#but the man just never changed his skin during the life series

[pansetta]

It's still hard to believe it took 4 seasons for Grian to change his skin to go along with whatever theme for the life series, and of all things it's him as a playground bully in a leather jacket...

[hoseoksluna]

LIQUID STARS | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. bam)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.8k

summary: to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your cunt and your virginity.

playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine

warnings: size kink, heavy dd/lg themes, provocation, dry humping, dirty talk, mentions of porn, oral sex (f. + m. receiving), multiple orgasms & countdown, dom/sub dynamics, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), first time, jealousy, inner child healing, plushie used during intercourse, jungkook fucks her numb & dumb, praise kink, cum eating, pet names and the establishment of a title, bondage, raw sex, tummy bulge, desperation, pain felt during intercourse, squirting

note: as difficult as it was to write this, i'm immensely thankful. this changed my life; it healed me and i'll dream about it for a long, long time. i was as exhausted as oc once i finished this, because i truly did give my all. everyone, this is part four to my series 'wine' and therefore the very end. this is the very beginning of jungkook's and oc's relationship. can be read as a standalone as there aren't any quirks from the other parts (except for bunny), though if you wish to read them now, now is the perfect time. now you can see the beautiful gradual development of their relationship. please, enjoy as you read and let me know your favorite parts bc i need to talk about this. heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that can be uncomfortable for some. thank you! and thank you for all the love on this series. i'll never forget it. i love you, guys. ʚɞ

side note: give some round of applause for 3D daddy provider jungkook everyone!! he deserves it!!!

Silky lilac bows adorn the tops of your pigtails that cascade down in loose braids, sprawled on the cotton of his pillow and on the soft belly of a bunny plushie. There are still traces of sunlight left on the bedding, which dissolve, little by little, into nothingness as the large star goes down, saying goodbye. It’s lightweight, the atmosphere—homely almost. And much to your surprise, you feel relatively at ease, despite the fact a man lies on top of you—a man you have a certain liking for. 

It was natural for you to end up here and you, yourself, wished for it, even. Deemed it was only right after the man took you around for a walk while his silly Doberman guarded each and every step both of you had taken in sync, especially so when he persisted in buying you a small plastic ring of the same bunny you’re lying against. He didn’t even forget about his own canine friend waiting outside patiently like the obedient dog he is, and fed him the snackies he got for him as soon as he returned from the shop. You swore Bam was as giddy as you when he received his gift. 

Now the ring glints in the last rays of the sun. His, too. 

While yours is as white as the cloudy morning sky, Jungkook’s is as black as the drowsily dozing night sky. You think it’s the perfect contrast between the pair of you. Not that you should be noting these things, considering you’re just friends. But his skin is satiny soft, painted in impressionist tattoos, while his muscles, that his well-fitted T-shirt graciously allows you to see, are strong. You’re sure he could just lift you and throw you around without much of a strain. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s such a striking image of pure beauty. How could you not notice these intertwinings when they’re this lovely?

You like him—without a shadow of doubt. Can feel the call of an emotional attachment forming the more he studies your skin with the tip of his index finger, embellished with the Miffy ring, and it’s owed to the fact you’ve never been touched this way before. No one has ever come this close, no one has ever been interested in the moles scattered upon your shoulders, in the veins that make the pathway to the column of your neck. No one has ever gazed twice at them—but Jungkook?

He hasn’t stopped looking at them ever since he laid you down in the middle of his bed. 

How could you stop such a call? Such a lull, such a magnetic pull. You know you should, but for the meantime, you simply don’t want to. Can’t lose this moment, can’t lose this once in a lifetime opportunity—

Jungkook presses his lips against the prominent mole in the center of your left shoulder. Those pretty, puffy lips, closing against your skin, the smallest dart of tongue swiping past. It shocks you for a moment before the feeling dissolves beneath, adjusting within the freshness of your system. How could you refuse such dynamic poetry, expressed against your own forlorn body? When it’s so blatant that it’s natural, that your body willingly accepts it without a fight. 

You couldn’t. 

Stretching your fingers between the thick strands of his hair, you close your eyes to savor the feeling of being wanted. The movement of his mouth, going even as far as to the first vein rooted in your arm—following it with those half-closed pillows. Up, up until he finds the line of your collarbone. Jungkook pauses there, simply breathes against you before he interperses little pecks there, nibbles and gentle swipes of tongue. The lining of your top won’t let him go further down, so he changes direction—relies on the pathway of your veins to guide him to your neck. And there… at the first contact, you grip the roots of his hair. 

His kisses and nibbles are much harder here. And what’s worse, he takes the sensitive skin into his mouth and sucks. You fail at containing the whimpers that break out of your mouth and Jungkook reacts to them. Hums ever so deeply, rocks his hips against the mattress. You wish you were a bit bigger so you could feel the collision, but you’re just so small compared to his large form. You imagine he’s writing down the poems collecting inside of him with each cursive roll of his tongue. Wonder if there’s enough paper on your skin for all his words. 

“You sweet little thing,” Jungkook coos onto the crook of your neck, dragging his lips up and down before he stops at your jaw. You feel the warmth of his breath and his body heat seeps into yours, creating unity, blackening the ink. It feels strange, it feels so new. Brisk and springlike, like fresh air in a stuffed room. You want to stay here for a long time, tasting the wholeness of spring captured in him. You want his words to flush you red with the tinge of the entire sunlight that opens the buds of flowers during all seasons in a loop. “Can I kiss you?”

You haven’t gone beyond the innocent touching of hands with him. You brim with a tight feeling of thankfulness that he asked you such a graceful question, although something else steals your attention entirely. 

“Little?” you say, the smile on your lips pulled so taut that it quivers ever so slightly. It makes you crazy that he calls you that, but you play the game. Revel in it. “What do you mean little? I’m bigger than you.”

Jungkook cocks his brow at you, mouth falling into a lopsided grin. He sits back and you feel a whiff of coldness pass by the perimeter of your body, as if someone opened the window and let the winter air in, when it’s just his brief distance that caused it. The forming attachment in you tenses and before you can think about your actions, your hand finds his knee, his thigh and traces slow patterns there. Jungkook suddenly squeezes your waist, surprising you, and the ecstatic fluttering of butterfly wings break havoc all over your body. The solidness of his hands, their weight, their firmness, giving life to your body, meaning. You note how his fingers touch when he has his hands enveloped around you like that. And the inkling that your body matters in his hands like that slips into your mind, spreading through its axis. 

You bite your lower lip. A small ache begins to grow in your intimate parts. It’s so nice to be wanted, to be considered good enough to be touched, to be kissed. 

“You? Bigger than me?” Jungkook squeezes your waist again. Sucks in a breath through his teeth. Smiles softly; in a way that you find unbearably endearing. “No, you’re just little. Just a tiny, little bug. So tiny in my hands.” 

For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it. 

He leaves his hands there when he bends over you, hovering his lips over yours. His weight, his heat. You sigh against him in relief, in a newly blossoming excitement that he’s back again. You spread your legs wider, feet grazing his calves—

“Let me kiss you, please.” 

You’d give in, but the game is just so pleasurable. 

Your laugh is but a breath. “You wanna kiss me?” 

You exhaled, he inhaled. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Since when do friends kiss?” You cock your eyebrow at him just like he did, prodding your tongue on the inside of your cheek. 

He hovers a little bit higher above you, hanging his head in defeat, sighing. Places his hands in fists on either side of you, caging you in. 

“Premium friends do,” he mutters, lifting his head, face all serious. You dig your toe into the toned muscle of his thigh, twirling sweet little circles, gliding up and down. Watch as his eyes lid and he tries to control it. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you.” 

Your body panics, but you will it to relax. 

“Does that come with the premium subscription?” 

Jungkook purses his lips, supports his weight on one hand as the other, the tattooed one, grips your jaw. He squishes your cheeks, bites his lip once—seemingly ponders whether he should play your game or not before he lets go of your pout, but still keeps his hand there. He traces the shape of your lips with this thumb, feeding his desire to kiss you with scraps. 

“Yes,” he utters. “Kisses, orgasms, my dog. It’s all—”

Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms. 

“I get to take Bam?” 

Jungkook tuts at you. “You get to take me,” he corrects you. “Though, can even such a little thing like you take me?” 

Probably not. Definitely not. 

“But what about Bam?” 

He looks at you as if he couldn’t believe the words you’re saying, turning his head slightly to hear you better. Then, he scoffs, running his tongue across his lips swiftly, letting them express the enjoyment of your provocation by stretching into a smirk. He places his hand back on the right side of you, thinking over his words. 

“Bam is mine, but you can pet him. You can kiss him.” You can hear the feigned venom in that word as he spits it and you grin, pleased with yourself. You enjoy doing this to him. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you take him out for his walkies.” 

You gasp slowly, fingers absentmindedly gripping his thigh. Butterflies buzz you with a mere hint of arousal and to convey it, you wet your top lip with the tip of your tongue. The dominance, the principle of proving to him whether you’re deserving of something. Your heartbeat quickens, reaching for him with each swell. 

Oh, you’ll be good. You’ll be good until he’s sick of it. 

It seems he’s as pleased with himself as you were with yourself, reading your body language as he beams down at you, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. You want to stick your fingers there, pinch the skin at the corners of his mouth. Feel them, kiss them—

“Deal.” 

Jungkook blinks at you. He most likely expected you to be difficult. You like the look of surprise on him. A sweet kind of glint perches itself upon his irises. You’re at awe of how he manages to be so adorable and alluring at the same time. You could never understand it. You deem he must be otherworldly. 

“A kiss to seal the deal?” he tries, raising his brows, lowering himself to his elbows. 

He skims his lips across your cheek, descending to your neck. Places one, singular kiss there. Lifts his head to hear your answer, a soft curtain of hair falling across his forehead. 

You make a face as if you’re thinking about it. 

Jungkook groans. 

It’s cold, the way he turns away from you and it startles you—but then he slides his hands under your back and lifts you with ease, sitting you down on his lap. He moves you from the muscles on his thighs to the hardness of his intimate parts and you groan at the feeling of it. You’re wearing an airy short skirt with tights and knee socks underneath, the barrier so thin that you feel the solid, thick shape of him right under your femininity. 

You rock against him once. Jungkook lets out a sound akin to yours, fingers flexing—hands almost reaching for your behind before he decides against it and keeps them planted against your back. 

He desires your consent. And that makes you feel light-headed. Tipsy on the wholeness of him, on the pleasure coursing through your body. 

You rock your hips again—and this time, Jungkook whimpers. 

You take your hands and, slowly, you make a pathway down his chiseled chest. He twitches against you when your fingers pass by his nipples, his body following and squirming along. And once you reach the definition of his abdomen, your hands rise and fall against its quickening movement as his lungs heave. You’re mesmerized by his reaction to your touch. It’s as if it was his first time as well and something about that makes you woozy, savage and absolutely feline. 

And something about the way you’re allowed to do as you please, whereas he’s not, strengthens that state of mind, enriches it, thoroughly worsens it. 

You want him. 

It began with a ring and ended right here. 

And the process of your decision starts at his hips, finalizes at the pebbles of his nipples and finishes completely at the sides of his neck. He gives you the same, if not better, reaction, his manhood moving against you, and it’s settled. 

The giving of virginity to seal the deal, not just a kiss. 

Hovering your lips against his, you slip your hand to the place where you’re connected to feel up the shape of him. You moan onto him, vigorous power seizing you, propelling you to wrap your fingers around him. The breaths Jungkook emits are desperate, tortured, wafting over you, intoxicating you. It fills you with confidence unlike any other that you’re able to coax such a thing of beauty out of him—that you, the artist, have the upper hand momentarily while he doesn’t. 

And he waits, depends on you. You want to cry due to how happy it makes you, due to the way it suffuses an empty part of you, left abandoned by someone who should’ve taken care of it a long, long time ago. 

Because of that—if it’s kisses that he wants, you’ll give him as many as his body desires as a thank you. 

“You’re so hard against me,” you whisper. 

Jungkook grips your waist hard. 

“If you want it, you have to seal the deal,” he mimics your intonation, voice deep, tingling your tummy. 

“I want it.” You clutch both of your hands on his jawline, thumbs finding the invisible dimples. 

“Kiss me, then.” 

You whimper at the longing to do so. Your tummy clenches, butterflies inside swarm around and—

When you close your lips against his top lip, they burst into smithereens. Jungkook sighs in relief, enveloping you in his warmth. 

The kiss is hungry. You expected his first taste of you to be careful, contemplative, but he goes all in. Takes charge of the lip lock, swallowing you whole, moving against you, uttering low sounds that make your head spin and you just comply. Accept that you’re the one who submits to his craving and you find yourself liking it; find yourself wanting to deepen your submission. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, your head tilted as you reciprocate all of those hard kisses. When he comes up for air, he just gazes down at you, out of breath. One hand still on your back, the other cradles your cheek. There’s something puzzling in his eyes, as if he was fighting something within. You’re radiated by that energy, heavied down by it, letting him pet you like a puppy while you wait for the next step. 

“You’re so good that I’m considering letting you take Bam out,” he breathes, curling a wisp of your hair behind your ear. “Sweet little thing.” 

He pecks you once. You grind against his manhood and as he shortly groans onto your mouth, you splutter into giggles. Behind you, as if he heard him, the dog peeks his head out of the door, giving his Daddy a questioning look. Jungkook chuckles. 

“Bam, house.” 

The dog leaves and Jungkook sinks his fingers into your hair, sighing. Kisses you, again without tongue—only does what you’ve allowed him, but you overflow with the desire for more. He’s so considerate, so respectful and while you’re grateful for it, you want to break it. Your trust in him, made whole by all that he’s done for you, settled within you, made a bed in the sensitive parts of you that now shine. He doesn’t need to remain there—you want to go beyond that. 

“Touch me, please.” You look up into his eyes as you say it, willing them to see with all your energy how much you want him. 

He rubs soothing circles on your back. “If I touch you, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.” 

You lift your butt ever so slightly and bounce down on him, your skirt furling. Jungkook moans, pleasing you to the core. It’s bratty of you, but it serves him right for being so stubborn, so firm in his control. You want to break him. 

“Can’t you see how much I want that?” you purr, bunching the cotton of his T-shirt in your fists. 

He merely shakes his head, licking his lower lip, fucking with you. He tugs on one of your braided pigtail, the other hand gliding to your hipbone. “This little girl is horny? I couldn’t tell.” 

A yellow light, sleepy in nature, spills through the blinds, latching onto the side of your neck. His eyes flick to it and his teeth sink into the wetness of his lip. He looks back at you when he says, “what was it that made you horny? The neck kisses?” 

He straps both of his hands to your hipbones now, adjusting you so your sweetest spot rests against his cock, rocking your hips like he wants them to. He swallows down his noises, makes room for yours. You figure he wants to hear them. 

You think about what made you horny. His respectful behavior. An electric spark spasms in your core at the memory and you roll your body against his at the impact—nipples pebbled, grazing below the hardness of his pecks. You moan loudly. He breathes heavily, can’t for the life of him contain that, gripping you with strength that will surely leave bruises. You add it to the list. 

His control—the momentary, delicious lack of it, too. The dominance that follows it. His noises and how unrestrained he is when it comes to them. The allure and the attractive charm of his looks, blended with that insufferable cutesiness. His hard cock. The neck kisses, too, of course. 

You summarize your answer and you tell him, “you.” 

A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.” 

Fuck, indeed. Fuck the steady rhythm—Jungkook speeds up your movement, the pace so fast your pigtails and your ribbons bounce, tits following suit. Your breath falls in step, moans echo within the walls of his room. He kisses you harshly, but that doesn’t silence you. He swallows your noises down, grunting. 

“You wanna know what made me hard for you?” 

You nod your head, lips forming a natural pout at the loss of contact. 

“Those fucking pigtails of yours. The knee socks. How tiny you are in my hands. Seeing you lose your fucking mind when I kissed your neck. Those marks I left behind, hm, fuck yes. Those marks made me crazy,” he mutters, staring you down. “And you know what else?” 

You wait for his answer as white flashes blind you, your roaring orgasm beckoning you close. He doesn’t stop rocking you against him, not once. Fills your brain with emptiness with his words coated wet by his dominant energy. You feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of your panties. 

“Your brattiness,” he says. “I want to fuck it out of you and make a good girl out of you that won’t misbehave again with her smart words.” 

A faint part of you, half affected by the pleasure he gives you, arises to stand up for you. “But I was good and you said so.” 

He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly shaking his head. Slows down the pace so you’re able to hear him loud and clear, your orgasm backing away. “You see the thing is with little bratty girls like you, even when they act good for me, there’s still that dark little side of them that hides. Unless I fuck it out of them, they play with me. And trust me, I like the game until I don’t.” 

You frown at him, but a moan betrays you. A fight throngs inside of you, his dominance yet again permeating you, causing you to flourish, but on the other hand, you don’t like being added to the mix. You want to be the only one—and it makes you angry that he had someone like you before you, that he even said it altogether. Though unfortunately, that’s something you can only keep to yourself. 

The forming attachment breaks, splitting into two, with the knowledge that your wish is futile. You understand he said it for the sake of the role-play that you both naturally, wordlessly established through sexual attraction, but you still have a lot of getting used to within the dynamic. He’s experienced, you’re not. Though, when you think about it, he doesn’t know a thing about your purity. You never told him. 

You blame yourself for your own pain. It’s your fault—you should’ve had a conversation with him about it before you let him do anything to you, instead of playing flirty games with him. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if he knew you were a virgin. The thought of what you’ve done stains you, makes you feel filthy, but you will it to kneel inside of you like a wounded animal. You need to be strong if you don’t want to storm out of his room in tears. 

No attachment, no liking. 

Just sex. 

There’s still a frown to your face, despite the fact you set yourself free with your decision. Jungkook chuckles at it, oblivious to your internal storm. 

“You didn’t like that, did you?” You didn’t like being compared to other girls he’d been with; there’s nothing to be said of the like about the role-play aspect. Being called bratty did rouse a moan out of you. “You prove my words right.” 

You roll your eyes. Jungkook grips your ass hard and spanks you. As the sting reverberates, along with it comes the realization you got what you wanted. 

You broke him. 

And now you have to face the repercussions. 

Good thing you’ve sobered up from the stupefaction of your arousal. 

You cradle his face and kiss him deeply in effort to change the narrative. No feeling of affection from earlier hangs upon your heart and you find that it’s easier like this. No strings, no pain. It relieves you—so much that you sense a layer of lightness to your body and tiny, manageable tears well in your eyes. You get to enjoy this after all. 

There’s radiance to your eyes, rooted in hope, and true softness to your words when you say, “I want you to fuck it out of me. I want you to be my first.” 

You want to be different—your pride is uninfluenced by your decision. If he fucks it out of you, the new narrative you’re longing for will fully take place and make living through this bearable. You know you can’t have him the way you’d like, but if fate wrote that you’re to have him this way—you don’t mind altering it to the little desires you’re allowing yourself to have. 

Once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t lose it. 

Jungkook is left astounded by your words, eyes widening, shock evident on his features. Like your words, he softens, unclenching his fingers from your suppleness, the darkness in his irises making a way for gentleness to come through. He rubs the small of your back, hands ascending to your spine, feeling the clip of your bra, until he finds the nape of your neck. He holds you there, tenderly, as if you were a porcelain doll he now was careful not to break. 

The change in his demeanor is stark. It surprises you as well—and like everything that has happened within the hour, it isn’t something you expected from him. The emotion that emerges from the roundness of his eyes touches the hardness of your decision, tries to get through, pokes a gap inside, letting the light in. 

He tucks his darkness back inside. Strokes the back of your head, the silky ends of your ribbons sifting through his slender fingers. You relax against him and your body does it for you. It welcomes his tenderness, glad for the truth to be out. You fight against it—against yourself, willing your decision not to break but remain firm. 

No strings, no pain.

But to no avail. The light spreads. His light. Celestial twinkles of stars, small parts of him that make him who he is. 

“You’ve never had anyone before me?” he husks, regret glossing over his eyes, holding your head firmly as he awaits your answer. More stars spill like liquid. 

You shake your head ‘no’, your chest tightening. 

He kisses you and there’s something different about the way he does it. Now you can sense the carefulness you searched for earlier and you taste the primal core of loving care in the movement of his lips. The kisses are long, deep. As if you’re a different person now, a girl unlike any of the ones he mentioned. Someone who matters, someone who’s solid. You’re back at the beginning. 

A lump forms in your throat. 

“You sure about this?” he asks. 

One part of you, greater and illuminated by his stars, wants it gently like this, with flowers of innocence and purity besprinkled across his features, never leaving you out of his sight, taking care of you. But you fear that if you allow him to be tender, your heart will choose him again and cling to his side. The other, more faint part of you, affected by your decision, thinks it’s better to stick to the role-play, for there’s the aspect of illusoriness that will not bruise anyone’s hearts, especially not yours. It will make you horny, Jungkook will get you off and, glowing, you’ll go home.

You can’t decide. It’s too much of a heavy weight to bear on your shoulders. You can’t do it.

You need him to say the word. You need him to decide what will be the face of the trajectory of your premium friendship. 

Flowery or deceitful? 

A small candlelight in you hopes for gentleness and purity before your fear unfairly puffs it out. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.” 

Jungkook lays you down and, at last, you feel his manhood against you. He bends to pepper apologetic kisses along the column of your neck and you feel the authenticity of his regret, thrumming against you warmly. Your breath hitches in your throat, the principle of the candlelight in you not being a high hope after all—

“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about this better.” A kiss to your cheek; you stifle your sobs. “I should’ve checked in with you, but I jumped straight in. This was a mistake on my part. I’m sorry.”

He blames himself, not you. 

You want to remain stoic, but his authenticity beckons yours to come out and envelop him whole, gives access to your emotions and you can’t stop the miniature teardrop from flowing down the side of your nose. Neither can you stop the words that follow its footsteps. 

“I should’ve told you first,” you whisper, sniffling. Jungkook furrows his brows at the expression of your pain in tender emotion, wiping it away. “But I was bad—reckless.” 

He chuckles softly, caressing your hair. “You’re an angel. Sent to my side for me. You weren’t bad. I didn’t mean what I'd said.” 

His words, his touch, the kiss he adds to your cheek to punctuate his sentence—Jungkook erases everything that has just happened. 

Newness rushes in your chest, the pouring of spring into summer permeates your whole being. You hear the birds sing, the rustle of flimsy flower petals on tree branches as the warm wind grazes it with its touch. Jungkook seals this feeling by pressing a kiss to your sternum. 

He said it, so it must be so. You trust him. 

The firmness of the cage around your decision unlatches. Doesn’t fly away like the birds. Is a little bit afraid of peeking out. The candlelight returns to light up the room around that cage, blossoming into the sun. 

“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” he says, looking up at you from the place where he dragged your top down to kiss your skin. 

The sun rays in you absorb all of the darkness. The firmness extends one wing. 

You run your fingers through his hair. Figure the only thing the summer in you is missing is the heat. You want him, you want sex and you don’t want to think about feelings or consequences. You don’t want to choose between anything anymore. You just want to enjoy yourself. 

“I meant it when I said that I want you to be my first,” you say, fingers curling around his ear. Jungkook leans into your touch and it’s as if he’s massaging the wing to alleviate it from a cramp due to being tucked in for so long. 

“Okay,” he sighs, taking your hands and pinning them on the pillow and bunny above your head. He sits up, examines you and you wonder if he can see how truly fragile you feel. “Do you trust me?” 

He’s had half a year of going out with you, mingling his life with yours, spending money on you and treating you like an absolute treasure to build your overall trust. And what he did just now? How he erased your pain? Your nod is immediate; you don’t need to think twice. 

“Of course I trust you.” 

“Good.” A soft smile. “I’ll make sure your first time will be beautiful for you.” 

Your heart thuds. His words steal all the breath in your lungs, smoothing out the surface of your body for his stars to fill. Tears prick at your waterline. 

“Are you scared?” 

You’re an empty canvas. 

“Not anymore.” 

Jungkook nods, gladness pulsating off of him. “I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you, not even once, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and yanks it down. “How many times do you wanna come?” 

The ridiculousness of the question makes you laugh and you hide your face beneath your palms. “To be honest, I don’t expect to come at all. It is my first time after all.” 

You marvel at the honesty seeping out of you. His work, no doubt. 

Jungkook frowns, ridding you of the skirt, fingers hooking under the hem of your top. At the reveal of your pink, flowery, see-through bra, he stops altogether, stunned. He fondles the material, grazing over your soft nipples, at last reaching the embroidery of the small petals. He gasps in wonder, eyes flicking to your intimate parts to see if you’re wearing a matching set. 

The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy. 

Jungkook smiles at his discovery. Is hasty as he drags the nylon of your tights down your legs, along with your knee socks. 

“I’ll decide how many times you come for me, then.” 

Heat pools in your femininity. There it is, the dominance that you love. Yet this time, it’s laced with his gentleness. Heaven on earth—a meadow full of flowers in the middle of summer. Like the ones on your lingerie. 

Joy grasps your heart. “Do I get to know before you start?” 

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss on your tummy. “What, you wanna count them down for me?” 

You asked just because, but the idea excites you. You nod. 

Your response prolongs the rumble of his laughter and you feel its vibration as he kisses his way up to your clothed breasts. You’d think he’d focus his attention on them, but he straightens—reaches for something behind him and retrieves your white knee socks. He bunches them in his hands and puts them on you as if he were dressing a child. 

Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs. 

Smoothing the material over your thighs, he lies back down against you, lips latching on the spillage of your breasts that your bra gives him. While it feels dizzying, you still want to know the number. You poke him in the bulging muscle of his arm and in the process, you flush his cheeks red. 

Jungkook pushes your tits together and licks over the line in the middle. The sight of the shine of his wet tongue against it drenches your pussy, ruining your pretty underwear, and you want him there, on your sweetest spot. Your nipples stand to attention and Jungkook listens to their call, thumbs brushing across them. 

You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach. 

“Two times when I eat you out; two times around my cock,” he answers finally, awakening your butterflies. “How many times is that, then?” 

Amidst the pleasure, you do the math. “Four.” 

“That’s right. You think you can do that for me?” 

You’re not sure. In fact, you’re not sure of anything—lost in his touch, in his energy. 

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, skimming his face for a sliver of disappointment in his features. 

You find none. Only tenderness—round, soft eyes, brown in the light he radiates, nose and mouth buried in your tits, sucking on the skin, making you feel good. 

“That’s okay. We’ll try together. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t come as many times. Or at all. I promise.” 

Your chest clenches. You grab his face and kiss him, licking over his bottom lip before you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook grunts, rolls his own muscle over yours, tasting you, feeling you. He inhales sharply against you, once again taking charge of the kiss, taking each and every thought and negative feeling you had and crushing it to smithereens. 

He lifts you and switches places with you, sitting you down on his lap with your back supported by his chest. He roams his hands all over you—tits, tummy, hips, sides and thighs while he busies his mouth on your shoulder. As your eyes follow each movement, you notice the marks he embellished your breasts with and your arousal grows—so much that you take his wandering hands and hook them under the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down your thighs. 

There’s a change to his breath when his index and middle finger feels up the fleshiness of your cunt for the first time. Hard, raggedy and absolutely tormented. He glides those digits up and down your dewiness, listening for the squelching sound that makes his cock twitch beneath you. 

He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear.  “How do you touch yourself?” 

A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat. 

Jungkook sees you. 

“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer. 

“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.

“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re not really sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind. 

When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—

“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax. 

“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side. 

He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise. 

And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.

He stills the buck of your hips. 

You widen your eyes at the new feeling of fullness and, panicking and constricting around him, you look at Jungkook, who merely strengthens his hold around you. 

“Trust me,” he says, breathing heavily. He doesn’t move his fingers past his first knuckles; he lets you adjust to the size. Gives you a kiss full of tongue to distract you. “Does it burn?”

You begin to pant against his mouth, the high of your orgasm long gone. You’re uncertain to count it as one when it was so short lived, ruined by the sudden plunge of his digits. But much to your surprise, you don’t detect any burn in your walls that he speaks of, which you realize was his intention.

“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.” 

He kisses you again. You feel your lips go numb, eyes lidding at the pressure you feel as he sinks his fingers a little bit deeper and begins to move them sluggishly, your slick creating another ring for him around his fingers. You try to meet his thrusts as the visceral sensation of being filled by longer, thicker fingers settles within you and takes roots. You discover that movement is the key to parting the uncomfortable feeling and it steps to the side to let the pleasure walk forward.  

Jungkook presses his palm flat against your clit, guides the pleasure to envelop your body when he plunges his fingers deeper, past the second knuckles and fucks you in swift jerks. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan and he fills in the sound, expressing his fiery delight for you at the clench of your walls against him, accommodating for him, for his desire to stretch you out, so when he finally enters you, no pain comes to greet you. 

Deeper and harder—yes, that’s what feels good. You roll your body, becoming waves of the sea as wetness and the build up of pleasure—seafoam—is all your senses wrap around. 

“Feels good, baby?” 

His need to check in with you speeds up the nearing expansion of your orgasm. Pointer and pinky finger digging into the skin of your backside, you watch the in and out motion, the digits coming out wetter and wetter each time.

“Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna come. I’m so close.” 

It’s quicker. Way quicker than your first tiny orgasm. He slips in and out of you so smoothly—you’re obsessed with the sight, ravaged by it entirely. You grind your hips and fuck yourself back, picking up the pace but slowing down instantly when you feel yourself at the peak of your climax.

You want to prolong it. You love the feeling too much to end it too soon.

Jungkook stops your movements fully.

“I want to be the one who makes you come,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one who fucks your brain out. I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. Fuck, I want it so bad.” 

His hand drifts to your neck just to hold you there, the other, the busy one, fingers you harder, your fast approaching orgasm blinding your senses. Your drenched cunt squelches around him, the sound so lewd it causes you to seek comfort—your hand flies to his on your throat, fingers wrapping around his wrist, the tip of your pointer reaching the fat bulb of bunny’s head on his ring. 

Harder and faster. A scalding fire burns you and you just take it. Loll your head back against his shoulder, giving him the space to grip your jawline. Flames grow closer and closer, leaving a layer of sheen on your body in its wake. You feel the sudden need to pee.

“Oh my god, Gguk—” Your muscles tense. Close, so close. “Gguk, Gguk—”

“What, baby? What’s the matter?” he husks, squeezing your neck once. “You’re gonna come for me? Gonna come on my fingers?” 

You nod quickly, too quickly. Flames of the sun, licking you. Flames of the summer heat. Just what you wanted. 

Jungkook opens your jaw, swirling his tongue around yours. “Let go. Come for me. You can do it, I got you—I got you. Come for me, baby, please.”

Obeying his desperate order, you do.

A small stream of your pleasure, a faint fountain, trickles out of you and into his hand. He gasps, in unison with your whimpers, and you’re transmitted elsewhere. The wildly colorful, blooming meadow on a hill, overlooking the languorous sea and he’s there. Reaches behind himself. Offers you his hand. The wind ruffles his black hair, sweeps it back and you’re giddy—as giddy as Bam, as giddy as you were in the moment the slid the white bunny ring on your finger—to take the last two of his slender fingers, the pinky and the ring, and sit with him by the edge of the cliff. 

“Did so well for me.” 

The whisper takes you back and you awake. 

You’re different. Incandescent. Of life, of stars and its light, of growing fondness for the man you sit perched on the lap of, whose fingers still remain sheathed inside of you. He changed you. Perpetually, absolutely. He changed you and made you into something new. Something that is softer, more elegant—smaller but assertive. Alluring and kind. Indisputably good. 

He fucked everything negative out of you with his fingers. Left the vast canvas of stars inside of you.

You’re no longer a plain spread of cotton, but a living, breathing artwork. His artwork.

Once he fucks you with his cock, you wonder what further internal changes are going to occur within you.

You feel a great deal of gratitude for him—and you want to reciprocate all that he’s done for you. You want to work hard at it. Spoil him. Make him whimper. You believe he deserves it.   

“You finger yourself often? How come you took my fingers so well, hm?” 

You’re panting, unable to speak. Absorbing the sharpness of the stars, acclimatizing to the change. 

“I guess you do, huh?” he deduces. “Good little girl, preparing herself for me.” 

For the life of you, you can’t catch your breath.

Jungkook kisses your cheek deeply. Pecks you on the same spot a hundred times, slowly taking out his fingers. Lets you see your slick coating his fingers and, softly, you gasp at the little ripples of wrinkles upon the tips of his fingers, mouth parting.

And then he sinks them into your mouth. 

His hardness twitches behind you and you moan, your daintily bittersweet taste making your head spin. And when you look at him, you’re met with the utmost pink-dusted adoration painted on his face. You kiss it, inhaling it, letting it flow into your system so it suffuses your bloodstream, letting him taste you. You may not feel your lips, but the sentient poetry of the stars begins to sing in you. His stars. You feel like a flushed floweret visited by a bee. Spent, but happy. 

Happy to be wanted.

Good, because he said you were.

As if internally intertwined with him, you feel the identical heat tinge your cheeks. 

He says nothing as he lays you down and spreads your legs back to the way they were. Though when he’s graced with the sight of your bare cunt in all her glory, his face says everything that his mouth isn’t capable of. Hunger and torture—lips agape, corners of the mouth shiny with the rush of drool and Jungkook wipes it away, then lowers his fingers to your clit, to your lips, becoming more acquainted with this intimate part of you that no one had seen before him. He traces your small hole, even going as far as to your other, tinier hole and you yelp, stopping his exploration. 

Jungkook merely chuckles, eyes darting to yours. “You’re so pretty.” You grow so hot that you think you must be on fire. “Especially there.” 

You mewl, shrinking, hands looking for anything to hold and finding his bunny plushie. You take her into your arms, inhaling a scent that could never be hers. You recognize immediately whose it is. 

Musk, vanilla, wood. 

The thought of Jungkook cradling her while he sleeps moves you and you pout. 

“How we feeling?” he asks, still caressing your fleshy cunt, dripping with dew. 

Overjoyed. Overstimulated.

Heavenly.

“Good.” 

A foxy smile. “How many orgasms was that, hm?” 

You don’t know where your shyness comes from and why it chokes all of the words you want to say. You bury your face in bunny for a moment, taking a breath to fight against it, so you can please him because that’s all you yearn to do. 

You open your mouth, but no words come out. 

Jungkook stifles a laugh and it makes you feel terrible. And it’s worse when he leans over to kiss you, turns his head at the last moment and faces bunny.

“Bunny, how many times did she come?” he asks her, offering her his ear to hear her answer. Looks at you. Widens his eyes. Gasps. “Two,” he mouths. Listens some more. Nods. “I know she thought she wouldn’t come at all. Crazy, right?” Then he lets out an endearing sound. “She said she’d believed you could do it the moment you said it. She’s so happy for you. How cute,” he coos. 

You giggle, the bridge in your throat loosening, light flooding you, over and over, until you think you can’t take any more of it. You feel so full, so happy and the sensation threatens to pour out of your tear ducts. 

It heals something within you—that he treats you like this at your most vulnerable state. Your inner child flares, the stars the strength that fixes her stoop, helping her arise, stand straight, stand powerfully. 

He smiles down fondly at you. “So what number are we at?” 

You hide your face behind your hands. “Two.” 

“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.” 

You drop your hands and with as much energy as you can muster, you repeat the number. 

He purrs, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.” As a reward, as if the praise wasn’t enough, he kisses you deeply. “Will you let me taste you?” 

You swallow his desire, but speak up your own, “I want to taste you first, please.” 

Jungkook hums, curses under his breath. He straightens and kneels before your form, fingers pinching the back of his T-shirt and pulling it over his body. You catch the sight of his broad shoulders, of each dip and muscle, and your irises grown in width. Him ridding himself of his clothes dishevels his hair and as he untangles his arms from the material, he smiles down at you, noticing your stare. 

He caresses the back of your thigh before his hand flies to his hard length. He palms himself once, then continues to undress—tugs his sweatpants down to his knees, though he doesn’t bother himself to fully take them off. The shape of him is more prominent through the fabric of his white Calvins, the bulge of his mushroom wet and pellucid, and you sit up, hand itching to touch him, to join his in making him feel good, but he cups your chin—forcing you to look up at him. 

He swipes his thumb over your lips. “You want it?” 

You nod. “So bad.” 

Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough. 

“Touch it,” he orders and both of your hands listen, wrapping around his girth, squeezing beneath the head of his cock. The thickness of him makes you see the light of the stars that you sense fluttering feverishly inside of you. Your mind is too empty, too washed out by your orgasm, by the change that you don’t even think about how you’re going to take him. Jungkook hisses, tilting his head back before he looks down at you intently. “You did this before?” 

You’ve never seen one in real life before, let alone touched one.

“I’ve never let anyone get this close.” 

Jungkook strokes your pigtails. “How come you know what to do then?” 

Instinct or memory from porn you watched—you don’t know, it all blends together within the fuzziness of your mind. And you tell him.

“I watch a lot of porn.” 

Jungkook smiles coyly and it strikes you. You’ve never seen him smile this way before or, even, feel this way before. All you know from him is dominance, dominance and dominance. 

You release him from the confines of his boxers and repress your gasp. His ever glistening tip reaches just below his navel and the thickness of his girth obscures most of his pubic hair. Along with the sound of your surprise, you also have a hard time swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth. 

“I want you so bad,” you whisper, needy eyes looking up at him. Shy, too shy to let your gaze linger at the most intimate part of him. 

He sucks in a breath at your words, hissing. And you need him inside of you all over again. 

Fuck fuzzines in your mind. You’re fuzzy all over. Wrecked with nerves, suddenly. Your hands tremble, hovering in front of his manhood. Jungkook covers them with his, soothing you, and guides you to his shaft. Wraps your fingers around him. Doesn’t let go. 

The feel of him under his supervision is slow. He allows you to take in every ridge of him, every vein—the softness of his skin, the warmth and the weight. Round after round, up and down, until you get familiarized with him. A trickle of his male essence drips down the side of him and your tongue instinctively darts out. Like your hands, Jungkook’s breath shakes and he anticipates your next move, despite the fact he’s in charge. 

He’s been patient all this time, giving you the time you needed. But that hardly applies when you have him in your hands, when you own his neediness. His whimpers while he waits coax your slick out of you, soaking the bedding beneath you and you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither, evidently, can he. 

“Baby, please,” Jungkook croaks out. Tortured, so terribly tortured. Grip tight and clammy around your hands. 

So vulnerable. 

You ache. 

You lick up a stripe of his essence on the side of his cock and Jungkook shudders. Shifting onto your knees, you show him the milkie on the tip of your tongue and Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. Kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Moans, lowly. Then, he holds his girth at the base and pushes your head. 

When you take him, a mewl ripples around the thickness of him. His eyes roll back and his grasp of your hair tightens, burning your scalp, adding to the fire. He lets you feel it out; lets you figure out what to do, testing your knowledge from the porn you’ve watched. And the tensing of his stomach divulges his strained effort not to fuck your mouth. 

You go slow about it. Swirling your tongue around that rosy head of his, along that delicious ridge, licking a flat stripe across that line of his slit. Getting to know him in all those intimate places, relying on your senses—on them to tell you what he likes. Your hand begins to move on its own, gliding back and forth in tandem with your tongue stimulating his sensitivity. You try not to think about how you can barely fit him in your mouth, because if you do—you’ll ruin his bedsheets. 

But then Jungkook hums in approval, sending a gush of wetness out of you and you whimper—you whimper at the worsening ache you feel, at the helplessness that pools in your system by being just so filthily wet and horny. 

He moves your hand faster. Breath jagged, bedroom eyes zeroing down on you. And then—

Jungkook moans your name. Over and over, clenching and unclenching his hand on the back of your head. 

“Don’t have to teach you shit,” he spits. “You just watch porn all day, don’t you? Naughty girl.” 

Losing control for a split second, he rams his cock into your throat—and you don’t panic, you don’t yelp. Instead, you groan. 

He pulls you away from him with a sharp tug. Kisses you harshly. Shoves you down into the pillows with one push on your sternum.

Bending you in half, he drinks your cunt. Lips immediately suck on your needy bundle of nerves and it’s so fast you don’t even know which part of you he’s focusing on because he’s everywhere. Clit, hole, clit, hole—sucking, licking. Alternating, alternating so swiftly and deliciously that you completely lose your mind. 

And then he lifts your hips and holds them in the air, wanting you to see what he’s doing to you. Like you, he darts out his tongue and teases you, hovering the muscle above your clit. Shiny, nimble, capable of doing unspeakable things to you. He watches as your pussy drools for him and he chuckles darkly. Tongue lowering to collect it, but unlike you he never does it. He lets the dew trickle down your skin. 

“Cute little pussy. So wet. Wetter than when I fucked it. You liked playing with me on your knees, didn’t you?” 

With your fucked out brain, you don’t think it’s taunting what he’s doing. You deem it’s just him reveling in what he’s able to do to your body—in the fact that he owns it, that he teaches it new things. The glint in his dusky, lustful eyes proves it. 

Jungkook drags a long stripe on your clit, making your eyes flutter closed and your teeth to sink into your bottom lip to cage in your moans. 

“Talk to me.” 

You can’t. You don’t know how to talk. 

He stares you down. 

No answer from you. Just hard pants. Pussy drooling. 

“I won’t play with you, then.” 

Panic. “No.” 

He cocks a brow at you. “No?” 

Silence. 

He begins to lower you down but you grip his forearm. 

“Jungkook.” 

Bent over above you, head low, he merely flicks his eyes to yours. Duskiness, such blackening duskiness in those orbs. 

“Beg.” 

All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you. 

Lucky for you, that word he wants is the one you haven’t forgotten. 

“Please.” 

“Please what?” 

You groan in frustration. 

“Be nice or—”

“Please, lick me.” 

That dark chuckle. You feel yourself becoming obsessed with it. 

“Where?” 

A challenge. Your throat dries up. 

“There.” 

He shakes his head disapprovingly, making a sound that expresses just how much he didn’t like that. 

“Try again. Last chance, little girl.” 

The loving smile on his face says everything about how that threat is feigned. You hear it tell you—you have as many chances as you need. He’s merely encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone. 

And something about that mellow, hidden kindness gently ushers you to do just that. 

“Lick my clit, please.” 

A hum. A long stripe on that sensitive, thumping spot. A roll of his tongue forward and backward.  

“Like this?” 

You choke out a moan. 

“Yes, please.” 

“Or—” He blows on you, causing you to tremble. “Like this?”

He shakes his head against you briskly, not yet at a full tilt. Just like his, your body shudders in his hands and he tightens his grip on your supple hips. You can’t take it, the pleasure is overwhelming and—

“Look at me,” he orders and you open your eyes, immediately. “Like this?” 

Jungkook adds more pressure and rapidness to the movement, leaving you glazed sweetly in the sheen of his saliva. He moves your hips up and down on the firmness of his tongue and you scream, taking a strong hold of his hair.

“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”

Shocked, Jungkook groans against your pussy, slowing down to ingest what your mouth has just uttered. It’s more than natural to call him by a title like this, instinctual, innate. It fits him so well and it drenches your pussy, your slick amalgamating with his liquid love. You’re certain he feels the rush.

Your Daddy. 

You roll your hips against his tongue. Dark and more dark, those eyes of his. Bottomless pit.

“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.” 

The whimpers you let out are pathetic and Jungkook shudders at them, groaning. You whine the title over and over again, a verdant, dreamlike litany of your feminine sexuality pampered, cared for, supervised. Jungkook accepts the gravity of it all, each declaration propelling him to suck your clit harder, bruises forming on your hips from his deathly grip, black eyes never leaving yours, hypnotizing you. 

And when you come like this, it’s unification what happens. 

You’re bound to him and he’s bound to you. 

Daddy and little girl. 

Throughout your sexual experience today, you had a hard time accepting things but this—this is something that slept inside of you all your life and just now has been awoken to a flickering canvas of bright stars. You feel it blink, adjust to the piercing light, before it smiles dolefully—happy to be conscious, happy to be caressed.

Jungkook kisses you and takes his time. The taste of your femininity, the fresh coldness of your change, the strong wine of his desire. You’re drunk. You’re slurring your mewls. 

And one thing about unification, it’s a mirror. 

You swallow down the same mewls, uttered by his throat. 

“Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he whispers, adjusting between your legs. “Will be gentle. You’re safe with me.” 

He rakes the tip of his length along the entirety of your little sea-kissed seashell. 

“You want it? You want Daddy’s cock inside of you?” 

Jungkook looks into your eyes deeply as he asks you that question, the tip ready at your significantly smaller hole. He peppers kisses along your jawline and chin. 

“I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you murmur, brows furrowed. 

He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth. 

“We’ll chase the pain away,” he promises.

Your frown deepens. 

“But what if it doesn’t fit?” 

You expect him to chuckle, but he does no such thing. He absorbs your worry by kissing you tenderly. Then he glances at your body. Remembers he never took off your bra and fixes his mistake. 

“You may be small, but you were made to take me,” he says and your heart skips a beat; you wonder if he understands the gravity of his words as they take roots within you, rising to bloom into splendid flowers. “Besides, my dick is tiny. You won’t even feel it.” 

It is so far from the truth that you burst into giggles. He laughs along with you—a mirror reflected. 

Stars and flowers. Sea and freshness. You were made to take him. You trust him. 

He kisses your breasts, licking over your nipple—but briefly. Holding his shaft, he asks if you’re ready. You nod, your fingers desperately searching for his and Jungkook notices. Sinking slowly inside of you, he grabs his bunny plushie and tucks her into the crook of your elbow. 

There’s a pinch of pain, blended with the feeling of discomfort as your walls stretch around his head. 

Seeing it painted on your face, Jungkook draws close, enveloping you and bunny in his heat. Pushes a little more in. You wail softly, the pain intensifying. Fear intermingles with your features and Jungkook—the worry in his countenance makes you almost weep.

“Hold onto me,” he says, brows scrunched, so—so serious. “Relax, baby. I got you.”

You hook your arms around his neck, bunny sandwiched between your chest and his. Jungkook saves this time to let you adjust around him. 

“I know it hurts,” he whispers onto your mouth, index finger, the ringed one, stretching to graze your cheek. “Just relax your muscles for me. It’ll feel good soon.” 

You nod, trusting him. 

He pecks you. Smiles. 

“How many orgasms are we at?” 

You roll your eyes, your own smile threatening your lips. “Three.”

Jungkook hums. Pecks you again. You feel your walls loosening, little by little.

A smug smirk. “You didn’t expect that, did you?” 

“You obliterated my expectations.” 

“Just wait until I fuck you properly.” 

You blush, eyes twinkling. 

“Pretty girl.” He kisses you and you feel your attachment forming again, though this time—newly. As light, as free as an entanglement of seaweed upon seashore, you and him. Connected. Bound. No fear, not even a hint of it. “I heard you watch porn.” 

Your flush deepens. Jungkook sinks a little deeper. A faint pain—nothing bad. 

“Who told you?” You laugh, the sound ridding you of your shyness. 

But Jungkook grows solemn.

“Tell me what kind you watch,” he whispers, angling his head to give you a tiny kiss. 

Your cheeks hurt from the smiling, from the onrush of emotions within you, sloshing to and fro. You feel hot all over.

“The one where all the focus is on the girl,” you whisper back. “The guy uses all kinds of toys on her and she just takes it. Comes so many times and there’s a countdown for it.”

Humming, he begins to nibble on the skin beneath your jaw, making your breath shallow. He pushes in another inch—and the pain is worse. You tighten your grip around him.

“And how many times do you come when you watch it?” Deep, deep is his voice, the calmness to your nerves due to the pricking you feel. 

“I don’t stop coming.” 

Jungkook swears under his breath and clenches his digits into a fist beside your head.

“And you finger yourself?” 

You nod, confidently. Another inch. He smiles at your confirmation of his deduction.

“How many fingers?” 

You scoff. “Just one.” 

“Well done,” he praises, kissing you once, keeping his mouth on you even as he asks, “ready?” 

You nod, again, even though there’s fright to your eyes. He sees it and he brushes his eyelashes against your eyelids while he kisses you, taking it all away. And he doesn’t stop, even as he pulls out and thrusts back into your heat. Gently, so awfully gently. 

He didn’t break his promise. 

Jungkook rocks his hips in slow, sensual, prolonged staccatos, moaning into your parted mouth. You’re so focused on him—on the bulging of his muscles on the either side of your head, the broadness of his shoulders, the slick sweat dripping down his neck, right from the top of his tattoo; on the sheerness of his pleasure as he moves in and out, carefully so as to not frighten you, that the pain quickly subsides. 

And there you feel it. 

The sensation unlike any other. 

He rams into you, seeing the wrinkle between your brows smoothing, the lust clouding your eyes as the delight spreads all over your body, bringing along little dots of goosebumps. The night sea, windless, still hot from the afternoon’s goodbye kiss. You feel it—and you feel it deeply, sinking inside of you with every inch of his manhood. So much that you meet his thrusts. 

“That’s it, baby. Fuck yes,” Jungkook murmurs, enraging the waves within. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked?” 

Stars and its light. He picks up the pace, hooking your leg over his shoulder, entering you deeper and deeper, giving you more than half. The thrill of feeling so full—you curse, you moan, you can’t hold it in, even if you tried. And Jungkook coos at your conveyance of the pleasure he’s giving you, never lifting his eyes off of yours, off of your features, your emotions. Surveying you, controlling you, making sure you’re okay—more than okay.

You sense the pressure coil deep within your core, the sense of your climax approaching and you’re astonished at how quick it is. You halt your own movements, needing—wanting him to be the one to get you there, the one who owns your orgasms. 

“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock.” 

He fucks you harder, making you cry out. Deep, deep staccatos, so different from the slow, languid ones. You can’t catch your breath, the sea within you sloshes violently and then—

Softly, you sprinkle him with your fountain of pleasure. Not enough to drive him out, but sweetly enough to force him to groan against you and pound you harder into the mattress. Continuing as if you hadn’t come. 

You don’t have the time or the space to think about what just happened—he fucks each and every thought of you. 

“My little squirter,” Jungkook mutters, kissing you. “One more, baby. One more for me and I’ll paint you with my cummie. Hm, you want that?” You’re gone, flung out of this world into a tranquil island. The palm trees, the sea and his cock. Your emotions are numb, body limp. All you feel is his cock, ramming and ramming into you. “Or you wanna swallow it for me like a good girl?” 

“Swallow, please,” you croak out and Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Rewards you by giving you the full thing, filling you balls-deep. 

“You feel me?” He kisses you, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth. 

Glorious, glorious delight. You can’t breathe. Too much. 

“I feel you—” You lift your head to look down where you’re connected. “I—I feel you in my stomach.” 

Sitting back, he lifts your hips and palms the bulge just a little bit above your mound. Feels it move under him once he resumes fucking you. He replaces his hand with yours, keeping you distracted as he undoes the ribbon in your hair and ties your wrists with it. Right there above the bulge, where he fucks you. Then he latches onto your hips and jackhammers his cock into you, watching as your tits along with bunny bounce with each slam. 

“You look so pretty like this, tied up for me, taking all that I’m giving you,” he says, thumbing your clit, making you cry out. “Such a good fucking girl for me. I’m bringing you up so well.” 

“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.

“Yes, that’s right. Daddy is fucking you so good.” 

White flashes. Seafoam. The pressure in your tummy deepening and deepening. The roar of the night sea and your body following—you come all over him, painting him iridescent with your dewiness. His joggers, dragged halfway down his thighs, his boxers are all ruined—pelvis, thighs and cock glistening. It’s such a beautiful image to you that it suffuses you with energy and you begin to speak. 

“Please, come for me.” 

Surprised, Jungkook chuckles. “Don’t you have orgasms to count down?” 

The ever persistent need for control. You kiss him, slip your tongue into his mouth to shut him up and you struggle against your ribbon, for the feeling of kissing him without your hands makes you feel iffy.

“Five. I came five times for you just like you wanted,” you whisper. “You fucked me so good. I’ll never forget it.” 

And it’s the truth.

Jungkook pecks you once deeply, humming into the kiss. He pulls out of you and whilst he strokes his cock, his fingers tug down the ribbon around your wrists. You take your place on your knees, gazing with awe and hunger at his shiny length. And as if he needed it, he plunges his fingers into your mouth for more lubrication. Then, grabbing your jawline gently, he pulls you in towards his cock, letting your lips play with his tip the way you like it as he jerks himself off. You flick your tongue under the ridge of his head and his length twitches, stunning you. You do it again, more rapidly, and you don’t stop until Jungkook begins to tremble. Pulling him inside your mouth, then out, flicking faster and faster. Repeat. 

Jungkook grunts. 

“Yes, like that, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna come for you.” 

He announces it, but it still comes as a surprise when the first rope of hot cum spills onto your flushed cheek. You suck him harder for a moment before you stick out your tongue, eyes flick up, as he empties his balls for you, his hand never ceasing the swift tug on his length. 

And he just keeps coming. Rope after rope. Liquid star after star.

And you swallow it all. 

Spent, sweaty and breathless, he helps you swallow it. Dragging his fingers to the places your tongue can’t reach, he feeds you his cum and you suck on his digits. Your heart thuds in your ribcage, especially when he begins to play with your tongue, smiling down at you in that dopey way. 

He pats you on the cheek once you show him you’ve swallowed it all. 

“Good girl. Good little princess.” 

That you are. A changed person for all eternity.

“Is your tummy full?” 

You nod, beaming vehemently up at him, the aftertaste of the bitterness of his liquid stars still wafting through your senses.

The three forbidden words rise in your tongue, even though you don’t believe them—you think it’s just the opulence of new emotions and experience that forces those words on your tongue. But they remain adamant when he bathes you clean, when he brushes your hair and gives you his clothes to wear to bed. They provoke you right there on the tip of your tongue when he gives you his zipper hoodie to wear on his balcony once you tell him you need a smoke and he joins you, giving you his pack of cigarettes. 

And they come off the edge, in a different form, when you tell him of how he changed you while you hold his hand and he caresses your damp strands with a cigarette propped between his index and middle fingers, kissing your cheek. The smoke fixes a makeshift halo around both of your heads. One body, one halo. Bound.

“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”

What you don’t know is that those mere words changed the entire trajectory of his life. Yours, too.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two, part three

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 X Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Seven

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 Series (MDNI)

CW: Humping, nipple play, groping, brief female masturbation, oral sex (m receiving)

Taglist: @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum

Masterlist

Thick streaks of due simmered down the window panes, globs cascading and collecting at the wooden frame, moulding the inside before it eventually rots away.

The patter against the roof was gentle, calming, almost like a hushed lullaby that succumbed the house to a deep slumber, one that was needed. You found yourself stumbling back to the house a while after your time with Gaz, the Sergeant blabbering about what life was like for him before all of this happened, how rough it was being in the military and how sometimes he felt even the apocalypse was less depressing.

The kitchen smelt like beef stock and thickened gravy, raw deer meat filtering through the padded walls as you walked in on Price, gruff grin on his face as he ordered around Soap who ushered to his every move.

You observed them for a second, taking in how much respect and authority they upheld for the oldest man. He called, they answered. In a way, it was endearing to watch. Even out of the field, they still admired their well-earned ranks.

“You enjoy yourself, doll?” John quipped towards you, smug smile adorning his worn features, age mellowing him like fine wine. You rolled your eyes in a playful manner, shrugging off the suggestive tone. It was still new to you, and in a way you don’t think you would ever get used to it. Any of it.

“What are you making?”

John loved the way you spoke, your voice a mellow honey, seeping through the grit of your teeth and rolling off the fat of your tongue, lips drenched with your saliva, the top of your mouth coiling upwards slightly when you were amused but attempted to hide it.

You held a certain glow to you, a deafening feeling that ached away at them all even during the shortage of knowing you. Almost captivating, you were a simplicity in a world full of horrors and maybe that’s why they grew so fond of you so fast.

“Had a spare bag of rice tuck’d away in Simon’s bag, brute onl’ just went through it. Dirty bastard, that one,” Soap joked, voice cracking with the disguise of his accent that blurred any coherence of certain words, “It’s rice and deer t’night, hen. That good t’ you?”

You smiled, nodding, “Do you need help?”

“I woul’ never deny a fine lady’s help,” the man winked, ushering you over as John rolled his eyes at the flirtatious Sergeant. Gaz scurried away upstairs, Price following, you presumed to change clothes, but truth be told, you wondered what they did when you weren’t around.

Did they talk to each other? Touch each other? Hold each other? Did they fuck one another like they’ve done you?

You shook your head, eyes rolling down to the chopping board in-front of you as you followed Soap’s command, enjoying his wit. After a while, you figured you relatively enjoyed his company, despite the occasional pushiness, he was really a sweet guy and incredibly smart. He offered you a sense of comfort and warmth, similar to Gaz, their eyes both holding an endearing light.

Once prepared, you watched Soap work with ease, stepping back to give him space. He didn’t acknowledge it but you could tell he appreciated it, enjoying that you trusted him enough to take control in a space you only called your own.

You faced away from him, hands buried in soapy cold water that would barely do enough to wash away any lingering bacteria. The spit of bubbles penetrated your skin, soft tingles simmering against the delicate hair that lightly littered your arms.

Soap watched you, taking in the curvature of your thighs and ass, the way the material hugged you, moulding to every crevice of you. Gentle fingers settled amongst your hips, pulling you flush against a harder surface, the clear indent of a boner flushed against your behind as you almost gasped, body jolting at the sensation.

Lips pressed against the heat of your neck, burying themselves in the crevice. Your skin erupted at the sensations, hot magma rising through your veins as plush thighs rubbed together, the friction of the fabric most likely causing chafing for you to deal with later.

“Soap, what are you doing?” You whispered out, the feeling of his hands raising to the mound of your chest, groping the flesh as sensitives nuns pressed themselves against the cotton of your t-shirt.

“Just want’d a taste before dinn’r. That ok’ sweet’art?”

You whined as calloused hands slipped under your shirt, settling at your chest. His hands were warmer than you expected, almost adding to the flames that erupted against your flesh, heating you.

Twitchy digits found your nipples, tugging at them with both patience and fervour; almost testing the waters. You backed up into him, rubbing against the growing bulge that buried itself between your ass, a thankful growl passing his lips before you felt him lick a stripe behind your ear, hot breath fluttering against your lobe.

Both of you worked against each other, hips clashing as you humped one another, working yourselves off through icky fabric, desperate and starved for any form of touch. Your hand gripped around his arms, veins running underneath the palm of your hands as his own kneaded your flesh, toying with your breasts and tender skin.

Your pussy clamped around nothing, almost aching for more as he rutted against it, the simple tease of fabric gently guiding along your clit occasionally, panty breaths leaving your lips as you hummed at the sensation.

The sound of stairs creaking tore you away as you shuffled to the side, quickly running your arms together as you smoothed out your top, the lingering sensation of Soap’s touch still prevalent against your skin.

You looked up to the imposing figure now standing before the kitchen, Simon’s face still covered by a thick piece of black fabric, the hem of his brown eyes peeking through, framed by long blonde lashes.

“Food nearly ready?” His voice was gruff, almost threatening, yet being in his presence didn’t scare you. He was intimidating, a burly figure that could easily harm you if needed, but there was a simple gentleness that followed him. You had heard him crack a few jokes, shitty jokes, but jokes nonetheless.

“Ay’ don’t be impatient, LT, it’ll be ready in a moment.”

Dinner was nice. It was simple. All of you nursed a final pour of whiskey, the brown liqueur broiling at your chest before settling in the depth of your stomach.

Everyone had offered to clean, letting you head up early which you gratefully thanked them for (even though it was the least they could do).

It was quiet upstairs, your head chiming as you got ready for bed, shedding your clothes off before slipping over an old shirt, legs bare as they tangled between the sheets. Fingers laced your sensitive skin, dipping into your folds to collect your slick before sliding a repetitive motion against your clit.

You were pent up from earlier, chasing the needed high that you weren’t able to get from Soap. Would he visit you? Fulfil the words he said to you? Remove the clothed barrier between the two of you?

Almost like your mind was read, there was a soft hum of a knock at the door as you pulled the blankets over you before gesturing them in. Soap’s eager eyes welcomed you, head lopping to the side slightly as he gave you a clumsy smile.

You weren’t sure if it was confidence or the barely-consumed amount of alcohol that surged through you as you stood up and waltzed over to the Scotsman. Quick hands pushed the door closed before you were on your knees, the wood below you offering you no support as you fidgeted with the zipper of Soap’s pants.

“Lass, you don’t-“

“I want too.”

He swallowed, visibly, Adam’s apple bobbing with excitement as he rested a hand against the side of your hand, rubbing against it delicately. Sea blue briefs were stained a dark hinge due to the large wet patch that grew, tip flushed against it as an eager mouth lapped at it through the material.

Johnny hissed, throbbing at the sensation before he thrusted slightly, meeting your tongue that was soaking through his boxers. “Don’t tease m’, love. I’m a desperate man.”

You looked up at him and grinned, palming him, before pulling them down, angry cock springing out before slapping against the base of his stomach, tip leaking with pre-cum that you were eager to taste.

Steady hands found the base, squeezing it before bringing the threatening length towards you. You spat, a glob of saliva dripping down towards his cock before you worked it in with a pace, the member now glistening as you kitten licked the tip, tasting him for yourself as you hummed.

Soap’s hands found your hair, holding it into a pony as your lips worked around his length, slowly burying him in the warmth of your mouth before you hollowed out your cheeks, earning a grunt from the man.

“That’s it, love, good girl.”

His words fuelled you, feeding you just right as you worked him further into your mouth, a gag soon following as evident saliva pooled at your mouth, escaping your lips through a crack as you swallowed around the intimidating length.

Soap was a string of expletives as you sucked him off, your tongue running along the shaft of his cock, tracing every vein as the remainder of him was worked off by a hand, another buried at his balls that were covered by light curls of dark hair.

His hips moved with every thrust you made, working himself deeper into your throat as you gagged and hummed, tears welling your eyes as he held onto your hair with a tight grip. You looked up at him, eyes wide with lust as he smiled back, a cocky glaze over his face.

Johnny’s hands pulled you back, your mouth pulling off of him with a pop as you raised a brow in confusion, almost offended.

“Would be a waste if I came in your mout’ before feeling your pussy, wouldn’t it, sweetness?”

[cleoluvrr]

black magnolias II - rafe cameron x reader

i gave you all my light, and i got nothing to show for it

WARNINGS: mature content; domestic violence, coercion, classism, religious trauma, manipulative behavior, stalking, toxic relationship, blackmail

masterlist

series masterlist

you’d met rafe before you met anyone else. 

your mom grew up with his father and the two of them were good friends during childhood. she’d told you the stories of their life in the cut, how she looked out for him, and he did the same for her. how she believed in him when nobody else did, taking days off school to work extra shifts just so he could have the money to get everything he needed before he went off to college. 

you were sure that they were much more than friends, but you never questioned her about it too deeply. it was none of you business; both of them were married to other people, anyways. they’d kept in touch over the years and rekindled their friendship when he moved back to kildare.

as you got older, you wondered if he felt guilty for leaving your mom behind. if all the things he did for you and your family was some way to make himself feel better. he paid for your grade school tuition and covered whatever your scholarship didn’t in high school. he got your mom a job working for cameron development–it paid way more than what she made at her old one. you remember going to holiday parties a couple times a year at tannyhill when you were younger; running around with other kids and playing by the water while your mother scolded you not to get too close.

you wondered if your mother fell deeper into religion after his passing, but once again, you never questioned it.

that was when rafe found you. before he became the monster that everyone knows him as, he was just a regular boy. he was sweet and funny. he never looked down his nose at you for being from the cut. corruption and heartbreak had not yet found him, and that was the rafe you knew. the one you loved. the lines of friendship and intimacy had blurred at some point in your time knowing him.

maybe it was his mom leaving that broke him, or his dad taking his grief and anger out on him that changed everything. maybe it was the popularity, the drugs, or understanding the power of money as he grew older. you weren’t sure when things went so wrong.

that was when kiara became your life vest. she was the only one that didn’t judge you for being a pogue. rafe didn’t, but he was turning into something you didn’t like anymore. someone you didn’t recognize.

it was also when you met jj. he was like rafe in a lot of ways; blonde, short-tempered, and impulsive. daddy issues and no mom, lost in the world and using drugs to escape the pain of their reality. another pair of sad, blue eyes that sucked you into their depths. another line blurred.

when you turned to face rafe you nearly gasped, teeth biting down on the soft flesh of your tongue to keep the sound from escaping. his icy blue eyes bore into your wide, nervous ones. the two orbs traveled down the entirety of your body in a way that gave you goosebumps everywhere they landed. 

he looked just as you remembered; tall, handsome, and fear-inducing. your heart was beating against your ribcage violently as you fought to stay still, feet planted firmly into the soft sand beneath you. the man made your skin prickle from being too close but you refused to move.

“oh, rafe, you’re still alive.” you voice barely quivered, unnoticeable to everyone except him. you hated the way he could feel the nerves radiating off of you in waves. it was the one thing he was the best at; reading you. “that’s…gotta be good for somebody, i guess.”

“don’t be like that,” his teeth were the same bright white that they always were, perfect and blinding as they bared down in a sinister smile. while rafe’s tone was light and teasing on the surface, you could clearly sense something beneath it that had you swallowing thickly. “you know you missed me.”

you didn’t dignify that statement with a response.

 looking past him at the brunette girl watching from a distance, you studied her closely. your brow twitched upward reflexively, eyes catching hers as the two of you stared each other down. she didn’t look familiar to you at all, but it was clear that she knew who rafe was if her glaring was any indication. 

she was pretty; her tanned skin glowing under the burning sun and shoulder length waves blowing in the slight breeze. 

the girl looked nothing like you.

“doesn’t seem like you missed me.” you hummed in response.

rafe turned his head, eyes following yours to find the dark-haired girl on the other end of your gaze. 

she tore away from the staredown to meet the steely-blue of the man before you and smiled, her teeth just as perfect as the person she was showing them off to. rafe barely reacted to her display, simply gifting her a slight nod of acknowledgment before turning back to you. 

“nah, she’s just…”he shook his head in denial, tongue escaping his mouth to wet his chapped lips. “we’re just friends. nothing serious.”

you shrugged at him nonchalantly, the sound of your friends clearing their throats behind you serving as a reminder of how uncomfortable they must be with him so close after everything that’s happened. you felt sarah grab your hand, her fingers knitting with yours.

“i don’t care if you’re friends, more than friends–whatever you wanna call it.” your tone was dismissive and slightly cold, a nautical edge to your voice as you bit the words out. “we aren’t together anymore. you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

as much as you wish the words that left your mouth were true; they weren’t.

you missed him. as messed up as it was, you missed rafe in ways that you knew you shouldn’t. ways that would get you shunned by your friends if you were to ever confess to them. the man had done the worst things imaginable to all of the pogues, including you. it made no sense to be jealous of some girl that he may, or may not, be dating now, especially given how the two of you ended things.

yet, you could feel your stomach turning at the thought of it.

of course you hated him for what he did to your friends, to you. he showed you what kind of person he was hiding beneath the surface of what he put on display to you. but you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t still think about him late at night; about what could have been had things not gone south the way they did. you standing in front of him and all your friends, telling him that you don’t care who he talks to anymore, was a lie.

but you still do it. you still do it because, what other choice did you have?

“yeah, right. i’m not,” he nodded in agreement with you about not needing to defend his actions. “jus’ didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

“right…” you replied monotonously.

kiara cleared her throat behind you, subtly letting you know that the interaction had been going on for far too long. you don’t stop her and sarah from pulling you away from rafe without any goodbye, the conversation ending as abruptly as it started.

“nice seeing you, y/n.” rafe’s voice was loud enough to be heard over the buzz of the surrounding crowd. he didn’t need to raise his volume, but he did nothing without reason. he knew who was there at the beach and he wanted them to hear, wanted them to know exactly who he was talking to.

the buzzed-blonde was met with silence once again. his gaze was both scorching and chilling, the feeling of his watchful eyes on your back as you retreated to find the rest of your friends. you were sweating, both from your anxiety and the bright sun beating down onto the sand.

cleo was kneeling into the soft ground fiddling with jj’s bike with pope and john b not too far away. you didn’t notice jj had been watching the whole time until your eyes met, his brows furrowed and a look of interrogation behind the pale blue. white knuckles gripped the rim of his helmet–he was angry.

you’d started picking at your nails nervously, already knowing the conversation that was in store.

“what was that?” the shaggy-haired boy immediately confronted you as soon as you were within earshot. you shrugged, avoiding eye contact. jj scoffed at your refusal to answer verbally and set the helmet down on the seat of the old bike. “don’t give me that shit, y/n. what was that?”

the other pogues watched you two closely, the tension thick and salty in the air.

“it was nothing, jj, chill out.” you said defensively.

“it didn’t look like ‘nothing’ to me.”

“okay, well,” you scoffed at the boy and finally raised your head to meet his scrutinizing gaze. “that's what it was. so…”

he didn’t seem to appreciate that answer. jj laughed humorously, the dry sound escaping his mouth in a bark of irritation. sensing another verbal brawl on the rise, pope was close behind his friend, body tense as he prepared to pull the boy away before things got out of hand.

“jj, it’s not that serious.” pope said gently into his ear in an effort to calm him down. “just let it go.”

“she’s talking to rafe cameron! that sounds pretty fucking serious to me.”

the brown-skinned boy stumbled back stlight as jj shoved him off his shoulder. cleo stood from her position on the ground at the commotion and kiara tensed beside you.

“jj, back off.” kiara spoke up. underneath the softness of her voice was a warning. you weren’t sure for what, but it was something that made the blond shake his head, clearly frustrated and displeased by the lack of anyone on his side.

not wanting to participate in another standoff with your friend, you let your legs carry you off somewhere safe from the fuming teen. familiar voices reprimanded him for his outburst but became more muffled the farther away you got, lost in the sound of all the commotion of the race.

jj hated rafe cameron. all of the pogues hated the kook prince, it was a given considering all that he had done, but jj despised him. 

before the gold changed everything about your lives, before sarah and cleo, jj had harbored a deep hatred of the eldest cameron child. not because he was entitled and classist; most kooks were like that, it came with the territory. no–it was because he was jealous. 

jj was jealous because no matter what rafe did, no matter how many times he sent you to his doorstep teary-eyed and stuttering, or feverish with a core-deep anger, you wouldn’t leave him. he thought rafe was not good for you, and maybe he was right, but you didn’t care then. you truly believed the boy would come to his senses some day, and you didn’t care how long you had to wait.

you never meant to string jj along, but deep in the back of your mind you knew you were.

it broke him to know that he would always come second as long as rafe was around. eventually he moved on to someone he could love without heartache, and that someone happened to be your best friend. his feelings for you never went away, and everyone knew it, even if they all pretended not to. including you. the guilt consumes you less that way.

the longing stares and lingering touches. the hesitant, curious kisses shared in the chateau’s backyard while everyone else was fast asleep. cleaning him up after bad scuff-ups with luke and letting him stay over at your house. the soft moonlight casting over you as you embraced each other beneath your covers, nimble fingers reaching up to wipe the silent tears that fell from his eyes. all distant memories that you both tried to forget about completely to keep the integrity of your; to salvage whatever remained.

but in that moment of jj confronting you, everyone saw what was beneath all the smoke and mirrors. rafe was stirring up trouble on purpose–he always did.

so it was no surprise that when the racers came back around for their final lap, with jj in the lead and rafe close on his tail, something had to happen to ruin the peace. 

“c’mon jayj!” kiara shouted at the boy speeding down the sand trail. “you got it, baby!”

“let’s go jj…” you whispered to yourself, far too sick to let the words leave your mouth fully. your were gnawing on your manicured fingernails, noting in your mind that they would need to be redone before the weekend ended and you had to be back at work. 

what the hell is rafe doing?

the older one was dangerously close to your friend. the wheels of his bike were nipping at jj’s as he made an effort to overtake his lead. john b wasn’t too far behind, but topper was on him too, the two boys fighting to get the best of each other amongst the rest of the group.

a wave of shock washed over the crowd as rafe rammed into jj, the pair of blonds flying out of their seats and landing harshly in the sand. a hand flew to your mouth to muffle your gasp. there was barely time to react before the large group of bikes not too far behind came full speed towards the finish line, engines roaring just as loud as the throng of people around you. you barely noticed topper crossing the finish line, too busy rushing out to check on the boy writhing in pain.

before you could reach them, jj shoved john b off of him in anger.

your brows furrowed together in concern, the sight of the scuffle both worrying and sending confusion through you. jj made eye contact with you from the distance and threw his helmet down before stalking off, everyone staring after him with a puzzled and disappointed expression.

“get used to it!” your head whipped around to see rafe pushing off the ground, his black racing suit covered in sand. he was clearly in pain, a hand cradling his neck and a slight limp in his stride as he approached the cheering crowd.

“what’d you say?” john b heard him as well, furious eyes searching for rafe’s figure momentarily. he stomped up to him and shoved the taller roughly as he spoke. “hey, what’d you say? huh?”

“john b!” you called out to him as you briskly walked towards the commotion. “john b, no! just leave it alone.”

rafe shoved him in return, the brunette stumbling backwards from the attack. sarah got in between them before it got any further, the blonde pushing the two boys out of the way as she scolded her brother.

“you could have killed each other!” she yelled, teeth bared and face red with rage.

rafe’s face was mostly stoic, eyes rolling just barely at his sister’s words.

“yeah, like you give a shit.”

sarah almost looked offended, but she didn’t respond immediately.

“you gonna kill me, like you killed dad?”

“rafe!” you finally spoke up in defense of your friend, mouth dropping open in disbelief at the words that fell from his lips. “what the fuck is your problem?”

you followed behind him when he kept walking, strides long to keep up with his own. the brunette girl he claimed to be “just friends” with was waiting for him a short distance away and you watched as his arms wrapped around her, celebrating as if he’d won the race. 

your jaw clenched as envy clawed its way up your spine.

“why do you have to do that?” your eyes were hard as you stared him down from your spot on the beach. disgust was etched into your face, hackles raising as the girl leaned into his side with a content look on her. “you haven’t won enough? like…wh-what do you even get out of doing shit like that, rafe? you both could’ve gotten seriously hurt, and for what! winning? again?”

kiara was right behind you the moment she recognized the sound of your yelling piercing her ears, the girl taking no time to back you up. her scent filled your nose as she stood inches away, the smell bringing you some calm as your skin burned hot.

“no,” rafe wore a smug look, lips quirked up in a smirk that only fueled the fire inside you. “no, no. i don’t care about winning; i always win.”

rafe let go of the brunette hanging off him, nose flaring as he took in a deep breath of the fresh ocean air. his eyes were locked on yours, the color reflecting the water crashing against the sand behind you.

kiara backed away, the warmth of her body leaving yours as she took three steps in the other direction. she refused to let him get too close to her, the fear she felt after what he did to her understandable. you didn’t move, though. you stood your ground and let him stand before you. the distance between your bodies was so small you could smell the mint on his breath from his chewing gum and the familiar scent of his cologne flooded your senses.

“i always win, and your pogues always lose.” his voice reverberated deep inside as he smiled down at you, the expression sickeningly sweet.

you swallowed thickly, body tingling from his closeness. god, how you wish he couldn’t make you feel like this anymore.

his breath was hot against your ear as he leaned in further, voice low so that only you could hear.

“you picked the wrong boyfriend, baby…” faux pity coated his words. his lips brushed against the skin of your ear, and you took in a shaky breath, anger quickly dissipated as your body froze in place “could always come back, y’now, when you’re done losing with ‘em.”

rafe pulled back and you looked up at him, eyes glossy and lips slightly agape as you tried to steady your breathing without anyone noticing.

he always did.

“good seeing you, kie.” he never took his eyes off you as he backed away, retreating to the fling waiting for him to return to her grasp. “and i’m serious, y/n.”

[charmercharm3r]

steady streams

BC

Masterlist

8/8 of The Sleepwear Series

wc: 4k

Synopsis: Sometimes, the dead of night is the only time you get him all for yourself.

warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, fluffy bf!chan, genderneutral!reader, unprotected sex, handjob, oral, light choking, talk of pleasuredom!chan hehehehe, reader crying during sex but nothing bad!! they just luuuuvvvvv each other so much..pretty tame

Chan is a man already spread way too thin, mind in a million places, phone always just in reach, shoulder so weighed down by his duties that sometimes he feels like a fucking zombie. And he admits, sometimes he thinks he actually is. But hey, it puts food on the table and keeps a decent amount of change in his pocket.

That’s why you always made sure he left all of that outside the door when he came home. Chan was grateful you didn’t ever let him sulk for too long, or let him leave early in the morning on an empty stomach– those meal preps in the fridge are life savers for his incredibly long days.

It was another one of those days, drainingly long and so, so far away from you. Another thing that weighed on him, he felt like the world’s worst boyfriend for spending so much time at work and only being able to see you so late into the night when he came home. In all honesty, it did suck, of course it did. But you understood him and his workaholic lifestyle, and dating him turned you into a night owl as well.

Judging by his lack of enthusiasm in his texts, he just wanted to get home. So you opted to pick him up in the wee hours of the morning instead of him taking a taxi, sending him a quick notice and a few comforting hearts.

Chan was waiting outside the building by the time you’d gotten there and let out the loudest sigh as soon as he sat in the passenger seat. You were thankful for the lack of traffic on the corner of the street because he threw his bag in the backseat and leaned over the center console to take you into an exhausted embrace. He still smelled so good, musky but somehow the vanilla lingered on his clothes and skin, you couldn’t help taking in a deep breath of the scent as you hugged him back. “You okay, hon?” You cooed, voice muffled by how tightly he held you. Only receiving a groan in response, you laughed lightly and kissed the part of his body you could without breaking away.

He held on for a bit longer until he’d had his fix, pulling away but keeping content with his hand in yours. The drive home was pleasantly quiet, your late night playlist softly playing in the background while Chan kept his eyes closed and head rested back, occasionally rubbing his thumb into your hand to tell you he was still awake because of course he was.

Getting back home as you unlocked the door, he let his forehead fall against your shoulder from behind for a moment. You say nothing, leading him in and tossing all your belongings down before Chan could follow suit.

“What do you need from me tonight, baby?” The gentle nature of your voice was already calming as it was, but your open arms were even more inviting. As if the hug in the car wasn’t enough, Chan leaned his head into your neck and encased you in his arms, intent on not letting go. He didn’t need to explicitly tell you that he needed the physical affection, he always wanted it, but it never hurt to ask.

“Need to shower,” he murmured back as his arms slithered tighter around your torso and crushed your bellies against each other.

“Eat something small and I’ll get it started.” Hands in his hair, you knew he wasn��t going to let you go easily now that your nails raked against his scalp.

“‘M not hungry. Stay with me,” Chan’s voice was low while pulling far enough just so he could peck your cheek and trail his lips to yours for a chaste, longing kiss. He moaned against you, practically melting in your arms.

You barely nodded before he was blindly leading you towards your ensuite bathroom, the same route you’d make a million times a day that either of you could do in your sleep if you’d gotten any. Clothes were strewn about the pathway through the bedroom door, past the perfectly made bed, and into where the steamy oasis awaited. Granted, it took a minute to get it the right temperature, but Chan just couldn’t stand the wait. He dragged you into the shower before it was hot enough and bore the burden of standing in the lukewarm stream just so he could have an excuse to hold you skin to skin.

There couldn’t have been less space between your bodies but it still didn’t feel like enough for him. All he wanted was in his arms, lightly scratching up and down his bare back as the water finally reached the perfect temperature.

“Would you like to tell me about your day?”

“After you tell me about yours. Wanna listen to you talk.” His admittance made you smile and kiss his neck.

“Well, then let me help you clean up and I’ll tell you about all the drama at work.” Chan nodded and leaned back, keeping his hands on your hips at all times. His eyes closed as the warm water began to soak his hair and drip down his face. The image of him was enough to stop you in your tracks and admire his pretty features. Delicate and somehow prominently defined bone structure, pink plump lips with a lovely cupid’s bow, your eyes raked down his thick neck to the built traps of his wide shoulders and broad chest and you wondered how on earth you came to call this beautiful human yours. His looks alone were enough to cast a spell over you, make you want to do anything you could to take care of him, in this very moment you were entranced.

With him still holding on to you, you reached for the shampoo bottle and poured a bit in your hands, lathering it up before massaging the bubbles into his hair. Chan’s lips parted a little at the action followed by a slight groan. “My boss is still an asshole, but today was okay for me, he was pretty occupied. Remember that girl I was telling you about? The assistant? Well, I saw her sneak into my boss’s office during his lunch break.”

Chan peaked one eye open, “what? Really?”

“Mhm,” you nodded your head, “you’ll never believe what happened.” Once your fingers started to get rubbed raw, you figured it was time to rinse. “Head back,” he followed your instructions and let the water clean the shampoo away. “My boss came back after lunch, but his wife was with him!”

Both of Chan’s eyes shot open and he gasped, “no way! Was the assistant still in his office?”

“Yes! And the door was closed! I saw the whole thing as it was happening. Head up.” Conditioner next, then body soap on a scrub glove. You took your time rubbing the exfoliating glove over the expanse of his skin, enjoying getting to clearly see all of his little features up close, particularly his chest and arms. Chan smirked a little as he watched you ogle him.

“What happened next?” He prodded.

“I couldn’t see what the assistant was doing inside his office, but I heard her say that she was just leaving his week’s itinerary and organizing some files and she ran out. The wife was totally clueless.”

Straightening out his arm, you held it up as the soap coated his skin, smelling like a soft lavender. “Damn, I really thought the wife would finally realize her husband was cheating on her.” Chan mindlessly used the suds to clean his lower half as well.

“You and me both, babe. Turn around.”

His back was like a dream to look at, let alone get to see all soapy and wet. You squeezed the glove across his shoulder and let the suds drip down for your own amusement. The little giggle that left you had Chan peaking over his shoulder, “enjoying yourself?”

“Mhm. A lot,” you kiss his lips as he chuckles before continuing your task. “Wanna tell me what made your day suck so bad?”

Chan’s head fell forward with a long sigh, he rinsed the conditioner from his hair. “It’s not even anything terrible. It’s just… the regular stuff that is getting so exhausting.” 

Taking the shower head off the hook, you rinsed his body and hung the scrub glove, handing it to him to put back so you could wrap your arms around his waist. Chan’s head hung in the hot water while you pressed your ear to his back and listened to his heartbeat. The soft rhythm was almost mind numbing somehow, not realizing you were feeling him up and down until he cupped his hands over yours to stop before they got too low. “How can I help you?” You could only whisper, wishing there was a way to make all of his responsibilities evaporate like the steam on the bathroom walls.

“Just hold me.”

It was another few quiet moments with him like this until you started to get antsy. Your boyfriend was right in front of you, yet it still felt like his mind was so far away. You knew it was, a bad habit of his that not a lot seemed to break as he thought of all the things he still needed to do. And you missed him, so much that you couldn’t bear to tell him because it’d be one more thing on his plate.

Instead of voicing your concern for his overly bombarded thoughts, you figured it’d be more beneficial to put a pause on his brain all together.

So slow that he didn’t seem to register, you tiptoed your hand south and splayed your palm over his pelvis. It wasn’t until you took hold of his semi-hard cock did Chan realize what you were doing. His head shot up and tried to look back at you, but you lightly wrapped your hand around his neck and said, “relax, baby. No more thinking tonight.” You felt him swallow, then nod.

Not even thirty seconds later and he was at full mass, entirely at your mercy as the water acted as lubricant for lazily pumping him. Knowing just where to touch, just how to nibble lightly at his skin, just enough pressure around his neck to make his head fall back, Chan bucked into your palm and already felt so grounded beneath your touch. The warmth of the water was making him overheat even more now that his high was rising quicker than he’d expected. Your fingertips ran over the head of his cock before wrapping your hand into a tighter ring and speeding up your movements, Chan shuddered and let his head rest back against the side of yours. While you worked him up further, he placed a grip over the hand on his neck and squeezed tighter while his other reached back to grab your ass and pull you flush against his back side. Every time he rutted into the ring of your palm, your hips moved with his, fluid and in sync with every motion until he bit his lip to hold back the strained moans that wanted to erupt. “Let go, sweetheart. You deserve it. I won’t let you go,” the loving coo of your voice was what tipped him over the edge and release onto the tiled shower walls with a deep groan. You squeezed his neck just a little tighter while his nails dug into the fatty flesh of your ass, hips twitching until his shoulders slumped forward with relief.

“Fuck, I needed that. Thank you,” Chan rolled his head to kiss your temple. As he turned to take you into a hug again, you quickly took the shower head and cleaned the wall off and washed his seed down the drain.

“I know.” You hugged him back, but still felt his erection hard against your stomach.

His breathing returned back to normal soon. “Did you shower earlier?” He asked, you nodded, “good.”

Before you could question him further, Chan was guiding you out of the shower and letting the steam flood the bathroom even more. He dried you down before drying himself, taking in your lips as you attempted to wrap your hair in another towel to catch you off guard with your arms up and body exposed.

The kiss was hungrier than any of the past few shared since picking him up, so much needier and desperate that he unexpectedly picked you up and dropped you onto the bed in a matter of seconds. You squealed when your bare back hit the mattress and Chan fell to his knees in front of you. Doing your best not to get the sheets wet with your soaked hair, you looked down at him wonderfully confused, “what’re you doing?”

His lips were peppering kisses up and down your legs, coming to your thighs and he looked up at you through his long lashes. “You’re so sweet to me,” Chan said into your skin. “Packing me meals. Picking me up so late at night. Getting in the shower with me even if you’re already clean just because I asked. Always treating me so good and that was just today. You didn’t think I’d let you leave without a reward, did you?” Each sentence was accompanied by more kisses and slight teething to leave soft red marks.

Throwing your legs over his shoulders, he made his way higher and hooked his arms under your thighs. “I wasn’t going to ask for anything in return,” you admit, unabashedly indulging in how pretty his hair was when it was wet and curly, you couldn’t stop from twirling it between your fingers as his kisses came to the junction where your thigh met your pelvis.

“You don’t have to ask, baby. I wanna give it to you. Y’always deserve something just as sweet as you are. Let me? Please, please let me?” He was begging as his warm breath fanned over your center, sending shivers up your spine and raising goosebumps along your limbs.

Just a nod and a whine, he was overly enthusiastic in the way he began to devour you. Slurping noises filled the room from the very start, Chan clutched your thighs tightly to keep you from squirming and against his mouth at all times. His big tongue covered so much area, made you feel tingly all over especially when he peered up at you from between your legs, an obvious smirk as the same tongue wriggled to tease you for making such pretty nosies for him. Maybe a little too lost in it, Chan sat up onto his knees, hunched over and took your lower body up with him to fold you in half as he continued to stimulate what felt like every nerve in your body. He was looking down at you now and slightly menacing but in a way that was painfully arousing, he knew what he was doing when he began to hum. Hands in his hair, you were rutting into his face as if he was only there for your pleasure, and he loved it. So much so that even after you came into his mouth and he swallowed every bit, after you finally let him go and he placed you back onto the bed, Chan begged to let him do it again.

“Baby, I don’t think I can. Too tired and sensitive,” you breathed heavily as he crawled over your body.

“I know I can make you cum one more time at least. If not with my mouth, then…” His voice trailed off, lowering to place supple kisses across your chest and up your neck. “Let me fuck you, nice and slow just how you like. Wanna keep making you feel good, the way you make me feel. Wanna feel you around me, pulling me in so deep that you feel me in your belly,” he emphasized his sultry words by tracing his fingers across your lower stomach, making you shudder again. “Let me fuck you so soft until you cum around me, make you feel how much I love you and appreciate everything you do for me.” Your stomach twisted at his lewd, heartwarming promise, there was no denying him when he asked so kindly.

Tugging his head down for more kisses, Chan hiked your legs around his hips and immediately aligned himself with your core. The initial push in was a burning, blissful stretch to accommodate his swollen size, the both of you a sensitive mess from already coming once each and loudly groaning into the bedroom air.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck– you feel so good, so warm,” he mumbled against your lips, unable to shut himself up. Not that you minded, you adored when he told you how you made him feel, and he loved the reaction you gave him.

“See that, sweetheart?” He bucked his hips impossibly deeper, seeing the bulge in your lower belly protruding slightly. “What’d I tell ya? Isn’t that just the prettiest sight? Aside from you, of course,” Chan chuckled as he slowly fucked in and out of you, pressing his forehead against yours to watch as his tip prodded lightly upwards from your stomach.

His fascination for seeing himself within you was maddening, when he said he’d fuck you slow, you didn’t think it’d be this slow, to the point of almost stagnant. Whining and clawing at his biceps, you tried to buck yourself back and forth just for the friction and he laughed. He actually laughed watching you struggle to get yourself off after protesting it not even ten minutes ago. “Oh, you’re just so cute! Trying so hard. Is it working? Think you can do it yourself?”

“Baby, please– you said you’d–”

“I know, I know, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I could never say no to your pretty face.”

Chan adjusted his stance so his thighs brushed against your bruised ass and settled on his forearms on either side of your head. Cheek to cheek, you held onto him from under his arms, one hand hooking under his shoulder and the other reaching as far down as you could to dig your nails into his ass the same as he did earlier. The slight pain of your nails was encouraging, pulling out and pushing into you again at a languid pace. The sound of wetness filled the room from both the sloppy kisses he was leaving anywhere he could and from where your bodies connected.

He was alway vocal in bed especially when he was feeling the way he did now, at rock bottom but somehow on top of the world because he had you beside him, conflicted inside thinking he doesn’t deserve the love and support you provide but can’t seem to fend off the selfishness to push you away. You were better that sleep, better than three hot meals a day, better than any drug that could run through his veins because drugs eventually wear off, but there was no way he was ever going to get you out of his system.

So yeah, if the opportunity to tell you how much he adored you ever came around, he was going to take it. Such as now, for instance, fucking into you with nothing but love and passion while also letting out all of his day’s frustrations through his words.

“My beautiful baby, you fit me like a glove. Oh, you sound so pretty when you say my name. Say it again please? Hngh– there we go– ah, fuck– do that again. God, this hole is perfect, so perfect for me. Don’t ever wanna pull out. Wanna fuck you all day and night, make you cum over and over again until you can’t remember what day it is. How does that sound, love? Would you let me? Just say so and I’ll do it.”

If dirty talk was an olympic sport, he’d take the gold year after year because the flame in your gut was burning brighter and brighter with every thrust– or was that just his cock?

Didn’t matter, it could’ve been minutes or hours that he spoke to you like this, kept you teetering on the edge with just the right pace and depth to have your toes curling. It was so good that you wanted to cry, not just from the pleasure but because of how much you loved him, and there was no way to express that love without actually making the two of you break into tears.

But you couldn’t hold back the few that escaped down your cheek, though it was the sniffle that caught his attention to sit up and look at you with deep concern. “Baby? What is it?” He pulled out immediately, making you whimper and claw at his back for him to return. Chan was confused, but did as you asked and slowly pushed back into you, making your eyes screw shut and dig back into the mattress. “Talk to me, why are you crying?” 

As he swiped the tear away with his thumb, you held his hand and nuzzled your cheek into his palm. “Love you so much,” it came out as less than a whisper and if Chan wasn’t looking at you, he wouldn’t have understood.

His eyes softened more than they already were, he almost felt the need to let a few tears shed as well but held up the strong fort for your sake. If he had cried too, that would’ve been the end of your little steamy session, and Chan knew better than to take the promise of pleasure away from you. So he squished your cheeks with both hands and planted kiss after kiss against your puffy lips, not letting you breathe as he did so.

“Love you so much more, you’ll never understand.”

Pressing his forehead against yours, not letting his eyes stray from your glistening ones, he continued to fuck into you until your body began to feel like it was floating and you were locking him between your legs in a vice grip, finally closing your eyes as the high stole your vision with a white blur. Chan’s head fell to the side of yours, still holding on when the pulsing of your walls finally let him give in to the euphoria he’d been trying so hard to keep at bay because truth be told, he almost came as soon as you said you loved him.

Bodies damp and tired, Chan would’ve collapsed on top of you if not for his knees tucked below him. Kissing you slowly, feather light and cherishing, he slipped away for just a moment to grab tissues off the nightstand and wipe you clean, then reaching for a clean pair of his boxers to slip up your legs. He giggled when he realized how much bigger they were and weren’t going to stay up.

The comforter was still neatly tucked under the corners of the bed, but Chan decided that while he had you here momentarily immobilized, he’d tuck and roll you into the blanket like a burrito, just your head sticking out of the top. “Nooo! I can’t hold you!” You complained, but laughed along with him anyway.

“It’s for your own good! So you can’t run away from me,” he challenged and wrapped himself around your blanket bundle tightly.

“I told you, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

“You’re stuck with me, actually. I have you trapped with no escape.” He rubbed his nose into your cheek with a sleepy grin.

“Oh nooo, what will I do?” The fake worry made him sigh, but still smooch your cheek sweetly and roll over so he was on top of you again.

“What do you think will happen with the assistant and your boss?”

“You’re so nosy!” The two of you giggled much too loudly for how late at night it was.

He didn’t let you loose, choosing to keep you wrapped up tightly in the blanket, safe and sound and in his arms.

-

tags: @sensitiveandhungry @babebatter @changbinluvr @epiphanynaffit. @fawnpeaks @linovely @dumplinbokkieracha @finnydraws @naturules @djeniryuu @hamburgers101@skzhomiehopper @yesv01 @hyunjinsamdl @dazzlingligth @lvrhyuka @alexis-reads-fics @linaliskz @0002linoskitten @chillichillicrabcrab23 @zerefdragn33l @straycrescent @binnies-donuts @soldierstangirl-blog @bakedlilgoonie @levanterlily @shelbyyy44 @yeetmehome @in2heartz @astroodledream @the-sweetest-rose @leebitsimpracha @lilbugs-things @viviennenstan @staurdvst @alex--awesome--22 @imzenning @jeyelleohe @kaitchan @iadorethemskz

[rooksamoris]

💞 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐒.

💞 — in which jamil realizes that no matter how hard he avoid the oasis, the thirst will not disappear till it is quenched.

💞 — jamil viper x reader

💞 — warnings: hurt/comfort type fic. some descriptions of gore to emphasize yearning (the arabs be dramatic, what can i say)

💞 — 1.7k words. inspired by "sawwah" the song by abdel halim hafez. you should listen to it while reading tbh. first in a series of me assigning old school arabic songs to various characters. and yes, arabic speaking jamil is back. the translations are italicized with the arabic, and i changed some lyrics to fit third person, instead of first.

Wa ana mashi fil bilad, sawwah.

And I walk through countries, a vagabond.

Jamil had a job. He was bound to eternal servitude to the Al-Asim family—practically property to Bait (house/clan) Al-Asim. He had a job, and yet he spent his nights away in his mind, wandering like a vagabond. Purposeless, jobless. 

All those nights toiling in the kitchen of Scarabia made him forget purpose and work were different things. He would never call working for that spoiled boy his purpose. He was made for more—to be praised, to rule and command. He deserved more. Jamil deserved more than having to push away his moon, his qamar (moon). 

You were like an oasis in the desert expanse that he called his mind, and yet he walked away from you. He walked away when he desperately needed a sip. When he desperately needed rest and dates from your palm.

“Qad jinint? (Have you become crazed?) I have too many things to deal with. And you’d be better off without the burden of my title. Imshi (Go on/walk off).”

Jamil saw it. He saw the way your expression faltered, the softest twitch in your brow, the smallest tremble of your lips. It was cruel, he knew it, and it hurt him to say it. But in the end, he knew there was nothing else he could say. There must have been a better way to delicately reject your confessions, and yet he took the harshest route. Jamil plucked the dates from your palm and trampled over them.

He hurt himself by doing so, denying himself the one thing he desperately wanted. In the end, it was simple. Mishwar baeed, wa hu gareeh. His life was a long journey that only injured him. He did not want it to injure you as well.

Still, his charcoal eyes would seek you out. He would still ask Kalim about you, wanting to know how the distance was affecting you. Did you become a vagabond as he did? Were you avoiding oases?

Did you ask about the brown-skinned boy who broke your heart? He just wanted to be reassured—tamainu (reassure him)—that his qamar was doing alright. Wa in la’akum habibi, salamuli alai, he wanted to tell Kalim. If you see my love, wish them peace from me.

He would never ask you himself, nor did he get the chance to since you would scurry off whenever he passed by. The one place he could not avoid you was the kitchen of Scarabia, his domain, during one of Kalim’s parties. You were hiding away from the madness, and he had been trying to hide away from you. It was the same spot in which you cooked with him, listened to him, and were eventually rejected by him.

Jamil froze after walking in, and you turned your head up from your phone once you saw him, “I’m sorry,” you said, pushing yourself off of the counter and heading for the other door. You could not face him, not after that rejection. Not after he told you that your feelings were that of a crazed djinni (genie/jinn).

He shook his head and walked to the stove top, turning it on, “Stay. I’ll make chai,” he muttered. He did not even look at you.

You still wanted to leave, but instead, you just nodded. Honestly, you were a fool for the man, for that long dark brown hair which he braided so perfectly, and his aquiline nose which you desperately wanted to trace your finger along, “I don’t want to trouble you—”

“It’s no trouble. It gives me an excuse to get away from Kalim.”

You swallowed and nodded.

The silence was horrifically uncomfortable. The only sounds in the kitchen were the boiling water in the kettle and the sound that the mortar and pestle made while Jamil began to grind the herbs for the tea. Chai, cloves, cardamom—he added cinnamon this time. The scent always made everything more cozy.

Ya qamar, ya nasini. Oh moon who forgets me. Jamil hoped you would have gotten over your feelings for him and forgotten about the rejection, but he could tell it stung. The way you looked around the kitchen proved that enough. He poured the evaporated milk into the tea, let it simmer with the racing of his heart, and then poured both of you cups. He was gentle as he set your cup in front of you, unlike the savagery that he handled your heart with. 

Jamil leaned against the island, his eyes trailing over your face, “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” you blurted, holding the cup of tea. Waseitak, waseiya, ya shahid aleiya, “I promised you—you heard. You saw,” you elaborated, “I’m fine.” Tekilu ala beiyak. You could have told him of the state you were in after the rejection, but you opted for lies veiled by a fake grin.

He understood. He did not let you see past his veil either, “I see.” 

“The tea is great.”

“Thanks.”

There it was, another uncomfortable silence. His eyes said it all, though. Had you looked close enough, you would have seen how they ached to sacrifice themselves for you. He wished his worries for you would leave him alone—he would have gouged his eyes out just to make the aching in his heart disappear. It was curling in on itself, threatening to burst with the violence of a desert storm, sand filled his lungs, suffocating him. The weeks felt like years, and he was just a nomad in the night.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he set his cup down.

You immediately frowned and put your teacup down as well, scared you would drop in, “You don’t get to say that now,” you mumbled.

Jamil nodded in agreement. It was cruel, rejecting you so harshly just to turn around and claim he did not mean any of it. Especially when he still did find you crazy for loving him as ardently as you claimed, “It’s wrong. I know,” he said, looking away from you and to the door where all the commotion was. The music was muffled by the shut doors, making the kitchen feel like an entirely different building, “But I… I feel the same.”

That was another lie. He did not just feel the same, Jamil longed for you. He yearned, his heart ached and his veins begged to be torn out for your sake. Every cell in his body called for your name, his hands begged to grasp your waist, kiss your neck—his hands which artfully painted henna, wished they could trace every curve and every dip on your body.

“Jamil…” you trailed off.

He merely shook his head, “It is because I feel the same that I must reject you. You—you have so much more waiting in your life without me. My suffering should not be yours,” he said, and he said it as if it were the law of the universe. He was a vagabond eternally bound to avoid the oases because the oases were not meant for him. They were meant for Kalim Al-Asim.

Despite all that, he did not push you away when you cupped his face. He did not protest as he drowned. He did not thrash, he did not fight. His body did as it wished, leaning into your hands, “Ya qamar… you are making this more difficult than it needs to be,” he muttered, the disdain dying before it could embrace the quiet air of the kitchen.

You frowned at him—sevens, he wanted to kiss that mouth of yours—and your brows furrowed, “Let me, Jamil. Just let me,” you said. What did you want him to let you do? You had no clue, or perhaps it was just too broad to describe.

Nawarli, wararili, seitak al-habayeb.

Enlighten and show me the path to the beloveds.

He was so weak when it came to you. Before he knew it, his hands were at the small of your back, pulling you closer and forcing you to arch against him as his lips met yours in a fierce kiss. He sighed into your mouth, his tongue slipping in when you gasped in surprise.

Jamil needed you even closer. His hands made their way down to your hips, his thumbs slipping under the hem of your shirt to feel your skin. It was just as nice as he dreamed it would be. What made it all the better was how you kissed him back.

One of your hands gripped his shirt, right at his chest, right above his cruel racing heart, and the other held the back of his head. The quietest of whimpers escaped you as he bit your bottom lip, causing him to groan. 

He pressed you against the counter, causing your hand to slip from his chest and move to hold onto the surface behind you. You kissed him till you could not breathe, “Ja—Jamil,” you stammered when your lips parted from his. 

Greedily, he went in and kissed you some more. Jamil had taken a sip, and now he wanted it all. He only pulled away when your hands pressed against his chest to push him away. His eyes widened and his hands fell back to his sides. He pulled the hood down to hide his face from you as he turned his head, “Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s—It’s fine,” you replied, fixing your clothes and hair, “Are we…” you let the question hang like a date on a palm tree.

He nodded, “If you’ll still have me,” he replied. What he wanted to do was get on his knees and beg you to use your lips to end his suffering—beg that you use those hands to pull the sand out of his chest.

“Of course, I’d still have you, Jamil,” 

Your words were like a soothing balm. It was the salve that you spread over his burns, over his scars, and over the bruises that his yearning created, “Okay,” he said, and it was all he could manage to say for now. 

He picked up the kettle of tea and poured you some more. No matter what he did, he could not run away from you, his purpose. You forced the vagabond to stop and pulled the title right off of him, before pushing him into the waters of the oasis.

“We have some ma’amoul (semolina biscuit stuffed with date filling),” he says, after some silence.

[lewisvinga]

salvatore | esteban ocon x fem! reader

summary; after living a life full of cold exes, y/n never expected to find her ‘salvatore’ during a summer in monaco

warnings; toxic/abusive exes, slut shaming,

word count; 1k

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minkyungseokie @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri

notes; this is song has been on repeat

‘born to die’ series masterlist.

masterlist !

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“C’mon, Y/n, you need a man. You need to live a little!" Y/b/f exclaimed as she followed around Y/n who was tidying up around her home.

"Y/n," She sighed, "I don't need a man."

"It's been 4 years since you broke up with your ex. You haven't dated anyone since you were 21!”

“And you know why.”

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5 years ago

“C’mon, Y/n, let’s just go out!” Y/b/f asked through the phone. “You’re already ready!”

Y/n sighed as she cleaned the counter with a damp towel. She kept looking over her shoulder and back at the front door. “Louis is on his way. I can’t-“

“You can’t or he won’t let you? C’mon, Y/n, you deserve better.”

“I can’t.” She huffed as she rushed to finish off a quick chicken dish so it could be ready when her boyfriend arrived. “How ‘bout we go out tomorrow for lunch? I’ll call you later, promise-“

“Call who?” Louis's voice interrupted her mid-sentence. She hadn’t realized he arrived and she quickly hung up on Y/b/f.

“Y/b/f. She just wanted to hang out and-“

“That’s why you’re dressed like a whore?”

“I-I was about to ch-“

“Change into another slutty outfit?”

Y/n let out a sigh, keeping her gaze on the floor. She could feel Louis’ harsh stare as she turned off the stove and grabbed him a plate. Fortunately, he wasn’t so frustrated after work so he wasn’t as mean to her as usual.

Still, she felt tired of everything. She felt tired of constantly being paranoid. She hated how every word of his left her a mental scar. She hated how sometimes she had to wear sweaters in warm weather to cover up the black and purple marks on her skin. She was just tired.

Y/n glanced at him as she served the food on his plate. In the back of her mind, she knew Y/b/f was right and she was already thinking of the perfect time to leave him.

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present day

Y/n held onto her Dior tote bag as she strolled down the streets of Monaco. She was killing time in the shops before having lunch with Y/b/f and a couple of other girls to celebrate her best friend's engagement.

Y/b/f had instructed them to wear white so Y/n wore a short white sundress. She had an iced latte in her hand, glancing through the window of various boutiques and designer stores.

The summer was hot but she didn’t mind it. She spent the past week working on her tan, eating soft ice cream, and enjoying her week off.

She was lost in her thoughts when before she knew it, she suddenly bumped into what she thought was a wall until she heard a panicked voice. “Oh, fuck! Are you okay?”

The collision had caused her to spill her latte all over her white dress, staining it brown. She let out a chuckle as she looked down at the stain and at the empty plastic cup. “I’m fine. I wasn’t paying attention! Sorry for that.”

Y/n glanced up and was met with probably one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen. His deep brown, almost black eyes were filled with concern as he looked her over. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair before running his hands over his equally jet-black stubble.

“I’ll-i’ll buy you a new dress! Where’d you get it from?”

“I said don’t worry! It’s a pricey dress anyway.” She said with a smile but that didn’t seem to satisfy him.

“No, please, let me. I can afford it. I’ll even get you another latte.”

“You won’t drop this will you?”

His lips curled into a smile as he shook his head. “Nope!” He said with a shrug. “But the least you could do is give me your name.”

She shook her head slightly and laughed as she holds her hand out. “Y/n, and you must be?”

“Esteban.”

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3 years later

“Bonjour. Good morning.”

Esteban’s soft voice woke Y/n up from her deep slumber. Her vision was still blurry as she slowly sat up against the bed, rubbing her eyes and letting her vision get used to the bright lights.

She realized that he stood in front of her with a tray in his hands. Once her vision cleared up, she noticed the iced latte and a croissant with a small candle resting in the middle of the tray.

“Joyeux Anniversaire, chérie.” [happy birthday, dear.] Esteban whispers, sitting beside her on the bed. He kissed her forehead as she took the tray from him. “Now make a wish.”

A small pout decorated her lips as she looked down at the candle. He purposely picked a pink candle knowing that it was her favorite color. Something her ex-boyfriend never bothered learning about in their 3 years of dating.

A panicked look appeared on Esteban’s face when he noticed Y/n’s eyes fill with tears as her bottom lip quivered. “Chérie? What’s wrong? Shouldn’t you be happy on your birthday?” He asked, his voice filled with concern. He reached over and fixed her bed hair.

“I am happy.” She replied while tears streamed down her cheek. She lifts up the tray and softly blows the candle out. She turns to look at her now boyfriend of nearly 3 years with a wide smile on her voice.

“I just never had anyone care for me like you have, Estie.” She whispered as she set the tray on the bedside table. He wraps his arm around her shoulder, tucking her into his arms. “You’re my salvatore. [savior] You saved me. I didn’t even need to make a wish because you’re all I’ve ever wanted. You’re the best thing in my life.”

Esteban places his finger under her chin, causing her to look up into his deep brown eyes. He leans down and places a gentle kiss on her lips. He whispered against her lips, “I’ll always be your salvatore.”

[pdriesta]

a lifetime of us — 3

an —a series of blurbs from past or present, following the main couple from “a lapse of us". this chapter contains smut (minors dni)

with 24 hours left in his hometown, pedri couldn’t imagine a better way to spend it than in between your legs.

he listened to your sounds, the pleasure bouncing off the walls of your room, his face dampened not just from his own arousal but from the heat emanating from your skin. you gripped his hair tightly, trying to keep your legs apart — failing miserably each time you tightened your grip around his head.

pedri ate like you were his last meal, and to him, you were. he knew his schedule would be packed once he touched down in barcelona tomorrow, but right now, nothing mattered more than you.

you felt the usual flood of pleasure rake through your body, but that didn’t stop pedri. after coming down from your high, he kissed you passionately, prepared to hold you for as long as he could before your parents came and insisted on spending time with him.

“that was —,” you breathed out, slumping your sweaty body on top of his. “unreal. how do you get better every time?” you asked seriously.

pedri chuckled, “isn’t it obvious? you’re my favorite topic to study, all the ways i can take care of my girl.”

your face was already flushed after the 30 minutes pedri spent between your legs. however, you felt your body heat up even more at his words.

“pedri,” you groaned, feeling his lips and his body rock against yours, clothed in what he usually slept in when he stayed over.

“sí, mi vida,” (yes, my life) he replied absentmindedly, peppering kisses along your collarbone. unlike him, whose shirt had been discarded as soon as your lips met, yours remained on.

contrary to your mom’s constant nagging about pregnancies and birth control, you and pedri had never taken that step. after growing so much together over the years and entering adulthood side by side, you always assumed waiting was your best bet.

you never imagined the thoughts and worries that flooded your mind now that the boy you loved would be away for the majority of the year after moving to barcelona. he promised to come back during the summer and any international breaks, but knowing how amazing he was, you had a sneaking suspicion it would be hard to align schedules.

today, however, with pedri on top of you, tenderly kissing your body, you knew in your heart what you needed.

“pedri,” you said again, threading your hands in his hair and tugging the strands the way he liked to meet his brown eyes with yours.

“mi vida,” (my life) he said back, staring at your swollen lips, feeling proud of his handiwork before pecking your lips.

suddenly, you sat up, and he moved to sit on his feet on your bed. without saying anything, and keeping your eyes fixed on his, you removed your shirt.

watching as you tossed it over the bed, pedri was confused, to say the least.

“what’s wrong, baby? are you too hot? i can adjust the thermostat,” he offered.

“no!” you quickly replied, not wanting him to leave in his shirtless glory. your body shivered at the sight of the slick layer of sweat on his skin. he had changed and grown so much into the man in front of you, and you were in awe, feeling a bit embarrassed now that you sat in front of him in just a bra.

“no, it’s not the temperature,” you finally said, “i’m ready.”

pedri’s mind went blank. after being together for so long, he knew what those words entailed, but he just couldn’t believe it.

“r-ready?” he repeated your words, not wanting to assume. you shyly nodded in response, dropping your eyes to your duvet-covered lap.

“sí, mi corazón. quiero tener sexo. quiero que nos quitemos la virginidad mutuamente,” (yes, my heart. I want to have sex. I want us to lose our virginity to each other) you finally spoke up. you didn’t want to lose your nerve; this was your best friend. he knew you like the back of his hand. you were the love of his life, and the only future he was certain of was the one with you.

however, in this moment, he wasn’t so sure. sure, there had been times where you both almost took the next step, but something always got in the way — whether it meant annoying siblings or demanding schedules, the stars never aligned until now.

“are you sure, mi amor?” (my love) he reached for your trembling hands in your lap. you wordlessly nodded but didn’t meet his eyes, and that’s how he knew you weren’t okay.

“y/n, baby, talk to me. what is this really about?” he moved from his spot in front of you to beside you, his arm around your shoulder, bringing you into his arms. he used his free hand to grasp your chin between his fingers, making you meet his eyes.

“nothing. i just want you,” you said barely above a whisper. “i want to be close to you. i want all of you, even if this is the last time,” your voice broke at the last words.

pedri felt like he was doused with a bucket of ice water at the realization. she thinks i’ll leave her behind.

“hey, hey,” he soothed, pulling you completely onto his lap. “mi niña bonita,” (my pretty girl) he cupped the side of your face, swiping your tears away. he looked at you with so much love in his eyes that you felt even more choked up.

“do you know why i call you mi vida? it’s the perfect term for you to understand that you’re my entire world. everything i do is for you. even when it isn’t about you, it’s for you. i’ve loved you since the very first day i saw you fall onto our football pitch. i’ve loved you through everything, and i will love you through this. this is your dream as much as it’s mine.”

“te amo también, mi corazón,” (I love you too, my heart) you sniffed while wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his neck. “i can’t help but think, though, you’ll find someone better, more experienced, and toss me away. you know how many women will flock to you. i don’t want you to leave and me not give you what was always yours,” you confessed.

“that’s what this is about?” he realized. “y/n, there is no one else on this planet meant for me but you. it’s never about experience because guess what? you’re my first everything. there’s no one else in the world i would ever want to be with intimately,” he ran his hands over your back.

even though pedri was shy himself, it being his first time too, he wanted to reassure you.

“are you sure? we don’t have to rush this. i’ll be back sooner than you know it,” he asked you once again.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, anchoring his body to yours. he braced himself on his elbows beside your head, making sure he didn’t crush you.

“i am sure, pedri. i want everything with you,” you said back.

this was enough for pedri to crash his lips onto yours like a madman. you moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips, and he took this as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

finally, amidst the haze and the fog of arousal, pedri pulled back. “espera, amor,” (wait, love) he breathed out, feeling his heart beating out of his chest.

“i don’t have anything, you know?” he gestured to where you ground on him through his briefs. you smiled at how shy your boyfriend was, even after all the dirty things he’d done to you.

“we don’t need any,” you replied, before registering your boyfriend’s shock.

“y/n, we can’t! i don’t want to get you pregnant. your family will kill me. hell, my family will kill me,” he quickly pulled back.

“no, no, baby,” you quickly sat up, following his movements, holding back a laugh. “you know how my mom is. she’s all about contraception and preventing accidental pregnancies. she took me to get birth control months ago. i’m safe. we’re safe,” you blushed, still feeling shy at the idea of your mom’s face while she encouraged contraception with your boyfriend.

pedri was beyond shocked now. he knew you weren’t a spontaneous person. you always thought about a million and one possible outcomes before making decisions. knowing you endured your mom’s goading to prepare for this moment was enough reassurance he needed.

“eres perfecta,” (you’re perfect) pedri murmured, meeting your lips once again, falling into you once more.

“mi vida,” (my life) he said while lining up. “esto va a doler.” (this is going to hurt.) he remembered how much you had to adjust to his mere fingers. he was shaking with fear at what might happen and all the ways he might hurt you.

“lo sé,” (I know) you nodded. “confío en ti con todo,” (I trust you with everything) you caressed his head before guiding him forward.

finally buried in you, he felt the tightness and restriction and shuddered. he looked at you, seeing the crease between your eyebrows and the pain on your face.

“mi vida,” (my life) pedri managed to let out.

“me duele,” (it hurts) you choked out, tears spilling from your eyes. if the enveloping warmth didn’t feel as good as it did, pedri would’ve pulled out right then and there, not wanting to hurt you. but after feeling you like this, there was no going back.

“lo sé, mi vida, lo sé,” (I know, my life, I know) he said, kissing your tear-streaked face. “¿qué puedo hacer para mejorar esto?” (What can I do to make this better?) he asked, desperate to ease your discomfort.

you shook your head, gripping his shoulders tightly. “solo quédate conmigo,” (just stay with me) you whispered, your voice trembling. the pain was intense, but you knew it would pass, and the idea of stopping now, of not sharing this moment with him, was unbearable.

“estoy aquí,” (I’m here) pedri murmured, brushing his lips over your forehead. he held still, giving you time to adjust, his heart aching at the sight of your tears. he wanted to take the pain away, to make this perfect for you, but all he could do was be there, holding you through it.

slowly, the pain began to subside, replaced by a dull ache that was easier to bear. you shifted slightly, and pedri took it as a sign to move, beginning to rock gently into you.

“está mejor ahora?” (Is it better now?) he asked, his voice full of concern as he watched your expression.

“sí, mejor,” yYes, better) you breathed out, a small smile tugging at your lips. the discomfort was still there, but so was something else—something deeper, more intimate, a connection that went beyond the physical.

pedri kissed you softly, his movements tender and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world. he murmured sweet nothings against your lips, his love for you evident in every word, every touch.

“te amo,” (I love you) he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“te amo, pedri,” (I love you, Pedri) you replied, your heart swelling with love for the boy who was now your first in every way.

the pain continued to fade, replaced by a warmth that spread through your body, making your toes curl and your breath hitch. pedri noticed, his movements becoming slightly more confident, though he was still careful, still gentle.

“you’re so beautiful, mi vida,” he said, his voice strained as he tried to hold himself back, not wanting to rush this moment, not wanting to lose control.

you reached up, cupping his face in your hands, pulling him down for a kiss. it was messy, full of heat and desperation, and pedri groaned into your mouth, finally giving in, his hips moving more urgently now.

the discomfort was almost entirely gone, replaced by pleasure that built steadily, making you gasp and cling to him, your nails digging into his back.

“pedri,” you whimpered, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

pedri’s breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding in his chest as he moved inside you with slow, deliberate strokes. every thrust was measured, as if he was trying to commit every moment to memory. it wasn’t just about the pleasure; it was about the love he poured into each motion, the way his hands roamed your body like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him.

“y/n,” he whispered, his voice filled with raw emotion. “i love you more than anything, más que todo, mi vida. you’re everything to me. please, don’t ever forget that.”

your heart clenched at the intensity in his voice, and tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they weren’t from pain—they were from the overwhelming love you felt for him. “i won’t, pedri,” you whispered back, your voice trembling with emotion. “i love you too. so much. i don’t want you to go.”

he paused, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled to catch his breath. “i don’t want to go either,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “but i promise you, y/n, i’ll come back to you. siempre voy a volver, okay? nothing will keep me away from you.”

you nodded, swallowing hard to keep from crying. “i know, pedri. i know you will. just… don’t forget about me, okay?”

his eyes softened as he looked at you, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. “never, mi amor,” he vowed, his voice thick with emotion. “you’re the only thing on my mind. siempre estás en mi mente y en mi corazón. you’re my world, y/n. no one could ever take your place.”

as he spoke, he began to move again, slow and gentle, his hands gripping your waist as if he was afraid you’d slip away. each thrust was filled with love, with a desperation that mirrored your own. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him, to hold him as close as possible.

“pedri,” you breathed out, your voice hitching with emotion. “te necesito. i need you, now more than ever. i want you to remember this moment, every single detail, so you know that i’m always yours.”

“i’m yours too, y/n,” he whispered back, his voice trembling as he kissed you deeply, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that made your heart ache. “completamente tuyo, siempre. nothing will ever change that.”

you moaned softly against his lips, the sound muffled as he kissed you harder, pouring every ounce of love he had into it. the rhythm of his movements quickened, but he was still careful, still trying to ensure your comfort above all else. the pleasure built between you, a slow burn that intensified with each passing second, until you felt like you were on the edge of something beautiful, something that would forever bind you to him.

“mi vida, i can’t—” he gasped, his voice raw with emotion. “i’m close, so close. i need to feel you with me. por favor, mi amor, come with me.”

his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you nodded, unable to speak as the pleasure reached its peak. your hands tightened in his hair, your nails digging into his scalp as you felt yourself unraveling beneath him.

“pedri,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you teetered on the edge. “te amo. te amo tanto.”

that was all it took. with a low groan, pedri buried his face in your neck, his body trembling as he came, his release triggering yours. you clung to him, your body arching into his as the pleasure washed over you, leaving you breathless and spent.

for a long moment, neither of you moved, both too overwhelmed by the intensity of what you had just shared. pedri’s breathing was ragged against your skin, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if he was afraid to let go.

“don’t let me go, pedri,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “please, don’t let me go.”

he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his heart aching at the vulnerability in your voice. “never, mi vida. i’m never letting you go,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “no matter where i am, you’ll always be with me. en mi corazón, siempre.”

you buried your face in his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, and for the first time, you truly believed him. you knew that no matter the distance, no matter the time apart, he would always come back to you.

“i’ll wait for you,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, but you knew he heard you. “i’ll always wait for you, pedri.”

he held you tighter, his lips brushing against your hair as he whispered, “and i’ll always come back to you, y/n. always. you’re my home.”

and as the two of you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside ceased to exist. it was just you and pedri, in a moment of pure love and connection, a bond that no amount of time or distance could ever break.

you knew that tomorrow would come, and with it, the challenges of a long-distance relationship. but for now, in this quiet, stolen moment, you had everything you needed. you had pedri, and that was more than enough.

the airport was filled with the usual chaos—announcements echoing, people rushing by with luggage, and the occasional laughter from a distant group. but for you, the world had narrowed down to just one thing: saying goodbye to pedri. he was moving to barcelona to pursue his dreams, and while you were beyond proud of him, the thought of being apart was like a dull ache in your chest.

your families were there, gathered around in a small, tight-knit circle. pedri’s mom hugged him first, her eyes glistening with tears that she tried to blink away. “cuídate, mi niño,” she whispered, holding him close for a few seconds longer than usual. his dad gave him a firm, reassuring pat on the back, followed by fer, who pulled him into a brotherly embrace.

your mom was next, wrapping her arms around pedri like he was one of her own. “we’re all so proud of you,” she said, her voice warm but edged with the same sadness you felt. your dad followed, giving pedri a quick hug and a nod that conveyed more than words ever could.

caro was last, and as usual, she couldn’t resist teasing him, even in a moment like this. “now, you better watch out for those girls in barcelona,” she said, trying to keep it light but her tone carried a hint of protectiveness. “don’t let them distract you from your girl at home and your goals, okay?”

pedri chuckled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “i promise, caro,” he replied, squeezing her hand before letting go.

rafael, still young enough to not fully grasp the gravity of the situation, gave pedri a quick hug and an innocent smile. “you’ll be back soon, right?”

“sooner than you think,” pedri assured him, ruffling his hair.

finally, it was your turn. but instead of stepping forward, you found yourself rooted to the spot, your eyes fixed on the floor. your heart was pounding, each beat echoing with the reality that this was it—he was leaving.

pedri noticed your hesitation, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “mi amor,” he called softly, his voice filled with an understanding that made your heart ache even more. “mírame, por favor.”

slowly, you lifted your eyes to meet his, finding the strength in his gaze that you desperately needed. he took a step closer, closing the distance between you two. “ven aquí,” (come here)he murmured, holding out his hand to you.

you hesitated for a moment, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe, let alone move. but the sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world that mattered, made it impossible to resist. you stepped forward, slipping your hand into his, the warmth of his touch grounding you in a way that nothing else could.

“it’s going to be okay,” pedri whispered, pulling you closer until your forehead rested against his. “we’ll make this work, no matter what. i promise.”

“i know,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky. “i just… i’m going to miss you so much.”

he tilted your chin up, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down your cheek. “i’m going to miss you too, more than you know,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “but this isn’t goodbye, okay? it’s just ‘see you later.’”

you nodded, trying to hold onto his words like a lifeline. but the reality of him leaving, of not having him by your side every day, was overwhelming. “pedri… what if—”

“shh,” he interrupted gently, pressing his lips to your forehead in a lingering kiss. “don’t think about the ‘what ifs.’ we’ve got this. i’ll call you every day, text you all the time—you’ll probably get sick of me.”

a small, shaky laugh escaped you, and you finally allowed yourself to wrap your arms around him, holding on as tightly as you could. “never,” you whispered, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “i could never get sick of you.”

he held you just as tightly, his hands stroking your back in soothing circles. for a moment, the noise of the airport faded away, leaving just the two of you in a quiet, bittersweet embrace.

finally, after what felt like both an eternity and a single heartbeat, pedri pulled back just enough to look at you. “i love you,” he said, his voice steady but filled with all the emotion he was holding back. “and nothing is going to change that. distance doesn’t matter when it comes to us.”

“i love you too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “so much.”

he smiled, the kind of smile that was meant just for you, the kind that made everything else fade away. “then that’s all that matters,” he said softly. “we’ll figure out the rest.”

before you could say anything else, his parents gently intervened, suggesting that they give you two a moment alone. with a few soft words and understanding looks, your families quietly walked away, giving you the privacy you needed for this final, heartfelt goodbye.

with the terminal now feeling strangely empty, you turned back to pedri, taking in every detail of his face as if trying to memorize it. “promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “and don’t forget to eat properly, and—”

“i promise,” he cut you off, a tender smile playing on his lips. “and you promise me you’ll keep smiling, okay? don’t let yourself get too sad, because i’ll be back before you know it.”

you nodded, though your heart felt heavy with the weight of the impending separation. “i’ll try,” you whispered, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall.

pedri leaned in, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your lips, his hand cupping your cheek as if to hold you there a little longer. when he finally pulled away, his eyes were filled with the same mix of sadness and determination that mirrored your own.

as you stood there, your hands lingering on his chest, pedri couldn’t resist teasing you, hoping to bring a smile back to your face. “you know,” he began, a playful glint in his eyes, “it’s funny how you’re still so shy around me, even after everything we’ve done.” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and the memory of your last night together flooded back, making your cheeks flush a deep red.

“pedri,” you whined, half-embarrassed, half-amused, as you playfully swatted his chest. but the light teasing worked—your heart felt a little less heavy, and you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of your lips.

“there it is,” he murmured, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “that’s the smile i love. just remember that, okay? we’re going to be okay.”

with one last, fleeting touch—his fingers brushing against yours—he turned and walked toward the gate, his figure growing smaller with each step. you stood there, watching until he disappeared from sight, your heart aching with the emptiness he left behind.

but even as the tears finally fell, you clung to the hope in his words, the love in his eyes. this wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning of a new chapter. and no matter the distance, you knew your love was strong enough to bridge it.

© 2024 PDRIESTA

[23fallencomets]

Masterlist

Welcome to my masterlist!! Here all my works will be listed and updated as soon as possible.

Model!AU

Part 0 - Beginning of the AU-the basic format being laid out

Part 1: Creatures in Heaven

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

AU ideas

Band!AU

FICS

(have to cut it here bc fic list is too long sorry~)

Featherstone

-1.6k words

"Two years after a disastrous 2025 season, Logan had stepped away from racing. Now, in 2027, a certain team is desperate and in the face of his dreams, Logan is a weak man."

I Just Wanted You To Know (That This Is Me Trying)

-2.6k words

“In a shocking twist of events, Logan Sargeant confirms his termination with Williams at the end of the 2024 season. Rumors have been circulating about the American’s position with wide speculation that Carlos Sainz is to take over his seat for the 2025 season after being offered a multi-year contract. Others say that Logan has been picked up as a reserve driver for the American team, Haas.

Alternatively,

Logan says fuck you and proves everyone wrong.”

Lover of Mine

-1.0k words

"It’s ridiculous really how deep and inherent his love for Logan runs. How at every step of his life, he wants Logan there, by his side, living in his apartment, taking up the space next to him in his bed, to come home together and just exist. How he wants Logan’s clothes in his closet, his sweaters thrown over the back of his horribly expensive couch, his shoes next to Arthur’s.

Alternatively, how Logan and Arthur come together."

Love You by Myself

-5.4k words

“He’s unfairly beautiful, long limbs stretched out on the white bedding like he belongs there. Ever-changing eyes—blue in the sun, grey on overcast days and green when the sun hits him just right, during sunrises and sunsets—half-lidded, hazy and sleepy. Skin tanned by the Floridian sun he lives under, soft hands, warm and heavy.

Logan slowly props himself up on his elbows, “Are you going to kiss me or will I have to wait another six months.”

alternatively,

All-American model Logan Sargeant and F1 Driver, Oscar ‘The Promised One’ Piastri fall in love.”

I Love You, I’m Sorry

-8.9k words, 5/5 chapters

Logan stares at him, blue eyes glassy with tears. His hands are shaking from where they’re pressed into his side. He was so confused, the hurt still coming as Oscar breaks up their eight-year long relationship at one in the morning. The engagement ring digs into his skin, the smooth metal of it feeling so impossibly heavy that it feels like his whole hand weighs down with it.

Alternatively,

The end and beginning of them

Cradle the Flame (and burn the world down)

-3.5k words

He got hungry, he wanted more and more. He knew he wasn’t going to get it in Indy, or WEC, or in any other racing series. He wanted to win, his hunger, his desire was to win in Formula One, to return to where it started and ended. He had something to prove, to show what he was made of.

Alternatively, Logan and Mick return to Formula One

Stuck Like Folk Flowers

-4.4k words, 1/3 chapters

Yuki is in panicked hysteric, laughing while apologizing as Oscar stared at him, pretty brown eyes wide in surprise. Logan finds himself transfixed, eyes trailing over the smattering of freckles and moles, the gentle pink of his lips and the growing blush on the apples of his cheeks.

Shit, is all Logan can think, shit, fuck, motherfucker.

Alternatively, Logan, Oscar and the consequences of their actions.

Kneeled at The Alter of You 🔒

-1.5k words, sargebon

They never last long when they get like this, desperate and needy, Alex’s name a prayer with the way it slips from Logan; mindless and reverent. Alex presses his lips to whatever inch of skin that he can reach, the side of Logan’s knee over his shoulder, his collarbone, his neck, the one spot that makes Logan whine.

alternatively, Logan and Alex.

Needs and Wants (want you, need you, what's the difference?)🔒

-2.9k words, sargebon

Alex isn’t possessive, not really. He enjoys having his partners’ attention, but knows he can’t have them all the time. Yet, here he is, sitting across the living room, watching Kyle fucking Kirkwood drape himself over Logan; the Floridans seem to melt into each, unfiltered happiness creasing Logan’s eyes as his friend rants about something.

Alex’s foot gets knocked against something, causing him to blink rapidly. He meets Oscar’s unimpressed gaze, hand limply holding a glass of something. It makes him remember that they’re not alone, in this odd bubble he had made for him, Logan and Kyle. Fred is sitting next to Oscar, shoulders pressed against the Australian, an amused look on his face.

Alex vaguely feels like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

Alternatively, Alex and his wants and needs regarding Logan

Goodbye Chicago 🔒

-3.5k words, sargebon

Alex crowds him, realizes in half a beat that he hasn’t kissed Logan, Logan who makes dinner for them and lunch for Alex to take to work, who buys Horsey toys and stays near Alex just because. Logan, who left America because of his shitty home life and made a new home in Alex’s cold and isolated apartment, leaving behind fragments of his own warmth; his sweaters, his knickknacks, his growing movie collection because Alex still owns a dvd player.

Logan had made a place in Alex’s heart before Alex can react, or put up a fight. He had planted his roots next to Alex’s withering ones, slowly and surely coaxing him back to life

R U Mine?

-2.0k words, sargebon

Alex pulls back the blanket, his grip tightening on it when he sees that Logan is wearing one of his sweaters. It’s a big, soft thing that Alex has owned for years and Logan is wearing it. He shoves away the soft gooey feeling that slips through his veins as he crouches down, gently caressing Logan’s cheek.

Dark blue eyes blink blearily at him, lips now turned down into a frown. Logan presses into Alex’s hands, eyes shutting as he nuzzles into Alex. The Thai-Brit fights the endeared smile, pulling his hands away much to the protest of Logan.

Alternatively, Sargebon being roomates

[blueparadis]

꒰ WHEN WE COLLIDED ꒱ ⋮ RAN HITANI.

───❪ SYNOPSIS ❫ ⋮ A decision always changes the course of one's life but mainly it affects just one person, the one who takes the decision. However, an accident doesn't, it affects more than one person. Ran seems to believe he can have both in his favor if he plays his cards at the right time.

───❪ TAGS ❫ ⋮ MDNI, 18+ & M RATING.

(sub!)ran haitani x (switch!)fem!reader, one sided pinning, manipulation, death via accident ( MCD ), fruity!ran agenda, yandere themes, mention of implied cheating, domestic violence ( not by ran ), bad marriage,slow burn, eventual smut.

───❪ PLAYLIST ❫ ⋮ stay by stephan, too close by sir chloe, million dollar man by lana del rey, i am the dog by sir chloe, me and my husband by mitski, movement by hozier, don't you know by james young, do i wanna know by arctic monkeys, sex with a ghost by teddy hyde, stuck on a puzzle alex turner, cherry waves by deftones, the witch by Rosenfeld & khemis.

part one.

summary: The monotony in the life of Ran Haitani has a flicker of excitement. It turns up for a second and then goes out. But, for a hungry animal to denounce the prey, even if it is a slice is nothing but a mockery of the ways of nature. word count —2,5k.

part two.

summary: Ran starts to gather pieces of his puzzle even barely has any piece of it, he could see a glimpse of the final picture. He has never been taught not to play with his food when he was a child and he never did unless the food feels stale and tasteless on his tongue. word count — 2,6k.

part three.

summary: Ran's heart starts to unwind, starts to overlook all the possibilities of obstacles he might face to have you. With his heart in a bind, he starts to seek ways to connect, ways to have you, see you, taste you, feel you. word count — 1,6k.

part four.

summary: There is a jinx that Ran heard when he was eight years old, from his nanny. "You lose the people with whom you share your handkerchief." Now, he is not much of a superstitious person but when he saw his favorite handkerchief in the fist of his father who was intimately clung by his mother in the newspaper picture, he started to believe; he started to experiment word count —1,1k.

part five.

summary: It has been almost half of another month since his last encounter with you. Ran has thought of his second encounter with you way too many times that it lies heavy on his eyelids, on his fingertips, creating goosebumps on his skin. It tingles his soul. He replays that particular memory in a loop until he gets drunk on it, until he gets what he is promised. word count —0.7k.

part six.

summary ~ to be updated soon.

───❪ NOTES❫ ⋮ read on ao3.

blog navigation.

dividers by @benkeibear. banner art by me. for better quality you need to view the image seperately.

This is for my beloved dawnie. @lalunanymph . ( kindly check her rules if you wish to read her works. )

Dawn baby, I have read your works when I'm happy, when I'm sad, when I'm angry, and whenever I missed you. I have kept coming back to read your works, again and again, especially during my exam season. And one day I reaslized that you and your writing has become an integral part of my Tumblr. Not only that, it has also shaped my writing and reading experience. Needless to say dawnie baby that I admire you a lot. So, this is a little gift from me to you for creating such a brilliantly bright trajectory in my writing journey. Tokyo Revengers has always been my staple fandom. Even being a multifandom blog it is the tokyo revengers’ masterlists which is most stacked. At first I thought I should write on Kakucho for you but didn't feel confident about it so I went with Ran Haitani. This is probably the third long fic on him and second series work. I don't generally write on my favs because I don't know what to write and how to write. It is always a struggle but I hope this scratches the right parts of your brain. Take your time, read it in a one fine afternoon all of a sudden or somewhere in next million years. I'm not in rush :’))

Love you,

paradis.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

A New Life's Darkened Lust

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 5.2k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, references to character death, implied references to past rape, references to torture, jealousy and possessive thoughts, smut, oral (f receiving), slight somnophilia, p in v, breeding kink

Notes: Wasn't included in the original chapter as to not make it so smut heavy, but if you were wondering how resurrection affected Jon during his reunion with the reader, he sure had some desires even he wasn't expecting. Original Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

The combination didn't make sense. Hazy and foggy, eyes not even open yet but part of Jon could feel against bare skin all over, the freezing cold. Yet most of his front was warm. Whatever was keeping him warm was as soft as his arms had wrapped around it tightly, pulling it close until he realized it was loose strands of hair his face had been tucked into. Hands tightened trying to figure out where he was, it didn't feel familiar and yet it felt right.

Brows furrowing in confusion, he still felt that pull of wanting to go back to sleep fight with getting his bearings and- then it hit him. Where he was, what had happened, and the second Jons grey eyes opened, he lifted his head just slightly to confirm what for barley half a second, did he worry was a dream. No, it would've been a nightmare actually.

The scars littered about his chest, they were real but so was the figure in his arms. It was all real, the past two nights had actually happened but it also meant that had it been a dream? Then you'd still be dead, and that would truly be a nightmare.

But you weren't. You were tucked away in Jons arms, as bare as he was down in the Ice Cells of Castle Black.

The very second last night that Jon had opened his eyes in his own body, something was..different. A feeling trickling in slowly as he sat up in a shock, building behind the scenes as Jon and Ghost reunited properly as two separate beings again, and his direwolf almost knocking him right back over at seeing him awake. Only the moment Jon finally felt as if the world made sense again, did he realize it.

He was not a man who had the words to express how he knew, but he did. Jon knew it was you, he felt it in his bones, in his heart, his mind, everything screamed at him that it was you. Almost like a force beyond his control was telling him what no one else would've been able to figure out. The last in Ghosts mind Jon saw you was so recent and yet it felt like hours.

It was minutes ago, but he struggled to put it together. What happened in that room, all he could remember was lunging for the red woman and you pulling him back, when all Jon wanted to do was tear her apart then and there for the way she spoke to you. It was so loud in his head, but he couldn't sift through the noise long enough to recall what you were doing.

But then it flooded him. Whatever changed in Jons new life started right then and there. The thought that you were somewhere here, outside in Castle Black, alive as any. His heart pounded, raced, he felt lightheaded just thinking you were so close to him but not where he could see you.

He needed you, he needed you here, he needed you in front of him, and Jon needed everything you and him never could share before. Howling in his head, he could feel a pain accompanying the overload but it all spun back to you. It was feral, the racing of his heart that told him you couldn't just walk around alone. You needed to be here, with him.

If Jon didn't have you in front of him soon, he was going to lose it. Enough sense remained in him to say he couldn't just walk out there here and now, but one could. Kneeling back down in front of his direwolf, he ran his hands and nails along Ghost once more. Now whining at Jon as if sensing his own distress.

Muttering your name out in a painful husk that shredded at his throat, Jon beckoned Ghost. “Bring her to me. Go on Ghost, bring her here.”

Ghost turned on a dime, and left. Leaving Jon standing in the cold cell alone, nothing but the temperature sinking into his bare chest mostly exposed. It was an odd thing to admit, but the longer Jon was there and you weren't, the harder he got.

Hands braced against the stone wall, Jon squeezed his eyes closed trying to figure out why he was losing his mind. Everything felt wrong the longer you weren't here. Jon couldn't understand but there was something horrifically dark clawing at his chest demanding he take you for himself. You were his best friend, he thought you were dead for over a year, he should want to see you, but there was something a best friend should never think of towards the other. Something perverse, something howling inside him.

Jon stood there in the relative dark of the cell alone, the more he realized something about him was a harsher man, a worse man. His breathing was heavy, jaw clenched trying to reign himself in but every single time even a glimpse of you in his mind passed by, he could feel his cock throbbing. Something growling in his head that he was just letting his girl walk around a castle full of men, when he should be storming up there himself and fucking you in the middle of the courtyard for all of them to understand you were his.

You two had never even been together as such, Jon hadn't even been with a woman that way which wasn't forced on him. But if Ghost took much longer to find you and bring you down to Jon, he was going to leave to do it on his own. It didn't matter where he'd find you, Jon would tear every scrap of clothes you had on and take you in front of every single man here if this went on any longer.

But then he'd clench his fingertips against the wall with a shaking exhale. This wasn't him, he was a man not a wolf, why was he being so aggressive and territorial about this? He hadn't seen you in front of him alive and he should be emotional about it, but wave after wave of something was making him out of his mind.

Then he heard it. The sound of the doors opening in the distance. So Jon stood there, the darker corner he found himself in until you and your beautiful eyes all wide and fearful walked in and once more his cock was screaming at him. Then Jon slammed the door closed behind you, and did not hesitate to lock you in with him.

That was hours ago though. His heart was far more settled now. Far less wolf finally, and much more of a man. A man with the woman he loves right in his arms, bare after a night he finally lived out what he dreamt of for over a decade. He finally got to be with you, be inside you, make love to you.

And then you fell asleep in his arms down here, and Jon thought he was more calm. But he wasn't.

Under the roughness of his palm, Jon could feel the jagged scar crossed along your lower stomach and it made his own insides twist. Skin raised and if his memory was correct, it was as if the wounds were painted red and black without any healing. Not quite open to the world as if anything could sink into it, but it was as if it existed on your skin but separate to your body.

Jon couldn't even possibly imagine what it must have looked like when it happened, there was no chance that horrific of a wound didn't leave you to bleed out in minutes at most. He'd be shocked if you hadn't collapsed to the ground and died in seconds. Roose Bolton didn't just kill you, he had utterly butchered you like a hunter gutting an animal. There were other marks too, ones he couldn't know which was from which but the longer he laid there with you asleep in his arms the more his eyes grew dark and hands held tighter thinking about it all.

There was nothing any existence beyond this life which would have been better then when Jon had ran his mouth and tongue between your legs. He couldn't quite tell if you were simply surprised by the move, but you almost pleaded his name confused as if you didn't understand what was happening. He had to grab your hand and run it through his curls, both just to be selfish and to give you something to ground yourself with.

Some stories would speak of nectars of the gods, ambrosia created as a paradise to drink but each and every one of such tales was a lie. Jon found the only taste worth fighting for, killing for, dying for, and it was the wetness between your legs as you let Jon drink deep from you. He only intended to give you one, but as soon as you came, Jons blood boiled inside him and his heart pounded at the thought of pulling away just yet. So he gave you another, hardly even focusing on bringing you to second orgasm on purpose, he just couldn't pull away from the taste. He didn't want to.

But laying here and now, there was no denying something else. It wasn't just small healing cuts on your face, it wasn't just fading bruises and old and fresh marks that looked like welts and slashes across your body. It was between your legs too. Bruises yes, cuts and slashes yes, but there was one more thing he could see that night that told him the worst of what he didn't know.

They looked violent and painful, they looked like that of a wild animal going for a brutal kill, but they were no doubt the grotesque indents of a mans teeth sinking into your upper thighs enough Jon knew it would've drawn blood. And there was only one thing that could've been done to a woman to leave marks as such. If that was something a woman would actually want, you were not them.

His jaw clenched in the mere minutes he had been awake, Ramsay had done what Jon suspected were vile, unspeakable things to you. But he was tied between two places. An anger of wanting to lay siege to Winterfell here and now and drag that coward from Jon's home to kill then and there, and another part of him that lay there, wanting to do the opposite. Make you forget whatever he had done, make you feel good, show you that you were allowed to be touched while being loved, and Jon had a hard time seeing passed the fact that you both were already bare, Jon had already fucked you twice, and his cock was hardening against the perfect plush skin of your ass.

His hands moved before he could convince himself to let you sleep. That dark vision in his heart crept up once more into his mind and just as he felt his cock twitch did he let one hand lower to your hip and pulled you back into him. A small grind into your ass, as he felt his breathing pick up, his face leaning down into your neck and moving on his own accord.

Kisses increasing in greed and an intentional sloppiness, Jon felt you stir in your sleep against him and it only made you feel that much better against his cock. Letting his hand slip down, he groaned as he hid his face in your hair to smother the sound from waking you up. You were still a mess, a mixture of your own wetness and traces of Jons seed that hadn't quite spilled deep enough inside you. Tracing his fingertips through your soaked core, it took nothing to drag them up to your clit. Running two fingers tightly against it, before dragging back down to gather more. Switching from rubbing it in every pattern that had your sleeping body grind back into him, and hearing you let out a mumbled whine as he would roll it between his fingers more roughly.

Shaking slightly, Jon leaned slightly more over you, wanting to turn you to him better but knowing the movement would jostle you awake. And Jon wanted you to cum at least once while you were still asleep for him. He was about to wake you up like an animal, so he wanted to do this for you while you were still slumbering peacefully.

You had never been together like this before, he never had you in this manner but all he could see and think last night when he came back was how desperately he needed you. Everything and nearly everyone was lost to him, but you? Jon finally had understood why when some become widows young, they stay that way. Any love after you was something that sounded horrible to him, sounded like nothing which would make him happy the way even being around you made him.

Even now, the small noises barley leaving your sleeping lips, how you leaned back into his touch without knowing Jon was practically defiling you. If this was a one day miracle, and once the night was over he would return to the dead, he would accept it. As long as the day was spent down here, with you.

Your brows furrowed, and Jon just barley sunk his fingers down inside of you to run them back up, soaking your clit once more as he finally leaned down to sink his teeth into your neck. Breathing picking up as he rubbed tight, harsh circles and you shook somewhat in his touch. But it wasn't enough, he knew how beautiful you sounded when you came now, he knew how you looked when you reached your end with his cock deep inside of you.

It wasn't enough, he needed more. As soon as your sleeping eyes fluttered, passing right between the deep pleasured sleep and awake to the world, Jons cock was throbbing against your ass. He knew what your cunt felt like around him now, and he was utterly addicted to it. Barley rasping our your name, he kissed a path to just under your ear and muttered into it, reaching from your clit to your jaw to tilt you somewhat to look back. Your eyes so heavy from sleep you hadn't really opened them, but he muttered anyways.

“Darling, are you going to let me fill you?” A whining hum left your throat as your hands started to move a bit, as if trying to come to the same conclusion of life he previous had. But the sound was so high pitched and yet so quiet and needy it made him growl deep in his chest.

Capturing your lips, you moved so slow to respond but every inch you touched him with screamed as if Jon wanted to walk into a burning pyre just to stay there with you. Gently guiding your lips, Jon's mind growled at him once more. Like the man once again had left and the wolf returned. As if he were two separate entities.

Before the man could overthink how he wanted to slide inside of you slowly, knowing you'd be sensitive from his treatment last night, the wolf in him argued back to just take you harshly now. If Jon weren't so desperate to see your beautiful green eyes fluttering open to look at him, Jon might have felt inclined to flip you over and yank your hips up. Take you as a proper wolf breeds his mate.

Instead, he found a middle ground between being gentle on you, and controlling how hard he also wanted to fuck you. Flipping onto his back, against his strength you weighed practically nothing in his arms to move you. As soon as you lay front across his chest, Jon spared no more time.

Hoisting you up by your hips to sit you upright on top of him. Just as you pleaded his name so beautifully and so quietly as your green eyes met his grey ones, Jon had you shut them right back closed the moment he took charge. His own hands now adding to the mess of bruises forced onto your body he was gripping your hips so tightly, and in one go refusing you any mercy, sunk you down his full length.

Your nails dug into his chest, your face tied between a wince of what was no doubt a burning stretch, and a conflicted desire of pleasure fighting against how sleepy you were. But Jon, didn't make it any better. As soon as he felt your walls relax around his cock, Jon once more used his strength against you.

Only letting you rise about halfway off his cock before Jon would force your hips to slam right back down. His head thrown back at first, a deep groan unbecoming of him left so easily from his lips as he continued to bounce you on his cock. It wasn't quite rough at first, but then he opened his eyes again, looked back and could see where he was sinking in and out of you. The force making the air fill with an obscene slap of skin, and another groan deeper almost left as Jon begun to force your hips down harder and harder.

Part of him was almost angry at first. The last time he had seen you bare, was in his chambers in Winterfell and you were a dream. You weren't a tiny girl of nothing like so many dainty highborn girls were expected to look, but you weren't all firm and muscle either. No, you were soft, plush. Perfect for his large, greedy hands to find any and everywhere to grab onto. A kind of plushness that begged to be pounded into so he could watch the force ripple along.

The Boltons had clearly been starving you. You were not the same soft girl he dreamed of, and even beyond the marks left over you, whatever strength you built up at war had wilted away and you were nothing like what you were. Too small in too many places, and you didn't look the same girl full of life and pleasure as before. They had kept you thin to keep you weak.

And Jon hated it.

Grey eyes closing even despite how perfect it was to watch his cock disappear into your soaking core, a thought tore through him. You must have looked like you descended from the gods themselves while you were with child. He shouldn't be, it was entirely ill placed to feel it here, but part of Jon felt so jealous that Robb got to fuck you while you were pregnant. The months that had passed since he saw you in that vision, and a dream of your death, you'd have no longer been able to really hide how much you were showing. Maybe something long and extra flowing could cover it up to the passing eye, but he growled just as his cock throbbed fucking you down onto it.

One hand rose up from your hip, running along your arm to the side of your face and raking through part of your hair, you meekly grabbed onto that wrist as you could barley keep your eyes open. Just as you were barley letting such beautiful sounds overtake you. You just let Jon fuck you up and down his cock, muscles loosening as it made you so much more pliable. Head falling forward, your mouth parted in a silent but needing cry he could see. Jaw clenched, Jon found both your hips again and dragged you down onto him harder.

Slap after slap did your skin together echo in the cold air, how warm you were around him, how utterly tight you were every time he lifted you even the slightest bit off his cock. Only to force you right back down and the sound blessed his ears. He could hear how soaking wet you were with every fuck, so he moved you not harder this time, but faster. Addicted to the sound he needed it just as much as he needed air.

Grey eyes scoured every inch of you, lips, neck, breasts, scar just like his. Jon in tandem to bouncing you on him, did he begun to meet where he moved you. Fucking up into you just as he pulled you down, desperate to sink as deep as he could even when you both were as connected as you ever were graced to be. A loud cry left you the moment Jon started to thrust up into you.

Nails digging into his upper chest, your mouth agape trying to breathe but he stole it all way each time he sunk you deep again, dragging along a wall inside you that had your thighs shaking around him. A growling begun to leave him each and every pound, a hiss at your nails that he wanted more and more of carving into his skin, groaning whatever left his mouth of how perfect you felt around him, Jon knew he was about to start running his mouth.

But enough sense was still in him to stop it, or at the least, smother it. Surging upward, you grasped his shoulders as Jon kept you bouncing in his lap. Hands now at your waist but his eyes were a shining wide open watching you as his hot breath danced across you. He needed to shut up and do it now, otherwise he would say something he regretted. He'd say something more of then just your cunt around his cock.

Jon was about to shock himself, had he not done anything about it. Almost letting slip that he was going to keep you here, keep you on his cock, spill inside of you as long as it took to fill you with his child. It startled him. It truly did, the possessive thought coming from nowhere, Jon knew he was about to demand you let him get you pregnant and he knew this wasn't normal.

So he shifted to press a hand against your back to force your chest up, let him bury his face in your breasts as his other hand forced you to keep his rough pace. Mouth taking the small bud of your breast into his mouth, almost nibbling at it before biting down more. A loud cry left you, one hand finding itself raked deep in his curls, as your head fell backward. Biting and kissing what he could each, Jon barley let himself leave one breast until it first shined from his lips, and he could see the indents of his teeth bruising.

Moving to the other, Jon returned both hands to your waist, forcing you down with a growl leaving his baring teeth with how you just let him take you. You moved with him, but never against him, never taking any control, you just held onto him and let Jon fuck you. Closer and closer he could feel you becoming as well.

Clenching tightly around his cock, stuttering cries left you. “Gods, I- Oh Jon, please...” More and more his name left your lips and he was so thankful when you came around him. Forcing his cock to thrust itself up deeper to reach as soaking deep as you let him, beacuse a mighty groan left Jon.

Hidden by his mouth and teeth against your chest, but as your walls fluttered around him, did Jon throb inside of you. In an instant as he slurred your name, Jon felt himself cum. Keeping you bouncing shallow on top of him but so very deep, Jons head dropped, hands moving without the ability to watch from his closed eyes. It felt even better then last night, spilling deeply inside of you, it felt so much better which he hadn't thought possible.

Filling you with his cum, knowing what he had to offer you was thick. Thick and there was so much of it, Jons body burned too hot around him as he filled you with his seed. He had never come so much before last night and right now, never. It was as if however long your orgasm had you wrapping your arms around his neck and shoulders to ride along those waves, did Jon spill inside you.

He wasn't even done, just like the night before, Jon almost didn't understand why he hadn't even lost a hint of how hard his cock was. As soon as the thought hit him, Jon looked back up to your beautiful face, almost innocent in how must pleasure Jon was giving you as if brand new to you. You were so perfect to him, you didn't endlessly talk or run your mouth. You begged for him just as he needed you too instead of mocking him or insulting him.

You let Jon bounce you on his cock at his pace, at his control. You let him do the work and he couldn't be more happy for it, you let him fuck you at his mercy and begged his name so sweetly. It wasn't fair he had to die to get this, that you died before you two could share this.

Jon almost couldn't even lie to himself long enough to finish when it was her. He barley could make it through a single act without forcing his eyes shut and mind away just to stay hard the whole time. But with you? Jon felt out of his mind. He was so hard both last night and now, and three times now he's spilled so deeply inside of you.

Something he had adamantly denied in any way to her. She'd mock him for it, asking if he was scared or something and he could remember hating it. Of course he was, if he was too scared to fuck the beautiful girl who was the only one he's ever loved, beacuse he didn't want to accidentally get you pregnant, he sure as hell wasn't doing anything to give her that chance.

The baby he'd see in his mind had your eyes after all. Yours. Not hers.

So as soon as the thought came to Jon, he once more hid his mouth against biting and kissing your breasts just to smother the chance of saying it. Had he given his mind the free range to speak as whatever the hot blooded wolf was screaming, Jon would've told you with every conviction that you weren't allowed to leave his cock until he got you pregnant. That he'd roll you back over, hover over you, tie your hands together around the iron bars to keep you from trying to get him to ease up.

How much Jon wanted to shove your legs wide apart, maybe if he was desperate enough, he'd lift you to your feet. Press you against the bars, tie your hands above your head to them, and tie each leg to a separate bar, legs spread enough for Jon to sink his cock inside of you endlessly. Something possessive and feral inside of him refused to give up the image.

The wolf taking over what of Jon was still a man, screamed at him to breed you. Fill you with his pups and as soon as you're ready, do it again and again. He fucked up into you rougher trying to fight back against that side of him from taking over. But it tried and tried to come out. Jons family was gone, so he needed to spill inside of you here and now until you were pregnant, start a pack of his own with his cock sunk deep inside of you. He'd keep you tied up until Jon knew it took, he'd refuse anyone to come anywhere near here until he was sure.

And then, he'd spill inside of you a few more times still, for good measure. Just to be safe.

But he didn't say that, didn't do any of that. Just fucked you down onto his cock, breasts would've jostled had Jon not kept you so tightly against him. His breathing picked up as did your cries. His eyes raising to find yours, cupping your cheek with a hand and finally letting go of your waist and his control, to cup the other side of your face.

“Give me another..I want another. Cum for me, please darling, cum for me right here. I can feel you clenching around me, I know you need too. Cum again for me, please..” Your eyes blown out, mouth parted, you nodded. No words left in you, he had fucked them all out into silence, but he pulled your lips to his anyways.

Deepening the kiss as his thrusts moves shallow compared to you moreso writing on him then feeling confident enough to move up and down as he made you. Biting your bottom lip, Jon slid his tongue inside your mouth. Brushing your own tongue and he wondered if you'd let him taste you all over again here and now. Barley leaving your kiss, let alone your mouth and tongue long enough for you to mumble against him

Pleading his name, you sought his grey eyes and drowned in them. Barley managing a breathless beg just as you clenched around him. Jon wrapped a hand through the hair at the back of your head as the other grabbed at your hip, once more fucking up into you as he pulled you down on him.

If Jon were a worse man, he'd say damn it all, and just get you pregnant here and now before your gentle insecurity could say anything against it. He'd spill and spill inside you and then everyone up in the real world would know Jons claim on you was serious.

Your orgasm washed through you just as it overcame him. Hiding his head in your neck, Jon forced you to sit deep on his cock. Throbbing hot until he growled your name, spilling deeply inside of you for a fourth time in the hours he's been alive again.

He wouldn't admit it to himself, but as Jon filled you, all he could think was, gods he hoped it took.

But as you both finally could begin to breathe again, your heads both rising up to gently seek the others eyes as both of you almost panted trying to get air again, Jon ran a hand down the hair at the back of your head. Because the man in him knew, you were running out of time.

Sooner or later, Jon would have to emerge to his brothers, and face the reality that a man they all knew was murdered, now stood alive as any of them. And Jon didn't feel any sort of good about what they were going to start saying about it. About you.

Leaning forward, Jon was tender in his kiss. Keeping you close but not overwhelming you finally, he pulled back to press another to your nose and a third against your forehead. A small whisper on his lips, “I told you I'd still be here, darling. I promised you.”

Nodding gently, he pulled back to look at you again and this time, burying in each others embrace rather then needy in a kiss. He wouldn't pull you off of him until he was ready to even start to redress, so for now, you both kept in the others arms.

Trying to ignore the reality of how you both had died, and how neither of you were dead any loner.

[lazywriters-blog]

THE DESPERATE HERO

YANDERE IZUKU MIDORIYA

Warning: May contain triggering content, sexual assault, non-consensual touching, creepy and stalkerish behavior, and yandere content.

Summary: She has been a fickle little friend, and her avoidant nature leads up to a disastrous position, and her best friend is the center of it all. Grown into a man, a focused and determined young man that meets with his distant friend who will avoid him at any cost. What shall occur?

"Hey, I stopped by to see you again, are you home?" three taps on the door and her shoulder flinch up, blood-shoot eyes swift to steady on the voice behind the main entrance, menacingly dark and unwelcoming, "I want to talk to you, please don't ignore me." he pleaded, another series of knocks chimed throughout her space and tensed up the peace. Then, it began. The phone calls.

The device illuminated with life in the clutches of her hand, stiff and unrelenting against the soft metal that buzzed silently, she peered down and without a thought, pressed her finger on the power button and brought the screen into darkness. Lifeless and still.

"You don't even pick up your phone, how am I supposed to talk to you? Please just let's sit down and speak, I'm sorry for what I did the night before." he continued, "I wasn't thinking straight." He had leaned closer to the door, kept his hand on the handle, and tried to listen in to her movements she's sure. "You don't have to isolate yourself, there are people who care about you, please let me help you."

The peacekeeper talk had crawled under her skin, the times he uses it to bring about change that would benefit him, and keep her aware of her every wrongdoing. Her bad habit of pushing people out of her life had become a prominent obstacle in his way, and he had his chances.

She knew she should have kept away from him the moment he held her hand, but best friends always do, so she never said anything about it.

She really should have pulled her hand back when he blushed and flashed her a shy smile, gently combing through his green hair and leaving no space between them. She was wrong in not doing anything.

"I... Know you were avoiding me since the time we held hands, you were cutting me out of your life and I didn't want that! I want to be your friend forever, I want to help you, please let me in." his voice held no motive other than to convince her she was the one who was overreacting. Somehow, his kiss was a friendly gesture, and she'd never believe that the innocent izuku had put his lips on hers, he just didn't seem the most courageous. When it came to her, at least.

"That one time, I called out your name, you almost pretended that you didn't hear me and walked into the bathroom, that was mean of you but I'm not mad, I get it, I'm somewhat clingy, and I'll try my best not to be. So, please open the door."

She would rather risk their friendship than feel the immense discomfort of being observed under his gaze, but confrontation seems impossible once she steps out and into the wide big world, he'd find her during his duty and she would have to sprint back home in a sweaty mess. Barely managing to dodge him all while.

Her eyes locked onto the handle and saw it shift, she knew his patience was cracking and she'd be one to piece them back for the sake of harmony.

He never liked her pushing him out of her life. All too many times, that seemed to be the case for her, and to get him off her back she would get to be the peacekeeper.

"Please let me inside your life. I want to be a part of it, even if a little. I want to be by your side."

The hopelessness in his voice made her reconsider, made her sympathetic for a moment, and provoked her to get onto her feet and move toward the only thing blocking him out. The one thing she's hesitant to unseal.

Resting her hand on the wood, she bends to look into the peak hole. Standing near, he's drawing in breath quicker, and the tears pooled in his eyes made her will weaker and the desire to let him in stronger. But she knows better.

"Please, I can't live without you. Let me in..." he inhaled a choked sob, "I love you... I love you so much, it hurts."

"You know, I think you're cool... Cooler than me, at least." she laughed, chugging down her last portion of vanilla tea, and looked at the astonished man with smiling eyes. His freckled cheeks vaguely appeared red before the fluorescent lights, his mug in his hands held tighter while he gulped.

"Thanks, that means a lot coming from you," he replied, fondly staring at his beverage. Before lifting his gaze back up to see her walk into the kitchen, he kept his glass down and suddenly stood up. Followed in her trail and ended up behind her as she was calmly washing her cup.

Izuku didn't know where he found the intrepidity to finally wrap his arms around her waist and rest his chin in the crook of her neck, something he's been wanting to do forever. She didn't seem all that stunned at first, she kept still and slowly turned around to face him. An unanswered question lingered in her head, her eyes questioning his abrupt change.

"I love you... so much..." he starts, staring into her and steadying his grip, the distance between them was little and he's never felt his heart racing so fast, he forgets what he set out to complete.

"I figured that much." she giggled but it wasn't her usual teasing one, this one had a sad tone, "I knew this was coming and I still wasn't prepared for it." she carried on, "I'm not ready to commit to a relationship, I'm far too avoidant for it. Plus, I'll only hurt you and that's what I've done so far so, I'm sorry to deny your feelings but, I can't do it."

She gently attempts to shake him off, but he doesn't let her and quickly stumbles to give a reason, "No! no, you are not, you've never hurt me and you and I know each other better than anyone else, I want to be a part of your life so please don't push me out after so long. We can try, can't we?" He brings her back close, sealing the gap so much so their nose touches.

"I know you better and no matter how much you try to cut me out, I'll keep coming back for you, I love you that much. I can't imagine being without you."

"No, we both know it's only going to hurt us so let's not get ahead of ourselves and stop, you have a life better worth spending on someone else, you know it, so let me go izuku," she argued and forcibly made her way out of his embrace.

"I want to spend it with you!!" he yells, in a frenzy corners her into a kitchen counter and the electronics fall out of place while the clean cup she had set down drops to the floor and into a handful of chunks. She looks at him and she's taken aback by the strength he used on her, laid down in an awkward position she whimpers and pushes her hand against his chest.

"I don't want to." she hisses, catching the man off-guard as he goes quiet with the realization. Hurt displayed in his leafy green eyes, she knew she hit a nerve.

"You can't cut me out of your life again, I won't let you..." it was sudden and raw, anger twisting his features into a person she's rarely seen, and the kiss had barely registered in her mind while she contemplates the unexpected change in the tides.

His scarred hand lowered down to her hip, while her futile attempts at throwing him off her seemed impossible. Suffocated by the kiss, she squirms in misery feeling his lips press down on hers and his body radiating heat that made it so much more unbearable.

She snakes her hand to claw into his arm but it didn't induce an expected reaction of pain, instead, he moaned, and took it as a sign to continue.

Certain the moment he leans back and disconnects their kiss, she'll scream.

He didn't want that.

Cupping her face, he muffles whatever struggling noise she makes, he sadly stares down at her face and gives her a reassuring smile, his right hand moving down to her warm spot, before slowly feeling her long skirt, and revealing the color of her panties.

"I promise I'll take care of you..." he whispers, snuggling closer to her body heat and caging her underneath him.

He seemed to blush with glee, while he unbuttons her green shirt and fests his eyes on the black bra perfectly fitting her chest, he slightly trembles as he traces his hand against her collarbone. His ear redden, and his stiff muscle loosened.

He chuckles, tears gathered in his eyes while he slopes his head down, "I love you... I love you so much, it almost hurts." he mutters against her skin, then looked up at her. "I want to be someone special to you."

"I just want you..."

The doorbell rings, piercing the stagnant air as izuku quickly drags his attention to the unwanted visitor, his hold on her face grew tight. This was her chance, but her silenced words could only be heard by izuku.

"Pizza delivery." shouted a monotone voice.

"Hello, ma'am?" he repeated four knocks. "I'll leave the pizza by the porch." he finished once no response came from anyone, and soon, she was left alone with him.

But the slight deviation was what she needed.

Grabbing the steel pencil holder, she banged it on his head and used her leg to give him one final shove to get him off her, immediately after making a mad dash to her room and closing the door in time. Not stopping there, she ran to her bathroom and locked herself in for what seemed like a day before he decided to leave.

Not after slamming into the door once or twice.

She remembers coming out of there, scared inside her own house while she checks every room and every hidden place to see if he had truly left, she locked herself in her house and hasn't decided to leave until he showed up again.

If he wanted to, he could burst through the door and get to her. But for however long it takes, she will not let him enter her life again.

[nerdieforpedro]

La Sangria es muy dulce – The Sangria is too sweet

(Roja/red) Part One of Coasting through the Rainbow

Summary: Javier Peña considered his life good, great even. He met a man who would change what he knew about himself.

This is the beginning of Javier’s journey.

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Warnings: internalized homophobia, ANGST AND FLUFF, all the emotions, self-loathing, alcohol use, mentions of smut (nothing too descriptive), Nerdie’s so-so Spanish translations, Nerdie’s brand of humor (all of the place), Javier Peña being subject to Nerdie’s whims

Word Count: 2,587

Notes: I started this six part series for Pride month. I hope to have all parts out during the month so we’ll remain hopeful! Special thanks, hugs and big kisses to @perotovar and @julesonrecord for beta reading and encouraging me to write all of it out, not just in bullet points. ❤️💚💙💛💜🧡

Main Masterlist/ Javier Peña Masterlist /AO3 Link

Javier thought people lied when they said that they knew the exact moment that their life changed. It sounds like the telenovelas that Senora Ramírez always has on when he goes for his morning coffee and empanada with a piece of mango to her shop before heading to work in the morning. So grand and over the top. Exaggerated to prove a point.

All those crazy people were right and tonight he’s in a room full of them.

Earlier that night he’d been drinking with some suits from the ambassador’s office, wearing his own complete with a tie. He felt stifled and wanted to rip the damn thing off but couldn’t, so he had more whiskey on the rocks to cool himself. Laughing with them was alright, but his time could be spent in his apartment in his own company.

The group was getting ready to head to the next place, paying their tabs and dispersing. Javier used this opportunity to sneak way, down an alley where he was sure they wouldn’t ask him to tag along. The scarlet light from the building behind the bar on the next street reflected in a puddle at Javi’s feet. Shrugging, it wouldn’t hurt to look so he thought and stepped toward the light only to see a club he’d never heard of. People were gathered outside dressed in all sorts of colors and outfits, more men than women he noticed, but he figured there were usual drink deals for ladies’ night so they might be inside.

His feet carried him to the door where the bouncer looked him up and down chuckling before letting him in. ‘Must be because I’m the only one in a suit. This fucking suit.’ Inside the music was loud, the red light persisted, and Javier’s eyes were wide. It’s not like he didn’t know men dated other men. Who doesn’t know that? Javier Pena just isn’t around it. At all. Ever.

Now with the flow of the crowd, he’s slowly pushed to the dance floor in a sea of men dancing and enjoying themselves. It’s completely foreign to him what he’s witnessing.

That’s when it happens. A tug on his tie is all that it took for Javier to gain focus. A man is before him, a few inches taller than he is, bronze skin he figures, though it’s difficult to tell in this light. Shoulder length dark curls frame his face, and his eyes are light, maybe hazel or a green. He isn’t sure. Pena is distracted by this man’s lips, they’re fuller than his own and curved in a smile as the ephemeral man puts his cheap black tie to his lips that have a gloss on them, making their cotton candy color stand out against the red light. “Hey hermoso (handsome), you look lost as a cordero (baby lamb). Maybe you need a shepherd for the night.” The light dusting of dark hair a top of his lip moves with it and Javi exhales.

‘This man’s voice makes feel, feel what? Calm and turned on? What the hell is going on? Maybe I need to put a limit on my whiskey after all.’ He was going to tell him to let go of his tie, but the words didn’t come out. Instead, he grabbed the hand that was still holding his tie. Pena didn’t let go, he couldn’t. His skin was so cool and felt like a godsend. When did he get this hot? Fucking suit. “No, I don’t. I just need to get my bearings.”

“Maybe you should dance and take off that jacket. Looks uncomfortable and you are. You can’t look away from me, but you feel like you may bolt out of here.” The same plush lips are pressed against the back of Javier’s hand. “Come on, let’s get you from a cordero to a borrego (lamb) shall we? Just dance with me hermoso.” A slower song begins to play, its tempo lends to help Javi think. No one he knows is here. What’s one dance?

“Alright, but I’m not a damn lamb. I’m Javi. What’s your name bello angel (beautiful angel).” Releasing his hand, Javi slipped a hand around his back, tracing his tant muscles through his tight white t-shirt. The man in white laughed and leaned in Javier’s ear, telling his name before grazing his cheek with his lips.

“You’re so close. Name’s Angelo. Good to meet you, Javier. Relax and let me show you it’s okay. Touch me, though I’ll only bite if you tell me to.” Angelo tilted his neck and undid Javier’s tie, wrapping it around his broad shoulders. “You can pull a little if you want me closer. Do you want me closer Javier?”

A simple sí (yes) is all Javier said prior to Angelo’s hands finding their way to Javi’s narrow hips, swaying them with the music. The man kept eye contact with Angelo never losing the smile he had upon his face. Javier began to wonder if he truly was lost. He’s never put much stock into over thinking relationships. Things are what they are, no more and no less. Whatever this may become, at least he deems it safe for not with this enchanting man who’s now leading him out of the club at the end of the song.

The crimson from the neon signs highlight the sweat on each of their bodies. Javier hadn’t noticed that Angelo had glitter on his arms. There had been so much he didn’t see in the club: the red dragon tattoo on his left shoulder near his collarbone, the freckles on his neck, the rose on right hand, the white jeans he wore were tight around his thighs. Peña’s hands reached down to squeeze them curious if they were as solid as they looked. Angelo’s thighs indeed were. “Let me kiss you Javi, you’ve already got your hands on me. I know you’ve been watching my lips.”

“Stop asking.” Peña ran his fingers up Angelo’s body tracing his hips, abdomen and shoulders before stoping at the back of his neck. He used both hands to pull his head forward. Angelo’s lips were as soft as he thought. No, softer. So soft and so warm. A pair of hands settled on Javier hips and he doesn’t feel like he should pull away. Especially when Angelo’s tongue begins to explore his mouth.

Javier Peña has never expected to be in another man’s bed, but he is here with swollen lips, grunting naked with a beautiful man telling him about what luscious sounds his making between what’s coming out of his mouth and his slick cock that is in Angelo’s capable hand. Peña has also never preened, tonight he does while those lips he’s been entranced by all night take him into the morning mapping his body. He knows that the lips that have tasted him told him good night before he succumbed to sleep.

Awakening the next morning, Javier should find it odd that he’s slept so well. Restful sleep avoids him like a cartel member with kilo of coke. With only the bruised memories that Angelo make on his skin the night before, he trots around the bedroom, his eyes adjusting to the light before he sees the bathroom. Using it, he smells coffee and maybe eggs, following the smell, Javi is greeted to Angelo’s ass. A few shades lighter than his back and thighs. It makes him release a chuckle before wrapping his arms around his host’s waist, placing kisses on his shoulder blade. “Buenos dias Angelo. What are you cooking?”

“Did you sleep well Javi? I should have the eggs done soon. I didn’t go to the store yet this week so I’ve got toast, butter and some grape jelly.” He responds and it still isn’t strange. Javi finds himself pushing his concern to the back of his mind as they sit down to eat.

“I did. Normally I don’t eat breakfast. I’m usually still working. Smells delicious.” Javier’s bright smile is complemented by his mustache and he notes the first time he sees Angelo blush from the compliment. “Am I the first you’ve had over for breakfast in a bit. Are you a lamb in that regard?” His mouth is wide from putting a healthy helping on scrambled eggs in his mouth and a laugh upon hearing Angelo confirm that yes it has been a year or two maybe he can’t remember exactly.

“Stop laughing so hard Javier. It isn’t that damn funny.”

After finishing breakfast, they both washed the dishes and dressed. Exchanging numbers was easy with a promise to call later. Usually an empty promise from Javier Peña but he did call once he got in his apartment later that morning to shower and go to work. They talked the entire way to work with Angelo finally telling Javier to stop sitting in the parking lot and go in to work. Peña said he’d see him later tonight which they did.

The subsequent three months find Javier in a good place, still occasionally sleeping with women, though it doesn’t resonate the same liberating sense that he felt with Angelo. They both have made it clear that for now, they’re exploring other options. However, the more time passes, the greater the time is that they spend together, giving less opportunity for others.

There’s one night that bled into the morning as many of Javier and Angelo’s shared memories do. Paloma (Javier’s nickname for Angelo as he always remembered how he appeared to him in white) had come to Columbia for work as the government was trying to building more infrastructure and needed people trained in urban planning and development. Javier promised to show him the local eateries and bars, going from place to place. Peña was well known in these spaces and said that Angelo was ‘new and learning the ropes’ as he put it. It was on one of the hillsides, Javier had asked a passerby to take a picture of the two of them, both with a warm buzz from alcohol and companionship. He couldn’t recall the joke or which one of them made it, just that both of them were using their entire bodies to laugh.

A hand was in Angelo’s hair, fingers gripped Javier waist tight. Many night in Columbia were humid, both men were coated in a sheen of sweat and glitter from a previous bar run a few stops back. In the background, above the short buildings behind them, the sky was transitioning from it’s navy blue toward the heavens, slipping into purple, red and a faint orange before greeting the buildings. The stranger took a few pictures with his phone and handed it to Javi who thanked them as they left.

That was one of the last times they didn’t argue.

It began about why Javi wouldn’t stay the night. About how Angelo couldn’t stay the night in Javi’s apartment. These two issues were worked out fairly quickly. Alternating where they explored each other did the trick. What Javier refused to budge on, was going out with Angelo during the daylight hours.

Peña’s life was excellent, he was growing to care for someone. He was always so guarded, his heart needed time to thaw from past experiences. Coming to terms to being in a relationship with another man. He still saw himself as the Javier of the past, though at this point he wasn’t sleeping with women any more as nights spent at Angelo’s didn’t always include sex. Sometimes it was just spent in each other’s embrace.

Angelo demanded more from Javier. Exclusivity and to be seen together more places. Not just out on drunken nightly raids but on sober days. Such exposure was normal for him. He’s been living in his truth for decades. Understanding that Javier was new to reconciling his sexual identity was fighting against being hidden. Angelo had been squirreled away too often by men who said they cared about him but acted like they had never met him when around others. He had told himself he would not stand for it. Not from any relationship plutonic or romantic.

Javier was different to Angelo. The bravado matched by his tenderness kept him in their relationship for a time, but close to the four month mark, his patience was wearing thin.

“Mi amor (my love), I want a life with you but I will not be kept to the night. You’re a good man and the best lover I’ve had, but I won’t be someone’s secret Javier. I refuse.” Angelo tells Javier after a night of passion after another morning has come in his apartment. They stand beside the bed baring their bodies to each other as they have often. This time, they’re not just giving knowing looks and leaving words unsaid.

“I told you I need more time mi paloma. I’m new to this. You know I care about you. I don’t see why you have to push so hard. We’ll go to brunch or something eventually. You know I work long hours at the consulate. I’m not keeping you hidden, I just-just need more time.” Reaching for Angelo, he needs him to know. To know, how much he cares and needs him. It’s just so difficult and twisted his emotions right now. “I don’t want to lose you Angelo. Please.” His dove smacks his hand away, the lips Javi enjoys making swollen are quivering as tears fall. It’s a look Peña is familiar with. No matter the gender, it is universal. The face of someone who is angry, disappointed and saddened by his actions.

“Get out Javier Peña. I have a life to live. With someone who wants me anytime and not just when it’s convenient for them. I wish you all the best. I will put myself first Javier. Just like you do.”

“Goddammit Angelo. Fine. I have a life to live too. Goodbye. I-I do care for you, at least know that mi ángel (my angel).” Javier tossed on his clothes haphazardly and departed Angelo’s apartment. They didn’t call or text. Not even a casual drop-in either. It was an abrupt end to their relationship.

Javier dove head first into old habits with as many women and men as he could. Their bodies were warm but he always left the bed cold. No amount of cigarettes or whiskey would fill the hole he had in his heart from Angelo. After six months of this behavior and his colleagues noticing that the once nearly glowing agent Peña was now a dim version of himself. Even worse than last year, it was suggested that a change of scenery be in order.

A consultant position with the DEA had opened up in DC. Knowing there was nothing for him here except more self-destructive behaviors, Javier Peña packed up what was in his apartment and moved back to the United States.

Javier decided the love he had in Columbia would remain there as he watched the greenery of the land where so much had defined his life. Deciding to try something new to mark the occasion, Javier ordered a sangria, he never indulged in mixed drinks much. The scarlet of the liquid matched the profound resentment toward how he’d handled everything and himself. “Where there’s a Javier Peña, there will be a way to make someone cry.” A sip of his drink had him pucker his lips. “Fuck, this shit is way too damn sweet. Story of my life.”

First stop of the rainbow 🌈: @djarinmuse @megamindsecretlair @tinytinymenace @schnarfer @rulexofxnines

@djarins-cyare @secretelephanttattoo @604to647 @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @soft-persephone

@soft-girl-musings @saturn-rings-writes @professionalpromqueen @for-a-longlongtime @morallyinept

@connectioneverywhere @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @fhatbhabiee @yorksgirl @guelyury

@readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring @rosecentaur1916 @westside-rot @romanarose

@lady-bess @sin-djarin @legendary-pink-dot @80ssong @kilamonster

@boliv-jenta

Part Two - Morado/purple

[keitorin3]

OK so I'm new to Tumblr but I had this weird (but I think is awesome) idea that I really just wanted to share.

So I am a big fan of the Damien/Merlin AU idea. It was actually inspired by a book I once read in Ao3, full credits to the author.

Damien AU

I imagine Merlin was obviously immortal and been around waiting for Arthur, and during this time ~ like 4 to 5 years before Damien's 30th birthday ~ he was about to go on Vacation to the Pacific but got news of a new medicine program ~ or something ~ in America and changed plans.

He's a 21-22 year old meds/arts (idk either sound plausible) college student who befriends a girl, Kelly, due to an unfortunate encounter (Kelly was in the wrong place at the wrong or right time, and Merlin jumps in to help but it was unnecessary as Kelly being a badass takes them down. She's an aspiring war photographer, she got to know some fight moves!)

Their friendship was built and thanks to Kelly with her connections and friends, Merlin meets Damien Thorn at a get-together he was invited to at the pub.

Picture Merlin seeing this dark haired and scruffy version of his dear friend wearing modern clothes and a brown leather jacket. His accent American and Merlin's magic is suddenly gooey and vibrating under his skin when they shake hands. But his smile... Merlin was gone for that smile.

Kelly: *Introducing Damien and Merlin*

Damien: *Smiles* "Damien Thorn, Pleased to meet you."

Merlin: *Dazed and goofy because he's magic high and hooked* "Merlin Thorn, I met you pleased..." *Suddenly realises, and blushes bright red* "Wait! No- I meant Emyrs! I'm Merlin Emyrs! Your not Thorn, wait no! I'm not- I mean uh... Pleased you met me-- NO-?!!"

Kelly: *At some point pulled out her camera and start recording*

Damien: *Surprised and charmed by the adorable guy with cute flushed ears* *Smirks pleasantly and flirts back*

Merlin: *Scrabbles on what to say, unknowingly flirting back*

Kelly: 'Oh just wait until I show Simone this!'

And so not long after the two met they started dating. At first Merlin thought he could help Damien remember, but over their time together Merlin came to really Love Damien. He loved Arthur and a part of him always will, but getting to know Damien, Merlin fell fast.

Meanwhile Kelly is being the ultimate Wingwoman who's looking forward to the day they get married so she can play all the *cough*blackmail*cough* memories shes caught of them.

Now, Damien who has never been so happy before meeting Merlin, saw Merlin as like his Ray of light and lucky charm. Since his entire life has been a series of misfortune all around. Merlin, this skinny, pale white, big earred, doe eyed guy with a heart stopping smile. Never has he fallen in love so seamlessly.

Damien: *During their third Date where Merlin is arguing over something with sparkles in his eyes. Damien not even sure what he's saying, smilies fondly at the adorable man.*

Merlin: "Damiiiienn! Are you listening to me?! What's going through that thick head of yours?"

Damien: *Laughs* "Nothing, it's just, there's something about you Merlin. I can't put my finger on it." *Gives Merlin a significant look* "But you're special."

Merlin: *Flushes red while flailing in embarrassment*

They are together for a year before merlin gathered the courage to tell Damien about himself, his magic and his past. He has made the mistake of lying to Arthur in the past and after recent years of therapy, he could not live in another lie with Damien.

It took time to process after being shown evidence of magic and weeks of discussions ~ a lot of them hard for Merlin to tell as he cried at times like Arthur's death and Camelots fall, going through depression while isolating in a cave for a century.

In the end, Damien determined Merlin's character and love to be true. And honestly wasn't even mad at the other. Damien could never fully be mad at Merlin. Not when he can see the cracks of a too worn heart, hidden behind a youthful face. It makes his own heart break at the seams.

So Damien held on to this impossible man, and swore he would not let him go.

Merlin: *Makes a butterfly with his magic, eyes glowing like golden stars, gazing back at Damien like a miracle come alive*

Damien: *Laughs when the butterfly lands on the tip of Merlin's nose, who makes a cross-eyed at the small creature.* 'You were a fool Arthur. The world was by your side and you left him alone.'

Damien: "I Love You, even if you're an old magical man of legend."

Merlin: *Hits him lightly for the old comment before kissing him* "And I love you, even if you're a bit of a sap."

Damien: *Kisses back* "Not that your complaining."

Merlin: *Heavily in love* "No, no I am not."

It is not long after this where their bond has gotten stronger, that Damien proposes to Merlin.

Kelly is there to film and photograph the event with Amani as help (the two helped plot to get their besties together after all). It was beautiful and made even more magical when Merlin, overwhelmed with such happiness, released some of his magic and caused it to rain flowers and sparkles.

This was so fun! And I wish I had the patience to actually write a book of this. I'm not done yet, I've still haven't reached to Damien's 30th birthday, when his powers Awaken. I've got ideas, and even more crossovers to think of for this and other AUs.

I'm still thinking if I should make this mpreg like the fic (the top Ao3 link). I quite like the idea of children honestly. Like bring back Aithusa as DamienxMerlin's kid.

Till next time, fellow dreamers~! 👋🥰✨

[levwrites]

Let me be your own

Part 1: The Harbinger

A failed lab experiment is sent to die in the lair of the most dangerous monster the lab has ever produced. Luckily for him, the monster is far less insane than the scientists like to believe. 

Ninety-seven days after they took Saka, his captors stopped caring if he lived or died. 

All the awful concoctions they injected him with changed his body, but not to the degree they were hoping for. 

He can see in the dark. He knows he has fangs in his mouth, fangs he knows to be venomous. He feels the itch of scales on his skin, patches of them. All kinds of drugs have stopped working on him days ago. 

But they were hoping for a monster, and he still has the shape of a man.

Saka stays curled up as much as he can, too alone and in pain to put up a strong face, keep his spirit. Nothing feels like him anymore, every day he is taken and prodded and modified, and he can’t- He can’t take this.

His body is not his own, his freedom is gone, his life is over.

And he is cold. Always, he is freezing cold.

What else is there to do but curl up and wait in dread for the next day to come?

But today the guards escorting him are stopped long before they can bring him to the usual lab.

“Doc doesn’t think she can do much else with him,” the scientist barring their way says, barely even looking at Saka. “She says give him to the Harbinger. He’s been restless lately, he needs something to distract him.”

The name rings a bell. Harbinger. The infamous monster no one seems able to kill. The first one to appear during the Night, and the last to go. The one that can make people see things that are not there, that can twist limbs and break bones with a mere gesture. The only beast that resembles a man, even though he is anything but. 

One of the guards snorts. “Sure thing,” he says, and makes Saka turn around to go back to the cell sector - a different wing from the one he’s been kept in up to now. 

“What happens to the ones who are given to him?” Saka barely recognises his own voice after weeks of only using it to scream and beg. So rough and weak, so flat. The fear is hidden deep inside. 

What could the Harbinger possibly want with him if not tear him to pieces, first his mind and then his body?

The guards seem amused he dared to speak up. 

“Good question.” They exchange a glance. One of them grins. “I bet you one hundred he’ll last... eh, maybe three hours.” 

The other one shakes their head. “They say the thing’s restless. Either it tears him apart as soon as it sees him, or he gets to lose his mind. In that case... one hour. Tops.” 

Such carelessness in speaking of such dark topics. How many people were led to that containment cell before him? 

“Boy’s sturdy,” the first guard says, patting Saka’s shoulder as he makes him stop in front of an extremely reinforced door. “I still say three hours.”

In front of them, a series of clicks announces the opening of the reinforced door,  delicate mechanisms releasing one after the other. There is another identical door a few feet in, creating an air-locked room in-between. 

Saka’s arms are restrained behind his back, his ankles bound together with a short chain. But guards are careless. They never realize all of them have lost hope.

He turns around and slams his head into the first guard’s nose. 

He’s dead anyway. If he’s shot now it would be a mercy.

Pain explodes in his skull as the other guard hits him over the head with the butt of their pistol, jerking him backwards by his shirt.

“You little-” The first guard spits, holding their bleeding nose, trembling with rage. “I hope that thing keeps you for longer than three hours! Throw him in!”

Before Saka can blink past the dizziness and pain, he’s shoved forward and through the opening. Immediately the first door starts to close; only when it is completely sealed does the second one open, its mechanisms just as complex. 

Fallen on his knees, hands open on his thighs, Saka turns watery eyes to the ceiling and prays.

There are monsters in here that go far beyond any nightmares man is capable of conceiving. The only mercy is that so many of them are too bloodthirsty to make painful deaths last.

His breath shudders out of his lungs and he squeezes his eyes shut, a sob caught in his chest. Please. Please.

He is so tired. He wants to die while he is still at least a shadow of his former self.

Silence falls as the second door folds away.

Perfect, heavy, oppressive silence.

A whisper of fabric.

And then Saka’s body is seized by an invisible force and lifted high into the air, brought forward.

He goes rigid, fear choking him.

Once, instinct would have made him struggle to get free. But now he is too used to unbreakable restraints, to his limbs being immobilized no matter how great the pain and how unbearable the restlessness.

He opens his eyes and stays perfectly still. It’s always so much worse when you don’t see it coming, no matter what they say.

What he finds is a well-furnished room. He can see a large bed, a sofa, an armchair. The walls are covered with hung up paper scrawled with charcoal drawings of... buildings, maybe. Alien buildings, impossible architecture. The floor...

The floor is made up of tiny pieces of stone and glass, a sprawl of colors forming the strangest shapes that make no sense, that represent nothing. A section of it has been dug up, the pieces lying in a pile around the shallow hole.

It takes him a moment too long to see him. He is so unnaturally still, dark blue clothes so similar to the blue of the bed linens.

He sits there, cross-legged, staring at Saka with those glowing blue eyes he saw only in the pictures and recordings. His unnatural charcoal-black skin is exposed, and so are the glowing cracks running all over it.

This being looks exactly like what it is: a man pumped full of chemicals and energy until he burned up from the inside out.

He must be completely insane. Is he in constant pain?

And what relief is there but to take it out on others? Monsters like them are made to savage and kill.

“Hi,” whispers Saka, his voice still so rough and ugly, just one more thing he doesn’t recognise. “I’m sorry.” He blinks away the tears.

The Harbinger blinks.

There’s the horrible sound of metal twisting and being torn apart; Saka’s restraints fall from his limbs. It doesn’t really matter, he’s still suspended a meter from the ground in a telekinetic grasp.

Until he isn’t. Until he finds himself on the ground, on that strange textured floor that is one big mosaic.

The Harbinger tilts his chin down slightly to keep looking at him, and a lock of blood red hair brushes the line of his jaw.

Saka wants to beg him to make this quick, but the Harbinger has been given furniture, has been given the means to draw and entertain himself, which means he retains human intelligence.

Begging would just encourage him to make this last longer.

So he looks down, chin still up in the face of his end, and admires the pretty colors of the mosaic. He wonders how he cleans the grooves between the little stones. Blood must be hard to get out.

Maybe he likes it better that way.

“What for?”

The voice comes suddenly, but it’s not a voice at all. It’s a thought, placed in Saka’s mind and made to resemble a voice. This being really is beyond any human scope.

And he has still to move a single muscle, has still to get up from the bed. Not that he needs to.

He might not move a muscle the entire time he is killing Saka. 

“You’re just like me.” A single tear falls from his eye and crosses his cheek, dampening the corner of his mouth. “You're just like me.”

He was someone once. He only wants this because they made him want this, no matter what he thinks now.

They didn’t deserve what happened to them, and no one is coming to save them.

The Harbinger is silent. He shifts just slightly, his clothes swishing in a gentle whisper.

The telekinetic grip comes back, lifting Saka off the ground and bringing him closer, until he’s hovering above the bed - and being placed on it, just shy of the Harbinger’s body.

Darkened fingers rise to wipe away that tear, and perfect warmth brushes against Saka’s cheek.

Saka’s breathing falters and his eyes widen.

He bites his lip. So warm, the Harbinger is so warm and he is freezing, always freezing, never not in pain.

His sigh is a pathetic, trembling thing. “They’re not happy with how I came out,” he tells him falteringly, terrified out of his mind and yet somehow glad he gets to speak to someone, no matter how insane. “I’m not monstrous enough.”

The venom is not enough. The fangs are not enough. They want violence and horror.

“Mh.” The Harbinger passes a thumb under his eye, studying it. The Harbinger has glowing eyes, Saka’s reptilian ones might look normal to him. His other hand touches Saka’s wrist, the back of his hand, feeling the scales.

“I think you are beautiful,” he finally murmurs. “Don't cry.”

Saka doesn’t stop worrying about his eyes being plucked out.

Not being able to defend himself is- well, the norm at this point. It’s normal, and he is still just as scared every single time.

“Are you going to hurt me, Harbinger?” What a stupid question. The guards were so kind to tell him exactly what he was going to be given to. He looks down once more, not a single spark of hope remaining. “I just want to be free.” Free me.

“I do not feel the urge to do so.” The Harbinger tilts his head slightly, regarding him. “Do you want to die?”

His hand is still so close to Saka’s cheek, almost cupping it. If he just moved a little to the left he would feel that incredible warmth all pressed up against his skin.

Saka aches for it. He doesn’t remember what it means to be warm.

“I don’t want to be in pain anymore.” He dares to lift his eyes enough to meet the Harbinger’s, so blue and unnatural.

He can’t help but notice that he looks so young underneath all the unnaturalness. He doesn’t look like a feral beast.

The Harbinger’s lips twitch, no amusement reaching his eyes. “The pain will fade once your body adjusts to the changes,” he comments. “How long has it been?”

Those cracks all over his skin must hurt. They pulse sometimes, like they’re still an open wound.

It’s been more than a decade since the Harbinger’s first appearance. This man has been a prisoner since Saka was a boy.

“A few weeks since the first changes.” Nothing in comparison to him. “They keep adding things.”

He blinks. “Kept adding things. It seems they have given up.”

No more being strapped down, no more horror at the idea of waking up changed, different.

He is supposed to die in here.

“And I don’t- think it will,” he adds, keeping himself still, so still. “They made me cold. Everything is cold.” 

For some reason, the Harbinger seems exasperated. “They never learn.” His fingers twitch, and that’s all the warning Saka gets before the telekinesis is on him again.

Before he knows what’s going on the covers are being pulled back and his shirt is being torn off.

“Dirty clothes,” the Harbinger mutters, the words only for Saka. “Why do they even bother?”

Saka is laid down on his back, head on the pillow, and the Harbinger moves to cover him completely with his body. The bedcovers go over them, creating a warm cocoon.

For long seconds, Saka stays stiff as a board.

He- The Harbinger is...?

Once the heat penetrates his skin and finally warms him for the first time in weeks, he goes limp.

A shocked, wounded sound comes out of his throat. “Why?” he asks, helpless, even as he clutches at the monster and holds him closer, greedy, unable to stop. “You- They said you would…”

“Oh, I know they take bets.” The Harbinger hums and allows Saka to keep him close, presses down on him with his solid warm body. “You were lucky. I am restless, not angry.” He places a hand on Saka’s head, fingers going under his hair, lightly gripping the roots. “Relax. I am not killing you.”

Saka hides his face in the Harbinger’s shoulder, so miserable he will take comfort even from the one he is so afraid of, and starts shivering and shaking. His chilly body is slowly warming up, becoming more pliant, letting go of the pain and discomfort.

Even the shiny patches of scales are slowly gaining some heat.

“Thank you,” he breathes. “Thank you, I- You’re warm.”

“You’re getting warmer, too.” The Harbinger tucks the covers around him a little better. “You’ll see the pain will lessen soon.”

“It already is.” The realization that he is feeling better for once finally hits. Someone is actively helping him.

He reaches for the monster’s face and moves his hair to the side. “Will they take me back now? They don’t seem to like it when I’m not in pain.” A very neutral tone for such a helpless question.

With a thoughtful hum, the Harbinger leans into the touch. For all his might and terrible powers, he must be always alone too. “I suppose they will leave you here a while longer to see what I do with you,” he guesses. “The previous times they waited until my routine check-up to take the bodies, so they will probably do the same with you. If that’s true, you still have days to go.” 

Another hum. “To decide if you want to die.” 

It wasn’t supposed to be a choice Saka got to make. It should have just happened.

If he chooses it, it’s suicide. It tastes so bitter on his tongue, acidic with fear. But the Harbinger here is proof that his torment has only just begun.

Years. He nods quietly and cups the back of his head, going back to hiding.

“A few days,” he repeats. “I won’t bother you.” 

“We’ll see,” the Harbinger says, but it doesn’t sound ominous. There’s almost the slightest hint of humor in the words.

He presses down on Saka and gently caresses his naked arm, helping him warm up.

“Why are you helping me?” Maybe he shouldn’t ask. “It’s nice of you. Why?” Now Saka understands why their captors never let the prisoners interact with each other. It’s too easy to retain their personalities, to find a kernel of contentment in simple interaction.

“You were in pain.” The slightest tug to Saka’s hair. “And I wanted you to stop cowering.” Which, by the sound of it, was incredibly annoying to the Harbinger. “There are cameras everywhere in this room, and in the bathroom too,” the supposed monster tells him. “But no microphones, since I do not speak. There are some in the antechamber, however.” 

The insistence in using telepathy makes more sense now. “Thank you,” says Saka again, and means it for everything. “I’ll be careful.”

He’s a person. The Harbinger is a person, not a monster. “Is there anything I can do to help you not get angry? I’d rather not know what happens then.”

He can- imagine.

“Don’t try to ruin my things.” A basic rule of hospitality, something that’s supposed to be a given, but nothing is taken for granted here. “Don’t attack me.” A moment of consideration. “Try not to bring dirt anywhere. I like being clean and having clean things. This includes the floors as well.” 

Since Saka is not sure where he would even find dirt, that’s probably not going to be an issue. “I will be a polite guest.”

He burrows a little better under the Harbinger, the permanently tense line of his shoulders finally easing. He has knots for days and a headache that will never go away, but this helps so much.

It’s making him feel human again. A bed, a warm body against his own, a conversation... All perfect things.

I can’t go back to my cell. He tries not to think about that. About how dangerous and destructive giving a prisoner crumbs is.

He slides his hands beneath the Harbinger’s clothes and holds on. His skin is scorching hot. If he were to take those clothes off and press himself against Saka, chest to chest, it would feel incredible.

“You do that,” the Harbinger murmurs, and caresses Saka’s cheek. “Rest, if you like. There’s not much to do here.”

If Saka closes his eyes he can imagine this man as one of his friends, or as a random one night stand willing to cuddle him.

He doesn’t have to be a monster. They don’t have to be in a cell, wasting away their time, waiting for the next horror to begin.

He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth so he won’t feel the fangs, and stays still so he won’t feel the weirdness of the scales.

The adrenaline crash and the poor, poor sleep of the last few weeks have left him deeply exhausted. Surrounded by this warmth, he has no chance.

With a nuzzle of the Harbinger’s hand, he finally convinces himself this is probably not a cruel trick and falls dead asleep.

[seasaltandcopper]

♠ Leaving them at the mercy of strangers in a public display (stocks, pillory, cage, chained to something, etc) for your vamp series!

-Lonesome

Set years before the start of the series, during Mal’s first week with the hunters. This swerved a bit off prompt, but I had fun lol

hopefully this is the series you meant. it's the one i mentioned in the tags when i reblogged the prompts, but I know I inconveniently have like three vamp-centric ones, so apologies if it's not

Vampire Hunter AU

Edit: this prompt now has a continuation here

Rating: mature

Warnings: torture, captivity, dehumanization, non-sexual nudity, stress positions, profanity, burns, implied (future) whipping, vampire whumpee, multiple whumpers

They strung Mal up by his wrists in the middle of the room, which was, if nothing else, a change of scenery. After spending who knew how long cramped in a pitch-black cell with nothing but his own thoughts keeping him company, this almost felt like an improvement.

Almost.

Mal tried to think positive. Instead of kneeling, bent double on a brick floor until his legs screamed in agony and the muscles in his neck and back cramped and seized, he got to hang, balancing on his toes so he didn’t dislocate his fucking shoulders, and enjoy a whole different set of muscles cramping up instead.

Variety—the spice of life.

Mal shifted restlessly, fighting a losing battle to ease some of the strain on his shoulders. An ache built in the joints, fiery knots that ratcheted tighter and tighter each time he let his arms take his full weight. A muscle in the back of his calf twinged.

Mal breathed. In and out, bare chest rising and falling, pale skin ashy under the stark fluorescents. Being so…exposed in front of a crowd also stirred up a nervous, squirming kind of shame Mal unsuccessfully tried to ignore.

Realistically, he knew a few flimsy scraps of cloth wouldn’t protect him from this; being tortured would suck whether he was naked or not. It was just one more attempt to humiliate him, to reinforce his “place” as something subhuman, that quickly chipped away at his remaining pride.

Across the room, one of the hunters grinned, tapped his buddy on the arm, and nodded Mal’s direction.

Great.

For the first ten minutes or so after hanging Mal up like a piñata, they’d just watched, joking crudely and laughing amongst themselves. Too many sets of eyes sizing Mal up, like a piece of meat.

Or sharks smelling blood in the water.

Now, it looked like they were finally ready to play.

Slowly, the hunter prowled closer. He pulled a small, folding knife from his pocket. As far as blades went, it was pretty tame. Something meant for trimming twine or nails—only a couple inches long.

Smirking, he held it up for Mal to see. Waved it slowly back forth so dramatically that Mal finally rolled his eyes at the display.

The hunter stopped and arched his brow, taunting, “Think that’s funny, leech?”

“Of course not,” Mal said, dryly. “You and that nail file are terrifying. Really.”

Egging them on was stupid; Mal knew it was stupid. And for the most part he’d bitten back the snark and profanity and played it smart. He watched. Listened. Looked for opportunities, openings, any weakness he could exploit.

But every now and then Mal’s mouth still got the better of him.

The hunter snorted. Glanced at the pocket knife and made a show of looking it over before shrugging and folding it closed.

“Yeah,” he conceded, mildly. “Never was a big fan of knives, anyhow. Not for this shit.” The man waved a dismissive hand, and turned back to the gaggle of hunters. “Hey, Niall, pass me the No. 3 Braided?”

A couple of the hunters laughed. One of the women whistled. Another scoffed, the sound almost lost to a louder protest of, “What happened to starting small?”, that kicked off another round of jeers and abrasive laughter.

Unease prickled like sweat on the nape of Mal’s neck. He swallowed, fidgeting and letting his gaze drift from the hunter to the crowd behind him. The other man, Niall, strolled forward a moment later, a length of something heavy and black coiled in his hand.

A whip. That was a fucking whip.

Niall passed it over and retreated back to the sidelines to watch. Tension settled over the room. Anticipation.

Given the floor again, the hunter hefted the tool, then tilted it to give Mal a better look. Against his better judgment, Mal did. Something in the pit of his stomach tied itself in queasy knots.

“This here is one of my favorite correctional tools in our kit. Sleek, got a bit of weight to it, feels real good in your hand.” He unlooped a single coil, letting the tip dangle. “Comparable to your standard bullwhip—little shorter, because we’re not driving cattle with it. But the craftsmanship is what really sets this thing apart. You got your standard woven leather cording, but then see that there…?”

He dragged a finger down the length, angling the whip again so it caught the overhead light. Dull shine Mal first mistook for well-oiled leather came into terrifying clarity, all at once.

Oh, god…

“Silver thread,” the hunter confirmed, enjoying the dawning horror settling over his captive audience. “All braided in with the leather, can barely even see them. But when it hits one of your kind—” Casually, the hunter pressed the whip to Mal’s stomach, just above his navel. “It adds a little extra zing to your swing.”

The reaction was immediate.

Pain sizzled across Mal’s skin as the interwoven silver burned on contact. He hissed through his teeth, and tried unsuccessfully to flinch away. Bare feet skimmed the concrete, yanking hard against the shackles anchoring his legs to the floor, a precaution to keep him from kicking.

Smart. Because without it, the asshole in front of him would’ve already been dead.

Grinning, the hunter held the silver-braided loop there for a few more seconds, watching his captive squirm. When he finally relented, a bright red line of blistered flesh marred Mal’s belly, like he’d carelessly leaned against a hot stove.

Shit.

Mal was breathing hard, now. Shaking, from more than just the strain of the position. Fear—real fear—danced around the edges of his consciousness.

Anger, too. Bone-deep, stubborn defiance Mal sometimes swore he’d been born with. It’d kept him going this long. Helped him weather things that were, theoretically, scarier than a ragtag group of human bullies.

In reality, he’d never faced anything like this before.

Ears ringing, Mal stared the hunter down, fangs bared in a snarl.

Face darkened with cruel glee, the hunter leaned in close. Just shy of Mal’s biting range, but enough the heat of his breath puffed against Mal’s skin, like he was sharing a secret between the two of them.

“Most of them scream by three.” The muffled thwick of leather hitting the floor echoed in Mal’s ears. “But I bet you’ll make it to five.”

Tag list: @whumpsday @writereleaserepeat @thecyrulik @lookbluesoup