ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⋆˚꩜.ᐟ seri. ate-teen. she/her
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmasterlist. rules. asks. ⋆. 𝜗𝜚 ˚⋆
© seribun.
occasionally subtle

izzy's playlists!
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sheepfilms
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

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if i look back, i am lost

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YOU ARE THE REASON

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@seribun
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⋆˚꩜.ᐟ seri. ate-teen. she/her
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmasterlist. rules. asks. ⋆. 𝜗𝜚 ˚⋆
© seribun.
modern!aerion who’s working for an organised crime syndicate and is sent by his boss to have a talk with your politician!husband and to explain to him what happens when politicians just don’t work on their side of the deal. your husband was perhaps forgetting who put him in that office.
modern!aerion who breaks into your mansion in the quiet of the night and is determined to find your husband.
modern!aerion who notices the door of the bedroom slightly ajar and walks quietly, pushing the door open, gun in hand, just in case.
modern!aerion who, instead of finding your politician!husband asleep on the bed, finds you standing over your husband’s body in a silk nightgown with a knife in hand, and your husband’s blood splattered all over your body, and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever had the fortune of witnessing.
modern!aerion who helps you clean up the mess you made, and the case of your husband’s disappearance and possible murder never gets solved.
modern!aerion who jerks off to the thought of you violently stabbing your husband, and you become the object of his desires. and the sight of you covered in your husband’s blood alters his brain chemistry forever.
© seribun. all rights reserved. do not plagiarise/redistribute my content or feed it into ai.
mating press is heavy on my mind today like not even being able to squirm underneath him because he’s literally shoving you through the mattress with his entire weight. him not even thrusting but letting his heavy cock sit all the way deep inside you as he presses kisses all over your face and reassures you that it’s okay and that he’ll take it slow. and you tear up a little because it hurts just the tiniest bit in this position but then he’s whispering how good you are for him while caging you tight in his arms and
couldn’t post because i was busy yearning over the girl who hates me
simon is sick, and he’s dramatic. fluff.
“tell ‘em no carnations at my funeral. fuckin’ hate those.”
you sigh, for what felt like the millionth time in past three days. “simon—”
“and promise me you’ll at least wait a couple of decades before finding someone else.”
“simon, for the love of god, you’re not dying. just drink the damn soup.”
he scrunched his face as if he had been deeply wronged by you, but he drank the soup from the spoon you had held near his mouth anyway, moaning and groaning after the slightest movements. “you did not answer me, lovie. how long would you wait before finding another man after i am gone?”
simon had caught common cold and it happened three days ago. he had come home after running some errands and later, the same evening, the nasal congestion happened, and then the sneezing. oh god, the sneezing. he drank hot tea and had slept on the couch that night so you wouldn’t catch cold too. he said it’d go away soon, that it was nothing.
only, it didn’t go away. next day, he came down with proper cold. tiredness, headache, sore throat, light fever, cough—all that stuff.
and if simon wasn’t the most dramatic version of himself while he was sick. it was a new experience entirely, watching the big, serious guy act like spongebob once he got sick. simon hadn’t fallen sick before. not that you had witnessed anytime he did. but now that he did, you were seeing a totally different side of him.
he’d been acting as if he had a terminal disease instead of common cold. it was adorable in a way, really.
“hmm, let’s see… perhaps a year, i think?” you say, trying to hold back a smile. if he was going to be dramatic, you were definitely going to play along. “appropriate mourning period.”
“a year?”
“i mean, i am quite young, no? can’t give up on love this young,” you explain, holding another spoonful of the warm soup near his mouth, which he slurped gently. “a woman has needs, after all.”
simon looked at you for a few seconds as if you had betrayed him, and then he pulled up the covers a bit, trying to get inside those fully and lay back down on the bed. “i’ll come back as a ghost to haunt that man.”
now that almost makes you huff out a soft laughter, but you control it. “two years is the max i can do, love,” you say, trying your best to sound earnest, though you were miserably failing trying to hold back a smile.
“i don’t like the thought of dying anymore,” he replies finally, sounding as though he had uttered those words after a lot of thinking, and laid back down on the bed. there even was a soft, pout on his face, as if he was deep in thought. it was all so comical.
“that’s what i’ve been telling you for the past three days—and no you can’t go back to sleep just yet,” you reprimand him mildly, splacing the cup of soup back on the nightstand before pulling him back up using all your strength. “finish the soup first, it’s warm, good for the throat. then you have take the meds.”
“but lovie―”
“simon.” you just had to act strict to get him to listen. after he had finished the soup and taken the medicine, you fluffed up his pillow and let him lay back down on the bed.
“sleep tight, love.” you press a kiss on his forehead, tucking the hair strands back so they don’t fall on his eyes.
you were just about to leave the room before he spoke up, voice hoarse and raspy due to cold. “lovie ’m fucked, nose‘s so blocked… can you spoon me? need yer hugs and kisses...”
you smile warmly at his request. there was a high chance you would catch cold too, but fuck it. it was just a cold. you could recover from it in a week, max. after all, it’s not everyday you get to cuddle with a dramatic simon. “sure thing. but no more talks of dying, okay?”
“mhm.” simon nods obediently, shifting aside on the bed to make space for you. and when you settle down beside him, he rests his head on your chest, finally content.
suddenly, he raises his head up to look at you. “to be clear, you were jokin’, right?”
“yes,” you chuckle.
© seribun. all rights reserved. do not plagiarise/redistribute my content or feed it into ai.
this is a multi masterlist below, and you can find all my works here. i use this tag for my works. every work containing smut is italicised; and in that case, minors please do not interact.
a knight of the seven kingdoms
𖹭.ᐟㅤbaelor “breakspear” targaryenㅤㅤif the realm knew ‧ sexting, through letters with captain!baelor
𖹭.ᐟㅤaerion “brightflame” targaryenㅤㅤeating you out ‧ finding you covered in your husband’s blood
𖹭.ᐟㅤmultiple charactersㅤㅤbad day? (baelor, maekar, lyonel, duncan, valarr, aerion, daeron)
bridgerton
𖹭.ᐟㅤmichaela stirlingㅤㅤfirst kiss
call of duty
𖹭.ᐟㅤsimon “ghost” rileyㅤㅤcold apartment · sick & dramatic
resident evil
𖹭.ᐟㅤleon scott kennedyㅤㅤcalling him scott during sēx · your neighbour thinks you’re cheating on him
© seribun. all rights reserved. do not plagiarise/redistribute my content or feed it into ai.
rules—what i would and won’t write + things you should know before sending in a request.
i won’t write for characters that are minor. i won’t age up the said characters just for writing.
i only write x reader. and reader is always said to have female anatomy, and if referred to, then done so by she/her pronouns.
please know that i am a student and a very busy person and that i write when the mood strikes me. therefore, many times, i would only be able to post one work per week.
writing takes time, please be patient after you’ve sent in your request.
if your request doesn’t inspire me, know that i won’t be writing for it.
i mostly never proofread my works, if you come across a mistake or a typo, please let me know politely.
i won’t be taking requests for multi-chapter fics. i just can’t commit to it at the moment, sorry. though i have a few ideas in my drafts right now, so i see myself writing those in the future.
i won’t write non-con / rape.
i won’t write incest / fauxcest / stepcest.
please don’t be rude. be kind. fandom rules 101. i write for my own pleasure and more importantly, i do it for free. though, likes and reblogs are always appreciated.
hate comments will not be tolerated and i will block you.
© seribun.
Hi! I had an idea! So I was thinking yk how Leon’s middle name is Scott and you did a fic where reader says it while having sex what is the neighbours hear her moaning ‘Scott’ and not ‘Leon’ like she usually does and the next time Leon is out in the front garden or something they tell him they think his wife is having an affair or something? And he’s like why? And they’re like ‘not to be nosey or anything but I heard her say someone else’s name while in bed last night’ and he just finds it funny.
anon i love u. had sm fun writing this! i was literally giggling to myself like a manic while typing away. hope you enjoy how it turned out!
you can read it here.
your neighbour thinks you’re cheating on leon wc: 1.48k ┋ sequel to calling leon by his middle name (18+)
the day was really bright and sunny to stay indoors. and with you at work, leon had been bored to death. and then he thought, might as well do something productive, right? his car had last been washed three weeks ago. now that wouldn’t do. that made leon get his ass up and outside.
the good weather had even brought the elderly neighbours outside. mr. ashford, the old man in his late sixties, was mowing the lawn while his wife sat on the porch, reading a book. when he spotted leon, he gave a polite nod, which leon returned.
and then he began washing his car, dragging the hose across the driveway, the rubber snaking and catching against the concrete until it reached the car. when he twisted the nozzle, the water burst out in sharp hiss, splattering against the hood of the car.
even as leon dunked the sponge into the bucket at his feet, all his mind could think about was you and what happened last night. you had so prettily moaned not his name, but his middle name. scott. and he’d loved it. hell, he’d even blushed. and you had teased him all night long.
the memory itself brought a faint flush and smile on his face. he looked around to see if anyone noticed, and his gaze locked with mr. ashford for a second. now that just wouldn’t do. he shook his head slightly, as if to shoo the memory away. and then he resumed washing his car, crouching slightly to scrub the lower panels, where dirt clung more stubbornly, streaked from the last rain.
when he rinsed it all off, the suds slid away in sheets, revealing the paint underneath. darker, cleaner, almost gleaming. he tilted the nozzle, chasing away the last patches of soap, until the water ran clear and smooth over the surface.
for a moment, he just stood there, hose still in hand, watching the droplets gather and fall, the car looking almost new again. “there,” leon patted the bonnet of the car, feeling proud. “as good as new again.”
around the same time, mr. ashford turned off his lawn mower. the sudden silence filled the air, making leon look his way. mr. ashford, as leon recalled, was usually the introvert and rarely struck up a conversation with him. but today, he did look like he wanted to say something but was hesitating. but leon was not the type to approach people either, so he decided to let it go.
he picked up the hose and dragged it back towards the water source. when he came back, he picked up the bucket that had soapy water in it, and started walking back inside the house, climbing the porch steps.
“leon!” a voice interrupted from behind, making leon stop and turn around. he placed the bucket back on the ground and walked back to his driveway, where mr. ashford stood now.
“morning, mr. ashford. how can i help ya?”
“hey, um... can i ask you something? it’s a bit personal...”
leon was mildly confused but polite, and nodded. “sure.”
“just wanted to check in... everything okay between you and your wife?” mr. ashford asked calmly, though he looked very awkward. it was evident the old man did not want to have this conversation.
that made leon frown, genuienly trying to figure out where was this coming from. he could say mr. ashford wasn’t being nosy, he wasn’t that kind of neighbour, but why was leon’s marriage his business? “yeah... why?”
mr. ashford begins in a awkward low voice, “i don’t want to overstep... but i- uh... i heard your wife and she was-” but then he trails off, embarrassed.
leon still didn’t get it. what did you do last night? “heard her what?” he asked.
“she- uh, she was calling someone else’s name...”
“what?” leon asked, dumbfoundedly.
“yeah... she said scott. more than once.”
one could see the realisation dawning on leon’s face immediately. the confusion, then the processing of the information, and mr. ashford’s awkward behavior finally clicking in place.
now, leon absolutely does not explain. his sex life wasn’t anybody’s business. he just gives a small, controlled nod. “right... yeah, i’ll keep an eye on that,” he says bumblingly, a hand scratching the back of his neck.
“let me know if you need any help, alright?” mr. ashford pats leon on the arm and walks away, thinking he did a good deed by telling him about his wife’s supposed infidelity.
leon is left standing there, half amused and half embarrassed. all he could think was: oh my god, she was that loud. and he could feel his face flushing up all over again.
he picks up the bucket and goes back inside. he spends the rest of the time thinking how he’s going to break it to you when you come home from work, and he keeps laughing in amusement throughout.
a few hours later, when you come back home from work in the evening, leon is sitting on the couch, looking all serious. the house was all quiet. normally, leon would be watching tv and drinking some beer occasionally but the silence makes you pause in your tracks. hesitatingly, you remove your shoes, and walk inside, keeping your work bag on the console table.
“everything okay?” you ask softly, plopping to the couch next to him.
“no.”
the stern answer catches you off guard. “...okay. what’s wrong?”
“we need to talk,” leon says calmly, but his expression betraying nothing. it almost made you nervous. what the fuck did you do? what happened? a thousand thoughts running inside your mind currently, and none of them comforted you.
“okay... go ahead,” you say, trying to hide your irritation away. why was he acting this way?
“the neighbour told me you were cheating on me. said he heard you take some guy’s name,” leon finally told you, his face all stoic and emotionless.
“the fuck?” the curse left your mouth before you could form a proper response. “why would he say something like that?”
“yeah, he said so. he came up to me this morning after i was done washing the car and asked if everything was alright between us,” leon recounted what happened in the morning. though not fully. he was having too much fun, and struggling to keep his face from breaking out into a smile. “seriously, though. if you were so unhappy with me you could’ve just said it. there was no need to go behind my back.”
“the fuck are you talking about? i am not cheating on you! you know it,” you said, a little more harshly than what was needed.
“well, i recall the neighbour telling me something else, so...”
“oh fuck that old man. he’s obviously lying! and i can’t believe you chose to believe him!” you were on your feet, about to go back outside and at the ashford’s to ask why would he lie to leon. but before you could do that, leon breaks out into a laugh, which makes you stop and turn around to look at him.
“you... you baboon!” you gasped when the realisation dawned on you. “it wasn’t funny!”
but leon kept on laughing, as if it was the funniest thing in the world. “baboon?” he said through the laughter. “sweetheart, that’s new—ow! don’t hit me, i’m fragile.”
“if you ever try to fuck with me like that again, you’re going to sleep on the couch for a month.”
that makes leon stop laughing instantly. and all the amusement was gone as well. “you’re joking.” but knowing you, you weren’t. “fine. i’m sorry.” he cracked a mischevious smile again. “but it was funny. the neighbour thought you were cheating on me.”
“what?” you whipped your head right back towards him. “i thought you were joking?”
“yes—i mean, no. well he thinks you’re cheating on me with a guy named scott. he heard you moaning it last night.”
your face flushed with embarrassment at that, hand coming up to cover your mouth. “wait... was i that loud?”
“apparently. though it’s a good thing ashfords aren’t nosey. or it would become a neighbourhood scandal by now,” he scoffs in amusement.
“it isn’t funny!” you chided, still embarrassed, but broke into a disbelieving laugh yourself. “maybe a little bit.”
leon grins widely. another idea pops in his mind. “sooo wanna fuck before your husband gets back home?” he says, voice low and conspiratorial.
“oh god!” you giggled, smacking leon’s chest again. “seriously? you wanna roleplay about this?”
“why not?” he says smoothly, beaming with amusement. “your husband isn’t home. perfect time for us to sneak in into the bedroom and for you to let me have me have my way with you.”
“fine,” you play along, equally amused. “but maybe be a little gentler this time, scott. the neighbours already suspect i’m cheating on my husband.”
© seribun. all rights reserved. do not plagiarise/redistribute my content or feed it into ai.
hello everybody! i was inactive for a while because i had a really important exam. but now that it’s over, i have decided to get back at writing. i will be taking requests, and i’m working on those in my inbox at the moment. however, it will take me a while to get used to writing again. thank you for your patience <3
calling leon by his middle name. he loves it… maybe a little too much (18+)
“leon— mmhm, fuck!”
the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoed in the room, along with your moans and his grunts. he’d been back from whatever mission he was on, a week ago. and he’d missed your pussy, and you deeply, which he was showing you enthusiastically.
“so tight f’me, baby,” he grunts, his voice low and breathless, hips pounding into you relentlessly. “missed you so— hah... so much.”
you could only wantonly moan in response with the way he had you spread under him, legs propped up on his broad and muscular shoulders, copious amounts of slick leaking from around his cock, trickling down your ass and into the bedsheet, ruining them.
you wrapped your hands around his strong forearms, digging your nails and leaving behind bloody half crescent indents, and if it was possible, it turned him on even more.
he let out a deep, throaty groan. fuck, you couldn’t get any better. “yes, baby. that’s it, mark me up.”
he moved faster now, almost at a punishing pace, eliciting a few tears out of your eyes.
“baby… scott— you’re too fast! ah… slow down,” you whine, almost crying out, nails still digging onto his forearm.
the moment his brain registers what you just said, he freezes. literally. his hips stutter mid-thrust, the rhythm faltering altogether and then, he stops. “what’d you just say?” he asks, observing your face, watching a tear roll down from your eyes to your temple.
you breathe deeply, easing your body, and loosening your grip on his forearms. “what?”
you look at him, eyes locked with his. why did he stop? you just asked him to slow down, didn’t you? “i just… wanted you to slow down… you were going too hard.”
“no, not that. what did you call me?” he asks, his voice was soft, body at ease now, not strained. just propped up above you on his forearm.
oh. you had called him by his middle name. scott. you would’ve been worried about him being displeased if it was not for his cock twitching traitorously inside you. “scott. it slipped. my bad,” you say, smiling coquettishly.
leon smiled back, almost boyishly. he reached up and gently grabbed you by the thighs, pulling back just enough to dislodge your legs from his shoulders and letting them fall back on the bed, eyes never leaving yours.
“well, don’t let me stop you,” he says softly, propping himself back on his forearms that rested besides your shoulders. you noticed his face was flushed when he leaned closer, that silly smile never leaving his face.
“leon scott kennedy, are you blushing?” you giggle in amusement.
he groans softly, burrowing his face into the curve of your neck, breathing in your scent. you giggle again, one hand coming up to play with his hair.
“did you like it when i called you scott?”
he lifts up his head, just slightly, to look back into your eyes. “…a little.” when you kept looking at him, he surrendered. “‘kay, yeah. i did. that was hot—you are hot. fuck, i missed you.”
not even a millisecond later, his lips were on yours, tasting and coaxing you open. and then, a soft thrust, which had you grip his biceps. his whole body was weighing down on you, every inch of his skin pressed against yours.
“scott,” you whimpered in his ears, voice soft and gentle, as he kept thrusting into you shallowly.
“christ, you’re going to be the death of me, love,” he grunted out, increasing his pace. “dont stop.”
it didn’t take too long for you to come apart under him, pussy clenching and fluttering around his cock as your orgasm crashed over you. soon enough, he followed with a choked grunt, emptying himself inside you, filling you up to the brim.
after you had caught your breath, you couldn’t help but giggle again. “now i know just what to say to get you blushing like a schoolgirl.”
leon huffed out a breathless laugh, looking at you with amusement. “not if i make you scream it all night long. think you can handle a second round, hmm?”
© seribun. all rights reserved. do not plagiarise/redistribute my content or feed it into ai.
At this point i’m certain bertie did witchcraft before stepping into baelor’s character. Bcs ain’t no way we all wanna jump on that dih so bad. He probably pstpspsstlspst summoning sex charm lol.
i know right???? he was so good as baelor! i was so impressed by him that i watched doctor foster right after finishing akotsk and his character is so toxic in it but i still wanna fuck him so bad omfggg
୨୧ — sexting, through letters with captain!baelor breakspear x f!princess!reader (1940s UK!au. and before you ask, yes, this is heavily inspired by the crown s1.) wc: 0.85k
💌 a letter from princess to captain baelor targaryen, royal navy, dated july 15, 1946
dearest baelor, ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤi hope this letter finds you well and safe. how are you? i think of you so often, more than i should, i suppose. life here seems... empty without you. the days feel longer, the nights colder, and i can’t help but miss the way you made everything feel warmer. i find myself daydreaming about you, even during the most trivial moments. i hope that doesn’t sound too forward. i can’t help it, though. you’ve taken up more of my thoughts than i ever expected. ㅤㅤi’m sure you’re busy with your duties, but i wanted to ask if you will be able to come back to london for christmas. it feels like it’s still so far away, but i can’t help but hope we might have a few days together before i have to leave for sandringham. if you’re able to return, i would love to see you. i’ll be counting the days until then, though i’m certain you’ll be as busy as ever. ㅤㅤi have to confess something to you, though. i have been it’s something i never thought i’d admit in writing... but it’s been on my mind, and i can’t seem to shake it. sometimes, i dream about you. it’s strange, isn’t it? but the dreams, they feel so real, so intimate, and i wake up feeling as though you’ve been with me the entire night. i know i should be ashamed, but i can’t help it. you’ve invaded my mind, and i don’t know how to stop thinking about you in ways that are so... personal. i wish i could be with you now, and not just in my dreams. ㅤㅤi’m not sure if i’ve said too much. i don’t know if i should have shared any of this with you, but... i don’t want to hold it back anymore. i miss you, baelor, more than i think i can express. i hope you’re well, and i can’t wait for the day when i can finally see you again. ㅤㅤㅤall my love, ㅤㅤyour little dove.
💌 letter from captain baelor targaryen, royal navy, to princess dated august 20th, 1946
⋆. 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ― (modern!au) your first kiss with michaela! (it’s AWKWARD, okay?) wc: 1.1k
you’re both sitting a little too close for it to be accidental, close enough that you can feel the heat of her without touching her, and somehow that’s worse.
michaela’s knee knocks into yours once, light and surely accidental, but she doesn’t move it away. you don’t, either. it just stays there, this quiet point of contact that neither of you acknowledges, like if you do it might disappear.
your hands are in your lap, but they don’t feel like yours. they’re too still. too aware. your palms are cold and damp at the same time, fingers curling and uncurling like they’re trying to remember how to exist normally.
michaela smells faintly like something sweet... maybe it’s her lip gloss or maybe her perfume. and it’s distracting in a way that makes it hard to remember what you were even talking about five seconds ago.
she’s talking. at least you think she is. something about... something. you nod at the wrong places, miss half of it, because your heart is beating so hard it feels physical, like it’s pressing against your ribs trying to get out. you’re sure she can hear it.
and then she goes quiet. you look up and she’s already looking at you.
it’s not subtle anymore. not a quick glance, not something she can pretend didn’t happen. her eyes flick down to your mouth and stay there just a second too long, and when they come back up, there’s this flicker of panic, like she didn’t meant to be caught.
“sorry,” she blurts out, too fast, voice just a little too high. “i—i wasn’t—”
“it’s okay,” you say, but it comes out quieter than you meant it to. your voice almost breaks on the last word and you have to swallow to steady it.
neither of you laughs. there’s this pause. thick, fragile, like it could snap if either of you moves wrong.
“have you—” she starts, then stops, pressing her lips together. “have you ever—” she tries again, and her hand lifts like she’s going to gesture, but it just hovers there, trembling slightly before she drops it back down.
you shake your head before she can finish. you’re not even sure what exact question you’re answering, but it feels right.
she nods, like she understands anyway. “me neither.”
that makes it worse. or better. you can’t tell
your knees presses a little more firmly against hers without meaning to, and this time you can hear her inhale sharply, like it startled her. her gingers twitch against the fabric of her sundress, then slowly, carefully, like she’s approaching something that might run, she reaches for your hand.
when her fingers touch yours, they’re cold. you both flinch, just a little, but neither of you pulls away.
michaela laces your fingers together like she’s concentrating on it, like it’s something that requires effort, and you can feel the faint tremor in her hand. it makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have a word for.
“are you—” she starts, and then stops again, shaking her head with a small, breathless laugh. “i don’t know how to ask this.”
“you don’t have to,” you say, and your voice was steadier now, even though rest of you wasn’t.
she looks at you like that helped and made it all worse all at once
the space between you feels smaller, or maybe it was just you noticing it more.
she leans in first, but it’s barely anything, just a shift, a question. you can feel her breath before you feel her, warm and even. your own breath catches, stutters, and for a second you just... hover there. both of you. suspended.
“we don’t have to,” she whispers, so close, her lips almost brush yours when she says it.
you nod in response, but neither of you moves back.
it happens all at once after that. not smooth or planned. you close the distance like you’re both afraid the other might change their mind if you wait any longer.
your lips meet and it’s... it’s too much and not enough at the same time.
soft, but clumsy. you miss slightly, adjust, your nose bumps hers and you both let out the smallest, breathless sound. half laugh, half something else. her grip on your hand tightens instantly, like she needs something to hold onto, and you realise you’re squeezing back just as hard.
your heard is racing so fast it almost makes you dizzy. so you pull back just a fraction without meaning to, just to breathe, and she follows like she couldn’t decide what to do next. her eyes are wide when they open, a little unfocused, lips parted like she forgot what she was about to say.
“okay,” she whispers, but it sounds more like a question.
you nod again, even though you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to.
when you kiss her again, it’s slower. still shaky and still unsure. your hands don’t quite know where to go, yours hover for a second before settling awkwardly at her waist, and even that feels like too much and not enough all at once.
her thumb brushes over your knuckles, back and forth, like she’s grounding herself.
this time, you tilt your head. it helps, just a little.
your lips part without thinking, and there’s a moment, just a second, where you both freeze, like you’ve reaches a new step without instructions. michaela lets out the softest exhale, nervous and warm, and then she tries, hesitant, barely there, her tongue brushing yours like she’s asking, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to.
it sends a sharp, electric feeling down your spine.
you inhale too quickly, almost a gasp, and she pulls back instantly, eyes wide. “sorry—was that—”
“no,” you say, too fast, shaking your head. your voice wavers again. “no, i just—”
you don’t finish. you lean in instead.
it’s still messy, still uncertain, too tentative and then suddenly not enough, both of you figuring it out in real time. but there’s something in it now. something that makes your chest feel too full, like it can’t quite contain everything happening at once.
her hand comes up to your cheek, and you can feel the slight tremble in her fingers when she touches you, like she can’t quite believe she’s allowed to.
when you finally pull apart, it’s slow. reluctant. like separating takes effort.
you’re both a little breathless and a little dazed. she lets out a quite disbelieving laugh, shaking her head slightly, her forehead almost dropping against yours but stopping just short.
“i think,” she says, her voice soft and unsteady, “i think my heart is actually about to explode.”
you huff out a small, shaky laugh. “mine already did.”
© seribun. all rights reserved. do not plagiarise/redistribute my content or feed it into ai.
random fluff with simon; established relationship + gets suggestive at the end wc: 527
your apartment has always been cold. the kind that clings into the walls and settles into your bones, no matter what you do. simon notices it early (mostly because you never stop complaining about it) and, true to form, he doesn’t make a big deal out of it.
he just... adjusts.
it starts with his hoodies. one left behind like it was an accident. then another. then one of his ridiculously huge and surprisingly warm sweater draped over your couch, looking like a throw blanket. he never tells you to wear them, of course. but he always notices when you do, eyes flickering over you for just a second longer.r
and when he’s physically present, it’s even easier. when you complain, he pulls you into him, and that’s it. just warmth and solid, steady presence until you forget what you were whining about in the first place.
it works. at least for a while, it does. but apparently, simon decides it’s not enough.
because one evening, you step into your apartment, kick the door shut behind you and shrug off your jacket, and immediately stop.
it’s warm. the kind your place has literally never been.
you stand there for a second, suspicious, like the heat might disappaear if you move too fast.
“what the fuck...” you murmur softly, though on the contrary, you’re exhaling, relieved.
“i expected some bloody gratitude,” simon says, sitting on the couch.
you turn your head slowly and he’s already there, sprawled out like he owns the place, completely unbothered. there was a fond smile on his face.
“you fixed it!” you say, eyes wide, dropping your bag and walking further in, still looking around like you didn’t trust it.
“yeah.”
you stare at him for a second. then your mouth curves, slow and amused. “you’re so useful.”
he huffs quietly. “that right.”
“mm,” you hum, dropping onto the couch beside him. close, like always. “very multifunctional. personal heater and handyman? that’s a strong resume.”
“careful,” he mutters. “might start chargin’.”
you grin, already leaning into him. “you wouldn’t.”
his arm comes up automatically, settling around your shoulders, pulling you in like it’s instinct. “no?”
“no,” you say, like it’s obvious, your hand resting against his chest. “you like taking care of me too much.”
he goes quiet for a second. not pulling away, not denying it either. his thumb drags slow along your arm, thoughtful more than anything.
“don’t get used to it,” he says finally.
you tilt your head up at him, giggling, unconvinced. “too late.”
his eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up again, something softer settling in his expression. he loves it when you giggle. he doesn’t understand how you manage to look so hot and cute at the same time? he can’t choose if he wants to tickle you until you cry laughing or fuck you till you cry (his name out in ecstasy).
“yeah?” he murmurs, his smile taking on a mischievous lilt. suddenly, he’s picked you up and taking you towards the bedroom. “let’s test if the temperature is still cool enough to keep you from sweating your arse out after a lil cardio.”
© seribun. all rights reserved. do not plagiarise/redistribute my content or feed it into ai.
3.04 “Last Stand” // 3.11 “At Last”