#so you know... its been a hard week for me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoseoksluna · 2 days

Text

VAPOR, pt II. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc

genre: smut, a great dose of angst

word count: 11.9k

summary: hard times ask for extra care and like the healer he is, jungkook doesn't fail to give you his absolute best.

pinterest board: vapor | playlist: vapor

warnings: heartbreak, lots of tears, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), praise kink, sucking fingers, female masturbation, fingering, oc is extremely wet and jk is rly rly hard for her <3, squirting, multiple orgasms, jk tells her off kinda and it's hot, pet names, raw and rough sex, the abandonment issues are heavy in one part, mention of a sex toy

note: hi, my loves. this was absolutely painful to write, but i know i made a good decision. unfortunately for those who are waiting for the next series—i'm sorry, but this will have another part. it's already so long and if i kept going, it'd have probably like 20k plus words and i don't want to take up your time. i think i can manage to post the last part THIS week, so look forward to this. one part of the happy ending done. <3 i love you, guys, i hope you like this. don't hesitate to let me know; i worked hard and i want validation skfjslkfjsklfs. enjoy, my loves. <3

A dead man for the fifth time, Jungkook finds the unfolding of the events quite ridiculous now. And he’s not surprised, how could he really be at this point, that there’s radio silence within the chambers of his heart.

The food court is muted, the lights are ever still bright, but the corners of his eyes gain peculiar shadows that cling to the side of your face as you swirl your spoon in your hot soup. His phone is ringing and its obnoxious sound is but a vibration in his hand and the only thing that’s delaying him from sliding his thumb across his device is some sort of consent in your solemn, yet saddened features. He can see translucent threads lining your rounded lips that have sown your mouth shut, preventing you from speaking out your tender heart and it’s predominantly this thing, among the obvious other ones, that drives him to make a scene in front of all of these people crowded around him.

If he has to, he will rip those wisps. Make it as painless as possible because whether he likes it or not, he needs you right now. Needs your word of advice, needs your consent in order to do what the entirety of his organs yearns to do. And if you say no, he’ll willingly turn his phone off and refuse to speak to his once-closest friend.

Just for the sake of your mental health. Just to outrun fate and grasp her wrist to stop her from furthermore scarring your heart.

You have enough of them and he has only one pair of lips to heal them.

Lifting the spoon to your mouth, you keep your gaze on its silver coat and it unnerves him—the fact you won’t look at him, the fact that you so evidently don’t want to be in this situation. Your own boyfriend is chasing you around town, even though he transmitted waves of nothingness your way when he had you under his roof. He doesn’t fucking understand it. Doesn’t understand how he’s capable of doing such a thing and fury rises in his gut, soars high to his throat, which constricts around it so tightly that it forbids him from inhaling any oxygen into his lungs. And he fears that if he speaks, it’ll soak you. Make you even smaller than you are and he’ll hate himself for the rest of his life for it.

However…

He needs to talk to you. Time is pressing down on his shoulders once again and here and now, he’s too burdened, too fragile to bear it. His stoicism has long been fractured, its shards cracking cacophonously under the soles of his sneakers and… the singular tear rooting on his pale cheek hasn’t even dried up.

“Tell me what to do, sweetheart,” Jungkook says, his voice a soft, deep murmur; a plea. His surroundings gain volume, little by little, the lack of air in his lungs causing his mind to spin. His body grows cold and, unwittingly, he bounces his leg underneath the table. “If you don’t want me to pick up this call, I won’t. It’s your decision.”

He knows that whatever it is that will come out of your mouth and change the trajectory of his fury, he’ll protect you nonetheless. No matter what, no matter what it takes. He’ll unleash what’s been swarming in him for a long time in private sometime later if you ask for it—he’ll gladly tell his organs no and they’ll have to listen. That’s certainly not an issue.

What will be an issue is if you remain quiet. He doesn’t know what will happen to him under that circumstance. He has very little trust in something that’s out of his grasp and he has strong disliking for the looseness of it all. Doesn’t feel right.

A quick, soft slurp of your soup. A lift of your weary eyes. A kick in his heart. “I don’t want to make any decision. If you want to pick up the call, you should. I don’t mind. If you don’t, that’s fine, too.”

He must be dead because he’s staring at his own reincarnation.

You’ve walked so far on your pathway of suffering that you reached the point that you don’t care anymore. Don’t care that there’s a risk Yoongi will see you or hear you. Don’t care about what’s going to happen when he does and about the events after. It’s as admirable as it is disturbing and a faint pulse begins to sound in his chest. Thrill nips at his skin; a sense of responsibility uncoiling within, linking to the surety of his instinct to protect you. To stand up for you. To make things right in a way, way different manner than he’s ever tried before and it’s those inclinations that drive his thumb to swipe across the screen.

Though he doesn’t look at Yoongi. No, he looks at you, studying your features. It’s not that he doesn’t trust your words, he does and vehemently so, but this is a difficult situation that you’re both in and it would be only understandable if the gravity of it washed over you all of a sudden and you weren’t comfortable with this anymore. He wouldn’t hesitate to end the call right away. Fuck what Yoongi thinks.

But nothing changes about your weariness. It’s a still pool of water, unmoving and utterly impenetrable, like the pond behind his cabin during cold, winter times. When this is over, he promises to get warm and dip his fingers in, permeate your skin with rosiness and coziness. Stall the change of seasons unfurling in you.

And Jungkook pleats that promise into the palm of your hand as he takes it, his thumb against your head line. Watches you stuff your mouth full with noodles. His own stomach churns, the fury half parting, making a way for his hunger to suffuse his senses. He’s so happy you’re eating that all he can think about is how he’s going to make your life better with this one singular video call.

He leaves you to it and focuses his gaze down on Yoongi. His once-close friend is driving in his car and despite the shit view he has of him, due to his service and the way Yoongi’s phone is angled, he can still see the way he’s swathed by murkiness. The purple marks under his eyes are a stark contrast to the pallidness of his skin and his hair is a mess, tufts of black strands sticking in different directions as if he had been on the verge of ripping his hair out. He has one hand on the steering wheel, while the other runs over his upper lip. Over and over, back and forth, waiting, patiently, for Jungkook’s attention.

He starts speaking once he knows he has it.

“Sorry to bother you, I didn’t know who else to call.” He sighs and explains that he’s calling because of you, the mention of your name causing his voice to crack. “I drove up to her apartment, but she’s not there. She told me she was going to her place when she… when she… left.”

So he heard you loud and clear, and yet he didn’t have the decency to respond to you, make you know that you were heard. Jungkook looks at you and this time you look back at him, too. A tight, painful exchange of glances. He squeezes your hand, even as Yoongi continues.

“She’s not picking up the phone. I’m worried about her—”

Jungkook is swift with his words. “You should’ve thought of that before you let her leave,” he snaps, his whole body tense, hanging yet again by the thread. He keeps his hold over your hand gentle, despite it all—despite the fact that his form yearns to explode. “You’re too reckless. Leave her alone.”

Your eyes widen while Yoongi’s narrow, but he doesn’t regret what he said. He knows there’s utmost truth in them, something that should scramble his brain until he comprehends it. Yoongi’s mouth purses in a tight line and his fist clenches before he places it on the steering wheel with a thud.

“Don’t talk to me like this. I don’t need this,” Yoongi mutters, pulling out his hyung card and while it angers Jungkook even more, he also thinks that’s the biggest load of bullshit that has ever come out of his mouth. “I need to know where she is.”

He gazes intently at you as he says, “It’s none of your business.”

And those big eyes of yours round in a good emotion that he can’t really recognize and slowly, you swallow down your noodles. Speechless, he deduces. A tendril of adrenaline courses in him, strengthening his responsibility and protectiveness over you, kissing it ever so sweetly when you squeeze his hand.

A validation.

Jungkook could stay like this. He wouldn’t mind at all—it feels too nice. Feels like you’re his. And perhaps at this very moment you are.

The feeling is so overwhelming that he doesn’t give two shits about the fact Yoongi is detonating on the other side of the screen. He keeps his eyes on you.

“What the fuck do you mean it’s none of my business? Is she with you?”

It’s at this moment that a proud smile curls Jungkook’s lips. And it’s joy that absorbs his organs, his heart beating loudly and clearly. Even the people around him seem happier in his peripheral vision. He thinks this night tops in the best days he’s ever had.

Tension has grabbed a hold of you, too. But he will make it better. He’s got you.

He continues with the truth and he’s not afraid of it. Not at all.

“Yes, she’s safe with me.”

Those words, most peculiarly, soothe Yoongi’s rage. Silence fills his car, one that forces Jungkook to flick his eyes to his phone because he truly can’t believe what’s happening. Yoongi runs his hand down his face and nods once, the murkiness loosening a fair bit before it pulps him. It’s now that he becomes small. A tiny boy, at the hands of his own repercussions. Displeased, but relieved. A strange, strange sight.

“Good,” Yoongi says and Jungkook’s stomach drops. “She should be with you. You’re better than me in ways I could never be. She doesn’t need me anymore.”

Your mouth parts and a vexation of your own clutches you. Enough for you to drop your spoon and lift your hand, palm up. The adrenaline in Jungkook’s system thickens. “Give me the phone.”

Yoongi's head turns to the screen at the sound of your irritated voice and Jungkook’s smile widens, handing you the device. He knows what you’re about to say will put an end to this difficult situation and he’s eager to hear it, eager for it to happen.

“Careful, don’t make him crash his car,” Jungkook whispers, ever so smug, just for your ears, but on the other hand, he doesn’t care if it finds a way to your boyfriend’s as well. You gaze at him most solemnly, fleetingly, and he can’t read shit in your expression. He’s not troubled by it, however; he wants you to let loose in whatever form of your choosing, of your liking. You deserve it, to be boundless like that. It’s been a long time coming.

His phone in your hand is too large and he finds it so cute that it helps him relax. Without withdrawing his hand, he hunches over his soup, getting his utensils ready.

And his first taste of his meal is as good as the first words you hurl at Yoongi.

“Are you joking right now? Is that all you have to say after everything? You’re actually unbelievable,” you spit, shooting daggers at the screen, your brows furrowed, a lethal glare directed at him. Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he hears him sigh. “I’d like you to know that it’s my decision that I’m with him. Not yours. You’re not in control of it and you never will be again. I’m with him because I want to be with him, not because you let me be with him or because you think it’s good.”

Your voice rises in volume ever so slightly, respectful of your surroundings, but untethering your heart free nonetheless. A tortured pain coats it, despite the fact you’re holding yourself strong and it drives Jungkook to let go of his spoon, unable to eat when he feels your agony in all its raw immensity. You struck his awe and all he can do is watch you make order of your life. For your sake and also, most remarkably, for his. A beautiful, beautiful sight.

Love unable to be real turning away, slowly, from the dead end.

“So, we’re over?” Yoongi asks, small—small voice. Jungkook has never heard it before and butterflies zap his stomach with the strongest electricity they could come across.

Your face doesn’t change and you don’t hesitate to unleash your next words. “I think you should go see other people and heal from this mess. You’ve grown too attached to your own fucked up impressions and you need a reality check.”

Such coldness, such brutality. Jungkook can’t breathe—finds it hard to believe this is happening right now, that angels are by his side, keeping his bloodstream flowing. He feels as though he’s dreaming again due to the speck of vagueness in your answer. Yes, you’ve told him to go see other people, but he’s also aware that Yoongi needs the raw truth on a silver platter. If there’s anything he hates with all his being, it’s the abyss of obscurities. It’s the space in his brain for him to make up for the emptiness of your words.

Jungkook intertwines his fingers with yours, his thumb fondling the crook between your thumb and your forefinger, giving you the little strength he possesses in him—the last of it, all he has.

Are you breaking up with him or are you taking a break?

Jungkook longs to know, perhaps he needs it, too, even though both options are more than merciful for such a wretched dreamer like him. A dreamer that has stumbled upon gold in a poor, poor world.

“Honey, please.” Yoongi breaks into sobs and it’s now, now as Jungkook hears the sound of a raw emotion from such a detached person that he softens, his fury snuffed out in a blink of an eye, and he can’t feel his arms, nor his legs. He realizes, most strangely, that it’s his friend, one he spent the last ten years of his life with. The aftertaste of copper pools in his mouth again and his own eyes wet. Yours, too, your chin quivering the more you take in his devastated state. “I can’t do this without you. I–I don’t know how to.”

Despite your tenderness, your words remain firm. “I think you’ve managed quite well these past few days. You’ve pushed me away, needed space. So go have it. I won’t suffer through it, though. I’ll do what I want, you should, too. You need to heal in the only way you know how. Alone.”

Yoongi sniffles, taking long breaths to seemingly calm his shuddering lungs. And pity enfolds his heart, pity for his friend that he’s become such a wreck and that he’s a witness to it, more than the cause behind it. He puts the latter to the side, now is not the right time for it.

He knows what will happen to him once he breaks the dam of self-blame. It’s not what you need right now and he will make sure to keep that dam of your own safe and stable. It’s his duty.

“Will you wait for me?” Yoongi asks and Jungkook feels that question curl around his gut. With a light layer of sadness, he returns to his food, his stomach grumbling.

You sigh, swiping your fingers under the skin beneath your lower lashes, perhaps so Yoongi doesn’t see your weakness. Jungkook watches you as he slurps on his noodles, nervous—terribly, terribly nervous.

“I don’t know if I’m able to trust you like that again,” you conclude, taking a big breath and Jungkook chokes on his food, coughing so hard that you untangle your hand from his and slap his back. “Gotta go. I’ll call you later.” You end the phone call and gently lay down his phone, rubbing his back soothingly as Jungkook splutters. “Are you okay? What happened?”

What happened? You gave him life. Made a pathway for his dreams to come true. Gave him a leeway to walk upon this earth with no weight on his shoulders. Turned something inaccessible accessible.

Love unreal becomes real, running headlong in the opposite direction of the dead end.

The last of his aching coughs emit out of his throat and he swallows, lungs heaving with freedom and easy, easy breaths. The air is different, the oxygen much sweeter. You put his tall glass of water into his hand, encouraging him to drink, never letting go of him as Jungkook takes a big sip, the cold liquid washing away all of those dark ashes left from the fire of his fury. His vision blurs once he looks at you in this new, shifted reality and there’s a smile to his face, calmness surging through his body, exhilaration most needed twining around it.

“You tell me,” Jungkook says, almost out of breath—out of his mind. “What just happened?”

You go back to your soup, squeeze your fried egg open with your chopsticks. “I’m not letting him hurt me again. I don’t have to be strong and take it, do I?” With the yolk spilling in, you push the entirety of the egg white into your mouth, huffing in delight, rolling your eyes back and chewing, cheeks puffed up like a little squirrel. His own utensils go slack in his hand, watching you enjoy your food, his heart enlarging. But then you furrow your brows and stop chewing. “Fuck, it’s cold, but it’s so good.” You sigh and resume chewing, your eyes flicking across the table, your body bouncing excitedly in your seat. You act as though you didn’t just break your own boyfriend’s heart—as if you led a normal conversation with him, in which he was just checking up with you. Jungkook’s awe is so struck that he can’t speak. Can’t eat. Can’t do anything but watch you with all that love abounding in his being for you. And then you flick your eyes to his and the wrinkle between your brows deepens. “Why aren’t you eating? Is it too cold?”

He calls your name, firmly. Leans back in his seat with a big sigh. Rubs his eyes with his fingers. “What just happened?”

There’s simply no way this is real.

You devour your noodles, swallowing spoonfuls of soup. “I ended things with him, Jungkook, and I’m not coming back to him.”

His mouth dries, heart picks up speed. How are you saying this with such ease? Isn’t your heart split in two? Your devotion clung to his guy with every breath you took and back at his cabin, you wouldn’t let him play with you unless Yoongi was present. How come it seems like you’re anything but heartbroken right now?

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks in all honesty, confounded by your behavior.

You push away your bowl, cradling your full belly. “Yes, I’m okay.”

He doesn’t really believe you. Losing your appetite was proof enough. “Positive?”

You look over to the side and your chin begins to quiver. There it is. Your hand flies to your face and you hide the rupture of your pretense behind it. The corners of your face, the only parts he gets to see, flush in red and Jungkook grabs your things with a heavy, sinking heart. Walks over to you and gives you his hand.

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

The weeping clouds have migrated not just to your eyes but to his, too. The night is deep and Jungkook feels it, ardently, coming to rest beneath his skin, floating on its back upon the stream of his tears that he’s stifling. He’s holding your hand and your purse as he’s leading you to his place. You didn’t want to see the face of your apartment. As a matter of fact, you couldn’t stand anything that reminded you of Yoongi and you begged him to take you somewhere you’ve never been before. Jungkook only nodded, brushing away the tears that managed to escape. Thought he’d bring you to any place you’d ever ask, just as long as you stuck with him.

He’s gained what he wanted for a long time, but at what cost? The two people he loves the most are broken. One, his dearest, he’s grasping tightly so she wouldn’t fly away. The other is becoming but a memory, ten years going down the drain—never to be seen again, never to be continued.

He has you, but he lost Yoongi. And the realization hangs, heftily, over his clavicles, swinging back and forth, kicking into his chest.

He can’t stand the sight of him either, however. How strange.

Once inside the warmth of his apartment, he can’t help but rid you of the hideous flannel of his that you’re wearing, bunching it up in his fists and throwing it away to the corner of his bench on the side of his wall without you knowing. With his hand on the small of your back, he guides you to his living room and he lets you skim your sight all around it, slipping his fingers under the hem of your tiny top, just touching you there. White walls, brown leather couch, a TV that takes up the most of the space alongside the kitchen with a plain dining area consisting of an old wooden, rectangular table with four chairs. A huge singular space of nothingness that has never felt home-like, not until you’ve stepped inside.

Now, all of a sudden, it has colors. Vibrant, yet soft-toned with each inhale of his breath. You bring your oxymorons everywhere you go and they stay where you reside, even if you move someplace else. The evidence of it is in his very body. While he feels at his most fragile, he also senses himself to be strong. Strong enough to take care of you right at this moment, be there for you and give you anything you’d ever want. And while his eyes are still wet, cheeks bedewed by his softness, he also wants to break this place—self-blame creeping in, threatening to emerge from the hidden spots somewhere within the battlefield of his chest.

This is his fault. Had he never said yes, you wouldn’t be in pain and neither would his friend be. But in that scenario, he wouldn’t know you existed. Wouldn’t have you. Would lead a forlorn life, with his paints and his alcohol.

You would be happy with Yoongi. Radiant, glowy. With your glitters, your little dresses. Your nighttime robes and your little lingerie.

Would you? Has he ruined your happiness? Has he ruined you?

Jungkook turns you around to him. He needs to ask you; he needs to have the certainty, otherwise he won’t sleep tonight. Won’t even close his eyes—the thoughts would eat away his drowsiness. Leave only wakefulness in their wake. Jungkook presses his lips against your forehead, lingering there, formulating his words, carefully. His hands clutch your shoulders. Your frail, slender shoulders.

Yoongi devastated your appetite enough that you lost all your soft fleshiness. He took it away and he doesn’t even perceive it. It was clear to him by the way you pushed your plate away, when your emotions rushed through; you didn’t have to say a word. And although he grieves the personal loss, still this is something he’ll never forgive him for.

“Would you have been happy if you never knew me?” he asks, subduedly, torment clawing at his vocal cords. “Would you have been happy with him?”

A teardrop spills down your cheekbone, plopping onto the material of your top, soaking it. You furrow your brows, seem angry at his choice of words and he regrets them, enough that his mouth rounds in a tender emotion that he’s too weak to stifle back. And then you bunch up his T-shirt, just like you did earlier in the dressing room, and there’s a tendril of relief that maybe he didn’t fuck up so majestically. He wants to weep; holding them back pains him too much and that ease, that repose is all he wants. It’s not that he’s shy or unwilling to let out his feelings—it’s just that he’s putting yours above his, deeming them more important. He wants to be strong for you, someone you can lean on—and how can he do that for you when he’s crumbling on the inside?

“How can you say that to me?” you ask in disbelief and Jungkook wants to rewind back the time. Wants to keep quiet and just hold you through this fateful night. He winces, looking away, his own chin quivering this time and he can’t—he can’t hold back. He possesses no strength. A tear trickles down his cheek, one full of agony, hot against his skin and he whimpers, he whimpers when you cradle his face in your hands, step on your tippy toes and press your lips against his. Your mouth is so warm and he’s shivering with cold; silky while his are ruined by the constant biting he did in the car. He is a ruination—how can you want him? He ruined your relationship. And now even his tears have stained your angelic, pure face.

“I feel like I’ve ruined everything,” he admits and his chest hurts, lungs tight, body trembling in that persisting cold. “I’ve ruined your relationship. I’ve ruined your life. Yoongi’s. Caused so much pain, so much trauma. Only because I let my friends convince me into going out when I came back from the military.”

The wrinkle between your brows smooths down and you pout, caressing his face. Jungkook can’t halt the rivulet of his liquid emotions. Not when he feels your love so awfully intensely, embracing him around and around, tightening, giving him a sense of safety.

“Can I tell you something?” You take his hand in yours and Jungkook already misses your warm touch on his face. He nods. “Where’s your room?”

He leads you there and you crawl onto his bed, patting the space beside you, curling on your side. He mirrors your position and you prop the side of your leg on his, intertwining your fingers with his on the bedding, moving his hand to your mouth.

And your words seep into his fist.

“We were together for five months and I never met his family. Never met his friends, except you. I never really thought about it in depth because he kept me busy, despite the fact all we did was fuck. It was enough for me, I guess, because I’d been alone for a long, long time before I met him. And I’m a bit of a loner myself so I didn’t mind that we spent all of our time in his apartment, fucking and watching movies. It wasn’t until I met you, Jungkook,” you pause, taking a big breath in, fondling his knuckles with your thumb, soothing him, soothing the drowsiness that is suddenly falling upon him like a blanket, waving off his tears, drying them. “That I realized it’s not really supposed to be like this in my life. I remember that night when he was out with you and I was in the bathroom. I thought about when was the last time he took me out and I shivered. I shivered, Jungkook. It was the first seed sown and I didn’t know. And when you came into my life, I spent my weekends out with you. You took me to your cabin, you took me out to dinner dates. Even today you took me to the mall. I realized it’s supposed to be like this. Yoongi never did that.”

Your words tingle across his fist and he’s quick with his own. “But were you happy?”

So are you. You don’t hesitate. “I thought I was, but the way I’m happy with you can’t compare to the way I thought I was happy with him.”

The truth wafts in the air, sweetening it and another onrush of tears come out of his tear ducts. He leans in closer to you, nose to nose, sniffling, sobbing quietly and you kiss his hand. Over and over, breathing against his skin. Light opens in him as the truth unfolds—with the little time he had with you, he managed to make you happier. Not just happy, but happier.

“I had a lot of time to think about this. It wasn’t just today that he didn’t speak to me. He barely did throughout the week, but today was the worst of it all and I couldn’t take it anymore. It hurt, it hurt so much,” you continue and Jungkook knows how much it pains you, when Yoongi abandons you over and over, clawing his fingernails in your scars. He’s glad, brims completely with that gratefulness that it also rolls down his cheeks, mingling with his tears, that you were strong enough to put a stop to it—as hard as it was. “And you know what I think? Yoongi needs someone like that. Someone who’s a much bigger loner than I am. Someone who’s okay with staying home, with keeping things casual. He needs a friend and I’ll continue being that for him, but not in the way he wants. I’ll be there for him, but not as closely as he was used to, you know? It has to be a process. I can’t just disappear out of his life. I don’t have the heart to do that.”

Extending his arm, Jungkook invites you to rest your head against his bicep—only because he yearns to touch you. Without untangling your intertwinement, you lay against him, breathing in his scent and Jungkook wraps the same arm around your shoulders, cocooning you in. Body to body, his lips against your forehead. You look up at him and he looks down at you, a profound exchange of glances. The reality shifts once more, the energy deepens, filling it with something beyond affection and love—fate thickening the air, intense, earnest and impassioned. And submitting to it, Jungkook raises your chin and kisses you, deeply, slipping his tongue inside just briefly. Kisses your cheek, your neck, your shoulder, hides himself in that crook, breathing with you and nothing else.

A brand new reality.

He can’t help but think about how smart you are. How admirable, how good. How well you handled everything, how well you made an order out of your life and ultimately out of Yoongi’s, too. Like Jungkook will take care of you, you will take care of Yoongi—not leaving him on his own with his shattered heart and mental health. He just hopes that sometime soon, he will be able to have a part in it, too. It’s his utmost wish. No matter how upset he was with him, how strongly he disliked him in certain moments, it’s still a person he loves, a person he spent the last ten years of his life with. A family, almost.

“Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?” Jungkook whispers, squeezing you against his body, drawing you closer until your lungs and his gain that singular synchronization. Your leg straddles his torso and he grows greedy, needing you even closer. Needing to get underneath your skin.

“I’ll try my best to make it happen,” you whisper back, running your fingers through his hair. The light that shines in your eyes faintly illuminates his shadowy room and it’s precisely the one he longed to see. Something tells him it’s here to stay and it drives his thumb to caress your wet lashes, the skin beneath your eyes, your rose-kissed cheek.

Jungkook trusts you. You’re such a badass that you will succeed in anything you set yourself out to do. And he tells you. Asks you if you want to take a bath. Thinks it will distract your heart from what it knows, from what it’s used to. Teach it something new—something you will connect only with him.

And your reaction enlarges his heart to the point that it breaks his ribcage. Your eyes widen, its light erupting, blinding him, and you gasp, lifting your whole body and grabbing his shirt in your fists. He chuckles in endearment.

“You have a bathtub?”

And your eyes almost fall out of their sockets at the sight of it once he carries you to his bathroom and sets you down. He kisses the back of your head, his hands on your hips, guiding you closer to the bathtub, reaching over to lift the tap and let hot water pour down. You both need it after such an emotionally-exhausting day and Jungkook is eager to get in with you.

“Stay here. Don’t strip. I’ll get your candle,” Jungkook says, lowly, squeezing your hips once and caressing your bum as he turns around and heads to the kitchen.

He wants to be the one who takes off your clothes. Plans to do something with you he hasn’t done in a long while, something he deems you deserve after everything you’ve been through. He grabs your mango-scented candle, your bag of cheese balls, a lighter and a chair and returns to you.

You’re crouching by the bathtub, your hand flowing in the hot water, its steam curling, tenderly, your hair cascading down your back. Jungkook pats the back of your head to announce that he’s come back and you smile up at him, your eyes big and twinkling, so magnificent that he grows weak in the knees, butterflies fluttering their wings in his stomach.

Lighting up your candle, you watch as he does it, each three knots flaring up to life and suffusing the air with a balmy, tropical scent. He sets it down on the chair and, helping you stand up to your feet, he doesn’t waste a second. His fingers hook under the hem of your top and fling it out. And because he knows you’ve never bared yourself like this before him, he hides your nakedness by pressing you against his chest, your soft breasts a pleasure, his digits sliding beneath your leggings and dragging them down your hips, looking over your shoulder. You shimmy out of them, moving your hips ever so delightfully and before he knows it, he’s on his knees—kissing the apex of your thighs as he takes your feet out of the pant legs. And he thinks he could stay here all his life.

Jungkook looks up at you as he removes your socks, kissing your knee without breaking the gaze, and he hopes that you can sense his love for you in it, the unyielding stability that he will cling to you with his body and soul—simply, with his entire being.

Rising slowly, he kisses his pathway up, leaving behind the translucent evidence of that love. Your mound, which makes you giggle, a celestial symphony to his ears, your full tummy where he hopes your invisible rose tattoos still are, both sides of your ribs, the middle of your breasts, your sternum, your collarbones, your throat, your chin—up and up until his lips find yours. And he devours them. With such vigor that you hum into his mouth, your hands reaching for his shirt again.

Oh, you want him to get in as well. Very well.

He wanted to be the witness to your relaxation, but if it’s your desire that he shares it with you—by all means. He lets you take off his shirt, lifting his arms for you, and you’re quick to allow your hands to discover the parts they don’t know. His mole beneath his left pec that he caught you staring at shortly after that turn of events at the cabin. You press your mouth against it, unravel your love for it there by grazing your teeth against it before you lick it over with your tongue, going as far as marking the spot right beside it. Jungkook sinks his fingers in your hair, reveling in it, tummy tingling, holding you like that as you do what you please. Your own digits descend to his pants, setting him free from them and when you get on your knees just like him, his cock tightens in your face.

And he dies, angels know for how many times today, when you rub your face in this intimate part of him, his heart bursting.

Not now—he can’t let you do that now. He wants your muscles to relax first before he can strain them all over again, in a much different way.

“My sweetie,” he starts, sighing, rubbing your scalp. He takes you by the back of your neck, sliding his hand underneath your armpit, and drags you up. A healthy, radiant flush adorns you and he’s glad for the paleness to be gone. Glad his body is the cause of it. It makes his heart happy. “Not now. Let’s get in the tub.”

Your stiffened nipples brush against his bare chest and he almost doubles over, loving the feeling of it. The sigh that leaves your mouth, so akin to his, too.

“But you’re hard,” you whisper, tugging down his boxers until his cock springs free and you immediately wrap your small hand around it, squeezing him lightly.

He can’t help but to grunt, the faint pleasure dizzying. He missed your hand, missed your touch. Haven’t had it in so long. It fits so well in your fist and he believes, in all seriousness, that it belongs to you. It’s yours.

He brushes his lips against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. His brain malfunctions a little bit, the pleasure you’re giving him zapping his dominance. “You like holding me like this?”

You fondle his tip with your thumb and he hisses, sparks of electricity coursing down his body and he hums at the aftershocks. So good. He feels his arousal drip for you; feels himself lengthening in your hand. You nod, watching it happen, and while it feels nice to be looked at like that, he wants your eyes on him. He cradles your face in one hand, making you look at him, and he pecks you. At the contact, you finally nod your head. Jungkook envelops his palm around your fist and guides you to squeeze him harder, groaning onto your mouth.

“You’re such a good girl,” he praises and embraces you, hiding himself in the crook of your neck again, inhaling you. Petrichor, mango, your personal scent. It’s all he wants to breathe in for the rest of his life. It’s what heaven must smell like. Actually, heaven must be what he’s hugging.

You whimper and for it Jungkook tightens his hold around you. Skin to skin. He’ll never get over it. “I love being good for you.”

He hums his approval, following the cascade of your hair down your back with his palm, rooting at your bum, grasping the flesh. “You’re the best girl. Let’s get you clean.”

The loss of contact aches and he can see it even on your face, an adorable pout forming on your mouth. Helping you get in the bathtub, you wait until he joins you and it’s only then that you sit down, unsure of how both of you are going to fit in such a small space like this. Knees in between his, you exchange a few giggles in the awkwardness of it all before Jungkook kisses them and leads you to lean back against him, your spine against his chest, your body getting lost in his.

Turning off the tap, the water is scorching but pleasant, his muscles relaxing, the very little remnants of the fight of his self-blame tearing apart at last. It must be as enjoyable for you because once you settle in and you take in the heat, the effect of the candle, the dimmed light and the soft shower of rain pittering against the windows, you let loose completely, your head slack against his sternum, breathing steadily, eyes fluttering closed. Jungkook wraps his arms around you, your breasts pressed against them, and he loves the feeling of your raw femininity in his hands, in such a nonsexual context. His arousal might be alive and longing for you, but that feeling, somehow, overweighs it in a way he’s unable to understand.

He doesn’t mind; he could stay like this.

And both of you do for some time, feeling each other’s top halves of bodies, resting, thinking of nothing, until you tip your chin and, puckering your lips, you ask for a kiss. Arch your back until your breasts bounce free from his hold. His cock twitches against your back from the sight and you smirk.

Sly little girl. He cages them once again, though this time quite differently. One hand grabs the flesh at the base, the other sneaks to your chin, your other breast nudged in the crook of his elbow. His finger traces the lines of your lips, flattened now, kissing it every once in a while. And as if it was a signal for you to open up when he stalls his movement in the middle, you open up for him. And the feeling of your tongue, the suction of your lips, the sound of it all—it drives him to head down the path of absolute madness.

He might have just found his ultimate weakness.

Jungkook adds a second finger in, when you angle your body, so he can have a good view of it, your head propped against the bathtub wall, lidded eyes fixed on him.

So much for relaxing. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, swiftly, causing your brows to knit in confusion. It humors him, but you’re not getting your way that easily.

“You should relax,” he scolds in a teasing manner, not meaning a word of it. “You’ve had a long day of shopping.”

You laugh through your nose, a soft smile gracing your lips and for a split second, Jungkook wonders if he didn’t ruin the moment again by altering the reality again, bringing back the memory of what’s happened. If he didn’t invite in your guilt, perhaps. You’re here with him, about to be made love to, while the person you still love is dealing with brokenness on the other side of the city.

And he tells you in the form of a kiss sunk into your cheek, drawing your body closer to him, cradling the back of your neck, squishing you against him. It causes you to turn your body to the side, slightly, and Jungkook hikes you higher, letting you lean your face against his cheek like that, pecking you over and over again. There isn’t enough body of water to overspill from the tub, but your shifting caused small waves to lap at your body and Jungkook finds himself transfixed by the sight of it. It seems as though the ripples are worshiping your body and an inkling to do the same, to do better, rises in him—as well as the impulse to tell you with words this time.

He should verbally communicate with you. Just to be safe.

“Did I remind you of it again?”

Your fingertips follow the valleys of his abdomen, half dipped in the water.

“Remind me of what?” you say and there’s a striking gentleness to your voice, some kind of blissfulness that feels terribly foreign to him. “Of my freedom?”

A bearable tightness clutches his chest, interlaced, most heartily, with the simplicity of his shock. Freedom. With his directions, you set yourself free. It should be something to perhaps honor and rejoice over—so why is there still a morsel of pity swarming in him? He needs you to tell him.

A streamlet of tears blurs his vision. Because his clinginess to you intensifies with each move forward, for the most part. Because he feels bad for his friend, for the lesser.

“Why do I feel so bad for him?” Jungkook questions, pressing you harder against him until there isn’t any more space to push you into.

You plop your body onto his. Chest to chest. Tummy to tummy. His cock, a bit soft now, against your femininity. Nonsexually, in all its beauty. You drag your thumbs under his waterline, collecting his essence of pain. His heart constricts.

“My freedom is his,” you say, still holding him like that—both palms on his cheeks. “We’d be stuck in a circle like this. We’d go round and round until one of us would burst and end things eventually. He’d never fully heal in this environment. He’d never look past his own insecurities, not when I’d continue to enjoy myself with you the way I always did.”

He thinks the merry go round had already begun the moment he and Yoongi made up and tried again. And considering the last thing he said to him on the phone today, there’s nothing left to do but to accept it.

Your freedom is his. Those words ring in his headspace, settling there. By unbuckling yourself from the seat of that ride, you did the same for him. And while you got off, Yoongi still remains seated.

For now.

He’ll get out of there. Jungkook believes in him.

“I’m meant to be with you,” you say and his heart goes wild, violently, under your forearm. For you. You’ve said it. You’ve made it official. Brought it into this new reality and Jungkook could weep again—and he does. Touched by his emotions, you kiss his tears, sighing against them. “I’m yours, Jungkook. Have been the moment I looked into your eyes the very first time.”

Your bare, boundless truth drives him to reveal his, too. Such power you have, such strength.

“You know I have feelings for you, right?” he murmurs, an allusion to the way you wept together in the dressing room, brushing your hair back, feeling his tenderness radiating off of his eyes, immensely. How easy it is, to tell you something groundbreaking like that, even as absurdly as he did. “Don’t let go of me. Don’t let go of those feelings. Keep them safe.”

Your own tears pool in your waterline and you nod, a smile glinting upon your lips. So you knew, felt the love like he did, enkindled by your mutual release. He wasn’t wrong. His heart pounds and for the first time upon this trajectory, this doesn’t feel unreal. It feels real. Alive, possible, full of life.

“I do, too. Held them in for so long. Never admitted it to myself for his sake. But that’s over now. I’ll keep it safe. All of you, Jungkook.”

You love him.

His sobs gather in his sternum, his lungs too small to capture them in place.

You love him. And it’s real.

Gripping your hair, he kisses you, deeply. And both streams of tears turn into one river—and both of you can’t halt the hunger creeping in. The hunger for more, for your love to burst at last and absorb your reality. Tongues mingling, tasting something new. Teeth clashing, lips tingling. Breaths hard and ragged. Jungkook can’t take it. Can’t hold back his body from lifting off of the rounded wall of the tub, the water sloshing and splashing all around.

And then you say something that grazes his madness ever so unmercifully.

“Put it in.”

He groans, biting your bottom lip, fingertips making dents on your small waist. Horny girl, asking for something you can’t handle. He swears, his arousal awakening yet again in full speed, taking over him wholly. “I haven’t stretched you out yet.”

You grind your femininity against his tightening cock and he’s done for, feeling your pulse. “Stretch me out like this.”

He squeezes your ass hard, making you moan onto his mouth, in effort to make you listen to him and submit to his better knowing. “It’ll hurt, sweetheart.”

Your breath wafts over him as you close your lips over his, sucking. “I can take it.”

Such a stark contrast to the words you uttered in the dressing room. His madness heightens. So much that he moans into your lip lock, dipping you in the water to make you laugh, clutching onto him as you yelp, your adorable laughter vibrating through the bathroom, bouncing off of the walls and sneaking, in the long run, into the chambers of his heart, coming to live there.

This is happiness.

And the vibrations are too, too much for him to handle. So unusual, so beautiful.

“Hold onto me,” Jungkook commands as he wraps your legs around his torso tighter and rises, stepping out of the bathtub and reaching for a towel in his cabinet while his other hand holds you steady by his forearm under your bum like a child.

Leaving you to your own strength for a second, he wraps the large fabric around you both, bunching the ends in his fist on your back, exiting out of the bathroom and laying you down onto his bed. Your hair sprawls on his bedding and he thinks you look like an angel, maddened just the same by something beyond lust, by something way purer. He kisses your lips, fleetingly, and begins to focus on your neck, unfurling his love there. He sucks your wet skin, licking it all over, scattering his hard kisses there—the ones that drive you wild, moaning loudly and bravely, deservingly so. And he marks this victorious day there with pretty, pretty colors of red and purple. Doesn’t stop. Not until you beg him, writhing underneath him, excited and eager.

“Please, Jungkook, take me.”

Such sweet, innocent words. He listens, cooing, dragging you further up on the bed, so he can lie on top of you and take his hard kisses further down, marking all the places where your invisible tattoos are, bringing them to life all over again. Above both of your nipples, especially on the right one, where that frilly rose was, covering the peak. And he feels you melt, feels you soak his lower abdomen when he sucks on that nub, flicking his tongue, making you cry out so beautifully, so desperately that his arousal for you rigidifies. And when he looks at his artwork, fists propped on either side of you like his knees, it steals all of his breath.

“You look so beautiful like this. All mine.”

All his, wet with the last drops of water, with the pearls of his saliva, with your essence coating your folds. Adorned with red tattoos. He has his own on his arm and hand, except on his chest and he thinks the one he gave you make up for it. Thinks they’re his as much as they’re yours and it causes his length to twitch against his stomach, so terribly needy for you.

“And you look beautiful like this. All hard for me,” you mimic his words and he grows feral, even more so when you continue. “It’s all mine, isn’t it?” You take him into your hand again, but he pins both of your wrists down, above your head. And the smile you grace him with—it makes him yearn to make love to you like this. Bound, while the rest of you would remain the quite opposite.

He growls, kissing you. “All yours. All yours for you to take and come around. All yours, my sweetheart. Always has been.” He kisses you harder and you whimper. Pulls away just to swirl his tongue around yours, open mouth and all, before closing his lips down again in a profound, warm and homely lock. “Spread your legs for me. I’m gonna get you ready for it.”

He does it himself, folding you in half, the glistening of your folds visible even in the slight lack of light in the room. Oh, he can’t have you like this. Reaching behind himself, he turns on his bedside lamp, bathing you in a soft, yellow light that suits you the most. You’re holding your legs apart for him and he places wet kisses on the back of your thigh, ravagedly, to reward you for it, trailing them down until he’s face to face with your drenched princess parts. And it’s a groan of relief that emits out of him when he’s this close to you, hands pushing your knees down, spreading you even more to gratify his hunger.

He’s starving. Terribly starving.

And he rolls his eyes back when he takes the entirety of you into his mouth, tongue dragging upon your slit, up and down, drinking your dew, penetrating only a little bit just to tease you, just to mess around with your madness. And when he flattens his tongue against your swollen clit, you cry out. Surprise him when you grip his hair, enough to cause him to flick his eyes to you. Your mouth is parted, but grinning nonetheless, your own eyes heavily lidded, emitting light and joy and Jungkook simply decides to make this experience better for you.

He lifts your hips in the air and devours you, lapping at your clit over and over again, letting you see what he’s doing to you without taking his eyes off of you, nose pressed against your shiny mound. You whisper your vulgarities and he’d let it pass if he didn’t consider this a holy, spiritual occurrence. He withdraws and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him, the way your slick trickles down your clit and your mound, rooting in the squishy part of your lower tummy. He hums, delighting in the sight.

“Be good,” he scolds, smiling down at you and your grin widens. You nod your head, your hands still crossed above you without his to hold them down. Scratch his words—you’re already the best girl. He licks up the trickle of your essence trailing down your clit, making you writhe again. “Feel how wet you are for me.”

Carefully, you skim your palm down your soaked belly, gasping, until your fingers reach your nub, the concoction of his saliva and your arousal seeping into your skin. He encourages you with noises of approval to keep going, bending you even more in half, your back leaning against his thighs, the pads of your fingers circling your center, eyes wide at the discovery, able to see just how celestially aroused you are for him. So beautiful. He bites onto the flesh upon the side of your thigh, only because he can’t help it, soothing down the sting with his tongue. And he hums at the sound of your moans, at the sound of your slipperiness when you drag your fingers down to your clit and stop there.

“Hm, yes, sweetheart, rub that pretty clit for me,” he murmurs and his chest explodes at the principle that he’s able to say that to you. That he doesn’t need anyone’s permission or approval. That he can do whatever he pleases with you without any consequences to reap. That he’s free. You must be thinking about this, too, but in a different way, because you hesitate. He’ll destroy that dubiety. It won’t show its face again—as long as he lives on this earth. “You can do it, my love. You’re free.”

The reassurance washes over you and rids you of that fleeting negativity. He understands this is new for the both of you—there’s some still getting used to, so it’s completely normal. He’ll try his hardest to make this as much of an easy ride for you as he can. It’s his duty.

“Don’t be afraid,” he continues, adding your name, softly. “You’re here with me and you’re safe.”

Jungkook leans over and kisses you. You nod into the kiss and he returns to his position, catching you rubbing your clit, slowly, with two fingers, the other spread on your folds. And both of you moan simultaneously.

“That’s it,” he whispers, enthralled, making way for the sound of your slick to overpower the atmosphere. “That’s my good girl. Make yourself feel good for me.”

You whimper his name, buckling your hips in his hold, squeezing your eyes shut and Jungkook can see the waves of pressure charging your tender body. Now is the time for his participation.

He sinks his middle finger inside, making your eyes pop open and stare him down, just for you to submerge yourself under the surface of that sea of lust and let your irises whisk back. Your walls clench around him and he waits until you speed up your circles to join his other finger, biting his lip to push back his desire to sink himself inside you. He tries to pay little attention to the way he drips for you.

But then you use the rest of your fingers to bring yourself to your climax and Jungkook takes it as a sign. Another finger in, he curls them, fucking you the way you like. Fast, grazing your sweet little spot that beckons your sweat out of your pores and when your pussy drools even more for him, he adds another. You gasp and he knows exactly how you’re feeling, how good this is for you.

“You feel so full, sweetheart, don’t you?” he coos, jackhammering his hand harder and you drench it, completely. He flattens his fingers, allowing you to see the thick sheen and you mewl, a litany of his name spilling along. “You’re so wet. So horny for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna come?”

You scream your agreement, squirming, strumming your fingers harder and this is it for him. He changes direction. Fucks his fingers up and down and your toes curl, chest heaving heavily and you just keep on screaming. A delightful sound.

“Come for me, then. Like the best girl you are.”

You clench around him. So much that he can barely move his fingers, sunk in so deeply. He just flexes them, drawing out your orgasm and you give it to him.

And you’re wet all over again. Sprinkled by pearls upon pearls of your pleasure. He is, too, and it worsens his desperation for you.

You’re panting, but he’s not done with you. Setting you down, he laps up the violent evidence of your orgasm, making you twitch in overstimulation and he eases the pressure of his tongue for you. Sucking on your folds, he decides to mark you there. Just below your hip bone, too. Such intimate places. Perfect for a temporary keepsake like this.

Hovering above you, he circles his tongue tinged with your taste around yours, forcing you to moan again. And he kisses you softly. “You deserved that orgasm.”

You whine, red all over, and Jungkook understands you need more. He pulls away, clutches himself to line up at your entrance, but you stop him.

“I want you.”

He smirks, longs to hear you be more specific. “How?”

You huff. So adorable. “In my mouth.”

He chuckles. Should’ve asked where, but he’s at your service—he’s willing to give you anything you want. “All right, but just for a little bit, okay?” You nod, vehemently, and he pats your cheek. “On your knees.”

Oh, he’ll never tire of the view of your submissiveness, of your hunger for such a private part of him. He makes a mess for you on the towel, dripping more than he ever has, and he holds himself at the base, grabbing your jaw in his hand. Brutality, the one he’s obsessed with, swims past your irises when you gaze up at him. A feral animal, an angel in hiding—he’d love to embellish you with the sticky traces of his fixation, but he shouldn’t, no matter how much he craves it. He can’t stain you, not today. Can’t ruin the holiness. He’ll let you play with him before he seals it for all eternity.

Tomorrow he will. Smear you with it until it’s all your pores know.

Jungkook traces the lines of your mouth with the tip of his length, just like he did with his finger in the bathtub, and you hum, liking it. He can vividly see your yearning to rub your face against him again and he lets you, encourages you in fact, pulling you closer until you nuzzle your nose against his girth, his skin caressing your cheek, and you kiss him all over. Place your hands over his and suck him inside your mouth, drinking his precum. Only to withdraw right away, sit back on your legs without lifting your hands, and look up at him with the vastness of your overbearing innocence and love.

“You’re mine,” you purr, fucking him with your fist.

Jungkook nods, just once. Doesn’t even feel his butterflies anymore, too numbed by you, by the pleasure you’re giving him. “That’s right, my love.”

You suck in a breath, biting your lip hard as if it took all of your energy not to make him come at this very instant. And you lengthen your spine, asking for a kiss again, and he bends at the waist, kissing you nastily, pushing your head back to his cock, inciting you to do what you truly crave to.

And you take him so well, your cheeks hollow, and he’s unabashed, free to let out his male noises, whimpering for you, panting heavily as you bob your head, slurping him, spitting on him. You toy with his tip, tugging at his length, colliding into his fist and it isn’t until you rub your face against his balls that it becomes his undoing. He stalls his orgasm, strains to do so, just to please you and he pries your hands away from his length, lets you focus on his sack. The least he could do to last. But then you grab it into your fist, sucking his balls, one by one, into your mouth, even try to take both of them at once and that’s it. He can’t breathe, his heart wringing painfully with all the love that brims in him for you. No one has ever done that to him.

You flick your tongue against them, your other hand wrapping around his tip again, tugging and he nears dangerously close to the bursting of his orgasm.

“That’s enough.”

He draws you away from his cock, using all of his strength, and pins you down. A splutter of your giggles waft in the air, your chin wet with your spit and he moves his mouth so rapidly against yours that you struggle to kiss him back, growing calm all of a sudden, as if overcome with the gravity of it all.

He looks at you for a long while. Puffy, red mouth, that he craves to bite onto—and he does. Darkened eyes, full of freedom and exhilaration. Neck, chest, tummy and the rest of the delicious parts of you scattered with hickeys, with his own personal keepsakes. He loves you so much that he becomes frustrated, needing to let it out somehow. All of his muscles tense and he clenches his grip on your wrists.

“You want me to die? Is that what you want?” he hisses, speaking of the sloppy blowjob you gave him, gliding his wet cock across your seashell. You lose a breath, drowsy eyes fluttering, spreading your legs for him. No wonder you’re tired—you gave it your all. He sinks his teeth hard into his bottom lip, his frustration rising, brows knitted. “You can’t play with me like that. I was seconds away from coming all over your pretty face.”

“I wanted you to,” you say, loud and clear, and Jungkook is hot all over.

Turning you over to your side, he squeezes the flesh of your bum until it hurts as a punishment, knowing you’re not ready for the full thing. It’s too soon. Your wincing breaks into a low, alluring moan and it fills him with adrenaline. And then you smile at him, light flashing in your countenance. You’re anything but punished; you’re pleased.

Looks like you need another form of punishment.

Fuck it, fuck all spiritual aspects of this. The angels in heaven need to look away for now and cover their ears. He’s going to make love to you in a way they’ve never witnessed before and it’s good that they never will.

“What did you say?” Jungkook feignedly questions, pinning you back down and burying himself in your heat. Having stretched you out well enough, he gives you his half right away, but he doesn’t stop there, not when you lift your chest off of the mattress, not when you lose yourself in the sudden fullness and the music of your mutual moans. You grip him so tight that he forgets, for a split moment, what he’s punishing you for.

You stammer, seemingly forgetting, too. And when his mound kisses yours, your words falter altogether—a crescendo into silence. Eyes wide, unblinking, taking him most courageously. Jungkook hums, immensely proud of you, slowly pounding you into the mattress with hard strokes.

And when he gives you a particularly unmerciful one, you scream, shaking all over in his hands.

“Yes, sweetheart, that’s what you get,” he purrs, grinding his hips, loving the way he toys with your senses, your peaked nubs digging into his chest, and you can’t catch your breath, your whole body tense. “Too deep?”

You nod. “Too deep, baby, I can’t take it, fuck. It’s too much.”

Cooing, he kisses you. The pet name, your tightness—he’s losing his mind and it’s your fault. Your wonderful, wonderful fault. You don’t even let him pull out, you keep him caged in, your walls fluttering against him and he whimpers, shaking like you, unable to continue kissing you.

“Relax, my love, or you’re really gonna kill me,” he croaks out, ascending to heavenly places where they don’t, in most certainty, don’t want to see him. Sitting back on his feet, he thumbs your clit, helping you calm down. “Good girl. Feels good, stuffed full like this? My thumb rubbing your sweet little clit, hm?”

It is a miracle, the way he knows your body and knows what to do with it because your walls loosen, enabling him to fuck you, sloppily, your slick squeaking along with your quickening breaths. You scream out your yeses, driving him to give you his all.

“Just like that,” he whispers, approving, his balls tightening already, the pressure in his lower tummy becoming bigger.

You deserve the full thing, though. Jungkook places your knee on his shoulder. And with each stroke, his mound stimulates your clit, getting you nice and fast to his level.

He cradles your blissed-out face, the heel of his palm putting pressure on your throat. And onto that expression of elation, he uncoils his love for you, brutally fucking you until your whole body ripples beneath him.

“Whose are you, huh?” he moans, driving into you, rearranging your guts. Sweat drips off of his forehead. “Whose pretty girl are you?”

Your own sounds of pleasure rise in pitch and volume and he senses, he knows you’re about to come for him.

“Yours, Jungkook, yours,” you choke out and he’s so proud of you that he hums, his balls slapping against your bum, and he kisses you, giving you his tongue. You suck on it, getting him right there to the edge of his orgasm.

“Fuck, such a good girl. All mine. You know that I love you, right?”

And the once reappearing absurdity of his choice of words pushes over that edge and you squeeze him, squeeze him hard, milking his cum out of you and he growls into your mouth. You take over each and every one of his senses, making them yours, and he fucks his cum into you, his mouth smacking against yours, as you whisper your I love you’s and he swallows them down.

Heaven or something beyond. You created it and he wants to spend the rest of his life there.

Panting, he kisses your jaw, marking you there for the last time. Unbelief grasping him that he finds himself in such a place glazed with love. “You love me?”

You whimper, shuddering all over, your orgasm still seizing you. “I love you so fucking much.”

He licks into your mouth, ending your release. “My best girl. I’ll take care of you. I’ll never let you go. You’re never getting out of my sight again.”

Jungkook lets go of your wrists. They must be cramping, tingling and he massages them in the air, sitting back, his length still inside your homely heat. Your eyes wet again, sobs break out of your mouth and he shushes you most affectionately, his heart twinging. He lifts you and sits you down on his lap, hugging you close to his chest. Skin to skin. You cling to him with everything in you and he holds you together, so you don’t fall apart.

“You’re my savior. My healer,” you wail, gripping his hair. As if your breaking wasn’t enough, your words hit him hard and his vision soaks along with yours. You’ve never told him that before—never told him the roles he has in your life. He appreciates them so much, holds them dear to his heart. Never wants to forget them. “Don’t ever leave me, please. I beg you.”

It’s him who now breaks. Right there on your shoulder, beneath the waterfall of your hair.

“I could never. You’re my life. You’re my everything. How could I ever leave you?”

You sob harder, lifting your head, and the sight of your rawness makes him fall even more in love with you. Jungkook smooths down your hair and wipes away your tears. Kisses you, deeply, and lingers there. And along with the kiss, you and him exchange your last I love you’s for the night.

Tub drained, candle snuffed out, cheese balls devoured, the rain finishing like that chapter of your life—Jungkook feels himself entering a brand new one with you, one where Yoongi isn’t present, as he dresses you in his clothes. For panties, he slinks your legs into his boxers, keeping them warm with a pair of his own joggers. Then, he tugs his hoodie down your head, pushing your arms through the sleeves. Smirks at the way his clothes fit you well. As if they were your own. At the way he matches with you.

He overflows with a thrumming life.

A brand new chapter filled with myriads of different, ecstatic possibilities. And you seal them to completion, when tucked in bed, lying on his chest, you sleepily utter the first prospect that you want to bring to life.

“Will you take me to your cabin tomorrow?”

His breath hitches in his throat. He never thought he’d be returning there so soon, especially not with you. His mouth quirks up, body suffused with a foreign excitement, and right away he deduces the reason why you want to go there.

“You really want that dildo, don’t you?”

You merely laugh through your nose.

Oh, he’s calling in sick tomorrow. Will take you there first thing in the morning. Will do absolutely anything for you.

“I’ll fuck you hard with it until you completely drench it, then. Sleep for now, so we can get to tomorrow.”

You kiss his clothed chest. Nuzzle your face in it. Whisper your thank you. Jungkook pretends he didn’t just get hard all over again.

“Good night,” you say.

He pecks your hair. “Good night, sweetheart.”

BACK to masterlist

#jungkook x oc #yoongi smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

171 notes · View notes

imaginaryf1shots · 2 days

Text

Anxious | Lando Norris

WC: 1K

Lando x reader

Summery:(REQUESTED) You’re feeling anxious but lando is there to help you

Warning: Anxiety, a bit of self hate?

Masterlist

You're a very shy person by nature, it was a wonder you and Lando were able to talk when your friends first introduced the two of you. Lando is awkward and sometimes shy, and you like to keep to yourself and very shy. But the two of you have managed to cross those awkward stages long ago, and have been dating for a couple of years. It's easy to say that you know each other so well now, especially since you moved in with Lando.

You help each other through the periods where you're stuck in your mind or where you're feeling down. Lando knows you so well that he can tell before you get into a depressive or an anxious episode, you start being withdrawn, you bite at your cuticles, you don't laugh at his jokes as loud, it's all in the little things. So when the signs start to pop up, he just hopes it's when he's not racing, so he can be there for you.

It's been a while since you felt like this, and like every time you have a period where you don’t feel anxious, you had hoped you won't have to go through this again. Lando is streaming, he's in the next room, and you're here in your shared bed, unable to get yourself to move, to get up, to open the curtains, or to just eat. You want to spend as much time with your boyfriend as you can, even if you go with him to races it's not like you're by his side the whole weekend. You're basically going with your boyfriend to work.

Your mind is raging like a storm, your thoughts are jumbled and are everywhere, tossing and turning. There's this sense of unease that just hangs heavy in the air, filling your lungs. Every breath you take doesn't feel satisfying, like no matter how much air you suck in, it's just not enough. All the what-ifs are making it hard for you to focus on anything.

You debate texting Lando, but he's been by your side the whole day and it's barely been an hour since he started the stream. Your phone is opened beside you to the chat between you and Lando, the brightness is dimmed, but it's the only source of light in the room.

How are you baby?

Do you want me to end the stream?

You barely look at the phone as your mind thinks about all the reasons lendo will leave you, how tired of you he must be and how much he hates taking care of you and you're like a kid always needing his help. Why is he keeping you around? There's nothing good about you? Maybe you should just-

"Hey, love." Lando's soft voice fills the room, you have no idea when he came in, you hadn't heard him. Lando gets on the bed. "Oh, love."

You also have no idea when you started crying, but Lando is wiping your tears away, meeting his eyes makes you cry more, Lando gently manoeuvres you so you're in his lap and he's holding you. He just holds you, and you let yourself cry. You sit there for god knows how long, Lando rocks you to the side as he shushes you, pressing small kisses to your temple.

"Do you maybe want to go sit in the living room?" Lando asked and you shake your head.

"N-no."

"It's alright, just wanted to make sure." Lando reassured you not wanting to make you feel pressured or anything. "We can sit here as much as you need."

"I'm sorry." You mumble into Lando's neck, you're hiding from the world, from him, but not from your thoughts.

"Why?" Lando is confused

"Because you're stuck here with me, its your week off and you should spend it with your friends not be stuck here with me." You tell him, Lando tries to move you but you just hold onto him not wanting to see the look on his face, Lando relents, but if you looked at him the only thing you would've seen is love, care and worry.

"Love, believe me there's nothing else I'd rather be doing than spending time with you." Lando said, squeezing you a bit more. "Believe me I'd rather look at you than those muppets, you're the most important thing in my life, and I'm not stuck with you, I'm spending time with you."

"Still, I know you had plans for this break." Your mind is not that easy to satisfy when you're feeling this anxious.

"And they all revolve around you, so when you want to spend time in, then I'm spending my time in as well." Lando manages to make you look at him, and you don't fight him this time. "Tell me, love, isn't it you that takes care of me when I'm doubting myself and when I'm having a hard time?" You nod. "We both feel anxious sometimes, and we take care of each other, we're a team and I'll be there every time and I'll never be sick or tired of taking care of you."

"I still feel bad." You mutter and Lando gives you the smallest of smiles, he pecks your lips.

"Don't, I love taking care of you." You give him an uncertain smile, Lando moves you so you're straddling him, and just hugs you, you wrap your arms around his neck loosely and hold him. Taking a deep breath of his cologne, it's the same smell on the pillows. It's a comforting smell, the smell of home. Lando's hands run up and down your back in comfort and he feels you relax against him.

"Want to watch something?" Lando asked and you nod against him. "Cars?"

"You know me so well." Your voice is still not back to normal, but it's a step, you're feeling better and with the movie Lando is sure you'll feel even better.

You're both cuddling while the movie plays on the screen, Lando ordered food, and managed to get you to eat something.

"Lan."

"Yes, love."

"I love you so much."

"I love you too."

Lengo is smiling, like he does every time you tell him you love him, it makes him so happy and giddy hearing you say those words.

Your thoughts aren't calm, you're still feeling the effects of the anxiety but it's all calmer now, it's not as intense as before. Like there's a wall being built between you and those thoughts, and that wall is called Leads Norris

Taglist

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog

279 notes · View notes

ramshacklerumble · 12 hours

Text

and the more that i am in pain, the more that you’ll gain (and to me, that seems like a pretty fair trade)

The boy was unconscious before he hit the floor.

Gia’s boot connected with his side.

Then his stomach.

His chest.

Face.

A blaze threatened to burn Gia to ash. Burning brighter and hotter and into a mounting roar— it would consume them to nothing. They could feel it in the trembling overtaking their body and so, in the only way they knew how, they’d take the source of it out with them. Gia would make kindling of this boy’s bones through stomps and swears and spit.

At least, they would have.

Hauled away before they sent the tip of steel toes smashing into the boy’s nose again, Gia fought against the pair of arms pinning their own to their side. They cursed at them and their owner. Struggled to grind their heels into his feet only for him to nimbly maneuver them away.

“Hey,” Floyd said as they tried— and failed— to rock their head back to catch him right on his teeth, “Hey. Knock it off, it’s over.”

It didn’t sound like this was taking much of an effort, which in turn only sent Gia into another round of thrashing and yelling. What this got them was a tighter squeeze around their diaphragm and a lift off the ground as their legs kicked at empty air.

They were screaming. And they kept screaming as there was a brief shift in balance…a stomach-drop instinct of falling back…followed by a pain shooting up their tailbone as they both dropped to the floor. This stopped the screaming.

“Ouch,” said Floyd flatly. He kept Gia sat between his outstretched legs. “You done?”

In a wheezing voice, Gia swore at him some more. They fought against his hold. When that got them nowhere, they thumped their back against him, weak and spent.

The fire puttered to smoke.

Gia slumped forward. The only reason they didn’t flop face-first into their knees was because Floyd still held onto them. So they stared at their lap, breath ragged, innards wanting to crawl up their throat. And there was something else. Something else was making its way out.

“Hm..?”

One long arm slipped out from around them, clamped a hand under their chin, and forced them to look up.

Gia shut their eyes in a final attempt at protest. Tears fell.

“Woah,” Floyd breathed.

Against their will, they blinked up at him. Floyd studied them, an expression settled prettily on his features. Curious… and something Gia was almost too scared to name. A merfolk trick, maybe, and idly Gia understood why sailors back in the day would risk finding out what it was.

“Aw, what’s the matter?” Floyd crooned, gently wiping his thumb under their eye. His skin felt cool on their cheek. It was terribly nice. “We got to the bottom of it, didn’t we, Shrimpy?”

Gia jerked away from him, the nickname a shock of ice water. Gia ground the heel of their palms into their eyes, pulled their knees to their chest, and curled into themself.

Floyd didn’t pin them again, but he continued, “C’mon. You knew going in you weren’t gonna get the money back.”

“I know.” Gia grit out. And they did know. The moment they realized the Ramshackle had been broken into they’d known. That’s not why they were here. What they wanted was payback.

But after the two weeks they’d spent tracking down the thief— somehow picking up one of the Leech brothers along the way— they hadn’t settled on what that would look like. Sure, the thought of getting in a jab or two crossed their mind, but when they’d cornered the culprit and Gia got a look at the mastermind who’d whisked away all their hard work…the thoughts evaporated.

It was just some Ignihyde kid. Small for a freshman. Gia actually felt bad. Floyd, on the other hand, was so bored with the reveal he circled into disgust. To top it off, Gia would still have to compensate for “dragging him along.” They didn’t even want his help in the first place.

But despite that blossoming headache, Gia couldn’t bring themself to raise hell. What was the point?

They’d been having dreams again. There was another shoe waiting to drop somewhere in Night Raven. And if that were the case, then they were going to have to focus their energy on keeping ahead of the curve. That was hard enough with the Corlux girls living in their dorm, but now with the boys bringing another wave of chaos under the guise of the “SDC Training Camp,” well…

In comparison, dealing with this kid didn’t feel worth the effort. So they thought.

Until Gia asked the sniveling snotball what he’d spent their money on. He’d barely gotten the word out when Gia’s fist slammed into his jaw with the force of a wrecking ball.

“Gacha...” They spat into their legs. “Gacha. Spent my money on stupid, 2D anime girls. Pictures he could look up for free.”

“Heard it’s a mega-popular title, too.” Floyd added unhelpfully. He played with their braid as he said so, Gia could feel him twist their hair between his fingers.

“But say…Shrimpy.” Floyd caught their eye from where he hovered over their shoulder. His chest was to their back again. “Here’s what I don’t get…”

He had that look on his face again. Interested. Intrigued.

“Why’re you so worked up about this?” He asked, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not lettin’ anyone get away with taking something from me and I’m chargin’ ten-fold for tryin’. But I’ve never seen you blow up like that. Not when Jade and I kicked you outta Ramshackle or when Sea Snake sent us flying across the desert. This…”

Floyd pointed over his shoulder where the boy from Ignihyde lay sprawled on the ground, “This is small fry. Might as well be plankton. It wasn’t even that much money—”

“It’s all I had.” Gia said, hating the unsteadiness in their voice. They twisted around to face him.

“What’s it for?”

“It's…” They couldn’t figure how to reply to that. The best they could give him was a limp shrug. A shiver hit their spine and it came to mind how warm Floyd was now that they’d leaned away. They rubbed their arms. “I…I don’t know what’s going to happen to me.”

“What?” Floyd laughed, “Don’t tell me you’ve been mixing it up with loan sharks.”

Gia shook their head. “When Grim and I graduate…we can’t stay here. We need somewhere to go.”

A twitch of confusion crossed Floyd’s face. “Sealie’s a direbeast. He’s teeny, kinda stupid, and you prolly pampered the feral out of him, but you never really lose your survival instinct.” He looked down at Gia, “And aren’t you going home?”

Gia let out a snort, short and sour. With it that…thing that had wanted to come out earlier clung itself to the back of their throat— their words thick and heavy with the ache in their jaw. The memories of a ranch full of distant eyes and rotting apathy. “Home?”

The word was an ugly, wet noise they tried to smother under their hand. Heat rose to their face again, but nothing like the scorching rage from earlier.

Shame overtook them. Gia could feel Floyd’s eyes on them as they tried in vain to scrub away the tears. They just kept coming, hot and damning, overflowing like a boiling pot.

It was stupid. They were stupid. Crying over something they couldn’t change. Crying over scraps. This wasn’t fixing anything. This wasn’t getting them anywhere. They hadn’t cried once when they were sent away to their aunt’s house. They didn’t bother begging their parents to take them back home because they’d known they didn’t have one to go back to.

The concept was lost far before ever stepping into Twisted Wonderland and the only thing they could do was keep moving. Gia knew this.

They told themself this after each and every misstep. Every time something went wrong…when everything inevitably went wrong….

Gia needed to get as far away from Floyd as they could— maybe they couldn’t stop themself from absolutely losing it, but he was the last person allowed to see them do so. Except before they’d pushed themself off the ground, his arm circled around their shoulders and pulled them towards him.

Gia gave a sound somewhere between a hiccup and a gasp. On instinct they started to shove him back, but a second arm wrapped around their back and locked them in place.

Floyd held them against his chest and…no. He was hugging them to his chest.

“I think…” He started in a slow, pensive voice, his hand moving to pet the back of their head. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

Gia kept still, their forehead pressed against the spot beneath his collarbone. They were aware of many things at that moment.

A deep amber trace of cologne, tear stains gradually spreading through the fabric of Floyd’s shirt, the shakiness in their hands, and how his strong, steady heartbeat only made theirs beat a faster jig against their rib cage.

“Did you know lobsters never stop growing?” Floyd asked.

“…What…?”

“Lobsters.” He repeated, “They keep growing throughout their lifetime until eventually they get so old and tired, they can’t molt out of their shell. That’s what kills them, y’see. They get stuck in their shell because it gets too hard for them to break and it gets so diseased and spoiled they just die in there.”

From their spot under his chin, Gia chanced a look at him. Floyd was still stroking the back of their head. They were crying in the arms of a merman with a sudden interest in shellfish. Behind them still lay the unconscious Ignihyde boy they’d tried to beat to death not five minutes ago. It occurred to Gia that surreal couldn’t possibly begin to describe what was going on right now.

“…Am I the lobster or something..?”

Floyd shrugged as if admitting pep talks were painfully not his thing, “Lobsters, shrimps. Both decapods.” He pressed his hand down on their head, guiding them back to him. It made them feel small.

They didn’t fight as he shifted their legs over his thigh and closer to him.

“Point is…You’re a tough little shrimp and you like it that way, but this shell's too old for you now. You’ll smother yourself if you don’t break out sooner or later.”

Gia knew a thing or two about lobsters, too. Lobsters didn’t come out of their old shells with a new one intact. A recently molten lobster was soft, tender— and highly vulnerable to a watchful predator.

They were all but giving Floyd the go-ahead to sink his teeth when he already had them in his jaws. Whatever he was looking at them with, it wasn't concern. His eyes were not soft. His were sharp, hunting eyes.

“Why are you doing this, Floyd?” Gia heard themself ask. The answer wouldn’t matter. Their arms were already around his neck.

“It's your lucky day, Shrimpy. Think of it as grace from the benevolence of the Sea Witch.” He chuckled as he curled himself around him, resting his chin on their shoulder. “And I’m in the mood to carry it through.”

“Ha.” Gia guessed it meant to be a laugh, but it was brittle and fragile and cracked and soon— nothing more than a cascade of sobs.

—

Humming.

Somewhere along the line, between where Gia’s cries waned into a silent weeping, Floyd started humming. He cradled them, though accurately speaking it was more that he had them propped against him.

So Gia stared out into a place far beyond where they lay wilted in his arms as his melody moved through them. A comforting, lulling sweetness he carried achingly well. They’d never heard it before, but in its notes they caught a timbre of nostalgia.

It was only through sheer luck— or maybe the unfortunate fact that Gia’s body was too-well trained against the notion of sleep— that they caught themself nodding off with a jolt.

“Floyd.”

He replied with another hum. Low with an undercurrent of disappointment.

To call it a glare would’ve been giving it too much credit, but whatever it was Gia did their best to fix it on him, “What is that?”

Floyd dipped back into his song long enough for Gia to think he chose to ignore them before saying, “You don’t like it?” Gia hadn’t noticed he was gently rocking them until he stopped to return their gaze. He knew the answer and let it show, smug as ever.

“Mama used to sing it to me and Jade as kids when we got upset.” He said, “It sounds way better underwater. You should come listen to it. I’d be happy to sing it for you again…if I feel like it then, anyway.”

“Right.” Against every fiber in the shriveled husk of their being, Gia sat up. “You enjoyed this way too much.”

“Listening to you cry?” Floyd laughed, “No. Not really.”

Gia thought about lobsters again. Soft ones. They closed their eyes and took a deep breath. The air was cool coming in. Colder coming out. When Gia opened them, they set their sights directly into his eye. The golden right one. “I’m paying you back. How?”

What they got was a low whistle, “Back on it again, huh? You’re a regular ice maiden.” Floyd giggled as he swiped a knuckle over their cheek, “Even if you’re still a bit leaky.”

Gia didn’t look away from him. “Unless it’s for free,” they pressed.

“Eh-heh! You wish.” A pause. Then, “A month.”

He clamped his hand down on their head and roughly ruffled their hair, which did nothing to soothe the throbs assaulting Gia’s temples. Floyd looked hungry with the moonlight caught in his teeth, “You do as I say for a month and I say: You're workin’ at the Lounge.”

Gia expected an anemone to sprout from where Floyd removed his hand. It didn’t, but their headache morphed into a full-on migraine. A month at the Lounge.

They felt a twitch at the corner of their lip and huffed, dropping their focus towards the ground between their legs.

There it was. The puncture of teeth. They had to hand it to him— the guy knew an easy catch when he saw one. And this one did him the added favor of shucking itself for him. A soft little lobster, indeed.

Gia wanted to get angry. They couldn’t. Crying, as it turned out, was dangerously exhausting.

Had Floyd considered that, too?

“Got stuff going on with the SDC. Make room for me to deal with that first or take it up with Vil and Crowley.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Floyd sighed, stretching long and towards the sky. Satisfied with the pops he elicited, he leaned back on his elbows. His eyes fluttered closed, content to bask in the starlight. That was easy.

Gia guessed it made sense for a hunter to know their place on the food chain.

They reached into their pants pocket for their phone. It hadn’t rung, so it was safe to say no one noticed they’d snuck out of their own dorm yet. Grim probably still snoring away in bed. It was past two in the morning.

Gia turned to look at the Ignihyde boy. Blood poured down his nose, now pointing at a new angle. They watched for a few seconds until they were sure of the rise and fall of his chest. Something that should’ve been done earlier, but better late than never or whatever. They weren’t angry at him. Not anymore. Still, Gia wasn’t inclined to care much either.

You never learn.

Whether it was their own voice or their mother’s, they couldn’t tell. Regret didn’t sound all that different between them.

Gia stood, giving a few stretches of their own as they ran through what to do with the guy. Fights weren’t anything recent and though Gia knew Crowley turned a blind eye to them handling their problems in however way they saw fit, this…might be overstepping.

This wasn’t a fight for their life when someone hit overblot or a simple scuffle with some jackass. This was, plainly put, an outright murder attempt. They didn’t care about the boy, but this definitely would be grounds for expulsion, right?

You never learn.

They stared at the sack of bones, three-fourths considering turning one of the rooms at Ramshackle into a makeshift dungeon when Floyd interrupted the thought.

“Leave’im.”

Gia glanced at him, expecting Floyd to be looking at them, but his eyes were still closed. “There?”

He nodded lazily then said, “I’ll take him to Octavinelle, no problemo.”

A wave of throbbing around their skull. Oh, great. Another debt. “I’ll figure it out.”

At this, Floyd frowned and peeked up at them through a single eye. His green one. “We made a deal. I’m taking a month.”

Gia blinked. “That was…I thought that was for—” For what? Was he talking about finding the boy? Was body disposal included? They gestured at the general area of their meltdown.

“Noooo. That’s for the minnow over there.”

“…Then what about…?” Gia pointed at the wet stains on his shirt.

Methodically, Floyd made his way onto his feet. “I told you.” He said as he stood to full height, “I was in the mood. You’re not taking my kindness for granted, are ya?”

Gia felt wrung out, they were too tired to fight him on their sentence at the Lounge— but they couldn’t leave him with a loose end to tie their noose with. They’d messed up too much already. Gia stood their ground. “Running a charity now?”

Though he smiled, a shadow crossed over Floyd, his right eye glowing sharper.

“Alright,” He reached out to flick one of the stubborn strands of hair sticking out from the top of Gia’s head. “You’re too fun to let you go out all ‘woe is me.’ Doesn’t suit you. You still gotta looooong way to go before your time’s up.”

Blackmail. Gia thought. Blackmail for sure.

He breezed by them, stalking towards the not-corpse, “Don’t let me down, okay?”

Gia watched as he considered the boy on the ground for a moment. Then without a trace of effort, haul him up by his shirt before throwing him on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. For a beanpole, the dude was wickedly strong.

Gia’s arms rose to hug themself as if with a mind of their own. It wasn’t the same. They turned on their heel and returned to Ramshackle Dorm.

—

tag list: @cyanide-latte @inmateofthemind @simons-twsted-children @tixdixl @blithesharem @thehollowwriter

@jovieinramshackle @theleechyskrunkly @skriblee-ksk @boopshoops @the-trinket-witch (lmk if you wanna be added)

#floyd leech #floyd leech x oc #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #yuusona #unagi shrimp #gia yugo #gar’s art #gar’s writing #oathofoaks #GET THIS BITCH OFF OF MY PLATE #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #i hardly ever write and if i do it’s like 300 words or less #BUT IM PRETTY PROUD OF THIS ONE I THINK

127 notes · View notes

bri-cheeses · 1 day

Text

“Is that Potter’s jersey?”

Regulus looks up, startled, as Evan drops his books onto the table between them. The sunlight filtering in through the library window swirls dust motes around, lighting Regulus’s curls as he replies.

“Excuse me?”

“I said,” Evan reiterates, sliding easily into the booth, “is that Potter’s jersey?”

Regulus’s stills.

“No.”

Evan looks at him pointedly. “You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a Gryffindor jersey, Reg.”

“What an astute observation. Now if you don’t mind, I’m trying to get work done, so I would appreciate it if you could leave me alone.”

With that, Regulus dips his quill into his ink pot and starts writing again. Evan just stares at him as the scratching of the quill on paper fills the air.

But based on the way Regulus glances up sharply a few moments later, he acutely feels Evan’s gaze on him. And he is not pleased.

“What is it?” His voice is tight and impatient.

“Is that Potter’s jersey?” Evan asks again, somewhat stupidly.

“Is that Barty’s hoodie?” Regulus snaps nastily.

Evan’s face flushes with the humiliation and anger that comes from that simple, incredibly cruel remark. It wouldn’t be as bad if Regulus hadn’t known exactly what he was doing by saying something like that—after all, Evan had filled him in on everything just last week.

Evan stands up with a clenched jaw, beginning to stuff his books into his bag with more force than strictly necessary.

A series of vivid images flashes through his mind as he does so: Barty stumbling into the dorm late one night, slightly drunk after attending a notorious Hufflepuff-style party. Evan looking up and laughing at the state Barty was in. Barty coming closer and telling Evan that he had the prettiest laugh he had ever heard, and Evan swallowing thickly.

Barty’s lips on his, mouths tangling together in a single glorious, catastrophic mistake.

One thing had led to another, and Evan had landed himself in what he privately thought was the worst yet best choice of his life. Being friends with benefits with Barty was terrible, but it was also more than Evan could’ve ever asked for from Barty. So he had taken it.

And now here he was, having stolen Barty’s hoodie, which had been haphazardly thrown onto the floor by his bed—probably by Evan himself, if he’s being honest—and wearing it around just so he can pretend to actually have something of Barty’s.

But the point is, Evan hadn’t told Regulus about all of that just for him to be able to hurt Evan whenever he feels like it.

And so Evan starts to walk away, teeth clenched in anger and face still flushed red. He’s breathing entirely too hard, too—he can feel it, but he had had a terrible day before even coming in here, and he just doesn’t have the effort to calm himself down.

Then, from behind him, he hears Regulus call out, “Evan, wait—”

Evan whirls around to find Regulus looking at him with concern in his eyes. The pity he finds there does nothing to smooth out Evan’s boiling temper.

“That was a shitty thing to say and you know it, and I can leave if I want. And I do,” Evan adds with an air of finality, about to turn back around when Regulus’s voice fills the space between them.

“No, no, you’re right.”

Evan stops.

“I shouldn’t have gone there,” Regulus continues, starting to anxiously twist a strand of hair around his fingers. “It’s just that I get defensive and… well, I say stupid things. But yeah, it—it is James’s jersey.”

Evan just looks at him silently. He’s still mad at Regulus, but… Regulus has wanted this for a long time. And Regulus is one of Evan’s best friends, even if he does say some out of line things sometimes.

“I’m happy for you,” Evan tells him.

Regulus smiles softly, a faint blush making its way to his cheeks.

Evan smiles a little in response and shifts the strap of his bag from where it’s digging into his shoulder. Regulus eyes the action, an unimpressed look appearing on his face.

“You can come sit back down now, you know. If you’re not still mad at me.”

His familiar, slightly sarcastic tone is comforting, and Evan’s anger eases a bit more as he walks towards where Regulus is sitting.

“For the record,” Regulus murmurs as Evan sits down again, “I hope Barty gets his act together soon.”

Evan feels his stomach flip at the mention of Barty, but he can’t deny that it makes him happy that Reg is rooting for them as well.

“Off the record… me too, ” Evan admits.

Then he slowly gets out his books again, and he and Regulus begin to study in companionable silence.

#rosekiller #evan rosier #barty crouch jr #jegulus #regulus black #slytherin skittles #marauders era #rosekiller microfic

102 notes · View notes

ifyoucandaniel · 2 days

Text

once again nobody asked, but here is a comprehensive list of my favorite shorter Batman fics. my other list was mostly fics 50k and up, so this will be under 50k and oneshots :) i feel like most people have probably read a majority of these but! i love them all so much so here they are

In Love With Justice and Battling in the Wings by Jedi_olympian, 9k, 10k, T. literally who would i be if i didn't include my day one, my bbg: the justice league recruits nightwing and meets the batfam <3

Two Against the World by carolinaa, 36k, T, completed. i reread this all the time :') this is a "tim joins the batfam a little differently" fic as well as a "tim gets an emotional support dog and dick grayson won't leave the lonely kid next door alone" fic <3

Museum Mishap by prettymisskitty, 38k, T, completed. I love smart little stalker tim joining the fam in fun ways! jason and tim get kidnapped after jason tries to figure out if this scrawny jumpy kid knows batman and robins secret identities. shenanigans ensue

Jason Todd's terrible, horrible, no-good very bad week by slenderboo, 18k, T, completed. this is another one im sure everyone has read but!! it's my bbg!! hurt jason with some big brother nightwing and concerned little brothers AND its a batfam meets the justice league fic? say less.

Say Uncle by megaerakles, 46k, T, complete. this is so fun and i actually laughed so hard at jason having legal custody of tim at 19 by accident. "teen dad(?)" this is basically tim's fake uncle AU but he hires jason to be his uncle until he can figure out how to get him to go home to the bats <3

Doc Harley by starknjarvis, 15k, G, completed. this!! i love harley being friends with the bats sooo much and her slowly therapy-ing them all is so very good and perfect. harley and dick deserve to be best friends

Dangerous and Noble Things by Destiny919, 45k, T, completed. this one reminds me of hand in unloveable hand by britishparty, and in this one tim is abducted by ra's and then years later the batfam finds out and they bring him home :) cass and tim are a package deal, do not separate!! so good and i love robin jason so very much

Savior(s) of the broken by epistemology, 13k, T. this is just some good ol' jason and dick becoming brothers again and jason slowly getting to know his siblings again <3 the end maybe made me cry just a little... right in the brother feels

Living Dead Boy by terranpheum, 22k, T, completed. im actually rereading this right now! this is where tim is there when jason digs his way out of his grave and takes him home to rehabilitate him by making him play scrabble and eat with him :) so cute and very good

Even if I'm Erased by Darkness, I Will Definitely Save You by Kirazalea, 7k, T. okay so i LOVE battison fics especially ones that include dick and this one is from selina's pov so this is my bread and butter. if anyone has more battison fics send them to me i feel like ive been through the whole tag.....

of crime lords and literature by adelfie, 23k, T, completed. everyone loves some jason begrudgingly becoming protective of tim and the two of them bonding over hamlet. whats not to like :p

Juneberries by michaberry, 68k, M, completed. tim gets kidnapped and psychologically tortured while damian wrestles with his own demons and tries to bring his brother home :’) tim and damian learning how to be brothers and realizing they would do anything for their family is just <33

Robin is Magic by flames_dance, 15k, T, completed. the way my heart actually dropped to my ass when jason found out who tim was, you had to be there... very good jason and tim bonding with a side of trauma from titans tower <3

Around Red Hood's Barn by Tori1116, 24k, T, completed. jayroy where roy doesn't realize his crush red hood and his hooligan neighbor jay are one and the same and keeps ranting to his buddy hood about how annoying his neighbor is. single dad roy x jason wanting his brothers to leave him alone and stop causing misunderstandings <3

the butlers neighbor by deargalileo, 16k, G, completed. okay i almost never see fics from alfreds pov and this is even better because its alfred adopting tim into the family while bruce and jason are just in the background accepting they have another kid. 10/10 very cute bonding between alfred and tim

lashed with riot-red and black by lux_et_astra, 16k, T. yet another tim and jason becoming brothers fic <3 they start writing notes through their windows and become friends :) i think i’ve read every fic under the tim drake joins the batfam early tag

Panic Room by envysparkler, 15k, T, completed. jason being locked in a room with his trigger while actively trying not to kill him and then getting locked in a room with TWO of his triggers is insane lmao. i love damian in this actually :’) that boy needs so much love

also i realized again that these are mostly tim & jason centric so i’m very sorry damian, dick, duke, cass, babs, and steph, i do have fics for them i promise i just have so many tim and jason ones…. pls send recs for other batfam member focused fics!! <3 i feel like that tiktok that’s like I GOT LOVE FOR YOU TOO KEVIN but for the entire batfam because i just have 900 jason and tim centric fics 😭

#hey guys it’s me again </3 #i just have a lot of fics and i want to talk about them constantly :’)#batfam fic rec #fic rec #batman fanfiction #batman fanfiction recommendation #batfam #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson #bruce wayne #damian wayne #cassandra cain #duke thomas #stephanie brown #batman #dc

71 notes · View notes

sturniol0s · 3 days

Text

DARE - MATT STURNIOLO

part 4

summary: after you and matt have had been pretty distance with each other from the past matt decides its time to break the “no contact”.

disclaimer: cussing.

a/n: were gonna forget about my old sloppy writing ☺️

MATT POV

its been around how many years? four, ever since it happened. me and y/n still follow each others instagram. ive seen that she just so happened to break up with her boyfriend.

is this my chance?

will she take me back?

i take a deep breath before opening our messages, i start by texting her a “heyy” to keep casual.

as i go to the kitchen for a rootbeer chris and nick introduced to me that were going to boston for a week, guess where y/n lives, boston.

my phone vibrates on the counter.

“ooh who u texting?” chris leans over my phone looking at the message.

“y/n??” he looks at nick and nick looks at me.

“yeah were talking-“ he interrupts me “why didnt u tell us” he looks at me with puppy dog eyes and a sarcastic face.

“get out of my face” i grab my phone and walk back into my room starting to pack.

my phone vibrates again.

“wow your gonna text me first but gonna leave me on delivered🖕”

Y/N POV

im at my friends house, alysa arguing with her about why we should go to california for a vacation.

i feel my phone buzz.

“oh shit” i look up to my alysa smiling.

“what?” she asks worried.

“LOOK” i shove my phone in her face.

“oh shit” we both giggle.

“what do i say”

“hm just say hey back”

i text him and turn my phone off screaming, one reason i wanted to go to california may have been because i wanted to see matt and catch up with him but i didn’t tell alysa about that.

“you should call him” she looks at me smiling.

“no” i yell.

• 10 minutes later

“he still didnt answer” i look at my phone

“maybe hes busy, text him again” she suggests

“okay” as i type my eyes fall on the texts above i catch my self scrolling up reading all the messages from that time, me and matt had both agreed on forgetting about what happened in the past.

“wow your gonna text me first but gonna leave me on delivered🖕” i text him shutting my phone off as fast as i can.

MATT POV

i turn my phone on reading the message she sent me over and over not knowing what i should say.

how are you? i type out but delete.

whys it so hard to talk to her?

“CHRIS” i yell watching my door open.

“what” he looks at me.

“i need your help” i patt the beside me signaling for him to sit down next to me.

“with what?” he asks annoyed

“i dont know what to say to her” he looks at me trying to figure out on who i am talking about.

“her? as in y/n?” his jaw drops

“no shit” i look at chris, hes grinning

taglist🏷️: @chrisloyalgf @sturnsvlg @sturnsjtop @ihearttsyouu @xgsturn @bunnysturns @kiibichio @ghostlypineappl @ihateeveryone357474 @suyqa @iloveneilperry @mbbsgf @hearteyesformatt @delilahluvsu @b2cute @nellyjan-th @jeanieswagger @tillies33ssss @tapesmatts @vane2realz @sturnzsblog @bernardsleftbootycheek @samandcolbyfan22 @blahbel668 @mirandakay20 @vinniehackerslefttoe @melonjollyranche @hopefuljellyfishcollection @bluesturniolo333 @sofiabrown1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @tay-laaaaa @certifiednatelover @iliketotalk @urmommysbathroom @pearlzier @luverboychris @venusbabysblog @chr1sslut @bitchydragonparadise @junnniiieee07 @hauntedxchris @raysmayhem-72

xoxo lacy💋

87 notes · View notes

earthtoharlow · 2 days

Text

Teach Me: First Comes Love…

Series Masterlist

Urban took photos as he watched Jack work and nodded his head to whatever beat he was playing in his head but he couldn’t help but notice the bulge in his pocket.

With a knowing grin, he nudged Jack and raised an eyebrow. “So, buddy, when are you gonna pop the question?”

Jack sighed, his shoulders slumping as he leaned back in his chair. “I’ve been trying, Urb. But every time I muster up the courage, something goes wrong, and the moment is ruined.”

Urban chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “You? Mr. Cool and Collected? I find that hard to believe!”

Jack rolled his eyes playfully, and thought about all the times he tried to propose to Ariel.

Jack had a meeting in New York and since it was spring break they decided to turn it into a weekend trip. Jayla was a couple feet in front of them as they strolled through Central Park. His heart was pounding in his chest as he reached in his pocket to make sure the velvet box that seemed to be glued to his pocket was still there.

“Ariel, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

But just as he was about to pop the question, a small brown puppy ran towards Jayla, startling Ariel. “Did you see that?!” she exclaimed, completely oblivious to Jack’s intentions. She skipped over to Jayla who was now playing with the dog in the grass.

Not being a big fan of dogs, Jack signed and he tucked the ring back into his pocket, saving it for another time.

Ariel gasped in delight, bending down to pet the adorable pup. “Oh my goodness, look at this little baby!”

“She’s so cute! I wonder where she came from.” Jayla laughed as the puppy licked her face. “Can we keep her, Mom? Please?”

Ariel knew how Jack felt about dogs or pets in general but the way the puppy cuddled closer to them, eyes wide and hopeful she couldn’t leave them there sad and alone at the park.

When she looked up at Jack, all he could do was sigh and give a slight nod. He would never hear the end of it if he said no.

“I think we just found our newest family member,” Ariel said with a smile.

“Oh so that’s how you guys found Princess Lou Lou!” Urban remarked as Jack finished the story and right on que, Lou Lou scratched at Jack’s legs wanting to be picked up.

Jack reached down and grabbed her, giving her a kiss in the head. “Yes, she’s been a cock blocker since day one!”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out the ring once more. “Just last week I tried to ask her during date night and the waitress interrupted us.”

Urban laughed a little. “Only you, man. But hey, third time’s the charm, right?”!

Despite his frustration, Jack couldn’t help but chuckle at the craziness of it all. “Let’s hope so, Urb. Let’s hope so.”

***

Later that night as Jack laid beside Ariel in bed, the bedside lamp casted a warm light over her face. Jack couldn’t help but marvel over her beauty. She looked so beautiful, just as she did the day they met. Ariel laid there with no makeup on, her dorky reading glasses perched on her nose as she skimmed through the pages of the book.

Jack reached out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “You look beautiful, Ariel,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

Ariel looked up from her book, a smile spreading across her face at her words. “Really?” She asked, Jack’s words never failed to make her face warm.

He nodded, his heart swelling with love. “Absolutely. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, especially with those dorky reading glasses.”

Ariel laughed and grabbed the extra pillow of the bed and swatted him with it, Jack dodged out the way just in time.

“Well, thank you, I think,” she teased, playfully nudging him with her elbow, and picked up her book again to finish reading.

Jack continued to stare as she read and he realized just how lucky he was that she came into his and Jayla’s life. Despite the ring being hidden in the sock drawer, he could still feel its presence in his thoughts.

Ariel was his soulmate, his partner in life, his one true love and he couldn’t wait any longer to ask her to be his wife.

Without a formal plan or the ring in hand, Jack blurted out the words that had been weighing on his heart for months. “Ariel, I love you. Will you marry me?”

Ariel froze in place, eyes widened as she looked up from her book and towards Jack. “Jack, are you being serious?”

He nodded nervously, unable to tear his gaze away from her. “Completely serious. I’ve been carrying this ring around for months, waiting for the perfect moment. But tonight, right now, with you looking at me like that… This is the perfect moment.”

Tears welled up in Ariel’s eyes before she tossed her book aside and threw her arms around Jack nodding vigorously. “Yes yes yes! I’ll marry you!!”

Jack couldn’t contain his happiness, and held her as if he never wanted to let go. He pulled back slightly cupping Ariel’s face in his hands, and gazed into her eyes, his heart bursting with love.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity and passion. “I love you more than words can express, Ariel. You mean everything to me. You’ve changed my life.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, savoring the moment.

***

Ariel stirred awake, and felt a weight on her hand. When she opened her eyes she gasped at the beautiful ring, Jack must’ve slipped it on in the middle of the night.

Unable to contain her excitement, she gently shook Jack awake. “Jack.” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion, “I still can’t believe it. This ring is gorgeous!”

Jack blinked sleepily, a smile spreading across his face as he realized what she was talking about. “Believe it, Ariel. You’re going to be my wife.”

A surge of happiness washed over Ariel as she leaned in to kiss him. “I don’t want a huge wedding, Jack. I just want to be married to you already.”

His eyes sparkled with excitement as he sat up, his mind racing with possibilities. “Well, why wait? Should we get dressed and wake Jayla up and head to the courthouse today?”

Ariel’s heart skipped a beat at the suggestion, eyes lighting up immediately. “Yes, let’s do it!”

They both leaped out of bed, the room buzzing with excitement. Just as Ariel was about to step into the bathroom, Jack stopped her from the bedroom door.

He turned to her, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Should we call Urban?” he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Ariel’s heart swelled with love for him, knowing how much his best friend meant to him. Despite their decision to just go to the courthouse, she understood that Jack would regret not having Urban by his side on such an important day.

With a gentle smile, she nodded. “Of course, we should. It wouldn’t be the same without him.”

Jack’s face lit up with gratitude as he reached for his phone, dialing his number with eager anticipation. After a few rings, Urban answered, his voice filled with excitement.

“Urban, I need you to meet me at the courthouse in 2 hours!” Jack exclaimed.

“What huh?”

“Ariel and I just got engaged, and we’re planning to tie the knot soon. We’d love for you to be there with us.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line before Urban's voice broke through, filled with emotion. “Are you serious? I wouldn’t miss it for the world, man. I’ll be there.”

As Jack hung up the phone, a sense of relief washed over him knowing that his best friend would be there. He hurries to Jayla’s room to wake her up.

“Daddy, why are you waking me up before 10am on the weekend!” Jayla whined.

All he could do was laugh at his daughter. “If you don’t want to get up, I’ll guess you’ll have to miss mommy and I getting married.” Jack teased playfully.

Jayla stirred from her sleep, blinking her eyes groggily before realizing what her dad had just said. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she shot up in bed, excitement and disbelief washing over her.

“What? Really?” she exclaimed, her voice filled with astonishment.

Jack nodded with a grin, his heart swelling with love for his daughter. “Yep, really. We’re getting married, Jay. And of course we need you there.”

Her face lit up with pure joy as she threw her arms around her dad, a smile stretching from ear to ear. “That’s amazing, Daddy! Of course, I want to be there!”

As Jack left Jayla’s room to start getting ready himself in the guest bedroom he tried his hardest to not get super emotional but he couldn’t help it.

When Alyssa died it had left him feeling broken and empty inside. Jack had never imagined that he would find love again. He had resigned himself to a life of loneliness, believing that his heart could never fully heal from the pain of losing someone he had loved so deeply.

Then Ariel had come into his life, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. She had shown him kindness, understanding, and unwavering support during his darkest days, slowly but surely helping to mend the broken pieces of his heart.

She had brought light back into his life, filling his days with laughter, love, and the promise of a brighter tomorrow and now in a couple hours she was going to be his wife. This was going to be the best day of his life.

***

With hearts racing and hands tightly clasped together, Jack, Ariel, Jayla with Urban right behind them rushed into the courthouse, their excitement filled the air. Their steps echoed in the grand hallway as they made their way to the front desk, determined to make their impromptu wedding a reality.

Breathless with anticipation, Jack approached the desk clerk, a wide grin on his face. “We’re here to get married,” he announced proudly, his voice filled with excitement.

The desk clerk looked up from her paperwork, surprised by the sudden burst of enthusiasm. But as she took in the sight of the happy family standing before her, her eyes softened with warmth and understanding.

“Of course,” she said with a smile, her fingers flying across the keyboard to pull up the necessary paperwork. “Do you have your IDs with you?”

Jack nodded eagerly, pulling out his wallet to retrieve his ID, while Ariel did the same. With their IDs in hand, they watched as the clerk processed their information, the anticipation building with each passing second.

Finally, with a flourish of her pen, the clerk handed them the marriage license, “Congratulations,” she said warmly, her eyes shining with genuine happiness for the couple before her.

With their marriage license in hand, Jack and Ariel exchanged excited glances, their hearts overflowing with joy. Hand in hand, they made their way to the courthouse chapel, where they would exchange vows and become husband and wife.

Ariel stood there with her hands shaking nervously as the officiant spoke. She was about to become a Harlow. Her heart overflowing with love and emotion, Ariel took a deep breath, her eyes shining with tears of joy. With trembling hands, she reached out to take Jack’s, her fingers intertwining with his as she began to speak.

“Jack,” she began, her voice soft and filled with sincerity, “from the moment you came into my life, you’ve brought nothing but love, laughter, and endless joy. You’ve shown me what it means to love and be loved unconditionally, and for that, I am eternally grateful.”

Tears welled up in Ariel’s eyes as she continued, her voice filled with emotion. “You’ve been my rock, my partner, and my best friend. You’ve stood by my side through the good times and the bad, supporting me, encouraging me, and believing in me when I needed it most.”

A smile touched Ariel's lips as she looked into Jack’s eyes, her heart overflowing with love. “Today, as I stand before you, I vow to love you with all that I am, to cherish you, to support you, and to be by your side through every twist and turn that life may bring. I promise to laugh with you, to cry with you, and to build a future filled with love, laughter, and endless adventures. You are my everything, Jack, and I am so grateful to be able to call you my husband.”

Ariel turned towards Jayla who was standing next to Urban, her heart swelling with love for the girl who had stolen her heart from the very beginning.

“Jayla” she began, her voice filled with warmth and sincerity, “from the moment I met you, you captured my heart in a way I never thought possible.”

Tears welled up in Ariel’s eyes as she continued. “You’ve been my daughter since day one, Jayla. You’ve brought so much light and happiness into my life, and I am grateful for every moment we’ve shared together.”

“I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. I promise to always be there for you, to support you, to encourage you, and to love you unconditionally, just as you have loved me.”

With tears of joy streaming down her cheeks, Ariel pulled Jayla into a tight embrace, holding her close as she whispered, “You are my daughter, Jayla, and I am so grateful to have you in my life. I love you more than words can express, and I promise to be the best mother I can be to you, now and always.”

Jack couldn’t help but join in on the hug, forever grateful for his tiny family. He gave them both kisses on the forehead before pulling away so he could say his vows.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he cleared his throat before beginning his vows.

“Ariel,” he started, his voice warm and filled with affection, “from the moment I met you, I knew my life would never be the same. You’ve brought so much love, light, and laughter into my life, and I am eternally grateful for every moment we’ve shared together.”

A grin spread across Jack’s face as he continued, unable to contain his playful spirit. “Now, I have to admit, I don’t know how I’m going to top your vows, Ariel. They were so heartfelt, I’m not sure I can compete!”

Ariel, along with Jayla and Urban’s laughter filled the room as Jack paused for a moment, enjoying the light-hearted moment with his bride-to-be.

“But seriously, Ariel, today I stand before you with all the love in my heart. I promise to cherish you, to support you, and to stand by your side through every moment, big or small. I vow to be your partner, your confidant, and your biggest cheerleader, cheering you on in all your dreams.”

Jack reached up to wipe the tears that had fallen from Ariel’s eyes and gave her a smile. “I am honored to become your husband, I want to spend the rest of my days making you as happy as you have made me. I love you more than words can express, and I am grateful every day for the love and joy you bring into my life.”

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss—“

Jack, not being able to wait, grabbed Ariel pulling her closer and leaned in, pressing his lips eagerly against her own.

Jayla and Urban cheered as Jack and Ariel had their first kiss as husband and wife.

***

After the whirlwind of emotions and celebrations, Jack, Ariel, Jayla and Urban found themselves at home, gathered around the kitchen table. They placed a store-bought cake in the center of the table, without any formalities or fuss, they grabbed forks and began to dig in, savoring each bite of the cake.

Jack leaned in close to Ariel, his voice soft as he whispered, “I can’t believe today happened. I’m the luckiest man in the world to have you as my wife.”

Ariel’s eyes sparkled with happiness as she whispered back, “And I’m the luckiest woman to have you as my husband. Today was perfect, Jack. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.”

Jack glanced at Ariel, a playful twinkle in his eye as he whispered, “When should we tell our families?”

Ariel chuckled softly, her heart warmed by the thought of sharing their joy with their loved ones. “I think we should tell them soon,” she replied, her voice filled with excitement. “Maggie has been pretty much begging you to marry me since we’ve met.”

He nodded in agreement, a smile spreading across his face. “I can’t wait to see the looks on her face when we tell her,” he said, his anticipation growing with each passing moment.

As Ariel rested her head on Jack’s shoulder, a contented sigh escaped her lips. “I’m just so happy,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.

Jack wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “I am too,” he murmured, his voice soft with love. “Today has been everything I ever dreamed of and more.”

***

THEN COMES MARRIAGE!!!!! 🤭🤭 hope you all enjoyed this let me know yours thoughts

Tag List

(message me if you'd like to be added or removed)

@heavyhitterheaux @hoodharlow @neon-lights-and-glitter @babiefries @toocriticalharlow @jackmans-poison @dstark-0706 @harlowsbby @itsyagirljaz @leftapricotprofessorlover @minkookie95 @harlowcomehome @jackharloww @jaydaaasworld @kkrenae @hufflewhore128 @w1ldthoughts @realwifeofjackharlow @halfmoondaze @katiaw2

#jack harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow reader #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow x oc #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow x black reader #teach me

51 notes · View notes

totothewolff · 2 days

Text

Season of Love (7/?)

+18 | Toto x reader fem!teamprincipal, romance, comedy, and some good drama.

Summary: One night on a pier in Monaco, while admiring the sea under the night skies, you tell Toto: "I came to the conclusion that love is simply not meant for me." That's the answer to a question you have been asking yourself for the longest time. But what if he proved you wrong? Author's note: This is a multichapter Toto Wolff x team principal reader fic set along a season of F1. It's a very immersive story full of drivers, team dynamics, races, mystery, and smut. You just bought the Williams team, but nobody really knows who you truly are.

< Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

The Color of Truth is Blue Arc Chapter 7: Red flagsss

Italy

You stay off-the-grid that entire weekend to everyone's concerns.

Your phone remains turned off and forgotten on the sofa at Seb's place, kilometers away from you now, as he takes you on a sudden road trip through the Italian Riviera in his 1995 classic blue Citroën DS19.

Knowing the beautiful scenery and brief stops at the Mediterranean towns' gorgeous tourist sites would keep your mind from hurtful thoughts.

And, boy, he was right.

Your mood gets less somber as you two enjoy your gelatos while peacefully walking the Giardini Botanici Hanbury, feeling the fresh breeze from the trees on your skin and hearing the birds chirping around you.

It turns out Seb is full of great love and life advice. He sounds so mature and open about it that it seems new and shocking to you.

How can someone love so freely and so fearlessly?

Seb watches you sigh as you finish packing the clothes you bought and wore during the weekend in your also new suitcase since touring Italy in his clothes seemed like something other than a fit for your aesthetics and ego.

Still, you chose to wear his vintage Monty Python t-shirt with mom jeans for the flight back, as you loved the graphic, its colors, and the fact that it fits you a bit oversized and comfy. It made you feel safe.

—Everything will be fine —he expresses.

—I know —you look at Seb and give him a shy smile, only if he knew.

—Ready, then? —he holds open the door for you.

—More than ever —you answer, and you are.

Hungary

Much to your poor nerves, the Hungary Grand Prix week is finally here.

And you need to meet Pascal on the outskirts of town so he can deliver you the device.

That nervous sensation in your stomach grows as the chauffeur/gunman drives you closer to the meeting point, which is inside the third floor of a decadent and abandoned old building from the socialist era.

It's been more than a decade since last you saw him in person, as he was getting violently pinned down to the floor and dragged away by a SWAT team as you screamed.

His piercing blue eyes and his handsome face were covered in blood coming from a deep wound over his eyebrow from the contact of a fist punch as he whispered a soft and reassuring "I will be fine; you will be fine."

That memory was forever tattooed in your brain, sometimes making you wake up with a cold sweat at night.

As you finish climbing the narrow swirl stairs that once may have been stunning, you open the enormous, washed-down, and scratched-wood double doors. They creak so loud, making the place echo, as the tall, muscular figure of a man looking out of an open, broken window turns your way, following the sound.

Your heart skips at the sight of him; you guess those feelings never truly disappeared.

He watches you approach him with the same expression as your heels clack loudly on the dirty, now opaque, tiled floor.

You rush your pace in the last couple of remaining steps. Reaching closer to Pascal's figure, a smile forms on his lips, expecting you to throw yourself into his arms.

But as you are millimeters away from his body, you slap him so hard, making his head turn. His lip bleeds a little bit from the contact before sinking into his neck as he pulls you in a really tight hug above the ground; your hand caresses his hair and cheek as you lay your foreheads in one another.

—It's great to see you, kid. We don't have much time —Pascal tells you as he places you back to the ground and points to the ankle monitor on his calf with a blinking light. —Inside this is the tracker; follow the protocol precisely as we practiced it, and everything will be alright. You are so brave —he hands you a green Hermes bag. —Go.

You want to talk to him more, say more, and let him know all that happened in your life after him and thanks to him, but he rushes you to leave, not wanting to expose you more than necessary, and for you to return to safety.

You slide your hand down his arm and squeeze his hand as you walk away, letting it go only when he gets out of your reach.

The weather at the track gets damn awful, umbrellas everywhere, grey skies, and all lights on, even if it's really early.

The free practice is a complete mess, thanks to the various puddles and Logan's car pinballing around.

Sam looks extremely uneasy that day under the stern scrutiny from Toto.

—Stop it. You are making me uneasy, too. What's with you? —he asks as Sam nervously moves around.

—Nothing, I don't want Lewis to crash or George to get hurt. That thing with Logan was awful —she lies quickly, as paramedics had to help him out of the car while many "ouchs" from the crowd were exchanged as he wasn't walking alright.

Toto looks at her with a deadly "Please, I'm not stupid" look.

But he lets it go before he overhears; Niki asks her directly as she reaches him. —Have you heard from her?

Sam knows exactly to whom (you) he is referring. —No.

And that's what makes her more nervous than anything. "Please, be ready," she thinks.

Toto raises an eyebrow at the interaction. Is something going on?!

You decide to show up until qualy.

You walk around the paddock and pitline as if following a path, but this is only noticeable if someone is paying you lots of attention, which Charles is.

He catches your step in the middle, distracting you; you cut him as he opens his mouth to say something.

—Not now, later —you look so authoritarian he doesn't protest. —I need to focus. Do you get it? —now you mutter to him, low.

He nods. —Take care, please —is all he says, and he walks away. He is not able to talk to you about what happened at the Gala and about all Seb told him; he only told him the bits Seb knew weren't to be kept.

Toto is there, too, observing your every move. The more he looks and follows you, the weirder it gets.

Judging by the expression you and Charles shared, how nerve-wracking Sam is acting, and how quiet Niki is, there is no way something isn't happening.

Could it be the aftermath of what happened at the Gala? To which he is the one to blame for.

Toto waits for the perfect moment to confront Sam. After the practice ends and everyone moves to the hospitality and headquarters, he notices the blond walking down the corridor of his office in the direction of Niki's. He quickly gets on his feet and follows her around. Sam notices and rushes her pace.

Out of nowhere, he pushes Sam softly against the wall to make her stop. —What's going on? Don't dare to lie to me —he looks dead concerned about it, borderline paranoid.

—It's not my place to tell you —she sadly replies and pushes him away too, roughly, knowing the last time she said those words, she ended up hurting a friend. —Don't push it! It won't work! My lips are sealed —she warns him as she fixes her shirt and returns to work.

—I know I fucked it up —Toto lets out, looking at Samanta's back as she faces the door down the hall as he leans one of his hands on the wall.

Fuck, he sounds so sad, almost wounded. Sam closes her eyes, feeling awful, before taking a step and walking away in total silence.

It's the eve of the Hungarian Grand Prix, and the paddock is abuzz with excitement and anticipation.

It's regular business with teams preparing their cars and mechanics working tirelessly to ensure every engine is revving if it wasn't for the extreme security present this time.

There are not-so-discreet gunmen in different places, catching the attention of some guests and team members.

Fans gather at the circuit, voices rising in cheers. The energy is palpable as everyone eagerly awaits the engines' roar and the tires' screech on the track.

This time, The Hungarian Grand Prix is more than just a race; today, it welcomes a peculiar, to say the least, special guest to participate in the opening ceremony: one political candidate, desperate to be in the spotlight and under the cameras, seizing the opportunity with the upcoming election just weeks from today.

It has been almost a year since your intelligence team confirmed to you that the juicy donations from Hungarian and Serbian accounts addressed to the FIA/F1 were the single most crucial lead to the man you have been hunting for years and years: Jószef Lenkov.

Lenkov had planned to tour the paddock on foot before arriving at the pit lane to participate in the committee during the country's anthem ceremony.

It's your only opportunity in decades to approach him, and you can't miss it. Your entire team and life depend on it; it's personal.

You feel sick to your stomach as you watch Lenkov and his entire entourage arrive. After all these years, he is there, in person, just meters away from you, as in one of your nightmares; there he is, the reason behind all the suffering in your life and the ones you love.

Even if you now have a different name and aspect and are being protected and monitored, a lingering fear is still deep in you.

You were just a child the last time you saw him.

God, how much you despise that man, how much you want to succeed in bringing him down, how much you want him gone for good.

You start casually walking closer and around them, near the distance but not enough to be noticed by all those guards protecting him.

You follow the path that you rehearsed thousands of times.

Everything goes according to plan until you make it to the pitlane on the final and most crucial move.

In a matter of seconds, your vision gets all blurry.

Your ear makes an awful whistling sound, and you feel stabs of pure pain on your right forearm, the one you just got up by instinct to protect you from smashing directly into the glass, which shatters enough to hurt you as you get pushed to the side against the glass barrier where Rolex had an interactive advertising booth for those with a VIP access.

Everyone near you watches the scene in genuine shock as one of the brutal security assholes of Lenkov forces you away from him.

As you approach the older man from behind, you are able to place your hands on his shoulder and just above his jacket pocket inside that entourage of suited security men as he waves the crowds of militants in the stands supporting him.

Lewis watches, shocked at how little you react to such a violent punch. There is almost no expression in response from you, no wincing, which raises all his alarms.

Samanta tries her best to look as surprised as the rest, and thank God Toto next to her is fuming with rage that doesn't pay her any attention.

Since yesterday, he has been suspicious that something is going on and has followed her closely the entire day, too, so she has remained as far from you as possible.

A lot happens around you as you recover; Lenkov doesn't even bother to turn around or give his attention to the commotion as he gets rushed away from the scene by his team of gorillas guarding him.

Your blood starts spilling everywhere on the pitlane concrete floor; it seems and feels like a deep cut on the forearm.

FIA security holds the violent bodyguard and escorts him out, and aid comes your way.

You compose yourself reasonably quickly.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice your entire team of mechanics and drivers moving towards the guy with killer instincts since everything is happening barely a meter away from your garage entry.

—Anyone who dares to move an inch gets out of this team —you warn them in such a dangerous, deep voice. Something no one has witnessed you do before.

Millie looks at you as you have transformed into someone else, like something buried inside you has come out.

No one dares to move.

You rush to grab one of the mechanics' jackets and tighten it around your arm, trying to stop the bleeding. Paramedics arrive as fast as possible and start working on your nasty wound.

Once inside the ambulance, you instruct them to take you straight to your hotel room against their will; you let them know it's an order, not an option.

You catch a glimpse of Pascal among the crowds near the pit stop. Now, he knows you have accomplished the job because of the smile you give him through the open door of the ambulance, like a lioness before eating her sleep prey.

After getting some provisional stitches and a fresh bandage, you arrive at the Corinthia Hotel.

The white gauze gets redder with every step you take. Still, you hide it well behind the space thermal blanket the paramedics give you, walking as fast as possible, trying to avoid grabbing the attention of the guests in the hotel on your way to your destination.

Drops of blood are on your expensive pink glaze tweed Valentino dress.

You knock on the room you got instructed to, using the signal number of knocks your team told you to.

You quickly enter the large double room once they open the door for you. The curtains are closed, and the lights are on. A team of six guys on computers with tons of cables and some devices wrapped in foil, along with a couple of gunned men, greet you.

An exceedingly handsome, fit man in an expensive Armani power suit sits on the couch, legs crossed, with a drink in his hand.

He turns to talk to you. —We got signal! Now we can trace him —he informs you; he notices you are hurt and instantly gets concerned, and his fierce eyes softened.

Everyone claps as you collapse next to him on the couch. He grabs your once again bloody hand and comes close to kneel in front of you, sharing an intimate moment as tears run down your cheeks, not knowing if it was the emotion of the moment or the pain provoking them.

—You succeeded! I'm so proud of you —Matt rubs a finger on your bruised knuckles and softly kisses them —The tracker you placed on Lenkov will lead us to his current quarters. I will take it from here.

You nod, exhausted.

—You are done more than enough; now I have to play my part —he informs you.

—What?! —you let out as your heart skips.

—If I don't cause a scene, it will raise questions.

—Wait, Matt, it's unnecessary! I don't think they notice; the FIA aren't exceptionally bright...

—You just got slaughtered in our team garage, and you think it is not necessary? —he looks at you with an exasperated face.

—You don't need to show up! I can handle this! I don't require you to intervene! —you enter complete panic mode; you need more time and want more time.

—What you need is a surgeon; that cut seems deep, but they will take you to the hospital now. I will meet you there after visiting the pitlane —Matt ends the conversation right there, his beautiful clear blue eyes looking authoritarian at you.

—Matthew, no, wait! —you know it is impossible to make that man change his mind; once he makes a decision, it gets done. You all live in a world that is his. You know how erratic, spoiled, and unreliable he is.

There it is, the control freak from which you ran away.

Your limbs get cold as you have this conversation, and moving causes you so much pain now, so you let your case rest, knowing there's nothing else you can do.

More tears run down your face, but not caused by the wound; it is your heart bleeding.

Samanta watches Matthew walk past the Mercedes garage's front like she is seeing a walking ghost.

He looks gorgeous, with perfect hair, on-point clothes, and swaggy steps, but this time, he has a lethal gaze.

He tilts his head and looks straight at her for a second. Sensing her eyes on him, Matt subtely smirks at Sam and keeps going.

Sam stays still, watching, knowing everything is about to change.

—All good? —Lewis asks her, concerned, witnessing the interaction.

—Yes, I'm just shocked and worried about what happened! I hope she's doing okay!

—We all do —Niki joins the conversation, looking somber, hands in his pockets. Then, he softly whispers to Sam. —I hope she succeeded.

—Me too —Sam answers, knowing that he knows.

Toto is quiet and reflective in his chair, far from them. Sam does everything possible not to cross his sight and avoids him the rest of the night.

He has many questions and needs your answers.

If you ever want to talk to him ever.

He prays God you do.

That you still want him.

Matthew arrives at the gruesome scene with a group of lawyers, who carry cameras and tablets and start taking pictures and collecting testimonials.

Of course, it is all pretend; your team is about to control the narrative of the events: "It was a non-related security brokerage" is about to fill social media, bots, press, and TV.

The FIA is about to be blamed for having weak security protocols for its people.

Matt is not pleased to see your blood spread all over the pitstop's concrete floors. He feels murderous inside, and he looks like it.

He notices many curious eyes set on him, but he is used to it; a man with his appearance always draws attention anyway.

Schumi walks to him. —Hi, Mr. De Vos. Is Y/N okay, boss?!

—I just got informed she is at the hospital right now getting surgery. I will be by her side soon. I needed to see it first with my own eyes. I can't believe this! —fuck he sounds pissed looking at the "crime scene."

The next day, the stewards were going nuts trying to manage the entire situation, and the busy FIA scheduled a meeting to discuss the violent events with all the astonished team principals.

To reassure them that they were handling the situation and that there was no need for anyone not to feel safe, and to say: "It won't happen again, we swear."

—I didn't know Ken existed in real life! —Otmar jokes under his breath with Mattia and Fred as they all watch Matthew having a call on the other side of the clear glass panel walls outside the meeting room.

All TPs are gathered in a vacant and enormous room, along with some team owners, waiting for Massi to arrive and discuss the gruesome circumstances of the night before.

Matthew enters the room, grabbing everyone's attention and provoking a "Who is this guy?" face on the men inside.

His blonde lawyer waits for him outside just by the door; they both look busy.

That blonde guy looks familiar to Toto. Oh, yeah! It's Sam's brother.

Matthew joins the circle of chairs. —Couldn't they get cheaper ones? —he jokes as the thing squeaks with his weight. He is very muscular but lean, like a model.

Everyone laughs, agreeing.

—We look like we are about to take fucking therapy —Gunther colorfully adds.

Horner chuckles at his comment.

—My name is Zack, and I'm addicted to speed —he teases.

—Hi, Zack! —three of them answer in unison.

—I'm Christian. I'm addicted to winning —Horner jokes, too.

—Mr. Lauda —Matthew greets him, standing to receive a hug from the older man as he joins the group.

—Oh, so handsome as ever! —Niki comments on Matt's good looks and pats his face. Matt doesn't seem bothered by it; he has quite an authoritarian presence and a stern face that could spam from the sweetest thing to a serial killer within seconds, but he smiles at Niki.

—How is she? —Niki asks, concerned for your well-being.

—She went through reconstructive surgery, which took five hours. The glass cut tendons and nerves, so she needs to take therapy to get her movement back. She can't feel pressure or heat on her fingers and has minimal movement on her entire arm.

—Yeah, all sense gets gone for a good couple of weeks —Niki states. He knows the procedures well; he went through some after his crash. —I'm calling her to advise her on how to deal with it; it gets frustrating.

—That would be fantastic. Y/N will very much appreciate your supporting words; she is still shaken by all that has happened.

—And what happened exactly? —Mattia inserts himself in their conversation. Matthew turns to him with a cold expression, a mixture of "you aren't part of this conversation" and "I don't have anything to explain to you."

—According to the FIA, it was just a simple "accident," but my team differs —Matthew answers him with sarcasm and deadpan.

Toto already dislikes Matt. He acts arrogant and entitled. Niki sits beside him, and Massi rushes in, followed by a group of stewards and his assistants.

—Apologies, it's been crazy! Oh! Mr. De Vos, thank you for joining us!

"Mr. De Vos?!" Toto's expression changes from annoyed to surprised as he stares for the first time straight at him, to which Matthew holds his look.

Matt instantly switches personalities as Massi addresses him. His pose goes from relaxed on his chair to dangerous, with one leg resting on his knee. His eyes look harsh, like a wolf about to bite the lamb's neck.

—This can't happen again —he says in the most authoritarian voice, with no greeting. Massi's eyes widen. —This wasn't an accident; it was incompetence from your security, your organization, and yours —Matthew destroys him.

He knows playing with your food is not polite, but he isn't the most successful man in his type of business by being kind or soft. —Bring your PR team. I need to have a word with them —Matt continues.

Massi looks at him, alarmed, but nods, agreeing.

—Now —Matt slowly and softly finishes saying.

Massi nods again and quickly goes out of the room.

—Can we hire you? —Stroll asks Matt in awe.

—You don't have that kind of money —he jokes back.

"Yes, he is insufferable," Toto thinks.

After an extensive meeting, Matthew gives the FIA two months to develop a new and better security protocol, or they will sue.

After receiving many concerned texts and "I hope you get better soon" mentions, you finally replied in the group chat: "I now have a bionic forearm, but it doesn't shoot lasers. Bummer!"

"I have something in my body that shoots too, but neither is my arm nor are lasers," Lando jokes.

Everyone laughs.

During the break that the Mercedes team takes to lunch, Sam visits you at the hospital, and she takes you tons of gifts. She is the only one who is allowed to visit you or knows your location.

Among the gifts is a letter from Toto that you don't dare to open.

After returning from the hospital, Sam joins the girl squad for a much-needed chat.

—He looks fake! It's like the Greeks marbled him —Millie says, checking out Matthew while he talks with a man obstructed by a poster with Sam, Angela, and Brigita beside her.

—He is so handsome! That's some cute, firm bubble booty —Angela lusts for him.

—And you haven't seen him without a shirt; he has abs for days —Sam informs them.

—One can only imagine —Brigita whispers.

Matthew is chatting with Alexi, Sam's brother, behind the sign, obstructing Millie's view until he moves.

As soon as she notices Alexi, she hugs and greets him. —Uncle! —she lets out, throwing herself into his arms, excited as they embrace each other.

Sam joins them against her will. —How lovely! A family reunion, yikes! —she says sarcastically, pretending to hate the thing.

They all candidly talk till Niki and Toto reach them.

—You don't remember Matthew?! Really? Are you sure?! —Alexi looks incredulous at Millie as he asks her.

She denies fiercely with her head.

—But he has been invited to many family gatherings!

—Nope! —Millie then gestures at Matt's body with her hand. —If I had seen this, I would remember it, believe me! —then she turns to him, a bit red on the cheeks. —With all due respect —she adds, and Matthew shrugs, amused.

—Don't boost his ego, please. It's already enormous —Sam rolls her eyes at them.

—No worries! —Alexi addresses his niece. —He is so used to this; a girl once fainted before him. No joking; it happened during our college years. You were so popular with the girls —then turns to face Matthew. —Y/N was the most envied girl on campus —Alexi finishes saying and then looks at the two men now joining them.

—You must be Sam's brother —Toto extends a hand to him, to Niki's right.

—Yes, I am! I have heard so much of you —he says as they shake hands. Alexi looks very friendly and chatty, utterly different from Sam and Matt. It could be more like Millie's genes; maybe it's that part of his family.

—I hope nice things! —Toto jokes.

—Apparently, this gremlin is fond of you —he smirks at a now embarrassed Sam at the revelation.

Alexi is Matthew's lawyer. They have been friends since childhood, since the womb as their families have been close for centuries. Yes, centuries, big old-timey money with insulting fortunes, the kind of money that would make someone sick.

They both studied law at Cambridge at the same time.

Alexi then quickly adds. —You haven't been introduced to each other, right? Matthew, this is Toto Wol..

—I know —Matt cuts him. —We just saw each other at the meeting.

None of them moves an inch to greet the other. An awkward tension is palpable.

—Oh, well, then. Anyway, this "knows it all" is Matthew De Vos, owner of the Williams team and Y/N's husband.

"Y/N'S HUSBAND! WHAT THE FUUUU-!" Toto struggles to play it cool.

To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter > - A new arc is here with lots to unpack and reveal! Finally, we are getting to more know about her! I hope you liked this chapter, but prepare for what comes next! Read you soon <3

47 notes · View notes

riki-riks-chick · 2 days

Text

Transition┃P.JS

vampire!jay x newvampire!reader(gn!)

Word Count: approx. 1.1k

═════════════

Third Person POV~

It had barely been a week since it happened... Since you let him do it. He was impatient, and since you trusted him, you went with it. You let him bite you. At first he was hesitant, but he loved you, and the thought of having you at his side forever tempted him.

Though hesitant, you were swayed fairly easy. Once it happened though, he had remembered how hard his own transition was and how he dealt with it. The immense pain, the urge to siphon the blood of the nearest human. Your many symptoms were all but foreign to him.

It was dark, around maybe three in the morning, but you were wide awake. All your senses were heightened, and at the slightest sound, you awoke from your slumber. Eyes bloodshot and dark, you had found your way to the kitchen, hoping that with some random pills and a cold glass of water, you'd be at peace for the night.

You stood in silence, only one light illuminating the kitchen as you leaned against the counter, a glass of water glued to your sweaty palm. "What are you doing awake?" A voice met your ear and you shuddered. A hand trailed its way down your arm, only stopping once it reached your shaky hand. You felt him, so close you could feel his breath on your shoulder. Goosebumps trailed from your arms and up your neck at the warm feeling of his breath fanning against your skin.

"Jay..." You let his name fall loosely from your lips, setting your glass down before you had the chance to drop it as he snickered, his hand finding its way to your bicep where he tightened his hold on you. "You're dripping in fear... What's the problem?" He spoke, his tone deep and cutting as you sucked in a breath, trying your best to conceal your anxiety. He knew your ability to sense the people around you was weak, and he always used it against you. He pulled back slightly, wrapping his arms around your waist as he nuzzled into your neck. "Answer me.."

"It's nothing..I just couldn't sleep.." You answered simply, trying your best to relax against him so he wouldn't feel your nerves. "Are you still in pain?" He was caring and concerned, humming inquisitively as you shook your head, mumbling a small, "I'm fine," to ease his worries. Truth is, every touch he laid upon you left a burning sensation in its wake. You were in so much pain. The headaches, the shaky hands, the weak knees, you hated all of it, but he promised it'd be gone in time enough.

"I'm sorry to put you through this... I know it's hard.." He spoke with compassion and sincerity, something he often lacked in his speech. You were easily swayed by his soft voice and the smooth rasp behind it. "I don't mind it.. It's not unbearable..." You were finally calm, your mind no longer a muddled mess. His presence just made everything better.

He had explained that being around the person who turned you made your transition easier. He was the only antidote to this so called disease you had. The remedy to your illness. "Come back to bed.." He whispered, pulling away from you as you turned to face him, a sigh escaping your lips. "It's no use... I won't be able to sleep.." He only smiled, holding his hand out to you as you hesitantly took his hand. "Then follow me.."

He led you to the front door, helping you slip your shoes on before pulling you outside. It was dark and the night air was crisp and cold. You shivered. "Come on.. I wanna show you something.." He grabbed your hand, leading you to his car as you got in, putting your seatbelt on obediently.

He drove, for what seemed like half an hour but was really all of fifteen minutes, until you reached a bridge. Illuminated prettily and set amidst the busiest streets in the city. You got out of the car, and almost immediately you covered your ears, the sounds around you being too much all together and a plethora of scents clouding your senses. You winced, head pounding once again as Jay led you to the edge of the bridge, uncovering your ears. "Let the sounds surround you.. Try only focusing on one sound."

You let yourself sink into the ambience of the area around you, letting every sound infiltrate your brain before listening for one sound that separated itself from the rest. The water.. You let yourself sink into the scenery around you, focusing in on the pretty little echoes of the riverbed that the bridge was built upon. You had encountered peace for the first time in what felt like years.

Every roaring thought seemed to die down once you were able to focus. You could relax. Jay watched from beside you, smiling at the almost relieved look on your face. "Now, try to find one scent and stick to it." He rubbed your shoulders in support as you tried your hardest to focus. You found his scent and though faint, it was almost woodsy with vanilla undertones. You took it in, letting his scent imbed itself in your senses as you took a deep breath. Your head was no longer pounding, your heart no longer racing, you were at ease for the first time in a week.

"Y/n..." He whispered, taking your hand in his as you glanced over at him. A pretty smile now graced his features, he'd been on edge the past few days, every craving, and every problem of yours had stressed him out, but he tried his best to fill your needs. Now he could relax knowing that the worst of your transition was over. "How do you feel?" You smiled in response. "I feel free.."

Freedom was the only way to describe it. You had been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, but tonight, the weight was gone. You could breath.. And you had Jay to thank for that.

"Let's go home.." He gave your hand a small squeeze before letting go as you smiled, getting back in his car. "Thank you for everything Jay.. I feel so much better..." You thanked him, a small smile gracing your features as he patted your knee. "Let's live like this for the rest of our lives.."

"I look forward to it.."

═════════════

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen hyung line #enhypen soft headcanons #enhypen soft hours #enhypen vampire au #vampire #vampire au #enhypen jay #jay enhypen #jay enha #vampire reader #jay soft thoughts #jay soft hours #park jongseong #jay park

34 notes · View notes

hanayori89 · 2 days

Text

A Hero’s Choice: A Skyward Sword Fanfic

🪶 Hello all! I just wrote this for fun and have no direction with this. I just like Skyward Sword and fluff as comfort writing material 🪶

***** Some Fluff *****

Lesson 1: A Repulsive Romance

It was pretty nauseating.

Your elbow was planted firmly on your desk, and your hand curled beneath your chin, causing your arm to resemble a doric column as it supported the heavy infrastructure of your head. Your eyes kept fluttering closed.

"Y/N!"

Professor Owlan's voice boomed across the classroom. "Would you like to answer my question?"

"Uh-" Your frantic eyes searched the patient expressions of your fellow classmates.

Your friend Karane elbowed you from your left side." He was asking how to soothe a distraught Loftwing midflight." She sighed beneath her breath.

"Oh, yes, to soothe a Loftwing midflight, it is imperative to make sure you speak in a mild tone, find the pressure point on top of its head, and rub it."

"Why?" Professor Owlan inquired. From the harsh cut of his voice, it was clear he caught you dozing off.

"Because this pressure point, when massaged, is connected to the Loftwing's central nervous system and will flood it with feel-good endorphins."

"Very well. Take your hand off your head, please." He reprimanded you before continuing to swat the whiteboard with his ruler.

"Y/N, you are training too hard." Karane chided from beside you. "It's important to keep your grades up too. Being a knight isn't all about brawn, you know?"

"I know that, but I have to! I can't let-" Your eyes looked over to see your rival and friend, Link, gazing at you from over his shoulder. When he caught you staring at him, he looked away.

Karane continued, "Link will always have an advantage because of Zelda."

And there it was. The name that made your stomach churn.

Zelda.

She was Headmaster Gaepora's daughter and the most sought-after girl in all of Skyloft. With cascading strands of gold and features symmetrical like the grand goddess statue, Zelda had a face that could rob a man of his voice.

And she was in love with Link.

You let your eyes wander in Zelda's direction. She sat behind Link, her eyes half-massed, as she stared at him as if he were a freshly baked cake.

"Y/N..."

You turned to see Karane observing you.

"Are you sure you don't like Link?"

"Um. Ew. Actually, Ew."

"You're the only girl that thinks Link is "ew." She chuckled as you made an exaggerated grimace.

"Y/N, Karane," Professor Owlan hissed. "Would you care to share with the class what is so important you need to whisper during this lecture.

You saw Link's blue eyes bubble with curiosity as he peered at you once more from over his shoulder.

"Y/N here isn't taking care of herself, and I am imploring her; she needs to do better because the upcoming Loftwing ceremony is a mere week away." She stood up, causing a scene, which, as your best friend, you knew was her tactic to distract the class from Professor Owlan's question.

"Are you all making sure you're sleeping? Eating your protein and vegetables? Staying hydrated? This ceremony is a big deal, and we all need to make sure we are taking care of ourselves for this competition."

Fletch raised his hand; his eyebrows were knit upward in a way that made his face constantly appear clueless. "Actually, I haven't been sleeping well myself. I am quite nervous."

The sound of a slam made the entire class jump. Groose stood, his massive hands slapping his desk once again. "Psht. As if eight hours of sleep are going to give you all some magical benefit against me. We all know I will be Zelda's chosen hero." Groose stood, pumping his bicep muscles in a slow and deliberate manner, as if someone were inflating a balloon beneath his flesh.

"Ok, enough!" But as the chatter of uncertain voices began to carry throughout the class, the bell sounded, and Professor Owlan's admonishment went unacknowledged.

As books began to slam shut and chairs slid across the polished wooden floors of the classroom, you began to gather your things. You were hoping to sneak in a quick nap before you went over to Eagus's dojo and did another round of grueling sword training.

"Y/N."

You turned to see Link staring at you.

"You really are pushing yourself too hard." His voice was feathery, like his dark blond hair. "You have bags beneath your eyes."

You dropped your bookbag, your hands flying to your hips. "Not all of us have favoritism on our side, Link!"

His expression shifted, and he looked down at his shoes, hurt plastered on his face.

"Well?" You kept goading him on. "Did I hit a nerve? Your Zelda's favorite; we all know who really is going to win, but at the very least, I want to lose knowing I tried my very best."

"You're amazing, Y/N. Your determination and persistence are unlike anyone here, including myself."

His unexpected compliment knocked you off your high horse. You allowed yourself a momentary glance at him, the sincerity in his eyes made your chest constrict. A feeling that would happen sometimes when your eyes would meet.

Something else that you found nauseating.

"I just want to be better than you." Your response offered him no other opening to continue the conversation.

He opened his lips, but Zelda came running over. "Link!" She laced her fingers into his. Come on, let's go practice with our Loftwing. There's a perfect breeze that will be beneficial for our practice today." Zelda turned and looked at you. A surreptitious glint was reflected in the way she looked at you, and you could translate it simply as jealousy. It couldn't even be hidden beneath her saccharine smile.

"Hello Y/N. You should get some practice, too. Perhaps you and Karane can take advantage of this phenomenal weather we are having."

There it was. You and Karane. Because Link was hers and would never be anyone else's.

Not that you cared.

Link was nothing more than a pretty face who could somewhat wield a sword.

She could have him.

But as she pulled him away, he gave you a lingering look, and your chest began to constrict in that familiar way you despised.

It was pretty nauseating.

Edited: 5/8/24

#legend of zelda #link #loz #fanfiction #wattpad #link x reader #romance #the legend of zelda #fanfic #fanfic on tumblr #zelda fanfiction #skyward sword zelda #loz skyward sword #loftwing #the legend of zelda skyward sword #skyward sword #fluff #rivals to lovers

34 notes · View notes

ninthcircleofprythian · 17 hours

Text

Make It Hurt

Eris Vanserra x You

Word Count : 2.9k

Summary : After a truly terrible day you come home only to be surprised by the one and only Eris Vanserra and he knows how to make it all better.

Warnings : full on smut, no plot, one singular use of y/n, some swearing, heavy praise kink, dirty talk, heavy use of pet names/honorifics, dom! Eris, dom/sub dynamics, bdsm themes, mention of safeword, impact play (spanking), temperature play, explicit sex described - fingering (f recieving), p in v

Author's Notes : This was whipped up quickly while taking a break from other fics, lightly edited so please forgive any mistakes.

Today was one of the most awful days you’ve had in a long time. You head straight into the shower after returning home, ready to wash the thoughts and emotions of this never ending day away. What you need is a good cry and a bottle of wine.

As the water washes over you, you let loose the sobs that have been building in your chest all afternoon. After a few minutes of good hard crying, you feel numb. Your mind is spent, your body is tired and you can’t seem to will yourself into getting out of the shower.

From the other side of the curtain, you hear the telltale shuffling of someone entering the bathroom. Eris. He must have finally been able to sneak away from his father’s supervision long enough to see you. It’s been over a week since the last time.

He remains quiet, not announcing his presence. He thinks he is being stealthy and you haven’t heard him. Normally you are singing at the top of your lungs and wouldn’t hear him until it was too late. Suddenly Eris grabs hold of whatever magic heats your water and with his own fire manipulation he wills the temperature to searing.

On any other day the assault of heat raining down on you would have you skittering out of the spray and screaming at him with playful frustration. Today however it feels like just what you needed, even more cathartic than your earlier crying session.

The hot water scalds your skin and the sensation brings you to your knees on the shower floor with a shouting plea.

“Please!”

In an instant the curtain is torn back. “Fuck. [y/n], are you alright?” Eris’ eyes are wild with worry as he drops his hold on his fire and the water returns to its usual temperature.

“I’m fine,” you sob. “I just need to get out of my head. I need to feel something - else.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He crouches down beside the tub, concern still lacing his features.

“No. Eris -” his name falls from your lips in a gasp. “Make it hurt, please”

The flames within his eyes flare back to life as if they’ve suddenly been fueled with gasoline. His face shifts into that sneering smile he normally reserves for his cruel prince facade as he rises slowly back to standing.

“Since you said please princess.” The timbre of his voice drops into a sultry purr. “First, tell me your safeword.”

You answer without hesitation. “Inferno”

“Good girl.” With a flick of his wrist, he makes the water as hot as he knows you can handle.

It hits your bare back and you whimper from the shock of it before allowing it to settle into your bones. The sensation is delicious, everything you’ve been craving. With a soft groan, you unfold yourself from the hold you have on your folded knees. Leaning back you allow the water to glide over your front. The heat enveloping your breasts chases all your thoughts away.

You begin moving on instinct alone, slipping your hands over the wetness of your body and cradling the heaviness of your breasts in your palms. With a pinch, you are at your nipples, rolling them between your fingers and pulling.

Immediately, the water turns off and you whimper.

“Now, now princess, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Eris’ slithering voice snaps you back into the moment. “That will be your only warning.”

You drop your hands to your lap, steadying your breaths.

“I said, that will be your only warning princess. Do you understand?”

The shiver of your transgression snakes down your spine. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Good. Now, up.”

Eris holds out a towel and wraps you in it as you step over the side of the tub. The heat of his arms through the towel are nearly as good as the shower. You stand perfectly still as he towels you dry, only moving limbs as he directs you with a gentle tap of his long fingers.

Dropping the towel, he heads for the door. You follow behind him silently. Once in the bedroom, he points at the space between the sofa and the fireplace it is placed in front of.

“On your knees, princess.”

Obediently, you take your position, settling your hands in your lap once again. Eris walks over and opens the closet, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his shirt sleeves past the elbow as he makes his selections. The sight of his strong pale arms flexing is almost enough to make you moan.

Making his way back to the sofa, he settles himself on the cushions, spreading his legs wide. He leans forward, two choices dangling from his fingers. A leather flogger and a hard wooden paddle.

“Take your pick.”

“The paddle please, my Lord.”

“Good choice my little blaze.” His smile that graces his face is purely predatory. He tosses the flogger over to the other side of the sofa and leans back patting his knee. “Straddle me, sweetheart.”

Rising from the floor you approach him, slipping one knee on either side of his hips and settling back onto his lap, hands resting on your thighs. Eris’ firm hands grip your hips and haul you closer so your lower belly is pressed to his taut stomach, the heat of his bulging front brushing against your core. A quiet sigh passes your lips at the thought of that heat all over your body.

“I’ve waited all week to hear that little sigh of yours, princess.” His breath ghosts over your skin as he whispers against you, just below your breasts. Strands of his fiery hair brush against your taut nipples.

Eris’ hands glide smoothly from your hips to cradle your plump bottom. “Maybe we should warm you up a little first,” his mouth still pressed to your middle.

One large hand smacks loudly against your skin. The sting is instant and you let out a small cry of surprise.

Bringing his gaze to yours, his eyes narrow with a seductive grin. “Oh, now, we can do better than that, can't we little blaze?”

“Yes, my Lord.” As you answer he grabs your wrists and brings your palms up to his shoulders.

“Let’s see how many you can take before you are begging to finish on my lap.” The muscles in your core ripple at the thought as you feel your arousal slick through your folds and you stifle a moan in your throat.

His hand strikes your bottom again, on the opposite side this time. The sound that leaves you is no longer one of surprise but a plea.

Eris’ mouth now hovers over your breast, lips teasing but not touching, his heated breath causing your nipple to tighten further. His thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip. No thoughts, just desire.

“That’s it, there’s my needy girl. Count for me, princess.”

“One.” Your voice comes out as a rasping whisper.

Eris chuckles softly against your ear as he reaches for the paddle now. “I believe that was two, sweetheart.”

Before you can correct yourself, the paddle meets your skin with a raging sting.

“Three” you pant out.

Another strike quickly follows. The intensity of the pain and the delicious burn of the hit has you leaning harder into his shoulders. Chills race down your spine, adding to that tightening sensation, your core clenching around nothing drives you mad.

“Four” you cry out, a tear escaping your eye.

Hits five and six have you moaning sinfully and gasping for air. You feel Eris’ warm palm, heated with his fire magic, drag across what you are sure is your very red bottom. The added heat to the already sensitive skin has your nails digging into his shoulders with a groan.

His fingers stray from your hip to your core, dampness coating his fingers before he could even part your folds. He groans, sliding his fingers through your folds gathering more of your arousal. his hips pushing up against your thighs, the seam of his pants threatening to bust open.

“So wet for me princess.” His mouth now trailing whisper soft kisses along your shoulder.

He continues to slide his fingers along the length of you, the anticipation of them entering you nearly driving you wild. You wiggle your hips a little and his hand freezes. You immediately know what you’ve done.

“Uh-uh. You know the rules sweetheart. Use your words,” he commands.

“Please Eris. My Lord. I need it.”

“Need what princess? My hand? Do you want to come all over my fingers?”

“Yes, please,” you whine.

“Tell me, little blaze. Let me hear you say it.”

“I need your fingers in my cunt. I want to come all over them.” Your voice shudders in quick pants.

The groan Eris’ releases creates a wave of chills that leave your legs trembling. “I love hearing you ask to come. It sounds so sweet coming from that filthy mouth.”

His praise has your core clenching on nothing, his fingertips resting right there at your entrance he could feel you fluttering in anticipation.

He hums as two fingers enter you. The stretch of your walls has you gasping as he strokes inside you. Your thighs start shaking even harder as that familiar tightness pulls at your belly. You arch your back as you push down against his hand, trying desperately to seat his fingers deeper.

Before he can chastise you for moving again, you plead in a shuddering moan. “More. Please, my Lord. I need more.”

“That’s it princess. What a good girl.” The lust has his voice deepening sensually.

You feel a third finger at your entrance, Eris eases it in slowly as your walls accommodate it, then he pushes all three as far as they will go. His other hand finds your breast, pinching and pulling at your nipple. The noises you make are constant as his fingers are pumping in and out of you at a punishing pace. Bringing his lips to your shoulder again, he gently scrapes his teeth along your collarbone. His other hand drifts to your lower belly, applying gentle pressure against your womb.

“Let go for me sweetheart. Let me feel you come all over me.”

It only takes two more pounding strokes for you to burst. Pleasure radiates through your core as you squeeze a punishing grip to his shoulders, leaning your forehead against his. Your thighs are shaking so hard as you scream his name, that one knee slips off the cushion. The hand Eris had pressing your middle snaps out and grips you around your waist to keep you from sliding to the floor. His fingers keep pumping, not as hard but just as fast, as you come down from your climax.

Eris removes his fingers from you as you slump against his shoulder, arms twining around his neck. Grabbing your thighs he pulls you further into his lap and settles you more comfortably.

“You did so good, princess,” he says as he nuzzles against your neck, his hands sliding up your back in a gentle caress.

“Mmm.” It’s the only sound you are capable of making. Every muscle in your body feels heavy and satiated. All you can focus on is the heat of Eris’s body pressed tightly against yours.

“You alright?” He whispers against the shell of your ear before placing a tenderly soft kiss at your temple. One hand slides up under your hair to the nape of your neck, fingers massaging at your scalp.

“Perfect,” you answer, gaining back use of your voice. You lift your head to peer into his clear amber eyes. Gone is the seductive smirk of being in control of your pleasure. In its place is the soft look of adoration. “And you?”

“Perfect,” he whispers as he cradles your face and rubs his nose against yours. The insistent mound of his desire is still pressing against you and you roll your hips against him.

A flash pulses through his eyes in question and you answer him with a kiss. Brushing your lips against his once, twice. Then opening up to flick your tongue against his before deepening into it. Your hands slide down his chest, barely grazing against his belt buckle before he swiftly adjusts his hold on you and hauls you towards the bed.

“Not tonight,” he growls as he lowers you to the mattress. “I need to be inside you.”

You gasp as a bright flash of flame quickly dissipates and he stands before you completely bare, the heavy length of him hanging between his legs. Pushing yourself back towards the pillows, Eris climbs toward you, sliding one hand up your calf and over your thigh.

“I’ve needed you all week,” he says, leaning down to kiss one hip. “Every waking thought.” He kisses the other hip. “Was of you.”

He plants the last kiss on your sternum between your breasts, one hand weighing your breast in his palm with a swipe of his thumb over your nipple. A lazy smile graces his face as he watches it pucker.

“That sounds very distracting,” you giggle as you slip both hands into his hair.

He places a soft kiss against your lips as he settles himself over top of you. His cock like a rod of molten metal pressed against your folds.

He huffs out a little laugh at your breathy inhale. “You have no idea. I need you desperately.”

You shift slightly, allowing the hold your legs have on his hips to loosen and letting your thighs fall open beneath him.

“I’m right here,” you whisper, caressing his cheek. “So take me.”

With a sinful groan, his mouth is at your ear nibbling your earlobe. He thrusts against you, his cock parting your folds and sliding through your arousal. With a shift of his hips and the help of his hand, he angles at your entrance.

“Look at me, little blaze. I want to see your face as I fill you with my cock.”

Through heavy lidded eyes you meet his gaze. The wildfire burning within them sets your body alight and you sigh a heavy sigh as he pushes in just a fraction of himself.

“Careful princess, those noises you make do dangerous things to me.”

You smile as he continues to slowly push into you, making sure your next moan is directly next to his ear. Snapping his head back with a gleam in his eye, he watches your face intently as he seats himself fully in one single thrust.

“Eris!” The cry leaves you unexpectedly as he rocks his hips against yours.

The sound of his restrained breathing against your neck is making your heart skip beats. The stinging stretch of your core begins to settle into pleasure and you swear you can feel every single inch of his heat radiating inside you.

“I’m trying to take it easy on you little blaze,” he pants out.

“Don’t.” Straining your hips, you push against him urging him to move. “Take what you need, Eris. Please.”

The moaning want of your plea does him in. Rocking his hips once more against you, he pulls back fully. The loss of his heat and the emptiness has you digging your nails into the back of his arms. Before you can take another breath he slams into you and begins a steady pace.

“You like when I take you, sweetheart?” With a swift movement, his arm dives under one of your thighs and brings it up pressing your knee toward your chest. His thrusting doesn’t skip a beat. “You like when I fuck you like this?”

You cry out a moan at the change of angle and the friction against your still sensitive bud. His cock drives deeper into you, hitting that perfect spot inside that causes your vision to dim around the edges.

“Are you going to come again for me princess? Give me one more. I know you can.”

The tightening in your belly feels like a band stretched to its max and yet it keeps pulling and pulling and pulling. Your breathing is nothing but short pants now and the blackness in your vision begins to close in.

Sensing your overworked breathing, Eris slows his pace slightly, turning his forceful thrusts into a sliding drag.

“Stay with me, little blaze. Keep breathing.”

Your breaths slow enough to force the air into your lungs and the blackness recedes, but the band in your belly remains taut threatening to snap at any moment.

“That’s it. Just like that.”

With your sense fully intact again, you grip his arms harder, nearly drawing blood on his biceps.

“Eris, I – I’m going —”

“Come with me,” he commands. His own breathing skips into an erratic rhythm. “Come on my cock as I fill you up.”

You feel the fluttering pulse of your orgasm beginning and Eris groans your name against your temple. That’s all it takes to send you over the precipice. Your legs swing over his hips and your ankles lock over him as the crest of your pleasure crashes over you. Just a few thrusts more and Eris is following you over the edge. You swear you can feel every hot pulse of his release as he empties himself inside you, roaring your name like a chant.

His languid body remains on top of you as your legs fall from his back, both of you relishing in the aftermath of your pleasure. Slowly, you bring a hand to his head, scrubbing your nails at his scalp.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“Perfect,” he mumbles into the side of your neck.

With a smile you think to yourself that maybe this day wasn’t so terrible after all.

50 notes · View notes