#and what if i make them kiss in the rain? what if i make this as dramatic as possible? what if i crank up the yearning because the bard

[hoseoksluna]

STRATEGY | jjk

pairing: yandere!jungkook x female!oc (feat. police officer!taehyung)

genre: smut; angst

rating: 18+

summary: due to his reasons, jungkook can't get close to you—but when you show your tits to him through your window, he might just teach you a lesson.

word count: 6.0k

warnings: dark content not to be romanticized — stalking, manipulation, slight gaslighting; mental states of — anger, anxiety, depression, dissociation, daddy issues. sexual content — mentions of male masturbation, dd/lg, dom/sub dynamics, discipline, the threat of punishment, use of belt, making out. other — insecurities, smoking, mentions of drugs, of parental neglect, inner child in the form of an animal.

FORMAL WARNING: jeon jungkook written in this work is a figment of my imagination and does not reflect the living person and his family.

luna's note: the first chapter of this year's first series is here. you're all gonna scream. oh my god. i worked so hard on this, i need my babies to know that. as much as i struggled with writing, this was a wild ride that i enjoyed. i'd like to give my thanks to my ruru, @tkslovechild, who fixed my mind well enough and inspired me to open the last doc of many. if it weren't for her, this fic wouldn't be alive. this chapter is a taste of what's to come. you can expect a whole lot of smut in the next one. i hope you enjoy. sending lots of kisses MWAH.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster, 

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Jungkook’s cigarette is wet.

The paper, encased around it, is nearly translucent enough to expose the leaves of the tobacco inside, the very tethered parts of his burning soul. The rain pelts down on him hard, brisk and icy like bullets, but its droplets soften and grow warm once they seep inside the thick, thumping vein along the column of his throat. His hair is soaked, a few of his freshly cut strands rounding over his forehead clouding his vision. Normally, he’d get one long and thorough look at you, finish his cigarette in but a few sucks and return to his car, but tonight he can’t. Neither can he afford to get sick, not when he’s studying exhausting hours deep into the night just to secure your financial well-being and freedom, but right now, despite the risk, he can’t take his eyes off of you. 

You’re playing a dangerous game. As a matter of fact, you’ve always been with your flirtiness and your delicious perversion, but the boss-defeating level he finds himself to be in is not something he can handle so easily. It’s blanketed in a light layer of the possibility of his life permanently changing, and he can’t run from it. Not when he’s frozen in this speed of time while his wobbly, jelly limbs long to be in your proximity.

In any textbook image example of his romantic relationship with you suggests the very opposite of this sketch he’s being drawn into by your hand. Before all else, the charcoal pencil should’ve been in his tattooed fingers. The big bad boss should’ve been him, and you should’ve been the brave princess with her sword, small before him, but more powerful with her spirit and fearlessness, getting impaled on his dick time and time again before you conquer him, at last. 

In this ashy, starless scene, you’re the boss and he’s the princess. 

You’re flashing your tits at him through the window of your bedroom and he’s sporting a boner so astronomical that he couldn’t sit down inside his car even if you, yourself, asked him to. Made puppy eyes, put your palms together and rubbed them in a childish gesture, pleading him with the pout that he knows you’re very capable of doing. The pout that started this habit of his—driving up to your street, despite the fact he lives an hour away, just to ensure your safety, just to be certain that you’re well and not staining your pillow with black mascara tears. 

There’s enough blackness in your heart from the wrongness and unfairness that life feeds you, and he’s decided to take the spoon and fill it with something sweet. Like attention, like protection,  like your dreams and wishes fulfilled. Because he saw you as a small kitten, underfed and yet loaded with such a large burden of ill-luck that every morsel of his being just couldn’t stand to see it anymore. 

He met you in a strange place at a strange time.

Jungkook wasn’t supposed to be in Gangnam that day, but one of his soon-to-be pawns in the city of Seoul unintentionally let him in on one of the underground crimes that have been going on in that district. His plan for the night was supposed to be filled with driving around Hongdae just to make sure all the girls were safe. It was Friday, the most sinful day of the week; 9:30 pm, the start of all depraved entertainment, brought out from the depths of all the dark souls of empty people. The girls needed him, but when Jungkook heard from Taehyung that the little bitches called men have been dealing drugs in the bathroom of Starfield Library, the girls had to be good and they had to wait. 

The heart inside his inner child ached at the thought that the place, where he used to spend his happy days before they were gone, was getting stained by something so horrendously evil as drugs. Taehyung was putting on his police uniform as the information slipped past his lips and while Jungkook’s heart stopped, it became burdened by his secret, not so secret in reality, dream even more heavily than ever before. He no longer saw him as a pawn—truth be told, he wanted to become a police officer ever since he saw Kiki’s Delivery Service as a young boy before things got bad and having him as his best friend and a neighbor at the same time just offered a crevice of open space for his dream to come true. But Taehyung stalled… until he didn’t. 

Upon seeing the look on his face, he tipped his head low, sighed, and told him to come with him. And together they drove to Gangnam up to the COEX Mall. All the while Jungkook bounced his knee and sensed a dreadful feeling slithering down his sternum for a reason he couldn’t simply figure out. 

He couldn’t shake off his nervousness even as they got out and he lit up his cigarette. Taehyung told him off, reminded him that the library closes soon, and, nodding, Jungkook took two more puffs before he let the instrument of sweet death plummet to the ground. His better-knowing murmured to him that he should’ve left his heart behind, too, but being loyal to the wretched flesh, Jungkook never learned the language of his logic. 

He saw you long before you saw him, going up the white keys of stairs beside Taehyung, taking two at the time. Your short limbs were reaching a shelf above your head, trembling in tension, your form elevated by the way you were standing on your tippy toes. The higher he went, the clearer his glimpse was of your thighs, embellished by a black cotton to keep them warm in the cool spring. The band digging into the flesh entranced him, trapped him to you as if by ropes of mercifulness because that was the most beautiful sight he was graced to witness. He had seen many pretty girls during his late night drives of heroism, but none of them possessed such a pure, alluring kind of beauty that made his heart tighten in his chest. 

And the flesh was outright asphyxiated by the following cognizance of your full outfit. 

Lifting his foot over the last step, Jungkook perceived that your thigh-high socks were held up by thin slits of garters, uncovered by the riding up of the skirt of your dress. There was no air in his lungs, no command in his brain to keep on walking after Taehyung. There was an absolute silence between the synapses as he stood there, unbreathing, his eyes skimming over the smooth skin of the back of your thighs, the well-fittedness of your short dress, which had an open back beneath the waterfall of your long hair. But it wasn’t bare, not by any chance. As if the thickness of your strands wasn’t enough, you filled the gap with a white shirt, and Jungkook was stunned. 

The spell was disrupted when the books, one by one, began to fall over your head, despite the fact you succeeded in getting the one you wanted. Disrupted and not broken because while he knew Taehyung was inching closer to the crime scene, his instinct won over his stupefaction and gave the order to his legs to rush over to you. It felt natural to him, the act of grabbing your arms and pulling you flush to him, to a place of safety, although he was a stranger, a guy and he had no right to touch you like that. Anyone in his shoes would just shout at you to move away, but the spell didn’t allow his logic to filter through his actions. You gasped, nearly tumbled down to the ground along with him, but Jungkook was stronger. Jungkook didn’t let you plummet to the ground like his cigarettes—he held you steady to him, balancing you on your feet, and his heart began to ache, like it did when he heard of the drug-dealing, and age when you lifted a palm and placed it over your forehead, mewling a pained noise through your pouting mouth. 

He wasn’t fast enough. An overgrown bush of overprotective roots took form in his black lungs, tangled in the long strands of your hair as you softly trembled like a kitten in his arms. He was no longer a boy, delirious with his need to color the streets with justice and safety; he was a man of fatherly compulsions, organic instincts to never let you disappear from his secure hand again. It happened that quickly—it happened that devastatingly that he himself was dumbfounded by it all. 

Dumbfounded and… much to his surprise: pleased.

Jungkook didn’t cleave to love. While his heart hungered to envelop its love around that special person it wished for, he simply couldn’t conform. Couldn’t open the chambers of his heart and let out the horrors—the fights, the violence, the blood, the silent screams and the ungratified needs, left abandoned by those closest. He was afraid to allow himself to be loved; and he was afraid of being only capable of sharing the darkness in return, not his love—the small, wounded bunny hiding somewhere in him, every day concealing itself deeper and deeper. That was why he never even looked twice at the girls he saved, let alone touched them, let alone allowed them to bathe him in feelings that were pleasant.

Strange, the moment that was uncoiling. His actions and their unfolding, and his lack of carefulness and detachment. 

The toppling misfortune finished its course, the dull sound of the books hitting the floor halted, and within this abrupt silence, Jungkook felt the hammering of your heart, kicking against his upper abdomen, softening him. And in spite of everything, he turned you around to examine your reddened forehead as if he weren’t Jungkook at all, but someone else. Someone healthy and full of light within his mind, heart and soul, who doesn’t create boundaries and doesn’t hiss and thump his legs back when someone crosses them. This new person eyed the pebble-sized bump poking through the skin, which wrinkled through the furrow of your brows. His lips downturned in pity for you, but he knew pressing the injury with a packet of frozen veggies would fix it by the morning. You were lost in the pushing acuteness of the pain, perhaps not even realizing that you were saved. Your set of wispy eyelashes were quivering like the rest of you and while this new person was desperate for you to look at him, it wasn’t until Taehyung called his name that you did.

But it was too late, the moment was too brief, and the old Jungkook settled over him like a layer of dust. 

However, the mutual meeting of eyes kickstarted his dead heart, bringing forth life through the chambers and the vessels like a petal drifting upon the smooth surface of a river. Jungkook fought it with his old weapons, but as the seconds ticked, he became smaller and smaller, the power of the connection looming over him, scaring him and soothing him soon after by the way your eyes widened in surprise and melted right after. As if into his; as if into him. 

The old and the new Jungkook began to coexist within him, closing over the bunny. 

He didn’t realize he was gone and no longer holding you until Taehyung grabbed a hold of his shoulder, stopping him from colliding his fist into the small-postured drug dealer’s face, who was momentarily stuffing a plastic bag of evil into the toilet tank. It was rage that simmered between the halves of his two personas fading into each other, a yin and yang, not because the abomination was caught as is usually the cause, but because the light and the dark merged within him, bringing him out of his comfort zone into a zone he blanched in panic in. 

He didn’t know that you watched the entire time. That you watched him curse at the boy, take the drug from him and nearly flush it down the toilet, if Taehyung hadn’t stopped him. He didn’t know that you’d stick around just to talk to him, had the library not closed. 

And he didn’t know that he would meet you again. 

And again. 

At dangerous places, where you didn’t belong—like his mind when he was ceaselessly fist-fucking his cock before dawn. At safe places, where you painted the walls with your gentleness and simultaneous misfortune, your own yin and yang. 

He didn’t expect you to make the first move each time, gazing up at him with a soft smile, making small talk that was more flirty than it was polite. It was hard for him to handle as the strange, fatherly and tender feelings he carried for you, belonging to the new half of him, brewed in him like loose pomegranate tea leaves. Each question you threw his way was that leaf, and the intonation you used, the curiosity, the roundness of your eyes and their constant melting was the fragrance of that fruit, cutting through him until he was nothing but a fragment of a boy in love.

He couldn’t leave. The yang of his split persona wouldn’t give the blessing to him in order for him to do that. And what’s more, he dreamed revolting dreams about shattering your heart with his fluid absence and presence, the black and white easing into one another, and it helped him stay put. He feared sleeping, he feared hurting you, and so he just abused his cock, releasing the endorphins that his body needed in order to sustain this whole newness. 

And therefore like the boy he was chiseled into, he took your first moves once the time was right and undisturbed. Took them higher. Took you out for ice cream, where your flirtiness shifted both of you to this point of your love story. All because of the way you licked the sweet delight. 

You swirled your tongue along its dissolving perimeter. Ivory in color, its drops dribbled down the cone, resembling the essence of his everlastingly drooling manhood that he had wasted many times prior this date, trying not to picture you in his mind. He cursed the ice cream shop as much as he blessed it for having a vanilla flavor so well-made that it rolled your eyes back during the conversation you spurred about his dreams that shone a dimmed light in his heart. He was hard, unable to speak in a steady flow, pausing between words, watching you, always watching you, enjoy your dessert while not having his own. Watching you half listen to him, half making love to the milky substance with your eyes, your focus diverting back and forth—silently gushing your gusto, silently apologizing to him with the bat of your eyelashes for not adequately paying attention. It made you adorable enough for him to fight the crawling inkling to take this an inch higher, bending you over any nearby surface away from people—because he loved the way you constantly spoke your innermost thoughts, your flirtiness especially, through the different expressions of your eyes. They spoke more profoundly than the vocabulary of your mutual mother tongue could ever achieve. 

But he couldn’t follow through with his desire. His sixth sense muttered over his arousal, reminding him there was always a danger close by. By its own sinister will, it interrupted, in an excruciating staccato rhythm, the sensation of heat, pressure and energy he felt, putting it on the back burner. A place he liked to linger because it made him feel alive—the unyielding push and pull of temptation, the fight, the guilt because the fatherliness always won. But his sixth sense was right. Jungkook caught a vulgar string of words about you from the table behind him in a short moment of quietness within his brain. He turned his head to the side, listening, and when the meaning of the words multiplied with the description of you, he banged his fists and impulsively acted out, getting up to his feet. 

He flipped the table. Grabbed the collar of the boy who stole his guilty pleasure and made it his own. Seethed in his sweaty face; threw words at him that made him tremble in fear until he begged to be let go. Jungkook saw a vibrant red—he didn’t see how he startled you, how all the people in the sitting area stopped whatever conversations they were having just to stare, how all the employees gulped behind the counter, but didn’t dare to step in. That was the face of his wildness, molded by all he went through, shown to you ahead of time—or perhaps at the right time. He wouldn’t know, and he was too reluctant to contemplate it. 

He didn’t calm down until he made the boy apologize to you. Then, he fixed the table and put it to its original spot. Then, he made you feel better by brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, grazing his fingers down your arm until he found your hand, murmuring a soft sorry for scaring you. Then, he went to the petrified employees and apologized to them, too, for the commotion. 

You also wanted to make him feel better. 

Inside his car, you caressed the tense muscles of his thigh. Just once—a slow, downward motion of your palm that made him twitch. He noted the milky flakes of the dessert you had discarded dried on your lips and he hoped your eyes hadn’t strayed to his private parts—that you didn’t notice the agonized twitch of his cock that regretfully longed for you. 

In this area of your relation with him, the yin won. 

He put your safety above his own arousal and need, minimizing it. Grabbed the hand that had the candy-coated intention to make him feel better and kissed it in polite thankfulness, knowing your soundness that he had taken care of did the job already.

You pouted at his declination, and his heart crumbled into pomegranate seeds. 

Had he known this would start off your irresistible perversion, he would’ve somehow make it so he could let you do whatever it was that you wanted to do with your hand. Because the fatherliness, which he tried with all his might to preserve in utmost purity, darkened the more you wanted him. 

Darkened the more you teased him. 

With your garters and your knee socks. With your short skirts that exposed the lines of your bubble butt, which he tugged down many times, his heart racing, afraid any of the horny fucks with wrong intentions walking by would see. With your innocent smiles, mischievous eyes and light touches on the places of his body that he discovered were of utter sensitivity—the crook of his elbow, into which you liked to dig your nails, the left side of his ribs, where you somehow detected his mole, his nipple that you enjoyed teasing just to watch him convulse, and his thigh, the straight pathway to his arousal. Sometimes you went higher, sometimes you went lower—and it tested his patience every single time. 

All broke loose once you conveyed, with your words, how much you wanted him after some time passed. 

You let him know you were hungry. It was the warmest spring evening you had in months and Jungkook was on his patrol. Seeing the text, he turned the car around and drove up to your street. Picked you up, asked you what you were craving and beside the Subway sandwich, you mentioned that you were craving him, too. As if it were the most ordinary, casual thing in the world. 

He stomped on the break so hard that the vehicle behind him honked at him. 

Scolded you in a fatherly way that coaxed an endearing giggle out of you. You can’t say things like that, he said, shooting you a glare that made you clench your thighs—and Jungkook wished that he hadn’t noticed. 

That he hadn’t noticed being bad turned you on even more. 

Then the touches were prolonged. The eye contact was intensified, the interlude of silence between you and him was boiling to such a hot temperature that he sweltered beneath his clothes in your presence, sporting a stony hard-on, which was difficult to get rid of. 

And then the confessions began. 

The more detailed confessions of your desire, of your liking in terms of his countenance. Of what your fingers were doing in the middle of the night because of your sentiments. 

Jungkook didn’t respond. Not at first. He fought so hard to stay pure, stand behind the boundary of purity, unwilling to stain you with his own desire. He was a boy, marred by the times, with a caretaker’s heart, aged by many years, with a soul that brings death. He was afraid of what would be created, if his death mingled with your misfortune. If the bunny of his love had a glimpse of your melting eyes. If his own desire collided with yours. If he cut the ropes of his restraint and broke himself loose along with the trajectory of his untitled relationship with you. 

Hell would envelop you. Hell would embrace you so tight that you’d start to despise him. 

Because he wasn’t a good person. All the evil he had witnessed clung to him like second skin, peeling off of him like scales, like dirt. The evil he had  consumed while living with his family; the evil he had stepped into in order to bring goodness. Jungkook would feed spoonfuls of it to you because every morsel of his being embodied it. 

He said this to you, in less harmful words, upon an ordinary car drive through the night when you were starting to get jittery. It would be better if I just took care of you without touching you. He never added the fatherliness he felt towards you into the stream of his speech—he was too shy to do so. He was already flushed in the face; he worried confessing it would trouble his composure. And he needed to be a strong wall for you. 

But you were a smart girl. 

Devouring his words, you lifted the hem of your skirt. Your legs were still, no hint of jitteriness to them at that abrupt cusp of unraveling desire, when you parted them on the passenger seat and showed him the circle of your arousal on the center of your white panties. This is what you do to me when you talk about treating me like a father. 

His blood flow halted. His heart leaped to his throat, the aroma of pomegranate filling his mouth. He edged to the border of his restraint and thought about, briefly, how he would edge you for your smartness. How he would drink the sweetness of your seashell when he would finally let you come; how it would refresh the tobacco of his soul, make him a better person, a better partner. He imagined how the smell of your arousal would linger in the car for days—how it would be a reminder that there’s goodness for him in this world while he would go on doing his job of saving it. 

The black and white conclusively coalesced, creating a shade of gray that densely clouded his reasons and his morals. 

And because this notion occupied his stomach with hundreds of butterflies, the decision was made. Hasty, and probably catastrophic, but he no longer cared. He fell in love with the idea of him being saved, even if it meant decorating your pretty thighs with scars. Give me some time, he said eventually. I’ll rub your scars with a healing oil, he didn’t promise.

And the detachment, which he was so inquisitive about all those months ago, nestled between you and him. The conversations, which used to be so abundant with passion and liveliness, echoed with the low tones of the trees, of the soft songs of the birds and the ringing of his mind as he completely descended into an abyss of dejection. He didn’t know why he entered this state; it just happened on its own. He no longer had the energy to save the girls of Seoul, nor did he have the strength to face you and be a man. The little life he had left—he used it to fulfill his obligations: he drove to your place after he had done his daily dose of studying and homework. Picked himself up just to make sure you were all right. And if your room lacked any light, it would motivate him enough to go into the streets and look for you. 

He’d find you each time, envious and disheartened that you weren’t spending time with him. Go home and cry his colorless tears. 

And now he’s here, standing underneath the foreboding downpour, in the present time after a month of idleness, in the middle of the night. His car is parked behind him, the headlights filtering through the thick shafts of rain, illuminating him. His pallid hands are bearing two things in each. A wet cigarette, a spoon that has been washed off the original poison of his life and that is now overspilling with everything nourishing. All because of your pressed-up tits against the window, the fast-paced rivulets of rain blurring the view. 

You’ve yanked the time by its throat. You’re the boss and you’ve decided that all waiting is over. 

He’s not sure what he’s feeling right now. If it’s absolute fury that is invigorating his system or if it’s distilled passion that is constricting his muscles so much that it’s causing him to quiver. There’s some kind of need in the heart of it all, which smudges all of his attempts at analyzing until they get swept away with the current of the rain. In this very second, there’s no ticking of danger, no deafening silence of dejection, no promise of evil. There’s only one singular thing.

The ropes are torn: he has to have you. 

You did this. You cut them instead of him, and that’s all that is pulsating in his mind as he takes the last drag of his sodden cigarette and lets it plummet, lets it burn away to nothingness. His steps are heavy and his steps are furious—and you seem to know because you unpeel yourself from the coolness of the window and skip away beyond his sight. He trusts that your smartness leads you to open the main door for him, and he’s not disappointed when he reaches it and hears its ringing song, inviting him inside. 

The song of fate. 

You’re waiting for him between the panels of your door on the third floor, dressed in a short nightwear dress of ivory and lilac, lace and bows. Entering your presence, Jungkook is made pliable by the strong cognizance that he’s missed you. Your hair cascades in waves down your bare shoulders, the barest he’s ever seen them, nuzzling into your cleavage that advances his softness and his concurring arousal. You’re pristine and fragrant while he drips in sweat and petrichor laced with cigarette smoke, but he wants you and he wants to punish you for putting him in this position so audaciously. 

And for not wearing your thigh-high socks when he wishes you were. 

The furrow of his brows deepens, knitting in the middle, and once your eyes flick to it, you breathlessly gasp, those pretty thighs of yours crossing to make friction for your little pussy. It feels as though you were all naked and he’s overwhelmed, he’s furious, he’s frustrated and—

His hand presses against the middle of your clavicles and draws you inside, kicking the door shut. 

He’s tender, however, despite his impulses. He’s tender as he pushes you down onto your couch, his fingers latching onto the lacy neckline. The feeling of a warm home he never had sticks to his fingertips from your skin—and it’s clearer to him now than it ever has been before: you’ve become a four-walled home for him through all the time he spent with you on innocent dates and car drives, protecting you and consoling you from the impact of your engraved misfortune. The sensation on the pads of his fingers jumps to the other ones and tingles as they wrap around the buckle of his belt, capturing the interest of your eyes that widen and very quickly and very quintessentially melt. 

You see how hard he is for you. 

Good. 

Now you can. Now it's yours. 

He swiftly tugs his belt out of the loops with one hand, bending the leather in half. Your smile rises at that, and while you rake your hand through your hair at the crown of your head and arch your cold chest into his other hand, Jungkook watches you part your legs for him. And time stops when he expects there to be a cloth of any pastel color covering your pussy and finds there to be none.

None at all. 

Mustering all of his strength, he rips his gaze away. Points the belt in your face. He can’t see your little pussy, not just yet. He has to punish you first for stealing his first move for the second time around, for triggering his flight or fight response because he wasn’t ready for this—he wasn’t ready to have his control taken, for his detachment and restraint to be broken so promptly. He should’ve laid it down at your feet, having cut it himself. Then, it would've been pure; it would’ve been right.

Nothing about this is of those attributes. 

This is dark, this is sinful, and you’re gonna pay for it.

“Repeat back to me what I told you the last time I saw you,” he orders, bringing your eyes back up to him as he towers over you, stinging your lips with the coolness of the wet leather, seemingly coaxing out your words. Your breath shivers at the contact, changing the temperature, mouth parting like your legs as he moves it down to your chin. You run your tongue along its bottom pillow as soon as he drags the belt down the upper of your sternum, the very place he touched with his own hand. He stops at the swell of breast right next to his fist bunching up your nightdress, the accessory lifting and falling with your short intakes of air. 

The rain pelts harder against the window. You evidently mull over your answer, blinking slowly at him, dazy from it all—and it’s funny to him. He hasn’t even started, and he’s way too far away from being finished with you. 

“You mean what you said to me a month ago? How am I supposed to remember?” you question, the words oozing with every particle of provocation that exists within this irredeemable world. Jungkook knows more than he knows himself that you’re bluffing and he sucks in a breath, his frustration piling up on top of his clenched muscles. His hand longs to lift and spank your visibly stiffened nipple for your smart mouth, but he holds himself back—the time isn’t right yet. He wonders if your pointed beads are still cold from the window or if he needs to suck them into his mouth to warm them up. 

His cock flits. Jungkook struggles to contain his noises, growling hushedly under his breath. One corner of your mouth tugs to the side when they encompass you, producing your satisfaction, and it pisses him off even more. 

His fist unclenches, letting go of your neckline. The fabric is wrinkled and stretched, ruined until the next wash, and that fact likens him to you, cooking the ingredients of satisfaction for him. Power seizes him, and therefore he stoops to your level, bending at the waist to look you straight in the face. The belt follows suit, stopping at your flushed cheek. 

It wasn’t that long ago when you were mewling in pain, the same redness spreading across your forehead. Where is that meekness of yours, your girlishness, your softness? Where has his detachment gone again and why does your malleability madden him so tremendously? 

His fatherliness unfurls in full glory, his need to discipline you consumes him alive. 

“Watch your mouth,” he spits in undertone, patting your cheek with the belt just once. Light flashes in your eyes, a candle swished by the wind. “I know you remember well, you can’t trick me, so again I tell you. Repeat back to me my last words to you.”  

And you do the most unimaginable thing, setting him on fire. Word for word, you repeat back the sentence he uttered but a half minute ago. A serious delivery, with a static contortion, camouflaging your mischief, and he becomes the image he saw in your eyes. 

A tall candle, melting. 

His fury and frustration should continue on. Should grip the belt hard and paint welts on the flesh of your thighs and bum. But the more your perversion radiates him, the more he loses. The bunny of his love gazes back at you from its hiding place, casting its first glimpse at you, and makes the first move to slightly exit the deep darkness. 

First move; first step. Curiosity eclipses the white fur of the bunny, the white dot across the blackness of the yin half. Its wide, almond eyes are unblinking, captivated by you, by your forcefulness, stubbornness and your immaculate beauty. By the way you breathe evenly, by how unafraid you are. So full of everything adventurous, like the books you read, which fill every space of your apartment. 

The animal is smitten with you. Jungkook stands outside of his own body, wondering if there’s any line at all between the grayness that has been created. If there’s any backing away from the blatantly obvious fact that he loves you. 

That he can’t stay mad at you. 

That his need to discipline you truly stems from his profound love for you. 

“You think you’re the Daddy?” he mutters, at last, the correction of dynamics coming naturally out of him. He silences you with his question, creasing your features, and his satisfaction is a finished meal. The first bite you’ll ever have; the first spoonful. “I’ll show you who’s Daddy.” 

And then he grips your throat and forces your lips to collide with his. Breathing in your skin is the first intake of fresh air he’s ever had. This is his first kiss, his first life—and when you reciprocate his kiss and submit to his feverish rhythm, it is the first warm, home-cooked meal he’s ever devoured. The sky falls and is born again, and he, too, is born anew. 

You lean back, relinquished, and Jungkook straddles you, his knees making dents on either side of you upon the plush of your couch. The belt falls, his walls fall, and he has to touch you. His fingers crawl up from your ears into the garden of your hair, gripping the roots, moaning into your mouth and you respond just the same. Opening your mouth, you give him access to your tongue and your spit—and he drinks, he drinks as if it were the angelic fountain that had the expertise to cleanse him of his old life. And he lets it. 

Clenches and unclenches his fingers, tangled in your hair, the symbol of his green light because he’s safe with you. 

He’s safe with you. 

Your hands blindly find your favorite spots on his body. They knead his thighs as he sucks on your pout, his abstained dream come true. They ascend to his clothed ribs under his jacket, lingering there, ostensibly seeking the bunny, not knowing that the animal has begun to look for the way out. Your moans gain volume and sensitivity, and Jungkook knows you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither can he. He’s hard to the point of bursting. 

And when he latches his mouth onto the side of your neck and your moans lighten to little mewls akin to those he missed, he doesn’t allow you to sink your nails into the last place you love on him. He pushes you face down onto the couch and grabs his discarded belt. 

He’s going to make that little girl stay. 

© 2025 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

10

(T.W sexual content)

Jinx

She tasted like berries.

Sweet, but not in a fake, sugary way—real, ripe, and just a little tart. Like she’d bitten into something moments before and I was just catching the aftertaste.

It’s been hours, but I swear I can still feel the ghost of her lips on mine, still hear that little hitch in her breath when I pressed closer.

Fuck.

I flop back onto my bed, arm draped over my eyes, trying to will away the ridiculous grin stretching across my face.

It’s stupid.

I’m being stupid.

But my brain keeps looping it—her fingers in my hair, the way she shivered when I kissed down her neck, the way she didn’t pull away.

I run my tongue over my lips absentmindedly, half-expecting to taste her again.

I don’t, obviously.

But damn, do I want to.

I roll over onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow, but I can’t seem to shake the feeling. That kiss—it keeps coming back, like a song stuck on repeat.

It’s like the air’s different now, charged in a way it wasn’t before. It’s heavier, thick with something I can’t name yet.

My mind spins with thoughts of her—Y/N, all quiet and measured and impossibly soft—yet when we kissed, she wasn’t like that at all.

She was there, fully present, her breath hot against my skin, her hands steady as they tugged at my hair.

I let out a frustrated sigh and punch the pillow beneath me. This isn’t helping. It’s just making me more wound up.

But the thought won’t leave me, won’t stop scratching at the back of my mind: What if she wants more? What if I want more?

I sit up and swing my legs off the bed, pacing back and forth. Fuck. What am I even supposed to do with this?

I know I’m a mess. I’m always a mess. But with her? I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt to have her close, to kiss her. It wasn’t just about the kiss itself, but everything around it—how she reacted, how her body moved, how I felt with her.

The problem is, I’m not sure if she feels the same.

I need to know.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

Y/N

It's pouring down. The sky is an endless wash of gray, with rain slashing against the windows like a thousand tiny blades.

The world outside feels muffled, like the storm’s swallowing everything whole, and inside, it’s just me, wrapped in the quiet of my room.

I’ve been staring at the books on my shelf, picking up one, setting it down, picking up another, but none of them seem to hold my attention. Not when my mind keeps drifting back to her.

To Jinx.

The way her lips felt, soft yet sure against mine. How everything inside me seemed to catch fire for just a second. I’ve been trying to tell myself it was nothing, just a moment, but it wasn’t just a moment. Not to me.

The sound of something scraping against my window shatters the silence, and my heart skips a beat. I stand up, instinctively moving toward the sound. When I reach the window and pull it open, I nearly stumble back in shock.

Jinx’s face peeks through the rain-soaked window, her eyes gleaming with that same wild energy I can never quite place.

Her lips curl into a mischievous grin, and without missing a beat, she launches into a dramatic, over-the-top quote. “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. And none but fools do wear it, cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love!”

I blink, momentarily thrown off by her theatrical entrance. My pulse quickens, not just from the surprise but the way she’s looking at me, the intensity of her gaze almost too much to bear. “What… what are you doing?” I ask, trying to regain some semblance of composure, even as my heart hammers in my chest.

She just grins, that wide, almost-dangerous grin of hers, and without any hesitation, she climbs in through the window, her drenched clothes sticking to her like a second skin.

Water drips off her, splashing onto my floor, but she doesn’t seem to care.

"Jinx," I start, my voice tinged with concern, "You're going to freeze."

"Well, warm me up," she says, her voice playful, daring, and that's all it takes. Her lips are on mine again, sudden, hot, and desperate in a way that makes my breath catch.

It’s different this time—more urgent, more consuming. I don’t have time to think before her hands are pulling me closer, pushing me to match the intensity she’s giving. Her body presses against mine, the cold of the rain outside clashing with the heat building between us. The wetness of her hair still clings to her skin, but it’s all forgotten, lost in the wave of sensation that crashes through me.

I’m lost in the kiss, her taste, the way her lips mold to mine like we’ve done this a hundred times before, even though we haven’t. My pulse quickens, the tension in my chest tightening as her hand trails up to cup my face, her thumb grazing my cheekbone.

I want more.

My hands slowly trail underneath the sopping clothes that cover her skin.

"You need the take these off, you'll catch hypothermia," I try to make it sound informative, I really do, but she knows, and I know, I just want her clothes gone.

A grin splits across her face, "You trying to get me naked toots?"

I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, "And what if I was?"

"We'll then i'd say tit for tat,"

"Pardon?"

"I'll get naked if you do," Her cheeks dimple in the corner when she says that.

Oh.

Oh.

I normally would be hesitant. I've never been bare before someone before, but it's her and like she said, tit for tat.

My hands abandon her t-shirt and go to the hem of my nightie instead. And she's watching me, eyes almost lidded. A heat spreads over my skin when my shirt falls to the ground.

"Tit for tat," I murmur waiting for her to follow suit.

And she does, slowly peeling the damp clothes from her body, discarding them on my carpet, there was inevitably going to be a stain later.

My eyes follow her movements intently, almost greedily, until she rids herself of every obstructing item. Apart from her underwear, pink with blue stripes, they remain, clinging to her hips, molded to her body like they're painted on.

I let out a breath.

She tilts her head to the side, a Cheshire cat like grin resting on her lips, "You good toots?"

I manage a nod, which makes her giggle and walk closer.

"Y/N-"

I avoid her gaze completely, eyes focused on my feet, the floor, anywhere but her.

Her hips, her thighs, her waist, her breasts—

"Y/N," she repeats, more instant this time. My head snaps up, just in time to see her grab at my waist and smash her lips to mine once again.

I know what to do now, with the kissing.

I part my lips, just a bit, and her tongue delves in immediately, a sound, I'm not sure whether mine or hers, echoes between us.

It's different living a situation like this, rather than reading this, I've read many erotic stories before, but never would I have thought it would be this—good.

My fingertips trail down her line of her spine, following it down until it flares into the curves of her hips, and then further, until somehow my hands end up splayed over her ass.

All that cockiness she had fades the second she whimpers against my mouth. I swallow the sound greedily tugging her closer.

I part to breathe but—god the need for oxygen seemed trivial in comparison to her lips.

Jinx seems to grow tired at being the object of desire, and mimics what my hands did to her, simultaneously shoving me back slightly.

The backs of my knees collide with my bed and it sends us toppling onto my sheets. She lands on top of me in a very compromising position and I can't help the laugh that leaves my lips, light and practically joyous.

The sound gets kissed away.

Our lips are more feverish against eachothers now, she just keeps kissing me, as if my lips hold the answers to all her impossible questions.

Perhaps they do.

When I break away only to gather air, I notice that the deep mauve shade of lipstick that normally stains her lips has smudged, leaving a messy, almost reckless trace across her mouth, as if the kiss had drawn out every last bit of control from both of us.

My breath hitches when she finds another spot to target with her lips. My neck.

"Oh, oh Jinx—"

I can hardly recognise the sounds leaving my lips now, obscene and completely lewd as Jinx litters my neck with kisses, she seems determined almost trying to find that spot, the one that would draw the nicest sounds from m—

She found it.

A sound—practically pornographic—comes from deep in my throat and I know she hears it because her kisses halt and she lifts her head from the crook of my neck, peering down at me.

A grin spreads across her face, and she looks so insanely smug that I don't know whether to roll my eyes or kiss her again.

I settle for the latter.

She snickers against my lips, and the sound reverberates through my chest, a warm and fuzzy thing.

"Y/N," She murmurs between kisses and its so soft, so tender, so completely uncharacteristic for her, but the tone, it makes me melt.

"Jinx," I try to mimic her tone, trying to make myself sound sultry, but I fear it was painfully obvious that I had no experience.

My sexual knowledge consisted of tales of regency scandals, love found in prosperity, but not this, me, me and another girl, almost nude in my bed.

But she doesn't seem to mind, just smiling at me again before resuming those neck kisses, and my god, they're just so good.

My hands fall from her body, instead gripping the sheets, as she continues her assault on the skin of my neck.

She's biting, and sucking, and everything in-between, and I can practically feel the welts, the bruises forming. And I don't think I mind.

Her kisses travel down, down my stomach, then my naval, but when she gets to the spot between my thighs, she pauses, falters.

I would've assumed Jinx had gone down on girls before, but her reaction seems to be telling me the opposite.

"Jinx—" The word comes out breathy and needy, she knows what I'm asking for.

And so slowly, her fingers, still painted in that alternating blue and pink, hook into the sides of my underwear, making an attempt to pull them down.

I giggle, lifting my hips to assist her, I know it's going to be a vulnerability that I've never allowed myself before...but it's Jinx, its Powder.

My Powder.

When the dampened fabric has been tossed aside, she hooks her arms around my thighs, tugging me just a little closer.

She breathes and it's shaky, she's nervous too. But nerves become the second thought when that warm puff of air brushes over my pussy making me shudder.

I want to watch what she does, but my head lolls back onto the pillow. One of my hands leaves the sheet, twisting into her damp blue strands.

The flicks of her tongue are mere caresses at first, like an exploration, but then something snaps, she locates my clit, swirling her tongue around it, before sucking, hard, enough to make me yelp.

That noise only spurs her on, her nails making crescent moon shapes in the skin of my thighs as she tries to devour me whole.

It's working.

She tugs me impossibly closer to her face and her mouth envelopes me fully, making my back arch of the bed and more obscene sounds leave my lips.

"Oh! Fuck, Jinx!"

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

She tastes fucking fantastic.

It's that sweet tart taste all over again. And holy shit is at addictive.

I pull her closer running my tongue over clit, just teasingly, just to see what she'll do.

She likes it.

Y/N's back arches and her hips buck against my mouth, certain choice words leaving her lips.

God she'd scold herself if she heard the foul language she's using.

My tongue slips further down, towards her entrance, and she's damn dripping.

"Fuck," I breathe against her and my voice must've done something because her thighs twitch again.

My eyes flicker up to hers and I hold eye contact as I slowly slip my tongue inside of her.

"Jinx, holy shit!" Her voice is breathy, almost pathetically needy as I slowly start to swirl my tongue around.

She tries to maintain eye contact as my lips and mouth move in tandem to give her what I know she needs, but she's not successful, head lolling back onto her pillow, mouth parting in an O shape.

My hands leave her thighs, two fingers sneaking down to her clit, rubbing slow circles as my tongue continues those relentlessness movements that she seems to like.

She's whining and squirming and trying to muffle herself in her pillow and it might just be the hottest thing I've experienced.

Well until...

My name—or variations of it on her lips when she cums.

"Jinx, fuck! Pow, Powder!"

Her back arches off the bed, hands clawing so hard at her sheets I'm sure they'll tear.

I don't let up, licking up all her sweet liquid like it's some sort of aphrodisiac. Maybe my new favourite one.

She does eventually cease my incessant licking, trying to tug me up to her level.

I go to pout, but seeing the look on her face, all soft and wanting, I resign, instead shifting next to her, lacing our fingers together.

"You okay toots?" I tilt my head waiting for a response, but due to her brain cells currently not functioning I have to repeat myself.

"Toots? Earth to Y/N," I wave my hand in-front of her face. She regains her senses with a giggle before nodding, still slightly cross eyed.

"I've never been better." She murmurs still all soft and sweet, before pulling me a tiny bit closer and placing a kiss on my lips.

And fuck, I just wanna stay like this forever.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: they finally got 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂, hope you liked it ;)

please like and reblog <3

[thenickgirl]

TOO HOT

nick x oc!jalen

requested? yes

type: one shot ❀ genre: smut ❀ pov: third ❀ wc: 1.4K

pairing: top!nick x bottom!jalen (don’t say shit, it was a request)

summary: in which things get interesting during game night

warnings: established relationship, swearing, oral and anal sex

a/n: so basically i saw this on pinterest and thought it would be fun. jay, i hope you enjoy this, sorry it took so long. happy reading! ❀

“YOU CHEATED!! YOU TOOK A SHORTCUT!” Nick screamed, setting the controller down on the table in front of him.

“WHAT?? NO I DIDN'T!” Jalen says in defense, mimicking Nick’s actions, before leaning back on the couch.

Nick scoffs, rolling his eyes in annoyance, “I DIDN'T SEE YOU THE ENTIRE TIME, J, AND SUDDENLY YOU'RE AT THE FINISH LINE?? CHEATERRRR!” he yells, a smile threatening to form.

The sound of thunder crashed in the background of the couple’s light hearted bickering. It was storming, and the rain was coming down heavily, so instead of going out for their date like they had originally planned, they stayed inside. Jalen suggested that they should have a little game night, and Nick loves a competition.

They were competing to see who could win the most games throughout the night. Currently, the score was 2-2, Jalen securing his second win with this round of Mario Kart.

“You’re cracked,” Jalen laughs, shaking his head as he looks over at his boyfriend who was now laughing along with him.

“Whatever,” Nick huffs, grabbing his phone off of the table. “I’ll find something else to play that will guarantee me a win,” he says as he scrolls through his phone, going from app to app.

“You’re such a sore loser, peach” Jalen laughs as he watches Nick concentrate on finding something, before quickly being shushed by him.

A devious grin spread across Nick’s face as he saw it. Something that would turn the tables on this impromptu game night.

“Look it!” He commands as he leans over to show his phone to Jalen, who glances at it before grinning himself.

“I thought you were finding games you could win,” Jalen chuckles while shaking his head.

Nick frowned at Jalen’s reaction, “And I did,” he replied confidently.

“You seriously think you could hold out longer than me?” Jalen questions, his brow raised in disbelief.

“A hundred percent,” Nick says with certainty, followed by a shrug.

Jalen shakes his head, scooting closer to Nick, his face inches away from him, “I don’t think you could,” he challenges, his eyes glancing at Nick’s lips before meeting his blue eyes again.

“Try me,” Nick responds, his lips brushing against his boyfriend’s as he spoke, and before he knew it, Jalen closed the space between them, kissing him.

Nick kisses back, deepening it, his fist clenching onto the soft material of the couch so as to not touch Jalen, despite how desperately he wanted to. Jalen’s tongue brushes along Nick’s lip, begging for access, and he gains it when Nick moans into his mouth.

The pair make out for what seems like hours, their lips smack together as they whimper and groan. Both growing more and more eager to touch one another, but neither willing to lose.

Nick was close to caving, so he knew he had to do something to get Jalen to cave first. Without warning, Nick hooked his teeth into Jalen’s bottom lip, knowing how much he loved it, and his boyfriend fell right into his trap. Jalen moaned, grabbing Nick's face in hands, drawing him in.

Nick immediately towers over Jalen, grabbing his hands and pinning him down on the couch as he breaks the kiss, a devilish grin plastered on his face when he leaned in and whispered, “You lose.”

Jalen let out a small gasp from the switch, “That’s not fair! You bit my lip!!” He exclaimed in defense of his actions.

“All’s fair in love and war, baby,” Nick says before swiftly pulling Jalen up and over his shoulder, carrying him to their shared bedroom, and tossing him onto the bed, yet careful not to hurt him.

The pitter patter of the rain hitting the roof, and the thudding sound of Jalen’s heart in his chest was the only thing heard as Nick stared down at him, biting his lip. “If I recall correctly…” he pauses, licking his lips. “I get to do what I want,” he states, grabbing Jalen’s chin making him look at him, his thumb running across his bottom lip.

“I guess so,” Jalen says, looking up at the brunette, the dominance evident in his piercing blue eyes.

Nick grins again, “Get up on the bed,” he commands, and Jalen complies, going up towards the middle of the bed. Nick follows suit, his body floating over him as he kisses him hungrily. Nick’s hands roam Jalen’s body as he moans into his mouth, and he swallows them down. He breaks the kiss, chuckling as Jalen chases his lips.

He then strips them both of their clothes, leaving them only in boxers as he hovers over the dread head. Nick’s lips trail from Jalen’s chest down his abdomen, and his breathing labored. He goes further down, running his tongue along the waistband of Jalen’s boxers before pulling them off, and his length springs free. He licks around the tip, then takes him into his mouth, and Jalen’s head falls back.

“Fuck…” Jalen whispered, sitting up on his elbows as he looked down at Nick.

Nick works Jalen’s cock with his mouth, his head bobbing up and down, as Jalen moans uncontrollably, his hand guiding Nick’s movements. After several minutes, Nick pulls off of him with a ‘pop’. He reaches over to the night stand, grabbing lubricant and squeezing it on his fingertips. With his long slick fingers, he intrudes Jalen hole, spreading and curling them. He takes his time working him open, the squelching sound and his boyfriend’s moans making his own cock twitch as a growl escapes his throat.

“Think you can take me, baby?” Nick asks, his fingers still pumping in and out of him slowly, and Jalen just nods in response.

He hums as he removes his hand from Jalen’s body, then gets up to take off his boxers, before hovering over Jalen again as he kisses along his jaw.

“On your tummy,” he whispers in Jalen’s ear and a shiver runs down his spine. Jalen turns over, laying flat on his stomach, and Nick uses his knees to spread his legs open wider. He presses his length against Jalen’s sopping hole before sliding all the way in.

Jalen moans softly when Nick bottoms out, “So fucking tight,” Nick groans as he sets a steady rhythm.

His hips snap against Jalen’s ass hard as he fucks him into the mattress. The sound of their moans and the bed creaking creates a perfect harmony around them.

“Yes! Mm, you like fuckin’ this tight little hole, don’t you? Such a slut for it, so eager to fill me up,” Jalen moaned while looking back at Nick, his eyes threatening to roll back as Nick picked up his pace.

With one hand he grabs a fist full of Jalen’s hair, pulling so hard it lifts him slightly off the bed, while the other slaps his ass cheek repeatedly.

“Watch your fucking mouth!” Nick threatened, deepening his thrusts as Jalen whimpered.

With each stroke Nick’s length brushed against that sensitive spot inside of him, and his body shook. “Shit, Nick…” Jalen moaned, his fingers tangling in the sheets as Nick fucked him relentlessly.

“That mouth of yours isn’t so smart now, is it? Hm?” Nick grunts, as he lets go of Jalen’s hair and he falls against the mattress.

“I-Nnngh, fuck, don’t stop,” Jalen whimpered, his face buried in sheets as he moaned over and over.

The couple's sweat covered bodies continued to mold together as the storm passed. That familiar feeling begin to rise inside of Jalen, and he cried out, “Oh fuck, I’m so close” he warns.

Nick flips Jalen onto his back, wanting to see his face as he comes for him. Jalen’s back arched off of the bed, as he reaches his peak, his body shuddering as he teeters towards the edge.

“I-…Fuckkk,” Jalen moans as he comes over himself, his mouth opened slightly and his eyes rolled back, the sight causing Nick’s release to hit him as well, his hips beginning to stutter.

“Shit shit shit,” Nick groans as he comes inside of him, before collapsing atop of him. They both pant, catching their breaths as they come down from their high.

“Damn, I should let you top more often,” Jalen chuckles as he kisses the top of Nick’s head.

Nick giggles as he rolls off of him, pulling Jalen to his side, as Jalen rests his head on his chest. “Why ruin a good system?” Nick says while shrugging, and they both laugh.

“You’re an idiot,” Jalen says, stealing one of Nick’s most infamous lines, his fingers tracing the stars on Nick’s shoulder.

The soft touch sends a shiver down Nick's spine as he pulls Jalen impossibly closer. He leans his head down before whispering…

“I’m a winner.”

—

✎ signed,

𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁 ❀

a/n: chat this will be the last smut for a little while, i’m just not into right now at all. also, got some really cute things planned, so stay tuned. i love youuuu 🩷

🏷️: @muwapsturniolo @luverboychris @freshloveforthefit @sturniolossss @sturniioloslut @ameerahsblog @freshloveee @asherrisrandom @dumbf2ck @maliaforstvrns @nicksbestie @emely9274 @marrykisskilled @ksturnz @colorthecosmos444 @tyummyz @idrk2292 @soursturniolo @nickssidewitch

[yourislandgirl]

*:ꔫ:*ₓₒ KISS ME, DON’T SAY NO ˚ ༘♡ੈ✩ || OT7 엔하이픈 x fem!reader || drabbles — mini masterlist !!

summary: scenarios where enhypen ask for a kiss — insp. ‘XO (Only If You Say Yes)’

genre: fluff, romance, non-idol!enhypen x non-idol!reader, est. relationship, enha as simps

warnings: attempts at humour, the smallest hint of angst for some members, a little suggestiveness for some members but nothing major

[archive]

・❥・ heeseung — ramen resolutions

sometimes all you need is someone who tries, because they love you. heeseung was your someone, and he’d move mountains to prove it . or make you some ramen.. rain check on the mountains

・❥・ jay — let me treat you

jay was a giver, he always has been. so when your darling boyfriend decided to treat you with his new pay check, you were as grateful as always, but you soon decide that there were more important things than a new pair of jeans

・❥・ jake — tbd

blurb tbd

・❥・ sunghoon — tbd

blurb tbd

・❥・ sunoo — tbd

blurb tbd

・❥・ jungwon — tbd

blurb tbd

・❥・ ni-ki — tbd

blurb tbd

a.n: been so tired and trying to find the motivation to write has been tough bcs i Want to write but i cant bring myself to type?? anyway, enough woe is me victimising . here is a start to a mini series of themed drabbles. i was gonna do it all in one post but i feel like that’s what’s holding me back from writing, a task too big (even tho it’s not even that big) so i reckon posting smth will bring me some motivation ?? hope you liked them :)

taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf

2025 © yourislandgirl

[hyunbelievable]

Safe in His Arms

Bang Chan x Reader

Summary: short written fic where he sees your scars. Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff.

TW: mentions of scars (past SH) hinting at depression/struggles in the past.

Disclaimer: This is written based on results of the poll I did yesterday where our winner was our fearless leader, Bang Chan! 🤍 This will be the start of a series as I will be writing individual short fics for each of the boys!

As usual, requests are open and I’d love to hear your feedback on this because it’s my first attempt at writing something like this! (Please be kind and enjoy!)

🤍🤍🤍

The living room of your apartment is bathed in a soft, flickering glow, the warmth of the fireplace a welcome contrast to the February chill. A thick blanket is wrapped snugly around you as you sit on the couch, a book resting on your lap, though you’ve barely turned a page in the last few minutes.

Your attention keeps drifting — drawn to the man sitting across from you. The glow of his laptop casts a faint light over his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the slight crease in his brow as he works. Your relationship is still new, and moments like these, quiet and peaceful, are rare. The only sounds are the steady rhythm of rain against the window and the occasional crackle of wood burning in the fireplace.

And, naturally, you’re not exactly subtle. Your eyes linger on him longer than they should, and when his lips tilt into a knowing smile, you realize he’s already caught you.

A few more seconds pass before he finally looks up, meeting your gaze. His voice is soft, filled with a familiar warmth.

“You okay?” he asks, closing his laptop.

You nod, dropping your eyes back to your book in an attempt to hide the embarrassing flush that warms your cheeks and ears. “I just like watching you work.”

He hums softly before setting his laptop on the coffee table. “I was just finishing up a few things for the new track, but there’s always time for that tomorrow. I’m all yours tonight.”

Your gaze meets his once more, a teasing smile lifting your lips. “All mine, huh? That’s a dangerous promise to make,”

“And I’m a man of my word,” he replies, a playful glint in his eyes as he reaches for your blanket, giving it a gentle tug.

You squeak in protest, gripping it tighter as he laughs. “Ah, come on, let me in. I wanna be warm too.”

What starts as a simple tug quickly turns into a full-fledged battle, your laughter mixing with his over-the-top declarations about how he’ll surely freeze to death if you don’t share. He gives one final, determined pull, stronger than the last, and the blanket slips from your shoulders.

It’s only then that you realize your sleeve has ridden up.

The shift is almost imperceptible, but Chan catches it immediately. His laughter fades as his eyes follow the movement of your hand, watching as you instinctively reach down to pull your sleeve back into place.

Before you can, his hand is already there. Gentle. Steady. His thumb slides just beneath the edge of your sleeve, brushing over the faint, raised scars lining your wrist.

He doesn’t speak right away. The unreadable expression on his face, the way his fingers hover as if afraid to overstep, says enough. A crease forms between his brows, and the playfulness from mere moments ago is lost as you lapse into a near-uncomfortable silence.

You cover his hand with yours, slotting your fingers between his.

“It was a long time ago,” you whisper, squeezing his hand gently.

His eyes meet yours, and the concern you see there nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. He nods, then brings his other hand up to cup your neck, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.

Letting out a shaky breath, you pull back slightly, your gaze searching his. Slowly, he untangles his fingers from yours, only to wrap them around your wrist instead. A wave of emotion rises in your throat as he lifts your wrist to his lips, pressing four tender kisses to the discolored skin there. Softly. Almost reverently.

His thumb runs gently along your scars as he looks back up at you, a silent question in his eyes that he won’t ask because he would never push you to talk about anything you’re not yet ready to say.

Exhaling softly, he releases your wrist and pulls you into his lap. His arms wind around you, holding you close as he buries his face in your neck. You bring a hand up, letting your fingers slide into his hair, grounding yourself in the warmth of him; the steady rise and fall of his chest, his soft breaths against your skin, the strength in the way he holds you.

“I won’t ask you to tell me what you’ve been through until you’re ready,” he murmurs, voice low and sure. “Just know I’m here. And when the time comes, if it ever does, I’ll feel the same way about you then as I do now.”

🤍🤍🤍

This was so fun to write, and I hope you all love it! 💓

© hyunbelievable, 2025. All rights reserved. Unauthorized reproduction, redistribution, or adaptation of this work is prohibited.

This is a work of fiction. It is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to depict actual events or real-life personalities. I do not know or have any affiliation with Stray Kids or its members. Any similarities to real events are purely coincidental. No harm, defamation, or infringement is intended.

[6rookie-writer0110]

Keep your grip on me

Tara Carpenter x Male Reader/Deadpool

Request - Tara Carpenter x male reader. reader is a Deadpool variant and is dating Tara in the final of Scream 6 when they’re in the Theater

Your girlfriend Tara knows that you are Deadpool. That night she found your suit in your closet and then Ghostface tried to kill her, but you saved her. You explained to her how you became Deadpool and she had so many questions.

You and Tara are out walking around while holding hands. You see a dog for sale poster on a pole and you grab the paper.

“That dog is ugly,” Tara said

“He is not ugly. Look at that cute face” You smiled

Tara can't believe you just called that dog cute.

“I would never pay eight hundred dollars for that ugly dog. His tongue is sticking out and has white hair,” Tara said.

“I am,” You said

“Where you are going to get eight hundred dollars?” Tara asked

“I don't know. Do you have eight hundred dollars?” You asked

“No,” Tara said

You fold the paper in half then put it in your jacket. Tara takes you to her apartment, instead of watching the movie you and Tara start making out on the couch. Her hand is on your cheek and you move closer towards her. Your hand is on her thigh but the moment gets ruined Sam walks into the apartment.

“You two are running out of oxygen,” Sam said

You and Tara moved away from each other.

“Sam, what are you doing here?” Tara asked

“I live here,” Sam said

“I told you i wanted to be alone with him,” Tara said

“Yeah, alone with me,” You said

“You have a strange boyfriend. I was with Danny but he had to help a coworker at his job” Sam said

“Why you didn't go?” You asked

“Are you serious?” Sam said

You take out your wallet and you give her cash

“It’s for the cab. So you can go help him, I’m sure he will need your help” You said

“You are an idiot,” Sam said.

You look at the screen…

“What? I just want to spend time alone with my beautiful girlfriend. I like Sam and she is my best friend but she won't admit it”

“I’m not going to leave,” Sam said

You put your arm around her shoulders.

“As my best friend, you are cramping my style,” You said

Sam moved away and she smacked your arm. Tara couldn't help to laugh but Sam didn't laugh.

“You are not my best friend,” Sam said

“Then why do we have matching sneakers and shirts?” You asked

“You are so annoying, Y/N,” Sam said

Sam goes to her bedroom and Tara laughs again.

“We both have the same band shirt on tonight,” You said

“Why do you think she is your best friend? I thought I was your best friend” Tara said

You wrap your arms around her and she does the same to you.

“Honey badger, because of her we met and you became my girlfriend. She knows that I'm her best friend but she is shy to say it. You are my number one” You smiled

“You are a dork, but you are mine” Tara smiled

You kiss her on the lips and she starts to kiss you back. You get a text and you start to read it

“Can we have a rain check?” You asked

You start to take off your shirt and then your jeans.

“Y/N” Tara sighed

“Sorry, honey badger a friend needs help,” You said

“Please stop killing people and why are you wearing your suit under your clothes” Tara said

“This is why. When they need me, I can leave fast” You said

You kiss her on the cheek then you put on your mask. Then you take out your guns from your backpack.

“Y/N!” Tara yelled

“Bye!” You yelled while running toward the door.

Tara rolled her eyes.

—-

You and Tara head to class and talk about ideas on how to get the money for the dog.

You and Tara have class together since you two arrived late, you can't sit next to her. Now, you have to sit behind her while she sits next to Ethan Landry and you don't like him. He is always trying to flirt with your girlfriend and you get bad vibes from him.

“Hey, Tara do you want to study together?” Ethan asked

Before she can answer, everyone hears your desk chair screech. You move closer toward them then they look at you.

“Hey, she has a study buddy, and it's me. Two is enough and there is no room for your dumb face” You said

“Y/N!” Tara yelled.

“I don't have a dumb face, asshole,” Ethan said

“Y/N and Ethan stop talking in my classroom!” the professor yelled

You and Ethan didn't say a word, now you are glaring at him. After class, you leave with Tara, and she is mad at you.

“Why are you mad at me?” You asked.

“Because you embarrassed me, Y/N!” Tara said angrily

“You shouldn't trust Ethan, I have a bad feeling about him. I don't want you around him” You said

“You are dramatic, Y/N. We have class with him and I can't avoid him” Tara said

“I don't want you alone with him. He isn't innocent and -”

“Shut up, Y/N! I’m tired of arguing with you about him. I’m going home, alone” Tara said

You and Tara did argue about him before. She doesn't believe that he wants to hurt her, and she thinks that you are dramatic and jealous.

“Tara,” You said

“Don’t come over tonight” Tara said.

She walks away and you don't follow her.

✬ ✬ ✬ ✬

You and Tara haven't spoken to each other in days. You hate it when you and Tara argue and then ignore each other for days. Your cell phone started to ring and it’s Tara.

“Hi, beautiful” You smiled

“Y/N, Help!” Tara yelled

“Baby, baby where are you?” You said

“I’m at the abandoned movie theater. Ghostface is trying to kill us,” Tara cried

“Hide right now. I’m going right now and I will take care of it” You said

The call ended. You rushed to put on your suit then you grabbed your Katanas and guns.

You rushed toward the abandoned theater on a bike. You run inside them Ghostface spots you then you take out your katanas.

“You are going down and I will have fun kicking your ass,” You said

“I’m going to kill you. You are so fucking annoying!” Ghostface yelled.

“Bring it bitch!!” You yelled angrily.

You and Ghostface run towards each other. You start to dodge his attacks then you kick him in the stomach and he falls to the ground, then you kick him in the face.

“Don't dirty my suit it's not laundry day tonight!” You said

“What the fuck!?” Ghostface said

He stands up fast then he stabs you in the stomach, you scream then he pushes the knife deep into your stomach. You grabbed his mask and pulled it off.

“It’s you!” You said in shock.

Ghostface is Ethan.

“I’m still going to kill you! Then I will kill Sam and Tara because of them my brother Richie is dead!” Ethan screamed

“You seriously need to get laid. Oh wait, that won't happen because I’m going to kill you” You laughed

“You are the one who is bleeding” Ethan smirked

You start to take out the knife from your stomach, and you are starting to heal. You are starting to laugh and he is confused as to why you are laughing.

“Why the fuck are you laughing?” Ethan asked

“Oh, you wanted me to die? Wait, give me a moment” You said

You pretend to die and be hurt, Ethan is confused.

“What the fuck” Ethan mumbled

“Oh, the pain” You dramatically said

He is distracted when you grab your katana before he can kill you, you slash off his head. You did a pose and his body fell to the ground.

“Stay away from my girlfriend… oh wait *laugh* you lost your head” You smiled

You grab his head and you start to look for Tara.

Tara comes out from hiding then she sees you. You and Tara run towards each other.

“Y/N is that blood on you?” Tara asked

“Yeah, I ran into trouble,” You said

“We don’t kill people we talked about this” Tara said

“Wait what? He was going to kill you” You said

You are still holding his head and she gasped.

“Y/N” Tara said

“Then I'm going to need some duct tape,” You said

“What are you tal…. Is that Ethan's head!?” Tara asked

“Yeah Well, you told me a little too late that we don’t kill people. We talked about this before” Tara said

“I will do anything to protect you even if I have to kill bad people,” You said

“We’re the good guys,” Tara said

“Yeah well, I'm known as the merc with a mouth and a big dick” You smirked

“I called you that,” Tara said

“Yes, honeybadger,” You said

“That's better, let's go,” Tara said

She walks away but doesn't see you kick Ethan’s head across the room.

“This sucks” You whined

Tara looked back into the room.

“You said something?” Tara asked

“No honeybadger,” You said

You start to follow Tara and help her look for Sam. Then you and Tara found Sam, but Sam was going to hug Tara you ran towards Sam first and then jumped on her. She is using all strength to hold you so she won't fall.

“Bestie, you are alive!” You cheerfully yelled

“Get off me, Y/N!” Sam yelled

You give her a tight hug then you jump off her. Tara started to giggle

“Are you okay?” Sam asked

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Tara said

Sam hugged her little sister.

“I’m fine. She is mad that I killed Ethan the pussy. I was doing this to him-”

You started to show them how you fought Ethan.

“Why are you dating him?” Sam whispered

“He makes me happy and he is my idiot” Tara smiled

You leave with Sam and Tara, and Sam will let you stay the night. For dinner, you asked for a burrito once it arrived you started to take big bites.

“Do you even chew your food, Y/N?” Sam asked

“What? I'm hungry. Killing bad guys takes a lot of energy” You said with your mouth full of food

“You have to stop killing because I don't want to visit you in prison. And chew your food” Tara said

You rolled your eyes at them, you continued to take big bites.

Much later… Sam went to bed while you cuddled with your girlfriend in her bed. You are lying on your side facing her and she is lying on her back.

“Are you going to love me less, because I kill bad guys?” You said

She lies on her and touches your cheek and you kiss her hand.

“No, I won't love you less. We have been together for almost nine months, babe. Plus, you accepted my past when I told you what i had been through. I just don't want to lose you, I know you can heal but still” Tara said

“I will always come back to you, I don't care where you are. I will hurt anyone who tries to hurt you and Sam” You said

“I believe you,” Tara said

She kisses you on the lips and you start to kiss her back. She doesn't move her hand away from your cheek and she starts to smile at you.

[northwestcomixcollective]

post epilogue au bill jerry mandi schizoposting delirium whatever hte fuck Context here im quoting comic books and literature no one on tumblrs ever heard of its mostly for archive purposes and the people that care at least a little bit

i sort of picture bills homosexuality as sort of like a thing he would never admit to or act upon and especially with jerry being the only guy who's ever tried to reach out to him and be kind to him to touch him to reach out etc etc being deprived of human touch for 10 years i definitely think they're gay i picture him as a bukowski or crumb bu,t in the way they objectify and degrade women and not the sort of intellectual type and at the same time bwing q repressed homosexual virgin in his late twenties is something i really want to explore

sex isnt everythinf but seeing how important it is for them and how significative and how women are sexual objects and all i think it definitely affects his view on himselg

i think there's this underlying animalistic urge to be close and be together theyve been around eachother since they were kids they really have no one else that's been through what they've been through and even though jerry wants to let go bill is still stuck on it which is why he's so clingy to jerry he's the only thing he has left really the only person that reached out the only guy that somewhat cares i wouldnt be talking about bill clinging on like a koala ofherwise he really does """"love"""" jerry jn the sense he let him stay he touches his shoulder he gave him a change of clothes despite everything that hapoened see gif below

i definitely want there to be a scene of bill breaking down and being liek Jerry....... i like men.......... and just like crying geeking and jerry holding him close and putting his cold nose on his neck and telling him it's all finewhile holding him he caresses him blalallaa whatever for the first time in like 30 something years he feels appreciated loved and held jerry doesnt even know what he's doing holding this piece of shit garbage scum that said the most obscene garbage to his girlfriend who is in the next room ten years ago i think for jerry its also nice to hold him because his parents never really did it which is sort of shown in the pilot where he holds himself when he's excited or nervous as a self soothing method and he feels like hes giving the love he never really received as a child See picture below

in his mind bill really could change. Because he really could change he just needed the right people around him. the resentment he feels towards bill fluctuates he resents him for everything that happened at comic-con he resents him for never treating him well when they were younger he resents him for waltzing into his house drenched in snot rain and tears and taking up space in what was supposed to be a place he could be comfortable and at peace in

billjer i wanted to compare it to ralf könig's "swiss bliss" but bills friends aren't nearly as tolerant of gays as the guys friends who tell him he isnt gay and he's not like that and they dont believe it theyd straigjt up just exile him i think it's more like "maybe ... maybe not" again by ralf könig picture attached below jerry would never make a move first i think bills vulnerable situation and lack of human contact and sort of praise and appreciation he has for jerry for housing him would sort of bring him to do it i think if they ever got to kiss or make out like this styleit would be during a heated argument or while they're drunk they wouldnt be able to stop thems3lves but if it ever escalates i think jerry could easily let bill go and let him slam his head against something and just go into another room and start pacing fucking freaking out see picture below,

if anyone wants to jump me for shipping bill and mandi its3now or never SCREAM ID YOU LOVE BILL AND MANDI

although i asked dorkin and he already told me it isnt true i still want to explore mandi being the same girl that walked into joe's comic book store in "this monster, this fan" because of the character dynamics i could explore and thoughts and interpretations i dont givea fuck im schizoposting about bill blowing jerry im basically doing whatever i wajt with the already existing comic thog dont care i think they both remember the day really clearly but since bill is so so focused on jerry he barely even glances at her because she was basically violated by like. what 15 men in a comic book store including grown men taking a picture of her like thats vile bill doesnt want to think about it he doesn't want to confront her or say anything ever because the humiliation of already being in someone else's house eating their food taking up space is too much

see earlier mention of crumb

the way crumb depicts women as something divine unachievable incomprehensible and as sex objects and puts them in the strangest most violent situations where is definitely something i see bill in especially in the epilogue where he and the rest just start babbling about how the female cosplayers are too ugly fat or arent white and dont fit their standards the way they're always depicted reading smut pornography or just looking at pinups of women (sometimes in violent situations as well) and the interaction he had at joe's all formed and turned his mindset into something utterly vile negative and disgustifn

see previous mention of bukowski

in this book the narrator is always pointing out faults in women i definitely see him as bill in the sense of being so negative hateful and even when in love he still manages to criticize his potential lover it could be bill and mandi but their relationship is much more complex to me since neither of them actually love eqchpther they just carnally need one another the way he's just really pathetic drunk and all just reminds me of bill as well mandi hates bill for being a man she's attracted to him because he's so fucking pathetic and gross it's exciting bill is attracted to mandi because she's a woman he detests her for being a stupid cunt who speaks her mind and is independent theyre both secretly having an affair one is slightly homoerotic the other one is just straight up abusive bill doesnt like to talk to anyone in the house he's extremely embarrassed and ashamed not only because he's in his friends house living there with his girlfriend who he hates but because he had the balls to reach out for help especially from a guy who beat the shit out of him last time they ever saw eachother mandi tries to talk it out but bill is so unbelievably childish he doesn't speak to anyone or do anything he's just silent i love them because they beat the shit out of eachofher and bill is a sexist pig and mandi is a woman they're all having an affair with eachother if any of them find out the other one is dating everything will go down genuinely but it wont since they're all too busyv hiding something from the other

i definitely think he would crash out on her but in the most like. formal way possible because he doesnt want to get kicked out and its shown he sort of knows when it's appropriate to shut up unlike josh who just starts geeking

+ jerry & mandi sketch im not finishing to get a glimpse into what i picture them both to be. healthy happy and everything good

[literallyangelshaw]

Your Heart

Vamp!David x GN!Angel

Tag List: @sandypuppet @therealbr1gh7ey3s anyone else who would like to be added, let me know!

Warnings and fic are under the cut! Enjoy <3

CW: Depictions of memories of biting (in a mildly nsfw kinda way, they were only making out lmao), depictions of a storm, and that's about it! I apologise for the shortness but I'll write a better/longer Vamp!Davey fic eventually!

His fangs. It's all they could think about, all they could feel, all they could remember. The way his fangs dug into their shoulder, his hands caressing their waist as he sipped the delectable drink that was their blood. Their head reeled with the tension of the memories.

And suddenly

BOOM

Thunder clashes within the clouds outside the rain stained window, as they came back down from within their mind, they flinch. Unintentionally knocking their beastly beloved beside them into the waking world.

"Angel?"

"Davey? Did I wake you? I'm so sorry I-" Their apologetic rambles are brought to a halt with a gentle hand to their face.

"What's the matter, my angel?"

Angel avoided his gaze, responding with a vulnerable softness. "Do you ever miss it?"

"Miss what? You're all I need"

"The warmth of humanity in your veins, my love do you miss it?"

"Who needs humanity when I have my Angel?"

They chuckled in response, curling into his chest, offering an "I love you" with a soft mumble. He pressed a kiss to their forehead, caressing their back.

It was never their blood that called to him. It was always their heart.

[stxrsniolo]

┈̸̷┅ ̤ breaking the limit ━̸̷︭

╁ ⠀aegan is typing . . . ⠀⠀ࡆ⠀⠀listen up, because this one's for the grown-ups. if you're here for some steamy, pulse-racing action, you've hit the jackpot. this isn't your grandma's bedtime story; it's spicy, it's hot, and it's gonna keep you up at night for all the right reasons. keep the lights low and the inhibitions lower. enjoy, you naughty thing.

pairings: harsh leader!matt x fresh meat!reader (loving this pairing sm)

i'm editing this to say that i'll be gladly taking requests and questions about this pairing, as i'm full of ideas.

first part.

the day was a maelstrom, the sky a violent canvas of grays and blacks, rain lashing down like a punishment from the gods.

y/n was supposed to be enjoying her lunch, but her gaze was fixed outside, where the real storm was playing out, and where matt was in its heart, training.

he was out there, in the deluge, doing push-ups with a grace that mocked the chaos around him, his combat pants were plastered to his thighs, his boots sinking into the mud, and he was shirtless, water streaming down his sculpted chest, the chain around his neck catching the flashes of lightning, his tattoos, dark ink on his left arm seemed to dance with the rain and his three-day stubble gave him a look of raw, untamed power.

"what the fuck is he doing out there?" y/n whispered to herself, her thighs pressing together, the wetness between them rivaling the storm outside. was he mad? suicidal? thunder roared, echoing her own thundering heart.

she couldn't look away, her body responding to the sight of him with a fierce, primal need, the image of his stubble against her pussy made her clench, her arousal palpable under her soaked clothes.

then, as if he could feel her gaze like a touch, matt looked up, catching her eye through the rain-streaked glass, and his smile was predatory, enjoying her voyeurism.

y/n tried to act disinterested, but her eyes kept betraying her, returning to him, and he knew, his gaze locked on her, his movements relentless, a silent command in his eyes.

unable to resist any longer, she abandoned her lunch, stepping out into the tempest and approached him, the rain drenching her, her clothes sticking to her like a second skin.

"what the fuck are you doing out here, trying to get yourself killed?" she yelled, her voice a mix of concern and lust.

matt rose, water running down his body, his eyes dark with intent. "what, can't handle the view?" his voice was a low growl, eyes roaming over her, seeing right through the wet fabric to the desire beneath.

"you're fucking insane," she said, her tone breathless, her body leaning towards his, the cold rain clashing with the heat of their proximity.

"or maybe i just wanted to see how long you'd drool over me," he taunted, closing the gap, his breath hot against her cold, wet skin.

their conversation was a prelude to the raw, unfiltered act they were about to engage in. "you like what you see, huh?" he murmured, his hand brushing her cheek, wiping away rain.

"maybe i do," she admitted, her voice a whisper of surrender.

without another word, matt seized her, dragging her to his office, a place of command and control.

once inside, there was no preamble; he was on her, his kiss aggressive, claiming, his stubble rough against her face, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth.

he shoved her against the wall, hands tearing at her clothes, his movements rough, desperate. "you've been watching me like you want this cock," he growled into her ear, his fingers digging into her skin as he yanked her pants down, exposing her.

y/n gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, feeling the raw power beneath his wet skin. "think you can handle me?" she challenged, her voice thick with lust.

"i'll fucking break you," matt promised, his voice a dark vow, his fingers thrusting into her without warning, making her cry out, her body already slick and ready.

he lifted her onto the desk, scattering everything in his path, his dominance absolute. he didn't wait; he was inside her with a single, powerful thrust, filling her completely, the sensation overwhelming and his pace was brutal, each thrust claiming her, dominating her.

"you're mine to fuck, understand?" he grunted, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, his movements relentless, the desk shaking under their force.

their moans filled the room, mingled with the sounds of the storm, the scent of their sex thick in the air, every thrust a command, a declaration of his control, her body responding with shudders of pleasure and pain.

as they neared climax, matt's dominance peaked, his thrusts becoming more savage. "come for me, rookie," he commanded, his voice harsh, his hand finding her throat, not squeezing but holding her in place as she shattered around him, her orgasm ripping through her.

he followed, his release a grunt of victory, filling her, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.

⨥⠀ ⠀⠀aegan is typing ᅟᅟ:ᅟ⠀heads up, copycats and wannabe adaptors: my work is mine, period. no copies, no mashups, and definitely no translations getting thrown up here or anywhere else without my say-so.

keep your hands off unless i give you the green light, got it?

tags: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns

[choccy-zefirka]

She laughs when they break the kiss.

But it's not the bitter, derisive snort that Emmrich half-expected… That he feared. Never quite free of that sinking sensation — as if he were balancing on the edge of a ravine, with spikes of shattered ice at the bottom. The premonition of tumbling down, of getting impaled, never left him, not fully, even as he pressed the shroud's kiss blossom into Rook’s hand.

Surely, he misread the signs.

Surely, Rook's companionship the battlefield and at the Lighthouse intoxicated him so much that he forgot himself.

Surely, his blundering attempts at high romance would seem pathetic to a weathered seafarer with so much turmoil in her past — a hopeless, starving childhood where no respite came to her like it did to him; a long, winding path of crime in the ever-sunless slums of Tevinter; a brutal arrest by the uncaring, corrupt Templars, followed by blood-drenched toil as a galley slave.

She has been through so much, battled such pain and darkness, withstood twists and turns of fate that would fit into multiple lifetimes. Meanwhile he, a man nigh twice her age, peacefully trudged along through just one. What if he's insulted her, what if —

She laughs.

The reflection of the silvery-white petals swirls like starlight in her black sclerae. And she laughs. With the same sparkling, giddy wonderment that Emmrich himself felt when he stepped on the white sand of that beach they explored in Rivain, and saw with his own eyes, for the first time in his sheltered life, just how vivid the turquoise of the sea could be.

She laughs, tucking a strand of long black hair behind the delicately carved conch of her ear, and the rush of blood to her helix darkens it from the usual grey — with a subtle tint of green, like the noble patina on the Necropolis statues — to a rich purple. She laughs, gazing down on Emmrich from her surely seven feet of height (a rare occasion when he is not the one that needed to bend down for a kiss).

She laughs — and he cannot help himself.

Tracing an elegant curl through the air with his fingertips — shaped like the musical clef, almost, and raining soft, ethereal-green sparks of magic — he guides a plucked blossom to rest on the top of her head. And then another. And another. Until he has assembled an entire glimmering floral crown between Rook's horns.

She laughs again and grabs him by the hand, raising it to her face to see her reflection in his bracelet. The blush darkens her face almost entirely, and Emmrich holds perfectly still when he takes her in.

He traps his breath in his chest; his pounding heart, underneath his free hand; and the sight of her, the dauntless, fierce Rook, with starlight in her eyes and silver upon her hair, to memory. Selfishly, he hopes that... if he succeeds in taking that next grim step beyond the Veil and back, the memory will stay.

She pulls him into a new kiss, almost lifting him off the ground in her honed, tattooed arms... But when she lets him go, the flowers are askew, and the elation on her face seems to have dimmed. Like a candle flame, stamped out with a cap.

"So," she exhales, sounding oddly... Tired?

"I guess you will want me to fuck you now."

Emmrich makes a highly un-professorial spluttering noise.

That... Is certainly a blunt way to put it. Of course, the fantasies have been there, more and more persistent since the day on the very same fateful beach, when Taash, even more brusque and to the point than Rook, swiftly disrobed and urged their kinswoman to do the same and follow them into the sea.

"C'mon," they said, doing a little stretch to warm up their trapezius, while Harding attempted, very poorly, to duck behind Emmrich and not to look.

"I'm teaching you to swim. What kinda lousy Lord of Fortune doesn't know how to swim anyway?"

"Told ya," Rook said, shielding her eyes from the glare that danced off the truly Lords-worthy bounty of sun-coins on the gently whispering waves. Her other hand rested on her hip, and she'd bent her leg slightly in the knee, with her pants rolled up to keep sea foam off them, and with her utterly remarkable gastrocnemius on full display.

"I was only with the Lords a short stint. Before that, I worked the galleys; and before the galleys, I ran with the Threads. What would I swim in, sewage from some altus jerk's privy? Have you seen the fucking water in Docktown? Have you smelled it?"

"Ugh, now I'm gonna throw up all over you," Taash groaned.

They may have exchanged a little more banter, generously sprinkled with curses in Trade and in Qunlat, but at that point, Emmrich found it as hard to focus as Harding.

That image of Rook, towering so majestically over the waves, has been the subject of many a messy, feverish dream... But to have it phrased like this, in such a... mundane way, suddenly sends Emmrich teetering on that ravine's edge again.

He... He did misread the signs. She may not have detested his silly flirtations; but at the end of the day, this is what it's about. Again. Inevitably. A quick, physical release and a parting of the ways.

Well.

No matter.

There is no shame in that. And he really should be flattered, at his age. This close to his mortal journey's end. Even if the poetic ideal of all-encompassing, undying love will never be his, was never meant to be his — he can afford a sweet indulgence, or several, before he faces eternity. Especially if Rook enjoys it. She deserves no less.

"I wouldn't, ah, phrase it in such a straightforward manner..." he says, fully back in the present. Fully there with her; for her. "But I would be quite amenable to that, yes. Should it please you."

"Please me?"

Rook frowns, as if he'd just slipped into high academic Nevarran, which she has not quite mastered yet. But she will; he knows she will. Her life’s circumstances have not been too conducive to keeping up a reading habit, but now that the Lighthouse has opened up its plunder of books to her, Emmrich has seen her devour tome after tome with increasing dedication. He... He is so proud of her.

"What does pleasing me have to do with anything? I'm the one that pleases people. You have to know the drill."

She rolls her shoulders and sighs again. Her air is deliberately cynical, just as when she tried to convince Emmrich that no, she shouldn't be in their "fucking book club", it's not for the likes of her... And just as back then, the last remnants of light rapidly leave her eyes.

"Big, tall Qunari mommy. Scars and tattoos for days. Here to step on your chest. Grab you by the throat. Slap you around. Lock my thighs round your head so you never know when it might pop like a melon. Strap one of those enchanted cock trinkets to my hips and ram it up your ass till you can't walk straight. I can even try to growl, but I'm no adaari, so I can't promise we'll do this as well as Taash and Harding. I..."

Her hand slips off his, and her fists clench, pale-knuckled. Her eyes dart up and down Emmrich's face. Searching. Pleading. For a fleeting moment, it seems like the light is back... But it's just the glint of unshed tears.

"I dunno, are you into being insulted? I know I still talk like a fucking... like a Threads bruiser, for all the fancy books I've read... People expect me to always be… foul-mouthed. But it gets kinda awkward for me... Calling someone names during sex."

"Rook..." Emmrich whispers.

Whatever horrible, murky thing is roiling within her, Emmrich can feel its spill-off seep through his own heart. Flood his lungs till it's hard to breathe.

"Rook, darling, you don't have to — "

"I'll do it if you want," she insists. "I'll be as rough as you like, if that makes you want me as much as I want you... I know that unless I show people what a... feral sex beast I am..."

Her voice breaks, and she buries her face in her hands.

"No-one would want me at all."

She crumples into herself, desperate to make herself appear smaller. As though... As though that would suddenly make her softer. More loveable. More worthy of being wanted.

At last, Emmrich tumbles into the ravine, the ice driving deep into his chest. But his heart is not ripping itself apart for his own sake.

"Dearest, no — " he pleads with her, grabbing onto her tense brachialis, as if to anchor her in place. "No, no! You are no beast! You do not have to force yourself to act like one, just because people who... who purport to be your lovers do not see you for who you are!"

He gets tangled up in his own syntax, his mind a messy mush of memories. Not just Rook sunning her chiseled body on the beach; gorgeous as she looked in that moment, that was but one facet of her. He thinks, all at once, at the speed of a fire spell barrage, of Rook discovering her love for reading. Rook, first uncertainly, then with more and more confidence, more inner force, falling into the rumbling, tide-like rhythm of a Qunari verse Taash would teach her to recite. Rook talking to a lost child in the Warden fortress, amid the shrieks of darkspawn and the gloating of the mad goddess in the sky. Rook guiding a stumbling, wounded Veil Jumper back to camp. Rook emptying an entire coin purse into a little cracked bowl extended by a Minrathous beggar with a grimy, shaking hand. Rook talking with her hands, distracted almost to a Bellara-like extent by the story behind the dish she is cooking, while Lucanis darts frantically to rescue the burning pan from under her nose. Rook raising her thumb as she lays on her back, overpowered by a living blanket of affectionate stray cats.

Rook laughing. Oh, Rook laughing.

Rook being herself. Warm. Alive. Beautiful.

How could they not see that, see past her height and built, no matter how impressive? How could they not see... her?

Hesitantly, Rook parts her fingers; moves her hands away from her face, now stained and blotchy with running kohl and muddied glitter. Emmrich catches her in his grasp and gives her a little nod of encouragement. A kiss over her metacarpals. A gentle token of unspoken praise for being so, so very brave.

"What do you want, darling?" 

"I..."

She stutters, like when she first started making out words on a page, after years of dismissing herself as too uncultured, too stupid to even try. But as he did during that precious, unforgettable evening, Emmrich nods along in keen interest. And eventually, she relaxes.

"I... I know it's fucking vashedan, but... I want to go in one of those fancy bath houses, like we have in Tevinter... Or — or I guess they have in Tevinter. I would never have been allowed anywhere near one; only saw the inside when I had to rob some magister on vacation. Maybe there's a place like that in Nevarra somewhere, I don't know... Or maybe Maevaris could pull some favors... For friends of the Shadows... Anyway."

A blissful smile wanders onto her lips. Another moment Emmrich would love to carry between his flesh-cleansed ribs into lichdom.

"I want to get a bathing pool all... All for you and me..."

The blush returns, more intense, more adorable, than before.

"With petals on the water, little candles along the edge... Maybe a few wisps? I want you to undress me, very slow, not ripping anything off me, and not having me rip things off you... And kiss me in whichever places you can reach. I want to show you my scars, and tell you how I got them, and look into your eyes as you listen... With those mabari pup sparkly eyes you get sometimes — yes, like right now!"

They both laugh, and Emmrich moves his arms to wrap around Rook's waist. Oh, listening to her has always been an utter joy.

"We can rub some kinda perfumed oil into other another, too! And then we can go into the water, and sit back, all warm and fancy, maybe nibble things off those little fruit and cheese platters. Have a little wine... Start kissing along the way... And all the time, you'll tell me that I am beautiful..."

Unexpectedly, she begins to choke up again, cracks starting to run both through her idyllic scene, and her voice.

"No, wait; that's too much, right?"

A little more of Emmrich's heart breaks. Here he was, fretting over offending her with flowers — while she was so starved for affection that even the simplest, most casual rendezvous of two lovers in a bath house seems like too much.

"Far from it, my dear. It wouldn't be too much even if..."

He stands on tiptoe and whispers into her ear, nigh scorched by the burst of heat radiating from her.

"... Even if I set down my wine glass and my platter, and ran my fingers all over your body, venerating every inch, warm and sensitive under my touch, outside and within..."

She whimpers in anticipation, pupils widening.

Emmrich allows himself a slow, languid smirk. Even if all his years of waiting and searching never brought him what he wanted, they did leave him with experience. And even if Rook, so young, from a world so unlike his own, will eventually — inevitably — add him to a litany of lovers past and move on, the least he can do is help her live that sweet dream... Of being cherished like the princess she is.

"Wasn't that a lovely sound, my darling?" he teases. "It will be such a delight to hear more. I shall write to Maevaris post-haste."

"You — " she shakes her head in blissful disbelief. "You are the greatest treasure I'd ever found."

"You flatter me, dearest," Emmrich murmurs, sealing their little pact with the third kiss of the evening. "No treasure is quite like you."

[sunshinesickies]

Feveruary Day 3— Caught in the Rain— Arcane Caitlyn x Vi

Yes, I know getting sick from being in the rain is somewhat of a myth but I’m pretty sure us sickfic writers don’t care 🤷‍♀️

Post-War, Violyn established relationship, mostly fluff because they deserve it

Warnings: swearing, slightly suggestive if you squint

“You almost ready, Cupcake?” Vi calls out gently to Caitlyn, dawning her signature red jacket while her girlfriend puts the finishing touches on her ‘casual’ makeup look for the evening. Violet smiles to herself as she recalls the conversation they’d had earlier where the two of them agreed that neither half of their shared date night required anything too fancy, yet Caitlyn has still been in the bathroom for the last 45 minutes doing heck knows what.

“Just a second!” Caitlyn’s accented voice travels through the rooms, and true to her word, she emerges only seconds later, looking so gorgeously stunning that Vi may or may not have forgotten how to breathe for a hot second. Vi can’t believe she finally gets to call her, hers. Although she loves when Cait does something a little extra, she thinks she looks perfect all the time.

It’s been about 6 months since the war with Noxus and the tragic losses that came with it, and the two of them have worked hard to adjust themselves into a new way of life, and a life with each other. Even though it’s been tough at times, Vi will never get over how much she loves being in Caitlyn’s life, and how lucky she feels to have her. Her blessings throughout life have been few and far in between, so Vi makes sure to savor every last ounce she has now, and she makes it her daily mission to make sure Cait knows she’s her top one.

“Violet, are you speechless?” Caitlyn muses with a half smirk-half smile as she approaches her girlfriend, wrapping her arms around the shorter girl’s waist. Violet can feel her face blushing, one hand nervously rubbing the back of her neck. “W-what? Speechless…noooo…” she rolls her eyes playfully and Caitlyn chuckles.

“Well, if you have nothing to say, our night awaits.” Caitlyn’s hand finds Vi and she starts leading her towards the door before Vi can answer. A knowing smile spreads on Caitlyn’s lips when she feels Vi tug her hand gently, signaling for her to stop. “Cait…” She turns around to face Vi. “…you really do look beautiful tonight.” Vi hums softly, pulling her girlfriend close and pressing a warm loving kiss to the lips that now feel like home.

“And you, my darling Violet, charming as ever, are looking very hot tonight.” The end of her sentence comes out almost in a purr as they pull away. “Oh?” Vi quirks an eyebrow, smirking. “You better show me why later.”

She tugs on Caitlyn’s hand this time, and they finally make their way out the door, into the hall, then out into the quiet streets of the Kiramman’s neighborhood, strolling together in the golden rays of the last sunlight of the day peaking around the buildings.

The two of them had been planning this date night for weeks now. A joint date night, where they each choose a part of it, Caitlyn wanting to show Vi her favorite restaurant in Piltover, and Vi wanting to show Caitlyn around the Lanes—now that it’s becoming a less rough place to be.

Piltover’s Finest walk hand in hand as they make their way towards the first part of their evening, Caitlyn leading Vi through the city streets, conversation flowing with ease. They walk longer than Vi expected and by the time Caitlyn finally pulls Vi to a gentle halt, they’re no longer in extremely high end part of Piltover.

The street they’re standing on appears to be a working class one, with dozens of stores for shopping, restaurants with outdoor seating areas, and little kids running through the crowd of people chatting happily away, their families close on their heels. Vi couldn’t help but smile at the scene before her. The energy was chaotic, but infectious in a good way, making her want to run around like the kids and press her nose against shop windows. Caitlyn watches her take it all in, a soft smile on her own face as she finally gets to show Vi a place that means so much to her.

“Cait, where are we? Gotta be honest this isn’t what I expected when you said you were taking me out to dinner.” Vi chuckled for instead of answering, Caitlyn just smiled wider, gripping her hand tighter as she began to pull Vi through the crowded street. Even with her street skills, Vi struggled to keep up with her girlfriend as they jogged, dodging kids and dogs left and right until Caitlyn skidded to a stop.

They both pause a moment, slightly out of breath and Vi gaped at the storefront before her. “Pizza?” She inquires, looking up at the bright neon sign that pointed down to a small, bustling joint, a strong smell of yeast and various cooked toppings wafting out from the propped open door. “Best in the city.” Caitlyn pulls her inside.

They ended up each getting a few slices to go, Caitlyn insisting they needed to walk around so Vi could see the street lit up at night. “I’ve gotta say Kiramman, this is the best pizza I’ve ever had—not that I’ve had a lot, but still.” Vi spoke through a mouthful of hot cheese as she started wolfing down on her second slice. Caitlyn laughed and handed her a few more napkins.

“My dad brought me here once when I was really young. Only the one time. It was because I begged to join him on a last minute business meeting. It ended up being way too boring and ran much longer than expected. By the time we were on the way home, it was getting dark, and I was a wreck. I gave him every reason to just pick me up and continue marching home, but instead he bought me this pizza and we walked around a while. It was one of the first times I saw so many families together, so many fun looking shops, it was my first time in this part of the city, my parents didn’t often let me leave the few surrounding neighborhoods in our area.” She explained and Vi listened to every word.

“I never told my parents this, but often, when I could, I would sneak here after school, buy a slice and just sit in the window and watch people go by. Even convinced Jayce to accompany me a few times at night so I could see everything lit up like this again. I spent most of my days alone, no siblings, private tutors for school, so I cherished these moments when I could tuck myself into the crowds, be a part of so much light.” She finished and Vi was gazing at her now, the reflection of thousands of twinkling lights reflecting in her soft blue eyes.

“I see what you mean. There’s so much life here, you can feel it. Everyone’s in their own world, but somehow we all fit perfectly into the chaos, creating this atmosphere together.” Vi replies as they keep walking, strolling at a leisurely pace now. “Exactly.” Caitlyn nods, finishing her food and taking Vi’s hand back in her’s.

They walk in a comfortable silence for a bit, letting the energy of everyone around them fill their sense. “We should bring him here next time.” Vi leans over to speak in Caitlyn’s ear to make sure she hears her over the noise. “Huh?” Her brows twist in slight confusion. “Your dad. I bet he’d like to come with us next time.” Vi clarifies.

“On our date?” Caitlyn jokes and Vi bumps their hips together, rolling her eyes. “You know what I mean.” She laughs as they reach the end of the street where the crowd starts to thin and the various bright lights fade to just street lamps. “Ready for round two?” Vi questions and Caitlyn agrees. “We can’t have dinner without dessert.” Vi winks up at Cait as she begins to pull her towards the river, the barrier between Zaun and Piltover.

Once they reach Zaun, still hand in hand, it’s Caitlyn’s turn to follow Vi as she leads her through an intricate dance of twists and turns. They don’t see many others along the way, as Vi had planned out. Luckily for her, some things are still the same and her backwards ways of getting through the streets still simultaneously efficient and much safer than traveling through the main streets.

Even though both cities have been hard at work to make Zaun a more peaceful place, Vi’s not taking any chances since Caitlyn’s with her. She knows without a doubt the Piltie can handle herself if necessary, but she’d rather not them get anywhere close to that point, plus if she’s being honest, Vi likes running around through the Lanes like this. It reminds her of being a kid when she would work her way through the maze of streets, mapping out every route in her head, creating new ones and secret ones each day.

Not much later, Vi leads Caitlyn to a more central street, not as busy as the one in Piltover, and no where near as nice, but it’s special in its own right, and to Vi, it’s absolutely perfect. She’s actually really relieved to see this street stayed the same. So many got destroyed and so many businesses shut down over the years, but as fate would have it, the one place she wanted to bring Cait was still running, as gloriously tacky as ever.

“This isn’t going to be like when we first met right?” Caitlyn asks as she eyes the many strange looking establishments the line the dim street. “If you mean Jericho’s, no don’t worry. Dessert will be perfectly normal and non-fish related.” Vi chortles, amused by how hard Caitlyn is trying to be polite. It’s clear as day to Vi that she still isn’t used to environments like this.

Vi pulls her closer into her side. “Ease up Kiramman, it’s time to embrace the Lanes.” Her voice holds no ridicule, the softness of her tone easing the slight unease in Caitlyn’s shoulders. She relaxes under Vi’s comforting touch and smiles, a slight blush rising in her pale cheeks. They walk until it appears the shops have been left behind them, but Vi keeps going a little further until they reach a small staircase jutting out into the street, the uneven steps leading down to a surprisingly brightly colored door.

Vi leads Caitlyn confidently inside, holding the door for her as she unveils her part of date. “It’s…a candy shop.” Caitlyn takes in the warm tones from the lamps, a stark contrast to the darkness of the street, and she her senses are immediately overwhelmed by a sweet sugary scent that makes her mouth water. Vi smiles at her girlfriend’s surprise.

“Best in all the Lanes.” She mimics Caitlyn’s earlier statement, hands spread out in front of her as if she owned the place. “Get whatever you want, Cupcake. Though if you need help deciding I’ve got some favorites I can steer ya towards.” Vi smiles wide as Caitlyn starts slowly strolling through the large room, taking in all the colors. Candies of all kinds, some she recognizes and some she doesn’t covers ever surface in the place, all circling back around towards the entrance where a small case of larger, finer desserts are displayed by the register.

“Whenever Vander was able to scrape up enough for a special treat, he’d bring us all here. Claggor, Mylo, Powder, Ekko, all of us.” Vi starts explaining her own reason for the chosen spot as she follows Caitlyn around. “When we got older, he let Mylo and Claggor take us when he had to work, but sometimes he’d close up a little early to join. Some of my best, only, good memories are here.”

“It’s wonderful, Violet. I didn’t know there was such a place here. Well to be fair, I really don’t know much about the Lanes anyways.” Caitlyn stops to pick up a small bag of her favorite chocolates and Vi smiles at her choice, reaching to grab another bag of something Caitlyn doesn’t recognize.

“Well good thing you’ve got me to show you where all the best sweets are.” Vi leans in close, wrapping her arms around Caitlyn as she lowers her voice. “Though I can think of something much sweeter, Cupcake.” Her warm breath tickles Caitlyn’s neck and she laughs, pushing Vi away playfully.

After a little more perusing, they pay for their chosen treats and sit down in a little corner of the shop that has sprinkling of tables and chairs, similar to a cafe, though there’s nothing to be served, its simply a spot for people to enjoy their sweets.

They stay here for a long while, talking and munching on chocolate, watching as customers wade in and out, until the owner comes over and alerts them its almost closing time. Wrapping up the rest of their candy, Piltover’s Finest thank the owner and make their way back up the stairs and out to the street where they’re taken by surprise by the heavy rain that’s now falling from dark puffy clouds. They can see others running into stores to get out of the storm.

“Shit.” Vi murmurs as they linger under the awning of the store. “We don’t happen to have any emergency umbrellas do we?” She jokes, knowing the answer even before Caitlyn shakes her head. “Well, we can’t wait it out here. It shouldn’t last too long. I don’t know what normal weather is for you guys up in Piltover, but down here, sudden storms like this are common.” Caitlyn watches as Vi shrugs off her red jacket.

“Here, love.” She motions for Caitlyn to take it and put it over her head to shield her as best as they can from the rain. Caitlyn frowns. “What about you? You’ll get soaked then.” She tries handing it back but Vi only smiles and shakes her head. “Like I said, it’s common. I’m used to it. Spent many hours in the rain by choice as a kid, I’ll be fine. Rather not have you catch a cold or something.” She reassures and steps out into the downpour.

Caitlyn chuckles with a shrug. “If you say so, darling.” She follows, the thick leather jacket actually doing a pretty good job of keeping her dry. She looks at Vi as they start hurrying through the streets, her bright red hair is already glued to her face which is practically dripping with as much water as any one of the clouds. Vi hears her girlfriend murmur something about her being ‘too stubborn for her own good’ as they make their way back home.

By the time they reach their bedroom, Vi is absolutely soaked through to the bone and Caitlyn hums softly, watching Vi shivering as she stands, a puddle of water quickly gathering by her feet. “Hot shower and bed?” Caitlyn tosses Vi’s jacket aside and quickly finds a soft towel to shove into Vi’s hands. “Only if you join me.” Vi smirks through chattering teeth and Caitlyn raises an eyebrow before turning around, knowing Vi is watching and following as she makes her way towards the adjoining bathroom.

After a long hot shower, it was evident they were both tired from the day and decided to just go to bed, so no sooner was Caitlyn helping Vi into some sweatpants and a t shirt was she wrapping her in her arms and pulling the blankets tightly around them as they sink into their cushy bed. The shower had helped and she was no longer uncontrollably shivering, but Vi still help cold, like the chill of the rain had settled its way into every cell in her body.

“Are you warm enough, darling?” Caitlyn murmurs sweetly as Vi tucks her face further into Cait’s neck, throws her leg over her waist, and tries to get as close to her girlfriend as possible. “Not really, I don’t know how I’m still this fucking cold.” Vi complains against her skin. Caitlyn kisses her pink hair with a small chuckle.

Caitlyn get up for just a second, much to Vi’s dismay, but returns with two more blankets to wrap her up in, so Vi doesn’t grumble too much about her momentary absence. “Here, Violet.” Caitlyn tucks them both in again and they cling lovingly to each other, Caitlyn reveling in the comforting feeling of her girlfriend’s body against hers, and Vi doing her best to retain as much heat from Caitlyn as possible.

“Tonight was really fun.” Vi whispers after a while, unable to fall asleep. Caitlyn, often taking much longer than Vi to fall asleep, is still awake too. “It was, love. Thank you for letting me share more of myself to you, and thank you for doing the same.” She murmurs and Vi smiles at the sound of Cait’s sleepy sounding voice. “Anytime, Cupcake. Let’s do it more often, because you know I’m still thinking about that pizza…” Vi presses a kiss to Caitlyn’s collar bone, and the last thing she hears before falling asleep is Vi chuckling at her own musings.

Although she had fallen asleep cold, it was only a few hours later that Vi’s body takes a turn, becoming a radiator of heat. Turns out the rain got one of them sick after all. Still asleep, deep in a fevered slumber, Vi subconsciously curls away from Caitlyn, the shift in position and movement of the blankets causing the latter to stir awake.

At first she just attempts to go back to sleep, used to Vi moving around a lot in her sleep, but Caitlyn soon notices an uncomfortable heat lingering under the blankets. She rolls over to find Vi, curled into herself, clutching the blankets tightly to her chest, a restless furrow etched into her brows. Even in the dark, Caitlyn can see a thin sheen of sweat coating the Zaunite’s face and a deep pink flush strewn across her cheeks.

She frowns, her own brows knitting together as worry bubbles in her chest. She sits up slightly, reaching to place the back of her hand gently to Vi’s forehead, she gasps slightly at the amount of heat she feels. “Oh darling.” She sighs, cupping her cool hand to Vi’s cheek, momentarily unsure of what to do. Should she let Vi sleep? Or wake her get some medicine in her?

The decision is made for her when Vi stirs and lets out a sleepy groan. The soothingly cool sensation of Caitlyn’s hand against her face pulling her from her slumber. “huh…wha?” Vi slurs feverishly, her eyes fluttering open for a moment or two before growing too heavy and closing again.

“Violet? Vi honey, you’re sick, love.” Caitlyn murmurs gently to help orient her, her thumb softly stroking Vi’s cheek, her hand having never left its position. “oh, well, go back to ‘sleep, ‘m okay.” Is all Vi mumbles with a heavy sigh.

“So stubborn.” Caitlyn whispers so softly that Vi doesn’t seem to hear. “No way, darling. I’m going to take care of you, okay? You gave me your jacket and now look at you.” Caitlyn fusses, a bit of guilt rising in her even though Vi had made her decision and one of them was going to get soaked either way. “Better me than you.” Vi murmurs back and Caitlyn can’t believe her ridiculous girlfriend.

With a sympathetic hum, Caitlyn makes her way out of bed, hearing Vi let out a single groan, but doesn’t hear any more protests as the sick girl is too out of it to really notice her absence.

“Open your mouth.” Vi hears the words distantly, but she does and Caitlyn gently places the thermometer under her tongue. “Close and hold for a moment.” She instructs softly, one hand holding the thermometer steady, the other returning to Vi’s cheek, her thumb brushing lightly against her hot skin.

Vi’s silver eyes flutter open and she gazes hazily up at her girlfriend as they both wait for the small beep. “When I said you looked hot earlier, this is not what I meant.” Caitlyn frowns deeply at the high number shown on the tool.

Vi groans softly as she moves to sit up, Caitlyn immediately helping to ease her up against the plush pillows. She brushes Vi’s sweaty hair away from her face so she can see her more clearly. Vi offers Cait a small smile, trying to ease the worry she can see in her ocean eyes. “Don’ worry, cupcake, I always run hot, ‘member?” She reassures and Caitlyn’s face softens a little, though her worry stays.

“I know, Violet. I just hate that you feel so miserable…here drink some water, it’ll help.” She remembers that she’d grabbed a fresh cup of cool water and holds it gently to Vi’s plump lips. She drinks more than half, surprising both of them at how thirsty she is. But Caitlyn doesn’t set the cup down, instead, offering Vi a couple small fever-reducing pills which she begrudgingly takes with another gulp of water.

“Let’s get you back to bed, hmm? You look exhausted, love.” Caitlyn hums and Vi nods, the two of them finding their way back to laying cozily under the blankets, though Caitlyn made sure to toss a couple of the extra ones off. She doesn’t want Vi overheating any more than she already is. Vi clings to Caitlyn, burying her face in her chest with a noise somewhere between a whine and a groan.

“Cait?” She whispers a moment later, her voice uncharacteristically small as she feels her girlfriend’s gentle touch, soothing hands running along her back. “Yes, darling?” Caitlyn murmurs in return. “I-I don’t feel good.” Vi grumbles with a whine.

“I know, Vi. Just try and rest. I’ll be here.” She promises, one hand remaining on her back, the other moving to run through her damp hair. She holds her a touch closer and Vi hums contentedly. “mmkay.” She presses a featherlight kiss to the closest bit of bare skin she can reach on her girlfriend, and moments later her fevered mind is drifting off to sleep, knowing she’ll probably wake up feeling even crappier, but that she’ll be okay, because she has Caitlyn.

“Sleep well, my darling Violet.” Caitlyn whispers with a kiss to her forehead before promptly following her to sleep, making a promise to herself that from now on, anytime they leave the house, especially if they’re going to Zaun, Caitlyn will make sure to have an umbrella tucked away somewhere in her pockets or bags, just in case.

[sahrii]

I don’t want to break up | T. Kageyama

synopsis; he didn’t mean it when he said he wanted to break up, and now he’s showing up out of nowhere to apologise

word count; 718 + 3 smau

warnings; hurt/comfort, no prns used, breaking up, apologising, first time writing kageyama so probably ooc.

The dingy clouds hovering over the crestfallen sky released threads of despondent blue that collided with the wet—almost muddy ground.

The earth was thick with the earthy scent of petrichor and damp soil. It wasn’t your lucky day, quite the opposite. The rain collides with your skin, sending a shot of shivers up your arm. Wet clothes clung to your figure like your own skin, accentuating the smallest of curves and lines, making you feel almost naked. And it clearly did nothing to shield you from the soaring wind.

You cursed your luck as you took cautious steps, not wanting to end up in a puddle filled with nature’s secrets. It was hard to see. The small droplets of rain stuck to your lashes, obscuring your vision.

It was quiet, set aside the piercing sound of the rain. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to him. How is he? Is he doing okay? Does he regret it? Did he find someone else?

What about the sweet kisses you shared? The way his calloused hand fit yours perfectly? The soft sighs he let out every time he nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck.

Your cautious steps turned to almost enraged ones. With every step, you felt like you wanted to scream. Scream and cry and yell and beg him to come back. A life without him seemed unreal. A life without him seemed impossible.

You were so focused that you didn’t even realise you’d bumped into someone’s chest. Someone’s toned chest, sending you a step or two back, but your wrist was gripped to prevent any further stumbling with a familiar hand. An awfully familiar hand.

“Sorry I—“ You look up to apologise, but the words refused to come out after that. Your eyes dampen and a feeling of suffocation clogged your throat to the brim as you stared into his eyes.

He looked like he didn’t sleep a twink for the last 2 weeks. Ink black strands of hair fell into a cascade of disorder, laying astray in many different directions you didn’t even know exist. Eyes almost bloodshot, outlined by a red rimming that you wanted to kiss so badly. They were slightly swollen and tinged with a delicate hint of pink. You almost threw your heart up.

Your throat went dry. Your hands were trembling. Was it with need? With anger? With hurt? That you couldn’t tell. You did miss him though, there is no denying that. But like wise, you could tell his hands were trembling. And you wanted to cradle them in your own and kiss them, whispering words of comfort until the tremors cease to exist— to tell him it’s going to be okay. But you didn’t.

“I’m…I’m sorry…” his gaze shifted away, unable to meet yours. A faint hue of red painted his pale cheeks and flushed the tips of his ears.

You furrowed your brows, lips slightly parting in confusion. His long fingers—the ones that were gripping on your wrist a few moments ago covertly slid into the palm of your hand instead, seeking refuge within it

He began fidgeting with your fingers, a subtle dance of his fingers against yours, a silent conversation in touch. The tremble was as evident as ever.

“I don’t…I don’t want us to break up,” he muttered—almost whispered. His voice carried a tinge of distress from within, his gaze still not able to meet yours.

His hand switched from fidgeting with your fingers to intertwining with them, the callousness of his finger tips apparent as he traced nervous shapes on the back of your knuckles.

It was a natural reflex, the way your hand let go to cup his cheeks, caressed them slightly, tracing the delicate pink under his eyes, then pulled him into a desperate kiss.

His lips against yours—the way they tasted, salty with anxiety and sweet with desperate need—he didn’t hesitate to kiss back for a split second. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders.

It wasn’t the first time Kageyama did this—and it certainly won’t be the last time. It will take some time for him to reprogram himself, that you knew. But what you also knew was that you’ll always be there for him—you’ll always be the home he will find solace in, and for that, he counted his lucky stars.

[maretinelli]

MIDNIGHT TALKS

Lewis Hamilton X Bride!fem!reader

Summary: When rainy night bedtime conversations are the best between Lewis and his fiancée.

Words: 2.4K+

Warnings: I don't think anything too alarming, just laughter, cute couple and romance.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. And you can request stories on my profile. ❤️🇧🇷

MASTERLIST

It was as if God had made them for each other. And they were both certain that they were definitely soulmates who were destined to live together and love each other unconditionally. They had a partnership, a love, a fondness for each other that went beyond words. Something that no one could describe, because it was something unique. Something that was theirs.

That night, as winter battered the city with cold winds and incessant rain, they lay together, protected by a nest of blankets. The sound of the rain beating against the bedroom window brought a unique comfort, filling the comfortable silence between them.

Y/N adjusted the sleeve of the baggy sweatshirt she was wearing. The sweatshirt was actually Lewis's, but for some reason, it felt more like it belonged to her now. He smiled, pulling her closer.

"When we have a daughter, I'd like to name her Isla. What do you think?" Y/n asked, staring at the window, where drops were running down the glass.

Lewis made a sound that didn't entirely approve of the idea. "Do you have any other options? I don't think I like this one very much."

Y/n turned her face towards him, laughing. "What do you mean? Isla is cute!"

"Yeah... but it's literally "island" in Spanish. It looks like we're going to call it a stretch of land surrounded by water."

"You're impossible." She rolled her eyes, but the smile was still there. "Isla is a pretty, sophisticated name."

"Well, then if we have a boy, we can name him Lewis. Fair enough."

Y/n let out an exaggerated sigh. "And your ego strikes again."

Lewis chuckled softly before leaning in and burying his face in her neck, breathing in deeply. Her scent was a soft mix of vanilla and something purely hers. It was so familiar and comforting that it felt like a home he always wanted to return to. The warmth of her skin against his made his smile soften, as if in that moment nothing else in the world mattered.

"Okay, now tell me... If you weren't Lewis Hamilton, who would you be?"

He looked up at her in confusion before laughing. "Uh, I don't know. My mom would probably have found another name for me."

Y/n patted his chest lightly. "I worded that a little wrong. I meant... If you weren't a Formula 1 driver, what would you be?"

Lewis smiled. "Ah, much better now." He smiled, pretending to be more interested in the new version of the question. "Hm... maybe a musician? I've always liked music. Or something that would make me travel a lot... But I doubt I'd be happy without a race car."

"Oh, so you'd be a traveling singer? Like a modern-day troubadour?" She joked, biting her lip to hold back a laugh.

Lewis laughed out loud. "Now that you put it like that, it doesn't sound so cool..."

Soft laughter filled the room before Y/n looked down at her own hand, where her engagement ring glinted softly in the dim light of the lamp.

"I wanted to be a ballerina when I was a kid, you know?" She said thoughtfully. "But in the end, I went to college to study physical therapy."

Lewis turned to face her, a smile forming on his lips. "That explains why you walk so gracefully...or why you can make me stretch without me noticing."

She laughed. "Yes, Lew. That's always been my secret plan. To make a seven-time world champion racer stretch like a ballerina."

"It worked, so congratulations."

The two laughed together, and Lewis took the opportunity to pull her closer. He left a tender kiss on her hair and sighed.

"You know... I imagine us being even happier when we're married. More trips together, more moments like this... maybe another dog running around the house." The pilot says, stroking his bride's hair.

Y/n smiled shyly and snuggled against the sweatshirt he was wearing, as if she wanted to hide her face.

Lewis chuckled softly, finding it adorable, and held her closer, whispering fondly, "You know I love all this with you, don't you? There's nothing in the world I want more."

She lifted her face just enough to look him in the eyes, her heart warming at his words. "I know..." She murmured, smiling lovingly.

Lewis chuckled, stroking her hair tenderly, feeling his own heart overflow with love. Y/n wrapped an arm around Lewis's stomach, enjoying his cozy warmth.

She then smiled against her sweatshirt, "Did you know that when I first met you, I thought you were going to be boring?"

Lewis's eyes widened, clearly caught off guard, before letting out an incredulous laugh. "What?! What do you mean?"

"I swear!" Y/n laughed along, lifting her head to look at him. "You always had that super serious look in the garage, like you were about to fight someone. I was afraid you'd ignore everything I said."

Lewis blinked a few times before laughing even harder, shaking his head. "So you're saying my 'relaxed face' scared you?"

"Exactly!" Y/n joked, holding back her laughter. "But after we were introduced, I realized you were a lot less intimidating than you seemed... I mean, at least when you're not in the car."

Lewis chuckled and raised an eyebrow before teasing her, "Well, my first impression of you was quite different. All I could think about was how beautiful you were and how much hotter that white team t-shirt made you look."

Y/n rolled her eyes, but a smile played on her lips. "You don't miss a thing, do you?"

He laughed and continued, amused: "But look, if I knew you thought that about me in the beginning, I don't think I would have even gone to talk to you." The fake tone of indignation made Y/n let out a loud laugh.

Without thinking twice, she lightly patted his chest, through his sweatshirt. "Stop being so dramatic, Hamilton! You know I love you now."

He smirked, his eyes shining. "And that's what matters."

Y/n laughed, rolling her eyes again, and snuggled closer to him, feeling his chest vibrate with another low chuckle. She knew that, despite the teasing, Lewis loved knowing that, from the beginning, they were destined to meet—even if there were a few wrong first impressions along the way.

Lewis sank his fingers into Y/n’s hair, tracing soft circles against her scalp as his voice came out in a calm tone. “What was the exact moment you realized you were in love with me?”

Y/n chuckled softly, feeling her face heat up at the memory. "Ah, I remember perfectly..."

Lewis smiled as he noticed how her cheeks flushed, and that only made him want to hear even more. "Tell me" He encouraged, his voice thick with curiosity and affection.

Y/n sighed, hiding her face for a moment before looking at him. "It was that day... after the race at Silverstone, when you narrowly missed the podium. I walked into the physio room and there you were, sitting on the bench, looking so exhausted and frustrated. I knew you hated losing, but... instead of complaining, you simply looked at me, smiled tiredly and said, 'At least I have you here.'"

Lewis blinked slowly, surprised by the memory. "Did I say that?"

"Yes, I did." Y/n chuckled softly, biting her lip. "And in that moment, I knew. It didn't matter if you won or lost, if you were on top of the world or having a bad day... I just wanted to be by your side."

Lewis stared at her for a moment before smiling, his heart squeezing in a good way. "Are you trying to make me fall in love with you again? Because it's working."

Y/n laughed, pulling the blanket tighter around her body. "Your turn, Lew. When did you realize you were in love with me?"

He chuckled softly, thinking for a moment before answering, "Well... I knew you were the love of my life the day Mercedes hired you as a physical therapist."

She raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "Oh, stop..."

"I'm serious!" Lewis laughed. "I walked into the garage and saw you there, in that team uniform, talking to someone. I thought to myself, 'Shit, if this woman takes care of my physique, I'll never be able to concentrate on racing again.'"

Y/n laughed in amusement, "You're terrible!"

He laughed, then lowered his tone a bit, becoming more serious. "But if you want a real moment... I think it was the first time I got sick and you showed up at my house with soup and a million medicines. Not because anyone asked you to, but because you wanted to take care of me."

Y/n smiled, feeling her heart warm. "You looked like a baby with a cold, I needed to help."

"And that's when I knew I would never want anyone else taking care of me again." He said softly, his eyes locked on hers.

Y/n swallowed hard, surprised by his sincerity. Without saying anything, she approached and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before slipping back under the covers, hiding her face against his sweatshirt.

Lewis laughed, finding her reaction adorable. "No need to be shy now, love" He joked, pulling her closer and leaving a kiss on her hair.

And there, with the soft sound of rain filling the room, they knew that in any life, they would always find their way back to each other.

Lewis traced lazy circles on her back, his touch warm and comforting. “Do you think if Mercedes hadn’t hired you, we would still have met?”

Y/n looked up at him, a small smile playing on her lips. "I guess so," she said softly. "I believe that when two people are meant to be together, God always finds a way to bring them together. Maybe I wouldn't be your physical therapist, maybe I wouldn't even be in the paddock... but somehow, our paths would cross."

Lewis watched the calm way she spoke, her eyes shining with conviction. "Like... if you were a doctor in a hospital and I had a bike accident, would you be there to take care of me?" He joked, arching an eyebrow.

Y/n laughed, rolling her eyes. "Exactly, but I hope you don't have to fall off your bike to find me."

Lewis laughed along and tightened the hug. "I like to think that. That somehow we would always find each other."

She smiled against his sweatshirt, sinking deeper into his embrace. Comfortable silence filled the room again, interrupted only by the rhythmic sound of the rain.

Until, out of nowhere, Y/n let out a laugh.

Lewis frowned and looked at her. "What's wrong?"

Y/n sat up a little on the bed, still laughing, and looked at her fiancé. "I just remembered that day in the paddock... when you tried to get on Toto's scooter and almost fell in front of everyone."

Lewis's eyes widened before he threw himself back, covering his face with his hands. "Oh no... you remembered that?!"

"How could I forget?" Y/n laughed. "You tried to do that all-knowing pilot pose, but then the scooter jerked and you ended up on the ground."

Lewis grumbled, the embarrassment returning as if it had happened yesterday. "And the worst part is that you didn't help at all! You just kept laughing at me!"

Y/n was already laying on his stomach now, laughing breathlessly. "Because it was hilarious!"

Lewis shook his head, but couldn't help but laugh. "I swear I tried to look cool..."

"Failed miserably" She said, wiping a tear from her eye. Lewis sighed dramatically, but laughed along.

After a few seconds, Y/n took a deep breath, finally catching her breath. She lay back down next to him, her head resting on Lewis's arm as he wrapped her in his embrace once more.

This time, silence returned uninterrupted, only the soft sound of rain tapping against the window. The entire room seemed enveloped in a rare kind of peace, where the simple fact of being together was enough.

"Lew, think about it..." She begins, in a thoughtful tone. "What if the clouds are actually giant pieces of cotton candy? But they don't want us to know because if we found out, everyone would want to eat them?" Y/n spoke with the utmost seriousness in the world, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Lewis blinked a few times, processing the absurd theory, before letting out a loud laugh. "Wait a minute... so, according to you, NASA is hiding from us that the sky is a sugary amusement park?"

"Exactly! Can you imagine? They must have cotton candy machines in space to replenish the clouds from time to time!"

Lewis shook his head, laughing. "Okay, conspiracy genius... what about the little birds? Are they spies too?"

Y/n arched an eyebrow dramatically. "That's not even a theory, it's a fact! You've never seen a baby pigeon, have you noticed? They just appear as adults on the street. Because they're government monitoring robots."

"Oh my God, I'm going to marry a lunatic" Lewis said, rolling around in bed laughing.

"Not only are you getting married, you love me!" She retorted, laughing along and poking her fiancé in the ribs.

The laughter took a while to stop. They always had this way of dividing their neurons, creating jokes that only made sense to them. And that was exactly what made them so unique.

Lewis sighed, pulling Y/n closer, nuzzling his face into her neck. "You know what? I knew for sure that I wanted to marry you that day..."

Y/n looked up, curious. "On the day of the proposal?"

"Yes. My whole life, actually." He smiled against her skin. "When you looked at me and started crying before I could even say anything. I realized you were my better half, Y/n. Always have been."

Her heart raced. Y/n smiled shyly, hiding her face in the sweatshirt he wore, the way she always did when she was emotional.

Lewis chuckled, finding it adorable, and kissed the top of her head. "And I think I already know the perfect name for our future daughter."

Y/n looked up, curious. "Which one?" Her eyes lit up, thinking her fiancé was serious.

The pilot smiled, tightening the hug. "Cotton."

"LEWIS!"

His laughter echoed through the room, mixing with the sound of the rain on the window. Y/n lightly slapped his chest, but couldn't contain her laughter.

Because, in the end, life with him would always be like this: Full of jokes, nonsensical theories and love. Lots of love.

[lunarharp]

into the deep end - 30k T orufrey fic, focusing on memory trauma, disability, and romance.

the sweet oblivion of the victim, the poisoned freedom of the witch.

for one moment - it had felt like two parts returned - the needed reunion of two disparate halves. no more secrets, no more pain.

the moment you get to give back what you never wanted to take. that moment, under the night-blooming flowers, when they had both let out the same single broken sigh of relief.

but they were never whole to begin with, were they?

qifrey swore he wouldn't say 'sorry' to this man any more if he could help it - sorry is cheap now. he didn't want to be in a position ever again where you only have 'sorry' left. so he just looks down into the threads of his blanket, strains his eye until it hurts, feeling his insides - his throat, heart and head - burn with pain. he expects more, but olly says nothing.

olly says nothing.

[manderleyfire]

– But you did it for me. – I did it for us. No more secrets. No more lies.

Annabel Scholey and Jack Farthing in The Serial Killer's Wife (2024), dir. Laura Way

[torchickentacos]

I'm reading poetry at 1 am and spiraling over like 45 emotions at once, which is how poetry was meant to be enjoyed, I think