#there has to be like /one/ place I'm missing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

angelluv16 · 3 days ago

Text

New Beginnings

✩: After being betrayed by her long-time boyfriend, the reader finds herself healing and finding love with the one guy no one though she would fall for

Want to be added to my taglist?:Click here

Main Masterlist

pairing: Charles leclerc x (ex)gf!reader / Michael clifford x fem!reader

request: Yes

warnings: mention of cheating

-------------------------✩-------------------------

yourusername

liked by charleslelcerc, alexandrasaintmleux, sierradeaton and 710,749 others

yourusername: summer break with My favorite boy 💗

tagged: @ charlesleclerc

view 5,846 comments

francisca.cgomes: my sexy gf 😍

yourusername: All you baby girl

username27: I want what they have

username28: She's so pretty and he's there

iamrebeccad: Stunning angel

yourusername: no, that’s youu <33

username29: The charles's photo holy shit

username30: I don't know who i want to be more

username31: I'm obsessed holy shit

username32: I want her charles i'm coming for you

username33: Thanks to you I'm feeling very single

charlesleclerc: Mon bel ange (My beautiful angel)

charlesleclerc: I love you angel

sierradeaton: you’re insanely gorgg omg

yourusername: have you seen yourself?!?!

username34: MOTHER

username35: The woman that you are OMG 😍

username36: future mother to my kids

charlesleclerc: No💗

username37: the prettiest girl ever 😍

username38: @ charleslelcerc I want to meet at this place and this time

username39: ask your man if he can fight

sabrinacarpenter: literally obsessed with you

username40: screw charles, i want her

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

yourusername 📍Philadelphia,Pennsylvania

liked by sierradeaton, charlesleclerc, iamrebeccad and 689,846 others

yourusername: Spent some time with my babies and sisters in my hometown

view 5,207 comments

username41: stopp Valentina and Diego are so big

username42: The best aunt to baby val and diego ♥︎ by yourusername

francisca.cgomes: the sexiest aunt

yoursister: My babies😍

username43: Where's charles

username44: I live for y/naunt crumbs

charleslecerc: come back It's lonely and i miss you

yourusername: I miss you too

charlesleclerc: Tell My babies That i miss them

yourusername: Val said and I quote "i miss uncle chacha"

username45: “uncle chacha” THAT’S SO CUTE WTF 😭😭😭

iamrebeccad: girlfriend, you’re looking cute 😍

username45: can we talk about how Val calls charles “uncle chacha”

carlossainz55: I'm still val's favorite driver

yourusername: she said she can't choose

username46: the worlds best aunt

yourusername: You said it not me

username47: i want yn as my aunt

username48: she’s gorgeous and she’s good with kids help me

username49: let me wife you up, please

username50: If charles doesn't put a ring on that finger I will

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

alexandrasaintmleux

liked by charlesleclerc, michaelclifford and 684,735 others

alexnadrasaintmleux: My summer love <3

comments have been disabled

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

charlesleclerc

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, yourusername and 472,989 others

charlesleclerc: nothing but views

view 20 comments

alexandrasaintmleux: the cutest view is youThe comment has been deleted

arthurleclerc: so this is the reason you ditch me?

arhturleclerc: Why couldn't you take me to see the beautiful views with you.

carlossainz55: Mate who took the second photo🤨🤨

charlesleclerc: a stranger who was in the water mate

yourusername: My handsome boy

comments have been limited

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

yourusername

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris and 690,985 others

yourusername: girls just wanna have fun 💋💃🍻

tagged: @francisca.cgomes @iamrebeccad

view 5,107 comments

username51: Okay baddie

username52: She knows she's a 10

francisca.cgomes: I'm obsessed just like she is comment has been deleted

francisca.cgomes: I love youuuu

username53: omfg kika we saw that comment don't act slick

username54:what comment?

username53: Kika made a comment saying "I'm obsessed with you just like she is" Basically saying alex is/was obsessed with yn

username55: In her revenge era and I'm here for it.

iamrebeccad: My girl🥰🥰

username56: Not the shirt😭😭

username57: charles FUMBLED so bad

username58: broo her and michael would lowkey be cute😅

username59: Isn't she friends with sierra luke's wife which is also Michael's bandmate??

username60: @michaelclifford

username61: Not charles in the likes like bro your done

carlossainz55: his loss ♥︎ by pierregasly

username62: CARLOS WTF?!?

username63: Not carlos throwing shade lol

username64: his own teammate and Bestfriend lol I'm crying

username65: HAHA PIERRE LIKING IT

username66: he knows he fucked up big time

carmenmmundt: the prettiest girl 😍

charlesleclerc: babe pls call me

username67: leave ass wipe

username68: SIERRA WORK UR MAGIC PLS

username69: yn >> alex

sierradeaton: @michaelclifford

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

(I don't know how to do the photos where it shows that you unfollow a person so hehe)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

yourusername

liked by michaelclifford, yoursister, and 698,084 others

yourusername: hot girl summer ft. Valentina :)

view 4,648 comments

username70: The 8th slide girl😭😭

username71: fuckkkk ur hot as hell

username72: from "summer break with My favorite boy" to "Hot girl summer" 😭

username73: it's always about yn but what about valentine "uncle chacha"

username74: I hate you 😭😭😭😭

francisca.cgomes: My gorgeous girlfriend

yourusername: I love you girlfriend😘😘

pierregasly: HELL NO BACK🤺🤺

username75: I want her

username76: men (*cough* charles cough*) really are a disappointment

username77: Michael pls pls i'm begging shoot your shot.

iamrebeccad: beautiful baby

username78: She's hot and she damn well knows it

username79: anyone else see Michael liked her post???

username80: they follow each other lolol

yoursister:😍😘🥰😍

username81: I'm sorry Charles but your new girl will NEVER compare to my girl

username82: ya’ll are so pressed over a nonexistent relationship 😭

username83: Holy shit hot girl summer, indeed 😍

username84: I need sierra do introduce them now

lukehemmings: @sierradeaton

username85: YESSS LUKE DOING GOD'S WORK

username85: men ain’t shit

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

yourusername

liked by michaelclifford, sierradeaton, lukehemmings, and 701,012 others

yourusername: I only came because i had free tickets 😁😘

tagged: @yoursister

view 5,751 comments

username86: FREE TICKETS?!? Michael invited her omfg

username87: YN AND MICHAEL HELL YAH

carlossainz55: Vaya, vas a un concierto antes de venir a un partido de fútbol conmigo. decepcionado

(wow you go to a concert before coming to a football match with me. disappointed)

username88: yn a 5sos fan never knew

yourusername: it's because I'm not I mean I like some of their music but I'm more of a Green day, nirvana, coldplay fan.

yourbff: YOU WENT TO A 5SOS CONCERT BEFORE GOING TO A COLDPLAY CONCERT WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!?! Are you more of a 5sos fan now?

yourusername: no no, I will always be a coldplay fan. I just went since i got free tickets

michaelclifford: you can now admit you go for the wrong band

username89: AM I CRAZY OR DID MICHAEL JUST COMMENT?!?!

username90: soo, is no one going to talk about her michael shirt?

username91: hehe she went to support her futur bf's band😚😚

username92: we got yn at a 5sos concert before gta6

username93: And ferrari

yourusername: Carlos forever!! and for 5sos I'lm still deciding

sierradeaton: your welcome

username93: thank you queen🙌

username94: from a formula one wag to a rockstar gf holy shit

username95: their exes do each other and now they do each other what a plot twist.

francisca.cgomes: well well well 😏

username96: Alex and Charles were found crying in a corner🤣

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

yourusername 📍sydney

liked by carlossainz55,lando, francisca.cgomes, lilyzneimer and 620,108 others

yourusername: Sydney Vibez only 🌴🌊

view 4,875 comments

sabrinacarpenter: Hott

username97: mother?!?!?

username98: damn ever since she got single she's got hotter.

francisca.cgomes: my one and only

username99: Ha charles really lost The badest bitch

username100: yn, give me one chance

lilyzneimer: Hottie

yourusername: I love you <33

iamrebeccad: I will leave carlos for you

michaelclifford: Love this Vibe

carmenmmundt: Pretty girl, And prety views

username101: Yn living her best life with no man by her side

kellypiquet: 😍 beautiful as always!

username102: I want to be yn

usernme103: Hot girl summer belongs to you and only you

username104: Most gorgouse girl to ever exist

username105: I feel so bad for charles lol

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

michaelclifford

liked by yourusername, lukehemmings, calumhood, yourbff and 687,894 others

michaelclifford: Home sweet home

tagged: @calumhood

view 4,730 comments

username105: wait ur in Sydney?

username106: wait- my girl is in Sydney

username107: Oh there sooo together

username108: Are we sure he's actually in Sydney?

username109: Girl be fucking for real, first off his caption says "Home Sweet Home" And as far as I know he's from Sydney, second off there are literally 2 photos where you can see the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

calumhood: 🤙🤙

username110: fuck he's so hot ♥︎ by yourusername

username111: I'm only here for moose moose and south, yet there are no photos of them. Shame on you 👎😒

michaelclifford: I'm sorry I promise I'll make a post of just them😓😔

username112: Who's moose and south?

username113: His dogs

username114: The person who took these photos must be hot because if they can take hot pictures that means they are hot ♥︎ by michaelclifford

username115: He's hot and he knows it.

username116: He has to be with yn

username117: holy shit, yn is this you

username118: Oh how to be yn

username119: Alex must feel so bad like she left THIS for Charles

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

yourusername

liked by francisca.cgomes, michaelclifford, sierradeaton and 688,884 others

yourusername: loveee 💕💘

view 4,638 comments

francisca.cgomes: ahhhh love love love

username120: HOLY SHIT

username121: THIS HAS TO BE MICHAEL

sierradeaton: I knew it would work comment has been deleted

username122: lolol alex and charles are both fuming rn

username123: Oh I know who that is, I mean come on I can see his tattoo.

username124: "You're literally my dream girl" same Michael

username125: ahhhh My girl is getting treated the way she deserves.

lukehemmings: What a beautiful dog🐶 ♥︎ by yourusername

username126: Oh to be yn

username127: Oh to be MICHAEL

username128: My girl upgraded so much

username129: imagine being yn and you get a text from him saying that I would die

username130: real ones know that’s literally michael

michaelclifford: Not to shabby huh?

comments have been limited

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

michaelclifford

liked by lukehemmings, carlossainz55, kellypiquet and 701,027 others

michaelclifford: I think this is a soft launch?

view 6,637 comments

username131: Boy we know who that is don't need to hide it from us

username132: Not the "I think" 😭😭

lukehemmings: mate are you okay??

ashtonirwin: bro I think they hacked him

username133: I CAN TELL YN APART FROM MILES AWAY

username134: “soft launch” we all know its yn

username135: idk if i want to be yn or be him

yourusername: I want to meet your girlfriend she seems wonderful

michaelclifford: She's the best

username136: That ^ was all the confirmation we needed thank you

username137: at this point their not even trying to hide it

username138: charles and alex found dead in a pool of their own tears

username139: MOM AND DAD FR

username140: charles really fumbled the bad bitch but that's okay since Michael is here now

comments have been limited

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

michaelclifford

liked by yourusername, sierradeaton, francisca.cgomes and 867,268 others

michaelclifford: This is for everyone who follows me just for my dogs

tagged: @moosemoose @southy

comments have been disabled

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

yourusername & michaelclifford

liked by michaelclifford, ashtonirwin,iamrebeccad, lilyzneimer, and 689,989 others

yourusrname: My rockstar🤘��

comments have been disabled

-------------------------✩-------------------------

Taglist: @anamiad00msday @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3

-------------------------✩-------------------------

A/n: I wanted to come on here and let you all know that I have updated my tag list form, I added a few more drivers!

Updated Form: Click here

-------------------------✩-------------------------

204 notes · View notes

bizarrelovetriangel · 22 hours ago

Text

missing you.

mdni. 18+ only. not for the kids, pls look away. male masturbation. panty sniffing. pillow humping. pervy caleb. caleb and reader/mc are in a relationship.

hello i'm joining caleb-the-panty-sniffer club and this is my contribution. please enjoy.

inspired by these arts: x, x, x

You were out of town for hunters business, and Caleb volunteered to check up on your house. While he's at it, might as well do some cleaning too.

But he gets a little distracted.

Last week, during your video call, you mentioned to Caleb that your team has been requested to go to a certain city that's been having Wanderer problems. The mission is estimated to last for about five to seven days, and you expressed concern about your newest plants that require to be watered at least every two to three days, which might die without your care.

So of course, Caleb is there to take away your worries. He promised to go to Linkon City in the middle of the week to make sure your plants get the nutrients they need.

Now here he is, inside your apartment's living room, putting away the objects that you'd left scattered all over the place. He imagined you putting things in your luggage at the very last minute before leaving for your trip. You've always done that when you were younger, and it seems old habits die hard.

Back when you were little, once you finish shoving plushies in your bag, deeming them to be absolutely necessary, you'd come to him so he can help you close the zippers.

This time, you didn't forget to take your plushies either. The Sunny Apple that he won with you at the claw machine was gone, which means it's probably keeping you company right now. The thought of you cuddling with the grumpy-looking apple puts a smile on his face.

After watering your plants, Caleb moved on to cleaning the kitchen. Your place isn't really messy; there are just several objects that were out of place, so there's not much work for him.

The last area that he took care of was the bedroom, where he will be sleeping for the rest of the week. The moment he entered your room, he was consumed by the smell of your signature perfume. If he were to close his eyes, it would feel as if you were there.

The scent also made him feel lonely. It's been days since he last saw you, as both of your jobs robbed you of each other's physical presence. Fortunately, once you return from your hunting trip, you two get to spend a few days together, so he's looking forward to it.

Caleb studied the collage of personal pictures you have on the wall, not too far from your nightstand. A lot of them are you and him from various age, a couple are of you and Zayne, plus a recent one with Caleb between you and the doctor.

There are also photographs of you with your coworkers, including the silver-haired guy that you're often partnered with. In all the group pictures, he's always, always next to you.

He's the one that's seeing all the cute expressions you're making right now.

Caleb shakes the jealous thoughts out of his head and lies down on your bed. It's the afternoon, just around the time for the sun to set. He's not sleepy at all, but the warmth and softness of your bed, combined with your fragrant scent, is just so alluring, his body was obligated to sink into it.

"Hmm? What's this?"

Caleb's left hand got a hold of something that you'd forgotten to either put in your luggage or put in the dirty laundry.

Something soft.

Something red.

His fingers grasped the material and held it above his face so he could see what it is.

"Ah...."

His face instantly feels warm at the sight of your underwear. Red panties.

He had seen you wear this before. He also remembers, quite vividly, him sliding it off your legs before pressing his lips and tongue at your core like a starving predator.

He rememebered how you felt. How you tasted.

His mouth watered.

His cock hardened.

His fingers twitched as he lowered his hand towards his face. Caleb closed his eyes and pressed the panty against his nose.

"Fuck..."

His other hand rose to his chest as heat from his rushing blood spread across his body, down to his stomach, through his hips, and pooled between his thighs.

His mind replayed the memory of you resting your back against the bed's headboard, your fingers tangled through his hair while his face is buried between your thighs.

Caleb rubbed his cock over his gray sweatpants, thinking of the face you make as his tongue drives you on edge.

He took another whiff of the red underwear and stained his own boxers as he become even more aroused.

His hips thrusted up as he stroke himself faster, pretending it was your hand that was touching him.

He pictured your mouth around his cock, cheeks flushed, eyes filled with lust as they flicker back to his, making sure he was feeling good. Your eyes would get teary when he'd lose restraints and put himself deeper in your mouth.

A groan comes out between his lips. He pulled down his sweatpants and boxers, smearing his pre-cum all over his aching cock before running his hand up and down, slowly, just like how you like to start and finish.

He needed you, so bad. But you weren't there.

He was surrounded by your scent.

He was on your bed.

Licking his lips, Caleb turned over and buried his face on one of your pillows.

He grinds his cock on your bedsheet, imagining that you were underneath him, crying out his name with pleasure with your honeyed voice that he'll never get tired of hearing even in the after life.

"N- not enough.... it's not enough..." He was pumping his cock while humping your bed, yet he was only getting harder.

It feels like he was going to burst but couldn't.

Caleb threw off his shirt as the sweat from all his movement and body heat made his clothes uncomfortably stuck to his skin.

Despite his tensed body, his hold on your underwear was gentle, as if it was your actual body.

He sniffed the red panty once again before moving it down to his lips. His tongue ran over the crotch, and his cock throbbed. He could almost taste you, as if you were actually there.

He whispered your name with desperation, right hand grasping the bedsheet, needing to feel you against him.

Letting out a ragged breath, he took another pillow and placed it under his hips. Caleb closed his eyes and a moan escapes his lips at the friction.

He immediately set a brutal pace, rutting against your pillow while his closed eyes sees your figure, taking him in deep and tight. You're scratching his back and mewling against his ear as he pounds into you so hard that the world is shaking.

Sweat causes his body to glisten while your bed quakes from all of his movements.

He didn't - or rather, couldn't, silence his moans as the red fabric was wrapped around his cock. He ran it up and down before spreading it over the pillow and grinding against it.

It wasn't you, but it still felt heavenly.

"Fuck. fuck.... so good..."

He was close.

Faster. Harder.

Caleb increased his speed on humping your bed, feeling his body tightening up.

Ring ring ring.

"W- what?!"

He jumped at the sound of his own phone ringing. Someone was calling him. More importantly, it was the special ringtone for you.

Luckily, it wasn't a video call. He'd usually prefer a video call so he can see your lovely face, no matter the time of the day, but today.... might not be a good idea.

"F-fuck." He was absolutely not in the right state to talk to you clearly.

Decline?

No, he couldn't.

He could never.

"Heya, pip-squeak," he breathes out slowly, carefully, as if his heart isn't racing. "Missed me already?" he asks playfully, as if he wasn't the one that was fucking your panties right now.

"Yeah, I do. I have to hold my bags by myself because Caleb isn't around."

"So nice to hear that you're thinking about me." He grins, while his hips continued to move with caution so you wouldn't detect any of the lewd noises he was making.

"Well, yeah.... I do miss you, Caleb." you replied softly, setting the jokes aside. "I'm so far away from Linkon. It's so different here, and it just feels lonely. I guess I'm just feeling homesick..."

You're feeling homesick and you're thinking of him. It's just like when he goes to Skyhaven. He was always thinking of you. The one that he comes home to.

"Caleb..."

The way you said his name caused his stomach to flutter, and his cock to twitch.

Fuck.

Your voice.

"Caleb."

"Mhmmmm..."

With your panty wrapped around his cock, he thrusted deeply into the pillow as if was you. Over and over and over again.

"Caleb..."

He's so close.

Faster.

Deeper.

"Caleb?"

The bed was shaking and screeching from how hard he was going. He'd forgotten about everything.

"Hnnngg,,,"

"Caleb!"

Not a second after you called out his name, Caleb reached his climax. The panty was shoved in his mouth to muffle out the whimpers that fell from his drooling mouth.

He came hard, all over your pillow and spilled onto the bedsheet, some in his hips and stomach.

"Caleb?"

His eyes opened widely as if he'd just woken up from a trance. "Yes, honey?"

"Are you okay? Did you hear what I said? Are you busy?"

He gulped. "I'm good, pip-squeak. I'm already at your place, just... cleaning up, so that it's all nice and pretty when you get back in two days. You should hurry back or else your plants might die from missing you too much."

"Just my plants? You don't miss me?"

On, you have no idea.

"Hmph. I guess I won't give you any of the souvenirs I bought for you."

You are so cute and so precious.

He wants to kiss you so badly.

"Why don't you come home so you can see out how badly I need you..... next to me..." he adds the last part quickly.

Caleb could practically hear you smile at the other line, causing the ends of his own lips to curl up with joy, eyes brightening as he thinks of your face.

"I'm coming home soon. Wait for me, Caleb."

"I'll wait for as long as you need me."

Once the call ended, Caleb sighs loudly and slumps on the bed, wincing at the wet mess he made.

Now he has even more cleaning up to do.

///////

You paused as you entered your bedroom after enjoying the brunch that Caleb cooked for you upon your arrival at your sweet home.

"You changed my bedsheets?"

"It was starting to get a little dusty. You're welcome."

#oh caleb i am so in love with you #love and deepspace #lads #lnds #caleb #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #caleb lads #caleb x reader #caleb smut #lynnsfics

259 notes · View notes

sugurusladyknightt · 3 days ago

Text

"you're mad at me."

you huff through your nose, your reflection in the mirror is an angry one and rightfully so. eyes closed you take a moment to collect yourself, to loosen your clenched jaw, and just breathe.

"'you're mad at me', says the idiot man" you say, eyes intent on not leaving your reflection in the mirror, " 'of course i'm mad at you' replies the idiot man's wife." matter of factly, mock sympathy clear in your voice, before it turns cold. "for last night i discovered my idiot man husband who was terribly hurt by i'm not even sure what, standing in the bathroom trying to tend to his wound with tools that are inadequate to tend to those sorts of wounds.'"

the comb in your hands now being held like it is something between an accusing finger and a weapon ready to attack. still your eyes do not leave their reflection in the mirror before you.

sukuna thinks not having you speak to him, not having you look at him since last night, is lethal weapon enough.

"and when idiot wife sees this she feels a surge of very very many emotions of worry and sadness and anger and confusion and concern and yet, idiot man plays her the fool. no explanation,- "

"baby, please"

you sound exasperated, frantic; and him desperate.

"nothing, nothing at all to ease her worries. like she is someone he simply owes nothing too. like she isn't the one he's married to. it is possible that idiot man thinks his wife will simply forget. and then what does idiot man do you ask? well idiot man does just as his name suggests and acts as if he has no idea what is going on, he acts like an idiot, and continues to state plainly, pathetically, uselessly, 'you're mad at me.'"

you turn to look at him and you look pained. and god does he feel that way too. it's hidden well by your hardened exterior, furrowed brows, cold voice, and angry expression, but sukuna has come far past the point of being fooled by the expression you wear on your face — your eyes tell. they always do.

he moves from where he stands to take to your side, his place, sat next to you. his movements stiff, not as smooth as usual but still his natural effortlessness somehow manages to shine through. his knees touching yours almost shyly, and his hands curled in his lap, clasped together tightly. he wants to hold yours. you can tell, though make no movement to realize that desire. that need. neither of you move. but you wait for him.

it's quite strange to see sukuna of all people like this, it doesn't happen very often. crimson eyes down cast and his lips seemingly unable to decide whether they want to part and speak to you or to press themselves into a thin line and say nothing at all.

moments and moments pass and he gives you nothing. your chest fills with air and it deflates, deeep breathe.

you stand from your place and move to your bed, you need some sleep right now. you miss it with your back turned to him as you walk. his form falls further, longing for you so dearly when your so close.

his ego and pride aside; those things have no room in his mind, not when he is with you. he didn't need to be those things, he did not have to be endlessly strong. he did not have to be so guarded and he doesn't want to be. he doesn't want you to be that way around him either.

shit, he hadn't meant for this.

last night, sukuna had come home with a bloody gash through his his side. it was late and you were asleep, and he was tired. so tired. the last thing he needed was to have to wait in a hospital for care when he could do it here, at home, by himself, close to you.

so there he is, lights on in the bathroom as he's standing there trying to stitch himself up with the little sewing kit you kept in the medicine cabinet and a pair of kitchen scissors. it was a bloody affair, jaw clenched through the pain. his head was thrown back, sharp exhales, and eyes shut so tight. bloodied toilet paper everywhere. and that's right when you walk in.

perfect timing as always.

sukuna thinking its both kinda funny, incredibly scary, and so impressive how you always manage to find him in the most unfortunate and compromising situations.

he must've been louder than he'd thought. your sleepy form rigid as your eyes adjust to the light and you register the sight before you.

your husband, standing with his back against one of the walls of the small room, bloodied hands are positioned close to the wound in his side, one holding the needle and thread, dripping in his blood. the silver band he wears so proudly on his left hand is too.

your eyes frantically darting everywhere, finally landing on his wide crimson eyes staring right back at you. they match the color of the blood soaking his hands and smeared on his face and nearly everything else in the bathroom.

if the circumstances were different, if it wasn't for you he gaping hole in his side, you'd think it's quite a picturesque view. but right now, he looks like a man who was just caught doing a horrible job of trying to sew himself together at midnight by his wife, who by the way, also had her sleep disturbed by him.

your eyes go from wide with shock and confusion to being filled with worry and concern to focused and determined. the transformation so quick, it'd be easy for anyone else to miss.

you take his hand in yours and lead him to sit on the lid of the toilet lid almost as quick. you pull the hand covering the gash away from it so you can see it without distraction.

it's a few too many inches long for your liking, right down the side of his tattooed torso. sell sure, he's been hurt before, bruises on his face, bloody knuckles, some scratches maybe. you know who you married, you've had to sew him up, before but really it was nothing major, nothing in comparison to this.

"don't move, i'll only be a moment."

you've left to grab the first aid box you have, it isn't ideal, but better than what he's been doing. it's all you have to work with for now, and so you'll just have to do with it.

once back, you settle between his thighs and start opening and removing the stitches he's sewn in so that you can clean it up, disinfect it, before sewing it up properly, and wrapping him up.

your work is diligent and quite. eyes hardly ever leaving their current subject of interest. he's quiet too, crimson eyes don't leave you. in the past, when you've found yourself in these situations, he'd be teasing or making those quick-witted remarks of his, but not tonight. he can't bring himself to.

you do your best, willing your hands not to tremble as you work; there's so much blood. you can see his hands clenched atop his thighs, knuckles going white. his muscles flinging at the burning and sting of the disinfectant or the cold of the needle repeatedly piercing his aching skin.

you know he's tired, you are too. but sleep is so far form your mind right now. you place a hand on his thighs and squeeze gently, hoping your grip is steadying to him. something to keep him grounded. something to convey the words you don't have the strength to announce at the moment but still, you want him to hear them.

once your done, you let out a slow, shaky breathe, quickly moving to the sink to wash your hands and dry your hands before wrapping him up in clean gauze. the first few layers bloody quick, but you continue until it is enough, looking up at him in conformation that it isn't too tight before you secure it in place.

your hands gently drag up and down his sides before they settle of his tights to push yourself up, only then do you meet his eyes properly. he feels like it's his first time seeing you all over again. its not enough, eyes darting away far too quick. its far too fleeting a moment for him to properly telepathically convey his thoughts to you through eye contact.

you pack up the first aid kid setting it on the counter, leaving to grab him a clean shirt from the closet setting it on the counter as well, and your off to bed. not another word to him, not another glance. you don't even know that you want to know what happen. he feels like a child how'd just been scolded. his body far too large for him in this moment.

sukuna slips the shirt over his head, and moves carefully when he's fitting the rest of it over his body. it was pretty bad, he can't even pretend that this isn't all that big of a deal. he knew, your actions were only coming from a place of concern for his wellbeing and that made this all that much worse. he feels likes he's been drinking hot sand instead of water.

he looks at himself in the mirror, bloodied sink under him: sighh. there's not much else he can do.

he peaks his head out the bathroom first, then the rest of him emerges. he's met with the sight of you, well kinda. it's more like he's met with the sight of a lump under the blankets he knows is you.

your back facing his side of the bed, and he's sitting on the edge of it. there's an air of awkwardness, as he settles under the covers, his eyes trained on your back. sukuna wants so badly to shuffle close to you and lay his head on your pillow, to hold your hand in his and tangle your legs together under the covers, but he doesn't. he can bring himself to.

so he just stares at you longingly, he stares at you like you're hundreds of kilometres away. and all he can hope for is that tomorrow, when he wakes up with you, it'll be better.

that he'll be better.

better for you.

#deep sighhh #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #jjk sukuna #jjk au #sukuna au #sukuna imagine #husband sukuna #modern sukuna #i honestly have no idea how to treat such a wound #jjk angst #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #sukuna angst #i'm thinking about how i wanna format my writing but idk yet #not proofread

183 notes · View notes

theonottsbxtch · 1 day ago

Text

WHEN THE WORLD GOES QUIET PT.2 | LN4

an: i'm seeing a lot of love for this and i'm glad! i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing this - i'm now omw to the library to write some more stories for you guys hehe

wc: 6.1k

part one

FOR DAYS, SHE MOURNED.

She barely left her bed, drifting between fitful sleep and hollow wakefulness, the hours melting into each other like wax from a candle burned too long. The world outside continued - newspapers shouted about the war, footsteps echoed in the stairwell, rain pattered softly against the windowpane - but none of it touched her. It all felt so distant, like she was floating just outside of reality, unable to reach it, unwilling to try.

The soldiers had come back two days later after the first visit. They handed her a small box - Lando’s belongings. He didn’t have much. A pocket watch, the glass cracked but the hands still ticking. A battered deck of playing cards, edges worn soft from use. A few letters he never sent to her, some half-written, some only a few lines long. A book of poetry she gave him with his name scrawled inside the cover, the pages dog-eared and stained with ink. He lied to her, he said he’d never read it. A cigarette case, dented, still holding one last cigarette as though he was going to come back and smoke it with her in the rain while she sang.

She ran her fingers over each item carefully, as if memorising the feel of them, as if holding these things would somehow bring him back. She placed the box on the small table by her bed and left it there, untouched after that, unable to look at it for too long.

A week passed. The grief didn’t lessen, but it settled into something quieter, heavier, pressing down on her ribs with every breath.

And then, on the seventh day, there was a knock at the door.

It was weak. Barely there. Just a soft, uncertain tap tap tap, as if the person on the other side wasn’t sure they had the strength to knock at all.

She ignored it at first - probably some children selling biscuits. She barely had the energy to move, let alone answer the door. But then it came again, a little stronger this time, though still unsteady.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, wrapping her dressing gown around herself as she crossed the small, dimly lit room. Her body felt leaden, her mind sluggish, and for a moment, she thought it must be one of her neighbours - maybe Mrs. Holloway from downstairs, coming to check if she was still breathing.

She unlocked the door with tired fingers and pulled it open-

And nearly collapsed where she stood.

Lando.

He was standing in front of her, barely upright, swaying slightly on his feet like a man who’d been fighting gravity for too long. His face was bruised and still slightly bloodied, one eye swollen, a cut running along his temple. His uniform was tattered, stained with dirt and dried blood, his left arm cradled against his side as if even the weight of it was too much to bear. He looked ruined. Wrecked by something that should have killed him.

But he was here.

Alive.

A slow lopsided grin pulled at his split lip, his voice rough and hoarse as he rasped-

“Missed me, sweetheart?”

Her breath hitched, her vision blurred. For a moment, she could do nothing but stare, her hands gripping the doorframe to keep herself upright.

Then, before she could think, before she could stop herself.

She threw herself at him.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her body colliding with his so suddenly that he let out a low groan of pain, but she didn’t care for a brief minute. He was solid. Real. Her fingers curled into his torn uniform, her face buried in his shoulder, and the sob that has been trapped in her chest for weeks finally broke free.

He let out a shaky breath, his good arm tightening around her waist as he whispered, “Took a long bloody way home, but I got here, didn’t I?”

Home.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands cradling his face, her thumbs brushing over the bruises there. He winced slightly but didn’t pull away.

“You-” Her voice cracked, raw from days of silence. “You died.”

He gave her a faint, crooked smirk. “Nearly died. Big difference, sweetheart.” His voice softened. “They shot us down over France. I-” He swallowed, something dark flickering through his bruised gaze. “I shouldn’t have made it.”

Her fingers trembled against his jaw, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs “But you did.”

“Yeah.” His voice was barely a whisper now. “Yeah, I did.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her breath uneven, her thoughts a tangled mess of grief and disbelief and absolute, crushing relief.

Then she grabbed his collar, yanked him forward and kissed him.

He made a low sound in his throat, startled, but he melted into her, his lips warm despite the cold that clung to his skin. It was desperate, messy, edged with too much pain and too many unsaid words, but neither of them cared.

When they finally pulled apart, he let out a breathless chuckle, his forehead resting against hers. “Blimey. If I’d known I’d get a welcome like that, I’d have come back sooner.”

She huffed out a tearful laugh, skating her head as fresh tears slid down her cheeks. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, well,” he murmured, his fingers brushing weakly over her wrist. “You love me anyway, don’t you?”

She didn’t really know what love was growing up, she was raised knowing that she could only love God and the Church. But here, staring at this messy boy with his messy curls and lopsided grin, she thought of how much she mourned him, the lie she voiced for him and realised that yes, she did love him.

She exhaled, her fingers still cupping his face, and nodded.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I do.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, like he was letting it sink in, letting it steady him. Then, with a small, pained sigh, he leaned into her touch and muttered-

“Reckon I might need a lie-down, sweetheart. Nearly dying’s exhausting work.”

She let out a watery laugh, shaking her head as she finally pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them.

She still didn’t know how this was possible, how he was here, when she had already mourned him. She didn’t know if she would ever stop waking up in cold sweats, thinking it had all been a dream.

But for now, he was here and that was enough for her.

Once inside, she took care of him. Took care of him in the only way she knew how, with love.

The small flat wasn’t much, but it was warm, and it was safe, and for now, that was enough. She helped him out of his tattered uniform with careful hands, breath momentarily taken away as she took in his build. Her fingers ghosted over the bruised ribs, torn skin, the places where war had left its mark on him. He hissed when she pressed a damp cloth to the cut on his temple, but he didn’t complain, only watching her with a look that made her chest tighten.

She tried not to meet his gaze, tried to focus on the task at hand. But then-

“So,” he drawled, his voice still rough, still weak, but carrying the familiar edge of teasing. “Heard you called yourself my fiancée.”

Her hands froze.

Her stomach plummeted.

Her eyes snapped up to his, wide with horror. He looked far too smug for someone who had nearly died, his bruised lips curling into something that might have been a smirk if he wasn’t so exhausted.

She stammered, struggling for words, but before she could say anything, she glanced down at her hand.

And her heart stopped.

The ring.

It was still on her left hand. She had never switched it back.

Heat flooded her face so quickly she thought she might faint. She dropped the cloth to his lap and yanked the ring off, shoving it back onto her right hand, fingers trembling, her whole body ablaze with mortification.

“That was- I had to,” she spluttered. “They wouldn’t have told me anything otherwise, and I needed to know.”

Lando let out a low chuckle, wincing at the movement. “I dunno, sweetheart. Sounds an awful lot like a proposal to me.”

She picked up the cloth and threw it at his chest.

He let out a breathless laugh, catching it before it fell to the floor, but the sound faded quickly, something heavier settling between them. She swallowed, focusing on cleaning his wounds, pretending she wasn’t still burning from the embarrassment.

“You really did that?” he asked for a moment, his voice quieter now, “You went all the way out to Bovingdon?”

She nodded, dabbing gently at his brow. “Didn’t have a choice, did I?”

Something flickered in his gaze- something unreadable, something deep. “That was dangerous darling, what if something happened to your train?”

“I needed to know, Lan.”

He went quiet after that and she continued to work, washing away the blood, the dirt, the remnants of everything he had endured. The worst of it was his ribs, bruised and maybe cracked, but there was nothing she could do except wrap them, murmuring soft apologies when he flinched beneath her touch.

When she was done, she sat back, studying her work.

“You should be in the military,” Lando muttered, voice laced with exhaustion. “Proper little nurse, you are.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes. “I would be in the military, if they let me fight.”

His gaze softened. “I reckon you’d win the whole bloody war if they did.”

She scoffed, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. For a moment, just a moment. Things almost felt normal.

But then, Lando let out a slow breath, the teasing fading from his face.

“I lost Oscar,” he said.

Her heart clenched.

Lando’s right hand-man. His best mate. She had met him once- just once, outside the bar, both of them too drunk to be serious about anything. He had been tall, full of quick wit and easy laughter, and Lando trusted him with everything.

She didn’t know what to say.

Lando didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed somewhere far away - empty. “We were shot down over France. They got us good. We tried-” He exhaled, his hands twitching, curling into fists. “We tried to jump, but Oscar- his parachute wouldn’t open. I saw him go down. Couldn’t do a damn thing.

She reached for his hand instinctively, gripping it tightly.

“I don’t know how I made it back,” he admitted. “I ran back for Oscar, took him as far as I could and gave him a final prayer. Silly right?” he chuckled. “I took a bullet to the leg after that, nearly starved, but some French boys found me. Got me out before the Jerries could.” His throat bobbed. “But Osc-”

He didn’t finish.

She squeezed his fingers, her heart aching. “I’m so sorry, Lando.”

He nodded once, slowly. But she knew this wasn’t something he would ever truly move past.

The war took and took and took.

And yet, somehow, against all odds. Lando had come back.

She let the silence settle between them, her fingers still wrapped around his. It wasn’t comfortable, not with the weight of what he had just said, but she knew better than to rush him. Lando seemed like the type of man who carried his grief quietly, let it sink into his bones where no one could reach it.

After a while, she exhaled softly and asked, “So, what happens now?”

Lando tilted his head back against the wall, his bruised face illuminated by the dim glow of the gaslight. He looked tired. Bone tired. But the ghost of a smirk still tugged at his lips.

“Well,” he drawled, “I’m on the injury list until I heal. Not much use to ‘em like this, am I?” He gestured vaguely to himself, to the cuts, the bruises, the way his left arm still hung stiffly at his side. “Can’t fly, can’t fight. Means I’m stuck here for a bit.”

She nodded, trying not to let the relief show too plainly on her face. He was here. He wasn’t being shipped back out - at least not yet.

Lando glanced at her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Father O’Connell said I can stay at the Church until I’m good.”

That made her pause.

“The Church?” She repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He huffed a quiet laugh, as if he had been expecting her reaction. “They’ve got a spare cot, and it’s better than the street, sweetheart.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting a smile. "You? Sleeping under a roof dedicated to the Lord you don’t believe in?"

Lando smirked. "Reckon I’ll be fine, so long as the walls don’t cave in the moment I step inside."

She laughed then, shaking her head. "Blasphemous and injured. You’re on dangerous ground, Lando Norris."

"Wouldn’t be the first time," he murmured, wincing slightly as he shifted.

She hesitated for a moment, watching him carefully. He was exhausted. She could see it in the way his body sagged slightly against the chair, the way his hands trembled faintly from either pain or sheer fatigue. He was trying to keep up the bravado, but she knew better.

"Stay here."

The words left her mouth before she had fully thought them through, but as soon as she said them, she knew she meant them.

Lando blinked at her. "What?"

She crossed her arms, feigning nonchalance. "You heard me."

He raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly. "Offering up your flat to a war hero, are you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Hardly. Just an injured man who can barely stand upright."

Lando chuckled, but then he really looked at her—like he was trying to understand if she was serious. "I don’t wanna be a burden."

"You won’t be," she said, softer this time.

He studied her for a long moment, as if he was trying to decide whether or not to argue. Then, finally, he let out a small, resigned sigh.

"Alright, sweetheart," he murmured. "You win."

And for the first time in days, she felt like she could breathe.

She looked after him because someone had to.

She changed the bandages on his ribs with careful hands, wiped the dried blood from his temple, made him tea even though he grumbled that he wasn’t some fragile old man. She forced him to eat, nudging a half-stale biscuit toward him when he thought she wasn’t looking. And when his body ached too much to sit upright, she guided him to the small bed in the corner of the flat, ignoring his protests as she threw a blanket over him.

It was quiet work. Steady. Something to keep her hands busy, something to stop her from thinking too much about the fact that just two days ago, she had been mourning him.

She was pouring him another cup of tea when she spoke, her voice quieter than before. "I prayed for you."

Lando, sitting up against the headboard, glanced at her. His injuries had settled into something duller now—still painful, but less sharp, less all-consuming. He wasn’t wincing as much when he moved, but his face still bore the bruises of war.

He studied her, something unreadable in his gaze. "Did you?"

She nodded, fingers tightening around the cup. "At the church. When I thought—when I thought you were gone."

His jaw tensed slightly, as if the thought of her grieving him was harder to bear than his own suffering. Then, after a pause, he exhaled and said, "I prayed."

Her head snapped up.

Lando Hargrove, the man who scoffed at church, who smirked every time she wore her cross, who always had something sharp to say about the God she wrestled with.

She swallowed. "You mentioned, you were serious?"

He nodded, looking down at his hands. His voice was quieter now, rougher around the edges. "When I was out there. Alone. Before the French boys found me, with Oscar." His fingers curled slightly, as if remembering the feel of the earth beneath them, the cold, the hunger, the absolute isolation. "Didn’t know if anyone was listening. Didn’t know if I even believed it." His gaze lifted to hers, raw in a way she wasn’t sure she had ever seen before. "But I thought of you."

Her breath caught.

She didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to unravel the knots twisting in her chest. So she just nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

The night carried on, slow and steady. She cleaned up the small mess from their tea, doused the gas lamp until only the dim glow of the streetlights filtered through the curtains. Lando had already sunk lower into the bed, exhaustion pulling at him with an unrelenting grip.

"You should sleep," she murmured.

His lips twitched. "And where are you planning on going, sweetheart?"

She hesitated. The flat was small—there was only the one bed, and the chair in the corner wasn’t much of an option.

Lando let out a quiet chuckle, shifting slightly to the side. "Come on, then. I don’t bite."

She rolled her eyes but, after a moment, relented. Carefully, she climbed in beside him, keeping a respectful distance, but the bed was small, and warmth carried between them in the sliver of space that remained.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then, just as her eyes were beginning to slip shut, Lando’s voice came, barely above a whisper.

"Still wearing that ring?"

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t open her eyes. "Go to sleep, Lando."

He let out a quiet, tired laugh.

And with that, for the first time in what felt like years, they both let themselves rest.

The night was still. The distant hum of the city had quieted, leaving only the occasional echo of footsteps on the cobbled streets below.

She had been deep in sleep, cocooned in warmth, when the bed jolted beneath her.

Then—

"Oscar!"

Her eyes flew open.

Lando was thrashing beside her, tangled in the blankets, his face twisted in something raw, something agonising. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his fingers clenching around the sheets as if he were still there, still on the battlefield, still losing his best friend over and over again.

"No—Oscar—wait—"

His voice cracked, broken apart by a sob.

She moved before she could think, shifting onto her side, reaching for him. "Lando—Lando, wake up—"

But he wasn’t awake, not really. He was trapped in the depths of it, in the nightmare, his chest rising and falling far too fast, his body trembling under the weight of something she couldn’t see.

Her heart ached.

She touched his face gently, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead. "Lando, love, it’s alright," she whispered, voice steady despite the tightness in her throat. "You’re here. You’re safe."

His breathing stuttered.

She ran her fingers through his hair, trying to bring him back. "It’s not real. You’re with me."

His eyes snapped open.

Wild. Glassy. He was still lost, still caught somewhere far away. But then his gaze landed on her—really landed on her—and something in him broke.

A strangled sound escaped his throat, and then he was clutching her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. His body shook, and before he could turn away, before he could hide it, she felt it—

The tears.

Hot, silent, unstoppable.

Lando Norris was crying.

She didn’t hesitate. She lifted herself up, pressing soft kisses to his damp cheeks, tasting the salt of his grief. She wiped the tears away with her lips, her hands, her whole being, as if she could take the pain from him, as if she could bear it for him instead.

His hands curled into the fabric of her nightdress, his breath shuddering. He didn’t speak, and neither did she.

Instead, she held him.

And then, quietly, she whispered a prayer.

She didn’t know if he believed. Didn’t know if she believed anymore, not fully, not in the way she used to. But she prayed anyway, murmured soft words into the hollow space between them, words for Oscar, for Lando, for the war to end, for something greater than all of this.

Lando’s breathing slowed.

His grip on her loosened, just slightly.

She stroked his hair, pressing her forehead against his temple. "Sleep, love," she whispered. "I’ve got you."

He let out a shaky breath, and for the first time that night, he let himself fall.

And she held him, long after sleep claimed him again.

The rest of the night passed in fits and starts.

Even as Lando drifted back to sleep, his body remained tense, like he was waiting to be dragged back into the nightmare. Every so often, he’d shift against her, his fingers twitching in his sleep, a quiet murmur of Oscar’s name escaping his lips.

She didn’t let go.

She kept him close, her arms a steady anchor, her warmth something solid against the cold weight of his grief. When his breath hitched, she whispered reassurances into his skin. When his body shuddered, she ran soft, soothing strokes through his hair. And when dawn finally crept through the curtains, bathing the room in a muted grey light, she barely realised she hadn’t slept at all.

Lando stirred first.

It was slow—his body unwilling, his mind reluctant—but eventually, his brow furrowed, and he let out a low groan, pressing his face into the pillow.

She smiled softly. "Good morning."

A pause. Then, groggy, voice rough with sleep, he muttered, "Bloody hell."

She huffed a quiet laugh. "That bad, is it?"

He peeled one eye open, squinting at the light before shifting onto his back with a deep exhale. His gaze flickered to her, taking in the way she was propped up beside him, watching him with something gentle and knowing.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, voice lower now, almost hesitant.

She hesitated before answering. "You were already asleep when I came back," she murmured, "but you weren’t resting."

Lando’s jaw tightened. He looked away, exhaling slowly through his nose. "I—" He swallowed, then shook his head, running a hand over his face. "Shit."

"You don’t have to say anything," she said, watching him carefully. "Not now. Not ever, if you don’t want to."

Lando was silent.

And then—quietly, reluctantly—he said, "I dream about it."

She stayed quiet, letting him find his own words.

His fingers curled slightly into the sheets. "Sometimes it’s just flashes. The airfields, the engines, the bloody gunfire. Other times…" He exhaled sharply, his throat bobbing. "Other times, it’s Oscar. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. He’s still there, still trying to hold on, and I can’t—I can’t—" His voice faltered, raw and uneven.

She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his.

Lando blinked hard, then let out a small, humourless chuckle. "God, you must think I’m pathetic."

Her grip tightened. "I think you’re human."

He glanced at her, something vulnerable in his expression. Then, without a word, he squeezed her hand back.

The moment lingered.

Then, as if suddenly aware of their closeness, Lando cleared his throat and made a weak attempt to sit up.

She rolled her eyes. "Slow down, soldier."

"I was never a soldier," he muttered. "Just a bloody pilot who got too good at running from death."

She didn't argue. Not about that.

Instead, she shifted out of bed, stretching her stiff limbs. "Come on, then. You need tea, and I need breakfast."

Lando gave her a lopsided smirk. "That an offer to cook for me, sweetheart?"

She arched a brow. "You think I’d let you in my kitchen with your injuries? You can barely stand."

Lando chuckled, wincing slightly as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Reckon I should milk this while I can, then."

She threw a pillow at him.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the morning felt light.

The days passed in something dangerously close to peace.

For the first time in months—years, perhaps—she felt as though time had slowed, folding itself neatly around the four walls of her flat. Outside, London was still at war. Air-raid sirens still screamed through the streets, rations still stretched thinner by the day, and grief still clung to the city like fog. But inside, in the small space she shared with Lando, there was warmth.

Routine.

Something almost like a life.

She looked after him, of course. Changed his bandages when he let her, scolded him when he tried to do too much, forced food into his hands when he muttered that he wasn’t hungry. But he, in his own way, looked after her too.

He made her laugh, sometimes without meaning to. He occupied the space beside her like he belonged there, like there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. He helped her with supper, standing over the stove with a cigarette perched between his lips, poking at potatoes with the wrong end of a wooden spoon.

One evening, after she had taken a pan from his hands with a sigh and done it herself, he leant against the counter and smirked.

"You know," he mused, watching her work, "you’d make a bloody good wife."

She nearly dropped the spoon.

The words caught her off guard, lodging themselves in a place she couldn’t quite reach, settling into the corners of her mind like an ink stain.

She glanced at him, half-expecting some cocky grin, but his expression was unreadable. He was watching her in a way that made her chest feel tight, made her hands shake ever so slightly as she turned back to the pan.

"Shame, that," she said, forcing lightness into her voice. "Don’t suppose anyone’s taking applications."

Lando hummed. "Well, I dunno about that," he said. "I did hear you’ve already got a fiancé."

She groaned, covering her face with her hands. "I knew you wouldn’t let that go."

"Course not." He grinned, stepping closer. "Imagine my surprise, waking up from the dead to find myself engaged. You could’ve at least let me propose first."

She swatted at him half-heartedly, but the warmth in her cheeks betrayed her.

It stuck with her more than she wanted it to.

After that, the thought wove its way into everything.

When she was brushing flour from her hands after baking the world’s most pitiful loaf of bread, she caught him watching her, and the words you’d make a bloody good wife flickered through her mind before she could stop them. When he reached for something on a high shelf, when he nudged her with his shoulder as he passed by, when he said ta, love with that easy grin—

It settled in her chest like a secret, like a whisper of something neither of them dared say out loud.

The week and a half passed like that. Cooking together, filling the flat with the scent of onions and broth, losing themselves in the simple pleasure of warm meals and soft laughter. The war felt distant, just for a little while.

She knew it wouldn’t last.

But God, she wished it would.

Another week passed, a haze of quiet mornings, warm meals, and the occasional conversation that lingered too long, as if neither of them wanted to break the fragile cocoon they’d woven around themselves. There were days when they barely noticed the outside world at all, as though the war had turned into nothing more than a distant rumble, something happening on the other side of a window that had been carefully closed.

The mornings had become routine—her getting up first, brewing tea, him shuffling into the kitchen in a half-awake stupor, ruffling his hair as he grumbled about being woken. The evenings fell into a rhythm too, with them sitting on the small couch, half a room away, each wrapped in the comfort of the other’s company, while the world continued its war somewhere beyond the windows.

One morning, she woke with the warm weight of Lando's arm around her, his breath soft against the back of her neck. She hadn’t realised it at first, but somehow, during the night, he had pulled her close, and now she lay pressed to his chest, his hold tight, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

She shifted, careful not to disturb him, and the soft sound of bells reached her ears—faint at first, a distant chime that grew louder. She frowned, trying to make sense of it. It wasn’t the air-raid sirens, and it wasn’t a church bell for a funeral. No, this was different. This was... celebration?

She carefully pulled herself out of his arms, wincing at the small space between them, and padded quietly across the room. Her fingers brushed the curtains aside, and she peered out of the window.

The street below was buzzing with life. People were spilling into the streets, laughing, shouting, and cheering. Flags were being waved. And there—there were the children, dancing in circles, holding hands like they were marking the end of something heavy. The sounds of joyous voices drifted up to her.

Her heart began to pound. No... it can’t be…

"Lando," she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.

She turned back toward the bed, her heart thundering as she crossed the room in a few quick strides. She leaned over him, shaking him gently at first, then more urgently. "Lando, darling—wake up!"

He groaned, rolling over and blinking up at her with a dazed expression, his messy hair sticking up in all directions. His face softened when he saw her, but it didn’t last long as the sound of the bells filled the room.

"What—?" He froze, his eyes suddenly clear, his breath catching.

She couldn’t contain the excitement in her voice, her hands gripping his shoulders. "Lando, the war—it’s over. They’re celebrating. Can’t you hear the bells?"

His eyes widened, then narrowed as he slowly pushed himself up, confusion flickering across his face before realisation dawned on him. The sound of the bells reached his ears, clearer now, and he could hear the cheering too. The world outside, the noise, the celebration—it was undeniable.

He sat up, blinking as he rubbed a hand over his face, disorientated for a moment as if he were still in a dream. Then, a half-laugh, half-sob escaped him, and for a moment, he didn’t move. He just looked at her, his gaze flickering over her face.

"Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath. "Is this... is this really happening?"

She nodded, her own disbelief mirrored in her wide eyes. "It’s true, Lando. They’re celebrating. The war’s ended. It’s finished."

He sat there, silent for a beat too long, before shaking his head as if to clear it. Then, he suddenly sprang from the bed, moving quickly, as if the news had sparked something deep inside him, something that couldn’t be contained.

In a few long strides, he was at the window beside her, his eyes scanning the crowds below. People were hugging, crying, dancing in the streets. And for the first time in years, there were no sirens, no orders to follow, no planes overhead.

Lando’s hand reached for hers, his fingers squeezing with a kind of urgency she hadn’t felt in days. His voice was soft, still somewhat stunned. "It’s over," he whispered, his lips curving in something fragile—something that might have been a smile, if not for the look of wonder in his eyes.

She nodded, her heart swelling with something she didn’t know how to name. "It’s over, Lando."

He turned to face her, his hand still holding hers, his thumb rubbing along her knuckles in a slow, tender motion. His eyes softened, the hardness that had lingered around the edges of them for so long finally ebbing away. "What now, then?" he asked quietly, as if the question itself was almost too much to ask after everything.

She thought about it for a moment, the uncertainty of the future heavy in the air between them, but the weight of the moment didn’t seem as daunting now. The war had ended. The world was open. And somehow, impossibly, they had made it.

"I don’t know," she replied, her voice soft, "but we’re still here. And that’s enough for me."

Lando smiled then, the warmth returning to his face, and for the first time since she’d met him, it wasn’t just a smirk or a teasing grin—it was something full of hope, something genuine.

Then, without another word, he leaned down and kissed her.

The moment his lips met hers, the world outside—the cheers, the bells, the war that had just ended—ceased to exist.

Lando kissed her like he had waited his whole life to do it, like he had been holding it back for weeks, months, maybe even longer. His hands cupped her face, rough and warm, his fingers sliding into her hair as he pulled her in like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

She gasped against his mouth, barely catching her breath before he kissed her again, deeper this time, more desperate, more real. Her hands clutched at his shirt, fisting the fabric like she needed to hold onto something solid, like if she let go, she might slip away into whatever fever-dream this felt like.

His body was warm against hers, his breath uneven as he pressed her back against the wall, his lips trailing from her mouth to her jaw, then to the hollow of her throat. She shuddered at the feeling, at the way his hands mapped out every inch of her like he wanted to memorise her in case she vanished before his eyes.

She felt alive.

After everything—after loss and grief, after nights spent in silence, after waking up to a world that had been at war for too long—this was the only thing that felt real. This moment, here, with him.

His forehead pressed against hers as he caught his breath, both of them dizzy from the weight of it all. His voice was low, rasping against her lips, breathless and full of something she couldn’t quite name.

"Well, what to do with my life now?" he murmured, his mouth quirking into something like a smirk, "s’pose I’ll just live here then. With my fiancée."

She let out a breathless laugh, her hands still tangled in his shirt. "Oh, will you now?"

"Reckon so." He grinned, but there was something warm and certain behind it. "Would be a bit odd for me to be staying with a woman I’m not engaged to, don’t you think? The people they’ll talk and your reputation. It’ll be ruined."

She raised an eyebrow. "Lando, you do know you never actually asked me, right?"

For a second, he looked taken aback, as if the thought had never even crossed his mind. But then, without hesitation, he stepped back, took her right hand in his, and before she could say another word—

He dropped onto one knee.

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart hammering wildly as she watched him, watched the way his fingers gently pried the ring from her right hand and held it between them.

His eyes found hers, and for the first time, there was no teasing, no bravado—just Lando, raw and real, looking at her like she was the only thing that had ever mattered.

"I haven’t got a real ring," he said, voice quiet, steady, "not yet, anyway. But I’ll get one. I swear it." He swallowed, his thumb brushing against the band between his fingers. "I’ll find a job—something stable. I could go to school, or work at Billy’s pharmacy, or whatever pays enough to get us something real, something good. And then..."

He took a breath, his lips quirking up into a lopsided smile.

"Then, if you’ll have me, I’ll marry you proper. But for now, all I can do is ask."

He reached for her left hand, slipping the ring onto her finger where it belonged.

"So what d’you reckon, sweetheart?" His voice was softer now, his eyes never leaving hers. "Marry me?"

She stared at him, her chest tightening, her whole body light and heavy all at once.

And then, with the weight of the war finally lifting, with the streets outside alive with celebration, and with the man she loved on his knee before her—

She nodded.

"Yes," she breathed, tears pricking at her eyes. "Yes, Lando."

And before he could even stand, she threw herself at him, kissing him again like she would never stop.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore @driverlando

149 notes · View notes

ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral · 2 days ago

Text

Hello everyone! Here's a new au for you all! Don't worry, I'm still going to be doing a part 3 for the Disir au, but this is something for you all while you wait! Enjoy! :D

This au takes place in a modern setting where Merlin has been waiting for Arthur for over 1500 years. Merlin believes that Arthur will rise directly from the lake, as Kilgharrah led him to believe, but in actuality, Arthur, Gwen, and all the knights were reincarnated and born into new lives without any memory of their past lives.

In this modern setting, Arthur's reincarnation, Arthur Penn, works for a top-secret task force in MI6, known as the Knights. The Knights are tasked with monitoring and hunting down dangerous otherworldly or supernatural threats.

The Knights task force was successful for many years, up until one fateful mission. The team was exploring a cave with high levels of strange radiation, which usually indicated strong supernatural forces. While they didn’t encounter anything in the cave, agent Lance DuLac got separated from the group somehow and was missing for several hours before they found him sitting in front of some crystals, seemingly entranced.

While he was physically fine, Lance was never quite the same afterwards, having strange dreams or speaking in an unknown language at random. Since one of their best agents was left near-insane and they didn't even find anything, that mission was deemed a disaster, which led to the Knights getting disbanded by their superiors.

After the Knights were disbanded, Arthur was put on several solo missions, hunting down supernatural creatures, but he eventually got a new mission.

MI6 had been following and observing an entity known as Emrys for decades, ever since the 1930’s, when reports of an “immortal man” first reached intelligence agencies.

Ever since Emrys's immortality and presence through history was confirmed, MI6 always had someone trailing him and documenting his actions. However, he had never shown any real threat to humanity despite his estimated power level sitting at that of a god’s. In fact, the only documented case of any sort of power from that they had observed in their 90 years of tailing him was during WWII, when a bomb was dropped over his little cottage and he made it disappear with a wave of his hand.

Over the years, the post of watching Emrys had become the most laid-back and least threatening job in the entire supernatural department of MI6. After all, he had never hurt anyone in the entire time that they had watched him, so all an agent had to do was keep their distance and they’d be fine. Hell, it was practically a 9 to 5 job. It was, as far as jobs within the supernatural department went, extremely boring.

Which made agent Arthur Penn extremely overqualified for the post. Unfortunately, agent Gwaine Greene, who had been assigned to Emrys post in the years following the Knights’ disbandment, had been running his mouth to their superiors that Arthur was too high strung and throwing himself into one dangerous mission after the next and needed a lighter mission to cool down. And, even more unfortunately, their superiors had listened to that loudmouth.

So now Arthur was being assigned to watch an old man for an unspecified amount of time. Yay, this was exactly what he hoped his career as an agent at MI6 would look like. Agent coordinator Gwen Smith gave him his debrief, showing him the extensive file that MI6 had on Emrys, his abilities, his routine, and his alternate appearances, because apparently this bloke could change his age as well.

So, Arthur begins his new assignment with a generally bad attitude, but he still performs his duties. Arthur tails Emrys, during which time Emrys mostly sticks to the routine that Gwen had showed him: walking around a nearby lake every morning, then going into town for lunch and to chat with locals about mundane things like the weather, going back home, reading and writing and cooking and cleaning, and then going to bed. Rinse and repeat.

However, as the weeks go by, Arthur notices something… strange. All the previous agents who had post had reported that, even if he knew they were trailing him, Emrys never really paid them much attention. A passing glance or a knowing smile perhaps, but never anything overt. A few years ago, one agent even made the bold move of having a drink next to Emrys in a pub, and Emrys had only asked him if he was "off the clock". If Emrys was upset about being followed, he certainly didn't show it.

So this? This had never happened to any of the other agents watching Emrys before.

A few weeks into his new post, Emrys had started… staring at Arthur. The stares were accompanies by an unnerving feeling, like Arthur was an insect pinned against a microscope. Like Emrys was looking into Arthur very soul and judging him for something.

The feeling of being watched by Emrys made the hairs of the back of Arthur's neck rise, just like whenever he was facing down monsters that looked like they crawled out of humanity's worst nightmares. He was the one supposed to do the watching, not the other way around!

After only three days of Emrys's petrifying stares, Arthur decided to go back to headquarters and give them an update. If Emrys's behavior had changed so suddenly, it might be a sign that the entity was planning something bigger, and they needed to be prepared for anything the immortal could throw their way.

Arthur's paranoia at being watched must have really gotten to him over the past few days though, because for the entire trip back to London, he swore he could see glimpses of Emrys out of the corner of his eyes. But every time he whirled around to see if Emrys truly was following him, there was nothing there. Besides, Emrys had never once left that little town by the lake in over 90 years. Why would he leave now?

Arthur arrived back at headquarters by the end of the day, and he quickly arranged a meeting with his superiors. If Emrys was plotting something, the entire supernatural division had to go on high alert.

About halfway through through the meeting, however, the lights started to flicker and the entire building started to shake, as if a massive earthquake was happening. Everyone sprang into action, weapons in hand and ready for any attack, but Arthur's eyes went wide with panic. He knew, somehow, what- or who- was behind this.

Sure enough, a guard burst into the room a couple second later, yelling about how Emrys was in the lobby making demands and shaking the earth with his anger.

Arthur and his bosses ran out to the lobby and were met with a horrible sight: Emrys standing at their front door with the guards' weapons disintegrating before they could even take aim at him.

"I will not ask you again. Where is he?"

Emrys's voice was more impatient than furious, but the threat of his power was more than enough to send a shover down everyone's spine, Arthur's most of all. Because while his superiors and fellow agents were frantically whispering to each other, trying to figure out who Emrys could be referring to, Arthur knew. There was only one mortal Emrys had shown any interest in over the past 90 years, after all.

"He's after me." The whispering of the agents around Arthur ceased as a horrified hush fell over the group. "I don't know why, but he's looking for me."

The agents around him shared a look, which slowly morphed from terrified to determined.

"Then we have to make sure he doesn't get to you," Gwaine said, uncharacteristically solemn. "Whatever reason he wants you for, it can't be good for anyone."

The other agents around them nodded and murmured in agreement, even as their voices were quickly drowned out by the rumbling of the building around them and the sounds of gunfire and screams behind them.

Suddenly, Lance, who had been silent the entire time, cut in.

"I know a back way out of the building. I can sneak Arthur through the back and escape to a safehouse, somewhere Emrys can't find us."

"No, absolutely not. I won't run away and leave you all to fight-"

"Arthur." Gwen's voice cut off his denial. "For all we know, if he gets his hands on you, he could become even more dangerous. Please, if not for your sake, then for everyone's: don't let him get to you."

Arthur swallowed thickly, holding back tears. Lance looked at him, his face growing more and more panicked as the sounds of conflict grew closer and closer to their hiding spot.

"Alright, I'll go, but I expect to see all of you when I get back. You told me not to let him get ahold of me, but the same goes for all of you: no dying on me today, got it? Especially not to some ancient bloke."

His friends smiled and nodded at him, and Lance took his arm and started leading him through the building, running down narrow hallways and darkened corridors until they reached a small, hidden exit on the side of the building, disguised among the building's brick exterior. The two of them burst out of the building into the adjacent alleyway, out of breath from their frantic sprint.

"Alright, where to now? How do we get to this safehouse of yours?"

Lance turned to face Arthur, but there was something strange about him. His face looked oddly conflicted and... guilty?

"I'm sorry, Arthur."

"What? Lance, what are you-"

Arthur froze as a figure stepped into entrance to the alley, blocking the only escape route. Arthur's hands reached for his gun, but he froze as two burning golden eyes stared into his soul.

And then, the world around him went dark.

I hope you all enjoyed this au! To clarify, Lance was trapped in the crystal cave and saw his memories of his past life as Lancelot, which led to him seeking out Merlin and forming a plan with him to get Arthur assigned to Emrys watching post so that Merlin could take Arthur to the crystal cave and finally reunite with his king.

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

#merlin #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merthur #arthur pendragon #merlin au #merlin prompts #emrys

153 notes · View notes

sweaterkittensahoy · 3 days ago

Text

A quick resource round up if you need yarn and shopped at Joann

I don't remember all of Joann's brands, so forgive me if I miss one, but here's everything I can think of that either will help you buy stuff you've used or give you a new place to look for yarn.

Yarnspirations will have everything for Red Heart, Caron, Patons, Lily Sugar 'n' Cream, Bernat, Aunt Lydia's, and Coats & Clark. (I made a post about this yesterday but don't want to skip it.)

Lion Brand's website will have any Lion Brand you need.

Plymouth yarn is one of those companies that shows you what they have but then you have to look at their shop list to find it.

Yarn.com is a huge yarn selling company with a lot of options, including Plymouth.

Creative Yarn Source is a website where you can get Omega-brand threads and yarns. I don't know if Hobby Lobby still carries Omega, but they did 15 years ago (I made a terrible vest [my fault; not the yarn] right before we moved to PDX). Lots of thread sizes and colors.

Knitpicks has size 10 and size 3 thread in a bunch of colors. It's called Curio. It's under laceweight. For a good acrylic worsted, I recommend their Brava. I also prefer their Dishie to Sugar 'N' Cream just because I like how it softens up a bit more.

We Crochet is actually just Knitpicks but aimed at primarily crocheters rather than knitters. They don't one-to-one on yarn options, which bothers me, but I'm sure it's based on what crocheters buy most often vs. what knitters buy most often. That site also has some extra brands on it, too.

If you need to sub a yarn, yarnsub.com is literally just that. They have a whole rating system. I've used it several times to source similar or replacement yarns.

Hobbii has always been a great resource for me, but if you are looking for an exact yarn, it's not going to be what you need. It's a Danish company, so shipping takes a little time, but every yarn I've gotten from them I've really liked. Their "Friends" line has stuff I would definitely consider workhorse sort of options.

Wool and the Gang has a website where you can buy directly from them.

Big Twist yarns has a website, but it just sends you to Amazon to buy, so here's the link to the page of it from Craftz brand. You can use this same link to get the Easy Peasy yarn for Woobles.

Premier Yarns has a website where you can buy directly from them.

Herrschners carries a bunch of different yarns, and if you like kits, that's a lot of their business.

#joann #yarn resources #i'm sure i missed a couple brands in there #but that'll get you started

126 notes · View notes

jisungiesvzz · 1 day ago

Note

Hii I absolutely loves ur fanfic!! Would u mind doing a jeongin version on unexpected?

I'm sorry this took so long to write! I’ve been having heavy workloads from school and I've also had writers block ugh. Anyways, I hope you enjoy :).

Crossing Lines

Idol!Jeongin x fem!reader

Warnings: kissing lessons, making out, neck kissing

Word Count: 2.7k

Author's Note: please let me know if I missed warnings, otherwise enjoy :)

Versions: Hyunjin // Han // Jeongin

—

The afternoon sun streams through Jeongin's apartment windows, casting golden hues across the living room. You sit cross-legged on the floor, a small velvet pouch between your fingers as you rummage through its contents.

"I still can't believe I forgot my jewelry," you sigh, carefully examining a silver chain with a small fox pendant. "You sure you don't mind me borrowing yours?"

Jeongin smiles from his position on the couch, phone in hand as he scrolls through his social media feed, hoping to run across a good hang out spot near you. "What's mine is yours, y/n. Three years of friendship earns you jewelry-borrowing privileges."

Giving him a soft smile, you hold up one of his earrings to the light, a simple silver hoop that catches the sunbeam and sparkles.

"It's scary how well you know me," you laugh, sorting through more pieces. "Like, you knew I'd forget something tonight."

"That's why I always keep extra stuff around for you," he replies, setting his phone down. "I am fully prepared for Hurricane Y/N."

You playfully throw a small cushion at him, which he catches effortlessly. You can't imagine your life without these little moments—the casual hang outs in his apartment, the inside jokes, the way he always seems to understand exactly what you need.

"Hey, remember that truth or dare game at Chan's party last week?" Jeongin suddenly asks, a tint of curiosity in his voice.

You groan, instantly knowing where this was heading. "Please, not this again."

"I'm just saying," he continues, sitting up straighter, "I was surprised when you said you've never been kissed. I mean, you're twenty-two!"

You feel your cheeks warm, lowering your voice to a near mumble. "So? Some people are late bloomers..."

"It's not a bad thing," Jeongin says quickly. "I just... I don't know, I just assumed you had."

You shrug, suddenly finding the jewelry in your hands incredibly fascinating. "I guess I've just never found the right person... or the right moment."

A weighted silence settles between you, unusual in its intensity. You can feel Jeongin's eyes on you, but you can't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"I could teach you."

The words hang in the air, simple yet earth-shattering. Your head snaps up, certain you've misheard.

"Teach me what?"

Jeongin's expression is unreadable, a mix of nervousness and something else you can't quite place. "How to kiss. If you want."

You feel like the air has been sucked from the room. This is Jeongin—your best friend, the person who holds your hair back when you're sick and who can make you laugh until your sides hurt.

"That would be weird, wouldn't it?" you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugs, attempting nonchalance though you can see the tips of his ears turning pink. "Only if we make it weird. It's just a skill, like teaching someone to drive or cook."

"A skill," you repeat skeptically.

"Yeah," he says, sliding down from the couch to sit across from you on the floor. "And then when you meet someone you actually want to kiss, you'll be ready."

You bite your lip, considering the possibility. The idea sends butterflies swarming through your stomach, but there's also a strange sense of... curiosity.

"Nothing would change between us?" you ask cautiously.

Jeongin shakes his head firmly. "Nothing. We're best friends first, always. This would just be me helping you out."

You take a deep breath. "Okay."

"Okay?" His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Yes. Teach me." You confirm, your heart pounding through your chest.

Jeongin moves closer, his movements careful and deliberate. "So first, it helps if you face each other," he explains, his voice lower than usual.

You readjust your position, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of space between you and him. The jewelry laying forgotten on the floor beside you.

"Usually there's eye contact," he continues, and you force yourself to meet his gaze. His eyes—those familiar eyes you've looked into a thousand times—now seem different, deeper somehow.

You tried convincing yourself that it’s just kissing lessons but something about kissing him feels more intimate than it should.

"Then what?" you whisper.

"Then, one person usually leans in. Sometimes both." His hand comes up to gently brush a strand of hair from your face, and you feel your breath catch. "Sometimes there's touching. Like this."

His fingers trace a feather-light path along your jawline, coming to rest at the nape of your neck. The sensation sends shivers down your spine.

"And then?" Your voice is barely audible now.

Instead of answering, Jeongin leans forward, closing the distance between you. His lips press against yours, gentle and questioning. Your eyes flutter closed instinctively, your hand tentatively reaching up to rest on his shoulder.

The kiss is soft, a brief moment of connection that ends almost as quickly as it began. Jeongin pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours.

"That's the basics," he says, his voice rough around the edges. "A simple first kiss."

You nod, unable to form words. Your lips tingle where his had been, and you find yourself wanting more—a realization that both thrills and terrifies you.

He's your best friend. Right…?

As if reading your thoughts, Jeongin speaks again. "Then there are... deeper kisses."

"S-show me..." you whisper, surprising yourself with your boldness.

This time when he leans in, there's an urgency that wasn't there before. His lips capture yours more confidently, one hand cradling your face while the other slides around your waist, drawing you closer. You respond instinctively, your fingers tangling in his hair, gently tugging at the strands.

What started as a lesson quickly transformed into something neither of you anticipated. The kiss deepened and you feel yourself being gently guided backward until you're lying on the floor, Jeongin hovering above you, your lips never parting.

When you finally break apart, both breathing heavily, you stare up at him in wonder. His hair is disheveled where your fingers have been, his eyes dark and intense.

"Innie…" you breathe, not knowing what else to say.

Without a word, he dives right back in, capturing your lips with a newfound hunger. There's no hesitation now, his movements filled with a hunger you’ve never seen before — his body pressing down against yours making you gasp into his mouth. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, any thoughts of keeping distance between you long forgotten.

"There's more I can teach you," he murmurs against your lips, his voice husky with want. Before you can respond, his mouth begins to trail along your jawline, leaving a path of fire in its wake.

"Different types of kisses," he explains between soft pecks along your skin, "are for different sensations."

Your breath hitches as his lips reach the sensitive spot just below your ear. Instinctively, your head tilts to give him better access, your fingers tightening in his hair.

"Like here," he whispers, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Then his lips press against your neck, gentle at first, then with increasing pressure. The sensation is entirely new to you, electric pulses shooting through your body with each kiss.

"Innie," you gasp, overwhelmed by the feeling.

His hand slides up to cradle the other side of your neck, a small smile forming on his lips at the nick name as his thumb gently strokes your cheek, his kisses become more intense. You feel the gentle graze of his teeth, followed by the soothing warmth of his tongue against your pulse point, a soft moan falling from your lips as he repeated the action.

"Some people," he murmurs against your skin, "are more sensitive here than on their lips." As if to demonstrate, he places an open-mouthed kiss at the space where your neck meets your shoulder, causing you to arch involuntarily against him.

You're lost in sensation, any remaining thoughts about this being just a lesson completely gone. Your hands roam across his back, pulling him closer as he continues his thorough exploration of your neck.

When he finally returns to your lips, the kiss is different—deeper, more confident, as though he's staking a claim. You respond with equal fervor, the taste of him now familiar yet intoxicating.

As Jeongin pulls back slightly to look into your eyes, a small smile plays at his lips. "So," he says softly, "how was your first lesson?"

"I- I don't know what to say," you softly gasped, still recovering your breath.

Placing a soft peck on your lips, he sits up off the ground, gently taking your hand in his. "Come on. Let's go finish our original plans for the day."

Heart beating through your chest, you let him guide you off the ground and through the front door — the heated moment hanging in the air. A small part of you wishing it hadn't ended.

—

The next evening, you were in Stray Kids' dorm, squeezed comfortably between Jeongin and Hyunjin on the large sectional sofa. Chan had insisted on a movie night—something about needing to unwind after their intense practice schedule—and naturally, as Jeongin's best friend, you were included in the invitation.

What the others don't know is how everything changed between you and Jeongin just twenty-four hours ago.

The memory of his lips on yours, on your neck, makes your cheeks flush even now. You've spent most of today exchanging knowing glances, the anticipation of seeing him again had your stomach in knots all day.

"Everyone good with the movie choice?" Chan asks, remote in hand as he navigates through Netflix.

You barely register what film he selected—some action thriller the group has been wanting to watch. All you can focus on is Jeongin's proximity; the subtle scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from his body next to yours.

"Y/N, want some?" Felix offers you the bowl of popcorn from across the coffee table.

"Thanks," you murmur, reaching for it. As you settle back with the bowl, Jeongin shifts closer, his thigh now pressed firmly against yours.

The lights dim as Chan starts the movie. Under the cover of darkness, Jeongin's hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours between your bodies where no one else can see. Such a simple touch shouldn't send your heart racing, but after last night, everything is different.

Twenty minutes into the film, you're not following the plot at all. How could you, when Jeongin's thumb is tracing lazy circles on the back of your hand? When his breath occasionally tickles your ear as he leans over to whisper some joke about the movie?

By the thirty-minute mark, his hand had moved to your knee, resting there casually as though it belongs. The weight of it burns through the fabric of your jeans.

Halfway through the movie, during a particularly intense action sequence that has everyone's attention fixed on the screen, Jeongin's hand begins to move. Slowly, torturously, his fingers trace upward along your thigh, just far enough to make your breath hitch, gently squeezing the flesh.

You shoot him a warning glance, but the innocent smile he gives you in return is betrayed by the mischievous glint in his eyes. He knows exactly what he's doing.

His hand retreats momentarily when Changbin gets up to refill drinks, but as soon as everyone is settled again, it returns—this time sliding to your inner thigh, his touch feather-light but unmistakably close to where you could feel yourself growing needy. Your body responds immediately, heat pooling low in your abdomen, his hand now venturing into territory that makes your pulse quicken and your thoughts get jumbled up.

When his fingers inch higher, gently squeezing your thigh, you nearly jump. It's too much—the darkened room, his members just feet away, completely oblivious, and Jeongin's touch threatening to unravel you entirely.

"Bathroom," you whisper, standing abruptly. Jisung pauses the movie, looking up at you questioningly.

"Just need a quick bathroom break," you explain, forcing a casual smile. "Don't wait up, I've seen this part."

You slip away from the living room, heart hammering against your ribs as you make your way down the hallway. The cool bathroom tiles are a relief under your feet as you close the door behind you, leaning against it and exhaling slowly.

"Get it together," you mutter to yourself, turning to face the mirror — your reflection showing flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

Splashing cold water on your face, you hear a soft knock at the door.

"Y/N?" Jeongin's voice is low, just audible enough for you to hear. "You okay?"

Taking a deep breath, you open the door just enough to see him standing there, concern etched across his features—though the darkness of his eyes tells another story.

"I'm fine," you whisper. "We should get back before they—"

Before you can finish, Jeongin has slipped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The bathroom suddenly feeling much smaller with him in it, the air between you charged with tension.

"What are you doing?" you ask, voice sounding small.

"I couldn't help myself," he admits, closing the distance between you. "Sitting next to you, not being able to really touch you... it's driving me crazy."

"Your members are right outside," you remind him, even as your body betrays you by leaning toward his.

"They're absorbed in the movie," he counters, his hands finding your waist. "Besides, I told them you weren't feeling well and I was checking on you."

"And they believed that?"

A small smile plays at his lips. "Felix gave me a knowing look, but the others are clueless."

Your protest dies in your throat as Jeongin presses you gently against the wall, his body flush against yours. Any restraints from before evaporated into thin air as his lips capture yours in a kiss that's hungry and desperate.

Your hands immediately find their way into his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue meets yours. This isn't the careful instructional kiss from yesterday—this is raw need, months of pent-up desire finally breaking free.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he murmurs against your lips, his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt to touch and squeeze the bare skin at your waist. "About you."

Your response is lost as his mouth moves to your neck, finding the sensitive spots he discovered yesterday. The sensation pulls a soft moan from you, which Jeongin quickly silences with another kiss.

"Quiet," he whispers, a teasing glint in his eye. "Unless you want everyone to hear."

The thought of being caught should terrify you, but instead, it only heightens everything—the racing of your pulse, the heat of his touch, the urgency of your kisses.

His hand slides back to your thigh, higher than he dared in the living room, his fingers tracing patterns that make your breath catch. When he presses his hips against yours, you can feel exactly how much he wants you.

"Innie," you gasp as his lips find a particularly sensitive spot below your ear.

“Fuck, y/n.” he grumbles against your neck, softly nipping and licking at the skin there, eliciting more moans from you.

“Innie, ngh, you’re gonna l-leave marks,” you whined, your defiance falling short as you arched into him.

“We should stop,” he mumbles between open mouthed kisses.

You both knew you should, but neither of you make an effort to move.

A sudden knock on the door makes you both freeze.

"Y/N? Jeongin?" It's Chan's voice. "Everything okay in there? Movie's almost over."

Removing himself from your neck, Jeongin clears his throat. "We're fine, hyung. Y/N just felt a little dizzy. We'll be out in a minute."

"Okay," Chan replies, though you can hear the question in his tone. "We're thinking of ordering food after."

Footsteps retreat down the hallway, and you both release the breath you've been holding.

Jeongin's forehead drops to yours, a small laugh escaping him. "That was close."

"Yeah," you let out breathy laugh. "We should get back."

He nods, stepping back reluctantly, but not before pressing one more lingering kiss to your lips. "This isn't over yet," he promises, his voice low with intention.

As you straighten your clothes and Jeongin attempts to fix his hair, you catch his eye in the mirror. The boy who was just your best friend yesterday now looks at you with an intensity that makes your knees weak.

"Ready?" he asks, hand on the doorknob.

You nod, knowing that while you're about to return to a room full of his members and pretend nothing has changed, everything has. The line you crossed yesterday isn't just crossed—it's been erased entirely, replaced by something new and thrilling and completely uncharted.

As Jeongin opens the door, his hand finds yours for just a moment, giving it a squeeze before letting go. It's a promise of what's to come, once you're alone again.

And suddenly, you can't wait for this movie night to end.

#jeongin #jeongin x reader #stray kids #skz x reader #jeongin fluff #jeongin smut #yang jeongin #yang jeongin x reader #jeongin angst

129 notes · View notes

aeonstale · 2 days ago

Text

ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤaventurine drabbles.

cw. implied fem!reader 𝓼 food.

Humming and swaying to the rhythm— aventurine was happy with the morning. You have yet to wake up and he took it upon himself to prepare a delicious breakfast (more like lunch as it is already well past 1pm) for the both of your to savour in bed —accompanied by the sweet little trash cakes or cat cakes as you often refer to them (though you insist they are just cats in disguise but their cake-y shape was hard to deny—so you settled into calling them cat cakes.).

It has been a hectic month. The both of you had barely seen each other. Either one of you worked late or was away on a business trip. It proved to be difficult to even have a minute between just you two.

But now, the day was slow and all the work have been done. So aventurine was fully enjoying the peaceful moment he has been granted.

“c'mon, let's wake the sleeping beauty.” plating the dishes and putting it on a wooden tray—the gold haired lover guides the cat cakes to the bedroom. Where you still lie asleep.

A chuckle slipped past aventurine 's lips, the sight of you was just too adorable. He had to resist the urge to snap a picture of you this instant. But how unfortunate his phone storage was maxed out already. (Maybe he should buy a new one—preferably with a better storage. So he could immortalize these moments.).

“my dear,—a kiss on the left cheek. It's already late. Another on the right side and the temples. I prepared some breakfast for you.” and finally a kiss on the lips to awake the slumbering beauty.

And just as your lashes flutter open, you were greeted with the blinding smile of your beloved. “there's my sweet love. Slept well?” another kiss—this time on your forehead.

He placed the tray in the middle of the bed, halting the cat cakes in their pursuit of the food. A whispered ‘not yet’ and a boop to their head.

“mmh slept good. I was in your arms the whole night, i only dreamt of you too..” slurred words slip out as you try to fully wake up.

“mmh? Really? I'm honoured, but maybe let me rest in your dreams.”

“nooo, I will miss you then.” aventurine kissed the pout on your lips, his owns portraying an amused smirk.

“Alright, but you will still find me in the real world. I'll even wake you up with a kiss like today.” this time, he place kisses all over your face.

“you better. I'll kick you if you don't” you warp your arms around his neck. Tugging him down. If only you could just melt into him, that would be ideal.

“how scary!” aventurine laughed, food tray long forgotten. His mind only focus on your affectionate sleepy self.

You were just so cute.

82 notes · View notes

chrystal-ink · 2 days ago

Text

Shadow x GN reader

Hot Shower

NSFW Minors do not interact

Content warning: Smut, reader has a vagina, vaginal fingering, hand job, penis in vagina sex, sex standing up, overstimulation, kinky-ass shit with the showerhead (i don't know how else to describe it lol) Note: please do not repeat any of these actions without proper safety measures use a non-slip mat or you will likely end up in the hospital.

you heaved a sigh as the hot water rushed down your back melting some of the stress away. it had been a hard day and you needed to wash it off before you could continue with your evening.

the pulsing mode on the showerhead hit your back lightly massaging the tension out of your shoulders.

as you were getting ready to rinse off and cook dinner you heard the front door open. Shadow must have come home.

"Y/N?" he called out.

"I'm up here" you called down "Just taking a quick Shower I'll be down in a minute."

before you knew it you heard the door to the bathroom open and shut.

"No need I need to clean myself off too" Shadow said taking off his gloves and stepping into the shower behind you.

he wrapped you in an embrace clearly exhausted after a long day.

You could tell he just got back from a mission his scent enlightening your senses.

"How was your day my love?"

"Exhausting, my boss keeps getting after my ass about the most minute details." you responded

"I'm sorry about that love, is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just existing helps honestly... and maybe a back rub"

shadow gave a low chuckle his sultry voice echoing throughout the room "I'm on it my love" he placed his hands on your shoulders and began gently massaging them.

you hummed in pleasure as he made his way down your back.

as he was massaging you he couldn't help but admire the way you looked, your bear back glistened as the water cascaded down making your fur look glossy, almost glasslike. beads of water stuck to your hair and ears like beautiful fragile pearls. the scent of your soap invaded his nose comforting him and drawing him closer into you. and then your beautiful humming soft and comforting, he wanted to hear you more and hear you shout his name in pleasure.

you had a stressful day after all, it was his duty as your boyfriend to help you relive some of that stress. and if he needed to use his body to do it than so be it.

"You missed a spot my love mind if I help you get it? and you can keep telling me about your day."

"sure dear" you responded a smile evident in your tone.

you began spilling about how your boss was annoying and venting about one specific co-worker who was a constant thorn in your side. all the while shadow detached the shower head from it holder bringing the pulsing water down closer to your back. he lowered the nozzle lower and lower down.

"and don't even get me started on Brenda she can be such a- such a" your breath hitched as you felt a warm pulsing sensation against your folds. looking down you saw that Shadow had moved the shower head between your legs the pulsing water tickling your folds drawing you into a state of arousal.

"Sorry love just want to make sure you're all clean, please tell me more about Brenda."

"Who?" you asked your mind growing foggy with pleasure

Shadow gave a low hum of approval "Good just what I wanted to hear."

Keeping the showerhead in place he moved one of his hands up to your chest grabbing a breast he gently massaged it bringing a moan to your lips.

your pussy clenched hoping to grab onto something but much to your dismay the water could not satisfy you, not the way that he could.

"Shadow mmm please I need smmore friction"

Shadow enjoyed the way your words slurred when you were getting pleasure, so he obliged removing the showerhead he put it back in it's place the water once again beginning to flow off the two of you.

he reached his hand around you teasing your entrance with the gentle brush of his fingers.

Of course he was teasing you now. you thought to yourself well two can play at that game.

reaching back your hand grabbed hold of his crotch his penis not quite out of it's hiding place yet just his tip poking out of his fur. which was all you needed to bring him to his knees.

swiping your thumb along the end shadow let out a yelp. you giggled as you repeated the action a low growl escaping shadow's lips.

with every small movement you made you coaxed his cock out until it sat heavy in your hand.

"still feel like teasing me love?" you asked playfully.

Shadow pressed a finger against your clit forcing a gasp to escape your lips.

"Always." he responded inserting one finger into you.

You squeezed on his cock forcing a moan to escape his lips.

"that's too bad"

you began slowly stroking his length the two of you moaning in tandem as he pressed his single digit against you he inserted his second and third finger as a plea for you to speed up which you accepted.

Shadow pressed against you walls with an urgent force it seams your actions had motivated him to please you correctly after all. you moaned as his fingers pressed against your sweet spot the pressure beginning to build up in your abdomen

you could tell Shadow was close too a whimper falling from his lips a silent request to let him cum inside you. you let go of his cock just as the tension in your abdomen broke cum mixed with the water dribbled down your leg.

before you could recover shadow turned you around and gently pushed you into the wall behind you knocking down shampoo bottles and soap in the process.

he plunged his lips into yours. His hips bucking against you begging for entrance his hand grabbing your waist promising to keep you steady you lifted you leg up wrapping it around his waist allowing a clear opening for Shadow's cock.

not wasting a second he inserted himself into you thrusting wildly against you screams escaped your throat, you hadn't had time to come down from your orgasm yet and the way Shadow was going at it was bringing you close to the edge once again.

Your fingers clawed against his back clinging to him for balance. Your actions only encouraging him to go faster once again building up the familiar tension in your core.

Your vision blurred as your mind grew foggy. your walls closing around him. fluids spilling out of your pussy as he pushed deeper and deeper into you, his cock creating a sweet pressure between your hips.

In a moment Shadow became all that you knew his cock became your lifeline with each thrust your walls grew tighter, his lips against yours was the only thing you wanted to taste for the rest of your life.

You were ready to snap once again. you called out for your lover wanting his permission.

"Go ahead my love I'm almost done."

You screamed his name as you orgasmed a few more thrusts from him and he spilled into you his cock slipped out with ease as all the fluids dripped out of you.

Shadow held you up as your knees went week too cock drunk to stand or do much of anything else. he cleaned you off and shut down the water.

he carried you to bed not bothering with putting you in your clothes. once you were tucked in he went to get you a snack and some water to help build up your strength again.

"Wait where are you going?" you whined reaching out for him.

"I'm just getting you some supplies to help you build up your strength."

"aww you always take such good care of me"

Shadow smiled at you before kissing you between your ears. "I always will"

#shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog #shadow #x reader #sonic fanfiction #not beta read #shadow smut #shadow the hedgehog smut

134 notes · View notes

julysalad · 2 days ago

Text

My Big List Of Underappreciated Tomarrymort Works On AO3.

❗This list is based solely on my own fanfiction preferences. I think all fanfiction deserves to be read and known, even if I, personally, don't include it in this list❗

As a very picky reader, I'm usually left dissatisfied with the portrayal of characters or quality of the plot even in works that have many kudos and bookmarks. I often find my attention straying from the text, even if I was interested in a work after reading summary or first chapters.

So, in this list of recommendations I will include fanfiction that, in my opinion, deserves more readers and recognition. And that is the reason why I'm setting the bar at works that have less than 5000 kudos on AO3.

I'm also not adding fanfics that fall under Plot What Plot/Plot Without Porn tag on AO3 here. Firstly, because I've never seen anyone read their porn based on anyone's fic recommendations 🤷🏼‍♀️. Secondly, because I don't find myself lacking high-quality, well-written tomarrymort porn.

Works will be placed in no particular order.

More Precious than Rubies by Strange_Soulmates (T, 44K, 6/6)

Harry Potter has recently escaped from his dragon-guarded tower. So has his fellow prisoner - the dragon who was enchanted to guard him. Harry's friend is missing, however, and so he sets off to assure himself of his well-being before he finds the person responsible for imprisoning them both. Accompanied by a stranger with a familiar name, Harry finds himself with more questions than answers as he slowly learns about the customs of dragons and the history of the dragon he befriended, the fearsome Voldemort.

Fantasy AU. One of the first tomarrymort fics I've ever read and instantly loved. Very fluffy and tender work, no hurt only comfort. Harry and Tom | Voldemort are just really sweet together in this one.

The Nature of Mating by Strange_Soulmates (E, 22K, 6/6)

Ron and Hermione have spent the last year searching for their missing friend, Harry Potter. Just when they think they have finally found an answer, they're swept away themselves.

Harry Potter is tired of waiting for Tom to finish making a move, and is determined to take the last steps of their courtship himself if that's what it takes.

Voldemort? Voldemort just wishes his little pest had better taste in treasure.

Sequel to More Precious than Rubies. If you loved the first part, you'll probably love the second.

Mary Magdalene by @vashhanamichi (E, 17K, 4/?)

Based on a prompt for the Daddymort fest: when Harry tries to destroy four of Voldemort's seven Horcruxes they turn into babies instead and latch on to Harry like ducklings.

or:

SCANDAL! Young Mother Of Four Claims Dark Lord Hasn't Been Paying Child Support

The summary is self-explanatory in this one. Very enticing, very sensual work with dark themes. Mind the tags. Even though it hasn't been updated in a while I really hope it will be continued 🙏

Those Made of Lightning and Blood by A_Single_Cactus (E, 53K, 5/5)

A story in which Harry believes his soulmate bond is unreciprocated. Voldemort is his soulmate, but he's not Vodemort's. What he doesn't realize is that he's meant to speak his first words to Voldemort in a different time, not in front of the Mirror of Erised.

Time-travelling Harry AU + Soulmates AU. Falls under Tom Riddle Is His Own Warning tag (like most of the works in this list, to be honest). I really love the author's style in writing, the fanfic is a very easy read (I read it in one go).

The Reverent Son by A_Single_Cactus (E, 9K, 1/1)

When Harry decided to raise Tom Riddle as his son, he never could've imagined, one day, that the demon would want him. He never could've imagined his child growing to be a monster.

Lord, save him.

Church AU with demon!Tom. Mind the tags. Another work by the author of Those Made of Lightning and Blood. This fanfic comes close to Porn Without Plot category, but I still decided to include it because I really like this author's style.

In Your Soul is Sealed a Pleasure by mosiva (E, 22K, 2/2)

“So confident,” Voldemort murmured, “to be waiting here alone, this late at night.” He let a little menace seep into his tone.

The man merely smiled in return, cocky. “Oh, is this a bad area?” he said. “I hadn’t realised, what with the lack of streetlights and the not-so-distant screams. Silly me.”

Harry’s been sent back in time, but he’s still not worked out what it is about this specific moment that gives him the best chance to change things for the better. All he’s managed to do so far is talk to an oddly intense man in an alley and try not to get mugged.

Time-travelling Harry AU. The times of the First Wizarding War, with obsessive Voldemort and funny, charming, witty Harry.

A Light That Never Goes Out by @kippipies (M, 108K, 13/?)

Harry steals from the wrong people and finds himself left for dead with a bullet in his skull.

Except he doesn't die.

And now, he has an infamous criminal organization called the Death Eaters hot on his tail, determined to correct that mistake. Even worse, the group is led by a deranged kingpin named Voldemort, who seems to think trying to kill Harry is the best fun he's had in years.

Mafia | Mob boss AU. I've never thought I would enjoy a non-magical Harry Potter AU, because, for me, the whole point of Harry Potter is it's a magical world and a very important part of both Harry and Tom's characters. So if you're sceptical, like me, please give it a try – I promise you won't regret it. No "big strong alpha mafia boss falls in love with tiny little weak omega at first sight" in this one. An incredible story of slowly progressing obsession. The work is regularly updated.

One of my most favorite works.

What quickens me is the violence in thee by @i-dream-of-libraries (M, 16K, 6/6)

Harry is sold at auction to a man who is clearly in some kind of disguise - Lord Riddle isn't as charming as he looks, and the way he looks at Harry...

A bit of guilty pleasure fanfic for me. I just love works with dark obsessive Tom | Voldemort and a bit of old fanfic tropes...

Saving the World, One Blowjob at a Time by NixandShit (E, 13K, 1/2)

Harry goes back in time to stop everyone from dying and ends up in a weird Slytherin hierarchy and saving the world by distracting the future dark lord with sex.

Time-travelling Harry AU. This work also comes close to Porn Without Plot category, but, just like with "The Reverent Son", it has plot and I just reeeeally love the author's style in writing. So yes, I'm including it.

And the Living Will Envy the Dead by @k-s-morgan (M, 114K, 6/23)

When Harry looks at Tom, he feels overwhelmed. There is a spark that makes him hopeful, the fear that nothing he does will save Tom from himself, and the horror at what his lies might lead to.

When Tom looks at Harry, he feels nothing. Until he does, and then Harry’s world starts drowning in blood.

Time-travelling Harry AU. The work by the author of "What He Grows To Be", one of the most popular tomarrymort works on AO3 (the amount of kudos is completely deserved). The author's style is incredible, the portrayal of characters is immaculate, the plot and plot twists are one of the most well-written I've ever seen! The fanfic isn't finished, but please support the author and read it anyway!

One of my most favorite works.

Extenuating Circumstances by Origin_Of_Symmetry (M, 87K, 2/2)

“You’re really quite a delight, Harry. I can’t believe I went weeks thinking you were useless and boring.”

Somehow, unwittingly, Harry finds himself engaged to Tom Riddle.

He’s not entirely sure how that happened.

Time-travelling Harry AU. A work full of funny scenes, smart dialogue and entertaining plot! The progress of Harry and Tom's relationship is portrayed realistically, and this is one of the most important things I value in fanfics.

The Sense of Self by SpitFire97 (E, 87K, 7/7)

This is the story of Death entrapping Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort in a series of reincarnations to undo the chaos the two of them have collectively caused. It’s a story of how two adversaries tangled in fate are forced to learn about themselves and through that, about the other; of them trying to work together for a change - if only, to pursue their individual goals.

Time-travelling Harry AND Tom | Voldemort AU. The character portrayal, the plot, the relationship between Harry and Voldemort – everything is portrayed perfectly in this work. I don't usually read works that have Death as a sentient being in them, because I usually find it frustrating when Death treats Harry Potter as someone special, almost bowing to him, and sends him back in time. So if you're, like me, wary of reading such fics – rest assured that this won't be a problem in this work. Harry's MoD!status doesn't make him overpowered – he's just as powerless as Voldemort, both of them being puppets in Death's hands.

One of my most favorite works.

Yule Ball by @holaolla1 (E, 5K, 1/1)

“How do you find our first dance, Professor?” the Slytherin's voice snapped Harry out of his thoughts bringing him back to the harsh reality. He looked skeptically over to Riddle's face, a sly smile playing on the latter’s lips.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Do you think we'll ever have another?”

“I’m sure we will,” Riddle’s smile grew wider. Harry huffed deciding not to comment. After all, if one ignores the problem long enough, the problem will eventually disappear on its own.

Professor/Student AU. A short, well-written work.

Vicious Circle by Bakuko, cyberslut404, kewpiekewpie (E, 194K, 37/?)

Harry and Hermione are transported back in time, while Tom Riddle begins his first year at Hogwarts.

Time-travelling Harry AND Hermione AU + Professor/Student AU. The work is regularly updated. I really love the plot and author's style.

One of my most favorite works.

Kisses Cursed by The_Fictionist (NR, 49K, 13/13)

Fairytale AU. Loosely inspired by Beauty and the Beast.

Some said he was once a man, cursed, and some that he sold his soul to demons and became one in turn. Others said that such evil as he could never have been human. That he was instead a nightmare, left lingering upon the earth a very long time ago.

Harry just knew it wasn't safe to walk near the Riddle House after dark.

Incredible. Just incredible. I have no other words for this masterpiece. I stayed up until 6 AM because I just couldn't put my phone down until I finished this work. This fanfic deserves to be published as a Harry Potter fan-book. The author of this work became a professional writer and, let's just say, I can see why.

One of my most favorite works.

The Devil's Playground by The_Fictionist (NR, 26K, 3/3)

AU. The Devil's Playground was the most exclusive nightclub in London, if not all of Europe. So, frankly, Harry wasn't entirely sure how he came to be bathed in its flawlessly concocted ambiance, with music pounding in his ears and an entirely delicious drink cold against his palm. But it had something to do with the deaths.

Supernatural AU. The work by the author of "Kisses Cursed" .

The Closing Of The Year by kcstories (T, 4K, 1/1)

After his divorce, Harry Potter moves in with Tom Riddle. So does his ten-year-old son Albus Severus, who tries his utmost to get used to his new surroundings and to the strange, sinister man his dad has fallen in love with.

A very fluffy, comforting work featuring post-war Harry, Tom | Voldemort and Albus Severus. I really like the budding relationship between Tom and Albus, love for Harry being a bonding point for them. All three of them are just so sweet together.

Enthralled by @obsidianpen (M, 5K, 1/1)

“Do you know what it is like, to be bitten by a vampire?”

Vampire AU. A work by the author of "No Glory", one of the most popular tomarrymort works on AO3 (and one of my most favorite fics). Very sensual, enticing and hot work.

Dulce Et Decorum Est Mori by beetaker (E, 134K, 10/10)

“Do you think he meant it?” Harry asked, once the professor was gone, tracing the gilded lettering of his own name on the letter he'd given Harry. “We're really Wizards?”

“It makes sense,” Tom shrugged, though he could hardly look away from his own letter, the proof of what he'd always known, in some pit inside himself, that he was something different from everyone around him, that he was something better. He'd believed the first priest that had told him the same thing, albeit it opposite in nature, that he was a devil. It had made sense at the time, just as this answer did. Anything that offered an explanation for his being set so apart.

“I'm glad it's both of us,” Harry said, green eyes somehow greener, the natural brightness in him turning incandescent. Tom had thought he'd known the answer for that before too, dull hours at Sunday service spent gazing at the sun illuminating stained glass portraits, thinking: angel. “I'm glad we're going together.”

“We'll always go together,” Tom said, knowing it as fact, unable to imagine anything different. Wherever he went, Harry was sure to follow. It'd been that way forever. It would surely always be that way.

Time-travelling Harry AU + Tom and Harry Grow Up Together AU. This story is Tom Riddle's POV and it's very well-written, it's an amazing study of his character, his sociopathy, his relationship with Harry. The great character portrayal+great plot combo I'm always looking for in tomarrymort work is present here. Please go read it, it has awfully little attention!

One of my most favorite works.

Keep Your Enemies Closer by @duplicitywrites (T, 3K, 1/1)

"Evans does have quite the... physical advantage," says Avery.

"We saw him tackle that enormous Hufflepuff beater during the last match," comments Lestrange. "He's mad."

"Do you think he could lift you, Tom?" asks Nott.

"Shut up, all of you," Tom says, but it's too late. He's thinking about it.

Time-travelling Harry AU. Funny, comforting work with Tom Riddle Outsmarting Himself ™.

The Marry-Harry Incident by Anna_Hopkins (G, 3K, 1/1)

"Why, is that an engagement ring you're buying, Harry? Who's the lucky witch or wizard, hm?"

Harry... panicked. "...You. It's for you."

Or: When Voldemort shows up at a Muggle department store, Harry blurts out the first explanation that comes to mind.

A funny, humorous and comforting work.

The Heir de la Mort by @rowena-rain (E, 82K, 18/?)

When Voldemort hits Harry with the Killing Curse in the Forbidden Forest, it fails yet again. Only this time, the problem is that instead of ending a life, it creates one.

“Harry Potter,” he says softly, tasting his prophesied killer’s loathsome name on his tongue. “The Boy Who Lived.” Come to die.

A pause. And then, he utters the fateful words. “Avada Kedavra.”

First, everything goes green.

Then, everything goes black.

When the Dark Lord regains consciousness, he hears before he sees, and the first thing he hears is crying. Why is there a baby crying?

Child fic, but not a fluffy, no hurt only comfort work – it has dark themes, as Voldemort is not exactly what one might call a great parent. However, the work is well-written, I like the plot and Voldemort is slowly changing as the time passes. I highly recommend this work.

In the Shadows by orphan_account (M, 5K, 1/1)

For so many years Harry had been running. Hiding. Hoping that Tom had simply forgotten him. Or, thinking that Harry was just a beta, had decided to chase someone else.

He should have known better.

Living close to knockturn alley.

Even the shadows all have eyes.

Omegaverse AU. Another guilty-pleasure fic for me, as Harry in this one is kind of damsel in distress, but sometimes I just want to read something that is predictable in a good way.

81 notes · View notes

rosetyler42 · 2 days ago

Text

Ericka: Yes but nuanced. Ericka was raised to be a monster hunter/Assassin and even though she's redeemed and generally doesn't WANT to kill outside of protecting her family and friends...it's hard for a leopard to completely change it's spots. Plus Ericka takes a somewhat playful Addamsesque approach to violence.

Lucy: Not EXACTLY but again, nuance. Lucy tends to prefer to have fun, explore, make friends, or scare more than violence but she's quite powerful and can and will defend herself when need be. Also like Drac and Ericka she has a playful Addamsesque violence approach.

Simon: No, he actually avoids violence when possible, but he WILL defend himself and his family + friends quite ruthlessly when need be. Very "beware the quiet ones"/"beware the fury of a kind man" here. He also enjoys using weapons to SCARE sometimes too.

Alice: Nuanced: On one hand she doesn't ENJOY violence and has actually been quite traumatized by Susie's actions. On the other...she IS a toon and a horror monster and thus has kind of a playful addamsesqe approach similar to Ericka.

Audrey: No, only uses violence to defend herself and actually would prefer hiding from or banishing her enemies to physically fighting them.

Coraline: Generally no. Has a bit of a temper and can be a bit mean sometimes, but prefers hiding ir outwitting enemies to physical confrontation

Mabel: sometimes, yes. XD less so than Wendy, but she IS miss "I'M A GOD OF DESTRUCTION!" and follows stans advice of bashing her way into places.

Bill. YES. VERY MUCH YES.

Shego: Yes, but generally prefers to work smarter rather than harder. Enjoys scaring and fighting though.

Ford: Sometimes, mostly out of having to survive in multiple dimensions for 30 years along with that Pines temper and resentment for being bullied. That said, he generally prefers to study things in peace without harming things if given the choice.

Fidds: Surprisingly, yes. While he seems like a fun-loving cheerful and laidback hillbilly that couldn't hurt a fly, he has a tendency to build death bots when he feels he's been wronged and uses death traps as a security system. XD Even Ford has said he wouldn't want to cross Fidds.

Pomni: Not usually. Probably only when severely pissed off.

Caine: Nah, he prefers to keep everyone happy and entertained.

Every poll on this blog is about fictional characters only. This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds

231 notes · View notes

starrdream · 2 days ago

Text

Unsatisfied apology

Anakin Skywalker x f!reader summary: Anakin wants to make up... includes: not really smut but it's talked about and implied, whiny Anakin, make up sex, fast finishing, no orgasm

Your ex has fucked just about any girl that would let him in hopes of getting over you. As if your friends reminding you constantly wasn’t enough, anyone passing by his room could hear clearly. News flash, it didn’t help him one bit.

Though, the rumor that he still wasn’t over you did feed your ego.

One night, you were mindlessly revising for some tests you had later that week when a knock disturbed you.

“Baby, please open the door. I need to talk to you.” The whiny yet familiar voice still made your heart skip a beat. Or two.

He must be drunk. You thought.

“What?” You huff as you open the door. Not only were you met with a completely sober Anakin, you were met with a crying one too.

Tears streaked down his rosy cheeks, eyes puffy and red. Who knows how long he was crying for.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, voice laced with concern.

“Can we talk?” He sniffles.

“Yeah” You blurted out before you could even think twice.

Opening the door further, you let him in. Ankin takes a seat on your bed and waits for you to join him.

The second you sat down he started ranting about everything.

“Baby I missed you so much…”

“I fucked up really bad, I know.”

“You’re all I ever think about.”

“I’ll never be over you.”

“I’ve been awful since the day we broke up.”

“No other girl compares to you..”

“Please..Give me another chance, my love.”

He pleaded and whined, all while still sobbing. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t considering it. Just one look at those blue eyes was enough to tear down any kind of resistance you’ve built over time.

“Please baby.” He begged. “Nobody is as good to me as you are. I’m so sorry” He whined, staring at you through teary eyes.

“I don’t know Ani..” You sighed, shoulders slumping.

“But you’re thinking about it.” He straightened up, a hint of excitement in his voice. “Please” He breaks off into a sob. “Let me make it up to you.”

With that, he pushes you down on the bed gently, climbing on top of you.

“Ani-” You try to protest, placing your hand on his upper arm. Unfortunately your voice comes out as a desperate whimper more than anything else, only urging him on.

“I’m so sorry for how I treated you baby” He mumbles, slipping your shirt off. He continues mumbling incoherent words that are interrupted by sobs and hiccups as he undresses you.

“Please say you forgive me..” He stares right into your eyes as he palms himself through his pants before slipping them down to free his rock hard cock.

God knows how long that was there.

“O-okay, I forgive you” You mumble, trying not to laugh at how childish he looks.

“You’re just saying that.” He pouts, sobbing again.

The next 5, 6 minutes of your life were the most confusing ones ever.

Anakin is borderline desperate and his movements are jerky and uncoordinated. He's ground against your thigh like a puppy for at least 3 minutes before finally pushing his erection into your warmth.

He is good in bed, but this? If you didn’t know any better you could’ve easily brushed him off as a virgin.

He's whining and whimpering with every shallow thrust, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs.

Obviously, he did NOT make you finish before he did. He didn’t make you finish at all. The second he spilled inside of you, he collapsed on top of you while breathing heavily.

Upon realizing you were still very much unsatisfied he cried again.

"I'm sorry..I'm so sorry baby. I'm sorry.." He kept mumbling over and over for another 5 minutes through his soft cries.

Shoulders shaking, face going numb as he cuddled you. The tight hold he had on you while crying loosened overtime as he fell asleep.

#star wars #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #james kelly #haydenchristensen #hayden christensen #sam monroe #clayton beresford #scott barringer #stephen glass

92 notes · View notes

cellophaine · 2 days ago

Text

Chapter I: En Avant

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff.

Word Count: 5.2k

Author's Note: The first chapter is finally here!! I'm very excited to bring this new series to you. It's what I've been thinking about for a few months now. It came to me while I was still working on A Languor Spell, and now I can give it my full attention. Thank you for your patience! I hope you will enjoy the first chapter!

P/S: This is my first time writing in present tense, so if there's any mistake please let me know so I can fix it!

Disclaimer: I'm not a professional ballet dancer. I'm an adult beginner, and I've been taking classes consistently for over a year now. I just want to say that the series isn't written with the experience of a professional ballerina, but with my love for the art and the extensive research that I've done and will continue to do. I don't choose to write the Reader as a ballerina because of the aesthetic, but because I think there are so many things to explore in the original story that I've come up with, with the Reader being in the industry.

GIF Source: @/petertingle-yipyip

There has always been an emptiness residing within the frame of your body. In the absence of your old life, it has grown expeditiously. It carves into your body and makes a home in the forefront of your mind. On worse days, you feel as if anyone can see at first glance, how incomplete of a person you are. On better days, like today, you can hide it well, even from your closest friend. But right now, sitting in a dimly lit bar across from the friend you have known since you moved to this city at 18, you feel the person you're supposed to be has taken your anatomy apart. You're disembodied, scattered, and fractional.

Jo notices your silence and reaches over the table, laying her hand atop yours.

“Have you thought about my offer?”

Jo’s proposal. How can you not think about it? It has never left your mind ever since she mentioned it. Her newly acquired gym could be a place for you to get back to dancing in complete privacy. And you won’t have to pay a dime.

“I spruced up the place a little bit and will be adding more equipment. I can get whatever you need so it can be a proper space for you to practice.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Jo casts a sympathetic look at you, her voice careful.

“How’s your foot?”

You flex and point the right foot under the table, recalling the phantom pain that was your consistent companion for the most part of last year.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Are you still seeing Amy?”

“Of course. She’d bite my head off if I missed our appointment.”

You share a knowing chuckle, knowing Amy's personality. You know her through Jo, and they dated briefly in college. The two stayed friends afterward. After leaving Lady Liberty Ballet Theatre, your physical health was left to your own management. Your gaps of knowledge were filled in by Amy, a physical therapist who stepped in and offered her help voluntarily when Jo mentioned your situation. You still meet biweekly at her practice in Harlem, and the three of you hang out from time to time.

“Come to my gym.”

She hastily continues once she sees the decline perches on your pressed lips.

“It’s free.”

“I don’t want to be a bother. You’ll have to get a barre, and the flooring might not be suitable–“

“I don’t care about the cost. I just want to do this for you. Let someone do a nice thing for you every once in a while.”

You meet her eyes, resisting her act of kindness with silence. You know how to pick your battles, and this is the one you have lost from the start, judging by Jo's stern gaze. You sigh.

“I’ll think about it.”

A victory smile graces her lips.

“That’s all I’m asking.”

Jo leans into the table, her hand reaching for yours.

“I want to see you dance on the stage again. You’re a beautiful ballerina, and I know this is not the end for you.”

You know she means well, but her words feel like claws, sinking their sharp ends into your heart. You haven't danced since the injury, and a part of you knows that you might never dance as well as you once did. The best version of you had lived that life to its fullest potential, the life of endless classes and rehearsals, soldout shows, ending many nights and seasons to the deafening cheers from the audience. Your current self is only a shadow, living a partial existence and mourning the past as time passes and your grasp on it weakens.

You want the endless optimism Jo seems to possess. She’s always so assertive in everything she does. From her university days pursuing a bachelor's degree in sports science to her boxing competition days to buying a gym, she has a sense of self-assurance that carries her throughout the years you've known her ever since you became roommates when you first moved to New York. And you admire that about her endlessly. Her goals might vary, but her passion for them never wavers. Her faith in you seems to share the same sentiment.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, hoping your face doesn't betray your true thoughts. Jo squeezes your hand and lets go. She checks her wristwatch, and with a silent glance, you understand that she has to leave. Jo meets you as you stand up from your side of the booth, drawing you into a crushing hug.

“Will you be okay here?”

She pulls back. You smile and pat her shoulder.

“I’ll be fine. Just want to finish my drink.”

She takes a step backward as she waves.

“Good luck tomorrow!”

You raise your hand in response and watch her tall and brawny frame vanish through the door. You drop your arm, but you don't sit down. Taking a discreet glance at the bar, your heart rate spikes ever so slightly at the sight of the stranger you noticed earlier when you bought the drinks.

As you waited for your drinks, he came in and settled for a spot at the bar. The lady whose name you learned earlier, Josie, greeted him, asking where his friends were, so you assumed he was a regular. He was good-looking, you admitted before finding yourself staring at him. You averted your gaze, but couldn't help taking in other details. The folded cane rested on the bar top as Josie slid a glass of amber liquid in front of him. The scarred knuckles as he brought it to his lush lips. The suit was pristine for the most part except for the minimal wrinkles from the day's wear and the loosened tie. The red-tinted glasses perched on his pronounced nose, under the tousled sweep of dark hair. The soft smile brightened his handsome face as the other bartender told him something, which you had to tear your eyes away from when Josie placed the drinks in front of you. You thanked her and headed back to your table, feeling a touch of disappointment in your throat.

There is no denying that you want to approach him. But your nerves intervene with all the questions. What if he rejected you? What if he thought you were a creep for approaching him? What if he just wanted to be left alone? He has been sitting by the bar by himself ever since he came in, you notice. You'd ask if you could join him, and possibly buy him a drink if he was up for it. If he said no, that'd be fine. You would respect his wish and leave him alone. You have a feeling you'd regret it if you didn't at least try.

You gulp down your drink for a little liquid courage and make your way over to the bar. Your heart rate accelerates the closer you get to him, but you are determined to get over the little hurdle. You stop within a conversational distance and use your best composed voice.

“Hey, may I join you?”

He turns in his seat and gives you a friendly smile.

“Of course not. Please do.”

The high chair is a comfortable and respectful distance away from his, but still close enough for a private conversation. The stranger has angled his body toward you, and his openness eases the knot in your stomach. At this distance, you can see that he is even more handsome up close. Heat seeps into your cheeks at the full comprehension of his handsomeness up close. The neon signs around help shape the shadows and highlights that are already there in his features. The strong jawline and defined nose blend in harmony with the soft hair and luscious lips. You find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from his moving lips, and only a brief moment later you realize he has asked for your name.

You tell him and laugh nervously, blaming the lively ambience around you. He humours you with a chuckle of his own and reciprocates.

"Matt. Nice to meet you."

“Nice to meet you.”

He reaches out with a hand, and you grab it. Your heart beats a little faster at the feel of his hand, warm and a little rough. You pull away first, conscious of the coldness of your hand. You eye his almost empty glass.

“Would you like another drink?”

“If that makes you stay with me for the rest of the evening, I’d love one.”

Charming. You allow an amused and breathy chuckle to escape, and order another fill of your drinks. When Josie turns away to make them, Matt asks.

“What are we celebrating tonight?”

You think about it for a moment.

“This is not really a celebration since I haven’t gotten the job yet.”

“When is the interview?”

“It's … tomorrow.”

His brows raise above the glasses.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little bit. It’s been a while since my last normal job.”

“What were you doing before?”

Josie puts down the drinks in front of you.

“I’m a– I was a ballerina.”

“Was?”

You run a finger over the cool and smooth edge of the glass, taking a moment to tell a stranger about one of your worst shame.

“I haven’t danced professionally in over a year."

“May I ask why?"

The edge of his lips settles into a neutral line. No pity, just a willingness to listen. It is exactly what you need.

“Yes, but it's just … complicated.”

“How so?”

The old life that you once lived feels so out of your grasp now. Besides the occasional flareups, most mornings, you get up with minimal or no degree of soreness or pain, and you fear that signals the end of your life as a ballerina.

Retirement in your late twenties wasn't something you thought of when you were 18, fresh out of high school with an offer letter from Lady Liberty Ballet Theatre. Moving from a small, sylvan town to a big, lively city like New York was a dream come true. You got to live out the life your younger self used to dream about. How wonderful it was. Dancing on the big stage before the bright stage lights in front of the audience. The early classes, late stage calls, costume fittings, and demanding rehearsals leading up to the shows were all worth it. Because when you got to dance, it was just you and the music. Your body knew the techniques, learned the steps and how to master them. You bent music with your carefully crafted movements and turned the piece into your own interpretation. You worked hard on your craft and artistic abilities, and you thought that it paid off with your promotion from corps de ballet to the first soloist assembly after six years.

But for Matt's sake, you don't go into any of that.

“Well … at my old company, the group of highest rank dancers is smaller compared to other companies. It’s a great honour and a big deal to be promoted to principal. Christine was one of them, and she decided to retire. The head artistic director wanted to appoint a first soloist, which is just a step below principal, to take over in her place. I was a soloist, and I thought it was my opportunity since I've been with the company for the longest out of everyone in the group. I also understudied for Christine in many productions, on top of the roles I had to prepare and perform. I pushed myself really hard that season to prove that I could do it. I was in and out of classes, rehearsals, and performances every day for over three months. On the days we had two shows a day, oftentimes I'd have to perform in both so Christine could have a break."

Matt listens intently, following your words with an attentiveness that you find endearing.

“In the final week of Sleeping Beauty, I had this pain along my heel. But I ignored it and pushed through out of fear that they would dismiss me. At that point, they already had a favourite. One of the directors even told me that I should quit while I was ahead and that I should be happy staying as a soloist."

You swallow the lump in your throat and go on.

"I couldn't take my bow that night, because as soon as my part was done and I went behind the stage, I passed out. It turned out I got an Achilles rupture.

“I had the surgery and was in a boot for a while. I was so desperate to show them my dedication and how good I was by going back to the studio just the day after they allowed me to go without the boot. And I made the injury worse. I was admitted for a partial rupture a week later.”

You thought you could do it. Bearing and hiding the pain so you would stand out as the best selection for the new principal dancer. Yet, all of that hard work didn’t matter in the end. It never mattered the moment Claudia Mavis signed a contract with Lady Liberty.

“In the hospital, the head director told me that they would go with Claudia, even though by that point she had been with the company for only one season. One of the people that I was closed with told me that Claudia left her previous company because they wouldn’t promote her. During a physical therapy session, Claudia told me that they offered her the new contract two weeks before my accident. So I never had the chance in the first place.”

You take a long sip of your drink after the story.

"That is very unfair to you. You deserve more than what they gave you."

You shrug.

“Well, it happened. I have learned to accept it a while ago.”

The hurt is still there, albeit more dull. While you want to blame your departure on the circumstances, you know a part of it is for you to bear as well. Matt becomes thoughtful, and you can see the way he considers his question.

“Do you miss it?”

“I … do. Not the toxic culture, but the dancing itself. It’s like a kind of language that I was fluent in. A form of self-expression that I could indulge in.”

“I’m sure when you come back to it, you will still be amazing.”

You don't even try to hide the disbelieving and playful scoff that escapes.

“You're just flattering me.”

There's not a trace of that cocky confidence of a man who thinks he just scores big with a woman because of a throwaway, vague statement he thinks will please her.

“I mean it. I enjoy music and dance performances in a way most can’t. When I really pay attention, I can hear … movements. The rhythm of someone’s feet striking the ground in time with the music when done right is beautiful. The way you talk about ballet shows me how much you truly care for the art. Like you live and breathe it.”

You tug on your bottom lip with your teeth in quiet contemplation before answering him.

“I did. It was a big part of my life.”

“It still can be.”

You let out a noncommittal hum.

"We'll see."

You took sips of your respective drinks, allowing the moment to reset itself. But Matt isn't quite done with the questions. You give him the go-ahead.

"Why ballet?"

“I just love the duality of it. We're supposed to look graceful and effortless while our blisters have blisters, our toes are bleeding, our legs are cramping. We have to dance through all of that and much worse. I like the pain sometimes. It means that I’m doing it right.”

“I didn’t peg you for a masochist.”

The quip takes you by surprise, but you quickly recover.

"Huh. I usually don't reveal that information to anyone until I'm ready to sleep with them."

Matt's tongue licks at his bottom lip, amused by your response.

"Maybe we are just that compatible."

Maybe it is the alcohol that makes you a little lightheaded, but the conversation has taken on a flirty turn, and you lean into each other's space, sharing a bashful, quiet laugh.

The person who took the seat next to yours when you were in the middle of your story bumps into you from behind, pushing you further into Matt's space. They apologize, and you tell them it's fine. The bar top has grown a little more crowded with new visitors. You think about what you could do to make some space when Matt reaches out and pulls your chair closer, so close that your knees touch. The contact is minimal, yet insistent, and you can't help the heat that races to your skin and the wild rhythms of your heart. Even your internal self admits that was the hottest thing Matt has done so far.

You clear your thoughts, focusing on the man sitting so much closer to you now.

“I'm so sorry. I feel like I've been talking about myself for the past hour.”

“No, don't stop. I like it. You have a beautiful voice.”

If he kept this going, you would need to check yourself for a fever. You clear your throat.

“So, what do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer. My partners and I have our own practice here in Hell's Kitchen.”

“Wow, that's amazing. What do you specialize in?”

“A little bit of everything. We started out representing people who can’t afford the legal service. Pro bono work basically. We still do that, but we have been getting more clients who can pay for our services.”

“Hm. It makes perfect sense. I can see that about you. The good guy.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“You know the right questions to ask. You got me talking about myself for … way too long. And your face …”

You trail off. Almost two drinks have worked their magic on your unabashed honesty.

“My face?”

His plush lips lift in a curious smile.

“Yeah, your face. You made me feel … safe and welcome so I could tell my story. Your face stayed neutral when I went on and on about it. No pity or judgment. You looked like you really cared about me, or my case.”

“I do care about you. And for the record, I appreciate every detail you gave me.”

You know that he might say this just to please you, but his earnestness says otherwise.

“Thank you. I needed that. Not many people care about me, especially after my fallout with the company.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It never was.”

Matt puts a hand on yours on the bar top. You stared at his scarred knuckles, your heart beating along the seam of your body with a slight increase in rhythm. Your hand itched to weave itself into his, to lay flat against the warmth of his palm. As if your body has thrown caution to the wind and wants to do just exactly what it wants to, your pointer finger moves involuntarily. He pulls his hand back, an apology on his lips.

“I’m sorry–“

“No, don’t.”

You reach out with the other hand and keep Matt there. You run your thumb over his knuckles as if to soothe him, to tell him that this is okay. You want this. The additional contact exhilarates you, as you haven't felt another’s touch that isn't from Jo or Amy in a long time. Dating has always been the last thing on your mind, especially in the past year. But right here, right now, being with Matt is easy. There is no pressure. No hindrance. Even though you've met only for two hours, Matt has listened to you. He takes a soft and shaky breath, and your eyes follow the way his chest slightly expands.

Your pointer finger traces the raised edges of his scars, and he lets you. The air seems to thin as your pulse drums a frantic beat under your skin.

“Do you beat people up in your client’s honour?”

“Only those who deserve it.”

You chuckle, and you lean into him as if you can't help yourself. The world has gone quiet around you, and the only thing left on your mind is to have his lips on yours. Your voice is only a breath above a whisper, and you're afraid Matt might miss it entirely amongst the loud voices of others.

“Can I kiss you?’’

He releases a sharp exhale as if he has been waiting for you to utter those words all evening.

“Please.”

You lean in, carefully, slowly. His lips slightly part in an open invitation, and you meet in the middle. The touch is gentle, soft tissues overlap in slow, indulgent caresses. Simple, yet it invokes a craving in you. The need for him to be even closer, the yearning to find out the taste of him. Matt touches your jaw, and draws you in closer, deepening the kiss, and you let yourself go. Eager, perching on the territory of desperation as the pressure on your lips grows more insistently. You're entangled in an exhilarating chase, circling around each other like you simply can't resist the pull that's been there since the moment you sat down. Matt silently asks for entry at the seam of your lips, and you respond in kind. His tongue strokes yours and suddenly, there is a new kind of invisible vapour that you're breathing in. It's overwhelming, yet not enough at the same time. You can taste the bitterness of the whisky that makes you wince on normal occasions, but on Matt's tongue, it's addictive and inexplicably irresistible. His air runs wild in your lungs, warming your body from the inside, awakening your nerves.

You break away at the sound of a teasing whistle clearly directed at you, reminding you of where you are. Matt’s face is flushed red, and you want to see how far down the colour goes under the suit and tie he's wearing. His hand is still on your jaw, gently caressing the line like he doesn't want to let go. And you don't want to let him go either.

“Can we go back to your place?”

The question rolls off your tongue, and he nods immediately, a little breathlessly. You stand up from your chairs at the same time. Matt reaches for his coat that is on the back of the chair. You shrug your own on and avert your gaze when Matt subtly adjusts his slacks. You put the bills down for your drinks, shutting Matt down when he objects to the idea. His hand find yours when you offer it to him, and you walk into the brisk air together.

The walk back didn't take too long. Matt held your hand the whole time, and the small gesture made your insides flutter. He lets you go when you reach his apartment. The unit number 6A has almost faded into the dark door. He unlocks the door and tells you where the light switch is. You turn it on, and place your coat in his awaiting palm. You follow him further into the apartment and take in the space.

“Who did you kill to get this place?”

Matt chuckles, discarding his tie with one hand.

“No killing involved. The neon sign out there is enough to chase people away.”

Your gaze falls on the giant, blinking advertisement outside the window.

“Nothing a few blackout curtains won't fix.”

He drapes the black tie on the back of the couch as you turn to the other side of the apartment.

“Do those stairs lead to the rooftop?”

“Yes, they do.”

You keep your back to him.

"Do you go up there often?"

"From time to time."

"This is … wow."

You're not sure why you're stalling. You pretend to look around as you try to brush off a nagging feeling that has settled in the pit of your stomach. Just the nerves, you think. You're out of practice, that's all.

So you clear your throat and say.

“Is your bedroom behind that bigger sliding door?”

He nods. You feel a little out of place, so you gravitate towards him, a familiar presence in a strange space. Matt lets you come to him, giving you all the control. You lean in and attach your lips to his, allowing it to follow the natural progression as it did back at Josie's. Your legs tangle and stumble towards the bedroom, your lips never too far away from one another. You think you might hit the closed door, but before that can happen, Matt pulls you flush against his body with one hand and uses the other to slide the door open in one smooth, practiced move. You pull away when you need to catch your breath.

“May I …”

You touch the side of his glasses. After a quiet moment, he gives you permission to take them, and you do. Slowly, and with the utmost care you can manage, you set them on the bedside table. His eyes are closed when you straighten. You caress his cheek, feeling the way his features form together. Your touch is soothing, and you hope he can feel the patience you offer to him. There is no rush, no pressure. After a long moment, Matt opens his eyes, and you take them in. You can see how he tries to meet your eyes in his own way. The shade of hazel is shrouded by the low light and the occasional shutter of his eyelids.

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

You raise slightly on your tiptoes and kiss his eyelids, feeling his lashes fluttering softly. He waits for you to return to him, and seeks out your lips in a delicate manner.

You fall onto the bed together. Matt braces himself on his forearms so he doesn't crush you. You pull his head down to yours, kissing and nibbling on the stretch of stubble along his jaw. His soft groans of approval encourage the other hand to travel downward, pulling on the white dress shirt. Once it's free from the slacks, you weave your hand inside and run your palm along the expanse of his torso. The dips and raises of his well-defined abs are warm under your palm, and the sensation stokes the molten liquid that's nestling deep inside you. You feel the feverish need edging over that part of you that you want to ignore.

The gradual pullback doesn't feel like a rejection at first, but merely an invitation to follow. So you do, your hands work to unbutton his shirt. But Matt slows you down to a stop, holding your hands to his lips and placing kisses on your palms. You blink, still snarled in the haze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Confronted. The only word that can describe accurately how you're feeling.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your heart …”

His hand trails from your collarbone to your chest where your heart resides within in a way that feels strangely intimate and not at all invasive. You hadn’t realized how fast your heart was beating. It's pounding. You are more nervous about this than you thought.

“… is beating quite fast. Are you nervous?”

You're safe. It's an innate feeling, and while you can't explain it, you know lying to Matt serves no purpose here. He seems to have a way to read you without using his sight.

“Yes, a little bit. I haven’t done this before. Sleeping with a stranger, I mean.”

“I see. We don’t have to do this.”

You raise yourself on your elbows.

“No, I wanted to go back here, with you. I want this.”

“But it doesn’t mean you owe me anything. If you change your mind for whatever reason, I'm okay with that as well."

Matt presses a kiss to your forehead.

"We can always try this again at another time.”

Guilt claws at you, urging you to do anything to please him.

“I’m sorry. I gave you the wrong signal.”

“Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for.”

He tries to find your hand, and you offer it to him. He gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I had a good time with a beautiful woman, then I got to kiss her, all in one night, and that's enough.”

You guffaw, throwing your head back at the blatant flirt.

“You don’t even know how I look like.”

“No, I don’t. But I have my own way to tell. You sound beautiful.”

An idea materializes in your mind, and you give in to it. You bring his hand to your face, trailing along the side of your face. He gets the hint and begins his own exploration of your features. The way he takes his time, following the slopes of your face, his touch gentle, ghosting over your skin. He stops at your lips and soothes his thumb over the kiss-swollen flesh. You sigh softly. He gives you one last kiss, his tenderness makes your heart soar.

“Would you like something comfortable to sleep in?”

“I'm fine with anything you have.”

Matt finds his closet and pulls out a grey sweatshirt. He tells you where the bathroom is, and you take the folded shirt with you. You clean yourself up with water before stripping down to your underwear. You put the soft material over your body. It smells like him, and soft, just like him. You come out of the washroom and see his bare back for a split second before he pulls the shirt down. He has changed into a pair of grey sweatpants and a black shirt that hugs his chest and biceps beautifully.

You stand by his bed, not sure where you can come in despite the two of you ruffling the sheets not even ten minutes ago. Matt chooses for you, settling on the space facing the window, leaving you the side which is closer to the sliding door. His sheets are silky soft, and you feel yourself sinking right into them. You turn to face Matt, touching his shoulder. He faces you fully, his eyes settling on a point on the lower part of your face.

“Thank you.”

You whisper.

“Thank me by staying for breakfast.”

“Why breakfast?”

“I can't send you off to your interview on an empty stomach, can I? It's the least I can do.”

A rueful smile graces your lips.

“I can’t wait.”

You fell asleep with ease. At one point during the night, you could feel Matt detach himself from you, and out of a vague desperation that you couldn't process, you held tighter onto him involuntarily. At that, he stopped moving, and you felt a soothing pattern trailing over your head, luring you back to sleep again. His warmth carried you through the few hours that you slept.

It's a little past 4 AM when you wake, and find Matt still sleeping peacefully. Torn, but you come to accept that leaving is for the best. You get out of bed gently, thankful that the wooden floor didn't make a noise. You take his sweatshirt off and fold it, putting it on top of the pillow that you slept on. After putting on the clothes from the night before, you leave with much regret in your heart.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

For updates, please follow @cellophaine-archives

52 notes · View notes