#// even if he’s just going to laugh in both of their faces

[cloudyluun]

No Cameras Allowed | famous!harry

Summary: You and Harry have been secretly hooking up for months, but at a high-profile event—surrounded by cameras, fans, and industry people—you have to pretend like nothing is going on. The tension builds to an unbearable level, leading you to sneak away for a risky, reckless rendezvous.

A/N: Listen, I started writing this thinking, “Let’s make this classy and controlled,” and then Harry had a meltdown over a missing condom and suddenly we were all in too deep. 🤡 This fic is 90% tension, 5% absolute recklessness, and 5% me screaming into my pillow because these two cannot behave. Hydrate, take deep breaths, and maybe say a prayer, because I swear, I’m just the stressed-out typist here. If you need me, I’ll be in horny jail. 🚔🔒🔥

Word Count: 2,7k

Warnings: 

Explicit sexual content (Smut, NSFW, 18+)!!!

Jealousy & tension-filled interactions - Both are very jealous. I probably would be too. 

Mentions of alcohol consumption

Strong language & dirty talk

Mentions of an implied lack of protection (brief but relevant to the plot)

Secret relationship shenanigans – They’re sneaking around, and they’re GOOD at it… except for when they’re not.

Unholy levels of sexual tension – You will feel the need to take a deep breath and maybe fan yourself.

Public sex – Yes, they did it where they absolutely should not have. No regrets.

Desperation – The kind where you physically feel the ache in your soul (and elsewhere).

No condom moment – Highly irresponsible. Highly hot. They make choices, not necessarily good ones.

Hand over mouth trope – He’s gotta keep her quiet. You already know.

Neck-grabbing, wrist-holding, wall-pressing – He’s got control issues, and you like it.

Mutual corruption – Neither of them is innocent, and that’s exactly why this is happening.

Proceed at your own risk. But let’s be real—you’re already in too deep.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The hotel room is bathed in the warm glow of the bedside lamp, casting soft shadows across the sheets that are barely covering your tangled bodies. The air is thick with the remnants of earlier touches, the room still carrying the heat of whispered confessions and the slow, lingering movements that had left both of you breathless.

Harry’s fingers trace lazy circles on your bare back, his touch featherlight, almost absentminded. It’s a stark contrast to the way his hands had gripped you just an hour ago—possessive, desperate, leaving invisible marks on your skin. Now, he’s all slow affection, the pads of his fingertips skimming your shoulder blades as if he’s memorizing every inch of you.

Your head rests against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling the way it slows now that you’re here, settled, unrushed. His other hand is tucked behind his head, his bicep flexed just enough to make you roll your eyes at how effortlessly attractive he is, even in this sleepy, post-bliss state.

“I love how you think we’re subtle,” you murmur, a smirk pulling at your lips as you press a kiss to his warm skin.

Harry huffs out a laugh, shifting slightly so he can look down at you, his dimple peeking through as he grins. “No one suspects a thing.”

You tilt your head up, raising a brow. “Mitch literally asked me why I disappear at 2 a.m. all the time.”

Harry groans dramatically, rolling his eyes as he pulls you closer. “Mitch needs to mind his own business.”

You giggle against his chest, your fingers idly tracing over the swallows inked onto his skin. “I think he’s just concerned that I might be in some kind of secret underground fight club or something.”

Harry laughs, a full-bodied sound that shakes both of you. “Right. Because that’s the more likely scenario.”

“Exactly,” you tease, biting back a grin.

His laugh fades into something softer, more intimate, as his fingers slide down your back. Then, without warning, he shifts, rolling you onto your back so he’s hovering above you. His curls fall slightly into his face, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of you beneath him.

His voice is lower now, edged with something deeper. “Maybe I like knowing that no one else gets to see you like this.”

Your breath catches. It’s moments like this—when the teasing fades, when the weight of what’s between you presses against your ribs—that make your pulse stutter.

You reach up, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him hum in satisfaction. “You’re ridiculously possessive, you know that?”

He smirks, dipping his head so his lips hover just above yours. “And you love it.”

You don’t argue.

Instead, you let your lips brush against his in a slow, drawn-out kiss, savoring the way he melts into you. His body presses flush against yours, heat radiating between you, but it’s not rushed this time. It’s lazy and indulgent, like you have all the time in the world.

Which, of course, you don’t.

You sigh against his lips, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “So, the gala.”

Harry groans, dropping his head against your shoulder. “Way to ruin the mood.”

You laugh, running your fingers down his back. “I’m just saying—we’re really going to pretend we don’t even know each other all night?”

He exhales heavily, propping himself up on his elbows. “No flirting, no sneaky touches, no slipping away together,” he confirms, voice laced with mock seriousness.

You let out an exaggerated groan, throwing an arm over your face. “How am I supposed to act like I don’t want to drag you into a closet all night?”

Harry chuckles, but there’s something else in his expression now—something taut, restrained. “You don’t,” he says simply, leaning in so his lips brush the shell of your ear. “You pretend you don’t want me.” His breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You shift beneath him, already feeling the weight of what tomorrow will bring—the distance, the careful avoidance, the act you’ll have to put on for the world.

Harry pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable. “Think you can handle that?”

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

No, you think. Probably not.

But you don’t say that.

Instead, you force a smirk, pressing your palm against his chest. “Oh, absolutely,” you lie.

And Harry, the smug bastard, grins like he knows exactly how much of a lie that is.

Now you curse yourself for ever agreeing to this.

The flashing lights are blinding, the chaotic energy of the gala buzzing through the air as celebrities step out of sleek black cars, each one greeted by a wave of deafening screams. The photographers shout names, demanding poses, each snap of their cameras preserving fleeting moments for the world to analyze later. It’s all so polished, so orchestrated, yet it feels suffocating.

And Harry?

He’s already here.

You watch from the backseat of your car as he steps onto the carpet, buttoning his perfectly tailored suit jacket with the kind of effortless charm that makes the world swoon. His presence commands attention—broad shoulders, sharp jawline, a smirk so devastating it could be classified as a lethal weapon. His dimple makes an appearance as he waves to the screaming fans, his rings glinting under the camera flashes as he adjusts his cuffs.

He looks like he was born for this.

And the worst part? He looks completely unaffected.

Your fingers tighten around the fabric of your dress as you watch him. He’s talking to an interviewer now, flashing that coy, knowing grin that makes people hang onto his every word. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you don’t need to. It’s the same carefully controlled persona he always wears in public—charming, composed, a little bit playful.

The side of your lip twitches. Bastard.

You’re still sitting in the car, waiting for your cue to step out, when you see it.

The shift.

One second, Harry’s engaged in conversation, his body relaxed. The next, his entire demeanor changes—his grip tightening around the glass in his hand, his jaw locking ever so slightly.

It takes you half a second to realize why.

You’ve been spotted.

Even from across the carpet, you feel the weight of his stare the moment you step out of the car. The cool night air barely registers against your skin as you straighten your posture, your carefully curated expression slipping into place. You’re aware of the way the crowd reacts—how the screams spike in volume, how the cameras angle toward you, how the buzz of murmured conversations follows in your wake.

You can feel Harry’s eyes on you.

But you don’t look at him.

You won’t.

Instead, you let your lips curve into a soft, controlled smile, pretending not to notice the ripple of attention your arrival has caused. You let the cameras take their fill, pausing just long enough for the photographers to capture the moment. Your outfit—a masterpiece of elegance and barely-contained sensuality—hugs your body in all the right ways, a choice you made with full awareness of the effect it would have.

And judging by the way Harry is gripping his glass like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground, you were absolutely right.

The red carpet is a practiced dance, one you know how to navigate flawlessly. You answer questions with ease, your responses light but distant enough to keep them guessing. You pose for the cameras, move toward the fan section, offering them your full attention.

That’s when it happens.

“Are you and Harry friends?”

The question is innocent enough, asked by a girl barely containing her excitement as she clutches her phone, ready to record your reaction.

You keep your smile intact. You don’t falter. “Yeah, of course! He’s lovely.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you hear it.

A barely contained giggle. A whispered assumption.

“She totally blushed. They’re hiding something.”

You force yourself not to react, but the air shifts just slightly, your composure settling a little tighter around your frame. You laugh lightly, as if the idea is ridiculous, before moving along with the conversation.

But Harry?

Harry hears it.

From across the room, his fingers flex, resisting the urge to drain the rest of his drink. He watches the exchange with careful disinterest, his expression unreadable to the untrained eye. But you know him. You recognize the way his jaw tenses just slightly, the way his gaze darkens the moment your name is paired with his in that context.

Then, as if the universe is determined to push him closer to the edge, someone steps into your space.

It’s a man—some actor, charming and self-assured, the kind of person who knows exactly what effect he has. He leans in just slightly as he compliments your dress, his tone playful, his body language open. It’s harmless. Flirtatious, but harmless.

But from across the room?

Harry doesn’t look at it that way.

Your awareness of him sharpens. Even without turning your head, you know he’s watching. You can feel it in your bones, the heat of his stare like a brand against your skin.

You tilt your head, letting yourself laugh at something the actor says, just for good measure. Just to push back at the invisible tether Harry has wrapped around you.

Then you make the mistake of looking.

It’s quick. A glance. Barely a second.

But it’s enough.

Harry’s gaze locks onto yours, the weight of it nearly stealing the breath from your lungs. His fingers tap against the side of his glass, his lips pressing together in a way that tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

A silent challenge.

You swallow, looking away first.

Then, just when you think the tension has reached its peak, the night conspires against you once again.

The little moments start stacking up.

In passing, your hands brush—just a second too long. A lingering whisper of contact that shouldn’t mean anything. But it does.

Harry leans in to whisper something to a friend, but his lips nearly graze the edge of your ear as he passes. The warmth of his breath ghosts against your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

And then—because the universe has a twisted sense of humor—you witness the moment that nearly breaks your resolve.

She’s stunning, the actress who leans in too close to him, her laugh like honey as she touches his arm in a way that feels practiced. You don’t know what she’s saying, but it’s enough to make Harry smirk, enough to make his fingers flex slightly where they rest on his knee.

You grip your glass tighter.

“I swear to god…” you mutter under your breath, not even realizing you’d spoken aloud.

Then, without warning—without a sound—Harry is behind you.

His voice is a low, taunting whisper, barely audible over the noise of the party.

“If you keep looking at me like that, we’re not making it through the night.”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

Your pulse jumps.

But you don’t turn around.

Because you know exactly what will happen if you do.

You can feel him watching you, his presence a weight against your skin, a force pulling you in even when you’re trying to resist. It’s unbearable—the tension, the push and pull of this secret that has stretched between you for months. You grip your drink tighter, the condensation damp against your fingers, and force yourself to stay rooted in place.

You exhale slowly. Then, in a move that is as reckless as it is calculated, you turn on your heel and walk away.

You don’t look back.

Instead, you slip into the nearest group of people, throwing yourself into conversation like it’s effortless, like your pulse isn’t hammering against your ribs. You laugh—too loudly, too carelessly—letting the sound carry just far enough. Your fingers graze someone’s arm, your smile lingers for a second too long. You don’t even register what’s being said; the words mean nothing. The only thing that matters is what’s happening behind you.

What Harry is doing.

Or rather—what he’s about to do.

You feel it before you see it. The energy shifts. The air crackles with a new kind of charge.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch him.

Harry is watching.

His jaw is tight, his fingers flexing around the glass in his hand. He looks calm to the untrained eye, but you know better. You know that slight clench in his jaw, the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the restless way his thumb drags along the rim of his glass.

You keep talking. You keep laughing.

And then Harry downs his drink in one swift motion, his throat moving as he swallows the last drop of whiskey. He sets the glass down with just a little too much force, and without a single word, he turns and walks away.

Your breath catches.

You don’t move. Not immediately.

You wait.

One second.

Two.

A full minute passes before you finally allow yourself to move.

You slip away, just as quietly as he did, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. The further you get from the main event, the quieter it becomes. The music fades into the background, the distant murmur of conversation growing softer. Your heels click against the polished marble floor as you move down an empty hallway, your heart pounding harder with every step.

You don’t have to look for him.

You already know where he is.

The moment you turn the corner into the restricted hallway near the VIP lounges, you barely have time to register anything before—

Strong hands grab your waist.

You gasp as you’re yanked back against the wall, the cool surface biting through the heat radiating off your skin. The shock of it barely registers before Harry is there, his body flush against yours, his scent wrapping around you—something deep and warm, laced with the remnants of whiskey and frustration.

His voice is low, rough, each word vibrating against your skin.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me all night?”

Your breath is uneven, your pulse a wild drumbeat beneath your skin.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, biting back a smirk. His eyes are dark, burning with barely contained hunger.

“I think I have a pretty good idea,” you murmur, resting your hands against his chest.

The muscle beneath his suit jacket is tense, coiled tight like he’s barely holding himself together.

And then—

He kisses you.

Hard.

The second your back hits the wall, Harry’s on you. There’s no hesitation, no space, no air left between you. His body presses into yours, solid and warm, and his grip on your waist is possessive, like he’s making sure you don’t slip away.

He kisses you like he’s starving, like he’s been thinking about this all night—which, knowing him, he has. His mouth moves over yours, hot, open-mouthed, desperate, his tongue sweeping against yours in slow, deep strokes that make your knees go weak.

You fist your hands in his shirt, yanking him closer, feeling the crisp fabric tighten under your grip. It’s unfair, really—how he gets to look so put-together while you’re already falling apart for him. His suit, all sharp lines and tailored edges, contrasts with the way your body melts against his, your dress already slipping up your thighs.

His hands wander, explore, claim—roaming down your sides, gripping your hips, guiding your body against his. He tugs at your dress, fingertips skimming beneath the hem, teasing the fabric higher—so high that his knuckles graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You shudder. He notices immediately.

A slow, knowing smirk curls his lips against yours, but he doesn’t say anything—just drags his hand higher, his fingertips just barely brushing the damp heat between your legs.

You gasp into his mouth, your fingers tightening in his shirt, and he chuckles—a low, dark sound that makes your stomach tighten.

“You’re already shaking for me, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath warm and teasing.

You bite back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction just yet. Instead, you tilt your chin up slightly, meeting his eyes, and shift your hips forward—just the tiniest roll of your body against his.

The reaction is instant.

Harry groans—deep, rough, almost guttural—and his head drops to your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your neck. His fingers dig into your waist, tight, desperate, like he’s barely holding himself back.

“You’re trying to kill me,” he pants, his voice rough, vibrating against your skin.

You smirk, breathless but smug. “That’s dramatic.”

Harry lifts his head slowly, green eyes blazing with something dark and dangerous, and then—before you can blink—he rolls his hips into you, pressing his body flush against yours.

You feel everything—the solid heat of him, the hardness pressing against your core, the undeniable proof of just how much he wants you.

A gasp catches in your throat.

His lips brush against your jaw, and his voice drops lower, rougher, more strained.

“Am I?”

The hallway is too quiet, the distant sounds of the gala making this moment feel even riskier. Muted laughter, clinking glasses, the murmur of conversations—all of it feels like it’s happening in another world, one you’ve completely abandoned the second Harry pressed you against this wall.

It should be a warning. It should be a reason to stop.

But all you can focus on is him.

The way he’s crowding you, caging you in, body heat rolling off him in waves. The way his eyes stay locked on yours, pupils blown wide, like he’s daring you to tell him to stop. The way he’s breathing heavy, shoulders rising and falling, like he’s barely holding himself together.

Then his hands are moving.

Sliding up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, higher, bunching the fabric at your hips. His fingertips graze the damp heat between your legs, teasing, barely there, but enough.

You whimper.

A quiet, desperate little sound that you try to swallow down.

But he hears it. Of course, he hears it.

And it makes him lose his patience.

His palm presses against you through the lace of your underwear, applying just the barest amount of pressure—but it’s enough to make your stomach tighten, enough to send a bolt of pleasure straight through you.

His lips aren’t on your mouth anymore. They’re moving—hot and insistent—trailing along your jaw, then down to your throat, biting, sucking, his teeth scraping sensitive skin. He’s not careful, not like he normally is. He doesn’t care if he leaves a mark. Maybe he wants to.

Maybe he wants you to feel him long after this is over.

Your breath catches when his other hand finds your wrist and pins it to the wall beside your head. It’s not rough, but it’s firm. Controlling. Like he needs to keep you exactly where he wants you.

His voice is a murmur against your ear, low and wrecked.

"You’re already soaked."

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you squirm against his hand, hips pushing toward his touch despite yourself.

"Wonder why," you breathe.

Harry chuckles darkly, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. Then, without warning, his fingers slip under the lace, dragging through your slick folds. He groans—low, deep, almost pained—his forehead pressing against yours like he’s trying to hold himself together.

"Fuck."

His fingers find your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that make your stomach tighten, your thighs clenching around his hand. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and your breath stutters, your fingers twisting in his shirt.

You bite your lip so hard it nearly hurts, trying to suppress the moan that’s threatening to spill out.

Harry watches you, studying every tiny reaction, his jaw clenched, his brows furrowed like he’s mesmerized by the way you come apart for him.

Then he slides one finger inside you—slow but deliberate—pushing in deep, stretching you open just enough to make you gasp.

And then he adds a second.

Your back arches off the wall, nails digging into his shoulders, your body desperate for more.

"Feel so good," Harry grits out, his voice thick with lust. His fingers work you open, slow and steady, curling just right, dragging against your walls until your thighs are shaking. His restraint is slipping—you can feel it.

"Always so fucking tight for me."

His words make your breath hitch, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You try to hold on, try to keep some kind of control, but his fingers are relentless, moving in and out of you, stroking your clit in slow, precise circles.

"Harry—" Your voice is barely a whisper, your eyes fluttering shut. "Someone’s gonna hear us—"

His free hand leaves your wrist, and before you can react, he covers your mouth, his palm warm against your lips, muffling the tiny sounds spilling out of you.

A smirk tugs at his lips, his breath ghosting over your cheek.

"Then you better be quiet, baby."

Harry’s fingers leave you, leaving behind nothing but an unbearable ache, an emptiness that makes your body tense with need. He doesn’t waste a second—his hands move fast, frantic, reaching for his belt, undoing the buckle with sharp, impatient movements.

You’re gasping, panting, your nails digging into his shoulders, hips rolling up to meet his, desperate for more. For him.

But then—he stops.

You barely notice at first, too caught up in the heat, too lost in the way his body presses into yours, how close you are to getting what you need. But then you feel it—the hesitation. The stiffness in his muscles. The way his forehead suddenly drops to your shoulder, his chest rising and falling with deep, frustrated breaths.

And then he curses.

"Shit. Fuck."

His voice is low, rough, like he’s physically forcing himself to stop. Like he’s just had the wind knocked out of him.

Your body stills, your mind foggy and desperate, your pulse hammering against your ribs.

"What?" you whisper, blinking up at him, confused, needing answers, needing him to keep going, needing him to fix whatever’s wrong.

Harry pulls back just enough to look at you, his jaw tight, his fingers threading through his curls in frustration. His pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen from kissing you, his whole body wrecked with restraint.

"I don’t have a condom."

The words hit like a slap of cold air against overheated skin.

Your stomach flips, pulse pounding in your ears. You should stop. You both should.

This is the moment.

The moment to take a breath, to come to your senses, to remember that this is a mistake. That it’s reckless, that it’s too risky, that there are a million reasons why you shouldn’t do this.

But none of them matter.

Because the heat between you is unbearable. Because your body is screaming for him, because the throbbing ache inside you is too strong to ignore, because stopping now would feel more painful than giving in.

Because you don’t care.

Your throat feels tight, your breath shaky as the words slip out before you can even think about them.

"I don’t care."

Harry’s head snaps up, his gaze locking onto yours so fast it makes you shiver.

His eyes—dark, intense, searching—burn into you, like he’s trying to see if you really mean it. Trying to find a reason to stop, a reason to be the responsible one.

But all he finds is desperation.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his breath uneven.

"Are you sure?" His voice is rough, raw, almost pained—like he wants this so fucking bad but needs to hear you say it again.

Your legs tighten around his waist, your arms looping around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

"Please," you whisper, the word barely audible, but it’s all it takes.

His control snaps.

Harry’s mouth crashes against yours—hot, messy, consuming—all teeth and tongue and raw need. His kiss is desperate, like he’s trying to devour you, trying to silence every thought, every doubt that should be pulling you both apart.

But there’s nothing else in this moment. Nothing but him.

His hands are greedy, impatient, everywhere all at once—roaming over your thighs, gripping your waist, tangling in your hair—taking, taking, taking, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you against him.

He drags your underwear to the side, not bothering to remove them, just getting them out of his way. The fabric is soaked, ruined, and he groans when he feels just how wet you are, just how ready.

There’s a shaky, fumbling urgency to the way he shoves his trousers down, just enough, just far enough to free himself, because there’s no time for anything else.

No time to think.

No time to stop.

His cock presses against you, hot and aching, the tip slick with need.

You tense in anticipation, body going rigid, your fingers digging into his back as you feel him right there—so close, too close, not close enough.

Then—he pushes in.

A sharp, deep stretch, the overwhelming burn of being filled so fast, so suddenly, so completely.

You can feel every inch of him—thick, hard, hot, pressing deep, stretching you open until it’s almost too much.

Your lips part on a gasp, a sharp, startled moan spilling from your throat before you can stop it—

But Harry is faster.

His hand clamps over your mouth, muffling your cry, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath shaky and uneven as he tries to hold himself together.

"Shhh," he rasps, his voice wrecked, strained, like he’s just barely keeping control.

His jaw is clenched so tight, his arms shaking from the effort of not losing himself completely. His fingers dig into the plush of your thigh, his other hand flexing against your mouth, making sure you stay quiet.

"Fuck," he groans, voice low and guttural, his breath hot against your lips.

"Fuck, you feel so good."

You clench around him, the pressure making your whole body arch, making your legs tighten around his waist, your nails biting into his biceps.

"So deep," you whisper against his palm, already breathless, already drowning in him.

Harry lets out a choked, strangled sound, his head dropping to your shoulder, his teeth scraping against the delicate skin of your neck.

He grips your hip tighter, yanks your thigh up higher, angling you just right—

Then he moves.

His first thrust is slow, deep, pulling out just enough before sinking back in, like he’s savoring it, like he’s relishing the way you stretch around him, the way your body grips him so perfectly.

Then—he snaps.

His hips slam into you, his movements turning frantic, punishing, wild, as if he’s been holding back for too long and can’t anymore.

It’s rough, raw, overwhelming, his cock dragging against every sensitive nerve, making you feel every inch, every inch, every inch.

The wall is solid behind you, but it does nothing to ground you, nothing to brace you against the way he’s pounding into you, forcing the breath from your lungs with every sharp, perfect thrust.

Your hands scramble for purchase, fingers clutching his shoulders, his hair, his back, anything to hold on to.

The contrast is unbearable—the cold marble against your back, the scorching heat of his body against yours, the wetness pooling between you, the rough press of his fingertips against your thigh, your hip, your waist.

"I can feel you squeezing me," he pants, voice deep, wrecked, laced with pure lust.

His teeth graze your jaw, his breath hot, heavy, uneven as he presses deeper, harder, better.

"You close, baby?"

You can’t even think.

All you can do is nod frantically, your nails scratching down his back, your voice breaking, muffled against his shoulder.

"So close—please don’t stop."

He lets out a low, throaty growl, his hands tightening, his hips slamming into you even harder, rougher, faster.

"I got you," he grits out, his voice tight, desperate.

"Let go for me."

And you do.

It hits you all at once—a blinding, earth-shattering pleasure that crashes through you so violently it nearly steals the breath from your lungs.

Your walls clench, pulse, flutter around him, drawing him in deeper, tighter, squeezing him so hard he lets out a wrecked, strangled moan.

Your whole body locks up, then shakes, trembles, collapses as your orgasm tears through you, leaving nothing behind but a pounding heartbeat and the echo of his name on your lips.

Harry doesn’t last long after that.

His rhythm stutters, his grip on your body tightens, his breath turning ragged, uneven, choked.

Then—he slams into you one last time, burying himself deep, so deep, as deep as he can go—and he lets go.

A deep, shaky groan rumbles from his chest as he spills into you, his fingers digging into your hips so tight it’s almost painful.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but harsh breaths, trembling limbs, the sound of racing hearts.

Your bodies are still pressed together, still locked in place, neither of you willing to move, to let go, to face what you’ve just done.

No space between you.

No words.

Just the wreckage of this moment, of the heat, of the mess you’ve made together.

The world around you is silent.

Or maybe your ears are still ringing from the intensity of it all—the overwhelming pleasure, the crash of your heartbeat in your skull, the way your body is still trembling from the aftershocks.

You’re breathless, boneless, your limbs heavy and warm, still wrapped around him, still feeling the echo of where he’s been, of where he still is.

Neither of you move.

Not yet.

Harry’s forehead presses against yours, his breath hot and unsteady, his chest rising and falling against yours in the same frantic, uneven rhythm.

His hands haven’t left your body—fingertips tracing over the dips of your waist, the curve of your thigh, like he can’t stop touching you, even now.

He should feel guilty.

He should regret this.

This was reckless, stupid, dangerous.

Someone could’ve caught you.

Someone still might.

But instead of guilt, instead of remorse, instead of the sinking weight of what the fuck have we done—

All he feels is satisfaction.

His lips twitch. The corner of his mouth quirks up, amusement flickering in his dark, lazy eyes, like he already knows what you’re about to say.

And sure enough—

"We’re so gonna get caught one day," you breathe, still a little dazed, still not sure you can feel your legs yet.

A smirk spreads across his face, slow and wicked, as his fingers brush damp hair from your forehead, his other hand still gripping your thigh, holding you in place, keeping you where he wants you.

He shifts slightly—just enough to remind you that he’s still inside you, still buried so deep it makes your breath hitch.

Then he whispers, low and deliberate, his lips brushing against yours—

"Worth it."

You leave first.

Your legs are still shaky, your breath uneven as you move quickly down the hallway, trying to compose yourself before stepping back into the crowd. The moment you’re back under the bright lights of the gala, surrounded by elegant chatter and the clinking of champagne glasses, it’s like stepping into a completely different reality.

You fight the urge to touch your lips, knowing they’re still kiss-bruised and swollen from Harry’s mouth on yours. Instead, you fish through your clutch with trembling fingers, pulling out your compact mirror and flipping it open, only to let out a quiet curse under your breath.

Your lipstick is completely ruined.

Smudged at the edges, faint traces of it smeared beyond the natural curve of your lips, a dead giveaway to what you’ve been doing.

And that’s not even the worst of it.

You tilt your chin slightly, angling the mirror lower—your neck burns with the ghost of his teeth, the imprint of his mouth. You squint at your reflection, but you don’t have to look closely to see the faint red bloom of a mark beginning to form just under your jaw.

Jesus. You need to fix this.

Your heart pounds as you swipe a fingertip over your lips, smoothing away the damage as best you can, trying to make yourself look normal, untouched, innocent. You pat at your flushed cheeks, inhale a steadying breath, and pull your dress back into place before making your way deeper into the room.

No one is paying attention to you.

Or at least—that’s what you tell yourself.

Because the truth is…some people are.

The ones who notice everything.

The ones who have been watching you both all night.

It’s only five minutes later when Harry returns.

And that’s when the whispers really start.

📱 Twitter Explodes:

@YNUpdates: "Harry and Y/N disappeared at the SAME TIME and now her lipstick is smudged??? Someone explain." 👀

@Hstylesfan88: "Tell me why Harry looks wrecked after being ‘away’ for 20 minutes???"

@Directioner_for_life: "LOOK AT THIS. WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE HE JUST GOT LAID." [Attached: a blurry photo of Harry stepping back into the gala, tie loose, hair messy, jaw tight as he adjusts his suit.]

@StylinsonLover: "I swear to god if they’re secretly fucking and we don’t know I will RIOT."

It’s all so fast.

You don’t even realize how much people have picked up on until your phone vibrates in your clutch, a message from a friend—

"You might wanna check Twitter."

Your stomach flips as you glance around the room, trying not to be obvious as you spot him across the crowd.

And holy fuck, yeah—they’re right.

Harry looks wrecked.

His tie is loosened, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, the strands of his hair slightly tousled, like someone’s fingers had just been gripping at it.

You swallow hard.

You shouldn’t be staring at him, shouldn’t be biting your lip at the sight of him still looking a little ruined from fucking you against the wall.

And yet—

The way he carries himself so effortlessly, the way his expression is calm, unaffected—like he hasn’t just been inside you, like he hasn’t just come undone in the deepest parts of you—it’s infuriating.

Because you feel so obvious.

Like everyone in this goddamn room knows.

And the worst part?

Maybe they do.

--

The night is winding down, the music softens, the lights dim just slightly, and the energy in the room shifts from excitement to exhaustion.

People start to leave in waves—celebrities slipping out with their teams, photographers packing up their equipment, security guiding fans toward the exits.

You keep your distance.

You have to.

For months now, you and Harry have been careful—so careful.

Because if anyone found out, the questions wouldn’t stop.

Who made the first move? Who was the one who set the rules? Who got attached first? Who’s more obsessed? Is it real? Is it fake? When did it start? How will it end?

You already know what the media would say.

That you are just another girl Harry’s using.

That he is just another celebrity falling into a meaningless fling.

That this is just another story waiting to be ripped apart, twisted into something ugly, overanalyzed until there’s nothing left.

They wouldn’t understand that it’s not like that. That it’s never been like that.

So, you play your part.

You pretend.

You act like you’re just another guest in the room, sipping champagne and offering polite smiles and nods.

And you ignore the way your skin still burns where he touched you.

But every few minutes—you feel him.

A glance across the room.

A flick of his eyes down to your lips.

A tiny smirk when you press them together, nervous, flustered, still feeling him everywhere.

Your cheeks heat up, and you force yourself to look away, heart hammering.

You have to be careful.

But then—just as you think you’ve made it out without another close call—

A hand on your wrist.

Warm. Quick. Certain.

Your breath catches as you turn, only to find him there, impossibly close, standing just slightly behind you, tucked into the shadows where no one else can see.

Your stomach tightens.

You don’t even have time to react before his fingers slide down, trailing over your palm, catching your hand in his.

His grip is gentle but sure, fingers threading through yours like this isn’t just another secret touch. Like he’s holding on.

Your pulse jumps, and his thumb brushes over it, tracing the rapid rhythm.

When you meet his gaze, his eyes are dark, still hooded from everything you’ve done tonight, but there’s something else there now, too. Something deeper.

"See you later?" he murmurs, voice low, teasing, soft in a way that makes your chest ache.

You should let go.

You should be careful.

But instead, you lace your fingers through his.

Tighter. Certain.

You tilt your head, let a slow smile curve at your lips, and whisper back—

"Yeah."

A pause.

A flicker of something dangerous. Something real.

Then, his hand squeezes yours—a silent promise—before he finally lets go, slipping away into the crowd.

But this time, you don’t just feel his touch lingering on your skin.

You feel him everywhere.

And you already know—

This isn’t just some secret anymore.

It’s too much. Too intense, too deep, too important to be treated like something you can just hide forever.

You take a steadying breath, smoothing a hand over your dress, mentally preparing yourself to leave.

And that’s when you hear it.

A sharp click.

A hushed gasp.

A flicker of movement in your peripheral vision.

You turn your head—just in time to see a fan clutching their phone, eyes wide, staring straight at you.

The screen still glowing.

Still open to the camera app.

Your stomach drops.

The fan’s mouth parts like they might say something—might call out your name, might ask if what they just saw was real.

Your breath catches, a cold chill racing up your spine.

And then—

They take off.

Vanishing into the crowd.

With their phone.

With the photo.

With the secret you and Harry just lost.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry

@mema10

@angelbabyyy99

@iloveharrystyles04

@cinemharry

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[reignpage]

piggybacking on the banana question, if they all got to run the train what order would they go in?? 🙏🙏🙏

(i just wanna know where you’d put nanami tbh)

I LOVE THIS QUESTION

Choso: cause he'd be the virgin of the group. they'd think of it as initiation and would want him to experience the very best on his first time. I imagine nanami would likely have to guide his dick in because he keeps missing the whole, would mutter encouragements and instructions. everyone would even shout out tips like 'hey cho, slap her pussy she likes that' or 'choso ma boi, grind your hips, oh yeah just like that, hear her moans? she fucking loves that shit'. he'd be passed out on the side from the overwhelmingness of it all, probably drooling babbling about how great pussies are

Nanami: would go next, his case being that he's got things to do so let's just get it over with. truthfully he couldn't wait any longer. he talks you through it, describes all the things he's feeling, how you're so tight, the pleats and folds of your pussy, how beautiful you look. he fucks you like there's no one else in the room. they'd all start complaining about long he's taking and he'd roll his eyes but would make sure you cum first before he does. and then he never actually leaves, he just stays, brushing tears from your eyes and cooing for you to let him know if it gets too much

Sukuna: the fact that he's sharing at all is already making him on edge, so to be going third would piss him off. RIP your pussy bro. he's really getting all up in there, bruising you so badly you're gripping Nanami's arm whilst he smiles down at you for being so good. sukuna would slap your face (not too hard, just to get your attention) he'd tch! and start degrading the shit out of you. look at you making obscene noises from both lips like a whore. you love the attention don't you? bet you want all of your holes filled up, you dirty girl. would probably demand someone plugs up your loud mouth. and after he cums inside, he'd force you to clean him up whilst the next one steps up

Geto: if I had it my way he wouldn't even be in the room but whatever, dick is dick so who can complain. he's very sweet seeming, he wets his dick with your cum, doing a pussyjob, really getting you worked up so you beg for him and then he fucks into you slow. too slow. you start crying, complaining, screaming for him to fuck you hard. he laughs until everyone else gets mad at him for being too mean, like come on man, there are limits. so then he picks up the pace and he even pats your pussy and thanks it for doing a good job.

Gojo: insisted he goes after geto. says he wants his bestie to go first but really he just wanted to fuck you with his dick drowning in geto's cum. that really gets him going. really mean too, would mock the faces and sounds you make until you're pouting through the tears that he's just like geto. and that man cums. he keeps cumming too cause geto comes up behind him and guides his hips and keeps him fucking into you, whispering how poor little you didn't even get to cum yet

Toji: that man is a dirty dirty whore. he doesn't care that other men's cum is dripping out of you. he's filthy. in fact, he'd eat you out before he slips it in. and he's bending you in all sorts of different positions. he even lifts you up so everyone can see your tits bounce, your eyes roll back, and your pussy take his cock again and again. man also walks over to choso and does it right in front of his face, asks him to lick your clit, and of course he does. pounds into you so hard you're dazed and delirious and when he asks who's fucking you best you're just screaming his name and everyone rolls their eyes

It just means they go for round 2 to prove who really is the best

[fireinmoonshot]

soft hearted | joaquin torres x fem! reader

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: You're not the type of person to go clubbing – but Joaquin is pretty good at convincing you to come along with him when he goes. Yet, when an interaction with another man at the club goes badly, Joaquin is there to pick up the pieces and make sure you're okay. Warnings: Mentions of drinking/clubbing/eating/food as well as a guy at the club being creepy and physically grabbing the readers wrist, causing a bruise. Word Count: 4.1k A/N: Here I am with another Joaquin fic! I really love how this one turned out. I honestly wrote it just this afternoon in a few hours, I started it and I couldn't stop working on it. I'm really happy with it so I hope those of you who read it enjoy it, even though it's longer than my last Joaquin fic! Please let me know if you liked it and if you'd like to read more Joaquin from me! 💗

“Did I ever say thank you for coming out with us tonight?” Joaquin says, placing a hand on the small of your back to help guide you as the two of you make your way through the crowd, heading back to your booth where your friends are waiting for their drinks.

He’s been texting you all day trying to convince you to join them tonight – but you are the one member of your friendship group that isn’t into partying and clubbing. It’s always difficult to convince you to leave your house once you’re there. 

It never stops Joaquin from trying though. He always enjoys clubbing more when you come out with them. Even just being in your presence is something he loves – whether he’s at a club or anywhere else.

“Oh, just about ten times,” you flash him a grin, trying to avoid bumping into anyone and spilling the drinks. Your friends had been waiting long enough considering how busy the club was. 

Joaquin laughs, the sound audible above the loud music in the bar. It’s a familiar sound and one that instantly comforts you despite your unease at being in such a crowded place. “Definitely room for me to improve, then, angel. What do you think?” 

“I think, pretty boy, that you could probably benefit from inviting me out somewhere other than a packed club sometimes, simply so I can talk to you without having to yell!” You joke, flashing him a look as you finally get back to the booth where your friends are waiting, placing the tray with all of their drinks on it on the table. They all take their drinks, yelling thank you’s at you and Joaquin as you take your seats again. 

“You guys made it!” One of your friends, Cruz, yells out at the both of you.

Joaquin meets your eyes from across the table with a grimace. Cruz is incredibly drunk by the sound of his slurred voice. Joaquin is only a few drinks deep and he’s nowhere near as far gone as Cruz is. You both share an amused smile as Joaquin takes a swig of his beer.

Clubs are not your thing, never have been. It just so happens that you’ve befriended several people that love them – Joaquin being quite the enthusiast. He’s dragged you out to many clubs over the city in the time since you’ve known him. If it were anyone else, you were pretty sure you never would’ve gone… but with Joaquin, you don’t mind it. His presence is comforting, even in such a busy and chaotic atmosphere.

Joaquin is the kind of guy that all the girls and guys in clubs like these like, and on nights like this, you can understand why. The way he looks, a smile on his face as he laughs at something one of your friends says, the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead from the warm air. He’s effortlessly attractive to anyone that looks at him. He’s so comfortable here. You’ve always found Joaquin attractive, but even you can admit that he looks even more attractive when he’s in a place like this – if that’s even possible.

You take a long sip of your drink – water, having decided early in the night that you were gonna be the designated driver for your friends so that they could all enjoy their night properly. 

“I’m just going to the bathroom, okay?” You lean into your friend, Katy, sitting beside you to tell her. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ll take my phone with me if you need me!”

She nods, a little pre-occupied in a conversation with the guy beside her – someone she’d met earlier in the night at the club and had been with you guys ever since. Your eyes fall on Joaquin briefly, still laughing at something he’d heard, as you stand from the booth.

It’s difficult to make your way through the crowd without Joaquin guiding you, making you feel safe with his hands on you, but you manage. When you see the door to the bathrooms you almost let out a sigh of relief. They’re empty when you finally make your way inside – another relief. Girls at clubs can be nice, but they can also be the entire opposite and it’s nice to have a moment completely to yourself to have a second to breathe.

Once you’re done, you take another long breath before leaving the bathroom, preparing yourself for the walk back through the crowd of people dancing so you can get back to your friends. You walk past the bar first, finding it to be a little less crowded than the dance floor.

It’s louder over this side of the room, the music thudding and thumping since you’re closer to the speakers. It’s probably the reason you don’t hear the voice of someone beside you at the bar trying to talk to you as you attempt to make your way past. You only realise when a hand grabs your wrist, tugging you backwards. You stumble a little, bracing yourself on the edge of the bar, eyes falling on a light haired man sitting on a stool at the bar. The way he’s looking at you already makes you feel uneasy. 

“Do you often ignore people who are trying to talk to you, honey?” He says, voice raised enough for you to be able to hear him.

“I’m sorry?” You furrow your eyebrows. “If you said something before, I didn’t hear it. It’s pretty loud in here.” You point towards the roof of the bar where the speakers are. 

He laughs, a sound completely opposite to the sound of Joaquin’s earlier. This mans laugh immediately unsettles you and if he wasn’t still holding onto your wrist, you would be gone. But he has an uncomfortably tight grip on it and you doubt he’s planning to let go.

“Yeah, sure,” he scoffs, then picks up his drink and takes a long sip of it. “Listen, I don’t appreciate being ignored, okay? I put myself out there to talk to you, so I’d appreciate it if you gave me the same energy in return.”

You swallow, heart in your throat, and attempt to take a deep breath. This is not good. Why had you gone to the bathroom by yourself? Especially on such a busy night in a busy club.

“Okay,” you start. “If you let go of my wrist, I’ll sit down here and we can talk for a bit.” You figure it can’t hurt to try and bargain with him, even though you have every intention of trying to get as far away from him as quickly as possible when he lets go.

“How can I be sure you won’t run away? Nah, I don’t think I will let go.” He adjusts his grip on your wrist, pulling you a little closer to him. Your heart starts beating faster as the fear starts to set in.

You risk a glance across the bar in the direction of your friends booth and feel your stomach drop as you realise you can’t see them from here, meaning they can’t see you either. Surely Katy would notice that you hadn’t come back yet and would come looking for you… you aren’t too far away from the bathrooms, so there’s a chance she’d see you on her way… but you know that she’s too occupied with her new man to come looking for you. 

This is why you don’t like coming out. This is why you always say no when Joaquin or your other friends ask you to come out with them. And the one time you say yes, this is what happens. You should’ve told Joaquin where you were going as well but you figured it’d be okay – it was just a quick trip to the bathroom, what could go wrong?

Panic starts to rise in your stomach and you try your best to push it down and not let it get the better of you. You know you need to keep yourself calm in a situation like this, especially around a man like this, or things can go south quickly. 

“I promise I won’t run away,” you lie, trying not to let your nerves come through in your tone of voice. “But you’re actually really hurting me right now, so I’d appreciate if you let me go. Can we make a deal? I won’t run and you’ll let go.”

You can tell by the look in the mans eyes that he isn’t going to give up this easily. The longer he keeps holding your wrist, the more your breathing starts to get heavier. How can you get out of this situation when he’s not willing to make this deal with you?

A hand gently lands on your lower back and you flinch, just as you hear a soft voice in your ear. “It’s just me, you’re okay,” Joaquin whispers, calming you immediately.

It’s impossible not to let out a breath of relief as your eyes fall on him. He’d come after you. He’d noticed you were gone or Katy had told him you hadn’t come back yet. He’s here. You’re not alone with this man and you know Joaquin isn’t going to leave you.

Joaquin’s hand gently rubs up and down on your back.

“What you’re gonna do right now is let go of the ladies wrist,” he says simply.

You watch as the mans eyes flicker towards Joaquin but then fall back on you, his grip still tight around your wrist. You attempt to step a little closer to Joaquin but it’s impossible to move with him still holding onto you.

“Hey! Eyes over here, man. Not on her.”

The man sighs. “Listen, man–”

“No, you listen to me,” Joaquin steps in-between you and the man, his voice forceful and loud above the music. “What you are going to do right now is let go of her wrist or I am going to break yours right here, right now. And that won’t be all I break either.”

“Okay, sure. You definitely look strong enough to do that, pal,” he scoffs.

You inwardly wince. You know Joaquin is strong enough to do that and worse. He’s a Captain in the Air Force and he’s The Falcon. You’re pretty certain that he could inflict a lot more damage than a broken wrist.

“You wanna find out?” Joaquin asks.

The look on Joaquin’s face must be intimidating because the man finally relinquishes his hold on your wrist. You immediately wrap your other hand around your wrist, holding it to your chest and trying to ignore the pain throbbing through it from his grip.

The man throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes before standing and walking away, further into the crowd of people. Before he’s even disappeared from your view, Joaquin has turned around, his hands moving to take your arm and carefully examine your wrist.

“It’s already starting to bruise… that bastard,” he mutters, his eyes dark. You can hear every word despite the loud music around you simply because of how close he’s moved into your space. “You okay? I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I only just noticed you were gone a few minutes ago and Katy mentioned something about the bathroom so I went there straight away but I couldn’t find you.”

The fear and panic in your stomach has gone, now replaced by nausea. You can feel yourself starting to shake, the adrenaline of everything starting to wear off. “Can you take me home?”

Joaquin doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your waist, hold you close and leading you out of the bar. He figures he’ll just text your friends once you’re both safely in a cab to tell them where you’d both gone – that and he’s a little annoyed at Katy for letting you go to the bathroom alone. He’s annoyed at himself for not noticing sooner that you’d disappeared. 

“I’d drive you home myself but I’ve been drinking, angel,” Joaquin says as the two of you wait for a cab on the sidewalk just up the street from the club. His arm is still wrapped around your waist, holding you close. It’s comforting to you, helping you to remember that he’s still there beside you, not going anywhere. “My place is closer, but we can go to yours if you feel up for a longer cab ride.”

You shake your head. “Your place is fine.” You’ve stayed over at his apartment before, several times, both alone and with other friends. His bed is much more comfortable than your own, you’ve learned, since he never lets you sleep on the couch.

“Okay,” he says, rubbing your back gently as the cab pulls up in front of you.

He lets you in first before sitting beside you and telling the cab driver his address. One of his hands holds yours, his thumb gently sweeping back and forth over your skin in an attempt to help calm you down. He can see how uneasy you still feel after it all. Why had he not gotten to you sooner? Not realised you were missing sooner? 

The cab ride back to his apartment is silent, as is the elevator ride up to his floor. You wait beside him, arms crossed over your chest as he unlocks his front door and lets you inside first. 

“You wanna shower or something?” He asks, closing the door behind you.

“Yeah, I think that’d help,” your voice is small. The sound of it makes Joaquin’s heart hurt. 

“You remember where I keep my clothes? You can help yourself, angel.” 

You nod, reaching over to gently squeeze his hand again before heading towards his bedroom to get some of his clothes to change into before heading into the bathroom just off of his bedroom. 

While you shower, Joaquin kicks off his shoes, steps into the kitchen and starts working on making you something to eat. Something warm, something comforting. He’s become a pretty decent cook over the past few years and cooking for you is one of his favourite things to do. He’s always inviting you over for dinner, which is exactly the reason why you know where he keeps his clothes – you eat, you stay late talking, Joaquin refuses to let you go home when it’s so late at night and he has a perfectly comfortable bed.

His heart almost stops in his chest as he sees you walking out of the bathroom, dressed in a pair of his sweatpants and a shirt. “I know I’ve said this before, angel, but you look damn good in my clothes,” he flashes you a grin. 

You teasingly roll your eyes at him as you walk into the kitchen, arms crossed over your chest as you try and suss out what he’s cooking you. “Bet you say that to all the friends you let stay over and borrow your clothes, Torres.”

Joaquin snorts. “Bold of you to assume I have other friends staying over.”

He doesn’t. Even out of your friendship group, you are the only person who’s stayed over in the last several months and especially the only person he’s let sleep in his bed and borrow his clothes. He’s not willing to admit to himself what that really means. Not yet.

“What are you cooking?” You ask, peeking inside the pot on the stove.

“Pozole,” he says, coming up beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back. He’s apparently incapable of keeping his hands to himself when he’s worried about you. “It won’t be ready for another hour and a half at least, but I figured cooking you something comforting and warm might be nice. I was already gonna cook it for dinner this week so I had everything in the fridge ready to go.” 

“Joaquin, you didn’t have to do that,” you glance over at him. “Really, I would’ve been fine with a cup of tea or a pack of cup noodles. And it’s so late.” You mean it honestly, even though the fact that he’s been prepping everything for this while you were showering sits heavy and meaningful in your stomach. No one ever does things like this for you… except Joaquin.

He shrugs his shoulders and moves away from the stove, hands on your waist so that you move with him. He directs you over to the couch, waiting till you sit down before he puts a blanket in your lap and attempts – badly – to tuck you in. 

“What are you doing?” You can’t help but laugh. 

“You are gonna sit here for the next hour and a half, till the pozole is ready, put on a movie or something, and just try and relax. And I am gonna sit beside you, once I get changed out of these sweaty ass clothes,” he says, standing back up straight. “I’ll be two minutes, angel!” He calls out, hurrying away from you towards his bedroom.

You smile to yourself as you grab the remote to the TV and try your best to curl up under the blanket. It’s amusing, how quickly things can change. An hour ago, you were in the club with Joaquin, who was having the time of his life, and now here you are, curled up on his couch in his clothes. Your eyes drift down to your wrist, where a bruise is already starting to form, and you wince. That’s going to be painful when it fully forms.

Joaquin comes back out a few minutes later, wearing a similar pair of sweatpants and a muscle tank that causes you to focus on his biceps for much too long. You barely even notice that he’s carrying something in one of his hands. 

“Uh, what’s that?” You ask, motioning to the tube.

“It’s cream that’s meant to help bruises,” he says, lowering himself down onto the couch beside you. “I forgot I had it but I bought it for myself not long after I became Falcon. Will you let me put it on you?” 

You nod, letting him take your arm in his gentle grip. He squeezes some of the cream onto your wrist and gently massages it in. It hurts already, even with just the slightest bit of pressure, but you try your best to ignore it and focus on the look of concentration on Joaquin’s face. He looks up at you afterwards, catching you staring. 

“See something you like, angel?”

You look away, a little flustered, and pull your wrist out of his grip. “Thank you.”

He grins and stands up, heading back towards the bathroom to put the tube away and wash the cream off of his hands. He knew it might not be the right time to be teasing with you, but he had to be – this was the Joaquin you knew, and he could tell that right now, the last thing you wanted was for him to treat you like you were something breakable, like what had happened at the bar was something you couldn’t move past. 

“All right, what are we watching?” He says as he walks back to the couch, climbing over the back of it and settling down next to you, resting his arms up on the back of the couch and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “You pick somethin’ good?”

You surprise him by passing him the remote. “You choose. I can’t find anything.”

He almost freezes solid when he feels your head lean down on his shoulder. He lets his arm fall around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest so you can rest comfortably. 

“What if I pick something you don’t like?” He asks, trying his hardest not to stare at the top of your head and hope to hell you can’t hear how fast his heart is beating, even though you’re laying on the opposite side of his chest.

“Nah, you won’t,” you say. “I like everything you like.”

Joaquin clears his throat and huffs a laugh. “Yeah, what if I put on The Conjuring or something?” 

“You wouldn’t,” you mutter, knowing him well enough to know he’s joking.

“What if I’m being serious, angel? What if all I want is to put on a scary movie so you get all frightened and have no choice but to cuddle up to me in search of safety?” He grins. 

“Joaquin, I’m already cuddled up to you.”

He pauses. “Okay, well that’s true.”

“Just pick a movie, Joaquin.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You’re thirty minutes into the movie by the time you speak again. Joaquin is invested in the story but the second you speak, his entire attention is on you. 

“Thank you for saving me tonight, Joaquin,” your voice is quiet.

Joaquin gently rubs your shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner. You don’t have to thank me for anything, angel. You know that, right? I should’ve noticed and come after you as soon as you left. Katy should’ve never let you go to the bathroom alone either.”

He can’t help the bitterness in his tone. 

“I didn’t meant to ruin your night, Joaquin,” you mutter, seemingly ignoring everything that he’d just said to you. 

Joaquin is quick to sit up straight, making you move from your spot on his chest. You look at him, eyebrows furrowed at his sudden movement. He gently cups your face in his hands. 

“Ruin my night? Angel, you did not ruin my night. Did you not hear anything I just said? In fact, you probably made my night even better than it already was. I mean, c���mon, pozole and being curled up on the couch watching a movie with you is a hell of a lot better than being out in that club without you,” Joaquin admits, his honesty getting the better of him. 

You frown a little, eyes clouding with tears. Joaquin is quick to wipe one from your cheek after it falls. His heart hurts at the sight of the tears in your eyes. 

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you into his chest again, wrapping his arms around you and letting you cry into his chest. Your arms wrap around him, gripping the material of his shirt. One of his hands rubs up and down on your back in an attempt to relax you. “I always ask you to come out with us cause I enjoy it more when you’re there. I thought you knew that. And I know the clubs aren’t your scene, but I figured you didn’t hate them that much if you said yes to me every now and then. I promise I won’t ask you again, angel. Especially after what that prick did tonight. I almost knocked his jaw in then and there.”

He smiles as he hears something that sounds like a sob like laugh come from you. 

“If I ever see him again, I can’t promise I won’t break his wrist, believe me.”

“No, you won’t,” you mutter, pulling away from his hug. 

His hands immediately move to your face again, clearing the tears off of your cheeks. 

“Maybe I will,” he shrugs.

“You’re too much of a sweetheart for that, Joaquin Torres. I mean… look at everything you’ve done for me tonight. You telling me you’re not a soft hearted person?” You ask.

Joaquin smiles to himself. “Angel, I’m just soft hearted for you,” he confesses. “Now, I’m gonna quickly go check on this pozole okay?” He stands up from the couch, stretching his legs and padding over towards the kitchen – mostly just to make it so you don’t feel obligated to say anything in return. 

He’s standing in front of the stove, stirring the pozole with a wooden spoon, when he feels your arms snake around him from behind, surprising him with a back hug. “Uhhh, what’s happening right now?” He asks, pausing his stirring.

“Thank you,” is all you offer in answer.

“Angel, what’s going on?”

You remove your arms from around him so he can turn around and face you again. He’s about to ask you what you’re thinking when you lean up and press your lips to his cheek before bounding back over to the couch without another word. Joaquin stands, staring after you in shock. He feels like his cheek has been burned – in a good way, if that’s even possible.

“Hurry up and finish stirring that pozole, pretty boy!” You call out from your spot on the couch. “I wanna finish watching this movie and my pillow has gone missing.” 

Joaquin lets out a small laugh, gives the pozole another small stir and starts walking back over to you. “I suppose I’m the pillow?” He asks, shaking his head. “I’m comin’, angel. I’m comin’.” 

[sylphidine]

@i-am-a-fish

From one of my longfics [it's dinner, not lunch, but it's delicious and everyone is happy]:

The vibrant, art-filled walls of SpaHa Soul never failed to send a shiver of happiness down Swatch’s spine. The Friday night after they got their job offer letter, they followed Uncle Julius to a corner glass-topped table, while Indigo pulled out a chair for Aunt Desiree. Catechu chatted with the guitarist setting up for the evening’s set and waved at Artist T., just emerging from the kitchen with plates for the group of diners in the opposite corner.

Uncle Julius had found this place about eight years ago and it had become THE go-to place for Dyer-Paletta family celebrations.   

And tonight they were here to celebrate Indo and Catto’s getting summer internships at the Wythe in Williamsburg, as well as Swatch’s internship.

“Chef’s choice tonight, sir,” Uncle Julius said to Artist T., after getting a hearty backslap from the proprietor. “All three of these fine young people, going out into the world and making their mark!”

“It’s a better world for you all being in it,” agreed Artist T., making a note on his pad and heading back through the swinging doors.

“I like the new eyeglasses, honey,” Aunt Desiree commented to Swatch. “You look good in aviators, and brown is a nice color for you.”

Swatch nodded.”The tint’s helpful for cutting out blue light, and since I expect I’m going to be spending a lot more time in front of screens with the new job, I figured they were worth a splurge.”

On the other side of the table, Indo was listing off all the different areas in the boutique hotel where he and his twin would be working during their ten weeks. “I don’t know how I’m going to keep a straight face when I’m answering phones and directing calls to ‘Le Crocodile’. It’ll probably get easier after a while. At least ‘Bar Blondeau’ sounds more normal. Only thing I’m worried about is getting there on time every day.”

“Better than the commute would have been if we’d gotten the gig at The Ludlow. That commute would have been a real bitch.” Catto caught his mother’s glare and muttered, “Sorry, mom.  It would have been a real bear .”

Uncle Julius laughed and then turned to Swatch. “You’re going to be cutting it awfully fine, between graduation and starting this new job. You’d better start looking at apartments now if you don’t think your landlady will extend your lease past June.”

“I know. Even with a decent salary, I’m either going to have to spend all my time commuting or all my money on a shoebox to live in.” They realized that it sounded like they were complaining, and quickly added with a laugh in their voice, “Or I could ask my favorite aunt to use her real estate agent superpowers and her mad networking skills.”

“That’s the spirit,” Aunt Desiree answered. “We’re not going to leave you out in the cold, even if you have to stay with us for a month or so while you’re getting your feet under you. You’ve got family, don’t forget."

Swatch smiled back at her. “I will never forget that.”

“And don’t forget we’re proud of you. All three of you,” Uncle Julius interjected, waving his hand to include his sons. “Not a bad apple in the bunch.”

“Thanks, Pop,” Indo replied for himself and for his brother. “Especially thanks for being such a good sport about us not working at Ambit Automation.” “Oh, you boys might still end up there if the economy tanks. Luxury disappears, but people always need manufacturing. Look at the Brooklyn Navy Yards. That’s as big a comeback as the Jazz beating the Nuggets.”

“But the boys are using their degrees,” Aunt Desiree pointed out. “Degrees that you and I both approved of, husband mine.”

“Yes, dear.”

At that moment Artist T. and Amber swooped in with platters of fried chicken, stuffed pork chops, coconut rice, spicy yams, and collard greens, enough to feed an army.

Catechu raised his glass. “To family.”

Four glasses clinked against his.

how would one of your OCs react to a HUGE burger and delicious seasoned french fries?

[booboopadoops]

YOUR BEST FRIEND HAMZAH

NSFW * MDNI - smut , dry humping , dirty talk , moan , whimper , alcohol , weed , friends to lovers

you and hamzah met 5 summers ago. you followed each other even longer on every platform before you guys met that faithful summer 5 years ago. you were so close. texting every single second of everyday since.

every morning and every night, there he was. blurting mundane details about your days to each other. repeatedly telling each other how much you miss the other. constantly sending each other memes and selfies throughout the day. facetiming every night to play games, or talk until you both fell asleep on the phone.

but thats just what best friends do right? every close male and female friendships had an undertone of a romantic attraction right?

its normal that his sleepy voice rang in your head throughout your day

“goodnighttt pretty girl”

“wait set up your camera so i can see you…hah just kidding… ahem”

“you think youre sooo funny huh?”

“just wait until we’re finally together in person”

if there was truly something going on with him, surely something would’ve happened by now. every year you two would save up for your summer vacations together. nothing happened year after year. that was just our humor.

but youve heard if you repeated joke about something…you slowly begin to believe it.

but surely. surely, that isnt the case here. you couldnt ruin this strong friendship you had with him. he meant too much to you to allow your connection to dwindle to a relationship, that would eventually end and leave you with a hole in your heart, and too free much time to spend.

you knew this, but it wasnt enough to stop the way your heart would pound against your skin. the way your face would light on fire everytime you saw his name on your phone.

the way your heart would drop everytime he said something tooth decayingly sweet. a jokingly sultry voice whenever he said something flirty.

but no. you refuse to allow your selfishness wreck the way you both gravitated to each other. and you knew deep down, if it were romantic attraction, it would end at some point. platonically, you could be friends for life…

like a mantra you would repeat to yourself to protect your cherished friendship. no matter how hard it is.

-

so here you were. the first night of many you knew were you going to spend with him now that youre practically going to live with him for 3 more months under the sunburning summer in cali.

this year you guys had decided you both needed to be beach bums this year in a beach house airbnb. that you both agreed to split the payment of.

you two had a long day of relishing in each others presence. the hours spent on the cramped jet from just that same early morning seemed to wash away the second you saw his face light up at the sight of you.

“AYEEE THERE SHE IS”

he exclaims as he practically runs over and scoops you up, dropping his luggage to properly embrace you.

laughing hard and holding him tight you say into his shoulder

“i cant believe its finally here”

“what? it? im an it now?”

hamzah says with a playful tone

“NOOO, i mean our year long planned summer”

“i know, its about time i see my girl”

he says as he slides you back down to your feet, to look you in your eyes in a serious but lovingly manner.

“my girl? alright buddy im happy to see you too”

you laugh.

hamzah drops his “act” and laughs with you. while draping his arm around you, he directs the both of you out of the airport.

everytime you finally meet its like there was no time in between. maybe its because neither of you can go longer than an hour without talking to each other, but thats besides the point.

-

laying back on the couch you watch hamzah as he snifs hard after hitting the joint.

you burst out laughing when he, once again, fails to inhale the smoke.

“URG, why is this shit so fucking hard”

he says while gritting his teeth, then suddently erupting in a fit of rough coughs from the hit.

“alright, I’LL SHOW YOU ONE MORE TIME BECAUSE NOW I’M GETTING TOO FUCKED UP”

you cackle while grabbing the joint out of his fingers.

“how do you think i feel? i just chief-ed that bitch like 20 times trying to do a damn french inhale”

he choked out while his eyes water up, glossing over his red and heavy eyes.

you simply giggle whilst inhaling the smoke effortlessly through your nose, holding eye contact with his teary eyes.

he animatedly throws his hands up and covers his eyes with his hands.

you snort while twisting the roach in the ashtray you both just bought from the dispensary 5 minutes away from your airbnb.

“well, lucky for you, you have time and plenty of bud to get it down”

you say while snuggling your back into the corner of the huge couch in the even larger living room of the beach house.

“yeah yeahhh”

he retorts while doing the same, screwing his eyes shut.

“don’t tell me your going to crash out on me so early? its the first night you ass”

hamzah sits up, making his back completely straight and looks at you in the eyes.

“oh shit that reminds me…”

he blurts, while suddenly getting up and half jogs down the hallway.

“WOW, GOING TO SLEEP IN YOUR ROOM THEN”

“noooo”

you can hear him say distantly, while you hear some commotion from his room. he reenters the living room holding something behind his back.

“oh my god what did you get me?”

“hmm? i dont have anything”

he responds jokingly looking around the room, while approaching you. he grins while looking down at you, suddenly, proudly, whipping out a dvd.

you look away from his face to examine it. you read “smile 2”

you look back up at him and laugh while shaking your head.

“oh my god, PUT THAT SHIT IN RIGHT NOW”

you say enthusiastically, not intending the volume you said it. silently cringing at yourself.

he raises his eyebrows and nods, while putting his hand in front of your first

“theres a catch though…”

“oh god what” you smile calmer this time

“i may have brought a big ass bottle of grey goose…”

he drags on while pressing his lips into a thin smile.

“okay…?” you respond curiously.

“and i thought we could take a shot every time one of us jump”

he explains while pulling the other hand behind his back with the vodka.

you laugh and say “oh you little genius i love you”

-

the movie finally came to end. your entire body is buzzing and you can feel hamzah’s eyes on you.

“youd think this not being our first time watching this…we wouldnt be this fucked up right now”

you slur while sliding your arms behind you to rest on them.

“well, we’re also crossfaded right now so..i mean- i’d be fine if i werent also faded than a ho right now”

you lean your head back, looking at him

“yeah thats true”

you both look into each others dazed eyes for a moment

“im shaking im so cold right now…”

hamzah blinks and says

“damn..who asked? hah”

he says while pushing out a fake and obnoxious laugh. you groan while pushing his shoulder. he simply laughs and responds seriously

“do you want to go lay down then? are you sleepy?”

you hum while nodding your head.

“okayyy, lets go”

hamzah sits up straight and slaps his knees as he abruptly stands up

you attempt to do the same you catch your balance far less gracefully as hamzah did.

“woah woahh, i got you light weight”

“ughh i cant walk hamzah..oh noo, what do i do?”

you say seriously while holding onto his now closest shoulder as his arms are stretched out holding you up, under your shoulders

“its okay pretty..ill just have to carry you to bed”

he says plainly while crookedly smiling at you.

“like a princess?” you say quietly, your voice sounding higher than usual

hamzahs heart flutters while bending down to hook his strong arm behind your knees

“yup, like a princess”

he grunts while carefully making his way to your room.

finding your bed, he leans over it, gently placing you on your pillow.

“hmm, hamzah?”

you hum out, while grabbing his forearm as he was about to walk out.

“yeah princess?”

he whispers back

“can you sleep by me?”

hamzah laughs out of his nose and responds a bit louder

“sure i can”

hamzah climbs over you and plops himself besides you closer to the wall. he sighs contently

“mmm, thats the stuff”

“hamzah, i have the spins”

you mumble

“oh shoot”

“can you hold me?”

theres only silence after you say it. hamzah simply hums yes, while reaching over to bring you atop of him

“how does that feel?”

you respond by hum contently whilst nuzzling into his embrace

“yeah? good?”

he responds, in that sleepy voice you know so well

“yeah” you say, again higher than your usual voice

you can feel hamzahs heart beat faster against your chest.

he mindlessly runs his fingers lightly up and down your spine. your body instinctively shudders from the light tickle-ly sensation rippling throughout your whole body. reminding you of your inebriated state.

“you like that?” hamzah breathes almost inaudibly

youre only capable of squeaking out a feeble “mhm”

“yeah?” he repeats, slightly more confident this time

“yeah” you push out with a whine, while scooting you legs up higher up his torso, pushing your core against him harder than you intended.

immediately, but slightly hamzah lifts his hips into yours. hardly containing the groan he puts directly into your ear.

it feels like your heart is beating a million beats a minute. your whole body is scorching and your have zero thoughts. your bodies are moving by themselves. neither of you can contain the desire rushing south.

you whine again pushing your pussy harder onto his hardening bulge.

hamzah moans into your ear again slowly thrusting his dick back, attempting to find your slow rhythm.

the both of you are quietly panting at this point as you rub onto each other, the drugs absolutely distracting you to care to conceal your noises more carefully.

“mmph. just like that baby” hamzah whimpers louder this time

you move your hands to each side of his head to look at him. hamzah opens his half lidded eyes, and moves his hands from your back, to your jaw and finally pulls you in to kiss.

you moan into his mouth, keeping the same pace at your hips.

it was a rough kiss. it was passionate and messy. both of you are eating your moans desperately clinging to each other. contrasting the slow and sensual pace of your cunt dragging on his hard dick.

you fully sit up pulling away from his lips

“hamzah…” you whimper out dragging your hands down his stomach. hamzah sits up quickly with you, to desperately crash into your lips again.

“mmph” hamzah breathes out, breathing hard out of his nose while impatiently moving his hands to grope the softness of your ass. pressing and guiding you slightly quicker and harder onto his still clothed dick.

you whine louder while pulling on the waistband of his sweats. trying to pull just his pants off, he obliges by lifting his hips up high, shocking your clit with the quick and intense pressure.

your lips tear away from him and you gasp loudly, quickly grabbing his shoulders. hamzah groans clearly this time while dragging his sweats halfway down his thighs. he drops his hips back onto the mattress, whilst pulling your pajama pants as far as he can.

“takes these off” he gulps slightly muffling his order

you lift one knee at a time as he helps pull them fully off of your legs.

“there you go” he pants, pulling your cunt back into his lap.

you immediately start grinding on his now hot and sticky bulge just behind the thin material of his boxers.

“m’you feel so good” you whine while throwing your head back

hamzah moans with every quick breath, as he slides his rather cold hands up your shirt to grope your tits.

“hah-“ you pant as he molests your nipples

“god youre so sexy baby”

“hah- ah-”

“that feel good baby?”

“yeah” you whine

“yeah? fuck youre so wet” he grunts as his dick get wetter the more he talks

“that all for me baby?”

you bite your lip attempting to muffle your incessant whines and moans “yes hamzah”

“i need to hear you baby”

you let go of your bottom lip and repeat “all for you hamzah”

“all mine. no one else yeah?”

“no- no one else”

“yeah..youre mine-” hamzah repeats, almost as if hes talking to himself. he lifts his hand off of your tits to slap his hand hard against the plush of your ass.

“right pretty girl?”

you gasp and your voice quivers as you respond “y- yeah- yes”

youre grinding on his dick faster than what he was making you, making him throw his head back to groan.

“fuck just like that”

you’re panting and whimpering as hamzah breathes faster

“fu-fuck”

“god yes baby..”

“hamz’hamzah…im gunna-“ you cry out

“go ahead cum on me baby” hamzah pathetically whines out

the pleasure washes over your whole body, making the top of your head tingle. you jump at hamzah twitching under neath you as your cunt gets sopping wet from him cumming right in his boxers.

you cry out as he rides out the both of your climaxes. your uncovered tits press against his panting chest as you fall onto him. he grabs the small of your back impossibly tight. as if hes trying to ground himself from his climax.

your both breathing out of your mouth. he laughs tiredly and you sigh and laugh shortly after.

“you feel better now baby?”

you sit up looking at his face realizing your spins are gone.

[murdrdocs]

i think the first time you and joquin hook up, you're giggling. your face and ears are flushed, and you're giggling bc you can't believe this is actually happening. you're trying to make jokes about the situation you've gotten yourself into to ignore how you're starting to sweat bc doing this with him is actually a big deal for you. then you lock eyes and joaquin's not laughing. in fact, you don't think you've ever seen him so quiet. his eyes are roaming all over your face, drinking you in (is that the right phrase?) and you can see the redness on his cheeks and creeping up his neck. he tells you to cut that shit out and that's when you know this is just as serious for him as it is for you.

GOD i wish he was real😣

i can see this so vividly im gonna throw the fuck up.

he's sitting at the top of the bed, back lazily pressed against the stack of skewed pillows. he's almost completely naked, only one layer—the most important layer, keeping him from revealing everything to you. in no time, though, joaquín's boxers will slide off of his hips and join the pile of clothes on the floor, just as your bra and panties will, too.

you're working on that now, forearms wrapped around your back as you fumble for the clasp on your bra. it's taking you too long, even though it shouldn't. but you're nervous. you are so incredibly nervous and by trying not to show it, you're letting it show. hands shaking and fumbling, giggles coming from your lips, eyes avoiding contact.

you're so in your own world that you haven't even realized that joaquín is inviting you into his. not until he leans forward and places a hand on your bicep. just that one touch stops you.

"do you want me to...?"

your first instinct is to say no, but it would be foolish to do so. you're obviously struggling, why not just accept help? you nod and let your arms fall.

joaquín reaches around your back and places both hands on the clasp of your bra. he's close to you like this, not as close as when the two of you were kissing just minutes before this. but somehow this feels more intimate than before. sharing his air—lips hovering, his eyes staring at the bridge of your nose and, likely, your cleavage, your eyes finally just looking at the tan and clear skin of his face.

he's so pretty.

your bra is undone and you let it fall from your arms. joaquín does help a bit; he pulls the piece of material off of your arms and tosses it to the side of the bed. and then he just stares.

you're still feeling giggly, laughter is bubbling under your skin, and to try and avoid it you lean forward, cocking your head to the side enough to slot your nose with his. he kisses you back with lingering pecks. once, twice, and as you go in for a third he whispers against your lips, "hold on, hold on."

you're pulling back, eyebrows furrowed, wondering what could be wrong. "is something—?"

he shakes his head, big hands coming up to rest on your hips. "no. 's okay. just wanna look at you for a sec."

immediately, you're grinning, playfully punching his shoulder with not even an ounce of your weight or real intention behind it. you're giggling as you chastise him, jokingly telling him to hurry up and other things through a ramble.

he humors you for a second, lips splitting into a grin that always blinds you initially, but then he licks his lips and his smile drops to make room for an expression that's just a little more serious.

"no, no, no. let me just look at you. c'mon, be serious for a second. just sit there and look pretty. you've always been good at that."

and then your brain is spinning and you can't do anything but listen to him. sitting on your heels, tits out, letting joaquín stare at you. and yeah, his gaze is lustful, of course it is. but it's appreciative. he's admiring you, not for what you have, but for who you are.

as soon as he gives you the go ahead, you're climbing onto his lap and kissing him stupid.

[xcherryc2x]

The roles have been reversed. Toji Fushiguro is your landlord…..How do you pay rent with no money???

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹ ‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷

Toji x femreader Wordcount: 1.3k

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ

"Slower…slower…unggghhhh…please go s-slower"

The whole bed is rocking back and forth. You swear it's an earthquake in your room. The ceiling light looks like it could fall any moment right onto you both

The man whose fucking you is so huge. His dick is fucking you up, it hurts so good.

he knows you secretly like it rough, which is why he doesn't take all your whining seriously. He always wants to see just how much more can you take.

You didn't really have a choice here. He's gonna keep ramming his thick cock into your tight cunt like there's no tommrow

Your moans get muffled by the pillow your holding onto for life. Although your relationship with this man may be undeclared, you are definitely sure about one thing, he has an insatiable sex drive

"Toji l'm begging you.. no more. we already did it in the morning"

It's true, he had dropped by unexpectedly right when you woke up earlier today, demanding you strip and bend over.

But considering the short time between then and now. Your whole body is much more sensitive reacting to each and everyone of his naughty touches.

He’s going to fast and hard, he's just ignoring your pleading, you're begging him to be more gentle

But instead he just keeps thrusting and leans down, holding you by your chin to kiss your puffy lips, with so much lust, this is his best attempt to shut you up. He loves the way you look back at him

His tight squeeze on your butt is making red indentations. You just wish his grip was a bit less aggressive, you weren't gonna run away or anything, you know there is no way to escape this tank of a man

"Stop... *squelch* ..complaing *squelch* ...when this hungry hole of yours can't seem to let me go" his heavy breaths combine with his low laughing.

"...you fucking whore"

The way he dominates over you "puts you in your place" ...has made you develop a certain attachment to him

Between his degrading responses, he leaves hickeys all over your nape and soft shoulders even biting the side of your neck, causing you to clench your pussy, suffocating his massive cock. He groans and moans softly, bucking his hips with more force.

He's desperate to do his favourite thing as of late. Filling up your greedy cunt with his creamy cum. He knows your desperate you are for it too. They way your toes curl right when you orgasm and your body shivers expecting him to finish right with you. You're just waiting for him to cum inside.

This is how you pay your landlord and you're ashamed of it.

The sex was so mind blowing that you never really had the chance to really think about what you were really doing

But in reality your body was being used...used by the most sexiest man you have ever laid eyes on. You find everything about him attractive, to the way he talks to how good he is at aftercare

But you often wonder, how will you ever develop or even create a proper relationship if he only sees you to fuck you, and the way he fucks you makes you incapable to speak after...every single time.

You just wish you had money so you could pay him real payments.

But your a full time college student, broke with no time for a job

You've tried to talk to him about this before but they way he always undresses you with his eyes just makes you forget anything that was ever in your mind.

After he finishes in you, you sigh in relief, maybe now's your chance to talk

"Toji, I-I was thinking about getting a job or something...u-uh so I could like pay you for real"

You don't move to face him. You choose to stay in the ass up face down position he's left you in, he's finally taking his big hands off your poor butt

But he keeps his dick inside of you as he whispers into your ear,

"you're my slut, so I don't need the money"

You do not respond. You're shameless pussy does all the talking instead. It started to pulse and twitch around his dick. Causing him to smirk at your reaction

He starts moving again, this time at a more manageable pace, making you feel every vien on his dick rub inside your walls

But alas, you do not have much strength left as you realiz hands are once again on your back holding you up, preventing you from collapsing

"You get tried so quickly baby...try your best to keep up"

how can he say that while he hasn't given you a proper break since you started??

You are no stranger to Toji's strength, after all he uses so much of it on you. Carrying you bridal style, holding you up against the wall, using his buff arms to trap you close. You can remember many past instances like those. This time you cum again rather quickly. you've lost count of how many orgasms you had.

Because of his semen pooling up in you, his dick is able to reach even deeper, sliding in easily with each thrust

"it's too.. deep" you whine still knowing he will just try harder to go further in

"Where is it?" He asks with a cocky expression

You stick out your ass more as you place your hand on your stomach. You feel the bulge his dick makes. He puts his hand on your hand pressing up on your belly making you whimper.

"Can you feel it better now hmm"

You don't know why but you nod. After seeing you have finally stopped whining a bit he starts talking again in a low voice

"I'm sorry for being rough...honestly I just can't help myself" his voice is so deep and manly you could listen to him talk for hours.

He pulls out and takes a sip of water from the nightstand. He thinks you can't take anymore

Your cheeks blush a dark shade of pink, why does he talk so sweet all of a sudden. You really feel humiliated now.

The whole time you were practically begging him to stop slower and now you want him to continue after he stopped on his own??? After he apologized so sweetly??

Were you that much of a whore that the moment he pulled out, you wish he didn't

He starts kissing you all over your back, trying to get you to face him and lay on your back but you wouldn't budge. He's never really forceful with you, you know his dirty talk is always an act to get you as wet as possible. A trail of his his saliva on your back from affectionate kisses making you feel adored.

You are embarrassed by the fact that you want another round

But you don't know what your doing to him. He's trying his hardest, controlling himself not to put his dick back into your gaping hole filled with his fluids.

He tries to hold himself back instead, continuing to kiss the back of your thighs, moving his face closer and closer to the inside of your legs, inches away from your dripping pussy.

Of course he's teasing you by not let his lips actually reach your needy pussy, but his hot breath on it, is making you squirm underneath his tight embrace

"Toji...can we do it again... please?" you say extremely quietly

He knew you would give in. His dick has stayed rock hard but your words are now making it throb

"you're such a slut for me baby, m'gonna fuck you so hard you're gonna regret asking"

He thrusted in you with so much force, at the same time pulling you towards him to take all of him in at once. Yup, you definitely beileved what he just said.

And so he does as promised and you try your best not to pass out while he fucks you sensless for the remainder of the night😊

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹ ‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷

[whosashan]

Hiii! I’m sorry I couldn’t find if you were open for requests or not so if you don’t take any at this moment please ignore this.

I really love your style of writing and I was wondering about how lads boys would react if MC asked them if they are in love with her or who she was in the past life. I know with Caleb and Zayne it can be tricky but I was thinking that maybe Zayne remembered his past or like MC suddenly remembered everything? That’s just an idea I had in my mind.

Anyways like I said please ignore this request if you don’t take any at this moment or you don’t like that idea!

Have a nice day❤️

Who do you love?

A/N:Hi there! Thank you for your request. You didn't specify if you want it to be more angsty or strictly fluffy, so I did a bit of both ;p I tried to base it off of their myth's, but since I don't have Sylus' and Rafayel's memory cards, I eyeballed it. I hope you'll like it, any feedback is greatly appreciated :] Have a nice day!

For a while now, an insidious question has gnawed at the recesses of your mind. Perhaps it stems from deep-seated insecurities, a relentless curiosity, or something more profound and unsettling.

Since uncovering the intricate tapestry of your past with your lover, a disquieting thought has taken root: are you merely a stand-in for someone who no longer exists? The paradox is maddening—you find yourself envious of a former self. The notion pierces your heart with a sharp, unyielding pain, knowing that there was once another—ironically, another version of you—who preceded you. That person was, undeniably, their one true love.

You grapple with the tormenting thought: are you genuinely the one he loves now, or are you simply a surrogate, a shadow of the past?

Xavier

The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, shadows flickering against the walls, casting elongated shapes that danced with every shift of the flames. The air was warm, thick with the scent of wax and faint traces of Xavier’s smell - something so uniquely him.

He laid across the couch, head resting on your thighs, his platinum hair spilling like silk over your lap. Your fingers moved through the strands absentmindedly, tracing over his scalp in slow, rhythmic motions, just the way you knew he liked. His breathing was steady, his body relaxed, and for a fleeting moment, everything felt peaceful. Intimate. Safe.

But your thoughts refused to be still.

You wondered—had he been like this with her too? Had she tangled her fingers in his hair just as you did now? Had she peppered his cheeks with soft kisses, stolen those rare, beautiful laughs that you cherished so much?

The thought shouldn’t sting. It was you, after all. The past version of you, the one whose fate had already been entwined with his long before you even remembered him. And yet, there was a weight in your chest, something heavy, something bitter—regret? Uncertainty? You should have been grateful. It was you. It had always been you. But still, the question gnawed at you.

How different was she?

Did her smile tilt the same way? Did she struggle to keep her hair neat, no matter how much effort she put into it? When she laughed, did her cheeks lift high enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes?

The flickering candlelight traced soft golden hues over Xavier’s face, his lashes casting delicate shadows against his cheekbones. His beauty was almost inhuman, sculpted and refined, made even softer by the haze of drowsiness settling over him. He was close to sleep, lulled by your touch. Maybe it was cruel to ask now, to shatter this moment of quiet serenity.

But you couldn’t stop yourself.

You inhaled sharply, trying to gather the courage that had been slipping through your fingers. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper—

"What was she like?"

The silence stretched.

You thought, for a moment, that he had already fallen asleep, that your question would go unanswered. Relief and disappointment tangled together in your chest, neither strong enough to win over the other.

Then, his voice, soft yet weighted.

"Who are you asking about?"

His head shifted slightly, his dark lashes fluttering open just enough for blue eyes to meet yours. There was exhaustion in them, slight confusion, as if you had pulled him from the edge of sleep. Your fingers stilled in his hair, and he let out a quiet, displeased groan at the loss of comfort.

"Her. I mean… me. The past me." The words felt clumsy, uncertain. How were you even supposed to ask something like this?

Xavier’s brows knit together for a second, a flicker of thought crossing his face before his expression settled back into something unreadable.

"You were the same person you are now." His reply was immediate, almost dismissive, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

But that wasn’t enough.

"I want you to be more specific." Your voice was barely above a breath, but there was something desperate beneath it.

He exhaled, fingers idly drawing slow, deliberate circles on your thigh, as if the motion would somehow ease whatever storm was brewing inside you.

"She was… eccentric," he finally said, his voice quiet, thoughtful. A pause. A hesitation. "Always stubborn. Always insistent. Never knowing when to give up." A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "Not that much different from you now."

You scoffed, more out of reflex than humor. "Should I feel insulted?" you muttered, though your voice lacked any real bite.

But then, as quickly as the moment of levity had come, it was gone again. The question that had been clawing at your ribs threatened to spill from your lips.

And then—

"Did you love her more?"

It barely came out, the words fragile, splintering even as they left you. Your entire body tensed.

Xavier’s hand stilled against your thigh. For the first time, something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe even hurt. Slowly, he lifted his head, pushing himself up until he was finally at eye level with you. His gaze studied you intently, tracing every furrow of your brow, every small tension in your lips.

And then, gently—so, so gently—he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that sent warmth curling through your chest. He was close now, so close you could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, his warmth wrapping around you like a quiet promise.

"I would love every form of you the same." His voice was steady, unwavering. "For me, you will always be the one. Whether it’s the you from before, the you now, or the you in another lifetime. It doesn’t matter if you were human, a fairy, or even a worm."

A small, teasing smirk curled his lips at the end, a deliberate attempt to ease the tension, to coax a reaction from you. And it worked—heat crept up your neck, settling in your cheeks, and despite everything, you felt the ghost of a flustered pout forming on your lips.

Xavier leaned in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to the tip of your nose, before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze once more.

"Never doubt yourself again, hm?"

And then, without waiting for an answer, he pulled you into his arms, tucking you against his chest, your face fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck. His embrace was warm, steady, grounding. The kind of touch that made all your doubts seem small, insignificant.

Because even if your question hadn’t been answered completely, even if some part of you still ached for something more—there was one thing you were certain of.

He never made you feel like she was better. He never made you feel like you had to compete with your own past.

For Xavier, it was always you.

Zayne

The only sound in the dimly lit room was the rhythmic clicking of keyboard keys, an almost hypnotic cadence breaking through the thick silence. The golden glow of Zayne’s desk lamp illuminated the contours of his sharp features, casting long shadows over his workspace. He sat with his usual meticulous posture, his frame effortlessly composed, exuding an air of quiet authority even in something as mundane as working. The reflection of his laptop screen glimmered faintly against his glasses, obscuring the rich hazel depths of his eyes.

Across the room, you lounged on the couch, your body half-sunk into the plush cushions, a book resting open in your lap. Despite the separate worlds you were both immersed in, there was a comfort in just existing beside him—his presence was grounding, a constant anchor in a sea of uncertainties.

Your gaze trailed over the words printed on the page. A romance novel—one that struck too close to home. It told the story of a man who spent lifetimes searching for his lover, chasing fragments of them across time, waiting for fate to intertwine them once more.

“Is it really me you love? Or the person—the people—I used to be?”

The line cut through you like glass, burrowing itself deep into the pit of your stomach.

Your fingers hesitated over the page as your eyes flickered toward Zayne. He remained at his desk, seemingly lost in his work, his expression unreadable. His dark hair fell slightly over his face, a few strands brushing against the thin frames of his glasses. Even when exhausted, he looked composed—controlled.

It was foolish, perhaps, to ask. You knew how he hated to be interrupted when he was deep in thought, yet you also knew yourself. If you didn’t speak now, the words would fester, gnawing at you like a wound left untreated.

"Zayne."

His name left your lips barely above a murmur, but he heard you. He always did.

His fingers stilled over the keyboard, his posture shifting as he leaned back into his chair slightly. He turned to you, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his jawline.

"Yes, love?" His voice was deep, slightly hoarse from disuse, carrying with it a subtle weight of exhaustion.

You hesitated. Just for a moment.

Sensing it, Zayne pushed his laptop aside and stood, his movements slow, deliberate. Without a word, he made his way toward you, his presence a steady force as he settled beside you on the couch. Lifting your legs with ease, he draped them over his lap, his fingers resting absentmindedly against your ankle. His warmth bled into you, solid and grounding.

Encouraged by the gesture, you swallowed and forced yourself to ask the question that had been lingering in your mind for far too long.

"What was my past self like?"

His brows lifted slightly, his fingers pausing their absentminded movements. "That’s a rather unexpected question," he murmured, adjusting his glasses—a telltale sign of nervousness, though he would never admit it. "What’s brought this on?"

You frowned. "Don’t change the subject."

A subtle exhale left him, barely audible, but you caught it. You knew him well enough to recognize when he was trying to sidestep something.

"I don't remember everything." His voice was measured, but there was a slight tightness to it. "Fragments, maybe. Fleeting pieces that don’t quite form a complete picture. But from what I do recall…" He trailed off, adjusting his glasses again before continuing.

"She wasn’t so different from you now." His tone was contemplative, as if choosing his words carefully. "Determined. Unyielding. Always knew what she wanted and wouldn’t rest until she got it." A small pause. "Much like you."

Your lips pressed into a thin line. That answer—it wasn’t enough.

"Did you love her more?" The words came out before you could stop them.

This time, his reaction was immediate. His entire body tensed, his fingers tightening just slightly against your leg—not enough to hurt, but enough for you to notice.

His eyes met yours, a flicker of something unreadable flashing across his expression before it smoothed into something composed once more.

"As far as I’m concerned, she is you. Every version of you—past, present, future—exists within the same soul, deeply ingrained in me. To compare them would be a fruitless endeavor. There has never been a question of more or less—there is only you."

His voice was even, unwavering, but there was a weight to his words, something deeper lying beneath them. A certainty so absolute that you almost felt ridiculous for asking.

Still, a part of you felt… silly. Jealous over yourself. How insecure could you be?

But it wasn’t insecurity, was it? It was the cruel weight of uncertainty, the knowledge that there were pieces of yourself you might never truly remember. And that truth would always linger, like a ghost in the back of your mind.

Zayne, ever perceptive, seemed to sense the turmoil playing behind your eyes. He lifted his hand, his fingers trailing up your arm before settling against your own, giving it a light squeeze. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a grounding gesture.

A smirk—barely there, but unmistakable—tugged at the corner of your lips as you met his gaze. "Is that so? Then tell me more."

Zayne let out a soft, resigned sigh, shaking his head just slightly. But even as he feigned reluctance, there was the unmistakable ghost of a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

And somehow, even if your question wasn’t entirely answered, even if you knew the uncertainty would return again someday—right now, his presence was enough.

Rafayel

Laughter filled the dimly lit bedroom, loud and breathless, bouncing off the walls as you squirmed beneath Rafayel’s relentless assault. His fingers moved with precision, ghosting over your sides, tracing over sensitive spots he had long since memorized. Your body arched in protest, hands weakly attempting to shove him away, but he was stronger, faster—his lips curled in amusement as he watched you crumble beneath his touch.

"Alright, it's enough!" You gasped between helpless giggles, trying—failing—to inject authority into your voice. The demand might have carried weight if not for the way laughter cracked through it, rendering it powerless.

Still, Rafayel, ever the merciful tormentor, finally relented. With a low chuckle, he slowed his movements, his hands instead settling on your waist, fingers splayed lazily over your hips as if he had all the time in the world. Then, in a gesture as disarming as it was tender, he leaned in, pressing playful kisses across your cheeks, your nose, the corners of your lips—each one stealing the remnants of your breath.

Your smile only widened, cheeks flushed a warm pink.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was already watching you, his usual mischief softened by something more dangerous—something deeper. His dark hair framed his face in perfect disarray, stray strands falling over his forehead, and his striking blue-pink eyes shimmered with something unreadable.

"You're killing me, cutie." His voice was honeyed, teasing, yet laced with a quiet reverence. "From all that laughing, I figured you loved my fingers on you. Should I take that as a request?"

A flick to his forehead wiped the smirk off his lips.

He gasped dramatically, cradling the spot as if you had mortally wounded him. "Now, you need to kiss it better!" His pout was exaggerated, his dramatic flair in full effect, yet beneath the playful act was a calculated charm—one that had always made him so dangerously captivating.

Rolling your eyes, you indulged him, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his forehead. The faint imprint of your lipstick lingered, and you smirked to yourself, deciding to keep that detail to yourself. It suited him, after all.

Rafayel hummed in satisfaction, but then his expression shifted. "That’s slightlyyy better." A pause. "Now, how about we order some seafood?" His lips curved into a small, knowing smile, his tone lighthearted.

And yet—your stomach dropped.

Your expression faltered, barely perceptible, but Rafayel caught it instantly. His head tilted slightly, amusement fading into mild confusion. "What is it? Wasn't it your favorite?"

Your blood ran cold.

"I told you—multiple times—I hate seafood." Your voice was steady, but the weight behind it was anything but. It wasn’t the mistake itself that stung—it was the realization that followed.

It was her favorite.

The realization came like a blade, cutting through you mercilessly. The past you—the before you—the version of yourself that had lived and loved Rafayel long before your memories had been wiped away.

You weren’t her. You weren’t the one he had fallen for first.

The air in the room felt heavier now, thick with unspoken words.

Rafayel’s face fell. His usual mask of arrogance slipped, replaced by something fleeting—regret, guilt, self-reproach. He cursed himself under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "Ah—sorry… we'll get Chinese, yeah?" His voice, usually so smooth, so effortless, now carried an edge of uncertainty. He was scrambling. He knew he had messed up.

But the damage had already been done.

Because you finally saw it—the cracks in his reassurances. The way his stories about her had painted a picture you could never quite step into. She had been different. More confident. More cunning. More effortlessly herself.

More like the version of you that you always wished to be.

Your chest tightened, and before you could stop yourself, you turned away from him. You couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. Not now.

"Cutie…" His voice dropped to a murmur, gentle, coaxing. You felt his fingers ghost toward your cheek, but you recoiled before he could touch you.

That reaction made something shift in him.

The softness vanished, replaced by something colder. His jaw tensed, his lips parting slightly in what could have been a plea—but he hesitated.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat.

"Did you love her more, Rafayel?"

The words cut through the silence like a blade. There was no teasing lilt in your voice, no room for him to twist the moment into something playful. No. This time, you weren’t giving him an escape.

His body went rigid, his lips parting slightly as if the sheer audacity of the question had momentarily stolen his breath. Then, panic flickered in his eyes—just for a second.

"What?—Of course not!" The words left him too quickly, too forcefully. "I mean, god, you're the same person." His voice was rough, desperate, but the way he said it—like he was trying to convince himself just as much as you—made your stomach churn.

"Liar."

A whisper. Sharp. Accusing.

You pushed yourself up, slipping from his grasp, but Rafayel moved fast, his fingers catching your wrist before you could step away. His grip wasn’t forceful, but it was enough to make you halt.

"Where are you going?"

"Home." Your voice wavered, but your resolve did not. "I can't—I don't want to talk to you right now."

He tensed. "Y/N, don’t do this—"

"I need time." You exhaled, voice gentler now, but firm. "We’ll talk when I’m ready."

You didn’t wait for his reply.

The moment you slipped from his grasp, the warmth of his touch faded, replaced by the chilling weight of distance. And as you walked toward the door, you felt his gaze burning into your back.

But he didn’t chase you.

Not this time.

And as the door shut behind you, leaving Rafayel alone on his vast, king-sized bed, you both knew—

This wasn’t the end of the conversation.

Not even close.

Sylus

The silk sheets pooled beneath you as you sat on Sylus' bed, the fabric smooth against your skin. The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed the room in golden hues, casting long shadows as you rummaged through the bags at your feet—your most recent indulgence. Or rather, his indulgence.

"You didn’t have to buy all this for me, you know," you murmured without looking up, fingers brushing over the expensive fabrics, the scent of luxury still clinging to them.

Across from you, Sylus leaned against the grand headboard, his arms lazily crossed, an amused smirk playing at his lips. His crimson eyes glimmered under the dim light, ever watchful, ever knowing.

"And yet, somehow, I still managed to," he mused, his voice a smooth melody laced with amusement. "Truly tragic, how I remain cursed with wealth and the urge to spoil you."

You rolled your eyes, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

"Why don’t you give me a fashion show, sweetie?" he suggested, tilting his head slightly.

Your excitement sparked instantly. You barely spared him a glance before gathering the bags and rushing into the bathroom, the sound of his low chuckle following you as you disappeared behind the door.

As you sifted through the clothes, something caught your eye—a dress you didn’t remember picking out. The color was… odd. Not bad, necessarily, but definitely not something you would have chosen for yourself. It washed you out in a way that felt unnatural, like a version of you that wasn’t quite right.

Sylus.

You sighed, shaking your head with a fond smile. He had excellent taste; he’d picked out dresses for you before—ones that flattered your figure, ones that made you feel effortlessly beautiful. But this? This felt like it belonged to someone else.

Still, you slipped it on. It’s always nice to try something new, you reasoned. And besides, you could always return it.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you straightened your posture, putting on your best model walk as you sauntered toward him with a small, playful smile.

Sylus’ gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate.

"You look ravishing," he murmured, his deep voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. He pushed off the headboard and closed the space between you in an instant, his hands slipping to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The scent of his cologne wrapped around you, warm and intoxicating.

"You think?" you asked, though your gaze drifted downward again, fingers idly smoothing over the fabric.

"That’s a rather interesting choice, boss." The nickname was teasing, but there was a layer of curiosity beneath it. "I don’t think I like this color on me, but if you do… I suppose I’ll wear it anyway."

A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest.

"Nonsense," he dismissed easily. "You’ve always looked stunning in this color. Or any color, for that matter, kitten."

Something in your chest twisted.

Your brows knitted together slightly as you peered up at him. Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe he meant nothing by it. And yet—

"I’ve never worn this color before, though." You chuckled, keeping your tone light, masking the unease settling at the edges of your mind.

Sylus said nothing at first. A beat of silence stretched between you, but his grip didn’t falter. His expression remained unreadable, except for the slight glint of something in his crimson eyes—something calculated.

You knew this game. You knew how he played.

He was refined, meticulous with his words, carefully measured in everything he did. Sylus didn’t make mistakes.

And yet, you had caught one.

He loved you. That, you never doubted. His devotion was absolute, unwavering. But there was always this—this lingering ghost of someone else. A woman you had once been. A woman you no longer remembered. A woman you weren’t even sure you were.

And yet, she still lived here. In his mind. In his stories. In his memories of you.

"I can practically hear your mind working." His voice was smooth, but there was a quiet edge to it. "Speak."

You hesitated. You didn’t want to ruin the moment. Didn’t want to pick at something that might unravel everything.

"You seem to like reminiscing about the past," you finally said, keeping your voice even, careful.

His eyes darkened slightly.

"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Why wouldn’t I? The moments I’ve spent with the one I love should not be forgotten."

Your chest tightened.

He didn’t see it the way you did. To him, the past and the present were intertwined, threads of the same existence. But to you? The past felt like it belonged to someone else entirely.

"Is that so?" Your lips curved into a wry smile, though the bitterness in your voice was barely concealed. "Then tell me, Sylus—who do you love more? Her or me?"

It was meant to sound like a joke. A playful jab. But the moment the words left your lips, the room shifted. His grip on your waist tightened, his body going still. His expression didn’t change, but you knew him well enough to see the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"What kind of question is that, kitten?" His voice remained steady, but there was something underneath it now—something more careful.

"It doesn’t matter if it’s the past or the present I’m thinking about—it’s always you on my mind."

But it didn’t feel like it.

Not in the way that mattered.

You swallowed, the months of quiet insecurities bubbling up, spilling over before you could stop them. "I don’t want you to think about her," you admitted, voice quieter now but no less firm. "It’s in the past—the past I don’t even remember."

A beat of silence.

For the first time that night, Sylus looked genuinely caught off guard. His expression wavered for the briefest moment before something else took its place—something softer.

"…I apologize." His voice, always so effortlessly poised, now carried an unfamiliar weight. "I never meant to make you feel that way, sweetheart. I won’t mention it again."

And yet—right now, it wasn’t enough.

"I need a moment for myself." The words left you before you could think them through.

You turned, ready to step away, but his fingers curled around your wrist—not tight, not forceful, just there.

"I won’t stop you," he murmured. "Take all the time you need." His hand lifted, brushing against your cheek, his touch warm, careful. You refused to meet his gaze, afraid of the emotions that might spill over if you did.

"But know that —when you’re ready, I’ll be right here."

A pause. Then, softer—so tender it nearly broke you—

"I love you."

And then, he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head before letting you go.

And just like that, you slipped away from him.

Out of the room, out of his reach, out into the night, letting the wind carry you as you tried to untangle the storm of emotions inside you.

You weren’t sure how long it would take. An hour, a day, a month.

But Sylus—he would wait.

He always did.

Caleb

A/N:For Caleb, I decided to twist it a little and instead make it about your future self. Hope that's alright!

It was always easy to be carefree with Caleb nearby.

He made the world feel manageable—as if no matter what went wrong, he would be there, steady as ever, grounding you with nothing more than a glance. You hated how much you depended on him, how much you needed him, but he made it feel so natural, so right.

And even now, as you perched on the kitchen counter, watching the way his muscled back flexed with each movement, the rhythmic sound of his knife against the cutting board filling the space between you, you thought—maybe this is it. Maybe this is all I need.

Your gaze lingered. It was the only sight you ever wanted to see.

Caleb, as if sensing your attention, let out a low chuckle. "I can feel you staring, pipsqueak." He turned his head slightly, a boyish grin tugging at his lips. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"

Your heart stuttered. No matter how much he changed over the years, that grin—that teasing, infuriating grin—never did.

"You're a terrible chef," you huffed, crossing your arms. "I’ve been waiting for my dish for, what? An hour now?"

He snorted. "Fifteen minutes, actually."

"Felt longer."

"Impatient as ever." He shook his head, flipping something onto a plate with practiced ease.

You chuckled softly, but the warmth in your chest flickered, cooling as a shadow of uncertainty crept into your mind. You hated thinking about the future. The unpredictability of it, the way it loomed, stretching out like an abyss, no matter how tightly you tried to hold onto the present.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice Caleb moving until his presence was right there. His hand shot out, pinching your cheek.

"Finally got your attention, pips." His voice was teasing, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.

You groaned, swatting his hand away as he set your plate aside. His violet eyes—always so sharp, so unnervingly aware—locked onto yours.

"What's going on in that little head of yours, hmm?" He leaned in slightly, voice still playful, but now edged with something serious.

You hesitated.

It was stupid. You knew it was stupid to ask. But the words clawed at your throat, relentless.

"I was just thinking..." you mumbled, staring down at your dangling feet.

"Rare sight." He smirked.

You shot him a glare and shoved at his chest, earning a low chuckle.

"Shut up." You exhaled, fingers tightening around the hem of your shirt. Then, before you could lose your nerve— "Caleb, do you see me in your future?"

The teasing glint in his eyes faded instantly.

For the first time in the conversation, his smirk disappeared, replaced by something unreadable. He stared at you, brow furrowing slightly, as if trying to figure out why the hell you’d ask something so ridiculous.

Then—without hesitation— "You’re the only thing I’m certain about in my future."

Your breath hitched.

"It’s you, by my side, exploiting me as your personal slave." His lips quirked up, but you knew him too well. The humor was a shield, a flimsy attempt to soften the truth beneath it.

And the truth was—Caleb didn’t make promises easily. He was a liar, through and through. You knew that. Hell, he was probably the biggest liar you’d ever met.

But right now?

There was no lie in his voice. No hesitation in his certainty.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the future didn’t feel so terrifying.

But doubt was a cruel thing. It never let go easily.

"But what if I’m not the same?" you murmured, fingers idly toying with the fabric of your shirt.

Caleb scoffed, ruffling your hair with a tenderness that contradicted the smug grin on his face.

"Then I’ll adapt to whatever version of you I get." His voice was soft, but his grip—his presence—was solid.

Your throat tightened as warmth bloomed in your chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, breathing him in.

"Even if I become the worst version of myself?" you teased, tilting your head slightly.

Caleb hummed, amused. "If that’s the case, I’ll just make sure I become the best version of myself." He leaned in, voice dropping to something lower, something that sent a shiver down your spine. "And if your worst self turns out to be particularly sadistic, well..." His lips barely brushed against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I’ll make sure to satisfy your cravings, baby"

Heat coiled in your stomach. You barely had a second to react before he pulled back, pressing a finger to your lips just as you tried to close the distance.

"Ah-ah. Eat first, pips."

You groaned. "You’re impossible."

He chuckled, eyes glinting with something dark, something possessive. Something that promised—no matter what version of yourself you became, he would always be there.

With Caleb, there was only one certainty in life—

You would always have someone who loved you unconditionally.

[kurokawaia]

Hi, I read your story, where the kids are rude to mom (the kids of Bakugou, Dabi and Hawks) how do the kids react if their mom decides to ignore them as punishment?

AFTERMATH OF YELLING AT YOUR MAMA!

⋆·˚ ༘ * FEATURING :: Bakugou Katsuki, Hawks, Dabi - (separately)

⋆·˚ ༘ * WARNINGS :: none really, bakugou x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader, dabi x fem!reader, x fem!reader, second pov, reader is a mother, kids have a little bit of attitude, kids are around 5-8 years of age, slight spoilers for dabi! I don't condone ignoring your children, please don't, + more? MINI DRABBLES.

DABI

Well, you and Dabi's son is a carbon copy of his father, so he acts the same when being given the silent treatment only less touchy (obviously da faq) The first stage is acting like he doesn't care, he will cross his arms letting out a grumpy huff while rolling his eyes, "Whatever, I don't need to talk to you anyways," is what your son will say, but, after a few hours he starts to feel a little weird. His mum isn't nagging, isn't scolding, isn't even looking at him and it feels so wrong because you always give him attention whether he wants it or not.

The second stage will be when he starts to get annoyed at not receiving any attention, he will trail behind you, definitely gets extra moody (shocker where he got that from) he will go around kicking random toys, furniture and overexaggerated sighs. This happens all until he hugs the back of your legs and mumbles, "I'm sorry I was mean, Mum. Can you talk to me again?" looking as far as you can behind you all you could do was regret ignoring him because of how dilated his cyan eyes were, having his lips in a sad pout and a sheen of tears glazed over his eyes.

HAWKS

Hawks’ kid can’t handle the silent treatment, because she is as needy as her father when it comes to attention. The moment she realizes you’re ignoring them, their brain starts spiraling because you usually just forgive her but Hawks suggested a different strategy. There is no phase one with her, she immediately tries to fix it with begs of your name and tugging at your shirt and a big pout on her face (something she learnt from Keigo). Due to you being used to Keigo's antics, you don't fold, then she goes running to her daddy, her head meeting at his lap as she sulks.

"Mummy is going to hate me forever," she mumbles in an overdramatic tone. The only thinks Keigo could do was laugh because he finds his daughter truly fascinating sometimes. "Sure she will, sweetheart."

BAKUGOU

At first, Bakugou’s kid scoffs, you gonna ignore him? Yeah, he's ignoring you too. He will let out the most dramatic huff and cross his arms and poke his tongue out at you and in the most unconvincing voice he will say, "Like I care!" Ti which, you have to force down a laugh that was about to slip out before Katsuki nudged your arm, making sure you don't break character. Although, just like his father, he will make every attempt to make you jealous and it's honestly the pettiest and funniest thing you will ever experience. Your son will say how much he needs his daddy's help right in front of you and Katsuki has to force down his laugh as well because you both know what he's doing.

Then a few hours pass and then he starts to finally let it sink in and then he becomes frustrated and here comes when he stomps up to you while your doing your skincare with Katsuki. "Yell at me, Mum!" he would pout and you were confused at what he was getting at before you let out a soft laugh, bending down to wrap your arms around your sweet boy and he does the same without any embarrassment.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

honey's a/note: hope you enjoyed, this hasn't been proof read so there might be a few grammar and spelling mistakes ^^

let me know if you (inbox or comments) want to be apart of the mha taglist! specify the character and ill tag you in any works they are present in!

[linoxpudding]

Second Chances - Han Jisung

summary: when your husband fails to show up for your family, you bring up divorce — only then does he wake up

pairing: han jisung x fem!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, married with kids

word count: 1318 words

a/n: remember the twins in jisung's part of this fic? here's a little years later scenario where they have a younger brother now

-

The Kids: Twin Girls (Jisoo, Minsoo - 7 years old) and Son (Jihoon - 5 years old)

~°~

You were exhausted.

Physically, emotionally, mentally—every part of you was stretched thin, fraying at the edges. The weight of everything threatened to crush you, and tonight, it finally broke you.

One of your twin daughters, Minsoo, had her first-ever ballet recital at school today. The one she had spent months practicing for. The one where she had asked, with those wide, hopeful eyes, “Will Appa come this time?”

You had smiled, smoothed down her tutu, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “Of course, baby. He promised.”

But promises didn’t mean much anymore. Not when they came from Han Jisung.

Because when the curtains lifted, and Minsoo stood on stage, her little eyes scanning the audience with anticipation, her smile slowly faltered. Her twirls lost confidence. And when she finally spotted you, sitting alone, her lips wobbled.

And your heart shattered.

Just like it had last month when Jisung missed Jisoo’s science fair. And the time before that, when he forgot about Jihoon’s first-award ceremony at school, where your youngest won an award for being 'most creative' in his class.

How many times were you supposed to make excuses for him? How many times were you supposed to be both parents while he drowned himself in work, in schedules, in music, in everything but the family he promised to cherish?

Not anymore. You reached your breaking point.

Jisung felt it the moment he stepped into the house.

Something was wrong.

The lights were dim, the air heavy. His bag slipped from his shoulder, and he rubbed a hand down his face, exhausted from a long day in the studio.

“Baby, I’m home,” he called out, toeing off his shoes. He glanced at the clock. 12:37 AM.

Late. Again.

The guilt gnawed at his chest, but he pushed it down. He had deadlines, commitments—he was doing all of this for you and the kids, wasn’t he?

Still, when you stepped out of the kitchen, arms crossed, eyes void of warmth, his stomach twisted.

“We need to talk.”

He sighed. “Babe, can it wait? It’s been a long—”

“No.” Your voice was firm. “It can’t.”

Something in your tone made him look up. Really look. And for the first time in a long time, he saw something that terrified him.

You weren’t just mad. You were done.

“Baby—” he started

“Let's go to our bedroom,” you cut him off, “the kids are sleeping, i dont want to wake them up.”

He followed you quietly, and as soon as he shut the bedroom door behind him, you said it.

“I want a divorce.”

The words left your lips like venom. You had imagined saying them before, but you never thought you’d actually do it.

Jisung blinked. Like he didn’t hear you. Like his brain refused to process the words.

“W-What?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I want a divorce, Jisung.”

His bag hit the floor. His breath hitched. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.” He shook his head, laughing weakly, like this was some cruel joke. “You’re just mad. We fight, we argue, but we always—”

“I’m tired, Jisung.” Your voice cracked. “I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of raising our kids alone. I’m tired of watching them get disappointed over and over again.”

His jaw tightened. “I provide for them—”

“I don’t care about money!” You snapped, voice breaking. “I care about our kids growing up with a father who actually shows up! You keep missing everything, Jisung! Do you even know how much it hurts them? How much does it hurt me?”

Jisung’s breath came out uneven. “I—”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes stinging. “You know what’s funny? If we get divorced, maybe then they’ll actually get to see you. Because at least then, you’ll be forced to make time.”

Jisung’s lips parted, but no words came out. He looked at you like you had just stabbed him.

Then, suddenly—

Thump.

He dropped to his knees. He felt the world tilted. His ears rang.

Jisung’s knees hit the floor before he even realized what was happening. His hands shot out, grasping at your legs, your hands, anything he could hold on to.

“Please,” his voice was barely a whisper. “Please, don’t do this.”

You flinched, stepping back slightly, but he held onto your legs tightly.

“I know I messed up,” he choked out. “I know I’ve been the worst husband, the worst dad, but please—please don’t leave me.” His fingers curled around your waist, his grip desperate. “I’ll fix this. I’ll be better. Just… don’t give up on me.”

Your face crumpled, and you teared up and gently you pulled away from him.

“Jisung… it’s not that simple.”

“But it is,” he pleaded, voice trembling. “It is to me. I’ll do anything. I’ll quit music—”

“No,” you cut him off sharply. “You love music, Jisung. I would never take that from you.” Your voice wavered. “I just need you to love us just as much.”

He let out a sob, his chest shaking. “I do.” His voice cracked. “I do, I do, I do. I love you. I love our kids. You’re my whole world, please don’t leave.”

Jisung, the man who once stood on sold-out stages with a mic in hand, now knelt before you, crying.

And it broke him.

The memories hit him all at once.

The way Jisoo had tugged at his sleeve last week, asking if he could just stay home for one day.

The way Jihoon had slowly stopped telling him about his day, because he knew Appa was busy.

The way Minsoo had once whispered to him, “Appa, do you love me?” Even though he reassured her, he knew this question shouldn't even have crossed her little mind in the first place.

His heart clenched so painfully he thought he might die from it.

You exhaled shakily. “Jisung, I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

His breath hitched. He looked broken.

His face was crumpled, his hands shaking, his entire body trembling as he knelt before you. And you hated it.

You hated that even after all this, after all the pain and loneliness, you still loved him.

And maybe that was the problem.

You let out a deep breath. “Jisung, I—”

“Then let me prove it,” he whispered. “Give me one last chance. Let me fight for you, for our family.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, you reluctantly said, “…one last chance.”

Jisung let out a broken sob, he quickly got up and pressed his forehead against yours, then cupped your face before whispering, “I won't let you down ever again.”

He then pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurt.

But deep down, a part of you wondered.

Would things really change?

Or were you just delaying the inevitable heartbreak?

------------------

The next few months felt… different. Not perfect, not magically healed overnight, but different.

Jisung started coming home earlier—first by an hour, then two. At first, the kids were hesitant, unsure if this was temporary, but slowly, their walls began to lower. Jihoon started showing him his drawings again. Jisoo asked him to help with her homework. Minsoo hesitated before ballet practice, glancing at him nervously.

“I’ll be there,” Jisung promised.

And this time, he was.

He still made mistakes—forgot to pack Jihoon’s lunch one morning, burned dinner when he tried to help. But instead of brushing it off or making excuses, he tried again. He listened more. He asked questions. He showed up.

And you?

You watched. You waited. You guarded your heart, afraid to believe in him again. But every night, when he reached for your hand—just a small touch, a silent reassurance—you found yourself hesitating less and less.

Maybe love wasn’t enough to fix everything. But effort? Effort could.

And for the first time in a long time, Jisung was finally trying.

[starboye]

starring: conner kent x male reader

request: Please make a continuation to the jealous Dick ex-bf fic you just posted where Superboy and reader have dirty sex 😭 perhaps Superboy can hold him in the air and fuck the hell out of him and Dick finds out ofc

warnings: smut, belly bulge, rough sex, fucking in the air, making out

directors note: this is a part 2 to this fic, sidenote but what the actual fuck did i lace that first fic with like im reading over it and oh. my. god. it's like so good i see why yall wanted a part two

some could say it's a little promiscuous to go get fucked by your ex boyfriends friend right after he just fucked you and his load is still dripping down your leg but i mean hey if you get the chance might as well take both for a ride am i right.

showing up at conners door with a needy look, it had gone around that you were a slut so conner knew exactly what you needed (and don't tell dick this but on some night where you were 'to busy' to meet up with dick for a late night hook up you were really getting your guts rearranged by superboy)

queue you two making out on his bed while he fucks your already wet hole "what dick couldn't get you off like i do" conner smirks moving his kisses to your neck "don't flatter yourself conner" you gasp arching your back with the way he goes so deep.

"well then why did you come crawling back to me huh" he turns you over onto your back and starts fucking you faster, throwing your legs over his shoulders, watching with amusement as your face contorts to the feeling of him going deeper.

"because i fucking love you're dick" you groan telling him what he wants to hear "mm mm come on say it like you mean it or am i gonna have to fuck it out of you" he leans down to whisper in your ear, a shudder driving down your spine at the mere thought of him fucking you rough.

"oh you got tighter just from me saying it, you want me to fuck you till you can't remember your own name" he asks, his hand rubbing up to your stomach, pressing down on the slight bulge he made "yes please" you mumble "louder" he slams into you "yes please" you moan out "louder" he demands fucking you rougher "yes please daddy" you yell "that's what i like to hear" conner smirks.

tightly holding your thighs as he destroys your walls while you struggled to keep your eyes from rolling to the back of your head, the head board of his bed banging against the wall with each thrust, he was enjoying making you cum all over yourself to "what is this like your fourth time cumming tonight" he laughs at your pathetic noises.

"please more" you beg him with a croaky voice from the constant moaning "please more what, use your words y/n" he grabs your chin to keep your eyes on him "please fuck me more" you whine "yes sir" he chuckles levitating you both in the air.

the feeling of little gravity made the sex even more better surprisingly, wrapping your legs around conners waist "look at that" conner smiles pulling your head to look down at the bulge he's giving you in your stomach "that's all me baby, every damn inch" he fucks you harder and harder before he empties his load into you.

"fuckkk you know how to make a guy feel good" conner huffs bringing you both back down to the bed, your phone lighting up with a notification to which conner grabs it "mr nightwing himself" he chuckles turning the phone to you showing dick texts, you try to reach for the phone but conner keeps it away and takes a picture of you sending it to dick with the message "he's a little busy".

"well we should clean up because dicks gonna be here in a while and do you really wanna argue with him while covered in cum" conner says looking down at your fucked out body "okay" is all you could barely respond. (this could lead to them fucking you at the same time)

taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac

[salsakiyoomi]

sukuna had been gone for ten days.

he won't answer his phone, he won't answer his texts, you even tried to send him an email — yeah, no use.

by the tenth day, you were starting to feel less worried and more angry.

that's when he finally came knocking at your front door.

it was a random tuesday night when you were crying your eyes out at an angsty romance movie when a series of knocks came at your door.

quickly, you wipe away your tears and you head towards the door, creaking it open slightly to see who it is.

a gasp escapes you at the familiar sight of the tattooed face of your stupid, stupid boyfriend.

you swing the door open and before he could get any words out, you drag him in by the collar of his shirt and slap him across the face.

stunned is an understatement.

if anything, sukuna is thoroughly dumbfounded — sure, he knew you were feisty, except, he never thought you'd throw hands, especially as sexy as you did just now.

“where the hell have you been?!” you yell at him, but he's still flabbergasted, with his hand on his cheek where you had just slapped him.

“sukuna.” you growl, and he knows that he’s in trouble.

“sorry, something came up.” he says under his breath, rubbing his cheek.

holy hell, you sure knew how to throw a slap.

“really?” you huff, an angry scowl on your face at the audacity of his curt and vague answer, “that's all you have to say for yourself after ten whole days of being MIA?”

“look, baby, i'm sorry —” “i don't want your apology! i want an explanation! i called you, i texted you, i even sent you an email and you never responded!”

sukuna feels something close to guilt and maybe even…joy? because wow, were you really that worried about it? how flattering.

“i just had a deal going on.” he mutters under his breath, knowing you're going to reprimand him for it.

“what?” you utter out, “a drug deal?! seriously, ryomen? again?! you promised me you quit that shit!”

“it was a good deal, okay?!” he responds, starting to feel frustrated now, “and i needed the money.”

“you could've asked me for money!” you tell him and he scoffs, “yeah, like you're any less broke than i am.”

“sukuna.” you warn and he shakes his head, avoiding your gaze.

“look, i'm sorry, okay?” he says, “it was a moment of weakness.

“yeah, like all of the other times?” you ask sarcastically, “get out.” you add, pointing at the front door of your dorm and already ushering him out.

“oh, come on.” he chides, using the tone that he knows makes you weak, and looking at you with those stupidly convincing red eyes of his, “i said i'm sorry baby, okay? i won't do it again, i promise.”

“you stress me out, ryomen.” you huff, crossing your arms.

“i know,” he says smoothly, “i won't do it again, for you.”

he knows he's let you down again. in his history of fuck ups, this was probably one of the worst — breaking your trust, again.

and yet, he knows you'll always come back to him, forgive him and coddle him — just like you always do.

there was no denying that you were weak for him.

“....fine.” you mumble, “but if you do it again, i'm breaking up with you.”

“yeah yeah, i know.” he chuckles, his hands at your hips, “i won't.”

“good.” you huff.

he hums in response, leaning in to kiss you to make you forget about everything he's ever done and he practically feels the way you melt into the kiss, sinking into his touch as he caresses the soft flesh of your hips.

he was a manipulative piece of shit and he knew it, but if it meant having you under his touch? yeah, he won't give it up.

you bite on his bottom lip and he groans, pulling you closer.

after a moment, he pulls away, the both of you gasping for air.

he smirks, “i can tell you miss me.”

“shut up.” you huff and he chuckles, his hand sliding up to caress the back of your neck and pull you in closer.

“i'll hit from the back tonight if you let me.” he whispers in your ear and you blush, slapping his chest.

“ryomen!” you exclaim and he laughs, “come on, baby. don't you miss me?”

before you even get a chance to respond, he's hauling you up and carrying you to your bedroom.

sukuna's a manipulative piece of shit who probably has nothing better to do than play around and break hearts — he doesn't get attached.

and no matter how many times you threaten to break up with him, he knows you'll always stay.

he was just that good.

[darkwicks]

Fall From Grace

Caleb gives you a little encouragement.

PAIRING.⠀Xia Yizhou | Caleb x Reader

CONTENT.⠀female reader | begging, corruption, teasing, vaginal sex. Caleb is a menace. | ~0,6k words

A/N.⠀let's unlearn shame together........ (i say as if i'm not going to pretend this never happened)

available on AO3 | reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

“Caleb, it’s too much…!”

You pushed your hands against him as you tried to squirm away from his relentless assault against your core. The wet squelches between your legs made the tips of your ears burn red, shame and guilt brewing deep within your gut. It was embarrassing to be naked in front of him like this, even more so being under his heated gaze as he never took his eyes off of you. His hands pushed your knees against your chest, practically folding you in half as he chuckled through his panting, fingers digging into your skin.

“Don’t be shy,” he cooed. “Couples do this all the time. Didn’t you know that?”

You brought your hand up to cover your eyes, turning your head to the side. The pleasure building up inside of you was making it difficult to focus, and you knew you should be letting it go, but you couldn’t. You were committing a sin, an act of hedonism, and your family would lose their minds if they found out what you were doing. The shame was growing strong, and yet, your heart raced in excitement.

There was something… satisfying about breaking out of the rules you’ve been given. You felt different, mature, but it was still hard getting rid of the negativity within you. You threw your head back against the pillow, shaky, breathy moans escaping your lips.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” His lips curled into a smile, pleased at your display. “It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“Caleb,” you whimpered. “You’re so mean.”

“I’m mean?” He huffed, amused. He slowed down his thrusts, the act both relieving and horrifying you as your eyes snapped open, staring at him in disbelief. “Guess I won’t keep this up, then.”

You kicked your feet petulantly, pouting when he grabbed and stopped you with ease.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I can’t say it,” you mumbled, covering your face with your hands. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“You can,” Caleb said with a soft lilt. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

Your breath hitched at his vulgarity. “I-I can’t.”

“Then I won’t.” He slowly pulls his hips back, his hardness rubbing against your slick walls as he did so. You peeked at him from the gap between your fingers, cheeks heating up under his stare. “Guess we’ll stop here—”

“No!” you blurted out. Your hands were shaking. He gently pried them away, gently holding them in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. The smile never left his features.

“Then say it.”

You felt as though the world was closing in on you as all your blood rushed to your face, heart pounding hard against your ribcage. His gaze was intense and made you want to sink into the mattress, to disappear, but as he was about to fully pull out, you frantically brought your legs down to wrap them around his waist and pulled him close.

Averting your eyes, you mumbled quietly, “Please fuck me.”

“I can’t hear you, pipsqueak.”

“Why are you doing this to me?!” you whined. He laughed softly and leaned down to gently kiss you, hands squeezing your hips warmly. Your bottom lip jutted into a pout as you looked up at him pleadingly, eyes glassy with tears. “W-Want you to fuck me, Caleb.”

He slid back in, making your toes curl. “There we go. Wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

The way you brought your hands over your face again made him chuckle again. His hips rolled into yours, easily pinning you to the mattress as you helplessly gasped and moaned beneath him. His lips travelled your jaw to the side of your neck, lightly nipping at your skin just to keep you on your toes. Your dazed, flustered expression brought forth mischief and satisfaction. You’d cave in eventually. You just needed a little encouragement—you’d be addicted to him soon.

[bunnyluvx]

hii could you write castlevania nocturne alucard x fem!reader💗maybe the reader is a vampire or speaker/witch

enchant me, lover. ♡

featuring: adrian fahrenheit ţepeş / alucard x f! vampire, speaker & witch! reader.

summary: you're stargazing with your husband, and he doesn't get the chance to wish on a shooting star. you know just what will cheer him up.

warnings: minors and ageless blog dni regardless of content. i made the line dividers, so please don't use them. | support divider: @cafekitsune | wc: 2.3k | ao3

tags: fluff | hurt/comfort | domestic fluff | one-shot | stargazing | established marriage

a/n: i'll do you one better, friend, and combine ALL OF THEM!! >:D i'm trying to make my way through my requests, so there will be lots of castlevania stuff for awhile! this is set a couple of years before adrian left to track sekhmet. i hope that i did you justice, anon, and please enjoy, dear friends!!

date started: 7:08PM, february 16th, 2025. date finished: 8:45PM, february 25th, 2025.

The moon cloaks itself amidst the twilight to leave room for the stars to illuminate the sky. Thousands gather closely together to observe the night's events, and whisper gossip that the breeze tells them. A castle, tall enough to hold the heavens and older than most museums, resides within the forest. Its worn stone enjoys the scenery's tranquility, and the surrounding wildlife serves as a reminder of its reason for standing.

There are two occupants in this castle; The legendary Alucard, A.K.A Adrian Țepeș, and you, his lovely wife. You have been married for almost two-hundred years, and there is nothing that you would change about the life that you have built together. You both enjoy travel, so the adventures that you go on together are eternally endless. Adrian has solidified himself into your soul, and he is part of you that you never wish to do without. In moments where you felt like you couldn't go on, his face came to mind and you remembered just how strong you are.

Adrian knows that the connection that you share will last far beyond the relevance of your immortal lives. Not even at the chance of death will your love's resilience waver, for it is a force stronger than any enemy that you have vanquished together. If you were not in his life, then he would not laugh, smile, ponder or explore as much as he has in your company. Adrian Țepeș is not a man who fears much, but the idea that plagues his mind into restlessness is how much darker his world would be without you in it. Imagining a reality where he lives without your rants about all of the things that he wouldn't think twice about, paired with its angelic echo chanting off of the walls of your home would send him into madness, if not for the comfort of your body lying asleep by his side in your shared bed.

Every day that you spend together is a day that you both cherish, and today has felt particularly special. From dawn 'til dusk, you walked through the forest and discovered things that you hadn't noticed before; The different flowers blooming within the grass or unfamiliar streams, for instance. You have lived in this area for some time now, yet when journeying with Adrian, all sorts of new encounters appeared. It was very fulfilling to wander out with him to see what awaited you.

Now, your exciting day has come to a close, and both of you agreed that the best way to wind down before bed was to stargaze together. You stand on one of many bridges of the palace, your hands resting on the cold stone railing while your eyes sparkle just as brightly as the stars you stare at. Adrian stands not far behind you, a smile gracing his pale lips as he admires the great darkness above. Every once in awhile, he will look back at you and treasure the warmth that pools within his chest. Your joy while looking up at the stars is more beautiful than any twinkling light in the sky, and if he spent his night watching you like this instead, then he would be just as content.

Occasionally, you'll point out an exceptionally bright star, or a constellation, and Adrian's eyes will follow where you lead them. You'll tell about the story behind how the constellation was named, and anything else that comes to mind in relation. Being born into a group of Speakers has left a lot of room for you to acquire all sorts of knowledge about a variety of different subjects, and at one point in your life, you found yourself very fascinated with everything related to space. As a result, you did a lot of research on the subject so that you could share it with your family, and anyone crossing your path willing to listen.

Both of Adrian's parents were people of science, so he gathered quite the bounty of information himself, but he would always make an effort to listen to you. No matter how many times you repeat the same tales and facts, he will nod along and asks questions as if it's the first time, just to prompt your endless, passionate rambles. Gaining the opportunity to share your wisdom grants you an ethereal, excitable glow that he will gladly blind himself with, if it means that the last thing he ever sees is your smiling face.

A comforting quiet lingers in the air while you both gaze up at the stars, cherishing the night's delightful weather that provides you the freedom to enjoy this moment together. Sky's stillness suddenly dispels when a star swiftly descends from the shadows, and immediately, it catches Adrian's attention. A blissful, child-like smile graces his lips as he takes a step forward, then points above while announcing, "Look, a shooting star!"

Instantly, your head whips into the direction where Adrian's finger follows, and you see it. Fortunately, before it leaves your view, you are able to make a wish. Many would see it as silly for an over three-hundred year-old vampire to believe in wishing on stars, for you have lived long enough to know that not all myths are true. Regardless, you like the hopefulness that the idea brings; That someone, somewhere is listening, with the goal of helping you achieve your dreams.

Wherever this comet is going, it's in a hurry, for it's leaving as quickly as it came. You squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath, thinking about what you want most in the world. When you open them, you release the wind trapped inside your throat at the realization that the shooting star has disappeared over the horizon. Disappointment dwells in your heart and on your shoulders briefly before you spin around to look at your husband, whose arm has lowered. His face illuminates with a gentle joy as he gazes into the distance, a display that lightens your disheartenment and replaces it with bliss.

Long ago, you swore that you would commit all of Adrian's smiles to memory, so you take this time to do just that. The radiant expression that he wears is one of wonder, faith and longing, as if he wishes to chase that star to the ends of the Earth. You think that he looks so adorable like this, and you would hate for him to stop, but you become curious as to if he made a wish too, so you ask him, "Did you make a wish, Adrian?"

Blinking out of his awestruck state, golden eyes meet yours. You are so glad that during all of this time, the color of Adrian's eyes never changed. You think that it gives him individuality, and they remind you that through every hardship, you will always have someone at your side to endure it with. Sunshine dims into a soft sadness, which rawly clenches at your heart. Adrian's eyes glance to the ground, a frown on his face while he admits, "Oh, no. I didn't get the chance to."

The vessel which keeps you standing feels like it is being brutally mauled through at this response. Now, Adrian gazes out into the sky with furrowed brows, and your own face falls as his does. While he is skeptical about the idea of wishing on stars, he does find it fun to do sometimes. It didn't even come to mind when he saw it passing by, and seeing just how disappointed he is hurts more than any wound you could ever receive.

You use your quick-thinking skills to come up with something to cheer the dhampir up, when it hits you. You have been studying human magics for one-hundred years, and while you are quite skilled, you do not practice enough to fully achieve your true potential. Typically, you only use your magic on occasion when you're bored to make fun shapes, or when you're in combat with no other choice, but this is just as vital- no, even more-so. This is more dire than any foe that you have vanquished, more monstrous than any beast you have slain; Your sweet husband is sad, and as his wife, you want to make him feel better!

So, you cup your palms together and hold them out in front of you. Adrian notices the shift of your body, and turns to watch as you close your eyes. You focus on your desire, and think about the way that a star feels. You feel a tickling sensation spring its way up your back, as if stardust brushes your skin. Slipping into a deep state of concentration, you reflect on your early studies of magic when a yellow spark erupts into your hands. Adrian watches with fascination while the spark begins to brighten; It begins to take shape, until a thin, golden diamond glows in your grasp.

Adrian is completely blown away by your demonstration, his mouth hung open and eyes gawking widely at what you've just created. You open your eyes and smile at the dumbfounded look on your husband's face, giggling. "Make a wish, Adrian."

Realistically, you both know that this isn't what a star looks like, but that doesn't matter to your man. What matters to him is that it's yours, and it's perfect. For a moment, Adrian is silent, too bewildered by your manifestation to summon his voice. He knows that you are a very talented magician, and he has seen your capabilities at their finest. The fact that you have forged something so precious just to make him happy deeply touches Adrian. A smile adorns the man's face once more, eyes holding a love that is reserved only for you. He reaches a hand over to the side of your face to allow gloved fingers to graze your skin while he leans forward, and presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

You watch as he melts before you, your smile growing wider when seeing that he's happy again. Unexpectedly, he gives you a kiss, and this makes you feel even better. Adrian's lips have a very dastardly power to make you weak; One brush of them, and you feel like you could faint on the spot. His lips are soft, and he tastes of the most captivating spell. You would have dropped the illusion and wrapped your arms around him to properly relay your passion, if you didn't know how meaningful this was to him. Heat crawls its way into your cheeks, and your shoulders have hiked up from surprise, but they slowly lower themselves as you allow your body to relax. You return his kiss and tilt your head slightly to enhance the experience for both of you, and you stand like this for a moment to cherish how perfectly your lips mold together.

Albeit regrettably, Adrian is the one to back away. The sun of his eyes shines brightly with admiration, and the smile on his lips is tender. "I don't need to," He murmurs sweetly.

Seeing this look on the dhampir's face is everything that you could want out of tonight. You have shared a wonderful day together, but this has been the best part of it by far. A crooked grin curls its way your lips, and you give him a knowing look when you decide to tease him, "If you say it's because you have everything you could wish for right here, I'm going to hit you."

Adrian's posture straightens as he throws his head back to laugh. Light blooms within your chest at the sound, one that you would listen to every hour for all of your days if given the chance. Tilting his head upright, he meets your eyes and responds, "Alright, I hear you." Then, he leans over to examine the star in your hands more closely, asking, "Could we save it?" Your husband aligns himself upright again, reuniting your gaze to his while adding, "For my next wish."

You smile at the man, head slightly tilted while fondly gazing at him. Any request of his is one you will gladly satisfy, so you tell him, "I think I can do that."

The look on your face causes Adrian to soften, his shoulders noticeably relaxing a bit more at the sight. "Good." He then turns so that his side faces you, and offers an arm for you to take. "Shall we head to bed now?"

You squeeze your eyes shut and press your lips together harshly, charging all of your energy into the little splendor in your hands before hopping up. With your little bounce, the star shoots up into the sky, stardust hot on its trail, before it lowers down to settle itself floating slightly above you and Adrian. The dhampir turns around to recognize what you've done, that same stupefied expression on his face. You see it and laugh, an arm coming over your stomach as you take a step back and point at him. You gather yourself shortly after, and brush away any lingering dust on your clothes before you turn to face where Adrian is to take his arm. "Let's go."

It's only when you make contact with him that your husband comes out of his shock, his face relaxing when seeing yours and a smile decorating his lips. "As you wish."

With that, you head into the castle to begin your nightly routine. The star you created twirls around you both the entire way, and you laugh at mystical friend's enthusiasm. Love has brought you two a long way, and you guarantee that it will take you even farther. In every life, you know that Adrian would do anything to make you happy, and he knows that you would do the same.

@BUNNYLUVX ,, all rights reserved. do not copy/plagiarize any of my works or submit it into ai. any and all support is appreciated! <3

[munsonsmixtapes]

I Never Got to Say Goodbye

ex boyfriend!eddie x reader

You see Eddie over a year after your break up and you both realize that you never stopped loving each other

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex, hurt/comfort, angst, a guy gets handsy with reader

You sit at your vanity in your room, dreading to get ready. You don’t even want to go out, but you feel like you have no choice. Your friends are trying to get you to meet someone new but how can you when you’re still not over your ex? 

You’re not even sure why you broke up anymore and you’re wondering if he feels the same. If he lies awake playing your breakup over and over, wishing that you would have just stayed together. But you suppose it was just a “right person, wrong time” sort of thing, that it was more the situation than anything that led to your relationship ending. 

You put on your makeup and get dressed as you put on the mixtape that one of your roommates had made for you. You’re dancing around as get ready, loving every song that’s been put onto it. She knows you so well, knows exactly what you like. But then you freeze when the familiar guitar riff floats through your ears. 

“I can’t dance,” you tell Eddie as he guides you around your living room. He’s trying and failing to teach you how to dance but he’s just so determined to show you how. 

“Sure you can,” he says, turning up the volume of the stereo before taking your hands in his. He steps forward and you step back as he guides you through the moves, being so gentle with you like always. “Eyes on me, okay?” 

You nod and keep your eyes on his pretty brown ones as he slowly shows you the steps. You’re not even sure how he learned this but you love seeing the fluid steps and wonder how he does it so well. There’s just so much about him that you want to know and you hope you’re together long enough to find out every single thing about him.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your flashback and you’re quick to turn off the music before hurrying to answer it. Janet is on the other side, a bright smile plastered on her face like always. You know she’s waiting on your to finish so you all can leave and you’re actually kind of pissed at her for not at least letting you finish your flashback. 

You’ve been having a lot of those lately. It’s like your brain is trying to torture you with all of the memories because it knows just how much you’ve been missing Eddie. You miss him so much that it actually hurts. It’s to the point where it’s gotten so painful to think about but you don’t want the memories to stop.

You grab your purse and follow Janet and the other girls out the door. Luckily, the club is just down the street so you don’t have to hail a cab to get there. They’re all talking about finding someone to hook up with but of course, all you’re thinking about is your ex and how much he would have hated a place like this.

Being in that close proximity to strangers-drunk strangers at that-was his worst nightmare and the loud music was so overstimulating which you totally understood. It was something that he would always push through for you because of how much you loved it and now you know you’re going to miss having him by your side, whispering silly things into your ear and staring down any man who even looked at you. 

As the four of you get in line, Violet slips some condoms into your purse that you’re sure you’re not even going to need but you let her anyway. It’s easier not to put up a fight, especially when they’re all just trying to help. 

The club is newer and allegedly very hard to get into and as you look up at the name, you notice that it sounds very familiar, something you’ve heard a billion times but you’re sure that it’s not actually what you’re thinking of. 

“Ed’s?” You ask with a laugh. “That’s the name of a bar, Eddie, not a club. And why do you want to own a club anyway? That’s not exactly your scene.” 

“For you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world before pressing a kiss to your lips. “I want you to have a place you can call your own, where you can make the decisions. You always complain about the music and the prices and now you’d be able to have whatever you want.” 

“You’re doing this for me?” You feel tears welling up in your eyes at the gesture, wondering how you got so lucky to have someone who cares that much about you. That pays that much attention and is willing to drop a bunch of money just so you could be happy. 

“I’d do anything for you, you know that,” he winks and your heart flutters. 

“Ed’s,” you nod, having a newfound love for the name. “I like it.” You lay your head on Eddie’s chest while he runs his fingers through your hair, your favorite lullaby. 

“I thought you might.” 

You’re thrown back into real life to the bouncer outside the club asking for your ID. When did you get to the front of the line? Did you really zone out of that long? 

You shake the thought away and pull your wallet out of your purse, retrieving your ID and handing it to him. Once he sees that you’re of age, he hands it back and you head inside. As you walk through the doors and take in everything, you still think about how familiar everything looks, almost as if you’ve seen it before. But it can’t be what you think it is…can it?

Your friends have separated from you yet again so you head to the bar for a much needed drink. As soon as you sit at the bar, you look around and see just how busy it is. The bartenders are working hard to stay on top of their orders and as much as you really want a drink, you’re willing to wait as long as you need to. 

You pick up the menu and look at the drinks, the deja vu coming over you again as the names all sound familiar. They’re based on metal songs, songs that you’ve heard so many times you could sing them from memory. 

They would all play so loudly in Eddie’s car as you’d drive around town, screaming the lyrics as loud as you could through giggles because you were just so happy to be around each other. 

You haven’t even been able to listen to any of them since the breakup because it just hurts too much. At first, you were only listening to them because of Eddie, but over time, you really grew to appreciate the genre and even started listening to them on your own. 

Eventually, one of the bartenders comes over to take your order and your mouth falls open as you make eye contact with him. You definitely must be hallucinating because he looks so much like Eddie. As you stare at him, taking in his features, his longer hair, his beard, and nose ring, his own eyes widen which causes you to believe that he is in fact real. 

The last you heard, he was in Chicago. What was he doing back in New York? And why hadn’t he told you? Oh, that’s right. He probably doesn’t have your number anymore and considering that you haven’t kept in contact, you don’t really deserve to know what’s going on in his life anymore. 

And that just kills you. You wonder how much about him has changed besides his appearance. He obviously still opened the club even though you aren’t together anymore. And it seems to be doing really well so you can’t help but feel your heart swell with pride. He got everything he ever wanted. And the stab to the chest is that he didn’t even need your help to do it. 

“What can I get for you?” He asks and now you don’t even want a drink. You want him to sit next to you while you tell each other everything that’s happened over the past year. You want to tell him just how much you fucking miss him. 

“Rum and Coke,” you reply and he smiles, loving to see that you’re still ordering the same drink. 

“You got it,” he nods and moves around the bar, fixing the drink. You watch him, staring at his back, wishing you could hug him from behind like you always used to do. He’d just laugh and turn around , wrapping his arms around you and giving you a squeeze. You miss everything about him, but you’re pretty sure you miss his hugs the most. They were always so tight and long, his favorite way to show you just how much he loved you. 

Loved. As in, past tense. You never stopped loving him but you’re not sure if he still loves you. Considering how he’s been treating you like every other customer, you don’t think he does. You almost want to just get up and leave but he sets your drink on the bar in front of you. 

“One rum and coke,” he says, wiping his hands off on a towel and you can’t even look him in the eye. It’s just too painful. 

Eddie can’t fucking believe that you’re here. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since you broke up, well, more specifically, that day and how much he regrets the whole thing. It still plays in his head on a loop, torturing him. What he would give to go back in time and beg you to stay.

“So what are you saying?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Surely you’re not suggesting what he thinks you are. No way are you breaking up with him. You just can’t be. You’ve been through far too much to just give up on each other.

“I’m saying that what’s the point of even being together if we can’t be together? We’re both always busy and we see each other once every few weeks. That’s not a relationship Eddie.” He knows your right, but he’s sure that you just need to push through and you’ll get through it just like the two of you have every time you’ve had something you needed to work through.

“So you want to break up?” He almost looks like he’s going to cry and you just can’t bear to look at him if he does. You don’t need this to be any harder than it already is.

“I didn’t say that…but I don’t see any other choice.” You’re both crying now and the whole thing is just pitiful, the two of you looking at each other with tears streaming down your faces, having a conversation you never thought you would. 

“No. No, we can make this work.” He’s taking your hands in his and as much as you love that he’s fighting for you, you know you just can’t keep going like this.

“How?” You ask and he reaches up and wipes your tears, resting his hands on your cheeks. This is one thing he just can’t fix and that breaks you.

“I don’t know. I guess maybe it’s for the best,” he shrugs, finally seeing it from your perspective. He feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest and he’s not entirely sure what he should do about it. You’re always there to fix things for him and the one time he really needs you, you’re not going to be there.

“I guess so,” you sniff, the two of you now breaking into sobs, knowing that things between the two of you will never be the same. 

You moved your stuff out of his apartment that week and you both cried the whole time, the pain all consuming as he helped you pack up your stuff, being his sweet self which just added salt to the wound. You broke up with him and he still helped you move your stuff, being nothing but a gentleman about the whole thing. 

He didn’t even beg you to stay or anything like you thought he would. He just silently helped you pack stuff into boxes then put it all in the truck you rented. All he did was cry, not even uttering a single word to you as he did so. 

He hasn’t seen you since that day and he has no idea how you got even more beautiful since then. You’re wearing a pretty silver dress and the biggest standout is that you’ve cut your hair. The short style looks good on you, but Eddie thinks that everything looks good on you. 

He doesn’t know how he ever let you slip through his fingers, who he let you move your stuff out of his apartment, why he even went as far as helping you pack everything up. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do but he felt like it was the right thing for both of you. 

But now that you’re here tonight, he’s wondering if it’s fate giving him a second chance. God, if he’s offered one, he’s going to take it. Just thinking about it, he feels the weight on his chest lifting, like everything finally makes sense again. 

You’re sipping on your drink so elegantly, giggling with a man who’s now occupying the stool to the left of you. You seem to be having a good time and now you’re holding Eddie’s heart in your hand, squeezing it as you continue to giggle with the man and he can feel it, his chest aching as he watches you slip through his fingers once again. 

But as he’s turning his back to help the other customers, he sees the man’s hand sliding up your thigh and something about watching this happen is making his skin crawl. Just thinking about this guy touching you like that makes him want to break every single one of his fingers, especially because of how uncomfortable you look. 

You’re trying to scoot away but don’t have the strength, the guy grabbing hold of your arm and holding you there so you’re unable to move. Even from your profile, he can see the fear in your eyes as you try to push him off. 

 Eddie’s had enough of this and rounds the bar, grabbing hold of the guy and pulling him off the stool. As soon as he looks the guy in the eyes, seeing that he’s not even phased tells Eddie that he does this a lot and that doesn’t sit right with him. He’s seen red now as he holds the guy by his shirt and he knows he really shouldn’t but before he can stop himself, he raises his fist and punches him square in the face before letting security take care of him. 

He shakes his fist afterwards because of the tingly feeling just as you’re throwing yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as you bury your face into it. He doesn’t exactly know what’s going on, pretty sure that you’re trying to thank him, but he doesn’t need it. He did it because it was the right thing and honestly would have done it for anyone. 

You pull away and Eddie feels every part of him ache when he sees that you’re crying. He notices your face change, your eyes widen as you slip your arms from him, almost as if you think that you’ve made a mistake.  

“I’m sorry,” you tell him as you step away, quickly adjusting your dress before wiping your tears from your cheeks. There was a time where that was Eddie’s job but being chronically single since the breakup, you’ve learned to do it for yourself again 

“For what?” He asks, tilting his head to the side as he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans to prevent from reaching out for you. 

“For hugging you,” you reply as if it’s obvious, but clearly it’s not since he’s still looking at you like a confused puppy. Has he always been this adorable? 

“Baby-” he cuts himself off, the nickname coming so naturally like it hasn't been months since he’s called you that. “You can hug me anytime you want. Especially after that.” 

“Sorry,” you shake your head. “This is just weird for me, I guess. I-I wasn’t expecting to see you here and I guess old feelings are just flooding back.” You’re chuckling awkwardly like you shouldn’t be saying it, but it’s honestly music to Eddie's ears.

Eddie’s brain short circuits as you finish speaking. Old feelings? So you don’t still love him. You don’t feel the same way as he does and that absolutely kills him. This whole thing has just become torture but he can’t get himself to walk away because he’s still wrapped around your goddamn finger. Some things just never change. 

“Well, I um-” you cut yourself off, now feeling flustered. “I should get back to my friends,” you jerk your thumb over your shoulder and Eddie couldn’t be more disappointed. He really wishes he had more time with you, realizing just how much he missed you now that you’re leaving again. If he doesn’t say something now, he’s going to be kicking himself for the rest of his life. 

“Wait,” he calls after you and you turn around, clearly caught off guard by him still having something to say. “I get off in about an hour. Do you want to…go somewhere?” 

“Eddie…” You look hesitant, almost caught off guard and now he’s trying to think of how he can backtrack since he’s clearly made you uncomfortable. 

“I just want to talk.” You think about it and Eddie can practically see the gears turning in your head. You want to, you really do, but there’s so much that you want to say that you probably shouldn’t. 

You want to tell him how much you miss him, how you miss being wrapped up in his arms, the way he’d squeeze you tight before the two of you fell asleep. You miss the humming that he did or the tv constantly playing on low volume in the background because he hates silence. 

You miss his kisses and even though it’s been over a year since your last one, you still vividly remember what his lips felt like. They were almost always chapped and he often tasted like the mint gum he chewed to cover up the tobacco for you. 

“Okay, yeah,” you nod, craving to be in his presence so badly. Being here with him now, all of that anxiety and dread you’ve been carrying around with you is gone, replaced with warmth that’s spreading throughout your body, the calm that always coursed through you when you were around him. For the first time in so long, you finally feel like you’re home. 

-

Eddie’s feeling clammy as he stands outside the club. He’s smoking a cigarette to help ease his anxiety but it’s not working. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous to talk to you. Maybe because there’s so much uncertainty. There’s so much he wants to say and he’s unsure how you’re going to take it all. He wants to tell you just how much he misses you, how much he still loves you. It’s fucking breaking him being apart from you and when you left, he felt like he lost his purpose, his passion for everything gone with you in the moving truck. 

And the thing is, he doesn’t even blame you for leaving because what else were you supposed to do? That’s what happens when people break up. He just wishes he had gotten the chance to say goodbye since you made the decision to leave while he was at work. He got home and all of your stuff was gone, those cute little mugs you had collected over the years gone from the kitchen cabinet, your books that you would read to him every night before bed disappeared from his bookshelf along with everything else that you owned. 

Seeing you tonight made his feelings for you even stronger and now he can’t even fight them off like he usually does. They have to make themselves known, wanting Eddie to not deny them anymore. He guesses he can’t now and he honestly has no idea what he’s going to say to you without looking like a lovesick fool. 

So he just continues to smoke his cigarette until it’s gone, then reaches for his pack to get another one when you exit the club, giggling with your friends before saying goodbye to them and heading over to him. You’ve gotten even more beautiful since he last saw you a couple hours ago and it hurts so bad knowing that he can’t have you. After getting your closure, the two of you will go your separate ways and Eddie will go home to a bottle of tequila and put on the mixtape he made for you while he drinks until he cries himself to sleep. 

He’s pathetic and he knows it. He’s imagining you telling him that you miss him too then sharing a kiss that’s filled with fireworks. He really needs to get a grip and stop wishing for something that will never happen.

“So,” you speak up, standing there awkwardly as you fiddle with the strap of your purse in your hands. “Where are we going?” Eddie completely forgot to come up with a spot and now he’s panicking, saying the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Dina’s,” he says as he takes one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out underneath his boot. Your eyes widen at the name, memories flooding your mind of sitting in your favorite booth, the two of you giggling over pancakes and a milkshake with two straws. 

Eddie suggesting that place is like a stab to the gut, too painful to go there and try to relive the good memories of your failed relationship, but you think that maybe it won’t be too bad. 

“Dina’s, wow, I haven’t been there since-” you cut yourself off, wondering if this is even a good idea, talking things over with your ex, bringing up the past as you both mourn what could have been. You’re just not sure if you should be doing this. Maybe it’s not too late to catch a cab and go home.

“Since our anniversary,” Eddie finishes, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, seeing that you’re not wearing one, your shoulders bare, your arms wrapping tighter around your body to try and warm yourself up but it’s not working. It’s taking everything in him not to give you the jacket right off his back but he knows you won’t take it, too stubborn like always. 

“Right,” you nod, knowing that this will be nothing like that. It will just be an awkward and painful conversation that you really wished you hadn’t agreed to. You have tried so hard not to think about Eddie, pushing out every single thought you’ve had but there is always going to be little pieces of him sprinkled into your life. Whether you like it or not, there’s always going to be something that reminds you of him, taking you back to that painful place where you left him as you moved out that day. 

Eddie leads you to his van and you can’t help but feel like this is a date. You wish it was, though. Maybe you’ll be able to turn everything around and he’ll be your boyfriend again. Or your friend at the very least. 

He opens the passenger door like he always used to and helps you into the van and it’s just like old times. You look around the van as he rounds the hood and it looks exactly the same, the stickers that have been on the dash since you’ve known him are still there, even the ones you gave him. 

They’re curling up at the edges, the adhesive wearing off, but that only means that he’s loved them so much that they’ve been there a while. You run your fingers over them as Eddie gets into the driver’s seat, watching you from where he’s sitting with a smile that’s filled with admiration. 

He starts up the van and catches you singing along to the next song on the tape he’s got in. It’s the last one you made for him that he plays in a loop because apparently he loves to torture himself. It’s got his name written across it in your handwriting with sloppily drawn hearts all over it. 

He can’t keep that stupid smile off of his face and joins you, both of you laughing through your duet as if no time has passed. Things are so different now but one thing you at least know for sure is that Eddie still loves ABBA. 

You sing the rest of the song, your laughter fading away as another one starts and now it’s just awkward silence. Neither of you know what to say even though you unknowingly still love each other. If only the two of you could get over your anxiety and just say it already. 

But you can’t. You won’t. You already hurt him once and you’re not going to do it again. He’s doing so well and you’re not going to stumble into his life and claim your have feelings for him when he’s definitely over you. 

If only you could see how lovesick Eddie still is. If only you could get back all the cobwebs that have gathered in your past and see the future that’s right in front of you. Eddie is still as head over heels for you as he’s always been. He never stopped loving you even when everything went to shit. He’s tried, god, he’s tried. He’s wanted to forget you, but you’re always still there, stuck in his mind forever. 

He pulls up to the restaurant and you’re thrown back in time again, another flashback that you can’t seem to escape as much as you want to. You remember the tender touches of your hands across the table and the loving stares and now you’re just sitting across from each other like two people on a blind date. 

You hate that you still remember your exact orders even though you haven’t even thought about this place since the last time you sat in this very booth. His hand is resting on the table as he looks at the menus and god, you just want to reach for it, to know if they’re as rough as you remember. You hope he still uses that lotion you always used to buy him. 

He’s sitting there, looking so pretty with his hair tucked behind one ear, moving an unlit cigarette between his fingers that’s always been a nervous habit. You hate that he’s nervous but you completely understand why. This is uncharted territory. You’re completely different people now and this whole thing was completely unplanned. 

You mimic him and look at your own menu but you’re not even hungry. You’re actually feeling sick thinking about why you’re actually here. You’re nervous as shit to have this conversation. You just know he’s going to break your heart and you suppose you can’t even be upset with him since you deserve it for leaving him all that time ago without even so much a goodbye. But the thing is, you actually actually left because you were terrified to see the look on his face so you fled to avoid the pain of seeing how heartbroken he was. 

“So,” he says, taking a deep sigh as he sets his menu on the table, looking you in the eyes as he does so. 

“So,” you repeat in the same fashion and furrow your eyebrows when he brings his hands up to cover his face, scrubbing at his eyes. He then slaps his hands onto the table which startles you, looking at you with that fire that you’ve missed the entire night. 

“I’ve gotta be honest,” he says, his gaze still burning into yours. “I’ve missed you. Like, so much that I can’t even stand it.” He knows that it’s rushed and that he probably sounds crazy and eyes widen at his confession, he’s terrified that he’s scaring you away. God, he’s driving you away again, fucking up one more time before you leave his life for good. He just can’t seem to get it right. 

Before he can even finish his speech that he’s been writing in his head for months because in the blink of an eye, you’re sitting right next to him, a goofy but adorable grin on your face. He has no idea what’s going on but he sure as hell isn’t going to deny you being in such close proximity to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he replies, nervous all over again because even though you’re smiling at him, he can’t help but feel iscared that you’re going to slip through his fingers. “I-I don’t know why I said that. I just-”

“Eddie,” you cut him off, your hands cradling his cheeks like they used to and his eyes widen as he stares at you, wondering what you’re going to do next. 

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice small for the first time tonight. 

“Will you please just shut up?” You ask before pressing your lips to his, pouring out all of your repressed emotions for the past year pouring into it and you don’t even care that you’re crying. You just need this and apparently Eddie does too because his arms are wrapped tightly around you, his own tears trailing down his cheeks as he involuntarily whimpers against your lips. 

This is the best way he’s ever been shut up in his life and it’s crazy to him just quickly you’re both able to do this after so long, picking it up like it’s nothing. It gets progressively more hungry and as you’re sticking your tongue into his mouth, you suddenly realize where you are, deciding that you can’t exactly do what you’re doing here. So you stand from the table and offer him your hand which he gladly takes. 

You’re both out the door in a flash and as soon as you’re heading down the alley between the diner and the other building, you’re pulling Eddie into the dark, pressing yourself to the wall as your lips find his again, somehow even more hungry than before. You’re both crying again but you’re too caught up in your need for each other to be embarrassed. 

His hands are sliding up your dress as he kisses down to your, nipping at whatever skin he’s able to get his teeth on as he goes. It starts off as gentle kisses as he murmurs the words “I missed you” against your skin but it gets progressively more intense as he begins to suck on your skin, making your brain feel fuzzy. 

“I missed you too,” you moan as he pushes you gently against the wall. He’s pulling down your thong and you let him despite being so out of practice that you’ve felt so nervous about sleeping with anyone else. Being with Eddie, though, just feels so right. 

You unbutton his jeans and pull them down with his underwear, so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t even notice that he’s slid himself inside you, both of you grunting at the tight fit.  

He’s moving slowly at first but progressively gets faster, missing the feeling of being inside you, missing the way you moan, the way you grab onto him, scratching up any part of him you can get your hands on, missing you. God has he missed you. It feels so right being here with you now.

He’s moving so fast, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pumps and pumps, his lips finding yours again, biting down on your bottom lip as another moan slips past your lips. It’s loud and he’s eating it up, wondering how much more he can get out of you before you’re absolutely spent. 

You’re close already but to see how long you can hold out. You’ve gone so long without him between your legs that it doesn’t take much for you to orgasm, to completely undone as he bottoms out inside you. He’s still going as you whine his name, pumping in and out, in and out until he reaches his own orgasm, moaning so loudly that you’re almost concerned that someone is going to hear him. 

The words “I love you” fall from his lips and you melt when you hear them, so happy that he still feels the same way, that the love you have for each other has never faded. You’re both smiling now as you pull him into another kiss, mumbling the words back to him against his lips. A laugh escapes his lips as he pulls away and he picks you up and spins you around. He’s the happiest he’s been in so long. 

“C’mon, angel,” he says, grabbing hold of your hand and leading you back to his van that’s around the corner. “Let’s go home.”

[worksby-d]

Give Me More Than Just Some Butterflies

Pairing: Steve Rogers x grad student!Reader

Summary: You begin to learn the shy Steve Rogers from your art class isn't so shy with you. Read the setup for these two here 🫶

Warnings: Age gap, unprotected sex I fear, 18+

Word count: ~700

Your chest rises and falls as you take in and let out slow, steady breaths. You’re sprawled out on your bed with Steve beside you, still half on top of you. His flushed, damp skin presses against yours. 

You can’t help but let out a quiet laugh, thinking to yourself thank God you let him take you out first if this was the return. 

But his first thoughts are somewhere else. When he finally speaks up, his voice is low and rough as he lifts his head to look down at you. 

“Was that okay?”

You slowly blink up at him, not immediately following what he’s asking.

“What?”

He drops his forehead against your shoulder and breathes out a small laugh. His hand on your hip squeezes gently. 

“It’s been a while,” he admits. “I feel like I got a little carried away.”

“Oh,” you giggle, but stop yourself not wanting it to seem like you’re laughing at him. He was a little rough, sure, but it was good. “No, I liked it.”

His look of relief is cute. He leans closer to you again, brushing his lips against yours. “Yeah?”

You nod and complete the kiss. “Yeah.”

His response comes in the form of trailing slow kisses along your jaw and down your neck. 

His deliberate movements coax a gasp out of you. “Steve–”

He smiles against your skin. “Hm?”

You feel the bed shift as he moves – His leg that’s resting between your own nudges against your thigh, guiding you to spread your legs and make room for him between them again. 

As you follow his lead, you can feel a faint ache that’s setting in from how thoroughly he fucked you the first time, but it’s not enough to impede your desire for it again. 

You tilt your head, giving him better access to your neck and collarbone. Your hand slips between your bodies to find him hard again. He lets out a deep groan when your fingers wrap around him, stroking gently. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he mutters. 

“Think you can handle one more round, old man?” You tease, referencing the first night you talked.

“See, I knew you were thinking about my age,” he scoffs. 

He rolls his hips, pressing his cock against your wet pussy. He gives you a second before thrusting into you in one deep stroke. A cocky smirk appears on his face hearing your loud moan and he lifts his head to watch a look of pleasure take over you. 

His name falls from your lips again, this time as a whimper. 

He groans, feeling your fingertips dig into his sides as you hold onto him. “God, you feel so good.”

He moves torturously slow at first, making sure you feel every inch of his cock dragging in and out of your tight cunt. He holds a hand against your waist as he sets a steady pace. 

Writhing beneath him, you arch your back, trying to feel him even deeper. “Please,” you beg. 

“Please what?” He asks in a teasing tone. 

“Fuck me, please.”

“What do you think I’m doing, sweetheart?”

Asshole.

“Harder,” you plead. 

He hums, acting like he’s thinking about it, and he ultimately decides to oblige. His lips meet yours again for a deep kiss as he snaps his hips forward, harder this time. 

As his movements become more intense, the room fills with the obscene sounds of his hips meeting yours and heavy breaths from both of you. 

“That’s it,” he grunts. “Just like that. Good girl.”

It doesn’t take long for you to feel like you’re right on the edge of coming for him again. You whine as the overstimulation begins to set it. 

“Steve– I’m–”

“I know,” he pants, fucking you even harder. “Let go for me.”

That’s all you need. Pleasure crashes over you in waves as you cry out his name. 

Your climax spurs his own. His hips stutter and his movements come to an abrupt halt as he spills inside you.

Silence takes over as you both focus on catching your breath again. 

It’s a chuckle from Steve that pulls you out of your blissful daze. 

“I think the question should be whether you can keep up with me,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

Through heavy breaths, you let out a laugh. “No fucking kidding.”

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