#I NEED HIM TO BREAK DOWN INTO A LITTLE MESS

[oreo-creampies]

𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Daddy/mama/brat etc…., overstimulation, breeding/creampie, riding, wall sex, full Nelson, mirror sex, praise/degradation, some mind break/dumbification, mention of a belly bulge (from satoru’s cum and cock), begging, possessive, size kink, squirting, knife play (no blood or cutting)

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 my pussy ✨

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨

Lining Kento up with your sensitive wet little hole. Losing your mind over how thick he is. Too big for your fingers to touch. “My hungry little cock sleeve missed me this much? Barely letting me take my clothes off before your licking the sweat off my cock and trying to take me in your soaking wet cunt.” Messaging your cheeks with his large rough warm hand. Holding your hip, slowly swiping his thumb in small circles.

You can’t get enough of how it feels to be touched by Kento Nanami. His touch is firm, gentle, warm, comforting and exhilarating. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout you non stop daddy!” The pinch in his brow smoothes, a lazy smirk tugging on his slips.

Tightening his grasp on your hip, his thick fingers sinking in your hip’s squishy crease. Kento roughly sliding you down on his fat, veiny cock. “Who am I?” Roughly smacking your ass, once, twice, your cunt clenching on the third.

Firmly grabbing your hips, guiding your tight hot cunt on his cock. Sliding your hand down his rock hard, cheilsted chest. Sinking your nails into his abs when he flexes, the lines deepening. “Tell me or I'm stopping, who’s fucking your tight cunt into a sloppy mess?”

You whine, “Daaaadddy isss! Daddy’s fat cock is stretching my cunt out, reaching so deep. I can feel your veins pulse, the shape of your head, nnnn you’re so deep! Right there daddy please keep bouncing me on your cock! You’re so strong!” Wrapping your arms around Kento when he stands.

Softly tugging on his soft blond hair, scratching his freckled backside. “You’ve been such a beautiful house wife, it due time I make you a mama.” Your cunt throbs, fluttering around him at the thought.

Needing one arm to hold you up, he wraps grabs a handful of your hair. Pulling your head back, looking up into his beautiful face, relaxed in pussy drunken bliss. He croon, “Am I your big strong daddy? Does my beautiful mama love it when I fuck her like a slut?”

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

You’re helpless in his firm grasp, your legs pinned by your sides by his muscular arms. Toji’s large hands are clasped behind your head forcing you to look into the vanity mirror. “Look at ya sloppy little cunt, it was so small now it's taking my monster cock like it’s made for it.”

His cock always looks too big to fit, yet your soft squishy cunt takes him perfectly every time. You’re split open in a perfect circle, your puffy lips dragging along his cock when he pulls out. His heavy balls bouncing with each thrusts memorizing.

He gruffily demands, “Who’s slut are are you?” Your cunt flutters around his cock, spasming, gushing thick cum. Squirting all over his bed, some of your slick trickling down soaking his cum filled balls.

His cock head hitting your already aching bruised cervix threatening to do deeper. Could he? Loudly moaning, “Daddy’s! I'm daddy’s slut! Please! Please cum!” He groans, his fat cock’s veins throbbing.

He glides his cock out, “Fuck! Ya daddy’s little slut huh? Keep talkin’ like that and ya gonna make me cum too quickly. N’ after I made sure to jerk off with your panties so I can last longer in your lil super soaker.” Effortlessly sitting up, easing you out of the full Nelson. Holding you up, lining his cock up, gliding himself into your soft, squishy cunt.

Curling your toes, eyes rolling back, jaw dropping. “Too much! Please don't stop wanna be a good girl for Daddy! Please! Cum! Daddy! Please! Cum daaaaadddy!” Attempting to wiggle off Toji’s thick cock, your attempts are a pathetic shifting of your hips.

Toji stands up, fucking his thick, veiny cock into you harder. “Damanding little brat, after I cum I’m taping a vibator to your clit so I can smoke n’ have a drink watchin’ you whine and cum till your lil cunt breaks.” Tightening his grasp on your thigh, grabbing your hair holding your head still.

“Watch daddy fuck his cunt into a gapping cum filled mess.” He groans, looking handsome balls deep in your cunt. His thick arms, broad chest, and muscular thighs, Toji is a massive beautiful man having his way with your cunt.

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

Tightening his grasp on your neck, pinning your thigh to the wall. Your other leg hooked around Satoru’s waist. “Dont even need to listen to you beg, your cunt is doing it for you. Hear how wet she is? Your little cunt keeps on cumming, soaking n’ gripping my cock.” Your cunt loudly squelches when he glides his long veiny cock in.

“Seems like no matter how much I cum my cock is keeping getting hard again. It’s all your fault. Sending me those sexy pictures and videos of you playing with yourself making my cock and balls ache.” Some of his thick cum is dripping out, your stomach’s bulge grows when he stuffs you with his cock.

Loosening his firm grasp on your neck, grabbing your other thigh. Pinning it and leaning back looking down watching slowly his thrusts down. He croons, “Aw I filled my your little cunt is too full of my cum, it's all dripping out no matter much I fucked it deeper!” He groans, it’s breathy ending in a needy whine.

Barely catching your breath, whimpering “Daddy please! I can't cum anymore!” Rapidly picking up speed with each hard thrust, till he’s moving faster than than the machine he’s gotten to watch you get fucked with.

Leaning in close, grabbing your chin, tilting your head back. His messy white hair falling into his beautiful sky blue eyes you swear have clouds in them. “Oh you can't? That’s too bad my poor little princess will have to keep taking Daddy’s cock in her broken little cunt anyway.” Roughly kissing you, slipping his tongue into your mouth, tasting of sweets and your cunt.

Biting your lip, stopping when you cry, your cunt clenching his sensitive cock. You can feel his veins throbbings, he’s close but that doesn't mean he’s done. Tilting his head back, his beautiful neck covered in lipstick and red hickies he won’t cover.

His jaw drops, he drops his head, pressing his forehead to your’s. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck! You’re getting so tight! Mmmm you’re daddy’s little slut, my beautiful whore. Tell me who I am when I’m fucking your cunt into a sloppy mess.” Leaning back, stroking your clit with his thumb.

“You’re my-my! Nnnn!” You’re too cock drunk to get the words out. Whining, your cunt spamsing the intensity of your sore, sensitive cunt cumming for an unknownth time too much for you.

Satoru croons, “My my what? You said it? Whined it so beautifully it almost made me cum. You’re so fucking adorable, sexy, beautiful and needy, who else better to make me a daddy?”

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮

Holding a knife to your neck, fucking your your sloppy cunt like he hates you. Suguru’s harsh, quick thrust too intense for your poor sensitive cunt to take. Closing your eyes, “Daaaady nnnn you feelsooogood! You’re cock! Nnnnn you’re!! Ahh!! Daddy!!” He fucks you harder with every word you utter till you’re a whimpering mess.

Dragging the sharp knife’s tip down your neck, between your breasts. Slowly sliding it closer towards your nipple, grabbing your jaw. “I need you to look your daddy in the eyes beautiful, it gets me off seeing the sexy look on your pretty face when you cum, let me see you cum for the tenth time.” You’re so close.

His pierced tongue, his thick fingers and his beautiful fat cock have spoiled you. Swiping the cool knife over your sensitive nipple. “Ahhhnnn dadddy.” You can feel the strong vibrations of your butt plug in your cunt.

His thick, being cock stroking all the right spots. “Squirt on Daddy’s cock.” Gushing on Suguru’s thick cock, soaking his balls hitting your ass. Slick trickling down to the toy pulsing in your other hole. He relentlessly, fucking you through your intense high.

Your mind shattering, eyes rolling back. Suguru groans, “That’s it! Good lil’ cock slut!” His smirking, groaning he knows how beautiful he is.

Holding his long, luscious hair back, thick longs framing his beautiful, angular face. A hungry, cocky smirk on his parted lips, the pink flush of his cheeks. And the loving passion in his warm honey brown eyes.

Tightening his grasp on your hip, stopping your pitiful attempt to run away from Suguru’s cock. “Where you going? Daddy isn't done with you yet, you got me hard for another round now ya gotta be a good girl n’ take it.” Setting the knife aside, grabbing your hair leaning down.

He’s too tall forcing you to look up. Using his weight and his firm grasp on your hip to keep you pinned beneath him. Legs spread for him to beat up your sloppy cunt with his hard cock. You can't believe he is all your’s.

“Nnn I can take it, wanna take daddy’s fat cock, wanna be filled with your warm cum. Please daddy, you didn't fill me up last time. N’ I've been good! Wanna! Wanna feel you cum, please!” Letting his hair go, swiping it to one side to make a thick curtain.

“That’s why you’re daddy’s good girl huh? Nnnnfuckmamafuck tell me who’s gonna make a beautiful mama.” His thick veins pulsing he’s so close.

[blushsturns]

Hiii could you do a Chris version of the fic where reader does the trend of not saying ily back and he starts crying after she leaves?

title: love you back

word count: 1717

matt’s version is here!

Your boyfriend Chris was lying next to you on the bed, his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled up against your chest. You wrapped your arms around him to pull him even impossibly closer, your head resting comfortably on his chest. You took in a deep breath to take in his intoxicating scent, a satisfied hum leaving your lips. You loved laying here with him, cuddling him, and being close to him at all times. It was nice that Chris was also clingy with you, so the relationship wasn’t one sided.

“Do you have to go film a car video with your brothers, baby? Do they really need you there?” You whined out, your bottom lip jutting out into a small pout.

He looked down at you, his ocean blue eyes filled with sadness, his fingers moving up and down your lower back in a slow, comforting motion. “I know, baby. I wish I could skip out on this one. Luckily, it’s just a car video and nothing too crazy. You gonna be good when I’m gone?”

He flashed you a small smirk after he spoke, wiggling his eyebrows at you playfully. His hand moved underneath your shirt from behind to begin running his fingers against your bare skin causing a soft shudder to run down your spine at the sensation. “You know I will. I’m buried in homework, literally.”

The homework that you have been neglecting has been piled up next to you on the bed. At this point, you both were probably laying on the papers, but you didn’t care at this very moment. You wanted to spend as much time with Chris as possible.

Just when you thought you had more time together, Chris’ phone rang with Nick’s name displayed on the screen. Chris groaned in frustration, pulling away from you to immediately answer it. “Hello?” Pause. “Yes?” Another pause. He looks at you, mouthing Nick’s name as if you didn’t already see his name pop up on the screen. “Okay, be there in 10. Bye.” Chris sighed hard as he set his phone down next to him, pulling his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed, his hands moving into his hair. “I’m sorry I gotta leave, ma.”

You immediately shake your head and move your body over to sit next to him on the edge of the bed, placing your hand onto his thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll be here when you get here back. Give us, and me, some good content, okay?”

Chris looked at you with a widening grin on his face, a soft chuckle emitting from his lips. “That I can do.” He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Okay, baby, I’m gonna go before they cut off my head, or my dick. Maybe both. I’ll pick up some takeout on the way home.”

“My man.” You say simply, and proudly as you lean forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering there for a moment before pulling away. “Now go before they really cut off your head and your dick. You need those, and honestly, so do I.” You flash him a small smirk before allowing a soft giggle to emit from your lips.

Chris lets out a soft chuckle and nods his head, getting up from the bed and grabs his phone, slipping it into his pocket. He leans down to place his index finger underneath your chin to tilt your head up, your eyes locking together in a brief moment before he presses his lips back against yours sweetly. You kiss him back softly, smiling against his lips before allowing him to pull away and he walked over to the doorway before turning to look back at you. “Alright, ma. I’ll be back before you know it. I love you.”

After you hear him say I love you, you debate if you should pull the little prank on him that you saw earlier when you took a break from your homework. It was a video of the girlfriend not saying I love you back to the boyfriend and he genuinely got so confused about it. It wasn’t like you to not say it back, and you already knew Chris would notice it right away, but he’s messed with you before, why not get him back?

“Have a good time filming, baby!” Was all you said back, flashing him a small, innocent smile as you stared up at him.

Your eyes stayed locked onto his face the entire time as you noticed his facial expression changed. He went from smiling, to suddenly he was confused. His eyebrow arched up in a confused motion, looking down at you. “Ma, I said I love you. Did you hear me?”

You nodded your head at his words, biting gently onto your bottom lip as you looked at him. You felt bad, but you wanted to play along with the little joke to see what would happen. Chris was always full of jokes and even pulled some pranks on you and always fell from them, but you never really pulled anything on him before. You get most of your material from TikTok and you doubt that Chris has seen anyone do this to their significant other before. “I said have a good time filming.” Was all you replied back with.

He immediately walked back over to the bed and sat down next to you on the bed. He grabbed your hand in his, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. His face filled with worry, concern, sadness. It made your heart ache immediately seeing him like this and you knew you couldn’t play around much longer if he was going to be this upset about it. You never wanted to upset him, ever. “Baby, what’s wrong? I said I love you and you didn’t say it back, did I do something wrong?”

“No!” You immediately said, shaking your head and squeezing his hands back. “You didn’t do anything wrong at all.”

“I feel like I did. It’s not like you to not say I love you back, especially not when one of us are leaving to go somewhere.” Sadness filled his voice, his thumb running across the back of your palm, which usually relaxes you, but you felt the guilt inside of you eating you alive as you tried to keep up with the silly little prank.

“You didn’t do anything wrong at all, baby. I promise.” You squeezed his hand tightly, scooting closer to him as you kept your eyes solely focused on him.

“But you didn’t..say.. do you love me?” He looked at you with tears welling up in his eyes and that’s when you knew you couldn’t play around anymore. You didn’t like to see Chris upset. It wasn’t often when he showed his emotions like this, but he wasn’t afraid to show them which meant that he was genuine and true about his emotions and didn’t care who saw him cry, even if it made him feel vulnerable.

You nod your head immediately, your heart aching as you notice a tear had fallen down Chris’ cheek. You used your free hand to lean over to wipe it away, feeling like you were on the brink of tears yourself. “Baby, I was kidding. Of course I love you. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad.” You squeezed his hand tightly, playing with the ring on his finger. “So, I saw a video of a couple not saying I love you back to the other and thought it would be silly to do to you. I didn’t mean to upset you. It was supposed to be funny.”

Chris looked at you the entire time as you spoke, his eyebrow furrowed up in a confused manner, pressing his lips together in a firm line before opening his mouth up to speak, “Is this you getting me back from the silly little pranks I pulled on you like when I told you that the store didn’t have your favorite lipstick when in reality I forgot the name of it and didn’t wanna ask you without looking suspicious?”

You rolled your eyes as he reminded you of the story from part of your Christmas gift last year. Typical Chris to not just ask you, or someone else and instead just not get it because he didn’t want to get the wrong thing. He meant well, and made up for it, but still. “I guess it is.” You shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly, a soft giggle leaving your lips.

His body seemed to relax, the tension in the room had faded and his cheeks were slightly blotchy from crying, but his blue eyes were bright and full of warmth and happiness, rather than the sadness that had filed them minutes prior. “What am I gonna do with you, hm?” He smirked at you as he licked over his lips, pulling his free hand over to grip your chin with his fingers with a bit of force, causing a soft gasp to emit from your lips. “You gonna make it up to me, my little jokester?”

You loved when he was a little rough with you, especially when you knew the reasons behind it. “And just how would I do that that, baby?”

He grinned at your question, keeping his grip on your chin so your eyes can lock together in an intense gaze, his voice teasing, filling with need and desire. “When I get home, you’re all mine. No homework, no videos, no distractions. You’re mine and you’re going to make it up to me. The only thing I want to hear come out of that pretty mouth tonight is how much you love me, and how I make you feel. Understood?”

You nodded your head slowly, a soft whimper leaving your lips at the tone of his voice and the feeling of his grip against your chin. His hot and heavy breath lingered against your lips; your heart was beating rapidly in your chest from the anticipation between the two of you. Your core felt hot from the excitement filling throughout your veins.

“Understood, baby.”

Tonight couldn’t get here fast enough.

notes: thanks for the request! send any requests, comments, etc to my inbox!

taglist:

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-nessa

[aspenmissing]

Hiii, are you comfortable with writing something about Reader x Arcane character getting caught while making out? Maybe both of them are really stressed and needed a little distraction at work or in a hidden corner somewhere in the city.

ɪɴᴛᴇʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ || 4493 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴠᴇ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀꜱ: ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇᴅ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɪ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ (ᴍᴏꜱᴛʟʏ ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ʜᴇʜᴇ)

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ

JAYCE

The weight of the council meeting still lingered in the air, thick and suffocating. Jayce slumped into his chair, one hand dragging through his already-mussed hair, the other tapping mindlessly on the table. Across from him, you mirrored his exhaustion, arms folded as you stared at the mess of blueprints and reports scattered before you.

"This is impossible," Jayce groaned, tilting his head back against the chair. "How do they expect us to solve everything at once?"

You sighed, shaking your head. "They don’t. They just want to watch us try until we collapse."

A humourless chuckle left him as he rolled his shoulders, rubbing at the tension there. His usually confident posture was weighed down with exhaustion, frustration evident in every movement.

The stress had been building for weeks—long meetings, sleepless nights, the pressure of expectation closing in on both of you like a vise. The worst part? You barely had time for each other. Stolen glances, brief touches in passing, but never enough to ease the ache of missing him.

Jayce exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. "Maybe we just need a break. Five minutes. Just… something to clear my head."

Your gaze flickered to him, taking in the way his fingers twitched restlessly on the table, how his broad shoulders seemed so tense, like he was carrying the weight of the world.

"I have an idea," you murmured, standing and rounding the desk.

Jayce barely had time to react before you slid onto his lap, straddling him with ease. His eyes widened slightly, but the second your hands cupped his face, his tension melted like snow in the sun.

"What are you—?" His words were cut off as your lips brushed against his.

A slow, lingering kiss. Not rushed, not desperate—just enough to make him forget, to remind him that he wasn’t alone in this.

A deep hum rumbled in his chest as he kissed you back, slow at first, like he was savouring the taste of you. His fingers skimmed your sides before gripping your waist, pulling you just that much closer. The heat of his touch sent a thrill up your spine.

But when you tangled your hands in his hair, tugging lightly, everything shifted.

Jayce exhaled sharply against your lips, the frustration of the day bleeding into something else entirely. His grip on you tightened as he moved suddenly, one strong arm wrapping around your waist while the other gripped the desk.

The next thing you knew, you were on the table.

Papers and blueprints scattered to the floor as Jayce pushed them aside without a second thought. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them just enough for him to step between them, his body pressing into yours.

"Jayce—" you half-gasped, half-laughed, but he swallowed whatever protest you had with another kiss.

This one was different. Deeper. Desperate.

His lips crashed against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs, his hands pressing into the curve of your back, pulling you against him like he needed this—needed you—more than anything else.

"You're too damn distracting," he murmured against your lips, breathless, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, skimming the bare skin at your waist.

You smirked, letting your nails drag lightly along the back of his neck. "Funny. I was just about to say the same about you."

His answering chuckle vibrated against your skin before he dipped his head, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. You shivered as his lips found the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

"Jayce—" you whispered, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as his hands wandered, heat pooling in your stomach.

And then—

"Ahem."

You froze.

Jayce’s lips lingered against your skin for a second longer before he stilled, his body going rigid.

Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head.

Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, was none other than Viktor. His expression was somewhere between exasperated and amused, his golden eyes flicking from you to Jayce and then to the mess of scattered papers on the floor.

"I take it this is your solution to stress management?"

Heat flooded your face as you scrambled to push yourself upright. Jayce stepped back immediately, coughing into his fist while straightening his shirt, trying—failing—to look composed.

Viktor sighed, shaking his head. "By all means, don't let me interrupt your… problem-solving session."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. Jayce groaned too, dragging a hand down his face, looking anywhere but at Viktor.

Viktor turned to leave but paused just before the door. "I’ll let the council know you’re… preoccupied."

The door shut behind him. Silence stretched between you and Jayce.

Then—

"Of all people, why did it have to be Viktor?" Jayce groaned, dropping his face into his hands.

You bit your lip, barely holding back a laugh as you nudged him. "So… continue?"

Jayce groaned again, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. Maybe stress relief wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

VIKTOR

The apartment was filled with the soft glow of the city beyond its grand windows. Piltover's skyline stretched high in the distance, golden lamplight flickering against the polished glass, illuminating the intricate brass fixtures that adorned the walls. The faint hum of the Hextech trams outside blended with the quiet ticking of the many clocks and machines scattered around the room. The air smelled of ink, metal, and the faint remnants of Viktor’s tea—long forgotten and cold in its cup.

You sat on the couch, head resting against the cushions, eyes trailing Viktor as he paced. His cane tapped against the floor in a slow, rhythmic beat, his free hand raking through his messy curls as he mumbled under his breath.

“This is not working,” he muttered, exhaling sharply. “If I adjust the schematics for the stabilizer, it offsets the energy balance entirely—”

“Viktor.”

He didn’t seem to hear you.

“Viktor.”

Finally, he stopped pacing, turning towards you with tired, golden-brown eyes. The soft candlelight caught the sharp angles of his face, the deep crease between his brows evidence of long nights spent battling his own mind.

“You need to take a break,” you said, patting the space beside you.

“I cannot afford a break,” he countered, though his voice lacked conviction.

You tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips. “And what if I make it worth your while?”

His lips twitched, curiosity flickering in his gaze. But before he could overanalyze it, you reached for him, fingers curling around the collar of his shirt as you pulled him down. His breath hitched, but he didn’t resist—if anything, he melted into you, his hands bracing on either side of you as your lips met in a slow, desperate kiss.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic. It was the kind of kiss that unraveled knots in the soul, the kind that softened the weight of sleepless nights and overworked minds. His hand cupped your jaw, fingers tracing along your skin as if memorizing the feel of you.

Viktor sighed into the kiss, his body finally relaxing as he deepened it, stealing another taste of you like a man starved. His fingers tangled in your hair, and you found yourself tugging him closer, lips parting to let him in—

Without breaking the kiss, you shifted, moving to straddle his lap, careful not to put too much weight on him. His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands found your waist, hesitating only for a second before gripping you as if anchoring himself.

“You’re being reckless,” he murmured against your lips, though the amusement in his voice betrayed him.

“I’m being helpful,” you corrected, brushing your nose against his.

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hands sliding up your sides, fingertips teasing along the curve of your back. You could feel the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric of his shirt, the way his pulse quickened beneath your touch.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, leaving slow, lazy kisses against your throat. You tilted your head to give him more access, fingers threading into his hair, tugging gently. The way he sighed, almost blissfully, sent a shiver down your spine.

“Much better than schematics,” he murmured against your skin.

“Mhm,” you hummed, tracing slow circles into his shoulders. “And much better than pacing yourself into exhaustion.”

He chuckled, low and warm, before reclaiming your lips in another kiss, his fingers pressing into your waist. You could feel the tension melting from his body, the weight of his thoughts momentarily forgotten—

"Oh—oh my GOD!"

You both jolted apart, breathless and wide-eyed as the unmistakable voice of Jayce Talis rang through the apartment.

Viktor turned his head just in time to see his best friend standing in the doorway, hand over his eyes like he’d walked in on something far more scandalous.

“Jayce—!” Viktor’s voice cracked slightly, his cheeks burning as he scrambled to straighten his shirt.

“I— I was coming to check on you because you haven’t answered in hours and I was worried but clearly I was wrong to do so—” Jayce rambled, still shielding his vision.

You covered your face with both hands, mortified. Viktor, on the other hand, exhaled slowly, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he muttered, “For the love of— Jayce, knock next time.”

Jayce made a sound somewhere between an embarrassed chuckle and a strangled cough. “You never close your door! I figured you were just working!”

“Well, clearly, I was busy.”

Jayce groaned. “I hate this. I’m leaving. I’m pretending I never saw this. Have fun— or don’t, actually. Just— I’m leaving!”

With that, he fled, the door slamming behind him.

Silence stretched between you and Viktor. Then, despite everything, a small laugh bubbled from your lips. Viktor shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him as well.

“Well,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that his nose brushed against yours, “that was unfortunate.”

You smiled, brushing a stray curl from his face. “Maybe next time we should lock the door.”

He hummed in agreement before pressing another quick kiss to your lips.

“Next time,” he whispered, fingers ghosting along your spine, “I will not be so easily interrupted.”

JAYVIK

The apartment was supposed to be a place of solace, a refuge from the chaos of Piltover’s ever-demanding scientific advancements. Instead, it had become an extension of the lab—blueprints scattered over the coffee table, half-finished devices blinking with dim light, and a lingering scent of metal and ozone in the air.

Viktor sat hunched over a set of schematics, fingers curled into his hair, while Jayce paced in front of the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. Y/N, squeezed between them on their small shared couch, rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of their collective stress.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Jayce finally muttered, throwing himself onto the couch beside her with a heavy sigh. “We need a break.”

Viktor snorted but didn’t argue. He just leaned back, rolling his stiff shoulders. Y/N looked between them, their exhaustion clear in the droop of their eyes and the tension in their muscles.

“A break,” she echoed, thoughtful. A smirk tugged at her lips before she turned to Viktor first, placing a hand against his cheek to guide him to her. He inhaled sharply, but when she kissed him, his breath softened against her lips.

Jayce chuckled beside them. “Oh, I see what kind of break you mean.”

Y/N barely had time to grin before Jayce tilted her head toward him, catching her lips in a deeper kiss. His hands were warm against her waist, his touch grounding, and when he pulled away, Viktor leaned in, catching Jayce’s mouth in his own.

The stress that had suffocated them melted away between kisses, fingers threading through hair, soft sighs filling the space. Viktor’s hands found Y/N’s hips as she curled into him, and Jayce’s fingers brushed against Viktor’s wrist before cupping the back of his neck, pulling him in again. It was the kind of comfort they all needed, a reminder that despite the frustrations, they had each other. The warmth between them built steadily, deepening with each brush of lips, each squeeze of hands against familiar bodies.

And then the door opened.

“What the—”

All three of them froze.

Caitlyn stood in the doorway, eyes wide, a folder of papers tucked under her arm. Her mouth opened, then shut, then opened again as she took in the sight of all three of them tangled together on the couch, breathless and undeniably caught.

“Uh,” Jayce started, clearing his throat and trying to shift subtly, but Viktor was still half in his lap, Y/N’s fingers still curled in Viktor’s shirt. “We were, um, taking a break?”

Caitlyn blinked. Then smirked. “I can see that.”

Y/N groaned and buried her face in Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. Jayce just let out a nervous laugh. “You’re, uh… you’re early.”

Caitlyn lifted the folder. “Heimerdinger wanted me to drop these off. But, uh, I’ll just… leave them here.” She set the papers on the counter, giving them all one last amused glance before backing toward the door. “Carry on.”

The door clicked shut, leaving silence in her wake.

Y/N exhaled, pulling away from Viktor’s shoulder to glance between her lovers. “Well. That happened.”

Jayce ran a hand down his face, groaning. “We’re never living this down, are we?”

Viktor, ever the unbothered one, simply chuckled. “I highly doubt this is the most scandalous thing Caitlyn has ever walked in on.”

Y/N smirked, brushing a thumb over Viktor’s cheek. “Guess we’ll just have to get used to locking the door.”

Jayce huffed a laugh and leaned back. “Yeah. Next time, we plan our distractions better.”

“Next time?” Viktor mused, arching a brow.

Y/N grinned. “Oh, definitely.”

Jayce grinned too, leaning his head back against the couch. “You know,” he mused, eyes flicking between the two of them, “I don’t regret it.”

Viktor sighed, shaking his head with an amused smile. “Of course you don’t.”

Y/N nudged him. “Neither do you.”

Viktor huffed a small laugh before conceding. “No. I do not.”

Jayce let out a satisfied hum, looping an arm around both of them. “Then I say we finish our break properly… after we actually lock the door.”

Y/N and Viktor exchanged looks before laughing softly, leaning into his embrace as the tension from the day fully melted away. Even with the inevitable teasing from Caitlyn and whoever she told, they had each other—and that was enough.

VANDER

The Last Drop was busier than usual, filled with the usual rowdy crowd, the smell of stale ale, and the low hum of conversation. Vander rubbed his temple, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. It had been a long day—dealing with drunken fools who thought they were tougher than they were, extra mouths to feed, and the constant chaos of running the bar.

Y/N was just as exhausted, having spent the day tending to the younger kids and ensuring no one got into trouble. Stress hung between them like a thick cloud, and one knowing glance was all it took before Vander took her by the wrist and led her into the small backroom of The Last Drop.

The moment the door shut behind them, she barely had time to breathe before he was on her, pressing her up against the wooden wall. His large hands gripped her thighs, lifting her with ease as her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. His lips were firm and demanding, the taste of whiskey still lingering on his tongue as he kissed her deeply. She sighed into him, letting the tension of the day melt away, fingers threading through the silver streaks of his beard as he growled low in his throat.

He pressed himself closer, his body flush against hers, trapping her against the wall. The heat between them was undeniable, the way his hands kneaded at her thighs making her breath hitch. His kisses grew more intense, hungry, as his mouth trailed along her jaw, down the column of her throat, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. She gasped softly as his teeth grazed her pulse, a smirk tugging at his lips at the sound.

“Vander,” she breathed, gripping his shoulders tighter. He chuckled against her skin, his hands shifting under her thighs, pressing her higher, closer.

“You always sound so sweet when you say my name like that,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over hers before diving back in, this time deeper, more desperate. His fingers dug into her hips, grounding himself in the moment as she tugged at the strands of his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

“You know how to drive me crazy, woman,” he murmured against her lips, his breath warm as he trailed kisses down her neck.

She grinned, tilting her head back to give him better access. “Then maybe I should do it more often.”

She could feel the rumble of his chest as he let out a pleased sigh, savouring her, indulging in her. The tension of the day faded, replaced by something heady, something undeniable—

“Vander?”

The sound sent a jolt through him, and before he could react, his grip on Y/N loosened. With a surprised yelp, she slipped from his hold and landed on the floor with a graceless thud.

Vander winced. “Shit—Y/N, love, you alright?” He knelt quickly, reaching out to help her up, but the glare she shot him had him pausing.

“Do I look alright?” she hissed, rubbing her sore backside. “You dropped me!”

The voice outside knocked again. “Vander?”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “One second, kid!” He turned back to Y/N, his expression sheepish. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, I know,” she muttered, swatting his hand away and getting up on her own. “You owe me for that.”

Vander sighed, but a small smirk played at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll make it up to ya later.”

“You better.”

Straightening his clothes, he took one last look at her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and narrowed eyes—and sighed before heading to the door. As soon as he cracked it open, he was met with Vi’s unimpressed face.

“Really?” she deadpanned, arms crossed.

Vander sighed again. “Not a word, Vi.”

She grinned. “Oh, I was gonna say I needed your help with something, but after seeing that? I think I’ll just go tell Enzo instead.”

Vander groaned as she walked off, chuckling to herself, while Y/N simply shook her head behind him.

“We need a better backroom.”

SILCO

The dim glow of Zaun’s skyline filtered through the blinds of Silco’s office, casting jagged shadows across the room. The scent of smoke and whiskey lingered, mixing with the faint metallic tang of ink and gunpowder.

You sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, watching him. He was tense—his fingers pressed against his temples as he reviewed documents, his ever-present cigar smoldering in the ashtray beside him. The weight of the undercity rested heavy on his shoulders, and tonight, it seemed heavier than usual.

“You need a break,” you murmured.

Silco exhaled sharply, a humourless chuckle leaving his lips. “Zaun doesn’t rest, my dear. And neither do I.”

You pushed off the desk and moved toward him, letting your hands rest on his shoulders. He was stiff beneath your touch, his body coiled like a spring, but he didn’t push you away. Instead, he let out a slow exhale as your fingers trailed along his collar, loosening the tension there.

“Then let me help,” you whispered, sliding into his lap.

His mismatched eyes flickered up to meet yours, a silent challenge in them. “Oh?”

You straddled him, resting your hands against his chest, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing into your hips as if grounding himself. The shift in power between you was intoxicating, a game you both played so well.

His lips found yours, slow and deliberate at first, teasing, testing. But when you tugged at the collar of his vest, pulling him closer, the dam broke. The kiss deepened, rougher, more desperate. A growl vibrated against your lips as he shifted, his hands gripping you tighter before he stood, turning, laying you across the desk in one swift movement.

Papers fluttered to the floor, his knee nudging between your legs as he braced himself above you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his restraint slipping, his need surfacing.

Your hands roamed over his chest, tugging at the buttons of his vest, eager to feel him without the layers between you. Silco’s breath hitched slightly at your insistence, his fingers tightening on your hips in response. The fabric loosened under your touch, the top buttons slipping free as your nails scraped lightly against his exposed skin. He growled against your lips, his mouth trailing down to your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You’re playing with fire, love,” he rasped, his voice thick with want.

“Maybe I want to get burned,” you shot back, your fingers slipping lower, pushing the vest further open.

Silco let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing against your ear. “Careful,” he murmured, his hands sliding down your thighs, “I don’t do half-measures.”

“I know,” you whispered, tilting your head as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just beneath your jaw. “That’s why I’m here.”

He pressed closer, his weight pinning you against the desk, his lips finding the hollow of your throat. “Always so eager,” he mused, his fingers tracing down your sides, slipping beneath your blouse, teasing the skin beneath. “And so damn tempting.”

Your breath hitched as his teeth scraped lightly against your pulse. “Then stop talking,” you breathed, a smirk curling at your lips. “And do something about it.”

The heat between you was electric, a slow burn that threatened to consume you both. Then, the door slammed open.

Silco didn’t stop—didn’t pull away. His weight remained pressed over you, his breath still warm against your throat. But his head snapped up, his sharp mismatched eyes locking onto the intruder with a deadly glare.

His hand slid to the side, fingers wrapping around the pistol resting beside his ashtray. Without shifting an inch from his place above you, he lifted the gun, aiming it directly at the unfortunate soul who had just interrupted.

“Get. The hell. Out.”

A strangled noise left the intruder’s throat—one of shock and perhaps a touch of fear. They stammered something unintelligible, clearly regretting whatever urgent reason had brought them here.

Silco cocked the gun, his grip steady. “I won’t ask again.”

As the intruder stood frozen in place, your hands continued their work, fingers slowly undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt. You could feel the slight tension in his muscles, the way his breath hitched as your fingers traced over the newly exposed skin.

His grip on the gun didn’t falter, but the slight twitch of his jaw revealed that he was aware—oh, so aware—of your touch. You smirked against his collarbone, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss there, reveling in the contrast between his deadly stillness and the heat rolling between you both.

With a muttered apology, the intruder scrambled backward, slamming the door shut behind them.

Silco exhaled through his nose, his gaze still fixed on the door. Only when the room was silent again did he shift his attention back to you. A slow, dark smirk curled at his lips, his voice low and dangerous.

“Now… where were we?”

MEL

The grand halls of the Piltover Council shimmered under the golden glow of the chandelier lights. Stately, regal, and intimidating as always. But in that moment, they were also completely empty—except for two figures entangled at the grand council table, right at Mel Medarda’s designated seat.

Mel’s fingers traced slow, languid circles against Y/N’s waist, the warmth of her touch seeping through layers of silk and gold-trimmed fabric. Y/N, half-seated, half-pinned against the polished surface, could feel the cool marble beneath her, a stark contrast to the heat between them. She sighed softly as Mel pressed closer, trapping her in place with the gentle yet commanding presence that made it impossible to think of anything else.

“You’re distracted,” Mel murmured against her lips, voice rich like honeyed wine. “You’re always so serious, my love.”

Y/N let out a breathless chuckle. “Says the woman who orchestrates half of Piltover’s political schemes.”

Mel tilted her head slightly, her golden eyes glinting with amusement. “Exactly. Which is why I know when it’s time to take a break.”

Before Y/N could respond, Mel leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss. It was slow, unhurried—an indulgence neither of them could often afford. Y/N melted into it, her hands sliding up to cradle Mel’s face, fingers tracing along the delicate golden ornaments adorning her.

The tension that had been knotting in both their shoulders, the weight of the Council’s never-ending debates, the pressure of expectations—it all faded into the background. For a moment, there was only warmth, only the way Mel sighed into Y/N’s mouth as their kisses grew more urgent, more desperate.

The world outside their little sanctuary ceased to exist.

Until, of course, the sound of a sharply cleared throat shattered the illusion.

They jerked apart, Mel’s regal composure returning in an instant, though her lips were still slightly parted, a single golden brow arched in intrigue. Y/N, on the other hand, felt her face burn as she turned toward the source of their interruption.

Councilor Hoskel stood a few feet away, arms crossed, an expression hovering between scandalized and deeply amused.

“Well,” he said after a pause, “I suppose I should be grateful that at least some of our esteemed members know how to… ‘negotiate’ effectively.”

Mel, utterly unbothered, hummed and tilted her head toward Y/N. “Would you say we reached an agreeable consensus, darling?”

Y/N, still breathless, exhaled a laugh. “I’d say the matter was well settled.”

Hoskel huffed, shaking his head as he turned on his heel. “I saw nothing,” he muttered as he strode off. “And I’ll continue seeing nothing, provided you keep it outside the Council Hall.”

Mel watched him go, then turned back to Y/N with a satisfied smirk. “That’s one way to adjourn a meeting.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face against Mel’s shoulder. “We’re never going to live this down.”

Mel only laughed, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s temple. “Perhaps. But I promise you, my love—it was well worth it.”

[riddleswhcre]

────۶ৎ his hunger, your ruin

tom riddle doesn’t just want your blood—he wants to ruin you, break you, and fill you until you know you’re his.

warnings: smut, vampire!tom, bloodplay, creampie, overstimulation, slight dacryphilia, degradation, possessiveness.

𓂃⭑ a/n. this wouldn’t exist without my love marleen, who first blessed us with the vampire!tom. all credit for this deliciously dark concept goes to her, so go lose your mind over her au + fic. show her all the love and tom might just pay you a visit in the night x

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

his breath is cool against your throat, a ghost of a touch that makes you shiver beneath him. ‘pretty thing,’ he murmurs, voice like silk laced with something darker, something more dangerous. ‘mine.’

you whimper, thighs already trembling where they’re spread around him, the heavy weight of his cock pressing against your slick folds. he hasn’t pushed in yet, just letting the tip tease you, smearing your arousal over himself. he loves this—loves watching you squirm, watching the way your body betrays you.

‘needy little thing,’ he taunts, dragging a single, sharp fang along your pulse point. you jolt, body arching up, but he pins you down, fingers bruising where they dig into your hips. ‘do you have any idea what you do to me? how fucking sweet you smell? i should drain you dry right here, watch you go limp on my cock.’

your breath stutters, a whimper slipping past your lips. and fuck, it only makes him harder, cock twitching against you, precum leaking onto your swollen clit.

‘please,’ you gasp, and that’s all it takes for his control to snap.

he thrusts into you in one brutal motion, splitting you open, a strangled moan tearing from your throat. you can feel him—feel every inch, every ridge, feel the way his cock stretches you, forces your body to take him.

his fingers find your jaw, tilting your head back, exposing your throat. he watches you, eyes blown black with hunger, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

‘so good for me,’ he purrs, rocking into you, dragging his cock along your walls, slow and deep, making sure you feel every fucking inch. ‘so tight. so warm. you were made for me, weren’t you?’

you nod—desperate, delirious, pleasure pooling low in your belly. ‘yes,’ you breathe. ‘yes, tom—’

his teeth sink into your throat.

the pain is sharp, white-hot, and then—bliss. a rush of pleasure so intense your vision blurs, your walls clenching tight around his cock as you cum, a cry tearing from your throat.

he groans, fucking you through it, drinking deep, his hips snapping against yours, chasing his own release. your blood is thick on his tongue, intoxicating, his grip unrelenting as he ruts into you, dragging out every last tremor of your orgasm.

‘so perfect,’ he breathes, pulling back just enough to press his bloodstained lips to yours. ‘so fucking perfect.’

then, with a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself deep, spilling inside you, his body shuddering against yours.

but he’s not done.

‘look at you,’ he breathes, dragging his fingers through the mess between your legs, pushing his own cum back inside you. ‘soaking my cock, full of my cum, and you still want more, don’t you?’

you whimper, but you don’t deny it. can’t. not when your body is still trembling, still burning with the need to be ruined by him.

he smirks—dangerous, sharp. ‘such a needy little thing.’

and then he moves, dragging his cock through your slick folds, teasing your overstimulated clit with the flushed tip before slamming back inside.

the sound that rips from your throat is obscene, high and desperate, tears spilling down your cheeks as he fucks you open again, raw and wrecked.

‘crying already?’ he taunts, thumb swiping away a tear before he shoves it past your lips. ‘s’too much for you, sweetheart? can’t take it?’

you shake your head, tongue flicking over his thumb, sucking it into your mouth.

he groans, jaw tightening. ‘that’s what i fucking thought.’

his hips snap against yours, unrelenting, the wet slap of skin-on-skin filling the room. he’s deeper this time, fucking you rough, ruthless, possessive, like he’s trying to carve himself into you, ruin you for anyone else.

‘you’re mine,’ he growls, fingers curling around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. ‘mine to fuck, mine to fill, mine to break.’

your walls clench around him, drawing a deep, shuddering moan from his lips.

he loves this—loves watching you unravel, loves knowing you can’t get enough of him, loves knowing you’re his.

his free hand slips between your bodies, fingers rubbing tight, desperate circles over your clit.

‘come on,’ he urges, voice dark and dripping with sin. ‘cum for me again. make a fucking mess, sweetheart.’

your body obeys before your mind can catch up—pleasure slamming into you, knocking the breath from your lungs as you cum, clenching down on him so tight he groans, hips stuttering.

but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow.

he keeps going, fucking you through it, dragging out every last aftershock until you’re sobbing, thighs shaking, body wrecked.

and still, he keeps fucking you. keeps using you.

‘one more,’ he whispers against your throat, voice thick with hunger. ‘one more, and then i’ll fill you up again.’

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

[rosegolden13]

Hardware store owner!John Price drabble <3

He’s on his smoke break in his office in the back, window open to let in the cool evening breeze and let out the stink of cigar. Store’s been slow today, but that’s no surprise for a random weekday.

Gaz and Soap are messing around out front, their voices carrying into his office from the cracked open door. No doubt they’re playing their makeshift version of floor hockey with a roll of duct tape as a puck and the yard sticks as sticks. Normally, he’d tell them off, but with no customers in, he let them have their fun. It would be closing time soon anyways.

The mechanical ring signalling the arrival of a customer is familiar enough that he tunes it out entirely. It isn’t until that sweet chirping filters through his door that he finds the need to immediately tap out his barely finished cigar, despite the fact that both Gaz and Soap are free to help you. Those muppets don’t know about the leaky sink you’ve been struggling with or the marigolds you’re desperate to help bloom. He needs to be there. It’s only reasonable.

His pace quickens a bit when he hears how your voice seems to be laced with anxiety, words spilling into one another. By the time he gets to the front, Soap has got his palms up, clearly trying to placate you like you’re a spooked horse. 

“Poison?! I-I don’t want to kill them!” You’re wringing your hands, stress palpable, as your bracelets clash against one another on your wrist. And this is what he’s been waiting for since you last came in, another chance to help his favorite girl.

Gaz is moving towards you as if to reach out a hand to place on your arm, but before he can, John’s heavy hand is on your shoulder, standing just behind you. “I’ve got this one, boys. Start cleaning up for me, will ya?”

Gaz and Soap exchange knowing smirks as they head off with a simple “sure thing, cap’n” and a “you got it, Price”. You’re looking up at him and he has to fight back the rush of pride that flows through him when he catches the relief in your expression. 

His thumb absently runs over the fabric of your flowy pink top, feeling your warmth through the thin fabric. “What’s the problem, doll? Never seen ya worked up like this.”

“John, oh, thank God. There’s mice in my attic- a whole family of them. I really wouldn’t mind, but there’s droppings everywhere. Animal control told me to call the exterminator. But I couldn’t live with myself if I had to- They’re only looking for a warm place to stay!” The words are a rush from your glossed lips, his hand rubbing over your shoulder the whole time and then squeezing gently once you’re done. 

God, you’re adorable. This passionate over the lives of a few woodland critters. He’s never flinched at bloodshed, but he’s not one for needless killing either, especially of anything as small and helpless as some mice.

His smile is patient as he looks down at you. “No exterminator necessary. I’ll handle ‘em for ya, lovie. Got a few humane traps I can set up for ya, free of charge. Wouldn’t want ya to get your finger trapped in ‘em.”

Your trust in him is all the payment he needs. Oh, and that sweet smile you give him as you babble happily about how he always knows just what to do. 

—

He follows you back to your place in his pick-up truck.

As you lead him inside, murmuring sheepishly about how it’s a bit of a mess inside, he’s focusing on how your smaller form squeezes in next to his in the tiny entryway, how you put your keys away with a gentle metal clatter, the movements unconscious because you’ve no doubt done them day after day. The intimacy of being in your space gets to his head, filling his mind with thoughts of placing his keys over yours on the little hook. 

You’re leading him upstairs to the attic soon enough. While he busies himself with setting up the traps, you sweep up mouse droppings. Settling into the work, a comfortable silence lingers over you both. John’s taking note of the christmas decorations, old books, and various bins you have stored up here, making a mental reminder to offer to come over if you ever need help getting the boxes down from here. He wouldn’t want you tripping down that rickety ladder leading up here. 

He’s setting down one of the last traps, placing it by a crack between the wall and floor that he wants to offer to fill for you, when you shriek, the sound loud enough to cover up the scurrying claws of the mouse that had just ran right by your sneakers. In an instant, your hands are digging into his hairy arm, clinging to him. 

It takes him a moment, looking between your hands and then your scared expression, before he’s springing into action. “Shh, darl’. It was jus’ a mouse. Can’t hurt ya. I won’t let it.”

He lets you hug his arm, using his free hand to gently rub your other shoulder. There’s a slight heat in his cheeks that he hasn’t felt since he was a teen, that small thrill of being alone in the dark, tucked close to another warm body. One touch from a pretty little thing and the seasoned captain is falling apart.

The moment is broken when you pull away with a sheepish smile. You’re apologizing again and again for getting spooked like that but John’s just watching you with a smile, sneaking glimpses at the crescent shaped divots your manicure left in his arm. He doesn’t want them to fade, mind wandering to how you could tear up his back with those claws.

Once the job is done, you say goodnight to him at the door, the yellow porch light casting a halo over his hair. He promises to come back once any of the traps are filled to bring the mice to a field so they don’t end up back in your attic again. 

And, no, doll, you don’t need to repay him but, how could he ever say no to a homecooked meal sometime?

[undiagnosedcruelty]

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"Pretty Crybaby"

Summary: Hyunjin loves nothing more than breaking you down piece by piece—until you're a sobbing little mess begging him to ruin you.

Pairing: dom!hyunjin x afab!reader MINORS DNI

Genre: smut. just pure smut.

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Tags/Warnings: dom!Hyunjin, bondage, blindfolds, edging, overstimulation, unprotected sex, choking, degradation, praise kink, orgasm control, dacryphilia (crying kink), mild humiliation, soft aftercare, slight dumbification, multiple orgasms, breeding kink if you squint (I might’ve missed something)

Word Count: 2k

A/N: it’s midnight and I have no idea what possessed me to write this.

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WRITTEN FANFIC IS PURELY FICTION──DOES NOT DIRECTLY RELATE TO REALITY.

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The silk blindfold is tight around your eyes. Soft enough to feel expensive, but snug enough to make your lashes flutter against the fabric.

You can’t see him.

You can’t touch him either—wrists bound behind your back with the same silk scarf he’d been carrying in his pocket all night, like he’d planned this from the second he laid eyes on you.

Maybe he had.

Hyunjin’s always been patient with you. Too patient. He likes to drag things out until you’re sobbing, shaking, begging for him to finally give you what you need. Gets off on breaking you down slowly, piece by piece, until you’re nothing but a pretty little mess crying into the sheets for him.

It’s been hours.

He’s edged you three times already, leaving you spread out on the bed, soaked and trembling, while he played with you at his own cruel pace.

Ice dragged down your stomach. Fingertips brushing along your inner thighs without ever dipping inside. Open-mouthed kisses pressed to your neck, your nipples, the soft curve of your hips—everywhere except where you needed him most.

You’re wrecked.

Tears streak down your flushed cheeks. Slick drips down your thighs onto the sheets. Your cunt clenches around nothing, empty and throbbing, every nerve in your body burning from how long he’s kept you on the edge without letting you fall.

And he loves it.

“You’re shaking, baby.”

His voice is low, teasing—like this isn’t the third time he’s edged you tonight. Like you’re not seconds away from completely falling apart.

“It’s too much,” you whimper, voice cracking.

Hyunjin clicks his tongue, dragging the melting ice cube down your stomach, stopping just before your aching cunt.

“It’s not enough.” The sound that slips from your throat is more sob than moan.

Your hips lift automatically, chasing the cold sting, but he presses you back down into the mattress with one big hand splayed across your stomach.

“Stay still.” You obey—because you always do. Because he’s trained you so perfectly.

“You made such a mess for me, baby.” His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, catching the trembling little pout you can’t control. “All this just from me teasing you… aren’t you embarrassed?”

You should be.

You’re soaked, dripping onto the sheets, and he hasn’t even touched your pussy properly yet.

But you’re too far gone to feel ashamed.

Hyunjin smirks like he knows exactly how fucked-out and desperate you are. “Don’t hide from me.”

His fingers curl under your chin, tilting your face toward him even though you can’t see him.

“I want to see how needy you get when you’re falling apart for me.”

The first tear slips down your cheek without warning—hot and wet against your flushed skin—and he groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

“Fuck…”

He swipes it away with his thumb before licking it straight off his finger.

“My pretty little crybaby.”

Your whole body shudders beneath him, a broken whimper slipping from your lips.

You shouldn’t like it—the humiliation, the way he teases you until you’re crying for him—but your cunt clenches at the pet name, slick dripping onto the sheets beneath you.

He sees it. Of course he fucking sees it.

“You like that?” His fingers trail down, brushing over your soaked slit without ever dipping inside. “You like crying for me?”

“Yes,” you sob, too wrecked to feel embarrassed by how pathetic you sound.

He chuckles, fingers slipping lower, teasing your clit with slow, lazy circles.

“Such a filthy little thing.”

Your hips buck against his hand, chasing the friction, but he pulls away just as quickly, leaving you throbbing and empty.

You whimper, high and broken, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. Hyunjin moans at the sound. “God… you’re so fucking pretty when you cry.”

His hand wraps loosely around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. “You want to come, baby?”

“Yes—please—”

He tightens his grip, cutting off your next breath until you’re lightheaded and dizzy beneath him. “Then ride.”

He drags you up onto his thigh, forcing you to grind your soaked cunt against the hard muscle beneath the rough fabric of his sweatpants.

It’s filthy, wet, sticky sounds filling the room, but you don’t even care how pathetic you look. You’re too far gone, chasing the friction like a dumb little toy.

“That’s it.” His breath is hot against your ear. “Use me, princess. Make yourself come for me.”

You’re already close, too sensitive from how long he’s been teasing you, but he makes you work for it. His hand stays wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head swim. The other grips your hip, guiding your rhythm slow and deep.

You can’t stop the little sob that slips from your throat—fresh tears streaking down your face—and Hyunjin smirks. “You gonna cry for me again?”

You nod helplessly, hips stuttering.

“So pathetic.” His hand tightens around your throat, making you lightheaded. “My filthy little crybaby.”

The pet name makes your whole body jolt, cunt clenching hard, slick dripping down onto his thigh—but he stops you with one hand buried in your hair, yanking your head back. “Not yet.”

You sob openly, body trembling in his lap, but Hyunjin just chuckles darkly, licking your tears straight off your flushed cheeks. “You don’t come until I tell you to.”

By the time he finally lays you back down on the bed, you’re shaking so hard you can barely breathe.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me, baby.” His fingers brush damp hair away from your face, voice soft again—like he hadn’t just spent hours breaking you into pieces.“You deserve a reward, don’t you?”

Your head bobs frantically, fresh tears clinging to your lashes. “Yes—please—”

He kisses the words right off your tongue, messy and desperate, before finally pushing inside you with one slow, aching thrust.

You scream, back arching off the mattress.

You’re so fucking wet, he slides in all the way to the hilt—splitting you open, filling you up until you’re sobbing into the pillow beneath you.

“Shh…” Hyunjin catches your chin between his fingers, forcing you to face him even through the blindfold. “Take it, baby.”

His hips roll slow, dragging his cock out inch by inch before slamming back in, deep, bruising thrusts that make your whole body jerk beneath him.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” You sob brokenly, nails digging into your bound wrists behind your back.

“You begged me for it.” He snaps his hips harder, grinding deep—punching little gasping sobs out of your throat with every thrust. “You wanted me to ruin you.”

You’re already close, so overstimulated you’re shaking beneath him, but he wraps one big hand around your throat again, cutting off your next breath. “Not yet.”

You actually cry, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks, but Hyunjin just groans, licking them straight off your face like he’s starving for the taste of you. “My perfect little crybaby.”

His thumb rubs slow circles over your clit, dragging out the pleasure until you’re trembling, sobbing, so close you can taste it—still waiting for him to give you permission.

“Come when I tell you to.” You’re shaking, convulsing beneath him, but Hyunjin just smirks, bouncing his hips harder, fucking you right to the edge.

“That’s my good girl.” His lips brush against your ear, soft, teasing, before his voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper. “Come for me, crybaby.”

You shatter beneath him—legs trembling, back arching, soaking him with a broken sob as the pleasure finally crashes over you.

Hyunjin fucks you through it, chasing his own release, eyes locked on your wrecked, tear-streaked face.

“Fuck…” He groans, hips stuttering as he spills deep inside you—filling you up, leaving you messy and dripping.

By the time it’s over, you’re trembling, thighs slick with your own release, lashes wet with tears that won’t stop falling.

Hyunjin should give you a break.

Should untie your wrists.

Should kiss your sore little pussy and tell you what a good girl you were.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he grins—slow and lazy—like the wrecked little mess you’ve become is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. “Still crying, baby?”

You whimper, wrecked and ruined. His fingers slide down between your legs, teasing your swollen clit.

“I’m not done with you yet.” Hyunjin’s fingers circle your swollen clit, featherlight, teasing, just enough to make your overstimulated body twitch beneath him.

You flinch, a broken sob spilling from your lips.

“Sensitive, baby?” he coos, mock sympathy lacing his voice. His thumb presses down harder, making you jolt.

“You can take it.” You know you can—because he’s made sure of it.

“You wanted to be my good girl, didn’t you?” His free hand grips your bound wrists, pulling them higher above your head, pinning you down. “Good girls let me use them however I want.”

You whimper, legs shaking, body too wrecked to fight him off—not that you’d ever want to.

His cock is still buried deep inside you, thick and heavy, stretching you wide. Every little movement makes your cunt flutter around him, milking him even though you’re too sensitive to bear it.

“Look at you.” He groans low, watching the way your body trembles beneath him. “Crying like a little slut… but your pussy’s still sucking me in.”

You sob, cheeks flushed hot with shame but your walls clench tighter around him, proving him right.

Hyunjin smirks. “Filthy.”

His fingers pick up their pace, rubbing slow, cruel circles against your clit. The pleasure is too much—sharp and overwhelming, making your thighs twitch and your stomach clench.

“I can’t,” you choke out, voice cracking.

“You can.” His hand wraps around your throat again, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. “You will.”

The pressure makes your cunt clamp down around him, fresh tears streaking down your flushed cheeks. He moans at the sight—like the wrecked, crying mess beneath him is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. “My perfect little crybaby.”

You sob openly, body arching into his touch, completely broken for him, and he fucking loves it.

“You wanna come again?” You nod frantically, hips bucking into his hand without permission. “Please… please-“

His grip on your throat tightens, cutting off your next breath. “Beg.”

You’re already sobbing, barely able to form words, but you try anyway──pathetic little gasps falling from your lips. “Please, Hyunjin—need it—please—”

He leans down, lips brushing hot against your ear. “Such a good little whore when you’re crying for me.”

His thumb presses harder against your clit, circling faster and pushing you right to the edge, holding you there. “You wanna come?”

You nod desperately, body trembling beneath him.

“Then do it.” His hand tightens around your throat, cutting off your air completely, forcing you to shatter for him.

You come with a broken sob, back arching off the mattress, thighs shaking as the pleasure crashes through you—wet and messy, soaking his cock as he fucks you through it.

Hyunjin groans, hips snapping harder, dragging it out until you’re nothing but a shaking, crying mess beneath him. “Fuck—”

He buries himself deep, spilling inside you again, filling you up until you’re dripping—cum leaking out around his cock, mixing with your own release.

By the time he finally lets you breathe, you’re wrecked. Body trembling, face streaked with tears, completely broken for him.

Hyunjin strokes your hair back from your damp forehead, voice soft again—like he hadn’t just spent hours ruining you. “You did so good, baby.”

His lips brush gentle kisses over your tear-streaked cheeks, down to your swollen lips. “My pretty little crybaby.”

You whimper softly, too wrecked to respond.

He finally unties your wrists, massaging the red marks into your sore skin before pulling you into his arms. “You can cry all you want now, princess.” His lips press against your temple, voice low and soothing.

“I’ll take care of you.” And he does.

Cleaning you up. Kissing every sore inch of your body. Whispering soft praise into your hair until you’re nothing but a warm, pliant mess in his arms.

But even as he soothes you, there’s that familiar smirk tugging at his lips—like he’s already planning how to break you all over again.

[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.

[cloudyluun]

Until You Stay | famous!harry

Summary: Beth Monroe is a sharp-tongued journalist looking for her big break. Harry Styles is a cocky, untouchable rockstar who doesn’t take well to being challenged. What starts as a battle of wills—sharp words and razor-edged tension—spirals into something darker, filthier, and impossible to walk away from. But when feelings get involved, when the masks slip, will they still be able to pretend it doesn’t mean anything?

A/N: This is a commissioned work of fiction based on Harry as a famous singer, I make no claims of knowing him personally in any way. But someone trusted me to bring their filthy, angsty dreams to life, and I may have gone just a little feral in the process. So enjoy the chaos, the tension, and, of course, Harry being an insufferable asshole.

Word Count: 7,7k

Warnings: 

Explicit Smut (very detailed & filthy)

Rough Sex, Degradation, and Dom/Sub Dynamics

Jealous/Possessive Harry

Toxic Dynamics & Power Struggles

Strong Language & Dirty Talk

Angst & Emotional Turmoil

Paparazzi & Media Manipulation

Mentions of Alcohol & Self-Destructive Behavior

A Hard-Won Happy Ending

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Beth Monroe had always known she was meant for more than this.

Twenty-seven years old and already jaded, she was the kind of journalist who wanted to chase real stories—the ones that peeled back the glossy surface of the world and exposed what lay underneath. The truth. Not the watered-down, PR-approved version of it, but the raw, unfiltered mess of reality. That’s why she had spent years clawing her way through the ranks of journalism, determined to escape the suffocating confines of celebrity gossip and meaningless soundbites.

But the industry had other plans for her.

She had started with ambition, fresh out of college, ready to write the stories that mattered. But the jobs that paid? The ones that kept the rent covered and the lights on? Those were the ones that required clickbait headlines and shallow coverage of people who barely seemed real.

And so, Beth had become another faceless name in the sea of entertainment journalists, forced to write about scandals, red carpet outfits, and who's dating who. She’d learned how to craft engaging pieces that held just enough bite to make them feel substantial, but in the end, it was all just noise. A constant cycle of disposable stories about people whose lives would never be touched by the words she wrote.

That’s why this assignment felt like her last shot.

Her boss had made it clear—this was either going to be her big break or her last chance before she was permanently relegated to covering B-list divorces and influencer drama.

"We need something real, Beth," her editor, Jonathan Pierce, had told her, fingers tapping against his desk as he leveled her with that too-patient look. "Not just another shallow puff piece. Styles is at the peak of his career right now. People want to know who he is, not the version we see on stage, but the man underneath it all."

Beth had bit back the urge to roll her eyes.

Harry Styles.

Of course.

If there was one name that could guarantee headlines and clicks, it was his. He was a global phenomenon, a walking enigma, an untouchable icon. At thirty, he had long since outgrown his boyband past, solidifying himself as one of the most powerful and respected musicians in the industry. His concerts sold out within minutes. His albums dominated the charts. His face was plastered across billboards, magazines, and social media feeds worldwide.

And yet—he was also infamously private.

Beth had done her research. He gave interviews, sure, but they were carefully controlled, filled with charming deflections and rehearsed soundbites. The media loved him, but no one actually knew him.

Her job? To change that.

She had been granted exclusive access to his European tour, shadowing him across multiple countries, given rare, behind-the-scenes insight into the life of Harry Styles, the person.

Beth knew how this would go.

She would show up, ask the hard-hitting questions, and be met with infuriatingly smooth non-answers. He’d probably flash that boyish smirk, tilt his head just right, and make it impossible for anyone to push too hard. The public adored him for that.

But Beth?

She wasn’t here to adore him. She was here to unravel him.

Still, she wasn’t expecting her first glimpse of him to hit her like a gut punch.

The moment she stepped into that room, she knew.

He was going to be a problem.

The private event was held at an intimate venue in Paris; a low-lit, exclusive affair where only VIPs, industry elites, and carefully selected press members were allowed inside. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, leather seating, and the faint musk of whiskey poured into crystal glasses.

Beth walked in, blending into the sea of journalists and label executives, scanning the room for the man she had spent weeks researching.

And then she saw him.

Harry Styles did not belong to the real world.

There was something about the way he existed in a space, the way people naturally gravitated toward him—an effortless pull, an undeniable gravity.

He stood near the back of the room, dressed in an all-black ensemble that should have looked simple but instead made him look infuriatingly expensive. The tailored slacks. The silk shirt, unbuttoned just enough to hint at tattoos inked across golden skin. The loose, effortless curls.

But it wasn’t just his looks.

It was the way he carried himself like he was untouchable.

Beth watched as he laughed at something someone said, flashing that devastating grin that made cameras worship him. But it was the look in his eyes that caught her attention—sharp, assessing, distant, even as he smiled.

And then, as if sensing her stare, he turned.

Their gazes met.

A slow flicker of recognition crossed his face, though they had never met before. His green eyes scanned her, quick and unreadable.

And then, just as fast, he looked away.

Dismissive.

Beth felt heat rise to her throat.

Oh.

Oh, he was going to be a problem.

And he had no idea what was coming for him.

Beth didn’t look away first.

She wasn’t the type to shrink under scrutiny, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. But Harry? He barely spared her a full second before shifting his attention elsewhere, like she wasn’t worth a second glance.

The disinterest was strategic, she realized almost immediately. A controlled dismissal. The kind that kept people chasing, trying harder, falling over themselves for just an ounce of acknowledgment. She’d seen it before—men in power using silence as their weapon, turning the simple act of ignoring someone into an exercise of dominance.

It didn’t work on her.

So when she was finally ushered forward—her name murmured alongside a polite introduction—she didn’t bother offering her hand or plastering on a media-friendly smile. She met him with the same level of apathy he had thrown her way.

“Beth Monroe,” the event coordinator introduced. “She’s covering the European tour for Pulse magazine.”

Harry, who had just been charming some record executive’s wife with an easy smile and effortless conversation, didn’t even pretend to be interested. He gave the barest nod, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before lifting it to his lips.

“Journalist,” he mused, voice low, almost amused—but not in a way that invited conversation. More like he was tasting the word and finding it unappetizing.

Beth crossed her arms. "Is that a problem?"

That made him look at her properly.

Up close, she could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, the sharp contrast between deliberate nonchalance and razor-sharp awareness. She knew the game well—he was observing, measuring, deciding exactly how much space she was allowed to take up.

And then, in the most unbothered, condescending way possible, he simply muttered, "No. Just predictable."

Beth’s lips parted, caught between shock and incredulous amusement.

"Predictable?" she echoed, lifting an eyebrow. "That’s a bit rich coming from a man whose entire brand is built on being the world’s most palatable rockstar."

There it was.

The shift.

The flicker of something in his gaze like she had managed to surprise him. Like maybe he wasn’t expecting her to push back.

It lasted half a second before he schooled his features, tipping his glass back and dismissing her completely.

Beth could feel the eyes on them. The silent tension in the room as the moment stretched between them. But Harry? He wasn’t interested. At least, not enough to entertain her further.

His voice was maddeningly even as he murmured, "Enjoy the party, Miss Monroe."

And just like that, he turned his back on her.

Beth spent the rest of the night watching. Not because she was enthralled—fuck no—but because she needed to understand him. If she was going to do this job right, she needed to know what made him tick, needed to peel back the carefully constructed layers he used to keep the world at arm’s length.

What she noticed was infuriating.

Harry was charming with everyone else. Effortlessly engaged, magnetic in a way that made people lean in, hang on his every word. He gave them just enough of himself—never too much, never too little. His persona was crafted with surgical precision.

But with her?

Nothing.

He ignored her. Not obviously, not rudely, but in a way that felt intentional. Every time she tried to break into a conversation, he sidestepped her. When she asked a question, he answered in vague, detached sentences.

And when she finally managed to pull him into a one-on-one exchange again, it ended just as quickly as the first.

“I’ve noticed you never really answer questions,” she said, arms crossed as she studied him from across the dimly lit bar area.

Harry didn’t look up from where he was stirring his drink with a lazy wrist. “And I’ve noticed journalists never stop asking them.”

Beth exhaled sharply through her nose. “Right. Because heaven forbid anyone learns something real about Harry Styles.”

That got his attention.

He set his glass down, leaning against the counter as his gaze slid over her slowly.

“You lot aren’t interested in ‘real.’” His voice was quiet, but firm. “You’re interested in a headline.”

Beth bristled. “And you’re interested in a narrative.”

Something shifted.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the weight of the conversation settling between them.

Then Harry smirked.

“Good luck with your story, Miss Monroe.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Beth clenched her jaw.

She wasn’t done with him yet.

Beth had dealt with difficult men before. Politicians who thought they were too powerful to be held accountable, executives who assumed her presence in a room meant she was someone’s assistant rather than the journalist they’d have to answer to. She had sharpened herself against condescension and arrogance, made a career out of standing her ground in rooms filled with people who wanted to dismiss her.

But Harry Styles?

He was a different breed of difficult.

For the next several weeks, Beth followed him across Europe, shadowing his tour with increasing frustration. She sat through press conferences where he charmed reporters into asking safe, meaningless questions—the kind that allowed him to give those clever, detached answers that never actually revealed anything.

She watched him interact with fans, saw the way he flipped the switch so effortlessly—one moment the distant, untouchable rockstar, the next, someone who could make a stadium of people feel like they mattered.

And yet, with her?

He remained a wall.

He made it a point to avoid her questions, brushing past them with an easy smirk and a raised eyebrow, like he found her attempts amusing.

“Beth, darling, you’re thinking too hard,” he had murmured once, lounging backstage after a show, still glistening with sweat from the stage lights. “Why don’t you just write the same piece everyone else does? You know, the whole ‘Harry Styles is mysterious but also terribly charming’ bit. Sells every time.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t write fanfiction.”

He grinned. “Shame.”

And then there were the games.

Beth would show up for scheduled interview slots, only to be told that Harry was "unavailable." Sometimes it was because he was in a mood. Sometimes it was because he was “too busy” relaxing in his dressing room, scrolling through his phone, while she sat outside with her recorder untouched on her lap.

When she finally called him out on it, he didn’t even pretend to feel bad.

“Beth, love,” he drawled, voice dripping in mock sympathy, “you’re in my world now. Things don’t always run on schedule.”

Her patience cracked. “So you’re just wasting my time for fun?”

Harry leaned back in his seat, legs spread wide, fingers tapping lazily against the armrest. “Not for fun.” Then, after a beat, he smirked. “Though it is fun watching you get all worked up.”

She wanted to throw something at him.

The breaking point came after a particularly brutal argument.

It had been a long day—one of those rare occasions when Beth had actually gotten a few uninterrupted moments to ask real questions. She had pushed harder than usual, refusing to let him slide through with half-answers and smirks.

“Why do you do that?” she had asked, arms crossed as she watched him peel the rings off his fingers after soundcheck.

Harry flicked a glance up. “Do what?”

“Pretend you’re giving people something real when all you’re actually doing is controlling the narrative.”

The look he gave her was sharp, guarded. “That’s rich, coming from someone whose job is to spin a story.”

Beth exhaled through her nose. “You think this is easy for me? That I just write whatever sells? I’m not here to make you look good, Harry. I’m here to write the truth.”

A tense silence stretched between them.

And then, before she even saw him move, he was in front of her.

Too close.

Her breath caught.

She wasn’t sure if he had stepped forward or if she had unconsciously leaned in, but suddenly, there was no space between them. The air thickened, buzzing with something hot and electric.

His jaw flexed.

His hands curled into loose fists at his sides, as if he was holding something back.

Beth lifted her chin, refusing to shrink away.

The corner of his mouth twitched—not in amusement, not quite. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and slow, a quiet challenge.

“You think you’ve got me figured out, huh?”

Beth swallowed, throat tight. “I think you hate that you can’t intimidate me.”

Silence.

A heavy, suffocating pause.

For a second—just a second—she swore his gaze dropped to her mouth.

But neither of them moved.

Neither of them acted on it.

And later that night, when Beth was alone in her hotel room, staring at the ceiling—she realized she was still thinking about it.

She wondered if he was, too.

Beth liked to believe that she had control over herself—over her emotions, over the way her body reacted, over the frustrating, infuriating pull she felt every time Harry Styles so much as looked at her.

But control was hard to maintain when someone was constantly poking, prodding, pushing just to see where her breaking point was.

And Harry?

Harry was pushing.

Hard.

It happened in Milan.

The afterparty was in full swing—music thumping, bodies swaying, conversations weaving in and out of the dim, golden-lit space. Beth wasn’t drinking, but the atmosphere was intoxicating in itself, everyone high off the post-show adrenaline.

Harry had been watching her all night.

Not obviously, not in a way anyone else would notice, but she felt it. The flicker of his gaze when she moved through the crowd, the way his attention snagged whenever she threw her head back in laughter.

She ignored it.

She refused to let him get in her head.

Which was why, when another musician—Nate, a guitarist from one of the opening acts—struck up a conversation with her, Beth didn’t hesitate to let herself enjoy it.

He was easy to talk to, charming in a way that didn’t feel like a performance. And when he leaned in, whispering something that made her laugh—a real, unguarded laugh—she barely had time to register the shift in the air before Harry was there.

He didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t say anything.

He just stood there, nursing a drink, his stare cutting through the noise like a blade.

Beth felt it before she saw it—the shift in Nate’s posture, the way his fingers curled around the bottle in his hand.

“I’ll catch you later,” Nate murmured, voice a little too careful.

Beth blinked. “Wait, what?”

But he was already slipping away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the room.

And that was when she felt him.

The warmth of his presence behind her, the slow exhale against the shell of her ear.

“You like playing games, love?”

Beth closed her eyes.

Of course. Of course he had to do this.

She turned slowly, deliberately, only to find him watching her with a look she couldn’t quite place.

“Excuse me?” she said, tone light, though she could feel her pulse thrumming against her skin.

Harry tilted his head, mocking. “That was cute. The whole giggle and lean-in routine. Did you rehearse that?”

Beth’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not allowed to have a conversation without your approval?”

His jaw flexed. “Didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying, exactly?”

He took a step closer.

Then another.

Beth refused to step back.

His voice dropped lower, dangerously smooth.

“I’m saying… you’ve been running your mouth for weeks. Acting like you don’t give a shit about me. But then—” He let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “—then you go and pull that?”

She scoffed. “Pull what?”

Harry smiled. It wasn’t nice.

“You wanted me to see that.”

Beth’s stomach flipped.

She should have laughed in his face. Should have rolled her eyes, brushed past him, walked away.

But she didn’t.

Because there was something about the way he was looking at her.

Something thick and charged and dangerous.

His hands twitched at his sides, like he didn’t trust himself not to touch her.

Beth’s breath shook.

The music downstairs faded into a dull throb, the laughter and chatter dissolving into nothing. The party might as well have been on the other side of the world.

It was just them now.

Beth barely registered how it happened—one moment, she was in the thick of the afterparty, heat and voices pressing in on all sides. The next, the door clicked shut behind her. A soft, decisive sound.

She turned just in time to see Harry’s hand linger on the lock, fingers curling around the metal, twisting until it slid into place. A quiet snick.

Her pulse skittered.

Slowly, he turned back to her, gaze dark and unreadable.

Somehow, between one breath and the next, Beth’s back was already against the wall, cool brick pressing through the thin fabric of her dress. She could still feel the phantom warmth of Nate’s touch—light, fleeting—but it didn’t matter. Not when Harry was in front of her now. Not when his body was taut with something sharp, something dark. His eyes, usually lidded with lazy arrogance, were harder now. Narrowed. Burning.

His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was trying to control himself.

Then, low, rough, "You like playing games, love?"

A shiver ran down her spine.

She forced herself to lift her chin. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

His jaw twitched.

Slow. Measured. He reached out, running two fingers up her arm, featherlight but searing. Beth refused to react, refused to show him that he got under her skin.

His lips curled. "Laughing. Touching. Batting your lashes at him like you wanted him to take you right there in front of everyone."

That made her scoff. "Oh, fuck off—"

She barely got the words out before he was on her.

No warning. No hesitation.

One hand shot to her throat—not squeezing, just holding, firm enough to make her gasp as his body pressed flush against hers. His other hand planted itself beside her head, caging her in completely.

His mouth hovered just above hers, breath warm, uneven.

"You wanna push me, is that it?" he murmured, voice like gravel. "You wanna see what happens when I lose my patience?"

Her breath hitched.

It wasn’t fear curling in her stomach. It was something much worse.

She wanted this.

Needed it.

So she pushed him again, knowing it was reckless. "Maybe I do."

That was all it took.

Harry didn’t waste another second.

His grip tightened, and then he was kissing her—if it could even be called that. There was nothing soft about it. No buildup, no hesitation. It was a clash of teeth and tongues, a war between them.

His hand left her throat, moving down, down, over the thin fabric of her dress, gripping her waist so tightly it ached.

Beth’s nails raked down his arms, her own frustration spilling over. She wanted to hurt him. Make him feel this the way she did.

"Fuck—"

The word was ripped from her throat as he yanked her leg up, hitching it over his hip. The dress rode up instantly, baring her thigh, and then his hand was there, fingers digging into her skin, making her burn.

Desperate.

That was what this was.

It wasn’t love.

It wasn’t romance.

It was hunger.

It was starving.

His teeth scraped along her jaw, down her neck. He bit—not enough to leave marks, but enough to make her feel it.

“Look at you,” he rasped, dragging his mouth down her jaw. “Needy. Desperate. And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Her fingers fisted in his hair. "Fuck you."

He laughed, breathless, dark.

"Say it," he pressed. "Say you want it."

Beth clenched her teeth. She hated him.

And yet.

And yet.

"Say it."

She swallowed hard, nails still biting into his shoulders. "I want it."

He hummed in approval, pushing her harder against the wall. "Good girl."

Then he wrecked her.

There was no teasing. No gentle touch. He dragged her panties down and shoved her dress up with no regard, making her gasp as the cool air kissed her exposed skin. His fingers slid between her thighs, finding her soaked, and he smirked.

"Fuckin’ knew it," he muttered, lips brushing her ear. "You act like you don’t want this, but look at you."

She bit her lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

It didn’t last.

His fingers slipped inside her, rough, unrelenting, and the cry broke from her throat before she could stop it.

"That’s it," he murmured, pumping them hard and deep. "Don’t hold back now."

Her head tipped back against the wall, hands gripping his shoulders, nails biting through the fabric of his shirt. His thumb pressed against her clit, rubbing, teasing, pushing her closer and closer to the edge with every sharp movement.

"Thinkin’ about him now?" Harry taunted, voice low. "Bet you’re not."

She wasn’t.

She hated it, but she wasn’t.

All she could think about was Harry.

His fingers. His voice. The way he was taking what he wanted without a second thought.

Her whole body tensed, pleasure winding tight in her stomach.

And then he pulled away.

A whimper slipped out before she could stop it.

He grinned. "Not yet."

He undid his belt in a swift motion, shoved his jeans down just enough, and then he was lifting her completely, pressing her against the wall, spreading her open for him.

She barely had time to take a breath before he slammed into her.

"Fuck—"

She choked on a gasp, nails raking down his back as he filled her, stretched her in a way that made her legs shake.

There was no time to adjust.

No time to breathe.

He just fucked her.

Hard.

Desperate.

The wall scraped against her back with every sharp thrust, and she loved it.

His fingers bit into her thighs, holding her in place, making her take every inch, every punishing roll of his hips.

"You take me so fuckin’ well," he murmured, voice strained, lips dragging over her neck. "Like you need this."

She did.

God help her, she did.

She was close—so fucking close, and she knew he could feel it in the way she clenched around him, in the way her nails dug deeper, in the way her body arched.

"Say it," he ordered. "Say you’re mine."

Her breath stuttered.

He thrust harder. "Say it, Beth."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her body screaming for release.

And then she broke.

"I’m yours."

He groaned, deep and guttural, and that was all it took.

Pleasure crashed through her, leaving her shaking, wrecked, gasping as he kept going, drawing it out until she had nothing left to give.

Moments later, he followed, hips jerking, a rough growl spilling from his throat as he came deep inside her.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Their breathing was heavy, erratic, mingling in the thick air between them.

Then, just like that, it was gone.

Harry pulled away, adjusted himself, ran a hand through his hair like nothing had happened.

Beth watched, still breathless, still reeling.

He met her eyes, his own dark, unreadable.

Then, with a smirk that made her stomach flip, he stepped back.

"See you around, love."

And then he was gone.

Leaving her wrecked, ruined, and still fucking wanting.

But worst of all?

She still wanted him.

She hated herself for it.

She hated him more.

Beth barely remembered leaving the party, barely registered the way the city lights blurred together in the back of her cab, the hum of Milan’s nightlife drowning out the noise in her head. Her body still felt him—his hands, his breath, the rough edge of his voice scraping against her skin.

It should have been enough.

It should have burned her out, smothered whatever slow, insidious pull had been building between them.

But it didn’t.

Because when she saw him again the next day, sitting in the green room of the arena, lounging like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t ruined her the night before—Beth realized something awful.

She wasn’t done with him yet.

--

Harry was different now.

Not in the way Beth had expected—not in the way most men got after a night like that.

There was no smugness, no knowing smirk, no self-satisfied arrogance that she could take a swing at.

Instead, he was… colder.

Distant. Detached. Like she was nothing more than a mild inconvenience, an insignificant blip on his radar.

He barely looked at her.

Didn’t acknowledge her when she walked into a room, didn’t spare her even a glance during soundcheck or press briefings.

And that should have been fine.

She should have been fine.

But the second she started talking to someone else—the second she so much as smiled in another man’s direction—Harry’s jaw would lock.

His shoulders would tense.

His fingers would curl around his drink, around his microphone, around anything to keep from doing something reckless.

Beth noticed.

And she made sure he knew it.

She leaned in closer when someone else made her laugh. Let her fingers linger just a little longer when she touched an arm. Tilted her head just right when she listened, knowing Harry was in the room, knowing he was watching even if he refused to look at her directly.

She wanted to prove a point.

If she was just a fuck, if she was nothing, then he shouldn’t care.

So why did he?

--

It happened in Paris.

Beth had been talking to a photographer, a harmless conversation, nothing she wasn’t allowed to do.

Harry had been across the room, pretending he didn’t give a shit.

Then suddenly, he wasn’t.

Suddenly, he was right there.

His hand closed around her wrist, fingers tight, his voice just low enough for only her to hear.

“Outside. Now.”

She blinked up at him, feigning innocence. “Excuse me?”

His grip didn’t loosen. “You heard me.”

For a second, she considered telling him to go to hell.

But she didn’t.

Because she wanted this too.

The door barely shut behind them before he was on her.

Teeth at her jaw, hands rough on her hips, shoving her against the brick wall of some dark alley behind the venue.

Beth gasped, but it wasn’t from shock.

She should have expected this.

She had wanted this.

“You’re a fucking brat,” Harry muttered against her skin, his voice thick with frustration, with heat, with something else she couldn’t name. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

Beth grinned, sharp and mean. “What am I doing, Harry?”

His fingers tightened.

“You think you can get a reaction out of me?” His teeth scraped her jaw. “Think you can make me jealous?”

Her breath hitched.

“So you admit it?” she whispered. “You were jealous?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because the way he touched her—rougher, filthier than before—told her everything she needed to know.

The first time had been about control. About proving a point.

This time?

This time, it was a need.

Desperate. Dirty. Addictive.

And neither of them could stop.

Every time they tried, they failed.

The silence never lasted. The distance never held.

Because the second they were in the same room again, the second their eyes locked across crowded spaces, it was already too late.

They had pulled each other under too many times to pretend they knew how to breathe without drowning.

Beth knew it was toxic.

Knew it in the way her hands trembled when she buttoned up her shirt in the dark, his warmth still clinging to her skin.

Knew it in the way Harry’s fingers curled into fists when he watched her leave, like he wanted to reach for her but refused to let himself.

Knew it in the way they never talked about it.

Because talking would make it real. Talking would force them to admit that it wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just convenience, wasn’t just a mistake they kept making over and over again.

But they didn’t stop.

Not when they should have.

Not even when the headlines started.

Not even when the whispers turned into full-blown rumors, twisting what they had into something uglier, something Beth couldn’t control.

She was losing pieces of herself to this, to him.

And Harry—Harry wasn’t losing anything.

Not his reputation. Not his career. Not his control.

She should have left before it reached this point—before it ripped through them like a wildfire, scorching everything in its path, leaving nothing but wreckage and ruin in its wake.

Before it bled into everything else.

Before it turned into this.

--

It happened in London, outside a sleek, high-end restaurant that reeked of old money and exclusivity—the kind of place Harry fit into effortlessly, where his name alone held weight, where he belonged.

Beth never had any interest in it. The glint of polished silverware, the hushed conversations over expensive wine, the way the air itself seemed thicker inside—like money had a scent, and it didn’t belong to people like her.

She hadn’t even wanted to come. Had told herself, promised herself, that she was done. That she wouldn’t let him do this to her again.

And yet, here she was.

The air outside was thick, muggy, summer pressing against her skin like a second layer, suffocating, clinging. A neon sign from across the street flickered, buzzing intermittently, painting the pavement in broken splashes of red light.

Harry stood a few steps away, pacing, hands raking through his already-messy curls. His jaw was locked, shoulders drawn tight, his frustration visible in the tense way he moved. He looked untouchable—towering, sharp, devastating in his black suit, the collar of his shirt slightly open like even it couldn’t handle the heat of the moment.

His eyes found hers—dark, searing, burning like embers about to catch.

“Are you seriously fucking mad at me for this?” His voice was low, taut, a thread stretched too thin, on the verge of snapping.

Beth folded her arms tightly across her chest, holding herself together. She could feel the anger, coiling hot in her stomach, winding through her like a slow, controlled burn. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

His lips pressed into a hard, thin line. “Enlighten me.”

She let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. He didn’t care. He never fucking cared.

“Your team,” she spat, voice shaking despite her best efforts, “just made me look like some desperate, attention-seeking—”

“—that’s not what happened.”

“Really?” She stepped closer, chin tilting up defiantly, her eyes searching his face for something—anything. A flicker of regret. Understanding. A crack in the cold, calculated exterior he was so good at wearing. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like they threw me under the fucking bus to save your ass.”

The photos had hit the tabloids that morning.

Beth Monroe, clinging to Harry Styles. Beth Monroe, picking a fight in public. Beth Monroe, the problem.

Headlines twisting the truth, reshaping the narrative, turning her into something she wasn’t. His PR team had done what they always did—spun the story, cleaned up the mess, protected the asset.

Beth had been collateral damage.

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze flicking away as if he couldn’t be bothered to deal with this. “Jesus, Beth, why do you care so much what people think?”

Her stomach twisted—not just at the words, but at how he said them.

Like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.

Like all of this—all the nights, all the touches, all the ways they’d clawed at each other, desperate and reckless—had meant absolutely fucking nothing to him.

And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe she had been fooling herself this entire time.

Something inside her snapped—something raw and fragile and past the point of saving.

“You know what?” She took a breath, forcing her voice to stay steady, forcing herself to hold his gaze even though it hurt. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

And before she could change her mind—before she could let him pull her back in—she turned around.

And for the first time, she didn’t look back.

It should have been a relief.

Should have felt like he had won.

But it didn’t.

Harry downed the rest of his drink, the ice clinking against the glass as he set it down with more force than necessary.

The neon lights of the club flickered above him, casting shadows along the crowded space. Smoke curled through the air, mixing with the thrum of bass vibrating through the floor, a heartbeat that wasn’t his. People surrounded him—laughter, touches, whispers—but none of it registered.

His third drink.

Or maybe his fourth.

He wasn’t keeping track. Didn’t need to.

Because Beth was gone.

And he should feel lighter. Should feel fucking free.

But instead, there was just this—this hollow, gnawing feeling in his chest, a slow rot that no amount of whiskey could burn away.

He had told himself it was just sex. That it was just a game.

A messy, reckless game they both played, fully aware of the rules.

So why the fuck was he still thinking about her?

Why did he still hear her voice—sharp and furious, echoing in his ears like an accusation he couldn’t shake?

I don’t. Not anymore.

Why did he still see her face when he closed his eyes—not the smirking, defiant expression she always wore when they fought, but the way she had looked at him that night—raw, open, hurt.

Why the fuck did that bother him?

Harry scoffed under his breath, shaking his head, reaching for another drink.

Fuck that.

She’d be back.

She always came back.

Wouldn’t she?

The weeks passed.

She didn’t call. Didn’t text. Didn’t show up at any more venues.

And no matter how many women he took home—no matter how many soft lips and unfamiliar hands he let touch him—it was never the same.

Because none of them were her.

None of them made him feel alive the way she did when she pushed him, when she fought him, when she stood her ground and refused to give in.

And for the first time, Harry realized—

He had fucked up.

Not just in the way he always did—careless, reckless, breaking things without thinking about the consequences.

No, this was different.

This was real.

This was Beth.

And he had let her slip through his fingers like she was nothing.

Like she hadn’t changed him.

Like she hadn’t fucking ruined him.

It took him weeks. Too many weeks.

Weeks of sleepless nights, of bitter drinks that burned as they went down, of meaningless encounters with women who weren’t her.

Weeks of ignoring the pit in his stomach whenever he reached for his phone and saw her name missing from his notifications.

Weeks of denying—lying to himself—until he couldn’t anymore.

Until it became impossible to pretend that this wasn’t more.

That she wasn’t everything.

So, he found her.

No cameras. No PR team carefully crafting the narrative. No staged apology meant to keep his image intact.

Just him.

Beth stood in the doorway of her apartment, eyes wary, lips pressed together like she wasn’t sure if she should slam the door in his face or let him inside just to yell at him.

She was in sweats, hair tied back, looking so soft and real and heartbreakingly beautiful that Harry had to clench his fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching for her.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You really have no concept of boundaries, do you?”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Would it help if I said I knocked first?”

Beth lifted a single, unimpressed brow.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

She sighed, exhaling heavily, fingers gripping the doorframe. “What do you want, Harry?”

Her voice was flat, tired—so fucking tired—and it hit him in the chest like a punch.

He did that.

He made her sound like that.

And maybe if she had been yelling, maybe if she had been angry, it would have been easier.

But this?

This quiet disappointment, this absence of fire, of fight—this was worse.

Because it meant she had already decided to let him go.

And he couldn’t have that.

He wouldn’t.

Harry swallowed, licking his lips, feeling the words crawl up his throat, unfamiliar and foreign and terrifying.

“I was afraid,” he admitted, voice rough, uneven. “You got too close.”

Beth’s gaze flickered, but she didn’t speak.

Didn’t stop him either.

“I didn’t—I don’t—” He let out a slow breath, shifting his weight. “You were supposed to be temporary, Beth.” His voice cracked on her name. “And I don’t want temporary anymore.”

Her eyes softened. Just a little.

But she didn’t let him off the hook.

Not yet.

She folded her arms across her chest, tilting her head. “So what? You came all this way just to tell me that?”

His jaw tightened. “Yeah.”

“And now you expect me to just—what? Forget everything? Pretend like you didn’t throw me to the wolves the second things got hard?”

“No.” His voice was hoarse. “I don’t expect that.”

Beth exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment before she looked at him again, and fuck, he felt stripped bare under her gaze.

“I was falling for you,” she whispered, the words barely audible but lethal. “And you made me feel like I was nothing.”

His stomach dropped.

“I know,” he rasped. “And I’m—I’m so fucking sorry, Beth.”

She didn’t speak, but her fingers trembled where they curled around her sleeve.

Harry took a step closer.

Then another.

Until she was right there, close enough to touch, but he didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, he just let himself be seen—raw, vulnerable, desperate in a way he had never allowed himself to be before.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice low, uneven. “But I want to try. I want you.”

Beth swallowed hard, blinking quickly, like she was trying to hold something back.

“Say it again.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Say it again,” she whispered.

Harry took a breath, steady and sure.

“I want you.”

Beth let out a shaky exhale, something breaking, fracturing between them—but this time, it wasn’t falling apart.

It was falling into place.

She didn’t answer.

Not with words.

But when she finally reached for him, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him down, letting him in—

He knew.

She wanted him too.

-

This isn’t like before.

It’s not fueled by resentment, not tangled in frustration or sharp-edged words.

It’s not an attempt to silence their own thoughts or to claim victory in an unwinnable battle.

This time, it’s different.

Because this time, they’re choosing each other.

And neither of them wants to pretend anymore.

It’s quiet.

Not the uneasy, tension-laced silence they used to share, but something softer. He’s brought her here—to his real place, not some impersonal hotel room or a shadowy corner where they could disappear without consequence.

It’s his space.

Dim lighting from the city outside filters through half-drawn blinds, painting warm, golden stripes across the floor. The air is thick, heavy with something unspoken, the echoes of every past moment clinging to the walls.

No noise from the outside world.

Just them.

And for the first time, that’s all they need.

They stand close but don’t touch—not yet.

It’s strange, this carefulness between them, this slow, deliberate restraint. For so long, everything between them has been about force, about taking, about dominance wrapped in lust.

But now—

His fingers reach for her, hesitant but certain, trailing the line of her jaw with an aching kind of reverence.

No roughness. No bruising grip.

Just a slow, featherlight touch, like he’s memorizing her, like he’s afraid to move too fast.

Beth’s breath stutters. She tilts her face into his touch, just barely, just enough to tell him that she wants this too.

When she opens her eyes, he’s already watching her.

Already waiting.

Already sure.

When he kisses her, it’s nothing like before.

Not an attempt to overpower, not a silent demand for control.

It’s soft.

Tentative, at first—like he’s rediscovering her, learning the shape of her lips, savoring her warmth. A slow slide of mouths, the quiet exhale of breath mingling between them.

And then—

The restraint fractures.

A low, desperate groan rumbles in his chest, and his hands move to her waist, pulling her closer, molding her against him. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, but it’s not about possession anymore.

It’s need.

It’s want.

It’s everything they’ve never allowed themselves to feel.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him down into her, and he lets her. Lets her take as much as she wants.

He doesn’t rush.

Doesn’t tear at her clothes like before, doesn’t drag fabric over her skin like it’s just another obstacle to get through.

He takes his time.

Fingers skimming her shoulders, down the length of her arms, over her ribs. He lingers, watching her, drinking her in like he’s seeing her for the first time.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough with something raw, something that sounds like awe.

Her breath catches.

She should feel exposed. Vulnerable.

But the heat in his gaze doesn’t make her feel bare.

It makes her feel wanted.

She reaches for him then, pulling at his shirt, sliding her hands over warm, firm skin, feeling the steady, grounding beat of his heart beneath her palms.

He lets her undress him too.

No rush. No urgency.

Just this.

Just them.

He takes his time.

Worships her with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, exploring every inch like he’s memorizing her, like he never wants to forget the way she feels beneath him.

His fingers trace the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the softness of her inner thigh.

He doesn’t hurry.

Doesn’t just take.

He gives.

She fists the sheets when he drags his mouth lower, when he pauses to watch her reaction, when he smirks against her skin at the way she shifts, needy, impatient.

She doesn’t want to beg. Not this time.

But when his mouth finally touches her, warm and devastatingly slow—

She does.

He doesn’t rush her to the edge.

He builds it.

His mouth works her over with precision, savoring every shudder, every gasp, every quiet, breathless plea.

His hands hold her open, steadying her, grounding her, keeping her exactly where he wants her.

He watches her the entire time.

Doesn’t look away.

Not when she trembles.

Not when she cries out his name.

Not when she finally, finally falls apart beneath him.

He just holds her gaze, dark and unwavering, like he’s making damn sure she knows—

This means something.

When he finally slides into her, it’s different.

No rough, frantic pace. No bruising hands.

Just this.

Just the slow, deliberate push of his hips, deep and measured, drawing a gasp from her lips.

He stills for a moment, presses his forehead against hers, breathing her in, grounding himself in the feel of her.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, her nails dragging lightly over his skin.

Not clawing.

Not marking.

Just holding.

He moves then.

Not just fucking—making love.

Every slow thrust feels like a confession.

Every whispered “mine” against her lips feels like a promise.

And this time—

She doesn’t fight it.

She lets him have her.

And takes him in return.

No rush to leave.

No scramble for clothes.

No silence.

Just this.

Just them, tangled in sheets that smell like them, his arms heavy around her, his fingers tracing slow, mindless patterns against her back.

For the first time, he stays.

For the first time, she lets him.

There’s a pause. A deep, quiet moment where neither of them speaks.

Then—

“You’re mine now, aren’t you?”

His voice is quiet. Certain.

Beth doesn’t hesitate.

She shifts closer, presses her lips against his jaw, and breathes him in.

“Yeah, Harry.”

A slow smile tugs at his lips.

She watches it spread, watches the tension leave his body, watches the way he finally lets himself believe it.

“I am.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

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

taglist:

@oscahpastry, @mema10, @angelbabyyy99, @iloveharrystyles04, @cinemharry, @drwho06, @donutsandpalmtrees, @panini, @mads3502; @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa, @one-sweet-gubler, @rizosrizos26, @ciriceimpera, @everyscarisahealingplace, @hello-heyhi, @sexymfharriet, @lizsogolden, @hannah9921, @chicabonitasblog, @huhidontknowstuff, @berrywoods1245, @jennovaaa, @angeldavis777, @prettygurl-2009, @almostcontentcreator, @run-for-the-hills, @maudie-duan, @dipmeinhoneyh, @harrrrystylesslut, @georgiarose94, @stylestarkey, @watarmelon212, @ hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east

[fanged-fanfics]

☆ No Longer Strangers — Awakened Pure Vanilla x GN Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Fluff, Hurt/comfort || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

A/N: This is a part two to this fic as an apology for the angst, hehehe

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

It had been troubling, being apart without Pure Vanilla. It felt like a very piece of your souljam had been torn out, leaving you a devestated mess in the meantime. While this "Recluse" took off, you tried to pick up the pieces he had left. Yet, to your surprise, you were now face to face with the same Cookie who had said those terrible things to you. His clothes had a white tinge rather than black, the blues completely gone. The eye of his staff now sported a brilliantly shining star, matching the mark on his forehead. His expression was deeply troubled as he spoke with you. "My dear, I-... I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am" he began softly, voice thick with guilt.

You shook off your surprise at his new form, fixing him with a glare. "You should be. Do you have any idea what it was like, having you talk to me like I was nothing? Hearing you treat me like a problem?". Pure Vanilla winced, his hands nervously rubbing the handle of his staff. "I.. wasn't myself. I was under Shadow Milk's control, and... I thought you'd be safer without me. In some way, I... thought I was helping". "Well you weren't" you replied firmly. Pure Vanilla frowned more, slowly stepping closer to you. He extended a nervous hand, and you noticed how it shook. Your expression softened, and with only a moment's hesitation, you allowed him to take your hand into his.

You watched with a suspicious gaze as Pure Vanilla guided your hand to his lips, gently pecking the back of it "Oh, my dove... you didn't deserve such cruelty. Never in all my years have I ever dreamt of hurting you, even in my nightmares". As he spoke, you heard his tone waver. Something in your chest lurched painfully, but you tried to stuff it down. "But you did," you told him, voice now soft as the old aches returned "I know it wasn't in your control, but I can't forget it". "I understand" Pure Vanilla said.

He then kneeled down, bowing a little. He pressed your hand to his forehead. "Please, let me make it up to you. I'll spend the rest of my life letting you know that I adore you every day, each more than the last" he said, tone having warbled into near-begging. "Pure Vanilla..." You said, and he cut you off by opening up his eyes. You could see the darkness that once suffocated them was now gone, the soft blue and yellow you'd come to love being visible once again. He gently moved your hand to his cheek, and kissed your palm. "I'm sorry, my dove. And I can't say it enough. I can't spend another moment thinking of how you looked that last time we met"

The memory fluttered across your mind, the way it stung seeing your beloved look at you with such disdain. All traces of coldness was gone, now the healer was leaning into your hand like it was the last time he'd ever feel your touch. You felt some dampness from his eye reach your hand, and that alone broke you. You inched closer, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a tight embrace. "I- I thought you'd-" you began, voice breaking up with emotion. Pure Vanilla wrapped you in his arms, a sensation you previously feared never feeling again. "Shh, shh, it's alright. I'm back now, you see? It's just me" he murmured.

You couldn't help but melt into his hold, pouring all the agony you'd felt into tears while dissolving in his arms. He sniffled, a small whimper leaving him as he cried along with you. It took several moments, but when you pulled back, Pure Vanilla began kissing the tears off of your dough, wiping your eyes clean with his hands. "I love you, my dove" he said quietly "More than anything. You don't have to forgive me just yet, but I'll try every day to prove it to you". You chuckled a little. It was so uniquely him, and for the first time in a long while, you felt he was himself again. His voice, the one you remembered, the one that comforted you countless times, was back.

You gave a quick peck to the corner of his mouth. Almost as soon as it happened, Pure Vanilla gently cupped your face, bringing you back in for a proper kiss. It was chaste, but you felt relief fill your form at feeling his kiss again. You held it with him until it slowly broke, Pure Vanilla simply breathing in the moment. He pressed his forehead to yours. "Anything you want, my love, and I'll grant it to you" he said. You smiled, hugging him once more "I'll tell you when I think of it. Can we just stay here for now?". "Of course," Pure Vanilla said, shifting to be fully sitting and putting you right in his lap. He gently pet your hair while keeping a tight hold around your waist. You leaned into him, feeling whole once again.

[voitier]

𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽... your angel of a boyfriend always respected your wishes and boundaries. but what happens when you feel your resolutions slowly crumble to the ground?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈... [smut!] teasing, making out, mentions of dry humping, fingering, reader's first time, softdom!gguk × inexperienced!reader, gentle sex, mentions of discomfort during penetration.

▸ 𝓔𝓷𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮

▸ 𝔀.𝓬: 2𝓴 +

There were certain things you absolutely loved about your boyfriend, like the way his eyes lit up in excitement when you cooked him his favourite meal, or the way his natural non-toxic masculine energy immediately put you at ease, making you slide into your soft feminine energy naturally. This was probably one of the first things you noticed even before you got together, slowly becoming aware of how well you fit into a balanced dynamic that you both felt comfortable in.

But, most of all, you loved the way he never pushed you to do things you weren't keen on doing, never made you feel like you had to something for him "because he said so", never forced anything. Always treated you so well, so gently, so lovingly. He held you at night tight enough like he was afraid you would slip from his arms, but also so delicately like he was scared he could break you if he made a tiny mistake, the same way glass shatters to the ground if you're not careful enough.

So it shouldn't have been a surprise when you told him you weren't ready to have sex just yet, tears striking down your face in fear he would leave you right then and there, and he didn't even appear to be annoyed by that. If anything, he ran you a warm bubble bath, hugging you from behind while cuddling you and whispering sweet nothings to reassure you that no, he wouldn't leave you for that and yes, he would wait as long as you needed. 

"Thank you," you had whispered, sniffling softly as the sobs finally subdued. Jungkook gathered the bubbles in the palm of his hand, blowing them in your face. His expression visibly relaxed as you giggled, wiping the scented bubbles that landed on the tip of your nose. 

"Princess, I don't want you to feel pressured about doing anything with me, got that? I could never leave you, I love you too much. Also, your cute little face got me wrapped around your pinky."

A few months had passed from that moment, and he had kept his promise. This doesn’t mean that you never shared moments of intimacy, but rather that you both opted for things that you liked and were comfortable in, like grinding while making out, or giving and receiving oral. And you always felt so at ease, so sure that he would never take advantage of you in any way or form.

But as time went on, you felt your resolutions slowly crumble to the ground: it all started with following him on set, watching mesmerized as he posed for the camera. He was magnificent in his expressions, in his demeanor, in the way he rocked the outfits given by the CK company. He was confident, alluring, his muscles moving in a way that made you feel tingly all over. His eyes caught yours, crouched on the chair behind the camera, trying to be invisible to the eyes of all the professionals that hurriedly walked around you. You watched as a weird glint sparkled in his eyes, his lips curling in a knowing smirk briefly before he snapped back into character, leaving you a flustered, breathless mess. You weren’t entirely sure, but after that it looked like he posed even sexier for the camera, manipulating his body so that it could allure you in the same way a siren’s song allures pirates before devouring them. and god, did it work…

You shifted around uncomfortably, fiddling with your phone, looking around at anything to tear your eyes from your boyfriend, trying to ignore the wetness pooling between your legs. and Jungkook took notice of every effort you made to hide your need, quite amused by it all. Soon after, the director called for the end of the day, screaming loud enough for everyone to hear “good job, guys, see you tomorrow!”, clapping his hands and stopping by the photographer to discuss something about the lightning of some photos. 

Jungkook shrugged his shoulders, stretching his body to relax his tensed limbs before making his way to you, chuckling darkly when he noticed you acting like you weren’t paying any attention to him. he leaned over you, trapping you between his arms as his lips hovered your ear. “What's wrong, princess?” he purred, nibbling softly your earlobe. Your breath struck in your throat at his sultry tone, and you prayed he couldn’t hear your heart thrumming in your chest, or your hands shaking by your side. You felt like you were floating in a bubble where nothing mattered aside from his presence, and his musky cologne that clouded your senses and made your head dizzy. You closed your eyes breathing it in, parting your lips slightly to let out a soft breath.

Jungkook hummed pleased at your responsiveness, cupping your jaw with his warm hand. He traced your bottom lip with his thumb, staring at it almost as if hypnotised by his own action, pulling it down softly before murmuring “let’s go home, princess”, a tinge of urgency lacing his words. 

The drive home was probably the quickest you’ve ever been in, with Jungkook’s foot slamming the pedal to the ground, one hand grabbing possessively your thigh and fingers touching where you most need him with featherlight pressure. As soon as the car pulled into the driveway Jungkook was quick to pick you up and bring you inside, pushing your back against the door as soon as it closed behind you. 

His lips immediately found yours, pulling you into a desperate kiss. He gently pulled your hair at the back of your neck, angling your face better in order to deepen the kiss. You moaned, the sound swallowed by your boyfriend’s lips, hands tugging at his shirt to take it off. Jungkook pulled back slightly, groaning at the sight of your swollen red lips and hooded eyes. “Bedroom?” he asked, throwing his shirt on the ground.

“Yes, please” you whispered, following him around the house as more kissing and more stripping occurred, ending up in the bedroom already half naked and even more worked up than before. You wiggled out of the shirt that covered your chest and your panties-clad bottom, straddling your boyfriend’s lap as he sat against the headboard.

“C’mon, princess, you know what to do” he said, hands holding your thighs firmly while you rocked back and forth, whimpering as his still clothed boner provided the perfect friction against your aching clit. “Want… more,” you cried out, hips rutting desperately. Jungkook’s lips latched on your skin, sucking deep purple spots all over your neck and collarbones. “Yeah?” he asked against your flesh, “what is it that you want, princess?”

Your cheeks burned at the embarrassment, yet it didn’t stop you from whimpering “want you inside me”. You felt your boyfriend’s body tense beneath you, his kissing stopping on the spot. His hand cupped your jaw, keeping you in place as his eyes locked with yours. “What did you say, princess?”

If possible, you felt your whole body catch on fire just from his tone alone, trying to divert your gaze as you repeated shyly “want… want you inside me. Please”. You swore you felt his cock throbbing at your words, his pupils completely blown out in lust. The fingers that held your jaw twitched briefly before he asked “you’re sure, princess?”, struggling to hide the restraint in his voice. You nodded, rocking your hips tentatively to spur him on.  

He bit his lip, trying to hold back the smile that threatened to break over his face. He failed at that, though, and a happy giggle escaped his lips as he switched your position, letting you fall on the soft pillows, your back landing on the mattress. He showered your face in excited kisses before he finally calmed down, a serious expression on his face. “Promise you’ll tell me if I'm hurting you or if you want to stop”. You smiled, nodding your head. “Pinky promise”. And just like that he was on you again, reaching a hand behind your back to flick your bra off your chest, sighing in pleasure once he cupped your breast in his hand, gently rolling your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Always looking so pretty,” he purred, reaching a hand down to unzip his pants, trying to take some pressure off his painfully hard member. He groaned, muttering a small “fuck,” before lowering his head on your torso, kissing his way down all the way to your panties. He pressed a hand on your thigh, keeping you spread over in front of his eyes. He smirked pleased at the wet patch on the baby blue fabric of your thong, rubbing his thumb up and down your clothed slit, then pressing his finger on your clit. “Oh fuck- please, Kook,” you moaned, bucking your hips up to gain some more friction. 

“Patience, princess,” he whispered, blowing softly on your clothed sex. You gasped at the feeling, trying to press your thighs back together, but you were stopped by Jungkook’s firm grasp that pinned you to the bed. “How sensitive,” he chuckled, teasingly licking a stripe up the drenched fabric. You whimpered, a string of pleas falling repeatedly from your plush lips as you grew progressively more desperate for more.

“Oh I know, I know, princess,” he cooed, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties and pulling them down, throwing them somewhere on the floor. “Gonna make you feel so nice,” he continued, stopping to admire your glistening folds, all wet and leaking just for him. He ran his pointer finger between your folds, gathering your moisture before slowly slipping the finger in. 

“Oh-” you gasped, closing your eyes as Jungkook’s finger stroked your walls, curling it just right. “Gonna put another one in,” he murmured, slipping another finger in. A loud moan escaped your lips, spurring your boyfriend to move in quicker and deeper movements, his fingers hitting repeatedly your g-spot almost as if in a quest to let you release as many sounds as possible. Slick sounds and ragged breaths filled the room, your mind clouding into a hazy state. The bands in your stomach threatened to snap at any moment now, your walls fluttering around Jungkook’s fingers.

Said man, of course, wanted to toy with you a little longer before giving you the relief you needed, and that’s why he immediately pulled his fingers out, chucking darkly at your disappointed whines. He slipped the same two fingers in his mouth, moaning around them as your juices dripped on his tongue. “Always taste so good,” he groaned, leaning down to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “Think you’re ready for me, princess?”

You nodded eagerly, though you couldn’t hide the nervousness pricking at the back of your neck. “Can you just… be gentle? Like, a lot? Pretty please”.

“Of course, princess, you don’t even have to ask. We’re gonna take it nice and slow, yeah?” of course there was no doubt that Jungkook already planned on taking it easy with you, nevertheless the confirmation was much needed for you, helping your nerves ease even a tiny bit. 

The man sat back on his knees, taking off his pants and briefs in one go. Even though it wasn’t the first time you had seen him completely naked, you couldn’t help but stare at him mesmerised. He was just that good looking, his body built the same way the greeks carved their most beloved statues. Your mouth ran dry at the sight, and your hands itched to explore every inch of flesh. 

Jungkook leaned back down, caging your head between his arms. He stroked your cheek lovingly, kissing you softly before asking “Do you want me to put a condom on?”

You shook your head, whispering “I’m still on the pill, it’s fine. Wanna feel you raw”. Your boyfriend closed his eyes at the confession, your desire of feeling him bare both arousing and touching. “Okay,” his hand reached between your bodies, holding his member in a firm grasp as he ran his almost purplish tip over your folds, gathering your wetness. 

“Oh god,” you choked out, your walls clenching around nothing. Finally, Jungkook aligned his cock with your entrance, looking at your face one last time before slowly pushing it in, holding you closer to his chest as you gasped in discomfort. “Kook…ngh, wait…”

“I got you, princess,” he cooed, stopping his motion immediately. He stroked your hair, and he didn’t even wince when you bit his bicep to ignore the discomfort between your hips. “‘s alright, love. I promise it’s gonna feel nice really soon, hold tight for me”.

You nodded, taking a shaky breath in before your boyfriend pushed a couple more inches or so inside you, settling deep before he stilled his movements, waiting for you to give him permission to do anything. Despite the uncomfortable sensation, you couldn’t ignore how full you felt and how good it felt to have him nestled inside your walls completely bare, allowing you to feel even the littlest throb. Meanwhile, your angel of a boyfriend did everything in his hold to distract you, from kissing your lips to nibbling your earlobe, wanting you to feel good yet feeling guilty because he couldn’t do anything to let the pain subside faster.

“Mmh- Kook… I think you can move now,” you croaked out, catching Jungkook’s attention. The man whispered a soft “okay,” then locked your lips in a slow and passionate kiss as he began moving, pulling out almost entirely before pushing back in, over and over again. Soon, you whimpers of discomfort turned into moans of pleasure, and Jungkook followed you by example. Noises of skin slapping skin echoed in the bedroom, almost harmonising with your moans and grunts. 

“Princess… can I- fuck, can I go faster?” you nodded again, throwing your head against the pillows as Jungkook’s hips picked up their pace, almost snapping against your body. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, jaw hanging low while your boyfriend got drunk on the sight, hissing as he felt himself approaching his orgasm at light’s speed. His hand reached down, toying with your clit to bring you closer to your finish line. However, he almost lost it all when you let out a loud, almost pornographic, moan, your walls sucking him in greedily. 

His brows furrowed in concentration, determined to make you cum before he did. “C’mon, princess, give it to me,” he grunted, applying the right pressure to your clit to make you completely unravel under him, whimpering and shaking as your walls fluttered around his dick. “Fuck!” he exclaimed, pulling out just in time to spill his warm milky white cum on your tummy, decorating your skin in ropes of white. 

He laid beside you with a huff, scanning your body with his eyes to check that everything was alright. He took a strand of hair falling onto your eyes and lovingly pushed it behind your ear, smiling at you softly as you opened your eyes back. “Doing alright, love?”

You hummed, feeling too weak to mutter out anything. Your body still shook with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you felt your sensitive sex still pulsing uncomfortably, but overall you felt great, and your mind wasn’t running miles per hour for once. 

Jungkook pulled you in closer, wrapping his arms around you, holding you tight. “C’mon, I’ll run us a bath. You’ve been so good, I love you so much, princess.”

© voitier 2025

⭒ a.n: first fic on here! let me know what you guys think, I'm so excited!

[hyuniemyunie]

In Stronger Arms

itto, wriothesley, neuvillette, kaveh and childe x gn!reader

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): fluff, established relationship, you burst into the room. and pick your man up. simple. I CAN DO LIKE..MOST GENSHIN MEN. NOT FROM NATLAN. I DONT LIKE NATLAN. i love itto tho my beautiful himbo. kaveh too my persian queen

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

Claimed by Love

The headquarters of the Arataki Gang was always loud, but today, it was especially chaotic. Raucous laughter echoed through the wooden walls, the scent of grilled food and mischief thick in the air. The gang was in the middle of some absurd game—it looked like a mix of sumo wrestling, a beetle battle, and an eating contest all at once.

And, at the center of it all, was Arataki Itto.

Your beloved himbo of an oni was hyping up the crowd, his wild silver hair a mess from all the excitement, crimson eyes gleaming like a kid who’d just been promised unlimited candy. His jacket was barely hanging onto his shoulders—probably the victim of his overenthusiastic movements—and his laugh was loud enough to shake the walls.

You had been gone for a few days on a commission outside Inazuma City, and while it wasn’t that long, it was long enough for you to crave the warmth of your giant, affectionate idiot. Sure, you had exchanged letters and the occasional, dramatic "I miss you soooo much, babycakes!!" sent via some poor, exhausted Tenryou Commission member forced to deliver Itto's messages. But nothing could compare to actually being with him.

So, the moment you arrived back in town, you didn’t waste a second. You didn’t stop by your house. You didn’t even drop off your travel bag. You went straight to the Arataki Gang’s hideout, marching in with one goal in mind.

Claiming your man.

The second you stepped inside, all eyes turned to you. Some of the gang members, like Shinobu, sighed in relief, knowing your arrival meant their leader might calm down. Others were too engrossed in whatever dumb game they had going on to pay much attention.

Itto, however?

The moment he spotted you, his ears perked up, his grin widening into something radiant. "Babe! Baby! Sugar plum! My little oni snack! You're back!" He moved to stand up, probably intending to run toward you, but before he could even take a step—

You marched forward, grabbed him by the waist, and effortlessly lifted the massive oni right off the ground.

The entire room froze.

The gang collectively gasped as their towering leader—this massive slab of muscle, nearly twice your size—was hoisted into the air like he weighed nothing. Someone knocked over a plate of dango. Someone else dropped their chopsticks. Even Shinobu, the ever-composed girl, blinked in stunned silence.

Meanwhile, Itto let out the most delighted laugh, wrapping his arms around your shoulders like a giant koala. "Whoa-ho-ho! That’s my baby! So strong! So cool! Heh, didn’t know you missed me this much!"

Without breaking stride, you turned to the dumbfounded gang members and, in the most nonchalant tone imaginable, declared, "Sorry, guys. Cuddle time. I missed my man."

Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you carried their hulking leader right out the door.

You could hear the gang erupt into chaos behind you.

"WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!"

"Did you SEE the way they just picked him up?!"

"Boss looked so happy though…"

"Man… I wanna be carried like that…"

"SHOULD WE STOP THEM?!—"

"…Nah, they look like they need this."

You ignored the chatter as you carried Itto all the way to his personal room—a cozy, slightly messy space that smelled like him (a mix of pine, fresh air, and something sweet, like dango). You kicked the door shut behind you and finally—finally—plopped down onto the futon, keeping Itto securely wrapped in your arms.

He instantly melted against you, resting his full weight on you with zero shame, his horns bumping against your head as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

"Mmm… best welcome home ever," he murmured, voice thick with affection. His big hands traced absentminded circles against your back, and he sighed contentedly. "You’re so warm… I missed you so much, babe. You got no idea how hard it was without you."

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Oh, I know exactly how hard it was. You sent me, like, ten letters a day."

"Yeah, but—but—letters ain’t the same!" He pouted, puffing out his cheeks before pressing a smothering kiss to your jaw. "I need my cuddle privileges! I need my sweet little dango dumpling! my snuggle bug supreme! my one and oni!"

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was practically bursting with warmth. He was so ridiculous. So dramatic. So completely and utterly Itto.

And you wouldn’t have him any other way.

"Well," you murmured, tightening your arms around him, "lucky for you, I also need my cuddle privileges." You ran a hand through his messy silver hair, feeling him shiver under your touch. "You have no idea how much I missed you."

Itto practically purred, pressing closer, his body heat sinking into you. "Really? Like, really really?"

"Like really really really."

He let out a giddy chuckle, holding you even tighter—if that was possible. "Guess I should get kidnapped more often, huh?"

You snorted. "Oh, I am kidnapping you regularly now. This is your life."

"Oh nooo," he drawled dramatically, despite looking like the happiest oni in the world. "Guess I just gotta live like this… trapped in the best cuddles ever… sigh, what a tragedy…"

You flicked his forehead playfully. "Stop acting like you’re suffering."

"Never!" he declared before kissing you square on the lips, all teeth and joy.

And just like that, the world outside didn’t matter. Not the chaos of the gang, not the commissions, not the responsibilities. Right now, it was just you and your ridiculous, oversized oni, tangled together in warmth and love.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tidal Claim

The Fortress of Meropide was as busy as ever, though the bustle here was a quiet, controlled one. Prisoners moved under the watchful eye of guards, machinery hummed in the distance, and the scent of metal, salt, and damp stone filled the air.

At the center of it all, overseeing some kind of legal review, stood Neuvillette.

Dressed in his pristine coat, posture regal yet relaxed, he exuded authority in a way that made people naturally lower their voices in his presence. He was listening intently as Wriothesley spoke, his cool gaze focused, hands resting behind his back.

And then the door slammed open.

A few guards instinctively reached for their weapons, but they hesitated upon recognizing the figure striding in. They exchanged nervous glances, unsure if they should intervene, but Neuvillette himself gave no such indication.

Instead, his expression softened—so subtly that most would miss it.

The way his eyes lingered on you, the way his shoulders eased just slightly—it was imperceptible to most, but you knew better.

Still, you wasted no time on pleasantries. You marched straight across the room, past baffled onlookers, and, without hesitation, wrapped your arms around him.

And lifted him.

The entire room stilled.

The silence was so absolute that the distant sound of water dripping into the underground canals echoed like a thunderclap.

The Iudex—Fontaine’s highest authority, the very person who embodied justice—was being picked up like a damsel in some grand romantic gesture.

Wriothesley had to physically stop himself from laughing, pressing a fist to his mouth as a muffled sound escaped. Clorinde, who had just entered the room, visibly hesitated between drawing her weapon and pretending this wasn’t happening. A few guards looked seconds away from fainting.

But Neuvillette?

Neuvillette simply exhaled through his nose—a soft, barely audible sound of amusement. His long hair spilled over your shoulder, cascading like a silken waterfall as he allowed himself to be held.

"You’ve returned," he murmured, voice steady, but there was something fond underneath.

You turned to the utterly bewildered onlookers and, without a single ounce of shame, announced, "Sorry, everyone. Urgent business. I’m stealing him for a while."

Then, with effortless strength, you carried him straight out the door.

The stunned silence behind you lasted for a full five seconds before the murmuring exploded.

"Did—did they just take Monsieur Neuvillette?"

"Carried him? Like a bride?"

"Wriothesley, aren’t you going to stop them?!"

"Why would I? That was the best thing I’ve seen all week."

You ignored them all, your focus solely on the man in your arms.

Despite his usual composed nature, you could feel the way his fingers lightly curled against your shoulder, the way his body relaxed into yours. He was never one to express his emotions outwardly, but he did have ways of showing them—small, subtle gestures meant only for those who knew where to look.

The moment you reached his private quarters, you nudged the door open with your foot and stepped inside, finally setting him down onto the plush chaise lounge near the window.

And yet, even as his feet touched the floor, he made no move to leave your embrace.

Instead, his hands rested lightly against your waist, a quiet tether keeping you close. His gaze, those ethereal eyes, studied you with the patience of a man who had spent centuries watching the tides.

"You must have been quite restless in my absence," he finally murmured.

"You have been working yourself into the ground again," you countered, fingers moving to brush a few stray strands of silver from his face. "And you know how I get when I miss you."

A faint hum of acknowledgment left his lips. "Yes. You make rather dramatic entrances."

"And yet, you let me carry you off in front of half of Fontaine."

His fingers tightened—just barely—against the fabric of your clothing. A rare, fleeting smirk touched his lips. "I find it… difficult to deny you."

That was as close to an open confession as you were going to get, and Archons, you weren’t going to waste the opportunity.

Leaning down, you pressed a lingering kiss against his forehead, letting your lips linger against the cool skin. The scent of freshwater clung to him, crisp and untainted, like the mist that clung to Fontaine’s waterfalls.

Neuvillette closed his eyes, exhaling as if releasing some unseen weight from his shoulders.

For all his strength, for all his control over the very rain itself, he was… lonely. You knew this. You knew how he often stood atop the highest points in the city during storms, watching over the people yet never truly among them.

And so, you held him a little tighter.

"You know," you murmured against his skin, "I do intend to steal you like this more often."

His eyes opened, a single silver brow arching in mild amusement. "Is that so?"

"Oh, absolutely. I might even start keeping you all to myself. How scandalous would that be?"

A slow, rare chuckle escaped him—a deep, smooth sound that made your chest warm.

"I suspect Fontaine would demand its Iudex back," he mused. "But… perhaps I would not mind being claimed by you for a time."

Your heart skipped a beat.

Of course, Neuvillette would never openly say something as simple as I missed you or I love you. But you had learned how to read the currents beneath his words, and this?

This was as clear as the still waters before a storm.

Your arms tightened around him once more before you finally, finally sank down onto the lounge beside him, keeping him pressed close.

Neuvillette let himself relax against you, his head resting lightly against your shoulder. His long hair spilled over both of you like moonlight, his presence cool yet soothing, like the calm before rain.

You sighed, running gentle fingers through his hair. "You’re so dramatic, you know that?"

"Am I?"

"Mm. All broody, all serious… but then you let me pick you up like some helpless maiden."

Neuvillette made a small sound—something caught between a sigh and quiet amusement. "I let you because you would not be deterred otherwise."

"Exactly. You’re learning."

Silence settled between you, but it was a comfortable one. Outside, the distant sound of water lapping against the stone walls filled the air. The world could wait. For now, it was just the two of you, tangled together in quiet understanding.

And when Neuvillette shifted just slightly, pressing a barely-there kiss against your temple, you smiled, pressing one right back against his jaw.

It seemed the storm had finally found its harbor.

Swept Off His Feet

Kaveh was in the middle of yet another passionate rant when you entered the room.

The House of Daena was dimly lit, the soft glow of hanging lanterns casting warm light over the bookshelves. Scrolls, blueprints, and reference materials were scattered across the table where Kaveh sat, his blonde hair slightly disheveled, his hands moving wildly as he argued with—

No one.

Well, technically he was talking to Alhaitham, but his ever-exasperating roommate had tuned him out at least ten minutes ago, flipping through a book without so much as a glance in Kaveh’s direction. That, of course, only made Kaveh talk more, his hands gesturing dramatically as he vented about some ridiculous architectural injustice or another.

And then you walked in.

The moment Kaveh spotted you, his entire demeanor shifted. His eyes lit up, his hands dropped mid-gesture, and for a split second, his mouth opened and closed as if forgetting what he was saying.

Alhaitham, sensing his chance to escape, immediately shut his book, stood, and muttered something about finally, a distraction, before disappearing between the shelves.

Kaveh barely noticed.

He was already pushing himself up from his chair, a delighted grin forming. "Oh! You’re back! I didn’t know you’d be here so soon, I—"

Whatever he was about to say next was lost to the air.

Because in one smooth motion, you stepped forward, wrapped your arms around him—

And lifted him clear off the ground.

The entire library fell silent.

A scholar on the upper level dropped their pen. A passing student halted mid-step, nearly tripping over their own feet. Even the ever-stoic librarian raised an eyebrow.

Kaveh, meanwhile, made a very undignified squawk.

"Wh—what—?!" His arms instinctively flailed before wrapping around your shoulders in sheer survival instinct. "Wha—what do you think you’re doing?!"

You adjusted your grip, holding him effortlessly against you. "Hmm, well..I missed you."

And, as if you hadn’t just lifted one of Sumeru’s most dramatic architects in front of an entire scholarly audience, you simply turned and walked right out the door with him in tow.

Kaveh, despite all his dramatic protests, had clung to you like a lifeline the moment his feet left the ground. His entire body was tense, his hands gripping your shoulders, his face practically buried in your neck.

"I—I can walk, you know!" he stammered, voice high with flustered indignation. "This—this is highly improper! Highly—"

"You don’t seem to be fighting me that hard."

His mouth opened—then closed. Then opened again. Then—

"...That’s not the point!"

You laughed, squeezing him just a little before finally stepping into your shared living space. Kicking the door shut behind you, you carried him straight to the lounge, where you finally, finally sat down—keeping him securely in your lap.

Kaveh immediately buried his face in his hands, groaning. "I’ll never live this down," he mumbled. "I’ll never be able to step foot in the House of Daena again without someone mentioning this."

You smoothed a hand through his golden hair, reveling in how soft it was beneath your fingers. "You say that like I won’t do it again."

His fingers parted just enough for one red eye to peek through, glaring at you half-heartedly. "You would," he accused.

"Of course I would. Look at you." You poked his cheek. "All cute and flustered."

Kaveh made a strangled noise, dropping his hands and dramatically flopping against your chest. "I can’t believe you," he muttered.

"You love me," you reminded him.

"...I do," he admitted begrudgingly, though his arms remained wrapped around you, refusing to move.

Silence stretched between you, comfortable and warm. You ran your fingers through his hair again, and he sighed, practically melting against you.

"You really did miss me," he murmured after a moment, voice softer now.

"Obviously." You kissed the top of his head. "And you missed me too."

Kaveh let out a long sigh, nuzzling closer. "...Fine. Maybe I did." His fingers curled lightly against your shirt. "I hate it when you’re gone for too long. Feels like something’s missing."

Your heart swelled.

"I’m here now," you murmured.

Kaveh huffed, but his hold on you tightened. "...Good."

And just like that, he let himself sink into your arms, the stress of the day fading away.

Perhaps being swept off his feet wasn’t so bad after all.

Weightless

The Fortress of Meropide ran like a well-oiled machine, its underground halls bustling with the usual controlled chaos. Workers moved crates of supplies, guards patrolled the walkways, and prisoners shuffled through their daily routines.

And right at the center of it all, Wriothesley stood in his office, arms crossed as he listened to one of his subordinates give a report. His expression was calm, composed—regal, even. If anyone were to walk in, they would think he was the very picture of control.

What they wouldn’t see was the exhaustion he was trying to hide.

He had been at this for hours, barely pausing to sit, let alone take a proper break. His knuckles were faintly bruised from earlier training, his coat was hanging loosely off his shoulders, and despite the commanding presence he still exuded, you could tell he needed a moment of peace.

So you decided to give him one.

By force.

The doors to his office swung open with little ceremony, making the guard mid-report flinch. Wriothesley, however, didn’t startle—he simply looked up, his tired eyes softening the moment he saw you.

You didn’t greet him. Didn’t offer a single explanation.

You just walked right up to him, reached out—

And lifted him.

Wriothesley barely had time to react before his feet left the ground. His coat, already loose, slipped off entirely, falling into an undignified heap on the floor. His arms instinctively went around your shoulders, more out of shock than anything else.

The guard who had been giving the report froze mid-sentence, mouth hanging open. The clerks working in the back stopped writing, staring in disbelief. Even Sigewinne, who had just peeked in to deliver some documents, let out a delighted giggle.

But you?

You didn’t care about any of them.

“Sorry, everyone,” you announced casually, adjusting your grip on the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide as if he weighed nothing. “I'm kidnapping him.”

And with that, you turned and strode out of the room, carrying Fontaine’s most dangerous fighter like he was a newlywed bride.

The silence left in your wake was deafening.

—

Wriothesley didn’t say anything for a while. He just let himself be carried, his head resting against your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck.

You made your way through the fortress with ease, completely unfazed by the shocked stares of guards and workers alike. Some prisoners muttered amongst themselves, a few letting out whistles or outright gasps.

“Hey, Wriothesley!” one of them called. “Didn’t know you could get carried off like that!”

“Heh, ‘bout time someone knocked him down a peg,” another chuckled.

Someone else asked if this was some kind of training method.

Wriothesley ignored all of them, his grip on you tightening slightly.

Finally, once you reached his quarters, he sighed and let out a quiet chuckle. “You really have no shame, do you?”

You nudged the door open with your foot. “Nope.”

“I had a meeting.”

“They’ll survive.”

“You carried me.”

“Sure did.” You stepped inside and finally set him down onto the couch—though you didn’t go far, immediately climbing in after him, effectively caging him in with your presence.

He exhaled, shaking his head. But instead of moving away, he reached for you, tugging you closer until your bodies were flush against each other. His arms wrapped around your waist, his grip firm, unyielding.

“…Thanks,” he murmured against your skin.

You hummed, resting your chin atop his head. “You work too much.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is when you don’t take breaks.”

He let out a soft chuckle, fingers tracing absentminded patterns against your back. “If I knew this was your way of making me rest, I would’ve started slacking off ages ago.”

“You say that, but we both know you’d rather collapse than admit you’re tired.”

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he let himself relax against you, the tension in his body melting away little by little. His heartbeat was steady beneath your touch, the warmth of his body grounding, soothing.

“…You really missed me that much, huh?” he finally asked, his voice quieter now, softer.

You didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, you ran a hand through his hair, letting your fingers rake through the dark strands, feeling the way he sighed under your touch.

“…Yeah,” you admitted. “I did.”

He hummed, pleased, his arms tightening around you. “…Then I guess I’ll let it slide this time.”

You grinned. “Oh, you’re letting me? That’s cute.”

“I’m being generous.”

“Mmhm. Sure.”

He laughed, the sound deep and rich, before he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your collarbone. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I am pretty lucky, huh?”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t let go, didn’t pull away. He just sighed and buried his face in your shoulder, letting himself rest.

And really, that was all you wanted.

—

The Fortress of Meropide would still be there when he returned. But for now, the Duke of the Fortress was off duty.

Because you said so.

Tideswept

It was chaos in the Fatui headquarters.

Recruits scrambled through the halls, shouts echoing from every direction as agents rushed to deliver reports, fulfill missions, and, most importantly, stay out of Childe’s way.

Because their beloved Harbinger, No. 11 of the Fatui—Tartaglia—was pissed.

He stood in the middle of a meeting room, fists clenched, his coat slightly askew, glaring daggers at the unfortunate squad captain before him.

“Gone?!” His voice was sharp, slicing through the tense air like a blade. “What do you mean my men are gone?”

The captain flinched. “Sir, I—I meant that they were ambushed and—”

Childe turned sharply, pacing toward the table with a snarl of frustration. His mind was already calculating, shifting gears, deciding the next move—

Until the doors slammed open.

The entire room froze.

And then, before anyone could react, before Childe himself could react, you stepped forward—

And promptly threw him over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

The room went silent.

A recruit choked on air. A captain nearly dropped their report. One unfortunate soldier let out a startled squeak before slapping a hand over their mouth.

Childe, for his part, had a full second of absolute lag before his brain caught up with what had just happened.

And then—

“WHAT—?!”

The recruits watched in absolute horror as their Harbinger—their Commander—flailed in your grasp like a caught fish.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Childe yelped, his voice slightly muffled as he twisted in your hold. His hands scrambled against your back, his coat hanging limply as if it had also given up.

You adjusted your grip, patting his thigh like one would a particularly misbehaving puppy. “Calm your ass down”

And then you walked out.

With Tartaglia.

Over your shoulder.

Like he weighed nothing.

The stunned silence you left behind was something else.

—

Childe continued flailing all the way down the halls.

“Okay, okay—I get it! Ha-ha, you’re strong! You can put me down now!” He kicked his legs, which you immediately tightened your grip on to keep still.

“Nope.”

“I can walk!”

“Too bad.”

“You’re embarrassing me in front of my subordinates!”

“Good.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?!”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Childe groaned, dramatically letting his head fall against your back. “You do know I’m supposed to be terrifying, right?”

“You?” You patted his ass with exaggerated gentleness. “Terrifying? Aw, you’re adorable.”

He huffed—actually huffed, like a spoiled child denied extra dessert. “I am terrifying! I could kill someone with my bare hands!”

“You could also kill someone with cuteness. I think both are equally deadly.”

“…You’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

“…Damn it.”

—

By the time you reached your shared home, Childe had stopped struggling.

You kicked the door open, made your way to the couch, and ungracefully plopped him down.

He landed with a soft “oof,” immediately sitting up and rubbing his forehead.

“Okay, seriously,” he huffed, running a hand through his hair. “What was that?”

You flopped down beside him, draping yourself over his lap. “A rescue mission.”

Childe blinked. “A what?”

You poked his chest. “I could hear you yelling from halfway across headquarters. You were stressing yourself out again, weren’t you?”

Childe opened his mouth to argue—paused—then let out a long sigh, running a hand down his face. “…Maybe.”

You poked him again. “You definitely were.”

“Fine,” he muttered, grabbing your hand before you could poke him a third time. His thumb brushed against your knuckles, absentmindedly tracing over your fingers. “…Things have been a mess lately. More than usual.”

“I know.” You softened, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. “You push yourself too hard.”

“It’s my job,” he murmured, voice quiet now, lacking its usual bravado.

“It’s also your job to rest.”

Childe exhaled, his fingers tightening slightly around yours. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then—

“…You really missed me that much, huh?” His voice held the slightest teasing lilt, but there was something genuine beneath it, something warm.

You nudged your nose against his neck. “Of course I did.”

“…Hmph.” His free hand wrapped around your back, pulling you closer, tucking you against him as if shielding you from the world. “…I missed you too.”

You smiled. “Knew it.”

“Shut up.”

But he didn’t let go.

And neither did you.

[cowboyshadows]

Soap having a big fat crush on his married professor. (There’s no infidelity in this.)

Soap fucked up. Big time. He sits in Price’s office like a puppy who got caught breaking the vase.

He hasn’t messed up this monumentally since he was a rookie. The bastard rigged C4 too close to a flock of sheep. Thought it’d be cool, didn’t he?

Sent the whole lot of them flying. Accidentally caused a wool-based apocalypse.

He’s also never seen Price this upset. His mouth is hidden in the foliage of his beard. His eyes are down turned. His hands flex around his lighter and cigar.

Soap slinks back in his seat, exhaling loudly.

“You need a refresher,” Price says, quietly. Like he’s dropped a bomb. Ironic.

“Wha’?”

“Yer goin’ back to school, MacTavish.”

And that was that. Made him take a satchel with a spiral bound notebook and a pen, the old man. Highlighters and sticky notes. Like he’s actually gonna stand to gain anything from this shite.

Drags his feet begrudgingly to the lecture hall his class is in. Molecular Dynamics of High-Explosive Compounds. He wishes someone would have placed a C4 too close to him, right about now.

Picks a seat right at the back. He’d have expected it to be less available than it actually is, but most of the students occupy the first four rows of benches. Crosses his arms, draws his hat low: he’s ready to hate every second of this. Some old man with a greying bear and shiny head is gonna come in and tell him about bombs he’s never used. What a fuckin’ waste o—

“Sorry I’m late,” you rattle off, walking into the class room. He leans forward to get a better look at you. You’re wearing jeans and a t-shirt that says Hotter than a Combustion Reaction. Thick-rimmed glasses perched atop your head, hair whipped back into a tidy updo. “Had to stop my husband from lighting the stove with a cigar again.”

What the fuck?

“Anyway,” you say, clapping your hands. “Welcome to explosions 101. Alternatively,” your mouth curls in a coy smile, “Why We Don’t Freehand C4 Ratios.” It feels pointed. Unnecessary. He pulls the hat lower on his face.

You chuckle then, along with the class. “We have a very special guest in our midst today, that’s right. A demolitions expert from the SAS, actually.” You look around the class. “Sergeant MacTavish? I promise not to ridicule you.” Another laugh.

He raises his hand cautiously, and all the students turn to look at him. Your face softens in a familiar grin. “We’re glad to have ya, sergeant.”

He feels the blood rush beneath his cheeks.

So, in theory, does he have a crush on his professor? No. No, he doesn’t. This is a stupid punishment Price gave him, and all he has to do is soldier through it. Like a soldier.

But in practice… yeah. Around you, his heart has a velocity to rival an explosive’s detonation velocity.

He’s never gone this all out for school before. He almost understands why all those sleazy college boys swarm you at the end of the lecture, not even letting him slip a glance in edgewise.

He makes notes, diagrams, solves homework religiously. Does your golden problems for the heck of it, just because he wants to hear you say his name and praise him. Asks you questions not because he has a doubt, but because he wants to hear you talk.

He spends most of his afternoons in your office now, your legs resting on your desk as you review his calculations.

Drinking out of your mug that says World’s Okayest Wife. Some ungrateful bastard, your husband is. “My boss has the same mug,” he says, to which you smile.

He might be in love with you.

Price knows, obviously.

“Enjoyin’ the lessons, Johnny?”

“Tha’s classified.”

It’s been a particularly exciting lesson about thermite. He wrote down in his little notebook all the questions he wants to ask you. Right next to the hearts surrounding Mrs. Professor MacTavish.

He waits outside your office for you to finish your lunch, diligently like a lap dog.

Then, out of nowhere, Price shows up.

“Afternoon, Sergeant,” he nods, taking his hat off.

“Ye don’ ‘ave tae pick me up,” he grumbles, “ah’m a grown man.”

He just snorts in response. Whatever that’s about. Price’s hand darts to the doorknob of your office.

“Wait, she doesnae like tae be dist—”

Too late. They’re in the office. Correction: Price is in the office. And he’s beckoning Johnny in like he owns the damn place.

“John!” you chirp, getting out of your seat. You didn’t even get out of your seat for Soap.

“Professor, I trust Johnny’s been a good boy?”

You smile at Soap and he feels his ears turn red. “Only the best.”

“I’m glad,” Price smiles, hand resting on your shoulder. Soap damn near jumps out of his skin.

“Cap, ain’t ya married?” comes perhaps a little too loudly.

Your eyes shoot wider at that, and he feels a strange sense of victory. Threat neutralised.

Silence. Then a beat. Price starts cackling. Bends over with it. “This daft thing.” Leans over and kisses you full on the lips.

Soap sighs. “Cannae let me ‘ave one good thing, Cap.”

[wisteria-blooms]

PATENT // PARADISE!

PAIRING: Bill Weasley & You  WARNINGS: smut, sex pollen trope **MINORS DNI** SUMMARY: You and Bill find out you may have unknowingly taken part in a clinical trial... of sorts. (762 words)

A/N: Just a little follow-up to Paradise Potions! Sorry I've been so MIA.

LINK TO PARADISE POTIONS

PATENT PARADISE!

That August night was a dream. You fantasised about it often, usually at night and under your sheets, one hand fondling your breast and the other inside yourself, trying to emulate what Bill had done to you. 

Neither you or Bill were experts when it came to the world of potions and remedies, but you agreed on one thing: there was a third-party operator involved in this ordeal. 

“Physiologically,” Bill remarked the next afternoon, hand stroking his chin. “This was impossible.”

You were both completely spent. The effects of whatever possessed his body carried into the morning and finally tapered off by early afternoon. You had lost track of how many times Bill needed to satiate himself. All you knew was that you were literally hobbling down the stairs the next day in search of breakfast. The pursuit of pleasure had left both you and Bill ravenous.

“Really, I don’t think it’s physiologically possible for me to have come as much as I did,” Bill continued, setting his tea down on the saucer. “What vast stores I must have.” He was trying to topple the tension that aggregated between two people who barely knew each other who just had sex, and hours of it.

Instead of laughing, you reddened. You thought about the copious mess he’d left inside you and all over your face, breasts, your hair, and the bed. And when you thought he was finally done, his cock would harden again. Before you could comment on the absurdity of it all, Bill would have found his way inside you again. 

You nodded, shifting in your chair. Your nipples (that Bill paid great attention to) chafed against your shirt every time you moved. You squeezed your legs together and winced. You were so fucking sore.

But you would do it all again in a literal fucking heartbeat. 

So, that was why, when Christmas rolled around, you, with suspiciously great enthusiasm, accepted Percy’s invitation to join his family for dinner. You excused yourself for a “nap” after your arrival. Despite crystal clear instructions from Molly about where you’d be sleeping, you somehow took a wrong turn and found yourself in Bill’s room. Again. Oops! 

“I’ve missed this.” Bill crooned from underneath you between throaty pants, breaking a kiss in the process. “I thought about it in Egypt.. all the fucking time… what I was going to do to this pretty pussy when I saw you again.”

He had been thrusting into you in slow, controlled motions, his abdomen taut from the strain. As much as it pained him not to just slam into you, he didn’t dare to tempt any extraneous noise lest his mother hear. 

“Me too.” You grimaced when the bed creaked slightly. “I wish everyone were gone just like last time.”

“You won’t wish that.” Bill smiled deviously against your ear. “Because then I won’t have to hold back.”

You giggled. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

You both paused when you heard voices downstairs. 

“Arthur, honey, I’m heading out to the store. Do you need anything?”

“No, but I could go with you.”

“Well, let’s get going now before the store closes.”

You bit your lip, giddy at the prospect of an empty house. Bill echoed your sentiments with a kiss and a statement: “As much as I’d like to be inside you like this all day, I want to feel you come on me at some point.”

You nodded hungrily, prompting Bill to snap his hips up and push a sharp moan from your chest. He captured the tail end of sound by clamping his hand over his mouth. “Sh—” he chastised gently. “Not so loud yet, they’re not gone just yet..”

“HEY MUM! DAD!” 

Both your and Bill’s faces, at the same time, morphed from pleasure to utter annoyance in a millisecond.

“Fuck!” hissed Bill, throwing his head back on the pillow in defeat. Just when you thought you were in the clear, disaster presented itself in pairs.

“Fred, George! You’re early.”

“Well, we couldn’t wait to tell you the news..."

“You’re going to be utterly chuffed. We’ll be your favourite children after this.”

“And what news is that?”

“We were offered the largest contract in centuries by an apothecary for our latest product. The one you almost beheaded us for in the summer, remember? We couldn’t quite tweak it appropriately to suit our shop’s offerings, but the potion review board’s saying it’s a miracle drug. We won’t tell you in what way to spare the scolding, but let’s just say… there are plenty of satisfied wizards and witches as a result.”

END!

[paucubarsisimp]

teasing

pairing: pablo gavi x reader

summary: in which your boyfriend’s teammates tease him

a/n: don’t forget to leave request!

the locker room after a game was usually filled with a mix of sounds—the satisfying thuds of cleats hitting the floor, the hum of water bottles being opened, and the low chatter of players discussing the match. but today, there was a rare moment of calm.

you were sitting next to pablo, tucked into a quiet corner of the room. his jersey clung to his toned frame, sweat still glistening on his skin as he stretched his legs out, clearly exhausted from the game. but despite the tiredness, there was an unmistakable warmth in his eyes, the kind he reserved only for you.

“feeling okay?” pablo’s voice was soft, his focus entirely on you. his usual energy was toned down after the match, and he was in his element—relaxed, comfortable, and, if you were honest, a little more affectionate than usual.

you smiled up at him, a bit taken aback by how gentle he was acting. “yeah, just tired. but it was a good game. you were amazing out there.”

pablo shrugged but couldn’t help the shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “nah, not as good as you were watching from the sidelines.”

you laughed lightly, your cheeks warming. “you’re being too sweet.”

before he could respond, the door to the locker room opened, and a few of his teammates walked in, chatting animatedly, the sound of their voices filling the space. pedri and ferran were the first to enter, followed by a few other players.

“oi, pablo,” pedri called out, noticing the scene instantly. “i thought you were the tough guy on the pitch, but you’re over here acting like a big softie.”

ferran snickered from behind pedri, shaking his head. “look at him, he’s all cuddled up. who knew gavi could be such a romantic?”

pablo’s face immediately flushed, and he gave them both an exaggerated eye-roll. “shut up, you two,” he muttered, his arm still casually draped over the back of the bench next to you. but despite his protests, he didn’t move away from you. in fact, he shifted a little closer, almost as if to prove he wasn’t bothered by the teasing.

“aww, come on, pablo,” ferran teased, his grin widening. “don’t be shy. we all know you’ve got a soft spot for your girl here. admit it.”

pedri laughed, nudging pablo’s shoulder. “she’s got you whipped, huh?”

pablo sighed dramatically, trying to hide the smile that threatened to break through. “i’m not whipped. you guys are just annoying.”

you couldn’t help but laugh along with them, shaking your head at the playful banter. “it’s fine, pablo,” you teased, leaning in a little closer to him. “they’re not wrong.”

pablo’s eyes softened when you said that, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite the teasing from his teammates. “whatever,” he muttered under his breath. but the tenderness in his gaze was undeniable. “you guys don���t know what you’re talking about.”

pedri raised his eyebrows, leaning against a locker. “oh, we know exactly what we’re talking about. it’s clear as day. pablo gavi, the toughest midfielder in la liga, can’t resist his girl.”

“shut it, pedri,” pablo shot back, his voice teasing but fond. he looked down at you, the warmth in his eyes returning. “they’re just messing with me.”

you smiled, reaching out to gently take his hand, squeezing it. “it’s okay, you know. i like how soft you are with me.”

pablo’s cheeks turned a little pink, and he glanced away, trying to hide his flustered expression. “you’re making it worse,” he muttered, though his heart wasn’t in it.

“oh, i don’t know,” ferran said, grinning mischievously. “i think we’ve uncovered a new side of gavi. we might need to keep this up.”

pedri laughed. “yeah, soon enough, we’ll be calling him the ‘romantic midfielder.’”

pablo groaned, leaning his head back against the bench in mock frustration. “you guys are the worst.”

you giggled softly, nudging him lightly. “hey, at least it’s nice to know they’re not wrong.”

pablo finally gave in and laughed along with you, though he shot a playful glare at his teammates. “fine, fine, whatever. but it’s you i’m soft with, so leave it at that.”

the teasing continued, but there was no denying the contentment in the air. pablo may have been the target of all the jokes, but he couldn’t have cared less. in this moment, with you by his side, everything else melted away.

[lavandulawrites]

Nirvana

Yandere!Loser x reader

Minors And Ageless Blogs Do Not Interact

Repost

I finally got around and wrote something for my favourite loser, it has been a long time since last time. I hope you like this pathetic Nirvana-loving man as much as I do<3

Masterlist

Adrian’s (Yandere Loser) Character Profile

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, original character, public masturabation, obsession, implied stalking, lovesick behaviour, delusional behaviour

Word count: 960

His black jacket was zipped up all the way as a way to keep the biting cold winter air out. His wired air-buds were playing Smells Like Teen Spirit. His pale hands were shoved inside his pocket were his left hand toyed with the receipt he had found at your desk. His late night activity (he had jacked off outside of your apartment complex to the silhouette of you in your bedroom window) had stolen his sleep, but he hadn’t minded the night before. However now as the sleeplessness hit him like a drunk driven truck, he started regretting only getting two hours of sleep. Adrian turned up the volume with the button of the wire. And as usual, the raw sound of Kurt Cobain’s voice calmed his nerves.

The bus stopped in front of the shabby bus-stop. Its breaks letting out a shrilling sound. The black haired man sighed in relief as he entered the empty bus. The metal piercings had made his ears numb, and the warmth of the bus was pleasant. He ventured as far back as he could without sitting at the row of back seats in the back, as those often were filled with annoying middle school teens. Despite Adrian’s social awkwardness, the teens never dared to mess with him given his dark clothing and cold stares, but that didn’t stop him from hating them. He slumped back in his seat as he leaned his head against the icy window. The outside blurred together in a mass of white and grey colours as the bus driver drove way over the given speed limit.

The minutes pasted and after the seventh Nirvana song, the bus came to an halt. Its doors swung open and the gloomy man’s humour soured. Please don’t be any of those annoying teens he thought bitterly. Then the sky cleared and in stepped the source of his joy. You were alone and dressed rather casually, but to Adrian you looked like an otherworldly being. He shrunk in his seat as if getting spotted by you would be utterly embarrassing. To his surprise you took a seat by the window two rows in front of him. He cowered his mouth with his hand has he let out a surprised yelp. He ripped out his air-buds as he was afraid he would miss even the tiniest sound from you.

To his joy, you two were the only passengers on the bus. He could see your reflection in the window if he leaned against it with a slightly strained neck. His heart was beating like crazy and he thought he would die from heart attack right then and there. The longer he watched you scroll on your phone with air-buds plugged in your ears, the more he could feel the strain in his loose black jeans. He wanted to roll his eyes at his pitiful state, but he couldn’t help to get bricked up in your proximity.

You were so incredibly beautiful after all, so his reaction was only natural. After making sure you or anyone else couldn’t see it (thank god the bus didn’t have any surveillance cameras) he pulled out his open jacket so that it worked as a little cover. He quietly unzipped his jeans and pulled his dark blue down. He blew in his hand before he gripped his achingly hard dick. His pale dick was flushed an angrily pink and pre-cum was already leaking from the rip. He had to use his hand that was closed to the window, his left hand, despite being right handed due to the jacket that worked like a cover.

Adrian spat in his hand before he worked it up and down the shaft in a slow motion. He needed to be careful so you didn’t notice anything. His grey-blue eyes found your reflection as he watched you with a lidded gaze. He let out a shaky breath as his thumb stroke over his swollen tip. He worked his hand a little faster and pleasure shrouded through him. He threw his head back and bit his lip harshly, to quite any of his whimpers.

You were putting on chapstick on your beautiful lips in a careful manner, which resulting Adrian to almost drool. God he wished it was your lips that were wrapped around his dick instead of his hand. He tightened his grip and picked up the pace. Pale was coated in pre-cum as he continued to jack off. The vein alongside his cock was strained and he was close. So close that he couldn’t help the low whimpers that escaped his lips. With a hasty motion he pulled out a handkerchief from his jacket with his right hand. His breathing was rapid and the warm feeling deep within his gut spread like lightning through his veins. With his gaze strained to your form, he came so hard he saw white stars. Warm cum pumped out from his dick and onto the handkerchief. He slumped forward with his forehead resting against the seat in front of him.

He breathed heavily for a while, before he shoved his dick back into his underwear. He carefully pulled up the zipper with one hand as he stuffed the used handkerchief into his pant pocket. After whipping his hands on a new tissue, he ran his hand through his black soft hair.

He watched you exit the bus at the bus stop by your work. Blue eyes followed you to the door of the worn little coffee shop. He put in his air-buds again and clicked play on the same song he had saw you listing to. You would be his. It wouldn’t be long now. Nothing could ever keep you from him. You were destined to be.

[goreandbunnies]

⛧☾༒︎ 𝔇𝔢𝔳𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 ༒︎☽⛧

Sukuna x Reader, Toji x Reader

Summary ๋࣭ ⭑⚝"Almost six months after meeting him, I had finally managed to escape. At least that's what I thought, hidden in that alley, holding my breath and waiting for the search party to get further away from my spot. But this city was his, he had eyes everywhere. I needed to leave as far away as I could."

Warnings ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Explicit language, sexual explicit scenes, sexual assault, drugs and alcohol, explicit violent scenes, gun violence, emotional and physical manipulation, dub-con, mentions of cults, blood and blood play, knife play.

Word count ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ 38k (in progress)

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more & @cafekitsune

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 4

Life slowly went back to normal after that night. Amy and I - after a well deserved break to recover from her hangover - kept on planning hers and Ben’s wedding. Last minute details since she had hired the best wedding planner in town and it was pretty much imminent. We were simply going over everything over and over again to make sure it was perfect. The injury on my head had been completely forgotten after a couple of days, however the memory of the two men who had saved me was still very much instact, no matter how much I tried to bury it under a mountain of denial.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married next week,” I grinned at my best friend as I flipped through her wedding binders and folders. “Remember when you said you’d wait until you’re fifty to even consider dating a man?” She looked up from her iPad and rolled her eyes.

“And then Ben almost ran me over, sounds like a cheap rom-com, doesn’t it?” We both snickered, reminiscing about high school and Amy’s numerous boyfriends.

The weather outside was absolutely terrible. For a mid June afternoon, the rain sure was a pest. Amy and I were sitting inside our favorite coffee shop, only a couple of other tables were occupied, most people were staying home in this weather. 

I couldn’t blame them, I would’ve done the same if not for Amy. She was sick of being cooped up, the nerves hitting her harder now that the wedding was approaching and staying home or coming over to mine was simply not an option to her. 

“Hey, I’m gonna get us a refill and then we can double check the floral arrangements,” she stood up, collecting our mugs and nodding at the mess on our table. “I’m pretty sure I saw some lilies when I specifically asked for white peonies, I’ll be right back,” she hurried over to the counter, leaving me alone to flip through pictures. 

Looking for my favorite pen, I searched the table before patting my jacket’s pockets and leaned in to grab my purse.

“Where is it?” I whispered as I rummaged through my stuff. 

In my haste, some of my belongings slid from my purse onto my lap, spilling out like dirty secrets. I fished out my pen from my bag and replaced everything in there before I realized what I was holding. Something that I had never seen or owned before. 

A small flat token, innocent looking if not for the Apple logo on it and the words engraved on its shiny surface. AirTag. My eyes widened in horror as the small disk laid in my palm. This wasn’t mine and it couldn’t have ended up at the bottom of my purse randomly. 

My hand started shaking a little. My brain was spinning, trying to wonder how the Hell it ended up in there. Aside from going to work - where I was alone for the most time - the last time I went out was… that night. Amy and Ben’s party. 

My lips parted in utter shock as I replayed the night’s events, down to the moment where a certain pink haired man handed me my purse and jacket before I left. How he insisted on taking them from the clerk to hand them to me instead. 

“No way,” I dropped the AirTag back on my lap and reached for my denim jacket’s pockets. 

I erratically slid my hand into the outside pockets, looking for another of those tracking devices, realizing that I had taken both my purse and jacket to work. Back home. To my favorite bookstore, to Amy’s. Everywhere. 

When I thought I had been paranoid for nothing, my fingers brushed a cold, flat surface in the inner hidden pocket. Slowly, as if it was about to explode, I took out the second AirTag and laid both in my sweaty palm.

Two small disks. One for each of the psychopaths who had saved me from Brad four nights ago. I stared at them, frozen when one started beeping. 

“Okay, one soy milk matcha for you and two shots of espresso for me,” Amy chimed in as I closed my hand over the two tracking devices that felt like they were burning through my palm. “Oh and you would never guess who I saw in the line! I told him to join us, he asked us about you a lot since the party.”

“Amy… tell me you didn’t,” I closed my eyes as one of the AirTags buzzed in my closed hand.

“Of course I did,” she leaned in over the table and whisper-yelled at me. “He’s hot and he’s obviously into you. I’m not asking you to marry the guy, but at least take him as your date to the wedding,” she scolded me.

“He’s a psycho-” I whisper-yelled back at her before a large, warm hand landed on my shoulder. 

“Ladies,” he purred. “I hope I’m not interrupting, Amy,” he politely added, his hand still cupping my shoulder, sending shivers down my spine. I stared angrily at my best friend as I swatted his hand away.

“Definitely not. Have a seat,” she invited him with a bright smile, collecting some of the papers on the free side of our table. 

“If you insist then,” he smirked as he walked from behind me, his long legs swaying past before he pulled a chair and gracefully sat down. 

To my dismay, he looked even better than how I remembered him. The messy pink hair, the perfectly fitted navy blue suit and the white shirt open at the collar, showing off some of the lines on his chest. The. Damn. Smirk. I squeezed the AirTags in my hand as he rested his elbows on the table and his head on his closed fist. 

“How have you been doing, Elle?” He asked ever so politely, closing his trap around my best friend to get her in his good graces.

“Wonderful,” I replied dryly, reaching for my cup and taking a sip of the pale green drink. 

“You left so abruptly the other night,” he shrugged, sitting back in his chair, his knee touching mine. I crossed my leg away from his. “I didn’t mean to scare you away,” I huffed.

“Sure thing,” I nodded, avoiding his piercing reddish brown eyes. 

“Forgive her, Sukuna,” Amy joined in, sitting back as well. “She’s just grumpy cause the wedding is in a week and she still doesn’t have a date,” she playfully smirked at me. 

“Don’t you dare, Ames,” I said, gritting my teeth.

“What? I’m just helping you out here,” she raised her hands as Sukuna observed us like we were the most amusing thing he’d seen in ages. Amy nodded at the pink haired man. “According to Ben, you’re coming alone as well?” she asked him and he nodded, the trap closing again. “I think Elle would love to be your date as a way to thank you for taking care of her the other night,” she crossed her hands on the table and I instantly knew I had lost.

Because if that’s what she wanted, then I’d do it. For her. My shoulders sagged in defeat as I looked over at Sukuna, not even concealing his triumphant joy. Amy’s phone buzzed on the table and she excused herself, needing to take that call from her wedding planner. The next second, I was alone with my date. 

“Should I take you dress shopping then?” He raised his eyebrows playfully. 

“I already have a dress, thank you very much,” I replied, replacing the mug on the table. “I’m doing this for Amy, don’t get your hopes up here,” before he could add anything, I dropped the AirTags on the table in front of him. “What the fuck is that?” I asked angrily.

However, he didn’t say a thing - but his growing smirk only confirmed what I already knew. These were his and Toji’s. No doubt about that. I slid them closer to him.

“At least own your shit, you psycho,” I spat just as angrily. But he only kept staring at me.

“What color is it?” He simply asked, his smile fading slightly.

“What?” I frowned, confused by the random question.

“Your dress, for Amy and Ben’s wedding,” he sighed, annoyed and almost… bored? “What color is it? I need to know how to match our outfits,” he casually added, readjusting his cufflinks. I stared at him for a second.

“Sea green,” I simply said, watching him nod it off before he fished out his phone and dialed a number. The next second, my phone rang.

“There, you have my number too now,” he hung up and put his phone back in his jacket then stood up, buttoning it. His large hand collected the AirTags on the table. “I got everything I need, no need for those anymore,” he smirked and I almost slapped the shit out of him.

In less than a week, this psycho had saved me from a lifelong creep only to replace him. Manipulated my best friend to get closer to me, stalked me and slithered like a snake in my life. At this point, I considered changing the locks and changing my number. But somehow I knew that he wouldn’t let go, not until he got what he truly wanted, which was still the big question.

“Why are you doing this?” I looked up at him as he put his chair away, the picture of a gentleman. “I’m sure there are lots of women who’d be more than happy to entertain you,” I watched as he leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“Because challenges are way more entertaining,” his hand brushed my hair to the side of my neck. “Your love and devotion will only taste sweeter once you willingly offer both to me,” his lips were so close to my ear. I swallowed the knot in my throat and turned my head to face him. 

“It’s never happening, once the wedding is over, I’m done with you,” his face was mere inches from mine, his hand still at the back of my neck, his thumb brushing my skin. 

“I’m patient, extremely stubborn…” he suddenly twirled a strand of my hair from the back of my hand around his fingers and gently tugged on it, tilting my head back. “And you will eventually give in, those are facts.”

“Fuck you,” I breathed before his mouth descended on my cheek, awfully close to the corner of my lips and he planted a soft kiss there, keeping me in place thanks to that strand of hair. 

“Soon, I promise,” he winked at me before eventually letting go of my hair and leaving the coffee shop.

My heart was about to break free from my chest from beating so hard. I was convinced that the entire shop had seen something so obscene when it was barely a kiss. I was the only one who had felt it as a deeply overwhelming gesture, something that meant more than an innocent peck on the cheek.

Amy eventually came back and had to cut our afternoon short to pick up something from Ben. She offered to drop me home but I needed to clear my head by walking until my feet hurt. 

It wasn’t until much later, when I got back home after locking the door and checking it twice, that I allowed myself to freak out as I took the two AirTags from my jacket’s pocket and placed them side to side on top of my bed. 

Taglist ♥ @sweetlandspos @tojislittleprincesss @paradisestarfishh @unheavenlypacked

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