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#his snakes help him to see/sense

wyvernest · 8 months

Text

mating szn

PART 2‼️ (part 1)

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!gf!reader

warnings: horny miguel, smut, fluff, dryhumping, unprotected p-i-v, breeding kink, scent marking, primal play, rutting miguel, possessiveness, reader is ovulating, descriptions of oral sex (f!receiving), rough sex

summary: miguel comes home feeling extremely needy

Stumbling and yelping in sync with his heavy footsteps catching up fast, you reach the first floor.

Before you get to offer yourself a fraction of a second to decide your next move, the hallway carpet curls up under your feet, slipping behind as your arms instinctively shoot forward for you to catch yourself.

Bringing one knee to your chest, you're prepared to launch yourself forward like an olympic runner.

Too bad.

Miguel's broad hands grip your waist from behind, once again sending jolts of adrenaline throughout your entire system.

You scream in delight through playful giggles, calling out his name breathlessly and maliciously arching into his hold.

You're getting wetter by the second seeing just how horny he is.

He pushes you down, forcing you on both knees. The deep pants from the chase quickly turn into something else as you feel his weight on your back, feel him get on one knee behind you.

His grip on your waist tightens. He brings his crotch up to your ass, grinding his erection up and down your clothed slit.

His hips roll slowly, rubbing the thick shaft of his hard-on lazily and mindlessly, the motions shallow and enticing.

"Ah, come on, baby", He leans forward, nuzzling his face into your soft hair, basking in the slightly-sweet, flowery scent of your shampoo. With a messy kiss to your neck, he speaks, raspy with need,

"Can't help it." More wet, sloppy kisses to your neck, more thrusts of his rock hard cock against your drenched folds through the thin material of your panties and his boxers. "I need, I need - ugh" the words fail to form as his hot breath hits the back of your neck, followed by more kisses and bites.

He brings a hand to the meat of your right thigh, grabbing harshly. He then lets it slip up over the mound of your pussy, cupping you and pushing two fingers over your folds, still stopped by your panties. You shiver at the feeling of his huge, warm palm touching your core so pervertedly, so desperately.

He can feel the wet patch on the cotton fabric, proof of reciprocated desire.

His senses once again catch the unmistakable, ever so dearly intoxicating aroma of you, so ready for him. His eyes roll back with a silent inhale, his bare chest rising and falling on your back.

He wants nothing more than to bury his face between your plush thighs and lap at your essence, pussy-drunk and keen on overstimulating you; licking and sucking at your clit, circling around your damp folds with his tongue until you're pushing him away, begging for a break, swollen and exhausted.

He can almost imagine you, tangling your fingers in his hair, pushing and pulling, either smothering him into your velvety cunt, needy and on the edge, or trying to escape his grip. He'd only hold you down, burly arms curling around your legs, just so he could make you come again, to feel you pulsate, feel your juices coat his mouth.

But with the way his cock twitches, begging for friction and stimulation, he can't think straight.

He feels an overwhelming urge to shove himself inside you and fill you with his cum, to see his cock rearranging your guts through your belly, to empty his balls in your womb and watch his seed dribble out of you, and push it back in with his still hard cock, hold it there so that it takes.

His warm, eager hands travel down to your panties, and in their loose hold as he attempts to drag them down your thighs, you once again snake away, giggling with a sardonic grin that doesn't do well in covering up the desire evident on your features.

"¡Mierda!" He grunts, and you enter the bedroom, reaching the balcony door and turning around. You catch the sight of Miguel clawing at the door frame to take the turn and come in faster.

Before you can react and take your eyes off the enormous bulge in his shorts, the defined shape of his dick protruding erotically against the material, he pounces, caging you against the wall, distancing your legs far apart with one knee.

His palms slip to your sides, not missing the savory opportunity to settle on the sides of your tits. He fondles their softness with the heels of his hands, pushing them together, pressing his whole body into yours.

You let out a barely audible moan as he corners you, almost squeezing you between his muscular frame and the wall behind you, and he almost loses all that's left of his sanity.

He kisses your temple, full of yearning. Although, he's instantly reminded that his scent has worn off of your feverish skin.

"Por favor,-" a deep groan vibrates in his chest against you, making you quiver.

"He estado cachondo todo el día," (I've been horny all day). He holds you tight against him, your tender breasts pressed flush against his pecs.

"No podía pensar en nada más que en ti" (I couldn't think of anything but you.)

You finally give in and offer a smidge of relief, sliding your hand down to grab his clothed hard cock. The second he feels you palm him tentatively, he reflexively starts rubbing himself on your hand like an animal in heat, groaning ruggedly.

"That's it." He rasps, fed up, and it's almost a threat.

He slowly walks over to the bed with you secure in his arms, but when his knees hit the frame, he doesn't drop you like he normally would. No. He's not giving you another chance to flee. A part of him loves the cat-and-mouse game he knows you enjoy so much, but the other part can already feel his fat, full balls turning blue.

Placing you down, hands still gripping your waist viciously, he gets on the bed, the mattress sinking down under his weight.

You feel your clit throb as he traps you with his thighs, taking your shirt off. His touch leaves goosebumps over your silky skin.

Under your hazy gaze fixed on his movements, he hovers above you, skipping the usual looks of adoration. Not that the sentiments were gone by any means, but he was far too needy to wait any longer.

The kiss he suffocates you with is fiery, full of all the pent up tension he had to endure.

As his mouth moves against yours eagerly and messily, you notice how it lacks his characteristic expert, methodical approach.

His lips were just as soft as ever, but devoured your every moan and breath with a fervor unfamiliar. His tongue slips past the liplock, dominating you in no time, and right when you start to adjust to the new strategy, catching up with his movements, he parts from you, breaking the kiss and sucking your soul out of you with it.

He continues his attack down your throat, biting and licking hurriedly, marking you as his.

Groaning freely, he reaches your breasts, taking them in his mouth, one after the other. His hands squeeze, roam and play with them, making you bite down on your lower lip and whine beneath him.

He suckles on the perked nipples, releasing them to catch his breath with another gravel moan. When he's done, your chest is coated in his spit; fresh, hickies already blooming over your tender tits.

The weight of his cock settles on your thigh, pressed snugly and oozing precum through a dark spot on his boxers.

Your own hands attach to his silky dark hair, caressing and brushing wild strands away from his forehead, clinging and pulling occasionally when he latches onto your breasts again after taking a few deep breaths.

Sliding lower, impatiently licking and biting over the line of your stomach, he finally gets to your panties.

He kisses the soft lips of your pussy through the fabric, the scent of your arousal driving him mad. He groans again, words slurred through the desperate, obscene licks, "Eres.." He extends his tongue, lapping up at the dampness, "..tan bonita." (You're so pretty)

Your heels are digging into his shoulder blades as you squirm and moan under his sultry touch. Through half lidded eyes, you see him bare his pearl white fangs, as if prepared to sink them into your sensitive skin.

You gasp, a little above a moan.

"Miguel! Don't - ah" You whimper as he grits his teeth around the elastic of your panties, tearing them in two with the help of one hand.

He grabs your thighs, kneeling between your legs.

Shoving his hand in his shorts, he takes his dick out, its mushroom head glistening mauve. He begins to stroke it more violently than you thought he would've taken pleasure in.

Mouth agape, pupils blown wide, he looks downright primal. Solely focused on claiming you, on stuffing you full of his potent seed, of draining his fat balls in your warm cunt until you're begging him to stop through ablaze overstimulation.

Cock in hand, incontestably massive encompassed by his proportionally large fingers, he slaps the hard, angered, heavy shaft on your tender folds, groaning at the wet sound of flesh against flesh. He rubs it over your lips, drenching it in your juices.

You notice his thighs flex, already insanely sensitive. When he eases the head in, he moans, rough and low in his throat, brows creased in pained pleasure. You whimper his name, legs quivering faintly on each side of his waist.

Using his weight to press your body down into the mattress, forcing you onto him, he slides his arms underneath your knees, throwing them over his shoulders and bending you in half.

A shiver bursts through you at the sensation. You clench around him, forcing a strangled groan out of his throat.

He braces himself down on his forearms, face nestled in the crook of your neck. Pushing in, the bulbous tip of his cock kisses your cervix as he bottoms out and gets straight to a tireless pace, not giving you the ritualistic second to adjust.

The bed creaks and squeaks with the way he's throwing himself into your cunt, pounding you into the soft cushions relentlessly.

His hips gyrate roughly against yours, his tense abdomen waving into you, dipping his meaty cock in your juices with an obscene, wet squelching, finishing each delicious swing with a quicker entry, more forceful and animalistic. His pubes brush harshly against your engorged, swollen clit, sending jolts of electricity through your core.

Skipping the tension, the build-up of speed, he drives straight to the euphoric rhythm of a release chase. His balls slap onto your ass, his pelvic bone nearly delivering bruising slams against your own.

“Ugh, oh Miguel-,” you gasp for more air, struggling to form a coherent sentence through delirium, your breaths and moans rhythmically timed by his rough thrusts.

You curl your arms around his neck, nails digging into his back and shoulders. He looks down at you, watching your breasts bounce in his face, and starts rutting harder into you, every ridge and vein of his fat cock brushing against your sensitive spots perfectly.

Each time you call for him, it's a melody, a rapturous chant that has him on his knees, his mind in cobwebs, his heart aching; and for the time being, his cock throbbing as well.

"I'm - ah! Cumming!Ugh, M- Mig- uel- !" You moan sharply, your orgasm rapidly threatening to burst like fireworks.

He frowns, panting, shallow breaths hot over your face. You convulse under his massive body, arching your back, squeezing your tits flush against his feverish skin.

He feels your pussy flutter around his cock, milking him and sucking him in. He groans loudly in your ear, pace faltering ever so slightly. The headboard of the bed keeps slamming against the room wall, spurring your orgasm on with the reminder of the force of the man above you.

With one final thrust, his whole body tenses. He pushes forward, burying his cock in your soft, warm cunt, dumping his load in much slower and shallow rolls of his hips. You feel his dick pulsate inside you with each new spurt of cum, the remnants of your own climax making you clench around him reflexively.

He stills, relief washing over him. Meeting your gaze, he watches how you come back to your senses, the blinding lust replaced by love and admiration.

He grabs your waist and pulls you down with him, laying you on his chest, his softening cock still inside you.

You close your eyes, head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

Dinner long forgotten.

divider by @cafekitsune

a/n: did my best here. the tags deadass took longer than the writing

TAGS

@thel0velykey190 @allysunny @weirdothatwritess @animechick93 @6thhokageswife @spookydragonsong @aisyakirmann @playmatenextdoor @skulfan1 @sat10 @2joos2cry @2099hitmylineyline @aiyaaayei @holographicang3l @heartfairy @cyberbugg @freehentai @acrazybiotch374 @theywhowriteandknowthings @shinyberry69 @pluviophilis @barely-thriving23 @realalpacorn @thekidscallmebosss @hrlzy @m4dyy @cringeycookies @tendoswifi @greatheartattacks @reborn-rekall @darksidescorner @yehet-moi-ohorat @poeticmoonspirit @kth137

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celestialwhoree · 3 months

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Ex bf!Simon🖤✬

You're still close. Both mature adults, and you know him better than anyone - he can't lose you, can't stand the thought of letting go of the one person who understands him better than anyone.

When he comes back from deployment and you practically beg him to come to this new club in town with you, he almost says no, really really wants to say no, but when you look at him with saucer wide eyes and a little pleading squeeze to his hand, he agrees to pick you up at nine. Tells you to wear something pretty. He knows you always look pretty, really, but he can't help but miss being able to show you off.

When he picks you up on his black YZF R1, sees you standing there on the sidewalk, he has to adjust his seat on the bike with how embarrassingly hard he gets at just the sight of you all dressed up for him.

"I thought you'd bring the truck." You whine as he hands you his 'spare' helmet that he actually just bought with you in mind. Simon gives you an affectionate little pat on the thigh when you slide on the bike behind him, unable to stop your dress from rucking practically to your hips, the thin lace of your panties inadvertently brushing against his lower back, the worn leather of his belt inconveniently pressing into your clit and you try to think of anything but how wet it's making you. "Traffic's bad tonight, can get there faster on this." He explains, muffled by his helmet.

He keeps a hand on your thigh the whole way there, just like he did when you were together, claimed that it reassured him you were still there, still safe.

Walking into the club is an assault on your senses, and you involuntarily curl into his side as he guides you to the bar, a hand snaking around your waist to settle protectively on your hip, thumb caressing the slightly raised line of your underwear without realising how much it riles you up.

Simon easily manoeuvres you over to the bar, one hand on you at all times, keeping you with him, keeping you safe. He calls his drink order to the bartender over the heavy thump of the music before giving your side a little pinch to pull your attention back to him' "Did you say something?" You hum as you're pulled from your daze. "What d'ya want to drink, baby?" The sound of the music obscures the old pet name that comes out in moments like this where the line in the sand between you is blurred by loud music and the comfort of his hands on your body. "Moscow Mule."

He keeps you tightly to his side as much as possible, occasionally grabbing you by the pressure point in the back of your neck when you get distracted and wander off.

Simon lets you have your fun - until some sleazy bloke who looks like trouble has his hands on your hips, grinding your ass into his pelvis with a smug grin, thinking he's got you hooked. "Hands off, mate." Simon grunts into his ear, a hand snaking around your front, settling on your navel as he pulls your back to his front, and when you turn to look indignantly up at him, he leans his head down to speak directly in your ear. "He was minging, baby." And goes on to soothe you like a petulant child when you go to complain about being able to make decisions for yourself. "Didn't see 'im lookin' at you the way I did, yeah? Just trying to protect my girl."

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻♱༉‧₊˚.

meant for this to be a drabble but I'm alr thinking about NSFW pt2. Feeling slutty!!!

💕🎀

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lovrspell · 2 months

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Astarion not being used to someone that cares for his pleasure as much as you do.

warnings: 18+, fluff, breeding kink if you squint, aftercare, overstimulation, settled early in the relationship. reader is gn!

word count: 1,4k

Astarion that, guiding you through your climax with slow drags of his hips, flinches when you pull him into a leg lock and wrap your arms around him the same way a koala does to a tree trunk. That is when you realize, even through your blurry vision and confused senses, he was about to pull out of your sex before he could reach his own peak.

He always does this, but this time you wouldn't let him. He has the right to enjoy the moment the same way you do.

You've thought that he does it simply because he prefers to finish up alone with his own hands, as he had done in front of you numerous times before; but you were wrong.

The truth is, he doesn't even think about it. He focuses on your pleasure, neglecting his own and even edging himself way more than he probably enjoys for the sake of your orgasms; accustomed to this way of things, as it has always been him pleasing other people that most of the time never gave his pleasure more than a elusive thought, it comes natural for him to bring you to ecstasy and not worry about enjoying his own too much.

You shouldn't blame yourself for not realizing it sooner, though. After all, your romantic journey has just recently started.

He admits, he was pretty startled at first; the sudden movement had shook him out of his own trance-like state, focused on the sensations. That dazed, imploring look that he's so used to when he buries himself deep inside you meets his own eyes, and his muscles soften again.

You're gasping and panting, but despite that you manage to whisper to him,

“Stay with me. You're not done yet, are you?”

He's surprised. He didn't even understand why, honestly. Maybe, he didn't expect you to worry about that; everyone is greedy in regards of their pleasure, right?

...But not you.

In the end, it makes sense. You love him. It should be obvious that you care about his pleasure too.

However, he's not even familiar to that bare minimum.

His hips falter and he loses focus for a moment, before shaking his head ‘no’.

He felt your legs loosen around his hips so you could slide your hands over his waist, your grip gentle and reassuring. You give his flesh an encouraging squeeze before beginning to guide his hips towards your throbbing entrance.

Astarion gasps softly, his lips parting in delight as he makes no further effort to move his hips on his own: he lets himself be guided by you, melting away in ecstasy.

He can't help but notice the fact that your thighs are shaking, though. He sees tears in the corners of your eyes, the way you bite your lip nervously, the way you try to hold back whimpers and consequently inhale sharply every once in a while.

This is too much for you.

You're far beyond your climax and it wasn't even the first one: you're oversensitive, yet you push his hips towards yours with determination because you wish for him to finish with you, inside you.

“I-... I can stop if you want me to,” Astarion murmurs, strangely aroused by that realization that had just occurred in his mind.

“No... No. Just tell me when you're close.” you reply immediately, showing no hesitation nor willingness to stop this.

Just because it's too much, it doesn't mean it doesn't feel good for you. Well, maybe it's just too good, actually. Astarion hears you curse under your breath as you struggle to keep your grip firm on him, and decides to regain control, adjusting himself more comfortably between your legs. He grabs your waist and starts thrusting into you in a pace of his own; he's shaking, his eyes closed as he falls into a state of pure bliss in which he's neither too far nor too close to his orgasm.

He feels your hands slowly snake towards his along your own body. Your fingers intertwine around his and as he absentmindedly looks up at your face, he catches your lips curl in a small smile. A smile that, printed on your pleasure-contorted face, is a view that manages to make his cock twitch as he fucks you.

You're happy. You're happy because he's climaxing inside you, thanks to you, thanks to your touch and your wet and warm and inviting walls clenching around him —

He's with you. He's still there.

Before he could ask why you're smiling, his hips falter again and he feels a sweet shiver run down his spine. He's close, so deliciously close.

“Ah,” he whimpers, taking his bottom lip in between his teeth and chewing on it. His brows furrow and he closes his eyes tightly. His back arches towards you and he leans in without thinking, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He trembles and he mumbles your name in your ear, over and over, hips chasing a relentless rhythm. Your own whimpers fill his ears as you arms wrap around his back, holding him close; it's so much, but you're willing to handle it for him. He has brought you to multiple orgasms in a single round several times, it's not like you're not used to it.

Next, his hands clutch your hips tightly and he groans as your walls clench tightly around his cock, sucking him in as if urging to not pull out. He welcomes that invitation.

Sloppy sounds, gasps and growls of excitement fill the room as, with one last hard, deep thrust he releases his cum inside you. He freezes, keeping his cock buried there — as deep inside you as possible, making you take every last drop of his semen.

Your walls tighten around him, your sex swells once more, but you don't reach another orgasm. That's fine, you think. Your focus is on Astarion and Astarion only.

He pulls back from your neck to rest his forehead against your own. He growls lowly as the pleasure dies down, a guttural sound that echoes through your being.

You've never seen him like this after any of his orgasms — and you've seen quite a few by now. He looks like he's in pure bliss, eyes half lidded and lips curved in a lazy smile. He's in heaven, you can tell. It's a good look on him.

“How do you feel?” you ask him, voice velvety and calm as you cradle him in your arms.

He doesn't pull out of you, rather stays perfectly still to not bother your tired, swollen sex — but he wants to cherish the feeling of your warmth hugging his cock a little longer.

You're fiery, both inside and out. It feels sublime.

“Mh.”

That's how you know it felt good.

“Mhm,” you echo him, nudging his forehead with yours and taking advantage of the closeness to steal a kiss from him.

“I truly cannot understand why I've never done this before.” he confesses, his voice an intimate whisper reserved to you and you only. He leans into you, pressing your sweaty bodies together.

“What? Come inside me?” you laugh quietly, moving a few wild curls away from his vision.

“Exactly that, love.”

“I guess it's better late than never.”

“You felt so good it's criminal I've never even gave it a thought.” he continues, giving you a sloppy kiss and letting his lips linger on your own for a bit longer, before he trails his mouth down your neck.

He prints tiny wet kisses all the way down your collarbone. You chuckle: it tickles a bit.

Although lying in his fluids combined with yours felt divine beyond comprehension and you didn't like the thought of putting off cuddling in bed until later at all, you had a tiring day ahead of you after tonight. It was already late: you have to settle down for the night. You have to sleep and, well, he might do for some meditation, or he could spend the night watching you sleep. A bit unsettling, but you've grown used to it.

“...Let's go take a bath, come on.” you whisper in his ear after a few moments of silence and, although the sigh against your skin lets you know that he wants to stay like this a little longer too, he gives a hum of approval.

After all, he doesn't care where he is as long as he can bask in your embraces.

#divider by cafekitsune #astarion #bg3 #astarion bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x gn reader #astarion x fem reader #astarion x male reader #astarion fluff #astarion smut

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satoruhour · 8 months

Text

a/n: technically a fic but too lazy to edit a header. tagging @slttygeto @crysugu @omgeto @ohmygetou @lvlybee @hyomagiri @jabamin ☆

warnings: roommate!geto, soft dom!geto, semi-public sex (the public being gojo & shoko lol), exhibitionism, praise, finger sucking, pet names, fingering, clit stimulation, oral (m receiving), reader chokes a little, cum shot, unprotected sex, riding, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

thinking about roommate!geto and having those dormitory movie nights like i mentioned in the roommate fic but now that you’re together and cuddling on the couch, gojo and shoko can’t help but playfully gag and tease the two of you — geto is smooth, always stroking your hair while his honeyed eyes only stay staring at you as they play some stupid lovey song like spandau ballet’s true in the background.

but what geto loves more than feeling your skin burn from the teasing and your soft sighs of love through your kisses is snaking his hand over your lap with the blanket that’s covering the both of you. it’s winter in tokyo, anyway, so at least you had the excuse of that over your bodies while geto teases the skin above your waistband.

“but they’re right there—” fingers clasped around his wrist as a warning. the movement is so quick the snack bowl almost topples over.

“relax...” geto lands a peck to your temple, smiling when he feels your hand loosens as soon as the warmth of his hand meets with the warmth of your cunt, “be quiet for me and i’ll let you cum.”

you hum in reply, wrapping an arm around his bicep now to stay closer to him, making a show that nothing sinister is going on under your pants and blanket. with one peek to shoko and gojo who’s engrossed with the movie (geto planned this, didn’t he?), you’re melting into the couch when an experimental finger rubs a lazy circle on your clit.

geto smiles at the way you nuzzle closer to him, hearing the whisper of a soft moan before his finger moves down, down, down, letting out a small groan when he feels that you’re already so wet.

“how’re you going to cum now, princess?” geto plays with your juices, your senses on end and wishing the fabric on you wouldn’t move so much, “you’re so wet that they could probably hear your cum drip down my hands.”

you tsk and pinch his bicep softly, “meanie. and who did this to me?”

geto chuckles, catching your lips in a soft kiss, “okay, okay. touché.”

the first push into your warm, wet pussy is phenomenal, both of your eyes closing as you squeeze around his thick finger. it reaches just like you remember the last time, mouth dug into his shirt sleeve to prevent any noise.

“second,” he whispers softly, eyes staying on the screen but not really digesting anything: he’s more fixated on the tightness of which you hang onto his side, the tightness of your walls, nudging past your folds with a second finger, “that’s it, good girl.”

geto mumbles into your hair and ignores the twitch of his cock, but he makes the mistake of pulling his eyes away from the television to you, who already has sweat lining your brow and your chin making an indent in his arm so that you’re staring up at him. your eyes are pleading, swirling with clouds of lust that suguru instinctively curls his fingers and has the pleasure of seeing your eyes widen and your mouth fall open in silence.

“doing so well, baby. you close?” geto cannot pull away from your hypnotising stare, so he holds it and finds himself getting weaker and weaker, “you’re throbbing.”

and you laugh lightly, ragged breaths leaving your person as his hands speed up just a little but like he said — you’re just too wet that they’d hear the squelch of your cunt so he continues to curl his fingers instead while your hand rubs at your clit. you’re squeezing suguru’s arm so tight your knuckles are probably white, heating up his skin with your irregular pants and whines.

your hips start to grind into his despite your initial caution and geto shoots you a cheeky smile before his fingers hit that spot and you’re making the move to moan and geto crashes his lips into yours — that gesture alone makes you cum, hands impatiently playing with your bundle of nerves as the coil in your tummy releases and you thank the heavens geto’s taking the bulk of your sounds.

“oh— just like that, sweetheart.” his voice strains a little as he lets you ride his fingers through your orgasm until you’re catching your breath, “still with me?”

you nod against his arm and sigh when his fingers leave your clenching hole; “always with you.” geto denies the flutter of his heart when you say that, pecking your forehead gently.

and all is well until you four are on your third movie and gojo and shoko are nodding off because they technically did have a tiring day ushering in freshmen today so once they knock out, geto’s surprised when your hand also travels over his body. they go over his arms, his pecs and to his torso and a single finger traces the happy trail right down to his cock and geto swallows.

“what happened to my shy girl?” he bites his lip, the dialogue on the movie now lost to him while you take the fingers that were in you before and shove them in your mouth — they still vaguely tasted like you, the websites were correct, you fear — twisting your tongue over his digits.

“gone.” you grin before you’re moving under the blanket, but not before giving your friends one last glance and they’re knocked out cold, “lemme suck your cock, su.”

suguru smiles, “slut.”

you shrug at the name; you know it’s done playfully and jokingly, “only f’r you.”

and geto hopes that’s true because when you’re the cutest when you tug off his underwear and his fat, throbbing cock slaps his abdomen from how painfully hard he was. you’re the cutest when you wrap your hands around him and even then it’s not enough to cover his length. you’re the cutest when you look up at him through your lashes and give the smallest kiss to his tip which is leaking so much pre-cum he’s a little embarrassed.

it’s a shame he had no chance of experiencing this the first time but then, he was focused solely on you and your pleasure, so seeing you between his legs now was a treat, especially the way your tongue swirls around his tip and scoops up his arousal.

“didn’t know you took dick so well,” geto breathlessly mumbles when you start to bob your head, brushing fingers through your hair and pulling the strands away from your mouth. you moan at that, squeezing his length and forcing him down your throat until—

“woah, woah, easy baby,” geto calms you down through your coughing fit and all you do is hide in his thighs, face hot.

“sorry.” is all you mutter and your lover brings you from your hiding place where there’s a pout on your face and tears lining your eyes when you’ve gagged earlier.

suguru tilts your chin up with a hand and kisses you gently, “nothin’ to be sorry bout, my love,” playing with your bottom lip and places another peck, always not being able to resist your lips, “i’ll train you next time,” that sends a thrill down to your core, “but for now, take it slow.”

“’kay,” you’re meek now, taking his shaft with more consideration but your mouth’s still as hot as ever. geto lets out a small moan, letting you go at your own pace no matter how much he wanted fuck your face. you run a long stripe up the bottom of his length, thumb playing with his tip while his eyes stay fixated on you taking him down your throat so well.

“use your hands— y-yes, fuck,” geto encourages, as you use your hands to pump the areas you’re not able to reach, the little stutters in his voice sending tingles down to your centre. “hollow your cheeks, baby— that’s righttt... mouth’s warm, huh?”

you slurp your saliva off his dick and come off, smiling at him, “yeah.”

he hums while you continue the bobbing of your head and the moans that you let out around his shaft send vibrations up his body. suguru twitches in your mouth and his thigh tenses.

“close—” geto’s moans get breathy and choked the closer he is to his high, hips bucking up into your mouth. there’s drool that drips from the corners and the sounds of your mouth being so full of his cock sends him into overdrive, “wanna— wanna cum all over your face, princess.”

you whine, the slurping and gawking noises getting faster before you’re letting his cock with a gasp, pumping him while your dilated eyes look up to him and him only. tongue out and soft, warm hands, and they all belong to you — truly the only person to get him so riled up and hard — he pulls on your hair before he spills all over your face. his seed’s so much, hitting your tongue and cheeks and you jolt slightly in surprise.

“f—fuck yesss... look s’pretty with my cum all over your face,” geto’s mouth hangs open at the sight, hips still jerking as your hands stroke and milk him until he’s got nothing left, grip loosening and then tightening when you gather his cum and then eat it all up, “attagirl.”

“you taste good, sugu,” you giggle, letting him pull you over and you take it as a sign to do away with the blanket altogether. with one more glance you now see shoko slouched over gojo and both of them drooling from the mouth; yeah you could fuck.

“that so?” geto pulls you in for a kiss, “guess i’m healthy then.”

“hm... don’t know, need your cum in me to do a proper check,” suguru’s hands fly to your hips instantly when you tease his cockhead along your folds, not even having the energy to comment on your little joke, eyes fluttering close and he stammers—

“b—baby, still sens’tive.”

you whine playfully, “please?”

there’s no answer from him when you slide down on him easily, and he sighs when his eyes open — the backlight of the television makes him think that maybe you were an angel to descend upon him, “y’know i can never say no to you, sweetheart.”

and you’re losing yourself in him after, his hands helping you ride him while you bounce on his lap. your head hangs forward, foreheads connected as your breath fans over his face. with each time his cock bottoms out of you, there’s the spill of your juices all over his torso and pelvis, entranced with your gummy walls until the shift of the two people beside you make you freeze.

they’ve both changed positions now: shoko’s head thrown back over the back of the sofa while gojo hangs over the side arm rests — you both share a little giggle and a breath of relief before suguru seizes your chin and forces you to look down.

“can’t last long, your pussy’s just too good,” your lover rasps out, your thighs burning, “so i want you watch to how you take my cock, baby.”

and you could cum from those words alone, yet you follow his orders before he starts to thrust up into you, whining right into his neck. his hips are relentless and his hands knead at your ass, eyes focusing on the way you watch your sopping cunt suck him up.

“s’good, s’good— fuuckk...” you whimper softly, chin hitting your chest as you watch the drag of his cock, in and out, in and out before seeing him twitch and your moans consist of his name only, “suguru, suguru, suguruuu....”

“almost there, cum with me sweetness,” geto groans when your body collapses onto him and he can feel your perk nipples poke into his chest, reminiscent of the very first time you thanked him for letting you room with him. how thankful he was, now. he lets you hide in his neck despite disobeying his request — you’re the only one he’d let do that — and he has an easier time ramming into you from below anyway.

it’s obscene, the slaps of his pelvis against the fat of your ass cheeks, coupled with the slickness of your drooling pussy, it’s got the both of you moaning softly into each other’s mouths before geto’s rutting into you hurriedly and messily. he continues his thrusts, fucking his cum into you until it starts to spill out the sides and you’re cumming right after when his tip kisses your cervix oh, so lightly, sending your thighs trembling and pussy fluttering.

“clenching ’round me so bad— shit, you’re cumming so much,” suguru laughs, cut off by a choked moan when your hips adjust. there’s a filthy shlick! that is sounded out when geto removes his cock from you and the mixture of your cum comes dripping out. he licks his lips when he watches it dribble out of your entrance.

“you’re so gross—” you grin, brushing the sweat-filled hair out of his face.

“like you’re not,” geto purses his lips and clicks his tongue, “sucking me off in front of friends.”

“it’s hot.”

the gears are turning in suguru’s head, and you just know you’re in for it when he picks you up swiftly, shoving your body into the sofa and he drags his weeping tip along your cum-filled cunt.

“oh yeah? let’s go till we wake the neighbours, baby.”

the next morning, you’re waking up with a pounding headache and aching legs, reaching over the bedside table (a gentleman like suguru would never leave you on the couch) before a text from gojo lights up the phone and you’re mortified.

[satoru (loser) 🧿👄🧿]: i heard u btw

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kaveehs · 10 months

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Not So Secret — Gojo Satoru

gn!reader, wc 0.8k, fluff, established relationship, high school au, jealous!gojo cuz he’s silly

synopsis: Gojo was not a “jealous” guy, but he also wasn’t the best at keeping your relationship a secret.

a/n: JJK 2 IS HERE SO I HAD TO WRITE MY SILLY <333

In his own eyes, Gojo was not the jealous type.

He hated the title more than anything. Although it without a doubt summed up the tight feeling he would get in his chest when other guys approached you, or the ever growing need he felt to tell the world you were his, he would never call himself jealous.

In part, he blamed his feelings on the fact your relationship with him was a secret. After all, that bit was your idea, but he can’t put you at fault for the reasoning. You wished to keep your relationship with him a secret because of how different you both were.

You were a quiet, straight laced student— you always kept to yourself despite being at the top of your class. He was the exact opposite, infamously known as a troublemaker around school, as well as being dubbed as some kind of “player” by your classmates. You knew the types of comments people would say about your relationship if it were to ever go public.

Gojo understood this completely, but there was just one small factor you overlooked— you were incredibly pretty. You were beautiful and he wasn’t the only one who recognized it. He wasn’t the only one to be intrigued by your personality. Gojo told himself that he was ok with this fact, and he wasn’t insecure either— far from it. His heart always knew in the end, you would choose him over the people that would try to pursue you with romantic interest.

When he saw one of your classmates attempting to drop subtle hints to you today, he couldn’t help but feel something had to change. He knew you would probably make some cute excuse as to why you can’t take the guy’s number, or how you’re focused on your studies rather than relationships, and how you would wonder if they would be convinced or still persist, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he let out a sigh of synthetic relief as he snaked his arms around you from behind. He already knew where you would be— seeing as you texted him which classroom you were in and to come find you later. You were shocked by his actions, smiling meekly at your classmate who was also in dismay.

“Satoru, hi,” you muttered quietly, but Gojo was able to sense the annoyance in your tone. He laughed cheekily, squeezing you harder, fully knowing you would probably kill him for this later. “I thought I told you to come find me later,” you spoke with your jaw fully clenched.

“No could do. Missed you too much,” he sighed dramatically, rocking you back and forth. You could tell your classmate wanted to say something, but bit his tongue and kept quiet.

“Excuse us for a minute,” you said sweetly but apologetically as you dragged Satoru out of the classroom and to an empty one. He could practically see an aura of fire radiating off your body as you let go of his arm and shut the door.

“What was that about?” You crossed your arms, glaring straight at Satoru who’d made himself comfortable on one of the desks.

“What was what about?” He nonchalantly replied to your question. Him pretending to be oblivious set you off even more.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re a horrible actor Satoru,” you marched over to his desk. “What happened to keeping us a secret?”

“Oh, so that’s what you mean,” he nodded in understanding as he sat up. “It’s really hard to do that,” Satoru shrugged, patting the empty space next to him for you to sit. Although annoyed, you complied, arms still crossed and all.

“I know I promised to keep us a secret,” he admitted. “But I can’t stand the thought of someone else trying to flirt with you.”

“So you’re jealous.”

“No, not jealous,” he scoffed, looking at your usual smile slowly creeping back to your lips. “I just think we shouldn’t care about what others think about us.”

“I know,” you relaxed a bit too as you felt Satoru lean his head on your shoulder. “I guess I’m kinda scared.”

He let out a small chuckle, taking your own hand into his. He understood your fears all too well, and wanted nothing more than for you to be confident.

“You don’t have to be,” he shook his head softly against you, interlocking your hands together. “No one’s words can make me think less of you.”

“You don’t have to be jealous either,” you affirmed, sarcasm heavy in your tone. He pouted, pretending to be dramatically hurt by your comment.

“I don’t get jealous,” he clicked his tongue, as if he was correcting you. “But you know, you get really angry. Even though you’re subtle about it, you have such a cute angry face.” He knew exactly how to bring light into your mood, attempting to recreate your so-called ‘angry face’.

“I really can’t stand you,” you exaggerated as you leaned into him, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb. “You really are the jealous type, Satoru.”

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojou satoru x you #gojo imagine #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo fanfic #[ ʚ♡ɞ ] — rena writes — fluff

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radiance1 · 4 months

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Jack was an inventor. A hunter. A walking tank of a man who could intimate anyone he wanted to if he weren't such a joyful man.

Daniel was not.

He was short, thin, calm and composed where his father was the sun. He was not a hunter, nor an inventor.

Talia was an assassin. A living, walking weapon. Impossible to notice footsteps. The eyes of a predator and all the grace of one moving in for the kill.

Daniel was not.

He was a failed heir. A less refined weapon than his mother. Footsteps heavy and loud compared to his mother. The eyes of a cold, dead fish with no life and nothing left to give.

He did not know it at the time but.

Daniel was a doctor. Someone that saved people. Mended broken bodies. Always carrying something to help. Nothing but medical knowledge rolling around in his head and the desire to save. Life saver.

Damian was the successful heir. Son of Bruce Wayne. Quiet footsteps. The eyes of a predator. Body trained to perfection. A master of the sword. Life taker.

A success, where he failed.

A battle of heirs. An outcome already decided, already known, already foreseen.

There should've only been one.

And indeed, there was none but one.

In spite of his loss, his failure, he was not exterminated as he thought he should have been. He was instead placed in the pits, the water mending his broken body not for the first time, then taken out, and found himself alongside his mother.

That was the last time he saw of her, and his brother. Only a scar where his brother would have killed him, refusing to be healed, left behind in remembrance.

He then found himself with a family. His father's family. Daniel knew of his father, a genius inventor who could build a great many things from scraps of metal, a gene that, while respected, was not what the League wanted.

It was a fling, and nothing more.

He gained a new mother and a sister. Inserted into a family who welcome him with open arms, yet already had their own dynamics that they practiced from time to time, and he always found himself at a loss when they try to fit him in them in some way.

Then, when he turned ten years of age, a year without seeing hide nor hair of his mother and brother. Came a man, Vlad Masters.

Vlad Masters was confident, self-assured. Well trained. Having money to spend in spades and spades yet making all that and more. The eyes of someone who thought themselves better than most, eyes of a snake, a spider, slowly waiting for something to take the bait.

Despite all of this, a certain sense of loneliness seemed to hang around him like an ever-present cloud. Something Danny only realized was there, when he caught the man broken down.

Daniel did not know how to feel of Vlad Masters.

Vlad Masters did not like his father, even though he seemed to treat his mother like an old friend, the same way his father treated him. He seemed both fond and somewhat off put by his sister, Jasmine Fenton.

Daniel finds himself respecting and sympathizing with that sentiment.

Jasmine Fenton was nice. Social. Unaware of her unconscious ability to think herself superior. Thinks she is often right. Does not like to be wrong. Likes to think things through.

Likes to peer inside of someone's head.

Daniel does not like that. Vlad does not like it either.

But she is nice, good intentioned, his sister. So he will overlook it. She is also Vlad's goddaughter, and so he too, will overlook that trait of hers.

Daniel was not interested in a great many things. He was not fond of swordsmanship, even though he was ruthlessly trained in it. He was not fond of building like his father, not as fond as running calculations to make inventions work like his mother, was not fond of, and while a useful ability, peering into the heads of others.

He was, however, found of what he found in Vlad Masters' basement. Something he believes was to be kept secret, yet found anyway.

He was unsure of how much time he spent occupied with what he found, time spent with eyes that only blinked when they were forced to because of dryness.

Time that was cut, when the owner of said basement, found him.

Curiously enough, he did not throw him out, and Danny did not notice him when exactly the man got there, nor how long he was there, until he made himself known.

He offered to teach Daniel of the knowledge he so sought, and Daniel only took a few seconds to accept the hand outstretched to him.

Four years. Four years did Daniel study under Vlad Masters, growing his understanding of the human body, watching how exactly to hold a scalpel properly, how to use certain equipment, what exactly to do that would let the human body heal without changing anything too much.

How to help, how to save lives. What to use to cut away pain, and help those in need.

A way to repent for every inch of blood on his small hands, was what Daniel saw.

Vlad Masters did not often make mistakes. His every move was far too calculated for such a thing. But he does, in rare cases, make mistakes.

One of them, was how Daniel found out about his unique biology. Vlad Masters was something called a halfa, a mix between the undead and living, a ghost and human.

It reminded him, not for the first time since he came to live in Amity Park, just how much ectoplasm reminded him of Lazarus Water. Yet he could tell, knew they were different due to various factors.

He wondered if he should try and write to his mother about this, more than once.

He did not.

After his 14th birthday, Vlad said that there was not much more he could teach him. Daniel soaked up all the knowledge given to him like a sponge, and retained all of it easily.

As a jest, he was told that he was allowed to pick a new name because of this.

He thought it was serious.

So he chose Danny. A name that came from one the rare, soft moments between him and his elder brother. Where he could not yet pronounce his name properly, before he underwent correction, a time where both of them were all smiles and no blood on their hands.

Danny.

The rift between Vlad Masters and Jack Fenton somehow, without his notice, closed. They were acting as if they were the best of friends, more so his father than Vlad Masters, and they became a functioning family with their odd little quirks.

When he turned 15, he went to Gotham. He was living with his sister while she attended college there, he did not want to go to school, so he did not.

It took many a time of convincing for them to finally allow it.

Danny did not know Gotham. He knew of it. He knew this to be the home of his brother's father, Bruce Wayne, that it was the city with the most crime, the city home to a notorious number of villains.

The city under watch and protected by Batman.

But not much more than that. He did not care for his brother's father, for whatever legacy he had fell only to his brother to fulfil. He hoped his brother achieved what he wished for.

Back then, and still today.

He wandered the streets of Gotham when Jazz was occupied. Familiarizing himself with the environment and finding out what was where and where is that.

Not for the first time, he found injured, and not for the first time, he treated them free of charge.

He had more than enough money to resupply himself, thanks to his mentor filling his account with money every month.

He gained a bit of a reputation, that child with a far too large lab coat. Dead fisheyes, a wandering doctor who treats anyone injured he came across. Though his reputation was small, having recently just came to Gotham.

One day, curiously enough, he found something new in his endless days of wandering.

A boy dead on his feet, covered in dirt, a ruined suit and looking like he just pulled himself out of a grave crossing the street, unaware of the car speeding towards him.

He was hit, and somehow landed in front of Danny.

He crunched down on his lollipop, throwing the stick through the air and into a nearby trashcan without looking while opening another and placing it in his mouth.

He took the boy home in what a normal person would essentially call a kidnapping,

He did not know how the boy, older than him, survived the trip back to his home. But he wasn't going to complain about it. He entered a room, one filled with medical equipment, the best that could be offered, and placed his mystery guest one of many beds.

He treated him as best as he could, then left to go get something to eat.

He still stuck to his wandering, but he regularly checked in on his guest. A week later, and the boy was awake, sitting up in his bed when Danny opened the door to check on him.

He introduced himself as Jason Todd.

Then he disappeared for some time, and the bed that held him for a week was empty.

Sometime later, he heard of Red Hood.

He did not know what to think of the gunslinger in red, and what his stake in the politics of Gotham would be. He didn't exactly care for the politics, so he stayed away from it.

He did not know why the Red Hood held good will towards him, considering they have not met before. But he was claimed to be under his 'protection' for reasons unknown.

The reason, he found out, after carrying the man to his home (it was a bit of struggle, but Danny was the son of Jack Fenton, and took after him in strength as well, although to a lesser degree), placed him in one of many beds, and found out his identity.

Red Hood was Jason Todd, a patient he had not seen for some time now turned lord of crime.

It was a bit surprising, but not something that mattered.

Perhaps it should have, when he found himself sitting across from the protectors of the night who decided to invite themselves into the house alongside his sister with a Red Hood that looked like he was none too pleased by this situation.

And a brother he had not seen in many a year.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover #Danny is not a halfa #Danny is fully human #Although Danny is still Jack Fenton's child and trained by the league #Ectoplasm and Lazarus Water are not the same thing #Danny is a doctor #He also has dead fisheyes because I kinda like that #danny and damian are twins

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the-californicationist · 3 months

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The Powder Keg

John Price has just spent the whole afternoon teaching his new recruit how to shoot, and after pining for her all day, he’s about ready to burst, just like a powder keg…

Hot, steaming water sprayed out of the shower head and soaked his burnt, pink skin. When he took in a deep breath, it was humid and heavy, filling his lungs with more moisture than air, leaving him panting and weak from the heat of it. But, he let it suffocate him. He allowed it to obfuscate his senses, to coat his mouth like a gag, to stop him from calling out for her. John Price was so damn close to forgetting himself. He pulled his imaginary muzzle tighter, just in case.

He’d spent the better part of the day in the frigid sands in some Urzikstani Green zone, teaching his new sergeant to shoot his M-16. She was a good marksman, but she was unfamiliar with the desert’s unforgiving winds, and she needed to see how he had set his sights. It shouldn’t have taken so long for him to help her, and if he was before Peter at those gates of pearl and splendor, forced to tell the truth, he had chosen to keep her there. He’d been selfish, preferring to watch her laying there, prone and panting, firing bullet after bullet, all to please her captain. It was the betrayal of the sun that had ruined his gluttony. It had set behind the dunes, forcing John to come indoors and try to wash off all of his sin.

Price had been hard all day. Seeing her plump arse in those canvas pants, looking down at her, concentrating and vulnerable in the sand… it was enough to drive him wild. Now, here he was, gripping his heavy rod like a teenager, squeezing himself tight enough to see stars.

The soap and the suds had all washed away, but the billowing steam had remained. He felt each scalding droplet stinging against his sun-ravaged skin, and he used it like a million little flogs, punishing himself for his thoughts of her. She, in the inky blackness of his mind, had been… everywhere. She was stripping for him, peeling away each article of clothing, each layer of her uniform with calculated effort, revealing herself to him bit by bit. He was watching as her fingers dug into the band of her pants, sliding them down her thick thighs, showing off her tattooed skin, uncovering scars like tiny secrets. Secrets only he could know.

She was grabbing his cock. It was her hand tugging him hard, not his. Her palm slipping over his rosy head, her fingers slipping his foreskin down his shaft, her mouth…

“Unghh…” John leaned against the cold tile, trying to calm himself down. His forehead dug into the white ceramic, rolling across it, trying to find some relief to his torment.

He knew her mouth would feel so sweet. She would plant a delicate little kiss on the top of it, wouldn’t she? She was so kind. She would be so kind to him. An old dog who didn’t deserve it. Not one lick. And yet, she would lick him. Her tongue would lap around his thick base, purring at his size, gassing him up, pumping his ego. Maybe it would be the truth. Either way, he’d buy it; hook, line, and sinker.

“Baby, baby, baby…” He’d name her. She’d be his. His woman. His everything. She’d steal his breath like this impenetrable steam.

The tip of her tongue would find that ridge, the one tucked under his head, the one just below his hole, and she’d suckle at it, just as if she was pulling venom from a snake bite, like his life depended on it. And maybe it did.

Maybe she would be willing to sit across his lips, giving herself to him like a feast to a starving man. She would taste like nectar, and it would coat his tongue, sticky and cloying, painting his palate and filling his nose. He would learn her scent, burying himself into it, finding himself within her taste and her warmth.

Then, mercifully, perhaps she would take him inside of her, deep into her body. He would sink into her, down into her depths. Engulfed. Surrounded. At her mercy. Perhaps she would use those soft muscles to hold him in, to clutch at him like a hungry, suckling mouth.

His hand tightened around his head and the rhythmic milking noises of his self-made pleasure filled the tiny shower like a perpetual echo. He began to fuck his grip, rutting wildly into his palm, coating his callused skin in precome. He was dripping from the shower, but nothing was slipperier than his wet pleasure. It made his cock slide even faster through his huge hand, helping his head burrow itself into his fingers.

John wanted it to be real. He dreamt, with his eyes squeezed shut, of the way her legs would part for him, spread like the petals of a flower, soft and pliant like a little, pink rose. As he jerked his hand across his pulsing head, he imagined what it would be like to rub himself amongst her delicate folds. He almost came from the thought, shuddering, catching himself against the wall, whimpering like he was pressing into a bruise.

A little faster. A little more friction. He grunted, unable to hold his voice inside of him, desperate and feral.

Her eyes, gleaming and beautiful, looking up at him, calling his name.

And that was enough to do it. He came, crying out for her…

“Oh, fuck… baby…”

“Captain?”

His blood went cold, and when he heard her voice, he froze, letting his come leak out of his balls, coating his hands and flooding over his knuckles.

The curtain hissed as she pulled it away from the wall, her eyes traveling all over his body, appraising him and approving. She smiled, a little coy,

“Got room for one more?”

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #cod #john price #captain price #call of duty

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threezzyo · 3 months

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꒰ ˒ wet 'n wild ∘︴satoru g.

↬ satoru can't take his eyes off of you in that skimpy blue bikini when you two go on a date at the waterpark.

⇢ nsfw. 18+. MDNI! ⇢ cw: satoru and reader are both college students. smut. semi-public sex. unprotected penetrative sex. messy and desperate sex. oral, m! recieving. missionary, against a plastic volcano lolol. slight exhibitionism ig? squirting. cumming inside. lots of praise. pet names- baby, darling, princess, sweetheart. super touchy (both of you). pervert satoru. sato literally worships you omg. lots of fluff as always!

∾ satoru gojo x fem!WOC!reader. modern au. no curse au. reader is a WOC! (you tan at the waterpark and he loves it). reader used to be a professional swimmer. anyways, just a boyfriend taking his stressed girlfriend away from college to have fun at the waterpark. its not his fault you're just so damn hot. wc- 2k

a/n: again! this is nsfw, so minors do not interact. both dividers are made by cafekitsune (tumblr)

you were the perfect partner for the waterpark. why? you knew how to swim and could save satoru from drowning, of course. and that you were his beloved girlfriend and needed a break after exams were over.

like the bright and energetic boyfriend he is, he must take you to bright and energetic places too. the 'summer surf' waterpark was equally as bright and energetic as satoru. the multicolored swimsuits provide a chromatic scenery, the prodigious plastic slides were vivid against the radiant cerulean clear sky. the scent of sunscreen and chlorine provides you with a sense of amenity- you grew up swimming your entire life.

"well, baby?" his defined arms snake around your waist, as you clutch your giant beach bag with all the necessities. the tickets were safe in your hand. "you scared of heights?"

"no way." you replied confidently. "in fact, you're going to be the scaredy cat." you smile cheekily.

satoru chuckles, pinching at the sides of your white coverup, over the tantalizing bikini set you said he'd love. "nope. but lets start small, please?"

you smile, handing the tickets to the attendant at the ticket booth. now gaining access into the park, satoru snatches your bag and carries it for himself as he proudly shows you off on his arm.

first up, your favorite attraction, the wave pool.

"ugh! everyone puts their towels on the seats and its impossible to find another one." you grumble, walking around on the hot pavement to find an empty lounge chair by the pool. "ooh, they're leaving." a small family packs their stuff and walks away from a single empty chair. you practically run towards it, buzzing with excitement to spend time with satoru in the wave pool.

satoru trails along behind you, idly waiting along to finally see the bikini you bought for him, (in your words).

"well, baby. i'm not waiting all day. come on, show me." he whines softly. "please." through his circular sunglasses, he glances up at you. he looks so cute with his chin on your shoulder, like a little puppy.

you grin, laughing as you pull off your coverup.

his eyes widen, taking in the sight of your statuesque figure, with your glimmering tan skin. oh, he can't wait to see you even more tan than this. "sweetheart, you look so hot. absolutely divine."

"you like?" you giggle, at his sweet comments. you give him a 360, striking a pose or two. "come on. lets put on sunscreen."

as a skincare fiend, you were obsessed with taking care of your skin. and knowing satoru has fair skin, which is more subject to sunburns, you bought the strongest one you could find.

satoru swears he's not normally like this, but with you squirting a dollop of sunscreen on your palms, slathering it up, and starting with rubbing it over your legs, he can't help but feel his swim trunks tighten. fuck, you're just so arousing, his mind can't help but go wild at the thoughts of spurts of his cum against your sweet, tanned skin. how it would look if your tits were marked up from his teeth. god, he might as well cream his pants now.

you hand the bottle of sunscreen to him. "sato, baby, please? just spread it over my back." you present your back to him, the strings holding your little getup seeming so fragile. and what if he accidentally (untied) brushed over the strings?

he bites away at the temptation, focusing on just applying the damn sunscreen. you stifle a giggle, already knowing his little dilemma. you just need to tease him a bit.

once you both applied sunscreen, you excitedly drag him to the wave pool. "its really fun." you say, "its better when you jump over the waves."

he's barely even listening to your spiel, just aching to get rid of his... problem. and he can't fuck you in such a place, a waterpark? where would you two even sneak off to fuck? the parking lot was crowded, anyone could tell if it was in the car. virtually everywhere was congested with kids screaming around or teenagers lining up for the tall waterslides.

the cool water feels artic on his skin, refreshing from the blazing heat downing upon him.

"its so cold!" you yelp, jumping away from the water.

your breasts slightly bounce as you do so, and satoru is very shamelessly ogling at you. fuck.

"pleasee, come here? warm me up." you ask him with your best puppy dog eyes, lips forming into a small pout to sell the deal a bit more.

satoru laughs, pushing his sordid thoughts away for now, to pull you into the pool.

"satoru!" you yell, as you fell on your ass, the icy water sharp on your skin. "you fucker!" you whine, before pulling him down into the water.

"hey!" he gasps, shivering from the sudden cold.

"you deserved it!" you defend yourself, giggling as he rolls over onto you and places a kiss on your soft lips.

"lets go. see? there's a wave coming." he smiles, as you two tread a bit further down the wave pool.

you two have your fun at the wave pool, taking a seat together on your beach chair.

"satoruuu." you kiss his cheek. "lets buy ice cream."

"didn't you complain the entire time the water was too cold? and now you want ice cream?" he snickers, pulling out his wallet and handing you his card. "get me a chocolate cone?"

"well, yeah, but i really want a popsicle right now." you smile, plucking the card from his fingertips. "thanks, baby. whatever you want."

he grins to himself as he very shamelessly ogles at you as you walk to the nearby ice cream stand. your plump little butt just looked so beguiling, he just can't believe he's the only one who can tap your ass. god, he desperately needed to take care of his ...predicament.

you excitedly walk over to satoru, handing him his chocolate waffle cone, the ice cream already dripping from your fingers. "here you go, darling." you beam.

"thanks, princess." he kissed your cheek as you sit beside him. you smile, slowly licking off the chocolate drips off your fingers. its like you're doing this on purpose, the way you lick the dripping strawberry popsicle.

"so yummy." your words are so tantalizing, he's completely wrapped around your finger.

"fuck, sweetheart." he groans, grabbing your wrist. he pulls you in, whispering in your ear, "baby, please, lets just sneak off to somewhere private. i can't deal with this the entire day."

his boner, under his trunks, pokes at your side. you kiss your teeth, a bit disappointed. "thought you would last longer." you jive. "couldn't handle all the teasing? we didn't even go on any waterslides." you whisper, beaming up at him.

his eyes widen slightly, before narrowing them. his surprised expression is now gone, replaced with a sly little grin. "oh, you minx. you're coming with me and sucking me off. now."

you were always so bratty, and now you're all angelic and so good. sweet, pulchritudinous girl, on your knees so quickly.

"fuck, darling." he lets out a low groan as you pull down his trunks.

"shh. be quiet!" you whisper. you two were behind a plastic volcano prop for one of the attractions, the best hiding spot you could find. there was shade, and nobody was coming around this area.

in front of your face was his (really fucking long) dick. every vein and every curve just seemed so perfect. his pretty pink tip was already leaking. "satoru..." you shift a bit, to be more comfortable on the concrete floor.

"go on, baby. you can take it, can't you?" he grins, adjusting his sunglasses, and threading his nimble fingers in your hair. "come on, sweet girl. isn't this better than sucking that popsicle?"

"no, baby. your dick doesn't taste like strawberries." you wrinkle your nose, giggling. your breath directly hits his cock, twitching at the simplest movement.

"don't be such a brat, princess." he tugs on your hair harder. "suck."

you tug out your bottom lip, before pressing a soft kiss on his tip, a pearl of his precum collects on the tip of your tongue. you were so sloppy, the way you were suckling at his slit.

"fuck, sweetheart. jus' like that." he groans, guiding your mouth up and down on his dick.

you know just how to suck him off, being sloppy yet careful. slowly, you take him in your mouth, being mindful of your teeth. your dexterous fingers cup his balls, as your tongue traces over the shape of his veins, and his tip hitting the back of your throat. his low groans sounded so sinful, if your bikini wasn't wet from the pool, its wet because of him.

he smirks, bobbing your head on his shaft. tears prick your eyes as he fucks your throat.

his head falls back on the volcano as his hips thrust into your sweet mouth, his eyes landing on the sight of you- a teary mess with her two-toned lips wrapped around the base of his cock, eyes half-lidded with lust. the way your nose brushes on his trimmed pubes, he could die a happy man like this.

when satoru cums, he practically overflows your mouth. a deafening moan follows as his cum dribbles down the corner of your mouth. "sweetheart, fuck.." he whispers, watching you swallow it all. just like a good girl.

"yummy." you grin, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "my popsicle was tastier, though."

you thought you would be going to the waterpark to go on the massive waterslides and eating ice cream with satoru by the pools. never did you think you'd be getting fucked against a plastic volcano.

"satoru! baby, fuck!" you whimper, your head buried in his neck. your back was riding against the plastic prop, legs wrapped tightly around his waist. his hands were clawing into your ass, as he thrusts inside. you bit your lip to hide your moans.

he was very close to just ripping off that bikini bottom off of you, but he didn't want you parading around with your ass bare. so thong to the side it was. his breaths were haggard, just focusing on filling you up, getting closer with every jolt of his hips.

you had your beach towel draped around you both, but if anyone got too close, it would be very obvious to them what you two were doing.

even in such an uncomfortable position, with you clinging onto him, satoru wastes no time, pistoling into you like he was dying for a last gasp of air. "baby, fu-uck." you cry, nails digging into his back.

it was so messy, so desperate. you could feel your slick collect on the fabric of your bikini, as the tip of his long dick reaches the perfect spot, abusing it over and over again.

"shit, shit." his soft whines and groans are all you hear, just focused on both of you reaching an orgasm.

"sato-ru, baby, im gonna-" you bite back a loud moan, as one last thrust inside your waiting pussy sends you over the edge, spurting your liquids all over his thighs and dribbling down onto the ground.

"-cum." you finish your sentence, your breathing deep and ragged.

he finishes shortly after, fucking you through your orgasm.

he groans, almost dropping you as his cum floods your insides, shakily breathing as he presses a kiss on your cheek.

"i love seeing you like this." he whispers as he sets you on your feet, down on the ground. you quickly adjust your clothing, using your towel to wipe off the trails of cum down your thighs. "love seeing my cum on your skin." he whispers, kissing your cheek over and over again as he fixes your hair for you.

"can't believe you fucked me against a fucking plastic volcano, satoru gojo."

"oh, baby, i was about to take you in front of everyone on that little beach chair at the wave pool."

you furrow your brows, heat pooling in your core. that shouldn't sound appealing. (but it does.)

"you pervert!" you whisper-yell, smacking him with the beach towel.

"oh, sweetheart. i love that i know you so well." he says before kissing you, flashing a knowing grin as he pulls you to a more secluded spot.

PLESSSE show up under tags IM BEGGING

crossposted on ao3- miniminari !!! reblogs appreciated

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silkythewriter · 3 months

Note

I had an idea for a few headcanons you could do if ya want—

Maybe Sir Pentious with a reader who is so obviously in love with him, and keeps pining over him while literally everyone else but Sir Pentious himself can tell they like him? Like he's just really oblivous until reader finally straight up tells him.

Sir Pentious with a clearly in love reader!(●’◡’●)❤︎︎

Warnings!: Non!

Fandoms!:Hazbin hotel!

Author’s note!: HI HI OMG I LOVE SIR PENTIOUS HES SO SILLY!!!! I REALLY HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS AS MUCH AS I DID

Summary!: reader who’s clearly in love with our favorite snake demon

❤️Written by silkythewriter Do not steal or repost on any other platform please! ❤️

☆✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬☆

“Call me, you can call me

Boy, just call me (call me, call me)

While you stalling, I'm evolving

I'd give all me”

☆✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬☆

!🐍✨Sir Pentious✨🐍!

First of all, just to get out of the way, THIS MAN IS OBLIVIOUS!!!!, Autism be damned my boy can pull without even telling!!!!!

No but in all seriousness he is oblivious to your obvious longing for him.

Everyone can see you giving him shy longing stares only for him to be ranting about his latest invention. Not only would he not be able to tell but he’d always think your just being nice!

Of course he’s crushing hard behind his bedroom door to his little eggs. Happily stating and going on rambles of how gorgeous you looked today. He’d state everything! From the new hair style you tried to the new piece of clothing you bought and wore. When I mean he notices everything I mean it, but for some reason he can’t pick up on your obvious love for him.

The way he could stare in your eye as you tell him he looks breathtaking and still think you mean it just to be nice is astonishing. OF COURSE HES BLUSHING AND KICKING HIS TAIL, but he can’t bring himself to think you like him anymore than just friends!

He’d go to his egg boys and sadly rant on how you’ll only see him as friend. And the egg boys all share one Brain cell so they can’t tell you like him aswell!, maybe they might accidentally spill, or almost spill the secret of him liking you but he quickly knocks them away before you can make sense of what their saying.

All the residents watch as you do your best to drop hints only for him to complete miss it. Even angel cringes as he watches him completely be oblivious to the obvious flirting, it’s take Charlie and Vaggie to stop him from pointing out the obvious.

Husk almost always gives Sir Pentious as gaze of just utter confusion and tiredness.

He’d gladly take flowers from you that you gifted him and take care of it for weeks on end without realizing the romantic gesture!

Alastor, as always finds it humorous, although he usually doesn’t indulge himself in romantic like things he’s find it hilarious. “Even with three eyes he still can’t see the obvious! Ha!”

Charlie tries to help to the best of her ability to help guid him the right direction but it’s just end up with him more confused. Vaggie just face slaps internally,

honestly the whole crew wasn’t having high hopes for him as dim as that is. , look! He ain’t bad looking, but not many people would prefer his clumsy self, so they were honestly hoping he’d figure it out before you possibly moved on.

Even when your upset at the obvious frustrating situation he’s still be confused while trying to do his best to comfort you.

“Well I think the man isss clearly as dumb as a rock!”

It took you starring dead in his eyes for him to question if you were alright. Before you stated it was him

The way he just stood staring at you in pure disbelief, before snapping out of it and embarrassed as his previous words. But after the said embarrassment he’s full with giddy, why of course you love him!, he’s the great sir pentious!

Yea his embarrassment would quickly turn into pride, considering he got someone as beautiful as you to fall for him.

Definition of a clumsy gentlemen, he’d open doors so fast it’d smack him in the face, or pull when it’s a push door and be confused why it’s not opening.(´ω｀💧)

He’s just a silly lil guy! (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

I feel like the crew in the hotel would be relief to find he finally figured out.

At the end of the night he’s squealing like a high school girl as he rambles to his egg boys about you in a new light!.

He’s gift you small little trinkets or happily spend hours with you talking!

He’s as lovesick as your are! He’s just a bit dense when it comes to accepting the fact you love.

It’s like the roles switched! Now he’s daydreaming-ly staring at you happy to have you as his, and him a yours.

Like I’ve said before! He’s a total drama queen, he can’t help it!, deny him a kiss teasingly? He’s crumbling down to the ground and holding his chest as if he just had a heart attack! (¬_¬)

He’s not at all secretive of his love for you, even if he wants to, to keep his image “professional”, he just can’t help and dote on you!

overall he’s a big dote and softy even if he tries to hide it, loves you with his whole being! ( ˘ω˘ ) He can a be a bit over the top sometimes but you’ll come to accept it! And hey who wouldn’t want a silly snake demons who’s tripping over their tail for you. Yea you got him in and over his head but he wouldn’t have it any other way. The roles have truly reversed(≖ᴗ≖✿)

☆✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬☆

I LOVE HIS SILLY LIL SELF SO MUCH MORE PEOPLE SHOULD WRITE FOR HIM :(. TYSM FOR THE REQUEST I LOVED IT SM!!!! PLEASE COME AGAIN!!

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luvmila444 · 4 months

Text

Photo Booth - C.S

…………………………………………….. ☆ ★ ………………………………………………

Chris sturniolo x fmreader

summary: visiting the classic Photo Booth with you boyfriend chris and his brothers becomes a bit dirty while left alone in the booth together.

content warning: SMUT; dry humping; switch chris; praise kink; public (kinda?); no actual p in v

word count: 1.6k words

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

“I can’t believe you guys are back here again, what is this the fourth time now?” You ask in a joking tone looking toward the three boys in-front of you.

“Fifth,” nick corrects in his usual smart, know-it-all tone that i love so much.

“Yeah, but hey, it’s not the same as the last time because this time we have you,” Chris grinned goofily at you as he started to walk closer to you. Chris has been your boyfriend for almost four months now and you guys couldn’t be happier. You didn’t just love being around him and all his stupid statements that make no sense, or his smell of familiar cologne that lingers in the air, or the way his large hands felt caressing you back soothingly while relaxing. No, you also love being with his family and friends and fans. Everything about you guys was perfect.

Chris slowly moved around you and snakes his hands around your waist before lowering his head down onto your shoulder. You still get butterflies from these small loving actions that he does toward you, but you just can’t help it, he just brings it out in you. Chris was a real touchy person and you loved it. It made you feel so comfortable. You loved that after a passionate night of rough crazy sex, he would then take care of you and envelope you into a tranquil sensual cuddle that would quickly send you both off into a very peaceful sleep.

After a few second, which felt like a lot longer as time had always seemed to slow down when you guys were together, you suddenly remember a familiar presence in the room…

“Woah, yeah thanks for that guys, i was going for the traumatised look while i was in that booth,”matt says with an eye roll while he steps backwards and begins to rub his eyes. The boys then begin to comically argue but i soon drown it out as i look up at chris standing above me. His hair floppy and falling in-front of his face looking so soft that i could just run my hands through it or tug at at it gently.

“Yeah, well I’m gonna go freshen up and check myself before taking any photos,” nick cuts everyone off with his assertive tone before beginning to turn around and in the direction of the bathroom, “anyone else coming?’ He asks not sparing a glance to turn as he heard the family footsteps of matt and the car keys that jingled from side to send on his belt loop, doing a short quick jog behind him to get to his side.

As matt and nick exited the room. Chris quickly whirled you around, so you were now facing each other. He was taller than you but that did not stop you from still seeing and admiring every detail of his perfect face, from the smiles lines that were now forever present on his face to the slower vanishing freckles that were once dotted on his nose but only really come out when the sun hits him just right.

“I have an idea,” he grins, a grin of mischief which you can only assume with get you in trouble latter with his brothers. You tilt my head to the side and squint my eyes and allowing him to finish what he was saying and tell you what this ‘idea’ he had was. “Do you want to do a practise run of the booth without them?” He asked excitedly, it is almost difficult to decline him.

“Chris, i think you’ve had enough practise runs with the a million times you’ve come here before,” you are almost scolding but seeing his face with his ever-present smirk plastered on their you just gave in to easily, “but i dont know how it works so show me,”you then exclaim excitedly before he grabs your hand and pulls you towards the booth, pulling back the curtain and sitting inside.

It was a lot smaller than you had originally thought, but then again it was quite old fashioned and there was never any harm in getting a little too close to your boyfriend while his brothers aren’t present. So, you decide to place yourself on his lap and close the curtain with one and as the other hand wraps itself around Chris’s neck for stability.

You hadn’t even noticed how much Chris had enjoyed the touch until you try and get yourself more comfortable on his lap, wriggling about making Chris go crazy behind you.

“Ma, I’m gonna go crazy if you keep doing that to me”.

You only giggle before sitting still again, however, still missing the small sensation that built up inside the pit of your stomach at the feeling of yourself grazing his crotch area while getting comfy. Chris felt it as well and couldn’t help but get.a little turned on by the action either. But when Chris got turned on, you noticed.

He rested is head on your shoulder and brings his hands to your waist much like before, but this isn’t as comforting as it once was, this was dirtier and needy. You attempted to ignore it as you turned to the screen of the booth that was going to take your photos and were selected the options for you to use. At that moment you could have sworn that you felt Chris lift his lap upwards into you.

You let out a gasp at the feel of the now prominent bulge that was now present under his dark cargos. Fuck just the graze of it on your thigh was making you wetter at the moment.

Chris lifted his head slightly from the crook of your neck and turned it as he began to kiss gently kisses below your ear and onto your neck. Fuck.

“Chris, we can’t do this right now? look where we are” you try to send Chris straight and attempted to use a stretcher voice that however ended as a quiet moan. Your noises only provoked chris more at this point. He didn’t respond to your question but instead planted more open-mouthed kisses onto you.

You were having a mental battle with yourself at that very moment as you knew if you voiced it, chris would not be much help. You then decided to give in and slowly begun to move your hips onto his crotch. You could feel him growing harder under you from my movements. He decided to grasp your hips firmer and guide then just how he had wanted onto his clothed cock and helping you to move.

What was once slow grinding became quickly paced, you couldn’t help but let out a moan that wasn’t loud enough to be heard by matt or nick but could be heard if you were close enough to the booth. Chris removed one of his hands from your waists and placed it onto your mouth, muffling you and ensuring you don’t make any more erotic sounds.

He pulled you even closer if that was possible and continued to move up into you at a crazy pace and you could now feel his pulsating dick beneath the fabric of his trousers making your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“That feel good, ma? You Like humping me when anyone could walk in?” He whispers close into your ear and all you can do is lean your head back onto his shoulder as a muffled whimper had escaped you.

He continued to rut up into you and a continuous pace and making sure that you felt everything, while sloppily placing open mouth kissed onto your shoulder. The sensation of his clothed dick still hitting your clit was now getting you so worked up that you felt the familiar tightness in you.

You could feel the knot in your stomach growing tighter as you moved faster and harder on his lap. Again, and again and again.

“Fuck you’re close already, ma?” he mocks you in your ear in a deep voice that almost send you over the edge. Embarrassment filling your body as you realise that Chris is aware of the power that he has over you.

You didn’t even realise that Chris had removed the hand that was once in his mouth to play around with the buttons on the machine and before you knew it, the booth was capturing yours and Chris’s pleasure in its old fashioned black and white photographs.

You began to circle your hip to get just the right pressure onto my clit before i released all over his lap and feeling the knot snap in your stomach as your orgasm washed over you still feeling Chris’s hands still guiding your hips, holding you still very close through your high. Which was captured perfectly on the photo booths camera.

Then you felt his dick twitch against your sensitive clit, which made you let ou a cry while he groaned into my ear. Chris had now taken complete control of your waist, using you to rub himself through his orgasm, which you happily allowed.

You felt super sensitive due to his fast motions, but it still felt unreal, so you just let him do his thing until he slowed his movements, leaving his hands on your hips while you leaned your head to the side to relax on his shoulder.

“Fuck, you make me feel so crazy, ma” he turns his head to you giving you a dopey grin ad his eyes are now blown out with lust.

“I could completely say the same for you, baby” you say before patting down his hair and kissing his lips in a quick passionate kiss. You lean away from each other and hold one another’s gaze while having your foreheads pressed together. You both were very much appreciating the moment until…

“I beg that you clean that seat before any of us sit on it, please,” you hear a disgusted whine coming from nick from further away outside the curtain.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/n: thank so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed if i have made any mistakes please do not hesitate to let me know. I wrote this purely because im obsessed with the booth by Bryant era and i wanted it back… anyway

Love all my angels (especially @gamermattsgf) 💞

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #smut

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casuallyimagining · 6 months

Text

Set Me Free || myg

min yoongi x female reader

Summary: Tired of being told how to live his life and unsure of where he stands in the world, Yoongi--your soulmate--yearns to be free. When you give him what he wants, it causes a rift in your relationship that seems irreparable. 12 years later, you find him back in your life. Can you mend your relationship? Do you even want to? Word Count: 14,377 Genre: friends to enemies to lovers, supernatural au, witch & familiar au, soulmate au, angst, fluff Warnings: death of a parent (brief mention), alcohol, soulmate breakup, smooching

Notes: banner by @itaeewon. thank you to @daechwitatamic and @oddinary4bts for beta-ing and listening to me struggle my way through this. as always. and extra thanks to ella for helping me write Yoongi's letters and to my friend tanya for giving me a super helpful base for the ending.

It’s cold. The late autumn wind rustles through amber-brown-orange-yellow leaves, swirling the fallen ones into little tornadoes that scuttle across the pavement. The cold doesn’t bother Yoongi, necessarily. It’s been a while since he’s been here, in this town, on this street, but even after so much time, his body remembers the chill of November in the same way his feet remember the way to his destination. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and pauses at the street corner.

It’s strange being back here. He’d once known this neighborhood so intimately, he could map it in his sleep. Not much has changed in the almost 13 years he’s been gone. The park on the corner is the same. The playground, massive to an eight-year-old with a near-infinite imagination, stands resolute, its plastic and paint sun-faded and weathered. Further up the block is the head of the trail that snakes its way through the forest, where he’d spent countless hours playing pirates as a kid and exploring as a teen. And there, at the end of the street, is his destination.

The closer he gets, the more his stomach roils with nerves. Thirteen years since he’d walked down this sidewalk. Thirteen years since he’d walked onto that front porch. Or rather, 12 years, 5 months, and 11 days.

But who’s counting?

There’s a light on in the front room of the house, he can see it through the big window despite the shades being pulled closed. He hesitates. He’s spent days–no, weeks–playing out in his head how this was going to go. In a moment, he’ll know if any of those scenarios were correct. And frankly, right now, he’s terrified.

What if you start to cry? What if you slam the door in his face? What if you hug him? What if you yell at him? What if you don’t answer? What if you want to talk? What if you never want to see him again? What if you invite him in? What if you have someone over?

He takes a deep breath and knocks.

It takes a second. He can hear shuffling around on the other side of the door, so he knows his knock was heard. But the longer it takes, the sweatier his hands get, and the more he considers turning and running away. The door opens before he can make a move.

You stand in the doorway, bathed in the warm light of the living room lamp behind you. And shit, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. In many ways, you haven’t changed since the last time he saw you, but at the same time, you look so different. He can see in your eyes the moment the realization hits, and your expression changes drastically. You looked tired–and Yoongi can sense that it goes deeper than just physical exhaustion–and you were slouching, but now, you’re standing ramrod straight, and there’s a hard look in your eyes. One he knows all too well.

“Hey.” He raises a hand, offers a wave that, in hindsight, is rather pathetic. You stare at him, unblinking, and slowly, he lowers his hand. “I uh… I heard about your parents,” he says softly, scuffing his shoe against the wood of the porch. “I’m sorry you have to go through it.”

“Brave of you to show up.” You sound almost bored, but Yoongi knows–he senses, in that kind of primal, gut feeling he gets when it comes to you–that it’s an act. “You know I could turn you into a bug and squash you if I wanted to.”

“I know.”

There’s a tense moment where you stare at each other, the scowl you wear pulling your lips downward and creasing your brow. But then you heave an exhausted sigh.

“Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I…”

I want to apologize.

I’m so sorry.

I miss you.

It all catches in his throat. He coughs in a meager attempt to entice something–anything–to come out of his mouth. “I wanted you to have this.”

He holds out his hands, and in an instant, he’s holding a box. It’s full but not heavy, and he thrusts it out in front of him in your direction.

“A 10-year-old shoebox?” You do nothing to mask your surprise.

“Letters,” he corrects. “You don’t have to read them but… I wanted you to have them.” He pushes the box into your arms, leaving you no choice but to take it. Then, he steps away and nods his head. “Thank you for not turning me into a bug. I am sorry about your parents. I… guess I’ll go.”

Without another word, he trots down the porch steps. And then, in a blink, he’s gone. Disappeared into the night.

You sigh and shut the door, the box he’d given you cradled in the crook of your arm. You don’t have the energy for this right now. Honestly, you aren’t sure that you’ll ever have the energy for it, but certainly not the day before your parents’ funeral.

Whoever had decided that witches and their familiars die together clearly never thought of the ones left behind.

You collapse onto the couch, placing the box beside you. This would be easier if you weren’t alone. It would be easier with Yoongi, your brain supplies less than helpfully. You curse yourself. You curse him. After all these years, you thought you were over it, over the abandonment, over the betrayal. But all it takes is for him to show his stupid face, and you can feel it all bubbling up anew. Angrily, you push the box off the couch. It explodes when it hits the floor, what seems like thousands of pieces of paper tumble out and scatter from the force.

The forest was almost silent as you stalked the trail. Not even the birds were happy that day. Twigs snapped under your feet. You weren’t even paying attention to where you were going, your feet carrying you along the path that you’d hiked countless times before. You needed to get away, to escape, to calm down. But you couldn’t, because what you were running away from was hot on your heels.

“Would you slow down?” You could hear the frustration in Yoongi’s voice as he followed you. You ignored him. “Goddamnit,” he breathed, picking up his pace. “Will you at least listen to me?”

Quite frankly, you didn’t care what he had to say in that moment.

“It wouldn’t be a permanent thing,” he continued. “I just… I don’t know. I need to do this.”

You stopped, sliding a little on the damp new growth below your feet. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re not being oppressed, Yoongi. No one’s stopping you from going out and exploring the world.”

“Maybe this way of life isn’t for everyone. Maybe not everyone wants their whole existence to be predetermined at birth. Maybe not everyone wants the universe to choose who they’re supposed to be with and how they’re supposed to live.”

His words stung, and until then, you weren’t quite sure why. Rejection. Not just of how you lived, and who he was, and how things had always been. But of you. Yoongi was your familiar, you were destined to be together in some way since you were six years old and the bond gem first appeared. Not all witches and familiars were in romantic relationships–your parents were, sure, and Yoongi’s parents–but plenty of them had other partners, lives separate from each other. Platonic soulmates navigating the world together.

Until a few months before, you’d been content with that. There was no doubt you’d been best friends from the jump. You’d been practically inseparable through school. Then, months before, he’d kissed you at the winter market. Right there in the park, under the aurora. Before that, you hadn’t thought of him as any more than your best friend. But the kiss had unlocked something inside you. And now…

Now he wanted you gone.

“You want to be free that badly?” By some miracle, your voice sounded positively venomous, even though you felt like you could crumble at any moment. “Fine.”

“Wh-”

There’s a saying your mother told you once, back when you were a child. You and Yoongi had found a turtle in the woods, stuck in the mud. His little turtle leg had been hurt, and you’d rushed it to your mother immediately. Familiars were excellent with animals, and she was no exception, healing the turtle in days when it should have taken weeks. You and Yoongi had both cried when you had to release it back into the wild–you’d both so wanted it to be your friend. ‘If you love something, set it free,’ your mother had said, ‘Sometimes it’s the kindest option.’

Kinder for whom?

The chain around your wrist snapped easily when you wrapped your fingers around it. The incantation meant to keep the bond gem safe became meaningless as soon as you wanted it gone. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been without it around your wrist. You loved it, with its gem of swirling, inky black and navy blue. It reminded you so much of Yoongi, deep and calm and unwavering.

Without a word, you tossed the bracelet to the ground. Yoongi’s eyes widened as it hit and the gem cracked. For good measure, you stepped on it, crushed it into dust. There was a pitiful swirl of blue magic that puffed up from the dirt. When you moved your foot, there was nothing left of the bond gem or its chain.

“What the fuck?” Yoongi’s eyes were glassy when you finally looked at him. He looked almost as crushed as you felt. “What the fuck?”

“You’re free.” And this time, you couldn’t hide your sadness behind your anger.

He didn’t follow you as you walked away, and honestly, it was for the best. It was faint, but you could still feel his emotions, and you weren’t sure you could handle that kind of heartache in person.

There is paper everywhere. Hundreds of pieces, folded neatly in thirds. You have no idea how Yoongi had fit them all into the shoebox. He must’ve enchanted it. Groaning, you start to pick them up.

Letters, he’d said. You flip through some as you gather them up. Now that they’re on the floor, they aren’t in any particular order, but it quickly becomes clear that these letters span years. There are some from 12 years ago, written shortly after he’d left. Some are more recent. You stare at one, from December of the year he left. Glancing through it, you expect it to unearth your anger, your rage. But it doesn’t. Just like seeing him again, all Yoongi’s letter brings is sadness. Grief.

You’d spent the past 12 years grieving. Sure, he hadn’t died, but when he left, you’d lost the closest relationship you would ever have. In 17 years, you’d grown so accustomed to having him there, that when he was gone, there was a Yoongi-sized hole left in your life that you had to learn to fill. And you did your best, sewing yourself back together and moving on. But it wasn’t the same.

Glancing through his letter, it seems you weren’t the only one struggling. You aren’t sure if that’s a comfort or not.

It’s been almost a year since the night market–one year since everything started crumbling around us. I still remember it like it was yesterday. It felt right in the moment, didn’t it? I really thought you would understand.

I’ve tried to figure out where things went wrong. But shit, I can’t wrap my head around it. Why did you react like that when I told you I just wanted to be free?

At the end of the day, I guess we didn’t understand each other as much as I thought we did. As much as this bond brings us together, I guess it doesn’t reveal everything. But… that night I just wanted to kiss you, and so I did. Maybe it was selfish. Sometimes I wish the bond didn’t exist, that we could just be free to choose things for ourselves. That we weren't forced into what the universe wants from us… Maybe that’s selfish, too.

Why couldn’t you understand? I just wish I could turn back time and make you understand. Maybe then you wouldn’t hate me, and maybe then I’d stop hating myself too.

Because watching you destroy the gem nearly killed me, but it wasn’t half as bad as watching you walk away. Should I have run after you?

Would you still be there if I had?

You sigh and lean back against your couch. That damn night market. You hadn’t been back to it since the year he’d kissed you. It’s silly, but a part of you blames it for everything that happened. Because Yoongi’s letter is right. It had marked the beginning of everything going wrong. It wouldn’t change anything, but there’s a part of you that won’t listen to logic, that refuses to believe that maybe, if he hadn’t kissed you–if you hadn’t kissed him back–he wouldn’t have left.

The night market was beautiful. It always was, but that year was particularly beautiful. The park had been decorated in all of its sparkling, winter glory. Candles twinkled in the trees, suspended by sheer force of will. Through some magic you weren’t familiar with, they’d enchanted the sky, and an aurora shimmered far above, slowly swirling in greens and blues and purples. Snow fell gently, and you weren’t sure if it was natural, or if it was also magic.

You browsed the various tents and tables, going from one to the other to see the different things people were selling. Some had crafts, others baked goods, and some were even selling things like potion ingredients and spellbooks. There were a few tables dedicated to familiars–books on shifting and specialty items and insets and jewelry for bond gems.

Yoongi followed you closely, clutching a hot chocolate. You knew he wasn’t cold, the temperature was nowhere near low enough for either of you to be uncomfortable, but the way his fingers tapped against the paper cup, you knew something was up. You could sense his anxiety, could feel it in the pit of your own stomach.

“Want to go sit?” you asked softly, gesturing over to the picnic tables they’d set up under one of the sparkling trees.

His eyes widened. “No, that’s okay. You’re looking.”

“I’m done. Let’s go sit.”

“I-” He deflated a little and didn’t argue further, allowing you to lead him over to one of the tables.

You sat side by side on the bench, backs against the table, and watched the snow fall around you. The night was peaceful, quiet for the most part except for the occasional laughter that bubbled up. Most of the older crowd had left, leaving only the teens and young adults to explore the market. You watched the other festival goers in silence, Yoongi’s arm pressed against your own.

“You okay?” you asked softly, bumping your shoulder into his own.

Yoongi being quiet was nothing new. He was an observer, a listener, he took in information like a sponge. Which wasn’t to say that he was never loud and boisterous, that he didn’t talk incessantly to the people he cared about. But he was absolutely the calmest presence you’d ever been around, even compared to the adults in your life.

But you could sense what he was feeling, could feel his nerves and unease and conflict. And you knew that he’d rather explode than burden anyone with his feelings. So you prodded. Ever so gently. Because he was your best friend, and when he was suffering, you were too.

He stayed quiet, and when you turned to look at him, he was much closer than you were expecting. A moment passed. You shared a look. You’d always thought that Yoongi’s eyes were pretty, but in the twinkling light of the candles above, they were deep pools of warm, dark cedar and flecks of honey. Slowly, subtly, he leaned in–or maybe you did, you weren’t sure– as though some mysterious force was drawing you together. An emotion flashed in his eyes, but you couldn’t quite take the time to consider what it may have been because he was kissing you. Lips chapped from the bitter wind moulded against your own for the shortest of moments. It was tentative and delicate and brief, but as he pulled away, your mind reeled.

That day had affected you in ways you never would have expected. Before, you’d never considered Yoongi as anything more than your best friend, the platonic other half of yourself. And then the kiss, and suddenly, it was like you’d been awakened. For as long as you could remember, your thoughts had been filled with Yoongi. Of the things he liked, the things he didn’t, of spending time with him, of the academy (with him). Suddenly, you were suspecting that maybe there was more to that, more than just the bond of a witch and their familiar.

You sigh. The letters are all finally back in the box, though nowhere near as nicely as they’d been before you’d kicked it and it had exploded. You should get up. You should go to bed. You have to be up fairly early for the funeral. But you stay seated, the box of letters in your lap.

Seeing him again was hard. You’re willing to admit that. You’d spent 12 years convincing yourself that you were fine, harboring anger and resentment and frustration, all for it to melt away the second you saw him. The bond makes it tough to stay mad at him, but it doesn’t let you forget the betrayal.

You stand out of the way, looking out over the funeral attendees in the park. Your parents didn’t have a lot of friends, but there are enough people here that you’d officially call it a crowd. They’re all mingling–you’d bought beer and wine, and if you didn’t know any better, it could maybe be a party and not a wake. You tighten your fist around the bond gem in your hand. For as long as you could remember, your dad had worn it around his neck, tucked under his shirt. The gem is like your mother–bright pink, fiery orange, deep yellow–and when you were a child, you’d loved to look at it, mesmerized by the swirling, glittering colors.

The gems have always been a gift from a familiar to their witch, given to symbolize the soulmate-like bonds between them. Most witches–especially those who were romantically involved with their familiars–wear them as jewelry. They don’t really do anything, though some people claim it made their magic stronger (you aren’t really sure about that, seeing as most gems appear in childhood).

As a child, you hadn’t been particularly close with your parents. Especially as a teen, you would have much rather hung out with Yoongi than them. But they were kind, and supportive, and for the most part, they left you to do your own thing. They’d been almost as devastated as you when you’d crushed your bond gem.

Days after your fight with Yoongi, the doorbell rang. Your mother had opened the door. You were upstairs. You’d stayed home from school that day–sick, but not in the way the administrators would have accepted. For a few brief moments, you’d ignored whatever visitor was downstairs. But then-

“She’s not here.” Your mother’s voice drifted up to you. She sounded disappointed.

“Please.” It was Yoongi, you’d recognize his baritone from miles away.

Quietly, you’d slipped out of your room and crept down the hall, sitting at the top of the stairs. You could hear your mother sigh, could see her shift her weight from one foot to the other. Your father appeared from the kitchen and joined your mother at the door.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” he said, shaking his head. He leaned against the doorknob, pulling it a little more shut in the process so it blocked you completely from the door’s sight.

A long moment of silence passed before your mother called, “Yoongi?” You couldn’t hear his response–he must have already gone down the porch steps. Your mother continued, “It can be scary, and you’re both still young. Give it time.”

The door shut quietly, and both of your parents looked to where you were sitting. You could see it in both of their eyes. Sadness, but something else. Something that looked a little close to pity.

A laugh draws your attention, and you smile sadly as you watch your mother’s coworkers laugh at some memory. But then you notice, just behind them, a shadow close to the ground and suddenly, you’re distracted all over again. Because there, half-hidden by a bush, sits a black cat. Cedar and honey eyes watch you intently, its dark fur swirling and shining like a thousand galaxies. Your hand tightens around your parents’ bond gem, the chain pressing sharply into the flesh of your hand.

He doesn’t move, just sits there patiently. Watching. He’s there as people approach you, offering condolences and hugs that you don’t particularly want; he’s there when people start trickling out. And he’s there when you’re the last one left, all alone under the large oak tree in the center of the park.

It’s quiet as you stand there, staring down at the bond gem in your hands. This is the part you’ve been dreading. Because you don’t want to keep the damn thing–you could if you wanted to, but there’s also tradition to think about. But it’s also weird to give up the one thing that is so emblematic of your parents. You wonder if they’d felt like this when your grandparents had died.

At least they’d had each other during it.

You can sense him approach, even though his steps are completely silent. And though he comes closer, he keeps his distance. On one hand, you appreciate it. On the other…

“If you’re going to be here, the least you could do is be here,” you say quietly, looking down at the gem in your hand. It sparkles a little in the light.

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask you to explain. He takes a few slow steps forward until he’s standing beside you. It’s weird, having him this close again. You’d been too overwhelmed last night to actually observe, but now, you’re exhausted, yet alert.

His hair is longer–as a teen, he’d kept it short, but the ends curl and sit just above his shoulders now. He’s filled out and put on some muscle, and though he’s still a little on the lankier side, his shoulders have broadened. He wears cologne now, the scent light, like lavender, citrus, and sage. So much has changed, and yet it’s the same eyes that watch you with a soft curiosity.

You look up to the tree, watch its branches wave in the wind. You used to think that the centenarian boughs touched the sky, and even still, it towers above everything else in the park. The leaves sparkle, their iridescence catching the light to make the tree look like something out of a fairy tale. You sigh and tighten your fist around your parents’ bond gem one more time before opening your hand.

At first, nothing happens, but then the gem glistens and rises out of your grasp. It joins the other leaves close to the top of the tree, becoming just another sparkle in the prism.

For a while, not even the birds make a noise. You just stand there, looking up at the tree that has stood sentinel over most of your life. The wind rustles the leaves, and they shimmer as they move. You have no idea how many leaves are up there, how many bond gems have been placed over time. Thousands–maybe hundreds of thousands–of witches and their familiars, most forgotten to the annals of time.

It’s strange, knowing that you would never be memorialized by the tree.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” Yoongi whispers from beside you, husky baritone cutting through the silence.

Yoongi isn’t sure why you say yes, but soon enough, you’re walking into the Green Bean just behind him. He’s uncomfortable, people have been watching you since the park, and their stares are starting to burn holes in his back. He says nothing about it until you’re in line at the cafe.

“What are they staring at?” he whispers, leaning close so that only you can hear in the semi-busy cafe. He chooses to ignore how you tense up ever so slightly.

“You’ve been gone for 12 years, what did you expect?”

Right. He supposes he should have expected their animosity. But it’s not just him they’re watching. He doesn’t miss the way people stare at you, watch you warily as you simply exist. His mind races. Was that his fault? Did his absence cause so many unintended consequences?

You order a coffee and choose a table in the far corner of the cafe, away from everyone but still near the window. He sits in the chair across from you, the hard metal shockingly comfortable despite its harsh lines. An awkward silence settles over you both, but Yoongi’s not sure what to say, so he lets it linger. He watches you stare out the window. Which is a little weird, right? But he can’t bring himself to drag his gaze away. It’s like after 12 years of being away, he just wants to look at you.

The barista calls out your orders and Yoongi stands to grab both of them from the counter. He places one oversized ceramic mug down in front of you, and the other, he wraps his hands around. It’s warm, almost hot, and he dares not take a drink yet. You stare down at the foam on top of your drink, one finger hooked around the handle of the cup.

“What happened to them?” he asks softly. When you look up, surprised, he clarifies. “Your parents, I mean. I… didn’t hear how they…”

You sigh, tap your mug. He can sense the deep sadness you struggle with and is just about to tell you to forget he asked when you speak. “I always kind of thought it would be dad who’d go first.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “He was always so frail when we were kids. But mom got sick last year and…” You shrug. “One of the neighbors found them.”

“I’m so sorry.” You wave him off. “No. Honestly. They were nice.”

“Thanks.”

He nods, and silence settles again. But then something you said pops into his mind, striking him as strange. “You aren’t living here anymore?” Mentally, he slaps himself. Why did it come out like he’s surprised? He supposes that he’s always just kind of pictured you still… here, in town.

“I’m over in Ashland,” you say, generally gesturing west, toward the city. “I work at the library at the university.”

“Yeah?” He raises his eyebrows. “How’s that?”

You shrug. “Mostly good. It’s a job. The library’s usually pretty quiet, so…”

“That’s really cool.”

Ashland is big, much bigger than here in square feet and at least 10 times the people. It’s a real city, with skyscrapers and functioning public transportation and one of the country’s top medical universities. He’s proud of you, he realizes. You’d always planned to leave for the city, too constrained by life in such a small town. For the longest time, he’d planned on going with you. And then, of course, he’d ruined it. It stings a little to know that you’d gone without him like that, that your life had continued as planned, that maybe he hadn’t meant that much in the grand scheme of things.

But then your eyes meet, and he’s confronted by the anxiety and sadness you’re feeling, and he knows he’s just being stupid. Again.

“So, uh…” He feels a wave of nerves wash over him–they aren’t his own. You tap your half-empty mug. “What have you been up to?”

If he’s honest, Yoongi wasn’t expecting you to ask about him. He’s shocked enough that you’d even agreed to be here, let alone that you were interested in his life. “I was traveling,” he starts cautiously, gauging your reaction. You blink slowly, watching his every move. If you can sense his apprehension, you don’t react. “But now I’m up north in Ulmae. I’ve got a pretty good thing going at this restaurant on the North Shore.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, uh…” He chuckles, a little nervous. “They’ve got me bartending on the weekends and let me do music during the week.”

Your eyes widen a little, and you lean forward. “They let you play?”

“It’s only like an hour a night-”

“No, shut up. That’s amazing!” You grin, big and genuine, but Yoongi can sense a tinge of sadness in it.

He’s disappointed when you both finish your coffees and you stand up to put your cup in the little tub by the counter. It’s starting to get late, the sun is starting to set and the streetlights have turned on. It was nice, catching up with you, short though it may have been. It’s not lost on him how strange it is, having to catch up with someone that was once practically a part of him.

Together, you stand outside in the chilly early evening air, looking down the street toward the park. Over the roofs of the shops and houses, Yoongi can just barely see the centinel tree with its sparkling leaves. People walk past–people he recognizes but couldn’t possibly name–some are more subtle about it, but others practically break their necks to stare at the two of you. Suddenly, Yoongi feels exposed outside the cafe, like there are eyes everywhere. He hates this, hates feeling like he’s doing something wrong just for wanting to talk to you more.

You sigh, scuff your shoe against the concrete of the sidewalk, shove your hands deep into the pockets of your dark jeans. “I… probably shouldn’t even ask,” you start warily. “But do you want to come back for a drink?”

The house is the same, yet somehow also different, like one of those spot the difference puzzles come to life. The layout of the living room is the same, but the couch is a different style and color. There’s a blanket folded the same way under the coffee table, but it’s clearly a different pattern than he remembers. Most of the photos are the same, but there are 12 years’ worth of more of them.

Apparently, the stash of alcohol your father kept in the built in cabinet beside the television hasn’t changed.

You pull out a bottle of whisky and two glasses, setting them on the coffee table with a gentle ‘clink.” The shoebox he’d given you sits on the floor. The lid is off, the letters contained within are a mess. Have you read them, or did they spill out? There’s no way for him to really know.

Silently, you hand him a glass and sit on the other side of the couch, grabbing one of the throw pillows to hug in your lap. You sip at the double in your glass stoically, and for a moment, you stare at him. He has to resist the urge to squirm under your gaze. There’s something different about how you’re sitting, something in your aura that he didn’t notice in the cafe. Maybe you’d been saving it for private, but he can sense that you’re reining your emotions in.

But then finally, after what feels like an eternity, you turn over your hand. Two pieces of paper sit in your palm. “I’m going to need you to explain these.” The two letters float over to him and open themselves in front of him.

The first is dated only a few years after he’d left.

I’ve been struck by a thought. I had tacos earlier, and I just know you would have loved them. Which made me realize that there’s still part of me that thinks about you at every turn. Your friendship was such an integral part of my life, and not having it anymore feels like there’s a piece missing. Last week it was a song on the radio. Before that, a stray cat I saw that I know for certain you would have loved. Everything reminds me of you, everything leads back to you. You’re everywhere and nowhere, and…

I would like to see you again. Someday.

How have you been doing? Where has your life taken you? I can only hope it’s treated you kindly. It’s what you deserve.

The other is from the day he turned 25.

A quarter of a century, and for some reason I feel incredibly old. With it comes some realizations, things I didn’t understand before. Maybe I was too young, too blinded by my own need to feel free… but it never was about being free from you. I can’t even begin to imagine how hurtful it must have been for you…

I never wanted to make you feel like I was giving up on you, like I didn’t want you. I never wanted to make you feel rejected, because it wasn’t you I was trying to be free from.

I was so scared of having my whole life laid out in front of me. I never took the time to think what my life could be with the bond–I only ever thought about what the bond meant for my life. All of the expectations, what comes with being a familiar, our roles in society and the universe…

I realize now that I could have–should have–communicated it all better. If only so that I wouldn’t have lost you. So that it wouldn’t have led to me making you feel like I was rejecting you. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered; at the end of the day I was still walking away from you. But at least maybe I could have made it more clear that it was never you that I wanted to be free from.

I’m sorry. I feel like it’s useless to say, but I am so sorry for not realizing any of this before.

Wherever you are, I hope you’ll understand. Take care until I see you again.

I hope I see you again.

Yoongi sighs. The letters–all of them, not just these two–tended to be rambling diatribes, a snapshot of his thoughts as he worked through his feelings about his own life and everything and you. He’d been an idiot when he left–he was 17 and full of himself and terrified of the world but too proud to admit it–and it had taken him far too long to realize a lot of important things.

For a moment, it’s quiet as he thinks of what to say. How should he even begin? But apparently, he’s quiet for too long, because you wave your hand and the letters fold themselves back up and float back down to the shoebox. When you speak, you sound exhausted. “Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I-”

“Because if the roles were reversed, I don’t know that I’d have the balls to come back. On one hand, I’m impressed. On the other…” You trail off and shrug.

He’s quiet, not sure how to respond. He’s got lots of thoughts, lots of feelings–of course he does–but right now, you’re a wall, and he’s not sure how to read the situation. He’s not sure what you need to hear right now. So he says nothing.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it, and you look down at the glass in your hand, stare into the dregs of the amber whisky you’ve nearly finished. “I’m running on like two hours’ sleep,” you admit. “But fuck, Yoongi, I… I was so convinced that I’d never see you again. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.” Then, softer. “I’m still not sure.”

“Why?” It’s out of his mouth before he can even think and god, he just wants the Earth to open up and swallow him whole.

It takes a second for you to process his absolute trash heap of an asinine question. But when you do, your face contorts into somewhere between anger, disappointment, and heartbreak. “What do you mean, ‘why’?” You practically spit the question at him. “You… you… Do you know what it’s like to have the most important person in your life tell you that he wants rid of you?”

“I never said-”

“You wanted to be free. From all of it. From me.” You pick at the corner of the pillow in your lap. “And then you just come back out of the blue like nothing happened and drop this damn shoebox at my feet-” from where it sits on the floor, the shoebox explodes, letters flying everywhere, “-and you just… What did you expect, Yoongi? What do you want?”

“I don’t know!” He sounds a little desperate when he says it, and he hates that, hates how pathetic it makes him sound. So he shrugs, takes a deep breath, leans back a little. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “I just… I missed you. And then mom told me about your parents, and…” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead and out of his eyes. “And then I was on a train.”

You stare at him for a moment, a little gobsmacked. You have no idea how to respond. What do you say to that? Where do you even start? There are a hundred things you could say. You’ve played this scenario out a thousand times in your head over the years–what would you do if he came back?–but somehow, it never played out like this. In your mind, he’d never told you that he missed you.

You’d never considered that he would miss you.

But you should say something, right? It’s weird that you’re sitting there, just staring at him in complete silence. Has your jaw been clenched the whole time? Does he think you’re angry with him? Quickly, you school your face into something a little more neutral and say the first thing that comes to mind.

“How long are you here for?”

Truthfully, you probably should have asked sooner. You’ve been wondering since he showed up on your doorstep last night, but it never seemed like a great time to ask.

He sighs. “‘Till tomorrow.”

You nod, probably longer than it makes sense to, but it takes you a bit to process. Tomorrow. He’s back in your life for two days, and then he’s gone again. That’s not even enough time to catch up, let alone actually talk with him. And that’s… you aren’t sure how to feel.

Yoongi watches you quietly and takes a sip of his drink. He’s barely touched it. “Maybe…” he says after a moment, leaning forward to put his glass on the coffee table. “Maybe I should go?”

Part of you wants to tell him no, to ask him to stay, to tell you more about his gig working at the bar. Anything to keep him here and talking to you. But there’s a more logical part of you that’s overwhelmed, that needs some time to think. He’s offering to go, which means that he’s either uncomfortable or his train leaves early in the morning. Or both. He stands, thanks you for the drink, and you follow him to the door. He hesitates just outside, opens his mouth as if to say something and closes it almost as quickly.

You say nothing. And for the second time in as many days, you watch him leave without another word.

The playground was almost empty. Mama said it was supposed to rain, but she’d also said that you would go anyway, for a little bit. You were trying to learn how to swing on your own, and plus Yoongi and his mom were going to be there, and he’d said he’d bring his trucks to play in the sand.

But he wasn’t there yet, so you were on the swing. Mama pushed you, her hand firm on your back, and you closed your eyes. You were flying, wind in your face as you launched forward into the air. And then, just as suddenly, you were falling, swinging backward.

“Remember what I said,” mama said softly. “Kick your legs.”

You weren’t quite sure what she meant by that. Your legs were little, and when you kicked out, you felt more like you were going to slide out of the swing seat than anything. You heard her laugh a little, but her hand was on your back once again, propelling you forward.

A few minutes passed in a blur of forwards and backwards. You still didn’t quite understand the whole swinging on your own thing, but mama’s rhythmic pushes kept you going. But then, a small voice at the edge of the playground yelled your name, and you heard excited footsteps in the wood chips. Mama helped you slow to a stop, and you jumped off the swing.

A little boy, his dark hair cut short by his own mom, ran toward you. He was carrying an armful of small cars and larger trucks. He skidded to a stop in front of you, a wide, gummy grin engulfing his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“I brought all my trucks!” he announced, looking down at the toys in his arms. “You can be the green one. Here.” He tried to hand it to you, and another fell in the process.

You picked it up and took the green truck from him. It was bright green–the same shade as the lime popsicles Yoongi’s mom usually bought–and it had big wheels. You followed him to the sandbox and you both plopped down. It didn’t take long to have a whole city constructed. Granted, it was all made from rocks and wood chips and other small things you found around the sandbox. But it was a city and it was beautiful.

Yoongi drove his truck over a bump, making engine noises as he pushed it toward you. As he drove the truck down another sand hill, bumping and bouncing it over sticks and rocks, something fell out of the sleeve of his jacket. It was perfectly round, and it rolled to a stop in front of you. You picked it up and inspected it. It was some kind of rock, hard and shiny, but it was also colorful, and you were pretty sure rocks couldn’t be blue.

One look at the rock and he frowned, calling for his mom. She came over immediately and crouched down to see what he was so concerned about. Your mama followed her, and she was the one that saw the rock in your hand first.

“Oh,” she said, her hand gently smoothing down your hair. “You two have found your gem.”

“Wha’s that mean?” Yoongi asked, looking up at his mom.

She smiled and sat in the sand beside him, pulling him into her lap. She held out her arm, twisted her bracelet around so that he could see it. “You know how I have this from your dad? It’s like that.”

“But-”

“Your friendship is special,” she continued, pinching his cheek. Yoongi laughed. “It means you’ve gotta look out for each other now.”

For a moment, he was quiet. But then he nodded, just once. “Okay!” He held out his hand to you, tiny palm face up. “Can I have it?”

“It’s not yours anymore,” his mom said softly, brushing his short hair back. “It’s a gift.”

You looked to your mama and she nodded. “Take care of it,” she told you. “You only get one.”

Middle school was the worst. Everything was difficult. Social situations, interactions with your parents, school. At the time, it all seemed like it was unfairly hard. Making it worse, of course, was getting sick. As a kid, you were never sick that often. Yoongi was a different story. For whatever reason, familiars were just more susceptible to illness, and when he got sick, he got sick.

It was the middle of the semester, and Yoongi hadn’t been to school in days. Your teachers hadn’t even asked, they’d just started giving you packets–homework and printouts of their lessons and extra materials–so he wouldn’t fall behind. So you stopped by his house after school. His mom let you in, offering you some of the snacks she was making for Yoongi before you headed up the stairs to his room.

You knocked gently before entering. The knock was a politeness–you were close enough with him and familiar enough with his room at this point in your life that you could just barge in without warning and you knew he wouldn’t mind. He looked like hell, stuck in his bed buried in blankets. It was clear he’d had a fever at some point, because his hair looked damp and sweaty.

But he sat up when you walked in, coughing deeply before speaking. “You’re going to get sick, too,” he protested weakly.

You waved him off. “Everyone’s sick.” You pulled over his desk chair to the side of his bed and started to go through your bag. “Ms. Miller gave me your math homework, but if you understand it, you’ll have to explain it to me because I have no idea what she’s talking about.” He giggled at that, gummy smile soon hidden by his hand as he coughed. “Here’s the novel for Brown’s class. She said she’d talk to you about making up the paper when you’re back.”

It took a surprisingly long time to go through eight classes’ worth of homework and assignments, but you’d put sticky notes at the front of each packet explaining things, too, so the fact that he was half-asleep for most of your explanation didn’t really matter.

“Will you stay?” he asked when you were done. “Help me with some of this?”

“What happened to not wanting me to get sick?” you teased.

“I mean, you don’t have to. If you want to go home, that’s fine, too. I just-” He coughed, burying his face in his blankets.

“You staying for dinner, hon?” Yoongi’s mom called from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes please!” you responded, shuffling through the stack of packets you’d brought for Yoongi. “Wanna take a stab at math?”

Halfway through the fall of your senior year, Yoongi started to get… weird. Cagey. Like he was trying to hide something and figure out particle physics at the same time. You’d tried asking him about it a few times, only for him to wave you off with a quiet “just thinking about some things.” After that, he’d be back to normal for a few days. But every time, like clockwork, he would fall back into it.

Finally, on the third day of the new year, he pulled you aside. Tucked back into the dormant foliage of the park, away from prying eyes, he stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was nervous, you could feel it deep inside you, but to be honest, you didn’t really need your bond to tell you what was plain to see.

“I…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. His brows furrowed in thought, and after a moment, he motioned for you to sit. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay?” You sat on the edge of a big rock, confused.

“I…” he started again, sitting beside you. You could feel a spike of nerves, and he took a breath to steady himself. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think… fuck, this is harder than I thought it would be.”

“You can just say it,” you told him. “It’s just me.”

He nodded and mumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘that’s the problem,’ but after a moment, he continued. “I need to be free of all of this.”

“What?”

“Haven’t you ever thought that maybe the universe doesn’t know what it’s talking about? That maybe you’d be happier if you chose things for yourself?” He frowned. “There’s rules for gifts. We’re only good at certain types of magic because of how we were born. We have to celebrate holidays certain ways, we have to do specific things on our birthdays-”

“-and we get told who we’re to bond to.”

He recoiled at your words. “That’s not-”

“But it’s true, right?” Your gaze fell from him to your hands. “It’s just one more thing you don’t get to control.”

Yoongi sighed. “I just… want to be able to choose for myself.”

Suddenly, you were sick to your stomach. This was the last thing you’d expected. You didn’t particularly like all of the traditions, either, but you were 17. What the hell were you going to do about it? But this felt like he was saying he didn’t want you. You hadn’t yet talked about the kiss at the night market a few weeks prior, but you’d never guessed that he’d do such a sudden about-face.

“Right,” you said softly.

“Just… think about it?” he asked, dark eyes pleading.

You didn’t like where this was going, didn’t like how it made you feel. But you nodded anyway. Maybe he would change his mind.

Days gave way to weeks and months, and before you knew it, spring had come. Yoongi hadn’t changed his mind. If anything, he’d gotten more insistent.

“I want to find myself,” he’d told you once. “I need to make sure this is how I want to live my life.”

“I just need to get away,” he’d said one day while you were doing homework together. “Start fresh somewhere new.”

And then, on the way home from school one day, he’d said, “I need to be free of it all.”

And you’d snapped. Three months of hearing him talk about it, three months of him basically saying that your entire way of life was wrong and that he was chafing to get away. You couldn’t help it.

“Fuck off,” you’d told him, taking the trail behind the houses at a faster pace. Despite being so attuned with nature thanks to his familiar genes, he’d had trouble keeping up with you.

He’d pushed. And eventually, you’d given in. Because despite everything, you’d loved him, and if he was unhappy, you wanted to fix that. And now…

Now you’re sitting alone at the train station at ass o’clock in the morning. The train station has just barely opened, and already you’re inside, clutching a cup of coffee. There are a few other people here, milling around, waiting for their early trains to god knows where. You can feel them watching you, can feel them trying to make it subtle that they’re staring. At this point, you’re used to it. Word travels fast in small towns, especially when that word is as earth-shattering as a broken bond gem and a falling out between a witch and their familiar.

You try to ignore them, focus on your coffee and the posters across the waiting area from you.

Report any unattended or suspicious luggage to National Rail personnel.

Bags larger than this poster must be checked into the train’s luggage car.

Please remain seated until your train is announced and National Rail personnel give authorization to enter the platform.

You scroll through the news on your phone. Read the posters again. Stare out the window at the coffee shop across the street. And wait. A train arrives, and the couple that had been staring at you leaves. You sigh and stand to throw out your now empty cup.

Just as you do, the door to the train station opens. You turn to look, and there stands Yoongi. He’s wearing a black shirt, a bag slung across his body. His hair is pushed back off his face and he’s wearing his glasses. He’s clutching an absolutely massive travel mug and his phone in one hand, the other rolls a small suitcase behind him. He looks sleepy, but the second his dark eyes land on you, he jolts a little, as if electrocuted into being awake and alert.

“Hey,” he says cautiously, approaching you.

“Hey.” You wave slightly–awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is soft, still a little gruff from sleep. You get the sense that maybe he hasn’t said much of anything to anyone this morning.

You sigh and gesture for him to follow you to a bench. The next train–his, you presume–isn’t due for another 20 minutes. You have time, but not much.

“I didn’t like how we left things,” you admit. “I… I wasn't sure if you were serious.”

“Serious?” His head falls to the side slightly, confused. But then, it seems, he understands, and he nods. “I did miss you–I do. I spent the entire ride here thinking about how seeing you again was going to go.”

“Were you right?”

He chuckles. “Not exactly.”

You hum and nod, and for the briefest of moments, silence settles over you. The stationmaster types away at his computer, the clacking of the keyboard the only sound in the entire station. But then you force yourself to say something that’s been on your mind since he showed up on your doorstep two days ago.

“It’s been good seeing you again,” you say, and even though you mean it, you can’t bring yourself to look at him. “I… think in a way, after so long, I made you the villain in my head. It’s good to see that you’re… not that.”

“I am sorry,” he whispers. “That was the worst thing I have ever done, and I just…”

“I get it.”

“What?”

“I think I kind of always did, but… it just hurt too much to think that you were including me in everything that you wanted to get away from, and I just-”

“You were the last thing I wanted to get away from.” Maybe it’s the waver in his voice, maybe it’s the way he ducks his head to make sure he makes eye contact, but you believe him. He sits his mug down on the bench beside him and gathers your hands in his. “I was so fucking dumb. I would have taken you with me in a heartbeat, but god I was too stupid and selfish to take ten minutes to think.”

“I thought maybe I’d done something,” you admit quietly. “I thought that maybe after the night market-”

“No! Oh my god, no,” he exclaims, his hands tightening around your own. “You’re my best friend! I lo-”

“Train 49–the Northern Limited–will be arriving on the platform in five minutes,” the stationmaster announces, not even bothering to use the building’s intercom. “I’ll take you over to the platform when you’re ready.”

Yoongi groans.

“Here.” You pull your hands away from him and immediately miss the warmth of him. But you reach into your pocket, unlocking your phone and shoving it into his hands in one motion. “Put your number in.”

For a moment, he stares at you, dumbfounded. But then the stationmaster opens the door to his office, and the noise jolts Yoongi into action. He types quickly and hands you your phone. You don’t even look at it, just lock it and shove it into your pocket. He hands you his phone and you enter your own contact information before giving it back.

You stand at the same time, and for one brief, quiet moment, you worry that maybe he’s just going to leave it at that. But then he rubs the back of his neck and glances toward the stationmaster.

“I’ll text you,” he promises.

You nod, almost mechanically. You weren’t expecting it to hurt this much to see him leave again. As he turns to gather his things, something comes over you.

“I- Can we-” You sigh, take a deep breath. “Can I have a hug?”

He makes a noise somewhere between a hum and a squeak, and it takes almost no time for the pink to start blossoming on his cheeks. He sputters for a second, and you can feel his shock. But then he opens his arms, and you find yourself taking a small step forward.

It’s shockingly easy to fall back into him, to step into his arms. He’s warm, and solid, but still also somehow soft. His cologne lingers on his clothes, all lavender-y and citrus-y and sage-y. Your arms fit around his waist, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is normal, that nothing ever happened and that he isn’t leaving. But you hear the train horn in the distance and you pull away. You kiss his cheek as you part, and his eyes go wide in shock.

“Text me,” you tell him firmly, reaching down to grab his coffee mug and hand it to him.

“I will. I promise.”

And with one last, fleeting look, he steps onto the elevator with the stationmaster to go over to the platform.

You stand outside the station long after the train departs, feeling very much like you did when he’d left the first time. You should be feeling optimistic–for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe there’s hope. For you, for your friendship, for… whatever comes next. But it’s hard to feel any sort of positive when he’s on a train back to a city seven hours away, and you have to go home in the exact opposite direction in a few short days.

As you’re walking back to your car in the lot down the street, your phone dings. When you unlock it, you get the sudden feeling that you’re flying, like a horde of butterflies have erupted within you. It’s nerves and it’s excitement and maybe, it’s also a little bit of hope.

Yoongi 💙: thanks again for not turning me into a bug

“I’ve been thinking,” Yoongi says one late night, his deep, sleep-deprived voice distorted ever so slightly by the distance and the speakers of your phone. You can barely see him–there’s a dim light that just slightly illuminates his face, but the rest of the room is dark.

“Dangerous,” you joke.

“Rude.” He nuzzles down further into his pillow. “I’d like to come visit,” he admits softly.

For a moment, your mind goes blank. There’s a fluttering in your stomach, hundreds of butterflies trying to escape at once. He’d kept his word after the train station, texting and calling you frequently over the past couple weeks. You’d text throughout the week–little messages about bad days and delicious lunches and cute dogs–and then on the weekends, one of you would inevitably end up calling each other. You’d spend hours on the phone, sometimes talking, sometimes just existing in the silence between you.

The video calls were a recent development. Since they began, you’d watched him cook dinner, he’d played piano while you worked on a spreadsheet for work, and one early morning, he’d called you on his way home after bartending so he wouldn’t fall asleep on the train.

“What do you mean?” You laugh a little. Maybe it was a little obvious what he meant, but you wanted to hear him say it.

He groans a little, stretches one arm up before covering his eyes with it. He peeks out at you through the cook in his elbow, one singular, dark eye sparkling, even in the poor quality of the video. “I miss you,” he mumbles, and you almost don’t catch it, it’s so muffled by his arm and your phone’s speaker.

You hum. The butterflies in your stomach make themselves known again. “I guess you could come.”

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

“Hey now. It’s against the rules to take something like that back.”

He laughs. “What rules?”

“You know. The rules.” You gesture vaguely before pulling your blanket up a little further on your body. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the rules?” He grunts. “Being away for so long has rotted your brain, I’m afraid.”

“So rude.” His arm is still obscuring his face slightly, but you can see his big, gummy smile as he laughs. “No, but seriously. Are you busy next weekend?”

You frown. You’d been trying to forget about next weekend. “Normally I’d go home for the new year,” you say softly.

“Why don’t,” he begins, stifling a yawn. You’re a little surprised he’s made it this long without seeming tired. It’s almost 3am. “Why don’t I come hang out? We can do new year’s stuff together.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

“What about work?”

He shifts, the arm that was over his face now supporting his head under his pillow. “I make the schedule. They’ll deal with it.”

“Yoongi.”

He continues on, ignoring you. “I can work the day shift and get a train right after work on Friday, but I wouldn’t get there until late, is that okay?”

You sigh. It would be nice to not spend the holiday alone. And it would be nice to see him again. Sure, you’ve been talking to him in one way or another, but it’s different than having him in person. You finally agree, and he shoots you a smug, sleepy smile.

The week passes at a glacial pace. Work is slow because of the break in classes for the upcoming holiday, and spending time in an empty library is infinitely less entertaining than you’d expect it to be. Most of your coworkers have taken off, so you’re mostly alone with your thoughts. You fill the time with paperwork, completing literature loan requests for the University’s faculty and doing intake for the newly released journals the library has subscriptions for.

In the small handful of weeks since you’d seen him last, you’d replayed things in your mind. But mostly, you’ve been stuck on how nice it is to have him in your life again. You aren’t fooling yourself. You haven’t forgotten. But there’s a part of you–a large part, if you’re honest with yourself–that hopes that this is a step forward, that you can be close again. Maybe not how you were, but something that resembles a friendship.

After an eternity, it’s Friday. You sit outside of the train station in your car, parked in one of the pick up spots just outside of the main door. The trickle of people into and out of the station has slowed significantly now that it’s dark out–you’ve never seen it this dead. It’s late, the station is getting ready to close, but there’s one last train that has yet to come in. There’s another car parked a few spaces to your left, and you wonder briefly about who they’re waiting to pick up, but it’s fleeting.

The door to the station opens automatically, and out steps Yoongi. He rolls a suitcase beside him, a messenger bag slung across his body, his other hand shoved deep into his hoodie pocket. He looks around, confused, his gaze going back and forth between your car and the one to your left. You turn on the dome light and wave and he nods.

He gives you a quick greeting as he opens the back door, shoving his bags in the back seat. When he finally climbs into the passenger seat, he sighs deeply, resting his head against the headrest for a moment before turning to you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey. How was the train?”

He groans. “Long.”

You hum. He’d worked a short, early shift so he could catch the last train from Ulmae to Ashland. He looks and sounds exhausted. But he’s here. He’s not a face on a screen, he’s in your car. You resist the urge to reach out and touch him. It’s strange. You’d been without him for nearly 13 years. It’s only been a few short weeks since you’d seen him last, but you’re giddy, practically bursting with excitement at the fact that, for the next two and a half days, he’s here. With you.

You drive in relative silence, willing the lights to be green more for Yoongi’s sake than your own. The radio plays a soft hip-hop song, and you vaguely recognize it as one of the bands he’d been obsessed with in high school, but you don’t turn it up. You’re fairly certain that he’s fallen asleep, his head lolled slightly to the side so that he’s facing the window.

It’s a damn miracle that there’s an open spot in front of your building, but you gladly take it. There are people in your building who don’t know how to parallel park—who refuse to do it—but you’d taught yourself just for instances like this. For a moment, you think you’re going to have to wake Yoongi up, but just as you cut the engine, he unbuckles his seat belt and stretches.

Your apartment isn’t large, but it’s bigger than most for what you pay for it. You’re on the seventh floor, the top floor of the building, and your bedroom has a lovely view of the building beside you. But if you lean a little to one side and press your face up against the glass, you can see out into the city beyond, and the university campus in the far distance.

He sits his bags down in your living room and plops down on the couch. You’ve already set out some blankets and a couple pillows for him. The clock on your microwave says 11:05.

“You’re probably exhausted,” you say. “I’ll let you get settled.”

Immediately, he picks his head up from the back cushion of the couch. “’m not tired.” Ever defiant. But you can tell he’s lying. You can see it in his eyes how groggy he is. Normally, he’s up much later than this–you know, because sometimes, he calls you–but between working an early shift and the six-hour train ride, you don’t blame him for being a little sleepy.

“I put some towels out in the bathroom,” you tell him, gesturing down the hall. “It’s the door on the left. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks.”

And with that, you leave him there in your living room. You can hear him unzipping his bag as you retreat into your room.

An hour later, you find that you can’t sleep. Not that you’ve even tried. You aren’t even sure why you’re so wired. But you’re sitting in your bed, legs covered by a sheet, in the dim light of your bedside lamp. You’ve had friends stay over before. But this… you feel like you did as a kid, having your first sleepover. Except back then you were wired on soda and sugary snacks and it was a treat to stay up late. Now, you’re just…

You hear the bathroom door open and shut, and after a moment, Yoongi stands in the doorway to your room.

“You have the softest towels in the world,” he says, hair hanging in damp strands in front of his eyes. He pats and scrunches it dry with one of the fluffy grey towels you’d set out for him.

“Would you believe I got them on clearance?”

“I’ll just have to stuff one in my bag, then.”

“I charge a 5% fee for any towels that leave the premises.”

At that, he laughs, a groggy, squeaky sound that shakes his shoulders and crinkles his eyes and leaves a wide, gummy smile in its wake.

“So… what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.” He shoots you a look that says he doesn’t believe you, and you relent. “Well,” you pat the bed beside you, inviting him to sit, “There’s this thing every year in the park to watch the meteors,” you say as Yoongi eases himself onto the mattress. “But it doesn’t start until late.” He hums. ��Was there something you wanted to do?”

“No, just-” He stifles a yawn. “Curious.” He leans back against the headboard, settling in.

Just like that, you fall easily into conversation. It’s comfortable, calm. Just two old friends chatting. He likes your apartment, thinks the tile in your bathroom is really nice. He asks about your job, nods along as you tell him about working in the library and your coworkers.

And slowly, his reactions become slower, delayed, until he finally doesn’t respond at all. You look over, and his chin is tucked against his chest, his breathing gentle. Asleep.

For a moment, you consider going out to the couch. It would be weird, right, to stay here with him? But as you’re about to kick the blanket off, you pause.

We’re adults. Adults can share a bed. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You’re mature enough to let this just be two people sleeping in the same space.

At least, you think you are.

But as you settle in yourself, snuggling down into your blankets and turning off the light, you’re suddenly faced with the quiet peacefulness of his face. He’d always been handsome, and now that you’re both older, you can appreciate just how beautiful he really is. He sighs and slides down a little, his hand brushing against your arm as he gets more comfortable.

Oh no.

You sit on the floor of your living room, a box of pizza on the coffee table that you’ve shoved out of the way. Yoongi’s beside you, your backs against the couch as you watch some anime he’d been trying to convince you to watch back in high school. You’re three episodes in, and you don’t have the heart to tell him that you don’t really care for the basketball-themed show. Part of you is still afraid that if you say something wrong, he’ll be gone again.

His arm rests casually behind you on the cushions, far enough away that it’s more a comfortable way to sit than any sort of advance, but that doesn’t stop the smallest of butterflies from making itself known in your stomach. This Yoongi is so different from the Yoongi you knew—the one who, as a kid, got excited by construction equipment and the concept of ice cream, and as a teen spent his free time hiding from his parents, playing the piano and hanging out with you (though neither were mutually exclusive). He’s quiet, comfortable in the silence, comfortable with letting things linger.

You’re a little jealous of it, to be honest.

Yoongi leans forward slightly, and a piece of pizza meets him halfway, floating gently into his grasp. “Do you remember,” he begins, settling back in against the couch, “when we were 16 and we went camping?” You hum an affirmative. “We spent most of the week playing old board games with my parents.”

You smile at the memory. If anyone had asked back then, you would have told them it was lame that you’d had to spend the whole time with Yoongi’s parents. But now? That was one of the more fun summers you’d ever had. “What made you think of that?”

He shrugs, mouth full of pizza. “I dunno. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. Things were so much simpler then…”

You nod and hum softly, but ultimately, you say nothing. Much simpler indeed.

“You know,” Yoongi begins, zipping his coat up to his chin, “when you said ‘park’, I was kind of expecting it to be in the city.”

“I think technically it is.” You lock your car and meet him at the front of it.

“We drove for an hour!”

You shrug. “Big city.”

He laughs and shakes his head, incredulous. He can’t tell if you’re being serious or not, but there was a sign on the way in with the university logo on it, so he supposes that whether it’s part of the city or not, it doesn’t really matter. There’s a well-lit trail that runs from the shale parking lot up a hill slightly to a clearing that overlooks the city and the rest of the park. It’s busy–people mill about around the parking lot, and he can see a steady stream of visitors on the trail up to the clearing.

He adjusts his coat–it’s cold, and both his shoulder and his senses ache with the impending snow–and when he’s ready, the two of you start walking toward the trail. It’s astonishingly busy, and as you weave your way through the crowd, leading him up the hill, he grabs your hand.

So we don’t get separated, he tells himself. For a moment, he expects you to pull away. Not maliciously, he’s not expecting you to scoff and throw his hand away. But what he isn’t expecting is for you to tighten your grip on him and tug him this way and that as you get closer to the clearing. His hand is warm where your skin touches his, like he’s holding a candle a little too close to the flame.

The clearing is massive, mostly flat but not entirely, with gentle rolling slopes that provide some extra elevation here and there. On one of the little hills, a few food trucks are set up, though how they got there, Yoongi isn’t really sure. Someone must have magicked them through the path or up the hill or something. There are picnic tables scattered around, mostly near the food trucks, but throughout the clearing, as well. Towards the edge of the clearing, there’s a cliff with an overlook that has a spectacular view of the city vista below. People are everywhere. Of course, there are a lot of college-aged kids hanging out in big and small groups. But there’s also a shocking amount of people that are Yoongi’s age and older–professors, he assumes, and university staff here to enjoy the evening. Almost all of them are holding drinks, and just about every one of them seems to be paired with someone.

It’s subtle sometimes, seeing bonded witches and familiars. Of course, the ones who are romantically involved tend to be more obvious, but the ones that are just friends are just as easy to spot once you know what to look for. It’s the people who stand so close together they’re almost touching, the ones who lean in a little extra close to whisper something. And the clearing is full of pairs standing in each other’s personal spaces.

You tug on his hand to direct him off to the left and he blindly follows, squeezing your fingers ever so gently as a response.

There’s a pair of people at one of the tables by the food trucks. They spot you almost immediately, and one of them stands to greet you. He’s a little taller than you are, made even more obvious when he gives you an awkward, one-armed hug over the picnic table’s bench. The other one–a woman–remains seated, eyeing Yoongi.

For a hot minute, it’s weird, as he stands there in silence while you chat with the man and woman. It’s not even the side-eye that the woman’s shooting him. The man is handsome–Yoongi’s not blind–and you are friendly with him. But there’s a moment, the briefest of moments, where you gesture somewhere off to your left. And when your body moves, Yoongi’s arm moves, too, and a little part of him, a silly, childish, hopeful part, soars.

You’re still holding his hand.

Eventually, you introduce him to the two. Alice works the reference desk in your library while she’s doing a doctorate program in linguistics. Her partner is gone in the winter, fighting fires in the far south. Despite her harsh side-eye, she greets Yoongi with a smile and a polite handshake. Jihwan, on the other hand, is the head baseball coach at the university. How the two of you met, Yoongi can only guess, but you make no mention of Jihwan’s partner, and Yoongi doesn’t see a gem anywhere. He almost–almost–starts to feel bad for the guy, but then he opens his mouth.

You ask a simple question, gesturing with your head to the food trucks. “What do they have good?”

“The pierogi guy from last year is back-”

Jihwan interrupts Alice. “Too much butter.”

It’s not even what he says. It’s how he says it. Like you and Alice are toddlers, like you can’t be trusted not to drown yourselves in carbs. But you roll your eyes and Alice scoffs playfully, and Yoongi realizes that this is not the first time Jihwan has done something like this. And suddenly, Yoongi hates this guy.

“Apparently, he’s got a new flavor this year,” Alice says, continuing like Jihwan never interrupted. “But the taco guy is also back-”

“Is the popcorn guy back?” you ask. laughing. “Because I kind of want a front-row seat to that.” Yoongi must look confused, because you explain. “Pierogi guy’s daughter was engaged to taco guy’s daughter. But last year, pierogi guy and taco guy just started yelling at each other-”

“-It was amazing,” Alice adds.

“It was ridiculous,” Jihwan mumbles.

You push him. “It was a little like having our own little telenovela here.”

Cautiously, Yoongi asks, “Why were they fighting?”

“No one knows.” You shrug. “But it launched a campus-wide food war. Everyone was choosing sides. It was like the year the Moondance tried to change its logo.”

Jihwan and Alice look at you, a little confused. But Yoongi knows exactly what you’re talking about. Somewhere around when you were preteens, the owners of the Moondance diner decided that its logo was outdated and wanted to update it. The whole town had been in an uproar, whole neighborhoods entering into a Cold War-esque stand-off over their preferences. People who had been friends for 50 years were suddenly in an unsolvable, unending argument. All over a color palette swap and a slightly newer font. Yoongi hadn’t cared much one way or the other–all businesses change their logos at some point, right?–and he always suspected that you didn��t either, but you’d both gotten swept up in the chaos of it all. It was stupid, ridiculous fun, and he’s pretty sure that his parents still have the buttons you’d made somewhere in their house.

You finally let go of Yoongi’s hand when you’re standing in line at the taco truck, and he’s painfully aware of how empty it feels now. You don’t go far, though, standing close enough that your elbow brushes against his every once in a while. You’re scrolling through your phone, reading some news article to pass the time. It’s gotten darker since you’ve been there, and looking up, he can just barely make out a couple pinpricks of stars in the sky. The clearing is fairly bright, with little flickering balls of light criss-crossing the space like bistro lighting, and the lights from the city below don’t help to make the night sky visible.

You pay for his tacos–”I get an employee discount,” you say, brandishing your university id like it’s a black card–and Yoongi doesn’t think that you were in line that long, but when you return to the table, Alice and Jihwan are gone.

“Where’d-” He’s not even asked the question, but you’re already shrugging.

“Alice’s probably off calling her fiance,” you say it like you’re back in high school, all singsong-y and mockingly, “and who knows where Jihwan got to. Probably trying to take someone home tonight.”

“He seems…”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“How’d you meet him?”

A pang of… something hits him. Your expression falls, ever so slightly, and he regrets asking. But after a brief moment, you clear your throat. “He and I are the only two on campus without gems.”

Oh.

Well.

That makes sense.

“So they…”

You pick a piece of red cabbage off your taco and eat it. “Yeah, they know.”

Which explains Alice’s side-eye earlier. The weird emotion he’d gotten from you is gone now, and you seem to have just brushed right past the awkward feelings.

He hums, not really sure what to say. What’s there to say? So instead of saying anything dumb, he does the safe thing. He changes the subject.

“No wonder they didn’t kick the taco guy out of the festival this year.” He takes another bite of his taco. “This is the best al pastor I’ve ever had.”

“His chimichangas are amazing, but he only makes them on special days.”

“More special than…?” He gestures vaguely. Around you, the lights have started to dim. Yoongi isn’t really sure when that started, but things are definitely less bright.

You laugh, and something inside of him warms.

He hasn’t even finished his tacos yet, but the vibe in the clearing starts to dramatically change. The crowd gathers tighter, a palpable buzz in the air. Alice has returned and stands alone near the head of the table. She’s looking up at the sky, and when Yoongi looks up, he sees why. There’s an aurora in the sky, gentle waves of effervescent greens and blues swirling through the heavens, just like the night market all those years ago. It has to be magic of some sort–the city isn’t far enough north for it to be natural–but he can’t tell who’s doing it.

A hand on his shoulder pulls his focus back to the ground. You’re there behind him, bathed in the dim glow of the floating lights around you. By now, it’s almost dark, but even in the low light and deep shadows, you’re beautiful.

“Come on,” you say softly. “Let’s get a good spot closer to the lookout.”

He follows you through the crowd, weaving around the bodies to get closer to the edge of the clearing. It’s tight, and you grab his hand so you don’t get separated. Normally, Yoongi isn’t a huge fan of crowds like this. You’re a small island in a sea of people, and he barely has room to turn in a circle without bumping into someone. You stand close–close enough that he can feel your warmth through the chill of the night.

The city spans the valley below, a forest of metal and windows and concrete. A bright spot in the middle of an otherwise dark night. But then, individually at first and then more, the buildings’ lights begin to flicker out.

“They’ve been doing this festival since before the city got public electricity,” you explain, answering his question before he could even ask. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

With the lights of the city mostly out, the stars above are much brighter. He can almost see them twinkling and winking as they burn, millions of billions of lightyears away. The night sky is beautiful, and his eyes drift around to locate the constellations he’d learned as a child. Almost immediately, he finds Perseus, right beside his wife Andromeda. You’d loved the myth of Perseus slaying Medusa when you were kids, and even though he hadn’t looked for the constellation in over a decade, finding it is still ingrained in him.

He nudges you slightly, pointing up to the constellation. But just as he does, a pinprick of light streaks across the sky. You squeeze his hand as more streaks start to appear and the gathered crowd buzzes with ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s. The meteors are all sizes. Big and bright. Small and thin. They aren’t constant, only a few show up every minute, but it’s beautiful to watch.

There’s a strange sensation growing in his chest, something warm and fluttering and all-encompassing. You lean a little closer and the feeling grows. You must sense something–he’s never really been sure what his emotions feel like for you–because you look up at him. For a moment, you look confused.

Yoongi isn’t really sure how it happens, but what he does know is that suddenly, your face is centimeters from his own. He thinks that maybe someone bumped you and you took a step closer, but maybe that’s just his brain trying to fill in the gaps. He also knows that he’s the one that closes the space between you, leans in and brushes his lips against yours. It’s quick, a little impulsive, and truthfully, it feels a little forbidden.

He pulls away, not far enough to make it seem like he’s made a mistake, but enough that it gives you an out, if you want it. His brain starts making all these calculations–what he should do if you back away, what he should do if you slap him, what if you don’t react.

But then you whisper, “Why’d you stop?” and your hand slides up his chest to grip the lapel of his coat. You tug with a surprising amount of force, and when your lips connect, he feels himself soaring.

His entire world narrows to the points where your bodies connect. The firm touch of your knuckles against his shirt, the way your leg presses against his, but mostly the heat from your lips as he deepens the kiss. You fit against him perfectly, as if you were made for each other. He’d only kissed you that one time, but somehow, he’d missed it, missed you.

When you finally pull away, you stay close, pressed against his chest–though whether that’s fully your choice or because of the crowd tightening around you is anyone’s guess. He can feel your heart pounding, and when you shoot him a small smirk, he’s pretty sure that you can feel the pace of his own pulse. Your grip loosens on the collar of his coat and you smooth it down coolly before your arm wraps around his back. Without a word, you cozy in, pressed close as your gaze returns to the sky and to the stars.

For a moment, he stands there, unmoving, mind empty. But then it’s like he snaps out of a trance, and he snakes an arm around your waist, holding you tightly. His focus shifts to the shooting stars above, catching one just as it streaks across the sky. As he stands there, staring at the heavens and feeling your steady breathing, his mind begins to wander.

12 years, 7 months, and 3 days. He’d spent most of that time wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t left. If, after he’d kissed you at the night market, he’d been satisfied with whatever life had come after that. He’d been so scared back then, of losing control, of his life not being his own. But now, none of that matters.

Now, he’d give up almost anything to stay here, in this moment, in your arms.

okay so like... what do we think? how are we feeling? I was originally planning on having this be much longer, but I was so stressed out from grad school, I just wanted to get it out now. I'm so excited to hear your thoughts! and let me know if you want to see a part 2 (and if so, what you might want to see in it!!)

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #suga fic #suga fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #min yoongi fic #min yoongi fanfic #myg x reader #bts soulmate au #bts supernatural au #set me free

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aethelwyneleigh27 · 3 months

Text

Realizations

Dad!Simon Ghost Riley x Wife!Reader

Thank you guys so much for 1k, it means the whole world for me because now once did I expect to ever have my page grown this big and not once had I imagined that I would make these many friends here who happened to be so sweet. Also to @connorsui who has been most definitely been waiting the answer to this.

So in honor of 1k, I wrote this long awaited backstory for Ghost and Lovie (Ghostie's parents) that I hope you guys will enjoy since it so happens that our beloved @ave661 has posted another Dad!Ghost render. (Credits to her again for the renders in this post <3) (Sweetie, I love you but that tag on Soap with this render was unnecessary 😭🫶)

To the people who congratulated me, through replies, likes and reblogs, I owe y'all a fat kiss. Mwahhh <333

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @cutenote @connorsui @capuccino192 @thesnowurzikdjinn @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @trepaika @starryylies @demidemon09

Warnings/Disclaimers: Stalking (not by Simon), Typical mentions of CoD violence?, Mentions of Simon's past abuse, Creepy guy?? (Not Simon), Mentions of violent and a bit gory descriptions on what wanted to do to the stalker, This is not proofread yet.

With the words of my mother and in true reputation style, Are you ready for it?

I think I need to say this on my account again, English is NOT my first language and all copyrights regarding the plot and some characters within the storyline belong to me. Edit: please help me y'all, I'm losing so much relevance in the span of less than a month, my recent works have gotten nothing and I'm scared that this post proves that. I think I've learned my lesson never to take breaks ever again 😭

Simon never imagined himself in this predicament, always thinking that he'd be out there somewhere, more likely drowning himself in a mission. Not even a home, he thought that if it hadn't for your persuasiveness to interact with him back then then he'd still be back in that shitty apartment complex.

Simon placed his duffle bag on the wood of the porch, the jingling of his keys while he looked for the correct one. He tried his best to make as little noise as possible, it was passed midnight, the last thing he would want was to disturb his wife and daughter from resting.

Hauling the duffle bag in and throwing it on the couch, Simon opt to see what his girls were up to. The giggling and commotion making him smile, you both were supposed to be asleep by now but you were unable to put her to rest because she's just too hyper, so that left you to entertain her by tossing her up and catching her.

"Dada..!" A squeal from the room came, the little one snapping her head to the opening of the door making you look as well, Simon took a peek from the half-way opened door.

Adorable little thing clapping her hands together, pleased that her dad is home while sitting on her mom. She got off, crawling near the edge of the bed with no sense of danger, fortunate for her that her dad is quick with catching her before you could.

You took a deep breath from the shock, looking at your husband and smiling sweetly at him. He asked you not to get off the bed as you were about to, laying next to you he snakes his arm underneath you on your waist and pulls you in.

"I missed my girls.." He said, voice deep and laced with exhaustion, despite that his hold and gaze was the warmest it could be.

"We missed you too Si, so much." You mumbled as your eyes flutter shut to enjoy his touch. You opened them to the sound of a kiss, he kissed the little one's forehead then yours.

Sometimes you vaguely remember the first time he and you met, how it even came to be, this life of domesticity. You, him and your little girl, family is a heavy word for Simon but it was just perfect. This was the family he wanted, the family that he thought he didn't deserve and never would have.

The feeling of coming home to all this started because you were so forgetful, who knew that would be the skill that brought you to him..?

• ──── ✦ ──── •

He emptied his pockets, to the lieutenant's dismay, the box of cigarettes only had one stick left. Since he was going out to smoke it anyway, he might as well get another box from the convenience store nearby. He took his keys from the kitchen counter and headed out, hearing a little commotion that peeked his interest.

Simon never paid much mind to whatever was going on within his apartment building despite the many gossips that were present within the building and the renters. So it happens that the old lady next to his place mentions how they'll be a new tenant in the other apartment next to his.

'Thank God' Simon thought, not that he was particularly religious but he'd been hoping for the longest time for the former renter to leave because let's be honest, who wants to live next to a frat boy with no sense of shame or consideration given that walls are thin? Little did he know he'd be blessed with the next one..

"Oh- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to.." Simon hears a voice from a little below him, he'd only register what had happened after the fact. Poor girl carrying this box bumped into him a little too hard, so much so that she stumbled back a bit.

You stared up to the 6'4 man blinking, he only shrugged it off to which you smiled to. You tried to make small talk since you were new and it wouldn't hurt to at least know one person right? After all, you were trying to step out a bit of your comfort zone.

"Hi.. I'm [Name].." He only stared at you for a while and replied, "Simon.." you gave him a warm smile before nodding and continuing to bring the boxes into your new apartment while your new neighbor entered the elevator.

You cut the boxes open to start unpacking, a few minutes in and you decided to go on a short break, you rummaged through the small box of food only to find that the recently bought box of tea was empty. You sighed at this, humming as you remembered the convenience store you passed by earlier on the way to the apartment.

Taking your keys and locking the door behind you, you made your way out the complex and walked a few blocks, you only started to notice how late it was with the streetlights coming on even though the sun is only about to set. That's something to get used to, hmm?

The cool breeze hits your skin as you enter, scent of faint instant coffee and many other kinds of foods and products made themselves known. You walked around for a while, checking on what other things you might need but then you tried to remind yourself that you were saving up and on a budget so you took a box of tea and walked up to the register.

You heard footsteps behind you falling in line, after placing the box on the counter, you searched your pockets for your wallet.

'Shit..!' you cursed yourself out mentally trying not to panic as Simon basically watches you frantically patting your pockets, you left your wallet back at the apartment. "You left your wallet-" Simon stated the obvious, "I'll cover it.." there wasn't even a time to argue with him, he just stepped next to you and placed the pack of cigarettes.

"I'll pay you back as soon as we get back to the apartment" You insisted to which Simon only shrugged and declined, it's just a box of tea and it's not like it'll make him go bankrupt, besides he liked your taste, the one you got happened to be his favorite brand.

Since you were headed in the same place anyway, you and Simon walked back together side by side, however one thing you did find odd was when he gently took you wrist and pulled you inward next to him, he was the one now closest to the road.

The walk back was silent, a comfortable silence. A few days after that encounter, you made sure to make an effort for him to know that you appreciated his gesture back at the convenience store. The lieutenant was alarmed by the knock on his door, opening it to find no person but a tupperware filled with buttery shortbread cookies.

He smiled at how tiny the plastic container looked in his hands, how he noticed the note attached "Thanks for the tea, this isn't that special but I hope you like it -[Name]" and the Sanrio themed stickers stuck onto the lid and on the top part of the tiny note. You ran out of sticky notes..

Simon found himself snacking on those cookies later on, oddly enough, they reminded him of his mom.. how she used to love baking back then, it was her way of escape whenever Simon's "father" wasn't home, as well as gardening.

For the first time in a while Simon "Ghost" Riley let out a smile that wasn't smug or a smirk but a genuine smile, one that had warmth to it, one that no matter how hard his mind tried to surppress it, his body refused to.

It didn't take long for you and Simon to get to know each other a bit, little by little it seemed like you two were becoming like friends rather than just neighbors. Let's be honest, who just randomly gives their neighbors weekly baked goods for the sole reason of "just because they wanted to"?

You found yourself always looking forward to the Friday nights chilling with him at the rooftop, mugs with hot tea on hand while he smoked and you read.

Listening to his stupid jokes and remarks that slowly turn into deep conversations and life things. Simon was just... far more open than he's ever been, sure he's talked about his day before to his comrades but never like this, not in a way where he's pouring his heart out, letting you in on how he feels about certain things.

He just got back from a mission, a rough one to be exact. Shoulders slumped from exhaustion as he walked the streets near the apartment complex, no space for his bike so he had to leave it somewhere private while he fidgeted with it's keys.

Simon swore that he almost jumped out of his own body, first instinct being to push you off but he recognized you. He gave you a questioning look, hands were shaking as you so desperately linked you arm around his.

"Hmm?" He hummed, hearing you mumbling something but it was incoherent to his ears.

"Behind us.. please Si, help..." Come to think if it, you never knew when Simon turned into Si. Best believe he knew and still remembers when perfectly.. not the time, there's a serious threat, he didn't look. He didn't need to, guessing by the heavy footsteps, some creep decided to follow you at this hour.

He slowly slipped his arm away from your grip and snaked it around your waist, pulling you in closer to his side while the two of you continued treading closer to the complex. You closed your eyes for a few seconds at a time hoping it would end.

• ──── ✦ A few days later ✦ ──── •

Knocking, frantic knocking was what Simon heard at his door. He wasn't expecting anyone, so why the sudden visit? He opened the door and saw you, Simon knew something was off from the look on your face, you looked pale as if you were sick to your stomach while trying so desperately to catch your breath.

"Can I please come in.. Simon..?" You asked in between breaths. You looked around you, especially behind you, body shivering a bit. He took notice of this and had no hesitation, he pulled you in by your arm. His grip firm but gentle, Simon closed the door behind him.

"Remember that guy who was creeping around when I asked for your help..?" You tried to explain but Simon already knew the moment your mouth opened. You had a stalker.. it was best to call the cops on shit like this.

Simon did his best even though not knowing much about how to comfort someone, he did well in making you feel safe without having to tell you that he'll do so, you just know it in your gut that he'd protect you even if it's just now.

Your breath picked up, slowly backing away from the door as you heard footsteps, clenching your fists and hoping that he didn't see you enter Simon's door. Simon wrapped his arms around you, keeping you in place and from further backing away from the door.

You felt his palm drag up and down your back, it was extremely warm, it stopped for a while. His arm wrapped around your waist, other hand in your hair pushing your head down a bit so it was buried in his chest while you gripped his shirt. Simon felt your trembling body against him slowly relax.

"Deep breaths, angel.." The nickname he whispered would've made you smile under any other circumstance but not right now, you needed to calm your nerves before you panic and make an impulsive decision that could hurt yourself. Like instructed, you followed along Simon's demonstration, pressing his forehead onto yours maybe just a bit too intimately.

You winced at the loud sound of banging on the door, you knew it too well. Simon shoved the handle of his combat knife in your hand, he told you that if anything were to happen, protect yourself with it.

As soon as the Lieutenant swung the door open, you could hear punches, things knocking over and among other things, your stalker's voice.

You'd never forget that, how pitchy it was. Nails on the chalkboard was the best way to describe it, how the man was cackling almost made you annoyed. Simon called on security and the man was dealt with, you came out from hiding and saw both fear and anger in Simon's eyes.

You would never know how much he wanted to tear that man's heart after skinning him alive for even bringing fear into your eyes.

Simon "I care too much for someone I just met" Riley finally saw how his knuckles and fingernails were caked with blood, went off to go wash it and himself.

Getting back to you after half an hour, you reached out for him only for him to withdraw, you looked at him confused and he looks at you with pure guilt..

Your eyes widened in realization, "Oh Simon.. I'm not scared.." you smiled at him. He reached out a shaky hand to you, hesitating before closing his hand back.

You took his hand in yours, bringing it up to your lips and giving it a small kiss, hoping it calms his nerves. Well it did the opposite, it even more overwhelming for him having you kiss his palm while you look up at him, watching you nudge your face into his palm so invitingly.

The way your lashes just sat perfectly atop your cheeks while you slowly blinked up at him. Pressing the same scarred and calloused hands that almost killed a man that night on your face and rubbing the back with you thumb.

Simon had never felt that much guilt before for hurting someone, only after he saw the look in your eyes, which in turn were not something he caused. For the first time in his life too, Simon was comforted by something or rather someone immensely..

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 18 days

Text

1.8k / 22 / soap soulmate au, part 3

…

Oh, shit, Ghost thinks. What the hell did you just do?

Ghost stumbles out in the road, looking after you in shock. You just... jumped out. In handcuffs. There's no way you think you can make it anywhere like--

Oh, double shit. You're running right for the cliffs in the distance. Looks like you might make it, too. That ain't good. Morally justified or not, he's still the criminal here. If you get to rough terrain and he loses you by car and on foot, you’ll go for help, and his squad won’t stand a chance.

He swears, grabs his pistol, and points it at your back.

He has a clear shot. He's sniped easier targets.

… He sighs and lowers his gun. Johnny, you owe me one.

…

You've got a good head start on him, but when he eventually catches up, he's going to be pissed.

Your ankle and hand sting from your rough landing. Adrenaline pumping, heart racing--you've got to get to those cliffs, and fast.

Behind you, the engine roars closer. Wheels crunch over gravel. He’s catching up. But the cliffs are right there. A river snakes through the rocky terrain. If you can just throw yourself across the water, you can make it. You can lose him on foot.

You pump your legs as fast as you can. The wind burns in your lungs. Keep moving. Just a few more seconds before you reach the water.

You’re so focused on the water that your foot lands wrong between river rocks and your ankle twists. You keep going, gait lopsided. You can’t stop. Once he catches up, you’re either a hostage again or you’re dead. But first, he's gotta catch up, get out of the car, open the door, grab his gun, sprint after you--

Then his car swings around you, pulling what should be an impossible drift over the rocks, one tire scattering river water into the air. You skid to a stop, making a break for the cliffs instead. There's a waterfall. You might make it if you jump--

Then Ghost is on you, a blur from the open car door to the edge of the rocks. He grabs you almost out of the air. You land stomach-first on the ground. You grunt, windless, gasping for air. Pain surges through your body. Fuck, that hurt. The rocks are harder than the grass was. You see stars.

Then you start to realize the position you're in. Your hands are still cuffed in front of you--over your head, now--and he's got his knee on your back. He's holding you down with all his weight, the barrel of his pistol pressed between your shoulders as he grits his teeth.

"Stay. Down," he growls.

He's not gentle. It'd be inconvenient to kill you, but you're really testing his sense of pragmatism. You're making him expend a hell of a lot of effort to keep you alive--jumping off a cliff, fucking seriously?--so he doesn't owe you any extra effort toward keeping you comfortable. Quite the opposite.

You shift your pained body under his knee, groaning into the sharp river rocks cradling your face.

"I said stay down," he growls, grinding his knee down against your back. You feel every individual sharp rock pressing into your skin. "I will hurt you.”

Normally he doesn’t give warnings like this, but he figures he owes it to Johnny to keep your stupid pretty face intact. As much as he wants to put a dent in it right now. And if you keep acting all resourceful…

You keep still, trying to catch your breath. Your hands curl around the river rocks and feel around for something loose and sharp. No such luck.

He grabs your shoulder with one hand to keep you still. His knee moves off your back for a second. You realize he’s trying to get a better look at the soulmate mark on your neck.

"Got to be another John MacTavish somewhere in the world," he mutters. "Bloody common name."

He grips the back of your vest and hauls you to your feet, practically scruffing you as he drags you back to the car. He growls something under his breath along the lines of irritating little shits finding each other.

Back in the car, Ghost’s phone rings again. This time, he glances back at you and switches his phone to his non-dominant hand. He picks up his pistol with his other hand and steers with his knee.

“Ghost,” he answers. This time, the reply has him shifting in his seat. “Negative. Didn’t see her.” Another long pause. The voice on the other end is louder and more animated than the one before. “I told you I’d look, and I did. Wherever she is, she’s fine.” The reply is clipped. “The captain told you not to go looking. Chrissake, Johnny, you’re not hanging out at base looking for a date. You’re a wanted criminal. Have a crumb of self-preservation.” Another long reply, this one rising in volume. “I know. Yes. I hear you. I know— Johnny—”

He goes quiet for a long while, uttering single-syllable responses occasionally. You can’t hear Johnny’s words, but you do hear his tone of voice. He doesn't sound happy.

“If the captain tells you to stay put, you stay put. End of story.”

You glance at the rear-view mirror again. Ghost is looking back like this is somehow on you. The sour face of a man getting chewed out.

Ghost and Johnny go back and forth until Ghost finally seems to tire of it. "No, not right now," he says. "I told you what I know. I’ll call you back."

Johnny curses from the other line right as Ghost hangs up.

Your fingertips are still tingling from the sound of Johnny’s voice, even at a distance, even over the phone. Maybe from the cuffs, too.

You don’t miss the irritated look on Ghost's face. "You in trouble?" you ask.

Ghost doesn’t hold your gaze. "He's a little pissed off, yeah."

After that, you don't speak for a long time. Your whole body hurts, and the adrenaline and sheer length of this day are taking a toll. Your eyelids sag. But every time you drift into sleep, you see Johnny's face again and jerk awake. It's torture. You don't have the mental fortitude to block him out anymore. You’re terrified that wherever Ghost is taking you, Johnny will be there.

You lean your forehead on the window, squeezing your eyes shut. "So..."

"What." There's no venom behind the response this time. He doesn't bother looking at you. But he's listening.

It takes longer than you'd like to work the words you're trying to form out of your throat. "John is still in one piece?”

He keeps driving in silence for a moment. You can almost hear his brain ticking as he considers. There's a tenseness behind him, a tension that's wound up and ready to snap.

"Yeah. Got a few holes in him, but it takes more than that to keep him down. Stubborn bastard." Another long, heavy silence. His hands grip the wheel, and he glares ahead. "Got a problem with that?"

"I'm not sure."

"You got issues with Johnny, you tell me. Got enough problems without you being all coy."

“Do you, uh, have a soulmate?”

Christ, he hopes you're kidding. He can only take so much of this from Johnny, and now you? Obviously Johnny hasn’t stoppedtalking about you. Can’t stop talking about what a pretty thing you are. Face like a muse, he keeps saying. Bastard described you in so much detail that, when Ghost was surveying the Las Almas base, you popped out like a neon sign the moment his sniper scope swept over you. He could've grabbed any damn Shadow, but no, he decided to do Johnny a favor and grab you. Now he can't bloody shoot you no matter how much you deserve it. Lucky Johnny’s not here to see what a bloody mess you’ve made of yourself under his watch. Not that he tells you any of that. Best to keep Johnny in the dark until they get the information they need out of you.

"You're a hostage," he says. "Act like it. And Johnny's off the table."

That’s a relief. You dread the thought of looking Johnny in the eye and trying to figure out how to make excuses for almost killing him. You can only hope to delay it as long as possible.

…

It turns out the "base" Ghost spoke of is a shed in the middle of nowhere. A barn at best—from the outside, but from the inside, it’s huge. You recognize a few members of the Mexican Special Forces, also your former allies before your company betrayed them on Shepherd’s orders. Rodolfo in particular gives you a hard stare as Ghost drags you past him and into a much smaller room. It's a weapons closet converted into a makeshift interrogation room. He pushes you down into the chair hard by the shoulder. You lean on the table, flexing your sore wrists behind you and wishing you could just put your head down and sleep.

He keeps a close eye on you once you're down. You show no clear desire to run again and no more than a passing interest in the impressive spread of rifles and launchers on the walls. You’re in the heart of an enemy safehouse. Even if you managed to grab a gun and escape this room, every other person outside wants you dead. You’re almost glad Ghost locks the door. At least there’s a barrier between you and them.

In the dim light, Ghost notes the bruise on your cheek and the scabbed-over cuts and gashes littered over your exposed skin. Your forehead sports a nasty, wet-looking burgundy splotch where your head hit the ground after he tackled you. You look about as defenseless as a wounded rabbit. If he weren’t busy trying to keep you from escaping as a hostage, he’d probably feel bad about hurting a friend's soulmate.

He's not his most charming self here.

"Stay awake, now," he warns you.

The overhead light clicks on. Ghost stands across from you, but the person standing by the light switch is Captain fucking Price. He stares at you, his hard gaze boring into the soulmate mark on your neck.

Then he smiles. "Good find, Ghost," he says. "This is the one. Guess Soap wasn't lying."

…

part 1 / part 2 / [part 3] / part 4 / part 5

more Soap / masterlist tag

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avoxrising · 5 months

Text

Saw You In That Dress

Finnick x Reader

Masterlist Link

So @kittimbo posted this fic idea on their blog and I wanted to give a shot at writing it (see repost of the request on my blog).

Basically the reader is another victor from District 4 and Finnick’s childhood best friend. She has to go to an event in the capital in a sheer dress and it leaves Finnick very flustered and things heat up back at her place… smut ahead!

Content warnings - cursing, prostitution, unwanted public nudity, very smutty

“Tigris you can’t be serious,” you groan as you see the dress she brought you. It was made of purple organza and was very see through. Your whole body would be on display. Tigris had enough decency to provide you with a small nude thong but your chest was fully on display.

“Client’s request,” Tigris responds. “You just have to be with him during the event and then you get the rest of the night off to wear whatever you want. The siren must make her appearances after all.”

The capital had called you “The Siren” since your games. During the final eight interview your sister told the capital how you were the best singer in District 4 and the capital ran wild with that comment. You were made to pick up singing as your official victor hobby and the rest is history.

Knowing what would happen if you didn’t comply, you reluctantly let Tigris dress you. The dress wouldn’t actually be so bad if it wasn’t see through. The fabric flowed beautifully around your features and the halter top was covered in expensive jewels. Unfortunately, all anyone would notice was your bare top half, not the rest of you.

As your driver takes you to the event at Snow’s mansion you have a moment of panic. The fact that your childhood best friend and mentor, Finnick, was also going to be in attendance was a sense of relief until you saw what you would be wearing. Now you have to avoid him. You can’t let him see you in this dress. That’s literally the definition of embarrassing.

Luckily, the event is fairly crowded. You’re stuck to your client like glue for the whole evening, trying to hide your dress behind him as much as possible. Unfortunately, he purchased you and this dress for the sole intent of checking you out and showing you off, so he mainly kept you in front of him so your girls were in eyesight at all times. You could barely hide your discomfort.

“Come on Siren darling you need to meet my sister,” he coos. “She’s a big fan of Tigris and she would love to see your dress. I’m sure her date would too.”

You reluctantly join him as he glides across the room. The sight of his sister and her date makes you freeze. Of course it had to be Finnick. The second he notices your outfit his eyes shoot to the floor, doing his best not to stare.

“Celia my dear sister!” your client exclaims as he introduces you to a woman with green hair and eyes like a snake. “I’d like you to meet my lovely victor for tonight. Did you know Tigris designed her dress?”

The woman gushes over your dress, running the fabric through her fingers as you stand their uncomfortably. Ironically, Finnick looks more uncomfortable than you. He’s sweating and shifting from foot to foot. What is he doing?

“I’ll be right back,” he tells his date, scurrying away. She’s too enthralled by your dress to notice his absence but you can’t help but feel betrayed. Why was he leaving you alone to fend for yourself?

The rest of the event passes too slowly. It’s finally 3am when your driver picks you up to bring you back to the victors’ apartments in the capital. You spend the car ride removing all the pins from your hair and the jewels from your neckline that Tigris glued on.

When you get back to your apartment, all you want to do is change into actual comfy clothes and go to sleep, but your plans are sidelined by Finnick sitting at your kitchen counter. You can’t help but stare at him in disbelief, as if he had the audacity to think you’d want to hang out with him at this hour, right after he left you alone with your client and his.

You let out a long exhale before dropping your shoes by the door and heading to your room, eager to get out of your dress. Finnick, of course, follows you. What the hell was his problem?

“Hey,” he says as you walk further into your apartment. “How was your night?”

“Awful,” you huff, finally turning around to face him. “What are you even doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” he nervously replies, doing his best to keep his eyes on your face.

“Well everyone has seen a whole lot of me tonight,” you retort. You cross your arms over your chest, causing Finnick’s eyes to abruptly snap back up to your face. He was definitely looking.

“I like the dress,” he comments. You roll your eyes and turn to head towards the room when he stops you, putting one of his hands on your arm.

“Wait,” he says. “I just wanted to apologize for leaving you with my client. I just couldn’t control myself with you in that dress. You looked…”

You look up at him, slightly confused. Sure you two had always been somewhat flirty for two people who were just friends, but something about the way you two were flirting tonight felt different.

“You couldn’t control yourself?” you smirk.

“No,” he shyly replies. “I really couldn’t.”

“Well what would you do if you didn’t have to control yourself?” you ask, dragging your fingers down the arm that lay on your shoulder.

“Do you really want to know?” he asks, using his arm to maneuver you so your back was against the wall. Things were definitely different tonight.

“Yes,” you nervously swallow. “Please.”

He hungrily encapsulates your lips with his as his hands hold you firmly against the wall. Was your childhood best friend and longtime crush actually kissing you?

His hands roamed up your stomach until they sat just under your boobs, hands pressing gently into the sheer fabric covering them.

“If I didn’t have to control myself in there I would have dragged you to Snow’s office so I could bend you over his desk and fuck you till you couldn’t walk,” he growls. “You would be singing my name like the deadly siren you are. I would leave marks all over you till your arms and neck matched your dress and everyone knew you didn’t belong to them.”

His hands dig into the flesh of your boobs and you let out a soft moan. You needed his hands in a million different places right now but the words wouldn’t form to tell him that.

“You just look too good in that dress,” he groans, pressing himself closer to you. Your hands drift down his torso until they come to rest over his dress pants. They were definitely getting a bit tight due to the conversation.

“I might look better with it off,” you smirk at him, sliding your hand down gently over his bulge. He let out a deep groan at the contact and swiftly guided you back over to your couch just a few feet away, where he promptly had you sit on his lap, facing him.

“I want to show them that they don’t own you,” he says as you kiss his neck, definitely leaving marks. You pull back for a moment to look into his deep blue green eyes. The two of you had crossed a line, and there was no going back to just friends.

“They don’t,” you tell him. “I won’t let them own you either.”

The moment intensifies until Finnick smashes his lips back into yours, hands pulling up the bottom of your dress. He slides your thong to the side and quickly goes to undo his pants. You impatiently yank them down to his knees, watching his very prominent erection bounce up to hit his stomach.

No words needed to be said, you two already knew what the other was thinking. You take ahold of his member and line it up with your soaking entrance. Only he could do this to you.

He unties the halter top of your dress, fully exposing your breasts to him. He can’t help but run is hands over them and give them a squeeze.

“They’re perfect,” he grins, looking up at you. “You’re perfect.”

You pull his lips to yours as you sink down onto him. He stretches you out nicely and it takes you a second to adjust to his size.

Slowly, you pull back up before sitting yourself back down onto him, moaning in the process.

“Fuck Finnick,” you groan. He ruts his hips up into yours, telling you to get moving. You heed his command and begin to bounce up and down on him, the sound of skin hitting skin filling your apartment.

He presses his face to your chest and gently bites and sucks as you ride him, loving the way your boobs bounce with every thrust. Eventually he has you turn around so he can wrap his arms around you and hold your boobs while you bounce on him.

He lets out a groan and you can tell he’s close, his dick twitching inside of you. The feeling in your stomach lets you know you’re close too, but you need something more.

You wrap one of your hands around his, guiding it down to your swollen clit.

“Please,” you beg as you push his hand towards your core. He does not disappoint as his fingers make contact with your clit.

It’s only a few moments later before your orgasm comes crashing down on you, with Finnick not far behind. He pulls you down onto him as he spurts himself deep into you, burying his face in your neck. You don’t think he could get any deeper but he continues to thrust as he coats your walls.

When the moment fades, he gently lifts you off of him, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he goes to get a warm towel. You lay back on the couch, exhausted. You would have to lie to Tigris about why the dress got so sweaty.

“Here,” Finnick hums as he lays you back on the couch. He proceeds to wipe you up, your clit throbbing from the contact. After you are both cleaned up, you ditch the idea of pjs and climb into your bed together, the sun already rising over the capital.

“We should have done that a lot sooner,” Finnick states. You give him a happy hum in response as you nuzzle up against him. “Thank god I saw you in that dress.”

I hope this was in line with your idea! Let me know in the comments what y’all think of this and if I should do more of possessive Finnick in the future.

#hunger games #hunger games fic #finnick odair #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick imagine #finnick x reader #finnick odair smut #hunger games smut #finnick smut

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youaintnothinbuta · 14 days

Text

“Did you cum without me?” — feyd rautha x reader

Summary: Feyd Rautha, your husband, knows you very very well. He knows what your sex smells like, and he’s not pleased when he can sense it on you despite not having seen you at all that day. He reminds you that you aren’t to touch yourself, and that making you cum is his job

Pairing: feyd rautha x fem!reader

Word count: 1K

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, mature language, unprotected sex, p in v, masturbation insinuated, squirting depicted, probably typos sorrryyyy

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Feyd stirred from slumber before you as always, a habitual gesture that allowed you the luxury of lingering in bed as long as you pleased. However, you didn’t see him at breakfast either, hinting at his preoccupation with Na-Baron duties.

All day you found yourself restless and bored, ennui gnawing at you, more than ever typical. You even spent almost two hours in the bath, just trying to make time pass. Spending hours and hours alone, your mind started to wander. Your hands followed suit. You found yourself lying in your’s and Feyd’s shared bed, writhing beneath your own touch. You laid on his side of the bed, his smell helping feed your fantasies as you succumbed to orgasm by your self indulgence. And, once not being enough, for a second time.

Only minutes later you peeled yourself up off the bed, washed your hands, and were once again making your way aimlessly through the Harkonnen residence. To your delight, you heard your husband’s voice resonating through a nearby hallway, and quickly made that your destination. He smiled as he saw you, reaching out for your hand briefly, to acknowledge that he hadn’t seen you all day. As you passed him, he turned his head, inhaling deeply. You continued walking, but he quickly grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

He pulled you closer, his face just inches from yours. You could feel his warm breath against your skin as he sniffed your skin. Suddenly, he pulled back, his eyes narrowing.

“Did you cum without me?” he asked, his voice low and menacing.

“No,” you lied, trying to pull away from his grasp. But he was too strong. A growl rumbled from deep within him, a reaction to your lie. He could smell you. Harkonnen men were surprisingly gentlemanly and yet so, so primal in nature. The scent of your orgasm on your skin was certainly not one unfamiliar to him.

“Then you won't be too sensitive to cum right now,” he growled, his hand already making its way between your thighs. The men he was talking to quickly took their cue to leave, leaving you alone in the hallway.

You tried to protest, but it was too late. He had already pushed your skirt up and was fingering you roughly. You could feel your clit swelling and becoming sensitive, but he didn't seem to care.

“Push through it,” he commanded, his voice laced with possessiveness, his fingers moving faster and faster. You did as you were told, biting your lip to keep from crying out. But it hurt, and you couldn't help but squirm under his touch.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

With his right hand still playing with your pussy, he used his left to flick his belt undone. One handedly, he freed his already hard cock from his pants, lining himself up at your entrance.

His arms snaked around your waist, holding your body flush against his as he slowly pressed himself inside of you. Your eyes rolled back in your head at the feeling of him finally filling you up, like that itch was finally being scratched. He gripped you by the jaw, pulling out of you softly before slamming back into you.

“I make you cum,” he growled, “Me. Not you.”

“Understand?” He barked, pounding another hard thrust into you.

“Y-yes.” You stuttered, watching as he clenched his jaw in pleasure.

“Say my name,” he demanded.

“Yes, Feyd. You make me cum. Only you.”

“Good, darling, good,” he purred, lightly circling your clit with his thumb as he continued to fuck you, there, standing in the corridor.

His grip on your jaw eased, you took the opportunity to press your lips to his, in a burning kiss. You descended into a mess of moans and whimpers as he softly pressed his tongue into your mouth. His hips started to lose rhythm, your noises helping draw him closer to orgasm. He focused his attention on his thumb, rubbing your clit with the perfect pressure and pattern he'd come to learn so well for you.

“That's it,” he whispered to you. “Come for me.” And you did. With a scream he loved so very much, a gush of liquid spilled out of you. Marvelling at the sight in front of him, he continued to work your clit, watching as your squirt continued to stream from between your legs, his pants and boots sprayed with it, a puddle around both of your feet. Never having felt an orgasm so strong, your body threatened to give out as you shook and moaned, letting the last lingering bits of your orgasm out.

His strong arms held you up, as he continued thrusting. You felt his cock twitching inside of you, and with a low, strung out grunt, he spilled his black seed into you, fucking it as far into your pussy as he could. You clenched your walls around him the way he liked, milking him for all he was worth.

He pressed his forehead to yours, catching his breath. “Mine, darling,” he mumbled, slowly pulling himself out of you.

“Yours, Feyd.” You whispered, also still panting. Feyd looked at you, his eyes filled with love and satisfaction, an expression he had reserved for you alone.

“It is my job to make you cum. You do not take that away from me, do you understand?” He reminded you.

“Yes.” You nodded as he cupped your face in his hands.

“Good,” he kissed your cheek, “look at the mess you've made.” Your eyes fell to the floor, you blushed as you noticed the puddle you stood in.

“Go, get dressed for supper.” Even when he spoke softly there was still that harsh rumble in his voice. You obliged, heading back to your chambers.

At the dinner table, you walked up to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I love you,” you whispered in his ear, feeling his muscles flex in reaction to your voice.

He turned to face you, his eyes dark with desire. “I love you too,” he said, before standing up to pull your chair out for you to sit beside him.

A/N it’s currently 1am I got home from seeing dune part 2 about an hour ago but I absolutely couldn’t go to sleep without giving y’all something ;))

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