#this was only slightly done just to show the moon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

santaasi · 17 days ago

Text

iris

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: jj maybank struggled all his life just to finally find home in your arms

warnings: fluff, slight angst at the start, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 3.9k

a/n: bringing myself comfort after the spoilers for the final of s4. my baby boy deserved a lot more.

ᯓ★ now playing…

goo goo dolls - iris

And I don't want the world to see me

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

When everything's made to be broken

I just want you to know who I am

IT WAS SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT — something so profound that JJ couldn't begin to describe it in words. Yet, he felt it in every cell of his body, in the deepest, most secret corners of his soul. It was as if he was staring into the vastness of the universe, into the boundless, all-consuming darkness that had terrified him since childhood. But now... now it glowed with a hundred, a million, a billion tiny stars — simple, yet magnificent clusters of light that transformed everything in an instant. You became his universe, his everything, and in that moment, everything changed.

JJ would be lying if he said he didn’t remember the exact moment — the exact second — he first met you. He remembered it vividly, like it was etched into his very bones, because that moment was his Big Bang. It was the spark that created the whole universe from nothing, with you as its center, pulling him into an orbit he never thought he’d find.

It was an ordinary day — at least, by JJ’s standards. A typical day filled with drinking, weed, hanging out with Pogues, and the all-too-familiar beatings from his father. After the last one, all he craved was solitude — just to be alone, to fade into the nothingness. To disappear. To stop feeling the weight of pain, to stop wondering what he had done wrong, to stop seeing the pity in his friends’ eyes whenever he showed up at the Chateau, bruised and broken.

For a fleeting moment, he wished he could stop being JJ Maybank — the lost, troubled boy everyone knew — and just be... himself. If only he knew who that was anymore.

It was night — a surprisingly cold summer night. The air carried a chill that seemed at odds with the warmth of the season, but even so, JJ found his haven between the soothing waves. The ocean cradled him gently, rocking him like a child in a mother’s arms, as if the water itself was trying to heal him. He lay on his stomach, his face dipping under the surface, seeking solace in the cool embrace of the sea, trying to drown out the swarm of thoughts buzzing endlessly in his mind.

How long had he been lying there? He couldn’t say. Time had blurred into the rhythm of the waves, and for a moment, he didn’t care. He didn’t expect the next moment to be so... startling.

You stopped just a few meters away, your breath coming in quick, heavy gasps. Your hair clung to your face, and the water began to bite at your skin with its coldness. And yet, in that brief flash of moonlight, JJ swore he’d never seen anything more beautiful than you — divine, even. The glow of the moon reflected off the water, casting a silver sheen over you, making everything seem surreal. Your slightly parted lips, your wide eyes, all caught in the stillness of the night, made something inside him twist. At that moment, he realized something, something terrifying: he was a goner.

"What the hell?"

The words slipped out in unison, an awkward moment of shared surprise. You raised an eyebrow, the frustration and relief mixing in your gaze before you splashed water in his face.

"Are you asking me what the hell?" you said, voice tinged with disbelief. "You were literally floating face down! I thought you were dead!"

JJ blinked, caught off guard, and shook his head, sending droplets flying in every direction. He didn’t respond immediately — his mind was still trying to catch up. He just stared at you, the way the moonlight danced on your skin, how the cold seemed to wash away everything else. There was something about you that both unsettled and comforted him, a mix he couldn’t quite place.

"Yeah, well," he muttered, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips, trying to brush it off. "I wasn’t, like, dead. I mean, not really." His voice was hoarse, raw with something he hadn’t let anyone hear in a long time. It barely masked the emptiness he’d been drowning in just moments ago. "Just needed a swim. Didn’t mean to scare you."

You crossed your arms under the water, rolling your eyes, but a soft smile played at the edges of your lips. "Just an ordinary midnight swim, huh?" you teased. But there was a knowing look in your eyes, like you could see through the mask. "I thought I was going to have to explain to the police tomorrow that some guy was found swimming in the ocean. ‘Local girl finds body in the water,’ you know? Not exactly the first week I imagined."

JJ raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. "Wait... you’re new here?"

You nodded, brushing your wet hair from your face, a small sigh escaping you as you did. "Yeah, I moved here a few days ago. Needed to start fresh, I guess." Your gaze shifted toward the shore, distant, but not quite lost. "Thought the ocean might help clear my head."

He could relate to that, more than he wanted to admit. He nodded without thinking, something about you felt... different. "Yeah," he said softly, his voice almost vulnerable. "Outer Banks isn’t paradise, but... it could be worse." The words slipped out before he could stop them, softer than he wanted, like a door that had been closed for too long suddenly creaking open. He hadn’t expected to share anything, but with you, it didn’t feel like sharing — it felt more like breathing.

The wind picked up, sending a chill over the water. You shivered slightly, pulling your arms tighter around yourself. JJ noticed, instinctively stepping closer, despite still standing in the water.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle but laced with concern. "Cold night for a swim."

The irony of the moment wasn’t lost on him — he, too, had come to the water to escape, to disappear. But with you standing there, he didn’t feel quite as invisible. And that scared him more than he wanted to admit.

You shrugged, looking toward the shore, but your eyes softened. "Yeah, just... a tough day, I guess. I thought the water might help me forget for a little while."

A bitter laugh slipped from JJ’s lips, and he didn’t try to hide it. "Well, looks like you found the right company for that," he said, his words more raw than he’d intended. But somehow, it felt natural to talk like this, to say things he hadn’t said to anyone in a long time. With you, it didn’t feel so forced.

You turned toward him, your expression softening. There was understanding in your eyes — like you’d been there too. "Tough day too, huh?" you said quietly, your voice almost lost in the stillness of the night.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The world seemed to hold its breath, the ocean around you a calm, sacred space. In that silence, something passed between you — unspoken, but real. As if for that moment, you both shared something intangible, something neither of you could put into words.

Finally, you broke the quiet, your voice teasing but gentle. "So... are you always this mysterious, or did I just pick the perfect time to meet you?"

A laugh escaped him, more genuine than he expected. "Maybe a little of both." He let the silence stretch on, comfortable now. For the first time in ages, he felt seen, and it wasn’t as frightening as he thought it would be.

It was ridiculous, he thought — how could a complete stranger, someone he’d just met in the middle of the ocean, at some ungodly hour, feel like they were filling a space inside him he never knew was empty?

But when he looked at you, he felt something shift, something deep inside. Something real. Something alive.

"JJ," he finally said, his voice breaking the silence. The sound of his own name felt unfamiliar, like a piece of himself he hadn’t shared in too long.

You gave him a soft smile that reached your eyes, warm and knowing. "Nice to meet you, JJ."

AND THERE IT WAS — his universe had changed. The Big Bang.

After that night, JJ couldn’t think about anything but you. Your presence consumed him, yet in a way that felt like coming alive for the first time. He found himself drifting into your orbit, again and again, as if fate itself had been guiding him toward you all along. But while he believed in fate, you thought it was just chance.

It wasn’t long before JJ began to learn more about you, obsessing over every little detail. He learned that you loved spending your free time on the beach, reading books. Books that he had never bothered with before, but now he listened to them at double speed just to be able to talk to you about them. You had a habit of finding solace in the water, the way the waves seemed to ease the weight of the world from your shoulders. And he learned that you worked in a small diner on the Cut, a place that barely registered on anyone else’s radar but was now a part of his daily life.

It became his mission to visit those places. To catch your eye, exchange a few words. He even went to some Save the Turtles event with Kie — something he’d never have attended before — just to see you, just to find a reason to talk.

He didn't know why he was so drawn to you. Why waking up felt a little easier when he thought about you. Why his days felt less suffocating when he could see you by the ocean, or feel your warmth when you wrapped him up in your arms. And most importantly — why, in a world where he wanted to stay invisible, he wanted you to see him. Because no one, not even the closest people in his life, had ever truly understood him like you did.

It might have sounded corny, but JJ knew you were different. He didn’t want to undress you or get you into bed first, like he did with other girls. He wanted to talk to you. He wanted to know you. He wanted to be near you — not in a rushed, desperate way, but slowly, patiently, like the world had all the time for them. And that terrified him. Because everything in his life felt like it was bound to break, and he was scared of getting too close, only to watch it all fall apart.

But you made him feel like he was floating, like he was finally seeing the light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. And even if it didn’t last forever, he would take it. It was worth it.

Because at some moment you became his safe place. His home.

JJ DIDN'T REMEMBER THE EXACT MOMENT HE FIRST CAME TO YOUR HOUSE, or why he couldn’t go back to the Chateau after the latest fight with his father. He just knew that he had found his way to you. It wasn’t a conscious choice. It was as if the universe had decided that, for once, he deserved peace. So, he climbed up to your balcony, hiding from the world, just to see you.

The moment he stepped inside, he felt the weight of everything lift from his chest. You didn't need to ask questions, you didn’t need explanations. You just held him — no judgment, no demands. Just there. Your hands gently cupped his face, and in that simple gesture, everything felt easier. It was like you knew exactly how much he needed to be held together. The comfort in your touch was so raw, so real, that it felt like he could stay there forever and nothing would ever hurt him again.

"Hey, JJ," you whispered softly as you cleaned the cuts on his knuckles. "You're okay. It's just another day. We'll get through it."

Your words were soft, but they carried a weight. The kind of weight that made him feel like, maybe, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t carrying all the burden on his own.

"Yeah, we will," he whispered looking in your eyes finding solace in it. "How'd your day go?" he asked quietly, almost as an afterthought, as you dabbed at a cut on his forehead.

You smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You know, the usual. Serving coffee, cleaning tables... Same old stuff. But then again, it’s a good distraction.”

And JJ realized, right then, that this wasn’t just about him. It wasn’t just about the mess of his life. It was about the way you understood him without needing to understand everything. You were healing him, piece by piece, without even knowing it.

You were there, not because you had to be, but because you wanted to be. And when you laid him down in your bed, curling up beside him, you whispered about your day at work, your own small struggles. You shared your world with him, and somehow, it made his feel a little less heavy.

IT WASN'T LONG BEFORE JJ OPENED UP TO YOU, really opened up in a way he had never done before. It was a slow burn at first. He kept his distance, guarding you from the mess that was his life. But the longer he stayed, the more he realized that you were the one who saw him. All of him — the messed-up, broken parts that he tried so hard to hide from everyone else. And when he realized you weren’t scared of that, he finally let go.

"I used to think that if I told you about my life, you'd leave," he admitted one night, his voice thick with raw emotion. "But... you didn’t. You stayed."

You looked at him, your expression tender, your hands tracing the edge of his jawline. "I'm not going anywhere, JJ. Not unless you want me to."

And that was the moment he knew — he had found someone who understood him in a way no one ever had. No one ever would.

One night, after sharing stories and secrets until the stars outside had started to fade, you both found yourselves standing close, the air thick with unspoken words. There was a nervousness between you, but also a tenderness that neither of you had known before. JJ leaned in, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was soft, hesitant, and filled with the kind of understanding that only comes when two people truly see each other. His lips were warm against yours, the moment suspended in time. And as he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, he whispered softly, “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

You didn’t need to say anything in return. The truth was already in your eyes, in the way you pulled him closer, your hands tracing the lines of his back like you were memorizing him. He didn’t need forever. He didn’t need promises. He just needed this. You. Now. And that was enough.

THE EVENING WAS SETTLING INTO ITS QUIET RYTHM AT THE CHATEAU. The Pogues were scattered around, some laughing, some lost in their own thoughts, and some just lounging by the bonfire. The air smelled faintly of saltwater and smoke, the crackling warmth from the fire barely reaching the edge of the pier. The world felt suspended in a beautiful hush, as though the universe itself had exhaled, and for the briefest of moments, everything stood still.

But despite the presence of his friends, despite the fire, the laughter, and the constant noise that filled every corner of the Chateau, JJ was focused only on you. Your presence was like gravity, pulling him closer to something real, something tangible. You were his escape, his universe — shaped not by chaos and pain, but by a quiet peace he had never known until you.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked softly, lifting your head from his shoulder. Your voice was gentle, threading through the sea breeze that fluttered your hair, causing it to stray in wisps across your face. You frowned slightly as the breeze brushed against your skin, the hair teasing at your cheek in an almost playful, yet annoying way. He loved how you could get lost in these little moments, how even the simplest things seemed to pull you in.

JJ, ever the thinker, gazed out at the vast ocean, where the horizon was a delicate line between the fading light of the day and the endless mystery of the night. There was something about the sea — so unpredictable, so endless — that made him feel both small and infinite. It was like he could feel the weight of the universe pressing on his chest, but at the same time, it gave him a sense of freedom, of release.

He shook his head, not really having the words to explain the depth of his thoughts, of how you had become his entire universe in such a short time. He leaned down, brushing his lips against your forehead in a kiss that felt like a promise, like a quiet vow he was ready to keep forever.

"I love you," he said simply, the words falling so easily from his lips it startled him. It was like his heart had always known the truth, but now, with you, it could finally speak it. He turned to face you, his hands gently cupping your face, and pushed a strand of hair back behind your ear. Your hair had tangled slightly in the breeze, and his fingers brushed against the soft strands as if trying to keep you grounded in this moment.

You smiled up at him, your eyes warm with affection, and for a brief second, JJ wondered if he had been imagining all of this — the way your touch made him feel alive, how your laugh filled him with a joy that felt as though he was living in a dream. He had never been one to express his feelings out loud, never been able to put his heart on the line like that. But with you, everything felt different. Everything felt right.

"I love you, too," you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips, but JJ felt the weight of them — felt how real they were, how they shifted the space between you, making it smaller, warmer, more intimate. It was like the universe had shifted in that moment, like the stars aligned just for the two of you.

But you, ever the one to keep things light, laughed softly, breaking the moment in the most perfect way. Your laugh rang out like music, a melody he couldn’t get enough of. "But everyone knows that, stupid! It’s no secret that you’re head over heels in love with me," you teased, brushing his hair out of his eyes, as if trying to bring him back down from whatever cosmic place his mind had drifted to.

JJ chuckled, the sound deep and sincere. There was no pretense, no walls. Just the two of you, surrounded by the night and the ocean, and for the first time, he felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be. His smile was soft but real, and he kissed you once, gently, on the tip of your nose, then moved to the corner of your lips, then your cheek, your forehead, each kiss like a reassurance that this moment, this feeling, was real.

"You don't get it, do you?" JJ murmured, his voice a little more serious than the moment required. He let the silence stretch between you before continuing. "It’s not just... about love, doll. It’s about everything. It’s the way you make me see the world in a way I never thought I would. The way you make me feel like... like I’m enough." His voice softened with a vulnerability he hadn’t known he could express. "Before you, everything was just a blur. I didn’t even know how to be, to feel. But with you? It’s different. You make me real, love."

You looked at him, your gaze tender, understanding. Your eyes softened, and without a word, you reached out and pulled him in for a tight hug. JJ rested his head against your shoulder, inhaling the soft scent of your skin, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop spinning. It was just the two of you, and for the first time in a long time, JJ felt truly alive.

He had spent so many years running from everything that hurt him, pushing away anything that could cause him pain. But in that moment, wrapped in your embrace, the fear was gone. There was nothing left but the two of you, standing on the edge of the world, with the ocean stretching out before you like an endless promise.

"I never thought I’d say it," he whispered, his words coming out in a quiet rush. "But you’re my Big Bang. The thing that changed everything for me. Before you, it felt like I was drifting through the void, like there was nothing in this world worth holding on to. But now..." He pulled away slightly, looking at you with a newfound intensity. "Now, you’re my everything. You gave me a reason to stay."

Your fingers lightly brushed against his cheek, the touch so gentle it felt like a feather. You looked at him, eyes searching his face, and you smiled softly. "You don't have to be alone anymore, JJ. You’ve never been alone." Your voice was quiet, but the sincerity behind it struck him like a bolt of lightning. "We're in this together."

A small laugh escaped him, a sound that felt almost foreign but so freeing. The way you made him feel — like he was seen, understood, held — it was beyond anything he could have imagined. You were the gravity in his universe, pulling him in, holding him steady. And no matter how far out he drifted, he always knew he'd find his way back to you.

"You make me feel like the world is full of stars," he murmured, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. "Like everything that’s ever happened to me — good or bad — led me to you. Like I was just waiting for you to come and show me what it’s like to be."

You grinned, a playful glint in your eyes. "Well, don't get too carried away, Maybank. I’m not that amazing."

JJ smiled, but there was something raw in his expression, something that hinted at all the things he could never quite put into words. "You are," he said softly. "You are my everything. And for once, I’m not afraid to let myself feel it."

The world stretched out before you, both of you standing at the precipice of something so beautiful, so uncertain, yet so undeniable. The stars above shimmered like tiny promises, like constellations forming their own quiet narrative about two souls finding each other in the vast, infinite expanse of the universe. And in that moment, the ocean, the stars, the wind, and the night itself seemed to pause, holding its breath.

"I love you. So much," JJ whispered again, his voice filled with the certainty that had settled deep within him. It was simple, but it was everything. The words echoed, not just through the air, but through his heart, through his bones, reverberating in a way he never thought was possible. And as the night embraced them both, they realized that they had found their place in the world. Together.

And for the first time, JJ Maybank wasn’t afraid to be seen. Because you saw him. And that was enough

thankx for reading <3

so, that’s it. jj maybank deserved the whole world but only got this shitty ending. am i gonna watch obx4 now? probably not. am i gonna write for jj like there’s no s4? definitely yes! i think we’ll all agree that obx ended on s3 and after that nothing happened.

but every time i see the posts about jj i feel so sad… like it literally hurts on some level because he deserved his happy ending more than anyone. even if rudy wanted to leave the show they could have written a good ending for him. not one more fucked up father, but one that would take him to see the world or shit like this. i just wanted him to be happy.

i chose iris because this is so jj coded for me. i haven’t listened to this song in ages and when it popped up in my shuffle yesterday – i just wanted it to be about jj. with all his struggles, all his pain, but also with a hope for something good. so, i rly hope that you liked this work.

and again thank u for reading. thank u for liking, reblogging and commenting - it’s rly means a lot to me. you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3

- your santi 🪐

masterlist

#– santi 🪐#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank fic #jj maybank x you #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank #obx x reader #obx fanfiction #obx x you #obx fic

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sweetshuga · 15 days ago

Text

The moon is pretty, isn’t it? ✧ CS

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

bsf!chris! Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve—all the possibilities kept eating at you, until he showed up knocking on your window unannounced. [angst, smut, fluff, a sprinkle of everything]

wc. 1.1k

note. English is not my first language!

You and Chris had a falling-out.

You had accidentally laid your feelings bare during a harmless game of 'Truth or Dare'. The look on his face alone made you feel that twist in your gut, but what he said after his silence made your stomach feel like it was dropping down 10-stories.

"Are you fucking serious with me right now?" The almost mad sounding tone made your heart beat faster as you tried to backpedal, "no, Chris, that was–" he cut you off, standing up, looking pissed. "I’m going home, can’t fucking believe this shit," he stormed out before you could utter another word.

The front door slammed shut after him and you sat in silence for a while, your brain unable to comprehend what had just happened. When the realization finally dawned over you, you couldn’t help the tears from forming in your eyes nor the painful clump in your throat.

Not only did he reject you and get angry at you, he left as well. Was he that angry? Were your feelings such a bad thing? Questions swirled in your head like a broken record.

You didn’t know what to do, what to think or what to say. All you could do was sit there and cry, completely shocked with the turn of events. Some people may call you oversensitive or dramatic, but they don’t know how much it hurts—how much more painful it was than any physical injuries.

You curled up in bed, thinking about everything that you could’ve done differently, everything that would’ve been if you didn’t tell him about your stupid crush on him and everything that should’ve been – in your selfish fantasies.

𓆩♡𓆪

You had fallen asleep on your bed after crying. Feeling slightly better but your sleep was plagued by memories of his face, the way he reacted to your feelings and the words he spoke.

You were jolted awake by the sound of knocking, looking around in confusion as you sat up on your bed, only to see Chris looking at you through your window.

You nearly had a heart attack, staring back at him with wide eyes and your hand on your chest. After all, your room was on the second floor, how the fuck did he climb up?

You scurried to the window, opening it to let him in, all the previous hurt gone, replaced by pure bewilderment. His expression turned pained when he saw the dried tear streaks and red puffy eyes, "don’t look at me like that." You blinked, finally realising you’ve been staring at him with wide eyes and a gaped mouth, quickly closing your mouth as you schooled your expression.

"What was that?" Chris sighed, "what was what?" He questioned back, "how the fuck did you climb up? Better yet, why the fuck are you climbing in through the window?" He rubbed his temple, looking frustrated, "look, I knocked on your front door but you didn’t open it, just forget about me climbing in and let’s... let’s talk about—"

You cut him off with a stubborn "no" , he blinked, surprised at what he was hearing, "what?" He asked confused, making you repeat yourself, louder this time, "no." He looked at you bewildered, like he couldn’t believe he was hearing what he was hearing.

"Don’t be a brat," Chris inhaled deeply before continuing, "listen, I know I reacted a bit too dramatically and I’m sorry for that, but you have to understand how surprising it was for me," you scoffed at his words, eliciting a heavy sigh from him.

"Please, just..." His voice trailed off into another sigh, "I can’t... I mean, we shouldn’t," his voice was barely above a whisper, the uncertainty and vulnerability in his eyes caused your heart to race. "Why?" A simple question really, but the answer wasn’t so simple.

"Because..." His voice trailed off, knowing he doesn’t have a good excuse as to why they couldn’t, "because we’re friends." That made your expression harden, "right, of course Sherlock, I know." Chris groaned, "you’re not making this easier—" you cut him off, "and you’re being insensitive."

"Don’t be like that, i just..." he trailed off again, biting the side of his bottom lip nervously, he was fighting a losing battle between what he wanted and what was the better choice in his opinion. "Please..." you looked at him, "please what? What do you want me to do Chris? You know what, never mind—"

His eyes widened at your dismissive tone, realising he might lose you if he wasn’t honest, "no, no, I’ll— we’ll—fuck, let’s do it." He stammered, making you pause, "what?" He quickly added, "let’s date." You looked at him for a good minute, "what?" You asked dumbly, "let’s date," he repeated himself.

"Are you serious? You were just saying you won't and can't when i asked you just now," you raised your eyebrows, completely taken aback, to which he let out a quiet chuckle to. "I know, I just realised something, forget about it and come here," he pulled you closer, and you eagerly complied.

He hugged you tightly, "I realised I couldn’t fight it anymore, you’re too important to me, I can’t lose you no matter what," you let yourself melt in his embrace. "You serious?" You whispered into his chest, nuzzling into it, making him laugh softly. "Yeah, dead serious." You sighed, in relief and contentment.

Suddenly, he walked backwards with you still in his embrace and plopped on the bed, taking you down with him. "Hey–" he shut you up with a kiss, a soft chaste one, and you smiled into it, your heart feeling lighter and warmer.

As you deepened the kiss, his hands wandered over your body, inching down to squeeze your ass before smacking it gently. The sudden feeling made you squirm, causing you to grind on him, making him let out a small groan into the kiss.

You could feel the heat and hardness under you, the only barrier being your thin clothes, and the friction was almost too good to stop. Your hips rolled as you chased after that friction, only for Chris to hold your hips in place.

Groaning as you broke the kiss, "why?" you whined breathlessly, "I wanna feel you, can I?" He whispered, playing with the waistband of your sleep shorts. Nodding as you helped him take off your sleep shorts, followed by his sweatpants.

𓆩♡𓆪

Your world blurred as he fucked you senseless, you didn’t even remember how or when you got into the doggy style position. Your orgasm crashed over you for the nth time tonight, gasping as you tried to control your loud moans, your wrists were pinned on the small of your back by Chris as he pounded into you. "Fuck—so beautiful, ma."

As you two lay in each other’s embrace, content and relishing in the afterglow, you couldn’t help but make a comment about the full moon glowing brightly in the darkness of the night.

"The moon is pretty, isn’t it?" Chris chuckled softly, pulling you closer, nuzzling his face in your hair, "yeah, as pretty as my girl."

𓆩♡𓆪

wc. 1,183

Isa's notes. I know my fics always end with smut or something suggestive... I try to make it any other genre, i really do, but the voices— lmaoo I'm js fucking around, i just like me some smut 🎀

xoxo 𓆩♡𓆪

Masterlist 𓆩♡𓆪 Taglist

Taglist: @strnilolover @mattsfavoritestar @sophand4n4 @tpwktahlz @lilyyliloo @slut4angstt @pvssychicken @poolover123 @loud-sturniolos @inlovewchrissturniolo @queenshet @chrisstopherfilmed @billiesbabya

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saltywritings · 8 months ago

Text

The Bonds of Blood (Aegon Targaryen II x Reader) Dark Content

Summary: Aegon visits Aemond's wife at night.

Warnings: very dark fic, noncon/dubcon, somnophilia, slight stalking, envy, descriptive smut, blackmail, and trickery. adults only.

You've been married to Aemond for three lunar cycles now. He had shown glimpses of kindness in his own way… when he was present. Yet, to call him merely "kind" felt too generous—he merely existed. He was passive, seemingly disengaged. You endeavored to spark his interest. You inquired about his dragon and extended offers to share books with him. Nevertheless, the moments spent together felt devoid of life. Even amidst conversation, the emptiness hung heavy in the air.

Passion was absent, and intimate moments were few and far between, lacking any semblance of desire. His gaze scarcely met yours, and his departures were swift. The only instances when Aemond displayed any semblance of spousal behavior were in the presence of his elder brother. It seemed as though Aemond harbored a tinge of jealousy towards Aegon, perhaps protective of you from his brother's attention. Despite Aegon being among the few at court who showed genuine interest in you, Aemond repeatedly cautioned his brother to steer clear of his wife. Nonetheless, Aegon's presence always found its way back to you, defying Aemond's warnings.

At times, you found yourself pondering the possibilities of a different marriage, yet you endeavored to remain grateful that your husband was not cruel or violent. Despite this, the weight of duty pressed heavily upon you. Three moons had passed, and still, your womb remained empty, testing the limits of your hope. This was of course until the night you woke up.

As your eyes begun to flutter you first noticed the pressure on your body. The rhythmic creaking of the bed caught your attention, though initially, you were uncertain of its cause. This was until you could feel him, inside of you. He was engulfed in you, your tight pussy clinging around him. Aching for a sensation that he, your husband, had not provided you with this moon. A moan had parted from your lips, remaining in your throat as you pushed yourself up slightly.

"A-Aemond?" You questioned; a hand quickly pushed down on your back, holding you down against the bed. Your body obeyed, though your lips continued to spill the sweet sounds of desire.

There was a feeling inside of you. It was unfamiliar, foreign. A tightening deep within your womanhood that clung around your husbands length.

"A-Aemond, I-I-"You did not even know how to form words to explain what was happening, however, his hand hard against your back his length continued. Hard, smashing into you as you begun to spasm around him. Your first release would consume you- It made sounds that never left your lips bounce on the stone walls of the room causing him to push your face down into the bed to silence you. His trust quickened and soon you could feel him fill you.

This feeling was familiar, the other was not. You could feel his seed, sticky and thick, as he fucked every last drop into you. His trust becoming lazy as he kept you pushed down on the bed. He stayed there like that and while you wanted to question him you could not move. When he did pull himself from you he left the room before you could even fully turn around. Leaving you to sleep, sticky, and unaware of what your husband's brother had just done to you.

For you had thought that your husband had come to your room, late at night, to finally fulfil his desires . . . or his duty. Regardless you were finally happy to be fulfilling yours.

Aegon would come to you when you were asleep each day that week. He pushed you down on the mattress, face down, and always left without saying a word.

Tonight was no exception for Aegon. He had managed to slip into your room undetected, pausing for a moment at the foot of the bed. As you slumbered, as you often did, he couldn't help but notice how your features seemed almost angelic in the moonlight, reminiscent of a painting he had once seen of the Mother. Aegon's eyes were fixated on your chest, watching your breast as they rose and fell with your breathing. What he would give to fuck you in the day light. Aegon crept onto the bed, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he deftly peeled away the blankets. Your legs were apart, waiting for him, he was certain.

Aegon normally flipped you over but tonight was different. He could not resist, for his hands carefully removed your undergarments. He brought them to his face and took an inhale of your sweet scent. His cock had become rock hard, stirring in his trousers as he brought them down. He did not wat a moment longer, for he soon pushed down on your thighs and slid himself inside of you. Even after nights of stuffing himself inside of you, your cunt was deliciously tight. Aegon begun to thrust into you, concerned about his own pleasure.

Your body became tense with him inside you, he watched as your face contorted; soft sounds falling from your lips as he thrusted into you.

The sensation was no longer unfamiliar. As you stirred from your slumber, you found yourself beginning to embrace the feeling. Yet, as your eyelids fluttered open, you gazed upward. For the first time since your husband had started visiting you at this late hour, you were able to meet his gaze. However, now eye to eye, you were able to see that this was not your husband. It was Aegon who had welcomed himself into your body, hands gripping on your waist as he spit you on his cock, grunting into you, and filling you with his seed each night.

"A-Aegon!" You asked in an out rage, a smile creeping on his lips as he placed his hand over your mouth.

"Shh-" He ordered as he started to thrust into you at an accelerated rate. Without mercy. You were tightening around him, involuntarily. You were trying to fight off the feeling of your own release; tears had been pooling in the corners of your eyes as you whimpered for mercy.

There was no mercy here.

Aegon knew what you were doing and continued until you spasmed around him causing him to hum. "Good Girl." He cooed to you, taking his fingers and now shoving them into your mouth. Looking at you, your hole full of his cock and another full of his fingers. "Fucking look at you, getting fucked by your husbands brother. You whore." Aegon said in a grunt as he continued his speed, slowing down slightly to savor this moment.

"You love this, don't you?" Aegon asked, his fingers pushing down on your tongue, causing you to gag on his fingers. You could not answer, you didn't have to. The slickness between your legs said more than any defense you would have given.

"Ah, Gods- I'm close. It's so hard to last inside you." Aegon spoke in a grunt as he continued to fuck you teasingly slow. "Aemond doesn't know what he's missing." He continued on.

Aegon would pick up his speed, unable to hold off any longer as he soon tense his body, his cock spasming inside of you. "Fuck- fucking milk me you whore." Aegon says as he fills you, ensuring that not a drop of his seed is leaking out of you, his free hand pushing down on your thigh so you have no option but to take it. He soon pulls his finger from your mouth and slowly unsheathes his cock from within you.

Aegon turns over to you and without a moment hesitation informs you, "You'll have to fuck Aemond here soon, convince him that he actually managed to get you pregnant."

#aegon targaryen smut #house of the dragon smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #dark aegon smut #dark house of the dragon smut #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x reader

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kpop---scenarios · 2 months ago

Text

Halloween Night

Pairing: Lee Know x Reader

Warning: Smut, mostly smut. be warned, there's smut. Contains Dacryphilia (aroused by tears) CNC, rough smut, unprotected sex. [18+ ONLY. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.]

Summary: You and Minho are friends with benefits, who have special plans on Halloween.

Word Count: 1.7k

Everything Taglist: @piscesrising01 @baby-stay92 @kisses-too-the-moon @dwaekkiiracha @rylea08 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @satosugu4l @iovecb97 @lordmaahes-nsc @sailorkoss @minh0scat @pixie0627 @50-husbands @jinnies-muse @yaorzu-blog @joyofbebbanburg @number1jeonginstan @skzooluvr @jisunglyricist @ambersnowxxx @stay-tiny-things @thegingerthatwaited

@wife2straykidss @silly250 @tsunderelino @1810cl @anskiiz

@ayyonoona @31maze13

This is a part of @mirohs-aurora-society kinktober event!

Networks: @ksmutsociety| @straykidsland

October 31st.

Halloween night.

Your favorite day of the year. The one day of the year that you get to have a extra little fun, with someone you aren't supposed to have. Yeah, you could dress up and go out to drink and meet a stranger, but you didn't want that. Your friends tried to invite you out but they know you won't go, and you didn't want to have to tell them why. They believed that you didn't like Halloween because that's what you told them, but if only they knew the truth.

You sit on your couch, wearing your sexy little night gown, your makeup done, extra mascara. He likes when your mascara runs when you cry. You're watching a show while you partially listen to the party goers at the bar across the street. The sounds of laughter, drinking coming through your open window that goes out to your fire escape. You pop a piece of popcorn in your mouth, slowly chewing it as your stomach twists and turns in anticipation for tonight's events. Your pussy throbs at the thought of what was going to happen, you couldn't wait. you stand up, making your way to your kitchen, grabbing some water. You take a sip, the water just barely hitting your lips before you hear a sound. You turn around, setting your cup on the counter, you walk back to the living room, staring at the open window. Your stomach drops, something feels off. A chill runs down your spine as you look around. You wander towards the open window when you see a figure just outside, standing on your fire escape, wearing a Jason Vorhees mask. Your heart sinks as the person slowly walks towards the window, he slowly climbs inside, jumping down onto your hardwood floors. Your heart drops, you're frozen in your spot as he slowly stalks towards you.

He's close, you turn to run but he lunges for you. He hand grips your wrist, pulling you back. Your back is held against his chest, he lets go over your wrist, his arm wrapping around your throat. He leans in close to you, his mask grazing your face.

“You have no idea how much I want this.” He groans, running his hand down your body. You can feel the heat from his body radiating onto you. His hand grips the hem of your nightgown, pulling it up slightly. For a split second he releases you, pulling his arm away from you. You run to the kitchen, trying to find something you could use. You can feel the tears welling in your eyes as you frantically search for a weapon. But you were a single girl, you didn't have much. He walks in after you, without hesitation. You turn around, holding up a knife, threatening him.

“Get out!” You yell, pushing the knife in front of him. He lets out a low chuckle as he walks towards you more. He knew you wouldn't use it. He grabs the handle of the knife, ripping it out of your hand, tossing it onto the floor. He keeps walking, you back up, until you're pressed up against the counter. He pushes himself against you, breathing heavily as he runs his fingers down your face.

“You gonna cry?” He whispers, leaning closer to you. “I want you to cry while I fuck you.” He groans.

“Please.” You whimper, letting a tear roll down your cheek. He lets out a low groan, pushing his erection between your legs.

“Get on your knees.” He snaps, pushing down onto your shoulders. You quickly drop to your knees, unbuckling his belt, pulling his zipper down before you pull his jeans and his boxers down, letting them pool around his ankles. His cock stands straight out, pre-cum seeping from his tip.

“Suck my cock.” He demands. You hesitate for a moment, he grabs a chunk of your hair, yanking your head down, making you look up at him.

“Do as you're told.” He grunts. “Open your mouth.” He says.

More tears spill from your eyes as you open your mouth, he shuffles forward, thrusting his cock into your mouth. You close your lips around him, swirling your tongue all around, as he thrusts himself in and out of your mouth. He moans loudly, throwing his masked head back as he clenches his fists. You take more of him in your mouth, and at the same time, he thrusts his cock down your throat, tears now spilling from your eyes as he rams himself into you, over and over again. He moans loudly, the sight of tears falling down your face as you choke on his cock, makes him even fucking harder.

“Fuck baby, that's right, swallow my fucking cock.” He spits, holding onto your head now, fucking your face, hard.

He grunts as he pulls his cock from your mouth. He helps you up off the floor, your mascara smudged around your eyes, spit and cum dripping from your face.

“Get on the table, spread your legs.” He snaps, pointing to your kitchen table. You stare at the masked man, unmoving. He cocks his head to the side slightly, chuckling. He leans in close to you, his eyes staring into yours before you turn your head away. “You wanna be punished, princess?” He asks, grabbing onto your chin, forcing you to look at him. His fingers dig into your jaw as he steps away from you, pushing you towards the table. You climb on laying down, spreading your legs wide. Your nightgown slides up your body, exposing your sopping wet, unclothed cunt.

He walks over to you, dragging a finger down your pussy, lightly touching your clit before he rams his fingers inside of you.

“F-fuck.” You cry out, clenching yourself around his fingers. He pulls them out of you, taking his mask off with his free hand. You smile up at the man as he sticks his fingers into his mouth, sucking your juices from them. “Mhmm, it's nice to see your face.” You whisper. He smiles down at you, stroking his cock as he lines himself up with you. He shoves his cock into you, making you moan loudly. He continues thrusting, reaching up to your nightgown. He grabs onto it, pulling hard to rip it, exposing your bouncing breasts as he fucks you.

“I've fucking missed you.” He groans, grabbing onto your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers.

You reach down to play with your clit, but he swats your hand away. “You'll cum only by me doing it, princess.” He groans. “And you'll cum when I fucking tell you too.”

Your clit throbs as his fingers dig into your thighs, his cock sliding out before he rams it back inside of you.

“P-please…fuck, please Minho…” You cry, your clit throbbing relentlessly from being untouched.

“What princess?” He groans. “What do you want?” He asks.

“I wanna cum… please…please let me cum.” You huff. Minho smiles at you, the tip of his finger barely dragging over your clit, teasing the fuck out of you. You clench around his cock, whimpering.

“So fucking needy for me.” He moans, placing his fingers on your clit, rubbing it as he continues to shove his cock into you. Your back arches at the sensation, you felt like you were going to explode. Minho grunts as he thrusts into you, watching your tear stained face, your eyes rolling back into your head. He smiles widely watching you wiggle beneath him, holding back your orgasm until he tells you you're allowed to cum. He leans down, pinning you down, pressing his lips to yours. He slips his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss, your tongues swirling around each others. He pulls away from you, holding onto your chin to make you look at him.

“Open your mouth.” He demands.

You smirk, licking your lips before you open your mouth, wide. Minho leans over you, still holding onto your chin as he slowly lets spit fall from his lips dripping down into your mouth. You swallow it, licking your lips again, smiling up at him.

“That's a good girl.” He murmurs. He smiles at you before he rams his cock into you as hard as he can, rubbing your clit faster. “Cum for me princess.” He huffs. “Cum all over my fucking cock.”

You scream out in pleasure as he hits all the right fucking spots. You can't take it anymore, you can't hold it in anymore. He rams into you again and again, until you finally explode, the feeling of pure euphoria washes over your body as you cum, hard, crying out loudly.

“Fuck.” Minho grunts. “Good fucking girl.”

He digs his fingers deep into your thighs as he chases his own high, his cock pulsating inside you until he finally explodes, spilling his cum deep inside your cunt, coating your walls.

Minho gently thrusts, milking himself for all he has, making sure you get every ounce of his cum.

He pulls out of you, allowing his cum to seep from your pussy. Minho pulls up his boxers and his jeans before he helps you up and off the table. Your legs shaking, knees weak but Minho holds you up, trying to sniffle a laugh, but you still hear it.

“Shut the fuck up.” You half laugh.

“I mean it's been a year since you've been fucked that good, it only makes sense for you to shake like that.” Minho laughs.

“Okay, that's unnecessary.” You laugh. “I don't wait for one day a year to ge fucked you know. I do have a boyfriend.” You say with a wink.

He smiles at you before lifting you up, tossing you over his shoulder.

“Sure, but they're not as good as me.” He says, taking you to the bathroom. He sets you down, turning on the bath, letting the hot water fill the tub. He strips off his clothes before helping you take off your torn nightgown. You both get into the bath, your back resting against Minho’s chest as he gently rubs your shoulder.

“Did you have fun tonight?” He asks.

You sleepily nod your head. “So much fun.” You say, resting your head against him.

“What are you doing the rest of the night?” He asks.

“Probably going to bed.” You chuckle. “Do you wanna join me?”

“I'd love to.” He murmurs, kissing your head. “You know… I'd like to make this friends with benefits thing we have going on more like a boyfriend girlfriend thing.” He whispers.

“Can we still do our Halloween role playing?” You ask.

“I won't ever give these Halloween nights up.” He laughs, holding onto you tightly.

“Then I'd love nothing more than to be your girlfriend.”

#ksmutsociety #straykidsland #mirohsaurorasociety #lee know smut #minho smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #minho x reader #kinktober #kpop smut #lee know x reader #kpop writing #kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #stray kids #skz #skz fanfic

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kykyonthemoon · 9 months ago

Text

Moonlit

You're on the mission to approach a target at a banquet, and that's all it takes to drive him crazy.

🌻 Rafayel/Xavier/Zayne x F!Reader See Caleb and Sylus's parts here: Full Moon Tags: R16+, suggestive theme, MDNI, possessive, marking and biting, no established relationship This is a request by Xuanlinhh. A/N: This is my first time trying out something like this for L&D, as I don't usually write fic with suggestive theme. So I'm curious to know how I've done with this fic. Feedbacks are always appreciated. After so many titles, I decided to choose "Moonlit", since the moon represents illusion, fear, hidden things. These are the scenarios where he shows another color of his to you. Thus, in all three scenes, there are moonlight all over the place.

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𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

Your eyes widened when you saw the dress draped over your cotton blanket. It was long past the ankles, the shoulders were slightly bulging and hanging down to reveal the collarbone. The dress consisted of many layers of pastel pink and purple. In the afternoon sunlight, the sequins and pearls attached to it seemed to shine.

“Does he really want me to wear this?” It was a murmur to yourself. The dress was too exquisite, too expensive, too... much at least in comparison to what you would often put in your wardrobe. You did not need to become a princess, just a normal evening dress to blend in and complete the task assigned to you.

Being ignorant about high society or lavish balls, you had asked Rafayel for help. You never expected him to send you such a gorgeous dress.

Indeed, as he predicted, you became the focus of the party as soon as you arrived there.

Each party guest had a mask. Yours arrived in the same color scheme as the dress and was encrusted with opulent pearls and jewels. You wondered why Rafayel was making you look quite distinct. However, you shouldn't have had any reason to doubt him at all when your target moved toward you on his own initiative.

The target of this mission was a high-class profile from another city. Even though you tried your best to focus on the mission, you still wondered if Rafayel came here, or just his work.

The banquet area was adorned with paintings by Rafayel, so it was hard to look at them and not think about him. Had he made it in yet? Would he abandon you here, trapped in a conversation with a stranger?

Using the skill of pretended intimacy in order to obtain information was something you had learned from your training courses. You put a hand on the target's, smiling and talking as if you were fascinated by him. After getting the information you needed, you made an excuse to leave, but it did not appear like things would finish so simply.

He grabbed your wrist and roughly pulled you back to your seat. You shouted, but the music and laughter drowned you out. You aimed at the middle of his face and was about to throw a punch, only to have an arm wrapped over your shoulder and holding your back.

“It seems like this lady doesn't want to be here anymore.”

You knew right away that voice, and that scent were as familiar as a field of wild roses. You turned around and saw Rafayel standing next to you. His hand held your shoulder to help you stand up. Suddenly your heart was filled with joy to see him.

Your target still refused to let go, but when he realized Rafayel's face was not covered by the mask, he knew that was someone he could not meddle with.

He said something to Rafayel in a foreign language and then walked away. You looked at Rafayel, grateful:

“Rafayel…”

Before you finished speaking, you were tugged out of the banquet room by him.

The quiet garden was awakened by the footsteps of two people. From behind, you couldn't see Rafayel's face, only his broad shoulders covered in a dark-colored tuxedo with sequins. You had the strange impression that he was furious. Perhaps it was his pressure that caused your wrist to get crimson. He guided you through a labyrinth of plants and stone sculptures.

“Rafayel.”

He only stopped when you called his name, but still did not turn to look at you. You stepped forward to observe him. You took a step forward to study him. A frown could be seen plainly on his forehead as his face pouted.

“Rafayel? What's the matter?"

His gaze grew gloomy. His hand holding yours tightened even more as he pulled it up to touch his cheek.

“…”

His abrupt movement confused you. He buried his face in your palm, took in a deep breath and gave you a bite.

“Rafayel!”

You let out a cry of surprise instead of agony since the bite was rather faint. He took advantage of your vulnerability to wrap his arms around you, forcing your body to touch his.

His lips placed on your palm a kiss where it had just been bitten, then slid down to your wrist. You made an unsuccessful attempt to flee. He gave you another glance, or rather studied every strand of lace and fabric of the garment that embraced your upper body.

“I made a terrible mistake sending this dress to you. Too graceful. Too desirable…”

The moon, round like a silver disk overhead, provided the sole light in the labyrinth. Rafayel continued to rub his face on your hand, his face appearing and disappearing in an instant.

“He touched you here…” Rafayel whispered. He kissed your wrist and palm again, fiercely like a storm.

“You… What are you doing?…”

Your heart beat was so incessant. It might have been an overdose of alcohol that caused your arms and legs to feel so weak. Rafayel let go of your hand, just to rub his head on your shoulder. His fingers sank into your hair, causing your mask to fall off. You caught his heavy breathing close to your ear, his breath caressing your uncovered neck and collarbone.

“What about here?”

Rafayel asked, then he bit your neck, causing your body to squirm in agony.

“N-No! Rafayel!”

You tried to push him away, but the more you resisted, the more Rafayel tightened his hold on you. His lips sucked into your ear.

"Here?"

“I… I was just talking to him… That's all!”

"Good." He said, leaving your neck covered in crimson kiss marks. Moist. Burning. Exposed under the moonlight. "You won't be touched by that filthy hand ever again. Not in the slightest... I promise it."

A crazy thought suddenly crossed your mind. You had never seen this side of Rafayel. It frightened you, and also invited you to explore further.

“What... are you going to do?…” You asked in a daze. With your head whirling, you sought to Rafayel's powerful arms for support.

“With him? You shouldn't be worried about that guy. What you should be worried about is the things that will happen to you right now.”

“Rafayel, you—!”

He nipped you on the neck, then planted another kiss where he could hear your nearly deranged heartbeat—deeper beneath your collarbone.

You took deep breaths. Rafayel straightened up and gazed down at you, euphoric in his arms. The bite marks and kiss marks were intertwined like a work of art he had left on you. Similar to the garment you were donning, they served as a reminder to others that you belonged to no one, but him.

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

The melodious music led the couples back and forth according to a set pattern. Every step, every movement was perfectly planned. Only eyes were not so easily controlled.

Yes, you had been looking at that man in the white attire ever since the music started and you were escorted to the center. His hair as bright as starlight at night stood out in the ballroom. And no matter where he was, you would find him in a blink. Even with the silver mask covering half of his face.

And, he also looked at you. There was a hint of sorrow and a tinge of rage in his eyes. Did you delude yourself like that? Or was he really looking at you and wishing that the person each of you were guiding through music was the other?

Carelessly, your heel stepped on your partner's foot. You said in embarrassment:

“My apologies… How clumsy I am.”

The man said there was no problem, and you continued dancing. This was the target you must approach for the day's mission. You turned back to face Xavier. He was also leading another person in the dance. Another target.

Due to the importance of this mission, neither you nor Xavier must show any negligence. But in the midst of this lavish masquerade, what you wanted the most was to leap into Xavier's arms. You could dance until dawn, if it was with him.

You forced the stray ideas out of your mind. You needed to focus. Extremely. You turned back to your dance partner, who did not seem to notice anything unusual. You pulled him closer and your hand on his shoulder slid down slightly.

A grin came across his grim mask to greet you. You caught a glimpse of the other side, Xavier's face tightening. Almost at once, his dance partner intentionally fell into his arms.

Fortunately, you had a mask on as well. Otherwise, your unpleasant glance would be visible to everyone in this room, including him.

You leaned your head slightly on your partner's shoulder. But you still kept an eye on Xavier. He was also observing your every move. Every time the other girl became close to Xavier, you did the same thing to your dance partner. This was supposed to be a mission, but it ended up being such a ridiculous competition.

One more dance and you got what you needed from the target. You made up an excuse and sneaked out onto the balcony alone. The starry sky loomed above you, and the aroma of flowers and grass bathed in night dew calmed you down. You removed your mask and set it on the railing. At that moment, a powerful hand was wrapped around your waist and gently squeezed.

You were startled. But immediately, you realized that the hand belonged to Xavier. He was approaching you from behind. He approached you from behind. His breath, which carried the delicate aroma of wine and cinnamon, breathed into your hair, before gradually sliding down the back of your neck, sending you slight trembles.

“Xavier?…What are you doing?…”

The mask he was still wearing tapped against your bare back exposed to the moonlight, causing you to shiver. Gently, Xavier laid kisses on it.

“Xavier!…” Your body was slightly bent, but his hand on your abdomen held you up. His other hand was around your neck, stabilizing you in that posture. A series of hasty kisses covered your back and shoulders. You bit your lip, waiting for him to speak while silently relishing the heated sensation radiating from the places where his lips met.

A little later, the hand holding you eased somewhat. You took that opportunity to turn around to face Xavier.

You could tell, even through the mask, he was hurt. He did not say a word, just looked at you like a puppy abandoned in the rain. You let out a soft sigh, wrapped your arms over his head to remove the mask. You pressed your palm against his cheek.

“Why did you do what you just did…” Your cheeks flushed, and you were certain that your back was now coated with traces of his. Xavier drew you back into his arms, grasping your hips once more.

“This mission…” He paused for a moment. “It's really too much for me.”

“Don't you like it, dancing intimately with such a beautiful girl?”

The scene of him holding someone else in his arms was enough to upset you. But it went both ways to Xavier, who was not able to hold his feelings any longer. To your surprise, he lifted you up and placed you on the railing. You felt guilty for unintentionally triggering Xavier's fury.

"I don't enjoy it one bit." Xavier replied bluntly. “Because, there is only one girl I have my eyes on in this universe and she is right in front of me.” His chilly fingers moved from your hip to your shoulder, then your neck. “I don't want anyone else to touch her.”

Before you could say anything, Xavier clasped your lips in a passionate kiss, sending your head spinning.

“No one else… but me…” Xavier whispered in very short pauses, then buried himself again in your embrace and scorching kisses.

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

The high society banquet in Linkon City was truly a remarkable event. You also prepared meticulously for that day, as your latest mission needed you to meet a target at that party.

You had done quite well during the first two hours of the event. You looked graceful in a luxurious, tight-fitting black velvet dress, with long sleeves and a thigh-high slit. You spoke, laughed, drank, and danced with your target, and everything went perfectly until you noticed a familiar figure standing in the corner of the room, observing.

The guests were all wearing masks, and from such a distance, you wondered whether you were wrong. He would dislike such events. But you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched, attentively, by someone you knew well.

After completing the mission, you sneaked out through the path least noticed. Your feet hurt from dancing too much in high heels. So you pulled them off and wandered barefoot across the calm garden at night. The dew-soaked grass made your feet chilly, but it also provided a soothing and delightful feeling.

You sat and settled by the fountain. You removed your mask and threw it on the grass next to the shoes. Your feet had begun to swell. You stretched them out, placed your hands on the fountain, and elevated your face, allowing the silver moonlight to beam down on you as you felt relaxed and relieved after finishing your work for the day.

The sound of shoes treading on the grass jolted you awake. When you opened your eyes, you saw a figure standing between you and the moonlight, clothed in a flawlessly fitting black tuxedo. That was who you had suspected all along.

“Zayne?”

You called his name, and he took off his mask.

“It's really you!” You exclaimed, happy and astonished. "I didn't think you would attend events like this."

Zayne's face hardened, indicating seriousness. He examined you thoroughly, from your somewhat unkempt hair to the garment that clung to your body, displaying your curves and the bare thigh beneath it. He gently leaned down, one knee resting on the grass. His chilly palm touched your ankle, startling you.

“Z-Zayne!”

He gave you a glance, implying that you should remain still. His large thumb brushed over the irritated skin on your leg. Cool and comfy, as if being iced. You knew it was Zayne using his Evol.

“Seeing me here, are you surprised?”

You nodded; all words had vanished once Zayne touched you.

“I was invited. If I hadn't come, I probably wouldn't have caught you doing—"

He left the sentence incomplete without glancing at you.

"Caught me doing what?"

"…Nothing."

He tilted down and focused on rubbing your feet with all the gentleness that made you feel both comfortable and tickled.

“I think… my foot is fine now.”

Despite the fact that Zayne's Evol should have kept you cold, your body began to heat up. You were about to alter your posture to sit up straight, but he grabbed your ankle.It appeared so little in his massive, covered in scars hands.

"Be still." He whispered quietly. "Where do you want to go with feet like this?"

"I… have to go back to HQs to report for today's mission…" You made up an excuse. As soon as you left the banquet room, you sent all of the information to the headquarters.

"Mission? Is that the reason why you were intimate with that guy?”

Zayne gazed into your eyes. His face did not exhibit much expression, but his eyes were perplexing. Could it be that he was uncomfortable when he noticed you being close to someone else at the party?

Having hit the nail on the head, you pushed forward. You slipped your bare foot forward until it reached his chest.

"Maybe. But that man was really interesting. He's a doctor, too. Strangely, I was more interested in speaking with him than with some other doctors I knew."

Zayne's expression worsened. His hand shifted from your ankle to your foot, gripping firmly.

"Don't mess with me."

A giggle escaped your so red lips. “Or else? What would Dr. Zayne do to me?”

Zayne frowned. He gazed at your foot, which was still on his body. He softly stroked it and said:

"You're drunk."

"It seems so." You laughed again. Your toes started moving purposely against Zayne's chest. He grabbed them and to your surprise, he placed a kiss on the middle of your feet.

“Zayne!?”

You were so bewildered that you almost fell into the fountain. Zayne grabbed your leg and swiftly positioned his other hand behind you to support your back. Suddenly being so close to each other sent you a panic attack. You sensed a fresh scent like snow and wood emanating from his body. The sound of your heart beating was so loud that he could hear it clearly without a stethoscope.

He glanced at you for a minute before carefully returning to his former posture. His hand left your body, leaving you a little dissatisfied. As if reading you, he leaned forward again. One hand clutched the base of the fountain, exactly near to your hip, and almost immediately, you heard the sound of the water freezing, followed by silence. His other hand kept your leg tight to his torso. Long fingers caressed your calf and thigh. You trembled at the cold he delivered, but it was promptly followed by a tingling sensation throughout your body.

"Do you really like talking to him more than me?"

Zayne asked quietly. The hand that was sliding down your thigh came to a halt at the end of the dress's slit and then tightened, prompting you to cry out unintentionally.

Seeing your helpless reaction and crimson cheeks, a satisfied smile appeared from the corner of Zayne's mouth.

“I guess what you mean to say is, no.”

"You…"

You could feel Zayne's heat wrapping around your legs, in the place where your skin was exposed to the moonlight, then running all over your body. You sat still so he could continue to draw close, his lips gently brushing the corner of your lips provocatively.

“Now you will have to bear the consequences for teasing me.”

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frenchkisstheabyss · 6 months ago

Text

♡ Glad You Came ♡

୨୧ Pairings: boyfriend!hongjoong x chubby!fem!reader

୨୧ Genre: smut/fluff

୨୧ Summary: On the first morning of your romantic beachside vacation, your boyfriend awakens to find you sunbathing by the pool in the tiniest bikini he's ever seen and can't resist showing you exactly what that body of yours makes him want to do to you.

୨୧ Word Count: 1.8k-ish

୨୧ Warnings: unprotected sex, a lil rough sex, male masturbation if you squint, spanking, pervy bf Joong, references to prior & desired oral sex (m & f receiving), low key cum marking, pet names (baby, pretty girl, my love), free use, forced orgasm, body worship, and that's about it darlings

୨୧ A/N: This is a request for @ashleighland ♡ Thank you for dropping some spicy, fun summer vibes into my asks. I hope you like it!

“Baby?” Hongjoong yawns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His face scrunches adorably as he rustles through the blankets beside him searching for the warmth of your body. One of his favorite things about any vacation is waking up with you in his arms. It doesn’t matter where the two of you are—England, France, Ireland, the moon—he treasures all those tiny sentimental moments that his hectic schedule usually gets in the way of.

This time the two of you are off in Italy and, with it being your birthday week, he had special plans to wake up first everyday to make you breakfast. He’d even set three alarms to make sure he wouldn't oversleep. At least he thought he did.

“Baby?” he repeats, sitting up to feel around for his phone. After mistaking the remote for it twice and nearly knocking over the lamp, he finally locates it on the nightstand. He tousles his messy hair, brushing it back to squint at the time, “Shit, no, no, no.” Not only did he sleep through his morning alarms, it’s well into the afternoon and you’re nearly late for your lunch reservations.

Bolting out of bed, Hongjoong hurries around the rustic sunny villa in search of his love. “Baby, where are you?” he shouts, peeking into rooms and turning down hallways. He regrets now that he rented a place this huge but it’s gorgeous, everything you wanted, so it had to be done. He just wishes it came with a map or something.

Making his way to the living room, he spots some of your things by the side door and breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry I overslept. I must’ve been jet lagged. I just…” he begins to explain, his thoughts derailed by what he catches a glimpse of in the corner of his eye.

Turning to face the glass double doors, he sees everything the pictures online told him he would. Clear blue skies hang over a lavish pool area overlooking the nearby beach. The surrounding architecture alone is breathtaking, almost unreal, but what truly has his attention is you.

You’ve been relaxing by the pool all morning and he’s arrived just in time to see you bending over to smooth a fresh layer of sunscreen down your soft thighs. With your plush ass poked in the air like this he can’t quite ignore the way it just eats the tiny bikini you have on.

You stand back up, hips shaking ever so slightly to the beat of the music playing in your headphones, and Hongjoong’s nearly licking the glass at how your curves fit into your bikini. It covers everything it’s supposed to but just barely. One tug at the strings and there’d be nothing there at all. Only your beautiful naked body and his hands massaging the plumpness of your figure.

As you spread out on one of the loungers, thighs jiggling as you settle in on your belly, Hongjoong feels a slight breeze where he hadn’t before. Glancing down at himself he sees his cock poking out of the hole in his shorts. He’d felt himself getting hard—he always does when he thinks about your body—but he didn’t know you’d gotten to him this much.

Can you blame him though? You’re just so curvy and soft, spilling out of that bikini like you don’t know how feral it makes him for you. Taking his cock into his hand, he flicks his wrist up and down his pulsing shaft. Maybe you did know what this would do to him. His hand comes to a stop at the tip of his cock, his thumb teasing the head.

Your hips are still rocking to the music as you scroll through your phone. The motion has his cock twitching in his hand, arousal wetting his fingers. He hisses at the relief of stroking his cock once more. It takes the edge off but not enough to satisfy him. He needs something more. He needs you.

“Well, add that to the list of kinks I didn’t know I had” you say to yourself, devouring the next few lines of smut on your screen. This admittedly isn’t where you expected to find yourself on vacation, sunbathing and reading smut by the pool, but you had to do something to cope with how horny you’ve been all morning.

You’d unfortunately woken up much earlier than your boyfriend did and you weren’t about to shake him out of his sleep to fuck you. Though, now that you think about it, he probably would’ve done it happily.

On vacation Hongjoong has a strict rule that you aren’t allowed to masturbate. You do it enough when he’s away for work so when you’re together it’s strictly forbidden. He’s the only one allowed to make you come and fuck is he good at getting the job done.

Your brain drifts away from the story on your screen, delighting in memories of the last time you rode his face. The wetness already soaking your bikini bottoms worsens the more you recall those pretty brown eyes staring up at you, his tongue deep enough inside of you to make your legs shake.

You can almost feel Hongjoong’s arms locked around your thighs, refusing to let you get away until he decides he’s done with you. It has the tiny hairs on your arm standing up and your throat going dry. Reaching off to the side, you blindly feel around for your drink when suddenly it’s placed in your hand. Caught off guard, you turn to see who it is but you’re already pinned to the chair, gentle lips leaning in to kiss your neck.

“Hi, baby” Hongjoong says sweetly, kissing his way down your back.

You slip your headphones off, giggling at how much it tickles. “Joongie, what are you…” is all you manage before you feel him push into you. All of him, every single inch, is buried inside of you, stretching you out in every possible way. The shock of it leaves you speechless, abandoning everything in your hands to grip the front of the chair.

“So wet already, baby?” he teases, rolling his hips against you, “What were you doing out here?”

“I was just, fuuuuck…” you moan, pushing back into him. He’s already deep enough, as deep as he can be, but your body wants more. Hongjoong slaps your ass and the vibrations have you both moaning in pleasure. "Damn, you feel so fucking good. I’ve missed this so much” he confesses, guiding you onto your knees.

He runs his fingers along the ties of your bikini, a light pull being all it takes to do away with the flimsy material. “Me, mmm, too” you whine, arching your back as you rotate your hips in a circle. His palms ride the curves of your sides, reaching around to grab the fluffiest part of your belly. Hongjoong's more than happy to let you take over for now, worshipping your body while you ride his cock.

“That’s it, baby. Use my fucking cock. It’s all yours” he moans, watching his length disappear into your dripping cunt. Each time you rock forward his cock’s more drenched than before, your deprived little pussy too needy to stop making a mess of herself. In the back of your mind you know he loves to see it. You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you when he sees those juices trickling from your slit, glinting like gold in the sunlight.

“Aaah, Joongie, needed this so bad” you say, your voice trembling as you angle your hips to work your sweet spot. The lounge chair creaks beneath you as your movements grow more frantic. More desperate.

“Oh, really?” he smiles, tilting his head to see the pretty faces you make. Your pussy glides along him like silk, every dip into you making his head spin. He wants to hold back a little longer, let you set the pace, but a girl like you is much too gorgeous not to get her brains fucked out. He grabs you by the arms, pinning your wrists behind your back, and thrusts into you as hard as he can. “Look at that body, shaking around my cock. Tell me how much you need it.”

“I need it so bad!” you cry, eyelashes wet and fluttering, “Needed, mmph, needed you to fuck me like this.” Surrendering yourself to him, you steady your knees and let him completely wreck you. There isn’t a single thrust of his cock that doesn’t have you whining and moaning, begging him for more.

Hongjoong slaps your ass harder this time, loving the way it makes you squeal. “I feel that pussy quivering for me. I know you wanna fucking come.” Snatching your arms away, you grab onto the front of the chair, tilting yourself away. You shake your head, not wanting to give up this feeling so soon, “Mmm not ready, Joongie. Wanna feel you more.”

“Aww, my love, you’re so cute” Hongjoong pouts, lightly petting your back, “But I don’t care.”

And just like that he’s fucking you so hard you feel it in every part of you. Your vision’s spotted with little technicolor dots, your lips parted in ecstasy. “Don’t hold back, baby. Show me you need it” he whispers like a snake charmer coaxing your body to do as he wishes. “Come for, mmmhhh, come for me. Just like that, fuck.”

Your legs give out from under you as you let yourself go, your body reduced to nothing but tremors, juices flowing around his cock. Hongjoong doesn’t let up, shifting his position to hit your g spot even as your body weakens. He sees you reach up to your mouth, nibbling at your finger as your broken moans escape supple lips, and wants that to be him so badly. In your pussy, in your mouth, anywhere he can feel you, he wants it.

Against his best efforts, his thrusts grow sloppy, the tightness in the pit of his stomach snapping. He pulls out, rocking into his own hand as he spills down the back of your thighs, droplets of come leaking onto the chair. “God, that was…” he pants, sitting at the foot of the chair, chasing the air that eludes him.

Rolling onto your back you see your boyfriend with your bikini top draped over him as if he’s wearing it. His expression is criminally cute for a man who just broke your back like a glowstick.

“I look cute in it, yeah?”

You kick your feet up on his lap, laughing to yourself, “Hot as fuck. I’d definitely ask for your number.”

Hongjoong crawls on top of you, kissing you so deeply and lovingly that by the time he pulls away you’re lightheaded. “I love you” he says, still sporting your bikini top.

You look down at it and then back up at this handsome man who utterly adores you. “I love you too, Joongie. Now give me my top back.”

#hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #hongjoong smut #hongjoong fluff #ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez x female reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #chubby reader #plus size reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Text

Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 12.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, body horror, horror, angst, mutilation, violence, wounds, blades, death, many religious imagery/references, nudity, protective!Simon, NSFW, soft/loving smut, fingering, mating press, implied virgin!reader due to time-period standards, pretty vanilla, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Simon’s skin is bare to the moon, and he can taste your blood on his tongue.

Eyes wide, the man’s lips are loose; jaw slackened at the horror that lays below him as crimson drips down the swell of his Adam’s apple and between the dip of his chest. He can’t move, even as the chill sets into his spine, the hair over his arms and on the back of his neck standing on end.

All he can see is your body.

You don’t move, you don’t smile or send him that stern look of stubbornness—the snow falls to your head, it collects on the side of your face and limp corpse. Your torn clothes show the weeping wounds and jagged remains of flesh.

But none more so than one on your neck. The gaping tear made from his fangs.

Not me, Simon’s fingers twitch at his sides, your body in a pool of red. Not me.

It was him, though, wasn’t it?

He doesn’t remember what happened, cannot recall the memories in his brain—a demon, the Lord of this forest, and a prisoner all in one. You hadn’t killed it, no, there was no way to do that. Silver could only do so much.

But it had done something to you, to make your scent twist and rot. Your soul didn’t smell right.

“I…” Simon’s voice fails him.

His body is broken and bent, his entire side burning with pain, but none of that matters. Brown eyes quiver, and the man goes to lick his lips only to gag at the taste of copper, snapping his eyes away to pant quick breaths into the tree line.

Simon’s hand raises to hover above his stomach, shaking.

“I didn’t bloody do that,” he mutters, the evidence on his chest and stuck in his pores. The forest is silent. “I didn’t do that.” The man says it louder.

You stare forward numbly with a broken neck and a torn-out throat.

Foot twisting him around, he levels his back to you, hands coming up to his head as his jaw clenched so tight his molars scream at him. What had happened? What had gone on? Simon closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders forward.

“No,” he growls. “No, I didn’t fucking do that to you.”

The night continues to keep him in its black hold, the snow absorbs the blood and black liquid. He can smell the rot—the infection under your skin as it brands your corpse.

This forest was like a beacon to every monster in its vicinity. It called them here and made them lose themselves. Under the light of the moon and sun, whenever its branches told him to run and hunt as a beast, Simon Riley had no option but to obey. He would come here on a moment's notice when he felt the change coming over him, to his hut and his glade.

There were few times he could predict it, and no matter how much he wanted to stay with you, that just wasn’t how it worked.

Every monster that was called here was bait for that demon, and no monster had the ability to wield anything that could kill it. No silver. No holy water.

But a mortal could.

Every hunter entering these dark bounds had been hunting the wrong colossus and never had the chance to know it.

Simon bends slightly forward to hold his head tighter, grunting out whimpers as if trying to keep his brain from falling out.

“Fuck,” he breathes. Then louder than a scream and longer than the first, “Fuck!” The trees shiver.

Simon harshly pulls at his hair, feeling the strands snap before he slides his hands up and down his face; trying to push off the crimson yet he only succeeds in spreading it. He can’t hear your heart beating anymore, can’t hear the swell of your lungs. Nothing.

Hand lashing out, his knuckles connect with the hard bark of one of the tree’s trunks and he sends it back and forward three more times until his fingers crack and bend. When he’s done, the man doesn’t even notice the tears freezing on his cheeks as his breath puffs out in clouds.

Simon silently stifles a ragged inhale and sags forward, unable to turn back and look at you—he can’t bear it after everything he’s been through. Forehead tapping the rough bark, his pain-filled body flaring, the blond clenches his fists like an angry child.

He should have told you in the glade—in the safety of consecrated ground where holy men and women had been buried for time immemorial. He should have explained why it was only you that made him whole.

But Simon was a silent creature; a creature of silent glances and hidden softness that borders on a fear of abandonment. He would never tell you until you happened to figure it out yourself or if it became undeniable.

Oh, you should have stayed away.

His knees threaten to give out, so he lets them go until he can move his body to the side and lean against his tree. Barely breathing, he cares not about the cold. As he did when he was a child, all those years ago yet still shrouded in pain and hate, he loses any and all expression from his face—brown eyes dark as they stare at nothing.

There had been a moment that he’d come back to himself as the Ghost. A brief moment.

Simon wants to hang for the memory he now holds.

Your eyes, blood-burst, looking into his own as his fangs rend your flesh in two. The feeling of your neck snapping under his jaws. Tongue lolling in blood and licking its muzzle; whiskers dripping.

This time Simon gags, but he also hurls up his guts, too.

Bending his aching spine, his forearm keeps him up, bare thighs tensing and nerves quivering as his abdomen bunches. Simon pants staring blankly at the bile in the snow, saliva pooling in his mouth. He still can’t look at you.

With little left for him, the man curls up in the snow and resigns himself to freezing to death, arms loose around his waist and injuries screaming at him.

He’d killed you—is death not the only option left for him as well?

Simon lays there until his eyelids grow heavy, only thinking of you and how you had been. Your kindness, your wit. He enjoyed your loudness, and there was no one to perfectly challenge him but you.

From the first time he’d seen your form, it had only ever been you. He was yours, utterly; wholly. He should have told you to stay away.

“M’sorry, Love” he whispers into the ground, shivering violently, lips blue. His head is turned away as the trees hold their breath. “All my bastard fault—should’ve been me. It…fuckin’ hell,” Simon breathes, clenching his jaw. “Should’ve been me.”

He mutters his self-hatred until he falls silent and his chest rattles. Until the forest listens.

Until it answers.

Simon’s eyes snap open to the sound of a world cracking in two and finds your body gone.

—

This place isn’t real.

You sit in a mirror vision of your shop, but nothing is correct. Looking into the corners, shadows slip away with quiet laughter, and the door rings but no one walks through. It’s…repetitive. It never stops, but you can’t seem to leave.

You think it’s been days, weeks, even. Always it feels like there’s something watching you, and the window of your shop shows nothing but black night outside and flickering lamps.

It doesn’t feel right to speak.

If you speak, whatever is standing out in the street will know you’re here.

You shake as you watch it now, silent and swallowing down saliva. Its eyes have been ripped out, and the chains along its wrists drag so loudly you can hear them even through stone and wood; they make you flinch and shiver. For whatever reason, the phantom of the man cannot find you, though he has been looking.

He even knocks on the door.

It was a clanging, dead, thing. With a slam of a gnarled wrist and a raspy cry of your name on his slit tongue. You don’t want to ask how it knows your title, so you only hold your hands to your mouth to stifle your sobs. But for all of this, you still contained self-awareness.

You’re in Hell, or some strange, twisted version of the middle point. Purgatory.

But why? Why here of all places—your soul had been branded, you heard that curse and felt the blackened nectar in your flesh. Had known what Simon had…

You blink quickly, looking away from the twisted man and taking down a shaky inhale.

Whatever this place was, you and this shade were the only ones here. The only once-human ones, anyways. You didn’t exactly want to go out and meet him.

“Please!” It bangs on the door again and your head snaps up in panic, hand whipping to your mouth to hide the sharp gasp. If you ever got out of here, you never wanted to see your home again. This version ruined it. “Please, let me in. I can’t see—it took out my eyes! Please, please I need my eyes.”

Your eyelids close tightly, your heart clenched and beating fast.

All of this terror lets you think about Simon. And so you do, and try to not blame him for what he did even if you know in your heart it’s not his fault.

You remember the first time you met him, and you think that’s perhaps one of the best memories you hold.

“If you expect me to fix this, you’ll need to hand over half of your soul and a blessing from God himself,” you frown at the remains of a pair of tweed pants, blinking with your mouth agape. “I’d ask what happened, but I think that would put me on a list of some kind, Sir.”

Simon stares.

“How much?” You sigh and shake your head.

“Really, there’s very little I can do here short of just offering you a new pair.” Placing the scraps on the table and lightly pushing them forward, the man moves his large hand out to take them from you.

Your fingers touch, and you blink as a slight spark makes you flinch. Simon as well, you remember, had snapped his hand back to him, his eyes slightly widening and his throat holding down a breath.

“Woah,” you mutter, touching your head as you suddenly go lightheaded. “S-sorry about that, I don’t know what—”

“Both.” Simon slides the fabric back to you.

Your senses come back in a slow sweep and you clear your throat. “...Both?”

“Fix the pants and sell me another, yeah?” A quirked brow, but something else swims in that dark gaze, something that fights with itself. “I’ll pay. Money’s no problem.”

“Oh,” you blink, taken aback. The both of you stare at each other.

You’re struck by the thought that this man’s eyes are far more deep than anything you’ve looked into before.

“Of course, if that’s what you want.” He grunts, tipping his head and looking to the side for a moment. He wears that strange covering, too. The one that sits on his nose.

“Good.” Simon backs up a step before pausing. “You have a name, then, Tailor?”

You tilt your head and cross your arms, eyes narrowing carefully. “Just as you do.”

That silk fabric twitches, gaze sparking.

“Simon Riley.” Your smile slowly pulls at your muscles, and for the first time throughout the day, you truly mean it.

You don’t know how time works here, but you also can’t really understand that you’re dead. Of course, the thought of an afterlife crossed your mind in your living hours, but you’d never thought you’d go to one so soon.

But every time you blink, you don’t think you’re meant to be here.

So, again, why? The question was mulled over incessantly after every memory of Simon, and you start to believe he’s the catalyst.

What were you missing?

The man himself had hinted at it, talking about how your scent to him was opium—like a drug. It kept him…him even when a monster.

“Please!” You’ve discovered that all of the windows are bolted and the front door is locked, but it never becomes daytime here. A perpetual night and a pleading soul guarding you. In the long hours where you sneak from one empty room to another, so similar to real life that it makes you sick, you wonder if this place is an exact replica of the city you called home.

If some of the other houses are not so vacant after all; the inhabitants hiding like you are. Purgatory sounds about right.

Chains drag and there are garbling sobs and you stare at the door without the key to open it.

The thing was blind—if you could sneak past it…your eyes looked out the window to Simon’s home across the street. There was a pull to all things that included him. A sanctity. Despite how your life had ended, how you’ll surely still think about it and sob out of pain, you can’t blame him for it.

He didn’t have control.

You begin to think of a plan to break out without making any noise as you close your eyes tightly, hands clenching at your sides.

“Back again, Mr. Riley?” Your bell rings and you glance at the intimidating figure walking through. He takes a deep breath when he enters, nodding in greeting before lumbering to the counter.

“Any trouble?” He had a habit of asking this when he’d been gone on a longer trip of his, always back disheveled and with bags under his bloodshot eyes. As if he gets back and the first thing he wants to do is come see you.

The thought didn’t bother you.

You laugh, “I’m happy to report the only thing that happened was that a pigeon ran into the window.”

Brown eyes glance over his shoulder to blink at the impression of feathers on the front glass.

“Poor Bastard,” he huffs, amusement in his accented tone as he slips his hands into his pockets. “Get any feathers out of it? New pillow if you’re lucky.” He tilts his chin. “If you know how to pluck a bloody corpse, that is.”

“You’re incredibly strange, Mr. Riley,” you laugh, nodding your head at him. “I’ve never heard a man state such things.”

“I wrong?” Simon grunts, but you hear his slight smile in his tone.

You only roll your eyes. “I highly doubt a pigeon would give you enough feathers for a pillow.”

“Well, you’re just not fuckin’ trying hard enough then, yeah?”

“Are you here for a reason, Sir?” You can’t stop smiling, holding back your loud laugh as happiness is plainly stated on your face. “Or are you just here to speak to me about the feather-quantity of the local birds?”

Simon’s eyes are crinkled slightly, and you try very hard to imagine him beaming just as you do, though you know it’s slim.

You want to make him smile; you want to be the reason he does. And you don’t even know why.

Your very soul leaps when you see him from across the street, it tightens and calls out like a reaching hand desperate to grasp into another counterpart. You’d never felt like this about a man before, much less one you barely knew anything about on a personal level.

You liked Simon Riley.

“I was thinking ‘bout a new undershirt. Black.” A hand moves up and a pile of money is placed on your counter. “Anything’ll be good, just need a new one.”

“Of course,” you easily slip into business, not bothering to look at the sum. “Special occasion?” You pause before fake laughing. “A lady to impress, perhaps?”

Your heart sinks more than it should; nearly hurting. Did Mr. Riley have a courtship?

He blinks at you carefully, long lashes caressing his scarred cheeks. You swore his lips under the silk twitched.

“No,” is all he says, blunt and casual, thighs shifting.

You stare, hands touching themselves on the counter as heat burns your cheeks.

“Okay,” you mutter, embarrassed, though you don’t know why. “That should be no trouble at all. I’ll just need your measurements.”

Simon nods once, staring at your hands before he takes off his jacket and places it on the wood. You grabbed your long measuring tape and slipped to the front, asking lightly for him to hold out his arms.

Heart hammering, he does so; great torso flexing and face blank.

You begin with the chest, sliding your hands along his clothed body to flatten out the tape until you can see the mark it rested at. It would be false to say you didn’t lose your breath slightly, being so close and able to freely feel the swell of his muscle. Under your fingers, his pulse was like a hammer, and he was so large you actually had to give him a hug to connect the other side around him.

“S-sorry,” but Simon’s eyes are entirely blown, body tense and slightly shivering as your hands feel him.

“Don’t be,” he breathes, and you feel the push of his lungs to his ribcage; molten heat.

Your lips tingle, and heat seeps into your stomach as you shift your thighs to quell it.

Simon grunts, and his head turns down incredibly fast.

You blink. “Mr. Riley?”

“Nothin’,” his lips flinch, and his brown eyes, more like black now, dart to your lips. “M’fine. Keep going.”

You do so, oblivious to the coil in the man’s gut that mirrors yours, flaring with every gentle poke and prod.

It was when you’d almost given up that there seemed to be something else on your side in this god-forsaken place. You found your knife.

It was in the same drawer where your tape measure should be, just sitting there where all else was absent. You stare and slowly reach for it, sliding your fingers over the hilt and the glint of the blade before picking it up.

But you’d checked this drawer a million times over, what had—

There’s the sound of a fluttering of wings outside of your shop, and you’re unimpressed with yourself at how your mind immediately goes to a helpful pigeon spirit. You hold a hand to your lips to stop yourself from laughing, despite it all.

A spark alights in your heart.

“Thank you,” you whisper to nothing, turning the blade over in your hands and smiling.

Walking slowly, you avoid every creak in the wood—unlooping your belt for the small prong that would come in handy. Placing the blade into the slit of the lock, you insert the prong above it, twisting and waiting to hear a series of clicks; putting your ear next to the wood.

The dragging of chains is far off, the loud wailing distant.

Now or never.

You hold your breath and listen to the sounds of the lock, sweating and grimacing. It’s so very silent outside—you’re so used to the clanging of metal and the clop of hooves that it scares you more than the monster. Like you’re standing out in a field but there’s no wind, no air even. Unnatural nothingness.

So hard at focusing, when the click of the door lets you know it’s open, you don’t notice the heavy breathing on the other side. Standing and taking out your knife, you silently celebrate plucking your belt away just as the handle jiggles.

Only you’re not touching the handle.

Blood leaving your face, you can only skitter to the side as the hinges squeal like a dying animal, the barrier slowly opening as your back flattens against the wall. At first, nothing happened.

The door is open and you stare wide-eyed as no sound enters your ears. Lamp-light seeps in, creating a long glow along the floors.

A ragged breath makes you want to shrivel up, and then the wailing starts.

“Please, please, where are my eyes?” Too close.

You flinch wildly as chains are dragged into the room, the scent of dead wood sticking to your nostrils. Up close, the man’s skin is dripping water—seaweed over his shoulders and hanging off his restraints.

He walks inside and the gaping wounds of his eyes make you nearly gag. “Where did you take them? I want them back, please, let me borrow yours until I find mine again.”

He drags his heavy silver chains far into the shop, stumbling and groaning through sobs. Those things seem to have no end to them, and he bumps and walks into the back room right as you slip outside.

Immediately, you rush out into the street, crossing the cobble and hopping the long metal ahead of you as you re-loop your belt with one hand and grip your knife tightly. Getting to Simon’s house, you grasp the handle of the door and pull.

It jerks with a bang of metal.

Locked.

“Shi…” you trail your curse and bite your lip. Silently, you take a step back to quickly think as the warden still calls hopelessly from your shadowed shop. Where else would you go? The inner city? The town?

Your eyelids blink.

The forest. That had to be it—there had to be answers there, right?

You were beginning to grow more fearful that you would be stuck here forever, in between life and death. A branded soul and yet, you weren’t in Hell. Or, at least, you imagined Hell far more hot than this.

Turning, you slip down the steps and speed walk down the road, not running for fear that your shoes would make too much noise. That was also strange—all of your clothes were mended here, stitched back together as if never cut; wounds healed and nonexistent. You weren’t one to complain.

“Where are you going?” The Warden is on the steps, and he falls down them in a shattering of bone and a slurp of wet skin. “Please, give me my eyes! I can hear you running away—I can smell your souls! Let me have what little is still free! Let me see!”

Souls?

You start sprinting as the great wail of chains lets you know you’re being pursued.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your lips expel, skirts swish, and muscles tense all at once. Like a race, the man’s panting breath is almost felt on your neck, bare feet far faster than he should be. “I don’t have your eyes—I’m sorry, but you’ve really got the wrong person! T-try down the block?!”

You call loudly behind you in hopes that it will get him to give up on you, legs pumping harder as he screams with rage and you curse yourself with every breath. He’s gaining on you, somehow, this blind beast is gaining on you.

There was no way you were making it to the forest.

In a split-second decision, your shoes skid over the street, and, steeling yourself with what little sanity you have left, you turn with your knife at the ready.

Hell, you’d already died once.

But you’d never forget the image of this beast running towards you with a wailing mouth and dragging chains, the things so heavy they wrench back his arms. You falter for a moment, but shake your head and raise the knife in one hand, gritting your teeth despite your unimaginable fear.

Bravery was far too hard at this moment, but there was no more running. You take down a shaky breath and will your arm to stop vibrating with its sweaty palm.

“My eyes!” It screams. “Give me your eyes!”

Seven feet, five, four, three—

A familiar rageful roar takes over, and a black shadow covers the street lamp light from above as if a storm of vengeance. You watch as the gargantuan body flies over you and wastes little time for pleasantries.

The Ghost slams its body into the Warden, and they go down in a flurry of feral snarls and wails. You watch, frozen still with shock, as black claws can be heard tearing through flesh and rending meat, a slick slapping of pig slop as black blood spills to the streets.

In the utter absence of all else, you listen with a quivering body, the fear extending down to your spine. Not of the other thing on its back, wailing and sobbing about its eyes even as its gut is invaded by a large muzzle and ivory fangs, but of that muzzle-owner itself.

You didn’t realize how much of a shock it would be to see Simon again. Like this.

Your eyes stare blankly at how an arm is ripped from its socket, shredded from a shoulder, and tossed to the sidewalk with a rabid jerk; the body of the Warden lifted as the Ghost rises to his back paws and grips tightly. Hands on the lower half, mouth on the top, your jailer is torn in two with nothing more than a tear and a sound of vertebrae popping.

Black splatters over your cheeks, but you make no move to swipe it away.

Simon drops the body to the ground, and it twitches—it speaks as it bounces. Brown eyes dig into its mangled face, ears erect.

“My eyes…M-my…eye—” A large paw pad is pressed into its head, and pressure is leveled. Brought down like an anvil.

The Ghost crushes a skull under his foot and the resounding pop is enough to make you snap out of your frozen terror. He turns to you seconds later, mouth stopping its snarling and going silent all at once.

The beast blinks slowly, ear twitching once.

Averting your gaze, you completely give up in light of this new arrival and clench your eyes shut. Your neck hurts—burns—like it’s being ripped open over and over again, snapping, and the light getting sucked away.

Great feet take lumbering steps forward; you take one back.

“I…I don’t,” you shudder and shake, hand holding your knife. Your mind can’t comprehend him being here—in this void with you, leaping in a great bound to tackle the monster to the ground. No, no, this was another phantom. He was going to kill you again.

Wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t his fault.

You back up some more until there’s a soft huff. It’s tiny, small as if coming from a lap dog that Mrs. Ida would own. Your eyes are firmly shut, yet he tries again.

A wet nose is leveled to your forehead, pressing in and tapping you lightly. A chuffing noise echoed in the back of his throat, gruff and low as he breathed you in. You hide a whimper as that nose dips to your neck, imagining the ways he’s going to sink his teeth in and how your bones will—

The Ghost sags into you, and with a flick of his ears, the large head begins to rub into your flesh as he grunts. Your eyes snap open as his gargantuan hands circle your waist, anchoring you to his chest as he leans back on his haunches; small noises bouncing from his breast as he curls his head behind yours. You’re lifted gently as you squeak, hands snapping to dig through fur and, like logs, your feet dangle from under you.

You don’t speak as Simon begins running out of the city, down the black outskirts. Into the midnight shadows the two of you disappear in the direction of the mirrored forest, your body in his grip and the side of his head never failing to lean into yours. You can feel his eyes roving, darting down and around, before always coming back to you regardless of the things he smells here.

Like a candle in the dark, he had already scoured the bounds of this purgatory for you—waiting for that small flicker of something to grasp onto that would let him find your light. And it hadn’t been your scent or the way you’d yelled. It had been the very call of your soul, or, at least, souls.

Because that was what it was.

The reason you were here instead of Hell was because that corruption had only marked your soul. Not realizing that half of it didn’t belong to you.

Simon knew little about how it worked, but sometimes people are only born with a fraction of their soul as theirs—the other pieces snapping into place when a match is met but still not held as theirs. Your other half, the reason you stayed here, was because Simon’s soul had held you up like a rope to an anchor.

That spark in the tailor’s shop; the longing and the insatiable pull to be near you—marked as two pieces of a puzzle sitting right next to each other, the image leaking from one to the other.

A Fated Pair.

The Ghost breaks through the treeline and you curl into him as he covers you with his arms, eyes watching the black trees and the void of space above him. There were no stars here—no moon. You can’t see anything, but he can.

Simon rushes your intertwined souls back to the place he had dragged himself through; a great fissure in the earth that had opened and swallowed your body who knows how long ago. Weeks, months—years, even. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

His instincts brought him through, and his guilt had kept him going; this all-consuming and deathly guilt. He’d never forgive himself, but he can’t leave you here.

Simon finds the fissure as great screams begin to wail out from the city, echoing off the trees and over the air. A scream and a plea. Hundreds, thousands.

He doesn’t bother to stay, because you’re in his arms and his nose breathes in your scent. You grip onto him tightly, shaking with a fear-bathed quiver to your lips, and those large arms hold you ever closer; a large grunt and a rub of his chin.

Simon stands on the very edge of a void, and he jumps.

—

You wake to the large dog curled around you, softly breathing and using his body to shield you from the gentle snowfall. So warm does his blood run, that you don’t even feel the cold on you, only the brush of silk and the hard press of his hands.

Simon’s breath ruffles your hair, his spine shaped in such a way that not a sliver of you is visible to the world beyond your head in his neck, resting on the swell of his softness like a pillow. As if he was a swan, keeping you in a bed of feathers.

Your eyes flutter open, and you take air down to bathe in the scent of earth.

The Ghost shifts, grunting and not letting up on his grip.

You’re in the very same place you died, yet there’s no evidence of that—the blood is gone, the broken trees are surrounded by young ones, and the snow is deeper than it had been before. But your clothes are…

You shift, and the beast lets you go easily, though his eyes don’t leave your face. He stays on the ground as you sit up, looking down at yourself.

While the forest may have moved on, you, it seems, have not.

Your clothes are back to the state they’d been in before—torn and ripped open, long gouging marks and stains that would never come out. You tense at the sight, swallowing saliva down as if wine with a grimace. Like a magnetic link, your eyes slowly turn up to meet Simon’s.

He waits. He watches. That muzzle of his closed and his breath slow. If you told him to get away, there would be no doubt that he would—he would disappear and never come back to you, a memory that fades into a dream and then farther on.

Your fingers twitch as his large claw lifts, a finger pointed and slowly coming up to your face. You try not to balk away as it draws near to your nose, where a tiny snowflake rests. The blackened sickle pauses, Simon’s chest expands, and then he slightly brushes it away with little more than a twitch of his finger.

The knife is only a foot away, sitting bright and glinting in the morning light. You look to the sky to distract from your burning cheeks; your internal war.

Light. Real and glowing above you from a globe set into the heavens.

Gazing at it with wide eyes, your sockets fill with stinging tears, blinking until they slip down your cheeks and you put a hand over your mouth as a small sob wafts out. You bend your spine forward and cry, gasping.

Simon keeps himself away, unknowing if he should reach out or if he would only make it worse. His great body is tight with agony, souls raging with pain. Everything in this form was more instinctual, more in tune, he wanted to comfort you—to make it alright again, but even as a human, when had he ever been good at that?

The Ghost watched, body wound up but still deathly still; ears pointing straight. His hands twitch.

You sob until your lungs hurt and your head feels light, not knowing how to process this in the slightest. When you’re done you numbly stare at the ground below you, trying to rid your mind of death, demons, and wool.

A human hand on the top of your head makes you startle.

Snapping your red eyes up, you meet tight orbs of brown, a face twisted with remorse and a deep inner hatred.

“I…” Simon’s lips utter out, his voice low and pale skin in the snow. “M’sorry, Sweet Girl. I can never fuckin’ give you an apology that matters, eh? But I need to say it—I need you to know.” You stare and feel his fingers caress your scalp. He looks away, breath small. “It’s all my bloody fault, yeah? So don’t you dare think for a second that anythin’ comes back to you.”

The hand threatens to leave you, to slip back down and return to his side, but with a small noise of alarm—one that had Simon’s eyes widened in concern—your body darts forward.

Connecting with him, you make him grunt as his biceps press into your side, shocked as his first reaction is to make sure you don’t fall.

“Get me out of here,” you plead. “Please, Simon, get me out of here.”

There’s no hesitation as he lifts you upward, a bridal hold like the same he had used to lift you above the thorns and mutters into your hair as he quickly walks into the trees.

“C’mere, I’ve got you. Don’t cry, c’mon now, you’re back. You’re back.” The knife is left far in the past, and there it will stay—far away from the two of you. “Breathe, then.”

You bury your head into his neck, breathing hard and shaking not from the cold but from memories; things you shouldn’t know.

“M’sorry,” Simon says again, voice cracking. “Christ, I’ll never say it enough.”

If you hated him he understood—would welcome that Hell in its own right. Of all the things he’d done, this was the worst sin he could have ever committed. He’d spend the rest of his life thanking whatever power was out there that had broken the earth for him; had led him to you. His tailor.

You sob through a panicked chuckle. “Y-you already have, you brute.”

Simon rubs his face into your hair, holding your quivering souls together and opening his mouth in a shaking exhale as his eyes flutter.

“Breathe,” is all he says, repeating everything like a record and an order as you hone on the stiff tone—getting you to focus.

You follow the pulse in his neck, lips pressing into his flesh as your head tilts.

You’re both back at Simon’s hut as you still try to calm yourself, the man’s face turned into yours and his forehead pressing into your scalp. There’s so little for you to grasp onto besides him—how he feels, the dig of his fingers, and the sound of his breath.

He sets you on the bed and he pauses, kneeling down slowly as his hands come to gently clutch your cheeks.

“Can you look at me, Love?” Simon asks you, voice gruff in its low tone. You shiver, sniffling, before your eyes stutter over his features and land on those burial mound browns. He releases a tiny puff of breath—a flicker of his lip.

“Atta girl, jus’ like that, then.” The man blinks slowly, tilting. Simon looks you over with a heavy expression, one that shows the pain and the weight he carries. “Need to get these off, okay?”

A finger lightly travels to your neck, tapping the remnants of your shirtwaist as a few more tears slip out when you blink, shakily nodding. Simon’s lips tighten.

“Want to do it yourself,” he breathes, “or is it alright if I touch you, Sweetheart?” Your hands are too unstable to do it yourself, he knows that just as well as you do.

So, in a small broken whisper, you simply utter out, “Please.”

Simon nods once and the topic is settled; he knows.

The man’s fingers deftly undo the buttons, one after the other as the light from outside seeps into the small square of a home. He doesn’t comment—doesn’t make a sound—just does what he can to help you and get you sorted out; Simon could hear the rapid set of your heart, feel your pulse like a rampaging storm.

When you’re down to nothing but your flesh, the man grabs the covers from behind you and wraps you in them, his eyes not once flickering downward until you’re entirely swamped by fabric. A hand on your waist squeezes.

By now the brush of his skin atop yours had sucked you in as if lighting had struck with every pass or small press. The glide of his scars and calluses grounded you here.

There were very few beings that would hunt for you through life and death and fewer that stayed that course. Thumbs once more brush away the water on the swell of your face.

“Sleep,” he utters, even if there’s light outside.

You gaze at him, at his stubble and his pale complexion; the wind rustles outside. What would he do? Guard the door most likely, perhaps even think of how to get into town and grab new clothes for the both of you, food, and necessities. Simon’s mind was fighting itself, just as it always had but now there was the largest stain on his consciousness that he could ever remember having.

He was worried if he handled you, you might break under him. You…you already had. Avoidance, even if it killed him inside, was the best course of action.

Your mouth is filled with wool, tongue heavy, but in your heart and whatever feeling you have burning in your chest, you know you can’t let him move away from you. Simon being this close made it…easier. Even if a piece of you was still hesitant about black fur and sharp teeth. He had said it himself, hadn’t he?

Simon wasn’t the Ghost, but at the same time how could they ever be apart from one another?

Yet, your lips are already moving just as he’s about to stand up.

“Stay?” Simon’s lungs take in a silent breath, a moment of long silence as he tries to understand why you would want to be around him at all. His hands twitch, your eyes catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a slow swallow. “Please, Simon,” you breathe. “I don’t…I can’t be alone again.”

He grunts and is already lifting you.

Simon shifts your body back and lays you nearest to the wall, shuffling his body until he can lie with his spine facing you; his face to the door as he stays unblinking.

“Nothing's going to happen to you,” he says, and you turn so you can lightly rest your head into the span of his shoulder blades. Simon’s jaw clenches. “It’s safe here. We’ll figure it out when you’ve got your energy back.”

You want him to explain, but perhaps right now sleep was the best option. For all intents and purposes—you can’t even remember when you last had true sleep. So you stay there, skin to skin, and breath to breath as the sun still shines outside; the wind travels slowly.

As you slip off, Simon has to restrain himself from turning around and pressing you into him—leveling his head above yours and breathing you in like how he wishes he could. But no. Too much.

He’d explain it all when you were better.

So he settles on the fact that all he can do is watch the door with a far-off expression, his body sagging back into you as your heat meets his.

—

You slept for three days, and in that time, Simon had only left once. On day two he went into town where he’d snuck like a thief—and there truly was no better analogy. Wearing only a blanket once more, the man breaks into your closed Tailor’s shop; boards on the windows and a sign out front to set it for sale. Inside, everything was as it had been left. Dust and layers of stale air, but there was never a better place to be for Simon.

It was where he met you, after all.

He takes everything he’s able to carry. A large trunk of clothes, personal belongings, and anything that looks of great importance; clothing himself in a simple undershirt and pants along the way. With that, he goes to his own home and grabs all manner of money. Come morning, people would believe it was a robbery, and that was perfectly fine with him.

Mostly everything belonged to you, anyway. They could have his sparsely furnished home and its cracking foundations. It mattered not. But he knew you needed your work—your passion.

As he grunts and lifts the trunk, a knicker echoes out behind him. Blinking, dark eyes look behind to find a meeting pair—a long horse’s neck leaning out of a stall. They stare at each other before Simon huffs a chuckle and turns to the shadows.

When you finally did open your eyes again, deep in the third night, everything was different.

You blink at the bright roar of the fireplace, the flickering of the candles that push back any darkness—curtains on the windows to hide the blackness of midnight. There are your belongings on the cleaned table; the foot of the bed and, there, on the desk. Measuring tape, fabric scissors, and yards of materials are stacked in the spotless corners.

There’s no doubt that the broken window is fixed for the moment as well.

New sheets sit on the end of the bed, waiting for you to get up before he can fit them. Jaw loose, you glance all around as the fabric pools at your waist, bare body glistening in the light as your head moves like a bird back and forth slowly. Dare you say it, the place felt…homely. Warm. Small, yes, but the definition of comfort rarely mattered when speaking on size.

There’s a shuffling sound outside the door and you realize you’re alone.

Face stuck at the door, your sudden tension is somewhat lessened by the small grunts and puffs of a large nose and heavy, clawed, feet. Somewhat.

An open maw bites down on your throat with a tearing of flesh before your neck fully snaps.

Your hand lightly comes up to your throat, pressing very loosely as the sounds continue, spiking your cautious curiosity. You know you shouldn’t be holding this against him, but, you had…died. You had felt your neck snap and your blood coat his fangs.

Somehow, Simon had brought you back from that, but he had been the one to do it in the first place.

No, you think, feet very carefully sitting on the floor. No, not Simon. The Ghost.

Yet again—aren't those the same? It was a constant question.

Your lips are thin as the dagger in your heart digs ever deeper, but it is your dagger, and it is also your heart, too. Yours. Standing, you cover yourself with the thin sheet, hearing it drag behind you as your body takes you to the door with quiet and even steps.

So much the two of you have gone through—it seemed hard to comprehend it in this world of black fire and battling beasts; hell and purgatory. He’d tracked you down…how? As your hand meets the handle, slowly walking feet coming closer from beyond it, you tighten your hold on the fabric near your neck and breathe slowly.

You first see crimson, and then the beady brown eyes of a large dog and a stained muzzle. Breath tight, you stare at the dead bodies of two sheep in the Ghost’s maw, limp bodies hanging from the legs out of puffed cheeks. The both of you halt your courses.

Simon’s eyes slash down your nearly-naked form, and he drops the animals to the ground before his head darts to the side; snow splattered with blood and the imprint of large woolen bodies. He snorts and takes a single step back, seemingly hunching down lower as he sniffs the air in distraction.

His feet pivot, one clawed foot moving away.

“Simon,” you say, breath puffing over the cold air. He waits, head only slightly tilting your way; eyes pointing down. You don’t know why you speak, why you call to him like this.

The silence settles as you struggle to articulate, mouth opening and closing like it was a choice between speech or the metaphorical blade to your throat. You close your mouth and look to the side, the lids of your eyes tightly shut.

Without another word, you’re setting your feet in the drowned snow and walking up to him, fingers shaking before your hand extends from the elbow. It rests above the side of his muzzle, hovering with a tiny quiver as you fight with your own fear.

You can feel Simon’s eyes on you now, watching. Always watching. Forever watching. Eyes like hard earth; like the dirt under your nails.

Simon’s throat grumbles, and before you can make a decision, he helps make one for you.

He softly moves his great lumbering head down and to the side—slotting it under your hand as you gasp, feeling the strands of fur under your grip. Immediately, your eyes snap to meet his, seeing long lashes holding snowflakes. The Ghost’s so large that he has to bend low in order to give you a comfortable resting point for your hand; sitting in between his sharp ears.

You swallow down your nervousness as the seconds draw on, your heart rate slowing until you can properly move closer and feel the waves of fur beneath your fingertips. Playing with them, you card your digits in gentle strokes, hearing the low purr that rattles your bones as a great weight is leveled into your torso.

A tiny giggle emanates from your chest, and the beast responds by only pushing himself deeper into your stomach.

“Easy,” you mutter, eyes light as a smile forms on your lips.

The chill seeps in gradually as you both stand there, a werewolf and a barely-clothed tailor. Before long you’re shivering even as you feel content next to Simon and to steal some of his furnace-like heat.

You pull back and the wolf momentarily tilts to find you, only to open his eyes when he can’t feel your sturdy body. He blinks, before slowly standing back up to his full height.

The light from the hut seeps out to cover you, and you take comfort in that—if the door shuts on its own, you’d be left in a darkness you know you’ll fear for many, many years. With its illumination, you speak freely.

“I don’t know how you did it, Simon,” his right ear twitches. “But…but I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened. I should, I know I should, but for the life of me, whenever you’re near I can’t think straight. Please, when you’re back to,” you huff a tiny laugh, “whenever you’re back to walking in a man’s skin, explain it to me. Explain why I can’t think of anyone else but you.”

Avoiding the sheep, you step back into the hut and close the door as those dead eyes follow loyally, the wolf not breathing beyond a thin line of condensation wafting into the air.

You only make it five steps back to bed before the wooden barrier is opened loudly, hitting off the back wall and shutting closed on its own. Turning back quickly, startled, you’re met with a fast panting chest and a human hand that swipes blood away from his lips. Bare skin is close to yours, and your eyes widen at the instantaneous blown feeling of your pupils.

Simon’s face is above yours.

“Because you own half of my fuckin’ soul,” he breathes into your scalp, accent rich and heavy with implication. “Just as I own half of yours.”

Literal or a metaphor, you care not.

You both stay there, hearts pumping and skin tingling as the air increases in temperature—the sheet around you held in a tight fist suddenly seems almost suffocating. Your arms itch to drop it. Drop it now and let him see you; let him feel you like no other has. Where did these thoughts come from? Or…had they always been there?

The man hasn’t moved, and you know he won’t do anything unless you ask it of him, but you can smell the sweat on his skin, the scent of blood and musk. Quick death and dragging claw.

If he was fire, it would be a blessing to be burned.

“Simon,” you say, voice tight. He grunts like a damn dog, hands at his sides twitching as his bare chest shines. So many scars. You want to trace them, to feel them writhe. “You’re no good for me.”

“I know,” he growls.

You press your lips to his and breathe him down as the sheet falls from your shoulders, all-encompassing hands finding the swell of your hips and sliding behind them; gripping tightly. Your own dig at his waist, finding the bulk of his abs and the deep tapper of his v-line before you gasp at his hand kneading the flesh of your arse.

At the motion, Simon takes the opportunity to smirk before letting his tongue slip into your mouth. You release a small noise from the back of your throat, and he groans—one hand coming up to grip the base of your skull and maneuvering your head farther upward. He pulls back and presses into you, your face growing hot as he finds your neck and starts leaving deep open-mouthed kisses as his chest vibrates.

Lips swollen and sensitive, you whimper as he bites down at every other interval; arms around his waist and nails running up and down his spine. Simon shivers, hips lightly bucking as you press on the small of his back.

“Fuckin’ hell, Love,” he nuzzles under your ear, pupils wide and blackened, feral-like. “The things you do to me, yeah? Drivin’ me up a damn wall whenever I caught a whiff of what I did to you.”

Your stomach is rolling in tight knots of desire, lungs heaving as his hands squeeze and travel. At your core, you can already feel the slippery effect on your folds—a stain of sin that leaks out with nothing to hold it hostage inside of you. Face tightening as Simon groans long, he leaves hickey after hickey, as if unable to not mark your neck and under-ear.

The feeling of teeth there doesn’t even startle you, no, not now.

You ache with need, legs threatening to close in on themselves before Simon loops a hand in your inner thigh and keeps them open. The world around you blurs as your body tingles with a yearning that almost hurts.

“C’mon now, Sweetheart,” his lips come back to yours and you let him ravish you with long, deep kisses as his hand moves up. You balk forward and shiver as you feel the deep press of his growing lust for you against your stomach. “Don’t wanna know how long I’ve been dreamin’ about this.”

Your eyes flutter, and you gasp out through the joining of your hungry mouths, “Show me, Simon. Show it to me.”

His teeth bite slowly into your bottom lip, easing you into this game of wolf and sheep as his half-closed eyes open and dig into you. Simon’s fingers flex but don’t move, the other still at the base of your neck; your own have been leaving crescent-shaped marks on his back for a while, absentmindedly pulsing along with the heated blood in your veins.

There are still the remnants of sheep’s blood on his cheek—slashed up the side of his face and over his deep-set eyebrow, but you find you don’t care at all.

With how his fingers tap so close yet so far to that sensitive bundle and the dripping mess of your insides, nothing matters.

“My Girl wants that?” Simon hums, and as easily as if he were picking up a shirt from your shop, he lets his thick fingers push you open as you suck in a quick breath and sag into him. Into his neck you sigh, hitched airways making it seem tight. Instinctually you open your legs wider, whining at the press of calluses and scars in your clutch and sliding up your sensitive walls.

Simon stops and waits mid-way past his first knuckle with two fingers, groaning as you tighten and flex around him at the foreign sensation. His thumb at the back of your head moves up and down, his own thighs hard with eagerness and a stain in his abdomen from the lack of attention—but he cares little about his own leaking head, content only when able to give you pleasure in the purest form.

Your stomach as well as his are wet from his weeping tip, the chill of it making you both shiver and try to mash your bodies ever closer as the sheet below you two is tangled at your feet. The fireplace crackles.

“Simon,” you keen, and he answers with a bite of your shoulder before rubbing his head into your neck. Like opium, he’d said. If only he could tell you your scent now was convincing enough to make him lay on a bed of burning coals if only he could smell it for three more seconds.

Arousal. Lust. Animalistic desperation that Simon’s eager to bring you to the brink of—face sick with pleasure and eyes blown with numb satisfaction. Open and bare to him.

“Attagirl, that’s it,” he slides his digits deeper as your hips buck, making him grit his teeth to hold back a grunt as his dick is jostled. “So wet for me, fuckin’ perfect. Let me help, yeah?”

“Fuck, Simon,” he buries his fingers at the base, wasting no time in crooking them back toward him and pulling his wrist down. You moan loudly, stretching and being played like an instrument. Simon’s fingers repeat the motion until you’re a mess of rutting thighs and shaky legs.

The man takes down every moan and whimper—every sigh and jerk with a growing sense of pride. His dick is begging for friction, and the little bit he gets is from your stomach rubbing against it with every slippery sound of his fingers entering and exiting your core.

Simon’s mouth is open with a tight pant for breath, mirroring yours before the pad of his palm rubs against your bundle. You arch into him, whining and pleading instantly with a burning face, half convinced something had overtaken your body to make you act in such a way.

The man moves his fingers faster, making sure to maneuver his limb in such a way as to get your clit harder and harder with every pass, leaving you limp in his arms. Simon anchors you to him with a hand on the back of your shoulder blades, grip hard and knuckles white.

As your face screws up and a fire burns in your core, nails leave long scratches down the back of his torso as if he was a wooden trunk to tie a horse to—a rock in a storm.

“Simon,” you sigh out, head stuck under his chin. “S-so good, keep going.”

He opens his mouth as he rubs his chin on the top of your scalp, mixing your scents together potently.

“Look at me,” Simon utters, in his desperation to bring you to the edge, his accent is as deep as you’d ever heard it. “Look at me, Love. Wanna see your eyes watchin’ me as you fall apart. I’ll make it good, promise.”

“K…” You gasp as everything keeps building up and up, teeth clenching together and legs fighting to close around his hand—Simon bullies you open through the overstimulation; the flood of your senses. “Know you will!”

“So good to me, Sweetheart,” he grumbles, taking you by the side of your cheek and leaning back slightly so he can still let you rest on him but also watch.

Your eyes flutter with every rapid intrusion from Simon’s digits, tight and textured walls giving in to him as he pushes and prods, searching for something as his brows crease and his abdomen bunches. The man’s biceps flex and strain, feet wide open and lips parted as he locks onto your gaze.

“Fuck, what a bloody sight to see. Yeah, you enjoying that, then?” He mutters, and only when he pushes those teasing words out does he find a point inside of you that leaves your mouth opening and your toes curling; that he truly loses his breath.

Holding your head forward, Simon’s jaw slackens as your face contorted with pain-like expressions of confused pleasure, sweat glistening your forehead and your lips swollen—neck nothing more than raised skin from all of the man’s biting.

You strangle down such an instinctive and leg-shaking moan that Simon nearly forgets that he’s not even truly inside of you yet; balls tightening with building excitement and his length begging to be squeezed, used for nothing but that same expression on your face.

“Christ,” he breathes, teeth grinding and feeling you fight to keep his fingers in. Slick drips down his wrist, tapping the floor in a clear stain that could bring him to his knees.

You can’t even speak, spine curling with such raw electric sparks. If Simon isn’t careful, your legs will entirely fail you.

“Sim-” Your voice is high, mixed with panic as you let him hit that same point again and again like a hunter. “Simon!” You chant, fighting to meet his eyes as your vision blurs.

Everything was too hot, the scrape of his calluses on your flesh like a knife raking through your insides with pleasurable stabs.

“Jus’ like that, Love,” he breathes, not blinking. “C’mon know you feel it. Squeezin’ my fingers just right. Look at that pretty little face.”

You’re building and building, standing on the precipice of a large chasm. There’s nothing to stop you from going over the edge—and you don’t want anything too.

Your body tenses gradually, knees wobbling and your abdomen pulling into itself. A sharp claw seems to play with the string of your impending release, fiddling with it and taking it into its fingertip; rubbing it back and forth in a slow game.

Your breath comes out in short gasps, moans getting higher and more cut, Simon’s eyes are transfixed, panting like a dog, and, in an instant right before you break, moves his fingers at a break-neck pace.

Your sharp cry is caught on his lips, sucking it down as your orgasm floods his hand, leaving it a sticky mess that he continues finger-fuck you through with firm strokes. He’s whispering praises on your lips, keeping you up as his hand snaps to your waist when your legs buckle. Your walls move like a noose, letting the man fantasize how it would feel to have you speared open in his lap as you writhe and take him down in the low light.

All of these thoughts, this sight, make him harder by the second.

Simon keeps moving his fingers, drawing your explosive release out until you plead quietly for him to stop from overstimulation. The sensation makes your abused clit cause your spine to arch with every touch of his wet palm. He obliged, the sound of slick slapping halting, but his fingers didn’t leave your spasming cunt as your limp head fell to his shoulder.

Your chest heaves, aftershocks leaving your mind blank to all else but the press of skin and sweat. The air reeks of sex and hot breath.

Simon’s head clacks yours, fingers flexing as you whimper and dig your hands into his sides. He chuckles and slowly pulls out, taking long strings of cum with him as they string his fingers together and dribble to the floor from your slit. He holds you up, uncomfortably shifting his feet when your body jostles his raging erection—making him hold back a tight gasp.

“Good?” The man asks, gruff and casually. Your open mouth lays a firm kiss on his burning flesh as he side-eyes you waiting for a response.

“Yeah,” your voice is far off. Simon chuckles lowly.

In an easy sweep of his arms, you’re picked up and carried to the bed; set down to the plushness that’s down one sheet. You lay on your back, gazing up at the man as he stares down at you in turn.

Neither of you speaks until Simon has to rip his eyes away, clearing his throat. Your eyes travel down before widening at the violent red of the man’s length—the thing twitching and dripping pre-cum down to the base in an obvious plea for stimulation. Yet Simon makes no move to do anything.

“You should get some more rest—”

“Let me help,” you whisper, eyes widely innocent as they meet the browns that snap your way, those orbs slightly widening. “I own half your soul…right?”

Simon watches you, jaw loose.

“It looks painful,” you ease out, pointedly moving your gaze downward with unabashed boldness.

“Is,” he utters. If he was being honest, he was worried that he had been coming on too strong—that this part of the night might be going a bit far. You were a lady, after all, and he respected you as such. He needed confirmation.

“Then let me help, Simon.” Your eyes blink at him, hand coming up to trace the bulk of his thigh muscles. His breath goes shallow, self-control fraying fast. Just a little more. You lick your lips. “I want to feel you take me like no one else has. I want you to stay in this bed with me until the fire goes out and the light outside peels through the curtains. Can you do that for me?”

Your wet core pulses again, wanting—waiting for something more. Something only Simon could give you.

The man’s chest rattles. “Yes,” he relays, words low.

After a moment of eye contact, the man places his knee on the bed, shifting so that he has himself in between your legs; hands coming up beside your head. Your lungs are heavy, fingers coming up to rub over his blood-stained cheek as his nose brushes yours. Simon’s stubble itches you, but you still sigh constantly as he kisses you once more.

This was slower than the previous—less desperate though you don’t know how as you could feel the strain of his length prodding like a hot iron in your inner thigh. It made you slightly nervous, the size and the action itself, but you didn’t doubt who you wanted to be the one above you.

Simon kisses the side of your lips, nipping at the skin as he grunts out, “You sure?”

Brown eyes never waver as they stare you down. Any ounce of hesitation would be found immediately and the action would be over; Simon paraded around as a cold and heartless beast, but never had there been a man more considerate of your own safety. He didn’t want to hurt you.

You drag your fingers through his hair and he shudders, one grip sliding to your legs as the drag of barely-there claws makes your breath hitch. Your lips mutter, quietly, “Yes.”

“Gotta make me believe it, Sweetheart,” Simon kisses over all of the marks he left, slowly dragging the warm press of his mouth and side-eyeing you.

You glare down at him and feel his smirk on your skin, how he hooks his hand under your knee and lightly lifts the limb. Your muscles flex at the sudden spread of your legs, your hand in his hair grasping tighter. Simon sighs low as your body shifts, shivering at the slick heat he restrains himself from rutting against.

Face burning at your bare excitement, the man’s eyes glaze over.

“I’m sure, Simon.”

“Don’t wanna make you feel like you have to—”

“Simon,” you interrupt his comment, and the blond huffs, the air sliding over your heated skin.

“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.” You smile softly and drag his face back to yours, kissing him deeply. “Let me try…” Simon mutters on your lips, and soon both of his hands are pushing up your knees as you widely blink at the openness of your core before your legs are folded up.

You whine at the stretch, the embarrassment of having your dripping folds on full display. This was foreign to you.

Simon hums, looking down and groaning. He taps his forehead to yours as you breathe deeply, letting him take control.

“Okay?” He asks, and your heart skips a beat.

“Are you going to keep stalling,” you breathe, looking into his gaze teasingly. “Or are you going to show me how you can’t function without me beside you?”

There’s a stretch as he lines himself up, hips moving back and abdomen sliding over yours—your lungs stutter as his eyes glint at you; lips flicking in a smirk.

“You going to keep me here?” You breathe, voice breathy as Simon’s length begins to steadily press forward, your face twists as you take him down, lines forming on your forehead. “Make me,” his hands keep your legs up beside you, open as they tighten. His lids narrow in concentration at the tight vice of your walls, having to slowly bully his way into you inch by inch. “Make me tailor your clothes a-and spin your wool?”

The sounds from your joining bodies are vulgar. A slide and a coating of flesh with natural assistance as Simon’s jaw clenches, not able to help the jump of his pelvis as you moan and arch your back as he moves even farther into your clutch.

You both writhe as he bottoms out, bodies shaking at the intensity of the moment and the sparks under your flesh.

“Ah,” Simon strangles a whine, eyes tight shut as yours follow. Quick kisses are placed on your lips. “Don’t tempt me, yeah?”

The great stretch of your insides leaves you sighing, tiny waves of pain pushed back by pleasurable pulsing and the scrape of veins. His head lays in the hold of your womb, slick leaking out from the ring of your core.

“We,” your hips jerk, and Simon’s hands on your knees tighten until you know there’ll be bruises come morning. “We’re beyond temptation.”

Simon chuckles—his eyes dark and glimmering in the firelight. “Smart girl.”

He lets you adjust there for a moment, even if his dick is pleading with him to move and drive your back into the mattress; to see your face crease in rapture. But that wasn’t what his head wanted, no, he wanted this done right.

When you look at him and your thighs stop shaking, he carefully grinds himself into you, letting your bundle of nerves meet the wirehair of his happy trail and give himself the slightest feeling of relief. You bite your lip, one hand on Simon’s cheek and the other still in his hair.

The angle of your legs makes you feel him that much deeper, even as he simply grinds himself inside of you and doesn’t move much beyond that.

“Feels good, y’know that?” Simon mutters as your mouth takes down a slow breath, eyes stuck on each other as the man fully begins to remove himself and softly flinch his length back into you; exiting just enough before letting him re-enter. “Tight; warm.” He shudders, gritting his teeth. “C-can smell you like this—how much you want it. Always have.”

You whine at the words, tightening around him as he begins gently fucking you in earnest, the slap of skin and tight walls joining the crackle of wood. The scents on the air are a perfect mix of addictive pheromones—so potent even you can smell it as you try to meet every dig of his hips.

Simon’s face goes to your neck, nuzzling into it as his eyes go tight.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes out a groan into your ear, mouth open.

The heat returns easily to you, the burning in your gut. Simon’s pelvis hits you, stimulating your clit every time in the perfect way, as if he’d glanced at your body once and immediately memorized what made you tick. His sweat drips and pools with your own, slick leaking out to the mattress and making you feel dirty in the best way as your cut-off sighs hit the ceiling. It's hot in here; nearly too hot to focus on the slide of skin and dig of your nails into his hair. It’s telling how fast you seem to hit that peak again, at the constant scrape of his veins and the push of your walls as if trying to force him in.

Your back arches into him, and Simon cants his hips faster, biting on your chin and pulling at your lips as his eyes watch with eagerness. His abdomen bunches at the sheer pleasure he feels making you feel like this, chest heaving and large build all but swallowing you below him.

“Simon,” you breathe, kissing him on his lips eagerly, growing desperate.

“Let me take care of you,” the man grunts hard, getting harder to focus, “trust me?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, clenching your jaw as he brushes a spot so deep inside of you that your eyes go blurry for a moment. Your lips move without your brain understanding the slurred words. “Yes, I trust you. I…I…oh, fuck.”

He sighs and bites a whimper down as your walls flex, gripping him tighter and tighter.

“Knew I’d find you,” Simon pushes your legs harder into the mattress, form slightly shaking. You moan high into his mouth, eyes fluttering and knot growing tighter. “Knew I’d make it right, eh? Death can’t keep you away from me, not now. I’ll find you.”

You gasp, itching cord snapping and release spilling out around the plug of his dick as he continues on as you jerk and rut out of order; eyebrows pulled in. It isn’t long after that Simon follows you, shoving his lips on yours as his mouth parts with a tight cry. Inside of you the spill of his seed fills your womb and he fucks through it, hands releasing your legs to rub up and down your sides.

Your core floods as he stays there, resting and stationary above you, his weight heavy but not crushing. The both of you stare at one another and breathe down the heated air; all of the scents and the desire there—the unspoken bond that extends life and death.

Simon grunts and forces out, breathless, staring through blown pupils.

“I’ll always find you.”

In the morning there’s a pile of wool sitting in a cloth sack against the wall, and the sound of chopping wood outside. The curtains are drawn to the bright rays of the morning sun as they meet your softly smiling face, visage half-covered by the newly fitted sheets.

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phone4pills · 30 days ago

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IN THE BACK dealer!Chris x vet!Reader

drug dealing, car sex (only mentions), smoking and driving, use of y/n, slow lead up, no actual smut, long asf

You watched the blocks pass out the window, knee bouncing slightly as a cause of your nerves. Chris drove mindlessly, a blunt between his lips. Whenever you’d glance at him, his brows were slightly furrowed as he focused on the empty roads, trying to map out the dark city under the pale light of the moon. His window was rolled down ever so slightly to let out the smoke of his roll.

Each turn, each speed bump reminded you that you were closer and closer to your location. You’d agreed to being here, and you knew Chris wouldn’t have dragged you along. To be fair, he would’ve probably preferred that you stayed home. But you asked for it. You wanted the thrill. So he was giving it to you.

Eventually the car pulled up to some warehouse type building, slowly to a stop behind the place. Two or three cars were parked on the street. Chris made sure to park behind them, glancing at the ones in front to make sure nobody was inside of the vehicles. Then he turned opened his door slightly, head turning to you with a whisper. “Stay here for now.”

You nodded, grabbing his arm before he got out of the car. “Be careful.” The man chuckled. He chuckled. As though what you said was a joke to him. You weren’t surprised. He’d done this before, a lot. Like everyday. And you were telling him to be cautious. If anything, this was a game to him. A bit of fun. Fun and money, why would he be worried?

It was a few minutes before he returned. He helped you out of your side of the car and eyed you, in a way that you were unable to tell what was behind his eyes. You had a dress on, it was pretty short and it didn’t cover much, especially when it came to your chest. He sighed, taking off his hoodie and shoving it into your grip. You stared at him, confused. “On, now. They won’t be seein’ all that.”

You opened your mouth to argue but he shook his head. “Don’t start. You’ll be back in the car.” With an eye roll, you pulled the hoodie over your head and although you didn’t want to admit it, it was much warmer. Plus it smelled nice, like Chris. “As of now, you’re my girl okay? Don’t overdo it though, just try to imitate my pace.”

You nodded and the two of you made your way around the side towards the back of the building where there was a small door for entry. Upon your first step inside, your nose was flooded with the smell of drugs. You wanted to cough but you had to refrain from drawing attention to yourself. Men’s laughter and aroused groans filled the joint. There were older men smoking and drinking, laughing together and younger men making deals and discussing their ‘businesses’.

There were women of you age too, putting on what you could only describe as a show for everyone their. Some were on the floor, some on the arms of other men and even a good few grinding on laps and ‘who knows what’ in a more secluded area.

Instantly, someone approached Chris, a guy maybe his age or a little older. He glanced at you. “S’your girl?” He grinned devilishly, eyes feasting on your legs specifically. Chris nodded. “Yeah, so she won’t be doin’ all that,” His eyes flitted to the half-naked ladies on the sofas, “And I’m over here, quit staring.” His friend laughed, head falling back a little.

“I’m the least of your worries tonight with this pretty thing on your side. Surprised you’re claiming her, I’ve known you to come in here and entertain yourself with any girl that appealed to you. And you’d have em all with that kinda face too.”

You could tell he was trying to get some reaction out of you and though you were slightly uncomfortable, you were far from insecure. You knew Chris had his problems, and you also knew that you were different at the end of the day. All those girls could’ve given him as many dances as fish in the sea, but none of them compared to you. Hopefully.

As you became more immersed in the scene, you started to relax. Nothing was really a threat to you, as long as you stayed by a Chris. And you were starting to thank him internally for giving you his hoodie because the way the men in the room were eyeing any female. They were all as cocky as one can be, cat calling, pushing themselves against them, whispering things. It was just disgusting.

Chris found the guy he’d been looking for. He was doing shots with a few others when he saw Chris and grinned. “Finally. How many grams you got?” I reached into the hoodie pocket, feeling for the plastic bag with the powder inside. When I got it, I took it out and gave it to Chris. He held it out. “I got ya ten. The man hummed with approval, pulling a great amount of cash out of his back pocket and beginning to count it.

“Who’s this little miss?” He gestured towards me with his head. My eyes widened, assuming I’d have to introduce myself. “I’m, y/n. Im here with him.” The man handed Chris about three quarters of his money, then held out the rest of his notes to me. “Can I get a dance?” I chuckled nervously and I noticed how Chris’ jaw clenched.

“I… uh-”

“Fuck no. Y/n let’s go.” He took my hand attempting to lead me out of the place. I pulled my hand away. “But Chris, we’ve only been here an hour.”

The fire that lit in his eyes was enough to quiet me down. He really wanted to leave. I was grateful enough that he brought me along, but I wanted to get at least a drink. And beer pong looked sort of fun. “Don’t make me drag you, let’s go.”

You found yourself sat in the car with a frown on your face. You’d shoved Chris’ hoodie back into his hands the second you left and walked ahead of him. And now he was just making a joke out of you, taking his sweet time to get to the vehicle.

Finally, he arrived, but you were surprised to find that he’d opened your door instead of his. “In the back. Quick.” You didn’t have time to argue because he pulled you out of the car and walked you to the back. When you got in the back, you already knew what he wanted to do. There was a growing tent in his sweats and his movements were quick, getting in next to you.

“Chris… not here.” You couldn’t deny that you wanted him, maybe a bad as he wanted you. But you were scared. Embarrassed. It wasn’t the right place. And the windows were only slightly tinted. Either way, you found yourself removing your hoodie and pulling up your dress the second he asked.

Au tag list: @pvssychicken @sturnslcver @sophand4n4 @sofieeeeex @lovingregulusblack @spideylovin @leaningoutthewindow

Main tag list: @hearts4werka @pvssychicken @sturnslcver @sophand4n4 @sofieeeeex @lovingregulusblack @spideylovin

Aaaand done! Sorry guys, I cannot be asked to write smut rn. Shouldn’t be a problem since all of tumblr hates smut at the minute. Anyways, since we know that’s not true you guys can find smut in my MASTERLIST. But the part you’ve all been waiting for it coming in a few days!

- ©phone4pills

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therandompagesblog · 27 days ago

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SKZ Mate: Chapter 10

Warnings: Hospital talks, sexual health, general health

"blood type?" "I don't know." "Wolf size?" "I don't know." "Last time you had a heat?" "That I don't know either." "Could you be pregnant?" Y/N and Chan looked at eachother before looking back at the medical questionnaire in absolute bewilderment. "I do know my date of birth. The rest I have no clue." Y/N said honestly. "You don't know where you live?" Chan said slowly as if she had just hit her head. "I don't know your address. I just live there." "Good point." Chan chuckled as he tried to fill in some of it for her.

Chan had decided to contact a werewolf specialist after her sub-drop to check for any underlying health concerns. He was worried that Ateez might have done more damage internally than what Felix could pick up. Chan also wanted to find out more about her heat cycle along with when her next heat might happen so he could prepare and make her comfortable for when it happened. He didn't want to ask Felix to do those checks in case she felt uncomfortable so he thought a female doctor might be better for the time being. The female doctor happened to be Changbin's older sister Jaehee. She was one of the most reputable doctors and gynecologists in the city that worked closely with werewolves. Jaehee could have come to the house but Chan decided against it and decided to meet at the hospital as he thought it might be nice for Y/N to go outside. Chan didn't want to trap her in his set of woods away from civilization but he was so worried about Hongjoong catching on or finding her out in public and he wasn't ready to risk it just yet. There were already rumours that Hongjoong had lost his omega and his pack had weakened because of her disappearance. It also doesn't look good to the outsiders that he lost an omega. It shows massive instability and cruelty, because why else would an omega leave, unless she was taken. That was probably how Hongjoong was probably playing it out, but Chan wasn't keeping up to date with his patterns at the moment since Minho and Hyunjin offered to take over while Chan sorts out his problems with his own family.

"Hi Chris, how are you?" An orotund voice called out. Y/N jumped slightly at the woman's voice, causing Chan to chuckle. "Hi Jaehee. I'm sorry to have demanded for you so soon." Chan apologised. "There's no need. My little brother explained." Jaehee explained with a smile. "Come on then omega." "I'll wait here. So you two can talk." Chan explained as he gently gave Y/N a squeeze on her shoulder. "How chivalrous of you Christopher." Jaehee mumbled, rolling her eyes at the alphas behaviour. Y/N followed the female into her office but not forgetting to give Chan a nervous look. Thankfully he sent her a wave of comfort as she went in. "Don't look so nervous. I promise whatever you say to me doesn't go anywhere, the room is werewolf proof so no one outside of this room can hear. And I also won't disclose anything to Chan or my brother unless you're sick. The rest is not my business." Jaehee promised as she patted the bed before grabbing her clipboard and running through a series of questions. They started off as generic questions. What is her diet like? How often does she phase? What is her heat cycle like? How often does her cycle last? Do you get pain during your heat cycle? All of which Y/N knew roughly. Y/N had an alright diet but it could be better. In terms of wolf health, she didn't phase a lot and mostly it was because she was told not too so her wolf was always caged in. In regards to her heat cycle she hadn't had one in over 2 moons.

While Jaehee asked a series of questions she checked Y/Ns height, weight, body temperature before going on to blood tests. Jaehee promised the blood tests where only to check for deficiencies and rule out any possible diseases. "Alright, this next part I need to some cervical examinations just to rule out anything." Jaehee said with an awkward smile as she brought over the ultrasound. "Does my brother treat you right?" Jaehee asked as she waited for Y/N to get comfortable before sticking the instrument in. "Yes. He does. Him and Jisung helped me prepare my nest." Y/N said awkwardly. "Changbin has a big heart. Feel free to abuse it within reason. And when I say that I mean in a healthy way like asking him to buy things for you, not playing the rejection game like my friend does with hers." Jaehee shook her as she remembered what her friend told her. "How is Hyunjin and Minho? They are the most difficult pair. "Um, Minho is rather awkward with me and Hyunjin I think hates me. He frightens me." Y/N said honestly. "I doubt Hyunjin hates you. He can hate but you would know it as you wouldn't necessarily be here. Hyunjin is complex but be patient with him. My advice let him come to you on his terms do not go to him or force him." Jaehee stated. "Um. Chan got him to mark me." Y/N answered nervously. "Oh dear. I can imagine Hyunjin is not feeling happy about that. Give him time. He's not pure evil he just has different morals." Jaehee answered.

The room went silent as Jaehee poked and prodded around Y/N's body, glaring and squinty at the screen, making Y/N nervous. "You are definitely not pregnant. Which I am sure is a relief for you, however, your pelvic bone is cracked which is slightly concerning, so I'm going to have to ban Straykids from any intimate activity from you for the next twelve weeks. It might be eight but those feral males will try and push too early so tell them twelve. In terms of missing heats I strongly believe it is due to high amounts of stress so hopefully in the next one or two moons it comes back. Any questions?" Jaehee asked, in which Y/N shook her head. "Good. I'll write a report to give to Chris. Make sure you eat more protein, the bloodier the better. Try to get more exercise by running in your wolf form. Cardio is better than weight training at the moment as your body has gone through a lot of stress so I wouldn't advise following my brother to the gym. Herbal remedies are great for stress, reproductive and sexual health. I know Felix and Minho are great at making them. Definitely no sex for twelve weeks. The longer the better. Oral sex after eight weeks unless they are really gentle but I have no clue who would be. Minho might be the more gentle one or no maybe not him. Never mind. Oral sex we'll say is fine unless they thrust too hard, it's also a great relaxation technique. Alright what else. Ah, for your pelvic bone try doing pelvic floor muscles. Hot baths, massages and lots of rest. I've also typed this for Chan. Feel free to wack him around the head with it or any of them until they understand. Got it." "Uh, huh." Y/N said as she tried to process a large amount of information. "Your blood test and scan results will be all together in two weeks, but they will be done with a fake name in case Ateez somehow gets a hold of information." Jaehee explained as she gave Y/N her report along with a prescription for birth control pills with a knowing look.

Y/N thanked Jaehee and walked out of her office to see Chan on the phone. Chan quickly hung up and greeted her with a small kiss on the forehead. "How did it go?" Chan asked as he took her paperwork before holding her hand. "Okay." Y/N said awkwardly. Chan hummed in response and wrapped his arm around her. "Let's talk in the car. We have to pick up some wolf protein shake as Changbin has run out." Chan stated like he wasn't even sure what Changbin was on about. As soon as they reached the car, Chan read through the paperwork, taking all of the information in before he started the car up. "Is there anything you want to talk about or get off your mind, not in relation to this of course?" Chan asked, giving her the room to speak freely. "No. I'm just learning to trust and accept things and to feel comfortable again." Y/N admitted. "That's understandable. Your body and mind has been under a lot of stress for however long, but I am grateful you are trying to trust us. As you need lots of rest I hope you will allow us to look after you properly and show you who we are. Obviously within reason for some of them." Chan expressed while also stating the obvious about a certain wolf. "I will state if Changbin offers to give you massages that's fine but not if he finds a muscle knot. He tends to make them worse. Hyunjin is actually the better one to get them out along with Seungmin as they are good with pressure points." "Does Hyunjin hate me?" Y/N blurted out causing Chan to look at her. "No. No he does not. He has a story that is his to tell, but what I will tell you is Hyunjin once lived with Hongjoong and you know what Hongjoong is like he did something. Hyunjin doesn't hate you he hates him and his pack. He doesn't trust anything related to him. But please do not take anything he states personally unless he does make it personal. If he does make you upset at any point tell me." Chan stated as he squeezed Y/N's hand. Still, Y/N couldn't help but worry but for now she had to trust him until something changes.

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ylangelegy · 2 months ago

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just a little too soon ꩜ wonwoo x reader.

♬⋆.˚ An ice cold bitch when you burn like noon / Was it hidden in the cards that I'd lose you? / Was it written in the stars that we'd meet a little too soon?

🎸╰› includes: boyfriend!wonwoo, alternate universe: non-idol, long-term relationship, pet names ('babe'), deteriorating relationship, alcohol, angst, break-up, [implied] second chances, tarot card references [descriptions courtesy of labyrinthos.co].

💽╰› this is part of my ongoing series, buzz (seventeen's version) + this piece is inspired by track 09, blue moon. word count: 4,000+

There was a time where Wonwoo used to greet you at the front door.

He used to be so particular about it, too. lt had been a little routine that lasted for a good couple of months. You'd text once you were heading home and he'd respond with anything from take care to missed you today.

He made sure you never had to pull out your key. All you had to do was knock thrice. He'd then swing open the door— his glasses slightly askew, his mop of dark hair bearing the indent of his headphones— before softly saying, "Welcome home, babe."

But that had been years ago. The homecoming has since faded into something less ceremonious; his responses to your texts, if any at all, now more of can you get some soda on your way home and don't forget to pick up the laundry.

As your key unlocks the front door, you feel that small flicker of nostalgia— and something else entirely. That feeling you can't quite name. Because how can you miss someone who's still there?

As you step in to your shared apartment, you can hear the distant sounds of a game being played. It takes you only half a minute to figure out what your boyfriend's poison is tonight: League of Legends, based on the muffled commands that he's barking out.

You feel an ounce of pride when you pad in to his game room and realize that you're right. Wonwoo's gaze briefly flickers away from his computer screen.

You wave at him. He gives you a grin in return.

He mumbles something in to his microphone before hitting something on his keyboard, seemingly muting himself. When he looks up at you, his smile has become a touch more sheepish. You already know what he's going to ask before the question comes.

"Just one more match," you warn, like you always have.

He adjusts in his swivel chair. "Three more?"

Both of you know where this is heading. "Two," you say in unison.

Your strict gaze softens; Wonwoo's smile becomes a little more genuine. He beckons for you to come closer and you make a show out of it— faking a sigh, dragging your feet.

He rolls his eyes but reaches out for your hand all the same. Once your fingers are intertwined, he raises your clasped hands to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to the back of your knuckle.

"Thank you," he mumbles against your skin, peering up at you from behind his glasses.

You feel like a bit of a fool, to still find the action heart-fluttering after all this time. You bite back the pleased smile that threatens to fill your face as you disentangle your hand to briefly press your palm against Wonwoo's cheek.

"I'll order takeout," you tell him. "Be done before it comes."

"I'm not really in charge of the game being done by a certain—"

"Wonu."

"Fine, fine."

As you make your way out of his room, he calls after your retreating back. "No Chinese, please!"

You order Chinese anyway. Partly out of spite; partly because it's what you want.

When Wonwoo emerges from his room after the vouchsafed two matches, he lets out a displeased sound at the sight of paper pails resting on the dining table. "I said no Chinese," he grumbles.

You don't even look up from the manual in your hands. "I got you the mapo tofu you like," you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. "And some spring rolls."

"The mapo tofu you like." Wonwoo takes a seat across from you. Despite his complaints, he's already digging through the takeout to find the meal you've chosen for him. He's too used to these little stunts of yours to be fazed.

The two of you have been dating for four years, after all— living together for a little over half that time. It's a quaint, two-bedroom apartment. More often than not, you share the same bed, but the other room is there for when the other needs their privacy.

The domesticity that you two have cultivated came with its own set of growing pains. But— for the most part— you've both learned how to make it work. Respective chores around the household. Shared meals and moments like these, where neither feel a need to fill the silence.

Except, tonight, there's the introduction of something novelty, something worth talking about.

"Hm?" Wonwoo cranes his neck over at the cards spread in front of you. There's half a spring roll hanging out of his mouth as he tries to catch a glimpse of what has your attention. "Are those— tarot cards?"

You give him a small nod of acknowledgment. "Soonyoung gave them to me as a gag gift," you note. "He says that I need to get a hobby."

Wonwoo finishes off the spring roll in his mouth as he lets out a derisive scoff. "And he suggested tarot reading?"

"Hey," you say defensively. "I think it's interesting."

"I think it's bullshit."

"You think a lot of things are bullshit."

"This one especially," Wonwoo insists. "It's just a bunch of scam work."

You press the bridge of your nose with your thumb and your index finger. Wonwoo catches the action and immediately backs down, placated by the telltale sign of your growing annoyance.

"I'm not about to start charging people to have their fortune read," you say exasperatedly. "I just wanted to try something new."

Wonwoo doesn't push it. He only lets out a low hum as he picks at another roll. A pregnant silence stretches between the two of you for a couple of minutes before Wonwoo says, "Try it on me, then."

You look up from shuffling the deck. An eyebrow of yours arches upward when you notice the lack of any outwardly hostile expression on your boyfriend's face.

"You're just going to make fun of me," you grumble.

"I swear that I won't." Wonwoo pauses and meets your skeptical gaze. "I swear that I'll try not to," he amends.

It's as good as you're going to get, you decide. With a defeated sigh, you hold out the deck. Wonwoo gingerly plucks a card out, placing it face-up on to the table between you.

Amid your takeout lies a card depicting a man suspended upside-down, hanging by his foot from a tree. "The Hanged Man," you read aloud, needing to slope across the table because it's facing Wonwoo.

"Very original."

"You said you'd try to be nice!"

"I was just saying!"

For a moment, the two of you just stare at the card. "Well?" Wonwoo prompts. "What does it mean?"

"Er..." You scramble for the manual that came with the box of cards. As you skim over the descriptions, you feel your eyebrows knitting together with slight confusion. "Oh, it matters if it's upright or reversed."

"Facing who? Me or you?"

"I— it doesn't say."

Wonwoo lets out an exhale. His expression seems caught between exasperation and fondness.

"You could just tell me anything and I'd believe it," he says dryly.

"That's not the point."

Wonwoo shakes his head at your whining and pushes back against the table, his chair scratching against the floor. You pore over the definitions as Wonwoo gathers up the dishes; it seems that, for him, this conversation is already as good as done.

He has some sense to lean down to leave a quick peck on the top of your head.

"Whatever it is," he mutters against your hair, indulging you for only one more moment. "I'm sure it's a hundred percent right."

You glare at his back as he walks over to the kitchen sink.

🃏 The Hanged Man understands that his position is a sacrifice that he needed to make in order to progress forward — whether as repentance for past wrongdoings, or a calculated step backward to recalculate his path onward. This time he spends here will not be wasted, he does this as part of his progression forward.

When you date someone for long enough, their friends tend to become your friends.

That's how you've ended up here on a Thursday evening— even though you'd much rather spend the weeknight recuperating from your day at work. Admittedly, all you had wanted was some time with Wonwoo.

But Mingyu was broken-hearted, he had reasoned, and he couldn't say 'no' to his best friend. In hindsight, you probably could have opted to have the apartment all to yourself, could have had your quiet night to yourself.

Neither of you were willing to give way for what you each wanted, and so this is the compromise: You, tagging along to the speakeasy where Mingyu is drinking himself silly over some girl who didn't give him the time of day.

Wonwoo and you are seated on either side of Mingyu, while Soonyoung sits across from you three. Jihoon had passed on the whole thing— to be expected— and Junhui is running late.

That leaves you three to pick up the broken pieces of a distraught Mingyu.

"You'll find someone else, Gyu," you offer.

Wonwoo pats the younger man on the back. "It's not the end of the world," your boyfriend adds.

"Easy for you two to say!" Mingyu takes a long swig of his fourth, maybe fifth bottle of beer. "You two are, like, solved."

"Solved?" you and Wonwoo echo. You, with a half-smile; Wonwoo, with an arched eyebrow.

"Solved," Soonyoung pitches in, hiccupping as he speaks. "You've got it figured out. Aish, couples shouldn't be giving advice to heartbroken people."

That draws a chuckle out of you and Wonwoo. Neither of you make an effort to push back on Soonyoung, instead opting to mumble plattidues to a Mingyu that is getting progressively drunker.

As the night wears on, the conversation veers in to more common territories. Mingyu's apartment-hunting endeavor. Soonyoung's shitty boss.

At one point, Soonyoung chirps to you, "How are you liking the tarot set?"

Wonwoo lets out a derisive snort mid-sip of his beer. You reach behind the back of Mingyu's chair to playfully smack your boyfriend on the shoulder.

"I've been having fun with it," you say with a sniffle. Wonwoo raises his hands in a show of surrender.

"Think you're ready to do readings?" Soonyoung asks, and there's no teasing in tone. Just a genuine sort of excitement. It's in such contrast to Wonwoo that you're momentarily thrown off-kilter.

When you realize that Soonyoung is waiting, that he's expectant, you brighten up just a bit. "Actually—" You begin to dig through your purse.

Wonwoo shoots you an incredulous look. "You did not bring it," he says, sounding mildly horrified. You ignore him in favor of fishing out the tarot set that Soonyoung had gifted you.

Immediately, Soonyoung is moving aside the bottles and glasses on the table so you have space to shuffle the cards. The three boys have varying expressions on their faces: Soonyoung is enthusiastic, Mingyu is curious, and Wonwoo is resigned.

"Me," Mingyu croaks, putting down his bottle. "Can you read for me?"

"It helps if you ask a question," you say.

Mingyu looks like he's thinking long and hard about his query, though the thoughtful expression is frayed by the way he's already fairly tipsy. Soonyoung and Wonwoo share a laugh as they wait for Mingyu, who eventually blurts out—

"What will my love life look like for the rest of the year?"

It's to be expected, considering the whole reason you're out tonight is because of Mingyu's failed romantics. Soonyoung goads him and Wonwoo snickers, but you take the question in stride. "Tell me when to stop," you say as you shuffle the deck.

Mingyu watches your hands with laser focus. After what feels like an eternity, he solemnly calls, "Stop."

A card peeks out of the spaces between your fingers. You place it face-down on the table before flipping it for everyone to see. Soonyoung leans over. Even Wonwoo can't hide his mild interest as he eyes the suit.

An upright Wheel of Fortune.

"A wheel always turns," you note to Mingyu, pointing out the imagery on the card. "It can mean that— despite being in a bad situation right now, that can easily change. Nothing, bad or good, is permanent."

There's not really much more that you can say. You weren't really in the business of taking card-reading seriously; if anything, you're treating it more like a party trick.

And it works, based on the way a smile breaks out on Mingyu's face, and the low whistle that Soonyoung lets out. Wonwoo, as you had anticipated, looks far from impressed.

"Me next, me next," Soonyoung chants, only to seemingly change his mind last minute as you go to reshuffle the deck.

Soonyoung turns to Wonwoo. "You next!"

Wonwoo takes another sip of his drink. His arms are casually crossed over his chest and there's an almost piercing glare behind his spectacles. All of you are a little too accustomed to his sharp eyes and his dry humor to be unnerved.

"I already had my fortune read," your boyfriend says.

"You can always have it read again," Mingyu whines. The whine is a telltale sign that he's heading to 'far gone' territory; your friend group knows better than to try and reel in a drunk Mingyu.

Soonyoung sing-songs, "We should ask about when the two of you are going to get marriiied."

The jabs about marriage aren't anything new. Having dated as long as you two have, you and Wonwoo are often subject to such questions from everyone around you— concerned family, impatient friends, nosy co-workers. You've both talked about it, of course, but in no certain terms.

With a laborious sigh, Wonwoo leans over Mingyu to pluck a card from your deck.

"Yah!" you complain mid-shuffle, swatting at his hand, but Wonwoo is already unceremoniously throwing the card face-up on to the table.

"Our marriage fortune," he announces, his tone edged with sarcasm.

The card features a woman sitting between two pillars— but, this time, it's reversed. You sift through your brain for what it means upside down.

"Upright, it means listening to your intuition," you offer.

None of the boys are any wiser about the fact that you're supposed to be spewing the reading for a reversed version.

"Wonwoo!" Soonyoung says excitedly. "Isn't your intuition saying that you should propose right now?"

A panicked Mingyu laments, "Wait, I'm not ready to be best man yet!"

Soonyoung seems to take serious offense at that. "Who said you're going to be Wonwoo's best man?" the boy demands. "I've known him longer!"

The two go on to bicker about the hypothetical ceremony and the groomsman line-up as you and Wonwoo stare on incredulously. After a moment, Wonwoo huffs out a laugh that only you catch. "Idiots," he grumbles fondly.

He finishes off the last of his drink. You're not sure if you've been lumped in to the half-insult, but you don't have the time to dwell on it.

Instead, you absentmindedly play with a corner of the reversed card as you contemplate calling it a night.

🃏 When it comes to the High Priestess reversed, it can mean that you are finding it difficult to listen to your intuition… Something has been telling you to follow your gut, but you may be ignoring the call. There is a lot of confusion around you, and your actions may feel contrary to what you know is right.

Here's how it gets you, weeks down the line.

On the surface, it looks like something small being blown out of the water. A date night postponed because of yet another friends who 'needs' him.

"We live together," Wonwoo sighs, running a hand through his hair. The argument takes place in your bedroom, where there's a chasm of space between you. You, sitting on the edge of your bed. Him, already standing by the door.

"We literally live together," he repeats. "We see each other every day."

"You barely even look at me nowadays," you snap, and despite the haze of your anger, you're lucid enough to wonder— where the hell did that come from?

Wonwoo's visible confusion mirrors your internal one.

"What—" he starts. What does that mean?, he probably planned to ask.

Instead, he grits out, "I'm looking at you right now."

And he is. Of course he is. It's a familiar expression; the set of his jaw, the spark in his eyes. He is trying and failing to keep his tone level, to not give in to the punches that you're throwing.

But when you love someone, you can be so cruel to them. Perhaps crueler than anyone else.

It goes both ways. Your mutual refusal to budge. Your tendency to let all the resentment build. And Wonwoo—

"You care more about being good than being good to me," you accuse him.

The frustration on Wonwoo's face only deepens. "Isn't that the same thing?" he asks.

"No, it isn't." Your voice is softer, now. More genuine in its ache. "There's a difference."

As if on cue, the muffled sound of his phone ringtone begins to blare from the living room.

You and Wonwoo regard each other in the low lighting of your bedroom. You, dry-eyed and hurt. Wonwoo, tightly wound and prideful.

The ringing of the phone ceases, only to start up again. Wonwoo makes his choice.

"I won't be coming home tonight," he says, his voice wretched. "Don't go looking for me."

With that, he takes his leave, slamming the bedroom door behind him. The force knocks over some of the things atop a nearby dresser— your set of cards, a stray lip gloss tube, the picture frame holding a photo from your first anniversary.

You don't pick them up just yet. You stay at the edge of your breath, holding your breath for so long that you feel your chest begin to burn, as you strain your ears for the sound of Wonwoo moving across your shared apartment.

His heavy footsteps get more distant. The lock on the front door clicks.

The chasm grows, and grows, and grows.

Only then do you go to assess the damage. The lip gloss tube has rolled too far under the bed; you resolve to figure that out in the morning. The picture frame remains miraculously intact.

(You don't notice this until much later, but there's the tiniest crack on an edge of the glass. A cobweb-like fracture that you will only see once you hold it up to the light.)

You go to gather up your deck of cards, and your eyes stray to the only one that has fallen face-up.

A lightning bolt striking a tower that's on fire.

🃏 The Tower represents change in the most radical and momentous sense… The old ways are no longer useful, and you must find another set of beliefs, values and processes to take their place.

WONU 🐈❤️ 1:43 AM You really didn't come find me

YOU 2:06 AM u told me not to.

WONU 🐈❤️ 2:19 AM Right

WONU 🐈❤️ 3:03 AM I think we need to talk.

YOU 3:33 AM yeah. we do.

It's quiet as you two pack up.

You're not ignoring each other, no. There are still a couple of amicable exchanges, like do you want to keep the blankets and I don't have space for any more of the succulents. Occasionally, you'll reminisce over some small thing.

The stubborn bathroom grout that had given you both grief. The burn mark in the kitchen from when Wonwoo had first attempted to cook.

"It's like we're looking through a museum," you say as you shove the last of your clothes in to your suitcase.

"A museum of our failed relationship," he muses thoughtlessly.

You wince and his expression softens imperceptibly, but he doesn't apologize. The silence stretches on for a little more.

A mutual decision, both of you had told all your friends. For the better.

You, moving back home for a bit. Wonwoo, opting to room with Mingyu again.

As you tape up the last of your cardboard boxes, you speak up. You're not looking at Wonwoo as you say, "It wasn't a failure. It just—"

Your words fail you. You only really want to communicate to him that your four-year relationship wasn't something that you had wanted to regret, that it's not, by any means, a dead loss.

It's a small grace that Wonwoo understands you, still. That, even now, he can hear what you don't, what you can't say.

"Yeah," he mumbles. He's already doing final checks to see if either of you had forgotten anything. "I know."

Some years ago, that might have been enough. To be known and to be loved.

But as you hoist a box up in to your arms, as you face Wonwoo who is looking at everything else but you, you realize that there is only so much that knowing can do. For you. For him. For anyone.

"I'm going to start loading things in to my car," you inform him.

"Right."

"You'll stay behind?"

He nods. "Going to give the keys back to the owner."

"Okay." Your voice is low, again. Like you're scared you'll drive Wonwoo away if you speak any louder. "Alright."

A beat.

And then Wonwoo finally looks straight at you.

There's nothing on his expression that gives away what he's feeling or thinking. He's always been the harder to figure out between the two of you. You spent years and years trying— trying to read him, trying to decipher every little thing.

You no longer feel that urge. It's a bit freeing, really.

"Take care," he says after a long pause.

"You, too."

Wonwoo doesn't call out your name as you walk away. That's not his style. In all the time you've known him, he's never been the type to beg, to grovel.

Wonwoo always knew when it was time to call something quits, when it was time to head home. You try to embody that as you walk past the front door, as you head down the hallway.

Before you round the corner, though, you glance over your shoulder.

Faintly, you can make out Wonwoo crouched over one of your boxes. The ghost of a smile tugs at your lips when you see him hold up and squint at a card.

A part of you wants to head back in, just to see what he's looking at. Just to see the last trick that the fates have up their sleeve.

Instead, you head for the elevators.

🃏 The Fool card is numbered 0, which is considered to be a number of infinite potential. Consider him a blank slate, for The Fool has yet to develop a clear personality. He is the symbol of innocence — his journey to come will shape his character yet.

Here's how it gets you, years and years later.

It starts with the hotel key card. When you press it to your designated room's door lock, the machinery lights up red and lets out a low beep. You try one, two more times, only to get the same results.

It starts with your free hand reaching for your cellphone. Your first thought is to call Soonyoung. He had made the arrangements, after all, being the pedantic groom-to-be that he was.

It starts with the door swinging open right before the call can go through.

Soonyoung picks up on the other line. "Have you met your roommate?" the bastard says in lieu of a greeting.

"I'm going to kill you," you say in to the receiver before promptly ending the call.

Wonwoo leans against the door frame, a half-smile on his face. His hair is shorter, now, but his glasses are still just a touch lopsided.

It starts there— the way he looks older and yet still very much like the last time you saw him. The way his expression is a lot less guarded and a lot more open. How you can tell there's a fondness that lingers; how your own heart, like a traitor, skips a beat at the sight of it.

It starts with Wonwoo half-jokingly saying, "Welcome home, babe."

#wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo fic #wonwoo angst #wonwoo x y/n #wonwoo x you #wonwoo scenarios #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #ylangelegy buzz x svt #( mildly surprised that this is the first one i came up with!! when i was so sure it'd be jihoon or vern )#( but the tarot format came along easy )#୨ৎ penned by ylangelegy #୨ৎ muse .ᐟ svt

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mr-ys-phantasma · 21 days ago

Text

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count 1703

Chapter 31:

Teen had just used his powers, for the first time truly manifesting their beautiful blue glow and slightly electric nature were getting out of control.

His anger, his grief... they were the main emotions controlling him, and he acted impulsively on his thoughts, sending all three witches into the mud; off the road.

He destroyed that damn sigil, no longer needing it, and he had chosen to wait...only that he didn't think through one thing.

You showing up.

He expected Rio to have joined you, and yet here you stood alone. Your eyes met, and before he could try and talk, explain what happened; your eyes glew white.

A strong force sent him flying back, air knocked out of his lungs rather forcefully. And then, the very same force pressed him against the trunk of a tree, white magic glowing all around him; keeping him up and trapped.

In a moment of panic, his magic glowed, but immediately it started to flicker as your white magic covered his hands.

"Wha...what...?" He exclaimed in surprise, not expecting it.

"My power neuters enemy magic," you explained briefly as you took a few steps closer, arms up and facing him.

White magic had come alive, wrapping around your fingers and wrist like veins; thin and delicate strands glowing with life and moving with a mind of their own.

"Please... Y/N..."

"Where is Agatha? Where are they?" You demanded to know. "What did you do?!"

Your magic pressed him more against the wooden truck, and he could feel the splinters digging into his back. "I... I didn't mean it..." he groaned, trying to ignore the newfound pain. "Please...I..."

Your bottom lip trembled slightly in frustration, and you found your anger subsiding as fast as the tides when the moon was low.

You brought your hands to the sides, white magic dying and letting him land not so smoothly on the ground.

Oh, you were pissed and annoyed, and your head was a mess with your feelings and Rio in the mix. You were on guard, and you would get your answers... but not this way.

This was not like you. You were not one to use your powers for harm and pain unless there was no other choice left, and even then, you held back.

Plus, you had started to warm up to the boy, and you could not really harm him or call him a liar so openly. For something deep inside of you was relating to him, to his journey, and so you chose to let him go.

He coughed and slowly stood up, feeling his back complaining from the meeting with the tree trunk but he looked at you with a thankfully look; not expecting you to truly spare him, let alone so quickly.

"Talk. Now, " You demanded, your tone commanding and sharp; like a mother scolding a child.

He took a deep breath. "I was just very angry with how they treated Alice's death and i lost control of my powers and sent them off the road and I am sorry and I dont know how I did it" he spoke fast, barely taking any breaths and hoping it would prevent you from hearing everything.

But you were a fast student, and you picked up everything. You swore you could feel a vein popping on your right temple, pressure budling up as white magic cracked between your fingers; making him take a step back in fear.

"What?!" You exclaimed, louder than before. "You tossed them off the road?!"

"It was an accident, I swear. I was just very angry. " he tried to excuse while backing away, only for you to match his steps by approaching him.

"Do you have any idea what you have done?!" You moved your hands wildly. "Do you?!"

Teen walked back, feeling afraid and planning to find some rock or thick tree to hide behind. He knew you were a kind person and he genuinely liked you but you resembled so much an angry mother at that moment... that he genuinely was concerned.

Before anything could happen, though, the sound of someone coughing and struggling made you turn your heads, only to see Agatha slowly crawling from the mud she was thrown into.

She had grabbed a nearby tree root and was slowly trying to escape the sticky sinking mud.

"Agatha!" You exclaimed and rushed her way, ignoring Teen while your anger disappeared the moment you saw your lover.

She accepted your help to get out of that stinky mud trap, more than once threatened to slip and lose her grip on you, but managed to prevent it.

In the end, she was out dirty but alive.

Leaves stuck to her muddy clothes, and even her hair had stuck together. Her hands, in an attempt to claw out, had mud beneath her fingernails, and she had managed to stand your white shirt when she grabbed you to be helped out of the trap.

You could care less, though. Your clothes were not as clean as when you first entered the road and you didn't care. It was clothes, simple and unimportant.

You could change them when this was all over.

"Thank the mother, you are okay," you said, inspecting her for any other injury she may have suffered.

So far, she seemed okay, unharmed, and simply sticky and dirty. She didn't push your hand away but kept her gaze locked on the one responsible for this trouble... Teen.

It was then Agatha took notice of his appearance and also the small parts of dirt and wood sticking on his clothes.

"I see you got to him first," she commented, trying to unglue a muddy strand from her cheek.

"More than once," you commented and also looked at him.

His gaze shifted between guilt and pride, trying not to react to your gazes and words.

"Well, careful there, sugar. If he is that much like his mother, he will learn and get you back next time you two clash, " Agatha said, making you frown.

"Like his mother?" You questioned.

Agatha smirked, and you swore her eyes grew misty, her tough facade slipping away. "Yes... the son of the Scarlet Witch. " she looked at him with odd care. "It's good to see you again, Billy,"

"Billy Maximoff," you mumbled, remembering finding that name across the star charts one day when you were trying to find Agatha's whereabouts and maybe try some... old spells to check up on her.

"Billy....William..." The boy said, still conflicted between the two people he is or was or tries to be.

He had a complicated double life he never asked for but had to learn to navigate on his own.

As Agatha started to poke around the Bush, testing the limits and patience of the boy; you managed to get a good idea. She was also kind enough to fill in the blanks.

Basically, Wanda had created two sons within the hex that you knew from rumours. After all, the appearance of the Scarlet Witch had shaken many in the magical community.

After the battle between Agatha and Wanda, the one you learned that your lover had her powers drained, Wanda dropped the hex.

And yet her powerful but still untrained son had managed to slip and escape, find a recently empty body, and inhabit it.

Your gaze softened when you saw the conflict within him and how he tried to hide the guilt he felt, for taking over the life of someone else; even if that someone had passed away.

"She is right, you know," you chose to comment after Agatha finished her speech about why he shouldn't feel bad for what he did. "The rules were never meant for our kind. They were never fair to us. To survive, we learnt to bend and even break them. "

Your words had a personal touch behind them, and Billy quickly understood that you had been in something similar. Maybe not the same, but your past had not been perfect and light and peaceful, evident by your romantic favour towards Agatha and the scars you bore.

And he was right.

For you were meant not to harm, let alone kill, unless something was truly the Darkest spot and a danger to everything.

That was your role, your mission...

And yet you broke it when you killed those witch hunters, even if it was in self-defense. You broke the rules to survive.

Maybe not break, perhaps bent since those men truly were danger for you and other witches... but the ending remained the same.

But of course, this sweet little moment couldn't remain; not with Agatha; who chose to test the waters once again.

Though this time, Billy seemed to have trouble working his powers; a proof he had yet to master control over them, especially when not enraged.

"Whatever." He exclaimed, trying not to let her get inside his head and under his skin. "You know it's there. I can finish The Road on my own."

Agatha smirked. "Oh, sure, with all that power you can't control without throwing a temper tantrum."

"I'll figure it out!"

Deciding that you had enough, you chose to enter this little conversation as you walked to stand by your lover's side.

"You won't have to because you will be coming with us," you said, earning surprised looks from the two. They parted their lips to argue, but you lifted your hand, palm facing them; a sign not to interrupt you. "We lost Alice when we turned on one another. We are not losing anyone else. We work together, get to the end of this hellish road, and then get out of here. "

They muttered in agreement, knowing you were right and that it was also wiser not to argue with you. Especially after the show you did with the ghost of Evanora, they knew better.

And so, the three of you started to walk down the yellow leaved covered path towards your next trial; expecting that Lilia and Jen would catch up with you one way or another.

Or at least that was what you personally hoped for, unsure if it would become a reality.

Chapter 32

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha fanfic #agatha spoilers #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #moon phases fanfic #kathryn hahn #aubrey plaza #marvel

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pandora-writes-one-piece · 1 month ago

Text

The Meet Cute - Law's Story - 12

Source for pic

The Great Pretender 12 🔞

Word Count: 4734

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Law is a soft dom; you have bratty tendencies (not all the time); voice kink; praise kink; cursing; very suggestive behaviour and innuendo from the start; sexual tension; teasing; so much flirting; romance; slow-burn; fluff; slight angst; mature audiences (though explicit NSFW moments will be properly tagged on the chapter); possessive Law; protective Law; soft Law; teasing Law; manipulative Doflamingo; inappropriate Doflamingo; fake relationship trope; only one-bed trope; reader has some anxiety issues; reader is a control freak and perfectionist; modern day AU; Mention of ex mentally abusive relationship;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Law (your father's doctor) start to build a flirty friendship because of your father’s procedure. So much so that when he’s invited to Baby 5’s wedding (his cousin), he asks you to be his date. His uncle Doflamingo - who is filthy rich - is very adamant on finding a suitable wife for him. Seeing as he wants to avoid that, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for the weekend.

Notes: Guys! This one is NSFW from top to bottom, k? 😅 I hope you enjoy it as much as I have writting it. 🥰 (my phone app is being an idiot and doesn't let me add the spotify song as usual, and on the laptop this is how it looks like... I'll edit later, I really just want to release the chapter!)

You didn’t wait long for Law. It took him just enough time for you to freshen up a bit in the bathroom, give yourself a pep talk in the mirror, and hydrate. The day had been intense, and you were a nervous mess by now. The realisation that what you feel for Law is so much more than you initially thought, hits you hard, and now you’re suffering the backlash of it: trembling legs, a frenzied heart and untamed anticipation.

Your breath shakes as it leaves your parted lips, tingling hot against them as you face the vanity, slowly removing your jewellery. The dim light from the moon and the small bedside table lamp is the only source of brightness in the room, lending it a cosy and warm ambiance.

The door clicks softly, and your fingers tremble on your ear as you remove your earring. Law comes in, his eyes already fixed on your back, and he smirks as you watch him through the mirror. Another click on the door alerts you to the fact that he locked it, and then he drops his coat on the armchair before sitting at the edge of the bed, observing you. His legs are slightly open as he loosens his constricting tie.

You let out another shaky breath, your eyes never leaving his, as you remove the other earring and then your necklace. You’re still dressed, heels and all, but Law doesn’t seem to be in any rush. So you twist your arm to reach the zipper on your back, showing him how you could’ve done it alone earlier by unzipping it –that earns you another smug smirk– and you let your dress slither away from your shoulders and past your hips as it pools down at your feet.

The satisfaction you get from Law’s eyes following the fabric as it slides down your body and darkens with hunger, only makes your breath quicken. Your lingerie isn’t meant to seduce, it’s meant to be practical, but it’s lacy and revealing and Law’s ravishing you with his eyes.

He still doesn’t make a move.

So you do.

Inhaling deeply, you turn to face him, a slight blush creeping over your cheeks as you gather confidence from deep within, grasping at how Law makes you feel and how he never judged you.

His smirk widens, and he sits more comfortably, pulling himself a little higher on the bed, and you start to strut. For all the control he’s showing, he can’t keep his eyes still as they roam from your face to your chest, to your swaying hips, to your legs and your feet. He’s mesmerised.

His face rises to meet your eyes when you reach him, and you feel your cheeks burn again as you chew your bottom lip, a surge of intense desire almost making you lose your footing. Your heartbeat is deafening and keeps increasing as you set a hand on his chest and straddle him, one leg on each side, your knees making the mattress dip around him. Law’s hands still rest on the bed, though he can’t disguise the slight shortness of his breath or the unbridled hunger in his eyes.

Leaning forward, your lips hover just above his, tingling as they’re met with his hot breath, and you smirk. Running your fingers through the hair at his nape, you grind your hips, feeling how much he already wants you, and it takes an extreme amount of effort not to start moaning and pleading. But you’re a woman on a mission.

“I think tonight I’ll make you beg for what you want, Law. What do you say?” Your voice comes out in slow, shaky breaths, tingling his skin where you hover. You lick his neck, feeling his pulse flutter, and it’s you who almost breaks again. He’s divine.

“I don’t beg, sweetheart. Ever.” How can he still be so cool and collected? The only thing that gives him away is the slight raspiness in his voice as he answers you. So you decide to push a little more.

Turning your hips in small, steady circles, you grind against him, sensing his breath hitching every time you touch. You can almost see the invisible thread of his patience wearing thinner and thinner by the second. You know how much he loves being the one in control, and you need to enjoy this reprieve he’s letting you have before he snaps.

And heavens, how you want him to snap.

Your nails dig into his scalp as you press your clit against him unintentionally, letting out a moan-like gasp near his ear. He tenses, and you keep pushing him further, breathing on his neck, sucking and nibbling slowly. “Are you sure, Law? Are you sure you don’t–”

He doesn’t even let you finish. His hands come alive as he grasps your hips and flips you, pinning you against the mattress, looming over you with that unhinged smirk and darkened eyes. You let out a surprised gasp as a rush of energy jolts through your veins. You’ve pushed far enough.

“I don’t beg.” He removes his belt with a swift movement, and the sound of the leather whipping sends another jolt through you, making you shudder. Then with deft, confident moves, Law wraps the belt around your wrists and holds your arms above your head. The leather feels cool against your skin, tight but comfortable. You wriggle a bit, testing it, and it doesn’t even budge. “I take what I want.”

“Law…” Your tone is already pleading, you need him to touch you.

“See, sweetheart, you’re already getting it.” His smirk is insufferable and that only makes you want him more. “This has been a long time coming.” He murmurs, his fingers trailing your breasts through the bra, then descending to your stomach. So light and soft that the touch is barely there. It only ignites the flames higher and higher and they all burn in your core. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he just smirks again, his tattooed fingers undoing his tie completely as he removes it and slips the fabric over your eyes. You inhale sharply, desire tingling and awakening all your senses, his presence suddenly overpowering everything else in the room.

“You’re mine, sweetheart. And I’m going to claim you in every way possible, until the only word spilling out of your mouth is my name.” His whisper against your ear seems heightened by the lack of sight, making you tremble slightly. “Got it?” Law punctuates his question with the tightening of the knot on the tie, and you gasp again, nodding.

Then his lips caress your ear, travelling to your jawline and down your neck. His goatee scratches against your skin as his tongue comes out to soothe the invisible rash. “I can’t hear you, sweetheart. What will you be saying?”

“Your name.” You let out a weak pant as his lips land on the dip of your throat and his thumb grazes your nipple. Without sight, you’re completely lost as to where he’ll touch you next. It intensifies his teasing a thousandfold, and you’re already burning up.

“Yes…?” He asks calmly, his fingers tracing every inch of your body in a torture-like caress, barely touching but close enough to ignite. Your hips shift restlessly beneath him, searching for some sort of friction or contact - anything that can help ease the burn inside of you.

“Law!” A desperate plea leaves your lips, and you don’t quite know how long you can take his teasing. He’s revelling in your neediness, you’re sure of it. Though you can’t see, you can practically feel his smug grin as his fingers descend softly, brushing your hips and settling on your bare thighs. You instinctively open your legs, praying he gives you what you want, but his touch only lingers on your inner thigh. So close and yet, so far away.

A soft whimper leaves your lips just as his fingertips touch your panties, and then he pulls away.

“There it is, sweetheart.” His voice is as smooth as silk, and it vibrates against your sternum as he nibbles and kisses your skin. “You make the prettiest sounds when you’re desperate.” He glides down, his tongue tracing patterns against your stomach and treading very close to the waistband of your underwear. “Do you want more?” He hums low.

“Yes.” Your voice barely counts as a whisper. It’s a sliver that catches and scrapes against your throat as you twitch your hands, feeling the leather crack and groan, as desperate as you are.

He pulls away, leaving only coldness behind. “I can’t hear you.”

You swallow hard past the lump in your throat, your back arching, yearning for his touch again. “Yes, Law.” Your voice seems stronger, though it trembles with a burning need that stems from the heat pooling between your thighs. “Please, Law, please.” Your whole body aches for him, it’s unbearable.

His slow chuckle brings forth another whimper from your lips. “That’s my good girl.” Finally his hand touches you with more purpose, no longer a feather-like touch, but a full-on grope of your flesh and you sigh, the anticipation of release just within reach. He grasps your hips and your thighs, and his fingers dip below the hem of your panties as your breath hitches.

Then he stops.

Your groan meets his chuckle. “How badly do you want this, sweetheart?”

“Please, Law! So badly. I need you to touch me, please!” He barely lets you finish your pleas - and you would’ve pleaded forever - before he slips his fingers inside your panties and finally touches you.

The gasp you let out is almost a cry as you arch your body, head falling back in abandon as the need in you begins to be fulfilled. He’s built the tension so high with all the teasing that every circling motion, every thrust of his fingers feels like molten lava on your body. You’re hit by wave after relentless wave of pleasure, giving way to wanton moans and whimpers.

“Feels good, sweetheart? You’re so wet for me already, look at you, so needy and desperate.” Law’s whispering against your ear, and by heavens, does this man know how to multitask. His tongue works around your neck, his hand cups your breast and teases your nipple with sharp pinches and soft caresses, and his fingers… They may spell death, but they’re the very thing giving you life in this moment.

“Law!”

He has you, all of you. You’re bound, blindfolded, and he’s working out every inch of pleasure within you. You’re completely at Trafalgar Law’s mercy. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

Your breath quickens in uneven pants, and the coil of pleasure in your abdomen begins unravelling, spreading tendrils of fire to every nerve ending in your body, awakening them with jolts of unbridled pleasure as Law increases the pressure on your clit with his thumb and curls his fingers inside you.

The unholy squelches that fill the room make your cheeks flare up as your hips grind against his hand, searching for that final push. “Law, oh, Law.”

“Come for me, sweetheart, you’ve earned it. You’re being such a good girl.” Then he presses harder and crashes his lips against yours, his tongue pulling every moan from you, claiming it as his own as your release hits you like a thunderstorm. Your body trembles violently beneath him, and Law’s fingers are relentless against you, helping you chase the pleasure, prolonging it as your soul shatters in his hands.

It’s intense, and it’s nothing like you’ve ever experienced before.

Law’s lips part from yours as you take long gulps of air, trying to ground yourself back in reality. His hand rests against your stomach as you still shake and tremble from the aftershocks of your release. You can practically feel his smug grin as he kisses your collarbone. “I told you I take what I want, didn’t I?”

You chuckle softly and inhale deeply as his hands steadily remove the tie from your eyes and then the belt holding your wrists. He massages them gently, though they don’t hurt at all, and you blink slowly to adjust to the dim light of the room.

“Hi.” You whisper with a wide grin.

“Are you alright?” Law asks, concerned, and you nod. “Good. Because we’re nowhere near done.” His unhinged smirk is back. “I told you you’d come on my fingers, on my tongue, and on my cock.” His words send another jolt through you, reminding you of the pleasure you just felt, the heat still coursing through your veins. “One down, two to go.”

You know he means it, too.

How he manages to keep himself controlled when you're a mess of numb limbs and unintelligible sentences, it’s beyond you. There mustn’t exist a thing in this world that makes Law’s control crumble in the bedroom. He’s untouchable.

“I want you, Law.” You whisper, your fingers trailing down his abs and sitting at the waistline of his pants. “Why in the world are you still dressed?” How unfair is that?

Sitting up, you bite your lower lip, gaze burning into his as your hands reach to unbutton his shirt. He lets you, helping ease it off after the buttons are undone. Gosh, you love his tattoos. You kneel as your tongue begins tracing them, deft fingers already finding the button of Law’s pants, grazing against his hard cock as he lets out a low, controlled grunt.

He helps you pull off his pants, grabs a condom from the bedside drawer, and gets rid of his socks, while he’s at it. You suck in a gasp, biting your lip to keep from moaning at the sight of the bulge in his briefs.

But he doesn’t need to hear you moan to know how much you desire him. He towers over you, leaning in and pressing you back down with that simple, commanding act. “You want me, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Law.” You nod. He smirks and with a swift movement, rids you of your bra and panties. “I need you inside me. Now.” You urge him as the familiar throb of need pulses between your thighs.

“Aren’t you a needy, desperate girl?” You lay back down as he finally removes his briefs, and by all the gods - old and new - this man is devastatingly perfect. All lean, defined muscles, tanned skin and those amber eyes darkened with desire, devouring you just as you devour him.

A whimper escapes your lips as you reach forward, ready to touch him, but he stops you, hands at your wrists as he leans forward and takes your lips in his in a shattering kiss, settling his body between your legs, which you part willingly.

His tip bumps into your sensitive clit as he grinds down, and you let out a soft mewl against his swirling tongue. He draws back a little and you gasp for breath and roll your hips against him, seeking more friction, more heat, just more!

“How does this feel, sweetheart?” He whispers against your ear as his tongue traces a sinful pattern down your neck. He grinds himself against your clit one more time and you moan loudly, your slick allowing him to glide effortlessly against your pussy, throwing more kindling on the fire and stoking the flame with ease.

“Good. Perfect.” You babble between pants.

“Describe it to me.”

“Law!” You whine, rolling your hips again in a feeble attempt to get him to enter you.

“How does it feel?” His tone is clipped, though it frays at the end, hinting at a need he’s not fully showing you.

With a deep breath, you will your brain to leave the puddle of mush it has become and assemble some kind of rational thought as you focus on the sensations. “Your tongue feels hot against my skin, it prickles and–... hmm… sends shivers down my spine.”

“More.” You hear a slight crack in his voice and it’s another piece of kindling for your flame. Law’s hands slide up your wrists as his fingers entwine with yours and you gasp at the intimacy of it all.

“God, Law. You… nhgh… your cock feels so good pressed against my clit and–...” Your cheeks flare up and you close your eyes tightly as pleasure rolls through your body.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.” There. It’s a tiny crack in his usual cool timbre, but it’s there. And you’re the cause. This realisation brings a different kind of warmth and you smile through your next moan while you open your eyes and get lost in his. “And now?”

He laces one hand behind your knee, lifting your leg up, aligning his tip with your hole and slowly, torturously slowly, pushes himself inside of you.

A ragged cry leaves your lips and you arch your back to meet him, but he doesn’t push any faster. “Describe.” He nearly growls, and the warmth in you spreads.

“Hmm… Law, you feel perfect. It’s…” It’s a struggle, it’s what it is. Because your brain is only screaming: More, more, more. And he wants you to describe it? “It burns! It scorches my insides, my skin, my whole being. You’re filling me up so perfectly and I–... ngh… I need all of you! And I need you fast, and hard, and–... Law!”

He barely makes it to the end of your sentence before he slams into you, bottoming out and pulling another wrenching cry from your lips as waves of pleasure ripple through you, bringing you to the brink of release almost instantly. He curses, pauses, and, as you open your eyes, you see it as clear as day: Law is losing control.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You take me so well.” A grunt escapes his lips as he shuts his eyes and his hands wander up and down your thighs. “You’re perfect for me.” His words stir a whole new range of emotions inside of you. Digging your nails into his forearm, you roll your hips at him.

“Please…”

Pulling back until he’s almost out of you, he takes barely a second to breathe before slamming onto you again. You press your nails deeper because you can feel your release overwhelming you already. The wave is cresting, ready to take everything in its path with bright, hot pleasure.

“What are you going to scream now?” He’s almost breathless as he pulls in and out of you, his hand lifting your leg, angling himself in the perfect position to brush your G-spot and hit your cervix, and it only takes him another thrust to push you to the edge again.

“Law!” You cry out his name, as he requested earlier, and he’s all you can think about anyway. He consumes your very existence to the point where you have no idea how you’ve survived up until now without him breathing life into you. The pleasure overwhelms you with intense waves that leave you a shuddering mess.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Scream my name.” He leans forward as you gasp and dig your nails into his back, pulling him closer. The grunt he releases near your ear makes you whine in need as he slows down his thrusts. His fingers are buried in your hair, and his face is hidden in the crook of your neck. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Law?” You mewl as another lazy thrust starts to build the ember inside you back to a roaring flame. He hums against your shoulder and you place your hands on his face, urging him to look at you. It’s not there anymore. The clipped and cool control he holds at all times, it’s gone, and it seems like he’s trying to get it back, trying to find his ground, the familiar instead of the new. “Law, tell me what’s wrong.”

He kisses you deeply with another roll of his hips and another lazy thrust, and you clench around him as his pelvis strokes your oversensitive nub. “You…” He begins with another grunt. “You make me lose it.” His voice is thick with need, coarse and raw, he’s barely holding on to his poised demeanour and you can feel the way his pulse beats erratically against your fingertips.

Law pulls back until he’s almost out of you, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and filled with heat capable of igniting the strongest of flames. “You have no idea what you do to me.” With another frustrated grunt, he pushes into you, slower than before, but deep, so deep that it feels like he’s touching your soul.

Your breath falters and hitches as your nails bite into his shoulders. “Then tell me.” Circling your legs around his waist, you pull him impossibly closer to you, and his hands find purchase against your hips, digits digging and pulling, afraid you’ll let go.

“You drive me fucking insane.” He nearly growls as he pulls out again, his whole body rolling over yours with his next thrust, and it almost shatters you. Heat courses through your veins with such intensity that you feel you’re about to burn from the inside out. “I can’t focus on anything else but you. Ever since you set foot into my fucking office, all I wanted was you.” He emphasises his words with another languorous thrust, pulling a gasp from your lips.

God, you’re at the brink again. His slow movements, his words, it’s all too damn perfect. “You have no idea how hard it has been to not devour you, to have to hold back because I couldn’t stop if I touched you more.” His next thrust hits deeper, harder, and he bites into the curve of your neck, clearly not holding back anymore, and that’s all it takes for you to lose it.

Your body tenses and your muscles tighten around him as another wave of pleasure crashes through you, so intense that it leaves you breathless and gasping for air. Law’s name falls from your lips between wanton moans of pleasure.

“You’re perfect, so, so perfect. I… I can’t hold back anymore.” He grunts into your neck, his hands tightening their grip on your hips as you still shudder from the aftershocks.

“Then don’t hold back, Law…” You plead between a sob of utter satisfaction and a whisper. “I’m all yours.”

“Fuck, sweatheart, yes. Yes, you are.” With heavy pants, he barely lets you come down from your high before disentangling your bodies and turning you on the mattress. Your face plummets against the pillow as he grabs your hips and pulls your ass into the air, lining himself up again, immediately. “I want to hear you scream my name again, just one more time. One more, okay?”

His hand circles your back with a soothing motion before he continues, his question bears more than one inquiry: Are you okay? Can we go on? Can you take it?

And you can go on. You can and want to take it. You want to feel him completely lose himself inside of you, you want to hear him chant your name. He’s vulnerable in a way that doesn’t stem from rawness or pain. It’s just affection and desire, and you’re already addicted.

Turning your head to the side, you nod frantically. “Yes, yes.” You don’t even think you can say anything else at this point. Law thrusts violently in and out, and you cry out, oversensitive and overwhelmed by the sensation. He’s not holding anything back, just like you asked.

“You feel so good, sweetheart. Tight and wet. Just like I imagined all this time.” He grunts as he snakes a hand around your waist, pulling you up, your back flush against his chest as his fingers travel through your body and settle at your neck. His grip is tight but comfortable.

Heavens, the sensation multiplies tenfold as he reaches all your sweet spots and pounds incessantly into you. A symphony of primal grunts surrounds you both as he lets them out against your ear with every thrust. His other hand grips your hip for a moment and then circles you, pressing against your clit with a desperate move.

“Law, I’m–...” You moan out, sensing the pacing of his thrusts falter as he grips you tighter. Your pleasure is mounting up again - or maybe it never truly stopped - and you feel dizzy and blissed. “I’m…”

“I know, sweetheart, fuck. I know.” His own thrusts are erratic and sloppy as he grips your body tightly, holding on to you and to the moment with unstoppable want.

“I–...” Your bliss hits you without any kind of warning and is much more intense than before. Instead of waves, it’s almost like a continuum of pleasure that rips through you and leaves you suspended in ecstasy. Your cry stays lodged in your throat, and all you can do is shudder and ride through the sheer intensity of it all.

Law tenses, grunts, and buries his face in the crook of your neck, thrusting three more times before stilling completely against you as a torrent of curses leaves his lips, your name mingling between them. Another moan - a softer one, because you don’t have the strength for more - escapes your lips as your high subsides and only the rippling of the aftershocks remains.

You’re a mess. You can barely move, breathe, or think.

Law is still buried inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder as your bodies tremble in tandem, breathless, both trying to come down from your highs. “Fuck, sweetheart. You wreck me.” His words elicit a soft chuckle from you as he kisses your nape and your damp hair.

“Well, you ruined me. That makes us even.” You manage to whisper, earning you a chuckle from him. Your eyes meet when you turn your face to him, and the warmth that filled your chest returns tenfold.

With a deep breath, Law pulls out and disentangles himself from you, gently settling you down on the bed, clearing the hair away from your eyes, and kissing you softly. The tenderness of his kiss matches the one in his eyes when he pulls back. “I’ve never felt this way with anyone before…” He admits as your heart clenches.

Not even Monet? The question is at the tip of your tongue, but you don’t want to ruin the moment. And he said ‘anyone’, it’s implied. So you smile softly and run your fingers through his damp hair, pulling the strands away from his beautiful amber eyes. “Neither have I, Law.”

He inhales deeply and kisses you one more time before rising. You’re still breathing heavily when he returns from the bathroom with a full glass of water for you.

A silly, blissful smile settles on your lips as you try your hardest to keep your eyes open. “Thank you.” You mumble as you sit up, wincing and predicting that you’ll be deliciously sore tomorrow, and take the glass in your hands as he sits by your side. His smile mirrors yours, which only makes you giggle more because it’s not the usual grin or the teasing smirk. It’s a genuine, loving smile.

“Bath now, or shower in the morning?”

“Hmm…” Bath with Law sounds nice, but all the muscles in your body are clamouring for sleep. “In a bit, lie here with me for a while.” You set the glass on the bedside table, already plopping down to make yourself comfortable, and Law lies next to you, immediately pulling you against his chest.

“Are you all right?” He asks, and you grin against him. He’s always so considerate of you.

“Perfect.” Your reply is very soft, but he hums and kisses your forehead with a deep sigh.

“It really was.” He complements your words, and the warmth in your chest spreads some more into a steady beat of your heart. It’s love. There’s no denying what has been built over the months since you met him. Love. Pure and unbridled.

Law rubs soft circles against your back and then threads his fingers through your hair, stilling his movements as his breaths even out. Can you say it to him?

“Law…?” He hums. “I really, really, really, really, like you.” Close enough. The amusement is there, even though he barely has the willpower to laugh. “I really, really, really, really, like you too, sweetheart.”

Tag List:@rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @rainbow2312 @alexturnersgirl

|Chapter 13🔞|

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #op #the meet cute #law x reader #reader x trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar d law #law x you #you x law #reader x law #reader insert

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