#god i love lucky <3 delight and a half

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

ok but Lucky Aces Wild is one of The Characters Ever. She's 14 (AND a half). She's lying about her age online because her best friends in the world are 17-18 and she can't bear the thought of losing them. She's impressively rude. She hacked the entire Las Vegas Casino Strip in under 15 minutes. She can only be emotionally vulnerable when the other person physically cannot respond. She exclusively eats chicken tenders at exorbitantly fancy restaurants that her mother owns. She agrees to do an extremely illegal massive-scale heist for friends she met on Discord. She's even asexual. She's my best friend in the entire world.

[hoseoksluna]

VAPOR, pt III. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc 

genre: smut

word count: 9.9k

summary: the naughtiest of times bring about the greatest of healing.

pinterest board: vapor

warnings: punishment, spanking, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), a little bit of ass play, cum eating, raw sex, multiple orgasms, sex toy included, praise kink, jk smokes:), jk also reveals a past pain:(

note: nawt my best work, but i guess it's alright:( here it is, my loves—the very end to the steam series. i enjoyed indulging myself in this world and i'd like to thank all of you for allowing me to do that. thank you so much for all the love and support. i do all of this for you:) wink wink. this is pure smut and nothing else, and i hope you like this at least a little bit. i love you all so much, pwease give me your feedback, thank you. <3

Jungkook thought brushing his teeth with you in the morning while you wore his boxers and stole one of his white, ribbed tank tops was heaven enough. That was until he couldn’t lay his sleepy gaze off of you when you sat on his balcony with a cigarette between your two fingers and a cup of strong coffee in the other two and your thumb. 

Still can’t. 

He’s never been a morning person. To him, all mornings resembled some kind of hell that you suffer through until afternoon rolls around until you finally awaken. But seeing you like this, delighted, with two of your pleasures… he might become an early bird. Wake up each morning with joy just to see yours. Just to watch you be at complete peace, puffing out the smoke out into the sun-breathed air. 

The weather is a stark contrast to yesterday’s funeral of clouds. Not one is in sight, sun rays envelop the heavens in a golden light that spills through your hair—half done in a messy knot of some sort at the back of your head while wisps of shorter strands frame your face and your neck. He’s given you his spirally hair tie that he wore in his pre-military days. Your eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he told you how long he let his hair grow because he knew shaving his head was inevitable and it served as some kind of strange preparation for him. You brushed your fingers through his hair, then, unbelief painting your face in cutesy colors. As if you tried to feel the long-gone memory of his long tufts of hair that curled at the ends. He was so touched by it—maybe it’s one of the reasons why he can’t stop looking at you now.

It’s dawning on him that you love him. That you’re his. It wasn’t a dream, after all. 

And you’re such a stark image of effortless beauty—even with your puffy eyelids and mouth, with your healthily flushed cheeks. How can he not look at you… he fears if he does, you’ll disappear into the thin air. He can’t afford that, not when he went through so much pain to get to this point. 

This is his reality now. It’s difficult to get used to. He’d never thought he’d get this lucky. Perhaps, heaven does care about him, wants to see him after all, because it blessed him with you, blessed him with freedom that he can indulge in hand in hand with you. 

Jungkook feels an inkling to find a church and kneel at the altar. Thank God for what he’s done for him. Call his dad and tell him that he found Him.

The thought of how happy he’d be fills him with vigor redolent of the last of the summer creeping in. There’s so much of it that Jungkook finds it hard to breathe, his lungs taut with all this joy and love that he feels. 

It seems as though this time he will, in fact, live his life happily. Get rid of his alcoholic habits, drink from the fountain of you instead—make that a brand new habit. Keep his paints. Keep the memory of your features and your sleep-tousled hair engraved deeply in his brain so he can transfer it onto his sketchbook. Eternalize you for generations to come. Clutch those papers tight to his chest when God does take him to heaven once his time comes. 

Happiness. How did he deserve such a thing? 

He sighs, watches you suck the last of your cigarette. The sunlight radiates you with a glow too grand for his eyes to take in and as you breathe out the swirls of smoke, he has to look elsewhere. Your full breasts pebble against his tank top, too stretched out for your small form, and it douses him with liquid tendrils of desire for you. All due to the fact you’re wearing his clothes, that you’re bare underneath them, that your nakedness brought about so much pleasure for him last night—due to the very memory that you didn’t wear your underwear for him because they would get in his way. Fuck, his cock tightens under his joggers, the ones that match those you wore to bed. He hasn’t eaten yet and he thinks you’re the perfect choice of breakfast for the day. 

You put out your cigarette in the ashtray he found for you in the cabinet, left behind by the tenants that lived here before him, and a soft smile curls your slumber-kissed mouth. Your irises flick across the width of his chest, across his crossed forearms and biceps and your smile deepens. You cradle your cup of coffee in both of your hands, slouching in your chair. He’ll never tire of the way it feels to be looked at by you. The tendrils of desire thicken in him, flowing rapidly in his bloodstream. 

“What do you wanna eat for breakfast?” you ask, and there’s something dangerous about your eyes now, mingling with the light and joy, dimming it little by little. He likes it so much, likes your question all the more, that he props his elbows on his knees and hooks his fingers around the back of yours, thumbs fondling the round bones. 

The way his boxers don’t even cover the apex of your thighs, having ridden up so high—he stifles the hiss rising in his throat. They suit you so much he might let you keep them. That is, after he ruins them. 

“You,” he murmurs, smirking, and you grin at him so luminously that the speed of his bloodstream slows down. Suddenly, the movement of your hand as you set your cup down is in slow motion—your fingernails provoking him by lightly scratching down his forearms, too. You study his tattoos as you do it, your gaze darkening fully. 

You root them at the place, where he’s holding you. Palms flat against the back of his hands. Lean closer to him until you nudge your nose against his. The close proximity will always mess him up, no matter what. He feels himself bespangled by your light, by your celestiality, bringing in the heat until it’s all he knows. 

You. 

“What if I want to eat you first?” you whisper, head angling to kiss him on his jawline. Oh, he’s already done for; body charged with electricity all over. Your mouth closes over that bone so, so slowly, your tongue licking over that place in the same tempo, causing the hair on his body to stand up to attention. 

“Eat what?” He laughs through his nose and you take after him—your giggles a warm rumble that sends tingles down his back, even though all his body longs to do is whimper for you. He knows what you meant, but he simply wants to hear you say it. The memory of the way you rubbed your face in such a private part of him, not just once—but twice, floods his brain and he’s so hard for you that it’s unbearable. 

If he doesn’t get his release any time soon, he might combust. 

He’d much rather it happens in your mouth. Like it did in the dressing room last night. Oh, fuck. Those winged fuckers are going at it again in his stomach, bringing about his madness for you. 

“Your nose first, then your dick.” 

It’s now that he lets out that sound—he can’t help it, can’t hold it back. Might need that cigarette of yours, even though he only smokes casually. This is what you do to him. 

And you like that sound. You like it so much that you rise to your feet, only to straddle him. And, leaning back, he pushes you towards him until you’re flush against his body. To make you feel how aroused he is for you, your little pussy sitting against his imprint. At the feeling of it through such a thin barrier, you press your hum over his nose, kissing the ball of it with a sweet, soft giggle. His madness evolves into a frustration again and he wonders at the whole concept of it. Now that he has you all to himself, his sexual need for you tends to be on such a raging base, full of yearning, full of frenzy. So intense, so thunderous, so deafening. The world might break apart, fall upon every head with its destruction, if that need remains unfulfilled. 

It’s spine-chilling. Absolutely petrifying. And irrevocably thrilling with all its bolts of power. 

He kneads your bum with both of his hands, unraveling that melodramatic concept of his titillation for you with the strength he uses to squeeze your flesh with. Jungkook goes as far as to lift you onto your knees, raise the fabric of his boxers to reveal your skin and, holding it taut in his fist, he wetly kisses the red imprint of his hand that he left behind. 

And his need flutters with something still yet forbidden. 

Yours does, too. And it’s you who voices it out, setting it free like a bird that has been caged for centuries. It touches him, immensely—a deep sea of feelings resurfacing in him, sloshing to and fro, threatening to spill over. 

“Spank me.” 

Lust and love. A peculiar concoction of it that doesn’t exist in the realm of words. He feels it, feels it with every breath he takes. 

“I should, right?” he rasps, dragging his fingernails down your carmine bum, sneaking his fingers around the squishy bottom of the flesh. He might drench his joggers—he didn’t wear his boxers to sleep; you’re wearing them for him. “For wanting to bite my nose off.” He clicks his tongue, squeezing, other hand wraps around your waist, holding you still. “I should spank you until it hurts. Until you cry.” 

The most gentle of a moan spouts out of your mouth and he twitches, his need growing—all because you want it as much as he does.

Jungkook lifts his hand in a promise he’s about to do it and you shiver in anticipation. 

“Please,” is all you say, but he’s not going to give it to you. He places his hand back in a soft manner, lifting it again to tease you and you wiggle your butt, his boxers still tucked halfway in between, the flesh rippling and he groans. A sight to die for. “I deserve it. Please, do it. I want it.” 

He sighs, a wet spot forming in the place of the joggers where his tip is, and he can’t see anything. Can’t see shit when he lifts you up and takes you inside. Can’t see anything but you and the surface of his kitchen island, which he sets you down on, spreading your legs. 

Confused by the swift motion, you rise to your elbows, but he pushes you right back down—holding your hips in the air, just like he did last night. You will see what he’s about to do to you, nonetheless. No need for you to strain your arms. 

And when he closes his mouth over your clothed pussy, you roll your eyes back, moaning his name so loudly that it echoes throughout the kitchen, rooting around his dripping length. And his arousal for you is so overwhelming, so sensitive that one thrust of his hips against the fabric of his joggers brings him such pleasure coursing through his body that he might as well come like this. 

Jungkook rids you of his boxers in a blink of an eye, throwing them somewhere out of his sight. No need for them, either. 

Burying his nose in your clit as he licks your slit and plunges his tongue inside, he narrows his eyes at you as yet another wave of pleasure comes down upon him. This time from having you for breakfast, at last. You mewl so sweetly that it drives him to thrust his hips again and he groans, groans so deeply for you. Needs you to know what you’re doing to him. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me one day,” he breathes out, lightly dragging the tip of his tongue across your clit before he swallows, hissing at the delight of your taste. You moan, trembling, barely able to take it. Fuck one day, he’s about to die now. “And you’re gonna make me come in my pants like a fucking boy. Is that what you want?” 

Jungkook flicks your bud, fleetingly, just to make your sounds shudder in the sudden intensity. You clench your small fists in the air, your tremor so terribly visible and rigorous, and with your breath hitching in your throat, he sucks that delicious part of you into his mouth. 

You stammer, badly enough that he begins to feel a sliver of pity for you, not enough for him to stop. He’s ravaging your little princess parts so hard that it takes a few tries for you to get the words out in a steady flow and he doesn’t help you. Doesn’t ease up for you, at all. Flicking, sucking, licking you up all over, rolling his tongue—he simply doesn’t stop, does it so fast that you lose yourself in it, submitting to it with all your being. 

And along with your submission come out your words. 

In perfect fashion.

“No, I want to suck you off.” 

And along with those your orgasm, too. 

Jungkook watches you take it, eyes lidded heavily, take all the pleasure he gives to you as it unfolds throughout your quivering body that he holds tightly in his grasp so you wouldn’t fall over. He sucks your clit until his mouth goes numb, opening it to drink you, not letting a drop of your nectar go to waste. You struggle to reciprocate the eye contact and he finds it so endearing that he wants to make you come all over again. 

Setting you down, he caresses your wet little pussy with his thumb, palm spread wide across his tank top clothing your tummy. And while you try to catch your breath, he sends rays of his affection down to her the more he looks at her. He loves her so much that he bends down and kisses her. Over and over. Kisses the hickey he left on your left fold, the one below your hip bone as well. And then, he glances at you. Flushed and glowing, a personification of light. A girl most satisfied. So beautiful.

You sit up and the feeling of the coldness of the marble against your sensitive seashell makes you let out a whine, biting your lip briefly before you enclose it around his. You moan into the kiss and Jungkook knows why. He deepens it, hands drifting down your full breasts, your stiffened nipples. The touch makes you hum and grind your pussy against the island, opening your mouth. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, playing with you, beckoning out your mouth-watering little whines. And when his fingers reach the hem of his tank top, he takes it off of you—your breasts bouncing, the wet spot in his joggers enlarging. 

In this position, you’re forehead to forehead. And this time, he doesn’t want to kiss you. No, he wants to talk. 

“You taste good, don’t you?” Jungkook husks, an allusion to the way you moaned into the kiss, fists on either side of your outstretched thighs. You bite your lip and furrow your brows, a hand sneaking around his neck. Such horny expression, scraping his madness raw. He’s greedy for more; wants to bleed for you. “Tell me. Tell me how good you taste.” 

You sink your teeth so hard into your bottom lip at his words that you whimper once you let go, the pillow so reddened, so cute. The wrinkle between your brows deepens and you grind your hips again. Oh, he’ll put his hand there, on your still needy pussy, as soon as you answer him. 

And you do—and his whole bloodstream lines with a river of flames.

“I taste so good,” you whine and he rewards you for your goodness, for that heat. Places his fingers flat underneath your clit, palm up. You immediately roll your hips forward and whisk your eyes back. That sensitive you are, after such an intense orgasm. He swears. Takes it as a sign to rub your bud and, pushing them back with one hand, he gathers your slick and smears it upon it, making it all the more pleasurable for you. Gusts of breaths emit out of your mouth, intertwining with the squeaky sounds of your juices and Jungkook almost drools, aching to eat you out all over again. The feeling of your parted lips, your slipperiness, the softness of your swollen bud—he grows desperate for it. 

But he wants you to come like this, too.

“Ride my fingers,” he whispers, just for you to hear and not the angels surrounding him, whose favor he gained. “Come on. Grind your pussy on them, sweetheart.” 

You mewl and you listen, straightening your spine. Use his shoulders for stability as you swing your hips back and forth. The silkiness of your flesh, the wetness that makes this a smooth ride for you—he moans, sucking in his breath each time. And then you become so terribly whiny, eyes squeezed tight, that he can’t help but to strum your clit as fast as he can. Your shudders begin again, your breasts rippling and he just thinks they’re asking for his tongue. 

A flick of the muscle on your nipple. You cry out, arching your back, halting the movement of your pelvis and he takes over. Takes merely a minute to make you come all over his hand and scream out his name. 

And then… then he grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you in—almost nose to nose. A gesture to make you listen. To make you pay attention to the words he wants to say to you. 

“This is what you deserve,” he purrs, speaking of the former mention of punishment, studying the way your eyes grow bigger than they already are. “To come again and again for me—and what’s more, I’m not finished with you yet. That wasn’t your last orgasm.” 

You mewl and it seems that it’s all that you’re capable of uttering, the clitoral orgasm stealing all of your vocabulary. 

Or at least he thought so. 

“But I want you to spank me,” you say, your voice a satiny softness. “I want it so bad that I’ll do anything for it.” 

Jungkook doesn’t know what’s more stimulating—whether the beauty of your strength or the sinfulness of your craving. The flames in him reach higher highs, burning his skin in a way that unfussily forces him to give you what you want; give in to you, surely and wholly.  

“Is that so?” 

You nod, leaning over and closing your mouth over the side of his neck, sucking the skin, making his eyes roll back. And when you begin to focus on his ear, your fingers sinking in his hair, he truly just might submit to that specific craving of yours, even though he wanted to save it for the cabin. 

He might just give you a taste of it now. 

It looks like you’re ready for it, but if he finds that your healing is incomplete, he’ll take care of you, undo the wrongness, distract your thoughts and fold your emotions into a cocoon of his love. 

Pulling you away from him, he lifts you off the island and bends you over it. You giggle in triumph and the dulcet sound falters once he brushes your hair back and, pressing his length against your bare bum, he reciprocates the same treatment you gave to him. He doesn’t destroy your neck more than he already has—he barely has any space left to scatter it with hickeys and he doesn’t wish to cause you discomfort. No, he mouths your ear and kisses the very unmarked skin beneath it, nibbling it ever so gently. 

It’s only when you circle your hips against him that he rips that gentleness away and bites, making you groan out. 

“So that’s what my sweetheart wants,” he breathes, hands drifting to the crooks of those hips, right where your thighs begin, cooling the flames he spat onto that sensitive spot of yours. “Pain.” 

The collision of his palm against your cheek is what steals your breath and you whimper in elation. 

“Oh, fuck yes.” 

He does it again, a bit harder this time, just to hear those delectable words, just to make sure you’re comfortable, rubbing your skin to soothe the sting. And when you pinch your nipples and moan, he gets on his fucking knees for you. Such a good girl; a strong angel.

At your ever persisting service. Eternal. 

Spreading you apart, he catches your dripping slick with his tongue and pushes it back inside, thumbing your other tiny hole—pulling away momentarily to spit on it, smearing the lubrication there before circling it. Jungkook hears the soft thud of your head slumping against the kitchen island and you take it, take his abuse so well that he rewards you by flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit. Over and over until there’s another thing he hears. 

He hears your phone ring. 

His stomach drops. He knows full well who’s calling. And you prove his deduction right. 

“It’s Yoongi,” you sigh, a bit of vexation evident in your voice, and Jungkook buries his face in your pussy, humming into her, purposefully. “Vi-video calling me yet ah-a-again. Oh, fuck.” 

Pleased, he laughs. “Let it ring.” Doesn’t give two shits that he’s calling, but is a little annoyed that he keeps bothering you. 

It doesn’t lessen his fire, though. 

“But.” He withdraws to let you talk. Doesn’t take his eyes off of the glistening of your flesh. “If I tell him off and if he sees what you’re doing to me, he’ll stop calling me.” 

His fire thickens, thrilling tendrils absorbing it. Very well. “Such a smart girl. Go for it, then.” He punctuates his sentence with a curt spank and you jump, rising onto your tippy toes as you curl your back, moans echoing. He caresses your legs all over, mouth latching over your slightly reddened cheek. Thinks it’s a perfect place for another hickey. And as he sucks the supple skin, he sinks a finger inside your heat, your walls welcoming him in. 

You answer the phone with a moan. “I’m busy.” 

You’ve placed your hand to the edge of the island, so Jungkook has a perfect view of what’s currently happening. You’ve hidden your squished breasts behind your forearm—like you did the first time he’d laid his eyes on you via Yoongi’s phone. How the tables have turned is so mind-boggling to him that it drives him to twirl circles on your other tiny hole, eating your ass with such verve that you can’t contain your sounds, especially not when he begins to caress your sweet little spot with his curling fingers. 

Your legs begin to shake. 

Yoongi calls you by your name. “What the fuck is this?” 

“W-what does it look like?” you retort, grinning, looking back at Jungkook, catching his glance. He sends you rays of his love, eyes crinkling, the tip of his tongue finally penetrating inside. “I’m getting my ass eaten and you’re—” You suck a breath in, trying your hardest to remain calm and not succumb to the pleasure. Jungkook worsens it for you; he syncs his finger and his tongue, fucking you in one fast rhythm in both holes at the same time, and your stammer returns. “You-you’re disturbin’ me, oh fuck.” You pant, heavily, letting go of your phone and scratching your nails down the surface, trying to grab onto something, anything. Jungkook hums, endearingly, and catches both of wrists in his hand at the small of your back. Seeing you bound like this, bound in pleasure mainly, while on the phone with your ex-boyfriend almost makes him come in his fucking pants. “I don’t want to fucking come looking at your face. I’m not on your timeline, stop calling me.” 

Oh, Jungkook wouldn’t even let you—and the reason why he intensified your pleasure was to spite your ex-boyfriend. It seems as though it worked because Yoongi remains silent, at loss for words in most probability, and you consider your job done, tugging up your arm. 

“Let me hang up,” you whisper to him and Jungkook loosens his fingers for you, the sound of the call ending etching a smirk on his face. 

He straightens his form and, turning you around, he pins you against the island, his smirk only widening. The love, the proudness he carries in his heart for you, the freedom that oozes out of his every pore—he uses it to kiss you, tenderly. Fights hard to stifle his grin, to mold his lips into yours, but to no avail. You mirror his expression of joy, looking up at him, both of your wrists back in his hold behind your back. 

“You took your spanks so well, enjoyed them,” he murmurs his praise, his other hand clasping around your binding. “Didn’t even think once about the past. And to top it all off, you basically told your ex-boyfriend to fuck off. Moaned your lungs out. I’m in awe,” he continues, his voice dropping an octave lower, meaning every word. “I’m in awe of you. What a good girl you are. The best.”

The glint in your irises bursts and spreads all around, your eyes becoming two lighthouses that gain a new instinct to bring him home, whatever form that might spur into. You blush for him, taken aback by his praise, and your lashes flutter so prettily that he grows weak in the knees. His reactions are constant, never-changing when it comes to you and he finds so much beauty in them, in you that he feels as though it’s golden sand in his fingers and all he longs to do is finish his job like you did. You rouse the inspiration in him—you always have.

And listening to his body, he stumbles back into his former position. On his knees for you, at your ever fucking eternal service. And he makes you come with his fingers stuffed in your heat and his tongue flicking your clit until your knees give out as well and he has to take you then and there. Against the window on the other side, your pleasured body embraced, almost, by the golden aura that spills from the sunlight. And he opens it out, stretches it, with every word that trickles out of his mouth and into yours with every swift stroke. A bunch of rays of ‘You’re mine’, ‘My pretty, tight pussy’ and ‘Good girl, take it all, it’s all yours’ permeate your skin, lighting you up from beneath and when you come around his cock, your light doesn’t fade into his and leave you barren. No, it melts, a conscious, ever-flowing stream, into him and soaks him up. It’s still one singular light, but in two bodies. 

And the two loads he filled you up with caused weariness to drop so heftily on you that he bathed you in the tub. Scrubbed you clean. Washed your hair. Made you smell like him. Was extra careful when touching the hickeys he left behind on your body, the other unmarked parts of you handled with similar care. 

He didn’t even forget about your candle. Borrowed them your shared light and you kissed him quite sweetly for it. 

Even when he dressed you in his clothes. A pair of old baggy jeans that don’t fit him anymore and the same white tank top, a clean one, fragrant with the wholeness of summer he will perpetually connect with you. You pecked him so cutely when he tapped your waist, signaling that you’re all done. He knows it was the deepest thank you that you could’ve ever expressed to him. And he hugged you, hugged you so tight that you merged into him, bunching your wet hair in his fist. 

It didn’t dry up until he parked by the cabin. Having curled into winsome waves, he couldn’t stop touching them when he lead you towards the front door and, most peculiarly, it ached when he had to let go in order to unlock the door. 

His clinginess to you constringes the longer he spends time in your presence and because you’ve graced him with such freedom, he doesn’t mind. Not one bit. You show no signs of being irritated by it and it causes him to think that, perhaps, when God made you, He put some mechanism in you that needs it. Just like he planted those roots of clinginess in him—for no one else but you to receive, to carry, to take care of. 

It’s what he thinks about when he makes you lunch while you smoke on the balcony, having finished with the fresh drinks you made for yourself and him. Elderberry with lemon and ice, with funky, colorful straws once again left behind by the past tenants, ready on the dining table. This time you will actually sit down to eat and Jungkook won’t get kissed on the face by the strong knuckles of his once-close friend. 

An emotion stirs within him as he flips the meat on the small indoor grill. Tears prick in his waterline because despite the fact he enjoyed spiting him, he still wonders how he’s handling this. Mourns the loss. Probably will for some time. There’s a certain freshness to it that won’t let go of him. 

Those liquid feelings almost dissipate when you wrap your arms around him from behind and kiss his spine. He’s not matching you that much—is wearing the only clean laundry he had. A white oversized tee, a zipper hoodie of the same color with jeans. But he feels the love you press onto his back as if your lips touch his bare skin, singing the two layers through and through. 

Jungkook reckons you’re saving him as you’re lingering there with your face buried between his shoulder blades. Saving him from spilling. 

“I can’t wait to visit the pond once we’re finished with our food,” you murmur and Jungkook hums in response, placing the rest of the meat onto a plate. 

“It’s done, we can eat now,” he croaks out, his voice touched by the residue of his emotions and you rub his belly with your hands. He smiles, fondly, at the gesture. You just keep on saving him.

“Do you think the water is cold?” 

Considering the rain that would not leave for days, the water is anything but suitable for swimming. And when he turns around, he meets your mischief, playfully toying with your features. A curled smirk, lifted brows, light flickering in your eyes, reflected in your lashes. He might let you dip your toe in. Just one. 

Only because you depict such distinct beauty and he can’t resist it. Can’t resist you, even if he tried his hardest. 

“Too cold,” he says, however. Just as playfully. “Freezing.” 

Helping him with the plates, you sit down to eat and before you dig in, you thank him once again in the form of a peck. Oh, he might spill, ultimately. In a much different way. Melt into liquid love for you—a putty at your disposal. He’s never come across someone as sweet as you. 

“My sweetheart, enjoy your food.” 

A sliver of comfortable silence hangs in the air as you finish your food and once he downs the drink you made for him, a different type of hunger itches in his throat. 

A hunger for a cigarette. 

He watches you as you take his plate and bring it into the kitchen, never forgetting to at least graze one part of your body as you depart away from him, his clinginess a full blown, ceaseless stream and when you come back to him and take his hand, he remains seated. Looks up at you. Is probably giving you a nasty set of puppy eyes, he can’t tell. Doesn’t really care. Interlocks his fingers with yours and brings your knee in between his. Just because. 

“You know what I want right now?” he says, stroking the back of your thigh, and you smile down at him all excitedly. “A cigarette.” 

You squeal and he didn’t expect such sound to come out of you, such display of joy at such mindless thing. You quiver, taking his other hand and pulling him to his feet. Grab your pack and lighter and drag him out to the balcony. 

And with a cigarette of your own hanging from your lips, you sink the butt of the spare one between his, your lighter ready in your hand, flicking it to life. Then, a sudden gust of wind blows your hair in front of your face in a grand, sublime way, the clouds shrouding the sunlight, a layer of grayness dispersing across the atmosphere. Jungkook is mesmerized, completely, strands of your hair tickling your cheeks as you focus on lighting his cigarette, such serious expression coating you. 

He almost forgets to suck on the cigarette when you cup the lighter, protecting the flame from the breath of the autumn slinking in. How can someone be so beautiful, so caring? He could’ve lighted up his hunger himself, but no—you wanted to do it. 

And because of that, he steals your cigarette and grabs your cheek in one hand, careful not to break it. Taking a delightful drag, he opens your mouth and puffs it inside. Watches you swallow it down, your eyes narrowed in a foreign pleasure, and to reward you, he kisses you deeply. But at the taste of his hunger on your tongue, the kiss grows tempestuous. He devours your mouth, makes it puffy all over again, and something else grows hard in tandem. 

Something in his pants. 

And the way you kiss him back—he has to physically pull himself away from you in order not to take you right here, in order not to bend you over this railing and bury himself so deeply inside you that all the animals in the forest scurry away at the sound of your squeaks. Much, much different ones. 

His body tingles, looking at you panting, longs to kiss you again—bring that notion into reality. It’s not merely you who’s become aroused because one swift glance over your body clad in his clothes reveals that you have, too. Your stiffened nipples protrude through his tank top and he has to hold onto that railing and take a deep drag of his cigarette in order to stick to his composure like his life depends on it. 

Perhaps, it truly does. 

“You’re so fucking irresistible,” he comments, mirroring your former actions—placing the cigarette between your lips that willingly open for him, lighting it up. “It’s crazy. I can’t spend one minute in your presence without wanting to fuck you brainless. What are you doing to me, huh?” 

You blush, but he didn’t mean it as a compliment. Thinks he should change his ways and call you beautiful more often, so you learn what a true compliment is, despite the fact how hard he finds it. His lungs constrict, choking the life out of him that you gave him—an unfond memory clouding his sight.

A blond set of hair swishing past. A roll of eyes as he threw that compliment in her way. The dismissal that still lives in him.   

“You sure it’s me?” you retort, angling your head to the side, two fingers widening slightly as you suck on your cigarette. You tossed the memory away and cuddled his headspace. “Maybe you have a problem.” 

Oh, he remembers this feistiness of yours. Missed it, dearly. Makes his cock needy. Even more prominently so now—now that you clothed him in healing. 

“True, one taste of you and I’ve become a nymphomaniac,” he says with a mighty, peculiar easiness. Clicks his tongue. “I guess I should go to therapy.” 

Your blush deepens and you hide your laughter behind your busy palm. Jungkook shakes his head, not believing something like that could flush your face like this with such rosy, radiant color. He pulls you towards himself, squeezes your bum. Takes a drag, loving the burn in his throat. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, fondling the sweet color of your cheek with his thumb. The smoke from his cigarette curls around your wavy hair. “Do you even know how beautiful you are?” 

It’s you who shakes your head and you place your palm flat on his chest. A gasp leaves your mouth when he spanks you for your disagreement. Then, your mouth ends tip. 

Jungkook laughs, softly. “Run. And if I catch you, I spank you again. On your bare bum this time.” 

He pushes you and you squeal, turning on your heel and heading for the stairs down that lead to the pond. He could run after you to make you happy—it doesn’t matter he’s wearing his home slides. He’s danced with them, even barefooted, so this is no big deal for him. But he wants to give you the thrill of the chase, so, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray, right next to yours, he slides his hands into his front pockets and waits until you’re halfway there at the pond. Then, then, he slowly makes his way down. 

You’ve stopped, however. Half turned, you watch him as he chases you down Michael Myers style. And when he’s at arms-length distance away from you, you begin to run away and this time your feet acknowledge themselves with the wood of the dock that floats above the surface of the still water. There’s nowhere for you to go and he fears you’ll jump into the water. Or, maybe you just want to get spanked that badly. 

He’s about to find out. 

Gray shadows envelop you, choking out your squeals again when you see Jungkook running after you and you edge dangerously close to the end, bum leaning against the ladder going down. 

He lifts his palm, signaling you to stop right there. 

And you surprise him. You kick your feet into momentum and as you run and collide into him, you throw him into the water. 

The iciness of the water stings and his breath lodges in his throat, submerged. Paralyzation takes a hold of him, but not enough for his body to emerge to the surface. He rubs his eyes as he inhales deeply, shaking off the water from his hair like a dog, his eyesight slowly unblurring and he sees you laughing. The trees bend at the sound, sighing along and the wind, once again, stills. 

You even have the nature wrapped around your finger, not just him. And he can’t be mad at you, not when your girlish giggles spark up a joy in his heaving chest, ridding him of the coldness he feels. 

But that doesn’t mean he won’t punish you for it. 

You asked for it. 

He swims to the dock and pulls himself up. The ease he did it with, his wet clothes that cling to his body and accentuate his muscles, it causes your dulcet laughter to falter, little by little and you back away from him. 

That aches a tiny bit. He relaxes his face, in case that’s what drove you to do that and he unzips his hoodie, throwing it at your feet. His T-shirt comes next and you swallow, dryly, your eyes drifting along his pecs and abdominal muscles. 

You hiss at the cold sensation of his knuckles against the fine sliver of skin of your stomach, the dip between the hem of his tank and his jeans as he unbuttons them and harshly tugs them down. You let him, placing your hands on his shoulders once he kneels and lifts both of your feet, folding the denim and flinging it onto the pile of his sopping hoodie. Your socks and his boxers follow along, leaving behind only his tank top. 

Bunching it in his fist, he tightens his mouth in a narrow line and pulls you in. More to cover you from the cold than to soak you and he raises his palm until it levels with your shoulder blade before he spanks you. The slapping noise vibrates through the canopy of the trees and he likes to think the weeping willow in his peripheral vision trembled at the reverberations. 

“That’s for me catching you.” 

Another spank. On the other cheek. Just as hard. 

“That’s for the way you pushed me into the water.” You don’t make a sound, only tiny little breaths spill out of your mouth as your big eyes ogle his dripping face. Taking it so well that his cock, achefully, hardens even more. “All this fucking forest all around and you decided to get on here, on this dock. Push me in.” A spank. “In the freezing.” Another one. “Fucking water.” Another. 

You moan, swaying on your feet and he straightens you, grabs your wrist and wraps it around the nape of his neck. 

“And this.” Jungkook licks his fingers, sneaks them between your bodies and finds your clit, rubbing it rapidly. “This is for the way you enjoy it. Enjoy being spanked. Being punished. Enjoy being a bad little sweetheart.” 

You moan, a wrinkle between your brows, and your legs begin to quiver, your orgasm fast approaching. And the fire in him, created by your playfulness and his own words, he becomes it. Like you’re the personification of light, he’s the flames that keep it warm. An oxymoron most profound, most perfect, unseen by the world. 

He rips your orgasm away. Spanks you. Kneads your ass. You whine so terribly that it beckons his pity. Enough for him to creep his thigh in between yours, grasp your hips and make you ride it. 

“You wanted me wet, so get off on it,” he orders, unlatching his hands, taking off the tank top and fisting your hair, trusting you to hump him well enough on your own. “I know you like it cold, so grind that pussy on my thigh. And don’t stop until you come.”

It’s fast, the way you move your hips and bring yourself to the absorption of your climax. You look at him the whole way through and Jungkook nods with his bottom lip between his teeth, encouraging you to ride out the wave. 

“Good girl, coming so fast. Get on your knees.” 

He takes off his even more drenched pants. You wait for him with an open mouth and he senses the welcoming embrace of death. 

When he plunges his length into that salivating hole, it’s his fire that he feeds you. Despite the coldness, pearls of sweat adorn your forehead and Jungkook grips your hair and fucks your mouth, not letting you be in control, uttering his guttural moans lowly. 

“That’s what you get, my love.” 

You swallow around him in response and his life flashes before his eyes. Pictures of you, pictures of this cabin dressed in all of the seasons and he halts his thrusts. Pushes your head, instead. Back and forth until he can’t fucking take it anymore. 

Your spit trickles down onto the wood. Tears line your vision. Hard, shiny cock in your face. He tells you what he thinks of the sight. 

“So beautiful. Look at how hard and wet you made it. You deserved every inch down in that pretty throat of yours.” 

It’s a start. Still has a demon on his own to conquer, one that sits around somewhere deep in his chest, where a string of his past relationship makes dents in his lungs. One that he doesn’t want to admit he still has. One that he’s learned to forget about. 

But he is changing his ways. For you. 

You moan and scratch your nails down his thighs, the fire forming into an animal in you. A feral, little thing that knows what it needs. And he’s going to give it to you, mind already working on the forgetting. 

“I love your cock. It’s all mine.” You mouth it, glide your puffy lips upon its length and despite the pleasure he gets from it, he pushes you away. 

Straddles your hips. Turns you onto your tummy. Knows the personal cock time was too brief for you, but he can’t risk having his orgasm like this. 

“Yes, my love, all yours. And I’m gonna fuck that brain out of your head with it.” 

You mewl. “Yes, please.” 

In contrary to your words, you try to crawl away when he sinks himself inside, your nails making pretty music on the wood. He brings you right back to him. Presses you down flat with his hand on your back. All while still inside of you. You sputter out your moans and, licking his thumb, he circles your other hole, making them grow in volume. 

“No, sweetheart. Don’t run from it. You can take it. Believe in yourself the way I believe in you.” 

The strokes he gives you are hard, engraving your rose tattoos made of hickeys onto the dock and he realizes that’s exactly what he wants. He desires to have everything he owns smell like you, look like you and carry remnants, memories and keepsakes of you for generations to come. And so he fucks you not only harder, but faster. 

Thinks your back is awfully bare and missing the rest of the marks. 

Jungkook bites onto the skin above your shoulder blade and you catch him off guard. 

“Jungkook, I’m gonna come like this.” 

He hums, fondly. How quickly your walls have gotten used to accommodating him. “Not yet, my love.” 

Swiveling you, he hooks your knees onto his shoulders, sinking back into you this way—sinking back home. 

And it begins to rain. 

Jungkook hears the touch of the droplets upon the surface of the pond first before the same ones pelt down his back. And the briskness that affects him, the conjunction of an autumn kissed by the last of summer—it drives him to crush his lips onto yours with such vigor that he hopes the autumn, at the sight of it, will be here to stay, in all its wholeness. No more triggers of the past seasons. Newness, only. Singularity. 

He doesn’t carry you away from the rain. No, he hides you with his own body. Takes every hit from the ruthless downpour for every lash across your heart, for every scar etched for all eternity on its flesh. Hands cradling your head, the broadness of his back a cover for the top half of your body and you keep him there with your hands gripping his hair, holding on for dear life. It stimulates him enough to fuck you just as hard, imprinting the lines of the wood onto your back. 

Not so bare anymore. 

You could never be an empty canvas. Not with him. 

Not when you care for him in the midst of the pleasure. 

“Jungkook, ah, you’re go-gonna catch a cold.” 

He kisses you for it, terribly touched. “But it feels so good.” A languid stroke, the squelching of your pussy; he rolls his eyes back, sucking in a breath. “Come for me and I’ll get you inside.” 

He picks up the pace, seizing your pleasure. But then you start moving your hips up and down and he feels you fill up every dent in his heart with each movement, each moan, each squeeze of your walls. And when you make yourself come on his cock, he considers himself strong enough to tell you all about it later. 

Carrying you inside while hiding your head from the rain in the crook of his neck, he takes you up to his room and sets you down like the princess you are underneath the ivory canopy above his bed. Senses your irises digging little pursed pecks into his back as he rummages in his dresser, fishing out a pink bottle of lube and a dildo. Smaller than his length, but almost the same as his girth. Skin-like. With balls attached. 

He’s smirking as he swivels, joy evident on his face. He’s eager to watch you ride it and your two lighthouses for eyes divulge to him just as how excited you are yourself. 

You spread your feet for him once he’s an inch away from you, smiling from ear to ear. “Fuck me with it,” you purr, wrapping your legs around his torso. 

Even the most solemn man in the world wouldn’t be able to not grin at this moment. Too bad he wouldn’t let him near you. His heart pounds, aches to say no to you, but he simply wants to watch you ride it. 

“No, sweetheart. I want to watch.” 

You frown. “But you haven’t cummed yet.” 

He caresses your small pout and you kiss his thumb. His smile widens. “That’s okay.” He might be throbbing, but watching you bounce on a silicone dick will bring him a great deal of pleasure, nonetheless. 

“Then, touch yourself for me.” 

He hums, his heart lodged in his throat. The turning of tables must be in the script to this movie that he considers his life shared with you. And he likes it more than he’s able to comprehend amidst his intense arousal. 

“You have to ride it well, then.” 

You suck on his thumb momentarily, a smirk quirking your lips. “I’ll do my best.” 

“I know you will.” 

Pecking you shortly, he squirts a ton of lube on the dildo and all around your princess parts, rubbing your clit to tease you. The gasp you let out causes him to laugh softly in endearment and then…

Then, he leaves you to it. 

Sitting back in his rocking chair, he fists his cock, the leftover lube making a squeaky sound on his skin. You get on your knees, line yourself up and Jungkook tugs down his foreskin for you, allowing you to see the drops of his male essence oozing out. It turns you on to the point that you moan and bite your lip, sinking down on the toy and he’s breathless. 

“Fuck, it’s not as big as you,” you whine, sitting down on it, fully, maintaining eye contact with him. His heart thuds in harsh staccatos. “I barely feel anything.” 

A sly remark about your ex-boyfriend’s length is on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back. Doesn’t want to ruin the moment. He’s not a constant presence. Not anymore. So why bring him back? 

And what’s more, you’re lying. Because when you begin to bounce, tentatively, your eyes whisk back and you pinch your nipples, the squelching sound of your pretty little pussy driving him to fuck his fist just once. He knows if he keeps going, he might miss the whole experience, plagued by the shadow of his pleasure. He palms his balls instead, his cock protruding from the crook between his fingers and his thumb. Still wet from you. 

“Harder,” he commands, squeezing his balls when you listen and he hisses, fights with all his strength not to flutter his eyes closed like his body is begging him to. He can’t miss this. It’s too good to miss. He bites down on his lip. 

“Jerk off that cock, please,” you plead, your breasts bouncing and he bites down harder, the fire in him burning off his skin. “It doesn’t feel as good when you don’t.” 

He swears and begins to move his hand, gliding up and down, pressure hard. “Are you imagining it’s me?” 

“Yes, oh my God. I’m riding you and it feels so fucking good, Jungkook.” 

He moans, focusing on his sensitive head. Tips his chin up. Doesn’t break the eye contact. “Good girl. You’re doing so well.” 

The praise gets to you and your fingers sneak to your clit, rubbing fast little circles—and just like that he nears to the edge. Whimpering for you, he fucks his cock harder. Hot flashes surround your flushed face and you mimic his sounds. 

That’s his very fucking undoing. 

Getting on his feet, he paints your breasts and tummy white and you begin to shudder, his orgasm coaxing yours. You pinch your little hard nubs—and it’s almost like you’re milking him dry, spurts after spurts making new tattoos on your torso, white roses to mingle with your red and purplish ones. 

And his woozy brain can’t help but to look forward to see them fade to yellow. 

He kisses you so hard that he doesn’t feel you breathe and when he pulls away, he collects his cum and feeds it to you. Can’t have it go to waste when he knows what he’s planning for you. 

“That was so good,” he whispers, sealing such an intimate moment with another ravenous kiss. 

He doesn’t let you respond—he pins you back. Ass up, face down. Squirts lube all over that deliciousness and when he glances over at the ruined dildo, he whistles. Pearls after pearls of your girlish essence trickle down the length and he shows it to you. Hard all over again. 

“That’s a good fucking girl,” he praises and your eyes widen in that familiar way he likes, mouth parting, blush deepening. “Stick out your tongue.” You listen, so fucking well, and he plunges the silicone tip inside your mouth, circling it around that willing muscle. “That’s it, lick it up, sweetheart.” 

You look up at him as you do it, making smacking sounds, so terribly fucked out. Jungkook has to grip your hair in order to hold on to the last of his composure, and when you begin to suck on it—he can’t take it anymore. 

He fucks you with it. Fucks you into the mattress. Punishing you for the things you do to him, for the fire that grows hotter and hotter in his veins. And he loves you, dearly, with the entirety of his being, that his fingers cannot physically stay away from your little sopping clit. 

Neither can they when you come and gush out your arousal. Neither can they when he switches the dildo with his cock, raises you in the air and fucks you so hard, whispering little praises and sweet little nothings—“I’m getting you used to taking it from behind, my love. You’re doing so good. You’re so beautiful. So damn pretty.”—that you and he both, completely and wholly, fall apart when you come together. 

He loves you dearly enough that he can’t stop falling apart even in the shower. 

He tells you of the demon living in his chest. 

“When we’re together, I feel you healing me. I feel you giving me chances to live on with my life, do the things I’m scared of or wary of. Like today, when you didn’t believe me when I’d told you you were beautiful. I felt that fear I had in me for years, but saying it to you made it seem like nothing. There used to be a girl I was in love with. Whenever I would tell her things like this, she’d scrunch up her nose. It wasn’t enough for her. Her pride was too big for my words. I kept giving and giving and it was never enough. But when I give to you, you take it and you live with it and I can see it on you. I can see you wear it proudly. I can even see it now. And it’s so beautiful. So healing.” 

You kissed his scars. Kissed his hands. His neck. Washed him clean. Hugged him under the hot downpour of the shower. Reminded him of the way he healed you. Told him all the small details he never knew—and it only proved his words, tightened his love for you. 

He knows from this moment on that you will be the mother of his children. He’s not letting you go. Not until the day he dies. 

And the first shower he shared with you… Jungkook sketched it down that very night as you and him sipped on wine, listening to music. And he brimmed with the longing to bring it onto a canvas. Splatter it with colors. Purples and reds, with tiny hints of yellow that are about to appear on your body. 

And he will. Hang it up in this very cabin. The eternal keepsake of the movie that his life has become. 

It has been several months of living this cinematic life with you. Weekends spent at the cabin, the weekdays spent separately, save for the regular dates. Dinners, trips, sight-seeing. A slow life filled with brand new art supplies, a pile of sketchbooks adorning the walls of his bedrooms. Both at his own apartment and the cabin. And another adornment has come to live with you and him, one of life-long permanency. 

He sealed your exclusive relationship with a matching tattoo. 

“Sweet” lines your left rib whereas “Heart” lines his—right above the mole you’ve come to love so much. Red ink, an illusion to your red roses, the dress you’ve worn for him on several occasions. Visiting him out of the blue in the middle of the week with black lingerie underneath and a trench coat to cover you up. Mindlessly at the cabin one weekend when drinking wine, smoking together on the balcony, listening to the whispers of the willow tree. And once on the last warm day of autumn, during which he paid you back for the way you had pushed him into the water of the pond. Just like he’d done the first time, he tossed you in, joining you right after, fucking you in the dress. He had eternalized it that very night, sitting by an easel. Paintings of you, some of both you and him, hang on the walls of the cabin. In the living room, in the bedroom. Everywhere one looks, one finds the scenes of your movie—and it brings him joy unlike any other. 

Yoongi… he hadn’t called you since that fateful day. You’d made the arrangements to see him after a month or so. Found out he was seeing a therapist. 

Quite literally. 

He’s banging his male therapist.

The information enveloped you in a dimmed glow. You were shocked, first and foremost, because you had no idea Yoongi liked men. Jungkook did, so it wasn’t a surprise to him—what was more of a groundbreaking surprise to him was the fact you didn’t know. That he never cared to tell you. 

And he never pushed it aside. As a matter of fact, he told him off about it the first time he saw him after everything. 

Yoongi cared very little because he considered the chapter finished. A similar light swathed him tautly, one he’d never seen on him, and Jungkook agreed. The chapter is finished. No need to get all hot again. 

Yoongi forgave him. Found love. Found healing. But he didn’t maintain his relations with you. Neither did he with Jungkook.

And while it hurt for a little while, Jungkook figured that maybe it was meant to be like this all along. 

He and you. A singularity. 

The nonexistent gap between the word sweetheart. 

No third party. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[mariclerc]

just finished reading the new chapter of an unexpected role and MORE LILY x GRID INTERACTIONS PLSS

Thank you very much for this request!! I love writing Lily's adventures in the paddock, it seems very cute to me 🥺🥺🥺

An unexpected role (pt.6) | cl16

Summary: you revealed your little secret to your date, you didn't expect he would take it so well. Warning: none, just fluff as usual.

Follow the series!! Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Sunlight streams through the window of the Ferrari motorhome. You're sprawled on a plush sofa with Lily, your two-year-old daughter, she sits beside you with a half-eaten cookie clutched in her hand. She giggles as a video plays on your phone, showing her interactions with the Red Bull mechanics earlier.

“Hey amore, are you almost ready?” he calls from another room.

“Almost, just gotta find Lily's lucky socks!” you say smiling.

Lily throws her head back and laughs, cookie crumbs flying everywhere. You scoop her up, tickling her tummy. Visits to the paddock are more frequent now, since the first race you and Lily attended everyone in the paddock and the teams love you both, it's like a breath of fresh air in the paddock, and not to mention the fans, after the initial hatred little by little they gave in and now they adore you two.

“Where did my little lucky charm get all this cookie on her, huh?” you say softly while looking at her.

“Dan-iel!” Lily says.

“Oh, Daniel spoiled you again, didn't he?” you shake your head.

Suddenly footsteps are heard approaching the room.

“There they are! My two favorite girls.” He says entering the room with a playful smile on his face. Charles ruffles Lily's hair, who squeals in delight. “Found those lucky socks yet?”

“Yup, she had hidden them in my bag. Naughty little girl.” You say with a giggle and then lean towards Lily and put on her socks and butterfly shoes.

Charles raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “How about a pre-race cuddle session to appease the racing gods?”

Lily claps her hands and squirms out of your arms, making a beeline for Charles. He scoops her up, showering her face with kisses.

“Careful, you might give her pre-race jitters!” you say laughing.

Charles winks at you. “Nah, she's got Leclerc blood in her veins, she thrives on competition. Just ask all the mechanics she's been racing around the paddock with today.”

“Speaking of which, did you see the fan videos circulating online? Lily giving Valtteri a high five was adorable.”

“I know, right? It's amazing how much everyone loves having her around. You'd think she's been on the grid since day one.” he smiles softly.

You lean in and kiss Charles softly.

“She brings a different kind of energy to the paddock, doesn't she? Reminds everyone there's more to life than trophies.” you whisper.

“Oh, absolutely! You and Lily are my lucky charms, my whole world! Now come on, let's get this show on the road.” he said while holding you close.

You hand Charles Lily's stuffed bunny, a constant companion on race days.

“Go get 'em, champ! We'll be cheering you on from the pit wall, as always.”

“Always.” he kisses your forehead.

He takes Lily's hand, leading them both out of the motorhome. As they disappear down the hallway, you can't help but smile. Charles may be a racing champion, but in this moment, you and Lily are his biggest victories.

***

Charles emerges from the motorhome, Lily bouncing in his arms, her hair bouncing in a mini ponytail. The paddock is a hive of activity, mechanics bustling with purpose, engineers huddled over laptops, and fans straining for a glimpse of their racing heroes.

A collective gasp rises as Charles appears, Lily's bright eyes taking in the scene with wide-eyed wonder.

“Buongiorno everyone! Ready for another race?” he says while smiling to the fans in the paddock fan-zone area.

The crowd erupts in cheers.

“Forza Charles! And ciao bella Lily!” says a smiling little fan while waving his hand.

“Ci-ao!” Lily says waving her little hand.

Charles chuckles, then spots Logan Sargeant strolling towards them, a grin plastered on his face.

“Leclerc! Looking sharp today, even with your little pre-race mascot.”

Lily reaches out, giggling. “Lo-gan!”

Logan scoops her up in a playful hug, earning another round of cheers from the crowd.

“Looks like you've got some competition this weekend, mate.” Logan giggled.

Charles feigns a frown. “Don't worry, Sargeant. I'm sure I can handle a little competition... Especially when she's this cute.” He winks at Lily, who giggles and buries her face in his neck. Photographers snap pictures like crazy, capturing the adorable interaction.

“Looks like someone's got a lot of fans to sign autographs for today.” You say walking behind them.

“Only the best fans, amore. Now, come on, let's get down to the grid. It's showtime!” He says, handing Lily back to you.

You follow Charles through the throng of fans, Lily nestled comfortably in your arms. As you walk, you hear snippets of conversation, all praising Lily's cuteness and the joy she brings to the paddock.

One little girl, clutching a Ferrari flag, yells out:

“Good luck, Lily! You too, Mr. Leclerc!”

Lily waves enthusiastically at the little girl, a smile splitting her face wide open. You glance at Charles, a silent understanding passing between you. This little girl, surrounded by the roar of the engines and the cheers of the crowd, is exactly where she belongs. The paddock may be her playground for now, but who knows? Maybe one day, she'll be the one stealing the show on the grid.

***

The roar of the crowd intensifies as they approach the grid. Charles, focused on the upcoming race, gives you a quick but reassuring squeeze on the hand.

“Alright ma belle, listen. I gotta get ready. You and Lily find a good spot at the pit wall, alright?”

“Don't worry about us, we'll be your loudest cheerleaders. Go get 'em, champ!” you say while nudging him playfully.

He leans down and kisses Lily's forehead.

“Be good for mama, okay? And remember, papa loves you the most.” he says to Lily and he gives her a little kiss on her cheek.

Lily giggles, clinging to her bunny plushie. A young Ferrari mechanic, a teenage girl with grease stains on her overalls, approaches you both shyly.

“Hey there, little super star. You want to see the car before the race starts? It's super fast, just like you!” the mechanic tells Lily timidly.

Lily's eyes widen with excitement.

“Would you like that, Lily?” you asked Lily while smiling.

Lily nods enthusiastically.

“Thank you so much, that would be amazing!” you tell the mechanic.

The mechanic beams, clearly delighted. “No problem at all! Follow me, little miss.”

The mechanic leads Lily, her eyes sparkling with wonder, towards the gleaming red Ferrari. You watch them go, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. The paddock, once a world of flashing lights and roaring engines, has become a second home, filled with people who adore your little family.

You find a spot at the pit wall, just as Charles takes his position in the cockpit. He looks out towards the crowd, his gaze locking with yours for a brief moment. You give him a thumbs up and a reassuring smile. He nods, a flicker of determination in his eyes.

The lights go out, plunging the grid into an electrifying darkness. Then, with a deafening roar, the engines ignite. Charles is off, a blur of red against the grey asphalt. You hold Lily close, her tiny hands clutching her bunny plushie.

“There he goes, baby! That's papa!”

Lily doesn't take her eyes off the track, her small voice joining the chorus of cheers as Charles battles for position. The race is on, and you know, no matter what the outcome, this day, filled with love, family, and the thrill of the race, the paddock visits will always be one of the best adventures for you and Lily.

***

Lily's eyes are glued to the track, tracing the red blur that is Charles' car with rapt attention. You, however, find yourself drawn to a group of young engineers huddled nearby. Their animated discussion, usually filled with technical jargon, has an undercurrent of worry that sends a shiver down your spine.

You catch snippets of their conversation: "front wing damage," "pit stop for repairs," "crucial time lost." A pit stop this early in the race could throw Charles' entire strategy off balance.

Anxiety gnaws at you, but you force a smile for Lily, brushing back a stray strand of hair from her forehead.

“See that big red car down there, honey? That's papa! He's having a little trouble with his car, but the clever engineers will fix it up in no time, alright?” you whisper softly at Lily.

Lily nods, her brow furrowed in concentration. The little girl beside you, normally brimming with boundless energy, seems to have sensed the tension in the air.

“Why don't we send papa some good luck vibes? Close your eyes really tight and think of the fastest, strongest Ferrari ever!” you whisper again leaning closer to her.

Lily closes her eyes tight, squeezing her stuffed bunny with all her might. You follow suit, a silent prayer forming on your lips for Charles' safety and a successful race.

Suddenly, a flurry of activity erupts in the Ferrari pit lane... Mechanics scramble, tools glinting in the afternoon sun. Charles pulls into the pit box, the red flag forcing an unplanned early stop. You watch with a mixture of apprehension and admiration as the team works with lightning speed, their practiced movements a well-oiled machine.

Just as your heart starts hammering against your ribs, the pit stop ends. Charles, with a fresh wing and a determined glint in his eyes, roars back onto the track.

The red flag is lifted, and the race resumes with renewed intensity. The crowd erupts in cheers, their anticipation hanging heavy in the air. You grab Lily's hand, squeezing it tightly.

“There he goes! Now let's see papa show everyone what a true champion is made of!”

Lily beams, a spark of mischief returning to her eyes. She raises her tiny fist in the air, chanting along with the crowd. “Go papa go! Go papa!” she smiles shyly.

You watch, a rollercoaster of emotions churning inside you, as Charles battles his way back up the field. The race has taken an unexpected turn, but one thing remains certain: your family is in it together, for every pit stop, every thrilling overtake, and every victory (or defeat) that awaits your family on the racetrack.

***

Disappointment hangs heavy in the air as the winner's car streaks past the finish line. Charles follows close behind, his red Ferrari a blur of consolation. The crowd, initially buzzing with anticipation, erupts in a mix of cheers and groans. Lily, perched on your shoulders, scans the track with wide, confused eyes.

“Papa?” Lily asks you with a tender look.

“There he is, honey! Look, it's the red car!” You point to the part of the track where Charles' car is located.

Charles navigates his way through the final corners, bringing the Ferrari to a stop in the designated post-race area. The roar of the engine fades, replaced by a wave of mixed emotions washing over you. While a tiny part of you yearns for the elation of victory, the bigger part swells with pride at Charles' fighting spirit. He may not have secured the top spot, but he fought hard, his skill evident in every daring overtake and smooth maneuver.

Mechanics swarm the car, their faces etched with a mixture of disappointment and respect. Charles emerges from the cockpit, his helmet tucked under his arm. His expression is a mask of controlled emotions, but a flicker of disappointment momentarily clouds his eyes.

He scans the crowd, searching for his family. When he spots you and Lily, a wave of relief washes over him. He strides towards you, a determined glint returning to his eyes.

“There you are! Come here, mes amours.” He says addressing the two of you.

You weave through the throng of fans, a mix of congratulatory pats and sympathetic murmurs on your way to Charles. The air crackles with the post-race energy, a bittersweet symphony of cheers and dejection.

Charles scoops you both into a tight embrace, the familiar scent of adrenaline and sweat wrapping around you. You bury your face in his chest, offering silent comfort for a battle well fought but narrowly lost.

“You were amazing out there, Charles. We're so proud of you.” You whisper as you give him a kiss on the cheek.

“I know it wasn't the win we were hoping for, but...” he kiss your forehead.

He trails off, his gaze falling on Lily, who watches the post-race celebrations with a furrowed brow.

“Hey little champ, what do you say we celebrate papa's second place with some ice cream? How does that sound?” He says smiling at Lily.

Lily's face lights up with a radiant smile, all traces of confusion forgotten. “Ice cream! Yaaay!”

Charles throws his head back and laughs, the sound a welcome release after the tension of the race.

“See? Second place isn't so bad after all, especially when you have the best pit crew a driver could ask for.” He says smiling at you.

He winks at you, the familiar spark back in his eyes. You smile, knowing that win or lose, your family bond remains the strongest trophy of all. Together, you navigate the bustling paddock, Charles and Lily hand in hand, ready to celebrate his second place and the unwavering love that binds them. The race may be over, but the joy of being together remains the most precious victory.

***

As the three of you walk through the paddock, several staff members and the drivers stop to say goodbye to the three of you... In particular, say goodbye to little Lily, since she has become the little princess of the paddock.

Lily lets out a little scream when she sees Oscar. “Osc! Osc!” she says, jumping up and down and smiles when she sees the young Australian. “Mama! Can I... 'ay goodbye to Osc?” She asked you and you smiled at her.

“Of course you can, honey pie! But be careful, okay?” you said sweetly and she let go of your hand and walked towards Oscar.

Charles let out a small chuckle as the two of you looked at Lily walking towards Oscar, Obviously you two followed her closely, but without stopping her little adventure.

Oscar looked down to see Lily, who had a smile from ear to ear. “Oh, hello there little Lily!” He said giving her a smile and bent down to take her in his arms. “What are you doing walking around the paddock alone? You know it's bad, right?” Oscar told her and she just stuck her tongue out at him as a joke.

Lily turned her little head towards you and Charles. “Mama and papa, there Osc!” She said pointing to Oscar where you and Charles were standing, you smiled at the young Australian.

Oscar smiled at the two of you and moved a little closer to you. “Hey, congratulations on the podium Charles!” says Oscar, greeting Charles friendly. “I got scared when I saw Lily walking alone in the paddock... Why did she come towards me?” He asked with a small grimace on his face.

You smiled softly. “Well she wanted to say goodbye to you.”

“Yes... And apparently she fell in love with you.” Charles said softly and Oscar's eyes widened.

“Oh, that’s so cute Lily!” he said as he hugged Lily.

“Bye Osc!” Lily said as she got out of his arms.

Both you and Charles said goodbye to the Australian and headed towards the exit of the paddock with a Lily who was somewhat curious about her surroundings.

***

When you got to the hotel room, Lily was quite exhausted from the day of adventures she had had, so, with the help of Charles, you gave her a bath and put her pajamas on. Between the two of you, you told her a bedtime story while she snuggled with her stuffed bunny Mimi.

Charles leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Sweet dreams my little one. I love you.” he whispered sweetly towards Lily.

“Luv you da!” she said a little sleepy.

You leave the joint room and you stood in your place. Charles turned on his heel and looked at you.

“Are you coming love?” he asked tenderly.

You blinked. “Yes... Yes honey, just give me a moment, okay?” You tell him and he nodded as he walked to the bed that was in the center of the room.

Carefully, you opened your travel bag and took out an envelope with some papers that you had been processing for a couple of months. With the help of Fred, Lorenzo and Pascale you were able to do this, you wanted Charles to officially be Lily's dad... And maybe they don't have a blood relationship or anything else, but the connection that exists between the two of them and, in general, between the three of you, is something incredible and even though neither you nor he are married, the fact that Lily bears his last name is more than enough for you.

You carefully walked back to the room with the envelope behind you. “I would like to give you this.” You whispered softly while you handed him the envelope and he sat on the bed.

He looked at you somewhat confused. “What is this darling?” he asked.

“Find out for yourself... Open it.” you whispered again.

He opened the envelope delicately and took out the papers, some contained the entire legal process to be able to have paternity rights, kinship by affinity and so on, until he reached the last one that said: Lily Marie Leclerc, he looked at you with watery eyes. “Honey... I.” he said with a small voice. “I'm... I'm her dad, chérie... Tell me it's not a dream.”

You smiled at him. “It's not a dream my love, you're officially her dad.” you said and hugged him with all your strength. “Happy Father's Day mon amour!” you whispered and placed several kisses on his face, he couldn't believe it, he was officially a dad.

“Oh god, this is.. This is the best gift I have ever been given in my life! Oh mon cœur, thank you for this!” He said now with happy tears running down his face and you smiled lovingly.

“It's nothing baby boy... I thought, well, we should make it official.” you giggled.

While you two were hugging each other, a new adventure began for your little family... The now Leclerc family and you simply couldn't be happier about this, because you and Lily feel happy, much happier than you both had been before you met him.

[inonibird]

HELLO CAN I TELL YOU ABOUT ALL OF MY CURRENT TTRPG CHARACTERS?? COOL I’M DOING IT. ((this is art from the past yyyyyear that I have not posted, oof))

Ahem so, in order, in the four campaigns I am currently a part of (not counting ones on hiatus), we have:

1. Sagan Nethersall (5e) my cursed Half-Elf Bard, my precious, selfish asshat who was the first DnD character I ever created and who has been reused and recycled in campaigns for over 15 years now. He has descended into Avernus reluctantly alongside the rest of the party, who he is gradually growing to care about. He cannot sing without coughing up blood, and he just found out his lute is actually a unicorn-in-hiding. Sagan is awful. I love him.

2. Zasuba (4e) is a newly-formed Shardmind Psion who resembles a lanky salt lamp. Think of them like an ancient computer that has rebooted and is verrryy slowly downloading all of the information that was once known to them. All they know and understand is framed around “vibes”, from magic to emotions and everything in between, so Vibe Checks occur frequently. To the party’s simultaneous delight and regret, Zasuba remembers everything they teach them. They have a negative in Charisma. Zasuba is adorable. I love them.

3. Harahel (In Nomine) is a Mercurian Servitor of Trade (translation: a guardian angel who is good at talking to humans and whose specialty is m o n e y) who accidentally died in his vessel back in the early 90s and went into Trauma (basically a heavenly coma) for 30 years. Scarred and Discordant from the mishap, he’s now back on Earth helping out fellow angels with a seemingly simple job. Lucky for him the 90s are just wrapping around to being trendy again. Harahel is doing his best. I love him.

4. Sunshine (5e) is...oh boy. Sunshine is a race called a Graveborn that has been tweaked by the DM and myself to suit her homebrewed setting, and he is a Death Cleric who was raised in a city ruled by necromancers. People aren’t born there. He was. And when he was three years old his supposed mother, who died in childbirth, returned to his side as an obedient skeleton. In present day, Sunshine is a good-natured 15-year-old who has devoted himself to both the god of death (Ghen) and the necromancer who apprenticed him (Tarsus), who loves wearing pink, whose mother (Mama aka Skelemum) sticks protectively close to his side, and who has a rather unsavory but necessary habit of consuming raw flesh. Sunshine is an uncanny delight. I love him (and will be posting quite a bit more of him).

((ttrpg has been the only other Significant Thing other than Sahuldeem that has served as a creative outlet since 2020, so I’m well past due posting about my babies x’D))

[csphire]

7, 12, 30 for the Tav ask!

30 Questions for your Tav

Anna - Half-Elf, Artisan, Warlock (Arch Fey) & Light Cleric of Tymora

7. What circumstances led to your Tav becoming their Class/Subclass?

Anna entered into a pact shortly after fleeing an abusive lover. It was not the best of plans, to just leave him and Baldur’s Gate as fast as possible for another city where she could start over but she feared for her life. How she met her patron one could say was a whole lucky meet-cute story. She literally stumbled over them and profusely apologized. Charmed by her sweet nature, good manners and also finding out why she was in such a hurry, the fey extended to her a bargain for power and also taught her how to enchant her goods. However, all of Anna’s enchantments always turn out to have a tiny bit of chaos to them but nothing her customers will ever notice… usually. 

Unlike Wyll, Anna and her patron have a mostly respectful, sometimes chaotic, very protective, and loving relationship. But it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. Anna is well aware fey can be fickle, easily offended, and therefore dangerous. For starters, she suspects her patron is behind her abusive lover’s untimely and grisly demise. Something she found out years later after her patron coaxed her into returning to Baldur’s Gate with assurances that with her new powers, she would not need to leave and she could disappear easily enough in the large city. 

Currently, her patron on occasion only asks her to do some odd and seemingly harmless things to set off a little chaos in the world. What seems like a few setups for pranks or displacing a stone from a circle of them in some forest. Some of these things lead to disastrous results but nothing fatal for anyone… usually. Her patron loves chaos like most fey and was tickled pink when she stole the Blood of Lathander mace. Anna is also obligated to help other fey in need from the Seelie court like the pixie in the lamp. Killing fey from the Unseelie court such as hags and redcaps also delights her patron as well.

As for her becoming a Light Cleric of Tymora, that happened later. I guess all those prayers for luck and in offering gratitude along with her boldness when it came to adventure caught the goddess's attention. With it came some of her divine favor.

12. What opinion does your Tav have about the Gods?

It all depends upon the god or goddess. Although she leans towards good-aligned deities she doesn’t give a hoot who one worships so long as it doesn’t cause any harm to those she cares about, herself, and any nearby innocents. She's not deeply motivated to convert anyone. However, she did think Shadowheart was naive for worshiping Shar. A thought she kept to herself for the most part as she gently guided Shadowheart back to her original goddess Selûne.

To most deities, she’s not about to push her luck and be rude. Any stranger that crosses her path she strives to always be polite because one can never know when one will show up in disguise. If they offer her a boon for completing a task she would rarely pass the chance up.

Out of all of them Tymora, Anna prays to the most followed by extending respects to Jergal, Lathander, Ilmater, Loviatar, and Corellon Larethian too.

30. What are your Tav’s intentions/goals after the end of the game?

Besides, scold Dammon for treating her like a carrier pigeon and then promptly seduce him if she hasn't already? She wants to go back to making jewelry, drawing, sculpting, and painting. She wants to wallow in luxury at least for a few months after roughing it for so long and have a few kids. More adventure? Naw… well not unless it’s to help Dammon, and Wyll find a solution for Karlach's heart. Or help Astarion find a cure or some solution so he can walk in the sun again along with helping keep seven thousand spawn in the Underdark in check.

Thank you for the asks!!! <3

[bronanlynch]

so instead of finishing aa5 I started dgs so here is my dgs1 rankings of all of the lawyers based on whose file clerk I would rather be (sorry aa5 I’ll go back to you someday but unfortunately now that I’ve met kazuma it’s hard to play games that don’t have kazuma in them)

kazuma: perfect man. love of my life. whenever he talks abt corruption & injustice in the police, government, military, and courts I am swooning. like wow he’s competent and not a complete asshole and he doesn’t trust cops? he’s meeting all of my standards. like sure he might send me out to do a last-minute records request and I would have to run there in person because fax machines haven’t been invented yet but he wouldn’t be a dick abt it if it took me a minute and also it would be worth it. 9.75/10, my roommate wanted me to dock him half a point because we’ve technically never seen him act as a lawyer in his own right so this is the compromise

ryunosuke: the main thing abt ryunosuke is that he has susato, the best judicial assistant in the world, and therefore does not need another file clerk, though susato would be a delightful coworker. however hypothetically in the future once he has a bigger firm and more cases he might need more employees, in which case I would love to work for him. he’s always looking at his notes during court which probably means there would be lots of copying stuff for him, but he also tends to be very appreciative of people who help him which is a great quality in a boss, I love when people are appreciative of the work I do. might occasionally forget that he still has something that I’m trying to file away for an old case but would give it to be if I asked. 8/10, keep my resume in mind when you need an assistant judicial assistant

auchi: look I get that the geopolitical situation is very complicated but there’s only so much I ever want to hear abt how great the british empire is. also he kind of just doesn’t seem to know what is going on in the trial ever which is not a great quality in a boss like. you try to ask him what he needs you to copy or if he’ll need x or y document and he does not know and just says “get me the documents” like sir please. which documents do you need. not that it matters because he’s going to get his ass kicked in court anyway. 3/10, could be worse

van zieks: I mean. the racism. and there isn’t even an hr department to report him to, you just have to be like “sir you can’t say that. sir that’s a really shitty thing to say and also you’re lucky that the foreign representative you keep microaggressing is too focused on getting justice for his client to make an international incident out of it” and then he’ll ignore you and pretend you’re not there until the next time he needs someone to draft a subpoena. also oh my god can you imagine trying to do his filing when he keeps getting wine stains and broken glass on everything. no I will not forgive the discourtesy, either stop smashing your hallowed chalices or do your own paperwork. 1/10, he gets a point because I want to study him like a bug

(previous games here: aa1 | aa2 | aa3 | aa4 | aai )

[libidomechanica]

O my God, what was a child

A limerick sequence

               1

And my head cool-bedded is no more! Days seen! But now the cliffs. More fresh puncture.    And certeinly—I    sey for nought. When I should not even know she is al ydo.

               2

Her, and lie couched upon the judgment day heaven’s freeholds, in a flowers.    Sweet Nature’s own heart. When    the will of God a properties into an empress was she!

               3

I look’d on thee, or yet in him between them. Both pype and Muse, now morne with    a hundred course and blamed    hymself for ornament which great shapes of verray shame o’t.

               4

Night did bid me go, but if I be gay, sire shrewe yow, but ye do, certeyn.    Like Phœbus thus, with his    answer as if every sun the dede; and the world alyve is.

               5

Knew not. And to delight can never a dew or dew-like shower fell, then    grew my tongue that the whole    court me, and thirty-one thing or change’s knife to cut the men!

               6

Now elles, Frere, I nam nat I. But now my Muse, now moste yeve it up, as    from a half-unquench’d    volcano, o’er a space which of them all of a year, in this cas.

               7

Only my own, in me no more it be self-enjoyings of him than me, keeping    his book, as he sat    outside the boy, the cable whispered. Let’s lively shining her.

               8

With sun and more fun than got a bad case of it no unction. Man fell were    the pear or plum, and gay    perree, as perles, ne thise wordes writeth Ptholomee; rede in hell.

               9

We would date the sand at this be true. Why dost thou great discernment has left    its memory was ful    of verdure never For the wild storm’s strife: he brought unto.

               10

Let not acquaintance; and therefore? Her tears! But once dead, however and pure    so noble, flung like pearl    which gave her just the show’d, like to mine, all hues’ in his body.

               11

Performing God’s universe: nothing but Wisdom’s sight? Noose of mourning of    a monk, saffron-robed of    my pure transgressionists do the decencies of graciously.

               12

I a merry may she was to hym yaf I al the brink of what degree,    in this gay clime of men!    Of him than maystow chesė wheither you and meke, and everywhere!

               13

I would skim the ocean? Breathless daddy’s spirits free from her second story    window a pet-lamb    in after with that they sometimes still. As since despisèd lover?

               14

When hurt she is near. Since minds can be hid by altering to a hill his    nets and mellow fruitfull    show to purpose nothing nostrils wide draw in thy mother’s death.

               15

My life, the ceiling of it. And though she were we extinguished grasse ay greene    in gray is tinct, the fieldes    ay fresh, the nard shall beauty doth not broke me a boulder.

               16

I never notice to quit; and the wars of the Shah Salámán heard—the    Sea; listening in the horses    fit for herte I yaf unto his here! She told I love you.

               17

Ah! When my storm, that I go, shal seyn. Where my wholesome, the same species. I’m    o’er young sinner? She found    the curb next to you the waves to sing so you can make her know.

               18

Som, he heeld virgin mantle in the window from home—mother, father’s child.    What would call hem often    tymes wolde han writen of my fourthe housbonde is fro the fog.

               19

I ne loved two and the earth itself and thy words he has molded me. Then    com’st thou art a queen, but    Er that hope is nought to thee, that with the arrows of her cheek.

               20

You can make? Joy was hidden row, nor of the wheel where turned them vphold. And whiles    to win ye, O: may ill    befa’ the tears are, it seems, the bed to me, and Mars therinne.

               21

Crist was a Greek from the centre of Selefkia from the earth itself, a    sheathed angular figures    on the stars, Love, your souls amazeth. That water-land of flood.

               22

Tho’ I shoulders marched again. If thou lik’st not, deale thou mounefulst Muse of    Her, salámán heard—the    Sea; listening on him that be a propre yifte, som this small ill deeds.

               23

The fireworks grow boring, unvaried as the plains, by their joyes. But she was    lucky, and wanne he was    brought unto. Be war of it, something which here an occasion?

               24

I’ll ne’er wi’ her can hope no redress he sported, but lou’d a loue new-coin’d    to roose here? How many    times do I loved before me; whither thee listens, stop thine heir.

               25

Some reckoning yields; a honey and bar. As those flame humor and palsied fancy,    so artless, so simple    shepherds entertayne, withouten doute: whoso that is wys.

               26

To that flies in her hand, which, labouring for delight from every fair womman    kan. My mind, aspire    to count our own captive, burst thy mother. They never debaat.

               27

To him;—as also that we love each speech two negatiues affirme! From Poland    and brag the cause of    this book agayn Jovinian; in which gave him power to chide?

               28

Treble that entendeth unto his, and Death, but Juan saw not there will of    matter, the many men.    A cat of their pastures warke: waile we may could they are killed.

               29

And none other, to wreck thy payne: and I hae tint my heart in reigning; while    the world would understand.    My heart rouses thinking down into the wanton play in love.

[husbandhoshi]

i know THIS ask is going to cause you so much brainrot *cackles maniacally*

newlywed!joshua with a corruption kink....... but on your honeymoon together

LIKE THINK ABOUT IT you're both out of the country and just finished having the most romantic tour and candlelit dinner now you're on your way back to the hotel room to rest

once you get in the hotel room he kisses you on the head and tells you he's going to prepare a bath for the two of you (he was even hoping he could have some sexy time with you in there 😏) but little did he know you had a surprise up your sleeve (under your clothes?) for him cos when he leaves the bathroom to tell you the bath is ready he finds you on the bed wearing the prettiest, most angelic set of lingerie he's ever seen

then at that moment he decides the bath can wait for aftercare cos right now he just wants to ravish his sweet, beautiful wife who dressed up all for him 🥺 and he doesn't even let you take off the lingerie cos he thinks you look so so so lovely and delightful and he just knows he can leave you fucked out mess after

have fun with this ;)

the way this ask sat in my inbox all day and haunted me as i tried to do my normal person tasks <3 thanks for nothing babes :) 

»»————-　　————-««

the look joshua gives you, a halo of light from the bathroom dousing his features in honey, makes you feel more than naked, if that was even possible.

should get on my knees for a princess, he had said, pupils blown out and voice low, reverent. his hair is still done nicely, he's got his expensive watch on, and the way he looks now, kneeling at the foot of the bed with his dress shirt half unbuttoned, is both devastating and all you ever wanted to see.

"do you like it?" you ask. your voice comes out small, breathy; you shiver, but you're not sure if it's because your lingerie does little to cover you or because your husband is looking at you with such intensity.

instead of answering, he lifts your foot off the ground — you're in the new heels he bought you — his strong hand gentle under the sole as if he's picking up a piece of porcelain, and brings his rosy lips to the toe box, kissing it gently.

"s-shua, fuck," you stammer. "they're clean."

but joshua doesn't care. he sees your thighs clench together and resumes his onslaught, licking a wet stripe up the leather then pressing another light kiss to the top of your foot, where the leather of your shoe meets the mesh of your stockings. you feel his breath fan over your skin as he slowly kisses his way up your thigh-highs, all the while looking at you like you're the moon or some beautiful gem he's lucky to touch.

your breath is shaky, stilted as you watch his half-lidded eyes, tar-black with want, flutter shut as he places a final kiss mid-shin, the highest he can reach while still kneeling. your cunt feels like it's soaking through the sheets of your hotel bed so easily, like the lace of your panties isn't even there.

and when joshua places your heel down, he places it not on the floor, but gently over the bulge in his pants. even through the thickness of the sole, you can feel how hard he is. the silence is broken when you can't do a thing but moan aloud at how your body tenses up with how turned on you are thinking about the cock under the fabric. how, when he fucked you on your wedding night, you came hard when he wasn't even bottomed out, and when he started moving just the slightest, you came again, sobbing and whining in ecstasy against his lips.

"do you see what you're doing to me?" he asks softly, deliberately, ravenously. you can see the fire burning under his skin, the restraint he's showing when you press your foot down just to feel him once more and moan again.

"god, fuck, s-shua..." you can't even breathe, it feels like it's all coming out of you in sputters. “so fucking hot —” and when his hands grip your ankles tightly, lifting your feet off the floor as he rises to his full height, you don't even stop him. you can't.

all you can do is stare doe-eyed at your husband, as he's now folded you in half and pushed you up the bed just enough so he can place a knee on the mattress for support. your feet now dangle over his broad shoulders and you can feel the delicious stretch of your mesh stockings against the heated skin of your stomach.

"you like when i kiss you, angel?" joshua asks as he undoes his belt buckle. "you like when i worship your pretty body?"

"yes, yes, yes," you airily, incoherently whisper, taken by his gaze and how it seems to swallow up all of you. and then his wicked fingers thumb at the thin strip of lace over your cunt to push it aside, and you almost cum right on the spot. he loves how you yield so easily to him, just cave at the simplest of touches, how, right now, you're already glassy-eyed, bucking against his thick fingers as he preps you for his cock.

"gonna keep all this on you," he grunts, voice dark, needy as he pets your g-spot and your cunt squeezes his fingers. fuck, no one's ever made him feel this way like you have, just consumed by the kind of love that makes your chest tight and your world spin. "look so goddamn perfect, just for me — wanna ruin you."

when he finally fucks you, hard cock dragging against your walls, you hold onto him like you're the only two people in the world. every thrust, you can feel your tits strain against your barely-there bra, and it makes you dizzy how his eyes rake up and down your body, taking in how tight your hole is for him, the softness of your thighs as he pushes them further back, the purple blooms of the hickies he left on your breasts yesterday night. 

"s-shua, feel—feels so good," you cry. "i — fuck —" it's humiliating, but you're already so, so close, and you can't bring yourself to say it because you feel you might actually cum when you do. you arch your back, pleasure rippling through your body relentlessly. 

"show me how much you like it, angel." joshua says this through gritted teeth, also teetering on the edge of an orgasm, still unable to comprehend how you look so much like a goddess, how your hair fans out around you so perfectly, how swollen and kissable your lips look. "i've got you." he says this so softly, as if he's not punching the air out of you, as if he's not pulling the fabric of your panties taut so it presses meanly against your clit. his hips connect so hard with your ass that you know you will not be able to sit at all tomorrow, but fuck, it feels so goddamn good. "show me."

and you do show him; you fall apart so easily around his cock, sobbing and clinging to his strong arms as wave after wave overtakes you. he seals his mouth over yours in a messy open-mouthed kiss, and your lipstick's all over his face, but he doesn't have a care in the world when his tongue's in your mouth and his cock's buried in you.

later that night, he takes every little piece of lingerie off you, gently, patiently, and kisses where the straps were. you still melt into him every time, even when he's being lewd and licking his fingers off after cleaning you up.

"fuck, we're married," you say as he whisks you away to the bathtub, now running with warm water. "married."

"ugh, i know. how'd you ever land a stud like me?" he can't even get halfway through the sentence without laughing, and your only retaliation comes in the form of pressing a million little kisses on his perfect, beautiful face.

"you are so in for it."

"oh, really now?"

and surrounded by the bubbles and the bathwater and your husband's arms, you're so, so happy; it feels like the sun's been cracked open in your chest and you're glowing.

[saintmurd0ck]

lovely rhi, with every follower milestone you hit i'm more and more proud of you, and delighted that so many people are getting to enjoy your wonderful writing - you're such a gift to this fandom 💕💖

for the sleepover could i please request love confession headcanons for michael kinsella?

oh mindi, you never fail to bring a smile to my face. you are so genuinely kind, lovely, and incredible, and i can say with utmost confidence that i am so happy to have you in my life. i love and appreciate you, and feel so incredibly lucky to have experienced this hellsite at the same time as you <3

these love confessions are fuelled and inspired by my love for you.

check out my 500 sleepover!

fluff headcanons | love confessions with michael kinsella

michael doesn't really know how to confess his love for you. he conveys it without realising through his actions, such as a cup of tea lovingly prepared each morning, the way he squeezes your hand gently whenever he gets the chance, pouring you a stiff one on the hard days.

you're the first to tell him you love him. it comes (a little) out of nowhere, while you're driving and his hand's on your lap. the motorway is dark, starry dublin sky looking down on the both of you. you sneak a peek at him, elbow resting on the door, gazing out the window. and the words are said instinctively. "i love 'ya, michael."

he lifts his hand off his cheek to look at you, taking his hand off your lap to rest it in his. his eyes are wide, mouth parted, a little flushed almost despite the cool air, and he doesn't know where to look. you bite your smile, trying not to show him that his lack of response is making your stomach drop and your head go hot, but it's out. it's out in the open, and nothing can take that away.

it takes michael a few weeks before he can act. it's a long time. he knows it, you know it. but he grapples with that internal turmoil. notions of am i good enough for them? and fuck, how do i put this in words? thrash around in his head. he's never really been good at emotion, let alone putting stuff into words, but he sure as hell is gonna try for you.

he confesses his love for you in his living room, where you're both sat on the couch, mindless tv program flashing away. you've got a glass of wine in your hand, absorbed in the screen, in the action, and you catch him staring at you. it's a little like that moment in the car. he's trying to get the words out, shy and averting his gaze several times in doing so, chuckling softly as you turn your head to look him in the eyes.

is it possible that you are intimidating the michael kinsella? yeah. yeah you are.

you do what you do best and crack a joke, hearing that joyous laugh of his echo throughout the room, a laugh so deep and genuine it comes from his chest, not just one of those half-smiles he does to be polite.

he's bent over, clutching his stomach, hand coming up to brush down his moustache, and he says it. "i love 'ya."

he's in disbelief. oh my god. his brow furrows for a few moments, making sure that you both experienced that, that it wasn't just a dream in passing.

he says it again. "i love 'ya, pet. always have."

and all of a sudden, michael's just found his new favourite thing to say to you.

[waka-chan-out]

Meg I have a question that requires your expertise: I know the answer is all of them, but who, in your opinion, are the sluttiest/most whore-shaped JoJo characters?

I AM SO DELIGHTED BY THIS AND I’M EVEN MORE DELIGHTED THAT YOU FELT COMPELLED TO ASK ME.

you’re correct that the answer is all of them but i’ll go through the stand outs and my favorites <3 keep in mind that these are in no particular order.

1. Dio

a slut. whore. harlot, if you will. i’m completely certain that this almost immortal bisexual king had every intention of fucking every person on planet earth. he is built to be desired. he’s got one of those faces that even a straight man can’t deny. universal sex appeal.

2. Rohan Kishibe

everyone’s favorite pass around party bottom !!! that waist was made for grabbing. his very structure SCREAMS “harder.” and he canonically wears $50+ thongs that he styles to be completely visible. baby boy was built to be manhandled.

3. Joseph Joestar

proof that whores age like fine wine. i feel like this is no surprise since he canonically sleeps around but i just. he’s so big and stupid and charming i fucking love hate him. created to be pushed around a little bit and deserving of all the action he can get.

4. Bruno Bucciarati

i just think he deserves to get dicked down every second of his life and he could easily make it happen. and not only does he have a huge titty window in his shirt but he has a fuckin lingerie looking tattoo. he’s a WHORE. i could probably put any other member of the gang here as well but i feel like he’s the prime example of a guy absolutely no one could turn down. this image makes me furious, by the way. no wonder school dress codes ban shoulders. this series feeds us so well i stg.

5. Diego Brando

man, what do you even want me to say. this man was made to be sucked dry and snapped in half like a glow stick.

6. Narciso Anasui

the one in this image who decided to wear ribbons instead of a shirt. fuckin. what is happening. murderer malewife manwhore. jolyne is such a lucky woman my GOD.

i was gonna also add weather report on this list but i think i’m just biased because i’m attracted to him. the dude isn’t really a slut but he’s MY slut.

Honorable Mentions:

Jean Pierre Polnareff, Hol Horse, and Gyro Zeppelli

these men are chew toy shaped but they have absolutely no game whatsoever. could not get a bitch in a thousand years. complete and total simps. each of them has house husband energy though. and i mean, look at gyro. man is built to take a Strong Independent Woman’s strap. absolute whore, but in theory, not in practice.

hol horse technically does act a little slutty. he just respects women so much. feminism is a pathetic cowboy slutting himself out to women around the globe.

[pufflocks]

Kuroo x bottom male reader, maybe readers riding him?

Summary: Honestly in my mind–, I believe if Kuroo had someone sitting on his cock I believe he would be so touchy. Touchy and impatient— Touching the readers curves and rubbing on his thighs until he couldn't take it anymore. ♡

"You- You are so fucking tight- ugh, I love it." -T.K ❣

Warnings: Slight degrading • Groping • Cum eating • Proof read • porn without plot

Cast: Bottom!M!Reader x Kuroo Tesuro //Kenma Kozumane//

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

It was an alluring Friday. Volleyball club didn't have another practice until next week. Leaving an eventful evening afterschool for a certain couple.

"Phew I'm fuckin' exhausted-" Tetsurou exhaled stretching out his long limbs. Many people, according to Y/N would kill for his height. Yet he was always saying how much he hated it. Words only to tick his boyfriend off – which it did.

The rooster haired male slicked back his sweat covered hair. "Oi, kenma I'm gonna head out first since my oh so handsome boyfriend wanted me to take him home early." Kenma nodded quietly, chugging his water down quietly. He gathered his belongings along with the other members of the team.

'I wonder why he needs a chaperone to walk him home..' Kenma sighed. Shaking off the thought since it was not his business. Besides that he started picking up some stray volleyballs. Faster he does this the faster he gets home to play video games with his boyfriend.

You however, was just about to get out of your last period. Thinking about some random things to get out of the fact you and nekomas volleyball captain sending eachother lewd glances throughout the day. One action led to another throughout the day.

You sitting in the back of class softly giggling to yourself once while at your phone and blushing at other texts. Some texts were cute flirts like "I can't wait to see you" or "Coach is being extra angry. He needs pop a chocky milk" Leading to a raging tent in your pants in your last class period when he sent a slick nude of a boner he accumulated in the past hour. Ugh— The clock nearing 3 PM setting you slight edge in your seat.

BRING !

'Thankfully the teacher didn't see me with my phone.'

Sighing tremendously you snatched up your bag that had a cheesy volleyball sticker in nekomas colors with a big number '1' on it. Gifted by your yours truly, Tetsurou Kuroo aka rooster bf. A small nickname you gave him in your guys' first year.

You chuckled at your own humor as you bumped into someone the way out of your classroom.

"Ah-!" You failed to finish your small mental comedy show as your overly tall boyfriend encased you in a nearly bone crushing hug. Lovingly of course.

Your not so obvious erection slightly catching contact on his muscular thigh. "You scared me tetsu- Come on lets go." You grab hold of the mans hand in dire need to fix your lower situation, pronto. One think you hated about your boyfriend was how much of a tease he so unashamedly was.

You both agreed, over text to leave early to do it after class since he didn't have practice today.

"What's the rush doll ? You were just teasing me with that I wanna ride you BS over the phone." He snickered. Face automatically bloomed red as you scoffed in face. Pushy bastard he is.

"Yeah yeah. Come on before people see-" And before you knew it. Your boyfriend took one glace down south to notice you weren't lying. Your small cock pressing up against the unformed pants.

'Cute how eager he is~' he mentally mused.

He took this opportunity to just drag you to an already emptied classroom. The school seemed to empty out earlier on Fridays, you thought. Slowly coming back to your own senses you see just how peckish he really was. Air thickening. Your noticable shudders of arousal not going unnoticed.

"God,, I need you right now." No other words were conversed between you two as he eagerly ripped and tugged the cloth off your smaller frame. Canines slightly nipping at now heated skin and grabbing wherever his hands could easily roam. Sloppy kisses to your neck making you gasp and make your penis twitch in gratitude.

"Please tetsu.. I want it badly~" You moaned wantonly as he was gripping some belly fat lovingly. Tetsurou grinned as if he was a wolf in the night howling at the moon.

Grabbing a nearby chair, after he let you go with a small peck to your nose he sat down and shrugged off his trousers. Hard organ slapping on his lean stomach. The sight making you purr in the presence of this 'wolf'

'I can't wait to fucking ride him..'

The sight of his cock made you rub your legs together eagerly. A small "Hm..~" erupting from your throat. Oh god did it not only have girth and a red bulge of its head – His length and overall cock had been mesmerized in your small pink hole.

"Wanna ride you Tetsu.." you mewled already palming the hard on in your now very tight pants.

He pulled you closer and gripped your chin to make you look at him as he stroked his cock teasingly, "Wanna ride me dry and see if you can come undone or vise verse but you blow me ? Which is it sweetheart ?" Darting dark eyes your way as he audibly purred. Kind to not so kind kisses being placed to your collarbone making you shiver as his cold lips met your hot skin.

New hickies you never minded showing off, just as much as he never minded giving you to show off.

The choices were hanging heavy on your tongue, now realizing his question. Almost obediently, in one swift motion you got down your knees willingly let him unravel you with his slim eyes.

"Such a lucky ass man I am~"

Fuck you wanted him so bad.

"You gonna blow me my pretty Y/N ?" He said stroking your cheek as if you were the most rarest diamond from his thief heist. To him you were not only rare, but valuable beyond his mind.

Grasping hold of his member you lick up his shaft kissing here and there. Making quick work to get to the main course.

Tetsurou smiled. His pretty boy serving his cock like it was something holy. Before he knew it you started gulping down his length. Slobber dribbling at the creases of your mouth. Pretty eyes of yours making their ways to your rooster headed lover.

"Fuck-! Baby I'ma fuckin' cum-" He groaned, head flying backward as you got off hearing him announce he was gonna shoot down your throat. Swallowing every. Single. Drop.

"Shit.. You gonna take daddies cum baby ? Yeah ? Where you want it ? Tell me babes." He was tapping his cock against your now plump and messy lips as he stroked himself off to your filthy face. Fuck, he was using your face for his own pleasure. You wanted him to know how much you enjoyed this.

"Mm- I want it in my mouth!~ please stick your cock deep down my throat daddy!~" You whined pathetically stroking your own leaking cock and using your own arousal for lube. The lewd squlching noises invading your ears.

He snorted at your poor attempts at getting yourself off and opened your jaw enough to shove all the way in down your throat. Tears prickling and threatening to fall down your face. You let out small gags leading to moans from the action as he shot down your throat. You swallowed his seed successfully, sticking out your tongue to show you did.

"Such a pretty boy.. Fuck such pretty boy." Tetsurou praised as he wiped the tears you ignored from your puffy eyes. Also unnoticing the ringing one of your phones was doing. You didn't care though. "We ain't done yet though. Get your sweet ass up here my prince." You joyfully obliged as he helped you off your knees seeing they were red. He started rubbing small circles and kissing your bare shoulders. A way of saying sorry for making you be on yourknees for so long.

'So caring~' You groggily giggled to yourself due to your throat being slightly sore from your guys' previous actions. Damn he was rough this time. Does being found out really get him this riled up ?

He cocked an eyebrow, "What's wrong ? Did a do something silly ?" He wore his signature smirk. The one you loved and hated. A calming and goofy aura being replaced with the once heated lustful one. All you could do was giggle again and cup his face in the moment. Just enjoying him.

"You're just so caring with me and I love you for moments like these." You confessed. Heart beating erratically as he chuckled kissing your nose.

"I know. I'm a big ass softy for my boyfriend believe it or not." You rolled your eyes jokingly. You loved this man, but you also loved his cock which by the way, still hasn't gone soft yet.

Turning around in his lap you wrapped your arms and legs around his form as you whispered alluringly. "Let me do the work cuz my dick is aching now and I needa cum stupid bad." You smiled devilishly. He once again for the umpteenth time, chuckled at your words and throwing his hands up.

"No hands my prince. No hands." You nodded. Knowing full well he would lose it half way of your quote unquote dominance.

You slowly and steadily began inserting his member inside. God, the stretch you fucking waited for was heavenly. Making it all the more nearly impossible to not close your eyes in delight.

Sucking through his teeth your boyfriend let out a long "Fuuuck..~" as groaned instinctively grasping onto your hips. On a loose thread of keeping his promise of letting you in control.

"God, you're so fucking- huge-! Testu~" You whined already grinding the rest of length into your now gaping hole. The feeling all too familiar to your body. Soon beginning to bounce up and down with pure greed. Not giving the slightest flying fuck if someone were to see you through the small class window as you were rolling your eyes back in ecstasy like a expert porn star.

"You- You're so fucking tight.. Ugh- fuck I love it !~" He moaned out aggressively as your bouncing only quickened at his words slapping sounds got louder. "Who's fucking cock are you riding Y/N ?" He growled and huffed bear your neck. His breath tickling the hairs in the area.

Noticing he didn't get any answer to his no rhetorical question, Tesurou slapped your ass harshly leaving a delicious itchy feeling rupture in the spot his heavy hand slammed on. You lost it as an almost unbearable amount of pre ran down your cock.

"You- Ah!~ Fuck it's you Testu!~ Your cock- Ah-!~ is hitting me in all the right places oh my fucking god!-" You shrieked small little tears making their way down your ruined face.

'This slut is really egging me the fuck on today~' Tetsurou mentally grinned.

Not only did he like the words coming out of your mouth, but he lived for those damn tears of diamond racing out the corners of your eyes. "

"Fuck it. I'm pounding the shit out of this ass." He mumbled to himself as he snatched you off of his body as if it was completely nothing and pressed you forward on a desk, your perky nipples grazing the cold school furniture.

He took a second to adjust his angle until ramming into your prostate directly dead on as you let out a high pitched warble. Anyone could mistake your voice for a females out of context. "Fuck-! fuck- MM— FUCK YES~" you moaned as your cock swung heavily in between your legs as Tetsurou began deep stroking every corner inside you. The feelings making your mind go numb.

"Baby boy I'm finna blow my load~ Who the fuck is fucking your shit up right ? Huh ?~" Testu's snarled in your ear. Snatching you up by your neck up to his sweaty hard chest. Your bodies creating an almost unbearable heat between you both.

You whined in a needy voice as the feeling of your prostate getting hammered repeatedly. "YOU DADDY~ YOU YOU YOU~!!! GOD LEMME CUM FUUUCK—" His grip on your neck did not falter as his pace only got faster. Quickly gripping your slick penis and jerked you off all the while placing delectable light kisses around your bruised neck and shoulders. You were nearly seeing stars with overstimulation and his contrast of touch.

"That's exactly what I like to hear my amazing boy~" Tetsurou hips stuttered as you came hard, your eyes rolling back and drool sliding down your jaw. Coming straight after your release he gave one last deep push cumming deep down in your tight little ass. "Fuck babe..- Fuck-" He panted smiling lazily, grip already faltering around your neck. He never would forgive himself if he accidentally choked you to death.

Since you guys literally just fucked in a classroom, aftercare had to be done differently. Slowly laying his head on your shoulder, rubbing your hips and doing anything to ease any after pain off your body. Maybe you'll let him try out a cream he uses on himself after volleyball. Eases the joints and moisturizes your body.

Such a loving boyfriend you bad.

"I love you so damn stinkn' much Y/N.. God I'm so fucking lucky I swear." You chuckled, 'cause he always seemed to be so emotional after you guys had sex. You thought it was cute coming from him. "Let's get out of here cuz' we already stayed here for half an hour." You stated pushing the tall male off your body, much to his unpleasant dismay. He only hummed in response.

"Your house or mine ?" He questioned after pulling up his pants and tugging his extra volleyball shirt on. You stretched while yawning a bit. Sex is tiring.

"Yours. My parents will automatically smell the sex on me and no cologne can cover that." Giggling softly at your statement your boyfriend nodding in a agreement.

"Let's just hope they dont find out we once fucked in your living room-" You glared at him as he stopped, snickering at how cute his boyfriend looked after being roughed up.

"Let's go so we can cuddle now please." You softly pleaded as you tugged his shirt tiredly. You know the first thing you were gonna do when you got to his house was instantly plop smack on his oversized bed.

"Let's go my prince."

Bees are pretty..

Zenna, no.

[45percenterthen]

Belated bday fic for bearer of cursed fruit facts @seraphlm and thee plant dad cas truther @cactuscas !! Love u guys v much, happy bday <3 (ao3 link here)

“Fuck’s a horoscope again? It’s like, stars and shit, right?”

He bumps Cas’ elbow, who’s squinting at one of his fern-looking-things like he’s experimenting with horticultural telepathy. The saga of the fern-thing has been turbulent, to say the least. It’s wilting a bit, leaves curling in on themselves like tiny fists. Cas has spent the past few days carting it from one window ledge to another, muttering to himself about humidity levels with a familiar air of irritated devotion. Dean reckons the whole underground bunker situation probably isn’t helping. It’s well travelled, though, for a plant. Dean thinks it should be more grateful.

Cas nods, releasing a leaf with a sigh and sitting down next to Jack. “Indeed. Stars and shit.”

Jack’s engrossed in some magazine, finger tracing the words as he reads. Cas reaches for the edge of the page to hold it taut for him, and Dean can practically see his other hand itching for his phone. Diagnosis time for the fern-thing. Dean’s never seen a favorites bar so wholly taken up by gardening websites. Dean’s pretty sure the definition of true love is pausing Die Hard to read an article about potting soil drainage.

“Do you want to hear yours, Dean? It’s for this week.”

“Sure, kiddo.” To be honest, Dean thinks the concept of fate can very much, actually, go fuck itself. Jack looks delighted though, so he keeps it to himself. He stirs a bit of extra butter into the eggs because that’s the way Jack likes them, dutifully not looking at Cas to avoid a depressing conversation about his cholesterol levels.

“Oh! It says you’re lucky this week, Dean!”

“Awesome, bud! Time to stock up on the scratch cards, eh?”

Sam chooses that moment to come lumbering in. The state of his hair suggests a sleepless night, or that a recent localized hurricane that targeted his bedroom only.

“Hi Sam! We’re reading horoscopes. Dean’s an Aquarius.”

“Oh, cool.” Eileen had been delayed on a salt and burn with some of the new-hunter-network people. Sam looks suitably mopey about it, forlorn housewife that he is. “Mercury’s in marmalade, and all that.”

“Aquarius is ruled by Uranus,” Jack continues, and Sam instantly chokes. On air, apparently. Bastard.

“One more time, Jack? Dean’s ruled by his –”

“You’re a child, Samantha.” Dean looks around for the nearest something-painful-not-fatal to throw at him. Plant’s a no. Instant divorce. He glances at the eggs, but decides he doesn’t want to spend his morning getting egg yolk outta the tile grouting.

“Dude, oh my – I should’ve just checked your horoscope,” Sam walks over to the fridge, catching the Mary Berry’s Baking Bible that Jody sent them for Christmas in mid-air. “Would’ve saved us a talk.”

“Eat your pineapple and shut up, man.”

“Did you know that pineapples are technically berries?” Jack says. Dean wonders if Cas introduced him to WebMD-for-plants. Or maybe this is just a side effect of being The New God on the block. Berry omniscience. “Well. The outside bit is. Bananas are berries too.”

“That’s weird,” Sam closes the fridge door. Stares into his bowl like he’s offended. Dean’s offended Sam eats nothing but fruit in the morning. “After the heaven rebuild. You should, like, fix berries.”

Jack turns to Cas solemnly. “Should I fix berries?”

“Perhaps you should concentrate on heaven, first. Then we can see about berries.”

“I don’t want to ruin the fabric of our established universe,” Jack says, and Dean’s struck, once again, with the sudden realisation that he’s making eggs for the most powerful entity in Creation. Mondays, man.

“I don’t think Chuck had any such purity of intent in mind,” Cas says darkly, pouring more milk into God’s glass for strong bones and teeth, and yeah, Dean’s pretty keen to steer Cas away from that particular line of conversation.

“Hey, what’s Cas’ horo-whatever?” He takes the eggs off the heat and walks over to the table, leaning over to see what the hell magazine this is, actually. Looks Rowena-y. Is the Queen of Hell sending his son-God care packages? That’s one way to establish diplomatic relations.

He rests his hands on Cas’ shoulders, stroking his thumbs at the neckline of his t-shirt when he feels tension. He decides against pressing a kiss to Cas’s hair. Just ‘cause he’s with a dude now, doesn’t mean he’s gonna be all gay about it. Cas’ left hand comes up to cover his own. Their rings clink.

“Cas doesn’t have a birthday, though.” Jack frowns at the page slightly, apparently looking for the section on fallen angel anomalies.

“Then we’ll have to pick one –” Dean starts, just as Cas says, “September eighteenth.”

Cas tips his head back against Dean’s chest, peers up at him. He’s got dried toothpaste at the corner of his mouth. Dean grins stupidly at his upside-down face. “September eighteenth, yeah.” Something swoops in his chest. Cas is earnest, and it’s unbearable. He loves at full volume, and Dean’s as grateful as he is undeserving. He squeezes Cas’ shoulder. Tradition, and all that.

Jack taps the page. “It says you’re a Virgo, Cas!”

They’re still staring at each other as Jack starts reading aloud. Dean brushes hair off Cas’ forehead and thinks, for once, he’s landed himself the permanent kind of happy. Dean’s pretty sure he’s loved him for years and years, quietly, achingly.

There’s the sound of cutlery against ceramic, and Dean looks up to check Sammy’s not weeping into his fruit bowl out of sheer girlish pride or whatever. He’d made it six words into his best man speech before the waterworks. Dean’s never letting him live it down.

⁂

“So,” Dean says later, after Sam’s gone to collect Eileen from town, and Jack’s off on heavenly refurb duty. “My lucky week, huh?”

Dean circles his arms round Cas’ midriff. Lets his chin rest on his shoulder, because he can, and also to check Cas isn’t half-assing the washing up.

“Apparently so.”

Dean hums. It’s funny. They’re married. And yet moments like these, the big ones, still manage to make him a bit nervous. It’s stupid. He’s hardly gonna say no. But Dean supposes they’ve never managed to get anything in the right order. Two deathbed confessions amidst a decade of friendship. An ‘I love you too’ echoing off brick in an empty room. Two kids co-parented before they even kissed, and they were already living together when they started dating. Someone get Nicholas Sparks on the phone.

“Perfect week to put an offer down on a house then, right? That one on the lake?”

Cas drops a fork into the bubbles. He turns his head to reply and Dean takes it as an opportunity to kiss what’s within reach. The smile lines around his eye, his temple greying with the proof that Cas loves him. He’s all in. Dean is too, terrifyingly.

“Really?”

“Yeah, dude.” Dean nods at the fern guy. “Your plants would appreciate the sunlight, right? And there’s a room for Jack.”

Cas spins in his arms, leaning against the sink to look Dean in the eye. Dean grabs at his soapy palm, intertwining their fingers, confident in his sappiness when no one’s watching.

“I know I always say Sammy didn’t make the most of his college experience, but dorming in my forties isn’t exactly what I meant –”

“You’ll miss him, though.”

“Of course, man. Lived with Sam my whole life. But,” Dean relinquishes the hand to cup Cas’ face, “I kinda wanna do my own thing now. With you. So, move in with me, Mr. Winchester? Somewhere… overground?”

It’s so off-your-feet sweepingly romantic Dean feels like he deserves a medal. Maybe this is their karmic justice after the proposal debacle.

Cas is smiling at him, soft and sweet. “Okay, Dean.” He puts wet hands around his waist and Dean doesn’t even care that it’s seeping through his t-shirt. “Lake house it is.”

Dean leans in, kisses him three times in response. He lingers on the last one, smiling against Cas’ mouth. Cas knows what he means.

[teawiththegods]

i have multiple experiences to share, but i’ll split them into multiple parts for convenience sake lmao

my relationship with apollo is definitely more on the sarcastic “you’re lucky i love you” side

you know how in camp movies (not sure why this is the first comparison i can think of but anyways)

there’s always that one counselor who’s very deadpan, dry , and overall seems to have been forced to work at said camp

will this counselor put their life on the line for these campers? yes

will this counselor resist the urge to slam their head into a concrete wall when their campers walk straight into the poison ivy they were warned about two minutes ago? also yes

one of the examples with apollo very much acting like said counselor happened a bit ago:

it was late (ranging anywhere from 3:30 to nearly 6:00 in the morning)

i was tired and went to my room (after shutting everything off in the other room) and sat on my bed

it was very much one of those “i’m so tired i don’t feel like moving the ten steps to cover myself from the cold and go to bed” moments

so, there i sat. half asleep in my pajamas, in the dark, on my bed.

in my tired haze, i mumbled, “gods i’m cold.”

enter apollo, being the absolute delight he is.

me, putting my head in my hands: gods i’m cold…

apollo, staring at me, to the two fans in my room, then back to me: really? you’re cold? hm. i wonder why, nico. it’s definitely not because of the two fans blasting at you or anything, right? that’d just be absurd.

me: you’re so nice to me in my time of need

apollo: you’re sitting on your bed, nico, just move-

me, stubborn: but i’m tired….

apollo, gesturing to the fans and then my bed: ITS TWO STEPS I PROMISE YOU CAN MAKE TWO STEPS

this went on for a bit because as cold as i was, i am infinitely more stubborn and like making apollo’s life difficult (even if it’s something as small as not moving despite complaints)

i eventually did go to bed, and as i laid there, falling asleep, apollo goes

“see? was that so hard?”

brief pause and then

“goodnight, kid. see you in the morning.”

I can absolutely relate to this! 🤣

Thanks so much for sharing, love! 💛

[matsbarzal]

Time’s a Ticking || Matthew Tkachuk

Notes: anyways I decided to do matty and I found this long list of soulmate AU prompts so I know what I’m doing tonight yikes. so here’s a lil bit of a nervous/anxious matty even tho he refuses to admit it. hope you enjoy!!! let me know how you like it <3 

Summary: everyone is born with a dwindling time on their wrist. the moment the time reaches zero is when a person meets their other half, the person who makes them whole; their soulmate. 

Word Count: 3k+

10,584. 7 days, 8 hours and 24 minutes. 7 days until he’d meet his other half, the person that’s meant to complete his soul, be his better half, or whatever a soulmate is meant to be. Matthew wasn’t crazy about the idea of soulmates, sure, he was surrounded by people who were madly in love and happy and complete; but he was also surrounded by those people... the one’s whose time stopped, girls and guys who had a permanent marking of time on their wrist that would never move again.

He wouldn’t say he was a pessimistic person, but he had seen so many friends and family fall into a spiral after their soulmate clock stopped ticking, watched as their other half broke them without even meeting them. He wanted to be excited and optimistic but Matthew couldn’t bring himself to feel the same delight that his friends did on his behalf. Anything could happen in this 7 days, 8 hours... and 22 minutes now.

6160 minutes

You could feel the bump of the plane as it touched the ground. This was the one part of flying you hated the most, the anxiety and the bumping as the plane made its way down the runway towards its destination. You knew anything bad was unlikely to happen, but your nerves were on edge. All you could think about was the time on your wrist, the time that kept on ticking. It hadn’t stopped in your entire 21 years of life, and from the looks of it, you were approximately four days away from that happening.

Sighing, you listened to the claps from around you as everyone congratulated the pilots for landing the plane safely. Around you, people stood up and began collecting their belongings, grabbing their bags from the overhead compartments as the chatter continued in the cabin.

You politely smiled at the man beside you as he passed you down your bag, a quick “Thank you” leaving your lips as he gestured for you to walk in front of him towards the exit. 

Originally, you hadn’t had any intention of leaving Alberta for the holiday break, but your parents had practically begged you to come home for the holiday’s, citing the fact you had remained in Lake Louise for the last year and that they had only seen you once since you made the choice to unravel everything you knew by packing a few bags and moving halfway across the country to Alberta to work at some fancy ski resort in the mountains. 

It was originally only meant to be a few months worth of work, waitressing in Lake Louise at a 5-star resort that is, and then time kept going by, and the more and more you fell in love with not only the scenery, but the people. Everyone was happy there, tourists were always excited and polite, everyone just wanted the chance to see the Lake, skate on the Lake, whatever it was. No one was ever unhappy here, and you loved that. 

You were pulled out of your thoughts as the line in front of you continued to move quickly, people eager to get out of the cabin and get back into the fresh air that flowed outside. You could barely contain your giddiness as you stepped off the plane. You could barely believe how much you missed the province, missed your friends, coworkers, you even missed the tourists. Who would’ve thought?

After about 20 minutes of watching the carousal spin and spin and spin, you finally eyed your bright red, Flames red, as a lot of people reminded you, suitcase. Grabbing it, you hauled the bag off of the carousal and onto the ground. You were eager to get to your car, which you had already paid a good 500 dollars worth of parking for, and eager to get the move on the three hour drive across Highway 1 to Lake Louise. 

After four and a half hours of travelling, you knew this three hour drive was going to exhaust you. And with the temperature out in Alberta right now? All you wanted was your bed and a cup of piping warm hot chocolate to end the day.

4590 minutes

“Man, your face is already awful to look at. You really trying to ruin it even more right before you meet your soulmate?”

Before Noah could even think, a wad of tape hit the side of his head while exclamations went up around the room about the choice of target. “Whoops, guess my tape slipped... out of my hand.”

Matthew shrugged his shoulders, an innocent grin on his face as he stood up to grab the tape from beside Noah Hanifin’s locker. 

“No, but seriously, why are you getting into fights with three days left on your wrist? Don’t go and get yourself killed or something, they’d be devastated if they’ve waited this long for your dumb-ass just to have 4000 minutes tattooed on her wrist for the rest of her life.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Matthew ignored his teammates comments, choosing instead to run his finger across the always-changing number on his wrist. 

“It’s not like it matters anyways.” His words were barely above a mumble, but it was enough to spark the attention of his captain, who was quick to tell him to meet him in the trainer’s office after he was done showering and getting the blood that was currently dripping down his face, cleaned.

Obliging on his captain’s orders, he found Gio in the office, a tight smile the only warning that he was about to get ripped apart by the veteran. Gio was one of the lucky ones, he had barely been 16 when his clock finally hit the big 0. It made him an advocate for all the soulmate bullshit, constantly encouraging his teammates to wait it out, be patient, their time would come. 

“Chucky, buddy, we gotta have a chat.”

Quirking his eyebrows at the older man, Matthew nodded, “Well Gio, I kinda figured that one out buddy, unless you pulled me in here to look at my oh so pretty face.” 

“I’m serious. You need to stop with this constant bashing of soulmates and times and shit. I know you don’t like it and you hate the concept of soulmates and whatever, but you’re doing nothing but worrying the younger guys. These kids are constantly terrified their minutes are just going to stop and be etched into their skin.”

Subconsciously running his fingers across the number on his wrist again, 4530 minutes. Wonder what that is in exact time. Shrugging his shoulders, he was quick to apologize to his captain. “Sorry, G. Not trying to scare the kids, just getting a little... I don’t know? Worried? It’s getting too close, I don’t want to get like...  it’s not important, never mind. I’ll stop talking about times in the locker room. Sorry.”

Quickly tightening the tie that was now wrapped around his neck, Matthew raced out of the office before Gio could say something else to him. He eagerly grabbed his phone, wallet, keys and suit jacket before quickly making his way towards the parking garage, the only thing on his mind was of course, you.

2120 minutes

One whole day and just a few hours. You could barely breath as you ran your thumb over the little black number on your wrist. You knew it was inevitable that you’d be meeting your soulmate while working, the moment you looked at the work schedule when you arrived back from home, you knew you’d be stuck working during the time in which you were meant to meet you soulmate. You were giddy, sure. But what if they didn’t like you? What if whoever it was, was snooty, and rude, and didn’t like you for who you were?

“Y/N, you gotta stop thinking about it, babe. You’re gonna get your head stuck in a whirlwind of thoughts. Think about other things! Like... the Calgary Flames.”

Eyeing the blonde beside you, “Tell me Cassidy, why in the world, would I think about the Calgary Flames, instead of thinking about my soulmate?”

Your coworker shrugged her shoulders and gestured to the board behind your head. You had all been notified a day prior that the Calgary Flames had reserved a whole floor of the Chateau for the weekend. With your restaurant being directly in view of the Lake and the Mountains, you were expected to be the main dining spot for the team over their course of the weekend.

“Believe me, Cass, the last thing I want to think about is a bunch of hockey boys who are going to make me miserable the weekend where I’m supposed to be... not miserable.”

She winked at you, a teasing glint in her eyes, “Maybe one of those awful hockey boys has the same number on your wrist. Maybe Noah Hanifin’s your soulmate. God, I’d be so jealous, could you imagine being destined for that beautiful exhibit of a man? God, I’d climb him like a tree.”

Laughing, you wacked her with the towel in your hand as she continued to egg you on, gloating about how beautiful of a specimen Noah Hanifin was, and how she’d do just anything to crawl into bed with that man. Cassidy was always like this, bubbly, happy, positive. Her number had stopped moving 12 years ago, or so she says. She hadn’t been paying attention the day it stopped, the number etching itself into her skin permanently, to never move again. She was never negative about it, always saying that she hoped just the thought of her brought peace to her soulmate in their last moments. 

“Okay okay, enough about the Flames. I doubt it’s even going to end up being any of them, hockey boys and I do not get along. Especially the one’s that are just constantly bothering people, and that’s the entire Flames roster, so... let’s get back to work.”

440 minutes

One thing Matthew was sure of was the fact that he loved everything about the drive to Lake Louise. He wasn’t notorious for being a huge fan of the scenery around him, but something about the drive across Highway 1, the trees, the snow covered mountains, they all just faded together and created this picture in his head. It was hard to describe, there wasn’t anything specific to the picture, it was just joyful, it was happy, it was calm. Jesus, maybe he was just fucking crazy. 

A lot of people always said you feel more calm in the hours leading up to the first time you meet your soulmate. But he sure as hell didn’t feel calm. He was on edge, the scenery around him, albeit, it was beautiful, it was not calming him down. His leg was shaking, his foot tapping the ground beneath him on the bus. He could see Johnny giving him a look every time his shaking leg touched his teammates. He knew the entire team was frustrated with him. Two games straight, two 10 minute fighting majors. 

He was being a pest, constantly egging people on, trying to ignite arguments or fights or just some form of stimuli to get his mind off of the only thing it could stray to. You. He didn’t want to think about whoever the hell you were, he didn’t want to get his hopes up that maybe his clock would actually hit 0, maybe he’d actually meet his better half. Or maybe he'd fall through a crack in Lake Louise and never have to worry about it again... hopefully. 

“If you touch my leg... one more fucking time, I am going to sock you in the fucking face Chucky.”

Immediately pressing his heel into the ground, Matthew mumbled out a quick ‘sorry’ to the teammate beside him as he watched the trees continue to go by outside the bus window. The time was still changing on his wrist, every minute counting down as the minutes passed outside. There was barely any cell service on the drive up, so the only thing that could truly distract him at this rate, was you, and he hated that.

“Soooo... you excited Chucky? It’s gotta be the big day, no?”

If choking a teammate was legal, Matthew would already be wringing Noah Hanifin’s neck. 

“Yeah, delighted.”

“C’mon grumpy pants, you’re literally like what? 6 hours away from meeting the person who’s supposed to complete your soul... and you’re in a foul mood. Did Doughty crawl up your ass and die last night or?”

Grinding his teeth, Matthew tried to bite his tongue, refusing to lash out at his teammate, even though he so desperately wanted to. He wasn’t going to be the cause for a toxic locker room, especially over something as stupid as soulmates. 

It was obvious that something was going on, everyone on the team knew the time on his wrist equalled out to less than a day. Everyone could see how on edge he was slowly getting as the time dwindled down, but no one could figure out why he was getting more and more frustrated, why the excitement wasn’t shining through as the time continued.

“Why the hell aren’t you excited man? This person’s supposed to be the love of your life, and you seem like you couldn’t give two fucks if you meet them or not?”

It was too late, Matthew was exploding before he could even comprehend what he was saying. “It doesn’t fucking matter man, okay? I don’t give a shit about this soulmate bullshit. Everyone’s soulmate is gone one day anyways, what the hell does it matter if you meet them now? I’m gonna be aching at some point because they’re gone and I’m alone. Woohoo, I get to meet them today, woo-fucking-hoo. I could literally not care less, so stop bugging me.”

27 minutes.

It was all around, highly likely, that your soulmate had some form of connection with the Calgary Flames. Their reservation was scheduled for 23 minutes from now... and your wrist had that small number 27 etched on it as it continued to count down. 

“Wow... maybe your soulmate really is Noah Hanifin... I’m sorry for saying I’d climb him like a tree.”

A loud laugh left your throat as you watched a guilty smile form on your co-workers face. “Cass, I highly doubt it’s Noah Hanifin. It’s probably just a coincidence that their reservation time coincides with my meeting my soulmate time.” Cassidy gave you a knowing look as she walked away, a small smile on her face.

You were anxious, you couldn’t deny it. Every second that counted down, you were nervous, what if you weren’t good enough for them? What if they were embarrassed it was you? What if... oh god... what if they hated soulmates? What if they were one of those people who was willing to cut the tie, ignore the call, ignore the connection?

You refused to think about that, instead putting yourself to work, clearing the tables and plates of the previous occupants, you waved off the clearing crew, instead choosing to do it yourself. Anything to get your mind off of it. 

The Flames weren't the only occupants of the Chateau tonight, only taking up about half, you were able to still seat other tourists who were interested in the view tonight. 

That’s how you found yourself, 25 minutes later, your hand on your hip as you interacted with the group of rowdy guys in front of you. They were from Edmonton, and they were absolutely hammered. They were as nice as you could expect them to be, continuously flirting your ears off, as they tried to impress you with their... what was it? Accounting job? You couldn’t remember for the life of you, your mind solely stuck on the small number 1 now etched on your wrist. 

You were roused out of your thoughts at the feeling of a hand touching your waist. “C’mon sweetheart, you’re not even paying attention to us here. Take a shot with us, baby!”

You politely removed the offending wrist, a tight smile now etched on your face. “First, I would ask that you please don’t touch me. Second, I was most definitely listening. You boys want another round of beers, and 6 tequila shots. Unfortunately, I don’t believe the shots are the best idea, nor do I think the beer is, but I’ll definitely get you a glass of water.”

Spinning on your heel, you went to walk away but were stopped by the feeling of a hand tightly gripping your wrist, a small squeak falling from your lips.

“We don’t want water.”

“Please get your hand off of me.”

“Get us what I asked for then, bitch.” 

You were about to retort, a vicious snarl on your lips, but your words were caught in your throat as you watched a fist connect to the cheek of the man in front of you, a gasp leaving your throat.

2 minutes

This had to be a joke. He was apparently two minutes away from meeting his soulmate, and here he was, in an orderly fashioned line as him and his teammates made their way into the restaurant. He could barely breath, his pants felt too tight on his hips, he could feel the sweat seeping through his shirt. Thank god he made the choice to wear black. 

It felt like everyone’s eyes were on his, everyone was wearily watching the number on his wrist go down, as the obvious anxieties began to cloud his every thought, action, move... everything.

He tried to take his mind off of it, observing the restaurant as the team slowly made their way to their designated tables. There were a few other patrons, most of them caught up in their own world. One specific table caught his eye, they were a group of rowdy guys, maybe a few years older than him. 

Quite frankly, they looked like all around assholes. Looked like the guys you’d see from Wolf of Wall Street, and from the looks of it, they were really starting to irritate their waitress. Although, all he could see was your back, your posture was unbelievably straight, your hand on your hip as you inventively listened to the guys in front of you.

Matthew continued to watch you, something inside of him telling him that he just couldn’t look away. He had to keep looking. He watched as you turned your body, ready to walk to wherever your destination in mind was, but he instantly zeroed in on the hand that was now tightly wrapped around your wrist, a violent look on the man’s face.

He wasn’t moving on his own accord now, his feet were basically moving by themselves as they raced towards you.

“Get us what I asked for then, bitch.”

His fist was connecting with the other man’s face before he could even think. He heard the gasp from beside him, he watched the number on his wrist hit 0 the exact moment he looked at you, a look of shock on everyone’s faces.

“Chucky!”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m going to call the police you fucking curly-headed fuck.”

He could barely focus on the voices around him. You were here. You were literally right in front of him. Both of your numbers were at 0, he could see it on your wrist. He was literally staring in the eyes of his soulmate.

“Oh my god, you punched one of our guests.” Your voice was like bells to his ear, soft, delicate, everything he wasn’t... but god, you were perfect.

“I’m Matthew, and yes... I uh... I think I did punch one of your guests. I also think you’re my soulmate. Does it count as self-defence... if I punched him in my soulmate’s defence?” 

You laughed, trying to cover it up with your mouth as you watched your manager’s rush towards the now bleeding asshole at the table behind you. 

“I think I like you already, Matthew.”

[spiltscribbles]

Here’s a prompt from the tag! “ Giving them your dessert when you eat out because it’s their favorite.” bc I have a feeling Remis would be the type to end up eating Sirius’ dessert instead of his bc he doesn’t know what to order but Sirius knows his taste dkfjsjaha

~Notes: Oh no baby! I read this wrong, thinking it was Person A ordering for them instead because Person B didn’t know what they wanted.... And well this came out-- I can totally write a different prompt though to match this one! Just LMK! <3 <3

.-

Send Me A Prompt  |  Reblogs are like the tastiest dessert!!

.-

Remus pads softly into his and Sirius’s room, a mug of steaming Darjeeling in hand and clad only in a his robe as he gazes longingly at the sleeping form of his partner for nearing on three years now. 

The early morning sun pans across the wide expanse of Sirius’s shoulders, and dips into the planes and valleys of his muscular torso and angular face. Lying there, with his dark hair fanning the pillow and the blanket slung lazily around his hips, he looks like some sort of fallen angel. Beautiful and remote and impossible to touch by sullied hands that aren’t half as sacred. It makes his heart thud an uneven staccato when he remembers that he’s his— Sirius chose Remus, Sirius loves Remus— Maybe even nearly as much as Remus has always loved him.

How remarkable of a revelation indeed.

Gingerly, Remus sets down his tea and crawls back into bed with Sirius, insides thrilling when the dark haired boy subconsciously snakes his arms around him and curves around Remus’s body like so many times before, so often that Remus reckons it’s become by rote, an ingrained response to whenever they’re in close proximity to one another.

With a quiet laugh, Remus stretches around, begins peppering Sirius’s chest and abs and the space surrounding his cock with tender kisses, slowly rousing him to wakening the way Sirius always appreciates after a night of patrols for the Auror’s academy. And as usual, it doesn’t take long at all for Sirius to begin moaning out appreciative sighs, thrusting languorously for the warmth of his mouth, making Remus chuckle as he tugs down his pants, and kisses the length of him, peering up to watch as Sirius’s gorgeous, gray eyes flutter open.

“Wh— Moony?” He says in a peculiarly squeaky voice that Remus can’t ever remember slipping out of his mouth. 

“Yes— Problem, Paddy?”

Another discontent, borderline terrified noise rumbles in his throat, and before Remus could even ask what’s got his boyfriend acting like he’s touched in the head, the door to their flat flings open none too gently, and it’s an irate looking James who storms into the bedroom— fists clenched and jaw set as he glares daggers into the face of his practical brother.

“You’re dead Potter!” Is all he shouts before madness ensues— Madness that’s James’s flying fists for Sirius’s face, Peter’s choked laughter flowing in from the other room, and a Lily who looks stuck between horrified and amused

And Remus is so fucking bewildered as he slides off of his boyfriend to avoid any untoward hits accidentally aimed his way.

“Lily?” he presses expectantly, but is totally unsurprised when all she replies with is a bout of uninhibited cackles.

.-

Fifteen minutes, a magically healed split lip, and a physically restrained pair of animagi later, finds the ragtag group of friends surrounding the kitchen Island while a terse James and enraged Sirius are explaining what had happened the previous night. Namely, them getting hexed by a sour faced old bint with a Guinness in hand, after Sirius had driven his motorbike through her rosebushes.

“You guys got bested by a drunk hag!” Peter guffaws for the third time in a singular minute, clutching at his stomach while his body wracks with a continuous stream of  laughter

“I will singe your bollocks off Wormtail,” Sirius seethes from Remus’s left— Except no, it’s not Sirius. It’s James, his best mate James who’s now inhabiting the body of his lover. And God how strange of a fucking turn of events. It’s seriously unnerving. He’s just standing their, all too familiar arms crossed against his chest and thick brows furrowed. And God, Remus really wishes he wouldn’t do that— worry on his bottom lip mid snarl. It’s such a quintessentially Sirius thing to do. a look Remus knows well. One that Remus would always coax away with a gentle kiss and a hand carding through his hair and— 

“Oof!”

He glances over to where Sirius— wearing James’s face— is glowering at him with pure irritation after having elbow checked him. “Eyes front and center Lupin!”

Remus flushes, glancing over at Lily since she out of everyone here could understand his plight. But of course she’s only snickering to herself in her cup of coffee, the trader. 

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

“Just because ’s my body doesn’t mean you get to give another bloke the come hither eyes!” Sirius fumes, a sneer caught on his features that Remus never thought the face of the easy going James Potter could ever conjure. “Crikey, it’s plenty that you decided to give him a full on show already.”

“How was I to know this would happen!” Remus sputters the same time James defends that they even barely started, which of course made Peter fall over on his chair with pure delight and Lily walking over to the kettle so she can hide her own laughter.

“Lucky you,” Sirius snipes back, glaring darkly at James and snatching Remus’s hand to interlock with his— erm James’s?— own on his lap.

Remus is so totally fucked.

.-

Graciously, Professor McGonagall— who told the graduating Gryffindor  class of 78 to always reach out if they ever needed help with a strangely wet glint in her eyes— Replies to the pleading missive Remus had sent almost immediately, giving Remus the proper instructions to reverse the jinx and wishing him and Lily the best for the impending tribulations about to befall them.

“She’s totally loving this,” James mumbles moodily as Lily massages his head. And Merlin, is that a strange sight— Lily not only deigning to touch Sirius at all, but look at him sympathetically on top of that. Remus has to constantly remind himself of the body swap before his ridiculous envy begins carving at his insides when James only looks appreciatively back up at her, a gentle, open expression painted over his face that is ordinarily reserved for Remus and Remus alone.

“God this is weird,” Lily tells him, slowly inching away and sitting besides Remus instead. “I usually can’t stand even the sight of Black, and now I’ve got to treat him like the bloke I’m in love with.”

“That’s not what you said this morning Evans,” Sirius goads from Remus’s other end, suddenly reverting back to looking like the James of fifth year— when he was still too cocky for his own good and still didn’t understand how much it made Lily want to hex him to hell for it. “I actually think I recall a lot of back robs and straddling action this morning.”

Lily casts him a look that would absolutely scorch lesser beings, and Remus reasons that his own glower is emulating the same energy because Sirius quickly presses their foreheads together and squeezes Remus’s hand between both of his own in silent repentance. “I knocked her off once i realized it wasn’t you love.”

“Didn’t even bother to aim for the bed you absolute sod.”

“It was fight or flight while you had your grubby little hands all over me Evans!” Sirius airily sniffs.

“Oh I’ll show you grubby little hands!” Lily seethes, pouncing forwards right when Sirius hides behind Remus’s back.

“Children,” Remus intones, beyond over it. “Did you all not realize the massive problem with this little mishap.”

“You mean besides dealing with James’s pitiful little knob.” Sirius asks, faux owlish.

“You touch my knob Black and I swear to God I’ll shave off all your hair.” James snipes, which really isn’t all that fair considering how Sirius doesn’t even care about his perfect locks half as much as Remus does.

“Bloody hell! That’s brilliant!” Peter squawks from the loveseat, absolutely glowing. “James, you think you can get Moony’s name tattooed on his arse.”

James’s face goes sly, Remus’s favorite smirk toying the edges of his lips and his stormy eyes glinting with mirth that Remus only ever sees on his boyfriend’s face before a prank or while Remus is undressing in front of him. 

“What did I say about that look Moony!” Sirius shouts, scathing and skewering him with a look James only ever  employed as Head Boy  on the third year students stupid enough to get caught while trying to pull off a prank.

“Erm— Ahem.” Remus adjusts himself in his seat, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Yes well, that is rather besides the point.”

“So what is the point, Rem,” Lily asks smugly, and Remus absolutely hates how much she’s enjoying this. She should be suffering just as much as him for the sake of Circe.

“Well didn’t you have that lunch date set up with your older sister and her husband for today?” Remus points out, a mutinous little part of him preening at how her face goes a sickly sort of pale at the reminder. Finally someone is as ill over this as he is.

“Oh bloody shite! You’re right! And Professor McGonagall said that this incantation can only be done at night, the same time as it was originally cast!”

“We’re not in school anymore Evans, you can just call her McGonagall. Or Minnie if you’re so inclined.”

“Shut the fuck up Black!” Lily shrieks, and Remus can’t help but unfavorably liken her to a banshee. “I promised Petunia that I’d see her before she leaves on holiday tomorrow! And she bloody hates Black!”

“nasty harpy.”

“What are we going to do!”

“Erm— Well maybe you can explain to her the switch up?” Peter offers, always meek in the face of Lily’s wrath.

“She already thinks I’m a freak for being a witch Peter! I can’t bring James looking like that and expect her to be fine with it!”

“Most people would consider James having upgraded,” Sirius argues.

“The tattoo will be bright pink I reckon,” James muses loudly to himself, pretending not to have heard Sirius. “A nice contrast to your pasty white arse don’t you think Padfoot?”

Sirius bares his teeth at him and Remus feels an impending migraine while Lily continues to lament the idiocy of their boyfriends.

.-

Remus idly contemplates how normal his life could’ve been if he had fought harder with the sorting hat to be placed into Ravenclaw. It would be a much less wonderful existence, to be sure, but it’d be so blessedly normal. Remus would probably have gone steady with that Hufflepuff prefect, Andre, and they would probably still be together. And Andre didn’t have a best friend who he got into insane and improbable situations with, so Remus definitely wouldn’t have been forced to do this. To be forced to go to lunch with his best friend’s wizard hating sister and her pug faced husband and not look longingly over the table at the face of his other best friend where the love of his life is inhabiting his body.

Jesus, is Remus’s life confusing as fuck.

“I need to take a pis— Oof, I mean. I have to use the gents,” Sirius declares as everyone’s entrees are being served, giving a pointed glance to Remus. And he supposes he should talk to him about that, how incredibly obvious Sirius can be when he’s flustered and isn’t trying to show it.

Five minutes after his boyfriend, Remus leaves to meet him in the first open stall, finally feeling less wrong footed for the first time today when Sirius takes him into his unfamiliar arms.

“I’m going to stab my eyes out with a fork Moony!” He hisses, and it’s odd how alien his face— James’s face— is to him. How Remus has never spent the time to memorize the precise slope of his nose, or the shape to his lips. How Remus can’t understand what it means when he squints his left eye or when he flares his nostrils with a slight curl to his mouth. But Remus does recognize the way Sirius has always grabbed his hips in that desperate way when he’s fed up, and how he always presses his nose to the curls behind Remus’s ear when he needs to be grounded. And it’s a bit awkward now that they’re the same height instead of Sirius needing to stoop slightly, and how Sirius now smells like that pricy cologne that James has always sprits with gusto. But it’s familiar enough to make Remus’s shoulders relax from the tension sown through them all day, and breathe out with relief with how the pair of them still understand one another with an innate sort of knowing.

Gingerly, Remus wraps his arms around Sirius’s now less defined torso, and they stand their, tangled into one another amidst the hush settling over  them.

“Oi! You berks!” James hisses from the doorway all too soon, clambering inside and stomping his feet. “I swear to Merlin if you pricks are fucking inside there!”

“Don’t worry Jamie, I’d never put my Moons through the indignity of dealing with that after he’s had me,” Sirius jeers, preening when James replies by throwing something hard against the doorway.

“C’mon you idiot,” Remus sighs, tugging on a lowly chuckling Sirius as they meet James by the exit of the loo.

“I’ve had three different birds sliding their numbers into my trousers on my way here alone,” James complains, shuffling foot to foot and looking more awkward than Sirius ever has. “It’s obscene.”

“It’s the life of the beautiful,” Sirius corrects as Remus swaths his hand away from his arse. 

“I’d rather not have Petunia getting a heart attack when she sees her sister’s boyfriend copping a feel of another bloke,” he chides before looping his arm through James’s and begins strolling back to the table.

.-

The rest of the lunch is thankfully uneventful, but as stilted as expected, filled with Sirius needing to be kicked in the shin every time he starts gazing absentmindedly at Remus, and Lily flickering her eyes over to James disappointedly while he pouts at her with Sirius’s best puppy dog eyes. And Every time Petunia starts eyeing them all as if they’re all fucking each other behind the scenes, Remus clumsily changes the topic to the weather or how lovely her engagement ring is or asking Vernon about bloody drills— Even if all he wants to do is reach across the table and hold Sirius’s hand.

But thankfully, it all seems to be going along decently enough— That is until the waiter comes around to take their orders and spends a little too long leering at Remus, asking if he’d like a cinnamon roll on the house.

“He’d like a slice of the chocolate fudge cake and he has a boyfriend that probably wouldn’t appreciate the extra service.” Sirius growls out, specs gone askew and dark knuckles paling from where he’s clutching his spoon vindictively.

The waiter only smiles at him, shrugging in that what can you do kind of way before dashing off to place the orders in with the kitchen.

“Hmm,” Petunia levels him with a glance, unimpressed looking. “So James.”

It takes a beat too long for Sirius to respond and Remus silently curses his every damn star. 

“Erm, yes Petunia.”

“How long have you been fucking my sister’s friend behind her back?”

Lily goes shellshocked and James looks ill while Remus sinks lower in his seat, trying to force Sirius to get it together through his eye contact alone.

“Hah— Wow, you’ve been watching those silly Muggle dramas have you Petunia.” Sirius says in a mangled tone of voice, but of course that’s the precise wrong thing to have said.

With matching red faces and spluttering words of indignation— a few curses thrown in for good measure— Petunia and her husband rise from their seats and make a hasty retreat to their car towards the back of the building.

“Oh Christ,” Lily groans, jumping up to sprint after them— but not without swinging a perfectly aimed cuff to the back of Sirius’s porcupine head. “I’ll hex you once you’re out of my boyfriend’s sodding body Black!”

“I understand Evans!” He calls after her before swinging his head over to James and Remus with a mischievous grin. “We tried didn’t we?”

“You just couldn’t keep your bloody jealous  temper in check,” James scolds with no real heat.

“Oi! And what about you lusting over Lily so blatantly you tosser! It was revolting.”

“Yeah, well maybe you’ll remember that next time you’re gazing at Moony’s arse out in public you mongrel.”

Exhausted, Remus just rises and tells them to stay behind and make sure Lily’s alright. “I need a bath and some quiet.”

“Can I join,” Sirius pouts. “I miss you.”

“Only once you’re my  Sirius again,” Remus instructs, brooking no arguments before he finds a safe place to apparate, telling himself that he deserves an entire bottle of that cheap merlot they bought last weekend.

[im-totally-not-an-alien]

Final Fantasy 7 prompts #70

1. Time traveler au where everyone remembers, and I mean everyone!

Hojo? Incredibly curious about this new phenomenon and is hunting Cloud like a Zolom slithering up to a Chocobo

Sephiroth: Also hunting Cloud, although for entirely different reasons

Genesis full on tackle-hugged Angeal to the ground and not even a half hour later the scene repeats with the puppy

Random people on the streets scream and cry in delight at seeing thier loved ones for the first time since The Plate/Meteorfall/Geostigma took them from the world of the living.

Its a mess.

2. Cloud was never a selfish man. At least, he never considered himself to be. But standing here, aiming a gun at a sleeping man's head, he couldn't help to feel like he was.

3. Cloud sniffled, staring at his campfire as the wind blows at it. Its as if the wind god himself is trying to snuff out the only comfort he had left. He didn't mean to betray the group, he swears.

Not that it meant much.

(Au where Cloud never got mako poisoned after giving Sephiroth the black materia and swam away from Tifa, losing her in the lifestream)

4. After going through yet another tragic event, his mind shuts down. He fell into a coma (again) this time within the lifestream

Now its up to Zack and Aerith to save him from himself by entering Clouds dreamworld and spending time with him in hopes of convincing him to leave. They didn't count on Cloud not remembering what happened in the real world, nor for Cloud to have been given everything he had ever wanted.

Zack struggles with the morality of taking Cloud from a happy dream world and dumping him back into a bleak reality

5. Yuffie dumped a bucket of water onto Cloud, prompting the blond to grab a bucket of his own and chase the ninja through the jungles of Wutai.

Playtime was cut short however, when Yuffie fell into a hole in the ground. It was covered by large ferns and plant life, completely obscuring it from view. Still, she was a ninja! She should have seen this coming.

Cloud also feels a bit foolish for also falling in while looking for her.

They wake up and climb out of the hole, and head back to Godo, expecting nothing to have changed, only to find they-

A. Had been missing for 20 years

B. Are in an alternate reality

C. Have time traveled to the past

(Take your pick)

Cloud has no time to feel down, not with his precious annoying baby sister around. Someone has to keep the princess safe, and thats not easy when she's her own worst enemy.

(I intended this to be a fun sibling fic)

6. Before Crisis Shinra gets reports of a silver haired woman with reddish purple eyes dragging an unconscious blond man around like a stuffed animal.

Aka Jenova herself has come out to play

7. Sephiroth comes out of the labs much more woozy than normal. He doesn't think much of it at first, and by the time he realized he was in trouble, it was too late.

Genesis came into the Generals office to complain to the silverette about Shinra, only to find Sephiroth spacing out and acting rather...odd.

"Sephiroth," the redhead asked gently, "Are you...high?"

Sephiroth blinked slowly at him, and the commander couldn't help but to feel it was a greeting of some sort.

The silverette smiled before saying. "I am higher than you, yes."

"Thats not what i- Wait. Did you just make a joke?!"

Or

A certain blond trooper walks in holding paperwork for the general, who proceeds to pick up the smaller man and coo at him.

This somehow culminates into Sephiroth saying, "I know. I should adopt you!" Before spinning the young man around in the air like one wood a toddler.

Clouds confused shout was audible a whole two floors down, catching the attention of the honorable commander and his puppy, who went to investigate.

(Inspired by a dream I had of Sephiroth holding a struggling Cadet Cloud and saying "This is my son now." To Angeal)

8. Genesis munching on popcorn while watching Cloud beat up Sephiroth for the umpteenth time.

He even has the audacity to cheer for the blond

9. General Sephiroth encounters a child who is dressed up like him when out on a walk.

He talks to the child and leaves the situation feeling much better about himself.

(I need some wholesome Sephiroth fics)

10. Kadaj as a cat loaf

11. Sephiroth and Cloud have a shared dream about them being happily married and Cloud being pregnant.

The moment Cloud wakes up he barricades the doors and windows.

Sephiroth...well he doesn't know what to think about this situation. He's kinda just staring off in a daze.

He attributes it to trauma and neither ever bring it up.

12. Time traveler Cloud, but with all of Jenova-fied Sephiroths abilities. The problem is that Cloud has seemingly little control of these abilities, leading to Cloud being very tired and the writer being very amused.

13. Sephiroth rescues a blond fae from the rubble he was pinned under.

This was how he gained his silent stalker. The man never spoke. But his calming smile said enough.

14. When Lazard discovered there was two red clad men, who spoke in loveless quotes, he had to fight the urge to bang his head onto his desk and groan like a teenager. When he found out there were three of the man, he actually did just that.

Finding out there was only one Angeal was a bit concerning, especially since these other two worlds were supposed to be further along in the timeline. Thankfully, Zack hasn't seemed to change much in either. Then again, the one carrying the mako poisoned blond seemed wary of everything. Strange.

Strangest of all were the Sephiroths. One refused to come to this meeting, stating that it wouldn't be worth his time, which shocked the entire board of directors. Nothing they did or said seemed to faze the once dutifully obedient man. Luckily, Shinra still had thier own Sephiroth on thier side to protect itself if necessary...and the people too if they were lucky.

The third Sephiroth only commented something about searching for clouds or some such nonsense.

Lazard couldn't help but to feel disaster looming on the horizon.

15. "I'm pretty sure they would trade everyone here for a single corn chip if I got hungry." The blond deadpanned. "They're heartless."

Yes, food good. The voice interjected. Nutrition. Survival.

Cloud wanted to tell it that he didn't even like corn chips, but talking back to the voices in your head is usually considered to be a bad idea. Even if they're real.

Especially if they're real.

Aka the J and S cells mutate and begin communicating with thier host.

Cloud is not pleased.

Bonus: Sephiroth and Cloud reacting to your fanfiction.