#no I didn’t forget the seals you didn’t see that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoseoksluna · 10 months ago

Text

LIQUID STARS | jjk

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

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.8k

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

playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it.

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

“Let me kiss you, please.”

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

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

You exhaled, he inhaled.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

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

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

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

Your body panics, but you will it to relax.

“Does that come with the premium subscription?”

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

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

Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms.

“I get to take Bam?”

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

Probably not. Definitely not.

“But what about Bam?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal.”

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

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

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

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

Jungkook groans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want him.

It began with a ring and ended right here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook grips your waist hard.

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

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

“Kiss me, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bam, house.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No attachment, no liking.

Just sex.

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

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

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

You broke him.

And now you have to face the repercussions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No strings, no pain.

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

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

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

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

A lump forms in your throat.

“You sure about this?” he asks.

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

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

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

Flowery or deceitful?

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

“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.”

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

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

He blames himself, not you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I trust you.”

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

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

“Are you scared?”

You’re an empty canvas.

“Not anymore.”

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs.

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

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

You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook sees you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stills the buck of your hips.

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

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

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

“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.”

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

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

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

“Feels good, baby?”

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

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

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

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

Jungkook stops your movements fully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Obeying his desperate order, you do.

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

“Did so well for me.”

The whisper takes you back and you awake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he sinks them into your mouth.

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

Happy to be wanted.

Good, because he said you were.

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

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

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

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

Musk, vanilla, wood.

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

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

Overjoyed. Overstimulated.

Heavenly.

“Good.”

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

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

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “So bad.”

Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough.

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

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

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

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

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

“I watch a lot of porn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither, evidently, can he.

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

So vulnerable.

You ache.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Talk to me.”

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

He stares you down.

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

“I won’t play with you, then.”

Panic. “No.”

He cocks a brow at you. “No?”

Silence.

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

“Jungkook.”

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

“Beg.”

All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you.

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

“Please.”

“Please what?”

You groan in frustration.

“Be nice or—”

“Please, lick me.”

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

“Where?”

A challenge. Your throat dries up.

“There.”

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

“Try again. Last chance, little girl.”

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

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

“Lick my clit, please.”

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

“Like this?”

You choke out a moan.

“Yes, please.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”

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

Your Daddy.

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

“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.”

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

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

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

Daddy and little girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

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

Your frown deepens.

“But what if it doesn’t fit?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, trusting him.

He pecks you. Smiles.

“How many orgasms are we at?”

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

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

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

“You obliterated my expectations.”

“Just wait until I fuck you properly.”

You blush, eyes twinkling.

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

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

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

But Jungkook grows solemn.

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t stop coming.”

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

“And you finger yourself?”

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

“How many fingers?”

You scoff. “Just one.”

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

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

He didn’t break his promise.

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

And there you feel it.

The sensation unlike any other.

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

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

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

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

“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.

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

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

“Please, come for me.”

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

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

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

And it’s the truth.

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

Jungkook grunts.

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

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

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

And you swallow it all.

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

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

“Good girl. Good little princess.”

That you are. A changed person for all eternity.

“Is your tummy full?”

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

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

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

“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”

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

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

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot

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princessbellecerise · 5 months ago

Text

First Impressions

Summary ✩ If you want to make a good impression on your boyfriend’s family, then you probably shouldn’t get caught naked together

Warnings ✩ Smut, college!jace, Jace likes slow passionate sex I don’t make the rules, so many innuendos, Jace and the reader literally get caught by his whole family, humor, lowkey a crack fic

“But what if they don’t like me?”

“Babe, relax. They’ll love you.”

Jace stroked your arm lovingly as you sat on his dorm room bed, nerves and anxiety nearly eating you alive.

You were in the middle of finals, and not only that, Jace’s family had decided to come up for the weekend and visit him before winter vacation.

Every year, he usually travelled back overseas to be with them, but this year his family decided to stay in the United States and celebrate the holidays over here.

As his girlfriend, you were understandably worried because it meant that you’d be meeting them for the first time. Jace tried to reassure you that your fears didn’t matter, and that they’d love you despite what you thought, but you simply weren’t convinced.

“But what if they hate me?” You continued, chewing on your lip as you looked at him. “What if…what if they think I’m too…American or something?”

“What? Too American?” Jace snorted. “What does that even mean?” You groaned.

“It means they might hate me, or my accent, and they might try and set you up with a British girl or something, I don’t know.”

To your displeasure, Jacaerys merely laughed which made you pout.

“Jace! This is serious!” You whined at him, smacking his arm playfully. He shook his head.

“Like I said, they will love you and they will be very excited to see you. Especially my mother. She’s been dying to meet you ever since I told her about you.”

“But—!”

“No buts! Everything will be fine,” Jacaerys cooed, and you sighed as you buried your head in his chest.

“I hope you’re right,” You mumbled miserably, not wanting to even think about him being wrong. You loved Jace so much, and you couldn’t imagine not being accepted by the ones he loved the most. No matter how many times he reassured you that they would, the thought still terrified you to your core.

“Of course I am,” Jacaerys leaned his head down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, wrapping his arms around you as he did. “How could anyone not love you? You’re perfect.”

Quickly, a small rush of embarrassment flooded to your cheeks but luckily it was hidden.

“You really think so?” You mumbled again, and this time you felt Jace pulling you away from his chest so that you could look him in the eye.

Two pools of warm honey held nothing but confidence and reassurance as he nodded. “Of course,” Jace confirmed sweetly, and then he sealed his promise with a kiss.

Smiling, you welcomed his lips and relaxed as your fears began to melt away. As always, Jace had a habit of being able to calm you with the slightest touch, and now as you felt his plump lips against yours, your worries evaporated.

It was like magic how you could be so worked up one minute, and then completely like putty in his arms in the next. Forgetting your anxiety, you deepened the kiss with Jace and panted as you felt his hands roam over your body.

“Shouldn’t we…shouldn’t we be getting ready?” You asked him quietly, pulling away as you felt him hardening underneath you.

“We’ve still got,” Jace picked up his phone and tapped on the screen, grinning when it read 5:52pm. “Two hours until dinner, I think? That’s plenty of time.”

You grinned back and sank into another kiss, this time bringing your hands up to tangle in his curls. They were soft against your fingertips; a weapon you used to render your boyfriend defenseless as you crawled on top of him.

Moaning, Jace held your hips as you began to grind them, feeling the way his cock got hard as you did so. Jace’s hockey hoodie and your thin sleep shorts left minimum barriers between the two of you, but still, it was too much.

You needed to feel him as desire pooled in between your legs, a little wet spot forming on the crotch of your shorts.

“Jace. Help me take this off,” You said against his lips, and Jace, all too eager, obeyed.

You felt his strong hands tug on the band of your shorts, pulling them off and throwing them across the room. Then, Jace reached for the hoodie and pulled it up just enough to expose your tits, but he kept it on you because he loved the way you looked in it.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous,” Jacaerys groaned, leaning up to suck on one of your buds as you continued rocking against him.

The feeling of his soft tongue made your core clench with anticipation, throwing your head back as you panted. You weren’t really in a rush, so Jace took his time; sucking and biting and licking your flesh as he pleased.

Already, you could feel the marks on your skin forming, and you lightly pushed his chest to get him to stop.

“Don’t give me a hickey right before I meet your family,” You warned, but the damage was done and Jace was quite proud as he admired his work.

“Oops.” Your boyfriend smirked up at you, and then you squealed as he flipped you around. Now, your back was against his chest and Jace propped your hips up so that your ass was in the air.

You could feel him begin to grind against you now, pressing his hard cock against your body as his kissed his way down it.

He started with your neck, nipping at your sweet spots before eventually going lower. Jace pushed the hoodie up so he could kiss along your spine, leaving little marks wherever he pleased. While he did that, you shivered as his hands occupied themselves with your cunt, teasing your wet folds and ghosting over your clit.

“Jace,” You whined in the pillow, desperate for more friction as you wiggled against him. You were burning up, aching for his touch; and luckily your boyfriend wasn’t a cruel man.

“I’ve got you, Princess. Don’t worry,” He cooed softly. You felt the bed dip as he moved in between your thighs, placing a delicate kiss to each before going where you needed him most.

“God…” You moaned, biting the pillow as Jace’s lips attached to your cunt, tongue darting out to taste you.

He went slow at first, dipping his tongue in between your folds and circling your entrance. You whined as Jace pushed in, tongue-fucking you while his fingers came to play with your clit. His other hand occupied itself with steadying your trembling hips, keeping your cunt firmly pressed against his face as he messily ate you out from behind.

“Fuck, fuck! Jace!”

His name fell from your lips like a chant, your thighs shaking as your orgasm approached. If you could, you would’ve tugged on his curls but you had to settle for gripping the bedsheets as you made a mess on his tongue.

To Jace, you tasted so sweet that he just couldn’t help but to lap it all up; face getting drenched with the evidence of your arousal. He reached out to message your trembling thighs, placing little kisses on them before turning you over.

As he did, you couldn’t help but think how hot your boyfriend looked after eating you out. His face was glistening with your cum, his pupils blown and eager for more.

He couldn’t get the condom on fast enough, and you nearly started drooling when he teased his swollen cock head in between your folds.

You were still sensitive by the time he started to push in, but you welcomed his cock and eagerly held his body close to yours. As always, Jace held your hand and let out a shaky breath as he entered you. With his forehead pressed to yours, he gazed into your eyes and sank into your cunt until there was nothing left for him to give.

“Fuck!”

The two of you moaned in unison as he bottomed out, Jace trembling above you as your warm cunt squeezed him. He leaned down to capture your lips in a long, deep kiss, loving to make out with you while he fucked you.

It was one thing to be inside of you, but with Jace, he always felt the need to be consumed by you, taking you in every way he could think of. His lips upon yours, his hands holding yours, his cock deep inside of you.

The closeness, the sheer intimacy of it all always drove your boyfriend crazy, as he wanted to think of and feel nothing but expect for you. No matter what, Jace always poured everything he had into you—every bit of love, want, desire.

You could feel it in the way he moved his hips, desperately chasing the high only you could bring him to. You spread yourself eagerly below him, taking, wanting, craving for the same things.

Together, you held one another as your bodies moved in sync, giving and taking and fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.

Jace’s cock began to tighten as he neared his release. Likewise, your core clenched, your head becoming fuzzy as he brushed against your sweet spot over and over again. Just as you pulled away from his kiss, your own lips��plump and swollen—let out a gasp as you came around him. All that you could see, all you taste and feel was Jacaerys as pleasure completely took over your senses.

And then, not even a second later Jace was collapsing as well, panting as he spilled himself into the condom.

You had the pleasure of hearing his sweet sounds as he did, rubbing his back and his ass gently to coax him. By the time he was finished, the condom was filled to the brim and Jace pulled it off, lazily tying it up and throwing it in the trashcan.

Pink puffy lips, bruised from kissing you and biting them so hard when he came, once again ghosted over your skin, Jace leaving a kiss on your forehead before collapsing beside you.

“I love you,” Your boyfriend said gently, taking your face into his hands. Soft cheek pressed against soft cheek as you curled into one another, still panting and glowing and smiling from your highs.

“I love you too,” You giggled as he squeezed your cheeks, pressing them together so your lips jutted out like a fish. “I lobe you, I lobe you, I lobe you, I lobe you—”

Jace laughed at your disordered speech, just about to comment on it when suddenly the door flung open, and Cregan Stark stood with his entire family behind him as he grinned.

“Surprise!”

“What the—?”

The smile on your lips died as you froze in shock, eyes coming to settle on the plethora of people that filed into the room.

They hadn’t noticed it yet, not until it was too late. There were six people in total, all too busy grinning with anticipation and chattering excitedly until they noticed exactly what they had stumbled upon—a very naked Jacaerys and his girlfriend.

“Oh,” Rhaena, who you had seen before in FaceTime calls and followed on Instagram, was the first to notice your predicament. Their eyes widened when they looked at Jace, stuttering but not able to warn anyone in time. “I…”

“Oh shit!”

“Are they—?”

“Dude!”

Jace was much faster than you to react; shouting at Cregan and telling him to close the door while his roommate stood there in shock.

Behind him, you could hear laughter and horrified shouts as Jace’s family looked at the scene; his step-sister Baela cracking up while who you presumed was his mother gasped.

“Jacaerys—” The white haired woman blinked, dumbfounded, and of course you would have the absolute unfortunace of locking eyes with her right before Jace exclaimed,

“Mom! Get out!”

The door slammed shut just as Jace began to scurry up, his face a violent shade of red as you blinked. In that moment, you couldn’t tell if you wanted to scream or just straight up die as you looked at Jace, horrified as you covered your naked body.

“I didn’t…I didn’t know…” He rapidly shook his head, trying to explain but you could obviously tell he wasn’t expecting his family to come here.

You were supposed to meet them at the restaurant at seven, and you still thought you had time to get yourself presentable.

You wanted to make a good first impression on the people who would hopefully be your future in laws, but now though, there was no such luck. His whole family had seen you naked, and now you had no fucking clue how you’d ever leave this room without wanting the ground to swallow you up.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. What are we going to do?” You asked, panicked as Jace paced around the room. “Your mother—Jace, your mom just saw my fucking pussy!”

“Or maybe she didn’t,” Jace countered, trying to delude himself and you into thinking the situation wasn’t that bad. It didn’t work. “Maybe they…maybe they only saw us in the covers, but didn’t see anything else.”

“Yeah right,” You scoffed, knowing damn well that wasn’t the case. “I’m pretty sure they’ve seen more of me than you ever have!”

“Shit!”

Jace ran a hand through his curls as commotion sounded outside. Cregan panicking and Baela laughing and Luke so horrified all he could do was stare at the wall.

They were all waiting out there to meet you but, “I can’t ever show my face again,” You wailed. “I was right. They’re gonna hate me and think I’m a slut and they’re never gonna want to see me again!”

“That’s not true,” Jace insisted, shaking his head. “Babe, they would never think that about you.”

“Yeah! We’d never—” Rhaena’s voice became muffled as Rhaenyra scolded them, but the fact that they could hear what you were saying just made you want to die even more.

“Jesus Christ. Is there no end to the embarrassment?” You groaned, flopping on Jace’s bed. You buried your face into the pillow while Jace rubbed circles on your back, torn between comforting you and yelling at Rhaena to fuck off.

“It’s alright. It’ll be alright,” Your boyfriend said awkwardly. “The best thing that we can do is to just go out there, and forget this ever happened, yeah? I’m sure after a few drinks no one will even remember this.”

Which might’ve been true, if half his family wasn’t under 21 and couldn’t drink in the USA.

You groaned. “Ihatemylife.”

“What?”

“I said I hate my life,” You pouted at Jace, pulling your face from the covers. “Only something like this could happen to me.” But eventually, you agreed to just bite the bullet.

You knew you couldn’t hide forever, and as much you wanted to, you couldn’t avoid the six people standing outside waiting for you and Jace either.

No matter how undignified you felt, you still got ready and you took a deep breath as Jace grabbed your hand.

“Let’s go meet them properly this time, shall we?”

—

“So how’s the bed—I mean, the bread! Sorry!” Luke blushed deeply while you sank into your seat, utterly mortified while Jace tensed beside you.

He still had yet to relax even though the incident had happened hours ago, and his family was graceful enough not to mention it save for a few accidental innuendos and stray giggles as they recalled the moment.

Cregan, who was also invited along, hadn’t stopped sending either of you apologetic looks since it was his idea to bring them to surprise Jace.

The poor guy had a wanted to do a nice thing for his best friend and ended up humiliating him in the process.

But you were so embarrassed you didn’t even care, not being able to even look at Luke while you answered.

“It’s good,” You told him meekly, even though it was obvious you had barely touched it. “A little hard, but...”

Daemon snickered as you suddenly stopped, stomach dropping when you realized you said. “I-I mean…I didn’t…”

“Babe,” Jace gave you look as he squeezed your hand under the table, shooting his step father an angry glare. “He knows what you meant. Right, Luke?”

“Yeah.” The sophomore in high school didn’t say anything else as he picked at his appetizer.

You sighed.

Quite frankly, it was awkward all around, making you feel like you should have just stayed in your dorm room.

What was supposed to be a normal family dinner was now overshadowed by the incident, and you felt like no matter what you did, something brought it up.

The last thing you wanted to do was make a bad first impression, and you had made an impression alright.

You cleared your throat. “So how was the flight?” You asked no one in particular, desperately wanting to change the subject. You didn’t think you’d survive another minute of this if not, but thankfully Rhaena ended up being the one who answered you.

“It was boring. Kind of long, actually,” They shrugged. And then they added, “T-The flight, I mean,” which only made the situation worse.

Baela shook her head. “I don’t know. It was kind of short to me,” She grinned, laughing when Jace glared and kicked her under the table.

“Baela!” Rhaenyra scolded her, shaking her head. Like you, the woman seemed to be at her wits end with how much more she could take.

It was embarrassing enough for you to experience it, but you couldn’t imagine catching your own son naked. Rhaenyra was probably the only one more mortified than you and Jace, and so she was a bit more sympathetic than the rest of her family.

“That’s enough. Stop torturing the poor girl, will you?”She warned. “Y/N, honey, I’m so sorry,” She then said gently, and you gave her a tight smile, hating yourself for not ordering a stronger drink.

Thankfully though, you were saved by the waitress coming around. You and Jace let out a sigh of relief as the food momentarily distracted everybody. Baela stopped smirking, eyeing her spaghetti with joy. Daemon no longer stared at you accusingly, just waiting to for the chance to jump in and embarrass Jace. Eveything seemed fine again; that is until she set Jace’s entree down.

“And here is that shrimp for you, sir,” She smiled at him politely, and you could see Cregan absolutely loosing it as he stood up.

“Fuck—I’m sorry man. I can’t, I just…” He crackled all the way to the bathroom, his laugher echoing through the whole restaurant. A few people stared at him as he passed, but the waitress didn’t seem too bothered by it.

She turned to Rhaenyra, handing her a red drink and said, “And here is that cocktail for you.”

Rhaenyra stared at the drink, not even knowing what to say as her children burst into giggles. Not even Daemon could hold himself back, laughing into his wine while Jace laid his head on the table.

“Is there anything else I can get for you all?” The waitress asked, chewing her lip at the scene. She obviously didn’t understand what was going on or why everything she said was so funny.

“A gun,” Jace whispered from beside you, catching her attention. His red face was as buried into his arms due to permanent shame. “I would like for you to bring me a gun, please.”

“Excuse me?” Your waitress reeled back, her eyes going wide at Jace’s words. The tray she carried momentarily shook in her hands, and—not wanting for her to call the police and make this an even worse situation—you quickly stepped in.

“I-I think he means that we’re all satisfied, thank you,” You told her weakly.

Your whole body burned from shame and embarrassment, and you were surprised that you didn’t catch on fire right then and there. You certainly wished you would, as it would save you from the absolute worst dinner of your life.

The woman nodded slowly. “Alright then. Enjoy,” She said cautiously.

And then, without missing a beat, Baela looked straight at you and giggled. “Oh, I’m sure she did.”

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon smut

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yanderenightmare · 6 months ago

Text

Gojo Satoru

TW: dubcon-ish due to suggestiveness and alcohol, yandere, breakup, depression, schemes, manipulation, office au for some reason

part two in Gojo's pov

fem reader

It’s been two weeks since your breakup—since you got dumped on your sorry ass.

You wished you could say you were fine, wish you could say fuck that guy, anyway, good fucking riddance—that you’d make him regret it, that he didn’t know what he lost, that he’d come crawling back begging your forgiveness soon enough. You really wish you were that girl—the one who gets up and dusts off and gets back out there with her head still held high. You really do.

But no, you’re one of those girls who feel silly getting dressed—worried that you’re trying too hard. Fuck, it’s hopeless. You feel like shit, and you look like shit, and you don’t even want to go out anyway—it’s just some shitty office party at some shitty little bar where everyone’s going to make your breakup their business. It would be best not to go—leave them to talk shit about it behind your back.

Sure, you could slap on your best tough act and tell them all to go fuck themselves, but why bother? You’re just going to drink too much and end up doing something you regret.

And oh, how right you were.

It’s not even been a good few hours before you’ve got the office slut’s tongue down your throat—all but clinging to him as you press your body up against his. Manicured hands tussled in his pretty white locks, pulling on him while sucking each other’s faces, leeching off the feeling of his hands grabbing your waist—oh god, it feels good to be wanted again.

Yes—yes, this is what you need. Fuck your ex-boyfriend, he’s probably out fucking some skank himself. Well, two can play that game. He’ll see. You’ll make him see. That fucking asshole—

Oh no.

“Wait—stop,” you break off the desperate kissing.

Hanging your head while steadying your breath, you push both hands flat on his hard chest, keeping him distanced even as he leans after your lips.

You swallow thickly, then wipe your mouth, taking a step back. “The fuck am I doing…”

You don’t dare look back up at him. Beyond embarrassed, you just want to get out of there as quickly as your feet can carry you—catch the first cab home and forget all about it. Pretend it never happened.

“Sorry, ‘m gonna go,” you mumble as you start walking away, leaving your confused colleague behind, alone outside the bathroom stalls, still recovering.

You make your way down the hallway with dim neon lights flickering overhead, feeling swallowed up by the graffiti-littered walls.

What a sorry place for mistakes.

“Ugh, I can’t believe I was about to be one of those girls.” You shudder as you wrap yourself in your own hug, feeling silly for wearing a cropped jacket—and why the fuck is your dress so short? You’re not a fucking teenager anymore. “Fucking hell… I’m such a mess.”

“No, wait.” A tug of your jacket holds you in place. Oh, but you really don’t want to look at him. It’s humiliating enough already that you’d sought him out for validation—you don’t need his pity as well. It’s Gojo, for fuck’s sake. A different girl brings him lunch about every day—the whole office knows.

You might just die from the toll of it.

“Com’on. I’m perfect for this, aren’t I?” he asks under his breath while maneuvering you up against the wall again, his dewy breath brushing your scalp as he peers down at you in wait for your answer.

“What are you on about?” You veer away. You should be in a cab already. Better yet, you should have never gone out in the first place. What was your goal here anyway? To not wallow in your own worthlessness? And you really thought seeking Gojo’s seal of approval would make you feel any better about yourself? The office hottie and the century’s ultimate fuckboy?

Fuck, it’s so wrong on so many levels, you feel disgusted with yourself.

“We’re both drunk,” he states, but you don’t really want to hear it—head too filled with your own bullshit to heed any of his. You swear, if he tries any one of his sleazy pick-up lines on you, you’re gonna knee him right in the balls. It would be nice to get fired now anyway—you’d take it as a blessing.

What he says instead is unexpected—brutally and grossly honest, “You need a rebound, right? And I wanna fuck.”

Your thoughts stop shaming you as you look back at him, returning his gaze with an awaiting silence, allowing him to go on.

“So let’s use each other and blame it on the drink.”

It sounds like the lyrics of an angsty heartache song they might have played back inside the bar—the muted thuds seeping in through the walls makes it all but true. And still, there’s something oddly enticing about it, even as it makes you cringe.

“No hard feelings. No strings,” he continues, a small grin playing in the corner of his lips. “Just a good ol’ tit for tat.”

He almost sells it. But you’re just one too many bad nights too tired to buy.

“Don’t be dumb—” you dismiss and try nudging him away again—only, he doesn’t let up.

“C’mon—you’re angry, aren’t you?” he poses with a quirked brow. “What better way to stick it to him than fucking the hottest guy around?”

It stunts you. Suppose that had been exactly your objectives tonight, unknowingly and much to your shame. At least you can find some mediocre solace in your next confession, for as it turns out, “I’m not that kinda girl.”

It’s a depressing outcome. Made even shittier by how you sort of wish you were—that kind of girl. The type who doesn’t let anything get to her, who moves on and doesn’t think twice about it—who fucks the hot guy in front of her and wakes up feeling empowered the next morning. If only you weren’t such a tragic fucking loser…

“Be her for a night?” he suggests, still not having given up. He cups your chin and brushes a thumb over your lips. It’s really intimate, makes you feel pinned beneath that look in his eyes—as if the sky was coming down upon you. His words are low, brushing your face with heat as he says them, “I promise, I’ll make you feel so good you’ll forget all about him.”

Goddamn it—there it is, the fucking pick-up line. Now, it doesn’t really make your knees weak or anything, but you’re sorry to say you can’t deny it’s tempting, either.

Besides, you really didn’t want to go home and spend the night crying yourself to sleep—again, now paired with regrets about this night on top of it all.

You look at him through the thicket of your mascara, into those big blue puppy-dog eyes looking at you in something so strange such as earnest. Oh God, he really wants to do this for you, doesn’t he? He could go find himself any other girl—everyone had been eyeing him earlier—it’s not too late for him to simply go pick any one of them up.

Is this his way of being considerate—being a good colleague by offering you a fuck? Ugh… that makes you feel so fucking pathetic. But then again… why does it really matter? You couldn’t really stoop any lower at this point—might as well have some fun while at it, right?

You were out of ice cream anyway…

“C’mon,” he drawls, eyes growing heavier as he leans further in—once again, only a tiny inch separating you. So close you taste his breath and feel his voice on your lips. “Don’t make me beg.”

You don’t. No, you end up saying not another word. Too busy drowning your sorrows, getting drunk while kissing him breathless.

And oh, you and your bittersweet heartbreak taste so good on his tongue—coercing your boyfriend into dumping you was the greatest ploy for your heart he could ever do.

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

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daycourtofficial · 27 days ago

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Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one - part two

Pairing: Eris x Azriel x reader | WC: 3.5k | warnings: mentions of violence

Summary: heading back to the townhouse to wallow in self pity is thwarted when Azriel follows you. Giving a part of himself to you, can some form of amends be made?

Previous part | Next part | Masterlist

You had to leave. You couldn’t stay there and look at Azriel and Eris. You felt almost like you were on trial, as if they were sizing you up to determine if you were worth their effort.

Eris - well, he didn’t act out of character from what you had been told about him. Azriel’s silence was the worst part of it all, waiting to hear him say something about wanting you, defending you from Eris’s gaze.

Instead you could hear the pause after Eris said he could convince Azriel to reject you. The callousness with how he regarded you was something you weren’t going to forget for a long time. Your chest was in pain, your heart crying out for the mate who hurt you.

You hurried down the hall, closing your bedroom door behind you, shoving a chair in front of it so Azriel couldn’t get in.

The house was silent, a fact you had appreciated only an hour ago, but now felt consumed by it. Was this how your chest would feel when Azriel rejected the bond - silent, empty, hollow?

You ripped open drawers, pulling out a bag and stuffing it with whatever clothes you thought necessary. If Azriel can pack a bag and go to a secret cabin, surely you can pack a bag and go somewhere yourself.

You had to get out of this house, at least to think, to get it all straight in your head. Maybe you could go to the Townhouse. Hardly anyone used it - you and Azriel would stay in it when Cassian and Nesta were particularly loud and longlasting.

A sharp pain shot through you at the memory - finding Azriel at the dining room table in the dead of night at the House of Wind, his shadows swirling around his ears, deep in thought. How his arms were strong around you, flying the two of you through Velaris. How the city glowed through his wings, the membranous skin so delicate and see through. How you had lingered in your bedroom door, foolishly hoping he might just kiss you.

The memory taints itself, your mouth filling with a bad taste. He had a mate when he had done that. It meant nothing to him.

He was your mate. But you weren’t his.

Tears started clouding your vision, irritating you more than anything. You wiped angrily at your face, clearing your tears just enough to see. It was chaos - you grabbed willy nilly from your underwear drawer, pulling out random pants and tops.

It was instinctual to grab for the stuffed kitty sitting on your bed. It was a birthday gift from Azriel. He was gone on a mission, but somehow the box was on your bed with a note that sat in your drawer.

‘He’ll keep you safe when I can’t’.

Damned stupid thing - didn’t protect you from this heartache. You grabbed it anyway, certain you’d want the comfort of crying into such familiarity.

You closed your bag, grabbing the handle before hustling through the house. You made it to the balcony, winnowing your way to the edge of the townhouse’s wards.

You sprinted to get inside, not wanting anyone to see the foolishness of this night on you. You made it to one of the guest rooms, shutting the door to seal yourself in. You sank to the floor, wrapping your arms around your knees.

It was then you noticed your mistake. The undeniable scent of pine hit your nostrils, making your eyes well up immediately.

He had been here recently, three days ago at most. Three days ago you would have given anything to throw yourself into a bed that smelled like him, to bask in the tangling of your scents as you slept.

This was great.

Your thoughts were a war in your mind, uncertain which direction to take. To stay here, to have his scent cling to you while you cried over him felt both cathartic and overwhelming. You could move to another room, but you’d have to get up off the floor and pick up your bag and that seemed like more effort than you could handle.

You sat on the wooden floor, tears streaming down your face. This was wrong. This was all wrong. You had never heard of anyone having two mates - the Mother loving someone so much she allowed them some choice in the matter.

Maybe they did exist, but the untethered, the unwanted mate got left out of history books.

That would be you. Too late and untethered, lost to history as someone who ‘was there but not important’. Was that what you would become to Azriel? A story for dinner parties?

‘I once had two mates..’

The thought made your stomach churn.

You sat crumpled on the floor for ages, practically melding into the floor board with each staggering breath. The heartache felt endless, neverending emotional damage at the knowledge you obtained tonight.

My mate’s mate.

What a gut churning title you had become.

Your fate was to remain here for as long as it hurt.

Madja wouldn’t need you for a few days, your planned vacation from work a slap in the face at how it all turned out. You couldn’t explain to her why you were back early, and you weren’t certain the old healer would even allow you back. Madja constantly expressed how important it was for healers to rest and take time off.

Hopefully sleep will find you sooner rather than later.

Pools of darkness curled around you, tiny slithers of shadow dancing in the puddles of tears littering the floor. One of them slithered up the air, catching a tear as it fell, cradling it. The shadow held your tear with such tenderness it threatened to consume you whole.

The moment was broken by the harsh knock on the door, a desperate plea of your name from Azriel’s lips sending chills down your spine. His voice was both a cloak of comfort and the source of your anger.

You wanted him gone, you couldn’t look at him now. What did Eris Vanserra possess that made him better than you for Azriel? Because he got to him first?

“Did something happen to your mate and you came to find the spare?”

Azriel made his sigh audible through the door before dark tendrils crept in from the crack beneath the door.

“We have to talk.” His voice was strong and unwavering, something you had to be to get through this conversation before you could let yourself fall apart again.

“What’s there to talk about? The Mother gave me a mate who is already mated to someone who can’t stand me.”

“That’s not true.” The shadows grew, forming a pool that Azriel stepped out of, looking down at you. Your gaze lingered on his shoes, a more formal pair than his leather boots and what he wore around the house.

Gods, you were pathetic for knowing that.

“What part of that is a lie?”

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath.

“It’s technically true, but-“

“See?”

“Let me finish.” His words were resolute in the darkness, the townhouse still in the silence following his words. “It’s true. I have a mate and he is… an acquired taste. He is quick to judge and even quicker to barb with his words.”

You waited, the glutton inside of you hanging onto his every word, the anguish hungry for more fodder.

“But you… I met you and you consumed so much of my thoughts. I thought it was a crush or merely missing my mate and looking for him in others.

“But it was you. I needed to be near you. I don’t know how this works, this has never happened before. But I want to try.”

That caused you to look up, to finally see the sincerity in his eyes, to let his emotion wash over you. The bond connecting the two of you was a wave, a wall of regret and hope and sincerity so strong it threatens to blow you over.

“Azriel, I have to trust you. You are my mate, I should be able to trust you. But you kept this big secret from everyone. Why should I believe you? What would make me more than just a cover up?”

Azriel huffed, a fight occurring behind his eyes as he mulled something over. He reached a hand into one of his shadows, his arm nearly disappearing in the darkness before coming out holding a leather book with a beaten cover. He extended the book out to you, waiting until you took it from him.

The leather was cold, the spine cracked as you opened it. Every page was filled with Azriel’s near perfect penmanship. Every page dated, detailed down to what he ate in a day.

“No fae has ever seen this.” His voice was soft and unguarded before he added, “not even Eris.”

Curiosity stood at the forefront of your mind, your fingers already flicking through pages as you sat up. It didn’t surprise you that he kept such detailed depictions of his days - you would have been more surprised to know he didn’t keep detailed records. What did surprise you was him sharing this with you.

You briefly wondered if his shadows made notes for him, allowing him to transcribe the details of the day in his own thoughts and perspective. You could see him at his desk, shadows swirling and floating next to his ear, singing a song to him no one else can understand. As you flicked through it, names jumped off the page at you, every member of the Inner Circle mentioned throughout the book at some point or another.

“I have more - I have loads more. This is where it began with us - me and him. It starts somewhere in that journal - about a quarter of the way in. When you finish that one, let me know. I’ll give you the next one.”

Azriel had such a hesitant look on his face - you were certain he wanted to say more. He even stepped forward, reaching a hand out as if to speak. Instead, he merely tucked a piece of hair behind your ear before turning and walking out, shutting the door behind him.

You got the silence you wanted, but now you have a piece of Azriel laying in your hands.

You had stayed up most of the night reading Azriel’s journal, accompanied by a handful of shadows that had stayed behind after he left. At first they felt like an invasion of your privacy or a lack of trust from Azriel, but they responded to you like they always had: twirling in your hair, brushing soothing strokes up and down your arms, helping you with minor tasks.

It gave you a sense of comfort you didn’t know you needed.

You must have fallen asleep at some point, likely at the end of the first journal. You woke up in a daze, the journal moved off the bed, likely an act of protection from the shadows. Your head was throbbing, eyes so heavy from all your crying yesterday.

You laid still, trying to discern any noise throughout the townhouse, making sure no one else was here before trudging out of the room. Your rumpled clothes didn’t bother you as you made it to Azriel’s room, knocking softly, cursed with the bond to know he was there.

Azriel looked beautiful in the morning light, his hair sticking up in places, disturbed by his sleep, or lack thereof by the bags beneath his eyes.

“Here, I’m ready for the next one.” Azriel grabbed the journal from you, his fingers brushing against yours in the exchange. A shadow swirled beside him, a pit of darkness Azriel plunged the journal back into, returning with a near identical one before placing it in your hands.

“How can you tell the journals apart?”

“My hands are extra sensitive.”

You nodded, accepting his answer, no matter how confused it left you. Had it been a joke you didn’t understand? Would Eris have understood it? Blood roared in your ears at the thought.

It was difficult standing before him, knowing the intimacy between the pages of the journal you just read. How he and Eris all but killed each other in a fit of rage when the bond snapped, a fight that left the two broken and bloodied, nothing resolved before they slunk off to their respective courts.

It was a chance encounter - Azriel had been on the border between Spring and Autumn, moving in a cloud of shadow, trying to parse out any rumblings from the Vanserras when the eldest son caught him in a ball of fire. The bond had snapped into place when Azriel had begun choking on the smoke, Eris’s heart nearly giving out in shock, dropping the flames around Azriel. Azriel had immediately lunged at Eris, mated protectiveness out the window as they wrestled along the forest floor.

Pages and pages were Azriel writing through all of his emotions, deep rooted anger at the Mother’s chosen mate for him. It was months before they saw each other again, the entries between those meetings full of thoughts and new evaluations about Eris.

His diction changed somehow, as if having a mate had so fundamentally changed him it was impossible to not notice Eris’s influence, even though the pair weren’t together. He still detailed his days, but they felt more like letters at a point, or as if he were telling Eris about his day in extreme detail.

The romantic subtext left you queasy.

The second time they saw each other was near the end of the journal, an act of instinct. Azriel felt hot, searing pain, shooting himself into the sky, making it to the Autumn border before he got his wits about him. He had landed in their previous meeting spot, crouching to hide amongst the brush to wait.

It was agony, forced to hide, the closest to his mate he’d been in months.

The sun broke through the trees when Eris finally arrived, surely feeling Azriel’s proximity deep in his bones. The Vanserra had not been kind - he was all teeth, clacking insults at Azriel. The shadowsinger took it, not truly knowing how to respond. He couldn’t stop the intense feeling of relief at seeing Eris, the emotion so overwhelming he flew away after several moments of Eris’s abuse.

The last few pages of the journal were full of question marks, Eris’s name, and attempts at finding some code in the insults the redhead had hurled at him.

The new journal laid in your hands, full of a story you wanted to watch unfold.

“Thank you for sharing this with me.”

Azriel nodded, “thank you for being the first person I trusted to share this with.”

You wanted to ask, wanted to know why Eris hadn’t seen it. The two had been mated for years at least, if their domesticity was anything to go off of. Feyre and Rhys were two of the only mates you knew and you couldn’t fathom them keeping their own journals and musings from each other.

Much less share them with someone else.

Azriel looked down at you, his eyes wanting to desperately share something with you, but it was impossible to know what it was.

You bowed your head before turning on your heel, hoping to find more answers in the book you held.

It was a few days before you decided to leave the townhouse, Azriel joining you without telling him that you were returning to the House of Wind. The morning you were going to go back, he had merely been standing in the foyer waiting for you.

Nesta and Cassian would be back in a few days and you needed a change of scenery. The townhouse had began feeling too small, Azriel’s scent no longer lingering on your sheets, making your heart ache in a new way.

The flight back had been slightly awkward, the silence filled with the sounds of leather as your mind and body battled, tugging back and forth between leaning into him and pulling as far away as possible.

You hadn’t seen Azriel since the two of you landed a few hours ago, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t around somewhere. You opened the balcony doors, sitting out on the lounge chair, looking into the vast and endless sky of stars above you. You were so small beneath them, your problems somehow miniscule but all consuming.

You had finished another journal, probably journal number five at this point. Not quite ready to exchange it for the next one, fresh air beckoned to you.

The air was cold, but not harsh as it filled your lungs. It helped clear your thoughts, the frigid temperatures helping slow down your overactive mind. You now had some idea of Azriel and Eris’s beginnings - you weren’t anywhere near their acceptance of the bond, but it was clear how every slope of Azriel’s pen had been in thought of Eris. He now rushed through his days, giving as much as detail as before, but now it felt like a necessary evil to get to the subject he truly wished to discuss: Eris. The door to the balcony opened, causing you to go rigid.

“Relax.” Nesta’s hard voice surprised you, expecting it to be Azriel. You turned in your chair, delighted to see the valkyrie.

“What are you doing here?”

“In my house?” She smirked, moving to sit next to you. “We came back from Day a little early. There’s supposed to be a rain shower tomorrow and Cassian didn’t want to fly in it.”

It felt like a lifetime had passed since you saw Nesta last, a little over a week ago. She seemed brighter, a likely side effect of spending any time in Day.

“And how is your mate?”

“Miserable. He got sunburnt.” You laughed at the mental image of a red and crispy Cassian, certain he was making it as much of a problem for everyone else. “Emerie had a good laugh about it.”

It felt good to be in someone else’s presence for the first time in days. You hadn’t realized just how isolating this past week had been, your only companion the shadow that remained tucked in your hair and the journal of your mate’s past.

“How was your week with Azriel?” Nesta’s tone felt accusatory, like she was fishing for something she already knew. If she had any notions about you and Azriel, she didn’t confess them to you.

“Quite lonely, actually. I’ve hardly seen him.”

“A pity.” She leaned back in the seat next to you, stretching out her legs. “Do anything interesting?”

“I’ve mostly been reading.”

Nesta sat back up, her interest focused back on the conversation. “Anything good?”

“It’s mostly history books - I’ve read a good bit about the Autumn Court. It sounds beautiful.” It was the truth - you couldn’t bring yourself to call it a romance, certain Nesta would want to know more about it. She slumpt down once more, her interest lessened as she sat back.

“What do you think of Eris?” The question slipped out, a byproduct of having been alone all week. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

“Vanserra?”

You nodded. “Is there any truth to what they say about him?”

“I’m not sure. He’s smart and slippery. I think Rhysand is slightly afraid of him because of that, but he’d never admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That if Eris so chose, he could certainly concoct a scheme and outsmart Rhysand.” You bit your lip, certain that with their mating, Eris had outsmarted Rhysand.

“What’s he like?”

“The most difficult fae alive.” She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed. “He’s a challenge on his best days.”

“Pity the fae mated to him.” Your words come out strong for the first time in this discussion, but some deep part of you knows it’s the biggest lie of the evening. If Azriel’s journals leave you with anything, it’s that Eris Vanserra is a loyal and lethal mate, prepared to burn the world for his mate.

Her brows were merely raised in agreement, silver set on every movement you made. You felt the scrutiny of her gaze, schooling your features to give less of your heartache away.

“Are you certain you’re okay?”

You shrugged half heartedly, trying to find some reason to explain away your melancholic state.

“Endless night skies leave me restless, sometimes. So many possibilities, I’m not sure where I’d end up.”

She stood up, taking in the same view as you, but seeing something completely different.

“Not all possibilities are good ones.” She turned on her heel, heading back inside, leaving you out in the frigid cold, alone and unsure.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

A/N: ahhhh!! Part two!! I’m setting some things up so it might feel like filler but I promise the next part will be juicy 👀👀

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-angst @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl @quiet-loser @thegreyjoyed @paankhaleyaaar

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124 @slytherintaco @userxs-blog @emryb

Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124

Thank your for reading ❣️

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #eris x azriel x reader #azriel x eris x reader #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #azriel fanfic #eris fanfic

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miirohs · 3 months ago

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sugarcoated

pairing: Mob Boss!Baby Daddy!Lando Norris x Fem!Reader wc: 2.7k cw: violence (implied but not against the reader), emotional manipulation, reader is highkey tweaking, Norris is a touchy ass, slight yandere undertones, this aint healthy an: i keep forgetting my irls have my blog lowkey ive been scared of posting bc of my parents. also hey ladies whats up im back out of my flop era! miss me miss me now you gotta kiss me!

He was always lingering somewhere, no matter where you went.

It was like no matter where you ran, he would always find you. Quite frankly, you were sure that was half the appeal to him, he was a powerful man and he spared no expense in letting you know.

Sometimes, it was the little flowers he left on your doorstep in pristine condition, small notes in semi legible handwriting tied to the stems. Other times, it was the faint smell of his perfume that lingered as he’d find himself in front of your door at odd hours of night, begging you to let him in, as if he’d been dying at the steps of your door.

And like a fool, you finally cracked, you did let him in. You were charmed, though there was no doubt it made you uneasy, he’d pacified you with his dazzling promises to take care of you, so what could’ve been the harm?

You didn’t see him again after that night. In fact, you hadn’t seen him for weeks afterwards, then the games started as soon as you moved.

You’d run, he’d show up, you’d run again.

It was a cycle. There was no leaving the city anymore either, his forces scattered across every crook and nanny of the city. You’d sealed your own fate with just one hospital visit, deliverance of the exact news you’d prayed to not get as you sat with a test in your hands, two pink lines string back at you.

You had no idea how you even made it home that night.

It was in your best interest not to move anymore, but you weren’t even sure how to move forward. Your wallet wasn’t entirely drained, but you were. Any chance of moving away was immediately stomped out, leaving you with no choice but to firm up against him and his sugar coated words.

It wasn’t long before he found out, and when he did, he made sure you knew. You couldn’t tell for your life how he felt though.

At first, it was minor things, baby items you didn’t recall ordering appearing at your door. You chalked it up to clerical error, but something nagged at you as you inspected them. Then, more expensive items started to appear, everything a new mother could dream of, but it made you uneasy.

Sometimes he’d come along with one of these gifts, standing outside the door as you peered at him through the eyehole. You never answered, with the hope that he'd leave you alone, hoping to dissuade him from anything further.

Then the biggest shock came along, sitting across from you on the counter, as if it’d been there the whole time. You had no time to question, let alone think about it upon seeing the small note attached to the box.

I hope you’ll love the gift exactly how I did when I saw it, xoxo.

You knew exactly what a diamond ring implied. Yet, you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around why he would’ve sent it. The last thing he would’ve done was tie himself to you after trying so long to avoid you.

It’d been four days since the ring had appeared there, and you were simply hoping it was a fluke, no sign of him to back the ever present thought of the intrusion.

You sat at the dining table, poking around your half-assed salad as you stared at the box. You could’ve sold it off, but there was no doubt someone would’ve found out and reported it back to him, leaving you to bear the brunt of his anger at your outright refusal. He’d never hurt you, but you saw everything in his actions.

The thought was more than enough to throw you off your meal, pushing away the plate with a pained sigh. Eating wasn’t the only thing that’d become harder in recent months, as working had left you with barely any time for yourself.

You were almost ready to doze off right there and then, had it not been for the series of sharp raps on the door, earning a grumble from you as you dragged yourself to the door with a mind full of insults to hurl at the person.

It hadn’t occurred to you to check who it was as you sleepily fiddled knob, only saved by the grace of the chain lock you’d forgotten to unlock.

“Hey there.”

Your blood froze, hazel eyes staring down through the crack of the door. There he was again, the devil himself, at your doorsteps as if he’d been waiting for you for a long time.

“Lando?” it came out as more of a whisper than anything else, voice cracking from a lack of proper use.

“It’s nice to see you too sweetheart,” He laughed, tilting his head at you to meet your eyes through the wide crack.

There was a look in his eyes, although you couldn’t entirely decide if it was predatory or not as you averted your eyes, looking down at the handle of the door.

“What’s going on in there? Are you working late again? Though the doctor said it wasn’t good for you to be up this late with the baby on the way.”

You didn’t respond, trying to shut the door as subtly as you good, hitting something between the doorframe. Jitters ran down your spine when the door wouldn’t move further, looking down to see what it was.

He’d wedged his shoe in between, the bastard. You looked back up, swallowing as he narrowed his eyes, the smile slipping off his face for moments to reveal thinly masked displeasure before disappearing entirely.

He knew what you were trying to do. You didn’t know if the guilt building up in your chest, or the possibility of what he could’ve done, scared you more. He’d never explicitly laid a hand on you, but the amount of torture was already enough as he lingered in your space.

“Someone has to keep the lights on,” You muttered, letting him nudge the door open. You were already fighting a losing battle, there was no way to keep him away but to hold him at an arm's length. That was how he’d gotten in the first time. He couldn’t fool you twice though.

“That’s why I've been sending you stuff, have you not gotten it?” He frowned. For a moment, it almost felt as if he were trying to be genuinely involved. You knew better.

You hesitated, looking back and forth between the chain lock and his face, though not much contemplating would be able to change the choice that’d already been made for you.

“No. I… donated it to some of the others at work. Needed it more than I did.”

There it was again, the indignancy in his eyes.

“I got it for you though, was it not to your liking then?” His voice was eerily calm, but you knew exactly what it meant. Your hand instantly went up to the chain, almost as if it was moving on its own. Fear gripped at you. You had no idea what he was going to do next.

“So, you’re determined to be a single mother then? Do you know the kind of trouble it would get you and the baby into…” He raised his voice, pausing to see if you’d reconsidered.

Clearly a slight tremble in your hand was enough to convince him you’d finally stood down, a smirk gracing his already vicious face as you opened the door. You had no plan to, but it was hopeless to try and stand up without attracting attention, the last thing you wanted was for everyone to know what a shameless bastard he was.

“Just come inside please. Don’t let anyone see you any more.” You whispered, letting him through the threshold before you shut the door behind you.

“You’ve been busy, haven’t you? Just look at the state of your... apartment.” He shook his head, pushing at stray articles laying all over the floor with his foot, as if they were positively filthy. There were still boxes from your last move sitting around the living room, the only real piece of furniture unpacked being your bed and the table you were sitting at.

You couldn’t help but be a little embarrassed as you walked into the kitchen, you’d never been this untidy before. It wasn’t any easier as Lando tailed you, only pausing outside the door frame, as if something stopped him from coming through.

“You should move from here. I don’t like this apartment, it’s in a sketchy part of town.”

“Well, I don't recall asking for your opinion, did i?”

You didn’t pay any mind to his poking, filling a random mug up as you stood at the sink before you shot back, standing in the dark of the kitchen as he walked away, presumably to shuffle through your personals again. You were thankful for a moment of silence though, head pounding from all that had happened today.

You stood there lost in thought, and he’d returned sooner rather than later, tone disapproving as he spoke to you once again.

“I wonder how on earth I'm supposed to convince you if this can’t stop you from trying to make it on your own.”

Only, he wasn’t at the doorway anymore, standing a little further back, waving a stack of letters to your face. The color of the envelopes, you immediately knew what the contents were.

Heat seemed to bloom across your face, rushing over to grab the letters from him. It was of no use, he could easily keep them out of your reach, but it didn’t stop you.

“Sweetheart, what happened to you? Looks like you’ve managed to stir up more trouble than you can handle, am i right?” You could hear the mock empathy in his voice, distorted by the rush of blood to your ears.

“You. You happened to me.” You hissed back at him, finally grabbing the papers and slinking backwards. There wasn’t any time to leaf through them, but the big bright red stamps were more than enough to drive you to tears when you saw them. But you couldn’t cry here. Not in front of him.

He didn’t respond to your remark, simply giving you a look of pity, watching with careful eyes as you tossed the pages back onto the table, taking your seat back. The tension was getting higher, only breaking when you finally looked at him, opening your mouth.

“You can’t just come in here, into my life,” you managed, voice quivering despite the resolution you’d come to, “And act like you own the place. You have no idea what I’m dealing with.”

“Don’t I?” Lando pushed himself off the opposing wall, getting closer. “I’m the one who’s been watching you struggle, I'm the one who’s trying to help you love.”

“And is this what help is then?” The thought tasted bitter. “Sending gifts isn’t helping, it’s… wrong.”

Then adding in a whisper, “You know i can’t afford this.”

He paused, the righteous look he had faltering for a second. “You’re reading it all wrong. I’m just trying to provide for you and the baby, but you want to be stubborn. You won’t take my help, nor will you take my money.”

“I don’t want your money, please.” You begged mercifully, looking at him eye to eye since the first time he’d stepped through the door.

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smile that sent chills through you. “You should be thanking me. Not many get the same kind of priority you’re getting right now. I’m only trying to make it easier.”

“I would never do it with your filthy money, how many have you run over just to make a paycheck?” You murmured, pausing at the look on his face.

“At least I can provide for myself. I won’t ever have to scrap the bottom of a tip jar only to fail to make rent.” He replied smoothly, eyes narrowing at your attempt to rebuke him.

The implication hung heavy in the air, and you clenched your fists, nails digging into your palm. “I… can’t.”

The silence seemed to stretch thinner, and you could feel the burn in your eyes as you looked down at your clasped hands. You couldn’t even really tell when the first tear slipped. It kept coming, and you couldn’t stop it. You knew he was right.

“Hey, hey, none of that.” He said slowly, getting down on one knee to meet your eyes, taking your hand in his. “I was out of line for that, wasn’t i?”

You shook your head, covering your mouth to stop the sobs from escaping. He seemed remorseful, running a thumb over your knuckles as he looked at you with a mix of pity and something foreign. “I know I upset you, but I'm still offering you a chance here. I wanna set it right between us.”

You didn’t argue through the tears, and he seized the moment. “You can struggle all you want but I can provide everything you need. I can make the baby my heir, I can give you the life you deserve... all you have to do is say yes.”

“Say yes to what? Marrying you?” The words seem to slip out of your mouth mid sob, and a look of amusement crossed his face as you slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Exactly,” he replied, trademark grin spreading across his face. “Imagine it. A beautiful ceremony, a life together. You’d have someone by your side who can ensure nothing threatens you. You’d be safe and sound. The baby would be my successor, guaranteed.”

“I barely even know you. You don’t know me.” You whimpered as he played with your hand, too loving, too suffocating.

He moved closer to your lap this time, bringing his hand up to wipe the tears, soft and tender than you’d known him to be. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, and I know it feels like you don’t know me at all. This is a big decision.”

“It’s not just a decision, Lando. It’s my life.” You hiccuped, despairing clawing at your insides. “How do I know you won’t just leave when you’re bored of me?”

“Didn’t I promise to take care of you and the baby?” He gently cupped your face, tilting it up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. “Look at me. You’re not alone in this. I’m here now, and I want to help.”

There was a flicker of recognition at his words at the back of your brain, raising voices of caution as you looked at him through glassy eyes. “And what if I can’t love you back like you want me to?”

Lando’s eyes darkened slightly, and he took your hands, pulling you closer. “You don’t have to love me right now. Just trust me.” His grip tightened, slightly painful as he held onto you. “Just let me show you what it means to be cherished.”

He leaned in, his lips almost brushing your ear, the movement making your breath hitch. “Let me in, stop thinking so hard.”

You could’ve stopped breathing, time slowing as he pushed the ring box into your lap.

He was never going to give you a choice, but what he said was ultimately true.

“Just think,” Lando urged as you squeezed your eyes shut, allowing him to play with your ring finger. “Think about what you could have.”

You’d never really realized how much his scent stuck till you until now, wrapping around you and lingering softly. A part of you was tempted to lean into him, to let him guide you into this new reality.

Even if you hadn’t made up your mind, he likely already had.

“Fine.”

Wordlessly, the cold metal slipped on the finger he’d been tracing moments before, bringing up your hand to kiss it.

“See? You’re already one step closer.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You could only look at him, dried tear tracks sticky against the sudden cold draft of the air.

“It’s a promise,” he said, his thumb brushing over the ring as if it had already tied you together. “I won’t let you go just like that.”

You shuddered.

There was no escaping him now. You were tied to him.

A sugar coated nightmare, it seemed.

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nakoyaps · 13 days ago

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unattractive

kenma kozume x fem! reader

kenma definitely isn’t the type of guy to take you out to big restaurats for dates— not that you’re asking him to; if anything you’re both happier spending one on one time at home.

though, to the conventional people in relationships this is a total no-no.

“seriously, y/n? he’s like a millionaire and he can’t spare a few hundred to go out on a date every once and a while? talk about stingy..” your friend, aiya nagged.

she’s always been materialistic if you’re being honest, you don’t even know why you still keep up with her. three whole years of friendship and you swear all you remember is “oh my god, i heard he’s rich!” “ugh, i dumped him— can you believe that he’s only an office worker?”

money is important, yes. you definitely agree on that. but, no one’s worth is solely based on how much they make or how much they spend.

“can you not talk about kenma like that? he’s just not the type that likes to go out.. and to be honest, neither am i.” you murmur, avoiding eye contact with her.

aiya raises a brow, an idea entering her pea brained mind “you seriously think a man with that much money ‘doesn’t like to go out’?”

“he’s so obviously an introvert, aiya.”

“he’s probably just hiding you away from the public cause he’s embarrassed. no offense..” aiya spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, an mildly exceptionally sickening smirk on her pretty pink lips.

“embarrassed— of what?”

“isn’t it obvious?” she asked, motioning to your physique.

“what the fuck, aiya? that’s my boyfriend we’re talking about.” you started to get agitated, raising your voice.

“well geez, no need to get all mad..” she chuckles, “he just doesn’t look like the type to be loyal, that’s all. plus, he’d look better with someone that’s more.. good looking? i’m not calling you ugly or anything, just.. you’re unconventionally beautiful.”

𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆

“fake ass bitch..” you grumble, slamming the door behind you as you flopped on your couch.

kenma appeared from around the corner, looking concerned. “you okay?”

his eyes softened seeing your sour expression, sitting down beside you.

“aiya keeps saying shit about you..”

“so what? people talk shit all the time.”

you roll your eyes, “she keeps saying you’re not good for me, you’d be better off with someone ‘conventionally attractive’ or whatever she’s talking about.”

“that’s not true” he strokes your hair.

“am i not good enough?”

“you are.”

you frown. this was a common reoccurrence and you know you’d get another scolding if you said what you were about to, but.. you only live once, right?

“why’d you choose me anyways? i’m sure lots of your gamer friends are pretty girls too..”

he raised a brow, shutting her eyes with his hands “if you can’t see how pretty you are, don’t even try looking at anything else.”

“i’m serious, kenma!”

“none of them are you. i didn’t just fall in love with your looks— sure they played a big part, but your personality really sealed the deal.”

“that’s what people say when they think their partner’s ugly.”

“you’re not gonna believe me anyways, so..” kenma chuckles, “but seriously, you’re gorgeous. you don’t have to listen to whatever she says just ‘cuz she’s your friend. plus, i keep telling you to stop hanging out with her anyways..”

“i don’t have any other friends—“

“yeah, well she’s a bad influence on you.”

you frowned, sitting upright. face to face with kenma, you felt butterflies in your stomach.

“i still feel like i’m crushing on you sometimes. like i forget that you’re my girlfriend just cause you’re so pretty.”

“fuck off, kenma..” a faint blush dusting your cheeks.

as your eyes met, you felt yourself reaching for his lips—

sorry if kenma felt ooc!! i was listening to music and i think it took control of my writing lol. the writing was all spontaneous cuz i suddenly felt like getting back into publishing fics :p

#kenma x reader #kozume kenma #haikyuu x reader #fanfic #hq #hq x reader

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the-flaneur · 4 months ago

Text

couples quiz gq (lh44)

pairing: husband!lewis hamilton x wife sports reporter!reader

summary: it’s the gq couples quiz time with your boo 💋

warnings: mentions some suggestive content

wc: 2165

[masterlist] [requests]

y/n: lew stop pushing my chair away, im moving out of the frame

(whispering)

the director’s going to be mad at me now

lewis: you want me to pull you back in?

y/n: le-lewis! im going to fall if you pull the chair in that fas-

y/n yelps loudly and looks like she’s going to fall but the clip is cut short by the editors

*cut*

y/n: hi everyone, i’m y/n m/n l/n-hamilton!

waves to the camera

lewis: and i’m lewis carl davidson hamilton

y/n turns towards lewis, with a mischievous look on her face, and in a matter of fact tone…

y/n: can’t forget the sir, lew

lewis: sorry darling

lewis rolls his eyes affectionately, before waving at the camera as well

hi, im sir lewis carl davidson hamilton.

both: and today we’ll being doing gq’s couple quiz!

y/n: we had a competition last night to see who was going to start, and of course i wo-

lewis: you only won because you bribed roscoe into giving you the toy. we said we were going to play fai-

y/n: you also tried to bribe him, i just bribed him better. don’t try to fool everyone honey

y/n smirks, before pulling out her cue cards

so lew, where and how did we first meet?

lewis: well we first met back in 2015, at silverstone…it was actually a little bit silly how we met. i hadn’t realised that ted [kravitz] wasn’t going to be at the pitlane broadcast because he was sick. so when this absolutely gorgeous woman rocks up with a sky sports microphone and lanyard, i was so confused…

lewis trails off sheepishly while y/n laughs, reminiscing over the memory of their first encounter

and then of course i was blown away by her gorgeous presenting skills, even if she did really emphasise the pit crew’s interesting tactics during the race.

y/n: i was just doing my job…

y/n pouts sarcastically before lewis gently pats her arm

lewis: yes yes, i know darling. so after channelling seb’s now somewhat questionable flirting skills, i convinced her to go on a date with britain’s best tour guide.

y/n: sometimes i don’t know what my younger self was thinking, considering you almost insulted me during that date

lewis: it was just my unbelievable charm and wit - you cant resist the hamilton sex appeal

lewis mimes a hair flip, whilst y/n gags behind her hands, before shrugging

y/n: and i guess the rest is history.

*cut*

y/n: lew, what do you think is the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for me?

lewis: well i mean apart from my show stopping proposal last year, which i think undeniably will never be topped by anyone else in the history of proposals, if i do say so myself-

y/n: but no one else will know about all the details…

lewis: of course darling, my lips are sealed.

lewis mimes zipping his lips and tossing away the key

apart from the proposal, i would probably have to say our first anniversary in 2018. of course, we had met back in 2015, but didn’t officially get together until late 2017. and of course being out first anniversary, i had to pull out all the stops.

y/n: to be fair, it had been a complete surprise considering it was our first anniversary together

y/n grins at lewis, grasping his hand in hers

lewis: i prepared an entire day of activities, like we went to the beach at sunrise and had a picnic, and then we went surfing for a bit…then we did a city wide scavenger hunt, going to all our favourite locations and reshooting pictures we originally had taken there, and then we went and had dinner with all our families, and then i proposed to her a darry promise ring…

y/n: ladies and gentlemen, if they wanted to, they would

y/n swoons and winks before frisbee-ing the cue card off screen

*cut*

y/n: what has been my favourite couple’s outfit we’ve done together?

lewis: well apart from when you’re wearing my clothes…

y/n rolls her eyes as lewis cheekily smiles at her

it would probably have to be this year’s met gala look. i honestly think all round, a significantly meaningful outfit which meant a lot to both of us. we both looked absolutely amazing, especially you darling.

y/n: correct!

y/n showers the camera with jazz hands

wearing a replica of junon was honestly the highest fashion honour i could’ve ever wished for. even if it was just a replica, i felt absolutely ethereal wearing it, and the craftsmanship was just as exquisite. the beading and layers of the dress are cut so beautifully…

and of course, seeing the real junon in person was even more spectacular. but your outfit was just as elegant and more impactful, lew.

lewis: of course i had the amazing privilege of being able to honour the work, life and story of john ystumllyn, who was one of britain’s first black gardeners. the emboridered flowers on the outside reflects the language of flowers, something which is also something so meaningful between my wife and i…

y/n and lewis look gently at each other for a minute, the camera capturing their serene and gentle smiles

*cut*

y/n: another one, lew. what is your favourite thing about our two kids?

lewis: well of course, i love them both so much, since they’re half you and half me… hey don’t laugh at me baby

y/n laughs as lewis points at the camera

hey guys, your mum’s being mean to me now - but i love you guys so much, ok. dad loves you lots, more than your mum

y/n puts a sarcastic hand over her heart as if she’s been wounded by lewis’ words

y/n: babe lets be for real. i carried both our babies the entire pregnancy, i’ve practically become one with them. i love them the most

lewis: no matter which one of us loves them more, we’ll always play second fiddle to roscoe, babes. he’s like the babies’ number one protector, he’ll even sometimes stop y/n or i from cuddling them

y/n: yeah like father, like son

lewis: hey! what’s that supposed to mea-

*cut*

y/n: what is my favourite meal that you cook for me? this one is a bit difficult, considering you haven’t cooked for me since our last anniversary…

y/n pouts before lewis sighs again

lewis: i try my best…

lewis now addresses the camera

but this little lady likes to complain that vegan food sometimes only tastes like grass, so she always gets take out from the restaurants.

but apart from that… i would think my dad’s oil down, taken straight from his mum’s recipe, is definitely a family favourite. the kids love when i take the time to make it, and it always makes the house smell great. y/n: definitely, the coconut and spices are always a fantastic combination in food we enjoy, like other cuisines like thai food - always amazing!

*cut*

y/n: final question from my side lew - if you had to describe our relationship in five words, what would they be?

lewis puts on a contemplative look, he’s really trying his hardest here

lewis: hmmmm, it’s a bit hard there’s just so many wonderful words to use

y/n: yes baby?

lewis: like judgemental, interesting, dramatic, inventive… there’s just so many wonderful words

y/n bursts into laughter at lewis’ deadpan stare into the camera

no but honestly…

lewis thinks thoughtfully, before holding onto his wife’s hands

the love i have for y/n and our family cannot be just described in five words. i love her more than i love anything else in this world, and i would give up anything to be with her forever…

y/n looks teary-eyed at lewis’ confession

y/n: lewis… i love you baby

lewis: i love you too darling

*cut*

y/n: now i guess it’s your turn lew, lets go

y/n mimes finger guns at her husband, before leaning back to lounge in her chair

lewis: what’s been your most recent favourite memory of ours?

y/n cups her hands around her mouth before discreetly whispering something to lewis, who giggles at her words before miming a not-so-subtle kiss

y/n: not that recent, but i think your silverstone victory. it was so emotional for everyone, especially having the kids there. they probably didn’t remember your last victory before then. of course i was so proud of you and the team, i couldn’t stop crying the entire time

lewis: the afterparty was extra special too; we had dinner with my whole family at our home in central london, although my dad complained we should’ve gone to stevenage and stayed at home longer

y/n: anthony just loves seeing his little boy at home, and his grandkids

y/n leans over a tugs on lewis’ cheek affectionately

*cut*

lewis: y/n, with your extensive motorsports knowledge, what does drs stand for?

y/n: daniel ricciardo supremacy of course - danny’s one of my favourites, especially when he drove for red bull. sorry seb

[subtitle: this was filmed before it was publicly known that daniel would NOT be driving for VCARB for the remainder of the season]

*cut*

lewis: who is or was your favourite driver to interview?

y/n: well, i mean apart from you - cause you’re just that willing to give me all the nice PR suited yet sometimes edgy commentary, i would probably have to say….

kimi

i mean he made my job both really easy and really hard, but he was always super nice to talk to off camera, so technically i got to interview him, just off camera, where he could talk a bit more freely

sorry kimi for outing your secret extrovert-ness

y/n sticks her tongue out, knowing kimi is very unlikely to see this video

*cut*

lewis: if we didn’t need to compromise on baby names, what would you have named our children?

y/n: do you want my really wacky answer, or the half truth answer?

lewis: hmmm… lets go with both.

y/n: well my real options would’ve been lewis jr and c/n, but i already call your di-

lewis, knowing where y/n was going with this quickly cups her mouth with his hand, before anything else comes out

lewis: are you sure that was the real answer?

y/n giggles from behind his hand, before moving it back down

y/n: well my wacky answers would’ve been nico and fernando so…. take your pick babes

*cut*

lewis: what’s my favourite tradition that we have?

y/n: our 2-2-2 date plan. i saw it on tiktok that one time, and sent it to lewis, who became obsessed with it. but in all honesty it works really well with our busy lifestyles, especially when i stay home with the kids.

lewis: to be fair, the timing is not actually weeks, months and years since we work pretty often together, it’s more like days, weeks and months…

y/n: especially during the summer and winter breaks, cause their grandparents love looking after them then

lewis: roscoe too, he’s always with them, so he’s actually the person they see the most in their life sometimes y/n: but yeah, the date plan just gives us a way to properly structure time for us together, which can get so hectic during race weekends

*cut*

lewis: ok now the final question of the couples quiz - when is my birthda-... just kidding!

lewis chuckles whilst y/n bats the cards out of his hands in mock anger

just kidding darling… what do i love most about you?

y/n: my ass?

*cut*

lewis: well now i suppose it’s time to reveal the winner, which will obviously be me

y/n: no it’s obviously me, you barely remembered my five favourite drinks

lewis: i haven’t had alcohol in like forever, you can’t blame me for that. besides you almost forgot our anniversary date

lewis pouts, turning away from y/n

y/n: ughhhh, you’re gonna hold this over me forever, i already know it. i only had a slight lapse in memory because it’s so close to c/n’s birthday

director: regardless the final tally is…

[y/n and lewis both look up at the ceiling above them, where the numbers are displayed in the video. lewis’ shows a 14, whilst y/n’s shows a 20]

y/n: AHA! clearly the superior side of this couple now!

y/n cheers, throwing her hands up in the air

but i guess it was a shared victory. afterall, whenever i win, you win too babes

lewis: sure do, cause we’re one team and we rise together.

[gq closing screen plays]

permanent f1 taglist (comment or msg me to join)

@charlesgirl16

#⭑ : my work.��#the-flaneur #fluff #x reader #f1 #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fluff #f1 smau #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you

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verdenz · 4 months ago

Text

BLIND, DEAF, MUTE

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒⠀→⠀You're McLaren's reserve driver, and the social media team forced you, Lando and Oscar to do a challenge.

𝐀/𝐍⠀→⠀I'm a little surprised that I liked the result of this oneshot, since I'm not very good with very long content (this one isn't that big bUT STILL—)

“You should introduce yourselves, shouldn’t you?” was the first sentence spoken in the recording, coming from one of the team members.

You and Oscar just looked at each other before turning back to face Norris, who was on the other side of the counter, already wearing headphones and dancing quietly.

“Lando should be the mute one.” Oscar said, cutting a piece of tape that was handed to him and sticking it over his mouth.

“Agree.” you replied, trying to find the best way to tie the blindfold. “It saves the effort of those who will have to censor his jokes.”

“You can start.” they said, and as expected, Lando had to be pulled by Piastri to fit into the camera frame, as he didn’t hear what was said.

The confusion began when you, unable to see, started feeling around, knocking over a wooden spoon in the process. “Why are you all silent? I have no idea what’s going on!”

Oscar just made a muffled sound, forgetting for a second about the tape that prevented him from speaking. Realizing it had already started, Lando "gently" pushed you both aside, standing in the center and starting to show the ingredients.

“We’re going to make cookies because they don’t believe we can make something more complex!” he shouted, making you flinch at the sound, while your teammate just shook his head in denial.

Norris picked up a sealed package, reading aloud. “Do we start with this?” Lando asked. He saw Oscar raise a finger and try to reach for the bag of flour, but he smiled and threw it into your hands, resulting in part of the floor and your clothes turning white. “She has to do something too.”

Oscar took the package from your hands and placed it on the counter. He tried to explain with his hands that he wanted to see the recipe, but you couldn’t see, and Lando couldn’t understand what his teammate wanted. “Paper?”

He shook his head. “Stir the mixture?”

“What mixture, Lando? We haven’t even started yet,” you complained, as if he could hear you. “We should look at the recipe and start.” Then, you heard a sound of approval from Piastri.

After brief instructions from the team, you felt around the counter and picked up a package of sugar, believing you had the right ingredient, and started pouring a large amount into the bowl. Piastri, who couldn’t speak but could definitely see the disaster unfolding, gestured frantically, pointing to the bowl and trying to stop you.

Lando, who was closest to you, took the ingredient from your hands. “This is sugar!” he yelled in your ear, making you try to grab his hair to playfully pull but hitting his nose instead. He laughed and stepped back. “We need to melt the butter.” Norris said, this time in a normal tone but too close for your liking.

“I can hear you without you breathing in my ear.” you complained, trying to find the next ingredients. Oscar held your hand and handed you the pot with the melted butter, since while you and Norris were bickering, he was following the recipe.

“You need to add an egg.” You looked at Lando again.

“Whole?” He blinked, trying to understand what you were saying.

“One egg,” he repeated.

“Whole?!” You nodded, as confused as he was, and gestured with your hands.

“Yes, it’s one.” Oscar’s laughter was muffled by the tape again. He picked up the egg, showing it to Norris. “Break it and put it in the bowl.”

“Whole or not?! Oscar!” You waved your hands, trying to find him to help you, not knowing he was already doing so. He tried to speak.

The team gestured for you to stop, as for the next part of the recipe, they preferred you to switch positions. Piastri was the first to remove the tape and breathe a sigh of relief.

Finally, you took off the blindfold to see how well you were doing up to that point. When you opened your eyes, the scene you found was utter chaos: Lando laughing, Oscar with his arms crossed, and a counter with more flour and sugar than what was inside the container you were supposed to be using.

“Can we take a break?” you asked, already grabbing the headphones for yourself. “Who chose this playlist? Damn.”

The team signaled the start again, and before you could even take a deep breath, Lando was already messing with everything he saw in front of him. Unable to speak, he pointed frantically to different jars and ingredients, trying to guide you.

“This? This here?” you asked, randomly lifting a package of flour. Lando shook his head desperately, making exaggerated hand gestures to indicate what he meant.

Oscar, now blind, had no idea what he was supposed to do. “Shouldn’t we mix the dough?”

“You need to knead the cookies and put them on the tray.” you said, lightly pulling up the sleeves of your sweatshirt that threatened to cover your forearm again. Terrible choice of clothing for that type of activity.

Lando tried to speak, getting agitated once more. You looked at him, he pointed to the bag of chocolate chips, and you nodded, grabbing the package and pouring it into the dough.

Oscar put his hand on your wrist. “Wait, I think it should be less. Right? I can hear you pouring the whole package. We should use a measuring cup—”

“What is he saying?” you asked Norris, who only shrugged.

After a few more minutes and a bit more mess, you managed to get the cookies into the oven, and it was finally time to be free.

“You know, each of you has to be blind, deaf, and mute at least once during the challenge." a team member joked, and the three of you immediately showed your discontent.

As soon as the cookies were ready, you placed them on a nice plate to show to the camera.

“Who will be the first to try?” Piastri asked, running his hand through his hair.

“We count to three, and each of us takes a bite.” And so you did, but only Lando managed to break the cookie. “Why is it so...”

Oscar stared at his, while you stretched out your arm and hit the table with yours, which only crumbled a bit.

“My expectations were low, and I’m still disappointed.” you murmured.

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #lando norris x you #oscar piastri x reader #mclaren

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 3 months ago

Text

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 2

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1

There’s a note in Eddie’s locker. It flutters down to the dirty linoleum when he opens it to try and find his missing Biology textbook. He stares down at it, perplexed, until Jeff bends down to pick it up.

“Hey!” Eddie cries, snatching it out of his hand. “That’s mine!”

“Whatever, dude,” Jeff replies, leaning back into the closed locker beside Eddie’s and crossing his arms.

Eddie pays him no mind, too busy unfolding the note and bending over it to read.

He reads it again. And again. And again, each pass over the sign-off making his cheeks feel hotter.

It’s not like Eddie’s a stranger to getting notes in his locker, but they’re usually death threats. Or requests for drugs. Not…not this.

“What’s it say?” Jeff asks, breaking him from his shocked reverie.

“Nothing!” Eddie shrieks loudly enough that multiple heads turn to scowl at them. Eddie hastily stuffs the note into his pocket, and smiles at Jeff. “Let’s go get lunch, huh?”

Jeff squints at him suspiciously.

Eddie, in a desperate bid to distract him, starts rambling about this week’s campaign. It seems to work. By the time they’re settled in with matching shitty lunches, Jeff’s wheedling him for information on the next big bad instead of the note burning a hole in Eddie’s pocket.

It’s probably a joke, definitely a joke.

He finds himself combing the packed lunch tables anyway, looking for anything out of the ordinary, anyone paying more attention to him than usual. There’s nothing. Harrington’s letterman on a different girl, a few band geeks sitting closer together than usual, nothing else.

No one looks at him at all.

He gives it up as a bad job and forgets the note entirely until he finds a wet, pulpy mess in his pocket on his next laundry day.

A little part of Eddie mourns the only love note he’s likely ever to get, cruel prank or not.

But there’s another one there the following week. There’s an envelope this time–it’s light purple, his name written in a dark, careful black atop it.

He’s alone at his locker, no nosy friends to wheedle it out of him, but the hallway is full of other students rushing to make it to their next class, so he presses it carefully into his monster manual and bides his time.

He wants to wait until he’s in the privacy of his own home to open it. Eddie barely makes it to his van after school before he’s collapsing into the relative privacy of the windowless back and tearing through his backpack like a rabid dog.

He tries to be more careful with the envelope. But it’s sealed, and his prodding fingers tear it open in jagged lines.

That same light blue paper is nestled inside. He slips it out and unfolds it to read in the dank recesses of his parked van.

Eddie –

You always look so happy when you’re with your friends. I like the way your dimples always seem to peek out no matter how small your smile is. The big ones are my favorite, when you’re jumping up on the cafeteria table with all your teeth showing.

You didn’t jump up on any tables last week. Was that because of me?

You seemed upset after I gave you my letter. Do you even want me to write these? I don’t want to be a bother. If you do, maybe you could write back? Leave your reply in the back of the WXYZ encyclopedia, no one ever uses that one.

If you don’t reply, then I won’t bother you anymore, okay?

Yours, always,

Your Secret Admirer

It could still be a joke. Eddie wouldn’t put it past some of the jocks in the school to put their girlfriends up to a long-con. Still, his heart’s fluttering like there’s a bird stuffed in there trying to get out.

It could be a joke. But Eddie’s already mentally picking out stationary and pondering word choices. There will be a letter tucked into the designated encyclopedia come tomorrow morning.

Eddie’s got a maiden to woo.

***

“What if he doesn’t respond?” Steve hisses in Chrissy’s ear.

She bats him away, which doesn’t seem like very good girlfriend behavior to Steve, but what does he know? He’s had exactly one real girlfriend, and she’d ditched him for another guy within the year.

“He’ll respond,” Chrissy whispers back, soothing his anxiety with a gentle pat to his shoulders.

The library’s not as empty as it was the last few times. Steve feels his heartbeat kick up every time someone looks up from their coursework and glances their way. At this rate, all his hair’s going to turn gray, ruining his best feature well before there’s even a flicker of a chance to kiss Eddie Munson on the lips.

“Why did we pick the library?” Steve asks.

Chrissy pauses in front of the bookcase holding the damning shelf of encyclopedias. She raises her eyebrow at him and asks, “what, you’d prefer the boy’s bathroom?” drolly.

“I remember when I thought you were nice,” Steve mutters quietly enough that he hopes she can’t hear him. By the way she rolls her eyes, he has no such luck.

Then, without further prompting, she bends down and pulls the WXYZ encyclopedia off the shelf. Steve’s heartbeat ratchets up as he peers over her crouched head and watches her dainty hand flip the cover open. There, tucked between the front board and the cover page, is a crisply folded piece of paper clearly ripped carelessly out of someone’s notebook.

Steve doesn’t care; he’d still open it if it was written on a used piece of toilet paper.

He reaches down past where Chrissy is still crouched to retrieve the note, but just like before, she slaps his hand back.

“Chrissy!”

She doesn’t respond, just plucks the note and slides the encyclopedia back into its place. Once standing, she links her arm with his, running soothing fingers up and down his forearm even as she pulls him along toward the back of the library.

She pushes him down into a vacant chair with deceptively strong arms; he always forgets how difficult cheerleading must be. Once he’s slumped into his own chair, she pulls the one across the table to his side and seats herself primly on it, legs crossed at her thighs.

Only then does she unfold the note and lay it gently on the table in front of him.

Secret Admirer,

I don’t know if this is a prank or if you genuinely like me, so I’m not really sure what to say. No one’s ever had a crush on me before, at least that I know of.

I didn’t know my hair was nice. My uncle keeps trying to get me to cut it. One time I brushed it and it was so poofy I wore a bandanna until I washed it again. But you probably didn’t need to know that. I’m glad you like it though.

The paper you picked is really pretty, and I can smell the perfume you sprayed on the envelope. Fresh flowers in the spring, or a sunny day.

–Eddie

P.S. You can keep writing. Your notes have been the best part of my days, and I hope mine will be for you, too.

Steve reads it over and over again. Eddie’s handwriting is spiky, but carefully rendered to be readable. The post script takes a little more squinting at the page, letters and words crowding over one another like he’d added it at the last minute.

From the few classes they’ve shared, a small part of Steve was worried he wouldn’t be able to read it at all. But, no, Eddie’d taken the time to smooth out each letter, even while half convinced this was a prank. And the bit about his Uncle and his poofy hair? Adorable.

Steve brushes his fingers reverently over the words, half afraid they’ll smudge beneath his fingers. His face aches from the force of his smile.

“What should I say back?” Steve asks, looking up at Chrissy, feeling manic, hopeful, brave. Only then does he notice her carefully averted gaze, the way her body is turned just slightly away. He pushes the page toward her. “Come on, Chris, read it.”

She leans back toward him, smiling as she readjusts her body in a better position to read. “I didn’t want to presume.”

“Aren’t couples supposed to share?” Steve asks, because even when he’s happy enough to beam light straight out of his pores, he’s fundamentally a bitch.

Chrissy doesn’t respond, already too absorbed in Eddie’s words to pay him any attention, not that he can blame her. Steve waits, bursting with stupid, tender feelings until she’s read the thing through and put the page back on the table, placed perfectly between them.

“So, what should I say?” Steve asks.

Chrissy, never one to make things easy on him, starts the way she’s started every other letter-writing session so far: “What do you want to say?”

***

The letter her and Steve had written together is in her bag, Steve understandably too fearful to carry it himself. She’d taken it home, used her nicer stationery and a decorative envelope because, as Steve had pointed out repeatedly, Eddie’d seemed to appreciate how pretty the last letter was.

He’d sounded almost wretched when he said it, like proof that Eddie liked the pretty embellishments she’d put on his words was all he’d needed to know that his feelings would never be reciprocated.

She hadn’t known what to say.

So, she’d taken it home, gussied it up, and brought it back to the school, waiting for an opportune moment to push it through the slats of Eddie’s locker.

Steve’s been walking her to class and to lunch, playing the dutiful boyfriend up. She likes it, all this time with him.

He’s the best boyfriend she’s ever had.

Jason, his only competition for the title, has looked more and more pinch-faced every time they’ve crossed paths. She wishes, almost, that he’d yell at her, hit her, do something. It feels like waiting for a bomb to blow.

It’s not a surprise when the explosion finally hits.

“Are you serious, Chrissy?” Jason asks, and she spins, heartbeat rabbiting in her chest to find him storming toward her. And there’s a look on his face that she’s never seen before–not even when they’d broken up that first time.

His eyes are hard, mouth open like he’s one second away from shouting, and as he speaks, both his fists clench as he steps toward her. She can’t help the way she stumbles back into Steve, feeling comforted as his arm comes out to steady her.

“You replaced me with him?” and he sneers that last word, like Steve’s gum he’s scraping off his shoe.

Jason used to go on and on about Steve back in their Freshman year, before whatever the hell that had happened with Nancy Wheeler had mellowed him out. Before that, he’d been the unmitigated king. King of the keg stand, sure, but king of the court, king of the cafeteria, king of them all, and Jason had deferred to him.

But after, as Steve closed in on himself–Carol and Tommy still distant placeholders at his sides– Jason hadn’t talked about him anymore. Like he was infected now, and whatever he had might be spreading.

Chrissy'd only liked Steve more.

So, she shores herself up with the pressure of Steve’s arm on her back and points a shaking finger directly into Jason’s enraged face. “We broke up, Jason Carver,” she says, surprised when her voice doesn’t even crack. “It’s none of your business who I see.”

Jason’s mouth hangs open, clearly shocked, and a small part of Chrissy aches for how it was before. She always thought they’d be those high school sweethearts who got married right out of college. They’d just fit, or she thought they had.

He used to be nicer, sweet almost, in the way he’d talk to her.

It’d been a long time since Chrissy would classify any of the words coming out of his mouth as sweet.

Jason’s looking between them, eyes wide, something hurt leeching in past all that anger as he says, “you’ll come back,” in such quiet assurance that it makes her gut twist.

Chrissy watches him turn and walk away, stuck in the moment, until Steve squeezes her waist and asks, “are you alright, babe?”

It’s only with the word “babe” falling out of Steve’s lips that she realizes they’ve attracted an audience. So, she smiles like she’s leading a cheer for all to see, looks up into Steve’s eyes and replies, “never better.”

They continue on their way into lunch.

Once there, she eats as Steve watches Eddie’s latest table-top rant with hearts in his eyes big enough to see from the moon. Like he hadn’t given an almost identical one the week before. Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He’s transfixed, like Eddie’s a succubus and Steve’s stuck in his thrall. Until she elbows him in the side and he goes back to his lunch after shooting her a wounded look.

Boys in love are stupid creatures, and she’s willing to do whatever it takes to protect this one, even if it’s just from himself.

PART 3

#koko's steddie secret admirer au #steddie #my fic

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jinjeriffic · 1 year ago

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DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 2

Part 1

Damian glared at the envelope. He and Father were in the process of analysing the letter for any signs of toxins, explosives or other traps. Obviously he wasn’t fool enough to open a missive from a questionable source without taking precautions. So far, all their scans had come up empty. Literally. The letter was defying all their attempts at chemical or spectroscopic testing, x-ray and magnetic resonance scans were inconclusive, it defied all properties of ordinary matter. It was frustrating. It was vexing. He was blaming magic.

For all intents and purposes, the letter looked like ordinary paper, with an ordinary wax seal, bearing the initials CW. The looping handwriting addressing it to Damian was precise and neat. Swiping the surface of the letter for chemical traces yielded no results. When Damian had tried to cut off a corner of the paper for analysis it had resisted all attempts, including a laser and a diamond headed cutting tool. Damian’s only satisfaction was that when Father had grunted and taken over the task from Damian, he had no more success than his son. As if Damian didn’t know how to perform the standard array of tests!

It certainly didn’t help that his siblings wouldn’t stop their incessant chattering!

“I’m just saying, ghosts wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve encountered, Red. I’m not sure it would even make my personal Top 5.”

It seemed gossip among heroes travelled faster than the speed of light.

“Really, Nightwing? Ghosts? It’s far more likely to be a meta with something to hide. Or a few screws loose.” Damian could practically hear the eyeroll in Drake’s voice “And since when do ghosts act as glorified mailmen?”

“I don’t know Red, since when do aliens pretend to be Kansas farmboys? C’mon, we deal with magic users all the time!”

“And lets not forget people coming back from the dead” Red Hood interjected over the open comm line.

“Magic is just science we don’t understand yet. Any sufficiently analysed magic becomes indistinguishable from science!”

“B, a little help here?”

“Hn” Father straightened up from his position at the lab table “Oracle, any progress on clearing up the footage from Robin’s mask?”

Grayson threw up his hands with a frustrated huff while Drake smirked.

“The program is almost finished rendering. Whatever scrambler they used did a real number on the video quality. I’m surprised the audio is as clear as it is.” Oracle replied.

“Hn. And the isotope tracer on the money?”

“Sorry B, no hits on the local sensors. Wherever the guy went it’s either outside Gotham or shielded somehow.” she said, mildly frustrated.

“Maybe it’s ghost magiiiiic” Drake sing-songed. Grayson lightly cuffed the back of his head, to which the former Robin responded with a firm shove. Their interaction quickly devolved into a childish tussle.

Damian gave an annoyed huff. “Don’t you two imbeciles have anything better to do?”

“Aww, we’re just here to look out for our baby brother!” Nightwing teased.

“Yeah, we gotta make sure your ghost encounter didn’t leave any lasting psychological damage!” Red Robin added.

Before Damian could retaliate for their needling, Oracle chimed in. “Uh, guys? You’re going to want to see this. Most of the footage was corrupted beyond repair, but I was able to pull some partial stills and, well…” she threw a handful of pictures up on the screen. There was artifacting marring them, but parts of the stranger were visible in each of them. Oracle magnified one that had a pretty good view of his face.

“Holy shit” Drake whispered.

Damian frowned. “What?”

“Dami, he looks like you. Just… older.” Grayson said softly.

“What are you talking about?” Damian snapped.

“Disregard the pale colouring for a second. The nose, the chin… he looks like you if you had a growth spurt,” Drake wrinkled his nose “and went through puberty.”

The commlines erupted into chaos.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Spoiler exclaimed “are you telling me there’s an older version of Robin running around Gotham?!”

“Copy?” Batgirl inquired.

“Don’t tell me Talia cooked up Demon Brat 2.0!”

“Given that he looks older it’s more likely version 0.1 if anything,” Drake snarked, “though there’s the possibility of artificially accelerated growth rates…”

Damian had had enough. “Tt. You are ignoring the obvious - if this is some kind of supernatural entity it likely copied aspects of my appearance in an attempt to engender feelings of familiarity.” he said haughtily, pushing down the uncomfortable churning in his stomach. There was no way Mother would replace him with a cheap copy. She couldn’t! “Besides, the creature has obvious powers and neither of my bloodlines has any trace of the meta gene.”

“That’s ignoring the ghostly elephant in the room.” Grayson chimed in, “Maybe it’s a dead ancestor?”

Drake gave their older brother an annoyed look “Even a time travelling descendant from the future is more likely than that. And delivering a ‘prophecy’ to boot?”

Oracle pulled up an aged up picture of Damian next to the stranger’s, highlighting several reference points. “On closer inspection, there’s a couple of discrepancies. The cheekbones for one - Robin definitely takes after his mother, while our mystery meta looks more like… well… Robin’s grandmother on the paternal side.” she finished hesitantly. “B?”

They turned to look at Batman, who had remained silent during the whole exchange. If they hadn’t known him so well they would have thought him unaffected, but the tightening around his mouth betrayed his agitation.

“There’s no use in pointless speculation until we have more data to work from,” he growled, “Oracle, look for any reports of a meta matching the target. Since our regular methods have failed to yield results, I will contact the JLD about running tests on the letter.” He turned to Drake, “Red Robin, see what you can find on recent League activities. If this is another scheme by Ra’s or Talia we need to know about it.”

“The last thing we need is more demon spawn running around!” Red Hood groaned over the comms.

Damian was furious. This was absurd! To even indulge the possibility that that creature was in any way related to him was making him feel like he had swallowed battery acid. He was the Demon’s Heir! He was not replaceable! There was only one thing to do.

“Robin? Stop!”

He ignored his Father’s shout. He stomped over to the lab table, snatched up the envelope and broke the seal.

Nothing happened.

He unfolded the paper and saw the same handwriting that had been on the outside.

Brother of blood, brother of soul

Never buried but already mourned

In lightning and ice the scorned child returned

To strike down the Demon’s Head

With all that Death earned

Damian’s hand shook. He reread the lines over and over again, refusing to comprehend. He could feel his Father standing behind him, scrutinising the letter as well.

“Son…”

Suddenly, the paper burst into green flames, going up into smoke that dissipated unnaturally quickly.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Then…

“Well that was needlessly melodramatic” Nightwing remarked.

Part 3

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #dc domics #batfamily #no beta we die like danny phantom #prophecy universe #the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right)#fanfic #congrats bruce it's a boy #clockwork loves melodrama

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toovaeloe · 6 months ago

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awkward | “I don’t want to forget.”

mdni

satoru gojo x genderneutral reader

in which you accidentally fucked your friend and now he doesn’t want to go back to being just friends.

☁️🎀☁️

Yeah…

So that definitely was not supposed to happen.

Satoru couldn’t say when it happened, how it happened, or what exactly happened….

…

Except he could.

He remembered everything, in extremely vivid detail for that matter.

Every word you said over drinks at that bar counter. Drinks that neither of you even finished. Every casual touch that seemed to linger longer than the last. Every laugh and snort and wheeze you shared stumbling out of the place. Not as much of an effect of the alcohol as it was the two of you shooting brazen, flirtatious retorts back and forth, one after another. Practically hanging off of each other, hunched over in your loopy hysterics. Cackling as you fumbled to his car like newborn giraffes.

He recounted the way you slouched sideways over the center console on the drive to your home. The way you traced distracting patterns against his clothes. The curve of your cheeky smile at the way it made his muscles tense that he could see out of the corner of his eye.

And then he was at your door; making sure you got in safe. That should’ve been the end of that night.

But it wasn’t.

Nor did it end when your lips met his in your doorway, or when he reciprocated just as eagerly— if not more. Waltzing past the door’s threshold, his large palms caressing up and down your sides; smoothly gliding down your lower back and squeezing handfuls of your ass.

He really should’ve pulled away right there; said something, anything besides the filthy confessions he had been whispering against your neck. Ones that turned to promises when he sealed them against your skin in a trail of hot, wanton open mouthed kisses.

Fuck, he remembered everything.

The softness of your skin as he kneaded every squishy, sensitive part of your body he could get his hands on. The way a shiver ran through you every time his fingers angled just so his nails barely grazed you. Every gasp and moan and plead of his name was permanently burned into his memory.

One thing he couldn’t recall was the hazy, love-struck look in your lidded eyes that night; and he swears no one’s ever looked at him like that before. He couldn’t, because you technically can’t really think back on what you don’t stop thinking about.

And he hadn’t stopped thinking about it— not since he saw it, and not even as he got up and left before morning. He didn’t even say “bye”.

That was an asshole move. He knew it was an immature, asshole move. He just couldn’t stop himself from spiraling; worrying about what he would do or say when you awoke; how this would affect your friendship…were you even still friends after this?

It didn’t feel like it. Time was passing; a few days, and everything was strained. An odd barrier of discomfort and dry texts between the two of you that wasn’t there before.

He felt crushed, guilty, angry at himself; the kind of frustration that had him flopping onto his bed everyday after work and screaming into his pillow.

So imagine the hopefulness he felt when you messaged him; suggesting him to meet at your place to talk.

“Just forget it happened.”

“…What??”

But now he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I think we should just…y’know,” You struggled to articulate; lip catching between your teeth and hands nervously twisting and fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Sweet Jesus, this was such a painful conversation. “try and not think about it.”

He was sitting on the sofa across from your armchair in your living room, gawking at you for a long moment that felt frozen in time.

You were sitting there, asking him to forget. everything that had happened?? He understood why; you wanted to salvage the platonic relationship between the two of you. Still, he couldn’t comprehend such an impossible demand. Even though he knew it was partly his own fault for abandoning you wordlessly in the night, it still made his heart twist uncomfortably in his chest. He couldn’t. He wouldn't.

Satoru was finally able to pick his jaw up off the floor during the long silence that had stretched between the two of you. Thick with awkward tension. And then his body was moving before he could think; pushing himself off the couch and crossing towards you with purposeful steps.

“I can’t,”

He practically forced out, the vulnerability feeling so foreign that he had to swallow the lump in his throat that seemed to be plugging up his words. His hands landed on the armrest on either side of you, caging you in against the upholstery. At this proximity, you could clearly see the way his frosty brows creased together through his bangs, the way his pink lips pressed together an uneven line.

“I don’t want to forget.”

a/n: more drabble bc im still trying to get more comfortable with posting my writing on tumblr😚

l 🤍 u MWAHMWAH

allusion to “awkward” by sza

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redfoxwritesstuff · 3 months ago

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Not Afraid Of A Little Blood (Human Alastor x Reader)

CW: Public sex, period sex, vaginal fingering, licking fingers clean Rating: Adult Summary: Out at Mimzy's Speakeasy for a night on the town, Alastor finds himself feeling rather amorous and isn't swayed by your monthly condition or the public nature of the location. You find your will crumbles as he shows he's simply not a man who's afraid of a little blood.

You loved the nights when Alastor spirited you away from your family home in the late evenings, when you should already be asleep. Your family did not approve of the older man, regulating your relationship to one that existed largely in secret.

There was no place you wanted to be but in Alastor’s arms. It felt like home. As he flung you around the dance floor, lively jazz running through your blood like electricity, the dull ache of your cramps was easy enough to ignore.

Alastor’s hands wrapped around your waist, holding you to him as you laughed together, though you didn’t remember the joke. With him, you could forget everything. That was the magic of Alastor. He chased away every worry and demon.

You hadn’t realized that he was chasing you or that you were fleeing from him until your back hit the wooden wall at the back of the speakeasy. Light struggled to reach the back of the room, but the music had no issue at all. Deep shadows swallowed Alastor as he leaned down, lips sealing over yours in a hungry kiss.

He tasted you eagerly, pushing into you as he trapped you into the shadows. The scent of tobacco smoke and the earthy scent of the bayou clung to him. Strong hands gripped your hips, clinging to you, greedily running over curves. The ghost of his thumb on the underside of your breast made you gasp.

He took that chance to slip his tongue between your lips, deepening the kiss. The taste of whiskey coated your tongue, filling your senses as you clung to him. Roaming hands ran down your sides, seeking and seeking until he hooked your leg just above the knee. He pulled it up, resting your thigh against his hip.

Greedy touches took into the feeling of your skin under his hands, roaming and exploring. Your hands slip under his jacket. Strong, lean muscles flex and bunch under your touch as you try to map the landscape that lay hidden under the cotton shirt.

Fingers went higher and higher, chasing the soft feeling of you. Your back arched, lost in the feeling of being touched by him.

“Alastor,” you moaned his name, clinging to him as if he would somehow keep you from drowning in the sensation of him,.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered as his fingers caressed closer and closer to your core.

“Wait-” The suddenness of your word, clear of the passion and lust froze his hand in place.

“What is it?” Alastor asked. “No one can see us, I promise.”

“It’s- It’s not that,” you whispered. “I’m… I’m on my…”

“Oh,” Alastor said, fingers flexing into the fat of your thigh. “I don’t mind.”

“What do you…?!” you gasp as his fingers caress higher and higher along your inner thigh, fingers finding the place where the pad was held against your body. “Alastor!”

“I’m not afraid of a little blood,” Alastor’s voice was a warm purr as he ran his fingertip along the side of your folds. “Did you know it can make a lady’s monthly pains ease, if she’s had pleasure?”

“What?” your voice wavered, coming weak as he reached pushed the pad to the side, making use of what little slack the belt that held it in place allowed. It was a thinner pad, being early in your cycle yet, and it easily folded in on itself as he forced it to the side.

“Let me ensure you’ve got no reason to be feeling any pains?” Alastor asked, though the question sounded far from a request.

It sounded like he knew you’d agree. In truth, you struggled to deny Alastor anything at all. He owned your heart and soul. What harm was there in giving him your body, too?

“We can’t,” you whispered even as you ran your leg higher up his hip, opening yourself up to his hand just a little more.

“We can,” he whispered in your ear, tongue sliding out from between his lips and running along the shell of your ear. “Do you trust me?”

Lips worked their way down your neck, leaving a trail of stinging nips soothed by soft kisses. “I do,” you said, struggling to breathe.

Alastor wasted no time letting his fingers slip between your folds. You gasped as his fingers ran along your slit, circling over your clit. He repeated the motion again and again as your back arched, pushing your breasts into him. The dampness left from your cycle’s bleeding was quickly replaced with the slippery slick that spoke clearly of your arousal.

“You’re so responsive,” Alastor groaned in your ear as his finger worked into your tight hole.

The moan that fell from your lips was rich but unfortunately loud, leaving Alastor the choice to either withdraw his finger from you or silence you somehow. Without any hesitation, Alastor kissed you deeply as he pushed a second finger into you, swallowing the hot sound of your desire.

Again and again he stroked you from the inside, drawing pleasure you hardly could understand from you. The flat of his palm worked over your clit with each thrust of his hand, sparking more sensations.

“Alastor,” you whimpered as he took control of your body.

“You sound so pretty,” he groaned as his hips flexed, pushing his hand harder into you. “I need you, cher.”

Fingers left your core, leaving you feeling empty. It was a challenge to think too deeply about that with the way his lips moved over your skin. Soon, that feeling was gone too, leaving you no choice but to blink your eyes open.

Alastor’s hand lingered in front of your face, fingers shiny with the slick he had worked up from within your body. Unlike all the other times he had helped himself to the warmth of your core, you could see the dark smears and streaks, thicker in some places than others, that told you your blood coated his fingers.

“I am so sor—” your eyes went wide as Alastor brought his fingers to his lips.

The sight of his shiny tongue slipping from between his lips stopped the flow of your words. Greedily, he ran his tongue over each digit. Each pass of his tongue was a curling caress you couldn’t look away from.

Shamelessly, he licked his fingers clean. He seemed not bothered in the slightest by the bloody tinge to the slick. Surely he could taste it, couldn’t he?

“You taste as good as ever,” Alastor mumbled as he pulled his fingers from his lips,

It was only then that you realized he wasn’t touching you in that moment. Just as you realized that, he was touching you again in a whole new way.

The velvety soft skin of his cock ran up and down your slit, pushed out through the fly of his pants. You hadn’t noticed the sound of him undoing his pants, let alone the shifting he would have had to have done to free himself, too entrapped by the sight of him licking his fingers free of your bloody slick.

The music changed as the band ended one song and picked up another, reminding you that you were very much in public.

“Alastor, put that away,” you hissed. “Someone will see.”

“They’ll think we’re young lovers necking in the back,” he insisted, voice thick with desire. “I need to be inside of you.”

“I’m on my cycle,”

He cut you off. “I don’t care. I need you, need to be inside you so bad.”

“We’re in public.” The head of his cock nudged your sensitive clit, pulling a needy whine from your throat. Alluring kisses peppered your jaw, working along your neck as he teased you.

The touches of his cock against your folds were just light enough that he could say they were innocent, that he wasn’t trying to wear your resolve down. He just hadn’t gotten around to tucking himself away and as a result, as he kissed you, he slipped between your slick folds. Each innocent nudge and caress of his cock coated him in more bloody slick.

You moaned into his neck as he pushed forward, the shaft of his cock running through your slick folds. Fingers dug into your thigh as he hiked your thigh up again, using you as a shield against prying eyes.

“Alastor.” This time, his name left your lips not in protest but in a wanton moan that brought a smile to the lips that kissed your neck.

“You want me?” he whispered, lips kissing the collum of your neck as he spoke.

“I do,” you whined as his large hand slid forward, cupping your breasts through your beaded dress. “Fuck, Alastor. We’re going to get in so much trouble.”

“We won’t get caught,” Alastor reached between your bodies, grabbing his shaft with one hand and lifting your hips with the other, pulling you slightly off your freet.

The tip of his cock ran along your folds as you wrapped your leg around his, ankle resting on his calf. The delicious stretch of his cock pushing into you was all-encompassing. It was a battle to hold your head up, a battle you lost.

Alastor’s wet tongue ran up your exposed neck, tracing the line of muscles as he inched deeper and deeper inside you. The vibration of your soft moan was the greatest treat, felt but unheard as he slowly bottomed out.

“Hold on to me,” Alastor directed, hand digging into your thigh as he wrapped his other arm around the small of your back.

You did as he said, running fingers through the fluffy brown hair that was oh so close to curly that topped his head. He changed the angle of your hips, letting you sink deeper down his cock before he pulled out. Your weight was nothing to him as he held you in place.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Alastor said thickly, looking down at his cock, a bridge between your body and his in the dim room. Light reflected off of his slick covered shaft, ribbons of red covering him. “So beautiful painting me red,” Alastor said, sinking slowly into you again.

The pace was slow, more of a rocking of his hips as he stirred your insides with his cock. Deep gasping huffs of air passed between you as flushed face met flushed face. You could drown in the deep wells of love and affection you saw reflected within Alastor’s eyes.

The feeling of his cock in you was addicting. Nothing ever made you feel as full as he did. His large hands kept you grounded as he slowly worked his length out of you only to slide right back home in one easy thrust.

Alastor had to swallow, working to keep his throat open and wheezing breath from becoming a rich moan. Your eyes watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. It was daring you to lean forward and put your lips against it. Who were you to back down from a dare?

The salty taste of his skin coated your tongue as you placed open-mouthed kisses along the soft skin. The ghost of stubble scraped at your lips as you worked up his jaw, muffling your moans as he slowly thrust into you again and again.

“Cher,” he groaned as you nipped at his neck, just under his jaw. “So warm.”

“So big,” you whispered back, tongue tasting the sweat that formed on his skin. “You’re so big.”

His thrusts picked up pace, no longer the subtle rocking of hips as he worked in and out of you. The sound of the music covered the soft tump of your lower back hitting the wall he held you against. Breaths turned to airy moans as he fucked into you harder, faster. Each thrust bullied through your walls, the head of his cock reaching every part of you.

“Feel so good,” Alastor whispered in your ear, resting his head against the wall behind you. “You’re made for me.”

“Please, Al- I’m so close.” You buried your head in the crook of his neck, clinging to him. Nails dug into the muscles of his back, feeling each flex of his shoulders as he fucked into you faster and faster.

“Can you-” he gasped as your walls fluttered and clenched around his cock. “Can you be quiet for me?”

“Please, Alastor,” you whined, so close. The coil in your core wound tight and threatening to snap. “Please.”

“You have to mind your voice,” he groaned as your walls fluttered, so close to your peak and threatening to pull him along with you. “If you want to finish, I need you to be quiet.”

“I’ll try,” you whispered, making a promise both you and Alastor knew was a lost cause.

It was too late for him to stop, anyway. Each thrust had you clenching and fluttering, walls pulling at him lightly as he worked his way in and out. He was chasing his own release now, pushing you closer and closer to yours. He watched as your body went ridged, only movement being the gasping breaths in your chest and your walls clamping down on him.

Leaning forward, he sealed his mouth over yours as your body twitched and convulse. The coil within you had snapped, taking your control and resolve with it. Deep moans and high-pitched whines bubbled up from your chest as he fucked you through your orgasm, his own hot in its heels.

Alastor swallowed every sound as his tongue worked into your mouth, caressing and exploring everything he could reach as his thrusts turned sloppy. It was his turn to moan deeply, letting you swallow the sound as he swelled and twitched. Hot white ropes of his seed shot into you, splashing your cervix and painting your walls as he rutted into you.

His body stilled as his cock twitched against your sensitive walls. Neither of you were sure where one began and the other ended as you clung to eachother. Even as deep breaths mingled, he continued to kiss you deeply for a few moments longer before pulling away.

“I love you,” he whispered his secret confession as his cock slipped from your hole.

“I love you, too,” you answered, numb legs finding the ground as he let you down. You watched as he tucked himself back into his pants, zipping his fly. That did nothing to hide the smears of slick on the front of his pants.

“You should go clean up,” Alastor said, leaning forward to straighten the skirt of your dress as he placed a soft kiss on your lips.

You nodded, walking on trembling legs. Over your shoulder, you watched Alastor pull his shirt from his pants, letting the fabric fall over his hips. Such a thing would look sloppy, something that would drive your lover mad, but it was better than wearing the mark of your bloody slick.

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shanastoryteller · 1 month ago

Text

The boy with the demon blood is always watching him.

His gaze had been alternatingly reverent and despondent before Lucifer’s rise. After, it’s cold, appraising, and only when Dean isn’t looking. It reminds Castiel of the few times that Michael has set his eyes on him and it makes the place on the back of his back itch where his wings would be. Lucifer’s vessel should not remind him of Michael. It’s not right.

They’re sitting in a diner, a cup of coffee in front of him that he has no intention of drinking, Dean is in the bathroom, and Sam is staring at him again, lip pulled back just enough that Castiel can’t tell if it’s a grimace or a snarl. He is not well versed in humanity, but he wishes for this to stop. It’s distracting. “What is your problem?”

“You,” Sam says bluntly, which Castiel had not expected. “I don’t trust you.”

“Because your judgement in this area is without reproach,” he says, surprising himself. It’s just that Dean is predictable. Understandable. Sam is not. It’s frustrating.

That look on his face is almost a smile. “Exactly. I trusted you in the beginning. You’re an angel, a being of good, who brought my brother back to life. Why wouldn’t I?” He shakes his head, a faint look of disgust on his face that Castiel is used to seeing there.

He thought Sam’s self recrimination was wholly centered on his role in releasing Lucifer. He does not know what to do with the realization that some of it is directed towards him. “I am still all those things.”

“No,” Sam says. “You’re the good soldier who left my brother to rot. I tried to save him and couldn’t. I nearly destroyed myself doing it. You could have saved him and didn’t. You could have prevented all of this if you’d pulled him out before he broke the first seal. But you didn’t, and then you left him there for another ten years, letting Alistair sink his claws into him.” He leans forward. “My brother was only useful to you broken. I’m not going to forget that again.”

Anger rushes through him. Dean is often frustrating. Sam is infuriating. “I was following orders.”

He realizes too late that he’s only confirming Sam’s assertions. To his credit, he doesn’t appear at all satisfied with the admission. “That’s why you and Dean get along, you know. Two good little soldiers in a pod that rebelled too late and are suffering the consequences.”

Sam has not spoken of Dean like this, has not been anything but accommodating and sorrowful to his elder brother since killing Lilith. His description of their actions sounds too much like Lucifer for Castiel’s comfort. They’re nothing like him. It is Sam who is the devil’s foil. “What are you, then?”

“An idiot,” he says. “You and Ruby are the same, manipulating us both to start this stupid apocalypse. I know you let me out of the panic room, Castiel.”

He goes very still. There are several defenses available to him, but all only confirm Sam’s assertion that he’s a good little soldier that rebelled too late, that he was as Ruby. Perhaps this is where so much of Dean’s frustrations around his brother come from. He is not right, but it is difficult to find the words to prove him wrong.

“If you were going to try and deny it, that would have been the time to do it,” he says dryly. “If you hadn’t, the apocalypse would have been averted. I can’t kill Lilith if I’m dead and even if one of you had done it, it still wouldn’t matter. Lucifer can’t puppet a corpse. Over before it begins.”

Castiel means to choose his next words carefully. Instead, he says, “You have not told Dean.”

Sam shrugs, looking at the window, his eyes tightening in pain. “He needs something – someone – to hold onto right now. It can’t be me, so it’s you. But I’m watching you, Cas. Manipulate my brother again, and I’m not going to care how useful you are in averting the apocalypse or what it’ll do to Dean to lose faith again.”

“Why can it not be you?”

He looks over at him, startled. It’s nice to be able to be the one to put him off balance for once. “What?”

“Why can Dean not hold on to you?” he repeats. Despite every attempt from heaven and hell to prevent just that, it seems to him that Dean is holding onto his brother more tightly than ever.

Sam’s expression shuts down, but not before Castiel sees the tidal wave of grief there. “You didn’t know him before hell. You don’t know what you took from him by leaving him there.”

He’s back on uncertain territory. It’s the only kind he ever seems to be in with Sam. “Is he very different?”

Dean does not appear overly different from an outside perspective. His personality and priorities seem roughly the same as they were reported to be before hell. Traumatized, perhaps, but it’s not as if Dean is any stranger to that.

Sam laughs and Castiel flinches before he can think not to. “Our father’s words haunted him, you know. That he had to either save me or kill me. In some ways, selling his soul for me was a relief. Not only was it a complete rejection of that order, but it meant that if I did have to be killed one day, he wouldn’t be the one to do it. Not that he ever would, because people have tried to manipulate him into it before. Me included. So I guess you can take some sort of pride in it, being the one who succeeded.”

Castiel regrets starting this conversation. He thinks that Dean cannot possibly still be in the bathroom and wishes he would return. “You are not dead.”

“If you’d left me in the panic room,” Sam says. “I would be.”

That is likely true.

“It was perfect,” Sam says bitterly. “Me, strung out on withdrawal, alone and isolated and hallucinating and dying. Dean with all of his worst nightmares confirmed. Except he’s faced that before and it still didn’t end with me dead. He needed a push. He needed a way to save me or kill me that wouldn’t be his fault, his hands, that he could drink and hide from. And leaving me to detox alone in that room did that, gave him an out that he told himself he could live with.” He tilts his head, mocking and sharp, and Castiel would very much like to stop seeing Michael in Sam Winchester’s face. “But you never wanted me to actually detox. Not with Lilith still alive when I’d need years of training to be strong enough to kill her without it. You didn’t want me clean. You wanted me twisted so far around that I’d be easy to control.”

Zachariah had wanted that. Castiel hadn’t known. He was just following orders.

Dean might accept that explanation. Sam never will. He believes blindly following orders to be a weakness. It’s difficult to argue against it when he’s right. If Castiel had not followed orders he did not understand, they would not be here. But following orders is all he’s ever done.

“I should have known better,” Sam says. “That’s on me. Dean played his part too, but he’s got enough to deal with right now.”

“You intend to let him continue blaming you,” Castiel says. Dean’s mistrust and anger hurts him. It’s easy to see. Here he has the information to rid himself of it, at least partly, but he’s keeping it to himself.

His mouth twitches into something that’s almost a smile. “It’s me or him. He went to hell for forty years for me. I can spare him this.”

Castiel tries to imagine Dean’s reaction if he uncovers how close he came to Sam’s permanent death, how it was something he chose and could have prevented and did not because of actions and assurances that Castiel gave him.

Sam is an abomination. He is, also, human, and no amount of demon blood down his throat is going to change that.

“Before hell, Dean might have forced me to detox, but not alone,” Sam says softly. “He never would have left me to die alone.”

He searches for something safe to say, something to extricate himself from this conversation. What he settles on is, “You and Dean’s relationship confuses me.”

Sam laughs again. Castiel doesn’t flinch this time. “He pushes me to leave and then blames me when I do,” he says, exhaustion leaking into his words. Sam often looks tired. Castiel has never wasted time wondering precisely why. Perhaps he should have. “It never occurs to him that if he just stopped pushing, I’d stop leaving.”

A self fulfilling prophecy. The apocalypse was supposed to be like that, except that in the end heaven and hell had needed quite a lot of work to get it started. Destiny isn’t as easy as Castiel had been told it would be. “Why are you telling me this?”

It’s that cold, assessing glance again. Comparatively, it’s almost comforting now. It’s better than the grief. It must be exhausting, mourning a man who’s right in front of him. “So you know to watch yourself, Cas. I’m looking properly now. And I see you for exactly who you are.”

It’s not an idle threat, not from Lucifer’s vessel, not from the man who killed Lilith, but there’s a shiver down his spine that’s not quite fear. He’s a low ranking angel, all things considered. Like a god on earth, but celestially insignificant. He is to take orders, to follow his father’s will and his brothers’ guidance and never stray from this well trodden path.

No one has ever seen him before.

#supernatural #everyone blame nightalp for this #you know in hindsight it's no wonder i never find any sastiel fics i like #this is the beginning of an EPIC ROMANCE #to me #and probably no one else #everyone blaming sam for something that was so clearly a group effort and sam just taking it no question was so weirdly ooc #it makes s5 almost unwatchable #remember when anna was supposed to stick around and parallel ruby #just to make sam and dean being equally played by heaven and hell really really obvious #and instead they gave her storyline to cas and did not do that for some reason #yeah #bad move

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amongemeraldclouds · 8 months ago

Text

consequences

No plot, just smut. You’re welcome.

Lorenzo Berkshire x f!Reader x Theodore Nott

Warning: threesome, piv, unprotected sex, oral (m!receiving and f!receiving), v!fingering, praise kink, one use of y/n. Characters are aged up.

Author’s note: I consider this the prequel to all night where it’s briefly mentioned you had a threesome with Enzo and Theo the week before. Both don’t have a plot though so you can read it as a standalone.

✿ Masterlist | 2.4k words

You savored the delicious friction building inside you as you rode Enzo’s cock. His hands gripped your waist, guiding you as you repeatedly took him deep inside you. The room was filled with grunts, heavy breathing, and the constant slap of skin on skin. You could already picture his fingers leaving bruises on your hips to remind you who you belong to.

Enzo felt your walls squeeze him, signaling your near release so he moved you faster against him. The sudden increase in speed and intensity sent you over the edge, squirming and writhing against him, euphoria washing over you in waves. “That’s a good girl,” Enzo cooed as he guided you through your orgasm.

“I’m so close, love,” he said in between labored breaths.

“I need to taste you,” you replied and he nodded. You rose up and moved lower, settling in between his legs. You took his hard length in your hands, stroking him before wrapping your lips around him, tasting both Enzo and your own liquid heat. He looked at you admiringly and scooped up your hair in his hand, moving it away from your face.

You bobbed your head up and down, enjoying the familiar way his cock filled your mouth, taking him deeper down to your throat. Mouth stuffed, you licked the base of his cock, exactly the way he liked it. You were rewarded with a sharp intake of his breath as he gripped your hair tighter, his other hand grasping the sheets.

“So good, love,” he praised as you continued at a steady pace. With your free hand, you played with his balls, making him moan loudly as pleasure coursed through his veins, spurting white hot liquid into your mouth. You swallowed his load and enjoyed the way he tasted.

You licked the rest of his spilled seed until he was clean. “Such a good girl,” Enzo said and you grinned at him, moving closer to cuddle with him. He wrapped his arm around you, drawing lazy circles along your back. “Are you ready for Theo to join us?” He asked.

You hid your face in the crook of his neck, nervous at the thought of being taken by two guys at the same time. Yet you couldn’t help the liquid heat pooling between your legs, which is exactly how you agreed Enzo could share you if he lost a silly bet he was playing with his friends, which he inevitably did. It was now time for consequences and you just knew it was going to be good. After all, their reputation precedes them.

Enzo stroked your hair patiently, waiting for you to answer. “It’s okay if not, we can always reschedule,” he said. He was so gentle with you that you didn’t see any reason to feel unsafe. Steeling yourself, you replied, “no, it’s okay. I want to.” You looked up at him and found him smiling at you.

“Good, because he’s already on his way here. Just don’t forget who you you belong to,” he said, a low warning registered in his voice.

“Only you, Enzo,” you said, sealing your words with a kiss to his lips. He ran his hand through your hair as he kissed you back so tenderly, soothing over the ache and soreness you felt from your pregame sex.

“Am I late to the party?” Theo asked, closing the door behind him. He took in the view before him, paying careful attention to your naked figure as lust burned in his eyes and his trousers got uncomfortably tight with his growing bulge.

“You’re right on time,” Enzo assured him, “just needed to remind y/n who she belongs to.”

“As if I could forget,” you gave Enzo another quick kiss before turning your attention to Theo. His intense gaze focused on you was enough to quicken your heartbeat, anticipation building in the base of your stomach. You only ever knew him as your potions partner and Enzo’s good friend. With his subtle smirk and messy hair, it was easy to see him in a new light. No wonder so many other girls wanted him to do unspeakable things to them. You nearly tipped over at the thought that he would soon be doing those to you.

“Hi,” you managed to speak with a low breathless voice.

Theo’s smirk grew to a full grin as he approached the bed. He could see the effect he had on you and it just fed his already gigantic ego. “Hi y/n, ready to have fun tonight?”

You nodded, sneaking a nervous glance at Enzo who nodded encouragingly as he shifted in bed to make space for Theo. When Theo sat on the bed across you, you caught a whiff of cigarettes and expensive cologne. He held his hand out to touch the side of your face, it was so tender, filled with unspoken promises he would take care of you and make you feel good. “Do you trust me?” He asked softly.

“No,” you said honestly. Even though you worked well together at class, you could always sense something dangerous hidden beneath his quiet confidence. Something calculated that could sneak up on you when you least expected it. Yet somehow, it made everything even more exciting.

“That’s probably wise,” he chuckled, agreeing with you. “But if Enzo says it’s okay?”

“I’ll be a good girl, you can have me,” you declared. Only because you trust Enzo. Not that he was any better than his friends, but he was the mess you wanted to get tangled up in. He’s the heaven and hell you chose for yourself and you were going to make the most of it.

With a devilish grin, Theo closed the distanced between you, taking your lips in his. You reminded yourself to breathe as you kissed him back. Small jolts of electricity pulsed through you, sweet desire rousing your body as Theo continued holding your face with one hand, the other moving around your waist. His fingers snaked past the marks Enzo’s fingers left just minutes before and you were already hungry for more.

“Good girl,” Enzo praised as he moved behind you, his hands wrapping around you to play with your breasts—teasing and pulling at your nipples, making you moan against Theo’s mouth. He took the opportunity as your lips parted to let his tongue explore your mouth.

“Take his clothes off, love,” Enzo commanded as he started trailing kisses down your neck. It was almost too much, being kissed at the same time, you had to remind yourself to calm down. Things were just getting started. Without leaving his lips, your fingers undid the buttons on Theo’s shirt. As soon as his shirt was free, he slid it off his shoulders and you traced his toned figure, feeling his muscles flex beneath your touch.

“You’re not yet done,” Theo whispered in your ear, breaking the kiss as he guided your hands to his trousers where you started undoing his belt. You felt him twitch against you as you moved his zipper down, which encouraged you to stroke him through his clothes. He grew even bigger beneath your touch and you whimpered at the thought of taking it all in soon.

Theo kissed the opposite side of your neck and you leaned your head back, allowing them more access. His kisses were curious and exploratory whereas Enzo knew just where to kiss you to draw the loudest moans from you. Each kiss from them shot flames from your skin down to your core as you felt your arousal soaking the bedsheet beneath you.

You closed your legs together, trying to soothe your aching core. Enzo noticed, ever so tuned in with your needs, as he moved your legs apart so he could play with your folds as you leaned into him, bodies melting together. He drew lazy circles around your clit, eliciting low moans out of you. Theo shifts to remove the rest of his clothing as Enzo grabs your chin with his free hand. “Watch Theo undress love. You want that cock inside you, huh?” He asked.

“Yes,” you said in between whimpers. “Couldn’t hear you,” he said even though he did, his fingers getting rougher as he presses his hand down your greedy cunt, rubbing it ferociously. “Use your words. Louder, darling.”

“Fuck,” you exhaled, swallowing before you tried speaking again. “Yes, I want Theo’s cock inside me!”

“Such a good girl,” Theo cooed as Enzo slipped two fingers inside you. “Not yet,” Enzo teased and you couldn’t help but whine. “You’re a greedy girl,” Enzo chuckled. “Don’t worry love, you’ll be so satisfied when we’re done with you, it will be hard to walk the next day.” You clenched your walls around Enzo’s fingers and he loved how eager you were for them.

Theo followed the curve of your figure and he moved closer to you again, kissing your breast while his other hand teased your nipple, getting them taut. With Enzo pumping his fingers in you and Theo sucking on your breasts, you were being pleased at your most sensitive spots. The pressure in the base of your stomach was getting too much to handle.

“Don’t fight it, love,” Enzo encouraged as he curled his fingers inside you, hitting your g spot directly and taking the sensations to the next level.

“I want to see you come, bella,” Theo encouraged as he moved his fingers to your clit. He rubbed and pinched it in alternating motions that had your head swimming and vision blurring in pleasure as Enzo picked up his pace inside you, fingers moving just where you needed him. It was enough to send euphoria erupting through you as you cried out, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through you.

You rest your head against Enzo’s shoulder, trying to recover your breath. “You’re so pretty when you come for us,” Theo praised, trailing kisses down your neck.

“Lay down, love. Let Theo taste your perfect cunt,” Enzo commanded as he guided you down. Theo moved between your legs. You felt his hot breath on your cunt and the aching need ignited within you again.

“Yes,” you exhaled as you felt his tongue across your slit, lapping up the slickness from your orgasm. You gripped his soft hair in between your fingers, encouraging him to keep going. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he sighed, looking into your eyes before he returned to your core. His tongue expertly licked your clit just gently enough to send electric jolts without overstimulating you.

You licked your lips when you saw Enzo, “you like me being a slut for you and your friends?”

“How did I ever get so lucky?” He asked, moving to kiss your forehead.

You chuckled, “come on, I miss having you in my mouth.”

“That’s my girl,” he praised, moving to position himself against your mouth. You took a few moments to stroke him, planting lazy kisses before he gripped your hair, taking control as he slid in and out of your mouth. You loved it when he used you like this, he fit in your mouth and everywhere else so perfectly. You clenched your walls involuntarily as you choked against Enzo’s cock. You felt the rumble of Theo’s snicker against you, “I think she’s ready for me.”

You made a muffled noise that they both took as agreement, while Enzo closed his eyes, enjoying the vibration you created. Theo straddled you, brushing his tip against your slit. You were already so wet, it would be so easy to slide into you and so he did. You whimpered against as he filled you, pleasure heating up your core.

“Sshh, it’s okay,” Enzo assured you as he slid outside and watched you take Theo, running his fingers through your hair.

“You can take it,” Theo said as he slid out and returned. You nodded, feeling your walls stretch for him. It felt even better than you imagined. He groaned when his tip kissed the end of your walls, you felt so tight and wet against his hungry cock.

Desperate, filthy moans filled the room and Enzo took this opportunity to grip your hair again, returning his hard length into your mouth. It was starting to get overwhelming again, now that you were filled with both cocks. Each thrust creating delicious friction as they chased their release. Everything else was also in motion from the rapid beating of your hearts to your labored breaths, and the way your tits bounced in sync with their movements.

It didn’t take long until Theo increased his pace, his full length now slippery inside your dripping cunt. Your fingers twisted in the sheets, trying to ground yourself against the hazy pleasure overtaking your mind. Your back arched, letting him thrust deeper into you.

You enjoyed the way Theo said your name as he continued his relentless pace. “Look how well you’re taking us, I’m so proud of you,” Enzo said as he continued fucking your throat, making your eyes water. Your muffled noises against his hard length added more vibrations that sent Enzo over the edge.

“Take everything, love,” he said as you tasted him again for the second time that evening. You swallowed as much as you could and when Enzo pulled out, he ran his thumb along your lower lip, pushing back everything else that spilled out. You took it all in and sucked on his thumb as he watched in amazement.

His hand moved lower down to your sensitive clit, rubbing and teasing it, while Theo rammed into you faster. Your legs tensed and tightened along with your core. Everything blurred in the haze of pleasure until it all erupted in waves of ecstasy that sent you writhing against them. Your release triggered his as he cried out your name and you savored his white hot spurts inside you. He rode you both through your orgasm.

You found yourselves smiling at each other, faces flushed and breathless. Enzo laid beside you and held you once again. “You did so well,” he said before peppering your face with kisses.

“You’re amazing,” Theo praised you as he laid on your other side, drawing lazy patterns on your arm.

“Only because I had great partners. Thank you,” you said, kissing each of them on the cheek. “Perhaps we can go again?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Enzo smirked, kissing you once again.

✿ Masterlist

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