#they are seriously consuming my every thought

[mudtrash]

I’m so mad because I wrote this whole essay response to this then my fucking phone died and even though it SAID it saved it as a draft it just. Didn’t 😭

BUT BASICALLY I was gonna say that, when it come to sharing an online space with creatives and just- people being people, my gut reaction is always to be nice and present myself as approachable and non judgmental. I know what it is to be judged and to worry someone you admire doesn’t vibe with you, so I try to be the person I would want someone to be for me

The only area I “struggle” to be nice in, is my fandom community being harassed and judged morally for what shows we like and responding against it (I’m in the hazbin/helluva fandoms so I see this daily)

Obviously there are people who just generally don’t like what I like, and that’s okay! It’s usually pretty easy to tell who’s acting in bad faith and who just genuinely has a grievance with a property they wish to share, and even if I disagree and tell them as such, I remain respectful as long as they do.

I will usually match energies with anyone I’m talking with, I’ve had sassy back and forths, calm disagreements, and even ones that started sassy and ended with us calmly shaking hands and parting ways

I just- don’t stand for fandom wide harassment and holier than thou media illiteracy, like even beyond grossly misrepresenting a stories narrative to turn it into a moral high ground king of the hill, these days the hh/hb fandom can receive death threats for simply sharing a clip from the show on twitter

I have, for sure, been meaner/more defensive than I needed to be, either because I assumed they were being more hateful than they were or I just recognize after the fact that it wasn’t a productive way to handle a situation, and that is something I’ve been making an effort to be more mindful of and try to curb. I do also just generally enjoy media discussion and analysis, and playing up sass in that regard adds to the entertainment value, but this doesn’t really apply with people just genuinely sharing their thoughts and not being hateful/hypocritical (again, there’s been slip ups on my part in this regard, tryna be less trigger happy with clap backs)

Fighting fire with fire generally gets messy, and I do a lot of the time wish there was a scenario where killing with kindness actually worked the way I would want it to (and to be fair, sometimes it has in my experience!) if there’s anything I’ve learned from dealing with hate-doms, who dedicate their entire online presence to hating this one thing and making sure everyone knows it, there are some people who have just made up their minds and will never be satisfied by anything I have to say, and there’s nothing I can really do to change that, so at the very least I like to articulate why exactly those people are wrong and hateful, poking fun at their logic and shit attitudes for the sake of people who take them more seriously than they deserve

Does this mean I reply to every single hateful/negative post I see? No, in fact most of the time I just block/mute, but if I have something to say, I’m going to say it.

And if you’re going to claim moral superiority over me while being BLANTANTLY more ignorant and offensive than the thing we’re discussing, I’m going to show you the level of respect you deserve

Overall tho I do wanna dedicate less of my time to this kinda of thing, I wanna put out more good vibes than bad at the end of the day. I can let myself have the occasional sass as a treat, but I don’t want it to consume my online presence either

Just gotta find that balance

I think my general thought process with interacting with other people online is like yeah you have really cool art. You have really cool writing. You're really good at that thing you're posting about, but are you nice?

[queenhunter102]

The stupid Photos

Hello, my beautiful loves, I have another post for you. Hope you enjoy. I mean it! This is not meant to be consumed/ read, or seen by minors. This is WHOLE SMUT WITH LITTLE IF ANY PLOT, so please, if you're a minor, stay away. Contents: Back shots, Sex!, masturbation (implied), edging (Reader), Sharing of adult images (SPECIFICALLY MENTIONED) as well as voice notes and explicit texts. Read at your own risk

Simon"There's my pretty baby" Simon whispered, as he followed after you, his tongue tracing lines down your throat "You're doing so well" he cooed his words hot and mocking against your skin, you should have thought this through, you seriously should have but how could you have resisted the urge. The urge to send him those stupid texts, the stupid pictures, but you had thought it funny, you had thought it hysterical when he phoned you, growling and spitting curses like they were his native tongue, you'd double over when you heard him making dark and brusque promises through whispered grunts and breathy sighs. That was almost two months ago, you had long since forgotten about it, but Simon hadn't forgotten every pose, every message, every voice note, he remembered, he remembered how your lingere clung to your body he remembered how your ass gave way to counters and chairs, how that sly smile of yours showed all the delsiously sinful things you wanted him to do. He laughed low into your ear as he pressed his hips harder into your ass "Is my pretty baby, having fun" he cooed, he knew you were he could read it in your body, he could hear it in your voice as you came close to cumming, see it in the way your eyes screwed shut, you nodded your head "Yeah, YEA—YEAH!" you screamed your nails gripping onto the bed sheet. Simon stuck out his bottom lip as if to mock you "Aww, you won't in a minute" was all he said before he pulled out of you, leaving you high and dry, letting you whine and gasp up at him, pouting, "Si?" you ask lifting your head up looking at him you weren't sure if this was real or not, Simon only smiled cupping your face "Yes baby?" he asked, his eyes low and roaming over your body. You gulped, you knew this was going to be a long night, and you might even regret sending those pictures in the morning, but right now, you were going to enjoy, whatever this silly thing is.

(If you want to be a part of my tag list, check HERE for specifics)

Here's the COD master list: Here

Remember: leaving a like, re-blogging, and commenting helps in this world and encourages more.

See you around, my little loves.

Kissess.

[ahli-stuff]

The Mystery of Modri Vladis

I’m throwing my hat in the ring here for some theorizing on who Sebastian’s ex-situationship/contractee/lover could be! Or rather, what he could be. I have no idea who he is.

Initially, I thought the most obvious answer might be that he’s one of Undertaker’s reanimated corpses, seeing that they are in a hotel under the undertaker’s thumb and he’s hooked up to a blood infusion of all things. In addition, Sebastian has no recollection of Modri. This could indicate that the Undertaker has manipulated Modri’s cinematic record so that he has faulty memories of Sebastian.

However, I think this is a red herring.

The undertaker specifically mentions the fact that r!Ciel had no “stitches and seams in sight” and could “think and move on his own” which is why r!Ciel is his masterpiece. If we go ahead and take a look at Modri, he can indeed, think and move on his own. He’s even very emotional and not entirely insane or violent? Given the chance he hurts himself instead of overtly attacking Sebastian. Whether he has stitches on his body is yet to be determined, but his face is very much still intact.

I don’t think the undertaker would let such a well-made reanimated corpse roam about so casually out in the open, especially if Modri is going to so brazenly act and actively damage his own body. That’s the reason why the hotel staff stepped in, I guess, but still? They’re probably doing a shit job of it considering that he walked up to Sebastian in broad daylight, yelling, while pulling out a knife.

So… what is he?

He could be a vampire. No, seriously. His last name is Vladis, which bares clear similarities to Vladimir and his first name is Modri, which is also a Slavic name (specifically Czech) and it seems that Vampires in pop culture usually have Slavic roots.

This isn’t the only gothic reference to Modri’s character, however; when we encounter him, he’s wearing a black cassock-esque outfit, a cloth belt, and a stole. This is all priest-like clothing.

Just to confirm this is true, just look at his belt. The belt even has a cross at the bottom, which makes it incredibly reminiscent of a priest’s cincture. In fact, I even found a priest’s stole with almost that exact same design.

And if this wasn’t enough! Just look at his blood infusion stand—it’s a cross!

See, I thought it was just indicative of him being from the Aurora society at first, but looking back at the blood infusion scenes, there is not a single one I could find with a cross-shaped pole. This seems like something Sebastian would’ve noticed and remembered too, which he doesn’t seem to.

But, just having a Slavic name and wearing priest-like clothes doesn’t make you a vampire. Having… fangs does?

You could. Reasonably. Call this a stylistic choice but in every single panel where Modri’s face is the focus, his fangs are visible. I am not kidding. If you go back to 215, you will literally see his sharpened canines every time he speaks while his face is clearly visible.

Guys. Even when he’s not gritting his teeth, you can still see his canines.

So, all this being said, Modri could be a vampire.

But. I really hope that Modri is actually a human-turned-demon who was in a contract with Sebastian because that would be so much more interesting.

I know the kuroshitsuji’s anime season 2 is cursed and should never be talked about again, but! I did think the implications of the ending of season 2 was interesting. Ciel turns into a demon by the end, locking Sebastian into the soul contract forever because he doesn’t have a soul to consume. The manga could absolutely scrap that bit of lore, but it does hang in the air that humans can become demons.

So maybe, with no evidence reflecting, maybe Modri Vladis was a priest who encountered Sebastian a long time ago and struck a deal with him using his blood. Sebastian successfully completed the deal, consuming Modri’s soul and damning him to hell, but! Modri somehow came back to the living, maybe as an imperfect demon, seeking out the help of the undertaker to take revenge on Sebastian. This is obviously a theory with a lot of holes in it, considering that Sebastian doesn’t remember the guy and Modri seems very ill—which brings me back to the undertaker maybe having tampered with Modri’s soul record after his soulless body went to hell.

So all in all, I think Modri is a vampire, but I hope that he’s a priest-turned-demon former contractee who really does know Sebastian and has gotten his head screwed with by the Undertaker. It sort of came back around to him being a reanimated corpse, but ah, well! Gosh, if you want to theorize with me about this please send me a DM.

[mtcloudsworld]

angst (?), fluff, black!fem reader, love interest! Jason, like, comment reblog, ignore any errors.

He didn't know what to do with you. Seriously, he didn't. You were different from what he was used to─ an conditional relationship, a one sided feeling, revenge on revenge, non-existent communication, neglect and regret. Nothing ever felt safe. But you?

"Just say whats on your mind, Jay. You can't always live your life thinking everything is fine when it isn't. You can't live on pleasing everybody. Do what . . . makes you happy, ya know?"

You had self respect, self love. You were stubborn and independent, caring, bluntly honest and so much more. You showered yourself with kindness and sheer peace. You kept to yourself with a bright smile and a heart full of gold....and he... He wasn't sure where to place himself in your orbit or how any of this was going to go but─ he liked it. He liked it, a lot.

He didn't want to ruin a good thing but good things don't ever last in his world. Good things were too innocent and pure for him. As much as he tries to be good, how he navigates for that goal isn't always squeaky clean.

He's reminded of it every time he looks at you. Everytime you touch. Everytime you smile and laugh. Every time he believes there's a chance between you and him.

Settled in a coffee shop, downtown Gotham. It's quiet and refreshing. Not an ounce of distribution is near as you two settled across from each other in a secluded booth somewhere.

On top of the wooden table, he bore sight at the collision of your hands. Small and dainty. Warm and secure. His thumb gradually graced over the back of your hand to feel the sweet texture of your russet skin.

He listens to you speak. The rich and velvet tone of your voice replacing every bad thought that consumed him plays like a song on repeat.

You look like a goddess glowing before the sun's rays, your curls creating a glow-like hue, your skin shining like gold and your eyes sparkling like diamonds. Fixated and obsessed, he allows his eyes to settle, to linger, to study and admire.

He melts in awe, heart eyes glowing with every beat─ he feels like a love sick puppy just smiling from ear to ear. "Fuck, you're so gorgeous." He's comfortable in your space. Shoulders slumped as he basks into the essence of your vanilla and coco butter, mingling in with the fresh scent of coffee and baked goods.

If only time could stop. If only time could be nice and allow him to endure this moment. To enjoy what little peace he had left.

"Jay?"

He was quiet.

Too quiet.

Which was unusual because he was never this quiet with you.

It took him a minute to register your voice but when he does, he blinks. "Yes?"

You wore a smirk on your face, one that was teasing and all knowing. "You're staring, baby."

"I know." He says bluntly and you chuckle.

"Oh do you now?"

"Mhmm... you're just now noticing?"

"Well..I've noticed," you hesitate, cheeks growing warm the moment you look back into his intimidating eyes. "I just haven't said anything is all..."

All he does is hum. Head tilted to the side. His glare tries to catch a glimpse of your face─ shy and timid, looking anywhere else but him. But suddenly, you feel something firm and calloused taking hold of your jaw so your attention was on him. His arm was placed behind your head now, making the space between your bodies disappear and faces become close

Your breath gets caught in your throat, gulping down your nerves. Unable to look away as his eyes, intense and blue stare into the hues of your colorful ones. He's smirking mischievously. Lavishing on the nerves building from within you.

"Does my staring make you nervous, pretty girl? Do you not like when I admire my pretty baby?"

"N-no it's not t-that! It's just...I-I've never... had someone look at me the way t-that... you...do...." The subtle drag of his finger down the side of your face after removing a curl makes you feeeze. "It's just... different."

He raises a brow. "Different?"

"Yes, different...it's like... you're reading me. Like you're memorizing every page, finding every hidden secret and flaw about me."

There's a silence, and then, he hums, "does that... turn you on?"

"Yes," you gulp, eyes fluttering a little. "But... it makes me feel seen in more ways than one."

He doesn't say much more after that.

Because he knows.

He knows with truth came heartbreak and with heartbreak came regret and despair.

He wasn't sure how to tell you. He wasn't sure if he wanted to tell you.

Because he knows, it'll leave you both heartbroken. Shattered to pieces and pulled to shreds.

And he didn't want that.

So instead he pulls you into his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulder with his nose buried into hair. A kiss settled at your forward with a soft yet content sigh. "Yeah, I know," he breathes out. "I know exactly what you mean."

"You haven't told her have you?"

He wanted to please you in every way possible.

But...things were holding him back, and he hated it

He frowns still staring off into the distance,

"No."

Silence.

Dick sighs, stepping up beside his bulky brother. "She needs to know...Jason, she has the right to know." He looks to him with concern and Jason, still as a rock, gives him a curt nod, murmuring, "...I know" before turning on his heel.

"You can't hide this forever, Jay!" Dick shouts back, watching how his strides grow slow."She's gonna find out sooner later."

He grunts, "I. know."

"So? What are you going to do? What are you going to do to prevent it from coming out? The moment she finds out she's not gonna know what to do. It's gonna drive her crazy knowing it's you."

Jason releases a deep sigh, "I...I don't know. I'll figure something out, I guess."

He doesn't say anything much after disappearing into the shadows, leaving his brother to wonder about the messed up situation.

It's been days, weeks since you've last talked. He wasn't avoiding you nor trying to be distant, he wasn't giving you the cold shoulder but it's been looking that way. Undoubtedly he doesn't mean for it to happen, doesn't mean to go radio silent but when he gets so caught up in his own shit, he tends to forget the things that matter the most, including you.

He sighs as he squats down at the age of the building. Scooping around your apartment building for any signs of you and your remnants. Looking through the sheer curtains attached to your bedroom window, he's starting to feel himself inch closer.

Yearning to take a chance and leap inside that cozy home of yours and watch the look on your face twisted with all sorts of emotions. To have you jump in his arms. To feel your lips on his. He wants to talk to you. Tell you everything that's been going on all the while you comfort him in your arms. To feel your fingers run through his hair. Melting away every bad thought that came to mind. He wanted to feel back at home.

But he couldn't. He couldn't come as he was because that would just ruin everything.

And as much as he wanted to tell you, call you to ease your mind. He couldn't blow his cover.

He had to make you wait. He had to make you worry, fester in your own anger, sadness, doubt and guilt. He had to let you go for the time being.

But when he comes back? Best believe he's gonna have you to himself again. You might be mad and ignoring him for now. But he's gonna have you running back into his arms again because he has you. He has you wrapped around his finger. Just like you have him wrapped around yours.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃. 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 ©𝐦𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 | lol idk where this was going but I'ma just post here because I don't want to delete it or keep it in my drafts any longer so, here you go!

Also I've finally hit 500 LOVEBUGS (FOLLOWERS)!?!?!💕 I'm definitely gonna update something to celebrate that milestone because hell yeah! For all the lovebugs who show appreciation on my posts─ liking, commenting and reblogging, I appreciate y'all so much. I appreciate y'all wanting to follow me and wanting to take the time out of your day to read my projects. I greatly appreciate it, truly.

[pkat-creations]

just finished rewatching andi mack in the big ‘25 and I am seriously fighting demons rn I just might need to write tyrus fanfiction 😞

[iffasart]

YALL SEE THIS TOO RIGHT?? LIKE THEY WERE TOO CLOSE TO NOT CUDDLE

They were cuddling 100%

Green- marcille | orange- falin

[lycan-subscribe]

i’m really really REALLY glad that runaway to the stars is picking up in popularity because holy shit this webcomic only somewhat recently started being published but the story and the characters have already had me engrossed since the first day i saw talita. like truly the story the setting the characters the designs…all of it is something i think of on like. a daily basis for like years now

[mustarddoods]

Please don't be in love with someone else

[acaesic]

man. i wanna get back into multifandom stuff but at the same time i cannot feel anything for things that arent idkhow anymore :,)

[limon-rat]

Help, I'm obessing over these stupid dead dragons

[puppy923]

.

[dany36]

after ~165 hours, i finished bg3. i can't believe i almost missed out on experiencing this gem of a game. a couple of months ago i started watching john wolfe's playthrough of it, and after i made a comment about it to a friend once i got done watching the first act, he convinced me to play it on my own. and holy shit i'm glad i got to experience the entirety of act 2 and 3 in my own playthrough of it. i usually stay away from turn-based games because i don't consider myself very good at them (i think i can count on one hand the number of turn-based games i've played let alone finished), but wow, this game just blew me out of the water. when i watched the game awards last year where it won all those awards including goty, i looked up gameplay of it since i knew nothing of it, but the turn-based aspect turned me away from it. still, it was funny seeing all those bitter losers saying that z/elda should have won goty instead, to which i can't help but laugh even HARDER now to think that anyone would even THINK that t/otk even comes close to the fucking chulada of a videogame that bg3 is. honestly? top three of my favorite games ever. (spoilers below)

i mean, i usually post my thoughts as i'm playing along, reacting to things and such. but this game consumed me like no other game before had, and like, what is there to say that hasn't been said before about bg3? i honestly can't think of any big criticisms i have of the game. i knew nothing about d&d before starting it and i still had such a fucking blast playing through every single aspect of it. as someone who doesn't consider themselves a tactical person by any means (my character was a barbarian because no think, just hit!), i think i did pretty well for having played in balanced mode. only four fights gave me a hard time (house of grief being one of them...GEEZ what was THAT!!!), two of which i actually had to look up strategies online because well, i don't have all day to try to figure it out, you know?

the ending left me with such a big smile on my face: it just put me in such a good mood, and honestly i can't remember the last time a video game ending left me with that feeling of satisfaction and contentment. when i told my friend about me going around talking to all of my friends six months after we had defeated the brain, he was shocked because apparently that post-ending bit wasn't there when he originally beat it. and honestly? i loved talking to all of my party to see what they had been up to! lae'zel didn't outright hate me for not having freed orpheus and she looked happy, halsin gave me a duck!! :D karlach was full of hope at the thought of there being a way for her to get her engine fixed for good, and it looks like wyll and karlach are a thing?? I GOT TO ADOPT THE OWLBEAR WITH SHADOWHEART FUCK YEAH!!! like. finishing an adventure is good and all but it's even better when a video game gives you the chance to see how the hero and the rest of the gang are doing after saving the world. i just fucking love it.

as for my choices, i think i'm pretty happy with the ones i made. there are a couple that i think i'll change in my second playthrough (yes, there will be one :) not now, after ghost of tsushima for sure tho), but overall glad to see that everyone got a mostly happy ending (gale became a god ffs). although earlier i did say that i had no curiosity in seeing shadowheart's other option for her parents, the fact that she still alluded to it post-ending makes me curious to like, ok, is being a slave to shar really an option to consider at all in order to keep her parents alive??? because now that i think about it...gale becomes a god so he got his wish, lae'zel still has her people and is fighting for their freedom, jaheira has her children and is helping rebuild the city, karlach and wyll are at least together in avernus, astarion sounds like he is having the time of his life, and minsc is...minsc. shadowheart becomes free of shar and thus her parents die in the process, thus shadowheart no longer has any of her "people" that she can count on, her best friend from her childhood is still a sharran, and plus her parents are now dead. so if you don't romance her, like...what does she end up doing post game?? because the way things sound here sound pretty lonely for shadowheart unless you end up with her, so now i guess i'll have to finish watching john wolfe's playthrough cus i'm pretty sure he was going down the karlach romance path!

but yeah, that option and the orpheus thing are the options that i might consider changing in my second playthrough, but honestly for the latter, i'm fine with how things ended between me and the emperor even if lae'zel was angry at me because it sounds like she's doing fine 6 months later AND she was glad to see me :y i also didn't make much use of my tadpole powers and refused to consume the special one that the emperor gave me, so i can imagine if i HAD consumed it, i wonder if some of the later battles would have been easier....

usually i do a long-ass post talking about what i loved and didn't love about a game, but for bg3, i can't think of anything i just outright disliked. i know that i for sure missed some cutscenes because i was afraid i was long resting too much (the comments on john wolfe's playthrough scared me a little ngl), but i ended the game with like 1200 camp supplies, so now i know camp supplies are not as much of an issue as people made it out to be. gameplay, story, the insane amount of paths/choices you can take in this game...like....FUCK...it's all just so much to take in and really makes you appreciate and marvel at how in the hell such a beautiful game was crafted in the first place.

for now, it's time to take a break from bg3, but man, what a fantastic, unforgettable ride it was. i was thinking of going for the platinum trophy for bg3, but after seeing that you have to beat the game under tactician (AND also that you have to defeat the red dragon in the final battle? heeellll no), i'm afraid i'm gonna have to pass up on that one--i'm just simply not tactical enough for it lol.

[geminiskulleta]

Time and Legend are my faves too just as great as the others how dare you >:(

I feel like the whole thing where my writing ends up either revolving around Time/Mask or Legend in some form or other despite the main premise not strictly being about them is like parents saying "I don't have a favorite child" and then very obviously having one.

I don't think it'll be hard to guess who my favorite characters are.

[logansdoe]

Hey! My first time sending a req thing so forgive me if I’ve done this wrong..

However, I’ve grown obsessed with your writing(no, seriously it’s so good omggg)and was wondering if you’d write overstimulated reader x Hannibal?

Hannibal is just so cruel and mean, pounding into you as you’re about to start sobbing..he’s got you in some sort of headlock, grunting in your ear..your begging him to slow down just for a minute and he’s just shushing you and speaking softly into your ear OH MY GOODDD LORDDD

Or he’s holding you close as you whine and shake, his forehead on yours as he tells you “so noisy- shh- my love” 😵‍💫😵‍💫

I’d love to see you write this!! No worries if not!! Love your writing ❤️

urges.

Hannibal had urges. Strong ones. Impulses, even. But that didn't mean he couldn't control them. He always did. For the sake of you.

You were too sweet. Too delicate for his hungry soul. But also too lovely to resist. Your taste, feel, sounds were all he could want, need. It was a craving. Much worse if he went into specifications.

So, it was a surprise when you told him you could feel he was holding back. You were satisfied, of course you were. He made you satisfied. But you could see beneath the mask. Something he often forgets.

He knew you weren't prepared for his urges. But how could he refuse you, his delicate dove, who was agreeing to give into his indulgence?

Perhaps, it was too soon that you asked for it. Because you certainly could not keep up with it.

His hand held onto your shoulder. The other held your hips. the skin denting from applied pressure from his fingers. Already red, perhaps black and blue the next morning.

The sound of skin against skin echoed the walls. Your body jerking forward with every slap of his hips against yours. The room also filled with your cries.

Hands pushing on his thighs, pushing him away. This annoyed Hannibal. His hands left your shoulders and cupped your jaw. Pulling you up, to his chest. Your head against his shoulder as he looked.

He could cum just at the sight of you. Tears running down. Lips bruised from the pressured kisses. Some markings already created from where he nipped before. Mine.

"shh— don't resist, love", he whispered against your ear. His words breathy and airy. You could feel the strained breaths against your now sensitive skin. A shiver running down her whole body. The sheen layer of sweat doing nothing to subside it.

"you wanted this, Didn't you?", he continued. His hips still moving. You could feel the tip dragging across your already bruised inner walls. Your whines get louder.

God, he would have enjoyed those little whimpers from you, any other time. But now, he needed to focus in the feel of you.

His hand slipped from your jaw to over your mouth. Trapping the noises against the barrier of his palm. "You look so beautiful, darling. So. . Pretty", he whispered against your neck.

Pressing kisses until he reached your ear again. "All mine to play with, right? All mine" he groaned. His hand splayed across your stomach as the rock of his hips got harder but slower.

Making you scream into his hand everytime he pushed into you after pulling all the way out. Hannibal leaned back slightly to look down, seeing his cock slip in and out so slowly. Like a sensual dance. Glistening against the low light like the pearls under the night sky.

He wanted to consume you. Ingest you so you'd be a part of him forever. Live in his skin, flesh, mind, heart. Wherever you could reach, he would be yours.

The thoughts ran across his mind. He could feel your tears against his hand. Oh, how he loved to see you broken down. Perhaps, he could never go back from this now.

He needed you like this. So pilant. Like a soft pillow against his sharpened edges. Taking him in with warmth.

Hannibal could feel himself near. His forehead resting against your shoulder. He could feel you trembling. His lips parted as he let out a sharp breath before painting your inner walls with his seed.

His hand slowly released around your mouth as it rested against your neck. He placed soft kisses on your jaw, "so good for me, dove."

He slowly pulled out as he carefully, with gentle caress laid you down against the sheets. Small whimpers left you. He laid besides you. His forehead against yours as he took another breath to calm himself.

"shh, I'm right here. It's alright. . . Always such a good girl for me" he whispered softly. His lips continued to place soft kisses against your cheek and forehead.

He pulled back as he looked at you. Eyes unfocused, lips parted, sweat looking like silver under the moonlight. His hand carefully brushed some of the damp hair away from your face. He got a taste of his urges and now he can't wait to indulge more.

a/n: I love requests. Keep them coming.

also thank you for liking my writings. I just write to distract or to feel productive. 😭‼️

[sunnami]

the 5 times you did (not) love each other and the 1 time you did.

summary. as the title suggests. this one was a request! i hope you enjoyed my version of this anon.

pairing/s. poly!marauders + lily / reader.

wc. 4.1k

tags. hurt/comfort, angst, peter pettigrew mention, not proofread, like seriously, fluff, happy ending.

cws: brief mention of violence and blood.

note: i am alive?? crazy. i began this fic, whilst sick, around august, nursing the worst headache ever. i wrote the middle of this fic, sick. and i think it's only fitting that i finished this fic. sick... honestly, i did not proofread any of this, i just know i lowkey love it. after the first one-thousand words, i just spiral and become delirious, so i don't even know what happened here. my first request finished! yippee! and thank you all for 2k :< i love you all so much.

i. 

SIRIUS BLACK did not love you—not even close, not even a little bit. Not even at all.

After Peter Pettigrew’s slight against his family, Sirius would never hold warmth or pity for the skittish mouse ever again. He was played for a fool. And, he did not know which betrayal had hurt more. Peter’s—or yours. (Had you known all along of your adoptive brother’s plans? Did you not think for one second that Sirius would, without a sliver of hesitation, put himself in the way of a killing curse to keep you safe? He’d have died before ever letting the fire in your eyes wither to ashes. Clearly, you did not share the same sentiment.) 

He wanted nothing to do with you. Ever. And if the rat-bastard dared to show his face, not even Death would know where to put Peter’s body to rest. Sirius would keep him alive until he begged for death—until the idea of living frightened him more than dying. And for you—beholder of his heart, captor of his soul, and co-possessor of his mind—he could only hope that you stayed far away. You had wrecked him—all of them. 

He wanted—

He did not know what he wanted. 

For when it came to you, Sirius Black was reduced to a man wandering the deserts—mistaking clouds for water, and the sands for grass blades. You had ravaged every fiber of his being; consumed his every thought and word. The most ironic part of all was that if you had been the one standing there—Sirius would have let you Avada him. Dumbledore could scold him in the afterlife—Sirius could care less. He’d have snapped his wand in half and asked someone else to fight you because Sirius had vowed from the moment he met you that he would never harm a hair on your head. He would never be the reason that tears stained your pretty cheeks. 

Well, apparently, trust and promises were not worth a damn thing nowadays. 

No, he did not love you—even as you stood on the steps of Grimmauld, your hair ruined by the downpour of rain. Your lips bruised and bitten from a nervous habit Sirius had yet to break out of you. 

“I didn’t know, Sirius,” you whispered—your voice the only sound falling on his ears amidst all the thunder and lightning. He only saw you. “Y-You have to believe me. If I knew—Gods, I would have told Dumbledore in a heartbeat. Fuck. I thought you knew me better than that.” 

He thought so, too. 

“Did you know?” Sirius began, taking a step forward and into the storm, a demeaning sneer on his lips. “That when Voldemort stood in our home, your portrait was right behind him? That was all I could look at. If I had died—you would have been the last thing I saw.” 

You had not replied. 

Sirius grit his teeth. “Go,” he said, voice hoarse. 

“Go!” he yelled, grateful for the rain as it masked his own tears as you flinched from the sound of his voice. Not the thunderclap, the lightning strike—but it was him who scared you. 

(But you had done so first.) 

When you apparated away, Sirius crumbled to the ground and pounded his fists against the asphalts where you were moments ago, screaming and cursing until he saw blood flowing with the rainwater.

It was laughable, really. The way he did not love you. 

It was not love that drove him to madness, pummeling Gideon Prewett into a bloody pulp for mentioning your name during a meeting with the Order. He had presumed you to be a Death Eater alongside your brother—Sirius instantly saw nothing but red. (He condemned Bellatrix, his own cousin, for becoming a madwoman. Yet, here he was, unraveled by the very thought of you. The very whisper of your name.) 

But whatever it was that had turned him into a fool and a hypocrite all at once, it was not love. 

ii. 

JAMES POTTER had no love for you—make no mistake about that. He loved love, and he did so fiercely and truthfully. But you and Peter had broken his trust—defiled his loyalty from the moment your brother had brought Voldemort to his doorstep. (Did you know that as he begged and screamed for Lily to hide with their son, Harry—he thought of you? For a fleeting moment, he saw your face, marked by fear and tear-rimmed eyes. And James knew straight away that he would spit on Tom Riddle’s bare feet if only to keep his family safe. If only to see you once more. Alive and well. But, you must not have thought the same—if you had conspired with Peter to sell him and Lily out to the Devil reborn.) 

The thought of you breathing was enough to keep James alive. 

But, that was not love. It was a mockery of it. 

No, he did not feel so much as a twinge of emotion for you. Not even as Mad-Eye Moody brought your limp body back to Grimmauld. It was not love that threatened the magic in his being—that simmered in his blood until the painted walls saw an indent of his fist. (“Poor thing,” McGonagall cooed as she pressed her palm over your forehead. Despite some of the members’ growing distrust for you, you still took an Unforgivable in their stead. “We can only wait. . . Four Cruciatus curses. . .”) 

What more did James need to want to rip Peter apart limb by limb? 

It was not love that rooted his feet by your side. Sitting hunched on a chair too small for his height, bags beneath his eyes, and the pale of his lips becoming noticeable to everyone who spoke to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you lovelessly—hands desperately clutching your own. Sirius stood across the room, arms crossed over his chest, dagger-like eyes waiting for so much as a twitch of your finger. “I’m sorry.”

It was a plea this time.

He only hoped you did not ask him to love you. For James could give you the world, hand-pick the stars, and burrow his body deep beneath the ground if you had asked for it—but he could not love you. 

Everyone had told him not to hope that you would wake up. That your pretty eyes would not flutter open, and you would no longer look at him as you had before. But James was stubborn. He was selfish as he was stubborn. He did not love you—but he needed to hear the sound of your voice. And James would take it any way that he could. The soft cadence of a whisper, or a rough utterance of a single word. Molly Weasley told him to accept reality for what it was. (“You need sleep, dear,” the matriarch fussed. “There’s nothing we can do. Look at the Longbottoms. . . We can do no more for this one as we had done for them.”) 

In the still of the night, he left his reveries on the cold of your skin. “Wake up,” he demanded. 

“Wake up or else you’re the traitor everyone thinks you are,” James hissed. 

But his words held no heat—and his heart held no love for you. 

Make no mistake about that.

Then, when you finally woke up, disoriented and throat parched—a hazy recollection of the weeks before—James made sure that no more than four people could enter the room. He did not care if a hurricane, or if Voldemort himself—James had faced him once already, after all—threatened to break the door down. You were theirs to protect.

 (But not to love.) 

“We need to begin the questioning, James, you know that,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, almost exasperatedly; weary lines written across his face. James would not allow even a toe beyond the doorway. An interrogation meant you had something to do with the attempted murder of James and his family. Whether or not you were innocent, James did not care—he just wanted you safe. 

(And a small part of him already knew that you were not your brother’s keeper. Just as they had absolved Sirius of his family’s sins. It would be unfair to not show you the same grace. But before his mind knew that, James’s heart and soul had known the truth all along.) 

He found Sirius gently tending to your every need, and already James knew that was Padfoot’s way of begging for forgiveness. The ebony-haired man hung onto your every word. He winced when you flinched, and pressed his apologies to your forehead, rasping for a kindness he did not deserve. Not after what he did. How he turned you away and cursed your name. How they betrayed you. 

James did not love you. 

But what else could he call the manacles that bound his hands and forced him to his knees when it came to you? 

Not. Love. 

iii. 

REMUS LUPIN could not bring himself to love you. But, he could not love Sirius, Lily, and James either. He was undeserving of such a privilege. But he was not allowed to love you; Remus could only hope that you saw even a shred of worth in him—to wrest each word from his lips and every breath from his lungs. But, he did not love you. No. 

Because loving you meant he was to tell you of your brother’s crimes. And Remus could not hurt you like that. 

“P-Peter?” you had asked, wearing the eyes of a fretful sibling. Remus lifted his hand to tuck a strand of hair gone astray behind your ear. Bellatrix had done a number on you—just as she had done to Alice and Frank. Remus was fairly certain that Sirius was off on a hunt for his cousin, his mind toyed with by the barbarity of war. What they could not do for the Longbottoms, they’d wring themselves dry to do for you. After the Lestranges’ attack, you suffered damage to your throat and memories. Remus could not bear to see you in such pain. 

He could not give you love, but Remus would offer up to you his every limb, and the weary skin upon his bones. 

“They. . .” Remus grimaced. How could he act as the bearer of bad news? He’d rather dive headfirst into shark-infested waters. Be anywhere else but here. In fact, Remus would rather snatch you away from the funereal walls, and hold you in his arms in the quietude of dawn, than be the one to bring anguish to your eyes. “They’re looking for him at the moment, love.” 

One question lingered in your eyes: Why? 

Luckily, Sirius was always the better one at sharpening a blunt knife. “He was a traitor,” he spat like acid. “A traitor to the Order. A traitor to us. He’s no friend of ours. Not anymore.” 

But Sirius knew—better than anyone else—how difficult it can be to truly hate little brothers, especially once they’ve gone. 

“No. . .” You trembled, almost retching as you sobbed into your palms. 

Remus held you then, the front of his shirt soaked in your tears, eyes firmly shut as you trembled and heaved in his arms. The sound of your guttural screams bounced off the four walls, and Remus had to bury his nose in your hair. You were alive. Safe. Breathing. But you felt cold as ice; an empty husk stripped bare for grief to take over. And Remus could do nothing but hold you. (He just hoped that wherever Peter Pettigrew was, Remus would not be the first one to find him. Otherwise, they would not be able to recover even a fingernail from his remains.)

“Hush, love,” Remus whispered into your ear as you cried yourself sick. Mourning the loss of your brother, reeling from the betrayal of a bond that was supposed to be stronger than blood. Remus would make him pay, he vowed as much to you. No, Remus and the wolf in him did not know how to love. But he knew how to hurt. And, that, he’d gladly do for you. His body was for you to use as a shield, his soul for you to strip bare, and his heart for you to thieve and never return. 

“Don’t cry,” said James, a shadow cast over his frames. “Not for Peter. Never. Fucking bastard will get what’s coming to him.” He laid on the vacant space of the bed, gently untangling your hands that were pressed over your heart. “I’ll make sure of it.”

They all would.

But not because they loved you. 

It was not out of love, Remus had to remind himself in the coming days, when he stayed diligently by your side as you recovered. Daily sessions with the best healer St. Mungo’s could offer—as if James would allow anything else. There were days your eyes would glaze over, your words rough and sluggish, and Remus would try his damndest to make you smile. 

It was the least he could do. 

For failing to protect you. 

But that was not love. 

(It was hope. Wretched, disastrous hope as he fell to his knees, and your name in between his teeth.)

iv. 

LILY EVANS was a fighter in all the ways that mattered. 

And from the very first moment she held Harry in her arms, eyes raking over his wrinkly, bloodied skin; all ten fingers and toes, her soft cries over his loud screaming—Lily knew she would trade her life for his in a heartbeat. Little, lovely eyes that would soon see the world in his own time. Lily adored him. Cherished every tear, snore, and giggle. She knew then, that a mother’s love was entirely different from any emotion she’d ever felt before. 

This was proven the first time Harry had gotten seriously ill. A few weeks after the attempted murder on the Potters, Harry was ceaselessly crying—screaming, even, every night—red-faced as he fussed every breakfast and dinner. Lily found herself at wit’s end. Her protectiveness had gone up a hundred measures; wouldn’t let anyone besides family or Madam Pomfrey see Harry. Yet, even with all the draughts and silly-flavoured syrups, Harry wasn’t getting better. 

“Lily dear, you cannot actually be thinking about this,” worried Molly Weasley as Lily stood in front of your door, holed away in the room where you had been recovering for the last few days. It would be the first time she saw you since the incident. More than anything she was afraid. Frightened that you would look at her differently. Whether or not that fear stemmed from love, Lily was not concerned. “We can call for another Healer from Mungo’s to have a look at Harry. . . Who knows what might. . .” 

Lily held Harry closer to her, lips firmly pressed, attempting to ignore the way his temperature was unnaturally high. “Might what, Mrs. Weasley?” She knew Molly was only talking out of concern, from a mother’s perspective at least. But she knew you better than anyone else. You would never hurt her, or Harry, that much she was certain of. And if you were the traitor everyone else was afraid of accusing you of, a sentence delivered by association to Peter—then let the guillotine fall, Lily would carry your crimes for you. 

She remembered ever-so clearly in her sixth-year, you with dreams glistening in your eyes. (“I’m going to be a Healer, Lils! Minnie said I’d be a great one. . . I want to protect those I love. . . I know I can do it. . . Oh, I can’t wait to tell Peter that I’ve gotten recommendations already to work at Mungo’s after graduation.”) 

And Lily recalled at that moment, she had felt a different kind of emotion that she had never experienced before. It was not love, of course. Tuney said she was too young and too stupid to know what real love was. But, at sixteen, what else could describe the way her heart fluttered and the way her lips threatened to break out into a smile whenever you lit up talking about your future? (It was just a crush, young Lily told herself.)

Only to be crushed and cast aside in the face of the war, where fighters took their place at the forefront of the lines, mothers and children hid; healers stretching themselves thin to be here, there, everywhere; where traitors walked in plain sight. 

“There is no one else I trust more with my life,” replied Lily. 

And that was that. 

Lily skirted around Molly and opened the door to your room, where Sirius, James, and Remus all stood at attention at the sight of her and Harry. She ignored them, and headed straight to your side. 

“Hello, love,” she greeted with all the gentleness she was made of, a smile creeping up to her eyes as Lily watched you turn your head at the sound of her voice. Truth be told, she did not know what her end-goal was in coming here. But being by your side had always made life a little more bearable, like all the illnesses in the world could not bring her down. And so, her magic had instinctively summoned her person to you. She, at least, was relieved to see colour returning to your cheeks, though the red in your eyes had dulled the hues she adored so much. 

“Is that. . .?” you croaked. 

Lily nodded. “Harry, meet—” 

One of the loves of my life, the most loyal and pure witch anyone ever has the privilege of meeting, someone I want to stay in my life forever. 

Lily’s smile wilted. “A friend.” 

Later, she would place Harry in your arms—her little hope embraced by her dream—and Lily would wonder if it was by pure magic that Harry calmed in your presence. 

For if love could hurt and destroy, could it mend and heal the broken as well?

But what a shame, for not one in that room carried an ounce of love for you.

(She would die for Harry, yes—but she would live for you.)

v. 

YOU did not love them, either. 

The very idea, thought—insinuation—was absurd. (Why, they deserved much better than you, after all.) With hands that failed to protect them, were you even allowed to hold them anymore? Did your heart have the right to breathe for them? You had failed as a sister and a friend—how much more would you have failed as their lover? Well, you’d never know. 

Because you did not love them. 

Merely wished them happiness and for the world to extend them kindness. For the sun to look brightly down on them, and for time to heal their scars and wounds. For if they were in pain, the earth would stop spinning. But such a request was not borne from love. 

Surely not. 

Because, then, that would have meant that it was love that teared you apart when Sirius cursed your name, when James turned you away, when Remus could not look you in the eyes, or when Lily—for all your history together—called you a friend. 

The whole of you was made by the parts of them. Each memory welded into the crevices of your soul. From the moment you had all found each other in the same train compartment, same common room—there was a shift in the fates that bound all five of you together. (The ties were red, but the thread was not of love.) You did not believe in Professor Trelawney’s talks of providence and destiny. 

Because if you did, then why was the universe so cruel? 

Falling—not in love—for four people who could very much do without you in their lives. Lacking severely as a sister to the point you had not noticed your brother fading and fading away into the shadows. 

Was love that unkind? That merciless? 

Then, you did not want to love at all. 

Oh, but magic or not, every creature on this earth selfish. 

You were no different. 

You wanted. 

Oh, how you yearned. 

“I LOVE YOU.” 

You barely had enough time to react before Sirius pressed his lips to the side of your head, arm covertly sneaking around your waist. The sound of the train whistling as parents yelled their goodbyes filled the station. You stood in the midst of the crowd, eyes never leaving one window in particular as you waved at Harry, now eleven-years-old and now off to Hogwarts. 

“Quite a random thing to say, husband,” you murmured, leaning into his warmth. “What for?” 

“Just because,” he replied in turn with a fiendish grin. “Well, perhaps for choosing us, for choosing me despite all my fuck-ups. For existing. For being the beautiful, wonderful, kind, precious you. I could keep on going, my darling. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” 

You wrinkled your nose, eyes rolling from fondness. “I love you too, quite unfortunately.” 

He only laughed and pulled you closer to him. “Let’s go home.” 

–

“I love you.” 

In the house built by new memories, warded by stronger protection charms, and filled with warmth and love—James said this to you each morning before he left for the Ministry, promoted after the war as Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Not one foot out of the door until he had showered you in kisses and the symphonies of his heart. James had always been loud, even in his time at Hogwarts. The war had not taken this part of him, and you figured James was too loud to let it be taken from him. He was unapologetically and unabashedly him. 

And you had loved him fiercely for that. 

“I’ll be home early tonight,” he said, a quiet intimacy washing over the both of you. The early birds of the cottage. “Wait for me?”

“Of course,” you answered without an ounce of hesitation, delicately chasing after his lips. “I love you. Be safe.” 

-

“I love you.” 

“Are you saying that to me or are you reading from the book?” you teased from where you laid on Remus’s chest, hours after James left for work, the afternoon bringing you two together in the living room. Lily was in the gardens, and Sirius was in the shed working on his motorbike. It was perfect. You felt the rise and fall of Remus’s chest beneath you, his heartbeat close to your ear. He was perfect. It was a miracle you had not fallen asleep to the tender lull of his voice. 

“Both,” he responded, hand coming up to trace the bare of your skin—a miracle you did not crumble or burn instantly from his touch. 

You hummed. “Then, I love you, too.�� Then, you grinned, lifting your head to stare up at him. “You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you.” 

And, oh, how photographs could not capture the beauty in Remus’s smile as his eyes regarded you with such fire.

“My heart, my light, my desire,” Remus began, one finger ever-so softly tracing the curve of your cheek. “In vain I have struggled, it will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” 

–

“I love you.” 

Said Lily as she lied in your shared bed, red-nosed and her cheeks pale, sluggish. The Christmas holiday was generous enough to gift her with an unfortunate cold that had been going around the wizarding world. “But, please, go,” she commanded weakly, gesturing for you to join Harry who was stood by the door. “It’s a lovely day outside for making snowmen with carrots as noses and snow angels. Not for taking care of poor old me.” 

You rolled your eyes as you sat by her side, swiftly pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And I love you, which is why I would rather much be here, taking care of the prettiest snow angel to ever exist,” you countered, bringing a spoonful of broth to her lips. “Besides, Harry here has something to tell you. He’s made friends at school. One of them is Molly’s little one.” 

“Oh, you did?” Lily cooed, before sniffling weakly. “That’s lovely, darling. Tell me all about them.” 

“That’s not all, Lily mine,” you began mischievously as Harry’s eyes narrowed at you through his glasses. “This friendship apparently formed after fighting a troll.” 

“You what?” Lily croaked, emerald eyes shimmering with concern and near-dread. 

“Did you really, Harry?” James popped his head in the doorway, clapping his son on the shoulder before ushering him inside the room. A spitting image side-by-side as they took the empty space by the foot of the bed. “Good boy. Father approves.” 

“Of course you would,” Lily shot at him weakly, melting when Sirius then entered the room and greeted her with a kiss to her cheek. “And where are you all coming from?”

“Outside,” announced Remus, tugging his tie from his neck. “Sirius and I took a quick trip to Diagon Alley to get some things that’ll make you feel better, Lily love.” 

And as the snow fell outside, lazy winds against the window, your little family gathered in one room, there was one thing you knew for certain.

You loved them. 

And they loved you. 

a/n: i wrote all 4k words while sick. crazy. but anyway, i wanted to believe in love again so here i am. thank you all so much for being patient with me. i promise to do even better in the next fics!

[7brownsuga7]

Jungkook groom x reader bride

Summary: Groom Jungkook fucks you (the bride) before your wedding, even though you persist that it’s bad luck, his desires get the best of him. And you, well you can’t help but to fold.

Warnings: smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, creampie, yadiyada basically the basics Lfmao.

Note: this has been sitting in my drafts for so long? Like wtf. Anyways what way to start the year with a Jungkook fic? Back in my Jungkook era even though I never left. Thank you for reading and enjoy <3 mimi

It was a known fact that the groom shouldn’t see the bride before the wedding. Traditional, superstition, or whatever you called it. You had reminded Jungkook of it many times in the weeks leading up to your big day.

But the thought of not being able to see you and touch you didn’t sit right with Jungkook.

You had teased him; telling him he could survive a few hours. A light kiss against his lips as he pouted like a child.

But now, as you stood in your bridal suite, slipping on the final touches to your wedding look, a soft knock interrupted your thoughts. You glanced at the door in confusion, eyebrows furrowed. No one was supposed to be here.

Before you could even ask who it was, the door creaked open revealing Jungkook in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, his hair falling slightly into his eyes.

“Jungkook”! You hissed at him, hurrying towards the door in an attempt to stop him coming in any further. “You’re not supposed to be here!” You sulk as he beat you to it, fully stepping foot into the room.

His eyes roam over you, taking you in. So dark and intense, his lips curving into a slow, sinful smirk. “I don’t care”.

Your heart jumps at his tone, pussy clenching at the low and roughness that’s laced within it.

“Seriously?” You try again, your voice a bit weaker now, “this is bad luck. I already tol-“

He closes the distance between you in two strides. Hands gripping your waist as he backs you up against the vanity. A surprised shaky breath escapes your lips.

“The only bad luck,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips slightly brushing against the sensitive skin causing a shiver to run down your spine, “would be me not being able to touch you right now”.

He hungrily kisses your lips before you can protest. You try to push him off of you, trying to remind him of the rules but his hands continued to firmly grip your waist pulling you against him.

You had no choice but to crumble.

“Jungkook” you breathe, your hands tangling in his hair as his mouth moves back to your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses that make your knees buckle.

“You have no idea,” he mutters against your skin, his voice thick with desire, “how hard it’s been not to touch you. To know you’re so close and not be able to have you.”

You moan out as he lifts you into the vanity, his lips instantly finding yours again. His fingers work quickly, tugging at the delicate buttons of your dress, his movements almost frantic.

“Be careful,” you gasp in between kisses, “this dress cost a fortune”.

He slightly chuckles as his eyes cast over you for a moment. “I’ll buy you a hundred more.” He sends kisses to your jaw, before he continues down to your collarbone, trailing down to the swell of your breasts that are barely covered by your lacy bra. “But right now, I need you.”

His hands separate your thighs, dark eyes drinking in the sight of you. “You’re perfect” he murmurs, eyes softening for a moment before his lips find yours again.

It didn’t take long for him to have you bare before him. Nipples exposed to the cool air as he fondles with them. His tuxedo jacket and shirt discarded aimlessly on the floor, allowing you to caress his bare shoulders as he continues to pleasure you. The urgency between you was electric, every touch and kiss igniting a fire that threatened to consume the both of you.

When he had had enough of his cock twitching at the thought of being inside you, the aching throb of what’s to come, he eagerly inserted his cock into the warmth of your pussy. A deep moan escaped his lips, his hands pulling you closer to him as buries himself deeper.

“Fuck” he groans, his forehead resting against yours as he began to move his hips. His thrusts low and deep, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Jungkook” you whimper, nails digging into his bare back as his pace quickens, his control slipping away with every thrust. His hand wraps around your neck, thumb caressing the sensitive skin.

“You feel so good baby” his voice rasps. You clench around him as he hungrily kisses you again.

Hand still wrapped around your neck, you tilt your head up and bite your lip as he continues, “so perfect, so mine.”

He forces you to look at him, and just from the way his dark eyes lowly and dangerously admire you, you can feel your orgasm quickly approach.

“Fuck, y/n”

The sound of your name falling from his lips to the way his body moved with yours - it was overwhelmingly intoxicating. Utterly addicting.

“Ugh k-kook” you moan between breaths, feeling the tension build up. His moves become more erratic as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me” he demands in a whisper, his hand sliding between your bodies to rub on your clit.

It doesn’t take long for your body to tremble under him and your breathing to form into gasps. He wasn’t far behind either. And when he came he released himself into you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

For a moment, the only sound that could be heard was the soft hum of your breathing as he held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

“Still think it’s bad luck?” A teasing smile playing on his lips as he looks down at you.

You laugh, your fingers brushing against his hair, removing the fallen strands out of his face before your fingers find his jaw in a gentle caress. “We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?”

He kisses you again, slow and tender this time, as if to remind you that, luck or no luck, you were his - and nothing was going to change that.