#(if you ever come back I know you'd like this)

[cloudtransprncy]

One Night Only - Directors Cut

Jennie Kim X Male Reader | 8k words

One night. That’s all you ever get. By morning, she’ll be gone. You’ll tell yourself this was the last time. You’ll both know it’s not.

AN: Ya’ll might remember this if you followed me last year. Spent the last few weeks reworking it—call it the director’s cut. Also Jennie is still my ult and so her coming back into the light is great.

Consequence. The word sits heavy in your mind as you watch the city from your hotel window. Thirty floors below, New York keeps moving. Never stops.

You flick ash from your cigarette. Every choice has weight. You know this. You called her anyway.

Jennie's mouth is on yours, soft and demanding at once. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and expensive gin, sweet and sharp. Her full lips part against yours, tongue sliding against your bottom lip. Her fingers pull at your hair, just rough enough to send shivers down your spine. Between kisses she breathes, "This is stupid," but her body presses closer, breasts pushing against your chest, hips finding yours.

Commitment. You've spent years avoiding that word. Being tied down always felt wrong. You need movement, new cities, different faces. Maybe that's why things fell apart—she saw what you couldn't admit. You'd always choose the road over staying still.

Her skin burns under your hands, smooth and impossibly soft. When you slide your palm down the curve of her waist to the flare of her hip, she sighs against your neck, her breath hot on your skin. "I've missed this," she says quietly, like she's admitting something she shouldn't. You back her against the wall, pinning her with your body. She arches into you, head tilting back in invitation. You feel her pulse jump beneath your lips when you kiss her throat, right at that spot that always makes her grip your shoulders tighter.

The hotel room is all clean lines and empty space. King bed with white sheets. Bathroom with too many mirrors. Mini-fridge you've already raided. View of the city that probably costs extra. Your record label covers it, so you don't care.

As a kid, you'd search for Virgo in the night sky. Stars were constant when nothing else was. Jennie's like that. No matter how far you go, you always circle back to her.

In the half-dark, her eyes catch the light from outside. She's always seen through you, always known the parts you try to hide from everyone else.

---

She'll come. She always does.

You know she's with someone else now—an actor with a jawline made for billboards. In her world of flashbulbs and red carpets, he makes sense. But you were there first, and somehow, you're still not gone.

It's been a year since you ended things, if you can call it an ending. When you call, she answers. When she texts, you drop everything. Some connections don't break clean.

Stop. Go. Stop. Go.

A day between Chicago and Toronto shows up in your tour schedule. When you hear she's in New York for some event, changing your plans feels inevitable.

At sunset, you text her from your hotel room. The message is simple: Here for the night. Room 3045.

She replies with just a question mark. Your conversations have become this—shorthand that only works because you share history.

"I'm in the city for one night," you say when you call her. The silence on her end isn't hesitation; it's calculation. Background noise filters through the phone—glasses clinking, people talking.

"I got a room, for me and you" you add. "One night only." You hang up knowing she'll decide whether to come. You also know what that decision will be.

The knock comes at 12:17. Three quick taps.

When you open the door, your breath catches in your throat. Jennie leans against the frame, champagne glass dangling between her fingers, but it's her body that has your full attention. Her black dress hugs every curve like it was painted on, stopping mid-thigh to reveal legs that seem endless. The material stretches tight across her hips, then tapers at her waist before swelling to accommodate her breasts. The neckline dips just low enough to make your mouth go dry.

"Started without me?" you nod toward her drink, trying to sound casual while your pulse hammers in your ears.

"Needed something to get me here," she says, her lips curving into that smile that's haunted you for months. Her eyes are dark and knowing, lined with perfect black wings that make them look even more dangerous.

Jennie walks in like she owns the place, hips swaying with each step. Those knee-high socks hug her calves, leading up to a thin garter belt that disappears beneath her dress—a promise of what waits underneath. Her skin glows warm and golden against the black fabric. Her dark hair tumbles in loose waves past her shoulders, the kind of perfectly tousled look that makes your fingers itch to grab it.

Her perfume wraps around you—roses with something darker underneath, expensive and intoxicating. The scent that's followed you to hotel rooms across the country, lingering on your sheets and clothes long after she's gone.

She finishes her drink and sets the glass down with deliberate slowness. Her red-painted nails catch the light as her hand moves to your chest. "We shouldn't keep doing this," she says, but her fingers are already working your shirt buttons, knuckles brushing against your skin with each one. Her touch leaves heat trails down your torso. "It's not fair."

"When has anything been fair?" you ask. Her mouth curves into the smile that's always meant trouble.

"Never," she agrees, pressing her hand against your chest. "So we might as well take what we can get."

When she kisses you, it feels like she's taking something back, something she left with you months ago. Tonight, in this room, she's not the girl from magazine covers or someone's girlfriend. She's yours again, temporarily.

"It's been a while," she whispers against your mouth.

"Too long," you admit.

The door clicks shut behind her. You have until sunrise.

Something electric sparks between you the moment the door clicks shut. The air feels different - charged with memory and want. Your bodies remember each other before your minds can catch up.

You're on the couch in minutes, her weight settling into your lap like she belongs there. This kiss is different from the ones you remember - hungrier, more desperate. Her tongue slides against yours, and you taste gin and desire. Her body presses against yours, soft in all the places you've missed.

Your hands find her curves through the thin fabric of her dress. You squeeze her ass, pulling her closer until there's nothing between you but clothing. She moans into your mouth when you press your hardness against her. You can feel her heat even through layers of fabric.

Jennie breaks the kiss, a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips for a second before it breaks. Her eyes are dark pools reflecting the city lights outside. They hold yours with an intensity that makes your throat tight.

"I've missed this, Owen," she whispers. Her voice is rough at the edges. She grinds against you, slow and deliberate, the friction making your breath catch. Her fingers tighten in your hair, pulling you back to her mouth. This kiss is deeper, messier, with teeth and tongue and need.

Your hands slide under her dress, finding warm skin. The sound she makes when you touch her bare thighs shoots straight to your groin. You push the fabric higher, revealing more of her, inch by inch. Her breathing quickens as her hips roll against yours. Her nipples are hard points pressing through the fabric, rubbing against your chest.

She lifts her arms as you pull the dress over her head. You toss it aside, forgotten before it hits the floor.

Moonlight spills through the windows, painting her skin silver. She's all smooth curves and shadows in the half-light. Her body is a map you once knew by heart - the slight curve of her waist, the fullness of her breasts, the dip of her collarbone. You take it all in again, relearning her.

Your hands can't stay still. You need to touch every inch of her, remind yourself that she's real. Her skin is impossibly soft under your fingertips, warm and alive. Each touch makes her shift against you, seeking more pressure, more contact.

The sounds she makes are better than any song you've written. Small gasps when you squeeze her thighs. A sharp intake of breath when your thumb grazes her nipple. Low hums of pleasure when you find a spot she likes. Each sound builds on the last, creating a rhythm that guides your hands.

You need to taste her. Starting at her collarbone, you press your lips to her skin. Salt and sweetness and expensive perfume fill your senses. She sighs, her head falling back to give you better access. You work your way across her shoulder, down her arm, learning the texture of her skin with your mouth.

When you reach her breast, you feel her whole body tense in anticipation. The skin here is softer, more delicate. You circle her nipple with your tongue, feeling it harden further. Your hand finds her other breast, thumb rolling over the stiff peak.

"Oh my god," she moans when you take her nipple into your mouth. Her back arches, pushing more of her into your face. The taste of her skin goes straight to your head like strong liquor. Her chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath.

Your free hand slides down her stomach, fingers spread wide to feel as much of her as possible. You trace the edge of her panties, feeling the lace against your fingertips. She rocks against your hand, seeking more pressure. You cup her between her legs, feeling the heat and dampness through the thin fabric. Jennie gasps, her thighs trembling as you press your palm firmly against her covered pussy.

"Fuck," she breathes, grinding down on your hand. Her fingers tighten in your hair, pulling hard enough to make your scalp tingle. The slight pain only makes you harder.

You move to her neck, dragging your teeth along the sensitive skin below her ear. When you bite down - not hard enough to mark, but enough to make her feel it - she whimpers, her whole body shuddering. Your thumb makes slow circles against her covered clit while your teeth work at her neck, finding the spots that make her grip your shoulders.

"I forgot how good you feel," you say against her skin, your voice rough with wanting.

"I want to feel you too," she says, eyes locked on yours. Her pupils are blown wide with desire. Her hand traces up your arm, across your shoulder, around to your back. Her nails dig into your skin, leaving trails of sensation. She tugs at your shirt, impatient now. You let her pull it over your head.

Her hands are everywhere at once, exploring your chest, your shoulders, your back. Her touch starts gentle but quickly turns hungry. She leans down to kiss your neck, her lips hot against your pulse point. Her teeth graze your skin, just hard enough to make you hiss.

As her mouth works its way down your chest, a thought flickers through your mind - does she do this with him? Does she make these same sounds, move in these same ways? The thought knifes through the pleasure for a split second before her touch pulls you back.

Nothing exists outside this room. Not her boyfriend. Not your tour. Just her hands on your skin and her breath in your ear.

"Fuck! I need your dick in my mouth," Jennie says, her voice thick with desire. She slides from your lap in one fluid motion, her body moving with practiced grace. She settles between your legs, her knees pressed against the hotel carpet, thighs spread slightly apart. Her hair falls forward, framing her face as she looks up at you through her lashes.

In the half-light, she's a vision – lips parted and swollen from kissing, chest flushed and rising with quick breaths, her breasts full and nipples still hard from your attention. The garter and stockings against her bare skin create a contrast that makes your mouth go dry.

She runs her hands up your thighs, fingers pressing into your muscles. Her red nails stand out against your skin as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants. There's something almost reverential in how she tugs them down – slowly at first, then with growing urgency. Her eyes never leave yours, even as she licks her lower lip in anticipation.

The fabric slides past your hips, and your cock springs free, hard and aching. A small smile plays at the corner of her mouth as she takes you in. She leans closer, her breath warm against your sensitive skin. When she finally looks up at you, her eyes are dark pools of hunger and something deeper – a look that's always been reserved just for you.

"You can have it tonight," you say, your voice rough as her hands wrap around your cock.

"All of it?" Jennie asks with a smile that's pure trouble. Her eyes don't leave yours. You nod, unable to form words.

She leans closer, parts her lips, and lets a strand of spit fall onto the tip. The warm wetness makes you twitch. She uses her fingers to spread it down your length, coating you. Her hand starts moving in slow strokes that make your breath catch.

Jennie sweeps her hair to one side, giving you a clear view. She doesn't break eye contact as she moves closer. Her breath hits you first, warm against sensitive skin. Then her tongue, wet and soft, circles the head of your cock. Your hands grip the couch cushions.

When she takes you into her mouth, the heat is shocking. Her lips stretch around you as she slides down, taking you deeper than you expected. Her tongue works against the underside, finding spots that make your thighs tense. The wet sounds fill the quiet room.

She pulls back, only keeping the tip in her mouth. Her tongue swirls around it, teasing the sensitive spot just underneath. Then she moves down again, a little deeper this time. The rhythm is maddening – not enough to get you there, just enough to keep you desperate for more.

Jennie pulls off completely, her hand still working you in slow strokes. She looks up, studying your reaction. Her free hand moves to your balls, cupping them gently, then rolling them between her fingers. The touch is unexpectedly tender compared to the hunger in her eyes.

"You like that?" she asks, knowing the answer. Her thumb traces circles at the base of your cock while her other hand continues its exploration. "You always did."

She leans down and runs her tongue from base to tip in one long, wet stroke. Then does it again on the underside, where you're most sensitive. Your hips lift off the couch involuntarily. She smiles at your reaction, clearly enjoying the power she has over you.

Jennie takes her time, alternating between her mouth and her hands. Sometimes she focuses just on the head, sucking gently while her hand works the shaft. Other times she takes you deep, then pulls back to circle the tip with her tongue. There's no pattern to follow, nothing to prepare you for what comes next.

Her hand slides lower, massaging your balls again before moving even further back. The unexpected pressure makes your whole body tense. She watches your reaction with dark, knowing eyes.

"Hold my hair," she says, pulling off for a moment. She grabs your hands and places them on either side of her head. "I want you to watch."

With your hands holding her hair back, you have a perfect view of her face, of her lips as they stretch around you again. She takes you deeper this time, her eyes watering slightly at the corners. The sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge.

She pulls off but keeps stroking you with her hand, tight and slick with spit. With her hair pulled back, you can see everything – her flushed cheeks, her bare shoulders, the tops of her breasts rising and falling with each breath. She looks like something from a dream you've had too many times.

"You just can't stay away, can you?" she says, her voice low and teasing. Her hand never stops moving on you. "Always calling me back. Always wanting one more night."

She takes you back into her mouth, just the tip, sucking hard before releasing you with a pop.

"You think about this when you're with other girls?" She speeds up her strokes, twisting her wrist in a way that makes your vision blur. "Bet you do. Bet none of them do it like I do."

Her words hit something deep inside you – a truth you don't want to admit. You tighten your grip on her hair, pulling just enough to make her eyes flash. She smiles, knowing she's struck a nerve.

"That's why you keep coming back," she continues, dropping her head to lick a slow circle around the base of your cock. She moves lower, taking one of your balls into her mouth, sucking gently while her hand keeps working your shaft. The dual sensation makes your legs shake.

When she looks up again, there's challenge in her eyes. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Before you can answer, she takes you deep into her mouth again, all the way until you hit the back of her throat. She holds there, swallowing around you, her eyes never leaving yours. The sensation is overwhelming – wet heat and pressure and the sight of her taking all of you.

"Fuck," is all you can manage, and she hums in satisfaction around you.

Jennie works you with perfect focus. Sometimes she takes you deep, her nose nearly touching your stomach, staying there until she needs to breathe. Other times she pulls back to use her hand with her mouth, twisting her wrist in a way that makes spots dance behind your eyes.

Every few strokes she pulls off completely, gathering more spit, making everything wetter, messier. Saliva coats your cock and her chin now, catching the dim light. It should be gross but it's the hottest thing you've ever seen.

Time stretches and blurs. It could be minutes or hours. There's just Jennie's mouth, her hands, the heat building at the base of your spine.

She changes her approach, focusing just on the head, sucking harder while her hand works the shaft in quick, tight strokes. The new sensation makes your leg muscles jump. You feel yourself getting close.

"Fuck, Jennie, I'm—" you try to warn her, reaching to pull her head back. You want to make this last, to feel more of her tonight.

She slaps your hand away, hard enough to sting.

"You're giving this to me now," she says, voice raspy from having you in her throat. "And you're giving me more later." Her tone leaves no room for argument.

Jennie doubles down, moving with new determination. One hand squeezes the base while her mouth works the rest. Her other hand slides between your legs, fingernails lightly scratching your inner thigh. The unexpected touch makes you gasp.

She takes you deeper again, moaning around you like she's enjoying this as much as you are. The vibration, the suction, the sight of her – it all becomes too much.

The orgasm hits you like a punch. Your vision blurs at the edges as waves of pleasure roll through you. Jennie doesn't pull away, keeping perfect suction as you come. She swallows around you, the motion extending your pleasure until you're gripping her shoulders to stay upright.

She keeps going until you're too sensitive, until you have to gently push at her shoulders. Only then does she finally release you, looking up with satisfaction in her eyes. A small drop of white clings to her bottom lip before her tongue darts out to catch it.

She reaches for your discarded shirt and wipes her mouth and hands, casual as if she'd just finished a meal. The sight of her using your clothes like this only adds to the intimacy.

Jennie rises to her feet in one fluid motion, her body unfolding before you. She's petite but perfectly proportioned - slim waist, delicate shoulders, toned legs that seem to go on forever despite her height. Standing there in just her knee-high socks and garter, her small, perky breasts catch the dim light. Her skin has a golden glow against the darkness of the room.

She steps between your legs, looking down at you with hooded eyes. Her slender fingers reach for your chin, tilting your face up to meet hers. The gesture is possessive, almost commanding. She leans down, her straight dark hair falling forward to frame both your faces, creating a private world. Her lips find yours, softer now but still hungry. You taste yourself on her tongue, salt and skin.

"I'm not done with you," she whispers against your lips. "You brought me here. We're gonna make the most of it." Her fingertips trace your jawline before she steps back, grabbing your hand to pull you toward the bed.

As you follow her across the room, the city sounds filter through the windows – car horns, distant music, the constant hum of life that never stops. The soft lighting catches on her skin, giving it a warm glow that makes you want to touch her all over again.

As you follow her across the room, the city sounds filter through the windows – car horns, distant music, the constant hum of life that never stops. The soft lighting catches on her skin, giving it a warm glow that makes you want to touch her all over again.

Jennie moves onto the bed with natural grace. The curve of her spine draws your eye down to where her waist narrows before flaring into her hips. The small black thong she still wears cuts across her skin, the thin fabric disappearing between her cheeks in a way that makes your mouth go dry.

She positions herself in the center of the bed, her movements deliberate and unhurried. She folds her legs into a 'W' shape, showcasing their length despite her petite frame. The knee-high socks create a striking contrast against her bare thighs. The entire pose is an invitation you could never refuse.

Her hands begin to move across her own body, touching herself with slow confidence. She traces circles around her small breasts, fingers dancing across her skin with a self-assurance that's hypnotic to watch. In the dim light, every movement feels like it's meant just for you.

You notice how different she looks now compared to when she arrived at your door. Her carefully applied makeup is smudged around her eyes. Her hair, once smooth and perfect, is wild from your hands. She looks beautifully undone, more real somehow, and even more stunning for it.

She runs a finger across her lips, still swollen from taking you in her mouth. Then trails it down her neck and over her chest, drawing your eye along the path.

"Come here," she says, her voice low but commanding. She rolls onto her back, her body a landscape of curves and shadows in the half-light.

Though still wearing her thong, the thin black fabric does little to hide what's underneath. As you move closer to the bed, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband and slides it down her legs with deliberate slowness. The last barrier between you disappears as she kicks it aside.

With the same unhurried confidence, Jennie reaches down and uses her fingers to part herself. The gesture is both vulnerable and bold – showing you exactly what you've been missing all these months. Even in the dim light, you can see how wet she is, glistening with want.

You climb onto the bed, feeling the expensive sheets against your palms. The fabric is cool and smooth, a stark contrast to the heat building between you. The mattress gives slightly under your weight as you move between her legs.

Jennie is breathtaking beneath you. Her skin has a slight sheen in the low light, catching the glow from the bedside lamp. Her dark hair fans out against the white pillows, framing a face that's haunted your dreams for months. Her chest rises and falls with quickening breaths, her small breasts topped with hardened nipples that beg for your touch.

But you're not rushing this. Not after all these months apart.

You start at her ankles, where the knee-high socks still cling to her calves. Your lips press against the delicate bone there, feeling her pulse beneath the skin. She watches you through half-lidded eyes as you work your way higher, placing open-mouthed kisses up her calf.

When you reach the top of her sock, you peel it down slowly, revealing more of her skin inch by inch. The newly exposed flesh gets special attention – your lips, your tongue, even the gentle scrape of teeth that makes her shiver.

"What are you doing?" she asks, but there's no impatience in her voice, just wonder.

"Appreciating the view," you murmur against her knee. "Been thinking about this body for months."

You move to her other leg, giving it the same treatment – slow, deliberate kisses that make her skin prickle with goosebumps. Your hands slide up her thighs as your mouth follows, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your touch.

Her inner thighs are softer, more sensitive. When your tongue traces the crease where leg meets hip, she gasps, her fingers flexing against the sheets. The scent of her arousal is stronger here, making your mouth water.

You detour, moving up to kiss her stomach, the dip of her navel, the subtle ridges of her ribs. Each breath she takes makes her abdomen rise and fall beneath your lips. You work your way to her breasts, taking your time with each one – circling the nipple with your tongue before sucking it into your mouth, feeling it harden further.

"Owen," she sighs, arching into your touch.

Your hands never stop moving, exploring every inch of her like you're memorizing her by touch alone. The curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the softness of her sides – all of it perfect, all of it Jennie.

You make your way back down, leaving a trail of kisses from her sternum to her stomach. Her breathing quickens as you move lower, anticipation making her shift restlessly beneath you. When you reach the neat strip of dark hair between her legs, you pause, looking up to meet her eyes.

"You're fucking beautiful," you say, your voice rougher than intended.

Her eyes soften for just a moment before that familiar challenge returns. "Are you going to stare all night, or are you going to do something about it?"

You answer by settling between her legs, pushing her thighs wider. You can't help but stare at the view before you. There's something almost reverent in how you look at her – taking in every detail, every curve and shadow. Her thighs part further, an invitation that needs no words. Between her legs, you notice she's not completely bare – a neat, dark landing strip of hair points down like an arrow, the contrast of it against her skin making your mouth water.

The scent of her hits you first – warm and musky and distinctly Jennie. You breathe her in, letting it flood your senses and cloud your thoughts. Nothing exists but this bed, this woman, this moment.

You lower your head slowly, maintaining eye contact until the last possible second. The first broad stroke of your tongue makes her gasp. You take your time, exploring her with long, flat licks that cover her entirely. Her taste is familiar yet new – sweet and tangy and addictive. You could drown here and die happy.

"Fuck," she breathes, her hips already lifting slightly to meet your mouth.

You switch to softer, more focused touches, tracing her folds with the tip of your tongue. Each pass draws different sounds from her – soft sighs that gradually build to more urgent moans. You map her with your mouth, relearning what makes her breath catch, what makes her thighs shake.

When you find her clit, you circle it slowly, teasingly, not giving her the direct pressure you know she craves. Her fingers find your hair, tightening in frustration.

"Don't tease me," she warns, but there's no real threat in her voice – just desire strained to its breaking point.

You smile against her before giving in, wrapping your lips around her clit and sucking gently. The reaction is immediate – her back arches off the bed, a strangled curse falling from her lips.

Your free hand slides up her body, finding the toned plane of her stomach. You press down firmly, holding her in place as your mouth works against her. The contrast of your hand on her abs while your tongue explores her most sensitive areas makes her writhe beneath you.

She's getting wetter, her arousal coating your chin as you work. You move your tongue in circles, then switch to quick flicks across her clit that make her thighs tremble. Each change in pressure or rhythm pulls new sounds from her throat.

"Oh god, right there," she gasps when you find a particularly sensitive spot.

You slip a finger inside her, feeling her heat clench around you immediately. She's impossibly tight and wet, her body welcoming the intrusion. You curl your finger to find that spot that always drove her crazy. When you find it, her whole body jerks like she's been shocked.

"Right there," she gasps. "Don't stop."

You add a second finger, stretching her gently while continuing to work her clit with your mouth. The combination makes her hips buck wildly against your face. Her hands tighten in your hair, pulling almost painfully.

With each thrust of your fingers, you quicken the tempo, driving deeper into her. Her muscles clench around you rhythmically, like she's trying to pull you further in. Your tongue never stops its assault on her clit, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention.

"Owen," she moans, her voice breaking. "I'm so close."

You pull back just enough to look up at her, your fingers still working inside her. "You still think about this when you're with him?" The question slips out before you can stop it. Your thumb replaces your tongue, circling her clit as you watch her face.

She glares down at you, but her body betrays her, clenching around your fingers. "You're such a dick."

"But you're here anyway," you say, curling your fingers against that spot that makes her whole body jerk. "In my bed, not his."

Her breath catches. "Shut up."

You lower your head again, sucking her clit between your lips while adding a third finger. The stretch makes her gasp, her back arching. You can feel her getting closer – her thighs tensing, her breathing becoming irregular. Her entire body is flushed with heat, a thin sheen of sweat making her skin glow in the dim light.

You establish a relentless rhythm – fingers pumping while your tongue works her clit. The wet sounds of your movements fill the room, mixing with her increasingly desperate moans.

Just as she's about to peak, you ease back, slowing down just enough to keep her on the edge.

"Tell me you missed this," you say against her inner thigh, your breath hot on her wet skin.

"Don't stop," she pleads, hips lifting to chase your mouth.

You stay just out of reach. "Tell me no one does this like I do."

Her hands tighten in your hair, trying to force you back down. "I hate you," she says, but there's no conviction in it.

"No, you don't." You circle her entrance with your fingers, teasing but not pushing in. "Say it, Jennie."

She fights it for a moment, pride warring with desire. Then breaks. "No one does it like you do. Now please—" her voice cracks with need, "please don't stop."

The desperation in her voice sends heat through your entire body. You give her what she wants, diving back in with renewed hunger. Your tongue circles her clit rapidly while your fingers press firmly against that sweet spot inside her. The dual sensations push her toward the edge fast.

Her legs wrap around your head, thighs clamping against your ears as her body tenses. Your free hand reaches up to find her breast, pinching her nipple between your fingers. The added stimulation makes her cry out, her voice cracking with pleasure.

"Owen," she warns, her voice tight and strained. "I'm gonna—"

"Come for me," you command, increasing the pressure, the speed, giving her exactly what she needs.

Her breathing turns ragged, her moans more frantic. The muscles in her stomach tense under your hand as her body coils tight, ready to snap. Her inner walls clench rhythmically around your fingers, the first tremors of her orgasm beginning.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh—" Her words dissolve into a broken cry as it hits her. Her back arches high off the bed, her body going rigid. Her thighs shake violently around your head as waves of pleasure crash through her.

"Oh my God!" The words tear from her throat as her fingers pull painfully at your hair. Her body convulses beneath your mouth, wave after wave of pleasure washing over her. "You're so good at that, Owen."

She bites her lower lip hard, her neck straining as her hips jerk uncontrollably against your face. You don't let up, working her through the peak, extending her pleasure until she's gasping and writhing from the intensity.

The aftershocks ripple through her body like tremors, her skin flushed and damp with sweat. Only when she weakly pushes at your head, too sensitive to take any more, do you finally ease back. You place one last gentle kiss against her before resting your cheek on her inner thigh, looking up at her wrecked expression.

Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, her eyes closed, lips parted. She looks utterly spent, flushed and beautiful in her satisfaction.

After a moment, Jennie gathers herself, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looks down at you, her gaze dropping to your obvious arousal. Without a word, she reaches forward and spits on it, her saliva glistening as she begins to stroke you. You groan at the contact, your body responding instantly to her touch. You don't let up, working her through the orgasm, only easing the pressure when her hand pushes weakly against your head, oversensitive.

You place one last gentle kiss against her before resting your cheek on her inner thigh, looking up at her flushed face. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, her eyes closed, lips parted. She looks wrecked in the best possible way.

After a moment, Jennie gathers herself, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looks up at you, a predatory gleam replacing the post-orgasm haze in her eyes. Without warning, she reaches for your cock and spits on it, her saliva mixing with the wetness still coating her lips from going down on you earlier.

"Now," she says, voice raspy and demanding, "I'm going to fuck you."

She doesn't wait for your response, just straddles your hips and positions herself above you. Her thighs flex as she hovers, teasing you with the heat of her center just inches away from where you need it.

"Tell me how bad you want this," she demands, one hand flat against your chest for balance.

"Just get on my dick already," you growl, grabbing her hips to pull her down.

She resists, maintaining control. "Say please," she taunts, her eyes challenging you.

You nearly laugh. "Fuck you."

"That's the idea," she says with a wicked smile, then finally sinks down in one swift movement, taking you to the hilt.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you hiss as her heat surrounds you. She's impossibly tight after her orgasm, still pulsing slightly from the aftershocks.

"You're so fucking big," she gasps, adjusting to the stretch. There's no sweetness in her voice – just raw appreciation for how you fill her.

Jennie starts to move, not with gentle rises and falls but with demanding, forceful motions. Her thighs flex powerfully as she lifts herself almost completely off before slamming back down. Each drop makes a slapping sound that fills the room, punctuated by her sharp gasps.

The sight of her riding you is mesmerizing. Her small breasts bounce with each movement, nipples hard and dark against her golden skin. Her stomach muscles visibly tighten with each rise and fall, showing off the definition in her abs that she works so hard for. Her hair, now completely wild from your hands, whips around her shoulders as she moves.

"Touch my tits," she commands, grabbing your hands and placing them on her chest.

You squeeze roughly, pinching her nipples the way you remember she likes. Her head falls back, exposing the elegant column of her throat, a string of curses falling from her lips.

"Fucking hell, your cock feels so good," she says, grinding down hard. "Tell me you've missed this pussy."

"Every fucking day," you admit, thrusting up to meet her movements. The force of it nearly bounces her off you, but she adjusts her balance, her strong thighs gripping your sides.

She leans forward, her hands braced on your chest. The new angle lets her grind her clit against your pubic bone with each thrust. Her nails dig into your skin, leaving crescent marks that burn. Her face hovers above yours, her hair creating a curtain around you both. Sweat beads along her hairline, one drop sliding down her temple to her jaw.

"No one fucks me like you do," she admits, the words sounding torn from her. "No one."

With a surge of need, you move between her thighs, pressing her into the mattress. Her legs wrap around your waist, drawing you closer. Your eyes lock as you drive into her, taking control of the pace.

"Fuck, I missed this tight pussy," you growl, watching her eyes flash at your words.

"Shut up and fuck me harder," she snaps back, digging her heels into your lower back.

You slam into her, setting a brutal pace that has the headboard cracking against the wall. Each thrust jolts her body up the bed, her hair splaying across the pillows like spilled ink. Her small breasts bounce with the impact, nipples hard and begging for attention.

Your hands move to her waist, fingers nearly meeting around her small frame. The contrast of your large hands against her tiny waist makes your head spin. You can feel her hip bones under your thumbs, the delicate architecture of her body beneath your palms.

"Like that? This how you want it?" Your voice is rough, almost unrecognizable with need.

"Yes—don't fucking stop," she gasps, her nails raking down your back hard enough to leave welts.

You lean down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss. Your tongues battle for dominance as your bodies slam together. The taste of her—sweet with a hint of salt from her sweat—fills your senses. You break away to trail bites down her neck, leaving marks that will remind her of this night long after you're gone.

She arches into you, offering more of herself. You take advantage, moving to her shoulder, then her arm, leaving a trail of bites and kisses along her skin. The salt of her sweat makes your head spin. When you reach the sensitive skin of her inner arm, she lets out a surprised gasp that turns into a deep moan.

"Oh fuck, don't stop," she pants as you run your tongue along the delicate skin of her armpit, tasting the most primal part of her.

In this position, you can see everything—her face contorting with each thrust, the way her stomach muscles tighten when you hit deep, how her lips part on silent screams when you find the perfect angle. Her hair sticks to her temples with sweat, dark strands clinging to her flushed skin.

Sweat makes your bodies slide together, the hotel room filling with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin. You grip her thigh, pushing it higher, opening her wider. The position stretches her leg up toward her chest, showing off the flexibility from her years of dance training.

"Harder," she demands, her voice breaking as you comply. "Fucking wreck me."

You reach down, gripping her jaw, forcing her to look at you as you pound into her. Her eyes are wild, pupils blown with arousal. "This what you came here for? This what you needed?"

Her breathing changes, becoming more ragged. You recognize the signs—she's close again. You adjust your position slightly, hitting that spot inside her that you know drives her wild.

"There!" she cries out, her nails digging crescents into your shoulders.

You maintain the angle, the rhythm, watching her face as pleasure builds. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her body tenses beneath you, on the edge but not quite there.

"Let go," you urge, your thumb finding her clit. "Come for me again."

She shakes her head. "Not yet—not without you."

Something snaps in you at her words. Without warning, you pull out completely and flip her over in one rough motion. She gasps, surprised by the sudden movement as you manhandle her onto her hands and knees. Your hand lands hard on her ass, leaving a bright red handprint on her skin.

"Fuck!" she cries out, more in arousal than pain.

You grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back as you position yourself behind her. Sweat drips down your chest, landing on her back as you line yourself up. You can hear her panting, waiting, her thighs trembling slightly in anticipation.

"This what you want?" you growl against her ear, your chest pressed to her back, cock teasing her entrance.

"Yes," she hisses. "Give it to me."

You slam into her without further warning, burying yourself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The sound she makes is primal—half scream, half moan. Her arms nearly buckle under the force, but you hold her up with your grip on her hair.

"Fuck!" she cries out, her fingers clawing at the sheets.

You establish a punishing rhythm, each thrust making her entire body jerk forward. Her hair is wrapped tight around your fist like a leash, forcing her back to arch at a severe angle. Sweat makes your bodies slide together, your skin slapping against hers with obscene wet sounds. The musky scent of sex fills the air, heavy and intoxicating.

"Look at you taking it," you say, giving her ass another sharp slap that leaves a fresh handprint. "Always said you were made for this."

She looks back over her shoulder, her face a perfect picture of pleasure-pain, mascara smudged at the corners of her eyes. "Fuck you," she pants, but pushes back harder against you, contradicting her words.

The sight of her is overwhelming – her narrow waist flaring out to perfectly rounded hips, the elegant curve of her spine dipping then rising, her hair tangled in your fist. From this angle, you can see everything – the way her back hollows out, how her ass bounces against your hips, the glistening evidence of her arousal coating you both.

You lean forward, running your free hand up her side to roughly grab her breast. The position pushes you deeper, making her gasp. Your fingers find her nipple, pinching hard as you maintain your relentless pace.

"Oh god," she moans, her arms shaking from supporting her weight. "Don't stop."

Her body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, making her skin glow in the dim light. You can see the muscles in her back shifting beneath her skin with each impact, the way her shoulder blades move as she braces against your thrusts.

"Owen," she warns, voice strained with need. "I'm so close."

Her words push you closer to the edge. You increase your pace, chasing both her pleasure and your own. Each thrust now has purpose, driving deeper, harder. You can feel the pressure building at the base of your spine, your control slipping with every sound she makes.

"I'm close too," you admit, rhythm becoming erratic. "I'm gonna cum."

Her body tenses beneath you, muscles tightening as she approaches her peak. You can feel it building—the way she clenches around you, the trembling in her thighs, her increasingly desperate sounds.

"Oh my God, Owen!" she cries out, her voice breaking on your name. "Fill me up!"

Her orgasm crashes through her—you feel it in the way her body convulses, in how she rhythmically tightens around you, in the broken sounds that escape her throat. The sensation of her pulsing around you pushes you over the edge.

Your release hits with an intensity that whites out your vision—powerful, overwhelming, unstoppable. You empty yourself inside her, every pulse accompanied by a wave of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. Her body milks you, drawing out every last sensation until you're both trembling from the force of it.

As the intensity fades, you collapse beside her on the bed, pulling her close against you. Your arm wraps around her waist as you press gentle kisses to her neck and shoulder. Her body still trembles with small aftershocks, her breathing gradually slowing to normal.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The only sounds in the room are your labored breathing and the distant city noise filtering through the windows. Sweat cools on your skin, making you shiver slightly. Despite the roughness of what just happened, she turns toward you with unexpected tenderness, her small hand coming up to cup your cheek.

She presses her forehead against yours, eyes closed, just breathing you in. A small, almost inaudible snort escapes her as she tries to catch her breath – a startlingly human sound that cuts through the haze of post-sex euphoria. It makes her seem more real somehow, more Jennie than the polished celebrity the world knows.

Her chest still rises and falls rapidly, her heartbeat a quick rhythm you can feel where your bodies press together. Her fingers trace idle patterns on your skin, moving from your chest to your shoulder and back again. It's these quiet moments that always feel more dangerous than the sex – this gentle intimacy that makes you think of what could have been.

"Shit," she finally whispers, a small laugh bubbling up. She looks slightly dazed, her makeup completely ruined, hair a tangled mess. "I forgot how good we are at that."

You brush a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. The gesture is too tender for what this is supposed to be, but you can't help yourself. "Some things you don't forget."

She looks into your eyes and you see a complex mix of satisfaction and something deeper—a longing that mirrors your own. Her hair sticks to her face in damp strands, her skin flushed and glowing in the dim light. Even like this—especially like this—she's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

As she lies in your arms, her breathing gradually steadying, you can't help but think about what might have been between you in another life—one where you could stay instead of always leaving. One where "one night only" wasn't all you ever had.

---

Hours later, once you’re sure she’s asleep, you slip out of the bed. The sheets make a soft sound as you untangle yourself from her limbs. She doesn't stir.

The hotel room feels different at 3 AM. Quieter. The luxury that seemed impressive earlier now feels hollow, just expensive emptiness. You find your sweatpants on the floor where she pulled them off you hours ago.

The balcony door slides open with a whisper. Thirty floors up, the city spreads out like someone spilled light across black velvet. You light a cigarette, cupping your hand against the wind even though there's no one here to see the brief flare of your lighter.

Inside, Jennie sleeps. Her small body barely disturbs the white sheets. In the dim light filtering from the bathroom, you can see the marks you left on her neck, her shoulders. Evidence that you were here. That this happened.

She belongs to someone else now. The thought should bother you more than it does. Maybe you're just used to it - this pattern of coming together briefly, then separating again. Maybe you've convinced yourself it's better this way.

You take a deep drag, feeling the burn in your lungs. It's cold out here in just sweatpants, but the chill feels necessary after the heat of her body against yours for hours.

You've never been good at staying. It's not a point of pride, just a fact, like your height or the sound of your voice. Commitment feels like drowning to you, always has. You've tried to explain this to her before. She said she understood, but the way she looked at you afterward told a different story.

Below, taxis crawl along streets like yellow insects. People spill out of late-night bars, laughing too loud. The city that never sleeps. You'll be gone from it tomorrow. Another show, another hotel room indistinguishable from this one.

You wonder if her boyfriend knows where she is tonight. If he senses something when she slips back into their shared life tomorrow. If he can somehow smell you on her skin despite the shower she'll take before going home.

The cigarette burns down to your fingers. You flick it over the edge, watching its orange tip tumble into darkness.

Jennie knows you better than anyone. This is the thought that keeps you up at night in cities whose names you sometimes forget. She knows your body, your sounds, the things that make you come undone. Worse, she knows the parts of yourself you try to hide from everyone else.

A melody forms in your head. Something slow and hazy, like smoke curling off a cigarette. Words follow naturally - about being in town just for one night. About needing her. About the room you got for just the two of you.

You mouth the words silently, testing how they feel:

I'm in town for one night,

one night only

I came around to put it down, for one night only

Your fans will think it's just another song about sex. They won't know about the way Jennie looked at you when she came. How her body felt like coming home. How you're already planning when you can see her again, even as you tell yourself this was the last time.

Just one night

Got a room for me and you, for one night only

You wanna ride for a lifetime, this is one night only

The song takes shape in your mind, already feeling like a hit. Your producer will love it. Your label will push it. No one will know it's about her. No one except Jennie, if she ever hears it.

The city is turning blue at the edges when you finally go back inside. Morning approaching. Soon you'll have to leave for the airport, for the next city, the next crowd.

Jennie hasn't moved. You slide in beside her, your skin cold from the night air. She makes a small sound in her sleep and shifts toward your body heat, instinctively seeking you out. Her hand finds your chest, rests over your heart.

You wonder what she'd say if you asked her to come with you to Toronto. You won't ask. You both know the routine by now.

One night only. It's never enough. It's all you can handle.

END.

[f1fantasys]

Netflix and Chill Part 2

Warnings - FILTHY SMUT. that's it. You've been warned.

The motherfucker ghosted you.

You'd woken up the next morning, confused for a few seconds as you regained your surroundings. Normally you would feel the warmth of Lando's arm around your naked form, pulling you closer as you both shuffled to wake up. But today you had woken up cold. Pulling the sheets closer to you, you turned around, bracing yourself for whatever was to come next, good or bad. Except the other side of the bed was cold, empty, as if no one had even been there. Sitting up and looking around the room, you mentally cursed yourself for being such a deep sleeper. There was no sign of Lando. No clothes, no personal belongings, nothing. It was as if he wasn't here at all. Checking your phone, your heart dropped when there wasn't even a message from him. You held your ground for the next few days, not attempting to contact him, because, what the hell? So you threw yourself into work, busy as ever, and tried not to think of him.

It was now testing week in Bahrain, excitement in the paddock buzzing with the season about to start. You figured it would be impossible not to see the curly-haired Brit, but you'd decided to ignore him if you did. Why did he think it was okay to give you the best orgasms of your life, talk about a future, even though you could blame it on the adrenaline, and then avoid you as if you didn't know each other.

Day 1 went on without a hitch. You were covering Ferrari, so you were cooped up in their garage all day, and you were grateful all you saw of Lando was his back as he was walking out of the paddock.

Getting back to your hotel, you took a long shower, scrubbing off the smell of rubber and grease that'd gathered in the garage. You crawled into bed, desperate for sleep though you kept tossing and turning until your phone buzzed with a message. Seeing Lando's on your screen had you jolting up.

''hey, you good? sorry for being MIA, prepping for the season and what not..''

You took a few minutes to reply. You totally got how stressed and busy he was, but what pissed you off was how he'd left you sleeping in his room, bolted like it was nothing, you were nothing.

''i get you're busy Lan, but low blow leaving me in YOUR hotel room without so much as a fucking 'hey, I'm leaving, see you whenever'' you sent back.

His next message came in quick.

''whoa, relax. yeah? didn't think you'd react like this..''

Relax? Really? Was he really telling you to relax right now? You were fuming.

''react like what? Lando, we fucked and then you literally walked out in silence. how should i react?''

''i..yeah, dick move. i'm sorry''

Before you the chance to respond, another text came in.

''let me make it up to you? ;)''

Fuck this man and his abilities to turn you on with a few simple words.

''no thank you, i'm tired.

''y/n? saying no to my dick?''

''fuck you''

''i'd rather you fuck me''

Already feeling a wetness in your panties, you instinctively slipped a hand past them to slide through your throbbing folds, when you phone pinged again.

''damn, no reply for 3 minutes. she's touching herself thinkin' about me''

Damn him for knowing you inside out.

''stop''

''come on y/n, i know how needy you get. let me help you yeah?

''Lando'' you warned, though you didn't want him to stop one bit.

He obviously took it as you moaning him name, not warning him.

''i know baby. just imagine i'm right there with you, it's my fingers sliding through your dripping cunt. press two into yourself?''

You did as he said, gasping and arching your back off the bed as you thrust them in and out at a steady pace though it didn't feel as good as Lando's rough, calloused fingers. And when he saw you hadn't replied, he didn't hesitate to call you.

Whimpering, you answered, not saying anything but instead letting him hear what he was doing to you.

''Fuck, always love hearing you like this'' he said. ''Are you doing it? Fucking yourself with your fingers?'' he asked as you heard shuffling on the other end of the line.

''I am'' you responded, words coming through gritted teeth.

''Go faster, and let me hear you come more baby. Fuck I'm so hard right now''

You quickened your pace, breathless moans leaving your mouth. ''Are, huh, are you touching yourself?'' you asked.

''Yeah, fuck, i'm so fucking hard right now. Imagining your tongue on my cock, soft and hot''

''Lando'' you moaned his name, your tummy warming up, orgasm on the brink.

He quickly requested a facetime which you accepted, nearly tipping you over the edge as you saw him sat against his headboard, fist around his dick, pumping very quickly as he let out his own series of grunts.

''I'm right there with you, fuck. Think of my tongue now, going down on you. Licking up all your juices as I suck on your clit before thrusting it through your hole, fuck you're delicious. Are you gonna cum baby? All over my face yeah?''

''I-fuck me. I'm gonna-'' you started before your orgasm ripped through your body, your cum coating your fingers as you shook, the after effects taking control now.

Just seeing you let go to his words had Lando on the brink, his moans becoming louder as you watched cum splurge out of his girth and on to his stomach, sheets of white painting him as his body shuddered and tried to calm down. ''Fucking hell'' he groaned.

Both your chests were heaving, smug smiles playing your faces as you stared at each other through the phone.

''One more thing babygirl'' he said.

''Huh'' you questioned.

''Need to see you suck your fingers off. Taste yourself''

You did as he did. Sliding your fingers out of your cunt and bringing them to your lips, not before showing off the shine to Lando through the camera.

''Fuck'' you heard him mutter as you finally sank them into your mouth, moaning at the salty taste of your cum.

You licked them clean and released them with a pop before turning your attention back to Lando.

''Your turn'' you said, feeling your cheeks heat up at the thought of Lando tasting himself.

He groaned, and you watched him gather his slick on a finger before slipping it into his mouth, already clenching your thighs together at the sight of him.

Finally, as things settles and both your heart rates returned to normal, Lando sheepishly smiled at you while you internally cursed yourself for getting putty in his hands so easily.

''Tomorrow, yeah?'' he said, up and walking to his bathroom to clean up.

''Tomorrow'' you said, bidding him goodnight.

Needless to say, you woke up fresh as a daisy in the morning. That damn mouth of his, doing things to you without so much as touching you.

You strode into the paddock with a colleague, stopping my the McLaren hospitality to see if Lando was there. He wasn't, so you made your way to Mercedes, your home for the day.

George was speaking before you saw him. ''Someone's pucker'' he said, winking.

Your cheeks flushed, Lando must have said something.

''Shut up'' you mumbled as he walked in step with you. He was a close friend of Lando's, and they often spoke of their quoted ''love lives'' so rather, ''friends, with benefits''

You motioned to zip your mouth up and throw away the key before your breath hitched when you saw Lando walking towards you.

''Hello'' he greeted innocently, with a smirk that was anything but innocent.

''Hi'' you smiled, clearing your throat as George walked away with a smug look on his own face.

''Good night?'' he asked, as if he wasn't talking filthy over the phone not 12 hours ago.

''Meh, it was alright, could have been better'' you said.

He chuckled, a deep sarcastic laugh before he moved closer, lips barely touching your ear. ''I'll be looking for a different answer tomorrow morning, after i fuck you numb tonight'' he whispered, walking off behind you, leaving you blushing in the middle of the paddock.

The rest of the day was busy from the word go. You had been keeping an eye on how Lando was doing, his car seemed to take off right where they ended last year, if anything, better even. Just as you were wrapping up for the day, he'd texted you with his room number. ''Don't be late'' to which you reacted with a heart.

You had a dinner to attend, which seemed to drag on forever before you practically ran up to your room to shower and change, eager for him. You knocked a few times with no answer, so opened your phone to call him as you read a message he'd sent.

''In the shower. Door's unlocked''

You smiled and pushed it open, the noise of the shower filling your ears. Debating whether to wait for him or join him, the latter won out.

You stripped your clothes to be butt naked before opening the bathroom door, gasping when your eyes landed on Lando's hands pumping himself.

''Gonna stand there and watch or help out?'' he teased, opening the shower door you to step into.

Within seconds his lips were on yours, fighting for dominance as your tongues slid against each other. It was sloppy and messy, the both of you swallowing the others moans.

You could feel Lando's hard erection between your stomachs, his hands cupping your ass, massaging it tightly.

''Need to taste you'' you mumbled, roughly pushing him against the wall and sinking down on your knees while Lando didn't protest. He gripped your hair, pulling it out of your face into a makeshift ponytail as you kissed a strip on his bare thighs up to his crotch.

''Please'' he begged leaning his head back, mouth slightly agape as you finally wrapped your lips around his tip, swallowing his pre-cum and then sucking hard on it.

''Fuck me y/n. That mouth of yours'' he groaned when you started pushing him further into your mouth, pumping what you couldn't fit in. You hummed in response, the sensation causing his dick to twitch in your mouth as you quickened your pace, folding with his balls as his grip on your hair tightened.

''Fuck you take me so good. Where do you want my cum?'' he asked, voice desperate though none of your cared how quickly he was pushing to the edge.

He should have known the answer already. You were always ready to taste him, so you continued with your movements as Lando cupped your face and began fucking himself through your mouth, relentlessly.

And in a matter of seconds he exploded, sheets of warm, salty cum coating the inside of your mouth as he let out guttural moans, legs shaking and shuddering as his dick twitched uncontrollably.

You clenched your thighs together at the sound, taste and sight in front of you. Lando was slowly becoming your world, and to see him fall apart like that because of you, was doing things. Good or bad? You didn't know.

You stood back up and stood on your tippy-toes to kiss him, hard and deep, gripping his hair tightly.

He quickly turned the water off before picking you up, throwing you over his shoulders before stepping out of the shower, not caring about dripping water everywhere as he carried you to the bed, flopping you down before hovering above you.

You took his green eyes in, heart beating out of your chest because it was times like this that you couldn't believe he was choosing to do these types of things with you.

''I'm sorry for being such a dick. I was worried you'd think I'm a desperate fucking weirdo after saying all those things to you that night'' he said, thumb stroking your cheek.

''Lando, I literally want the same things as you, i told you. Please don't do that again. I'd thought you regretted all of it'' you said softly.

''Fuck, the only thing i regret is going all MIA on. I promise I won't do it again''

You responded by pulling him down and kissing him senseless again.

''I meant it. I want all of you.'' you mumbled between licks and nips of his tongue.

''I'm here now, not going anywhere'' he said, before hovering down your body and spreading you legs apart, a smirk taking over his face.

''Look at you, dripping for me'' he said, wasting no time in licking a strip up your sticky cunt.

You gasped, tugging at his hair as he started his onslaught, devouring your pussy, biting and sucking on your clit as he thrust two finger through you, hitting against your g-spot over and over again.

''Oh god, Lando, fuck. Fuck me'' you said between moans, gasps for air because he really was not going easy you.

''Cum on my face y/n, need to taste you'' you said, adding a third finger while holding your legs spread with his strong hands.

He didn't need to tell you twice to cum. In no time you were gushing your liquids all over, drenching his face in white hot sticky cum as your moans over took the sloppy sound of his tongue lapping at you.

When you'd realized what was happening, Lando was praising your name over and over, and it dawned on you as you looked at him, panic taking over your body.

You'd just squirted all over his face.

''I-oh my god, shit, I'm sor-

''What the fuck, y/n, how are you saying sorry right now? This is the hottest fucking thing you've ever done. I'm about to cum again just looking at you like this'' he said quickly.

You had no energy to argue, butterflies in your stomach at his words as he leaned up to kiss you again.

''Need to feel you, please'' you begged.

''Condom?'' he asked, having a feeling he knows the answer already.

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips as he slid his thick girth through your folds.

''Fuck me numb, yeah?'' you said, repeating his earlier words back to him.

''Fucking dirty mouth'' he mumbled before sliding into you in a single thrust, bottoming out while you held your breath, squeezed your eyes shut at the intrusion.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waste and told him to move, capturing his lips again between breathy moans and guttural groans.

'Fuck, you're tight'' he said, picking up his pace, pounding into you, his dick continuously hitting the same spot over and over as your walls clenched painfully around him.

''Lando, please, faster'' you begged, his hand coming down to toy at your clit which immediately had your body shuddering underneath him, your orgasm ripping through you while he relentlessly continued pounding into you.

''Not gonna last long, fuck me'' he said, his moans pornographic by now, and the sound on skin slapping against skin filling up the room.

''I, I can't Lando, too much'' you said, cunt overstimulated.

He slowed his movements. ''Want me to stop?'' he asked, no etch of concern on his face coz he knew you could take it.

''Fuck no'' you said, already trying to move your body up and down to create some friction again.

He smirked as he resumed his pace, quick, hard, deep thrusts until they started becoming sloppy, his dick throbbing inside of you as you came yet again, your body like jelly, moaning out his name, and not a few seconds later you felt sheets of warm cum coating your insides as he came with a husky groan, shuddering on top of you.

Lando eventually collapsed on your body, the both of you shivering at the cold air coating your sweat-clad skin.

You could feel like softening inside of you, though no one even attempted to move, too fucked out to care.

''Your incredible'' he mumbled in your neck, his breath fanning your skin as your played with the curls on his head.

''Tell me that tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that'' you teased back, making him pull his head up, sheepish smile.

''Be my girlfriend?'' he asked, rather shyly.

''I'd love to!'' you said, unable to keep your own smile in.

You didn't know what to expect when his fingers tapped against your cheek, motioning for you to open your mouth.

You did so, your brain short circuiting when Lando let his spit drip down from his mouth into yours, smug smirk on his face.

''Now we're official, baby''

A/N - reverse cowgirl in this pic? YES PLEASE.

@sltwins @savagecatsuga @sheeesthings @dollyvuu @lilorose25 @htpssgavi @moonclaine @col4pint0 @dustie-faerie @ayap4paya @geometric-circle @martygraciesversion381 @screechingmiraclechaos @sarx164 @sunny-ln4 @cmleitora @brats66 @saythename-sm

[enwoso]

lovie as a newborn and just cute moments with alessia

MOMENTS WITH YOU | alessia x child!reader

nine cute little moments with lovie as a newborn/baby

grumpy masterlist

1. middle of the night talks.

— it was the middle of the night, 3:42am to be precise and alessia was busy pacing her bedroom as she rocked you gently in her arms, hoping it would lull you into sleep.

the soft glow of the nightlight casted a warm hue over the room, the only sound in the room was alessia's quiet shushing noises as she swayed from side to side.

"listen little one," alessia whispered, resting her cheek against your tiny head. "i love you more than anything but i need you to sleep."

your little lips smacked together, your body still fidgeting in your mummy's arms.

"i know, i know, it's a big scary world," alessia sighed rubbing soothing patterns on your back, "but lovie, i haven't had a solid four hours of sleep since your arrived. help me out?"

you responded with a soft whimper, burying your face deeper in your mummy's chest. alessia let out a tried chuckle, "you're lucky you're the cutest thing ever."

finally your tiny breaths evened out and alessia sat back down in the bed and your arms still wrapped protectively around you.

even in the exhaustion that was definitely piling up since you'd arrive just a little less than three weeks ago, there was something so peaceful about it. just the two of you in the little word, awake while everyone slept.

"you and me, baby," she whispered. "always."

—

2. facetime chaos.

you were curled up on your mummy's chest, your tiny body wrapped in a fluffy pink blanket as alessia propped her phone up against a pillow. her screen lighting up with a facetime call and soon, a chorus of excited voices filled the room.

"can we see her? let us see her!" ella shouted practically shoving millie out of her way just to get closer to the screen.

"chill guys!" alessia laughed, picking her phone up and turning the camera so the girls could see you, as you slept through the chaos.

"oh my days," katie breathed out as her hand went over her mouth, "she's so small"

"she's perfect less," maya beamed in awe, her eyes wide and filled with joy.

you stirred slightly, making a small noise as you cozied back into your mummy's arms. the noise making the whole group melting.

"less, you have to bring her to a match," millie said all the girls cheering in agreement as alessia smiled before adding that they'll have to wait till you were a little bit older.

"she needs her own tiny united kit too!" one of the girls piped up as a smirk appeared on alessia's face as they began to bicker about what name that you should have on the back of your tiny shirt.

"oh i already have one," alessia grinned, "she's gonna be the cutest mascot in history with the number twenty three!"

ella leaned closer to the screen, "little one, open your eyes if you wanna come live with auntie tooney."

you moved slightly but other than that you remained completely unfazed still fast asleep as small snores come from you.

"i think that's a no.." alessia grinned as the girls burst into laughter and for the first time in weeks since you had arrived, alessia felt like herself again.

sure, she was exhausted and her life had completely and utterly changed but for the best possible reason - but some things like her team and the love they shared for one another stayed exactly the same.

and now, she had you to share it with.

—

3. bath disaster.

alessia had seen plenty of videos on how to bathe a newborn, had advice from her midwife and her mum but none of them prepared her for how slippery a tiny wriggly newborn could be.

"alright lovie, this is supposed to be relaxing," alessia murmured as she gently lowered you into the warm water in your small baby tub.

your little arms flailed around as your face scrunched up as if you were considering whether to cry or not.

"it's okay," alessia soothed, cupping water over your belly and for a second it seemed like you were getting used to it, that you actually liked it but then suddenly you let out an ear piercing wail.

"oh no, no" alessia panicked slightly as she adjusted her grip, "lovie i swear i'm not trying to drown you!"

your tiny hands grasped at the air as your face turned bright red as you screamed.

"okay, bath times over," alessia announced as she lifted you out of the bath and quickly into a fluffy towel. "think that was a little traumatic for both of us, eh?"

you sniffled, still fussing as alessia sat on the floor of the bathroom, the same old hoodie which had baby milk and other days old stains on it as she brought you close into her chest rocking you gently.

"see? all good now," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your damp forehead as your body still shook slightly from your sniffles as your cries got quiter.

not even two seconds late, just as alessia was finally calming herself down, you seemingly over the whole bath thing as you peed all over the clean towel.

"yeah, okay," alessia groaned slightly, the joys of motherhood, as she shook her head slightly. "next time, nonna is doing this-"

—

4. watching football together

it had been weeks since alessia had even thought about football properly. of course it had been there but for once it wasn't the forefront of her mind.

she missed it, missed the pitch, the team, the rush of playing but for right now her world revolved around you and soaking up as many firsts with her first born as she could. knowing these moments would form core memories.

but still she figured it was never too early to introduce you to the game.

getting herself comfy on the sofa as she settled you on her chest, facing the tv. the women's super league match on the big screen and the match was no other than — united vs arsenal.

"okay, lovie this is important," alessia whispered as she ran her fingers lightly over your back. "you gotta know the game if your gonna be the next best thing!"

you let out a tiny sigh, your small warm body relaxed against your mummy. no doubt as you were moments away from falling asleep.

"see, that's auntie mary in goal — best in the world and there's auntie tooney but don't ever listen to her when she tells you she's better than me!"

your hand twitched slightly and alessia chuckled, "you agree, don't you?"

for a little while, alessia just lay with you content in her arms as she stroked a thumb over the back of your hair, smoothing down the small baby hairs sticking up on the back of your head.

the quiet sounds of the game playing in the background as you eventually dozed off, completely content.

alessia smiled down at you, pressing her lips to the top of your head. "one day you'll be watching me out there again," she whispered, "and i hope i make you proud."

—

5. sleepy cuddles

it had been another long night. you'd been up every two hours, fussing and crying and alessia was running on fumes.

she lay on the back of the sofa, her body aching and mind foggy. you were finally asleep resting on your mummy's chest as your tiny fingers curled onto alessia's shirt.

alessia knew she could put you down in your crib and use this time to rest herself, have some time to herself but she couldn't bring herself to move.

instead she just tightened her arms around you and closed her eyes, as she listened to the soft rhythm of your breathing.

"one day you won't need to hold you like this," she whispered as she pressed a sleepy kiss to your forehead. "so i'm gonna hold you as much as i can now."

and with that, she left herself drift off, wrapped up in the safest place she knew — right there with her little girl.

—

6. family time with a side of chaos

it was the first proper family dinner since you'd arrived into the big world and as much as alessia loved her family she was starting to regret it.

her dad, mario was in the kitchen debating with her brother, giorgio about which way was the best way to cook pasta while luca was arguing with their younger cousins over who would be your favourite uncle.

meanwhile you, who was completely oblivious to everything going on as you were curled up in your car seat in a deep sleep.

alessia leaned back taking a sip of her water bottle, shaking her head slightly. "she can sleep through all this but wakes up the moment i put her in her crib at home?"

alessia's dad appeared beside her, placing a plate in front of her. "she's got italian in her less, she's already used to the noise." alessia just laughed as she picked up her fork.

as dinner was well under way, you'd woken up as you sat in your mummy's lap. brightly curious eyes looked around the dinner table as luca began to speak.

"right little one, time for your initiation!" luca smiled as alessia's head turned her brows raised in curiosity, wondering what it was.

"which is?"

her brothers as well as her parents all grinned the same smirk all on there lips as you sat curious and oblivious to everything going on around you.

gio help up a tiny baby spoon, "her first taste of pasta sauce!"

alessia's eyes went wide as she looked at the spoon which had a small amount of sauce on the spoon, a loud gasp leaving alessia's lips, "absolutely not!"

luca pouted, "oh cmon less, just a little-"

alessia stood firm, she hadn't realised they were just joking. "i will fight you." she warned, sending her brothers a warning glare.

luca sighed dramatically but leaned down to kiss the top of your forehead as your curious eyes watched everyone movements. "okay, but when she's older, i'm teaching her how to make proper pasta!"

alessia's mum, carol smirked, "not if i teach her first!"

alessia shook her head, but the smile that was presence on her lips won't go away. you may not of understood anything but you'd been born into a family that loved fiercely, argued loudly but would always, always have your back.

and really, what more could she ask for?

—

7. a typical sunday

sunday morning had always been slow and cozy in the russo househould. music would be playing in the kitchen as the smell of fresh coffee and toast filled the air.

everyone lazing around in their pyjamas long past breakfast and now with you in the mix, it was even better.

alessia sleepily shuffled into the kitchen, you tucked into her arms. her mum was already at the coffee machine placing alessia's cup near it as her dad sat at the table reading yet another sports magazine.

"morning" alessia yawned, using one hand to rub her eyes while the other kept a tight grip on you.

mario looked up from his reading and grinned, "morning, you two" he reached over rubbing a gentle hand over the top of your head, "did you let mummy sleep?"

alessia let out a tired laugh, "not even a little bit."

luca and gio walked in next, still both half asleep, but the second there eyes saw you, they perked up sighing a second.

"alright, give her here," luca smiled holding out his hands.

alessia hesitated as she looked down at your comfy position in her arms, "i literally just got her to settle."

giorgio just smirked, his quick mind thinking of a smart retort, "she just likes us better, just admit it!"

but before alessia could protest, luca carefully took you from the comfort of your mummy's arms and into his as he cradled you from side to side. you barely stirred as your tiny fingers grasped into his hoodie.

"your joking," alessia's groaned, "why does she always sleep for you lot?"

you mum chuckled, placing a hot cup of much needed coffee on the table for alessia, "cause she knows she had all of us wrapped around her little finger!"

alessia shook her head, she couldn't fight the warmth which spread through her chest. she looked around at her family.

her brother bickering over who would get to hold you next as her dad still stared at his granddaughter like she was the most fascinating thing he'd ever laid eyes on. as her mum watched over them all with a knowing smile.

—

8. first time at the theatre of dreams

alessia hadn't made her return to the pitch just yet, but she was close. close enough that she was itching to be able to lace her boots up again.

for now though, she was in the stands with you watching as united took on chelsea under the bright lights of old trafford.

you were bundled in a warm red jacket, and matching red hat covering your soft hair and your own little pair of ear defenders to keep out the loud noises. your own little united kit on underneath your full body jacket which kept you warm under the chilled air of manchester.

alessia held you close, whispering the commentary into your ear. "there's mary, in goal - she'll make sure you never see a bad keeper in your life" alessia whispered as mary made a diving save.

"and there tooney - she's basically mummy's right hand but she can be a little silly but we love her anyway!"

you just yawned, unimpressed. alessia laughed, as she tucked another blanket around the two of you. "you're gonna love it here, baby i promise."

as the final whistle blew and the score ended level. alessia feeling a rush of emotions. emotions she'd missed while being out. but soon she'd be back out there again and this time she'd have someone extra special watching from the stands.

—

9. first time watching mummy play

alessia knew you would never remember it but she would, she would never forget it. her first game for united back playing football.

the roar of the crowd as the adrenaline filled her body as she was back on the pitch. and then after the final whistle she spotted her family in the stands.

you were bundled up in a tiny red united beanie one that had been specially made just for you as you were fast asleep in your nonna's arms.

alessia's heart clenched. she jogged over her body tired and breathless as she leaned over the barrier a big smile back on her face. "she seriously slept through my whole comeback?"

carol just laughed, "less she's just a baby. she doesn't understand what's going on!"

alessia shook her head but she was still smiling, nothing could stop her from doing that. "unbelievable."

she reached out and over the barrier as she brushed a gentle hand over your little cheek. one day, alessia would tell you all about it. but for now it was more than enough to know her little girl had been there.

[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’.” 

[minaharkerdailymirror]

When he told her he probably would've done it, Mina felt the tears falling down her face. She felt hurt, she felt betrayed. Sure there were plenty of times he'd talked about his depression and the darkness and how she'd be better off but he'd never really done anything to take those steps to go through with it. He'd wanted to die in the early days when they met, he'd relapsed once but for the most part he did very well.

"You realize if you'd done that, if you'd turned to ask then I might not have ever known what happened to you?" she asked, "I would've awakened and you would be gone and that would just be it. And I would've spent my whole life after wondering and hoping you'd come back"

Just like her dad. She'd never known what happened to him either. And he'd never come home and Mina knew he was dead because he wouldn't just abandon her and her mother but to live through all that again...

She had her own confession, "I wasn't going to come for you this time."

It filled her with great shame because she knew that Daniel wouldn't have asked for help if he didn't intend to leave. But she was just so emotionally spent and angry. Couldn't talk about her past with him as she processed her feelings over the manuscript, couldn't trust he wouldn't stand in the sun, couldn't trust he wouldn't run back to the one that turned him.

"If you died, it would kill me," she told him, "I love you so much, you are the only one that knows everything. You're the only one I've ever told everything to. That trust to me is more important than love. I know that darkness invades your mind and your soul but Daniel, I wouldn't survive if something happened to you."

She'd be a husk again and she wouldn't pull herself out of it.

But when he brought up the fledgling maker bond, she flinched, "I'm not going ot be tethered, Daniel. Not unless my life depends on it."

“So, you want to interview vampires, so you?”

[pottersamor]

teaching / theodore nott

summary : theo teaches you how to please your boyfriend.

"you need to do better then that if you wanna please that boyfriend of yours, sweetheart." theo said lazily, manspreading on the leather chair in the Slytherin common room, a cigarette in his hand as he occasionally took a smoke.

you looked up at him, tears prickling in your eyes from your spot on the ground, hands around his cock as you sucked on it. his hand was around your hair, pulling it up into a ponytail. you nodded, trying to take more of his cock inside your mouth.

you had recently gotten into your first relationship, it was with a ravenclaw-and you knew nothing about anything intimate. so, what better way to learn then learn from your best friend? you and theo have been best friends ever since childhood, and he'd gotten with multiple women before. so, he offered to teach you on how you could please your boyfriend.

"use your hands for the area you can't reach." he said, looking at you with those dead eye of his. he would never admit it, but it had been a fantasy of his to come in your mouth, and even if he had to do it in this way, he didn't mind. atleast he got to see you on your knees for him, looking like an angel.

you obliged, hands immediately cupping the rest of his cock which you couldn't reach. he hissed, head leaning back onto the leather couch. "mhm.. keep doing that, angel.. so good.." he muttered. his praise caused you to heat up, a small faint blush appearing on your cheeks.

when theo looked down at you once more, he couldn't help but smirk. seeing you blush, because of what he said. not your boyfriend, no, him.

"y'know cazza, im starting to doubt you even like that idiot if you're here, on your knees, for me." he took a smoke from his cigarette. you wanted to deny, you wanted to pull away and say no. but, you didn't. you stayed in place, not even batting an eyelid as you continued pleasing him.

he only smiled, "you're gonna take my come in your mouth, 'kay? or, do you want me to paint your face with it? your boyfriend can see what you're doing." if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was jealous.

it was only a few moments after, that he pulled his cock out of your mouth, and before you could question why, he held his cock in hand, come spurting out as he painted your entire face with it. "theoo..!" you complained quietly. he smirked once more, "stay like that, pretty. i helped you, now, you need to help me."

you could only stay confused in place, before he grabbed his phone from the couch next to them, opening it as he snapped a picture of your beautiful, innocent face-tainted with his cruelty. "this'll help me for my own needs." he said, feigning innocence.

"you best be going, if you don't want anyone else to see you lookin' so gorgeous." you huffed, standing up. you fixed your hair and skirt, immediately heading towards your dormitory so you could clean yourself up.

what you didn't know though, was that theo had then opened instagram on his phone, going onto your page, only this time -not stopping onto your pictures to jerk off, no, but to find your boyfriends profile and send him a little something.

[dokyumms]

sleep tight

pairing: vernon x reader

genre: pure fluff

word count: 494

cw: none

a/n: unfortunately i'm a one trick pony when it comes to sleepy svt fics...

you were trying so hard to not roll around in vernon’s bed. it was the second time you’d ever slept over at his place (the first time being when you were black out drunk), and you just couldn’t fall asleep.

the reason for your restlessness was one that you were too embarrassed of to ever admit: you couldn’t sleep without hugging something, or at least holding something. it was pathetic, you weren’t 5 years old, yet here you were, up at 2am because of the empty feeling beneath your arms.

to make matters worse, your boyfriend was sleeping soundly next to you. any normal person would’ve just went to go hug their boyfriend, but unfortunately for you, vernon liked to sleep on his back in a starfish position, almost forcing you to dangle off the bed. it sort of terrified you; he looked like he was about to get sacrificed, but you never commented on his antics. you chose to date this guy for a reason.

desperation kicked in as you searched for something to hold on to, except there was nothing on his bed. he only had the bare minimum: two pillows, a thin sheet, and a blanket.

giving up, you flopped back onto the pillow. you considered just pulling an all nighter when you heard your boyfriend mumble sleepily.

"you know i'm right here, right?"

you turned your head to the side. vernon had one eye winked open, rubbing the other one with the back of his hand. thinking that you'd accidentally annoyed him, you muttered a quick apology, saying that you'd be quieter. a little embarrassed, you turned away so your back faced him.

he made a confused noise before sighing. then you felt him roll over, pressing his chest against your back and putting his head on your shoulder.

"i didn't mean it like that. i meant like- like if you needed to hug me or something, then i'm here. you can hug me."

it was your turn to make a confused noise, turning around to give him a puzzled look. you never told him about your sleeping habit.

"what? you assumed i just thought you had all those stuffed animals on your bed for no reason?" oh, you hadn't thought of that. he smiled at your blank expression before taking your hands and placing them around him. "see? that wasn't so hard, now go to sleep. it's getting late." he said, snuggling into you and closing his eyes.

your heart swelled at the action, seeing that vernon would give up his normal sleeping position for you.

"thank you," you said, murmuring a 'goodnight' as well before placing a kiss on his temple. you waited for a response, only to find him already asleep in your embrace.

feeling warm inside, you finally fell asleep with vernon in your arms.

(later, you found out this was all apart of his plan, finding a ton of stuffed animals shoved under his bed the next morning)

[rafayelxsylusho]

Not sure if you do requests! (I tried looking but I couldn't find anything so sorry in advance if you don't.)

I was wondering if you'd ever be willing to do a sylusxyouxrafayel piece! I think Rafayel and Sylus both have that delicious possessiveness to them that it would almost be like a competition but I'd imagine it make someone go a little crazy from how opposite of each other they appear.

Thanks!

Hi I do accept requests, it might take a bit of time for me to get to them but I try 😊.

This is how I picture it, I hope you like it!!

TW: Filthy smut

You opened your eyes, blinking against the dim light filtering through the curtains of an unfamiliar bedroom. A throbbing headache pulsed behind your temples as fragmented memories of the night before flashed through your mind, loud music, clinking glasses, the taste of alcohol on your tongue. And then, nothing.

You sat up abruptly, your heart pounding as you tried to make sense of the raised voices. The room spun slightly but you ignored the disorientation, focusing instead on the heated exchange between Sylus and Rafayel.

"...in danger if YOU were supposed to be taking care of her, not running around the city like some reckless fool!" Sylus shouted, his usually calm demeanor shattered.

Rafayel scoffed, his tone dripping with sarcasm and annoyance. "Oh, coming from the man who's been stalking her every move for years? At least I have the decency to be present when I say I'll protect her.

You blinked rapidly, rubbing your eyes and shaking your head as if to dispel the illusion. But no, Sylus and Rafayel remained, glaring at each other intensely, seemingly oblivious to your sudden awakening.

"Am I...am I dreaming?" you muttered under your breath, struggling to reconcile the fact that these two, who had never met each other to your knowledge, were now standing in the same room together and arguing about you.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cool hardwood floor beneath your feet as you stumbled up on slightly unsteady legs. Your head throbbed and your mouth felt like cotton, remnants of the night before still lingering.

You felt strong arms grasp you before your knees could give out, pulling your limp body against a firm chest. The scent of cologne and something uniquely Sylus filled your nostrils as he held you close, his grip possessive and protective.

"Get your hands off of her," Sylus growled, his voice a low rumble in his chest that you could feel as much as hear. There was a warning in his tone, a clear message that he considered you his territory to defend. Rafayel, not one to back down from a challenge, tightened his own hold on you, his fingers splaying across your back as he pulled you more firmly against him. "I'm not letting go of her, not until I know she's okay," he retorted, his chin set stubbornly.

Their argument continued to escalate, voices rising as they stood there holding you between them. The last thing you registered before everything faded to black again was the feeling of their hands on your body, their chests pressed aginst your back and front, hearts beating with a matching intensity. Then, nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You slowly regained consciousness again as you blinked open your heavy lids. Sylus and Rafayel were still there, their argument now a low, heated murmur but no less intense.

"...leave, Sylus," Rafayel was saying, his voice tight with barely contained anger 

You tried to speak, your throat dry and scratchy. "W-what's going on...?" you croaked out, struggling to make sense of the situation. "Why are you both here? How do you even know each other?" Your words came out slurred and weak, your body still not fully under your control. You looked between the two men, seeing the way they eyed each other like rivals, the tension crackling in the air between them. The reality of your situation began to sink in, this was no dream. Somehow, some way, Sylus and Rafayel were both here, in the same room, arguing over you. And you were right in the middle of it. The realization sent a shiver down your spine, even as a fresh wave of dizziness threatened to pull you under again.

You looked around the unfamiliar room, your gaze landing back on Sylus and Rafayel. They stood frozen, eyes locked on you, expressions intense.

"Where am I?" you asked again, your voice slightly stronger this time. You needed answers, needed to understand how this bizarre situation had come to pass.

Rafayel was the first to speak, his brow furrowed in concern. "You're in a safe place, cutie. Don't worry, I've got you."

Sylus scoffed, "Not thanks to you" he retorted, his lips curling into a sneer.

Before they could launch into another argument, you interrupted, desperate for clarity. "Do you two...know each other?" you asked, looking between them in disbelief. "How is this even possible?"

Rafayel's expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he glared at Sylus. "Yes, unfortunately we've known each other for years, Sylus here has been...keeping tabs on you.

Sylus's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Rafayel. "Fine," he bit out through gritted teeth. "Yes, it was mephisto that has been watching over you. Not that Rafayel here has been doing a very good job of it," he added with a scathing edge to his voice.

You stared at them both in disbelief, your mind reeling from their revelation. Without thinking, you pushed yourself up to standing, pointing an accusatory finger at each of them in turn.

"What makes either of you think I need your protection?" you demanded, your voice stronger now, tinged with anger and confusion. "I was having less trouble before I even met the both of you!" You couldn't believe the gall they had, arguing over you like some prize to be won when you had been managing just fine on your own until now. The realization that they had been secretly watching you left you feeling violated and furious. How dare they interfere without your knowledge or consent? Your heart raced as you waited for their response, determined to get to the bottom of this mess.

Rafayel stepped closer, his eyes softening as he circled around you. There was a change in his demeanor, a intensity in his gaze that made you feel both unnerved and strangely breathless.

"Why do you think you were doing okay before, cutie?" he asked, his voice lowering to a smooth, persuasive tone. "Luck? Or perhaps..." He paused, his fingers brushing lightly along your arm as he continued to walk around you. "...it was because of the protection we have been secretly providing you, even if you didn't know it."

His eyes met yours, and in them you saw a flicker of something raw and possessive. "You really think you could have lasted this long without someone watching your back?Without us?" There was a hint of vulnerability in his words, but also a underlying current of arrogance.

Sylus scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain as he spoke. "Don't give yourself too much credit, Rafayel. The fact that she ended up in danger last night is on you. If you had been doing your job properly, she never would have been in that situation." His eyes flashed with accusation as he glared at Rafayel, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

Rafayel still didn't spare Sylus a glance, his intense gaze remaining fixed on you. "Well, cutie here said she was already home and going to sleep," he argued, his voice taking on a defensive edge. "I didn't know she was out partying with friends. I don't have some creepy mechanical crow stalking her every move, now do I?" There was a hint of bitterness in his tone, a jab at Sylus's invasive methods of protection.

You took a step back from both of them, your arms crossed tightly across your chest as you glared at Sylus and Rafayel in turn. Your eyes flashed with anger and frustration, your voice rising as you spoke.

"I really don't owe either one of you any explanations," you declared firmly. "And I don't need your so called protection, so stop." You felt a surge of independence and defiance, unwilling to be bossed around or controlled by either of them anymore. "I can take care of myself, and I don't appreciate being spied on or having my life interfered with like this." Your words were sharp and decisive, leaving no room for argument.

Sylus let out a low, rumbling chuckle at your defiant words, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and dark appreciation. "Feisty little kitten, aren't you?" he murmured, " or maybe a little dragon, all fire and fury, even when you're cornered." He took a step closer to you, his tall frame seeming to loom over you, his presence commanding and dominant. "And I think you do owe us an explanation," Sylus continued, his gaze intensifying as he searched your face. "We've both invested too much in keeping you safe to just walk away now." He reached out, his fingers brushing along your jawline, tilting your chin up to force you to meet his eyes. His hand remained under your chin, his thumb brushing back and forth as he held your gaze. His eyes bored into yours, intense and unyielding. "You can't deny it, can you? You've been playing us both, keeping me at arm's length even as you flirted shamelessly with Rafayel." His lips curled into a smirk, his eyes flashing with a mix of amusement and something darker, more possessive.

"Don't think I haven't noticed," Sylus continued, his other hand coming up to rest on your hip, pulling you just a little bit closer. "Mephisto can see everything, little dragon. He can see the way you blush and smile at Rafayels clumsy attempts to win your favor."

He leaned in even closer, his breath ghosting over your lips, his voice lowering to whisper. "Tell me, were you planning to keep us both dangling forever? Or did you intend to choose one of us eventually?" His eyes searched yours, looking for answers, for any hint of what you truly wanted. The air between you was charged with tension, Sylus's proximity making it hard to think straight.

"I...I wasn't!" you stammered out, flustered by Sylus's proximity and the intensity of his gaze. "I'm not playing with either of you." Your cheeks flushed hotly at the accusation, your heart pounding in your chest.

Before you could gather your thoughts to say more, Sylus interrupted, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction

"Oh, I think you were," Sylus said, his voice still low and intense. "But perhaps Rafayel can enlighten us both." He tilted his head towards the other man, a smirk playing on his lips.

Rafayel stepped closer, crowding into your space on the other side. He inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before opening to pin you with a heated gaze. "I can smell your arousal, cutie," he murmured, his voice rough and low. "The same scent that clung to your skin when we went on our dates, when I held you close and whispered sweet nothings in your ear." 

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "I...I don't know what you're talking about," you managed to say, but your voice lacked conviction. Your body trembled slightly as Rafayel's words echoed in your mind, the truth of them impossible to ignore. You were attracted to both of them in a way that both thrilled and terrified you, and they both knew it. The knowledge put you at a distinct disadvantage in this bizarre standoff.

Sylus leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke in a low, intense murmur. "How do I put this in simple terms, kitten?" His voice was a dark, velvety rumble, sending shivers down your spine. "You've been flirting with both of us, spending time with us, and right now..." His hand slid from your hip to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You could feel every hard inch of his body pressed against yours. "Instead of feeling unsafe or scared, you're feeling something else entirely, aren't you?" His other hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his burning gaze. "You're feeling turned on. Aroused. Desired. And we both know it."

Rafayel's eyes flashed with a mix of jealousy and indignation as he glared at Sylus. "Maybe she doesn't want you, Sylus," he retorted, "Maybe y/n only wants me." There was a desperate, almost frantic edge to his words, a man clinging to a fading hope.

Sylus laughed, his eyes never leaving yours as he spoke to Rafayel. "If you had a mechanical crow watching over her every move, as I do, you would have seen the way she reacts to my touch." His hand slid lower on your back, his fingers splaying possessively over the curve of your rear. "You would have seen the way her breath hitches and her pulse races when I'm near. The way her eyes follow me when she thinks I'm not looking. So don't think so highly of yourself, Rafayel. She wants us both, whether she's willing to admit it or not."

His words sent a thrill of fear and excitement rushing through you. As much as you tried to deny it, you couldn't ignore the way your body responded to both of them. The way your heart raced and your skin prickled with goosebumps at their touch. You were caught between them, a pawn in their twisted game, but you couldn't bring yourself to pull away. Some dark, hidden part of you reveled in their attention, their desire, even as your logical mind screamed at you to run.

As you turned around, to put some much needed distance between you and Sylus, you found yourself crashing against Rafayel's firm chest instead. His hands instinctively came up to steady you, one hand splaying across your lower back while the other cupped your jaw gently.

Rafayel gazed down at you, his eyes dark with emotion as they roamed over your face. They lingered on your lips for a long moment before flicking back up to meet your gaze. "Do you really want to go, y/n?" he asked softly, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, a raw, aching need that made your heart clench. It was clear that he didn't want you to leave, that the thought of you walking away twisted something deep inside him. His grip on you tightened slightly, as if he were afraid you might disappear if he let go.

Behind you, Sylus let out a low, mocking laugh. "She's not going anywhere," he said confidently, his voice a dark rumble. "Are you, kitten?" His hand slid around your waist, pulling your back flush against his hard chest. You could feel every contour of his muscular body pressed against you, the heat of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of your clothes.

You were trapped between them, your heart pounding wildly as you looked up at Rafayel. His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of indecision, any flicker of doubt. He saw the way your breath caught in your throat, the flush that crept up your neck to stain your cheeks. And he knew, as surely as Sylus did, that despite your words, you didn't really want to go. Not when you had both of them, so close, so eager, so hungry for you. The air between the three of you was charged with a dark, electric tension, the promise of something dangerous and thrilling hanging heavily in the space between your bodies.

Sylus leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, his voice a low, dark rumble. "You don't want this? Then we'll move. But if you stay..." His hand slid possessively to your hip, "If you stay, you're ours. Both of us, in every way imaginable." His other hand came up to tilt your chin, forcing you to meet his burning gaze over your shoulder.

Rafayel's eyes flashed with a mix of triumph and dark promise as he looked down at you "You heard him, cutie," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "Stay with us, and we'll give you everything you've ever wanted. Everything you never knew you needed." His thumb brushed over your lower lip, tracing the soft curve of your mouth.

Behind you, Sylus nipped at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "We can give you the world. Power, pleasure, a love so intense it consumes you. You just have to say the word, and we're yours. Mind, body, and soul." His hand slid up from your hip to cup the swell of your breast, his thumb brushing over the peak of your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt.

A soft gasp escaped your lips at the feeling of Sylus's fingers grazing over the sensitive peak of your breast. Your body arched instinctively into his touch, craving more even as your mind reeled with the weight of their words.

When you turned your head to look up at Rafayel, his eyes were clouded with a mix of desire and desperation. His eyelids were hooded, his gaze heavy lidded as he stared down at you with a hunger that made your heart race. The air between you was electric, crackling with a tension that demanded release.

Acting on a primal instinct, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips against Rafayel's in a kiss. His eyes widened in surprise for a moment before fluttering shut, a low groan rumbling in his throat as he kissed you back with a fervor that stole your breath away.

His lips moved demandingly against yours, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you, to taste you, to consume you. One hand fisted in your hair, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss, while the other hand slid down to grip your hip, pulling you flush against him.

Behind you, Sylus growled lowly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your breast as he watched Rafayel kiss you with a bruising intensity. "That's it, kitten," he purred darkly. "Give in to it. Give in to us."

Rafayel broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he stared down at you with a wild, almost manic look in his eyes. "Tell us you want this," he rasped, his voice rough with need. "Tell us you're ours, and we'll give you everything"

The kiss had only fueled the fire burning low in your belly, the ache between your thighs. You could feel the evidence of their desire pressed against you, hard and insistent and demanding. They were waiting for your answer, their bodies trembling with the effort of holding back, of giving you a chance to refuse.

You turned your head to the side, your lips finding Sylus's in a kiss that sent a jolt of electricity through your body. It was different from Rafayel's kiss, darker, more demanding, more intense. Sylus kissed you like he was starving for it, like he wanted to devour you whole and consume every last piece of you.

As your lips met Sylus's, you felt Rafayel's knee press firmly between your legs, sliding up to brush against your most sensitive area through the fabric of your clothes. The sudden contact against your aching, clothed sex made you gasp, your body jolting with a surge of pleasure that quickly turned into a drawn out moan.

The sound of your pleasure echoed between the three of you as the kiss with Sylus broke, your chest heaving and your skin flushed. Sylus's eyes flashed as he heard your moan, a grin spreading across his handsome face.

"Listen to that sweet sound, the way you moan for us, kitten. You can't deny it anymore." His hands slid down to grip your ass, squeezing the firm globes possessively as he pulled your hips back against his own. You could feel the thick, hard length of his arousal pressing your backside, leaving no doubt as to how much he wanted you.

“I bet I can get you off like this,” rafayel whispered, his voice teasing with an edge of promise. “Make you come without even putting my hands on you.”

He moved his leg, rocking it upward in a way that pressed perfectly against your clit. You whimpered loudly because, no doubt he could, but you didn’t want that.

“I want your hands on me,” you whispered. “Please"

Rafayel's eyes darkened with lust at your breathless plea, a smirk spreading across his face. "As you wish, cutie," he whispered "Tell me what you want, y/n , tell me how you want to feel my hands on you."

"Don't be shy, kitten," sylus said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "We can give you exactly what you need. All you have to do is ask."

One of Rafayel's hand slid slowly up your thigh under your skirt, his fingertips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Your skin prickled and tingled with anticipation as his touch crept higher and higher, inching towards the aching, empty space between your legs.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, "Is this where you want my hands, cutie? Right here?" His fingers danced along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, teasing and tormenting you.

You shook your head. “Higher.”

Rafayel looked at Sylus with a smirk, silently conveying a message between them. Sylus answered with a dark chuckle, his hand sliding up to the hem of your shirt.

"Of course, kitten," Sylus purred, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric to stroke the bare skin of your stomach. "We want to touch you everywhere. To feel every inch of this exquisite body."

Rafayel's fingers crept higher, his touch now a mere whisper against your skin as he approached the edge of your panties. "Here?"

His eyes held a challenge, daring you to beg for it, to plead for his touch. Sylus's fingers slid up to the underside of your breast, his thumb brushing the bottom curve teasingly. They were close, so close to where you needed them, to where your body screamed for their touch.

You swallowed the embarrassment. “My…” you huffed at the words stuck in her throat. “My cunt.

Without warning, Rafayel slid his hand beneath the fabric of your panties, his fingers finding your slick, swollen folds. He groaned at the feel of your arousal, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before opening to pierce you with a hungry gaze.

"Fuuuuck," Rafayel breathed, his fingers stroking through your wetness, teasing your entrance. "You're fucking soaked, baby. Is this all for us?"

Behind you, Sylus growled approvingly, his hand cupping the full weight of your breast, kneading the soft flesh. "That's it, kitten. Tell us exactly what you want," he coaxed, his thumb and forefinger finding your nipple and pinching lightly.

Rafayel circled your clit with a feather light touch, not quite applying pressure, teasing you. His eyes, dark and hungry, watched your face intently, gauging your reactions to his touch. Sylus rolled your nipple between his fingers, tugging on it gently as his other hand slid down to your hip, holding you in place. "Don't be shy now," his lips brushing your ear. "Tell Rafayel exactly how you want him to touch you. Be specific."

You gasped as Sylus's fingers unzipped your skirt, the sound of the zipper teeth parting echoing in the air. The skirt fluttered to the floor, leaving you clad in nothing but your damp thong. You could feel the cool air against your newly exposed skin, making you shiver.

Rafayel's eyes flicked down to your newly exposed thighs "Or maybe...you want me to rip these panties off and bury my face between your legs until you scream?"

Sylus chuckled, his hands making quick work of your shirt. Buttons went flying as he tore it open, baring your lacy bra to his hungry gaze. "Mmm, I like the way you think," his fingers deftly unhooking the clasp at the front. Your breasts spilled free, nipples already hard and aching for his touch.

Rafayel's hands slid down your thighs, leaving your skin tingling with anticipation as he knelt before you. "Since you don't seem to have a preference, cutie," Rafayel murmured "I think I'll make the choice for you." He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he nuzzled into the apex of your thighs. Your thong was the only barrier left between you now, the damp fabric clinging to your swollen folds.

Sylus took the opportunity to press himself against your back, his muscular chest against your bare shoulder blades, his hips nestling your ass against his straining erection. "Let him taste you, kitten," Sylus said, his hands kneading your breasts, pinching your nipples. "I want to watch him devour your pretty little cunt until you're screaming"

Just as Sylus finished that sentence Rafayel leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your clothed slit, groaning at the taste of your arousal. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he began to lick and suck at your aching sex through the damp fabric, his nose nestling against your clit.

Sylus rolled and pinched your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure racing through your body. He rocked his hips against you, his clothed cock sliding along the cleft of your ass, letting you feel how hard he was, how much he wanted you. Your head fell back against Sylus's shoulder, your fingers tangling in Rafayel's hair as you gasped and moaned, your body already writhing with pleasure.

Rafayel hooked his fingers into the delicate lace of your thong and slowly peeled it down your thighs. He tossed it carelessly aside, leaving you bare and exposed before him. Sylus smirked, his eyes glinting with dark intent as he watched Rafayel admire your exposed sex. Without warning, he grabbed your thighs, his large hands easily encircling your legs just above the knees. "I think our dear Rafayel could use a little help"

You felt a tingle of Sylus's Evol power emanating from his hands, and suddenly, your thighs were lifted and positioned over Rafayel's shoulders. He grunted in surprise, quickly catching on and gripping your hips for support.

"Much better," Sylus said approvingly, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of your inner thighs as Rafayel found himself face to face with your dripping, needy cunt. "Well, hello there, beautiful," he murmured, his breath hot and heavy against your swollen folds. "Aren't you just the prettiest little thing." He leaned in, his tongue darting out to flick against your clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. "Mmm, and you taste even better than you look," Rafayel purred, his voice a low, sinful rumble.

"Fuck, kitten," Sylus groaned, watching Rafayel work. "The way he's devouring your cunt, you'd think he was starving for it. And judging by how wet you are, I'd say you've been craving his touch just as much."

Sylus's fingers dug into the meat of your thighs, holding you in place as Rafayel licked and lapped at your folds, savoring you.

Rafayel paused his ministrations, his lips glistening with your juices as he gazed up at you, his eyes burning with intense desire. He gripped your hips tighter, his fingers sinking into the supple flesh of your ass. "If these were my last moments on this earth," Rafayel murmured, his voice a low, fervent whisper, "there is no better way to go than with your legs wrapped tightly around my head and my tongue buried deep in this pretty little cunt."

Sylus chuckled, amused by Rafayel's words. "Do you hear that, kitten?" his fingers still gripping your thighs tightly. "Rafayel is already so pussydrunk, he's ready to worship it like it's the last thing in the world." As he spoke, Sylus used his Evol to keep your legs securely draped over Rafayel's shoulders, leaving you open and exposed to his eager mouth. His other hand came down to gently, but firmly, spread your pussy lips apart, revealing the glistening pink folds within.

Rafayel's eyes darkened with lust at the sight, his tongue darting out to teasingly circle your now fully exposed clit. Sylus pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingers, sending jolts of pleasure pain straight to your core. "Go on then, Rafayel," he encouraged him "Indulge yourself. Taste every drop of our girl's sweet nectar."

He leaned down to nip at your earlobe, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Be a good girl for him, kitten. Ride his face until you drench him in your cum. Show him what this pretty cunt can do." With that, Sylus gave your nipple a sharp tug, the slight discomfort only heightening the intense pleasure radiating from your core.

Unable to resist the overwhelming urge any longer, you began to grind your hips against Rafayel's face, riding his tongue with desperate need. Soft, needy whimpers spilled from your lips as you chased the pleasure he offered. Rafayel groaned in approval, the vibrations of his voice sending delicious shivers through your core as he gripped your hips tighter, pulling you harder against his mouth. He licked and suckled at your clit, his tongue delving deep into your entrance to taste your essence directly from the source.

Sylus continued his own sensual assault, rolling and pinching your nipples between his skilled fingers. He nipped at your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point before sucking a dark mark into your skin. "Fuck, I love seeing you like this. Completely lost in pleasure, putting on a show just for us."

"That's it, kitten, grind on his face, fuck yourself on his tongue. Use him for your pleasure until you're screaming our names and gushing all over him."

Rafayel plunged two long fingers deep into your dripping cunt, curling them just perfectly to hit that special spot inside you. The sudden, intense stimulation was too much, and you came undone with a scream of pure ecstasy.

"FUCKKK!" you cried out, your voice echoing off the walls as your body convulsed and shook. Your inner walls clamped down around Rafayel's fingers, rippling and fluttering as a wave of pleasure crashed over you.

Rafayel continued to pump his fingers in and out of your spasming sex, his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit, drawing out your intense orgasm for as long as possible. He groaned in satisfaction, the sound muffled by your thighs and your gushing arousal flooding his mouth.

As the final waves of your intense orgasm subsided, you felt the warmth of Sylus's Evol dissipating from your thighs. Slowly, your legs slipped from Rafayel's shoulders, and you found yourself standing once more, positioned between the two men. Rafayel sat back on his heels, his lips and chin glistening with your essence as he gazed up at you with a look of pure satisfaction. He licked his lips, savoring your taste. When he stood, you immediately reached for the hem of his shirt, a fierce hunger in your eyes as you began to tug it upwards. He raised his arms, allowing you to peel the it off his toned body, revealing the lean muscles and smooth pale skin beneath.

Without pausing, you attacked his pants next, your fingers making quick work of the button and zipper. You yanked them down his legs, along with his underwear, leaving him just as bare as you were.

Rafayel let out a soft chuckle, amused by your eager desperation. "Eager, aren't we?" he teased. His cock jutted out proudly from a nest of dark curls, long, thick and already leaking at the tip. The sight made your mouth water, and you found yourself licking your lips unconsciously.

Sylus's hands slid around your waist, his fingers splaying across your stomach possessively. You could feel the heat of his breath on the back of your neck. You turned around to face Sylus, your eyes filled with the same desperate, lustful hunger you had shown Rafayel. Without a word, your hands reached for the buttons of Sylus's crisp black shirt, your fingers making quick work of the buttons.

He raised a brow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched you strip him with such eager desperation. "We have an impatient, kitten" He didn't resist as you shoved his shirt off his broad shoulders, revealing the network of scars that lined his skin. His chest was a work of art, each muscle clearly defined, his abs a perfect six pack.

Your fingers drifted lower, undoing his pants and tugging them down his thighs. Sylus stepped out of the pooled fabric, leaving him just as bare as you and Rafayel. His cock was a thing of beauty, thick and long, curving up towards his stomach. It was already rock hard, the head an angry red and leaking copiously. "Satisfied, kitten?" Sylus asked as he towered over you.

"Gorgeous isn't he?" Said rafayel behind you "But he's going to look even better with your perfect little pussy wrapped around his cock while you ride him." He gave Sylus a playful shove, urging him to sit back on the edge of the bed. As Sylus settled himself, his back against the headboard and his legs spread wide. "Go on, cutie," his eyes blazed with anticipation as he gestured to Sylus's impressive erection, standing tall and proud between his muscular thighs. "Climb on top and give us a show. Bounce on his cock until you're both screaming"

You climbed up onto the bed, straddling Sylus's muscular thighs as you gazed down at his cock, the thick, veiny length of him jutted out, so hard it seemed to throb with need. You couldn't help but doubt if he would fit inside you, your pussy clenching nervously at the thought.

Sylus smirked, sensing your hesitation. He reached out, his large hands gripping your hips possessively as he pulled you closer, the head of his cock catching against your dripping slit. "Don't worry, kitten, you can take it"

Just then, you felt Rafayel's presence behind you. His hands slid around your waist, his fingers splaying across your stomach as he pressed himself against your back.

"Shh, relax," Rafayel murmured in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You're going to feel amazing wrapped around him, cutie. His cock is going to fill you up perfectly." He nipped at your shoulder, soothing you with gentle kisses along your neck and collarbone. "Just take a deep breath and sink down. I promise, you'll fit every inch of him. You're going to love every second of it."

As you started to sink down onto Sylus's cock, you felt your tight walls stretching around his thick girth. Inch after inch disappeared inside you, filling and stretching you in a way you had never experienced before. However, as you reached the halfway point, you suddenly stopped, your hips hovering just above Sylus's as a flicker of panic crossed your face. You clenched down around him, your inner muscles fluttering and quivering as they struggled to accommodate his size.

"I...I don't think I can go any lower," you gasped out, your voice strained with a mixture of pleasure and discomfort. "You're too big, Sylus. I can't...I can't take all of you."

Behind you, Rafayel felt your stomach bulge slightly from the massive intrusion of Sylus's cock stretching your tight walls. He rubbed soothing circles over your taut belly, murmuring words of encouragement in your ear.

"Shh, just relax, cutie," Rafayel cooed, his hands kneading the flesh of your hips and stomach. "You can take this. Breathe through it."

He angled your hips slightly, tilting them in a way that allowed you to sink down a little further. At the same time, Sylus gripped your waist tighter, his hips surging up to meet yours.

The dual movement caused you to slide down Sylus's thick shaft, impaling yourself on every last inch of his cock. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you threw your head back with a loud moan.

"FUCK!" you cried out "Oh god, Sylus! You're so deep...so big...ahhh!" Your pussy clenched and spasmed around his throbbing member, trying desperately to adjust to the stretch. You could feel every ridge, every vein, every pulsing throb and twitch of his cock buried deep inside your core. Sylus groaned, his head falling back against the headboard as your scorching heat engulfed him completely.

Rafayel glanced at Sylus, a smug grin spreading across his face as he saw the look of pure bliss etched onto his features. Sylus's eyes were squeezed shut, his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched as he struggled to maintain his composure in the face of the exquisite pleasure your tight, wet cunt was inflicting upon him.

"Wow, Sylus," Rafayel teased, "Not a word? I guess congratulations are in order, cutie. Your perfect little cunt has left our friend here completely speechless."

He punctuated his words with a roll of your hips, grinding you down against Sylus's pelvis and making you both groan at the intense sensation. Rafayel's hands slid up to your breasts, kneading and squeezing the soft mounds as he played with your nipples.

"How does she feel, Sylus?" Rafayel asked with a chuckle, knowing full well the other man was too lost in pleasure to form a coherent response. Sylus could only let out another groan in response, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips hard enough to leave bruises. His eyes were squeezed shut, his breathing ragged as he fought to maintain his composure.

Rafayel just smirked, loving the way your body had rendered Sylus at your mercy. "That's it, cutie," he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck. "You've got him right where you want him. Now let's see if we you can make him beg for more..."

You started to move, your hands braced against Sylus's broad, muscular chest for leverage. Slowly, you lifted your hips until just the tip of his cock remained inside you, before sinking back down with a low moan.

Up and down you went, finding a rhythm as you rode Sylus. Your inner walls clung to him, slick and tight, creating a delicious friction that made you both groan with each movement. His hands roamed your body greedily, squeezing and groping every curve. He palmed your ass, spreading your cheeks and pulling you down harder onto his cock. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, guiding your movements as you bounced on his lap.

"Fuck, just like that," Sylus said, voice strained with pleasure. "Ride my cock, kitten. Take every inch of it" Rafayel watched the erotic spectacle with hooded eyes, his own arousal growing at the sight of you lost in lust.

"That's it, cutie. I want to see you fuck him into oblivion."

As you continued to ride Sylus with increasing fervor, you felt Rafayel's hands grip your hips tightly, his fingers sinking into your soft flesh. Just as you were about to cry out from the intense pleasure, you felt one of his hands snake around your hip, his fingers finding your sensitive, throbbing clit. He began to circle the swollen nub, rubbing and teasing it with skilled, practiced motions. The added stimulation made your walls clamp down even harder around Sylus's cock.

"Ohhh, FUCK!" Sylus roared, his head slamming back against the headboard as your clenching pussy pushed him to the brink. "Your cunt...god, it's squeezing me so fucking tightly. Don't stop, kitten. Keep milking my cock just like that."

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding on for dear life as you rode him. His hips surged up to meet yours, slamming his cock into you with deep, powerful thrusts that made your tits bounce and jiggle with each impact.

You felt Rafayel hot breath fanning over your neck as he continued to stimulate your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "That's it, ride him harder, fuck him deeper. I want to see you milk his cock for every last drop of cum. Give him the best fuck of his life."

You were lost in a haze of pleasure, your body writhing and undulating as you rode Sylus's cock with wild enthusiasm. Your cries of ecstasy filled the room, mingling with Sylus's guttural groans and Rafayel's encouragement.

The final straw that sent you both hurtling over the edge was when Rafayel's hand slid down to Sylus's heavy balls. He massaged the sensitive balls, feeling them draw up tight as Sylus's orgasm approached. At the same time, Rafayel pinched your clit hard, the sharp sting of pain blending deliciously with the overwhelming pleasure. Your pussy clenched down viciously around Sylus's cock, gripping him as your orgasm crashed over you.

"FUCK! I'm...I'm going to cum!" Sylus screamed. His cock throbbed and pulsed inside you, growing even harder and bigger as his release neared. Your screams of rapture mingled with Sylus's cries, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room as you both hurtled towards your peaks. Sylus's hips jerked and stuttered, losing rhythm as he fucked up into you.

Rafayel jerked his hips forward, grinding your clit hard against Sylus's pelvis as he felt the other man's balls draw up tight. "Now, Sylus!" Rafayel commanded. "Cum for her! Fill her little cunt with your seed!" With a final, brutal thrust, Sylus buried himself to the hilt inside your spasming pussy. His cock erupted like a geyser, painting your insides white with thick, hot ropes of cum. Jet after jet of jizz pumped into you as Sylus moaned his release, his body shuddering and convulsing beneath you.

Your combined orgasms seemed to last an eternity, your bodies shaking and shuddering as you rode out the aftershocks. Finally, you collapsed against Sylus's sweat slicked chest, both of you panting and gasping for air.

"I bet people would pay a pretty penny to see their beloved leader reduced to such a debauched state. Sylus, the great and powerful, brought to his knees by Linkon's most beautiful hunter"

Sylus gasped sharply as your laugh made your inner muscles clench and ripple around his sensitive, softening cock. He gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging into your flesh as he fought to maintain control.

"Don't make her laugh, Rafayel," Sylus growled, his voice still strained from the aftershocks of his intense orgasm. "Every time she does, her perfect little cunt squeezes me. Fuck, I can feel every inch of my cock even now..."

He rolled his hips up slightly, grinding his pelvis against yours and making you both groan at the sensation. Your combined juices, a mix of your arousal and his release, leaked out around his shaft, dripping down onto his balls and the sheets below.

Rafayel let out a low, appreciative whistle as he drank in the erotic sight before him, his artist's eye savoring every detail. He could see Sylus's thick, pearly essence slowly seeping out around your stretched, puffy lips where you remained impaled on the other man's cock. The creamy fluid trickled down, staining the expensive sheets beneath you.

"Fuck, what a gorgeous sight," his voice heavy with lust. "The way his cum is leaking out of your perfect little pussy, it's absolutely exquisite."

"I could paint this moment, cutie. Capture the way Sylus's release is dripping out of your sexy, well-fucked cunt... it would be my magnum opus. A masterpiece dedicated to the sheer erotic beauty of your body and its effect on him." Rafayel's hand slid down, collecting some of the leaking essence on his fingers. He brought them to his lips, making a show of licking them clean, his tongue swirling around the digits to lap up every drop of your combined juices. "Mmm, and to think, I'd only be able to paint it once I'd thoroughly tasted every drop of your combined pleasure. For art, and for my own selfish indulgence, of course."

Sylus just groaned, his fingers kneading the globes of your ass as he listened to Rafayel's words. He knew he should feel some measure of outrage at the way the other man spoke of his lover. And yet, the way your body trembled and clenched around his cock with each filthy word only served to arouse him again. It seemed there was no end to the ways you could reduce him to a state of desperate, aching need.

Before Sylus could gather the strength to fuck you again, he sat up suddenly, his hands gripping your waist tightly. With a grunt, he slowly slipped his softening cock out of your dripping cunt. You felt every thick inch of him sliding out, a fresh gush of your mixed releases spilling out of your fluttering hole as he withdrew. Then lifted you up and placed you right in front of Rafayel, your back pressing against the other man's chest. You could feel the heat radiating off Rafayel's naked body, his skin warm and slightly damp with sweat from the erotic show he'd just witnessed.

At the same time, you felt Rafayel's hard, throbbing cock press firmly against the cleft of your ass. It nestled in the valley between your cheeks, the thick shaft pulsing with need, smearing your skin with his pre-cum. His hands slid around your waist, one coming to rest low on your belly while the other cupped your breast possessively. He rolled and plucked at your nipple, pinching the sensitive bud between his fingers as he ground his hips against your ass.

Sylus shifted position, lying on his stomach on the bed as he watched the two of you with a mix of satisfaction and renewed lust. He propped himself up on his elbows, his crimson eyes dark and intense as he gazed at your naked bodies.

You and Rafayel remained kneeling on the bed, your back pressed against his chest. You could his heart pounding, matching the frantic beating of your own as anticipation built between you both.

Suddenly, Sylus reached out and grabbed Rafayel's rigid cock. He gave it a few firm strokes, smearing the copious pre cum that leaked from the tip all along the thick shaft. When he lined up Rafayel's throbbing cock with your dripping entrance, a jolt of electricity seemed to course through your body. It was a thrilling mix of excitement, vulnerability and deep arousal to see Sylus's strong hand wrapped around Rafayel's cock, guiding it to penetrate you.

"Fuck, Sylus!" Rafayel gasped, his hips bucking reflexively at the sensation of Sylus's touch on his aching cock. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips as he tried to hold back from simply thrusting forward and burying himself inside you.

Sylus just smirked at Rafayel's reaction, his grip tightening slightly around the other man's thick shaft. He looked up at you both with a wicked glint in his eyes, enjoying the power he held in that moment.

"Go ahead, Rafayel, fuck her, claim her. Show me how much you want her, how badly you need to fill her up." With those words, Sylus pressed the swollen head of Rafayel's cock against your entrance, feeling it catch and then slowly sink into your soaked folds. The sensation made you both gasp, your head falling back against Rafayel's shoulder as your slick walls stretched and welcomed the thick intrusion.

Sylus watched with a mix of awe and lust-darkened eyes as you began to bounce on Rafayel's cock, your hips rising and falling in a sensual dance. The sight of your slick cunt swallowing up Rafayel's thick shaft over and over again was almost too much for him to bear.

"Goddamnit," Sylus swore under his breath. His eyes raked over your bouncing body, taking in the way your full breasts swayed with each movement, the hard points of your nipples just begging to be touched. He sat up on his knees and without warning, he leaned in and captured one of your bouncing nipples between his full, sensual lips. He suckled hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak as he drew it into the wet heat of his mouth.

"Ohhh fuck!" you cried out, the dual stimulation of Rafayel's cock pounding into you and Sylus's mouth on your breast sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. You reached back to tangle your fingers in Rafayel's short dark hair, holding him close as he pistoned his hips, driving his cock deeper and harder into your grasping cunt.

Sylus determined to mark you as his own, just as Rafayel was claiming you so roughly from behind, switched to your other breast, giving it the same treatment as he sucked hard, leaving dark hickeys blooming on your skin. His hand slid down to grope and knead the globe of your ass, holding you in place as Rafayel fucked into you. Rafayel panted harshly against your neck, his hips slapping against the globes of your ass with each powerful thrust. "God, your cunt feels incredible," he groaned, feeling your walls squeezing his cock. "So fucking tight and wet... "

As Sylus continued his assault now on your collarbones, leaving a trail of dark, claiming marks in his wake, you felt Rafayel's hot breath ghosting over your neck. His panting grew more ragged as he pistoned his hips with increasing fervor, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. In the heat of the moment, Rafayel's intense eyes locked with Sylus's dark, hungry gaze over your shoulder. For a charged second, they seemed to communicate something primal and possessive, a silent agreement passing between them. It was a look that spoke of a shared desire, a mutual hunger to lay claim to every inch of your body.

The air between them practically crackled with tension, the weight of their combined lust and desire threatening to overwhelm you. You could feel the power dynamic shifting, the balance of control tilting precariously as both men sought to assert their dominance over you in their own ways. And in a moment of dizzying desire, you grabbed both Sylus and Rafayel, pulling them in close. As you did, their faces turned towards each other, meeting in a messy, passionate kiss. It was a clash of lips and tongues, a tangle of hot breath and muffled moans. Sylus's hand slid up from your hip to grip the back of Rafayel's neck, holding him in place as he dominated the kiss. Rafayel responded just as fervently, his own hand fisting in Sylus's short white hair. And you were caught in the middle, your tongue darting out to dance and twine with both of theirs. It was a sensual, erotic dance of lips and limbs, the three of you writhing together in a tangle of sweat slicked skin and throbbing, aching need.

Throughout the messy, passionate kiss, Rafayel never ceased his relentless thrusting, his thick cock pounding into your dripping cunt. "She's close," Rafayel panted against your lips, his voice strained with exertion and pleasure. In an instant, Sylus pulled away from the messy three way kiss and shifted positions, moving back down to lie on his stomach between your spread thighs and without hesitation he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your dripping slit, tasting the heady mix of your arousal and Rafayel's pre cum. He groaned at the flavor, his grip tightening on your thighs as he held you in place, keeping you spread wide open for his hungry mouth.

Sylus focused his attention on your sensitive, throbbing clit, suckling and flicking the bud with skillful strokes of his tongue.

"Fuck, Sylus!" Rafayel grunted from behind you, his hips snapping harder, fucking into your fluttering walls as he felt your body tensing, climbing rapidly towards a shattering peak. "Don't stop, make her cum on your tongue while I fill her up!"

"I can't... it's too much," you whimpered, overwhelmed by the intense sensations assaulting your body from all sides. Your legs trembled and your toes curled as Sylus's skilled tongue pushed you to the brink of a massive climax. Rafayel just growled in your ear, his voice low and commanding. "You can. Give it to us. Cum on my cock, let go. I want to feel your sweet little cunt squeezing me as you come undone." Sylus doubled his efforts, sucking your clit hard into his mouth.

The dual stimulation was too intense to resist. Your back arched, pressing your breast into Rafayel's palm as he groped it roughly. A high, keening cry tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you. Your walls clamped down viciously on Rafayel's cock, rippling and fluttering as you came harder than you ever had before. Clear fluid gushed from your spasming cunt dripping down onto Sylus's eagerly lapping tongue. Sylus just moaned in delight, lapping up your release pushing you to ride out the aftershocks of your intense climax. Behind you, Rafayel grunted and slammed into you one, two, three more times before burying himself to the hilt and coming with a guttural groan. You could feel his seed flooding your insides, painting your walls white as he filled you up just like he promised.

When Sylus sat back up, his chin and lips were glistening with your combined arousal. He gathered a generous amount of the slick fluid dripping from your cunt onto his long fingers. Turning to Rafayel, he commanded in a low, authoritative tone "Open your mouth, Rafayel. Taste what you've done to our girl."

As Rafayel complied, Sylus pushed his coated fingers past his lips, making him suck them clean. At the same time, Sylus turned to you, his dark eyes blazing into yours with lust and possessive hunger.

"Open up, baby," he ordered, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "I want you to taste how fucking sexy you are" Unable to resist the commanding tone and the intense desire burning in Sylus's eyes, you parted your lips, allowing him to lean in and spit the mouthful of your mixed essence past your lips. The taste of your own arousal, blended with Sylus's and Rafayel's unique flavors, was overwhelming, you couldn't help but moan at the taste, your tongue darting out to lick your lips clean. The depravity of the act, of being fed your own cum by both of your lovers, sent a dark thrill rushing through you. You could feel Rafayel's softening cock still buried deep inside your fluttering cunt, as Sylus's fingers slid from Rafayel's mouth and he leaned in to capture your lips in a searing, filthy kiss.

As the intense sensations and emotions overwhelmed you, your body went limp, and you collapsed back against Rafayel's chest. He immediately wrapped his strong arms around you, holding you close as you both caught your breath.

"It's okay cutie," Rafayel murmured, pressing soft kisses to your temple and stroking your hair soothingly. "You did so well, taking us both like that. Such a good girl."

As he spoke, Sylus began to carefully extract Rafayel's softening cock from your dripping cunt. He gathered more of the mixed essence that leaked out in its wake, bringing his coated fingers to his mouth to lick them clean with a low, appreciative moan. Meanwhile, Rafayel shifted your limp, sated body to lie across the bed, his arms still wrapped protectively around you. He brushed your sweat dampened hair back from your face, his fingertips tracing the delicate lines of your features with a lover's tender touch.

Before the comforting darkness of sleep could claim you, you felt the gentle caress of a warm, damp cloth against your sensitive, overheated skin. Sylus was there, his touch tender and almost reverent as he began to clean the sweat and other evidence of your passionate encounter from your body.

He started at your neck, wiping away the lingering marks of his passion - the reddened skin and saliva where he had sucked and bitten in the throes of lust. The warm cloth felt soothing against your skin, and you couldn't help but sigh softly as Sylus took his time, meticulously cleaning every inch of your neck, collarbone, and the tops of your breasts.

As Sylus tended to you, Rafayel kept you nestled against him, one arm wrapped securely around your waist while the other hand continued to stroke your hair, occasionally brushing a few lingering kisses across your forehead and temple. Sylus's gentle ministrations and Rafayel's tender affections was almost too much, and you could feel yourself slipping towards a deep, well earned slumber.

Sylus worked his way down, wiping the sweat and other fluids from your stomach, hips, and thighs with the same thorough, almost worshipful focus. By the time he reached your most intimate area, your breathing had evened out and your body had gone pliant, ready to surrender to the promise of rest.

[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.

[madebycloud]

Her Way

jinx/powder x female reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: your lap is a comfy seat, but it's also her favorite form of stress release and, well, a little something more too... words: 2.0k warnings/themes: smut 18+, mdni, established relationship, strapon reffered to as cock, bondage, blindfold, dom bottom!jinx notes: just a heads up- this is my first time ever writing anything nsfw or smutty so it wont be the best quality but i tried my best and i hope you enjoy it :P

Your lap has never, ever been a more important piece of furniture. You'd pay all the money in the world to ensure this chair's longevity. Its only use was for her to get comfortable, but its use is far more important than that.

Your hands are tied behind the chair, head leaned back, and there's nothing to look at but the white fabric wrapped around your eyes.

Your hand flexes as if gripping an invisible shoulder. You're desperate to touch her, and with your current condition, there's not a single thing you can do to her except for what she's allowing you to do.

You feel the heat of her body over yours, her small palms applying a slight pressure on your shoulders as she hovers over the silicone cock.

You wish you could take off the blindfold and look down to where the toy is buried deep inside of her, just to get a glimpse of how soaked she is, wishing you could press your hand on her slit and feel how much she's dripping. Maybe if you could see her… maybe if your hands weren't tied, you'd be able to touch her the way you've always wanted to.

Her head dips to get closer to your face, and your nose is suddenly invaded by her sweet perfume. Underneath that is her skin, her scent that you want to press even closer to get the full feel of it. Her nose brushes against yours, and you involuntarily tilt your head up to capture her mouth. “Sshh…” She's so close, but not close enough.

You feel her hand move to your mouth, her fingers pressing against your lips, pressing you to open it. At first, you don't know what she's placing in. You open your mouth, your tongue reaching out to confirm what it was as she lets out a moan when your tongue circles her nipple.

“That's it, use your tongue,” she whimpers, “You look so pretty like that—you always look pretty with your mouth on something…”

You've never felt more useful in your life. You'd touch her the way you want to. You'd touch her the way she needs to be touched. You reluctantly pull away, your mouth wet from your spit. “Please, Jinx, let me see you.”

She giggles. “...no.”

No. No? how could she say no? you need to know how much of a mess she's made—you need to know just how desperate she is. Her heat is right there, and she's keeping you from seeing how much she's soaked. 

“...please.” You manage to say after a few moments, and it's like she smiles at your words.

She's still rocking her hip against the toy. “Be good, and you might get a good look later.”

She has you in a torturous state of mind, you just want more and more, nothing is ever enough. You need her grinding down on you harder, fast, rough. You want to get out of this goddamn chair and pin her down onto something flat like a bed or the floor.

But she likes you like this. She enjoys the whine you let out. beautiful and desperate. The one she loves hearing come out of your mouth. You sound so needy, the kind of needy she wants to hear because she wants to feel needed. She knows fully that your fake cock is drenched, her slick coating the entire length of it.

This is torture. 

Your head falls back against the chair once more. “Please, Jinx, let me—wanna touch you, please.”

“No,” she says as she slows the pace, “stay still.” 

This is going to kill you.

She's going to kill you.

Her hand on your face slides up to trace your jawline. Your breathing stutters as her tongue licks at your bottom lip, and then again when it dips into your mouth, and you let her take what she wants, she licks and sucks and bites at your mouth until they feel swollen.

You hear her laugh when they pop when she pulls away because you were biting a little hard, and then you can feel her teeth as they brush against the underside of your jaw before she starts moving down your neck, the path of nips and kisses burning as she goes. Then she's sucking at your pulse point.

“You can touch me,” and the second those four words leave her mouth, you're pulling at the ropes, tugging and yanking, but they won't budge.

“I changed my mind.” She lets out a shaky laugh against your neck, which makes your hips twitch, and then she's pulling off your skin slowly, licking at the red mark she left.

“Wha—Jinx.” You pull once more on the restraint. You don't appreciate the teasing.

She knows it's getting to you. She knows you're getting desperate. You'd give anything to be able to grab her, to pull her down on you or pin her against the chair and show her how needy she's making you.

Her hand moves to loosen your blindfold, pulling it off, then tossing it to the side. “Look at me,” and so you do as she says. Her eyes dilated, her cheeks tinted pink already. She looks so perfect. “Don't take your eyes off of me.”

You nod, watching as her pretty eyes take in your expression—all desperate and wanting—you watch as they glaze over, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips.

She leans back, her hands moving to your knees as she holds herself up just enough so you can see how the cock fills her up.

You watch as her back arches and she drops her hips as hard as she can. Your mouth goes dry, no one should look this pretty. Your girl looks so perfect, and you only want to make her feel even more perfect, feel even better.

“You're so beautiful,” you whimper out, “so pretty.”

Her hands move from your knee to wrap around the chair behind your head, gripping the edge. She lifts her hips, the tip barely slipping out, and when she finally drops them down, it makes you groan, her eyes stay on you as she does it again, and you can see her biting on her lip, her grip on the chair getting tighter.

“Yeah?” she asks, her head tilting. “Am I pretty, huh?” Her hand moves up, her thumb touches your lips. She presses on your bottom lip until you open your mouth, she presses deeper, pressing down on your tongue.

You try to nod, nodding against her thumb. Her hand slips away, you watch as she sucks on her finger. “You're a little messier right now.” You can feel how her thighs twitch this time when you call her that.

She huffs, sitting back up, your eyes immediately fall to her chest. She catches you looking. Then her hand goes back up to your chin, gripping it to pull your face back up to hers. “Don't get cocky.”

“Not cocky,” you whine, your tongue peeking out to lick your lower lip, and you can see her eye follow the movement. It makes you do it again.

You can feel the heat rolling off of both of you. You're so hot, and you're positive there's a patch of sweat starting to form on the fabric that covers the chair.

Her other hand moves back to your chest, and she leans her weight against it—pressing down to keep you in place as she starts to move. She lifts her hips only to press them back down, then back up again. She rolls her hips, letting the tip of it brush against her clit.

If you didn't feel like you already had trouble breathing, looking at her definitely feels like it's suffocating you.

Your hip gives another twitch, thrusting up to meet her. You can feel the wetness she's leaving on your lap, and you want to lick her clean.

Her back arches as her head tilts back. She starts to shiver as the sweat starts sticking to whatever skin it can reach, and her hair is sticking to her neck and face.

You look down to see her stomach muscles clench every time she drops down onto the fake cock. 

“I said, look at me.”

Your head goes back up before she can do anything.

“I want you to watch and see how pretty you make me.” Her words are broken up with sharp gasps, and she uses her grip on your chin and chest to keep you right where she wants you.

You bite down on your own lip, watching her eyes go from half-lidded. Your arms start to flex, pulling on the ropes as if trying to pull free so you can reach for the sweat rolling down her breast.

When your chin is released, her hand lands on your shoulder. “You look really good like this.” she murmurs. “Like a present just waiting to be unwrapped.” 

She leans in closer, her soft breasts pressing against yours, arms wrapping around your shoulders. You tilt your head, licking a stripe up the side of her neck when you're able to.

She let out a moan when the tip hit a certain spot inside her because it's just right, and she moans as she hits it again and again. Her moan is low and right in your ear, and you want to hear more of them, so you keep going, your tongue licking up her neck, and when you get to her jaw, you bite down, not enough to hurt, just to make her shiver.

She leans her head back, exposing more of her neck to you, and you take the chance to mark it up. It doesn't matter if it leaves a stain on her skin, she'll just love wearing it anyway.

Her hand moves to grip the back of your head, her nails scratching against your scalp. You bite down harder and suck on her pulse point, and when you finally pull back, you get to see your mark staining her neck.

She takes advantage of your absence by taking your chin and pulling your face back to hers. As soon as you're looking at her, her mouth is on yours, tongue slipping between your lips. You moan into her mouth, tasting her as she kisses you. Her tongue pushes in, and her other hand moves to the other side of your neck. 

Then she pulls away from your mouth, you're about to chase it back because you don't want the kiss to break, but her hand moves up to grip your chin and pull it back. A thick string of spit connects the two before it breaks, her gaze locks on the strand of saliva that drops onto your chin. You're panting as her eye slowly moves to look back up at you.

Jinx's hair is messy and matted. Her tongue licks her lips, making them shine in a way that you want to capture it with your mouth. She's breathing heavier, her chest rising and falling with each puff of air, and you can hear the whimpers coming out of her like they're amplified. She's so pretty looking like this—a mess that you made.

She doesn't look like this for just anyone. There's only one person who ever gets to see her like this, one person she trusts to have this view, and it's you.

“Almost forgot how you make me feel,” she whispers, and her eyes flicker down to the silicone as her pretty cunt slides out and back in it again.

Almost is a key word she uses because her hips are starting to pick up a quicker pace. Her eyes are glued on your face again, watching as you start to struggle to keep them open. You don't look away, though. It's getting harder to keep them open because she knows what her pace is doing to you—she knows you want to shut your eyes, but you don't because ‘almost forgot’ means remember.

Her breath stutters as she drops her hips down to meet the base. The chair makes this creaking noise, and she laughs a little. “Careful. You might break that chair.”

The chair won't be the only thing breaking if she doesn't allow you to touch her.

“I'd love to,” you hiss, “if my hands weren't tied.”

Jinx's mouth twitches into a smirk, and her hand moves to push her hair back. “That's my fault.”

[urno1luv]

all i can think about is ningning taking your virginity and making you her puppet, so i have to share it with u!!

like imagine being best friend with ningning and one day at sleepover she decides she wants to fuck you and she doesn’t know what to do so she randomly comes behind up and start massaging your boobs and you’re kind of confuse but it feels good and she’s like you like that? but you know you shouldn’t!! she’s your best friend after all, best friends don’t do that

then you confess to her you’re a virgin and she’s like i know babe but she still asks you if you can make her feel good so you try

then it leads to her fucking you with a strap!!

i hope you don't mind but i changed a little bit of the request bc i couldn’t write this, my brain was just not working👉👈kinda long

hot best friend ningning x oblivious reader

You'd had a hundred sleepovers with Ningning before — messy skincare routines, late-night snacks, and half-hearted movie marathons where you both ended up scrolling your phones instead. Tonight was supposed to be just like any other night.

Except... it wasn't.

Maybe it was how she'd been looking at you all evening — eyes lingering just a little too long, her playful teasing feeling heavier somehow. Or the way her fingers would brush your thigh under the blanket, pretending not to notice how your breath caught every time. You tried to tell yourself you were imagining it.

Ningning was your best friend. She'd always been touchy, always called you baby in that soft, sing-song voice. But when she suggested sharing the bed instead of setting up the couch like usual... something shifted. Now you're lying side by side in the dim light, both in oversized t-shirts and tiny shorts, bodies close under the blankets. Her perfume lingers between you — warm, sweet, dangerous.

"You tired?" she asks softly, her voice low, lazy. You shake your head, trying not to notice how her leg is pressed against yours. "No... not really."

There's a beat of silence.

You feel her shift, propping herself up on one elbow. When you glance at her, her eyes are already on you — darker than usual, half-lidded, like she's sizing you up.

"You always get so shy around me."

Your stomach flips. "I'm not—"

She cuts you off with a soft little laugh, fingers brushing over your bare thigh — just barely there, like she's testing how far she can push. "You are."

Her voice is quieter now, closer. "It's cute."

Your breath catches. You should pull away, crack a joke — anything to break whatever this is. But you don't.

You just lie there, heart pounding, heat pooling low in your stomach as her fingers trace slow circles against your skin. "You ever wonder what it would feel like?" she murmurs, leaning in so close her breath is warm against your lips. "What?"

Her eyes flick down to your mouth — then back up, lazy and deliberate.

"If I kissed you."

Your whole body goes still. You've never thought about Ningning like that... or maybe you have, but buried it so deep you forgot it was even there.

"I..."

She smiles — soft, teasing — like she knows exactly how flustered she's making you.

"You can tell me to stop." Her fingers slide higher, brushing just under the hem of your shorts. "But I don't think you want me to.

You don't. God, you don't.

"Ning..."

That's all you get out before her lips are on yours — slow, testing — like she's been holding back for way too long.

She tastes sweet, like the strawberry lip balm you borrowed earlier, her hand slipping under your shirt to rest against your waist. When she pulls back, her eyes flick between yours, waiting.

"You like when I'm soft with you, huh?" she whispers.

You nod, breathless.

Her lips brush your jaw, trailing lower — your neck, your collarbone — until you're tilting your head back without even thinking.

"But I could be so much meaner if you asked."

Her hand dips lower between your thighs, fingers brushing where you're already aching for her — barely there, just enough to make you gasp.

"You gonna let your best friend take care of you, baby?"

She's teasing, playing with you — but there's heat behind it, like she's been waiting for this moment longer than you'd ever realized.

You whimper — half nodding, half falling apart — and that's all the permission she needs.

Her fingers are still teasing between your thighs — featherlight touches that have your whole body trembling under the blanket. Ningning's smile is lazy, half-lidded, like she’s been waiting to get you like this for way too long.

"You always this quiet, baby?" she murmurs, lips brushing your jaw.

Your heart's pounding so hard you're sure she can feel it under her palm. You're dizzy — from the heat, from how close she is, from how good her hands feel without even really doing anything yet.

"I—" Your voice catches in your throat. You squeeze your legs together, trying to squirm away from her touch — but she just smiles, pressing her thigh between yours to keep you in place.

"You what?" she whispers, breath warm against your ear.

Your whole face burns. You've never felt like this before — not with anyone. Every brush of her fingers sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between your legs, but...

"I've never..."

You can't even finish the sentence.

Ningning freezes — just for a second — and then she laughs.

It's low, soft, teasing — like she just stumbled onto the best secret in the world.

"Oh my god..." she breathes, grinning down at you. "You're a virgin?"

You bite your lip, turning your face away — but she catches your chin between two fingers, making you look at her.

"Baby..." she coos, mock-sweet. "Were you just gonna let me ruin you without even telling me?"

You feel like you're going to die — but the worst part is how wet you are just from the sound of her voice.

"I didn't— I didn't think—"

"You didn't think I'd find out?" Her thumb brushes your bottom lip, smirking when you gasp. "Or you didn't think I'd like it?"

Your breath catches.

She likes it?

Her eyes flick down your body — to where you're squirming under her, thighs clenched tight around her leg — then back up to your face.

"Oh, baby..." she purrs. "You're so cute."

Her fingers slide higher, slipping under your shorts — still not touching where you want her, just teasing along the inside of your thigh.

"You want me to be gentle with you?"

You should nod. You should say yes. But the way she's looking at you — like she wants to devour you — makes your whole body ache.

You shake your head, breathless.

Ningning's smirk deepens.

"Didn't think so."

Her fingers brush over your soaked panties, and you gasp — hips bucking up into her hand without even meaning to. She watches every little twitch, every shaky breath, like she's studying you.

"You've been thinking about this, haven't you?" she murmurs. "Letting your best friend touch you like this... even if you didn't wanna admit it.

You whimper — and that's all the answer she needs.

"Don't worry, baby..." she coos, finally slipping her fingers beneath the fabric. "I'll be gentle..."

Her lips brush your ear — voice dropping lower —

"...at first."

You're gone. Completely. All those years of friendship, every line you thought you'd never cross — they're already ruined under her hands, and she's only just getting started.

Her hand drifts lower under the blanket, fingers brushing between your legs again — but this time, she doesn't tease. She cups you through your ruined panties, palm pressing down just enough to make your hips buck into her hand.

"You want me to stretch you out, baby?" she whispers against your lips. "Wanna feel what it's like to really get fucked?"

Your breath catches — and you don't even realize you're nodding until she's already smirking down at you like she owns you.

"Good girl."

You barely register her slipping out of bed — too dazed, too soaked between your thighs to do anything but watch as she opens her overnight bag and pulls out...

Oh.

You sit up on your elbows, eyes wide.

"Ning... you brought that to a sleepover?"

She flashes you a wicked little grin, the black strap-on hanging loose from her fingers.

"I was hoping you'd finally let me fuck you sooner or later."

Your whole body burns — but before you can even think of something smart to say, she's crawling back onto the bed, strapping the harness low on her hips like she's done it a million times before.

"You still want me to be gentle, baby?" she purrs, stroking the silicone along your thigh — not quite where you need it, just enough to make you squirm.

You bite your lip, eyes flicking between her face and the strap — heart pounding so hard you're sure she can hear it.

"...No."

Her smile curves slow and dangerous.

"That's what I thought."

She hooks her fingers under your shorts and panties, sliding them down your legs in one slow motion —Ningning freezes — just for a second — and then she laughs.

You're already soaked again, slick dripping down your thighs — and Ningning sees it. Her tongue flicks over her bottom lip, eyes locked on your messy little cunt like she's ready to eat you alive.

"Fuck, baby... you're so wet for me."

You whimper — half embarrassed, half aching — but she just shushes you, leaning down to kiss your thigh.

"I'll make it feel good," she promises softly. "Gonna make you forget anyone else ever even touched you."

She lines the strap up between your legs, dragging the head through your slick folds — slow, teasing — just to watch you squirm.

"Look at you..." she murmurs, voice low and sweet. "All shy and innocent — and now you're about to let your best friend fuck you."

You gasp, clutching at the sheets as the tip nudges against your entrance — stretching you open inch by inch, so slow it hurts.

Ningning groans low under her breath, even though she can't feel it — like she's imagining how tight you are, how wet.

"You're so fucking tight, baby..." she breathes, hips rolling forward just a little deeper. "Relax... let me in."

You try — but she's so big, and it's so much — and she can feel you clenching around the strap, watching every little whimper that spills from your lips.

"You're taking me so well, baby..." she coos, kissing your cheek. "Such a good girl for me."

She doesn't stop until she's buried to the hilt — hips flush against yours, her breath hot against your neck.

You feel so full you're dizzy — stretched open and ruined on your best friend's cock, panting into her mouth as she starts to move.

Slow at first — gentle — just rocking her hips against yours while one hand slips between your thighs to rub soft little circles over your clit.

"That's it, baby... let me take care of you..."

You can't do anything but take it — legs wrapped around her waist, nails digging into her back as she fucks you into the mattress.

Every thrust makes you gasp — this slow, steady rhythm that has your body melting under her. "Does it feel good?" she whispers, biting at your jaw. "Is this what you've been waiting for?"

You nod, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes — so overwhelmed you can't even speak. Ningning loves it. "Poor baby..." she coos, pressing her thumb harder against your clit. "Gonna come for me again, huh? Gonna let your best friend fuck all those shy little noises out of you?"

You're already so close — hips grinding up into hers, breath catching with every slow, deep thrust. She leans in — lips brushing your ear —

"Come for me, baby... let me ruin you."

And you do — falling apart under her with a broken little cry, legs shaking around her waist as she fucks you through it. When it's over, she doesn't pull out right away — just holds you there, cock still buried deep, pressing soft kisses along your jaw.

"You did so good for me..." she murmurs, brushing sweaty hair out of your face.

"Such a pretty little slut."

You're still trembling when she finally pulls out — slick dripping down your thighs, body wrecked from the inside out.

But Ningning just smirks, pulling you close against her chest. "You want me to clean you up?" she whispers, trailing her fingers down your stomach.

"Or shall we find out how many times i can make you cum before the sun comes up?"

[matchpointfaist]

sheltered art! x flirty reader pt iv

pretty piece of flesh ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

halloween .

not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, art found himself wandering the rooms of a packed frat house, trying his best to steer clear of temptation. ever since he'd had that little taste of you, all the things he once saw as sins, were now just forbidden fruit; temptations dangled before him, calling to him, pulling him in deeper until eventually he'd betray everything he'd been taught, the very things he stood for and used to believe in.

it was halloween night, and he was dressed in chain link with a cheap prop sword dangling on his hip, as he and the tennis team had gone as king arthur and the knights. he found himself looking for you, in that small, subconscious way he'd grown all too comfortable with. sweeping the room for any trace of your hair, or your dark lipstick, or straining his ears for the slightest sound of your laugh.

you hadn't sought him out after that night. he told himself it was a good thing, that this thing between you could only end badly, but he knew it was all a lie. he checked his phone obsessively, eager for just a text from you, a confirmation that he didn't humiliate himself and run you off forever. in the back of his mind, he couldn't shake the thought that he should have known this would happen. you were too good to be true.

in the midst of his self pity, he glanced up as someone said your name, and there you were. like something from heaven, or hell, or wherever the fuck you had to have come from. gone was the dark eyeliner and lipstick, the sultry look you always seemed to have. you were all clean, light colors, innocent little look in your eye. a pretty white dress, fluffy angel wings, and a shimmery halo on your head.

it felt like you were torturing him, mocking his faith, or the faith he'd lost the moment you sank to your knees in front of him. the way you'd said god's name even as his come shined on your lips; he was weak in the knees, in the middle of all his friends, watching you walk over, the memories on a reel in his mind.

"art," you smiled, so sweet, so cloying, "i didn't know you'd be here. cool costume," he tried to remember how to speak normally, how not to give himself away for how depraved he was feeling, "uh, yeah- i got invited. you look beautiful, i mean, i love your costume,"

you laughed, and jesus, your hand was on his arm again. "i thought maybe you'd appreciate it," you smiled, blinking up at him with wide, faux doe eyes, "you think god would mind you being with an angel, art?"

he didn't give a fuck what god minded. he didn't care about anything other than your hand on his arm and the look in your eye and the cross necklace he now recognized as the one he suspiciously couldn't find after your last meeting, now dangled around your neck. he threw faith out the window just as he had the second you entered his bedroom, taking your hand in his and pulling you to a more secluded part of the house, even with his head screaming at him that he was taking this too far.

"you didn't call," he said quietly, "i thought you didn't want to see me, and now you're here and that's my necklace, and what are you doing dressed up like an angel anyway?" he could hear how ridiculous he sounded, like he had any right to demand you call him, like he knew what he was doing when it came to you at all.

"there ya go," you sounded pleased, a small smile on your lips, "knew you'd come out of that shell eventually. you missed me, isn't that right?" and then you were on your tip toes, leaning up to kiss him, so sweet and so dangerous.

he pulled you against him, practically clinging to you, his hands resting under your angel wings and his mouth hungry against yours. "missed you too," you mumbled between kisses, all sloppy and desperate and wrong just right.

he couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything other than this, than your hands wandering over his costume and the way you bit as his bottom lip just enough to make him crazy. and then you were pulling him into one of the bedrooms, and he couldn't say no, couldn't even think that he'd ever wanted anything but this.

he pulled you to the bed, pulling you into his lap, panting against your lips and letting his hands wander wherever he felt like it. he was so tired of being good, of doing the right thing, and you felt so fucking good against him. and god, the sounds you made, the little whimpers between kisses and the way you mumbled his name as you kissed down his neck, biting his collarbone, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin behind his ear.

"want you," he whined as you nipped at the skin, his hips bucking beneath you, "god, please, i'll be so good," you giggled against him, kissing back up to his mouth, "know you'd be good," you sounded almost like you were teasing him, "not gonna take your virginity in a frat guys bedroom, art,"

but then your hands were wandering even lower, pulling down his pants, and he prayed that you didn't mean it, that you'd let him fuck you and finally end this horrible yearning. instead, you left him in his boxers and settled back in his lap, kissing him with a feverish need.

you ground your hips against him, and he could feel the wetness seeping through the cotton of the layers between you, a low groan rumbling in his throat. "how bad do you want it?' you whispered as you trailed your kisses low once again, "tell me, wanna hear you say it," he dug his fingers into your hips, trying to keep some form of composure, "want it so bad, please, just want something-"

you reached down, sliding down his boxers just enough for his cock to slap against his abs, smiling as he sucked in a breath at the feeling. then you settled back into his lap, gently taking him into your hand, and he nearly fainted when you slid him inside your soaked panties, grinding against him.

he gasped, his eyes closing, his teeth digging into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. "oh my god, you're so wet," he groaned, pulling you back and forth against him with shaking hands, "feels so good, i'm-"

"all for you," you grabbed his jaw, pulling him in almost close enough to kiss you, "know you're close, just go ahead," you said it so sweetly, like you really didn't mind, and he felt so bad but you felt so good, he was pulling away in an instant, spilling cum all over your thighs, panting and whining and rutting against your skin.

he rested his head against your chest as he caught his breath, apologizing for making a mess of you, but you waved it off, running your fingers through his hair in a way that almost made him feel like this really meant something to you.

"you didn't finish," he mumbled into your skin, pressing a soft kiss against your chest, "let me- can you show me? wanna make you feel good, too," you shifted off his lap in response, taking one of his hands in yours, "so sweet," you hummed, "come here,"

and then your legs were spread, and your panties were pulled to the side, and he could've died right there and gone straight to heaven. "so beautiful," he hated how in awe he sounded, but he truly was. you felt like a gift from god, a reward for how good he'd been for so long.

you motioned for him to come closer, and he was so close he was nearly whining again, need thrumming in his veins. "tell me what to do," he practically begged, looking up at you through thick lashes, "wanna be good,"

you might've been dressed like an angel, but you felt like some sort of demon, some siren, as art donaldson sat between your thighs, following all your instructions so eagerly, lapping at your cunt like he'd done it a million times before. you knew he'd be good, so eager to please, so sweet and patient. he was so good, such a good man, perfect for you to teach and grow with.

you didn't care about any of that as your hands were fisted in his hair, rocking against his face as he sucked at your clit, little whines leaving his mouth and vibrating against you. he was rutting against the mattress, desperate like he was the one getting head, and that made it so much better.

"gonna- fuck, art, gonna come for you," you moaned, your grip on his hair growing tighter as that only encouraged him more. he was chasing it, hungry for it, so desperate to be good to you. you came with a sharp gasp, your eyes rolling back as he worked the orgasm out of you, so thorough and devoted.

when you were finished, he crawled up to kiss you, his lips wet and shining in the dim bedroom light. "was that- did i do good?" he asked timidly, and you nodded, pulling him down to wrap your arms around his shoulders. "so good," you mumbled, tracing your fingertips down his back, "you're perfect,"

you let yourself fall asleep despite it not even being your house, despite you telling yourself that this was a mistake, sleeping tangled up with art like this.

you'd never slept better.

[accidentcache]

self indulgent horny brainrot. i'm coping w period cramps and i need him terribly. minors dni or you will be blocked

dabi is unfairly quiet. silent. sneaky.

unfair that when he is home, he's the loudest motherfucker in existence. doors close so heavily, boots echo in the hallway… he's loud. he makes it known when he's home.

however, in the quiet of the night, somehow he was able to slip in undetected. he wasn't planning on sneaking in, hell there really was no reason for him to sneak in completely silent like he did.

but the scene playing out on top of your shared bed was enough for him to stay quiet.

here he was, thinking he'd come home from recon mission with the league, be able to curl up next to you and maybe watch a movie for the night. he was feeling lazy. order take-out and just veg for the night. apparently, you had other plans.

for some reason, keeping the bedroom door open. lying on top of the sheets, bare to world that in contained to the four walls of the room except for a ratty old t-shirt of his, and a toy between your thighs. if it weren't for the bedroom door being open, he'd assumed you couldn't wait for him to get back tonight and decided to get yourself off on your own.

no, apparently you wanted to give him a show.

and hell, he'll admit it was a show. the lewd way you'd grab at your tits underneath the fabric of his shirt, how your back would arch off of the bed-- the soft and breathless pants leaving those sweet lips of yours. he's almost upset that your eyes weren't open to catch how he paused in the doorway at the sight of you.

and now, he's too enraptured by the scene that he can't even bring attention to himself. he's crossed the threshold of the room, one hand in his pocket and the other covering his mouth ever so slightly. as if to muffle his breathing-- which definitely gets heavier when he hears his name drip off your tongue.

he has to bite down on his knuckle as he watches you. you know your body-- but dabi has some sort of sick satisfaction in the knowledge that he knows it even better than you do. he watches you as you move the toy around your swollen, puffy folds-- the toy glistens and drips from your arousal-- but you're clearly not hitting the right spots.

spots he knows he can reach. spots that he's memorized the location of. it's probably been so long that you've been on your own getting yourself off that you've probably forgotten those spots.

he can tell you're getting frustrated. little huffs and whines leave your lips every so often-- it causes a fire to start low in his gut. he's moving before he can even think, sliding inbetween your spread legs and dipping his head between your thighs almost immediately.

you jump almost six feet in the air at the contact, your hand almost dropping the toy and pushing at the warmth that suddenly appears between your legs. his lips barely graze along your folds as he speaks, "no, no-- keep going."

"when did you get home?" you question him, your voice breathless from the almost thirty minutes of struggling to get yourself off. "you didn't even make any noise--"

"i said keep going."

heat pools in your gut. a different kind of heat-- the kind only he can create. your imagination could only do so much, and hearing the real thing is always better.

your fingers shake as they curl around the toy again, sliding it along the opening of your cunt and dabi watches with hungry eyes. his hands are warm on your thighs, spreading you even further, leaving you so much more open than you were previously. you can feel his ragged breathing against your folds, hot and heavy.

he watches you tease yourself, slowly inserting and pleasuring-- but he can tell you're not as eager as you were before. almost like you were shy-- embarrassed or something. he barely hides the click of his tongue before his fingers wrap around yours and he begins to guide your movements.

you swallow hard, feeling that familiar burn in your tummy and the coil beginning to tighten. your head falls back against the sheets with a whimper of his name and dabi watches it all with lidded eyes.

"c'mon, pretty," he murmurs, low and rough. "like this, yeah?" he nudges the toy to a certain spot and your spine creates a delicious arch that he used to seeing. you try to pull your hand away from the toy, but he doesn't let you. his fingers tighten around yours so you can feel how you practically drip all over the toy and down both of your hands.

he practically coos as your thighs tremble-- a telltale sign that your orgasm is building. "that's my girl," he mumbles, his eyes locked onto your cunt as he watches the toy disappear into you with each stroke and movement. his free hand moves to your hip, blunt fingernails digging into the skin.

your hips roll and grind into the toy, finally able to let go of it so you can slide your fingers into the dark locks. your fingers curl around the strands and you tug, a gasp leaves your lips as the toy is quickly replaced by two slender fingers that curve immediately to the spot that has you seeing stars.

his tongue is warm and wet on your clit, circling in deliberate motions as his fingers pump in and out. you thighs are practically shaking around his head, your cries of his name are drowning out the lewd and wet noises that he's pulling from your cunt.

just when you're about to free fall over the edge, dabi's mouth connects with your clit, flicking his tongue over the sensitive nub and sucking hard.

you cum so hard you're pretty sure you're crying. panting and trembling, your hands are limp in his hair as you melt into the mattress, barely registering when dabi climbs up the bed to hover of you, his lips slick and smug. he waits for the haze to dissipate from your eyes before he props himself up above you, a hand next to your head and the other on your waist, his thumb stroking your trembling skin soothingly. "feel better?"

"i'm putting a bell on you."

dabi snorts, but he doesn't reply. instead, his head dips down and attaches to the skin of your throat, smirking when you gasp. yeah, like that will ever happen.

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

[yandere-sins]

hii! i was wondering if you could write yandere aizawa x fem reader where she escapes for 10 days. When he finally gets her back, he gives her a punishment that lasts ten days. on the last day, he takes her out and shes so scared and timid. he washes her up and gives her food but she thinks he's messing with her.

thank you, you dont have to if you dont want to. ive never requested before so i dont know how to do this..

You did everything perfectly fine! Thank you for requesting one of my favs ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

You were a sight to behold.

Always, of course. Nothing and no one could come close to you, both physically and mentally. No one that he'd rather spend time with, listen to as you complained, and share a bed with despite your struggling to get some space away from him. All he ever did was protect you, support you, love you. Those thoughts had kept him awake every second you had been gone, the pain in his heart unbearable as he missed you, searching every nook and cranny to retrieve you from your escape.

The nights were dark, the days too busy. You were clever, so you would desperately try to prevent attention on you, whether it was getting into confrontations or even just showing your face on a street interview. Aizawa was almost proud you escaped, showing how intelligent you truly were if you wanted to. It should not have felt like pure luck when he finally stumbled across you, but it was. Days of being free had made you careless, and Aizawa couldn't even dislike that about you, either, because it made you two closer in the end, even if you hated it.

For ten days, he had punished you. Precisely the same time you had spent frolicking outside, hiding in sleazy hotels, and being too paranoid to enjoy the time away from him. It was a vacation, but judging by how frail and exhausted you looked when he finally spotted you, you didn't use it as much as you should have, given that ten days of pain and torment awaited you once you came home.

One day where he broke your fragile resistance by dragging you back, making you regret ever leaving until you swore you wouldn't do it anymore.

One day where he made you feel worthless and incapable, giving you better examples of what you should have done and how you could have properly escaped him, forcing you to repeat his lesson over and over.

One day spent in pain, making sure you'd remember your wrong-doings, where his scarf became a whip, and you had to count the strikes and tell him why you were wrong to leave.

One day without food and water, chained to a wall, soiling yourself and feeling all the pain from the prior day, all so Aizawa could make you believe you were dying so you'd cling to him on the next day.

One day resting on the couch, forcing you to eat, drink, and feel anything he ordered you too, chipping away on your self-preservation and ensuring you knew he was the one providing everything for you.

One day where he instilled the feeling of being helpless in you, waterboarding you in the tub when you were barely awake yet, so he could really ingrain the fear that he had power over you no matter what,

could care for you and hurt you at any given time.

One day, he took you outside to the scummiest part of the town, showing you that you were an easy target without his protection, letting the worst of the worst leer, grab, and hurt you until you pleaded and begged for him.

One day to let you sleep in the cold, dark basement, gagged and blindfolded, deprived of your senses, so your thoughts could finally focus on what was important—Aizawa.

On the last day, Aizawa took you out to a cafe, ordered your favorite dessert, and fed it to you, always waiting for you to willingly open your mouth. He took you home and undressed you, a sharp breath of his enough warning for you to stay still, and for a few hours, he merely spent his time taking care of you, brushing your hair properly, washing your body, treating your wounds, telling you he loved you and would always be with you.

There were only minor reactions from you. A bit of panic when the water sloshed too high, flinching when Aizawa touched your bruised arms, and a soft sigh as he massaged your scalp. You, clinging to his arm to make sure he'd not leave you in the same situation you had been in before, and you only hesitated for a second before opening your mouth and eating what he held out to you.

It was perfect.

Finally, Aizawa had you where he always wanted you. You wouldn't stray from his side, accepted his protection and closeness. There wasn't a hint of struggling when he took care of you, and you crawled into his arms willingly that night, resting your head on his chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It was how it was always meant to be. You were perfect—this relationship was.

So, to make sure you finally understood your place by his side, on day eleven, he started from the very beginning, every punishment more severe than on day one. And what a sight you were, bruised and battered, knowing very well what would happen the next day as you clung to his left leg after just three days of punishment. Looking up at your captor with your dull, tear-filled eyes, whispering, "I love you," like Aizawa had always wanted.

The scarf he used as a whip slid to the floor. Hearing these words, his heart burst with adoration and pride. Yes, you finally understood it! You finally relented your useless struggle and gave way to your true feelings! He was overcome by adoration as he hugged you tightly, your blood staining his clothes, the smell making him both happy and nauseous at the same time. It smelled like you, the very essence of you, and Aizawa loved it. You were a sight to behold, perfect both body and mind. Everything was finally as it should.

"I love you, too," he whispered, squeezing you tighter even though you whimpered from the pain. "I love you so much."

"But you lost your streak, let's start again. Don't cry, my love, I know you can do it."

[thewitchblue]

"Did you join the fucking military?"

Jason asked Tim, who blinked blankly at Jason until he noticed what he was holding. Jason was holding your military tags, which Tim's selfishly kept to himself when you "lost" them. Technically, he stole the tags from you, but you can always get a new set. You'll be matching! He did feel a little bad that you got in trouble with leadership when you asked for new ones, but he's sure you'd be fine without the old pair.

"No."

Tim didn't elaborate further. The tags have practically lived on him since he stole them. He only ever takes them off for showers, which is how Jason found them. Jason scoffed,

"Good. You'd be a shit soldier. Why do you have military dog tags?"

Tim tried to take them back, but Jason held them above his head. Your dog tags are air jailed until he gets answers. Jason needed to know.

"Answer or I'll find a place to smelt them down."

Tim knew he was serious by the gleam in Jason's eyes, so he said,

"My girlfriend is in a special forces unit for the marines. She refuses to tell me which unit she's in, but I've narrowed it down."

Jason was too stunned to notice that he dropped your dog tags. Tim snatched them off the floor and put them safely around his neck again and tucked under his shirt where they belonged. He likes to say that you're closer to his heart with your tags under his shirt with the bonus of protecting him from any potential bullets. Even when you are gone, you promise that you will always come back. He's used to your deployment and the limbo you have him in.

"When do I get to meet her?"

Dick said from the doorway. He was passing by and overheard. His little Timmy has a girlfriend? When did that happen?

Tim touches the tags while thinking of what to reveal and what to keep private. He's never been good at respecting privacy, but he has been learning for you. He knows to keep anything you say to him a secret, but what about other things relating to you?

"Whenever she wants. I'm not her keeper."

Tim answered vaguely. He's flying to see you soon, and he doesn't want to be followed. You've been together for three years, but you met kind of awkwardly. You tackled him to the ground and wrestled with him after mistaking him for one of your friends.

Your willpower eventually overcame his reflexes, and he stopped struggling. You had laughed when you pinned him down and ruffled his hair in victory. It was embarrassing to him how quickly he submitted to you. He watched your eyes widen when you noticed he's not your friend. You took in the scene too slowly. You, straddling who you had assumed was your friend with your hands pinning his wrists to both sides of his head, and Tim blushing underneath you. Tim didn't know how to react either, so you both stared at each other before you started awkwardly apologising.

Tim was a mess, but he was an adorable mess. His hair was ruffled, and his clothes were wrinkled, but there were no bruises nor any scrapes. You were always careful to leave no injuries. He was breathless, just staring at you with wide eyes and a shyness that almost made you smile. He was so cute that you wanted to squish him.

You quickly got off of him once you realised how long you've been staring at him. You pulled him up from the ground when he didn't make a move to stand by himself and actually almost fell right back to the ground because his legs refused to work for him. He was understandly stunned.

This is awkward. How do you explain the tradition of you fighting your friend on sight? Your friend does the exact same thing with you. It was excellent training for your deployment to fight each other on sight without any prep. Enemy soldiers aren't going to reveal themselves before attacking, so surprise attacks help keep your reflexes sharp.

"Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

He couldn't get the image of you pinning him down out of his head. Nobody has ever pinned him down so intimately. You were gentle. Your hold would have been easy to break out of if he didn't stop struggling. It was like you only played until one of you got pinned, and then the fight was over.

Tim was still trying to remember how to function. What does he do? What does he say? He's all shaken up. He had to look away from you. He managed to say,

"It's fine."

He tried to sound like it was no big deal, but it sounded strained. He was pretending like the wrestling really took it out of him by fake panting, but you both knew better. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but pat his back and attempted to leave.

Attempted, being the key word. Tim caught your wrist loosely and nervously said,

"I, uh... would you... Can we... Let's... I'm sorry."

He didn't have the words with you looking at him like that. He was nervous. You smiled softly at him, and he forgot how to speak entirely. He could only stare until you took the initiative and asked him to go on a date before you leave for boot camp. He nodded, and that was that. You gave him your number and continued your run like nothing happened.

The date went amazing. It was a bit unconventional as you took him to a paint gun fight after showing him the gun and explaining the rules. You grinned every time he landed a hit and even wiped away the paint that splattered onto him with a fond expression. You opened up about the fear you have about joining the military, but your desire to help. You want to make a difference, however small or large that may be.

You kissed the bruising wounds softly and banaged the bleeding ones before he could even reach for the first aid kit you brought. You helped him up with a wild grin, and he kissed you until the adrenaline ran out. The guns were empty, and you both were messes, but your hearts were full, and Tim can safely say he hates paintballing. You took him to see a movie like a normal person next date.

Jason and Dick watched their brother soften further and further as he went down memory lane. Dick was ecstatic and already plotting to meet you, but Jason was confused why anybody would date Tim. Yeah, he's had his fair share of partners, but he's surprised every time he gets a date, let alone a girlfriend.

You were his mystery girl, and their family loves a good mystery.

[jordiemeow]

You wouldn't make love with him. You'd make art.

11.8k words long read warning. poet!patrick literature student au?

Patrick doesn’t know how to do any of this—he, an eloquent speaker, master of rhetoric, a man who knows almost all the dead and living languages of the world. He has always guarded his secrets as carefully as Odysseus hides his true name from the Cyclops.

Pathetic, is it not?

For a man such as him to be so utterly smitten by you. Enraptured by every little thing about you, from the way you toy with his fingers while he recites Virgil to you, or the way your stockings are always full of holes. The smudge of lipstick always present on the edge of your mouth from your lips planting against his own, or the way you pocket each of the poems he writes for you despite your outwards protests.

He’s a paradox. A contradiction. A romantic, but a cynic. A writer, but a misanthrope. And worst of all, a modernist who secretly longs for bohemians and decadence. A paradox of sophistication and nihilism. A vision of cashmere, draped in apathy.

It’s like he doesn’t know who he is anymore, when he's with you. Like you’re taking all the broken, ugly, shameful parts of him, and making it beautiful. It’s horrifying, but he wants more. Please.

And now he has to laugh, at how absurd it was that this girl who probably hated the world preferred to be around him, of all people. He knows all of this sounds terribly trite and unoriginal, but he couldn't help it anymore than he could stop the sun from setting. None of this makes any sense, and yet he has never seen something with more clarity in his life.

He loves you.

But, as usual, the words stick in his throat, and he exhales as through trying to exhale his nerves and uncertainty along with the oxygen into the stale air of his bedroom. He’ll scribble poems and declarations of adoration into a worn notebook his grandma bought him, but when it comes to uttering such confessions aloud? God, he’s a coward. So, all that comes out is a teasing:

“You know I like it when you’re rough, darling, but you really ought to ease up on the make him bleed thing a little—“

That earns him a bit of pressure added to his back, and a hiss of his own making. Patrick is quick to offer a half-grimace half-smile over his shoulder as an apology, bracing his hands against the sheets while you continue with your ministrations. Dabbing at carmine incisions along his bare back that look oddly reminiscent of a werewolf’s claws. He supposes you are quite the beast in bed together. The thought makes him stifle a snort, which quickly becomes a hiss of pain when you wipe over the nail scratches raking up his skin.

“Ow, fuck, be careful—"

“Don’t pout, Pat,” you chide, your voice low as you cut off his whine of a protest. There’s a teasing lilt in there somewhere, a hint of your dry humour creeping into the words. “It’s unbecoming of you.”

“I do not pout,” he scoffs, his eyes flicking over to meet yours, narrowed slightly. “At what point have I ever pouted?”

Patrick knows that he should not push his luck without you—not when he’s perched naked by the end of the bed and entirely at your mercy as you wield an alcohol-soaked handkerchief. Although the air between you is not quite the icy chill he expects it to be. On the contrary, it’s almost playful.

“Besides,” he continues defiantly, resolutely ignoring the stinging down his back, “I do not appreciate being attacked during… well, you get the idea.” A lazy smile flutters on his lips and he angles his body around, his hands finding the curve of your waist to tug you closer. "You are awfully passionate, you know."

He has a very peculiar way of apologising, one that is often too self-absorbed to be even considered an apology. And Patrick Zweig has never been particularly good at those, though his mother always insisted he should learn a thing or two about proper manners. Not that she was ever very present, mind you—boarding school will do that to you, he supposes.

Your fingers are sure and practiced as you tidy him up methodically, the pad of your thumb gently skimming over a small patch of inflamed skin. “Attacked? Oh, how you exaggerate so,” you scoff, a hint of mild amusement in the depths of your eyes that you hide between narrowed eyes as you focus on your meticulous task.

“I do not exaggerate,” Patrick insists through gritted teeth, his other hand grasping the sheets in a fist. The pain is not the issue here, though he does flinch upon feeling the gentle caress of your fingers over one of the indentations. “See, that’s the difference between us,” he continues, his voice now laced with an exasperated air. “You take no prisoners. Absolutely ruthless."

It’s hard, as always, to determine whether his irritation is genuine or just an act to mask his discomfort at your lack of tenderness. He hates the feeling of being so vulnerable when you’re so… put together, like you take no pleasure or interest in the moment you just shared. Not even when the evidence is stained crimson along his back.

He shifts around, pulling you closer without preamble, his free hand wrapping around your wrist to still your motions. Something in his eyes has changed, the pools of blue once glinting with playfulness giving way into a more serious look. His lips pull into a tight line as he speaks again, his voice carefully measured.

“I don’t appreciate your coldness. You act like a bloody automaton at times,” he mutters, his jaw clenching imperceptibly. But he knows you can pick up on any of his discreet little ticks at this point. He's grown to be utterly transparent to you, and he hates it, because it is the exact opposite of what you're becoming to him. More and more of a mystery with each interaction. He loves you, but you are so bloody difficult sometimes.

“I’m not being cold. I’m patching you up, darling,” comes your light reply. Your free hand reaches up, thumb brushing over a smudge of rouge lipstick still present on his kiss-bitten mouth.

It’s the use of the pet name that gets to him the most, the way your sweet voice wraps around that single word. His frown deepens slightly. “Patching me up,” he echoes under his breath, his grip on your wrist loosening in favour of capturing your palm against the bed.

“Stop treating me like a fragile thing that might shatter with one wrong word. I am not made of glass.”

There’s something in the petulant way he says the words, the mixture of anger, frustration, and something else that is a little more difficult to define—at least for Patrick, who isn’t exactly known for his emotional intelligence when it comes to his own psyche. Said in a manner only a young man who has had the entire world served to him upon a silver platter could possibly manage.

Patrick Zweig has always been a self-absorbed, conceited ass, but he’s never been good with those who treat him with such apparent detachment. He’s the one who’s supposed to be casually flippant, indifferent. He is the one who’s supposed to be in control.

But you do not seem to care. Not even a little bit.

He doesn't quite recognise the desperation that colours his voice. He’s used to your indifference, the way you can just switch off whenever you want, but it stings. The more he tries to deny it, the more his own walls threaten to crack.

“At least look like you care instead of pretending that the last thirty minutes never happened,” Patrick snaps, his fingers tracing the delicate vein on your inner wrist absently, as if seeking comfort amidst the darkening atmosphere.

And you do soften somewhat. You settle upon the bed next to him, now dressed in only his half-buttoned shirt and your underwear, legs drawn up beneath you as your gaze drops towards your hand, and the way his fingers skim across your veins. It's almost uncomfortable, the tender touch in such a vulnerable place. You’re half-tempted to wince and withdraw your hand.

But it's Patrick. So, you do not. You allow it, even it makes you feel like you’re ready to claw your way out of your own skin. You allow it, because you love him, even if he is insufferable at the best of times.

Like now, for example.

"Sorry," you murmur, and it's not clear whether the apology is for the injuries along his back or the fact he's upset with your demeanour. Either way, you place a chaste, remorseful kiss to his shoulder.

Perhaps it’s your soft voice, or the light touch of your lips against his shoulder—but the tension in Patrick’s body is replaced by something lighter, something that could almost be mistaken for… relief. Something so unlike him. There is something about your words, your tone, the fact that you have given him any response that matters.

His grip on your wrist slackens, fingers sliding down the smooth curve of your palm before lacing through yours. “I don’t understand you sometimes,” he says quietly, his gaze fixed on your hands now intertwined against the sheets.

It’s his way of saying he forgives you, that the brief argument has been put behind you. For now, at least. His thumb brushes against the back of your hand in an almost absent-minded gesture; in truth, it’s more to soothe himself than anything else. The anger that was bubbling underneath the surface seconds ago is gone without a trace.

“And stop being so detached,” he adds in a soft whisper, his eyes finally lifting up to meet yours.

Patrick knows that it’s not easy to get a reaction out of you, that you’re guarded, that you’re reserved. He's used to your stoicism, to your tendency of shutting him out at the first hint of his vulnerability. He’s used to your coldness, but it never fails to annoy him, especially when he’s hurting and wants to just feel you.

His hand, still clasped around yours, pulls you closer, his free arm sliding around your waist. “You could at least act like it meant something.”

"It does. You do," you murmur insistently. Your own arms loop around his middle, chin hooking over his shoulder, although you’re careful to avoid the lingering passion-induced wounds.

His expression softens slightly, a mixture of relief (from hearing those words) and affection (from your chin against his shoulder) washing over his features. He takes a moment, savouring the feel of your body against his, the warmth of your breath on his cheek. The way your knee presses against his thigh.

He knows you have a hard time with expressing feelings, and words of affection from you are always hard-earned. They are not freely given, and Patrick knows that he treasures them even more because of it. His chest expands in a deep sigh, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Don't shut me out."

He's long since accustomed to the fact that you will never open up fully, that your relationship will always be one-sided in a way, with him baring his soul while you withhold yours. But it's the distance that he can't stand, the way you can retreat into yourself without warning.

His fingers tighten around your hand while his other hand rests on the small of your back, keeping you close to him. He's not letting you run from this conversation; one of you has to be brave for once. "It's almost like you're ashamed to be with me."

"No, that's not it at all," you reply, your voice quiet. It's an uncharacteristic softness, the way you speak when he gets in his head like this. A rarity. Or in the tender embraces you share after sex, reserved just for him. "You're the only good thing in my life sometimes, Pat."

Patrick almost wishes you could be less reserved for him, less protective and guarded. But he knows that it's wishful thinking. He's resigned to the fact that your detachment is part of you, your armour, your defence.

He's used to it, but it doesn't mean he likes it.

"Yes, but—" He begins, his thoughts cut short by the gentle touch of your fingers against his knuckles. You always do this. It's a habit you've picked up from him. Always toying with each other's hands when you're together. Something about the touch makes his chest tighten, and he almost forgets what he wanted to say.

He lets out a shaky, uneven breath, his forehead dropping against the curve of your shoulder exposed by the half-buttoned shirt. Part of him wants to tell you everything, how much he cherishes moments like these, how much your words mean to him—how much you mean to him.

But he's never been as eloquent as you are, even with a litany of poems under his belt. There's a difference between speaking them out loud and confessing them onto a page. So the words die on his lips. Something about the comfort of your touch silences any protest he has, even when it's only in his head. His fingers tighten around yours, and he places a brief kiss to your collarbone.

"Stay the night?"

"Mhm, okay," you hum in confirmation. You place your own kiss to the side of his head, directly into the dark chocolate strands of hair. The smell of sweat and sex still lingers between you, a welcome reprieve from the subtle tension a few moments before.

He allows himself to take some comfort in it, the knowledge that you will stay, that you will remain here with him. Patrick knows that it's not so simple, that you may yet disappear again, return to being that detached girl who could not care less about him—but for now, you are here. Warm and soft against his body.

One of his hands trails up to tangle in your soft hair, guiding your chin up to meet his eyes. And then he leans closer, his lips finding yours in a slow, unhurried kiss. His mouth moves over yours gently; he can still taste a hint of your lipstick underneath his tongue, a faded berry stain that smears between you.

And he takes a moment to just relish in it, the soft press of your lips together, before pulling away to speak into the scant air between you. "Sometimes I wish you'd be more demonstrative with me," he murmurs, entirely without thinking, his eyes fixed on your full, bitten-red lips. You don't even need lipstick like this, he thinks. Not when he can stain them red for you.

Patrick sighs, when his words are repeated in his mind—not that he has any intentions of taking it back. He's been craving your attention ever since you started this whole thing, ever since that night back in September, an entire season ago, but he hasn't ever been bold enough to ask for it. Not until now.

It was supposed to be a thoughtless confession, a passing remark, but the second the words leave his lips, he realises he meant them. Deeply. He wants your affection, your attention. Your love. Not this aloof, indifferent version of you that is always slightly removed and out-of-reach. He wants you to care.

"Demonstrative..?" You prompt after a moment of subdued silence. You release his hand, only to loop your arms around his neck in a loose embrace.

"Mhm."

His voice is low, the sound of it muffled by the way his mouth is pressed against your skin, his breath warm and uneven against your exposed collarbone. But there is an edge to his words—a hint of something more vulnerable than what either of you are used to.

"More affectionate," he clarifies after a moment, the words rushed. As if getting them out fast enough will lessen the inevitable blow of your scorn for being so weak. "More loving."

He feels almost like a child, begging for attention. Maybe he's searching for what his mother never gave him in you. That thought is a little too much to unpack right now, though. Especially when just your close proximity is making his head spin, his longing for you overwhelming any hesitation about voicing his thoughts. He knows that he's pushing further than usual, the words tumbling out as if he's physically compelled to say them.

But he can't help it.

The need for affection, devotion, is suffocating. He's not used to asking for more, to actually having to put his thoughts in words. Everyone else just gives him what he needs. The challenge is what drew you to him in the first place, but he is beginning to realise that he may have taken a bite of something more than he can chew.

His face is buried against the crook of your neck, lips grazing slowly over your pulse point. It isn't even fluttering, as if this doesn't have the same effect on you that it does on him. Truly maddening.

It is too much, perhaps. Too much honesty, too much neediness. But he cannot help the way his heart aches at the thought of your indifference, the way his soul cries for your love. His hands slide slowly up your back, tracing the warm skin just under the edge of your borrowed shirt. They don't stop until they reach the nape of your neck, his fingertips playing with the smooth skin and hairs there.

"Please?" He whispers against the shell of your ear. The quiet plea hangs heavily in the air, and for a moment, Patrick is tempted to just blurt it all out. To put all his cards on the table and let the pieces fall where they may. But he pushes the words down, locking them away in the depths of his heart.

"I love you," you say, tilting your head to catch his mouth in another languid, gentle kiss. A thousand words that you wouldn't dare speak aloud poured into the tender gesture, before you break free. But Patrick can't help but wonder whether it's a genuine confession or merely something to placate his aching soul. "I'm not good at this whole... romance thing, you know."

He shuts his eyes briefly at the sound of your words, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. He does not trust himself to speak, his heart stuck in his throat.

I know, he wants to say. I know you're bad at this. You're bad at love and affection and vulnerability and relationships. But I need you to try. For me.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead he lets out the breath he's been holding and tugs you that little bit closer, fingers trailing slowly over the smooth curve of your spine.

"Yes, I know," he mutters. His tone is that of a sad, resigned acceptance of the fact that you have walls around your heart.

That this is it.

No tenderness, no declarations, no loving words other than those to appease him. You are fond of him, perhaps even fond of him too much, but he cannot expect you to love him in the way he does. He cannot have the love he desperately craves, and he is beginning to realise that there's absolutely nothing he can do about it.

He's not used to feeling so powerless.

A hint of bitterness creeps into his chest at the thought, and a part of him wants to pull away. He wants to put some distance between you, to distance his heart from this girl who does not love him but whom he loves with his entire being.

But it's impossible to resist the warm press of your skin, the soft brush of your fingers against his hair. He cannot push you away, and instead holds you even tighter against his chest. Some form of affection is better than nothing. Anything is better than nothing.

And that is when Patrick realises that no matter how much he loves you, no matter how much he craves more affection, he will take anything that you are willing to give him.

His mouth trails along your jawline, planting gentle kisses there; he's lost in the warm, familiar scent of your skin against his lips, the feeling of your soft body against his. There is a certain resignation in his touch, a bittersweet acceptance that this will be enough.

His mind is still spinning, his thoughts muddled, but his body responds easily where his brain cannot. The touch of his lips against your skin grows more urgent. Despite his realisation, he craves you, and if this is all he can get, he'll take full advantage of that.

His lips return to your mouth in a hungrier kiss, the desperate need for you seeping into the way his tongue presses at the seam of your lips. His hands begin to roam the length of your body, tracing against the dip of your waist and the curve of your hips. He needs this, he needs this, and his touch grows more frantic with each passing moment. He can feel the bitterness begin to wash away, replaced with something else.

Something familiar. Desire.

Despite his earlier realisation, his need for you does not subside. No, it does not subside, instead replaced by a different need. His fingers move to the buttons of the shirt, a gentle tug in a silent plea for more—for your clothes to come entirely back off, for more skin against skin.

"Tired," comes your protest against his mouth. But you don't break away from him, hands still threaded into his hair. "I mean, we've already fucked, Pat."

His breath stutters in his chest at that, because he's not sure if it's an excuse for you to stop here, end this, stop them, or if you're simply tired.

It's not that different, he can't help but think. Not that different.

His lips trail over your neck, planting a line of hot, slow kisses down the side, but there is a hint of resignation in the way he touches you now. "You sure?"

"Mhm," you mumble. Your hand cards gently through his curls, the touch almost apologetic in nature. "We can cuddle, though."

Patrick almost lets out a sigh, his lips pausing against your throat. He's trying to push down any disappointment that threatens to break past the surface.

You do not want more. You're tired, you're done with him for the night.

It's fine. It's okay.

He presses one last kiss to the place where your neck meets your shoulder, the sigh that follows almost inaudible even in the silence of his room. "Yeah. Cuddle."

His arms loosen their grip around you to give you room to pull away, although a part of him doesn't want to. A part of him wants to hold onto you, to keep you close forever. But he does not want to come off as even more pathetic than he already has tonight.

Instead he settles for slowly sitting back against the headboard, opening his arms in a silent invitation. You shift back up the bed to join him, tucking in against him, head pressed against his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you again, holding you close to his chest. A kiss is pressed to the top of your head, and he tries to find comfort in the sense of closeness.

But your words from earlier keep coming back to his mind.

I'm not good at this whole romance thing, you know.

He swallows past the lump in his throat and tries to settle against the pillow. Despite having you in his arms and the solace it should give him, he can't help the way he feels a pang of discomfort at your words. He's not asking for romance, necessarily. Not for flowers and poetry (ironically) and grand demonstrations of love.

He just wants your affection. He just wants to be wanted. He just wants to feel loved.

"Does it hurt?" Your voice cuts through the silence after a while, reaching up with a hand to trace the tender skin at the back of his shoulder. He lets out a soft, somewhat strained breath at the feeling of your fingertips over the sensitive skin there. It's not pain, exactly. More of a warm, almost aching sting around the scratches.

"it's fine," he mutters, and he's not entirely sure if the answer is referring to the physical wound or the emotional one. It's hardly much different at this point. No matter what happens, you always inflict him with something.

A beat passes, then another.

He keeps his eyes closed, listening to the silence, to the sound of your intermingled soft breaths. He can feel his own heartbeat, the steady thump against his ribs, but it's almost as if his chest is cold. As if there's something missing.

That familiar lump rises again in his throat, and when he speaks, his voice feels strained. As if it's been a week of not using it, rather than just two minutes.

"You're not falling in love with me, are you?"

"I told you I loved you five minutes ago, Pat. Sometimes it is a marvel that you are a scholar at all with that memory of yours," you say, your tone light as the hand on his shoulder trails down until your palm is flat against his heart, right next to your head.

And his heart, which had been thumping steadily against his chest, stutters at the sound of your words. He opens his eyes and looks down at the top of your head, his fingers tracing absent little circles against the skin of your forearm.

You had said the words—I love you—back in January, and now again tonight. Does that not mean you love him?

"That's not what I meant," he says, quiet and gentle, almost fragile.

"Then what did you mean?" You ask. You can feel the way his heart is picking up, the steady thump thump thump picking up into something more erratic.

Patrick swallows, his throat tight and dry, and another shaky breath escapes his parted lips as he grapples for words. "Like... emotionally. Emotionally in love."

The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

"You love me, you've said that. But you're not in love with me. Not the way I'm in love with you," he goes on, his words quiet and faltering. He just wants you to need him in the same way that he needs you. Like water in a desert, or the way a body needs a heart. You are his heart, or at the very least you're in possession of his own.

"Pat, I'm your girlfriend," you say, tilting your chin to look up at him. "I wouldn't have accepted such a title if I wasn't smitten with you, you know."

He has to bite back something between a scoff and a sigh. That's the thing. That's the difference. This isn't about the title you give it, it's about what's under the title. About the true emotional depth behind the world girlfriend.

"Yeah," he says, softly and bitterly. "My girlfriend."

His fingers tighten reflexively around your arm, and he has to force himself to relax. "I see the way you look at me, you know," he continues, his words low but laced with an unmistaken hint of vulnerability. One that surprises even himself. "I know you care about me, that you like me in some way. Love me, even. But I'm not what you need. And I'm certainly not your first choice."

"Then who is my first choice?" There's almost a challenge in the way you ask it, despite the tenderness of your hand against his heart. And he almost laughs at the question. Are you really that oblivious? He shakes his head, even if you can't see it, and answers with a single word.

"Art."

You actually jerk up at that. The way you look at him is somewhat incredulous, or perhaps even disgusted that he could say such a thing out loud.

"Don't be so ridiculous," you say, your words coming out a tad bit harsher than expected. And his chest aches at the way you move with such speed, the harshness of your voice and the hardness in your eyes at his words.

"Why? Because it's a little too true?" He says, his words tight and bitter. "C'mon. You and I both know you've got a thing for him." He props himself up on his forearms, shifting to match your upright position. "I'm not trying to be ridiculous," Patrick continues, a hint of frustration injected into his flurry of words. "I'm just trying to get you to see it. To see how you really feel, about him, about us... about me."

He knows how the words sound, and that you will undoubtedly take them as some sort of criticism or rejection, as if he hadn't wanted you there. But you both know the truth, he thinks. Patrick swallows, and his heart feels lodged in his throat. "You only chose me because he turned you down."

"Oh, piss off, Patrick," you say, the words—his given name, as opposed to the Pat you've always called him—practically sneered at him. "That's not what happened at all. I don't know how you've managed to jump to that conclusion."

He scoffs, and his heart twists painfully in his chest. It's hard not to grow frustrated, the bitter hurt at both your words and the situation he's fabricated in his head bordering on anger.

"It's not that much of an exaggeration, and you know it," he shoots back, his voice increasingly tight and strained. "You were desperate that night. You only came back to me because you knew I'd get on my knees and worship the ground you walk on, no questions asked."

The words are like acid in his mouth, but he can't help but feel a sense of bitter satisfaction—of victory—seeing the way you react. And he knows it's unfair, but he's too riled up right now (a problem of his own making, naturally) to care.

“You knew I’d come running the moment you called. You wanted that, you wanted me to drop everything and come crawling to you again, begging at your feet.”

"I've never wanted Art, you delusional prick," you scowl. And then you withdraw yourself suddenly, the movement almost violent in the way you disappear from his arms so quickly it's like you were almost never there.

You sit at the edge of the bed, legs draped over the edge as you card a frustrated hand through your messy hair. And at that sudden withdrawal, Patrick almost feels like something has been wrenched out of him, his hands clenching around empty air as you move away. He sits back against the headboard, his eyes fixed on your slumped figure at the edge of the bed, the sudden distance in the room almost palpable. 

He wants to reach out and pull you back to him, to bury his face in your neck and kiss you until he can’t remember why he’s angry. But he doesn’t. Instead he swallows the words bubbling in his throat and lets the silence fall.

There’s a sense of resignation in the quiet that envelops the room. Patrick can feel the tension between you, the weight of all the things you’re refusing to say, while you stew at the edge of the bed.

He watches you, taking in the slope of your shoulders and the way your fingers are tangled in your hair (a nervous habit of yours, he's come to learn, but it seems more aggrieved than anxious at the moment), and his own heart aches with the need to bridge the distance between you. 

But he doesn’t. Not yet. There’s something he has to say first.

“You’ve never wanted Art?” His voice is quiet, and he can feel the resentment brewing at the back of his throat. “You’ve never even thought about it?” 

He’s grasping for something, anything, anything at all to convince himself that he’s wrong. 

“Answer me honestly, and don’t you dare lie.”

"I can't believe you would even say that," you say, shaking your head. Your gaze burns into the ground beneath your bare feet, your knee bouncing. You're itching for a cigarette, but you can't bring yourself to move to get one right now.

"No, Patrick. Art's a friend, at most."

He almost scoffs at the words, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, really. And it’s not that he doesn’t believe you, either. 

It’s just that he wants to. He needs to. 

“Bullshit,” he mutters. “I see the way you look at him, the way you act around him. I’m not stupid.”

God, he’s grasping, and he knows it.

“You keep coming back to me because you know it’s safe, you know there’s no risk,” He scoffs, bitter with self-pity. Or maybe self-sabotage. “You know I’ll always be here, at your beck and call, because I’m in love with you, and you know how much that hurts me. But God forbid you ever let yourself fall for me too. That might actually be a challenge. That might actually need effort from you.”

"Patrick Zweig, if you're going to sit here and accuse me of being in love with your best friend and not you, my fucking boyfriend," you snap, turning your head back towards him. "I'm going to walk out that door right now. I'm not doing this with you."

His chest tightens uncomfortably at those words, at the threat of you leaving, of you walking out the door and never looking back. But he can’t back down, not now. Not when he’s so sure of this. He needs to know. He has to know. 

He takes a breath, and ploughs on. Might as well dig his own grave at this point.

“I wish you would,” he scoffs, his eyes fixed on you in challenge. “I wish you would have walked out a long time ago.”

His heart aches as the words leave his mouth, the bitter irony not lost on him. He can see that they cut you, the way your shoulders sag and your expression clouds, and a small part of him hates himself for doing it. But there’s something else, some twisted, masochistic part of him that relishes the hurt he’s causing. Because at least you feel something. 

He laughs, a harsh, hollow sound, even to his own ears. “Maybe you should leave this time, for good.”

"Maybe I should, Patrick," you snap in reply, your words nothing short of biting. The only thing that's stopping you from getting up and storming out right now is the anchor of the regret you know you'd feel as soon as the door was shut. "Run off into the sunset with Art, shall I? And you can go off and find a girl willing to write you the little sonnets and love poems you so clearly need."

A volatile mixture of hurt and anger and resentment wells up in his chest at that. Mocking his adoration for poetry is a low blow, and you both know it. He's never asked that of you—that’s not your way of showing affection. It’s his. A way of expressing his love, and you act like it's some inconvenience?

“Oh, I’ll find one. You don’t have to worry about that,” he says. “I’ll find someone who actually wants me, instead of someone who just keeps me around because I’m convenient.”

He knows he’s treading dangerous waters now, that one wrong word might set you off like a powder keg. But he can’t seem to stop himself, the words tumbling out of his mouth like a flood he has no hopes of containing. At this point, he doesn’t even want to.

“I’ll find someone who sees me as something more than just a fallback, someone who actually cares about me, not just about what I can do for her.”

"And what can you do for me, huh? Except sit there and whine about the fact I'm supposedly in love with your dear old pal?" You fire back.

His heart aches at those words, the accusation like a knife to his chest. 

Patrick swallows, his voice tight. “I have been nothing but devoted to you. All these years, everything I ever do is for you. I would drop anything, anyone, at your command.”

He scoffs. “I would literally take a bullet for you,” he says, the words practically spat out.

“And all you’ve ever given me is your scraps of attention,” He continues. “You come and go as you please, taking whatever you want from me with no regard for my feelings, and you have the audacity to act like I’m asking for too much?”

"I have never once told you that you were asking for too much, Patrick. What I am saying, is that it's absolutely ridiculous that you could accuse me of... of what? Wanting to be unfaithful to you, with Art, no less? Am I supposed to just take that in my stride and not act as if it doesn't make me sick to my stomach to hear that?" You say, the words pouring out of you, laced with derision and perhaps just a little bit of... anguish? as you rise to your feet. Or perhaps that's just wishful thinking on his part.

He knows he’s crossed a line, that he’s gone too far this time. But he can’t stop himself from doubling down. 

“Why?” he says, his voice low. “Why does it make you sick, hmm? Because I’m wrong, or because I’m right?”

"Because you're wrong, Patrick. And it disgusts me that it could even cross your mind that I would ever do such a thing to you," you sneer in reply. "I mean, do you really think that little of me?" A dry, humourless laugh punctuates your words.

His heart aches to hear it, the disdain and indignation in your voice like a punch to the gut. He swallows down the retort that rises in his throat, the urge to hurt you back growing stronger with every moment you refuse to admit what he believes to be the truth. 

But he bites his tongue, his voice a quiet confession as he says, “Sometimes? Yes, I do.”

You scoff.

“I think you could tear my heart out, smash it to pieces, and not even bat an eye,” he continues, his voice dropping into a quiet confession. “I think you’ll ruin me without a second thought if it meant you got what you wanted in the end.”

He takes a breath, his voice strained with the weight of his admission. The same words have adorned a page a thousand times, but speaking them aloud is something else entirely. He's not sure whether it's making him feel worse or better.

God, he feels pathetic.

“And that kills me. It kills me to know that you’ve got me wrapped so tight around your finger that I’m just willing to follow you around like a lost puppy, waiting for the scraps of attention you deign to give me.”

He laughs, a dark, humourless sound. “I must look pathetic to you, yeah?”

He hates himself for it, but he continues. There’s no point in stopping now, right?

“Tell me, do you laugh about me behind my back with Art when we’re not together? Does he tell you how I’ll do practically anything you want, that I’ll bend over backwards just for the thrill of being the one who gets a scrap of your precious time? I bet he does,” he says, his voice laced with animosity at just the thought. “I bet he gets off on watching me trip all over myself just for your attention. It probably amuses him, I’m sure it’s very funny to watch me suffer. A big difference from the Patrick Zweig everyone else knows, right? How delightful.”

"Stop it," you interject, the words a harsh demand. But there's a hint of desperation in your gaze, as if you cannot stand to hear such vile accusations. "I don't do that, Pat. Nor does he."

And his chest tightens at the hurt in your eyes, at the raw emotion that’s there. But he doesn’t let up, he can’t let up. 

“Why should I believe you, hmm?” he says, his voice dripping with derision. “Why should I just take your word for it, just like that, when I know the truth?” Patrick scoffs, his eyes meeting yours in a defiant stare as he watches you tug your trousers back on. 

“Because you’re supposed to treat your boyfriend with faithfulness and respect,” he retorts, voice flat with accusation. “But I guess we’re both falling short, aren’t we?”

"I do treat you with faithfulness, you absolute tosser," you bite in reply. You cross his room to retrieve your shoes, your face contorted into a scowl. His stomach churns as he watches, at your clear intention to leave. 

“Where are you going?" he demands, his voice rising as panic floods through him. "You can't just walk out every time we argue like this, you can't—"

"I can't what? The only thing I cannot do, is sit there and listen to you accuse me of being unfaithful to you. I won't do it," you say, shaking your head vehemently as you drop down to the floor. Damn your stupid laced boots.

He lets out a frustrated huff, his mind reeling with the panic and hurt that’s swirling inside him. 

“But it’s true!" he says, the words almost involuntary as they tear themselves from his chest. He's desperate at this point. To continue or resolve this fight, he does not know. But he can't have you leave. “You are unfaithful to me—maybe not in body, but at least in heart!”

"You are so... so stupid sometimes, Patrick, I cannot even fathom it. It hurts my fucking brain that you could even... you could even conjure up such a thing in your own," you say, as you fumble with the laces. He's the most intelligent person you know, sure, but that big brain of his is rendered utterly useless when it comes to matters of the heart.

Not that you're much better, really.

He lets out a humourless laugh, the sound both rough and bitter. “Yeah, I’m stupid,” he returns, his voice harsh. “I’m just the idiot who’s completely in love with you, who can’t see that you’re completely, utterly enchanted with my best friend instead.”

Another laugh, the sound hollow in the air. “I’m the fool who’s just willing to look the other way while you sit there and make a joke out of me, while you string me along while you decide whether you want me or him.”

"I don't want him," you snap. You're all but yelling at him now, the level of volume certainly enough to raise some questions on the floor of the dorm. But given your entire conversation, propriety is not on the table right now, as you finally do up your laces and rise to your feet.

"I want you, Pat."

The words cut through him like a knife, slicing deep into his heart. His chest tightens painfully at the admission, the air leaving his lungs in a harsh exhale. Because, unlike all those other placating whispers, the vehemence in your voice now feels real to him. He’s silent for a moment, the only sound in the room his breaths. All he can feel is the rapid, heavy pounding of his heart.

Finally, he speaks hoarsely. “Then prove it, for once in your life. Show me that you mean it, and it's not just... just some bullshit to placate me."

"What do you want me to do, huh?" You say, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "Declare my undying love for you? Run off and elope with you in the night?"

He shakes his head, the motion sharp and frustrated. “No, not any of that soppy nonsense,” he says, his voice still roughened by emotion. “Just look me in the eyes and tell me, honestly, that I’m the only one you care about. That there’s nothing between you and Art Donaldson.”

"There is nothing going on between us," you tell him, crossing the distance back towards the bed. Your eyes are dark and steely as you look at him, unyielding. "Not a single thing."

His heart thumps in his chest, the palpable battle between hope and lingering doubt sending a shudder through his body. It takes a moment for your words sink in, the sound of his own harsh breathing filling the silence between them. 

Finally, his voice comes out in a raspy whisper. “You swear it on your life?”

"Do you want me to pull out a fucking Bible, too?" You snap back. And then the tension in your body seeps out a little, and you drag a hand through your hair. A moment's pause, and then your continuation is a lot softer, "I swear."

Patrick nods, swallowing hard. He's half-tempted to ask for a pinky promise, but that seems so ridiculously juvenile right now and would only lead to further embarrassment. But he needs to be sure. He has to be sure.

"Swear it on your family," he continues, his voice still choked. "On your father, your mother, your brothers. Swear it on everything you hold dear."

You let out a scoff at that; you're half-tempted to call him pathetic, to laugh at him for demanding such a thing. But you don't, tugging on the roots of your hair as you try to force the words out.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say. But the moment of hesitation passes. “I swear it. On everything.”

He feels the tension drain out of him, his heart easing at that response. He lets out a long, ragged exhale, the pain in his chest slowly lessening. 

He believes you. He has to believe you. Because you are the substance he craves, and he is nothing but a lowly acolyte, ever at the mercy of his deity.

So in that moment, he just can’t bring himself to care if he looks ridiculous. He's already been enough of a twat tonight.

Without another word, he pushes himself off the bed and closes the gap between you, taking you in his arms and pulling you flush against him. He feels cold, standing up naked like this. But he’d face the harshest winds of the Arctic to feel you against him right now. A part of you wants to push him away, tell him that you want nothing to do with him right now. That you need time to process the fact that he had so little faith in you. Because fuck, that had hurt.

But the warmth of his embrace drains the fight in you. You melt into him, and you're almost tempted to cry as your arms loop around him. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling the familiar scent of you—jasmine, cigarettes and lingering sweat from your earlier endeavours. God, that feels like a lifetime ago now.

The thought of you wanting to leave had terrified him, and it’s only now, with you safe in his arms, the reassurance you had given him settling in his chest, that the full force of the fear hits him. 

His voice is a hoarse murmur when he speaks into your soft hair, the words thick with emotion. “I’m an idiot. A total knobhead.”

He laughs, the sound dry and humourless. “I’m so stupid it’s a wonder I haven’t dropped dead yet from pure idiocy.” He takes another shaky breath, holding you tighter. “I’m sorry. I was wrong, I was… I was utterly wrong, and I didn’t—“

He cuts himself off, exhaling into your hair as he searches for the words his brain provides but his mouth refutes. “I just don’t know what I would do if I lost you. I love you so much, it’s unbearable. I think I’d go fucking mad. You’re it for me." The words are whispered with a fierce desperation. “I know I act like a selfish idiot most of the time, but you have to believe me, I just… I just can’t lose you. I love you. I love you so much, and I would do anything, anything to keep you. So just… please,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. “Just please don’t ever leave me, my beloved. Please.”

“Don’t call me my beloved right now, you absolute arse. You don't deserve it,” you huff out in reply. But the words are tinged with something lighter again, even if it feels like you might burst into tears at the familiar term.

Patrick lets out a laugh, his voice rough and ragged but tinged with genuine mirth. He can practically feel the weight lifted off his shoulders at your tease.

“Bloody hell, I just bared my bleeding heart to you, woman, and you’re more concerned with my choice of endearment. I mean, where’s your romantic spirit, hmm?” he murmurs, his voice a low vibration against your ear. “Here I am baring my soul to you, and you can’t even muster up a single I love you, my darling Pat?”

“I hate you too much right now to muster up such a horrible thing,” you whisper in reply, words muffled against his chest. The way you're clinging to him right now shows quite the opposite of disdain, though.

He gives another huff of laughter, the sound tinged with relief; he can see right through your facade. For once, it feels like you’re letting him in. He lifts a hand to your head and threads it through your hair, his voice softer and more affectionate now. “You don’t hate me, and you know it. You just like to act all blasé and casual, to keep me on my toes. Nothing is ever simple with you.”

“You’re such a bloody prick sometimes, Pat,” you breathe out in reply. “Honestly, I just… god.”

You shake your head against him. You aren't entirely sure whether you want to take off your boots again or just collapse into the sheets with him and hold each other, whispering nonsense to each other into the dark hours of the night. Or, the complete opposite, and allow that lingering hurt to take precedence and drive you to bid him goodnight and spend the night in your own quarters. Patrick is thinking the same, his mind torn in two. Part of him is desperate to bury his fear, his doubt, in a night of love and tenderness. To drown it in the comfort of your body, in the taste of your skin.

The other part wants to cling to you, begging forgiveness over and over and over until it sinks in that you're not leaving, not now, not ever. That you're his, that he’s yours. And he’ll never, ever doubt you again.

But he knows you, he knows you, and he knows that you're still hurt, still angry, still upset by the accusations that he’d made. And while his instincts urge him to take you in his arms, his chest tight with the need for touch, for comfort, he can’t bring himself to do it. Not when it might piss you off even more than he already has. Because sure, the basis of his argument had been solid. The need for affection, for something more than just tender touches late at night...

The accusations, though? Far too much.

So instead, he just pulls you impossibly closer against him, holding you tight to keep you both anchored together, his voice rasping against your ear. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

And you allow him.

“I was an idiot,” he continues, his voice hoarse. “A blind, selfish, stupid idiot. I let myself believe a load of bollocks when I should’ve trusted you. You’re the most faithful, the most wonderful, the most… the most goddamn perfect person—“

He cuts himself off, his voice catching in his throat. “You’re everything. You’re everything to me.”

He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his heart thrumming in his chest. His eyes are shining with earnestness as he tells you, “I’ll never doubt you again. I promise. I swear on my dead grandmother, I’ll never doubt you again.”

“Oh, don’t bring your fucking grandmother into this,” you groan, shutting your eyes. “It’s so terribly morbid. I can’t have that on my conscience.”

Patrick lets out a shaky bark of laughter. He cups your chin, gently tilting your head up with the press of his fingers. “Can’t have my very serious and sincere promise to never doubt you again being tainted by the mention of a long-dead old woman in my family?” He shakes his head, his voice tinged with fond exasperation. “You are the strangest girl I’ve ever known, did you know that? Any other girl I’ve had a tiff with, they’d’ve swooned at the mention of my undying devotion. But you just worry about the deceased.”

“Is it so hard to believe I hold respect for the dead?” You reply, with a tiny little smile that tells him some of your anger towards him has melted away. “Besides, I’m not any other girl, you know. There’s a reason you’re so hung up on me.”

He lets out a huff of laughter, his eyes dancing with affection. “No, you’re not any other girl,” he agrees, giving your chin a playful pinch between his thumb and forefinger. “Which is why I’m so hopelessly in love with you, even when you’re being difficult and contrary and obstinate.”

He sighs, his tone affectionate rather than exasperated. “And when you’re not letting me take responsibility and properly apologize for my idiocy, which, might I add, is an absolute crime against chivalry and romance.”

“Just shut your mouth and take my boots off, after making me go through such trouble to put them back on,” you sigh. You pull free from his grasp to take a seat on the edge of the bed, watching him expectantly.

He lets out his own long-suffering sigh, though the corner of his mouth is quirked up in a smile. “My my, my stubborn girl has some demands tonight, does she?” he says, slowly lowering himself onto his knees in front of you.

“You’re very lucky I’m in a forgiving mood,” he adds as his fingers find the laces of your boot. A bold statement to make, judging by the argument he had started. But at least he's being a little more himself. “I don’t think anyone else would be so eager to give into such an entitled little princess.”

But he tugs the first boot off, gently setting it aside before moving on to the second, his hands moving with practiced ease. Despite the teasing edge in his voice, there’s undeniable care in his movements, a tenderness in the way he works. Fingers grazing over your ankles, working your shoe free and giving a teasing little tug to your frilled lace sock to watch it snap back against your skin.

“Honestly, you’re like a cat,” he teases as he tosses the second boot aside. “Spend all day lounging about and lazing in the sun, then expect me to come along and pamper you as soon as the sun goes down.”

He places a kiss to your knee, and then rises to his feet, settling back on the bed and leaning against the headboard. Patrick beckons to you, patting the space beside him. “Come here,” he says, his voice soft and coaxing; it’s not the first time he’s started an argument, and it probably won’t be the last. But he always knows how to ease the tension afterwards. “I’m not done pampering you yet.”

He gives a quiet hum of satisfaction as you settle in beside him, his arm coming to wrap around your shoulders. He tugs you as close as physics will allow, right against his chest, his other hand coming up to idly toy with your hair. 

He’s quiet for a moment, simply basking in the feel of you against him, your bodies pressed together. Then, he finally breaks the silence. 

“I really am an idiot, you know.”

His voice is soft, tinged with just a hint of self-deprecation, a contrast to his normal bravado. He shakes his head, his fingers twisting in your hair unconsciously. “I mean… I honestly, honestly believed you’d cheat on me, with fucking Art of all people, just because I… because I had a terrible day. Like all the work you’ve done to prove your loyalty is rendered null and void just because I let my insecurities get the best of me. Art,” he repeats, as if the very idea is ridiculous. “I mean, come on. I know he’s handsome and all that, but he’s one of the most awkward men I know. I’m honestly not sure he even knows how to flirt, let alone have an affair with someone.”

Patrick shakes his head.

“And you,” he continues, his voice gentling once more. “You’re like the picture of loyalty. It’s one of the things I love most about you. You’re fierce and passionate, but you give that loyalty to people you care about, and once it’s given, it’s as good as cemented in stone. You don’t go back on it. You’d never betray someone you loved, not like that, even if you were offered the sun and the moon on a silver platter.”

He lets out a sigh, tightening his arm around your shoulder. “And I know that. I do. But sometimes I get so… scared that you’ll realize how much better you deserve and just… leave me. For someone else who’s better at this relationship thing, or less insecure and angry and just… better than me.”

“Pat, I literally could not care less about finding anyone other than you—“

“And for the thousandth time,” he counters, his voice tinged with feigned annoyance at your stubbornness. “I know that. But my stupid brain still tries to convince me you’re going to realize I’m just too rough around the edges for you to deal with.” He huffs out a bitter laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve managed to put up with me as long as you have. I’m lucky to have a girl who doesn’t care about how incapable I am at everything outside of literature, and I go and accuse her of being in love with my best friend like a wanker.”

He shakes his head. “You’re a saint, is what you are, for putting up with me. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I thank whatever gods are watching that you put up with my idiocy on a daily basis.”

He gives one of the locks of your hair a little playful tug. “And if you ever do decide to leave me, just… make sure you have the decency to take pity on me and warn me in advance, hmm? I’d like the chance to at least grovel and beg for your forgiveness, before you walk out the door.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yes, yes. I’ll be sure to give you a few days notice.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, his tone serious in spite of the mirth dancing in his eyes. “I think that’s reasonable. A few days notice, a good bottle of gin, and a chance to make an absolute fool of myself before you walk away. I doubt I’d be able to change your mind, but I’d at least like to go through the motions before you leave me to wallow in my own self-pity and grief.”

Patrick sighs.

"Probably find a new favorite bar to wallow in, too,” he adds. “I’d have to give up every spot we’ve been to together, especially the ones you like. Can’t go there anymore, since they’d remind me too much of you.”

He pauses for a moment, his fingers idly tracing the curve of your shoulder, your collarbone, anywhere exposed by the half-buttoned linen. “I don’t think I’d ever find another bottle of gin I’d like as much, either. The one from the store down the street would be too sweet, the one from the high-end bar over on the main road would taste too tart… nothing would compare to the one we share.”

There’s a contemplative pause, where he taps his finger against you a few times.

“And I’d have to find an entirely new wardrobe,” he laments. “I could never wear these fucking argyle sweaters again. They’d remind me too much of you and how lovely you look in them when I loan them out to you.”

And oh, how beautiful he thinks you look in his clothes.

“I’d have to sell all my records, too,” he continues, his words tinged with a melodramatic amount of despair for the sake of comedy in an attempt to lighten the mood. “All of our favorites. Never listen to my Beatles records again, because every song I play would remind me of the hundred times we’ve bloody well sung along together and get all sad and pathetic about it. And don’t even get me started on all the poems I’ve written for you,” he says, shaking his head. “I’d have to throw out every single scrap of paper they’re written on. Or better yet, burn the manuscripts of my work as an offering to purge the memories. That would probably be more poetic. Much more fitting, I feel.”

He can practically feel you rolling your eyes against him, and he knows you’re moments away from telling him to shut up for the rest of the night.

“And I’d have never enjoy a cup of tea ever again,” he says, his voice dropping into a low, exaggerated whisper. “Wouldn’t even touch the stuff. And God, the movies we’ve seen together. I’d have to steer clear of every theatre for the rest of my life, at risk of remembering how you look in the dark with the film playing across your face.”

He takes a deep breath (because he’s been running his mouth for so long his lungs are in dire need of oxygen), his hand (which seems to be permanently stained with ink) coming up to cradle your cheek. “And the places we’ve gone together. The restaurant with the good pizza, the one you like, I’d never be able to eat from again. The park down the road where we like to go for a quiet walk sometimes. The museum we like with the beautiful pieces you love to stare at for hours. The bookstore where we pick out the ones with the stupid titles so we can read them aloud to each other. The coffee shop with your favourite drink, the art store you like to go to that always makes me drag you out after you spend an outrageous amount on supplies…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Everything would remind me of you. Fucking everything.”

And as playful as he’s being, he knows that part isn’t an exaggeration.

“Honestly, I don’t know how I’d even survive.” He says with a melodramatic sigh, shaking his head dejectedly, the very pinnacle of a pitiful boyfriend. “I’d probably wither and die in my own self-pity and despair, wallowing away like the pathetic and miserable creature I am until someone found me, stiff as a board and dried up like a mummified corpse.”

“Jesus, Pat, stop being so dramatic. You’re like a broken record. Giving me a headache,” you groan.

“It’s not my fault I’m so maudlin when I’m thinking about your hypothetical exit from my life,” he defends himself with an indignant huff of protest, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Not many things get me all pathetic and poetic and melodramatic, my girl, but the idea of you leaving me is absolutely one of them.”

There’s a brief pause, and you can just tell whatever he says next is going to drive you mad.

“But…” he adds, with a hint of mischievousness in his voice, “I suppose your beautiful, angelic, radiant presence just inspires me with such overwhelming despair that I have to write a tragic Shakespearean sonnet to lament your absence in my life, for my heart is heavy and my spirit broken after your cruel, heartless abandonment.”

He gives another melodramatic sigh, one hand pressed dramatically to his heart next to your head. “Oh, the agony, the pain of it all. How I shall ever survive without you, my sweet, sweet darling… I can think of no other woman, no other soul on this earth, who can inspire such passionate misery and sorrow within me. Why, without you, I’m but a mere shell of my former self. A man wandering through life’s garden, stumbling and blind without the glorious sunshine, without the warmth and brightness that you so beautifully provide. Oh, you must find it within your heart of hearts to take pity on me, and spare me the endless abyss that would be my life without your light and love.”

He goes silent as your hand presses against his mouth, his lips parting beneath your touch. He meets your gaze with an equal mixture of amusement and mock despair, his eyebrows arching in a comically dramatic display of desperation. It's a testament to his theatrics that the expression he manages to maintain is just believable enough to look genuine, with his wide, puppy-dog eyes that convey nothing less than a hopeless devotion.

What an absolute fucking idiot. Unfortunately, he’s your absolute fucking idiot.

He sighs against your palm, the sound coming out more like a low, resigned whimper (that he’ll absolutely deny outside of this interaction), his eyes pleading with you to show mercy on his poor, wretched soul. He lets his lower lip jut out in the slightest of pouts, as if that will do the trick in persuading you to remove your hand from its place against his face and spare him a kiss in its place.

You can’t help but scoff, even as you acquiesce, rolling your eyes as you withdraw your hand. "You are utterly ridiculous, you know."

“Can’t fault a man for pouring his heart out,” he counters with a dramatic sigh, his hand coming up to dramatically clutch at his chest in a gesture of mock grief. “I can’t help that you’re my muse, the source of all my inspiration. I mean, look at you,” he says, gesturing towards you as you sit up and fix him with a flat look. “You’re so beautiful, it leaves me weak and helpless to the machinations of my own mind.”

You move to cover his mouth again, but he catches your wrist.

“How can I be expected to contain myself in the presence of true, unparalleled beauty such as yourself, my love?” He adds, lowering his other hand to reach for you, gently taking hold of your chin again.

He studies your face, his eyes tracing the shape, the curve of your lips, the flare of your nose, with an intensity that borders on obsessive. The look on his face could only be described as one of utter adoration. “You’re the very definition of an Aphrodite, you know. The living embodiment of divine grace and heavenly radiance.”

Patrick ignores your scoff in pursuit of maintaining his theatrical display of affection.

“It’s enough to drive an ordinary man mad, with your flawless skin, your sparkling eyes, the beautiful curve of your mouth. I swear, the heavens themselves would weep at the sheer injustice of it all,” he continues, his thumb gently tracing the line of your lips. He gives a dramatic, shuddering sigh. “To have a goddess of beauty on the arm of a mere mortal… the gods would be furious, don’t you think?”

“You disgust me sometimes, Pat,” you say, fixing him with a pointed look. “I ought to tell Tashi about how much of a snivelling fool you become when you’re laying it on thick for forgiveness.”

"No, no, you mustn't," he returns quickly, releasing your chin to clutch desperately at your wrist with both hands. "I'd quite literally die if she knew that I'm such a snivelling, pathetic, lovesick fool around you. She'd never let me live it down, I swear it. I'd never hear the end of it."

"Then stop it with your flowery words," you huff, rolling your eyes softly. (Although, you both know you secretly love it. Except it’s much preferred in the form of the poems you can pocket, not this ridiculous display following an argument.)

"I can't help it, my darling," he groans, the perfect picture of despair and melodramatic pleading. "It's like a disease, a sickness that courses through my veins and fills me with the most desperate, pathetic, romantic nonsense. You're like my own personal muse, you know. My inspiration. My entire world wrapped up in one beautiful, flawless goddess of a woman."

“Stop it.”

"And if I didn't take every spare moment to worship the ground you walk on, the stars you shine amongst, the very sun and moon themselves that pale in comparison to your radiant brilliance," he sighs. "I might spontaneously combust. Or drop dead from the pure intensity of the love you've inspired in me."

"No more talking," you declare.

Patrick pouts as you (heartlessly) cut off his dramatic ramble, falling silent for a moment. "But I—" he starts to protest, before thinking better of it and stopping himself with a huff. "Fine. No more talking."

"Good," you say, placing a chaste little kiss to the corner of his mouth to placate him. "I cannot stand it when you become such a sap."

Despite his earlier protest, he softens at the feeling of your kiss, the subtle pout on his face softening into a fond, almost boyish smile. His hand comes up to touch his mouth, as if to capture the lingering sensation of your lips against his skin.

"Can't blame a man for his poetic tendencies, my love," he quips, his voice dropping into a soft, mock-offended tone as he lowers his hand to admire the rouge lipstick stain on his finger. "Especially in the presence of such an inspiring, radiant woman."

“No more talking,” you repeat, fixing him with a warning look.

Patrick’s smirk widens into a teasing grin, his eyes sparkling with a playful defiance. He parts his lips as if to protest once more, but a raised eyebrow from you has him pausing, his words dying on his tongue. Instead, he simply gives his thousandth sigh, his expression a perfect picture of mock-forlorn obedience. "Fine, not a word. My lips are sealed, sealed tighter than a safe from Fort Knox itself."

“You’re like a fucking thesaurus sometimes,” you sigh. “Or Shakespeare himself. It drives me insane.”

Patrick just grins. “I prefer to think of myself as a modern-day Shakespeare,” he says. “Just replace all the swords and daggers with cocktails and cigarettes, and voila! A modern bard of the highest order.”

And, just like that, the pair of you laugh, your earlier transgressions melting away in the light of the familiar banter settling between you. A warm blanket to ease the tension until only a puddle of young, imperfect, stupid love remains.