#placed at tonic of the sea

[soft4gguk]

yearning | jjk one shot

the one that finds you in Jungkook's doorstep after a night out...

Description: idol!jungkook x reader, fwb 

Content: porn with loads of plot!

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: oc smokes 1 cigarette lol, they’re so flirty ouch, so much kissing, cutest little dynamic, dry humping (a personal fave in this house), fingering, protected sex (they’re so smart!!), loads of spanking, jaykay ass man forever. 

Author’s Note: i once sworn to never write idol aus because… i know nothing about this man ok? i do not claim to know what he’s like in a relationship or a situationship or in his personal life!! so please thread carefully when reading <3333 that being said, his lives last year and these first couple of episodes of “are you sure?” have me feeling very delulu so here u go!! hope you enjoy xo

★ masterlist ★

This is a work of fiction. Please respect the members and their privacy. x

The moment you exit the club, a gust of summer breeze engulfs you. It makes you wrap your arms around your body, but it amounts to nothing, the little black dress that you’d made the executive decision to wear, in the name of fashion, betraying you. The tequila shots you'd downed before leaving the house sure had deceived your senses, too.

Needless to say, you regret said decision, a shiver running down your spine all the way to your legs, making you jump a little in place as you tipsily look around you. You’d cut the night short. Your friends had found another lonely pair they’d quickly gotten cozy with, leaving you to drink one too many gin & tonics all by yourself. You hadn’t minded it for the first two hours, enjoying the music, sparking conversation with the bartender from time to time and entertaining the occasional stranger. Eventually though, it became boring, predictable, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel a little shitty about yourself. 

It was all getting repetitive. Friday nights, the same faces, small talk, ice breakers. Even the strangers you met had a similar M.O., making it all seem predictable. It made it feel like a waste of self, more than a waste of time, and it ate at you in moments like these, where it was strange to feel lonely amongst a sea of people, unable to shake the feeling.

The bright city lights illuminate the night, lacing it with something livelier than your mood and you smile. At least the scenery is always pretty. Pretty places. You hear the laughter of a group of people that stand a couple of feet away from you, they seem happy in that genuine way that reflects in pure, unadulterated beauty. Pretty people. 

You think of him. 

It’s rather instant. Or perhaps instinctive. The very own butterfly effect of your thoughts because to you, he’s the prettiest of them all. He’d been since the very first day, and as you lose focus of the pretty sights the more you stare into the city lights with him on your mind, you can’t help but think nothing will ever stand close. 

A girl stands next to you, audibly shivering as she exits the club and the air greets her with the same fate it did you. She holds a cigarette between her red lips, the fire from her pink lighter shining on her red hair. It makes you crave one, too, rummaging through your bag for your own. You smile when you remember how he would tease you for smoking “the skinny kind” as he would call them. Calling you a bit of a snob, but all in lighthearted nature. After all, he could. He knew you enough to let your closeness turn into inside jokes, banter. 

Perhaps giving into a vice could prevent you from falling into another. 

“Can I borrow your lighter?” she smiles at you before she’s handing it over. Her nails are pink, too. 

The fire feels pleasant for all of five seconds, warm against your face as you take the first drag. You give into one instinct so as to distract yourself from the one that’s tugging at your heart and senses, begging you to make a reckless call. 

You check the time. 

2:32 A.M.

~

Jungkook scrolls through the endless list of channels aimlessly. Small snippets from whatever’s playing that he cuts short, not really giving it much thought. He settles on one, solely so he can stop putting exertion on his thumb and go back to leaning against his couch – fully relaxed. He sighs. On the screen, some drama he hasn’t gotten around to watching plays, and the story seems to be developing quickly. He doesn’t care for it, if he’s honest, simply content with the white noise it fills the room with. 

Bam leaves his dog house, standing right in front of him and they seem to start an unspoken staring contest. He smiles, patting the spot right next to him on the couch and the pup rushes to take the place excitedly. He gets cuddles and kisses simply for existing. For keeping him company – his presence giving Jungkook more peace than he’ll ever know. 

“Hey, Bam, should we, like, meet up in our next life as well? Perhaps I’ll be the dog in that one and you’ll be my owner.”

Bam simply stares and Jungkook swears if he could, he’d let out a deep sigh right now. This makes him laugh. 

“Hey, don’t be jumping of excitement at the idea, man.”

At this, he attacks. With kisses, that is – wet, sloppy kisses that have Jungkook giggling and pushing back, though it is no use, his dog is that determined to give him love.

“Alright, you win. Let’s go get a beer. For me, not for you. You’re still too young. One day, son.” His voice takes on a lower tone, imitating his father. Or maybe Yoongi’s, he can’t tell anymore. 

He retrieves a cold beer mug from his freezer and cracks the can open, nodding his head at the sound it makes, the fizziness bubbling up before he pours it in the cold glass. He takes a sip as he walks back to the couch, blissed out in leisure.

He doesn’t mind being alone, specially not on nights like this when sleep leaves him and everything but seems more tempting. He likes the way everything slows down at this time of day, the ease of it all. No one to see, no texts to reply to. As for what the world is concerned for, he’s asleep. It’s peaceful, just being. 

Plopping down on the couch, he rests against the pillows, making himself comfortable. He must’ve spoken too soon, he thinks, because it’s not thirty seconds after this that his phone buzzes on the coffee table in front of him. He ponders on the possibility of simply ignoring it, let it sit there, facing down. But something tells him he should check the message. It could be important, or not. The pull isn’t necessarily violent, just a quiet voice that tells him so, like a little nudge. He leans forward, setting his beer on the table before he’s taking a hold of his phone. 

He gets it now – the pull. 

From ___: jungkookie, u awake?

To ___: no

From ___: can I call?

He smiles – so fucking big he almost hates that he does, slightly flustered and embarrassed you have this quick of an effect on him. And before he can talk himself out of it, he calls you. 

~

Seeing his name flash on your phone screen does more to you than anything you’ve deemed exhilarating tonight. The simple prospect of hearing his voice rushes more excitement through your body than any of the mindless conversations you had this evening. Than any of the conversations you’ve had all week perhaps. You smile and there’s no doubt that he can hear it in your voice when you say,

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

There’s a moment of silence and you can hear the smile on his face, too. It’s warmth – he’s warmth, even far. How far is he, you wonder. Did you happen to demand of him at a bad time? Will the end of this call find you disappointed?

You cut to the chase. 

“What are you up to?”

There’s a pause and you can hear the way he sinks into his couch. “Can’t sleep so I’m having a beer and watching some TV with Bamie.”

He’s home and a giddy giggle escapes you. “Ahh,” you say.

“You? It sounds busy in there.”

“Yeah, I’m outside the club.”

“Fun night?”

“No.” You don’t lie, you never lie to him. Don’t have the need to, or the want to. Everything about Jungkook is comfort – the kind that welcomes. 

“Yeah, had a feeling. It’s not really your scene, is it?”

Your head leans to the side, eyes closing for a moment. He knows you in ways most people don’t, and it’s a simple remark but it gets to you. The fact that he doesn’t see you for the parts of you that feel the emptiest settles on your heart. It’s good, you think, to be seen by someone who observes.

“I want to see you.” There’s all the point in the world to be honest right now. 

“Come over. I’ll make you ramen.”

“Will you show me your cat?”

There’s a pause. You picture him smiling, biting his lip, running a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah, that too.”

~

You sway from side to side, a little drunkenly and a whole lot excited, as you stand in front of his door. It’s brief, but as you wait you make a little reflection on your emotions. What exactly do you feel right now? It’s been so long – probably not that long – but long enough to make you happier than usual to be seeing his face. Anyone else would make you nervous, and perhaps he does, too, if only a little. But it’s a different kind of nervous. It’s laced with sweetness, as opposed to anxiety. And the minute he opens his front door, it’s replaced by something sweeter. 

Yearning. 

He stands there, glasses and black sweatpants on, signature oversized shirt – something so very home about him. Your eyes widen as you take in his hair, it’s grown significantly, giving you a rough idea of when it was you last saw him. Two, three months ago. He looks good; rested, fresh, beautiful. You can smell him before you even touch him and it makes you smile. He returns it. 

Yeah – yearning. 

“I like your hair,” you say, because anything else would give you away. 

“Yeah?” he runs a hand through it. “I like you.”

“I like you, too.” Let it give you away, you think. Who cares?

“Alright, well- it was nice seeing you.” He says, closing the door in a too casual, yet dramatic manner and you laugh, simply standing there – a little flustered because, oh does it feel good when Jeon Jungkook flirts with you in that boyish, teasing way only he knows how. 

He doesn’t close the door all the way. Instead, he leaves it open far enough for you to see the way he peeks his head out, nose scrunch and toothy smile to signal just how proud he is of himself right now. 

“Come here,” he tells you, reaching his hand out from the little gap and pulling you closer as you yelp, squeezing through the nearly closed door. “I missed you.”

You’re in his arms again, and the moment he closes the door behind you, his lips are on yours. It’s a soft kiss, one that says I missed you because you know him well enough by now to understand the things he says with his lips, and his eyes. With his hands, too.

“Mm,-“ you don’t want to pull back to get your words out, so you don’t. “Me more.”

Jungkook was always a happy coincidence – or at least that’s what you told yourself in a futile attempt to tame the feelings down. But the truth was that being back in his arms felt like fate, in that gentle way that doesn’t come in a movie-like encounter or in some sort of catastrophe bringing you together. Just being here. Anywhere, with him, felt fateful. You opt to believe in angels right this second just to thank them. 

“How are you,” his hand cups your cheek, pecking your lips before you can answer. 

“Good- better now.” His kisses muffle your words and you think you could live with this interruption for the rest of your life. 

“Yeah, me too.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer as he circles his around your middle. You take him in, not one for big displays of affection yet this one you could never deny, could never not welcome. 

It’s a sweet moment but the pull turns hasty soon enough the more your lips become familiar with one another yet again. You run your fingers through his long hair, rejoicing in its softness and length. His hand travels down, slowly but a bit desperately, squeezing when they meet your ass. 

What has a promising ending is cut short by none other than your rumbling stomach. It’s rather loudly and you both hear it, laughing in the middle of the kiss you two seem to refuse parting from. 

“You hungry, baby?”

“You promised ramen. And something about a cat.” Your lips part and you look at him, a pretty smile on his equally pretty face. 

“Mm, yeah. I did. I’m all stocked up on ramen but the cat…,”

“I prefer Bamie anyways.” 

You leave his arms, a smile on your face as you walk towards his beloved child’s crate. The moment he sees you, he hesitates for a moment, not yet having Jungkook’s command to leave his space but he’s excited – you can even make up his little tail wagging from side to side. 

“Come here, baby.”

He runs to you and nearly tackles you, settling into the floor to give him the proper cuddles he deserves. He steps on you the way he did when he was a puppy, sitting down on your knees as you scratch under his ears. 

“No one’s allowed to tell him he’s grown up. He’s little forever.”

Jungkook laughs. “He’s Jiminie’s height.” 

You sneer at him, shaking your head at his joke. He stands there, staring at you with a fondness he reserves for certain things that bring him that kind of comfort that’s gotten rarer over the years. He’s grown up, matured and gotten real about a lot of things but not you.

Never you. 

You’re still the innocence he kissed you with that very first time and the little bit of fear it wouldn’t go further than that. You’re the excitement he had when it did. You’re the flirty teasing and the falling in trust, opening himself little by little. You’re still something he once dreamt about – he still does. You’re the thing he has and doesn’t at the same time. You’re you. 

Your loud giggles as Bam licks your cheek wake him up from his little daydream and he winces at the sloppy kisses he’s leaving. You don’t seem to mind though and he knows that if it were up to you, you’d stay there til dawn. No ramen, no cat. 

“Alright, alright. Daddy’s getting jealous now. You can’t have her all to yourself.”

Your cheeky smile tells him you’re up to no good. “Daddy, huh? Have we ever tried that?”

“What haven’t we tried?” He genuinely ponders on his own question. 

“Pegging!” You say, a little too quickly and excitedly for his liking. 

“Absolutely not.”

“Mean.”

“Come on, let’s feed you.”

You smile. “Okay, daddy.”

~

It’s a chaos in the kitchen in between distracting kisses and your tipsy antics, munching on Jungkook’s leftover fried chicken as you scavenger hunt his cupboards for anything that could satisfy your alcohol induced need for sweets and carbs. You’d begged for pancakes, but he didn’t have any honey, and what’s pancakes without honey, really? 

“Ramen. Enoki and spring onions.” He says, convincing himself more than he convinces you.

“Okayyyyy. Ramen, enoki- what else did you say?”

His thumb and pointer finger rest at his temples in mock exasperation, making you giggle. “Hey, why don’t you go shower? This’ll be ready when you’re done.”

“Will you be able to work a knife with the thought of me all wet and naked in your shower?” 

“I’ll get you wet and naked later. Go sober up. Quick, quick!”

You laugh, kissing his cheek loudly and ruffling his hair before you leave the kitchen, making your way to his bedroom with familiarity - like you’ve done it hundreds of times and perhaps you have if you were to count. 

You know where he keeps the towels, that it’s the left tap that opens the hot water, the way his soap smells and what brand of shampoo he uses. His face wash and moisturizer are familiar to you because it’s the same brand you use. You’d left them here once and never got the bottles back. He began purchasing them after they ran out. 

You put on the same black Carhartt shirt you always do. It feels and smells the same. It makes you yearn and when you miss him, you smile in the comfort of knowing he’s in the kitchen, probably eating ramen from the pot as you take your sweet time in the bathroom. 

All clean and cozy, his house always being the perfect temperature with the add on warmth that swarms your insides at knowing you’re with him, you make your way back to the kitchen. He’s reaching for bowls, back to you and your voice startles him when you say,

“Don’t get dishes dirty, let’s eat from the pot.”

He turns to you, a boyish smile forming on his lips at the sight of you in his comfy, oversized shirt. He’s seen you in it more times than he can count but it still makes his insides tingle. Butterflies, dare he say, is what the sight gives him. 

“You sure?”

“Aren’t you? Afraid of exchanging saliva?” You poke your tongue at him and he grabs your wrist, pulling you swiftly towards him. 

“Not the funnest way we’ve exchanged juices, but it’ll do for now.”

“Juices.” Your nose scrunches at his words.

“Mm.”

He kisses you, ramen getting cold in the pot as your lips make him forget all about his hunger in the first place. Your stomach doesn’t, though. Interrupting your heated little moment yet again. 

“Feed me.”

“On your knees, then.” He teases, lips still on yours. 

“That sounds more like a treat than a threat.”

He smiles, passing you the chopsticks. “I knew you’d say that.”

“Am I that predictable?”

“With me. Yes. Just me.”

His words are selfish, of this much he’s aware. He knows exclusivity is too much to ask for. He knows the baggage he comes with and the hesitation that shines through your eyes whenever you find yourselves slipping into comfort and familiarity a little too much. How he can almost tell he’s about to go a season without you, just by this comfort alone. But he can’t help but want you, all to himself. He can’t help but say you’re his even if he’s just saying it. And when the smile on your lips meet your eyes in an almost nostalgic way, he knows you feel the same. 

“Yeah. I am.”

“I am with you, too.”

“I’d say I tried to talk myself out of texting you tonight, but I’d be lying.” Your chopsticks play with the noodles, eyes not meeting his. 

“Why would you talk yourself out of texting me?”

You shrug. 

“Don’t.” His voice is firm and your eyes finally look at his. “I’m always- I always want to see you, ___.”

“I know, it’s just- you know.” You say, and he does. He knows what you mean and he’s glad you don’t voice it because he doesn’t think he can bear the words that would only add insult to injury to the way your gaze falls, that spark threatening to dim its light.

“Yeah,” he gets closer, but it’s almost careful. His thumb caresses your cheek and you lean into his touch. “But you’re here now. I want you here now. Come back to me.”

You stare into his big eyes, smiling at him not because your heart isn’t breaking but because you wouldn’t dare break his with the reality of the situation. So you lie, but it holds truth. “I’m always with you.” 

As you two eat, in bursts of comfortable silences and mindless yet meaningful conversations, you start to get used to him again. You’re too tired to fight it, and when you welcome it, it’s sweet. 

~

The pot is empty, your bellies full. You lean against the counter as he puts you to date, catches you up on what his life has looked like for the past two months or so. Trips to L.A., New York, photoshoots, late nights in the recording studio, music videos, long flights and a Calvin Klein campaign you shamelessly admit to swoon over every time you pass by it. He asks about you and you keep your updates mostly work related. Long flights, long meetings, long days. Short bursts of inspiration and even shorter waves of motivation. You omit to tell him about the things you’re maybe not so proud of. The partying, the drinking on a wednesday night, the way your friends don’t feel like your friends anymore, more like acquaintances that keep you around when they deem convenient. You think his words could help, provide comfort and advice, but at the same time you fear the reality of the situation could burst the bubble of bliss you find yourself in right this moment. 

So you talk. You catch up. You play friends for a while, feel real mature when he shares snippets of his life that involve other people, other girls. People in his radar, his line of work, the love interest in his music video. Jungkook does, too. Feels like perhaps he’s come a long way when you tell him about trips you’ve taken with friends, new restaurants you’ve tried, galas he knows you haven’t attended alone. It’s all fine, it’s good. Total control of your feelings as you take each other in. 

Bam interrupts him mid-sentence, a sleepy whine in half protest he lets out as he walks inside the kitchen. 

“Aw, Jungkook,” you coo, “he’s sleepy.”

“Time for bed, Bamie?” He smiles, reaching down to scratch under his ears. “I’ll be right back.” 

“I’ll be here.” 

You smile, well aware that he keeps his dog bed in a cozy room in his house, quite literally puts him to bed every night. It makes you think about how good of a dad he’ll make one day, how much love is stored inside of him, how he likes to be needed and shows affection through acts of service. Your smile drops a bit, a feeling taking over you that you don’t like but have grown used to over the years. 

You snap out of it, busying yourself as you begin to tidy up the kitchen, sliding his pink rubber gloves over your hands before you start washing the single pot, knife and chopsticks he’d used to make you dinner. It doesn’t take him long to be back, though, walking back inside the kitchen and smiling at the sight before him. You hum a song he can’t make up, hips shimmying to the beat as you scrub the pot. Your shirt rides up a little and he cocks his head to the side, smiling at the way your underwear peeks from underneath the fabric. A black and lacy thong that has him nodding his head in boyish satisfaction. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he tells you, making you jump in place a bit at the sound of his voice.

You turn around, bringing a gloved finger to your lips as you shush him before you’re pointing it at the couch and shooing him away. “I’ll only be a second. Wait for me there.”

“‘Kay, boss.” He army salutes you, turning around and walking back to the couch, sitting down and sinking further into the cushions, legs spreading as he scrolls through his phone, a bit impatiently, missing you even though you’re so close. 

And to Jungkook’s great fortune, he doesn’t have to wait for much longer. Wrapping it up in the kitchen, you give it one last glance to make sure it’s back to its pristine state before you’re making your way towards him. He looks up at you, throwing his phone to the side and following you with his eyes, smiling when you’re in front of him.

“Thank you for dinner,” you say, voice sweet and low, eyes a bit hazy.

“Come here.” He takes your hand in his, pulling you closer to him, bottom lip getting caught between his teeth as you throw your legs at either side of him, straddling him. 

“I needed this,” you admit.

“Me too,” he breathes. “I’m glad you called.”

You pout, eyes looking up for a second as you ponder. “You called me.”

He chuckles, not a single ounce of desire to deny you. “I’m glad I called.”

You giggle, arms wrapping around his neck and fingers getting lost in his long hair. His head draws back as your nails massage his scalp gently and he relaxes at your touch, goosebumps adorning his skin. His hands travel under your shirt, promptly finding your hips, waist, and then threatening to go higher but Jungkook wants to take his time tonight. He wants to stay in the sweet state of wanting you for a bit longer. When his eyes are back on yours, you kiss him. He sighs against your lips, bringing you closer to him by the waist, letting his tongue taste your bottom lip before he’s tasting your mouth. It’s slow, a bit sloppy and lazy, holds the quality of anything that happens in the middle of the night, when no one’s watching and time stills for the two of you. 

“Your skin is so soft,” he says, lips still on yours. 

“It’s your body lotion.” You roll your hips over his, smiling when you pull a low groan straight out of him. 

“Yeah,” he says, hands traveling down before he’s squeezing your ass, guiding your hips into his. “You smell like me. I like it.”

“I like it, too.” Your words get caught up in a moan as the outline of his cock parts your slit perfectly. 

You pull away a bit hesitantly, hands coming to rest at his shoulders as your hips pick up the pace. You go slow but sink deeper into him with every roll of your lips, eyes never parting from his as you take in the way his face starts to contort in pleasure, mouth parting slightly as his breathing grows heavier, little grunts leaving his lips with every push and pull. His hands travel back down to your hips, squeezing a little at the soft flesh, guiding them as you move over his cock. He’s so hard, can feel you through the layers, can bet on the fact that you’re wet and pulsing for him right now. 

“That feels good,” he sighs, gaze dropping as he rides your shirt up a bit at the front. His eyes fixate on the way the thin, lacy fabric of your panties bunches up every time you throw your hips back. 

“Brings back memories,” you say, voice a bit shaky when a particular roll of your hips has the tip of his cock hitting right against your clit. 

Jungkook smiles, mind hazy but perfectly able to picture the memories you refer to. “Mhm,” he sighs, so entrapped by the feeling he swears he can feel you pulse against him. He likes the way you consume his senses. The way everything around him stills and all he can think about is you. His hands squeeze at the flesh on your hips before he says, “turn around, baby.”

“‘Kay.”

Jungkook feels the loss of your warmth as you stand up before him once again, smiling at him before you’re turning around and sitting on his lap. You press your back to his chest, letting your head fall to his shoulder, your lips meeting his cheek in an open mouth kiss. His hands travel up your body, palms closing around your tits, thumbs playing with your nipples over the thick fabric of your shirt. You circle your hips, chasing the same friction from before but it’s not enough in this position. You bring your body forward, hands resting on his thighs as you throw your ass back at him, your pussy perfectly aligned on top of his cock, making you both moan at the same time. Jungkook’s gaze drops to your ass, enthralled by the way he feels, by the way you look. He rides your shirt up your back, exposes you to him and it only eggs you on, moving against his cock at the perfect rhythm. 

He hooks a finger down the side of your panties, letting it travel down, smiling lazily at the way you trap his knuckles between your pussy and his cock, moaning as you grind on them. He can feel how wet you are, dripping for him already even though he hasn’t touched you yet. “Want my fingers, baby?”

“Yes, please,” you plead, voice shaky as you look back at him. 

He’d usually tease you, make you beg for it a little longer, but tonight Jungkook obliges. It’s been long – too long – and all he can think about is being inside you, feeling you around him, making you feel good. He takes his time simply so he can savor the moment. So he can memorize it well enough to store it somewhere inside of him, just in case it’s another three months until he sees you again. 

He pushes his middle and ring finger inside of you, hissing at your warmth, cock jumping inside his sweatpants in anticipation and a little big of neglect. You close your eyes, pleasure taking over you as he begins to thrust his fingers inside of you slowly, arching expertly every time they hit your g-spot. His free hand squeezes around your ass cheek, groaning when the hand that fucks into you pushes down on his cock, aiding at giving him some much needed friction. You feel lightheaded already, all-consumed in his hold as he takes over your every sense. Your body relaxes and you can feel the way your tummy tenses right away. 

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna cum,” your voice is faint but he hears you well enough. 

“Already? That was fast, baby.” You don’t miss the cocky tone his words hint at. 

“Shut up and don’t stop,” you say, looking back at him playfully. 

You see the way he smiles at you before his gaze is dropping back down, fingers moving expertly inside of you at the same pace, applying a bit more force as he pushes in, massaging that spot with the tip of his fingers. The added pressure has you mewling in no time, nails digging into his thighs, teeth biting at your bottom lip to ground you back into the moment as you let go. 

“Fuck,” he says as he feels you cum around his fingers, sweet moans filling the space around you and he so badly wishes he could look at your face right now. “Yeah, baby, that’s it.” He feels the way you contract around him, hips circling over his hand as you ride the waves of pleasure. 

You come down after a minute, mind still hazy as you fall back into him, lips finding his the moment he turns his head to the side. You kiss him, breathing into his mouth, smiling in your fucked out bliss. “That was so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you say, pressing your forehead to his. “I need you to fuck me now.”

“Want it?” he asks, and you nod your head. “You can have it.” 

“Yeah, want it so bad, Jungkook.” Your voice is needy, holds a dreaminess to it that Jungkook doesn’t miss – one that makes him melt into your words, your touch, your lips as you kiss him again. 

Jungkook presses his hips into you, raising them a bit as he pushes his sweatpants down. You help him take them off, hand reaching back before you’re wrapping it around his cock. He’s hard and pulsing for you and if you weren’t pulsing for him, too, you’d probably want him in your mouth right this second. He feels heavy, big and thick in your hold, a grunt leaving his lips when your thumb circles around the head. You love how sensitive he is, how receptive. 

“Condom,” he says, before he runs out of blood in his brain and it all falls down to his cock. 

“In my bag,” you say, reaching to the side and pulling it towards you. You rummage around it for a second too long – a second that has Jungkook’s mind betraying him. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But nonetheless he can’t help but wonder where you’d be right now if he’d been asleep and hadn’t seen your text. Perhaps in the same position but with a stranger. Or maybe a stranger only to Jungkook. Perhaps he hadn’t been the only person you texted tonight. “Here you go, baby.” 

Your voice dismantles his worries and he’s warm again, all thoughts vanishing and it’s back to you and him. He leans forward, kissing your lips as he takes the condom from your hand. It makes you blush slightly, biting your lip in anticipation as you watch as he rips the foil of the packaging with his teeth. You watch the way he smirks as he rolls the condom on. 

“Why are you smiling?”

“Just thinking,” he says, smile growing wider, cheek dimples making him look cute but something about his voice begs to differ. 

You hum. “Thinking about what?”

He smiles. “July 14th, 2021.”

You both crack up, laughter filling the air the moment the words leave his mouth because of course you know what July 14th, 2021 meant. You’d been in a position very similar to this one, perhaps a bit more hazy minded, the true meaning of the heat of the moment finding you the minute you’d realized neither of you had a condom. You’d looked into each other’s eyes and made the silent agreement to be a little reckless and put a whole lot of trust on birth control and Jungkook’s pull out game. 

He said he’d never forget that day. 

“Long live, July 14th, 2021,” you say. 

“Shhh,” he says, squinting his eyes and bringing a finger to his mouth. “Don’t remind me.”

“You reminded yourself,” you bite back. “Now, can you fuck me? Pretty please.”

“Yeah, baby, come here.”

You push your ass back at him, looking at him from over your shoulder, biting your lip in anticipation as he strokes his cock once, twice, before he’s lining himself against your entrance. His hand comes to your hip, pulling you down towards him as you push him inside of you. You both sigh, moaning as he bottoms out, so deep and warm it has Jungkook throwing his head back against the couch, sinking further into it and pushing impossibly deeper into you. 

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you whimper, nails digging into his flesh. 

“Fuck me, baby,” he says, running a hand through his long hair. You nod, circling your hips a couple of times as you adjust to his size before you start moving your hips into him, ass bouncing with every push and pull. He hisses at the sight alone, bringing his hand down as he delivers a hard slap against your cheek, making you moan. “Shit, just like that. You’re so hot, ___.”

“Jungkook,” you whisper.

“Yeah, baby?” His eyes are back on yours, threatening to close in pleasure at the way your pussy feels around him. 

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, baby. So much.”

You fall into his chest, kissing him as he wraps his hand around your throat, not applying any pressure, just simply holding you. You gasp into his mouth when his other hand travels down and finds your clit, drawing lazy circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves. You whine and he moans when you move your hips to the rhythm of his touch.

“I don’t wanna be on top anymore,” you say, pouting into his lips, frowning when you feel his chest shake in laughter. 

“Of course you don’t.”

“I’m an awful top.”

“You’re not a top.”

“Hey, I was a good top that one time,” you protest.

“Mm, yeah, that was hot. You got all bossy on me.”

“Oh, but that’s regardless,” you tell him, pushing your lips into his once more and straightening your back, smiling as you look back at him. He wipes said smile off your face in a second, hand meeting your ass in another hard slap. 

“Stay there,” he says, holding firmly onto your hips. 

“Okay, daddy.” That earns you another slap, though you can’t say it wasn’t exactly the goal in mind. 

“Behave.”

Your face grows pliant as you nod at him and Jungkook has to fight to keep up the front because if he’s being honest, the sight alone drives him crazy, threatens to break him down completely and leave him a needy, whiny mess. He holds you in place, legs raising you up a bit before he starts pistoling his hips against you, fucking you hard and fast and even though you saw it coming, it still takes you by surprise. The force of his thrusts, how good he feels as the pain translates into pleasure, the noises he makes – it’s all too much but fuck, you don’t want him to ever stop. Your mouth parts in a silent moan, eyes closing as your face contorts in pleasure before the sensation ripples through you and you’re crying out. Your hand holds onto his arm and the firm grasp you have on it let’s him know.

“Fuck, I’m cummin,” you breathe out.

“Fuck yeah, baby. Cum all over my cock.”

“Oh my God,” you say, voice shaky and faint as you throw your body back into his. 

“Fuck, I love your pussy.”

“I love your cock,” you say, fucked out giggles escaping your lips. 

It takes you both a minute to steady your breathing and regain your strength. Jungkook kisses your neck, snaking a hand inside your shirt and squeezing your boob as you arch your back at the feel. “Let’s get you to bed, princess.”

“Music to my ears,” you say, giddy and excited. 

Your knees buckle a bit when your feet touch the floor, the both of you laughing at your loss of balance, Jungkook a bit more cockily than you. He slaps your ass softly once, then twice as you begin to walk towards his bedroom. Once inside he takes his shirt off and when you turn around, your eyes scan over his body, metaphorically and possibly physically drooling over him. Your hands find the hem of your t-shirt before you’re pulling it off your body and tossing it aside until it’s landing on top of his. Your tits bounce as you do, and he nods his head at you, a satisfied pout adorning his lips. The pout turns sour the moment you turn around but is soon enough replaced with a smile when you start to crawl on top of his big mattress, finding the perfect spot over his pillows and laying down comfortably. 

“You’re so perfect.” Jungkook says, because anything else would downplay it and he’s not in the mood to run away from the truth. You giggle, soft and sweet and he feels the way his heart aches for you inside his chest. 

“Come to me,” you say, arms outstretched towards him. He makes his way to you, letting himself hover over you for a minute as he takes you in before he’s falling perfectly between your legs. You kiss him, letting your fingers get lost in his hair, breathing into the kiss and you swear this moment is laced in pure, unadulterated bliss. “Want to feel you inside me.”

“I’ll give it to you, baby. I’ll give you anything you want.”

There it is, yet again, and without a fail. It’s so common you nearly miss it – the way the moment turns tender. It’s mostly soft, this unspoken agreement you’ve fallen into with Jungkook. It’s friendship and attraction, good sex and years of exploring each other. It’s trust and communication. It’s understanding. It’s soft at the beginning and tender halfway through. It’s so tender it feels tangible, like the moment itself could fit inside the palm of your hand and feel ripe to the touch as you hold onto it. It’s tender when he looks into your eyes, it’s tender when his voice says your name, when you kiss his lips. It’s tender when the lust borders on something else. It’s tender when it lingers, when it threatens to fall. 

He fucks you, hips moving against yours slowly, pulling moans out of your lips that get caught between his own when he kisses you. 

“You feel so good,” you whisper into his mouth, words that only he could hear even if it weren’t just the two of you. 

“Fuck, baby, so do you,” he whines, supple and yours, even if for that moment. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

You smile, hand running through his hair before your fingers are pushing a strand behind his hear. “Cum for me, Kookie. Wanna feel you cum for me.”

Your words throw him over the edge, falling blissfully into you. It feels so fucking good. Your fingers running through his hair, down his neck and then back up again. The way your pussy clenches around him, cock throbbing for you at the wake of his release. Your lips are soft and the rise and fall of your chest falls into perfect sync with his. His hand squeezes at your breast before it’s traveling down your body, squeezing at your thigh before you’re wrapping your legs around his waist, flushed to him. Every little thing you do heightens his senses until all he can breathe, think and feel is you. His face falls down the crook of your neck and you breathe out a moan into his ear, unraveling him completely.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby.” His hips slow down before they still completely, a moan passing his lips as he releases into the condom, your nails softly running down his spine. His body feels spent but he doesn’t miss the way it relaxes on top of you, blissful and peaceful, growing sleepy right away. 

“Feel good?” you ask, your fingertips running down his back in what feels like a feathery whisper. 

“So fucking good,” he mumbles against the skin of your shoulder before his eyes are finding yours again. He kisses you. He kisses you because in moments like this he wants to say something else, something that makes more sense to his heart than anything his brain could say.

You kiss him back, afraid your heart will betray you, too. 

~

You stare at him as you make your way back to his bed. He lays on his tummy, cheek pressed against the soft pillow, his pretty hair framing his face in a way that makes him look dreamlike. He doesn’t move an inch when you pull back the covers, if only for a second, to get back in bed with him. You lay on your side, eyes still fixed on him and your heart grows a new kind of tender at the sight of his sleeping form. He’s pouty and soft and so, so peaceful. Something sinks in your tummy, but it’s not in a way that signals bad news. Perhaps it’s the butterflies settling, perhaps the heat of the moment has began to cool down. 

Your hand comes to his face, fingers gently pushing his hair out of his eyes before you let them wander down his face. His cheeks are soft, his ears cold and when it tickles, he frowns. Your thumb travels up again, smoothing his brow bone and he relaxes. Your eyes follow your touch as you trace the bridge of his nose, slowly, softly, as if you were being quizzed on it later. Wanting to take everything in, afraid that even blinking could take away from the moment. And when your finger lands on his lips, you trace that too the way your own did only minutes prior. 

His eyes begin to flutter, a failed attempt to open them but you know he’s partially awake from the smile that pulls at his lips. You feel it on your finger before your eyes meet his gesture and when they do, you close them instinctively, leaning over and kissing him. His body can’t respond to his brain right now, exhausted and more asleep than he is awake, but he hums in satisfaction, lips puckering as he tries to give into his instincts. 

“Let’s have breakfast together tomorrow,” he mumbles against your lips. “I’ll go buy honey and make you pancakes.” 

You smile, though he can’t see, and perhaps it’s for the best. Your voice is a whisper when you say, “deal.”

His smile is the last thing you see before you fall asleep.

~

[eternally-racing]

off limits | logan sargeant

pairing: logan sargeant x Leclerc! reader

genre: fluff, maybe angst if you squint

wc: 1.6k

warnings: none (i think)

summary: Your brother Charles always likes to say you're off limits, but what happens when you finally meet a driver who doesn't know who you are?

- - - - - -

“You remember my little sister, Y/N right?”

You roll your eyes as Charles keeps a protective arm around your shoulders. He’s acting like you’re in a room of men who all want to get in your pants, when in reality your brother has kept you locked away from the rest of the grid as best he can over the last few years. It made sense when you were younger, but it’s definitely gotten on your nerves, especially on days like today. It was the end of season party, and having your brother attached to your hip at the club was I’m sure not your or his ideal plan. You had begged for him to let you come - you said it was only fair as a trade off since he made you listen to his rants pre and post-race all season long. You get that motorsports is his world and you’re only a guest, but a little more friendship on the grid wouldn’t hurt. 

You’ve noticed yourself get a couple more looks over as you’ve grown up over the years, and when Lando walks over and wolf whistles as he shamelessly checks you out, your brother is already telling him to watch it while he watches the British driver give you a hug. “You know where to find me, pretty girl” Lando finishes with a wink before he heads off to join the rest of his friends. It’s all good fun between you two and you know it’s nothing but playful banter as you both like to get under your brother’s skin, but Charles doesn’t seem to quite feel the same as he’s shooting daggers at the curly haired boy walking away from you both. 

Charles has always been overprotective of you, especially around the other boys in motorsport. He’d say that none of them would ever be worth your time,  that he sees the way they go through women like crazy and that the way they treat their partners would never be good enough for his darling baby sister. Through his years on the grid he had made it clear to everyone that you are and will always be off limits, something that has always irked you to no end. You were more than old enough to make your own decisions, though it seems like Charles will always see you as his little sister.

There’s only one other boy that Charles let you get close to over the years ("let" is a stretch, it was more a reluctant acceptance as it happened), and you can’t help but smile as he walks towards the two of you with open arms. Max and you became friends one day as kids when you scraped your knee on the pavement at a karting race while running away from Charles and he stopped to help you find your parents while you were sobbing - the rest was history.He may have had his ups and downs with your brother, but Max was someone that you knew you could always count on when it mattered. He puts on his best fake bodyguard voice as he comes up to you and Charles and says “Is this man bothering you, young lady?”, earning a laugh from you and an eye roll from your brother.

Soon you’re begging the Dutchman to save you from Charles’ wrath, and luckily with the promise of being his padel partner in the new year he quickly agrees. Charles tries to put up a bit of a fight but before you know it he’s yelling “make good choices” as he’s being whisked away to get a gin and tonic with his self-appointed drinking buddy for the night. 

It’s been so long since you’ve been at one of these events, let alone been able to walk around without your brother, so it feels very much like unfamiliar territory. A vodka cran seems like a good place to start, and you settle in easily at the bar while surveying the scene in front of you. Maybe Charles was right, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into - there’s so many people everywhere and everyone seems to know everyone. There’s got to be a few faces you know in this sea of people, like George’s girlfriend or Danny’s sister, the only problem is getting through it. You’re doing a good job staying under the radar as you squeeze through the crowd until you find yourself colliding head first with someone, your drink absolutely flying into their chest. 

All you can think is “fuck, I should’ve drank a gin and tonic instead too” as you rub mercilessly at the red liquid on the mystery boy’s chest with the one flimsy napkin the bar gave you. It’s only when he replies back with “It’s seriously okay, gin and tonics taste like shit anyways.” in an accent that you can’t quite pin down do you realize that you accidentally have been talking out loud. Your cheeks are beet red and you’re starting to miss the comfort of having your older brother around you. 

“I’m Logan” the boy in front of you says with a smile. “Can I buy you a drink?” 

You don’t think you’ve ever said yes to something faster in your life. 

The conversation flows so naturally between you and Logan. It makes sense that you’ve never met him before today - he’s new on the grid and doesn’t seem to be close with any of Charles' friends. The freedom you feel is refreshing - it’s been a long time since you got to know a guy like this, just one on one talking to each other. Of course there had been the blind dates that your friends had tried to set you up on but there were all just a little bit off. None of them felt like this.

“I meant to ask you earlier, did you come with someone to the party tonight?”

The question makes you freeze up because you’re having to face the reality that Logan may be one of the only people who don’t know that Charles is your brother in this entire party. Is it selfish that you want it to stay that way? 

“Oh, um, I came with a friend of a friend who dragged me here tonight.” The lie falls off your lips all too easily and you’re not even sure why you did it. Logan had been nothing but a gentleman all night and you don’t think he would treat you differently for being Charles’ little sister. Maybe you just wanted to see it for yourself, what could happen when people didn’t feel threatened around you because of your older brother. Luckily, Logan doesn’t think twice about your response and you’re grateful for that. 

The bass booming through the club is making you start to wiggle in your seat, and it’s enough to make Logan laugh and ask you if you want to dance. Who could say no to that American smile? You’re dragging him up to dance, shimmying your shoulders in a way that only confirms that you’re as bad of a dancer as you mentioned to Logan earlier in your conversation.  At first it’s all so playful, Logan twirling you around and hyping you up, but as the music gets more sultry you and Logan do as well. It’s like there’s two magnets pulling you both together until you’re pressed chest to chest. Logan’s hand around your waist just feels so right. Your heart is beating so fast you’re worried that he might actually be able to hear it himself - he’s so close to you that you can feel the heat from his breath on your neck. The conversation has slowed between you two but you feel like you understand him perfectly. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the boy in front of you that’s making your cheeks so red, but you know that you don’t want this feeling to stop. 

“Will you kiss me, Logan?” you’re looking at him like you can see the universe in his eyes, and simultaneously hoping that he can't see how nervous you are in yours. 

You’re trying not to get carried away, but it’s hard not to. Kissing Logan just feels so right. You grab his shirt by the front in an effort to get closer to him, you want to feel him, and Logan reciprocates by pressing his hands even further into the dimples on your back. You’re not sure how long you go on like this, you both making out like love-sick teenagers. All you know is that you can’t get enough of him, and based on the way Logan reaches out to caress your cheek, you hope he feels the same. You’re trying to memorize every single part of him, just in case this is all you get to have of him. As his hands start to dip lower and lower your heart beats even faster, and you let your hands trail further down his chest along with the tempo of the music. This moment feels infinite. 

It’s not until you feel a hand on your shoulder that the spell is broken as the two of you are shoved apart. Logan reaches to pull you behind him, but once you see a pair of green eyes that are identical to yours staring you both down, it’s him that you want to protect. 

“What the fuck are you doing to my sister, Sargeant?"

----

author's note: this was such a fun one to write! i think a part 2 to this could be a lil crazy and fun so let me know if you want that too <3

[sunny44]

Chapter 1 (Love is in Mallorca series)

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Fem!reader

Warnings: none I guess

Summary: Y/n goes to Mallorca intending to leave her life behind, at least for a while. Then she meets a mysterious guy who makes this trip, to say the least, unforgettable.

Mallorca was stunning, but a certain discomfort grew within me as the days passed. I found myself lost on an island whose beauty was undeniable, but whose language formed an insurmountable barrier.

Since I had arrived, it seemed that the fact that I only spoke English made me invisible. People looked at me in a hurry, or simply ignored my attempts at communication. Sometimes, I wondered if it was just my imagination or if it was really happening.

Tonight, after a long day of walking along the beaches, I decided I deserved a drink. The bar was crowded, full of laughter and conversations in Spanish. The smell of fresh seafood filled the air, and I approached the counter, trying not to seem out of place. I waited patiently for a while, watching as the bartenders moved from one customer to the next, ignoring me with an efficiency that almost seemed rehearsed.

I took a deep breath and approached the counter again.

“A gin and tonic, please?” I asked in English, my voice swallowed by the atmosphere.

The bartenders barely paid attention to me, glanced at me, and simply decided to ignore me.

I waited, hoping that somehow my order would be heard. I looked around, trying to decide whether it would be better to just give up, but before I could step away, I heard a deep, firm voice next to me, speaking in Spanish. I didn’t understand the words, but the tone was clear and authoritative, like someone used to being heard.

The bartender stopped what he was doing and quickly handed over what I had asked for. I turned, surprised, to face the owner of that voice.

He was tall, dark-haired, with slightly tousled hair, but in a purposefully relaxed way. His smile was easygoing, as if saving frustrated tourists was something he did every day.

“Here you go,” he said, with a soft accent, handing me the drink.

“Thank you,” I replied, accepting the glass. “I was beginning to think I was invisible.”

He laughed, a light and sincere sound, as if he understood exactly how I felt.

“It’s not that, but sometimes people here... can be a bit stubborn with those who don’t speak the language.”

I nodded, taking a sip of the drink that was finally in my hands. The refreshing taste of gin with lemon slid down my throat, bringing an immediate sense of relief.

“So, are you from here?” I asked, curious. “Your Spanish is perfect.”

“Thanks, and kind of. I live in Madrid, but my family has a house here in Mallorca. I always come here during summer holidays. And you, what brought you to the island?”

I looked at him, hesitating. He seemed so casual, so at ease, it was hard not to feel at ease as well.

“I actually just needed a break from my life. Something different.”

“You chose well. Mallorca is a perfect place to disconnect.”

He was right. The island was beautiful, and there was much more to explore than I could do on my own, especially with my limited Spanish. Maybe that’s what led me to accept when he suggested he’d show me a few places that, according to him, "no tourist guide would include."

“Shall we take a walk?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with a kind of enthusiasm that was impossible to ignore.

I agreed. After all, I had nothing to lose, and somehow, I felt like I could trust him. But I could also be completely wrong, and he could be a serial killer who would murder me and toss me into the sea.

But I was willing to take the risk.

We left the bar, walking through narrow streets lit by small lights hanging between old buildings. The night was warm and full of life. People laughed at outdoor restaurant tables, and the distant sound of flamenco music filled the air.

“You know, you're the first person who hasn’t tried to correct me or judge me for not speaking Spanish. I know it's annoying when tourists show up and don't even try to speak the language, but I didn't think I’d be completely ignored,” I commented as we walked.

“Sometimes it’s good to just listen and not judge, right?” He smiled, glancing around at the streets around us. “Speaking the language is important, but so is feeling welcomed, even without understanding everything.”

There was something different about walking with him, something that made the city seem more accessible, more inviting. He showed me a small square where there was a fountain with a soft, calming sound, and a local bakery that, according to him, made the best "ensaimada" on the island. Everything felt simpler by his side, no rush, no judgments.

“And you? What do you do for a living?” I asked, genuinely curious.

He smiled but didn’t answer directly, just shrugged.

“Ah, nothing too interesting. I have a pretty hectic life, but here I like to slow down and forget all about work.”

I respected his silence without pressing, and we continued to explore the city at night. He took me to a higher point, where the view of the city and the sea stretched out before us. The city lights reflected on the water, creating an almost surreal sight. I was speechless.

“Wow...” was all I could say.

He looked at me, smiling sideways.

“And they say Madrid has the best views in Spain.”

We stood there in silence for a few minutes, just absorbing the moment. I felt strangely comfortable next to him, as if he wasn’t a stranger I had just met, but someone I could share moments with without the need for explanations.

Finally, he looked at me again.

“If you want, I can show you more places tomorrow. But I promise I won’t take you where the tourists go.” I smiled, feeling a wave of gratitude. “I guarantee I’ll be the best tour guide you’ll ever meet.”

“I’d love that.” He nodded, satisfied.

“Perfect. See you tomorrow, then.”

“Deal.” I smiled.

“Give me your phone number.” He handed me his phone, and I typed it in, saving it as “bar girl.”

We said goodbye, and as I walked back to the hotel, I couldn’t stop thinking about how the night had taken such an unexpected turn. I still didn’t know his name. He hadn’t asked for mine, and somehow, that felt right. We weren’t strangers, but we weren’t acquaintances either. Just two people meeting on a warm night in Mallorca.

And maybe, just maybe, I was ready to find out more about him.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername Instagram stories

“Summer break”

Masterlist: @lieslostinsilence @iloveallmyboys

@r4zberrygirl @hoya122 @sid-is-gr8

@runs-with-sciss0rs @marvel-ous-miss-maisie

@barcelonaloverf1life @harrysbigrighttoe

Next Chapter

The names with a line on top is because I couldn’t tag

[thatonegenshinsimp]

Something’s Fishy Here (Merperson!reader)

Notes: My contribution to Mermay 2024 while I still have motivation to write this month.

Characters: Alhaitham, Diluc Ragnvindr, Wriothesley, Dainsleif, Neuvilette, Capitano

Warnings: mentions of physical violence

Masterlist

Alhaitham (Lemon Shark)

Sumeru was known as the land of kelp. It was a large kelp forest before the reefs of Fontaine and after the clear waters of Liyue and Mondstadt.

You, being one of the more curious members of the merfolk, had been traveling alone for a time.

Sumeru, as it happened, was one of the places you’d been wanting to visit the most.

That was when you first met Alhaitham, a lemon shark merman who was a tad more standoffish than most others of his subspecies.

You were a beta fish merperson, your tail frilled and colorful. It was one of your only defense mechanisms save for the shorter claws you had compared to other more aggressive merfolk that came from harsher places.

Alhaitham was, by all standards, a good lover to you. He treated you well and kept you safe if ever he saw someone as a threat.

One time, you accidentally flipped him over while you were bothering him and that was the day you realized what Tonic Immobility was.

He likes nuzzling your neck and is practically attached at the hip to you all evening after a long day apart from you.

Diluc Ragnvindr (Red Snapper)

You were a shark, so you often tended to be a bit of a loner.

That’s why you were so surprised to find that you had feelings for Diluc, a Red Snapper merman.

Diluc didn’t really know how to react when he found you were often there to help whenever he needed assistance, but he figured out why when you bared your teeth at Donna when she tried to make him uncomfortable and get in his personal space.

Soon enough, he plucked up the courage to ask you to be with him. He noticed you looked rather excited when he asked, and you happily said yes to him.

He definitely laughs when he realizes you can go into tonic immobility.

He doesn’t do it often, given that you’re in a trance for almost fifteen minutes every time he does it, but he does find it heavily amusing.

He likes staying close to you, given he rarely gets to have a break from work, so you usually help him with his work when you’re not working for the Adventurers Guild.

Wriothesley (Great White Shark)

Shark Wriothesley is the best Wriothesley

You were a swordfish merperson, but you quite liked being around Wriothesley even before you got into a relationship with him.

There’s a lot of hunting competitions between the two of you.

Wriothesley, despite knowing you can hold your own, definitely fights for you whenever you two get into any skirmishes with others because of his more instinct driven nature that rears its head in fights.

His territory is the Meropide Trenches that separate the north and south hemispheres of Fontaine’s waters.

He hates it when you flip him over. His tonic immobility lasts for a little over ten minutes, but he still hates it because it stresses him out.

He’s fiercely protective of you, but it’s because he loves you and doesn’t want you getting hurt.

Dainsleif (Greenland Shark)

He’s definitely a Greenland Shark merman in my personal opinion.

Khaenri’ah used to be a reef system, but during a tectonic shift, was sucked deeper down in the ocean, resulting in a tsunami due to the colliding tectonic plates.

The tsunami wiped out many in the population, which were sharks, and Dainsleif, cursed by the Seven alongside the other pureblood Khaenri’ahn people, slowly became a Greenland Shark, but his tail remained the same deep royal and navy blue colors it had always been, despite the fins morphing over time to tolerate the far lower depths of the sea.

That was when he met you, a snailfish merperson, who lived closer to the deeper depths of the trenches.

You got along well with him, and often visited him given how easily you traveled to the deeper parts of the trenches without any trouble.

He’s a tad more protective, but that’s because he doesn’t want to lose you as he has most of not all of the other people in his life.

Neuvilette (Swordfish)

Neuvilette is a swordfish merman, I’ll die on this hill.

Instead of being protective and possessive of you, he mostly just tries to avoid situations where you would need his protection.

He likes giving you gifts, it’s one of the ways he expresses his love for you.

Suddenly, your home is filled with little trinkets and shiny things he finds whenever he’s out and about in the reefs.

He also speaks to the melusines, who swim around with you when you’re unable to see him due to his work.

He likes physical touch, it’s one of the things that calms him down in the rare occasions where he gets angry.

Though he rarely shows it, he does often worry about you, even if you can defend yourself.

Capitano (Great White Shark)

Another shark merman.

Capitano is one of the larger shark merfolk, so he usually doesn’t even need to fight for someone to get the message to leave if they bother you.

You’d wandered into his territory by accident, but you, being a remora fish merperson, immediately thought he was friend shaped and swam up to say hi.

He’s perplexed by you. Few to none of the other merfolk in these waters swim within half a mile of his territory, but he’s certainly not one to refuse the company of someone as kind as you, so he lets you explore.

He slowly grows to realize he has feelings for you, and it’s only when he sees Dottore, a tiger shark, going after you that he realizes that he’d rather fight someone to the death than see you hurt.

After all, it ought to be only him biting you, and certainly not to kill you.

After that incident, he asks if you’ll be in a relationship with him, and you say yes.

He’s a good lover, and provides most anything you wish for.

He’d raze the whole ocean if only to see you happy.

[tiredwitchplant]

How to Use Herbs : Rosemary

Hwello there. We have talked about rosemary and its uses in a previous post. If you haven't read it, please click here: Rosemary

Now I shall provide some spells, tonics, recipes and etc on where you can utilize it. Let us begin :)

Author's Note: From I noticed a part is usually a teaspoon. You can add more according to your needs, but I would always start with that measurement first.

Alchemist Formula for Binding:

One part benzoin gum (Saturn, binding)

One part patchouli (Saturn,binding)

One part Solomon's seal (Saturn, protective)

One part rosemary oil (Saturn, protective)

One part frankincense oil (Sun, success)

Mental Focus Magical Tea:

I part rosemary

1/2 part spearmint

1 cup of boiling water

Mix herbs in a small jar

To brew, pour 1 cup of boiling water over 1 teaspoon of the herbal blend.

Steep for 5 - 7 minute. Strain and drink.

Spells:

Remembrance for Lost Love (Heartache Healer)

6 drops of rosemary oil

3 drops of peppermint oil

1 drop of lavender oil

White candle

Add the oil to the top of the candle, one at a time, in a clockwise direction around the wick.

LIght the candle and gaze into the flame

Visualize your fond memories of the person who left your life. As you do this say, "I thank you for the time we had together, I thank you for the love we shared, I thank you for being an important part of my life. We have parted, we move on, we remember. I wish you the best life has to offer and hope you have found happiness."

Allow the candle to burn out of its own and dispose of the remaining wax away from your home or bury it in the spot you and the past partner enjoyed together.

Broom Cleansing Spell

 Use one or any combination of the following botanicals: broom, cedar,fennel, hyssop, rosemary, sage, vervain.

Arrange the botanicals and tie them to the bottom of a branch withraffia, visualizing, charging and knotting. (Any branch may be used,however an ash branch is considered particularly powerful.)

Sprinkle with salted water or any preferred purification formula.

Sweep the area.

Disassemble the broom outside, away from the cleansed space.

 Bury the components in the ground or toss them into living waters, flowing away from you.

Ghost Keep Away Spell (Boundary Line Spell)

Place three peeled cloves of garlic in a bowl, together with one handful of sea salt and one handful of fresh rosemary leaves.

Grind and mash the ingredients together.

Sprinkle them to create a boundary, as needed.

Bad Habits Bath

Add the following to a tub filled with warm water:

Essential oil of clary sage

Essential oil of frankincense

Essential oil of lavender

Essential oil of lemongrass or May Chang

Essential oil of rosemary

Enter the bath and inhale the fragrance, and accompany with affirmations and positive visualizations.

Kitchen Witch Recipes:

Super-Quick Bonus Recipe for Gwion’s Red Onion Pickle Bliss

Fills one pint-sized jar

Prep Time: 10 minutes

Cooking Time: 20 minutes, plus 30 minutes to cool in the fridge

1 medium red onion

3 tablespoons sugar

1/2 cup water

10 black peppercorns

2/3 cup white wine vinegar,

rice vinegar, or apple cider vinegar

1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes

1 sprig rosemary

1 clove garlic, peeled and halved

Slice the onion very thinly and place it in your clean, dry jar. Set it aside.

Add the rest of the ingredients to a medium saucepan and bring to a boil until the sugar has fully dissolved. Stir carefully so you don’t break the rosemary. The sprig is in there to add flavour, and you’ll discard it before the next step.

Let the pickling mixture (the water, vinegar, and spices) cool down for about 10 minutes. Discard the sprig of rosemary and pour the remaining

ingredients into the jar of onions. Make sure all of the onions are submerged

in the picking liquid. If you have to, use a spoon to push the onions down in the jar. Seal the jar and put it in the fridge to cool. The onions are ready to eat once they are cool, about 30 minutes.

Serve them on avocado toast, burgers, salads, or just with a fork straight out of the jar. Remember to kiss your partner or partners before eating the onions out of the jar, unless they’re into pungent kisses.

Goat for a God: Roasted Goat Leg with Grape Molasses

Great for Deities: Dionysus, Pan and Thor

Serves : 6

Prep Time: 30 minutes

Cooking Time: 2 hours and 30 minutes

1 goat leg (about 3 pounds)

1/4 cup + 1 tablespoon olive oil

2 teaspoons salt

1 teaspoon cumin

2 teaspoons black pepper

4 tablespoons grape molasses

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 teaspoon coriander

2 sprigs fresh rosemary

1 cup white wine + one glass for sipping and toasting while cooking (use mead if you're cooking this for Thor)

1 bay leaf

2 large carrots, chopped into

1" chunks

1 celery root, peeled and chopped into 1" cubes

Open the bottle of white wine or mead and take a hefty drink. (This is optional but deities do like when you drink with them but they can respect if you don't partake.)

Preheat the oven to 375° F.

Liberally season the goat leg with salt and pepper.

Rub the minced garlic all over the goat leg too. If it helps, poke a few holes in the goat leg so you can get the garlic right into the meat.

Place the rosemary sprigs and bay leaf in the bottom of a large roasting pan and put the goat leg right on top. Add the carrots and celery root around the edges. Pour the olive oil all over the goat and rub it around. Coat the carrots and celery root too.

Pour the white wine around the bottom of the roasting pan.

Loosely cover with kitchen foil and put the whole pan into the oven for 2 hours.

About an hour and forty-five minutes into the cooking process, it’s time to make the glaze.

Mix the grape molasses—which is a super-condensed syrup made of grape must—in a bowl with a tablespoon of olive oil, the coriander, and the cumin. You can substitute honey for the grape molasses if for Thor.

At the two-hour mark, pull the roasting pan out of the oven and paint the goat with the grape (or honey) and spice glaze.

Pop the goat and veggies, uncovered, back into the oven for another 20 minutes or until the internal temperature reaches at least 145° F.

When you’re ready to serve this dish, scoop the veggies into a bowl (fornow) and put the goat leg on a platter. If you have access to one, get a cedar plank and serve the goat on it.

Medical Tonics and Infusions:

Infusion- An infusion is the simplest way to prepare the more delicate aerial parts of plants, especially leaves and flowers, for use as a medicine or as a revitalizing or relaxing drink. It is made in a similar way to tea, using either a single herb or a combination of herbs, and may be drunk hot or cold.

Pot Infusion

For a cup:

1 tsp (2–3 g) dried or 2 tsp (4–6 g) fresh herb (or mixture of herbs) to a cup of water

For a pot:

20 g dried herb or 30 g fresh herb (or a mixture of different herbs) to 2 cups (500 ml) of water

Warm the pot, then add the herb.

Pour in water that has just boiled, replace the lid, and infuse for 10 minutes.

Strain some of the infusion into a cup. A teaspoon of honey may be added if desired.

Storage:

Store in a covered jug in a refrigerator or cool place for up to 24 hours.

Tonic Making

Standard Quantity:

200 g dried or 300 g fresh herb chopped into small pieces to 1 quart (1 liter) alcohol—vodka of 35–40% alcohol is ideal, although rum hides the taste of bitter or unpalatable herbs

Standard Dosage:

Take 1 tsp (5 ml) 2 –3 times a day diluted in 1 tbsp plus 1 tsp (25 ml) of water or fruit juice.

Place the herb in a large, clean glass jar and pour on the alcohol, ensuring that the herb is covered. Close and label the jar.

Shake well for 1–2 minutes and store in a cool dark place for 10–14 days, shaking the jar every 1–2 days.

Set up the wine press, placing a muslin or nylon mesh bag securely inside. Pour in the mixture and collect the liquid in the jug.

Slowly close the wine press, extracting the remaining liquid from the herbs until no more drips appear. Discard the leftover herbs.

Pour the tincture into clean, dark glass bottles using a funnel. When full, stopper with a cork or screw top and label the bottles.

Storage:

Store in sterilized, dark glass bottles in a cool dark place for up to 2 years. An amber glass jar is the best option.

Sorry this post is so long @_@ But please enjoy and use wisely. Bye byes~

Sources

[weird-an]

It isn't that working in the porn industry is what Steve planned for his life. It just happened.

Sure, it helped that he's got a big cock and a pretty face and doesn't mind scenes with men and women.

His dad always told him that success matters in life and now, that Steve is making more money than his old man ever did, he isn't talking to him anymore, because he's still a disappointment, so fuck him.

He's popular, but a lot of people are too shy to talk to their fave pornstar in public. Especially if he's mainly staring in gay porn.

But there are a few exceptions. Like the guy with the long black hair who is slapping Steve's shoulder. The bar is crowded and Steve's favorite place for a few drinks.

"This one here is a big fan." The guy grabs the arm of a blond man next to him and turns him around.

"This is Billy."

Billy Hargrove gapes at him, face turning red.

"I know," Steve says. He can’t help but to grin. Billy Hargove watching his work? He remembers him under the showers, saying "plenty of bitches in the sea". This is too good.

"Argyle." Billy grits his teeth. He's staring at his feet now, a blush still on his cheeks.

"Oh, you know each other?" Argyle winks at Steve. "I had no idea, my dude."

"It's been ages," Steve says. "But glad to know you enjoy my work. Buy me a drink and I'll tell you my favorite scenes."

Billy glares at him.

"Deal." Argyle nudges his elbow against Billy's side.

"Fuck you," Billy grumbles. But he orders a gin tonic for Steve.

"So what's your fave movie?" Steve asks.

Billy makes a strangled sound. Argyle laughs.

This is going to be the best evening ever. It's just too much fun to watch Billy Hargrove squirm.

[mari-writes]

Bokuto, who had recently joined MSBY and secured some well-paying sponsorships, insists on taking Akaashi on a fancy vacation.

Even before they’d started dating, Bokuto had longed to treat his best friend to something special. Akaashi deserved the best, he insisted, with how much he helped Bokuto and the rest of Fukurodani.

Now, many years later, he can finally spoil Akaashi as much as he wants!

He pays for a taxi straight from Akaashi’s apartment to the airport. When they arrive, he surprises Akaashi with a booking in the private lounge, which offers complimentary drinks, pastries, and a view of planes taxiing to and fro on the tarmac.

“Wait, Koutarou,” Akaashi’s eyes are suspicious as they settle into a small plush booth, “isn’t this place reserved for upper class passengers?”

Bokuto just grins, winking over his glass of whisky. He knows the other man wouldn’t have agreed to book First Class if he’d known in advance.

Well, too bad! He chuckles to himself.

Akaashi sighs, exasperated. “I can’t believe you,” he mutters as he takes a sip of his gin and tonic. He looks out to the runway, to where a large jet is making its approach. Bokuto watches him, taking in the man’s beautiful profile, illuminated by the setting sun.

This will be good for him. Bokuto knows it. Akaashi will push back at first—the man has always been overly careful with both his time and money. But hopefully, eventually, he’ll unwind.

[a few hours later]

“Koutarou, this is way too much.”

Bokuto sniggers as he shoulders past his boyfriend and into the hotel room. He pulls both his and Akaashi’s suitcases in after him, carefully maneuvering them to the end of the king sized bed. “Oh hush! No it’s not!”

Akaashi’s scoff turns into a gasp as he glances into the bathroom. Bokuto knows he’s seeing the giant bathtub with jets that they’re no doubt going to be taking advantage of later that night.

The room is also equipped with a large flatscreen TV, a small plush sofa and ottoman, a work desk (which Bokuto will NOT be allowing his man to use), high-end toiletries, a coffee bar (another thing Akaashi will be banned from; he needs to detox!) and a balcony with lounge chairs.

“This is bigger than my first apartment.” Akaashi sounds a bit offended. Bokuto skips over to grab his wrist to pull him deeper into the room. He points excitedly towards the large wardrobe pushed against one wall. 

“C’mon, babe, open that little door right there!”

One perfect eyebrow raised, Akaashi shrugs his backpack off before reaching to open the cupboard. He gasps again upon seeing the hidden mini bar, complete with snacks, tonic waters, and a set of crystal drink glasses.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Akasashi snaps. But he’s immediately reaching inside for a drink, so Bokuto counts it as a victory.

[that evening]

The hotel’s rooftop restaurant and bar is bustling when they arrive. Thankfully, Bokuto had been sure to make a reservation, so they get seated immediately at the best table—tucked in the corner, with a fantastic view of the city below.

“Wow.” Akaashi gulps as they settle in. “This is…”

“Incredible? Beautiful? The best thing ever?” Bokuto wiggles his eyebrows.

“Fancy,” Akaashi corrects him. “Luxurious. EXPENSIVE.”

Bokuto shrugs, glancing down at the drink menu. “Get whatever you want, babe. It’s on me.” He ignores his boyfriend’s disgruntled huff. He is sure that eventually, Akaashi will start to relax and just let himself enjoy it.

(He’s willing to wait.)

With their drinks and food ordered, they fall into easy conversation. Bokuto watches with glee as Akaashi enthusiastically digs into his plate. The man is obviously not used to such delicacies, more accustomed to snacking on convenience store food and takeout.

“I think I like the sea urchin dish best,” Akaashi says, his rosy cheeks full of rice. As usual, a few grains have found their way onto his chin. His eyes are sparkling. 

Bokuto just grins.

[the next day]

“Koutarou, stop splashing.” 

“Sorry, babe!” Bokuto switches to a calm breast stroke as he approaches Akaashi. The resort’s pool is huge, allowing the already limited amount of guests to spread out enough to have plenty of their own space. Which is perfect—that last thing Bokuto wants his boyfriend to have to deal with this week is crowds.

Akaashi is floating lazily, elbows propped up on the edge. He glares, but there’s not much heat to it. “I could forgive you if you go find me a glass of rosé,” he says. Bokuto tuts. 

“You already had one.” Akaashi shrugs, causing Bokuto to laugh. “All right, but remember, we have that wine tasting class tonight! We don’t want you to show up to it already drunk, eh?”

Shrugging, Akaashi extends his legs. His ankles hook around Bokuto’s waist, capturing him and pulling forward. “You said this trip was for me,” Akaashi states, folding his legs further until their torsos are nearly touching. “Right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” Bokuto’s hands find the pool edge, on either side of his boyfriend, intentionally capturing him back. “Anything for you, your highness.”

They stare at each other, heat quickly building in the space between. It’s a heat that is familiar, and oh-so exciting. But also a heat that is a bit too intense for a public space.

Begrudgingly, Bokuto pulls back, shifting his focus to retrieving the drink. He feels Akaashi’s eyes on him as he climbs out of the pool. He smirks. “Later,” he mouths, and delights at how the man’s ears go red.

[later that week]

Akaashi seems like a new person when he returns from the spa.

Bokuto knew that booking a massage for his boyfriend was of the utmost importance. The man’s grueling editor job had turned his once strong, nimble frame into a mess of knots.“How was it?” Bokuto asks as his boyfriend shuffles into the room. 

“Mmm,” Akaashi replies, blinking slowly. He’s dressed in a pair of joggers and a soft linen shirt, and the resort’s complimentary slippers. He makes it to where Bokuto is reading a magazine on the small sofa.

“Mmm?” Bokuto echoes, as Akaashi lowers himself into his lap. His hands slide up Bokuto’s chest and around his neck. “Keiji?” Bokuto’s arms circle Akaashi’s middle, noticing how the man’s body is still warm from the sauna.

He stays silent for a while, as Akaashi continues to melt further into his embrace. A mop of black curls is suddenly in his face as Akaashi’s head dips low, lips finding Bokuto’s neck. “Keiji,” he breathes.

“Hmm?” Akaashi smiles against his skin, making Bokuto shiver.

“You seem relaxed,” Bokuto says, biting his bottom lip as his boyfriend shifts slightly in his lap. “And, um, cuddly.”

Akaashi nods. Slowly, he pushes himself up so that they meet gazes. He leans forward to kiss Bokuto on the nose, each cheekbone, and then, finally, his lips.

“All thanks to you, love.”

[the final day]

Bokuto awakens slowly. It’s bright, even through the thick curtains, and he hears the sound of a bird chirping just outside the window.

He turns to see Akaashi dozing next to him, spread out on his back like a starfish. The massive bed allows him to without pushing Bokuto off the mattress—a common occurrence whenever they sleep together. 

(Not that Bokuto minds much; after all, his own snoring wakes Akaashi up all the time.)

Akaashi’s cheek is pressed into the silk pillowcase. His face is calm, without tension, free of the usual furrow to his brow he often does in his sleep. Bokuto can’t help but feel proud. He successfully got Akaashi Keiji, overworked manga editor and chronic over thinker, to relax!

He might just deserve a medal.

They don't have to check out until 11am, so Bokuto plans to let his man sleep as long as he needs.

Then, one last surprise—a special brunch at the fancy French cafe next door. 

He grins, satisfied.

Maybe he won't always have the means to do this for Akaashi. Who knows what the future holds. But for now, he's going to enjoy spoiling him as much as he can.

//

I totally forgot about this fic until I was looking through my WIPs this week. I know it’s random and unstructured, so apologies for that, but I didn’t just want it to trash it. SO here! If you enjoyed, please comment and share! 🥰💕

[lottiecrabie]

to dust and bones. part one – matty healy

they cross paths at a bar. he’s out for blood, and hers beat tantazingly beneath her flesh. (or the worst people you know are in the worst situationship in existence)

warnings: 18+, power games, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, choking, dom!matty, bratting, general toxicity, mentions of drug use, oc

part one of two

6521 words

Alana shoots back the bitter tequila, licking hot sauce off her sweaty hands. Her face scrunches in pain, head shaking. Her sinuses clear; her thoughts leak out of her head. There’s ear-splitting music ringing around her— some god awful EDM shit she’s drunk enough to dance to. 

Crowded bodies push against her. She sways to the beat, hips rolling to some seductive rhythm drumming in the deepest parts of her heart. Her skin-tight black dress rises up her legs, revealing inches of tantalizing skin. 

Alana feels rugged hands graze the outside of her thighs. She smirks to herself, leaning back against the hard wall of body behind her. Fingers climb up instinctively to her waist, spreading across her stomach, tugging her into him until they’re flushed together, indistinguishable from the other. 

Black curls tickle at her cheek. He’s familiar against her; the muscles and dips of him unfortunately memorized in a corner of her brain she hasn’t managed to blitz out even with all the coke. 

Matty Healy. Dark angel leaning over her, nosing her perfumed neck. 

“Buy a girl a drink first,” Alana whispers. Thankfully he’s close— too close to breathe properly, to make sense of her scattered thoughts— and he manages to hear over the DJ’s techno beats. 

“Why would I?” Matty bites back, breath blowing against her ear. Alana forces down a shiver. “I can have her without.” 

She whips to face him, a furious dash between her eyebrows. Rage climbs up her spine, taking over her head, and it’s only the second most familiar emotion she feels with Matty Healy. What an insufferable asshole, looking at her all smug when he sees the anger spreading through her veins. 

Cheeks red, head swimming with the alcohol and the drugs and the deafening music, Alana tries to come up with some scathing reply. She wants to leave him burning, skin red and raw where she lashed at him. Wants to dig her nails into him, tear his beating heart from two fragile ribs. 

“Fuck you,” is what she manages, of course, because the world is a blurry daze around her, and her brain is working slower than her tongue. 

Matty smiles saccharine sweet at her. It feels awfully condescending on the cutting traits of his face. “But you have, princess.” 

“You’re—” He cocks his head, encouraging her with gleeful eyes. Alana breathes through her nose. “—not worth my time. Go do your horny act somewhere else.” 

She flips on her heels, marching determinedly to the crowded bar. Matty is hot on her trails, of course, leaning into her to tease, “Horny act? I barely even touched you.” 

“The most you will.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

Alana pushes her way through the swarming crowd, digging her elbows in unfortunate places to get an in. People turn to her with a snarling face, but most seem to back down at the sight of her. Perhaps they recognize her, with flushed cheeks and cleavage dipping low. Perhaps they recognize the man towering behind her, following her godly parting of the sea of bodies like the privileged kid he’s always been. 

She finally manages to get to the bar, hands slamming the counter victoriously. A pretty bartender bounces to her, upping her chin in question. “What can I get you?” 

Alana opens her mouth. Instead, Matty cuts in, “Dirty vodka martini for her and a gin tonic for me.” The bartender nods, getting to work. 

Alana’s head flips to him, daggering him with a murderous glare. “I can order for myself.” 

Matty scoffs. “You practically begged me to buy you a drink.” 

She stumbles over the words in sheer offense, shrill as she gasps, “Begged— Oh, you fucking asshole.” 

Two drinks slam over the counter. “Put it on my tab,” Matty says, kidnapping her martini and making his way out of the crowd. Alana follows him bitterly, already planning to rack up his bill now that he’s so stupidly offered it to her. She’ll buy rounds for the whole club just to ruin him. 

He leads them to the VIP lounge, nodding at the bouncer as he moves to let them in. What a douchey move, she thinks, climbing up the staggering stairs, holding the skirt of her rising dress. 

The lounge is drenched in red light. Black leather couches and satin cushions scatter the place. Gray cigar smoke lingers above their heads. Some softer RnB plays, and Alana’s ears find momentary relief. She bites her lip to contain a pleased moan. 

Two dancers, impossibly tall and svelte in white lingerie dresses, move against two poles on a small stage. They’re languid and confident, swaying to a temperature rising rhythm, effortlessly seductive. 

Matty sits in front of the dancers, legs spreading as he makes himself too comfortable. He rests the two drinks on a black table in front of him, looking up at the girls with a cheeky, provocative grin. 

Inexplicable fire twists up in her guts. Alana drops beside Matty, practically sticking to his side, one leg crossing over the other to faintly kick his shin, which he takes in chuckling stride.

Her arm reaches over him to grab her martini. She places it between her lips, glass knocking her teeth gracelessly. He considers her, eyes following the land of skin she's uncovered through her new pose. 

“Aren’t you gonna say thank you?” He teases as she finishes a new mouthful of her cocktail. 

Alana offers him a deadpan look. “No.” 

He rolls his eyes, grabbing his gin tonic, leaning an arm over the back of the couch. “Brat,” he shakes his head. 

The lightning is low, casting red shadows over his face, but she can still see his dark gaze, hungry for flesh and those pathetic whines she can never hold back when he’s knuckles deep inside of her, penetrating through her skin. She draws a finger around the rim of the glass. 

She hates it most when Matty gets that way, intense and greedy and so fucking clear. His stare is predatory, watching her every little move to pounce on. The game feels instantly more dangerous. Anxiety spikes; some fight or flight response she never chooses right. 

Matty downs half of his drink, conspicuous Adam’s apple bobbing. She watches it religiously, remembering the purple stains she scattered around it just a few days ago. 

“Don’t drink so fast. We just got here,” she says warningly. She knows why he’s speeding this up. 

Matty lowers his glass just enough to offer a burning stare, hotter than she can handle in this stuffy room. 

I’m gonna fuck you is written bright and clear in his eyes. 

He finishes his gin tonic in another long sip, licking the last drop from his red lips. Heat spreads through her abdomen, clenching it guiltily. She flexes her hands around the stem. 

Slamming the glass back on the table, Matty adventures two fingers over her naked leg. It tickles, raising the hair of her skin as she shivers openly. His palm swallows the meat of her thigh, the tempting skin she so freely offered him. His hand is cold, glacial against the fire licking up her limbs. 

“Drink up,” Matty whispers, a devilish smile catching his cheek. She shakes her head, words completely lost to her. 

“I’m not thirsty.” Alana’s heart smashes against her ribs. Uncontrollable thing, careless thing. It always throws her into the worst situations, leaving her sober head to clean up its mess.

“No?” Matty pouts, climbing his hand to the hem of her dress. “You look a little flushed.” 

“It’s the light.” She stares up at the red fluorescents to prove her point, like he couldn’t see the mood lighting reigning over the room. 

“I think you’re scared,” Matty says. He’s never been one to stretch his words, coat them in syrup to swallow easier. 

She racks her throat. “Why would I be scared?” Although she promised herself not to give him an inch more, Alana gulps some of her martini to shake off the nerves (not fear, just some pesky anxiety from the lingering drugs). Matty smiles at the action triumphantly. 

“Because you left me naked and tied up to my bed last time.” He leans into her, whispering playfully into her cheek. “Because you didn’t let me come, and now you’re afraid of what I’ll do to you.” 

More backless bravado than sense, she grins cheekily. “It was funny. It’s not my fault you can’t take a little joke.” 

Fingers dipping under her dress. Alana bites her lip, hiding the breathy moan that wishes to slip her lips. It’s useless; he sees right through. “Oh, I’ll make you laugh.” He bites at her jaw, not enough to sting, but enough to know he’s serious. She scrunches her nose, tilting her head into him. 

Matty leans away, grabbing the martini from her hand. He places it between her lips. Instinctively, Alana opens them, and he tips the glass into her mouth. “Good girl,” he teases as she drinks. Her eyes snap to his dangerously, some unmasked threat that she’d spit it in his face if it wouldn’t ruin some really good vodka. “So feisty,” Matty tsks, amused. 

He takes the glass away. She licks at the rim, catching some droplets as it falls down the cone. Matty swirls the leftover martini, staring down shamelessly at her wet lips. 

“I could fuck anyone here,” he whispers. Clarity strikes through the flames, shaking away some of that daze. She frowns at him, taking a self-conscious peek at the pair of girls still twirling around their pole. Of course, Matty catches her moment of weakness, grasping it greedily as she scowls. “Yes, especially them. Have them bent over the other for me, cunts opened for my cock. Couldn’t you just see them, screaming in my sheets, rutting against each other?” 

“You overestimate your skills,” Alana bites, though it’s mostly from anger at the unwelcomed images he’s forced inside her brain. “You couldn’t handle them.” 

He arches an eyebrow. “Like I can’t handle you?”

She purses your lips, face crisping. She wishes it was true. That he didn’t have enough hands and tongue and cock to work with all of her, with the mess of hair she throws back carelessly as she rides him, with the nails digging into his back mercilessly, with the hips he grasps between heavy hands as he bruises her skin. That the rage and the hatred and the head-twirling passion she throws at him wouldn’t be caught, wouldn’t be swallowed to spit back tenfold. That he wouldn’t know what to do with all of her. 

But he does. Goddamit, he does like no one else ever has. 

Alana refuses to dignify him with an answer. Still, Matty doesn’t need one, dipping the leftover martini in her mouth. His breath is hot against her ear, sticking on her sweaty skin. 

“I could fuck anyone here,” he repeats, probably to martel home some complex she’s not interested in diving into. “But I want you.” 

She’d bite back something cheeky and snobbish, something near of course you do or who doesn’t or some other grand words to deflect. Right now, she’s too busy obediently swallowing what he’s giving her, but she’s sure he reads them anyway in the burn of her stare. 

As if to plead the last of his case, he raises his cold hand to the final stretch, meeting the black lace of her panties. Alana moans, alcohol dripping down her chin from the startled jump, something else dripping where his fingers meet the apex of her thighs. 

“Let me fuck you,” Matty breathes, biting her jaw, this time to sting, to tear apart. 

Finished with her drink, he slams the glass beside his, turning back to her quickly, afraid to miss even the smallest of shivers. “Begging already?” Alana pants, out of breath. 

His free thumb wipes the alcohol off her chin, bringing it back to her lips, forcing them open. She sucks his finger into her mouth. He presses against her tongue, heavy and undeniable. Drool sticks to it as she releases it, red lipstick staining the knuckle. 

His other hand, much more occupied, teases a delicious rhythm over her wet panties. She leans further into the cushions, manually stopping herself from dropping her legs open for this whole lounge to see. 

“Don’t give me ideas,” Matty warns. “You know how I enjoy you begging. All those pretty sounds you make, whiney and pathetic.”

His spitful hand racks through the sweaty mess of her hair, tugging at the roots. Her head bends, throat barred. He grunts at the sight.

Matty can’t stop himself any longer. He crashes his lips to hers, licking into her open mouth. It’s a messy thing, more teeth and spit than anything romantic, hands still buried in her hair. He tugs it harshly, swallowing the pitiful moans she releases. 

Alana clings to his shoulders, afraid she’d drown in the satin if it wasn’t for his buoyant body slithering around her. She curses his jacket, bulletproof vest to the claw marks she’d litter on his skin. Black nail polish tainted red by the end of the night— but he’s safe for now. 

Matty bites her lower lip, dragging it from her. She shudders in his arms, head swooping ecstasy climbing up her thoughtless brain. It must be the martini downed too fast. (It’s him. It’s always him.)

His hand releases her hair, finding the slope of her neck instead, digging into the skin. His thumb presses meanly at her jaw. Alana wonders if it’ll bruise. 

He pushes her further into the sofa, practically swallowing her whole under his lanky limbs. She can’t make sense of the edges of him. He’s everywhere, invading her flesh, slipping under her very skin, to the beating parts of her she wishes to banish him from. Hot pleasure drips down her veins. 

Matty licks into her lazily. He tastes like gin, which he knows she hates. He does it on purpose, buying drinks she’d never put to her lips just to spit it in her mouth. Alana can’t stand the taste of it. She doesn’t know why she craves the taste of him, faintly smokey from some expensive cigarette. 

He thumbs at her clit vaguely, more as a smothered promise of what he could do than any real attempt at skill. Still, it’s enough to make dangerous fire course through her veins. She clenches around nothing, groaning. 

“Are you gonna fuck me in front of everyone?” Alana rasps, biting and mean like he’s not playing her like his favorite puppet. 

Matty hums indulgently. He presses his index into her clothed entrance, wet and sticky for him. “Do you want me to? Let them know how good you are for me even with all that talk? All those sounds you make just for me?” He nips at her jaw, climbing up to her ear. “We can give them a show.” 

Alana’s heart slams against her ribs, begging to be let out and fall to his booted feet. She breathes heavily, head falling as he continues some slow circle on her clit, never enough to wipe from her head the outrageous knowledge that it’s Matty Healy blowing the flames. 

“Bathroom,” Alana gasps, eyes scrunched close. 

Matty laughs lowly, shaking his head in the side of her neck. “Coward.” 

Still, he sits up, dragging her body with his. Her brain knocks against her skull as she comes back, taking a deep breath of air. Reality feels very far away from the tip of her fingers. She’s drowning in him, in the smell of his cologne and that awful taste of gin clinging to his lips. 

The walk to the bathroom feels like a dreamscape maze, more colorful mood lightning and stepping over leather shoes than any tangible thing. 

The room is dark and clinical. The floor is black marble, sleek and easy to step on, heels clicking as she adventures further into the bathroom. The light is low. Alana has to squint to make sense of Matty locking the door behind them. He turns back to her, lion stride as he loosens his tie. 

He’s gonna eat her alive. 

Matty crowds her space, pushing her against the sink’s countertop as he noses her cheek. Alana’s thighs hit the cold marble, shivering at the contrasting temperature. The tip of his fingers find her skin again, climbing up the goosebumps, driving under the hem. 

Alana’s own hands bury in the mess of hair at the nape of his neck. Black nails dig into the unruly locks, tugging vaguely. She breathes with him, the only surrounding melody in this musicless room. What a strange feeling to be so thoroughly abandoned by distractions. 

Tired of wasting time, Matty grabs her thighs, throwing her carelessly on the marble countertop. Her legs spread wide, welcoming him in the middle of her, black heels kicking beside his knees. Hands rise to her waist, trailing greedily over her skintight dress. “Fuck, you’re hot.” 

Alana grins. Compliments are always the worst moves, climbing up to her head and loosening whatever miraculous hold he had on it. She leans away against the gray tiles of the wall, cheeky and devilish, fingers slipping from his mane to the muscles of his shoulders. “Say that again.” 

Matty tries to dip for a kiss instead, but she dodges easily, turning her head into her shoulder. He groans at her childish antics, digging his nails into her ribs. “You’re fucking annoying.” 

“‘S not what I asked.” 

Matty buries his face in her offered neck, leaving wet kisses as he scales up her jaw, up her cheeks. Alana giggles, wrinkling her nose, shifting in her seat. “You’re beautiful,” Matty finally whispers in her ear, gently biting the lobe. She hums, nodding at him. Roughly, he warns, “And if you keep playing these games, I’ll leave your ass so red you won’t be able to sit for days.” 

The threat should make a spike of anxiety hit her. Instead, languid fire pools at her stomach. She moans, closing her eyes, pushing her hips further into his. The angle is a little awkward, just slightly too high to really get anything working. She manages to roll her pleading hips on his belt buckle. 

“Greedy thing,” Matty tsks. “So fucking impatient.” 

“It’s not my fault you’re all talk.” 

Matty scoffs. “You’ve got a death wish.”

Alana flutters her eyelashes at him, pouting. “I thought you could handle me.” 

He groans, hands burrowing back into her skirt. Calloused fingers grab at her hips, digging into the black lace of her panties. He drags it out slowly, smirking down at her as Alana scoops herself up to help him. A brief ceasefire, just because he knows all the parts of her to press into. 

She giggles in his open mouth, finding him again, embarrassingly giddy. Thrill beats in her veins, cunt throbbing for him, for the good part of this relentless chess match. He kisses her indulgently, shitty grin undeniable against her lips. Alana doesn’t even have it in her to care. 

In the corner of her eyes, she sees Matty shove the lacy thing in his pocket. She releases his lips like he’s burned her, scowling petulantly. “You have to give those back. I’m running out of underwear.” Every time they fall back into this poisonous push and pull, Alana loses a pair of her favorite lingerie, forgotten in the endless pockets and sheets of Matty Healy. She’d consider going commando just to spite him if he wouldn’t like it so much, love knowing he’s gotten under her skin, made her change some known habit. 

Of course, Matty shakes his head with a teasing grin. “No.” 

“At least buy me new ones.”

He cocks his head, considering her. “Are you gonna try them on for me?”

Alana rolls her eyes, just a little bit turned on at the idea of it. “You’re such a boy.” 

Cockily, he racks her to the edge of the countertop, finally pressing her against his hard cock. Alana gasps at the sinful feel, eyes rolling back for completely different reasons. He grinds into her, the rough material of his trousers rolling against the most sensitive part of her. A traitorous whine leaves her lips; she bites it shut just a little too late. 

Matty whispers smugly, “I’m a man.”

What a fucking douchebag. Alana can’t handle this back and forth he coaxes out of her, always swaying between burning anger and choking desire like the world’s most on-beat metronome. 

She gracefully lets him have this one. Doesn’t even come up with a jab or a glare in bitter answer. Of course, that might be because he’s sailing up her thighs, thumb pressing into her clit as jaw-dropping relief climbs up her spine. Her head falls against the backsplash, lips parted, rolling her hips against his fingers as he circles lazily at her. 

He’s fucking perfect. She wants to cut his fingers clean off, curse them for ever making her feel this way. Peeking her eyes open, Alana swears he knows this, gathering a pool of her arousal to smear it over her bundle of nerves. She gasps in the quiet air, uselessly kicking her feet. 

“You’re so wet for me,” Matty says in wonder, eyes locked to the way she grinds for him, dripping on the black marble. 

“First time making a girl wet?” Alana tries to brat, but it comes out weak between two moans. 

He smirks condescendingly at her, tracing her swollen lips with the tip of his free hand, coating her chin with tacky lipgloss. “We both know the answer to that.” 

Without warning, he thrusts two fingers into her. It’s embarrassing how quickly her cunt welcomes him home, insides rearranging to make room for him dutifully. Her face scrunches, crying against his jaw. 

“Fuck, Matty.” 

“Yeah?” He arches an eyebrow, curling his hand to draw a feverish wave of ecstasy out of her. 

She grips his shoulders, pushing the jacket off of them, trying to sink her claws into anything. He’s relentless between her legs, thrusting and circling and working magic. Pressure builds inside her abdomen. She's mewling in his neck, panting in his ear. 

Matty stares down at her in hunger. He’s got her right where he wants her, Alana knows this. But why does he keep watching her like he’s about to rip into her throat? Smug and dangerous and voracious? 

An inexplicable strike of nerves hit her. His fingers dip into her faster, swiping at her clit. The cold sink and his warm body and the feel of his rough fingers inside of her are too much. Pathetic moans spill from her lips, overflowing out of her. She wrinkles her face closed, then forces it open again. Just to keep an eye on him, on his flexed arm as he wrecks her from the inside. Bliss threatens the edges of her. She tastes it on her tongue 

Alana cries, “Are you gonna make me come?” It’s pathetic to ask. She’d demand it in normal circumstances, holding onto his arm, a ruinous hand over his own guiding him into her sopping cunt. 

But— She left him hard and sticky last time, screaming after her as she touched up her lipstick. And now he’s looking down at her like he’s got her exactly where he wants, brain melting out of her ears, begging for him.

He leans into her with a trickster smile, licking his teeth. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Never.”

He pumps harder inside of her, adding a third finger. The world blurs around Alana. She screams, digging her nails under his white shirt. Right—

Matty thrusts out of her as quickly as he entered. A guttural cry rips from her throat, head banging on the wall from the stolen orgasm. Soaked fingers fall limply on her thigh, drying the slick on her skin. He grins, smacking her cheek with a sweet kiss. 

“You fucking asshole,” Alana bites, out of breath, fury swirling around her dazed head. 

“What?” He finds her lips next, catching them with a biting kiss. “Were you close?” 

“I’ll kill you.” 

“I’d like to watch you try.” 

Matty pushes the cups of her dress down, revealing her tits, flushed and peaked for him. He twirls two fingers around her nipple, greedily watching as another wave of pleasure hits her, as the uncontrollable rage smothers for ecstasy. 

Alana is half-pissed to lose that sharp sense of anger, something to strike through the blur of him, to hold onto. Pissed that he can melt away all her hatred, make her putty in his expert hands. 

He dives for her breasts, biting and licking and sucking on them like a starved man. Muted pain stretches over her chest. Alana racks a hand through his sweaty curls, gasping. 

“Are you gonna ask nicely?” Matty whispers, starting that torturously cycle on her clit again. “I like when you ask all sweet and desperate.” Alana shakes her head, sloppily kissing at his jaw as he teases a finger over her entrance again. “Come on,” he chuckles lowly. “Beg for it.” 

“Screw you,” Alana bites, legs spreading wider for him in complete contradiction. 

“Yeah, I bet you want me to.” 

Matty dips a finger inside of her, pumping slowly, unbothered by her rushing him. Her hands are everywhere on him— the mane of his black hair, the cut of his jaw, the buttons of his shirt, undone by her sloppy hands, the muscle of his working arm, the belt at his hips. Pressing and clawing and tugging at him, pleading with a silent hand to work faster. 

He’s uninterested in listening, especially when her mouth still refuses to grant him the sweet nothings she always moans for him. His pace is steady and consistent, entirely not enough. She smacks the counter uselessly. 

“You’re the worst,” Alana whines, head flopping around her neck. Tension builds meticulously slow inside of her. She throbs around his finger, wishing for more, but he continues to deny her.  

“I just want you to be good for me,” Matty breathes, holding her head up with a heavy hand. 

“Just fuck me, Matty.” 

Trying to speed it along, Alana pounces on his belt buckle, frantically trying to undo it with trembling fingers. It’s a messy affair; he pries them away easily. His jaw clenches, clearly unhappy with her. He exhales through his nose. The air grows electric. Alana’s pussy shamefully clenches around him.

Matty is a fucking sight. She desperately wishes it wasn’t true, that he wasn’t perfectly sculpted to fit around her stained palms. A fallen angel crashed to Earth just to lick the vodka and red off her lips. 

“Can’t you ever listen?” His hand moves again, slithering around the front of her throat. He presses meanly at the sides, blood rushing away from her head. Alana’s lips part, but only quiet spills from them. “That’s all that ever shuts you up, isn’t it?” 

Alana laughs gleefully at his anger, managing a choked, “Not even,” just to spite him. He digs into her arteries, surely leaving a constellation of bruises for her to cover up. 

“Fine, princess,” Matty grunts. “We’ll do it your way.” 

In a second, he’s got three fingers back inside of her, fast and hard, curling just right. It’s miraculous how he manages to be everywhere inside and outside of her, how he drowns her in the feel of him. 

Her head disconnects from her neck. She gasps for air, purring in their shared breaths. Euphoria coils around her belly, hot and sticky and so, so close. Sweet oblivion. She barely remembers their names, barely remembers what—

“Fucking hell, Matty,” Alana screams, slapping his shoulder with no force, missing his gone fingers. “Just— Just let me come.” 

“Brats don’t deserve orgasms. I thought you learned your lesson.” 

Matty takes a clinical step away from her. Breathing harshly, she tries to reattach herself to the firm reality that exists around her and not this dreamed-up land the cliff of a shattering climax brings her to. 

He’s so proper, still dressed while her dress bunches useless around her waist. So put together as she drools and drips and pants for him, unhinged and unmade. How fucking embarrassing. 

She’d lash at him in retaliation, bring him down to her dirty level, make him feel crass inside. She has the urge to on the tip of her tongue, feels the burn all the way to her throat. 

But what would Matty give her in return? Not what she wants. Not what she craves. 

God, Alana hates when she has to fucking listen. 

“Matty,” she sings, finding the lapels of his shirt and tugging him back into her. She flutters her eyelashes innocently at him, licking her lips. “I’m sorry.” He snorts at her. It’s another bruise to heal tomorrow. “Please, I mean it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She grabs his cheek with one hand, kissing the other one religiously. “Fuck me. Please, please, Matty, fuck me. I need you.” 

With her free hand, she coaxes him back between her legs, spreading his long fingers over her sopping hole. “It’s all for you. It’s always just for you.” She licks his jaw, biting his earlobe. “You’re the only one who can make me feel this way.” 

Alana presses his fingers into her entrance. They enter her together, a delicious stretch that has her sighing in relief. It’s crowded and nasty and, oh, my fucking god, she’s fingering herself with fucking Matty Healy. 

He seems to be thinking the same whirlwind of thoughts, locked gaze on the spectacle of them between her thighs, working together for perhaps the first time ever. 

Alana puppeteers him, pumping their joined fingers together. She’s quick to drive herself to the edge, already so restless and aware and turned on, constantly teetering the cliff he refuses to give her. She knows her best spots anyway, knows how to get herself off quick and easy. 

“Are you gonna come for me?” Matty asks, still reveling in the sight of them. Alana nods eagerly. “Are you sure?” 

He rips their fingers out of her again. Alana smothers a sob, pain tingling the tips of her. She wants it so badly. 

Matty sucks her wet fingers clean, twirling his tongue around her metal ring. “Come on, Alana. Don’t you trust me?” She shakes her head childishly.

She thinks she might go insane. How fitting, completely going off her rockers because of Matty fucking Healy. Her entire body is in a frenzy, feverish and electrified, buzzing with stolen orgasms. He could blow on a bitten nipple and she’s half convinced she’d come on the spot. 

But he’s not going to, is he? Alana pouts pitifully to herself, cursing the chess games she plays and then has to suffer from. She knows she put herself in this situation, pushed him too far and now has to watch as he whips back tenfold like a tense elastic. 

All she can do is follow along, pleading and praying and begging for a release he’s just not giving her. 

“Oh, baby, it’s okay,” Matty coos. 

“Please. Please, I can’t—” Alana shakes her head. “I’m so close. Please, let me come.” 

He racks two hands through the tangled mess of her hair. “You’re so pretty when you beg. If only they could hear you. If only they knew how fucking pathetic you are for me.” 

Alana cries, nodding just to please him, “I am. I am.” She throbs around nothing. “Fuck me, please.” 

Matty pouts at her. “See, it’s not so hard.” 

He pushes her from her perch on the countertop, catching her as her legs tremble beneath her weight. He leaves her no time to adjust to gravity again, turning her hips around and bending her over the sink. 

She gasps at the cold feel of the marble on her tits. His hand presses strongly between her shoulder blades. Alana manages to throw a look back his way, mesmerized by the way he undoes his buckle with one hand, by the strings of curls falling over his forehead, by his swollen, red lips parting as he pants. 

By his cock as he pushes his trousers just down enough to reveal it, hard and leaking, swerving just right. 

Alana bites her lip, eyes rolling at the sheer idea of it. 

“‘Gonna fucking ruin you,” he mutters more to himself than her. 

Of course, she can’t stop herself from breathing back, “Haven’t managed to yet.” 

He tsks, spanking her naked ass. It rings deliciously down her leg. “Can’t ever stop bratting.” She giggles giddily, shaking her head. 

Matty grabs himself by the base, guiding himself between her thighs. His tip rubs at her dripping entrance, still teasing her when she’s near ready to explode from the lack of him. 

“Matty…” Alana warns. 

He chuckles. “God, you’re impatient.” He thrusts into her, bottoming out. 

A scream rips out of her throat. Alana slams her hand against the counter. How fucking right he fits, curving just perfectly inside of her. She bites her tongue, bliss loosening all her tense muscles. 

No matter how fucking shit this thing with him is, this, him inside of her, will always be holy. 

Matty grabs her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, and pounds into her. He has a wild, brutal rhythm going on, sliding in and out of her before she can register any of them, until all she knows is to moan, pleases and so goods and mores falling off her lips before she can think them. 

His skin slaps against her, the rough leather of his belt hitting her ass with each stroke. Mostly, he’s silent for once, too. Pretty, mean words robbed from his throat as he grunts and whines openly. How victorious it makes Alana feel, drowning in the sounds of him like he’s not invading every inch of her. Like she’s won. 

Her tongue burns. Ecstasy weeps down her spine. She clenches around him, again and again. “Matty—” She warns, out of breath. She’s learned her lesson. “Matty, I’m—” 

“I know, baby.” He whispers hotly, driving into her faster. “What a good girl. Are you gonna say please?” 

“Please,” she yells, face scrunching, cunt throbbing as she—

Her walls close around nothing. Alana chokes at the lack of him, too sudden and too quick for her to register until it’s too late. Matty robbed her of an astronomical orgasm again. 

She lays there pitiful, pillaged of all fight. Her cheeks feel wet and scratchy and— oh, God, she’s actually crying. 

“Oh, baby,” Matty coos, taking her arms and dragging her into the warmth of his body. Her head rolls on his shoulder, letting him play her like his favorite ragdoll. He wipes at her tears. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” 

“It’s too much.” 

“You can handle it.” He grabs a handful of her tits, using his other hand to guide her vision to the bathroom mirror. “Look at you,” he whispers. “Look how fucking beautiful you look.” 

Alana’s hair is a nest, pretty layers tangled around her face. Her face is flushed; eyeliner dripping down her eyes, lipstick smearing her chin, cheeks red from leftover blush and those pathetic tears. Her chest is blotched scarlet, freckles of growing bruises littering her skin. She’s a mess. 

Yet, Matty looks at her with devotion. I’m beautiful. I’m beautiful. 

He works slowly into her. His hips grind against her ass, deliciously reverbing in her cunt. Just this is enough to send burning ecstasy down her limbs. It’s this heady mix of pure pleasure and the striking fear that he won’t let her have it that reigns over her head.

Matty makes heavy eye contact in the reflection of the mirror. Pupils dark and penetrating, watching her every hitched breath with fascination. He wants her so much, it chokes her. 

His strokes grow faster. Alana whimpers, gripping his arm, terrified of the orgasm building inside of her. She’s run out of words to beg with. All there’s left is pleading eyes, still wet with tears. 

Matty sees the message loud and clear. “Shhh,” he whispers. “Trust me. You have to trust me.” 

Alana shakes her head. Trusting him is an impossible task, bigger and grander than he’s ever demanded of her. She can’t. She can’t let herself. 

He snaps inside of her, cruel and relentless, building her back to that epic cliff. He noses the side of her neck, moaning over and over, “Just trust me. Come on, baby. You have to trust me.” He licks her cheek, shushing in her ear. "Just trust me. Just trust me."

She thinks it’s the meanest he’s ever been with her. Demanding her to trust him at her most vulnerable when it’s him— and it’s her— and she can’t— and she has to. 

He's irredeemably cruel. Doesn't he know that he's asking the world of her? How can he ask her to just trust him?

Still, that incessant burning edge. Pression building in her stomach. He presses over her belly, cooing, “Pretty girl.”

She wants it so bad. She wants him so bad. He'll give it to her. She just has to believe that he'll—

Her face scrunch and—

Wiping waves of oblivion. Her head falls into his shoulder, jaw growing slack. Hot, white pleasure strikes the deepest parts of her. Her fingertips buzz, oxygen just a little sweeter, just a little lighter. 

Her brain loses all coherent thoughts. She’s a mess of burning fire, licking up her limbs, screaming uselessly Matty, Matty, Matty. It’s all her heart can chant, crashing down a cliff. She smashes to the ground, gracelessly and furiously. Doesn’t stick any kind of landing; just pure, unfiltered ecstasy. 

This is why Alana falls into him all the time. Why she keeps this ridiculous tango, choking and poisonous. For the momentary relief of not existing, of just being a body in his skillful hands. She purrs, relieved of any burden, relieved of him, even.

Matty follows quickly after her, spilling inside of her with the sweetest moans she’s ever heard. She laughs happily, gravity still very far from her. 

He lingers inside of her, dropping his head on her shoulder, breathing heavily against her naked skin. 

“Fuck, Alana.” 

“Fuck, Matty.” He chuckles, rubbing his forehead lazily against her. Alana peeks one eye open, nervously watching the ruins of them after their catastrophic pass through each other. “We’re a mess,” she laughs.

It’s always strangely like this when they’re done. Light and breezy. Easy. 

Matty smirks, kissing her shoulder. “Mostly you.” 

She slaps him, laughing an offended gasp. “Shut up!” 

He thrusts out of her. Cum leaks down her thighs, which only makes her vaguely blush. Matty tucks himself back in his trousers, buckling his belt. He works at his half-unbuttoned shirt next, then his forgotten jacket kicked at their feet. Alana watches him solemnly. 

When he’s done with himself, he turns her back to him. With gentle fingers, rough at the tips but oh so careful with her, he lowers the skirt of her dress, raising the cups over her bare breasts again. It’s weird to have him like this. Sort of sweet. 

He kisses her nose, then smiles ruefully. “See ya.” 

Alana frowns as he steps away from her. “What? That’s it?” 

He looks back at her, tightening his tie. He arches a bored eyebrow. “What? Did you want to suck my dick clean?” 

Alana’s lips part in affront. Fucking Matty Healy. Asking her to trust him just to slap her in the face. She can't believe she considered him any kind of sweet. Considered them anything but an unwatchable forest fire spreading in front of their very eyes.

“Only to bite it off,” she spits, fists clenching in anger. 

He smirks. “Kinky.” He opens the door, stepping through. It slams behind him. 

It’s dark and cold in the bathroom. Alana crosses her arms, craving a drink and a cigarette. God, she’s a fucking mess.

[ymaohohoh]

Elriel Masterpost

Elriel - Writing prompts & Masterlist. 

(reposting from my main)

Just some ideas I’ve been thinking about (over and over). Posting them to inspire others or I may take a stab at them myself. Completed fics are linked. Open to requests.

Completed

Elain is struggling with her first Fae blood cycle alone and refuses to ask for help because she’s embarrassed. Azriel leaves her a tonic. - oneshot

Their first time is obviously out in the garden - oneshot, M rated.

Azriel’s POV when they go to the Hewn City in Silver Flames. He and Elain steal a quiet moment together while Nesta dances. - oneshot with angst and smutty thoughts.

Azriel teaches Elain how to use a dagger. - oneshot

Azriel teaches Elain how to winnow and they end up angrily expressing their feelings. - angsty oneshot.

Elain learns about Rhys’s interruption on Solstice. She tells her brother-in-law to back off and respect her choices. Rhys, to her surprise, agrees to support her.

Elain and Azriel are about to die and confess their feelings. - oneshot, angst party

Elain asks the cauldron to take back her gifts, she wants Azriel instead. - oneshot

Prompts

Elain still finds it difficult to put her head under the water in the bath. She prefers her baths to be piping hot against the chill. 

Elain dancing at Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony – she wears cobalt blue and the stars are shining. 

Elain sees the sea for the first time. She wants to swim in it but she doesn’t know how. 

Mor spots Elain admiring the Illyrian boy’s wing’s and tells her about the wingspan rumour. Elain laughs until she cries. It’s the most she’s laughed since the Cauldron. 

Elain catches a bit of the Valkyrie training and admires the strength and power of the fighters, though she knows her own inner strength can match it.

Elain makes a pledge and gets her very own tattoo. It’s not in a place you see easily. Azriel has a look for it. 

Elain rejects the bond with Lucien and he's thankful. She feels a crushing sense of relief as the bond vanishes and they work on their friendship (they actually get along well now the drama is gone).

Elain sees her first Starfall. Azriel flies her somewhere to get a better view.

Elain tries on some Illyrian leathers for the first time. She can feel a certain person’s gaze on her. She looks just as good in a flowing dress though (and better yet - nothing at all).

Elain embroiders something for Azriel and he keeps it by his bed.

Gender Swap AU - Elain is the deadly shadowsinger and Azriel is the quiet gardener.

Elain and little Nyx play together. She thinks about children and motherhood and what it might mean for her.

[magicalrocketships]

Random fic ask i just made up: What is the nearest book to you right now, or what is the last movie you watched, and what would a fic based on that book/movie look like?

Any ship you want, and drawing however heavily or lightly on the plot of the book/movie as you want 😊

What a marvellous random fic ask you just made up. I'm just going to press pause on what I was actually going to talk about in this post and just circle around to the thing I've actually just been watching, which is ANOTHER detective show where the serious and methodical detective is derailed by being partnered (officially or unofficially) by a extrovert sometime-confidence-trickster who trades in being liked.

All I'm saying is (obvs acab) so let's throw this one BACK IN TIME, say the 1950s, and make Max a PRIVATE DETECTIVE somewhere around Monaco and have Daniel fall into his path as a bit of a playboy with a series of richer friends and girlfriends who kind of pay his way, and nobody really minds that Daniel can't afford to be in their set, because everyone loves him. Daniel's a bit bored, but he's got to keep in with the crowd who pay his way, and then there is a MYSTERIOUS DEATH at a club, and MAX shows up to investigate on behalf of some rich relative of the dead guy, and the whole time he's trying to investigate, there's this handsome vaguely hungover guy who keeps hanging around and asking questions and being annoying and getting in his way, but who actually gets doors open for Max because Max can't be bothered playing nice and he doesn't know the right people.

Daniel, fascinated by this single-minded, sometimes rude Dutch guy who always wears a variation of the exact same off-the-peg suit, and who is sharply focused on getting to the bottom of the death at the club, and Daniel finds himself blowing off his friends and the current divorcee paying his way in order to track possible leads through the back streets, and breaking into a YACHT and spending three hours cramped in a tiny room trying to listen to an illegal card game through the wall, and the whole time Max is pressed up against him, his breath warm against Daniel's throat, and Daniel's hand just settles on the curve of Max's ass, and Max trembles a little beneath his touch but they have to focus on the MYSTERIOUS DEATH and not on the way Daniel's lifelong need to be close to men is suddenly thrown into sharp focus.

And maybe it turns out that it's someone in Daniel's set, and Daniel's faced with the choice between telling the truth to Max or lying and saving his friend, and he chooses his Max and his rich friends exile him from their group. So it's just Daniel, trailing after Max, and Max takes him to this boat moored in a harbour down the coast, and it's small and familiar and private, and it's Max's, and it's where he goes when he's not working a case. And he takes the boat out to sea and makes a very boring lunch of soup and bread, and Daniel's sunbathing in small shorts, and they eat lunch and then Max, impulsively, leans over and presses his mouth to Daniel's. Daniel beams like the sun, and kisses him back.

Also, each subsequent mystery is just focused on someone else on the grid, like the mysterious death of Fernando's extremely rich wife, (Lance in the wings with his alibi and a lot more money than Fernando's wife) or George being framed for the death of the controlling partner in his law firm, eventually exonerated by photographer Alex, or the one with the BEES and the mysterious German guy who owns them. Saving unlucky Charles from always being in the wrong place in the wrong time, except this time he's discovering the body by tripping over it and finding the murder weapon stashed in his apartment. OH GOD maybe Charles is the Prince of Monaco. Anyway, whatever. And each mystery ends with Max and Daniel out on their boat, Daniel in a series of tinier and tinier shorts, Max with his gin and tonic and Daniel with a ridiculous cocktail, Max flushed with the sun and Daniel not regretting any of his choices in leaving his old life behind to solve mysteries with Max.

Please note that at no point in this ask did I refer to the rather lengthy Sweet Home Alabama AU plot I forced Sarah to listen to last week, which got out of hand and got too angsty and where I left it, Daniel was in hospital for the second time and Max was following him half way across the world and nobody was even mentioning divorce, so that went well. Two thumbs up to that.

[tsunaaism]

In too deep. | Atsumu x Reader.

; be honest with me, baby. I'll make it last.

His eyes first set on you in the hallway. Atsumu doesn’t know what came over him; your presence was magnetic, noticeable even through the bustling sea of freshmen. Then you, of course, noticed his stare, sending a smile and an acknowledging nod—

And it was all it took. He reckoned your siren-like ability, your silent confidence so enchanting to him.

Though to his dismay, he wasn’t the only one lured in. Multiple gazes were focused on you, and news spread like wildfire. Even his friends won’t shut up, claiming that they’ve got a little crush.

You are pretty. Atsumu won’t lie about that—but the attention surrounding your name made him hesitant. She’s just a passing hallway eye-catcher, he thought.

That was once. But then, you were standing right in front of him, sipping gin and tonic as music boomed loudly. It was his, and coincidentally, your friend’s birthday. Nothing much. Just friendly small talk, an obligatory formality everyone does.

He didn’t think of it much, it was cool—a neutral first impression. You were physically attractive, yes, but he couldn’t see anything past that. At least, not yet.

And maybe this was all a setup, but his friend asked if he could model for one of his project. Atsumu is an athlete, after all; he was gifted with an attractive face and a well-built physique. Chattering as he walked into the studio, he momentarily lost his focus as he saw you. Clad in a black dress, all dolled up and waiting for him.

"When can we start?” Your voice broke his trance. Atsumu simply raised his eyebrows, returning your cheeky smile with his.

Then you started talking with each other.

He texted you first. Sent a mundane question, maybe a boring conversation starter—but you were friendly. Your sense of humor was sort of odd, but he found it hilarious. You started hanging out with Atsumu in friend groups—but they started dissipating as days pass—and suddenly, you went out everywhere together. Just the both of you.

Atsumu was in the dark. Does he like you? Or was it just a fleeting crush? But it was never the familiar, pumping heartbeat he felt. You were comfortable; you felt like home, someone he’d been talking to for years and not weeks.

And everything felt easy. He got to know you. You are a good cook. Intelligent and weirdly creative. Even your messy rambles register themselves in his head. Your weird laughs, your snores, and soon enough, your breathy moans—then the feeling of your nails raking through his back. He remembers all of it vividly.  

Atsumu thought he had you. His friends speaks of you all the time—and nobody knows, but he’s the only one who gets to touch you.

Right?

But it all slowly dissipates. His view slowly cleared. You laughed and smiled, but none of it felt real. As if he was nothing to you. Just a fleeting comfort in a new place. Just someone to talk with, to relieve your stress. Just a friend.

Though, you never pushed him away, always oh-so-welcoming to his advances.

"What do you want?”

 He finally spoke. His voice echoes within the silent apartment.

“What are we?”

His hands raked through his hair. It’s his fault. He shouldn’t have expected so much. He’s just a good friend to you, huh? Maybe even just a fuckbuddy. Despite all those nights—despite how much time you’ve spent together and the secrets you’ve shared?

Why do you act like that, then? Why do you return the same warm gaze if you didn’t feel anything? Have you been lying? Playing him?

"Did I expect too much from whatever is going on? From you? So all this time is just child’s play for you?”

Your silence is all he needs. Atsumu nods sarcastically, tired eyes gazing into your eyes.

"It’s all my fault all along, huh? Too attached, is that it?”

"I don’t believe you.” You say, “I should’ve left you earlier.”

"So you were playing me.” Atsumu’s form caged you, “You were, weren’t you?”

“In too deep.” You whisper, “I warned you not to get attach-“

“Stop with this bullshit. Am I the one in too deep or are you?”

He held your chin up, “Or are you?”

You’ve kissed him. Hugged him. Cared for him when he was sick, stayed during his ups and downs—and now you’re trying to tell him all this meant nothing?

"Please.” He finally gave in, hugging your form. He wants to hate you for this. But how could he?

You can’t explain whatever feeling is washing through your body. You’re not used to whatever this is. True love is made up; you’ve always been in shallow situations—ones that you know will never last—and Atsumu was no different. You know he wouldn’t stay forever, that whatever you have right now is meaningless and will go away, but if he’s like this, how could you hold back?

"I see no future with you.” You coldly say, feeling him holding back his breath, “But you’re right. I’m in too deep.”

His hug tightens.

“We’ll work it out.” He says.

He still couldn’t understand how time brings you into his life, but he knows this all won’t go away. He knows his feelings would stay, no matter how long.

A/N: My writing has honestly gotten super rusty and i'm getting back to it. I'm gonna start writing more hehe but this one kinda awkward lol

[evenfall-au]

A Moment With You

Rating: M TWs: Alcohol Mention Prompt for Frans Monthly August: [Rain] Word Count: 3,982

Cross posted to Ao3 here!

@frans-monthly

They say life is a party, a gala, that you should enjoy it before time passes by and before you know it the party’s over. At least that was what Frisk had been told since the early days of her childhood.

So then why wasn’t she having fun?

There were swaths of men and women both human and monster alike conversing and laughing together at whatever jest had been made or topic given. It was plain to see many were enjoying themselves simply basking in shared company. 

But Frisk stood aside, awkwardly nursing what remained of her lemon juice as her gaze panned the intricate lounge with barely a pause. Sans had departed some time ago with a regent of whom Frisk didn’t know concerning business that involved the new market place opening up just at the rim of Asgore’s dukedom, leaving her completely and utterly alone.

Not to say there weren’t people attending that Frisk didn’t know, in fact she knew quite a few, but they all seemed otherwise preoccupied with people she didn’t know. For example: she’d tried to join in on a conversation the Duchess Raitha from the neighboring dukedom had been a part of but she’d quickly found herself disinterested when they’d began discussing the latest fashion from across the sea.

Frisk loved clothing as much as the next person, but for tonight she couldn’t bring herself to find a draw in the topic. Frisk was used to attending Gala’s and Balls, but this was her first soiree and as much as she’d have loved to relax and make a good impression she was finding it wasn’t the most…exciting. Sans of course fit into the atmosphere as easily as he did every event they attended, if anything this particular type of gathering was right up his alley with amused and calm games of cards and low droned music playing gracefully from a piano somewhere in the far corner.

But not Frisk’s.

She felt very much out of place.

And exceedingly bored.

“Ma’dam De Nocturné,” Frisk jolted at the sudden voice, not expecting a server to have approached her. His smile was amused but warm as he continued, “Forgive me but you seem to be out of drink. Would you care for another?” 

A quick glance down proved his words to her surprise. A bit startled still and now slightly embarrassed she forced a smile. “Um, yes I would appreciate that. Another lemon juice if you would?”

“Oh I am afraid we are out of fruit my lady.” The way Frisk’s expression dropped must’ve broken his heart as he frowned in one instant before smiling hopefully in the next. “But if I may? You’re looking a tad uneasy, a Mint Julep should help to prevent the vapours. It’s rather delicious as well as refreshing.”

A Mint Julep? 

Frisk wasn’t one to indulge in drinking often, an odd glass of wine for supper maybe but that was very rare and often with a meal. She didn’t partake of it for tonics nor social gatherings as she’d seen her mother or similar ladies of her class do. Frisk had seen what too much alcohol could do to a person’s inhibitions.

However, she was kind of  thirsty now that the server had mentioned it…and surely only one couldn’t hurt. It would be a treat truthfully. Her lemon juice had been refreshing but a bit bland, and she’d heard that Mint Juleps were typically very flavorful, even sweet. Not to mention the lounge was slightly stuffy from the warm summer heat outside even at this late hour.

“I suppose…” She murmured. “Just one wouldn’t hurt.” 

The way the server seemed to light up and grin at her agreement— probably excited that he’d managed to have a smooth conversation and give significant input with a noblewoman, Frisk thought sadly—brought a smile to her own face as he began to mix the drink from the trolley beside him. 

The moment he handed the drink to her and it touched her lips Frisk immediately knew it was too much. It was far too sweet, caused her skin to immediately flush with heat, and burned!

She tried to hide her coughs behind her hand but even still it barely did a thing to hide the racket of her lungs as several guests glanced curiously in her direction. Frisk closed her eyes tight and did her best to control the reflex, forced her wheezes to become long drawn out sighs and deep breaths as she silently counted to ten. Once she felt confident she could speak again she handed the drink back to the man who looked as if he was struggling to contain his own laughter while she did her best to look anywhere but at the whole of the room. 

“I think wine will be just fine!” She squeaked. 

He didn’t say a word as he handed her the new glass, simply bowed and made a suspiciously quick exit, maybe to avoid the second hand embarrassment Frisk currently felt or to perhaps avoid any possible retribution for having inadvertently made a noblewoman look foolish. Though she suspected it was more so he could finally break down in his humor with how his shoulders shook.

She took a wary sip, and let out a small sigh. Much better! It was mellow with just a hint of grape, and most of all didn’t make her feel as if she’d swallowed a hot coal. Frisk dared a quick glance around and caught the abruptness with how quickly those still watching turned away.

She was starting to really dislike soirees.

Frisk kept to herself, and to her drink. At least she tried too. At some point midway into her glass an exclusive selection of wines were brought out to be pursued for purchase, with free drinks being offered for sampling. Surprised and a little excited to finally have a social activity she could participate in, Frisk was rather quick to join as the names and companies were listed off while sips were taken. Opinions were given and Frisk listened with mild interest until she began to listen wholeheartedly with vivid interest upon her fourth glass. 

The room was warm and she felt as if her feet were trying to balance on the deck of a ship, but Frisk honestly didn’t care as she giggled to herself at something Lord Lional said regarding the new spirits tax coming into effect. The golden hue of her eyes were locked on his mustache, watching fascinated as the curled corners wiggled with every word he spoke and the tilted with every slight change in expression.

It was as if he had a really cute fuzzy white caterpillar on his face.

She had the wildest urge to touch it.

“partial to the bordeaux?” A deep husky tone whispered in her ear. 

Frisk didn’t bother turning away from the sight before her, she’d know that voice anywhere with the way it made her heart skip, and waved her hand around behind her to grasp Sans’ before tilting her head back and speaking in what she was sure was a small whisper. “If you watch closely you’ll see it move!”

Sans was silent as his eyelights panned from Frisk’s face to where she was staring transfixed.

Lord Lional’s mustache did a little jig as he finished off his glass of wine.

Frisk giggled.

Sans’ grin widened as he chuckled along with her. “amusing as watching an old man’s hair wiggle about is, how about we step out for a sec?”

Frisk shivered as she felt the back of his gloved knuckle brush the back of her neck just under the locks of her hair, the soft satin a blessed coolness against the heat that only seemed to climb with Sans’ sudden closeness. 

His breath ran hot over the shell of her ear, fevered. “get a quick bite to eat?”

Grinning and heart racing she tossed back the last of her drink, causing Sans’ sockets to widen and go full ovaled as she sat the empty glass aside and eagerly took his already captured hand in both of hers. “Yes, please take me away from here.”

Frisk thought she saw a flare of blue cross his cheekbones but if it had it was gone quicker than she could blink. His sockets lidded and his grin turned sly as he turned and began to expertly weave them through the fringes of the group, out the side glass doors and onto the crescent shaped veranda, just off to the side beneath the overhang where they couldn’t be seen. 

Once outside her eyes widened. She hadn’t realized it’d been raining, but the coolness it offered was more than welcome as she held her hand out to catch a few of the stray droplets.

Sans watched her with a quiet calmness as Frisk laughed at a drop falling onto her dress before stepping back, a blush tinting her features in a rosier hue at the wetness that should have been expected. 

She was clearly inebriated, tipsy at the least.

It was adorable.

“tasted more than one wine i take it?”

Frisk looked as if she’d been caught stealing from the proverbial cookie jar as she tucked her hands against her chest and bit her lip. She averted her eyes as she timidly responded, “...A few.”

“hm.”

“Are you upset?” Sans was surprised at the sudden worry in her eyes.

“no, you’re a grown woman. you’re free to indulge in what you choose. i just find it humerus when i see someone tipsy for the first time.” He winked.

"I'm not tipsy!" She defended as his pun flew right over her head.

"clearly." He agreed.

"I'm not!" Frisk crossed her arms as she cutely puffed out her cheeks, before quickly deflating. "Okay, I am a little tipsy."

Sans' grin curled higher at the corners.

She frowned at him curiously. “Have you never been tipsy?”

He didn’t know what to say.

In his long life Sans had never felt the need to drown his sorrows or find happiness at the bottom of a bottle. He’d had curiosities sure, he’d indulged in some of the more unsavory practices that humanity and monster both had had to offer once or twice, to his own regret. 

But getting drunk?

He’d never managed it. He had stopped trying when he’d cleared out an entire tavern all by himself and then had compensated the man for his loss in revenue. Well, the supposed loss after what Sans had given him initially. Sans had felt at most a little warm, but that was it.

He hadn’t been particularly disappointed or anything though. Having watched countlessly as men and women alike celebrated and wept, Sans hadn’t felt a sense of loss. He may not have known what it was like to be under the influence of alcohol but that didn’t mean he didn’t find others enjoying it any less amusing or entertaining to watch.

As far as he could tell it was a harmless habit anyway, in moderation at least.

So he simply said, “nope.”

“Oh.” Frisk seemed just as lost at how to respond. "So…if you drink from me you won't be affected?"

It was true that things could affect the blood when the host had consumed something or partook of a substance. It was why hobbyist hunters often mixed in ingredients to foul the blood supplies when able. But Sans had had his fair share of drunkards on his plate and he’d never been afflicted in such a manner before, so he found the question rather silly. 

But then again, it was Frisk who was asking.

The image she conjured of him sinking his fangs into her skin with the promise of her blood, combined with the inquisitiveness of her intellect made his soul thrum wildly in his ribs as the urge to feed narrowed his focus into a heated glance. Sans chuckled as he moved closer, his azul gaze pulsing with a fiery intensity that left Frisk breathless as she instinctively backed into the wall behind her, but also caused her to reach out and place her hands upon his chest as he pinned her in place with a forearm beside her head.

Slowly he reached up and twined a lock of her hair around his finger, twirled it as if it was the most fascinating thing to have ever caught his attention as he savored her stuttered breath and the rapid beat of her heart echoing in his acoustics.

Frisk shivered as his gaze met hers, tone low, teasing.

"why don't we find out?"

The world faded: the cool night air ceased to be and the sound of the rain was little more than a muffled note as Frisk watched her hair gently slide free of his touch, and felt his hand softly graze past to cup the back of her jaw—enticing, guiding her head up as his skull moved closer that the proximity caused goose pimples along her arms and the feeling of static of a touch just on the precipice of contact.

"Sans…" She whispered, helpless, wanting.

His thumb stroked tenderly over the swell of her cheek, right before he bit down.

Fire seared through Frisk’s veins as her nerves sang with euphoria, toes curling as all she could do was cling to his coat in an attempt to stay upright as her knees buckled. It was rough how she dug her hands into his lapels, desperate the way his hold on her shifted and his hands tangled in the fabric of her gown at her waist and cupped the other side of her throat as he used the press of his body to support her.

She whimpered.

Sans grunted.

His vision spun even as his sockets remained closed, basking in the taste of her as the warm ruby flow of her life danced across his senses and made his soul roil with a primal hunger that bordered insanity. Only the fleeting brush of her hair and the tug of his coat kept him in check as he drank with a fervor that would never be satisfied, that would never have enough of Frisk. A hot throb ricocheted through his bones as her blood joined with his magic, leaving him dizzy as the need to consume and take slowly died down into a low contented simmer.

Gently, Sans forced himself to let go and sealed the fresh mark he’d left upon her delicate skin with a slow lavishing brush of his conjured tongue. He was abuzz with energy, magic crackling with powerful overflow as it was every time he ever fed from his darling bride.

He frowned.

…’Darling’?

Slowly Sans pulled back to gaze at Frisk, his mind struggling to wrap around the sudden, almost dopey, surge of affection he felt towards her and went silent.

She was panting, hair a mess as a pretty blush played across her cheeks despite him just feeding from her. It reminded him of something cute, like a pretty pink peony in fresh bloom to greet the spring. The world tilted slightly and Sans had to blink and give a quick shake of his skull to clear it.

Weird, odd. Bizarrely he felt as if he could taste lemon on the back of his tongue. A hint of mint that didn’t sit well with the citrus and made him grimace.

For the life of him he couldn’t understand what was going on.

“Sans?” Frisk asked, voice pitchy and rasping.

He couldn’t help grinning at hearing it. “yeah?”

“Are you…alright?” She whispered.

His eyelights were wobbly around the edges, and the blues a faintly lighter shade than normal.

"yeah."

Frisk stared at him and then giggled, making his grin go crooked. He wondered what it would take to get her to break into laughter, she always had the most enchanting laugh.

"Sans?"

"yeah?" The way her lips curved was cute. How the tiny little things pursed out even cuter as he continued to stare at them.

"I think my blood did affect you."

He blinked slowly as her words registered and chuckled as it explained the rash emotional shift he was experiencing and the unbridled fascination he had with the subtle changes in her expression. Had her eyes always been so bright? So deep that he felt as if he could wallow in their depths for hours?

"yeah."

"Is that all you can say?" Frisk teased as she covered her mouth with a hand to hide her amusement.

That wasn't fair. He wanted to see her smile. With a frown he reached up to remove the offending limb and then kept it prisoner in his so she couldn't steal the sight away again. He loved how soft her hand was, but then again all of her was soft, always squishy and warm.

Both her eyebrows rose.

His eyelights flared bright. "...nah."

Frisk couldn't help blushing again. 

Oh no, she thought, he was too cute! Sans and cute in the same sentence left her speechless, and more than a little bit curious as she cast a mischievous glance out at the rain before zeroing back in on her husband.

With a wiggle that had Sans momentarily widening his sockets she slipped out of his hold and rushed behind him to the top of the steps that led down into the front yard. She paused as she stared out before speaking. "I'll be honest: the night has been dull thus far."

He frowned, concerned, and went to say something as he turned to face her but Frisk quickly held a hand out to him with an incline of her head.

“Dance with me, please?”

Sans looked out at the downpour with a squint, recalling something about Papyrus…and clothes? He also took note of the wet grass and waterlogged animal shaped bushes lining the perimeter. They were really creepy looking in the dark and left a disturbing shiver down his spine. 

But the second his eyelights flickered back over to Frisk he froze.

She looked so hopeful, her eyes as wide as saucers.

He couldn’t bring himself to say no to her, not only was she too adorable for this world but he also felt guilty hearing she’d not had fun as he thought she would, it left a bad taste in his mouth and made his soul stutter with disappointment, so instead Sans smiled warmly as he wrapped an arm around her waist and took her hand before spinning them both right into the rain.

The second her laughter echoed out like the chime of a thousand pearly bells Sans felt his head spin with giddy delight. His gaze was solely on her as they moved without rhythm but in time all the same, a chaos of uncoordinated footsteps and random patterns that somehow flowed well together. They danced, to no music or chorus, only to the tune of their joy. There were dips, spins, twirls.

A moment where they stopped and went still as they tried to catch their breath.

A moment where their eyes met with equal red and blue flaring across cheeks. 

Water soaked her gown and hair, ran down the planes of her face leaving shimmering trials of light in their wake. In that exact moment Frisk was the most stunning vision Sans had ever seen in the entire millennia that he’d spent alive, and if he’d had a heart rather than a soul, he was sure it would have stopped.

Just as soaked as she was, Sans' eyelights hazed around the edges as they lit the space between them with an ethereal glow that turned the water racing along his skull and bones a soft mesmerizing cyan. In that same moment Sans was the world and more, there was no one else. 

They were both so sure that if they’d met under different circumstances, if they’d met with different existences, that they’d have still fallen for each other just as hard and just as passionately as they had now.

“I love you.” She whispered.

Sans’s hands slowly framed her face as he pressed their foreheads together. “heh same, love.”

They connected, lips and teeth, and they stood there lost in the rain.

Lost in each other.

~~

Sans had to grit his teeth to prevent the groan escaping his throat as he adjusted the cloth on his skull yet again.  Frisk was sound asleep in his lap and the last thing he wanted was to disturb her, not if she would feel an ounce as bad as he currently felt upon waking.

The feeding…had not gone as he’d expected, at all. 

What was supposed to be a quick indulgence, albeit a much desired one, had turned into another revelation and shock to his system. Once more Frisk had baffled him with the unknown effects her blood could have on him by not only accomplishing what no other including himself had done–gotten him intoxicated--but also by how she’d somehow managed to extract them from the soiree and get them both back home when he could barely recall what happened after biting her at all.

Was this what being inebriated meant? Did people really enjoy this and seek it out? His magic was pounding in his skull and through his joints like a violent tambourine, and the cloth soaked with raw healing magic barely helped to ease the ache he could feel radiating in the voids of his sockets. 

An interesting side note in Sans’ rambling thoughts was the explanation of how exactly this had happened. All that he could scratch together in his current state was the possibility of their bond combined with the intent that had been shared between them when he bit Frisk had heightened his magic’s receptiveness to what had been coursing through her blood stream. Sending him right over the edge as if his soul had been directly soaked in a jar of brandy, rather than experiencing a second hand breakdown as his soul absorbed it after the initial deterioration consumption normally caused when eating. 

But that was just a theory as of now.

Sans did learn one thing at least; he detested getting drunk.

Never again.

Frisk shifted against him and he gently adjusted his arm to hold her better. Once she settled Sans glanced over at the crystal decanter he kept on the desk and bottle of sherry tucked away behind it that he’d locked inside of a clear glass box the second he’d gained coherency.

Drunkenness was also far more dangerous than he realized. 

Frisk had convinced him so easily into doing something like dancing in the rain when in his right mind he would’ve refused on the basis of Frisk catching a cold and Papyrus getting upset (as he was when they got home) over the new clothing he’d sown them for the occasion being ruined. Not to mention his spotty memory when such a thing was of vital importance to a monster in his position.

It wasn’t difficult to imagine Frisk going through the same thing, and it made his soul twist.

Anyone could make a foolish suggestion to her, anyone could take advantage, and she’d be powerless to refuse them. He’d foolishly left her alone not knowing better the depths alcohol could affect an individual having only ever witnessed it. He’d been smug, too confident that what he’d seen was a phenomena he’d never experience and therefore not worthy of his caution. 

There wouldn’t be a repeat of what happened tonight if he had anything to say about it. No more soirees where wine tasting was on the list of activities with even the slightest possibility that Frisk would be unattended. 

The guilt sat heavy in his chest as his skull gave another thunderous pound.

Frisk’s beautiful smile surrounded by droplets flashed across his vision.

Never again, he vowed.

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

where the sidewalk ends | pablo gavi

🎃 synopsis: Sofie meets an ex-hookup during a Halloween party. The full moon is high in the sky, the Summer they shared is now only a memory, and there are weirder things to worry about. warnings: alcohol consumption, smut, spooky themes, social media, fluff (Wc: 3k)

(this is a sequel to ibiza night fever, but can be read as standalone)

|the playlist|

“But all the magic I have known I've had to make myself.” ― Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends

It’s finally October, every melancholic girl's favorite time of the year. After a breakup and a much-needed Hot Girl Summer, what Sofie needed was a Sad Girl Autumn, and she’s been taking advantage of the season.

She started doing yoga and has been reading a lot more; you can confirm that by checking her Insta feed – she’s been filling it with intellectual aesthetic pics.

Strolls through the park, loud sighs, pumpkin spice drinks—anything that makes her look like the protagonist of a pretentious European indie film.

Tonight, though, is a special night. Tonight Sofie is a sexy Barbie Cowgirl, and she’s accompanied by Black Swan, Sleeping Beauty, and Carrie. Or, Chiara, Luisa and Becca, as they are known the rest of the year.

It’s Luisa’s annual Halloween party. It’s been a hit since the first edition and the first time Sofie will be attending it as a single lady.

If the last few months have taught her anything, it is how to be casual, or at least how to appear casual. Sofie was focused on having fun, holding her phone in one hand and a gin tonic drink in another. She scrolled through social media while taking another sip. She wasn't trying to arrive already drunk at the party, only to loosen up a bit.

She and her friends have already posted their outfits; half of them were already at the party. Sofie took a deep breath, put away her phone and walked out of the door.

chiaraaraujo

liked by rebeccaamorim and 307 others

i am so stressed out #natalieportman

oliviaaraujo amen sister ⤷chiaraaraujo 🦢 ⤷sofiemartins 🦢🦢🦢

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rebeccaamorim

liked by pedri and 752 others

its halloweeen happy birthday stephen king

sofiemartins uhh so i just googled stephen king birthday and... uh... ⤷rebeccaamorim nah i got it right, shut up ⤷pedri 😂😂

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sofiemartins

liked by pablogavi and 326 others

🦄💗

luisafernandes girl marry me chiaraaraujo gatinha 🖤

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luisafernandes

liked by chiaraaraujo and 956 others

i'm your favorite disney princess 🩷

francisca.cgomes tão lindaa rebeccaamorim u the love of my life. fr.

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When Sofie walks into the party, she gasps with excitement. The decor was straight out of a Halloween movie. A fog machine was filling the room with mist, cobwebs were hanging all over the place. Jack-o'-lanterns grinned from every nook and cranny, their flickering faces casting playful shadows, giving the whole scene a spooky, dimly lit charm.

It was clear Luisa had gone all in to make this party amazing.

And the guests really brought their A-game in the costume department. Among the crowd, there was a wickedly realistic zombie, a time-traveling Doctor Who, a whimsical unicorn with a shimmering horn and even a comically oversized banana. The variety was as entertaining as it was impressive.

Music was thumping from the speakers, mixing old-school Halloween hits with some current jams, setting the mood for the night.

Sofie's eyes locked onto a familiar face in the sea of costumes – it was Pedri, dressed like a pirate and laughing at something Rebecca said. He looked a bit different since she last saw him, sporting a cool beard that suited him perfectly.

Sofie wasn’t surprised to see the two chatting; Becca and Pedri have been in a complicated long-distance situationship since they met in Ibiza, in the summer. But seeing the football player at the party gave Sofie goosebumps, as she tried to forget her own antics in the Spanish island.

She goes on to greet the couple.

“Cool beard, you really committed to the theme, didn't you?” Sofie jokes about his costume and Pedri laughs. “What are you doing in town, anyway?”

They were in Lisbon, far away from Barcelona, where he should be. Sofie half asks because she worries about her friend ending up heartbroken, but she’s mostly scared that his answer might get herself in trouble.

“We had a game here last night. Figured we could stay for the party.” Pedri winks.

We. There it was, what Sofie was scared of.

“We?” She asks, anyway, even though she knows the answer.

Pedri then tilts his head to the other side of the room, pointing at something. Or someone. When Sofie looks, she’s met with a figure standing by the door, somebody wearing a Ghostface costume. She rolls her eyes and looks back at Becca.

“I’m getting a drink, have fun you two!” Sofie says.

“Don’t get lost!” Becca yells and Sofie gives her a thumbs-up and a nod, but the moment she turns away, the music swallows her up. Luisa's mansion was like a maze. Sofie knew she was in for a tough time trying to do what Becca had asked.

The music was blaring, making it feel like she'd stepped into a nightclub. There were chill-out rooms with people sprawled on fancy couches, a glittering dance floor with a DJ dropping beats, and dimly-lit hallways that seemed to lead to who-knows-where.

Sofie's search for a drink brought her to a bustling room, where she was comforted by another known face, Chiara. She was dressed as Black Swan and deep into a lively, tipsy, philosophical convo with a small group of friends.

Sofie couldn't resist joining the shenanigans. "Hey, Chiara," she chimed in, with a wide grin, “what are you guys talking about?”

Chiara turned her swan-like gaze toward Sofie, her theatrical makeup adding extra drama to her expression. "Oh, you know, the meaning of life, the universe, and why we all wear costumes on Halloween," she replied, her words accompanied by giggles from her friends.

Sofie grabbed a chair and got cozy, all set to dive into the amusing and philosophical banter.

But the conversation didn’t last long; A muffled scream suddenly pierced through the party chatter, instantly grabbing their attention. Sofie and Chiara exchanged a concerned look.

"Did you hear that?" Sofie asked, her eyes darting around the room.

Chiara nodded, her curiosity piqued. "Yeah, that sounded pretty real. We should check it out."

They both rose from their seats, leaving their group of friends momentarily and headed in the direction of the mysterious scream.

Sofie and Chiara followed the sound down a dimly lit corridor. The place was spooky, and their nerves were on edge, so they just froze, waiting to see what would happen next.

They exchanged nervous glances, ears perked up, hoping to catch any hint of what had caused that scream. The whole scene felt like something out of a suspense movie, and they were bracing themselves for a sinister revelation.

“Hey,” 

The girls screamed at the voice behind them, as they jumped in shock. With a hand on her chest, Sofie took a deep breath, looking back to the figure standing now in front of her. Ghostface.

He took off his mask in a hurry. It was Gavi, and he tried to show them there was no need to be scared.

“It’s just me…” Gavi says.

Sofie and Chiara breathed a collective sigh of relief. Sofie was particularly happy to see that it was Pablo, and for a moment, she considered giving him a hug. But that thought made her freeze in her tracks, and her mind drifted back to their time in Ibiza, and the nights they shared. They hadn't talked since then.

“Is everything okay?” Gavi asks, torn between wanting to laugh at their reaction and genuine concern.

“We just heard something weird,” Chiara begins to explain.

Then, out of nowhere, loud banging noises erupted from the same place they'd heard the scream. The sudden, unexpected noise sent a fresh wave of tension through the group.

Sofie, swallowing hard, spoke up. "So, we came here to check it out..."

Pablo, shaking his head with a sly grin, says, "I don't know, I'm not super into the idea of investigating 'bang' sounds." He shot Sofie a knowing look.

“Do you think that that's somebody having sex?” Sofie asks, almost relieved at the possibility, since she had not considered it.

Chiara doesn't buy the theory, it doesn't sound to her like somebody is having a good time. “But if it's something serious, we should at least make sure everyone's safe." She says.

Pablo relented with a sigh. "Alright, fine. Let's check it out. But stick close, and let's not turn this into a horror movie cliche, okay?" He jokes.

With cautious steps, they followed the sounds down the corridor until they reached a closed bedroom door. The weird rhythmic banging noises were definitely coming from inside, and a mix of curiosity and fear gripped them.

Gathering their courage, they exchanged one last glance before Gavi, the designated leader of the group, slowly turned the doorknob. The door creaked open, revealing the dark room on the other side. 

When they pushed the door open, they were in for a surprise – a room filled with Roomba vacuum cleaners gone rogue. The little bots were spinning around, bumping into furniture, and beeping like they were part of some bizarre dance routine. It was like a small-scale robot rebellion.

Gavi burst into a loud laugh, "Seems like the robots have picked Halloween for their big uprising, huh?"

“That’s why I don't trust robots…” Sofie says, tip-toeing closer to Pablo, trying to avoid the bots.

“What about the scream?” Chiara couldn't help but bring up the initial reason for their investigation.

The group tenses up once again, remembering what brought them here in the first place.

"It was me," came a voice from the corner of the room. Luisa was sitting down, carefully wrapping a band-aid around her toes. "One of these things nearly took my toe out, and I don't even know how to turn them off."

With everything finally making sense, the group gathered their efforts to grab the rogue Roombas. After some trial and error, they successfully managed to turn off the little vacuum cleaners and carefully piled them up in a closet. 

luisafernandes

liked by pedri and 873 others

thanks everybody who showed up. it was the best halloween party ever. my vacuum cleaners literally almost unalived me. i love all of my friends so so much. happy halloween!

rebeccaamorim what was that in the middle? ⤷sofiemartins don't even worry about it pablogavi 👻 chiaraaraujo maybe like. get a broom or something

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Pablo and Sofie stayed behind after hushing the girls back to the party. In the dimly lit bedroom, it was just the two of them. Pablo sat at the edge of the bed, and Sofie stood by the window. They both felt the urge to talk but weren't sure where to start or what to say. The unspoken tension loomed in the room.

Should they bring up Ibiza? Or should they pretend like nothing happened? They exchanged glances every now and then but mostly remained silent as they gathered their thoughts.

"It's pretty crowded out there..." Sofie says, her thoughts interrupted by the party noise.

Gavi cleared his throat, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I know... This is better. I prefer being alone."

Sofie couldn't help but giggle,"Well, you're not entirely alone. I'm right here, you know."

Pablo met her gaze and said, "When I'm with you, it doesn't feel like there's anybody else in the room." Gavi's face flushed like a tomato, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he realized what he had just let slip. "Do you... um, understand what I'm saying?" he mumbled, his words stumbling out as he anxiously awaited Sofie's response.

“I feel the same way.” Sofie says, her words escaping before she could even fully process what she was saying.

A palpable tension hung in the air as they locked eyes. It felt like an unspoken challenge to see who would look away first. It was like a silent game of vulnerability chicken, and neither of them was ready to blink.

In an instant, Gavi was right in front of her, his hand gently resting on her hips. His eyes pleaded for permission. Sofie, taken aback by his bold move, simply nodded, her eyes fixed on his lips.

He kissed her hungrily and passionately. Their minds immediately turned into a total mess, as they both desperately tried to savor the moment while also trying to let each other know just how much they'd missed this.

Sofie instinctively placed one hand on his chest, while running her fingers through his soft hair with the other. Pablo deepened the kiss, taking his time exploring her mouth and playfully licking her bottom lip.

He carefully guided her to the bed, lowering himself onto her. Their lips finally parted, leaving them breathless and flushed.

They stared into each other’s eyes intently. They couldn’t wait anymore. The desire between them was so strong, neither of them could speak. They both just wanted each other, no more holding back. 

Sofie grabbed him tightly by the neck, pulling him closer. After gasping for air, Gavi brought his lips to her again, his hands moving down her sides and gripping her waist firmly.

She took off her shirt and Pablo gently pulled off her lacy pink bra.

“I missed them so much.” Gavi jokes, looking at her breasts. Sofie gives a playful slap on his arm.

“I missed you too.” She whispers in his ears. She can feel the goosebumps all over his body as she says that.

“Are we really doing this?” He asks, tenderly kissing her neck. He can’t seem to keep his mouth away from her body for too long. He knows they don’t have much time together, he’s going back to Barcelona in the morning.

“I want you so, so much.” Sofie answers in between whimpers, she’s already too lost in pleasure to consider the consequences of what she’s doing.

“But we have to be quiet.” Pablo looks at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “If somebody hears us moaning, they might get worried for our safety.” He whispers. Sofie has to bite her lip to hold back a giggle.

“I can be quiet.” She promises.

Pablo enters her slowly, taking his time to enjoy every second of their reunion. They get lost in each other and it feels like their first time all over again.

She wraps her legs around him and digs her nails into his back, demanding more of him. His body starts rocking, slowly thrusting harder and faster until he loses control completely.

Their bodies move together easely. Sofie has to put a hand on her mouth to stop herself from crying his name out loud.

The sigh of her desperation is enough to drive him off the edge. He reaches down and starts massaging her clit, just like he knows she likes it. Pablo speeds up his pace, when he senses they’re both close to orgasm.

He collapses in her arms and Sofie holds him close as they reach their peak together.

They have their eyes closed and for a while the only thing on their mind is each other's heartbeat.

But then, Sofie feels her anxiety creeping in, and it is enough to break the magic surrounding them. "We should probably head back to the party," she whispers. To their ears, her words seemed louder than the music outside.

"Right," Pablo mumbles, eyes still closed, lingering in the moment for a little longer.

They quietly slipped out of the bedroom, making their way back to the party without exchanging another word. 

Even without speaking, as they get out of the bedroom, they share a sly, knowing look, hinting at the possibility of meeting again, without the need for words.

Sofie, without Gavi noticing, sneakily slipped a piece of paper with her phone number into his pocket.

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

I HAVE AN obsession with the color green. It’s a color of opposites. Green is life, growth, and health. It’s also sickness, greed, and envy. It’s good and bad at once. And it’s everywhere this afternoon as I sit down with actor, producer, author, and entrepreneur Sam Heughan — most recognized for his starring role in the Scotland-based time travel drama “Outlander.” His shirt bears a green tartan pattern, somewhere between jade and emerald. To my right, the glass bottle of his new gin is a transparent seafoam. Above my head is the leafy expanse of a tree, planted in the courtyard of New York’s Crosby Street Hotel. The gin we sip tastes green: grassy and alpine, fresh as menthol and bright as a sour apple. Most vividly is the green in my mind’s eye: the wet, rich, misty green of Scotland, a place Heughan speaks of with rapture.

Missing home is what drove Heughan to launch his spirits brand Sassenach, after the Scottish Gaelic word for an English person, or rather, an “outsider.” “When I was in London away from home, a jobbing actor, missing Scotland, I remember my first time trying a single malt whisky and I had such an emotional reaction,” he recalls from across the table, his bright blue eyes wide. “It reminded me of Scotland.”

I remark on the gin’s legs, thick and viscous, streaking the sides of my glass. Heughan nods, “I increased the strength. It just gives it a bit more weight. I love a bit of weight on my tongue.” Toasted oats give a creamy feel to the cornucopia of flavors present in the liquid: pine resin, heather, blackberry leaf, blaeberry — and, again, that sour green apple. “There’s no citrus in Scotland. That’s why I chose apples,” Heughan explains. “I remember as a kid, picking them and throwing them at people, eating them, then being really ill because they’re so sour.”

Heughan’s family — his mother, brother, and uncle — still live in Scotland. His uncle used to have a ceilidh band. “[Ceilidh is] a traditional Scottish dance,” he explains. “It’s madness. Everyone’s drinking whisky and the dancers get faster and faster and there are lots of spinning people around.” Heughan listens to a lot of Scottish music. He later sends me a song called “Blackbird” by Martyn Bennett, known for mixing dance tracks with traditional Celtic music. I tear up at its aching slants. “It makes me homesick for a home that’s not mine,” I message him. “That’s Scotland,” he writes back. “It does that to people.”

Sam Heughan Is in Good Spirits Image Float

Heughan was raised by a single mother in the south of Scotland — the rural stretches of Dumfries and Galloway. “Spent a lot of time on my own pretending I was a knight or Robert the Bruce.” The land’s botanicals now flavor his gin. Courtesy of Sam Heughan.

“It’s one foot in the present, one in the past,” muses Heughan about his country, adding a splash of tonic to my gin, whose flavor now reveals a pleasant salinity. “The castles. So many great battles. You

can feel the history. I think that’s what makes it so magical.” This history is inextricably linked to ritual, observed in Scotland to this day. Take Beltane, a pagan ritual beginning serendipitously on Heughan’s birthday, April 30. “You’re supposed to stay up all night and wash your face in the fresh dew when the sun rises, then go to bed and dream of your future spouse,” he describes. “It’s all about rebirth and nature.”

We talk about other parts of the world that have shaped him, as I remark on his fusion accent: a bit Scottish for sure, but mixed with something else, sort of American and British, too. America’s opportunity and diversity captivate Heughan. He came here for the first time at 18, hostel hopping in San Francisco. “I remember looking at the Golden Gate Bridge for hours, playing my cassette of ‘(Sittin’ On) the Dock of the Bay’ by Otis Redding over and over. I was living on $5 burritos — one a day. It’s all I could afford.” He speaks of Hawaii with reverence — the local culture’s connection to wildlife and the sea. He spent time with a fisherman and his family there who taught him the Indigenous way to fish: “Gut it straight away. Take out the heart, say a prayer, and throw it back into the ocean immediately to allow the soul of the fish to live on.” New Zealand also moves him. He was there recently and learned about tā moku, the art of Māori tattooing. “You sit with an artist and tell him your story. He chooses where it goes on your body and makes it there and then. He stuck [the initial sketch] on my left forearm here, and it was all about my mom and my brother and the absence of my father.” He wants to return to New Zealand and get the tattoo next time.

My gin has opened up even more, spreading out into softer, aromatic florals as Heughan uncorks a bottle of his whisky. “People have called you a global heartthrob.” I begin, “Is that a role you’re —”

“Who has?” His eyes grow bigger in feigned shock. (Fun fact: the Sam Heughan fanbase even has their own name — “Heughligans.”)

“Someone I talked to in the subway.”

“Right, right,” he nods gravely, pouring new glasses.

“Do you,” I continue, taking a sip, “feel comfortable in that role?” The whisky tastes like a spicy Werther’s caramel.

“My character is what some people aspire to, and I understand why. He’s this incredible human being who’s just so in love with his wife and does the most romantic things. Selfless. People then think you might be that person. I’m certainly not. But it’s something to aspire to.”

“Are you comfortable,” I press, “being an object of desire?” Heughan shares that in earlier years, he was treated in a way that would no longer be tolerated. “I’d be asked, ‘What’s under your kilt?’ or ‘How do you get your abs?’ I wish I did have abs! We were just in a different industry. I don’t have resentment or a grudge. But I would like to be seen for the work that I do, rather than my looks.”

While he’s still based in Scotland, Heughan also has a house in LA, a city he’s not exactly sold on. He toys with the idea of New York as his next home base. He loves it here. “The cocktail bars. Cycling along the West Side. SoHo. The river. Getting a ferry. I’m so into ferries! I’ll go to Staten Island, then come back again. We got a helicopter the other day back from the Hamptons — I don’t like helicopters. They’re not meant to fly. However, seeing the Statue of Liberty from there, it’s so good. New York could be my city.”

I show Heughan around some local spots that evening. We sit at the bar of Superbueno for mezcal drinks and tacos. The music gets louder and so do the crowds. Mouth full of al pastor, I semi-shout a question in Heughan’s direction, asking if he ever gets overstimulated. “No, not really,” he replies simply, between chewing. At 6 feet, 3 inches, Heughan towers over seemingly everyone. Maybe it’s calmer up there. There’s an overall good-natured quality to him; it’s soothing to be around.

We head to another bar, Mr. Fongs. The air is thick with the smell of trash and rats dart to and fro. A subway thunders overhead as we walk below a bridge in Chinatown. “This is awesome,” Heughan murmurs. We order the bar’s specialty: salty plum old-fashioneds. “I want a place where the second I walk out my door, I’m right in the center of all of it,” he says decidedly, whistling a little at the (notoriously strong) drink. “Right in the middle.”

Heughan is noticeably unadorned. I suggest some rings and an ear piercing for his New York era. A candle light flickers against his cheek, evoking another world — someplace old and rural and rugged. At this moment, I see his character, a fantasy projection of the leading man. But really, we’re just in Chinatown, weighing the pros and cons of earrings on men. “Sadly I don’t think I’m quite cool enough,” he sighs, “to pull that off.” ▪️

Our Contributors

Sophie Mancini Writer

Sophie Mancini is an editor at Departures. Born and raised in New York City, she holds a degree in creative writing from Johns Hopkins University and has a background as a writer in brand and editorial.

Diana Markosian Photographer

Diana Markosian (born in Moscow, 1989) is a Russian-American photographer of Armenian descent. Her work explores memory and place through a layered, interdisciplinary process that uses photography and video. Her photographs have been published in National Geographic, the New Yorker, and the New York Times.

Robert Ormerod Photographer

Robert Ormerod is a photographer interested in telling stories. He is based in Scotland, working across the U.K. for titles such as National Geographic, The Guardian Saturday magazine, The New York Times, T Magazine, The Wall Street Journal, and Bloomberg Businessweek.

Tom Craig Photographer

Tom Craig is a photographer and director whose work has been featured in Vogue, i-D, and Vanity Fair. His work is driven by a desire to tell stories and the urge to travel. His work often blurs the line between fashion photography and straightforward reportage.

**Full article from @departures www.departures.com

[aloysiavirgata]

Title: Fern Hill

Rating: NC-17

Timeline: pre-series

Category: XF/The Fall crossover

Summary: For everyone who asked for a Stella/Mulder prequel from my little prompt ficlet

Author’s Note:

Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,

Time held me green and dying

Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

The blonde two stools down is eyeing him unashamedly. She’s got on tight jeans and a white cable knit sweater, summer-wheat hair straight out of a Ralph Lauren ad. Eyes like Lake Tashmoo before a storm.

“You’re Phoebe Green’s American,” she observes. It isn’t a question. Her voice is buttery, a burnt-velvet purr that makes the back of his neck tingle. She sips at a rock glass full of something tawny in the subfusc gloom of the pub.

Mulder, intrigued, moves next to her. “What the fuck?”

She blinks, the barest hint of a smirk tightening her lips. “I’m not wrong.”

“I’m not Phoebe’s anything,” he replies. “She stole my Pink Floyd sweatshirt and burned my Knicks hat. She fucked a vegetarian trumpet player.”

The blonde smiles fully now. “You’re marked forever, I’m afraid. You’ve some kind of animal name, haven’t you? Bear, was it?”

He knows she knows his name, this unsettling girl. Somehow, he knows she does. “Bear,” he agrees.

“Stella,” she says, holding out a slim, white hand. “You’re Fox.”

It’s a warm plum in her mouth. Delicious, desirable, something to be proud of. Belongs in the Ralph Lauren ad with her pre-Raphaelite face and flag of golden hair.

“Mulder,” he says, shaking the proffered hand.

“Mulder.” She squeezes his fingers, then withdraws.

Mulder sips his gin and tonic, pondering. “So you know Phoebe socially,” he says. “That must be a hell of a thing. As a woman.”

Stella considers him down the length of her nose. She has the androgynous beauty of a Greek youth. A Roman statue of Minerva.

“Where do you think she got the idea for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s grave,” Stella asks.

He almost chokes on an ice cube.

“If you’re coughing you’re breathing,” she observes, dispassionate, as he nearly hacks up a lung.

Mulder’s heart rate settles back to normal after a moment. He looks at Stella, the hard lines of her cheekbones, her incongruously cute freckles.

He thinks of Stella and Phoebe together. Wonders if he could make that happen, their peony mouths and fine-boned faces. He would be willing to temporarily make up with Phoebe for it. Phoebe would love the theater of a dramatic apology and a threesome.

“Was the grave a hot tip or a shared experience?”

Stella only smiles, sphinx-link. Taps her glass in the bartender’s direction.

“Does it matter,” she asks, watching as her drink is refilled.

Tremendously.

“No. Do people do a lot of Brando impressions?” He clutches his t-shirt with an anguished expression.

She chuckles a bit at that and Mulder feels like the cleverest man in England. In the Northern Hemisphere.

“Plenty,” she says. “Which I like, because it creates a self-selecting population of people to avoid.”

People, he notes. Not men. He thinks of Phoebe again, her dark hair against Stella’s blonde, imagines ringing her up and what he’d say and-

Stella’s hand on his thigh. “Where do you live?” she asks. Her voice is obscene, her high breasts soft against the sweater, slender neck and perfume rich with amber and honey and musk.

He gulps at his drink. “Uni flat. You?”

“Summertown,” she murmurs. “It’ll be nicer than your place.”

Mulder blinks, impressed. His parents give him money but not Summertown money.

“Are you inviting me home with you, Stella?” he asks, low.

She considers him, swirling her glass. “I’m inviting you to my bed. I don’t need you lingering in my home.”

He laughs aloud while wondering if he is capable of falling for a woman who doesn’t have substantial emotional damage. “So you don’t want me to show up with two dozen roses and a box from Charbonnet et Walker?”

Stella sniffs disdainfully. “I’m not interested in the girlfriend role as a concept. I plan to finish school and be a detective.”

He perks up. “I’m planning on the FBI when I wrap up the DPhil. Don’t know that I’m interested in the girlfriend thing as a concept either at his point,” he says, knowing it savors strongly of bitterness.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Stella says. “I think you’d make someone a very nice girlfriend.”

Storm-goddess eyes wicked over her glass.

He pays both tabs and watches her finish the Scotch.

***

Her flat is full of solid wood furniture and good upholstery. Some of the framed artwork appears original, and there’s Cross Townsend pen on her walnut secretary. A stack of leather notebooks that look like Smythsons or Conway Stewarts.

He wishes he could stop this, the eternal analysis.

Her bedroom smells of lemon wood polish and clean cotton and expensive unguents. The queen bed is made, an ivory silk robe draped at the foot of it. There’s no girlish clutter on her shelves, no stuffed bear on the pillow.

There’s a copy of Where the Wild Things Are on the mantel. “Seems a little below your reading level,” Mulder observes.

“It was my favorite book when I was little.” She touches the cover. “Well, one of my favorites at least. I rather wanted to be King of All Wild Things.”

He grins at her. “You wouldn’t have even needed the wolf suit I bet. You’re a bit scary, Stella.”

She snaps her teeth.

Mulder sees the two of them in her gilt-framed mirror, Stella fierce and delicate as a faerie out of Perrault. Her pale throat, her bright eyes. In the moment he wants a cantrip that will bind her.

Her face is serious again. She unbuttons his shirt with focused dexterity, her brows furrowed, her lips pursed. Dior Poison, he sees on the vanity, and gives a name to her scent.

Stella planes her hands over his chest. “Very nice,” she says, peering up through dusky lashes. She pulls her sweater over her head, drops it to the floor. Wriggles out of her jeans and kicks them aside.

He is hard as a fifteen year old.

“I try.” He hasn’t kissed her yet, even though her mouth reminds him of a little Parisian pastry and he wants to nibble at it. Apropos of which, Mulder had expected plain cotton lingerie but it’s all frou-frou lace confectionery trimmed with rosettes and ribbons. Feminine. Delightful. Flawless.

“God, you’re so-“

“Shhh,” she says, pushing him down onto her bed with a single, imperious finger. “I know all that.”

Stella straddles his lap and he’s somehow surprised that such a large presence should weigh almost nothing.

She leans into his grasping fingers, rolls against his tensed thighs. Sighs when he thumbs the front of her panties.

“Stella….”

She leans forward to kiss him, her hard belly against his own. Her clever hands at his fly.

“Let’s see how badly Phoebe fucked up, hmmm?”

***

They had wine from a Thermos and went to bed. She’s lithe and breathless in his arms, spine like worry beads against his palms.

He’d spoken to his father who helpfully reminded him that Samantha had gone missing around this time and shouldn’t he come home to see his mother?

Stella’s fully nude, hair a long braid over her shoulder, and he tugs it experimentally.

Stella makes a liquid noise in her throat, tightens around him.

He unwinds the elastic band and works the plait loose with his fingers. Spools her hair around his hand and pulls down hard until their lips are brushing.

“Fuck,” she hisses into his mouth, and it’s what he needs somehow, the grinding pain of her little teeth and he comes and comes and comes.

***

He’s headed home in six weeks with a DPhil and an acceptance to the FBI Academy and vague praise from his parents.

“Fox,” she groans against his temple. “Fucking hell.”

Mulder nips at her throat, her hair spread behind her like the tail of a comet. “Why did you call me Fox?”

“Why did your mother call you Fox?” she asks.

“She is a very sick woman,” he says into Stella’s patrician ear.

She laughs and bites his lower lip. “Me too,” she mumbles, and her heels dig into his kidneys.

***

They never said goodbye, not really, and he meant to let her go like the tide.

His flight home is in thirty six hours.

“I thought I was ready but I- a pregnant woman,” she says flatly into the phone. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He lets her use him, her lean swimmer’s legs against his own and her skirt rucked up at her waist and her tailored Met jacket and blouse fallen open along her breasts, lacy cobweb of a bra fighting for its life.

He gazes up at her, pink and silken as rose petals.

White and distant as the moon.

“Hurt me,” she gasps. “Mulder, please, I want-”

He hurts them both.

***

He leads her into the hotel room shower, washes her princess hair while she stands still, staring at nothing.

***

He left bruises along the softest parts of her. The hidden parts, where she asked. The palimpsest of her skin will be flawless again in a few days, and he tries not to think about how else the dark things in her might like to play. He absorbed her pain like charcoal absorbs poison.

“I truly don’t know if I can do this,” she remarks to the ceiling, palms against her eyes.

He tastes her on his lips, oysters and Sauternes. He wants to nudge his face back between her thighs in the way we are called by water. She is primordial and essential and delicate and terrifying. He has an Ivy League degree in psychology, even if it’s only from Pennsylvania, and he still can’t figure her out.

“You can,” he promises, like a faithful acolyte.

“And what does it mean if I can,” she asks and he wonders the same thing about himself.

***

He fucks her against an alley wall, thick with refuse and ennui. She’s gorgeous the way that supernovas and jaguars are gorgeous.

“Stella,” he groans. “Jesus.”

“You’ll miss your flight,” she mumbles, then laughs at the idea that they care.

“You going to see me off?” he pants into her neck. “Kiss me goodbye at the gate?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I told you I have a meeting in 45 minutes.” She hitches a knee up higher. “Oh, god, like that.”

Mulder grinds into her until she cries out, nipping at his chin, his earlobes.

He follows her into the starburst haze of an orgasm, his back shuddering, and Stella hot and twitchy against his chest.

They breathe together for a moment, riding out the wave.

“We both have to go,” Stella reminds him. “A parting of the ways this time, I think.”

Mulder lowers her to the ground. He ties off the condom and shoves it into a garbage can.

He zips his jeans up, watches Stella smooth her uniform, her hair.

“Here’s lookin’ at you kid,” he says, rather lamely.

But Stella smiles one of her rare, full smiles. “One day when you’re a world famous profiler and I’m Commissioner we’ll team up,” she says.

He brushes brick dust from her shoulder. “Why are you running the Met and I’m a lowly Special Agent still?”

She looks confused. “Because I like to be in charge and you don’t. You didn’t want to be King of All Wild Things.”

He palms her jaw, thumbs her cheekbone. He smiles fondly down at her.

“Don’t,” Stella warns.

Mulder shakes his head. “No. Go, run the Met and remember the little people when you ascend the throne.”

She covers her hand with hers for a moment. “Phoebe fucked up badly,” she says. “Now go back to the colonies and teach them how to make a proper cup of tea.”

“We just throw it in the Harbor.”

Stella squeezes his hand before taking it from her face. She walks briskly out of the alley without ever looking back.

***

He makes the plane, though barely. He falls asleep over Dublin. He dreams of sailboats and lonely islands and even in dreaming he knows Stella is right. He wants to be where someone loves him best of all.

[atuats-sidechick]

Long Ass Tag Game

Cause I wanna get to know you guys better

How many tumblr accounts have you had before this one?

Three, I think? It was a long time ago.

How long have you been in fandom?

Two months?? I'm just a baby

Your favorite trope in fiction?

Unwilling protagonists! Preferably morally gray and grumpy ones :)

Your favorite random fact?

Mangos are related to poison ivy?? (and that's why they're trying to kill me, they aren't actually evil)

Your favorite game or kind of game?

Sandbox games. I mostly play TS4 and chess. If you're bad enough at chess, it's a sandbox game.

A place you'd like to visit? (If carbon emissions, logistics and money weren't in question)

Right now, Spain. But I'd love to get tattoos in South Korea.

An animal you're irrationally afraid of?

Hammerhead slugs. I don't even think we have them here, but I'm too afraid to google. Honestly, I don't wanna know.

What's your favorite season?

Autumn. The sky is such a nice blue and it means summer is fucking over!

A smell that brings you nice memories?

Cut grass. Makes me think of childhood vacations, daydreaming in a hammock, etc

(If you're ok talking about food. If not, delete this part)

What's your favorite food from where you were born? And what's your favorite food from some place else?

From Brazil, I'm gonna be boring: feijoada. But, like, properly made feijoada -- with pork ears, tail, feet, more than one kind of sausage etc. And LOADS of garlic in the kale salad.

From somewhere else... I guess sea urchin sushi?

What's your favorite drink (if you drink alcohol, alcoholic and non-alcoholic)?

My go to is gin tonic, but I'll drink anything gin. Non-alcoholic, matte leao (yes, the gross one with too much sugar that got even worse after Coca-Cola bought it).

Do you give your pets random table scraps?

Yes and no. If it's something he can eat, I'll give him the scraps in a slow feeder toy. When we're at my mother's, she spoils him rotten though.

No pressure tags: @lilrobinbird, @ozais-lobotomist @nova-leaf @linnorabeifong @hawksatoru @joodeegemstone

Really no pressure tag: @transboyzuko heyy, I know we're not mutuals, but I'm genuinely curious about your answers lol