#I crave them so send them my way lol

[bratbarzal]

Let It Happen (LH43) 1/3

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 17k

If you're ready, all I mean is we could go, I've never craved someone's attention as much as yours.

General Warnings: an almost unbearable amount of sarcasm and snark, even more idiotic shenanigans, many affectionate empty threats of murder/violence, fluff, mentions of golf 🤢, cursing and I'm pretty sure that's it for this half

A/N: in line with the general consensus lmao this has been split, part two will be posted as soon as it's finished (lol) but it's best read as one whole fic, it isn't a multi-part situation really!! it was originally supposed to be my submission for the eras tour fic challenge (hence the graphic I'm too attached to to change) but took a different direction to the song I was given, and I missed the deadline, and I pretty much listened to the secret of us exclusively while writing this whole thing. also dropping an overwhelmingly summery fic in december might actually be my brand. keep your eyes peeled for a christmas fic in july.

very special shoutout to shea @sleepretreat I made a random comment one day that luke gives seth cohen energy, and she fanned that flame like a full time job. ily shea!! I hope this lives up to any expectations and I owe a lot to your instigating!!

AS ALWAYS!!! never proofread!! I'll probably get around to it when the thought of a spelling mistake keeps me awake at night. and also!! please let me know what you think I am like a teeny tiny little plant that can only thrive under the constant shower of validation and you don't want me to wither and die do you? (I’m kidding) (I’m not)

You kind of, sort of, think you might hate summer.

You haven’t always felt this way, though. Growing up, it had always been your favourite time of the year. 

No school? Check.

Going on vacation, sometimes multiple, all expenses covered by your parents? Double check.

Getting to do all the cool things you don’t have time for in the school year with all your friends? Concerts, festivals, beach days, bonfires on the evenings. Check, check and check again.

But 4 years ago, your whole world as you knew it was torn apart, and summers have never been the same, since.

A season that was once filled with light and companionship, never ending plans and joviality, became darker - isolated, getting yourself out of the house even if everyone else was busy, driving just to drive and making the best of your own company. 

School ended up becoming your escape, especially since you had started college - your studies and the chaos of Greek life distracting you from the calamitous state of your home life, making new friends that became like family and sticking to them like glue, where possible, clingy and possessive to the point of ruin, almost - and so the lack of it in the summers now actually sends you into some sort of warped spiral.

It’s manageable in the winter and spring, the breaks no longer than a few weeks at a time, but going home for summer is somewhat of a nightmare.

It’s hard to go back, hard to ignore the mess your mind has become when it’s just you and your mother - or, you, your mother and whatever bottle of pinot she’s 3 glasses deep into at any given time of the day - and you’re sat in a house that’s a cold reminder of the warmth that once filled it. 

But when Ellie - your best friend since moving to college, the girl who took the sister part of sorority sister to the next level at all possible opportunities over the years - found out you’d put your name down to be the caretaker for your sorority house instead of going home, she had put her foot down on your summertime sadness session.

Which is how you end up moving into her family home - spending the first few weeks integrating yourself into their routine while trying to grip desperately onto some form of your own - trying not to get too used to the feeling of such a big family when you know it won’t be forever.

You braid her little sister’s hair everyday, kick a soccer ball around with her little brother when he needs someone to stand in goal, wash the dishes with her mom, talk sports with her dad, and before long, you blend like a chameleon into their dynamic.

You pick up a summer job at the country club to cling back onto your independence. Your commute provides the solitude and quiet you‘ve grown accustomed to in the years before, a bus journey through town with headphones on, watching the scenery and admiring the greenery until you get to work, donning your navy blue polo and tucking your little notepad into your hip apron as you serve tables at the clubhouse restaurant and bar. 

It’s a much needed escape from Ellie, if you’re honest.

You love that girl with all your heart, appreciate her housing you more than you’ll ever be able to say, but if you have to hear her sit and mope about how hopelessly in love she is with Jack Hughes for even a second longer, you’re going to vomit. Or scream. Or both.

Jack and Ellie grew up together - their families close, Ellie’s dad best friends with Jack’s uncle, or something - and she’s been into him since he had teeth missing - a point she loves to hammer home when it comes to you always listing that as one of his (many, if it’s up to you) cons. Considering his job, and the fact he already lost one, not too long ago, a toothless boyfriend seems like a massive ick, if you’re honest. 

But Ellie is beyond reason when it comes to him. She worships the ground he walks on - talks about him non-stop, messages him every day, regales you with stories you, awfully, but realistically, couldn’t care less about - and it’s the only real problem about living with her.

Even beyond the summer, you two had shared a room your first two years in college, still live in the same house - and it’s a year round problem.

But being unable to escape, having your days tied to close to hers, and knowing that it’s bound to be worse with proximity, Jack back in Michigan for the summer, himself, she’s starting to drive you up the wall.

It wouldn’t bother you if you had never met Jack, but the two of you don’t exactly get along. He’s rude, and self-absorbed, and had looked down on you the first time he ever laid eyes on you, and you really shouldn’t let it get to you, but you do - the thought that your best friend is in love with an asshole, and that she won’t let you hear the end of it. 

Won’t stop whining about how he’ll never feel the same, or that she can’t handle another summer of biting her tongue, of being around him, feeling the way she does, and not being able to do anything about it.

She deserves better. 

Ellie has a heart of gold, and she deserves someone who handles it with care. If Jack Hughes doesn’t like her back, that’s his loss - but you’re kind of getting sick of telling her that.

Getting through a whole summer of it is going to be hard, you think, but it’s better than the alternative. Better than being entirely alone. So you put on a brave face, use work as your escape in the same way you usually do with school, and avoid blowing your top for as long as you can, suffering through the late nights and heart to hearts where Jack is the sole topic of discussion, and bask in the good stuff.

In the chaos of her siblings, in the closeness of her family, and the way they’ve welcomed you with open arms.

This summer could be okay, you’ve just got to give it a chance. 

Luke Hughes loves summer.

He loves being back home in Michigan, spending his days out on the lake, or making the trip out to parade around Ann Arbor, catching up with all his college buddies, making the rounds at all the UMich sporting events he now gets a VIP pass to thanks to his last name.

The routine of it all is familiar, and warming, and it restores a sense of normality that playing in the NHL for the past year has so brutally ripped from him, already. 

He had enjoyed starting his summer overseas - making the team for the world championships and competing beyond the abysmal end to his rookie season - had enjoyed the time away from his brothers, if he’s honest. Quinn and the Canucks making it a few rounds into the playoffs, and Jack back home recovering from getting surgery on his shoulder - and it’s the latter he needed the reprieve from.

He does love living with his brother.

Jack looks after him in ways he’ll never really be able to make it up to him for. He always has, Quinn has too, but ever since Luke got drafted to the Devils, Jack has helped him adjust to the chaos of his career without much fuss or hardship.

And he really is grateful for that.

But, God, can he be annoying.

Especially when it comes to his infatuation with his best friend, Ellie.

Jack and Ellie have always been close - despite the fact she’s Luke’s age - and grew up thick as thieves, spending summers together, especially when the family moved to Michigan, and Ellie’s family were just on the other side of town. 

He’s always been obsessed with her, even if it hasn’t always been love - but these last few years have been different. Like a switch flipped in his head when Jack saw what Ellie was like when he came to visit Luke in his freshman year of college.

A version of Ellie that was no longer just his - no longer exclusive to their summer bubble, and lived in a world beyond lounging by the lake and hanging out with the Hughes family.

A version of Ellie who liked partying, liked schmoozing and charming everybody she came into contact with, liked being the centre of everyone else’s attention, not just Jack’s.

And it’s that version of Ellie that has driven Luke’s brother crazy, which has, in turn, started to drive Luke crazy. He talks about her non-stop, and it was those much needed weeks away in Czechia that almost had Luke forgetting just how stupid his brother has gotten about the whole thing.

Until he came home to Michigan, and Jack, in all the commotion with his shoulder, with ending his season early and starting his summer off alone, has worked himself into such a stupor about the whole thing that merely a week into his return, he has driven Luke up the wall. 

He’s grumpy, all the time - which leads to him being snarky, all the time. He huffs and puffs around the house so much Luke is starting to think he might need an inhaler, and he really can’t take any more.

Not when he’s making such a show of his irritation, stomping around with heavy feet and slamming doors that don’t need to be shut in the first place. 

“What crawled up your ass and died there?” Luke frowns as he follows Jack into the kitchen upon his return from therapy, holding out for the doors he swings open with a little too much vigour so that they don’t swing back into his brother’s slinged-shoulder. “I thought the physio is going alright?”

“It is,” Jack huffs, storming over to the fridge and yanking it open, the jars and bottles in the door clanking together in a way that makes Luke cringe. “I’m fine.”

“Tell that to all the hinges you’re testing the limits of.” 

“Don’t start with me, Luke, I’m not in the mood.”

“You just said you’re fine.” Luke rolls his eyes as he starts to scroll through his group chat with his friends from college, trying to check who said they might be free today to get him out of this vicious circle.

“It’s nothing.”

“Clearly not.” It’s interactions like this that confirm to Luke just how annoying Jack has become - because what reason does he have to be so evasive? Luke is handing him the opportunity to air out his grievances on a silver platter, and he’s rather slam cupboards and create creases in his forehead from frowning 24/7.

“Fine, it’s Ellie.”

Luke wishes he never bothered asking, although he has been wondering why he’s been seeing way less of her already this summer. He had figured Ellie was away with family until he saw her at the gas station the other night - had watched from the car as Jack had what seemed like a heated conversation by the entrance. 

“She’s refusing to hang out with me.”

“Has she said why?” Luke asks, although he doesn’t really care. He’s just asking to get it out of the way in the hopes that Jack talking about it might lighten the load, might make his own life a little easier. 

It’s the bitter muttering of your name that captures Luke’s full attention, his neck audibly cracking at the speed in which his head shoots up, no longer caring what could possibly be going on with the boys in the group chat. 

“She isn’t going back to whatever fiery hell pit it is that she comes from for the summer, and she’s staying with Ellie’s family, therefore Ellie isn’t staying with us.”

Luke hasn’t heard your name in a while. Not since he left college last year, not since he got caught up in the whirlwind life in the NHL, when a schoolboy crush on a girl he interacted with once in his entire college career became the least of his worries.

But one utterance of it has his spine straightening, just like it would have done just over a year ago.

You’re in Michigan. You’re at Ellie’s, on the other side of town. You’re barely two degrees of separation from him.

“Why can’t Ellie bring her here?” Luke asks, throat dry and voice breaking so subtly that he hopes Jack doesn’t notice. That could be fun. Would make up for the hell his brother has been putting him through since he got here. 

Maybe a little glorious sunshine might finally get you to notice his existence. He wouldn’t mind third wheeling Jack and Ellie if you were there, too. It would give him the perfect opportunity to prove he’s worthy of your attention - too shy and too scared to do so, back in college, but he’s different, now. Confident, almost. More sure of himself.

“She hates me.” Jack huffs, “Last time we met she was giving me the stink eye all night.”

And of course it would be his brother to ruin his plans, yet again. You’ll probably hate him, too - a hatred so strong for Jack that it seeps through his entire bloodline, because Luke of all people knows he can be annoying like that. 

“Trust me, she probably doesn’t care enough to hate you,” Luke scoffs, not realising the spool of information he’s just given Jack to unravel. 

“You know her?”

“We had a class together. I know of her.”

Not the truth, but not exactly a lie.

Luke knows a lot about you. It’s borderline creepy, the observations he can still remember, even after so long.

He knows you like only like coffee if it’s iced, had seen you with too many clear plastic cups to count, had watched plump lips chewing at straws by the time you had finished the drink. He had even, one time, tried to zoom in on a picture of your order printed on the side in one of his many states of delusion where he had been trying to build himself up to ask you out. 

He knows you can hold your own in an argument, had watched you debate with the best of them in your business comms class, has watched you shoot down most guys that approach you with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, and has watched you take down a frat guy or two, usually in defence of your sorority sisters - who Luke noticed you’re the most protective of. 

He knows you match your perfume to the colour of your outfit, had notice you smelled citrusy like lemons in yellow, floral like roses in pink, sweet like candy in purple, and clean like fresh cotton in blue. 

He knows the pieces of hair that frame your face curl when wet from the rain. Knows you used to volunteer at the pool on the weekends it was open to the kids of the community, would teach them how to swim. He knows you listen to Taylor Swift and has heard you humming just about every song of hers he knows.

But he doesn’t really know you - not on the level Jack is assuming, when his eyes widen and hope flashes across his crystal irises.

“You know how I’m your favourite brother?”

“No,”

“And I let you live with me all year?”

“My name’s on the lease.”

“Maybe you could talk to her for me?”

Luke sighs, shoulders heavy and eyes rolling practically to the back of his head. “I already told you, I don’t really know her like that.” 

“C’mon, you could at least try! I’m dying here, Luke! She’s hogging all of Ellie’s time, and she won’t give me the time of day if I try!”

If only Jack knew how much time you’d ever given Luke, he wouldn’t be asking him such an absurd request.

You’re so out of his league, it isn’t even funny. He probably couldn’t convince you to light a candle in a power cut, much less to give his annoying brother a shot to prove himself.

“You’re wasting your time, Jack,” Luke responds, “I’m gonna meet Dylan at the club. No, you can’t come.”

And by the time Luke makes it out to his car, he’s relieved to have ditched that conversation, entirely. He knows what’s waiting when he gets home, what his brother is going to be like for the next few months to come, but a temporary relief is all he needs.

He had already been planning on getting a few late morning holes in at the club, and meeting up with Dylan had been a white lie, needing some alone time away from Jack’s incessant whining to think about how he was going to survive the summer - and seeing you on your break, perched on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard by the clubhouse bar, basking in the sun and talking with your co-worker, he feels like he might have just struck gold.

Since when do you work here?

He supposes since you decided to spend your summer with Ellie’s family - it only makes sense. Ellie doesn’t live too far from the club - not as close as the lake house, but closer than Ann Arbor, at least. She’d worked in the club shop last summer, even when Jack insisted he’d pay for whatever she needed while she was staying with them - had said it was nice to pass the time with something else while they all went off doing whatever - and he assumes you’re doing the same. 

It’s the first time he’s seen you in a while, outside of coming across your pictures on his Instagram feed occasionally, or the flash of your figure in Ellie’s stories. 

He had thought that, after the year he’s had, he’d be over schoolboy crushes like this - would be over the way his breath catches just at the sight of you, over the way the hairs on the back of his neck prick up and stand to attention, over the way his throat goes dry as he watches your eyes crinkle from afar, watches your lips curve up into a heart-stopping grin.

But it’s like he’s picked up straight from where he left off at the end of his college career, pining after you from afar with hearts in his eyes and feet that start to shuffle at just the thought of approaching you.

If he’s going to do this, though, he needs to be clever about it, he thinks.

Approaching you on your break, limited to the amount of time he can use to put his point across, wasting yours, doesn’t seem like something that will work.

Which is how he finds himself bypassing you completely and walking straight into the bar, offering a friendly nod to the guy stood at the front of house, and letting him point him toward the right section to be served in. 

It isn’t long before you’re in front of him, sidling up to his booth, and he had almost forgotten how pretty you are up close. Hair clipped up with loose strands framing your face, chewing at your plump bottom lip as you scribble on your notepad to get your pen to work. And your honeyed voice settling deep in the pit of his stomach, warmth spreading throughout as you introduce yourself, like he has no clue who you are, and tell him you’ll be his server, “What can I get for you?”

“Five minutes of your time?”

The Luke that spent his college years obsessing over you might have stuttered - his voice might have broke, squeaked or choked in your presence - but while his throat does feel a little dry, he’s able to maintain his cool now, even when you look up from your scribblings to meet his eye. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he has matured.

His heart might jump in his chest, his mouth might tingle, his spine might stiffen, but he holds your gaze, hoping if you see a reflection of confidence that you might give him the time of day.

He’s seen you interact with guys before, has familiarised himself with the ten-foot walls you have in place, has seen others fold and try find a long way around, but he thinks that maybe matching your energy is the way to break through. 

Who doesn’t love a shortcut?

Your eyes narrow back at him as pouted lips form around a response, looking him up and down before tilting your head, and coming back with, “I all of a sudden feel the need to inform you we do have security here,” you point the tip of your pen to the entrance, where he was greeted on the way in. “I meant a drink.”

“Water’s fine,” his gaze flickers to the movement of your wrist as you click the other side of your pen, not even writing it down. “Maybe with a side of conversation?”

“I’ll go get your water,” you offer a smile, and the insincerity of it does little to cool his bravado, even if you head off with mutterings of why do I always get the creeps?

He watches you as you make your way over to the bar, not creep-like whatsoever, and he channels the nerves that sneak up on him, now that you’re distanced, through fiddling with his fingers on the table, pinching at the tips of them when you glance back over your shoulder, probably telling the girl behind the bar just how lucky you were to once again get the weirdo in your section.

It surprises him how little he cares, possessing more of your attention now than he ever has before, and if he could tell the Luke from two years ago, who spent every shared Principles of Marketing class ritualistically watching you chew on the end of your pen, that he’d be able to make eye contact without dribbling and breaking out into full body sweats, he’d have lost his mind.

He embodies a strange level of dislocated arrogance that manifests itself in his body language, sinking into the booth with arms outstretched across the back, a dangerous smirk teasing the corner of his mouth when you return, placing a pitcher of water down on the table and a glass with ice. 

“I’m Luke,” he tells you, placing a hand on his chest and doing his best to ignore the thudding he feels beneath it. “Hughes. Jack’s brother,” and when you look back over to him with a raised brow, he adds, “Ellie’s Jack.”

“And who’s Ellie?” You ask with a tilt of your head, your voice dripping in teasing sarcasm. 

“Funny,” he quips, biting back the urge to call you what he actually means. He can hardly call you cute, you’d probably pour that water straight over him. “I went to UMich, we had a couple classes together.”

Your eyes narrow again, and he knows it’s an intimidation tactic, a way to make him feel smaller than he’s acting, shrinking him down to a version of himself you can stamp your authority on, but he finds himself being resilient for once, carrying on like he isn’t affected.

He is. Massively, in fact. Just not in the way you probably want. Your indifference drives him in a way that presses into his spine, an inner voice pleading, notice me, I’m breaking through!

“Bauman’s class, Business Comms, you sat in the second row, I sat in the third, you dropped your pencil one time and I-,”

“I know who you are.”

So he’s been yapping on at you for no reason? Fantastic.

He can’t let his momentum slip, though, so he forces the corners of his lips into a victorious smile, and counters, “So you know I’m not a creep.”

“You literally memorised my seat in a class from 2 years ago, so…” 

“I have a good memory,” he’s quick to defend, fighting the urge to let his eyes linger on your pouted lips.

“Right,” you roll your eyes, “What is it you want, again?”

“I came to talk about Jack and Ellie.” He nods to the other side of the booth, and has to roll his shoulders so that his chest doesn’t inflate with misplaced hubris when you shuffle into the seat with a huff, discarding your notepad to the side as you level him with another raised brow.

“What about ‘em?”

“About how they’re hopelessly in love with each other and doing nothing about it.”

“You got hopeless right. What’s that got to do with us?”

Us. Oh, he likes that.

“I’m thinking they need a little shove in the right direction. And maybe we could be the shovers.”

You presses your lips together in faux-apology, a lopsided, patronising, adorable frown taking over your expression. “No can do, I don’t shove, I’m a pacifist.”

“A nudge, then?”

He isn’t giving up easy, no matter how much sarcasm you try to throw his way. You wouldn’t have sat down if there wasn’t something about this situation that irks you, too.

If Ellie is being only half as annoying as Jack is, he knows that you’re having a bad time of it. And you’re supposed to spending her summer with her - it can’t be easy, having your friend constantly pining over someone and refusing to do anything about it, if anything, making it your problem.

“Are you here to eat or annoy me?”

“Both,” he smiles, “I just figured a problem shared is a problem solved, and all.”

“How profound.” 

“C’mon, you sat down, you at least agree they’re into each other, and I know you’re staying with her this year, so I know you’ve been getting the same grief I have.”

“I’ve been on my feet 4 hours, I wouldn’t look too deep into me sitting down.” 

“Jack’s been moping around about her for years, I can’t listen to it anymore, he’s all, she’ll never like me back, this, and, I’ll never find a girl like her, that,” he whines, imitating his brother’s voice in the most annoying, high pitched tone he can muster, “I can’t take one more breakdown of her snap stories, especially not if it’s all summer if she’s not gonna be staying over, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“How supportive,” the sarcasm in your bite does little to hide the beginnings of your smile, your glare softening into what he hopes is the start of some sort of bond, a shared feeling of exasperation. Finding your footfall in common grounds.

“It’s relentless, we can’t go a single conversation anymore without him bringing her up,” he sighs, slumping into his seat, finally giving in to all the ways this is starting to grate on him. “I don’t get why neither of them do anything.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, too, relenting a little. “She talks about him so much it kind of makes me nauseous.”

“How supportive,” he mimics, nerve endings set alight when your eyes meet his over the table, and narrow in a different way, almost appreciative, almost respectable.

“Can it, Hughes,” you scoff, “Me even entertaining this conversation right now is support enough, I’ve had it in my ear for months about how she doesn’t know how she’ll make it through another summer.”

“That’s what I’m saying. If we can get them together this summer, then we’re both better off. No more whining or crying or earaches for either of us.”

“I’d hope you didn’t make your way out here with the mere promise of no more earaches, Luke.” He tries not to preen at the way you say his name. “What’s in it for me?”

“You and Ellie can stay at our lake house.” He suggests, straightening up before he leans onto the table, elbows extending so that he can rest on them, “It’s closer to the club than her family’s place, it’s gotta be better than having her siblings running around you all the time, I can even drive you to work when I’m free, if you want?”

You blink at him slowly, as if to say, and? “So I can stay at your glorified frat house, and you can be my chauffeur?” You ask with an unimpressed raise of your brow, before letting out a humourless scoff of, “What more could a girl want to do with her summer?

“What do you want?” He asks, leaning further forward.

“To go back to work and not worry about strange guys propositioning me, funnily enough.”

Luke laughs, a deep, breathy laugh that rises from the depths of his chest and comes alive in an almost-bark, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes flicker to his mouth when it comes out.

This is fun. 

There’s no way he’s letting you leave this table without agreeing - just the thought of one more singular interaction keeping him on his toes.

“Why don’t we make it interesting, then?”

“It’s about time you tried.” The quiver of your lip tells him everything he needs to know - and that’s without the entertained glint in your eye that accompanies it. You’re enjoying this, just as much.

“We could make a competition out of it.”

“A competition?” You ask, with a curious tilt of your head.

There it is, he thinks. Interest: piqued. He practically has you in the palm of his hand. Who would ever have thought, the way to a sorority girl’s heart would be a friendly little wager?

“Whoever actually gets them together, wins.”

It’s all he can think of in the moment - petulant and part-planned, but it seems to be enough.

“Wins what?” You lean onto your elbows, your gaze levelling his as he mirrors your positioning, having to slouch a little further forward in his seat to meet your pretty eyes. 

“Whatever you want.” He doesn’t intend it to come out as low as it does, doesn’t realise how close the two of you have gotten over the table, but he sees the flicker of something cross your features as your head tilts again, eyes still locked on his as yours begin to narrow, still just as pretty even when they’re glaring at him.

“It’s what you want that concerns me.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” he jibes, watching the way your lips part in preparation of another witty comeback. “What do you say?” He asks, not giving you the chance, seeing the way it makes your skin crawl that you weren’t quick enough, for once. “Are you in?”

You heave out a sigh, shoulders slumping - a tell-tale sign that you’re about to acquiesce - and Luke starts to feel his chest puff out in victory. This feels like a shut-out. It feels like the best performance of his life. 

“You’re gonna make me regret this, aren’t you?”

“Oh definitely,” he smirks, eyes tracking you as you lean back into the booth, retreating from him in defeat, a hand running through your hair as he promises, “You’ll warm up to me soon enough, though.”

“I can’t see that happening.”

“I can,” he shrugs, leaning back too. “I’ve been told I’m inevitable.”

Luke can remember, like it was yesterday, the first time he ever saw you.

Freshman year, the week he moved into his dorm at Michigan, Jack had sent him across campus to check in on how Ellie was getting on. He had arrived with some extravagant gift basket in tow, plastic wrapped, a giant blue bow tied around the top and an assortment of snacks inside, and was left knocking for at least five minutes before you showed up.

“Please tell me you’re not another stripper-gram.”

If his throat hadn’t gone so dry all of a sudden, he thinks he would have had more wits about him to have questioned the use of another - a concept that had stuck in his head for weeks until he caught wind of a story of pledges for Pike being sent around campus and forced to lure girls to their house through way of humiliating song. 

But God, you were pretty. 

Siren eyes narrowed toward him, glossy lips pouted pensively, long lashes blinking impatiently as you awaited some kind of response that didn’t come in the form of an open, drooling mouth.

“I’m Luke.”

“Right.” You had sighed, pretty eyes rolling at him. “You’re blocking my door."

“Oh, I’m-,” he stuttered, immediately stepping to the side for you to come forward and insert your key into the lock. “Does Ellie live here?” He asked, confusion etched into his features as he watched you swing the door open, turning in your place to look him over again.

“Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m Luke.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I know her.”

“Clearly.”

“This is her basket.”

“Does she need to sign for it?”

“No, I-,”

“I’ll make sure she gets it, thanks, Lu!”

And when you had taken the basket from his hands, he had been too distracted by the way your skin brushed against his to properly respond, or worry if you had called him that as a nickname or had already forgotten his name, entirely.

He then spent days thinking about you, looking for you - at parties, in the campus coffee shop, online, despite not knowing your name - trying to commit to memory the way your eyes had sparkled when looking his way, until his first Business Communications class.

He had been a little early, first week nerves playing out and his constant craving for positive validation coming to the forefront, and was watching the door waiting for the professor to arrive. He had been slouched in his seat, chin in the palm of his hand, foot tapping rhythmically against the floor, and he had almost given himself whiplash when you walked in. 

He learned your name from there, learned a lot just from watching you in that class, but never really captured your attention.

And if the Luke that has been driving you to work every few days, who has been living with you for the past two weeks - who sits around the same dining table, laughs at the same jokes cracked when you’re all lounging around the house, sits out under the same sun, drinks from the same carton of orange juice in the morning - could tell the Luke that sat pining after you all that time, all the little ways in which he’s captured your attention lately, he’d probably have an aneurysm. 

When you and Ellie moved in, Luke had been the only one allowed to touch your stuff - and there’s a part of him that knows it was mainly because you enjoyed watching him work like a packhorse, hauling your cases up the stairs and dropping them in front of you with a huff, but there’s a larger, more delusional part that thinks you preferred him to the others, maybe even trusted him.

He’s taking credit for how quick you’ve adapted to the dynamic of the house, too. Of all the different faces coming in and out - Quinn’s friends, Jack’s friends, his friends, sometimes even his parents. If you’re around, you’re pleasant. You abide by house rules, some of them stupid, but set by the brothers so long ago that they just work now - like no phones outside of your rooms so that you can be more present. You insert yourself comfortably into conversations, you form your own relationships with everyone - you and Quinn trade book recommendations, you and Jack bicker while Ellie mediates. You do your fare share of chores - laundry, dishes, cooking, even. 

And he’s so caught up in just sharing space, just being around you, even, that for those first couple weeks, he forgets why you even agreed to be there in the first place.

At least, he forgets the incentive part - because he watches mindlessly as you interfere in Jack and Ellie’s dynamic, without a care in the world for the fact that it means he’s losing.

He watches you push one of them out of the way to claim whatever seat at the table or in the car forces them to sit beside each other. He watches you taunt Jack to just the right point where Ellie interferes, coos at him protectively and he melts into her affections. He watches you agree to plans he knows you wouldn’t in a million years follow along with, just to get them together - and all he can do is admire how easy you make it seem. 

He admires when you come out wakeboarding with the group, when you let him fasten you into a vest and don’t flinch when his fingertips brush against bare skin. Watches you bite your tongue over the fact you just got your hair blow dried - a fact you have no problems relaying back to him when he drives you to work the next day, and you’re muttering in his passenger seat about lake water giving you frizz - just so you’re not dampening the mood.

And when you agree to tag along to the golf course on your day off, despite the fact it’s so close to work if could be considered triggering, and you stick by Luke’s side so that Ellie can feign some sort of incompetence until Jack takes it upon himself to correct her form.

You stand by Luke’s side, the two of you watching with mirrored expressions of almost-disgust as Jack wraps his arms around Ellie’s body, and send a shiver down his spine when you lean in for only him to hear as you say, “I’d ask if you’ve put any more thought into what you want out of our bet, but I so have this in the bag.”

The bet.

Luke hasn’t thought about it since that day in the restaurant, if he’s honest, but he had known what he wanted then.

He’s hardly going to tell you, now, though. 

If he’s ever going to take you out on a date, he doesn’t really want to force your hand - not that he has a chance, he’s fallen so behind with this Jack and Ellie thing that it isn’t even funny.

He needs to up his game, if only for the fact that you’ll no doubt catch on to his lack of efforts, soon.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he taunts, because it’s what he does best, “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“And how long do you plan on keeping them up there?” You call him out so easily, tilting your head when his eyes meet yours, mischief highlighted by the sunshine that speckles in your irises. 

“Maybe I’m luring you into a false sense of security,” he shrugs, “Maybe I’m letting you do all the heavy lifting so I can swoop in when those weak arms get tired.” He pokes at your side, basking in the way you scowl like you pertain any sort of threat to him.

He has you figured out, by now. 

“I didn’t have you pegged as being lazy, Hughes.”

“You spend a lot of time thinking about me, huh?”

“You wish,” you scoff, shoving when he dares to get too close, and it’s when Luke is biting back a full-blown grin that Ellie comes back over. 

“This sun is crazy, I think I left the sunscreen in the locker room and Jack’s nose is going all red, would you come back with me?”

You smile sweetly at your best friend and agree, only glaring at Luke over Ellie’s shoulder when she’s distracted with saying her brief, temporary goodbyes to Jack, and once you’ve turned and made your way over to the cart, he lets his eyes linger on your figure as you retreat.

The soft sway of your ponytail, the expanse of smooth skin along your legs, he’s completely hypnotised, and he needs to pull himself together, he thinks.

He tries to regain focus as he and Jack work their way through the next couple of holes, caddying their clubs around without the cart, and chatting mindlessly until Jack sighs heavily, like he’s been waiting to bring something up.

“I want to take Ellie out on the boat tomorrow,” He states as Luke tees up, resting on his club as he squints against the sun to watch his little brother, “Just the two of us, so we can talk about stuff.”

“Sounds riveting,” the disinterest in Luke’s tone is amplified by the lack of attention he’s giving overall, looking out across the green and trying to measure his swing before he takes it. “Have fun.”

“I was thinking I’d need your help for it to work.”

“I’m not being your boat-butler again,” Luke scoffs, mind immediately going to all the times their parents would make Jack take Luke out with him and his friends, and all the times he was made to wait on his older brother hand and foot to make up for crashing his hang-outs.

“I’m not asking you to tag along,” Jack scoffs, “You third-wheeling would be the ultimate buzz-kill. I thought you could be of use elsewhere.”

“You’re making whatever it is sound so fun.” 

Luke takes his swing, driving the ball and watching it soar to his desired point with a hand shielding his eyes from the sun. Jack watches too, stepping to Luke’s side to measure how far from his own ball it lands.

“Nice,” he mutters appreciatively as the two of them load their clubs into their stand bags. “I need you to keep Regina George busy, distract her or something, she’s stuck to Ellie like glue, it’s beyond annoying.”

If only he knew, Luke thinks, a worry in the back of his mind about how his brother owes more to you than he even realises. 

“You worried she’s gonna make her see sense?”

Jack swats at his arm and rolls his eyes.

“I’m worried she’s gonna ruin the good vibes like she usually does and I won’t be able to bite my tongue from saying something and looking like the asshole.”

Distracting you isn’t the worst thing he could be doing with his time, Luke thinks. It’s not like he has to go all out, you’ll no doubt be hanging out around the house and the two of you can hang together. All he has to do is keep you off your phone. Shouldn’t be too hard. You’ve adapted pretty well to mimicking the guys when it comes to staying off theirs.

It ticks off the box of trying to fight for a scrap of your attention. With no one else around, you’ll have no choice but to entertain his company.

And it puts him in front of your little race - lending a helping hand to Jack’s plans to talk to Ellie is surely the same as getting them together. It’s all falling so perfectly into his lap. He isn’t being lazy.

But he can’t let Jack know that, so he heaves out a sigh and offers a slow shake of his head for dramatic effect. “Fine,” he groans, “But you owe me. Big time.”

You’re starting to find it harder and harder to pretend like you don’t want to be at the Lake House.

If you’re being honest, you don’t entirely know why you’re even trying to keep up pretences, but using your disinterest as armour has become like second nature over the years, and you’re hardly going to stop now.

Even if there are already so many little things about being there that are starting to wear you down.

Quiet, early mornings, for one - birds chirping just outside your open window, sun rays pouring in through sheer curtains that flow in the slight breeze, that light feeling that blows through your chest when you’re sat out on the deck behind the house with a fresh cup of coffee, looking out over the still lake and basking in the peace of it all.

And even when it’s not so peaceful, when the kitchen is full of bodies swerving around each other to try and throw together some sort of breakfast spread - pastries and fruit, bacon and eggs, various boxes of cereal on the counter. Quinn had even made a whole batch of pancakes one morning, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t come down every day since hoping to see him donning that same frilly apron that Cole had draped around his waist and working his magic with a pan. 

You’ve never really been a part of such a full house. You had been an only child for so long - and by the time your parents split, and it was just you and your mom, on the days she wasn’t already at work when you got up - and were so ingrained in your own routine in the morning that you think you might actually need the chaos to function better. The rush of bodies, the arguments over who drank the last of the juice, the bickering over who’s turn it is to do the next grocery run - it’s a kind of entertainment you haven’t been privy to in a long time. 

Being kind of disconnected from everything else isn’t as bad as you thought it would be, either. You’re not attached to your phone, checking socials to see what everyone else is doing, to see if your dad has sent any messages yet this summer, and you find yourself connecting a little more with the people around you and leaving your family stress on the back burner. You’re more focused on what’s in front of you, and your relationships with other people. With Ellie, with some of the guys in the house, with your friends at work, even.

And it’s nice to be closer to work too. You don’t have to rush around trying to make the bus - Luke has been keeping his word and driving you to the club most days, and where he can’t, either somebody else has offered, or you’ve just ridden one of the bikes in the garage that the boys said were free to use - the helmet hair is an easy fix when you have access to the locker rooms.

It’s an adjustment, for sure, getting used to being in a full house. Especially this one - with a constant revolving door of faces, friends of the brothers switching out week by week to come and stay, departing just as you’ve started getting to know them with a promise of dropping by again soon.

So far, you’re almost at double-digits for the names you’ve had to memorise. Some of them you were already familiar with, guys from Michigan who you already knew or knew of, but others were more Jack or Quinn’s friends that you’d never had the pleasure of meeting before now.

Cole Caufield being one of them. 

He had arrived a couple of days after you and Ellie moved yourselves in, closer to Jack than the other two brothers, you had noticed, and was going to be staying longer than any of the other visitors - having his own designated room in the house, similar to you girls.

You like Cole - he’s good fun, can take a joke unlike his supposed best friend, and has the kind of smile that almost gives you a buzz whenever it’s flashed your way. Your first few interactions with him were seemingly pleasant, despite Jack constantly in his ear with a hardened glare pointed your way and no doubt unsavoury words uttered. Cole would just shrug him off, laugh, meet your eyes and drop a wink your way - a gesture you’d usually squirm and cringe at, but Cole kind of pulls it off. 

He joins in when you chirp Luke, too - which, if your honest, is your main source of entertainment since arriving, so your interactions with him grow day by day.

You haven’t really spent any one-on-one time with Cole yet, though. You were hoping to, before he left to visit home for the weekend - for no other reason than to get the scoop on something you’d happened upon at work last week - and had planned on asking him to hang out on your day off. But with Cole now gone for a few days, Jack and Ellie off doing god knows what, Quinn and Luke working out wherever, you have no choice but to spend your free Sunday lounging around the house, trying to find something to suppress your growing boredom.

You start with your nails, painting them a summery orangey-red and doing your toes to match, then do your laundry, abiding by house rules that you rotate the loads between the machines, and fold out whoever’s clothes were last in the dryer and place them in the hamper on the side. 

You’re hoping you haven’t had to fold Jack’s underwear but you decide to live in blissful ignorance - trying to identify the load based on the rest of the clothing in there is impossible when they all share, so it kind of works in your favour. 

You FaceTime your mom for almost an hour, getting an update on what she’s been up to with work, and giving her updates on how your summer is going, trying to focus on your time at the club and Ellie so she doesn’t worry too much again that you’re spending your summer in a house filled with boys. 

And by the time Luke and Quinn come back from their workout, you’re in the lounge, 50 pages deep into a book you really couldn’t care less about, but there’s something in you that refuses to beg one of them for company, so you suffer in silence.

Even when Luke does join you, throwing himself down onto the opposite side of the couch you’re occupying and pushing your feet off his side like it’s his sole purpose just to annoy you.

“I was comfortable there, asshat,” you frown, lifting your feet back into their previous position and using one to give him a light kick to his thigh.

“Yeah, well, I hardly want your feet all up in my business while I’m trying to relax,” he sighs, sinking into the cushions with hands clasped behind his head, biceps flexing and tightening the arms of his t-shirt in a way that momentarily catches your eye. You’re thankful for his closed eyes, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you divert your attention back to the mundane words on the pages in front of you.

“And yet here you are when there are 2 other couches.”

“Yeah, well, I know how much you like to be near me.”

You try to ignore him, pulling your feet a little closer to your body and focusing back on the book, but it’s hard when Luke has such a presence. You feel the little looks he keeps sending your way like a physical touch, and the couch shifts with every slight movement he makes, so when he constantly shuffles, you start to think he wants your attention.

Of course he wants your attention. This is Luke Hughes.

“Are you just sitting down here to annoy me?”

He lights up, like he’s just been waiting for you to ask, and shuffles in his seat to face you, fully, bouncing in place like a puppy being teased with a tennis ball. 

“I’m actually trying to distract you, if you must know.”

“Bold of you to assume you have enough of my attention to be distracting in the first place,” you scoff, trying not to react to the way he smirks in your peripheral, the words in front of you all blurring together. If you were actually focused on them, you’d have lost your place, already.

“I think you pay more attention to me than you’d like to admit.”

“That’s some ego you’ve got on you, Hughes,” you narrow your eyes as you look above the edge of your book, “Is that what you spend that big NHL paycheque on, charisma classes? How to flirt for dummies?”

“Oh, is that what we’re doing? Flirting?”

Damn. You walked yourself right into that one. 

Sometimes biting back at Luke comes like second nature, words first, thoughts after - and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it that way. It’s easy, the back and forth, and you can’t really think of an instance with him where you’ve sat in a lingering, awkward silence. You’ve really grown to hate silence, lately.

“You wish.”

“You think I’m charismatic,” he teases in a sing-song voice, knocking at your knee and wiggling his eyebrows when you glare at him. 

“I think you’re an idiot.”

“You’re not gonna ask what I’m distracting you from?”

“I don’t really care,” you lie, eyes darting back down and diverting the attention he so desperately craves away from him.

“Jack wanted to take Ellie out on the boat.” He says, ignoring your attempts to ignore him - pushing your buttons like a full time job. Like an operator for your last nerve.

“Good for her.”

“Alone.”

“No shit.”

“To ask her out.”

“Whoop-de-doo.”

“Whoop-de-,” Luke straightens up, like a whack-a-mole with his head positioning itself over the top of your book, and you kind of wish you had one of those soft mallets right about now. It would be so satisfying to bonk at his head, you think. “What do you mean, whoop-de-doo, is this not what you agreed to be here for? To get them together?”

You scoff, flicking to the next page of the book in feigned disinterest. “He isn’t asking her out today.”

This is the exact something you had wanted to talk to Cole about - whispers in the staff lounge at work earlier in the week doing the rounds would imply otherwise, but your main source is kind of a gossip, and you’re not entirely sure of their reliability, despite the few degrees of separation to the subject at hand. 

Mutterings of Jack and Cole and their little country club connections. 

You can hardly ask Luke of all people if his brother is as much of a man-whore as everyone is making out. Cole was a safe bet - he’d probably just tell you straight up what they’re up to, wear his pride like a shining gold medal. He’s upfront about his promiscuity, at least. Luke is more protective. Of himself, of his family, you’re not entirely sure. There haven’t been as many whispers about him. 

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because he’s a spineless idiot,” you retort, eyes flicking up momentarily to take in his furrowed brow. “No offence,” comes out of nowhere, and you surprise yourself with the instinct to lessen the blow of your words for the first time in forever.

“None taken, he’s only my flesh and blood,” Luke huffs, “You’re just jealous I’m winning our bet.”

“Sure,” you drawl, eyes widening to emphasise the sarcasm as you make a point of angling your head to the next page, like you’ve taken a single word in for the past five minutes. “He’s been talking to one of the girls from work. There’s no way he’s doing that and asking Ellie out, unless he’s completely brain dead.”

And when you look back at Luke, that furrowed brow has shifted into a full blown frown, pouted lips and eyes cast down as if he’s trying to figure everything out in his head. 

It’s probably the pout that has you cushioning your words, once more.

“Again, no offence, I doubt it’s in your DNA.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m no bio student but I don’t think there’s a genetic marker for being a fuckboy.”

“No, about him talking to one of the girls at the club. He didn’t tell me that.”

Why does he have to sound like that? Let down and unsure, quieter than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s like the tone he carries goes straight to your fingers, clasping the book closed without marking your page - because what business do you have carrying on that charade?

“Do you guys tell each other everything?” You ask as you throw the book until it lands on the coffee table with a gentle thud, shuffling until you’re sat against the arm of the couch with knees bent in front of you, giving him your undivided attention and feeling guilty that it might not be enough.

“I thought we did,” he scratches at the back of his head, nervously, “He literally told me yesterday he was taking her out to talk about stuff, why would he make a point of asking me to keep you busy if he’s not serious about asking her out?”

“You don’t want to hear my answer to a question about your brother not being serious.” 

“Who’s the girl?” He asks, ignoring your comment despite the slight ghost of a smile you see flash into the corner of his mouth. 

“Jessica, she works at the pro shop, apparently they’ve been texting all summer.”

You know for a fact that since you’ve started paying attention, you’ve seen Jack on his phone a lot for a guy who chirps you for your own screen-time, and who has enforced the house rule of no phones outside your room like a prison guard yells out no touching at visitation. So it sort of checks out. You’ve tried to sneak a peak, but he’s protective of his stuff like a yappy little dog with attachment issues at the best of times, so you haven’t really put too much effort into it.

“There were a few people talking about it in the lounge at work the other day,” you shrug, “One of the girls talking about it is Jess’ best friend, so not exactly from the horse’s mouth, but I don’t think she’d be spreading lies about her friend around like that.”

“Can you find out?”

“You ask that like I haven’t been trying.” That gets a full smile, a small chuckle that lifts his shoulder, even, “I was gonna grill Caufield about it but he’s gone. But I know you guys have plans when he gets back tomorrow, so if you want to take Cole I’ll hack away at the grape vine at the club?”

“Does this mean we’re teammates?” 

“No. It absolutely does not.”

Hacking away at the grapevine is really a lot more like plucking absentmindedly at an overgrown patch of grass when it comes to workplace gossip. 

By the end of your shift, you’re leaving the club with a fist clutched full of loose blades, fingers stained green from the amount of information people were willing to ‘fess up.

Liam who works behind the bar had overheard a conversation where Jack had mentioned Jessica, but could only give you useless tidbits, like how he had to stop by the shop for a new putter, and Jess had been the one to ring him up.

Hardly incriminating, but you had a feeling it would be a small piece of a way larger puzzle. That, and guys are notoriously useless at gossiping, there’s definitely more to that story than Liam could even comprehend in his tiny man brain.

Cassidy who works at the front desk had seen Jack and Jess talking in the main lobby last week, definitely flirting, she had said - with hair flips and giggles galore - and way too familiar to be new. 

Much better.

Paola who has the alternative shifts in the pro shop was more than willing to take up ten minutes of your time ranting how Jess’ work is never fully done when it comes to a handover, and she spends half her time on her phone. Kiran, who works the bev cart every Monday, said Jack is always one of the most charming in their golfing group, so it’s no surprise if he is exchanging texts with girls from the club. 

You get dirt from most corners of the place, and it leads you all the way back to your station, to reservations set for the restaurant, where tonight’s list - unfortunately a shift you’re not set to work, although you very much question the serendipity of that - has Jack’s name down at 7pm. A table for 2 in the back corner, shielded from prying eyes and intimate.

And if it weren’t for the fact you’ve already worked a full shift, you would consider staying just to get the full scoop. 

You know Ellie isn’t going to be the one sat across from him, she’s been sending you pictures all day of her various hauls for her quiet night in. New paints and pencils, a sketchpad, some candles - she has all intentions of working on her watercolour technique.

So it has to be for him and Jessica.

Imagine his face, you think, picturing wide, panicked eyes as you roam up to his table to take his order. He’d actually crap his pants. 

But, it’s another set of eyes that you picture when you start to enjoy the scheming a little too much. The sad, teary eyes of your best friend, when she finds out the guy she’s been hung up on for half her life, who she has all but convinced herself isn’t interested, and is - absurdly - ‘far too good’ for her - yeah, right - is dating other girls while taking her out on not-so-platonic boat dates only the day before. A boat date that she had come back to your room, flung herself onto her belly on the bed, and kicked her feet as she gushed all about it. 

So you make your way back to the house after a long day, and resign yourself to the fact that you’re going to have to, yet again, get all your information on Jack’s date second hand.

You primed Cara, your colleague in the restaurant, to keep an eye out, and she promised to send updates on her breaks, and you have been holed up in yours and Ellie’s shared bedroom trying to keep her busy when there is a persistent knock at the door, and a mop of soft, curly brown hair pokes in before his eyes meet yours.

“Hey, Luke!” Ellie chimes, cheery and all too blissfully unaware of the potentially horrific circumstances you’ve stumbled upon. “You need to borrow my conditioner again?”

You scoff from your position on the bed, watching a slight pink hue flush up Luke’s neck.

“What? No,” he denies, running a hand through his hair and seemingly frowning a little at the way it feels. “I’m going to the store, wondered if either of you needed anything?”

“Nah, thanks, we’re good,” Ellie smiles, attention diverting straight back to where she’s drawing in her sketchbook, missing the way Luke widens his eyes and tilts his head as if to encourage you to take him up on his offer.

“Can I come with?” You shuffle from your position on the bed, swinging your legs out from beneath you and over the side as Ellie looks back at you.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you wanted something.”

“Someone’s got to show the poor guy what’s what on the haircare aisle, El.”

And you’re thankful that Ellie has settled herself in for the evening already by 6:45, showered, pyjamas on, otherwise she might have tried to tag along, too, just for something to do.

You swipe her phone before she can notice and hide it under your pillow before you leave, thinking it might reduce the risk of her getting bored and texting Jack, or, worse, checking his location.

A trip out gives you the chance for you and Luke to debrief each other on your findings of the day - or, as it turns out, just you, because Luke Hughes might be the worst information-gatherer on planet Earth.

Finding his life’s niche in hockey is fortunate, because he definitely wouldn’t cut it as an investigator.

“He just said he didn’t know anything,” Luke shrugs of his earlier encounter with Cole, and you try not to gape at him in disbelief as he fiddles with the screen in his BMW, scrolling through the interface in search of the nearest store. 

You swat his hand away with a scoff, typing in a destination, “And you believed him?”

“Was I not supposed to?”

“You’re about as useless as a chocolate teapot, Hughes. What is it with guys and gossip, are you all really that dumb?”

“That’s the address for the club,” he points out, ignoring your jibe as he starts driving.

“Well done, you can read.”

“Why?”

“Because, thankfully, one of us is a good detective.” You snark, “Jack’s there.”

“So?”

“He’s on a date.”

“No he isn’t,” Luke frowns, attention momentarily taken from the road as he looks over at you. “I’ve been with him all afternoon, he would have told me if he had a date, tonight.”

“Oh yeah? Where’d he say he was going when he left, earlier?”

He hadn’t been home when you got back from work, but that had been around an hour ago. You figured if he was sneaky enough to book into the restaurant when you’re not working, he’d have his wits about him to avoid you, entirely. Whenever the two of you cross paths, you can’t help but try get on his last nerve, and he’s hardly going to want to start his evening in a foul mood.

“To get his hair cut.”

Jesus Christ, you think, he’s so lucky he’s cute.

“You’re so clueless. He’s at the lounge with Jessica, the girl I told you about yesterday.”

“And what are we supposed to do about that?”

“We’re gonna supervise. And maybe interfere, if necessary.” 

You don’t really have a plan, but it seems like the right thing to at least get a look in as to what the hell Jack thinks he’s doing, especially if you’re going to carry on with this whole plan of getting him and Ellie together. If he’s seriously entertaining other girls while making out to Luke that he only has eyes for Ellie, your plans might have to change. You’re not sure if Luke will be on board with the new path you’re willing to take, but you’ll be happy to kill his brother on your own.

“Interfere?” Luke’s eyes are wide, but he keeps them on the road, fingers flexing against the wheel. “I just came out for chips to make nachos, not play spies!”

“Cara’s working tonight, she said she’d keep an eye on them for me. I bet if I cover her hosting shift on Friday she’d sabotage their date. We’d just have to sit back and watch.”

“Oh,” Luke’s brows furrow, as if it’s taking any consideration at all to mess with his brother. “You really are an evil genius.”

You try not to think too hard about who’s been spewing that rhetoric already in his ear, and instead you smile when he casts his eyes your way, proud and pleased. 

“Thank you.”

It takes another 15 minutes to get to the club, considering Luke’s best Driving Miss Daisy impression, so their date is already underway by the time Cara is ushering you to a booth in the far corner, where you can see Jack’s table, but he shouldn’t be able to see yours, and agreeing to play along.

“Can I get you guys any drinks?” She asks as she hands over two menus, and you’re too interested in trying to gauge the vibe at the other table while Luke looks over his.

“Two diet cokes, shaved ice, no lemon,” he says, and you can’t help but frown at the way the specificity of that order rolls so easily off his tongue. That’s your order.

“Any food?”

“Could we just get some nachos, please?” You ask, sliding your menu across the table without even looking, not wanting to give Luke too much of a chance to peruse his own out of fear you’ll be here all night. “And extra picante on the side.”

“Extra guac, too,” Luke adds as Cara scribbles the instructions on her notepad, “And some of those chicken tenders, and extra ranch. And maybe some fries. Yeah, chilli fries. And breadsticks.”

You level him with a glare, already proven right in your decision not to give him too much time to think about what he wanted. He’ll order every appetiser on the menu, if given half the chance. 

“Thanks, Cara, that’s everything.”

“Sure thing, should be around fifteen minutes. They only just ordered,” she points her pen back to Jack’s table, where Jess is leaning onto the table and Jack is leaning back in his seat - heavy on the distance but even heavier on the eye contact. That little shit.

“Does he have any allergies?” You lean onto your own table to ask Luke, quirking a brow up when his eyes darken in response, mischief swirling in his emerald irises.

“Absolutely not,” Cara interjects, “I’m doing this so you cover my job, not make me lose it.”

“Let me guess, he ordered the steak, medium-rare?” Luke asks, and she nods, hesitantly. “Char it.”

“Won’t he complain?”

“He’ll just grumble to himself about how tough it is. It’ll put him in a bad mood. That’s what we want, right?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding your head to ease Cara’s worries despite what you really want is for Chef Michael to poison the cut, entirely. If Jack Hughes wants to play with your best friend’s heart, you’ll play with his gut. But you can settle for burnt meat. Luke can work some sort of magic with that, you think, convincing Jack of all people that any first date that resulted in him coming home all sour-puss and sulky should never result in a second. “Bad mood. Bingo.”

“Fine,” Cara grumbles, “But if he even thinks about asking for a manager, you’re covering my next 3 Fridays.”

She storms off to the kitchen, and you and Luke simultaneously sink into your seats, attention immediately diverted back to the table in the opposite corner of the room.

“We should have kept the menus,” Luke mutters from across the booth, “Could have hidden behind them.”

“What are we, children?” You snark, “You can’t think of any more creative ways to stay hidden?”

“I heard PDA makes people pretty uncomfortable,” he leans onto the table, dropping you a wink when you glance over out of the side of your eye, “We should make out to throw everyone off the scent.”

“In your dreams, Hughes.”

Luke sort of envies the charm you hold over people.

The way you can convince people to do your bidding with a mere flutter of your eyelashes or a flash of pearly teeth and a glimmer in your irises.

He has trouble, sometimes, skirting around his honesty or hiding his intentions - and he knows that’s not a bad thing, knows that being clear and truthful is an admirable trait, if anything - but the way you persuade others to bend to your whim with intricate white lies based on observations you’ve made or intel you’ve gathered is a praiseworthy level of genius. 

It had taken such minimal effort for you to get Cara on side, to convince her that being a little clumsy is hardly grounds for her termination, and spilling a little of Jack’s drink close to the edge of the table - close enough that it drips onto his pants and Luke can see the steams of frustration exuding from his brother’s skin from all the way on the other side of the restaurant - or bumping her hip on the edge of their table every time she passes are really just harmless irritations, not likely to cause actual complaint. 

You had used the mere tone of your voice to convince Liam from behind the bar to squeeze a little lime in Jack’s water, knowing just from observing him back at the house that he hates the taste, face curling in disgust at even the slightest hint of it, and Luke had watched your eyes gleam in delight every time Jack took a sip of his drink and tried not to spit it back out, seeking much needed reprieve to swallow down the world’s toughest steak cut. 

You’d even worked your magic on him, pouting your lips when the food had arrived at the table, and he had initially declined to share his chicken tenders with you - your grumblings at him ordering enough to feed the five thousand fresh in his memory, but so easily wiped away by the soft, sad look in your eyes, and your whining of, “But I didn’t realise how hungry I’d get. Plotting and scheming is hard work, Luke.”

You ended up eating half, but he could hardly complain - you were doing the heavy lifting out of the two of you.

He was sitting back and enjoying the show - enjoying your company, if he’s honest. Enjoying the way his gangly limbs would sometimes knock into yours under the table, enjoying the way he kept getting little nuggets of information out of you while you were distracted, sipping at your coke and making little comments about yourself, about your life, without even realising you’re doing it. 

And an unplanned, pseudo date ends up being the first time he thinks he’s had a glimpse at the real you.

The you who knows more about hockey than you’ve ever let on before, who comes back to his stories with contextual questions about the game, even has references to a few games of his back at Michigan, and keeps the conversation flowing despite your feigned disinterest, and a constant gaze cast his brother’s way.

That would usually drive him crazy.

He’s experienced it so often that he has come to expect it, people only entertaining his company to acquire the attention of his brothers, but that’s not what you’re doing. Not really.

You pay more attention to Luke than you’d ever let on.

You ask him about his time in Ostrava at the beginning of summer, even though he’s only mentioned being overseas once while you’ve been staying with him - an offhanded comment from Quinn at breakfast that you must have taken on. Ask him about all the food he tried while out there, when he mentions he doesn’t like picante, and you use it as a springboard to talk about what sort of spices he does like, or if he’s the type to try things or stick to what he knows. 

You ask him about being the youngest sibling, and it stems from an offhanded comment Luke had grumbled about always being the last to be clued in on stuff, about how Jack had probably confided in Quinn about his extracurricular activities at the club, and didn’t trust him enough to let him in on the fact he’s going out on dates. You ask if he usually figures things out himself before he’s told them, if that’s what makes him so good at observing and analysing stuff, and he hadn’t ever realised he was particularly good at those things before you brought it up. But then you reference a day in class one time, where he had picked up on something in a textbook that you never would have figured out in a million years, and his heart leaps at the praise you don’t even realise you’re giving him.

You sandwich your perceptions in your usual snark, but he doesn’t miss the slight curve of your lips anymore when he bites straight back, knowing now that there is some part of you that feels the nip of his teeth, that acknowledges his existence beyond him being a speck of inconvenience in your peripheral.

And he gets a little carried away in that acknowledgement - stops paying attention himself to what is happening on the other side of the room and tries to focus on what’s in front of him; the girl he pined after his entire college career, sat sharing nachos and pretending not to know him at a level you so clearly do.

You must get carried away, too, because neither of you notice Jack’s date wrapping up until Luke catches him hand his card over to Cara.

He’s lost count of how long the two of you have been at the club, now - way longer than it takes to get chips from the store, that’s for sure - and all he does know is that if Jack catches either of you two here, after a night of mishaps, bad food, spilled drinks and Cara’s incessant clumsiness, he’ll know who’s to blame. 

“We better get out of here before he sees us,” Luke sighs, not entirely wanting to wrap up his time with you but knowing he doesn’t really have a choice.

“I’ve just got to pick something up before we head back,” you reply, edging out of the booth at the same time Luke does, “I’ll meet you out front just give me two minutes?”

“Be quick,” he tells you before you scurry off, and he flags down Cara, who tells him you already put your bill on your worker tab. He tells her to switch it to his, and that he’ll drop by tomorrow to pay it off, promising to leave her a good tip for her stellar services for the evening. 

He waits where you asked him to, making sure to stick to the side of the entryway where he can duck for cover if his brother makes an appearance - but you show up first, skipping out from the staff lounge with a bag of tortilla chips in hand.

“Let’s go, Lukey boy!” He follows you out like a puppy on a leash, all the way to where his car is parked, almost bumping into you when you stop and turn without warning, stretching your hand out to him. “Give me your keys.”

“Are you crazy?” He snorts, “You’re not driving my car!”

“I know a shortcut!” You reason, stepping forward and making a grabby motion with your fingers, “We gotta beat Jack home, I just paid another server $20 to spill a whole drink on him before he leaves and he’s gonna be pissed. I want to see the meltdown back at the house and you drive like a nun!”

Luke doesn’t know why he gives in so easy - it could be the proximity, the way you’re so close you have to look up at him, eyes twinkling softly under the moonlight, voice carrying over to him like a siren song, or it could just be because he’s weak - but he hands his keys over with a roll of his eyes and climbs into the passenger side, sliding the seat back with a huff to accommodate his long legs and watching as you adjust the driver’s side, cringing at the way he’s gonna have to figure out exactly how he had it before.

You drive like a maniac, to the point where Luke has to screw his eyes shut as you use some back road, can hear the squelch of mud beneath his tires and squirms at the thought of having to take it to the car wash, tomorrow. 

But you make it back to the lake house much quicker than if he were driving, he’ll give you that. So quick that you feel comfortable enough to turn to him once you’ve pulled up, in no rush to unbuckle and get out to get inside before Jack gets home.

“Just so we’re clear, this is a point under my name. You’re not claiming tonight as a win.”

Luke chuckles, turning in his seat to face you, features illuminated by the dim overhead light that turns on when the engine switches off and a slight flush of exhilaration to your cheeks. There’s no pretending you haven’t enjoyed yourself, not tonight. “But the steak thing was my idea?”

“If it weren’t for me, you’d be sat watching baseball and thinking he was getting a 3 hour haircut, you can’t seriously be trying to steal this from me, I thought you athletes had integrity!”

“You’re really keeping score?”

“You’re not?”

If Luke’s honest, he hasn’t really thought about your whole wager all night. He’s been too wrapped up in the idea that his brother had lied to him. Twice. And now his whole plan for the two of you all summer has potentially been messed up. But hearing you mention it, hearing you talk about it like it hasn’t been flushed down the toilet by his brother’s idiocy sparks something in him - excitement, anticipation. He doesn’t want to let this go.

“I actually think we made a good team back there,” he shrugs, eyes meeting yours to gauge your reaction to the thought of doing this together.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re gonna lose,” you retort, eyes sparkling with those same sentiments he had just felt. 

“Probably,” he acquiesces, “Also ‘cause you kind of scare me a little after tonight, last thing I wanna do is go up against you when you have the power to turn half the country club against me.”

You smirk, and his eyes are drawn to the plush curve of your lips, watching them as they form around the softly spoken words, “God forbid you can’t go a round of golf without your caddy breaking down.”

“Exactly.” He mutters back, glad to see your gaze is still zeroed in on him when he meets it again. He can feel the thump thump thump of his pulse in his ears, and takes a deep breath before proposing, “Partners?”

He cocks a brow and holds his pinky out over the centre console, and you eye the digit, sceptically, narrowing your eyes into a glare before raising them to meet his. “Fine,” you grumble, then hook your little finger through his and tighten it to shake, a slight yelp of surprise filling the car when he tugs, your lax arm giving way until your knuckle touches his lips and he kisses it.

“Ew,” you whine, snatching your finger back as he fills the space himself with a hearty chuckle, wiping it on his hoody in disgust. “That’s gross!”

“No take backs,” he smiles, victorious, with his chest puffed out, primed for you to swat at with the flex of your hand, and the two of you are only pulled out of the moment by the sound of tyres pulling up on the gravel behind you, both of you stumbling to unbuckle yourselves and climb out of the car. 

Jack is exiting his own vehicle behind, and stomps down the driveway, shouldering past you until he realises who he has passed, turning back and looking at you with suspicion cast across his features. 

“Where have you twobeen?” Jack asks, glancing a curious eye between the two of you before meeting Luke’s gaze, levelling him with an inquisitive glare.

“We went to the store for chips,” Luke holds the bag up, the crinkle loud enough for Jack to hear, and he feels an insurgence rising within him, spurred on by the way his brother is looking at him like he’s the one who should be ashamed of his actions. “Nice haircut.”

Jack runs a hand through his hair, surprise crossing his features in a brief flash at the call out, like he had never even expected Luke to notice his hair looks no different to the last time he saw him mere hours ago, like he would never even need to question his alibi.

“Oh, yeah, I got the day wrong. Went out for dinner instead.”

“On your own?” You ask from beside him, your presence giving Luke the kind of back up he very much needs right now, a new target for Jack’s narrowed eyes that takes the heat off of him a little, lessens the burden of lying to his brother - despite Jack being the one who started it, it doesn’t make Luke feel any less bad, doesn’t quell the need to word vomit and admit to all the ludicrous things he had done to ruin Jack’s night. “You end up having a little accident there, bud?”

Luke tries not to outwardly laugh as his attention is diverted to the wet patch that still soaks up the front of Jack’s pants, lips quivering as he presses them together, oblivious to the steam pouring out of his brother’s ears as he immediately gets riled up. 

“One of your esteemed colleagues at the club apparently lacks hand eye co-ordination. Plus, some of us like our own company,” Jack scoffs, “Some of us can go an evening without the need to annoy anybody else.”

“It’s not news to me that you’re in love with yourself, dude,” you retort back, entirely unbothered by his jibes. “Bet you’ve got all sorts of riveting thoughts swirling around that ginormous head of yours, must keep you busy for hours on end.”

“At least I have thoughts, at least I’m not some airheaded-,”

“Hey,” Luke’s tone is authoritative when he calls out, stern and demanding, “Cut it out, Jack.”

“She started it!”

“She asked you a question,” Luke frowns, disappointed with how quick his brother had taken to escalating the situation, all in an attempt to deflect the attention from his own deception. He knows you don’t need him to protect you from Jack’s sharp tongue, knows you can very much defend yourself, but he needs to vent his frustrations, somehow, without causing a bust up on the driveway. “You could have just give her a straight answer without biting her head off.”

He feels like you’re a little closer, all of a sudden, and he doesn’t know it’s the slight brush of your arm against his or if it’s something else, something less tangible - but it warms him, all the same. Steadies the static thump of his heart in his chest at the thought of starting an argument with his brother out of nowhere. 

“Whatever,” Jack rolls his eyes, “I’m going to bed.”

And as Jack turns, Luke sees your lips part, ready to send him off with the last word until a large hand clamps itself over your mouth, and your wide eyes meet his over the sides of his fingers.

He’s not sure why he did it, why he all of a sudden feels comfortable enough to cross the boundaries of purposeful touch, but he doesn’t entirely regret it.

Plush lips press mid-word against his palm, and your skin is soft, cheeks warming ever so slightly beneath his hand.

“You gotta let him go, there’s no use fighting with him tonight, it’s better to drag it out. Didn’t think I’d have to teach you about the beauty of the long game,” he says, voice low as he watches his brother retreat to the house, waiting until he’s safe inside to retract his hand. “Not like this, anyway.”

“Your brother’s an asshole,” you grumble, “Full offence.”

“No arguments from me,” Luke concedes, holding his hands as if surrendering to the fact, himself. “What are you gonna tell Ellie?”

“Nothing.” You sigh, stepping a little down the drive and toward the house before turning back to him. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, partner.”

There have only been a handful of times in your life you’ve ever been thankful for work coinciding with huge plans, but when the group had decided that they wanted to go see Zach Bryan play Ford Field, you had thanked your lucky stars you had been put down to work a full shift at the restaurant and wouldn’t be able to go.

Not only for the fact that he isn’t really your thing, but for the fact that you’re finally getting a full evening to yourself.

So far, in your time at the house, most evenings have been spent with everyone else - group dinners, game nights, movie nights, even a couple of girls nights with just you and Ellie scattered in there, but nothing on your own, yet. 

You can’t wait. And with an empty house, you have a full pamper night planned. You’ve been stocking up odd bits on your trips to the store over the past couple of weeks - sheet masks, aromatherapy candles, you’ve even picked up some flower petals from the spa at the club, in the hopes that you might even treat yourself to a relaxing soak in the bathtub. You can play whatever music you want, make whatever food you want, sit wherever you want in the house, out on the deck, overlooking the lake with a book in hand and no chirpy voices in your ear all night.

You can’t wait.

The only downside is not having a ride home, but you haven’t finished too late. The sun will still be up for a couple of hours, and a walk in the simmering heat back to the house doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.

Your feet carry you with ease down the back roads, and you even make the journey without your headphones on, taking in the scenery, the blissful peace of your surroundings, so lost in the tranquility of it all that the sight of Luke washing his car on the drive when you get home dampens your mood as quick as a torrential downpour of rain, flash floods coursing through your evening and wrecking your plans entirely. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You can’t help the bite in your tone as you approach, sneakers crunching against the gravel as Luke pauses the hose, looks over at you with the sun in his eyes, and you have to remind yourself he’s just ruined the one night you have for yourself before you get distracted by the fact that he’s shirtless.

“Washing my car?” he calls back, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Detroit right now?”

Luke shrugs, and you have to will your eyeballs not to move any lower than his neck to watch his shoulders lift and drop, lest you get too caught up in the broad expanse of his chest and do something ridiculous like drool.

“Wasn’t feeling it.”

“You weren’t feeling a concert you guys haven’t shut up about for weeks, but you were feeling washing your car?”

He’s dead. When he’s finished with his car and he retreats to his room, you’re gonna smother him with a pillow and discard of his body in the lake. You’re not even gonna let him shower, first. That’s what the lake’s for.

He’s crapping all over your plans because he wasn’t feeling it?

“It needs cleaning,” he shrugs again, and you swear you’re gonna jump in and run him over with the damn thing, “In fact, you really should be helping me.”

There’s a small part of you that feels like the thoughts of violence are worryingly aggressive, but then a larger part of you realises he must have a death wish.

“How’d you get to that conclusion?”

“You’re the one who drove us through a swamp,” he scoffs, a pointed hand flung toward the body of his car, where the sides are lined with a thick layer of dried dirt from the other night, “You get it dirty, you clean it up.”

“As much as I would absolutely love to fulfil your pervy car wash fantasy, I have much better things I could be doing with my time.”

Or you did, until Luke rained all over your parade of solitude.

“Like what?”

“Literally anything but this.” You gesture at the show he’s putting on. The suds dripping from the roof of the car, the hose in his hand, the buckets scattered around the perimeter. “I need to shower, I just walked from the club and I-,”

A death wish might actually be an understatement.

Luke wants you to murder him in the most gruesome, horrific way you could possibly muster - he has to, because there’s no other explanation for why he’d turn the hose on, point it straight at you, and drench the front of you, entirely. 

You can feel the fabric of your t-shirt dampening and sticking to your chest, and you scrunch your eyes shut to stop droplets of water slipping into them, thankful that when they open again, his own are looking back at you, and not any lower.

You’d really have a reason to kill him, then. 

“You did not just do that.” You growl, glaring back at him with a clenched jaw as the fucker beams back at you, pressing the trigger once more in a short burst that fires straight at your chest, again.

“What, that?”

“You’re so dead.”

You drop your bag and launch for him, aiming to take the hose from his grip, but he fires it again out of sheer panic, the water spouting out from between your splayed fingers, cold and pressured, and it soaks the both of you, raining down as you grapple for the head and Luke remains unrelenting.

There are squeals and yelps called out into the misty air between the two of you, and you get to a point you can’t tell what sounds are coming from who, but you manage to wrestle the hose from his grip and point it straight at him as he jets away with a laugh that rumbles straight from his belly.

It’s the kind of laugh that elicits another, and you don’t realise until he’s circling back to you that the laughter is coming from you - giggling, even, as the two of you engage in a water fight like misbehaving children - and it isn’t long until all aggressive thoughts wash away with the suds that slip to the gravel, forgetting why you were even annoyed in the first place.

It shouldn’t be as fun as it is, but after the long day at work, and the tiring walk back, letting your guard down and engaging it a little mindless chaos seems to wake you up a little.

Your childish game gets Luke what he wanted, anyway, the two of you working together to clean his car when you realise he’s only running in front of all the parts that actually need hosing off and relying on you having bad aim to get the job done, and you figure getting your hands a little dirty is harmless when you’re already soaked through and in dire need of a shower.

And your pamper-plans of a bubble bath and self-care don’t entirely come to fruition, but Luke promises to make up for his petulance by ordering pizza and sticking a movie on, so you bite your tongue to refrain from voicing your initial complaints, and decide to just go with the flow, for once - he hasn’t exactly led you astray, yet.  

You take a little longer in the shower than normal, with no one around to complain about hogging the bathroom or worry about them barging in unannounced, and you suppose that’s a small victory - one little luxury you get to cling to as you bask in the steam, letting all the tension slip from your aching muscles after being on your feet all day.

And once you’re out, hair dried just enough with a towel that it isn’t going to drip or soak your t-shirt, and you’re dressed in your pyjamas, you make your way downstairs, where Luke has already set up a plethora of snacks in the living room.

Nachos, popcorn, candy and drinks scattered across the coffee table as he relaxes on the couch, hair extra curly after his shower and an old Michigan t-shirt stretched tight across his now much-broader chest. 

“Thought I’d wait for you to pick a movie,” he chimes up from where he’s sat, gesturing with a lazy point to the wall of blu-rays beside the TV. 

“Did Netflix never make it to the Hughes household?” You scoff in disbelief as you take them all in properly for the first time. You’d seen them in your peripheral when you’d been hanging out down here, before, but actually looking at them up close, reading all the titles, seeing the sheer volume of how many there are, it kind of surprises you.

“We can look on Netflix if you want. They always take stuff off, though.”

You know. All your favourite movies get taken off of streaming, and you only ever find out about it when you’re really in the mood to watch them. As soon as you realise the wall is alphabetised, you know exactly where to look.

“That’s alright,” you shrug, stepping to the side as you track backwards, through M, L, K and J. “You guys are pretty analogue, I’ve noticed.”

“What do you mean?”

“The board games, the DVDs, the whole no phones around the house thing.”

“No phones around the house is common courtesy,” he chuckles, “But I guess we’re a little weird about the other stuff.”

“It’s pretty cool,” you shrug, spotting the DVD you want and sliding it out to assess the case. “It’s old school. Probably better for the brain. My little brothers can’t really function without an iPad and they’re 5, it’s freaky, like they’re haunted by the capitalist ghost of Steve Jobs or something.”

“I didn’t know you had brothers,” Luke frowns where you almost expect him to laugh, and you spin on your heel to face him. He has this look about him like he should have known that - like the two of you have ever conversed in anything other than sarcastic quips and scrunched up faces, or whatever attempts at flirting have been on his part. 

“Technically they’re half brothers,” you shrug, “They live out in Philly with my dad and step mom, I don’t really get to see them much.”

“Didn’t know you were from Philly, either.”

“I’m not, my dad moved out there when him and my mom got divorced.”

It’s not something you really love talking about. 

The few times you’ve tried, you’ve been shot down, patronising tones scoffing at how your biggest trauma is the separation of your parents, as if your whole world didn’t crumble down with the demise of their relationship, the demise of life as you knew and very dearly loved it.

“You don’t see him even in the summer?”

“Him and his family are on vacation in Europe for 6 weeks. England, France, Spain, Germany, the boys are into soccer so they’ll be out there until the Euros.”

You don’t miss the way Luke’s face scrunches at how you call them his family, and you’re not sure you’re ready for him to start pitying you, so you throw the DVD case toward him before you can second guess your choice.

Interstellar. 

You hope he doesn’t pick up on why it might be one of your favourites. Especially not considering the topic of the conversation at hand. Something about the crippling regret Cooper has for leaving Murph behind plucks harmoniously at some unidentifiable strings deep within you, but you’re hardly about to admit that to Luke, of all people.

“I love this movie,” he smiles, almost surprised, as if he expected you to throw The Notebook his way. Maybe next time - he’d probably love that movie, too, if he gave it a chance. 

“Me too. I love space movies.”

“Like Space Jam?” He asks as he pushes himself up, going toward the TV to set up the movie with the DVD in one hand and the remote control in the other. 

“No, like movies about Space,” you say, throwing yourself down onto the same couch he just vacated and tucking your feet beneath you to get comfortable. “Although I guess Space Jam would technically fit into that bracket.”

“I didn’t realise that was a genre,” he chuckles.

“Not the scary ones, though, I don’t wanna be freaked out by space.”

“Is that like a thing? You just like any movie set in space?”

“I like anything about space, period. Movies, documentaries, books. Thinking about it makes me feel really insignificant.”

“Insignificant? Is that not a bad thing?” He asks as he makes his way back, settling into his side and angling his body toward yours.

“Do you ever think about how big the universe is, Hughes? It’s humongous! If I ever feel anxious or panicky I think about just how big it is and how I’m not even a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. If I’m so tiny, how big can my problems actually be?”

“I guess that makes sense,” he seems to mull it over in his head, the thought of him even considering it and not making you feel stupid warms your chest - makes you forget just how much of yourself you’ve shared with him in the last couple of minutes alone, makes you worry less that you’re sharing too much. “I think I might be the opposite, though. Probably the youngest brother in me, I only feel better if I feel bigger.”

You think that might be why he’s always trying to one up you - sassy comments and inappropriate jokes galore. Not that you mind any of it, not really.

“What about you? What movies do you like?”

“You’re gonna be so shocked.”

“Sports movies?”

“Look at you, knowing me like the back of your hand.” He coos, nudging at your knee with his hand. “I’ll watch anything, though. We should take it in turns, whenever it’s just us,” he says like the thought of spending time alone with you has only just crossed his mind. “Picking a movie to show each other.”

You think there’s a lot of yourself in the media you consume. The movies you watch, the music you listen to, and sharing those things with Luke feels like giving him the only other key to a high security vault. It’s something you’ve avoided so far - letting him play his songs in the car, avoiding making any sort of pick in the group movie nights. It’s daunting, and it’s a lot of pressure, and so you don’t know why you agree with so much ease - a shrug, and a casual muttering of, “Sure, why not?”

The pieces of your dynamic slowly start to slot together, and you start to realise why you’ve been entertaining his company so often, lately. Why your mood so quickly de-escalated itself, earlier. Why you’ve found yourself curled up on the same couch as him, instead of literally anywhere else in the house, doing anything other than this. Why you’re so quick to agree to letting him access all these unseen parts of you.

And why you think he might be able to read your mind, after he asks, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Only if I get to ask one back.”

“What were you gonna do tonight, if you were on your own?”

Thank God, you think, your heart jumping at the thought of anything else he could have asked.

“I was gonna do a sheet mask and steal the bottle of wine Quinn stashed behind the laundry detergent.” You admit with a nonchalant shrug, the plans you had been looking forward to all day seeming mundane in comparison to this. “Why’d you stay behind? You love Zach Bryan.”

“I love sheet masks and stolen wine, too.”

Your lips curve up before you get the chance to huff at his non-answer, and you feel your throat go a little dry at the way his curve, too - the way his green eyes darken when they meet yours, and you feel like he’s looking straight through you.

It’s around half way through the movie that you realise how much you’re enjoying yourself - when you look over at Luke, and the light from the screen is still bouncing off the sticky white sheet plastered to his face, only just able to make out his round eyes through the little slit in the fabric. 

You sip at your wine to hide your smile, and turn your attention back to the TV until Luke nudges at your feet with his, and your eyes meet over the tops of your bent knees. 

“You tell anyone I did this, I���ll never speak to you again.”

Your laugh ripples through every inch of your upper body, rumbling up from your belly and manifesting itself in shaking shoulders, your smile wide and your sheet mask slipping out of place. “You can’t threaten me with a good time, Hughes.”

You spend the rest of the night trying not to think about how there might just be a tiny door in your heart, eking it’s way open for him to squeeze his gangly limbs into.

>PART TWO<

another a/n: I don't want to put a timeframe on when the next part will be posted bc as soon as I do that, my brain will revolt and it won't happen, but I'd love to know your thoughts in the meantime!!! I have a lot of the rest actually written, and what I don't have written, I have drafted, so it shouldn't be too long but!!! like I said no timeframe!! I've had a lot of fun with this dynamic, and hearing any opinions would mean a lot to me!!

this was my first time writing reader insert if you saw any instances of she/her where they shouldn't be, no you didn’t. I tried as best as I could to avoid using Y/N because it takes me out of it I don’t even remember if I put it anywhere but sometimes it's hard to get around I did my best ok!!!

[yua0ra]

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝

WARNINGS: mattheo riddle x high!fem!reader, porn with plot, dark smut, blood play, p in v, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex, blood kink!matty, submissive reader, biting, marking, breeding, NSFW, proofread, english is not my first language. smut 🂡

SUMMARY: Mattheo craves something, a feeling of satisfaction, fulfilment and control. Luckily for him, you are open and eager to try new things, and for once, Mattheo feels like he has found his person.

WC: +4.4K AN: This took so fucking long. I don’t think ya’ll are ready, lol. I’m being so serious: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, for the love of salazar. (also, anybody got the reference form the title?)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

Touch-starved, love-starved, and attention-starved, Mattheo Riddle is no stranger to the art of indulgence. He thrives on the fleeting comfort offered by the endless parade of admirers eager to bask in his presence. Their adoration, their touch, their devotion—it’s enough to quiet the gnawing ache inside him, at least for a while. But it never truly satisfies. Beneath the smirks, the cocky demeanor, and the effortless charm, there’s an emptiness he can’t seem to fill.

He craves more. Something deeper, rawer, more exhilarating than the hollow affection he’s grown accustomed to. Something that sparks a fire in his chest and sends a thrill coursing through his veins. The superficial games, the fleeting highs, and the shallow connections no longer cut it. Mattheo Riddle wants something real, something that will consume him whole.

And yet, even as he yearns for this elusive fulfillment, he’s not sure he’s ready to face what it might demand of him. After all, it’s one thing to take; it’s another to give. And Mattheo has never been one to bare his soul. Not when the world has taught him to hide behind walls, even when he’s desperate for someone to break them down.

He has tried everything—fucking in public, fucking with a blindfold on, fucking with a leash, chasing thrill after thrill, and losing himself in the chaos of reckless nights. He’s tried drowning the ache with the loud laughter of parties, the rush of danger, and the fleeting touch of hands that mean nothing. For a moment, it works. For a moment, the void in his chest quiets, and he feels like he’s alive, like he’s in control. But the moment always fades.

No matter how many hearts he wins or how many rules he breaks, it all slips through his fingers, leaving him colder and more restless than before. The poor, desperate, girls—pretty faces, eager smiles—don’t even come close to touching the parts of him he keeps hidden. It’s not their fault. They give him everything they can. But it’s not enough.

It’s never enough.

What Mattheo craves isn’t something he can find in fleeting encounters or shallow connections. It’s something more profound, more consuming, more terrifying. He wants someone who sees past the charm, the arrogance, the calculated indifference. Someone who will unravel him piece by piece and make him feel alive in a way that no one ever has.

But that kind of connection doesn’t come easy. And for someone like Mattheo Riddle—guarded, scarred, and stubborn—it might never come at all. Still, he can’t help but hope. Somewhere deep down, beneath the layers of cynicism and self-doubt, he’s holding onto the faint belief that someone, someday, might finally be able to quiet the storm inside him.

Good thing that you’ve noticed, though. Mattheo’s restless energy, the way his eyes linger just a second too long, searching for something even he can’t quite name—it’s not something he hides well. He tells himself he’s a master of masks, of slipping into the version of himself people expect, but the cracks are showing. And you’ve seen them.

You’ve seen the way he leans into conversations as if he’s desperate for someone to say the right thing. You’ve caught the fleeting vulnerability in his gaze when he thinks no one’s paying attention. For all his bravado, for all the careless smirks and sharp retorts, Mattheo is an open book to those who care enough to read between the lines.

And maybe that’s why he’s drawn to you, even if he won’t admit it. You don’t fawn over him like everyone else. You don’t fall into his orbit just because he’s Mattheo Riddle. Instead, you see him. The real him. The cracks, the flaws, the restless hunger for something more. And while it terrifies him, it also pulls him closer.

Because maybe, just maybe, you’re the one who can give him what he’s been searching for. Or maybe you’ll be the one to finally destroy him. Either way, Mattheo can’t seem to stay away.

Which leads to this specific moment—you, sitting pretty on his bed, high out of your mind in the early hours of the morning, the faint glow of moonlight casting shadows across the room. Your head tilts back against the wall, eyes half-lidded, lips parted as if caught in the haze of a dream. You’re intoxicating, utterly untouchable yet so close that it drives him mad.

Mattheo stands a few feet away, leaning against the edge of his desk, watching you with a mix of fascination and frustration. You’re beautiful like this—unguarded, raw, and entirely out of reach. It’s unfair how effortlessly you’ve wrapped yourself around his thoughts, how your presence alone has him on edge.

“You’re not even trying, and you’re driving me insane,” he mutters, his voice low and rough as he runs a hand through his disheveled hair. He can’t tell if he’s more frustrated with you or himself. Probably himself. After all, he’s the one who let it get to this point.

You blink up at him, a lazy smile curling on your lips, the kind that makes his chest tighten. “What’s wrong, Riddle? Can’t handle a little company?”

He scoffs, but the tension in his body betrays him. “Company isn’t the problem,” he bites back, though his voice softens as his eyes linger on you. It’s not company he wants. It’s you. All of you. Every reckless thought, every untamed emotion, every unspoken secret. But he doesn’t know how to say that without sounding like a fool.

Instead, he stays where he is, hands gripping the edge of the desk, trying to keep himself grounded. You’re like a storm, and Mattheo isn’t sure if he wants to weather it or let it tear him apart completely.

You laugh softly, the sound like a spark in the quiet room, and shift on his bed, drawing your knees to your chest. The oversized sweater you’re wearing—his sweater—slips off one shoulder, exposing bare skin that makes his throat tighten. You’re a mess, and yet you look so perfectly out of place in his world that it makes him dizzy.

“Relax,” you say, your voice dreamy and far away. “You’re so tense all the time, Mattheo. Always thinking, always brooding.” Your gaze meets his, half-lidded but piercing in a way that leaves him raw. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

He swallows hard, jaw clenching as he forces himself to look away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, but the words lack conviction.

“Don’t I?” you counter, leaning forward slightly before standing up, moving across the room with an unsteady grace. You stop just behind him, and before he can turn or protest, your hands are on his shoulders. Delicate, careful, but firm—your touch makes him go still, the tension in his body seizing under the unexpected intimacy.

Your fingers work with a precision that sends a shiver down his spine, pressing into the knots in his shoulders as if you’ve done this a hundred times before. It’s maddening how easily you disarm him, how your touch both soothes and ignites something in him he’s tried to keep buried.

“You’re so tense, darling” you murmur softly, your voice low and sweet, like a lullaby in the quiet room. “Do you ever let yourself relax, Mattheo? Or do you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders every single day?”

His breath catches, his grip on the desk tightening as he tries to fight the urge to lean into your touch. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice a mix of irritation and something he can’t quite name.

“What does it look like?” you reply, your tone playful but laced with genuine concern. “You’re all wound up, and it’s exhausting just watching you. Let me help, for once.”

Mattheo doesn’t respond right away. He doesn’t know how to. No one’s ever touched him like this before—not with the intention of easing his burden, of grounding him in a way that feels almost… safe. It terrifies him how much he wants to give in, to let you pull him out of his own mind, if only for a moment.

“You shouldn’t…” he starts, but the words trail off as your fingers dig into just the right spot, coaxing a low groan from his lips before he can stop it.

“Shouldn’t what?” you tease, leaning closer so he can feel the warmth of your breath against his neck. “Take care of you? Show you that not everything has to be a fight?”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he lets his eyes fall shut, his body betraying him as it relaxes under your touch. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he mutters, though there’s no real bite to his words.

You smile softly, your hands continuing their gentle rhythm. “Maybe I do,” you whisper, your voice dipping lower. “Maybe I know exactly what I’m getting into.”

Your words linger in the air, soft but potent, cutting through the haze in his mind like a blade. Mattheo doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but you can feel the tension rolling off him, not in resistance but in something darker—something that borders on surrender.

“Is that what you think?” he finally murmurs, his voice low and rough, almost dangerous. His head tilts slightly, enough for you to catch the edge of his profile, his dark eyes glinting under the dim light. “That you know me? That you can handle whatever it is you’re inviting in?”

You don’t flinch. If anything, you press your fingers a little harder into his shoulders, grounding him, as if you’re not the least bit intimidated by the warning laced in his words. “I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t,” you reply, your tone steady, unwavering.

Mattheo’s lips curl into something between a smirk and a snarl, his hands gripping the desk in front of him so tightly that his knuckles turn white. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. His voice trembles slightly, as if he’s teetering on the brink of losing control.

Carefully, you lean closer, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you whisper, “Then show me.”

It’s like a switch flips. In an instant, Mattheo is on his feet, spinning around to face you. His hands find your wrists, pulling them away from his shoulders, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he holds you there, his grip firm but not cruel, his dark eyes locked on yours with an intensity that sends a shiver racing down your spine.

“You think this is a game, don’t you?” he asks, his voice soft but venomous, his face inches from yours. “You think you can come in here, touch me like that, look at me like that, and I won’t lose my mind?”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t pull away. “Lose your mind, Mattheo,” you whisper, your voice steady even as your pulse quickens under his touch.

That’s all it takes for Mattheo to snap. His hands release your wrists only to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with surprising tenderness, a sharp contrast to the possessive gleam in his eyes, he just stares at you, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. And then he breaks. His lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s all-consuming, overwhelming, like he’s trying to pour every dark, unspoken emotion into it. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the raw, obsessive need in every movement, every touch.

Mattheo isn’t gentle. He isn’t careful. But beneath the intensity, there’s something achingly vulnerable—a desperate, unspoken plea for you to stay, to see him, to claim him the way he’s beginning to realize he wants to claim you. You’re not sure what you’ve unleashed, but as you kiss him back, as his hands grip you tighter like you might disappear, you know there’s no turning back.

Mattheo’s hand flies over your plump ass, gripping the soft flesh with great force, making you moan into his mouth, the vibrations echoing against each other throats.

He swallows your sweet sounds greedily, his tongue delving deeper tasting inch of your warm mouth.

He pulls you even closer, showing you how good you’re making him feel, his hardening length poking you right against your lower stomach.

You can’t help it, you’re so greedy, so selfish, so fucking horny. All you want is him, him and him. Your body moves in autopilot, rubbing your body against his, creating a hypnotising friction between you two. His hand kneads and squeezes your ass even tighter, as he moves your bodies into the bed.

Breaking the kiss, Mattheo’s hungry mouth trails down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing over their racing pulse. He sucks hard, determined to paint your neck in purple, red and pink hues. Not bothering to leave any room for other lovers.

You can only let deep and low exhales, trying your hardest to maintain whatever is left of your composure. “Mhmm…. You like that baby? Huh?” You nod eagerly below him, still rocking your body forwards, grinding like a mad-woman.

“Words sweetheart, I want to hear you, yeah?” He looks at you intensely, his eyes narrowing slightly, “use that greedy mouth and let me hear you, pretty girl….” He commands, his hands roaming your body in a possessed manner. He just can’t help himself, he knows this was bound to happen, from the moment you two started talking to each other, he knew.

Squirming under his desperate touch you can’t help but smile, “y-yes, ugh,” you whimper when he pulls your jumper off your head. “You make me feel so good….” Your high making you feel things ten times stronger.

He torments you, fingers slowly tracing over one of your perky nipples as he carefully plays with the metal piercing. “Such a sweet girl, who would’ve guess this?” He laughs, his mouth moving from your throat to on nipple, his tongue swirling around the hard bud before sucking it into his mouth.

He rolls it between his teeth, applying just about enough pressure to make you gasp and arch into him. His other hand comes up to roughly palm your other breaths, pacing at the matching piercing.

He alternates, lavishing each nipples with attention. His mouth is hot and greedy, his saliva deliciously coating each one. He bites and sucks, matching your chest markings with your neck ones.

Mattheo’s left hand slides down with ease, expertly reaching your soaked panties, smiling when he feels your wetness. “Shit, baby, would you look at that?” He mutters in between your breasts, “so fucking ready,… dripping wet for me already, just how I like it.”

He cups your cunt, applying pressure on it, making your mouth open and closing with silent prayers. “Fuck, Matty, yeah, just like that…” Feeling satisfied, he finally leaves your sensitive and now colorful breasts alone, focusing on his most prized possession.

Your throbbing pussy.

With a quick movement he gets rid of the lacy underwear, grabbing you thighs and spreading your legs, positioning himself between them. He gets close, inhaling your arousal deeply. The smell making his head spin with pleasure, and he can’t help but try a little.

“Oh God…” You whisper, grabbing his head from the back, one hand teasing your breasts. You push his head further into you, so needy for this touch.

Mattheo grumbles againsts your soaked core, your flavour intoxicating, “take it, sweetheart, show me how you like to be eaten out.” He spreads your folds even wider, spitting into your core, flicking his tongue and diving his warm mouth back at it again, sloppily making out with your cunt.

He looks at you, his gaze never leaving yours. He loves to see your reactions, your body taking his treat so well, loves how expressive you are.

The endless slurping and the lewd noises, make you shake, tremble under his touch. He slides two fingers in, as his thumb rubs circles around your clit. This action makes your thighs pull him closer, suffocating him, but he doesn’t care. Mattheo wants to drown in your pussy, want his face covered in you, your sweet juice dripping down his chin. He’s just so obsessed, so fucking down bad.

His digits curling and pumping you full, in such a good way, such an explicit way, you roll your head back, your tongue darting out as you pant for air. You lungs are so overwhelmed, so full of desire, making you pathetically whimper as you begin to notice getting close. “M-mph fuck! Mattheo, God…”

He abruptly stops, making you whine loudly. “Not yet, my love… I want you cumming with my dick buried in this pretty little thing okay?” He undresses, tossing his clothes everywhere.

“No, please Matty…” you grind your hips in the air, your pussy clenching at nothing desperately wanting to feel his fingers in you again. “No… baby, please! I’m so, so, so close.…”

“Shh… my love,” he quiets you down, his drenched fingers now in your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself. “You need to learn how to be patient, because patient girls, get rewards….” Still sucking on his fingers he positions himself in front of your wet entrance, the head of his dick, so pink, so plump, so mouthwatering.

With his other hand, Mattheo grabs his dick, and slaps it a few times against your swollen lips. “Mhm.” Your arousal more than enough to be able to slide it in easily, but he doesn’t like easy. He wants more. Taking his fingers away from your mouth, he commands you “spit, princess, come on.”

You do as your told, spitting into his hand. Mattheo smiles “atta girl…” following your steps, he spits as well, to then rub the mixture of saliva on his angry cock. It makes it shiny, highlighting the veins and the sensible skin.

“Alright pretty… I’m going to fill you up, hm? ” Finally, Mattheo pushes his thick shaft into you, stretching you in unimaginable ways. He’s fucking huge, ripping your insides apart, as he tries to fit all of him inside your apparently tiny cunt. He can see his dick poking outside of your tummy, the sight making his eyes roll to the back of his head, as his lashes flutter in pleasure.

Mattheo hums lowly, his tone dropping an octave “oh s-shit, so tight f’me. Fuck, angel!” He grabs your legs, putting them in his shoulders, enhancing the heavenly sensation. You on the other hand, feel like you’re going to pass out. You can’t think, focusing all of your attention into the way he feels. Your red tired eyes, barely open, fill with tears as your hands lay lazily next to your head.

Mattheo rocks his body, picking up the pace. He needs to feel you closer, keep his hands busy with something. Him fucking you isn’t enough.

This is the point where normally Mattheo would come down from the initial, horny, high and give up on the search for something more raw, more exhilarating. Until an idea comes through, and his cock twitches inside of you.

He reaches for his wand, maintaining his fast rhythm, pumping in and out with extreme force, hitting spots that have never been hit, reaching beyond the g-spot, making you see stars, reach that almost unreachable nirvana.

He summons a silver, small, extremely pointed blade, and his hand reaches your chin. “Pretty girl? Look at me…” he flashes a shit-eating grin, one that makes you almost come instantly. “Fuck princess, can…can I mark you? Hm?” you barely process his question. “Can I make you mine? Are you going to let me ruin that beautiful skin of yours?” He persuades, but to be honest, you don’t need much, imagining his name carved into your skin, and fuck, it turns you on so much, the way his blood would mix with yours, ugh, you can’t wait, nodding in agreement.

He doesn’t waste any time, and slows down his fucking, turning his fast, rough thrusts into deep, almost loving ones. He makes himself comfortable, spreading your legs so wide, your pussy stretching even more. You’re going to be so sore, you can already feel it.

Mattheo tightens the grip on the blade, as he nears it towards your left inner thigh. “Relax for me, gorgeous… it’s going to hurt a bit, yes? But after, you’re going to feel better… so much fucking better.”

Relaxing your body, savouring the new pounding rhythm, you feel it. He presses the flat of the blade against your plush skin, the cold steel sending you shivers down your spine. He drags it with sensibility, leaving a deep, red line in its wake. The pain is sharp but fleeting, nothing compared to the dark pleasure radiating from his touch.

Mattheo’s leans down, his fingers tracing the lines, playing with the red, dense liquid, coating his fingers in your blood. His tongue flicks up, cleaning his digits, leaving them completely clean.

His eyes shutting for a moment at the coppery taste of you blood in his tongue. “Yes, yes, God, yes! You taste even better than I imagined,” his eyes open, gleaming with a crazed, obsessive light. A wicked, twisted smile spreads across his face. His teeth stained with red.

Mattheo's hand moves to your other thigh, the knife tracing a matching line to the first. He connects the cuts, forming an obscene, possessive mark - a dark, blood-red phrase 'property of M.R' etched into your flesh. The pain only serves to heighten the twisted, depraved pleasure coursing through you.

He groans, the vibrations rumbling through your core, his hips never falter in their relentless, punishing rhythm, driving into you with a force that borders on violence.

"That's my girl," he growls, his voice rough and ragged with lust. "My pretty little blood witch, so fucking perfect. I'll ruin you for anyone else, leave you wrecked and forever marked. You’re mine, you know that?”

Mattheo's hand slides up your body, wrapping around your throat, squeezing just hard enough to make your heart race and your lungs burn. His eyes lock onto yours, burning with a fevered, wild glaze as he keeps pumping inside of you.

The bed creaks ominously beneath you, the blood dripping onto your most intimate areas, stoking the inferno raging inside you. Suddenly, he stills, his body pressed flush against yours, his breath coming in ragged, desperate pants.

He reaches up, his blood-stained fingers brushing your cheek with a sudden, shocking gentleness. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, rough and tinged with a desperate, aching need.

“Fuck, baby. I want... I need to feel it,” he rasps, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

Mattheo takes the pointed silver, the blade glinting as he presses the cold steel against your palm, guiding your hand to his chest. His skin is hot, flushed, and slick with sweat beneath your touch.

"Mark me, my love…," he urges, his voice a desperate, aching plea. “I want to wear your name.”

Your don’t have time to react as your hand moves automatically and he leans in closer, feeling his pulse race beneath your palm, a frantic, erratic rhythm that mirrors the wild, untamed beating of your own.

Mattheo's eyes flutter shut, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he feels the cold blade press into his heated skin. He doesn't flinch or pull away, instead arching into the sharp, sudden pain of the steel biting into his flesh. A low, guttural moan tumbles from his throat as he feels the first letter of your name being carved into his chest.

His hand fists in your hair, gripping tight, holding you in place as he guides your hand, urging you to carve deeper, harder. The pain is intense, searing, but it pales in comparison to feeling of fulfilment. Each letter you etch into his skin sends a bolt of electric, white-hot lust straight to his core, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside you.

Mattheo's hips begin to move again, thrusting in time with the brutal, possessive strokes of the sharp blade. The dual sensations of your initials being carved into his flesh and his sensitive member driving into your dripping cunt push him closer and closer to the edge. His grip on your hair tightens, his fingers twisting almost painfully in the strands as you both chases the release.

“I'm so fucking close, beautiful. I'm going to fill you up, mark you from the inside out. You'll be dripping with my cum, fucking drenched in it."

His thrusts become erratic, losing rhythm as he teeters on the brink of climax. The knife digs deeper, carving harder, the final letter of your name leaving a vivid, bloody scar on his chest. Mattheo throws his head back with a roar of ecstasy as he comes undone, his hot, thick seed erupting inside you, painting your walls white with his release.

At the same time, your pussy clenches, milking his cock tightly. The final wave of pleasure hitting you, as you drown in it. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuck! Oh! ugh!” You scream, crying and whining, gasping for air.

He collapses against you, his body shaking and shuddering, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He inhales and exhales harshly, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as he clings to you, desperately, possessedly, like a man drowning and you're his only lifeline.

Mattheo's fingers tangle in your hair, fisting the strands almost painfully as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, dragging the scent of your skin into his lungs like a drowning man seeking air. When he speaks, his voice is a low, hoarse rasp, roughened by his exertions and the intensity of his emotions.

"Fuck, baby…," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours. "That was... fuck, that was incredible. You're... you're fucking incredible."

He lifts his head slightly, his dark, hooded eyes searching yours. In their depths, you see a whirlwind of emotions swirling together - the wild, reckless lust that consumed him, the dark, twisted possession that demands your complete surrender, and something else, something softer and more vulnerable that he rarely allows anyone to see.

Mattheo's thumb traces your lower lip, smearing the mixture of his blood and yours across your lips, as if applying lipstick, sealing it with his own. A shudder ripples through him as he leans in closer, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own.

"Don't... don't go," he whispers, a desperate, aching plea underlying the words. "Stay with me, my love. Let me hold you, let me feel you in my arms. I... I need you, fucking now and forever."

[lazy-ahh]

You said I could send u a request! so I am taking u up on ur offer 🤓👆🏽if u write for them…Mohawk mark varient x male reader? I’ve been craving something hurt/comforty?as comforty u can get with those dorks ANYWAY thank yewwww i really do love your writing it’s SO GOOOODD AISBWOSBSUDBDUVE

ME? CARE? LOL. LMAO.

pairing mohawk! mark grayson x male reader

imagine the most unhinged version of mark grayson—now give him a mohawk, piercings, and exactly zero self-preservation instincts. this is that fic. (also maybe some feelings. but we don’t talk about those.)

the warehouse is dark, smells like motor oil and regret, and you’re really wishing you hadn’t gotten captured today. like, seriously? it was your day off. you could be bed-rotting right now. scrolling through dumb videos. eating cereal straight from the box like a feral raccoon. anything but this.

but no. instead, you’re tied to a chair in some crusty villain lair, your favorite hoodie probably getting dust stains, and your only entertainment is the fact that this dumbass in front of you actually thinks he can use you as leverage.

"you really think this’ll work?" you mutter, testing the ropes around your wrists. they don’t budge—not that you’re trying too hard. you could get out if you wanted. but where’s the fun in that?

the villain—some guy with a fancy energy glove that probably cost way too much for how ugly it is—grins at you like he’s just won the lottery. "oh, it’ll work. invincible cares about you. he’ll negotiate."

you blink. then you laugh—a sharp, disbelieving sound that echoes off the warehouse walls. "invincible? negotiate? dude, he’s gonna rip your spine out through your nose."

glove-guy’s smile flickers. "shut up."

"no, no, i gotta know," you continue, leaning forward as much as the ropes allow. "who even told you this was a good idea? like, did you see him at all before you decided ‘yeah, kidnapping his whatever-i-am is a solid plan’? because—and i cannot stress this enough—that guy is fucking feral."

glove-guy’s eye twitches. "he won’t risk your life."

"oh my god," you groan, tipping your head back. you don't deny it, though. "you actually don’t get it. he’s not gonna risk my life because he’s gonna erase yours before you even blink."

"enough!" he snaps, raising his stupid glove like it’s intimidating.

you roll your eyes. "bro, i’ve literally seen that guy bite someone’s ear off for looking at him wrong. you’re toast."

before you could get another taunt in, he decides to punch you on your side. hard. you cough, eyes wide, before you glare at the motherfucker. you ignore the way your side actually stung. oh, he's about to get put on a t-shirt once you're out of this chair. glove-guy opens his mouth to retort—

—and then the wall explodes.

concrete shrapnel flies, dust clouds billowing up in slow-motion like the universe itself is screaming oh shit. and then—there he is.

mark.

silhouetted against the moonlight like some kind of feral, bloodthirsty angel, floating in the wreckage of the wall he just obliterated because subtlety was never in his vocabulary.

not that you’re looking or anything.

okay, fine, you’re looking. who wouldn’t? mark’s all lean muscle and barely-contained violence, his stupid skintight suit doing nothing to hide the way his body moves—like every inch of him is built for destruction and looks good doing it. his shoulders are broad enough to throw a car (and have, multiple times), tapering down to a waist that’s stupidly narrow for someone who eats entire pizzas in one sitting. his arms are corded with muscle, veins standing out along his forearms as he cracks his knuckles, and his thighs—god, his thighs—could probably crush a watermelon. or a skull. whichever’s more convenient.

his mohawk’s sticking up in every direction like he just stuck his finger in an outlet (again), the shaved sides of his head only emphasizing the sharp cut of his jaw. his grin’s all teeth—sharp and way too pleased with himself, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you and is loving every second of it.

and god, his eyes—locked onto glove-guy with the kind of unholy glee usually reserved for kids in a candy store. or maybe a cat who just knocked a glass off the table. same energy, really.

oh, and the piercings.

because of course mark’s the type to have them—two little silver studs on each side of his eyebrows, catching the light when he tilts his head like he’s considering the best way to ruin someone’s day. two more at the corners of his mouth, glinting when he smirks (which is always), drawing attention to the way his lips curl when he’s about to say something especially shitty. and if you happen to notice the flash of metal on his tongue when he licks his lips—well. that’s your business.

not that you care.

"ohhh," mark croons, voice dripping with the kind of mock sympathy that absolutely means someone’s about to lose several internal organs. "you thought taking him would work?" he tilts his head, the way a wolf does right before it goes for the throat. "that’s adorable."

"ohhh," mark croons, voice dripping with the kind of mock sympathy that absolutely means someone’s about to lose several internal organs—messily. he tilts his head, the movement sharp enough to make the silver studs in his eyebrows glint under the flickering warehouse lights.

"you thought taking him would work?" he asks, sweet as poisoned honey. he takes a single step forward, the crunch of broken glass under his boot sounding suspiciously like bones snapping. his shoulders roll, the fabric of his suit straining over the muscle as he cracks his knuckles—one by one, slow, like he’s counting down to disaster.

"that’s adorable," he taunts.

you snort. "told you."

glove-guy’s face does this fantastic little journey from confident to oh no to full-blown panic in about half a second flat. "i—i have your partner!" he yelps, shoving the glowing end of his stupid glove against your temple like it’ll help. "i’ll kill him!"

you sigh, long-suffering. you don't even bother to try and deny that you aren't his partner (yet). "mark, please don’t monologue."

"you don’t monologue," mark shoots back, pointing an accusing finger at you like you’re the problem here.

"my bad," you deadpan, "you just looked like you were about to start your boring ted talk again. this is a very uncomfortable chair, you know. if this was any other time, i wouldn’t have minded falling asleep."

mark’s eye twitches. "falling asl— you’re literally at gunpoint."

"eh." you shrug. "technically it’s a glove-point. and honestly? after the week i’ve had? this is almost relaxing."

"relaxing," mark repeats, flat.

"y’know, aside from the whole potential death thing. but hey, at least the company’s entertaining." you grin up at him. "speaking of—you gonna do something, or are you just here to hover dramatically?"

mark’s grin goes sharp. "oh, i’m doing something."

then he moves.

one second, he’s floating there like an overgrown, pissed-off bumblebee. the next—

crunch.

glove-guy doesn't even get a scream out before mark's got him by the wrist, squeezing until the metal creaks like a soda can under a hydraulic press. the guy makes this hilarious squeaking noise, halfway between a deflating balloon and a stepped-on mouse, and you would feel bad for him—

—if mark wasn't currently laughing, wild and unhinged, the sound bouncing off warehouse walls as he yanks the guy forward by his own stupid glove hard enough to hear something pop. "hey. hey." his voice drops to a purr, all rough edges and promised violence, while his free hand comes up to pat the guy's cheek—harder than necessary, his eyebrow piercings catching the dim light as he tilts his head. "you took my favorite nuisance. you really thought that'd end well?"

you gasp, jerking forward so dramatically the chair legs screech against concrete. "favorite? mark, i'm blushing." you try to press a hand to your chest before remembering your arms are still tied behind you, so you just flop your whole upper body forward instead, nearly toppling the chair. "wait till i tell everyone you finally admitted it—"

"shut up," mark hisses, but his ears are pink under the shaved sides of his mohawk, the flush creeping down his neck. he definitely squeezes glove-guy's wrist harder just to distract from it. "you're barely above tolerable on your best day."

"aw, you do pay attention to my good days!" you beam, kicking your feet again for emphasis. "that's practically a love confession in mark-speak. should we get matching bracelets? couple's tattoos? maybe—"

"i will throw you into the sun," mark growls, but there's no heat behind it—not when he's still got that stupid pink tinge to his ears, not when his grip on glove-guy has loosened just enough to show he's distracted.

glove-guy whimpers. "can i—"

"no," you and mark say in unison. you grin; mark scowls. it's beautiful.

glove-guy whimpers. "p-please—"

mark pats his cheek once more. "aw. no."

then he punches him so hard the guy spins mid-air before hitting the ground like a sack of wet flour.

silence.

you blink. "…that was almost cool."

mark immediately flips you off. "you’re welcome."

"i could've handled it myself," you say, just to watch him scowl, your voice dripping with that special mix of smugness only someone who regularly bench-presses sedans can pull off.

"oh, really," mark deadpans, crossing his arms so hard his biceps strain against his sleeves. "really. you, tied to a chair by fucking dollar store rope, were totally about to—"

you wiggle your fingers just enough - a quick twist of your wrists, that specific angle you've practiced a thousand times - and snap, the ropes explode into fibers like someone set off a party popper full of disappointment. the frayed ends flutter to the ground in slow motion, one sad strand landing directly on mark's boot.

"ta-da," you deadpan, shaking out your hands like you've just performed some grand illusion instead of literally just flexing. "any requests? maybe saw a lady in half? make your boring personality disappear?"

mark blinks. once. twice. his nose scrunches up like he's smelled something rotten. "...you sat there the whole time."

"magic tricks," you sing-song, shaking out your wrists with exaggerated flair. "who knew?"

"i hate you," mark announces, so vehemently it makes the unconscious bad guys twitch.

"you love me," you correct, standing up and brushing nonexistent dust off your pants just to annoy him further. "admit it. you think my 'sit still and look pretty' strategy is inspired."

mark growls, grabs you by the back of your hoodie, and takes off into the night before you can even yelp.

"rude!" you shout over the wind, flailing dramatically as the city blurs into streaks of neon and shadow beneath you. your hoodie flaps like a demented cape, nearly smacking you in the face.

"you’re welcome!" mark shouts back, grinning like the little shit he is—all sharp teeth and way too pleased with himself.

you groan, twisting just enough to yank his hand off your hoodie (gently, because you like this hoodie, and mark has the grip strength of a hydraulic press). with a quick burst of energy, you steady yourself mid-air, falling into pace beside him.

the city sprawls below, a mess of glittering lights and jagged rooftops. for once, it’s quiet—or as quiet as it gets when you’re floating a few thousand feet up with wind screaming past your ears. when the two of you are in a room together, silence is rare. usually, it’s all snark and shoving and mark actively trying to set things on fire. but this? this is… nice.

you glance over at him.

moonlight cuts across his face like liquid silver, softening the usual manic edge in his expression - the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the permanent crease between his brows when he's plotting murder. he looks calm. almost peaceful, if you could ever associate that word with a guy who once bit a drone out of the sky for fun and then spat out the shrapnel like sunflower seeds.

his mohawk’s a disaster in the best way, strands defying gravity like they’ve personally rejected the concept of physics, each one a tiny rebellion against order. it shouldn’t suit him—but it does, the same way a lit fuse suits a stick of dynamite. beautiful in that dangerous, unpredictable way that makes your throat tight.

and his mouth - god, his mouth. chapped from the wind, always twisted into some variation of a smirk or a snarl, but right now just... still. the moonlight catches on his teeth when he exhales, turning them into tiny blades of ivory. not that you're thinking about how they'd feel against your skin. definitely not.

(you're absolutely thinking about that.)

you look away, throat weirdly tight. "...thanks."

mark immediately side-eyes you like you just confessed to secretly being a llama. "what."

"you heard me," you mutter, suddenly very interested in a random skyscraper.

"no, no, hang on—" he flips mid-air to face you, hovering like an overexcited hornet. "did you just—thank me?"

"oh my god, forget it—"

"no, no, this is historic," mark cackles, zooming in closer like this is the best thing he’s heard all week. "was that gratitude? from you? do i need to check for a concussion? did glove-guy poison you?"

you shove at his face. "shut up. i take it back. i regret everything."

mark dodges, still grinning. "too late. i’m framing this moment. putting it in a museum."

"i hate you," you announce, flipping him off for good measure.

"you love me," he shoots back, smug as hell.

"i tolerate you."

"bullshit," mark says, but his voice is weirdly soft. then, like he can’t help himself, he adds, "...you’re welcome, though."

there’s a beat.

then—

"awww, was that sentiment? from you?" you gasp, clutching your chest. you try to ignore the way your cheeks feel warmer. you blame it on the cold wind. "do you have a concussion? should i check for—"

"i’m going to punch you."

"liar."

mark growls, but he doesn’t deny it.

(and if he flies a little closer the rest of the way home, well. that’s nobody’s business.)

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the two of you touch down on a rooftop, still bickering, when your foot catches on the ledge. you stumble—hard—and suddenly, your vision whites out in a burst of pain.

"ow, what the—?" you glance down.

oh.

oh.

there’s a gash in your side, deep enough that your hoodie’s soaked through with blood. huh. that… probably should’ve hurt more earlier. maybe the adrenaline wore off. maybe you’re just that good at ignoring pain. or maybe—

"what the fuck."

mark’s voice is wrong. too quiet. too flat.

you look up, grinning weakly. "hey, so, fun story—turns out glove-guy’s stupid glove was kinda sharp—"

mark moves faster than you can blink. one second, he’s across the roof. the next, his hands are on your shoulders, shoving you down onto a ventilation unit. his fingers are trembling.

"why didn’t you say anything?!" he snarls, but it’s not anger in his eyes—it’s panic, raw and unfiltered.

you blink. "uh. forgot?"

mark chokes on a sound that’s half-laugh, half-sob. "forgot. you forgot you were stabbed."

"to be fair," you wheeze, "you were really distracting. all the—hnng—exploding walls and… and the smug face—"

"shut up. shut up." mark’s hands hover over your wound like he’s scared to touch it. his usual swagger’s gone, replaced by something terrifyingly fragile. "you’re bleeding out and you’re joking?"

you open your mouth. close it.

…oh.

oh.

he’s actually scared.

the realization hits you like a punch to the gut. mark—your mark, the guy who laughs while flipping cars, who grins when he’s covered in someone else’s blood—is terrified.

your throat tightens. "hey. hey. look at me." you grab his wrist, squeezing. "i’m not dying over some glove-related incident, okay? that’s embarrassing."

mark shudders, his free hand clenching into a fist so tight you hear his knuckles pop. the veins in his forearm stand out like live wires, that stupid black sleeve of his straining over muscle. "not funny."

"kinda funny," you wheeze, even though your vision's going spotty at the edges. the blood soaking your side is definitely not ideal, but hey—if you pass out now, you'll miss mark's mental breakdown. worth it.

"not. funny." his voice cracks on the last word, raw in a way you've never heard before. not after fights, not after nightmares—never. his other hand's still pressed to your wound, warm and sticky with your blood, trembling like he's the one going into shock.

silence.

then, so quiet you almost miss it: "i can’t lose you too."

your chest aches worse than the gash in your side.

you reach up—ignoring how your arm shakes—and poke the spot between his furrowed brows. "too? wow. you do have friends." you swipe your thumb over the silver eyebrow piercing he definitely doesn't let anyone else touch. "should i be jealous?"

mark huffs, but he doesn’t pull away or swat your hand off like usual. his breath hitches when your fingers trail down to brush his cheek. "asshole."

"yeah," you agree softly, your palm lingering against his jaw. "your asshole."

mark freezes. for one terrifying second, you think you've broken him. then, with a groan that sounds suspiciously wet, he drops his forehead against your shoulder, his mohawk tickling your neck. "i hate you so much." his arms slide around your waist, careful but desperate, like he's trying to put you back together through sheer willpower.

(he holds you the whole way to the medbay.

and when the medics try to pry him off you, he growls like a feral dog.

you don't let go either.)

2.9k words of mohawk mark chaos for you! thanks for the request—i had way too much fun writing this unhinged gremlin. not entirely sure if i did him justice or did this right, but hey, at least he’s here and causing problems. hope you enjoyed the mess!

[jj-one]

STRAY KIDS + WHEN YOU’RE BUSY AND THEY CRAVE YOUR ATTENTION !

this is smut, do not interact if under 18

pairing: skz x f!reader genre/tags: smut, fluff, nipple play, fingering, exhibitionism, voyeurism, marking, sexting, sending nudes, piv, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap ur willy), masturbation, oral (f receiving), dry humping, pussy slapping, multiple orgasms, spanking, there is probably more but i’m too lazy to write them all words: 4.4k

[note] if you remember seeing this before yes i’m the original author i didn’t plagiarize lol, i made a new blog and was formerly known as @milkychae but deleted a while ago. i’ll be reposting all my old deleted fics and using this as an archive !

BANG CHAN. It was finals week, aka your personal hell. You were always super nervous about tests and if you didn’t score over an 80% that may as well be a failure to you. You sighed as you opened yet another textbook to read, your dickhead professor thought it would be a good idea to pile more homework on top of the fact knowing you all needed to study. Your major was biochemical engineering so you shouldn’t have been too shocked by all this intense workload. As you were sitting on the bed you heard a noise come from the door, looking to the left of you to see Chan coming inside. You don’t really put much thought into it though since you see him literally everyday and you were just really focused on studying right now. That’s when Chan starts to come up behind you, rubbing your shoulders and planting a kiss to your cheek.

“Hiii y/n, I’m back!” He says cheerfully, “I couldn’t wait to see you baby,” he proceeds to try and pry the textbook out of your hands so you can give him your full, undivided attention but you pull it back.

“Sorry babe but I really, really need to study right now.” You tell him with an exhausted look on your face. You’ve been studying for only 2 and a half hours but it feels like the entire day.

Chan looks at you and puts his arm around you, “You look so tired sweetie, why don’t you let me give you a massage?” He asks, already starting by wrapping his hands back on your shoulders.

You loved this man dearly, he just came back home from an 8 hour shift at work but is still offering to give you massages and help you out when you’re stressed. You want to tell him no and that you seriously need to focus back on studying but the intrusive thoughts were slowly winning. Ultimately you gave in to Chan’s desires and he gave you a gentle massage. The massage started off pure at first with no intention of going any further but then his hands slipped a little too far and came in contact with your nipple. He noticed you weren’t wearing a bra underneath so he slips his hand through the opening of your t-shirt, light moans were now leaving your mouth from his touch.

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you all day babe,” Chan softly whispers while pinching your nipples, bringing his other hand down to your thigh and gently caressing it. Chan has always been good at being a distraction for you and his cock is definitely what you need instead of reading about the Principles and Techniques of Molecular Physics.

LEE KNOW. Saturday nights were the best, you had no work and got to do whatever you wanted for the whole day. You weren’t much of an outgoing kind of person so you chose to stay in and have your boyfriend Minho come over and be lazy with you. You were wrapped up in your cozy sherpa blanket watching your favorite kdrama season finale, you and Minho both loved kdramas but you got way too into them. Your eyes have been glued to the show since Minho got there and you only spoke about three sentences to him. He’s sitting on the couch next to you and he’s not as remotely interested in the show as you are, he keeps looking around the room and sneaking glances at you from time to time.

He can’t stop noticing how cute you look today, you were wearing very light makeup and had messy hair. He thought you looked so adorable in your current state, just in awe of your natural beauty. He wraps his arm tightly around you and tries to give you a kiss, but you quickly pull away from him so you can focus back on the TV, not trying to miss anything. Minho gets visibly upset by this, he wants to give you his affection yet you’re currently denying it. He tries one more time to kiss you but you continue to keep pulling away to watch the show. That’s when he decides he’s had enough and grabs the remote to turn off the TV, causing you to get frustrated with him.

“What the hell Minho?!” You say in confusion, you were getting so close to knowing who the girl’s father finally was.

He doesn’t say anything, instead he just starts roughly kissing you, pushing you down on the couch and hovering over your body. He pulls away leaving you breathless, then proceeds to nibble on your earlobe, dragging his tongue further down to lightly suck on your neck, touching a certain spot that makes you inhale sharply. He brings one of his hands to your stomach, rubbing it gently. Beginning to toy with the hem of your sweatpants and wants nothing more than for them to be off.

He was almost going to give in to that idea but a new one came to mind, an even more sinister thought. He grins as he continues rubbing down your thigh, you want him to wipe that smirk off his face so badly because you have no idea what he’s up to. Wondering what he could possibly be thinking about right now. Minho brings his fingers to your clothed heat, sliding them inside the sweatpants and starts rubbing your clit through your panties. You moan for him as you close your eyes, feeling the friction. You buck your hips in the air so you can feel more of him, but Minho grips your hips and holds them firmly in place.

“No, stop. No moving ‘til I say so,” Minho says sternly, giving your clothed pussy a little slap as he looks at you. “Since you’re so willing to ignore me, I get to tell you what to do from now on.”

CHANGBIN. You’ve been cleaning the entire house preparing for your parents to come over for dinner. You wanted to make sure that everything was perfectly spotless and the amount of cleaning you did today could account for your whole lifetime. You were cleaning the stove and just as you were about to grab another clean sponge you see Changbin with a whole box full of donuts from Krispy Kreme.

“How’s it goin’ babe?” Changbin asks while setting the donuts onto the table, he sees you wearing an apron and giant yellow gloves, “looks like you’ve been doing some serious, hard labor!”

“I’ve been cleaning for 5 hours now..” You say with an exhausted look on your face, “I haven’t even finished cleaning the stove yet.”

“Who cares about the stove y/n,” Changbin says, chuckling at your frustration about needing everything to be neat and tidy.

“I’m serious Binnie, I need to clean everything and make sure it’s all perfect!” You tell him while pouting.

“Why don’t you take a break babe.” He suggests out of concern, grabbing your hands to take your gloves off and sets them aside. He slowly brings your body up against the wall behind you, kissing you passionately. He must have been wanting you all day by the way he was hungrily kissing you, the man was sucking on your face for dear life, exploring the depths of your mouth as both your tongues were intertwined. He takes off your apron and grips his hands around your waist while your leg wraps around him, he held you so securely.

As things got more heated, and all your clothes were off, he aligned himself inside you. Your hands were snaked around his neck as you desperately move your hips to feel his cock, feeling every bit of his thrusts in you. Letting out a high-pitched moan as you grab a fistful of his hair and scream his name. Your legs grew weak with each and every stroke Changbin gives you, feeling like you’re going to faint. He continues pounding into you like no tomorrow and you hold tightly onto his shoulders for support. His skin was sticky and sweaty from all the work he’s putting into fucking you, his face looked super focused as he was hitting all the right spots. He was fucking all your stress away at this point and you were feeling so good. You feel yourself coming to your peak as he thrusts into your dripping heat, you’re seeing stars at this point. The harder his strokes were getting, the faster you were to reaching your climax.

“Mmm…gonna cum!” You cry out in pleasure, slowly losing your grip on him as you slip from his grasp. Changbin swiftly picks you up and pins you harder into the wall, making sure you don’t go anywhere by fully pinning his body up against yours. You feel so connected to each other in this very moment as you’re both about to cum, both letting out a string of moans in unison. You both reach your highs together, dizzy as your orgasm washes over you, feeling his cum leaking out of your cunt and dripping down to your leg. You just spent the whole day cleaning and now you have to get cleaned up before your parents come in approximately 30 minutes.

HYUNJIN. It was a long day at work, you were about 6 hours in and you already wanted to end it all. You work at a clothing store and on this particular day for some reason everyone and their mom wanted to come shopping. You’ve been working the register nonstop and you had yet to take a break, you were so busy that you forgot to even take one. You asked one of your coworkers if they could cover for you while you go on lunch and they said yes. You were so excited to finally be able to get to sit down and eat. As you sat in the break room you checked your phone for any missed messages, you see that you have a bunch of missed texts from the new guy you’re seeing. Hyunjin’s name is plastered on your phone and you check the messages straight away, eyes growing wide at what was shown before you. Hyunjin sent you a string of messages:

‘Hey y/n, what’s up?’ [1:15 pm]

‘Imyyy’ [1:25 pm]

‘Wyd? Are you at work?’ [1:42 pm]

‘Yea you’re prob at work :P’ [2:26 pm]

‘I’m a little horny lol’ [2:41 pm]

‘I want youuuu’ [3:02 pm]

He then proceeds to send you a couple shirtless pics of him in bed and a short video of him stroking his erect cock through his boxers. You quickly look around to see if anyone would be able to notice and you don’t see anyone else in the break room besides you. That’s when you open the video fully to see the rest, quickly get turned on as your wetness is only growing. You ran to the bathroom so you can send a photo back, snapping a quick pic of your boobs under your shirt and telling him how wet that video made you at work. You love that he now comes to you for when he feels needy, you like that he craves your attention while you’re gone. He sends you another message saying how much badly he wants to fuck you and he can’t to pick you up from work. You smile at that and tell him you only have 2 more hours to go.

You realize it’s time to get back to work and now all you can think about is that damn video Hyunjin sent you. The way he was stroking his cock all nice and slow made you want to be there to give him even more pleasure. You were walking around all day with wet and sticky panties since you came a little bit from fingering yourself in the bathroom to the video. You couldn’t wait to bounce on Hyunjin’s cock all night after you get off work.

HAN. This was now the fifth dress you tried on and you still haven’t figured out a style you liked yet. You were getting frustrated but you weren’t going to let your pickiness get you down from shopping. You were at the mall with your boyfriend Han and as much as he hated shopping he liked to see you try on the pretty dresses for him so it was a win-win. You go to a different store now and you check out those dresses, making a beeline for the pink ones since that was your favorite color. You check out all the various designs and ask Han which ones he liked best, he didn’t really give much input and just picked the shortest one for you.

You gave him a playful side eye and put the dresses you didn’t like back, heading over to the dressing room so you can try everything on. As you were trying on the dresses, Han was sitting on a bench outside the door, texting all his homies. He soon started to notice how long it’s taking you in there and although you were busy trying on dresses he was getting tired of sitting here and waiting for what seemed like an eternity. He sighs as he figures out what to do, but he ends up deciding to knock on your dressing room door. You don’t reply but he can hear stuff rustling from the inside so he knocks again and tells you it’s just him.

“Uh… I think I need help,” you tell him reluctantly, he’s not sure what you need help with but he comes in anyway. He sees you standing in the dressing room with your hands in the air and the dress halfway up your body, he starts to laugh at how you were stuck in it.

“This isn’t a laughing matter, please help get this damn thing off of me!” You whine, and he begins to unzip the dress from the back, releasing you from its tight grip. You feel like you can finally breathe once again and slip the dress off of you, now completely naked in front of Han. You were only wearing your skimpy g-string and you had your nipples pierced which Han loved about you. He looks you up and down, licking his lips as if he was about to destroy you. The only thought in his head right now was to kiss you, so he grabs your face and crashes his lips into yours, moving some of your hair out the way. You kiss him back but harder and even more passionately, letting him fondle your boobs and play with your piercing. As he toys with your nipples he looks at you with pure lust, his eyes were all hazy and he looked nothing but in love with you. He started kissing your chin and licked the side of your neck, making you get all wet and worked up for him.

“We shouldn’t be doing this right here baby,” you tell Han as he continues roaming all over your body.

“Doesn’t that make you wanna do it even more though?” He says mischievously, sucking on your neck and giving you small hickies. You knew the chances of getting caught were very high but at this moment, you didn’t really seem to care. All you wanted right now was Han and that’s all that was on your mind. His hands slid down between your legs, spreading your pussy lips with his fingers and coating them with your essence. Your wetness was leaking down to your thighs and it took everything in you not to scream from Han’s touch. He inserts two fingers in your tight little hole and goes in and out slowly, you press your lips together trying not to make a sound, so he covers your mouth.

“Shhh… quiet babe,” He whispers into your ear.

FELIX. It’s not secret to Felix that you were a workaholic, you often immersed yourself in your work a little too much. He knows you are an independent woman that enjoys the freedom of working but at the same time he really wishes you’d give that same energy towards him sometimes. You traveled a lot for work and although you two live together, it still puts a strain on your relationship being apart for long periods of times. Felix loves to be around his lover and the fact you are always so busy with work makes him want to shower you with even more love and affection when he sees you. You were gone on another usual business trip but this time it was for a week, that was the longest you’ve gone for work and it was driving him insane. Everyday he thought of you and he would text you little things that he saw randomly throughout the day that reminded him of you. You always appreciated how much Felix adored you and your work ethic, he loved you for you.

The day you came back home from work Felix came to you with open arms, he was more than excited to see you again and all he wanted for the past week was the attention of his beautiful lover.

“I’ve missed you so so much baby,” Felix says whilst giving you the biggest hug, his body was so warm and you melted right into him. You gave him a kiss and he moves you both over to the couch, pulling away from kissing you for a second with a weird grin plastered on his face.

“What’s with that look?” You ask, wondering what he’s thinking in that head of his.

“I got you a little something, I’ll be right back,” he quickly runs to your shared room and comes back with a black box in his hand.

“What’s this?” You ask curiously, holding the box up to examine what it could be.

“Just open it, you’ll be surprised.”

You do as you’re told and open the box, you see a purple velvet bag and you open to see what’s inside. It was a vibrator, it had multiple settings and looked very high quality and expensive. You instantly blushed as you held the item in your hand, looking up at Felix so he can explain what’s going on.

“I wanted to get something to relieve your stress..” he continues “because you’re always so busy and stuff, y’know.”

You smile at the naughty gift your boyfriend gave you, giving him another kiss and thanking him.

“Want to use it on me now?” You ask, knowing that he’ll say yes to you in a heartbeat. Felix’s eyes light up like a kid in a candy store and he agrees without hesitation. He sits next to you on the couch with the toy in his hand and you’re now making out. As one thing leads to another, you end up naked lying on your back with your legs spread wide out for him. He has the toy on one of the highest settings and you’ve squirted about three times for him already.

“Come on baby, you can give me another. Just one more,” Felix says demandingly, having too much fun with this toy.

You spring your head back as you feel the toy in your soaking wet entrance, you don’t know how much more of this you can take. Your legs were violently shaking and the couch was soaked with your juices, you felt like you didn’t have anything left in you. Felix keeps fucking the toy in and out of you making you scream out for him, he palms himself through his pants as he does it.

“I never want you to be away from me again y/n,” Felix’s deep voice rasps as he pumps the toy into you deeper, “I mean it this time.”

SEUNGMIN. You were laughing hysterically as you were scrolling through TikTok, you’ve been glued to your phone for hours at this point. You showed Seungmin, who was sitting next to you on his bed yet another TikTok that he probably wouldn’t think is funny. You put the screen up to his face to show him the video and he looks but doesn’t really seem that interested. You tell him how funny you think the video is and he just shrugs his shoulders.

“You know, I’d rather have you shoved in my face rather than a phone.” Seungmin says to you.

‘Ok boomer’ you think to yourself, not wanting to actually say it incase he gets offended. You decide to just ignore his comment and go back to watching hilarious TikToks. Seungmin starts to get bored and he when he gets bored he becomes bratty. You hear him whine a little bit, looking up from your phone to see him pouting and all you want to do is give him a kiss.

“C’mere,” You command for him to come closer, he quickly does so looking like a lost puppy. He plants a chaste kiss to your lips, then begins to leave a trail of kisses down your neck. He slips a hand under your tank top and lightly squeezes your boob. You sigh as you feel him innocently brush past your nipples, then he trails some more kisses down your stomach. Once he makes his way down to your lower body, he quickly takes off your pants with ease. Teasing your clothed pussy a little bit, watching as a wet spot starts to appear from the outside, he circles your clit and starts to sniff you.

“You smell good baby,” Seungmin compliments, finally taking off your panties and tossing them somewhere on the bed. He kisses the inside of your thighs and feels the warmth of your skin on his lips. He loves every inch of you and he wants to take his time with you. Flicking his tongue on your clit and you hiss at the feeling, you want him to fuck you with his tongue. He licks a nice long stripe across your wet folds, staring up at you while doing so, your phone still in your hand the whole time. Seungmin brought his head up more to face you, “keep looking at your phone while I eat you out babe, pretend like I’m not even here.”

You comply with his instructions, continuing to watch TikToks like normal and Seungmin goes back to devouring your pussy like the good boy he is.

JEONGIN. It was a very nerve wrecking day for you, you were meeting Jeongin’s parents for the first time today. You put on your most expensive Dior perfume and prettiest heels to meet his mom since Jeongin told you she was very into fashion and can tell when girl’s wear cheap perfume. You wanted to impress this woman as much as possible since this was definitely going to be the man you wanted to marry someday. Jeongin reassures you the whole day that she was going to love you regardless,

“Even if you wore perfume from the Dollar Tree she’d still like you!” He tries to give reassurance. You don’t believe that’s true but when you get to his mom’s house you meet her and the rest of his family. His dad was super nice and everyone was very welcoming towards you. You were actually shocked by how chill and laid back everyone was, you felt bad for assuming that they would be mean to you. Jeongin’s mom was the last person you met, when you met her she came off as a little timid but then she started to warming up to you once you started having a lot of things in common.

She was really sweet and super funny, you now know why Jeongin is such a charming guy. You see Jeongin come up to you so he can pull you away from his mom for a bit but his mom brushes him off to tell him she wasn’t finished talking. He walks away with a defeated look on his face and you continue talking with his mom. When the food is ready everyone gathers at the table to eat and you sit beside Jeongin, his mom was across from you both. You were busy for most of the day talking with his family and getting to know everyone. He wanted to be with you but he couldn’t even get the chance, feeling left out in the conversation. You feel your phone vibrate from the table and you pick it up to see who it is, seeing that it’s from Jeongin but you’re confused because he’s sitting right next to you. You turn towards him to ask him why he just texted you but he puts his finger to his mouth to tell you it’s a secret. You place your phone under the table to look at the message,

‘Come meet me in the bathroom upstairs by the laundry room ;)’

You instantly blush from reading that text and try to hide your flustered expression. You look at him and nod your head to signal that you understand. Jeongin shoots his head up and tells his parents who were across the table from him that he needs to be excused to go to the bathroom. You shoot yourself in the foot thinking about what excuse you can come up with so you both don’t look sketchy.

“Sorry please excuse me I have to take this important call for my job,” you quickly say to his parents as you head over to where you’re supposed to go.

You meet Jeongin in the bathroom where he told you to and you went straight to heavily making out. He grabs your ass and spanks it lightly, “How long you think we can be in here before they start to notice?” You ask, his lips now glued to your neck.

“I dunno, I honestly don’t really give a fuck.” He says bluntly, turning you around to face the sink and the mirror, pressing his bulge against your ass. He starts grinding his dick against you slowly, kissing your neck and running his fingers down your body. He lifts up your dress and drags his cock to rub against your clothed cunt, you lowly moan his name and he smiles. He’s about to fuck you so hard against this sink all the while his parents not having a clue where you two went.

[not-neverland06]

hi!! Given my obsession for Hugh jackman I am CRAVING for some Leopold X reader (from Kate & Leopold)! Maybe with some little angst but happy ending??

I love your blog!! Have a wonderful day 😽💐💓

Leopold Mountbatten x fem!reader a/n: I don’t know how controversial this is going to be and I don’t care. I could never finish the movie because I hated Meg Ryan in it so much. It’s so odd, I’ve loved her in everything else she’s been in but she made it such a hard watch. Maybe it’s because she reminds me of my grandma in the worst way lol, but I finished it for you anon sorry this was a little rushed Anyways, hope you enjoy lovelies Summary: Your neighbor went back in time and dragged someone back with him. He's irritatingly polite and far too interested in your way of life. What are you meant to do when you fall for a man who was never even supposed to meet you?

“Hello, madam, please I need your help!”

You’re used to crazies, it is New York after all. But they’re not usually shouting at you through your window. Especially not when you’re on the sixth floor. You look away from your coffee and glance towards the fire escape. 

There’s an oddly dressed man with red eyes waving at you through the dirty glass. You offer him a tentative wave back and he nods aggressively. “Yes, hello, I need your assistance.”

“Um,” you shake your head, “Sorry, I don’t have any drugs dude.”

“No,” he places his hands pathetically on the glass and shakes his head. “Please, I have been kidnapped.” Finally, you take a step closer to him. You can tell now that his eyes aren’t reddened from any medicinal fun, he probably got pepper sprayed. 

Your friend did it to you once when you tried to surprise her on her birthday and you’ll never forget just how awful you looked afterwards. You can see him a bit more clearly now. Whatever odd costume he’s got on, it looks good. Genuine and clean. 

Not like most of the street performers you see in Times Square. Besides, he doesn’t have that maddened look in his eye that makes you worry he’s going to come inside and kill you. Tentatively, you open the window. 

He’s leaping through in a second and you jump back with a yelp. He turns towards you and his eyes widen before he quickly turns away. “My good lady, where are your pants?”

“Uh,” you glance down at the oversized shirt you’re wearing and the tiny shorts underneath. Admittedly, it’s a little skimpy, but you’re not walking around naked. You’ve heard of committing to the bit, but this is a bit much. “On,” you tell him, walking around him and trying to stand close to the phone. 

“Ma’am-” He’s cut off as someone slams their fist on your front door. You keep a weary eye on the man while you unlock your door. 

“Hey,” Stuart smiles at you. His eyes drift slightly past your shoulder and he goes barging into your apartment. “Leopold! What did I say?”

You huff and glare at Stuart’s frantic back. “This is yours?” Stuart nods and rushes Leopold out the door. You don’t miss the pleading, while slightly scandalized, look he sends you. 

You slam the door closed behind them, shaking your head and going back to your morning paper. You doubt you’ll be seeing him around again. 

You know, it’s just your luck that your upstairs neighbor is a scientist, one who happens to dabble in the art of time travel. And it’s just your luck that he had to fall down a damn elevator shaft. 

Now, according to him, you have to care for someone from a different century so he can make it back to his time portal in, well, in time. This is fucking ridiculous. “I’m going to kill you, Stuart.”

“Look, they’re going to take my phone but he really cannot-”

It goes silent on the other end. You shout his name a few times but hear nothing in response. You assume the hospital staff has finally gotten sick of his shenanigans and has taken his phone. You slam your handset down with a huff and look towards the living room. Leopold hasn’t sat down since you walked in and it’s unsettling. 

“So,” you start and his attention snaps towards you. “1876, huh?”

He nods and you roll your eyes with a scoff. “Oh, this is insane. This is insane,” you mutter to yourself, walking towards Stuart’s door. Leopold gives you a concerned look before quickly following after you. There’s a part of you, and you hate that part, that actually believes some of this. 

Stuart is a brilliant, though flawed, scientist. You don’t doubt that he might have actually unlocked the secret to traveling back to the past, but it’s such an insane idea to try and wrap your head around. 

“Come on, we’re leaving.” You know that Stuart doesn’t want him out of the house. Tough. You’re not going to just stay inside and wait until he can supposedly go back to the past. You don’t give Leopold any time to process your answer, already out the door and heading towards the stairs. 

“You know,” he starts as he catches up to you. “You are quite rude.” Your first instinct is to snap back at him. But you take a breath and stop yourself. 

You’re desensitized, ridiculously used to just how awful New Yorkers can be to each other. And whether this man is truly from the past or not is up for debate. But he is polite and earnest, and you have no reason to be a bitch to him. 

“I’m,” the words are hard to come by but you force them out anyway, “I’m sorry.” He looks genuinely surprised by the apology and it only makes you feel worse. “This is just an insane idea to try and grasp.”

He chuckles softly, smiling as he glances down at his feet. “Yes, how do you think I feel?”

You’re sure it’s not his intention, but you only feel like more of an ass. If this is hard for you, whatever he's going through is a hundred times worse. You weren’t forcefully ripped out of your own time and shoved into another you don’t understand. He’s still trying to comprehend the television.

Though, you’re sure being a scientist has helped him in marginally understanding how all of this is possible. “How do you like the future?” It sounds awkward and stiff, but you haven’t had to talk to anyone in a really long time. 

Your interactions are pretty limited at the book shop considering no one ever comes in. They all order online nowadays and all you really have to worry about is organizing shelves. You’re embarrassingly rusty when it comes to conversing. 

And his propensity towards eloquence only makes you feel worse. “I must admit, some of your inventions have been quite fascinating. I’m especially fond of your showers.”

Your face scrunches slightly at the mention of hygiene and you nod, “I bet.” Before either of you can attempt to salvage this horrible attempt at conversation your phone starts ringing. “Hold on one second,” you tell him. You walk a few feet away from him but you can still feel his eyes boring into your back as you move away. 

“Hello?”

There’s a frantic shout of your name down the line and then the distinct jingling of keys. “I need you to cover the shop. Marcy just went into labor and I’ve got to go!” Paul doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he hangs up. 

Your jaw gapes and you stare down at your phone with shock. You know Paul and his wife had been expecting, but had it really already been nine months? Has your life become so monotonous and dull that nine months doesn’t even register for you?

It’s a depressing thought. One you’d rather not linger on. “What was that?”

You scream, though the people passing by don’t pay you any mind, and jump away from Leopold. “Jesus, where the hell did you come from?”

Leopold flinches away from you and his face is just as aghast as yours. “Good heavens, what is the matter with you? Do you respond to anything as a sensible woman might?”

“I resent that.” You tell him bitterly. Though, he does make a good point. You’ve been on edge constantly. You always seem to be more anxious than you are happy. It’s not a good state to perpetually exist in. “I need to go into work.”

You don’t want to outright say that he needs to go back to the apartment. It feels a little mean, but you’re hoping he’ll catch onto your tone of voice. 

His entire demeanor perks up and he smiles at you. “Wonderful, I am dreadfully curious as to what you do.”

You open your mouth to correct him, let him know he’s not coming. But he’s staring at you with such hopeful eyes that you cannot find it in yourself to turn him down. He seems so excited, you’re sure he won’t be when he gets to your cluttered little bookshop. You let out a weary sigh, “Fine. Okay.”

You walk towards the curb, hoping to hail a cab. But Leopold’s hand gently wraps around your elbow and tugs you in the opposite direction. Your eyes widen in response to his boldness. You thought touching a woman he wasn’t courting would cause someone like him to combust. Seems he didn’t mind breaking the rules sometimes. 

You make a mental note of that for later. You don’t know what you’re going to do with the information, but you find it intriguing. Maybe the modern world was rubbing off on him more than he’d like to admit. 

“We should take this,” he stops you in front of a horse-drawn carriage and you immediately begin to shake your head. 

“No, Leopold, these are just tourist traps-”

He doesn’t let you finish, opening the carriage’s door and gently nudging you inside. “Nonsense! This is far more enjoyable than those yellow monstrosities.”

“Taxi,” you correct. You turn towards the carriage driver and give him directions to your bookshop. “Ink and Tea on Fifth.” He nods and the carriage rolls forward with a lurch. You grip the cushioned seats and pray you don’t get motion sickness. 

“Ink and Tea?” Leopold inquires. “Are you a journalist?”

You smile and shake your head. “No, nothing so fancy. I just help take care of an old bookshop. They were supposed to extend the shop when it first opened. They were going to build a space for people to get pastries or drink tea, but it never happened and the owner was too lazy to change the name.”

It feels a little humiliating to be talking about your minimum-wage job to a renowned scientist. He’s invented or is going to, elevators. He doesn’t care about your stupid shop. But he doesn’t look particularly judgy of you. If anything he seems to be endeared to you the more you talk. 

Normally, you’re oblivious to these sorts of things. But it’s nearly impossible for him to hide. He’s not shy with his attraction, never taking his eyes off of you and hanging onto your every word. You’re not used to such outward attention. 

You look out of the carriage, pretending to take in views you’ve already seen a thousand times. “This city is incredible,” he wonders aloud. His awe is palpable. 

Your nose wrinkles and you shrug. “It’s dirty and the people are intolerable.”

“Must you always be so pessimistic?” You snap your mouth shut and feel embarrassment creeping around you. You’ve never had someone point out when you’re being negative, but he has a point. 

You used to view the city through the same rose-colored glasses. Something’s broken inside you in recent years that has just taken the joy out of life. Everything is grey to you now, until Leopold, nothing spectacular has ever really happened to you. 

The carriage comes to a stop outside the shop before you can respond to him. You want to deny what he says, but you can’t. Your attitude is almost always unnecessary. You think sometimes you might just be trying to see if everyone feels as miserable as you do or if there’s just something wrong with you. 

“Come on,” you tell him, getting out and paying the driver. He wanders towards the shop, eyeing the displays in the window curiously. 

“These are wonderful,” he tells you, pointing to the way you’d made the books look like they’re floating above the shelves. It was just some silly little thing you’d tried to get more people in the shop. It’d worked for about a month. 

“I did that,” you unlock the door to the shop and open it for him. But he doesn’t walk in immediately, instead, he lingers in the doorway. He offers you a soft smile and you can’t help but return it. 

“You’re more creative than you give yourself credit for.”

Your eyes widen as you watch him walk inside. He keeps making these oddly astute observations about you and it’s throwing you off your game. You barely know this man and you’ve always been good at keeping yourself aloof and vague. Yet, he seems to read you like you’re wearing your heart on your sleeve. 

“Feel free to…” he’s already made himself comfortable somewhere in the back and you trail off. “Look around,” you finish lamely. His form is lost somewhere in stacks of books and cluttered shelves. 

You know most of the classics and history books are kept towards the back. You wonder if he’s reminiscing or getting a headstart before he gets back to his time. You smile at the thought and walk behind the counter, sitting on the stool and preparing to finish off the rest of the day.

Leopold is still somewhere lost to you an hour later. Occasionally you’ll hear a page flip or the clatter of a book being reshelved, but there are no other signs of life. Not until the bell above the door rings. 

“Clark,” you smile, sitting up straighter as your friend walks through the door. “What’re you doing here?”

He gives you a crooked grin and shrugs. Just over his shoulder, you can see Leopold’s head pop over a shelf, he looks between you both, eyes narrowing with disdain. “Paul told me you’d be here, figured you might want some company.”

“Actually-” you start, but another voice cuts you off. 

“Leopold Mountbatten,” he comes around the corner, hand outstretched as he comes in between you and Clark. “And who might you be?”

Your brows furrow in confusion at the interaction. Leopold seems oddly hostile and Clark looks strangely caught off guard. “Um, Clark. Nice to meet you, man.” He shakes Leopold’s hand but his grip is weak and it only lasts for one awkward half-second. 

It’s uncomfortable to watch them try and interact and it only gets worse when they turn towards you. Clearly, they want you to tell them who the hell the other guy is. But you feel like that might just make the situation worse. 

Besides, you were pretty content with it just being you and Leopold, you don’t need Clark coming in here and riling things up. “You know, Clark, I’m set here. You can just go home.” Your tone leaves no room for argument but you know he wants to. 

“Alright, I’ll just call you later, I guess.” He throws one last skeptical look at Leopold before finally slinking back out of the shop. 

“Neither of you should be alone without a chaperone present.” Leopold bluntly scolds you without even waiting a second before Clark is gone. It catches you off guard and you scoff. 

You motion between the two of you, “We don’t have a chaperone.” 

Leopold shrugs, “Yes, well, I’m not courting you.” It shouldn’t, because he’s right, but that stings. He is attractive, surprisingly so. You have this odd belief that anyone from his century had to be at least a little ugly. But he’s near perfect. 

Hearing him tell you so bluntly that you’re not courting hurts a little. Though, you can’t blame him. You must be dramatically different than the women he’s used to. From your manners to how you dress, you’re practically an alien. 

You stand up from behind the counter and walk towards the cart of books that need to be shelved. “Clark is a friend. Nothing more.” You’ve never once been romantically interested in your friend. He’s attractive, but he’s not really your type.

Apparently, British men from the nineteenth century are. Which does not bode well for your romantic prospects once Leopold is back home. “It is plain for anyone to see how he wants you. Don’t let yourself be blinded by naivete.”

“Naivete?” you scoff and turn around to glare at him. “Don’t pretend to know anything about me, alright? I’m not some maiden in a frilly dress who needs a chaperone.” You can see that your words affect him. He looks a little taken aback by your anger and so are you. 

It’s misplaced. You’re not mad at him, just mad that you even like him. “Just go read or something, Leopold.” You dismiss him more rudely than necessary and hide yourself behind a few shelves. The rest of your workday is spent in a tense silence that makes your stomach churn. 

You’re nearly ready for bed when something slips under your door with a slight whoosh. You turn towards it, frowning when you see a little envelope with a wax seal on the ground. You pick it up and let your finger slip under the paper, opening it to find a letter with your name on it inside. 

The handwriting is impeccable, with a gracefulness to it that you’ve never seen before. You don’t have to read for very long to know who it's from. Leopold writes poetry about the color of your eyes and the way your lips curl when you smile. And then he ends it with a vague, nearly ominous, invitation to dinner. 

You can’t help but smile to yourself, changing out of your pajamas and slipping into something a little nicer. A few minutes later you’re climbing out your window and taking the stairs up the fire escape to the roof. 

You don’t believe your ears at first, thinking the music must be coming from another apartment. But when you make it up to the roof there’s a violin player there waiting for you. He smiles happily at you as you approach. 

You spin in a slow circle, taking in the sheer amount of flowers littered around the roof. You don’t know how he managed to afford all of this. He transformed the barren and empty rooftop into your own little paradise. Candles lit and a live musician playing for you. 

You’ve never had anyone do something like this for you, ever. It’s a little hard to accept that someone would be willing to put this much effort in for you. “I wasn’t entirely sure you would come.”

You turn around and Leopold is waiting behind you, that familiar smile playing on his lips. You aren’t aware of the grin forming on your face in response. You don’t have much control over that when you’re with him. 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He looks like he wants to respond but at the last moment thinks better of it. He instead pulls your chair out for you, helping you into your seat. “This is nice,” that feels too underwhelming a word for such an incredible gesture. 

You sigh and frown as you try and find the right words. You don’t notice him sitting down across from you. You only look up when you feel him placing his hand on your own. “It’s alright,” he assures you. 

It’s still so odd how he can know you so well after such little time. “This is incredible,” you tell him, undeterred by his attempts to soothe you. “No one’s ever done something like this for me.”

He looks like he takes personal offense to that and it makes you laugh. “You deserve far more than this. Sadly, it seems Stuart’s pockets do have limits and I’m afraid I would have put him into debt if I’d gone any further.”

You have the perfect mental image of Stuart coming back from the hospital only to find his science project has robbed him. It makes you laugh and you squeeze his hand once before drawing it back into your lap. He lets his touch linger on you for a long moment, seemingly reluctant to pull away. 

“No,” you tell him, “this is perfect.” 

You fall into a comfortable silence for a little while. Conversation mostly drifting toward what his life was like as a duke. You don’t have much to say about your own life. It’s been incredibly normal and you’re a little sad to find that you don’t have one good thing to share with him. 

Nothing comes to the front of your mind. 

Inevitably, you drift into the topic you’d both been so adamantly avoiding. “Has Stuart said when you’d need to return?”

Leopold’s grip on the fork tightens and for a moment he refuses to meet your eye. “Monday, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” your eyes widen and you feel something burning at the back of your throat. Monday, the same Monday that’s two days away. 

“Dance with me,” the suddenness of the demand catchers you so off guard that you forget the tears. He stands, holding out his hand to you. You almost say no, you can’t remember the last time you danced and you doubt it’s going to be pretty. 

But he whispers your name and something about his tone tells you to take the chance while you have it. You slip your hand into his, letting him pull you to your feet. He doesn’t sweep you off your feet and dance the night away. 

Instead, he holds you close and you sway together. Like moving even an inch away from each other would hurt. “You could come with me,” he tells you. And you know immediately what he’s talking about. 

You also know it could never happen. Going to the nineteenth century is insane. Even considering it should be enough to have you sent to a psych ward somewhere. Especially not for a man you’ve known for less than a month. 

You try and tell him that you can’t, but he stops you. “I know, a preposterous idea. I just wanted to think about it.” You look up at him and find that you can’t take that away from him. There’s nothing wrong with imagining what it could be like with him. Even when you know it can never happen. 

You dance like that for a little while longer, swaying against each other while the violin plays in the background. He whispers your name and when you gaze up at him this time, there’s a certain look in his eye that you know is reflected in your own. 

He dips down, lips caressing yours gently before he’s pushing more firmly against your own. The world stops. Cliche, you’re aware. For the first time in years, though, you’re alive. You feel something other than the dull monotony of life. You feel excited and terrified all at once. Because you know you can never have this feeling again. 

You will never meet another man like Leopold who ignites this spark of life and passion within you. Never has a man been able to make you doubt every decision you’ve ever made with just a kiss, but here he is. 

Your arms lift like you might try and draw him in closer. His hands come up, taking yours in his gentle hold and squeezing. He pulls away from you and reality comes crashing back down. You’re not in love, you can’t be. You’ve only just met him a few days ago. 

Yet, here you are, wondering if you might actually want to leave everything behind to be with him like the great romances authors write about. He smiles at you and there’s a bittersweetness to it, a final farewell that you know will break whatever is left of your heart. 

He lifts your knuckles to his lips, pressing his lips against them like he never wants to part. “Goodnight,” he whispers your name and backs away from you. You watch him go, watch him leave, unable to muster up any words for him. 

You can’t think of anything that would ease this gnawing ache inside of you. Nothing to soothe the pain for either of you. You let him go because you know if you asked him to stay he would. And how selfish of you would it be to let history unravel simply because you fell in love? 

Monday. It is Monday. You’ve been coming to terms with that all weekend. You don't want to think about the fact that Leopold will be gone tonight. Your time together was so brief but you feel like you’re never going to get over losing him. 

Before the night was over on Sunday, a note was slipped under your door. This handwriting was messy, it made you think someone other than Leopold had written it down, but you don’t know who it could have been. 

It was a date and time, jump off the Brooklyn Bridge at this time on Monday night. Only an idiot would jump off a bridge because of an ominous note slipped under her door. But you haven’t been able to take your eyes off of it, not since you first picked it up. 

Leopold had invited you to go with him. And while you might not have said no, the insinuation was clear. Your eyes dart to your clock. If you left now, you could still make it in time. What an absolutely ridiculous thought. 

So, why are you running out the door without locking it? Why do you not care who slips into your home now? There’s this sense of finality within you that lets you know you’re never going to see that place again and that’s okay. 

You never truly felt comfortable in your life. You always thought a part of yourself was missing. Or that you were always running late for something. You think you understand what you were feeling now. 

The thing you’ve been searching for your whole life wasn’t halfway across the world, a hundred thousand miles from you. He was on the wrong side of time, or you were, at least. 

You manage to snag a taxi to get to the bridge but there’s a traffic jam. You’re forced to jump out of the car and run through the different lanes of blocked traffic. People shout at you. Your cab driver screaming after you about your fare. You don’t care, the only thing you can think about is the note crumpled in your hands and the clock counting down how long you have to jump. 

You’ll either be on the news tomorrow as an unfortunate suicide. An idiot who accidentally threw herself off the wrong side of the bridge. Or, you’ll see Leopold again. 

You reach the ledge and you can’t hesitate. If you do, you won’t jump in time. You close your eyes, holding your breath like you’re jumping into your neighbor’s pool. Air rushes around you, whipping at your hair and skin violently. 

It’s not until you hear someone shouting down at you that you realize you’re not dead. You’re lying in the middle of a dirt road, a group of people staring down at you with concern in their eyes. 

You only have to take in the clothes they’re wearing to know you’ve made it. Before they can react you’re leaping to your feet and running off. You know you’re near the Brooklyn Bridge, or where it’s supposed to be at least. You know enough about the area to remember where Leopold’s house is supposed to be. 

You’re covered in sweat and red mud. The people you pass by in the streets hide behind their hands and whisper about you. You’re not making a good impression on your future neighbors, that’s for sure. But, honestly, all you care about is making it back to him. 

You see people congregating outside his uncle’s home. You know there’s a party inside, that he’s supposed to be announcing who his wife will be. You barrel through the people outside, shoving through the crowd and running up the steps of the house. 

You can hear Leopold’s voice as you run, “The woman I’m going to take as my wife is-”

There’s a loud gasp as you come panting into the room. You can’t catch your breath long enough to speak but it doesn’t matter. The crowd is parting around you and Leopold is smiling down at you. He says your name and there’s nothing else that matters about the world around you. Not when you finally found each other. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie Kate & Leopold, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[nanamis-baker]

"Let me have my fill, Sweetheart"

Summary: Gojo wants to have his fill of you before leaving.

Content: Smut (Rough+ choking), some fluff, different positions, different locations.

WC: 6.3k (and only around 6k is pure smut lol)

The gentle clinks of dishes echoed in the quiet space. Satoru stood at the sink, his silhouette bathed in the soft, golden light of the overhead fixtures. The air carries the faint scent of lemon-scented dish soap as he carefully washed and dried the last of the plates, the soft glow casting a halo around his figure.

A smile graced your lips as you watched him, clad in his off-white t-shirt that hugged his broad frame perfectly, the way his sweatpants sat low on his waist. His hair, usually tamed by the blindfold, cascaded freely across his forehead, inviting you to run your fingers through it, gripping the soft strands.

Drawn to him like a moth to a flame, you crossed the kitchen to envelop him in your embrace, relishing the warmth of his body against yours. Your lips pressed against his t-shirt-covered shoulder blade, planting a soft kiss.

“When is your flight again?” you inquired softly. Satoru paused for a moment before responding.

“Around 4:30 in the morning,” he replied.

You nodded against his back as your hands roamed up and down his toned chest, teasing him slightly, relishing the feel of his muscles under your touch “So only a few hours, huh?” you sighed.

Finally done with the dishes, he turned to face you. Your chin rested on his chest as his arms wrapped around you, his touch firm yet gentle as he flattened his hands on your lower back, pulling you closer, his body pressing against yours. His cool knuckles brushed a stray hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Gotta make the best use of these hours, right?” Satoru asked, his voice low as his lips lingered near the shell of your ears.

Without wasting a moment, his lips moved to your shoulder, pushing aside the fabric of your shirt to reveal a sliver of soft skin. He placed a gentle kiss there, a slow, deliberate press of his lips that sent a spark through your body. He made his way towards your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin as he trailed kisses up to the sensitive area behind your ear.

"Tell me, love," he began, his voice low and husky, "why do you look so guilty?" He asked, as his lips grazed the soft skin under your ear.

You hummed, “I had the last piece of the brownie- although I didn't realise it was the last one” you admitted.

Satoru tsked playfully, pulling away a little to look into your eyes, the heat in them mirroring yours. He found that spot again under your ear, sucking it, as his teeth grazed your skin, causing you to moan softly. His strong hand moved up and down your back, keeping you anchored to him.

"I was really looking forward to something sweet before flying away," he murmured, his voice brushing against your ear like a secret. "Now, what should we do about that, huh?" The rumble in his voice ignited a fire of desire that burned hotter with each passing moment.

His hands moved away from your back, slowly trailing down your sides before dipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His thumbs traced circles just above the waistband of your shorts, the touch a delicious reminder of his power over your senses.

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, giving him the satisfaction he craved. A lazy smirk stretched across his lips as his hands trailed up higher, brushing against your ribs just under the swell of your chest.

He leaned in as his lips brushed against yours with a teasing lightness, leaving you breathless and yearning for more. His hands were under your shirt, strong and sure as they skimmed over your stomach and back.

“You are such a tease” you murmured as you reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair at the nape of his neck, brushing against his undercut as you trailed kisses up his jaw and behind his ear, reaching for that spot that always drove him crazy. A sharp breath hitched in his throat, and you smiled against his neck, knowing you'd found your target.

Satoru's thumb hooked into the fabric of your shorts, giving a gentle tug, silently seeking your consent.

You smiled up at him as one of your hands left its place on Satoru’s nape, finding his hand under your t-shirt and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He didn’t need to know anything else. Satoru knelt before you, his movements deliberate as he slid your shorts off your legs.

The tips of his fingers traced a feather-light path from your ankles, calves, the underside of your knee, and over your thighs. His touch was an urgent whisper, sending shivers down your spine with every caress. “God, you are so perfect,” he said, his voice a rough whisper.

His soft lips followed the same path, trailing kisses up your legs, each one a slow, deliberate tease. His lips reached your thigh, nibbling, planting hot kissing, as he made it to your inner thigh. He lingered there, the heat of breath a tantalizing promise against your core. You arched your back unconsciously, pushing into him, yearning for more.

So close. He was so close to where you wanted him.

His eyes, dark with desire, locked on yours. A slow smirk spread across his lips, and he leaned back, leaving you breathless and yearning.

A strangled cry caught in your throat. So close. Why was he stopping now? Your hand fisted in his hair, a silent plea for him to continue, but in one, swift movement, he was back on his feet, standing in front of your breathless form, smirking.

“Satoru don’t-” you started, but before you could finish Satoru leaned forward, lips crashing for a searing kiss that stole your breath away.

He cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. His touch was demanding, causing you to moan. Satoru placed his other hand on the nape of your neck, tilting your head up.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, the texture soft, like water flowing between your fingertips. Your other hand slipped under his thin t-shirt, fingertips grazing the warm skin of his back, pulling him in, and causing him to groan.

His grip on your neck tightened slightly, sending a thrill through you.

Your back brushed against the kitchen counter, the cold marble so different from the heat of Satoru’s body. The world seemed to fade away, everything reduced to the desperate press of his lips and the frantic beat of your heart.

Satoru’s body pressed against yours, urging you to sit on the counter, but you had different plans.

He blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his features as you broke this kiss. “What are you doing, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice breathless.

Ignoring his question for a moment, you dropped to your knees in front of him. You met his lustful gaze, a challenge glinting in your eyes, as you made your intention clear.

You held his gaze as your hands skimmed up his thighs, your fingertips exploring the firm muscles beneath his sweatpants. You didn't waste time with teasing - After all, you didn’t have Satoru’s patience.

Instead, your hands dipped beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, and with a single, swift motion, you tugged the garment down, leaving it pooling around his lower thighs. “I just want a taste,” you said, your voice needy.

The muscles in his legs tensed beneath your touch. He met your gaze, desire burning in his eyes. “A taste, huh?” he said, his voice a rough rasp. “Go ahead then, love.”

Your eyes returned to his still-clothed cock, straining against his boxers.

You did not have the same patience as him, but that didn't mean you could resist teasing him. You gently grabbed him through his boxers, teasing him as you placed a kiss on his clothed head. Satoru gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, his cheeks flushing pink as he looked down at you.

"Don't tease, baby," he said, his voice carrying a rumble that made you smirk.

Your fingers trailed down his length, the cotton of his boxers clinging tightly to it. Each stroke sent a jolt through him, a hiss escaping his lips as you lingered near the sensitive spot near his head, the fabric providing delicious friction. “Keep doing that and I’ll edge you till you are crying, love,” the warning was clear in his voice.

At last, you decided to put him out of his misery. With a slow, deliberate movement, you pulled down his boxers, revealing his cock, which now rested against his lower stomach. A gasp escaped his lips as the cool air hit his sensitive skin.

Your hands roamed up his thighs, fingers brushing against his balls, causing him to shudder. Finally, you wrapped your hand around his cock, guiding him into your waiting mouth, while the other hand rested on his thigh for some semblance of control.

With every movement, you try and take more of him into your mouth, coating him with your saliva, your hands stroking what you can’t fit… yet.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good” Satoru breathed out.

Unable you respond, you hummed around him, causing a shiver to rack down his body. His slender fingers grazed through your hair, the touch lingering for a moment before dipping down to the nape of your neck. His grip tightened, sending a wave of anticipation through you.

Satoru moaned as you continued taking him in. Finally, after some time, you managed to bottom out, your nose pressing against his pelvis.

“Fuck. You’re doing so good, love, taking me all in,” he encouraged. A mixture of spit and his pre-cum coated your lips, trickling down your chin.

You started to move your head back and forth, your tongue teasing the slit of his head, tracing the veins of his cock. Satoru shuddered whenever your tongue brushed his sensitive head, a hiss leaving his lips.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze that was already fixed on you. Strands of his hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat. A flush bloomed across his cheeks and spread down his neck, mirroring the warmth that bloomed in your own chest. His pupils were dilated, his eyes bright, glittering with pleasure that mirrored the delicious ache building in your body.

You could barely breathe, but seeing him like this was totally worth it.

Satoru's hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle circle over your cheekbone, “Breathe through your nose, love,” he said, though he sounded breathless himself, “Although you look so pretty, choking on my cock like that.”

His words caused you to moan as you moved your head faster, savouring him - the taste, the texture, everything that he had to offer. Satoru threw his head back in a gasp of pleasure, a guttural sound escaping his lips as he felt your teeth lightly scrape his length.

His chest heaved with each breath, the muscles straining with visible effort. Groans ripped from his throat, growing louder and more desperate with every passing second. You could tell he was getting closer.

You gasped around his cock as his grip on your hair tightened, a sharp tug pulling your head back, locking it in place.

Satoru started moving his hips, fucking your mouth, each thrust deeper and more hurried than the last one. Your hand gripped his thighs for support as he thrust into you, testing your limit.

He was so close. You could tell by his ragged breaths, his hurried pace, and the way he pulsed over your tongue. But, just as he was about to cum, his fingers twisted in your hair, pulling you away, leaving his cock coated in your saliva.

Confused, you looked up at him, but he just offered you a lazy smirk, “Not now, love. Got a big night planned ahead of us.”

He grabbed your hand, pulling you up, pinning you between his body and the counter before his lips found yours. His hands slipped under the hem of your t-shirt. His thumb circled your nipples, driving you crazy but never giving you what you wanted.

He grabbed your ass and lifted you onto the counter effortlessly, causing you to lean back on your arms for support. His lips sucked the skin on your jaw and neck gently, drawing soft gasps from you.

He was taking his sweet time, determined to make this last.

You clenched your thighs together, needing some friction, but Satoru’s knees parted your legs as he settled between them. A frustrated groan left your throat, causing him to smirk.

That fucker was enjoying this.

Finally, he removed your t-shirt, lifting it over your head before tossing it somewhere. The cold air of the kitchen enveloped your skin, giving rise to goosebumps all over your body.

Satoru took a step back. His eyes were dark with desire as his gaze boldly swept over you. Admiration clouded his eyes as he took you in - The goosebumps on your skin and the flush of your face - all enough to drive him wild.

Satoru reached for your exposed collarbone, measuring its length with his lips. He moved down, his lips tracing a searing path down your body, while his featherlight fingers roamed all over you, causing you to shudder.

His hot breath danced against your skin, so different from the cool air that surrounded you.

After what felt like a lifetime, he made his way towards your lower stomach, sucking and biting, leaving his mark. You arched your back, desperate for more, but Satoru paid it no mind.

His lips brushed against the waistband of your underwear, “You look so good in them…” he began hoarsely, “but unfortunately, they are in my way,” he finished, tearing off your underwear.

He sucked hard on your inner thighs, biting them, making you squirm before his finger finally reached where you had been aching for them.

Without a warning, he pushed two fingers inside you, your wetness coating them immediately. “God, you’re soaked,” he rumbled against your skin as his thumb teased your clit, drawing a gasp from you. Oh, the effect this man had on you.

For a moment, Satoru just watched you, his eyes savouring your reactions before his lips latched onto your clit, causing you to moan loudly.

One of his hands pumped into you, while his other hand flattened against your lower back, pushing you into his eager mouth and locking you in.

Your hand reached for his hair, tugging and pulling, as his fingers and tongue worked into you. Your other hand desperately gripped the counter, as loud moans left your lips.

Satoru withdrew his finger, only to replace it with his tongue before you could even process the loss of touch. His thumb drew tight circles over your clit, his tongue curling inside you, reaching all the right spots as you groaned, your back arching almost painfully.

You could feel your orgasm building as Satoru continued like a man starved, his fingers replacing his tongue, “Just like that, love, cum in my mouth.”

His words pushed you over the edge, and Satoru’s fingers continued to pump into you, drawing out your orgasm.

You slumped against the counter, breathing hard, but Satoru’s fingers did not stop even after your orgasm. In fact, they were pumping into you faster than before.

“Toru, it’s too m-much,” you moan out as you reach down to push him away, but his hand just grabs your hand. His fingers intervened with yours, almost tenderly, as he pinned your hand to your side, his hold strong.

Despite your words, you found yourself wanting more- more of his touch, his mouth, whatever he offered. Breathless whimpers escaped your lips as he added a third finger, stretching you out, pushing you towards the edge, your orgasm building rapidly.

Your eyes closed as you were ready to fall over the edge, but Satoru’s fingers spotted abruptly, causing you to cry out. His fingers left your core as he stood up, his lips and chin glistering under the soft glow of kitchen lights, “Patience, love,” he said, offering you a lazy smile as he reached for the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head, revealing his toned, muscular chest.

In the same breath, he removed his sweats and boxers, stepping out of them to stand in front of you. Satoru’s skin was almost translucent, with a map of veins running all over his body.

You wanted to trace them with your eyes, your fingers, and your lips like you had done so many times in the past, but before you could do any of those things, Satoru grabbed your waist, pulling you off the counter and spinning you, so your back was pressed against his chest.

One of his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his hard chest, while his other hand reached up, teasing and rolling your nipple in between his thumb and fingers. You gasped as you felt his breath against your ear, and you could almost feel him smile at your reaction.

He slowly pushed you down, bending you over the counter till you were pressed against the marble, sandwiched between Satoru’s heat and the cold of the counter - a heady combination.

His fingers, rough against your skin, slowly traced lazy patterns along your neck and shoulder, moving your hair aside, deliberately exposing that sensitive area to his touch.

His kisses started tender, feather-light explorations that left your skin tingling. Then, they turned harder, nips and sucks that sent desire coursing through you. He trailed a hot path down your spine, his lips lingering on the small of your back before continuing their descent. Soft moans escaped your lips as goosebumps erupted across your skin due to his touch.

You felt his erection brush against your skin, causing you to groan in frustration, “Satoru, just fuck me already.”

He chuckled. That bastard chuckled.

Frustrated, you pushed yourself up from the counter, your palms flat against the hard material, but before you could fully rise, Satoru’s hands reached for your wrists, grabbing them and pinning them against the small of your back, his large hand holding them in place.

His other hand grabbed a fistful of your hair, softly pushing your face down towards the cool counter, trapping you beneath him as he finally, finally pushed himself into you in one go. A strangled cry escaped your lips when he did not stop, pushing until he was completely inside you.

“Fuck, you feel so good” Satoru breathed out as he began thrusting into you. He started slow, going in and out of you lazily, drawing out moans from your lips.

It wasn’t long before he picked up the pace, pounding into you, as choked gasps left your throat. You could not move, trapped between Satoru and the counter, his hands pinning you into place. You couldn’t do anything but take his cock.

And you wouldn’t trade this for anything else.

His pace changed. He pulled out of you almost all the way out, before trusting into you again, making you gasp from the force.

His grip around your wrist tightened, and the hand that was holding your head down moved in front of you, cupping your jaw as he lifted your head, his lips hot against your ear, “enjoying this, huh?” he gritted out, “tell me how much you like it when I pound into you, love”

His hand moved to your throat, gripping slightly. “A lot, Satoru” you gasped out, “Don’t stop, please”

“Oh, I am not planning to” a hard thrust, deep inside you, “Not anytime soon”

You could feel your orgasm building, and you were sure Satoru could feel it too, as his pace quickened. His thrusts were getting sloppy - he was close too.

You came, your knees bucking as loud moans left your mouth, but Satoru’s hold kept you from falling. Soon, he followed, hissing and groaning as he came, his thrusts turning deep and slow, burying his cum deep inside you.

Satoru released his hold on you, and the two of you collapsed against the marble, the coolness a welcome relief from your heated skin. His finger reached up, tenderly brushing away the hair that was sticking to your face.

You met his gaze, the intensity still lingered, but it was the hint of tenderness that sent a warmth blooming in your chest. His eyes looked so bright, despite the desire swimming in them. Damp strands of hair clung to his forehead, framing a face flushed. You reached out, a soft touch brushing against his cheek, mirroring his caress, causing him to smile.

God, he wasn't just beautiful - he was captivating - a pleasant sight for sore eyes.

You smiled back at him, but just then you felt him move as he picked you up. Wetness, a mix of his cum and yours trickled down your inner thigh.

“What are you…” You began, as Satoru carried you towards the bedroom.

"You thought we were done?" he chuckled, a playful smirk on his lips. He dipped his head, his breath warm against your ear. "I will be gone for a week- maybe more, let me have my fill, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice sending a fresh wave of desire through you.

Satoru dropped you on the bed, and without missing a beat, he was on top of you. His body rested on his elbow as he covered your body partially with his. The muscle of his arm flexed under his weight, his other hand brushing against your cheeks.

You brushed his hair away from his eyes, And Satoru held your hand, kissing your knuckles, his eyes closing briefly. “But Satoru, I’m spent,” you say, despite the heat building in your stomach.

Satoru’s eyes darkened, a flicker of knowing recognition crossing his features as he heard the need in your voice. "Are you though, hmm?" he murmured. Before you could answer, he captured your lips in a searing kiss. His hands cupped your jaw, his long fingers sending shivers down your spine as they brushed the delicate skin behind your ear.

You responded instantly, wrapping your hand around his neck, your fingers digging into the tight muscles there. A soft moan escaped your lips as you hooked a leg around his waist, pulling him closer, the need for his touch overwhelming. Satoru’s familiar scent surrounded you, filling your senses, so familiar and intoxicating. The air crackled with desire as the kiss deepened.

He pulled away, breaking the kiss. You saw a hunger in his eyes, a raw desire that mirrored the blaze raging within you. His pupils were dilated, his gaze flickering from your lips to your flushed cheeks before locking with yours. His tongue darted out, a slow, deliberate lick across his lips, probably tasting you on them.

God, it was going to be a long night.

He moved to your neck, tracing a familiar path with his lips, a path that always left you breathless. You didn't need a mirror to know you were flushed and the marks he had left were etched on your skin.

A soft moan escaped your lips as Satoru shifted, his lips hovering tantalisingly close to your lower stomach. His hand moved to wrap around your midsection, the warmth a delicious contrast to the coolness of the sheets. He lifted your body slightly, pulling you closer to his touch. As his lips met your skin, a spark ignited within you.

Your knuckles turned white as you clutched the sheets, the fabric bunching in your hand. Your gaze followed Satoru as he made his way up your body, slow and deliberate, placing kisses all over your skin. Your other hand brushed against the nape of his neck, over his undercut before massaging through his scalp, causing him to groan softly.

He made it to your chest, taking one of your nipples in his warm mouth, sucking and biting, as his teeth scraped against them, while his hand played with the other nipple, pinching and rolling it. You felt his soft strand brushing against your jaw and neck, tickling you slightly.

Finally, He devoured your lips in a kiss, swallowing your moans and stealing your breath as he pushed himself into you. This time, his thrusts weren’t slow or kind, they were relentless, almost brutal, determined to take whatever he needed.

You were a moaning mess, and you reached for him, clawing his back, to pull him closer- to push him away- you didn’t know. All you knew was that you needed him.

Your nails roamed down his back, leaving a trail of scratches as he rammed into you, and just when you thought he couldn’t get any deeper, he grabbed one of your legs, lifting and hooking it over his shoulder, your thigh pressing against your stomach. Somehow, he felt even deeper in this position.

His hand took hold of the ankle that now rested on his shoulder. With a slight turn of his head, he brushed his lips against the sensitive skin of your calf. A searing trail of kisses followed, each one hitting you like waves of pleasure. You couldn't help as your breath hitched, a soft moan escaping your throat as his hot breath tickled your ankle. His gaze never left yours, a flicker of something dark gleaming within them. It wasn't just his dominance that drove you wild; it was the way his touch ignited a fire within you, a fire he seemed determined to stoke.

Your nails continued digging into Satoru's back, sending shivers down his spine. He groaned - a low rumble that vibrated against you. Satoru reached for your hand, removing it from his back, before pinning it roughly beside your head. His fingers softly intervened with yours.

It was almost romantic - if he wasn’t fucking you like there’s no tomorrow.

Satoru continued pounding into you, his thrusts unrestrained, consuming you rapidly.

It was all too much. You felt too much. The intensity of his gaze held you captive, his eyes blazing with a desire that mirrored the fire raging within you, the feel of his lips against your heated skin, his rough hand that pinned yours, the weight of his body and his brutal thrusts. It was all too much for you.

Yet you craved more.

Because it all felt so good. “You’re doing so good baby, so good for me,” he said through gritted teeth, as his hand reached between your bodies to play with your clit, rolling and pressing it with his finger. It was enough to push you over the edge, but Satoru had a different plan, as his fingers slowed.

“Hmm, tell me love, why should I let you cum?” He asked, his expression morphing into mock curiosity. His thrusts had slowed too- he was barely moving now. You wanted to scream.

“Gojo I swear to God-” You began, but his voice cut you off.

“What did you just call me?” he asked, and you remembered how much he hated being called by his family name- especially in bed. “You know what?” he began, his thrusts finding their pace again, “Forget about not cumming. I am going to fuck you till all you can scream is my name” His voice was a dangerous murmur, filled with promise.

His fingers resumed, circling your clit, finishing what they started.

Orgasm, a searing wave, crashed over you, buckling your knees. Your body arched reflexively, every nerve ending flared with exquisite intensity. A strangled sound escaped your throat - or maybe you were silent- you didn’t know You were lost in a tide of sensations, your body singing in response to his touch.

You were a trembling mess, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. The intensity of your orgasm had left you breathless, unable to catch your breath for what felt like an eternity.

Without giving you a chance to recover, Satoru grabbed your waist and flipped you over, so you were on your stomach. His body pinned you down as he reached up, grabbing a handful of your hair in a ponytail and tugging it. His other hand rested on your back, between your shoulder blade, pushing you into the mattress, leaving your ass in the air as he entered you again from behind, this time almost effortlessly.

“Satoru...” you almost sobbed- it was all too much, but the man behind you wasn’t deterred. He stroked your hair, gently caressing it, “You are doing so good sweetheart- taking it all so well.” He breathed out, encouraging you. He was panting too, and you could tell he was close.

Your thoughts were cut off as his grip tightened on your hair again, further pushing you into the mattress, cutting you off, but not suffocating you.

He continued pounding into you at an inhuman pace, his groans and grunts sending a shudder through you. His pace was unpredictable-mixed. Some were hard and shallow, and some we deep and slow. You didn’t know what was next, and the unpredictability of his actions made everything even better - hotter.

Surprise shot through you as his hand left your back, only to be replaced by a surge of anticipation as he reached for your throat. His fingers curled around your skin, firm and urgent, as he pulled you up. Your back arched instinctively, your body meeting his halfway. He angled your face towards his with a possessive hold, his gaze burning into yours. The space between you vanished as his lips met yours in a rough, demanding kiss that ignited a fire within you.

Your head was spinning- you were so close to another orgasm- your third? Forth? You didn’t know, but the way Satoru twitched around you told you he was close too, “Don’t stop Satoru, p-please don’t stop,” you cried out, your voice so desperate.

“Oh sweetheart, not planning to,” he repeated his words from earlier, his voice laced with satisfaction, probably because of the state you were in.

“That’s it, love, you’re handling it so well” he praised against your lips, his thrust getting impatient and sloppy.

His lips left yours as he reached for your neck, hovering over that one spot. He sucked, hard and you came all over his dick “That’s right baby, cum all over my cock.”

Your mind exploded, as white-hot pleasure shot through you, making your eyes roll back as you screamed, barely paying any attention to what left your lips.

Satoru kept driving into your overly sensitive pussy, chasing the orgasm that finally came to him. He groaned, loud and shamelessly. You felt him shudder as he came inside you, filling you up again.

Wetness trickled down your thigh. It was such a mess as Satoru kept driving into you, fucking you through the last of his orgasm, before pulling away with a pained hiss.

A wave of blissful exhaustion washed over you. Every muscle in your body felt pleasantly heavy, yet completely relaxed. Satoru settled beside you, his touch grounding you in the afterglow of your shared pleasure. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, sending shivers down your still-heated skin. Despite the languor in your limbs, a contented smile played on your lips.

Your eyelids felt heavy as you turned to face him, but Satoru's gaze held a spark that contradicted any fatigue. His eyes narrowed slightly, a mischievous glint dancing in their depths.

That could only mean one thing - “How does a shower sound, sweetheart?” - he wasn’t done yet.

And you knew it wasn’t a question, just a statement disguised as a question. Still, you tried to protest, “Satoru, I am so tired,” you said. You felt drained, the exhaustion clutched to your limbs, but Satoru just picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder, “I know baby, but you have got one more in you,” he put you down in the shower, his hands around your waist, supporting you, “Two, if we really tried,” he smirked.

He turned the tap as the warm water enveloped you both, washing away the afterglow of your orgasm. The bathroom filled with steam, swirling around you like a fragrant mist. Satoru's hands remained on your waist, his touch a steady anchor as the hot water relaxed your tired muscles. You leaned into him instinctively, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

The water flowed down his body, highlighting the sculpted planes of his chest and the definition of his arms. His head tilted back slightly, eyes closed in a moment of pure peace as water flowed through his hair, down his face and over his body. In that moment, he looked breathtakingly vulnerable, and a wave of tenderness washed over you.

You turned around and reached for the washcloth and body wash, your back facing Satoru, when a hand suddenly grabbed your neck from behind, pulling you back and forcing you to turn around as Satoru’s lips slammed onto yours.

Your hand held onto his body as your legs gave out, knees buckling under his touch. His hands trailed down your back, finally gripping your ass and hooking your legs up, wrapping them around his body and he pressed you against the cold bathroom tile, his cock resting against your core.

His thumb traced your bottom lips, “Trying to get away from me, love?” he asked, and without giving you a chance to respond, his lips found yours again.

He moved, kissing and licking the drops of water away from your jaw, shoulder and chest, before he lined himself with you, burying himself deep in you.

Your orgasm started building all too soon. “Not now, love,” he said - of he could tell, he knew your body like the back of his hand. He reached between your bodies to play with your clit, “Only when I tell you to,” he smirked.

That fucker was challenging you, making it difficult for you. His cock kept brushing against all the right spots, while his fingers stimulated your clit. And if that wasn’t enough, his hand created a path all over your body, while his lips traced over that path. “Can’t you handle it, baby?” he asked, the amusement clear in his voice as his smirk deepened.

He wanted you to fail.

“I can-fuck- I can handle this,” your voice was breathless, but you were determined to finish this game with him.

You could feel his cock twitching and saw the way his brows furrowed. He was close.

Finally, he said the words you’ve been waiting to hear, “Come for me, love,” and your body took his command like an oath, as another orgasm hit you like a truck. You could feel every single nerve of your body come alive, singing praises for him. You didn’t know anything - didn’t feel anything - except that you were screaming his name.

He soon followed you, his cum filling you, leaking down your thighs, mixing with water. His hands rested beside your head, supporting his weight, as the orgasm took over him, a hiss escaping his lips, his breathing laboured.

He held you, your legs still wrapped around him, and you were thankful for it because you had lost control over your body.

Finally, after catching his breath, he said, “Let’s get you cleaned up, Huh?”

A coarse cotton towel, barely concealing the sculpted planes of his chest, hung low on Satoru's waist. He took a fluffy white towel, the soft fabric gently drying you. His touch lingered on your back, sending shivers down your spine as he brushed the towel over your sensitive skin. The steam from the shower still hung in the air, a gentle mist that swirled around you. You let out a long, languid yawn, your eyelids drooping as a wave of exhaustion washed over you.

Satoru looked up, his smile melting your heart. "You did so good today, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice husky. "Took me so well." You didn't have the energy to respond, but a sleepy smile played on your lips.

He scooped you up in his arms, the warmth of his body a delicious contrast to the coolness of the air. You wrapped your arms around his neck instinctively, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder. Despite your exhaustion, a sense of contentment bloomed within you.

Satoru carried you effortlessly from the bathroom, the rhythmic thud of his footsteps a comforting lullaby. He navigated the bedroom with ease, his gaze never leaving yours. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp, casting long shadows that danced on the walls.

He gently settled you onto the soft comfort of the bed, the crisp sheets sending a cool caress against your skin. Reaching down, he pulled the duvet up, its fluffy warmth enveloping you like a cocoon as he cuddled with you. You sighed contentedly, burrowing deeper into the covers, the delicious scent of his cologne and laundry detergent lingering on the fabric.

"Aren't you gonna sleep?" you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru's hand tightened around your body as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "No, I have to leave soon," he said, a touch of regret in his voice. His hands brushed through your damp hair, fingers brushing over your back. "Maybe I'll sleep on the flight." Truthfully, though, he just wanted to hold you close while you slept, to memorize the way you fit perfectly in his arms.

You barely registered his words, your mind already drifting off. "Wake me up before you leave, 'kay?" you mumbled, your eyes fluttering shut.

You felt Satoru smile against your forehead as he whispered, "Of course I will," his voice laced with a promise.

a/n: God I am really nervous about this, but I hope you enjoyed it! If there was any mistake, I apologise. I proofread this 2-3 times but honestly, my brain reads what it wants to read but not what is actually written. 😭

I wrote this after my conversation with @lostfracturess about how Gojo would be in bed lmaoo. This is mainly inspired by what she writes!

Also, @whereflowerswenttodie had a sneak peek of this and helped me figure out some stuff!

But yes, please please please let me know what you thought of this, it would be greatly appreciated!

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[blarshwritezz]

Hi can I request yan stalker x pervy male reader, where the reader purposefully sleeps naked, leave their window etc in the hopes thaf stalker yan would take pictures of them can the reader also have a habit of going into alleyways and spaces were there aren't alot of people in the hopes that stalker yan would grope or even just take them right there

Reader: oh no, I hope no big strong INCREDIBLY HORNY psychopaths are in this alleyway where I'm all alone and defenseless...ahem, I SAID-

Yandere Stalker x Pervy Reader

M yan x M reader

TW - general yandere behavior, stalking, NSFW

You've been dealing with a stalker for months now. He'd sneak into your room at night, take pictures of you, even steal your things sometimes. He'd send you "gifts" like wilted flowers, or pictures of you covered in what you were 90% sure was cum. He'd send sexy articles of clothing.

All this has been going on for months...and he hasn't even fucked you yet! Seriously, what more could you do?! You've been sleeping naked, leaving your windows open and all your doors unlocked, wearing the clothes he gave you, frequenting dangerous and isolated areas, everything! But not once have you woken up late at night to him even touching you!

Life was so unfair like that.

So tonight, you had a plan. You've gotten so much sleep lately, and had the day off, that tonight you wouldn't be very tired at all so you could wake up and finally confront him!

It took nearly an hour for him to finally get in, and you had to admit, he was discreet. You barely heard his soft steps on your floor. When he was finally close enough that you could feel his hot breath on your neck, your eyes shot open and you grabbed his arm.

He struggled, stopping once you asked why on earth he hasn't absolutely demolished your ass yet. Why he hasn't even groped you!

"Wait...what?" He was confused. You...wanted to have sex with him?

"Well why else would I sleep naked and leave my windows open?"

"I thought you were hot."

"Aww, thanks. Now if I'm so hot then fuck me. Come on, I'll be a good boy~" You teased. He was all flustered, it was pretty cute.

With the way you were laying, you were easily able to feel his bulge on your ass. It was definitely bigger than you expected. All the more exciting.

"I'll even-" You were cut off by his fingers being shoved down your throat.

"Don't speak. The only noise that I want to hear from you is moaning got it?"

You nodded, moaning around his fingers. He smirked before pulling them out and lubricating his cock with them.

As he did, you flipped over so your shoulders were on your bed and your ass in the air. He got behind you, smacking your ass before stretching your hole with his cock.

He wasted no time, pounding into you like an animal in heat. Exactly what you've been craving. You wanted him to fuck you until your mind went totally blank. You wanted your skin to be sticky with his cum. To be fucked absolutely raw.

"Good boy...taking this so well." He growled in your ear as your moans echoed off your walls.

He didn't let up for even a second, occasionally spanking you. Just until his red handprints were covering your ass. Maybe even a bruise or two.

His cock twitched inside you as he hit all the right spots to make you scream with pleasure. You could tell he was already getting close to climax, the first of the night. Thinking of it put you on the edge too.

He took a fistful of your hair tightly in his hand, holding your face down into your pillow, practically suffocating you. Finally, only after making sure to kindly jerk you off too, he unleashed his load deep inside you.

...only to start again after only 5 seconds.

Hope this was okay! Writer's block acted up like halfway through lol

[jjslvt]

BEAUTIFUL REAPER ── .✦ PART ONE, ANGST, DRABBLE .ᐟ.ᐟ

⤷ rafe cameron x reader (first person pov)

masterlist // part two // notes: there will be a part two which is just going to be smut. this is a rewritten fanfic of mine from another fandom i was in last year. this was my old writing style.

and i wanna give a thank you to @bbyg4rl for helping me out a bit! 💗 as i couldn’t make up my mind lol.

Winsome and diaphanous were the way Rafe Cameron’s words came at me; he had a way of making me believe all the charming things he would say in private. He wasn’t always the most gracious at it — sometimes his emotions would be wildfire, sometimes words failed him but he could surprise me. In the best of ways.

Was it his rare, sincere smile that would bask in the warmth of a thousand suns? Was it the greasy bangs that suited his facial structures? Was it the way his light ocean-colored eyes would glimmer as soon as the light had shone on them? Was it the low tone of his voice when he whispered sweet nothings, sending shivers down my spine? Or maybe it was the way he would treat me like his treasure in private that made him seem so innocent at first.

That smile of his wasn’t a smile but a dangerous smirk that I was too blind to see, carrying a smugness. Calculated, because he knew what he was doing to me.

I don’t have to explain how devastatingly handsome Rafe Cameron is. Not only did he have an interesting personality that captivated me in every way; even with the internal sadness and darkness that shackled his tortured soul… demons he couldn’t fight but he also looked like everything I ever wanted. A nightmare masking as a daydream.

What was he, sculpted by the Greek Gods somehow?

Yet he was the most flawed being I ever had the agonizing pleasure of knowing. An ugliness that I was still drawn to. I felt as though I was put under a trance just to endure his delightful pain — and yes, it was delightful.

One day, I swear my heart would feel death from him. Maybe not in a literal sense but definitely in the way that my soul would get turned into ashes by him.

Rafe Cameron, the personification of the disturbed agony. In a hauntingly, beautiful way.

An angel is what he could have been but too bad, he was the devil. Alas, I was the mere fool caught in his trap.

Rafe had potential; it wasn’t that he didn’t have a heart. That heart was there but it had been too deeply buried in the confines of his smeared soul. Too much self-destruction had plagued him and as much as I wished to be his saving grace, I couldn’t be. No matter how hard I tried, he was lost.

And all I could do was let him drag me through this exquisite hell that would eventually destroy me.

Perhaps I was twisted too… because I couldn’t stay away.

I was in love.

This game we play… he plays, has to come to an end, eventually. I know that. This sweet torment he puts me through. The secret actions and words that made him seem as if he’s trying to romance me with the intention of what I silently weep for. As if he cares about keeping the heart he has captured.

For a moment, he gazes at me with something unreadable, making my heart feel like its swelling. Mornings like these, where I’m laying in his bed after spending the night. I was one of the lucky ones… he let me come back at least. Hope gnawed at me quietly… ‘Why is he looking at me like that?’ but hope was a cruel bitch. Promising falsity in fools like me; I wouldn’t fall for it, I would shake it off and he would look away.

He doesn’t love me. He never will.

No amount of prayers can cure my addiction; as he was the drug that I kept taking. The sweetened poison I kept letting sink into me.

I wasn’t a devil but I was ugly inside too, for I selfishly craved him back. But my love for him was real, unyielding.

Scorching my soul in its wake, fast to undo me because loving him was agony.

The unspoken words… the words of love, the deepest of my desires, the raw ones that weren’t so innocent — suffocating me each day but very slowly. Making sure I experience the most pitiful of deaths. But he knew because of those smirks and gazes he gave… he knew, deep down. Still, I tried to masquerade as a fool ignorant of my intense feelings. Parading around like he didn’t have me wrapped around his finger, that it wasn’t painfully obvious.

Does he know I’m dying? How many times has he looked at me and not realized, it’s killing me, or maybe he did — I wasn’t a mind reader.

Maybe he was the beautiful reaper, his actions were the scythe.

Why can’t I understand him?

And why did he look at me now… with mysterious eyes for that moment? Blue eyes full of something.

I’m in hell but I can’t hate it.

It’s oddly exquisite.

[siren-in-the-shadow]

Kink/NSFW Alphabet: Astarion X Reader

Word Count: 4.2k Mentions: SMUT, HORNYYYYY, She/Her

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

A - Aftercare:

After the thrill of an intense encounter, Astarion would savor the moments of gentle touch and tender care with you. He might surprise you with his softness, relishing the closeness that comes after. It’s a rare chance for him to show a quieter side, reminding both of you that there’s more to intimacy than just the heat of the moment.

“You have no idea how much I need this—no games, no pretense. Just… you.” His voice would drop to a whisper, his words carrying a weight that hints at something deeper.

“Water, a warm bed, and you. I may have been dead for centuries, but I think I could learn to appreciate the little things again.” He’d give you a lazy smile, clearly enjoying this rare moment of calm.

B- Biting:  

Astarion would take his time, making sure each bite is memorable, blending pleasure with just a hint of danger. As his lips graze your neck, Astarion pauses, breathing in deeply “You have no idea how intoxicating you smell,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of hunger and desire. He lets his fangs hover just above your skin, savoring the anticipation before finally pressing them in, just enough to send a slight moan and shiver down your spine. He pulls back, smirking as he studies your reaction. “Did that hurt, or should I go a bit deeper?” His tone is teasing, but his eyes flash with something primal, as if holding himself back is as thrilling for him as the bite itself.

C - Control:

Astarion thrives on control; it’s where he feels most alive. He revels in guiding each encounter, deciding when to be gentle and when to be intense. Every touch, every whispered command, is carefully calculated to keep you exactly where he wants you.

For Astarion, it’s a dance where he leads, and you willingly follow, caught in the thrill of his commanding presence.

As he moves closer, he whispers, “Every sound you make belongs to me. If you’re quiet, I might reward you. But if you disobey… well, let’s just say I have my ways of reminding you who’s in control.” The promise of pleasure mixed with a hint of danger lingers in the air.

D - Dominance: (DADDY preference) 

Astarion revels in his role as the dominant partner, thriving on the control he wields over every encounter. His commanding presence transforms each moment into a thrilling game of power and submission. He takes pleasure in guiding you, ensuring you know that he’s the one in charge, and relishes in teasing you until you’re desperate for his touch.

He leans over you, his breath hot against your ear, Astarion smirks, relishing the power he holds. “You love this, don’t you? Being completely at my mercy,” he taunts, his fingers trailing down your body, teasing just above where you need him most.

When you gasp out, “Yes, daddy,” a wicked grin spreads across his face, his eyes darkening with desire. “Ah, there it is,” he purrs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “It’s so much more thrilling when you know who’s in charge.” He presses his body against yours, making sure you feel every inch of him. “Now, beg for it,” he commands, his tone both teasing and serious, his grip tightening as he watches the need flood your expression. “Tell me how badly you want this, and I just might give you what you crave.”

(I’m blushing writing, editing and re-reading this LOL)

E - Edge Play:

Astarion thrives on the thrill of pushing boundaries and exploring the fine line between pleasure and pain. He enjoys taking you to the brink, teasing you mercilessly and keeping you on the edge of ecstasy, never quite allowing you to fall over into release until he decides it’s time. For him, the tension and anticipation only heighten the experience, turning every moment into a delicious game of control.

With a wicked grin, he holds you firmly in place, whispering, “I want you to feel every pulse of desire building inside you. I’ll keep you right on the edge until you can’t take it anymore.”

He trails his fingers along your body, stopping just shy of where you need him most. “You’re going to beg for it, darling. And I won’t give you a thing until I’m satisfied.” His eyes glint with mischief as he leans closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Can you handle that, my love? “ 

F - Fetishes:

Blood Play: Given Astarion’s vampiric nature, he may have a slight fascination with blood play—enjoying the thrill of drawing blood during intimate moments. This could be both a literal aspect of his vampirism and a metaphor for the deeper connection he craves. The intensity and danger of this fetish would excite him, heightening the sense of power and submission.

Astarion leans in, a playful smirk dancing across his lips. “Tell me, love, what are your secret desires? What fetishes do you long to explore?” His voice is sultry, drawing you in as he holds your gaze.

As you shyly confess a fantasy, he raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Oh, that sounds positively delightful. I can already envision how much fun we could have.” He steps closer, his breath hot against your skin. “I’ll make sure you experience it in the most exquisite way possible.”

G - Gag Play:

Astarion finds a particular thrill in gag play, savoring the way it amplifies control and adds an element of vulnerability. He enjoys the sight and sound of you silenced, heightening every sensation as he takes charge, knowing that your trust is his to hold. The added restraint brings a deeper intensity to your connection, amplifying every gesture and touch.

Astarion slips a gag into place, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he fastens it carefully. “There we go darling,” he murmurs, taking a step back to admire his work. “Now you can’t even protest, not that you’d want to. All you can do is give in to me.” He brushes a thumb over your cheek, reveling in the muffled sounds you make as he teases and torments you, savoring every muffled whimper. “I like you like this—helpless and unable to speak,” he says, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Now, let’s see how much you can handle without a single word.” He leans in close, whispering in your ear, “You don’t need to talk, my love. Just follow my lead, and I’ll make sure every moment leaves you breathless.” His touch becomes more deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours as he revels in the thrill of seeing you restrained, bound to his control. “You look absolutely divine on your knees, my sweet. Such a good little girl, knowing exactly how to beg for my pleasure."

H - Handcuffs:

Astarion revels in the exhilarating thrill of using handcuffs during your intimate times. For him, the sensation of you bound and completely dependent on him heightens both the tension and excitement, allowing him to take full control of your pleasure.

“You’re going to learn to love being tied up, my sweet. Trust me, it’s an exquisite way to surrender” He tightens the cuffs. Your breath quickens, doesn’t it? It’s the thrill of surrendering to me that makes your heart race,” Astarion murmurs, his voice a velvety whisper as he leans closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Every gasp, every shiver—it only tells me how much you crave this.”

I - Impregnation Fantasy: ( aka Breeding Kink hehe )

Astarion is intrigued by the allure of impregnation fantasies, where the thrill of possibility intertwines with desire. This fantasy taps into deep-seated emotions and primal instincts, igniting a heady mix of vulnerability, power, and intimacy. For him, it’s not just about the physical act but also the deeper connections and the fantasies of creating something new together.

As he continues, his fingers trace your skin with tantalizing slowness. “Picture it: the two of us lost in ecstasy, the heat building until you can’t help but want me completely. The idea of me filling you with my seed, making you mine in the most primal way possible, drives me wild. I want to hear you beg for it, to want it so badly that you can’t think of anything else.” He leans back, gazing into your eyes, a playful smile teasing his lips. “The thought of it sends shivers down my spine. The idea of you carrying a part of me… it’s almost intoxicating, don’t you think?”

J - Jerking off :

Astarion was not one to indulge in self-pleasure; he much preferred the intimacy of slow, passionate lovemaking with Y/N, where every caress and lingering kiss deepened their connection. But as the day stretched into evening while they traveled apart, the ache of longing began to consume him. The memories of her soft skin against his, her breath hitching in delight, haunted him, making it impossible to resist the temptation. In the quiet solitude of his chamber, he found himself surrendering to desire, the thrill of imagining her beside him igniting a fire he rarely felt alone. With each stroke, he conjured the image of her, knowing that this fleeting moment would only heighten their next encounter.

In the dimly lit room, Astarion found himself alone, the flickering candlelight casting playful shadows across the walls. He leaned back against the plush cushions of the chaise lounge, his thoughts drifting to the memory of her—every tantalizing moment they had shared. A wicked smile spread across his lips as he closed his eyes, allowing the visions to consume him.

With a low, seductive chuckle, he began to stroke himself slowly, his hand moving up and down the length of his shaft with a deliberate slowness that made his breath hitch. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, imagining her soft gasps and the way her body would arch under his touch.

Each stroke felt electric, sending shivers down his spine as he pictured her beneath him, her eyes glazed with desire, begging for more. “If only you were here, love,” he whispered, his voice thick with longing. “I could make you feel so good…”

K - Kitten Play: 

Astarion couldn’t help but chuckle when Y/N jokingly meowed at him one evening, the sound playful and unexpectedly adorable. The moment sparked something in him, a mischievous idea that began to blossom in his mind. Every so often he affectionately dubbed her as “Kitten,” each instance bringing a playful glint to his eyes.   

“Well, at least your meow is for me,” he teased one afternoon, watching her with a smirk as she curled up on the couch, a playful pout on her lips. “Who knew I had a little feline in my life?” He leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorially, “Do you want a treat, my dear Kitten?”

Whenever they found themselves in playful moments, he’d tease her further, urging her to embrace the persona. “Come on, show me your best meow,” he’d say, grinning wickedly, knowing full well how her cheeks would flush at the request.

L - Lingerie Play:

Astarion had developed a penchant for selecting the most exquisite lingerie for Y/N. Each time they ventured into a market or passed a boutique, he couldn’t resist the urge to slip inside, his eyes gleaming with delight as he envisioned her wearing the delicate fabrics. It had become a delightful game between them—his seductive eye for detail paired with her playful acceptance.

“I simply cannot resist,” he would declare, holding up a lacy piece in an enticing shade of crimson. “This one screams your name, my darling.” He’d watch her face light up with a mix of surprise and excitement, the playful banter between them igniting their chemistry even further.

M - Masochism:

Astarion thrived on the exquisite and indulgent, finding true exhilaration in moments of masochism where pleasure intertwined with pain. He loved the thrill of pushing boundaries (consensually), each sting drawing him deeper into ecstasy. In these intimate encounters, he took the lead, guiding Y/N through the delicate dance of sensations that heightened their connection.

Leaning in, she gave his ear a soft, teasing nibble, a cute gesture that surprised him. Astarion's eyes widened, a mix of shock and delight flashing across his face. The unexpected sensation sent a shiver of pleasure through him, and a genuine smile broke free as he savored the delightful twist.

(Sorry I love his fawkkkinggg stupid big sexy pointy elf ears I wanna bite himmmmm nom nom nom) 

N - Nipple Play:

Astarion had a particular weakness for breasts, finding them utterly captivating. He adored exploring Y/N's curves, especially when it came to nipple play.

“You know,” he teased, leaning in with a sly grin, “I’m quite skilled at this.” With that, he brought his mouth to her nipple, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak before sucking gently. “Mmm, you taste divine,” he murmured, the heat of his breath sending shivers through her.

As he lavished attention on her, Astarion delighted in her soft gasps and eager reactions. “Tell me how good it feels, love,” he encouraged, reveling in the way her body arched towards him, craving more of his touch. Each flick of his tongue ignited her desire, deepening their intimate connection with every teasing kiss.

O - Orgasms: 

To Astarion, an orgasm is the ultimate expression of surrender and pleasure, where all boundaries fade away, leaving only raw ecstasy. It’s not just a release but a profound connection with Y/N, a thrilling culmination of desire. Watching her unravel in bliss is his greatest reward, a testament to their intimacy that fuels his craving for more.

Astarion knew the delicate balance between pleasure and anticipation. “Hold on to that feeling,” he instructed, teasing her as he skillfully coaxed her towards the edge, then pulling back just enough to prolong the delicious torment. He loved the way her eyes would darken with need, the way her body arched toward him, craving release.

When he finally allowed her to plunge into ecstasy, it was as if time itself stood still. The shuddering wave of pleasure that consumed her sent him spiraling alongside her, both of them lost in the blissful aftermath. “You’re breathtaking, my love,” he breathed, brushing his thumb along her jawline, marveling at the glow of satisfaction that enveloped her. “Together, we create magic.”

P - Positions:

Astarion had an exquisite taste for intimacy, and when it came to sexual positions, he preferred those that allowed him to fully appreciate the beauty of his partner. He thrived on the thrill of connection and the power dynamics at play, always eager to explore new ways to bring Y/N pleasure.

One of his favorites was the classic missionary, where he could gaze into Y/N’s eyes, savoring the depth of their connection as he thrust deeply inside her. “I could get lost in your gaze forever,” he would whisper, the intimacy igniting his desire even more.

Q - Quickies:

Astarion wasn’t one for quickies. He found the rush of hurried encounters to be lacking, a mere shadow of the true pleasure that could be achieved through leisurely exploration. “Why rush when we can savor every moment?” he would often muse, a playful smirk gracing his lips. “I’d much rather take my time,” he would say with a teasing grin, “because when I finally have you, I want you to remember every exquisite detail.” Quickies, in his view, were a distraction from the true delight of losing themselves in each other, a fleeting encounter he was happy to forgo for something far more tantalizing.

R - Roleplay:

Given his charismatic and theatrical personality, he’d relish the opportunity to step into different characters and scenarios. Roleplay allows for a creative exploration of fantasies and power dynamics, which would appeal to his penchant for control and seduction.

Astarion lounged on the edge of a lavishly decorated chaise, the dim candlelight casting soft shadows on his flawless features. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he glanced at Y/N, a sly smile playing on his lips. “My dear,” he drawled, his voice dripping with allure, “would you care to indulge in a little fantasy tonight?” He leaned forward, the flicker of excitement in his gaze igniting a sense of adventure in the air. Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What do you have in mind?”

“Let’s play a game,” he suggested, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “You shall be a princess trapped in a dark castle, and I”—he paused dramatically—“am the charming vampire who has taken you captive.” He stood, his posture exuding confidence, and took a slow step towards her. “You’ll find that I’m not the monster you might think I am.”

(he always wants to be the "bad monster" who takes you)

S - Spanking:

Astarion had a particular fondness for spanking, finding the mix of pleasure and pain to be utterly intoxicating. The sharp slap against skin sent delightful tingles coursing through his body, igniting a primal thrill that left him craving more. He loved the sound it made—an echo of intimacy that filled the air, reminding both him and Y/N of the delicious dynamic they shared. Music to his ears.

He loved the way Y/N would gasp, her body responding eagerly to each strike, the combination of pain and pleasure heightening her arousal. “Just a little more, darling,” he’d murmur, his breath warm against her ear. “You can take it, do it for me.”

T - Temperature Play:

Astarion delighted in the sensual thrill of temperature play, especially when it came to using candle wax to heighten sensation and anticipation. He adored the intimate dance of warmth and coolness, the way it transformed the atmosphere into one charged with electricity.

“Shall we try something a bit daring tonight?” he would ask with a devilish grin, holding up a beautifully crafted candle, its wax glistening in the candlelight. Y/N's curiosity piqued, she nodded, excitement bubbling within.

As he lit the candle, the flickering flame cast playful shadows across the room. “Just relax,” he instructed, his voice smooth and soothing. “I promise you’ll find this exhilarating.”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Y/N's skin as he tilted the candle. “Now, let’s see how you react to a little heat,” he teased, letting a few drops of warm wax fall onto their body. The sensation was both surprising and thrilling, a rush of warmth that contrasted sharply with the cool air surrounding them.

U - Undressing:

Astarion had a profound appreciation for the art of undressing. To him, it was more than just the physical act; it was a tantalizing ritual filled with anticipation and desire. He relished the way his gaze lingered on Y/N, his eyes drinking in every curve and contour, as if he could undress them with just a look.

“You know how much I adore seeing you in that,” he would say, admiring the outfit he had chosen for her. Each piece was selected with meticulous care, designed to accentuate her beauty while igniting his own desires. “But let’s not keep it on for too long, shall we?”

(He takes your panties off with his teefs)

V - Voyerism:

Astarion lurked in the shadows, a predator hidden in the night. He watched you as you gathered wildflowers, your carefree movements striking against the encroaching darkness. There was something almost intoxicating about your innocence, a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounded them.

As you knelt to collect kindling, the fabric of your clothes clung to you, a tempting reminder of your fragility. He felt a thrill shoot through him, a dark hunger ignited by the sight of you so blissfully unaware of the eyes upon you. It was an intoxicating game, one that filled him with a twisted pleasure—watching you in your mundane tasks, a stark reminder of everything he’d lost.

He relished the intimacy of the moment, the thrill of being just out of sight. Each smile you offered, each soft laugh that escaped your lips, felt like a secret meant only for him. It was exhilarating, knowing he could take everything from you in an instant, yet choosing to simply observe instead.

When you turned and caught his gaze, he smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Just admiring your handiwork,” he said, his voice low and playful. But inside, the darkness coiled tighter, a reminder of the monster he was, lurking just beneath the surface, reveling in the shadows.

W - Worship:

Astarion stood before you, the flickering candlelight illuminating his sharp features and casting an alluring glow over his pale skin. There was an intensity in his crimson gaze, a hunger that ran deeper than mere desire. In this moment, he was not just a vampire lord; he was your devoted worshiper, ready to offer everything he had.

“Look at you,” he breathed, his voice smooth and sultry. “Absolutely divine.” He stepped closer, his presence enveloping you, a magnetic force drawing you in. He knelt at your feet, a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor, and pressed a soft kiss to the ground before you, a gesture of reverence that sent a thrill through your body.

With every movement, he exuded a dark, intoxicating energy, making it clear that he was fully at your service. “You deserve to be worshiped,” he continued, his voice low, laced with sincerity. “To have every part of you adored and cherished.”

He trailed his lips along your ankles, his kisses both delicate and possessive, as if he wanted to imprint his devotion upon your skin. “You are the light in my darkness,” he whispered, his breath warm against you. “I crave to honor you, to revel in your beauty.”

Astarion looked up, his gaze locked on yours, filled with a mix of admiration and something darker. “Let me show you how deeply I worship you,” he said, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur. “Every caress, every kiss will be a testament to my devotion.”

With that, he took your hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss against your palm. The intimacy of the moment felt electric, a silent promise of the pleasures to come. He savored the taste of your skin, each kiss a declaration of his worship.

“Your power over me is intoxicating,” he continued, his voice low and reverent. “I want to drown in your presence, to feel every inch of you beneath my lips.”

(Makes love to you but can also fuck you like a toy)

X - Ray : He’s gotta be at LEAST 6 inches and veiny/girthy (idk im delusional, I love him no matter what)

Y - Yearning: In which they haven’t developed a relationship… Yet

Astarion watched you interact with the other companions, a bittersweet ache settling in his chest. Deep down, he longed for something genuine—a connection that felt real. Your laughter stirred feelings he had long buried, and the warmth of your presence ignited a hope he thought was lost.

He craved the chance to share not just his darkness, but also the flicker of humanity still within him. The idea of being seen by you, truly seen, both thrilled and terrified him.

He wanted to be desired not just as a vampire lord, but as a man worthy of your love. In those fleeting moments, Astarion realized that what he wanted most was the possibility of a future with you, one filled with authenticity and connection.

Z - Zero Tolerance: What I imagine some of his boundaries are that he’s set.

Clear Safe Words: He emphasizes the importance of establishing safe words or signals that can be used to pause or stop play instantly, reinforcing the idea that boundaries are always respected.

Betrayal: Betrayal has haunted Astarion for ages, making him hyper-aware of trust issues. Any hint of dishonesty or broken promises can trigger a visceral reaction, prompting him to reinforce the need for transparency and accountability in their relationship.

No Use of Sharp Objects: Astarion could establish that no knives or sharp implements are allowed in play, emphasizing safety and avoiding triggers related to past traumas.

No Slapping in the Face: Astarion may specify that any form of impact play on the face is off-limits, as it feels too personal and vulnerable.

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

Authors Note:

Hey, if you've made it this far thank you!

I know it was superrrrr long, I hope it was satisfying. I haven't seen anyone do a NSFW alphabet in a while so I gave it my own twist.

Just a reminder that this is fun for me and this is how I view him so please don't be upset if it doesn't align with you <3

Also you guys this song "Rule 34" is amazing, fits Star perfectly in my humble opinion....

If you enjoyed, please give it a like/reblog :)

Cheers X

-Siren

[writingwisterias]

Late-Night Cravings

Leon S Kennedy x Pregnant! Reader

Words: 1.2K Warnings: Pregnancy, Fluff, Hormones, Weird Pregnancy Cravings (I had to google them lol) Summary: Leon begins to leave work to come home and gets a call from his wife with her latest cravings-

Something random I thought about instead of my job...hope you enjoy! My requests are open ~ Mads <3

Masterlist

Leon’s phone vibrated in his pocket as he walked through his office building. It was out of hours, he probably stayed a lot longer as he wanted to get everything done before his wife at home went into labour. He sighed loudly as he had an armful of reports trying to fiddle in his pocket for the device, balancing his load to prop the phone to his ear. “Agent Kennedy” he grumbled through the speaker, his tone professional and harsh as he expected it to be someone calling him to try and get him to go on a mission. Except it was his lovely wife, innocent asking him for a midnight snack request, he silently cursed himself for not looking at the caller ID. “Oh, I’m sorry I can call you later” 

Crap you had your tiny voice on, the one that he knew meant you were upset. “No honey it's okay, I thought you were someone else” he tried to reason, his heart thumping at the silence that followed. “I just wanted to see when you were coming back, we miss you” 

He loved that, we, the warmth that filled his body at the fact you had allowed him to experience this part of life. His mind always told him that he didn’t deserve it, all the innocent people that he had watched die as he got to live his life. “I’m just leaving the office now love, Send me a text if you want me to get anything,” He said making sure his voice was a lot chirpier. “Ooh, I’ve been thinking of this new thing we can try…I feel like it will be really good today” you rambled. Leon chuckled, silently cringing at the idea of trying one of the weird cravings you had gotten now you were in the later stages of your pregnancy. “Send me a list as we will try it when I get in love” he said. He could hear your giggle through the speaker, he was sure to have a heart attack at how cute you were being. You both said your goodbyes and he left the office with a spring in his step eager to please his wife. 

You sat curled on the sofa, your stomach ballooning in front of you with your snacks balanced on top. You chuckled at the small kicks protruding from there. “Practicing your backflips like your dad” you joked, you hand rubbing the bump soothingly. You smiled at the sound of the front door opening “speak of the devil” you muttered under your breath. Leon’s voice echoing around the home as he greeted you. Leon smiled at the sight of you in his shirt, cosy in the corner. He leant down giving you a kiss and another for your stomach. “How are you both” he smiled placing the shopping bag on the coffee table as he kneeled on the floor to be at your height. “This one is taking after their and practing their backflips and I am eager for my snacks” you giggled. He laughed, kissing your stomach once again, “You’ll have to help me prepare this one love, I don’t want to get it wrong like I did last time” 

You playfully groaned, shifting your weight to be able to get up. “God, do you want me to feed it to you as well?” 

“That would be so kind, you know I had to go all the way to the store to get it and everything” he teased, his arms wrapping around you as he helped you stand. You hugged him tightly, holding him close for just a second. “I love you so much” he whispered into your hair, his scent filled your nose as he brought you closer; squeezing you as if you weren’t even real. “I love you too” you replied, pulling him into a kiss. You both began to get lost in the passion of the kiss, tongues soon battling for dominance as he savoured the taste of you. It wasn’t until a small kick brought you back to your current task, trying to get Leon to try your latest craving. “I think you’ll like this one,” you said, dragging him into the kitchen ignoring his laugh at your waddle. 

He watched you crush up the bag of flaming hot Doritos in the bag he swore he could see your mouth watering at the sight. “Can I have the yoghurt please?” you asked him so innocently, a large smile grew on his lips as he passed you the item, watching as you methodically tried to figure out how to mix the two. “Do you want a bowl?” he asked already moving to get you one from the cupboard. “Oh yes! Good thinking”  God you were so cute He tried not to gag at the sight of you mixing the two different textures before you scooped a large spoonful and brought it to your lips. You moaned as the flavours hit your tongue acting as if it was the best thing you had ever tasted. “This hit the spot, it might be my new favourite. Thank you so much” you said, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek before going back to your snack. He prayed he had got away scot-free, hoping you had forgotten your plan on getting him to try it as he watched you waddle back to the living room clutching it tightly like someone was going to steal it from you. 

The sound of him closing the crisp bag to prevent it from going stale caused you to turn around with a wide devilish grin on your face. “How could I almost forget you wanted to try it” you giggled walking towards him with the spoon outstretched. “I wouldn’t say I wanted to try it” he said begrudgingly taking the spoon from your grasp. The smell alone caused his nose to wrinkle, his eyes meeting yours pleading that you wouldn’t actually let him go through with this. However the way you were rocking back and forth on your feet waiting for his opinion like you did everytime this happened. “Leon you have eaten raw fish and eggs this can’t be worse than that” you teased. He just rolled his eyes, bring the spoon into his mouth and taking the whole thing. It wasn’t that it was bad, it was just the crunchy tecture of the doritos and then the fact the yogurt was strawberry flavour as opposed to greek or plain. Compared to all of your other cravings it wasn’t horrible. “It’s not bad” he said when he finally managed to swallow, “but its not good” 

He watched your shoulders deflat the excitement leaving your body “you never like it” you spoke, your bottom lip jutting out slightly. “Think of it as a good thing, you know I wont eat it so you'll never run out” 

You seemed pleased by that comment as he watched you attempt to run back to the living room and get situated back in your spot. He didn’t know what he did to deserve this, but he was glad he got this, that he got you. Forever thankful for you helping him escape from the dark place a few years back, giving him a new reason to continue the fight he had started when he was so young. As well as giving him a new reason to return home.

[amelee23]

Ocean and flowers | Rafayel x reader

Pairing: Rafayel (love and deep space) x gender neutral reader

Genre: Fluff, Poetic prose, a bit of angst with comfort

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: highly symbolic and poetic cuz it's me who wrote it lol, not much plot, tooth rotting fluff, mentions of pain, tiny argument (?)

A/N: Haven't written prose in months 💀 also first time writing for lads! Feedback is appreciated.

There are some moments in life when the soul craves something more than anything else - and in that moment, in such an ordinary afternoon, you craved your giver of love, Rafayel.

[Are you home?] He didn't even wait for 30 heartbeats before he eagerly replied to your text.

[Yes cutie]

[I'm coming over]

[Audio message from fishie] ▶️

"Sure thing, cutie. Let yourself in with the key, yeah? I'm buried beneath a bunch of paints at the moment and I'm afraid a trip to the door might kill me. Oh and… can you get some food?" The overdramatic flair of his speech gave a comedic air to his message.

In quite the hurry and a lack of focus towards food, you left your pennies at the supermarket for two whole bags of food, although you were hungry for affection more so than nutrition.

During your taxi ride, you were quite embarrassed, scared that the driver might hear the subtle whispers coming from your heart. You've been trying to make it quiet, reduce the shrieking to a murmur; tell the desires to wait as if they are an impatient child.

The gate, the door, the corridor, they were all familiar places; a path traveled a thousand times, yearning for a million more. Trudging in with your bags, you left them at the door as your lover glanced at you happily. Rafayel was sitting on his painting chair, surrounded by many art supplies, bouncing his leg and staring at the painting with a thoughtful expression. He was wearing stained denim pants (which were way too short at the ankles) and an old, baggy, also stained light blue t-shirt. It was a rare occurrence for him to be so disheveled and non-fancy; and the whispers in your heart became a yell.

You zigzagged your way through palettes, paints and cups filled with water and brushes in order to get to the man himself. You hugged him from behind and smashed your face into his left cheek, and his chest vibrated in a deep laugh.

"Hi, cutie. I see you've brought lots of goodies?"

"Mm. All the goodies and snacks." You refused to let him go, not that he was resisting. Your tone was unfocused as you continued to search for warmth and his marine scent. "I'm feeling very clingy today."

"Are you, honey?" You couldn't see him, but his eyes sparkled at being given such a blessing; that of being wanted. "You want cuddles?" By now he's turned around to face you, looking up at your adorable expression nodding at him. "Let's go cuddle, then." He grinned at you, but before he could get up, you smushed his face between your fingers.

"Are you sure you're done with painting? I don't want to ruin your flow."

"Cutie," He pulled you closer by the legs, those coral eyes staring up at you adoringly. "how many times have I told you to be greedy with me?"

"How many times have I told you to stop sacrificing yourself for me all the time?" You returned the question, and he pouted cutely at you.

"You're worth every sacrifice I will ever make." He declared to you, but you pushed away the butterflies in order to send your point across.

"But seeing you in pain makes me upset." Rafayel let out a dramatic sigh, and after fluttering his lashes at you, he kissed your palm and spoke very softly.

"I am honest when I say I do not want to paint right now. I want to take a break and look at it later with a fresh pair of eyes. And no, that's not an excuse, I genuinely need a break, some food, and some attention from my favorite person in the world."

"Thank you." His honesty melted all the worries you've ever carried.

After sharing such a heartfelt moment, you both almost fell into the pile of paint. After a near escape, you noticed that true to his words, Rafayel was famished. You set up his laptop on the couch to watch a show and eat, and he ate without taking one breath. He must have hyperfocused on his art, again.

Still, you were hyperfocused on him. The food wasn't filling you, the show wasn't entertaining you, and the warmth was not yet fulfilling. It took you less than ten minutes of shuffling around, cuddling closer and closer, until you climbed all the way into his lap. Rafayel welcomed you and allowed you to caress him with your loving touches.

"I want to crawl inside your heart and live there."

"You are always in my heart, cutie." Rafayel laid kisses on top of the gentle skin of your neck. The kisses were soft, just like your skin, the kisses were kind, just like your heart, the kisses were fragile, like your soul. He left this trail in the wake of his lips, a trail that led home. Within the spaces of every kiss grew a flower, with delicate petals. All of these flowers could make you shudder with just the wind of his breath - and could make him shiver at how beautiful his path home could ever be.

The desire to be impossibly closer pulled your chest to his, your limbs wrapped around his and his around yours. Feathers couldn't fall in the space between your bodies, because that space was nonexistent, against God's will to have an angel rain above your heads.

Within the lack of space and oxygen vines began to sprout, from his chest, from yours, until they entangled in a dance of waltz, in a braid, in tight knots - and then it began to bloom. At an alarming, terrifying pace, with intensity that could shake the Earth, the vines grew thorns and roses. There was some pain as the thorns dug into your arms. There was some pain as your lungs drew in a breath, a satisfied cry coming from your throat which was being pricked by fate.

Your destiny dug into your skin, and it was excruciating, but the flowers; but the love, it was beautiful. It was the kind that blended pain with happiness, that made happiness be pain, that made pain be happiness. It neutralized any plus and minus, it confused war with peace - and suddenly, it was calm. The ocean was serene, and the flowers of the shore expanded and wove a blanket all over the sea's surface.

If flowers need water to grow, why not go directly to the source of all water, the source of all life?

If you need love, why not go to the source of all love, to your own personal God?

....................

©amelee23 do not copy, translate or repost

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Kira’s MK favs with a clingy S/O

A/N: Basically how the men would react to having a S/O who is completely fascinated by them and is kinda anxiously clingy. Is this too ooc and niche? Who cares…this is literally me.

Characters: Mk11 Kung Lao, MK11 Raiden, MK1 Johnny Cage

Warnings: none ur safe…for now hehe

Requests: always open 24/7

Masterlist

Kung Lao MK11

I can’t imagine him ever really minding you wanting to be around him 24/7. I mean like who wouldn’t want to be?? Lol. But I seriously feel like he actually enjoys being needed, especially by you.

He loves it most when you waddle behind him everywhere he goes and will hold his hand out behind him for you. The other way around is super cute too. You always get super excited going to the different markets and shops and end up pulling him around everywhere.

Will automatically pull you into his lap and cuddle you when you go to sit down somewhere. He knows that you’ll automatically ask after a few minutes of sitting next to him anyways.

You can’t tell me that kung lao doesn’t have the perfect back for piggybacking. Like you are just starfishing on his back all day because you don’t want to let go of the warm fuzzy feeling of his body. He’s soooo warm and cosy all of the time. It’s extremely soothing.

It’s quite sweet to have someone who is so enthralled by everything he does. From sitting on the sink counter and watching him while he gets ready for the day to cheering him on as he trains. There’s never a moment that you ever seem to be bored and uninterested with him and that’s something he’s been craving for yearrrsss, to be appreciated.

Gladly will answer each and every question you have about his hat, culture, life, fighting style…ect.

Speaking of his hat, I feel like Kung Lao would design a similar version of his…one that is safe of course for you to wear when you miss him. Or if you are just fascinated by it.

If you’re super anxious or nervous about him leaving to go handle things, don’t worry as he’s amazing at reassurance and building you confidence that he will be back soon. He will always make time to send you handwritten letters or small gifts when he’s away for long extended periods.

If you keep a little journal about him and all the little facts he tells you, he will be so honored. I can imagine him finding it and writing little cute notes in it or answering any questions you may have written down.

He has gotten you a cute little king Lao bear fully decked out in a mini version of his gear…bonus points if he put a little sound bite in there too for you so you can always hear his voice.

I like to think that kung lao enjoys braiding/maintaining your hair as an intimate time for you. Especially if you’re anxious about him being gone all day. He’ll massage your scalp as well and when he’s finished you’re already asleep so he takes you to bed.

“Hmm..goodnight my sweet lotus.”~

Johnny Cage MK1

Oh he’s used to fans and groupies, your little fascination isn’t weird compared to what he’s dealt with. Also he’s just as much of a fan of himself as you are lolllll.

It’s honestly so cute how much of a fan you are of him, his other partners were annoyed with the whole actor thing after a month. He likes being able to talk about his movies and career adventures over and over again. Johnny loves to tell the same stories a thousand times and you’re always just as eager and excited to hear them like it’s your first.

Can’t help but to spill all his upcoming movie details whenever you ask him about it.

He sees you as an adorable small puppy and can’t help but to be curious about everything. He has gotten special books and photo albums made just for you that are a compilation of his entire career so far and life.

Anytime he gets a new headshot taken, he gets a second copy for you to add to your collection. Speaking of your collection, it’s so freaking big. Like pretty much everything that has ever been produced with his name on it, you own. His dearest career possessions are also yours to take care of, except for his awards. Sorry babe, no one is allowed to touch them outside of him.

His favorite thing is when you hold onto his arm like he’s going to fly away. Haha he promises he isn’t going anywhere.

He’s just as outwardly and intensely affectionate as you are so you having at least one hand on him at all times isn’t a biggie because if you aren’t touching him…he’s certainly touching you.

He allows you to wash his hair for him while he’s showering so you have something to do instead of waiting outside for him.

You have complete freedom to choose any of his clothes from his closets to wear. They all already smell just like him. When his maid does his laundry, she is instructed to spray everything with his cologne.

Will never deny taking a photo with you or posing with random objects and backgrounds that you have interest in for your album.

Lowkey I believe he’ll stay on FaceTime all day with you and keep his phone hidden in his pocket while filming just so you won’t be lonely.

He definitely will take you on set from time to time and steal props you want. Doesn’t matter anyways they all work for him and can make another one in an instant.

He’s definitely lost you at a big premier party and had some rando return you back to him with your eyes all watery.

“Is this yours, Johnny?”

Raiden MK11

Is kind of confused why you need to be near him 24/7… like don’t you want to go do other things instead of watching him work?

You definitely cried before and asked him if he still loved you because he seemed to be bothered by your constant presence.

He’s not he’s just so out of the loop with human things but he eventually stops questioning it after you explain it to him and he sees how sad you are over it.

I’m not sure if he’d be into holding your hand all day or you clinging to his arm, I think he’ll settle for you holding onto his garments instead. They’re already super loose and baggy so it’s not really disturbing him. Plus it’s easier for him to get used to than just diving right in.

I don’t think Raiden would mind the questions you ask him as long as it’s not while he’s busy. He’ll probably question why you’re so interested in him and these things but ultimately he’ll answer them .

Will also bring you scrolls about different questions you have and go through them with you.

You following closely behind him doesn’t really phase him too much, obviously there are times you can’t go into a certain room with him because of private matters but you’re allowed to wait outside of the door. He likes to know where you are at all times just in case he needs to protect you and you always being nearby soothes him.

He doesn’t have much memorabilia to give to you but I can imagine Raiden picking flowers or pretty rocks for you while he’s outside. He knows it brings you much joy to receive things from him, especially things you can fiddle with while you’re anxious.

Is very serious about the use of his powers but he’ll use his electricity more often for you to see. Sometimes even when he’s gone he’ll even cause lightning in the sky to let you know he’s thinking about you in hopes it’ll give you some comfort.

Speaking of electricity, he most enjoys your questions about it. He knows everything there is to know about storms and his power/where it comes from.

Doesn’t really understand the purpose of cuddling or really how to do it but I think he’d let you sit in his lap while he’s working on something. You can put your head in the crook of his neck and rest. He quite likes feeling the warmth of your breaths on his neck. Sometimes he’ll even explain to you what he’s doing and how everything works.

He doesn’t often sleep and knows you refuse to go to bed without him so he’ll pull up a chair next to you and watch you until you are in deep slumber. This is the time he’ll allow you to hold his hand. It’s cute seeing you like this.

I think people slightly tease him about your clinginess and childish like behavior but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Y/N enjoys being around me because I make her feel protected…is that a fault?”

[3rachasdomesticbanana]

Crazy in Love | Han Jisung

Saw a post awhile back saying that they wanted to see a Jisung/Joker smut. I wrote this months ago but wasn't sure how I felt about it so it's just been sitting in my drafts. I wouldn't really say there's a plot with this one.

Synopsis: You're bored and wanna play. Who cares if J.One is in a meeting for world domination? It's never stopped you before. He'll ruin your makeup and end lives just fine.

Pairings: Crime boss Jisung x Female Reader

Content Includes: smut, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, Dom Jisung...sort of?, slight degradation and name calling, brief mention of violence and guns, hair pulling, I'm sure I forgot something lol

Want more smut? Follow the 🍌

“Mista J!” you sing-song, skipping into the room wearing nothing but a red and black lace bra and leather shorts too short to be considered anything but underwear.

Jisung sits surrounded by his worthless minions at the head of the table. They all pretend you don't exist, of course. Not one eye looks in your direction; if they did… well, their brains would decorate these four walls. Like the king he is, Jisung sits on a throne of premium leather that you were handed when you walked into the store. Really, the fancy schmancy furniture store just gave you whatever you pointed at. Okay, fine, maybe it had something to do with the two double-barrel sawed-off shotguns you held, but that's beside the point.

There's nothing too good for your Jisungie. There's not a thing you wouldn't do for this man. You would die for him, you would kill for him, raise hell with him, making the city cower as king and queen. You love every moment of it. Straddling and looking pretty on Jisung's lap, you kiss him. It’s sweet on your end, but he takes it a step further, making it hot and messy, drawing porn-worthy moans from you.

"Mmm, Mista J.One… If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to fuck me on this table right in front of everyone," you tease, a mischievous glint in your eyes. He responds with a wicked, deadly grin that sends a rush of heat to your core.

"Lovely, I had to kill at least a dozen men after the last time. I can't risk that happening now, can I, pet?" he says, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes flick up to the center of the room where his men sit, the intensity of his gaze daring any of them to look in your direction.

The way he glares, daring anyone to even glance at you, thrills you to your core. The reckless and dangerous aura he exudes turns you on, knowing he's willing to burn the entire world down for you, taking down anyone who dares to look at you. You pout and wiggle your hips, a soft whine escaping your lips as you feel him, hard and ready, pressing against you.

“Let me play, baby,” you whisper, leaning into him and licking the heart-shaped spider web tattoo on his neck.

He groans and shivers, bucking his hips up, making you squeal with delight and lust as his zipper brushes against your cunt. The damned leather is getting in the way of feeling more than you want, but that's okay; your mind is set on something bigger and better. You wriggle again, and he growls, the sound reverberating deep within you. Any other person would be scared, but you eat it up, craving more.

“What are you waiting for, lovely? Get on your knees for me,” he demands, his voice soft and dark, like feathers on a raven.

You almost fly up from his lap with excitement, hurrying to kneel between his thighs, looking up at him through your long lashes. The thing about this throne that caught your eye was the little footrest it came with. It's your favorite spot. Some days you sit there just waiting for him to use you any way he pleases. Your excited, maniacal giggles echo throughout the room as you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra. Your breasts bounce free from their confines, and you swing the garment around your head like a lasso, letting it fly free. You have no clue where it lands, but from the sounds of it, it seems to have landed on some poor guy's head.

Jisung smirks and cocks his head to the side, slowly looking in the direction of the unfortunate soul. "Oopsie," you whisper, reaching out to unwrap the present in front of you.

When Ji is satisfied that the man won't move, he looks down at you with his cock in your hands. You marvel at the size, as always, appreciating him, worshiping every inch of him. With loose fingers, you guide your hand up the length of his cock, feeling the heat radiate from the impressive muscle. Your mouth waters in anticipation and you smile up at him.

"Oh, Mista J, you're so hard for y/n." you purr, your mouth getting closer to the head of Jisung's cock.

The leather squeaks when he grips the arm of the chair, letting you take the lead... for now. You are his queen, after all—his beautiful nightmare. Damn it, if he didn’t have to go through with this fucking meeting, you would be bent over the table, drooling while he pounded his cock into every one of your fucking holes. Jisung is pissed, but only a little. These fuckers in the room better not dare look at you while his trigger finger is itchy.

With a wave of his hand, the meeting resumes, and you can hear the men shift uncomfortably, speaking about whatever plan for world domination Jisung's genius mind concocted. You ignore it all, too focused on watching the precum increase the more you play with Ji’s cock. So much more fun than any video game you were playing moments ago. You need him to make a mess of your makeup.

Every touch, every stroke sends a jolt of pleasure through both of you. Jisung’s eyes, dark and intense, flicker with a blend of rage and lust as he watches you. He’s a volcano on the verge of eruption, held back by the thinnest thread of control. Your breath shakes as you feel the weight of his cock in your hand, the slickness of his precum making each movement smoother, more urgent.

He exhales sharply, a barely audible groan escaping his lips. The power you hold over him in this moment is exhilarating, each pump of your hand drawing a reaction from him.

"Such a pretty cock you have, Ji," you whisper, blowing cool air over him. You watch with delight as he makes it bounce for you, the sight eliciting a soft, approving hum from your lips.

More crazed laughter from you rings out through the room, and Jisung loves it. He revels in the way you make the men in the room flinch. They're just dying to look at you, their fear mingling with desire.

"All the better to fuck your pretty mouth with, y/n, and that pretty cunt of yours," he replies, putting a crude emphasis on the word "cunt" and laughing loudly.

His laughter is just as insane as yours, but far more psychotic and unhinged. That's because he is certifiably insane. You would know; you're the one who diagnosed him. His psychosis, however, makes you feel safe. It's almost as if it connects you two in a way that psychology cannot explain. The two of you put on a show for the men in the room, mentally synchronized and wondering who will be the first to break. Knowing that cold steel is right underneath the chair, Jisung will make quick work of eliminating the weakest one.

When you flick your tongue out to lap up the liquid that now coats the tip of his cock, he shudders and leans his head back, licking his lips. The voices around the room waver, but they continue as if you aren't here. Good boys. Now it's time for Jisung to be a good boy for you and lose his mind. You gasp in delight and lick your lips, humming.

“Mmm, so tasty. Whaddya say, J One? Can I be greedy tonight?” Batting your lashes up at him, you grin.

His hand grabs the back of your neck tightly, but not uncomfortably, and he leans down, getting closer to your ear.

“Take it all and leave no drop behind, and you'll get a reward for being so good.” He slams his mouth onto yours in a crushing kiss, both physically and spiritually.

He leans back, fingers massaging your scalp, petting you while watching whatever presentation his men are rambling about. Your tongue gets to work, starting at the base, trailing up and over every ridge and vein along his cock. You lick every surface, coating him and savoring how his hands begin to become less caressing and more rough. The sound of voices fades into the background. All your focus is on Jisung and his cock now.

Heavy and warm against your tongue, you take him deeper and deeper, further than you've ever allowed yourself to go. He lets out a slow, deep groan and fists your hair when the head of his cock presses against the back of your throat, and you keep going. It's hard to focus on your breathing, to keep it steady and even, when he's making those sounds. You've never heard him sound as desperate as he does now. He doesn't care who hears him or sees him vulnerable like this though. Only an idiot would use this moment against him.

The feel of his fingers tightening in your hair, the taste of him on your tongue, the vibrations of his groans echoing through your body, it's better than any psychedelic drug in the world to you. You can feel the tension in his thigh muscles, the way his hips involuntarily twitch, seeking more of the pleasure you're giving him. Jisung's breaths become ragged, his control slipping with each movement of your tongue and each press of your lips.

“Shit, lovely. Fuck, mm.” he whispers, closing his eyes momentarily before opening them again to survey the room.

You know there's no way he's paying attention to anything but your lips wrapped around him, and you're right. Jisung couldn't care less if anyone was watching; he'd check the footage from the cameras later and deal with anyone who thought it was a good idea to watch you suck him off. For now, he loves how amazing you feel as you force his cock deeper down your throat. He doesn't mean to make the noises he does, but how could he hold them back when his queen loves hearing him be so vocal? He can feel your smirk, knowing that you have him wrapped around your finger.

Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock, savoring the taste and the way his body tenses with each movement. Every moan and groan that escapes his lips fuels your determination to take him deeper, to push him further into ecstasy. His hands fist your hair more gripping it tightly, to steel himself against the overwhelming pleasure.

"That's my lovely baby. Ah—yeah, gonna fuck you till you can't stand later, y/n. Do you hear me?"

You hum in response, the vibration of your lips sending shivers through his body. He whines and growls, balling his free hand into a tight fist, so tight that his knuckles start to turn white.

"Fuck, babe… gah!" He stiffens his legs, forcing himself not to buck up and make you choke on his length. He wants to wait until you've taken him all the way down your throat for that. "Ke-keep going. Yeah, nice and s... s-slow," he continues in a husky, breathy whisper.

Once you have every inch of him in your mouth, he waits for you to pull up a couple of inches before forcing your head back down. You gag and cough as he repeats the motion again and again. Your eyes water, and tears stream down your face from the relentless thrusting of his cock hitting your throat. He's fucking your face now, using your mouth like a fleshlight, controlling you by your hair. And you're soaking through your panties, coating the leather shorts with your arousal.

“Fuck, mm! Y/n... wrap your lips tighter. Mhm, just like that, baby. That's a good girl.”

You want to rub your clit so badly, but you'll topple over backward if you let go of the hold you have on Jisung's thighs. So, you squeeze your legs together tightly, releasing over and over while Ji has his way with you. His pre-cum oozes down your throat, steadily leaking like a faucet. The friction you're creating feels so good you could cum just from that. Your moans vibrate more, sending him into a feral frenzy. He feels his balls tighten, and he gets louder, grunting each time he rams his cock down your throat.

Jisung filling your mouth completely so harsh and fast is overwhelming. You can taste the salty tang of his pre-cum mixing with your saliva, creating a slick, warmth that coats your tongue. Each thrust makes your pussy ache with need, the pressure in your core building feeling almost unbearable. The heat of his body, the firm grip on your hair, makes your head spin.

His thrusts become more erratic and his grunts turn into desperate moans. You can feel the pulse of his cock on your tongue, the way it twitches and hardens even more.

“Daddy's little monster sucks cock so good. Isn't that right, gentlemen?!” Jisung questions loudly. A few agree hesitantly, not knowing how to answer, and those few would be gone by morning.

Why? Because how would they know that you're good if they weren't watching your performance? Jisung is a smart man; most psychopaths are. With a smirk and a moan, he thrusts upwards while pushing your head down into his lap. Your makeup is a mess, just the way you wanted. Tear streaks run down your face, and you're satisfied with your appearance. You'll be even more satisfied when he cums and even more so when he fucks you later.

“Every. Drop. Y/n. Swallow every fucking drop I'm about to give you. You ready, baby? I'm so fucking close.” he grinds out, gritting his teeth and his grip on your hair tightens painfully making you wince.

His hips jerk as he forces you down, the rough fabric of his pants scratching your cheeks, adding to your ruined face. Your heart pounds in your chest, matching the rhythm of his increasingly erratic thrusts. The sounds of his grunts and your muffled moans create a symphony of depravity echoing off the walls.

Jisung's mind is a funhouse of madness. If you were to open it up right now, the maniac's mind would be full of murder, mayhem, and you. It's a joke the way you make him feel—the best joke ever. How hilarious it is that a woman like you can make him weak, make him shiver all over, and become a moaning, whining mess. Your lips look so tantalizingly puffed out around him he almost wants to coat them with his cum, but he did say for you to swallow every drop, and he's a man of his word. He sees everything through, no matter how tempting it is. The humming you're doing on his cock is driving him madder than he already is. Oh god, do your lips feel so good to him. Jisung growls deep in his throat, a guttural sound that signals his impending climax.

“Take it, baby. Take it, y/n. Right. Fucking. Now. Oh, fuck!” His hands force your head down as he shoots rope after rope after rope of cum down your throat.

It hits the back of your throat forcefully and pools there until you relax, letting the warm, salty liquid easily go down. You swallow every drop he gives you, just like he told you to, the action drawing a final shuddering moan from him. Another growl and he's quickly pulling your head back and picking you up. You gasp for air as he spins you around and lays your stomach flat against the hard white surface of the table.

“GET OUT!” he yells, and every man in the room scatters. The one with your bra still on his head tosses it onto the table with shaky hands, sporting a very uncomfortable-looking hard-on. “Fuck if I'm waiting to fuck you.”

Your tight shorts are forced down roughly, and he rams his cock into your cunt, making you scream. He’s rough, really rough, and his thrusts are fast, creating a delicious mixture of pleasure and pain. Pain and pleasure, pleasure and pain—mix the two, and you've got the base of you and Ji’s relationship.

“Harder, Jisung, ah! Fuck me harder, please.” you beg him, and he laughs maniacally again.

He smacks your ass before reaching around and grabbing you by the neck. The slapping sounds of your bodies coming together are so loud that they cover up your yelps of pain when he does as you asked. It hurts so good you become incoherent; you don't even hear Jisung when he says that this will be all you're good for. It's a joke, his best yet if he's honest with himself, which he won't be. He'll pretend that he keeps you around just to fuck but he knows Gotham only has one queen, and that's you. He just doesn't want to admit that the way your cunt holds him and pulls him in, is the reason for his insanity now.

“Fuck, I'm gonna cum again, y/n.” his legs tremble with each long stroke inside you.

“C-cum, Jisung! Oh god, I'm there. Right… right…” Inhaling deeply, you let go, moaning loudly cumming on Jisung's cock and he follows you, filling your cunt.

“That’s my lovely—mmph! Filling your pussy to the brim. My sweet, deranged cum slut.” He pulls you back into him by your throat, finding your mouth and placing a possessive kiss on your lips. “Surrender your existence to me, y/n and let’s watch the world burn, darling.”

“Everything that I am, Mista J you already own. Let the ashes rain, baby!” You throw your head back with a crazed laugh and Jisung joins you, holding you tight in his arms.

✧ 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔏𝔦𝔰𝔱 ✧

@resi4skz @3rachasninja @moonlightndaydreams @rylea08 @hanjiphile @krayzieestay @oddracha @ldysmfrst

•If you want to be tagged in future posts let me know here•

[hetacon]

I know you've asked for Ravioli/Legend art prompts at the moment, but I'm craving seeing more Wild and Twilight hurt/comfort in your sweet art style lol so I had to ask, just in case you get inspired at a later date (no pressure I hope! 💙). Could I just ask for a sweet hug between them, or a piggy back ride, or Twilight watching Wild with resigned concern while he's stuck in a vision? :3 I just love their relationship soooo much and your beautiful art of Twilight sewing and his soft smile as Wild sits wrapped around his arm makes me tear up so much ahhhhhhh anyway much love to you dear, I'm honestly happy to see any art you create and give to us lol so thanks for reading my derpy rambling either way xD

How about all three? :)))

I will literally never turn down requests for the Wolf Siblings (or Wolf Trio), even if I’m not actively asking for requests! The two of them make me so soft, I love them so much and Twilight taking care of Wild is my favorite thing in the whole wide world! 🥺 And I’m glad I held on to this ask for a little bit before I started working on it, but the explanation for why is a little long so I’ll put it under the cut

These drawings actually ended up being extra special because the first two were my last pieces of 2024 and the third is my first piece of 2025!! What a wonderful way to close out one year and start the next!

(Also thank you so much for the compliments on my art, I’m so glad you like that drawing of Twilight sewing and Wild holding on to him ☺️)

So a little bit of Stan Lore for y’all, I have two siblings: my younger sister who’s a couple years younger than me (who I’ve mentioned before) and my older sibling who’s 7 years older than me, who’s been living on their own for about 8 years after they graduated college. The reason I haven’t mentioned my older sibling before is because I’m no longer on speaking terms with them, and part of this is due to the guy they recently married, the short explanation being that both my sister and I don’t trust him and he gives me bad vibes. My current relationship with my older sibling is actually one of the reasons that Twilight and Wild’s bond means so much to me but that’s a story for another day

Anyways, last Christmas, my older sibling and their husband didn’t come over for our family’s usual get-together, much to my sister and I’s relief, but this most recent Christmas they unfortunately did and so I barely interacted with anyone this year because I didn’t want to risk potentially getting trapped in a conversation with either of them, and I even snuck out of the house for an hour to go on a walk with one of my friends. Their husband even being in my house freaks me out and I’ve had more than one panic attack about just the thought of it so I knew that I needed something to get me through us hosting Christmas dinner this year, and I decided Wild and Twilight art was the perfect thing! Luckily it worked, drawing art of my favorite boys helped me calm down and grounded me! So all that is to say, thank you for sending me this request, I really needed it 💜

[dixons-sunshine]

Saw your birthday post and I’m here to say dad!daryl especially during pregnancy would be act like a caveman. You’re growing his child? He’s hunting for a mounting of food (more specifically animals especially deer) and presenting them to you like he’s at an altar. You want something. He’s already got it. Craving something that’s lots to the old world? Don’t worry he’ll do his best and if not he’ll find a suitable replacement. Dad!daryl would do anything for you already, and now you’re with his child… you really get to see how far he’d go.

Let’s not mention if you were ever in a position where he thinks you’d be in danger because he’s animalistic ensuring that you and his baby are okay.

Thank you for listening to my ted talk

Also happy early birthday!!

No because I think about this on a daily basis. You'd think I'm lying but I'm not. The amount of times I think of Daryl as a dad should be illegal lol. My own thoughts under the cut. (Sorry this isn't a proper fic. I didn't know how to write this in a way that would be in a way you deserve, but I loved this so much and didn't want this to go to waste, so I'm doing this. Hope it's okay!)

Basically everything you said is so freaking true. As far as I'm aware, aka on what I've seen in movies and what my mom has told me, the correct meat is an essential part to a pregnant woman's diet. Oh, boy, once you're pregnant and the doctor says that you need protein? You be rest assured that Daryl is not resting until he finds you the best goddamn venison he can. No rabbit or squirrel meat for the love of his life and his unborn baby. Y'all deserve only the best. He'd even fight tooth and nail if he could only find a small deer and there wouldn't be enough venison for everyone in the community and everyone wanted some. You needed it more than they did, and he'd hold someone at gunpoint if he needed to.

I've also wondered a lot about Daryl finding whatever you're craving. A few nights ago, I was really craving chips (fries) but I couldn't go buy any, so I had to make my own. While making it (at 3am if I may add) I thought about Daryl making you what you're craving during your pregnancy. If he can't find what you're craving outside the walls, he's gonna try his damn best to make it. Fries? He's picking potatoes out of the community's garden to make you that. You want a sandwich? He's gonna make you a sandwich. You want some crisps (chips)? He can't make it, but he's not gonna rest until he finds you some. It may be stale, but he doesn't care. Anything for you.

I've seen a couple of videos where the guy stands behind his pregnant partner and raises their belly to relieve some pressure. Daryl would do that! I read it in my favourite dad!Daryl series (Blood Ties by @celtic-crossbow. If you haven't read it yet, I highly recommend it!) and I was like “yes, he would totally do that!” Anything that would help make you even the slightest bit more comfortable, he'd do it. Also, I feel like it would bring a sense of comfort to him when he does that. It'd make him feel more connected with his baby before they're born, y'know?

Don't even get me started on Daryl being extremely overprotective of you. He doesn't want you to be in any sort of danger in general, but the need to keep you safe when you're carrying his baby increases by a tenfold. Your escapades beyond the walls are put on a hold for the foreseeable future. Anything you need beyond the walls, he'll get it for you. And if you don't want him to leave you, he'll get someone else to do it for him. He wouldn't ever let you willingly put yourself in danger, and if you ever were in danger, the people responsible for it would pay dearly.

I have a lot of thoughts on this but my brain isn't working with me right now. Thank you so much for sending this in! I really loved this so much.

[tammyjackson50-blog]

**Nerd ,cute boyfriend Anakin Headcanons**

( Anakin/ Stephen )

Warning: small 18+ part.

• Despite being shy, Anakin has this quiet confidence about him that’s utterly irresistible. He might blush when you catch him staring, but he never looks away. There’s something deeply intense about his gaze that makes your heart skip a beat every single time.

• Anakin is absolutely obsessed with your eyes. It’s the first thing he noticed about you, and he loves getting lost in them. He’ll often just hold your face in his hands, brushing his thumbs gently across your cheekbones, and whisper, “Your eyes are like galaxies, Y/n.”

• Living together has been nothing short of a dream. Anakin might be a bit awkward in social situations, but he’s completely at ease with you. Mornings usually start with him brewing your favorite coffee, a small, shy smile playing on his lips as he brings you a steaming cup in bed.

• He’s very touchy-feely. Anakin loves physical touch and always finds excuses to be close to you. Whether it’s holding hands while you’re out, wrapping his arms around your waist while you cook, or cuddling up on the couch to watch a movie, he craves your touch like it’s his lifeline.

• One of his favorite things is hanging out with you at night in a park not far from your apartment . He loves holding hands with you while walking. He loves to sit he likes to sit with you on the bench, especially when you put your head on his shoulder

• And when it comes to the bedroom, oh boy, is he good. Anakin might be shy in public, but behind closed doors, he’s confident and attentive. He usually takes the lead, knowing exactly how to make you feel cherished and desired every single time. The way he looks at you, with a mix of adoration and hunger, sends shivers down your spine.

• Anakin adores it when you take charge in bed, especially when you’re riding him. He loves the way you move above him, the way your hands grip his shoulders or chest, your hair cascading around your face as you lean down to kiss him. Seeing you confident and in control ignites a fire in him like nothing else.

• He’s got this adorable nerdy side. He’ll spend hours engrossed in his latest project or book or something interesting he found out today at work. occasionally pushing his glasses up his nose when they slip. You love sneaking up behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing his neck, feeling him relax into your embrace.

• Anakin loves it when you wear his clothes. Seeing you in his oversized shirts or hoodies always makes his heart swell with pride and possessiveness. “You look perfect,” he’ll murmur, pulling you close and kissing the top of your head.

• Your relationship is filled with quiet moments of affection. Anakin loves brushing your hair out of your face, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead. Every touch, every glance, speaks volumes about how deeply he loves you.

• When Anakin feels horny, he’s adorably shy at first. He’ll start with gentle touches, his fingers brushing against your skin more often, and his kisses lingering a bit longer. He’ll look at you with those intense eyes, a blush creeping up his neck. But once you catch on and respond to his need, that shyness fades quickly. His touch becomes more urgent, his kisses more demanding. He loves how you can make him feel so out of control, and he never hesitates to show you just how much he desires you.

• He’s fiercely protective of you. While he might not always be the most assertive guy, when it comes to you, he’ll do anything to keep you safe and happy. The way he holds you, the way he looks at you, it’s clear that you’re his everything.

• Nights often end with the two of you tangled together under the covers, his arms securely wrapped around you. “I love you, Y/n,” he’ll whisper softly.

~ idk what this is, I wrote it on the bus on my way home, lol.

Never wrote headcount before. I hope it's fine🙃