excuse—too much work, an early morning, simply not interested. It wasn’t that he disliked his coworkers, but the thought of spending his precious free time in a noisy bar, pretending to enjoy small talk, felt like a waste. Time was valuable, and he refused to spend it on anything he didn’t deem worthwhile.

But then there was you.

You hadn’t asked him outright, just offhandedly mentioned, “You never come out with us, huh? What, do you go home and stare at the ceiling after work?” The way you smirked, teasing but not unkind, had struck a nerve—because yes, sometimes he did exactly that.

And maybe it was the way you said it. Maybe it was the way you looked at him, expecting another dismissive answer. Maybe it was because, lately, he’d found himself lingering in conversations with you just a little too long, noticing the way you tilted your head when you listened, the way you lit up when you talked about something you cared about. Maybe it was because, when he really thought about it, the idea of spending an evening with you didn’t feel like a waste at all.

So he went. He arrived late, and the second he stepped inside, he regretted it—too loud, too many people, the kind of place he usually avoided. But then he saw you, sitting at a corner booth, laughing at something a coworker said, and somehow, it didn’t seem so unbearable.

You noticed him immediately, eyes widening in surprise before softening into something warmer. “Didn’t think you’d actually come,” you admitted as he slid into the seat next to you.

He sighed, loosening his tie a little more. “Neither did I.”

He didn’t engage much with the others, his responses polite but brief. Most of his attention was on you—not that he’d ever admit it. He watched the way your face lit up when you laughed, how effortlessly you fit into the energy of the group. He wasn’t particularly fond of loud, crowded places, but if it meant sitting beside you, watching your eyes crinkle when you smiled, he found that he didn’t mind it as much.

But you weren’t about to let him sit there like an observer. No, you were determined to make him enjoy himself, too. Your eyes flicked to the whiskey glass he had barely touched. "C'mon, that can't be the only thing you're drinking."

"I don’t drink much—" he began, but then the bartender placed a fresh round of shots in front of you.

"Just one?" You held up a glass, tilting your head slightly.

He should say no. He knows he should say no. But with the way you were looking at him, expectant and playful, how could he? With a quiet sigh, he picked up the shot, tapping it against yours before downing it.

"That’s… terrible," he muttered, setting the glass down with a slight grimace.

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. "It is, but it gets the job done!"

He pressed his lips together, but you swore you caught the ghost of a smile. Or maybe you were already tipsy and imagining things.

"One more!" You lifted a finger to the bartender, but before you could complete the order, Kento's hand was on your wrist, lowering it gently.

"Maybe you should slow down." His voice was steady, but there was something in his expression—concern, maybe.

You pouted, glancing at the fresh shot as the bartender slid it over. "But he already served it… I don’t wanna waste it."

He sighed, rubbing his temple. "Look, you won’t waste it. I’ll drink it, hm?" He extended his hand, waiting for you to pass it over.

You stared at him for a moment, then shook your head. Instead, you picked up the shot yourself. Without warning, you cupped his face.

His breath hitched. Your palms were warm against his skin, and suddenly, he was more aware of your presence than ever before. His pulse ticked in his throat as he met your gaze, trying to decipher your intentions. He could have stopped you—should have stopped you—but he didn’t.

You brought the glass to his lips, tilting it slightly. His jaw tensed for a brief second before he relented, parting his lips as he let you tip the shot into his mouth. The alcohol burned, but it wasn’t what made his chest feel tight. It was you. The way you were looking at him. The way your thumb lingered, brushing against the corner of his lips, wiping away a stray drop of liquor.

"Better?" His voice was lower, rougher.

"Better," you murmured, but your eyes weren’t on his anymore. They were on his lips.

You leaned in. Closer. Closer.

And Kento, despite every rational part of him telling him he shouldn’t, didn’t move away. Especially when your soft lips touched his. He let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. His hand came up to the back of your head, kissing you deeper.

With reluctance, he finally pulled back. He bit his bottom lip gently as he tasted the contrast of the liquor to your sweet coconut-flavored chapstick.

Your mouth stayed open as you caught your breath. "Tell me. Was it worth it to come out tonight?" you asked.

He nodded, moving his hand to caress your flushed skin tenderly. "Do I get a kiss every time I do?"

You let out a small laugh. "You don't have to go out just to get one. But if you want, I'll give you a kiss every time." You lean in again, kissing his lips gently as if savoring every second. He could get used to this.

[aemondloverr]

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐉𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐭. 𝐈

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐) 

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 • 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: As the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra, you are sent to the North to negotiate terms with Lord Stark.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: Disapproving Jace

𝐰𝐜: 𝟐.𝟒𝐤

𝐀/𝐍: Ngl school was kicking my ass but I still wanna deliver 😪 (btw, cregan appears in the next part, not the first. sorryyy :p

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

“Mother? You sent for me?”

Rhaenyra is sitting at a table in her chambers, sipping wine and surrounded by various papers and documents. She looks up as you enter and a soft smile tugs at her lips, her eyes seeming to light up for just a moment

“Yes, my daughter. Come, sit with me.”

She pats the seat beside her, clearing a space among the piles of documents. There's an expectant look in her eye, her gaze resting on you

“I have something to discuss with you.”

Oh no

You know whenever those words come from the mouth of a mother, it’s never good. You’re either in trouble, or it’s something serious.

You approach the chair nervously and sit.

She sighs and sets down her glass of wine, shifting her attention fully to you. Her eyes seem to search your face for a moment before she speaks again.

“You're growing up so fast, you know that? It feels like just yesterday you were a little girl running through the gardens, laughing and playing with your brothers.”

You smile at the mention of fond memories.

Oh Gods. A speech is always a bad indicator. Especially one of childhood.

A pang of bittersweet nostalgia seems to pass over Rhaenyra’s features as she continues, her voice taking on a hint of regret

“Sometimes, I wish I could freeze time and keep you just as you are right now, still young and innocent, before the world has a chance to harden your heart. But… that’s not the way things work, is it?”

“I know mother…” Your smile quickly fades and you worry for what she’ll say next.

Rhaenyra holds your gaze for a moment before she speaks again, her voice soft and earnest

“You're much more perceptive than your brothers, you know that? You always were, even as a child. You always seemed to know what I was thinking before I even said it-”

“Is there something you want me to do?” It would be nice if she stopped beating around the bush and just asked.

She takes a deep breath as if steeling herself for what comes next, her gaze unwavering and intent on you

“…As you know, my reign is not without its challenges. There are those who question my claim to the throne, who think that my rule is not rightful. I need you to understand, my love, that in the future you may be forced to make difficult decisions, decisions that will impact not just your own life, but the future of the entire realm.”

You stare, expectantly

“This is why I am asking you to go to Winterfell…”

What…??

“But mother…”

She knows that this is the part where you'll likely protest

“I know you don't want to go, my love. I know that leaving home, leaving me, is difficult for you. Believe me, I would not ask this of you if there was any other option.”

“But Cregan…you know what he did…”

You’d expected something important yes, but this?…This was simply too much to ask of you .

Her hand comes to rest on top of yours in a comforting gesture.

“I know, my love. I know it hurt you greatly, believe me, it pained me to see you so distraught.”

“So why can’t you send Jace. Why would you send me to see him??”

“Jace is a good, honourable boy. I know he would do his duty and serve me well as a diplomatic envoy to Winterfell. But he is not you. I'm sending you for a reason, my love.”

“And why’s that??” You begin to get frustrated

Rhaenyra looks straight into your eyes, her gaze unwavering as she speaks

“Because Cregan Stark is a proud and stubborn man, one who values strength and resilience. He is unlikely to listen to just anyone. But he knows you. He once cared for you, deeply. I'm sending you there as someone who has the potential to sway him to our cause.”

“This is not fair. How could you even consider asking me this when you know—“

She sees you tearing up and reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face, her touch, gentle and tender

“You know that duty must take precedence over desire…”

“For the realm...” You mutter, a tear falling

Rhaenyra's heart aches to see the tears in your eyes, but she doesn't falter in her resolve. She lifts her free hand to your face, gently wiping away a tear that threatens to spill down your cheek.

“Yes, my love. For the realm…”

She gently pulls you closer, letting you rest your head against her shoulder. She runs her fingers through your hair, her touch soft and soothing

“…For our family. For all the people we are sworn to protect.”

*****

Later that evening at supper

The entire family is gathered around the large table in the dining hall, eating their supper and engaging in light conversation. Rhaenyra is seated at the head of the table, daemon at the other with Jace seated to her left and Luke to her right.

Joffrey is seated across from Jace, chattering away happily about some toy he received. Rhaenyra glances up to where you are sitting, a small but weary smile on her face

Jace notices your quieter-than-usual demeanor and nudges you gently with his elbow

“Hey, are you alright? You're awfully quiet tonight.”

“Yea I’m alright, I’ll tell you later” you whisper.

Jace looks at you for a moment, his expression one of concern, but nods understandingly. He returns to his food, but you can feel his gaze occasionally flicking over to you throughout the meal.

*****

Rhaenyra stands and taps her glass.

At her signal, the conversation around the table dies down, and everyone turns to face her. Rhaenyra stands, her expression serious as she looks around at her family

She clears her throat and speaks, her voice steady and commanding

"Before everyone retires for the evening, I have an announcement to make."

Rhaenyra takes a deep breath, her gaze flickering briefly to you before continuing.

"As you all know, the stability of the realm depends on maintaining strong alliances and relationships with our noble houses. It is therefore necessary for me to send an envoy to Winterfell to reinforce our ties there."

A pause.

"I have decided to send your sister to Winterfell as our representative. She will leave in two days' time."

There is a moment of stunned silence as the rest of the family processes this information. Jace looks over at you, his forehead creasing with confusion. Luke's mouth has dropped open in surprise. Even Joffrey is silent, for once.

Jace protests. Daemon just sits back and watches the drama

He speaks up immediately, his voice filled with concern

"Mother, surely you can't be serious? You're sending our sister all the way to Winterfell? Alone? It's too dangerous!"

Rhaenyra looks at Jace with sympathy but irritation at his protest.

"I understand your concern, my son, but this decision is not up for debate. Your sister is perfectly capable of handling herself and representing our house honorably."

“At least let me go with her“

"No, Jace. I cannot spare you here, I need you by my side. One dragon in the open is enough and the greens could spot you” your mother says sternly.

“Mother you can’t just-”

Joffrey cries and Luke tries to comfort him. He doesn’t like the arguing and yelling

“It is done Jacaerys. You will argue no more about this!”

You quickly excuse yourself from the table, hurrying to your chambers.

Jace looks like he wants to say something, but Rhaenyra gives him a warning glance, and he reluctantly stays silent

As you head back to your chambers, you can hear the murmurs of the rest of the family resume, their low voices discussing the announcement Rhaenyra made. As you begin to pack your things, there's a soft knock on your door

“Enter”

Jace enters the room, closing the door behind him. He stands awkwardly for a moment, his hands fidgeting at his sides. Finally, he takes a deep breath and speaks, his voice filled with concern

"Are you really okay with this, going to Winterfell and seeing...him again?"

“I…have to” your back is turn from him as you put your clothing into leather bags

His expression softens and he moves closer to you, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder* "I know, but that doesn't make it any easier. I don't want you to get hurt, especially not by him."

“You need not worry Jace, I will be fine.” You already know that’s a lie. And he does too. But saying it out loud makes it feel true.

"You can say that all you want, but that doesn't make it any less worrying. I know how much he meant to you before."

“I am not going there to pursue him, I am going there to gain the North as an ally for our house.”

Jace nods, his expression serious once more

"I know that's the purpose of the mission, but you can't deny that seeing him again will be hard for you. You have feelings for him."

“What are you saying Jace.”

Jace sighs and runs a hand through his hair, glancing at you with concern "I'm saying that you're fooling yourself if you think going to Winterfell and seeing Cregan Stark isn't going to stir up feelings you thought you had buried."

“So what if it does…It’s not like I’m going to act on them.” You’re just going to do what is asked of you and leave. Nothing more.

"You say that now, but what happens if he wants to revisit the past with you? What if he wants to rekindle what you had between you?"

You let out a huff of frustration. “Just stop Jace. You don’t know anything anyways…”

He takes a step back, his expression hurt, almost. "What do I know? I know that you've been in love with Cregan Stark since you were children, and I know how much it hurt you when he left and you still haven’t gotten over it!”

You turn and look at him in disbelief that he would mention the very thing you’ve been trying to avoid. “Just go…Leave!”

Jace's expression softens at your harsh tone, and he takes another step back, swallowing thickly. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it again, his eyes flicking to the ground before back up to you.

“Fine.”

He shuts the door with force.

You stand alone in your room, the silence heavy and oppressive without Jace's presence. You feel your emotions welling up inside of you, a mixture of anger and sadness and frustration at Jace's words. But deep down, you can't shake the feeling that you know he’s right.

*****

For the next two days you stay in your room, packing and pondering until the night it’s time to leave.

The atmosphere in the castle is tense, the realization of your imminent departure hanging heavy in the air. Rhaenyra and the rest of the family have gathered to see you off.

Rhaenyra stands next to Silverwing, watching you with a mixture of sadness and pride. The dragon emits a low, melancholic whine, as if sensing the gravity of the situation. The boys and daemon stand on either side of Rhaenyra, their faces stoic but anxious.

“I will see you in few weeks time.”

Rhaenyra nods, her expression solemn. She steps forward and hugs you tightly, pulling you to her chest. The hug is firm and possessive, conveying a mixture of love and protectiveness.

"Be safe, my love. I will count every day until your return."

You step aside to hug Jace. He returns your hug, his arms wrapping around you tightly. He holds you close for a moment, his chin resting on the top of your head. When he pulls back, his expression is still serious, and he mutters quietly.

"Be careful, alright? Don't do anything stupid."

“No promises…”

Jace gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before stepping back to allow Luke to say his goodbyes. Luke hugs you tightly, burying his face into your shoulder. When he pulls back, he's fighting back tears, his voice wavering when he speaks

"I don't want you to go."

Joffrey then hugs at your waist, teary eyed, his aebottom lip trembling.

"Please don't go, please...I want you to stay."

Joffrey buries his face into your stomach, his small hands tugging at your dress. Luke places a hand on Joffrey's shoulder, trying to soothe his younger brother's distress. He looks at you helplessly, his own eyes glassy with tears

“Hush sweetlings…I wont be gone forever” You kiss their cheeks and tops of their heads

"You'll come back, right? You promise?"

“I promise.”

Joffrey and Luke both look up at you, their eyes wide and pleading, searching your face for assurance. Rhaenyra steps forward, her hand resting on each of their shoulders.

"Your sister will be back before you know it, and she'll come back with a great success for our house."

Even Jace tears up a bit but rolls his eyes, trying to play it off.

"I'm not tearing up. I just got something in my eye, that's all." He rubs at his eye, trying to cover up the fact that he is, in fact, on the verge of crying.

Then comes Daemond with a large, tight hug, practically suffocating you.

“Alright alright I love you too” you struggle with a strained voice and he finally lets go

“Just come back in one piece.”

“You know I will” you playfully push his shoulder.

You tie your bags to Silverwing and mount her saddle, blowing air kisses as you lead silver wing out of the den and out into the dark of the night.

The entire family watches as you and Silverwing take flight, the dragon's wings beating strongly as you soar into the black sky.

A sense of melancholy hangs in the air, the weight of your absence already palpable among those left behind. Rhaenyra's expression is solemn as she watches you disappear into the distance, a silent prayer on her lips for your safe return.

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

𝐀/𝐍: I hope you enjoyed and forgive me for the delay. AP clases are NOT for the weak 😭 part 2 will definitely be out within the next few weeks tho. Let me cook.

PS. The plot is a bit different from the teaser. Please don’t be mad at me🙏🏾

@beebeechaos @iv-vee @aemondwhoresworld @obscure-beauty @6ternalsun @msmarvelknight @melsunshine @cregansfourthwife

[amywritesthings]

in the wrong. / levi x f!reader

for @levievent #levimonth24. (day one: pre-canon, first time)

pairing: gang leader!levi ackerman x military police!reader word count: 2.4k summary: You're Military Police. He's public enemy number one. Getting involved with one another is wrong.

tags: 18+ MINORS DNI! pre-aot, in the canon of 'a choice with no regrets', smut, enemies to lovers, military brutality mention, first time, bottom!levi, virgin!levi credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

And so it goes—

There’s no disputing if waiting here in the dead of night is right or wrong.

Leaving your post, forcing your colleagues to pick up the slack — it’ll catch up with you eventually.

Military Police stationed within the Underground City is about as much of an oxymoron as it comes. You see the irony of walking these streets as the symbols of order when it’s a place that thrives in disorder. 

Your superiors don’t wish to save these people.

You — your squadron — will do nothing here.

(But he could.)

Meeting with the leader of the most notorious gang in the city started out as an accident, really. 

You’d minded yourself down here, still trying to do your job when you could: helping elderly people walk their rotting groceries to their door; aiding a young child who found themselves lost, only to witness the dilapidated home they came from; smuggling your own rations down from the surface to feed the sick.

In their eyes — wrong.

In his — confusion.

If you ever came into contact with the perpetrator known as Levi, then you were meant to engage.

Albeit fast on his feet and even faster with a weapon, his ever-growing group of goons were the Military Police’s biggest enemy.

You’d just spotted a redhead doing her best to creep up one of the staircases towards the surface, assuming no one was watching.

There are people up there, you remember saying.

Her wide eyes stared back at you with uncertainty, like perhaps getting her attention was a trick to set her up, but you’d managed to grab her by the scruff of her dirtied vest.

The small girl made a noise of protest, but you did your best to press a finger to your lips:

Silent.

Pulling her back into the shadows with you had been the smart move — the unit at the top of the stairs trudged down the stairs and into the Underground pathway, presumably to cause trouble.

They always did.

You held onto the stranger until the unit disappears, letting go only once the place is clear. 

The girl turned around, seemingly breathless. “You… why?”

You didn't know.

“I don’t know,” you confessed, blinking between her face and the pathway. Paranoid. “Those two are pieces of work. Nasty. Would’ve had your damn head on a platter.”

“So you saved my life?” she asked, and the musical naivety of her voice squeezed your aching stomach.

“It wasn’t that noble,” you promised softly. “Just… be more careful.”

She realized as seconds pass: you’re letting her go.

There’s nothing to arrest her for.

The people down here suffer enough.

When she left, you thought it was the last time you’d ever see her.

.

.

— —

.

.

  It isn’t.

.

.

— —

.

.

  “The hell is an MP doing here, Isa?” 

You can’t say. You’re not sure.

The redhead, a common recurring figure in your time patrolling the Underground, seems to have taken a liking to you when she surely shouldn’t.

Isabel Magnolia, you learn, is her name.

Talking to you about her life, asking questions about the surface, wondering if there’s a better life up there—

She’s a part of a found family she definitely shouldn’t be telling you about.

You explain that, while the sun is beautiful, the surface isn’t much better sometimes.

If there’s a better life, then clearly you wouldn’t know it.

You’re stuck down here, too, whether you’d like to admit it or not.

Perhaps by choice — you enlisted for a reason — but nonetheless stuck.

She’s so cheerful. Trusting. 

You hate that for her.

(Someone could take advantage. Doesn’t she know that?)

Yet when Isabel grabs your hand one day and excitedly pulls you down an alleyway, telling you she has to show you something, you wonder if this is the moment where your stupidity catches up to you with a final blow to the head.

So it begs the question while you’re standing in an oddly pristine, clean-to-the-edges apartment in the middle of the city where two boys stare at you like you’re the devil incarnate:

What the hell is an MP doing here?

An ashy-haired boy yelps from his spot at a round dining table, catching a second dark-haired boy’s attention. He whips around, the whites of his eyes growing while he stares directly at you.

Immediately you recognize the cold stare, the raven-black fringe sweeping against them.

A smaller frame for a man but nevertheless daunting.

Billowing white sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His hands are busy scrubbing dishes at the sink of their quaint kitchenette.

The one they call Levi.

“This is the girl who saved me a few months ago,” Isabel chirps like it’s nothing, happily tugging you further into the apartment.

Your uniform feels constricting, like it’s threatening to choke you out.

“You never said it was a goddamn MP, Isa,” the lankier boy whisper-shouts as he stands from the table, his head whipping between the other two. “Levi? The hell do we do?”

Levi’s silent, observing you.

“Isabel, I should go,” you murmur to your odd friend, looking over the ginger warily. “They’re right. I shouldn’t be here.”

“But why not?” Isabel asks with confusion. “You’re not like them. Furlan, she’s really not, she’s actually really—”

“You’re the one who saved her ass from MPs?”

Levi’s voice, smooth like honey and deep like a rumble, cuts through your panic.

You turn your chin to regard him, lips parted with an apology you shouldn’t owe.

“She was getting too close to the stairwell,” you confess softly to him, clenching your fists at your sides. “I know how the MPs treat people down here. I didn’t — I couldn’t let something happen to her.”

“Why?” he asks abruptly, eyes narrowing.

Isn’t that the question of the hour:

Why are you trying to get yourself fired and tossed down here with the rest of them?

“Because it… was the right thing to do.”

He makes a noise, something of a tch, before picking up a fourth tea cup.

.

.

— —

.

.

  If your colleagues knew you spent the better part of your shifts in the Underground talking to their number-one public enemy, with your backs against adjacent brick walls — you facing the street, him in the shadows of an alleyway — they wouldn’t hesitate.

Execution style, side by side.

You confess the routes of your brethren.

You warn them of the dangers of different colleagues that want nothing more than to hurt people, to use their position of power for worse.

It takes time — months upon months — but eventually his group grows stronger than your unit.

They could very well kill you themselves, if they wanted.

Maybe you’re like Isabel with the desperation to connect.

Maybe you find yourself hating the animals your colleagues become under the guise of an endless night.

Levi meets with you weekly, if not daily, by this point.

For the good of his friends, he claims. Nothing more.

You don’t blame him.

(Yet the more you talk to him, learn about what he’s built, what he’s about, the less you feel like returning to the sun.)

.

.

— —

.

.

  He likes tea.

That much you’ve gathered in your time sitting in the living kitchenette of their apartment.

You’ll never forget the change in his expression, usually so stoic and emotionless, when you produced a small bag from under your emerald cloak late one evening.

“The traders down here don’t carry these blends,” you tell him, pushing the bag towards him.

His eyes squint, observing the brown pouch with confusion, before reaching to delicately unravel the tie holding it together.

Levi lets out a gentle huff when the aroma hits him, face smoothing with recognition.

Fresh leaves. 

“Why?”

It’s a question you’ve even asked yourself.

You get things for Furlan and Isabel all the time, their requests for surface goods fairly frequent, but—

“Because you never ask for anything,” you confess. “And it’s the least I can do.”

“But why?” he questions again, softer this time.

His gaze flickers to yours.

Your throat clenches with the truth.

“I don’t know.”

A lie.

.

.

— —

.

.

  You’re meant to be patrolling the streets of the Underground City in the dead of night.

Another lie.

All you’ve learned to do is hide, steal, and lie.

Yet nothing feels closer to the truth than Levi letting you into the small, cramped apartment.

Opening his home to you.

The enemy.

“Furlan and Isabel are elsewhere tonight,” he confesses under his breath when he closes the door.

“Elsewhere?” you ask him quietly. “Are they safe?”

“You would know if they weren’t.”

You step forward, anticipating the same song and dance you’ve played for over a year now.

Instead of dancing with you, playing the game, Levi stays put. 

It forces you chest to chest, eye to eye, and suddenly you realize just how blue those gray eyes really are.

Stormy, like a sky he’ll never see.

Something shifts in his expression. Something lighter, tangible, as he takes a slow inhale through his nose.

You shift on impulse, angling closer, until you feel the heat of his face.

“Can’t,” he states, like you know what he’s saying.

By now, you do.

“I know,” you whisper, and those eyes dart lower.

Cheeks.

Nose.

Lips.

“Shouldn’t,” he argues to no one but himself when he leans closer. 

His breath tickles your face.

“Wrong,” you agree, accidentally brushing your lips to his.

A single act opens the floodgates.

Both pairs of hands jump as your lips smash into one another’s.

His palm cradles the back of your head while yours guides his cheek closer, directing the angle of the kiss.

With a purposeful push, he slams you into the front door, caging you in and causing stars to flash behind your eyelids.

You’re already undoing the straps of your uniform with haste — he may have stolen ODM gear in the time you’ve known him, but you’re not confident he knows how to disrobe a military uniform.

He seems grateful, because he grunts against your lips and flicks his tongue against your lower lip in thanks. You part your lips obediently.

Can’t, but you’re still hopping up into his arms the second you free your lower half of white uniform trousers.

Shouldn’t, but he catches you with ease, digging his free hand into the flesh of your ass while he pivots and walks with you in his arms.

Wrong, but he drops down to his couch anyway, letting you sit in his lap.

There’s no time for decorum.

His hand blindly dips down your lower belly and slips under the fabric of your panties, groaning when he realizes you’ve been wet since you saw him.

You make the tiniest noise, a strangled moan at best, and you feel it right against your lips:

A smirk. 

Brief and fleeting, but you felt it.

Lazily dragging his fingertips in a circle around your clit, your breath becomes stagnated. Shaky.

Your bare thighs clench around his, trying to keep your wits about you, but his hand only proceeds faster to ruin those efforts.

“Off,” you weakly state, reaching between you to pathetically tug at his own trousers.

Levi pulls away from your mouth, staring up at you in his lap. “That’s—”

“What I want,” you interrupt, and you see his throat bob with a swallow.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confesses, and it feels like the closest you’ve ever gotten to knowing the essence of him.

“You don’t have to,” you promise. “I do.”

Once, fumbling at the cadet barracks.

It was awkward and quick and unremarkable.

Yet the way Levi’s eyes widen with recognition, you already know this is what you want — him, every fragment of him, hidden away from the world.

Pushing him to the couch cushions, you raise your hips to help him push down his trousers and underwear.

His cock springs free and his hisses at the contrast of the cool air and his hot skin.

You take advantage of the moment, wrapping your hand around him.

The way he whines when your hand leisurely pumps will be burned into the back of your skull.

“Are you sure?”

His question manages to weave itself through the hazy maze of your mind.

Glancing down at him, you note how flushed his cheeks have become; how his chest rises and falls under that flowing white shirt. He looks utterly wrecked without having to do much of anything.

“Are you sure?” you ask in return, giving your answer rhetorically.

Panting, the dark-haired boy nods.

Certain.

So are you.

“Just touch me,” you tell him, and Levi leaps at the damn opportunity to do so.

He raises up from the couch to loop his palm around your neck, dragging you down with him into a searing kiss. You moan into it, gently nudging the tip of him to your entrance.

When his hand returns to your clit, eager to draw those noises out of you, it only makes it that much easier to slowly push yourself down onto his length.

Both of your mouths drop open, wide with a soundless shout, as you ease him fully into you.

Wrong.

Over and over, the word plays in your mind.

Levi groans as you drag your body up, then down, beginning a tentative rhythm.

Wrong.

Nothing fills you like him.

Nothing fills you like this.

He lets you set the pace as you fuck him on his couch, the sounds of your pleasure mixing in the midnight air.

Faster.

Harder.

His hand grips your hip so hard it could leave a bruise.

You don’t care.

He groans a semblance of your name, something he rarely does, and squeezes harder.

Close.

If he’s never done this, then you know he won’t last long.

With your own climax coming at you with a vengeance, you can’t find a reason to care.

Suddenly you feel it — the wave rises so fast and falls that you don’t have time to warn him.

Within seconds you cum around him, violently shuddering around him as you cry against his mouth.

The sheer force of it causes Levi to gasp sharply, hips slamming abruptly into you so he’s buried deep—

He doesn’t have time to warn you, either.

He cums just as hard, sealing the loud moan with a kiss to your lips.

You still your hips, spent — his arms catch you when you crumble against his chest, desperately trying to catch your breath.

You’ve passed it: the point of no return, forced to confront a choice with no regrets.

The aftermath, euphoria clouding judgment, hasn’t quite hit yet.

Wrong.

(Neither of you care.)

.

author's note:

Thank you so much for reading! This one shot was unbeta'd and written in two hours so I hope this insane "I woke up with this idea and really wanted to participate" story made you as sweaty as it made me this morning.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 5.2 k Summary: Yup it’s König with a Virgin!Nun!Reader folks. This is all @wordstome 's and @melancholic-thing 's and their König & religion post's fault! :( Tags/warnings: PINING. Eventual smut, eventual blood & minor injuries. A cute, sweet, silly story with undertones of religious despair. Watch out for possible mistakes concerning Catholicism, I was more interested in the forbidden love trope.

Part 1

You don’t know how it even happened, but you became friends with a foreign man visiting your city. 

You bumped into him one day. Literally bumped into him, or then he bumped into you; you’re not entirely sure who’s to blame here, but you would’ve fallen to the ground had he not grabbed you by the arm and hauled you back up and against him. 

It was just to prevent you from hurting yourself, but your mind short circuits for a moment when you’re pressed against the broadest chest you’ve ever seen. The man is tall, so tall you have to crane your neck to see who has such lightning-fast reflexes.

Worried eyes look down at you from above, but the man’s expression softens when he sees how frightened you look.

“I’m so sorry. Are you ok?”

“Yes… Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

He starts to fuss about being in such a hurry without any particular reason and asks if he can make this up for you somehow.

Could he offer you a lunch or something? No, how about a drink? He’s truly so sorry.

His accent is charming, and the genuine regret and worry make you quickly judge him as a safe enough person to grab a coffee with. Accidents happen, and it’s not illegal to sit down with a man you just met, right?

You tell him you don’t drink drinks, but a coffee would be nice. The man raises an eyebrow when you reveal to him that you’re not only a teetotaler, you’re also a nun. 

“Ah… So you prefer a simple life?” 

He takes you to a dark, cosy cafe around the corner. His inquiry leads to a conversation on the joys of silence and simplicity, then on philosophy, faith, and the cons of modern life. By the time he grabs you a table for two, you’re already discussing how people are always on their smartphones nowadays, looking for instant gratification and pleasures and how it wrecks their brains. You both gush about how nice it is to steer away from all that. 

You find yourself talking to him with ease about your life choices. How the anxiety reached a point where you wanted to get away from all the fuss, and how much peace this solution has brought you. How you have meaning and purpose these days, and how you doubt you’d be able to adjust into a modern society anymore. He gets what you mean immediately, saying he only feels at home when he’s alone in the mountains. How he’s been alone his whole life, really, and that it doesn’t scare him anymore, on the contrary.

You feel warm and safe with him, lost inside a soft bubble you quickly create in the corner table of a cellar cafe. Perhaps it’s the dimly lit environment or perhaps it’s just him, but you have one of the deepest conversations ever with this mysterious man.

He’s attentive and curious without being your usual pervert on the sly. You’ve had enough of men looking at you like you’re the forbidden fruit after hearing about your life choices. 

This man doesn’t try to seduce his way into your pants; he listens to your insights and agrees with you on how silence does you good, especially in times like this. You wonder what he does for work and why he’s here because clearly, he’s not local. You never get to ask him because the conversation ends far too quickly. 

He receives a message on his phone, cruelly reminding you that the magical bubble has burst and you’re back in the modern world. He looks crabby about the interruption too, especially when he says he has to go.

You both agree that you had a nice talk and should continue it sometime – why not tomorrow? Same time, same place.

So you meet him again. 

And again… And again. 

You find out he’s in town for at least two weeks, but when he finally reveals what he does for work, your stomach sinks. He tells you he’s working for some private military contractor and can’t really share any details about his work. When you ask him does this mean that he kills people for money, he falls silent.

“I guess you could put it like that.”

He’s looking at his shoes when he says it, somewhat embarrassed or sad. His feet barely fit under the table, so he has them stretched out, leading to a waitress almost tripping on them one day. Your heart is squeezing inside your chest when he rises immediately and apologises like the perfect gentleman, helps the lady up and never gets insulted by the murderous glares the woman shoots at him. 

He gives you his codename, König, and that he comes from Austria, but then refuses to share any other personal details. You don’t even get to know his first name. You do talk about your childhood, you talk about your schools and what you were supposed to become when you grew up. He tells you about his love for hiking, and you tell him about your dance hobby. 

The usual “Oh? Nuns are allowed to dance?” comment has you laughing. 

“Well… I don’t do twerking, but yes, nuns are allowed to dance.”

“What’s ‘twerking’?”

It’s so funny how you seem to know about modern trends more than him. You know about Tinder and TikTok through your friends; it’s just that these things are really not for you. Still, this König knows even less about dating apps and internet challenges than you. 

It makes you intrigued: he could have dozens of women right now if he wanted to. And not only because he’s attentive and kind: he’s so big and tall that most women would beg him to whisk them away. All he needed to do was go to a hookup site and deal out some likes. 

Most of his muscles are packed in the shoulders and chest area, making it challenging for him to fit through a door. You can see he hasn’t skipped a leg day either, and immediately chastise yourself for checking out his butt in the coffee queue. You ignore your filthy thoughts of wanting to get pressed against those pecs again, you pay no attention to the fleeting musings on how good that short stubble would feel against your neck if he ever chose to kiss you there.

A soldier and a nun make an odd pair, but you find yourself enjoying his company more than anyone elses. He seems to wait for your meetings with eager but polite enthusiasm, too. You know it’s an attempt to make you forgive his choice of career when he reveals to you that his best mission was when he saved thirty women from sex trafficking. And it does make your heart crack open a little. Killing is a sin, but he has tried to protect life in his own crude way.

You start to include him in your prayers. First, you ask for the Lord to guide this man away from the path of killing. Then, slowly, you ask him to be protected from harm, you only pray for him to be safe. 

And you say nothing of this new acquaintance to the others. You ought to, but your lips remain sealed.

You’re allowed to have friends and visit them, and it doesn’t matter if the friend is of the opposite sex as long as the meetings are purely platonic. Which they are. This man could be your brother, you tell yourself. He could be a long-distance cousin. There’s nothing fishy going on around here, and he’s just visiting, so why would you bother to tell anyone? It would only lead to troubled sighs and concerned questions, and you really don’t feel like answering them right now.

You miss a few midday prayers, and once, your chores. The relationship turns out to be far from platonic.

König can’t even keep his eyes in check. 

They travel down your neck and land on the smallest amount of cleavage, barely visible in the loose, dull shirts you wear. They slip further down and stop to admire your breasts next, then quickly rise back to your collarbones as if this was just a mistake, just an absent, wandering gaze. You know you’re wearing a semi-helpless stare by the time he meets your eyes. The blue steel in his is completely swallowed by hunger.

You want to believe it was only a momentary lapse, but then he does it again. Actually, you catch him looking at your breasts, scanning your body and cherishing the tender spot between your collarbones more times than you can count. They’re quick, stolen moments, so harmless that you choose to stay quiet. He usually starts to talk about something trivial right after, or asks you a quick question as if nothing ever happened.

Those stolen glimpses stay with you for the rest of the day though. They give you intrusive thoughts during morning prayers and evening silence. You’ve never felt this… adored.

He has a quiet, commanding presence, and you feel like a mouse under his gaze, a mouse who’s always thoroughly examined. At the same time, he’s so polite and so charming that you can’t think ill of him. He always takes your coat and brings you coffee, always asks how your day or week has been, and actually listens to you speak. He listens to your every word with a softening glow in his eyes, a shimmer that spreads across the table and makes you feel warm all over. 

König always softens in your presence... You always tense up in his. 

Your face is flushed, and you blame it on the overcrowded cafe. You feel both safe and in danger with him, and it must be the virgin inside you talking. But you sense there’s something more at play here. He’s simply not like other men. 

You fear he’s seen hell; in fact, he must walk there every day. From what he tells you, you understand that he has suffered a lot and could use your prayers. But it’s also quite clear that he’s not a victim anymore. 

It’s difficult to see this utterly charming teddy bear in front of you, enjoying his large cup of coffee and giving you the occasional husky laugh, then imagine the same man bursting through a door and starting a massacre. Marching in some dark, dirty recess with a rifle or a shotgun in his hands, hunting down screaming people and putting down his already bleeding enemies.

Because that’s what you imagine in your mind when he tells you he’s sometimes used as an insertion specialist; a human battering ram in short.

You look at his hands around the mug, long fingers curled in search of warmth. He has short, trimmed nails and no sign of blood under them… But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

…

"Oh honey. Soldiers are the worst," your friend sighs when you meet her at another cafe, different from where you meet your killing machine. It’s bubbly and lively and colourful, just like your friend; it’s the opposite of König, the special operations soldier who’s dark, intriguing, and intimate, just like the dimly lit cellar cafe you meet him in secret.

"He probably owns a Fleshlight," she mumbles with her mouth full of croissant.

"A… A what?"

She starts to cough at your innocent inquiry, and you know you didn’t hear ‘flashlight’ in the first place, it’s just that you’re not sure if you want to know what on earth she’s talking about now.

When she finally survives the munch she almost choked on, she politely tells you what a fleshlight is, and you find yourself not rolling your eyes, but actually thinking about König using one with need.

Christ have mercy…

"Soldiers are crazy. I once dated this peacekeeper,” your friend continues in her usual chirpy way. “Couldn't hold a conversation for his life. Unless it was about guns... And when I went over to his place, the walls were covered with pictures of naked women. It was so pathetic I had to keep myself from laughing. And oh god, now I remember! He offered me microwaved mac and cheese for dinner…"

You sip your coffee and listen politely to your friend ramble about some guy she used to date. She has a lot of these stories, and all of them are worth hearing. Sometimes you think if you’re living your unlived sex life through your friend, the way you’re so curious about hearing all the different descriptions of male genitalia and the crazy, funny, downright unbelievable scenarios that have happened to her. 

Some of the tales are so gross you’re quite happy you haven’t indulged yourself in casual sex. And at times, hearing about all the things your friend has gone through, being an onlooker to all that heartbreak and pining and loss, has managed to strengthe your resolve.

Being a nun isn’t so bad... At least you haven’t wasted your time on shallow men.

"He put so much chili in that shit that my makeup started to run," she continues her story about the poor excuse for a dinner and a date. Usually, the food leads to sex in these tales, and you’re a hypocrite for wanting to hear more.

"Did you sleep with him…?"

"After that? No thanks," she looks at you and raises an eyebrow. "I pretty much fled the building."

Even the most sad, pathetic, crappy tales make you both laugh, especially if enough time has passed. You laugh now, too, both at your friend falling for a man simply because he was a hot soldier and at the poor man who was in obvious need of an interior designer and a cook. Or a girlfriend… Or a mom.

"Look. I'm saying this because you're my friend." She says after wiping a few tears from her eyes, "And because you’re a virgin and a goddamn nun. Like come on, how many years have you been locked up in that dreadful monastery?"

"Convent," you correct.

"Whatever. I'm telling you this man is just looking for some easy pussy while he's deployed."

“I wouldn't call a nun an easy…ugh, you know.”

“Perhaps he likes a challenge then, “ she shrugs. “Men like to hunt.”

"It’s not like that,” you quarrel, trying to ignore the way her lips purse with amusement. “He's been very nice to me and… we have these great conversations. We talk about really deep stuff, you know? He explained the difference between Schopenhauer and Kierkegaard to me last time we met–"

"Ok, that's even worse. That's a red flag."

You look down at your beverage, sullen and beaten. She’s the first person you’ve told about meeting a man over a coffee, and you’re already doing it wrong.

"Does he ever look at your tits?" She asks all of a sudden.

"What?"

Your friend crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head, looking like an overly self-satisfied detective.

"Do you ever catch him staring at your breasts," she rephrases the question as if she’s talking to a lame person.

"Well… Uh. Yes, sometimes–"

"Well there you have it. Man's just bored with his fleshlight."

"Shh! Keep it down, would you…? Good God..."

"Don't take the name of the lord your god in vain," she chimes. “But seriously, it’s no wonder. If only we could get you out of that convent, there would be a line of men at your door.”

“Oh for God’s sake…”

“No, seriously. We’re talking about fistfights and broken bones. Dating apps would explode. People would get killed.”

You roll your eyes - your friend always loves to exaggerate things. If anything, you’re scared of men, and you loathe the dating world. You’re put off by shallow commitments and one-night stands and getting ghosted and God knows what else. That’s why you became a nun: to find something stable in your life. You always told your friend that Jesus Christ is the most stable man you’ve ever met, and you will stick with him. As always, your friend was not on the same page with you.

“Stable? Excuse me, but didn’t he start a riot or something at the temple? Are we talking about the same dude who lead an uprising against the Romans? Hung out with whores, raised corpses from the dead, fucked around and found out until someone nailed him at the cross? Stable my ass!”

“Look, even if he wants something more, I’m not up for it,” you try to convince - both yourself and your friend.

“Mm. What a shame,” she smirks. “Is he handsome?”

“Yes, but–”

“Mmh. Deep voice?”

“Umm… It’s memorable?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “Okay fine, it’s nice and deep and I like it. And I love his laugh,” you confess, and your friend does a silent little ‘yay’ and ‘I knew it’ cheer. You know it would be a field day for her if you finally got laid. As cliche as it sounds, you’ve always treated your friend as some sort of devil’s advocate.

You allow yourself to gush a minute, maybe two, about his muscles to your beloved devil. You tell your friend about his broad back, how wide his shoulders are, you tell her about the easy smiles he always sports with you. You describe the tactical pants and the snug black t-shirts he wears in detail, you confess he has a nice butt and that he’s so big he can't even fit the table. 

You tell her how König starts to talk with his hands if he gets excited and how you have to fear he’s going to knock something over and make a mess. You tell about his blue eyes and the way they always soften when he looks at you, and looks at you often. All the time, really. He doesn’t even see other women, uh, you mean, other people in the cafe. He’s polite to the waitresses but never fully acknowledges anyone else but you.

Your friend's enthusiastic grin turns into an uneasy, pitying smile when she realises how deep into this man you actually are. 

"I'm sorry babe… Someone has to give you the tough love," she reaches for your hand across the table. "Do you understand that if this guy is not working for the regular military, he's probably doing some war crime type of shit?"

The way you rush to defend your steadfast soldier who probably has his hands covered in blood, would make your abbess sigh.

"No, no, actually, he's working against these human trafficking cells–"

"Ok, he shoots human traffickers too, that's great. Good for him. You're still about to step into a pile of traumatised, immature, emotionally unavailable soldier shit. Trust me."

"Just because your soldier was like that doesn't mean mine has to be," you blurt.

Gosh - that was a good old Freudian slip...

"Yours now, is he?"

"No, that was… It just slipped."

"So you've actually thought about banging this guy?"

"What?! No."

"You have," she insists with a widening smile.

"No. No, I–"

"Oh my god. You're about to forsake your vows," she brings her hands together in excitement. "Oh my god, oh my god. This is amazing!"

You feel your lips snap into a thin line.

Just whose side is this woman on? Does she want to protect you from heartbreak or push you into some man's lap just for shits and giggles? 

If you're chosen by God, your friend is chosen by the Devil, that's for sure. Nothing exciting ever happens behind the walls of your 'monastery', nothing but endless prayers and boring lectures and monotonous chores. Of course she thinks it's about time you got a round of good dick. She just wants to hear a filthy story when you return from your secret little fling, a fling that could get you kicked out of the convent for good. 

"How tall is he exactly...? Does he have big hands?" 

Your friend's eyes are shining with excitement - apparently the possible war crimes and atrocities König has committed are forgiven and forgotten.

"What does that have to do with anything…?" 

"I can tell you what to expect in the dick department," she smiles with an impish grin.

You eventually leave the cafe with a dirty soul and a skittish heart.

The way your friend described your new acquaintance's probable blessings in the "dick department" left little to the imagination, and now you're actually scared. 

This man has been so polite towards you, so kind to you. He's offered you coffee and pastries and cake along with an intellectual challenge, but now it's all ruined because all you can think about is what's inside his pants. How big his hands are, and how they correlate with what's downstairs. How nice it would feel to lay under him, with his chest pressed against yours, how divine it would be to get pinned down by him. How those strong, narrow hips would fit between your legs, broad shoulders eclipsing the view above as he slowly crawls on top of you. How he'd kiss your neck, your collarbones, your mouth, with such hunger that your legs eventually give in and spread wide open.

You return to the convent with a heavy heart and distressed thoughts, but find some solace in your evening prayers.

Nothing has happened, you remind yourself; these are only thoughts. You have seen a man who's interested in you for half a dozen times. You took part in a shallow, mundane, earthly conversation today with your friend, but nothing carnal or wrong has happened. Everything is the way it has always been.

You’re safe now, completely safe here. There’s no chaos and no guns and no tall men with big dicks, no Austrian war criminals trying to seduce you and then discard you after their deployment ends. 

There’s only a man with a kind smile, warm eyes, and a nice, husky laugh. Some good coffee with distant notes of chocolate and perfectly civil conversations about European philosophers and the crisis of modern thought.

Sturdy walls support you; they have held you for centuries, and the crucifix above you has given hope to so many people before you. The ever-safe embrace of your faith envelops you, and you can always trust that you are loved, even when you’re flawed and incomplete.

Even with indecent thoughts, you can pray for mercy and ask for forgiveness. Even if you have impure urges towards your Austrian mercenary, you can still pray for him... It’s the least you can do to repay the kindness he has given you.

But the heaviness follows you to your room; it makes your chest feel dark and thick. You don’t say your last prayer before bed. You don’t want His eyes upon you tonight.

You don’t want to draw the Lord’s attention to you while your hand travels down beneath the sheets, your thoughts wandering to a certain god-like soldier with eyes like burning ice.

…

The next time you two meet, he crosses a clear boundary. 

König has started to take you for walks, sometimes suggesting you two could visit a museum, clearly wishing you’d show him around the city. In truth, he’s the one parading you around like you’re his cute little lady. He pays for your museum tickets and brings you ice cream while you sit on a bench at a park, grabs your arm to draw your attention to a few swans swimming in a pond. And that’s ok - physical touch like that is ok. Holding hands is not.

Because…

One time, when you’re walking down a hill path, admiring the sunset, a big, warm hand wraps itself around yours. 

It finds you in silence, envelops your tiny palm completely, squeezes you softly and emanates so much heat that a cord of fire shoots across your arm and straight into your heart.

You allow yourself to bask in the warmth of the huge, calloused palm for a few more seconds before ripping your hand away. You take a few hurried steps and turn, noticing he has stopped to look at you with guarded hesitation.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise even if König is the one who went off limits, “but this is not appropriate.”

“Entschuldigung… I know. That was out of bounds,” he raises a hand over his heart and bows his head a little, watching you from under his brows. You could keel over from how the gesture reminds you of Arthurian romances, of knights who place their hand on their heart to swear they’ll never disgrace a lady again. 

Instead, you nod, your soul saved but your heart sinking like an anvil dropped in the sea. You’d want nothing more than for him to do it again, to grab your hand in his and never let go.

The rest of the walk happens in awkward silence, and you thought he would keep his distance - Christ, you thought you would keep your distance - but he insists on walking near to you, and so you continue down the path with your fingers still touching each other every now and then. You don't even try to move your hand away.

I’m going to die, you scream internally while looking at the bleeding sunset in the distance. You can’t look at him; you can’t even talk to him. It’s like your body is pumped full of some drug these days.

Falling for someone so hard is making you feel faint; your insides are churning and turning and your brain is a mess. Your heart is racing so fast that you’re afraid you’ll end up having a heart attack one of these days.

He’s probably used to this: the thrill and the adrenaline, a world laced with rush and extremes, indulging in things such as guns and explosions and blood and women and darkness.

You only have your safe routines, your sisters, a few friends you meet over coffee, a family you visit thrice a year. You’re not used to being bombarded with hormones and raw emotion like this. You have never, ever lusted after a man like this. The only thing you ever craved for was another slice of cake.

“Do you still want to see me?” He asks apologetically when you approach the convent which has now started to resemble a frigid, uneventful prison.

“Of course,” you hurry to say. “Just… No more holding hands. Ok?”

“Ok,” he chuckles softly, and you stop and turn.

He’s never been this near to where you live, and you’re afraid someone will see you if he escorts you to the door. You can’t be seen with a man in your current state, that would be a catastrophe. Anyone in the building could tell that this friendship is far from platonic.

“I’m sure you’ll find some other girl to… hold hands with,” you say, hating how bitter and self-pitying you sound. You even swallow when you look up into his eyes. They’re so soft now that the ice has almost disappeared, devoured by longing, a thick and sinful darkness.

“What if I don’t want some other girl?” 

His voice is so wickedly gentle too.

You can see he’s fighting an inner battle to not touch you again; he’s standing toe to toe with you, towering above you, with his shoulders slightly hunched. If someone walked behind him, they wouldn’t even see you’re there because of how close you two are standing to each other. You can’t back away from him because you’d bump into a tall iron gate - in fact, you’re half-pressed against it now. 

“I’ve enjoyed our conversations,” he continues with a throaty voice. God, how you would melt if he used that voice in bed…

“So have I,” your voice comes out as a wavy whisper. “But there can’t be anything more than that... I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” he laments, but the corner of his mouth curves slightly up. “So sorry you wouldn’t even believe…”

It’s mischief and seduction, darkness and deception, and your insides squeeze into a tight little knot.

“Please… Let’s just keep it the way it was,” you plead with eyes that beg the complete opposite.

“Sure... I will try my best, Kätzchen. Is this your convent…?” 

You wonder if he’d pay you a visit if you told him where you sleep. You wonder if your single bed would creak if he tried to make love to you on it... You wonder if you could muffle your cries when you clenched with him inside you. If he’d groan too loudly when he reached his peak…

“It’s just around that corner,” you explain with a frail voice, hating how it betrays every single thing that crosses your mind.

“Good to know,” he replies, with no shakiness to his voice at all. He seems to enjoy making you so flustered; he seems to draw strength from people weaker than him. Which is probably 99 % of the population…

“How so,” you peep, already praying that he wouldn’t come to try his luck with the poorly locked windows. The back door is always open too because some of the nuns are smokers. König wouldn’t even need to use his insertion skills to get in.

“Now I know where to find you if I come to work here again,” he shrugs as if innocent. As if his eyes didn’t betray a few filthy thoughts too.

“Are you… Are you leaving then?”

“Soon.”

Your heart is about to break after two weeks of knowing some random guy, and you feel like the silliest woman in the world.

You try to remind yourself of what your friend said: this man just wants some easy pussy. He’s just bored with his fleshlight. Men like challenges, they like to hunt. You think about Lucky Luke and all the other cowboys who came and went as they pleased, breaking hearts and then riding into the sunset.

This cowboy only got to hold your hand though... And he’s saying he doesn’t want “some other girl”. Of course there’s a chance that he simply visits a brothel after discussing philosophy with you, or goes to a club or whatever, but you don’t want to entertain such horrible thoughts. 

“I’ll miss you, then,” you try to sound neutral while he’s looking down at you like you’re his first love.

“Ganz sicher, I will miss you too. Perhaps I’ll visit you, work trip or not?”

“That would be nice.”

“It might take a while. But you won’t forget me, ja?”

“Of course not. I will pray for you every day,” you smile with a good amount of affection. It has the same effect as saying something like “I want to blow you right here on this street” because your Austrian giant gets visibly excited. His breath quickens, and his eyes start to wander again. 

“...Are you sure I can’t hold your hand?”

You give him a shy smile, then quickly guide your eyes to the pavement. This König is definitely taking it as some love confession when a girl says she will pray for him. Your insides turn to jello when you see his hand close into a loose fist, then open with a spasmlike stretch. He wants to touch you so badly that he has to physically fight against it.

“No…?” He inquires high above you, so desperate that you’re quite sure he’s not frequenting any brothels in the area. He might stroke his cock to the thoughts of you, though…

You shake your head softly, then raise your eyes back to his. What a silly, silly man. If only you weren’t a nun, you’d let him do whatever he wants with you. Even abandon you after using you in every which way, because to be under that adoring gaze is worth a thousand heartbreaks.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

There’s more desperate hope in that question, and you wonder if tomorrow is the last time you’ll see each other. Soon could mean anything, but you can’t bear to hear the exact time and date when he leaves. Not tonight.

“Yes. Same time, same place,” you agree, then flee from under the dark, adoring stare to the safety of your cloister. 

[coquettepascal]

felicitas and her general

summary: general acacius has caught your attention after being the first mortal to worship you in decades. you only face one challenge: don't get too attached.

warnings: rated g, contains spoilers for gladiator ii, follows the timeline of the movie somewhat, reader is the goddess felicitas (who is the goddess of good luck,) this fic is basically just an add on to the movie.

tags: goddess!reader x general acacius, emotional infidelity, lots of roman mythology stuff, writer is basing all her knowledge out of what she remembers from PJO and HoO, worship, complicated feelings, marcus does not cheat on lucilla physically, yearning, pining, grieving, guilt, major character death(s), stalking (kind of), a lot of obsession/dedication, angst, hurt no comfort but also hurt with comfort.

a/n: i watched gladiator ii and then was too emotionally devastated to finish this fic the way i planned. i really hope you all like this!! also, this fic is also dedicated to my dear friend @pascalssbabyy because she is my biggest cheerleader and i love her <33

wc: 7.2k (not beta read)

It was he who woke you.

A quiet sacrifice in the evening that felt like the freshest breath of air you could have, more intense than what you could have atop any mountain, near any spring. The scent of burning meat and smokey vegetables grasped at your lungs, and you almost choked on it. How long had it been since someone had offered you something so kind? Real food, not just scraps of something they didn’t wish for. 

You’d never complain about how difficult it is to be a minor Goddess, you know that you could be a mortal, but most don’t think of how Gods can fade. It’s a physical process, one where you’d notice how your fingertips passed through things like chalices and bowls, how a spoon slid through your hand once. The clatter of gold on the table was embarrassing, even though you were alone. Nothing about being forgotten, or fading, physically hurt. It was only mentally taxing, knowing that you weren’t as important as you once were, that mortals found you insignificant.

Generals used to come and offer things frequently sometime ago, but you couldn’t even begin to understand how long ago that was. When you’re immortal, or supposed to be, mortal lives seem fleeting. You had taken them for granted, and regret it now, for all you have now are the empty clouds above your temple. 

The last offering you can gather was from a young boy, who wanted to win a board game against his sister the next day. He had given you half a bun with strips of meat. Sure, it was thoughtful, but this was something rich. 

You finish inhaling the offering, and then hear the offerer's voice. But it’s muffled, and you want to see who it is anyways, so you swipe through the clouds and create a window to see. Then you can hear him clearly.

Someone who is clearly a general kneels at your altar, which is chipped and dirty. The ashes of the food are in front of him, smoking still, and you can taste the wealth in his meal. It can’t distract you from him though, he is striking.

Broad shoulders support a heavy, curly, grey, head of hair, which is bowed in honor of you. His body is widely built, sturdy for battle, and his voice is just as powerful. You’re so focused on hearing his voice you only catch the tail end of his request.

“... Allow me to come home safely, if not for Rome, then for my wife.”

Your heart squeezes, and you swear you can feel the ichor gushing through your veins. Scarcely when a General came to give you an offering all those years ago would he mention a wife, only ever wishing for luck in the upcoming battle or war. But here, now, you’ve been given a respectful request and offering. It isn’t a thought in your mind to not favor him now, your eyes closing and your mouth murmuring a blessing to him. It feels intoxicating to use some of your power again, especially on someone who asked for it. It also feels intoxicating to watch this General leave.

He looks around before he goes, seeming to note how degraded your small temple has become. The statue of you that lies ahead of your altar is yellowing, and ironically, multiple fingers have broken off. The General seems displeased by this, sighing as he exits the temple.

His gait is heavy, sandaled steps weighted as he walks down them and into the torch-lit night. You find yourself looking for him even after he’s disappeared from your sight, the warmth of gratefulness hugging around you. Part of you knows better than to play around with the thought, but still you wish to know more about him.

—

It worsens when he comes back. A few times a week he returns, offering rich foods. It’s been a month now, and you are coming back to life.

Fading didn’t feel like anything, but coming back feels like so much more. The first few offerings had your body feeling alight again, like the ichor in you was flowing again, but within the last two weeks you’ve gotten your fingertips back. They were tingling for a day and then the next you were able to properly grasp things again, nothing was slipping through you.

In that time you had also learned his name. A guard had come looking for him one night, and stood behind him whilst he prayed. You had found yourself smiling when he didn’t interrupt himself, instead acting aggravated once he had finished. The guard had apologized for interrupting and let him know that “Your wife wishes to speak to you, General Acacius.”

Acacius. 

You still don’t know his first name, but it is enough. You can think of it when you feel lonely, when you are bored. Something to associate with the offerings, with the blessings. The fact he has been so consistent hints at a desperation, which would usually repel you from blessing him, but he is the only one who seems to recognize you. His efforts are not going to go unseen by you, not when you have so little to do.

You can feel yourself conceding to your need to know him more, but just as you begin to fight yourself again, he shows up.

Tonight he’s dressed a little nicer. Usually he arrives in a plain tunic but this one has golden trim on it, and his hair is a little more tousled. He stumbles into your altar holding something in a cloth, but he’s walking like he’s… drunk? 

Acacius meanders to your altar, grabbing a torch along the way, and then empties the contents of the cloth. It produces a small dessert bun, a Libum, or honey cheesecake, and your mouth waters. So much of the food that is given to you is savory meats, masculine foods that are heavy on the senses, but this is sweet and delicate. You can, of course, eat whatever you’d like. You’re a Goddess, and though you aren’t major, you are still very fortunate.

But this feels thoughtful.

The General drops to his knees after lighting the bun ablaze, swaying slightly, and now you know he must be drunk.

“Goddess Felicitas,” he begins as normal, “I am sorry I am later than usual. Though I don’t know if Goddesses sleep. I was… caught up in other affairs, but I made it in time.”

He is less eloquent than usual and seems particularly focused on how it is nearly past midnight.

“I brought you this though,” he gestures to the half burnt bun. “I wanted to bring you something different than meat and… things. I thought a dessert would be fitting for that task.”

Acacius pauses now. His thoughts are probably muddled from whatever he drank, and you find yourself smiling. Foolery has never been so endearing to you.

“You have been listening to me, I suppose. My requests for luck in battle have been answered, as well as my safety being ensured. Your blessings have brought my wife peace of mind, something I could not previously afford to her.”

He looks so small in your temple tonight. Normally he is not so vulnerable, but his shoulders sag as he mentions his wife. Some sort of shame runs over him at the idea that he could not ease his wife’s worries, but it makes you feel better that you could help. 

“Goddess Felicitas, I come here tonight bearing no requests, just gratitude. Your blessings have soothed wounds I could not see, and I feel like a young soldier again. You invigor me.” 

Then, he leaves. 

You watch helplessly as he stumbles back down the steps and away from your temple, and more than ever you wish to chase him. The love he has for his wife is clear, and you hold no jealousy of that, but you wish it were you. Something in you is deeply attached to this General now. He has awoken you so much more than rekindling your power as a goddess, more than releasing you from the grief that comes with fading. Yes, Acacius has made your heart beat again, your mind curious again, and you feel seen. Being worshipped is not the same as being loved, if that were true you’d have had many children by now, 

But after so long being forgotten, this feels like what you remember being loved as.

—

You try not to interact with the other Gods for the most part. They tend to meddle in things they don’t need to, and are sensitive. You are not exempt from this stereotype, but that’s only more reason for the distance. 

But today, you venture to meet another deity.

Morpheus is not hard to find. He is pretty stationery where he is, usually lounging on a rock or bench near his temple, or above it in the clouds. He is a bit…dramatic, from what you remember, but wise. 

Today he is stretched out on a cloud above his temple, eyes shut. His pale skin stretches taut on his bones as his lean frame breathes deeply. But, he is not asleep. 

“Morpheus,” you speak. 

His body rolls toward your direction, eyes still shut, but a small smile on his face.

“O young goddess Felicitas, what brings you to me?” He questions.

It’s hard not to feel embarrassed. You’ve spoken to Morpheus on very rare occasions, but he’s always been somewhat helpful, though nosy. Dreams tell a lot about people, and when he’s the one giving them to people, it’s hard to hide anything at all.

You don’t want him to know of your true affection for General Acacius, just that he is… worthy of a visit. 

And so you begin to describe it to Morpheus, your need to visit Acacius. He doesn’t open his eyes at all, but he raises his eyebrows a lot and seems bemused at your situation. You’re only halfway through your rambling before he raises a gangly limb and waves at your words.

“Felicitas, you think you are the only Goddess wishing to visit her admirer? You need no explanation,” he says jovially. 

Morpheus reaches into the air and pulls 6 black berries into existence, then drops them into your open palm.

“When you know he is asleep, bite down on one of these and think of him,” he describes to you.

The berries smell like nothing, but a powdery residue is left on your skin as you roll them in your palm. It doesn’t repel you at all.

Tonight, you will visit him and express the same gratitude he did to you. 

—

Marcus lays next to his wife, Lucilla, with her hand in his. She fell asleep sometime ago, leaving him to lie awake by himself.

He didn’t make it to her temple tonight and the guilt is festering in his body. Marcus knows that she is a Goddess, that he probably isn’t a thought in her mind. He knows that he is just another whiney mortal, giving her food that isn’t nearly as good as whatever Gods eat. His insignificance grows as he feeds into his guilt. 

Stress has permeated his life for much of it, from his time as a young soldier up until now, as a General. Battles, politics, and his family, have created a breeding ground for him to be wracked with anxieties, but he stays strong. Thanks to his time in Felicitas temple, it’s been better.

Which is why failing to make it to her temple tonight is making him feel so bad.

He grabs at the linen sheets of his bed, stressing and trying to reassure himself until he falls asleep finally.

—

Being in a dream is weird. It feels much the same as it does when you disguise yourself as a mortal, the out of body experience is semi-familiar, but it’s weird because someone else is there.

You’ve been watching the General enjoy the lake in front of him for a few minutes now. He hasn’t slipped into it, but just walks along the waterline. It seems like he is looking for something. Surely his dreams usually contain more action, or perhaps are memories, so you assume it may be strangely understimulating for him.

The appearance you’ve chosen is one of modesty, but elegance. A seafoam green peplos hangs off your frame delicately, with golden clasps at the wrists and waist. You did your hair so it would be tucked out of your face. There is no guarantee that Acacius will recognize you like this, but you look much like your statue that’s within your temple.

Swallowing your nerves, you shimmer yourself into visibility. The grassy field is odd beneath your feet, and you walk toward him with uncertainty in each step. You’ve never met with a mortal before, and you haven’t stepped on anything earthy in a long while. His broad stature only becomes more daunting as you get closer, especially since he seems so focused.

You will have to speak first. You’re much too quiet in this environment, and you must act fast lest he wake before you get his attention.

“General Acacius,” you speak firmly, though your hands shake. 

This is so unfamiliar to you. You’ve barely even seen his face, as he’s usually bowed at your altar. It is the first time you’ll see him at an equal level, the first time you’ll have brought yourself to him rather than him to you. 

He turns quickly, an instinctual aggressiveness toward the unknown. You stand about 10 feet from him, eyes widening.

Acacius is striking. His nose is what you focus on first, strong in shape and line, but behind it are his eyes which look to you with wide acknowledgement. His hair curls around his head in greying ringlets, like a permanent laurel crowning him. The wide expanse of his back was once impressive, but now you can see the solid wall which he becomes when facing you. Nothing could push him over it seems, a man built to stand.

Your heart squeezes the way it did the first time he gave you a request, a tender rush tingling your whole body. No words come out of either of your mouths, and the General drops to one knee instantly. 

He recognizes you.

“Goddess Felicitas,” he rushes out in a breath. His chest is heaving as he bows his head and no, no this isn’t how you want this.

Your feet are moving before you can focus on your anxiety, bringing you so close to him that you can kneel too. Maybe a goddess should not kneel before a mortal general, but you are just on your knees rather than putting yourself below him. Your peplos billows a little as air rushes through it when you hit the grass.

He is above you like this, and you tilt your head to see his face again. His strong brow is furrowed, eyes squeezed shut like he is afraid of you. 

“Acacius,” you say softly, “I am not here for… for ill reason. Please relax yourself.”

You lean back as he relaxes, head tipping upwards as he kneels in front of you as well. Now you can meet his eyes, see the crinkles that are beside them, and really take him in.

An energy of anxiety is shared wordlessly, with him stiff from the sight of a literal goddess, and you with the fear of… something. 

The identity of your anxieties isn’t something that you can figure out. Maybe it’s too much to see such a handsome mortal, or maybe it’s that you’re going to thank him for his offerings so personally. Maybe it’s humiliation from this act. What would other Gods think of this? Is it not degrading to become so attached to a mortal? Are you no better than Zeus or Hermes, the gods who interact too intimately with mortals? 

The sound of his labored breathing alerts you, calls your attention back to the present moment. 

“I wanted to thank you,” you admit meekly, “for your offerings. You have been very generous and… devoted.”

His eyes are shifty, and you can see the terror in him still. You don’t want him to fear you, but you can understand why. Visits from Gods or other deities can mean trouble, but you aren’t significant like that.

“General Acacius you are the first mortal who has acknowledged me in a long time,” you offer a vulnerability, perhaps trying to soothe him.

It feels so backwards for you to be kneeling in front of him, speaking. He has done so in front of your altar for many weeks now, but now the spots are switched, yet you are still in power. You avert your gaze as you speak up, wanting to request something of him.

“You’ve been so generous to me, General, I was hoping to know more about you.”

And now, rather than scared, he seems suspicious. 

“To know me?” He clarifies. 

You nod.

“I only know your last name. I think I could offer more luck and splendor if we were more… personal.” 

Gods that felt awful to say. You’re no better than the whorish brutes on their thrones, offering petty glories for intimacy. Everything feels flirtatious but that’s not what you’re looking for. Acacius has a wife he clearly loves, you would never want to interrupt that. 

He seems to hesitate, but he knows he cannot refuse you. So far your blessings have brought ease to his life, he wouldn’t want to lose that.

“Then… yes, I suppose I can offer myself if it would please you.” He responds stoically. 

And it does please you, to know his name. Marcus Acacius, the one who woke you, the one who has saved you from being a fragmented memory within the temples. 

Marcus Acacius, who you are too fond of.

—

You visit him 3 more times. In an attempt to space out the usage of the berries Morpheus gave you, you only visit him once a week. The bleak tasting berries are sour on your tongue, a rotten sour which lingers once you wake up, but it’s worth it.

The two of you have grown closer, with Marcus opening up more. He tells you about the stresses in his life, how much anxiety is buried in him. But, he’s confident for the sake of his wife. You’ve learned that her name is Lucilla, and much more about her. Marcus talks about her a lot, in passing or retelling something she told him. In the small amount of time you’ve gotten to know him, you’ve gotten to know her as well.

It burns you with a strange warmth, a desire and envy which makes your stomach growl. You are hungry for him to admire you in the same way, to speak of you, but doesn’t he already? Shame grips your throat when you think of it. You are a Goddess who he sacrifices to, who he wishes to have blessings from. What more do you need? A mortal couldn't offer you what another deity could. 

After the fourth meeting, you found yourself lonely. Lazing back in the clouds above your temple, you woke with a deep hunger. Marcus is beautiful, an admirable man, and he loves passionately. You are already being such a glutton for even speaking with him, meeting with him repeatedly, so why must you yearn for him too? 

Worship isn’t enough, you want what you will never let yourself to have.

Nothing hints that he might feel similarly. His starry gaze which lands on you is not due to your beauty, your personality, or anything more. You have blessed him, and that is why his eyes glitter. Goddess status has never made you feel so low and isolated. Still, you are happy to help him achieve what he wishes, even as it cripples your heart.

Tonight you plan on visiting him. That fourth visit was a week and a half ago, he may be wondering where you are. He still comes to your altar each night, but the prayers are less personal. Marcus saves his stories and ramblings for when the two of you are in the field, or near the lake, when the two of you are really alone.

—

You bite into the berry at around midnight. Its tangy yet death-tasting juice floods your mouth, clinging to the crevices between your teeth and staining your gums. Closing your eyes, you think of Marcus, and his curls, and his eyes, and his nose, and his strong hands.

And then you are there, and he is waiting. 

It seems like his subconsciousness has picked to be at the lake today, and he’s sat in the sand at the edge of the water. You walk over to him, but notice how… down he appears to be.

“She is not happy with me,” Marcus confesses before you even sit down.

You stand a few feet back from him, looking at how his curls fall around his bowed head.

“Lucilla?” You ask softly.

He nods.

A wicked feeling begins to steep in your heart. She is upset with him, he is in need of you for something more than a blessing. 

And so you listen. 

It’s one of the longer meetings the two of you have had. Marcus doesn’t cry, but he seems truly upset. He’s been called to go off somewhere far again, to fight and kill. Reassurances that you will protect him as best you can only soothe him so much. 

He doesn't care if he dies, he cares that his beloved is distraught over this. 

The more the two of you talk, the closer you get. There are marks on the sand from where you originally sat, but now you kneel in front of him, with creased brows and worried eyes. This isn’t something you can fix, you aren’t familiar with love and its intricacies. 

His knees were tucked closer to his chest before, but they’ve loosened now and his fists rest atop them, clenching. Frustration sits on his face like a mask, one you wish to take off him.

Touching is not… something either of you partake in. Sometimes your shoulders will brush when you sit together, but nothing more has ever been initiated. 

That is why it doesn’t surprise you when he flinches as your hand reaches out to rest on top of his right clenched fist. 

“Marcus,” you say softly, wanting to offer comfort, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t,” he replies swiftly.

At first it hurts, watching as he waves off your hand from his own, but then you look at his face rather than where your hands were joined. The frustrated look on his face is gone, replaced with something worse, something guilty. His eyes aren’t glittering at you like usual, nor are they hardened with anger.

They’re soft pools of conflict that mirror your own.

It doesn’t soothe your burn, satiate your envy. You can see in his eyes that maybe you aren’t alone in these feelings of admiration, of want, but maybe this is not what you want.

Maybe you want a different universe, one where he doesn’t have to be a mortal and you, a Goddess. So you wouldn’t have to worry about him dying, and have this friendship survive off death flavored berries. Maybe you want a universe where he isn’t married, where he could be yours and you wouldn’t feel like a spectator to his heart.

Maybe you want that, but you won’t get it.

Instead the flames of jealousy die in your chest and are replaced with tumors of guilt. Your whole body feels bloated, embarrassed, and ugly. 

The pair of you stare at each other, a stupid realization between the both of you as you realize that your secrets have been spilled, even though it’s the same one.

His eyes don’t move from yours, so you move from his.

The sandy edge of the lake does not look so bright now, even though there are no clouds in Marcus’s dream. 

“When do you leave?” You ask softly. 

You will not follow him into whatever battle he’ll win. Don’t embarrass yourself, Goddess.

He tells you two weeks. You say you’ll see him before then.

Then you wake on a cloud again, with a cavity of guilt in your chest.

—

Marcus wakes alone. 

Lucilla had not wanted to sleep with him that night, choosing to stay elsewhere. She didn’t tell him where, she left in a quiet flurry of tears and anguish.

It’s easier for him to feel guilt over his Goddess than it is to hurt his beloved, even if it is the same.

In a moment of frustration he grasps at the sheets, turning over and biting at his pillow. The bed is so cold, and the room smells like stale air even though the window is open, the night breezy. 

He knows she is beautiful because she is a Goddess. All Goddesses are beautiful, ethereal beings that mortals cannot even comprehend at times. Marcus knows he is lucky to even perceive her, for her to have chosen to visit him.

Yet through all her blessings, he feels cursed.

A plague of emotional infidelity is crawling through his body, sticking to his bones and making him stiff. Everything he does has felt flat for so long, from pretending he is grateful to the Emperors, to now pretending nothing is wrong in his marriage. He’s scared, and exhausted.

Marcus rubs a hand over his face after rolling over and sitting up in bed, groaning into his palm. 

At first he tried to blame her for it. What would a Goddess want from a successful General other than a demigod hero son? What could truly be so special about him? He assumed she was manipulating him, using some sort of power to morph his heart, but now he knows it is not true.

If she had wanted to, she would have had him by now, and he knows this. If she had wanted to, her hand would have stayed where it was tonight, and pushed him further. It isn’t unlike the Gods to force themselves on a mortal, but she didn’t.

Instead, his hand feels hot where hers rested, and his mind is spinning. 

Marcus doesn’t fall asleep again, afraid that he’ll see her. 

—

You wait for a full two weeks before you visit him again. He had been coming to your temple less, and you had assumed he was busy with preparations for the coming battle. 

The stubbornness you felt that night has not left you. At first you did not leave your temple in fear that you would grow attached, now you remain there because you have grown attached. 

“Enough is enough,” you had thought to yourself. 

But it is hard not to miss him, and his soothing prayers. The way his offerings tasted of smoke and sweet, and how he’d always burn such a large portion. Marcus never gave you scraps, he seemed to refuse to. 

However, you can only distance yourself so far. 

It is quiet when you approach him. He is sitting in the field this time, the lake a distant glitter in your eyes. He does not face you, but his head isn’t bowed like before.

“Marcus,” you greet, your voice muted.

He raises his head, turning over his shoulder and nodding, as if to direct you to come closer, and so you do.

Tonight’s visit isn’t vulnerable, or even pleasant. Marcus seems so distant as he dryly tells you about how he’s preparing, and his wishes to return safely. His eyes barely meet your own as he talks, and he continuously twists the ring on his finger.

It grows tiring, watching him ramble about politics you could care less about, listening to him say things that have nothing to do with him. He’s so far from the friend you thought you had made. When the air between you goes quiet, you don’t fill it for a while. You listen to the sound of the wind in the grass as his eyes still will not meet yours. It’s breaking you apart.

This is the last night you’re able to visit him, unless you visit Morpheus again. You will not waste it like this.

“What is ailing you, General?” You ask, deciding to prod more than you usually do.

To your surprise, he scoffs in light laughter.

“You,” he responds quietly.

His words don’t hurt, at least not yet. You have the option to walk away now, wake yourself and leave him with his final blessings, but of course you don’t.

“Me?” You ask, “what have I done?”

Marcus rolls his shoulders back, lifting his head to look into the everblue sky above the both of you.

“You have made my life difficult, Goddess.”

Difficult? You have made his life difficult?

You have half a mind to tear him to pieces, curse him with something awful like snakes for toes, or spoons for teeth. After all that you’ve done for him, all the safety you’ve provided, he is telling you that you make things difficult? How dare he? Be outraged, Goddess, for he disrespects the holy luck which you bestowed to him.

That’s what you should think, that’s how most of you should feel.

But instead you feel small, and hurt. Yes, he is disrespecting all that you’ve given, but also you feel like a failure. Your physical existence is because of him, because he did not let you fade. All you wanted to do was make his life easier, help him to have an eased mind and a safer life.

But instead, he’s telling you you’re difficult.

It feels like your body is shrinking in the white peplos you’ve worn, the sheer fabrics swallowing you. Shame is flooding in the form of tears behind your eyes, wetting your orbs with an unexpected outburst of emotion.

“I am sorry,” you manage weakly.

Marcus does not look at you while you cry, and you want to believe it is because he cares too much to watch, but you cannot verify that.

The wind picks up again, but it does nothing to hide the soft cries you can’t hold back. Once you were a fading Goddess, now you are just a failing one.

There is no luck involved with love.

Eventually he speaks again, with his head turned away from you.

“I am sorry too,” he says. There’s a finality in his tone that makes you ache.

So much is said in such little words. He is sorry to you, for you, and with you. A sorrow is shared between the two of you, knowing that your hearts ache for one another as they are worlds apart yet on earth together. 

This last berry was only supposed to mark the end of your visits, not the end of everything. It feels like this is all there is for the two of you, since it’s too complicated to continue on like this.

That’s why he doesn’t move away when you move closer and rest your head on his shoulder as tears leak down your cheeks, or at least that’s what you’ll believe. 

—

Time moves weirdly when you’re immortal, but it all happens so quickly.

Marcus stopped coming to offer things for you, and so you were blessing him less. Admittedly you had kept an eye on him, but not a keen one. It didn’t feel right, not when you and him weren’t… friends anymore.

But this feels too soon, too fast, too unfamiliar. Has your sadness caused you to be blind?

You watch as a man kneels in front of Marcus, panting and bloody with a sword beside him on the ground.

The only reason you are here was because you had felt the roar of a crowd all the way at your own temple, a wide distance away. It had drawn you in, and instead you had found this.

That roaring which you had heard crescendos to a new height around you as you shimmer into existence, cloaking yourself to the mortal eyes in the stands of the coliseum, but existing enough to touch him.

Arrows stick out of his front, more crushed beneath his back, as he is slumped on the white, gravel, ground. His hair is curled with tacky blood streaking through it, and he is so, so, still.

You drag your hand across his forehead, feeling the remaining heat, and in the echo of the crowd you begin to sob. 

Everything around you is moving, changing, fighting, and screaming, but you sit invisible in the center of the coliseum, running your hands over the now dead General Acacius. There is nothing you can do to bring him back, to ease Lucilla, to save him and apologize. He is dead beneath your fingers, with arrows lodged deep in his irreparable, mortal, flesh. 

You were supposed to keep him safe.

Hot tears run down your cheeks as you keep grasping at his armor, unable to move him or yourself. The last visit felt official, but this feels final. There is nothing more for you here, no friendship in a corpse.

Thoughts are running through your mind at the rate that your breath is puffing from your chest. The question of where he will end up in the afterlife is overwhelming you, and the chance for him to go to Elysium feels reasonable. It’s where he should be, where he deserves to go, especially after all he had done for Rome. You don’t even care why he’s here, or why he seems to have been brutally killed, but after the time you spent with him, Elysium seems right for him.

—

It’s where he should be. Elysium is where he should be.

And it’s where you find him.

His place there is somewhat similar to his and Lucilla’s home back in the mortal world, with lush greenery and airy drapes that flutter in various colours. It seems like he has left space for Lucilla here too, with space left in the chests for her things, and a permanently made half of the bed.

Elysium offers a true celebration of life for heroes, demigodly or not, and you’re sure Marcus has been enjoying that. Anything that he had been shackled to in his mortal life was gone now, and it seems that all he would have to miss is his wife. 

Most of your time is spent there, in his afterlife home. You peer from behind curtains when he comes back, hidden in drapes and keeping yourself small. 

He is already dead, but after the last time you abandoned him, you cannot bear to leave him alone again.

The vision of him, bloodied and murdered on the coliseum floor, flickers into your mind every time you see him lying in his bed. It’s an obsession to be near him, to be looking after him. Pluto might not even know you’re down here anymore, but what does it matter?

Marcus Acacius was the last living mortal to worship you. In the underworld, you are beginning to fade. Your fingers are slipping from you again, which is making it easier to lurk near him, but it is a painful process.

You want to speak to him. No longer do you yearn for his love, not after being in his home and seeing how dedicated his heart truly is to Lucilla, but you yearn to speak to him again. A panicked emotion runs through you at the thought of fading alone, of being entirely forgotten. 

It didn’t matter before he died, fading was just something bound to happen, but now it’s more. Is he forgetting you?

—

You’ve lost most of your arms by the time you work up the courage to speak up. Lucilla arrived sometime ago, joining Marcus in the afterlife. Watching them together brought some warmth to you, some kind of happiness that you couldn’t have for yourself, but seeing it for him was enough.

You sit on the terrace of their home, invisible to their eyes, and somewhat to your own. From the tips of your fingers to just below your elbows, you are a specter. Grey shadow fills where your limbs used to be, and they pass through all objects. You couldn’t tap his shoulder if you tried.

Oftentimes you sit, hidden, and ponder by yourself about more than Marcus. There were so many things you were adamant about when he was alive, and you regret it all now. Your determination to avoid your feelings, or at least not show them, and your need to not become attached… it bites at you now, a stinging, grieving, venom, that won’t leave. Your status as a Goddess blinded you to how tender that friendship could have been, and now you sit as a ghost spectator to his afterlife, obsessed with a mortal as a fading immortal. 

The tips of your fingers pass through the glass you try to grab as you think of this on the terrace. You’re glad that you’re such a minor deity, so at least you do not have to feel so humiliated about fading. A smile has just graced your face as you feel blessed for being so unimportant you can essentially stalk this mortal, when suddenly his voice cuts through the humid air of the space.

“Felicitas?” Marcus’ voice asks.

It’s so hesitant that you think you’re imagining it. You thought you had their home to yourself right now, thinking they had gone to do… whatever souls do in Elysium, but when you turn your face, he is there.

Marcus has not worn fancy clothing in a long while now, and right now is no different. He stands before you in a plain looking tunic, which just graces his knees. To see him at ease has been so nice, but he looks distressed at your sudden appearance.

You cannot find your voice as you awkwardly stand up, trying to think quickly. There is no good way to explain what you’re doing here, hidden away in him and his wife’s home. You could just vanish into thin air, but that feels wrong. He has seen you already, any attempts at pretending you aren’t here would be ridiculous.

His eyes scroll from your face down to your arms, and the smoking shadows that used to be there. Concern pinches onto his face with knitted brows and pressed together lips.

Something in you wants him to turn away, so you don’t have to think about why he is worried for you, even after all the trouble you caused, but he doesn’t.

His sandaled steps are heavy as he comes to you, reaching for your hands but finding the gesture fruitless as his own slip right through yours.

“Dulcissima,” he speaks weakly, shock woven in his words.

You had told him about fading a little while ago, when the two of you were in that field. Now it seems the severity of it has hit him.

What is hitting you is the name. Dulcissima, or sweetest. How long had it been since you had been referred to so fondly? All at once you are being remembered, recognized, and shown some affection. It feels like too much and tears are falling out of your control.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, “I was supposed to– to keep you safe.”

Marcus is shaking his head already, refusing your apology.

“No, no. You did keep me safe, you did. I pushed you away, I couldn’t control myself and I caused this,” he argues. 

It does not comfort you that you both blame yourselves. You wish to reach out to him and touch his face like you should have when he was warm and alive. You want to know if he is cold now, and it’s as if he hears you.

Marcus places a hand on your cheek, a softness in his eyes and hold that says that he missed you.

“I saw you,” he claims, “when I was on the ground. You were the last thing I saw.”

Somewhere between life and death for mortals, there are moments of godly clarity. Some see the light, others see their families and memories, but in that tiny glimpse of time, some see Gods. 

He was able to see you as you knelt over him, sobbing as you were cloaked to any mortal's naked eye.  You were the last thing he saw, and the last thing he truly regretted. 

All you can do is stiltedly nod at him, feeling like you were in trouble even though it seems he’s not upset.

For a moment, his eyes flick away, contemplative, but then he meets your gaze again.

“I told Lucilla of you, before I died. Not– not of my feelings which I struggled with, but that you were a close friend, a blessing in many ways.”

A blessing in many ways.

Another choked sob is wracked from your chest, your bottom lip curling out embarrassingly as your face contorts. He almost coos at you, the thumb on your cheek rubbing away your tears.

“Goddess, I have missed you,” he admits. 

Stupid nods are all you can offer, your voice imprisoned in your ever tightening throat which cries. When he was alive he was never this tender, too confused and insecure to ever touch you, but it seems he has been regretting things too.

“Felicitas,” he says quietly, “do you come here for ill reason?”

You shake your head this time, rather than nodding. You have no reason to be here, other than the fact that guilt has taken over your mind and heart since he died.

“Then relax, dulcissima. I have an offering for you.”

Marcus relaxes his stature, eyes still gazing over you. He looks at your fading palms and you watch him swallow nervously.

“I will worship you again, lending you offerings here, and all I ask in return is for our friendship again.”

It’s the opposite of how you met, almost completely, but it’s everything you need. You will not fade, he will not struggle in marriage, and you will have one another again. 

Again, you are nodding stupidly, but soon you’re embraced by him and nodding into his chest. His hands grasp at your back as he tells you how much he missed you in his final weeks, how he regrets losing you entirely, how he requires you as a friend. 

You are satiated in his arms as he comforts you, awakening you again there on the terrace. Unbeknownst to you, Marcus has let tears slip down too as he holds you close. 

“You will keep me safe here?” he asks jokingly.

It makes you smile, the idea of offering luck to a man who already died.

“Yes, General. I will keep you safe here, from all the horrifying glory and splendor,” you assure.

The two of you laugh, breaking the embrace but staying close. A passionate connection is still between the two of you, but in a different way now. Maybe when he was alive it was romantic because it is all you could think of, but through his death the two of you have come to understand it more. 

You require one another in a unique way, and leaning on one another does not have to be intimate the way he is with his wife. Marcus does need you, just as you need him, and now that you are both immortal in a way, you will never be separated again.

please leave a comment, like, reblog, askbox, or ANYTHING. i'd love to hear thoughts on this <33

tags (people who seemed excited for this) (sorry if these dont work)

@pascalssbabyy , @moonshapedflan , @gossipgirl-03 , @kyloispunk , @frannyzooey , @coocoolahh , @bug-boy32 , @honeymarvel , @magicalmorg , @1deakybass , @tuquoquebrute , @harryshousewhore , @teeagain, @chewie-bars , @vampyyweek , @queenslandlover-93 , @amijenn , @aquanatalie

[jurijyuu]

I wanna take a ride on your radio stick (Alastor x Reader)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

AlastorxReader Smut

Summary: Being sick sucks ass. Unfortunately, your boyfriend is the Radio Demon who’s too busy to keep an eye on you as you recover. As you sleep through your cold, your boyfriend leaves you his mic to keep in touch in case you need help.

Note: No, you do not use his mic as a dildo. That's Vox's kink.

What's in Store: Gender-Neutral Reader, Masturbation, Dry Humping, Established relationship, Male Masturbation, Alastor discovers ASMR

Your POV

When you woke up delirious and exhausted one day, your boyfriend practically panicked. It was odd to see him fret, so unsure and unsettled over a cold. It’s not like dying from illness in Hell would be permanent either so his frittering about was completely uncalled for.

Darling, have some soup. Darling, drink some water. Darling, I brought some medicine. Between your fuzzy senses and bleary awareness throughout the last couple of days, these moments of attention and care piled up into memory. Ah, but he really was sweet even when his worry was unnecessary. When you were better, you would pay him back.

That said, for the first time in days, you felt somewhat clear headed, the fog of sleep no longer clinging to you in moments of consciousness. You tried to remember how long you’d been out. Three days? Four? Alastor would know but the deer man wasn’t here. Weakly, you searched for his presence. The house was silent except for the sounds of the bayou where your shared home stood, no footsteps on creaking floorboards or humming as he went about his routine. You did, however, sense his power. It was faint compared to what he exuded but it was there, not too far from you. Turning to the side, you found his staff leaning neatly on the nightstand.

Right. He had business to attend to at the hotel. You vaguely remember him telling you that earlier along with how he’d leave his microphone here just in case you needed to contact him. Why he refused to get even just a pager, you really didn’t understand. But you weren’t complaining right now. The faint trace of his magic from the microphone was comforting in the absence of the man himself.

Sluggishly, you crawled to the edge of the bed and reached for the staff to bring into bed with you.

“Al?” You called weakly hoping to hear your boyfriend’s voice but only received silence as a response. So he was too busy. Unfortunate, though it’s probably for the best as you only wanted to hear him and that wasn’t a good enough reason to interrupt his work.

Still…

Closing your eyes, a few memories flitted through your mind. A calming hand, and sweet murmurs asking if you were feeling better, what did you need? Your lover had always been good at caring for you but it was never with quite the amount of tenderness your faint memories provided. He’d sounded so unbelievably sweet that you regretted not being able to see him through most of it, fighting for consciousness as you were. Your heart clenched and stuttered thinking of your tall menace of a gentleman actually being a gentle man.

It could have been your fever or just your imagination trying to fill in the blanks of what face your usually chipper lover looked like as he cared for you but you felt flush as you laid in bed. Alastor…

He usually grinned a toothy smile meant to intimidate or fool anyone into thinking he was always having a jolly good time. But on occasion, you’d caught him with a small one, eyes half-lidded, lost in a soft sweet song from yesteryear, oblivious to the world. Sometimes those eyes would be looking at you, something electric lighting them up when you looked back at him.

Had he looked at you with that tired and lazy stare? Waiting patiently for you to get better as he took care of all your needs from changing your clothes to even bathing your body.

Heat pulsed down your body to between your legs. That wasn’t the fever. 

With a groan you turned to your side, the faint wave of arousal heating you up as it passed through you. Should you? Shouldn’t you? If you waited long enough, it would go away on its own. But then again, this was a rare opportunity to help yourself since Alastor was out and left you alone for once. 

Your throat felt dry as the arousal continued its slow but blaring spike. Ahh fuck it. You blamed your still feverish mind for giving in to quick relief.

Reaching into your pants, you fondled your sex through your underwear, gentle and slow, almost shy. When Alastor touched you, it was always urgent and demanding, his dominant personality on full display even as he was servicing your body. But what you wanted right now was that soft Alastor.

One faint memory in particular came to mind. Your body had been burning hotter than it was right now.

“Oh dear. You’re sweating so much, darling. Let me wipe you down.”

His ungloved hand reached out to help you sit up against the headboard, careful not to jolt you too harshly. There was a faint sloshing of water. With your eyes still sleepy, you didn’t see him but he must’ve rolled his sleeves up, coat put away somewhere since he was home.

“Easy there. Let me take off your shirt, sweetheart.”

Your heartbeat picked up as you remembered the faint brushes of his fingers as he unbuttoned your sleepwear. With your free hand, you imitated your imaginary lover. Those long fingers peppered little touches on your chest, on your sternum and down your belly, another wave of heat following their path down but never quite reaching where you’d wanted them to go. He was always a tease.

Your breath hitched as you imagined him looking at your bare chest, one strong hand firmly keeping you in place against the headboard as the other went to grab a washcloth. Did he rub little circles on your clavicle with his thumb while he was at it? You’d like to think he did as you replicated his motions, rubbing your thumb in light circles over your sex.

This soft Alastor didn’t speak much, not wanting to disturb your rest more than he already was. Instead, he crooned a soft melody, keeping you teetering in limbo between wakefulness and sleep as your body grew hotter. 

A cold cloth passed over your shoulder causing you to keen, your nipples hardening in response to the imaginary chill, something your lover probably noticed. With firm yet gentle strokes, he patted the wet cloth against your sweaty body, each touch so gentle that it stoked a fire in your belly. Every time the cloth was washed, wrung and brought back to your body, you hissed, the cool sensation a stark contrast against your heated skin and heated core.

“Almost done, sweetheart.”

He was talking in a lower tone, almost whispering, voice turning the slightest bit gravelly. This was supposed to cool you down so why was it getting you hotter? And did he notice that the flush creeping up your chest had nothing to do with your cold? 

Finally, he’d finished wiping your back and arms, tossing the washcloth into the basin with a loud splash.

In reality, he’d dressed you up in a new shirt and you went back to sleep but not this imaginary deer man.

“Oh darling, you still look so flushed.”

Clawed hands gently cupped your heated cheeks, their coolness shooting straight to your aroused sex in a way that was a little embarrassing given that your man was only trying to clean you up. And even with your eyes closed, you knew he noticed, his stare feeling electric on your exposed skin.

“Oh I might have missed a spot.”

There was a light teasing in his voice, only masked by the rough murmur it had turned to. You heard the water slosh again. A cold and slightly rough sensation brushed against your erect nipple. You moaned in shocked pleasure as it jolted lighting through your body. A similarly shocked gasp came from your imaginary Alastor, a light break in his static as his hand lightly clenched.

You felt boneless as his other hand guided you to lay back down as he cooed softly. 

“Your fever is back up, darling. Let me try to cool you down.”

The washcloth rubbed lightly against your other nipple and your stomach clenched. It felt so good. He kept at it, playing with one or the other until you were a writhing mess. You tried to open your eyes but they were too heavy. 

“Shhh sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” 

One claw tip, razor sharp, lightly flicked your nipple, rubbing on it just a bit before tracing a line down your navel, down your bellybutton and stopping just at the waistband of your pajamas before ghosting over your sex.

He said nothing but the sound of his chuckles transformed that sweet face into his usual smug one. Arrogant prick. He was planning to tease you til you begged, wasn’t he? You were almost tempted to let him play with you until you got to that point. A wicked smile stretched in his face.

“Don’t tease me, Al.”

“Tease you, dear? I’m just trying to clean you up. Sit up so I can put a new shirt on you.”

You wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face. Fueled by arousal and spite, you imagined pulling the deer man into bed with you, tossing him over until you had him under you. You imagined straddling his skinny waist and letting him feel the results of his ‘cleaning up.’ With your hand still cupping your heated sex, you ground down on it only to gasp when something cool bumped into the back of your hand.

Breaking away from your fantasy, you spot Alastor’s staff under you, faintly buzzing with your lover’s magic. Again, you blamed it on your fever but having something of his right there as you imagined topping your arrogant radio man was too delicious to resist.

Taking your hand away from your sex, you positioned the length of the staff to align with your core and then lowered yourself down. The cold metal glided against your sex as you rubbed yourself on it. It was too thin but if you closed your eyes, you could imagine that you were holding your skinny deer man, rubbing yourself against his equally hard cock.

Fuck. It shouldn’t feel so good but it did. You swung your hips a bit to feel more of that length, the harsh metal rubbing at just the right places to send pleasure up and down your spine. The fantasy in your head shattered as something else replaced it. 

You held onto the microphone tighter, pulling it closer to you as you imagined your Alastor walking in on this display. Coming in from a hard day’s work only to find you so desperately chasing release against his microphone. Could he hear the sounds you were making?

A moan escaped your lips. He would be so stunned. He didn’t know that you were this horny. He was always so proper and only recently accepted intimate contact. How could you tell him that you just wanted to rub yourself all over him? Feel the hard planes of his body against your skin. Push him down and ride his cock until he was a mess of screams and broken radio static. He was so sensitive, so new to sex. You wanted to ruin him for anyone else.

He’d never let you be on top though, too busy wanting to fuck you into the mattress. Gods, he was rough. He’d thrust with all his lithe body, wringing screams of want and desperate pleasure from you until you skull banged against the headboard. Then he’d kiss you to pin you in place. 

Of course you wanted to do the same to him so why not start with this part of him? The mic had a capped bottom, giving you a lovely ridge to play with. Pushing the staff under you, you desperately humped against that ridge, delicious friction sending unimaginable thrills up your spine and all the way to your head until it was empty except for that pleasure.

“Alastor.” 

The microphone head pressed into your chest, its ridges lightly rubbing against your skin and your nipples with each roll of your hips, shooting little jolts of ticklish pleasure through you. Ohh it felt so good. You gasped and moaned as you reached higher and higher peaks. Could Alastor hear what you were doing? The thing was always on so he probably could. Was he listening to you fuck yourself against his mic while sitting in a meeting, unable to leave? Were your cries throwing off his focus? Was he itching to come back home to you and see exactly what you were doing?

“Allll—“

Could he feel your heated sex as you pressed it against the length of his staff? The thing was a part of him after all. If so, how was he feeling right now? Scandalized? Aroused? Horrified? If he were here, would he push you away or take his microphone’s place? Either way, his clawed hand would have to grab you by your hips as you continued to gyrate against his staff. The ghostly sensations of his hands on you fueling the fire coursing through your veins. Fuck! You were so close. 

You pinched your nipple as you ground down hard, your fingers joining the staff in teasing your sensitive sex, the pleasure building up until you tipped over the edge.

“Al! I—I’m coming!” You moaned into the microphone, wanting your lover to hear your pleasured cries, all cares gone with the wind as you rode your high into unconsciousness.

Alastor's POV

A meeting with the Princess of Hell was the last thing on his mind right now. A sick lover awaited him at home, needing to be cared for, but he was forced to come to this useless meeting instead. So very unfortunate. Given, the recent announcement of the new extermination timeline was a huge concern for the girl but that was honestly not his problem to worry about so long as the hotel and his business partner remained unscathed.

Needless to say, the princess was determined to ‘speed up’ what progress she could on getting their two guests to achieve redemption.

“Volunteer work idea! We can do volunteer work as part of our redemption path. Doing good deeds is part of being a good person, right? Well, we should help out some of the sinners in the territorial war districts.” Charlie raised up one of her hand drawn illustrations showing what he assumed to be the said territorial war zone. It depicted the hotel crew helping clean and bandage the wounded and helpless.

All so very trivial given those souls would respawn in time unless they were faced with Carmine weaponry. In that case, and in all cases really, those souls should have known what they were getting themselves into when battling for territory. He’d thought of a hundred ways the princess’ idea could go wrong and was about to suggest them when he heard a familiar voice ringing through his mind. He picked up the signal from his microphone.

“Al?” Voice hoarse from disuse, his little darling called out to him once you had woken up. How he wished he could come to your side right at that moment. The few times you had been coherent during this whole ordeal had been far too few and short. A hellish flu was so uncommon and there had been no ways to heal from it other than to wait it out. 

He reevaluated what he needed to do. On one hand, he could be helpful and plan this whole redemption exercise for Charlie to ensure no trouble occurred. However, the princess took a very hands-on approach to things. Bringing up any problems would only prolong the meeting…He sighed internally. What to do?

With half an ear to the chattering princess, he focused the other half of his attention to whatever sounds his microphone could pick up. If anything alarming was transmitted, he was ready to shadow home as quickly as possible.

“…We can implement a buddy system. It’s a little dangerous to just go alone and…” Ah. For once, the princess recognized a flaw in her plan before he even had to mention it. Wonderful. She was learning to be a bet—

“Ah…oh..”

Any admiration he might have had for the princess’ awareness of the dangers her plan posed was halted by a breathy moan in his mind’s ear. Had you gotten hurt trying to move around? From how delirious you had been prior, he could imagine you falling off the bed trying to look for him or care for yourself. But he hadn't heard any noises indicating an accident.

Immediately, all his focus moved to his microphone, magick at the ready to bring him back. Charlie’s plans would have to wait. He was about to apologize to the princess and leave when another sound, a soft sigh of pleasure entered his mind.

What?

It was soft, so very soft, but your rhythmic breathing was steadily increasing in pace, dotted with little sighs and shy moans. He knew those sounds all too familiarly, aimed to bring them out as he played with your body most evenings. Surely…it wasn’t what he thought it was? 

A high keening sound, muffled slightly and marred by the transmission’s static pierced his mind and smothered any doubt he had about exactly what he was hearing. 

The sound of your whines rang in his ear, reverberating through his head like a dinner bell and awakening a hunger he’d only ever felt with you. Sinful little thing. You had to know that he could hear you with his microphone so close to you. You were doing this on purpose! His static crackled as your noises picked up.

Your muffled cries increased in volume and urgency as he could now hear the subtle rustling of bedsheets moving with you. Whatever fantasy had brought you to touch yourself, you were currently lost in.

He twitched as tendrils of arousal slithered their way into his veins. His wicked lover was casting a siren call, delirious, weak, deliciously vulnerable and obviously asking to be fucked. 

He took a slow breath to cool the heat starting to rise in his body. Why did you start this now, of all times? He’d been with you for days before this! Your timing was terrible. Or maybe you had planned this, wanting him to come rushing to you as soon as possible. His teeth clenched in his smile.

Why was it that the first thing you did when you finally had the energy was to crave sexual fulfillment? To pleasure yourself when he wouldn’t be there to assist you? 

It was debased and primitive of you. He wasn’t sure whether to be irritated by your lewd behavior or proud. But he did know that your little act was stirring things south of where was appropriate in front of the princess and her girlfriend. Keeping a neutral expression on his face, he shifted slightly where he stood by the princess’ desk. He needed to get them out.

In a bid to keep his composure, he played a little jig from his chest, something light and cheerful, a complete and total clash to the heat building below his belly. If he waited just a bit more…but Charlie looked ready to burst into song. He couldn’t have that.

“An excellent idea!” He chimed, cutting off whatever Charlie was saying. Both women turned to him, one in pleasant surprise and the other curious.

“Really?” Charlie sparkled at his half-serious agreement, throwing beams of sunshine from her eyes that only served to irritate him further. The heat running up and down his body made him even more impatient with the princess’ inane suggestions. 

“Yes. Why don’t you scout out the perfect area for us to do this little venture. Have to ensure the safety of our guests, after all.” Before the women could get their bearings together, he was already gently pushing Charlie out the door, with her tail of a lover sure to follow. “Make a day trip of it, even. I’m sure there’s lots to see.”

“H..hnnnggh..!” 

His smile almost cracked at the delicious whine that poured from your darling mouth. He wished he could be there to drink it up right at that moment. But composure. Composure. Disguising the sense of urgency pumping through his system with enthusiastic chatter about casualty statistics and needing to ensure they didn’t overstep into Overlord territories, he managed to get the two women out of the shared office space in record time. 

“Have fun now, you two.” He waved them off, their faces a little bewildered but they didn’t really have much of a choice after he’d closed the door on their faces.

The door rattled in his haste but he managed to lock it quickly. He once again tried to summon his magick to bring him away when a croon reverberated through his chest.

“Alastorrrr…”

His breath caught. 

Static ran up his spine to the roll of those pleasured r’s. He’d never admit to how his knees buckled at the sound, a unique quality he could only attribute to his darling. But it was different somehow. A wicked idea popped into his mind, the static filter in his love’s voice adding a certain flavor he’d never associated with sex before.

Making sure to seal the room so that not even a speck of dust could get in or out, he sat down on his chair. With a flick of his wrist, he transferred the transmission from his mind to the radio sitting at his desk. From there, your voice played.

“Don’t tease me, Al.” 

“Oh but aren’t you doing the teasing here, darling?” He smiled deviously, imagining your face as he said so. You wouldn’t have heard him muse back. For what he had in mind, he’d made it a one-way broadcast purposefully.

Another sigh escaped your lips sending heat down to his already aching member. With deft hands, he unbuckled his belt, slowly easing himself out of his slacks. The hair of his navel stood on end at the rush of cold air hitting the sensitive skin. His cock stood ready and weeping from just the sounds of your debauchery. It was truly pathetic but you had that effect on him. He palmed himself briefly, imagining it was your hands taking him out of his clothes. Shy and careful. You were always very gentle with him. And it drove him mad with want.

Grabbing his cock, he started to stroke, slow at first, getting a bit faster as more of his precum leaked out. From the radio, he heard rustling. He could picture it then, your skin gliding in the sheets of your bed, a thin layer of sweat giving your flushed face a delectable shine. You writhed with want, unfulfilled and calling for him. Your labored breathing sounded lovely and lewdly through the radio.

He groaned, eyes closed as he pictured being there with you as you crawled over to him, hands greedy to stroke his member. The sheets rustled as they tugged at your knees, too eager to disentangle yourself from the blankets. Your hands delicately wrapped around his cock, face aglow as you admired it. You looked so ready to take it into your little mouth.

He hissed and stroked, slower this time to match his image of you. He licked his lips as his breathing quickened.

He’d never understood the appeal of listening to such filthy broadcasts. Saw it as a distasteful use of air time that could have been used for news, jazz or something else. He’d tried it once and could only grimace at the theatrical moaning of the actors at the station. The storylines were ridiculously shallow too.

But with you on the other side, a broadcast exclusive for his ears only…He shuddered, ears twitching to catch the lightest of sounds for his mind to work into fantasy. His hips thrust up into his hand, presenting you with a prize you so very much wanted. Naughty little thing.

The broadcast buzzed sharply, sending a jolt through his chest in shock. Something had hit the microphone. For a moment, his heart stopped, thinking that you did end up over extending yourself and collapsed. But just as quickly, a new sensation started.

“Fuck!”

His free hand rushed to gripped the armrest of his chair tightly. It was the only way he could channel the sudden rush that overtook his body, lest the hand squeezing his cock tighten too much. Something hot and moist pressed against his extension and he nearly choked at the sudden pressure.

He could feel it! A silky glide. He could feel you, your hot sex rubbing up and down against the shaft of his staff, his mind directing that sensation to his crotch. A shiver ran up his spine, the ghost sensations of your hands trailing along his staff being mirrored onto his body. 

“Fuck.” 

A similar curse whispered huskily through the radio. So he wasn’t the only one feeling sensitive. You moaned as he felt the corresponding brush of your sex against his staff, against him. Sweat collected on his brow as his body grew hotter in response. It was as if you were there with him.

“Ah—Alastor!”

“Yes, darling? Come and rut yourself on me. Let me feel you.” His free hand traced up his chest, claws mimicking the way you would slowly and intentionally trail your fingers up his body when you were being intimate. Tugging at his shirt teasingly, your hands lightly splayed against his chest. He arched his back into the touch. You knew how much he liked your touch. Always tracing lines along his shoulders, counting his ribs. 

“Oh..” He groaned, hand moving faster along his cock as you found a steady rhythm to pleasure yourself to. He could feel the ghostly heat and slick of your fluids starting to smear and make a mess of his microphone. His thumb brushed the weeping red tip, paying close attention to smear his precum, imagining it was yours starting to coat his cock.

“Hmnngh. Al—feels good.”

“Does it, darling? Hn. You’re making a mess. I’ll have you clean that up, you know.” As if you could hear him, another pathetic whine squeaked through his radio feed. His static broke at the sound. “Yes. You’ll have to take responsibility for making it so filthy.”

He could feel his extension get crushed between your body and the mattress, your body heat getting relayed onto his own. You were so desperate to bed him, keening and moaning sloppily to a fantasy him of your own design. He did the same. His mental image of you bent down, face close to his cock, breath brushing teasingly over the sensitive tip, waiting for his command. He smirked through the buzz that ran through his body at the pathetic sight, concentration going blurry as lust took over.

“Use your mouth.” 

Another high pitched whine. You bent low, static-filtered breathing feeling so close and warm on his cock. He summoned a tentacle to join his hand in working his member, its slimy texture a poor replacement for your tongue but…he growled at the first lick of it…good enough. As long as he thought it was you, it would be good enough. His teeth dug into his lip, stifling his groans as he guided ‘your tongue.’ A slow lick on each of his balls, up the underside of his cock, teasing the vein there that you knew he liked. 

“That’s good, dear. Ah! So good. Let me reward you.”

His free hand twitched, imagining reaching for your hole, working you open slowly with his fingers. The silky walls of your cavern were a familiar sensation his brain provided in the absence of the actual thing. His fingers pushed in and out slowly, tracing the outer edges before dipping back in. Your moans were constant now, a never ending chant of your pleasure and his name. His head swam with sensations, imagined and transmitted. A part of him reveled in this pleasure you gave him, that you didn’t know he was partaking in. 

“That’s it, darling. My darling doe. Take your pleasure…” He gasped, the muscles in his stomach growing taut as the coils of ecstasy wound themselves layer after layer. “…give me mine too. Make me cum with your mouth.”

From your sounds and the rough brushes of heat ghosting along his body, he could tell you were close, riding that fantasy of yours without reservation.

“Not yet, dear. Hnngh. Not..yet.” It was getting harder to breathe as his heart pounded, trying to reach that high while you were still going. He needed the stimuli. He craved it. He was so close. The wet heat from your body transmitted from his staff to his cock, your voice garbled pleasured sounds from his radio. So close. So close.

“Al! I—I’m coming!”

“Wait, darling. You can take a little more. Just a bit—”

But his plea didn’t reach you. He heard you scream directly into the microphone, so loud and amorous that his mind stuttered, worried that the sound ringing through the room would somehow escape and be heard by some passerby. 

All at once, he lost the rhythmic strokes against his body as your undulating stopped. Your salacious broadcast had ended.

He rutted up into his hand furiously. He hadn’t finished yet, but he was so close, a bit feral as he tried to reach his own high now that you had achieved yours. But it was no use. His tentacle stroked precum and slime-slick pumps against his cock but without your voice, or even your ghostly touch, it felt like nothing. He growled, frustrated, slamming his hands against the armrests as he leaned back into his chair, defeated.

“Fuck!” What a tease! An absolute menace! He cursed you as he tried to calm himself, scrubbing his clean hand down his face. Massaging his temples, a realization dawned on him, reaching his orgasm was next to impossible now. He breathed deep.

But his blood still pumped in his veins, hot and wanting. He couldn’t regain his composure, too worked up. His hand reached to pull off his bow tie and free his neck to get some air. It didn’t help. You damned sinful temptation. He never had to suffer such irritating incidents like this before you. He growled and hissed, a primal aggression taking over. 

This was why he had been happy to never feel these urges. It was crude, having his mind controlled by his lower body. 

No matter, he would get you to fix it.

With one final deep breath, he stood and tidied his desk, making sure to leave nothing amiss. There was no point in tidying himself up. Not when he intended to make a mess of you in just a moment. At the thought, he decided to let you see the proud work you’d done on him. He took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. You liked seeing him disheveled, more casual as you put it. Your heartbeat always picked up at every little show of his skin.

It was with this appearance, top buttons undone and slacks clinging onto his hips by some work of demon magick that wasn’t his, that he teleported back home to you. He was ready to see your surprised face, flushed still from your orgasm and slightly disoriented. Then he’d fuck you back into your coma for daring to pull such a stunt in the middle of the day. He buzzed at the plan, cock aching once again.

When he’d stepped foot into your bedroom, the sight that greeted him was a disheveled lover, hand still in clutching onto his microphone as you dozed. Seeing you weak and asleep, the urgency in his body cooled slightly, worry taking its place. Immediately, he’d made it to the bedside, checking to see if you were alright. 

Light breaths. A small sigh of relief escaped his lips before his stomach clenched to remind him of his current predicament. His eyes roamed your body, making sure you were alright. When nothing seemed amiss, his eyes narrowed in irritation. He’d suspected the possibility that you had passed out after your performance but the disappointment in seeing you unconscious still stung. 

Up close, he could see you, feel you, smell you. You reeked of cum, having fainted as soon as you’d climaxed. How filthy. How divine. The scent was wonderful, heady and musky, traces of your activity still lingering in the air and on his microphone. The fire in his belly roiled to life once again. Stupid little thing. Making his life just that much more difficult and wonderful than it already was.

Precious, lewd little thing. His heartbeat quickened as the rush of lust came back. He’d had all intentions of taking out his frustrations on your more than willing body but seeing you like this, needing your rest, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

But it didn’t mean he wouldn’t get his end. With one knee on the bed, he approached you, wanting to be as close as he could without disturbing your slumber. His hand found his needy cock once again, palm warm and inviting as he stroked from the base to tip. His other hand wound itself in your hair, gently petting you and relishing your warmth as his hand worked his member over your sleeping form.

His ears picked up the sound of your breathing, gentle and soft, just like everything about you. And you let someone like him defile that softness. He swallowed, drool already pooling in his mouth at the meal in front of him that he could not devour as he wished to.

The smell of your shared bed, your sex, your cum, your want lingering in the air. It enveloped him completely. This was his home. His den. His lover. His mate. While the little broadcast was exquisite, the live thing would always be better.

And he can wait for you to get better. Oh, all the things he would do to you once you were well. Just, he needed to take the edge off a little. He breathed in and let himself get lost in the feeling, the heat of his body rising and he got close to his climax again. His hips bucked into his hand, chasing that high as he watched your peaceful face. Shudders racked his body. He was so close. If only he could hear you call his name with that pretty voice of yours.

“Alastor?” His breath hitched. His hand had unconsciously clenched in your hair, not enough to hurt but it did stir you awake. His eyes met yours and his climax finally hit him under your stare. The knot in his stomach unwound and he watched his cum spurt without his control. Some of it splattered onto your bewildered face, causing you to flinch. 

“D-did you just…?” A small hand went up to the new stains on your face, wiping the smear onto your fingers as you studied it as if you couldn’t comprehend exactly what it was. Fair enough. This wasn’t behavior he ever would have done before he met you. He was slightly embarrassed by that but there was something satisfying about seeing his cum on your cheek.

“Well, you did too, didn’t you?” A clawed hand carded through your hair, slightly smearing it with his spend though you were still too bewildered to notice. His voice was husky, still riding high as his body sang in completion. You blushed madly as you remembered what you’d done and why he was here, like this.

“T-that’s—“ 

“Hush. Don’t worry about it, darling. Though it did get me a little worked up.” With a few snaps of his fingers, you were both cleaned up and the bed made around you. It took more effort to do as all he wanted to was collapse next to you but no. He had to make sure you were comfortable before he did. As lovely a sight that you made, he wouldn’t let you rest in filth.

Neither of you spoke as he climbed to his side of the bed, sitting against the headboard while you looked at him from where you laid. Perhaps your stillness slowed your brain processes as well. You still seemed tense, shocked. He started petting your head, an action that calmed you just as much as it did him. He needed just a few moments. 

When complete clarity finally returned to him, he faced you, a teasing grin on his lips as his eyes narrowed.

“I hope you know…” He leaned down to peer into your eyes, holding your gaze and relishing his lone figure reflected in its shine. His eyes roamed over your body, a slow take that he was sure you caught before he looked into your eyes and continued. Despite having only just finished, electric lust still buzzed in his chest, vibrating through his voice as he growled low a promise to the little troublemaker. “…that when you’ve fully recovered, darling, you shouldn’t expect to get out of this bed for a long while.” 

Beneath his palm, you trembled, your little shakes traveling from his fingertips to his cock. Your eyes switched from confusion to dread, sensing the underlying threat and seduction in his tone. He traced a lazy pattern on your cheek, cupping the supple flesh to feel the fever induced heat. Like a demure little creature, you leaned into his touch. 

And like the wretched little thing you were, you casually drew his thumb into your hot mouth, all of that sweet dread replaced by even sweeter confidence. With eyes never leaving his own, you gave his thumb a bold slow lick. He held back the urge to press his thumb down into that lascivious tongue. 

“Looking forward to it…” The tease had the gall to smirk at him, teeth lightly prickling his captured appendage. Clarity and mirth sparkled in your eyes. “Lover.”

AO3

[keehomania]

paradise — jjk (18+)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ smut — loosely inspired by outer banks — friends with benefits, kook/pogue dynamic, violence, manipulative!toxic!jungkook, p in v intercourse, jealousy, creampie, car sex, degradation, jungkook is mean lol, tit play, lots of yapping, orgasm denial, spanking, drug usage

hell is other people. at least, according to sartre. everybody seemed to have their own personal perspective. you had your sartres, your tolstoys, and even your nietzsches, if that struck your fancy. that was the beauty of philosophy—everybody had their own way of looking at the glass, whether it was half-full or not. the sheer essence relied on the fact that, those who cared enough, would put their minds to great use in order to put things into perspective. it was subjective. to sartre, hell was other people. to you, it was jeon jungkook.

it was good. it was so good, every part of it that your mind knew was bad, seemed to be countered by a much more primitive instinct. it was only natural, above all else. it allowed you to indulge in your primal instincts, in a way that would raise eyebrows instead of praise. to hell with it, you didn’t need praise. you just needed to live, and if anybody was going to tell you how to do it, it was going to be you. sartre could never let himself go and become incarnated in his body, but thankfully, you were no sartre.

there was a certain division that led life on the island, one that seemed to resemble the States’ red-blue way of thinking. there was a hint of bourgeoisie to it, maybe even more than a hint. one side of the island belonged to those who managed to get by, living on scraps and making the most of them. they were the commoners who, despite working to live, still lived. the other side, though basing their entire lives on privilege and luxury, ceased to live. they merely existed. they existed, with their three-story homes, trust funds, and private schools, but they didn’t know the first thing about living.

living was what you did best, and you had nothing to regret. you could only wish to turn back time, to shed the last eighteen years of your life the way a snake shed its skin, and to start over. you’d trade the hand you were dealt at birth, every single privilege that was guaranteed, for the life you were now living. your blood ran blue, but your heart knew exactly where home was, much to your parents’ dismay. while they weren’t supportive, they were willing to look the other way. they knew nothing could replace the bonds formed—your second family, even if it was on the cut.

at times, you were in over your head. even with the first rays of sunlight making their breakthrough of the day, the smell of salt in the air, the feeling of coarse sand between your toes—sometimes, it wasn’t enough to quiet your mind. you stared into the sea, watching the boats grow smaller and smaller as they travelled down south, the corners of your lips turning downward as you did so. during moments like these, you would reminisce, and you would do it quietly. you would take a minute to grieve the life you had discarded, the friendships you had ended, and the luxuries you kissed goodbye. you were happier now, the half-full glass part of your mind would tell you, but the other still asked, what if you weren’t?

“these tides got me by the fucking balls, dude,” was the first thing to have snapped you out of your own thoughts, earning your attention in a matter of seconds. finally, you felt yourself relax. you could see taehyung in the water, wrestling with the surfboard under his arm as he gasped for air. for a second, he met your gaze, and you found yourself smiling. jimin stood over him, crouching against the floorboards of the boat—the same one he named in taehyung’s honor, the “dokdo maknae.”

you watched in amusement as he extended his hand, offering his best man help, even if it seemed like the world’s biggest struggle. “do us all a favor and just let him drown next time,” you called out, finally propping yourself off the ground and back onto your feet. despite the middle finger sent your way, you could hear seulgi cracking up just a few feet away from you. “yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” taehyung responded as he dried himself off with an old rag.

you shook your head, your grin widening as you made your way toward seulgi, who was sitting cross-legged near the cooler, sunglasses perched on her nose, sipping a beer. the sun spilled across the boat, warming the floorboards beneath your bare feet and casting golden ripples across the water. the air smelled of salt and sunscreen, a scent that always brought you peace. “boys,” seulgi said with a smirk as you dropped down beside her, stealing her beer for a quick sip. “so dramatic.”

before you could respond, taehyung, now aboard, threw the rag to the side with a flourish. “you want dramatic? i’ll show you dramatic,” he declared, heading toward the cooler with newfound purpose. you and seulgi exchanged a look, already bracing for whatever ridiculousness he was about to pull. “i bet i can shotgun two beers faster than anyone here,” he announced, grabbing two cans from the cooler.

“oh, please,” you said, leaning back on your elbows as the sun kissed your skin. “you can’t get through one can without it looking like you pissed yourself.”

“you need to learn to have a little more faith in me,” taehyung replied with a confident smirk, already cracking open the cans. jimin was on the other side of the boat, shaking his head. “this should be good,” seulgi murmured, pulling her sunglasses down just enough to watch the scene unfold.

with exaggerated theatrics, taehyung lifted both cans, the liquid already beginning to foam. “one, two,” he started, his voice trailing off as he tilted them back, the first gush of bitter liquid splashing wildly. you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up as, true to form, taehyung managed to spill more than he drank. within seconds, beer was running down his arms, soaking his shirt, and unfortunately, spraying onto both you and seulgi in the process. “see, i can totally do it!” he exclaimed triumphantly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“you asshole,” you said, feigning annoyance as you flicked droplets off your arms. “you got us all wet!” through her laughter, seulgi added, “You’re a walking disaster, dude.”

taehyung, unbothered, gave you both a devilish grin. “i’ve got a solution,” he said, stepping closer to you. before you could react, his arms were already wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the ground and and throwing you effortlessly over his shoulder. “taehyung, don’t even try it!” you yelled, pounding on his back, but he was already sprinting toward the edge of the boat.

the impact was cold and sudden, the water enveloping you in an instant. you came up for air sputtering, pushing your wet hair out of your face as you glared at him. “you’re such an ass,” you snapped, splashing water in his direction, but your laughter betrayed you. his grin was wide and unrepentant as he treaded water, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. “and yet, you can’t get enough of me,” he teased, dodging your splash with ease. despite your protests, you couldn’t deny the truth of his words. moments like these—laughter, salt water, the sun rising higher in the sky—reminded you why you chose this life.

the sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows on the beach as the waves crashed in a soothing rhythm against the shore. you lay sprawled on a towel beside seulgi, your sunglasses shielding your eyes from the glare, the heat of the day seeping into your skin. taehyung and jimin had ventured further down the beach with their fishing rods, their laughter echoing faintly over the sound of the waves.

seulgi was flipping through a fashion magazine, occasionally pausing to comment on an outfit or a piece of jewelry, but you were only half-listening. your mind drifted, lulled by the sea breeze and the distant hum of voices. that was, until your phone buzzed beside you. you hesitated, a pang of unease washing over you as you turned the screen over. the name flashing on the screen was both familiar and unwelcome.

do not answer: wya

your stomach twisted as you stared at the message, the three letters pulling you from the tranquility of the moment. you didn’t have to think twice to know why he was texting. jeon jungkook always had a way of turning up uninvited, unannounced, and unwelcome—yet there was something about him that kept you from cutting him off entirely. you scoffed quietly, a sound that barely escaped your throat, but seulgi noticed the subtle change in your demeanor.

“what’s wrong?” she asked, lowering her sunglasses to give you a curious glance. you forced a laugh, shaking your head as you quickly locked your phone. “wrong number, i guess.” she raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but didn’t push further. you couldn’t risk her knowing even a fraction of what you had going on with jungkook. seulgi was fiercely loyal, and if she ever found out about the tangled mess of mistakes and emotions you had with him, she’d never let it slide.

your thoughts churned as you leaned back against the towel, staring at the sky. what had started as a drunken mistake one night at a party thrown by the rich and reckless had somehow spiraled into something far more complicated. jungkook had a reputation that preceded him—dangerous, aloof, and always out for his own gain. but with you, he was different. or at least, you’d convinced yourself he was. you thought back to the nights where he’d been unexpectedly gentle, his touch careful and his words soft, as though the walls he put up for the world didn’t exist in your presence. it was a lie you clung to, a fantasy you chased, even when his actions painted a different picture.

the resentment had been simmering for a while, but it reached its boiling point last week. you’d seen him at the golfing event, his arm slung around another girl as though you didn’t exist. it was the final confirmation you needed: he wasn’t what you wanted him to be. still, your fingers hovered over your phone, and before you could stop yourself, you typed out a response.

you: beach

you: taehyung’s throwing a party tn

the reply came faster than you anticipated, as though he had been waiting for your message.

do not answer: omw

your jaw tightened as you stared at the screen, irritation bubbling up inside you. the audacity he had was almost impressive, if it weren’t so infuriating.

you: ur not invited lol

a beat passed before his response lit up the screen, and it was exactly what you expected.

do not amswer: see u tonight

you sighed, tossing your phone onto the towel beside you with more force than necessary. the nerve of him.

“what’s up?” seulgi asked, glancing at you from over the rim of her sunglasses. “nothing,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “just work stuff.” she nodded, satisfied with the answer, and returned to her magazine. but your mind was elsewhere, already bracing for the chaos jungkook’s presence would inevitably bring. you hated how easily he got under your skin, how no matter how many times you told yourself you were done, you always found yourself right back where you started.

the memory seemed to hit you like a wave, drowning out the warmth of the sun and the soft sounds of the beach. it wasn’t just a moment—it was the catalyst, the precise point in time when your life split into the “before” and “after” of jeon jungkook. you’d never forget the smell of salt in the air mixed with the sharp bite of alcohol, or the way the world seemed to tilt slightly as you tried to keep your balance.

that night, the four of you—taehyung, jimin, seulgi, and yourself—had made the brilliant decision to sneak off to the other side of the island. it wasn’t a small feat; the jungle separating your beach from theirs was dense and wild, and every crack of a branch or rustle of leaves had sent shivers down your spine. but the promise of free booze and a party hosted by the infamous jungkook and his equally notorious friends had been too tempting.

the house where the party raged was perched on the cliffside, its floor-to-ceiling windows glowing with golden light. music blared loud enough to make the walls tremble, and the sound of laughter and splashes echoed from the pool. you hadn’t wasted any time diving headfirst into the expensive cocktails. the smooth taste of rum burned in the back of your throat, but it only fueled the high you were chasing. “have a hit, c’mon, it’s on the house,” a voice had called out over the noise.

you turned just in time to see jungkook leaning casually against a pool table, his friend nervously fidgeting with a rolled-up dollar bill in hand. the sharp scent of chemicals lingered in the air, unmistakable even in the chaos of the party. “don’t pussy out on me now, okay?” his voice was smooth, almost coaxing, but the sharp edge in his words betrayed the threat beneath. his friends—if you could call them that—laughed on cue, while a group of girls lounged behind him, their eyes glued to him like moths to a flame.

something about the scene struck you wrong. even through the haze of alcohol, your disdain bubbled up. the scoff that escaped your lips wasn’t intentional, but it was loud enough to carry. jungkook’s head snapped up, his sharp gaze landing on you like a laser. “you get lost, whore? cut’s on the other side of the island,” he sneered, his words slicing through the air like a knife. laughter erupted around him, his friends quick to follow his lead. but you weren’t about to back down, not to him.

“you get lost, asshole? addicts anonymous is on the other side of the island,” you shot back, your words sharper than you expected. the laughter died instantly, replaced by a stunned silence. even his so-called friends seemed intrigued, their eyes darting between you and him like they were watching a bomb about to go off. jungkook’s expression shifted, his smirk faltering as he straightened, his full attention now focused on you.

“you’ve got a mouth on you,” he murmured, stepping away from the table. “and you’ve got a habit,” you retorted, moving closer despite the voice in your head screaming for you to stop.

he tilted his head, studying you with a look that sent a shiver down your spine. “let me do my thing, yeah? shit cost me a lot.” there it was—the money. it always came down to that with guys like him. you watched as he turned back to his friend, offering a look that was equal parts mocking and demanding. the guy hesitated, the dollar trembling in his grip.

before you could think better of it, your feet carried you forward. with a boldness that surprised even you, you snatched the bill from the guy’s hand, shoving jungkook aside with a force you hadn’t known you possessed. “if you’re gonna waste your money, might as well make it worth it,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

the rolled-up bill felt foreign in your hand, and your heart pounded in your chest as you leaned down, the sharp sting of the powder burning your nostrils. you inhaled until the line was gone, ignoring the searing pain and the metallic taste that followed.

straightening up, you turned to jungkook, your head spinning but your resolve unshaken. “you can leave him alone now,” you said, your voice steady despite the chaos in your mind. “not everyone needs coke and viagra to keep their dick hard.” the room fell silent, all eyes on you. jungkook stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—a flicker of surprise, maybe even admiration.

“you’d be surprised just how hard it can get,” he said, his voice low and dripping with amusement. your stomach twisted, but you refused to falter. “try me,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

his lips curled into a smirk, and for a moment, neither of you moved. then, without breaking eye contact, you turned on your heel and walked past him, ignoring the way your heart raced as you climbed the stairs. the sound of his footsteps behind you sent a chill down your spine, but you didn’t stop. you knew where this was headed. you knew it was a mistake. and yet, as you reached the top of the stairs and felt his hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you to face him, you knew you wouldn’t stop it. not tonight.

the morning after was worse than anything you could have anticipated. the headache was a dull roar behind your eyes, pulsing in time with your heartbeat, and the sour tang of regret clung to you like a second skin. the smell of sweat, alcohol, and sex lingered in the air, mixing into a nauseating reminder of the night before.

the room was bathed in the soft golden glow of the early morning sun filtering through the curtains. you blinked against the light, your senses slowly coming back to you as the events of the previous night unfurled in your mind. the party. the lines. the liquor. jungkook. shit, jungkook.

you pushed yourself upright, the sheet pooling around your waist as you surveyed the room with growing horror. his room. his bed. his things scattered around like trophies of his carelessness. and there, beside you, his arm lazily draped over the empty space, was the man himself. he looked peaceful, almost innocent in his sleep—a huge contrast to the wild, arrogant man from the night before. his dark hair was tousled against the pillow, his chest rising and falling steadily. you could make out the faint remnants of scratches on his shoulders and chest, and the sight made your stomach flip.

you slid out of his bed as quietly as you could, every movement measured and deliberate. the cool morning air hit your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine. the ache in your thighs and the marks on your body only deepened your shame. your clothes were strewn across the floor, a chaotic mess of discarded fabric. you crouched down, gathering them quickly, trying to piece together some semblance of dignity.

the large mirror across the room caught your reflection, and you froze. you looked disheveled. vulnerable. raw. your hair was a mess, your makeup smeared, and your skin bore the evidence of his touch—purple bruises on your neck and thighs, faint scratches on your arms. it was as if your body had betrayed you, telling the story of your night with him in ways you wished it wouldn’t.

as you slipped your panties back on and reached for your bra, the voice you dreaded most cut through the silence like a knife. “going somewhere?” you froze, your heart plummeting into your stomach. of course, he was awake. of course, fate wouldn’t let you escape unnoticed.

you didn’t turn to look at him, didn’t dare meet his gaze. instead, you focused on pulling your bra straps into place, forcing yourself to appear unaffected. “clearly,” you deadpanned, hoping the sharpness in your tone would mask the turmoil inside you. he shifted, the sound of the sheets rustling making you painfully aware of his presence. you could feel his eyes on you, heavy and intent, as if he was committing every inch of you to memory.

“seem to be in a big rush,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “try not to miss me too much.” you scoffed, finally pulling your top over your head. the fabric felt like armor, shielding you from his piercing gaze, though you could still feel it. “bite me,” you snapped, turning to face him.

the smirk that spread across his face was slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second of your reaction. “well,” he drawled, his eyes flicking down to your legs, “if your legs are any indication, i think i already have.” confused, you glanced down, and your breath caught in your throat. bruises. his marks. scattered along your inner thighs like some twisted declaration of possession. heat flooded your cheeks, a mix of anger and humiliation that made your head spin.

when you looked back up, his gaze was unwavering, his fingers reaching out to brush against the bruised skin. the touch was light, almost reverent, but it sent a jolt through you nonetheless. “tell me this was a mistake,” he said, his voice soft and smooth, yet commanding. you opened your mouth, ready to deliver the cutting remark he deserved, but the words wouldn’t come. his eyes held you captive, dark and searching, and the goosebumps that rose on your skin betrayed you.

“it was a mistake,” you managed to say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. jungkook tilted his head, his expression unreadable as his fingers continued to trace lazy circles on your thigh. “then why don’t you sound like you mean it?”

you stepped back, breaking his touch and the spell he seemed to have cast over you. “believe it or not, but i do,” you said, though the words felt hollow. he didn’t respond, just watched you with that same infuriating smirk as you grabbed the rest of your things and fled the room.

the party roared to life in a way that only taehyung could pull off. the island, once serene and peaceful, had transformed into a haven for decadence. fireworks lit up the night sky in an endless symphony of colors, their reflections shimmering on the dark water. music thundered from colossal speakers strategically placed along the beach, the bass so heavy it vibrated through the sand. people danced with wild abandon, their bodies swaying and colliding under the flickering light of bonfires scattered across the shore. drinks flowed, laughter echoed in the air, and the atmosphere was thick with an intoxicating mix of salt and cheap beer.

you weaved your way through the throng of people, the cacophony of sound and light almost overwhelming. the drink in your hand had long since lost its appeal, but you clung to it as a distraction, something to occupy your trembling fingers. your mind buzzed with unease, your nerves stretched thin under the weight of one singular thought: avoid jungkook at all costs. you couldn’t bear the thought of another confrontation, another one of his sharp words cutting into you like glass.

stumbling slightly, you glanced around for a quieter corner, somewhere you could breathe. your head was spinning, whether from the alcohol or the oppressive tension of the night, you weren’t sure. just as you thought you’d found a moment of peace, a pair of hands suddenly covered your eyes from behind. panic seized you, your breath catching in your throat as your heart raced.

you spun around, ready to lash out, only to be met with taehyung’s familiar, mischievous grin. his golden skin glowed under the light of the bonfires, and his dark hair fell messily across his forehead, damp from the humidity. “ants up your ass?” he teased, his voice lilting with amusement. “jesus, dude,” you muttered, letting out a shaky laugh as you tried to steady your pounding heart. “don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“relax,” he said, throwing a casual arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “you’re too tense. come on, i’ve got just the thing to fix that.” before you could protest, he guided you down the beach, the noise of the crowd fading slightly as you moved further from the epicenter of the party. he stopped beside a cooler buried halfway in the sand, crouching down to rummage through it. with a triumphant smile, he pulled out a mai tai, holding it out like it was a prize.

“see how i remembered your favorite?” he said, his grin widening. “i should get some credit for that.” you couldn’t help but laugh, accepting the drink from him. “you get all the credit, tae,” you said, cracking open the can and taking a sip. the sweet, citrusy flavor was refreshing, and for a moment, you felt a bit of the tension leave your shoulders.

the two of you settled by one of the smaller bonfires, the warmth of the flames chasing away the chill of the ocean breeze. you leaned your head on his shoulder, the comfort of his presence grounding you in a way few things could. “i have to admit something,” he murmured after a moment, his voice low and conspiratorial. he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers light against your skin.

“what is it?” you asked, matching his tone. “i’m so fucked right now,” he whispered, his words slurring slightly as he dissolved into laughter. you couldn’t help it—you laughed, too, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably as the ridiculousness of the moment hit you. for the first time that night, you felt like you could breathe. but the moment shattered like glass as a voice cut through the laughter, sharp and cold.

“what’s so funny?” the entire beach seemed to freeze. the music, the laughter, even the waves crashing against the shore all faded into the background as you looked up. jungkook stood a few feet away, his dark eyes locked on you and taehyung, his expression thunderous.

taehyung was on his feet in an instant, his playful demeanor replaced by something sharper, more dangerous. “who the fuck invited you?” he snapped, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of a few nearby partygoers. jungkook’s gaze flicked to you, his lips curling into a smirk that sent a chill down your spine. “ask your girlfriend,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “she sure knows how to get around.”

the words hit like a slap, your cheeks flushing with equal parts anger and embarrassment. before you could react, taehyung lunged forward, his fist connecting with jungkook’s jaw with a sickening thud. “taehyung, stop!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet, but your voice was drowned out by the chaos.

jungkook retaliated immediately, his fist slamming into taehyung’s side with enough force to make him stumble. the two of them were a blur of motion, fists flying and curses ringing out as a small crowd began to gather. “knock it off!” jimin’s voice rang out as he pushed his way through the crowd, grabbing taehyung and pulling him back.

you darted forward, grabbing jungkook’s arm and tugging him away with all the strength you could muster. “let’s go,” you hissed, dragging him toward the parking lot. “shit,” he muttered, wiping at his nose. blood smeared across his hand, and he winced. “think he broke my fucking nose.”

“oh, please,” you snapped, your voice shaking with anger. “like you weren’t begging for it.” you stopped beside his car, spinning around to face him. “what the fuck is your problem?” you demanded, your voice rising. for a moment, he said nothing, his dark eyes searching yours. the silence stretched, the weight of it pressing down on you like a vice.

“you’re such a dick,” you continued, your frustration spilling over. “always starting shit, always—” before you could finish, jungkook slammed his hands against the car, the sound reverberating through the night. one of his fists hit the rearview mirror, knocking it loose. “you’re my problem,” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous.

his hands grabbed your shoulders, pinning you against the car. his face was inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin as his eyes burned into yours. “you’ve been my problem since the night we met,” he growled. “since you walked onto my property that night, flashing your shit like sharon stone.”

fear twisted in your gut, but you refused to let it show. “go to hell, you fucking asshole,” you spat, your voice trembling. “i’d take those two minutes of getting fucked by you back if i could.” to your surprise, he laughed—a dark, humorless sound that sent a shiver down your spine. he stepped back for a moment, pacing like a caged animal before slamming his hand against the car next to your head.

“some fucking nerve you have,” he said, his voice a venomous whisper. “feeling that dipshit up right in front of me.”

“what's it to you, asshole?” you snapped, shoving against his chest with all your might. his hands caught yours, pinning them above your head with one hand as his other cupped your jaw. “did he fuck you yet?” he asked, his tone sharp and cruel. “does he know who popped your cherry?”

the words hit like a punch to the gut, but you refused to let him see how much they hurt. “get lost,” you bit out, your voice shaking with rage. “maybe that slut from your golf tournament'll help you find your way back.” a bitter laugh escaped his lips as he leaned in closer. “you can’t be serious,” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear.

“why not?” you bit out. “she’s easier to get into than community college, why the fuck not?” before you could say another word, his lips crashed against yours, silencing your tirade. you tried to resist, your hands pushing against him, but his grip was unyielding. slowly, against your better judgment, you gave in.

when he pulled back, his breathing was heavy, his forehead resting against yours. “she’s my friend’s girlfriend, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered. for a second, you almost felt like an idiot, but you couldn’t let yourself feel like one. why should you? “you’re the one who wanted something casual,” you shot back, your voice barely above a whisper.

for a moment, he said nothing, the tension between you thick and suffocating. it was all because he knew you had the upper hand. then, without a word, he kissed you again. this time, you didn’t resist. you let the anger, the frustration, and the twisted desire take over, surrendering to the fire that had been burning between you all along.

his lips moved with a bruising intensity, claiming yours with a ferocity that made your knees weak. the tension between you crackled like lightning, the weight of his jealousy and your own suppressed emotions combusting into a heated clash. his grip on your wrists didn’t loosen, pinning you against the cool metal of the car as his body pressed flush against yours. his tongue swept across your lower lip, demanding entry, and when you opened up to him, the kiss deepened into something raw and consuming.

when he finally pulled back, his lips swollen and glistening, his dark eyes bored into yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. his hand slid down from your jaw to your neck, his thumb brushing lightly against the sensitive skin as his lips ghosted over your jawline. “you think that asshole could ever make you feel this way?” he muttered against your skin, his voice low and rough, dripping with jealousy.

you opened your mouth to respond, but the words died in your throat when his lips found the curve of your neck. he kissed his way down slowly, deliberately, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave you trembling. you gasped when he nipped at a particularly sensitive spot, one he knew like the back of his hand, your body arching into his as your hands twisted in his shirt, desperate for an anchor.

“answer me,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against your neck. his tongue flicked over the spot he’d just bitten, soothing the sting with an intimacy that sent a rush of heat straight to your core.

“jungkook—” you breathed, barely able to form coherent words. “that’s not an answer,” he growled, his hands releasing your wrists only to find their way to your hips. his fingers dug into your flesh possessively as he pulled you closer, his thigh slipping between yours in a way that left no space between your bodies.

your head fell back against the car as he continued his assault on your neck, his lips and teeth working in tandem to leave marks that you knew would be there for days. his jealousy was palpable, woven into every kiss, every touch, every deliberate pause as he refused to give you the release you so desperately craved. “taehyung couldn’t do this to you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone now, his voice a sinful whisper. “he couldn’t make you feel like this, could he?”

“stop,” you gasped, though your hands betrayed you as they slid up his chest, curling into his shirt and pulling him closer.

“stop lying to yourself,” he shot back, his hands sliding over the fabric of your bikini, his palms warm against your bare skin as he palmed at the flesh of your tits. his thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles down your sides as he kissed his way back up to your jawline, his lips brushing yours but never quite closing the distance. you whimpered, the sound torn from your throat as his teeth grazed your ear. “say it,” he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. “say he could never touch you like this.”

your lips trembled, torn between pride and the undeniable truth that jungkook had you under his spell, as he always had. but he didn’t wait for your answer. instead, his lips finally descended on yours again, and this time, the kiss was slower, deeper, his tongue exploring your mouth like he was memorizing every inch of you. his hands roamed greedily, one slipping under the hem of your shirt while the other gripped your thigh, pulling it up to wrap around his waist. the position left you completely at his mercy, your body pinned against the car with no escape from the heat radiating off him.

“admit it,” he murmured against your lips, his voice sending shivers down your spine. his hand slid higher, his fingers teasing the edge of your bra as his lips moved to your neck again, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp. “admit i’m the only one whos ever gonna make you feel this way.”

you hated how right he was, how your body responded to his every touch, every word, every possessive look. your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer as your resolve shattered completely. “only you, kook,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat. “no one else, i promise.”

the heat between the two of you was suffocating, consuming, as his lips captured yours in a fervent kiss while his hands fumbled to open the back door of his car. he groaned into your mouth as the door clicked open, his lips never leaving yours as he maneuvered the two of you into the backseat. the kiss was messy, all teeth and tongue, a clash of frustration, jealousy, and raw desire that made your head spin.

your knees straddled his hips as you hovered over him, your breathing erratic as his hands roamed your body. his fingers slid up your sides, brushing over the thin strings of your bikini top, and he pulled back just enough to look at you. his dark eyes were heavy with lust as they trailed down your body, lingering on the way your bikini struggled to contain you. “fuck,” he groaned, his voice thick and dripping with approval. “bikini’s too small for you, doll.”

your cheeks burned under his gaze, but before you could respond, his hands tugged at the ties of your top, and his head dipped down, burying itself between your tits as they dropped out. his lips were hot against your skin, kissing and sucking with an unrelenting hunger that left you breathless.

“got the best rack on the island, don’t you?” he muttered against your skin, his voice muffled but no less vulgar. the words sent a jolt of heat straight through you, equal parts demeaning and intoxicating, because it was him—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically possessive. “stop,” you gasped, your hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer even as you protested. “anyone could walk by and see us.”

he didn’t even pause, too busy sucking a mark into the soft flesh of your chest. “let ’em see,” he grunted, his teeth grazing the swell of your breast before his tongue followed, soothing the sting. “wan’em to see who gets to fuck you stupid.” your breath hitched as his lips traced the faint tan lines left behind by your swimsuit, his warm tongue licking over them with a softness that contrasted the possessive grip of his hands on your hips.

with a smirk that could only be described as pure evil, he slapped your left tit, the sound echoing in the car. your eyes went wide with shock and arousal, your mouth dropping open on a silent cry.

his grip tightened around your hips as he slapped the right one, the sting spreading like wildfire across your chest, leaving you trembling. “shit, you like that, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice thick with lust. “you like when i show you who’s in charge?” you nodded frantically, unable to form words, your eyes glazed over with desire. jungkook chuckled, the sound dark and sinful, as he continued his assault, slapping each boob in turn, watching as your nipples grew harder with every impact.

you watched as he hoisted one of your legs up and, to your astonishment, pressed his pelvis against the bare flesh of your thigh. at first, you almost didn’t get it, until you felt it. through his khaki shorts, rock hard and throbbing. “you feel how hard you make me, doll?” you felt it, of course you did, but just in case you didn’t, he made sure to guide your hand over his clothed dick. you allowed yourself to feel him up, to relish in the sight of him throwing his head back in bliss as you stroked his thick, solid cock as best as you could through his shorts.

his eyes rolled back in his head, a silent groan escaping his lips, and that was all the encouragement you needed. you leaned back, pressing the weight of your palm against his cock, and whispered, “fuck me, jungkook. please, need it so badly.” the words were like a spell, and he was the one under it. his eyes snapped to yours, filled with something akin to desperation. without another word, he yanked down the waistband of his shorts, freeing his cock with an urgency that made your mouth water. it was big, bigger than you remembered, and it was all for you.

his hand was on the back of your neck, pushing down as he guided his cock to your mouth, and you opened for him, eager to taste him, to have him fill you in every way possible. the tip of his dick was wet with pre-cum, and you licked at it like it was a summer treat. his hips bucked up, and he cursed under his breath. “finally putting that mouth to good use,” he murmured, his hand tightening slightly as he pushed further into your mouth. you took as much of him as you could, feeling his girth stretch your lips wide, and the sound he made was all the reward you needed.

his other hand slid down your stomach and hooked into the string of your bikini bottoms, tugging them aside to expose your drenched pussy. his thumb brushed against your clit, and you moaned around his cock. “got your panties all wet, baby,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to pump into your mouth with a steady rhythm. you felt yourself getting wetter with every stroke, his roughness only adding to the thrill. the anticipation of what was to come was almost too much to handle.

his hand moved from your neck to the base of his cock, and he began to fuck your mouth in earnest, his eyes never leaving yours. the smell of your arousal filled the car, mixing with the salty scent of the sea breeze that filtered through the open windows. you could feel your orgasm building, but he knew it. he knew how close you were, and he wasn't about to let you cum that easily. “you're not getting off until i say so,” he warned, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, the promise of pleasure just out of reach.

his free hand slid down to your throat, his grip firm but not painful as he began to choke you. the air grew thinner, and your eyes watered, but you didn't fight it. instead, you leaned into the feeling, letting his dominance wash over you like a wave. the pressure built alongside your need for air and the pressure in your clit, creating a cocktail of sensations that made your head spin. he knew he was close, but he wasn’t going to dump his seed anywhere but inside you.

his thumb slid down, pressing hard against your clit, and you felt the orgasm start to build. your eyes widened, and you tried to moan around his cock, but the sound was muffled by his thick shaft. “just like that, fuck,” he grunted, his eyes dark with lust. “keep going, just a little bit more.”

his other hand left your neck to fist your hair, and he pulled you off his cock with a wet pop. your mouth was left gaping, and he smirked at the sight, his dick still hard and gleaming with your saliva. “need’a get a good look at you,” he murmured, his voice gruff with need. “should see how fucked you look, and ’m not even through with you.”

you whined, your knees hitting the sticky car floor with a thud as you positioned yourself over his hips. unfortunately, he was right. your lips were bruised, chin stained with spit, your make-up smeared, and your hair a mess. it only turned him on even more, his cock was now fully exposed, bobbing in front of your face, and he stroked it lazily as he watched you, the smugness in his gaze unmistakable. “you’re so fucking eager, aren’t you?” he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. “desperate to take all of me, to let me use you like the stupid bitch you are.”

his words only served to inflame the fire in your belly, and you nodded, your cheeks flushing with both embarrassment and arousal. “yeah,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “i’m your cocksleeve, nobody else’s.” his grip on your hair tightened, and he guided his cock back to your mouth. “prove it,” he demanded, pushing inside you until you gagged. your eyes watered as you struggled to accommodate him, but you didn’t pull away. instead, you took a deep breath and took him even deeper, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat.

his hand moved to your chin, and he slapped your pussy again, the sound echoing in the car. “you love this, don’t you?” he said, his voice a low growl. “love this first class slut specialty, huh?” you couldn't speak, but you nodded, your eyes pleading for him to keep going. he slapped you again, and again, the sting turning to pleasure, making your clit throb with each impact. the sound of your own wetness filled the air as he chuckled darkly, his grip on your hair never loosening.

his free hand slid down to your pussy, his fingers sliding through your juices before pushing inside you, curling up to hit your g-spot. you moaned, the feeling of being filled both in your mouth and in your cunt too much to bear, and you felt your orgasm start to crest. just as you were about to cum, he pulled out of your mouth, his hand moving from your neck to cover your mouth and nose. “not yet,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. “not until i say you can.”

his thumb found your clit again, and he began to rub it in firm circles, the pressure building until you thought you would scream. “please, fuck, please,” you whined, your hips bucking against his hand. “please let me cum, need it so bad.”

his grin was feral as he leaned back against the car seat, watching you squirm. “who’s the one in charge here?” he asked, his voice a taunt. “who gets to decide when you get to come?”

you bit your lip, your eyes pleading with him as you nodded, the words leaving you in a rush. “you do,” you panted. “you do, jungkook.” his hand stilled, and he leaned in to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “good girl, using your brain for once,” he cooed, his voice a sweet caress that belied the darkness in his words. “now, you can cum for me.”

his hand on your clit began to move again, faster this time, and you couldn't hold back the scream that tore from your throat. your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, making your body convulse as you came, hard and fast, your pussy clenching around his fingers. just as you thought it was over, you felt his thick fingers wrap around your thighs, turning you over as he positioned himself against your cunt from behind.

“jungkook, please, ’s too much,” you cried out, still coming down from your first orgasm as tears filled your eyes, but he had no intention to listen. you knew it the second you felt his fat, thick tip probing at your cunt, your back arching as his hands pulled at the flesh of your ass. he taunted you a bit, determined to hurt you as much as he could, pushing his tip in ever so slightly, before pulling right back out.

you felt like sobbing, the feeling all to much for you as you held onto the car door for dear life. “beg me,” he murmured, even if he needed to resist his own urges. “beg me to split this pussy open, baby, use your words.”

you didn’t want to, but the desperation in your voice was clear as you whimpered, “please, jungkook, fuck me. please, i need it so badly."

his hand tightened on your throat, and he thrust into you with no warning, filling you in one brutal stroke. you screamed out, the pain mixing with pleasure as he claimed you, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. “fuck, still as tight as you were when i popped your cherry,” he groaned, his hips pumping into you, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make everything feel sharper. “this is what you want, isn’t it?”

you nodded frantically, the pressure on your neck making it difficult to speak. “yes,” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. “yes, fuck, it’s what i need.”

his thrusts grew more erratic, his breath coming in harsh pants as he fucked you against the car door. “ass bouncing ’gainst my fuckin’ balls,” he groaned, his voice strained as he delivered a harsh smack to the flesh of your ass. how you loved knowing he'd leave more than enough marks for everyone to see. “so fucking tight. i love how you grip me.”

you felt his hand slide down to your clit, his fingers moving in a way that had you seeing stars. “you're gonna cum for me again,” he said, his voice a command. “gonna cum while i'm filling your tight little pussy up, okay?” you nodded again, unable to form words, your eyes squeezed shut as he worked your body like a fiddle, playing you into a symphony of pleasure and pain. your moans grew louder, and you could feel the second orgasm building, a storm in your belly that threatened to consume you.

his hand on your neck loosened slightly, but before you could catch your breath, his mouth was on yours again, swallowing your cries as his cock pounded into you. every thrust seemed like borderline abuse, the tip of his cock slamming against your cervix with every move. he was so big, so fucking big, filling you up, making a mold of his cock with your insides. his thumb circled your clit faster, and you felt the wave of pleasure crest again, your body shuddering as you came a second time. your walls clamped down on his cock, and he groaned against your skin, his own climax following closely behind.

his orgasm was like nothing you had ever felt before, his hot cum filling you up as he held you down, his cock pulsing deep inside you. “fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, his body shaking with the force of it. “so good, baby, so good.”

finally, he pulled out of you, his cum dripping down your thighs as you slumped against the car door, boneless and utterly spent. jungkook smirked as he looked down at the mess he had made of you, his cock still half hard, glistening with your juices. “see?” he said, his voice smug. “no one else can do that to you.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

a/n: i have a few things to talk about all of them very important obviously.

1. loossemble disbanding is crazy work!

2. i feel like we as a society failed to appreciate the cinematic masterpiece that is malcolm in the middle.

3. i had a wet dream abt revenge of the sith anakin last night.

4. i am the only person who watched the oc ever and if u watched it i watched it better than u.

5. i know u got a fat ASS 💜 u know i love a fat ASS 💜

6. In Korea, you can't eat until the elders eat. Ningning is the maknae, which means she's the youngest, and the fact that she ate first is crazy. I'm not trying to be – I'm not trying to be messy, I promise you. I'm just saying, that's crazy.

[userlando]

watch you watch me — lando norris

lando norris x fem!reader [2k] summary: getting caught is the last thing on his mind as he walks you back into the bathroom of his jet. warnings: 18+ explicit smut & language, semi-public sex, slight choking, mile high club a/n: fic two of smutober and the kink i decided to focus on is mirror sex. i literally couldn't not do it after the chaos when the jpg pics got posted. i hope you enjoy it!! love u all 🤍

Three hours. That’s how long Lando could keep himself entertained on a long haul flight before he grew bored out of his mind. He almost regretted turning down the offer to share a jet with Alex and George, but then he’d glance at you curled up in your seat across from him and Lando would immediately change his mind. You had your own life to live and Lando had his highly demanding job so it left you little time to spend together. It didn’t mean that you didn’t try, because you absolutely did; Grabbing every chance and spare day to see each other, only if for a few hours.

Sometimes, when your time zones were wildly different and Lando was suffering from major jetlag, he’d lie awake on facetime; Blinking tiredly at the bright screen while you went on with your day, chattering about the most mundane things. He liked it, loved it even. It made him feel like he was right there with you and not in an empty hotel room by himself.

So a fourteen hour flight together was really a blessing in disguise. But Lando had an overactive mind and he really couldn’t sit still for more than two hours before he felt the urge to climb the walls. And you knew it as well, having come prepared with cards and boardgames. But Lando was a sore loser and you were over-competitive so that only lasted for an hour before you both were on the verge of insulting each other and decided to call it quits.

He glanced up when you suddenly unfurled your legs from where you’d folded them against you, stretching your legs and wiggling your toes cutely before standing up. His eyes drifted to your midriff when you stretched your arms up above you, the hem of your shirt riding up in the process and suddenly Lando felt like fucking Einstein when an idea slithered into his mind.

Lando fisted his hands to keep from reaching for your hips, feeling an anticipatory stir in his groin when your bellybutton was on display like that because fuck, it was his favourite place to kiss.

You glanced down at him, clearly mistaking his hungry staring for confusion because you yawned through a smile, looking as beautiful and innocent as ever.

“Bathroom break.” You explained but he wasn’t really listening.

You might as well have been speaking an entirely different language but he nodded like he’d heard you, watching you turn and head for the bathroom on unsteady legs. His eyes glanced up and down the short aisle but there was no one in sight, and he took that as a chance to scramble out of his seat and follow you, reaching for his camera in the process as another idea sparked in his mind.

The squeak coming out of your mouth when he crowded up against your back would’ve normally made him laugh, but he was too busy with walking the both of you into the bathroom to pay it any close attention. A scandalised gasp escaped your mouth when you realised what he was doing, watching him turn and lock the door like he’d done it a million times.

“Lando, what the —“ The words died on your tongue when he turned around and revealed his face to you, staring at you so hungrily that it almost punched the air out of your lungs.

He took one step and caught your mouth in a kiss, groaning low in his throat when you opened up beautifully under him. Lando loved the way you became so pliant, melting into his touch when he backed you into the sink and reached one hand to loosely circle your throat.

“Baby.” There was a slight whine in your voice that made his nerves sing, pressing his lips against yours more insistently; Mimicking the movement of his hips against yours. The hardness you feel makes your mouth open in a gasp and he takes that moment to drop to his knees in a crouch, hands scrambling to roll your shirt up enough to reveal your belly.

You keen a little at that and he knows that you do it out of insecurity so he hurriedly places kisses to the flesh there, biting your hip for good measure and he only stops once you’ve relaxed fully; Gripping the edge of the sink with both your hands too keep from folding in on yourself.

Lando glances up and you look down at him, shooting him a shaky smile.

“You look so pretty.” He says and you shake your head with a breathless laugh.

“We’re gonna get caught.” Your lower lip gets sucked between your teeth and Lando wishes it was his tongue in its place.

He shrugs, shooting you a smile that spells trouble and something fire hot shoots down your spine when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your joggers and pulls. He doesn’t waste any time to get his face between your legs, opening his mouth against the material of your panties that you’d managed to soak in the span of five minutes. The faint taste of you on his tongue makes him moan, sucking until you’re whimpering his name and the material turns sodden with his spit.

He gets a finger under the cotton, pulling the crotch aside and burying his face against your hot flesh, mouth opening wide enough to slot over where you’re aching for him. The feel of his wet and warm mouth against you makes your knees buckle, gripping the sink even tighter when he starts sucking and licking on your clit.

You try to keep your noises intact but you’re too loud to be doing this in such a public space and Lando seems to realise it at the same time you do, reaching an arm up until he’s got two of his fingers shoved into your mouth. It makes him ache when you gratefully suck them, wetting them with your saliva as you hum and moan.

It doesn’t really take long for him to pull an orgasm out of you, your knees shaking and your hand tightly gripping his unruly hair as you cry out; The sound muffled by his fingers. He laves his tongue against you until your shaking subsides, slowly getting up from his crouched position when you start whining in overstimulation.

You’re a sight for sore eyes, pupils blown out and drool dripping down his hand and Lando can’t help but push his fingers deeper into your mouth, listening to you gag as your eyes flutter shut.

“God,” He whispers, hooking his fingers into the side of your mouth to pull it slightly. His eyes are trained on you, dark and wanting. “So fucking beautiful, aren’t you? I’m so lucky.”

You moan, the sound a little too loud in the small space but Lando can’t bring himself to care much as he leans forward to kiss you. It’s messy and you don’t really kiss him back with the way he’s got his digits in your mouth but the movement of your pliant tongue is enough to push him one step closer to the edge.

He pulls away with a breathless groan when you palm him through his pants, hurrying to turn you around and bend you over the sink and it makes him physically ache at how docile you are. You let him position you, both of your palms flat against the counter without preamble and Lando bends to press a kiss against the back of your neck as a silent thank you.

The stretch of his cock takes you by surprise and you hang your head low as you go up on your tippy toes the further he pushes himself inside of you. It doesn’t burn like it usually does, Lando having prepped you enough to take him without any problems but it still makes you ache when he finally bottoms out with a drawn out groan.

Lando swears, the words filthy on his tongue as he gives you a moment to get used to him before he sets up a rhythm. It shakes you to the core, gripping the sink tightly enough that it hurts your fingers but the pain balances out the sheer pleasure you’re feeling as he fucks into you.

You shudder when he gets a hand between your legs, touching your sensitive clit and you keen harshly at the added sensations; bringing your head up to stare at him.

What you see takes you by surprise. You expect to see his face, but the camera aimed right at you jars you; making you clench when you realise what he’s doing.

He’s taking pictures. And you fucking love it.

“Oh, look at you.” He grins, cheeks flushed pink as he pushes himself forward; burying himself inside and watching you squirm. “Beautiful girl. The camera loves you, baby.”

You let out a hum, trying not to shy away from the camera as it clicks. He’s having too much fun with it, thrusting particularly hard to get a reaction out of you before hurryingly taking a picture of your face. If you’d been of sound mind, you would’ve thought of how you probably looked but you couldn’t bring yourself to worry too much when Lando stared; open mouthed and in awe, like he was too afraid to blink in fear of missing out on every microscopic expression on your face.

He grabbed the pudge of your hip with his other hand, working his hips into you and you moaned quietly as your stomach started clenching. A telltale sign that you were close. And judging by the look on your boyfriend’s face, he wasn’t too far behind either.

“Yeah? Gonna come for me?” His words were whispered, harsh and you nodded. He watched you get a better grip of the counter, fucking yourself back on his cock with every thrust forward. “I can tell, you’re clenching up so tightly around me, love. Get a hand in there, touch yourself.”

“Lando.” The whispered moan nearly did his head in, focusing on the way your hand shakily let go of the sink to touch between your legs, shaking with the intensity of it. “Oh, fuck.”

He couldn’t help but bring the camera up to get a full shot of you, mouth open and eyes fluttered closed, circling your finger over your clit and back arching the closer you got to your orgasm.

Lando let go of his camera, absentmindedly placing it to the side before he got both of his hands around your throat; feeling your vocal chords vibrate with the moan you let out as he yanked you upwards. You went easily, your free hand grabbing his but you weren’t trying to pry his fingers away from your throat. You were pushing into it, like you were silently begging him to put pressure and Lando was all too happy to comply.

The sudden tightness around him was like a punch to the stomach, your pussy rippling around his cock as you came with a choked off cry. His hips pushed against your ass, losing all sense as he came inside of you with a groan; listening to the sounds you made as you fell over the edge of oblivion.

Lando wasn’t too proud of the way he stumbled into you, letting you hold both your weights up as you came down from your orgasms but you didn’t say a word, only giggling between gasps of breath.

He unwound his fingers from your throat, sliding them around your torso with a content smile that he hid in the back of your neck.

“Those pictures are going on my jpg Instagram.” He said, voice slow and sleepy and you made a sound in your throat that sounded a lot like a protest.

“The hell they bloody are.” You turned your head over your shoulder, trying to glare at him but it was impossible to do so when he nuzzled your cheek. “Maybe one.”

“Two.” He said, like it was a negotiation.

“One.” You said, laughter in your voice as he squeezed you tighter to him. “But maybe you can change my mind.”

[judeswhore]

i wna share gloves w jude :(

jude huffed a quiet laugh at the soft pout on your lips.

you were oblivious to his amusement, too focused on the store window in front of you as your gaze tracked the multitude of classic books on display, eyes snagging on the pink copy of little women every other second. he knew you wanted it, you'd mentioned it repeatedly in the last few weeks but he was hoping you weren't in the mood to treat yourself otherwise he'd be returning the one he'd bought you for christmas and swapping it for something else. he watched you rub your hands together for the hundredth time, his smile growing as your pout got a little worse, frown deepening because your fingers were freezing and he knew it even though you'd denied it for the past half an hour.

you were annoyingly stubborn sometimes and jude had warned you of the cold before you'd left the house, had told you to bring gloves because you'd freeze otherwise. but you'd argued you were fine without them, had been adamant it wasn't that cold and they were unnecessary. he knew you were regretting that now with the way you kept rubbing your hands together or tucking them under your armpits but you were too proud to admit you'd been wrong. you didn't want him to know he'd been right so for the past thirty minutes he'd been watching you struggle against the bite of the wind while pouting and glaring at everything around you.

"your fingers are gonna fall off, y'know." he mumbled in your ear, lips brushing the soft curve of it and he felt you startle at the sound of his voice, grinned at the hitch in your breath. he rocked back on his heels when you turned your head in his direction and frowned.

"what’re you on about?"

"your hands are freezing and if you don't let me warm them up your fingers are gonna fall off."

"my hands are fine," you argued, fingers wiggling as though to prove a point but he didn't miss the shiver that went through you with the action. "i don't need you to warm them up."

"you're a terrible liar, sweetheart. c'mere." jude reached out for you, caught at your hands before you could pull away and tugged you closer to him. his gasp was only a little over the top when he felt just how cold they were. "they're like ice!"

"they are not." you huffed and rolled your eyes, tried halfheartedly to tug out of his grip but jude knew he had you now. you'd felt the warmth of his hands and it had thawed your stubbornness a little although he knew you wouldn't give in without an argument. "i already told you i'm fine."

"and i already told you that you're a terrible liar. i've watched you pretend not to be freezing for the past half an hour and you're doing my head in. rubbing them together isn't really doing anything for you, is it?" he asked although he wasn’t really waiting for an answer. he cupped your hands between both of his and brought them up to his lips, held them close as he blew warm air against them. “i told you to bring gloves.”

“i didn’t need them.” you mumbled but you’d shifted even closer to him so you were pressed against his chest and he could feel the little shivers running through you. the crowd of people at the market bustled past the two of you but neither of you paid them much attention, too focused on each other to notice anything happening around you. despite your reluctance to admit defeat, the soft look in your eyes told jude you were grateful he was helping and the way you tried to get even closer to him suggested you were a lot colder than he’d even realised.

“stubborn girl.” he breathed the words against your fingers, pressed a feather light kiss to the tips of them before guiding them inside his half open coat. “keep ‘em there.” they pressed against his chest, curled into the fabric of his hoodie to seek more heat while jude tugged the glove off his right hand. “here, gimme your right hand.”

“jude, you don’t need-“

“give me your hand. mum’ll kill me if i let you get frostbite before christmas.” he gently coaxed your hands back out from his coat and carefully pushed your fingers into the glove that was much too big for you. it took him a few seconds of fiddling to make sure it was comfortably secure and then he grinned at you, knocked his own fingers beneath your chin and surprised you with a quick kiss to your equally as cold lips.

“thank you.” you whispered sheepishly, smile a little shy as you dipped your head to avoid his gaze. he simply shrugged, zipping his coat back up to the top.

“s’alright. i couldn’t take much more of that pout, honestly, you looked like a kicked puppy.” he snorted a laugh when you punched his arm, holding his hands up in mock surrender. your eyes flashed with amusement even when you shook your head, a reluctant smile tugging your lips up. jude admired you for a few seconds, took in the soft smile that made his heart skip a little before he wiggled the fingers of his gloveless hand so you’d slip your own into it. “d’you wanna go get hot chocolate?”

with your fingers now wrapped around his, he turned the two of you towards the crowd of people and started leading you through the thick of it. the contrast in heat between the two of you made him shiver a little, the air biting at his bare skin and he mumbled a quiet curse before stuffing your interlocked hands into his pocket to find a little more warmth. it drew you closer into his side, your shoulder brushing his arm and he felt your head fall softly against him.

“yes, please.” you squeezed his fingers. “can we sit inside somewhere? it might be a little bit colder than i thought.” you admitted and jude couldn’t stop his laugh as he turned and dropped a kiss to the top of your head, his next words muffled by your hair.

“stubborn. girl.”

[loonylupinblack3]

Drunk Antics

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: you find your teammate drunk at a bar and help him out

Warnings: drinking

Word count: 1.7k

You were sitting on your bed, mindlessly scrolling through social media when a notification caught your eye. Your teammate's name, Lando Norris, was lighting up the screen so naturally you clicked on it, wondering what could have occurred in the few hours you’d last seen him.

You both went out for some drinks, along with some of the Mclaren engineers, but you’d left early and assumed your co-workers had the ability to get home safely themselves. Apparently you’d assumed wrong.

Your eyes widened as videos and pictures of Lando Norris filled your screen, all from the bar you’d left tonight. They consisted of a very drunk Lando dancing and cheering, taking shot after shot and drinking with strangers.

You nearly swore to yourself, sitting upright and looking at the media with more interest. His PR managers were probably going crazy, obviously unable to get into contact with him in this state but worrying actually going there was too inappropriate.

You winced at the outpour of damaging videos and photos. You knew your teammate would regret this in the morning, and you felt bad simply letting this happen. But could you go back to the bar and stop him? You’d only known Lando a few months, what with being a rookie, and though you were friendly with one another you didn’t have an extremely close relationship. Would picking him up from a bar cross an invisible line between you two? Would it be inappropriate?

You couldn’t very well leave him to his foolery though, because even now Lando would be facing a very long and arduous meeting with his PR managers as a best case scenario. If you let this go on, you’d hate to imagine what the worst case scenario could become.

With a sigh you got up, throwing on your jumper and grabbing your keys. Even if you were risking your relationship with Lando, you figured it would be better than letting his career possibly get destroyed. Who knew what he’d do when he was wasted?

You spent the short drive to the bar planning what you were going to say, because even though you’d decided the best course of action was to do this didn’t mean you weren’t nervous about it. When you arrived you parked your car and took a deep breath, feeling jittery, before leaving it and entering the bar.

Immediately there were cheers and loud exclamations, people pointing to you and laughing excitedly. No doubt many of them thought you were there to join the fun, to get as wasted as Lando and give everyone a show. Unfortunately for them you were here to do the responsible thing, and your eyes scanned the club for the other Mclaren driver.

You found him on a table, dancing and twisting, drink in hand and spilling it all over the floor and himself. His shirt was skewed to the side, as if he’d tried to take it off but gave up halfway, showing a great deal of neck and stomach.

Lando Norris had always had a wild streak, but partnered up with alcohol was a whole different story. Even knowing of his sometimes crazed behaviour, you hadn’t expected this. Suddenly your job seemed a whole lot harder than you originally thought.

Taking another deep breath you pushed through the crowd, murmuring excuses and apologies as you made your way to the front of the mob surrounding Lando, or more specifically the table he was on. More people gasped and pointed, their not so subtle whispers travelling around the room.

You ignored all of it, looking up at Lando with a determined expression. “Lando.”

At first he didn’t hear you and continued dancing, much to your embarrassment as the people around you laughed. You frowned and raised your voice, repeating your teammates name.

This time he did hear you, his head whipping around to find you before eventually his gaze found yours. A wide grin split over his face and he stopped his dancing, all attention zeroed on you. You tried not to squirm knowing most of the bars’ attention was on you too.

“Y/n,” he greeted breathlessly.

His drink splashed even more as he clambered down from the table, falling slightly. You gasped and moved forwards, hands on his chest to steady him. Lando’s grin widened. “What are you doing here?”

You couldn’t help but smile back, what with Lando seeming as happy as a puppy to see you. “I’m here to take you home.”

A confused frown made its way onto Lando’s face. “Home? But why?”

You almost laughed at his naivety. Lando was quite cute when he was drunk. “Because you’re kind of wasted, and it would be the smart move to go home.”

Lando’s frown deepened, lines wrinkling his forehead. “But there’s so much more to drink!”

You almost snorted. “Yep. We are definitely going home.”

Lando’s eyes brightened. “We?”

“Well I don’t expect you can get there yourself right now, can you?” you asked teasingly.

Lando smiled ruefully, aware of his intoxication even in his current state. “I guess I can go if you’re taking me.”

You rolled your eyes but something inside you fluttered, spreading warmth across your entire body. You let Lando stumble into you, putting his arm over your shoulder to balance him as you wrapped your arm around his waist. Feeling him flush against your side increased the flutters- you had never been this close to Lando since knowing him- but you ignored it and started walking back to your car with him.

There were a few heckles and disappointed shouts, people wanting you to continue the show not stop it but you ignored it, walking forwards, and Lando obediently followed suit.

You made it out of the club, ignoring the people’s jeers on your way out, and walked to your car. Lando turned and looked at you expectantly.

You raised your eyebrows. “What?”

“Can I have the keys?”

You laughed out loud this time. “No way you are driving.”

Lando pouted- actually pouted- and crossed his arms like a five year old. “Then I’m not getting in the car.”

You rolled your eyes at his antics but were surprisingly not annoyed by it or him. Something about him just made it all amusing, endearing even.

“If you get in the car I’ll take you to my place.”

Lando was already getting in the car before you could blink. You grinned and got into the driver’s seat, that warm fuzzy feeling returning. You didn’t know what you were supposed to do with it so you just let it sit there, slowly enveloping you until you couldn’t help but glance at the man sitting next to you every few minutes, eyes tracing his face.

“I’m blind not drunk you know,” Lando said with a shit eating grin.

You started, glancing at him again before back at the road. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen your sneaky glances,” he teased. “You’re soooooo obsessed with me.”

You flushed, letting out an awkward laugh, keeping your eyes trained on the road. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Lando.”

Lando continued on like you hadn’t spoken. “But it’s okay because I'm obsessed with you too. Like, it’s not even funny how much I think about you. You’re a menace, you know that? I mean crawling into my head like that and staying there? Not very polite of you.”

You didn’t even know what to say in response to Lando’s rambling. You were smiling, your cheeks almost hurting from how hard you were but you couldn't stop. Lando just accidentally confessed his feelings for you and, well, it turned out to be a good night.

Lando seemed content to keep talking, though he did stray from the topic of his feelings for you to… whatever was going on in his brain. You were listening to him but even so it was hard to keep track of how fast he hopped from one topic to another, his mind a constant stream of thoughts and whims.

When you got to your house Lando was eager to enter it, waiting by the door leaning on his heels as he watched you walk up the driveway. You smiled at him when you got to the door, unlocking it and letting the two of you enter.

Lando looked around curiously, only stumbling a little bit as he explored your house. You followed him, trailing behind him silently as you watched his expressions, noticing how excited he seemed to be in your house, your space, looking at a side of you he’d never seen before.

“You need to go to bed,” you said, bringing him out of his musings.

Lando looked at you and cocked his head. “Where?”

You paused. “The couch?”

Lando made a face and shook his head. You sighed. “Alright then… the bedroom. I only have one bed.”

Even drunk Lando managed to be concerned. “Would you be okay with that?”

You smiled softly at him, the warm feeling in your chest settling down, getting comfortable. You knew then that it would stay there for a long time. “Yeah, I’m okay with that.”

You led Lando to your room and helped him get undressed, taking his shirt, shoes, and trousers off, though he kept his boxers on. You got changed yourself- in your bathroom- and exited to find Lando sagging against a wall, looking tired.

“You want to go to bed now?” you asked him.

Lando bit his lip. “Are you sure?”

He seemed to be sobering up, slowly but surely, and you smiled at the repeated consent. “I’m sure.”

So you both got into bed, unexplored ground between you too, and immediately Lando’s arms wrapped around your waist. Definitely still drunk.

Still, you couldn’t help but relax into his hold, your back against his chest, his head in the crook of your neck. And you couldn’t wait for the morning, when he’d sober and you could talk about his confession, maybe even make one of your own.

Until then however, you were content to lie in Lando’s arm and let him nuzzle into your neck, falling asleep to the smell of your teammate’s cologne wrapped around you.

[viridescentelf]

Yeah uhh can you make yandere fae and yn female nsfw??

hiii! :) i wasn't too sure what you meant by "fae", but i just made him an elf with wings haha.

Warning: 18+, nsfw, non-con, touching in sleep, obsessive behavior

-----

You were wandering through the forest as a sunset slowly formed. The orange rays enveloped the trees with a sense of wonder, the small specks of dust and flower seeds snowing in the light.

You loved coming here at this time of day, sometimes you got lucky and met fascinating creatures. More often than you’d like to admit, you were unlucky and had to run like a maniac back home to avoid the clutching fangs of an angry predator.  

Not knowing what today’s excursion would bring, you trailed through your usual route, foraging some mushrooms and fruits you found along the way. It was fun to experiment with new ingredients you discovered here. Although you had regretted finding that green looking one a while back. It had made you convulse and hallucinate all night long.

Sliding down by the roots of the big tree you visited often, you examined your findings. What a lucky harvest this was: so many precious berries and meaty shrooms. You couldn’t wait to test them out. Listening to the gentle whistle of the wind through the large trees, you felt your body yearn for a brief respite. You had been hiking for hours today and with more vigor than your previous visits. You had barely slept the night before, so your body was exhausted. A short nap would help you get back home safely. Surely this area was safe enough.

Burying yourself in your coat and leaning back against the mossy trunk, you felt yourself slowly drift away into the kind embrace of sleep. The air in this forest was odd, as if weaved with sprites of calm or surrounding by a strange bubble that made everything feel so breezy. The soft wind bristled across your face, providing the comfort of coldness.

You didn’t know it, but you were always followed when you entered the woods. Not just by predators or curious little animals, but by something you only believed existed in old tales. He had been watching you behind a nearby tree, blushing excessively when you bent over to pick up any items you were collecting.

He had discovered you a while back, while he was attending to a group of withered trees that cried for attention. His ears had picked up on something stumbling. As he turned, he saw you had plopped over a large root, the interior of your little basket had spilled on the ground and you were carefully picking your findings back up. His keen fae eyes could see quite a long way, but even from the distance he was completely enamored with you. He had tolerated humans walking around this forest for eons: he loved scaring them when they were being disrespectful. But you…the way your face lit up when you found something that sparked your interest. You were the first visitor to make his nascent wings jitter.

You were asleep. This hadn’t happened before. He was normally so distraught when he saw you make your way home, not being able to follow you further. He needed to stay in his realm and couldn’t enter yours.

He felt his body move closer towards you. He needed to look at you up close, a chance he may never get again. The fae had never interacted with a human before, unless it was to taunt them out of his home. Your bodies were much different from his kinds, it was truly a marvel to him.

Your face was tilted slightly to the side, breathing deeply in and out, your arms hanging loosely in your lap. He crouched down and stared at you, examining your features. How glorious your face was, so different from his. The glittering lips seemed to call him forward. He hadn’t seen a human like you before. Normally, they disgusted him. You made him feel dizzy.

With a shaky hand, he stretched his arm towards you, gently brushing your cheek. Your skin was so soft and chilled due to the evening air. You were completely still, the rest direly needed, except the gently lifting of your chest as you breathed in and out. His eyes wandered down to your neck, rippling down to your slow-moving breasts that created little mountains in your coat.

Without thinking, the hand on your cheek drifted down your neck and glided over the peaks on your chest. Noticing you didn’t seem to feel his touch in your slumber, he dared to squeeze slightly. His body felt hot, how soft they were. His other hand joined and cupped your other breast, pushing them together. He clasped them a bit harder, letting out involuntary raspy moans at how amazing this felt. He wanted to see what they felt like without your garment, but he was too afraid you’d wake and run if he attempted to remove it. You let out a soft, breathy, moan at his touch, but remained still. His body was shaking, wanting to relieve himself all over you.

Still squishing your breasts intensely in his hands, he rocked himself forward. His face was now so close to yours and he inhaled your unique scent. You smelled so amazing; it made him want to taste you. He felt your calm breath on his ethereal skin, it made his wings flutter in anticipation. Did you have body parts for pleasure? Was that something he could even do with you?

He was so close; his breath was intermingling with yours. One more short movement and he would taste you.

His lips grazed yours. He felt his lower half explode with excitement.

Your eyes were fluttering and panic joined in with his pleasure. You stirred. Your eyes barely opened and you saw a divine visage before you, bright and starry eyes peering into yours. Before you could fully open them and decide if this was still a dream or reality, the fae had fled. Flying frantically through the dense foliage, he settled on a high branch obscured by the fading light and dark branches, still able to see you from afar. Did you see him? Did he scare you?

You rubbed your eyes and looked around you. There was no sign of anyone. You let out a big yawn and decided that you probably hadn’t finished dreaming yet, seeing that beautiful face before you.

Standing up and brushing the dirt off your backside, you picked up your basket and satchel to make your way home.

The fae’s breath halted seeing you leave. He wanted you to stay. He had been so close to tasting you, he would never get that chance again.

He looked around frantically. What could he do to prevent you from leaving?

You were walking swiftly. The sun was almost completely gone and you didn’t want to be in the woods at night. Folk warned that the faeries would get you, perhaps an old wives’ tale, but you never knew. Plus, there were predators here anyway.

Suddenly, you heard a crash and a whimper. Turning to the noise, you thought you saw large, translucent wings, flapping weakly behind a bush. The sounds seemed pitiful. Hurt.

You approached carefully and pushed the branches aside.

Before you, lay a creature you had only seen illustrated in fantasy novels.

He looked up at you, unable to stop his face from blushing again, pretending to have hurt himself from a fall.

This plan had to work.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Bunny!! I have a request if you don't mind :>

I was thinking maybe headcanons of Sam and Mermaid!Reader (kinda like H2o if you ever watched it). Like stuff of how they met, how he found out and started dating, whatever you feel like it

Just an idea. It's my first request but i'll try to interact more because i really liked your blog

Luv your writing pookie, can i be 🦢 anon?

SAM MONROE X MERMAID!READER HEADCANONS 🧜🏻‍♀️🌊

Author's note: welcome 🦢 Nonnie 🙂‍↕️ that is actually such a creative idea oh myyyyy but I haven't watched H20, only heard of it :(( I hope it's up to your liking :((

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who met you on one of his «get the hell away from everything» afternoons. He’d wander down to the rocky beach near his house, chain-smoking and throwing rocks into the water, just trying to avoid his dad and all the shitty stuff happening back home. You had been reckless, resting on a rock, just takin' in the sun..you liked this beach, it was quiet, people rarely came there. But fate had other plans today..When you heard a grumpy curse, your body stiffened and you immediately made your way back to the water. Yet, it was too slow for Sam not to see. He had spotted your tail diving under the water, his brows softening, expression going blank and he really thought he was going insane after pills he just took. "Hey! What the—" he run to the spot you were just by "Are you a freakin’ fish?" He yelled after you

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who came back to the place where he had seen you to make sure he's not going insane

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who actually one night sneaked out to see if you're there, and when you were, he hadn't stopped looking at you from behind. “So... you’re part fish? Do you eat people?” he'd blurt out, making you jump, before pointing at you like you were a science experiment.

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who cursed the life out of him when he saw you become a human again after stepping out of the water. That guy stumbled over his own steps, thinking you're about to..he doesn't even know what, he just let out a breathless, shaky "shit!" before running away as fast as he could

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who still came back to this place and this time didn't run away but the interaction between you two was.. awkward..a little but somehow you two got along with each other

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who was protective of your secret, often glaring at people who give you, weirdly, too much attention. «Mind your business, freak.»

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who secretly loves watching you swim. He’ll sit on the beach with his arms crossed, pretending he’s not impressed, but you catch the way his lips twitch into a smile when you do something cool.

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who began bringing you little sea gifts—sea glass, weird shells, all while acting like it’s no big deal. «Found this dumb rock. Thought you’d like it.»

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who teased you about your mermaid-ness. «Do you talk to dolphins or something?»

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who sometimes asks you quiet, serious questions, frowning at you in the water. «What’s it like down there? Do you miss it?»

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who draws you sometimes. Sketches of you on rocks or swimming. When you catch him, he simply plays it off. «It’s not you. Just some random fish person.»

🧜🏻‍♀️ SAM MONROE who spent hours smiling like a fool after the first time you kissed him underwater «Holy shit..that was..uh..wow»

🧜🏻‍♀️ SAM MONROE who, sometimes, let you take him into the water with you; jeans soaked up to his knees, just so he can kiss you properly while you float in the waves. «Don’t make me regret this. My shoes are already ruined.»

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who teases you about being a mermaid all the time. "So, do you, like, talk to dolphins? Bet they’re better company than me, huh?" Yet when it he chills out, Sam’s completely enamored by your world. He’ll constantly ask quiet, curious questions late at night, when it’s just the two of you. "What’s it like down there? Do you miss it? Being in the water all the time? Is it worse than being out there?"

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who you catch sketching you sometimes--little doodles of you sitting on a rock or swimming in the waves. He would deny it, of course. "It’s not you. It’s just some random fish person."

🧜🏻‍♀️ SAM MONROE who struggled with feeling like he’s somehow not enough for you, in a way. He thinks you deserve someone more “magical” or less messed up. «You’re out here being, like, a mystical sea goddess or whatever, and I’m just...me.»

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who, whenever you’re upset, he’ll let you drag him into the water (even though he grumbles about it). "Fine, but if I drown, I’m haunting you."

🧜🏻‍♀️ SAM MONROE who gave you your first cigarette

🧜🏻‍♀️SAM MONROE who literally thought you were Ariel;

"So, uh," he started, scratching the back of his neck. He hesitated, the words seeming to stick in his throat before he finally blurted out, "Are you... some kind of Ariel or something?"

You blinked, tilting your head. "Who’s Ariel?"

Sam froze, lips parting like he was about to explain. But then, his brow furrowed, and he let out a long breath through his nose. "Eh… never mind," he muttered, taking a long drag of his cigarette

"No, wait," you pressed, frowning now. "Who is this Ariel? Another mermaid?"

"Not—well, kinda," Sam admitted, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He glanced at you, cheeks faintly pink. "She’s from a movie. Some Disney thing."

"Disney?" you repeated, your confusion deepening.

"Forget it," he grumbled, tossing another pebble into the water with more force this time. "It’s stupid. You're, like, way cooler anyway. Ariel’s just a cartoon."

You didn’t fully understand what he meant, but the faint praise made your lips curl into a smile. "So, this Ariel isn’t real?"

"Nope," Sam said, leaning back on his palms. "You, on the other hand…" His voice trailed off, and he looked at you again, blue eyes tracing the curve of your tail in the clear, shining water. "You’re, like… real as it gets."

You grinned before flicking water at him with your tail. "Good. I’d hate to have competition."

Sam chuckled, wiping the water from his face. "Yeah, well, you’re safe. Ain’t nobody like you, Ariel or not."

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