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lunarmoves · 1 month ago

Text

who i see, looking back at me (ch1)

pairing: sebastian solace x reader

mentions: post-urbanshade fic, no use of y/n or pronouns, u are his partner <3, hallucinations, grief/mourning, hurt/comfort, ooc sebastian probably, i took creative liberties with his mom and siblings, check masterlist for fic summary

a/n: this is something i decided to write after scouring ao3 and tumblr for anything like it and finding nothing. i was just- (thanos voice) "fine i'll do it myself." hope you guys enjoy! i cant believe im simping for a roblox fish man in the year 2024, literally who am i.

word count: 9.5k+

masterlist

ao3 link

When your husband was executed for a crime he did not commit, you decided to move out to the seaside.

It was a way to just… get away from everything. Start fresh. His face was plastered all over the news after his death sentence. Everywhere you went, it felt as though people were staring at you. Judging you. Hushed whispers followed you just as much as the haunted look on Sebastian’s face when he’d taken his mugshot. It was—unbearable. You needed to get out and away from all the people who only saw you as the partner to a murderer.

His presence lingered everywhere, back at your tiny apartment in the city. From the framed pictures on the wall, to the green toothbrush next to yours, and the faint smell of cinnamon attached to your bedsheets. It was—overwhelming, in more ways than one. You itched and itched with the urge to get out. You stayed only as long as you needed to after his death to go through the process of moving out. It took a couple of weeks. The you from the future would applaud you for lasting longer than a few days, you were certain.

You didn’t know what to do with all of his things. You sold his expensive belongings unclaimed by his family, like his laptop, electric guitar, and gaming system. The more materialistic items were packed into bins to donate to charity—his old textbooks, binders of sheet music, clothes he seldom wore. The rest you separated into two boxes. One had some things you figured would be appreciated by his mother. The album of his family he kept tucked away in his desk. A small teddy bear he’d had since he was a toddler. Some of his favorite shirts and jewelry he’d been gifted from his siblings.

The other had things you could not bring yourself to part with.

You spent a while hovered over that box, tracing the worn edges of a red and black flannel that he always wore around your apartment. There was a small panda plushie that you won at an amusement park on one of your dates and decided to give to him when he said it was ugly-looking. A sketchbook he doodled in from time to time that you didn’t have the heart to open, but knew you would regret giving away. A crumpled piece of paper with hastily scribbled vows on them. Each and every item in the box held some amount of sentimental value—you wondered if it would ever haunt you, keeping them. Part of you already knew the answer.

When you dropped off Sebastian’s things at his mother’s house, you couldn’t help the way your heart sank deep into your chest when she opened the door. Maria was a beautiful woman, and you saw traces of Sebastian in her every time you saw her. The warm honey of her skin, the crinkle of her blue eyes, even the way she smiled. It made your eyes sting and ache with something fierce. Agonizing, even now. Especially now.

She looked at you with a sad smile, gratefully accepting the small box you offered her. “Gracias, sweetie,” she said, hands tightening on the edges of the cardboard. “I appreciate you coming out all this way.”

“It was no problem,” you told her, shifting slightly on your feet. You hadn’t seen her since—well… You cleared your throat, doing your best to ignore a pang of guilt and this ever so tightening feeling in your chest. “How are you doing?”

She hummed, a weary thing that matched the dark circles under her eyes and the new streaks of gray in her hair. She looked down at the box. “No muy bien,” she murmured, “but who would after losing a child so wrongfully? I can only hope it gets better to handle with time.” Her gaze lifted up to meet your own. “What about you, hm? Almost done packing?”

Blue eyes the same shade as his. You looked away, staring down at your shoes and her slippered feet. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Just gotta put a few more boxes into the car.”

“I do not blame you for wanting to get away,” she chuckled. “I would too, if I could.”

As though on cue, there was the sound of a crash somewhere behind her, immediately followed by raised voices. Sebastian’s siblings causing havoc, no doubt. Maria whipped around to shout into her house. “Isidora! Lucas! ¡Comportense!” After she got two distant apologies, she turned back to give you a look. “See what I mean?”

You could only manage a stiff nod, not quite trusting your voice. That feeling in your chest was growing by the second, and you were not sure how long you would last. Maria didn’t deserve this, but you couldn’t help it. You felt like you were being stifled under a large, unforgiving pillow.

You could feel the way she watched you—that same probing stare that Sebastian often wore when he could sense you weren’t feeling well. You continued to stare resolutely at the ground, not wanting her to crack you open like a book to see the way you just couldn’t stand being here right now. She sighed, and you had to suppress a wince.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” she finally said, turning slightly to head back inside. “No eres una desconocida, you hear? You are always welcome here.”

“Right,” you whispered, and when you finally managed to pull your gaze back up to her face, she only gave you a small, melancholy smile before gently closing the door. You stood there for a moment more, heart beating in your throat as you cursed yourself for being a coward.

The drive down to the seaside was only a few hours. It was relaxing, in its own way, as you passed by concrete buildings that slowly melted away into wide, open fields. Rolling hills and staggering cliffs. You could almost taste the change in the air the closer you got. The stale, musty scent of the city was replaced by a fresh, salty breeze. If you listened close enough, you could hear the distant roar of the ocean as its waves crashed against rock. And once you arrived at what would be your new home for a long, long time, you took a moment to just stand outside and breathe.

One breath in, one breath out. The seaside air felt cool on your heated face. Out here, you felt like everything could be put behind you. A breath of fresh air to chase away the way you hurt inside. You could finally shed the layer of muddled emotions and thoughts that had surrounded you for weeks.

If only it was that easy. Still… Baby steps, you reminded yourself.

The cottage you were moving into was a quaint thing, with just enough space for you to live comfortably on your own. It was more than a steal, and you were thankful that you’d managed to snatch it up before anyone else could—and at a reasonable price, too. It sat near the top of a small cove, overlooking miles and miles of open water. If you walked down to the shore—away from the cove—there was a small dock that jutted out into the sea like a pirate’s plank. It was old, though, covered in mold and made of rotting wood that creaked ominously in the breeze. You didn’t dare risk venturing out on it.

It took you most of the rest of the day to bring all your belongings inside and unpack everything. You stood in what would be your living room, a mess of boxes scattered all around you, and felt a mixture of emotions that you couldn’t make heads nor tails of. Your eyes landed on that small box of Sebastian’s things, and you turned away with this twisting sensation worsening in your gut.

Getting properly settled in and starting your new job in the nearby town’s clinic took up most of your time. Your energy and thoughts. But at night, when it was just you laying in a too small bed in a too small room, your mind wandered. The moon peering through the small, curtained window into your bedroom bore witness to the way you stared and stared and stared—unblinking at the popcorn texture of the ceiling. Always twisting the gold band that remained on your finger in absentmindedness.

There was a gnawing ache in your chest that waxed and waned, but it never truly disappeared.

You thought about those final days a lot. They didn’t let you see him. All you got was a single phone call, sometime before his scheduled execution. The contents of that call would follow you no matter how far you tried to run from them. How hard you tried to forget.

(The phone felt locked in your grip—your fingers tight and stiff. There was a silence that was broken by your name spoken on the tailend of a choked breath. Your teeth clenched so hard you felt a muscle spasm in your jaw.

“I-I didn’t—” Sebastian’s voice stuttered thickly, hushed into the microphone. Something sank down to the soles of your feet, then continued on in an endless spiral. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t.”

There was something so devastatingly helpless about talking to him like this. Divided across miles and miles, nothing but a thin connection between you and him. Your words his only comfort.

“I know, baby,” you told him miserably, raising a hand to palm at your wet eyes. “I know.”)

You couldn’t even host a proper funeral for him. His body was never released to his family—for what reason, you were unsure. It felt as though you never had any proper closure. You could scream and cry about the injustice of it all, but… no one would listen. It was done. It was over. There was no getting him back. It was a grim thought that you grappled with on the daily, always present at the back of your mind. At the front of your mind. Suffocated you in gallons and gallons of grief. You did your best to work through it all over time, but sometimes it felt like your best just wasn’t enough.

And then… a couple of years after his death… you got a call.

You were lounging around in your little living room after a long shift at work, a book splayed out on your lap as you relaxed. Your phone was sitting right by your legs, just out of sight. So when it buzzed with an incoming call, you did not bother to glance at the screen before you answered it.

It was Maria.

The tremble of her voice made you instantly freeze.

You couldn’t understand what she was saying—so rushed and stifled through choked sobs. You sat up, both your hands gripping at your phone.

“Maria— wh-what—” you stuttered out, a sinking feeling slowly making itself present in your gut. You stood up, barely registering your book falling off your lap and onto the floor. “What’s—”

“They— they were wrong,” she hiccuped out, breathless and hysterical. “We knew they were and they— they—”

“What are you—” You tried to make sense of her words, but she quickly dissolved into more incoherent crying. You swallowed thickly, a cold sweat erupting along your back.

It took you a few minutes to calm her down enough so that she could strangle out a “Check the news.” Your eyes snapped to the darkened television sitting against the wall across from you.

Your throat felt drier than a desert. The remote was wedged between the cushions on your couch, and you fumbled around for it before finally managing to press the power button. Channel twenty-one, the news. You punched it into the remote.

There was a picture of Sebastian on the screen. His mugshot, actually—black hair messily scattered across honeyed skin, dark eyes that glistened in the dim lighting, thin lips downturned into an unsteady frown. A ringing sound erupted deep within your ears, drowning out all else as your gaze narrowed in on the bold headline.

Innocent man wrongfully convicted for murder of nine.

A short, disbelieving laugh escaped from your lips. This was how you found out? They didn’t bother to contact you first? You almost couldn’t believe it. Two years after he’d already been imprisoned. Two years after they’d decided he should die via electric chair. You laughed again, and your phone slipped right from your fingers as you dropped onto your knees. You barely felt the impact—barely heard Maria’s questioning sniffle above the racing of your heart.

You laughed and you laughed and you laughed and you laughed because wasn’t that just the funniest fucking thing? They found out the truth after what had been done to him could never be taken back. After you and his family had fought so desperately to prove his innocence.

Funny! It was funny!

You bit at your bottom lip to suppress the way it violently quivered.

Years passed and you continued to live on without Sebastian.

You thought time would help you heal—would dull the ache you experienced at every waking moment of the day and night. But there were times where you just felt infinitely worse. It was awful. It was so utterly miserable, and you were tired. You were just… tired. You couldn’t think about him for too long before you’d feel that familiar sting to your eyes. So you tried not to think about him at all.

It didn’t work.

You were plagued by him. Awake or asleep—it did not matter.

“You’re still up,” he murmured into your ear at night as you laid curled up on your side. Like this, you could face the window of your room—where the moonlight filtered gently through your thin curtains to brush against the walls like the hand of a ghost.

You hummed in response, face partially buried in your pillow. You tried in vain to ignore the presence you felt at your back. Making the hairs prickle on your nape. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel light breaths against the side of your face.

“You’ve got work in a few hours, you know,” he said, matter-of-fact. His voice lowered, gentle and calm. “What’s bothering you?”

There was a pause. Distantly, you could hear the waves of the ocean as the tide rose and fell along the shore. A constant source of white noise.

“Nothing,” you eventually whispered back, closing your eyes momentarily to breathe in the faint smell of cinnamon. “Nothing at all.”

It wasn’t real, you told yourself. Over and over and over again. He wasn’t real. He wasn’t.

He didn’t stop there.

He sat across from you at your little dining table in the kitchen, grinning at you as you forked spoonfuls of pitiful dinner after dinner into your mouth. He was in the bathroom, sitting on the lid of the toilet as you showered or brushed your teeth. He was in the living room, sprawled across the floor in front of you as he gazed at you with his face propped atop his palm.

He accompanied you to work, a pair of blue eyes staring at you in the rearview mirror of your car as you drove. He lingered over your shoulder as you pushed paperwork or chatted to other nurses. Close enough to touch, yet never crossing that line. Always present. Sometimes silent, sometimes not. You weren’t sure which was better.

He was haunting you, and you could do nothing about it.

The only place where you seemed to have any kind of reprieve was down by the little cove or the shore. You liked taking walks along it—when the walls of your cottage seemed to loom too close for comfort. It was refreshing, being able to just… breathe in the sea air and take in the rolling waves from the sand. A healing balm for your enervated soul. It became a habit no matter the weather, every evening after work. Soaking in the sun, basking in the mist, watching dark clouds grow closer on the horizon. You were oftentimes alone, but occasionally you’d pass a few people also enjoying the fresh air. They never bothered you, so you never bothered them.

Once you returned home, however, he would be waiting for you at the door—all warm smiles and crinkled eyes that made your insides ache like they never have before.

You contemplated going to grief counseling many times. But something held you back. You just… didn’t have the energy to pick yourself up and go. Didn’t want to come to proper terms with it all, you supposed. Or maybe you were desperately holding on—afraid of letting go completely when you could look in a mirror and see him standing somewhere behind you. It hurt. It soothed. It was a push and pull that you learned to deal with as time went on.

You often caught yourself staring at the tiny closet in your room—where you’d buried that small box of Sebastian’s things so deeply, it would never see the light of day again. Most of the time, you could drag yourself away from it, pushing it to the back of your mind once more. But one night… you couldn’t help yourself. You caved. You just… needed to.

You pulled the box out from the depths of your closet and sat on the floor, eyeing it warily as you clutched a pair of scissors in your hand. It was just as you’d left it—flaps tightly sealed with packing tape. You hadn’t bothered to label it. You knew what was in there and that was enough.

You took in a deep breath and stabbed the point of the scissors into the box’s top to pry it open. Then, you stared down at its insides.

It simultaneously felt like you’d packed his things away in this box just yesterday and a hundred years ago. In any case, the tender ache at seeing it all still persisted.

The panda plushie, which you picked up gingerly and ran your fingers over its short fuzz before setting it off to your side. It used to sit on a shelf, back at your shared apartment, picked up only occasionally when he wanted to throw it at you to bother you.

(“Sebastian!” you shouted, startled out of your focus on your book when that goddamn panda nailed you directly on your face. You glared at him, setting your book to the side to snatch up the plushie when he laughed hard enough that he doubled over.

“Oh my god, your face!” he wheezed, swiping a finger under his eyes to wipe away an imaginary tear. “Come on, you didn’t see that coming? You’re losing your game here, babe.”

“Shut up, you ass! I was reading!” you fumed and stood up to pelt the plushie at him. It smacked him right on the arm, and he only laughed even harder.)

The sketchbook, rarely ever seen by your eyes because he was so protective over it. Abashed, more like, you came to realize a while ago. And for a good reason, you supposed, your lips twitching as you flipped open the thick cover.

There were some landscape drawings at the start—places you recognized at your old university. The café near the library, the statue at the center of the main quad. A few students walking around or sitting outside on benches. Some components from his engineering projects—designs with their associated dimensions, fluid mechanics calculations, free-body diagrams. You saw a handful of drawings of Lucas and Isidora, either fighting or sleeping against each other—gaping mouths and all.

And then… once you hit a certain point in the book, there were drawings of you.

He’d been so embarrassed when you caught him sketching you one day, though he’d tried to play it off. It was before he’d asked you out, you remembered. You’d thought it was flattering—at least what you could glimpse on the open pages. He’d slammed the book shut pretty quickly once he’d realized you were peeking over his shoulder.

It wasn’t until years later that he’d finally let you flip through the sketchbook properly.

Doodles of you sitting around campus, doing homework or looking at your phone. A sketch of you walking down the street or staring out a window. Upper body shots of you smiling, or laughing, or talking to one of your friends. The level of detail always blew you away—he managed to capture details about you that you never quite paid attention to yourself. The crinkle of your eyes or the pull of your lips.

You gently brushed a finger over a rough doodle of you and him—sitting back-to-back as you did your respective work—then closed the sketchbook to set down next to your legs.

Next was the crumpled, smudged paper of his vows—that you lingered over for a moment, reading it briefly with a small smile.

There were the silly ones, where he promised to be the best pain in the ass you could ever ask for. To make fun of you for being shorter than him or annoy you to smithereens everyday because he loved the face you made when you were mad.

Then there were the sincere ones, promising to always love you unconditionally. To take care of you whenever you were sick, or encourage you to be the best version of yourself you could possibly be. To hold your hand whenever you were scared. To always be by your side, no matter what.

You wiped at your eyes with your sleeve, sniffling slightly, and let the piece of paper flutter down to the ground.

And finally… you picked up the flannel.

Even after all this time, the material was still soft in your hold. You squeezed it between your fingers, tracing over the lines where patches of black met patches of red. If you closed your eyes and imagined hard enough, you could almost feel a warmth coming from it—like it had just been shucked off a warm body. Raising it up to your face to take a deep breath, you could faintly smell that familiar cinnamon. A comfort. A heartache.

“You know,” Sebastian started, and you lifted your gaze briefly to glance up at him standing a ways in front of you. “I’ve always liked how you looked in my clothes.” He wore a sharp grin that made his cheek dimple on his right. He winked down at you. “Always liked how you looked outta them too, but that’s neither here nor there. Go on, put it on.”

You rolled your eyes, but found yourself complying anyway. You stood up and slipped the flannel over your arms, fixing it properly over your shirt. Closing your eyes, you wrapped your arms around yourself.

You could almost imagine him embracing you. Something in your stomach twinged.

“There you go,” he whispered, a breath of air just barely out of reach in the fragile twilight of your room. “Just look at you.”

You only smiled sadly at the ground and hugged yourself tighter.

In recent years, the small dock by the shore was stripped down and built anew.

You saw them doing construction from your cottage’s window when the project was first launched and spent many nights fantasizing about dipping your feet into the water from the dock’s edge. And once it was finally complete—after months and months of waiting and watching—you did just that.

Your evenings were kept mostly the same with your walks along the shore or within the cove. But now you could trudge out onto the now sturdy dock and embrace the ocean in its entirety. You could let the tips of your shoes protrude off the far end of the dock as you breathed in and out. Salty air. The hint of rain in the distance. The spray of water against your face as the waves ebbed to and fro. It was refreshing. The perfect way to let the incessant buzz of your mind die down in preparation for a quiet night.

The dock, from what you could see whenever you were at home, was mostly used during the bright hours of day. A couple of fishermen during the afternoon. Teens from the town who wanted to jump off and swim to the shore. Either way, by the time the hush of evening fell as people prepared for bed, the dock was empty and perfect for some alone time.

It was nice, being able to sit down and soak your feet in the cool water when the weather was warmer. You liked watching the sun as it sank beneath the horizon, painting the sky in shades of burnt mandarin and dusty magenta. The last vestiges of gold light would make way for inky darkness that sparkled with hundreds and hundreds of stars. You were never able to appreciate the night sky in the city—so you took every chance you could to sit and stare up at it. Trying your best to identify constellations or just admiring it all until you got too cold to stay out for much longer.

Sometimes you ate your dinner out on the dock while you chatted with Isidora or Maria on the phone. Sometimes you brought along a book or sketchpad. You missed listening to Sebastian strum away at his electric guitar at times—always filling your apartment with music—so you impulse bought a ukulele and sat by the sea plucking awkwardly at its strings. The dock became a place to pass time. It became a habit that you stuck to for many years.

You were familiar with it all after spending evening after evening after evening out on its wooden platform. You could count the number of planks it was made of, the number of nails you could feel under your hands. You learned how to read the sea—when it hinted at an oncoming storm or calm night. In a way, it became a safe space for you, away from the stifling walls of your cottage.

So naturally, when something disrupted it, you noticed almost immediately.

You were sitting on the dock, half a sandwich on your lap that you’d scrounged up for a late dinner. Your feet idly swished through the water, cool against your heated skin. The dock was high enough that it only submerged your feet up to your ankles, but you did not mind.

You took another bite of your sandwich, then felt an odd prickling sensation on the back of your neck. Pausing, you noticed the hairs on your arms were standing straight up. It… felt like you were being watched. You glanced around—at the wide ocean before you, then the sandy shore behind you. There were a few stragglers in the distance, but they were far enough that you were sure they were not the cause for your sudden unease.

You swallowed your bite and decided it was probably nothing.

The following evening, however, it happened again. Then the next evening. And the next.

Like clockwork, almost, every time you sat down on the dock to relax after your shifts at work. It did not matter what you were doing, or how late you were there. Even for how long. You would always feel that prickle along your nape, and it would not leave until you walked back down the dock to make your way home. Sometimes it followed you up until you shut the door to your cottage.

You tried testing to see if you would still feel this way walking along the shore, or lounging on the sand of the cove. But even if you completely avoided the dock, you would still feel that familiar prickle of your hairs standing on end. It was… stupefying. You wondered if you were being paranoid. Or maybe you were losing it, just a little.

“If it’s any consolation,” Sebastian said one night, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you both sat at your tiny kitchen table. “You might have already lost it, sweetheart.” He only grinned at you when you told him to shut up.

After weeks of enduring this strange sensation, you decided it was best to just pretend it wasn’t there. You could ignore a little unease if it meant your routine would remain undisrupted. So you sat at the dock and minded your own business. Stared out at the rolling waves, read a book, laid back to stargaze. You were able to find peace again.

Then, one night, you noticed something.

It was by chance, really. You were staring out at the sea, watching as the waves crashed against an outcropping of rocks in the far distance. It was dark, the only lighting coming from the moon and the stars. It caused the waters to turn black—void-like, almost, if not for the gentle moonlight. Maybe that was what had ultimately allowed you to see it.

There, just behind the rocks jutting up from the sea like a jagged line of teeth, was this teal glow above the water.

It hugged along the wall of rock, barely visible from your vantage point. You paused and found yourself squinting at it, trying to make out what the hell it could possibly be. The moment you stared at it for a second too long, however, it ducked under the water before disappearing out of sight.

You were confused, yes, but you brushed it off as some sort of reflection. Maybe even a marine animal or bioluminescent plant of sorts, though you weren’t sure what.

You saw it again some nights later, this time just under the surface of the calm waters by the outcropping. It was oddly hypnotizing, in a way, even muted under the deep, navy waves. A constant presence, throughout the entirety of your time on the dock. You could even see it from your cottage window if you squinted.

The underwater glow became another upset in your routine that puzzled you to no end. You tried to ignore it like you ignored the prickle along your nape, but it was almost impossible to do so when it was so blatantly present in the water. No matter where you looked, the glow always lingered in your periphery. And it wasn’t like it stayed in the same place either. Some nights, it stayed near the rocks. During others, it seemed to draw closer. Farther. Closer. Closer. Farther.

Definitely not a plant, you concluded one night as you warily eyed the teal glow as it lingered several meters away. A trick of light? You cast a glance up at the vantablack sky dusted with twinkling white. But no, that would be impossible. It showed up no matter if the night sky was clear or cloudy.

Maybe you were imagining it after being on your own for so long. You grimaced as you thought about your cottage and the inhabitant waiting for you to return to it. Him. As real as your mind could make him.

In any case, the glow was not a priority. Not with the way the days cycled on—a twisting, gnawing feeling soon growing in your chest that you were well acquainted with by now. Though you wished desperately that you weren’t.

You woke up tired.

Not atypical for you, by any means. But this was a different kind of tired—that lingered deep within your muscles and tissue, even your very soul. It made every single motion feel as though you were lugging along hundred pound weights. You were slow in getting out of bed for this reason, taking a few moments to blink wearily up at your ceiling and rub at your temples in a vain attempt to ease the headache you could feel trying to manifest. Already you were not off to a good start.

Steadily, you sat up and immediately spotted Sebastian looming in the far corner of your room. Smiling at you with his hands shoved into his pockets. He opened his mouth to say something, but you lifted up a hand to stop him. Your throat felt like it was lined with cotton.

“Not today,” you told him, voice barely over a whisper. You closed your eyes, then reopened them to give him a weary look. “Just… Not today.”

He only closed his mouth and continued to smile at you.

Once you picked yourself up and trudged over to your bathroom, you took a second to regard your reflection in the small mirror. Dark circles that lined the area under your eyes. A small wrinkle between your creased eyebrows. A dullness to your complexion and a hollowness to your cheeks. You rubbed an eye and sighed, a deep thing that didn’t make you feel any better. The day must go on, as much as you didn’t want it to.

Your coworkers knew not to pester you too much once they saw you arrive at the clinic, so you were granted the relief of a somewhat quiet day. But that did not make things any easier for you—forcing you to be with the overwhelming spiral of your thoughts. You kept yourself busy with work around the clinic, but by the end of your shift, you somehow felt even worse than you had before.

On the drive home, you stopped by a store to pick up a couple of groceries you needed. And once you returned home and unpacked everything into their proper places, you whipped up a quick dinner and spent some time sitting at your little table poking at it sluggishly. You weren’t all that hungry, despite only having some crackers and water earlier. Your stomach churned, your chest ached. You feared if you ate too much, you would just end up throwing it all up.

It was quiet. You took your time to clean up and shower. Procrastinating, you registered faintly at the back of your mind. You slipped on some comfy clothes, then snagged Sebastian’s flannel that you’d never had the heart to pack away back into the box with the rest of his things. It hung on a hook on the back of your bedroom door, next to your towel. Forever a haunting presence in the corner of your world that you grew accustomed to with time. You slipped it on, the sleeves lolling past your hands.

Making your way back to the kitchen, you glanced out the window over your sink at the steadily approaching sunset. You’d gotten home slightly later than usual, but it was fine. You shuffled over to your fridge to grab a small, two-pack container of cupcakes and pried it open to take one out. You rummaged around in a nearby drawer for a few things, then slipped out your front door to make your way down to the dock.

It was a bit colder today, especially with the sun dipping closer down to the horizon to make way for night. You took a moment to stand at the edge of the dock and breathe. The fresh air helped, if only a little. The swell of the waves eased some of the tension lining your shoulders. You sat down, crossing your legs, and set the cupcake atop the small space in front of you.

Leaning back onto your palms, you watched as dusk bled across the sky until it was overtaken completely by night. The moon painted the waves in a milky glow that highlighted their crests and shadowed their troughs. You could faintly register an ache behind your eyes that worsened bit by bit every time you blinked. You leaned forward and rubbed your cold hands along your upper arms before deciding it was time.

From your pockets, you pulled out a single candle and a lighter. You stuck the candle into the top of the cupcake, then—with a flick of your finger—used the lighter to set it aflame. The tiny, orange bud of fire flickered in the gentle wind and washed its soft glow along your hands and legs. Your wedding ring glinted in its light. You stuffed the lighter back into your pocket and sank into a slouch as you stared at the cupcake.

Faintly, you could smell cinnamon.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your eyes stung, unblinking as they were. You swallowed and it was like choking down a bucket full of thorns.

He would have been thirty-three today, you thought miserably to yourself as you stared and stared and stared. The fact settled over you like a particularly suffocating blanket. That fatigue you'd felt earlier came back full force, accompanied by a wrenching feeling in the pit of your gut.

Thirty-three. Your face felt hot and cold all at once. You rubbed at your cheek and your fingers came away wet. You exhaled a shuddering breath.

All those years of missed opportunities and moments. No waking up to his slumbering face or to his gentle kisses on your eyelids. No playful teasing or hugs that stole the breath right out of your lungs with how tightly he squeezed. No midnight dances in your little kitchen, swaying back and forth to an imaginary tune. No being loved by him.

Your heart ached.

“Happy birthday, my love,” you whispered out into the still air, closing your eyes momentarily as your jaw trembled. “I miss you. So, so much.”

You leaned forward and blew out the candle.

Then, you buried your face in your palms. And you cried.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, hiccuping into your hands. It hurt, god, it hurt so much. It always did. You were sure even years down the line, you’d find yourself trapped in the same wallowing pit of despair. The pain dulled, yes, but ever so sharp and present when the time lined up perfectly—as much as you dreaded it. Your chest hurt with the way you suppressed your pain.

When you finally managed to pull the shaking pieces of yourself together, everything felt numb with cold. Your head was stuffy, your eyes were bleary. You sniffed and had to choke back another sob. It truly never got easier, even after all this time. You needed some painkillers and a long, long rest.

Sighing, you plucked the cold candle from the cupcake along with its paper wrapping to toss into your trash later. You stood up and hugged yourself, giving the lone dessert another long glance before turning on your heel to head back into the warmth of your cottage. Come morning, the birds will have eradicated all traces of the cupcake from the dock, as they tended to do.

As you walked, the back of your neck prickled all the way up to your door.

In the following days, you noticed the teal glow you’d been seeing underwater was growing closer and closer—even moreso than it had been before.

This would not have alarmed you too heavily—after all, it wasn’t like it hadn’t been going back and forth in terms of distance for a while—but it was getting to the point where it was only a few meters away. You could slip into the water and swim over easily, you mused, as you warily eyed the glow. Just in case, you decided to avoid sticking your feet into the water for now.

You couldn’t kid yourself anymore. It was weird—really weird. Pair up the glow with the ever present prickle along your nape and Sebastian’s haunting presence at home, and you had a recipe spelling out… well… mental disaster. It was all you could do to hang on. There really wasn’t much you could do about it anyways, you figured. These days you were just too tired to care.

Currently, you were sitting cross-legged in your usual spot on the dock, aimlessly scrolling through your phone’s notifications as you enjoyed the night air. You had a couple of messages from Maria to respond to—you’d been trying to get better at maintaining contact with her every so often. It was a work in progress, but at least texts were easier for you to deal with than phone calls.

You thumbed through the rest of your notifications. Lucas had sent you a meme around one in the morning last night that you’d missed. He was in his last year in university, you mulled. How time has flown. You remembered when he was still an annoying preteen, bugging Sebastian to use his no doubtfully expensive guitar. It was difficult to get Sebastian to ever part with it. The thought made you smile slightly to yourself, then you sobered upon remembering you’d had to sell it. In hindsight, Lucas’ guitar phase hadn’t lasted all too long—or maybe he hadn’t wanted something that reminded him of his older brother so much. Sweet memories turned sour after the execution. You sighed and sent him a meme back after liking the one he’d sent. Something about weird-looking cats.

Oh, one of your coworkers wanted to grab dinner in a couple of days. Hmm. You checked your calendar, then sent off a response text in agreement. The distance you were from the nearby town was not large by any means, but it was enough that you rarely sought exchanges outside of work. You really needed to get out more. Most of your other interactions were online, especially after moving from the city and away from everyone and everything. It certainly was not doing you any favors.

As you typed up a comment on one of your older friend’s social media posts, you noticed something.

Just over the top of your phone screen—reflected in the dark water of the ocean. You paused and lowered your phone to stare at it.

It was the teal glow, brighter and closer than it had ever been before. You eyed it for a moment, apprehension taking root in the pit of your stomach. But there was also this sense of tentative curiosity. You leaned forward just enough to peer down at it beyond the dock’s edge, submerged as it was beneath the gentle waves. It was almost underneath you, oddly hypnotizing as you tilted your head at it. You felt as though you could be sucked right into it, lulled into a trance as the glow encompassed all that you were.

Brighter and brighter the glow grew. There was the distant thought in the back of your mind that maybe you should be more wary—maybe you should lean back or stand up to gain some distance. But all you could hear were your steady breaths, feel the way your grip tightened on your phone. Maybe you could see if what you were seeing was really an animal of sorts or just some figment of—

There was a head. Sticking out of the water.

You froze immediately, breath caught in your lungs.

For a moment, you couldn’t process what exactly you were looking at. But then you realized you were staring at a gray-blue face framed by raven hair stuck to its sides. A rather large face, in fact, nowhere near the size of a regular human’s. A… mermaid? You weren’t entirely certain, and even then, there was a lot to unpack with this realization that you were in no way prepared to do.

There was some sort of lure attached to the top of the creature’s head that drooped down into the water in front of it. Two—no, three, you noticed—eyes were trained intently in your direction, pupils indiscernible in a way that made it difficult to tell where precisely it was looking at. The back of your neck prickled.

Ah, you thought faintly as teal light gently washed across the nearly black surface of the water from the creature’s eyes. That’s what that was.

You weren’t sure how long you and the… mermaid… stayed there, staring at each other, but eventually something had to give. You were just surprised it wasn’t you first.

The mermaid’s jaw seemed to tense. It regarded you with an unreadable gaze that you could feel flicking over your face. Then, it parted thin lips to say a quiet “Hey.”

It was like getting punched in the gut—harsh and utterly unforgiving.

It sounded— It sounded just like Sebastian. Raspier, maybe. A little lower in timbre. But unequivocally him. It was unmistakable—his voice so deeply cemented into your mind when you lived day by day listening to him speak over your shoulder. You felt like you couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t force the air you so desperately needed into your lungs.

He seemed to take in your silence, appraising you for a moment before speaking again.

“I know this has gotta be… weird as shit…” he said slowly, voice stiff and slightly stilted. “But I”—he swallowed thickly—“I can explain.”

You weren’t sure what expression you were making, but you saw the way the skin above his eyes seemed to crease together. You wanted to force yourself to spit out something, anything, but you could not hear yourself think over the rapid ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump of your heart in your ears. The vice-like grip on your insides with how much this mermaid sounded like Sebastian. How it made you hurt. How it made you ache.

What the hell was going on right now?

“You—” you eventually choked out, your eyes taking in what was before you. A membranous fin at the side of his head flicked slightly at the sound of your voice. “You— I—”

He said your name quietly, and it was like another vicious twist of your gut. The sounds of the sea became white noise, distant and weak. “It’s me. Sebastian. You know? Love of your life?” His face scrunched up, sharp mouth turning into a strained grin as he stared at you with wide, imploring eyes. “Come on babe, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?”

Just like him. He talked just like him.

But that couldn’t be right. That couldn’t be right. He was dead. He was—

Something suddenly clicked in the far recesses of your mind.

“Ah.” The syllable dropped from your lips like a rock from a high place. You slumped like you’d been cut from a few taut strings struggling to hold you up. “I get it now.” You exhaled deeply, willing yourself to gain control of your mind and your heart. You knew exactly what was going on here.

No need to panic. You were in control.

“...Do you really?” he asked warily after a minute or two. You ignored him to focus on yourself.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. You released the tight hold you had on your phone—line etched into your palm from the pressure—and shoved it into your pocket so you could lift your hands up to rub at your temples.

You were tired. Of this, of everything.

“I thought this was supposed to be a safe space,” you grumbled under your breath, your eyes closing in a vain attempt to stave off the building headache you were experiencing. “You had to follow me out here too?”

Sebastian made a sound—a questioning, confused little thing that made you open your eyes to gaze down at him. He looked hurt, almost. “I— What?”

Your hands dropped from your temples, and you leaned back onto your palms so you could look out at the calm sea. A few clouds passed over the moon from above, temporarily casting a shadow over you and him. You eyed him after a moment of letting yourself relax from the previous adrenaline spike.

“You’ve never looked like this before,” you eventually mused as your eyes traced over the shadowed line of his nonexistent nose. The way his skin glistened in the dim lighting. “Did something change from yesterday?” You didn’t think you were capable of imagining him like this. Inhuman. No honeyed skin or rough scar bridging his nose. You wondered why it was happening now, of all times. If maybe it was the result of staying by the sea for so long, alone to deal with everything that had happened.

He opened his mouth as though to respond. But then he closed it and just… stared at you. Observing you. Analyzing you for something you were not privy to. A probing gaze that made something under your skin itch. You watched him back, then found you could not hold his gaze for much longer. You looked away and cleared your throat.

“I’m thinking pasta for dinner,” you remarked casually to fill the silence, eyes shifting skywards in thought. “The alfredo we made last week was pretty good. I got the sauce on sale at the grocery store.”

Another pause. Another moment where your skin prickled with the sensation of being picked apart, piece by piece.

And when he spoke, his voice was barely over a murmur—a grim realization to his tone. “You… You’ve really lost it after all this time, huh?”

You made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Don’t be mean. I’m— well…” You gave him a smile, something melancholy lining your lips. “Doing just fine.” The words were bitter across your tongue. He only gave you a look like he didn’t quite believe you, something indecipherable in his gaze.

“Right,” he snorted. “Like I’m gonna believe that after whatever the hell you just said.” A hand lifted from the water to gesture at you, gray-blue just like his face.

Rolling your eyes, you shifted on your feet and stood up, brushing off your pants as you shoved your hands into your pockets. You hadn’t realized, but there was this twinge building in your stomach with every minute that ticked by. You needed to sleep this off… whatever this was. You sighed, long and weary. “I should not be entertaining you.” But it was so hard to resist—has been, for years now.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Sebastian muttered to himself, pinching at the bridge of his nonexistent nose with two large fingers. When you only raised an eyebrow at him and took a step in the direction of your cottage, intending to head back to get started on dinner, he lurched forwards in the water. “Wait. Where are you going? Y-You’re leaving?”

You didn’t intend on answering him, so accustomed to ignoring him in your cottage whenever he spoke into the air. But when this Sebastian snapped out your name in a warning tone, you gave him a look. “I’m not leaving, silly. I’ll see you inside, won’t I?”

“God, do you even hear yourself right now?” he rasped out, voice betraying a certain incredulity as he lifted himself up in the water just enough that you could see what looked like a waterlogged scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. “Listen to me. I’m here. I’m real.”

Real, huh?

You closed your eyes and thought about a figure standing in the corner of your living room, watching you with a small grin. You thought about the endless nights of him standing near your bed or hovering just beyond your shoulder, whispering at you to close your eyes and sleep. You thought about a lot. You thought about nothing.

And so you hummed, a distant thing that you did not quite register as you started to turn away, unwilling as you were to continue this. But before you could make it even a couple of steps back down the dock, Sebastian made a noise—ragged and disbelieving. There was the sound of rushing water directly behind you. The roar of a small waterfall, almost. It made you turn back and blink in surprise as your head craned back.

The wood beneath you creaked and groaned in an ominous manner.

“We are not done talking,” Sebastian growled as he loomed over you. Like this, you could take him in his entirety—from the brown jacket covering his torso that was dark with seawater, to the three arms he had that held himself up atop the dock’s surface. The shirt he had on was translucent enough to appear gray in color. If you looked close enough at the sliver of his unclothed body before it disappeared beneath the dock’s edge, you could just barely make out the shine of scales.

This was—like nothing you have ever seen before.

Your lips parted when a drop of water landed on your cheek, startling you for a moment. A glance up at the sky showed clear skies above you. Maybe you’d imagined it. You shook your head slightly and focused back on Sebastian.

Water continued to run down his body, each drop soaking into the wooden planks of the dock, before it eventually eased into a trickle.

“What is there to talk about?” you asked lightly after contemplating his words.

His grip tightened on the dock, enough that you could almost hear something splinter. “Much, in case you were not aware.” He surveyed your open face with narrowed eyes, a soft teal glow dusting across your features. It was like you were being held open like a book, all of your innards exposed for him to analyze. You weren’t sure what he found there, but it made him suddenly soften like butter atop a warm stove.

“I just…” He sighed, something long-suffering that came from deep within his chest. “This wasn’t how I’d imagined things would go, believe it or not.”

You cocked your head at him and watched him slouch from his rigid position. Still dripping water. Still with that raven hair plastered to his face. There was a sort of exhaustion to him that you’d never noticed before. It made something pang in your chest—caused you to clench your hands into fists in a vain attempt to focus on anything else.

There was the pungent smell of fish, raw and metallic.

Not real. This was not real.

Sebastian shifted, and the hand attached to his torso—smaller in size and covered sloppily in stained bandages—raised as though it was going to reach towards you. Your heart nearly skipped a beat at the motion. But then he stopped, staring down at his palm. Big and gray and consisting of four thick fingers with sharp ends. There was the glint of something gold around his fourth finger. Your own hand twitched inside your pocket.

Always just out of reach. Never crossing a line.

His hand clenched into a fist, and he lowered it back to the dock with a quiet thud.

He said your name. “I know this is difficult to hear, but… It’s me,” he whispered, voice strained like it was on the precipice of breaking. “It’s really, really me.”

You swallowed heavily, feeling as though the world was unraveling by the seams beneath your feet.

This was not him. It couldn’t be.

Why would you ever imagine him like this?

“No, it’s not,” you eventually said bitterly, breaking eye contact so you could glance back at your cottage. You closed your eyes, then reopened them as you turned your back to him. And when you spoke again, your voice teetered like you were one step away from falling into a never ending pit. “You’re dead.”

And then you walked away.

Each step you took felt like eternity, something heavy weighing you down. He called out your name. First so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, a tinge of something fragile to it. Then again with frustration lining his voice—louder and aggrieved. There was a sharp crack of something behind you, but you were determined in your march back home.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your jaw clenched to suppress the tremble you could feel working its way throughout your body. You refused to look behind you, and you succeeded right up until you stood before the door to your cottage. With one hand on the metal knob, you twisted around to look back at the shore—the dock you could see a ways behind you.

It was vacant, not a soul in sight.

Your lips pursed together, and you opened the door to slip inside with a heavy, grim feeling taking root in your stomach.

Sebastian was waiting for you already, sprawled atop your couch as he grinned at you wide enough that you saw each and every one of his white teeth.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said amusedly, one of his hands raking through the wavy mess of hair on his head. His voice lowered, gentle and sincere. “Maybe take a break from the dock, yeah?”

You only slowly shook your head and moved past him, suddenly feeling queasy and lightheaded and so frazzled that you couldn’t bear being awake for much longer.

Your thoughts lingered on the shore. Teal eyes and the sound of breaking wood that felt so real in that instance. You forced yourself to breathe.

It was fine. It was fine.

You would deal with it as you always have.

part two

#i didnt take spanish since middle school so i had to use google translate for it LOL sorry for any inaccuracies !#shay scribbles daydreams #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #roblox pressure x reader #pressure x reader #who i see au #edit: fixed the spanish ty to ataga on ao3 for helping me with it LOL

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hotwritergf · 3 months ago

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could i request smut w hotch based on the song daddy issues by the nbhd? 🖤

Daddy issues 🍭

Dating Aaron had been incredibly healing. Maybe it was his calloused fingers interlocked in yours as he pulls you to walk on his right, the side furthest away from the road. Or maybe it was the bags of your favourite candy that he would bring home on a Friday evening, always on a Friday. He said it was your weekly reward, but you joked and called it your candy allowance. Aaron always chuckled at that, ruffling your hair playfully and pressing his lips to your forehead. Whatever it was, it was healing your inner child.

You weren’t traumatised by any means, but you would definitely say you were damaged goods. Growing up in a single parent household left its mark. Your father left when you were too young, with no memory of him at all, not even his face. You looked for love in other men, men who would typically drink too much beer and push you around when their soccer team lost. That was until you met Aaron Hotchner.

His touch felt like fireworks, every kiss adding to the butterfly farm deep in the pit of your stomach. He looked after you. He tucked you in at night, never forgetting to tuck your teddy bear next to you too. He’d take you to get your nails done, smiling to himself as he watched you chat away to your nail artist, but he beamed when you revealed you’d chosen his favourite colour.

Aaron never left you high and dry, never unsatisfied. That also went for in the bedroom too, that man was a god. He would never let you leave the bed if you hadn’t drenched his sheets, he only ever wanted to drink in your pleasure, never once worrying about his own.

He swirls his tongue through your folds like a pro, tasting your pleasure on the tip of his tongue and groaning at the flavour of your musk. That man could eat you for breakfast, lunch and dinner and still be hungry for desert. With every mew that escapes your lips he takes your sensitive bud into his mouth and softly sucks on it, with just enough pressure to be almost overstimulating, keeping you on the edge of ecstasy. Just teetering between pleasure and pain, and it’s all for him. Every moan, every pull of his raven hair and squeeze of your thighs over his ears, he knows it’s all because you belong to him. His girl.

“Oh are you crying? Go ahead, cry little girl. Tell me who’s eating this pussy so good. Who is it?”

Aaron smirks into your cunt smugly as you whine, your body writhing on his tongue.

“Y-you. You daddy.”

You manage to pull the words from your mouth, whispering through your moans. You can’t take it anymore, you need him. Your core clenches around nothing, feeling empty. He strops against the bed, his hand shuffling down to palm his painfully hard cock before pulling it out and looming over you. His shadow an image on the wall that you want to keep in your fondest memories.

“Daddy huh? That’s right princess! I’m your daddy.”

Hotch grunts, spanking his cock against your overworked clit. Without warning, he shifts his angry red tip towards your entrance, gathering as much of your slick as he can over himself. He thrusts inside, immediately hitting that spongey spot. Swearing you can feel him deep in your womb your back arches off the bed, almost levitating in pleasure. He feels so good, he always does. None of your other partners have ever made you feel this good, his cock was made just for you. He fits perfectly inside you, like the missing piece of your puzzle.

“Look at you, you’re trembling! You just let me do whatever I can do with your little body? Daddy’s pretty little fuck toy.”

Nearing your release, you start begging Aaron’s favourite aphrodisiac was always your inconsolable begging. It drove him like nothing else, his kryptonite. He fucks into your harder, deeper, like a man possessed.

“Let go. Let go for me.”

You come undone together, in a symphony of pleasure. Fingers intertwined together holding each other through release. Every touch is electric and beautiful. You belonged. You felt whole, Aaron was the second part of you. He was your home, but not the empty home back in small town of your birth. He was the home you found, when you needed it most, and where you would live forever.

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waitingonher · 11 months ago

Text

ELECTRIC TOUCH — [jason grace dating headcanons]

author's note: i need 2024 to be THE year. 2023 did me soooo dirty. im praying

dating JASON GRACE would be like dating someone from a regency era romance novel…he’s just SUCH a hopeless romantic but he would rather die than admit it.

in the initial first few weeks of dating, jason was sosososooooo shy about pda/physical touch. it’s not that he was uncomfortable, he LOVES physical touch, but he had just gone so long without it that he wasn’t used to it. but eventually, he warms up to it…and now he can’t go without having at least one part of him touching you 😭

when it came to things like hugs, kisses, handholding, etc. jason would always wait for you to initiate it because he was so anxious about making you uncomfortable ?? fjsldfjs

but when you communicated that he didn’t need to ask/wait for you all the time, jason started initiating things more. even still, he occasionally gets nervous to even hold your hand? like wdym you’ve been dating for over six months and you still get nervous doing simple couple things 😭 it’s very endearing though

chivalry is NOT dead,, and it’s because of jason LMAO. he’s the type to swap shoes with you even though you’re wearing heels that are 3x too small for him, but hey, at least your feet don’t hurt anymore!

jason’s also hellbent on carrying things for you, opening doors for you, pulling out/pushing in chairs for you, etc… GOD HE’S SO CUTE.

since dating him, you don’t think you’ve ever touched a single door or car handle when he’s with you.

jason is NOT afraid to advocate or stand up for you, especially if you’re more on the quiet & non-confrontational side. if you’re in a group setting and someone interrupts you, he’s making sure you get your chance to say what you wanted to say. and he doesn’t do it in a way that leaves you embarrassed, he’s very very classy with it!

if you’re a big music person, jason will literally learn your favorite artist’s entire discography so you guys have another thing to talk about.

you guys also have a shared playlist of “your songs” and he’s so serious about it 😭 if jason hears a song that even remotely reminds him of you, he’s going to the ends of the earth to figure out what it’s called.

rip to anyone around him if shazam doesn’t work! he’s gonna send voice messages to your big group chat humming the tune, but he’s so tone deaf that no one knows the song…and his search history is just variations of “song that goes du du ooh du ooh du du ooh” a for effort though babes…

jason’s love languages are definitely acts of service and quality time. over the years and throughout the many battles he’s fought, he’s come to realize that all he wants to do when he comes home is just spend time with his loved ones.

after a busy day, you’ll come home to find your laundry folded, bed sheets washed & freshly made, along with a sweet little note from jason <3

your guys’ thing are writing notes to each other. considering his and your busy schedule, you’ll write and leave tiny notes around the house for each other to find. it’s one of the many reasons why jason gets up in the morning.

he loves coming home to you after a long day to simply melt in your arms. there’s just something so soothing about cuddling with you after a busy day.

it does not matter where you are, you guys could literally be cleaning the camp toilets and he’d still be able to find the fun in it. you’re his home, and he’d follow you wherever you go.

if you play sports, you already know he’s showing up to ALL your games. it doesn’t matter if it’s pouring rain or if it’s hours away, he’s absolutely determined to show his support. jason even makes posters with your jersey number and when you have big tournaments he’ll show up with posters of your face 😭 the refs are SO tired of jason help

i feel like if he really tried, jason would be a good cook.

one day you sent him a recipe you saw online saying you wanted to make it with him, but then he decided to make it himself to surprise you. and it was actually so good???

JASON IN A “KISS THE COOK” APRON OMFG. that’s what you got him for his birthday and every single time without fail, he’ll wear it when he’s cooking.

one of his hidden talents is that he’s super good at origami. he originally picked it up because he heard it was a good stress reliever, but now he also does it for you <3

he loves your reaction when he gives you little paper rings or an origami version of your favorite animal!

this guy DREAMS of domesticity. he’s always been the type to date to marry, and that’s just what he intends to do with you! even though you guys are still young, he’s been planning your proposal sfjfls

tell me why he already knows what kind of ring he wants to get you… omg.

he really wants to just settle down with you in new rome. but honestly, he’s willing to do anything as long as you’re at his side.

expect flowers from jason at least once a month! he even keeps one flower so he knows when it’s time to get you a new bouquet. and if he’s away, he’ll get one of his friends to deliver it!

i have this headcanon that the aphrodite cabin teams up with the hephaestus cabin to throw a really elaborate party, essentially like prom. anyways, jason would go all out for your promposal jfdsls i feel like he would either do a super funny poster/proposal like y’know that one guy who did that medieval promposal 😭 yeah well jason would do something like that but like...more roman... LMFAO him pulling up to your place in a chariot

or he would do something super super intricate and planned out…like a fancy picnic and then he’d have the fauns arrange fireflies to spell out “prom?” when it’s dark out.

ugh! jason grace the man that you are… <3 best bf ever,, i can confirm btw

#jason grace #jason grace x reader #jason grace x y/n #jason grace x you #jason grace fanfiction #jason grace fanfic #jason grace fluff #jason grace fic #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader #rick riordan #riordanverse #percy jackson fandom #percy jackson headcanon #percy jackson fic #percy jackson fanfiction

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jolalibrary · 5 months ago

Text

spell out miss you against my skin

frankie morales x f!reader

gif credit to @perotovar - thank you bby 🩷

summary: frankie is back now, and he wants to make you feel good.

wordcount: 1.1k warnings: 18+ smut. oral (receiving) <- lots, because he has a good mouth and a need to please and i was horny. frankie also has a lot of inches. we established in this, but how so? you'll have to see muhahahah.

Six months he'd been gone.

Six months of phone calls, webcam dates, and longing, and now he was finally on his way back to you. To his home. Your home. The one you both chose, the one he's been away from for so long. Sleeping in a bed different from the one you bought together, brushing his teeth in a bathroom he hadn't retiled, using towels he hadn't chosen.

It had been important, you knew that. When the work offer came, those brown eyes looked at you, held your hand, cupped your cheek: Say the word, querida, and I won't take it.

You hadn't said the word, both for the opportunity he'd been given and because of the new kitchen he promised you.

None of it mattered now. Not when you'd felt his hands slide across your thighs, parting your knees.

When you'd seen his eyes turn glassy, blown with lust, swallowed by it as he licked his lips at the sight of the evidence of how much you'd missed him.

He'd dug his fingers into your calves, flattened his mouth to the inside of your left knee, whispered again how much he'd missed you. Pressed it to your skin, traced it up your inner thighs, wiry beard scratched it against softness before he whispered it again. And again, and again—

You almost whined when he placed a kiss at the top of your thigh, breath blown out across your slick core. Brief memories of the night before came to you. How you'd teased; how you'd intentionally stripped for the call, taunting knowing he wanted to wait, and not have you talk him through it one final time. I've only had my fingers, Frankie. You'll have to take your time. His groan had made your hips buck just at the thought of it. That and the deep gravel of his voice through the speaker, I’ll get you ready for me, querida.

And you'd believed him. Now you were seeing the proof of it.

Your toes curling, digging into your mattress as he taps your ankles to remain flat on the bed. There’s sweat sticking to the back of your thighs, knees, shoulder blades—skin clinging to the bedsheets as his lips remain latched to your clit, with three of his fingers working themselves inside of you.

You know you’re going to come again. Make another mess. Just like he wants—

Come in my mouth, hermosa. Wanna taste you. 'missed you, querida.

Slick and spit making a mess of the sheets, your chest heaving, panting, and you're aware of how you're dripping, gushing for him. Conscious, in some ways, of the sounds you're making, the vulgar and sinful ones your body is producing. And it turns you on more.

An old version of yourself would have been ashamed.

But not this version. The one loved, doted and admired by him; the one who has never felt more attractive than you do right now. Just from the way he groans, the way he moans right into your pussy, his hips grinding against the pillow on the end of the bed.

The sight makes you light-headed. That and the eager way he laps up everything you're giving him. The obscene sounds blend with your moan as his fingers curl inside of you, making you clench, grind against him.

You feel nothing but bliss.

Back arching, pussy grinding against his touch, his tongue, his entire face as your fingers grasp at his curls, soaked in sweat from determination, perseverance and effort.

—just wanna make you feel good, querida—

Mouth hanging open, you find no sound escapes. Lost, never wanting to be found as his tongue flicks and then flattens, as it presses harder against your swollen nerves and makes you buck your hips.

Almost ready to find your body burning in that electric way he somehow always makes you feel. Over the phone, miles away and now, here, at his mercy, tongue laving and swirling. Moaning and hissing—

Then he sucks and your entire body tenses.

You can hear him, distant, like you've been plunged underwater—

That’s it, squeeze my fingers, querida.

He croons it into your pussy. Likely smirking, beard and lips stained with your arousal and desperation.

You don't care. Not as you fall apart. As pleasure floods through you all over again and another moan-cry-whine hybrid of his name rips from your throat as you gush. Your body twitches, tenses, thighs fucking shaking before you admit defeat and collapse back to the bed as he soothes.

As his face eases from between your clenched thighs and stares up at you like you're a goddess, when it's him you suspect is a god.

You're only able to blink the spots from your eyes when his mouth meets yours. Your body more liquid than solid; lips barely reciprocating his movements, when he asks you:

Can I fuck you? Can I make you feel good?

You want to argue that it’s all he has been doing. Your body wrecked, thoroughly worshipped from it.

But you nod. Biting his lower lip as he chuckles, watching as he leans back on his knees, hand wrapping around his hard cock.

"You're gorgeous, Frankie."

He snorts, chin lifting, eyes closing as he strokes himself. Your gaze drops to his hand, catching sight of the metal band on his left hand that glides up and down his cock. His tip leaks as your eyes take in each impressive inch that makes up your husband as you lick your lips.

As you part your legs a little further for him.

As you run your fingers over your breasts, pushing them together, making him moan before he slides a hand over your thigh to get you to stop.

"Gonna fuck me?"

Nodding, "Gonna fuck you, querida. That what you want?"

Yes. Yes. And yes, and yes you cry as he lines himself at your slit. As he teases the tip from hole to clit.

"Need you, esposo."

His groan reverbs around the room. "Yeah?"

Nodding, you bite down on your lip, raising your hands above your head, crossing them at the wrist. Just for him. All for him. "Ruin me, esposo."

Frankie groans, deep in the back of his throat, before he slides each inch in one deep thrust, mouth latching to yours as he swallows the moan you both emit in unison.

dedicated to @thetriumphantpanda who never minds when I message her and go “wanna hear my brain rot”

those who expressed interest: @thesluttylittleknee @wordywarriorwrites @luxurychristmaspudding @hellfire-state-of-mind

@gingerspjce @socklessria @eh-nothanks @naranjoenflor @sheepdogchick3

@fictional-men-have-my-heart @theshipissinking8

#frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier smut #triple frontier #frankie morales x reader smut #francisco morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales x f!reader #triple frontier fanfic

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shouyuus · 16 days ago

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chapter five: true love's kiss

roronoa zoro; 4,063 words; fluff, hurt/comfort, no "y/n", enemies to LOVERS (the lovers happen now), dreams as a literary device, first kisses, possessive!zoro, happy endings, sanji is a tease but a good friend

summary: in which love does conquer all, actually

a/n: phew!!! and here we are friends! the last chapter!!!! thank u all for the lovely comments and for sticking this through! it's def my longest fic to date (and i think will be for a while... 21k is a lot of words lmfao); anyway, enjoy all the fluff! it's def earned i think!

< to the table of contents

By the time the fighting ends, the rain is coming down in great sleet-gray sheets, washing the deck of the last remnants of blood, even as the Merry tips this way and that, tossed over the waves of a careless sea.

Zoro kicks bodies over left and right, slinging them over the edge of the ship as he checks each face, grimacing as he thinks to himself — no, no, no.

“Zoro!” it’s Sanji that finally manages to drag Zoro upright, pinning him to the edge of the ship, shaking him by his shoulders, “what the hell are you doing?!”

“Her body!” Zoro shouts, shoving at Sanji’s rain-slick hands, “I have to find it —”

Nami has both arms wrapped around herself as she takes two steps forward, her bright hair stuck to her cheeks in tangerine streaks.

“Didn’t she say she’d show up at the last place she fell asleep?”

Zoro stares at her, wide-eyed, for three solid seconds before he scrambles out of Sanji’s grip and makes for the crow’s nest, taking the ladder three rungs at a time. He nearly rolls across the tiny crow’s nest as he forces his way through the trap door, his eyes whipping wildly from left to right, but there’s already a sharp, relentless dread ossifying in the marrow of his bones as he leans over the edge and shouts —

“She’s not here!”

It’s Usopp who answers, “What about your room?”

Zoro tumbles out of the crow’s nest, skidding down the length of the mast, but by the time he manages to get below decks, Nami’s already standing in his opened doorway, a hand pressed to her mouth.

Zoro races to her side and feels his breath freeze in his lungs.

Because you’re there, tucked into his hammock, your cheek pressed into his pillow, a blanket tucked around your shoulders, your eyelids fluttering as if they’d caught you in the middle of a particularly active dream.

In stumbling steps, Zoro makes his way to the edge of the bed, his shoulder bumping Nami’s as he inches by. He drops onto a wooden barrel and buries his face in his hands. Behind him, he hears Nami slump to her knees with a sound that’s caught halfway between a sob and a laugh.

Relief crackles through his veins like so much static electricity. Vaguely, he registers the sounds of the rest of the crew gathering by the door, Sanji helping Nami to her feet, Luffy making his way over to clap Zoro hard on the shoulder.

“Well, she’s for sure breathing!” he remarks, to which Usopp lets out a small, tinny laugh, and everyone follows suit. Zoro puffs out a breath and feels a saltwater sting in his throat.

He licks his lips and tastes the sea; when he blinks, his lashes come away wet.

It’s still relatively early in the day, so eventually, Sanji begs off to go make some lunch — for the recovering soul, he says. Luffy follows him, and a few minutes later, so does Usopp. Only Nami stays, her knees curled into her chest, her back against the wall, her eyes fixed on you as she counts your steady, drawn out breaths. But eventually, even she gets to her feet, reaching out to give Zoro’s shoulder a hard squeeze before ducking quietly out of the door.

Sometime in the late afternoon, Sanji comes to put a tray of food on a barrel by the bed. Zoro spares it a single glance, noting that Sanji’s included all your favorites as well as his own.

In the early evening, he reaches over for a riceball, and then another.

It isn’t till midnight that exhaustion finally takes over and he dozes into a shallow, fitful sleep.

— — —

You dream of dying.

Of falling down an endless ravine, of feeling your lungs fill and fill and fill with water. Of the sharp, silvering lick of a hungry blade, of fire as it burns slowly, creeping across your blushing skin.

You dream of terror, of your body fighting for a breath, a kick, a life, even as your mind resigns to the dull knowledge of impending death. You dream of peace, of lying down and falling asleep, of surrendering yourself to the warm, merciful dark and it’s wide, welcoming embrace.

You dream of Zoro, of the boy he used to be, of the raw hunger and determination in his eyes as he ran through his katas, of how wide he smiled when he was convinced no one else was looking. You dream of the man he is now, of the softness that had bled from him when he traced a hand along your cheek to press a strand of hair behind your ear. You dream of falling asleep next to him, of waking up to find yourself in his arms, of being cradled against his chest, of being laid gently in his hammock, of his body next to yours.

You dream.

You dream of falling, and falling, and falling. You dream of a voice, so deep it sounds like the underbelly of sound, grating out of the fathomless dark, reminding you of the bargain you weren’t even alive to make.

But your dreams always come back to dying, the act now so familiar to you that your body aches for it like a heart aches for company. You have died so many times the motion is braided into your muscles, inked into your skin, your lungs so used to giving up air that sometimes, you find yourself gasping out of a dream, clutching at your chest.

And that is how you wake — rocketing upright, fingers scrabbling at your throat, the phantom bite of Zoro’s blade lingering over your skin like the persistent itch of a healing wound.

It’s Zoro’s voice that pulls you back, his breathless, startled voice, your name tearing out of him like a curse, or a prayer.

“Y-you’re…” he seems unable to continue, the sight of you sitting up in his hammock, your eyes bright and a little glossy, your cheeks flushed with the remnants of your dreams, the early morning light pouring through his tiny window like so much pale gold, casting you in it’s relentless light.

Zoro blinks, feeling his muscles ache from the strange position he’d fallen asleep in, having roused himself so often during the night, if only to check that you’re still here, and still breathing.

“Zoro…” his name on your lips sounds like absolution, the final bit of proof he’d been waiting for before he jolts forward to pull you into his chest, pressing you to him so hard you yelp in surprise, the entire hammock swinging back with the force of his body.

He spears his fingers through your hair, cradling the back of your head, his nails scraping against your scalp as he clutches you close enough to count your heartbeats reverberating through his chest. Your hands fist in the front of his shirt as you bury your face in the side of his neck, your uneven breaths hot against his skin.

“Never,” he says, in a voice ribboned with fear and anger and regret, still holding you to his chest as if he might be able to meld your skins into one, “make me do that again.”

You let out a shattered little laugh, shaking your head as you burrow deeper into the crook of his neck.

“Yeah, I’ll make someone else do it next time.”

Zoro jerks back, his glare fierce as he narrows his eyes.

“I mean it,” he says, his fingers inching up to cup your cheeks, his thumbs pressing divots into your skin as he searches your eyes. You stare up at him, softening as you reach up to wrap your hands around his wrists.

“I’m sorry if I scared you — it was — that was the only thing I could think of to do —”

“Don’t be sorry — just promise.”

Your breath hitches in your chest as your gaze cuts away. Your hands drop but Zoro’s grip never wavers.

“I — I don’t —”

“I’ve already had to watch you die twice,” Zoro says, his fingers finally loosening as he leans down, his eyes flickering frantically over your face as if trying to commit every part of you to memory, “I’m not trying to go for a third.”

“Yeah, I know…” you reach up to smooth your thumbs over his furrowed brows, feeling them relax as you trace your fingers over and down the sides of his face. And for a moment, the pair of you are caught in the startling light of dawn, each unwilling to let go of the other, drinking each other in as if you might never get another chance.

“It’s just…” you find your gaze held still at his lips, at the way they’re parted ever so slightly, before you trace a line up the bridge of his nose to admire the skin there, kissed by a constellation of soft freckles.

Zoro grazes his fingers down to your jaw, tipping your head up, massaging at the knots at the junction of your neck and shoulders.

You let out a soft gasp that sends shivers wreathing through his body.

“Just?” he asks, almost surprised to find his own voice so husky as he swallows.

“I thought that if I were to die… yours is the last face I’d ever want to see.”

Its this admission that somehow simultaneously melts the tension in his muscles and also sets fire to his skin as if his whole body were made of nothing but kindling, your words the spark, your voice the wind that fans alive the flames.

He leans down to press his forehead to yours, letting his eyes flutter close as he tries to take a steadying breath even as the heat chases into the depth of his stomach and coils tight in his gut, making his knees feel weak.

“Fuck…” is the best he can manage, the pair of you still face to face, foreheads pressed, breaths mingling.

He feels you let out another laugh, and then — something warm and soft pressing to his lips. His eyes flash open just as you’re pulling away, looking deliciously bashful as you try to glance away. But Zoro chases after you with the determined precision of a hunter, pulling you back and melding your lips so smoothly it’s all you can do is let yourself be kissed.

And as he kisses you, you briefly wonder if this isn’t what all those deaths had been preparing you for. All those drownings just to make sure you were ready for a kiss like this — a kiss where you wouldn’t need or want to ever breathe again. A kiss that burns hotter than any fire, one that tears you open from the inside out and sews you back together again.

You can feel the force of it cracking open your ribs, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he could reach inside you and cup your heart in the palms of his hands. You almost want him to. You think it wouldn’t be such a terrible way to go.

When you finally pull apart for the first time, it’s you who chases after him, tugging him back down in an urgent, messy clash of teeth against teeth, mouths open, licking and eager and hungry.

Zoro grunts at the force of your kiss, at the wildfire burn of ravenous longing braiding through his blood, exploding in sparks of white behind his eyes till he’s reeling and dizzy from the light. And when you finally pull back for a half-drawn breath, it’s him that once again surges forward, but the hammock swings up too far, and the resulting downward momentum catapults you both onto the floor, his body cushioning your fall till his back is pressed against far wall, you half-straddling his lap, your hands on either side of his face to stop yourself from toppling further into him.

You let out a shocked laugh, even as he too finds himself chuckling. The ridiculousness of the situation finally settling in around the pair of you.

A second later, Sanji slams open the door, looking wildly around for a second before spotting you. His eyebrows jerk up as he takes in the scene, the tangle of blankets around your legs, Zoro’s hands on your hips, the clear high blush in both your cheeks.

“Oh so sorry to interrupt — I heard all this commotion and thought something bad might’ve happened,” his voice is half-teasing, half relieved exasperation. He puffs out a dramatic sigh, digging in his pocket for a cigarette and lighter.

Finding both, he takes a deep pull, letting a thin stream of smoke out through his nose before casting you both a sharp, mischievous look.

“Should’ve known it was moss-head here having dessert for breakfast.”

“Fuck off, cook.”

Sanji smirks, rolling his eyes as he saunters away from the door, leaving it to swing shut behind him, but not before calling out —

“Remember to take breaks! Breakfast’s in an hour, and I’m not savin’ you any if you miss it!”

— — —

Breakfast is a messy affair that day — with both you and Zoro slinking into the kitchen exactly one hour later, Zoro looking annoyed, and you looking understandably sheepish. The second you meet Sanji’s eyes, you flush a bright crimson and look away, but Zoro only scoffs as he drops into his normal seat and folds his arms. You slip into the seat next to his, your gaze fixed determinedly on the table before you.

When Nami arrives, she flings her arms around you, giving you a hard squeeze.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she says, pulling back with fever-glass eyes, shimmering with tears.

Zoro grunts, “I’ve already tried that.”

You resist the urge to shoot Zoro a dirty look, and instead, squeeze Nami’s arms.

“Sorry I scared you.”

“It was pretty scary!” Luffy’s voice rings out as he joins the throng, plopping into the seat at the head of the table and flashing you a massive grin, “but boy are we glad you’re okay! It’s kinda a cool power you have! Scary, but cool!”

“I wasn’t worried for a minute!” Usopp claims as he trundles in, smiling bravely as he takes the last seat. At a pointed look from Nami, he clears his throat and turns towards Sanji, “So! Uh — what’s for breakfast?”

Sanji smirks as he starts to set out an entire breakfast service, complete with eggs three ways, freshly baked brioche with a variety of homemade jams, grilled fish, sausages, bacon, a steaming pot of rice, along with miso soup, freshly squeeze tangerine juice, and hot tea.

“And an aged ale,” Sanji says, offhandedly, setting a bottle in front of Zoro without looking at him, “for medicinal reason only, alright? Don’t go looking for this kind of treatment every day.”

Zoro blinks at the bottle of ale before shrugging and popping off the cap with a finger.

“Wow, Sanji! This is amazing!” Luffy compliments, before immediately digging in. Usopp looks similarly eager as he reaches for a steaming brioche bun.

Sanji smiles as you make to reach for some eggs and Zoro bats your hand away, tugging the entire tray towards you for easier access.

Nami only smirks.

“I figured we could all use some good fuel after —” Sanji clears his throat as he settles in his own seat, neatly tucking a napkin into the collar of his shirt, “well, after a hard battle.”

His voice catches briefly before he hitches a bright smile back onto his face and serves himself a thick slice of bacon.

You pause, halfway through slicing a perfectly poached egg, your eyes caught on the golden yoke beading at the tiny puncture wound from your knife.

“Look — I’m really sorry for —”

“Don’t.”

“It’s alright.”

Zoro and Nami speak at the same time, both freezing for a second before glancing at each other and Zoro sighs, slumping back in his chair with his arms folded.

Nami purses her lips before taking a breath.

“It’s… well, it’s not alright,” she amends, staring down at her own breakfast, “but you don’t have to apologize. Just…” she finally looks up, her gaze electric in the morning light spilling through the wide windows, “let us protect you next time.”

Zoro grunts a brief affirmation as you swallow passed the lump in your throat.

“I — it’s just — it’s hard,” you admit, setting down your utensils to stare at the palms of your hands, the skin there soft and unworn, so deceivingly so. Sometimes, you hated the fact that you always came back devoid of scars — as if even that has to be stripped from you. The proof that you’d suffered, the reminders that you’d time and time again survived.

“When dying —” you force your mouth to wrap around the word, to hold it on your tongue without shrinking away, “is the only thing I’ve known for… for forever, really.”

“Mm, well,” Luffy’s slightly muffled voice breaks out from down the table, making everyone jump. He grins, swallowing a mouthful of sausage, “Shanks used to tell me that dying and living are really just the same thing in the end — you just gotta choose what you’d rather do that day!”

A beat of thin, shocked silence follows, before you break into a surprised laugh.

“Whoever this Shanks person is — he sounds like a pretty cool guy.”

Luffy nods enthusiastically, spearing another sausage with great voracity, “He was! And I think he’s right! I mean — we’re your crew now! And we’ll take care of you. So… just choose to live next time!”

Nami is the first one to start laughing, and soon, everyone follows after. The sheer ridiculous simplicity of the statement catching everyone off-guard, the truth of it sweet as freshly made mochi.

— — —

Later that day, you find yourself staring out at the endless stretch of sea at the head of the ship, the wind tangling loose fingers through your undone hair.

Zoro sidles up next to you, standing close enough for your arms to brush.

He’s rarely left you alone in the hours since the fight, since you’d woken up again in his hammock. But it’d been his turn to clean out the bilge, and he’d mercifully not asked you to accompany him for that specific little venture.

Now, he stands next to you, his body warm, his hair slightly damp from what looks like a recent wash.

“We’re goin’ after him,” he says, his eyes following yours as you both scan the wide expanse of shattered-glass sea.

“Crocodile?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“Yeah, and Baroque Works.”

You turn to face him, the wind whipping your hair into so many thin tendrils of darkened silk. You reach up a hand to catch a few strands in a vain attempt to keep them from flying into your eyes.

Zoro twists around, leaning in to rake his fingers through your hair, wrapping them around his fist till he’s reeling you in, close enough for you to press both hands to his chest.

He watches as you fight with some internal compulsion, probably to tell him that it’s too dangerous, that they’ll never win. But finally, you seem to steel yourself, looking back up at him with a liquid fire deep in the warm darkness of your eyes.

“It won’t be easy,” you say, your voice soft, but he’s close enough to catch them, his other hand steadying itself along your hip.

His lip slants into an amused grin.

“Good. I’ve never liked an easy fight.”

You smile despite yourself, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Masochist,” you say, inching your hands up to loop around his neck. Zoro smirks, cocking his head to one side, tugging you ever closer by the back of your neck.

“Maybe. But speaking of liking pain — what’s this I hear about you and the waiter makin’ stuff later on in the kitchen?”

You peer up at him with huge, doleful eyes before heaving a melodramatic sigh.

“I always thought you were the jealous type,” you lament, attempting to turn your face away but Zoro’s fingers dig into your skin, sending a strange, gooseberry ache tingling through you as you gasp, your eyes flickering back to meet his molten gaze. Heat blisters into your cheeks as something very much like desire pools in the depths of your belly.

“I’ve never been good at sharing.”

You laugh, nodding, “Yeah… that was true even when we were kids. Even though you always pretended you didn’t want anything till it was offered to you.”

Zoro scoffs, shrugging, “Figured if something was mine… it’d come to me in the end.”

“And now?” you ask, the hint of a tease threading through your voice, just enough to make Zoro’s skin prickle with want.

“Now, I just take what I want.”

“Or…” you lean in to skim your lips along his cheek, lilting your voice low enough to make him shiver, “you follow them for three whole weeks, then offer to buy them a drink at a bar, right?”

Zoro makes a half-annoyed, half-contemptuous noise, frowning as he pulls back. But before he can say anything, you’re laughing, and the sight of it strikes him breathless, the mid-morning sun draping you in orange and gold, your cheeks flushed with life and color, your body warm and soft in the circle of his arms.

You’ve never looked so beautiful — you’ve never looked so daringly, dashingly alive.

By the time the laughter trickles out of you, Zoro is also smiling. He reaches up to coax your face towards his, brushing your hair back with a careful finger.

“Guess you’re right — you got away in the end.”

You still against him, watching as he glances off towards the vast expanse of endless sea.

“But rumor has it, you’ve never let go of a mark,” you say.

Zoro’s eyes snap back to you, and the way you’re grinning up at him makes the world tilt on it’s axis around him.

“I haven’t,” he murmurs, lowering his head till your noses are bare inches apart.

“Then… don’t let me ruin your record.” The moth-wing flutter of your lashes twists tight the torque in his chest, and it takes him half a breath to realize that this must be what it feels like to fall in love, or rather — to realize that you’ve already fallen.

“Hn. Wasn’t planning on it,” he says, delighting in the tiny little shiver that shakes through you at his words. He pauses as your noses finally brush, your breath ghosting across his lips, so painfully, torturously close.

“So…” he purposefully draws out the word, letting it rumble through him, a low growl of sound. You blink up at him, curious, but pliant, and so, so terribly trusting. He allows himself a wolfish grin.

“What’re you and the cook makin’ later?”

You let out a frustrated groan and make to pull away but Zoro easily jerks you back, locking you against his chest even as you let out a surprised squeak.

“Are you going to kiss me or not, Roronoa?”

Zoro chuckles, “Depends on what your answer is.”

You flush, crinkling your nose as you glare up at him, “Sakura-mochi, the kind you like. There, happy?”

“Sure. So long as no one else gets to have any.”

Your eyes go wide, and you open your mouth to retaliate but Zoro presses in, crushing your lips to his in a searing kiss. The only noise you make is a tiny, desperate sigh as he sates himself on the taste of you, the sharp thundering in his chest quelled by the way you clutch at him, your fingers digging sharp pinpricks into his chest as you scrabble to pull him closer.

He is breathless when you break apart, and he’s light-headed with the sight of you and your kiss-bruised lips, stained dark by the pressure of his teeth. It sets something savage on edge inside him and it takes everything in him not to drag you somewhere and let the burning hunger swallow you whole.

“Like I said,” he says, his voice ragged, “I’ve never been good at sharing.”

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the next chapter (the epilogue) will be smut! pls comment below if you'd like to be tagged!!!

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dae-platform · 6 months ago

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Date Sheet of DAE Second Year Mechanical IA- 2024

Punjab Board of Technical Education (PBTE) Lahore issued the final date sheet of the first annual DAE exams. DAE exams are starting from 23rd of May 2024. Here is the date sheet of DAE Mechanical Second Year given as subject wise. Choose Subject Code ELEC-212GEN-201MATH-212MECH-233MECH-242MECH-246MECH-272MGM-201MGM-221PHY-212 You can also download complete Date Sheet from link below Download…

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leonw4nter · 9 months ago

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Through Thick and Thin, Always and Forever

Husband!Damnation!Leon x F!Reader

No one is spared from that stupid blond baby and his arrows, not even two seasoned agents who are were certain that their hearts would never learn to feel something other than guilt, fear, and hopelessness.

After 5 years of dating and now 17 years married, your marriage with him has faced its ups and downs but you two always managed to make amends and continue on smoothly. Lately, it’s been more of a down: minimal talking, less intimacy, and Leon in worse moods. After a particularly big fight regarding his alcohol consumption and the distance he’s been keeping from you, you two refused to talk to each other. The most you two did in interaction with each other is telling each other “good night” before turning to the other side of the bed, backs turned and “good morning” without meeting gazes. Although things between you too are a little cold and tense, you two still held respect for each other and didn’t do anything that meant to harm the other.

You got up earlier than Leon, your husband still sleeping soundly from his side of the bed; eyes still shut, strands of dark hair that fell over his forehead with his arms crossed and small snores leaving slightly chapped lips. You drank in the vulnerable sight of him, sighing and wistfully hoping that things would go back to normal between you two again. After fixing your side of the bed, you head over to the kitchen to start on breakfast. Taking out the left-overs from last night’s takeout from the fridge, you take a pan and add a small amount of oil before putting it on the stove. You decided to opt for reheating using a pan and stove instead of the readily available microwave since you were feeling a little more diligent than usual. While cooking, you realize that the non-stick coating of the pan you’re using is peeling away. There’s some bits of food sticking to the part of the pan that is bare, those bits burning up. The handle is also a lot more loose, the pan being older than 4 years. I’m going to have to look for a new pan I guess, you think to yourself. After a few more minutes of reheating, you plate the food and place them on the dining table.

“G’morning.”

“God you scared me.” You reply with a small jolt of electricity flowing through your body. You place the plates down, Leon getting up to help you with the others. Instantly, your day gets better now that Leon is doing things like these but you don’t push your luck, knowing that Leon is still a helpful guy no matter what and this could be him being friendly but still upset at you.

He waits for you to take a seat before he takes his, scooping some food onto his plate before he takes a bite. You two have breakfast in silence, him reading some article on his phone while you go looking through Amazon for new non-stick pans. Unfortunately for you, you don’t find any pan that looks good so you put your phone down with a small sigh. Breakfast ends silently with Leon doing the dishes and you sweeping around the house. This time, Leon is speaking up more but he’s still closed off but you’re happy that he’s begun to be a lot warmer to you. You thought about going out to buy the pan but your laziness said no, causing you to opt to stay inside and be curled up with a good book.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

I should’ve bought that damn pan yesterday.

Unfortunately for you, your period started today which meant cramps that you swore was just your uterus doing crazy acrobatics. Of course you were extra cranky, all your emotions upped a notch by a hundred but a tiny part of you was thankful for this because Leon began to warm up more. Just this morning, he offered to change the sheets and wash the old one when you bled into it; it’s as if you two had never fought days prior but you aren’t complaining. Now, you are curled up and buried beneath the sheets while clutching at your lower abdomen while waiting for Leon to come back home. You had sent him on an errand to go get you cheese fries and boba tea which should only take him 15 minutes max but he took a little longer than that. You poke your arm out of the sheets, feeling around for your phone before you finally feel it and drag your arm back inside the sheets. You look for Leon’s number, phoning him to hurry up and get home because you needed his company more than anything.

“Leooonn…” You weakly groan.

“Hm? Yes, sweetheart?” He asks on the other end of the line.

“Got me my food?” You quietly ask.

“Yeah. I’m on my way home, just stuck in traffic. I promise I’ll get there soon baby, hang on,” He responds.

“Okay… I’ll hang up now, the screen is giving me a migraine.”

You press the ‘end call’ button, groaning even louder now that you feel a migraine incoming. Can this day get worse?

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Leon finally arrives home with the fries and boba tea but he makes you drink water and take Advil before you have your snacks, hoping to alleviate the migraine you have going on. He also got a heating pad to help with cramps and offered to give you leg massages since your cramps caused spasms in your thighs as well. After giving you messages and looking after you, he slipped out of the bedroom to go show you something. He comes back with a pan, a non-stick one too.

“Baby is that…” You softly whisper, vision getting blurry with the tears in your eyes.

“Yeah. I saw you going through pans on Amazon so I thought I’d pick one up for you instead,” He explains. He goes on to explain his shopping process, going through the nitty gritty of the features of the cookware.

“The salesman told me that it’s made of stone too so it doesn’t retain strong odors like fish and is oven-safe. You’ll have crispy edges and browned crusts too– honey, are you crying?”

You take a big gulp of the boba before setting it down, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater. Hormones were everywhere, your emotions are a mess, you’re going to be bleeding for the next 5 days and here is your husband: an absolute sweetheart, the only man there is for you. You walk over to him and wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him tight while trying to keep the tears down.

“Thanks, honey. I appreciate it. A lot. Tons, even.” You softly mumble. He brings a hand to the small of your back, giving you small pats as well. You feel a content rumble from his chest, smiling because you know that your fight is now a thing of the past.

“Anything for my girl,” he responds. “Name it and I’ll get it for you.”

“What if I want cuddles right now?” “Your wish is my command,” he agrees. With a pleased smile, he wraps you in a fuzzy blanket before laying at your side and hugging you like you’re a teddy bear. Well, he’s your teddy bear but today you don’t mind having the roles reversed.

NOTE - Today's fic is a little short because I am (1) tired and (2) not having a nice time rn!!! Yeyy!!! It's Valentine's Day today (as of writing) and not to sound like a salty person but everyone getting gifts from either their partner or friends made me feel a lot more alone 😭😭 Like a relationship is not what I'm looking for right now but it won't hurt to yk- receive something, even if it's just chocolate or candy. Anyways, I hope your Valentine's Day went great and if you confessed then I hope your feelings were reciprocated and if not then it's not the end of the world yk, you'll find the right one in the right time <3 Tysmm for reading my fics and I <3333 UUUUUUU (also this fic is inspired by that one reddit story)

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x y/n #fluff #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy fluff #biohazard #resident evil damnation #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil x you #leon s kennedy x reader

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starrystevie · 11 months ago

Text

18+ | cw: somno, smut | crossposted on twitter

eddie's loud, he can't help it. in everything he does, he's big & dramatic & commands the attention of the room. it's one of the reasons steve falls for him in the first place. when they're fucking in a tiny trailer with thin walls however it becomes a problem.

it only takes getting caught once with wayne's all knowing stare the next day when steve comes to pick eddie up for a date. he snuck out the window that morning to avoid being found but it turns out eddie's loud mouth did the work for them the night before.

if anything, steve's proud that he can fuck eddie enough that he can't keep his mouth shut. turn his brain and limbs to mush as he rattles out curse after curse, praise after praise. proud that he can get eddie so thoroughly fucked that his name is echoing off the walls.

at first it was cute, bending down to smother eddie's mouth with a kiss to swallow yet another too loud moan. at first they'd giggle when eddie would shout steve's name as he hit his favorite spot that set his nerves on fire. at first steve would whisper filth in his ear hoping he'd take the hint and quiet down to his level, slowing his hips to roll in an agonizing pace. but nothing worked. steve would still pound into him and eddie would still yell like they had the world all to themselves.

"you should just fuck me when i'm passed out," eddie moaned as they took advantage of wayne's overnight shift. "it'll -fuck- it'll be like the best wet dream i could ever have."

steve's hips stuttered as he thought about it, and then picked up even harder when he pictured it. "yeah? want me to keep you quiet, baby?"

it didn't take long for them to finish, took even less time to start round two after they got hard again while planning out the details. turns out they both are a little too into the idea of steve taking him apart when he's asleep.

the first time, eddie wakes up halfway through while steve is blowing him and is too excited to go back to sleep so he resorts to biting into a pillow to keep quiet. the second time, steve's too afraid of eddie waking up again so he settles with fucking into his own fist and then coming all over his bare ass. eddie wakes up while the sun rises to the sheets stuck to him with his cock hard and red which gets them both going again.

they finally hit the sweet spot after a while of trial and error.

they fall asleep curled around each other like they always do, only this time eddie's ass has been thoroughly stretched and steve falls asleep with his half hard cock nestled between his cheeks. when steve inevitably wakes up, skin sweaty where the two are pressed together, the fun can begin.

it doesn't take too long for him to get hard again, it doesn't take too long for him to slip his freshly lubed fingers into his ass, it doesn't take too long for him to get his cock fully surrounded by heat as he slides fully into eddie.

eddie snuffles against the pillow and steve freezes, an excited panic thrumming through his veins, until his boyfriend quiets back down with one final small whimper. he rolls his hips slowly, listens to the ambient noise in the trailer for any signs of someone else being awake and gently brings his hand up to cover eddie's mouth. just in case. just like eddie asked for however many times ago.

fucking into eddie when he's pliant is everything steve could have dreamed up. nothing will compare to being able to fuck exactly how they like to, loud and electric and fast and perfect, but this? grinding his hips with his nose pressed into the back of eddie's head, every inch of him on edge as he waits to either get caught or succeed, is a thrill in and of itself.

he comes probably too fast, too turned on by the whole thing. he comes buried deep in eddie, twitching out every last drop, keeping his hips pressed close. he comes with his mouth wide open on eddie's neck, teeth skimming over sensitive skin, whispering out curses that even the best ears couldn't hear because they're only meant for eddie's.

steve pulls out, sleepy & sated, reaching down to run his fingers through the mess of come & lube that follows. eddie whimpers something quiet & sweet so steve gives him his fingers against his lips like a reward for being good. for being quiet. for trusting steve like he does.

eddie's sore when he wakes up in the morning. he grimaces against the pull in his ass as he goes to stand until he realizes what happens. reaches between his legs to feel how tender his hole his. looks on the sheets and sees where he came against them in his sleep.

he wakes steve up with his mouth. considers it a much deserved payback until he's squirming against the mattress & whines out eddie's name.

"you fucked me?" eddie asks as he pops off with a grin. it's not a question that needs to be answered nor is the next one. "did it work?"

steve groans as he tangles his fingers in eddie's hair, bringing his mouth back where he wants it. mutters out a few curse words as eddie trails his fingers over his balls. "what do you think?"

"i think you need to shut up before i'm the one who has to keep you quiet now."

they have wayne's schedule memorized and eddie uses his standard early saturday morning shift that day as an excuse to make steve get as loud as he can, his name echoing off the walls this time around, driving him crazy with his lips and tongue and fingers.

little do they know that wayne now has his fingers plugging his ears with a grimace, wishing he hadn't swapped shifts with gary for the day, contemplating going in to work anyway to escape his loud ass nephew and his loud ass boyfriend.

#uhhhh hi hello tumblr i have other things to be doing but this thought has plagued me all morning #eddie being a fucking loudmouth even (or especially) while he's getting railed is my roman empire #my writing #steddie #steddie drabble #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie smut

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astroboots · 1 year ago

Text

Superhuman stamina

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: The dangers of dating a man with superhuman stamina is that it's going to leave you sore.

Content: Miguel is a demanding menace. Overstimulation. Multiple orgasm. Squirting.

Word Count: 1.4k

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

The thing about dating a man that has been genetically imprinted with the DNA of a spider is that one of the side-effects of such an occurrence means he has superhuman stamina.

It's something Miguel had told you in the early days of your relationship, listing out this characteristic as just another facet of his personality, much in the way someone would say that they're a Virgo on their Tinder profile.

You hadn't thought much of it at the time, too distracted by the list of characteristics that preceded it: retractable talons? telescopic night vision? ORGANIC WEBBING?!

In retrospect, that was naïve. The talons don't really affect your day to day. They do come out when Miguel's emotional state is particularly elevated, which has lead to incidents. Like that time you had to replace your new purchased armchair, when you were on top and post-sex your new armchair looked like it had been mauled by an escaped zoo lion.

The telescopic night vision? Incredibly convenient at night when there's a blackout and you need to find your cell phone.

And the webbing... the less said about that the better, really.

But now that you've dated as long as you have, the superhuman stamina, you realize is by far the one that has the most profound consequences on your life.

At the time you hadn't realized that those enhanced attributes weren't limited to aerial battles against the latest villain of the week when he was fighting mutant lizards, or rhino men. It also haunts you in the privacy of your bedroom.

Because this is what happens when you date a man with superhuman stamina: You'll often oversleep and barely make it on time to work. On most days you've lost your voice. You'll be sore a lot.

And the thing about dating Miguel specifically is that the man is stubborn, relentless, demanding and that too extends into your bedroom.

"Fuck, Miguel, I can't."

"'Course you can, nena, look at how well you're taking me," he says as he stares down at the space between your legs where you and him join. Where you're spread snugly around him. Where his thick cock, slick with you both, disappears into your cunt then re-emerges.

It's wet. It's messy, the sheets beneath you soaked and sticky, from the last three (four?) rounds. As snug of a fit his thick cock is inside you, he's filled you so full there's no space left for you to fit what he's spilled inside you, over and over again. It keep leaking out with each press and demanding thrust as he buries his cock inside you as deep as he goes.

You shake your head even though you know it's useless. Pleading with him has never gotten you anywhere before. You don't know why you think it's going to make a difference now.

"Please, I-I can't-- nngh, too much," you plead. You whine. You sob.

"Shh, nena, it's okay," he hushes. Again with the cooing. Again with the sweet little nicknames, but he's not showing mercy, his hand moving down from your hip, down between your legs, until his thumb presses down on your clit.

Electricity crackles through the length of your spine. Your back arches, lifting off the bed, you don't know if you are chasing into his touch or running away from it: the first? latter? both? neither.

You can't form a coherent thought anymore. It's good and too much, and your brain is short-circuiting from it all.

"There you go, see? Doing so good. Look how pretty you are taking me."

Even in the dim light of your bedroom, you can see his expression clearly. Eyes a piercing crimson red, the corners of his canine teeth peeking out from his self-satisfied smile.

He bends down, nearly folding you in half as he presses his cock as deep as it goes, until he's nudging at that sweet and perfect spot that has your vision go white and blinding behind your eyes.

Sweet, sharp ache scrapes close to your bones at the sensation of him filling you again. The way he stretches you to your limits, until you've forgotten how to breathe, and may very well be the death of you.

It's there again. The oppressive warmth that swirls sweetly in your stomach as a warning. Tears prickle your eyes as everything in you squeezes tight at the sensation.

Oh shit, it's--

"Fuck that's it nena. That's it. Come on my cock again. Come on it and I'll fill you up."

It rises in you. A pressure that builds and builds and builds, and robs you of your breath until you have nothing left to give. It's overwhelming, the way the pleasure burns at every one of your nerve endings, until your face tingles with a numbness and you can no longer feel your legs.

"Mi-Miguel," you stutter, "I can't--"

"Yes you can."

The pressure is still there, expanding with an ominous volume, and no, he's wrong. You can't. Something is different. This isn't like before. You squirm underneath him, feet planted against the mattress for leverage.

"Settle down," he says, but you don't know how you're supposed to do that when your entire body has been wounded so tight you think the whole of you are going to snap.

You shake your head frantically, sobbing with a raw burn in your throat as you thrash underneath him, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation. Oh fuck-- it's too much.

Oh god, you can't-you can't-you can't--

You raise your palms against his firm chest, pressing back, in a half-formed attempt to make him ease up, but it only spurs him on. One arm loops behind your back, lifting you from the mattress to meet his hips as he snaps them into you. And oh fuck!

It hits something devastating inside. A pin prick of pleasure that strikes every nerve in your body. It hits a frequency that makes your teeth shatter, every cell in your skull vibrate. Your leg kicks out, body twisting and turning to get away from the overwhelming sensation.

"Callate," you hear his warm strained breath in your ear.

His free hand locks around your wrists, pinning them to the side, then he's lunging forward, his mouth pressed to your shoulders and you can feel the sharp warning of his fangs resting on your skin. "Calm down, or I'm gonna bite you."

You still, shivering as his hips pulls back, then he hits that devastating spot again and again.

Every muscle in you locks up tight until you can't move and for a moment you wonder if he really did bite down. But you can still feel his mouth on your throat, his tongue lapping gently at your sweat-soaked skin until the whole of your neck tingles.

He doesn't go easy on you, thrusting into you with the same demanding pace as before, and God. The sensation is heavy and ominous like nothing else you've felt before. Large and looming with nowhere else to go, and there's nothing you can do to prevent it, and you know that if this doesn't stop, if Miguel doesn't stop, then all of you are going to burst.

You open your mouth, trying to warn him, but all that comes out is the first syllable.

"Miii--" The rest dies in a wail, and you realize it's already too late. The pressure shatters and breaks.

You come with a rush of wetness that spills out of you. It soaks everything, your thighs and his, drenching his stomach and drips down against the sheets to join the mess that's already there.

Everything sounds distant like you're pulled under water. You can barely even register Miguel's voice in your ear. "Oh shit, are you-- fuck, that's --"

He sounds surprised. But he doesn't stop. Miguel fucks you through it. Your climax and his, with frantic thrusts, until finally he settles into a slow and gentler pace.

When you come back to yourself, he's kneeling above you, his large bodyframe looming over yours.

"Fuck, babe..."

He palms at his softening cock, glistening wet with your mess as he stares down at you with darkened eyes. Slowly jerking the length of it with a lazy pace that has you mesmerized. It twitches in his grip with interest, and you know it's not going to take long before he's ready to go again.

"One more time," Miguel says. "Let's see if we can make you do it again."

Jesus fucking Christ

Your head drops down to your pillow with exhaustion.

The thing about dating a man with superhuman stamina is that it may very well kill you.

Dedication & Credits: To my beloved @thirstworldproblemss who I hope is driving safely across the country through the mountains I love youuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

And to poor @guruan who I woke up with my other fic and robbed her of her beauty sleep.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

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daengtokki · 11 months ago

Text

Warm

Kim Seungmin/Female Reader

wc: 2.5k

rating: fluff/explicit/18+ (contains oral sex) ಇ

contains: domestic idol!Seungmin — oneshot written as a continuation of Blind Date! ૮ฅ・ﻌ・აฅ

✩彡

The room is cold. The two blankets you have tucked up over your head aren’t doing very much at all. You could get out of bed and turn the thermostat up, but that would require leaving this nest that you worked so hard to warm up.

It can’t possibly be morning though, so why are you awake? It feels like night still. It feels dark and cold and very very quiet.

You run your hand across the chilly sheet and feel for a body. Seungmin’s body. He’s not there. Why wouldn’t he be there? Now you’re forced to peek out and investigate. The room is pitch black, curtain closed tight, tv turned off (you distinctly remember falling asleep with it still on).

But the door is cracked, just a little bit. The faintest glow is coming through, and you can tell right away that it’s coming from the kitchen, possibly the living room.

You yell out his name, but it comes out like a feeble, sleepy groan. Shit, I’ll have to get up.

You try yelling again. This time it echoes through the room, but you’re not sure it made it through the crack in the door and into the kitchen. He doesn’t answer.

Slowly you sit up, keeping one of the blankets wrapped tight around your shoulders and chest. You swing your legs up and over the side of the bed and search the floor for a pair of slippers. None.

The bedroom is carpeted, but nothing else in the house is. Touching your feet down here is no big deal, so you tiptoe to the dresser and pull out a pair of his socks. It takes some work to get into them, seeing as how your joints are frozen, but you manage.

Now to find Seungmin. He doesn’t mind the cold as much as you do, but he can’t be enjoying this.

The floor creaks as you cross the hallway. It’s definitely one of the kitchen light glowing, but the living room is lit up now as well. He’s standing by the kitchen sink, electric kettle in one hand, the other stuffed into his hoodie pocket.

“Minnie!”

He jumps, spilling water hot water onto the counter. “Fuck!”

“Sorry.” You shuffle closer to him, “I yelled for you, twice.”

“Why are you being so sneaky?!”

“I yelled for you!” You whisper it this time. “Why is it so cold? Why are you up?”

“The heat won’t kick on.” He finished pouring hot water into his mug. “And I woke up…couldn’t get back to sleep. Do you want some?”

You look into the mug as he stirs his hot chocolate, “yes please…you know, this never happened at my old apartment.”

“Your old apartment was always a thousand degrees.

“Yeah, that’s true.”

He gets into the cupboard again and pulls out your mug. “Pick one.” He gives you two different hot chocolate options. You choose the mocha one.

“My body knew you weren’t there.”

“That’s cute.”

“I know,” you walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. He’s still pretty warm. “Are you coming back to bed?”

He mmhmm’s you and hands you your mug, “we will worry about the heat tomorrow, I guess.”

“Good.”

——

You set your mug on the bedside table and crawl back into your chilly pile of blankets. Seungmin finds the tv remote first and clicks it back on before doing the same. The glow in the room makes it feel a little warmer; the hot chocolate helps a little, too.

“Your legs are cold.” He pulls you a little closer when you wrap yourself around him. “Pants would probably help.”

“Yours are warm.”

“You’re gonna suck all of the warm out of me.”

“That’s usually the plan.” You bury your face against his side and relax. He yawns and pushes himself a little further under the covers. It’s comfortable. And it’s warm.

“Seungmin?”

He lets out a soft yeah. It’s almost a whisper, and it sends a little chill down your back. You almost forget what you were going to say.

“I’m not very tired anymore.”

“You just have to get warm again.” He rubs his hand in circles over your back, but that just wakes you up even more. “Close your eyes.”

Instead of closing your eyes, your fingers find the hem of his hoodie and make their way underneath. You can hear his reaction in your head before he even notices what you’re doing.

He flinches and you can feel his stomach flex under your cold palm, “no no no!” His sets his hand over yours on top of the fabric and kicks his feet, but you have him trapped. “You’re so mean.”

You pull your hand back out and push yourself up on the bed a little, just until you’re face to face with him. He’s smiling—you kiss around his mouth until he closes his lips for you. But you only peck them once before moving along his jaw and to his neck.

“Oh, you’re really not tired.”

“Are you? I can stop.” You climb on top of him anyway and work your way across his throat—at least where you can get to with his clothes still in the way.

“I’m good.”

You shove both hands under his hoodie and slowly move your palms up either side of him. His hips shift under you; stomach tightens, a little sound escapes his lips.

“Your hands are so cold,” he laughs and brings you in closer, pulling the blanket up over your shoulders at the same time. “Come here.”

You latch onto his mouth again and kiss hard until he relaxes into his mound of pillows. One of your hands move down from his ribs and along the outside of his waist and hip, kneading gently until you get a handful of thigh. He jumps a bit— he’s ticklish— but settles back immediately when you soften your touch.

He makes more room for you between his legs. You take the opportunity to slide your open palm to his inner thigh and underneath his shorts. Seungmin moans into your mouth when you touch him, and then giggles, “just take them off, please don’t tease me.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” You can’t tease him the way he teases you, you’re too impatient for that. “I mean, I will…” you sit up on your knees and look at him. The blanket slips from your back and piles up behind you, “…take them off,” you finish your thought as you look down at his legs spread open in front of you.

He’s propped up on his elbows, looking down at himself, and then at you. You reach behind for the blanket and throw it over your head, and then disappear under it.

“So I don’t get to wa—” he stops abruptly and laughs. “Oh, be gentle please.”

“I always am,” your voice is muffled between him and the thick blanket. You pull gently at the waistband of his shorts until they come down just a bit, showing more soft skin. You place a kiss there and Seungmin flinches and you can see him hard and twitching beneath the fabric already.

“That’s teasing.”

You sush into his stomach and wrap your hand around him, still keeping his shorts on. He bucks his hips up again, this time much harder, so your hand slides smoothly over him. When he settles back on the bed, you pull down the fabric until the head of his cock peeks out. You put your lips on him and listen carefully for any little sound he might make.

He doesn’t disappoint. His groan comes out husky, and his stomach sucks in as he keeps himself steady. Your tongue slides up and over, and then down the length of him, getting him as wet as possible.

Just as you’re working him as far into your mouth as you can manage, you feel a cold burst of air. You don’t let it distract you, but as you slowly come back up, you sneak a look at him, and he’s smiling down at you. You can just make him out in the glow of the tv.

“That’s much better,” he says it in almost a whisper, “do it again.”

You don’t look at him, but you listen. His cock disappears completely in your mouth again. You hold him in as long as you can manage, and right before you slowly release him, you feel his hand brush the side of your face.

Now you lock eyes as you slide him out, making a mess of spit as you go. His mouth hangs open a little and one corner of his mouth twitches into a grin. You take him fully in your mouth once more before wrapping your fingers around him.

Seungmin lays back and sighs, enjoying the steady grip of your hand and the warmth of your mouth. You listen to the little hitches in his breath as you speed up—slow down—speed up a little more.

Suddenly his hand is on the back of your neck. You didn’t notice him sit up again. Now he’s looking down on you, gripping you tight but letting you keep your own pace.

You moan when he hits the back of your throat, and he holds you there.

“Do you like that?” He speaks softly, still kneading into your neck, but gently, and with just enough pressure to keep you there.

Another moan to answer him. Your eyes start to water, and you pull him in a little deeper even though you know you shouldn’t. You need to come up for air.

He senses it and softens his grip on you, runs his hand down your back until he can reach the hem of your sweatshirt, and pulls it up. The tips of his fingers tickle as he slowly moves them over your skin, and you have no choice but to release him. You put your hands to work so you can catch your breath.

“That’s good,” he wipes at your messy lower lip with his thumb and holds your gaze as you stroke him. His eyes flutter closed and he bites down on his lip to try and stifle a groan, but it comes out like a desperate mmm instead. He laughs at himself before looking down at you again.

“It must be,” you get up on your knees and pull him closer with your free hand so you can kiss him, but all you manage is a few bites at his lower lip. He grabs your hips and pushes you down hard on the blankets.

Just for a moment, you remember the coldness in the room, but Seungmin is on top of you before it matters. He kisses at your neck and pulls at the collar to get to more skin. His hands reach under your sweatshirt and fingers brush over hard nipples, but doesn’t attempt to pull it off of you. In fact, he pulls it back down over your stomach as he kisses further and further down.

“You’re still cold,” he laughs and hooks his fingers in the band of your underwear, slides then down your legs and discards them. Then his hoodie comes off— also thrown to the floor, before he leans forward and sucks at the skin on your inner thigh.

This he does for an achingly long time, because he’s much more patient than you, and so much of his pleasure comes from the wait. Even when you whine his name, he acts like he doesn’t hear—just keeps kissing and licking at his own pace.

Eventually though, he does give in. His hands slide roughly over your thighs and he pushes them even further apart. You feel his warm breath on you first, then his mouth. The contrast of the cold room and the heat of his tongue gives you goosebumps all over.

You know he’s holding himself back, but it’s still enough to get a whimper out of you. He moans back in response, and then the heat is gone. When you peek down at him, he’s looking back, mouth hovering inches above you.

“Minnie…”

“Yeeaaah?”

He goes back down and kisses your thigh again.

“Stop”

“I did”

“You’re a jerk”

“I know,” he closes his mouth over you and runs his tongue up until he hits your clit. His lips close around it and he licks gently until you push your hips into his face. You can feel his teeth graze lightly against you, and it makes you shudder.

You push into him again and reach down to run your fingers into his hair. He lets out a gravelly moan and you feel the vibration run through you, but he holds you down to keep you from moving.

Lips close tight around your clit again so he can suck. You can hear the little kissing noises he deliberately makes every time he releases you and latches back on again. It’s too much, and you feel yourself getting close to coming. You were already halfway there before he pushed you back onto the bed.

He stops again—makes his way back to your thighs—sits up again and looks at you, gives you his best cute, innocent smirk. It would be innocent, if it wasn’t for the wet mess all over his lips and chin. He dives back down and teases…uses the tip of his tongue to just barely touch you. It sends little sparks of pleasure through you, but it’s not enough. He knows that.

You tug his hair again. It gets his mouth moving. He licks and kisses, and you have to focus on not coming yet, because you want it to last so much longer. He adjusts himself for better leverage, and two fingers slide in easily, reaching and pushing at just the right spot. He presses and licks hard, like he’s trying to make his tongue and fingers meet.

Seungmin looks up at you, lips tight around your clit. You can’t hold it off anymore. It rises again, slowly. You’re warm all over, your thighs start to shake despite his grip on them. A smile lights up in his eyes when you buck your hips to his mouth. You let yourself cry out, a mix of fuck and oh god and Minnie fills the room.

He lightens his touch and flicks his tongue across you until your hips lift and you cry out again, loud enough to echo through the room. The release lasts longer than you expect, and he doesn’t slow down until your moans turn into steady, heavy breaths.

But when you settle, he keeps eating, unable to get enough. You reach for his hair and pull again, because now you’re too sensitive and his mouth is too much.

He stops, gives you a moment, then slides his tongue over you once more, just to see your body shake again.

“Minnie,” you breath out, this time a little more coherent. He’s kissing his way up your stomach, but you hear his little hmm? from under your sweatshirt. “Come here.”

You gently tug at him until he pops out and looks at you with sleepy eyes.

He plants a loud kiss under your jaw. “Yes?”

“I wasn’t finished with you.”

“No, that finished me,” he laughs into your ear and tucks his arms underneath you. “Now I’m tired.”

“And cold.”

Seungmin lifts and drops you down on the pillows before pulling the blankets up to his neck. He folds himself around you, pulls you tight against him, and places a kiss on top of your head.

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