#this took everything out of me but it was worth it

[hoffmansgirl]

MILLION DOLLAR MAN. ━ father charlie mayhew ⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 ✿ ⋆˚⊹

∙ a/n. took ages but it's based on this thought of mine & a lana del rey song (loosely) ♡ this shit is really kinky & not for everyone, PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! i'm sorry...

∙ warnings. PURE FILTH. i mean it. corpses, death, all that grotesquerie stuff... slight masochism!? charlie and reader are equally mentally ill... really. blood kink, blasphemy, charlie refers to himself as "god", praise, oral (f&m receiving), multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, knife play, whipping, crying, blood once again. ∙ wc. 3534

❝ 𝕿hat's... beautiful", you smiled, staring at Charlie's work; twelve corpses ━ homeless people, to be exact ━ positioned to resemble The Last Supper.

You couldn't help but smirk at the sight; the man Charlie put in the middle was positioned in a way that represented Jesus. You knew him; he had asked you for money many times, claiming he was hungry ━ you had suspected he spent every penny on meth, though.

You believed Charlie wholeheartedly when he claimed that all he did was for greater good. You weren't scared nor worried ━ if anything, you admired him and his dedication to everything he believed in. You watched him stand in the middle of the abandoned Church, admiring his own work; the image making your heart beat faster. He was covered in blood of his victims, and you should feel ashamed for the heat pooling low in your stomach ━ but you didn't.

Your careful steps echoed in the air as you walked over to Charlie, and he was quick to wrap his arms around you, his chest pressing against your back, covering your little dress with blood in the process.

A rush of adrenaline filled your chest as you hummed, Charlie's touch gentle and soft ━ as you looked at the blasphemous image in front of you, you wondered how'd he get that way. He never talked about his past; saying that all he needed was now, in front of him, clear as day.

"Look at our masterpiece, Angel", his low voice cut through the air like a knife ━ and in the moment you realised that maybe he was worth cutting yourself for.

"Our? I barely did anything", you chuckled, his presence behind you comforting; he was so big, muscular, making you feel safe; how ironic, you thought, looking at the image in front of you.

Charlie's crimson hand lingered on your neck, before he grabbed your chin, making you turn your head towards him.

"You're here, with me", he whispered, his words meaningful, familiar spark in his eyes; the very one that made you fall in love with him. Charlie's thumb rubbed against your lower lip, smearing the blood all over it, adoration overcoming his features as he looked at you. "And it's enough".

You turned to face him fully, taking his thumb into your mouth slowly; Charlie's eyes darkened and he swallowed hard, pressing it down on your tongue. You swirled your tongue around his digit, lapping at the blood, the taste making your head spin. You held onto his forearm, and he pulled you closer, grabbing a fistful of your hair, his sick need matching your own.

Before you knew it, you were pressed flush against the wall with Charlie's lips on yours ━ tongues meeting in a chaotic dance, rolling over each other messily.

"I'd follow you anywhere", you breathed out when he moved down to nib at your neck. He let out a low groan, the sound vibrating against your throat in the most delicious way. "Anywhere".

"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?", you chanted, your knees cushioned by the padded kneeler. Charlie hummed softly; your words filled the air like the most beautiful song.

A mix of incense and Charlie's strong cologne reached your nostrils, somewhat comforting and calming as you felt his presence behind you.

"Beautiful", he muttered, almost as if he was speaking to himself. Your heart fluttered at the praise as you shifted, the sheer dress you wore rising up your thighs with the movement. "Go on".

"The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?", your eyes opened, lashes fluttering at the sight of Charlie; he towered over your kneeling form, looking down at you with a hint of awe and adoration in his features. You eyed his chest, covered only by a see-through, white gown ━ he looked like an angel, which, in your eyes, he was.

"And who is your Lord?", Charlie's hand was now in your hair, forcing you to meet his hard, demanding gaze. You meant it when you answered: "You. It's you, Charlie. You're the only God I want to worship".

He expected these words to leave your mouth, but he could never tire of hearing them. You spoke with such confidence, not a trace of regret or fear in your voice, and his his cock twitched at the sight; you were so obedient, so good to him.

Charlie offered you a hand, which you gladly accepted, getting up from the kneeler. Your legs shook slightly as he pulled you close, one of his hands on your face, the other grabbing your hip. His thumb brushed against your cheek, the gesture gentle and loving, his eyes scanning over your face.

"You've been so good for me", he whispered, and you leaned into his touch, pressing your body even closer to his; it simply was never enough. "I love you".

His lips pressed against yours, deliberately and slowly, as if you had all the time in the world. His smell lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Charlie bit your bottom lip, drawing blood in process, lapping at the crimson liquid greedily, careful not to miss a drop. You whined, and Charlie was quick to lift you up in his arms, walking over to the altar.

You tried to deepen the kiss, but Charlie had other plans, dropping you on a wooden chair; the very one he sat in during masses and preaches.

"Greed is a sin", he whispered in a serious tone, brushing his lips against yours for the last time, before he fell to his knees before you. "Patience, my Angel".

You watched with wide eyes and heaving chest as Charlie spread your legs as wide as he could, lifting your dress ━ he gazed up at you, caressing the soft skin of your thighs with his big hands. You shivered when he tugged at the waistband of your lacy thong, and your hips rose up immediately, allowing him to pull it down your legs.

The cold air hitting your ━ now exposed ━ pussy made you gasp, as you clutched the edges of the chair tightly. Charlie chuckled darkly, watching the way your little hole clenched in anticipation.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs, pressing soft kisses around your pussy, giving you a sneak peek of what was about to come.

"You're mine to worship", he bit back a moan at the taste of your soft skin, and he didn't even get to the best part yet. "Mine to love", he met your gaze, and you nodded mindlessly, getting lost in his dark irises. "Mine to fuck".

As soon as the words left his mouth, he licked a deliberate stripe from your opening to your clit. Your head fell back, the rush of sitting on the specific chair while having his mouth on you made you feel so powerful. Charlie's tongue moved with purpose, circling around your clit slowly, before sucking it into his mouth. Your breaths came out in shallow gasps, the occasional groans leaving his mouth vibrating against your core, causing you to shake in his grasp.

"Charlie, fuck", you moaned, tugging at his hair, knowing how much he liked it. His eyes fluttered shut as he teased your entrance with the very tip of his tongue, lapping at the arousal that continued to drip out of you. "God, I'm━ I'm sorry, I'm gonna cum", you cried out; the endless flicks of his tongue, the groans leaving his mouth, the sight of his beautiful face between your legs ━ it became too much, fire pooled in your lower abdomen, ready to explode any second now.

Your loud cry echoed across the empty church as you came, and Charlie's eyes snapped open to watch as your face twisted in pleasure, a mixture of curses and shallow gasps leaving your mouth, and he swore he could cum from the sight alone.

He lapped at your pussy, eager to taste every single drop you had to offer. You twitched in overstimulation, slowly coming down from your high, sighing in relief when Charlie moved to kiss your inner thighs lovingly.

Not even five minutes later, you were already in Charlie's room, bloody clothes laying all over the floor; the memory of your latest crime, how you stood by his side the whole time ━ it made Charlie even needier.

You run your hands over his biceps at which desperate groan left his mouth ━ then he was quick to take the butt-less leather chaps and gown off his body before pushing you onto the bed.

Sick smile appeared on Charlie's mouth as he grabbed the metal-covered whip, along with a knife from his drawer; a rush of adrenaline run down your spine at the sight.

You took a second to admire his well-trained body as his back faced you, his muscles clenching as he moved around the room to get everything he needed. You were already breathless, and when he started moving towards you, his gaze predatory and dangerous, you were shaking. Not an ounce of fear in your body as he placed the items on the bedside table, his cock bobbing in the air as he walked; your mouth watered at the sight and his size that never failed to amaze you.

"Get on the floor". The harshness of his voice was enough for you to obey, sinking down on your knees right in front of him. "Worship your man. Let's see if you can handle me", he teased, knowing that in fact, you could, even if you struggled and choked. He challenged you, but you just smiled, knowing that the tables would turn soon enough.

"You know I can, Father", his cock twitched at the nickname ━ before he could respond, you were already grabbing his thighs, face to face with his giant cock, pressing a soft kiss on the tip. He hummed, satisfied, running a hand through your hair, tugging at it, forcing you to open your mouth a little wider. You smirked up at him before obeying, taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue and pressing it against the underside. You hollowed your cheeks, beginning to bob your head, taking more and more of him in the process, getting used to his size slowly but surely.

"Fuck, you have the dirtiest little mouth", Charlie groaned, watching you, beginning to thrust into your mouth as he grew needier. You struggled as he hit the back of your throat, your eyes falling open to look at him. His head fell back, chest heaving with uneven breaths, and you pulled away, a string of saliva connecting you to him, still. You quickly replaced your mouth with your hands, wrapping them around his shaft, jerking him off. Your tongue darted out to lap at his balls, massive and full of cum, and a satisfied moan left your mouth; you loved pleasuring him almost as much as he loved seeing you on your knees for him.

Shameless groan left Charlie's mouth, your small hands around him and your mouth on his balls driving him crazy. "I need to feel you. Now".

Your eyes fell open and you moved to take him in your mouth again, causing Charlie to hiss, taking a mental note to punish you for disobeying him later. Yet he couldn't pull away, not now ━ not when your mouth felt so good, so warm and welcoming. He thrusted his hips lazily, and you stopped your movements, letting him take the lead.

"You fucking love it, don't you? You love choking on my dick. You love letting me use your mouth however I please", he panted, feeling himself getting close, the obscene sounds leaving your mouth only spurring him on further. You tried to nod, which was nearly impossible with the speed in which he was fucking your throat.

"I'm gonna cum. Fuck, swallow it, swallow it all", he hissed, head falling back; your nails digged into his thighs, soft moan leaving your occupied mouth, and that seemed to be his last straw.

His cock twitched, and spurts of his hot cum finally painted your tongue and the back of your throat.

He pulled off your mouth with a swift movement, and you swallowed every single drop, the taste making you whimper, as you tried to catch your breath.

"Good fucking girl. Show me", he grabbed your chin, pressing his thumb against your lower lip; you obeyed, chest heaving with uneven breaths and throat sore, as you sticked your tongue out. His eyes darkened, a satisfied hum leaving his mouth, before he forced you to stand up, only to practically throw you on the bed like a doll.

Charlie grabbed the knife from a nightstand; your eyes widened and your legs closed, a spark of excitement running down your spine.

Charlie spread your legs, kneeling in between them; knife forgotten for just a second as he tugged at your dress, determined to get it off your body. It was thrown on the floor in an instant, and he was already lining himself up with your entrance.

You moaned in unison when his tip stretched you out ━ smug smile adorning his face at the visible impatience building within you.

"You're so tight", he rasped, pressing your thigh against the mattress. You cried out when he buried himself inside of you fully in one, swift movement. Your walls struggled to adjust to his size, and you tried to catch your breath. "So warm. My God. You really are an Angel, aren't you?", Charlie muttered, grabbing the knife while beginning to thrust into you ━ and your pussy clenched at the sight.

Then he pressed the flat side of the knife against your skin; the coldness on your burning skin made you gasp. The feeling of Charlie's thick cock fucking into you over and over again, combined with the thrill of being completely at his mercy making you gush.

"You have no idea how badly I want to cut my name into your skin", he groaned, pressing the blade into your skin lightly. You gripped at the sheets and your head fell back. The sound of your skin slamming together filled the room, along with your cries, and Charlie's loud breathing.

"Do it", you begged, and Charlie's hand wrapped around your throat, cutting your airflow in an instant.

You should be scared; he was the one having all the control, and, most importantly, he held the knife against your skin. Yet, in your sick mind, there was no room for fear ━ not when he slammed into you as if his life depended on it, mumbling incoherent praises right above you.

The truth was, you had all the power over him; he sacrificed everything for you, only for you.

So when the blade pressed into the skin on your chest, cutting through it, some blood flowing out of the wound ━ all you did was moan, feeling your orgasm taking over you slowly ━ and Charlie's hand left your throat, letting you take a deep breath.

"I'm going to cum", you cried out, the sharp sting of where he cut a big C into your skin leaving you whimpering.

Your blood covered his chest and stomach as he leaned down to press his forehead against yours, running the flat side of his knife over your cheek. The pain combined with pleasure of his restless thrusts sent you spiralling, and your back arched into the air as you soaked his cock.

"Good fucking girl. Come on, give me everything you got", he talked you through the waves of pleasure, sick smile on his face as he watched you cry from overstimulation. You took a second to calm down, enjoying the way he was balls deep inside you, pressing wet kisses down your neck. His hips grinded against yours involuntarily when he reached the bloody C carved out on your chest; he greedily licked at the wound, groaning at the taste.

You whimpered, letting him clean you of your own blood, before you gained enough strength to push him back against the bed, sinking down on his cock.

Charlie's eyes widened ━ he was partially surprised at your sudden dominance; he wouldn't let you do it often; but this time, it just felt right.

You lifted yourself enough to reach the whip from the nightstand. Charlie understood; he understood immediately, sitting up, as you sink down on his thick cock yet again. Some more blood flowed down your body, and he was unable to look away, his eyes almost pleading.

"How many?", you asked casually, although your voice was strangled, your cunt spasming around him in anticipation.

But there was no answer from him. So, smiling wildly, you swinged and whipped his back; the metal cutting through his skin.

Charlie cried out, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips. The pain left him trembling, and you were quick to press a soft kiss against his lips. Charlie responded immediately, whimpering into your mouth, his hips snapping upward to meet yours.

"I asked you a question", you whispered, tugging on his hair.

"I... Five. Angel━ J-Just move", he pleaded, and you smiled sweetly; the contrast between the delicious roll of your hips and the whip cutting through his skin yet again made him lightheaded, and he only imagined how much blood flowed from the wounds.

"You're doing so good for me", you praised, beginning to ride him in an inhuman speed, switching between grinding your hips down and bouncing on his big cock. The stretch made you moan, and Charlie was unable to speak, feeling as if he could cum any second now.

Third whip and he was begging you to stop, yet you knew that's not what he wanted. His eyes pleading and wide, and before he knew it, he was cumming inside of you, biting on your shoulder, a desperate cry leaving his mouth.

"Good boy", and you bounced faster, trying to distract him from the pain as you lashed him for the fourth time. "Doin' so good for me. You need to take this. It's your penance". And he was nodding, knowing you were right ━ and he was ready to take any kind of punishment if it meant he could be with you.

After the fifth and last whip, Charlie fell back on the bed, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. He was paralysed ━ more from the pleasure and overstimulation than pain. You let the whip fall on the floor, giving him a minute to breathe.

But Charlie was needy ━ no, he was desperate to feel you trembling under him. A squeal left your mouth when he lifted you off him, pressing your upper half flush against the bed. You arched your back, dizzy from pleasure and need ━ your hips grinding into the air in search of his cock again.

Charlie plunged into you again with one, swift movement, feeling as if he could cum again just at the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him deliciously.

You were a whimpering mess when he started thrusting into you in an inhuman speed ━ and you were almost convinced that you could feel his cock in your throat from how deep he was.

"Say my name", he demanded, tugging on your hair, yanking your head back to rest against his chest. The change of angle caused you to gasp, and you did exactly what he asked: screamed his name, the sound echoing through the room and corridor. "You're taking me so good", he stilled for a moment, letting you buck back into him, enjoying the way your ass bounced with every movement.

Charlie, unable to control himself, spanked your ass, obsessed with the way your skin got red, the crimson handprints contrasting with your pale skin.

He let you fuck yourself on his cock, a creamy ring appearing at the base ━ his cum leaking out of your used hole with every sway of your hips. You clenched, holding onto his thighs for balance, and Charlie let go of your hair only to tilt your head towards him.

Your clouded eyes met his, and Charlie smiled lovingly, pressing his lips against yours ━ sweetly and gently.

"Cum for me, Angel", he whispered as you grinded your hips down, almost passing out from the intense pleasure. Your skin felt hot, legs ready to give out any second now.

Charlie sensed it immediately, and he helped you by thrusting up into you, meeting you halfway, a satisfied moan leaving both of you.

It wasn't long until he came inside of you, filling you to the brim for the second time. His orgasm triggered your own. Charlie caressed your sides until you stopped shaking, whispering soft praises into your ear.

A few minutes later you were cleaning Charlie's back, muttering occasional "sorry" when he hissed in pain.

"I'm taking you on a trip tomorrow", he said softly, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your delicate hands taking care of his back. You nodded, not pressing any further.

As long as you were with him, nothing else mattered.

hoffmansgirl © 2024

ꗃ ⋆ ࣪ . nicholas chavez masterlist 𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ | request here ♡

[no-144444]

'then we can'- o.piastri

summary: breaking up sucks.

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! reader

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Waking up alone sucked, he’d learnt that in recent months. 

You were gone. He’d fucked it up.

He dialled his mom’s number as the sun set over London.

“Osc?” she yawned. “It’s 2am, are you alright?”

“Mum, I fucked it up,” he cried, his eyes clouding as his voice broke. “I don’t know what to do.”

She sighed. She’d heard from Hattie that you and Oscar had broken up, and while she was heartbroken that she’d lost the girl she thought would become her daughter-in-law, she understood the reasons by which you two broke up. Neither of you had any time anymore. You were a Prima Ballerina and the Royal Ballet in London. He was a Formula One driver all the way in Monaco. He couldn’t make time for you in his schedule, and neither could you, yet you always seemed to, which led to him feeling increasingly guilty every time you begged him to come to London to see you, and he had to refuse. So he broke up with you. The girl he’d loved since he was 7 years old back in Melbourne. The girl who came to every single one of his remote control car races, the girl who smiled the brightest when she knew he was in the audience for one of her rehearsals, the girl who loved him more than he’d ever thought possible, the girl who he’d loved more than he’d ever known he could. 

And it was his fault it was over. He’d sent the text, he’d dodged the calls, he’d blocked you, he’d pleaded with his family to block your contacts, going as far as to steal their phones to do it himself. It was all him. 

“Baby,” she sighed, getting out of bed and walking to the kitchen, making herself a tea. She knew it was going to be a long conversation. “What happened?”

“I saw her,” he whispered into the phone, tears streaming down his face as he somehow stopped himself from breaking down completely. “I’m in London. I saw her dance.” 

“Okay,” she nodded. “How was it?”

“It was beautiful,” he wiped his eyes. “She was beautiful.”

“I’m glad you got to see her,” she smiled sadly. “I know this is hard, Osc, but you have to let her go. That’s what you wanted.”

He closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face. “I don’t think it’s what I want anymore.”

Nicole took a deep breath. “Oscar, you can’t play with her like that. It’s been 3 months. If it’s been hard for you, imagine how she felt. The love of her life broke up with her.”

He nodded. “I know,” he spoke, his voice breaking. “I know. I just… I don’t know if any of this is worth it if I can’t have her.” 

“I don’t know if you can have her anymore,” she said, her voice comforting but stern. He had to understand that he did this to himself. He had to understand that he had to make amends here. “She’s going through the same thing, Osc, I know it’s hard. Heartbreak is awful. It makes you feel insane. You feel like you’re drowning, and she’s the only person that can save you, I understand.”

“I just want to talk to her again,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I just… I want to apologise and I want her to take me back.”

He cried for a few moments, his mom comforting him as he felt his entire world fall around him, and he could only think of you. He was drowning, and you were the only person who would save him, but he sent you away. 

“I just, I feel so alone, all the fucking time! I feel so empty all the time, because I know I don’t have her anymore. And Hattie and Eddie, and Mae, they all fucking hate me! They all hate me, and I get why! I’m not sure I don’t hate myself!” he sobbed. For the next hour, he cried to his mom about everything, how guilty he felt, how much love he had for you, how much he missed you, how incredible you were. Everything. When he finally called down, Nicole spoke again.   

“I’m going to come to the next race, alright?”

“Thanks mum,” he sniffled. 

“And the girls don’t hate you,” she told him. “They adore you because you’re their older brother. They’re here for you Oscar. We all are.” 

He nodded. “Thanks mum.”

“I love you, go get some sleep, yeah?” she smiled. 

“Yeah.” 

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His mom was in the paddock for Las Vegas, battling with her own jet lag, her 3 daughters, and a son who was not doing well. But, she had a trick up her sleeve. She had also brought Logan and Arthur, who would hopefully calm Oscar down, or at least let him forget about you for a while. 

“Mate, what’s up?” Lando asked, staring at his satiated teammate. “You look dead.”

“Nothing,” he brushed him off. “Just tired. Ready for the season to be over.” 

He nodded. “You sure? You seem… off.”

“I’m fine.” 

“Alright man, well, if you want to you can talk to me,” he offered him a soft smile before getting up, not expecting an answer. 

Oscar smiled softly as he watched his mom and sisters pile into the meeting room, bright smiles on their faces. Quickly, the room was a flurry of hugs and ‘hi’s’, then turned into a nice family conversation. 

“How’s Y/n?” he couldn’t help but ask during a quiet part of their conversation. The air changed, grew thicker. 

“She’s alright,” Hattie smiled. “Dancing.”

“Oscar went to see her,” Nicole informed her daughters and watched as they went wide-eyed and nodded, understanding the weight of their brother's heartbreak. “He said she was beautiful.”

“Did you talk to her?” Mae asked, he shook his head. 

“I just went to see the show.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Eddie added. “It’s only been what, 3 months?”

“4,” he corrected. “And 12 days.”

Damn, it was bad.  

“You should try to let her go,” Eddie sighed. “She’s happy in London, she’s happy being a dancer. She’s happy. Is that not enough?” 

He squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s really helpful,” he said, just above a whisper. 

“We’ll leave you to get ready for the race,” Nicole sighed, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “Be careful out there.” 

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The girls left the room and their faces dropped from the fake comforting smiles they had plastered on. 

“What the fuck is he going to do?” Hattie asked. 

“Look, I know it’s hard for him right now, be he’ll work through it-”

“No mum, Y/n’s here.”

“Shit.”

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He went through his steps before a race, stretching, reaction exercises, and listening to the voicenote you’d left him 4 months and 4 days ago. 

“Hey love, I just wanted to wish you good luck today. I can’t wait to see you in a few weeks, and I’ll be cheering you on with everyone here. I know you’re going to do well today, I can just feel it. I love you Osc, please be safe.”

Sometimes he wondered if he got hurt, you would call him. He wasn’t sure, and he was risking himself more than he already did, being an F1 driver, so he hoped he’d never find out. 

“Come on Oscar, let’s get to the grid!” Tom called after him as Oscar caught up. 

Two words, Las Vegas. Cold, dark, and unforgiving. The land of bad decisions. He was on the front row, finally qualifying in p5, but with his fifteen-place grid penalty, he knew the race was going to be gruesome. But all he had to do was drive. He was good at that, great at that. He liked being in the car nowadays, it was the only time he didn’t think about you. 

He bumped into someone on his way to the grid and, as usual, apologised without really thinking about it. He looked up for a split second and he saw you. Stunning, kind, real, you. In the flesh. He stopped in his tracks, ignoring the way his team shouted for him, and he set off running after you. People whipped by as he knocked into person after person, desperately trying to grab ahold of your sleeve, or call your name loud enough to catch your attention, but he could barely speak. Somehow someone always got in the way between you two, and he was always just a little bit too far back to tap you, so he sufficed for being dragged back to the grid and being held in his car until the lights went out. He just had to drive and get to the finish line first, he had to see you before you left. Easy when he was starting from p20. A fifteen-place grid penalty for new components to his car. He just had to race. 

The lights went out and what came after was 50 of a Piastri over-taking masterclass. Up to p13 in one corner, pitstop and fighting his way all the way up into p1. Oscar Piastri was a 3-time Gran Prix winner. He’d won Hungary, Baku, and Las Vegas. The King of Sin-City for a night, and yet all we wanted was to figure out where you were. He asked every driver, wondering if you were visiting a garage as a guest- no. He wandered into every motorhome, asking if you were a guest- no. He checked every single fan zone (even checking a few grandstands that also had paddock passes), nothing. With no luck, exhaustion, and the beginnings of convincing himself he was seeing things, he retired back to his driver’s room, his back aching, his head hurting, and his mind racing. Inside Nicole sat on the bed. 

“Hey mum,” he smiled tiredly. 

“Hey darling,” she smiled, taking his hand as he sat down. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m tired,” he admitted, yawning as he lay his head in his mother’s lap. There was a knock at the door and Oscar was much too tired to open his eyes, getting up and opening it was out of the question. 

“Come in,” Nicole called out. Then she gasped, and while it made Oscar’s heart rate go up, he didn’t open his eyes. 

“Y’alright?” he asked. 

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” she got up as Oscar shot up, coming face to face with you.

You looked so beautiful he wanted to cry. 

“Hi,” you smiled. 

“Hi,” he answered.

“You can lie back down if you want, I know you must be tired,” you urged him to sit down and he followed your instructions. “I just came in to say congratulations.” 

“Thank you,” he smiled awkwardly. “I came to see the show,” he admitted. You nodded, looking slightly shocked. 

“I-I had no idea,” you chuckled, speaking truthfully. “I didn’t think you’d ever come see me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, nodding. “You were incredible,” he pushed through the emotion piling in his throat. Was that really the bar that he’d set for the love of his life? You’d come to countless races, missed opportunities to see him, yet he couldn’t even make a small amount of time for you to come and see a 90 minute show of which you were the lead of? Was he really that pathetic?

“Thank you,” you said, sitting beside him. “You were incredible today.”

“Thank you.” 

“Your mum called me,” you explained. “She said you weren’t doing very well.” 

He took a deep breath. “She’s right.” 

“Me neither,” you admitted. “I mean, I act like I’m fine but the second I see something that reminds me of you I just…” 

“I’m so sorry,” he teared up. “I love you so much.” 

You looked at him, putting a hand on his cheek. “I love you too.”

“Can we give it another try?” he pleaded. 

“Can you promise me that I’ll feel like a priority?” 

He nodded, trying not to break down. 

“Then we can.”

3 words. 3 words of mercy. 3 words he loved more than hearing ‘I love you’ from your perfect lips.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[citrinae]

forgive me, for i love being bad for you.

sanji x reader (ft. platonic!zoro)

summary; everyone agrees that you and roronoa zoro are like two peas in a pod: cool, unbothered, hitting pubs on the regular. everyone, except your boyfriend sanji—who’d try anything to distract you from your visibly chaotic lifestyle. even visiting a potion shop. or: sanji needs to get out of his head in four acts. 

contents; angsty vibes, lowkey love triangle, miscommunication™, abandonment issues, drinking, sex pollen, a little dubcon tbh, piv, oral sex (both receiving), facesitting, multiple orgasms, creampie, college/modern!AU, witch!sanji, jealous!sanji, afab!reader, wc: 7.3k (wheezes), mdni. spooky carnival is still in town, go catch it if you’re in for a bad time.

masterlist.

i. 

Zoro sets his glass back on the table with a forceful clink. There’s liquor rolling to the corner of his lips. 

“I still don’t get it,” annoyance hangs from his voice as he speaks. “How the fuck you put up with him?”

Your reflection looks back at you from the amber in your glass. 

“He’s sweet and he cooks for me,” you mean it. Despite Zoro’s lack of trust in your newfound romance, slightly taking to repulse, Sanji has been nothing but a dream to you. Resting his cheek on yours as you were watching some movie you borrowed for the night, swinging hands as he took you grocery shopping. Everything about him buzzes with the type of comfortable affection one meets in magazines, or in Christmas commercials, and you’re sure to fall harder for him by the day. “Have you taken the time to cook for someone you dated?”

“Yeah?” Zoro washes the accusation away with another sip. “You into cooks?”

“Apparently.”

“‘s he a good cook?”

A smile, prideful. “Nothing but a wizard in the kitchen.”

“Christ, you’re even starting to sound like him,” he teases further. “Putting random words together and expecting to make sense.”

“He’s a good cook, Zoro,” you tell him again. 

There’s a pause. 

“No kidding.”

At a loss of what to say, you clumsily try to fill the silence.

“Yeah.” 

“As long as you like him or whatever,” defeated, waving his hand. “Just keep him outta my sight, will you?”

“Deal,” you say, downing your drink as you do. Bitterness lingers on the roof of your mouth, throat burned and numbed out. Suddenly your mind wanders somewhere else. “Care for another round?”

Zoro’s smirk is sly, devilish. “Now that’s more like my language.”

So you get yourselves a second refill that turns into a third, and a forth, until there’s no more use to bother about keeping count. Your surroundings seem to start whirling for a second. You close your eyes, then open them. And everything gets back into place.

On the day you met him, somewhere around campus, basking in the sun like a stray cat on trim lawn, you and Zoro hit off immediately. Scruffy hair, bomber jackets, eyes looking like he’s about to fall asleep any minute, Zoro is the type to never dwell on things for longer they’re worth. Always a guy of instinct, speaking truths others might opt to stay away from. On the other hand you have a knack for chaos he easily complements, so for over a year now he’s been a good and loyal friend to you, your time together something neither of you would regret or give up on.

He’s the one who introduced you to Sanji. Now it’s clearer to you that Sanji had most probably asked him to. Neither of them expected it when you agreed to go out with him, “It’s just a fucking date, chill out. Free meal you know?”; and to your own surprise, your heart skipped a good beat when you saw him that night.

Sanji. Annoying, perverted, absolutely fucking delusional Sanji, lighting up a cigarette in front of his car. Light fell nicely on his rings as he kept a hand around a flower bouquet—the pretentious kind, with a wrapper and ribbon and all. Red button-up, black jeans, coat. Heart-warming smile. 

Everything about the scene felt like something taken from those really sugary rom-coms you and Zoro make fun of when drunk. Yet somehow you admired Sanji for putting in the effort. His hand quivered on the door handle, “You look sensational, my dear.” Adjusting your seat belt, you told him that he didn’t look so bad himself, and by the pink crossing his face as you did, you deduced he might not be used to having flattery thrown his way. 

At dinner he told you he was raised in a small restaurant down east, and that they sold soy wax candles and herbs right next door. Wiping up your mouth with a handkerchief, you tried to come up with a quip around it, “And you stocked healing crystals and runes as well, right?” But then he just propped his hand in a palm, a wide smile blooming on his face that made you unsure whether he was playing along with the narrative or simply felt happy to talk about his past. “Sometimes we did, yeah. But we were more into the culinary side of things.”

When, a couple days later, you told Zoro that you and Sanji had spent the night together, he didn’t hesitate to let you know that he thought it a bad idea. He warned that Sanji was weird—not in the sense that he had a wandering eye or spent a rent-worth on cigarettes. He was simply weird. Fingers drumming on wood, “Caught him mustering some nonsense crap to a jar once. Like he was enchanting it or something.” Soon you were reliving the conversation you had on your first date. “You mean he’s, like, Sabrina the Teenage Witch?” Zoro didn’t catch it. “Who?” he said, and you waved him off. “Nevermind.”

The sneer he wore back then was similar to the one he makes now, seeing the blue light of your phone fill the room with a notification. 

“It’s him,” you say, fingers instinctively hovering to your lock screen. Neither can you help looking at the hour displayed in blinding white: 01:51 A.M. 

Zoro keeps himself from rolling his eyes. “Tell him I’m bringing you to your dorm.”

You text; the reply comes in a beat. 

“He asks if you even know where my dorm is.”

“Of course I—” Zoro clicks his tongue. Then he snatches the phone from your hands and presses ‘record’. “Of course I know where to go you jackass,” he snarls, throat pulsing. 

Taking your phone back, you check the message popping in not long after. “He says he’s coming over.”

“Fine then. Whatever.” It’s low. He sounds irritated. “Let’s pay and we’ll wait for your princess outside.”

And that’s exactly what you do; take care of the bill, grab your jackets and throw yourselves out. Feeling the crisp air on your cheeks, you realise you’re so much drunker than you’ve felt inside. You’re light, feathery, persistently on the verge of being blown out. Concrete flounders around you and you have to put in some additional effort to maintain your balance. Time becomes harder for you to register or something Zoro has just said made you cackle for too long because here is Sanji, your sweet boyfriend Sanji, parking his car not too far away from your forms. You can tell he put on himself the first things he saw in the wardrobe. His hair is slightly disordered, his step heavy as he rushes to your direction. 

“Evening Angel,” Sanji chirps, pulling you into a hug, and you cannot help but dig your nose into the soft fabric of his hoodie, closing your eyes, glad to finally have something to lean your weight onto. His tone drops when he looks at Zoro. “Mosshead.”

Zoro’s hands are sunk into his pockets. “Told you I got everything under control.”

“Pardon me if I didn’t believe you.” Sanji is sardonic. “Looking at the state of this slump, seems like I was right not to.”

“Not my idea to come here, bitch,” Zoro drones. His breath fogs the air as he speaks. “Next time get your head outta your ass and listen to people before running your mouth.”

Some of Sanji’s cologne still hangs from the soft fabric. “This was the only place that allowed us to play cards,” you say against his chest.

“Aha,” he flattens his hand across your back. “At least tell me you played for money and bled this loser dry. Tomorrow will get yourself something pretty with stupid mosshead pocket change.”

“You done talking?” Zoro says through gritted teeth. 

“Yeah,” Sanji’s lips press into a thin line. He’s slowly urging you towards the car. “We’ll be off in a beat.”

“We didn’t play for money,” you tilt your head to look at him, trying to match his steps as you distance yourselves from the pub. 

“What a pity.” Between wry and affectionate. 

You raise a loose fist in the air. “Till the next one, Zoro!”

“See ya daredevil,” Zoro shifts his weight from one leg to another. “Tuck your princess in and give him a sweet goodnight’s kiss, yeah?”

“Fuck you,” Sanji heaves, closes the door behind you. 

On the way to your dorm, he doesn’t ask about how many you had or lecture about being alone—with Zoro—late at night. Why would he? He’s aware this is a part of you, and he’d lie if he said he doesn’t melt watching the glimmer in your eye and your lips curling into a wicked smirk each time you tell him how much fun you had. Though he does worry about you, sometimes, when you willingly throw yourself in all kinds of dangerous shenanigans. Seeing your head slipping down the backrest, silently Sanji casts a spell on your eyelids to make sure you sleep unbothered until tomorrow morning. Tucks some strands of hair behind your ear, yet his eyes are still fixed on the road, and his hands are both rested on the steering wheel. 

Normally, he wouldn’t have been so exhibited with his magic had you been awake. But for now he takes the liberty to carry himself as if he were alone or in the company of the shitty bunch at the Baratie that taught him the craft to begin with. Foliage and plains and cottages move remotely in his wingspan while he continues to think of you. Your smile, your laughter, the nonchalant way you coil your arms around his own to show you around the places that you have so many stories to tell about. To him you are a bundle of new experiences and joy, something pleasant and airy he wishes to emanate himself someday. Always honest, always so easy to approach. Dandelion seeds whirling loosely in the wind. 

But the one thing he cannot seem to take his mind from is that having a bent for partying also means having a bent for Zoro. 

Lazy, shabby, perpetually absent-minded Zoro. 

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. 

Sanji has never really liked the guy, for reasons he doesn’t have the time or energy to list. Tolerance is perhaps too much to describe the compromise he’s willing to take; but he attempts it, for your sake. Because no matter how he tries looking at things Zoro adds something to this life of yours he certainly doesn’t have, or doesn’t know how to make up for. No matter how well you fit in his arms, early in the morning with sleep still heavy on your lashes, throaty voice narrating a dream so bizarre it plucks a laughter from his lips, the nights will always be reserved to someone he wouldn’t even bother to understand. Because he doesn’t want to. 

Window rolls down; he lights up a cigarette. 

Moments pass. His car stops by a pair of victorian-esque gates he doesn’t take long to recognise. He carries you on his back all the way to your dorm room, putting to sleep everyone he stumbles upon as he does; he isn’t supposed to be here, and certainly you aren’t supposed to return this late at night. He’s thankful you chose to sleep in the bottom bed. With this thought in mind he arranges your pillow and places you under the covers, slowly, gently almost like you were made of glass. From his tote bag he picks out a flask and a piece of paper he scribbles on: “for your hangover—sanji <3” 

ii.

The sun bleeds through stained glass in dazzling shades of pink and blue and yellow. Wind chimes, cluttered shelves. Dusted books. The air is thick with the smell of wood and incense. Sanji picks at the fingers that he keeps tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He isn’t allowed to smoke in here, but fuck does he need a drag. Light catches across the variety of bottles and jars lined up in front of him, all displayed in eye-catching colours and labelled in alphabetical order. 

Would I? He tries his best not to pick up the light blue piece lingering a little too at hand not to be a work of fate. Should I? Sanji kisses his teeth; he takes the thing into his palm. 

There’s a piece of paper attached by lace ribbon. Writing is dainty, yet small and hardly intelligible.

Truth shows itself in wicked colours;

betrayal, freedom, promise.

For they who shall drink this wicked brew

take a night in their beloved’s embrace.

Is their bond seen pure and true,

the Garden sees no place for others.

Like the first lovers on Earth— 

runaways from Eden, they shall be.

Sanji takes a deep breath. Flips the flask on all sides, reading and rereading, biting his inner cheek. It’s not like he doesn’t trust you. He does, with all his heart. And yet he cannot help but shamelessly wonder: if Zoro hadn’t introduced you, would you and him have ended up together? Does he stand in the way of something which is meant to be? “I’m pathetic, fuck.”

He tastes blood. 

Talking to you about this is out of the question, since that would mean admitting Zoro is a better match for you. Plus, honesty is one of the things he admires about you. He’s sure you wouldn’t cheat. To bring this up would only lead to conflict and the sort of disappointment he’d rather choke to death than see reflected in your eyes. 

“This shit is ridiculous.”

The flask makes a frail sound as Sanji throws it in the basket. Stomping the floor with his foot, a cold sweat bobbing at his nape, at checkout he’s greeted by a gorgeous woman dressed in a velvet dress and speaking with a faint voice he doesn’t care enough to pay attention to. There’s a black cat sleeping on a shelf behind her. 

“Is this everything you needed?” she asks, carefully placing the goods in a paper pag. 

Sanji drops some cash on the counter and leaves without saying a thing to her. 

iii. 

“What do you think, my dear?” Sanji asks you on the other side of the table. The potion he bought a week ago forms a bump inside the pocket of his dress pants. 

You want to be sure of your answer, so you take another forkful of your food, still steaming hot and methodically arranged on the plate. It’s good. No, it’s tremendously good, better than you imagined it to be. 

“Sanji, this is incredible,” you say, not allowing yourself the time to fully swallow. “And I’m not only saying this because I like complimenting you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” His face brightens, a mix of pride and the unpretentious joy he takes from cooking to other people. However he still looks to be preoccupied by something else you never find the right timing to ask about. 

Embarrassment hitching up your throat, you drag your fork across ceramic. Sanji stays silent for a moment; his plate is barely touched. In hopes to escape the tension, your eyes wander to look at his curtains, his shelves, an enframed picture with a gruff old man and a much younger Sanji cheerily holding out a slice of lemon cheesecake. The apartment is small, but tasteful, with decent flooring and a rent anyone your age can afford. White walls, light blue cushioning. A closed balcony where he grows basil and rosemary. 

You are going to sleep over tonight. It’s not that you've never done this before; have dinner together before deciding on a movie you’ll never get to watch because his hand grips on your thigh a little too tightly and your knee presses itself somewhere too bold to go unnoticed. But something feels different now, you cannot quite tell why. He feels different. With his avoidant eyes and stuttering words and index finger that frequently climbs to scratch an eyebrow. 

“If you wanted to break up with me you could’ve chosen a café, you know?” you hear yourself saying, arms folded. 

“What?” His chair scrapes the floor; he tries not to cringe from the sound.  “No, no.” It's ferm. It's rushed. “Why would you think that?” goes unsaid. 

Fingertips digging into the table, Sanji doesn't know how he ended up on his feet. He takes the opportunity to take the seat next to yours, plate and cutlery clanking along as he does. “No one's breaking up with anyone, sweetheart,” words fight their way through the knot in Sanji's throat. 

Sanji shoves his fork in his food which now looks less parmigiana and more like something a primary school kid would make for their art class assignment. Fuck, adding wasted food to his trainwreck fog of thoughts is the last thing he wants for tonight. After he swallows it down, his tone finally relaxes. 

“I was actually thinking of proposing something, now that we’re soon to move up to dessert. Something I'd like us to try,” he says. 

It registers quickly. “Like in bed?”

“It might sound a little weird, though.” Sanji avoids meeting your eyes. His chest rises and falls in a disjointed rhythm as he tries his best to empty his plate. 

“I like weird,” you say, propping your head on a fist, curiosity pushing your mouth a little higher. 

He cannot help but mimic your smile. “Well I bought us something.”

“You did.”

“Yeah, I did.” Not wasting any more time, he pulls the flask out of his pocket, displays it on the dinner table—clear liquid bottled in cerulean crystal, ribbon unfastened and label removed. Your eyes widen. “I was doing some grocery shopping, and stumbled upon this,” Sanji explains. 

You take it in your hands, blinking, carefully not to damage the contents. “Is this an aphrodisiac?” 

“You can call it that,” he says. “It stimulates the senses, so everything should feel a little more intense than usual. I know I haven’t been necessarily adventurous with you, dear,” looking into his plate, then at you. Inevitably he starts thinking of Zoro. “Thought maybe I can start from somewhere.”

Your hand reaches his. “You don’t have to go out of your way for me. You’re perfect for me, yeah? And I have fun with you. Lots of it, actually.”

“I know—” heat rising in throat, he reaches to loosen his shirt collar. “I mean, you’re perfect for me, too, hell I cherish each and every moment we spend together. Kind of felt intrigued to experience this with you, is all. However it’s definitely ok and understandable if you don’t feel comfortable doing it.”

Inspecting the flask in your hands, you give it a second of thought. You know the kind of shops Sanji frequents: equipped with dust and smoke and mysteries. The between-buildings types you have asked about before, and received a response either too vague or too straightforward to be taken seriously. Even still, trust has never been an obstacle. You trust Sanji; he has trustworthy eyes and a soothing voice that feels like a kiss on one’s eyelids. He’s good to you, always has been, when he cradles your face in his palms and calls you his sun and moon and stars, stardust dripping from his eyes as he assures you’re the best he’s had. 

“Does this have any side effect or some sort?” you look up to search for his gaze, and like pulled by a magnet Sanji returns it. 

“No,” he says. “Wears off in the morning. Like nothing happened.”

If you don’t end up running to Zoro, that is. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach as the thought snipes through his mind. He’s not sure how to feel about lying to you, either. But maybe it’s for the best; if it turns out he isn’t your meant-to-be after all.  

Decisive, “Fuck it. Let’s do it, then.”

Sanji’s smirk fades out the anxiety. “In this case our next course will consist of one more secret ingredient.”

Feet swinging, tapping against the floor. Walls drifting apart and closing in. Moments have passed through you like sequences from a dream, and you fiddle with the sleeves of your sweater as Sanji sets the dessert on the table—two delicate things, like they were long intended to play the highlight of your night, light pink and beautifully decorated with dried rose petals and pomegranate seeds. For a minute you marvel at Sanji’s attention to detail, the love he puts into any dish as he turns them into something special and palatable. 

“Baby,” your laugh is a casual play at fragrancy Sanji takes in with a one-sided smile. “There’s no way I can run my teaspoon into this.”

He takes the seat to your right. “The real deal happens when you taste it, sweetheart,” he says, reaching for a teaspoon of his own, strands of blonde hair brushing one cheek as he does. 

And when you eventually do it, run tableware through moulded cream, you relish the sweetness that melts on the roof of your mouth. Sanji asks if you can tell the other thing apart from the dish. You say no, I don’t, do you? I think it’s the pomegranate, he acts like he’s uncertain even though you’re sure it shouldn’t take more than a few seconds. I only used some as decor. But here it’s rather pungent, not that I’m complaining. Child’s play. Halfway through your tasting, a second question comes. 

Do you feel anything? 

I don’t. 

Do you?

No.

Sanji’s heart clutches in his chest. He’s impatient, laughable even, he knows he is, since spells like this should take longer to surface. Three times he mouthed the chant and the potion gracefully vanished into steam as it poured down the servings, no drops left. By the look of that, Sanji might at least expect something to happen. Either bad or reassuring. 

Yet you stay your familiar comfortable selves even after you’ve eaten the whole thing, carrying on as such when you help him—at least attempting to, he never lets you lift a finger—clean the table and watch him washing the dishes from one of his counters. Sleeves pushed to elbows, fingers sunk into the sponge, hair pushed into concentrated, concentrating eyes. Water rolls off his wrists—drip, drop. He tells you something, but you cannot hear him. It hovers towards the ceiling and in the back of your head, a muffled sound engulfing you not less like the numbing feeling of being underwater. Shamelessly you ask him to repeat. 

Okay, maybe you do start feeling some way. 

Sanji turns off the tap. A crushing silence. 

“I was wondering if you thought of something to watch tonight,” he turns to look at you, and stops. 

He cannot tell if it’s your eyes, suddenly looking bigger, or your collarbones, stretching in and out in anticipation, wet lips looking wetter, slightly parted as you breathe, but he feels helplessly drawn to you, like you’ve been tied up by some invisible rope that keeps rolling up, more and more, thinning the space between your bodies. Air catches in his lungs as he lets himself be torn apart by his awe and not knowing what to do with it. 

Just as indiscreetly you wrap your eyes around his shoulders, his chest, his biceps, looking so much more strained under his shirt. Watching him make a step towards you, it seems like his eyes have gotten brighter, cheeks catching a faint tinge of pink, and you have to fight the impulse to dip a hand under your sweater and see how those long fingers of his would feel on you. 

Your fingertips bite into the front edges of the counter. “Not yet, no,” you say, a little disconnected from yourself. Sanji’s scent is an intoxicating mix of rosemary and sandalwood. “Guess we’ll have to browse and see what comes our way.”

“Sure. We’ll look.” Stepping forward, Sanji is the most relaxed he’s felt in days, his limbs and shoulders so much lighter as he moves, comfortably numb in the absence of a thought which has weighted on his back like a fiend draining him of his life force. He knows he has been waiting for something tonight, an answer, you calling a name he cannot bring himself to remember, and yet his mind is blank with nothing but the image of his lips crashing on yours. 

His presence radiates need, and it sends an electric shiver down your spine as he comes closer to you, fingers running over your knuckles. When your eyes align with his, you find it impossible to look anywhere else. So you sink into the blue and drown. Sanji leans further in, and his breath is sultry against your earshell as he speaks. 

“Fuck knows what’s happening to me, dear,” he says, a hoarse sound that makes your thighs squeeze together. “But please tell me you’ll ride my face before anything else.”

But he sure knows what’s going on. He put a spell on you; or something along these lines. 

Your body moves by its own as you push forward, biting your bottom lip, pressing your chest against his. “Want me to fuck your mouth, pretty?” your tone echoes the urgency of his request. 

His lips trail down your ear and across your neck. Suddenly your legs are wrapped around his torso. “Oh, and even more,” he tells you. “I want you to cream on my mouth so much that you’ll never find any other to please you just as good.”

“Then why am I not in your bed yet?” It comes out more desperate than it should. Without realising your fingers have unfastened at least two of his shirt buttons, and now they seem to cling onto his collar for dear life. 

Something flares in him; powerful, primal, which he hasn’t been aware he’s had before, sliding a hand under your hips and picking you up before slamming his lips against yours. The kiss is deep, all tongue. You return it with closed eyes and a breathy moan that pulls Sanji in a frenzied daze. Hands curled at his nape, you lose yourself in the taste of nicotine and pomegranates as you let him carry you past dim lit walls and into the bedroom. He doesn’t bother to turn on the lights. When he hurls you in bed, it’s with a deliberate movement, careful not to bruise you in any way but not the less forceful altogether. 

Then you take care of the rest of his buttons and belt, and he moves his focus to your pants, tugging them off while your mouths can’t gather the resolve to leave each other. Your fingers rake themselves through his hair. Smoothing the skin under your sweater, his hands stop to flatten around your breast. As Sanji presses his weight on you, it becomes impossible not to notice how fucking hard he is, greedy and throbbing against your soaked panties. He’s at his most unbridled tonight, and yet he touches you with the ritualistic devotion of a priest, mouthing syrup into your ear like lighting candles on an altar. The full moon spills in her light through the window, blue and delicate, and for a moment there you are sure Sanji’s contours have caught a prismatic glow, colourful flashes whirling in your vision, wavering around him like some sort of aura. 

After he breaks away, you are still tied together by a thin thread of saliva. He pushes your panties aside, and your back arches when he slides a digit, and then a second one, into your slit. There’s lust in his eyes, the kind you’ve never seen on him before, drinking in the sweet faces you make while his fingers press in and out of you in circling motions, rubbing your clit just so sweetly as he does. 

“Look how wet you are, dearest,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Always such a lovely mess for me.”

“I want you, Sanji,” you say, aware that you cannot hide the way he makes you feel by looking at him alone. 

It’s you, Sanji.

Your voice echoes in his heart like water dripping in a cave, let it melt inside him with something close to relief. He wants to thank you; and yet he cannot tell exactly what for. What he does instead is pull you into another kiss, less vicious and more affectionate, keeping you close with a hand flattened on your nape. 

The more you kiss him the brighter the room looks. Spectral rainbow fading behind his form. 

“Could you shift your hips for me?” Sanji eventually suggests. “Let me taste you, honey.”

It doesn’t take long to figure out what he means by that. Like a thing of habit, you let Sanji take your spot on the bed, then climb your way onto his face. You take yourself a moment before starting to move, but all wariness disappears the moment he drags a flat tongue across your slit. His voice vibrates into your core as your taste has him mumbling seared praises against your folds. Further you drop yourself on his mouth, and more he laps at your pussy, wet and desperate, coaxing you those sounds that fill the room and blend in with the moonlight. 

Sanji’s tongue has always managed to make you shiver. But this time is different, because you can feel everything; nose and beard and lips, drenched in your slick, white-hot as they rub themselves against your favourite spots. You can feel it when his eyes close and open, taking his time to savour the moment, and when he lets out a pleasured sigh to let you know how grateful he is to be allowed the luxury of tasting you, there is a delirious sensation rushing from your heat and climbing to your back like an electrical shock. It makes you thrust your hips harder against his mouth, call out his name with the urgent solemnity you didn’t know your voice could be able to reproduce. 

Looking at the way Sanji’s lower body tries to helplessly grind against nothing, cock straining in the confines of his boxers, bulging and stained with precum, you come to realise he must be feeling the same as you do. Oh, but Sanji revels in seeing how sweet you can be for him, and how good he can make you feel when he eats you out. He doesn’t mind the pain as long as he gets to lick you off his chin after he’s done. Never someone to dismiss your pleasure over his own. And yet. 

As his mouth diligently works on the heat that is now building in your stomach, and your movements pick up in pace to reach the high, you cannot help not to stare at his cock, thrusting the air to catch up with your rhythm. Hands running a touch across his stomach, you lick your lips. Sanji moans into you when you lean down to tug at his boxers. 

“Angel, what—” you hear him saying. 

Not allowing him the time to protest, you press yourself onto his face. “I’m so close, please,” you inform him, in a voice you don’t recognise. “Please don’t stop.”

So he doesn’t, running his tongue around your clit, not letting a single drop go to waste. You’re almost there. 

“Good goddess, fuck,” he huffs, feeling your hands on his balls, and shortly after your mouth kissing him at the tip. 

He comes that instant; let heat shoot in your mouth and down your throat as you wrap your lips around him, swallowing and licking off everything you can. There is something wrecked in his voice as he’s taken through his crescendo, something like a prayer sent to an all-mighty, and even then he continues to kiss your folds and drag his tongue across you until you come to climb a peak of your own. With Sanji’s taste lingering on the roof of your mouth, tears begin to well up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you call for him, over and over again, enveloped in pleasures you never thought that existed. 

Only when you’re brought back, a panting mess, you realise Sanji remained just as hard as you left him—something only that weird sex drink could’ve made it happen. You take the opportunity to lift your hips from his mouth and better adjust yourself at his crotch; he starts shifting awkwardly the moment you do. 

“There’s no need to, really.” Sanji is hesitant as he looks down at you, lips red and goatee still soaked with your slick. 

“But I want my meal,” you say, already licking at the tip. “It’s only fair you let me have one too.”

He’s having a hard time saying no to you; but how can he, when you talk with that voice, and when you look at him with those pleading eyes that reflect the gates to Heaven and more? Your mouth takes a little more of him, hot tongue trailing up and down his cock, and his eyes roll back into his head in visible defeat. 

Sanji runs his fingers through your hair. His tone takes to yearning, “So my precious darling is hungry, huh? Cute and silly for my cock?”

“Mhm,” bottom lip rolling up, wetly.

Half smug, half dazed. “Then it’d be cruel of me not to keep you fed.” 

Deeper you push your mouth around him, until he’s twitching in your throat and you start to gag. Sanji’s thumb finds your cheek—please don’t do anything you don’t want to. But you wouldn’t stop. You cannot stop. Not when you get to hear the whimpers he makes as your lips press around the skin ever so slightly, when you look up at his heaving chest, his parted lips, pushing out a broken exhale, the eyes that now flood with wavering reflections of the moonlight and tears threatening to wet his lashes. 

“Oh, my angel.” It’s coarse, struggling for air. His eyes shut close. “My sun, my everything. Yeah, like that. So fucking good.”

Hands coated in spit, you reach to give his balls a gentle squeeze, continue to fill your throat. Once praises have started to spill from Sanji’s mouth, they don’t stop, and they touch a point at which the words feel like no more than babbling, trashed and incoherent, with his hair blown in both of his eyes. His hand sometimes runs to his forehead, other times he uses it to caress your face and pet your hair, but no matter what Sanji stays loud in letting you know how good whatever you’re doing to him feels.

The moment he sets both of his hands on your head, you know it’s because he’s getting close. With a fearful thrust of his cock into your mouth a growl leaves him, and soon after his second release spills down your throat, warm, somehow sweet. You swallow; his chest expands and contracts in attempt to catch his breath. 

Specks of light dash off Sanji’s lips. Pulling you at his level, he clashes them against yours into yet another kiss, sloppy and greedy as he runs his hand down your curves, sinks his fingers into your skin. The touch sears everywhere it reaches; and you cannot do anything but melt in his arms, let yourself be moulded by this growing need that somehow can never quite satiate you. 

“Hope you don’t think you won’t be rewarded for that,” Sanji breathes into your mouth. 

Your lips rolling to his jaw, you say, “Hope you don’t think I’ve had enough of you.”

“I’m here for you to take,” with a quivering hand Sanji squeezes your pussy. “Will always be.”

His fingers send a delightful shock throughout your body. Something close to a moan tears from your throat. “You're such a whore for me, Sanji.” 

“Can you blame me?” Sanji rubs his tip against your inner thigh. “Darling, please look at yourself.”

“For the love of god—” wet and breathless against his ear. “Don’t make me wait any longer.” 

Your impatience endears him, has his heart beating so much faster than it already does. Still he starts slowly, pushing you onto the pillows, taking his time to relish your expression as he lifts your legs and lovingly sets them atop his shoulders. Sanji almost laughs at himself, because even under the influence of this potion that brings out anything wild and viscerally troublesome he has in him, nothing delights him more than getting to unravel you with the same care one deseeds a pomegranate in the kitchen. 

Placing a kiss on your calf, he croons, “Say, sweetheart, what about you? Who do you crave for just so?” 

Not wasting a beat, “You, Sanji.” It’s you. 

He could get off by these words alone. 

“And what do you want from me?” he starts to coat himself in your slick, pressing the tip on your clit every now and then. “Do you want me to fuck you, maybe? Fill you up and call you beautiful?”

You can only nod, legs coiling around his neck in anticipation. “Yeah, yeah. Please fuck me.”

Then you can feel him burying himself into you, and it rips a sound from your mouth as soon as he does. Your hips lift to increase the friction. You accommodate him easily, trembling under him and through the persistent knot in your stomach that has you wanting for more. 

When he bottoms out, his voice is low, hypnotic. “Like this?”

“Like this,” you echo, drowning yourself in the wild glimmer flaring in his eyes.

Fingers dug into your legs, his temples sweaty, Sanji pulls out, then drops himself back in, each motion steadier than the other. Wet sounds fill the sheets as your bodies coil and flatten together like nothing matters in this world but you and this moment and the moon capturing your contours in ethereal glow. Nothing, no one. Sanji speeds his hips, chest flushed and sweltering. Usually you’re not as permissive with your sounds as he is, but tonight they seem to just pour themselves out of your mouth, every sigh and moan and whimper, sugar waterfalls thickening the air as Sanji moves you into each thrust. 

“Ah,” you hear him say, a man aflame. “Refresh my memory, would you, angel? Who did you want to fuck again?”

Through an exhale, “You—” a pause. “Only you.”

“You feel so good,” he whines, collapses with a slapping sound. “So sweet, so perfect for me.”

Blue and pink and yellow; just as vivid when you close your eyes. He goes in deep, deeper, and your thighs are shivering against his torso. 

“Yeah? You like that?” legs tightening their grip around him. “Like it when I take you good and confess?”

“More than that,” Sanji is breathless. “Makes me insane. You’re making me go insane.”

You wouldn’t admit it, but you know how it feels. To have your sanity run scarce by a voice telling you how faultless you are, that no matter how you see yourself you will always be a cosmos in someone else’s eyes. If anything, you should know this better than anyone else, the maddening feeling of being fed honey and sugar glaze as your thoughts are pressed against body heat. Lost in his trance Sanji picks up the pace, and there’s a wet, debauched mewl that overrides even the careless crash of your skins. 

Lip caught under your teeth, “Want to, mh—wanna hear another confession, baby?” 

“What’s on your mind, my sweet?” Sanji’s lips ghost over your calf. 

“Think I—” with a thrust your eyes are hurled to the ceiling. “Fuck, I think I love you.”

Vulnerable. 

Suddenly his chest drops against yours, a chance for your legs to flatten across his back, pulling him the closest you can. His fingers interlace with yours as he sinks into the crook of your neck. 

Reckless. 

The pace doesn’t slow down, but you can very well tell it’s become sloppier than before. A lost rhythm. When you look at him again, you are quick to notice the dampness pushing at the corners of his eyes. 

“I love you too,” glad to finally word it this way. “I love you so much.” 

Then he continues to rut into you, shaky voice fogging your neck the moment your nails pierce into his back. Your hips thrust themselves up, desperate for tandem. Heat erupts inside you. Another peak you’re yearning to chase. 

“‘m gonna come, ‘m gonna come,” you tell him, cheek brushing over his hair. 

“Let go, my dear,” in a frail tone. “Let me hear you.”

With a squeeze of your hand Sanji fucks you the way you need him to—viciously. 

He could try. He could at least try to make you fall so hard for him that you will keep your words even after the spell wears off. 

You pull at his hair, mean and senseless as a sudden burst of pleasure tears through you. Your lips move without being able to hear the words. There must’ve been something you said, though, you’re sure there was, because Sanji’s soon chasing after, hung on a mournful vowel, flooding you through his end. 

The moon soaks into your bodies.

iv. 

Sanji wakes up with tinnitus. He blinks, once, twice, waiting for the specks of colour before his eyes to rearrange into furniture. The next thing he recognises is your breathing, small and lukewarm on his chest. Instinctively his arms wrap themselves around you, and there’s a long exhale when they do. You’re naked, both of you. His head becomes heavy with flashes of last night, lips pressed together, bending sternum, and soon they are replaced with the sound of a name he thought he couldn’t remember. Sentiments he thought he discarded. 

He thought he would lose you. 

But you are still here. 

Before knowing it, his arms are shaking, and like he’s done many times when he finds it impossible to contain himself, he covers his eyes with an elbow. 

He starts crying. 

Muffled, subtle, more worried about waking you up than about having to figure out an excuse for his tears. Droplets roll off his cheeks and onto his collarbone. His chest jerks up and down in a pathetic staccato. He wishes he were someone with more control over his emotions, sometimes, during moments like this. But he isn’t, and he cannot change, just like he cannot be many other things. 

A soft rustle beneath the sheets. Arms squeezing his torso. 

“Sanji, hey.” The words come out rasp, still filled with sleep. When he doesn’t answer, there’s a thumb wiping across his cheek. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I’m sorry,” is all he can manage. 

Warmly, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry,” he hiccups again. “I’m so sorry.”

Because he doubted you. Because he cannot fucking stop doubting himself. Heaven knows he’d tell you all these things, were he a braver man. Instead there’s only one thing that seems to be coming out of him, a broken record.

“I’m sorry.”

You wouldn’t want to pressure him. Without saying anything else you keep Sanji in your arms, squeeze him tighter as his tears blend with your hair and your fingers move to soothe his frantic shoulders. Salt pours on his bottom lip. Sanji accepts the comfort despite his better judgement, burying his face into your neck, trying to focus on the sound of your breathing. You stay like this for a while. 

There are so many things he’d want to tell you; the kind of things that eat through his guts and tear him apart. Silly images of him taking you to the Baratie, teaching you the way around potions, topping your hand as you sign your name in blood and knowledge, are you to feel rebellious enough. 

And he will, one day; talk to you about everything he’s ever seen and touched. Now, however, he closes his eyes and hopes you will somehow catch a flicker of all the love he has in him; everything that makes him foolish. 

by far the longest thing i've written in years & it's a boring au. now excuse me but i need to go lie down for a while.

[betweenstorms]

Late night talks with Simon Riley

The balcony of your flat was surrounded by stillness, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the gentle autumn breeze, the distant hum of vehicles and the occasional hiss of your cigarette as you took a drag.

The city stretched out below you, its noise muffled by distance, streetlights glowing like indifferent stars. The cool air brushed against your skin like the lingering touch of a departing lover. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once and then fell quiet.

Simon Riley stood beside you, a looming silhouette etched against the night, the soft glow of a distant streetlamp tracing the edges of his massive frame. He leaned against the railing, arms crossed over his broad chest, his mask still in place even though you were alone.

He didn’t seem out of place, even in your silent little apartment, though his size and demeanour should have made him feel alien against the backdrop of your soft furnishings, pastel colours and faintly floral candle scent. Somehow, he belonged here in a way you didn’t entirely understand, just as he belonged anywhere he decided to stand.

And in that moment, you wondered if perhaps the truth was simpler—perhaps it wasn’t the space itself that had been shaped to make room for him, but you. You, drawn to his gravity, reshaping yourself to fit into his orbit without even knowing it. He belonged here, beside you, in the way that storms belong to the sea, in the way that shadows belong to the light. 

You tilted your head back, blowing a stream of smoke into the evening air, the grey tendrils dissolving into the sky that was kissed by ink. “Y’know,” you began, your voice quiet but steady, “I’ve always wanted to be someone’s muse.”

Simon didn’t move, yet you felt it—his attention turning toward you, like the faint pull of the moon on restless tides. He tilted his head slightly, a silent invitation, or perhaps a challenge.

You smiled at him coyly as you tapped the ash from your cigarette, scattering it into the night like fragile, burnt-out stars, lost to the endless abyss below. “I mean, like in art, poetry, music. I want to be the reason someone picks up a brush or a guitar, someone to feel something so deeply for me that they have to create.”

Simon exhaled sharply through his nose.

You hesitated, searching for the right words. It wasn’t vanity that spoke, but a quiet yearning to matter, to etch your existence into the soul of another as deeply as the stars carve their light into the sky.

“I want a love that hurts. The kind that rips you open. I want to feel it so deeply that it bleeds into everything I do. I want the kind of love that’d make me die for someone, kill for someone, and know they’d do the same for me.”

Simon grunted, the low, rough sound cutting through the fragile stillness like a stone dropped into water. It wasn’t anger, not exactly, more like the weight of disbelief, a scepticism carved from years of lived truths. His gaze shifted, leaving yours to trace the city below, where the streetlights bled golden, silver and ruby trails across the darkness. “You describe pain like it’s somethin’ noble,” he said after a beat, his voice low and clipped. “It’s not.”

You frowned, your brows pulling together as you turned to face him fully. “It’s not about the pain, Simon,” you argued, though your tone was softer than you’d intended. “It’s about what the pain means. It’s about knowing you feel something so deeply it’s worth hurting for.”

“Pain doesn’t mean love,” his voice was grounded in a pragmatism that felt carved from stone. “Pain just means pain. Doesn’t make it grand. Doesn’t make it art.”

You scowled, though there was no real heat behind it. “You’re no fun, y’know that?”

That earned a quiet snort from Simon, the closest thing to a laugh you’d ever heard from him. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing briefly as he inhaled.

“Better borin’ than daft,” he said, his tone almost teasing but still blunt.

“You just don’t get it.”

“Don’t want to,” he countered, his voice calm, unbothered, as if the subject held no weight at all for him. 

You didn’t answer straight away, letting the silence breathe between you. The smoke burned its way down your throat, sharp and biting, but there was a strange comfort in the pain, like holding a burning match too close to your skin just to prove you could, watching the flames die before they could hurt you. “You’ve never felt it, then,” you said at last, your voice quiet, softened by the weight of something unsaid. “That kind of love.”

There was no edge to your tone, no venom, just understanding, a threadbare truth spoken not to accuse but to surrender. It was a question in form but not in spirit, the answer was already etched into the spaces Simon left unfilled.

He didn’t answer, but his silence was a language all its own, louder and clearer than any words he might have spoken. You turned your head slightly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, searching his face for something, anything that might betray the man behind the mask. The faint light from the street below brushed his face, catching the edge of his jawline and the downward curve of his lips, but the rest of him was consumed by the dark.

“I think you’re afraid of it,” you said, your voice barely audible, a whisper carried on the faint wind. “Afraid of what it might mean. What it might take from you.”

Simon stiffened, the motion a whisper of tension that rippled through his massive frame, so fleeting it could have been imagined. But you saw it—the tension in his shoulders, the barely perceptible tilt of his head as though your words had struck a chord too deep to ignore.

His gaze flicked back to the city, his jaw tightening.

“Maybe,” he muttered at last, the word low and reluctant, spoken like a confession he didn’t want to make, scraped from some buried place within him.

The silence that followed was vast, an ocean of unsaid things swelling and breaking over the edge of the balcony. And yet, in the spaces between your longing and his restraint, there was something unspoken, a fragile truth suspended like the smoke curling from his cigarette.

Perhaps he didn’t share your desires, your romantic ache for love and creation, but maybe he recognized it. Maybe he knew the weight of it, the way it pressed into your ribs and made the world feel both painfully beautiful and unbearably empty.

But he wouldn’t name it.

Simon Riley wouldn’t meet you in the light of your confession, wouldn’t extend a hand into the soft vulnerability you offered. The stars above blinked just as faintly as him, indifferent to the weight of your conversation, and somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of laughter drifted on the breeze.

But here, on this small balcony overlooking a world too big to contain you, the silence between you was everything.

betweenstorms (next) (masterlist)

[rosenotactuallyquartz]

i can’t be the only one who thinks rose’s flings with humans were partially self destructive

rebecca sugar often describes rose as self destructive. people self destruct in many ways.

i say this as a girl who’s been in relationships where i knew i was treated poorly but subconsciously believed it was what i deserved. if a good person who knew me well showed interest, i’d feel confused. i think you’re so good and i’m nothing like you type of thing.

(if you couldn’t already tell, i also deal with self hatred, though i’m a lot more self aware than i used to be)

rose saw the good in everyone but herself. she was naive, impulsive, & had a tendency to “worship” those around her, believing they were better than her. she was fascinated by humans but didn’t know the norms or labels of human relationships. she didn’t know or understand much about humans, period. i.e., letting a human baby climb a ferris wheel in greg the babysitter.

rose was initially drawn to humans out of fascination. she saw so much beauty in the most simple parts of humanity.

but people don’t always have the best intentions

i can’t help but wonder if some people took advantage, knowing that rose didn’t understand everything about human relationships. for some humans, i’m in no doubt that they found her intriguing & her powers were obviously beneficial for them, but they didn’t respect her or care to try & get to know her. i’m sure some humans weren’t horrible, but clearly her connections with all of them until the 90s were unremarkable. they’d be attracted to her for surface level reasons.

rose thought this was just how human connections worked. even though it would feel…bad sometimes, rose believed she deserved to feel that way. after all, she said herself that it was “a good thing” if people didn’t know her well.

she didn’t think she deserved genuine love from someone who truly knew her, someone who knew her past self. when a relationship felt good, she’d feel guilty, despite deeply & genuinely loving that person who cared for her.

that’s why she’s so surprised when a human treats her with decency in we need to talk. why she laughs when he says the word respect. why she says, “is this not how this works?”

she’s never had a relationship with a human that was caring & respectful. having conversations about respect & wanting to get to know a person are very simple things. this doesn’t make him “better” than any of the crystal gems—he’s just better than the other humans she knew.

as the next three years go by, rose continues to be self destructive. they don’t know about each other’s pasts & they have a shared coping mechanism: escapism. this is why sugar has said that they enable each other, which is unfortunate yet unsurprising because they cope in similar ways. she never opens up to him about her feelings surrounding past trauma, and he doesn’t either—even when some serious decisions are made. rose couldn’t stand herself & she didn’t feel deserving of love. the more people know about her, the less deserving she feels, which makes her avoidant & confusing in relationships.

nevertheless, she genuinely loves those around her, which is partly why she passes her life on to someone she believes deserves to live & be loved more than she does

as she said in nora’s tape in lion 4, i’m so excited for everyone who’s going to know you. from the very start, she believed that the best thing she could do for the people she loved was leave behind someone who deserved to be around them. someone who was worth loving.

with all of that said i hate the way the fandom talks about her character sometimes

[brooklyncircus]

"Until you..." part. 8.

Hiromi Higuruma x reader.

Until you came into his life, Hiromi Higuruma had occasionally considered making a change within himself—mentally, emotionally, and physically—but he had never taken the idea with the seriousness it truly required.

Until you came along.

And now, here he was, tossing and turning in his bed, the blankets strewn about at his feet and tangled between his legs. Low grumbles and muttered curses escaped him as he rubbed his hands over his face, almost violently, and made a faint, barely perceptible pout.

“I just want to sleep. God, please help me sleep…” he whispered under his breath, attempting once more to close his eyes, only to open them twenty-eight seconds later.

He stared up at the ceiling, once again thinking about how, indeed, your presence had changed so much in him. So much so that he was making a mental list of the things he considered wrong in his life and that he might change.

But part of him thought this whole situation was rather ridiculous and amusing. Who would have thought he’d be planning to alter his routine, his habits, his surroundings, even himself... just because he’d met you?

But it wasn’t a joke, not in the slightest. In fact, he took it as a sign that he should do it. It wasn’t that he thought of you as “ridiculous and amusing.” No.

No.

Not at all. That would be the last thing he’d think. He felt that way about himself—about how he was feeling now and how he wanted to change because of your presence.

Reflecting on it more deeply, something he was reluctant to do out of fear—fear, obviously, of discovering the truth—he realised it was entirely because of you. Thanks to you. Because of you.

For you.

Hiromi had come to realise he had good qualities, clear values, and “positive” things. But putting it all on a scale… What weighed more? His good or bad traits? His good or bad habits? Was he worth it? Could he be “someone important”... to someone?

Could he… be the right man for someone?

For you?

He swallowed and turned over in bed, his charcoal-coloured hair becoming even more dishevelled. He found himself curling up into a small ball, feeling more vulnerable than ever. And, at that moment, two tears escaped his eyes.

“What should I do, God? What do you want me to do?” he thought, his hands covering his eyes, ashamed at the idea of crying again.

And the answer appeared in his mind, clear as the first glimmer of dawn, like a light at the end of a dark tunnel, like a choir of angels in the midst of an infernal storm…

Don’t be afraid. Make the changes you deem necessary. Do it for yourself.

And it was at that moment he opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling—frightened, yet euphoric at the same time. His heart felt as if it were about to leap from his chest. He sat up in bed and then let his legs dangle over the side.

He stood, and with slow but steady steps, turned on the light in the small living room. Rummaging through the papers, he found a small notepad and a pen. “Damn, this is real,” he muttered aloud to himself.

Almost running in his nervousness, he went to the table and sat at the edge. With trembling hands, he wrote:

“Things I want to change about myself.”

And he felt that his world, in that very moment, had indeed changed. He had taken the first step. Thanks to you. Thanks to your existence. He found himself writing item after item, planning everything, and his trembling gradually subsided.

Another list. “Things I want to change about my flat.”

Yet another. “Things I want to change about my office.”

“Things I want to learn.”

“Things I want to do.”

“Things I want to improve in.”

And from the early hours of dawn, where the stars adorned the beautiful night sky, to when the first rays of sunlight began to seep through the windows, Hiromi Higuruma was planning, researching, and making changes.

When he finished, he decided it was finally time to prepare to go to work. And he did so lightly, feeling more at ease with himself. Happy, expectant, with a faint smile.

And until you came into his life, Hiromi Higuruma had occasionally considered making a change within himself—mentally, emotionally, and physically—but he had never taken the idea with the seriousness it truly required.

Until you came along.

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Stutter

The movement in front of your eyes couldn’t pull you from the vortex of thoughts. Sliding into the zone-out state of thinking didn’t happen often but when it did suck you down it took a lot to pull you out of it.

Eyes still unseeing the hand that settled on your knee shook you once. Your body is distant, feelings muted.

“HEY!”

The sudden shout jarred you back to the couch where you had sat down to watch a show.

Blinking to clear the dryness of your eyes you are shocked to see Gary kneeling before you on the dingy carpet.

“Did you say something?”

A tangle of emotions sprouts in your chest.

Gary nodded once and signed his response.

Yes, you weren’t responding, and I was getting worried.

A thread of hurt springs in the middle of the emotional tangle. You search his face as you ask your next question.

“So, you can talk? You just don’t?”

He must have heard the pain, the knowing that you weren’t special enough for his voice.

Watching emotions and thoughts flicker across his face you wait. The dark sweep of his brows and his slightly crooked nose, you love them on him. His ears a slightly too large for his face but they complement the thin lips he presses to your skin each time he leaves.

The other guys only kissed you goodbye before missions, not Gary though. No. Gary kissed you each time he damn near entered or left a room. It led to side eyes and nudges from the other guys but Gary would just smile serenely and keep doing it. It made it hurt more somehow.

You knew that he used his voice on missions, he had to. Though, as you think about it most of the stories that get told about Gary involve him using Morse code or clicks in dangerous situations. Settling the hurt somewhere near your spine to deal with later you give Gary a small smile.

“Thanks for pulling me out of my zoning out. I’m going to make myself a hot chocolate. Do you want anything?” Pushing up from the couch you step past him, ignoring the brush of his fingers at your ankle as go.

Gary gives you longer than anyone else would have. The water is whistling from the kettle as he steps into the kitchen, arms slipping around your waist as you assemble your drink in the galley kitchen.

“I-I-I-I-I stut-t-t-ter bad. It w-w-as an accident-t.”

You wait, listening to the cadence of his words. His words hold to his tongue to avoid being launched into the air between you, like they were clinging to a lifeboat that slowly sank. Touching your head to his you stir the dry powder into the water.

“Soap can’t-t-t-t-t-t-t,” he let out a deep frustrated breath, “wait.”

You gathered the rest. Johnny had to have ADHD and the waiting that would be required for Gary to finish a sentence would be agony for him. No wonder he switched to signing whenever he could.

“Can you get me some milk or creamer?”

Gary steps away, hand still on your back as he pulls out whatever is closest. Simon’s creamer. Ah well, he never finishes it before it goes bad. You swear he forgets he buys the creamer and uses the milk in the fridge instead. Gary curls around you again, chin resting on your shoulder.

A splash in your hot chocolate to cool it down and you take a sip to confirm. A splash more of creamer and you’re happy with your drink. Holding the creamer up Gary takes it from your hand and returns it to the fridge.

When he steps back, he resumes his position.

“You’re worth waiting for Gary.”

The quivers of his chin against your neck tell you everything you need to know. When he hides his eyes and the arms around you tighten, you reach up and run your hands through his hair. He stays like that until your drink is consumed.

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Hi. I don't know what this is. 2k of nonsense, mostly religious and Dew/Copia. Please take it and don't ask too many questions. We're sexualizing and spiritualizing Dew's transition and the trans experience in general. Or whatever. How many times can I rephrase the same basic idea is the real question.

@askingforthesun talking to you inspired me to finish it for better or for worse. Does this even make sense. I don't know.

There are fifteen votive candles burning in the chapel. Five on the left, five on the altar, five on the right. If he focuses he could tell exactly what temperature they burn at; from the base that gobbles up the soft cotton wick to the dancing and flickering tip. He could estimate what temperature the wax melted, what temperature the glass holders were. Anything to do with heat and flame, Dewdrop could pull from some unknown source and tell anyone who asked.

Nobody asks. 

And he can't tell if there's water in the baptismal font.

He has his new uniform on, a triangle stitched on the inside of his collar. He had done it himself and when the needle slipped, stabbing the soft flesh of his unprotected thumb, he let the blood well out and soak into the thread. It seemed like the right thing to do. Even after everything, he didn't think the fire completely took hold of him until that one private moment.

Everything he was, given up for everything he could become. It had worked. When the others asked, eager for details and gossip, he had lied and said he couldn't remember the process.  Only Delta had understood the trial of it all, a silent camaraderie shared with knowing looks and shared cigarettes. As much as he loves the others, they just…they weren't like him. They hadn't felt that strange, hallowed call coming from the very fibers of their being. Something must change, this is not right. He often wondered if Delta had an easier time of it— if his Quintessence soothed the anxiety in his blood of not being in the right form, or if it made things worse. Instinctively he knows it's not something he could ever ask. Dew might have taken himself down the path of elemental transition but the similarities ended there. The only footsteps here were his own.

“Dew?” Mist says softly, breaking him out of his reverie. “We'll be here when it's over.”

The same words spoken before the door to the ritual chamber shut behind him and his ordeal began. He'd given his pack a nod, straightened his spine and knocked. And when the doors shut behind him…

Change was never easy. 

But it had been worth it, in the end.

“I know.” He replies, looking over his shoulder at them. At everyone.  Zephyr and Mountain and Ifrit and Aether and Mist. Omega and Alpha. Delta, with his heavy, knowing gaze. The water ghoul holds his palm over his heart and gives the slightest of bows. There's a faint smile on his face when he comes and Dew…Dew smiles back. The worst is over and this is the blessing. The celebration and giving thanks to Lucifer. On the other side, Copia awaits to start this ritual and Dew straightens his spine, looks ahead and pushes the door open because he's already been accepted. There's no need to knock.

Fifteen candles and Copia at the altar. Tradition dictates that fire is welcomed best at the zenith of the sun's progress through the sky and the light that shines through the stained glass windows sends multicolored blocks of light kaleidoscoping across the floor of the chapel. The door closes silently behind Dew and Copia turns around. He's in his black robes and biretta, with a design of face paint Dew has never seen before and his heart stutters. This is not the Cardinal. This is his very first glimpse at the Papa Copia will someday become.

Copia holds his gloved hand out with a soft smile and Dew begins his slow walk down the aisle. Goosebumps break out in a ripple on his skin though the air is pleasantly warm, not stuffy in the slightest. The fire calls to him as he passes, welcoming him like it welcomes all kindling but he knows it will not devour him. It has accepted him as an extension of the flame. Copia's white eye burns far hotter than any flame as Dew crosses the final distance between them and takes his hand. 

“My ghoul.” Copia starts. No nervousness to him, no anxiety and if Dew was capable of anything other than awe, he would laugh. This is the Copia that welcomes initiated Siblings into the fold, brings them into the flock with love and care. How many Sisters have swooned under these exact circumstances? “I welcome who you have chosen to become.”

He wonders if the words are scripted but does not dwell over them much. Besides, now Copia's giving him a sly little wink and murmuring, “Let's get this show on the road, eh?” and that's the Cardinal he's familiar with. Dew nods in silent resolution. With a sweeping gesture, Copia beckons towards the black idol of Baphomet just beyond the altar; shaggy and goatheaded, male and female. Baphomet is large, both the statue and in stature but his lord does not frighten Dewdrop. In the carven eyes, he sees the flicker of candlelight and then, something more than just candlelight. The stone itself seems to take on new life the longer Dew looks and as Copia bows to the idol, Dew breathes in and catches the faintest scent of sweet hay and fresh goat milk. Though Copia addresses Baphomet as the Unholy Father in his opening speech, the idol's face is as kind as a mother looking at her newborn for the first time.

Both and neither. Dew could fall to his knees at the love he feels emanating from the god. You have chosen and shaped yourself. Baphomet whispers into his mind. To do so is to truly follow in my footsteps.

“Thank you.” Dew breathes. Copia pays no notice. His job is direct and contain the energy of Lucifer in all three of his forms as Dew asks for the blessing going forward; Unholy Father, Fallen Son, and the Unknown Spirit. Each an aspect of their Lord and each equally important in their faith. With the three of them invoked, their presence filling the little chapel, a second is needed in the Ritual to channel their images. One alone ran the risk of losing themselves in the power. 

Dew trusts Copia. He'd known the little man since his summoning; then, a nervous little bishop always in the background. Scurrying around with his folios and paperwork, always sitting in the back pew and praying long after Mass had ended. And his prayers were answered, as the machinations of the Clergy elevated him to the lead of the Ghost Project shortly after he became Cardinal. Not to discredit Copia's own hard work. Dew thinks the only ones he might trust to act as conduit are the previous Papa's and he only said yes to Copia because he'd been the first to ask.

“And now, we begin.” Copia states. To their left awaits the shrine to the Unknown Spirit. Dew follows close behind Copia as they proceed, searching in the shadows for something that shows Lucifer has heard his prayers. To depict the Unknown Spirit goes against the very nature of its being. It is the presence felt at the crossroads, it is the creak of the gallows and the sound of the fiddle. It is the space between stars and the darkness of the tomb and it is the red light from the stained glass reflecting off Copia's glove.  It will grant any request if the asker can pay the price of its favor. 

And Dew has paid.

His action here is nothing more than lighting the sixth candle sitting cold and unlit on the altar. Action itself, is highly valued by the Spirit. The first step down the long, dark, and twisting road. He calls the fire and it dances into being for him, a tug in his heart similar to one he felt upon making the choice to transition. 

The shadows stir and for the briefest of moments, Dew sees a figure; clothed in black, a wide brimmed hat hiding eyes that burn like coal. The hat is tipped, a nod given. An understanding has been made.  Nothing else is required here.

Across the nave, to the shrine to the Fallen Son of Heaven. Here, a statue is more appropriate– to show the lovely features of Heaven’s brightest twisting in righteous anger, his wings burning and halo disintegrating.

As Copia stands beseeching, Dew thinks about gratitude. He thinks about what would make a beloved son of heaven wrest power from an unfair god that didn't deserve his child's devotion. What stirred the first thought of rebellion in a perfect machine made only for worship?  He thinks it might be odd to be grateful to his Lord for something he did entirely on his own. It was his own strength of mind that brought him through the ordeal of the change, his own desire to see the process through. How much did Lucifer really have to do with it, to the point where He needed thanks like the god He rebelled against?

We made our choice, you and I. The statue whispers to him. We fought to be what we are now. Feel the body you now wear. The fire has always loved you too much to let you burn away.

Lucifer, Morningstar. A streak of light across the darkness outside of heaven’s eternal purity. Burning as he fell, the blaze cloaking him, shielding him. Becoming his home once his descent was complete and there were eons between earth and heaven. Dew sees the wall of fire from his ritual, how walking through it took all his strength as it enveloped him, tested him, scorched away anything that might keep him from his destination. Any doubts he had, any worries lingering, all were taken by the flame. The water of his essence,  steaming out of him, dripping and hissing on the hot tiles below his feet. The flame loved him. He would not burn. 

The warmth comes back to him now as he stares at the depiction of Lucifer. Most beautiful among God’s angels. Beauty to inspire a host of angels to break away and fight, beauty that would never be passive and subservient. Fire was aligned with lust and passion for a reason and the eyes of the statue seem to burn with both the longer Dew looks. A hush seemed to fall about the chapel as Dew steps forward, past the praying figure of Copia. He knew, he just knew if he reached out and touched it, the marble would be warm like flesh and there would be firm muscle underneath. 

No longer angry, Lucifer regards him with the sort of intensity that made Dew weak in the knees. But he stood. He stood and reached out towards his Lord and the hand reached back and the statue was alive, it wanted him, it longed for him to come close enough to snatch away and feast upon, for them to burn together in each other's flames and Dew opened his mouth, called to the fire like a lover, poised on his tiptoes ready to be taken and-

The sixth candle on the altar flares to life, jumping so high it licks his skin and the moment is gone. Lucifer, mere marble again. But the weight in his gaze remains, made more demanding by the denial of Dew’s touch. 

He's not surprised to realize he's aroused. An aching thrum of sheer want coursed through his body and came to rest between his legs, where his cock was starting to swell up. There is no judgment and nothing is forbidden here, in this blessing. What he feels, he is to act on, and there's not an ounce of shame as Dew's hand almost absently goes to soothe his cock with a press of his palms against it. Was it a trick of the light, or was Lucifer gazing fondly at him? 

Take what you want and feed me your desire.

His legs wobble. Dew spreads his stance, as if that will help but it only serves to pull the fabric of his pants tighter against his cock. He's warm all over, hyper aware of his own body, skin prickling as the statue devours him by looks alone. A pearl of pre well up at the top and melts into fabric. His shirt rasps over his chest as he breathes, just rough enough to brush over his nipples. The buttons, once a comforting tightness, now hug his waist, turn it waspishly thin and highlight how wrong it feels to not have hands there, nothing guiding him, grabbing him, doing whatever they wanted with him. 

He moans and immediately covers his mouth in embarrassment. Copia doesn't react. Too absorbed in the ritual, his voice a comforting drone in the background. It's second nature to reach for him, a source of stability in the faith as Dew treads new ground. His robe is soft in Dew’s hand and he feels only a tiny bit of guilt when he realizes how sweaty he is. 

Give it to me. The statue hisses and Dew damn near doubles over, clutching onto Copia like a lifeline as his cock surges, jumps and weeps pre. A swoop of arousal hits him so hard it brings tears to his eyes and it's with one shaking hand that Dew undoes his pants and falls to his knees, burying his face in Copia's robes as he cries out, frantically tugging at himself because if he doesn't cum now he thinks he might die, he really will. A hand, heavy and gloved comes to rest on his head, scratching just right between his horns and Dew sobs. He can't stop. He's so close, so fast and Copia is touching the sensitive skin right by the base of his horns-

His core flares, the flames jump higher and he cums faster and harder than he ever has in his entire existence. Thankfully with the presence of mind to catch most of it in his hand. Lucifer might forgive him for staining the red velvet of the kneeler, but he's not keen on a repeat of the ordeal when he inevitably is the one to scrub them out afterwards. 

Now he collapses. Ash crumbling away, but Copia catches him. Breaks his prayers to murmurs words of comfort to Dew as he easily cradles him, lifts him up. Dew brings his soiled hand to his mouth and cleans himself with his tongue as Copia brings him to the center. Lays him on the black marble of the altar, under the gaze of Baphomet. 

You have endured much. Baphomet says. A trial of your own doing. 

And he would do it again and again and again if it meant feeling the presence of his Lord so close.

Oh, little one. Baphomet says warmly, so full of love Dew could cry. I am always with you. Fire was yours to call home from the start.

The dark waters of his home in Hell. Far below the churning surfaces, to vents spewing black and white plumes. Hiding Dew from predators, keeping him warm. The memory of scrabbling at the sharp black stones, trying to pry them apart to make the cracks bigger, to one day wriggle inside and be engulfed in the heat. 

I am not all powerful. Baphomet says thoughtfully. Nor do I control every aspect of my realm. One is always encouraged to test the limits, push past boundaries. Discover what breaks them and what makes them whole. There is no sin in self discovery.

If Dew wasn't hanging on to every word the figure spoke, he would notice Copia’s silence. The way his eye took on a new light and the shift in his whole being.

And I applaud you for this journey, little one. Baphomet tells him. Be proud, for what you have done is worthy of pride. Change does not exist in heaven. An eternity of stagnation is a horrible thing.

Hands tenderly cup Dew’s face. Warm lips press against his, human and trembling with a want that has been there for so long, Dew doesn't know how he didn't see it earlier.  But the fire has burned away what blocked his vision. His arms come up to hold Copia; his Papa. Hard against him as Dew is dragged to the edge of the altar, ripe Communion for a Black Mass. He tastes paint and wine and blood as his fangs cut Copia's lip in their kiss. 

Do as all flames do. Baphomet speaks for the final time. Consume.

Dew opens his mouth and holds Copia tight.

The sixth and final candle lights as they move against each other; the ritual now complete.

[22ayla19]

Jiaoqiu x Reader

From the author: I don't want to believe what happened in the 2.5 plot... it's very painful even for me... At least I'm glad that he's alive. (I was preparing this post for update 2.5, but due to my condition I had to postpone it for a whole month. I apologize.)

Summary: Feixiao kept her promise and found a healer for Jiaoqiu who could restore his sight.

Warning: grammar errors (English is not my native language), female reader, possible plot holes, as I wrote it emotionally after completing the plot of update 2.5

For many years, General Yaoqin tried to find a healer who could restore the sight of her close subordinate. Many healers waved their hands, saying that it was impossible, it was better to accept the fact that Jiaoqiu would no longer be able to see.

- Get out of my office! - Feixiao didn't even want to hear that Jiaoqiu would remain like this after everything he had done for her. She was desperate, because she wanted to help him.

- I can't heal Mr. Jiaoqiu, General. However, I know someone who can, - answered another healer, whom Feixiao turned to.

- And who is it? - asked the general.

- I can't say if this is true, but recently there has been a rumor about a healer who can cure all ailments in the world. Although all this is just rumors, there are those who confirm this fact, - the man answered with the hope that at least in this way he would be useful to General Yaoqin.

- Do you know the name of this woman?

- (Y/N), madam.

------------------------

The search for that very healer took months, but all was unsuccessful. People who met her said that she existed, that she could heal even the most complex diseases, but no one knew the location of the healer herself. She never stayed in one place. Until one day, a girl came to the general himself, introducing herself as that very healer.

- Can I believe your words? - Feixiao asked coldly.

- If you do not believe my words, then I will prove with my actions what I am capable of, - the girl answered confidently.

Feixiao did not want to believe her just like that, because many had already refused, saying that they were not able to do it, but for some reason the girl radiated an aura of confidence, as if assuring that she was still worth trusting.

- What do you want as a reward for healing my ward? - the general understood that the girl would not agree to heal for nothing. Accordingly, whatever the girl wanted, Feixiao would give it to her.

- Protection, - Feixiao was perplexed by such an answer, - during healing I become extremely vulnerable, besides, after healing I will need months to recover. I need protection, since there are people who hunt me, because of my abilities. That is why you could not find me for a long time, since I was recovering and hiding.

- You will have protection. I swear by the name of General Yaoqin.

------------------------

Quite a long time had passed since Jiaoqiu went blind, and he gradually began to get used to the fact that he was now sightless. This was not critical, because he only needed time to adapt to his "defect". Until Feixiao came and said that there was hope for you that he would get his sight back.

- Is something like this really possible? - the fox asked, not believing the words of his general.

- According to others, she literally saves those who suffer from Mara, so it would not be that difficult for her to restore your sight, - Feixiao was more than happy that there was a chance to restore your sight, but she saw the frown on her subordinate's face, - Aren't you happy?

- To tell the truth, I'm confused. After I went blind, I tried to adapt to my "defect" and when I had already resigned myself, a girl appeared who assured me that she would heal me. Sounds impossible...

- I thought so too when I first saw her, but she gave off a very strong aura of confidence. You'll understand when you meet her. Tomorrow she'll come and examine you. Rest, - Feixiao left, leaving Jiaoqiu alone with his thoughts. Deep down, he wanted to accept this girl's help, but something prevented him from accepting the fact that someone else would heal him, not himself.

------------------------

A girl entered the room, Jiaoqiu understood this from her light steps, which differed from the secretive steps of Moze and the loud but confident steps of Feixiao.

- Hello, are you probably Jiaoqiu? My name is (Y/N) and I am a healer like you, - the girl's words were short but confident.

- It's somehow awkward that a healer is being treated by another healer... - the fox answered awkwardly.

- There is nothing awkward here. Even doctors sometimes need help from other doctors. Now I will examine you.

Using her power, the girl quickly learned the fox's condition. Jiaoqiu felt that a tremor and vibration from the girl's power went through his body. He could already tell that her powers were connected to more powerful beings than ordinary mortals.

The girl finished examining the fox and began to look at the tests and treatment of other doctors.

- Well, the healers from Xianzhou are quite skilled, they did a good job, so I will have a little less work, - the girl said looking through the papers, - well, let's not drag things out. Let's move on to treatment. The treatment will take some time, so I advise you to lie down and even sleep.

Jiaoqiu was at a loss, but what else could he do? If he was stubborn, Moze and Feixiao would force him to undergo treatment, so following the girl's advice, he lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. It was unlikely that he would be able to fall asleep for now, but perhaps he would be able to later.

The girl approached the fox, folded her hands one on top of the other and activated her abilities. Jiaoqiu could feel the aura of this power. It was so calming that the mental suffering that had tormented him for a long time calmed down and he was able to feel peace of mind for a long time.

The fox soon fell asleep, and the girl healed him all day and all night. Moze guarded them outside the door so that no one would disturb them. Feixiao, despite her duties, was also nearby and waited for news.

The next morning, the girl left the room, surprising the general and her assistant. She looked exhausted and tired. Her hair was disheveled, her face was pale and there were circles under her eyes. The girl needed rest, but before leaving towards the guest room, she said:

- Don't worry, now your friend's eyesight is even better than before.

These words pleased the general so much that she immediately flew into the room and greeted Jiaoqiu, happy that he could see again. Moze, unlike his general, bowed low in gratitude and decided to take the healer to the guest room so that she could rest, but the man did not expect that the girl would faint from exhaustion. Fortunately, he reacted quickly and caught her.

- Lady (Y/N), what's wrong with you? Lady! - the man shouted, although not loudly.

At the man's shout, Jiaoqiu and Feixiao came out of the room, and seeing the girl unconscious, they immediately became worried.

To be continued...

[kraekat29]

Dear JJ

Summary: Ruby writes a letter to JJ, updating him on the last few months since his passing.

Warnings: major OBX 4 spoilers, lots of angst, Ruby being a mess.

Ruby sat in front of JJ’s grave, somehow she’d convinced Shoupe to bring his body home from Morocco.

His funeral was small but beautiful, he was surrounded by everyone he loved, but now he was six foot deep, along with the other half of Ruby’s heart.

She took a shaky breath and brushed her bangs out of her face, black eyeliner smudged hazel eyes stared at the tomb stone ‘Jesse James Maybank, September 18th 2002- June 2nd 2022. Devoted father, husband and best friend. P4L’

Ruby grabbed the letter on her lap, already fighting back tears as she opened it, clearing her throat and swallowing the lump that had formed.

“Dear JJ.. I don’t even know if you can hear this.. but it’s worth a shot right..? It’s been nine months since you left us.. since you left me..” She began, her voice unsteady with tears.

“since you’ve gone everything has been a mess.. the pogues have fallen apart.. but baby Valerie Jay was born a couple days ago.. John B and Sarah were thrilled that she was healthy, all thanks to you saving Sarah that night..” Ruby said quietly, her eyes trained on the paper.

“Pope was forced into the Marines when we came home.. Cleo now has her own restaurant and Kiara went to travel the world..” she continued, sniffling a little.

“So it’s just me, Dally and Lilah at the house.. we were able to stop the zoning from being changed.. we did it J..” Ruby said with a quivering smile,looking up at JJ’s tomb stone as if waiting for his cheer and laugh she adored so much.

“looking back now part of me died that day with you too.. I’m trying so hard to keep my promise.. but my life is empty, hallow, without you..” She admitted quietly.

“I keep seeing it in my head.. maybe if I had moved quicker, or even just let Groff kill me instead you’d still be here.. I wouldn’t have to know the pain of losing you..” Ruby said, laying in the grass beside his grave.

“I’ll never forgive myself.. even though I tried everything I could to stop the bleeding, to save you.. I still think I could’ve done more..” she said with a sad sigh.

“Everyone has been telling me to move on.. to try to find someone else but how can I..? I’ll never love anyone again.. you were it for me..” Ruby said, messing with her wedding ring that she had refused to take off.

“If you can hear me.. just- just know I love you okay..? Same with the twins, they always ask about you..” she said quietly.

Ruby sat up and rested her forehead against his tombstone, the warmth on it from the sun soaking into her skin as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“It was supposed to be us forever.. and now it’s only me..” she whispered, a choked sob escaping her.

Ruby sat there until she lost track of time, her forehead pressed against his tombstone as if she could feel his skin against her own again.

She felt a breeze behind her and shivered, the faintest smile twitching against her lips.

JJ had heard her.

A/N: part two? Maybe a mini series? Let me know!

[u6is]

"Be my fire in the cold."

pt. one

— kylian mbappé x reader: fluff

In the quiet town of Megève, nestled in the heart of the French Alps, the snowfall was a gentle, rhythmic lullaby. The kind that makes you want to snuggle deeper into the warmth of your bed. You felt an irrepressible pull towards the frosty beauty outside your window. You threw the covers aside and padded over to the windowpane, your breath fogging the cold glass. The snow had painted a fresh canvas over the sleeping world, turning everything monochrome but for the occasional twinkle of distant lights.

You glanced over at Kylian, still lost in a peaceful slumber, and couldn't resist the urge to wake him for a surprise. You whispered his name, a soft echo in the stillness of the room. His eyes fluttered open, and a sleepy smile spread across his face when he saw you.

"Merry Christmas," you said, and his smile grew. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and took in the serene winter wonderland outside.

"It's perfect," he murmured, and you knew exactly what he meant.

You both got dressed in warm layers, your cheeks flushing from the excitement of the crisp air. Kylian looked at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Prête à y aller, ma chérie?" (ready to go, my darling?) he asked, holding out a pair of snowshoes.

The thought of exploring the pristine landscapes together filled you with excitement. You nodded, and he helped you strap them onto your boots, the sound of the bindings clicking into place echoing through the room.

With snowshoes on, you stepped out of the cozy chalet and into the silent embrace of the Megève Ski Resort. The snow was thick and fluffy, muffling the sound of your footsteps as you ventured into the frosty forest. The trees towered above you, their branches laden with a fresh coat of snow, creating an archway of white that led to the untouched wilderness beyond. The scent of pine was sharp in the air, invigorating and pure. Kylian took your hand, leading you through the enchanting maze of snow-covered trees.

Your breaths grew heavier as you climbed higher, the cold air biting at your cheeks. But the effort was worth it; every step revealed a new postcard-perfect scene. The sky above was a canvas of soft blues and purples, the sun peeking shyly over the mountain tops, casting a warm glow over the snow-capped peaks. Kylian paused to point out a family of deer in the distance, their dark forms standing out against the stark landscape as they grazed peacefully. You watched them in awe, feeling a sense of kinship with the creatures that called this place home.

He stopped at a small clearing, the snow untouched except for the occasional bird tracks. The silence was profound, the only sounds the rustle of the trees and the distant echo of laughter from somewhere in the resort. Kylian looked at you, his eyes full of a warmth that seemed to melt the icicles hanging from the branches above. He leaned in and kissed you gently, his warmth a stark contrast against the frosty air. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling the beat of his heart against your chest, a rhythm as steady as the falling snowflakes.

“So, is this your secret plan to keep me all to yourself out here?” you asked, giving him a playful smile.

“Caught me. I figured if I brought you out here, you’d be stuck with me,” he replied, smirking.

“Oh, so you think I can’t find my way back alone?”

“Hmm, well, maybe. But I doubt you’d want to.”

You grinned, raising a brow. “Confident, are we?”

“Only because you’re still here, in my arms. So... maybe just a little bit,” he teased, holding you tighter.

You laughed, resting your head against his chest. “Alright, you win this time. But only because you’re my best heater in this cold.”

He chuckled softly. “Best heater, huh? I’ll take it. But you’ll owe me a reward.”

You looked up at him, eyes glinting. “Oh? And what exactly does this ‘reward’ involve?”

He leaned in, his eyes sparkling with warmth, “More moments just like this one.” and gently kissed your lips.

Breaking the kiss, Kylian bent down and scooped up a handful of snow. He playfully threw it at you, the chilly flakes landing on your nose. You squealed and laughed, the sound echoing through the woods. The snow fight was on, with Kylian using his speed and agility to dodge your throws while you tried to keep up, your cheeks growing rosier with every giggle. The snow fell around you, the world a blur of white and mirth.

As the laughter subsided, Kylian took your hand again and led you deeper into the woods, the trail growing steeper. The challenge of the climb brought you closer together, your breaths coming in quick gasps as you pushed through the drifts. At the top of a hill, you stopped to catch your breath. The view was breathtaking—a panorama of endless white, unmarred by the chaos of the world below.

Kylian looked at you with admiration, his eyes gleaming with pride. He leaned in and kissed your forehead, his warmth seeping into your bones.

When you were both sufficiently cold and breathless, Kylian took your hand and led you back to the chalet. The warmth inside was a welcome embrace as you shed your outer layers and hung them by the fireplace to dry. The crackle of the firewood and the smell of pine filled the room.

You settled onto the couch, a mound of blankets between you. Kylian disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a tray laden with hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and a plate of buttery croissants. The aroma of chocolate and baked bread wafted through the air, mixing with the scent of the fireplace. He placed the tray on the coffee table and took a seat beside you, his eyes dancing with the reflection of the flames.

You both took a sip of the rich, creamy drink, the warmth seeping into your chilled fingers and toes. The sweetness was a delightful counterpoint to the bitterness of the cold outside. Kylian reached for a croissant, breaking it in half and offering you the larger piece. You took it, feeling the warmth spread through your body as you took a bite. The flakes of pastry melted on your tongue, leaving a trail of buttery goodness that made you close your eyes and sigh contentedly.

The fire crackled and popped, casting shadows that danced across the walls.

With your hunger eased, your head rests gently in Kylian's lap, gazing up at the soft flutter of his lashes, lost in the beauty of the moment.

"Mon chéri, can you read that book for me, please?" You beg softly.

Kylian pulled out the book from the shelf beside him,

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

He began to read aloud, his voice deep and soothing.

"He is more myself than I am.

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger:

I should not seem a part of it."

Kylian's fingers found yours under the blanket, weaving together like the roots of the ancient trees outside. The words weaved a warm blanket around the two of you as the night grew darker. The warmth of his hand was comforting, a silent promise that no matter where life took you, you'd always find your way back to moments like these.

The candles on the mantle flickered, casting a warm glow over the room, making it feel as though you were the only two people in the world.

The moon had risen high, casting a silvery light on the fresh snow, making everything glisten like diamonds. Kylian set the book aside. "How about we try something different?" he said, his voice a gentle rumble.

He led you to the back of the chalet, where a wooden deck jutted out into the night, surrounded by a ring of towering pines.

He stood there, a bottle of wine cradled in one hand, while in the other, two delicate glasses glistened, waiting to be filled with the promise of an evening just for the two of you.

In the centre of the deck was an outdoor hot tub, steaming gently in the cold air.

The water looked like a pool of liquid gold, beckoning you closer.

Kylian's eyes never left yours as he helped you into the tub, your skin prickling with anticipation. He followed the warm water enveloping you both as you settled in opposite each other. The jets bubbled around you, a soothing caress that seemed to melt away the tension of the day.

Sipping wine with him in the warmth of the hot tub feels like being wrapped in a soft, whispered embrace, each moment as soothing as a blanket drawn close on a winter’s night.

You leaned back, set the wine glass to the side, let the water lap at your chin, and watched the snowflakes pirouette around you. They were so close you could almost feel their chilly kisses, but the heat of the tub kept you cocooned in comfort. Kylian reached out, and his fingertips grazed your cheek, brushing a stray snowflake away. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine.

He moved closer, the water sloshing gently between you. His eyes searched yours, seeking permission, and you gave it with a nod so slight it was almost imperceptible. The moonlight reflected in the pools of his irises, making them look like twin lakes under the stars. His hand slid down to your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. You leaned in, the anticipation a delicious ache. His kiss was tender yet urgent, a silent declaration of the depth of his feelings for you.

The warmth of the hot tub was a stark contrast to the icy air outside, but it was nothing compared to the heat that grew between the two of you.

As Kylian's hand traveled down your arm, you felt every inch of your skin come alive. You reached out, your fingers in his hair, and the world outside the wooden deck ceased to exist. There was only the two of you, the water, and the night sky above.

Kylian's kisses grew more urgent, his hands exploring every inch of your body. You responded in kind, the warmth of his touch sending waves of pleasure through you. The sound of your breaths mingled with the gentle bubbling of the tub, the only soundtrack to your private dance of desire. The snowflakes continued their silent descent, kissing your skin as they melted away.

Kylian's hand slid beneath the water, tracing the curve of your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together, skin on skin. The warmth of the water was a stark contrast to the cool air, creating an erotic friction that made you shiver.

You felt his hands on your back, untying the strings of your bra, the fabric slipping away, leaving you bare before him. He took a moment to drink you in, his eyes a smoldering gaze that set your heart racing.

"You're so beautiful," Kylian murmured, his voice thick with desire.

He slid closer, the water rippling around you, and his hands found your breasts, cupping them gently. His thumbs circled your sensitive nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You moaned softly, the sound lost in the whisper of the falling snow.

The water sloshed as you moved over him, your legs straddling his. You felt the hardness of him pressing against you, a promise of what was to come.

"I can’t stop thinking about you...Every moment without you feels like a lifetime."

His mouth found yours again, the kisses growing deeper, more demanding.

"I’m right here, you know." Breaking the kiss you looked into his eyes and saw it—an undeniable yearning, soft and vulnerable, like a puppy's gaze waiting for a home in your touch.

You could feel your body responding, your heart hammering in your chest.

"I know, but I need you closer. I just need to feel you... It’s like I can’t breathe without you near." His hands gently pull you towards him.

His chest was a warm wall of muscle against your cool skin, his breath hot against your neck as he trailed kisses along your collarbone.

"I didn’t know you were so needy."

"I am." His hands continued to explore

"When it comes to you, I can’t get enough. You make me crave more than I ever thought possible." Tracing the curve of your waist and the dip of your hips.

"Laisse-moi te prendre tout entière." (let me have all of you) With a tender yet intense tone, Kylian's hands roamed over your bare skin, sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

The world outside the hot tub was forgotten as your bodies moved in a rhythm as old as time itself. The snow continued to fall, but it couldn't penetrate the bubble of heat and passion that surrounded the two of you.

As the night grew deeper, the stars grew brighter, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the resort. The cold was a distant memory as you clung to each other, lost in the warmth of your love.

part 2 🫢

needy kylian aaaahhh

[the-way-astray]

What is ur opinion on Unraveled as a keefe hater????? Also r u actually gonna read it or not since it’s only a .5?

i'm super excited. genuinely, i would not be surprised if i'm the most excited person on all of kotlc tumblr for it and i plan to get my hands on it as soon as possible (if everything goes right it should be the day it comes out, but we'll see). i don't like keefe, but i love getting canon kotlc words. i've been stockholm syndrome'd by this series; it took me hostage and now i'm obsessed with it somewhat against my will.

and it sounds like shannon's going to do something important that's plot-related (and i am nothing if not a certified plot girlie), although given her track record of what she considers to be an "important revelation" *cough* unlocked *cough*, i doubt there will be a revelation i personally consider to be "good enough". but i am staying optimistic because we are getting closer to the end of the series, and unraveled is supposed to be a full book's length, meaning there will hopefully be enough space for shannon to both waste page time with meaningless fluff as she usually does and get to something important (unlike in unlocked, where she didn't have that same space).

and this book is most certainly not a point five book. that's how shannon's team is choosing to market it but it is not "only a point five book", as far as the definition of point five books go. i already talked about this in this post, so i won't talk about it anymore here. but this book is very much a mandatory read. it's book ten. it is being wrongfully called book nine point five but it is a book ten. and even if it was really just extra bonus content, i would still read it because i like getting extra canon kotlc words. shannon could literally write some shit like "keefe stared into sophie's big brown golden brown orbs and wetted his mouth" and i would eat that shit up solely based on the fact that it is canon kotlc, if that makes sense. and a normal kotlc book's worth of extra kotlc words? that's something i can't pass up.

my most fervent hope for unraveled is that shannon uses it to start closing plot threads instead of opening new ones. my current project is putting into perspective just how much work shannon still has with regards to developing plot, and i hope she uses unraveled to do some of that, because although there are some questions i know we aren't going to get answers to in unraveled (like sophie's bio dad, marella's mom's involvement with whatever fintan was going on about, elysian), there's still a lot of shit that shannon could easily use keefe's perspective to close up and get out of the way. and i'm hoping she takes that chance. and it's seeming likely, since there's something that is in unraveled that you need to know going into book ten, as shannon has already confirmed.

combine all this with the slight chance that gethen might show up, and you have me hooked. will i be cringing through at least some of the book? undoubtedly. but i also do love this series. i promise, for all that i complain about it, it does hold a really special place in my heart. i've talked about this a tiny bit, but shannon is one of those authors that i have undying faith in, even if she does disappoint sometimes. there are plotlines in this series that absolutely do slap, and i'm hoping she'll be able to channel that same energy when she writes unraveled.

if you want to see more of my hopes or thoughts on unraveled, my bingo card's probably the best place to look lmfao.

[neighbourscat]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐌 , nicholas alexander chavez

OUT OF MY LEAGUE.

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . college theatre student!nicholas c. X college criminology student!black!fem!reader. || second person ( you, yours, you’re ) + lowercase intended.

+ synopsis. the chime is instant. the ping is small, fleeting, but it can change everything.

+ cw. none, honestly! story does not follow the exact storyline of kdrama love alarm!

+ nali’s notes; started this at 11pm & finished at 1am, wowie ( finished proofreading at 3:59am ) remembered i could write whatever i want and cooked this sweet thing up! season1 of love alarm actually changed my life & wow ( i watched it years ago during quarantine ). kdrama romance is soooo omg yes to me. this story features simon-boy!chavez ( banging hawt white man in glasses! ). wordcount :: 2.0k+

+ to be played: her, the american dawn. || alternative: out of my league, fitz and the tantrums.

OUT OF MY LEAGUE.

the simple things in life were usually the most appealing to nicholas; he found beauty in everything. the gentleness and sweetness and softness of what just is. like a walking through the park and stepping on dried autumn leaves and hearing the loud crunching under the bottoms of his brown boots. he didn’t need things to be complicated or intricate or extra extravagant. nothing could ever compare to the simple things. the simple things; which are the most beautiful, he often said to his diverse friend group ( greta, jennie, and savion ) — who differed. it was the little things that were worth a bajillion; it’s the little things that actually kept the people united . .. .

the love alarm app — bless the creator's heart, trying to make everyone's love-lives just a tad bit easier — had felt like a cheap gimmick to him, a way to boil down something so genuine as love into a few lines of code and a glowing screen. love wasn’t supposed to be instant. it was supposed to be discovered in moments that people missed if they weren’t looking carefully: the sound of someone’s laugh, the way that someone spoke when they thought no one was listening, or how their eyes seemed to glisten and sparkle when they raved about a topic they were super passionate on, or how that someone looked when they thought they were alone; that soft .. restful expression.

the concept of love alarm felt pretty intrusive — he hated the idea that someone’s private feelings could be revealed in an instant, no choice, no control. he’d seen people’s lives change because of love alarm; friends who’d been devastated by unrequited pings, others who’d basked in the glow of a dozen notifications. people flocked to it like moths to a flame, their lives ruled by the chime of the app, their heads constantly buried in their screens, hoping for a sign that someone — anyone — loved them. it was kind of sad.

but his friends had insisted he get the app, just to keep up with the rest of society. and so, reluctantly, he did, though he kept it on silent and usually out of sight.

on this particular friday afternoon, he’d been wandering through the library, killing time before an upcoming class: philosophy. in one hand, he held his notebooks and in the other, a pen which he’d been twirling along his fingers skillfully. the place was almost empty; many having already left for the weekend or back in their dorms to sleep, except for a few students spread out with laptops and thick stacks of books. the quiet settled over him like a comfort, the kind of stillness that felt rare and safe; which he adored. he dropped the pen into a breast pocket of his jacket and slipped his phone out of a back pocket, not because he wanted to check love alarm, but to see the time, to make sure he wasn’t late ..

nicholas was about to put it back when he noticed something unusual on his screen — a faint, pulsating light outlining the love alarm icon. it took a second for him to register what it meant .. a quiet ping! the beating of a heart; a calm, relaxed heart. his lips almost curved up into a silly smile. someone in the library had on their love alarm .. and that someone loved him. someone within a 10mile radius loves you, his screen read.

nicholas’ first instinct was to ignore it, to pretend he hadn’t noticed. but curiosity had a way of creeping in and eating at his insides, no matter how much he tried to brush it off. he’d never really thought about the possibility that someone’s alarm would go off for him; he wasn’t the type to attract attention, and he liked it that way .. immediately with the knuckle of his right index finger, he pushed the round, wire-framed glasses ( the ones that framed his face perfectly ) further up his nose-bridge.

the notification sat there, quiet yet unignorable, a tiny reminder that he wasn’t as invisible as he thought — with his wired headphones, blocking out the rest of the world with one, single tune and a pocket of his messenger bag stuffed messily with crossword-puzzle, sudoku, and word-search books — he wasn’t just one of those background figures, the kind people always overlooked.

nicholas looked around, scanning the aisles, the nooks and corners of the library. there wasn’t anyone he recognized, just a few scattered figures with their heads down, lost in whatever they were reading and researching. but then he noticed you .. sitting alone and rapidly typing away at your laptop’s keyboard. you and him had advanced literature 1002 together — your brown face partially hidden by tight, dark curls. he liked how you .. wore your natural hair out and how it seemed to puff up and get bigger everyday.

you seemed engrossed in your assignment; you were content with your own company and focused, completely oblivious to the world around you, a quiet presence that somehow drew him in. he couldn’t see your face completely, but he was sure it was you .. for there was something so familiar. he looked in a bit more .. and there it was: that mini deer plush that dangled from a chain attached to your light-brown leather purse; your bestest friend had the matching mini bunny. and then it was the pair of miniature, light pink pointe-shoes keychain — he remembered earlier in the semester, during an icebreaker, you had said that you danced all your life .. and if you could, you’d choose your dream career.

nicholas considered for a moment — you didn’t look like someone who’d use love alarm honestly .. . not with your old, worn-out white sweater and laptop that seemed to anchor you in place; in other words, you looked too mature and far too sensible for this app — nicholas stared down at his screen .. yet, his alarm was still quietly blinking. pulsating. you hadn’t looked up, hadn’t glanced in his direction, but he could feel it — he knew it was you .. hidden feelings broadcasted, revealed in a single notification.

suddenly, his heart started to pound, a feeling he hadn’t expected or wanted. he didn’t know you, not exactly, but that small, cute light on his phone was a reminder of something he wanted to be apart of. you were close enough to set off his alarm, which meant something, even if he wasn’t sure what yet. he was about to turn away, to brush it off as some strange coincidence, but before he could, you lifted your head.

your eyes met his — just for a second, but it was enough. your gaze was soft, almost searching, and there was a flicker of surprise there too, as if you hadn’t expected anyone to notice you. you looked back to your laptop, un-reacting, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d seen right through him, that somehow you too knew. it was unnerving, this sudden awareness — and then his gaze shifted and there was a girl .. staring at him, hard.

dianna halse; a gorgeous white girl so far out of his league.

his attention went back to the faint glow on his phone and the quiet connection it hinted at — a connection he hadn’t sought out, but one that seemed to have found him anyway and .. one that might not even be you.

and after a few moments, you stood up, gathering your things in a slight rush, as if you’d suddenly remembered somewhere else you had to be — your next class, maybe. nicholas watched you go, feeling a strange pull, an ache he wasn’t sure he understood .. and once you were out of his circle, the heart on his phone was still blinking. beating. pulsing. that single, silent confession wasn’t from you .. the app had confirmed.

“hi …” it took him a few seconds to pull his stare from your shrinking form. he clicked his phone off and dropped it into a back pocket. nicholas fixed his spectacles, quickly, and blinked down at the blonde standing before him. he faked a tight-lipped grin, and then he responded after leaving her hanging for about thirty seconds: “dianna. hello. how are you .. this afternoon?” not smooth at all, but rather robotic and awkward.

if they had gone to highschool together, dianna halse would have bullied ( destroyed ) him and broke him into itty-bitty pieces. he would bet on it. before her transformation into the real world, aka college, dianna h. was the epitome of a “mean girl” — swift with biting remarks, highly judgmental, and overly aggressive — and would have never associated with someone like nicholas; a theatre / glee kid, kind-of proper, unfashionable, lacking social skills and a woman’s touch, unabashedly geeky, and highly insecure.

“i’m doing pretty okay-“ she smiled at his acknowledgment of her and followed in step as he started off through the library again, back on track. “-i’m glad to’ve run into you, nicholas. i, uh, jus’ wanted to ask you about something-“ dianna struggled to keep pace — in her studded heeled-ankle boots — with nicholas, who won’t even make eye contact with her. dianna, on the other hand, glanced up at him every few seconds, praying he’d slow himself down. “nothing school or work related …”

nicholas stopped at the exit door — the one that led straight to the charleston building, where his 3:30pm philosophy class was located. his eyes found hers and he waited, undoubtedly annoyed and obviously disappointed. dianna saw the look he’d been giving her and how his shoulders were slumped, she opted not to take up anymore of his time. “there’s a gathering next friday night at wilder hall .. something nice and cute before thanksgiving break, and, well, i was wondering, really .. if maybe you’d want to tag along with me?”

his eyes widened, just a fraction, clearly taken aback. “.. what? me? ..” a smile started to pull at dianna’s lips, her hand reaching up to rake through a golden wave. “ .. like .. the both of us? .. i-together?” looking like a couple. there was nothing casual about this invite, he knew. dianna rang his love alarm and she was taking action, after waiting so long. “mhm. that’s right,” dianna said, moving the golden wave behind her shoulder, “and it’ll be fun.” he studied her intently, not yet giving her an answer. “let this be how i ‘thank you’ for being my amazing- .. -ly fun unpaid tutor.”

nicholas could feel a lump forming in his throat as he tried to find the right words — a polite way to tell this ex-cheerleader ‘no’ — in fear that she’d probably tell him off for declining her, which was something that he knew had never happened to her. the thoughts in his head all rushed together, soon producing: “can i .. think about it?” — his own words feeling heavy on his tongue — a safe guard, one that surely won’t last until next friday. she’ll need the answer eventually .. by sunday afternoon presumably.

dianna gave a light nod, she supposed he could. “‘kay ‘kay,” the young woman said first, “yeah, of course. just .. y’know, text or call or, uhm .. find me when you have an answer.” no, he told himself, sunday afternoon was too late. he had to break the news on saturday morning. yup, he’ll text her ‘no’ .. but not straight-up, because that’s a bit harsh, right? she seems to actually want him there, so he’ll have to express immense sorrow and misfortune. three-no-four sentences at least, he thought. with the correct punctuation marks and a few emojis, he has himself a get-out-of-jail card.

“will do.”

[xo-myloves]

Helloooo 🫶🫶 i'd like to request a steven adler x f!reader where you get pregnant but you don't wanna keep it, and steven does. Idk if you're into angsty things 😭😭😭 but i love a good cry lmao

A/n: of course!! I love this idea, and Steven little cute self!!

(This includes smut, dirty talk, cursing, angst, unwanted pregnancy, arguing, hair pulling, squinting, ass smacking, I think that’s it, if not tell me!! :3)

𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙵𝙻𝙸𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳

I’ve been in-love with my boyfriend Steven for a while now, we had met through izzy, I’ve been friends with izzy since grade school, then after we moved to LA, more like ran away, we also ran away with our good friend bill bailey, who is now known as “axl rose”.

They started the whole band thing, now they are huge, after their first debut album came out, if was life changing, nothing was happening at first, it took a while for the album to blow up like it did, now their rockstars.

This includes Steven, my baby, he immediately caught my eye when he joined the band, axl hated him, he was best friends with slash, izzy didn’t mind him, duff was nice to him, and i fell head over heels for this man, maybe it was the golden locks, maybe it was the way his finger would spin with the drum sticks, maybe the dreamy blue eyes,I couldn’t get enough of him.

after they got signed and the album blew up, Steven was always trying to be closer to me, he wanted me to know he wasn’t going to leave me, or cheat on with groupie, which was sweet, but I couldn’t believe him fully, he was always fucked up and shit happens…..

The guys are on tour, and Steven decided to bring me along with him, it wasn’t a problem since I was cool with everyone, well, besides axl, we were close, but the second I started dating Steven, everything changed.

He would almost look down at me, like I should be ashamed almost, which I never was, but then I started to second think everything, maybe something was happening and I didn’t know about it, or axl is just being a pain in my ass. Probably that.

It was the aftermath of the show, I was sitting in the green room, waiting for Steven, I was sitting on the couch that sat in the corner, I was in a short leather skirt, paired with a red tank top, to finished it off with fat ass combat boots, the skirt was extremely short showing off my fishnet covered legs perfectly, and I was honestly desperately waiting for Steven, I need him.

Seeing him on stage, drumming like there’s no tomorrow, the way his foot would bang against the kick drum, feeling the beat in my chest, seeing his hair fly everywhere, his hands shooting yo and spinning the sticks through his finger, remembering all the times he used them on me.

I knew after this show I was going to make it worth his while, I waited impatiently, bouncing my leg up and down, my palms rubbing along my knee caps, the finally.

My love.

My baby.

My world.

Steven walked through the door, with that goofy ass smile on his face, happier than ever to see me, he came running to the couch, I stood up, opening my arms waiting for his hug.

“Hey beautiful, I missed you.” He spoke into the crook of my neck, his hair tickling my face, as his hand made it way down my waist, one of my hands were on the back of his neck, the other in his hair.

“Hi baby, I missed you too.” I spoke out, he lifted his head, putting his hand behind my ear, to my neck, looking into my eyes deeply, pressing his forehead against mine, then I brought my lips to his, making my craving for him even stronger, I pushed his face into mine more, making this kiss even more passionate then it was supposed to be, then he stood up straighter, leaning his neck down still having his lips attached, now having both of his big hands on my waist.

Gripping slightly before pulling me closer, having his furry chest touch my own chest, feeling it on breasts since how low cut my tank top was.

His hands started exploring my body, going down to my ass, giving it a slight squeeze, letting a whimper slip from between my lips, my heat between my legs were even more wet, it practically felt like it was dripping down my leg at this point.

“Why you being so lovely, not like I’m complaining, but it something up?” Steven released from the kiss, placing his forehead on mine once again waiting for a response, bringing one of his hang from my ass to my chin, making me look up at him.

“I need you Steven, right now.” I blurted out, I didn’t even realize how quick I said it, he just gave me a cheeky grin, before I knew it he was picking me up swiftly and putting me in his lap as he sat down on the couch, my legs wrapping around his waist.

My hands went for his hair immediately, he groaned in response, I did grab a little hard, then his eye met mine once more.

“Why do you need me so badly baby? Or are you being a little whore for me?” He grinned, bringing one of his hand to my skirt, pulling it up softly, as he began to drag his finger over my clothed cunt, I was wearing his favorite red lace thongs, they actually were so pretty, and I knew he knows which one they are just by touching them.

I knew he could feel the wet spot on my panties, it was more than obvious, but he just pressed his finger tip directly on my clit, pressing the fabric towards it more. I let out a soft moan in response before speaking.

“I need you Stevie” I pouted my lip as I spoke, putting my face in his shoulder, he never really liked teasing so much, because he wanted to fuck too, no point in drawing it out.

Before I knew it he lifted me by hair making me look at him, as his fist was holding my hair harshly, then I felt his rock hard cock against my entrance, then sliding his finger into my panties, I groaned at the sensation.

“So wet already baby..you really did miss me, didn’t ya?” He spoke in a cocky tone, before massaging my clit with his finger tip, I gaped slightly, partly my lips slightly.

After rubbing my swollen numb for a few moments, he slide his slender finger into me, feeling him inside of me was already euphoric.

I was so needy for him, it was honestly depressing, but I couldn’t give two shits right now.

“All of this just from my hand?” He smiled, kissing up my neck as he added another finger into my heat, starting to pump into me, making my moans getting a bit louder.

“Steven, come on, I need all of you.” I breathed out, starting to grind against his fingers, his eyebrows rose, being surprised by my actions. But he gave in to my demand. Pulling his lace up leather pants down as quickly as he could.

He pulled out his member, stroking it a few times before rubbing his tip against my slit, making whimpers and moans slip out of my mouth, before giving me what I finally wanted, his hands made it way to my hips, making me roll of his rock hard member, groans leaving his lips, he fell further back in the couch we were on.

His right hand slide down from my hips, going to my ass, gripping it harshly before leaving a hard smack against it, making me gasp slightly, he just had a half smirk on his face, he was just enjoying the pleasure he was having.

My hands were in his shoulders for support, my body was against his for the most part, finally my adrenaline hit kicked in, I ripped my top off, leaving me in my lace bra, I just grabbed his head, stuffing him in my breast, before a I felt a bite on the top of my boob, making me gasp in pain and pleasure.

Since he decided to do this act, I pulled out of him completely, as he whimpered in the lost of me, I slammed back into him, having him moan louder than he ever has done.

“F-F-fuck baby, Jesus Christ.” He moaned, flinging his head back from my breasts, His cock deliciously hit your sweet spot with expertise, he just knows how to make you feel good,feeling the climax build up more and more on your stomach on each thrust he gives, you're almost there. It was so soon. Too soon.

His breath started to get heavier, I knew he was as close as I was. This was a different kinda on climax that was hitting my core, after a few more thrusts, lots a moans and scratch’s.

“Shit Steven, I-im go-gonna cum.” I panted out , barely holding on any longer, I felt his head go to the back of my head, making me look into his, half lidded eyes, he started nodding before speaking once again.

“Cum for me baby, just like that.” His hand that was originally on my hip, went to my clit, rubbing it back and forth, making my legs tremble, after that, it took me to my edge, I think it took Steven to his edge as well.

I squirted all over his hard warm veiny cock, rolling my eyes back, hearing the gush of liquid hitting his stomach and thighs, it dripping down mine, then after a few seconds later, a felt a stream on hot cum coated my abused walls.

Then I finally realized, Steven just came inside of me, we rarely did that, if we did, he had a condom on, he was still enjoying his high, I felt a panic take over my body, after I cooped myself back to normal, I immediately got off of him, putting my clothes back on, he was confused why I got off so quick.

“What’s wrong hun?” I heard Steven voice, in a soft warm tone, I just looked back with a haze over my eyes.

“You fucking came in me” I snapped back at him, I never wanted fucking kids, I hated them, especially a mini me? Mixed with Steven, might as well bring satan back to fucking life, and Steven can’t be a father right now, he is a addict, and I’m partly responsible for that, I was previously, and when I met him he began doing smack with me, I just never realized how back it would react on Steven.

I did it for fun, when I was out with friends, when there was a party, Steven does it to survive at this point, he can’t live without it, if he does, he will have the worst withdrawals, and he refuses to go through that.

“So what?” Steven popped his head up, speaking to me in a slight annoyance, “are you fucking kidding me?” I blurted out, what was not getting through his head.

He finally stood up, pulling his pants up, looking at me extremely confused and annoyed.

“What’s the big deal? If anything we get to have a mini you or me” he gave a goofy smile, trying to lighten the mood, I just felt anger go through my body.

“We can’t be fucking parents!? Are you shitting me? Do I really have to go into detail why we can’t?” I argued with him, getting closer to him, I could see he was getting more upset than angry, we never have talked about kids, and this was all too sudden.

“I’m sorry okay, it will be fine trust me, you won’t get pregnant.” He tried to calm me down, putting a hand on my shoulder, I just pulled away from his touch, I couldn’t be in this fucking room anymore, so I left him in his dressing room alone.

𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛

I had been freaking out for the last few days, after everything happened with me and Steven, we haven’t been talking a whole lot, he mostly been with the guys, I just stayed there like a side character, I just needed a way to get to a grocery store. I needed to make sure k wasn’t pregnant, I haven’t had any symptoms, I don’t think at least, but how would I even know, I don’t know what it’s like feeling pregnant.

I felt myself starting to panic once again, so I took the liberty to go alone to the market, I was left alone in the hotel me and Steven were staying in, he was at a show, I told him I didn’t wanna go tonight with him because I didn’t feel good, which wasn’t a 100% lie, I didn’t feel good, not one bit.

After I made my way to the store, having to walk since I didn’t have my car, I was thankful that it was right down the road, after I got the test and bought it, I just came back to the hotel, not a lot happened in the store.

I was back in the hotel room, I ripped that box open like it was a kid on Halloween with candy, I needed to know already, I went straight to the restroom, grabbing the test and pissing on the stick, it said it would take two minutes after you pee on it, to give me results, those two minutes felt like eternity.

But my worst nightmare came true when it was done. It was positive.

Holy fuck.

What do i do?

A/n: I hope I did this correctly like you wanted, I have never written on here. And this was new for me but I think I did it right sooo yay!

[reanimatoryaoi]

REBLOG = 1 “AMEN” TO SAVE DANIEL CAIN 🙏

+ref picture under the cut

[abstractfrog]

My comic for The Retired Colourman! I love this scene between Mariana and Sherlock sm