#but there is NO ONE here for me to lovingly cradle their face | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

onlyswan · 3 months ago

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summary: in which there is never enough time to be in love but jungkook is a 24/7 lover. (part one)

idol!jk x afab!reader / fluffy fluff with a dash of angst / word count: 3.6k

warnings/content: jungkook takes a day off and surprises oc <3 ; he's veryyy touchy; he gives oc's boobie a lil bite lol this guy ; s*xual innuendos; one (1) spank; oc comforts him :(; bam is home too!!; family is complete

→ in which masterlist!

note: smth short and sweet so i can recover from dreamboat loool missed my babies sm <3 as always reblog and/or feedback is very much appreciated! <3

p.s. i'm also redoing my iw taglist so pls comment/send an ask if you want to be (re)/added!

—

“baby? i’m home.”

you’re confident to say that you’d never mistake jungkook’s voice for anyone else’s. and on that note, you must be dreaming of him— the voice of an angel, the calloused palms cupping your cheeks… the audible and damp kisses delicately being peppered all over your face. everything feels so real. too real. just like how it used to be.

it hasn’t been long since you last saw him. you communicate and meet whenever it’s possible, no matter how short the time he is allowed to dedicate. still, you miss him all the time, everyday. you keep telling yourself it’s not that bad. time is passing by faster than you feared. but this whole set-up is foreign and daunting. and you miss him. you miss him all the time. that must be why you’re dreaming.

when you open your eyes in the morning, you’ve come to expect nothing more than the view of the plain white ceiling, or the sunlight peeking from behind the curtains.

so why are you gawking at jungkook’s face?

he smiles from ear-to-ear, bunny teeth and crinkles around his eyes— you can’t be mistaken. it’s him. it feels as though your heart has been shocked and revived.

“jungkook!” you gasp.

you startle your own self when you abruptly throw your arms around him. he tries to hold you up, but you’re far too ecstatic for your own good, inexplicable joy thrumming in your veins and fireworks bursting in your ribcage. you squeal and jump up and down on the bed like a little kid on christmas morning; jungkook hugs you back tighter than he has ever done before, protecting you from the fall and crash.

“oh my god, you’re here! you’re here!”

“yes, i’m here-” he laughs in amusement. “ow shit, settle down- wow, it’s so early. why are you so energetic-”

“i missed you!” you briefly pause for oxygen. “so much! i’m never letting go of you again!”

“wow!” he makes a dramatic wheezing sound. “that much, baby? you missed me that much?”

“that much!”

you draw back with a pout, just enough so you can look at each other, nodding your head probably too fast— you’re almost dizzy. adrenaline tide calming into waves, you’re catching your breath.

are you certain that this is not your imagination playing tricks on you?

“you’re here…” you slowly say. it’s only registering to your whiplashed brain. there is barely any feeling in your arms as you touch his face, an attempt at separating wishful thinking and reality. “why are you here?”

“why else?” he grins toothily. “because you said you were missing me.”

your attempt at forming words is rudely interrupted. he steals a kiss, this thief… hard and hungry, keeping you in place by his palm cradling the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.

he pulls away with a satisfied hum, tongue darting out to swipe over his lips. “and because i was missing you more.”

for a moment, you gaze at each other in silence. you’re still neck deep in disbelief and euphoria. that kiss took your breath away. under the circumstances, you shall yield and admit that he misses you more. he requests for developed photos of you when you come visit. that’s something you never imagined you’d have to do.

he tries to tame your messy hair, smoothing it down until he’s holding your cheeks lovingly. “i mean, what else was i supposed to do? i miss waking up to this pretty face everyday.”

you pucker your lips in response, demanding for a kiss. this earns a chuckle from him before he grants your wish. an unintelligible noise of joy escapes your mouth as you jump and hug him again. it is shortly followed by a yelp when he whisks you off the bed without warning, spinning you ‘round and ‘round… ‘round… and ‘round… and…

your laughter soon transforms into horror.

“jungkook!” you scream with your eyes squeezed shut and your legs curled around his waist. “okay! stop it! i’m getting dizzy!”

the crazy bastard keeps on giggling as if he doesn’t hear a thing. you always expect these reunions to be so emotional, but when jungkook is here, it feels as though he never left.

“jungkook!”

you hook your leg around his, causing the two of you to collapse on the soft mattress. you land on top of him with a whimper. you breathe out a sigh, relieved that the nausea-inducing ride is over.

“that was fun.” he speaks next to your ear; the sensation makes you squirm.

“it was,” you push yourself up to search for more air, a little sweaty after yours and jungkook’s hyperness took control of your bodies. “for the first five seconds.”

you’re now properly straddling him, ass on his crotch. it’s accidental, but nothing new. nay, comfortable. this level of proximity won’t feel like intimacy with somebody else. goddamn, you missed your boyfriend so much.

a big, sleepy yawn zaps your attention from him. you cover your face with both hands, wandering into the darkness for a little while. you find that your mind is devoid of any thought. perhaps you’re more overwhelmed than you let on.

“missed this view too…” he reveals amidst the haze, a distinct change in the tone of his voice.

there they are— the butterflies in his stomach, slaves to you and only you. he breathes through his parted lips as he caresses your thighs with tenderness bleeding from his fingertips, your skin so smooth and soft in contrast to his calloused palms. his lips curve into a drunken smile when you graze his greedy hands, as though granting them permission, before they slip inside the magenta velvet of your night dress. the material bunches over his forearms as he reaches for your hips. it leaves almost nothing to the imagination (in his case: memory). his attention is stolen by your cotton panties. light taupe. decorated by white polka dots.

“this one’s new.” he comments.

you peer down to figure out what he meant. right, he’s never seen this before. “surprise! you like it?”

“yes, it’s cute.” he toys with the little ribbon at the center of the waistband. “you rarely get this color.”

“thanks. i think my taste is changing.”

“really?”

“mhmm…”

his hands venture up to your waist, kneading at the flesh and reacquainting with the feel of you. he’s been pissed off at the thought of forgetting what it feels like to touch you, knowing your body like the back of his hand. he hasn’t been away from you for extended periods of time since their last tour. that was years ago.

for maximum comfort, he sits up and pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. “let’s move here.” he carries you with him, back comfortable leaning against the headboard, while you remain sitting pretty on his lap. “bam was sleeping on my side of the bed when i arrived.”

“huh…?” you blink.

“you didn’t know?”

you shake your head innocently, a tad distracted by your eyes roaming his naked torso. he looks absolutely ravishing as ever. did something already change from the last time you saw him?

“i tucked him into his bed last night.”

you visited bam at the training facility after work yesterday, but he kept trying to follow you as you were leaving. your fragile heart caved and you brought him home for the weekend. you texted jungkook about it but he didn’t respond; as much as that made you sad, you figured he was just tired or he used his phone time to talk to his family.

you spent the whole night playing with bam and watching his favorite dog entertainment channel on youtube. the house wasn’t dead silent for once. you fell asleep together on the couch until you woke up at 2am and tucked him and yourself into your respective beds. it was easy to fall back to sleep after, but it felt weird that you didn’t need an audiobook or hours of calming sounds of nature.

you’re not whining. there have been a lot of sunny and happy days. you have wonderful people in your life who act as your support system in their own unique ways, but jungkook and bam… they’re your family. you made your peace with no longer having one, but now that you’ve built your own, having to be apart from them makes your heart ache.

“did he sneak in to sleep next to you? he does that now?” he makes a surprised face. “what’s this? i’m so jealous of him!”

a pinch in your heart.

you try your best to conceal a frown, but your poor choice of words paints your disappointment. “you’re not-” you avoid his eyes. “staying the night?”

“yah, you don’t have to look so sad. i can stay, baby.”

“you can?” your face lights up.

“for you, i’ll make it happen.” he cheeses, affectionately tapping the tip of your nose like it’s a button to make you smile. “i’m only working hard in there to earn more days off, you know that?”

that makes you frown.

“babe, don’t do that…” you whine, shaking his shoulders. “you don’t need to work so hard. only do what is required of you. i just want you to be healthy.”

“no… just let me.” he replies with finality. “i need… i need a reason. you’re the reason why i’m still hanging in there, and i don’t want to miss another anniversary.”

he bats his eyelashes.

“being your boyfriend is my favorite job in the whole world.”

and how are you supposed to argue with one of his most heart-fluttering, most wholesome lines yet?

you sigh in defeat. “then you can rest when you’re with me.”

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

you lean in to kiss him, but are interrupted when he yawns. your forehead ends up resting against his as you giggle uncontrollably at the unexpected and hilarious view of his open mouth.

“sleepy?”

he bows his head in embarrassment, body vibrating with laughter. “i couldn’t sleep because i was so excited. i wanted to talk to you last night but i was so sure i’d spoil the surprise.”

“of course you couldn’t.” you giggle, removing yourself from his lap while tugging at the collar of his shirt. “come here. let’s sleep some more.”

you lie down on the bed facing each other. jungkook moans in contentment as you engulf him in your embrace, nuzzling his face against your chest. he can smell your body wash, sweet and clean. that— that isn’t new. every muscle in his body decompresses. he needed this, needed you. desperately. tremendously. you pull the thick and warm blanket over yourselves and he melts. while he wishes he was taller, he knows he is still of considerable height. he’s been bulking up, getting stronger than before too. but he doesn’t give a fuck about those at the moment. he’s not even aware. his body fits perfectly with yours— that’s all he knows. oh… he’s melting. but it doesn’t feel like he’s being reduced. he has everything to gain. this is heaven on earth.

he opens his eyes into an awful squint, faced by your cleavage spilling out from the neckline of your night dress. there’s this urge he can’t ignore. it’s not spelt out in his mind, he rather feels like his body is having a fit. next thing he knows, he’s carefully sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of the swell of your boob. he stays still for a few seconds, and then pulls away once he deems himself satisfied. he wipes your skin with his thumb incase he left some saliva, innocent eyes peeking up at you huffing out a quiet laugh.

“you sure that’s all you needed?”

“i’ll devour you later.” he smirks, blinking sluggishly. “i’m tired but just you wait. i’ll go all night!”

“not if i beat you to it…” you tease, having plans of your own. you want to make him feel good. you’ve been going insane thinking about it. “missed you.”

“alright then, let’s do it at the same time.” he says suggestively.

“you know i have a hard time focusing when we do that.” you huff.

“eh, so? not me.” he chuckles. “i think you do a really great job, though?”

“…still! go easy on me a little bit so i can do better.”

“it’s not a competition, baby.” he squeezes your waist affectionately. “plus, i don’t think i’d be able to control myself once i get a taste.”

“jungkook!” you whine, growing flustered.

he laughs out loud, giving your ass a quick spank that resounds through the walls of the bedroom.

it becomes silent again after that.

the tip of your nails graze his scalp with repeated movements, more so for your amusement, but he is practically purring. you can’t imagine your arm being a comfortable pillow either, but he is doing great at making it appear so.

“i realized something.”

“what is it?”

“i really can’t live without you.” he confesses earnestly, then looks up at you with raised eyebrows. “don’t say anything. i know you’ll say something like ‘yes, you can!’”

“i was not. i liked hearing you say it.” you stifle a giggle. “but i’m not going anywhere. you know that.”

“i don’t doubt that.” he sighs with a heavy chest. “sometimes i just get a bit worried that you’d get tired of waiting.”

this isn’t the first time in your relationship that he’s voicing out this fear, but the difference between then and now is stark. with the disconnection, there was a part of you that expected it to resurface.

“babe,” you gently tilt up his face, locking your sincere and love-filled eyes with his. “we’re okay. i’ve loved you since i was 18. this? this is nothing. you’re a part of me, so you’re always with me. and i know you keep me with you too.”

you wear a brave face. you hope that he believes your words as much as you do, because no matter how many boulders the universe throws down your path, all you ever think about is how you and jungkook will surmount them. together. he is your partner after all.

“we’ll get through it like we always do, baby boy.”

jungkook nods and smiles, doe eyes glittering. you love making that happen. “sorry, i think i scared myself when i read stories on the internet.”

“our story is different!”

the two of you burst into a fit of giggles.

“no, seriously-” he cackles, a little breathless.

“we’re one of a kind!” you keep the joke running. you want to keep making him laugh, even if it’s only for a few seconds longer.

“we’ve gone through so much bullshit. not everyone would fight as hard as we did!” jungkook passionately agrees with the same intensity. “you’re right, we always make it work. we’ll get through it like we always do.”

“trust me,” you charmingly implore him. “when was i ever wrong?”

“never!” he immediately shakes his head. “…atleast not about the things that matter.”

“okay,” you shrug. “i’ll take it.”

“goodnight kiss, please.” he cutely pleads.

wild guess: he went home to be babied. not that you’re complaining. this is miles better than having to wrestle him over who gets to be the big spoon. you love giving love. when your heart stops beating, it would be great to celebrate how much you were loved, but you also wish to be remembered as a person who gave love until their last breath.

“goodnight, my love.” you coo, well aware that the sun has risen.

you plant a tender kiss on his forehead. the complaint bubbling in his throat is swallowed when you lean in closer to reach his lips. with his wish fulfilled, he flutters his eyes closed and snuggles as close to you as possible, real and proper rest finally within his grasp. he basks in your warmth and the tranquilizing silence— his breathing steady and his heart at its calmest. beautiful things enter his mind. you are the sun on the first spring day; the clouds that go with him no matter the distance; the waves that kiss the shore and never fail to come back. he heals in places he didn’t know he was hurting.

“hold on, where is bam then?”

“his house. i gave him some treats then he slept again…” his voice comes out muffled. he sniffles jokingly. “the reaction was kind of underwhelming. i think he didn’t miss me as much.”

“of course he’d choose that over a human.”

“i bribed him too early.” he laments.

“wait…” he feels you come to a still. “i think he’s coming.”

he opens his eyes and copies you in focusing on the familiar sound of bam’s paws clicking against the floor. the mattress quakes and he lifts his head to find the dog climbing over your bodies.

he’s seriously a large and tall dog.

“bam, what are you doing here?!”

bam tilts his head and stares back at jungkook, tail wagging as his dad laughs and pets him on the head down to his back.

“he’s so adorable.” you squeal quietly, joining in and scratching under his chin. “i love you, bam.”

bam’s eyes switch to you. he slowly lowers his head, giving your hand a tentative lick as if to show appreciation but he’s also worried that it would prompt you to stop.

“he’s gotten real heavy, huh?”

“he’s got some big muscles like you.”

“of course! he got it from me.”

jungkook’s proud smile drops a little. it morphs into pure fondness once bam starts sniffing at him. he yelps and dramatically falls back, wiping his wet cheek with the back of his hand, but it’s game over once bam pants with excitement. bam chases his face to attack him with his love language.

you watch the scene from the sidelines, laughing so hard that your sides are beginning to hurt. you wish you were recording. you wish that you never forget this.

“okay, okay! you’re happy to see me! i see that now!” jungkook laughs, squeezing bam in a tight hug for a moment.

the dog still refuses to relent, however. they almost look like they’re fighting to the death but the truth is they’re just smothering each other with affection. unbeknownst to them, you make a pained face when one of them accidentally hits your arm multiple times. nevermind, they were definitely both culprits.

“____! save me!” your boyfriend cries out.

he bulldozes through bam and shoves himself into the tiny space he previously, and peacefully, occupied minutes before. he’s squeezing you so tight, nearly crushing you as he laughs with tears in his eyes. they affectionately call it his elmo laugh, the fans, which you adore just as much.

you see it before you hear it. bam makes that face when he’s about to bark. your hush comes out at the same exact second as his barking.

“this is so chaotic!” you try to project your voice louder than everybody else’s.

jungkook’s laughs quieter but harder, if that makes any sense.

you have an arm around jungkook that holds him taut and protected, while the other is busy with getting bam to settle down. you slide your palm across his fur in repeated motions, focusing on the spots that cause his eyes to flutter in relaxation.

“shhh, bam. it’s still too early. let daddy rest first. we can tire him out again later, okay?”

he settles on top of your bodies again. he has stopped moving around, but then he makes that face again, and you really love your healthy sense of hearing.

“behave, bam-” you playfully squeeze his cheeks together before scratching under his chin. “my cutie bam. you can do that for me, right? you’re a good boy! i’m sure you understand.”

he abandons the urge to bark, suddenly fixing his position so you can also scratch at his chest. you almost snort at how funny he looked obeying you on accident because he is begging to be petted.

“that’s right. good job, bam.” you coo, sending him a pleased smile. “you’re so smart. you listen so well.”

you whisper to jungkook. “it’s so cute when it looks like he really understands what i’m saying.”

“it’s the way you talk to him.” he answers quietly, placing tiny kisses along your collarbone. “you’re so sweet.” he almost forgot how good you are with bam. he just fell in love with you all over again.

“but it’d be cooler if he does understand me.” you hum, moving your hand on bam’s head. he finally decides to flop down then. he rests his head over your waist, eyes seemingly inching closer to sleepiness. you sigh in relief. “go to sleep too, baby.”

jungkook breaks the silence a moment later.

“…did you mean me or bam?”

“you!” you chuckle.

“oh-” he laughs at his own foolishness. his arm that is supposed to be hooked around your waist rests over bam’s body instead. he ruffles the dog’s fur softly. “let’s all go to sleep.”

you let out a yawn in response to that. you sniffle, murmuring tiredly. “i love you, baby… your surprise made me so happy. i’ll make it up to you too.”

“i love you more…”

jungkook lifts his head and finds that you have closed your eyes. your chest rises and falls in a calm rhythm. bam is closely following you into dreamland.

heavens, what he wouldn’t give so he could stay here forever and never leave again.

his eyes are heavy with exhaustion, hot with sleepy tears, but he fights his own body to stay awake. with all his might, he gazes in awe at the beauty of a life with you. he wants to always remember what is waiting for him at home.

#jungkook #jungkook drabble #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #jungkook one shot #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts reaction

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solbaby7 · 4 months ago

Note

I love your work, and I’ve been creeping on your master list and it’s so good 😭❤️❤️❤️… pls do one with Azriel and AFAB reader who finds out first that they’re true mates but says nothing at all, too scared that he’ll reject her cause he’s in love with Elain and she witnesses the whole necklace gifting/almost kiss between them and runs away, tries to avoid both of them for days and gets sick or injured or something and that’s when Az realizes it too and smut ensues 🫶😭❤️

Since You Have A Lover

pairing : azriel x afab!reader

warnings: angst babe, torture too (oops👀🤣), not proofread, swearing, probs typos, mild smut at the end, testing out the longer fics and then we’re gonna figure out if longer or shorter is better 🫣

thank you for the request bean! i switched it up a little to add some much needed angst but i’m so happy you’ve been enjoying 💗💗

oh and…educate a girl. wtf is afab?👀 respectfully ofc

—

Deep breaths and a lowered gaze is how you make it through family dinners as your stomach lurches uncomfortably.

The feeling never got easier, even after months of enduring the debilitating emotions that ensued from watching your mate love another.

It’s instinctual to be jealous—to compare yourself to Elain when Azriel refused to tear his eyes away. He was supposed to be your equal and yet the longer dinner went on with overhearing their hushed conversation and not-so-sneaky touches under the table; you felt anything but suitable in comparison.

Drowning those thoughts is surprisingly easy, a plethora of wine bottles are scattered about the table and not a single person bats an eye when you snatch one up for yourself. They’re too caught up in each other to realize you’ve slipped away; abandoning the suffocating love that permeated from every direction besides your own.

Fresh air helps a little, the stolen bottle of wine aiding in keeping you warm from the unforgiving nighttime chill. Eventually the cool bite doesn’t send shivers down your spine and you barely even flinch when bare skin meets cold stone, your gaze dipping down to lively town below.

Time moves too quickly as the observer, seconds bleeding into minutes until hours have passed and the bottle has nothing left to offer. There’s a brief moment where your foggy brain contemplates the effort it would take to retrieve another when your solitude is broken.

Two bodies burst through the balcony doors on the furthest side, mostly concealed by trees and flowers but you’d recognize those wings anywhere. A hand smacks over your mouth to conceal any sound, body freezing in place as you witness Azriel press Elain into the wall, his hands cradling the sides of her face lovingly.

A part of you shatters when you catch that sparkle in his eye, the eagerness in his movement to have her closer until her cheeks go flush and thick lashes flutter closed in preparation for the sweet kiss Azriel is sure to grant her.

You’re unable to stomach another moment and neither of them even flinch when you shuffle from your spot and make a bee-line for the exit. Tears cloud your vision, shoulders shaking and steps unsteady as you all but run through the halls, darting up the stairs and colliding right into another body. “Oh,” The startled sound is all but whimpered out of you and red eyes and splotchy cheeks are the first thing Nesta sees as you look up. “Gods, I’m sorry.” You scramble to your feet, retrieving the book she’d dropped in the collision. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching here I was going.”

“That’s not like you.”

A weak smile quirks at the corner of your mouth, unbound hair in unruly strands down your shoulders. “I’m not quite myself at the moment.”

Nesta hums in response, slender arms crossing over her chest and the fabrics of her nightgown shifts with the motion. Her gaze is scrutinizing, picking apart the truth from the lies and you’re infinitely grateful that she doesn’t call you out on your state of disarray. “Want me to walk you to your room?”

“No.” You whisper, hastily wiping your cheeks and attempting to smooth down stray hairs and wrinkled silks. “No, I think I’m going to go for a walk instead. I could use the fresh air.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

Nesta's neck cranes, slowly turning on the balls of her feet as you swiftly slip past her and make way for your chambers. Perhaps, it's the defeated slump of your shoulders that catches Lady Death's attention; that emptiness in your eyes that couldn't even be filled by the overflowing tears that stained your cheeks.

She considers waking Cassian--he always was better equipped to handle the emotions of others but you're already gone, disappearing behind the door without even saying goodnight. Something about the interaction forces her to linger, smutty book long forgotten as she waits to see you creep out that same room ten minutes later.

You're dressed to better accommodate the weather now. Thick leathers insulating body heat while subconsciously providing much needed compression--the tight fabric mimics comfort in its attempt to hold together the broken bits of you shoved inside.

Nesta's lips part, a million possible words resting at the tip of her tongue but you're quick to intercept, tone numb and alarmingly empty. "Don't wait up."

Being alone was supposed to be relaxing.

Distracting, at the very least.

But, all you could feel was the cool prickle of awareness at the back of your neck the whole time you sat at the edge of the mountains that overlooked the Sidra. Each time you'd slow your breathing and attempt to regulate the unusual beat of your heart with the captivating view of Velaris at night. While most were inside, the homes that resided there were full of life; lights glowing golden through their windows, laughs ebbing through the woodwork and creating a sense of serenity that refuses to wash over you as well.

Eyes narrow, shoulders squaring and fingers twitch for the sharp daggers strapped to your thighs. The thick trees you’d come through seems far less attractive now, branches craning out like grabbing hands with gaps of murky darkness that resembled giant mouths waiting to swallow you up. “Nesta?”

The chuckle that breaks through the clearing is anything but feminine. “Not quite.”

It happens too fast--the hand that smacks over your mouth to mute the startled scream that rips free. You push against the solid wall of a body stationed behind you, attempting to sway his stability in order to break free but a sharp sting in your neck renders you still.

The burn that follows is instant and before you can stop it, the unforgiving darkness becomes all you know.

The palpable tension at breakfast is suffocating.

Azriel's seething brood casts angsty shadows along his strong build, creating a visible wall between himself and his High Lord after the stern conversation he was forced into the night before. It runs on repeat in the shadow singers mind, the order given to back off on his affections towards the middle Archeron sister.

It seems cruel. A sick form of punishment that Azriel can't quite wrap his mind around because who was really in charge of the tragectory of his life? Azriel ? Or his High Lord?

The mere thought has his teeth grinding in silent contempt, his gaze flickering around the table before landing on the bare spot directly across from him. His brows furrow, confusion briefly sweeping away the rage as he considers the time--your usual schedule and the words leave his mouth before he can stop them. "Where is she?"

A brief pause, the casual conversation slowing to a halt until Azriel catches a glimpse of something on Nesta's face--a strain of guilt he'd seen a million times on a trillion different faces. "Left earlier this morning." Polished silverware scrapes at fine china, pushing aside food that her body refuses to indulge in. "Said she was going for a walk."

Discontentment settles into Azriel's bones--a feeling he struggles to understand and Nesta's answer only exasperates the unsteady sensation.

"In this weather?" Grey clouds are thick in the sky, shades of slate and granite completely masking the sun as relentless rains pour down from above. "When was this?"

"Around three."

Cassian swears lowly from beside his mate, a sturdy hand resting at her shoulders but the regret lacing his features speaks plenty about the decision to stay quiet for so long. It was too dangerous, especially after the last few meetings Rhys had with Kier in Hewn. Change took time and the Steward and his men were complaining about that change taking too long. Hateful words were thrown in the name of the people of Hewn City and how they had desires too; dreams of a better world for themselves and their children but the High Lord’s better judgement rose question to the other consequences that could arise from giving what they were asking for. "Ness that was nearly eight hours ago."

The screech of Azriel's chair draws attention, a sudden boost of fuel being injected in his veins. "Did she tell you where she was going exactly?"

Nesta’s tone turns into vitriol, a subconscious reaction to the guilt that gnawed at her bones for not seeking for you sooner after finding you in your state. The reminder of tears streaming down your face flashes behind her eyelids; the choppiness of your words through labored breathing. How desperately you’d attempted to wrangle it together just long enough to make it to your room and suddenly the eldest Archeron feels that familiar uselessness creep beneath her skin. “She didn’t leave me a map with a drawn out route—she just said she needed air.”

“While crying?” It wasn’t intentional, Rhysand seeing the flash of memory that Nesta had unknowingly projected; her mental walls caving for just a fraction of a minute before the iron doors had regained their formidable security. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Silverware clatters against the table, staining table linen in strawberry jam but no one seems to give a shit when the severity of the situation behinds to settle over the room. Nesta runs a hand against the material of her dress, smoothening out wrinkles and creases in order to avoid all of the eyes settling over her face. “I was just going to the library to read and we bumped into each other. She came from the balcony—I offered to walk her to her room but she just…” A sigh pulls free, jaw setting tightly. “I let her go.”

“Nesta.” Feyre’s slow shake of her head holds enough disappointment to have Nesta’s shoulders squaring on the defensive.

“I’m not some evil bitch, I waited up!” She seethes, the beginnings of those silver flames lapping at the steely grey of her eyes but the fight within isn’t truly directed towards Feyre or anyone else but herself. Because she’d felt the exact moment that you walked from the doors and winnowed away, that she’d made a grave mistake. Nesta’s shoulders sag, fingers bunching unforgivingly into the inky linen cloth until she felt the tips of her nails digging into the polished mahogany underneath. “I waited.”

Azriel’s already out of the room without a word.

He didn’t have a right to shame her because Azriel had a feeling he knew what sent you running.

His teeth grind together when thinking back to the night before when he and Elain had scuffled off onto the balcony at the witching hour; hoping their sins would be shielded by the dark cast of night. Too caught up in one another to consider another already occupying the space.

And, no matter how many times Azriel brushed his fingertips over the soft curve of Elain’s cheeks or vyed for a fleeting touch when passing in the hallways—the kiss he thought he wanted lacked the spark he was sure would flicker to life when lips grazed.

He’d pulled away so abruptly, brows furrowing in a stark line discontentment that was visible to anyone with eyes and then he heard the broken whimper of a gasp.

It’s been too easy to pass it off as Elain and far easier for him to forget about it altogether after Rhysand had found an embarrassed Elain rushing back to her room with flushed cheeks and an unsteady gait. He’d never heard his brother shout so loud, the veins in his neck protruding as he ordered Azriel to never even look her way again. That if a quick fuck in the dead of the night was what he desired then Azriel should wander along the cobblestone streets of Velaris and find himself a suitable pleasure house and pay for it.

The words act as fuel, Azriel’s senses working on overdrive; shadows scrying for information faster than ever before until they’d returned with something he could work with.

Dropped neatly in his palms were the cool steel of your twin blades that never left the secure holsters forever strapped to your thighs.

And they were soaked in your blood.

—

You recognized the suffocating dank smell that tended to fester when stuffed so far beneath the earth—the perfect dungeon.

One you’d been in countless times before, wearing that shadowy mask of indifference when masquerading as the soulless monster that became necessary to survive while in Hewn City. It took decades of assistance by Azriel’s side; an apprentice of sorts when the bounds of your affections had just begun testing its limits—wondering to see just how far you’d go just to be near him.

To get him to notice you. Your mate. Yours. Yours.

All of that seems so foolish now. Insignificant compared to the dire situation you’d found yourself entangled in.

Sharp twinges of pain throb up your neck, aches settling in from the uncomfortable position and it’s a strain when you shift in attempts to take in your surroundings. Fear lurches in your chest when your hands don’t move, restrained by chains that had you hung up like a prized hog after a fresh hunt.

Not good. Not good. Not good. So, not good.

“I always did love that look.” Immediately your spine goes ramrod straight, fingers clenching into fists over the cool bite of the chains as that voice washed over you like a bucket of water. Refreshing on your own terms and a horrible wake up call when it wasn’t. “When panic shifts into realization—truly a sight worth capturing. Especially when attached to such a delicate disposition.”

Delicate?

You’d never once used that word in ordinance to yourself.

Hearing it now, under such circumstances makes your heart lurch, it’s beat untamed against your ribcage and it takes every bit of strength left to smooth that look of utter calm across your features. “Come a little closer, let me show you how sweet I can get.”

The underlying threat is easily palpable and Kier is wise not to follow the bait; aware of the wounded animals ability to put up a considerable fight and he’s too coward to brawl fairly. “As tempting as that is, it won’t be me who plays with you tonight.” Your teeth bare into a snarl, pure promise rumbling from your chest and the sound encourages a chuckle from the male.

He’s not close enough to injure; to swing the brunt of your weight around for a well-timed kick that you knew would disable long enough to figure a way out of these damn restraints. But even with the distance between you, the resemblance between this male and Mor was striking. She’d inherited the shape of his lips, even if the words she spoke were far sweeter than the shit spewed from her predecessor. More similarities are spotted during your scrutinizing evaluation of him; the line of his nose, the shade of his hair, the confident air that oozed from his form—no matter how misplaced it was.

“I’ll kill anyone who dares lay a finger on me.”

“So much fight in you,” Kier all but croons, his eyes raking across your body in a way that was less than savory. “I can’t wait to see how long it lasts.”

Breathe.

Years of training beside the spymaster had prepared you for this very moment and it’s easier to drift back into the memory of just another session; before things had gotten so complicated and he’d just been a friend eager to teach if you were willing to learn. Countless times you’d been in a similar situation—you, waking up tied up to some chair with ropes securing every possible joint in place and Azriel would leave you there as long as it took for you to figure your way out of it.

Allow the thrum of your heart be the beat that keeps you focused.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Relax and take in your surroundings. Notice things no one else thinks is important because that could be the one thing that keeps you from an untimely death.

The cell wasn’t very large, four stone walls covered in grime and mildew with just enough space for two grown men to fit semi-comfortably. No windows. One door with a thin slot at the top large enough for two eyes to peer inside. No fire. No light. No warmth. No breeze, just stale, dank air that tasted of iron when your breathed in too deep.

Just stay alive long enough to get help.

“What do you want from me?”

Kier inhales a greedy breath, his chest expanding in the ornate armor worn. It glistens even with no light—proving that even with his privileged title, he was never the one who got his hands dirty. “Many things,” He finally confessed, the words airy and nonchalant. He’s too cocky. Too comfortable. “But first, I want you to tell me about the Cursebreakers sisters.” He dares a step closer, arms crossed casually behind his back as a dark look begins to worm its way into his eye. “I want you to tell me everything you know about the Made ones and the power they stole from the Cauldron.”

Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A smile works its way across his face—one so familiar it taints good memories with its stain. “I hoped you’d say that.” Kier walks past, the smell of his cologne burning your nostrils and you couldn’t imagine ever smelling tobacco and ash, bergamot and oakmoss without gagging ever again.

One knock on the thick steel door and slender male with hair like soot and eyes like a raven enters.

Your face remains a blank slate. Even as you take in the rubber material of his apron and the sturdy material of his leather boots. Well used gloves cover his hands and tucked under his left arm is a rawhide holder filled to the brim with all kinds of terrifying treats.

Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.

“Who are you?”

He takes his sweet time answering. Making a show of neatly setting down the holder and undoing the braided leather straps holding it in place. “You can call me the Butcher—everyone else does.”

“How original.” A thick swallow to quell the nerves; to shove away the shake that threatened to disturb your carefully curated cadence. The chains rattle as you shift, the tips of your toes just barely skimming the cool ground beneath you but not quite enough to relieve your wrists of the burden of bearing the entirety of your weight. “Well, Butcher—come make yourself useful and loosen my chains, will you? It’s starting to chafe a bit.”

His head shakes in his denial, barely acknowledging the departing Steward and the heavy thud of the shutting door—a lock sliding into place. “You don’t really want me to do that.” For donning such a threatening title, the Butcher is deceivingly soft-spoken. It sends your nerves into a fritz, triggering your fight or flight and for the first time since your eyes had opened and the darkness had waned; that delicately woven web of control slips from your grasp. “If you’re as stubborn as I think you are,” The sharp ring of metal twangs through the air and in his grasp is a perfectly polished knife a little too curved to be considered a scalpel. “You’ll need something to hold onto. It helps with the pain…for a time.”

Breathe.

“Then let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

Butcher chuckles low under his breath, full lips concealed by an ever fuller beard—the only thing about him that wasn’t perfectly trim and proper. “Not a fan of foreplay?”

Fingers curl around the cool bite of thick chains, your chest rising and falling in a steady pattern as you began to dissociate. An attempt to keep your mind as protected as possible from whatever was to come. “I’m more of a rip-the-bandaid kind of girl.”

Death clings to the pristinely polished rubber of his apron, the creak of his gloves filling the space as worn fingers ready around the hilt of his weapon. “You know,” Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. Disappear off into that numb place deep, deep within your mind. Ignore the bite of the blade poking around already sensitive wounds. “Under entirely different circumstances, I think I might’ve actually liked you.”

The switch flips so fast—too fast for you to catch but it’s impossible to miss the devastating burn that ripples through you as flesh is severed, muscle flayed and so, so much blood spilled.

It’s hard to keep track of how much time passes down here without access to windows and you’re certain that it’s intentional, aiding in the psychological aspect of their torture.

Relax and take in your surroundings. Notice things no one else thinks is important because that could be the one thing that keeps you from an untimely death.

The masculine baritone of Azriel’s teachings repeated like a mantra in your mind until it becomes the only thing distracting you from the sound of your flesh tearing, your blood drip, drip, dripping a misshapen puddle beneath you.

You force yourself to keep conscious, mentally noting anything your eyes are able to latch onto. Insignificant things; ebony hair, umber skin, a brand burned into the middle of Butcher’s left wrist in a symbol half-obscured by his gloves.

There’s a block on your powers, not quite faebane in its most lethal dose but paired with the wards humming against the walls, you knew using magic wouldn’t be an option for you. “Tell me about the Made ones and I can stop.”

“I don’t know anything.”

Just stay alive long enough to get help.

“You live there with them,” Butcher goads, crooked teeth exposed when gritted into that grimace of a sneer. Leather creaks under the playful twist of his wrist, the sharpened blade carving at muscle and obliterating sinew until you swear it reaches bone. “You share drink and food, you fight beside them in battle and you expect us to believe that secrets aren’t shared as well?” Every breath is ragged, a sheen of sweat coating your skin and unruly hair sticks to the curve of your neck. “Tell me what you know before I decide to get a little more creative in my methods.”

“Even if I did know anything, why the hell would I tell you? What would Hewn scum do with such knowledge?”

Your words have nicked a nerve, robbing the Butcher of that soft-spoken charm and replacing it with something more sinister. “You say the same thing to that bastard Illyrian you’re always seen around?”

A brow quirks, furrowing ever so slightly as it became more and more apparent that this was more than some spur of the moment kidnapping. Their questions, the desire to keep you immobile and battered but not enough to render you unconscious—not enough to be fatal. For whatever reason, they needed you alive and judging by the desperation that claws its way to the edges of Butchers voice, his curses and demands falling on deaf ears as your mind runs on overdrive to accumulate all the information you could before it was too late.

Each breath grows more labored, lashes fluttery and thick with exhaustion but just when it feel like too much—when you feel like giving up and succumbing to the sweet oblivion.

The rake of talons brushes against your mental walls. A cautious prod, testing your durability and utter relief washes over you when that feline lilt floods your consciousness. “We’re coming, just stay awake.”

The syllables barely reach your ears, sound faded by the obnoxious ringing that refused to subside—a side affect from all the fucking screaming and shouting. Swears slurring together the longer you snapped at the male before you, knees jerking and wounds barking in agony when the heel of your foot smashes so hard into his nose, his skull caves in; limp body dropping to the floor with a thud.

It’s all the strength you have in you and the death-grip you have around the chains is released all at once. Time moves in slow motion as you dangle there, vision darkening at the edges and that thrum of your heartbeat loud enough to distract you anymore. “Rhys they want— they want…”

So much blood oozes from your wounds, drenching your leathers all the way through and you were definitely feeling the affects. Your vision blurs, lids going lazy with just enough time to hear that voice—Azriel’s voice bellowing your name. “Stay alive.” He mutters over and over and over when he’s finally reached you, adrenaline pumping so high that he breaks the chains from their bolt with nothing more than his bare hands. “Do you hear me? Don’t you dare fucking die on me.”

You swear you try to obey the command, desiring nothing more than to keep Azriel's attention after finally being front and center in it. But it just felt so safe held in his grasp, tucked so close to his chest while he rids you of your restraints and applies pressure to gaping wounds.

All you wanted was one second. If you closed your eyes just for a second to gather your wits then you'd wake up and everything would be okay.

It sounds like a good idea-- so good that you allow the peace to wash over you like a cool tide washing over the shore in the early days of the burning summer; ignoring the desperate shouts from a vignette of voices that fades in the background like the haunting final notes of a song.

—

Confusion crashes at you in unforgiving waves, memories --or were they dreams?-- flash behind your lids with each blink. A dull throb pounds behind your lids, aggravating your mental shields to the point where you feel them wobble with each breath.

"You should stay still." Azriel's saying without giving you time to clear through the dense fog plaguing your mind. Instead, he busies his hands with fussing over your blankets, carefully tucking bare toes and pressing a five finger grip on your sternum when you attempt to rise from the soft cushion of a mattress that certainly did not belong to you. "It took Madja a while to get you all stitched up. Are you in pain? She left ointments and a few tinctures."

He's graceful enough not to mention the owlish blink of your eyes and their befuddled examination of his room until the crackly rasp of your voice cuts through the space; both of you refusing to address the elephant in the room. "My head hurts a little."

"Yeah," Shadows fuss with warm rags, sweeping it over your forehead and dabbing it along your cheeks while others occupy themselves with filling a glass of water to offer. "Rhys will be by later to apologize for that, I'm sure."

Your brows furrow deeply, nose scrunching when you sip your water. "Apologize for what?"

"You were in distress. We thought you were going to--" Azriel abruptly cuts himself off, fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Rhys went in your mind, said that before you'd gone unconscious that you were trying to tell him something that seemed urgent enough to bypass the usual request to wait for permission."

Your heart begins to pick up speed in your chest and suddenly the desire to rise from this bed and run away was becoming horribly intense. Legs shift under the weight of a duvet that didn't belong to you, attempting to hide the way your sore muscles sink into the overwhelming scent of night-chilled mist. "Okay...and what did he see?"

"He saw you get taken," Azriel turns his back to you, expertly avoiding your eyes but the nervous energy buzzing off his skin was unmistakable. "He watched them carve you up and torture you for information about Nesta and Elain." The stabilizing breath he takes shakes his shoulders, the strong line of muscle barely concealed by the tight stretch of his leathers--leathers still stained in the blood of those who'd spilled yours, no doubt. "Rhys said that you didn't say a word. You didn't give them a thing."

"That's good, right?" A pillow is fluffed behind you, shadows doting on every need. "Then, why do you sound so upset?"

"Why do I sound so upset?" Azriel cruelly mocks, his aurate gaze positively smoldering with rage when they land on you. "Because, you almost died! You almost died in my fucking arms before I ever got the chance to—. What the hell were you thinking?"

The beating you'd endured does nothing to quell your fiery spirit, eyes lighting with life and lips running a mile a minute—too fast for your logical brain to keep up with. "I was thinking that they wanted information on your precious, little girlfriend." You all but spit out, childishly pushing away the comfort the duvet from your legs as you attempt to shuffle from Azriel's bed without disturbing the tight wrap of your bandages. Why the hell were you in here anyway? "I was thinking that maybe, it'd be easier for them to fucking butcher me rather than watch what would happen to you if it were Elain there in my place."

Silence stretches along the hardwood floor, cloaking up the length of the walls and muting out the low crackle of the fireplace; its flame gentle and calm in the midst of an emotional storm. "I almost wish you would've let it be her." Azriel fills the void, finally mustering up the courage to face you. "I could've survived that and whatever consequences came along with it because my mate takes precedence above all."

Just like that, all the spitfire you’d prepared in retaliation absolutely dissipates after hearing those two words. “Your mate.”

Azriel doesn’t confirm with words. Instead, he searches inside for the humming gold thread wrapped taut around his ribs, just above his heart and pulls. Fucking yanking at it with all his might and something sparkles in his eye when your body jerks in retaliation.

“You know?”

“How long have you known?”

Your heartbeat hammers against your ribcage, threatening to carve out a hole if that’s what it took to get to its other half. “A while.”

“And you’ve said nothing.” He says, tone sounding almost defeated. “Why wouldn’t you have said anything?”

“Because, Az,” The shadows have seized their tireless caretaking, sliding back into place beside their master as you lose the ability to accept the tender affection. “You wouldn’t have chosen me. Not before Mor and certainly not before Elain.” You’re quick to bristle over that part, not leaving any room for the spymaster to interrupt no matter how expressive his face became. “Besides, the bond is a choice not a burden and that’s what it would’ve been for you if I spoke up about it.” Pure determination is what allows you to bear the brunt of your weight , willing yourself to appear strong in the face of the male who could render you to cinders if he so pleased. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d really like to shower the dungeon smell off of me.”

A childish whine of a noise is ripped from your throat when Azriel huffs out a breath, murmuring something about you being stubborn as hell before carefully picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom. It's embarrassing, a furious blush burning at the apples of your cheeks as he starts the shower, adjusts the temperature and slowly sets you down. "Thank you for that but you don't have to do this. I can handle cleaning myself."

"You can barely stand on solid ground on your own."

"I'll manage."

"I know. What I'm saying is that you don't have to." You nearly faint on the spot when Azriel crouches down in front of you, his hands shaky but sure when unlatching the difficult ties of your fighting leathers. His teeth grit together when the fabric is loosened and carefully worked down your thighs, over your knees and tugged away from your ankles. "Just let me help."

Azriel is nothing short of respectful, you notice. He doesn't sneak salacious peeks at the endless expanse of bare skin that he exposes. Doesn't once mention the tremble of your breath or the way your fingers seem to bite into the flesh of his arms whenever a new article of clothing is removed and dropped to the floor. Even after he's eased you into the shower stream; standing before him, perfectly presented on a soaking wet platter—he keeps his eyes trained on your face.

Shadows thicken over sensual bits, providing a shield between you and the male diligently applying soap to rag. Each drag of the slightly rough material against your skin releases a tension you hadn’t noticed you’d been carrying and all you can do is watch as he rids your skin of the thick film left behind when magic was used to clear away muck.

Eons must past before words are spoken, a this time Azriel is more intentional when he chooses them--more intimate when he relays them. "I'd always hoped for a mate. Ever since I was a boy and my mother told me stories about two halves scouring the world to finally become whole again." You're malleable under his care, pliant when he lifts your arms to scrub underneath and damn-near boneless when he turns you with slippery hands to slowly work the knots from your back. "I had always hoped that one day, I too, would find my equal." Azriel clears his throat, returning back from whatever memory he'd been sucked into but the massage doesn't stop; it only drags lower. "Then so much time had passed and I started to wonder if I couldn't find them because I wasn't being forward enough but that only lead to misplaced affections and unfulfillment."

"Azriel, I'm not sure if I really understand--"

"I felt something for you—something stronger than friendship but I pushed it away. I ignored it and looked elsewhere because I can bare not being as close with Mor and it’s as easy as breathing to never see Elain again but losing you—ruining the peace I feel when I’m with you would’ve broken me.”

Tears well in your eyes, a thickness welling in the back of your throat and your skin burns where his fingers touch, lingering near the dip of your back and just barely curling around the curve of your hips. “Az, you don’t have to say any of this to make me feel better. I just wanted you to be happy. I want you to be happy.”

“Then, please don’t reject it.” His warmth ripples over every inch of you, your neck craning to make room for the forehead he helplessly drops in the crux of your shoulder. The perfect line of his nose drags along the curve of it, inhaling the soothing notes of your scent mixed with his body wash. “Don’t reject me—this is all I’ve ever wanted.” Finally his fingers curl around your hips, the grip gentle but oh, so claiming. “Can’t you feel it? This rightness.”

Raw emotion swims in the amber tones of Azriel’s eyes when you turn in his arms; searching within those rich shades to find any detection of a lie.

Not one reaches your radar.

The line of your vision drops, creeping down his nose until it fixates on the plush pink of his lips. Instinct takes over, offering a gentle nudge until the space between two is eaten up and breath becomes shared as a line was about to be crossed—a prophecy fulfilled.

When Azriel’s lips finally brush against yours, it’s like a coil snaps, unleashing an animal he hadn’t known existed. Sure, he had plenty of experience with childish crushes and boyish infatuation. But this, Cauldron, it nearly takes his breath away with its intensity—the burning desire that rips through his veins like a forrest fire.

One kiss bleeds into two hands desperate to acquaint themselves with your body until all that mattered was you, your spymaster and the sentient shadows protectively surrounding you both. “Azriel,” You all but keen in his ear, chest heaving and hips rolling into the hardness of him pressed against you.

“Mate.”

A whimper cuts through your throat, neck craning to make space for the perfect bruises he was sucking into the skin there. “I want you.”

“You have me,” He promises over the frantic beat of your heart, tongue laving over the soft fat of your breasts. “Even when my bones are rotting in the dirt, I’ll belong to you. My mate. Mine.”

2K notes · View notes

bamfkeeper · 4 months ago

Text

Imagine a jealous Kurt with me...got it? Minors dni, 18+ under cut.

A pouty, silent tantrum Kurt, but also a Kurt who wants everyone to know you're his and completely goes wild. Two varying reactions but two amazing scenarios because I think he can absolutely be either or.

Warnings: Jealous Kurttt, oral (reader receiving), unprotected sex, random mentions of religion, afab reader, my brief thoughts turned out longer than I thought they would, not editedddd ignore mistakes.

WC: 2.7k

Imagine Kurt sees one of the male mutants having a conversation with you, it's harmless enough. Nothing inappropriate is being said, you aren't being strange and the mutant seems interested in the topic. That is until he becomes more and more eager to talk to you.

It seems like a daily thing now, maybe you're too shy to tell him off or too naïve to realize he is flirting rather than just being very friendly. But Kurt notices instantly. He knows you wouldn't let this happen if you knew how it was affecting him, but he always tells you to speak to whomever you like, he isn't a jealous guy.

He pouts quietly as he sees the mutant giving you a flower because it 'reminded him of you' or something along those lines. only Kurt should be giving you flowers. Why did he think it was okay?

The blue mutant walked over to you, huffing under his breath. When he reaches you, his posture seems to relax in the closeness of your presence, his tail twitched behind him and instinctively wrapped itself around you. "Was ist das, liebe?" he pointed to the obvious flower you held, his voice soft and barely above a mutter. You just turn and give him a small smile, unaware of his inner turmoil.

"Warren gave me a flower, isn't it pretty?" you reply, giving Kurt a better view of the flower you held. Kurt bit his tongue and gave a small smile, nodding silently. When the other mutant left, you could tell something was dampening his mood. "What is it, baby...you don't seem yourself." you observed how he seemed to have the body language of a scolded child still mad he couldn't have a cookie.

"Nichts." he whispered, his tone having a hint of sharpness to it, not directed at you, but the other mutant who thought they could just come over here and charm you like that. However, you've dated Kurt for long enough to see through his little façade. "Don't give me that, Kurt. What's going on?" you pressed, your eyes scanning his body and taking in every little detail. You could feel his tail tighten around your ankle.

"Are you jealous?" you asked plainly, making him bristle, his tail whipped behind him. "N-Nein! I am not!" he insisted and turned his head slightly, his brow furrowing. His cheeks were tinted and you knew how he was feeling. Kurt had a hard time with himself every now and then, being around other mutants who looked different helped how he saw himself. But every so often, he does wish he wasn't blue and fuzzy and devilish.

"Kurt, precious...there's nothing to worry about. You think I'd ever leave you?" your hand brushed up his cheek, cradling it lovingly. "I love you, I adore you, no one is going to swoop in and take me away. I promise." you cooed. "Especially not Warren of all people." you added with a soft chuckle, trying to humor the situation a bit and ease the tension.

This, however, wasn't good enough for Kurt. He leaned in, his arms wrapped around you and he buried his face in your neck. You held him in return, assuming he just needed a close hug. You could feel his lips press into your neck, so you exposed it a little more to him. You tilted your head, letting out a content hum.

Kurt placed kisses along your neck and held you tighter, his tail wrapped tightly around you. "Kurt," you began, but your voice was lost when he bit a sweet spot on your sensitive flesh and suckled. Your eyes snapped open, the sudden suckling caught you off guard. Your lips art as a soft moan escapes them, you didn't expect this from Kurt at all.

"What are you...doing..." you managed, your fingers tangling into his curls, gently scratching the back of his head. It felt so good, and he kept sucking until it stung. When he pulled back, he groaned and looked at the dark mark he left on you. His golden eyes shooting you a quick glance.

"Du bist mein," he rasped, his lips grazing over your ear when he spoke. The way his voice sounded made you shiver, he sounded needy but he also had a gravelly pit that came out as he spoke. "Everyone will know it now." he pulled back, feeling proud of himself for leaving a dark mark on your neck.

You felt over it and smiled at him, "You were jealous." your voice was playful and teasing, making him pout a little. "That's okay, if it means you get like this, then I don't mind. Just remember what I said, okay?" you reassured and pressed your lips to his cheek.

He's pretty tame for the most part like that. But imagine a more possessive Kurt?? Not so much pouty and subtle. Imagine him pulling you off or teleporting you somewhere private where he could really let loose.

He grabs your hand, watching Warren walk away and he looked down at the flower you had. He felt ill to it, it wasn't the flower's fault, but he didn't like where it came from at all. "Liebe." he muttered, pushing you back onto the bed, his hands hooking into your bottoms and yanking them off in the process. His room was so cozy, he was a cleanly man. He learned to be in the circus, only having a few things that got lost easy, so he was pretty organized.

Your train of thought was interrupted when he crawled over you, his eyes glowing softly in the dark room as he stared down, his gaze raking over your body. He was breathing a little heavier, and you blinked up at him. Before you could speak, you felt his tail snake up your leg, coiling around you and jerking your leg to the side. His hand grabbed your other leg and pulled it so you were spread.

"Was denkt er wer er ist..." he grumbled to himself, "Du gehörst mir, Liebling, niemand sonst." he used his free hand to pull your underwear off, quickly spreading your legs again. With you exposed to him, you had no time to speak when his lips pressed into yours with a possessive need. His usual tender kisses contrasted to this new side of him you hadn't seen before.

"Mein." he growled against you, his tongue quickly slithering into your mouth and staked his claim. When he pulled back, he moved down your body, feeling your chest rise and fall. "Kurt, what's gotten into you..." you asked, almost breathless while he trailed down your body. His lips pressing against your neck, a hot trail left behind while his path lowered further.

He reaches your breasts, pausing long enough to give each nipple a hard suckle and swipe of his tongue. A gasp escapes your lips when you feel him suck on you before he continued his way down to where he wanted. He settled between your legs, staring at you. "I'd like to see him get this far." he muttered, almost bitterly.

His mouth connected to your core, his tongue immediately began lapping at you. His hands gripped your legs tightly, your eyes widened as he began to bury into your pussy like he was a starved man. He lapped and sucked, his tongue pushing inside you and feeling your inner walls.

You were a moaning mess, you tried to form a coherent sentence but found you were unable to. His tail moved from your leg and wrapped around your body, the slow coil making you shiver as goosebumps erupted from your skin. The tip of the spade rounded up between your breasts and played with one of your nipples. He could so expertly move his tail...you felt completely overwhelmed in such a good way.

"Oh my god...Kurt..." you finally managed to spit out something, and he just continued. His tongue pulled out of you, his eyes lifting to make contact with yours.

"Lord will forgive me..." he muttered to himself, his focus now on your clit, swollen and needy. His thumb lifted the skin slightly to expose it more to him, his finger tapping it gently. You whined loudly, each tiny touch sending shoots of pleasure up your spine.

"This is where you need me...isn't it, schatz?" he whispered, "You look like you do. It is swelling quite a bit...isn't it?" he let his tongue cup it before he let his tongue drag over it. When you let out a whine, he pulled back. "I know what you need. I always do, don't I?" he asked, pressing a kiss just above where you wanted him the most.

"Y-yes....please, Kurt..." you muttered between breaths, "I need you there, please," you mentally cursed him, he was doing this on purpose.

"You plead beautifully." he leaned down and he attached his lips to your clit, he began to suckle immediately and didn't bother letting you adjust this time. Your eyes shot open as he latched to it like a suction, his tongue swiping over it as he sucked on your bud.

The pressure from his suckling made you squirm, but his arms held you firmly as he continued to nurse on your clit. You could feel your pussy leaking arousal, getting wetter by the second from his behavior. His saliva trailed down your folds and soaked the sheets under you. He continued his ministrations, feeling you were getting close to your climax.

When you did cum, it felt white hot, and your back arched off the bed as you let out sinful noises. "Yesyesyes, Kurt! Don't stop, ooh fuck!" you spewed naughty words that were like a symphony to his ears. He made you feel that, and it made him swell with pride. He didn't stop, even when your climax was over, your bud became so, so sensitive. You squirmed as he kept himself glued to your clit.

"Ah, baby...please, nngh...fuck, I-I'm sensitive...AH!" you felt his tail tighten around you, and he popped off your clit. He licked his lips, his mouth and chin clearly glossy. That damned grin of his. He still hovered, his fingers spread you open so he could lay a sloppy kiss to your cunt, and he gave one last teasing suckle that made you yelp before he finally left your poor clit alone.

You were a mess, your hair all over the place, your cheeks flushed red and your legs remained spread open. Your chest heaved as you calmed down, now taking deeper breaths as you slowly recovered. "Kurt...wh...what was all that about...you've never been so..."

Before you could finish, you could feel something larger press against you, his swollen cock pulsing and rubbing up and down your folds. He kicked his leg out behind him, shaking off the rest of his suit as he positioned better. "Warren will never get this with you, he can give you as many flowers as he wants."

You whined and looked down, he pushed himself inside you with a single thrust, letting out a grunt as you squeezed his cock. You moaned loudly and gripped the bedsheets, the sudden feeling of being full was overwhelming. He pulled back and thrusted once, twice, then started his rhythm.

His cock thrusted in and out of you at a quick pace, his hips being driven hard into you as he grunted with each one. "Mine, you're mine," he growled against your skin, "Niemand außer mir kann dich haben." he groaned and sat up more, watching how his cock pushed into you.

"You swallow me...look at it. Look how you squeeze me, liebe...you love this, don't you?" he asked in a raspy tone, panting as his hair became a little more messy from the thrusts. "You are so warm, you feel like soft velvet." he praised as his hips jutted in again, his pace set on being hard.

You could feel his head brush that sweet, spongy spot inside that sent waves of hot pleasure through your entire body. You mewled out loudly, your arms clinging to him. "Nngh right there!" you managed through your moans.

"Is that the sweet spot? Right there?" he teased lightly, "Such sweet noises from you, you make me such a sinner, you know that?" he groaned in your ear and thrusted harder, his cock head brushed into that sweet spot every time, caressing it and coating it in his hot precum.

He felt himself grow close to his orgasm, he moved over you more and drove himself farther. His tail lashed behind him as he panted against your neck, his sharp teeth nipping your sensitive skin. He marked your neck up in bites and bruises while your cervix ached from his thrusts.

"Come for me again, I feel you getting closer. You are squeezing me tighter..." he whispered against you, "Does your pretty bud need my attention again?" he nipped your jaw and his thumb traveled down between your legs, lightly rubbing circles on your swollen clit.

You could barely even think. The way he was fogging your mind and making your body react was so intense, you clung onto him and spewed begging and moaning at him. "Please, Kurt, I'm s'close...need more, j-just a little more..." you bit his neck as you felt your eyes prickling with tears, it felt so damn good.

Your orgasm hit you and it felt like you jumped from a plane, it was a feeling of overwhelming adrenaline and ecstasy, you couldn't help but scream against his neck, your pussy gripped him like a vice and he held you even tighter. "That's it, liebling, let it out, come for me," he whispered encouragingly and he gave one more hard thrust, his cock twitched as it kissed your cervix and unloaded into you.

You felt his cum drizzling out, filling you up as his thrusts stopped, you both panted together and he sat up more, letting you go to lay down better on the bed. He gazed down at you, his mouth slightly agape as he panted, but quickly regained his breathing. You looked so beautiful blissed out like this, he wished he could keep this image in his mind forever.

"Was I too rough, liebling?" he asked softly, his brow knit with some worry, and his tail loosened around you. It uncoiled from your body and stroked up and down your leg. You shook your head, still somewhat in a daze and recovering from the orgasm he gave you.

"No...no, you just haven't ever been so...intense?" you tried to find the right word as you tried to regulate your breathing again, but it was clear he really wore you out. He was always so passionate but with a gentle intimacy to it. This time seemed that he was driven by something other than his love for you. You looked at him and smiled, "You were jealous~" you teased, making his tail halt.

"Nein..." he grumbled, crossing his arms. "Is it a crime to show more fire to my lover?" he tried to disguise his jealousy, but you knew better. His cheeks were only slightly blushed, but you could get him to lose it if you chose your words right. Your pussy ached at the thought of a jealous Kurt pounding into you. You love how sweet and sensual he is, but having him fuck you sounded so good right now.

"Did Warren upset you?" you cooed, sitting up and smiling at him. "Did you get jealous because he was talking to me? That he gave me a flower?"

"You are beautiful, liebling...I know you have admirers...but I guess seeing someone like Warren be one of them just made me feel...different." he said softly, "He knows you're mine, why would he give you a flower like that?" he looked back up at you.

"Sounds like you're still a bit jealous." you poked his belly teasingly. "How can I make you feel better?" you asked softly, "You know I'm only interested in you, don't you?"

"Ja, I do...sometimes I just don't feel too good." he shrugged. He felt a little more vulnerable, and the need for you only grew again. His hands held your hips and pushed you back on the bed. "I will make sure everyone here knows you are mine." he said confidently, "You will be screaming for me and we might get a noise complaint, but that is besides the point."

You braced for him again, and felt his lips collide with yours as you started all over again.

You did, in fact, get a noise complaint.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

#kurt wagner #nightcrawler #kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler x reader #x men #xmen #x men 97 #kurt wagner smut #nightcrawler smut #🎠my works

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dark-moonlust · 4 months ago

Text

Getting Pounded by Nagas PART 5: Βabies

Pairing: Two nagas x f!human reader

Summary: it has been two months since your precious eggs hatched. You have a blissful life with your mates and babies. Your nagas are the best daddies in every way. 😉

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, starts cute but then there is smut, lactating and feeding babies, double 🍆🍆, fingering, p in v, οral (male), anal, dοuble penetr. Don’t like, don’t read please.

This is part of a series. Find all the parts here.

Soft afternoon light filtered through the colorful curtains. The nursery was filled with the adorable cooing of your baby naga boys. You sat at the comfortable armchair, your naga hybrids in the cradle of your arms. It had been almost two months since your precious eggs had hatched, stealing your heart forever. They were a mix of human and serpentine body, just like their daddies.

You marveled at their tiny, adorable forms which fit just perfectly in your arms. Little Rowan looked after his daddy, Thorne. He had a cute, chubby face with big eyes the same color as yours, and a tiny green-scaled tail. Little Bjorn, however had inherited your human nose and lips, and Ragnor’s eyes and red-scaled tail.

You were so proud that your DNA had been accepted by the eggs and they now looked after you as well.

You kissed each of their chubby cheeks and blew raspberries on their round bellies. The little ones giggled and looked at you with tenderness and love. Ahh, your heart felt so full!

Sitting back comfortably, you lowered the neckline of your dress and offered your breasts to your hungry little naga hybrids. They eagerly latched on your nipples, tiny hands nuzzling your breasts as they began to nurse, their tails cradling your arms waist. It was a calming and incredibly beautiful sight, watching them feed and grow stronger with each passing day. And dear Gods, they did eat a lot. Which was good because you had so much milk that sometimes it made you uncomfortable.

Gentle cooing sounds echoed in the quiet room as the babies fed, their tails curled lovingly around you. They suckled greedily, their attention fully devoted to your breasts. A soft slithering sound caught your attention; your mates. With a smile, you turned to see Thorne and Ragnor entering the room. Your naga mates were tall and handsome with strong shoulders and chiseled muscles. Their lower torsos extended into supremely long and powerful tails that moved gracefully across the floor.

They had just come back from work. Thorne and Ragnor were rangers, they protected the frontiers of the rainforest. Your mates looked incredibly smug to have returned just in time for the feeding of the little nagas. They surrounded you from both sides, their scaled tails coiling around your seat. No matter how many times you fed the babies, they loved the sight of you and they also got highly aroused by it.

“Hey, there pretty mama,” Thorne said, bending down to kiss you deeply, tongue slipping in your mouth.

When Thorne pulled back from your mouth, Ragnor was claiming your lips, his long tongue brushing against your smaller one.

“Our beautiful mate,” Ragnor murmured proudly. “Feeding our babies. Looking so beautiful and…” he whispered in your ear, “sexy.”

“I breastfeed at least twenty times a day, aren’t you bored watching me yet?” you teased them, a bright smile on your face.

“Never,” Thorne said huskily, eyes on the babies suckling your nipples. “We can never have enough.”

“Look at our precious little ones,” Ragnor said, caressing each cheek of the babies as they fed from your breasts. They moaned softly at their daddies but kept feeding, too hungry for milk to care.

“Hungry little monsters,” Thorne chuckled. “They are enjoying it so much.”

“They take after their daddies,” Ragnor said, leaning in to kiss the mound of your left breast. His lips were warm and soft against your skin, but the baby didn’t like the disturbance and groaned softly.

“Easy there, little guy. I’m not going to steal your mama,” Ragnor said then winked up at you, “yet.”

Thorne followed, kissing the mound of your right breast. The other naga baby ignored him and latched your nipple harder as if to keep it for himself.

You winced a little at the tug, your cheeks blushing. “You two are incorrigible. Worse than babies.

Ragnor gently stroked your neck. “We can’t help it. It’s hard not to get a little jealous of our babies,” he grinned. “They get the best parts of you.”

You laughed, the sound blending with the hungry coos of the babies. “Well, our babies have their needs,” you replied, your eyes twinkling with love. “They need to be fed constantly.”

“And so do we,” Thorne whispered, kissing you lightly. “But we can wait.”

Once the babies finished their meal, they released your nipples with soft wet plops and squealed up at their daddies. Ragnor and Thorne held them in their arms, kissed and fondled their little tails. Watching your mates with the babies made you so emotional and at the same time, so happy that you’d carried their eggs and went through all the intense naga birth procedures.

Your baby hybrids were worth all of this and so much more.

An hour later, your babies were freshly clean and tucked in their cots, sleeping with their tails coiled over one another and their cute little mouths forming precious smiles. You and your mates kissed them one last time on their foreheads and quietly left the nursery.

“I believe it’s now time for you to take care of the daddies,” Ragnor told you, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

You giggled as they led the way to your bedroom, Ragnor’s strong arms pulling you down onto the mattress, his long tail wrapping around the bed. He kissed you, his mouth possessing yours, tongue licking inside your mouth. Thorne joined in your side, kissing the crook of your neck, tasting and teasing, making you moan with need.

A few expert tugs and wiggles and they had you naked beneath them, their hungry gazes roaming your body. After the birth, your breasts were full and round, your nipples incredibly sensitive and leaking milk. Your belly was also softer and curvier as were your thighs. Your mates were in love with your body and since you were a little shy about these changes, they took every chance to remind you just how perfect and sexy you were.

Ragnor slipped between your legs, arms holding under your knees and spreading them wide apart. Your pussy clenched with anticipation, leaking with arousal and with your mates’ seed from when they’d fucked you earlier this morning.

Thorne’s lips trailed a path down your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses. Ragnor took one swollen tit in his hand, his tongue flicking over your sensitive nipple. Thorne cupped the other, molding it to his large palm while his thumb toyed with your leaky nipple. You squealed as they took turns worshipping your tender buds, hungry lips and tongues bringing you to the edge of ecstasy.

“Such stunning tits,” Thorne murmured, his breath hot against one nipple. “Full and ripe.”

Ragnor’s tongue nursed from the other bud, lapping up the leaking milk. “I could spend an eternity worshiping our mate,” he rasped. “Feasting on her leaking nipples, pulling, tugging, suckling.”

“Also fucking her pretty pussy and tight ass,” Thorne added cheekily, suckling your nipple into his mouth, tongue whisking the leaking tip.

“Oh, yes, that, too,” Ragnor said with a husky drawl. “Pounding her so deep that she can’t speak. Filling her up with our cum.”

“S—Stop teasing,” you said, clutching both their shoulders, your body shaking from overstimulation.

Unbothered, your mates resumed devouring your tits, massaging the tender mounds and doing all sorts of shameless things to your buds with their tongues. Your poor nipples, so sensitive and aching, responded eagerly to your mates’ touches. You stayed there and moaned lewdly as they had their way with you, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

Soon, their hands joined in the sensual game.

Thorne’s fingers reached between your legs and he began to rub your clit in slow circles. Instinctively you arched your body, bucking your hips to gain more friction. At the same time, Ragnor’s hand slid over your inner thighs before stopping to tease the rosebud of your ass. He probed gently at first, his fingers lubricated with your juices, tracing the rosebud before thrusting two thick fingers inside.

Drawn-out moans left you as you thrashed and wiggled while they devoured your nipples and teased your pussy and ass. Their tails came to clutch around your thighs, holding you brazenly open for their ministrations which heightened your arousal and finally pushed you over the edge.

With a cry, you came undone, your body convulsing, your mind blanking out for a few moments. Ragnor and Thorne continued to tease your body, no less intensely. They suckled your tits loudly, slurped at your milk and let out animalistic growls. Thorne’s fingers were languid over your pussy while Ragnor’s stayed buried inside your ass.

“Fuuuuck, you’re exquisite, mate,” Thorne murmured, his lips claiming yours.

Ragnor watched as you were kissed, pulled out his fingers and leaned to kiss your neck.

Both nagas let out low vibrating purrs that that sent shivers down your spine.

When you finally came down from your high, you kneeled between them and started stroking their bodies, taking turns kissing each of them while tracing their bulging muscles and then down their cockslits. Their double cocks were already aroused and had emerged from their slits, jutting angrily toward their stomachs.

Your hands found Thorne’s shafts and your fingers wrapped around both of them, his cocks obscenely big in your small palms. Meanwhile you worked your tongue around each of Ragnor’s dicks, tracing the bulging veins and licking the beads of pre-cum on the heads. Ragnor jerked his hips with an audible moan, thrusting one dick into your mouth, your lips stretching, throat tensing.

Their tails joined in the game, coiling around your breasts while the tips slithered down your legs, opening your asscheeks. Ragnor’s tail filled your pussy while Thorne’s slid past the tight bud of your ass and up your guts. Muffled moans escaped you at the dual penetration.

“Mphhh…” you breathed when Ragnor drew back his cock which was glistening in your saliva. You immediately sucked his other cock while pumping Thorne’s with your other hand, both their tails fucking you with primal ferocity, causing your tits to bounce.

You alternated between your mates, pumping them with your hands and taking them in your mouth. Their cocks were hard and thick, the long girths kissing the back of your throat. You choked only a little and took them like a champ, slick sucking sounds and primal groans resounding across the room.

“Yes, mate —fuckkk, feels so fucking good.”

Ragnor slammed his cock down your throat, chasing his release.

“Ghrr….! Hmnn!” You gagged when the rip of his cock kissed the back of your neck, his hot release spurting down your mouth. You took both cockheads into your mouth and shallowed every drop. Ragnor roared, his hips undulating violently as he came down your throat.

Thorne came next and you instantly put his shafts in your mouth. Your mouth filled with the cockheads while your hands wrapped around the lengths that didn’t fit. In seconds, you were swallowing load after load of his cum. His jizz was too much, it dribbled down your lips but Thorne gently pulled it back into your mouth with his thumbs. You swallowed everything obediently.

“Such a good girl,” Thorne growled as you nursed his cocks, licking a long slow stripe up the underside of the shafts. “Taking every drop of our cum.”

“And letting our tails fuck her tight little holes,” Ragnor drawled, his fingers tracing where you were filled to the hilt with their tails. “Want our tails to keep fucking you, love? Or do you want our cocks?”

“Hmphhh…” you tried to talk but your mouth was filled with Thorne’s cockheads.

“There you go,” Thorne slowly pulled back, slipping from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting his shafts to your mouth.

“Co-cocks… want to be full,” you muttered, a hazy smile playing on your lips. “Cocks, pl-please.”

“Whatever our mate wants, our mate gets,” Thorne kissed you wetly. “We’ll give you our cocks and our love.”

“And lots, lots of orgasms,” Ragnor added, claiming your lips, too.

Thorne laid down on the mattress and gently rearranged your body, pulling you to lay with your back on his chest, your legs splayed wide. Ragnor came to rest between them, watching at where their tails were still fucking you slowly. The nagas retracted their appendages and instantly wrapped around your legs, keeping them obscenely open.

Ragnor hovered above you, rubbed your clit then used his thumbs to pull your outer lips apart and expose the glistening entrance of your pussy. You were drenched, your folds pink and puffy. The bud of your ass was also swollen and the sight of your eager holes made them feral.

“How about I fuck your lovely pussy, love?” Ragnor rumbled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Thorne can take your tight little ass.”

“Hmm… yes please…” you clutched him desperately. “Want you both.”

“Sharing is caring,” Thorne muttered cheekily as he lifted you by the globes of your ass and positioned you over his twin cocks. He cupped both shafts and prodded your tight asshole with the heads. You whimpered, your tight hole stretching to accommodate his massive cocks. Inch by inch he lowered you down until he was deep up your ass.

It was then when Ragnor pushed forward, clutching his shafts in his palms and driving them inside your pussy. You accepted them, inch by delicious inch, filled to the limit, your belly swelling with their girths inside you.

“Tight. So wet and tight.” Ragnor’s gaze smoldered with need. “Taking us so good. Our good little mate. The mother of our offspring. Gonna make you feel so fucking good, love.“

They started to grind inside you, their hips pumping steadily. They stretched and filled your holes again and again. You sobbed and clung to Ragnor for dear life, while Thorne toyed with your nipples and flicked your clit in time with his thrusts. You came in no time, pussy and ass clenching around their cocks, body arching wildly. Their tails gripped your hips so you wouldn’t shift away from their pounding.

They didn’t stop.

They kept fucking you through your orgasm, Ragnor’s grip tightening as he pulled you to ride him. Your legs wrapped around his torso and he lowered you onto his thick, waiting cocks. The stretch was intense, his girths stretching you to the brim. Thorne sat up behind you, his chest against your back as he adjusted the angle and thrust his cocks up your ass.

The new position was overwhelming, you were so completely filled, consumed by the sheer intensity of their shafts rubbing inside you.

They settled into a maddening rhythm, pounding your holes at the same time, never leaving you empty. Your arms clutched them while your small body, trapped between them jerked in time with their powerful thrusts. The sensations were maddening, leaving you gasping and begging for release.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Thorne breathed against your ear, hands tweaking your nipples. “I can feel your ass clenching around me.”

Ragnor hummed. “Can’t last much longer,” he said, his voice rough.

“Hmmm… m’ too, want to come— ahnn… close so close,” you whimpered as they pounded into you, changing nothing in their tactics.

“Let it go, little mate,” Ragnor drawled. “Let it go and take our cum, hm?”

You nodded fervently, clutching them while bouncing on them and chasing your peak.

Thorne’s cocks drove deep into your ass, and Ragnor’s cocks filled your pussy utterly, their relentless pace shattering you. You came with a cry, every nerve ending on fire.

They followed right after, their cocks pulsing and filling you with loads and loads of their seed. It was so much it overflowed and tricked down your thighs.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm faded, they gently rolled you sideways, their cocks still hard inside you. They kissed you, Thorne against your back, his hands caressing your face. Ragnor lay in front of you, whispering soothing words as he nibbled at your neck. You fell asleep nestled within them, satisfied and full of love.

Your mates. The loves of your life. The fathers of your children. Your everything.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this! Also, what do you want to happen next? What do you want to see? More smutty stuff on Patreon, too. 😊🖤

#getting pounded by nagas #nagas x you #nagas x reader #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monster fluff #monster x reader #monster x human #monster x you #monsters x human #monster lover #monster fudger #monster romance #monster smut

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catiuskaa · 10 months ago

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reggaeton & champagne.

PAIRING! lee minho x reader x bang chan

SUMMARY: you knew better than to go down to the club alone. and that guy should’ve known better than to mess with minho and chan’s property.

REQUESTED! by my pookie @sharonxdevi who requested this here! and it’s such a good idea, tysm for trusting me with it<3

CW: the boys may come off as a little possesive, there’s a touchy douche in the club, mentions of alcohol, it ain’t spicy but surely it’s nsfw.

WC: 2.3k

A/N: so i’ve never even thought of writing poly!skz relationships until now, but i think it came out nicely! (and if you kinda recognize the title— i just spend an unhealthy amount of time watching skz edits on instagram lololol)

[🔹☆💠☆🔹]

The sign of the club glowed with bluish neon lights at the entrance. There was also a man, notebook in hand, receiving IDs prior to welcoming the long queue of people. Although it was not the most expensive nightclub in the city, you could see the difference between it and the rest of the clubs in town, in the sense that the establishment was very tidy and clean, with security personnel scattered around the corners, watching that everything was going out smoothly.

It was unusual for you to want to go out clubbing, but considering the boys’ schedule, any chance to make plans together was welcomed with open arms.

Especially by Minho and Chan, who would never force you to go out, but their lingering stares and their arms that would sneakily clung to your waist or your shoulders —and in some cases, to lovingly slap your ass or thighs—, were meant as a way of encouragement when you dressed up and went for it.

And a way to say that, as always, you looked fine as hell.

You had chosen a short silver-coloured dress that reached your mid-thighs, accompanied by a pair of matching mesh thigh-highs with cute little clips that allowed them to stay in place, only because you knew how to entertain your public, and loved every single second their eyes stayed glued to you as you danced your heart out.

The music pounded against the walls and reverberated through the floor, but not as much as how the booze traveled through your veins, only giddy enough to celebrate how well their last tour had gone, and merely to have some well-deserved fun.

Minho’s hands grasped you by your waist, pulling you off Chan’s arms and smirking as he pushed your back flush against his body.

One of his hands remained in place, but the other one moved slowly, tempting fingers heading down to your thighs, as if walking, the motion almost ticklish. You could feel his cat-like grin from behind you as you looked at Chan, who wasn’t mad at all, rather cheekily enjoying the other man’s antics as you kept dancing against him, following the rhythm of the music.

Chris got closer to the both of you, taking your arms and settling them on his shoulders as he approached even further, now the two gentlemen dressed in fine clothes towering over you.

“Our princess is feeling good today, huh?” His hand cradled your face, holding your chin in a tender grasp, unlike Minho, who started to play with one of the clips on your high mesh stockings.

You were about to say something, but Minho tugged at one of the straps and chuckled next to your ear, slapping it back. Your breath hitched, and you bit your lip, feeling the blush rising to your cheeks, the light foundation you had applied not being able to cover it.

Chris snickered, and Minho lightly bit the shell of your ear, and they both laughed as you squirmed in between their arms.

“Ok, ok—!” You giggled, out of breath due to the tickling and else. You didn’t want to leave just yet, but didn’t want to stop teasing your boys either.

Tugging on Chan’s collar, you propelled him forward, his hands ending on Minho’s shoulders by reflex. You moved your body in between both of them, swaying your hips, playing with Chris’ hair as you turned your head to face the man behind you, and chuckled, biting his lip.

They both felt a rush of blood heading to their face—and downwards—, but you stopped Chan for pushing you against Minho even more, one of your soft hands nonchalantly moving from the back of his neck to his chest, cheekily stroking his toned upper body.

“I think we can use some more drinks, gentlemen.” Your tone was filled with an enticing mockery only powered by their presence, and you licked your lips, feeling Minho’s slender fingers playing with the rim of your dress, tapping your thigh gently.

“I think we should head to the VIP lounge.” He grunted against your ear, his breath tickling your there, but the gentle yet lust-filled kisses he left right below started driving you a bit crazy. “Whaddya think, Chan?” Minho smirked, swiftly lifting his head from your neck to stare at the older man.

With all the mix of bright coloured lights, you could notice slightly how Chris’ eyes grew darker. Almost so dark that they could fuck you themselves, and you squeezed your thighs at the thought.

“I think our little brat needs to learn that teasing won’t get her anywhere, hyung.” Minho’s slender fingers playfully traced mindless shapes on your thigh.

The older man swallowed hard, his breath deepening.

“Guess you’re on thin ice, princess.” He leaned in, and pecked Minho’s lips from above your shoulder. He then turned slightly, and spoke in your ear. “You have ten minutes to go get those drinks. Go up the VIP platform right after, like the good girl you are, mmh?”

His hum almost echoed through your body, falling into an endless pit of arousal that those two gorgeous men had created, now able to make you feel hot and bothered in just a cheeky wink or a deep look.

Making you oh so weak for them. Only them.

“Heard that, kitten?” Minho smirked, lovingly kissing your cheek, as close as he could to the corner of your lips. “Ten minutes. Tick-tock.”

You tried heading towards the bar without your knees giving out as they both moved away, and instantly missed their warmth and strong hold on your body. But before you could even try, Chris tsked, pulling you back to him and almost fiercely planting a deep kiss that lit fire on your body, and almost made you whine when he pulled away, biting your lip.

“Fuck.” He gasped, feeling breathless. “Make that five minutes for daddy, yeah?”

And with a tap on your hips and a teasing wink, he left, following where Minho had gone.

You were unable to wipe the giddy smile off your face, feeling your cheeks get hot, and you patted them, hoping that your slightly cooler hands would do something to low it down.

Shaking your head lightly, you waved at the bartender, a tall, blond and handsome young man, and he gave you a kind smile. You sat on the stool closest, and he approached you, leaning on the counter.

“Nice seeing you here for a change.” He said with a snicker.

“Wish I could say the same, Hyunjin.” You wiggled your eyebrows almost dramatically, making him laugh.

“Your three usuals, beautiful?” He asked with a grin, and you nodded. “Comin’ right up.”

You watched as he gracefully started to show off his abilities, passing drinks and metal cups and bottles in flashes and zooms, controlling every move so swiftly.

But then, you felt a hand on your waist.

“Sorry, scooching up real quick…” said a low voice from behind you.

His hands brushed your back, making you shiver. But it was a bad shiver. One that swiped away the giddiness your boys had left, but not as quickly as your smile took off.

The bold man dizzily sat on a stool that could’ve easily been a foot or two away, and your body relaxed easily at the new-formed distance.

You stared at him in a mix of slight disgust and raw astonishment. Used to your boys and the rest of the group, or people like Hyunjin, one could easily forget that people weren’t always respectful, nice and kind.

He noticed your blank stare, and misinterpreted it as interest. With a wide smile, he bent down, grabbing one of the legs of the stool you were sitting on, and smoothly moved it closer to his.

Another shiver ran through your back, goosebumps showing on your skin.

He smiled, and you held back a frown.

“Besides looking that sexy, what else do you do for a living?”

…

yikes.

That line didn’t only give you the ick, but you also noticed Hyunjin physically flinched, which made you snort, quickly covering your mouth.

The man was so drunk. You could smell it on his breath, and the guy looked rather pathetic. You didn’t feel too sorry for him, but wanted him as far as possible, and you moved to the edge of your stool.

The man looked proud of your giggles, but grew restless when you didn’t reply, so he took a sip from the glass of whiskey in front of him, kind of as if he hadn’t had anything to drink in a while.

You sat up straight, glaring at Hyunjin so he’d call security if things turned complicated, and he winked at you as a form of reassurance.

“Do you, eh, come here often?” He blurbed out.

You looked at your hands, staring at your nails, and waited for a second before giving him a side-eye from above your shoulder, slender eyes looking uninterested.

Quickly going back to your nails, you shrugged. “Enough to know that you don’t.” You brushed off coldly.

If you did, you’d know that I’m happily taken.

He stammered, his breath hitched, and you could almost feel him start getting even more nervous, as well as slightly angry.

“Huh? Why’s that?” He scoffed, eyebrows raised at you, who again, didn’t bother to look at him, a bit wary of his moody attitude.

Hyunjin smiled at you, coldly glaring at the clueless man next to you as he swiftly left the three drinks in place, pressing the red button underneath the counter to call for help.

The man smirked, going back to a confidence you didn’t want to know where he had gotten.

Placing his arm sneakily on your waist.

Huh?

“All those for you?”

Before you could react and slap him for his unrequested bold actions, you heard a grunt behind you.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

At that moment, Chan wasn’t so sure if he was the pacific one in your relationship.

He trusted you and your ability to set your own boundaries, by any means necessary, even if it meant slapping someone across the face.

And he knew them by heart. He had watched how you grimaced, trying to take this drunkard’s hands away from you.

So he helped you by slapping them off your body.

As ‘gently’ as he could.

“Move aside.” He said in a low growl, failing to relax until you moved your hand and took his, squeezing it as a way of thanking him.

Instead of getting the hint, the man frowned.

“Hey, if you can’t tell, I was trying to—”

Minho scoffed, appearing behind the man.

“Keep babbling around our girl and I’ll give you a story to tell.” He said in a dark, low tone of voice, eyes and tongue so sharp that they could almost pierce right through the man. “Now shoo.”

Security came by a minute after and apologized for not taking care of him before, then fined him, following the nightclub’s rules and finally kicked the man out.

One of the security guys approached the three of you, and bowed swiftly, apologizing.

“I’m really sorry. This guy has already annoyed some other customers before. I’ll speak to the owner of the place and see if there is something we can do regarding his situation. As for you, miss…” He gave you his card, and you smiled at him, bowing your head gently.

“My name is Seo Changbin. If you ever need anything…” he sighed, a hand to his nape, the buff man slightly flustered. “Don’t hesitate to call me. I can’t think of another way to compensate you…”

Chan smiled, and shook hands with the security guard.

“No need to worry, mate. It’s fine now.” He stated calmly, his other hand still engulfing yours.

Minho bowed at him, his arm around your waist, as if trying to erase any marks or traces of the drunkard’s touch.

“Home, love?” He said in a gentle whisper, kissing your temple after you nodded. “S’okay.”

Minho opened the door to the car for you, and Chan’s hand never left your thigh the whole way back home.

As soon as you got back, you let out a tired sigh.

Chris hugged you from behind, and you melted under his touch. With a soft grin, Minho ushered Chan’s arms away from you, and swiftly took you in his arms.

“Sleepy?” The older one asked, but you shook your head. You didn’t want the night to end on this note. “Then I’ll go get something. You guys get going.” He smiled at you, eyes soft as he lovingly stroke your cheek, your face resting on Minho’s shoulder.

With a slight smirk, he patted Minho’s butt, and headed to his studio.

“Bang Chan!” He whisper-yelled, ears red, and you chuckled lowly.

“Cheeky little baby.” Minho cooed at you, heading to your shared room, and you giggled softly, hiding your head on the crook of his neck. “Let us take care of you, yeah?”

You moved your head from his neck and pecked his lips. Minho took you to bed, and tenderly took your heels off.

“Shower?” He asked softly, but you shook your head no, so he nodded, taking off your dress. With a cat-like grin, his fingers went back to your thighs.

“You have to wear these more often, you little tease.” He snickered, and you smiled, blushing softly. “You look so good in everything.” He said, stroking your cheek.

Chan quickly came back, fluffy blankets and laptop with him.

“Movie night!” He smiled, almost childishly, and both your and Minho’s heart tugged on your chests.

They took their fancy clothes off and put on sleeveless shirts and the matching pyjama pants you had gifted them for Christmas, who were at first meant as a joke, but remained being used just because how comfy they were.

There, snuggled between Chan and Minho, you smiled, taking both of their hands.

“I’m hungry.” You said, pouting unconciously.

“We can make popcorn if you want.” Christ suggested, pausing the movie.

You sat in your knees, looking at them with a smirk.

Minho smirked back, starting to guess where this was headed.

“What do you want to eat, kitten?”

You snickered.

“I want to have ramen.”

~kats, who hopes everyone understood that kdrama reference just now ;););););)

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javierpena-inatacvest · 8 months ago

Text

Haircut

Summary: Javi thinks that he's way past due for a haircut. You like his hair long for reasons other than his good looks.

Word Count: 2.1K (I sprinted to write this after I saw this picture)

Pairing: Husband!Javi x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n, reader's nickname is Osita)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) Oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, praise kink, (lovingly?) possessive Javi, Javi's back at again with his filthy mouth, hair pulling, Javi is hungry and the man is gonna EAT, allsions to more smut, Jonas Brother's references ( bc Javi is our girl dad king and his daughters love them LMAO)

A/N: Y'ALL REALLY THOUGHT THIS PICTURE OF PEDRO WAS SURFACE RIGHT HERE ON TUMBLR DOT COM AND I WASN'T GONNA DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT?!? WRONG. I legit have 3 WIPS I started in the past 24 hours based on this picture alone. Pedro really did this one for the Javier Peña girlies (gn) and I will forever be in debt to him for that. You cannot tell me that this is Dad!Javi when his kids are a little bit older bc HOLY SHIT?! This really may the nail in the coffin for @notjustjavierpena and I bc really fear this is the dilfiest Husband Javi has ever looked 😩😵‍💫 anyways, never getting over this!!!!

Series Masterlist Never Too Late Masterlist

“God, I can’t even remember the last time my hair has been this long. Lucy keeps saying I look like a Jonas Brother. Am I supposed to know who they are? Is that supposed to be a good thing?” Javi sighed, playing with his dark brown curls in the bathroom mirror as you snuck up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, peeking out to watch your husband’s longer than usual locks twist between his fingers.

“They’re the goofy looking boy band on Disney Channel that the girls are obsessed with. Like the Backstreet Boys, except cooler, apparently.” You laughed, planting a soft kiss into the fabric of Javi’s worn t-shirt covering his broad back before stepping next to him, leaning your hip against the bathroom counter to admire your husband as he fiddled with his hair.

“Jesus Christ, those guys? God, I really do need a haircut before I start looking like the poster what’s-his-face hanging on Lucy and Elliot’s walls.” Javi chuckled, running his hand through his hair once more before mirroring you, his hip resting against the counter, leaning his weight on his palm splayed flat along the granite surface.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think he’s supposed to be the best looking one.” You teased, giving Javi a playful shrug. “Besides, I like your hair long.”

“Seriously?” Javi asked, raising an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms over his chest in protest. “It looks like a mop right now.”

“A very sexy mop.” You smirked, nudging Javi before stepping closer into him, reaching up to run your hand through his curls, slowly twisting the ends with your fingers. “It reminds me of that trip we took to Jamaica a few years ago. Your hair was almost this long, remember? You looked so hot in those stupid floral button downs you insisted on buying, and hanging out shirtless by the pool all day while you played with the girls.”

“Fuck, I forgot about that. I’m surprised we didn’t end up with a fourth kid after that trip.” Javi chuckled, slowly shifting the palm that had been holding him up towards your waist, letting his fingers gently toy with the waistband of your pajamas. “You really like my long hair that much?”

“Mhmmmm.” You cooed, continuing to close the gap between your bodies, your free hand resting on Javi’s chest as the other continued to stroke his curls. You could feel a low groan rumbling in Javi’s throat as your fingers weaved back and forth through his hair, the other creeping up to cradle his jaw, thumb tracing back and forth across the stubble on his cheek.

“Yeah? What else do you like about it?” Javi groaned, his hand slipping under the elastic waistband of your pants to grab a fistfull of your ass, kneading the soft flesh in his hand.

“I like…” You paused, bringing your lips to Javi’s, pressing a tender kiss on his lips, “I like that it gives me something extra to hold on to.”

“Hold on to?” Javi asked, cocking his head in slight confusion.

“Hold on to when you go down on me. I love being able to run my hands through your hair when you eat me out, especially when it’s long like this.” You smirked, watching Javi’s eyes go wide in delight, a devilish grin spreading across his face as he bit down on his lip.

Before you could say anything else, Javi’s hands were gripping around your waist and hosting you up to sit on the counter, caging his body against yours, hands planted around the outside of your hips while his lips crashed into yours, your mouths becoming a tangled mess of tongue and teeth.

“Fuck…” Javi whispered to himself, pulling away from your lips to pepper kisses down your jaw and neck, running his hands over your thighs. “I love it when you play with my hair, Hermosa. Love feeling you pull on it when you’re close. Makes me lose my fucking mind every time. Fuck, I’d stay burried between your legs forever if I fucking could.”

Javi began to let his kisses trail down your body, past your chest and across your stomach before he was dropping to his knees in front of you, draping your legs across the width of his shoulders. Pulling at your waistband, you lifted your hips off the counter so your pajamas and underwear could fall to the floor, revealing the wetness that had been pooling between your thighs since you had walked into the bathroom a few minutes ago.

“Jesus Christ…” Javi whispered, further parting your legs to see the arousal already dripping through your folds, staring up at you with a boyish grin on his face, “So fucking wet for me, Hermosa. Didn’t realize you liked my hair that much.”

“Oh shut up you goof, you know I- o-oh fuck-” You whimpered, Javi cutting off the rest of your sentence as the flat of his tongue dragged across your cunt, the suddent sensation making you gasp in delight, already playing in to Javi’s plan as your hand shot down to his head, digging your fingers into his messy hair.

“Better hold on tight, querida. There’s a lot more where that came from.” Javi smirked, pulling away just enough to see the smug smile between his cheeks, peppering a few wet kisses on the inside of your thighs before his head was back between your legs, placing a soft kiss on your clit, already aching and throbbing for more of what you had just been promised.

“Do your worst, Peña.”

That one sent a low growl of approval humming through his chest, laughing to himself as his hands gripped tighter around your thighs, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your skin before another slow, broad stroke of his tongue was traveling through your folds.

While you were truly convinced there wasn’t another man who loved going down on their wife more than your husband did, you could always tell when Javi wanted nothing more than to stay buried between your thighs, making you cum over and over until you were begging him to stop, lapping up every last drop of you until there was nothing left to give, and right now, you already knew Javi meant what he said when you were about to have to hold on for dear life.

The hand buried in the dark waves of Javi’s hair only began to tug tighter as his tongue began to work meticulously across your cunt, pressing just enough pressure against your sensitive bundle of nerves to already have you a squirming, whimpering mess, but painstakingly slow enough to have you begging for more.

“Javi… Oh, shit. Fuck, more baby, please. P-please.” You moaned, looking down at Javi with what you were already sure was a wrecked expression painted across your face.

You could practically feel Javi’s smug smirk pressed against your cunt as he eased one, then two fingers into your aching core, curling them to bump against the spongy spot inside you that already had you fisting at the edge of the bathroom counter to try and keep your composure, and better yet, your voice down.

“Oh my god, f-fuck. You feel so good, baby.” You moaned, feeling the strong arch of Javi’s nose bumping against your clit, placing a soft kiss there before the flat of his tongue licked another long, broad stroke across your cunt, putting just the right amount of pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers worked in tandem to send the sweet tingling sensation to start building in your spine.

“Fuck, I love this perfect pussy so much. I still can’t believe she’s all fucking mine. My perfect fucking wife. Tell me, Hermosa, whose pussy is this?” Javi asked, pulling away for you to see your slick covering his mustache and the lustful look pooling in the dark brown of his eyes, the quiet possessiveness of his tone making your cunt clench even tighter around his fingers as they continued to pulse in and out of you.

“It’s y-yours, Javi, It’s all- fuck- It’s all yours.” You whined, your breath hitching in your throat as you spoke.

“And who’s the only one who makes you feel like this, huh?” Javi tutted, sliding a third finger into your heat, the sweet stretch and sting making you let out a ragged whimper as you threw your head back in pleasure.

“Y-you- Jesus- Y-you are, Javi.”

“And who’s gonna be a good girl and soak my face when she cums for me?”

“M-me.”

“That’s fucking right, you are.” Javi growled before diving back between your legs, working his tongue relentlessly against your clit, circling and flicking in fast and firm motions as his fingers curled deeper into your core, eating you up like a man starved, desperate to make you fall apart.

You could already feel the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten from the way Javi was working so relentlessly to make you come undone, drinking every ounce of you up as his lips latched around your sensitive bundle of nerves, making your back arch and mind go blank while that all too familiar tingle began to creep through your core, cunt beginning to clench tighter and tighter around him.

At this point, your fingers were tugging so tightly around the soft, brown curls of his locks to try and hold yourself together, that you were convinced that you were close to pulling his hair out of his skull, but with the way you were on the brink of collapse from the way Javi’s mouth was working against your cunt, you almost didn’t have a choice.

“Fuck, Javi. Oh shit- Baby, I’m so close. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t stop, mi amor. Won’t stop until this pretty pussy fucking soaks me.” Javi mewled, peeking his head out from under you just enough so that his sweet, brown eyes were locked with yours, the hot words of his breath dancing against your pussy as his fingers continued to rock in and out of you. “I’ve got you, Osita. Promento. Damelo, bebita. (I promise. Give it to me, baby).”

Before you could respond, your jaw dropped open and face scrunched in pleasure as Javi dove back in, burying his face in your cunt as each press of his tongue became more firm and precise than the last, feeling your pussy begin to flutter as you clutched tighter around the edge of the counter, trying to keep from screaming out in pleasure and raise any suspicion. But as your legs began to tremble and your heart race, teetering on the brink of collapse, it was taking every ounce of willpower you had left to make that happen.

“Fuck, Javi. Fuck, I- fuck- I’m gonna, I’m gonna-ahhhhhh.” You whimpered, feeling your orgasm crash through you, pleasure radiating in your veins as you fell apart, losing all inhibitions to keep yourself quiet as you threw your head back in all consuming bliss. With his fingers still buried in your cunt, gently working you through your high, Javi shot back up, his mouth engulfing yours in an electric kiss to try and capture your ragged moans that had been coating the walls of the bathroom, the tangy taste of you still lingering on his lips.

Your heartbeat finally began to slow, your chest heaving in long, heavy breaths as you slumped into Javi, your head resting on his shoulder as your hands stayed buried deep in his hair, grasping onto his now sweat-dampened ends to try and pull yourself back down to reality.

After a few moments of letting you come to, Javi gently pulled out his fingers, all three drenched and glistening with your slick, pulling them out and bringing them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a devilish smirk of satisfaction on his face.

“God, you taste so fucking sweet. You really weren’t kidding about the hair, huh Hermosa?” Javi chuckled, cupping your jaw to cradle your cheek with his broad palm, forcing your gaze up at him.

“I told you.” You giggled softly, still trying to catch your breath as you smiled at him, pulling him in for another long, tender kiss. “Hottest looking Jonas Brother I’ve ever seen.”

The two of you burst out into laughter, practically snorting at your comment, taking a second to compose yourselves as Javi crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes at you.

“If that’s the fucking case, I’m getting out the clippers tonight.”

“Not until you take me to bed and do this all again, you aren’t.”

taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild @copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @pigeonmama @pedr0swh0r3

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bluejeanstrash · 7 months ago

Text

tags: boyfriend! seungcheol x reader, pure comfort fluff, crying, mentions of prolonged spells of sadness, reader is going through a hard time and seungcheol provides comfort, that’s about it | wc: 603

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

‘seungcheoooool’ you whine, staggering your steps while walking up to your boyfriend. his arms immediately open wide, waiting to receive you with a big hug.

‘cheollie, i’m sad’

‘that’s it. who do i need to fight?’ he puts his most menacing face on, only to look extremely adorable in his efforts.

you giggle, ‘me. you need to fight me because it's my brain that’s making me sad without any reason'

‘listen if i need to fight you, i’ll fight you man’ he balls his fists up, giving you a playful little punch on your cheek, accompanying it with a silly ‘psch’ sound effect.

‘but no, tell me, what’s wrong, baby?’ he asks in pout ‘my precious little bae-bee’

‘i don’t know’ you sigh, sinking back into his arms ‘i just feel…sad?’ he rubs your back in soothing circles, swaying you gently from side to side.

‘mmhm, i know what you mean. how can i make it better, my love?’ you shake your head, rubbing it into his chest ‘i don’t think you can’

‘not you’ you clarify so as not to make him overthink which you’re sure he’s already started doing. you’re right.

‘as in nothing can. i’m just sad. have been for the last couple of weeks. i don’t know, i just feel so…tired’ he knows he’s not supposed to take your words personally, but it hurts him. not only does he feel awful that you waited this long to confide in him, he also feels like a massive failure for not noticing anything was wrong in the first place.

he hugs you tighter, resting his chin on top of your head. he’s a little lost honestly, unable to understand how to fix this, or what even needs fixing. he’s always been able to do something to take the pain away, but for the first time he doesn’t have an answer and he hates it.

it’s not like you were hiding it from him all this time; you thought the feeling would go away like it usually did but it stayed for a week, and then like a bad guest it stayed for another one, plus one more, and after that it felt too heavy a burden to share.

‘it’s been going on for so long, and i don’t know w-what to do a-anymore’ your voice shakes, dangerously close to breaking. you think you’ve successfully swallowed that lump in your throat but then seungcheol strokes your hair so gently, so lovingly, so affectionately, you immediately burst into tears.

‘hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong?’ he pulls back and grabs your face with both hands, his face falling when he sees yours ‘oh baby’ your tear-filled eyes, those big wet drops rolling down your soft cheeks, and your wobbly chin — they all make his heart hurt. he’s so worried but he doesn’t let it show, calmly wiping your tears away.

‘it’s okay, it’ll be okay, i’m right here, yeah? i’m right here’ his eyes are big and hopeful. you nod twice, inhaling in sudden sharp breaths.

‘come here’ he holds you as tight as he can without hurting you, cradling your head protectively in his hands ‘i’m so sorry i don’t know how to fix this but we’ll figure it out together, okay? it’ll be okay’

you nod, continuing to sob against his chest, and he lets you, telling you to let it all out, cry as much as you want for as long as you need.

that’s all he can think of to do, and if he needs to hold you forever to make it even a little better, he gladly will.

#scoups fluff #seungcheol fluff #wasn’t planning on putting out anymore seungcheol stuff this week but i thought i’d just release it #since it’s so short #random little drabble #seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #scoups #choi seungcheol

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delicrieux · 2 months ago

Text

…TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS ! ⋆｡°✩

⋆⭒˚.⋆ chapter summary. he's more sensitive than he looks.

pairing. gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader warnings for this chapter. swearing wc. 3.5k author’s note. just wanna say a big thank u to everyone that stuck w this story and loved it along w me. there's still one chapter left, so here's some mini angst before our little happy ever after. also, i've recently realized that nothing actually happens in this story. there's no plot. you just hang out with gojo and the rest. that's it. no great fights or conflict or anything. just spending time with him.

ੈ ✩‧₊˚

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | twny masterlist | < back | next >

CHAPTER 13: the hakone incident

you wake up smothered in an embrace, which isn't uncommon.

what is slightly more uncommon is that gojo is wound around you so tightly that even his dumb, big paw has got your breast held hostage. not much there to sink his claws in, yet sunk they are, still. you wiggle and grasp and dig, trying to extricate yourself from this prison, but the soft fabric that rubs against his crotch with every small movement has him hissing in your ear.

“sa-”

“mine,” is the first thing he mumbles, words laced with sleep. he cradles you tighter, hides his face in your hair. you pat his arm, ignoring his sleep-addled state.

some sort of half-coherent mumble is slurred into your pillow as a response.

“not gonna bother translating that,” you utter under your breath – it’s too early to be irritated with him, and he doesn’t deserve it also, since he is much too cute. however, “lemme go? i need to go to the bathroom.”

“no,” he stubbornly refuses.

“don't be like that.”

a soft groan, then a kiss to the exposed curve of your neck, and one more to the edge of your ear. his fingers twitch at the flesh, kneading and tickling, “fine, i need to go too. let's go together.”

“you wanna hold hands while i'm in the stall or something?”

“yes.”

he is unreasonable, but that’s hardly a surprise.

you disentangle your legs from his, untying his arms from your torso, then turning to sit up properly. instantly, your stomach flips. in the bleak, early sunlight, gojo is the first thing you focus on, sleep-dazed and smiling lovingly in your direction. cheeks creased and swollen with grogginess, hair a complete mess, eyes still crusted. you wipe a drop of drool from the corner of his mouth with your thumb.

once, he told you that he always sleeps the best when you’re sleeping next to him. maybe that’s why he’s so clingy, “morning.”

“yeah?” he mutters. one hazy eye blinks, then the other, and you can’t help grinning at the sight, “hi. hello. good morning, how are you? ‘m just the guy you're looking for, can i be of service?”

you try so hard to press your lips into a thin line, but instead they stretch more and more, “c'mon, up. long day ahead.”

you had expected to take the morning train to hakone, but instead, with your bags dutifully carried by a lanky idiot, you are led to sleek, black car parked inconspicuously close to jujutsu technical. suspiciously, you eye the tinted windows of the driver’s seat, expecting a personal chauffer – which would be way too much, but also quintessential gojo. when the car keys jingle in his hand, you blink stupidly, smothered under the sunlight.

“you have a license?” you blurt.

“yeah,” gojo says smugly, opening the trunk and dumping the bags inside, “to kill.”

“the circus must be missing their clown,” you state sharply, though you feel a bit silly for not knowing such a thing about the man you have spent 3 years hating and a few months liking enough to be willingly glued to his side.

he snorts, fixing his glasses and shutting the trunk. all suave and cool, he opens the passenger’s door for you, “got any red lipstick in that little purse of yours? could kiss my nose a bunch of times, see if it honks after.”

the urge to shove your elbow into his stomach and watch how he doubles over in pain is almost too tempting, but you resist. after all, you do have the mind to enjoy the view of his flexing arms as you enter the vehicle, the sight disappearing as he circles around to enter from the other side.

the interior smells nice and new – it’s definitely expensive, but your knowledge of cars begins and ends in that they have four wheels and roll fast when you press a pedal. you can practically feel the self-satisfaction radiating off his person, especially as his hand glides along the steering wheel. it takes a few moments of useless fiddling and some gears shifting until he begins driving. his hand seats itself upon your thigh, as though it had always been its intention.

“seatbelt,” he reminds, easily maneuvering out of the parking lot.

you slide the black band across your chest, buckling the lock, “thanks,” he mutters, palming your leg for good measure, “safe and sound.”

then, he slams the accelerator so quick and hard you're thrown back into the plush seat. the car screeches like a furious beast wrongfully insulted, engine purring loudly as its owner cackles. oh no.

here is where you learn that gojo is a terrible driver, as the speed limit is more of a loose guideline and traffic laws do not exist. he speeds past red lights that have you clutching the handlebar for your dear life, and he seems to delight in your mortified expression each time his eyes stray from the road, which is too much to be considered safe.

miraculously, you make it past the confusing and intricate tokyo streets in one piece and breathe a little easier. that is until you get to the highway, and he zooms between lanes like he’s playing a video game, jumping between cars and testing the limits of your patience to a level so extreme that you can hardly take it.

“could you slow down a little?” your voice has acquired a tremble, and you must be paler than you have been when you awoke. you think he’ll ignore you over the music, but he doesn’t.

he eases up just a little, and you remove your hand from the handlebar. it’s numb and tingly and aches from holding so tightly.

“i have some cds in the back,” he says, pinching your thigh. you think he doesn’t deserve to touch you like this, but unfortunately, it’s comforting, so you allow it. if you crash, you decide you will grab him and shield yourself with his body – his infinity will stop the impact, and you’ll probably live.

you twist and dig around, and once the cds are safely in your lap, your brows shoot up, “kat-tun?”

his lips stretch into a cheeky smile, and all of his grievances are forgiven with that, “they have a few good songs.”

“all of their songs are good!” you defend hotly. still, today is proving to be one surprise after the other – did he seriously listen to their whole discography because it’s your favorite band? if yes, that is very sweet. if he’s lying, well, you will not fight for the truth, because this has made you happy.

you change the music with barely contained enthusiasm and hum along. your initial impression must’ve been wrong, because gojo knows what he’s doing. he always does, and you reward him with a sweet smile for all of his efforts, which inspires him to lean for a kiss that nearly steers you both off the highway.

the first place you visit in hakone is not the hotel room gojo has rented, but the mall. you locate an expensive-looking restaurant and order your lunch – you, something modest and normal, and he enough to feed a family of seven. it’s always mildly fascinating to watch him chow down like his life depends on it, if not a bit off-putting.

“no one’s gonna take it from you,” you tell him when he slurps a noodle and almost chokes.

he glares at you over his shades, “shut up, ‘m hungry.”

you try to steal a piece from his bowl but he jabs your hand with chopsticks seemingly with the intention to break through skin. you yelp and shy away, wounded and afraid. he doesn’t even seem sorry.

he makes it up to you by treating you to coffee and a slice of cake, which he devours after you had a tiny bite. this is becoming a problem, but he looks very happy and doesn’t let go of your hand, planting quick, small kisses on the place he hurt, so you, once again, forgive him, as is the standard of your relationship.

shopping is next, and he steers you to each and every boutique that even marginally catches your attention. you pile everything you like on his arms, as though he was your personal assistant, and he, surprisingly, doesn’t complain. for the first half of you maxing out his card, he was stood outside the dressing room like a guard dog, shuffling back and forth, back and forth, waiting for you to pull back the curtain and reveal yourself so he could supply you with a verdict, which was always, without fault, “we’re buying that.”

he grew bored, though, and started whining that his feet hurt. invited himself inside and sat on the small chair in the very corner of the cramped space, very attentive when you changed in and out of your clothes. he even helped with the zippers and the buttons, and eventually, he got a boner from all this touching, so you had to stay for another good 10 minutes till he calmed down.

the blaring white lights, and you sweating. you stare at him, disappointed. he looks mildly uncomfortable, squirming in his seat and trying not to look at you, the mountain of clothes you discarded heaped on his lap.

“what am i gonna do with you?” you wonder aloud with a small sigh.

“i can’t help it. you’re hot.”

by the end of it all, you have acquired new perfume, a new set of luxurious makeup, and too many clothes to know what to do with. he carries your bags without you having to ask and leads you to get new underwear, but you make him wait outside the shop for that since you’re not risking another incident again.

when evening dwindles into night, he suggest a car ride around the city. the ocean breeze ruffles your hair when you roll down the window to admire the watercolor sights around you – the buildings, the people, the greenery, the mountain peak pitch black against the backdrop of the sky. you drive around aimlessly, and he's more subdued and mindful of the signs and the blinking traffic lights, his hand leaving your body only when he needs to switch gears. it always comes back with a little knead, and it always makes you smile.

“look, they're preparing for the festival,” you tell him as you pass by a closed off street of decorated stalls and convenience stores that look like they have been closed for the night, with two police men stationed across the entrance.

“you've ever been to lake ashinoko?” he questions idly.

“nope,” you turn another corner, the streets a little quieter, “it has the big torii gate, right?”

“yeah,” gojo hums, “we'll go there to watch the fireworks,” he seems distracted, “pretty stuff.”

“looking forward to it,” you reply, too interested in a display of colorful confectionary and sweets to decipher the tone of his voice, “where are we heading to?”

“dunno,” he mutters, knuckles slowly relaxing, “just around. you wanna head back?”

“nah,” you glance at him, a brow arched in curiosity. he looks oddly flushed. “you seem a little tired. wanna stop?”

“always worried about me,” he clicks his tongue, “’m a big boy.”

you pause for a moment. getou's words spring to mind, and you feel a bit nervous.

he's more sensitive than he looks.

maybe now's not the best time to bring up the clearly crumbling state of his best friend, but uncomfortable conversations don't have the luxury of waiting, nor do they ever fit into the right moment. you chew on your bottom lip in thought, as if the words would make themselves known without any effort from your part, but you find yourself no longer stuck on getou's haunting look but rather the way gojo seems a bit off his usual cheeky and snarky self.

you want to be a good friend. you care about both of them, and it hurts, in an odd, dull ache somewhere in your chest, when neither want your help.

is it so wrong to worry about gojo? you have come to terms with the idea that you like him, like him so much that sometimes, you feel half-crazy with a need to be by his side, constantly and without interruption, like today, like, hopefully, for many more days to come.

still, you are aware of the many walls and barriers he has erected to guard himself. and you, the person that likes him the most and has his attention almost at every given moment, still understand very little of who he is. you don't want to linger on the question if you ever will.

you must take example of haibara's endless positivity. step by step. even slow progress is still progress.

“i worry about everyone,” you eventually offer, more somber than you originally intended. still, it gets a faint snicker from him, and your cheeks puff with a mixture of amusement and relief. “you're not special, you know.”

“i hope that isn't true. i'd be crushed,” he teases back.

there it is. the little deflection that always makes you smile, despite how obviously it diverts from what's truly on his mind. it's a defense mechanism, you reckon. that said, you are not unaware that he has offered you little hints here and there, things he would only disclose in the dead of the night in the hush between soft laughs and your pillows.

without staring at him, you take a deep breath. heart light and fingers threaded against the seam of your shirt. here it goes, you tell yourself.

“i didn't used to worry so much, to be honest,” you confess, hoping he will at least listen before undoubtedly cutting you off, “but, i guess recently, i’m starting to see things from new perspectives. i know you don’t need it, but i still—”

he makes a sharp turn that doesn't seem coordinated enough, and suddenly, a stop-street opens to the left, overlooking a rocky beach and calm waters of the vast stretch of hakone's inlet. gojo parks dangerously close to the edge of the cliff and lets the air settle.

“honesty hour?” his smile is familiar to you, perhaps a bit too bitter to your liking. “alright. if we're playing this game, then i'd say that worrying is dumb, especially if it’s me you’re worried about. really stupid, actually. i don’t see the point in getting emotional over shit like that.”

“well, it’s not being emotional, it’s just—”

“no, shush,” he squeezes the length of your leg. you blink down at where he's touching you, and you look up when you realize he means to have the attention for just this. “look, what i'm saying is, i’m me, yeah? you can call me conceited all you want, but it’s the truth. i mean, i, okay, fine, fuck it,” he sighs, like he's annoyed, and you're just as grateful you can't fully see his expression as he likely is of yours, “a weak heart is not something to particularly proud of. i'm not someone that requires babysitting.”

this is likely the first time he has ever been so upfront about anything in his life, ever. maybe getou has seen this side of him, but even if that was the case, you'd never know for certain. you don't, however, appreciate the slight anger in his tone.

“no one's babysitting you,” you placate, careful to test his reaction before continuing, “we spend almost all of our time together, how is this surprising? and i don't think anyone would make an argument against you being the strongest, but you're still a person.”

you wonder when his hand slipped from your knee. he doesn't react for a good few seconds, as though gathering his thoughts, though you suspect, whether he was or not, this is not something he intended to dig deep enough to expose.

“well, yeah, duh,” he responds obtusely, but he offers nothing more.

this has gone about as well as you've expected, which is to say it has gone terribly, and it’s all his fault, because you were intending to go in a completely different direction.

“still a person,” he utters, and now he definitely sounds irritated, “the hell's that supposed to mean? you think i'm gonna roll over and let some curse get me or something? are you stupid?”

your stomach lurches like he has landed a heavy blow on it, and you need a moment to swallow past the ugly burn in your throat that your entire face stings with. somehow, what irks you the most is that you are hurt he would assume that you, of all people, would ever force something he doesn’t want onto him, as though the thought itself has made you a villain in his eyes.

as though stating a simple fact that he is human too is somehow insulting, somehow a threat to his title as gojo satoru and each and every connotation that comes with that honored name.

you have never asked him of anything. he's the one that started picking on you first, physically imposing himself into your life. he's the one that changed over the years and started showing new sides, he's the one that begs you to go on trips with him and buys you things and likes to hold you as he sleeps and complains that you make him horny even in situations that really call for tender affection instead of sexual advances.

you don't even ask him to like you like you like him, since you know that it would be met with harsh rejection. he would take it as a demand, no doubt, to be on your level – someone weak-hearted. his emotions have proven to be more volatile than his actions, and perhaps you’ve accidentally stumbled into something a bit out of your level of expertise. you can't brush it off with a snide, vaguely amusing remark like you usually would, nor do you want to.

you’ve changed, too.

still.

his hand is back as a vice around your knee. your jaw clenches.

that was uncalled for.

“you're being mean,” you mumble, your words hanging stale between you.

he sighs after what feels like an eternity, sounding long-suffering and tired, “sorry. that came out wrong.”

“you've just started a fight for no reason.”

“what, you crying? tough luck, maybe try being—”

“fine,” you don’t let him finish, unbuckling your seatbelt, “sorry for getting so emotional. see you at the hotel.”

“what?” he snaps, head swerving in your direction with a new, searing glare, “no. jesus. just. no. what?”

“i’m heading back,” you insist, but you are stilled in your attempts at fleeing by his hold. it'll bruise if you really want to test how badly he's going to grip you, probably, but this unexpected argument has really shaken you. he's only ever been this prickly at the start of year two, when the sight of you invoked some long-simmering resentment that he showed by cowing at you from each and every corner, like some hellish echo, “let me go, please.”

“hold on,” his fingers dig, and despite how you try to swat at him, he doesn't budge, “there's no need for this. i'm sorry, okay? don't get out the fucking car, for fuck's sake, i'm serious.”

“satoru,”

“no,” he snarls, the sound sudden and vicious that you flinch from its force, “i said, no. i don't—you're not going anywhere. i'm sorry, okay, i'm sorry, i'm an asshole, i know, but just, just listen for a sec.”

you slump against your seat, lips pursed and arms tightly crossed in a way you know he finds childish but that, unfortunately for him, is a legitimate response to his infuriating behavior. to further throw him off, you make it very clear he does not have your attention, and that even if he did, it wouldn't do him any good.

you feel him slowly relax and tremble before petting at the little scratches he has accidentally carved in your skin in a way that lets you know he’s truly sorry. he lets out an uneasy sigh, fingers twitching every few seconds.

stillness. finally, silence, except for the wind that howls and the crash of the ocean below.

“i was talking bullshit,” he begins, the effort of it wearing him down to a barely audible, pathetic volume. “it's just, i can't... i don't know how, okay? that's the truth.”

“can't what?”

“you know,” he gestures ambiguously with the hand he isn't restraining you with, “there are certain expectations i gotta meet. i can't disappoint everyone. i mean, they wouldn't, i don't think, but... look, i'm sure you understand.”

“no, i don't, actually,” you snip, “i don't even understand what we're fighting about anymore.”

“i, just, it's, okay, whatever, fuck,” he thumps his head back against his seat, and the next words leave him in one big, excruciating spill, “i'm just not very good with feelings. this is all fucking crazy.”

like most secrets, they're out before he can reel them back. his lips slam shut so quickly that it turns into a tense line. you watch him, he watches you, and his face melts into something shameful. his eyes dart to the steering wheel and back, and you really hope he isn't planning on smashing the accelerator again to head face first into the rocks to escape whatever the hell is happening in this car.

“i'm not good at this,” he repeats slowly, painfully, as though you’re speaking different languages, “i don't want you to cry.”

“i'm not crying. i'm pissed off and i want to go home.”

“don't go home,” he rushes to say, “don't go anywhere. i'm not even sure where we are exactly, so just, calm down.”

“i can find my way,” you sniff irritably, and he suddenly looks utterly miserable, which you think is very unfair.

“christ, you couldn't even find the fucking bathroom in the mall, do you seriously think i'm gonna let you walk around alone at night cuz you're a bit angry with me?”

gojo really has a talent of saying the wrong things at the most right of times.

you scowl, “that's because i was following you!” yes, perhaps you did turn off your brain and mindlessly waddle after him, trusting him to deliver you to your desired location. is it a crime to be caught in the spell that is gojo satoru's enigmatic appeal? that should be considered a blessing instead of an inconvenience, surely, “don't patronize me. and if you don't quit being shitty, you'll be watching the fireworks alone, cuz i'm taking my ass to the first train and heading the hell back to tokyo.”

“sorry,” he bows his head, forehead softly smacking against your shoulder, “please don't go. i'm sorry.”

“sorry you went super shit on me?” you demand, still sulking, “or sorry you snapped?”

“sorry for... all of it, alright? i'll make it up to you. do you want new jewelry? you didn't get any. like earrings, or something. i'll get nice ones, okay?”

your eyes nearly bug out of your head, “huh? stop freaking me out. i sincerely hope you realize i don't hang around you to get free stuff. that's so shallow. do you even know me?”

“god,” he exhales heavily, like he's very, very close to banging his head against the wheel out of sheer exasperation. “i'm trying, you know. cut me some slack here.”

yes, you see he's trying his utmost best, and that's why you're already softening. but the sting still lingers. you will be gracious and assume that his attempt at buying back your affection was borne out of panic and is, overall, a genuine mistake, or maybe a show of something beneath the layers – who is he if not gojo satoru, the strongest, the richest, the prodigal son, the untouchable, unapproachable sorcerer? gojo doesn't deal with his mistakes gracefully. he overcompensates. he hides, and this time, he has failed to hide from you.

“and i don't want you to pay back the ice cream, either,” you finally mumble, tentatively reaching up to pet the mess of his fluffy hair as a show of good faith. an olive branch, because apparently, you will always possess a clearer mind than him.

he’s immobile for a second, and then he burrows even deeper into the material of your shirt, as though hoping to somehow melt away from it, and a heavy breath collapses out of him, “this is bad for my ego. don't ever take that control away from me. it's wrong. feels wrong.”

“fine. whatever. you win. happy? nothing happened, yada yada. friends,” you grumble.

“gross,” he groans, despite the clear warmth in his voice that makes your stomach flutter, “being a friend sounds a bit lame. but yeah. friends. and we're watching the fireworks tomorrow, yes? say yes.”

“okay,” you acquiesce, despite your reservations, “maybe.”

“yes,” he insists, stubbornly holding his position on your shoulder. he does, however, pout, and that lightens your mood significantly. “we are. right?”

“you have to be less annoying.”

“fine.”

“fine, and,” you start. you don't want to be cold with him, but you don't quite feel ready to let this go, “i want to sleep in a different room.”

he startles away from you like you’ve slapped him, “no. bad idea. forget it, it's not happening.”

“don't fight me on this, satoru,” you say, and his eyes widen slightly. “it's really not up for debate.”

“are you mad?”

“yeah,” you tell him, and it's true. “i'm not... mad-mad, but like. i need a little space.”

“okay,” he swallows thickly, like he doesn't like the thought of you so much as existing further than a ten meter radius from him, “got it. no problem.”

that must've hurt.

“just for today,” you assure him, “promise.”

he nods slowly. then, “can i… can i at least kiss you?”

you shake your head. no, not now. not yet.

“right, okay, of course,” he mutters emptily and sits back. with some space in between you again, you find his lack of warmth much more pronounced, not to mention the distance he puts there. for the first time today, when starts the car and shifts gears, the edge of his fingers doesn't brush your skin.

the drive back to the hotel is agonizingly silent.

additional author's note: i think dating gojo would be very difficult since he's so emotionally stunted that he can't express himself and he's too afraid to try. i think he would also have significant trouble being on the same level as someone he considers weaker than him (not in a bad way). the only reason he even formed a connection with suguru was because suguru, at one point, was also the strongest, and he was the only person that understood him on that level. reader isn't the strongest, and the connection she offers is really different than what he's used to. he lashes out, but he still apologizes sincerely. i also thinks he takes her for granted, much like he takes getou. he's supposed to be in control because he's the strongest, and he's likely troubled about his own feelings, that's why he's so frustrated.

don't be too angry with him, he's really trying :(

but anyway, stan kami-chan because she is a baddie and if a baddie threatened to leave me i'd be clawing at her begging her to stay too

tags (bold couldn't tag!). @shokosbunny , @jotarohat , @alygator77 , @fortunatelyfurrygiver , @finnydraws , @mastermasterlist1p1 , @eolivy , @letsmyy , @staruus , @k0z3me , @damnshorty , @kaeyakaikai , @n4melesspers0n , @midnightwriter21 , @sillymercury , @byakuya61085 , @stillnotherapy , @mydearchoso , @plutoisaghoul , @byerno6 , @bqvz , @harryzcherry , @noira-l , @your-sleeparalysisdem0n , @satoryaa , @cccandynecklaces , @stuffeddeer , @cherriee-ee ,

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heartlesscorpse · 8 months ago

Text

Pyramid Head thoughts 3 🩸🔪 △

Nsfw shit through the fuckin’ board read at your own risk boyss heheheeeeeeeeeee— Once again I’m catering this shit to myself bc the hornee brain rot is perceiving me once again dbkshdjsv but yeah, been kinda slow with posting stuff myself due to coming back from finishing up moving things and going back to my school routine. ALSO, I finally managed to post my fic on ao3 and if anybody’s interested in reading y’all can go check it out here!

I really don’t think Pyramid Hear would have any favourite positions during sex, imo he’s all in for any position where he can have his cock balls deep inside your a—

This man likes rough sex, seeing how much your puny little body can take his size while he pounds the fucking daylights out of you. :)))))

Although he likes roughening you up a little during sex, he can also go slow or be gentle when asked.

Size kink, belly bulge, breeding kink, or fuuucking primal play??????? Man’s already rock hard. Σ(°ロ°)

It’s pleasing hearing your voice pitching an octave higher with your moans while he’s nailing your ass, or even how you instantly become a flustered mess in his arms just makes it pleasurable and have his cock throbbing hard lmaooo.

Hell, even your begging is getting him another fucking mile to being too excited on wanting your ruin your hole until you can’t walk for a few days.

Pyramid Head doesn’t do shit with privacy, if he’s ragingly hard, he’ll just take you right then and there.

It’s all good for one or two rounds, right?? NO. Pyramid Head’s not restricted to measly stamina like you humans, it’s going round after round with some small breaks in-between and pretty much going to fuck you up all night.

Ofc doubling down with his possessive nature, Pyramid Head isn’t going to let anybody touch you like this. Only he’s deserving of your ass. No one else is. >:((

Some times Pyramid Head would pull out the last second to spill his fat load of cum on your back or stomach as some other way of claiming what’s rightfully his.

And speaking of Pyramid Head’s load, normally he doesn’t like wasting that shit, he wants you to take all of it. Every, last, drop. And progressing into the second round? He’s just attempting to fuck his load back into you before dumping another so your ass is completely full of his seed.

Once he’s all satisfied and happy, Pyramid Head is going to leave you trembling, limp, and utterly exhausted to the point where your mind is completely gone. Reduced to a fuckin’ single braincell. And he’ll sit there with you cradled in his hold, all safe and warm and lovingly licking your face. <3

🥩⋆♱✮♱⋆🔪 🩸

#pyramid head #dead’s dying #dead’s hcs #pyramid head x reader #slashers x reader #gn reader #smut #brainrot hrs

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adorekento · 2 years ago

Text

Sweet !

characters ; Albedo, Scaramouche, Cyno, Heizou, & Xiao (seperate)

NSFW (mdni) : vulgar words, praise, fingering, teasing, pet names, riding, cursing, intimate sex, fem reader, degradation, dacryphilia, Impact play, orgasm control, etc.

notes ; this might be a bit messy cuz im writing this and im uh drunk i think

✦ ALBEDO

pet names, praise, fingering, intimate sex, exhibitionism

“Albedo…” you moaned, wrapping your legs more securely around his back. you nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck and inhale deeply.

“Shh, I’m here, angel,” Albedo mumbled against you, cradling your face in his hand. His palm is large and warm as you lean into it, placing an affectionate kiss on his fingers. He chuckles a little before kissing you again, sluggish, deep, and sweet.

"You're doing so fine." Albedo grins lovingly down at you before letting his head hang down, entranced at the sight of your dripping cunt sucking his aching cock back inside of you.

The idea of being seen bare by Albedo made your cheeks flush crimson. He runs his hands through your hair as he slowly begins to pounce inside you, your body writhing against his hard, wet shaft.

"Albedo... it's so..." you mewl softly at how divine he felt, how much love you sense in his every stroke, every thrust, and the soft moan that falls from your lips.

you reach up with one of your hands, holding onto Albedo for dear life, and drag him down to you, kissing him passionately. Your teeth gaze at his lower lip and his hand goes directly to your swollen pussy, cupping it tightly and stroking you there before dipping into your slit. You made a tiny noise of permission when he does so, his fingers slipping past you smoothly and tickling along your clit, which ships your whole body on blaze with arousal.

He continues making love to you for hours, totally in love with you and the way his name chimes falling past your kiss-swollen lips, your fingers intertwined up in his hair and the way he glimpses at you with compassion and longing.

✦ SCARAMOUCHE

teasing, degradation, dacryphilia, Impact play, orgasm control,

“Look at me, you whore,” he scowled, hanging his head down to stare at where you were both connected. His purple hair is messy as it falls in front of his face, and a deep groan slips past his lips as he sinks his cock into you once more.

You let out a breathy sob and try not to flinch, trying your best not to move from your spot on the bed. Your body feels hot with lust, and you think maybe if you don’t move anything will be easier to bear.

"mhm... More~" You breathed in,

"You like that?" As if to further punctuate his words, He presses his cock deep inside you, two of his fingers coming to circle against your clit. His hips grind against yours, the tip of his cock continuously nudging against the spot that has you moaning his name, the sensation making you dizzy enough to have you lose your ground.

"S-Scara..." You let out a shaky whiff as he proceeds to fuck you, Your eyes drop shut. A whimper escapes your lips before your breathing evens out. You felt him slap your thigh,

"Don't cum until I said so." The way his mouth curves up at one corner makes you shiver. It looks like his smirk is almost a grin by now, his eyes shining. You can see the red eyeliner from under his lashes, smeared thickly around his closed lids.

You tug onto him closer, pressing his bare chest up against your own. "Please," You murmured, voice low and weakened, "Sorry, I... need you right now..." You beg, feeling pathetic as you cling to him, wrapping your arms around his neck so he'll have no choice but to hold onto you.

Scaramouche groans and presses his cold nose against your cheek. The gesture sends shivers down your spine, a smile tugging at your lips, and tears springing from your eyes as you feel his warm breath against your skin, and your heart begins beating faster and faster.

✦ CYNO

praise, cursing, slight degradation, teasing, intimate sex,

“C-Cyno! Shit— hmph~“ You sighed into his mouth, gripping the sheets as he pressed his cock constantly into your pussy. You could feel yourself starting to come with every of his depth thrust, which only inflated your already magnified arousal. oh, Archons, this was so good and you hated it when things went that smoothly.

"Who knew you'd be like this in bed?" He slowed down for an instant before coming back in even deeper than before. Your eyes were clutched shut, your head was thrown back, and your legs were still spread barely apart for him. He pushed forward until the tip of his cock was pressed against your clit, then began fucking you like there was no tomorrow. With each movement of his hips, the head of his cock made contact with both your G area and ass, making you squirm involuntarily and cry out louder.

You could hear yourself moaning through your clenched teeth, your breath heavy and unsteady as he went on pumping his cock in slow motion against you, never pulling his hips away from your wet pussy lips. You didn’t want him ever to stop.

You couldn’t ponder or draw breath with all the sensations rushing through you as he pumped his cock, slowly but surely becoming more intense by the second. Your pussy was tightening around his thick shaft, the muscles clenching tightly as he kept going without stopping.

A tiny whimper escaped your throat, and you were rather convinced you sounded like a creature in pain. The sensation was amazing—it felt like blaze and frost, and if you weren't on your mattress right now, you would have been screaming for another round.

✦ HEIZOU

praise, quirofilia, teasing, fingering

He had such long fingers, you could sense him scraping up and down your walls and the pads on his knuckles left a trail of burning pleasure behind wherever he brushed. The feeling was enough to make your toes curl and your abdomen flutter in the tension of what was to come next.

You bucked your hips to his fingers as he continued with the gentle torture, your back arching off the bed as it pushed against the mattress until it felt like your skin would rip right open.

He chuckled when you let out an embarrassing noise of ecstasy. “Oh? You're ashamed?" He sounded smug like he knew that was what he did to you. He knew exactly how to turn you on, just like that. He leaned over you and pressed his lips to your temple. “I didn't think you'd get so turned on by my fingers."

Your breath caught in your throat as he continued teasing you by caressing his thumb over your clit. Your nails dug into the sheets beneath you. "Nngh..." You bit your bottom lip as you tried to suppress your sobs but they kept coming nonetheless.

When he reached down and stroked one of his midst, heavy cock circles against your clit and rubbed against your sensitive pussy, you moaned louder than before and arched your head back. A small whine slipped past your teeth at the feeling of the hard length of him prodding your entrance. He began fondling the underside of your slit with his thumb and you whimpered as the warmth built up inside you.

✦ XIAO

dominance, praise, riding, intimate sex,

"You're so..." he whispered as you began to move, going up and down on his erect dick "y/n... Just like that..." he breathed into your ear making you whimper softly as he kissed a trail down your body. He bit your neck, not hard enough to hurt you but deep enough that his teeth would have been visible. You whimpered at the pain,

You start to move your hips in circles to help him feel even better and it worked like a charm. You felt his dick twitching as he clasps your waist to move you himself.

He starts pushing inside of you, quicker than before and it feels wonderful. It's almost too great for your body to deal with. It's like there's a hidden emphasis pulling him deeper inside of you. He pushes harder still and with one last thrust.

"y-y/n...!" He grunted as his grip tighten on your waist. His thrusts came to be deeper and faster. you kept bouncing on his erection attempting to get every feeling out of him.

He was whining and shivering, it was a tremendous sight, he buried his face into the crook of your neck, holding you close, and you held his hair gently trying to soothe him down.

"Xiao..." You whispered into his hair while stroking his back soothingly. You felt his dick twitching against your stomach as he started losing control.

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moodymisty · 3 months ago

Note

It's August 2nd and time for everyone's monthly breeding kink to start kicking in.

Vulkan excited when you ask him what he thinks about starting a family. Excited to be a good dad, and more than eager to put a bun in the oven... and sword in the forge.

This man is praise kink personified with his beloved. The most sickeningly sweet and tender fucking of your entire life, hands all over and skin to skin. His skin burns like the coals he so often works with but you just can't get enough of it. "You're doing so good for me. That's it, open up. Can't wait to make you a mother." It's thinky veiled as the only time you've seen Vulkan be selfish. He's just as excited if not more to be a father, and you can feel it in every buck of his hips.

I don't even think this is a request, I think the finals have just officially melted my brain.

Author's note: ok request or not, here's a teeny something

Relationships: Vulkan/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Breeding kink, lovey dovey type stuff

Vulkan watches as sparks fly between chainswords as they collide, his men fighting in practice duels. Some wear no armor while some wear the bottom half of their armor, unpowered for added strength training. Either way they practice, honing their skills.

Vulkan looks down briefly at himself in this moment of normal life aboard the Flamewrought, and sees the bracelet on his left wrist.

You had made it for him, trying to use techniques of Nocturne to craft him something meaningful. He found the effort beyond endearing, and has rarely taken it off since.

The memory brings you to the forefront of his mind; The memory of the previous night with it.

Your body laid underneath him, cradled safely in the protection of his shadow. His hands roamed your body like he was exploring it for the first time, their massive size covering so much of your skin. You wiggled underneath his gentle touch, as he prepared you to take him.

Vulkan had cast his gaze to some refugee children from the planet they were currently stationed not long ago, and in the conversation you had mentioned wanting a child.

Vulkan loved you, he lived to make you happy. If you wanted a child, he would give you one and fill your belly without the slightest hesitation.

"Relax, my love," Even now after his fingers loosened and relaxed you he is a tight fit, his cock forcing your walls to wrap around him with absolutely no room to space. You whined and writhed underneath him as he pushed himself deeper, the head of his cock bumping against sensitive bundles of nerves.

When he managed to seat himself inside you to the hilt your back arches up towards him, one hand resting by your head covered and held by his while the other gripped his wrist to ground yourself.

Your body cries for him, smelling sweet and womb gravid. Your face tightens as he slowly slipped his cock in and out of you, the soft meeting of skin on skin filled the air of the room with sound. The meeting of your two bodies was music to his ears, your whimpers and moans as he teased you into tightening around his cock as you came, and he continued to gently fuck you through it.

“You’re perfect, my love. You’ll be the perfect mother.”

Vulkan was almost fully lost in the memory of that night before, before a voice pulls him from his remembrance.

"Father," One of his lieutenants speaks up, looking away from the training ahead of him. Sweat shines on the marine’s skin, and a light breathlessness impacts his speech. "Where is our lady? We haven't seen her at all today."

Vulkan glances away for a moment.

You laid back against the blankets, heart pounding against your chest like it was trying to escape the confines of your ribs. His seed- copious amounts from the multitude of times he came inside of you - leaked from your lovingly abused cunt and slid between your thighs, making a mess of them. Your lips were parted to take in deep breaths, and your eyes were glossed over in the way of someone who was tired, worn out, and well fucked.

He wondered if it would take, or if you would have to keep trying again and again and again.

"She is resting." The salamander looks at him curious, and a tad concerned. His sons have grown fond in the time you’ve been with them; Vulkan gives him a soft smile.

"She will be back soon. She just, strained herself a bit and is resting. She'll be well very soon."

#vulkan x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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inuyashaluver · 1 year ago

Note

hey, love your writing!! what do you think about a concert fic where the trade rand leah go to a concert with her mum, grandma and maybe some arsenal girls - heaps of fluff which makes hem get feasted by everyone but super sweet stuff like whispering lyrics to each other and dancing :)

lovin’ on you - leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

description: in which your fiancé, your teammates and her family all go to a luke combs concert on your birthday

warnings: suggestive, swearing

a/n: thank you for the support and the request!! this was super fun, hope you enjoy ❤️

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

it was no secret that you and your fiancé, leah were big country fans. sure, country music may be slandered but you and leah never lost your love for it. it also helped that some of your arsenal teammates were also big fans, especially sharing your love of luke combs with you and your fiancé.

your birthday was slowly approaching, leah kept telling you that this birthday was going to be extra special and you really weren’t excited. you hate your birthday, leah loves it - match made in heaven. and so, on the day of your birthday, you were awakened by leah.

“baby girl, wake up” she whispers softly in your ear, rubbing circles onto your back. you were bundled up in yours and leah’s bed, leah had gotten up extra early to go to your favourite café to get your favourite drink and some breakfast. you groan and smush your face into the pillow, leah giggles at your antics.

leah then settles her top half onto your back, a familiar and comfortable weight offering you extra warmth in the chilly morning. she moves to place a line of kisses from the top of your neck, the middle of your back and all the way to your lower back. you stir lightly at the affection she was giving you. she places her hands on your waist to flip you around, when you’re on your back, you squint your eyes open to leah smiling so lovingly at you, you could’ve cried.

“happy birthday, my love” she places a gentle kiss on your lips, laughing when you whine as she pulls away.

you sit up quickly, placing your arms around her neck, sitting in her lap and giving her a tight hug. one of her hands resting on the small of your back and the other rubbing up and down the side of your thigh. she nearly dies of cuteness when you nuzzle your face into her neck, shielding your eyes from the light of the morning.

“thank you” you mumble into her neck, placing a gentle kiss there. she moves her head to make eye contact with you. “my birthday girl, you’re getting old” laughing as you glare at her.

“i’m old? baby, you’re pushing grandma already” sleep still evident in your voice,

“rude! because it’s your birthday, i’ll let it pass, and excuse you! we’re two years apart!” still giggling profusely at your tired expression, you weren’t really a morning person, leah was and absolutely loved how you acted in the mornings, extra clingy and easily persuaded into anything.

“hmm still two years” you smirk and peck her on the lips gently, leah hums at the contact of your lips. “here, baby, eat your breakfast” she nudges her head towards your bedside table, her makeshift breakfast in bed sitting there prettily with a bouquet of your favourite flowers in a vase beside it. you turn your head and look over, eyes immediately filling with tears. leah’s eyes widen when you look back at her with glossy eyes, she coos and places both her hands on your cheeks, rubbing her thumbs over them, cradling you.

“marry me, leah” she smiles brightly at you,

“baby, i already beat you to that, sorry, my love” referencing when she proposed to you last year. you shake your head lightly at her, placing your hand over hers on your face. “i don’t care, marry me” smiling softly, “anytime, baby” you smile at her, eyes still glossy with tears.

the rest of the morning was slow, you both enjoying each other’s company, both of you had a day off training fortunately, as it was a saturday. leah spent the morning showering you with affection, gifts and the love that you deserved. you were so spoilt, just the way leah liked it.

you were both now sat in your shared living room, you lying on top of her and she traces shapes on your back. she’s watching your shared favourite movies as you reply to the lovely birthday messages and calls you had received. suddenly, she gasps, your body jolting as she sits up, making you roll into the tiny free space of the couch.

“baby! i almost forgot your main gift, oh my god i’m awful.” you look at her with wide eyes,

“leah, baby, i really don’t want anything, you’ve done so much for me already” you pout up at her and she shakes her head. grabbing your hands and pulling you to sit in her lap again.

“no, i’ll do everything for you, but anyway, are you ready to hear your gift?” you knew there was no point, leah being extremely stubborn when it comes to you and in general. you sigh and nod your head.

“well, my birthday girl, me and you, accompanied by mum, grandma and some of the girls will be going to a concert today” your eyes slightly widened again,

“woah, really! what concert?”

“my love, luke combs! i got us tickets!” she exclaims, giggling as you cover your mouth with your hands, eyes filling up with tears again. luke combs was so special to yours and leah’s relationship. she pouts and coos at you again, wiping your tears.

“oh, baby”

“leah, marry me” she smiles at you again, “duh, that’s why i proposed first loser” she jokes and you let out a wet laugh, nodding your head at her.

“also” she starts, placing her hands on your hips, hinting for you to stand up, she grabs your hand and pulls you in the direction of the bedroom, “woah williamson! take me out to dinner first” she exhaled through her nose, shaking her head and making you stand in front of your shared closet, telling you to close your eyes.

“okay….open!” you open your eyes to her holding two outfits up, complementary colours slightly matching. “i got us outfits for the special occasion”. she grins shyly at you, you walk closer to her, gently grabbing the outfits on the coat hangers, gently draping them on the bed, she looks at you confused. you pull her into another bone crushing hug, you love her so much, you felt sick. she hoists you up on her waist, holding the bottom of your thighs and giving them a light squeeze, taking you back to the couch and showing each other the love you have for one another until it was time to meet up with the rest of the group for the concert

—

you and leah got extremely distracted while you were getting ready, leah thought you looked so good in your outfit and cowboy hat, she almost made you stay home. you felt exactly the same, you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. running a little late for the organised meeting time.

by the time you and leah got to the venue, her family and your teammates were already there. when they saw you, they all bounded over to give you a hug, wishing you a happy birthday. you were engaging in small talk with leah’s mum and grandmother, talking about random topics.

leah was talking with your teammates, watching you interact with her family, which are also yours. a big, cheesy grin was plastered on her face when you smile and wave at her while talking to her family.

you guys had gotten inside, you and leah sitting next to each other, everyone sitting next to you. leah kept taking photos of you, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face and neither could leah. both of you were so excited, everyone found it incredibly endearing.

the concert started, the first song ‘lovin’ on you’ begins to play and leah wraps her arm around your shoulder, keeping you close to her side. you drape your arm around her waist, resting your head on her shoulder.

‘but I'm in love and lovin' on you

I feel that rush soon as you walk in a room

I can't get enough of you, honey

you're right on the money

I'm a junkie for your midnight moves

I'm in love and lovin' on you’

you and leah sway side to side, looking into each other’s eyes and mouthing the lyrics to each other. you both smile softly at one another, lightly dancing and focusing your attention on each other. everyone else in the room disappears as the two of you dance and sing. leah places a kiss on your lips and you happily return it, holding onto the hand draped on your shoulder and kissing her back with so much love. it was such a special moment for both of you and you were so grateful for each other.

you both continue to dance and sing with each other, the other girls and her family. suddenly, the song ‘the way we make love’ begins to play, leah immediately taking her arm off your shoulder and making you stand in front of her. she wraps her arms around your waist, resting her head in the crook of your neck and placing some gentle kisses there. this song was highly suggestive, leah loved it, frequently quoting it to you when you were in a bad mood to make you giggle.

‘let's get some candles burnin'

and some records turnin'

all the lights down low

take it nice and slow

the way your body's movin'

keep doin' what you're doin'

to me all night long’

she whispers the lyrics into your ear, you slightly squirm in her arms, you feel her breathe on the shell of your ear, feeling her lips occasionally graze it. you cheeks flush pink and you melt into her embrace as she pulls you impossibly closer to her chest. she giggles seeing you so shy. you move your head slightly, gesturing for her to bring her ear to your mouth,

“your mother and grandmother are right there, williamson, you’re so cheeky” she smiles at you, moving to your ear over the loud music,

“only for you, beautiful” you shake your head at her, turning your body completely to be facing her this time. you smile up at her, placing your hand on the back of her neck and pulling her down to you.

‘well, there ain't no way, baby

to get me out this house

when you look this good

what could I even think about? oh

besides turnin' round and lockin' the door’

this time, you whisper the lyrics in her ear and she flushes red, moving her hands on your hips and giving you a light squeeze. she shakes her head at you, understanding why you got so shy every time she said the lyrics to you. you give her a sweet kiss on her warm cheek, turning back around, continuing to dance and sing with leah and everyone else until the concert was over.

once it was finished, everyone was happily fangirling and talking about how great the concert was. you and leah hanging at the back, her arm around your shoulder and yours around her waist again, while you lightly chattered, she would place occasional kisses on your temple and you would return them on her cheeks.

“thank you for everything, leah, i love you” you look up at her, looking right into her eyes with so much love. she looked at you softly, smiling at you,

“i love you more, my girl, you deserve the world” you could have crumbled on the floor right there, your knees feeling week. she grips onto you tighter, “now let’s go home and let me love on you” she laughs as you jab your finger into her side.

you couldn’t wait for her birthday, excited to show her how much you love her.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

liked by alessiarusso99 and 44,232 others

leahwilliamsonn: well, you know what they say: save a horse😉🤠 happy birthday to my girl, love you more than life itself xx @/yourname

view all comments

yourname: ride a cow(girl) boy 😉

yourname: i love you so much, baby, you mean everything to me

↳ leahwilliamsonn: love you more

↳ yourname: don’t start an argument you won’t win

↳ leahwilliamsonn: watch it, missy

alessiarusso99: uh what does this mean

↳ leahwilliamsonn: when a mummy cowgirl and another mummy cow girl love each other very much

↳ alessiarusso99: OH MY GOD NO

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso x reader #woso imagine #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader

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vetteltea · 11 months ago

Text

Love Will Always Show | CL16 & CS55

Summary: The choice of a lifetime is yours to make, your husband and lover both longing for your heart. They face conflict, choices and most importantly, one another.

Word Count: 8.4K [& a bit more]

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating and dishonesty, manipulation, hospital talk.

Note: The fact I was a newbie to F1Blr when this started and now...here we are. I want to thank each and EVERY person who has ever read this series. It's changed everything for me, it is truly my love letter to you all and I hope you enjoy the finale. You are all forever in my heart and I cannot thank you all enough.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: ‘You Think, You Know’ | PART 4: 'Love Will Always Show'

Love is a gentle hand cradling your back.

Time had suspended when your body had collapsed onto the rough floor outside of the Scuderia Ferrari hospitality. Immediately, several scarlet-clad personnel were running over, shouts echoing across the open space, somebody mumbling that they needed to get you somewhere safe and warm before your body temperature dropped dangerously.

There’s a question of who to call; your father wasn’t in the country, ever since your mother’s funeral, he’s become silent, your siblings having been lovingly sent to stay with a close aunt. He had been absent from the previous Ferrari meeting, his assistant having sent a message to say he would be absent for a little longer. Clearly, the death of your mother was taking a toll.

The next obvious choice of course, was your husband. However, with the win that he had been craving for oh-so-long, he was currently wrapped up in press, endless ‘congratulations’ messages from celebrities and presenters alike. Nobody would know where to find the monegasqué right now, let alone how to tell him of his wife’s status whilst surrounded by endless television cameras and sly reporters.

There’s no need for him, anyway. Leaving the media pen after vigorous questioning of his loyalty to the team and his current emotions on a premature end to the race, Carlos’ dark eyes quirk to the side, registering the crowd of bodies circling the hospitality area. They only widen when the realization dawns on his clouded mind that it’s you, your body is the one thing they are all crowding around.

His steps break into a run, no signal being given to his media manager nor his cousin. He speaks a few sharp, spanish words, creating a break in the circle, able to insert his toned body into the sea of red, immediately squatting, one hand coming out to elevate the back of your head. He knows how particular you could be with your hair, how you insisted on now sleeping on silk pillowcases to keep it healthy. Asphalt ground was not comfortable nor hygienic.

There’s talk; talk about whether to take you to the hospital, whether to wait for your husband to return and make the decision. Carlos feels his blood curdle at the use of marital status. His teammate, the man who had treated you no better than the way he had treated bonds of trust, was the one to make a choice of your health and wellbeing.

He simply cannot stand for that.

“We need to take her to the hospital.” He interrupts the commotion, the strong tone settling over the panicked employees. “Surely that is the best place for her if she is unconscious, no?” The whispers and mumbles which echo the surrounding members of the team signify agreement.

There’s a discussion of how to bring you in without drawing attention to the media. Surely, if a giant ambulance or even a medical car was to storm through the paddock, no doubt endless media outlets would be creating headlines before even bothering to speak to anybody present. The Spaniard is already making his own choice, using his arms to gently adjust your body.

He shouldn’t; he really shouldn’t be moving you, not when you haven’t been checked for broken bones or concussion. Yet, the idea of the most beautiful girl, Mariposa, lying on a hard floor with no form of comfort or safety sickens him to his stomach. Carlos is still gentle with the movements, letting your head lean into his stomach, one hand is supporting your back, tanned fingers digging gentle patterns into the curve of your skin. The other one traces once, twice, three times around your cheekbone, dark eyes transfixed on your features.

You must have hit your skin when falling to the ground; there’s a graze dancing across your cheekbone, specks of dirt resting in between each knock. The man cradling you is gentle, moving his shirt just enough up his body that he’s able to take the hemmed end, feather it across your cheek in an attempt to remove the offending chunks.

Someone nudges Carlos’s shoulder, more in an attempt to tell him somebody was just outside the Paddock; that they could drive you to the hospital right now. He…he can’t bring himself to leave you. A strong grasp lifts you from the ground, holding you close to his chest, murmuring that he would get you there, and he supposed somebody would have to find Charles.

The area grows quiet; Carlos’ pace draws away from the Paddock and to the back entry. He was thankful that the entirety of the drivers were still either trapped in the media or with their own teams, celebrating or commiserating. He had enough of that for one day; an entire six laps was barely worth speaking about.

You’re still unconscious, still limp in his arms. However, there’s a rise and fall of your chest, you’re still breathing. That’s all he could ask for at this present time. He silently promises himself there and then that when you wake up, he’s making his final move. Where Charles has been playing chequers, he is playing chess; he had proven that even whilst you were stuck with your estranged husband, he would love you regardless.

There’s a people carrier in the car park, he’s certain he’s seen various drivers use it before; a built-in stretcher lies in the back, it’s ideally a discreet ambulance. The media could be brutal with gossiping when any driver had to leave the track. It would look worse if Charles Leclerc’s wife was seen leaving the paddock with his teammate. The driver of the vehicle nods when seeing the two get closer, stepping to sit in the driver’s seat whilst Carlos adjusted his grasp.

He lays you down onto the stretcher; it’s secured, you’ll be safe for the drive. The man can’t help but feel a draw of protectiveness over you. What on earth had caused it to collapse? Had he done something? Blood boiled, if your husband had done anything to cause this, he could personally guarantee that Charles would not be finishing any races for the remainder of the season. He would make sure of that.

His attention is caught by the glimmer of silver on your left hand; your wedding band. When he reaches the car, tucks you into the seat carefully and makes sure the seatbelt is secure around your frame, his fingers glide over your hand, removing the band and putting it in his own pocket.

‘It’s for your own good,’ he tells himself. ‘If your fingers swell up, they may need to cut it off.’ He could tell himself this story a thousand times; it doesn't hide the fact that his true intention in this moment is simple; for once, he could be the devoted husband, taking his wife to be nursed back to health.

The Spainard leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, murmuring that you were going to be okay, that he would stay with you the entire time. The driver shouts, telling him to take a seat so they could get there before the press figured out something was wrong. He kisses your skin once more, before closing the doors, sprinting to the backseat, throwing his body in carelessly.

Angst overtakes his senses, shouting at the driver to start the car, he doesn't care about being strapped in. This way, he’s able to lean over the backseat, one hand reaching out to clasp at your own. You need to know that somebody is there, that he is there for you. He’s always been there for you. The car pivots out of the parking space, beeling for the main road and to the hospital.

Love is a scream for your name.

“Charles, tu dois ralenir!” Joris is insisting he needs to slow down the car; turning the current Leclerc in hospital into a duo would not be a satisfying outcome.

Ever since he’s been told, all your husband can see is red mist. One Ferrari employee had sprinted up to him whilst he was in the midst of cameras, the grin on his face as he’s finally able to seek his wife out, wanting nothing more than to skip on the Scuderia celebrations and take you instead, your beaming smile radiating the energy he had been bathed in.

It’s funny how life can change in the matter of a few moments; one second, he’s on top of the world, the next, Charles is pushing through every media outlet, fan and celebrity, barging himself into his driver’s room. He doesn't have time to remove his fireproofs, to pick up any of his belongings apart from his car keys. He isn’t communicating, french profanities fall from his lips, shaking his head in rage that nobody could find him to tell him. Tell him that his wife had been taken to hospital.

Joris had been the one to sprint after him; he knew better than most, when Charles saw nothing but mist, there was no getting to him, not whilst he was determined to do something. The driver knew in his heart his best friend was not to blame; after all, he had no idea of your disappearance, he had been with Charles almost the entire time. And yet…he can’t bring himself to even speak to Joris. Not until the duo make it to his rented car, Charles is adamant he is driving.

He only starts speaking when his best friend tells him to slow down. The driver barely does, only drawing to a slower pace when he sees the traffic lights start to build in front of him. Even in a panic, he respects road rulings. Drawing to a stop, the man finally has a second to take a shaky, unbalanced breath, angry tears pooling at the bottom of his eyes.

“Why did nobody tell me my wife was at the hospital?” His voice is strained, he’s clearly holding back tears, whether they’re angry or fearful is a different question. “She’s my- she’s my wife!” He can’t stop repeating it, as if it’s a prayer. His wife. His wife.

“She’ll be okay.” Joris knows that’s quite possibly the worst thing he could say to his best friend, but it’s the only thing he can bring himself to say. “She will be. C’est juste par précaution.”

“Putain!” Charles’ words are sharp, immediately pressing on the acceleration as the light switches to green, overtaking three cars in a matter of moments. He’s a man of regret, he has been ever since he realized how much he adores you. In that moment, he can’t help but think of everything he could have done differently that afternoon. He could have come and found you right after the podium, could have given you his jacket and told you to stay in his driver’s room, he would come and get you after. He could- he could of-

He could of waited with you after the funeral. He could have come and picked you up from Milan when you went to spend time with Carlos. He could have deleted his mistress’ number, and told her he was married.

“Tourner à gauche.” Joris tells his best friend to turn left, the Hospital Car Park coming into view. Charles turns the car, immediately eyes are roaming for any space, anywhere he could put the car. A sharp whistle and point from his best friend shows him a space right by the Emergency Department, parking the vehicle in possibly the worst way he ever has done. Within three seconds, the engine is switched off, seatbelts are unbuckled, and he’s shouting to Joris to pay for the parking, he needs to get inside.

For a driver, his sense of direction is becoming worse. It takes him a solid minute to read a sign, before his legs break into a sprint, skidding into a bustling Emergency Room. There’s old men, leant over in pain, convinced they’re dying. A child snuffling, masses of paper towels on her head. A woman with a twisted ankle, her attention engrossed by the magazine in her grasp. It smells of hand sanitiser and bleach, the yellow walls are hurting his eyes.

A woman behind the desk taps the counter, drawing his attention. “Hey- Sir!” She snaps. You can’t blame her; it’s hour thirteen of her fifteen hour shift. “You can’t be in here unless you’re hurt-”

He shouts your name. It’s as if he completely forgets he’s in a building. Charles is embedded in a maze, even if a lady in front of him can pull up your immediate location, he needs to find you himself, and he needs to find you now.

It isn’t until Joris comes in, having heard his best friend scream your name, that he overtakes Charles so overcome that he’s now hiding his head in his hands, unable to say anything that wasn’t your name. His ears prick up when the second man starts speaking, giving the woman your first name, your last name- Leclerc- and when you had been bought in. There’s a light tapping of the keyboard, she tells Joris you are in the department round the corner, room ten-

Charles is gone before she can finish her sentence, catapulting down the hallway, dodging round endless people, frantically searching for doors with numbers, not names. He sees the number four. Six. Eight.

Number Ten rolls into view. Without a single word, his hand latches around the door handle, pushing so violently the door smacks onto the inside wall. His eyes immediately fly to the bed, you’re lying there, so unconscious, still so beautiful, some strips over the graze on your cheek. Still, arms to either side, one hand connected to an IV, clearly in an attempt to rehydrate you. His first question is the location of your wedding ring, where on earth was it? Has it been taken away? It’s a question he completely forgets about when his gaze travels further.

The other hand is being held by a Spanish man he knows all too much about.

Love is notes left on a coffee cup.

Both men stood, silently hovering over your body whilst the nurse came in to run a course of tests, check your blood pressure, the IV line, make sure you were being cared for in the best capacity. Each held a coffee cup, Charles’ still primarily full, he couldn’t stomach anything; he felt sick from seeing you lie here, not laughing, smiling, speaking. Carlos had downed the drink bought in by Joris in a matter of moments; to him, it was fuel. Something to keep him awake until you woke up.

Whilst Charles was the one to ask questions; ‘Do you know what caused this? Is she going to have any long-term issues? Does she need any assistance when she wakes up?’ Carlos has captured the marker which has rested alongside the clipboard of your notes, his tongue poked out in concentration. The marker grazes along the cup, leaving a note, drawing a tiny picture of a butterfly- Mariposa- and placing the cup on your table, a silent message for if you woke up and god forbid- he wasn’t there.

The nurse draws away from your body, diverting her next task to the two men.

“I need to continue the examination but…” She looks to the door. “I cannot have you both in here. You need to wait outside, the Doctor will come in for further tests-”

“Can one of us wait here?” Carlos is the first to interrupt, the look on the woman’s face tells him he’s made a mistake.

“Both.” She clarifies, pointing at himself, then at his teammate. “One and two. You need to wait outside. If she wakes up or there’s any…issues, we will let you know.”

It turns out, both men are hesitant to leave you; Charles moves first, crouching by your side, running a gentle hand over your hairline, pressing his lips carefully to your temple. He’s murmuring, french words of adoration and comfort, that he will be right there when you need him.

When one steps away, the other comes forward. Carlos doesn't say anything, instead tracing a gentle finger across your cheek. His touch tells you everything, it speaks volumes. He loves you, he’ll be outside, don’t be afraid to come running into his arms like you had done once before. The nurse begins to lose her patience, ushering both men out into the corridor, telling them to sit in the plastic chairs provided or go somewhere else; she really didn’t care.

The scene is reminiscent of two boys sitting outside of the principal’s office; Charles’ head hides in his hands, leaning forward, still dressed in his fireproofs. He’s tied the sleeves around his waist, the dark undershirt now drenched in sweat from the driving, both on track and to the hospital.

He feels movement next to him, Carlos’ hand dips into his pocket, pulling out something small, silvery. Her wedding ring. He supposes Carlos means it as a sign of goodwill, that he kept it safe. In the Monégasques mind, it’s the fuel to light the fire. Scoffing, he snatches the jewelry off of his teammate, placing the band onto his pinky finger, it’s the only one it would fit on, the only way he could keep it safe.

“Funny. You took it off her.” He’s growing mad, aggravated that Carlos wouldn’t just go away and leave him and his wife alone. Hadn’t he done enough already? “Why don’t you go back to Natasha?” The blonde ex-media woman for their team is referenced. Carlos opens his mouth, ready to snap back, it was a low blow for Charles to reference his history with the woman.

“I know what you did.” He huffs. There’s something…different. Different in the way he speaks to Carlos now compared to every other day. The polite, civil conversation is gone, the fact he couldn’t pass judgment because of his own actions has evaporated. “I know you invited her to Madrid just to make a move.” He remembers seeing the instagram stories, how your eyes were wide, full of life. He made you remember life is beautiful. “You kept her close. You wanted her and didn’t like that she was mine.”

“Yours?” He scoffs. “She’s not your property, Charles.”

“No. But she’s my wife. I’m the one she lies next to every night, I’m the one who will care for her in sickness and health, who’s shoulder was leant on through every bad time.” He pauses. “Who picked her up after you coaxed her into your bed.” He laughs. Actually, laughs. The memory replayed in his head, how sleepy you looked as he guided you back into the SUV, how your heart sank when seeing the blonde approach his front door. In that moment, you had convinced yourself you meant nothing to Carlos apart from lust.

Charles was a jealous man; he had taken pride in stripping off his teammates' clothing, wrapping you in his own, soft hoodie. You were his. Carlos wouldn’t care for you the way he did, he was a man too full of lust. He was convinced the Spainard didn’t make you laugh, didn’t make you smile, didn’t make you come-

“You corrupted her, Carlos.” He finishes. “I know what you did-”

“-And I know what you did.” Carlos snarls. He doesn't care about anything more; he knows all too well that his teammate could go crying to the Ferrari bosses, have him removed from the team in a blink of an eye, throwing some false information out which he would have to comply with. But he doesn't care. His affection has grown too strong for that.

“I know everything, Charles.” He’s monotone, he’s stating facts. “I know how she waited at home for you on her birthday, whilst you were in your mistress’ bed.” Carlos remembers asking you about your plans the previous week, how you had brushed them off. “I know how she made you dinner every night, how you refused to eat it.” Charles feels his stomach drop, the endless leftovers stacked neatly in the fridge, the meals he had never bothered to try. “I know on your wedding night, you came into the hotel room drunk, covered in bites and she slept on the sofa-”

“Enough!” Charles’ voice shouts, standing up from the plastic chair in the corridor. He doesn't have to hear this, he can’t bear to hear this. One mistake a day was something he was always able to brush off. Hearing each and every one of his infidelities laid out in front of him sent his mind into overdrive. “You have no right to comment on-”

“On what?” The Spainard is standing up now, chest out and arms folded. “On your marriage?” He laughs, he smirks. “Can you call it that? A marriage is a bond between two people who love one another-”

“I love her!” Charles cuts him off, stepping closer. “I love her.” He repeats himself. Carlos looks gobsmacked, shaking his head in denial.

“You have a really weird way of showing her you love her.” He continues to poke, to prod. “Sharing a bed with another woman is not how you show love-”

“I admitted to my mistakes!” He’s quick to defend himself, how the restraining order was placed and a lawsuit filed, how he promised if you wanted to know anything, see anything, he would let you. How he would spend the rest of his days always feeling dread and regret. “I fixed them-”

“Who says she still loves you?” Carlos has snapped.

Charles hates to admit that he may be right. Is it really fair for him to expect your love after everything that has happened in the past year? It didn’t matter how many times he begged, he pleaded or promised. The man you had married had spent the better part of 365 days in the arms of another woman, a woman that as he stood here, clinging onto any hope of his marriage, meant absolutely nothing to him.

His slim fingers trail down, circling the cool band which rested on his left finger. He had decided there and then, he would keep it on, always. There would be no more reasoning, none. If Lewis could wear his earrings, Charles would wear his wedding ring. He looks back up, Carlos still boring into him with dark eyes, the anger he radiated almost entirely visible.

“Do you love her?” He presses. He needs to know; he doesn't bring himself to care that you had spent a night in his arms, not when he had done it to you a thousand times over. The idea makes him sick, but nothing compared to the idea that you are in love with somebody that isn’t him, not when he needs nothing but for you to come home, back to your home with him.

Charles swears he feels vomit rise into his mouth when Carlos nods. He’s not stupid, not really. He knows how he fell for you properly in the past few weeks, how for Carlos who has been in awe of your affection and attention, the center of every race weekend you had reluctantly attended. It may have been to support him, but you could still enjoy the fact that Carlos would be there, too.

Your husband isn’t sure what he wants to do anymore. If there wasn’t an examination happening, he would have run into your private room and locked the door. Instead, his glassy eyes gaze up, catching Carlos’ dark ones. It hits him at once; his teammate, somebody who he once considered a close- no, best friend, was the one who had taken his wife away from him. His brain can’t catch up with his body movements, the red mist clouds over once more.

Charles Leclerc punches Carlos Sainz in the nose.

He doesn't intend for it to be a strong punch; Formula One drivers are a lot stronger than they realize, and the contact not only causes the Spaniard to knock back, shouting out in pain, but a sharp sensation rockets through Charles’ clenched fist, wiggling his fingers as they relax. Carlos’ nose is immediately red, becoming scarlet by the moment, though no blood has fallen. Your husband’s immediate reaction is ‘Should have punched him harder.’

He doesn't have time to think about anything else, not before he has two strong hands on his chest, shoving him harshly. The sudden sensation causes him to lose balance, falling to the floor and landing on his back. A shock radiates through his body, Carlos looming over him, clearly ready for a second punch.

That thought is drawn away when the door to your room opens, both men immediately staring at the nurse, her hair worn and eyes tired. Before either man can throw a question at her, she speaks.

“She’s still not awake, we’re going to bring her around in an hour, but she’s going to have to stay overnight for observation. If one of you could get her some overnight things-”

“I can.” Charles immediately cuts off the nurse, pulling himself to sit up and stand from the floor. “I’m her husband. I will get them.” It’s a subtle jab to the man in front of him, Carlos still holding his nose, convinced it was about to start bleeding any moment. He would have gone and sought out attention for himself, if he hadn’t felt a sharp vibration in his back pocket, a phone call. In any other time, he would have ignored it. But he knows who it is, he knows how important it is.

Without a word, Carlos answers the call, rapidly speaking in Spanish as he walks down the hall.

Love is a pocket square at the bottom of a suitcase.

The contrast of Charles leaving the hospital was night and day to him arriving. He hadn’t spoken a word to Joris, apart from expressing that he needed to go back to the hotel to get your overnight items. Although it was barely a ten minute drive away, every minute felt like a century; he wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel, sit by your side and hold your hand until you woke up.

He could have sent Joris back, given him the room key and told him to grab some things, but it didn’t seem right. The idea of his best friend going through your suitcase didn’t sit comfortably with him. Moreover, he didn’t know. Charles knew; he knew what pajamas you found the most comfortable, what outfit would be easiest for you to travel back in, how you wanted your panties and socks paired together and how your phone charger had to loop clockwise.

The ornate hotel room looks dull without you; your suitcase still rests in the bottom of the wardrobe; you had hung up evening wear, dresses for the inevitable after-parties. Folded in your suitcase remained your other clothing. Charles is quick to select his items; the tropical cotton pajamas. You had bought him a pair in the same fabric, telling him that they would be the comfiest thing to sleep in. Your stitched jumper and comfiest jeans. You had worn those jeans when you had tagged along to his photoshoot for the Ferrari livery, holding his water and the APM Monaco jewelry he couldn’t wear. Your outrageously expensive hairbrush. You had brushed his hair through after a particularly bad race, whispering promises that it would get better, that the car was going to evolve for him, the best driver on the grid.

Bile rises to Charles’ stomach and with no warning, he sprints to the bathroom, dropping to his knees by the toilet and throwing up the barely-there contents of his stomach. He had barely eaten, barely drank any water, but couldn’t help the sickness in his tummy.

He pulls away from the toilet basin, eyes watery, breath trying to catch up with the speed and cries.

Charles doesn't realize it’s happening at first, he hasn’t cried like this in so long; the kind of crying where you can’t fathom words, you don’t make a sound because you’re crying so deeply. The kind where your chest is exploding and your heart feels like it’s going to explode. The kind where all he wants is for his mother to cradle him like she did when he was five, run her hands through his hair and whisper him words of comfort.

This time, he doesn't want his mother, he wants you.

It’s selfish, it’s so incredibly selfish and it hurts to know that it’s taken him until now to realize what you mean to him. It would never happen, but his wound-up head can only close his eyes and visualize you running in, pulling his head into your chest and running your hands through his dark tufts, pressing cool lips to his forehead and promising him over and over that it was going to be okay. You were going to be okay.

He lets himself cry for five minutes; he times it because he wants to collect your things and make his way back, Joris was waiting in the car. When the five minutes are over, he pinches his nose, taking short, ugly gasps until his eyes remain bloodshot but not blurred. The sound of the toilet flushing echoes through the hotel room, making his way out of the bathroom and to the items he had hurriedly dropped atop of your suitcase.

Nimble fingers cradle each item, carefully rolling and tucking them into a pillowcase; he didn’t have a bag big enough to suffice each item and couldn’t bring himself to bring your entire suitcase along, it almost seemed as if once you had it, you could disappear from his life. At least this way, he could have one final farewell if you chose to leave. The items are almost secure, until his grip on the pillowcase folds, glassed eyes catching a glimmer of blue hidden at the bottom of the case. With no hesitation, he pulls on the fabric. His heart drops on the realization of the item.

It’s a pocket square. More specifically, it’s his pocket square from your wedding.

You don’t know when you had started packing it, but you supposed it was from your mother’s own doings. After her wedding to your father, she had always carried around her ‘something blue,’ as a gesture of good luck, of safety. After the first time you had found out about Charles’ mistress, you had discreetly tucked the fabric into your bag, carrying it around, a silent hope your husband would return to you.

It hadn’t worked in Jeddah. In Imola. In Spa. In Monaco. You had reluctantly taken it from your bag one evening, on the plane home from consoling your family, using your pen to doodle in the very corner ‘Mr and Mrs Leclerc,’ a silent fantasy of the loving marriage you had dreamed of.

That night was the first time you and Charles ever shared a bed.

The fabric lingers between his fingers, the blue contrasting against the silver of your ring, still resting on his pinky finger. Now changed into his own clothes, he slides the ring off, wrapping it gently in the pocket square and sliding it into his trouser pocket. As he does, he recognises your handwriting, the titles printed in the bottom of the fabric.

He can’t help the tears rolling down his cheeks once again.

Love is a desperate telephone call.

Carlos is still pacing around the outside courtyard of the hospital, having been on hold for a grand total of seventeen minutes. He is not a man of patience, he is not a man of quiet.

The phone buzzing in the corridor had been a welcome call, despite the situation. His lawyer, finally ringing him back after what felt like days of apprehension. He had dipped from the public eye to try and grab hold of some privacy, slipping in his wireless headphone so as not to hold the device to his ear for hours upon hours.

Almost thirty minutes ago, his lawyer had called him, confirming his thoughts of the previous days.

"You're not wrong." His lawyer has already clarified it once, twice, three times. "If there is evidence beyond a shadow of a doubt, then it is the correct term for a divorce.

Carlos feels his blood run cold. He loves her, he's as certain as that as he is of the fact that the sky is blue and his win in Silverstone. The man wants nothing more than to make her feel cherished, adored. Taking a bite out of his teammate was just a bonus feature.

That had been a few days ago, when the anger had surpassed him after Natasha’s return, how that made him look as bad, if not worse than Charles. He’d immediately sent her packing, blocked her on every form of media, gone as far as to insist if she ever came for a visit, he wouldn’t be present.

The second part, the evidence, had been laid out all too perfectly.

The line suddenly clicks, signaling his lawyer had returned. Carlos doesn't wait for a verbal queue, the audible sign of his return is more than enough.

“Do you have it?” He asks, barely any time to let the man on the other end of the phone respond. “You must have it, no? It should have been sent. I made sure it was sent.”

“I have it.” He clarifies. “I have them right here.” A rustle of paper is heard from the other end of the telephone, content of an envelope being spilled onto his desk. “Are you sure you want me to send these to be confirmed as evidence? That the women in the photographs will not retaliate?”

Carlos had not been entirely honest with you. Not about his knowledge of Charles’ situation. Ever since the confession all those months ago, the understanding that you knew of Charles’ affair, he had been playing a long, patient game. He had photographs, evidence of the mistress’ appearance at each paddock, her arms snaking around Charles’ body, kisses between the duo. How he could continue to do so, whilst you, the epitome of beauty, sat in his drivers’ room, playing the doting wife. At one point, he had considered going directly to the press, directly to Ferrari themselves to out their ‘Golden Boy.’

And then…he had seen you with him in the Paddock that one race, looking through the window of his driver’s room. How your fingers latched onto one another, how genuinely shattered you looked when she had shown up yet again, lingering outside of the hospitality area. The guilt snuck through him, how he had seen her arrive, and yet failed to mention to you, give you any warning of her presence.

Even if he had been the one to invite her. Even if he had been the one to press her about sending the photographs to Charles, not blackmail. Merely a reminder of his actions, how much he supposedly missed his mistress.

“She wouldn’t.” He’s quick to respond. “She wouldn’t care.” He’s not wrong, his mistress being in the limelight would only elevate her status, with the way his teammates’ brain worked, it would more than likely draw them back to one another.

“And Mrs. Leclerc?”

It’s the first time Carlos has hesitated. Even if he couldn’t admit it to himself, he knew that your relationship with Charles had grown, that ambient it was made paper-thin, the trust was slowly beginning to come back. He thinks about how your eyes blinked widely, in awe of your husband on the podium earlier that day, how it supposedly didn’t matter he had spent most of your marriage wrapped in her arms, you still looked at him like that. Did you look at him like that? Like the way he looked at you.

This action could draw out a multiverse of reactions but at the end of the day, he had settled with two. The first was that you understood, that you would see the evidence, and understand the case. Divorce Charles and marry him, even if it meant he would give up everything.

The second is that you would see the chaos he caused and you would never speak to him again.

“Mr. Sainz?” The voice at the end of the telephone draws him from his questioning, running a hand across his red, swollen nose. It wasn’t broken, but god it was hurting. Bruised, most likely. “I need an answer.”

He needed to speak to you.

“Can you just-” He huffs, running a hand through his dark hair, his fingers almost getting caught in the strands. Of course his hair was tangled, he’d been doing nothing but pulling on it ever since he arrived at the hospital. “Let me speak to her. Hold it for 24 hours. You can do that, yes?” It’s not even a question now, nor a request. It’s a demand. He can’t do this, he can’t openly destroy your marriage for his own sake without speaking to you, without knowing for a fact that you love him.

Your name is carved onto his soul, onto his skin. The first thing he thinks about in the morning, and the last thing he would think about at night. There is no life he wishes to live in if you’re not there. Even as his friend.

There’s suddenly a light tap against glass, snapping the man’s attention from his device. He mumbles something in Spanish, telling his lawyer he would call him back, dreading who was coming out into the private courtyard.

He visibly relaxes when he sees it’s just a man, sneaking out whilst tears pool on his lower lashline, giving Carlos a warming nod.

“You don’t mind if I join you, do I?” The Spainard shakes his head. “My wife- she’s just being induced and wanted some space. She’s…” He gestures, trying to explain to a complete stranger how a few minutes ago, his wife wanted to cry and shake her head, but wanted nothing to do with him. It was all his fault.

Carlos offers a warm hand on his back, patting him firmly. “Congratulations. Do you know what you're having?” He’s invested, anything to distract him from his previous phone call, the weight of a decision on his shoulders.

The stranger grins. “A girl.” He smiles harder. “I don’t mind, as long as they arrive happy and healthy. But god- a girl, just like her.” He thinks. Carlos thinks. In an alternative universe, he’s sat by your side, pressing kisses and praises to your skin, holding you tighter as your daughter enters the world, ready to meet her mother and father. She would be like you; your eyes, hair, smile. It would be another you to love, to adore.

“Your first?” Carlos presses his question. The man sighs, shaking his head, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks into the polished corridor.

“No. She’s…” He pauses. “We got together after hiding how we felt for so long, how we wanted to be with one another.” He looks to Carlos, clearly ashamed and embarrassed of the situation. “I know how it sounds, but sometimes you can’t help it. I- I love her.”

A band snaps in Carlos’ stomach; love knows no bounds.

Love is waking up to think of your person.

The first thing you register when you come around is brightness. You’re not in the soft glow of the luxurious hotel room you and your husband had been given, nor the candle-lit bedroom of Carlos’ apartment. No, the light is bright, blinding. An off-white which made your eyes squint.

Your senses are heightened; the only scent which flares through your nostrils is hand sanitiser and overpowering lilies. Nose scrunched, you attempt to wiggle your body upwards, aware of the IV line pinned into your hand. Panic immediately settled through your tummy, until your eyes flickered to the bag, realizing it was just water, they just wanted to rehydrate you.

Hesitantly, you wiggle each part of your body. Arms, hands, fingers. You’re able to move, though you couldn’t…you couldn’t remember why you got here. Memories are hazy, you remember Charles’ podium, the way he kissed you so deeply, so lovingly. Carlos’ hand on your waist, pulling you back to stop you from the champagne trickling over your body. You were overwhelmed, overworked and…you guessed it just all became too much.

You just about manage to turn your body, the first thing you’re aware of is that your cushion smells familiar. Warm nodes, sandalwood and seasalt. It’s a smell you’ve grown all too accustomed to, burying your face into their chest whilst you took refuge in his arms, in a hotel room. Charles had been there, already. His celebrations had clearly been cut short, whether or not it was for show or because he cared.

The second thing is the coffee cup. Cardboard, the contents clearly already drained, but handwriting etched onto the side in a thick, black marker. The handwriting, the doodle of a tiny butterfly. Carlos had been there, too.

There’s a sharp pinch on your cheek, fingers reach up to your skin and feel the butterfly strips against you. Immediately, a thousand questions come back to your mind, none of them being answered through your own memory. Instead, the door opens, a nurse in clean, bright uniform walking in, closing the door behind her. She beams at the realization you’re awake, shoulders relaxing.

“You’re awake!” Her tone is incredibly warm, seemingly very happy you’ve decided to wake up on your own terms. She’s quick to move to your bedside, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead. “How are you feeling? Have you warmed up?” You’re not sure what she’s referencing, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She takes the look on your face as unknowingness, able to fill in the gaps.

“You collapsed on the track.” She’s trying to get through everything she needs to tell you. “We did some tests, you’re incredibly dehydrated for a start, you need to try and get some rest.” She pauses. “It’s nothing to be concerned about, we have collapses from dehydration every so often, more than you would realize.” Her eyes flicker down, finding it hard on how to phrase the next part of the question. “You also seem…incredibly worried.” You’re not sure how she could tell that from simply examining you, but you nod in confirmation. “Your blood pressure, it’s incredibly low. That’s why you fainted.”

“Yes.” You pause. How on earth were you about to explain the past twelve months to a nurse, a complete stranger? “There’s been some…reasons. You know, for the stress.” Her eyes soften, but the questioning continues.

“Are you trying for a baby?” You shake your head. “Moving house?” A shake. “Have you…lost somebody recently.”

You freeze, memory flickering to your mother, how in the midst of fixing your marriage, discovering your affection towards another, she had disappeared from the world. This time, you nod your head, drawing your knees up to your body, shivering. The nurse is quick to wrap a blanket over your shoulders, closer to the answer.

“I lost my mother.” You breathe out, shaking your head. “I lost my mother, and she’s the only one I can go to.” Now you’ve started speaking, you can’t finish. “I want to make them happy. I want to make him happy.” There’s tears glassing over your eyes.

You want him. You want him right now.

She sympathizes, she understands. “Sometimes, all you need is for them to tell you it’s going to be okay, right?” She lets her words trail off, turning to the door of your room. “He’s outside. He’s been waiting to see you.”

Your blood freezes.

“Would you like me to get him?”

You nod before you’ve even realized, your body clearly knows better than your mind. The nurse stands up straight, pacing towards the door as you feel your heart begin to race harder, frantically. She steps out of the room, a minute mumble on the other side, clearly a warning to be incredibly careful. It’s barely a minute before the door swings back open, dark hair and frantic panting.

You glance up, your heart softens at those eyes.

The eyes that you, the reader, wanted to see as you glanced to the door.

GREEN EYES [CL16 Ending]

BROWN EYES [CS55 Ending]

This is everyone who asked to be tagged! @Mac-daddy-210 @aundercover@barnestatic@omgsuperstarg@chimchimjiminie16@caelum-the-part-time-nihilist @magicalcowboyarbiter @gaslasysblog@junetto @beatrizmel-472 @motorsp0rt@crowdthena@screemqueen@lewislvr@styles-sunflower@itspaddockprincess@adeptustemptations @amalialeclerc @meetmyblondemuffins@formulanando@lorarri@christianpulisic10@gaypoetsblog@thisbitxhs-blog@goldsainz@ru-kru@magical-spit@hrlzy@nooshytushie@gaslysainz@marvel-at-stucky@sugarvibez@adeptustemptations@roseseraj@leclercdream@pjofics@hecatesfavoritechild@poseforme@thisbitxhs-blog @adalynneva @meganlikes2purr @sabrinaselina55 @laneyspaulding19@heavenlyiecreature@pink-teddy-bear@nooshytushie@strawberries-and-racing@milasexutoire@ohthemisssery@florkt@obsessedwiththeideaofyou@ru-kru@myhomeworksnotdone@ineedafictionalman@bregarc@allywthsr@summerslike11@wildcupcake@willowpains@marlenamallowan@leclercloml@katzenwahnsinn@be-your-coffee-pot

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scoonsalicious · 4 months ago

Text

Unsatisfied, Pt. 3

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky FINALLY come back together.

Warnings: Language, adult themes, Explicit Sexual Content: Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here (PIV), some brief Cunthage.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: IT'S PORN!

“If she won’t finish for you, Jamie,” Jade purred, sliding herself onto Bucky’s lap, “then I will.”

You watched your phone screen in disgust and heartbreak as Bucky leaned forward and took Jade’s mouth with his own, moaning at the taste of her lips. “I missed you, Vix,” he said as he began to grind his hips into hers. “You’re everything I ever wanted.”

You tried to disconnect from the FaceTime call, but the button was frozen, the scene continuing to play out in front of you against your will. You dropped the phone and refused to look at it, but you could still hear the sounds of their moans as they moved against one another.

“Jamie,” Jade panted as she came up for breath in between kisses, “I have a surprise for you.” Suddenly, you were in the room with them, no longer watching through the phone.

“Yeah, doll?” Bucky asked her, stroking a hand through her long black tresses. “What’s that?”

Jade smiled and took Bucky’s hand, placing it lovingly against her now swollen, rounded belly. “I’m pregnant, Jamie, and it’s yours!”

Bucky’s eyes lit up in delight; you had never seen him look so happy before. “Oh, doll!” he exclaimed, capturing Jade’s mouth in another kiss. “You’re having my baby? I’m gonna be a daddy? This is the happiest moment of my life!”

You tried to scream at him, to remind him that no, it was you that had been pregnant with his child. You who had been going to make him a father, but the words were stuck, frozen in your throat. You could only watch as Jade’s belly continued to grow before your eyes, Bucky cradling the incubating life as though it were the most precious thing in existence.

“She’s having my baby, Pocket!” he said, eventually turning to you and acknowledging your presence for the first time. “Isn’t that wonderful? I’m going to be a dad!”

“But I was going to give you a baby!” you cried to him. “I was the one who was pregnant! Not her!”

The look Bucky gave you was withering in its pity. “Yeah, but look what happened, Pocket. You can’t seriously expect another chance, after all that. Don’t ruin this for me. All I’ve ever wanted was to be a father.” He turned his focus back to Jade, cupping her face in his hands. “And now my sweet Vix is gonna give me that.” He kissed her once again, soft and gentle. “The mother of my child,” he cooed. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved another woman.”

You awoke with a start, panting as you tried to catch your breath. A nightmare, you told yourself. Just a nightmare. It wasn’t real. Jade was never pregnant. Bucky loved you. Jade was never pregnant. Jade was dead.

You repeated the mantras over and over to yourself until you felt your heart slow. With a sigh, you turned over and stared at Bucky’s empty side of the bed. The last you’d heard from him, the team was going to have to engage with the terrorists threatening Shanghai, and he might be radio-silent for a few days.

You couldn’t help it– the lack of communication had made you think of the Russia mission. Which was probably what brought on the nightmare. No, not probably. It was definitely what had brought on the nightmare, because you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since he’d gone no-contact. You should probably call your therapist in the morning, you thought. Schedule an emergency appointment to talk this out before your thoughts got out of hand.

You were about to put a reminder in your phone, in case you forgot when you woke up in the morning, when you heard a sound– the low hum of the private elevator reaching your penthouse apartment. Your entire body froze as your eyes glanced at the clock. 1:54am. The only person you knew who had access to that elevator at this time of night was on the opposite side of the world.

Unless.

Hope dared to bloom in your chest as you threw yourself out of the bed, not even bothering with a robe to cover the fact that all you were wearing was a pair of panties and one of Bucky’s shirts. On bare feet, you ran through the polished hardwood hallways, making it to the foyer just as the lock on the front door disengaged. Someone had entered the code.

You held your breath as the door slowly opened. He was bathed in silhouette by the light in the exterior entryway, but you’d know the shape of him anywhere.

“Buck!” you cried, running toward your super soldier. He barely had time to drop his go-bag to the floor before you leapt at him, and he was holding you in his arms, kissing you as though his very life depended on it, and dear god, it felt so good, so right, to have him pressed against you, to be holding you like this again, after all this time.

“Doll,” he groaned, drawing your lips to his again, as though you were oxygen, itself. “Fuck, baby. Missed you so much.”

You thought to ask him how the mission went, if the team had been successful, but all of that could wait. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the feeling of his lips on yours, the sweep of his tongue into your mouth, the pull of his hands on your ass, the way his back muscles tightened beneath your grip. You had craved this for so long, only to be denied; you’d be damned if you let anything interrupt you this time.

“Bed,” you managed to get out in between kisses. “Now.”

You felt the beautiful, familiar rumble of Bucky’s laugh in his chest as he kissed you. “‘M filthy, sweets. Got blood all over me. Don’t you want me to wash up first?”

You pulled back so you could study his face in the dim light; you could make out the teasing glint in his eyes as he looked back at you, and it drove you wild. “Fuck now,” you panted, your hands reaching down to start working the buttons of his vest. “Shower sex later,” you added.

Bucky chuckled and brought his lips to your ear. “There’s my dirty girl,” he whispered before taking your earlobe into his mouth and biting it. “Can’t tell you how much I missed that mouth.”

Oh, that was it. Forget the bed. You’d have him take you right here on the floor. Dropping your legs from around his waist, you helped him take off his vest, than his tac-shirt. Bucky sucked in a breath as your hands roamed the achingly familiar lines of his chest, committing every muscle and divet of flesh back to memory.

“My turn,” he murmured darkly as his hands slipped to the hem of your shirt. You raised your hands so he could slide the offending garment over your head with ease, and it was soon flung off into the darkness, leaving you in nothing but a pair of panties before him, chest heaving.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. Bringing his flesh hand up, he traced the contour of your left breast with a featherlight touch, sending shivers down your spine. “You’re so fucking perfect, Pocket.”

The thought of your bullet scar entered your mind briefly, but was instantly driven out by the sensation of Bucky’s mouth latching onto your nipple and sucking at the tender flesh. His tongue lapped over the nub, biting and pulling while you threaded your hands through his hair and yanked him closer.

“Forgot how good you taste,” he murmured, moving to your other breast. You slid your hands from his hair and began working on unzipping his pants. “Gonna get my tongue on every inch of you.”

“Off,” you whined, a desperate beg as you began tugging the material down his legs. “Please, baby.”

“Gimme just a second, love.” Bucky grunted as he kicked off his boots and began working his pants down his legs. You shifted anxiously from foot to foot while you watched him, before deciding to roll your panties down your own hips. When you eventually stepped out of them, you looked back up to find Bucky’s ravenous gaze transfixed on your body. There was not an ounce of revulsion or disappointment in his eyes– just lust and hunger.

“Come ‘ere, sweets,” he growled, opening his arms to you. You jumped back into his arms, groaning at the way his hard cock pressed perfectly into the crevice of your thighs. He bucked his hips once, twice, all the while kissing down your neck to your collarbone and back up again.

“Lemme open you up,” he panted, his lips just a hare’s breath from yours as you felt one of his hands snake down toward your clit. “It’s been so long– I don’t wanna hurt you, doll.”

But you’d waited long enough. “Now’s not the time for foreplay, baby. If I don’t have your cock inside of me in the next ten seconds, I might actually die.”

Bucky chuckled darkly at your desperation, but turned so he could brace your back against the front door. “I wanna make sure you’re ready,” he cautioned.

Oh, but you were ready. You were so ready, you were dripping, could feel the gush of your arousal as you ground yourself down over his erection, coating him in your juices. He was so close, and you needed to have him closer.

“No more waiting,” you begged. Taking your hand and sliding it between your bodies, you grabbed a hold of his thickness, your hand nearly shaking as it became reacquainted with his girth. After giving it two long strokes, you aligned him with your weeping entrance and slammed your hips down, impaling yourself on his cock.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” you cried, the sensation blistering somewhere between agony and ecstasy. He was so big, the feel of him stretching you out consuming you, setting every nerve ending on fire, and it was like the first time, all over again, but so much better. You wanted so badly for him to move, but Bucky held annoyingly still. You looked up at him to find his eyes scrunched shut, his jaw clenched. “Bucky?” you asked cautiously.

“Fuck, Pocket,” he managed to get out through his gritted teeth. “Forgot… forgot how fucking tight you are, sweets. Fuck. Feel… so… hng… so fucking good. Need a minute, or ‘m gonna blow right now.”

A minute. He was already seated so fully inside of you, you could give him a minute. “One minute, Barnes,” you teased, nipping at his jaw, “and then I am going to need you to ruin me, just like you promised.”

“Shit,” Bucky hissed, and you felt his hips unconsciously press up into you. “You’re so good to me, pretty girl. Love you so fucking much.” He slammed his lips back against yours, the kiss possessive, needy, and you kissed him back with abandon, trying to make up for all your lost time. All you wanted was to be connected to him, like this, for the rest of your life.

“Minute’s over, Buck; need you to move,” you moaned, aching for friction between your legs. “Fuck me, baby. Please.”

You weren’t going to have to tell him twice. With a feral roar, Bucky began slamming in and out of you, rutting like an animal as he pounded you against the front door of the apartment. And it was… It was everything, even better than you’d remembered, even better than you had imagined. A tiny part of you had feared you’d hyped the sensations in your memory, that there was no way he could have lived up to the ecstasy you had remembered, but nothing could hold a candle to the way it felt to have him slide his cock in and out of you in this very moment.

It was the lack of barriers, you realized as you threw your head back, allowing him access to kiss and suck at the delicate flesh of your neck. There was no Carthage between you, no walls, no miscommunications or omissions, no lies or decits. There was just pure, unadulterated love and need, and that made the entire thing so much better.

Without warning, Bucky pulled out and smoothly twisted you so that he was entering you again from behind, allowing him to hit deeper. You could feel him broach that spot deep inside, just above your cervix, and you knew you weren’t going to last.

“B-B-Bucky,” you stuttered, trying to get his name out. “Gonna cum.”

“I know, baby,” he cooed as he kept thrusting, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass in a beautiful, erotic rhythym. “I got you. Cum all over my cock, sweets. Wanna feel you squeeze me.” He snaked a hand around your waist and his thumb found your clit, pressing down on it and circling the bundle of nerves.

You leaned back and gripped his forearms for support as he continued to massage your A-spot with the tip of his dick, and in moments, you were coming completely undone. Every nerve in your body was alight, and you were shaking, gasping for breath as the pleasure washed over you in endless waves. Your knees gave out, but Bucky held you up, kept you from falling as aftershocks rolled through you. “I got you, sweets,” he murmured, nuzzling his lips into the side of your head to kiss your temple. Not a single part of your body felt like it was under your own control in that moment– it all belonged to him, and to him alone.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Bucky held you as you came down from your high, sliding himself out slowly once you had stopped convulsing, and you noticed he was still rock hard.

You raised a questioning eyebrow at your boyfriend– he hadn’t allowed himself to cum.

“Do me a favor, sweets,” he began as he picked you up and carried you into the living room. You nodded dumbly as he bent you over the arm of the couch before positioning himself behind you, gently rubbing his hands up and down your sides.

“Anything, Buck,” you promised.

“Remind me again, how many guys you fucked in Atlantic City?”

You spun your head around to look at him, suddenly concerned. Why would he bring that up? Why now?

“Um… I don’t remember?” you tried unconvincingly.

“Come on, doll,” he purred, running his cool vibranium hand up and down the length of your spine. “I know that’s not true. If I recall correctly, it was twenty-eight, wasn’t it?”

You tried to stand up, worried about the direction this conversation was taking, but Bucky had draped his body over yours. “Yeah,” you said eventually. “But… what does that matter now, Buck? I thought…”

You could feel the still-hard length of him move against your slit. “Because, sweetheart,” he said, his voice soft and loving, yet laced with a hint of posessiveness, “tonight, I’m gonna make you cum for every single one of them. Gonna fuck the memory of ‘em right outta you. Remind you that you’re my girl, and I’m your guy. Forever.”

Your entire body shivered at his words, and his promise. If he wanted to make you cum twenty eight times in one night, well, you certainly weren’t going to tell him ‘no.’

“I am your girl, Buck,” you assured him. “But if you wanna remind the fuck outta me, by all means, feel free.”

You felt Bucky chuckle as he leaned down to press a sweet kiss to the divot in your spine right above your ass. “Hold on to something, doll. It’s gonna be a long night.”

The foyer. The couch. The kitchen counter. The lounge chair on the terrace. Your desk. His desk. The dining room table. The shower. The ladder in the library. If there was a surface in your apartment even remotely suitable for fucking, Bucky took you on it that night.

You’d had to tap out of penetration after orgasm number twenty– you were pretty sure you’d started to chafe, and now it was just after dawn and he was bringing you to a tortrously slow number twenty eight with his head firmly fixed between your thighs. God, you’d missed the magic that tongue could do.

“Last one, baby,” he panted as he pulled back for air with a smirk. “For now.” Your hands went to your breasts, tugging at your peaked nipples as he sucked your clit between his lips, driving you to the brink one final time. He’d edged you for this one, pulling you to the precipice before yanking you back, again and again, without letting you fall, so when the time finally came, you were a wreck, tears streaming down your face in relief as he climbed back up to kiss your face.

“You alright, doll?” he asked, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him as you shook with the aftershocks. He planted a chaste kiss to the crown of your head, holding you so sweetly.

You were so sensitive– overstimulated. Not just your body, but your heart, as well, and though it might have been the cheesiest thought you’d ever had, that didn’t make it any less true.

“I missed you so much,” you told him as you held him to you, the sweat cooling on your bodies and making you shiver.

“I’m back now,” he said, running his fingers up and down your arm. “Never meant for the mission to last as long as it did.”

“Not just from being in China,” you clarified. “I missed all of this, us, so much.”

He squeezed you tighter, and you got the distinct impression that, if he could pull you to live inside of his skin with him, he would. “Me, too, doll. Maybe I’ll talk to Stark about taking me off the roster for a little bit. See about the two of us spending some uninterrupted time together.”

“I’d like that,” you said, trying to fight off a yawn. You’d now been awake for almost twenty-four hours; you knew you were both probably exhausted, but you were terrified that if you fell asleep, you’d wake up to discover that last night was a dream, and you were alone again. “Why don’t we try to get some sleep, sweets,” Bucky suggested.

“‘M afraid, if I close my eyes, you’ll vanish on me,” you admitted. “Like, poof! You’ll turn to dust.”

Bucky laughed and shifted, so that you were now laying with your head on his chest. “I worry about the same thing,” he said. “So, tell you what: How ‘bout we both promise not to disappear into dust, and in a few hours we can wake up and do this all over again?”

You smiled sleepily, a sensation of warmth spreading out from your belly. You had the rest of your lives to spend together, and nothing was going to get in the way of that now. You should have known– Bucky Barnes would never leave you unsatisfied.

<- Part 2

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