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syneilesis · 5 months

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[fic] if only for a moment

if only for a moment

Love and Deepspace | Rafayel (Qi Yu) x Main-Character!Reader | T | 3.6k words | ao3 link (with correct formatting)

Rafayel waits. And waits. And waits.

A/N: Another LaD fic!! This time it's Rafayel. Several elements of this fic are inspired by and loosely based on his story anecdotes and bond story, plus that Deep Sea card line backdrop. So more spoilers in this one, I'm afraid. I think you need to be aware of them in order to follow the flow of the fic. But if not, here's what you need to know: basically Rafayel accepts a visiting professorship at the University of Linkon to reunite with the MC/you. And the prose poetry interspersed are loosely situated in the Deep Sea card lineup setting (you can search in YouTube for the scenes. This one is a brief glimpse of the scene). That princess/knight(??) dynamic is yum yum.

If possible, please read the version on AO3. I formatted the prose poems there as if they're really prose poetry, so I'd appreciate it if you check that out. (Though there isn't too much difference between the formatting here and there, I did make the effort of coding a little 🥺)

Anyhoo, hope you enjoy, and I am sO STOKED FOR THE OFFICIAL RELEASE. rip my wallet 💸😭

JUST LOOK AT THIS MAN AND BELIEVE

There’s a type of berry in a distant land that produces a rare shade of ink that matches the color of your eyes. It takes a hundred of them to create the right hue and volume for the art that he wants to make. It comes to him in a dream: endless desert, then fireworks of verdant sparks that coalesce into stem, leaf, and, finally, fruit. Rafayel remembers that land, so much different from the iridescent blue of ocean underwater, and the acrid gold of the barren desert. His mouth filled with the succulent sweetness of the dream, the lingering sandpaper roughness of the berries on his fingers. He already knows the name of the artwork even before he’s begun—Waiting, Missing. The ache in his bones gaining form, an intangible thing taking flesh.

Under the ocean surface, time is muted, a deafening thickness that surrounds you with its ambiguity. On land, however, it is linear, and fast, and in a matter of blinks, Rafayel’s visiting professorship nearly wraps up.

He’s only glimpsed you once or twice. Thrice at most. The university is big, but not big enough to warrant a dearth of fateful encounters. The first time he saw you it was at a coffee shop: walking along with your friends outside, your voice mellifluous and festive wafting through the trellis of the café entrance. You were talking about him—well, about Lemuria to be specific, but these days any talk of Lemuria inevitably draws in his name.

He’s committed your schedule to memory, and yet it just seems impossible to capture a moment with you. Even just a brush of shoulders, or of sleeves—an asymptote of contact. Just navigating around your orbit, but never truly meeting.

What would it be like—finally talking to you? You in front of him, face to face? Rafayel imagines the ache of waiting fading into the background until it’s completely gone. He yearns for that feeling, the release of it. A conclusion—or maybe even a beginning.

i. take my hand, he told you under the glow of the lustrous moon, the only source of light that contoured the secretive valleys of his face. i want to show your highness something. there was a country, he said, beyond the undulating monochrome of the desert, blanketed by lush trees and shrubberies and flowers that buildings were made in betwixt and around them—a nation of trailing and winding architecture, a marriage of the natural and the manmade. you wanted to ask why he’d planned on taking you there, and the only answer you got was a curt turn of his head and the profile of a masked man layered by shadows and distance. it would have been nice, you thought, if the moon poured light upon his hooded gaze.

Eventually he begins to frequent the café. Twice a week at first—he doesn’t want to come off strong right away, of course—and then making his way up until he’s hanging out there more than his own studio. He schedules his visits around your classes, always during the ones when the probability of you dropping by the café is high and he can ‘coincidentally’ be around the same area. It’s gotten to a point that Thomas calls him out on it, and nags at him to focus more on his painting. The next exhibit is immediately after his visiting professorship after all.

“From where I’m standing,” Thomas says, “you’re not painting at all.”

Rafayel ignores him.

Five minutes later, he says, “Not painting is part of the painting process.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but he leaves him to it.

At the café, Rafayel attracts curious looks. A few attempt to approach him, but he pretends not to see them. They linger around the periphery, like moths to flame.

And then something happens: the entrance door chimes, and you swan into the coffee shop, earphones and denim overall skirt, the kind of rosy-cheeked image Rafayel finds on teen magazines, wide-eyed and earnest. You fall in line and order when it’s your turn, and your eyes sweep across the packed café searching for a vacant seat until they finally land on him.

Rafayel’s heart stumbles.

Up close, the baby fat on your cheeks still gives you the appearance of being younger than you actually look. You turn a polite smile his way, and his heart stutters again—but this time it is taken as a warning.

“Hi,” you say, tentative. Any hint of recognition absent. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

ii. you're counting the steps of your inevitable parting. you're at the edge of the desert, far away from your home and its familiar scents, oriented towards a direction that promised a future sad memory, the gentle warmth of his hand, the downward denial of his gaze. this longing that grew out of your bones, aching during cold, aching during heat, aching when he looked at you with such tenderness he had to hide it through the sharp tug of your joined hands, the long strides that opened up a lonely distance. intimacy was dangerous, knowing was dangerous, the bowels of his heart like a solitary flower on a high peak. what would you do to such loneliness?

Memory isn't always an infallible thing. The human brain cannot hang on to every moment of your life, though Rafayel wishes it were so. But still—to think that you would forget him, and it hasn’t even been a century. You were like a phantom thief stealing his heart in the night—no recourse, no resolution.

To wait is to be in agony, the burn of yearning locked within the heart. Rafayel has been waiting for a long time, and the only memory scorched in his heart is fire, the blaze and its blinding, all-consuming want.

What would you do to such want?

You have a blurry childhood, Rafayel discovers. After the first Wanderer descended on Earth, the incident strummed your memories like a stringed instrument that tired of the same chord, over and over. It had bothered you at first—not being in control of your own memories—but eventually you had learned to live with it.

“Grandma and Caleb—my childhood friend—helped me through the process,” you tell him, stirring your iced mocha with its straw. “I owe them a lot.”

Eyes cast down, but still the melancholy shadows remain in your expression. Rafayel folds his arms on the table, and leans closer.

Around them only a few people occupy the coffee shop at this time. How fortunate for Rafayel to catch you during your break while every other student is trapped in class lectures.

“There’s no use in dwelling upon what's already happened. Even sharks have to give up when their prey escapes. When you remember, it will be all the more joyous, no?”

The smile you give him is crooked, disbelieving.

“If I remember.”

“You’ll remember.” Because there’s no other choice, for you and for him. Rafayel cannot bear being shelved in the history of your smile and happiness. Waiting can only be endurable if there’s an endpoint.

In his studio, Rafayel begins his next painting.

iii. the berries tasted sweet, with an edge of sourness that clung to the bottom of the tongue. it had the exact shade of your eyes, a detail that rafayel brought up the moment he plucked it from the shrub. raising it to align with your eyes, comparing them with his artist's meticulous gaze. maybe when this is all over, i'll go back here again to extract ink from these berries, and paint a portrait of your highness using these to color your eyes. he never showed you any of his paintings, merely mentioned them in passing, and you constructed a dream of him from the throwaway words that left his covered lips. i'm not used to sitting for so long, you reminded him, and he glanced at you, then at the berry between his fingers. my memory is enough, then handed you the fruit.

In the few weeks of meeting with you Rafayel forgets that his visiting professorship is ending soon and he has to give out his last lecture. Thomas had asked him what his topic would be. At that point Rafayel had no answer. But now he has.

“I’ve been hearing you talk about Lemuria every now and then with your friends.” He props his cheek on his hand, tilting his head slightly and giving you a charming smile. “Interested?”

You blink. “How did you know?”

“Oh, I’ve seen you a couple of times here, and I happened to hear your friends chat about my lecture. Your points were almost accurate, I’m in awe.”

“The visiting professor—that’s you?!”

Rafayel pauses, the slosh of his drink nearly spilling on his frozen hand.

“You didn’t know?”

Sheepish, you say, “Honestly, I didn’t make the connection. Is that why plenty of people have been glaring at me as of late?”

He releases a frustrated sigh, eyes rolling heavenward.

“In any case, my final lecture is on Friday next week. It’s titled “Memory and Meaning in Lemurian Art”. Why don’t you drop by and listen, and you can tell me what you think afterwards.”

You retrieve your bullet journal to check your schedule. It’s colorful, filled with stickers and doodles that Rafayel finds endearing. Then the excited moue on your face drops into a frown, and Rafayel can foresee the next words that will come out of your downturned lips.

“I’m sorry,” you say guiltily, “but I have a major test that day, and I need to get a high score in order to pass the course.”

Rafayel exhales, long and weary, but ultimately shrugs off the apology. “What a shame, but I forgive you. Just don’t fail your exam or else my magnanimity would be all for nothing.”

He calls Thomas that night.

“I’ll disappear for a while once the professorship is over.”

“Hey, wait, what do you me—”

“You’ll be happy to know that this is for my next painting.”

A beat. “Okay … but for how long?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Then he hangs up.

He’s trying, he really does. The lecture ends to a resounding applause, and it’s mechanical how he answers the questions posed by the audience. But he’s trying, he’s trying. There’s no specter of you in the sea of faces in the auditorium. You’re at the other end of the university compound, sweating your way through your exam. He genuinely hopes you’d pass, for your sake.

Thomas had booked his flight to another country, where he’ll traverse to a land that he’d visited many times in his dreams and had woken up with a filmy, sweet-sour tang at the roof of his mouth. He’ll leave the morning after the closing dinner party the faculty has prepared for him. There isn’t time to pack much, and no time to tell you goodbye.

Rafayel guesses that it’s only fair: how would you feel waiting for him at that café, the chair across you empty, only the sunlight pooling from the window as your companion?

iv. parting, somebody once said, is such a sweet sorrow. much like those berries in that ever-green nation, a lingering sourness remained underneath, the sting of it reminding you every now and then. he was already mourned for even before he left. tell me what it's like—the ocean. he was elusive, untouchable in his grief. you'd heard through whispers, the story of his migration, the drowning before the drying, the unwanted journey. grief brought him to you and grief would steal him away from you, you knew, down to the cells of your body and the hopelessness in your blood. —and yet. and yet you wanted to have a taste of it, anyway.

The ever-green land is no longer green, or lush, or alive. Time corroded it into memory, sepia-faded, wizened. Past. The berries he’s searching for don’t grow here anymore. Everything here is empty, barren, helplessly so.

Rafayel hasn’t accounted for such development, but he should have known. Disappointment stings at his chest, and bitterly he turns away and stays at the next town over. At a family-run restaurant situated near the outskirts, he looks over the wide windows, across the highway road, beyond the jagged horizon. The painting won’t be finished, then. Another tragedy, pressed flat next to the forgetting, to the waiting, and his home.

The chef personally serves him his order and, after a shuffle of hesitation, brings up a question.

“Young man, you came from the direction of the old country, yeah?”

Rafayel meets his inquisitive gaze. “Yes, why?”

“It’s been a while since we had someone visiting that place. There’s nothing in there anymore, it’s been that way for years. Why did you go there?”

Rafayel is reluctant to say, but at the guileless set of the older man’s face, he concedes.

“I was looking for berries. The ones native there. They produce a shade that I need for my painting.”

At the mention of the fruit, the chef’s expression lights up. “Oh! I see, I see. You’re in luck, son. We grow them here at the farm. Plenty of those for everyone. How about I give you some? It’s rare meeting someone who still remembers the old country, it’s almost fate. How many did you say you need?”

Fate. Just like the time of your first meeting, as if the universe had gifted you to him. Just like the time of your parting, of your forgetting, of his waiting. Fate as a connection from you to him, red and burning brightly.

He doesn’t want to seem eager, but he knows he’s failed from the way the chef toothily grins at him.

“A hundred or so.”

The chef falters at that, jerking slightly back. But he accepts it with a nod, an avuncular smile making its way across his kind, powdery features.

“That sure is a huge number, but I think we can work something out.”

His painting takes a month to complete, inclusive of the time spent making the ink from the acquired berries. Sometimes, Thomas watches him paint, quiet in the background. His stays usually don’t last—a quick flash that Rafayel nearly misses, or deliberately ignores. But during the final stages of the painting process, Thomas hands him the exhibit details.

“I’m just thankful you’re on time for this one.” He sighs, relieved, then leaves.

Alone, Rafayel creates. Brushstroke after careful brushstroke, each varying by pressure and angle. He lets each layer of paint dry before moving onto the next. The berry ink—the color of your eyes—the solely different element of this painting. Center, central. The focal point. The beating heart. The years and years of waiting and longing. The form and the flesh. Alive.

This, too, is an endpoint.

v. can i see your face, just this once? your hands grazed his mask like a ghost wanting to touch. rafayel stayed still beneath your desirous fingers, observing, waiting, his own fingers twitching towards his dagger. even in the parting he could not let go of this distance. hopeless, hopeless. your highness would get nothing out of seeing my face. he's wrong, his eyes never left your face, and he's wrong. he didn't stop you from your grasping of his mask, and him—finally—bare and beautiful yet a little sad. you're wrong, you said, tracing his slightly parted lips with a trembling finger, you're wrong. it is everything to me.

The gallery is packed. No surprise there. It’s almost boring, in a way. Waiting, Missing hangs at the farthest hall in the floor, special and intimate as it should be. Thomas knows him well; otherwise, Rafayel would have whined at him to hell and back just so he could be granted this demand that is in reality a mandate.

He’s hiding from the throngs of journalists and art critics alike and sequesters himself in a corner that has a clear view of the painting. Loosening his collar and tie, Rafayel breathes and closes his eyes, leans tiredly against the wall. A few more minutes, and he’ll slink out of the building, reputation be damned.

He melts into the shadows whenever somebody passes by. He has neither time nor energy interacting with people today. Watching them through half-mast eyes, Rafayel stays in his secret place and studies with weightless detachment the people looking at the painting.

He’s made a bet with himself about the opinions of his followers and admirers. Who thinks what and why. It makes for great entertainment. The last time, a fresh-faced critic praised Rafayel’s technique as “innovative and a soul-rending reflection of the prodigy’s character.” He had laughed and laughed for hours until he couldn’t breathe any longer.

Another walks by, and before Rafayel retreats further into the corner, he glimpses a familiar gait and a familiar face.

His heartbeat races. He’s never told you that he’s holding an exhibit today. After the professorship Rafayel failed to maintain communication with you, convincing himself that it’s for the best that he protect you from afar that day onwards. It didn’t help that he had to leave as well. At the same time, you never made an effort of reaching out, and Rafayel thought that it was back to square one again, that waiting, that yearning.

But here you are right now, elegantly dressed, like someone gliding out of a dream. Rafayel swallows, his hands shake. You do not have someone else with you, and your eyes are brightly focused on Waiting, Missing, and for a fleeting moment your expression flickers into longing, strange and old and battered and sad, that it compels Rafayel to take a step forward—to you.

“Hey.”

The curious look vanishes; left no traces in your delighted face, as if it wasn’t there in the first place. “Rafayel!” you exclaim. “Long time no see! Congratulations on the exhibit; these are all beautiful.”

Outwardly he smirks, belying the torrential emotions he’s currently going through. He cants his head a little, works his charm on you. “Impressed? No need to hold back your compliments.”

Laughter, prismatic and crystalline. “Yes, yes. Especially this one—Waiting, Missing. What an interesting title. At the center, what paint did you use?”

Ah. Rafayel inhales before answering. “It’s actually ink. I had to make it from a hundred berries. It was a tedious process, but I wouldn’t use anything else. It has to be this, you see.”

“Whoa, no wonder you’d been radio silent all this time. You were creating this masterpiece.”

He hums, afraid that, if he speaks, he’d reveal too much.

“Well …” You throw a playful glance at him. “Shouldn’t we celebrate your success?”

His breath catches. “I—”

Before he manages to finish the sentence, a journalist calls out to him and that summons plenty more, swarming him with no chance of escape. It pushes you out of his peripheral vision, and Rafayel wants to shout your name, but you smile and gesture at him to entertain them first. You mouth, I’ll be back, and wander around other paintings some more.

When he finally succeeds in shaking the journalists off, he seeks you out and stumbles upon you near the exit, where there’s fewer people to pile on him.

“Excellent,” he says, sidling up beside you. You turn to him and smile, and there’s that lightning-flash of something again. For one unbelievably surreal instant, Rafayel thinks that despite your hazy memories, maybe you’d been waiting for him all this time, too.

And that thought emboldens him, moving closer and closer until your bodies almost touch. An asymptote of contact. But this time, he has mustered the courage to close that unbridgeable gap.

Rafayel offers you his hand. “Let’s get out of here?”

You stare at his hand then at his face, his eyes, and a meaningful moment stretches between you and him. But even before the idea of retracting enters his mind, you grab his hand joyfully, grinning ear to ear. His heart warms, full with everything.

You squeeze his hand, ready to go. “Lead the way, then!”

vi. a kiss is a greeting and a goodbye, and rafayel tasted of ferocious tides even if you'd seen them only in dreams. his eyes closed, as though savoring his last moments with you, guarded till the bitter end. would that i could ask you to stay—with me. but he shook his head—a final rejection. maybe in another life. there was nobody to watch you cry, in the after.

Rafayel is working on a new painting—a portrait this time. The model squirms on his couch, obvious about the discomfort of posing for too long. He huffs a laugh to himself, hidden by the canvas strategically placed between them.

“I heard that,” you grumble.

“Shush, you’re breaking my concentration.”

“If that already breaks your focus then I pity the rest of the art community.” A beat, then: “Is it done?”

“Patience, my dear muse. You need endure it a little more.”

“Hmph, fine. But after this you’re treating me to an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

“All right, all right.” He shakes his head, fond. “My muse, so demanding.”

Something sweet touches the edge of his tongue, succulent with a hint of tartness. Like longing. Except now, it’s layered with something new and exciting. Something like a new beginning.

In the far distance, the sea murmurs, lit fire by the setting sun.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #lad rafayel #lad qi yu #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace qi yu #fic #my fic #rafayel x reader #qi yu x reader #lad rafayel x reader #lad qi yu x reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace spoilers #it's near midnight again i shall now sleep

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luvtak · 2 months

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wanting, hhj x reader

✧ genre/tw extreme lying in the grass with hyune on his birthday, major yearning alert, really dangerous fluff i am so sorry, i love yous and maybe a few pet names, unedited<3

✧ w/c 784

✧ this is very quick and mainly just a word dump, but i hope you like it! some sweet for the sweetest boys birthday... how lovely the first bit of spring comes with him

Sitting close this close to him you can smell the sunscreen mixing with his sweet cologne– the scent of warm weather days; springs and summers spent laying together just like this… glowing underneath the sun like two sleepy cats. It’s funny to think that you’ve laid this way a hundred times in a hundred different ways, yet the novelty never wears. His long fingers swiping their way down your arm, reaching around your wrist and holding tightly. This close he can feel your heartbeat all around him, your chest pressed right into his and the rapid thump coming from his hold around your bracelet. Even after all this time, you still get so nervous being with him, the familiarity of his love swirling in your chest and your stomach–creating shaky hands and warm cheeks.

Hyunjin’s eyes are peering down at you, striking you down with the strength of it. He’s so happy, springtime brightening his complexion with the shiniest smile you’ve ever seen, happiness leaping off of him. The warm blush settling along his cheekbones, the same color of the blossoms above you, creates a brilliant desire to heat up in you. Not a physical desire, not the disastrous need of nights past, but a fire of want… days spent waking up together and kissing goodnight, pictures and paintings, shared nightstand novels.

It’s ridiculous, you have him already– your hearts are tied together with twine; shared myocardium morphing into one beautiful beating thing– yet you don’t think you could ever stop yourself from wanting more. That wishing ache for him to be with you, too see him like a mirror to your own soul.

He told you once that being with you was like a shower of cold mist on a hot day. You remember laughing, giggling at the unexpected confession for an early morning, but you see now. This unexpected pain for loving and needing and wanting someone so much, the biting incredulity of seeing someone.

This close, both can see the evidence of the human condition wearing on each others faces, but Hyunjin has never been fonder of sun scars or smile lines–he loves you and he tells you with the blossomed trees as his witnesses.

“I love you too, Hyune.” you say, quietly though you’re alone, and his grin is a lesson in heartbreak; so lovely, like a supernova.

He never thought he could love springtime so much, had always been accustomed to fall and the icy cold weather of winter, but lying here with you he thinks spring might be his favorite. Seeing you and the flowers alight into living breathing blooms takes his breath away, makes him reach for his pencils and his paints. In the week alone he’s amassed several pictures of you, all beautiful, but none right. It’s the only reason he resents his love for you, so big and blinding, that no matter how exact the portrait is, it’s still missing that fundamental gleam you hold.

“When we get home, can I paint you again?” The question while posed so sweetly makes you groan, if it wasn’t his birthday there’d be no way you’d sit for him another time. And yet, you can’t deny how special he is–the only thing he wanted today was to spend it with you, cake and presents optional.

It’s this magic that makes you agree, and you can’t deny the excitement of seeing him work. Ever focused and hard working, Hyunjin’s world stopping even while in messy clothes and tied up hair. Seeing him paint made you fall in love with him; the sight of his color covered hands and his clear gaze over his canvas, looking over at you to smile… god you were doomed for him then.

His stare turns to the clouds now, smile still lilting as he speaks, “i’m painting you right now actually,”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes in my head I look at you, and I feel the need for a pencil or a brush. I see what colors I would use, how I would blend them together to get the exact shade for your eyes… I’m doing it now.”

It’s such a Hyunjin thing to say, yet the truth of it shocks you–what a beautiful boy he is, a rare and lovely find. Grinning like he knows he’s wooing you, staring up at the maya blue sky and painting a picture in his head.

“I really do love you, Hyune.” you tell him, and the strength of it turns his head. Lighting his eyes with a fondness made for spring, rising slightly to settle his lips over your forehead before replying earnestly with every bit of truth in his heart,

“I love you too.”

#hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #skz #stray kids #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin scenarios #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz fluff #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines

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irisintheafterglow · 8 months

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No Prey, No Pay (opla!zoro x you)

summary: after steering him to a successful bounty, zoro can't stop thinking about you. he decides to do something about it. (Part 2 to Parley)

wc: 1.67k

cw/tags: domestic zoro crumbs, idiots in love but they don't know how to express it, canon-typical violence, zoro is so himbo i love him

note: thank you for all the love on my first two zoro posts!!!! i'm so so so happy y'all liked them; this is one of the first times in a while i've actually been super giddy writing a character. i really hope he's not too ooc, i tried to keep his himbo-ness intact. hope you enjoy!!!

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated <3

“Here to try killing me again?”

“Oh,” is all he can sputter out, frozen on the doorstep of the Lady’s manor. The stout, shriveled old woman before him was not who he was looking for. To make matters worse, the flower he’d picked from the hillside on his way up the driveway suddenly seemed like a gargantuan beanstock in his fingers. His face was warming but, for the life of him, he could not figure out why. “You’re not–”

“Nope. They’re in the Farmers’ Market,” she deadpans without hesitation, eyeing him with all the amusement of a PhD candidate reading a children’s book. “The Farmers’ Market I created, by the way.”

“Right,” he replies shortly, turning abruptly on his heel and letting his eyes widen in pure horror when she can’t see his face. He tosses the flower into a nearby planter, well aware that she can still see his every move. After several misguided attempts to navigate back to your isolated piece of land in the East Blue, he approached the ornately decorated door with a little more excitement than he expected. Having the Lady whom he’d tried to kill a few weeks prior be the one to open the door was another funny twist of irony that caused him an odd feeling of embarrassment, like he’d dropped you off after a date ten minutes past your curfew. “Thank you for your time.”

“Tell me, pirate hunter,” she called to his back patronizingly. “Why grace us again with your oh-so-menacing presence?”

“I’m wondering the exact same thing,” he mutters, irritated at his failed attempt to find you on the first try.

“When you find them, tell them to pick up more sweet potatoes. I thought we had enough for dinner, but we could use a few more now that you’re here,” the Lady instructs him and her words take a few seconds to register in his mind. But, by the time he’s turned around to ask her what she meant, the door is already shut and he’s too proud to knock again.

As if the mortification on your porch wasn’t enough, it’s nearly impossible to find you in the milling swarms of people in town. The people part naturally for him as he passes, sneaking anxious glances at the three swords on his hip. Whispers of his occupation and intentions float around his ears but he pays them no mind, determined to spot you. Again, he wasn’t sure what he was doing there in the first place; but, no matter what anyone else said, he did know one thing. By some unexpected turn of Fate, he missed you.

“Shopping for produce while you hunt? I didn’t know you could multitask.” The teasing lilt of your voice appears behind him and he can’t help smirking. You’d found him before he found you, even though it was his job to find people. “Word to the wise: the vendors will upcharge you because they know you’re not from the island.”

“What if you’re there with me?” When he finally turns to face you, his eyes flick to the canvas bag slung over your shoulder. It’s stuffed with fruits and vegetables, along with a jar of honey from the beekeeper just up the road from your house.

“They’ll upcharge you more and insist you pay for my stuff,” you reply nonchalantly. “Now that I think of it, maybe we should walk around together.” You brush past him and re-enter the bustling square like he was the last thing on your mind, when really he was the only thing for the past week. You’re certain he’d follow behind you and your theory is confirmed when his voice comes from over your right shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

“You’re wearing the bracelet,” he observes, easily slipping into place next to you as if it was natural to be by your side. With the sword-clad bounty hunter next to you, it was much easier to navigate the market without bumping every resident of the island.

“Mhmm, I told you I liked it,” you say absentmindedly, stopping at a stand and picking up a vibrantly colored fruit from the stack. Observing it for bruises and finding none, you signal the seller that you’d like to buy the piece in your hand. His farm-worn hand stretches out to you and you fish around in your bag briefly for coins. But, before you can place the money in his hand, Zoro’s fingers are already dropping an unnecessarily large quantity into the shocked farmer’s palm. You gape at him and his unchangingly blank expression, shaking your head in disbelief when he glances at you, eyes shining arrogantly. “Where’d you get all that money and why did you do that?”

“Bounties,” he answers plainly, “and ‘cause I wanted to. Next stand?” You’re still slightly frozen from pure surprise, but he shrugs carefreely and tilts his head toward the rest of the vendors.

“Feel like enlightening me on why you’re here again?” It’s the fourth or fifth stand he’s accompanied you to and, at this point, you were just window-shopping. Since he joined you on your errand, you hadn’t spent any more money; before you could pay any of the sellers, they were already thanking you profusely for your generosity with a pile of shining coins in their hands. Zoro proved to be a very patient companion, respectfully giving his opinions on which piece of produce looked bigger or more appetizing. With most of the required items on your shopping list successfully in your bag, you find yourself drifting over to the stalls of mundane things like pretty flowers and colorful crystals.

“There’s a Marine defector turned intelligence smuggler hiding somewhere in the area. Thought I’d knock out two birds with one stone.” You turn over a piece of aventurine in your fingers, admiring it from different angles in the sunlight. Your breath hitches slightly when Zoro’s face dips down next to yours, watching the crystal from the same angle.

“What’s the other bird?” You glance at him from the corner of your eye.

“Visiting you,” he replies without hesitation, plucking the crystal from your fingers and tossing more coins at the vendor. You don’t stop the laugh that escapes your mouth and you swear his smirk gets more self-assured as he drops the rock into your bag. At a point when you aren’t looking, he swings your bag onto a broad shoulder as easily as if it was a piece of paper. “Also, we need sweet potatoes.” Your eyebrows raise in amusement at his slip.

“We?” You have to fight down another giggle when his face becomes slightly pinker, imperceptible if you weren’t already staring at him. “Since when were we anything?”

“Your boss said she needed more sweet potatoes. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“I wasn’t aware that you went to go see her.”

“I wasn’t either, and then she opened the door instead of you,” he admits and you chuckle at his expression of distaste. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have–get behind me.” Before he can finish his thought, his arm shoots out in front of you, effectively halting you a split second before a knife darts across your vision, embedding itself into the wooden post next to you. The surrounding market-goers break into chaotic panic and you have no choice but to press your back against Zoro’s to prevent getting swept away. Emerging from the crowd, a lethal-looking group of fighters encircle you two and your hand finds the hilt of your saber.

“Pirates?”

“No. Bounty hunters.”

“Friends of yours?” You eye the group warily as the marketplace empties, people running into the nearest building they could find to spectate the upcoming battle.

“I’d call them ‘occupational competition’ on a good day.”

“Ah, great,” you huff sarcastically. “What’d you do to piss them off?”

“Exist,” he deadpans and you hum in assent.

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” you mutter and you start to pull your blade from its sheath, anticipating the fight ahead of you.

“Don’t.” The single word halts your movements and your stomach drops in fear of what he’s sensing.

“What?”

“Let me handle this,” he says in a low tone that makes your skin break into goosebumps. “Can you hold the bag while I deal with them?”

“You sure?”

“Yep. This won’t take long,” he says irritatedly, scowling at the rival hunters that interrupted his day.

“Alright. I’m gonna go get sweet potatoes, then.”

“Third one down on the left. I’ll meet you over there,” he promises before moving faster than you can comprehend, whirling and downing the two attackers in front of you without even drawing his swords. They howl in pain when you stab your blade into their feet for good measure before leisurely making your way further down the street. As you walk, Zoro clears the path for you, mercilessly incapacitating every enemy with ease. By the time you find the sweet potato stall, there’s only one persistent fighter still giving the swordsman problems. You don’t feel any ounce of fear, however, as you pick through the salvageable gourds while the clashing of swords rings out behind you. Eventually, the street quiets and Zoro returns to your side as if nothing happened at all. “Good?”

“I’m fine,” you say truthfully, running your thumb over the bruise of an otherwise good potato. “You think this one’s still okay?” After peering at it and deeming it safe, he nods.

“Yeah, it should be fine. If anything, you can just cut off the ugly spot.” There’s a splattering of red just under his eye when you meet his gaze. Your fingers unconsciously come up to wipe the speck of blood from his cheek and his skin feels just as electric as the first time you touched him.

“Cool. I’m done shopping then, so we can go back home.”

“We?”

“You’re staying for dinner. It isn’t a request,” you command lightheartedly and smile when his steps fall into line next to yours.

“Mmm, I can’t wait.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#zoro x you #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #opla!zoro x you #opla!zoro x y/n #opla!zoro x reader #opla x you #opla x reader #opla x y/n

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morallyinept · 2 months

Text

For anyone who needs to hear this today...

Dieter and I are just weighing in on some of the conversations floating around where people are feeling like they're not wanted here, or who feel like they might want to leave...

You ARE absolutely wanted here.

Whether you're a creator, reader, silent lurker. It doesn't matter if you have 1 follower or 10k. Whether you write one chapter every few weeks, or churn out fics on the daily.

This is a fandom, not a competition.

You. Are. All. Wanted. Here.

Tumblr, for want of a better analogy, is a crap factory of a website. 😝 It's gone down the pan in the last decade massively, and it's the complete opposite of what other social media platforms do, (in terms of likes and algorithims etc... you have to re-blog everything - not like it - here to get any traction) you get out of Tumblr what you put in, effectively.

No-one here is better than anyone else, we're all part of that big Pedro table and continuously squish up to make room for everyone. And if anyone isn't doing that, then they should be the one's to leave, not you.

I get it. I feel it too. I've contemplated leaving several times. Yeah. It's a hard place sometimes to try and make a tiny space of it your own.

☝🏻But remember, even the biggest blogs on here started off with zero followers and had to build their niche from scratch. Rome wasn't built in a day.

It takes time and effort. It might look like it's easy for others, but it really isn't. And I'm in no way a "big blog" in the slightest.

But I stay here doing my own thing, because ultimately, I love writing and creating - it makes me happy, and I love the sense of community here.

I get immense joy out of making my silly banners and posts, and having a giggle with like-minded people when Pedro shaves his beard off (🫠). I ignore the drama and focus on having a positive time here.

But I get that doesn't work for everybody. Sometimes it's hard to tune all the fuzz out, right? It's massively overwhelming some days on here - I feel ya, bub.

The level of talent in this fandom is incredible, but it often leaves you feeling like "where do I begin?" Or "who do I talk to?" And "how do I talk to someone without coming across as weird?" And "how the hell do I re-blog everything and reply to comments and remember to answer DM's and Asks, whilst remembering to update my WIP and see what my fav blogs have posted, and catch up on that fic I like..? 🤯

In short, you can't.

You simply can't do everything.

And you shouldn't try to either as that's when you'll burn out and when things start feeling overwhelming. Then your enjoyment wanes and then that's when you feel like you want to give it all in.

Just breathe.

The best advice I can give (and I'm no expert!) is to curate your own experience here as best as you can.

Eliminate that overwhelming feeling to make your Tumblr time and space enjoyable.

Make it work for you and your needs.

Some easy things you can do that might help:

Update your notifications - I personally filter out the likes, otherwise I find I miss notifs like new followers or comments etc... Tumblr can be glitchy as hell too, so by removing the likes, you can see all the stuff you don't wanna miss. To turn them off, go into your activity (app version) and hit custom, scroll down to custom again and then untick likes:

There's a new option now to subscribe to specific blogs you like and adjust your home feed settings to that. You click on the blogs themselves and add them to get notifications and then they'll appear under Blog Subs on your feed. You can then switch through feeds to just see the blogs you've added, rather than everyone you follow. It's then easy to switch between feeds:

Limit your time here - if it starts to feel overwhelming, take a break! That's your brain telling you that you might need it. We'll all still be here when you come back. Don't compromise your peace of mind or happiness for the sake of scrolling for hours.

If you're a creator and have writer's block etc... again, take that break! Whether it's a day or a week, or a year. Take as long as you need. Those that are worth it will still be here and will wait patiently for you. Don't put unnecessary pressure on yourself. And if anyone does pressure you, block them.

Forget the numbers. I know, I know, it's easier said than done. Of course we want re-blogs and engagement, it's why we're here and putting our work out there. We wouldn't do it if we didn't want that engagement. But don't let the numbers be the main reason why you do it, otherwise your expectation can often be met with a harsh reality when it doesn't go how you think it will. Do it because it makes you happy, first and foremost. There will always be someone who looks forward to what you put out there.

If you want engagement, you need to engage back. This community survives and thrives on sharing. Re-blog everything you like. Re-blogging is the number one must on Tumblr. It's how the site works. Likes are lovely, but it's simply just a book marking feature here, which is essentially useless as your likes get pushed to the bottom of your like pile the more you like things. RE-BLOG EVERYTHING. By re-blogging you can also use tags so you can easily find things again. Liked that Frankie Morales fic you read last week? Re-blog it with the tag 'Frankie Morales' for example, and then you can search your own blog to find everything you've ever tagged with 'Frankie Morales'. You can even schedule re-blogs in advance too. You can't do any of that with likes. You'd have to scroll through every single like you've ever liked to find it again... and ain't no-one got time for that. If you're someone who is asking for engagement, you need to be prepared to give it back. I repeat, RE-BLOG EVERYTHING!

"Yeah, but if I re-blog everything, my aesthetic will be compromised, or my blog will be bulky and I might annoy everyone by appearing on their feed too much..." These are all valid concerns, but you can simply make a side blog specific for re-blogging things if you want. Whatever way you choose to do it, re-blog, re-blog, re-blog!

Be bold and reach out using DM's and ASK's. I don' think there's a single writer or artist out there who doesn't like getting a comment or a message complimenting their work. And we all love to chat about it, and that's an easy way in and to make friends too! It can be daunting, but I assure you if you're polite and kind, people will want to engage back with you. We all have one thing in common here at least - Pedro! 🥰

Sometimes, it can feel like everyone has their own friend groups or cliques and it can be hard to find your own community within a community. Almost everyone I engage with on a daily basis here, new and old users, are some of the nicest, kindest people I've spoken to. You really have nothing to be afraid of. They're just like you - they want to talk and make friends.

These are just some tips that I've found have worked for me on my own Tumblr journey with quelling that overwhelming feeling. And I hope they can help you in some way, especially if you're contemplating being here right now.

You might feel that what you put out there isn't appreciated because it doesn't get the notes or engagement you want, but I promise you, there is always someone who you have touched with your words and work.

Be kind to yourself and know that you really are a valued part of this fandom.

🖤

YOU. ARE. STRONGER. THAN. YOU. THINK. 🖤

Do you. Then do Dieter.

Self-Care With Dieter & Jett

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #self care with dieter & jett #dieter bravo #you are stronger than you think #do you #then do dieter

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carakook · 3 months

Text

Bloom. °˖✧✿✧˖°

“I said, don’t. Just shut the fuck up and let me have this. Just one more time, please…”

→ Chapters list ←

⚘4. Spring Is Gone

🔞For Mature Audiences Only🔞

╔══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╗

⚘Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

⚘Synopsis: After being granted with “closure”, you try to enjoy your last night with Jungkook. It’s an emotional and fucking steamy mess.

⚘Genre:Forbidden love

⚘Word count: 13K+ 🥴

⚘Warnings: 18+ for mature audiences only, MDNI, emotional, mentions of cheating, active cheating, HEAVY smut, mouth spitting, wine kissing (idk if it’s actually called this but it’s what I have always called it LMAO), crying during sex, emotional sex, EMOTIONAL EVERYTHING YOU WILL CRY I AM WARNING YOU, grief, breaking up (sort of?), panic/anxiety attacks, alcohol, stealing (lol it’s kinda cute you’ll see,) making love (different from fucking), sort of rough, unprotected sex (always be careful, Y/N is on BC!), SAD JUNGKOOK I REPEAT SAD JUNGKOOK!!!! let me know if I miss anything there is a lot in this chapter.

⚘Disclaimer: This story in no way reflects the characters of those who are mentioned. It is pure fiction and for entertainment purposes only. Please don’t take it seriously. Nothing is real in this story.

⚘A/N: The long awaited chapter. This is a long one. I cried. A lot. Holy shit? It’s actually so sad lol but also has some good smut. This isn’t the last chapter, as I said before this is a full on fanfic, I also have it on Wattpad but it gets barely any reads so if you are interested in that let me know. After this chapter, things get very… drama filled? Idk a good word for it lol. I hope you enjoy, and I’m sorry in advance if you cry. I highly recommend listening to the songs, each of them have a place in every chapter which is why I list them lol. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy. Love you.❤️

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ :

♪Merry Go - DPR Ian

♪Gimmie Love - Joji

♪The Astronaut - JIN

♪Dope Lovers - DPR Ian

♪sex money feelings die - Lykke Lie

♪Angel - The Weeknd

♪Nerves - DPR Ian

♪505 - Arctic Monkeys

♪I Love You So - The Walters

♪Apocalypse - Cigarettes After Sex

♪Cry - Cigarettes After Sex

✧━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━✧

Since you both agreed on enough of the heavy shit, you spend time together. The mood is heavy for some time, almost awkward, which is why you break out the several bottles of wine you bought this week in an attempt to cope with the end of you and your flower. You’d much rather drink it with him anyway.

You can always buy more.

The wine helps. After you’ve both had a glass, it feels less strained. You continue eating pizza and watching whatever sappy drama is on TV. He picks up on his rant, starts explaining how sex is definitely comparable to pizza; sex creates life, and without sex, we wouldn’t have discovered pizza. Makes total sense. It’s stupid, but he has a point—a very Jungkook thing to think up.

By the time you’re both three glasses deep, you’re a bit wine-drunk. He holds his liquor much better than you do, but you can tell he’s feeling all fuzzy inside. You check your phone as he sits sprawled out on your couch, taking up almost the entire damn thing with his bulky ass. It’s nearly 11:30 pm… around the time he should probably go home.

You glance at him, debating whether to subtly kick him out or not. You don’t want to, god no. It literally makes you sick thinking about it. But you shouldn’t let him stay either, should you? You’re supposed to end this. This was the last night.

But you see how content he looks—like a big, overgrown spoiled dog with a belly full of treats, relaxing next to his favorite person.

You did say one last night… technically the night isn’t over. And he shouldn’t drive in this state, really, if anything, it’s just for his safety…

So you nudge his leg with your foot, and he turns his head lazily towards you, arches a brow, “Hm?”

“Sleep over?”

Oh, he fucking grins. His dimples on show, his eyes crinkling up adorably, and his big bunny like teeth saying hi.

Because what you don’t realize is he wasn’t going to leave. Fuck no. You said one last night, and he was going to milk that for everything it was. No way in hell was he going to go home tonight. If he’s being frank, that’s why he drank three glasses of wine. He didn’t need it. But he knew he could use it as a loophole to staying the night. You wouldn’t let him drive drunk.

He knows damn well what he’s doing, and he’s elated that you offered to let him stay. It means you want him here.

Even after all the bullshit, you still want him here. You want to prolong it, too.

“Hell yeah.”

He winks and then leans up a bit to stretch, causing his shirt to lift and give you the most indulgent peak of his stomach. You shamelessly stare, and he absolutely notices, lifting his arms a bit higher just to give you a better look.

He loves it when you look at him like that.

But then he stands up, casually grabs his car keys from the coffee table, as if he isn’t fucking teasing you.

Fuck. The wine is definitely kicking in. The warm fuzzies in your tummy are spreading elsewhere.

“Gonna go grab some stuff from my car then, make sure it’s locked, I’ll be right back.”

You hum in response and lean back into the couch. Watch him as he walks out the door, and find comfort in the fact that you know he’s coming back… even if it’s the last time.

Jungkook is doing his best not to let his mind wander to the more damning thoughts as he walks out of your complex and into the parking lot. Because he feels the opposite, no comfort at all. His anxiety is spiked now that you’re out of sight. What if you don’t let him in when he makes his way back to you? What if you change your mind about the sleepover? What if you decide you hate him?

Not only that, but he feels like he’s wasting precious time. As if the five minutes he will be away from you (barely) are irreplaceable and he’s just wasting them. It’s literally the end of the world… he shouldn’t be wasting time.

But that’s just his anxiety speaking. In truth, he doesn’t actually need the things in his car… but he packed a few things before showing up unannounced—things he wanted to leave you with.

Such as the little Polaroid camera you bought for him months ago, one that you yourself have used every single time you’re together. You always snap little candid pictures of him, sometimes yourself. He finds your fascination with the thing so fucking cute. He uses it, too, of course. He often takes pictures of you without you even knowing it… and you’ve both definitely taken some more raunchy pictures, pictures that he keeps hidden away in a box for when he misses your touch. For his eyes only. They’re priceless to him, probably some of his most prized possessions.

Speaking of those photos, he also packed a box full of them just for you. Pictures you’ve taken of him, of both of you, of anything and everything. He wants you to have them, wants you to be able to look at them when you miss him a little too much. He went through the photos over the last few days of no contact, greedily picked out his favorites, and put them into his own box for the same purpose. But he picked a generous amount out for you, too.

And as corny as it may sound, he packed a few pieces of his clothing. He knows how much you love stealing his shit, especially his shirts. Several are still missing, but he won’t ask for them back. He’Ll gift you with more, made sure to spray his cologne on them too, so that you can smell him on them. He packed his favorite shirt, hoodie, and something he will reluctantly, but willingly, part with. His denim jacket.

All of them are Calvin Klein branded. The shirt is basic, just a black shirt that’s fitted on him but swallows you whole. It’s the one you often steal when you sleep over at his second apartment, but he never let you take it home because it was his favorite. It’s worn in and soft, that’s why he likes it. But it’s yours now, just like him.

The hoodie is the same, basic black, one that you always tried to steal but never succeeded in doing so. It’ll be like a warm hug when you miss him, he thinks. You’ll love it more than he will. You’ll need it more than him on nights that you feel lonely.

The jean jacket isn’t anything special in appearance. It’s dark denim but is lined in that soft wool that keeps you warm and cozy. He wore it often in the cold months, thought it made him look handsome, but also kept him comfy. He’d rather you have it. He wants to keep you warm forever, hold you in his arms and never let go, make sure you never feel cold again… but he can’t exactly do that. So instead, he’ll give you his jacket.

The last thing is one of his chains. God, he knows you love those damn chains. He almost always wears one, silver or gold, depending on the day. And you always make sure to tell him how much you like them. He never really understood it; it’s something so simple. But you swooned for it. After you guys fuck, you’re always touching it, playing with it. Even when you guys aren’t fucking, you seem to have the impulse to touch it. Maybe it’s a girl thing, he doesn’t know. But he’s giving you one since you liked it so much.

Definitely a girl thing.

He also brought the bottle of perfume you dropped on his floor that night you stormed off… he was going to give it back. Return it to its rightful owner. But as he’s grabbing the bag full of goods out of his car… he impulsively takes it out. Wants to keep it. Wants to be able to smell you, too. He’s sure you won’t miss it.

You won’t miss that perfume as much as he’s going to miss you.

He quickly grabs the bag of stuff, nearly dropping it as he grows more restless because he’s not with you right now. You’re too far away, and every single second counts tonight.

So he rushes back into your complex building, nearly full-on sprinting back to your door.

As he lets himself back in, you’re in the exact same position. Sitting comfy on the couch, eyes on the TV, your wine glass a bit more empty now. Thank fuck.

He wasn’t even gone for more than four minutes. And yes, you did notice, you didn’t like it. But you knew he’d come back. So you waited. Wasn’t a big deal.

He’s just dramatic, for good reason of course. You can see the unease written all over his face as he pads his way back towards you, sets the bag next to your couch. He doesn’t disclose what’s in it and you don’t ask, you just assume it’s the bag he usually keeps in his car for impromptu nights like this.

He doesn’t want to present these little gifts to you yet… because he feels like that’s what’s going to really finalize it. So he’ll wait a little longer.

Would put it off forever if he could.

He takes a seat next to you, obnoxiously close. Your couch isn’t big, but there’s enough for two people to have a comfortable distance from each other. He doesn’t care. He wants to make sure he’s touching you in some way, so he nearly squishes you as he sits down as casually as ever and slings one of his arms on the back of your couch so that his fingertips rest on your shoulder.

He has an almost jittery energy about him right now. Obviously, emotions are heavy; it’s your last night together. It’s kind of hard to act totally ok and normal when you’re both well aware that this is the last night. But even then, somethings a bit off.

You study him for a moment, notice how he’s running his teeth over his lip ring again, how his leg is bouncing up and down a bit even as he tries to mimic a relaxed position on the couch. Maybe he’s anxious?

He is. However, that’s not what this is all about. He wants to kiss and touch you so badly it hurts. But now he’s unsure if he’s allowed. He doesn’t know what’s on and off limits tonight, and he doesn’t want to jeopardize your time together by fucking it up and making unwanted advances.

Overthinking. He wishes he didn’t do that. But he doesn’t even realize it’s happening until after things are said and done, doesn’t know how to stop it.

You assume maybe it’s just nervous energy thanks to the impending sense of doom you both feel. You feel similarly… but you hide it better.

More wine would help, you think.

So you lean forward and grab the bottle which is half empty, this is the second bottle of tonight. You top off each of your glasses as Jungkook watches, and you take a sip.

His eyes stay glued to your lips. He loves your lips. Loves all of you, but especially your lips. He thinks that will be one of the things he misses the most. How soft and pillowy they are, how they’re a bit rosey in color, how they taste, how they pout out a bit when you drink wine, how wine stains your lips so prettily, how they feel wrapped around his—

Yeah. Fuck it. One last night.

“Gimmie some.”

You glance at him and arch a brow, wonder if he’s referring to the wine… or maybe pizza? You literally just topped his wine glass off. He’s being weird.

“I just topped you off?”

He shakes his head, “Nah, I want yours.”

You scoff at him because now he’s just being childish. But he’s looking at you so expectantly, almost stubbornly, as if he’s asking for something more than the wine he’s demanding.

And he is. He doesn’t even really know what though. He’s being greedy, wants your wine because your lips touched the glass, because remnants of your spit might have melted into the wine after taking sips. He doesn’t want his own damn wine.

He wants to be greedy tonight. It’s not like he has anything to lose, he’s already lost it all.

So he reaches over and takes the wine glass from you, gets a bit impatient when he sees you aren’t gonna give it to him right away. He takes a slow sip, places his lips in the same exact spot yours have been every time you’ve taken a drink. It’s ridiculous, really… but he swears he tastes the faintest essence of you on the glass. Closes his eyes, swishes the wine around in his mouth, trying to see if he can taste more of you…

Ok, so, he’s definitely being a bit ridiculous. But fuck, he already feels like he’s going crazy. Can’t really help himself when he is desperately craving any little crumb of you.

You don’t know what to make of this. Part of you is amused, part of you is irritated, because he just stole your damn wine. But you also know there must be more to it, there has to be.

He cracks an eye open, sees you staring at him like he’s crazy, because he kinda is. Only for you, of course. He just swallows the wine and shrugs innocently.

“Yours is better, mine tastes weird.”

You roll your eyes at him because he has the same wine as you do. You can’t figure out what his game is here. So you reach over and take his wine and say, “Yours is literally the same as mine.”

To prove a point you take a sip of his. Just as expected, tastes the exact same as yours. He watches you carefully… gets an idea. An incredibly impulsive,almost intrusive idea.

But again… it’s the last night. And he’s greedy.

You huff at him and point his wine glass (which is now yours apparently) at him as you watch him take a huge gulp out of your glass again.

“Yeah, see, tastes the exact-“

He abruptly grabs the nape of your neck and cups your jaw with his free hand, his thumb coming to rest on your bottom lip and lowering it. He places his lips on yours, waits until your mouth instinctively opens just as it always does for him, and then funnels the wine into your mouth.

Fucking feeding you the wine like a baby bird.

It catches you by surprise at first, causing you to cough a bit and causing the wine to dribble down your chin, but you quickly gulp it down just like he gulps down the little gasp and cough you let out. He kisses you greedily, doesn’t even build up to it before he’s pushing his tongue into your mouth and swirling it against yours, tasting the heady mixture of wine and you. Fuck, you’re his favorite taste.

You don’t protest; of course you don’t. Was definitely a bit bizarre, but also… fuck, that was hot. Was a bit weird but in a super sexy way. You kiss him back, letting out little huffs of air into his mouth as one of your hands also finds the nape of his neck. The other hand automatically rests against his chest, clings to the fabric of his shirt tightly.

You both stay like this as long as possible. The kiss only grows more desperate and aggressive, teeth and tongue clashing beautifully together like thunder and rain. Your soft pants turn into eager breathes at some point, and he knows you need to breathe. But fuck, he wants to stay lip locked with you until he passes out.

This is when you start to second-guess things. Yes, this is the last night together… but knowing it’s ending makes the guilt a bit more prominent. This wouldn’t be ending if it wasn’t wrong, but it is wrong; sleeping with him again just seems so contradictory or maybe even hypocritical.

So you push at his chest lightly, a silent signal for him to slow down. God, he hates the way his stomach lurches. Can’t fathom the idea that you might kick him out right now. Please, god, don’t do this. I’m not a weed, I swear, I’m her fucking flower. I need her one more time, he silently prays even though he’s never been religious or prayed before.

When he pulls back with heavily lidded eyes, you speak up hesitantly, even though you don’t wanna stop, god not at all.

“Kook, we shouldn’t…”

That’s all you say. Because it’s really that simple. You shouldn’t be doing this; you should never have done it at all. But even then, you lack the ability to convince him. Because you want him, one last time. You’re just having a hard time willingly giving in again.

Jungkook knows you well. Knows your body language. He knows that if you truly wanted him to stop, you would’ve been more self assured when speaking. You wouldn’t sound like a meek little mouse, you’d be firm in telling him know. He can see the same thing in your eyes, it’s pure unadulterated want. But maybe you need reassurance, reassurance that one last time is ok, is needed.

You’ve both sinned so much already, one more time won’t change shit.

So his grasp on your jaw firms up a bit, he starts feeling a little too passionate about this. He coaxes your mouth open by smooshing your cheeks a bit before saying,

“Y/N, fucking don’t. Just let us have this, please.”

“But Kook-“

He grunts in frustration. Just as impulsively as he fed you wine kisses, he spits in your mouth. It makes you flinch, makes your pussy clench because fuck it’s so filthy but so hot. So intimate in a sort of fucked up way.

“I said, don’t. Just shut the fuck up and let me have this. Just one more time, please…”

He leans back down and starts kissing you again, licking into your mouth and adding more to the spit he put there moments ago. Doesn’t even give you a chance to protest. He kisses you like he’s going to die if he doesn’t. He’s sure he will. He’ll die a miserable death if he doesn’t love you one more time.

It's a bit harsh, but you know each other enough to know he isn’t trying to be forceful or rude; he’s just desperate. You are too, honestly. You know damn well if you said no and meant it, he would pull away and stop immediately. Your body has always been safest with him. You don’t want to stop, not really. You’re thankful he’s being like this. It’s the push you need to ignore the guilt for a while longer and share your body with him one last time.

When he feels that you’ve melted into him, with no more tension or hesitancy in your body, he pulls away, nipping at your lower lip once and then sucking on it. Then his lips travel down, and he licks the wine staining your chin off before placing sloppy kisses down your neck.

He doesn’t even ask before he starts sucking and licking on your sensitive skin. Not kitten licks, not gentle sucks, no, he’s full-on giving you hickeys, and you know it. You know it’s intentional when you feel him pull back a bit to take a peak, only to lean back in a second later and bite.

The hand on his nape fists into his hair, and your back arches a bit, causing your chest to push against his chest, “Fuck, Kook…”

You should tell him to stop marking you up like this. You don’t like showing up to work or visiting friends with visible hickeys because questions get asked. And as much as you wish you could admit who they’re from, you can’t. No one knows about Jungkook. No one even knows you’re seeing someone right now, and you don’t want to have to come up with some story to cover your ass.

It’s a secret for you too.

But it’s the last night together… and the idea of having his hickeys on your neck, just to remind you a little longer that this was real, he was real, it’s an idea you quite like. Fucking love, actually.

He grunts at you, bites down a little harder, “What? Told you your wine was better…”

You let out a little breathy laugh when he says this, because of course he would play it coy, as if he didn’t just randomly start devouring you. Of course he’d blame it on the damn wine.

That breathy laugh quickly turns into a moan when one of his hands finds your tit, he starts squeezing and groping it through your shirt shamelessly, tweaking your nipple in the way he knows you love. God, he loves your tits. They’re the perfect size for him, he swears. They fit into his palm perfectly, feel like pillows, just like your lips. All of you is just so soft.

He kisses his way down your neck now that it’s all marked up in pretty purple and pink bruises blossoming, much like you do every single time he touches you like this. When he gets to your chest, he looks up at you through his lashes, and then he nearly rips your shirt off of you when he pulls it down.

His eyes leave yours as he looks down at the beautiful pillows on your chest. He just admires them for a moment, as if he’s at an art gallery studying each piece of art. That’s what you are, art. Everything about you inside out is otherworldly beautiful to him, tits included.

At this point, you’re lying down on your couch, legs parted for him. It’s a bit awkward because of how small the couch is, but that doesn’t stop either of you. He doesn’t give a fuck that he barely fits. He’ll make himself fit… just like he’s made himself fit into your life for months.

He wants to fit into your life just one more time, one more night, wants to meld together and tangle your roots so that it’s impossible to untangle them. He knows it’s wishful thinking, but that’s where this is all coming from. He’s not being aggressive and eager and greedy just because he’s horny, no, he’s doing this because maybe, just maybe, if he shows you with his body how much he loves you… how much he needs you… you’ll change your mind one day.

His mouth descends on your left breast, and he starts licking and sucking on your nipple. Your eyes roll back, and your entire body shudders at the sensations, fuck, it always feels like the first time. Before him, men didn’t pay such close attention to your body. Never even had a guy play with your tits before, Jungkook was the first. It was so odd at first, but it quickly became one of your favorite things. Makes you get so wet so fast.

You love how he looks up at you when he does it, his eyes full of asters and stars alike, hearts and moons, lust mixed with love and it’s a dizzying sight. You wonder if this is how you look when you go down on him, if that’s why it unravels him so quickly. You’d understand if so, you wish so badly you could snap a picture of him like this and preserve it.

It’s funny because he’s thinking the same thing. How beautiful you look when he goes down on you, how your eyes mimic his own, and how you have a hard time controlling your facial expressions when the pleasure is too intense. His favorite thing is when you start furrowing your brows and almost pouting at him without realizing it; the little pants and mewls you let out without meaning to, it drives him absolutely insane.

He wants to capture it, too. Fuck, tonight is a night to remember, he wants everything solidified in film. Every single kiss and touch and whisper spoken tonight, he needs to preserve it.

He sucks on your nipple for a few more seconds, his other hand flicking the nipple on your right breast. Wants to get you all worked up for him. he then pulls back, letting go of your tit with a wet pop sound. Lets his hands rest on your thighs and rubs his palms up and down them as he takes you in.

You let out a little whine when he pulls away, but you don’t protest. His pupils dilate heavily as he looks down at you because, holy fuck, you’ve never let him mark you up like this. He doesn’t even like giving hickeys, thinks it’s a bit immature, something meant for college. But seeing you blooming pink and purple from your neck down to your pretty tits? It makes his cock twitch hard in his sweats.

He removes one hand from your thigh, and reaches down to palm himself through his sweats. He squeezes his cock as he takes in your already debauched look. Marked up, tits out, lips swollen, eyes heavy… fuck. You may be what kills him, not heart break.

One last squeeze to his cock to relieve a bit of the pressure, and he lets go of it. He knows you’re getting a bit impatient by how you’re shifting in your spot, but you know he wants to take his time tonight. So you don’t say anything, no matter how much you wanna beg for his dick or his mouth.

He leans over the couch to unzip the bag he brought, grabs the Polaroid, and then readjusts himself between your legs. He sets the camera down on your stomach and brings his hands back to where your thighs are spread prettily for him.

You arch a brow, and he gives you a little smile. He still looks a bit fucked, his eyes black with want and his cock literally tenting his sweats. The smile is much too sweet for what you’re both doing.

“Take as many pictures as you want, there’s a full roll of film in there. Can keep ‘em for when you miss me.”

Now is not the time to cry. Fuck.

You nod at him, grab the camera and keep it close. You wonder if he planned this or if it was a coincidence that it was in his bag. Regardless, you’re thankful. Elated even, that he’s going to let you capture this and preserve it for those nights you doubt he was ever even real. There's no time to be sad now; you can grieve him when he’s gone.

He flicks his tongue over his lip ring as he looks down at you again, there’s so much that he wants to do tonight, but he knows damn well the moment his cock so as much touches you, he’s going to lose control. He needs to lavish you with love and attention first before even thinking of himself.

He grabs the hem of your shirt, gently pulls it over your head. You lay pliant, let him take the lead and do whatever he wants. God, anything for him as long as he keeps looking at you like that, like you’re the reason he breathes.

Next he takes off the pajama shorts you had on, slowly fumbling with them because of the awkward position on the couch. It makes you giggle at him, which makes him giggle at you. Now that you’re both a bit calmed down, not quite as worked up, you realize maybe the couch isn’t the most practical place.

Even then, you take the Polaroid and snap a picture, capturing his bashful smile on camera as he tosses your shorts away. He doesn’t protest; he lets you. Watches as you take the photo it spits out and stare at it lovingly before setting it on the coffee table.

His hands are on your thighs again, and despite the fact you’re nearly butt naked now, his eyes stay steady on your face. He reaches forward, grabs the camera from you, and snaps his photo of you. He focuses the Polaroid specifically on your neck to capture the hickies he left, wants to remember you marked as his. He retrieves the photo after the camera spits it out. He doesn’t look at it yet; just tosses it inside of his bag next to the couch.

At your huff and shy little glare you send him, he chuckles, hands you back the camera, and before you can scold him, he lightly swats your thigh. Then he gets off the couch and picks you up bridal style.

It’s hard to be mad at him when he makes you feel like a princess. You don’t actually mind that he took the picture, as embarrassing as it feels. You know it’ll be for his eyes only.

He easily carries you into your bedroom, kicks the door open, and deposits you on your bed. Wasted no time before he’s taking off his shirt and sweats, and fuck, you swear he’s a Greek god. Perfect, in every way. You could drool every damn time you see any bit of his skin. His broad shoulders, his tiny waist, his subtle and toned thighs, it’s a lethal combination. Any woman who sees him like this surely could keel over at how beautiful he is, how sexy he is.

He gets on the bed with you, and you set the camera on the pillow next to your head. He settles between your thighs once more. He can feel himself starting to get impatient now that you’re both in only your underwear; his cock is still hard. Only getting harder as he stares down at you, looking at how pretty you look with your hard nipples glistening with his spit and your soft thighs spread just for him.

He descends, placing open-mouthed kisses on your tummy. Your hands come to rest in his hair as they’ve done many times because you know you’ll need to hang on. You know where this leads, and anytime he eats you out, it’s an out-of-body experience. The things this man’s mouth can do are unholy, but still feel like heaven.

His eyes stay on you as he kisses his way down to your thighs. He nips at them lightly, causing you to whine. He covers your lower half in kisses, not missing a single ounce of your skin as he lavishes your inner thighs with sweet little declarations of love that just aren’t enough.

You lift your hips ever so slightly, tug on his hair a bit, send him a silent message that says please fucking put your mouth on me before I explode.

He smirks against your skin, looks up at you as he trails his lips upward, “Just feel it, baby, let me love on you.”

You want to roll your eyes at this, but don’t say anything. Just try to regulate your breathing. You know he’s wanting to savor it, savor you. He has every right to.

But he knows what you need; can tell by the way you’re scratching his scalp that you’re itching to feel his mouth on you. And if he’s being honest, he’s growing a bit impatient, too.

So he finally trails his lips past your thighs, onto the mound of your cunt which is still covered by your panties. The moment he sees the wet spot seeping through, smells your arousal, his patience disappears. Suddenly, he’s fucking starving.

He doesn’t even take your panties off before he starts kissing your cunt, sucking on your clit through the fabric. The feeling makes your body nearly jolt, your hips bucking into his face as you tug on his hair and let out an incredibly strained moan. Fuck. So much for taking it slow and dragging it out.

He becomes a man possessed once he tastes you. He’s letting out grunts as he borderline makes out with your panties, suckling the fabric to get every drop of your essence off of them and onto his tongue. It’s genuinely filthy, debauched, but god, it’s hot.

He leans back with flared nostrils and glistening lips, looking like he’s wearing lipgloss. Made specially by you, of course. He nearly rips your panties off and throws them into the pile containing his clothes at the end of the bed.

A coincidence, he tells himself. He’s totally not planning on ‘accidentally’ taking them home with him… not at all.

He leans back down, grabs your thighs, and props them over his shoulders as he maneuvers himself to lay flat on his stomach on the bed, his knees keeping him steady as he presses his face into your pussy.

He inhales you, takes in your scent. So musky and pretty, so uniquely you. He wishes he could bottle it up and wear it as a fucking cologne. He rubs his nose around in it, nudging your clit back and forth, almost as if he’s motor-boating you but instead of your tits, it’s your cunt.

God, it’s lewd. But he can’t get enough.

You already feel yourself becoming a little too turned on but wanna capture this moment. Wanna preserve how fucked he looks when he does shit like this, only ever for you. So you grab the Polaroid with one shakey hand that leaves his hair, and you snap a quick photo. It comes out a bit blurry, but you don’t mind. You place the camera back on the pillow alongside the fresh photo and have to double down on gripping his hair because, holy fuck, this feels so good.

His tongue finds your entrance and starts licking inside, trying to get every last drop of your cream greedily into his mouth. He uses his nose to stimulate your clit, one of the perks of having a big nose. He’s grunting as he licks into your cunt, almost sounds feral doing so. He doesn't even recognize his own voice with the damn noises he's making.

As much as you don’t want to admit it, watching this all unfold has you dangerously close already. Your thighs are quivering on his shoulders, and your toes are curling along his back. The way he’s breathing into your pussy, sucking and licking and nudging it with his nose, fuck, it has you a mess. The noises you’re making you can’t control; you’re starting to sound just as feral as him.

“Mmmph… Koo… gonna cum soon, slow down…”

You babble at him. You wanna cum so bad, but you also don’t want it to stop so soon. If you had one wish at this very moment, it would be that he does this forever. He looks so lovely in between your thighs, licking and sucking you up as if it’s his last meal.

Because it is his last meal. After this night, he’s gonna be starving for eternity without you.

He huffs out a little laugh against your clit, the hot air causing your back to arch and fingers to tighten in his hair; if he doesn’t ease up, your thighs are surely going to crush his damn head.

“Cum then. Fucking give it to me, Y/N. Let me earn it.”

He nearly growls at you before he dives back in with renewed vigor. He replaces his tongue, which was deep in your cunt, with his fingers. He uses his mouth now to suck on your clit. As you look down at him, you’d swear he was kissing it, making out with it, making love with his fucking mouth. The added pressure of two of his long fingers crooking inside of you is quickly bringing you to your end.

But what nearly makes you cum on the spot is the way he starts fucking humping the bed. Acting like a virgin humping a pillow, he moves his hips back and forth on the mattress just for some sort of stimulation to his cock because it started getting so hard it was damn near painful.

He knows how desperate he looks but doesn’t care. Clearly, you enjoy it, judging by the way you start panting, and your pussy starts pulsating and tightening around his fingers. They fuck into you harder, rubbing up against the spongy flesh inside, all while he makes out with your clit.

His eyes open to meet yours, and you’re done for. Seeing that desperation and love in his eyes mixed with the fact he’s fucking humping your bed makes your pussy throb. You begin cumming hard, tugging on his hair as your thighs clasp around his head. He damn near whines into your cunt, the noise only causing vibrations to make it so much more intense for you.

“Nnngh oh shit! Fuck, oh fuck Koo… oh my god, shiiit…”

Your hips buck up into his mouth eagerly; you can’t even control it. Your feet planted on his back, toes curling, thighs trembling around his face, and your face scrunched up in pleasure. You see stars- no- you see an entire fucking galaxy as you cum all over his face. Full of stars, moons, planets, gardens, all of which are full of him and every single fiber of his being.

All for him, just as he is all for you.

He fucks you through it, does his best to prolong it, but he knows he’ll make you cum again on his cock. He is aching to be buried inside of you. He wants to make love to you, not fuck you, he wants to meld your bodies together and become one tonight.

After what feels like forever, your body relaxes, and the spasming of your clit dies down, causing it to become sensitive. He can tell by the way your legs shake and your body jolts when he applies too much pressure with his tongue.

He reluctantly pulls back, licking your juices off of his lips before placing little kisses all over your thighs and pelvis. He looks fucked, his nose and his lips are glistening obscenely in the dim lighting, and his eyes don’t look brown anymore but black.

When your eyes travel downward, you whine at him. His cock is nearly tearing through his underwear, which you now realize he’s wearing your fav, the purple CK’s. There’s a little stain where the head of his cock presses, so much precum, all for you.

He looks down where your eyes are trained, and he snorts at himself. Jesus fuck, he really is acting like a desperate teenager, isn’t he? But he can’t find himself giving a shit. He wants you to know how desperate and unhinged you make him. He can’t say he’s ever been so horny he borderline fucked a mattress, not until now. And it’s all because of you.

He takes off his underwear with shaky hands and tosses them somewhere in your room. Then he settles between your legs again, rubbing up and down your thighs as he takes you in as if it’s the first time.

Your hands come up to his chest, scraping your nails down it slowly, which earns you the most beautiful groan from his lips. He bites down on them, and his cock jumps upward, begging to be touched. So you trail your hands lower until you find his aching length and take it into your hand, start stroking him lazily.

His breathing becomes labored, and his eyes flutter shut. Even just your hand feels so fucking good. His hips jerk forward, seeking more stimulation. Fuck, he can’t get enough.

One of his hands remains on your thigh while the other reaches for the camera. He boldly angles it directly at your cunt, snaps a photo of it, making sure to capture the way your slick folds glisten in the light, along with all of the purple flowers blossoming on your thighs. His tattooed hand is barely in the shot but is visible enough to make it clear it is him in this photo.

He tosses the photo in the same pile his clothes and your panties lay next to the bed, and then angles the camera towards your face and body to take another. He thinks you’re so pretty like this. Cheeks flushed, lips puffy because you always bite them right before you cum, eyes bright with afterglow. You look like an Angel, especially in this moment.

He’s sure you’re an Angel sent from the God he doesn't even believe in.

He snaps another photo and tries to steady his shaky hands because the way you’re stroking his cock feels borderline painful. Too slow; he needs more. Beads of precum drip down his cock as if it’s crying. It may as well be crying for you.

He quickly takes the photo, tosses it in the same pile, and then does the same with the camera without thinking. Is getting way too worked up with how you’re stroking his dick and looking at him like a Greek god.

Because he is one. You’ll say it time and time again.

He leans over your body and settles in between your legs. You remove your hand and wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your fingers in his hair again. He grinds his cock onto your pussy, coating it in the remnants of your cum and juices, and starts kissing you slowly.

The kiss isn’t like the one with wine; this one is sweet, loving, still desperate, but more patient. His lips work with you in unison, your puzzle pieces coming together once more. You can taste yourself on his lips, and it makes you moan into his mouth, which causes his cock to twitch against your pussy. God, he loves the sounds that you make. Music to his ears, he’d play it on repeat if he could.

He slowly drags the tip of his cock down to your entrance which is well prepared for him, and even more slowly starts thrusting inside of you. He wants to feel you deeply, feel every ripple and ridge of your pussy, every pulse and throb. He wants to catalog it and replay it over and over in his head for when he misses you.

Jungkook is definitely gifted when it comes to his manhood. It’s not too long, a good seven and a half inches, but fuck he’s so girthy. When you first fucked him, you could barely handle how thick he was. Nowadays, you can absolutely handle it, but that first push always gets you fucking squirming. The pressure and stretch are nothing like you’ve ever felt before.

You let out a stuttered gasp into his mouth when he buries himself to the hilt, his balls flush against your ass, and he stays there for a moment so that you can adjust. You break the kiss, wincing a bit as you turn your face to try and hide the way it scrunches up as it always does the first few moments he’s inside of you.

He doesn’t like that. Not at all.

He pulls his face back from yours and steadies himself on his elbow as one of his hands comes up to grip your jaw. He turns your face towards him, doesn’t let you look away or try to hide.

“Uh-uh, you look at me when I fuck you. I wanna see every single detail of your pretty face if this is the last time I get you like this.”

You whine at him, your eyes fluttering shut and cheeks warming. For some reason, that’s embarrassing, like being called out for talking in class or some shit. But even then, your pussy clenches around his cock, because you love it when he takes control like that, when he makes it clear what he wants.

He shakes your jaw a bit when he notices you closing your eyes, causing them to open instinctively. He looks just as fucked as you do, his nostrils are flared, and he’s sweating slightly, clearly holding back.

“Eyes on me, Y/N. Don’t you fucking dare look away. Look me in my eyes while I make love to you.”

Fuck. It takes every single bit of strength you possess not to cry. There he goes, voicing the fact that tonight isn’t going to be some hard fuck. It’s making love.

That terrifies you.

Making love is something entirely different compared to fucking. Some people disagree, but you don’t. Fucking is mindless, meant for pleasure and pleasure alone. Sometimes, there's intimacy after, but it’s mostly just sex. Making love, of course, comes with pleasure, but that’s not its purpose. Its purpose is to come together with your partner, show each other how much you love them, let all of your emotions run wild and free while sharing the most intimate parts of your body together.

Fucking is like buying a bouquet of roses. You get to see them, water them, keep them on display, but the joy dies quickly because the roses die, too.

Making love is like growing a garden of roses. You can’t make love until you grow that love with someone; nurture it, watch it morph and evolve. And then the flowers bloom. The love bursts, the petals are vibrant in colors made up of you and your partner.

Both are lovely. Everyone loves buying a bouquet of roses, but few get to experience growing their own.

You’ve never made love. Tonight will be the first time.

And it will probably be the last.

You nod at Jungkook stupidly, keeping your eyes on his just as he asked you to. Once he sees your eyes remaining on him, he starts slowly moving his hips. His cock slides in and out of you, your arousal can clearly be heard by the noises your cream coating his cock every time he slides in and out makes. It’s beautiful.

This is beautiful… and so goddamn tragic.

He’s also fighting tears. Because, unlike you, he has made love before… or thought he did. He swore on his wedding night he made love to his wife, but it was nothing like this. You’ve barely even started, and he can feel the stark difference. God, it makes him question fucking everything. He never felt this way with his wife, with anyone, only ever with you.

But now isn’t the time to think of such things, to dissect the fact that maybe what he had with his wife was never actually love, but comfort. Now is the time to share your love together, one last time.

He starts moving his hips a bit faster. His arms reach under your body and wrap around you, trying to get as close as humanly possible. He rests his forehead on yours, keeps his eyes on yours, too. He starts panting, is fighting back tears. He is trying so hard not to cry right now.

“I love you.”

Fuck.

You let out another stuttered breath, and then your breathing picks up entirely as you fight back tears. Your arms are wrapped around him now, nails digging into his back like you’re afraid he will float away. Because you are, you’re so scared that if you let go, he will disappear. You don’t want him to disappear.

He starts pounding a bit deeper, grunting with each deep thrust as he grits out again,

“I love you.”

Fuck he needs to stop.

“Jungkook— nngh… don’t…”

He shakes his head, his breathing heavier, and his thrusts bordering on aggressive now. That’s not abnormal for him; sex with you both is regularly rough. But this is so different. It isn’t the dominating kind of aggressive but desperate, full of passion and love and grief.

“No, Y/N, look at me. I love you. I fucking love you so much, Y/N. I love you.”

And you break.

Crying for you also isn’t abnormal during sex with him specifically. It’s always intense, so sometimes you cry. Not out of sadness or pain; it just happens sometimes. He came to learn that quickly.

But just like how he’s making love to you, these tears are different. You’re weeping for the loss of your lover, but also because you are still so full of love for him. You’re crying because for the first time since this mess started between you, you believe him when he says he loves you. Deep down in your core, in every single crack and crevice of your being, you feel his love for you.

You see it in his eyes as he looks at you, you feel it in the way he touches and kisses you, you hear it in the way he speaks to you when he says it. He loves you so fucking much, and you regret refusing to see it until your last night together. You wish so badly you could have savored his love more seriously rather than deny yourself of it.

You wish things were different.

So you cry for him. The moment the first tear falls, you don’t hold back. You let out something between a moan and a sob as he fucks his cock into you, and his hips stutter when he realizes you’re crying. He didn’t want you to cry, fuck, he doesn’t think he can handle that right now without crying himself. He just wanted you to know, needed you to know that you are loved by him. So fucking loved.

He keeps his eyes on yours, watches the tears fall. He tilts his head slightly and starts kissing the tears away, even as they continue to fall. Greedily kisses them away because they are for him. This will be the last time you water his fully bloomed flower, so he will be greedy. Because he knows that after this, his flower will wilt away, maybe he will, too. So he lets you cry and he kisses and fucks you through it.

He feels himself getting close, his cock starting to twitch and his hips grinding harder into your pelvis. He feels you getting close, too, the way your cunt starts pulsing in rhythm with his cock. You’ve never come at the same time before. He hopes that tonight, he can make it happen.

“Fuck, you feel like home… I love you so much…”

A strangled sob escapes your throat at his words. It’s like he can’t stop saying it, can’t get the words out of his mouth enough. You’ve yet to say it back because you’re afraid his glittery eyes will water, too. But god, you need him to know.

“I love you too, Koo… more than anything…”

And you were right. Hearing you say it amidst your tears, combined with the way your pussy starts rippling around his cock, throbbing and clenching directly after you say it, it’s too much.

He cries. Tries to hide it with a moan, but it’s no use because his tears fall onto your cheeks. You both start crying harder, and he starts fucking you faster. His arms tighten around your waist, and he starts kissing you. Lets you taste your melded tears, his sorrow, his devotion, his love all poured out into this kiss and his tears.

You both water each others flower for the last time.

You feel the familiar pressure building as you kiss him back, your tears mixing with his, the taste addicting. You hate seeing him cry; you know it’s going to haunt you for weeks. But right now, you’re consumed with wanting to be as close to him as possible, and you want to share this moment with him.

You wrap your legs around his waist, and your hips start matching his thrusts. The kiss turns a bit sloppy and uncoordinated because he’s very clearly about to cum; you can feel his cock start twitching and pulsing aggressively inside of you.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you. I. Love. You.”

He groans loudly, his voice sounds strained and distraught. “Come with me.”

You assume he means he wants you to cum at the same time as him. He wants you to cum together, which is definitely going to happen; you feel the string about to snap on both sides.

But really, it had dual meaning. Cum with me, but also come with me. Anywhere, everywhere, please run away with me, please love me forever and ever, please save a piece of your heart for me, please don’t stay away from me forever.

One last thrust and his pelvis grinds into yours as his balls draw up taught. He whimpers into your mouth, and his pelvis grinding into you, mixed with how fucking deep his cock is inside of you, is enough stimulation to your clit to cause you to hurl over the edge a second time. You cream all over his dick, your hips writhing beneath him as you whine and moan into his mouth. His cock jerks hard inside of you, shooting hot ropes of cum that seem endless. Your souls meld together much like your tears do, and you both cum harder than you ever have.

It’s like, in this moment, you are one. You both share a garden, flowers at full bloom, no pesky cages or fences to hinder you from flourishing together. There’s sunlight, and bees, and soil, and plenty of water. It’s peaceful, it’s heaven, it’s home. It’s where you both swear you belong.

Both of your orgasms seem to last eternally. It’s endless, his cock jerking and spurting in rhythm to the way your pussy milks him and pulses around him. He stays buried to the hilt until his cock tires out and your pussy stops milking him.

Even after, he stays like this. You both say nothing as you silently cry together, still connected intimately as you share little kisses between tears.

You made love. He made love to you.

You know damn well you’re ruined for any other man going forward after that.

He exhales a shaky breath and starts peppering your face with little kisses. Despite the tears, he feels lighter than before. There’s still that impending sense of doom, but he knows in his heart that you know he loves you now. That’s all he wanted from tonight…

And despite the sex being pretty vanilla compared to what you usually do, Jesus fuck, that was the best sex he’s ever had.

As he attempts to kiss all of your tears away, he starts whispering the sweetest shit to you, even as he continues crying.

“My baby…”

Kiss.

“My love…”

Kiss.

“My pretty girl…”

Kiss.

“My angel…”

Kiss.

“My heart…”

Kiss.

“My soul…”

Kiss.

“My fucking everything…”

Kiss, kiss, kiss.

Fuck, it makes you swoon hearing all of those sweet words. Not sweet nothings, but sweet declarations. Pure truth. You are and have been his everything despite how fucked up it all is.

You always will be. Fucking always.

You cry a bit harder, nearly blubbering now. He keeps crying, too, not quite as hard as you because he doesn’t want this to be harder for you than it already is… but he knows the moment he leaves you in the morning, he will cry twice as hard.

You realize you’re still clinging to him; there are definitely going to be red marks all over his back. Your legs are still wrapped around his waist, keeping him buried inside of you because that’s where you swear he belongs. He would agree with you.

But you remove your hands from his back and bring them to cup his face, and you feel so fucking drained from the intense sex and crying and the entire goddamn rollercoaster of today… but you don’t want it to end. Fuck, you’re so afraid for it to end.

You place a soft kiss on his lips, “I love you. I really do. Always have, always will, forever and ever…”

He smiles sadly down at you, nods. Because he knows. He never once doubted how much you loved him; every single time he was with you, he felt your love. Even when you were mad at him, you made him feel loved. He wishes so badly that he could’ve made you feel as secure as you made him feel.

You will never know how utterly thankful for you he is.

“I know baby, I know…”

You let out another choked sob and bury your face in his neck. He lifts himself off of you slightly, and he moves himself so that he’s lying beside you instead of on top of you. You cling to him again, refuse to let him go. Can’t. Won’t. Don’t want to. Can’t fucking bear it.

He gently slips his cock out of you and then wraps his arms around you, one hand coming to cup the back of your head and stroke his fingers through your hair, the other rubbing your back soothingly.

You cry and cry and cry. It’s pitiful how hard you’re crying; if anyone saw you right now, they’d be certain someone had died. It really feels that way, as if he’s dying while holding you right now. He feels like he’s dying watching you crumble like this, but he doesn’t dare stop you.

He doesn’t even reassure you because all that would do is give you false hope for something that may not happen ever again. For all you know, after this, you will never cross paths. He may just become a ghost to you…

A flower that bloomed in the spring and died come winter.

There were so many things you wanted to do tonight. You wanted to shower together, wash his hair for him, show him how to bake those cookies you know he loves, stay up and talk about a bunch of pointless shit, rewatch your favorite movies together, fuck a few more times, choke on his dick one last time, kiss him and touch him all over all night. So so so much more.

You didn’t want to stop here. You wanted to stay awake and savor every last second together just as greedily as him. But god, as you sob in his arms, you feel yourself growing so heavy with exhaustion that you can’t keep your eyes open.

“Don’t let me fall asleep, Koo, make me stay awake…”

He buries his face in your hair, his tears making wet patches in your strands. He inhales deeply just to get another whiff of your shampoo, fuck, he needs to figure out which one it is before he leaves so he can buy it and use it. Doesn’t even care if it’s weird. Wants to smell like you. Wants to be surrounded by reminders of you forever.

Like you, he’s been crying this whole time but so quiet that you don’t even realize it. He made sure you wouldn’t realize it. This is your time to get comfort from him, he can’t offer you reassurance, but he damn sure can comfort you through the pain that is his fault.

“Rest, baby… I’m here…”

You shake your head at him, keep your face buried in his neck even as your eyes start to lull shut.

“No, slap me, keep me awake… don’t wanna… sleep… please…”

He can feel your body start to go limp, can feel your tears running down his neck. He knows you’ll be out cold soon. You were fighting a battle you just couldn’t win, and god he wishes he could keep you awake. But he knows you’re emotionally overloaded right now…

And maybe if you fall asleep in his arms, you’ll rest peacefully for tonight. You deserve that, he thinks. You deserve so much peace and happiness.

“It’s ok Y/N… I got you. Just sleep. My baby needs rest, hm?”

You try so fucking hard to respond. But he’s right; you’re fighting a losing battle. Your body can’t keep up with your brain to the point you’re slurring your words. Maybe it’s the after-effects of a fight or flight response because it really felt like you were fighting for your love when making love tonight… fighting to keep hold of his roots as they slowly became untwined from yours. And now, you’re simply too tired.

“I… I love you… so… much…”

He lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes. Holds you a little tighter. Because, fuck, your last words before lulling into a deep sleep were that you loved him. It’s as it should be, but for some reason, it wrecks him, knowing that this is the last time he will hear them.

When your breathing evens out, he pulls back, stares at you. Your brows are furrowed even in sleep, clearly troubled. But you don’t stir and your grip on him loosens. You are so fucking beautiful. He wishes so badly he could just stay like this, watching you rest, in your arms while you’re in his.

Holding each other, as if you’re both one person instead of two.

He knows he won’t sleep tonight. He’s just as overwhelmed as you, but instead of his body shutting down, his adrenaline has spiked. He’s dreading leaving this bed, dreading leaving you.

He stares for an almost pathetic amount of time. Just lays beside you and takes in every soft detail of your face, traces his fingertips over your features. He finds himself wondering, what if he married you instead? What if you met sooner? What if you lived with him and had his babies one day?

What if… he left his wife?

He has to stop himself there. He makes a pained noise and buries his face in your hair again because he knows he can’t think like that. He could leave his wife; he probably should, but he feels like he owes her his life, his devotion. He married her, for fucks sake.

And even if he did leave, he doubts you’d ever be capable of having a healthy and stable relationship. People in these situations rarely do; it’s a form of karma, he thinks. Husbands who cheat and marry their mistresses often get cheated on, or they end up do it again.

He swears, fucking swears on his life that he would never do that to you. But he knows you probably wouldn’t trust him; any woman in your situation wouldn’t. You’d always be left wondering if he’d turn around and do the same to you one day.

Oh, Jungkook, how badly you’ve fucked up…

He has no idea how much time has passed by the time he checks the little alarm clock on your bedside table. He honestly can’t recall when he got here or what time ‘one more night’ started, but as of now, it’s 5 am.

He wants to stay. Wants to fall asleep holding you, wake up and make you breakfast, draw you a cozy bath and massage your back for you… wants to treat you as a lover would.

But he knows that if he doesn’t leave soon, he won’t leave at all. The moment you open your eyes, he will beg again. He will cry and beg and plead for you to change your mind.

Which is way too selfish, considering he’s still a coward, still unwilling to leave his wife both out of fear and knowing the reality of what happens once he does.

So he places one last kiss on your forehead, breathes you in one last time, and then quietly extracts himself from your hold. Standing up and getting off the bed, he looks down at you.

He swears he can see the exact place you keep his stolen heart inside of you. He doesn’t want it anymore, it’s yours. Always will be.

He slowly starts dressing himself again with robotic-like motions. He isn’t crying anymore; he feels kind of numb at this point, or maybe his tears have just run out.

Acceptance? Or the calm before the storm? He isn’t sure.

He doesn’t bother taking a shower; can’t be bothered right now even if he smells like sex… smells like your sex specifically. He can blame it on being lazy, but he knows it’s because he wants your smell to linger a bit longer. He will shower later.

Once fully dressed he pads his way into the living room, grabs the bag full of stuff he packed for you. He takes it back into your bedroom and sits it at the end of the bed.

He carefully collects each Polaroid he took of you for himself and stuffs them in his wallet for safekeeping. After nearly considering changing his mind and taking the camera greedily, he decides he’ll leave it for you, even though it was a gift you got him. He knows you love it, but also knows you’d never buy one for yourself. And if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t think he could ever use it again without thinking of you. It would feel wrong to use it without you.

So he sets that on the end of the bed. He opens the bag, carefully takes out the clothing he packed for you, folds them, and arranges them in a neat pile. Next, he takes out the box of Polaroids; he made sure to put a label on it before coming that said ‘For Y/N.’ He sets the box next to the clothes and then carefully places the chain he packed on top of the pile of clothes.

He wants to arrange it almost as a surprise, hoping it’ll feel more like a gift and not so much like a goodbye this way.

Now that the bag is empty, his intrusive thoughts return. He wants so badly to turn into a little thief and take some of your stuff, too. You would have gladly offered it to him, anything he wanted, but you’re asleep. And he can’t stay much longer.

His intrusive thoughts win, and he can’t find himself feeling too guilty.

So he reaches down and grabs the panties you had on earlier, the same panties that he sucked on like a damn popsicle, and he puts them in the bag.

He quietly makes his way into your bathroom, looks around for a moment until he finds exactly what he’s looking for: the star pimple patches. He takes them, noticing that they’re in a cute little case with a face on it. He knows you love these things; they make pimples feel less like some kind of imperfection. He loves them, too. They remind him of a time when you showered him with love.

You won’t miss them, he thinks again. Not as much as he’ll miss you.

He greedily holds onto them, looks around to see if there’s anything else he can steal. He sees your scarf hanging on the back of your bathroom door; it was the scarf you wore one of the first times he took you to dinner. It’s honestly kind of ugly; it’s a dark and muted plaid, but you loved it because of how soft and warm it is.

It smells very strongly of you.

It’s his now.

He takes the scarf and decides that’s enough. He’s greedy, but he’s not an actual thief. Maybe more like a rat. As much as he wants to steal your shampoo, he decides just to make a mental note of the name because he knows you'll need it to shower when you wake up.

He stuffs the patches and scarf into the same bag and stands before you on the bed. Fuck. He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to leave you.

But now is the perfect time; you’re sleeping soundly, dead to the world. If he leaves like this, there will be no hysterical begging or crying from either party.

Still, he finds himself procrastinating. He decides to open the box of Polaroid photos he packed just to make sure none of the ones he kept for himself snuck their way in. They didn’t. He knows they didn’t. But never hurts to double-check.

He comes across one photo in particular… it was a photo he took one night after you both had some very intense sex. He rented a motel that night because he was in Busan for business, and of course, he dragged you along with him. Busan is his hometown, and his wife has always hated it. She was born and raised in Seoul and always claims Busan is too boring, not lively enough. She always refused to go with him, even if it was to visit his parents.

You, on the other hand, you were so fucking excited to go. You talked his ear off the entire ride there, and once you arrived, you were so interested in everything around you. It was so fucking sweet because you told him the reason you were so excited was because it was a part of him. He was born here, which makes the place sacred. It was dramatic, but god, it was precious.

After you guys fucked that night, you both showered together. You got out of the shower before him, and you snapped a few pictures with the Polaroid; he made sure to put those in the box for you. At some point after, you were lying in the bed watching some cartoon on the motel TV, and he was smoking a cigarette. He noticed a vivid handprint from where he was slapping your ass while fucking you from behind. It was the first time he wasn’t really concerned about it, but proud. Because in some fucked up way, he marked you, even if it was temporary. You were his, and even if you doubted it, he was yours.

It was the same feeling he got tonight when giving you those hickeys. Just a little reassurance that you belong to him.

He took the photo to kind of solidify the feeling, preserve it. It was very aesthetically pleasing. One of his favorites, he’s realizing. He almost wants to take this one.

But instead, he decides to leave it with you, and before he does so he grabs a pin from your desk and writes:

I won’t let you forget us

-Kook

It’s cryptic, he knows. Maybe it’s selfish to leave a message like that… but perhaps it’ll keep you open for him. Not that he expects you to wait for him to get his shit together, god never. But maybe you’ll allow him to check on you now and then, maybe you won’t block his number, maybe, just maybe, you’ll save a piece of your heart for him…

He sets the photo down on top of the pile of folded clothes and steps back. He looks at the clock again, sees that it’s now 5:50 am. He has no idea how time passed that quickly because it only felt like maybe ten minutes had passed. He must have been moving slowly; his brain must have realized how much he was fighting this inevitable end.

As he stares down at your sleeping form, he genuinely considers staying. Considers refusing to leave.

And that’s exactly why he chooses this moment to leave. He has to get the fuck out of here before he does something stupid.

He walks over to you once more, leans down, and places a kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, then your chin, and starts peppering your face with kisses all over again. His heart is pounding fast, and he has the urge to run. With one last kiss to your lips, he yanks himself away and grabs the bag now full of items that don’t belong to him.

He wants to take in your space one last time, wants to linger and look around because this has been his safe space for literal months. But he fucking can’t. He feels his resolve weakening quickly by the second and knows one more second here, and he won’t leave.

He quickly makes his way out of your apartment, is nearly panting as he walks out of your complex and down to his car. His hands are shaking, his heart is beating at a scary pace, and he starts to feel fucking sick.

He borderline throws the bag in his back seat, and then gets into his car quickly. His hands shake so severely that he fumbles with his keys as he starts the engine. The moment the car turns on, he’s peeling out of the parking lot.

It wasn’t acceptance. It was indeed the calm before the storm.

He’s never felt like this before. He feels nauseous and almost panicky as he drives robotically down the morning streets of Seoul. His breathing is coming in so fast he gets dizzy.

It all hits him at once. This is the end. FIN. Over.

He swears he feels his flower die at that very moment. It wasn’t uprooted and moved to another garden; someone fucking stepped on his fully bloomed Bearded Iris. One second he was thriving, flourishing, and now he’s fucking dead.

He doesn’t even recognize the sounds of his own choked sobs as he drives down the street. He can’t breathe. He can’t fucking see. He feels like he’s dying, truly, he almost considers calling for help because he feels so full of despair and grief.

But who would he call? His wife? That's a fucking joke. You? He can't call you anymore. He can't call his friends either because none of them know. He's on his fucking own now.

Nothing could have prepared him for what it feels like to grieve the death of a love who is still alive.

He ends up pulling into a random parking lot once he’s a safe distance from your apartment. He slams his palms on his steering wheel and just fucking bawls. Tears fog his eyes, and he sounds almost childish because of the force in which he’s crying.

He knew the day he lost you would be the day that that he died. And right now, he is dying for you.

It isn’t until 10 am that you stir awake. You instinctively reach for him, but your hands only find cold sheets, meaning he left a while ago…

You didn’t expect him to leave so soon. You expected to be able to wake up to him one last time, so you’re disappointed when you realize his clothes aren’t on the floor anymore, and you don’t hear the sounds of him awake and making coffee in the kitchen.

But you suppose that was a smart move. If he had stayed, it would have just made it harder for you both, most likely.

You feel oddly… numb. As of now, no sadness. The only thing you feel is almost like a little zap in your chest; it’s subtle, to the point you aren’t even sure if it’s really there.

It’s off. Somethings not quite right.

You ignore the weird hollow feeling as you sit up and stretch; you realize you never showered, and you smell heavily of sex. So you get out of bed, and you make your way into your bathroom. You start the shower after using the bathroom, and as you wait to warm it up, you look at yourself in the mirror.

Fuck.

You are literally littered with marks. Your neck, all the way down to your chest, all the way down to your thighs. Purple and pink love bites all over you. He seriously fucked you up.

You feel that zap again.

You shake your head and tear your eyes away from the mirror, don’t notice how your star patches are missing from your skincare tub on your bathroom counter yet. You step inside the shower and spend a good while letting the hot water wash over your body, washing the remnants of sex and sweat off of your skin.

After about half an hour, you step out. Dry off. Get dressed. That’s when you walk back into your bedroom and notice the pile of clothing sitting on your bed. Clothing that isn’t yours.

You slowly approach it and quickly recognize the strong scent lingering on it: his cologne. You unhurriedly pick up each piece of clothing, see the shirt and hoodie you often attempted to steal from him, accompanied by one of his favorite jackets.

He left pieces of himself for you.

Zap.

You set them aside and pick up the chain and photo. Fuck, you love his chains. You always loved them because, one, they’re fucking hot, and two, you loved how they would dangle above you when he was fucking you. You doubt he realized it, but sometimes you’d bite it as he was fucking you, tug on it like a damn dog playing with their favorite chew toy just to see if it would break. It never did, and you never stopped being fascinated with his jewelry.

Zap.

You look at the photo and immediately recall the memory. Busan, now one of your favorite places, all because of him. It was such a good little trip. You tried a lot of street food you never had before, saw a lot of pretty things, and he fucked you beautifully that night. It was rough, passionate, and he left hand prints on your ass, and much like him, you loved it. This was one of your favorites, for sure.

But then you read the note.

I won’t let you forget us.

Zap. Zap. Zap.

You drop the photo and the chain on top of the clothes, let out a shaky breathe. Still, you aren’t really feeling much, maybe a bit of nostalgia accompanying the zaps… but no despair, no yearning or grieving…

Calm before the storm.

You decide you need some coffee and painkillers. You have a lingering migraine from all of the wine and crying last night, so you leave your bedroom and make your way into the kitchen.

You start making your coffee and swallow the painkillers dry. You lean against the counter as your coffee brews, then freeze when you look at the floor.

The purple wild flower lays there, stepped on by he-who-shall-not-be-named’s boot. Wilted and destroyed, the petals disconnected from the stem.

The flower is dead.

And now you break.

Those zaps you were feeling, you suddenly understand. It was your fight or flight kicking in again, and instead of your brain responding to it, it blocked it out.

Can’t fight it now.

You drop to your knees, start breathing heavily because you feel like someone placed bricks on your chest. Your heart aches, literally, it hurts, it feels like it’s going to explode and you feel like you can’t breathe at all.

You start crying again… no- you’re fucking wailing. You’re crying out for the loss of your flower, for the death of a lover who isn’t even dead, much like Jungkook had earlier.

It finally hits you that he isn't coming back. He's gone, and now, you're expected to move on. Your heart aches for him. Without him, do you even have a heart?

No, you really don’t, not right now anyway. The moment he stepped out that door, he took it with him. He fucking stole your heart just like he stole your pimple patches and perfume.

All you can do is cry for him, except right now, you don’t have him to cling to for empty comfort. Instead, you reach for the dead wildflower, hold it in your palm, bring it to your chest, and cradle it close as if you can somehow bring it back to life.

Bring him back to you.

Little do you know, he’s currently curled up in his bed at his second apartment. He hasn’t stopped crying since he left. He went back home, took the stolen perfume, and sprayed it all over his damn bed, and now he’s hugging a pillow as if it’s you. Imagining that it’s you, that this is all just a horrible dream, and he will wake up soon.

Both of you are lovers, stars who collided, planets who aligned, flowers who grew side by side.

But it was at the wrong time. And now you’re paying the consequences of your paths crossing when they shouldn't have.

So far away in the matter of hours when you were once so close, yet you’re both doing the exact same thing; clinging to shreds of each other and wishing so fucking badly that things could be different.

Both of you left each other without returning your hearts. Both of your flowers got stepped on instead of uprooted and re-planted somewhere safer.

Spring has passed, no longer bees buzzing and flowers blooming, but the cold harsh winter is coming.

It will be a while before either of you bloom again, if at all.

#bts #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #18+ only #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts smut #jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #i love jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfiction

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chubsonthemoon · 1 year

Text

Last Binderary book is DONE!!!! This is the incredible Maybe sprout wings, by @moorishflower.

This post is going to be a doozy, so gonna just skip straight to the cut!

INTERIOR

INTRODUCTION

I really wanted to model this bind after my own copy of the Odyssey, (which is all highlighted and bookmarked and annotated to hell from my Great Text courses in undergrad ehe, so this bind was such a fun trip down memory lane!). But beyond just the cover/general aesthetic, I also wanted to give the book a similar feel to these kinds of editions of classics--there's usually an introduction, translation notes, and other supplementary materials, right? Like, a physical manifestation of the work of many, many people, all having conversations with one another across time and space.

So that's what I did! I wrote a short introduction (I will also probably post it to my AO3/my blog as well, in the name of preservation etc. etc.) and began reaching out to folks in the fandom who I knew had created art and meta for the fic. The result? 18k words of analysis, comments, and meta, and nearly twenty pages of art!

And this is what I love most about this bind, I think! This book is the work of several people--truly a collaborative work by the fandom--all of whom I will now be shamelessly calling out below :D

CHAPTER HEADER ART

First and foremost, this book would not be what it is without the gorgeous header art by @fancy-rock-dove! Thank you so much Dove for letting include your work, and for being so supportive and kind these past few weeks about this bind <3 You in particular have contributed so much to this book (which I will be getting more into in the next section ehe), and I'm so psyched I get to hold your art and words, too!

NOTES ON THE TEXT

This section was divided into four parts: Asks and Answers, Meta, Selected Comments, and Chapter Heading Art: Process

For Asks and Answers, I trawled Heather's blog for meta she had written in response to questions and other meta about the fic. Asks came from @fancy-rock-dove, @quillingwords, @kulapti, and myself! (I THINK I got all of them--tumblr's search function is finnicky even on its best days, so so sorry if I missed something T_T) I first got hooked into reading this fic because of one of these asks, so I'm very fond of this section in particular :D

For Meta, I included two wonderful essays written by @pastrypuppy (also known as @kulapti) about Hob as an author figure and the Disrupted Fisher King narrative in MSW. Her analyses were so fascinating and I just had to include them in the book! (And thank you as well for your permission, friend!) (also hello fellow Renegade comrade 🫡)

For Selected Comments, I owe everything to (once again :3) @fancy-rock-dove, whose insights are the epitome of transformative fandom at work. I'd look for their comments after I read every chapter to see what their takes were on this or that element of the story, and every single time I would go "!!!!! I didn't even realize!!!" or "OOOOOOOH I hadn't thought of that!!" It was like being in a lecture hall and always whipping your head around when one of your classmates raised their hand, because you knew they were going to say something fascinating that you hadn't considered before.

Aside from one of my own comments, Dove's comments make up the entirety of this section (for which I owe you my life--your long-form responses to fics are a gift to this world) but GOSH was it also so much fun going through the comments section while typesetting and seeing all the keyboard smashing, yelling, and crying from the other commenters. Communal nature of storytelling and ongoing meaning-making of fanfiction, babey!

And finally for Chapter Heading Art: Process: once again Dove coming in clutch with some wonderful insights into the design of each of the chapter heading art pieces! This kind of stuff is honestly my favorite: meta about art for a fic which is, in turn, a transformation of an existing story (not even to mention that The Sandman is its own kind of fanfiction of existing mythologies and histories)--I just!! Think it's all really, really neat :'D (for more coherent/polished thoughts on this pls see my introduction asjdfkls)

ART

The art gallery!!! A million thanks to @fishfingersandscarves, @honeyseller, @jazzpsych, @doctor-rainbowfoxey, and (HI AGAIN DOVE) @fancy-rock-dove for granting me permission to include all of your beautiful pieces!

As usual for artworks in my binds, I printed each piece out on specialty photo paper to really make the colors pop, then sewed each page separately to the text block! Behold, everyone's beautiful beautiful pieces!

The art gallery also satisfies the certain "oooh shiny" part of my brain that always activates when I see pictures in a book, so am also very fond of this section :3

CONSTRUCTION

And now on to the nitty gritty stuff! I used the German Bradel binding technique again, my second time using it. Even though it's more complicated than the case bind, I really love how it gives you the full board space for the cover designs (~it's free real estate~). Keep it a secret but I kiiiiiiind of made a small goof in the last few steps (I did the turn-ins a step too early and so had to paste an extra sheet of cardstock to secure the spine to the boards, whoopsie), but it's a pretty small difference, aesthetically speaking, so it wasn't the end of the world XD

Edges are once again fake gilded, but this time I tried something new with the colors! I did two layers of acrylic paint--one watered down shade of red for the base, then one metallic gold on top of that. I really like the red/gold effect! I'll have to keep experimenting with this kind of layering:

ALSO. Y'ALL! I think I'm finally getting the hang of endbands!!! Many thanks to the folks at Renegade who hosted all the endband workshops last month--I'm still working through them, but even the few sessions I've seen have been TREMENDOUSLY helpful. I learned that tension is Very Important, as well as thread thickness, so I tried doubling my thread and keeping a Very Close Eye on how I was holding the threads while doing the beads. And behold! I still have a ways to go (and one day I would LOVE to do the fancier designs), but I'm v happy with the progress I've made so far!

And finally the covers!! ARCHIVAL MOD PODGE MY BELOVED. I printed on the same matte presentation paper that I used for the art, then did several coats of archival matte mod podge + a pass of gloss mod podge over the title strip to make it ~shiny~. Then once those had dried and I'd adhered them to the boards, I sprayed two layers of matte clear acrylic sealer (also mod podge!) to finish it off. I had some issues with the paper tearing when I handled it before it was fully dry, but luckily the blemishes were small enough that it was easy to do spot corrections with my black acrylic paint. And now I know to be more patient next time LOL

(some non-photoshoot shots that show the shine a little better!)

FINAL THOUGHTS

I had a lot of thoughts while I was binding this book--about Sandman fandom, about Dreamling fandom, about the Odyssey, about storytelling, about fanbinding, about Binderary, about Renegade, about my friends--but really what came to mind the most was gratitude!

Simply put, I'm so grateful to everyone I've met both in this fandom and throughout the years I've been active online--this is SO fun, y'all. It's so much fun to love stories together--to talk about them, to write them, and of course to bind them! I hope I've adequately conveyed that gratitude.

But of course, this book would not exist without the wonderful words of @moorishflower. Heather, thank you so, SO much for sharing your stories, thoughts, and time with us--it is always a happier, better day when I get an email notif from you and when I see you on my dash. I love your work so much, and I'm so happy I finally get to put it on my shelf! So thank you so much again, for everything <3

and OKAY THAT'S IT FROM ME FOLKS!!!!! Binderary 2023 is officially a wrap! I had SUCH a blast--will probably write up a reflection post on it uhhhh after I take a very long nap ajslkdfjslk _(:3」∠)_

all my love! <3

#the sandman #dreamling #Moorishflower #Maybe sprout wings #binderary2023 #bookbinding #fanbinding #ficbinding #not my fic

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seivsite · 1 year

Text

includes: nagi seishiro x gn!reader. i am not a big marvel / dc (?) fan so forgive me for any inaccuracies, made this bc i saw spidey nagi art and my brain did a SHIJWSI — wc: 284

Spiderman Nagi, who unintentionally saves your life when an accident occurs in your city, only asks if you are injured before leaving you.

Spiderman Nagi discovers that you went to the same school as him and asks Reo for any information about you, driven by curiosity ever since the previous encounter ( he found you quite good looking ).

Unbeknownst to Spiderman Nagi, he couldn’t fathom that you would discover his identity in just a week. He learns that your reasoning was deduced from his signature catchphrase, “Too much of a hassle.”

Spiderman Nagi fails to realise that he has fallen in love with you until Reo points it out, revealing that he never acts towards you the way he does with others.

Finally gathering the courage, Spiderman Nagi plans to confess his feelings to you. However, before he can, you beat him to it by kissing him after he sustains severe injuries from fighting a villain.

Like a scene from a movie, Spiderman Nagi kisses you upside down every time he passes by, creating a romantic atmosphere.

At 2 am, Spiderman Nagi knocks on your window just because he misses you and craves your comforting hugs and kisses.

Spiderman Nagi would do anything to save you and ensure your safety, even if it means you have to forget about him, a sacrifice he is willing to make.

Observing you from afar, Spiderman Nagi sees you engaged in conversation with Reo, understanding that he shouldn’t disrupt your peace for the sake of your safety, a bittersweet display of his love.

In hopes that you will remember him and the bond you shared, Spiderman Nagi leaves small trinkets in your room, longing for a return to the way things used to be.

NOTES. the art that started it all, kinda rushed lol, thank u for reading!

TAG LIST. @rintosei @m8bius

LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! ‹3

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fatecantstopme · 1 year

Note

Hi!!! Can I plzz request a Morpheus and y/n are married and reader just wants alone time with her husband but he's always busy so unsatisfied reader has some alone time and Morpheus hears and goes to help her (smut included plz) 🤧🤧

Need

Pairing: Morpheus x wife!reader

Summary: Morpheus has been extremely busy since returning from captivity. He never intended to, but he'd left you without his touch for far too long.

Warnings: Fluff. SMUT, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V)

A/N: I love this idea. Hope you enjoy! 🥰

It felt like it had been ages since you'd had any alone time with your husband. He'd been incredibly busy, so much so that you barely saw him these days. It wasn't that he was ignoring you, he was simply overwhelmed with work and he had the tendency to get completely lost in it.

As the Lord of Dreams, Morpheus was constantly busy managing his kingdom, creating new dreams and nightmares, and ensuring the comfort of his creations and the dreamers who entered his realm. Given his recent absence from the realm, his work had quadrupled. As such, he had been spending a lot of time in his study or out in the Dreaming.

You had to admit you missed him terribly. When he'd first returned from his captivity, you hadn't left each other's sides for weeks, but once he began to rebuild The Dreaming, he became more distant.

This evening in particular, you were feeling extra lonely--and perhaps a bit needy. You decided to take a walk through the palace, searching for your husband. Eventually, you wandered into his study and found him hunched over his desk, several books open in front of him.

He looked up as you entered, an expression of surprise on his beautiful face. "My love? Is everything alright?" he asked gently.

You smiled as you moved across the room. "I'm alright, darling. I just haven't seen much of you in a while."

Morpheus frowned. "I am sorry, beloved. I did not intend to ignore you."

"Oh, no, not at all. I didn't think you were ignoring me. You're just very busy and I completely understand. Your work is very important."

He stood up and stepped in front of his desk, arms reaching out to pull you towards him. "Nothing is more important than you," he said solemnly.

You smiled and leaned in to kiss him gently. "I appreciate that," you paused. "Do you think you'll be coming to bed tonight?"

Morpheus looked a little sad--perhaps even regretful. "I have much to do this evening, my darling. I shall endeavor to finish it in a timely manner, but I do not think it will be tonight."

You couldn't help the frown that graced your face, but you tried to hide the intensity of your sadness from your husband. "That's alright, Morpheus."

He could tell you were sad, but before he could say a word, one of his creations knocked on the open door. "Sire?"

Morpheus stepped away from you and turned his attention to the newcomer. "Yes?"

"There is a--situation that requires your assistance, my lord."

Morpheus sighed.

"It's alright, darling," you said softly. "Go take care of it."

He nodded. "I will be quick, my love."

You smiled at him before he rushed out of the room, after which you allowed your smile to fall. You sighed softly. You didn't want to be annoyed--it wasn't his fault he was so busy--but you were just so lonely.

You made your way slowly back to your bedroom. You took a hot bath before crawling into your bed. The bed was quite large, and so painfully empty.

You tossed back and forth for at least an hour, but you couldn't fall asleep. Eventually, you rolled onto your back with a dramatic sigh. Your body felt like it was on fire, your nerve endings alight with need.

You knew what you needed, but you didn't often have to take matters into your own hands--Morpheus was always ready and willing to satisfy your needs. Tonight, however, you needed a release and your husband was much too busy to help you.

You sighed as you sat up, tugging your nightgown off over your head. You laid back down and closed your eyes, trying desperately to imagine Morpheus's hands instead of your own. Your hands slid down your body towards where you needed them most.

The moment they settled between your legs, you released a soft sigh. As you began to move, your breathing became heavy and your soft moans filled the room. You sped up your ministrations, the volume of your moans increasing with the speed.

"Morpheus," you whispered softly, your imagination filling your mind with images of your husband.

On the other side of The Dreaming, Morpheus was finishing up his business when he suddenly heard your voice breaking through his concentration.

"(Y/N)?" he said as he looked up.

Soft moans carried across the breeze--your moans.

Morpheus froze, his body immediately wanting to respond to you, despite the fact he was not alone. He knew he likely wasn't going to be able to finish working, especially when he heard you call his name.

"I must go," he said abruptly.

"My lord?"

"My wife requires my immediate attention. I shall not be returning until tomorrow."

His creation simply nodded, but Morpheus didn't stay long enough to see it. He disappeared, instantly reappearing in his bedchamber. What he saw was enough for him to stop breathing.

You were completely naked on top of your shared bed, hands between your legs, body writhing as you pleasured yourself. Pretty moans floated across the room, turning Morpheus almost completely feral.

"Beloved," he said lowly, voice rough with desire.

Your eyes shot open and your hands instinctively flew to cover yourself as much as you could. When you saw Morpheus standing at the end of the bed looking at you like he was about to eat you alive, your hands lowered to your sides and you bit your lip.

"What do you think you are doing, my love?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, Morpheus--I just--I needed--I need you."

His eyes impossibly darkened, turning into a starless night sky. "You could have come to me, darling."

"You were busy...I didn't wanna bother you."

"Sweetheart," he whispered as he lowered himself onto the bed, body hovering above yours possessively. "You could never bother me."

Your lips parted and your breathing became heavy. "Morpheus..."

"Yes, my love?"

"Please..." you whimpered.

"Tell me what you need, my darling."

"I need you to touch me," you begged.

Morpheus smiled wolfishly. "Anything for you," he whispered as his clothing magically disappeared. His lips met yours in a hungry, possessive kiss, which you responded to instantly. You tangled your fingers into his thick, dark hair and moaned against his lips.

His soft hands caressed your skin and his lips began to trail down your neck, focusing on your most sensitive spot. His fingers glided down your body, stopping to collect the moisture pooling in your core.

He separated from you, bringing his fingers to his lips to taste you, a soft groan of satisfaction leaving his mouth.

"Please," you whispered. "Don't tease me."

Morpheus smiled. "As you wish, my darling."

He wasted no time in lowering himself between your legs, lips immediately attaching themselves to your core. When his tongue snaked out to caress you, a broken moan slipped past your lips.

Every time with Morpheus was incredible. It was to be expected from an Endless, but you couldn't deny his sheer talent. You weren't sure if he used magic or if he was simply that good; either way, you were thankful.

"Morpheus," you murmured, his name both a prayer and a plea.

Somehow he always seemed to know exactly what you wanted and needed, and this moment was no different. His tongue danced across you, fingers gently coaxing you towards your climax.

You moaned loudly enough for all The Dreaming to hear when your orgasm washed over you, but those moans were practically whispers in comparison to the sounds the Dream Lord would tear from your throat this night.

Morpheus did not stop his actions, did not allow you even a moment to catch your breath. He brought you to climax again and again and again, before he finally acquiesced to your pleas for a pause.

"I have left you alone for far too long, my love," he murmured into your ear. His soft hands caressed your form, gently massaging your skin, the touch a comforting gesture. "It is my honor to make it up to you."

"I think..." you gasped out breathlessly, "...you have."

Morpheus chuckled darkly. "Oh no, beloved. I have only just begun."

Your eyes widened as you gazed into his handsome face. "You can't...be serious."

He offered you a pleased smirk. "Oh, but I am, my darling. I fully intend to have you writhing beneath me for the rest of the night. I wish to hear nothing but the sweet sounds coming from your lips. All the mortals visiting The Dreaming this night will have the most pleasant dreams indeed."

You stared up at him, completely breathless, utterly spent, and yet so entirely his. His fiery gaze and his passionate words lit a spark inside of you only his touch could put out.

You touched his face almost reverently as you whispered, "Please, Morpheus." Your meaning was quite clear: you wanted nothing more than the promise of endless pleasure, pleasure only he could give you.

His fingers intertwined with yours and he pulled your hands above your head, holding them in place with one arm. He entered you swiftly, giving you no time to prepare or adjust, before setting a brutal pace. There was nothing cruel about his actions...it was pure passion in its rawest and truest form.

Morpheus was true to his word, as he always was. He pleasured your body all throughout the night, bringing you a pleasure so intense it would have incapacitated a lesser being. His own pleasure was derived from seeing you like this, from hearing you scream his name, feeling you clench around him so tightly he couldn't breathe.

He whispered sweet nothings against your skin, marking the supple flesh with his deep, endless love. His body was never apart from yours for more than an instant all throughout the night.

When the sun began to rise, Morpheus finally allowed you to rest. He held your spent body against him, the warmth of your skin a comfort to him. You had long since fallen asleep, but he did not dare move. He couldn't bear the thought of waking you or leaving your side, duties be damned.

So there he lay, the King of Dreams, holding his lover tightly in his arms, protecting her and loving her with all he had to give from his Endless soul.

#Morpheus x reader smut #Morpheus x reader #morpheus x wife!reader #morpheus smut #sandman smut #the sandman #Dream #Morpheus

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last-herondale · 1 month

Text

Almost Part 8

Bucky Barnes x Femreader!

Warnings: none

Angst, heartbreak, healing

AN: this story is close to my heart. This whole series. I’ll go into more detail perhaps once it’s done.

Enjoy ❤️

Months had passed. The weather here in the islands was warm and tropical. You had always loved the beach. Watching the waves crash against the sand, feeling the warm beams of sun hit your face as you relaxed in a beach chair. Tony had several island houses, some remote, some really, really remote, and then there was the one you had chosen, which was completely isolated away from the rest of the world.

Tony didn’t ask questions when you came to him that early morning. You only told him that you needed to get away. Somewhere no one could find you. Somewhere you could be alone. He gave you an access card, an address, and sent you on your way in one of his private jets. The vacation house was huge, way too big for one single person, but you were not going to complain.

You spent the first few weeks in bed. Your body and soul felt absolutely exhausted. Guilt riddled your chest. You hated leaving your team like that. No explanation, no word at all. It wasn’t fair to the people who you saw as your family. But there wasn’t time to write every single one of them a note. You just left one for Steve and Nat. You left the note with Tony to give to Nat, but you left the note for Steve on your dresser.

It was short, but it was all you could muster before you chickened out. It hurt too much. Feeling like you used Steve, fighting with Bucky, and lying to yourself and everyone else that you are okay. There seemed to be very limited options as to what you could do about it without messing everything you built up. Without destroying the whole team itself, over something as trivial as your heart.

It felt like you were dying. Physically and spiritually. You took sleeping pills just to shut out everything racking in your brain. You hardly ate, even though Tony made sure to send groceries every week. No one had come to check up on you, so you assumed that Tony had made good on his promise to keep your whereabouts secret. It was strange to feel so conflicted. To want nothing more than to be alone, but also want someone to talk to.

So you opted for writing. Tony had plenty of empty journals in the house, some filled with new suit ideas or other inventions, but you found one that looked like it wouldn’t be missed and began writing. It helped. Writing down anything and everything you had been feeling when you felt it. It took a few weeks, but you finally decided to leave the house. You began taking walks, writing on the beach, reading the various books that Tony had. It was nice. It was starting to feel like a vacation.

You created a routine. You woke up early in the mornings on the weekdays, making sure to go on a long walk around the island before the sun rose. Then whenever you were ready, you went back to the house and made yourself something to eat. Sometimes it was breakfast, most times it was lunch by the time you returned. You spent your afternoons either reading or writing or sleeping. It was a bit boring and mundane, but it felt like it was exactly what you needed.

The only thing that bothered you was the zero contact. You did miss your friends. At the mark of one month of your isolation, you decided to write to Nat. You left a note for Tony, asking that he still not give out your whereabouts, but you trusted him enough to write a few letters with Nat. Nat seemed understanding, if not a bit disappointed you hadn’t gone to her first before leaving. She didn’t say anything about Steve or Bucky, although you were very careful not to ask or even hint that you wanted to know. Even though you did. Desperately.

You started writing to her every week. You thought maybe one day she would get fed up with you avoiding everything, but all Nat ever said at the end of her letters were:

“I love you. Just be careful, okay? I’ll always be here for you if you need me.”

It was everything to have her support, and Tonys. You felt as if you were finally getting better. You were finally taking care of your mental health and your feelings, rather than worry about everyone else. It was strange. It felt selfish. But you realized it was needed.

After two months, you decided you needed somewhere a bit more social to be. Tony was happy to oblige, and he and Pepper came to help you get settled into your new living space in Maui. It was smaller than the first house, much to your appreciation. Pepper and you talked for a bit, and it was nice to open up to her. She often seemed so set apart from the chaos of the tower life, so she offered her unbiased opinion.

Tony’s aim was to help you have fun again. Before he and Pepper left, he showed you his favorite spots, and ensured that the owners would take care of you, if you ever decided to enter their establishment. It was nice to be out and social again. Even just being out to dinner with the two of them livened your spirits up more than you thought it would.

That’s when you decided that it was time. You told Tony before he left, that he could share your whereabouts with the team. He had just given you a look of uncertainty, but then shrugged. You weren’t sure if he would follow through, but then Pepper put her hand on your shoulder and you knew she would take care of it.

The local city in Maui was wonderful. It wasn’t full of tourists, but it was bustling full of the locals. They were kind, and very pleasant to be around. Even if you didn’t talk to them much, it was nice to be back around people. You took up a small job, delivering merchandise for one of Tony’s recommended shops. You knew it was a small task, certainly not up to what you were capable of doing, but it kept you busy.

You still wrote daily, keeping up with your journal that was now full. Tony had gifted you a whole set, for however long you wanted to stay. You considered going home. Several times during your trip. The memories of what you left behind… who you left behind. It caused you too much pain.

The pain was ebbing, ever so slowly. The realignment, the refocusing your attention back to yourself made it easier. You realized that you deserved to put yourself first. That you needed to love yourself before you could love anyone. And so these long months have been your love letter to yourself. You followed your heart. Did what you wanted. You were honest with yourself and your needs. Things were finally becoming okay.

You felt like it was finally okay… it was finally acceptable to just be you.

A few people sent their regards. A few letters came in for you, one from Sam, Wanda, and even Scott. Nat visited you the next week Tony left. It was nice to be with her again and be able to cry and hug her. It was nice to converse and be around the people you loved. People that you had neglected in your mess. It made you feel whole again… well almost.

You missed them. Although it was hard to say their names still, you missed them both. You missed them terribly.

And like always, it seemed that the universe had a great sense of humor when it came to you. You were sorting through the mail, a normal routine you did once a week. The letters were from the usual suspects, but one name made your heart stop.

You knew it would happen. Maybe even hoped it would happen. And now it seemed that the time had finally come.

#fem reader #reader x marvel #marvel fanfic club #marvel #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fic #bucky x reader #fan fic author #healing #angst prompt #angst #alone

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imaginedanvrs · 4 months

Text

encrypted relations

part 8 l masterlist

summary: yelena belova x reader. when natasha takes you under her wing, she becomes like family, and the last thing you want is to lose that. but when you meet her younger sister who you know is off limits, you have to decide between what you really want and hope for minimal damage

word count: 2.7k

warnings: lots of graphic violence and descriptions of blood and gore, mentions of past sexual assault, kidnapping, lmk if i missed anything

Several long days dragged by without you hearing anything from Yelena. It was hard, but everytime your gut twisted as you ached for the blonde you reminded yourself that she was no doubt feeling worse. You needed to fix things. Even if you couldn’t be together, you at least wanted to be able to talk to her again because her missing presence seemed to have created a noticeable hold in your life that you had no intention of filling with anyone else.

You were laying in your bed with your laptop next to you and Marty at your feet when your phone chimed with a text from Kate. As much as you loved your best friend, you were disappointed the message wasn’t from Yelena.

Kate: Melina did some digging and found something, if I don’t text till tonight can you walk Lucky?

You: yep, be safe!

Melina had found something? You had presumed she had stopped looking into the files like you had since coming to the end of them. Had she gone back through? Maybe found additional files you couldn’t see? You tried to shrug off the thoughts, knowing that the older Russian knew what she was doing, but you were curious more than anything else.

You turned on your computer and opened up your email chain to Melina that had ended a few weeks ago when you both declared you had gone through everything.

Kate just told me you found a lead, how’d you do it?? You typed out and sent off the email.

Much to your surprise, Melina responded within a few minutes but you stopped short when you read the simple message.

I didn’t. You froze and reread the two words again. What? Kate wouldn’t lie to you about going on a mission. You frantically opened up your phone to message the archer again, unable to ignore the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.

Me: where are you guys??

You tapped your phone in your hand but you knew that if Kate was already on her way then she wasn’t going to be looking at her phone. So you turned back to your computer as your mind twisted between assuring you she was fine and telling you the worst case scenarios. Yelena’s experience wouldn’t lead her into a trap and even if it did she would know what to do.

You didn’t get the chance to reply to Melina, because another new email caught your attention first. The email handle looked to be a bot, but the subject line stated: hurry. An image was attached and you almost hesitated to open it.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you stared at a grainy image that was clearly Kate and Yelena in some come of abandoned warehouse. Below was a location that you knew you had no training to go to yourself. You scrambled with your phone to call Natasha, while forwarding the email to Melina, but she didn’t pick up.

“Come on, come on,” you hissed as you paced your apartment and tried again. Nothing. “Fuck!” You tried Steve and got nothing. You tried Wanda and got nothing. You tried every single person you could think of until you became aware of how much time had passed since getting the email. No one was picking up and you had no idea why, which left only you.

You ran a shaking hand through your hair as you scanned your apartment for any hint of what to do and landed on an opened drawer you hadn’t noticed before. Paranoid, you warrily stalked towards the drawer and found a black handgun inside with a sticky note on top inscribed with the letter Y. After all her insistence of you getting a gun, she had gotten one for you.

You should’ve called the police, let them handle the situation. But what if they didn’t get there in time? You didn’t have time to keep thinking about the what ifs, so instead, you grabbed the gun and left the apartment. On your way down, you called the police, giving them a brief rundown of what you thought was happening and shared the address with them, hanging up before they could query much more.

Calling a cab once outside, you tried phoning each of the avengers again as the car started towards the warehouse. It wasn’t unusual for all of the avengers to go on a mission together, but something about the timing of it didn’t sit right with you. You couldn’t linger on what you couldn’t control though, instead forcing yourself to come up with some kind of plan. You came up blank.

I’m just a hacker, I should get this guy to turn around and let the police deal with it. You thought. But what if they got there too late? What if you got the call and news you had nightmares about receiving. You couldn’t lose them. You reminded yourself of that when the warehouse came into view and instructed the driver to stop round the corner.

Your heart rattled against your ribcage as you stood outside the warehouse and pulled your gun from inside your jacket. This is so goddamn reckless, you thought as you inched the main door open and slipped inside. You kept low, scanning the area for any signs of life. It was unnervingly quiet. Every step you took, no matter how gentle, bounced off of the walls. I really shouldn’t be here.

Natasha leant forwards as she scanned over the email she had just received from Melina. “What’s up?” Yelena asked as she watched her sister’s brow furrow. Natasha showed her screen to the blonde who frowned as she took in the image of her and Kate in a location she couldn’t recall ever having been in with the archer.

“It’s from Melina. Y/n forwarded it to her,” Natasha explained as she looked through the text. “Apparently Kate told her you were on a mission there.” The pair paused, their brains connecting the same dots as Yelena pulled up Kate’s contact while Nat pulled up yours. Kate picked up, you didn’t.

“Kate Bishop, did you tell y/n we are on a mission?” Yelena demanded as she looked to her sister, seeing that you weren’t answering.

“No? Why?” The archer asked. Yelena cursed in Russian.

“Get ahold of her now,” she ordered and hung up. “You don’t think she’s gone there?” Yelena questioned, though they were both already grabbing their jackets.

“I do,” Natasha confirmed. “God, she’s an idiot.”

The hands that held the handgun in front of you were shaking and you knew it wasn’t just because of the cold. But with every step you took, you reminded yourself that Yelena and Kate had to be around the space somewhere and that you needed to get to them before someone else did. You had hoped to have heard the sirens already too.

“Long time no see,” you spun around on the spot, your eyes flickering across the space in the direction of the voice that you could never forget. “Hey, baby,” Rae greeted as she stepped out from behind a stack of crates, a menacing axe hanging loosely by her side. She sauntered towards you, an easy grin on her lips as you stood frozen.

“What? I don’t get a hello after all this time?” She asked with a fake pout.

“What are you…what?” You stared at the raven haired woman who you foolishly assumed you would never see again.

“How am I? Oh, I’m great thanks for asking, even after that stunt you pulled,” she hissed, continuing to stalk the area around you. “That got me in a lot of trouble, you know? All because you wanted to be selfish bitch,” as she spoke, she let the axe drop against the floor and scrape against the concrete next to her as she moved. You eyed the weapon warily, knowing you should use your own.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” You didn’t. You couldn’t rake your brain for anything to say to the woman before you. “No apology for abandoning your girlfriend?”

“Fuck you,” you hissed, taking you both by surprise. Rae chuckled, bemused by the agitation you had never shown her when you were together.

“Where was that bit of fight back when you needed it?” She asked with a mocking grin that made your stomach twist. Your hands began to rattle again as images of your past flashed in front of your eyes.

No, you couldn’t think about that. You couldn’t let her succeed in getting into your head.

“Shut up,” you tried to shout, but your voice wavered. Rae grinned more.

“Or what? You gonna shoot me? You never fought back when I hit you, or when I fucked you.”

“Stop!” You managed to yell, though the tears threatening to spill through didn’t help.

“Maybe all those times you said no you actually wanted it.”

You fired. And missed. Rae was faster than you remembered her being, within a second she knocked the gun out of your hands and made you stumble to the floor. Your back collided with the dark concrete though you didn’t feel the pain of the impact because you were too concerned with putting as much distance between you and Rae as you could when she was sauntering towards you. She chuckled as she watched you try to scramble away.

“I knew you would come here when I sent you that email,” she told you. “You always were so curious, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. But you know what they say, baby, curiosity killed the cat,” she warned you in such a tell-tale way that didn’t expect her to bring the axe down on your leg a second later.

You screamed as the searing pain shot from your calf where the axe was embedded. Rae pulled the blade out with a grunt and you immediately made to get up until she swung again at your unguarded back, knocking what left like every last breath out of you. You collapsed and forced yourself onto your back to look up at Rae and try to dodge her next move. The weapon was heavy, she wouldn’t be able to be agile with it.

“You have no idea what consequences your fuck up had for me,” she told you, her anger coming to the surface in a way you couldn’t avoid. She brought the axe down again and you were unable to dodge it entirely, instead having it lodged in your side. You howled in agony, feeling the blade dig into your ribs so prominently that you didn’t even notice how wet the back of your shirt was with blood.

“The things I had to endure as punishment,” Rae continued as she pulled the axe free, taking what felt like a pound of your flesh with her. “I’ve waited years to give you your fair share of the pain, the least you could do is accept it.” You didn’t feel where the next hit fell. You only felt your body shake with the impact and the grotesque sound of it embedding itself in you.

“The…police…will come,” you struggled to tell her with a mouth full of blood that came bubbling up from your throat. When you heard her laugh in response, you knew you were fucked.

“Same way the Avengers will? You didn’t call the police, malysh. No one’s coming for you,” she told you, bringing the axe down again.

Natasha and Yelena didn’t exchange a single word as they stood either side of the entrance door. They had been through situations like that one enough times to rehearse it in their sleep and that was what they reminded themselves as they exchanged a swift nod: that it was a standard rescue mission. The moment they let it get personal was when mistakes would be made and they couldn’t afford any.

The Russian’s scanned the vast room as they stalked amongst the crates with long since faded brand imprints. Their footsteps were silent as they listened out for a single pin drop, anything to indicate where you could be. They didn’t hear a thing, though Natasha’s voice was the one to break through the tension.

“Get Stark down here now,” she ordered.

“What? What have you found?” Yelena asked as met her sister’s unnerved eyes and tried to look at the space she had come from.

“Yelena,” Natasha warned with a firm hand to the blonde’s chest.

“No, what is it?” She tried, shoving her sister away only for her to be pushed back in response.

“Don’t look,” Natasha pleaded. The waver in her voice made Yelena pause for a brief moment before she charged on to look around the other side of the crates, stumbling upon what she found.

“It’s alright,” Natasha assured, trying to reflect her confidence in her tone but it was difficult when she didn’t feel it herself. Yelena hardly heard, her focus entirely on the pool of crimson. “Stark has the technology to scan the area for her, she can’t be far,” the redhead continued as she placed a hand on Yelena’s hand, wanting her away from the scene you had left them.

Even as the blonde allowed herself to be turned around, the image of the deep red splatters stained into the crates several metres away from the main puddle lingered behind Yelena’s eyes. She didn’t listen as her sister called her billionaire friend, far too stuck in her own head and wondering what state she would find you in - because she would find you.

“Thanks, Tony,” Natasha said as she hung up the phone and took an anxious glance towards her sister. “He’ll be here in ten,” she told Yelena who didn’t respond. The redhead cursed internally, feeling the weight of the moment settle on both of their stomachs.

She had been too harsh with you that night, saying things she didn’t mean just as you had but making you suffer for it all the same, just because she could see that Yelena was. Natasha knew, then more than ever, that you would never set out to hurt her little sister, not when you were so quick to blindly save her. She would tell you all that when she saw you again, she promised herself.

Natasha was interrupted from those thoughts when her phone vibrated once in her hand. The redhead looked at her screen and saw she had a message from an unknown number. Frowning, she opened the text and immediately felt an anchor tied around her guts drop. On the screen was an image of you in the back of an unclear car, unconscious, shirt stained scarlet. There were wounds she couldn’t examine properly because bile was rising in her throat and she didn’t want her sister to notice. She couldn’t see that picture. Ever.

The redhead’s sickness subsided the moment she read the text beneath the picture, moving aside for the anger that began to rise and threatened to bubble over the surface. Natasha took a deep breath to steady herself as she glared at the screen, resisting the impulse to snap the device in half.

Too late : (

Stay calm, recall what you know.

That was what Natasha had taught you when you first met. She had taught you a lot, but in that moment that lesson was the only one you were capable of recalling.

You were fluctuating between consciousness. You were in the trunk of a car. You were being taken. You were badly injured. It was Rae.

Rae… the pain she had inflicted was unlike anything you thought was possible to experience. You had no idea how many times she had swung that axe down on you, some parts of your body hurt more than others, but there was an inescapable alarm going off amongst your nerves and major organs telling you that it was bad. Really really fucking bad.

She had hit muscle and bone, but you were unsure what else had been punctured. You knew that the blood in your mouth meant something critical had been attacked, but it couldn’t be something so significant because you were acutely aware of the fact that you were still alive. You may very well be dying, just not yet.

It would be okay, someone would come for you. You just weren’t sure they would come in time.

#marvel #dark!marvel #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #yelena belova imagine #natasha romanoff #kate bishop

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chemicallywrit · 8 days

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Happy Audio Drama Sunday! School is out for me, so I can finally rest. Oh man. I needed the rest. It's great to sit there an not move, isn't it? And I got to listen to so many good podcasts this week as well, it really made the last week of school a treat. Let's take a look:

🍔 I feel like every new episode of @midnightburgr is a precious little gem, and this one is no different. I love getting to see pre-found-family Casper. You can't escape the found family, idiot, get cherished! It's been good to watch his character development throughout the show, and then seeing this little missing piece of it that he doesn't quite remember answers several questions about him. I love him. He's the worst and I love him. Alongside each of the three sisters, this season is promising to be absolutely fascinating.

📼 Oh The Magnus Protocol, you never disappoint. I want to run this episode by the teenagers I know to see what they think of it, because I understood what the influencer was saying, but I know many adults who absolutely would not. Like, I'm on this website. Meanwhile, Alice rejecting help is setting her up for something truly awful and I dread what her fate may be. It's delicious.

👻 @monstrousproductions's Travelling Light is often so soft and good--I neglected to include last week's episode on the AD Sunday write-up, like a FOOL, even though it made me CRY--but this episode settles into a gorgeous little ghost story that's honestly the logical conclusion of creative sentients in space. I loved it. On top of that, there's this tiny morsel of Óli's backstory that I am DYING to know more about. I can't wait for the next ep.

🪲 @cryptonature always hits just right, but this last episode was everything I want in the world. MOSS TIDE MOSS TIDE MOSS TIDE

🧛🏻‍♂️What a treat it is to listen to @re-dracula along with everyone this year. I am loving everyone's analysis and thoughts this go-round and I am once again appreciating the work of Ben Galpin and Karim Kronfli in creating just the most horrific character dynamic. I know droughtula is imminent, so there's still plenty of time to catch up. Join us, join us, join us--

✂️ In Hannah news, Inn Between is starting to wrap up for the season! This week brings the penultimate episode, which is definitely totally fine and won't bode ill for any beloved party members of the Lowlifes. We'll also see the last episode of "Run Rabbit" on The Dead, and I'm so pleased with my actors' work, so I can't wait to hear what the sound wizards have done with it.

Hey! This week is better than last as far as finances go--thanks to my beloveds for helping out--but if you like what I make or enjoyed reading this, would you consider leaving me a tip?

See y'all next week!

#audio drama sunday #audio fiction #fiction podcast #midnight burger #the magnus protocol #travelling light #the cryptonaturalist #re: dracula #inn between #the dead podcast

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ageofwagner · 10 months

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Clone a Jake

pairing: Jake Kiszka x fem!reader

summary: Jake surprises Y/N with a special gift to keep her fulfilled while he's away on tour.

warnings: 18+ MDNI!! oral m & f receiving, sir kink (kinda), explicit language, slight overstimulation, use of sex toys, slight degradation, bad grammar. (lmk if I missed anything!)

word count: 5.2k+

a/n: hey guys! I've had this idea for too long and I just had to write it for all my Jake girlies (gn) <3 since this is the first one I’ve done, any feedback is greatly appreciated! also, let's not talk about the research I had to do about cock molds <3

masterlist

The beginning of the Starcatcher World Tour was just a couple weeks away and while Jake was eager to get back on stage and do what he loves most, he was torn about having to leave his love behind once again. Though Y/n has been there by his side since the beginning, it never got easier having to part ways when he had to leave for months at a time while touring the world.

Y/n was always supportive of Jake and the rest of the band, who she considers to be just like her own family; she joins them on the road when she can, though it isn't nearly as often as they had hoped. While the two are together, they are inseparable in every sense of the word, it's as if their souls were designed from the same stardust; a perfect match.

The nature of their relationship came with its fair share of obstacles, between the differences in time zones and long days, it was difficult, yet the two of them always found time for each other. Communication, while long distance, was an obstacle that could be easily overcome, but the one thing that Jake felt he couldn't remedy was the physical aspect of their relationship.

It was no secret that Y/n and Jake were usually all over each other, often times Sam would make a point of loudly gagging at their PDA wherever they went. It's safe to say that, while apart, the lack of intimacy was something they both hated. There were always other ways for them to recreate some semblance of intimacy, and relieve each other despite the distance, but it never came close to the real thing. Suggestive texts and late-night facetime calls got the job done but the lack of physical touch was hard, and Jake hated leaving his girl alone and unfulfilled. The two of them were no strangers to experimenting with toys in the bedroom, but Y/n had always insisted that it could never match the feeling of him stretching her, no matter what she tried while he was away.

Jake kept mulling over the idea of how he could keep his girl satisfied while on the road, knowing how much she loves the feeling of him filling her up. Keeping what Y/n had said in mind, Jake thought of the possibility for him to create a personalized dildo for her to use while he was gone, that way she could still be full of him no matter where he is. He did some research, seeing how he could pull it off, and quickly discovered there are several kits available for you to customize your own sex toy. Selecting the first website, he laughs at the title 'Clone-a-Willy' He finds exactly what he was looking for, adding the item to his cart and selecting the fastest shipping option available, eager to give it to his girl.

Jake anxiously waited for the package to arrive and hoped that Y/n wouldn't accidentally open it thinking it was one of hers, or ask him what it was. Thankfully, the package arrived while Jake was home alone; he didn't have much time so he quickly opened the package, read the instructions, and began mixing the molding powder with water. He ignored the initial feeling of embarrassment before prompting himself to get hard, just thinking about Y/n using a replica of his cock had him rock hard within minutes. He filled up the cylinder with the molding mixture and carefully inserted his cock, holding it there for two minutes. After removing his member from the mold, and piecing the remnants of his dignity back together, Jake got to work mixing the silicone and skin color powder before pouring the mixture into the mold. Finally, he carefully inserted the vibrator which he had added as a little something extra to make his girl feel good. The dildo needed to sit for 24 hours so Jake decided to hide it in the back of the closet in his office until then.

The next day Jake was eager to check on the mold, he had less than two weeks left with his girlfriend before he had to hit the road again and he wanted to test it out on his girl before leaving. He carefully peeled the mold away and found that it turned out perfectly, much to his relief. While attempting to ignore how bizarre it was that he was holding a silicone replica of his cock, he hoped that his girl would love it almost as much as she loved the real thing. Jake couldn't keep the secret much longer, so with a crooked smile on his face he pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Y/n, cluing her into the gift he got for while he's away on tour.

To say that Y/n was intrigued by this was an understatement. She knew that they had less than two weeks before he would be leaving for a few months, and though she always insisted that he didn't need to get her anything, Jake loved planning small moments together and would surprise her with things like these more than usual in the months leading up to a world tour. Y/n stared at the clock urging the minutes to go by faster, it seemed like hours before it finally hit 6:00 and she eagerly made her way to her car, shooting Jake a quick text letting him know she was on her way home.

Y/n walked through the front door to find that there were lit candles throughout their home, a vinyl quietly playing from the living room, and the smell of Jake's homemade pasta that she always said she loved so much. She smiled to herself while kicking off her shoes and padding through the house to find Jake with his back turned to her, quietly singing along to one of her favourite songs, this man really does not miss any detail she thought. She slowly crept behind him wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing his shoulder causing him to jump at the unexpected contact. She giggles at him "Hi honey" she says sweetly, he turns around and melts into her embrace, gently cupping her cheek before placing a kiss in her lips, "Hi" he smiles, turning back around to finish the dinner he made for them.

Y/n moves to stand beside him, studying him carefully "So..." she begins, he raises an eyebrow at her urging her to continue, "What's the occasion?" he smirks at her "Who said there had to be an occasion? I just wanted to spoil my girl" he says, winking. She feels her face heat up, despite being together for 7 years, Jake still made her blush like a school girl with a crush for the first time.

After finishing dinner and a bottle of wine, Jake popped open a second, topping up their glasses as they moved to the living room, lit up solely by candles, the soft hum of a new vinyl playing in the background. He moves to sit next to Y/n on the couch and she turns to face him, perching an arm on the back of the couch, resting her hand on her palm as she looks at Jake, noticing he seemed to be lost in thought.

Jake finds himself suddenly apprehensive about the whole idea, how was he supposed to bring up the surprise? Would she hate it or think it was stupid? What if she took it the wrong way? What if- "Hey, did you hear me?" he blinks a few times, not realizing he spaced out, "Sorry" he chuckles. She inches closer resting her hand on his knee, "Is everything okay love?" he meets her gaze, sighing "Yeah, it's just" he pauses trying to find the right words "I got you something, the surprise I mentioned earlier, and I'm worried you won't like it" he looks at her nervously. "This," she gestures to the dining room and candles "Wasn't the surprise?" he laughs "Of course there's more, I'd give you the world if I could. You know that" She leaned forward, tightly clasping his hand in her own, "First, you didn't have to get me anything" she gently scolds "and second, whatever it is, I'm sure I'll love it, especially since you put so much thought behind all of this" she assures him "It's a bit unconventional" he admits making her laugh softly "I've never been one for what's conventional" she smiles "C'mon Jake, you won't scare me away" he studies her for a minute before standing, collecting their wine glasses and placing them on the table, he extends his hand for her to take, "right this way then" he winks, all nerves temporarily dissipating her her reassurance as he leads her to their shared bedroom.

Y/n stands by the edge of the bed, waiting for Jake to make the first move. As if he could read her mind, he steps closer moving her hair from her neck and tucking it behind her ear as he leans in to trail kisses from her jaw down her neck, grazing his teeth and biting gently before kissing over it again. He pulls away to see her biting her lip, and he makes a noise of disapproval, "You know the rules" he scolds, leaning in, he takes her bottom lip between his own, biting softly. "I want to hear every noise that comes out of that pretty mouth of yours, understand?" he pulls away, waiting for her confirmation, "Yes sir" he smirks at her already seemingly fucked out state, the lust clear in her eyes "good girl"

Jake slowly moves them backward until the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed, she lays back as he slots himself between her legs, taking his time biting and kissing from her neck down to her navel at an agonizingly slow pace.

She whines at his teasing, squirming under his touch as he places a kiss on her clothed heat, making his way up her body and taking her lips in a searing kiss. He drags his tongue across her lips asking for entrance and quickly takes control as she wraps her legs around his waist, fumbling to undo the remaining buttons on his shirt. As she pops open the last button he pulls away, both breathing heavily, she looks up at him, a mixture of confusion and frustration painted across her face as he gets off the bed.

He turns to face her with a smug look on his face, "you ready for your surprise?" she huffs at him "I just want you." she moves off the bed, standing inches in front of him before whispering in his ear in a sultry voice, "can the surprise be your cock?" she takes his earlobe between her teeth, pulling slightly. "I've been a good girl, sir" his breath hitches as he leans in, their lips barely brushing before he orders "Go lay down, I'll be right back" leaving her with a light smack on the ass.

Jake makes his way to his office to retrieve the gift from its hiding place, feeling reassured by her desperation for him, maybe she would love the gift after all. He walks back into their bedroom to find his girl in nothing but one of his shirts, groaning at the sight of her with her legs spread just enough to see she had removed her underwear as well.

He sits on the edge of the bed gesturing for her to join him, she bites her lip in anticipation as Jake pulls out a black gift bag "Close your eyes" she does as he asks with a giddy smile on her face "now give me your hand" he takes her extended hand, directing it towards him so she can hold the bag, "use your other hand and slowly reach into the bag" she can feel her pulse quicken, hesitating slightly before carefully sticking her hand into the bag.

As she pushes past the tissue paper she feels something long and firm, wrapping her hands around it she feels ridges on it, wait it almost feels like-"What does it feel like?" she heard him whisper as she continued to examine the item; she trailed her fingers up to the top and instantly knew what it was. But why did he get us another one? They already had a collection of various toys to experiment with. "I don't-" she cut herself off, trying to organize her thoughts "Jake, you didn't have to get me another, we already have" he started fidgeting with his hands, worried that she didn't like the gift.

Trying to keep his nerves down he instructs, "Keep your eyes closed for a minute and focus on what it feels like" she obliges, furrowing her eyebrows in concentration as she examines the item with her hands. She pulled the dildo out of the bag, wrapping both hands around it, trailing her fingers underneath the length of it she gasped quietly. Jake held his breath in anticipation as she repeated the motion, feeling his cock twitch at the sight of his girl stroking a replica of him.

Y/n knew what it was as soon as she felt the underside of the dildo, it felt exactly like Jake's, it was unmistakable; she had always loved running her tongue along the underside of his cock, the prominent vein that would throb as she gave him head. Her mind was swirling with questions as she repeated the motion, Jake's eyes were glued to her every movement, only tearing them away when she began to speak again, "I don't underst- how did you...is this you?" she stutters out, unable to sort the thoughts racing through her mind.

"Open your eyes" She opened them, her gaze immediately falling to her hands, examining the personalized toy carefully, "how did you do this? It looks and feels so real" he shot her a smile, "I'll answer all your questions later, right now I'd like to test it out, just to make sure it works"

Y/n looks at him with a smirk on her face, "So you're telling me I now have two of my favourite cock, to use however I'd like?" hearing her say that made his cock twitch yet again "anything you want. Tonight is all about you."

She sat up straighter, thrumming her finger on her chin, feigning contemplation, "strip," she demanded, though it sounded like more of a question; Y/n was rarely in charge as they both loved when Jake was in control in the bedroom. He smirked at her as he stood, slowly slipping the already unbuttoned shirt from his body, letting it fall to the floor as he moved to undo his belt. She felt her wetness pooling between her thighs as she focused on his hands sliding his pants down and stepping out of them.

She quickly slid from the bed and perched on her knees, already working to remove his boxers when he grabs both her wrists, scolding, "Babe tonight is supposed to be all about you" She sat back on her heels as she looked up at him "so we'll do anything I want, right?" he nods in confirmation, she inches forward pulling his boxers the rest of the way down before looking up at him through her lashes.

"Good because I really want you to choke me with your cock" Jake's gaze darkened as he called out her name in a warning tone "It's what I want" she replies sweetly. Jake's demeanor shifted "Then you know what to do, ask nicely" She grinned up at him in victory, "Can I please suck your cock, sir?" he smirks "Such a good girl, go ahead."

Y/n wasted no time wrapping her hand around the base of his cock, she pumped him a few times before running her thumb over his reddened tip, collecting his precum. She looked up to find him staring intently at her as she put her thumb in her mouth, making a show of slowly licking it clean, "no teasing" Jake gritted out between clenched teeth. She pumped him a few more times while holding eye contact, challenging him.

Leaning closer, she licked a bold stripe on the underside of his cock from base to tip, coaxing a shuddered breath from him. Unable to wait any longer, she took his cock in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip as Jake moved her hair out of her face, holding it in a makeshift ponytail while Y/n worked to fit his length down her throat, inch by inch. He made sure not to hold back his moans, knowing how much it turned his girl on when he let her know how good she made him feel.

His head fell back, a deep moan coming from his throat as Y/n took him all the way down and swallowed around his length, trying not to gag. She took a second to adjust, focusing on breathing through her nose as she moved back, almost releasing him from her mouth before deepthroating him again. Jake tightened his grip on her hair, holding her against his base, groaning as he felt her swallow around him again, gagging.

He released his hold allowing her to breathe before she took his full length down her throat once again, a surprised moan falling from Jake's lips as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. He quickly understood what she wanted, adjusting his grip on her hair, he moved to thrust his hips into her, "Does my little slut like it when I fuck her throat, hm?" She let out a broken moan in response, the vibrations making Jake's cock twitch in her mouth, causing him to abruptly pull out.

Y/n took a few deep breaths as she glared at him "I wasn't done" he smiles at her as he extends a hand to help her up, "As much as I would love to cum in that pretty mouth of yours, I'd much rather cum in your pretty pussy" Y/n could feel her face heat at his comment, subtly trying to relieve some tension by rubbing her thighs together. Jake noticed her movements, a cocky smile on his face as he taunted, "I bet that pussy is weeping for me, isn't she?"

Pulling the shirt she stole from Jake over her head, she climbed on the bed, propping herself against the pillows and spreading her legs, "Wanna find out?" Jake stood there admiring her, his eyes exploring her body as he joined her on the bed, "that's my girl" he stated proudly, slotting himself between her spread legs.

Leaning in, he trailed kisses down her neck, biting harshly just above her collarbone and placing a kiss overtop the forming bruise. He continued until he reached her chest, taking time to pay extra attention to each of her nipples, sucking them into his mouth, biting slightly as she tangled her fingers in his hair, moaning his name. Jake continued kissing and caressing his way down her body at the same agonizing pace, he shifted lower down the bed so his face was hovering directly above where she needed him most.

Looking up at her with a teasing smile, he blew cool air on her soaked core, making her squirm. Her voice was dripping with desperation as she moaned his name, wiggling her hips toward him, begging him to relieve the building tension. Jake would normally punish her for using his real name instead of 'sir' but tonight he loved hearing her so desperate for his touch in the way she begs for him and how her body responds to his slightest touch.

Desperate to taste her, he licks a bold stripe from her entrance to her clit, swirling his tongue around the bud before sucking it into his mouth. Y/n let out a breathy moan, reaching her hand down to lace her fingers in his hair, pulling him deeper into her core. Jake moaned at the sting, the vibrations causing her to squeal and clamp her legs closed around his head. He pulled away, slapping her thigh, "Spread your legs and keep them open, I'm not done tasting you" She spread her legs wider giving him the opportunity to spit on her pussy, watching it run down to her entrance as he dove back in, collecting as much of her wetness as he could on his tongue, shaking his head side to side making Y/n scream out his name, tightening the hold on his hair.

Jake began rutting his hips into the bed, trying to find some relief for his aching cock. The taste of her combined with the noises she was making was almost too much for him, but he was determined to make his girl cum at least twice before he would allow himself to.

He could tell she was getting close as she began frantically grinding her hips into his face and tugging his hair harder while he devoured her. He flexed his tongue, teasing her entrance before sliding his tongue fully inside her. She arched her back repeating his name like a mantra as he continued to fuck her with his tongue, moving his hand to rub circles into her clit.

She whimpered "Fuck Jake, I'm so close" he hummed in response, speeding up his motions as she bucked her hips more frantically into his face until her orgasm finally came crashing through her. The force of the orgasm had her legs trembling as Jake continued to lap her up until she attempted to close her legs, signaling her overstimulation. He pulled away with a cheeky smile on his face, glistening with her release.

Eager to get him closer, she pulled him up crashing her lips into his, moaning at the taste of herself on his tongue, "I need you, Jake. Please" He kissed her again, reassuring her "I'll take care of you, don't worry" He reached for the toy that was temporarily forgotten about at the side of the bed, "do me a favour and get this all nice and lubed up for me, okay?"

Bringing the dildo to her mouth, he tapped it on her lips twice, she opened her mouth sticking out her tongue as Jake slid it in. They maintained eye contact as he slowly worked the toy in her mouth. The action of thrusting the dildo identical to his cock into her mouth made him feel like he could cum right then and there. After another minute he pulled the toy from her mouth seeing it sufficiently lubed up.

Jake ran the toy through her folds slowly, teasing, until finally pushing into her entrance. His jaw slacked as he propped himself on his knees between her thighs, watching the toy stretching her easily. His eye flick up to find his girl with her head thrown back, one hand massaging her breast, the other gripping the bed sheet and allowing her moans to flow freely.

Using his other hand, he rubbed soft circles around her clit, her hips jerking at the added stimulation. A combination of his name and curses spill from her as she nears the edge of her second orgasm.

"Jake-fuck I'm gonna cum" she whimpers breathlessly. He speeds up his movements, adding more pressure to her sensitive clit as he plunges the toy inside her, eager to see her fall apart by his hands once again.

She cried out his name as her orgasm washed over her for the second time, Jake slowed his movements, "that's it baby" he praised as her thighs began shaking.

Carefully removing the toy, Jake looked up and smiled at his girl's fucked out state, he shot her a wink before leaning in and capturing her lips in a kiss, "now that was a great investment" she breathed out making him laugh, "Oh baby we're not done with it yet" Y/n pouted at him, "Jake, I love the toy and don't get me wrong, it'll be my best friend while you're gone. But right now I need you" Jake feigned hurt as he responded, "You didn't think I was gonna neglect my girl, did you?"

Jake took his aching cock in his hand, stroking it a few times before lining up with her soaked entrance and sinking fully inside of her in one thrust. Both of them let out a loud moan; Y/n had missed the warmth of him as he stretched and filled her, and Jake had to fight hard not to cum too quickly as he had been edging himself for the past hour.

He kept a steady pace as he grabbed the toy again and put it in her hands, "I want to see you gag on my cock while I fuck you" She felt herself clench around him at his words, "If it gets too much you can stop okay?" she nodded at him before relaxing her jaw, taking as much of the dildo down her throat as she could.

Jake felt his cock pulse at the sight, groaning a string of curses as he tightened his grip on her hip with one hand, using the other to apply pressure to her oversensitive bud. The unexpected stimulation caused her to jolt, gagging on the dildo, she pulled it out, a string of saliva falling down her chin as she took in the sight of her boyfriend over her.

The toy had been long forgotten as she pulled him by his shoulders so their faces were just inches apart, "I'm gonna cum" he grunted as felt her walls clench around him, "Fuck baby, you want me to fill you up?" she whimpered in response, "Fuck, yes Jake!" determined to make her cum before himself, his thrusts became more erratic as he got lost in the feeling of his girl wrapped around him. "Let go baby" he encouraged as she came for the third time, he buried himself deep inside of her, feeling his release fill her up.

He remained seated inside her as he caught his breath, both of them basking in the silence, completely blissed out. After a couple minutes Jake slowly pulled out, making Y/n wince at the loss. He dipped his head down between her legs as she attempts to clamp them shut, "Babe no I'm too sensitive" he looks at her with pleading eyes, "Just a taste?" she lets out a laugh but obliges, letting her legs fall open.

Jake drags his tongue through her folds, collecting their shared release. His goal wasn't to get her off again, but instead to clean up the mess he had made. He loved the taste of them together, something that was completely unique to them. He repeated the action a few more times before moving to hover over Y/n once again, "I'll never get enough of tasting you and I together" he says before crashing his lips onto hers; she moans into his mouth at the taste of their shared release.

Pulling back, he stares at her with a loving look in his eyes, Y/n becomes very aware of how fucked out she must look, "I know, I'm probably a mess right now" She shied away from his gaze, he shook his head, "Beautiful," he corrected as he peppered her face with kisses making her giggle.

Jake stood up begrudgingly to grab a towel, soaking it in warm water and making his way back to clean up whatever mess was left. Before getting back into bed, he grabbed a new pair of boxers for himself and a fresh shirt for Y/n, both cleaning up before cuddling in bed once again. Jake put his arm around her as she rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he rubbed circles into her back, both exhausted from the day.

"I love you so much," Jake says, pressing a kiss on the top of her head, she craned her neck to look up at him, "I love you more" he shook his head, a smile on his face as he leaned down to press a kiss on her lips.

"Jake?"

"Yeah love?"

"What made you think of getting this for me?"

Jake thought for a moment before replying, "I know it gets hard when I'm away for so long. Obviously, it won't fill all aspects of our relationship that are affected by me being away but I figured at least this way you can feel me, even when I'm across the world" he winks at her before his expression turns more solemn, "It kills me that you can't be there experiencing it with me"

Y/n took a moment to process what he had said, "It was an incredibly thoughtful gift, I didn't even know you could do that" She laughed before continuing, "It is hard when you're gone but knowing that you're living your dream makes it worth it" she smiled at him, "plus, you already know that I will be coming to any show that I can" She moved to straddle his lap, lowering her voice, "After all, I have to show you what you're missing when I'm all alone with nothing but a silicone copy of you"

Jake groans, "I don't know how I'm going to manage, just think about you using that toy, feeling me, while I'm away" She giggles at his exasperation, "Seriously! I might have a permanent boner this tour! I could give Josh a run for his money!" they both burst out laughing.

"Did you really think I would use this gift without sending a little something for you? This was a gift for the both of us" he pulled her further against him, eliminating any remaining space between them, "I love the way you think, woman" he chuckles, placing a kiss on her temple"

"Okay one more question," she tries to conceal her laugh by clearing her throat, "so...how exactly did you make this toy?" she questioned with a knowing smirk.

Jake looks away, his face twinged pink with embarrassment as he clears his throat, "I'd rather not talk about that" she laughs, "it was worth a shot"

After a few more moments basking in each other's embrace, Y/n wiggles from his grasp, scooting to the edge of the bed, Jake questions "Hey where are you running off to?" She peeled the shirt from her body once again, "taking a shower, wanna come?" she asks in a suggestive voice "Hmm, round two?" he suggests hopefully, "I love the way you think...sir" she winks before running to the bathroom.

Jake quickly follows her lead, coming up behind her and circling his arms around her waist, "Oh, and one more thing I forgot to mention" She turned to look at him, a curious expression on her face, "it vibrates too" he smirks.

Y/n groans in response, "You, Jacob Thomas Kiszka, will be the death of me."

Thanks for reading <3

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