#he really does walk like he has a fucking tree trunk between his legs

[5thelement]

Kevin Durand in Abigail (2024)

[moondirti]

12. PUSH COMES TO SHOVE

CHAPTER TWELVE OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter eleven / chapter thirteen ⇀

summary: you cross a line you can't turn back to. miguel takes you up on a joke.

explicit (18+) | 5.6k words warnings: smut, female masturbation, sexual fantasies (including unprotected p-in-v, breeding, biting, paralysis, bondage, aftercare), everyone is bad at feelings, insecurity, fear of heights, mentions of death notes: nothing i wrote sounded right so i just had to publish before i decided to scrap it all and reqrite

It’s a shameful, awful thing to do. 

One with no excuse for it – not really.

You were just bored. Pent up on an endless routine; familiar people, recurring places. Your night and day mirror images of one another. Even in the post-apocalyptic landscape of your old home did you have something to do with your spare time – wandering wrecks and cleaning the devastation left in the wake of your mistake. 

But here, visiting an Earth where the expectations for your stay had never been clearly defined – where you can go, who you can talk to, what freedoms you’re permitted – you’re technically no more enriched than a prisoner, peering listlessly from their window at the bustling lives outside. And with a track record of dragging chaos along no matter your intentions, you’re much too afraid to push the hang fire state in which you live in. 

So, containment or self-sabotage, it doesn’t really matter. Not when both have the same, invariable conclusion. This. Dangerous boredom; the type that always, always feeds into thoughts of him. 

They’ve gotten worse too. Of late, your previously honed scorn and resentment for the futuristic spider-man has ebbed into something more… mellow. Understated. It’s a peculiar condition, hard to name. Fuzzy in the places it once stung and barrelling down an unmarked path. Confusion, maybe. Indecision. And while your chest twinges with the not knowing of it all, you’ve already decided that you hate this more than the antagonism you felt before. At least it had been logical, founded on a bank of valid evidence, with bruises and scars to show for it. This is bolstered by nothing; vague impressions of his smirk and strict approval. A pulse between your legs. Sweaty palms before seeing him, wondering what state you’ll be greeted with. 

(You always hope it’s washed, snugly dressed and wounds tended to. He’s in a significantly better mood when refreshed, you find. Enough of a difference from post-fights to make you wonder whether you’ve ever known him at all.)

And it’s pathetic because Miguel has a life where you don’t. You’ve disproved your theory on his marital status, but that doesn’t change the fact that this is his home. A world where every possibility is open to him – walks in the park, ice cream from a quaint corner shop, a group of highschool friends, maybe, who he sees on occasion. Kids – you’re certain of that, the reality imbued in everything he does. The man has to be the father of at least one darling angel, someone he can dedicate all his work to. He’s too committed not to be. 

So, every hour he spends outside of your meetings, he’s probably off doing something worthwhile. Daycare pickups. Stopping crime. Running a building full of spider-folk. And you–

Well, that’s the mortifying point. 

You’re here, leaning against your shower wall, soaked to the bone while two fingers work your cunt. And you’re thinking of him. 

Broad shoulders, packed with ineffable strength, curving down to tree-trunk arms. They man-handle you in the best of ways – clamped around your thighs, upturning you onto his plump, magical fucking lips. That mouth had been expert, quick or slow when need be, much like his touch. He’s good at working them in tandem to make a mess of you, searching for devastation somewhere in your core. He’s good at finding it, at rendering you pliant enough to spill it onto him. 

Are you crossing a line? 

It’s been pseudo-professional so far; sex in favour for another milestone crossed. Encouragement on the only degree you respond well to. But now you’re fingering yourself to mere notions of him, alone, for no reason other than what his imagined presence does to you. 

Fuck. You’re perverse. Worse than that. There’s no verbiage available to capture how depraved you are – you’ve just never gone through this before. Everyone you’ve ever wanted, you’ve taken and promptly abandoned the next morning. One night stands. Fleeting flings. No one has ever stuck around long enough to make things complicated. 

Of course he would, though. You have to laugh at the irony of it. Miguel’s always made life hard for you, whether intentionally or not. And now he’s taken root in your mind, forcing you to face all its flowering consequences. 

Like how he simultaneously sates you and leaves you wanting more. You’ve had his fingers and tongue – a great deal more than you can attribute to yourself in the past year. And they’re great, brilliant. But it isn’t enough. Not when you’ve seen his cock; thick-set, throbbing, splitting your jaw open with brutal efficiency. He was big and eager and much less restrained that day than he has been since you established your new dynamic. He’d come closer than he dared to before. 

Or again.

(Whatever’s changed, you’d give everything to reserve it. To feel him – not down your throat, but in you. Mushroomed head spearing you open, imprinting itself on your walls. Ramming your cervix, made easy as his large hands fold you into a mating press. The position would give him the added benefit of watching you come undone, every miniscule expression laid out to spur him on. Or maybe he wouldn’t like that – maybe he’s the type to grab your hair and pull your head back so his tongue can lather over your neck. 

You’d take whatever you can get, no hesitation.)

Your index and middle sandwich your clit, scissored open as you rub the swollen bud. Blood rushes downward, fattening under pressurised pleasure. The wet smeared on your thighs is slippery, much too slick to be a product of the hot water beating down on you. It points to what you already know; that, no matter what you do to scour it off, all you’ll ever be is a wanton idiot. 

Vapour latches onto oxygen, the bathroom air growing suffocating, humid, heady with the scent of sex. Nerve ends prickle at the drag of pruned skin, your orgasm on a never-ending approach. No matter what you do, you can’t seem to beckon it. You’ve been here for far too long, cycling through every trick in the book, testing sweet spots that’ve become accustomed to another’s manipulation. You’ve pinched yourself, used the shower head until its pipes hissed, stuffed your slit full and curled forward, looking for that patch of spongy tissue. 

None of it works. Nothing helps you see stars, unable to drag you to the heavens you’ve reached with your mentor. 

(Wanton idiot is a tolerant title, too lenient for you. At least one would be able to satisfy themselves.

But now, in the wake of your frustration, you’re reduced to a roll of drenched cotton, numb to everything but the fire at Miguel’s fingertips.)

Still, you try. You anchor a foot to the faucet, plastering yourself on the glass pane that separates the shower from the rest of your bathroom. It’s frigid, a stark contrast to the water heating your flesh, and the temperature drop strikes your senses awake, flooding you with new vigour. If it’s possible, the proof it offers to your fever – the gooseflesh that erupts at your waist or the blurry line between where sweat begins and soap-buds end – only eggs you further, hardening the truth to startling clarity: 

You’re crossing a line and drawing it out with a frustration that benefits no one. Cum, that’s all you need to do. To finally be done with it and put this whole blip behind you. 

Spread open, your hand returns to your cunt. You’re wet enough to do so without fuss, the fingers that had been at your clit plunging in until they’re sheathed to the knuckle. It’s a tight fit, walls greedily sucking you in, vacuum-sealed and clenching. The stretch burns and you find solace in it, the tender skin of your hole straining to accommodate another digit once the two find their rhythm. 

How much better would his dick be? Would it cleave you apart like his fingers do? You imagine it so well, the reverie blossoming like second nature. 

(Miguel, planking above you, hair flopping onto his forehead after being ruffled out of its usual push-back. It’d be a sight of your own doing, your nails combing through dark waves on their way to his shoulders. He’s marked you several times over now – claw wounds above your wrist and a deep scar on the back of your arm. Would he let you mark him, in turn? Scratch red lines down his muscled back, rolling as he fucks into you. Or suckle his neck, leave it purple and angry to pay back for the punctures at your collar? It’s been weeks and they’re still there.)

Your free hand finds them, smoothing over the pocks left by his fangs. The heel of your other presses on your clit, kneading the sore centre. It buckles with the abuse, pouring into your rising orgasm. The tide promises violence for when you eventually let it loose.

(In this crude fantasy, he isn’t much of a masochist. He gets irritated with your wandering hurt, turned off the pursuit in pumping you full of his seed. Maybe he pins your arms over your head, holds them down with ease to get you to stop. But he needs his palms free, your bouncing tits all-too tempting not to squeeze, so he uses his webs to bind you to the headboard. Or–)

Your core grows sloppier with every passing second. It weeps, slurping whatever you give it – the feral force of your fingers. Your knees tremble. Your pelvis aches. The amalgamation of your effort knots your organs together, weaving an impossible pattern out of desire and desperation.

(– he bites you again, injects you with venom so you stay nice and still for him regardless.)

God, it’s perfect. It’s the tart, slightly-salty pour of caramel over toffee pudding, topped with vanilla and the memory of his paralytic essence ballooning through your veins. It’d been cold and graceful, so bloody efficient you wonder how he didn’t think of it as a means of incapacitation sooner. Perhaps it’s tough to measure – how much is too much before you kill your victim, or something along the lines. But back then, despite hating no one more than he did you, he kept you alive. 

Would he risk it again, if you asked? 

Does he think about you? Like this, when the day drags and there’s no adequate excuse to see you through it. You quiver with the thought. Holed up in his own bath, spacier than yours, pumping his cock slick. He wouldn’t trail it out. Miguel has his own life, and if you somehow manage to worm your way into it, he’d spill himself quick. Not for disgust – it’s clear that he’s at least attracted to you. No. Just because he’s a better man than you can hope to be. 

Rough around the edges but decent. Moral.

(There it is again – the apollonian. If he’s the olympian deity for the Sun, of truth and prophecy and order, then you’re Dionysus while you bring yourself to ecstasy, caught on the tip of his sharpened arrowhead.)

You groan, letting your head fall back as your efforts gain traction. The bottom of your stomach lurches, making way for the combustion taking space in your chest. It sputters, gorging on a kindling flame, and travels downwards to the pocket between your gut and pubic bone. The fulfilment borders on painful, skinned raw by your relentless assault on it. Once-warm water adds to the overstimulation, turned bitter by its prolonged use. Hair clings to your brow, obscuring your eyesight. Your orgasm snowballs, knocking everything in its determined path.

(And afterward, wrapped up somewhere in your pipe dream, he would empty himself inside you, drunk off the pleading whine that clawed its way out from your throat. He’d made you cum several times – the only addition you can guarantee would be fact – but it wouldn’t end there. Not while you remain still, all wandering eyes and diving comedowns, looking at him in your peripheral. 

He’d linger, his cum dribbling out of you in thick globs, waiting by your side as the paralysis wears off. Gaining control of your body would be a slow process, as it was before, and he’d have a wetted towel to clean you off in the meantime. The room would remain quiet – founded on that same limbo state from after he ate you out – and neither of you speaking a word until you nod off, drowsy and properly fucked. If only to exchange hummed goodnights. An appreciative pat on the head, maybe. Detached praise, stunted communication.

Because even in your wildest fantasies, Miguel does not stoop to kiss you.)

You’re a wreck when it finally hits. Seized muscles release, disgorging the built-up tension of the last hour. You cum – not as powerfully as you might’ve done had he been here – though that’s trivial. He’s present in your mind, praising you through it, working you despite encroaching sensitivity. And you break down not at the thought, the sheer salacity of it all, but to the tenderness you can only imagine. Unrestrained. Given freely. Not because you earned it, but because you're worthy even when you haven’t.

A sob captures your lungs. Your skin prickles. 

Phasing right through the glass partition, you fall backward to smack your temple on the edge of your sink. A throbbing pain immediately engulfs the site. Black speckles your vision.

And if it isn’t the perfect illustration of your concurrent dopamine crash, then you’ll be damned. 

Curse him.

“You… You’re kidding, right?” 

You don’t necessarily need an answer, but you ask to give yourself a distraction from the anxiety torrenting through you. With the way he leans on the glass railing, self-satisfied against the backdrop of Nueva York at noon, you can glean every bit of genuineness from his expression alone.

Miguel gives a vague gesture to the rooftop you stand upon. “You said it yourself.”

“First of all, no. I said I would climb up buildings, not jump off one. Second of all, it was a joke. I hope you know what a joke is, O’hara – otherwise I have a list of situations that make much more sense with hindsight.”

“I’m not asking you to jump off.” He ignores your barb, pushing off the edge to usher you closer. Your heels dig into the ground, an obstacle proved to be done in vain when his hand skims the small of your back. The heat of it penetrates your shirt, weaving its way to your dimpled flesh like it knows how much you crave it. One would think he’s burnt you with how rapidly you move to brush it off, and by the end – whether you like it or not – you find yourself peering over the palisades to the four-foot drop below. Bile spikes the back of your gullet. 

“Are we here to sight-see, then? It’s an apartment complex, nothing special about that.” Breathing, you try to suppress the nausea that overrules your systems. The descent isn’t that high – about fifty feet, give or take your own height – but that does nothing to combat the fear gradually creeping up your nerves. 

“Very funny.” He says, rolling his eyes at something you refuse to see. You’ve no energy to decipher it, either, zeroed in on the task expected of you. “Leaving your room got me thinking–” 

“That’s dangerous.” You snap. 

The man must be used to your little tantrums by now, for he continues like you hadn’t interrupted him, delineating the perplexing logic that lured him into thinking this was a good idea.

“– about what you meant by your suggestion. You’d pitched it instinctively.”

(‘If you promised this earlier, I would’ve climbed up fucking buildings to earn it.’

You remember. Somehow, it infuriates you that he does too – that even raptured in the throes of pleasure, his tongue buried between your folds, he’d been stewing over ways to better you. It pokes a fresh sore spot – like the maturating bruise on your temple, consequence of your scene in the shower – that reminds you you’re not good enough.)

“Okay, smart ass. Since you think you know everything, allow me to explain to you the definition of hyperbole. I was–”

“Exaggerating, yes. But I figured, to make that specific example during such… unsober circumstances, it must’ve originated from a sincere place.” He joins your observation of the street below, flicking over the trimmed bushes, surveying for wandering pedestrians. He’d picked somewhere secluded – a neighbourhood two blocks down from HQ, whose residents are likely employees at the bustling base. If anything, it explains their absence at twelve o’clock on a weekday. “So, here we are.” 

You blink up at him, incredulous. He still hasn’t explicitly stated what he wants you to do. If this conversation had taken place on the ground, then perhaps you would’ve caught on quicker. Find your way to the top, just like he’s implying. As it stands though, you’re teetering on the crown of a stubby building that still seems too tall given your aversion to heights, with nothing but a stubborn spider-man and a locked stairwell for aid. It only dawns on you now why he made the conscious decision to close it after coming up here – to prevent your cheating.

Another strike towards his lack of faith. Charming. 

In the bout of bewildered silence, Miguel sighs and spells it out for you.

“I want you to scale down the side of it.” 

You could choke on your heart with how high it skyrockets. 

“With what?” You squeak. The protest is weak, ungrounded as your bones start to give out. You’re not sure whether it’s mental, your brain tricking you into distrusting your body, or if you’re truly about to collapse. In either case, your distress threatens to unman you. Sickening. You’re green to your stomach.

His eyebrows raise, humoured. It’s a call to land on the solution yourself – like it’s obvious, like you’re not losing yourself just picturing it. 

Quaking, you return to an age-old mantra. Miguel doesn’t know you, no matter how good he is at reading the bits he’s privy to. You’ve never highlighted to him the extent and end of your abilities – and yes, that’s partly for lack of understanding them yourself. But as it so happens, you do know a few, indispensable attributes; ones that should be considered before you’re made to defy gravity and saunter down the face of a wall. 

Like how you can’t control your powers, the reigns ever-elusive, slipping from your grip whenever you actively try to run them. Or that your super-strength and enhanced healing are fickle things, arising only in impractical episodes. How your spider-sense is unpractised, severely underutilised by the mundane life you lead, and, perhaps most relevantly: 

“I have no webs to harness me.” You emphasise. “And my hands can’t stick to surfaces to make that a negligible factor.”

He listens, contemplative, digesting the latter piece of information and what it means for his lesson plan. 

“If they did, then I wouldn’t have been in nearly as much trouble at that quarry as I was, hanging on with just my fingers. But…” You wave your palms at him as if to punctuate your point. “Unfortunately for me, I’m normal below the wrist.” 

“Below the wrist.” He repeats, picking up on the contrivance in your choice of phrase. Cringing, you scramble for an excuse, looking to get off the road he leads you on. It’s frenzied, unbecoming of this arrangement. You’ve learnt to lend your begrudging trust to his methods, their validity proved over weeks of training – but something about his current tone, the interrogative way with which he singles out faults in your diction. It sends you back to an era where all you worried about was his pursuit, about a capture made inevitable by your clumsy side steps. 

You won’t forget, either. At the pinnacle of it, he was ready to step on your hold to a crane and send you plummeting to supposed death. 

(If push comes to shove, would he force you to descend this hurdle – worried about a more forgiving yet just as terrifying end, given you should trip and lose pace on the right-angled wall?

But then you think of food shared over a makeshift dining table – navigating the new peace found between your legs. He’d allowed your skipping class. He took concern for your health in spite of it – and you’re reminded of another thing. One more constant, there since the beginning too. 

Miguel O’Hara does not want you dead. 

That, at the very most, is consolation that he won’t throw you off this ledge.)

“My feet can, from what I’ve tested. I can tread on steep slopes and hang upside down. Just… not very well.” You elaborate, then feel the urge to grant him less room for argument, just in case. “I don’t know what kind of scientists you are, O’Hara. A biologist, maybe, which would explain a whole ton, but take it from me. Physics won’t agree with this. You’re asking me to walk down a wall completely perpendicular to the ground, reliant on a weak abdomen and capabilities I haven’t taught myself to use properly.” 

And when your words run their course, feeding into the husk of an alarmed echo, you can’t stop warmth from pooling behind your cheeks, or when your pulse flutters, feeble as the flap of a baby bird’s wings. You’re dangled over a branch you’ve known your whole life, nest torn out from under you. A condition of your own doing, of course, seeing as he stays quiet, compliant to your rant. 

A moment later, he adds. “Geneticist.” 

“Huh.” 

“I was a geneticist.” The nugget of background he offers flares like a treaty, a temporary campaign for goodwill. And, as if intentionally building upon your theory of armistice, Miguel tips away, popping out your personal space. The afternoon breeze hits you then, chillier without his immediate presence. You don’t voice your wish for him to come back. “Why haven’t you?” He seeks, testing his luck now that you’re placated.

It works. 

“Pushed my potential?” 

He hums in the affirmative.

“I have. It helped nothing but my upchuck reflex.” You evoke. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten my doomed history with hard drops. We don’t work well, particularly not when you’re around.” Beyond the quarry, he’d witnessed your misfortunate swinging around Earth-15 too. You’d phased right through his arms, bound to solidify before splattering onto the pavement below. It’d been peaceful then only because you had so much less to lose. “Besides, I don’t see the point. I won’t be going back home to fight crime, in any case. And scaling apartment complexes won’t magically lend me enough virtue to want to return.” 

When he speaks next, it’s tacitly, an intrusion to jog your memory like you did his, however subtly. “You’re okay now, though.” He says, and implies a truth too heavy to audibly assert. I caught you. Every time. The understanding lingers, oscillating between you two, before he starts again. “But I get it.”

You scoff. In turn, he sounds his question – hm? – rumbled deep from within his chest. If you focus, you can sense the way it vibrates the particles separating you.

“I doubt it, is’all.” 

“That’s condemning.” 

“Please, as if you need the ego boost.” Ducking from his scrutiny, you rest your elbows on the glass lining the rooftop to look out on the cityscape before you. It glitters, contemporary blue architecture slated on fields of green. This world is utopia compared to the many you’ve visited; amongst them, you’re hit with the vivid memory of your own – peppered with red fires under a perpetual cover of smoke. Blown to unrecognisable bits by a product of your ignorance. 

You swallow to shake the tangent off. He’s still staring at you. You can feel his solemn study, dimmed from its previous challenge, severe enough to penetrate the marge of your skull. 

“Are you really going to make me say it?” 

He shrugs, not in the least bit teasing. It’s the straw that finally breaks your back – the integrity he regards you with. Sighing, you smother your pride before it can change your mind. 

“Fucking look at you. You’re like… the peak of spider prowess. All muscle and righteousness. And I don’t even know where to begin, scared to even cash in on the powers I've been handed. What kind of hero is nervous of heights, for God’s sake.” 

The admission escapes as hushed, warbled by string-plucked insecurity. You don’t attempt to assess his reaction to it, following the motions of a cirrus cloud instead, swaying like tufts of hair on a cerulean scalp. It makes his next course of action jarring – frightening for all you don’t expect it. 

Miguel’s hand appears before you, face down so the digital suit-patterns on his palm are exposed. You half-think he’s offering you hold it, or wants to pinion you to something before he pulls you off the roof. But his body turns to overlook your side, and with a sudden schwip, his talons protrude from the pads of his fingers. Before you can fully process it, you stumble back, phantom pain pounding where he once gripped you with them.

He notices it, though doesn’t comment on your misgivings, waiting patiently until you steel yourself and return to your post. He must be used to the hesitation. 

“Do you know what these are for?” 

To claw run-away anomalies – you’re compelled to say, but decide against the low blow. You shake your head no. 

“I didn’t either. Not when I first developed them. They seemed inconvenient and hard to handle. Got in the way of everyday life.” You struggle to picture it. Miguel, younger, troubled with defects he never asked for. Did it hurt, you wonder – the ingrowth of fangs and talons? 

Does it still? 

“Biology isn’t a lesser science though, despite what certain physicists may believe.” He continues, raising a brow at you. You can’t suppress the sheepish expression that threads the corners of your mouth. “I remembered the spiders I worked with, what features of theirs might come to be represented by this. The fangs I realised the purpose of much faster.” 

“To paralyse.” 

“Right.” His gaze flicks to the slip of neck exposed by your loose collared shirt, finding the bite marks bridged over your clavicle. You’d been good at ignoring your masturbatory fantasies thus far, yet at his cue, flashes of them occur to you. Your knees knock together, timid that he can perhaps smell the shame on you. “My claws weren’t so obvious. Not until I met another spider-man who could climb walls. It occurred to me then, the microscopic setules on the end of spiders’ legs. They create an electromagnetic charge with any molecule at their nanometric radius. And while he, like many others, gained a figurative interpretation of it, I got something more literal.” 

“So, they adhere to anything.” 

“No. But they help me hold on.” Miguel corrects. “I’m not guaranteed proper fixture, so climbing buildings – scaling any surface – is a labour entirely dependent on me.” 

You trail over his wide shoulders – the top heavy form you’ve spent so much time revering. You’ve never so much as considered why he’s built so differently from other spider-heroes, burly in contrast to their lithe figures. (For good reason, maybe – you would’ve assumed incorrectly as recently as three minutes ago.) It’s not to set himself apart, or being that he was blessed with it. But because it was necessary. Pure proof of the effort it took to hone his skills. 

Guilt is swift in sweeping you off your feet; you feel foolish for ever suggesting it was talent that got him to this point. And–

“That’s… tough.” Is the only response you can conjure. 

It’s so stupid you want to punch yourself over it. Miguel, on the other hand, just chuckles. A brief huff from upturned lips. 

“Sure.” He takes one last look down the verge of the rooftop before turning his back on it. You keep facing forward. “The crux is – we don’t always see the point of things, or why they are the way they are. Sometimes, we might even refuse to when all seems unfair. But the second mark of a hero, as I’ve come to know it, is having the courage to address them despite your ignorance. Firmness of mind when confronted with danger – or, in your case, a burden of great difficulty.” 

And piece by piece, it starts to come together. The small revelation of his backstory as nothing more than an allegory. His bringing you here, to start from the top and not the bottom, instilling in you the fear of falling. And what it all means – courage being the point of this little exercise, a step up from resilience now that you’ve proved your tenacity. Priming you for the eventuality of returning home – a burden of great difficulty.  

“Of course you’d turn this into a philosophical seminar.” You deride, rubbing the wariness from your expression. “And here I believed we were bonding.” 

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” He says. You don’t have it in you to disagree, searching for the pluck to get this over with. Yet what he adds next takes you completely off-guard. “You don’t have to do this.” 

A compromise – you thought you’d have to fight for one. 

“I’m a few plank-sessions short of having the core strength to walk down a wall.” You circumvent, not ready to admit your failure. 

Miguel nods, yielding now that he’s gotten his opinion on the matter across. Nothing about him betrays disappointment, but you somehow still squirm, distressed at the very notion that you let him down. 

As he breaks away, you catch sight of the platforms protruding from the windows below you, and a haphazard idea forms.

“But… if it’s courage you want, then maybe we can start smaller?” You raise, worrying the inside of your cheek. It’s rushed, not expertly planned through, but he cocks his head, and you’re forced to toss it out now that he’s all ears. “I can hang from the bottom of a balcony – upside down – until I’m better at trusting my powers over gravity. And, y’know, there are still the odds that I fall, just onto the deck below and not four stories. Less fatal that way.”

There’s hardly a spark of deliberation before his eyes narrow, cheekbones projecting with a smile. It has to be your insatiable itch for praise, consequence of anything over what he actually thinks – but a bright glint streaks upon those red pupils and, remarkably, it feels a lot like pride.

(You’ll take what you can get.)

“Yeah. That works.” He approaches, sinking closer once more. It’s warm again and you stand self-assured, regardless of the trepidation still bubbling within you. “I suppose not everyone has a death wish.” 

“Wishful thinking on your part, maybe.” You taunt. “Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but you’re stuck with me for the time being.”

What feels like hours later, your head throbs violently, and under the novelty of it all, you learn of three new things. 

One – an observation most idle yet, embarrassingly, the first to be made – is that Miguel looks just as handsome the other way around as he does proper side up. Elevated, too, given that you’re finally at his level like this. Staring him down, nose-to-nose, able to capture his face outside the forced perspective that comes with being shorter. He occupies the balcony below while you stand, hang, on the belly of the one above. There’s a tiny, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mole by the corner of his mouth. He’s still smiling at you. 

Two – a facet you haven’t stopped imprecating since you started, one that technically isn't even new to you – is that, while your external body seems to defy gravity, fastened in place by your feet, your internal systems aren’t granted the same luxury. Gallons worth of blood pools to your brain, distending the soft tissue until it weighs like lead on your crown. You never thought your organs would be this heavy, especially the ones that stack on top of your lungs. Your stomach, liver, kidneys, intestines. They make it hard to breathe. You can barely feel your hands anymore. 

And three – perhaps your proudest realisation yet – is that this isn't so bad once you get the hang of it. Sure, your mentor is a few paces away, ready to grab you should you spontaneously collapse. And if he didn’t, then yes, the worst that could come of it is a broken arm. You certainly need more practice before you test it on taller heights, and you don’t think you trust your abilities yet to walk down building planes, but– 

It’s easy. Bodily effects aside, it’s easy. Supernaturally so. In a way that bends every one of Newton’s laws and you’re left reeling trying to string together mechanical equations that could make sense of it. The tension between you and the ceiling and how great it must be to combat your weight. The equal and opposite force perpetually acting against gravity. 

Because you’re upside down, despite having no cable or chain to keep you situated, no hooks on your heels. You’re stuck to a surface by just the soles of your shoes, and when you walk around, lift one to put in front of the other, you stay fixed. You don’t – can’t – fall.

(Secretly, you thank him for pushing you to this stage. The euphoria of it is just enough to supersede any nausea you worried about before.)

“How’s that?” Miguel asks, tone low and smooth like velvet. Something tugs your heart – your arteries, perhaps, shrivelling around it.

“Weird. Great. If I didn’t feel like throwing up, I’d stay here forever.” 

“Try to refrain from projecting it on me.”

“Copy that.” 

“But,” He says, tipping his head so he can assess you the right way around. “You’re doing it.”  “Yeah.” You giggle. The bloodrush must be making you loopy. You’d have never been so animated on the ground. “I’m doing it.”

chapter thirteen

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[sidekick-hero]

Will the man become the monster, or the monster become man?

(steddie | explicit | 5k | cw: Beast!Steve, monsterfucker!Eddie, inspired by this Tumblr Post | AO3)

Happy Birthday, my favorite nickname giver and sister in Keery thirst, @judasofsuburbia 💜 This is super late, but I sincerely hope you'll enjoy this.

Find 5k of tender, loving monsterfucking under the read more, only for you 🥰

His lungs burn, screaming for precious air as Eddie runs as fast as his legs will carry him.

Twigs claw at his skin, the stinging pain a distant sensation, secondary to the wild crescendo of his beating heart. Behind him, he hears the snapping of branches, even louder than the roar in his ears, and the heavy footsteps of his pursuer. The ground beneath him trembles, telling of the shrinking distance between him and the beast that hunted him.

Above him, the merciless glow of the full moon illuminates the path before him. If you can call it that, it is not much more than a desire path created by the wild life that live in these woods. It winds through the dense trees, slowing him down as he has to duck and twist and jump if he doesn't want to trip or run into a tree trunk. It's like he can feel the body heat of the monster chasing him against his back, a stark contrast to the crisp autumn air, making his hair stand on end and his feet speed up.

There's a meadow somewhere ahead, and beyond it, the Maze Garden, which he knows like the back of his hand. If only he could make it...

He never stood a chance.

Just as he bursts through the trees and into the clearing, the beast pounces. It slams into him, throwing them both to the mossy ground at the edge of the meadow. It’s heavy, holding Eddie down with its weight and he feels its damp breath against the vulnerable skin of his neck.

The ground is soft enough to cushion their fall, but it still knocks what little air there is out of his lungs with a soft hiss. He feels more than he hears the rumble of the beast on top of him.

"Are you...laughing? That fucking hurt, you brute. My poor behind," Eddie grumbles, not really annoyed, but playing it up just so Steve can nuzzle against his cheeks and kiss his ear in apology.

The rumbling only increases, vibrating through Eddie's body. "I'm sorry, love, do you want me to kiss it better?" Steve asks, his voice so deep it sends shivers through Eddie's body. It resembles a low growl that does not hide his beastly nature, even when he speaks softly and playfully.

Eddie squirms under Steve's heavy body to free his arms. Cupping Steve’s face with his hand, Eddie gently pushes it away from where it's tucked into his neck to get a proper look at his husband. His fur is soft under Eddie's palm and Steve nuzzles his muzzle into the hand that holds him. His sharp canines peek out from between his dark lips, and even darker eyes look down at Eddie with love and hunger.

Steve looks like what nightmares are made of, and yet he's everything Eddie ever wanted, ever needed. To Eddie, Steve was the most beautiful thing that ever walked the earth. From the ivory-colored horns on top of his head, almost hidden in the lush mane of gold-brown fur, to his massive paws, adorned with their deadly claws that never touched Eddie with anything but gentle devotion, to his fluffy tail. And his frankly massive cock. Can't forget that.

For that, and Steve's equally massive and kind heart, is what ruined Eddie for everyone else.

Eddie never regretted telling Nancy, the witch who cursed Steve to live as a beast until he found his humanity by learning to love selflessly, that he did not want Steve to lose that side of himself completely. Eddie had fallen in love with both the beast and the man and didn't want to part with either. She had given him a knowing smile at his request and granted it with a soft kiss on his cheek.

Since then, every full moon, when the light of day has faded, man becomes a monster. Only to become human again with the first light that touches the earth.

Smiling up at the man who stole him first and then his heart, Eddie accepts the tender licks and nips on his lips, his jaw and down his sensitive neck. It's a heady feeling to have something as deadly as Steve's fangs so close to where his heart pumps life through his body. To know that Steve could kill him with a single move and not even break a sweat.

It fills him with as much warmth as thrill to know that Steve wouldn't. He'd rather kill himself than let anything, anyone, hurt Eddie.

Eddie knows this because he still wakes up shaking some days to the images of Steve lying on the ground, broken and bleeding, a knife sticking out of his chest. A knife aimed at Eddie because he dared to love a monster.

It was his love, Eddie's love, that saved Steve that day, effectively breaking the curse and giving Steve a second chance. Who would have thought that the town freak's life would turn into a fairy tale. But it did, with a prince and a castle and all. His mother had always told him that there was magic and goodness in the world, and that he would get to have both if he just stayed true to his heart. Eddie only wishes she could see that she was right.

Lost in his own thoughts, it takes Steve nipping at his collarbone with his sharp teeth, drawing a single drop of blood from where one of them pierced his skin, to bring Eddie out of his head and back to the mossy ground. "Am I boring you, angel? Or should I kiss you -" Steve rumbles over him as he leans back on his haunches to eye Eddie like his favorite dinner, "somewhere else?"

“I want to say yes, but I’m afraid Claudia will kill me if I ruin any more clothes. And by ‘I’ I mean you, and by ‘ruin’ I mean tearing them to shreds with your claws.”

It shouldn't be possible for a 7 foot tall furry beast with fangs and horns to pout, but that's exactly what Steve is doing. He gives Eddie his best puppy dog eyes and Eddie is so in love with him that he doesn't know how it hasn't killed him yet.

"Fine, don't look at me like that. You know, we could just try, I dunno, me getting undressed like a normal person. Just an idea."

Another laugh rumbles through Steve's huge body, so strong that Eddie feels it vibrating through his as well. Steve playfully licks a wide stripe across Eddie's cheek, and before Eddie can express the mock disgust on his tongue, Steve's growling voice in his ear sends an almost violent shudder through his body.

“We could, but where would be the fun in that?” As if to accentuate his words, Steve’s sharp claw follows an invisible path down Eddie’s chest, starting at his bopping Adam’s apple and veering to the left over his rapidly beating heart before placing his paw on the center of Eddie’s chest.

Steve’s dark eyes are looking into his own, a silent question in them. Eddie knows that he’s in charge of what they’re doing, always has been. Steve might be able to overpower him and take what he wants but that’s not what either of them is here for.

For Steve, it's Eddie's willingness to submit, to surrender to him, because Eddie wants to. Wants Steve. Needs him, even. It's Eddie's trust in him, Eddie's devotion, that makes Steve purr and writhe, out of his mind with lust and love.

For Eddie, it's the fact that Steve could take what he wants, sure, but doesn't. It's the thrill that comes with the proximity of a predator, the knowledge that Steve’s deadly claws and fangs could rip Eddie to shreds, not just his clothes. And yet all they ever did was caress Eddie, cherish him, claim him, please him.

It was never really a question for Eddie what his answer to Steve would be. He nods with a feral grin that matches Steve's answering one and silently apologizes to Claudia in his head before pushing all thoughts of their friends and staff out of his mind.

The next thing he knows, his shirt is hanging in tatters from his frame and Steve's rough tongue has made it its mission to taste every inch of his upper body, adding a hint of teeth here and there. It's astonishing how much control he has over them as they scrape across his hard nipples without breaking the skin, causing Eddie to moan brokenly.

The ground beneath him is still surprisingly warm from the sun that has been heating it all day, but with the cloudless, star-studded sky above them, the warmth of the day is long gone. Eddie's whole body shivers as the cold air hits his skin and he's glad for the warmth radiating from Steve's body. He’s not wearing any clothing except for some lose pants even if he never lets himself be seen in this form by anyone but Eddie but his thick fur is keeping him plenty warm.

The town’s people think the beast got turned back into the handsome prince, a perfect fairy tale ending. They are happy to believe their reformed ruler is once again fully human, thanks to the town pariah now turned consort. Only very few know the whole truth and only Eddie is allowed to see this side of Steve. It’s his and his alone. He might have to share his husband with a whole (albeit small) kingdom but this right here? That is only for them. Only for Eddie.

Steve’s enormous paw has wandered from his chest to the prominent bulge in Eddie’s pants, putting just the right amount of pressure on it to drive Eddie crazy but not enough to give him any kind of relief. “So eager to be claimed by me. Out here under the stars, where anyone could walk by and see.”

Eddie's cock twitches at these words, at the thought of someone seeing them like this. The beastly looking creature joined with Eddie's fragile human body, so easily broken, yet cherished by this powerful being. Chosen as his mate. Steve could feel it, of course, and as always, he reads Eddie like an open book.

"You'd like that, huh? Everyone seeing us like this. Say it, love. Tell me." He's stroking Eddie through his pants, the pull of the velvet against the sensitive head of his leaking cock igniting more of the heat pooling in his groin. Instead of answering, all Eddie can manage is a breathy whimper as he shakes his head desperately. "No? You don't want people to know how desperate the Prince's consort is for the hideous beast they have hated and feared for so long?"

Eddie wants to tell Steve so many things, most of all how much he loves being his consort, to have everyone know that Steve is his, that their handsome prince chose him, chose Eddie. But he also longs to be more. Craves to be -

"Mate," he gasps between moans and whimpers, "wanna be your mate."

The hungry growl that comes from Steve at his words doesn't sound human at all. It is the sound of a ravenous animal, hungry and about to devour its prey.

Eddie has never been so turned on in his entire life. Consort. Mate. Prey. He wants to be all of those things, wants to be everything Steve will ever want or need.

Before the thought has fully formed in his mind, Eddie feels more cold air hit his skin as his pants suffer the same fate as his shirt. He really doesn't know why he bothers with clothes on full moon nights. They always end this way. Maybe it's because he loves to see the physical proof of how much Steve wants him.

The way Steve paws at his cock, the rough surface of his paw pads creating the most delicious friction, is even more proof of his desire for Eddie. It's almost painful the way it drags over the sensitive flesh and another dollop of pre slides down the side of it. Steve bends down to catch it on his tongue before it reaches the thick patch of pubic hair and Eddie can feel as well as hear his content rumble at tasting Eddie. Hungry for more, the tip of his tongue licks up Eddie's length before dipping into his slit to catch every last drop.

A deep, guttural sound rumbles in Steve's chest, and Eddie thinks to himself that if Steve were a cat, he'd be purring right now. But he's not, so his satisfied growl sounds more like a hungry wolf being fed its favorite meal.

One of his claws plays with Eddie's balls and Eddie has to force himself to stay still, not twitch his hips as he desperately wants. They don't need restraints, he doesn't need to be held down by anything but Steve's presence, the threat that underlies his gentle playfulness.

"If you keep this up, this will be over before we get started," Eddie pants, already on edge, even though Steve has barely touched him. That's nothing new either. On nights like this, his cock starts throbbing in anticipation as soon as the light begins to fade.

"For you maybe. Who says it's going to be over for me, sweet thing?" Steve purrs these words, his lips pressed right against his pulsing cock, and the sensation combined with what his words imply makes Eddie come, suddenly and surprisingly for both of them.

"OhmyGod," Eddie whines, cock still twitching, another weak spurt hitting his stomach and catching in the hair there.

Above him, Steve remains silent, speechless at what has just happened. When Eddie manages to open his tightly shut eyes, he sees his husband looking back at him with an expression so human, it's as if the Prince himself is looking at him right now. There is so much utter and flabbergasted surprise on his face that it would be almost funny if Eddie wasn't so mortified.

"I guess you weren't kidding," Steve finally manages to say, and even his voice now sounds so human in its surprise.

Eddie groans and puts his hands to his face to hide his burning cheeks. "Oh God, please stop talking," he begs the love of his life. He supposes it's a compliment to Steve that he just came like a virgin touched for the very first time.

The familiar rumble is back and Eddie huffs in annoyance at being laughed at. Strong hands - really paws, only with opposable thumbs - circle his wrists and tug gently until he pulls his hands away from his face. Steve's smiling face comes into view, and despite everything, Eddie can't help but smile back at the sight. It always looks a little goofy to him, especially knowing that to most people Steve's smile would look absolutely terrifying. Too many sharp, pointy teeth.

"Don't hide your pretty face from me, my love." Steve chides gently, nuzzling Eddie's nose.

"I will if you laugh at me, asshole." The words lack any heat because Eddie is still fighting that goddamn lovesick smile that's painted on his face.

"I was just laughing at how adorable you are, being embarrassed when you blow my mind with how hot you are." As if to prove his point, Steve presses his groin against Eddie's hip and he can feel the hot, hard line of Steve's arousal. "God, the things I wanna do to you, Eddie, you have no idea. It scares me sometimes how much I want, fuck, how much I need you. So don't hide from me, don't deprive me of your beautiful countenance."

Steve's ardent declaration of love is more beautiful than anything Eddie has ever read in any of the many books he has devoured in his life. Naturally, his reply is just as earnest and heartfelt.

"You absolute sap, I love you and if you don't fuck me right now, you'll be sleeping in the throne room for the foreseeable future".

Another rumble of laughter runs through Steve's body as he bends down to lick the cum from Eddie's belly. When he looks back up at him, his dark eyes sparkle in the bright moonlight. "Your wish is my command, mate."

His soft cock twitches at the name and he knows he'll come a second time before the sun rises.

Sitting up and leaning on one of his elbows, he reaches for the small satchel tied to Steve's pants to retrieve a small vial of oil. "How about you get rid of these then, huh?" Eddie asks, tugging at the waistband before sliding his hand to the huge bulge and squeezing Steve's cock through the thin material. Steve's hips buck at his touch and he lets out a low, growling moan that is music to Eddie's ears. He repeats the motion just to hear it again, twisting his wrist just so and applying a little more pressure to the head, so that the next moan is cut short by a breathless whimper.

When Eddie removes his hand and leans back, Steve makes quick work of his clothes, ripping them off just as he did Eddie's. He swears to himself that this time he'll let Steve explain the sudden loss of their clothes to Claudia. Wayne's knowing looks are enough for him, thank you very much.

His eyes immediately focus on the thick, curved length, his mouth watering at the sight. He's glad he insisted on Steve taking him in their bed this morning. Even if it meant Steve was late for his duties. It means his body will adjust faster, open up more easily.

They learned that it took a little more patience and a lot more oil for Eddie to take Steve in this form. Other than that, all they needed was for Eddie to relax, trust Steve and let him in. And that's something Eddie learned years ago, trapped in a cursed castle with a moody beast and talking household items as his only companions.

His breath catches at the sight of Steve is kneeling in front of him, naked except for the fur on his thick body. Eddie gets on his hands and knees and crawls over to him, oil in hand, straddling his lap, supported by one of Steve's paws on his back, the other between his shoulder blades. Even though his naked body is exposed to the cold night air, he's warm surrounded by Steve. Protected from the outside world in their intimate little bubble.

He dribbles a copious amount of oil on his hands and Steve's length, coating it generously before reaching behind him and lathering his hole with the remaining oil on his fingers. The way Steve nuzzles his throat is distracting and hot in equal measure, his little nips at his collarbone and his hot breath fanning across his sensitive skin enough to make more and more blood rush south. His cock slowly refills where it rests against Steve's and it should give him an inferiority complex, how small it looks in comparison, but all the sight does is make his hole twitch in eager anticipation.

"Steve," Eddie almost whines, taking his husband's pink and deliciously thick cock in his oil coated hand, "work with me here instead of trying to eat me as a midnight snack, yeah?"

One last nip, this one firmer than the rest, drawing another tiny drop of blood from him, and Steve growls in his ear. "Always so impatient, my love. What am I ever going to do with you?" He pretends to wonder aloud and Eddie scoffs.

"How about helping me sit on your massive cock so I can ride you until you come inside me?" Eddie asks with an innocent flutter of his eyelashes, as if suggesting they have turkey for dinner instead of boar.

The feeling of Steve pulsing and twitching against his own length at those words brings Eddie back to full hardness and they both moan at the sensation.

"I take it you like the idea, big boy." It's not a question and they both know it. Steve's paw slides from his lower back to his ass, lifting him further into his lap as if he weighed nothing. His other paw joins the first, and his long fingers slide between Eddie's cheeks, always mindful of his claws. While Eddie holds him steady, Steve spreads Eddie's cheeks so he can line up Steve's cock with his glistening hole.

He can't help but tease, just a little, sliding Steve's length between his cheeks until the head catches at his entrance. Beneath him he can feel how tense Steve is, holding back with all his strength and self-control not to just bury himself in Eddie's warmth. As much as Eddie fantasizes about letting Steve do just that, he knows it wouldn't end in a sexy way. The human body has limits. Still, it's a thought that gets him going like nothing else.

Eddie bears down, trying to remain as relaxed as possible, and slowly shifts his weight to where Steve's cock is pressing against him. It burns and if Eddie didn't know better he would think it would never fit. But he does know better, he knows how delicious the stretch will feel in a moment, how full and complete he will feel then.

One of Steve's paws has settled on his waist to keep him upright, to keep him anchored, and it begins to stroke up and down his side in a soothing way. "That's it, take your time. Easy, my love. I got you. Let me in. Let me be your mate." It's all said in his soft growl, the sound echoing inside Eddie, relaxing his muscles even more and finally allowing the head of Steve's cock to slip inside.

The sound Steve makes sounds wounded, his whole body shaking with it, and Eddie can feel it inside him. He sinks down another inch or two, enveloping more and more of Steve with his body. He's sweating profusely by now, thanks to the effort of holding himself still as he sinks down tortuously slowly, combined with Steve's body heat warming him on all sides and his rapidly beating heart pumping hot blood through his veins.

As he sinks deeper and deeper, he feels Steve's thick cock filling every cell of his being. It's a feeling he's been craving since the last full moon, something raw and animalistic and so profound he can't put it into words. Like it was fate, destiny, some kind of prophecy. Or just his body's reaction to being fucked like it's never been fucked before, all these happy and euphoric feelings driving him a little crazy.

Once he's fully seated on Steve's cock, they both take a moment to just breathe, to adjust to the intense sensation. It always feels like the first time, and Eddie hopes it stays that way until they're old and wrinkled. Sometimes he wonders if Steve's fur will turn gray, too, and he can't wait to find out.

"I love you," Steve breathes out, barely audible if Eddie wasn't so close. "Thank you for choosing me. All of me, even this. Especially this."

Eddie leans forward as far as he physically can in this position and presses sweet kisses against Steve's muzzle. "I love you. Everything about you. Especially this." As he says these words, he begins to move, tentatively rising with the help of Steve's paws on his body before sinking back down again. The drag of the hot flesh against his inner walls sets his nerves on fire, the heat pooling in his groin, his balls already taut. He never lasts long when they fuck like this, even if he has come before.

Steve's not doing much better, Eddie can tell by the way his muscles are twitching. He's still holding back, letting Eddie set the pace, fighting every instinct inside of him that wants to pound, to claim. It's all so hot that Eddie can't help but wrap his hand around his own cock, chasing his release.

"You feel so good inside me. So fucking deep, it's like I can feel you in my throat." He leans back a little, still supported by Steve's paw on him, and puts his other hand on his stomach, where he can see Steve's cock distending it. "Look how well you fill me up, love," he adds, pressing against the bulge.

Steve does as he's told, staring down at Eddie's belly in hungry wonder, and Eddie's hand on his own cock speeds up. The paw that is not propping Eddie up also reaches for his belly so Steve can feel himself inside Eddie. "Mine," Steve growls, "you're mine."

"Yours," Eddie agrees breathlessly. He's so close, he just needs... he needs...

After Steve's fingers wrap around his hand and the tip of his claw strokes the head of his cock, it only takes two more strokes for Eddie to come again, thick ropes of cum matting Steve's golden brown fur, making it look darker.

It's as if someone has cut his strings, all the strength leaves his body and he sinks limply into Steve's arms. He's spent and hypersensitive, yes, but also loose and pliable, so he tells Steve in a soft voice, "Take what you need, my love. I want you to." He can feel Steve hesitating for a moment, letting his words and their implications sink in, so Eddie nods emphatically at his unspoken question and rubs his face against the soft fur on Steve's neck.

"Mate," Steve whispers in an awed voice, his cock pulsing inside Eddie, and it feels so good for Eddie to be able to give this to Steve. Even though his body feels like dead weight, heavy and immovable, he floats on the feeling. He's cradled against Steve's, held still, as if he had any intention of moving away when Steve begins to thrust into him from below. The force of Steve's cock ramming into him makes his body jiggle in Steve's lap. The overstimulation probably borders on painful, but it's only a distant sensation in the back of his mind as he floats too high to really register it.

The sounds Steve keeps making vibrate through him from all sides, around him, inside him, and the way Steve keeps holding him as he ruts into him makes him feel so safe, so loved. Treasured, really, like he's something precious that Steve can't bear to be parted from. Steve is chasing his own high, his own ecstasy, and he's going to find it in Eddie.

The thought makes him smile and he vaguely thinks he should write that down later.

When Steve comes, it's with a high-pitched howl that causes a flock of birds to flee from their hiding place in the surrounding bushes. It's the sound of a wolf howling at the moon, and Eddie knows the townspeople sometimes whisper about the lone wolf that can only be heard at full moon, wondering what it means. They avoid the meadows and woods in the area just in case it's another beast they have to fear. It suits them, so Eddie never bothers to correct them.

He knows it's not a lone wolf, it's a beautiful beast and its human mate.

Eddie must have floated even further away, because when he blinks his eyes again, he realizes that the world has tilted while he was gone. Steve is now lying on his back and Eddie is still held tightly in his arms, covering as much of his naked body as he can.

He's warm and the fur beneath him is soft, the gentle up and down of Steve's chest under his cheek slowly lulling him to sleep. He can feel Steve's cock still nestled inside him, so big that it won't slip out even if he's soft.

Eddie sighs contentedly and smiles, thinking how lucky he is to have this. It's not the first time they've fallen asleep like this and he already knows what their morning will be like. He will wake up at dawn in Steve's very human arms, the crisp autumn morning too cold for them to sleep without the added warmth of Steve's fur.

Steve will already be awake, always an early riser, and he'll kiss Eddie's unruly curls with an affectionate smile on his face. He'll call Eddie a sleepy head and ask him if he'd rather sleep in a bed. Eddie will stretch, savoring the ache in his limbs from the passionate night they just shared. He'll enjoy the sting in his ass where Steve slipped out of him when he turned human again, and the feeling of sticky cum dripping lazily from his gaping hole as he moves to get up.

They will both run to the nearby stables, buck naked, holding hands and laughing joyously like love-struck teenagers. Wayne will be nowhere to be seen, which is for the best. He and Steve got off to a...rocky start, and that's an euphemism, what with Steve taking Wayne hostage only to trade his life for his nephew. Eddie knows that Steve has since grown on Wayne, helped along by Steve giving Wayne his stables and horses to do with as he pleases. It helps even more that Steve makes Eddie smile every day and gives him all the books his heart desires and a personal library to go with it. Something Wayne was never able to do with the meager income he used to make as a blacksmith.

Eddie suspects Wayne knows what they're up to anyway, judging by the way he'll raise a skeptical eyebrow at Eddie later that day.

Once they are back in their rooms, they will crawl into their huge bed under the fluffy covers for another hour of blissful sleep, wrapped around each other, before the needs of the kingdom take Steve away for the day. He will, of course, sneak off to see Eddie, either to seek his counsel or just to steal a kiss from his husband before the next endless meeting commences.

And a month later, they will do it all over again.

[lunaekalenda]

Can you do a Levixfem reader

Where the reader “dies” In his arms on a expedition and he had to leave the body and turns out you were alive but outside the walls and the next expedition they find you. And when that get back in the walls together they get there freak on if you know what I mean😏. Thanks so much!🥰❤️

okay! i’ll try my best <3 ! i hope you like it! <3 it turned out kinda romantic aaaa

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levi x fem!reader

w: death mentions, fake death (?), slight nsfw in the end (really vanilla it's most centered on the feelings :D). No Regrets war flashbacks, some snk spoilers. mention of blood.

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“Y/N” Levi’s tears are falling from his face to your skin. Nobody has seen the captain so broken, crying in the middle of an expedition, hugged to your body. He caresses your skin. “Love, please, wake up...” he asks in a whisper, his voice breaking while he keeps crying. “Please.”

Levi feels Erwin’s hand on his shoulder, calling him. “Levi, we have to go!” Erwin says. Levi can’t take his eyes away from your beautiful face, how your closed eyes are never going to shine with that love they always do. Erwin shakes his shoulder harder. “Come on, Levi!!” he yells. Levi takes your body on his arms, but Erwin stops him. “What the hell are you doing?” Levi hugs you closer, tears falling from his eyes again.

“I’m not gonna leave her behind.” He says, his husky tone serious, as if he wanted to say to Erwin that leave you behind isn’t an option. Because you’re only asleep. 

Right?

“She’s dead, Levi. Dead. Leave her. We can’t lose you because you’re carrying a body.” Erwin’s words hit him. Dead... Dead is a word Levi hates. Because it is always followed by the name of someone he loves or cares for. His mom. Isabel. Gunter. Petra. You.

“No. She’s...”

“Leave it, Levi. You don’t want more people to die, don’t you?”

That’s true. He needs to be on his full capacities to defend the trope. He looks around, to a place where he can leave your body, knowing the titans will never take it. He easily founds a tree that has a hollow trunk, with a small slot through which it can slide you inside. He leaves you there, along with a bottle of water, in case you’re still alive. He kisses your forehead. “I’ll come back for you, love. I promise.”

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You wake up inside a tree hours after. You feel dizzy and your head hurts a lot. There’s a little bottle of water near you, and, needing it, you open it fast, drinking. You can hear a man’s voice inside your head. “Drink slowly, dummy. It will make you feel worst.” You don’t know who does that voice belong to, when it sounds so familiar. You can’t also recognize the place, looking through the slot. You’re dressed in your military clothes, and you still have your swords with you. Your light brown jacket is covered in blood. You start to recover some memories. The expedition. The titan that sent you away with his hand. Levi yelling your name.

Levi. Levi.

All your thoughts were back to him. Is he okay? Why did him leave you on a tree? Did something happen to him and he decided to hide you? Maybe he hide you for a moment and never came back?

You’re feeling anxious just with the thought. It has to be a normal reason. He’s okay for sure, and he will be back as soon as possible.

“No” Erwin’s voice is clear. Levi clicks his tongue again.

“I have to go back for her...”

“Levi, there’s nothing you can do for her now.” Hange says. Even when them wanted to accompany Levi -they were sure they could capture some good titans.- They didn’t want to disobey the Commander. “We wont make another expedition just for a body. I know it hurts, but let it go.”

“Fine. I’ll go by myself.” he says, getting up. “I don’t need anyone to go to the nearest fucking tree and come back.” He leaves the office, slamming the door. Erwin sighs.

“Hange, tell the 104 Special Squad to accompany their captain.”

It was afternoon when Levi was prepared to leave, but he found his squad on the wall’s door.

“What are you all doing here? Go back training, brats.” he says, getting on his horse.

“The Commander told us to accompany you, Captain.” Jean says, adjusting his jacket.

“We’re here to help you, to bring her back inside.” Eren smiles softly. That words make Levi change his opinion. He sighs.

“Be careful and don’t leave my side, right?” They part towards the door, and they leave. The camp is quiet after the extermination of the day before. Connie looks around.

“Do you think we will find her alive?” he asks in a whisper. Levi hears that, but he ignores it. Even when he knows it’s almost impossible to find you alive. They walk silently towards the tree where he left you. He runs quickly, leaving his horse with the squad, as they keep a distance. In part, because they want to pay respect. 

Levi’s heart breaks when he sees the empty trunk. There’s nothing inside, even the bottle isn’t there. He made sure to leave you somewhere they couldn’t find, but they did anyway. They found you. They didn’t let him say goodbye to you. 

Levi kneels in front of the tree, tears running down his face again. He wants to be strong, but he can’t. He has lost you. The most important person in his life.

You drink again before putting the bottle near the river, taking more water. You stand up with difficulty and walk towards the tree slowly, giving secure steps. You’re feeling dizzy yet, but you needed to drink. You know Levi will came back for you, and that’s why you walk back to your hiding place. You see horses when you’re getting closer. Horses and brown jackets. And, when you’re just a couple steps far from them, you see him, kneeled in front of your tree.

“Levi...” you whisper. He’s alive and he’s there. He came back for you. “Levi.” you say, stronger. Jean and Eren turn around. They see you, covered in blood and pale, but alive. Jean runs towards you and he helps you to walk. “Levi.” That’s the only thing you can say. 

Levi is used to listen to his loved ones voices once they had left this world. That’s why hearing you whispering his name isn’t something new for him.

“Captain!” Instead, Eren’s voice sounds clear. “We found her!” the smile can be heard on his voice. Levi wants to kick his ass for joking in a moment like this, but he faces you when he turns around. As beautiful as always, you’re supported by Eren and Jean, and they are making sure you’re not falling. Levi stands up as fast as he can, and he hugs you. You can feel his tears on your shoulder as he feels yours on his. He caresses your hair quietly, hugging your body stronger against his. “You’re here.” he whispers. You nod, sobbing. You have missed him, you have feared for him.

“You’re okay.” you say. He answers you with a kiss on your hair.

“I’m sorry, love. They made me leave you here. I knew it was bad, but I... I.” his sobs doesn’t let him talk. You caress his back, trying to calm him.

“It’s fine.” You whisper. After a couple minutes trying to calm each other, Sasha talks.

“Why don’t we resume this beautiful moment inside the walls? I don’t want to end being wedding catering for a titan.” They all nod. Levi helps you to get on top of his horse, and he sits behind you. There, caged between his arms and feeling his heartbeat against your back, you feel safe again.

···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· ···· 

“I’m sorry.” he says. The doctor has just left the room, saying that you only injured a little bit your leg and your head is healing well. You’re on Levi’s bed, the one you usually sleep on. He sits near you and kisses your forehead. “I’m sorry for leaving you behind.” he says. He thought that, once you knew he left your body there, you would be mad.

“We’re soldiers, Levi.” you say. “Sadly, we can’t take all the bodies with us. Sometimes we have to sacrifice for the others.” you say. You understand Erwin’s decision and Levi’s pressure. You’re soldiers, after all.

Levi combs a lock of your hair with his fingers, softly. “I was so scared... I couldn’t close an eye during the night. I only could think about you.” he says. You smile softly at him. “I was terrified.” You attract him towards your body, hugging him. “I’m sorry, love, I’m so sorry...” you try to calm him with caresses and sweet kisses in his head. “I feel like you’re an illusion, that you’re just a product of my imagination playing with me.” he says. He takes his head out of your chest. “Maybe I lost you and that’s why you’re here? To comfort me?” 

You take his hand, sneaking it into your t-shirt, placing it near your heart. His eyes shot open when he feels your pulse against his palm. “I’m here. And I’m real, Levi. I’m the Y/N you always hug. I’m the same. I’m alive.”

His lips search yours in a kiss. He wants more proofs. He wants to make sure you won't disappear when he blinks. He needs to make sure. His hand is still in your shirt, but he isn't searching more. He needs to know you want the same, that you feel good enough. He feels your hands attracting him closer, pulling by the neck of his shirt. He sighs.

Kisses and mixed breaths. He looks at you when you part for air, his chest rising fast, his hands playing with the end of the t-shirt you're wearing. His eyes looking at yours, asking for permission. You nod quietly, looking at him in the eyes, making sure he understands you want this. His hands take off your shirt, admiring every single scar on your body, every mole and every birthmark. Making sure every one of them is in the same place it was, that your body is still the same he remembers. That they are all your little details he loves to admire.

For your surprise, he leans on and kisses every one of them. Every single thing that makes your skin special. You blush at it, but he doesn't care. He's showing without words how much he adores you, how much he cares for you. The affection and love behind every kiss is overwhelming. Your hands are fast unbuttoning his white shirt. He lets the fabric slide down his shoulders once you're done. Feeling his skin against yours is one of your favorite sensations.

There aren't too many words while he keeps kissing every inch of your body, taking away the fabrics that obstacle him. You can only think of him, of how cold his skin is, how good he feels and how much you've missed him, even for just a day. Because when you didn't know how he was, it felt like whole centuries. He lets out a sigh when he gets under the sheets with you, being careful to not cause you pain, standing on his arms on top of you. He smiles, a true smile when you tangle your fingers with his. His grey eyes have a mix of a lot of feelings: love, apology, desire, happiness... they're like storms. You feel his tender touch on your thighs, guiding them. You follow his movements, obeying him.

"Take advantage because I won't be so obedient next time." you joke. He chuckes quietly, and it warms your heart. He smiles so widely after that... You feel so good just watching him. He takes a hand down, fingers probing down your body, making sure you're ready. He chuckles again when your amused expression changes after a single finger touch.

His name comes out of your mouth like a praise. When he touches you, when he buries in you, when he quietly kisses you. You mind and body has his name tattooed while he sets a pace against you, slow but intense. Levi's low praises make your body search him more desperately. When his pace starts to fail and his hips move without any patron against yours, you let out his name again.

"Say it again." he asks. Hearing your name come that easily from your lips makes it even more real. More intimate. "Please." his voice isn't more than a low whisper now, mixed with sighs. He smiles when you say his name again, pushing against you a last time. He lets his head rest on your chest, your quick heartbeat against his ears. He tries to calm his breath. "I love you. I love you so much." he says. "I'll never leave you behind."

You smile, your fingers running through his hair with tenderness. "I know. I know, Levi." you whisper. His eyes feel heavy after the nervous night he passed yesterday, so he acomodates himself by your side, his bare body near yours. You feel his lips on your shoulder.

"And thanks for always coming back for me, no matter what"

[obxsummer]

Loss of You // Pope Heyward

Pope Heyward x Routledge!Reader

summary: you had been in love with pope since you could remember, always pining and keeping him close. being forced to see him with girl after girl, you finally give up and pope has to suffer the consequences of your broken heart.

warnings: angst, cursing, reader is v sad not gonna lie

part of #obx2celebration

masterlist

ask me anything

--

Pope was the worst person when it came to catching hints. He was painfully oblivious and everyone knew, but it hurt you the most. You had been in love with Pope for as long as you could remember, and you hadn’t told anyone in fear of it ruining your friendship. You really wanted to be with him, but if you said anything, you didn’t want him to be with you out of guilt.

The Pogues were throwing a kegger, which was usual for them. You were seated next to JJ with a red solo cup in your hand as you watched people add to the crowd. “Big one this time, yeah J?” You asked as you nudged the boy’s leg with your foot.

JJ’s attention was on you instantly. “Oh, for sure. It’s probably your cute face that brought them here.” You shoved his shoulder lightly before flipping him off. You and JJ had always had a good relationship, but you couldn’t even tell him about Pope without the fear of him spoiling it for you.

The one person you maybe had a shot at telling was your brother, John B. He wasn’t the best secret keeper around, but he was loyal to you and your wishes as his little sister. He was always looking out for you whether you knew it or not. He was nowhere to be seen at the kegger at the moment, but he somehow always had eyes on you.

“So,” JJ turned his attention back to you once he had bored the girl he was talking to enough for her to go away. “When are you gonna tell Pope you like him?”

You choked on the drink in your mouth. “What the fuck, JJ?” You asked once you stopped coughing.

He shrugged innocently. “Look, it’s so obvious. You always look at him like he makes the sun rise every morning. I don’t know how he hasn’t picked up on it yet.”

You groaned and pressed the palms of your hands against your eyes. “JJ,” You huffed before looking over him. “You can’t say anything to him.”

He held his hands up in defense. “Y/N, I’m not gonna tell him shit, okay? You really should though, I would find it hard to believe he isn’t obsessed with you too.” You both searched the crowd for said boy only to come up empty handed. “Seriously, Y/N. I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this.”

You huffed when you finally caught sight of Pope. He had an arm up against the trunk of a tree, cornering a girl who was smiling while talking to him. Your head fell against JJ’s shoulder as you bit your tongue to keep the tears from pooling in your eyes. He followed your gaze after a second, arm coming to wrap around your back as he pulled you closer. “Shit, Y/N… I-”

“J, it’s okay, I promise. I knew it was too good to be true.”

--

It was hard to say that wasn’t the last time seeing Pope with another girl broke your heart. JJ had been there every second of it, watching your face fall each time until it just stopped falling completely and stayed that way. You were much quieter, clinging to your friends tightly when you all went out. It was like the outgoing personality you had disappeared along with Pope.

John B noticed first, Kie not too far behind. For once, though, Pope was minding his own business and moving about like nothing was wrong. Your friends were worried. You had never been through a big heartbreak, mainly just flings here and there if at all, but breaking up with someone you never dated was like mourning someone who died that you never got to say goodbye to.

“Y/N/N, you alright?” Your brother asked as he sat next to you on the concrete wall you were moping on. It seemed to be the only thing you did lately, feel pity for yourself. John B didn’t blame you, in fact, he wanted you to feel every emotion you could so you could process it, feel it, and recover safely.

You shook your head, finally admitting to your brother that not everything was okay. “I um… It’s really hard, JB, seeing someone you love with someone else when you feel like they should be with you. A-And I know it’s not Pope’s fault, I can’t blame him for not liking me, but it just hurts.”

Your brother pulled you into his side, his arm resting around your shoulders as he did his best to comfort you. “Look, bubba. I know you really like Pope, and I’m sorry you have to sit here and watch him act this way, but I want you to know that it’s okay to be upset. You’re allowed to be hurting, but I promise you, there is no reason for anyone not to like you. You’re the best girl I know, Y/N, and I’m your brother so clearly that’s saying something.”

John B always did his best to get a laugh out of you when you were sad. You let out a small scoff, tucking your head into your brother’s shoulder as he rubbed your arm. It felt nice to have someone comfort you, tell you it’s okay to feel what you’re feeling. You had gone in circles since you first heard Pope talk about taking someone on a date. You could only blame yourself, you didn’t exactly make a move either, but it felt too risky to put Pope’s friendship with everyone else on the line.

“Y/N, everything okay?” A shiver went down your spine at the familiar voice intruding your moment with John B. You sat up straighter, your brother’s hand falling from your arm before he gave you a reassuring rub on the head and stepped away to give you some space.

Once your brother disappeared from view, you looked up at the boy standing in front of you. “What do you want, Pope?” You asked, not sheltering him from the frustration in your tone.

He looked taken back at the hostility. “Whoa, are you mad or something?”

“Am I mad?” You repeated as you stood up to your full height, taking Pope head on. You had to do this now or you probably never would. “Yeah, Pope, I am really mad, and it’s not even your fault.”

“What does that mean?”

You groaned, mad at yourself that you had let things get like this between the two of you. “I loved you, okay? I loved you so much, and I never told you because I was worried things would change for us and our friends. I sat here and I watched you go with all these girls and make dates and I didn’t say a word. That’s my fault and I’m sorry, but right now, I cannot act like everything’s okay when it’s not. I’m not asking you to fix anything, I just need time and I need space.”

Pope was staring at you, mouth opened wide in shock as he tried to comprehend everything you just tossed at him. He shook his head slightly to clear the blur in his mind. “You… you loved me? Past tense, as in not right now?”

You glared at him. “Out of all I said, that’s what you grasped?”

“Yes, that’s what I grasped!” Pope tossed his hands about wildly. He was so confused. For once in his life, he had no idea what was going on. “Y/N…” He trailed off and shook his head slowly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” You snapped as you dropped your gaze to your knees.

“Like what?”

“Like you love me,” You finished, looking up to glare at him. Your chest was tight and you knew you’d end up crying to JB again later since you finally confronted the problem head on. “I’m moving through this on my own, processing and just… we’ll be back to normal eventually, Pope. I promise. I just need time.”

You didn’t give him room to reply as you stalked off, hands tucked in JJ’s hoodie that you’d been wearing. Pope stared at you as you walked, his own heart breaking as he realized exactly what he had done, what he had been doing. He always thought you were interested in JJ, never him. He distracted himself with other people, other things to do, so he didn’t have to watch the two of you interact in a way that made him hurt. It was now though, that Pope realized he had been hurting you all along, and he never realized it. He sank down on the wall you had been occupying and placed his head in his hands.

Now, it was his turn to grieve someone he never had.

[yoongiseesawmp3]

punch me - jungkook

back again with another self indulgent fic! enjoy

summary: daycare worker jungkook invites you, his favorite coworker, to the lake with his friends. why the lake? he wants you to see his new sleeve and whipping his shirt off in the classroom isn’t quite acceptable. plus he just wants to spend more time with you. there’s no harm in that.

warnings: none i think! 

word count: 3.5k

you work at a daycare, which isn’t a bad thing. it’s pretty chill, you like the kids and you can take off work pretty easy because there’s tons of subs. but also, not many people are bringing their kids in lately. so that means you and the other staff have been digging into the snack closet so “they won’t go to waste.”

jungkook was the one who suggested it. well, maybe suggest is the wrong word? he got caught up to his elbows in the bin of sweets, so when he turned to face your boss he immediately went into charming mode so he wouldn’t get in trouble. and once jungkook said it, everyone else thought it was a good idea too. hell, you’ve stopped buying snacks for yourself because you just sneak them from work now. wait. don’t tell anyone that. 

anyway, it was a great idea, but that was two weeks ago. now the snack closet is empty and you have a room full of toddlers on the verge of anarchy because of it. because of jungkook.

you just watched him pass by your room, arms laden with cheez-its and rice krispie treats, and you know for a fact he doesn’t have a class today. he’s only here to touch up the mural he’s been asked to paint near the front desk, so all of those snacks must be for him. 

you get the teacher from next door to keep an eye on your kiddos so you can sneak to the front and steal a couple bags of cheez-its (the kids don’t need their own bag, they’ll never know). but you get there and find yourself distracted from completing your mission.

jungkook is wearing old sweats, spattered with paint here and there, and he’s stooped over a bucket of water with a paintbrush between his teeth. it’s cute. 

“jungkook,” you semi-shout to get his attention. you get a sort of “hmgpfh?” in response, and that’s enough for you. “do you seriously need this many snacks? just for yourself?”

“i’m a growing boy, y/n,” he replies, taking the paintbrush out of his mouth so he can dip it into a paper plate covered in red shades. “you can have one.”

“i need three, actually,” you reply, picking them up as you speak. 

“are you a growing boy too?”

“no, i have six little kids with bad attitudes waiting for me in my room so i’ll be taking these off your hands,” you explain, finally turning to look at the work jungkook has put on the wall. “wow.”

“you like it?” jungkook asks, turning to look at you with a smile and a dancing light in his eyes. “is the tree too much?”

“no, oh my god, this is really good, jungkook,” you assure him, tracing your eyes over the wall full of characters and scenery from various children’s books.

“thank you,” he replies. “it’s better than wiping asses all day.”

“watch your mouth.”

“why don’t you watch it for me?” he quips back, peeking up at you with a smirk.

“what does that even mean, jungkook.”

“just thought i’d try to make you blush,” he says with a shrug. “didn’t work this time.”

“i don’t think it works anytime, actually,” you mumble, but he ignores it.

“hey, are you busy this weekend?” he questions, inspecting a bottle of green before squirting some directly on the wall. 

“are you sure you know what you’re doing?” you ask with a laugh. you watch him frantically spread the paint around to resemble a bush.

“shut up. are you busy this weekend?” he asks again. 

“i don’t think so, why?”

“come to the lake with me,” he says as he stands up to meet your eyes. “one of my friends convinced his uncle to let us borrow his boat. it’ll be fun.”

“do any of you know how to drive a boat?” you ask. “the safety of all this is what would keep me away.”

“i’m sure yoongi hyung will be able to do it,” jungkook says halfheartedly. “but still, the boat could just stay docked. it would be fun either way.”

“when are you going?” 

“saturday, so i could come by yours and get you on my way?” he asks with a lot of hope in his voice. you shrug before responding.

“why not? sure.”

-

so, jungkook texts you late friday that he’ll pick you up at 7am saturday. what the fuck. you wouldn’t have said yes if you knew you had to leave that early, but jungkook explained that he’s the only one the uncle trusts to have the keys, so he has to get there before the world wakes up. but also, has this man met jungkook? jungkook, being trustworthy with small, easy to lose items? please.

nevertheless, you’re up bright and early on saturday with a very large thermos of coffee. jungkook texts you right at 7 that he’s outside, and when you walk out you see him at the back of his car trying to force something into the trunk.

“whatcha doin?” you ask as you approach, noticing his strong legs in his (surprisingly) short swim trunks. you’re now realizing you’ve never seen him in anything other than baggy pants, so his legs are a little...distracting. 

“trying to keep the beer bottles from rattling,” he says through clenched teeth.

“and you’re trying to fuse them together with sheer force?”

“no, i’m stuffing a towel in between them in the box but it’s really tight.”

“if hoseok were here he’d make a ‘that’s what she said’ joke,” you jest. 

“i thought about it,” jungkook replies. “so i guess that counts?”

as he talks, he rearranges the other things in the trunk so it can close easy, and as he lowers the door he turns to you.

“you look nice,” he says, eyes drifting over you quickly. he notices the coffee cup in your hand and smiles. “any chance that has the sickly sweet creamer in it that i like?”

“how would i know what coffee creamer you like?” you ask, slightly annoyed that he just assumes you pay that much attention to him but also annoyed that you got caught. 

“because you like me,” he replies, grabbing the thermos and taking a sip. “oh my god, i love you.”

“you better be talking to the coffee,” you warn him as you grab the coffee back from him. 

“i’ll say it to you someday,” he promises, walking around to the passenger side of the car before opening your door. “if you let me.”

“what’s gotten into you lately?” you ask with a smile. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a little crush on jungkook, and recently it’s gotten worse. after you started working together, you noticed how many shared friends you have, so you’ve been hanging out more and more the past few months. jungkook has always been more than nice to you, but these flirty little comments are a welcome change. you hope they keep coming.

“is it cool if we stop at the gas station real quick?” he asks as he gets into the driver’s seat. “it’s an hour drive and i need gas and snacks.”

“fine with me. how about cheez-its and rice krispies?” 

“i had my fill of those at work this week, thanks,” jungkook laughs. 

at the gas station, you offer to get the snacks while jungkook stays at the pump. you’re looking for your favorite gas station snack, a crappy fruit and cheese danish that you could eat every day. jungkook finds you bent over in the sweets aisle, ass poking out too much for him to pass by and not push your face right into the premade baked goods. he considers it, because funny, but mean. he also considers passing behind you and smacking your ass as he does so you’ll move. tempting, but maybe too far. he opts for just bending down next to you to see what’s so interesting.

“what are we looking for?” he asks, scanning the labels for something to try.

“cherry and cheese,” you tell him, moving a blueberry danish out of the way, hoping to find what you want, but no luck.

“what? that sounds gross,” jungkook replies as he stands. “you like that?”

“it’s one of my favorites,” you tell him as you move into a squat. jungkook slides behind you and looks for his favorite jelly candy as you keep searching. “what’s so gross about it? they go well together.”

“like us.”

“what?” 

“huh?” jungkook asks, staring down at you with a glint in his eyes. the glare you give him is definitely ignored as jungkook looks back up and spots something on the top shelf. he grabs it and hands it to you. “this what you want?”

“yeah, it is,” you reply. “thanks. get another one for yourself.”

“why?” he asks, screwing his face up in disgust.

“because i know you’ll want to try some even with the way you’re acting right now, and i don’t like sharing.” 

“whatever you say,” he grumbles with a roll of his eyes. “now help me find the sour worms.”

-

jungkook tried the danish, and he hated it. 

have you ever seen a baby eating a lemon? it was like that, except jungkook spat what was in his mouth into his hand and then tossed it out the window of his car as he drove. sure, that whole part was gross, but he looked cute when he didn’t like the danish. who doesn’t love babies making silly faces? 

“i can’t believe you like that, but i can’t believe you convinced me to try it,” jungkook complains.

“kook, i think if i told you electrocuting yourself was fun you would try it just because i said i liked it,” you reply. he thinks about it for a moment before nodding, a slight tint gracing his cheeks.

“you’re right, but that’s not gonna make me finish your gross choice of snack.”

“fine, more for me,” you say, grabbing the discarded treat in the cupholder. you take a bite, not really caring that jungkook’s mouth was on it before you.

“omg.”

“did you just say ‘omg’ out loud?”

“yes, why?”

“you’re a loser,” you laugh, taking another bite, causing jungkook to gasp again. “what?”

“it’s like we just kissed,” he replies, almost giggling through his toothy smile.

“what do you even mean by that.”

“we just swapped spit.”

“you’re disgusting. stop talking.”

“hey, you’re the one that wants to kiss me,” jungkook says with a shrug. you want to protest, but you don’t want to convince him that you’re totally against kissing him. you’d actually very much like to plant your lips on his and never let go, but life doesn’t always give you what you want. jungkook notices your silence and smiles. “you’re not denying it.”

“i’m being polite.”

“mmmhmm,” he replies, failing to hide how pleased he is as he pulls into a treacherously sloped driveway. “we’re here.”

-

it’s turning into a beautiful day. the morning chill is starting to slowly melt away, and you find yourself sweating slightly as you help jungkook move all of the junk from his car. he insisted on doing it himself, but you felt super weird just standing there while he huffed and puffed carrying things back and forth, so you finally jumped in. it’s still just the two of you here, the friend’s uncle had successfully given you both a crash course on how to handle the boat, and you’re confident the two of you can share that info with yoongi when he gets here and hopefully no one will get hurt. 

speaking of yoongi, he said he was a few minutes away, and that was more than a few minutes ago. maybe he and hoseok got lost. the final four (as they’ve been calling themselves all morning) will be here later because taehyung didn’t have a swimsuit and they had to make a pit stop at walmart to get him one. you’re familiar with jungkook’s friends, and comfortable with a couple of them, but you don’t know much about taehyung aside from his interest in art and now his view on the boxer vs briefs debate (he was apparently very picky when trying on said swimsuits). but whatever. they’ll get here eventually. 

before you know it, you and jungkook have unloaded all of the snacks, alcohol and water accessories from his car, so all that’s left to do is hang out until the boys get here. 

“you ready?” jungkook asks, offering you his hand. you give him a questioning look and he motions to the boat. “c’mon, we’re not gonna sit here in the sun while we wait for them. it’s hot as balls.”

“but it’s hot as balls on the boat too,” you counter as you take his outstretched hand and let him pull you behind him on the dock.

“yeah, but at least we’re on a boat.”

he leads you to the edge of the shaky dock and let’s go of your hand momentarily to steady himself as he steps over to the boat. he turns back and offers his hand again, giving yours a squeeze as he guides you over the gap of water. the boat is slippery, so you lose your footing slightly and jungkook reacts quickly by wrapping you in his arms. the boat is bobbing a little too much for your liking, but jungkook is giggling and that distracts you enough from the fact that you could’ve fallen just now. 

as you both stand there awkwardly staring at each other, you don’t notice yoongi’s car pulling up to the top of the hill and its two passengers walking out toward the water. 

“oooh, what do we have here?” hoseok asks as he sees you holding onto each other for dear life. you separate quickly, making the newcomers laugh.

“don’t stop because we’re here,” yoongi replies.

“yeah, i can hug yoongi if it makes things less awkward for you,” hoseok offers.

“please don’t do that,” yoongi quips back.

“i’ll get you when you least expect it, hyung.”

jungkook, still standing very close to you, clears his throat and waves yoongi over. you scoot around them to help hoseok with the bag of food in his hands.

“are you sure you know how to drive a boat, yoongi?” you ask. 

“i’m a fast learner,” he replies.

“that’s not very reassuring.”

“i’ve done it before, y/n,” he laughs. “just not with this kind of motor, but it won’t take long to figure out. everything will be nice and safe, i promise.”

“besides, we have jungkookie here to save you even if hyung throws us overboard,” hoseok jokes.

speaking of jungkook, he’s rustling around the boat, trying to figure out how to put the suncover up. his jacket from this morning has been tossed aside, and he’s in a baggy tank top. you allow yourself a moment to admire the way his muscles ripple as he works when you notice -

“you finished your sleeve?” you ask him. his head snaps up in your direction and he smiles.

“enjoying the show?” he teases.

“answer the question.”

“honestly, i wanted it to be a surprise,” he replies, stretching the arm out and turning it around as best he can.

“so what, you were gonna take your shirt off and punch me and that’s how i was supposed to find out?”

“are you offering?”

“i’m just mad you didn’t take me with you! i was gonna get something this time,” you complain with a slight pout, which jungkook scrunches his nose at. you’re really cute, he thinks to himself.

“my artist called me last minute and said they had an opening, so i went in as soon as i could. i think you were still handling six hungry toddlers,” he explains.

“so is that why you invited me today?” you laugh. “you couldn’t think of a reasonable way to take your shirt off in front of me so i had to come with you to the lake for the big reveal?”

“jungkook, if you say yes, then jin and i are giving you the sex talk. you gotta up your game,” yoongi mumbles.

“no,” jungkook insists, ignoring yoongi. “i invited you today because i think it’ll be fun and i wanted you to be here.”

“and he wanted to see you in a swimsuit,” hoseok adds, pulling some cookies out of the bag of snacks. he offers them to you and you gladly accept. then he turns and pops one into yoongi’s mouth as he yawns, before he tosses one over to jungkook, happily shouting “a cookie for kookie!”

“that’s cute,” you smile, liking the way hoseok babies jungkook. it’s got him flustered, and it’s kind of adorable.

“kook, did you hear that? y/n thinks you’re cute,” hoseok sing-songs.

“i- that’s not...i didn’t say that,” you stumble. “the rhyming was cute. if anything, i called hoseok cute.”

“everyone thinks hobi is cute,” yoongi replies. “but jungkook? eh.”

“eh?!” jungkook shouts. “i’m just eh to you hyung?”

“now you hurt the boy’s feelings,” you tell yoongi, and he shrugs.

“you should’ve just called him cute.”

you look over and notice jungkook is staring at you, an eyebrow quirked in a challenge. hoseok is watching and munching like this is a movie, and yoongi looks between you and the so-called cutie and laughs to himself.

“well?” jungkook asks.

“i mean, yeah, you are cute, sometimes,” you begin. “not when you’re being annoying though.”

“i’m not annoying!”

“yes you are,” hoseok and yoongi agree in unison. jungkook huffs at that and looks back at you.

“now my feelings are hurt again. talk more about me being cute,” he pleads as he finally gives up on the suncover and joins you on the wraparound couch of the boat. he’s looking at you with the absolute worst puppy dog eyes, so you keep going.

“uh, you’re cute with the kids i guess? like when they use you as their personal playground and you’re all giggling. that’s cute,” you offer. “or when the little girls get hurt, they always run to you first and you cheer them up with sweet songs.”

“hmm, family planning perhaps?” you hear hoseok joke with yoongi. 

you would go on (or deny how often you’ve thought about jungkook being a dad) but the other car of boys has finally arrived, so the two instigators leave the boat to help them unload. that leaves you next to jungkook, who’s not done talking about the cute stuff.

“i didn’t know you noticed all of that,” jungkook whispers, suddenly sitting very close to you. you try to act like it’s nothing, but he stops you. “ah ah, now it’s my turn.”

“your turn? for what?”

“for talking about how cute you are,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing ever. if he had his way he would be pulling up a whole powerpoint presentation right now, but he has to rely on his words, which is fine. “first of all, you have great style. you’re maybe the only person who can make the daycare uniform look like a capital o outfit everyday you come in. and the way your eyes light up when a kid tells you a story, or shows you something they made? that’s my favorite. wish you would look at me like that someday.”

“you...what?” you almost can’t believe where this conversation has gone, but it’s making your heart beat faster and you’re not ready for it to stop.

“i wish i could make your eyes light up like i’m the only person you can see,” he clarifies, locking eyes with you. he holds your gaze for a moment before his eyes flick down to your lips. you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t so close, but the movement was obvious. jungkook wants to kiss you. 

“and what would you do if they did?” you challenge, repeating the same glance from his eyes down to his lips. your gaze lingers a little longer, and when you look back up at jungkook you know what’s coming next. that doesn’t mean it’s not shocking, though.

kissing jungkook is like pulling down a piece of the sun and slamming it into your chest. the warmth that he exudes, and the softness of his lips as they caress yours, it’s perfect. but - 

“wait,” jungkook mumbles against your lips. you pull back, worried.

“what?”

“i did that wrong.”

“wha..how? jungkook, i thought that was nice,” you assure him but he shakes his head.

“i did it wrong,” he insists, looking at you and noticing the shine in your eyes that he was hoping for. “can i kiss you again?”

you nod and let out a quiet “yes” before jungkook is cupping your face and connecting your lips again. this one is stronger, more intentional and you’re glad he wanted to try again. not that the first kiss was bad, your mind is still reeling from that first one. but this feels like a kiss full of love. it feels like a kiss from someone that’s been pining for you over bags of cheez-its and funny kid stories, but they didn’t know how to tell you how badly they wanted to do this. jungkook didn’t know how to tell you, but now he doesn’t have to because this kiss tells you everything you need to know.

[ptergwen]

positions

w/c: 2k

warnings: smut but there’s fluff toooo

a/n: literally based this whole os off positions by ariana bc if y’all didn’t know i love her and the song came out yesterday it’s so so good go stream and YEAH everyone enjoy

-

“it’s been so lovely to meet you, y/n.” nikki gives you a warm smile and reaches over tom to put a hand on your arm. tom squeezes your side from his spot next to you. he’s sitting between the two most important women in his life. leaning into him more, you return the smile.

“you, too. i’m really happy we could do this,” you agree. “tom’s a lucky guy, eh?” she raises an eyebrow. “i am. almost as lucky as dad.” he beams and kisses the side of your head. your nose scrunches up. “oh, you two. do you really have to go so soon?” you look at tom to confirm. “don’t you have a call in the morning?” considering it for a second, he shrugs. “we can stay another hour.”

nikki pats your arm and shifts her gaze to tom. “why don’t you spend the night? you do have a room and wifi here.” now he’s looking at you to see what you think. you smile a little in response. “sure, mum. that would be perfect.” she nods, proud of her idea. “should we make that dessert i was talking about, then?”

tom sits at the kitchen table while you and nikki do the baking. you’re using a cake recipe she got from one of her friends. all three of you figured he’d end up burning it. she tells you stories from when tom was a kid, and he interjects whenever something embarrassing comes up. you can’t help but giggle about the time he fell off the stage during a school play.

“and he was in a tree costume. his head got stuck in the trunk hole,” nikki nudges you, both of you laughing. tom hides his face in his hands. “it was hard! you try dancing in one of those things.” “aw, tom. maybe no one noticed.” you crack an egg into the bowl with a snort. he sighs. “they had to stop the show.”

the cake is in the oven four embarrassing stories later. you were going to help nikki clean up, but she insisted you go relax. she almost had to push you out of the kitchen. the woman is a saint honestly, and now you see where tom gets it from. the two of you are back on the couch while she does the dishes.

“thanks for coming tonight. it means a lot to me.” tom leans his head against yours, which is resting on his shoulder. “and mum.” “of course. i wanted to, you know.” you nuzzle your cheek against him. he lets out a breath and grins. “she really likes you. loves you, even.” a smile pulls at your lips. “really?”

“mhm. she wouldn’t have asked you to stay if she didn’t.” his fingers trace random shapes on your thigh. you hum in content. “we would’ve been kicked out by now.” “it’s technically your house still,” you deadpan, but it’s lighthearted. “mm, but we have ours.” that makes you feel so soft and warm. you’re just so in love with him. he’s even more in love with you.

you tilt your head up to peck tom’s lips. he gives you another kiss back. “i love you.” “i love you, too,” he murmurs. he’s about to go in for a proper kiss when nikki peeks her head out from behind the wall. she looks between you both knowingly. “cake’s done.”

the three of you head back to the kitchen together. tom takes the seat the farthest away from everyone this time. he’s a little embarrassed his mom almost saw that. he looks you up and down when you bend over to take the cake out of the oven. feeling his eyes on you, you glance over your shoulder when you stand up. he licks his lips. you bite back a smile and put the pan down on the counter.

“sorry if i interrupted anything,” nikki jokes and starts to get the cake out of the pan. “no, you didn’t. it’s okay.” you’re still looking at tom. you reach up and get the icing out of one of the cabinets, then a spatula from a holder on the counter. the fact that you already know where everything is makes tom get blushy. a good blushy.

the cake is on the cooling rack, so you open up the icing. nikki moves over to give you more room. “we should add some sprinkles, yeah?” she puts a hand on your shoulder. “tom, what do you think?” you noticed he’s been unusually quiet. he clears his throat. “yeah, sounds good.” “alright, then. let’s see if we have them.” nikki goes back into the cabinet you were in.

you get a generous amount of icing on the spatula, then start spreading it around the cake. it’s chocolate. everyone knows what that does. tom can’t stop thinking about how perfect you are while he watches. with nikki, with him, with all of this. he uses that word a lot. perfect. but, he actually means it now. you’re the human embodiment of it.

you’re almost finished with the icing when nikki puts down two different kinds of sprinkles. she found rainbow and the white ones that look like crystals. you put down the tub of icing with a smile. “i’ve got this, love,” she tells you and nods her head to tom. making eye contact with him, you lick what’s left of the icing off the spatula. his eyes are hooded now. you put the spatula in the sink and sit next to him at the table.

“tease,” he says lowly to you, putting an arm around the back of your chair. “you do it to me all the time.” you shift closer to him. he only shakes his head. nikki brings over the cake and a knife balanced on three plates a few minutes later. “who’s hungry?” “me,” you’re the first to answer. tom laughs and takes the knife to cut the cake. “thanks, mum. and y/n.” you put an arm around his neck. “you’re very welcome.”

everyone stays downstairs for two pieces and some small talk. you decide to put everything away in the morning since it’s getting late and tom has to be up. the two of you say goodnight to nikki, then tom leads you upstairs to his old room.

neither of you have to say anything to know exactly what you want. you press your lips to tom’s the second he closes the door, grabbing at his shoulders. he kisses back while walking backwards to the bed. he sits and pulls down you by your waist. your legs are on either side of him. you pull away to catch your breath, resting your forehead against tom’s.

“you were so good tonight, baby,” tom pants, fingers gripping your sides. you start to undo his shirt button by button with a smirk. “i’m not done yet.” he chuckles into your next kiss, shrugging off his shirt. you toss it on the floor and push at his bare chest so he’s laying down. you’re straddling him now, your tongue running across his lower lip. he unzips the dress you decided to wear while your lips trail off to his neck.

“wanna get this off,” he rasps, sliding the straps down your shoulders. you hum against his skin in response and sit up again. the vibrations make him feel tingly. your dress is thrown across the room shortly after. tom runs a finger down your back, his swollen lips curling into a smile. “love you.” “love you more.” you’re about to show him you mean it.

his hand comes around to your front as you unzip his jeans. he rubs your hip, your thigh, almost right where you need him, then he stops. he’s getting you back for earlier. you let out a breath and roll off of him so he can get out of his jeans. he eyes you and takes his boxers off next to speed up the process.

“c’mere.” you’re quick to get back on top of him. you can feel him through your panties as you straddle him. that only makes you more needy. he pulls your panties to the side and uses his middle finger to circle your clit. it’s good, but it’s not enough. “tom,” you breathe out. “i know, i know.”

he easily tugs your panties down, and you move so you’re lined up with him. you reach down and pump his dick in your hand. he presses a long kiss to your cheek. you can feel his breath fanning across your face. you run his dick through your folds to get both of you ready. biting down on your lip, you put your free hand on his chest.

he lets out a low moan when you start to sink down on him. you let him fill you up, taking your time to get there. more quiet noises escape him when he’s completely inside of you. squeezing your eyes shut, you move on him. you go slow at first, both of you feeling every little movement.

tom’s hands hold your hips to guide you. he brings you back down again. your moan is muffled as you let him move you faster. “shit, baby,” he exhales and pulls you forward. it makes him hit a new spot inside of you. you’re bouncing on him now, grabbing onto his shoulders again for support.

“fuck,” you murmur as quietly as you can so you’re not heard downstairs. tom unclasps your bra while you ride him, trying to distract himself so he doesn’t give you two away. he can’t take it off you because of the position you’re in. he pushes it up instead so your boobs are out of it, both hands cupping them. “closer, darling.”

you lean down more so he can reach you. he massages one and takes the other into his mouth. your head is thrown back while his tongue runs over your nipple. between this and the way he feels inside you, it’s so hard not to scream his name right now.

“tom... tom you’re gonna make me-“ you whimper, gulping before you can finish your sentence. he pulls his mouth off of you with a pop and kisses your lips to shut both of you up. keeping the same pace, you kiss him back. it’s messy and breathless. you’re getting close already. you’d normally go on way longer, but he has that stupid meeting.

it only takes you a few more bounces until you get that familiar feeling in your stomach. tom’s firm grip on your hips steadies you while you come. “doing so good. keep going,” he praises, your orgasm making your walls clench around him. you let out a small moan, tom breathing heavier from the feeling. you’re not moving anymore, but it’s enough to have him coming soon after you.

your head dropping onto his stomach, you climb off of him. tom presses his lips to your hair softly and moves his hands up to your waist. “really like when you’re on top.” his voice is raspy. you’re still trying to catch your breath, but you manage a kiss to his chest. “me too. it’s really... nice.” “nice?” he teases.

“stop, i can’t think right now,” you mumble to him. you’ve rolled over so you’re by his side. you have your head laying on his chest. his curls brush your face when he leans over to peck your lips. “i figured. tonight was a good night, hm?” “mhm. we should do it again.” your fingers ruffle his hair.

“what, the sex? or dessert with my mum?” he cringes at how that comes out. you giggle and twirl a piece of his hair. “both. wow, today was a lot.” tom squishes his cheek into the pillow more. “i could fall asleep like this.” “nope, you have to get ready for bed. your call is soon.” you poke at his chest and move over so you’re not on him anymore. he sits himself up with a chuckle.

“you switch up fast.”

[cactusnymph]

matters of the heart

“Sir Caroline, I must ask your advice in an important matter.”

 “You don’t have to call me ‘Sir’ anymore, Angelo. We’ve been over this.”

 “Excuse me, Caroline. Now, this important matter—“

 “Is this about Ale? Because, and I cannot stress this enough, I do not want to hear anything about your love life, Angelo.”

 Angelo has to admit that this is not the way he had hoped the conversation to go. He feels himself deflate a little as he looks at Caroline’s disapproving face.

 “But S—Caroline, I wouldn’t know who else to ask! Usually my best friend and former rival would be my first choice, but he’s not available at the moment.”

 Caroline looks at him for a moment then sighs, lowering her head into her hands for a heartbeat before looking up at him again.

 “Fine. Just this once. Next time you can just write Damien a letter.”

 “Yes, Sir—I mean. Yes, Caroline.”

 Caroline starts massaging her temple.

 “So. Spit it out. What is it?”

 “I almost can’t believe that I am saying this—truly, I think it is the first time I understand my friend Damien. I must speak my heart—“

 “Oh, for the love of—“

 “You are married to Miss Quanyii, are you not, Caroline?”

 “Yes, I am. What does that have to do with anything?”

 “So you must be well-versed in matters of the heart! How did you court your wife? I admit, I have never attempted this before and I have no idea how to go about courting a man—“

 “And why should it be different than courting a woman, Angelo?”

 Angelo pauses for a second. It was brought to his attention many times now that the distinctions between men and women he has learned about all his life might not actually be as accurate as many people make them out to be. Truly, Caroline is the best example. And now he has met Ale and Miss Quanyii, who is sometimes not Miss Quanyii but Mr Quanyii.

 Angelo considers Caroline’s words.

 “So you’re saying I should court Ale in the exact same way I would court a woman”, he says.

 Caroline rolls her eyes.

 “I do not see how gender has anything to do with this, Angelo. The way you court a person depends on the person. Not all women care for flowers and candles and love letters. I have no idea what Ale would prefer as courting; maybe he doesn’t want to be courted at all.”

 “Like Sir Talfryn, yes. I have learned about this. You are correct, Caroline and I am glad to have asked you. I shall speak to Ale about this to make sure that I am not overstepping any boundaries! I thank you for your wisdom! Hophophophophophop.”

 *

 Angelo is not afraid of anything.

 He’s not afraid of pain or fighting or dying or even things as complicated as numbers even though he is not very good at them. But when he finds Ale sitting next to Olala, showing her how to start a campfire with her little hands, something tightens in Angelo’s chest and all he can do is stare.

 Ale is beautiful. Dark skin, long hair, big eyes and long lashes, a soft smile as he tells little Olala that she’s doing well.

 Angelo feels his stomach drop; a sensation that is very similar to falling and his heart beats so rapidly in his chest that he has trouble breathing for a moment.

 Maybe he should have rehearsed this. Maybe it would be better if little Olala was not there with Ale. Maybe he was hasty when he concluded that speaking directly to Ale would be the best course of action. A warrior’s approach. Head on. The same way he always approaches difficulties.

 Ale looks up when he notices Angelo and he flashes him a grin that makes Angelo’s insides squirm around like very lively snakes. Saints, if he starts using more metaphors for how Ale makes him feel he might turn into Damien before he knows it.

 “Hey schoolboy, what can we do for you?”

 Angelo isn’t sure why it makes him feel warm and tingly when Ale calls him ‘schoolboy’, but it absolutely does.

 He clears his throat.

 “I was about to—hm. Well.”

 Angelo wishes Damien were here so he could tell him how to find the right words for this. Damien has such a knack for language and beautiful words, while Angelo—well. Angelo has never in his life understood one poem that Damien showed to him.

 “We’re making fire, Sir Angelo! I made a small flame, all without magic! Look!”, Olala proclaims excitedly and waves at the little wisp of smoke her efforts have conjured.

 “Very good, Olala. I—uh. I must take my leave.”

 And for the first time in his life, Sir Angelo The Strong turns around and flees.

 *

 “Aw, Angelo, what is it?”

 Angelo looks up as Quanyii appears out of nowhere right beside him.

 “I am afraid that I have become a coward, Miss Quanyii”, he says as he looks down at his big hands.

 “I highly doubt that, sweetie. Is this about our beautiful vigilante boy?”, Quanyii wants to know as she scoots closer to Angelo, her colorful hair surrounding her head like a cloud.

 “Yes. I have spoken to Si—to Caroline about this and she gave me important insight on the matter of courting rituals.”

“She did?”, Quanyii asks, sounding surprised.

 “Yes. She explained that courting is not a matter of gender but of the individual’s personality. She also pointed out that Ale might have no interest in romantic relationships which I had not considered before.”

 Quanyii puts her index finger to her lips and taps them thoughtfully.

 “Yes, yes, such wisdom. But have you considered asking me about this? Romance is a magical thing after all and sweetheart, I’m a witch! Caroline doesn’t know one itsy-bitsy thing about romance, let me tell you that”, Quanyii says and pouts a little.

 Angelo raises his head.

 “So you would help me in this quest to court Ale?”, he asks. The grin that spreads on Quanyii’s face makes Angelo pause. This might not be a good idea.

 “Oh, sweetie, don’t you worry your silly little head. I will give you one tip for free because we have become such good friends during those past few weeks! I know a little secret and that is that Ale does like romance!”

 Angelo feels his face light up with a smile as relief courses through his entire body. He feels like he could do a hundred push-ups right here and now. Maybe even lift Porthos. Or the whole, fallen tree he’s sitting on.

 “Why thank you, Miss Quanyii, that is most helpful!”

 He grabs both of her hands and shakes them as Quanyii giggles.

“You are so very welcome, Angelo. For every other piece of help I’m going to require a little bit of payment. A witch has to make do, you know.”

 Angelo doesn’t really understand but he nods anyway and gets up from the fallen tree trunk.

 “I do not believe that I will need further assistance, now that the issue of romantic attraction has been resolved! Sir Angelo The Strong is back on his feet! Ha ha! Hophophophophophop.”

 “Good luck, brave knight!”, Quanyii calls after him as Angelo runs back towards the camp.

 *

 Now that Angelo knows that Ale is not generally opposed to romance the path seems clear. That is, at least until Angelo arrives back at the place where Ale and Olala made their little fire before.

 The two of them are still there, but both of them are asleep. Ale is sitting with his back against a tree, his legs spread, and Olala has curled up between his legs, her tail gently snoring. Caroline sits by the fire and sharpens her blade.

 She looks up as Angelo enters the clearing.

 “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Angelo”, she says as Angelo stares at Ale’s sleeping form. His long lashes are feathered out on his cheeks and for a second Angelo imagines to brush his fingers over Ale’s cheek and give him a kiss.

 The thought immediately sends his heart into another gallop that would make Porthos proud and Angelo swallows heavily.

 “I cannot report any ghost sightings at this point, Sir—I mean. Caroline.”

 Angelo notices how Caroline’s eyes narrow as she looks him up and down and since Caroline has stated that she has no interest to know anything about Angelo’s love life he tries very hard to respect her wishes and to not look at Ale as if he’s the most beautiful thing that Angelo has ever seen.

 Which he very definitely is.

 “Oh for fuck’s sake, sit down, you oaf”, Caroline snaps and Angelo, still as an automatic response to her authoritative voice, walks over to the fire and sits down next to her.

 “Did you talk to Quanyii?”, she wants to know.

 “Yes. She cleared up a question I had and I thought it would make things easier, but as it turns out, it did not.”

 “I wouldn’t make any deals with her, witches are fickle and cunning creatures.”

 “Babe, you’re being so mean!”

 “Oh, shut it. You know it’s true.”

 “Yes, but when you say it like that it’s mean, mean, mean!”

 Angelo watches them bicker for a while before his eyes drift back over to Ale and Olala. Ale’s hand is resting on Olala’s back and Angelo looks at it for a while. Ale’s hand is much smaller than his and Angelo wonders what it would feel like to hold it. It must be rough from all the sword-fighting, much like Angelo’s hand.

 Maybe Ale doesn’t have any interest in holding Angelo’s hand. Maybe Ale doesn’t like men.

 “What is it now, Angelo”, Caroline asks with an expression on her face that says she might regret asking.

 “I forgot to consider another important thing regarding this whole courting business”, Angelo says and looks at Caroline. Quanyii seems to have vanished into thin air—something Angelo has seen happening multiple times during those last few weeks.

 “Which is?”

 “You made me aware of the possibility of Ale being averse to romantic relationships, but I forgot to consider whether or not Ale would be opposed to romantic relationships to men. I only ever knew one man who liked another man. Lizard. Does it count as a man if it is a lizard? I certainly don’t know. My point stands, though.”

 Caroline sighs deeply and cards through her short her.

 “It seems highly unlike you to ask all these questions instead of simply acting, Angelo”, she says and looks at him with a stern gaze.

 Angelo sighs.

 “Yes, I know. I am afraid I have found my most lethal opponent yet! Matters of the heart! No monster could ever best me in combat, but my own heart is betraying me.”

 Caroline puts her blade to the side and leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she looks at Angelo with her piercing eyes.

 “Just talk to him. It’s that easy. No one can ever truly know another person’s heart or thoughts unless they speak them out loud.”

 “Unless you’re a witch”, comes a disembodied sing-song from somewhere above them.

 “Unless you’re a witch in which case you should stay out of people’s heads”, Caroline barks up the tree and looks back at Angelo.

 “I cannot believe that I should turn into a coward for something as simple as talking. It seems highly ridiculous.”

 Caroline shrugs.

 “Emotions are hard. And I... understand your hesitance. But you should not let your feelings rule over your rational thoughts.”

 “That is a very Caroline thing to say, Sir Caroline.”

 “Stop calling me ‘Sir’ already!”

 “Certainly, Sir Caroline.”

 “Ugh.”

 *

 “Ale, can I ask you a personal question?”

 “You can ask anything you want, schoolboy. I can decide whether or not I want to answer.”

 “Oh—yes. That is very reasonable. Thank you. Uh—“

 “Sir knight, are you alright? Did you get sunburnt? Sir Caroline says it is important to not stay outside in the sun for too long!”

 “I am not sunburnt, little Olala.”

 “Ask your question, schoolboy. Is this about gender again?”

 “Uh—no. Not—huh. I suppose it is! But not in the way you think!”

 “Well then, shoot.”

 “This is more about the genders of others, I suppose! A potential paramour, one might say! I have a friend who has a fiancée but who is also involved with a man. Lizard. Male lizard? I am not entirely certain about the lizard’s gender and I was told not to assume. Anyway. What I wanted to ask—“

 “You want to know if I like lizards?”

 “No, that’s not—“

 “I was joking, schoolboy. Calm down. You want to know what kind of people I’m attracted to.”

 “Yes.”

 “I don’t much care about gender, but it doesn’t happen often that I’m attracted to people. Either romantically or sexually.”

 “Oh.”

 “I just don’t fall in love easily. And I don’t find many people hot.”

 “Hm.”

 “Any more questions?”

 “Yes, but I am afraid they would be borderline offensive and highly invasive.”

 “Well then. Let’s keep it at that, schoolboy.”

 *

 “Sir knight, are you feeling okay?”

 “Yes, little Olala.”

 “It’s just that you are usually very loud but you have been very quiet for a while. I recently learned about heatstrokes and it sounds awful and I hope you don’t have a heatstroke, Sir knight.”

 “I don’t think I have anything of the kind, Olala.”

 Olala sits down next to Angelo. He’s leaning against Porthos who’s lying down and nibbling on some grass. Ale and Caroline are investigating something and since Angelo is not the best at clues he offered to stay behind to guard their belongings and also Olala.

 “Most adults do not like to tell children why they’re sad. But if you wanted to, I would certainly listen.”

 “That’s very kind of you, Olala. Have you ever liked someone?”

 “Of course! I like so many people!”

 “Ah, yes. Hm. And were you ever scared to tell any of these people that you like them?”

 “No, Sir knight. I grew up in the Garden of Graves and we tended to the dead and my sisters always taught me that it is important to speak your heart while the people you love are alive, for you never know when they might die and then you can’t tell them anymore.”

 “That is... very wise, Olala.”

 “Thank you, Sir knight! My sisters taught me a great many things and I am honored to pass their wisdom on to others.”

 Angelo looks down at Olala’s small form and ruffles her hair.

 “I will take it to heart!”, he promises.

 *

 “Hey, Angelo. Can I talk to you for a moment?”

 They make camp by a river and Caroline takes Olala for a bath. Angelo turns around to look at Ale, who tied his long braids into a top knot. He’s wearing a white tunic that is a little too big for him and allows Angelo a view of Ale’s collarbone.

 Angelo tries very hard not to stare because he refuses to be disrespectful any more than he already was when they first met.

 “Of course, Ale.”

 Ale looks at him. Angelo would never trust himself to read people’s behavior—that has never been his forté. But he could swear that Ale looks almost a bit nervous; something that Angelo hasn’t seen on him so far.

 “So, remember that talk we had? About how I might like lizards or not?”, Ale begins and Angelo winces a little.

 “It was poorly worded and I apologize—“

 “It’s fine, Angelo. That’s not what this is about. But... you remember what I said. About not being attracted to people often?”

 “Yes. I remember.”

 “Why did you want to know that?”

 Angelo takes a deep breath and scratches the back of his head.

 “I—uh. Well”, he starts, then doesn’t know how to continue. He remembers the talks he had with Caroline and Olala and straightens his back. Sir Angelo the Strong will not back down from a challenge. Any challenge!

 “I would like to court you, Ale.”

 Ale blinks. Once, twice, three times.

 He opens his mouth, then closes it again.

 “You—what?”

 “Courting. I would like to court you. Woo you. Win you over. In the romantic sense. But I was not sure if that was something that would make you uncomfortable, so I tried to figure out if you might be opposed against courtship. By men. Or anyone.”

 Ale takes two steps towards him and Angelo has the great need to spread his arms and pull Ale close to him, but he doesn’t. He’s asking for permission and he will not ruin this by overstepping boundaries.

 A slight chuckle pulls him back to reality and he sees Ale’s eyes twinkle, the corners of his lips turned upwards.

 “Are you asking me on a date, schoolboy?”, Ale asks. His playful smile is doing things to Angelo he can’t describe because he is not Damien. But man, he almost feels the need to write a poem about that smile. That is how badly smitten he is with this wonderful, splendid man standing in front of him.

 “I suppose so! Ale, will you allow me to take you on a date?”

 Ale takes another step and raises his hand to softly flip one finger against Angelo’s forehead.

 “I thought you’d never ask.”

[ninzied]

into the woods

based on the prompt: you know that scene in TWD where shane is being all cute and kissing up lori’s stomach? that but make it kastle.

rated m. 3k.

“She should’ve been back by now.”

Frank scours the tree line along their campsite, as if she’ll walk out of there any second. She hadn’t taken much more than a toothbrush with her, only a hand towel and a bottle of water to rinse off. How much longer does she need with those things?

“You worry a lot,” Sarah remarks. She doesn’t look up, measuring out coffee grounds for their pour-over stand. “For someone who’s ‘just friends’ with her.”

“Remind me again why I agreed to this weekend,” Frank says with a scowl.

“I could use a refresher myself,” says David. He’s emerging from their tent, zipping it back up the side before stretching. “From what I recall, Karen’s the one we invited. You’re the one who chose to tag along.”

Frank arches an eyebrow at their surroundings. “Thought my invite was implied.”

David makes a protesting sound. “You don’t have a monopoly on manly activities, you know.” He comes over to Sarah, drops a kiss on her forehead in greeting before taking one of the lawn chairs next to her. “I can camp. I can do camping. I’m a survival guy too, remember?”

“Ignore him,” says Sarah. “He gets grumpy before his morning coffee.” She leans over their fire and removes the kettle of water, which has just started to boil.

“There’s one thing we have in common,” says Frank. He nods his head toward the tent David vacated. “Kids still down for the count?”

“Both of them out like a light,” David confirms. “That ghost story Karen told them last night worked a little too well.”

“Trouble falling asleep?” asks Frank, not unsympathetically. “Or was it nightmares?”

“Leo came up with a sequel, actually,” says David. “Which she insisted on recounting in very vivid detail. None of us really slept after that.” He scrubs a hand tiredly over his eyes, but he’s also grinning a little, like he can’t help but be proud of this fact.

Karen would be proud too, Frank thinks, and pictures the smile he’ll get from her later.

“How about you?” Sarah asks Frank, her tone perfectly, deceptively innocent. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine,” says Frank.

The look Sarah gives her husband is a lot subtler than the one she receives in return.

Frank clears his throat. “You two got something you want to say?”

David shrugs. “Only that it’s a pretty small tent you and Karen are sharing.”

“We made do,” says Frank.

Truth be told, though, David’s not wrong.

Karen had borrowed the tent from Nelson, who, as it turned out, hadn’t gone camping since he was about ten years old. It had been a tight squeeze—that palpable warmth in the thin sheets between them, the soft little sighs Karen let out in her sleep, had all been nothing short of torture to Frank.

But the Liebermans are on a need-to-know basis only.

David is opening his mouth to say something else when Sarah interrupts him. “Here,” she says, “drink this,” and presses a tin of steaming black coffee into his hands.

“Guests first,” says David, but Frank’s already standing.

“I’m good for now,” he says with a wave of his hand. “I’m just gonna go for a walk.” He stoops down, checks for the blade inside of his boot.

“Karen’s a big girl, you know.” David takes a sip of his coffee. “I just don’t see how this is going to win you any points in her book.”

“Oh, let him go,” Sarah chides. “He’s not going to rest easy otherwise.” She calls cheerfully after Frank, “Tell Karen that coffee will be waiting when you guys get back, all right?”

…

If anything, Frank figures he could use the time away from the others.

Last night had been exhausting, with the Liebermans up for about half of it, and then Karen so close yet just out of reach. He’d behaved himself perfectly well, but the ache of all that longing for more hasn’t left him, and so he tries to walk it off instead.

Frank steps into the trees, the morning sun filtering through in soft, muted patches of light. They’re barely into September, but the leaves here have already started to pack themselves down into the ground. It makes his job easier, tracking which way Karen has gone.

She can take care of herself; he knows that. But she knows he’s going to worry. It’s something that they’re working on, meeting each other halfway. Still, Frank reasons that there’s a time and a place for these kinds of concessions, and out here in the woods is not going to be one of them.

Frank has been walking for about ten minutes when he steps into a snug little clearing, and suddenly, she’s there.

“Karen?”

She’s a few yards ahead of him, lounging with her back against the trunk of a large maple. She’s resting her arm on one of its thick, gnarled roots, and she—

She has her nose in a goddamn book.

It’s a small paperback of Agatha Christie. One of those rare finds that she’d unearthed from the half-price bin down the street from Frank’s place. It’s where she’d gotten her inspiration for the ghost story she told them last night.

Frank knows this because she’d read it aloud to him three nights ago. The book hasn’t left her side of the bed, until she packed it for this trip. She must’ve tucked it into her hand towel before leaving their tent earlier.

Karen glances up as he approaches. She doesn’t seem remotely surprised to see him there. In fact, she’s looking at him with a teasing kind of impatience, like he’s kept her waiting, and—

Oh.

Oh.

He’d been planning to steal a kiss or two at most from her before they headed back to camp, but she clearly has more than that on her mind.

Always two steps ahead of him, his girl, and he wonders if that isn’t one of the things he loves most about her.

“Frank,” she greets him, lightly admonishing. She puts the book down. “What took you so long?”

She stands as he strides over to her, a disbelieving smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

“This what I think it is?” he asks her. He palms the sides of her rib cage, walking her slowly backward until he’s pinned her to the tree.

“Mm.” She winds her arms a little slyly around him. “You know solving murder mysteries always gets me in the mood.”

“You mean like last night?” He leans down, capturing her mouth in a kiss. Her hands are already pulling at the hem of his sweatshirt, gliding up his body and tugging the fabric over his head.

“I’ve been dying here, Frank.” Karen gasps out as his mouth moves over her jawline. “I thought they’d never fall asleep.”

“I know. Fuck.” Frank snakes his hands beneath her clothes and under her bra, cupping her breasts with a small but satisfied groan. “Couldn’t take it either. Wanted you so bad.” He remembers the reason for the Liebermans’ insomnia, and the kiss he presses to Karen’s collarbone contains the definite edge of a smile.

“What?”

“Tell you later,” he murmurs, stepping back and pulling her with him. With the toe of his boot, he carefully rearranges his sweatshirt over a stretch of some soft-looking moss.

Karen breathes out a laugh, nudging a kiss to his ear as she asks him, “Exactly how much time do you think we have?”

“Enough,” he says, and lowers her onto his sweatshirt.

He kneels over her, nosing her shirt out of the way as he deposits open-mouthed kisses up her bare stomach. He pauses over her belly button, circling his tongue there. She tenses all over with a sigh of content before shrugging her top off and tossing it to the side.

He licks a trail up her body, feeling the hitch in her breath as he reaches her rib cage. When she clasps his shoulders, he goes willingly, rising and settling himself over her. Their mouths meet, lips parting instantly, deepening the kiss.

“Mm—” Karen moves her hips into his, chasing the friction between them. She’s in a thin pair of leggings, his erection pressed up against the junction of her thighs. He can feel the heat of her, even through his sweatpants, and it only fuels his arousal, has him aching to be inside her right now.

He groans a little, breaking the kiss for a moment. There’s a few breathless seconds of them fumbling with each other’s clothes, of Frank’s vision tunneling out when she reaches down and grasps him.

Christ.

He pumps himself in and out of her hand, bending over to kiss her again. Their tongues slide together, and he swallows the sound of her cry as he slips two fingers down, feeling how wet she is for him.

His mouth falls to her neck, sucking kisses to her pulse point as he replaces her hand with his. He strokes himself before rubbing the full length of his dick up against her, pressing down into her clit with each pass back and forth.

She arches against him with a throaty little sigh. He loves this kind of foreplay with her—the liquid heat of anticipation, the throbbing ache of that sweet almost just on the other side of this moment.

And fuck does he love watching her this way, too. The soft, breathy exhales, the swell of her breasts as she writhes beneath him. The way she bites her lip, and moans.

“Can you come like this?” he asks her, voice roughened with desire. He knows he won’t last long inside her, and he wants her to finish for him at least once.

“Yes.” She’s moving her hips in tandem with his, finding just the angle she likes, the right press and release to send her over the edge into orgasm. “Yes—oh, Frank—yes—mmm—”

She shudders beneath him, her eyes squeezing shut as her mouth falls open in a silent, rapturous oh.

He kisses gently up and down her throat as she descends from her high, slowly relaxing back into him. Frank’s trying to breathe through his own need for release when she threads her fingers through his hair, coaxing his mouth back to hers.

He slides into her slowly, the air between them going shallow as they take a moment to adjust. In some ways, entering her is always going to feel like it’s the very first time, new and yet so familiar. Like the act of loving this woman comes from a place that goes deeper than memory.

Their mouths move together, unhurried, as he pulls out and sinks back in. She clutches his shoulders, pulling him closer. Each thrust of his hips has his body shifting up against hers, and he savors every inch of it, the feel of skin on skin. He cradles an arm around her head, moving his other down to slide a hand up the back of her thigh.

It has him going deeper, and she clenches around him, spine arching back. Fuck. Fuck, she feels incredible, like some kind of fever dream. Her mouth is so very warm on his, their tongues entwined, their kisses splintering apart on a gasp before they’re coming back together.

For these few blissed out moments, this is all that there is. The two of them wrapped into each other, all that soft, pale skin beneath his hands, the little moans she’s letting out as he pounds and pounds into her. It’s rougher than usual, but she only pulls him closer, hooking a leg around his waist and rolling her hips up to meet his.

Heat unfurls down low in his belly, pleasure clenching up his spine. “Karen—fuck, I—” He buries his face into the crook of her neck, trying to hold off for her as long as he can.

She turns into him, mouth finding his ear. “I’m close,” she breathes. “I’m close. It’s okay. Just—ooh—”

She cranes her head back with a soft, keening sound, and he wraps his hand over the side of her neck, kissing up her jawline. He rides her through her second orgasm, and then his own pleasure builds to his breaking point, and he’s coming apart.

Karen’s arms are around him when the strongest waves have subsided, leaving behind the small, lingering shivers. He finally collapses against her, boneless and spent, simply breathing her in for long seconds.

“Fuck.” He brushes his mouth over her shoulder, nudging her bra strap back in place. “That was…” He grunts a little as she turns them onto their side, draping a leg over his waist.

“It was,” she agrees. She looks even softer in the sunlight from this angle, and Frank inches closer, threading his fingers through the golden glow of her hair. “Guess we should head back soon. Before they call an official search party on us.”

“Guess so,” says Frank. He tightens his arms around her, and she snuggles into him, neither of them making any real attempt to move. She gives him a kiss, long, and sweet, and so indescribably tender that he could put down roots into this moment, never let it go.

Finally, with a small sigh of concession, Karen shifts up onto her elbow. She reaches behind him for something, retrieving the bottle she’d brought with her.

She bends down to kiss the crease between his brows, and smiles. “Water?”

…

They walk back to the campsite hand in hand.

Sarah’s cleaning up from breakfast, a thermos of coffee and a full plate of bacon, eggs and toast set aside for them.

“David took the kids down to the lake,” she tells them without turning her head. “They wanted to wait for you, but I told them you’d see them when you got back.”

“’Course,” says Frank, feeling a little pink in the ears. “Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you stay behind for us.”

“It was no trouble,” Sarah says breezily. Then, still with her back turned to them, she adds, inscrutable, “Better me than David, I will tell you that.”

She’s still stacking some plates, so Frank sneaks a last kiss to Karen’s temple before he releases her, making his way over to some much-needed coffee. He takes a long drag as Karen goes to help Sarah, the two of them falling into easy conversation about Leo, her writing ambitions, how absorbed she’d been around the campfire last night.

He doesn’t interrupt them, except to come over with the plate of food for Karen. Predictably, she reaches for the coffee instead. “I’ll have something in a bit,” she says, “promise,” and he gives her a look, but decides not to press the issue with Sarah standing so shrewdly nearby.

At one point, he glances up from a piece of bacon just as Sarah reaches over, and plucks part of a leaf from Karen’s hair. Sarah lets it go without so much as a comment, simply continuing on wherever they’d left off.

Later, Sarah passes by Frank as they’re getting ready to leave. “I think there are grass stains on the back of your sweater,” she mentions to him, almost conversationally, and he hesitates a moment before grabbing a hoodie to change into.

He pulls out the sandwich he’d made from their breakfast and passes it over to Karen on the walk, in exchange for the thermos of coffee. His hand instinctively finds the small of her back every time a rock or large root juts up into their path, and after Karen’s done eating she takes his hand instead, twining their fingers together.

If Sarah’s feeling smug about it, she doesn’t let it show—much.

Leo tackles them both as soon as they’ve made it to the lake. “Hey, Pete!” Then, as if she can’t hold it in any longer, she brandishes a notebook and says, “Karen, I have the best idea for a story tonight.”

“Honey,” Sarah starts, with an amused kind of warning in her tone.

“Don’t worry, Mom,” says Leo, looking confident. “This one’s not nearly as scary.”

“Tell me,” says Karen, unable to suppress a smile.

Leo starts to tug her away when she pivots back on her heel a little, and says to Frank matter-of-factly, “By the way, you probably don’t want Zach to see you two holding hands.” She looks meaningfully out onto the water, where Zach and their dad are focused enough on their lines not to have noticed them all there yet.

“Leo Lieberman,” Sarah scolds gently as Frank exchanges a bemused look with Karen.

“He’s too young to find out what heartbreak feels like,” says Leo sagely. “Sorry, Mom. I know you told him she’s already been spoken for. But as his big sister, it’s my job to look out for him.”

“Fair enough,” says Karen, giving Sarah a wink. There’s a wistful quality to her smile now, her gaze soft on his when Frank squeezes her hand. She clears her throat, and gestures down at Leo’s notebook. “Now let’s see what we’re working with here.”

…

Their tent isn’t quite big enough to fit them in lengthwise, so they’re turned slightly sideways, Frank spooning her as they drift off to sleep. He’s hard against her rear in the morning, but they both do their best to live with it, Karen pressing a chaste little kiss to the corner of his mouth as they’re getting dressed.

David’s on coffee duty, and Frank lends a hand as Karen folds herself up in a chair and reads to them the morning headlines on her phone.

It’s slow, and quiet, and so easy that Frank almost forgets they’re not home. Karen hums out a thank you when he brings her some coffee, stooping down to brush a kiss to her forehead.

“Here you go, sweetheart.”

And it’s like any other morning, except this one has David staring at them like he can’t decide what has just happened, and just how long it’s been happening for.

“Blanket?” Karen offers, trying not to look too amused, as Frank drags a chair close to hers. She tosses it over them, and he takes her hand before leaning over to steal a sip of her coffee.

“Did you know about this?” David whispers urgently to his wife when she steps out.

“Know about what, honey?” asks Sarah, kissing his cheek as he frowns at her. “Why, did you see something?”

“You mean other than the obvious?” He gestures at Frank, who’s leaning in to whisper something to Karen. In his periphery, a look of recognition is dawning on David’s face with almost comical slowness. “Shit. You’re right. It was really obvious, wasn’t it.”

Sarah pats him on the shoulder. “So, what are we doing for breakfast today?”

And just like any other morning, Frank feels everything outside of this moment fade, his world narrowing to the small, private things—the warmth of Karen’s hand in his, the glances they steal at each other, and the way she bites her lip when she’s trying not to smile.

[yuzukult]

i’m bad too 16 || kdy & reader

title: i’m bad too - drabble series pairing: kim doyoung x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, goodboy!doyoung, nerdy!dy (basically he’s a dork) & badgirl!reader, hitman!au, oc-isn’t-a-hitman-but-she-could-be!au, word count: 1.8k warnings: none a/n: :D hope you guys enjoy!! taglist: @wownajaemin​​​ @crescent-iak​​​ @ncttboo​​​ @byunbaekby​​​​ @jinfizz​ @doyoungyoung​ @ahgayeah0305​ @doyobun​ @sexualitaeyong @mrkleelvr​ @m1ss-foodi3​ @hcwurld​

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Doyoung looks so pretty like this.

The space between his brows are crinkled in vexation, hair unstyled and brushing against his forehead with his lips pursed while focusing on the task at hand. He’s taken the day off of his internship for this, with approval from your brother, and plus, the way his eyes are sunken and the breakouts on his skin are appearing, it seems like he deserves to chill out for a bit.

But, he seems to refuse to do that, opting that his priority is to take care of you.

Doyoung hasn’t been back to his apartment other than just to grab the necessities—his business casual attire for work, underwear, some lounge clothes, and just things here and there that might be useful. But he hasn’t slept in the comforts of his own bedroom, no, instead he’s been sleeping at your side in your room.

“Would you stop squirming?”

“Well, you could say it’s a bit weird when someone else does it for you.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes. “Be cooperative. I’m trying to make it better.”

You puff your cheeks in agitation, stubborn because you’re not used to this much physical touch, despite the amount of times you’ve slept with Doyoung. There’s something about this that feels more intimate, not like a quick bang for pleasure, but rather he’s doing this because he cares about you.

“Steady. Just a little longer and we’ll be good.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“It has not been twenty minutes.” Doyoung isn’t that same soft boy you met months ago. He’s gotten intrepid, unabashed by any smart or sharp remarks that you throw his way, in fact, he dodges them or bites the bullet before resuming back to having you in his arms. “You think it’s been twenty minutes because you’re preoccupied with nagging about how you don’t like this happening.”

“It’s weird,” you state, tapping your fingers against the wooden frame of your bed as a distraction. You could use a cigarette, but somehow you managed to let a pretty boy like Doyoung convince you to stop. “I don’t like having people this close.”

“I’m literally just replacing your gauze.”

You frown. “It’s… intimate.” Doyoung can’t help but laugh, shaking his head at your response as he reaches for a fresh new gauze. “I thought you liked me.”

“I do, I just—”

“You won’t let your own boyfriend touch you like this?” He queries, and you’re starting to find yourself in this position often. He’d say something bold, something that he normally doesn’t do, and it leaves you feeling small like you used to do to him. Oh, how the tables have turned. He calls himself your boyfriend recently, despite not officially making it a label, but you like it. It feels… right, for once, like this is how it’s supposed to be.

“It’s not that,”

“Then you should just let me do this, yeah?” He tosses the old bandage into the trash. “Plus, we’re almost done anyways. Would you like to go on a walk after this? I kind of wanted to talk about something.”

Staying put, you inhale in a deep breath in surrender because you’re curious about what he wants to discuss. He remains focused, wrapping you once again, despite the fact that the staff at your house offers to do it since it’s their job, but Doyoung insists it’s his job as much as theirs.

After pulling your shirt down, he offers a hand, helping you transition over to your wheelchair, one you’ve grown to hate because it makes you feel helpless, and Doyoung takes you down the hall.

“There’s an elevator down the hall.”

“A what?”

“An elevator,” you reiterate, and Doyoung doesn’t move, feet rooted into the ground. “We don’t have many floors because we do have an elevator. Goes here, the lobby, basement, then the wine cellar.”

“There’s a wine cellar under your basement?”

“You don’t have one?” He knows it’s a joke, so he just shakes it off and heads over to the large metal doors. Your personality never showcases your wealth, and although he’s in your beautiful home with staff that fills up the majority of it, he still forgets the money you come from.

Naeun is still gorgeous, despite the bruises on her cheeks and the cuts that are scattered across her face.

She’s wiping her hands, after running them under the water in the sink, soaping up her previously flawless porcelain skin that’s now marked with the aftermath of another fight. “How are you feeling?”

“Could be better,” you admit, rolling around the kitchen in your wheelchair. “How are you feeling?”

“Bitchin’,” she states calmly, giving a thankful gaze in Doyoung’s direction when he slides over the first aid kit toward her. “Lover boy been takin’ care of ‘ya?”

“Wish he’d go home and take a break for once, but yeah. Good boy decided he wants to play nurse.”

“Why do you guys talk like I’m not here?”

The two of you shrug, waving him off as Naeun hops onto the granite countertop and begins tending to her own wound. “There’s been another attack,” you glare at her and Naeun only rolls her eyes. “He already knows, don’t act like he’s all innocent to this.” She dabs the remnants of blood on her lip before grabbing the disinfectant wipe. “Johnny’s dead, just so you know.”

“What? Johnny’s dead?”

“Nah, he’s undercover,” she winces at the impact of the alcohol against her open cut. “Fuck.”

You furrow your brows. “Why would you tell me that?”

“Just kidding, he’s dead.”

“Naeun,” you say sternly. She’s playing another game.

“Just kidding. I’m just testing your cognitive skills.” Searching for the neosporin, she gives a quick scoop of the ointment and applies it on. “Seeing if you can still think the same. I have a really bad itch that they’re gonna ask you to come back, love.”

“That doesn’t sound like something I’m interested in,” you’re pointing to all of your gunshot wounds. “Got a couple holes in my body that are still whistling when the wind blows.” Tilting your head, you’re trying to make out the expression on her face from underneath all that hair. “What’s with that look?”

She jolts her head at you. “What look?”

“You know something.”

“Other than Johnny’s death?”

“Naeun.”

“Alright,” she sighs, leaning back against her arms. You can’t help but notice the twitch in her lip, and it’s not from her cut. “Rumor has it, they’re going to try to initiate you again. This time, maybe not so nicely.”

“Even after I went through all that trouble? In case they’ve forgotten but I literally have holes in my body. I risked my life for the guy and here I am, sitting in a wheelchair, unable to fucking take a piss by myself, and he wants me to hop back on the field again?”

“You know how he is,” Naeun says apologetically, although none of this is her fault. She’s just the middle man, the bearer of bad news, and she’s only doing her job by protecting the Boss but you’re not even directly tied to the group, just simply a contractor. “He sees your capabilities, thinks you’re more than worthy, he wants to keep you. Seeing that you’re standing in front of the bullets, taking one for the team and protecting those who are part of us… it only makes him want you more.”

“But he can’t even wait?” You exasperate, baffled by his abruptness despite the fact you were still going through a recovery period. “I’m not even ready yet.”

“Well, he’ll give you some time—”

“You’re making it sound like it’s soon.”

She looks pained. “It… It is soon. He thinks the sooner you begin training, the better. You’ll be better equipped and—”

“I thought this was supposed to be temporary,” you state, voice firm. “I mentioned prior that this was simply a gig I needed to get by.”

“This was before you caught the mole. Before you put yourself in danger, protecting the members of the organization. You proved yourself more than capable, and he wants that. He wants you. You get the job done. Why do you think we keep coming back and hiring you? Because sometimes, you don’t even need a gun. You have your fucking head and that’s the weapon.”

“Well, I need a break.”

“There is no break.”

“Naeun, I almost died. To be quite frank, I don’t give a fuck what Taeyong says. I’m taking a break.”

The sunset is breathtaking; warm hues over the horizon, shining on the Good Boy’s face and only adding on to the fact that he’s also the golden boy. Seated on the picnic blanket beside you, he’s resting his weight back on his arms, eyes closed, soaking in the sun with a soft smile upon his face, inhaling in deep breaths to soothe his nerves. “This is nice. I’m glad you suggested it.”

You hate that you have to lean against this make-shift seat, back pressed on the trunk of the tree. But it hurts so bad to sit on your own; parts of your torso require you to straighten yourself because any slight bend stings. You desperately miss being able to function on your own—it’s so embarrassing asking your boyfriend to do things for you.

“You good?” He asks, turning over his shoulder to glance at you. “I hear you wincing.”

“I’m fine,” you mutter, adjusting yourself once more. “I’m just… getting comfortable.”

Doyoung sighs, finally picking up on your personality and habits by now, so he slides himself back just a bit and extends his legs. “Come here.”

You quirk a brow. “What?”

He pats his lap. “Come here. Lay your head on my lap, and enjoy the sun with me. We can soak in the warmth, and talk about what’s on your mind. Feels like you’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately and not a whole lot of talking.”

Conceding, it takes you a while but with Doyoung’s help, you’re finally laying—there’s less pain in this position, and you’re grateful he suggests it. He brushes your hair out of your face, a soft smile looking down at you that tugs on your heartstrings. “You’re probably thinking a lot.”

“I am,” he admits, pursing his lips. “Have been for a while.”

“Well… will you tell me?” You’d be lying if you said that Doyoung confessing he’s been pondering frequently doesn’t make you nervous. There’s always that possibility of him deciding that maybe this wasn’t for him—that taking care of you, learning you’re a sort of a hitman and part of some shady organization, or that your family owned the company that he worked at wasn’t… what he signed up for.

But that stupid grin doesn’t ever wipe off of his face. “What is it?”

And with a gentle voice, he says with a press of a kiss on the crown of your head, he says these words that have you levitating. “I love you.”

[jaskicr]

sequel to the clothes swap featuring buffskier i wrote for this ask:

for buffskier, for some reason jaskier has to wear geralt’s armour (this is like @spielzeugkaiser’s art) and geralt realises that his armour fits jaskier extremely well. and also jaskier can lift his (rather heavy) sword and can also fight with it

As Geralt follows Jaskier back to the village, he hangs back, and if he’s doing it for the glorious view in front of him, that’s no one’s business but his. 

Those tight leather trousers really bring out Jaskier’s considerable assets, hugging Jaskier’s thighs and ass and highlighting every flex of muscle as he walks. Clearly, walking beside Roach for hours every day has done wonders for Jaskier’s legs, and Geralt stares, unable to tear his eyes away, gulping as he takes in the strength of those thighs, wondering how hard they would be able to squeeze -

Suddenly, the thighs stop moving, and Jaskier’s amused voice reaches his ears. “Geralt, are you alright? You seem rather… preoccupied.”

Geralt jerks his gaze upwards to meet Jaskier’s twinkling blue eyes. “Uh?”

Then he realises that his mouth is hanging wide open, possibly about to drool, and he quickly snaps it shut, looking away. He really needs a dip into a river later. Preferably a very cold river. 

“You good?” Jaskier asks, turning around and stepping towards him, and for a moment, Geralt mourns the loss of that wonderful view of his behind, until he’s faced with Jaskier’s chest, made broader by the bulk of Geralt’s armour.

“Hm. Yes. Um.” Geralt struggles valiantly to keep his eyes on Jaskier’s face. “Let’s. Keep going?”

“If you’re sure.” Jaskier's lips are tilted in a smirk, unfairly red lips that Geralt wants to punch. With his mouth. Fuck, what is he thinking? “Do you want to walk next to me, or do you want to follow, ah, behind?”

Geralt grunts. Jaskier has totally picked up on his not-so-subtle staring, and Geralt speeds up to walk next to Jaskier, determined not to get caught out again, and Jaskier huffs a low laugh that sends pleasant shivers up Geralt’s spine. He resolutely ignores the warmth radiating from Jaskier’s bulk as they walk side by side, Jaskier silent for once as they trace their steps back to the village.

Without the distraction of Jaskier’s chatter, Geralt’s mind wanders once again. He recalls Jaskier cutting down the nekkers with expert ease, wielding Geralt’s sword like it’s an extension of himself, swinging the sword through the air with a savage grin on his face. Gods, Jaskier’s strength and unexpected skill with a sword - Geralt used to think that Jaskier was a bumbling bard who relied wholly on Geralt to protect him, who had little strength to speak of, but the past few hours had proved him so utterly wrong.

And he has never been more glad to be wrong. Jaskier’s strength and competence with a sword is an absolutely delightful revelation.

When they reach the village, Jaskier’s stance changes, his shoulders going back and his head tilting upwards, his face schooling into a stoic mask as he falls back into the part of a witcher, and it shouldn’t be as hot as Geralt finds it. Geralt follows him as he stalks into the tavern - no, he struts, hips swaying just so, bringing Geralt’s attention, once again, to his shapely ass. He struts like he wants to conquer the world, like he’s challenging anyone to stand up to him, projecting an aura of danger that Geralt is inexplicably attracted to.

He looks away, cheeks burning. Yes, he’s only just realised that Jaskier has a rather - fine physique, but that doesn’t give Geralt the right to - to ogle him. Jaskier has always been attractive, and Geralt has always admired him - objectively, of course - and there’s no reason that this new development should fluster Geralt as much as it does.

Not that he’s flustered. He has more composure than that. He’s simply shocked, that’s all. All these years of travelling with Jaskier and he hadn’t noticed - he’s simply ashamed of his own lack of observational skills, nothing more. 

His denial sounds flimsy even to himself.

Once Jaskier has collected the payment, they fetch Roach and head out of the village, a silent consensus between them to travel a good distance from it before they change back, during which Geralt tries to contain his thoughts and wrestle them back into appropriate best friend territory.

Because Jaskier is his best friend, and he definitely doesn’t look at Geralt like that, and Geralt shouldn’t be looking at Jaskier like that.

“We’re far enough,” Geralt grunts, pulling Roach to a halt. They’ve travelled a fair distance from the village, far enough that no one should be following them, and they’re obscured by the trees if anyone does pass by. “We should. Change.”

He dismounts Roach and finds himself face to face with Jaskier, who’s standing right in front of him, arms crossed, and Geralt may be a witcher, but even his immense self control can’t stop him from sneaking a glance at the way Jaskier’s crossed arms emphasise the thickness of his biceps, pushing his chest up. 

“You know, Geralt,” Jaskier begins, eyes trailing over Geralt’s face before dipping lower, and when he continues, his voice is raspy. “I couldn’t help but notice you looking at me… quite a lot today.”

Jaskier’s gaze burns through Geralt’s body, lighting him up, and he looks away. “Hm.”

“Oh, don’t hm me, my dear bard.” A gloved finger presses against Geralt’s cheek, forcing his face back to look straight at Jaskier. “Did you think I didn’t notice? You weren’t exactly subtle.” 

There’s laughter in his voice, and something else too, something that Geralt has heard Jaskier use before, but never directed at him. He swallows audibly, and Jaskier’s gaze drops to his throat for a second before flicking back up, blue eyes bright and piercing.

“I -” Geralt’s voice is hoarse, and he clears his throat. “I wasn’t.”

“Oh, you totally were,” Jaskier murmurs with a slow grin. He takes a step closer to Geralt, the movement slow and deliberate. “If I’d known wearing your armour would get you to look at me like this, I would’ve suggested swapping clothes long ago.”

“Like… like what?” Geralt’s heart pounds loudly in his ears, and Jaskier is too close and not close enough.

“Like you want to eat me alive,” Jaskier murmurs, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and Geralt stares. “Like you want to take your armour off me, piece by piece.”

Geralt’s mouth opens and closes, but only a faint, strangled noise comes out, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a pleased grin.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purrs, and then he’s pressed against Geralt, all that bulk and muscle fitted under Geralt’s black armour, all that warmth right there. “Do go ahead.”

Geralt is frozen, his mind barely processing Jaskier’s invitation, and when he doesn’t move, Jaskier sighs fondly and cups his cheek with a gloved hand.

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he murmurs, searching Geralt’s eyes. When Geralt lets out something akin to a strangled whine, Jaskier’s proximity turning his brain to mush and making his head spin, Jaskier chuckles and leans in.

The kiss starts slow and tender, Jaskier’s lips slightly chapped as he presses his mouth to Geralt’s. Then Geralt’s brain catches up to what’s happening, realising that Jaskier is kissing him, that Jaskier is pressed against him and cupping his face with gentle hands, and Geralt deepens the kiss, placing his hands on that broad chest.

When Jaskier pulls away, breathing quick and shallow, his eyes are dark, his lips swollen. “You like seeing me in your armour, huh?” 

Geralt more than likes it. Maybe he should just let Jaskier wear his clothes all the time, which would make their travels far more interesting, and far more torturous on Geralt’s end.

“I like you,” he blurts out, and flushes at the too-honest words.

Jaskier’s eyes widen, and Geralt is about to retract his statement when Jaskier beams, delight spreading across his face, and he leans in again, pressing a soft kiss to the edge of Geralt’s mouth. “I like you too, sweetheart,” he whispers, breath hot against Geralt’s skin, and Geralt shudders. “I like you a lot.”

“Mmf.” His face is burning. “You - uh. I. You look good.” Apparently, Geralt’s brain has lost its filter, but when Jaskier’s gaze turns smouldering, he can’t really complain.

“Good, huh? Care to tell me more?”

“You look good in my clothes.” Geralt’s mouth is running, his thoughts spilling from his lips in an uncontrollable flood, unable to hold back his words under Jaskier’s heated gaze. “I like how my clothes fit you, I like how you fight -”

Jaskier crowds him back until his back hits a tree, trapping him between the tree and the solid bulk of Jaskier’s body, and then Jaskier is pressing him against the tree trunk and Geralt is gasping into the fierce, passionate kiss.

He lets his hands roam around Jaskier’s body, mapping the breadth of his chest and shoulders, relishing in the feeling of leather under his fingertips, and Jaskier presses impossibly closer, one hand bracing himself against the tree and the other dropping to rest on Geralt’s waist, sending a brand of heat through his body.

But it’s not enough, and Geralt finds himself tugging at the straps of his armour, desperate to get it off Jaskier, desperate to see, and Jaskier breaks the kiss with a raspy laugh.

“Eager, aren’t we?”

Geralt only tugs more insistently, throwing a piece of the armour off to the side. There’s something enticing about taking his armour off piece by piece when it’s on Jaskier, and his hands shake slightly as he undoes the straps. Jaskier starts nosing at his neck, and he almost goes pliant, but his determination to see Jaskier bare in front of him keeps his hands from dropping, and finally, the last piece of armour falls away, and Geralt drinks in the magnificent sight.

Jaskier’s shoulders are wonderfully broad, and Geralt skates his hands over warm skin, marvelling at the strength in them. He slips his hands down, tangling his fingers in the dark hair that decorates Jaskier’s chest, hair that Geralt has only seen glimpses of through unbuttoned shirts, hair that Geralt now tugs at appreciatively. 

“Mm, like what you see?” Jaskier rumbles lowly, and Geralt doesn’t answer, showing his appreciation by pulling Jaskier into another kiss as he wraps his arms around Jaskier, hands roaming his large, muscled back.

Suddenly, Jaskier’s hands are underneath his thighs and Geralt is being lifted, his back still pressed against the tree, and he yelps, wrapping his legs instinctively around Jaskier’s waist, arms gripping tighter around Jaskier’s neck as his body lights up in arousal.

Holy fuck.

“What -”

Jaskier swallows his exclamation, and Geralt whimpers. He’s never been lifted before, certainly not with such ease, and there’s barely any strain in Jaskier’s breathing as he continues holding Geralt up, never breaking the kiss.

Gods, Jaskier is strong, and it’s utterly thrilling.

Geralt lets his gaze trail downwards, appreciating the way Jaskier’s thick biceps bulge and flex as he bears Geralt’s weight easily, and he gives in to the urge to palm at Jaskier’s arms, trusting Jaskier not to drop him as he lets one hand fall from its grip around Jaskier to squeeze one strong bicep, enjoying the feeling of the muscles underneath his palm.

“My darling witcher,” Jaskier murmurs against Geralt’s lips. “As much as I like where this is going, perhaps we should move somewhere more comfortable.”

A rush of heat floods Geralt’s body, and he meets Jaskier’s eyes, fixed on him with something like hunger, and Geralt inhales sharply. 

He can’t wait to be devoured.

[angloie]

Rivals. Nothing more. (1/2)

> Percy is annoyed on how Annabeth always was. Her passion to win, to suceed, to be better than him. He hates that. It's totally not hot, or whatever.

> Warnings: swearing and kinda (?) suggestive undertones, my writing

> Genre: fluff, mutual pinning, Percy having a huge fat crush on Annabeth.

You can find the second part here!

Percy wasn't very fond of smartasses who talked back.

I mean, who wouldn't? They were truly insufferable; acting like they knew everything and spat out facts here and there, all high and mighty.

Annabeth fit that description perfectly.

She's such a stuck up nerd; always beating his spot just opened place higher than him. When they spar, Percy can't help but feel a overwhelming urge pushing him to win. Annabeth struck back with the same passion, every strike, slash, push, thrust, holds her need for victory.

And when Percy does win after a long match? It feels amazing. The refreshing mood when you get exactly what you want- for once beating enemy number one. Annabeth shakes hands with him after and it infuriates him all over again. Why can't she feel more embarassed? Devestated? Shame? She walks away from the training arena calmly like she won over him.

Oh, Annabeth does feel embarassed. Devestated, too. But the look in Percy's eyes when she acts all stoic- seated stop her high horse- is simply electrifying. No better feeling than antagonizing your rivals, right?

They first meet at twelve. Both still young and insufferable, being the natural rivals they were. After all, their godly parents were two of the biggest rivals between one another: Athena and Posiedon.

Then they’re thirteen. Rivals, yes, but they can get along better now. Much better, in fact. Annabeth just feels the tiniest bit of attraction. It's just platonic. That's what she likes to tell herself, really.

Fourteen and Percy and her still bickering and arguing like usual. They can respect each other's boundaries still, all while they make crude jokes about the other. People say that they might be best friends, but the two of them shoot their ideas out of their heads. Who would wan't to be friends with that loser, anyways?

The ripe age of fifteen. Same old Percy, and same old Annabeth. They grow stronger together, and even more stronger as they progress. It's such a heartwarming thing to watch. Annabeth becomes more aware of how Percy looks. His apearance. Once a couple inches shorter than her becomes level-height. And then Percy has the audacity to grow taller than her. 

He likes to tease Annabeth about it. Holding books above her head, or anything he can grab that's hers. It's more blood-boiling when you remember the fact that people in ancient Greece associated height with power. Percy? Have more power than her? Unaceptable.

Percy on the flip side becomes more aware of how his endearing his rival becomes. Annabeth puts him in awe sometimes, incredibly witty and smart. But the snobbish attitude from her makes him want to gag. Maybe not as much as it did in the past other years. Annabeth, (as much as he hates to admit it) is someone he can trust. After years of being partners in both battle and else, that was expected. Percy still can't trust Annabeth with his blue cookies though.

Sixteen, finally. A confusing year for Percy. It becomes a growing problem for Percy when his heart beats erratically when Annabeth is near. Her shampoo smells so heavenly from where he's sitting, which is at the end of her bed. Annabeth sits crossed legged from him, flicking the pages of a book. Percy just saw the lights on from her cabin and crawled through the window. That would make her annoyed, right? No other reason; just to annoy her. Totally not because he wants to see her again.

Annabeth doesn't have the slightest clue in her mind about why she let him in. Or why he opted to sit on her bed directly, instead of sitting on one of the very comfortable seats in the large room. Annabeth doesn't complain. The cabin is empty; her other guests singing along at the campfire or elsewhere. 

Percy gets up wordlessly as Annabeth continues to stare at her book. Words are flowing through, forming, but she can't seem to focus to comprehend the book.

She notices his arrival when the bed dips with his weight. Percy has a blob of water in mid-air, floating just above the palm of his hand.

“You better not get that on my bed,” Annabeth chides, “Or I'll make sure to kill you.”

“Really now?” Percy makes the water floating towards her, threatening to soak her face. It stops inches before her- stopping from wetting her clothes along with it. She doesn't flinch.

Annabeth gives a sticky sweet smile, but her eyes say otherwise. Something along the lines of 'You better be digging up your grave now'. Percy flinches back in surprise, hands braced in a defensive position. The water shifts and floats back to him... to only float around the room aimlessly.

It's times like this when he feels truly at peace. The air is tense, sure, but he feels calmer than ever before. It's liberating.

The water leaks a bit from the moving. Annabeth is amazed how it moves so effortlessly. It's Percy moving it, but that didn't matter. Sometimes Annabeth wished she had powers... Her smarts and wits were amazing, but she felt that she could achieve even more if she had them. It's a painful thought.

Percy sits back on her bed, staring at the white celling. Different coloured sticky notes and red strings are hooked together by flimsy thumb tacks. Talk about being a nerd.

Both lost in their thoughts and a good book, the water comes back around the room to splash on-

Just fucking peachy.

On Annabeth.

“Percy!” She screeches, hair damp with liquid and some finding it's way on her white shirt. Due to the thin fabric and cool water, he shirt becomes a little more. How do you put it? transparent. Translucent.

“Oh shit-” Percy jerks upwards, moving his hands around frantically. If he stares any longer, he might become more aware of the now visible uhm- undergarments. He also might notice that they are blue, his favourite colour, and how it looks so fucking good on her. 

Okay, he's noticed all of that in a matter of seconds.

“Quit staring!” Annabeth protests more, as Percy gets up to face the wall and cover his eyes. 

“I didn't mean to!” He says, still facing away from her. “I-it was a accident!” I swear!”

“Quit you're blubbering and get out!”

“Sorry!” Percy says again, and again. “I’m really sorry!” Until he finds his way to the large mahogany door and steps out.

“I- uh-" He tries to reasonate, tries to make up with her. But it's quickly shut off when Annabeth slams the door in his face. Leaving a very stuttering and blushing Percy.

Seventeen. It's a dreadful year for the two of them.

It becomes painfully clear why Percy had been a blushing, embarrassing mess around Annabeth. Clear on why he feels like he's on cloud nine when she pins him down in the sparing arena. And incredibly clear why Percy thinks about her eyes, her smile, her everything. Even the random facts he always thought was annoying and stupid leave marks on his brain. 

The oblivious son of Poseidon denies his feelings. Just some rivalry feelings! Some of which include him wanting to kiss Annabeth so bad sometimes, or even wanting to hold hands while walking along the sand. Maybe he does have the occasional dream of some less than appropriate things. Percy's rather embarassed about that.

It's when Grover, his reliable and trustworthy best friend finally makes him realize his true feelings. Ones hidden layers of sarcasm and sharp jokes.

“You think about her twenty four seven,” Grover starts, leaning back on the thick trunk of the oak tree. Percy had just came to him mid-spar to tell him how Annabeth was absolutely destroying him.

“And you also blab about her nonstop. I dunno dude, that sounds like a crush to me.” Grover sighs heavily. Percy blinks once. Then twice. And then three times.

“Do you get jealous when you see her with someone else?”

“Yeah! It's sickening! I feel all weird and stuff, so I-”

“You have a crush~” Grover teases.

“No? I think it's just-"

“Its a crush, Percy. You're so oblivious that it'll never progress more than that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Percy scowls at him. A bead of sweat trails down his forehead, caused from the hours of training.

“It means you have to confess.” Grover simply states, getting up. His hooves clomp down on the hard-packed earth as he trails away. “You gotta do it sooner or later, before someone else does it!”

That thought makes bile rise in his stomach. Annabeth? Go out with someone's else? Other than him? No way. Negatory.

But what if she declines? Annabeth is completely free to do that; but Percy would probably die of heartbreak. And if she started to date someone? Percy would explode.

It's settled, then.

He's going to confess.

-

- a/n:

(re-uploaded to fix some mistakes, lol)

[ihearthes]

Quarantine Christmas Part  2

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x y/n Rating: Smut Word Count: 2768 (Part 1) Fiction Chalenge via @caitlin‘s fiction party via @sweetcreatureinthedark

Part 1

December 24, 2020

“Smith!” he bellows way too early and cheerfully as he pounds on my bedroom door. “Happy Christmas Eve! Come on! Let’s go for a jog.”

“Arrrrggggghhhhh,” I growl. “No.”

“If you hike the Hastain Trail with me, I’ll spring for coffee afterwards.”

“Go away, Styles.” Drawing the pillow over my head, I try to block out the sound of his voice. 

“Fresh air will be good for you.”

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” 

“Not on your life. I hate hiking alone.”

“Fine!” Throwing the covers off, I don my newly cleaned leggings, sports bra, and a t-shirt before opening the door and marching past him in my tennis shoes. “Bully,” I accuse. 

“You’re mad that I’m forcing you to take care of yourself?” Although he sounds offended, that smirk is back. 

“Whatevs, Styles. Let’s go.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

He sets off at a brisk pace, and I trail behind him slightly. After all, I’m still waking up. 

“Keep up, Smith!”

Just to be ornery, I slow my stride, taking my time examining the plants next to the path. When I next glance up, Harry is a solid quarter mile ahead of me, and I contemplate turning back, finding a picnic table and taking a nap on it until he’s done. 

But no. That’s not to be, as he turns and jogs back to me, keeping his legs pumping as he moves backwards. 

“You’re going to trip on something,” I caution. 

He grins. “You care about me!”

My eyes roll so far back into my head that I swear I can see my own brain. “No. But I care about Glenne, and she would be mighty upset if I had a part in damaging you.”

“Mhm.” The smirk is back, and as hard as I try to keep a sour look on my face, it’s challenging. “Where was Christmas supposed to be?” His question is casual, but it causes me to flinch.

“Indiana,” I snap off the word like one would a twig on a dying tree. Immediately, I feel guilty. “Sorry.” My mumble is quiet, but loud enough for him to hear and nod in silent acceptance. “You don’t deserve rudeness. What about you? London?”

“Holmes Chapel. With my mum, my sister, and her boyfriend.”

“Ah. Is it cold there this year?”

“Fairly mild. And Indiana?”

“Cold, cold, cold. Maybe even snow still on the ground.”

“Yeah. Christmas in Los Angeles is quite different.” Harry gestures around the trail, and I smile. 

“Definitely.”

“What are your favorite traditions?” 

By the time we loop back around to the start of the trail, we’ve exhausted the topic, and I realize my mood has improved tremendously. 

“Thank you, Harry.” The words are soft, and I try to insert as much authenticity as I can into them. 

I have the pleasure of watching his eyes soften as he observes me over the top of the car. “Coffee next! And a trip to the grocery!”

“Grocery? You’re cooking?”

“WE are baking and then cooking.”

“Really?”

“Yep. We’re going to create a mashup of our traditions.”

“No fucking way!” I exclaim, excited at the prospect. Sitting up, I search for a piece of paper and a pen. “I didn’t bring my purse, Styles. Give me your phone.”

“My phone?” Confused, he gazes at me while at a stoplight. 

“I need to write down the ingredients we need to buy. Let’s see. We can’t make some of the cookies we each like because I don’t know if Glenne has cookie cutters in the right shapes. So how about some ginger biscuits?” 

When he nods, I gesture for his phone. “Come on, Styles. I need to look up recipes and make sure we get the right ingredients.”

Reluctantly, he unlocks his phone, handing it to me. “No snooping,” he warns, shaking his finger in my direction. 

“Puuuuuuullllllleeeeeasssse. As if.” Using his browser, I search for a recipe for the ginger biscuits for him as well as one for thumbprint jam cookies, copying the ingredients into his Notes app. 

“Now, for dinner,” he begins, and my fingers pause as I wait for his next words. “Mum used to do a roast, but I don’t eat meat anymore. Just fish. And your family always does turkey. How do we compromise on a protein?”

“Scallops? Salmon? Both delicious and something I would consider fancy enough for a holiday meal.”

“Excellent!” Harry declares. “And can we agree on brussel sprouts and yams?”

My whole being is excited at the prospect of this meal with Harry. Suddenly there’s a silver lining to spending my favorite holiday away from my family. 

As he turns off the engine, I rest my hand on his wrist until he twists to look at me. “Thank you, Harry.”

“You already said that.” He rolls his eyes, but the crinkles send a different message. 

Less than 30 minutes later, we’re back in the car with the trunk full of groceries, including prosecco. After stopping for the promised coffee, we return to Glenne and Jeffrey’s house, unloading the food. 

“Mind if I take a shower before we start?” I ask, looking down at my clothing. “I feel dusty still from the trail.”

“Let’s both shower --” He stalls at my shocked expression “-- in separate bathrooms, Smith. Then let’s see who can put together the worst Christmas outfit from whatever we can find in the guest bedroom where we’re each sleeping.”

A grin crosses my face. “Oh, you’re going down, Styles!” Rushing out of the room, I’m confident that my ears are playing tricks on me because I think he responds with “I would love to go down on you.” He must have said something completely different, and I shake my head to clear the thought. 

When I emerge later, I’m wearing my grey sweatpants which I’ve pinned garland to along with one of my green hoodies and a giant wreath draped around my neck like a necklace by a red ribbon. Arriving in the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight of Harry wearing a skirt of wrapping paper over his also-grey sweatpants, along with a variety of bows stuck to his Green Bay Packers hoodie. 

He shrugs, “Apparently they use that guest bedroom for storing wrapping paper.” 

I laugh as I pluck one of the bows off his hoodie and place it on my chest after removing the wreath. 

“You win,” I concede. “I’m surprised there’s so much Christmas stuff in their house.”

“Eh. The Azoff family celebrates everything.”

“Lucky us, then.”

Side by side, we create the dough first for the ginger biscuits and then for the thumbprint cookies. After he slides the first pans into the oven, Harry crosses his arms. “Scrabble while we wait for them to bake?”

“Oh, it’s on!” I agree, and we settle at the dining room table to play the game. 

“Fine. You win,” Harry pouts over an hour later as I play my final letter which manages to be on a triple word score tile. 

“Woo hoo!” Stuffing one of the ginger biscuits in my mouth, I chew thoughtfully. “These are pretty good. I might make them again next year.”

“Same for these,” Harry grins as he chews on one of the thumbprint cookies. Crossing his arms on the table in front of him, he leans toward me. “Now how about you tell me exactly why you turned down my account when Glenne offered it to you?”

Shock courses through my body, and I freeze, knowing my face is likely turning into a candy cane red. 

“She told you?”

“Of course she told me! I had specifically asked for you, so I was a bit heartbroken when she told me that you refused.”

His word choice makes me raise an eyebrow. “Heartbroken?”

“Devastated? Wrecked? Disappointed? Take your pick, Smith.”

Swallowing, I make eye contact with him. “I’ll tell you why I turned down our account if you’ll tell me why you call me Smith.”

His tongue darts out and wets his lips as his green eyes bore into me. “Because you remind me of a Granny Smith apple.” Confusion must sweep across my face, as he continues talking. “You’re tart at first, but you can be sweetened. I’ve witnessed it in the past as well as just the last two days.” His face colors, but he continues speaking anyway. “Plus I suspect you’re incredibly juicy, and I would love a sample.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Had Harry Styles just made a very obvious overture? Yes. Yes, he had. My eyes float over his face, searching for any indication that he’s lying, but the sincerity is striking. 

First I look at my entwined hands, and then I decide to show the same courage he has exhibited. “I turned down your account because I couldn’t possibly work for you when I’m this attracted to you. It’s bad form to want to --” I can’t decide on the appropriate word, so I settle for “-- jump your client.”

The smirk is back, and it’s followed by an uproarious laugh. “This is too rich! To think that we could have been having some sort of relationship all this time is mind-numbing.” Rising, he holds out his hand. “How about we consummate our mutual attraction?”

“In the middle of the afternoon on Christmas Eve?”

“You got a better idea of how to spend our time?” 

“Swimming?” I tease. 

“Smith?”

“Yeah?”

“Take my hand.”

His words and tone make it clear that he’s interested in moving forward with this. My own body’s response is in sync with his. Gently, I place my hand in his as I rise from the table. Twisting his body, he also shifts his hand, leading me in the direction of…where? A bedroom seems too rushed. Not that my hormones would agree. 

But no. We walk down the two steps into the living room where he turns on the Christmas tree lights before settling on the couch and tugging my arm so that I join him. “Oh, wait.” Rising, he approaches the sound system, and soon the strains of Christmas music fill the space. Returning to my side, he settles with his arm around me. 

“Smith…” His words are a whisper, and I rotate my head in his direction as he brushes his finger over my cheek. When our lips meet, I swear I can hear the angels sing. His mouth is soft and tender, and I twine my fingers through the hand draped over my shoulder as I open wide to allow him to enter. Our tongues tangle in heat and dampness that also seems to pool between my legs. He tastes of the lemon curd thumbprints we had jointly made, and I relish the flavor, wanting more. 

Shifting closer to him, I tilt my head to provide greater access, and his hand drifts to my sweatpants. Withdrawing from me, he examines our clothes. “Mind if I remove this garland?”

“Not at all,” I purr. “As long as I can get rid of these bows.” The wrapping paper skirt had already been ruined when we sat down for the Scrabble game. 

Rather than unpinning the garland, though, he hooks his thumbs into my waistband and draws the sweatpants over my hips. “Up, Smith.” I lift my bum as he removes my bottoms, leaving me in my panties. 

In return, I inch his hoodie up his chest and off, tossing it over my shoulder, heedless of the bows that seem to desire to stay attached to the musician. Can’t say I blame them. 

“Hmmmm,” he murmurs before capturing my lips again. 

When we come up for air, my hands have managed to roam his chest, tweaking his nipple and wrenching a moan from his mouth. For his part, his hand has drifted over the small piece of cloth separating my treasure from full access. His thumb rubs a pattern over the fabric, and soon I’m panting. 

“Fuck,” I mutter as we separate. 

“Yes please” is his cheeky reply. 

“Dork,” I indict.

“Mhm. Take off that hoodie. Please.” 

Willingly, I oblige. Before the material has hit the floor, he’s capturing my nipple in his mouth, and I throw my head back as fire stokes through my body from my tits to my core. “Shit,” I proclaim. 

His fingers return to the scrap of cloth covering my center. As his thumb teases my clit through the silk, a finger slips underneath and into me. Without thought, I cry out, my lower body rising from the bed to get closer to heaven. 

“Been a while?” His voice is rough, sounding like sandpaper as he dislodges from my breast. 

“Too long,” I pant, “but you’ve always had the power to bring me to the brink just with a look.”

“I see,” he smirks, and normally I would want to smack him, but this time, I find it endearing. 

“I want --” I gesture to his sweats, and he grins. 

“If I refuse?”

“Then my treasure box can close pretty quickly if I don’t have something in my hands.”

Harry laughs. “Fair enough.” Shucking his sweatpants over his hips, I find that he’d chosen not to wear underpants as his cock springs upwards into my waiting hand. 

“Shit. I need lubricant.” I complain. 

We gaze at each other, the lust clear. Jumping up from the sofa, we race together to Glenne and Jeffrey’s bathroom. I scour the lower cabinets while Harry throws open the linen closet. “Got it!” he announces, holding the bottle over his head. 

“Thank God!” My relief is real. Grabbing the bottle from him, I find I can’t move. Now what? Where do we go? We can’t very well do the deed in their bed. 

Grabbing my hand, Harry once more takes the lead, and we end up in his guest bedroom. I gesture at the bed, and he strips off the duvet before lying down on his back. Crawling onto the mattress, I settle between his thighs, tilting the bottle of lube and squeezing a fair amount into my hand. Relaxed, I hold my hand over his cock, allowing droplets to fall. His eyes plead with me, and I grin at him. 

“Impatient, Styles?”

“Desperate for you, Smith.”

With that pronouncement, I wrap both hands around his length, allowing my fingers to glide gently along his shaft. One hand falls underneath where I can tickle his balls playfully. When his hips start bucking, I withdraw from him completely -- albeit slowly with a final few long strokes. 

His eyes fly open, and he pats the bed next to him, so I lie there. 

“Smith…”

“Shhhh. Hush, Styles.”

Miraculously he doesn’t say anything, but he does reach out and shift aside the fabric over my vagina before he delves a finger inside. I know I’m wet. Hell, I can feel the dampness. 

His finger teases me, and I writhe under his attention. 

“Fuck, Styles. I’m gonna…”

“Do it!” he orders, and my lower body creates a bridge as my hips rise into the air while my thighs tremble in ecstasy. 

As I land back onto the bed and earth itself from my recent visit to heaven, Harry carefully removes my panties and throws them over his shoulder. 

“Condom?” He inquires.

“IUD. You clean?”

“Yep. Got tested not long ago. You?”

“Fuck me, Styles. We deserve this.”

“Indeed,” he grins just before he plunges into me, and I cry out at the feel of his length inside me, filling me and touching every part of me. 

“Shit.” My breaths come in short spurts as he pumps into me. I can’t seem to catch my breath as my second orgasm starts building. “Shift to the left, Styles.”

“You got it, Smith. Can you scratch at my back?” 

“You bet.” 

The communication is nice as we guide each other to what pleases us the most. As much as I want to take our time, it’s not nearly long enough before I feel my insides begin to clench in a familiar way. 

“Fuck, Styles. I’m coming!”

“Me too, Smith! Fuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkk!” He stretches the word into multiple syllables as I feel his seed squirting into my womb, stopped only by my birth control. His fingers reach between our bodies as he manipulates my clit until I see stars and arch my lower body to become closer to him. 

Collapsing on top of me, his breathing is as uneven as my own. 

“Merry Christmas, Smith,” he murmurs while we’re still joined. 

“Merry Christmas, Styles,” I reply, hugging his body tightly to mine. No telling if we have a future, but this holiday is going to be one for the books. 

A/N:  This short story is dedicated to those who aren’t able to join family this Christmas due to the Coronavirus.  Be safe.  Be healthy.  Make the best of the situation. Sending you BIG HUGS!

[lunaekalenda]

So this is an angst request about Erwin! To basically lay it out Erwin and reader are childhood friends and she has always been pretty attached to him, as they grow up he goes into the survey corps and she goes with him as well, and she eventually develops a crush on him and he does too just that he keeps it private to himself.

okay! i hope you like it and sorry for the waiting!! 💖

continuation to the request:

Over time they start falling apart. Either way during an expedition the reader ends up passing away and since then one of the reader's best friends has been passive aggressive with Erwin even when he became commander. So the night before the retaking of Wall Maria he calls that friend into his office and he asks them why they have been acting that way ever since she died. The friend confesses that the reader loved him so much that she didnt care what happened to them and that. The friend confesses that the reader loved him so much that she didnt care what happened to them and that she didn’t care when he fell into the arms of any other woman because she just wanted him to be happy. And that's why the friend was always so mad at Erwin because he never even spared a glance at her. So then Erwin dies and he meets her again and it can end on either fluff or angst if you want to. You can do it in any POV you can! Thanks!

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❁ erwin x female!reader

❁ spoilers! some cursing also, one mention of suicide word, original character introduction, non-canon events and deaths.

❁ a/n: sorry, anon! it took longer than I expected to write this because i kept editing it :’) i hope you like it <3 sorry for any errors and for making this so long :’’) also, i’m not following the manga exact events!!!! also sorry if i messed something up :(

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“You’re what?”

“I’m joining the Survey Corps.” Erwin looked at you, his blue eyes fixed on yours. He left the papers on the desk, getting up. Even knowing he’s just a teenager, he’s pretty tall. But, after all this years, it doesn’t intimidate you.

“You’re not” He says. You raise an eyebrow, looking at him.

“You’re not my father to decide what can I do and what I cannot do. If you’re joining, I’m joining.” Erwin sighs and looks at you fiercely. You keep your gaze in his.

“I have the same possibilities to die as you have, Smith. So don’t fucking dare to tell me not to join.” 

“I have the same possibilities to die as you have, Smith. So don’t fucking dare to tell me not to join.” 

Both of you passed the tests to enter the Survey Corps. His intelligence and your strength made the two of you stand out. You cared for Erwin, always checking on him on your training expeditions, and being there when he rans out of gas or needs assistance. Even when he tried to convince you not to, you joined anyway the elimination squad. Erwin joined as well, but his strategic brain made him talk to the heads of the army. Lion waited for you after an intense training. Erwin was entering the Commander’s office. Lion sighed.

“He’s always so occupied with high class men...” 

“I’m happy for him.” you say. Lion was cleaning his boots.

He has been your friend since both of you entered the elimination squad, and he’s like a big brother to you now. He rolls his eyes.

“Because you love him.” He says. He was not wrong: A little teen crush on Erwin evolved to the point that you love him. You know he doesn’t feel the same for you, or so you think. He always treats you kind of cold, and more since he entered the Corps. You know he feels responsible of you joining because of his ideas, but you where totally free to join. That doesn’t excuse his new cold attitude towards you. Lion sighs again and gets up, his boots now totally clean. 

“He doesn’t look at you that way, y/n” He says. Maybe he’s right, totally right, but the heart doesn’t choose who to love. That’s why you’re deeply in love with him. And because you know him better than anyone. His fears and his goals. The way his blue eyes soften when he talks about something he loves. "But, I do understand you." he says. "Love is just a fucking problem and a headache if it is one-sided" He palmed your shoulder before going out of the tent. Sighing, you stand up and follow him. Erwin comes out of the Commander’s tent at the same time. You look at him and he looks at you. You smile at him, a little smile that he is silently adoring, silently wanting to kiss, to feel it against him.

"Come on, Erwin." The Commander makes Erwin walk behind him, and his expression keeps being the same as usual towards you. You decide it's time to stop making him notice you. He doesn't want anything romantic with you, so just let him be. If he wants to search a cute soldier to get married or a girl to have fun is his decision. You're out of it.

But you didn't know how much he cared for you, how deep in love he was. Just watching the corners of your lips making a little smile makes his heart beat faster, the way you are so close to him even when he is treating you like that hurts him. If he wasn't a soldier, he would ask you to go out with him. He would take your hands sweetly and make you dance to an invented song just to see the way your lips curve in a smile of joy. He would take you to long walks and give you his jacket when you're cold. He would ask your hand in marriage and kiss and nude your body with care and tenderness. He would marry you happily, have maybe a couple kids, if you want to. Live a easy and quiet life.

But he decided to be a soldier.

That means he's risking his life every time he puts his feet out of the walls. As you do. That's why he wants you to leave and search someone who cares for you and loves you deeply. He wants to be that one, but knowing that maybe he'll die in the next expedition, leaving you alone and heartbroken, scares him. He knows you're brave and strong, but a close loose is not a easy thing. Even for you. So he decided to keep a cold attitude towards you.

Years passed by and your crush for him was still there, as intense as always. He is candidate to be the next Commander, as he always wanted to. His desire for knowing why humanity has to be in the walls while the titans can be free out there. Lion knocks on your room door.

"Did you heard the news?" he asks, entering. You shake your head. "We'll go on an emergency expedition tomorrow." Lion sits near you. An emergency expedition. There was a rare type of expedition, the emergency ones: they're made when a strange titan comes around and takes a lot of normal titans with it, near a town or village. "We're leaving tonight at 5. Be ready." You nod. "And try to sleep a bit, yes?" you nod again. Lion leaves silently and you prepare yourself to sleep some hours. You know that going without sleeping will make you an easy prey for titans. At five o'clock, you're all marching towards the entrance of the wall Maria. The Commander assigns your squad to the front.

The expedition starts calmly, even when the atmosphere in the soldier’s files seems tense. Lion rides a horse near you, in silence, and you know Erwin goes behind, with all the high soldiers. You can’t feel titans near, even their steps. That’s why the Commander yell scares you. 

“There’s a sparkler!” he yells. You look at both sides, finding easily the black colored flame.  “Elimination squad, go and find that damn thing and kill it. Rescue squad, find survivors and take them to the barricade.” You nod, following your squad leader. After a long time riding, without finding signs of a titan near, you start to think that maybe it was just a bad joke of one of the juniors.

That changes when the girl next to you yells, suddenly trapped in a big hand. A strange titan, with an enormous mouth, smiles at her, as if it were trying to tell her that it is going to enjoy every bite of her body. And it does. You saw comrades die because of titans. Smashed, eaten in a bite or even suicides. But you never, never, saw a titan split a comrade in two parts. Her waist bleeds while the titan swallows her legs. The scene is truly gross, how the blood stains the mouth of the titan, dripping to the ground, making the daisies turn red in a cruel metaphor of life and death. 

“Eva...” Lion whispers. All the color has left his face. You’re incapable to look to other side, just to the horror expression in Eva’s face, freezed forever while the titan eats her. Then, it’s gaze searches new victims. That’s how you react, when its bloody smile is pointing on your direction. Lion yells.

“y/n!” 

Your ODMG goes fast and reaches a near tree, where you hang. The titan looks around. You have it’s neck really close to you. It’s just having it distracted and attack him.

“Lion, distract him!” You yell, hiding behind the trunk. Lion starts to move on the ground, the big eyes of the titan following him fast, his hand trying to reach the fastest soldier of the army. You point with your ODMG to its neck, the perfect angle for attacking it. Once your hooks are well placed, you take two blades and jump. 

The attack is one the trainer show you. It’s almos infalible, it has a 0′1 margin of error. It’s impossible to fail. You speed up, trying to reach its neck. But you found its teeth before.

Your expression is surprised when the titan opens its mouth, taking you into it. Your blades made cuts in its mouth because of the speed.

“y/n!” Lion yells, taking out his blades. He goes fast in your help, but maybe it is too late. You feel how the titans’ teeth part you in two, as you saw it did with Eva before. It is instant pain. How you body gets split in two. How the titan parts from your body, to pull the part it has between its teeth far from the other part of your body, using two fingers to hold your upper part. You’re still conscious about what is happening. You can see other titans fighting against your comrades. You can watch them die, as same as you’re about to do. There’s no way to save you.

This is not a romantic book. Erwin is not going to appear in his white horse, just in time to save you. He’s not going to leave the army to take care of you. He’s not going to kill that titan in revenge, yelling and covered in blood. So, that’s why you close your eyes, leaving your body, without making resistance against the titan.

When Lion killed it, it was late for you. Lion tried to wake you up, to make you open your eyes and look at him. But you couldn’t. Your soul was watching him from above.

The news reached your home and Erwin. He went to your house, to show respect and give the sorry to your family. 

It hurt him in ways he couldn’t imagine he would get hurt. It was a continuous reminder in his heart, that now you’re not going to smile at him in the corridors or be behind him when he needs you. He cried. He cried a lot, in private, in his room. He regretted every single cold gaze, every time he ignored you thinking it was the best for you. He regrets all the times you reached him to talk with him, and he ignored you to talk with high ranked soldiers. He regrets not confessing to you.

And now he can’t do anything about it because you’re not longer there.

Lion feels guilty, he thinks he could have saved you, but you jumped on the titan’s mouth. It wasn’t his fault. Erwin knows he was your best friend there, and he knows he should go and show his respects to him too, but he can’t. Not now. He decides to wait. The wound is too recent.

That’s how years passed by, slow, and Erwin got upgraded to Commander. He got new soldiers, new squads and new faces. But he stills think about you. About how you would like to meet Hange. How Lion is training the new ones. How well you’ll understand Levi. 

He decided that it was time to talk with Lion. Breathing deep, he started to walk towards the barricade. There, Lion was making a ponytail to a young girl, that seemed like a cadet. The girl made the army’s salute towards her Commander, salute that Erwin made back. Lion looked at him, his face tinted with anger, like every time the Commander walked near him. Erwin knows he feels bad because of what happened to you but, angry at him? Why?

“Can we talk in my office?” the blonde man asks. Lion keeps looking at him with anger.

“Why would the Commander need me?”

“Just a couple of minutes, and then you can go back to work.”

Lion reluctantly agrees, following the Commander back to his office. Once they’re in, Erwin starts to talk.

“I know y/n’s death has...”

“Oh, so now you’re going to talk about her.” Lion says. His arms are crossed.

“What do you mean?” Erwin asks. Lion walks toward him. The two of them are similar in height, but Lion is more corpulent.

“You never talked to her when she was alive. Even knowing that she was there for you every fucking time you needed her. She wasn’t your fucking dog, Commander.” the way Lion spits the word makes Erwin realize that he isn’t his favorite soldier. “She was a girl. A girl with feelings, a girl that loved and suffered. A human. Not your war machine, not your gas station, not your shield. A girl.”

Erwin wasn’t getting where was Lion trying to reach with that conversation. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, quietly. Lion let out a little sarcastic laugh.

“She was in love with you, Commander Smith. She told me a hundred times that it didn’t care if you were watching another woman because that means you’re happy.” Erwin’s blue eyes shot open in surprise. “She was in love with you. That’s why she was always around you, helping you and caring for you. It wasn’t luck. It was love.”

Erwin got dizzy. That’s why you were always so sweet to him? Always trying to get closer to him, to make sure he was secure, to make him notice you. 

How was he so blind? 

“I...” Erwin was at a loss of words. Lion sighed.

“I don’t know why you were so cold to her. Why? She was the sweetest girl out there and you treated her with coldness.”

He asks himself the same. Why? To protect you or to protect himself? Was he trying to make you happy or trying to extinguish the love he felt for you? Was it for your good-being or for his?

Was he being egoistic or abnegated? 

Lion left the office without looking again to Erwin. 

That night, Erwin’s mind was a mess. He only could think about you. About how you cared all this time for him and how he couldn’t save you. But he had an expedition the next day. Even when he wanted to cry and break things and scream, he needs to sleep. He’s human, after all.

He dreamed about you. About how your smile was always for him, and he couldn’t see it. That’s why there are purple marks under his eyes. Levi looks at his Commander, saying anything. Just his normal silence when he looked to the front again. Erwin survived to a lot of battles, a lot, even when one of them costed his arm. But he survived. Even when he wanted to die, because you’re not longer with him. But he obligated himself to keep going.

“Today, we’re fighting to recover a part of Wall Maria, to recover the district of Shiganshina from the titans. Soldiers, offer your hearts!” all the soldiers yelled back to Erwin. He looked at the sky.

Some hours after, the Commander told all his effectives to offer themselves along with him. He knew it was difficult to win towards the beast titan, the one that throws rocks. He talked to Levi earlier, and the Captain asked him if he had a plan. Levi was sure everybody was about to die. But the Commander told Levi that, risking his life and his cadets lives, there was hope for humanity. That’s why Erwin was looking at the distance without fear, the silhouette of the Beast Titan could be seen from where he is. Yelling to his subordinates once again, he made the army advance. And a lot of stones appeared in front of them. He thought about you, about how you where always brave, even when things were complicated.

That was the last thought he had, before getting hit by a rock.

Erwin didn’t expect to find you again, pretty as always, with your beautiful hair clean and shining. He was there, in front of you. You were also wearing the Corps uniform. His eyes started to form tears.

“Erwin?” You asked. He nods. Your watery eyes understood that if he’s there, in front of you, it means he’s dead. You run, hugging him. His scent is as clear as always, his arm tangled on your waist. You cry on his chest and he cries on your neck.

“I’m sorry... I’m so sorry, y/n...” he says. His breath is irregular and his big hand massages your waist.

“It’s okay, Erwin. It’s okay.” Your hand strokes his hair, quietly. 

“I told my soldiers to die for the humanity. I sacrificed them for what?” the shock after commanding a whole army, being aware of all the lives he risked for humanity, made him break. You hugged him, being there for him. "Why are you here, with me?"

"Because I love you." you simply say. "I'm still in love with you, Erwin." you answer. He looks at your face.

"You're not angry at me?" he asks. You shake your head.

"I guess you had your causes to avoid me. Maybe you don't like me even a bit or something, and that's totally right."

He knew he needed to explain everything to you, but, for now, he just need to feel your arms around him.

Now, you have all eternity to be together.

[dabeeznees]

Eren Jeager fluff? Pt1?

After memorizing your class schedule you are now always anticipating a message or the occasional FaceTime from Eren. Nothing was official yet but you'd like to imagine that you could maybe one day get a boy as special as Eren to be yours.

And yes you do realize that a boy like Eren is right there in front of you but you didn't know if he reciprocated your feelings back.

it was never easy to read him, and you were sure that Mikasa would beat ur ass into next week if you were ever to lay a hand on him.

Closing your laptop after a whole lot of whatever the fuck that class was, your phone lights up and so does your face.

"hey you down for some lunch in a bit? :)"

"ususal place?"

Excitedly getting up from bed because that has been your comfy non productive work space since this whole virus thing has happened

Throwing on a sweater and getting your bag, you head out the door to the usual place.

Now I know what you might be thinking but the "usual place" isn't a cute little coffee shop or a small pizza shop. Its actually a grassy park hill with a small but mighty willow tree.

Since you and even can't eat grass and a good view of the sunset, you have an unspoken agreement that if you are the one to invite the other than you are in charge of snacks.

Your stomach rumbling you were hoping that eren was bringing lots of food... siting on the trunk of your car taking in the fresh breath of air felt almost like pure ecstasy. almost.

Hearing two quick honks from a familiar car you jump off of your car smiling while he gets out with our snacks in one hand and a grin brighter than the spring sun.

you couldn't help but fall in love more and more every waking minute you were with him.

"so there's been something I've been meaning to tell you" Eren walks over to the grass and gestures for you to sit with him

with your heart in your throat "yeah? what's up"

his eyes look down at the grass and then back up to you.

oh those beautiful green eyes, you swear you could just get lost in them, like who gave him the right to have those ey-

"so what do you think?" looking at you with a hopeful gaze.

shit.. "wait what?! I- I wasn't paying attention" you were paying attention, just not to the right thing.

now looking away, a gust of wind comes from behind you making the sunny spring day feel like a cold overcast day.

"nevermind"

not thinking about it. you almost lunge toward him.

"wait Eren-" moving your hand to the side of his face to turn his head to you. "im sorry I was looking at your-"

not noticing that your movements had brought the two of you so close that one more inch would have you committing a crime in mikasa's book. "looking at my what" his blush fading while a smirk was appearing; feeling smug that you were distracted by something he did.

attempting to pull your hand away from his face, Eren grabs your hand pulling you in closer to the point where you are basically on top of him.

"wh- WHAT ARe you doing!" your face can no longer hide how flustered you are by what ever the fuck Eren was doing "Eren you can't do this!".

On top of Eren unable to pull away with his grip on your wrist still tight as ever...although you weren't complaining about the view, seeing him under you, his hair coming undone and the sight of clear amusement in his face from the reaction he was getting from you was both irritating but also.. attractive?...

"this is what you get for not paying attention to me" a smile lighting up on his face telling you that something was about to happen.

Eren makes the motion of rolling over moving you with his legs to the ground now making you under him completely switching the dynamic of which you thought this lunch was going to go.

"EREN" still enjoying his time making you flustered he lets go of your hands letting you cover you face of embarrassment. His laugh starts to fill the silence between us. You peak out from behind your hands to see his warm smile but coming to reality you shove his chest making him stop laughing.

"so this was just a joke to you?" covering your face again "ugh! I can't believe I really thought"

Eren chuckles your name "no no... this wasn't a joke." putting his hand on yours to attempt to move them from your face.

He's closer, way closer. "I just got a little frustrated cause you weren't paying attention to what I was saying.." smiling again he laughs "it took a lot of courage so my heart kinda dropped when you said you weren't paying attention"

You start to feel bad, almost on instinct you reach out to his face with you hands. "Eren im sorry I didn't mean-" His eyes close bracing for your hands to make contact on the sides of his face.

Raising a hand to yours on his face he leans into your touch for a second making you swoon. when his grip on your hand loosens he adjusts his position, assuming he's finally moving off of you, you start to lean forwards to get up but he wasn't getting up.

Staring at each other from less than an inch away, "uh- I thought you were getting up" moving to the side to get away "sorry". just as you were going to slip away from under Eren you feel a hand at your side blocking your escape.

"wait.. you still haven't heard what I was going to say" Eren starts to move in closer, sliding the hand that was at your side under you pulling you in closer to him. "I wanted to ask..." he leans in more and more.

Your eyes wide open shocked by the warmth on your lips, its soft and made you feel safe in a way. Not wanting the moment to end you close your eyes gripping onto Eren's shirt collar making the kiss deepen.

Both of you needing air makes you pull apart from each other making eye contact of disbelief and pure bliss.

Leaning back in expecting another kiss Eren, instead of kissing you again he puts his forehead on yours "I was going to ask if you wanted to go on a date sometime..." you can hear the nervousness in his voice.

You reach up to grab his face again so you can see his eyes that were staring intently at you waiting for an answer.

"of course I will" smiling again Eren goes in for another kiss that was filled with excitement, feeling his smile against your lips was something you wanted to continue feeling for a long time.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Ryota the Kitsune, Chapter 2 (Lemon)

Patrons voted for a second, spicy chapter for Ryota’s story, and who am I do deny them. This was on patreon for two months before being published here, if you want early access to my stories, then join my $1 patron tier!

The humidity of summer lays thick in the air, despite the early morning. Rubbing one eye with the heel of your palm, you tug the basket from the arching branches of a bush as you head over to the nearby river banks, hoping you might find some edible mushrooms growing around in the damp, airy soil.

Ryota is there, standing solid against the current of the stream, his back turned, but his ruddy orange ears atop his head tweak in a way that lets you know that he’s heard your footsteps. The water of the river must be blissfully frigid, with autumn seems to be taking her sweet time in arriving, the sun’s radiation baking the very air itself. You avert your eyes, though, out of modestly, because he’s completely and utterly naked beneath the water.

“How’s the temperature?” You ask, merely for acknowledgment, much less for actual conversation.

“Perfect,” he sounds almost happy, which is a significant change from the wide-eyed, quiet creature he was when you first found him out in the woods.

“That’s good,” you place the basket down and kneel against the mossy ground, digging your fingers around the stones and roots. The one thing on your mind is the mushrooms you plan on using in tonight’s salad, you’ve been waiting for the patch to grow back since you last had them in stew… god, they’re the best.

“You can come in with me?” His tone is carefully neutral.

You’re not entirely certain if it’s a request or an offer, his way of asking for things is to shy away from an actual demand, but given the circumstances, you take it as the latter. “I’m fine right now, but thank you.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, unsure.

“Yeah, I’ll probably go in for the evening.” Stretching out, you stand back up, balancing the basket on your hip. Very, very careful to only look at his eyes, even with the darker temptation to look down south to scope out the kind of length he’s packing, but you still manage to catch a bit in your periphery. “Dinner should be ready soon, but if you’re enjoying yourself, I’ll just set some aside for you to come back to.”

“I can come back with you,” he immediately offers, shifting so that you manage to see more.

Quickly, you avert your eyes from him entirely. “I’m fine, Ryo.”

“My clothes are right there, get them for me? Please?”

You suck in your breath quietly enough for him not to hear, but comply, stepping over a large rock to find his robes out in the sun, warming. With one hand out in the direction, you think he’s in, you hold the cloth out, your fingers only brushing temporarily against his, though it’s enough for you to note their dampness.

The thought of what he might be capable of with those long, slender fingers fills your brain and blood, a heat rising to your face as you pull your hand back, almost too fast. Trying to scrub the images of his bare body from the insides of your mind, you barely manage to stutter, “I- I’ll just meet you back at the, um, back at the house.”

And then you quickly walk back into the trees, not quite catching if Ryota says anything else. God, you’re such a stupid perv, why does your brain try to immediately dress him down every time you see him? Maybe a cold bath would help you out in that regard. Perhaps you need a moment to yourself where you can relieve some of the tension?

You drop the basket off right by the entrance, knowing that Ryota will most likely take care of that, then head up the hill just a bit so that no one important will hear your struggle. Slowly, you let yourself slide down against the rough trunk of a tree, trying to find the mental state you need in order to get yourself off.

Fuck, fuck, it’s been longer than usual since you last touched yourself, with Ryota clinging to you like a babe in a strange land. The amount of privacy you’re used to has shrunk down so considerably that you’ve almost started humping your pillows in your sleep. Who are you going to think about, you muse, and Ryota’s face worms its way into your mind.

No, you can’t do that. You try to think of literally anyone else, pre-apocalypse, but Ryota keeps fighting to stay in the forefront. Unbidden, your hand snakes its way down south, plunging past the elastic of your underwear, and you close your eyes. Again, despite your attempts to maybe think of some Hollywood sex god instead, there he is, your fantasies beckoning him between your legs.

And he breaks through your actual imagination because you hear his quiet footsteps approaching. You almost scratch a gash into your vagina, trying to tear your hand out of your pants, lungs thick with air as adrenaline pours into your veins. God- you didn’t fucking think he’d try to follow you out, and you have to actively untangle the anger from your throat. “I just need a moment to myself.”

He’s here, his robe askew to the point one sleeve hangs off the shoulder, revealing the milky paleness of his chest and you’re going to die. “You don’t-”

You can’t even look at him like this, you’re afraid you’re going to melt into a heated puddle onto the forest floor. “I don’t what?”

There’s a long, tense pause, and he changes the subject. “Do you find me ugly?”

You’re so caught off guard that you turn back around, trying to process each individual word in the sentence to try to comprehend just where it came from. “I don’t- what do you mean?”

“You never look at me,” he says almost too quietly for you to hear, but raises his voice slightly when you won’t turn to meet his eyes, “even now.”

I’m afraid what I’ll think of if I look at you. You’ve never been more thankful not to be a man in your life. “I’m sorry, it’s not… it’s not your fault.”

“Do you find me ugly?” He asks again, stepping closer.

You’re going to die, you think, as you try to glance over to find his face, pinching yourself, so your eyes don’t wander, managing to rasp a simple, “I don’t.”

He bends over, kneeling by your side, and you’re suddenly very aware that your legs are open in a very sexual way. You try to nonchalantly shut them as he speaks. “Then why don’t you like to look at me?”

You don’t want to say it, you don’t, a strand of humiliation wrapping around your throat and tightening. Briefly, you wonder if the bacchanalia he came from follows the kind of reputation that most of them do. A flash of him expertly pressing his lips against yours traitorously flashes behind your eyes and you have to look away, again. Finally, you manage to voice to work. “I think… I think I may be afraid.”

“Of what?” He’s close, too close, you’re going to lose your mind. “I would never hurt you, you know that, yes?”

“Not of that.” Surely he can hear your heart beating loud enough to be a shotgun blast. “I think… I think that I’m afraid of myself.”

He sits, hands perfectly rested on his knees, long, slender fingers tap, tap, tapping against his knees as he thinks what you said over. Hesitantly, he says softly, “so you do not resent me?”

A little bit, yes, but you don’t think that the reasoning is the same. “I resent myself,” you say, looking straight out into the woods instead of facing him.

Is he inching closer? Good lord, you’re going to fucking die. “Why do you resent yourself? Did I do something to make you angry?”

“No,” you have to physically keep yourself from shaking. “It’s nothing you’ve done.”

“Can I help?” He’s so close that you feel his breath on your neck.

“I don’t think it’s something you can help with,” you almost choke, avoiding eye contact, “I’ll take care of it myself.” Inwardly, you cringe so hard you almost fold in on yourself from the stupid wording. Why did you say it like that?

Before you can get up, he leans in closer, and you’re sure that the sound of you trying to swallow away the lump in your throat can be heard in a fifty miles radius. A new, hotter wetness is pooling between your legs, and by the way his nose seems to intake air, you’re almost afraid he can smell your arousal. He places a hand on your leg, right at your thigh, and suddenly he is the one that seems like he’s going to melt away.

“Why won’t you let me take care of you, though? I’d like to.” His chest heaves for a moment, his tongue sliding out to wet his lips, your eyes trailing the movement like a bird of prey.

With a hesitant breath, because you can not believe this is happening, you manage to say, “I don’t want you to think like- like you owe this to me.”

He shakes his head, coming closer, and you can smell his scent, like the outdoors, green and bright and warm. Instead of answering, he places a wandering hand on the mossy ground, in between your legs and moves his lips right up next to your ear, his words barely more than a breathless whisper. “I want you.”

Oh, god.

“Do you really?” You ask, feeling like the very earth beneath you move away, as though you are floating off into an eternal abyss. “Are you sure?”

He leans forward slightly, pressing his lips up against the shell of your ear, and you feel a shiver dance down your spine. “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you in the forest.”

“W-what?”

“Before I was punished,” his breath warms your neck as his chaste kisses make their way down to your shoulder, “I saw you, helping a rabbit with a broken leg.”

That was a few weeks before he arrived, bloodied and bruised, onto your doorstep. Trying not to let out a gasp as he pulls your leg out and over to his side, you whimper, “you saw that?”

He mumbles something in a language you don’t recognize, but have heard him speak of before, in soft increments. “Yes, I was scouting for more people to join the sacred sect, to enlighten you, but you were already kind, nurturing the earth for food instead of ravaging it.”

“Oh,” you whisper softly, unsure of how to respond. Was it… strange? Yes, it was strange. But is it unwelcome? “So you… you didn’t tell them?”

“No, not at all, but they found out, they always do.” He traces the scar across his chest, the bright pink skin what’s left of the wound. “But I kept you a secret, don’t worry.”

That- the wound was because of you? You suck in your breath as he leans forward, and you lean back, your back hitting the ground. A thousand questions click and snap in your head, voiceless and garbled with the heat between your thighs, making it almost impossible to concentrate. Swallowing, you manage a mere, “why?”

“I wanted you,” he whispers almost deliriously.

“You could have had me if you were truthful to your brethren” the prospect fills your blood with dread, but you remind yourself that he’s on top of you… in your forest.

“I wanted you to want me, too.” He nuzzles his face in the crook of your shoulder. “And I don’t like to share.”

“Oh,” you say in a quiet breath, tangling your fingers around a long strand of his hair that drapes around your head like a curtain.

And you kiss him.

The kiss starts out soft, easy, and noncommittal, but as you pull him downward with your woven fingers, his body pressing firmly up against yours. And his lips… they’re starving, his muscle tense as though physically restraining himself. It only takes a few moments for his tongue to snake it’s way into your mouth, his advancements more than welcome.

It could be a decade or a century since you’ve last made love, and your very body sings with the weight thrust upon it. Letting out a pathetic whine, you keen your waist up to his, feeling the first blossom of an erection peeping out from his roads. During the few moments you’ve managed to sneak a look, you noticed the girth, and have wanted him in you so badly you couldn’t even focus on your words.

You want him now.

“What do you need?” You choke, almost too afraid to make any requests on your own behalf.

He is kind, though, and responds so very gently into your ear. “To please you. I need, oh, to please you.”

You’re going to cry, because you don’t know where you want him to start. Voice trembling, you raise your legs to show him you’re ready. “How did you imagine pleasing me?”

He’s almost shaking, his breath hard and panting with effort. There’s a thick rod pressing up against your thigh, you can almost feel its pulsing need for your between two layers of clothes. Enraged at the aspect of wearing pants, you wriggle out of them, Ryota seeming at ease with digging his nails beneath the fabric to help you out. The earth is cool and fair against your bare skin, a tad bit of moisture working to fight against the summer’s heat.

“Tell me,” you ask again, almost unsure of if your voice is about to give out, “please, tell me how you thought to please me.”

There’s a steady grinding between your thighs as he says, “Kissing you all over to make you feel wet.”

You’re already so wet, you think, a thrumming in your body sings. But you try to continue steadily on, agreeing, “I think that would help, yes.”

“Hm,” he mumbles, pressing his mouth up to your exposed collarbone. The heat in your core grows larger. His breath is deliciously warm against your goose-bumping flesh, you notice, managing to wriggle the hem of your shirt up over your breast. Ryota wastes no time latching onto one nipple, his tongue almost sharp against the pointed, sensitive flesh.

You don’t think you can survive this.

With little thought for his own comfort, he slides downwards, leaving a trail of hickies as he latches onto your skin and sucks, all the while your core gushes more with every nip, lick, and kiss. He lifts your leg over his shoulder, his shuddering breath cool against the puckered skin of your pussy, sending thrills of shivering shocks up through your spine. He’s like that for a moment, eyes almost closed as he takes your scent in, then leans forward to offer up a single lick, ass to clit.

Unbidden, you gasp, because you’re so lost in the moment you almost forget yourself. God, it’s been long- so, so long since you’ve had another being between your legs, and your body is ready.

Ryota seems to appreciate the noise, pressing up against your clit with his tongue, eyes almost crazed with intensity. After a moment of teasing, he kisses at the pooling slit somewhere lower, and you feel… horrendously ready to cum already. An animalistic part of you would like nothing more than to slam your thighs around his face, grip his hair, and ride out your pleasure here and now. He’d let you, too, and he’d probably enjoy it, but the logical side murmurs that if you take it slow and draw things out, your orgasm might be the one to outshine anything you’ve had before.

So you lean back, closing your eyes, and let him take his time, the feeling of carnal desperation pumping thickly through your blood. And he knows what he’s doing, too, you suppose that the reputation of the bacchanalia cults must be true. One of his arms wraps around your waist, anticipating your squirming as he takes your clit between his lips and fucking sucks.

He pulls back to begin exploring your flower more, using his fingers to open your lips up further for a better view. You’re so exposed that you can feel the air, which seemed horrendously warm just minutes before, which cools the broiling heat between your legs. Again, Ryota takes a moment to sloppily kiss the exposed skin, his teeth pressing up hard enough for the thrill, though not to hurt.

Mindlessly, you reach down for his silky hair, running your fingers over his scalp. Against your skin, the black strands look like lines of ink, dark, geometrical, almost like someone drew a pattern against your hand and wrist with a purpose. As if he’s made for you. Without even realizing that you’re so much as opening your mouth, you passively say, “you’re beautiful.”

He pauses, then looks back up at you. Voice almost broken, he says, “Oh. Thank you.”

It takes you a moment to fully process the interaction because you weren’t paying much attention beyond where his tongue pleasures you, and by that point, there’s a building in your core that steals your focus away. As you whine, your back arches, pulling your hand from the strands of his hair to claw at the earth itself in hopes it might ground you. But you’re close, too close, and you don’t want to be gone, not yet.

“Stop,” you demand, pressing your fingers up against his forehead. ” Stop.”

He obeys, pulling up and away from your quivering core, and your basic instincts scream at you in anger for ending the pleasure. “What? What’s wrong, did I hurt you?”

“No,” you shake your head, “but I’d like to cum with you inside of me.”

“Oh.” again, his voice almost quivers, and he seems entirely unfamiliar with the kind of demands you make. “Y-yes, alright.”

“Come here,” you almost murmur, your voice low but enticing. “Please.”

“Anything for you,” he whispers almost quietly enough for you to miss as he obeys, pressing his mouth against yours in a lust-filled, yet still gentle, kiss. You can still taste yourself on his lips, the damp your body made just for him, to welcome him into your core.

His robes have more layers than you initially expected, though you’ve seen him dress and undress plenty of times, even if you do avert your eyes. You tug at the sash across his waist, managing to find where it’s fastened and pull it loose, and Ryota rewards you with a few robust kisses as he peels the outer layer of faded silk off only to reveal yet another robe beneath it.

You hiss impatiently. “How many of these do you have on?”

He chuckles good-naturedly, giving you a nip on the shell of your ear. “Enough.”

Thankfully, the white layer is the last, you think you’d go insane if you had to slog through even two more, and by the way Ryota is breathing heavily, you know he feels the same way. You share one last clothed kiss as you managed to remove it, pulling the sleeves down his shoulders and discarding the woven fabric somewhere… just, away from the matters at hand.

You can feel him there, experimentally pressing his flushed length up against your lips, and there’s a thrill of relief at the mere idea of how close you are to being filled. His hair is like a waterfall that pours the depths of a great void out around his angelic face, his eyes like stars that beckon you with the promise of ecstasy. As he slowly presses the tip up through your entrance, and you try not to be so overcome with the moment that you lose focus of his face.

To help bring yourself back down from the high of pleasure his slowly sheathing cock offers, you try to trace the contours of his face with your thumb, following the path of his nose, then the outline of his mouth. Again, though more to yourself, you observe, “you’re beautiful.”

His hips splutter at the second declaration, his breath hitching. God, you can see how badly he’s wanted you, just at this moment, his eyes melting like syrup at the mere idea you might find him attractive. As he thinks of a response, you angle your hips to better accommodate him, and now it’s his turn to melt back into the earth.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, but your brain is nothing more than sludge, “I know.”

Ryota loses himself in you. It takes a moment for your body to stretch around him- his length is impressive, or at least you think it is… or maybe the isolation has lowered your body’s standards, whatever the case, once he’s sure you’re comfortable, he’s thrusting into you with a pace that ravages you. Like him, you’re lost, the feeling of his body inside yours so soon after he pleasured you with his mouth? It’s almost too much, too fast.

But he manages to slow to a more leisurely pace, his breath choking and yearning. You’re not sure which of you is enjoying the simple act of sex more, it feels like it’s been an eternity for both your bodies. The friction between his length and your inner walls crescendos, his breath desperate and uneven, so you take the reigns. You flip over, using your hips to beckon him to twist beneath you. His eyes relax at the prospect of no longer having to set your pace, and he lies down, almost shaking, on the moss.

Fuck… fuck, the way his pale, milky skin stands out from the greens and browns of the ground. Fuck. The way he looks at you doesn’t help the matter either, he gazes at you with… such adoration, a kind of worshipping ferver, it sends a special breed of pleasure through your nerves, pooling nicely into your core. You place a hand on his chest, tracing the scare with your finger, fixating on the fact of how he risked so much on behalf of… well, you.

It doesn’t take too much longer for your body to fully come to terms with its pleasure, your knees almost itching with how hard they’re digging into the earth. A shudder dances up your spine, there’s a familiar, taught clenching in your core, and you’re in ecstasy. Loved. Adored.

He’s quick to follow, almost as though he was waiting for you to climax first. A hot, thick liquid fills you to the brim, his voice strangling with praise for you, for your body, for your spirit, for your self. You almost become aroused enough for a second round at his endless praise, but as you lay against his chest and allow your heartbeats to align, you decide that you have been satiated.

For now.

“Thank you,” you say, limp from exhaustion, ear at his chest, “for not reporting me.”

He lets out a breath, his own fingers coming up to rest at your scalp. “Thank you,” he whispers, hoarsely, “for loving me the way I am.”