#I feel like I just keep saying the same thing over and over again in different ways

[prael]

Day 2: Covered

IVE An Yujin x male reader smut

words: 6,374 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

They said you could have been special; you would argue that you are.

Destined for greatness. A bright future. Whichever other way they wanted to express it.

The thing is, not everyone is cut out for the centre stage, and that's okay. You still get to do what you love, surrounded by people who share the same passion and work just as hard. Sometimes in life, you are the backup dancer in someone else's story. Sometimes, you literally are the backup dancer.

Yujin however, Yujin is the star. The one the world adores. The one that everyone around her seems to orbit.

You're just another face in her gravitational pull. You're on the stages and you're in the videos but no one remembers your name. There's probably an edit on Weverse somewhere with a sticker on your face. It's fine though. You've long made your peace with it.

You refuse to let that take away from the fact you spend so much time with An fucking Yujin. You've seen her in every single state, every emotion. She likes her 5 am coffee black and her mid-day one with ice. Yujin loves it when you massage her shoulders after practice and hates it when you play the same song twice in a row. However, the thing she loves above all else (and this can never go public) is having you on your knees—serving her like the queen you know her to be.

That's her secret. It's one you bear—one you're fine with keeping.

The final shoot is tomorrow, and today's practice is over but you know better than to follow everyone else out of the studio. You wait and you linger, and when the room clears out and you're sure everyone has left, you kneel and you wait. Sure enough, she notices and a smile creeps onto her face.

You don't bother to look up. Instead, you stay kneeling, waiting, knowing she's going to make her way over to you.

She does.

You hear her soft footsteps approaching and see the shadow fall over you as she stands there, looking down at you. You look up, slowly, eyes trailing up the length of her legs, over the expanse of her bare thighs and then just as you reach her hips, her fingers slip into your hair. She tightens her grip and yanks your head back so she can stare directly into your eyes.

"Did I say you could look at my legs?"

You gulp, feeling the tug on your hair and the way it makes your scalp burn. Your throat is dry, mouth parted and eyes wide. "No," you respond.

"Then what are you looking at?"

"I'm sorry," you quickly apologise, your hands clenching into fists and relaxing again as she tugs harder, her grip unrelenting.

"Sorry isn't good enough," she scoffs. "Why do I always have to teach you a lesson?"

You open your mouth to speak but the words die in your throat when she shoves you to the ground and kicks her leg out, planting her foot on your chest.

"Take off my shoes, don't talk."

You rush to comply, untying the laces of her sneaker before slipping it off. Yujin switches foot and you obediently repeat the action, putting the shoe beside the first one. You know that you can't allow your eyes to linger, but her bare legs are right over you and it takes all your self-control to look away.

"Socks," Yujin mutters.

You take a deep breath, knowing exactly what she wants you to do. You're slow to reach out, placing a hand on her ankle. She lets you, allowing you to gently lift her leg and slide her sock off, dropping it to the ground beside her. Your hand slides higher, caressing the soft skin of her calf, tracing the contours of her muscles. You're almost distracted until Yujin clears her throat, glaring down at you.

You nod, sliding the second sock off her foot and letting that join the first. You don't know where to look, her skin is right in front of you, begging to be kissed. Her eyes are boring into you, demanding all your attention.

"I don't know if you deserve it," she hums, lifting her foot. She drags her toes over your chest, the ball of her foot pressing down just beneath your collarbone.

"Deserve what?"

"To taste me," she laughs. "Don't think I didn't notice how distracted you were today. Don't think I didn't notice you staring at me."

"I wasn't—"

"Don't lie," she interrupts. "It's a bad habit."

You're so hopelessly disarmed. Lying underneath her on the hardwood floor of the studio with your body burning. She's so beautiful, and it's not fair. It's not fair how the universe created someone who can ruin you so easily and look so effortless doing it.

"You're lucky it's recording today tomorrow. You know what that means."

Like any other day before a big something, Yujin has a need for a release. It's a tradition at this point. The days leading up to something are so full of stress and excitement that it all gets too much and the only way for her to relieve herself is to use you.

You nod. You know exactly what it means.

She lowers her foot, and you feel her toes brush against the crotch of your shorts. You suck in a breath as she rubs up and down the fabric, pressing into you. She's watching your reaction, watching the way you bite your lip and clench your fists.

"You've been bad today. Distracted. Not focusing. Do you think you deserve this?"

"No," you shake your head.

"I don't think you do either." She removes her foot, stepping back.

It's torture. You clench your eyes as hard as your fists, desperate not to act out of turn.

"But you know what I want," she continues as you dare to open your eyes and look up. She's staring at you, hands on her hips. "You know what to do to get back on my good side."

You nod. Of course, you know. It's not the first time you've found yourself on the floor beneath her. You sit up on your knees and shuffle forwards. Her shorts are black and loose. Your fingers slip into the waistband and you tug them down slowly, sliding them over the curve of her ass, past the smooth, glowing skin of her thighs and down to her ankles.

You take a breath. You're so desperate. So hungry. She's wearing the laced panties you like. The ones you bought for her and left in her bag. They hug her so tightly that she seems to be straining against them. Her ass looks perfect, her thighs thick and inviting and her cunt...you can see the outline of her folds. The thin material barely covers her. She knows how much it affects you.

"You're staring again," she huffs, pushing her hand into your hair once more and tugging roughly.

"I can't help it," you whimper.

Her fingers twist and you feel the burn in your scalp once more as you wince in pain. Yujin's hand moves from your hair, dragging down the length of your neck and around to the front of your throat. Her hand squeezes gently, thumb and index finger digging in just below your jaw.

"You can. You will."

You gasp, her grip is tight and you can't breathe, your eyes watering with the pain and the pleasure that it brings. She leans forward, her breath hot against the shell of your ear, her grip tight. You're trembling, shaking with the effort of holding back.

"Beg me," she whispers.

"Let me taste you. Let me kiss you. Please, please let me—"

Her grip on your neck tightens, cutting you off. Your words dissolve into a whimpering mess and your eyes roll back in their sockets as your body melts into her. Her touch, her words, her everything has such an effect on you that it takes you to another world. The only thing that exists is the two of you.

"Pathetic," she scoffs, her lips brushing your ear. "You'll do anything, won't you?"

"Yes," you moan, and you mean it.

"Good," she says as she pushes you away and you collapse back against the ground. "Now make me feel good, will you? I'm sick of waiting."

Yujin steps over you, her legs on either side of you and she pulls the laced underwear to the side, lowering herself down until she's hovering just over your mouth.

She looks ethereal like this, the lights shining down on her. The goddess of your dreams, the star of your story.

"Please, let me—" You don't even need to finish your sentence, Yujin sinks down, pressing her pussy onto your lips and you open your mouth to lick at her. A mouth full of pussy, the taste of her arousal hitting your tongue. She grinds down, the soft skin of her thighs pressing in on either side of your face, trapping you. You lick again, tongue flat against her, licking up from her entrance and over her clit. She grunts and her hips buck forward, grinding her pussy down harder on your lips.

"More," she pants.

And you give it to her. Your tongue laps at her, teasing her clit. Her hips roll and you feel the slickness between her legs growing and it's all over you, coating your face as you desperately reach for her thighs. She slaps your hand away.

"Did I say you can touch?"

You struggle to shake your head between her legs.

"So keep them down."

Your hands go back to your side and she groans in approval, grinding harder and faster, using you like she knows she can. This is so Yujin, to use you like she's nothing but a toy for her to play with. You don't care, you'll do whatever she wants.

You're lost in the moment, your tongue licking, tasting and teasing as you desperately try and find the rhythm she's moving in. Her thighs tighten around your head, trapping you there. You cut shapes across her clit with your tongue and you feel the shuddering of her legs as she whines. She loves it when you write her name with your tongue. The letters spelling out An Yujin.

It's all it takes for you to be consumed by her. She's in your system and all you want to do is make her feel good.

Even the powerful, composed, elegant, Yujin has to succumb in some form to the pleasure. She's been riding you with so much poise and posture. Her back is slightly arched, so above you is just the beautiful expanse of her upper body—clung to by a sweat-soaked white shirt. She's running her hand across her chest, her fingers twisting a nipple as she works herself into a frenzy on you. Her head rolls, her hand moves to the base of her neck and she moans.

She basks in the light shining down on her, and it's a sight to behold. The way it glistens on her skin. The sweat runs down her chest. Her hair, her face. The way she looks when she's so completely in the moment.

"Fuck—" she gasps and her thighs tense around your head.

You're trapped and you're struggling. Your face is covered in slick and your mouth is filled with her taste. You feel like you're suffocating and all you can think is that this is how you want to die, with Yujin all over you. Yet you know there's more to come. She starts to crumble. The poise fades and she leans forward, slamming the palm of her hand against the floor.

She hunches as she rides harder. She's fucking down onto your face. Grinding her pussy on your lips and your chin, chasing the ecstasy that she needs. She's so close you can feel it in the way she trembles. You hear it in her moaning, her whines. She's there. Right there, on the cusp. 

And how you wish you could take hold of her. Grip her juicy ass in your hands and push your mouth against her cunt and fuck her with your tongue. You'd do it. You would. Your hands twitch at the thought. Your fingers curl into the floor instead. There will be no marks on Yujin's perfect skin from your fingers right now. You keep them clenched and do as you're told.

"Fuck—" She grunts, her thighs trembling. You can't move and you can barely breathe. All you can do is lick at her and let her ride you like a toy.

It's enough. Yujin cries out and her back arches, her head falling backwards. She comes and it's the most glorious sight, watching her body tense as her thighs tremble, clenching around your face. She grinds, rubbing against your tongue as she draws it out. It's messy and loud. She's panting, her chest heaving and she moans, rocking her hips and gasping.

It's like the tension washes out of her body and she sinks down, relaxing against you. She sits on your chest, looking down at you, a satisfied smirk on her face. You try to smile back but all you can manage is a dopey grin as you struggle to catch your breath. She's beautiful like this. Her eyes shine bright, the light behind them twinkling. Her skin glows and she looks like a work of art. A masterpiece.

"You did well," she praises, reaching out to touch your face, stroking her fingers across your cheeks, "you always do well for me, don't you?"

You nod. "I'd do anything for you," you say, and you mean it.

"I know you will." She shifts her hips, her thighs clamping down around your face again, restricting your air. Yujin laughs. "You'd let me suffocate you if I told you to."

And you would. You really would.

"But, I still have use for you," she tells you as she dismounts. Yujin relaxes on the floor next to you, her head propped up on her elbow.

You take a breath and roll over to look at her, still gasping for air. She smiles, reaching out and cupping your face with her hand, thumbing the wetness of her from your cheeks. You're a mess, covered in her, and her eyes tell you how much she loves that sight. How much she enjoys the power of having you like that.

Yujin leans over, her lips grazing over yours. The kiss is so light it makes you shiver. A complete contrast to what you've just experienced. She walks this balance so perfectly. The rough and the gentle, the affection and the torment. She's the best at both and she plays with them like an instrument.

"Do you like me?" Yujin blinks innocent eyes and it's a trap that you fall right into.

"Yes. You know that I do. I like you a lot."

Yujin grins. "Do you like my body?" She shuffles closer, looking down at you a little more. "Do you want to fuck me?"

You gulp, your mouth watering as your eyes wander over the curves of her figure, the way her nipples press against her shirt, the way the hem of it has risen, exposing her midriff and how she plays with the lace of her panties on her hip. You're so hard that you're aching and she knows that. You want her, you need her, you'd give anything to feel her.

"Yujin," you whimper. "Please."

"Do you deserve to fuck me? After being so bad today?"

"I can make up for it. I'll do anything—"

"I bet you would," she hums. Her hand reaches out, sliding over your shorts, her fingers grazing over the obvious bulge. "You want it that badly?"

You nod and you're desperate.

"You want to be inside me?"

"Please, Yujin," you whimper.

She grins, tugging at the waist of your shorts and slipping her fingers under the waist. "You want to grab my ass while I ride you like the toy that you are? Do you want me to bounce on your dick, hm? The one that belongs to me?"

You bite your lip as you nod fervently, watching the way her eyes shine and the corners of her lips twist. Yujin lets out a soft laugh at your desperation.

"Then worship me." She pulls her hand away from your crotch and places it on her hip to pose. "Show me how much you like my body."

Yujin rolls onto her back, throws her hands above her head and bends a knee as her other leg stretches out. She looks so perfect, so inviting. So you climb to your knees, looking over her as she relaxes. There's a natural arch to her body between her shoulders and her ass that leaves a sliver of light between the small of her back and the floor. She's an art piece. Like a statue carved from stone, sculpted and designed to be admired. A creation so beautiful and elegant.

And you're on your knees for her, kissing up her outstretched leg. Your hand traces over her thigh. You're slow, taking your time. The skin beneath your lips is so soft, so smooth, so delicate. You don't deserve her. Your lips press into the path your hand paves up her body. Gentle kisses of appreciation on the thigh you adore so much.

"Yujin—" you breathe the words hot onto her skin. A lick, to taste the sweat from her body, a kiss, to mark the spot. A honey-laced laugh rings in the air. "You're so beautiful," you murmur.

Your mouth presses against her hip, tongue trailing over her skin. Your fingers lip up under her tight-fitted shirt. She's so warm. Her body feels like it's burning and her breaths are heavy.

She looks down the length of her body to watch you as your hand slides up, pushing her shirt with it. Your lips graze over your stomach, tongue teasing and tracing over the defined lines. You're in awe of her. She's perfect, and she knows it, but you still want her to know that she's appreciated. That she's worshipped, admired, adored, lusted for, and wanted.

"I know I am," she laughs, "but tell me more."

"An Yujin," you breathe the name into her skin as you kiss your way to her chest, your hand sliding further up her body until the palm of your hand rests on the softness of her breast. "No one is like you," you whisper as you squeeze the mound in your hand, feeling her body beneath you, feeling the way it moves when your hand does. "You're so flawless."

She moans softly when your fingers pinch her nipple. "Keep going," Yujin hums.

"You're stunning," you continue, looking up at her face as you kiss across her chest to the other breast, your hand still fondling. Your mouth hovers over her nipple and your eyes flicker up to meet hers as you lick over it. She gasps and you lick again, teasing and flicking over it. "You're the most decadent, alluring thing I have ever laid eyes on."

"I'm your fantasy?" Her hands move to the top of your head, her fingers twisting into the strands of your hair as you lick, sucking her into your mouth again, teasing her with the flat of your tongue. You suck and she lets out a sharp hiss of a moan.

"My fantasy," you breathe the words against her chest. "You're my dream."

Her hips lift, pushing against you and the growing ache of your erection. The friction, the heat, the feeling of her—it's so good. She grinds, rolling her hips and rubbing against your cock, smirking at the way you whine, your eyes fluttering.

"You want to cum," she taunts. "Don't you?"

"Yujin," you moan her name again as her fingers twist tighter in your hair. Your hips roll down to meet the grind of her body and your mouth finds the crook of her neck. You inhale the scent of her. You're surrounded by Yujin. It's dizzying. She's everywhere. The smell of her, the taste of her on your tongue and lips, the feeling of her skin on your hands, under your body, the sight of her, the sound of her voice. Everything is Yujin, and you can't think of a better world to live in. "I want you," you tell her. "I want to be inside you, I need you."

"I know what you need," she hums. Yujin's hands tug on your shirt and you sit back and pull it off. Her palms press against your chest, pushing you to lie back on the floor. You watch her and the grace with which she moves, kneeling over your waist as she peels her own shirt over her head and tosses it to the side.

Your eyes are all over her body. Yujin's hands run over the softness of her skin, and she cups her tits in her hands, rolling her thumbs over her nipples, her eyes locked on yours as you watch. Her body is a wonderland. There's no part of it that you haven't seen. No inch of her skin you haven't touched or tasted. You know every crevice of it, every mark and blemish, every imperfection. You know them all and you love them. They're the most perfect imperfections you've ever seen.

She knows the power that her body has over you, the control it gives her. Yujin knows how to wield that weapon, how to make it into the sharpest sword, and how to cut you with it.

"Fuck me," you plead, the words escaping your lips in desperation. "Yujin, please."

"You beg so beautifully for me," she smiles, her fingers sliding under the waistband of your shorts. "Lift your hips."

And you obey, lifting them from the floor. Yujin's fingers tug at the fabric, pulling them down your thighs. She smiles at the sight of you, hard and leaking. Yujin's hands slide over your bare thighs. You're exposed, and the feeling of the cool air hitting your skin sends a chill up your spine. Her palms slide up until she wraps one around the base of your cock and her touch sends a shiver through your body. Yujin strokes up, slowly, twisting her hand on the upstroke. Your hips buck at her touch and she grins at the way your cock twitches, the precum leaking across the back of her hand as she reaches the top.

"You're so needy," she says as her hand glides back down. Your eyes are wide, watching every move she makes as if your life depended on it. "I like it," she tells you.

"I'd do anything—"

"I know you would," Yujin laughs, cutting you off. She shuffles forward on her knees until her thighs press on either side of your waist, caging you between her. The way she towers over you, with that look in her eyes that says you belong to her. "You're my toy, aren't you?"

"I'm your toy."

"That's right." Her hand squeezes tighter around the base of your cock as she lifts her hips, hovering just over you. You don't know how long she's going to keep you waiting, you never do. It could be seconds, it could be minutes. She has a sadistic streak that you've never understood and it's always a game of how desperate can she make you before giving in to your begging. "And who does this belong to?" she asks.

"You. Yujin. It belongs to you," you breathe the words, your fingers curling into the palms of your hands.

"That's right, it belongs to me. This cock," she strokes up again. "It's mine. Isn't it?" Yujin's fingers trace up, circling your tip.

"It's yours," you whimper. The desperation has you whining.

"It is," she laughs, and it's a sound that makes your stomach twist into knots. She squeezes you and lifts her hips just a little, enough for you to feel the heat of her body. You feel her thighs squeeze against you as she grinds her pussy on the underside of your cock, dragging the length of you through her folds and over her clit.

Instinct dictates that you bring your hand to her hip, but you know you can't just take hold of her, not unless she's given the go-ahead. You clench your hands tighter, biting your lip to hold in your frustration, your desperation.

Yujin's hips rock against you again, grinding down and using your cock to get herself off. You can feel the slickness between her legs. You can hear the wet sound it makes. She's using you, and she's loving every second. It's the sound you know too well. She's getting herself off. The feeling of her is intoxicating, and your cock is throbbing, twitching as it slides against her pussy, hitting her clit. The moans from Yujin's lips tell you exactly what it's doing to her. How much she loves the way it makes her feel.

You can't touch. You can't take control. All you can do is lie back, your head tipped back against the floor as your fingers grip in vain at the floor, struggling to keep them from reaching out for her. Yujin's body moves like silk in the wind, and you know she's so close. The sound of her, the feeling of her. She's riding the edge, grinding down, the tip of your cock catching on her entrance as she teases you with every move.

"Yujin—" you beg her name as your head falls to the side, eyes clenched closed.

"What?" Her voice is thick with lust and you feel her hand on your chin, gripping your jaw, her nails biting into your cheeks. She turns your face and forces your eyes open to watch the way she moves. "You want to be inside me?"

You can only nod in reply, feeling her fingers tighten around you, squeezing. She grins, leaning over and you feel the breath of her laughter on your neck. Her lips brush your skin. Her teeth nip, biting down on your shoulder, making you wince. Yujin's hips roll forward, and the tip of your cock catches on her entrance. She holds there for a moment, a silent torment of anticipation as your mind swirls and your stomach flips. And then you feel the heat, her warmth as she slowly pushes herself onto your cock. You watch with a hitched breath, your heart hammering in your chest. You feel her. She feels you.

The breath you'd held rushes out, a gasping moan, the feeling of being enveloped by her body. The tight warmth as Yujin sinks all the way down. Her pussy grips your length, squeezing tight and you can feel the way it flutters, the way it grips, the way it clenches around you. Your eyes meet hers, and you can see how much she enjoys having this effect on you. How she loves the way you react, the sounds she forces you to make, the way you squirm and gasp beneath her. She owns you. Completely. Utterly. Irrevocably.

Her hands press down on your chest, and she starts to move, rolling her hips, circling, lifting up just enough that she can feel you slide in and out of her. You can feel it all, you're aware of every movement she makes. How she grinds her clit against your body on the downstroke, the way her hips tilt to find the right spot, the way she moans when she hits the perfect angle. The way she moves when she finds the right pace, the perfect rhythm. It's everything and all at once.

"You feel so good inside me," Yujin purrs. She leans back, placing a hand on the top of your thigh. Her body is open to you. She's exposed. The panties she still wears are pulled to the side, her breasts bouncing with every move of her body, her stomach tightening, the soft skin pulled taut as her abs clench. She's a sight, a beauty to behold and a treasure to worship.

"Yujin, please," you breathe the word into the space between the two of you. It's not enough, you need to touch. You have to. But you're trapped and she's in charge. "Let me touch you."

"No." It's simple, the way she says it. It's like she's not even thinking about the effect she's having on you like she doesn't even realise what she's doing to your sanity. She rides you like a toy, her hips moving, grinding down, her thighs squeezing and relaxing as she works. You can only whine, lying back against the ground. You watch as she takes what she needs from you, her hand slipping down her stomach and to her clit, circling quickly as her moans fill the room. "This is my cock," she breathes, "and I'll do what I like with it."

"Yes," you hiss as your hips push upwards, your hands balled into fists at your sides. You're so hard it hurts. It aches and it throbs, and all you can do is lie back, trapped beneath Yujin and her powerful thighs. "Yujin—" you breathe, but the words stick in your throat.

Her eyes are dark, the lust-filled pools staring down at you as you lie back, completely helpless and at her mercy. Your cock twitches and she gasps, her hand on her clit, rubbing furiously, chasing her release. She's getting closer and closer with each passing second and it shows in her face. Her brow creasing, lips parted and eyes fluttering.

She's fucking herself on your dick. Yujin is using you to get herself off and you love every second of it. The feeling of her walls gripping you tight, squeezing, her body clenching around you. The way her thighs tense and shake as she moves. Her moans, her gasps. Her eyes are on you, watching you watch her.

Yujin gasps and her body shudders, her pace quickening, her fingers circling faster, rubbing frantically at her clit as she chases her orgasm. You know how close she is, and all you can do is watch her face as she gets closer and closer. Her body is shaking, trembling as the wave builds inside her. Her moans get louder, and more intense. Her fingers work harder, and you feel her tightening, the walls of her pussy squeezing down, and then she cries out, her head tipping back, her body arching, her chest pushing out as she rides the waves of her orgasm.

It's beautiful. The way her body reacts to it all, the way she looks when she comes undone. Yujin moans your name and it sends shivers up and down your spine. She looks ethereal like this. A deity to be admired. A queen on her throne.

She's beautiful. She's breathtaking. She's Yujin.

When the waves stop crashing, Yujin collapses onto you, her body limp and spent. The warmth of her body pressed against you feels like heaven and your cock is still inside her, pulsing, aching, begging for its own release.

"I don't know if I should let you cum," Yujin pants in a whisper, her face pressed against your shoulder, the hot breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine. "Could just leave you here like this. All hard and frustrated. Aching. You'd probably go home and get yourself off thinking about me."

She's right. Of course, she's right. You would.

"Or maybe you can show me just how much you appreciate me," she breathes, pushing herself up, hands on either side of your head. "Would you like that?"

"Anything," you tell her. Your hands twitch, desperate to reach up to her. "You know I would."

"I know." She smirks and sits up. Her hips lift until you feel your cock slipping out of her, her wetness dripping onto you. Yujin's fingers trace over the mess she's left, smearing it on her fingertips before bringing it to your lips. You know what she wants. She doesn't even need to ask.

Your mouth opens and she pushes her fingers between your parted lips, letting you lick them clean. You suck her fingers and her eyes watch you, a glint of something dangerous shining. She pulls them out slowly, dragging the tips over your bottom lip. "Good," Yujin breathes the word as she climbs off of you and turns around.

The curve of her ass is a beautiful thing to see. It's soft, smooth, plump. She catches a glance at you staring, a smirk tugging on her lips. She plants her hand against her ass (a harsh reminder that feeling it yourself requires her permission) and squeezes the flesh before letting out a laugh. It's all a game to her.

"You're going to show me, by cumming for me. Cumming on me." She settles back onto the floor, gracefully lying back into a pose. "You have two minutes. Two minutes to show me how much you love my body." She runs a hand from her chest all the way to her hips and you watch, entranced by every movement she makes. Yujin laughs again. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

The words kick you into action and you scramble to your knees and shuffle towards her. She laughs at the sweet, sweet honey sound that makes you melt. Your hand wraps around the base of your cock, the wetness from Yujin's pussy coating it, slick and smooth as you slowly stroke your length. You stare at her, watching the way her chest rises and falls with each breath, the way her fingers trace up and down the skin of her thigh, the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

It's intoxicating. You're drunk on Yujin, high off of her beauty, and you're addicted. There's no going back. You're hers, completely. Your fist tightens around your length and your strokes quicken. The feeling of it is so good and your cock is still throbbing from being trapped inside her. You can feel the lingering heat of her body on your skin. The scent of her, the taste, the sound. It's everywhere. Surrounding you. Enveloping you. Engulfing you. Consuming you.

"Two minutes," she hums the reminder, her fingers sliding between her thighs. Yujin's fingers slide over the panties she still wears. "Two minutes to make yourself cum for me. To make a mess of my body."

"Yujin," you whimper her name like it's a prayer. The sound of her voice, the sight of her body. The knowledge of what you've done, of what you've experienced. You've been inside her. You've had the taste of her on your tongue, the sound of her in your ears. Her pussy is still dripping and her thighs glistening. You're still so hard that you're aching, and all you can do is stroke yourself. All you can do is pump your hand and feel your fingers glide up and down your shaft.

Your eyes flicker from the smooth, warm, inviting skin of her chest to her pussy and back. You've tasted her. You've felt her. You've felt the way she grips and clenches, the way she feels. The sound of her when she cums.

"I don't know if you can do it. I don't know if you can cum." Yujin teases and she knows how to play you. "One minute."

"Yujin," you moan her name again and again as you feel it building. The pressure. The heat. Your cock twitches in your hand as you stroke. The sensation of the wet heat, the friction, the knowledge that Yujin is beneath you, but you're hers to command, to control. It's too much and it's everything. You feel it in your core, a twisting, coiling, winding tension that's threatening to snap.

"Do you want to cum on me?" Her voice breaks through the fog. "Do you want to mark my body with your cum? Make a mess of me?"

She throws her hands above her head, stretching out her body and presenting herself for your load. "Thirty seconds," Yujin warns, the hint of danger on the tip of her tongue.

"Yujin—" You can only whisper her name as you stroke. Hard and fast, gripping and twisting. You're so close. Right there, standing on the precipice.

"That's it. Be a good boy for me," she praises. "Show me how much you adore me."

"I—I—" Your words die in your throat, a gasping, breathless moan. You're cumming, the tension snaps and it's all too much. The pleasure rushes over you like a wave. You're drowning in it. You're suffocating. Your hips stutter, thrusting into your fist, pumping your length as you feel the hot spurts of your cum painting over Yujin's perfect, beautiful skin. The first spurt splashes across her breasts, the second spattering across her stomach and chest. Her laughter fills the room. She loves this, seeing the way she's ruined you.

Your body shakes, your hand slowing as the final drops fall from your cock to the expanse of Yujin's body. Your mind swims as you struggle to breathe. Your head spins and your vision is blurry. She's laughing, her fingers swiping through the cum, rubbing it into her skin. Her hands roam all over her body and you're entranced. Your body feels like jelly as you collapse, slumped onto your side on the floor beside her.

"Good boy," Yujin purrs, her hand sliding over her stomach and down between her legs, rubbing at her clit with your cum. She's smearing it everywhere, all over her pussy, her fingers slipping between her folds and then back to her clit. It runs over her chest, dripping down the side of her tit. Her breath hitches and you watch, mesmerised by her. "Such a good boy."

"Yujin," her name falls from your lips as if you've lost all other words, the way a prayer is uttered, reverently and devotedly. "I—"

She laughs again. It's light and playful. "I know. I'm the best, right? You're so lucky."

"Yes." It's the only thing you can think of to say. You are lucky. So unbelievably lucky.

[eowynstwin]

Ghoap x reader. Autistic reader. Christmas angst. Allusions to Ghost’s backstory. Salacious use of ribbon. Soap being inappropriate. NSFW.

Soap fidgets on the train the whole way over to the light show. You don’t notice, of course, your earplugs are in, but Ghost, hypervigilant for the season, cocks an eyebrow.

“Itches like mad,” Soap grouses. He tugs at the collar of his sweater, a ghastly thing in fuzzy green, red, and gold, with LED bulbs embroidered down the front.

Ghost scowls at him. Soap purses his lips, not chastened. You sit between them, oblivious, fingering the zipper of your purse.

There’s enough cheer on the train to make up for their collective lack. More than one person wears a dumb Santa hat, and at least every other has on something colorful and festive. It seems like everyone feels some sort of Christmas spirit but Ghost, and it makes his hackles tense up.

Your hand slips into his then, smooth like silk settling over his palm. He looks at you; your gaze is fixed steadily ahead, unfocused. He’s not sure whether you reached for him to find comfort or offer it, but he closes his fingers around yours anyway.

He looks over—Soap has your other hand. Reaching to find, then. He squeezes.

The three of you wait until the very last moment to disembark when you arrive, letting the crowd out first. Ghost’s choice. The absolute last thing he wants is to lose either you or Soap in the stream of people flowing from the train—Soap will get distracted, and you hate it when strangers crowd you. This is going to be a trial as it is.

Ghost has to admit—once they reach the grounds, the displays are something to see. Together, you walk through a tunnel of lights leading you to the beginning of the walk, rings of warm white gently shining overhead, and Ghost, despite himself, can’t help but admire how it makes both of his partners look like they’re glowing.

Then Soap tugs at his sweater again, and Ghost bites down a growl.

“Oh, hot chocolate,” you say at the end of the tunnel, looking over at a cart laden with a few big steel samovars. “I’m going to get some, either of you want any?”

“Cider,” Ghost says, softening the curtness of his tone with the tenner he hands you. “If they’ve got any.”

“Coffee for me, hen, if you don’t mind,” Soap adds with a smile. You nod, and scurry toward the drinks.

Soap eyes him. Ghost knows what he sees—his back has been ramrod straight since the bloody month started. He holds his shoulders the same way he might if he had his rifle across his chest. His jaw has been hard as a cinder block any time the market clerk tossed “happy holidays” at him when he did his best to get away as fast as he could.

“Don’t,” Ghost says.

Soap says nothing.

This is not their first Christmas together, but it is their first with you. The sergeant already knows how Ghost feels about the holiday; you do not, and Ghost wants to keep it that way for a little while longer.

Divining your feelings about anything takes a little longer than it might with anyone else, but he’s pretty sure you’re excited, in your way. Soap, for whom pine trees and glitter and the smell of snow in the air seem to activate a sleeper agent in his brain that orgasms at the mere sight of tinsel, already has a Wellington resting in their shared fridge, and artfully wrapped presents crammed under their pre-lit tree. The two of you together have flooded the flat with lights, candy-cane frippery, crocheted snowflake doilies, and ski-lodge scented candles.

Ghost, for his part, has scrolled various travel websites to figure out if assassinating Santa Claus is something actually feasible. Maybe if he defeats the final boss of Christmas he can actually sleep through the night at least once this month.

It isn’t that he hates it, exactly. It’s just that Christmas, to him, began as a hazy game of roulette, wondering if the wild animal of his father would appear to ruin the exchange of charity-shop gifts wrapped in reused paper, and then solidified as an image reflected in pools of spreading blood.

The last happy Christmas, he had to burn down. That’s no reason that he has to ruin it for everyone else, though.

You return with three paper cups held awkwardly in your two hands, and Ghost and Soap relieve you of your burden. Your cup has a peppermint stick jutting up out of it, and you use it to stir your steaming drink periodically as the three of you proceed.

The path leads through an army of glowing snowmen in mismatched sizes, life-size gingerbread houses, past multicolor balls tossed across the top of a frozen pond. Trees banded with so many strings they look like branches of lightning reaching up from the earth. Electric snowflakes dangling above your heads from netting stretched between lampposts.

Ghost keeps clenching and unclenching his fist. His cider goes rapidly cold in his other hand, untouched. He probably can’t get his money back for it, but he’s agitated enough to start a fight and try.

Meanwhile—it’s obvious, you’re enjoying yourself immensely. You don’t say much as you flit between installations, running a hand over the glowing bulbs, tilting your head this way and that like a curious little bird. You take your phone out more than once to open your camera, and Ghost knows you’re saving pictures to put together a slideshow later on.

More than once, you look back at him and Soap, and grin wide at some novelty or another. Ghost manages to nod his head at you—go on, little birdie, keep having fun.

“Jesus,” Soap mutters, trying to scratch at a spot on his back for the third time.

“Fuck’s sake, Soap, just take the fucking thing off,” Ghost snaps.

“Canna,” Soap says.

“Why the fuck not?”

Soap’s mouth slants sideways. He looks around for spectators, and, finding none within eyeshot, lifts the bottom of the sweater.

Bright, shiny, very red ribbon runs in two lines along the naked cut of his obliques—down past the waistband of his trousers.

Ghost tosses the cider out of his cup and grips Soap by the back of the neck, throws, “OY! Duckie! Bathroom!” at you, and drags his boyfriend to the nearby public loo.

It’s empty, thank god, so Ghost wastes no time yanking the closure of Soap’s trousers open. The ribbon continues downward, downward, the V narrowing and narrowing until—

It converges in a (somewhat lopsided) bow tied right around the base of Soap’s dick.

“Soap, what the fuck,” Ghost says.

The sergeant backs up, and pulls the sweater fully off. It reveals a latticework of satiny red crisscrossing his chiseled torso: lines of ribbon accenting the curves of his pectorals, his toned abdomen, highlighting the small indent of his trim waist.

Soap’s cheeks flush pink.

“Goes further down,” he mutters, not meeting Ghost’s eye.

“What the fuck,” Ghost repeats.

“Was gonna do a big reveal when we got home,” Soap says. “Start stripping when we got the door closed. That rubbish.”

Ghost, incredulously, snorts, and Soap smiles at him.

“First time you’ve laughed this month,” he says quietly. “S’ why I did it.”

Ghost steps up to him and takes Soap’s chin between thumb and forefinger. “You fucking idiot,” he says, and kisses him.

The bathroom door opens, letting in a gust of wind, and Ghost and Soap jump back from each other momentarily, before relaxing when your voice reaches them.

“There better not be a handjob happening in here without me—oh,” you say, stopping short.

Shoving the waist of his pants down further, Soap turns around to show off to you the full extent of what he’s done. It gives Ghost a good look at the pretty intersections happening overtop of the muscles of Soap’s back, and the dip of the ribbon down between the two perfect globes of Soap’s arse.

You blink several times. “There isn’t a lock on this door, Soap. If I get down to suck you off, someone is going to come in.”

Impossibly, Ghost snorts again, and then laughs for real, a full-belly guffaw that comes out a little more harsh than it should. But you grin at him, and the line of Soap’s shoulders, which Ghost suddenly realizes has been as tense as his this whole time, relaxes.

He pecks the bare swell of Soap’s bicep, and then the crown of your head as he passes you by.

“I’ll hold it closed, duckie,” he says. “Do whatever you want.”

He only leaves the door once when he hears you shriek suddenly with laughter—to find that Soap has decorated his cock with a peppermint-loop of red lipstick, all the way to the tip.

“Fucking idiot,” Ghost repeats, and cancels his trip to the North Pole then and there.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: stalking, yandere, anxiety, paranoia, isolation tactics

♡ GN reader

You’re anxious. You probably shouldn’t be, and you tell yourself that. You’re being silly. Utterly silly. It’s most likely just coincidences—a string of oddities, enough to freak you out. And you’ve always been too easily spooked.

You just happen to have the same situation and routine, is all. So what? You live in the same building, both of you grab coffee at the same cafe on your way to college, where you both happen to go, both of you get off at the same time despite having different classes, both of you go grocery shopping every Monday before coming home, and both of you do laundry down in the basement every Sunday before bed.

It’s not such an original schedule, you tell yourself. Jeez, he's not stalking you! No. It’s natural to buy everything at the start of the week and even more standard to do laundry at the end of it. It’s normal! Totally normal!

You’re just imagining the rest. The way he looks at you. You’re just freaking out because it’s your first time living alone, out in the big world, all on your own. He’s probably in the same shoes as you. New city, tiny apartment, big campus, long lectures, broke shit. 

Yes! That’s why he offered to do laundry together. One washer, one coin, one dose of detergent—that’s two for the price of one and half the price for both of you. Of course! That must have been it—and not any of the creepy things you’ve suspected. Obviously, he isn’t asking to do laundry together to steal your underwear like some freak—what are you even thinking!?

You’re such a bad person. It’s not like he’s done anything directly off-putting. Asking you over for dinner is a nice thing, after all. Again, it saves money and keeps you both company. It’s lonely living alone, after all. It’s not like you think it’s swell spending every evening with your nose in your textbook, just waiting for the school to plan a social gathering or something so that you can make some friends. 

You’re such a dumbass. Wanting to make friends, yet shunning the one friendly guy in your building just because he’s been a little too forward. It’s not as if he’s asked you out or anything! He’s just being nice! You’re the one being weird! Thinking weird things—condemning him of doing weird crimes he hasn’t even done!

“Hey, neighbor,” he says. Right on time, just like always. Doing his laundry at the same exact moment as you.

“Oh–hey,” you greet back.

It’s not weird, you have to remind yourself. You’re here on time, aren’t you? How come you’re allowed to be consecutive, but it’s suddenly weird when he is? How does that make sense? It doesn’t. You’re being paranoid.

Oh, but then he picks the empty washer right next to you, even though there are plenty of others to go around. No one else does their laundry at this hour.

He’s being friendly, you tell yourself. Neighbourly. It would be awkward if he chose a washer at the other end of the room, wouldn’t it? Yes. Yes, that would be awkward.

“D’you do anything fun this weekend?” he asks as he empties his basin into the tub, pouring a cub of powdered detergent over it—the same type you use.

Leaning against your machine, you watch him from out of the corner of your eye, trying to silence your inner thoughts—at least enough to not let any of your unfounded suspiciousness leak into your voice. “Mh-no, not really. I just studied. What about you?”

He turns the machine on, smiling lazily while saying, “Nah…” then turns around, mirroring your leaning stance, standing shoulder to shoulder. “Though I heard one of the frathouses had a party…”

He tilts his head down, looking at you—friendly-faced, asking, “You didn’t go?”

You try to stop yourself, but you blanche despite the effort. Head hot, you fold your arms over your chest, hugging yourself a little.

There was a party? When? This weekend? How come… nobody told you?

You swallow, unable to look back at him—suddenly feeling a little bit sick. 

“Uhm… no,” you say. “I didn’t feel up to it...”

His eyes slim at your obvious lie, but you don’t see it—now too wrapped up in your own embarrassment to pay attention.

His smile curls. You’re an open book if there ever was one.

But you don’t have to feel embarrassed. Of course, you didn’t go to the party. You didn’t even know there was one. And how could you? When he broke into your locker and took the invitation—just as he’s done with all the other party fliers every single week. 

“Not your thing?” he says, trying to hold back his glee.

You still don’t look at him—too chagrined—looking like you want to dig a hole and bury yourself in it. “I guess so…”

Oh, he could just lick that expression right off your cute little face.

“Not mine either,” he chuckles, rummaging through the bag at his hip, pulling out a book, and flashing the cover to you with a grin. “I’m more of a book club type of guy.”

You blink. Reading the title with big round eyes.

“Have you joined one yet?”

You look at him then, shaking your head, “Oh, no—uhm, I couldn’t decide…”

He hands you the book. You receive it in both hands. Your fingers brushing each other.

“You should join us then,” he offers. “You’re gonna get burned out if all you read is textbooks, y'know?”

He watches your eyes widen—looking like a peasant, beholding him as a saint who’s just offered you shelter from the storm.

“Thank you...”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shinso ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo, Megumi, Yuuta ♡ HQ – Sugawara, Kuro ♡ CSM – Aki, Yoshida ♡ AOT – Armin ♡ DS – Tomioka, Tanjiro, Zenitsu ♡ HxH – Kurapika, Leorio ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[gothcsz]

December | Pornstar!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | Part 6 of Unscripted Desire | ~16k wc | Series Masterlist | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Your winter getaway with Javier.

Tags: alternating pov, javi is having an identity crisis, established relationship, fluff (i cringe), romance (still cringing), smut (no longer cringing), jealous!javi, oh no the triple frontier boys are here, oral (m&f), p in v sex, once again: javi is clipped, filming a sex tape, dirty porn talk, hot tub sex, pussy/dick pronouns, javi puts you in a headlock (i've been influenced by all the headlock fics also stream headlock by imogen heap), breath control play, squirting, clit stimulation, no use of y/n, reader has some vague physical descriptions (mid-sized, curvy, hair that can have fingers run through), any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay thx.

A/N: happy holidays ❄️ i wanted to do something fun for the season and to thank everyone who has supported this story so far! i love you guys 🩵 as always, thank you @persephone-girl for reading over bits of this and being my emotional support hehe

You’ve barely shut the door when a loud, frustrated “Fuck!” echoes through your apartment, followed by the unmistakable clatter of things hitting the floor. Your brows knit together as you toss your keys into the bowl by the entrance and hang your bag on the back of a kitchen chair.

The sight waiting for you confirms your suspicions: your very hot, very frustrated boyfriend is pacing in the middle of the room, his broad shoulders tight with tension. Scattered across the coffee table and floor around him are puzzle pieces.

“Javi,” you say, crossing your arms as you take in the scene. “What’s going on?”

He stops mid-stride, scowling down at the pieces as though they’ve personally insulted him. “The fucking puzzle is broken,” he gestures angrily toward the mess.

You blink at him, biting back a grin. “Yeah, that’s kind of the point. You have to put it back together.” Your voice lilts with playful teasing, hoping to lighten the mood he is in.

He shoots you a look that’s equal parts annoyed and sheepish. Stepping forward, you place yourself squarely in his path, wrapping your arms around his waist.

He’s got no choice but to halt his pacing, and after a moment, his arms drop heavily around you. You can feel the frustration draining out of him like air from a balloon.

“Estoy volviéndome loco, nena.” His chest rises and falls in a heavy exhale, hands instinctively finding their place on your lower back. 

You look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. It’s hard not to get lost in his good looks—those dark, soulful eyes, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair falls perfectly so, no matter how much he’s been raking his fingers through it.

He could be pissed at the entire world, and he’d still be the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

He told you he was done with porn, and he meant it. It didn’t happen all at once, he stuck to solo work until he lost the passion for it entirely before finally cutting ties with his agent and declaring himself “retired.”

The checks will keep coming, sure, but they aren’t a permanent safety net. That left your boyfriend at a crossroads, staring down the daunting question of what came next.

“Fuck, I don’t know. What else am I even good at?”

Now, Pornstar Javier Peña is just… Javi. Without the glitz and veneer of his former life, he’s a bit of a mess, honestly. A hot mess, sure, but a mess all the same.

He spends most of his days drifting between your apartment and his place, and more often than not, it’s your bed he ends up in. Sometimes he’s sprawled on the couch, lazily surfing through the channels, other times he’s fast asleep, limbs tangled in your sheets, his brow furrowed even while dreaming.

It’s like he’s waiting for the pieces of himself to fall into place but has no idea where to start.

You have, actually, tried helping him find new interests, with mixed results.

Cooking classes? A bust—too many rules and timers for someone who likes to work off instinct. Hiking? Not his thing, and you’d barely made it halfway up the trail before he declared he needed a cold beer and a hot shower. Pottery seemed promising for about five minutes before a poorly shaped bowl sent him muttering a string of Spanish curses under his breath and he quit then and there.

It’s not that he’s… bad at these things, necessarily, but none of them feel true to him.

“Baby, you’re not going to figure out who you are overnight. It takes time,” you murmur, tilting your head up to press a kiss to the tip of his chin, the roughness of his stubble brushing against your lips.

He grumbles. “I’m impatient.”

“I noticed,” you tease, a giggle slipping out as your hands sneak under his shirt. Your fingers trail along his ribs, stroking the warm, solid muscle there. The quiet hum of satisfaction you let out isn’t for his benefit—it’s for you. He feels so damn good under your touch, like he was built to be admired.

Javier shifts slightly, straightening up as if your hands have hit a reset button on his mood. “How was your day?”

You started a new job with the camera crew on an actual film set, and it’s a sweet gig, the opportunity kind of landing in your lap out of nowhere. Someone you knew from college reached out, and the pay was too good to pass up, even if the work itself wasn’t all that different from what you’ve done on porn sets.

Less dicks and tits, but the same technical work. When you’re not on set, you’re still clinging to the comfort of your shifts at Lucky’s. 

You shrug lightly, nuzzling into him. “Same as always. Nothing too exciting. But I’m glad I don’t have to work the bar tonight. Maybe I can help you with that puzzle.” You tease.

“Or…” His tone shifts so quickly it’s almost dizzying—warm and doting one second, low and sinful the next. His hands drift south, firmly gripping your ass and giving it a harsh squeeze

“Or?” you repeat, your arousal flaring.

That’s all the invitation he needs.

In no time, you find yourself naked and sprawled against the coffee table, the surface pressing into your back while scattered puzzle pieces stick to your damp skin. But none of that matters—not when Javier is between your legs, his broad shoulders holding you open like a prize only he gets to claim.

His mouth is buried in your pussy, wet and eager tongue moving with a purpose that has your thighs trembling. He laps at you expertly, each flick and thrust inside your cunt dragging whimpers out of you, your body singing under his touch.

Javier groans, the sound vibrating against your pussy. “You taste so,” kiss, “fucking,” lick, “good,” suck. Your back arches and you sob his name loudly, eyes fluttering close at how good he is at eating you out.

No matter how many times he does it, he somehow manages to surpass the time before. Men like Javier are a rare thing, and you’re annoyed at yourself for not succumbing to him earlier. You just had to prove a fucking point.

He pulls back just enough to lick and bite at your inner thigh, trying to control himself from devouring you whole, before diving back in. His hands keep you pinned to the edge of the table as you shake uncontrollably in his grasp.

Every obscene noise he makes is matched by the wet, filthy sounds of his tongue working you over and you feel the pressure winding tighter and tighter. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling as you gasp his name, and the pleased growl he gives in response sends you careening over.

He doesn’t stop, not until your body shudders and you’re left panting, your limbs heavy and boneless. When he finally lifts his head, mustache damp and lips glistening, he’s looking at you with that satisfied smirk you’ve grown accustomed to seeing.

“Fuck, I could stay down here for hours.” His voice tapers off into a groan and he doesn’t wait for a reply before pressing soft kisses along your drenched folds, letting his teeth scrape ever so lightly against your sensitive flesh. Then his tongue, broad and sinful, drags a slow, torturous stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“You could… if you wanted to,” you pant, your voice barely above a whisper as your body gears up for even more pleasure. You pull him closer, grinding your hips against his face, feeling the delicious pressure of his nose pressing against your swollen nub.

Javier lets you take what you need, his large hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady while his tongue thrusts back inside, exploring every fluttering inch. His curved nose rubs against your clit with each motion, sending you into a fucking frenzy.

You’re shameless, unabashedly humping his face, chasing the high only he can give you. And he loves it—thrives on it—his tongue relentless as it maps out every curve and crevice of your pussy. The slick, creamy mess makes it easier for you to move, his grunts and your mewling cries swirling together.

“Javi, I want to come on your cock—oh fuck!” The words tumble out before you can stop them, and his answer is a wicked nip of his teeth against your labia, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

“You will, nena,” he murmurs, his voice slurred with lust as he adjusts your legs, planting your feet at the edge of the table. He spreads you open obscenely, his dark eyes gleaming as he takes in the sight of your wet pussy laid bare for him. “But first, you’re gonna come all over my tongue again. Puta madre, you’re so fucking hot.”

His tongue flicks over your pearl rapidly and your back arches off the table as euphoria courses through you. You glance down, locking eyes with him, and the pruriency in his gaze sends you tumbling over the edge.

“Javier, oh shit!” You’re left helpless against the onslaught of his mouth, gushing all over his handsome face as he keens in satisfaction.

You collapse back against the table, your body spent and your mind still buzzing. Javier wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning smugly down at you, his girthy cock hanging heavy between you, droplets of precum squirting from the slit and drizzling down the heated shaft.

Pros of dating a pornstar: He can fuck. Cons of dating a pornstar: He can fuck.

It’s like being in a constant state of delicious ruin, where your needs—both romantic and sexual—are met in ways you never thought possible.

But damn, this man knows how to wear you the fuck out.

Sometimes he gets a little too ambitious. Twisting, bending, and pulling you into positions that make you pause and remind him, between panting breaths, that you’re not as flexible as the women he’s been with before.

“Practice makes perfect, baby,” he always says with that infuriatingly charming grin, right before fucking you so thoroughly that you forget how to breathe.

This time is no different. Javier hovers over you with the kind of dominance that makes your pussy clench, his strong hands gripping your body like he owns it.

Somehow, he’s managed to maneuver you on the awkward height of the coffee table, one leg slung over his broad shoulder while keeping your opposite thigh spread wide.

Then, with a sharp thrust, his fat cock splits you open, stretching your pussy in a way that’s so brutally perfect.

The force of it knocks a loud yelp from your lips, your forearms press against the table for balance. You can’t look away from where your bodies meet, watching in filthy fascination as your sticky folds swallow him whole and spit him back out, his cock glistening with the rich evidence of how turned on you are.

“My fucking god,” he growls, words laden with desperation, “you feel better than you fucking taste.” He spits the words out, literally, a thick bead of saliva falling from his lips to land on your cunt.

Without missing a beat, his thumb moves to your clit, pressing down and swirling in tight circles.

The pressure makes your entire body tense, a strained cry of his name tearing from your throat.

Your tits bounce wildly with every rough thrust, and his dark eyes flicker between the hypnotic sway of your breasts and the lewd sight of your pussy stretched tight around his dick.

Your mouth hangs open, brows furrowed as helpless sounds spill out while his cock punches deep into that one spot that has colorful dots blotching your vision. Your toes curl as the overwhelming feeling builds, your body on the verge of complete surrender.

“Right there, baby—oh fuck me, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.” You sound wrecked, like you’ve been possessed by the pleasure he’s giving you. Your back falls flat against the table again, your hands reaching up to squeeze your tits, pulling at your nipples as you let him use your cunt however he wants. 

He deserves it.

Loose curls fall over his face, making him look so sexy while he fucks into you with everything he’s got. His tongue pokes out in concentration, his fingertips dimpling the plush skin of your thighs as he holds you steady. The poor coffee table groans beneath the brutal rhythm, creaking with every hard snap of his hips.

It doesn’t take much more—your body seizes up as you come hard, the orgasm crashing through you so violently that you’re certain you’re going to pass out. Your pussy clamps down around his shaft, milking him for everything he’s worth.

“Fuck, take it,” he groans, his pace faltering as he spills inside you, thick ropes of cum filling your pussy until you swear you can feel it gurgling in your throat. The vicious, overwhelming sensation makes you shudder, your body twitching as his weight settles against you, his cock still buried deep inside your quivering walls.

You feel pulverized, your body humming in content, but all you can think is: God, this man could fuck me to death, and I’d die happy.

Immediately, your calf seizes, the muscle knotting painfully as a piercing cry slices through your throat. Your body jerks involuntarily, hands pressing against Javier’s chest to push him off you.

“Shit, stop�� cramp!” you gasp.

Javier freezes, his face instantly morphing from focused lust to deep concern. He pulls out of you carefully, hissing at the feeling, his touch tender as he lowers your trembling leg from his shoulder. “Where? Here?” He’s already massaging the rigid knot in your calf with his strong, calloused hands.

“Yeah—fuck, ow! Right there.” Another pang shoots through you, and you wince, clutching at the edge of the coffee table for stability. “I keep telling you I’m not fit for—ahh, ow!—your crazy-ass positions.”

He huffs a little laugh, though his hands never stop their steady kneading. “It wasn’t that crazy,” he mutters defensively, but one warning glare from you is enough to shut him up.

Once the cramp begins to ease, your body relaxes against the table with a long sigh. Javier’s touch softens, his thumbs now sweeping soothing circles over your calf. He leans down and presses a kiss to the tender muscle, murmuring, “Sorry, nena. Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Your heart swells at his care, and you can’t help but grin as he kisses his way up your body. His lips trace a slow, reverent path—your pelvis, the softness of your belly, the suppleness of each breast, the hollow of your throat. By the time his mouth meets yours, your annoyance is completely forgotten, replaced by a lazy, bubbling affection.

This is the first real kiss he’s given you since you got home, and it’s the kind that melts you from the inside out. You hum against his lips, your tongue tracing the curve of his mouth, savoring the way he tastes like sex and something inherently Javi.

When the kiss finally breaks, you both sit there for a moment, naked and tangled together, his cum still slick between your thighs and smearing against the surface of the table.

“I’ll try to be more considerate next time,” he says, almost teasingly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You smirk, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. “You better, or I’ll start vetoing these gymnastic stunts of yours.”

He chuckles, his eyes dropping briefly to where his cum is trickling from you. A rueful grin spreads across his face as he reaches for the shirt he’d discarded earlier and uses it to clean the mess between your legs.

The simple domesticity of the act makes your chest ache in the best way.

As he finishes, you stretch your arms over your head, your muscles still warm and loose despite the cramp. “I need a shower, some real food... and maybe another round later.”

“Only maybe?” He raises an eyebrow, his dimpled, teasing smile returning.

You hum thoughtfully, your gaze tracing the defined line of his jaw as your finger follows. “If you think sex is gonna be a distraction from the mess in your head, think again.”

“It’s the best distraction,” he mutters. “Would rather make my girl feel good than deal with everything else.”

“And while I’m flattered, baby, it’s not the healthiest thing you can do.”

His expression falters, the cockiness slipping away like a mask being gently peeled back. “I’m fuckin’ terrible at this. Always have been,” he mutters, his hands roaming your body as if touching you might patch together all that’s unraveling inside him.

His palms are warm and firm, one cupping your breast in a gentle squeeze, the other sliding down to rest at your hip.

He kneads and caresses you, almost like you’re the one who needs the comfort instead of him. “I’ve spent so much time doing what I thought people wanted from me. Now I don’t even know what I want.”

“There’s no rush to figure it out, you know. No one’s expecting you to and I promise you’re not the only person that feels this way.”

“Feels like I’ve got nothin’ to show for myself, though. Just a pile of bullshit and a broken puzzle.”

You sit up, drawing his focus to you as your hands grip his toned biceps to steady yourself. “Hey.” Your voice is soft but insistent. “You’ve got more than you think. And I happen to like this version of you—even if he’s a grump.”

A faint smirk breaks through the inner struggle that clouds in his eyes. “Yeah? Even when I’m bein’ a lazy ass?”

“Even then,” you tease, grinning back at him.

His gaze lingers, drinking you in with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter. Slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours. You’re weightless, floating in the way only Javi can make you feel when he kisses you like this.

“I don’t deserve you, you know that?” he murmurs against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.

“It’s always nice to be reminded.”

He rolls his eyes playfully, his teeth catching your lower lip in a gentle bite before he finally lets you go. He stands, offering you his hand to pull you to your feet.

As you wobbly get up, a few puzzle pieces that had clung to your skin fall to the floor, catching both your attention. Javi chuckles, a little more relaxed than before. “Should’ve cleaned those up before spreading you open like that.”

“I feel like there’s a metaphor in there somewhere.”

He turns you gently so he can pluck off the remaining pieces, his hand lingering to deliver a playful slap to your ass which makes you giggle.

“You know,” you say after a beat, glancing at him, “this puzzle thing could be good for you. Builds patience.”

He arches a brow, skepticism written all over his face. “Once again, that isn’t exactly my strong suit, cariño.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Your grin is infectious as you nudge him lightly with your shoulder. “But maybe that’s what you need right now. Something slow. Something that’s just for you. And something that isn’t…” You trail off, eyes darting to the box abandoned on the couch. “A hideous horse puzzle. God, Javi, what even is this? I’d be pissed trying to put it together too.”

A scoff escapes him, sharp and playful, his brown eyes narrowing as he straightens. “First of all, it’s vintage,” he says, the mock defense in his tone making you laugh.

“Vintage? That’s not an excuse.” You’re already stepping back when you see the shift in his stance, the way his hand twitches toward you. “Don’t even think about it.”

But it’s too late. His fingers dart out in an attempt to pinch your side, and you squeal, darting out of reach. The sound of your laughter fills the room, loud and unrestrained as you scramble to keep distance between the two of you. He’s, unsurprisingly, quicker, his footsteps closing behind as he chases you down the hallway.

Just as you reach the bathroom door, his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against his naked body. You’re both breathless, his warm breath fanning against your ear as he holds you close. “Gotcha.”

Your heart pounds, your laughter subsiding into soft, breathy chuckles as you twist to face him. The sparkle in his eyes is undeniable and you let him walk you backwards into the bathroom with the intention of piping you down again before finally letting you shower.

The late afternoon light filters through the half-closed blinds, casting warm, golden stripes across Javier’s bedroom. You’re sprawled on his bed, your legs stretched out, absently flipping through a magazine. 

The quiet creak of the bedroom door catches your attention, and your eyes lift to meet his.

He leans against the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His white t-shirt clings to his torso in a way that makes your thighs rub together, the fabric stretched taut over his solid build. There’s a small grin on his lips as he watches you.

“Hey,” he drawls, finally pushing off the door and crossing the room.

“Hi.”

Without hesitation, he climbs onto the bed, his weight shifting the mattress beneath you. He crawls toward you, settling his head on your lap and nuzzling against your stomach. You can’t help but laugh softly, moving the magazine out of his way and onto the bedside table.

“You’re comfortable,” you tease, your fingers threading through his thick hair, twisting a few strands absently around your finger.

His eyes flutter shut at your touch, a satisfied hum rumbling from his chest. “Can’t help it. I’ve got the best pillow.”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. “Can I help you?”

He opens one eye, peering up at you with a smirk. “I have a gift for you.”

Your brows lift, curious. “A gift?”

“Mm-hmm,” he mutters against your skin, peppering your jawline with lazy, affectionate kisses. The bristle of his mustache has goosebumps curling over your skin. “Tis the season.” He punctuates the sentiment with a playful nip at your neck, making you squeal softly before he pulls away.

“Come on,” he tugs gently at your hand and coaxes you off the bed.

You let him guide you into the kitchen, your bare feet padding against the cool floor. He pulls out a barstool, gesturing for you to sit as he reaches for something on the counter. With a small flourish, he places a travel magazine in front of you, flipping it open to a glossy spread.

Your eyes land on the page, and your breath catches. The images are of a stunning ski resort, nestled in snow-dusted mountains with cozy lodge interiors and breathtaking views of the slopes.

“You didn’t…” you whisper, your voice caught between disbelief and excitement.

His lips tug into a wolfish smile, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as he watches the realization dawn on your face.

“You didn’t!” you exclaim, jumping up from the stool and throwing your arms around his neck.

Your momentum nearly topples him, but he steadies the both of you with a low chuckle.

You’d mentioned it what feels like ages ago—a casual, offhand story about that ill-fated trip to the mountains with your college friends.

Everything about it had gone wrong. The busted gear, the unexpected blizzard—but through all the chaos, you’d confessed how badly you still wanted to cross skiing off your bucket list.

And Javier remembered. Not just the story, but the way your eyes had lit up despite the unfortunate circumstances. Now here he is, ready to give you that second chance—the best do-over of all time, with him.

“I had to,” he murmurs by your ear. “Spending a week on a winter retreat with you seems a lot more fun than going home this year.”

You don’t press about his family, knowing it’s a tricky subject. Instead, you let the moment settle, your heart swelling with gratitude for his thoughtfulness.

“You’re the best,” you say between a flurry of kisses, peppering his face until his deep chuckle vibrates against your palms. His eyes crinkle at the corners, happiness radiating from him as he gazes down at you.

“The best for you,” he replies softly. “You deserve this, nena. Workin’ so hard all the time… I just wanted to give you somethin’ special.”

You shake your head, grinning so hard it hurts your cheeks. “Do you know how impossible it’s going to be to top this?”

He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “I wasn’t expecting anything in return.”

“What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t get my man a gift?” You’re already racking your brain for ideas. It has to be something meaningful—something that feels right for him, not just a wallet or some cologne.

He pulls you onto his lap when he sits on the barstool, going over the details. 

Everything’s covered, he explains—all you have to do is pack and show your pretty ass up. Your excitement bubbles over at the thought, visions of cozy lodge nights and snowy adventures filling your mind.

“Guess I need to go shopping,” you say, already making mental plans to call Connie for help picking out the perfect wardrobe.

Javi chuckles, leaning in to kiss your temple. “Just don’t forget to pack a swimsuit.”

“A swimsuit? For a ski trip?”

He grins, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Hot tubs, nena. Trust me, I plan on having a lot of fun with you while we’re away.”

The resort feels like a dream you don’t want to wake up from. It’s only been a few days, and you’re already dreading your departure.

Javier really hadn’t held back, booking a private cabin with sweeping views of the snow-kissed mountain horizon.

A real Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner of the living room, next to the fireplace, its lights twinkling softly against the glassy expanse of the giant windows that line the walls.

Despite the openness, the space feels warm and intimate, like it was made just for the two of you.

And then there’s the hot tub. Nestled in the patio area overlooking the gorgeous scenery, it practically beckons you to defile it, steam curling up against the chilled glass. 

You’ve been biding your time, waiting for the right moment to unveil the gift you have for him. It’s actually kind of genius and the perfect way to help pull him out of his post-porn funk. 

For now, though, you’re content to let the days unfold naturally, filled with skiing lessons, childish snowball fights outside your cabin, and lots of great sex.

The lift sways gently as it carries you and Javier up the mountain, the cool air biting at your cheeks, though you barely notice.

Your attention drifts to him, as it often does—his profile sharp and striking against the backdrop of the rising sun. The golden light casts a glow over the snowy peaks, painting the scene in colors too beautiful to let slip away.

You shift closer to him, the insulated fabric of your jacket brushing against his as you tilt your head to rest on his shoulder. His arm instinctively drapes across your lap, steadying you, his gloved hand giving your thigh a light squeeze.

“Take a picture with me,” your voice is eager, breaking the quiet hum of the lift.

Javier turns his head, a brow quirked beneath the edge of his snow goggles. “Now? On this thing?”

“Yes, now.” You’re already moving to pull the small camera out of your pocket. “The view is perfect, and I want to remember this.”

He chuckles, leaning back slightly to give you space to situate the camera. “Alright, but if you drop it, don’t start bitching at me.”

You roll your eyes, holding the camera up and adjusting the angle to capture the two of you against the sprawling mountains bathed in warm hues, making the snow sparkle. 

You make sure to move both of your goggles so they’re resting atop of your head, your faces on full display.

Javier tilts his head closer to yours, his hand slipping to your waist to pull you snug against him.

“Smile,” you say, though you know it’s unnecessary—he’s already grinning, that playful smirk you’ve come to adore on his pouty pink lips.

The camera clicks as you take a few photos. Smiling, him kissing your cheek, and you quickly check the screen once you’re finished, heart warming at the sight of the two of you.

“See? Perfect.” You declare, showing him the pictures.

He glances at them, mirroring the same doting expression you’d just made. “You make ‘em look perfect, nenita.”

As the lift continues to ascend, you find yourself watching him more than the scenery. 

It’s hard not to marvel at the layers to this man who had once driven you up the wall. You think back to when you first met him—how easily you’d pegged him as cocky and self-centered, someone who wore his charm like a defense mechanism.

It feels surreal now, knowing how wrong you were. Javier wasn’t just the confident pornstar that could command a room with just a look or a smile. He was thoughtful, protective, and deeply giving in ways that made your heart stutter. You can’t fathom how someone like his ex would ever think about cheating on him.

Lost in thought, you don’t realize you’ve gone quiet until he glances down at you, brows knitting slightly.

“What’s on your mind, cariño?”

“You really surprise me, you know that?”

His expression shifts, the teasing edge softening into something more earnest. “Surprise you how?”

“I thought I had you all figured out when we first met.”

His mustache twitches as he bites back a knowing grin. “In your defense, I didn’t let you see more than that.” 

“Yeah, I know...” You laugh lightly, shaking your head. “But I couldn’t have been more wrong. You’re… so much more than I gave you credit for.”

He’s quiet for a second, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Guess I should thank you for giving me a chance to prove you wrong.”

You lean in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, nose scrunching as the hairs of his mustache tickle you. “You’ve done more than just prove me wrong, Javi.”

The lift jerks slightly as it approaches the landing, but neither of you move right away. The world feels quieter here, suspended between earth and sky, just the two of you and the golden light.

“You’re going to make me fall for you talkin’ like that.”

You feel warmth spreading in your chest at his words, wondering if it’s too soon to start catching feelings like this.

You smile against his mouth, not saying anything yet not needing to, before pulling back to move your face covering up and adjust your goggles back over your eyes in preparation to go down the snowy hill.

Your shoulders ache slightly from today’s falls, but it’s the kind of soreness that feels good—earned, but nevertheless annoying. Like now, as you pick yourself up from yet another fall, calling it quits.

“You held out a lot longer than I expected.” Javier teases, his voice muffled by his face covering but still carrying that low, raspy timbre that makes your stomach flutter.

“Shut up,” you grumble, and you’re glad he can’t see the smile tugging at your lips.

You take him in—bundled up in his blue snow suit, goggles perched perfectly in place, his broad shoulders and confident stance somehow still exuding that effortless magnetism he carries everywhere.

Even out here, in the freezing cold, with his face obscured, he manages to look unfairly sexy.

Something about him always pulls you in. Maybe it’s the way his energy feels like gravity, anchoring you to every little thing he does. Or maybe it’s how even the simplest acts—like standing on a snowy hillside—become more vivid, more fun, more everything with him.

Your boots crunch through the snow, the skis clumsy but manageable. He’s watching you, his stance casual, hands resting on his poles as if he’s been doing this his whole life.

He had picked up on this activity much quicker than you. The instructor even called him a natural—but you’re certain she was only saying that because she was attracted to him… which, honestly, fair.

“This is your thing,” he says as you approach. “You’re the one who wanted to cross this off your little list. I’m just here for moral support... and to check you out in that suit.”

You burst out laughing, nearly stumbling again as you try to grab the poles you’d dropped when you fell over. “You can barely see anything in this suit,” you shoot back, gesturing to the thick layers of waterproof fabric that make you feel more like a marshmallow than a person.

“Baby,” he drawls, stepping closer, “I could make out those tits and that ass under anything.”

You shake your head, warmth blooming across your cheeks. “You’re such a fucking flirt,” you say, though your voice softens as his gloved hand reaches out to pull you to him.

“And yet, here you are,” he murmurs, leaning just close enough that you catch the mischievous glint in his eyes through the reflective goggles.

“Here I am.”

You’re back at the general area where you’d first gotten your ski gear, adjusting your snow boots while Javier deals with returning your equipment. 

The air is warm inside the lodge, a stark contrast to the crisp chill outside, and the hum of other skiers and snowboarders unwinding after their runs fills the space.

You’re so focused on fastening a particularly stubborn buckle that the sound of your name catches you off guard.

Your head snaps up, brows furrowing, and there he is. Frankie.

He’s making his way toward you, his strides familiar, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, and that lazy, warm smile plastered on his face like it hasn’t been forever since you last saw him.

Your surprise must show because his grin widens slightly as he stops in front of the bench you’re sitting on.

“Frankie, wow, hey.” Your voice is polite, if a little flat.

He wastes no time, dropping down onto the bench beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The sudden weight makes it creak, and though you subtly shift a little away, he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“Small world.” He’s looking at you with an easy kind of interest, eyes warm and familiar. You have a type. “Didn’t know you were into skiing, hermosa. How have you been?”

Your stomach does a little flip at the damn nickname but you keep your expression neutral, returning your focus to lacing your second boot. “Great, actually. I’m trying it for the first time. Been taking lessons since we got here.”

His brow lifts, amused. “And how’s that going for you?”

You laugh lightly, shaking your head as you tug off your gloves. “I’ve wiped out more times than I’d care to admit.”

He chuckles, stripping off his own gloves, clearly in no rush.

“So what brings you here?” The question feels innocent enough.

“Trip with the guys,” he answers, nodding his head in the direction of a group near a counter. You glance over and sure enough, you see the familiar faces from his circle, all caught up in their own conversation.

“Sounds fun,” you offer, “How’s Elliana? Not too happy her daddy’s missing Christmas, I’m sure.” You smile teasingly, meaning no harm, but the flicker of something on his face makes you pause. His jaw tenses ever so slightly, and the way he drops his gaze feels telling.

“She’s great. Actually, on a trip of her own with her mom and her... uh, new boyfriend.”

You catch the faint cringe he tries to hide as the explanation comes tumbling out. Your chest tightens in an uncomfortable way, not out of sympathy for him, exactly, but more at the reminder of why you two had split up to begin with.

Looks like his effort to “work things out” hadn’t exactly panned out.

“Good for her,” you reply softly, though the exchange feels a little awkward now, like neither of you knows quite where to steer the conversation.

Frankie opens his mouth to say something else, maybe an apology for oversharing or another attempt at small talk, but before he can, you catch a glimpse of Javier weaving through the crowd.

Your heart lifts instantly, as if the room somehow brightens at the sight of him. His tall frame stands out, eyes scanning the lodge, clearly searching for you.

You don’t give Frankie the chance to drag things out any further.

You quickly gather your things, standing as casually as you can. “I have to get going,” you announce, shouldering your bag. “Enjoy the rest of your stay, Frankie.”

He hesitates before he gives you a small nod. “For sure. You too, hermosa. See you around.”

You give him a brief wave before turning and making your way to Javier, your boots thudding lightly against the floor.

His face lights up when he spots you, his gloved hand resting gently on your lower back once he pulls you to him.

“You all set?” he asks, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. The simple affection melts away whatever oddness you felt lingering from your run-in with Frankie.

“Yeah,” you reply, glancing up at him. He looks so effortlessly attractive, his cheeks pink from the cold and brown hair tousled from being under his hat. “I’m ready to get all cozy by the fire.” You purr the words a little, blinking up at him, and it works like a charm.

That sweet smile of his shifts into something sultry, and you don’t miss the way his fingers curl slightly against your back.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” His voice slipping into that seductive, honeyed tone that makes you wish you could fuck a voice. “Lead the way, nena.”

The cocktail table feels like your personal island amidst the ebb and flow of the crowd, the muted hum of holiday music weaving through the air. Warmth blooms across your cheeks from the drinks you’ve nursed through the night, and the haze only amplifies the rich sound of Javier’s laughter.

His hand rests on your lower back, fingertips brushing over the smooth, exposed skin where your dress dips low. The heat of his touch sears into you, enticing enough to have you arching into him.

You giggle as he leans in closer, his breath grazing your ear as he whispers something puckishly suggestive. “You keep lookin’ at me like that and we’re not makin’ it back to the cabin without me pulling this dress off you.”

Your thighs press together instinctively and you bite down on your lip, tilting your head to look up at him, your eyes swimming with the shared heat between you. “Don’t tempt me into letting you do it,” your words are a bit slurred from the alcohol, saturated with desire.

“Oh, I’m not looking to tempt you,” he murmurs, his hand sliding an inch lower. “I’m promising you.”

Your stomach flips, and the idea of staying out any longer feels suddenly impossible, the phantom touch of his hands and lips on you eclipsing all reason.

If there wasn’t an audience, you know you’d already be on your knees with four inches in your mouth, trying to fit the other four like the needy little thing he reduces you to when he gets you all horny.

“Sit tight, nena,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of your lips. “Gotta hit the restroom. When I’m back, we’ll settle up and get out of here.”

You nod, though your brain barely processes the words as your eyes follow him weaving through the throng of people, his presence polarizing even in his absence. 

As you sip the last of your drink, your gaze shifts to the large windows lining the restaurant. 

Even at night, the resort resembles something out of a postcard. The twinkling holiday lights outside illuminating the snow in festive tones. You let yourself sink into the magic of it all, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of your glass, a serene moment settling over you—until it’s promptly shattered.

“Look who it is,” a voice cuts through the ambient noise, pulling your attention.

Your head turns, and there’s Frankie, his easy grin and brown eyes locked on you. He’s not alone, three more figures flank him—Santi, Benny, and Will, each wearing varying degrees of amusement on their faces. The sight of them, clearly under the influence and rowdy, throws you a little.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Frankie quips, his voice carrying that raspy drawl you once found charming.

Your eyes narrow, your posture stiffening. “You keep finding me, wouldn’t necessarily call that meeting,” you acknowledge curtly, trying to keep your voice neutral.

“Once he told us you were here, we couldn’t pass up the chance to say hello,” Benny adds, his grin wolfish as he scans you from head to toe, and you can practically feel his gaze lingering on the dip of your dress. “We miss having you around.”

You know these men. You spent enough time with them while dating Frankie to be able to place them all.

Santi, the smooth-talking charmer who always seems a little too pleased with himself. Benny, the loud, lovable wildcard who you’re sure has never taken anything seriously in his life. And Will, the quiet one with a piercing gaze that could unnerve anyone who wasn’t used to it.

They’re a reminder of why you usually avoid military men. Sure, they’re hot as hell, their confidence and strength undeniably attractive. But beneath that lies a mess of issues—trauma, control, and a certain recklessness that always seems to spill over into their romantic lives.

Frankie had been no different, but he’d wormed his way past your better judgment with that soft charm and rough-around-the-edges allure. And it didn’t hurt that he was real fucking good at eating pussy.

Not as good as Javier, though.

You take a step back, your hand reflexively resting on the edge of the table as though to steady yourself. Their presence feels suffocating, a sharp contrast to the cozy, all consuming warmth you’d just shared with Javi.

“That’s nice of you, but my boyfriend should be back any minute now...”

There’s a beat of silence as your words hang in the air, they exchange looks and you watch Frankie’s expression flicker—something almost smug crossing his features before it’s masked by a crooked smile. “Boyfriend, huh?”

Benny lets out a low whistle, leaning his forearms against the table top. “Didn’t think anyone could tame Fish’s girl.”

“Tame?” You shoot him a glare. “I’m not a fucking animal and certainly not his girl. Not for a while now. So you can all fuck off.”

They laugh at you and that only fires you up even more. Frankie slaps his hand on Benny’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “Ease up man, she doesn’t take any shit.”

Benny cocks his head, his eyes gleaming with drunken amusement. “Which I think is hot. Definitely wouldn’t have fumbled you like this asshole did. And you do porn?” Another low whistle and you swear your eye twitches.

Before you can respond, Santi jumps in, his smirk as infuriating as ever. “No, no,” he says, shaking his head with mock seriousness. “Camera woman. Not actually a pornstar. Though,” he adds, now his turn to fuck you with his eyes, “I think you’d be a lot better in front of the camera, hermosa.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, your patience wearing thin. You can’t stay in this conversation any longer. 

Santi raises his hands in false defense, his grin never faltering. Meanwhile, Will leans over to whisper something into his brother’s ear, and you catch the shift in Benny’s expression as he gives you a once-over, his gaze laced with something that makes your skin crawl.

You grip the glass in your hand tighter, seriously contemplating how much damage it could do.

“Things serious with your new man?” Frankie replaces Will across from you and you roll your eyes.

The audacity. “Yes,” you say through gritted teeth. “Very.” You lean forward slightly, your voice dropping into a cutting tone. “If I were you, I’d leave before he gets back… or before I shove the stem of this glass down your throat.”

Their laughter rises again, whistling and being overly obnoxious about your reply, but you ignore it, your focus razor-sharp on your ex.

“We had our time together, Frankie, and you decided to cut it short by going back to the mother of your child. Whatever, fine, shit happens, but now you’re acting like a real jerk. All of you are and I have no interest in continuing whatever the fuck this is, so, leave.”

You can tell your words hit their mark. Frankie has always respected your no-nonsense attitude, but being on the receiving end clearly doesn’t sit well with him. 

Just as you turn to remove yourself from this stifling mess altogether, Javier reappears.

Javier doesn’t expect to come back and find four men crowding you, their broad shoulders and cocky stances cutting into your space like they own it. The sight stops him cold, but only for a second. Then his back straightens, his jaw locking tight as something territorial flares in his chest.

One of them catches his eye immediately—the scruffy, stray-dog-looking motherfucker he’d recognize anywhere.

That damn Malibu shoot, the tipping point for all the change that came after. The memory of Frankie all over you, the obnoxious flirting, how you had played into it.

Then you left Robbie’s crew and he made his move, securing you as his girlfriend, getting exactly what he wanted.

Javier had no right to feel possessive when it happened, even though every fiber of his being had screamed at him to do something about it. Sure, you shared moments that left him restless and aching for more, but it wasn’t enough to stake a claim, no matter how badly he wanted to, and you were so adamant about not wanting anything to do with him.

So, he’d done the only thing he could—told himself to get over it and buried the jealousy under layers of maintained indifference.

But now? Now you’re his girl. The first real, healthy relationship he’s had since Lorraine, and there’s no way in hell he’s holding back about anything when it comes to you. Especially not when Frankie and his action-movie crew are standing there, eyeing you like you’re some trophy to win.

“What’s goin’ on?” His voice cuts through the noise of their conversation, sharp and unyielding as he closes the distance.

He’s met with four pairs of eyes—two amused, one indifferent, and Frankie’s, which narrow slightly in recognition. Javier keeps his focus steady, his gaze hard as he takes them in.

His confidence has grown over the years, forged by his experiences and the praise from the industry. Yet, there’s still that lingering thread of insecurity that twists in his gut as he watches Frankie make his indifference clear.

“We were just catching up. Saying hello,” Frankie answers almost too casually, but his eyes gleam with something else—a challenge.

Javier doesn’t flinch. Instead, he steps closer to you, his hand finding your waist. “Looks like you’ve said it. Time to move on.”

Beside Frankie, one of the men grins as if he’s enjoying the show. “Easy, man,” he says, his tone teasing. “We’re just being friendly.”

Javier’s jaw ticks, a muscle in his cheek jumping as his grip on you tightens slightly. “Friendly looks more like crowding someone who doesn’t want to talk to you.”

While you’ve never gone into detail about what you had with Frankie, the updates Javier had gotten from Steve are enough to stir doubts. Words like satisfied are currently resurfacing to make him question things he knows aren’t true.

These men are something he isn’t. And even though you’re together now, there’s a small, irrational part of him that wonders if one day you’ll realize he isn’t what you want.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you—he does, with everything he’s got. But being cheated on leaves wounds that never fully close, scars that ache at the worst times. And seeing Frankie standing there, beaming like he still has a chance, stirs something primal in Javier.

“No need to get territorial, Peña. We were just having a little fun. Besides…” He trails off, his gaze flicking briefly to you before returning to Javier. “She can handle herself.”

Javier’s blood boils, his free hand twitching at his side. It would take so little—a single punch to wipe that smug look off his face. But then your hand is on his chest, soft and grounding.

“It’s fine. I was just telling them to leave.” 

Frankie’s gaze lingers on you in a look he recognizes all too well because he looks at you in the same goddamn way, and that has his vision tunneling.

“No harm done,” He steps back with exaggerated nonchalance. But then he throws one last barb over at you. “We’ll catch up some other time, hermosa.”

Javier doesn’t think, words slipping out before he can stop them. “No, the fuck you won’t. In fact, if I see any of you bother her again, I won’t hesitate to kick your ass.”

“Yeah? I’d like to see you try.”

For a moment it looks like things might escalate. But one of the other men—blonde, with a calmer air about him—steps in.

“Alright, boys,” he says, reaching out to pull his friend back. “Let’s not make a scene.”

Frankie hesitates, his jaw tightening, but he relents with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever.”

Javier watches them retreat, his heart still pounding, until they’re out of sight. Only then does he let his shoulders drop slightly.

“Hey,” you say gently, tilting your head to catch his gaze. “You okay?”

“I didn’t like that one fucking bit,” he mutters, his voice rough.

Your smile is gentle, reassuring, and you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek which melts him immediately. “They don’t matter,” you whisper, your lips brushing his skin. “You’re the only one I care about.”

The words ease the last of the tension, and Javier lets out a breath, pulling you close. “Damn right,” his tone softens as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“Let’s get out of here,” you suggest, a small mischievous smile on your face, “Your gift is waiting for you back at the cabin.”

It’s as if the entire confrontation is forgotten at your words and he becomes intrigued immediately. “Oh yeah? Then what the fuck are we doin’ still standing here. Let’s go.”

“Are your eyes closed?”

Javier leans against the armrest of the couch, his lips curving into a small smile as your voice carries from the bedroom.

“Yeah,” he replies, shifting slightly, his eyes obediently shut.

“You’re not lying to me?”

“No.” He chuckles, the deep, easy sound rumbling from his chest.

There’s the faint shuffle of movement, and then he feels you—the subtle electricity that always seems to spark when you’re near.

His hands are cupped in front of him as instructed, his curiosity piqued. He has no idea what you’ve planned, no inkling of what’s coming.

Honestly, he can’t believe you actually got him anything. The trip itself has been more than enough—a week of unfiltered joy, amazing sex, and waking up to you in his arms. If that isn’t a gift in itself, then what is?

Then you’re standing in front of him, placing something in his hands. He feels the cool weight of it, the texture of smooth plastic beneath his fingertips.

“Okay, you can open them now.”

Javier’s eyes flutter open, immediately drawn to the object cradled in his palms. It’s a handheld camcorder, a glossy red ribbon tied around it like the finishing touch on a present. His brows knit together in brief confusion, but before he can ask, you fill in the blanks.

“I want us to make a tape together, Javi.”

Your words hit him like a freight train. No, they hit his cock like a freight train, and the damn thing stirs to life before his brain even fully registers the meaning.

“You naughty little thing,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into that gravelly tone that always gets a rise out of you.

You bite your lip, a playful giggle escaping. “I figured it’d be something fun for us,” you say, stepping closer until he can smell the faint traces of your perfume. “Plus… I really like how you fuck on camera. Not that it’s any different from what we do, but…”

You trail off with a small, breathy moan that makes Javier’s restraint snap. He sets the camera carefully on the couch before pulling you closer, his hands gripping the hem of your dress and bunching the fabric in his fists as he pulls you between his knees.

“But…?” he prompts, his lips finding the curve of your neck. He kisses, nips, and licks, each touch of his mouth drawing little gasps from you. You taste divine, every inch of you always does.

“But it’s different,” you breathe, your fingers digging into his biceps as his teeth graze your skin. “I want to experience what all those other stars do when shooting a scene with you.”

His lips crash against yours, the kiss heated and possessive. He can taste the remnants of the cocktails you had at dinner, but more than that, he tastes you.

The memory of those old sets pales in comparison to the thought of filming with you.

“I’m all yours, nena,” he growls against your lips, his hands slipping lower to slap your ass then gripping onto the flesh. “This is a brilliant fucking idea. I’ve been telling you how hot you’d look on camera. How do you want to do this?”

Your smile is roguish, your confidence intoxicating. “I want us to take turns filming... directing… Wanna get some good shots of me sucking your cock.”

Your hand trails down his arm, skimming over the muscles there, then lower to pinch his hip before you palm his erection through his pants, his hips jerking involuntarily as he grunts.

“And I definitely need footage of that tongue of yours working my pussy,” you add, your tone sultry. “We’ll figure the rest out as we go. I want to start in the hot tub.”

Javier swears under his breath, his head tilting back slightly as your touch sends a fresh wave of desire through him. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, voice thick with need.

You smile, giving him one last squeeze before pulling away, leaving him half-dazed and completely aroused. “Get changed and take the camera outside. I’ll join you once I put on my costume.”

“Costume?” His brows arch in curiosity as his eyes track your retreating form.

“Costume might be pushing it. It’s something to set the tone for the amateur vibe I want this to have. Even if we know what we’re doing.”

“Whatever you want,” he’s so desperate to take you, “I’m going to tear you the fuck up.”

You blow him a kiss, your giddiness as palpable as his. 

Javier watches you disappear into the bedroom, letting out a long breath as he stands and moves to his bag which you had purposefully, he realizes, brought out before leaving for dinner.

He pulls out his swim trunks, quickly changing and grabbing the camera again. He can’t help the simper pulling at his lips as he removes the ribbon and flits through the settings, familiarizing himself with it.

Javier slides open the patio door, the soft scrape of the glass breaking the stillness of the night. A cool breeze rushes in, sharp against his skin, but it’s a refreshing contrast to the heat coursing through his veins.

The glow of the string lights overhead reflects off the rippling water of the hot tub. They frame the scene perfectly, tiny stars encircling what already feels like a secluded slice of paradise.

He steps out onto the wooden deck, the chill biting at his bare chest and legs. A small shiver runs through him, but it’s chased away the moment he dips into the steaming water. The heat rises to meet him, coiling around him like an inviting embrace.

Javier lowers himself deeper into the tub, the warmth spreading instantly, soothing muscles. The jets hum to life with the press of a button, sending gentle ripples across the surface. Another tap, and the colorful lights beneath the water bloom, shifting from deep blue to vivid green, then a lurid red.

He leans back against the edge, one arm stretched casually along the rim, the other cradling the camcorder.

The setting is perfect—intimate, cozy, and alive with the kind of cinematic allure that’s been a part of his life for so long. Only this time, it’s personal. This time, it’s with you.

“Alright, I’m coming out,” your voice calls from inside, and Javier’s pulse spikes as if his body already knows it’s about to be wrecked. 

He shifts in the water, the tent in his briefs straining beneath the surface. His fingers move automatically, adjusting his grip on the camcorder, raising it to eye level, his thumb brushing over the small record button.

“Ready whenever you are,” he says, his voice a little lower, raspier.  

Through the steamy glass, he tracks your shadowy movements, catching fleeting glimpses of red that tease him to the point of madness.

The condensation and reflections blur the details, but it only adds to the attraction. He can feel his heart thudding against his ribs, a primal drumbeat that matches the ache in his cock.  

And then you step out, framed by the sliding door like a vision he couldn’t conjure even in his wildest fantasies.  

“Fuck me.”

The red bikini bottoms sit high on your hips, the delicate ties framing your curves like artwork. That vivid, sinful shade of red makes your skin seem to glow, the contrast leaving him weak.

In one hand is a bottle of champagne, the other holding two flutes, and his tongue pokes against his cheek at how festive you’re being.

He zooms in with the camera, starting at your legs then capturing every dip and swell of your thighs, the plushness he knows so well.

The lens follows up, slowly drinking in the soft curve of your stomach, lingering over the way your tits press against the satin ribbon wrapped around them like a present he’s dying to open. The bow tied between your cleavage looks precarious, like it might unravel at the slightest tug.

The silky fabric is no match for the chill in the air, your hardened nipples poking through in a way that makes his tongue twitch in his mouth at the thought of flitting it over the stiffened peaks. 

But then his gaze—and the lens—finds your face, and it’s game over. Your lips are parted, plump and glistening as you lick them, the slight haze in your eyes a telltale sign of the alcohol still swimming in your veins. Your lashes frame your eyes perfectly, their sparkle teasing him as if daring him to lose control.  

His mind is already racing ahead, imagining the way those lips will part as you take his cock into his mouth, the way your head will tilt back when he suckles at your clit, or how your eyes will roll into your skull when he’s buried deep inside your tight cunt.

“You look so fucking good. Shit,” he breathes, his voice shaky. The camcorder threatens to tremble in his hand as he refocuses on you, watching you strike playful poses against the doorframe, snowflakes getting caught in your hair.

Each one is more tantalizing than the last, and when you bend over to show him your sweet ass, he zooms in on how the red fabric outlines your pussy.

“Thank you,” you purr, your voice smooth and syrupy as you turn and saunter toward the tub, setting the drink and glasses aside. You exaggerate the sway of your hips, fully aware of the effect you have on him, and it’s almost too much.

He’s never had a woman make him feel this way.

Javier keeps the camera trained on you, his years of expertise blending seamlessly with his overwhelming desire to immortalize this moment.

The way the light dances off your skin, the ripple against your flesh as you move sensually, your smile—it’s all so perfectly you.

For a moment, he forgets the camera is even there. Every inch of you seems made for him, like a custom design he never dreamed he’d be lucky enough to have.

When you finally join him, stepping into the steaming water, his restraint frays to a thread. He’s gripping the camcorder like it’s the only thing keeping him from lunging at you.

“You’re teasing me, baby,” he rasps as he films you lowering yourself into the tub.  

“I know,” you reply with a flirty smile. “But don’t you love it?”  

“Too much,” he shifts his legs to relieve some of the pressure at his crotch, though it’s futile. He’s already undone, and the night’s only just begun. 

“Keep posing, like you did by the door,” Javier instructs while his dark eyes remain fixed on you, not the viewfinder. Capturing this for later is one thing, but experiencing it now is something he wants seared into his memory for the rest of his life.

“Flirt with the camera using those beautiful eyes, nena.”

You bite your lip, your lashes lowering as you tilt your head, blinking slowly at the lens. You know exactly what to do, and he guesses this comes from watching the other stars do it on set.

The result is undeniably erotic. Knowing that you’ve never done it before like this, yet exude such natural talent, makes the moment infinitely hotter.

The water kisses your skin, glistening under the string lights and making every curve gleam like a jewel. You shift your weight, cocking your hip, arching your back—it’s fluid, seductive. Droplets of water run over your tits and how badly does he want to reach out and lick at them.

He will, he just wants to get enough footage of just you being so damn sexy.

You move with languid grace, tilting your head just so, and then giggling as you reach for the champagne. The sound is rousing, making his cock twitch.

You curl your finger, beckoning him closer, and he obeys without hesitation, the camera steady in his hands as he floats toward you. 

You pour the golden liquid into your glass, bringing it to your lips with a playful flick of your tongue along the rim, a teasing preview of what’s to come.

When you tilt your head back, letting the bubbly glide past your lips, your throat moves with every swallow and he makes sure to let the shot linger there, fixated.

“Mmm,” the sound is a decadent hum that has his teeth sinking into his lower lip. “Tastes so good.”

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he growls, his large hand reaching up to cradle your jaw. His thumb brushes over your cheek, warm and damp under his touch, before sinking his fingers into the soft skin. “Look at how gorgeous my girl is.”

He angles your face toward the camera, showing you off like a precious work of art. You go pliant under his touch, your eyes locking on the lens as you bring the glass to your lips again, deliberately spilling the champagne, letting it cascade over your jaw and his waiting fingers, trickling down his wrist in a sticky, sparkling trail.

“Oops,” you say, your tone dripping with false innocence. Lowering your head, your tongue darts out, tracing the line of champagne from his pulse point up to his fingers.

You take the tip of his finger into your mouth, sucking lightly, swirling your tongue around the pad before releasing it with a wet, lingering kiss.

“Dios mío,” Javier groans, his hips shifting as his swollen cock brushes against your thigh. The soft gasp that escapes you only feeds his need. “Pretty and dirty. A real fuckin’ star.”

His hand trails lower, abandoning your face to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over the damp fabric before tugging at it, unraveling it completely. 

The cool air kisses your skin just before his touch follows, warm and possessive. He doesn’t ask—Javier never does when it comes to adoring you; he just takes, knowing how much you love it.

Especially when he plays with your tits.

You shake them playfully, the soft, bouncing motion making him snarl, the sound rumbling low in his chest.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his hand kneading your flesh, his thumb brushing over your nipple before he pinches it just hard enough to draw a sharp gasp from your lips.

His eyes flicker to the viewfinder, ensuring the camera catches every detail as he lavishes attention on you, pinching and rolling your puckered tips between his fingers until you’re squirming against him.

“Give me the camera,” you breathe through soft whimpers, reaching for it. He hands it over without a second thought, his hands lingering on yours as he relinquishes the device. 

The power shifts, and you waste no time, pointing the lens at him. “Suck on my tits, Javi,” you coo, each word laced with seduction, and his reaction is immediate.

He pulls you against him, your bodies slick with the heat and bubbles of the water, his hard cock pressing insistently between your thighs. His mouth finds your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak before he sucks it into his mouth, his teeth grazing it just enough to make you whine.

Your free hand tangles in his damp hair, guiding his head and angling his face for the camera as he lavishes attention on you. The viewfinder captures everything: the way his lips move, how his tongue circles your areola, the glistening trail of water droplets and his spit on your skin.

His mouth moves to your other breast to do the same, sucking harder this time.

“So good, baby,” your voice trembles with pleasure. “You’re so good to me.”

He chuckles low against your chest, relishing in your praise and how he’s able to make you react.

His large hands slide up, cupping your breasts as he pushes them together, burying his face between them and motorboating you. The deep, playful groan he lets out makes you laugh breathlessly behind the camera.

“Pass me the champagne,” Javi murmurs, his lips brushing your collarbone.

You loosen your hold on his hair, reaching for the bottle. The moment it’s in his hands, he tilts it back for a quick swig, the liquid catching the light as it drips from the corner of his mouth.

He pours a generous stream over your chest, the cool champagne trickling down the valley of your breasts. His tongue is quick to chase it, licking and sucking every drop, his movements rougher now, hungrier.

You adjust the camera, your arm stretched out to capture the way his mouth trails up to your neck, nipping and kissing as if he can’t get enough.

The wet, desperate sounds of your kisses fill the air, drowning out the gentle hum of the hot tub jets.

It’s messy, all tongue and teeth, as if he’s trying to consume you entirely.

Javier takes the camera back without breaking the kiss, adjusting the angle to film the way your lips move against his. His free hand grips your waist, guiding the both of you backward until his body presses against the tub’s edge. 

Snowflakes drift in on the breeze, clinging to your hair and his, melting instantly against your heated skin.

“You gonna be a good girl and show the camera how much you love my cock? How good you are at taking him down your throat?” he asks, his voice thick with lust, his lips brushing against your ear.

He zooms in on how your mouth parts in an eager smile.

“Yes,” you breathe, nodding with unrestrained excitement.

Javier lifts himself onto the tub’s edge, the chill in the air biting at his skin, but he doesn't care, not with the way his excitement overrides any of his discomfort. His legs remain submerged, spreading wide to give you space.

You move between them, the warm water lapping at your waist as your hands trail up his legs, your fingers kneading the firm muscle.

“I’ll make it extra good for you today, baby,” you promise, and he knows you mean every word.

He lifts his hips up to help you pull down his trunks, his erection bobbing free from its constraints. Javier hisses as the cool air hits him, but it’s quickly soothed when you wrap your fingers around his shaft and he groans, your softer touch feeling like fucking heaven.

You stroke him a few times, and the visual of you jerking his cock while the bubbles from the jets flutter around your bod has him tightening his grip on the camera.

As he watches you, he knows—he wouldn’t change a single thing about what got you here.

Not the fights, not the doubts, not the messy way you two stumbled into this, because every moment led to this one.

You hum, looking up at him through your lashes, giving the camera a flirty wink before your tongue darts out to kitten lick at his weeping tip, his skin flushed a devious red.

You start slowly, teasing the sensitive skin of his spongy head, swirling around it and tasting the saltiness of the precum that beads at the slit. He sucks in a sharp breath, his free hand tangling in your hair to guide you closer.

“So fucking perfect.”

Your eyes twinkle at the praise, taking him deeper, your lips stretching around his girth. The camera captures every second—his cock disappearing into your mouth, the way your cheeks hollow as you suck, the slick sounds of your efforts filling the air.

Javier’s hips jerk, unable to hold still as you bob your head, your tongue working him over. Drool slips from the corners of your lips, mixing with the water from the tub as you take him as deep as you can, gagging, the messy display making him curse under his breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his voice breaking. “You’re so goddamn good at this.”

You moan around him, the vibration making his grip in your hair tighten. You pull back to catch your breath, your hand stroking him while your tongue laves attention along the underside of his shaft, tracing every pulsating vein.

“Messy little thing,” he murmurs, the camera focusing on the spit shining his cock, dripping from your chin as you smile wickedly up at him.

“I like it messy,” you reply, your voice a foxy, hoarse purr before you take him back into your mouth, sucking harder, faster, the wet, obscene sounds driving him closer to finishing.

The camera feels heavier in his hand as he adjusts the focus, trying to capture every detail of this moment, but his heart beats faster when he realizes the truth: no recording, no photo, nothing tangible could ever truly do justice to what he feels right now. It’s more than physical. It’s more than lust.

It’s her. She’s it. She’s everything.

As if reading his mind, your gaze flicks up to meet his, and you fucking smile with his cock in your mouth.

He exhales a shaky breath, barely holding on to his composure when you release him with an audible pop and trail your tongue down his length. The hand pumping him doesn’t slow, but your mouth finds his inner thigh then his balls, licking and biting just enough to make his leg tense under you.

“Where do you want to come, Javi?” Your voice is a soft, breathy rasp, and his whole body reacts to the sound of it. Your hand moves faster, and he’s unable to form an answer before you stop abruptly, making him curse under his breath.

“In my hand?” Your grip tightens around his cock.

“Goddammit,” his frustration turns to a low, guttural noise when you lower your mouth and tap the tip of his cock against your tongue.

“Or on my tongue?” The slick glide of your lips as you tease him is pure torture, but you’re not done. You push your chest forward, letting his dick slap against the humps of your tits.

“Maybe all over these?” Your voice is sweet, almost playful, but your intentions are anything but. The sight of his cock glistening against your skin, the jiggle of your flesh under his weight, makes his vision blur for a second.

“Or are you going to hold it in and fill my pussy?”

The way you say it, so casually filthy, sends a jolt of arousal through him. He bites down hard on his lip, every muscle in his body tightening. You’ve always had a mouth on you, but this—this is something else entirely.

Your confidence, the way you’ve grown into yourself since being with him, sends a surge of pride through his chest. 

“Baby, I’m going to fuck you so full of my cum you’ll be tasting it for fucking weeks.”

Your breathless giggle is music to his ears, and when you lean in to kiss his cock, licking over the tip, his control shatters.

“C’mere,” he sneers, pulling you up into a heated kiss. His mouth is desperate, his teeth scraping against your lips. He adjusts, submerging himself back into the water, being mindful of the device, and pulling your back flush against his chest.

He angles the lens to capture the way your bodies press together, the steam from the water curling around you both. The viewfinder is flipped and shows your damp hair sticking to your face, his lips dragging over the curve of your neck.

“Look at how good we look,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp against your ear as his hand palms your breast, squeezing roughly.

A smile splits your face, drunk on the taste of his cock and the alcohol. Slowly, you shift on your toes, bending forward just enough to tease him with the curve of your ass, playfully wiggling it as you rub his cock between your cheeks.

“Come fuck me, Javi.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes, bringing the camera lower to capture the way the bubbles skim over the curve of your body. He smacks each cheek, the sound sharp against the steady hum of the jets, and you huff, arching even more.

When he pulls at the strings of your bikini bottoms, letting the fabric fall away, he curses under his breath. “Mierda,” he hisses, his hand kneading your supple flesh before gripping the base of his cock and slapping it against your skin. 

He can’t help but grin as he shows off for the camera.

When he slides himself along your slick folds, he groans, feeling how wet you are for him. “Damn, suckin’ me off gets you this turned on, nena?” he asks, breathless.

You let out a needy whimper, nodding as your hips push back against him.

He doesn’t make you wait, sinking into you with a grunt that’s half your name and half prayer. The way your walls clench around him, pulling him deeper, makes him swear under his breath as he sets a rhythm that sends water spilling over the edge of the tub.

“Oh, Javi, oh fuck!” Your voice is loud, shameless, and he loves every filthy syllable of it.

“You like that, huh?” he growls, slowing his thrusts to drag his cock out of you torturously slow, the tight suction of your pussy making him grit his teeth.

“Gorgeous fucking pussy doesn’t want to let me go,” he mutters, angling the camera to capture the way your body takes him so perfectly, the wet sounds of him sliding in and out of you echoing around you.

He licks his lips, the phantom taste of your tangy sweetness haunting them, and the thought of you spread out while he loses himself in eating you out burns through him like fire.

The way you whimper in protest when he pulls out is enough to make him consider sinking back into your tight, sopping heat, but he reins himself in. Instead, his hand comes down on your ass, the sharp crack echoing in the chilled night air.

“None of that. Let’s move this party inside. I need to taste you.”

You bite your lip, shivering from the combination of his words and the cold air biting at your damp skin. 

Both of you are dripping water as you climb out of the hot tub, the biting chill of the night air wraps around you, sending goosebumps racing across your skin.

Javier notices, of course he does, and he drags his hands over your arms, a fleeting attempt at warming you before snagging the nearest towel.

“C’mere, nena,” he mutters, pulling you close. The towel is large, but his hands are clumsy as he rubs it over your body. The motion is both tender and hurried, his fingers lingering on the curves of your hips, your nice tits, and the slick heat between your thighs. “Can’t have you catching a cold now, can we?”

You giggle, your teeth chattering as you take the camera from him as he brings you inside. You stumble over the threshold, recording every imperfect second.

The contrast between the icy air outside and the inviting heat of the cabin is immediate, the crackling fireplace casting a golden glow across the room.

Javier wastes no time, pulling you toward the plush rug in front of the flames. You lay on your back, taking a moment to admire your boyfriend.

He’s a masterpiece carved by desire, every part of him sculpted to make you ache.

You handle the camera in your hands, the viewfinder framing Javier like the sex god that he is. You’re practically purring as the lens lingers on his thighs and how they flex subtly when he shifts his weight.

The camera pans higher and you feel that insistent heartbeat at your pussy.

His cock stands heavy and proud, the firelight casting shadows along his delicious length and girth. He’s gorgeous—thick veins trailing up velvety skin, the head angry and eager to punch into your cunt, his balls heavy with the load he’s already promised to fill you full of.

Continuing your digital ascent, you capture the sharp planes of his torso, his golden-brown skin glowing in the warmth of the flames. His chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths.

Finally, you settle the shot on his lips, looking plush under that sexy ass mustache. They have ruined you time and time again with words, kisses, and the way they dote on every part of you.

“He’s so fucking good at using those.” You whisper to the camera.

“You done admiring?” He asks with playful arrogance, as if he hadn’t been absolutely eating up every reaction you had given to the body he’s sculpted into a living, breathing fantasy

“Never.”

He leans down to kiss you, sticky precum brushing against your lower stomach. Slyly, he takes the device from your hands, now his turn to marvel at you.

His lips part slightly as he looks at you, the flames illuminating every curve and dip of your body, painting you in shades of gold and amber.

“Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You bite your lip, your cheeks heated under his gaze. Javier adjusts the angle, zooming in on the way your thighs press together, craving him again.

“Spread your legs for me, nena.”

You hesitate, suddenly shy under the intensity of his gaze, but he makes it impossible to deny him when he looks at you like this.

Slowly, you part your legs, exposing yourself to him fully.

“Goddamn,” Javier growls, his free hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, his calloused fingers trailing to where you’re still sticky with arousal from how he’d taken you outside. He uses his thumb to spread open one of your pussy lips, revealing your pretty cunt to the camera, his thumb pressing down on your clit, smearing your juices around.

“You know how perfect you are?” he asks, his voice low as he sets the camera down at the perfect angle to capture what he’s about to do next. “Every fucking inch of you drives me crazy.”

Javier leans over you, his lips trailing down your neck to the hollow between your breasts. His hands spread you open further, his breath hot against your skin as he settles himself between your thighs.

You shudder as his lips press against your inner thigh, sinewy fingers keeping you spread open so the camera gets a good view of his tongue doing what it does best between your legs.

The fire crackles beside you, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his mouth as he begins to devour you, his tongue and lips coaxing soft moans and gasps from your lips.

He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, savoring every sound you make, every tremble of your body. He pulls back briefly, some of your slick clinging to his lips, just long enough to grab the camera again, angling it to capture your flushed face and the way your body arches toward him before handing it over to you.

You almost drop it from how fucking lightheaded he’s left you, but manage to hold onto it, doing your best to record this handsome man going down on you.

“No one else gets to see you like this. Just me.”

The possessiveness in Javier’s voice is laced with an edge of jealousy, a dark fire stoked by earlier moments that now claw their way back into his mind. Flashes of other men crowding you, eyeing what’s his, swirl in his thoughts, blending with images of you and Frankie tangled in your sheets. 

The thought ignites a growl deep in his chest. His fingers grip your thigh harder, nails biting into your skin as he buries his face between your legs with renewed intensity. 

His tongue swirls and flicks over your clit, his lips sealing around the swollen nub with a pressure that makes your toes curl.

He’s punishing those images, driving them out by proving how thoroughly you belong to him.

“Just you, Javi, no one else,” you gasp, your back arching off the plush rug. With one hand on the device, your other lets its fingers twist into his thick brown hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt against your slick heat.

The vibrations ripple through you, sending you closer to the edge, your walls fluttering with anticipation.

You’re close—he feels it in the way your thighs shake, the way your breath stutters. Determined to pull you over the edge, he buries his face deeper, his nose nudging your clit as he shakes his head back and forth.

The scratch of his mustache against your tender flesh only intensifies your pleasure, and when his lips seal around your swollen clit and he sucks harshly, it shatters you.

“Oh my God, Javier!” you scream, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you, the camera shaking violently in your hand. The heat of the nearby flames amplifies your euphoria, sweat beading on your skin.

“Pussy tastes so fuckin’ delicious,” his voice is muffled but heavy with want. Javier has always loved going down on women, but there’s something about you—your taste, your scent, the way your body responds to him—that drives him wild. 

His cock thrums painfully, desperate for relief. He’s grinding against the rug without even realizing it, his need to claim you consuming every thought.

Even as your thighs twitch in the aftermath of your orgasm, he laps up every drop, greedy for more, his tongue sweeping over your oversensitive flesh until you’re gasping and squirming beneath him. Only then does he pull away, his lips and chin glistening with your essence.

Taking the camera again, he points it at you, capturing the sight of you sprawled across the rug, utterly spent. Your chest rises and falls, your eyes half-lidded with bliss.

“¿Todo bien, nena?” he asks, gingerly yet smugly satisfied.

“Mhm,” you hum, stretching languidly under his touch. “Just need a minute.”

He strokes your face, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips and you kiss the rough pad softly. 

Wordlessly, he adjusts the lens, zooming in on your face, capturing the blissed-out expression that is all his doing. It makes him want to kiss you, so he does, bending down, his lips brushing yours in a smoldering liplock.

“Such a good kisser, Javi.” You chase after his mouth when he pulls away, bringing your hands up to cradle his face to keep your lips on his. He lets you, lost in the feeling in the same way you are, that poor camera idly recording the blur of your moving heads.

When he does finally pull back, he moves with purpose, setting up the camera on the coffee table, his fingers steady despite the heat thrumming through his veins.

He flips the viewfinder to showcase the two of you, positioning it to capture the perfect scene: the crackling fireplace, the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, the snow-kissed mountains visible through the frosted window, bathed in the silver moonlight.

The setup is a masterpiece, the kind of shot you’d call pure art. You’ve teased him about this before—how his talent for making things look so effortlessly beautiful extends even to his most smutty creations.

When Javier returns to you, his breath hitches. You’re stretched out on the rug, naked as the day you were born, your skin kissed by the soft illumination of the Christmas lights. You look up at him with a cheeky grin that makes his chest tighten and his cock throb.

“Hey, baby,” you say, your voice teasing yet soft, inviting him closer.

“Hi,” he murmurs back, his own lips shifting into a smile that mirrors yours.

He lowers himself to you again, cradling your jaw as if you’re the most delicate, precious thing he’s ever touched. “You havin’ fun?”

“So much,” you reply with a laugh that’s pure music to his ears. Your teeth catch his lower lip playfully, and your hand sneaks down between you, wrapping around his pulsating cock. The sound he lets out vibrates against your lips, and the look in his eyes is molten.

“Now fuck me full, Javi,” you whisper, your words bold and needy, a demand he’s more than eager to fulfill.

His hands are on you in an instant, pulling you up and shifting your body until you’re perfectly centered in the shot.

You look like a vision, his personal angel.

Javier kneels behind you, his strong hands gripping your hips, the pads of his fingers pressing into your skin just hard enough to leave marks he’ll admire later.

His cock teases your entrance, the slick head gliding over your swollen clit, and you mewl, your body quivering with anticipation. He watches, mesmerized, as you arch your back for him, offering yourself up completely.

Slowly, he sinks into you, savoring the way your walls envelop him, the tightness making him hiss through his teeth.

His grip tightens as he thrusts deeper, the stretch and fullness making you sob. The sound shoots straight to his cock, and he growls low in his throat, his hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt.

Your cries rise in pitch as he sets a brutal rhythm, each powerful thrust sending your tits bouncing uncontrollably. 

Javier leans back slightly, angling his body just so, ensuring the camera captures every detail—the way your pussy clenches and drips around his cock and how obscene the sounds of your bodies joining echo in the cabin.

His nose skims the side of your neck, his breath hot against your damp skin. He bites down gently, soothing the sting with his tongue, before whispering filthy promises into your ear, each word making you tighten around him.

“You were made for me,” he declares, “This tight pussy, fuck, no one else gets to feel how perfect she is. Just me. All mine.”

Something about being inside you triggers this untamed passion in him, an insatiable desire that no amount of good fucking can quench.

He’s relentless, taking and taking, chasing the pleasure that only you can give him. The thought of you creaming all over his cock, screaming his name, and begging for more while teetering on the edge of oblivion has him thrusting harder, deeper.

No one else has ever felt like this—like home and sin wrapped into one. Fucking you is better than anything he’s ever known.

It doesn’t even have to be elaborate or kinky—though he certainly doesn’t mind. He loves it all, from nights like this to the slow, sleepy mornings when he wakes you by sliding his cock into your warm, welcoming body, loving the way you melt against him with soft sighs.

Now, though, it’s anything but slow. His hips piston up into you, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust, and you’re crying out his name like a prayer.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice rough in your ear as his pace falters momentarily.

You’re too lost in the haze of bliss to respond right away, your whimpers spilling from your lips in broken waves. Javier slows, grinding into you, letting the friction bring you back to him.

“I said, do you trust me?” he repeats, his tone firmer.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, your voice a breathy plea as your pussy clenches around him.

A dark, satisfied smirk spreads across his face. “I’m gonna put you in a headlock, baby. Keep you right where I want you while I tear this pretty pussy up like I promised.”

You mewl, the sound making his cock twitch inside you. He nips at your ear, his breath fanning against your skin. 

“If it’s too much, tap me three times, okay?” His voice softens slightly, a thread of tenderness weaving through the raw desire.

You nod eagerly, your voice trembling as you beg, “Please, Javi.”

When you turn your head to look at him, the vulnerability and trust in your eyes make his heart clench. Fuck, I love her.

Without another word, he surges forward to kiss you messily, his lips claiming yours as he loops a strong arm around your neck. The position pulls you flush against his chest, your back arching as he adjusts his knees, locking you into place.

“I’ll start slow, get that pussy purring,” he teases, his breath hot against your ear.

His cock drags against your walls, unhurried, and you shiver as he finds that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

“Right there,” you gasp, your voice hitching as your body tightens around him.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he groans, his arm tightening just enough to make your head swim in the most delicious way.

With a growl, he picks up his pace, pounding into you with enough force to get your body jolting against his. The rug beneath you rubs raw at your knees, each wet slap of his cock driving into your soaked pussy sending ripples of heat through your core.

Javier watches the way your body reacts to him from the viewfinder across the way. “That’s it, nena,” he clenches his teeth, his own release building as he claims you over and over again. His large fingers move from your hips down to toy with your clit. “Take it all. Take every. Fucking. Inch.”

Your hands shoot up to grip Javier’s arm, manicured nails biting into his flesh and leaving streaks of angry red lines down the muscled curve. The sting only fuels him, a feral satisfaction curling in his chest as you claw desperately for purchase.

Drool slips from the corner of your lips, pooling in the crease of his elbow, and he can’t help but smile smugly at the camera, his ego swelling alongside his cock. He’s unraveling you, making you fall apart so completely that you’re losing control—going stupid for his cock.

The slick sound of your bodies meeting fills the room, drowning out the crackling fire. You’re soaking him, your pussy so wet that the coarse hairs at the base of his cock are drenched, shining with your mixed juices.

He tightens his grip around your throat, your voice reduced to breathy, incoherent gasps. The pressure is perfect, the lack of air sending your senses spiraling as he pounds into you with reckless abandon, fingers relentless against your puffy clit.

It’s enough to coax your submission further, and he feels your slick walls start to quake around him. Your pussy flutters, gripping him so tightly it takes everything in him not to lose control right then.

“I—” You try to speak, but your words dissolve into an unintelligible cry as your orgasm slaps you right in the face.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Javier growls, his voice low and rough. He drives into you harder, faster, the head of his cock hitting that devastatingly deep spot that only he has been able to touch. Your eyes roll back, your cunt clenching him like a vice.

Your body trembles on the edge of euphoria and exhaustion. You lift your hand to tap out, but before you can, his own climax barrels through him like an angry bull.

His hips snap wildly as he spills into you. Hot spurts of cum fill you, thick and endless, his curses mixing with your cries as your body trembles uncontrollably.

The second he loosens his hold on your throat, air rushes back into your lungs, and with it comes a blinding, second wave of pleasure.

“Ah—fuck me!” you yelp, your body spasming as an intense pressure bursts inside you. Liquid heat sprays out of your pussy, soaking his lap and the carpet beneath you.

You fall forward, about to collapse, but Javier catches you, holding you close for a moment, his own body shaking as he fights to catch his breath.

The sticky warmth of your release and his cum pooling between your thighs has him grinning like a devil. “Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he pants, pulling out slowly, hissing at the tight drag of your walls around him.

Gently, he lowers you forward, your cheek pressing against the soft carpet. He goes to caress you, but your body twitches, still caught in the aftershocks, and you let out a weak, incoherent whimper.

“Too much. Don’t touch me. Don’t even look at me.”

He laughs, a low, heady sound, still lightheaded from his own climax. “Whatever you say,” he mutters, reaching for the camera. He adjusts the viewfinder, pointing it at your wrecked body bent over in front of the fireplace.

“C’mon, nena,” he coaxes. “Roll over for me. Gotta get a good shot of my cum dripping out of this perfect pussy.”

His vulgar words make your clit tingle but you know you can’t go for another round right now. Or any time soon, really.

With a soft huff, you roll onto your back, spreading your legs wide despite the exhaustion weighing down your limbs. Tears of pleasure still cloud your vision as you gaze up at him, your chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

The camera captures everything—your swollen, glistening folds, the obscene trail of his cum trickling from your hole, evidence of how thoroughly he’s claimed you.

A lewd gurgling sound fills the air as the thick, creamy fluid bubbles out of you, sliding down to smear across your puckered entrance.

Javier is transfixed, his cock twitching despite his exhaustion. The urge to stuff his spend back into you with his fingers is almost overwhelming, but he reels it in. You’ve tapped out, and he respects your limits.

“So fucking hot,” he murmurs, his voice reverent as he watches. “Blow a kiss to the camera, baby.”

You smile weakly, giggling through your exhaustion. Licking your lips slowly, you pucker up and blow a kiss toward the lens, finishing with a playful, fucked-out wink.

The action is pure lust and sweetness combined, and he lets out a satisfied hum before finally stopping the recording.

“My girl, you did so well,” Javier murmurs, his voice soft and full of admiration. His praise seeps into your skin like balm, soothing you with the warmth of his presence.

He reaches for the couch pillows and the throw blanket, crafting a cozy nest right there on the floor by the fire. 

He doesn’t care that you’re both sticky with sweat and the remnants of your passion— all he cares about is making you comfortable.

Feeling the fog of pleasure begin to lift, you roll onto your side, your body aching in the best way possible, reaching for him instinctively.

Javi doesn’t hesitate; he scoops you up with ease, settling you on his chest. Your head rests between his pecs, rising and falling with his steady breaths. His calloused fingers trail up and down your naked back, a calming rhythm that lulls you into serenity.

“I can’t believe I squirted,” you admit, your voice muffled against his chest. “Isn’t that…you know…piss? Shouldn’t we be in the shower right now?”

The question pulls a laugh from deep within him, a sound so rich and full that it vibrates through his chest and onto your cheek. “Eh,” he says, shrugging lazily. “Doesn’t really matter. What I do know is that I’m so damn proud of you, baby. I know the tape is goin’ to be fuckin’ gold.” His tone drips with adoration, each word laced with pride.

“But if it makes you feel better, we can always get back in the tub.”

You hum in response, nuzzling into the curve of his chest and letting your lips wander, pressing soft kisses over his golden skin. “That sounds really good, actually,” you murmur, your voice still laced with a dreamy haze. “But I don’t think I can walk.”

He lets out another laugh, his arms tightening around you. “I can carry you,” he offers, ever the gentleman, even now.

“Or,” you counter with a playful grin, trailing kisses up to his collarbone and then his jaw, “we could stay here, take a quick power nap by the fire, and then…” You pause, your lips brushing his as you whisper, “I can ride you.”

Javier groans, the sound low and full of mock exasperation. “You’re definitely trying to kill me.”

Your laughter mingles with his as you capture his lips in a kiss, slow and unhurried. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you entwined by the warmth of the fire. His hands cradle your face as yours slide into his hair, fingers weaving through the dark strands.

The kiss deepens, turning languid and exploratory, a perfect blend of tenderness and desire.

With you in his arms, he feels whole, like every piece of you was made to fit into his. Time seems to stretch and stop, the crackling fire and the soft hum of your breaths the only soundtrack to your moment.

Here, in his embrace, you’re not just his lover; you’re his everything.

i have a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @thundermartini . @auteurdelabre . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @yourmommycallsmemommy . @larascorneroftheworld . @letsmeetintheafterglow . @lunatiquess . @myownwholewildworld . @pasc4lfuzz . @sjc7542 . @almostfoxglove . @shy-taylorsversion . @theredvelvetbitch . @xxbadchoicexx . @lumpatto . @haylee-e . @guelyury . @doblasftcisco . @ashhlsstuff . @kluvspedro . @goodvibesonly421 .

[rmview]

they try to win you back, SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — a reaction of how the stray kids boys try to win you back after a fight/break up! ( can be read as part 2 of this )

contents — mentions of past fights, reconciliation and fluff.

bang ღ chan

bang chan wasn’t the type to let things slide, especially when it came to you. after the breakup — a fallout caused by his relentless work schedule and lack of communication — he knew he’d messed up. but when you finally agreed to give him another chance, he vowed not to let you go.

bangchan started small. one morning, you woke up to a playlist he had sent you titled “for my love,” filled with songs that reminded him of you. the accompanying message read: “just a little something to start your day. i’m still learning how to do better, but i’ll make it worth it. – chan.”

later that week, he surprised you with a handwritten letter. the envelope smelled faintly of his cologne, and inside, his neatly written words laid bare his heart. he wrote about how he’d never stopped loving you, how the breakup had forced him to reflect on his mistakes, and how he wanted to be the kind of partner you deserved.

“have you been sleeping better?” he asked one evening when he showed up at your door with a basket of your favorite snacks and a plush blanket. “i remember you saying the nights feel colder now. thought this might help.”

you couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness, despite trying to keep your guard up. “thanks, chan,” you said, accepting the basket.

his smile was soft but tinged with nervousness. “i know actions speak louder than words,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “so i’m going to keep showing you how much you mean to me.”

one night, he invited you over to the studio where he spent countless hours. the space felt intimate, with dim lighting and a cozy setup. “i wrote something for you,” he said shyly, gesturing to the microphone.

as the music filled the room, his voice poured out lyrics that spoke of regret, hope, and an unwavering love. when the song ended, he turned to you, his eyes filled with vulnerability. “that’s how i feel,” he said softly. “i hope i can keep showing you, every day, just how much you mean to me.”

felix ღ

felix had always been the sunshine in your life, but after the breakup, you noticed his light dimmed. when you finally agreed to give him another chance, felix made sure he poured his heart into showing how much you meant to him, determined not to make the same mistakes again.

the first sign of his efforts came in the form of baked goods. one evening, after a long day, you came home to a neatly wrapped box on your doorstep. inside were cookies shaped like little hearts, each one perfectly frosted. a note attached to the box read: “i know i hurt you, but i’m not giving up on us. let me make things right. – felix.”

the following weekend, he invited you over to his place. the moment you walked in, you were greeted by the warm aroma of vanilla and butter. felix stood in the kitchen, wearing an apron dusted with flour, a sheepish grin on his face. “i thought we could bake together,” he said, holding up a whisk.

you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “you’re really trying, huh?”

“i have to,” he admitted, his voice soft but earnest. “you’re everything to me, and i won’t lose you again.”

as the two of you mixed dough and laughed over his attempts to juggle eggs (which ended in a sticky mess), felix stole small glances at you, his heart swelling at every smile he managed to coax from you and how easily your guard managed to lower.

later that evening, as you sat on the couch sharing a plate of freshly baked cookies, he turned to you, his deep voice filled with sincerity. “i’m not perfect, but i promise to keep trying for you — for us. you’ve always believed in me, and now it’s my turn to prove that i’m worth it.”

the most touching gesture came one rainy afternoon. felix surprised you with a scrapbook he had been working on — a collection of photos, handwritten notes, and little mementos from your time together. on the last page, he had written: “our story isn’t perfect, but it’s ours. i want to keep writing it with you.”

tears welled in your eyes as he took your hand. “i know i hurt you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “but i love you more than anything, and i’ll spend every day proving that to you.”

lee ღ know

lee know had never been one for grand gestures, but when it came to making things right with you, he found himself stepping outside his comfort zone. the breakup had been his fault — his blunt words and tendency to shut down during arguments had driven a wedge between you. when you agreed to give him another chance, he knew he had to approach things differently.

the first sign of his efforts came subtly. one morning, you found a neatly packed lunch waiting for you at work, complete with a note that read: “eat well. i know i didn’t always take care of you like i should have, but i want to do better. – minho.”

later that week, he surprised you by showing up at your favorite café. “thought you might like some company,” he said casually, sliding into the seat across from you. but the way his eyes lingered on you betrayed the nonchalance in his tone.

over time, his gestures grew more personal. one evening, he invited you over to his apartment. when you arrived, you found the place meticulously decorated with fairy lights and a small spread of your favorite dishes on the table.

“you cooked?” you asked, surprised by the spread as the warm scent made you smile.

“i wanted to do something for you,” he said simply, pulling out a chair for you. “i know i’m not the best at saying how i feel, but i hope this shows you.”

as the two of you ate, minho watched you closely, his usual sharp demeanor softened considerably. “i’ve been thinking a lot about us,” he said suddenly. “about how i didn’t handle things the way i should have. i’m not good with words, but i need you to know that i’m trying.”

the dinner together was amazing and true to his words, he brought you to the dance studio where he spent most of his time one day, a glint in his eyes. “i have something to show you,” he said, his tone almost shy.

he played a track and began to dance, every movement purposeful and filled with emotion. it was a side of him you hadn’t seen before; raw, vulnerable, and completely open. when the music stopped, he stood before you, slightly out of breath.

“this is how i express myself best,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “i don’t want to lose you again. i’ll keep trying to be better, for both of us.”

hyun ღ jin

hyunjin had always been passionate, wearing his heart on his sleeve. but that same intensity had been the cause of your breakup. so when you decided to give him another chance, hyunjin knew he couldn’t rely on words alone to win you back.

the first time he saw you again after the breakup, he showed up with a bouquet of your favorite flowers. but these weren’t just ordinary flowers — they were intricately painted on a canvas he had spent hours creating. “i wanted to give you something that lasts,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “like how i hope we will.”

hyunjin’s gestures were deeply personal. one evening, he invited you to his art studio, where a single easel stood in the center of the room. “i’ve been working on something,” he said, motioning for you to sit.

you watched as he unveiled a portrait of you, painted in soft, dreamy hues that captured the way he saw you — radiant and full of warmth. “this is how i see you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “even when we were apart, you were always in my heart.”

you were touched to nearly the point of tears, as his sincerety was making it harder to keep your guard up. another night, hyunjin surprised you with a private dance performance. he led you into a dimly lit studio, where soft music played in the background. “this is for you,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours before the music swelled.

every movement of his dance told a story — of regret, love, and a desperate desire to make things right. as he finished, his chest heaved from exertion, but his gaze never wavered. “i’ve made mistakes,” he admitted, stepping closer to you. “but i’m learning. you’re the one i want to share my life with, and i’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.”

hyunjin also made an effort to handle conflict differently. one evening, when a small disagreement arose, he surprised you by calmly sitting down and saying, “let’s talk about this. i don’t want us to go back to how things were before.”

his growth, combined with his heartfelt gestures, slowly chipped away at the walls you had built around your heart. hyunjin knew it would take time, but he was willing to be patient. after all, loving you was worth every effort.

i.n ღ

i.n had always been mature for his age, but the breakup — caused by his occasional aloofness and failure to recognize how much you needed reassurance — had shaken him to his core. though when you agreed to give him another chance, he knew he couldn’t take it for granted.

the first sign of his determination came when he surprised you with something simple yet meaningful: a framed photo of the two of you from happier times. he handed it to you one evening, his expression both nervous and hopeful. “i wanted to remind you of what we’re working towards,” he said softly. “this is the version of us i want to get back to.”

from that moment on, i.n’s actions spoke louder than any apology he could offer. he started paying closer attention to the little things that made you happy. one afternoon, he showed up at your place with a playlist he had carefully curated. “these songs remind me of you,” he explained, plugging in his headphones to share the music with you. as you listened together, he held your hand, a quiet promise in the way his thumb traced gentle circles on your skin.

his gestures extended to your everyday life. knowing how stressful your days could be, i.n would occasionally leave you handwritten notes in your bag or on your desk, each one filled with words of encouragement and love. “you’re doing amazing, and i’m so lucky to have you in my life,” one note read.

but i.n’s biggest gesture came one weekend when he surprised you with a small picnic at a secluded park. the spread included all your favorite foods, and he had even learned how to make one dish from scratch. “it’s not perfect,” he admitted with a shy laugh as you tasted it, “but i figured you deserved the effort.”

as the evening wore on and the sun set, he turned to you, his eyes earnest. “i know i’ve hurt you,” he said, his voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “but i’m learning to be better, and i’ll never stop trying. you mean too much to me.”

his sincerity and consistent efforts slowly began to rebuild the trust between you, showing you that he was willing to do whatever it took to make things right.

han ღ

han wasn’t one to do things halfway, whether it was his music, his humor, or his love for you. the breakup had left him heartbroken, but when you gave him a second chance, he threw himself into proving that he was worthy of your trust.

his first move was to apologize in a way that only han could: through music. late one evening, he sent you a voice note. the melody was soft and heartfelt, and the lyrics spoke of regret, love, and the hope of a new beginning. at the end of the recording, his voice came through, unpolished and raw. “i wrote this for you. it’s not perfect, but neither am i. i just… i want to make you smile again.”

from then on, han made a point to be present in your life in ways that mattered. he started showing up to your favorite café during your lunch breaks, bringing little treats he knew you loved. “thought you might need a pick-me-up,” he’d say with a cheeky grin, placing a pastry and your favorite drink in front of you.

one evening, he invited you to the studio where he worked. “i want to show you something,” he said, leading you inside. on the wall was a collection of sticky notes, each one with a memory, a thought, or something he loved about you. “this is my reminder,” he explained, “of why i can’t mess this up again.”

despite his playful nature, han wasn’t afraid to get serious when it came to making amends. during a quiet moment one night, he looked at you, his usual mischievous expression replaced with a rare vulnerability. “i know i joke around a lot,” he said, his voice soft, “but you’re the most important person in my life. i’ll spend every day proving that i’m worth this second chance.”

han also worked hard to communicate better, often catching himself when he started to get defensive or overwhelmed. “wait,” he’d say during a disagreement, taking a deep breath. “let’s figure this out. i don’t want us to fall apart again.”

with every sweet gesture and heartfelt conversation, han slowly reminded you of why you had fallen for him in the first place, proving that even the most impulsive hearts could learn to love with patience and care.

seung ღ min

seungmin wasn’t the type to let emotions cloud his logic, but the breakup had been a wake-up call. when you decided to give him another chance, seungmin didn’t take it lightly. he knew he couldn’t rely on his usual reserved nature; he had to show you how much you meant to him.

the first sign of his effort came subtly. he started paying attention to the smallest details about you, things you thought he might not have noticed. one morning, you found your favorite drink waiting for you on your desk, a neat note attached: “thought you could use a boost. have a good day. – seungmin.” it was practical, understated, and so very him.

a few days later, he surprised you with something more personal. “i know i’m not great at saying how i feel,” he said one evening, handing you a leather-bound journal. inside were pages filled with his handwriting — entries where he reflected on your time together, what he had learned, and the moments he cherished most. “this is me trying to do better,” he admitted, his voice steady but his eyes vulnerable. “you deserve to know how much i care.”

seungmin also worked on being more emotionally available. during quiet evenings together, he would ask how you were feeling, genuinely listening and responding with thoughtful insight. “i want to understand you better,” he’d say, his tone sincere. “i don’t want to make the same mistakes.”

his biggest gesture came one chilly evening when he invited you to a quiet spot by the river, where a small portable speaker played a playlist he’d curated just for you.

as the two of you sat wrapped in a blanket he’d brought, seungmin turned to you, his expression uncharacteristically tender. “i know i’ve been distant before,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “but i’m here now, and i’ll keep being here — for as long as you’ll let me.”

chang ღ bin

changbin had always been passionate — sometimes to a fault. the breakup, caused by his tendency to act out of frustration and say things he didn’t mean, had left him devastated. when you gave him another chance, he threw himself into showing you how much you meant to him, channeling his fiery energy into thoughtful gestures.

the first thing he did was apologize, not just with words but with actions. one day, you came home to find a handwritten letter on your table, accompanied by a small box of your favorite snacks. the letter read: “i know i’ve hurt you, and i’ll never stop trying to make it up to you. thank you for giving me another chance. – binnie.”

changbin also started showing up for you in ways he hadn’t before. if you mentioned being stressed at work, he’d surprise you with a quick visit, bringing something small to cheer you up. “i figured you might need a break,” he’d say, his boyish grin disarming any tension.

one evening, he invited you to his studio. “i’ve been working on something,” he said, gesturing toward the equipment. as the music played, you realized he had written a song for you — its lyrics raw and honest, capturing both his regret and his deep love for you. “this is how i feel,” he said when the track ended, his voice soft yet firm. “i want to be better, for you and for us.”

despite his big gestures, changbin also made an effort to be more patient and open. during one of your conversations, when emotions ran high, he surprised you by taking a deep breath and saying, “i don’t want to argue. let’s talk about this. i want to understand how you feel.”

his most heartfelt effort came during a casual evening together. as you walked through a park, he suddenly stopped, pulling you close. “i know i’ve been intense at times,” he said, his tone unusually gentle. “but that’s because i love you so much. i’ll keep working on myself because i don’t ever want to lose you again.”

with every gesture, big or small, changbin showed you that his love for you was as unwavering as his determination to make things right.

notes: i’ve never really been in a relationship so i mentioned a lot of things i’d personally want a guy to do for me (T^T) i hope yall enjoyed either way!

[alchemistc]

Let's goooo! 15. trembling hands

I already did this prompt but I've been steeping in a pile of blankets and a heating pad and miserable cramps for hours just thinking about this so:

"I just keep thinking about the last time you kissed me," Buck says, and he hates the waver in it, hates the way he has to set the neatly packed bankers box down on his island because his hands are shaking as bad as his voice.

Tommy gives him the kind of look he'd expect to see if he rounded a dark curve late at night and his headlights caught a deer crossing the road.

Total devastation lies ahead. Neither one of them gets out of this without a scratch.

He'd had a call, years back now. Some family driving home after an evening of movies and arcades and dinner, a nice newer SUV, a nervous creature who would have had plenty of time to cross into the woods but got stuck in the beam of light hurtling towards it. Until it tried to jump the vehicle right before impact.

The dad had died quick, Buck remembers. They'd only found that out later, though, because the deer hadn't died. Not then. Not right away. Not until after they'd arrived, because they'd watch the thing, stuck in the windscreen, panicked and dying and kicking.

Animal control didn't make it on scene until after the moms chest had been caved in.

Tommy's grip on the box in his own hands looks painful.

"It was just - it was the kind of kiss I figured we'd share a few thousand more times, you know?"

Nothing special, a barely there peck, an appetizer because they had places to be and they'd lost more than one reservation getting caught up before so they'd made it a habit of the greeting kiss being... quick.

"I just wish I'd known it was gonna be the last time."

It hurts to say. It hurts to think, but this one's been spinning on a loop every time he's got idle hands and an idle mind and it feels like Tommy should at least know that he -

"I have to go," Tommy says. He'd set this up with that excuse - I have some of your things, can I drop them off before work - like he could rip the bandaid and be done and Buck had spent twenty minutes folding and refolding the same pair of Tommy's sweatpants before he found the nerve to respond with a thumbs up.

"Yeah," Buck says, and takes a moment to drink in the sight of him a final time. Tommy's eyes dart to the hand still hanging at his side, fingers tapping out a rhythm against his palm, unlike the one holding onto his kitchen island like a lifeline.

This is it.

There's - nothing left to tie them together. No excuses to see each other again outside of random happenstance. He'd debated stuffing one of Tommy's zip ups into the bottom of his laundry basket for about ten minutes after Tommy let him know he was headed over, but that's in the box with everything else.

He has to look away when he realizes his vision's gone a little blurry.

"I'll... see you," Buck manages, and convinces himself he doesn't hear the blown out breath from where Tommy's standing.

He listens to the footsteps moving away. Hears the latch click and sucks in a breath so harsh Tommy has to hear it.

He remembers trying to shield those kids in the back seat from the sight of both their parents and wishes he at least had some bruises to show for the way his own chest feels like it's caving in.

The door clicks shut, and Buck turns towards it a second before he feels his chin being angled.

It's nothing like their first kiss, or the greeting kiss. This is the kiss he'd get when he couldn't shut the hell up about something and Tommy had to do something about it. The kiss they'd share when it became clear a movie wasn't holding his attention and Tommy pressed him into the couch cushions with a grin. The kiss he'd give when he was so overwhelmed by how he felt and didn't have the words to explain it so he'd poured every ounce of - of love into his lips and his tongue and his teeth because even if he didn't know how to say it he wanted Tommy to know.

It slows and settles into something soft and breathy and Buck lets the hand he'd curled over Tommy's jaw drop to his chest when they break it. Their breathing is shaky, and the hand clenched in the back of Buck's shirt shakes before he breaks the hold. Buck keeps his eyes closed. His throat is tight.

"That's - if I'd known it was the last one, that's the one I'd have wanted it to be," Tommy says, and then he's pulling away. Leaving.

The door clicks open and shut while Buck's eyes are still closed, and he stands there in silence for a good ten minutes until he's sure he can breath again. When he licks his lips he doesn't recognize the taste of the lip balm Tommy'd left behind there.

The box of Tommy's stuff is sitting on the end table.

It takes Buck four goddamn tries to type out a coherent text, with the way it's shaking in his hand.

You forgot to take your stuff, he sends.

Tommy's the kind of old school where he keeps his phone in the center console while he's driving, so he doesn't expect anything back immediately.

He refuses to let himself read into it at all. An honest mistake after leaving them both more hurt than the first time around.

He'll ask Chim to deliver it so they don't have to see each other again.

Forty-two minutes later, he happens to glance at his phone just in time to see the bubbles.

They disappear. Reappear. Disappear.

How forgetful of me.

And that's - that's all he gets for another five minutes. He nearly tosses his phone in the air when the bubbles come back, like somehow someone will have witnessed him staring at it hard enough to burn a hole through it.

Maybe you could bring it by sometime.

MVA, two adult males, significant internal injuries.

The bubbles are still there.

Think I may have forgotten a few of your things, anyway.

Buck doesn't believe that for a fucking second. He'd had a drawer, two hangers, a spot under the sink in the bathroom. Tommy's place had always reminded Buck how well suited they were, with how meticulously everything had a place.

Doesn't seem like you, Buck shoots back, and tries not to examine how close to the line of flirty he's being.

That was a terrible last kiss, Tommy sends back, almost immediately.

Buck's hands don't shake when he sends the next message. It's a blatant lie. It probably broke top ten. We could fix that.

[moody-alcoholic]

On a Wing and a Prayer

Part 7 - Well This Is Awkward

CW: Angst, mention's of alcohol, mentions of panic attack's, mental health, mentions of injuries, mentions of death.

Did I mention I like medical dramas?

Previous parts - masterlist - next

Your therapist is nice. You’ve been going to her for the past 3 months, you were only supposed to go for a single session. Then the army insisted on more. Johnny was sent home on medical leave a few days after you left. He came to see you and stayed the night. 

The next morning you had to tell him to leave, it just wasn’t the same. 

‘I’ll be staying at the house if you want to visit?’ 

Shit, you forgot about the house. The place you all pitched in to buy, so you all had somewhere to stay when you were on leave. Everyone’s flats are too small to accommodate all 5 of you. Besides, flat hopping everyday across London was expensive. 

‘I’ll talk to John when he’s back.’ All you want back is the deposit. 

“Do you feel guilty?” She asks you. It snaps you out of your thoughts and you turn to look at her. 

“No.” You say, she hums. You hate it when she does that. You don’t know why it is a particularly tough session. You just want to go home. “They hurt me. I don't feel guilty about that.” 

“You left the unit though.” Bitch. “It’s okay to feel guilty about that.” 

“Okay fine. I feel guilty about leaving Johnny and Kyle.” You snap back. Anything to get her to sign you off so you can go. You look up at the clock, you still have at least 40 minutes left in this season. 

“Have you got your letter from the university yet?” She asks changing the subject. You nod. After a few weeks of crying on the bathroom floor and drowning yourself in bottles of vodka you decided to get your shit together. 

“That’s good, what's the plan going forward?” 

“I’ll be posted on a base somewhere where I can get hands-on experience in trauma care. With studying on the side.” You say without going too much into the complications. 

“So the army is actively helping you, that's good.”  

“Yeah I think they’re willing to do anything so long as I don’t sue them.” You scoff under your breath. She hums.

You don’t know how true that is, maybe it’s just something you tell yourself so you don’t feel so conflicted over how accommodating they’ve been. They’re paying your uni bills and even got you one some army teaching program aimed to fast track you through the ranks. 

“What about Kyle and Johnny? Have you heard from them since you spoke to them last?” Fucking bitch. You sigh, turning away from her. The last time you spoke to them was almost a month ago. They text you from time to time, try to call you. 

You’ve ignored them, so much that you feel like anything you say to them will just be meaningless. 

“Yeah, they’re deployed.” You lie. She smiles. You look back up at the clock. 

30 minutes to go.

______________________

Iraq is hot. That you expected but the hospital’s electricity is sketchy at best. You have to keep the air-con off to make sure the ventilators don’t cut out. The US built this place, you’re only supposed to be here for another week at least before you’ll move again. 

As soon as the electric is fixed it will be handed over to the UN to run, until then it was getting a dry run as a combat hospital. Lots of blown off limbs and bullets to pull out people. Lots of death. 

You told Johnny and Kyle where you were going when you got your placement. You’re trying to patch things up with them after basically leaving them on read for almost 3 months. Your therapist said it would be a good thing to do. 

The sun is setting, you're sitting outside watching as it touches the top of the distant mountains. The place is busy, friendly forces are still pretty much living here. It’s the only safe zone in this part of the desert, why the UN wanted a hospital out here you’ll never know. 

Something about re-urbanisation of previously controlled territories. You don’t care, you're here to pull bullets out of people and save lives. Other than your mentor-Dr. Sands-you’re the only other doctor on the base. Doctor is a loose term, you’re technically still a student, but you ace all your skills labs, and the army is begging for help apparently. 

You let out a breath, finishing the rest of your drink and getting up and pulling your white lab coat on. 

“Well, fancy seeing you ‘ere.” You hear a familiar thick accent behind you. You turn to see Johnny standing behind you. 

What the fuck.

You’re hugging him before you can stop yourself. You see Kyle, John and Simon stood behind him. They’re all geared up, weapons slung over their chest or back. 

You thought you would feel something when you saw them. Maybe you'd want to run, scream, cry, anything. You feel nothing, just numbness.

“What are you doing here?” You ask.

“Oh you know, Shepherd says jump, we say how high.” he says nudging you, it makes you smile and you shake your head. 

“Finally going for the MD?” He asks, pointing at the student doctor tag on your coat. 

“Yeah well, you like putting bullets in people. I like pulling them out.” 

“Oh yeah not even the occasional love tap?” He jokes, throwing his arm around your shoulders.

“Only the bad guys.” You reply. You look up at Kyle who’s smiling. Then John and Simon. 

“You look good.” John says. 

“Yeah well that’s what 6 months of therapy will do to you.” It’s bitter, harsher than you expected it to be. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him in 6 maybe 7 months. He hasn’t changed a bit. He still smiles at you, his body language open, his hands on his hips. 

Simon stands with his arms crossed, his presence is looming, making hairs stand up on the back of your neck. 

“It’s good to see you again.” Kyle says, you nod at him. 

“Oh when we’re back we should catch a bite to eat.” Johnny says enthusiastically, moving away over to Kyle. 

“You can tell us what to avoid in the mess.” Kyle adds. You smile again. You go to open your mouth but your pager beeps. You look down at it. It’s the doctor. 

“Yeah, when you’re back, come find me.” You say turning into the building. 

“Stay safe!” Johnny calls.

“Yeah you too!” You call back pulling your radio off your hip. When you make it through the door you squeeze your eyes closed for a second and let out a long breath. 

Now you hate this hospital even more. 

______________________

It’s dark out now. You look over at the clock and it's almost midnight. You’re sat at the nurses station listening to them talk about whatever drama is going on in the next base. You still can’t believe you ended up in the same base as 141. 

They’ll be gone soon, even Johnny seemed surprised, maybe he thought you’d be gone by now. Now you have to eat with them at some point. Johnny and Kyle at least.

The doctor left an hour ago to go to another base for a surgery. You’re used to this taking the night shifts. Normally you just sleep and get woken up a few times for the nurses to ask for medication changes. You’ve only ever had one trauma come in at night and the doctor was there to help you with the limited night time staff. 

You tried to sleep but you couldn’t, you were restless trying to think about what they were doing here? Who were they after? How long would they be here? At least at the nurses station you can listen to the nurses and let their gossip distract you. 

The red trauma phone rings. For a second you think it’s a joke, it’s the normal phone. Nope, the red light is flashing on it. You stand up picking it up. 

“Trauma.” You say.

“Got one incoming, ETA 15 minutes. GSW to the chest, breathing unconscious. 30 year old male.” You hear an American voice say as you write it down. You don’t have time to worry or be nervous. This is what you live for, you let the adrenaline pump through you. It clears your mind as you take down the information. 

“Copy, what’s the name?” 

“Riley.” Your heart stops.

“Say again?”

“Riley, Simon Riley.”  

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of your lungs. You’re squeezing the phone in your hand, the pen has fallen to the floor. You look over at the nurses already pulling gowns on and getting into position in the resus bay. 

You don’t even register saying copy and putting the phone back. You turn away from the nurses braising yourself on a filing cabernet. 

Simon’s shot. All you can see is his face, his body covered in blood. He’s always so careful, he’s always the one dragging people out the field not getting shot. Something must have gone horribly wrong. 

You weren't there. He’s shot and you weren't there to save him. 

You suck in breaths of air, the adrenaline isn’t helping now. 

“Doctor?” You hear one of the nurses call. You turn to look at them, you have to keep it together. 

“Page the doctor.”

next

Banners by firefly-graphics

[revelboo]

im 110% gonna take pictures of lego beebs once i build him nstuff BUT. BUTT. i found out the tfa constructicons just full on have plumbers cracks; the allspark almanac is full of all sorts of weird little gems gdshgjkmdsg- wanted to share since their idw counterparts got their moment to shine

Oh, no. Yikes, they’re- just, no 😂 thanks, I hate it

Drive Pt 2

Constructicons x Reader

• “What do you think the boss meant? About fragging humans?” Long Haul asks, looking from Hook to Scrapper. Because one of them must know. “Cause it sounded like somebody is.” Which makes no sense whatsoever. Sure, it’s fun enough to chase and terrorize them, but they’re not really sturdy enough for that. And far too small. Leaning over the berth where Hook had laid their human, he nudges you with a servo, fascinated despite himself with how soft you are.

• Aware of the speculative way Mixmaster, Long Haul, and Scavenger are studying you, Hook vents. “No one’s fragging humans.” Probably. But who knew? With the things he’s seen in Medbay, it honestly wouldn’t surprise him one bit. It’s not like it was that long ago that Wildrider was dragged into into Medbay by two of the other Stunticons with his spike wedged in a section of oversized concrete pipe and a lot of attitude about it. Most of it angry and sullen. And they look down on them. At least they don’t try scrap like that.

• Everything hurts as you shift, aware that you’re lying on something hard. Whimpering when something hard bumps you and rolls you onto your back. Eyes squinting open, your heart stutters in your chest as three vibrantly green monsters loom over you. “It’s awake,” one of them says, a giant servo still outstretched. Screaming, you roll and go sprawling when you try to lunge to your hands and knees. “And loud,” the same one growls with a laugh as your eyes water at the throbbing in your ankle. Broken? Sprained? Trying to crawl away only to have one grab you by that leg and drag you back as you scream.

• “Leave it,” Scrapper growls, venting as Long Haul keeps rolling you onto your back as you panic before pinning you flat under his hand. And you’re screaming again. “What did I just say? Leave it alone.” Glowering until Long Haul huffs and lets you go and then Scrapper has to pin you on your belly when you try to scramble away, noticing you’re pretty much dragging one leg. And he almost feels bad. Almost. “Pet’s broken, Hook.”

• Pet? “I’m not a pet,” you whisper, eyes watering as you’re gently pinned flat, the pressure enough to make it hard to breathe but not crush you. And then a new one is running his big servos over you, ignoring when you fight his examination. Hearing him venting as he touches your ankle and you cry out. “Stop!” He ignores that too, carefully manipulating your foot as you sob.

• “Don’t be so dramatic.” You’re leaking as Hook checks your ankle, but really? He has no idea what to look for. If it’s broken or not. Knows next to nothing about humans. “Be still,” he snarls as you struggle, leaning over you and smacking his other fist against the berth and you finally stop, eyes wide and heart beating frantically against his servos. “Maybe broken from the fall,” he tells Scrapper with a shrug. “I don’t fix humans.” A warm, little hand lands on his servo, trying to push him away in vain. Those terrified eyes overflowing and pained.

• “Can I play with it?” Scavenger asks, leaning his arms on the berth you’d been placed on. Aware of his brothers crowding around to see. As soon as Hook removes his servo, you curl up on your side, arms over your head and legs pulled tight to your body and his amusement fades. Because you’re even smaller up close, with tiny breakable bones and soft flesh. That’s discolored in places from their handling and the fall. And the sound you’re making? That hitching, broken sound of fear as you shake violently? He hates the way it makes his spark twist and ache and looking up at his brothers, he sees their uncertainty on how to deal with this. That it’s not fun anymore. Hesitant, he reaches out to run his servo against your spine. Sees Mixmaster touch your hair and Long Haul stroke an arm as you cringe into a tighter ball. Bonecrusher brushes against him, reaching to touch your hip while Scrapper and Hook watch and exchange a look.

Previous

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-seven of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Tim keeps kissing Bernard just as easy and appreciative as he slides another fingertip lightly along Kon’s rim all slick and warm, and Kon realizes he must’ve grabbed the lube again at some point. He didn’t really–notice, before. It feels . . . it’s good, and his body opens right up for it the same as the last two. Feels–feels warm, and a little bit tight, and like just enough of a stretch to notice. Feels full, and like he’s doing something right; doing just what Tim wants him to be doing; being just what Tim wants him to be. 

He concentrates on that, and not the part of him that wants to get kissed like that by somebody again. 

“I think actually getting Timmed might be worse,” Bernard half-mutters, and Tim laughs, and Kon’s chest tightens up in a weird way. 

He likes how they feel around him; inside him and against him and wrapping him all up. He likes how they kiss each other, and how Bernard makes Tim laugh like that, and how they look in cute couples’ selfies together, and just how happy and easy Tim gets whenever Bernard comes up in conversation. Really likes how their heartbeats sound together. Likes it all. 

It just hurts a little right now, for some reason. 

Kon doesn’t . . . he doesn’t get what about that’s . . . 

“Kon,” Tim says, stroking his free hand up his ribs, and Kon’s whole head all reorients from top to bottom, just like every time Tim ever says a single thing to him at all, and especially every time Tim says his name. “Do you remember what you asked for?” 

Kon . . . frowns, a little, and can’t . . . he asked for something? 

“Dun . . . dunno,” he manages to mumble, and Tim’s fingers stroke up inside him and between them and Bernard’s cock he really–he really– 

It must be the pink K, he thinks a little bit vaguely. Like–it must be, right? That he wants specifically cock right now, and wants specifically cock this fucking bad. He doesn’t wanna get out of Bernard’s lap at all, even with Tim’s fingers inside him again too. And like–there’s being invulnerable enough to make it easier to take cock and there’s, like–obsessing over wanting cock, which is definitely not the same thing. 

But, like–he does always get real into the girls he fucks too, and specifically real into their cunts, so . . . like, it’s the same theory, right? He always wants to take his time and go back to them again and again; eat them out and fuck them as many times as they’re willing to let him and even stay inside them even after they’ve both come, sometimes, and . . . 

So it’s just–it’s the same thing as that, right? Just–reversed, or whatever. Just the other way around. 

. . . well, that’d definitely explain how hard it’s been to stop thinking about sucking Tim off again. 

He wonders if–like, if he could maybe spend as long doing that as he’s spent eating out some of the girls he’s slept with. Like, definitely not as long as he could with Cassie or anybody else on that level of endurance and invulnerability, and definitely not as long as Cass was nice enough to let him, especially since Tim’s not gonna be able to come as many times as a girl anyway, but maybe . . . maybe if he takes his time about it, he could get somewhere a little closer to how long Anita’d rode his face the last time they'd fucked around or the couple of times Cissie’d told him to just stay under her desk in her dorm through her midday break while she’d done the reading for her afternoon class. 

He wonders if Tim would let him under his desk, if . . .

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Insecurities ~ Love That Burns

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST / EVERYDAY MOMENTS MASTERLIST

Word Count: 1,870ish

Summary: You and Logan struggle with some insecurities.

Warning(s): talk of sex, non-con elements, mental health issues, ptsd, possibly triggering, please read with caution

Notes: Please share your thoughts! This fic goes with my series, Love That Burns! Please give it a read!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! 

Logan had the whole week off, putting him in a great mood. That meant a whole week of solely focusing on you in whatever capacity he could. That also meant that he would have a hard time keeping his hands off of you. He woke up first, immediately pulling you closer, and began to press kisses over your open skin.

You moaned as you started to wake. “Logan,” you rasped, keeping your eyes closed.

Logan shushed you, moving to hover over you as he continued to kiss your skin. “Go back to sleep, princess.”

This wasn't the first time Logan has woken you up like this. And a good majority of the time, you were completely fine with it. But there was something different this morning. 

Your past made your mind cruel to you sometimes. It seemed like the anxieties and insecurities were rising once again, ones that you had never told Logan about. Due to what you had to do to survive while you were homeless, sometimes you believed that you were just an object to fulfill men’s sexual needs. Logan never made you feel that way. You always felt special and important, never an object. 

But the mind was cruel, and sometimes you couldn’t stop it. And as you lay, still half asleep, as Logan began to have sex with you, you couldn’t help but feel like an object. You knew that Logan was focusing more on your pleasure than his own, as he generally did, but your mind was making you feel like nothing to him. Like you were not his wife who he loved and cared deeply for, you were an object, something he only used to please himself.

Throughout the day, Logan couldn’t keep his hands, among other things, to himself. You never vocalized your internal struggles, letting Logan use you as to not make him upset. Your mind had you believing that if you vocalized what you were feeling, Logan would leave you. Though, deep down, you knew that was farther from the truth.

“Baby,” Logan smirked as you as you finished making the bed. “Wanna shower?”

Logan reached for you, moving to pull you into him, but you recoiled and took a step back. The moment you recoiled from Logan’s touch, he was on high alert. His brows furrowed as he immediately began noting the way your heart was racing and how he could smell your nervousness. And now that he had smelt it, he realized that he had been smelling it all day.

“Sweetheart–”

“I’m sorry. I’m fine. Let’s go,” your words were clipped and almost in the same breath. You weren’t looking at him as you grabbed his wrist, not even his hand, and began to lead him towards the bathroom. “We can shower together. I’m fine.”

Logan shook free from your weak grip. “You’re not fine. What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” you shook your head, still not looking at him. “You wanted to shower together. Let’s just shower.”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Stop sayin’ that, princess. It’s not fine. If you don’t want to do something, we’re not gonna do it.” Logan’s eyes went wide in realization as tears slipped down your cheeks. “Oh, God… Sweetheart. Did I… Did I push you too far this morning? Did I–” He cut himself off, swallowing down the words he needed to say. “Did you… Did you not want to have sex?”

“I’m sorry,” you collapsed on your knees. 

Logan clenched his hands together, growing angry at himself for not noticing that you didn’t want to have sex this morning and he pushed you. He couldn’t get himself to get on the ground to hold you, not wanting to push you further than he apparently already had. 

“I’m so sorry,” you continued to cry. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. Please, princess. It’s not your fault.” He crouched down in front of you, still keeping his space. “It’s my fault. I should have known.”

“No, I should have told you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I… I… Please know that I know that this isn’t true, but on bad days it slips in and I sometimes fail to not believe it.” Logan stayed silent, waiting for more of your explanation. “Because of my… past… I sometimes fail to remember that you want me for more than just my body… that I’m an actual person to you, not just an object… when I get in that mindset, it’s hard for me to stop you.”

“Is this…” Logan had to stop himself, afraid of his own question. “Is this the first time this has happened?”

“Logan–”

“Answer the question, sweetheart.”

You sighed, closing your eyes as you answered. “No.”

Logan growled as he stood up and walked out. You cried harder, curling in on yourself as you couldn’t get yourself to follow after him. Apparently, your mind had been right, the truth would cause Logan to leave you.

But Logan wasn't walking out on you; he was trying to calm himself. He was angry at himself for not making sure you were completely okay with having sex and for ignoring the signs that he had subtly noticed all day. He let out a shout as he punched the wall, allowing his claws to go through it. He needed to calm down so that he could fix this and take care of you.

Suddenly, you appeared in the doorway, a sobbing mess. “I’m sorry,” you sobbed. “It's all my fault. Please don't leave. Please don't leave!"

Logan’s heart felt like it had been ripped down and crushed into a million pieces. You thought he was leaving you. That would be impossible for him to do. But in your current state, you couldn’t see that. He ripped his hand from the wall, hiding his claws, and took a step forward. Before he could even say anything, you had lunged at him. You gripped his flannel like it was a lifeline, though the heat of your hands was threatening to burn it.

“Please don’t leave,” you begged. “I’ll do anything. Be anything. I can’t--"

“Honey, I need you to breathe,” Logan’s voice came out as calm as he could. His hands hovered over you, too scared to push you farther. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“You—You aren’t?"

“No, I walked out so that I could calm down.”

“You're---You're mad at me?”

“No, sweetheart, never… Yes, I'm disappointed that you felt like you couldn't tell me no and that you think I don’t see you as more than an object. But I’m not mad, and I'm not leaving.”

“Can… can you hold me then?”

Logan didn’t waste another second in pulling you into him. “I need you to be honest with me when you're mind is doing this to you.” 

“I know.”

“I hate that I… that I did anything without your consent. I never want to do that. Ever.”

“I know... I’m sorry."

“I’m sorry, too… We need to come up with a way for you to tell me when you're feeling this way. I can pick up the changes in your body, and I will not ignore them again, but I also need you to be honest with me.”

“I know… I know... I'll tell you next time it happens."

“Does it happen often?"

“No… not at all.”

“But it's happened before?"

“Yes.”

Logan pulled back and cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. “I love you, baby. I love you. The whole person that you are. Every bit of your brain, your mutation, your body, and your personality. You are more to me than some object and I will do whatever I can to get your brain to believe me.”

“Okay,” you nodded slightly. "Thank you, Logan."

“Always, sweetheart. Always.”

~~~

Logan had gotten used to his adamantium skeleton over the years, but it still didn't change the fact that sometimes he was scared that he could accidentally hurt you. Not just with his claws, but that he could hold you a bit too tight, or crush you during sex, or even just hit you a bit too hard in any of his movements.

The two of you were in town for a quick errand. You jumped out of the truck and came to his side. Before you could grab his hand to hold, Logan stuffed them into his pockets. A tinge of hurt ran through you, but you shook it off. Logan wasn't a fan of PDA, even the simplest of actions, though you were usually the exception. Not trying to think of Logan's rejection too much, you led him into the store.

“I got it,” he muttered, taking the cart from you. 

Your head tilted as you caught sight of how tightly both of his hands were gripping the cart. The bar was threatening to give way. “Are you okay, baby?”

“‘m fine.” 

You sighed, knowing that it wasn't worth it to push in such a public space. You made sure to get your groceries quickly as you could feel the tension radiating off of Logan. Once the two of you got back into the truck, Logan gripped the steering wheel tightly, where he would usually place a hand on your thigh. You tried not to take it personally as the tension grew in the truck. 

Logan was quick to get out and gather all the groceries before heading into the house. You were even more confused and concerned than before. You found him in the kitchen putting the items away. You walked over and went to wrap your arms around him, but Logan tensed, causing you to reel back.

“Honey, are you okay?” You asked, clearly concerned. 

“Fine,” he grunted, pulling away from you.

“No, you’re not. Talk to me.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Do I… When we… When I…” He stammered. He glanced at you, almost melting at you stood there waiting for him to gather his thoughts with such loving patience. “When I touch you, do I ever hurt you?”

“What?”

“Like when I hold your hand or hug you or when we have sex?”

“Never,” you shook your head, stepping forward. “You never hurt me. Why would you think that?”

“It’s just… I’m stronger than you and then there’s my adamantium skeleton. I… I could hurt you so easily… Are you sure I don’t?”

“James,” you carefully rested your hands on his chest as you kept eye contact with him. “I never feel anything but pure love and safety in your touch.”

“But I—“

“You are stronger than me and your skeleton is much heavier, but the only place I truly feel safe is in your arms. You would never to anything to hurt me like that on purpose, I know it. You are always so careful with me. I always feel treasured by you.”

Slowly, his hands came to your waist, barely holding you. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, honey.”

“I don’t hurt you?”

You shook your head. “Never.”

He sighed and leaned his forehead against yours. “It’s gonna take me a minute to get out of this mindset, princess.”

“Take all the time you need. I’ll still be here.”

[olvxva]

unspoken flames pt. II | joost klein x f!reader

part I

✦ wc: 3.2 k

✦ warnings: rpf!, angst, crying, nudity but nothing really descriptive, two fools finally sorting their shit out

✦ an: i had to use my inspiration and free time, so i guess it went pretty quickly lmao, enjoy <3

that night, when Joost closed the door to your apartment behind him, something inside you broke. maybe it was your heart, or maybe it was just your inner self that was torn in half after the blonde took a part of you with him, a part you couldn’t get back. that night, you didn’t sleep a wink. not the next night, nor the one after that.

the quiet sobs were the only thing that could be heard from your lips, as if all the pain you had been holding in finally found its release. the tears, which seemed endless, were only an attempt at relief that never came. you felt empty, alone, and yet, as if you had no right to feel this way, as if you were deceiving yourself.

Joost didn’t say a word. days passed and you sat in your silence, which was like an endless abyss. somewhere deep in your soul, you held a quiet hope that maybe he had changed his mind, that he regretted it. naively, you waited for even a single message, a single word. just one sign that you weren’t alone in this. but nothing came. the phone stayed silent and Joost seemed to have vanished.

it was pure torture. every corner of your apartment reminded you of your shared moments, as if every object, every detail, was a witness to your presence. no matter where you looked, in your mind’s eye, you only saw him - his smile, his gaze, his touch. in every silence, his laugh echoed, in every corner of the apartment, you still felt the warmth of his presence.

your thoughts kept returning to him, even though you tried to push them away. you kept searching for him, though you knew he wasn’t around anymore. every attempt to forget became harder, and with each moment you gazed at the empty spot where he used to be, your heart broke even more.

sitting curled up on the windowsill in the living room, you watched the crowded street outside. the world beyond the glass seemed to live to its own rhythm, completely oblivious to the storm inside you. people walked past each other, talking, laughing, but you felt completely disconnected from all of it.

five weeks had passed since that fateful night. five weeks with no contact. it hurt a little less now, but it still hurt too much. you still felt like you were standing still, stuck in a deadlock where each day was just a reflection of the one before.

the world moved forward as if nothing had happened, while you remained in place, trying to accept that nothing would ever be the same. from the flood of thoughts that once again began to gather above you like dark clouds, you were pulled by the sound of an incoming notification. before you could react, your heart skipped a beat. you reached for your phone nearby and tapped the notification that had popped up. as you saw the message, your heart instantly sank in your chest.

Joost: we need to talk.

one short sentence that in that moment turned your world upside down. you immediately felt a wave of emotions crash over you - fear, anger, sadness, and maybe even hope, though you weren't sure if you should trust it.

you flipped your phone in your hands, feeling the weight of the decision that now stood before you. your mind was swirling with conflicting thoughts. you knew you couldn’t ignore him. after everything, after he’d kept you in uncertainty for so long, you couldn’t just leave this without an explanation.

why now? why so suddenly? those were the questions you couldn’t come up with a reasonable answer to. so much had changed in the weeks that had passed, and though you tried to keep your emotions in check, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something inside you had died. maybe it was the end, maybe not, but what had happened would stay with you forever.

could "what was meant to be" still exist after all of this? you took a deep breath, closing your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts. you felt the unease in your body growing, as if waiting for something that couldn’t be stopped anymore.

me: where and when?

sending the message took you barely a second, but it felt like time slowed down in your head. the phone stayed in your hand, and you stared at the screen, waiting for a reply. each second dragged on endlessly, as if the world was deliberately holding its breath, playing with your patience. after a moment, the screen lit up with a notification, and you quickly read the message.

Joost: my place in an hour, i’ll be waiting.

the words were simple, almost devoid of emotion. you stared at the text, analyzing it as if your life depended on it. i'll be waiting. those words echoed in your mind.

without further hesitation, you stood up and decided to prepare. your movements were automatic, almost mechanical, as if your body had taken control of your mind. you opened the closet and began sifting through your clothes, trying to pick something appropriate - something that wouldn’t betray the chaos inside you but also wouldn’t look too indifferent. every little detail, every decision seemed bigger than it really was.

you were afraid of this meeting. part of you - the hurt and disappointed part - would have preferred Joost to remain a memory, distant and unreal. but there was also the other part, the more stubborn and emotional one, still yearning for his voice, for the way he looked at you, as if he saw something in you that you couldn’t see yourself. it was that part of you that pushed you forward, forcing you to grab a jacket from the closet and reach for the keys.

the walk to his apartment passed unusually quickly, almost too quickly, as if time was mocking you, shortening every second you could have used to gather your thoughts. the cold evening air wrapping around you didn’t help much either. your hands were damp with nerves, and your heart was pounding so loudly that you feared someone on the street might hear it.

you tried to organize your thoughts, the words you wanted to say, but instead, your mind kept circling around what could have happened.

before you knew it, you were already standing in front of his door. you stared at the gleaming number 12 hanging on the door, one you’d seen so many times before. you felt your hands tremble slightly, and your chest rose unevenly with every difficult breath. you slowly raised your hand, ready to knock. a thousand thoughts raced through your mind - what if he wasn’t alone? what if this meeting ended in even more pain?

finally, your knuckles met the wood, making a soft, almost shy sound. for a moment, the silence seemed to stretch on endlessly before you heard footsteps approaching from inside. your heart rose to your throat.

the door opened hesitantly. and then you saw him. he stood there, dressed in simple gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. his messy hair seemed to stick up in every direction. his face looked tired, and his eyes held a shadow you hadn’t seen before. he looked the same, yet somehow, he seemed like a completely different person standing before you.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. you stared at each other, and the air between you was so thick, you almost felt like you could touch it. you didn’t know what to say. every word you’d prepared in your mind had suddenly evaporated.

“hey” he said finally, his voice quiet, barely audible.

“hi” you replied just as softly, feeling your mind suddenly abandon you.

his gaze drifted across your face, as if trying to read what was going on in your head. for a moment, it seemed like he wanted to say something, but for some reason, he remained silent, stepping back to give you room to enter.

“will you come in?” he asked, finally making a step back to let you inside.

without a word, you timidly stepped through the threshold, your movements slow and cautious, as if walking on thin ice. under the watchful gaze of the blonde, you took off your shoes, trying to control the trembling of your hands that started to betray you. you hung your coat on the hook, making an effort to avoid his gaze, which seemed to pierce right through you.

the atmosphere between you was strange, uncertain. the silence that settled was almost palpable and you had the feeling that every word or movement of yours could break it in the worst possible way.

when Joost moved toward the kitchen, you turned to him and almost instinctively followed. entering the room, you noticed how the blonde leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. he looked thoughtful, yet tense, as if he didn't know what to do next.

"anything to drink?" he suddenly asked, his voice cutting through the silence, but it sounded surprisingly calm, even though you could still see the shadow of uncertainty in his eyes.

"no, thank you, i'm not in the mood" you replied politely, trying to sound neutral "i don't want to impose."

Joost looked at you, and in his eyes, you could see a mix of disappointment. he fell silent for a moment, as if weighing every word he might say. his hands slowly dropped to the counter, and his breath became deeper, as if preparing himself for something important.

"y/n, you know you don't have to feel like that… you don't have to be afraid of imposing" he finally answered, his voice softer than before.

"Joost, you know, sometimes what you say is easier than what i feel" you replied, your voice trembling in your mouth. you looked him in the eyes, but you couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a moment.

the man slowly began to approach you, until your chests were separated by only millimeters. his hand gently caressed your cheek.

you could feel your whole body tense in that moment, as if Joost's approaching touch had the power to break everything. his presence had something that still drew you in, something that made it impossible for you to pull away.

"y/n…" his voice was barely audible, as if he was trying to find the right words "i… i didn't know what to do. i'm sorry. i'm sorry for everything i've done and for what i haven't done. for hurting you. for leaving you when you needed me the most. i know it's not enough, i know it can't fix what happened, but…"

he paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. in your mind, there was emptiness, as if each word he spoke was some kind of spell that took away your ability to think clearly.

"i don't know how to fix what i broke, but i promise you one thing – you won't have to go through this alone. i want to be with you, y/n. i'll do anything to fix this, if you'll just let me. if you’ll let me back in."

you found yourself at a standstill. part of you wanted to throw yourself into his arms, to feel like everything was returning to normal, but the other part still feared trusting him again, afraid that you’d be hurt once more.

"Joost, you left me" you began, feeling a surge of sudden sorrow and anger rising within you "you fucking left me!"

Joost stood frozen, his hand slowly dropping from your cheek as if every syllable of your words was a blow that pierced straight into his heart. his lips pressed into a thin line of helplessness.

"i never wanted to leave you" he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions "i never wanted to hurt you. i just… i just needed to find a way to understand what was happening. you know how much you mean to me…" he paused, as if unable to finish, as though every word he spoke felt too small to carry the weight of what he truly felt.

"mean something to you?!" you shouted directly into his face, unable to keep your emotions in check any longer "if i meant anything to you, you wouldn’t have left me hanging for five fucking weeks without a single word!" you stopped, feeling your heart break all over again "you just disappeared, like we were nothing… like i was nothing."

Joost clenched his fists, his eyes filled with turmoil, never leaving yours. his face inched dangerously close to yours, but you knew you couldn’t let yourself falter. with a swift motion, you stormed toward the door, desperate to escape the pointless torment of this confrontation.

before you could reach the handle, he moved in an instant, his body blocking the exit as he positioned himself in front of the door.

"i won’t let you run away" he said, his voice trembling "you’re not going to make the same mistake i did."

you looked at him, feeling anger and pain begin to mix with something else - maybe fear, maybe the desire to understand what really happened. but you couldn’t give him that satisfaction. not now.

“Joost, move the hell out of the way!”

his eyes narrowed, as if the words you spoke were a blow that landed straight in his chest. he stood there for a moment, analyzing you, and you felt a wave of frustration building inside you.

“y/n, stop” he said quietly, but his voice carried something that sounded like desperation “i won’t let you leave, not without talking. we need to sort this out.”

“just move!” you shouted, unable to contain your emotions. you shut your eyes, trying to calm the rising ache in your chest.

“stay, i’m begging you…” his voice broke suddenly.

Joost grabbed you by the waist, and you felt his body suddenly sink down in front of you.

you stood there, staring at him, feeling his hands tighten around your hips. his breathing was quick, uneven, and his eyes, filled with boundless desperation, looked at you as if pleading for forgiveness, for something he couldn’t find within himself.

you felt as though the entire world had stopped around you. you stood frozen, uncertain and disoriented, with Joost kneeling before you, his face buried against your waist like he was seeking refuge. you held your breath, afraid he might vanish in an instant. your hands reached for his chin, forcing him to look at you.

“Joost…” you whispered his name, barely audible, feeling your hand tremble “what happened to us?”

you knelt beside him, feeling your heart pounding harder and your entire body shaking with emotion. without words, without thinking, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling his body close to yours. you wanted to feel him, to close the distance, even though every part of you screamed to run away. his warmth seeped through your arms.

he pulled you closer and your heart nearly stopped when you felt his body shaking in your embrace. then, in the quiet space around you, came a muffled sob, stifled against your chest. it was a sound that filled your mind, shaking you in a way you hadn’t expected.

you felt his body reacting to the pain he must have carried for weeks, as every tear fell down his cheeks, despite his attempts to hide them. you heard that sound, a raw reminder of how deeply hurt both of you were.

Joost finally lifted his tear-streaked face, and something inside you broke again that night. you knew that pain, you knew that emptiness, but seeing him like this now, seeing his face covered in tears, made you feel like something was shifting. maybe, despite all the hurt you’d both endured, there was still a chance to fix this.

“i love you” you heard his gentle voice, and for a moment, your heart stopped beating “i’m an idiot for realizing it so late.”

those words hit you like a wave, flooding you with a relief. you felt the weight of the weeks filled with silence and misunderstandings suddenly lift off your shoulders. you couldn’t stop the tears that began streaming down your cheeks.

“why didn’t you say it earlier?” you managed to whisper, your voice barely holding steady.

“i was scared, y/n” he said, his gaze locking onto yours “i was scared i wasn’t the one you were looking for. i felt like i didn’t deserve to be the one to make you happy” his voice trembled “and then everything got complicated… and i pulled away because I was afraid my feelings might hurt you. and you know what’s the worst part? that all this time, instead of fighting, i just let my fear control me. and now i see that was the dumbest mistake of my life.”

instead of searching for a meaningful answer, you simply leaned in and pressed your lips to his. Joost froze for a moment, feeling the delicate connection as your lips met. despite all the words he had spoken just moments before, this was what you both had longed for. the kiss was filled with unease, but also relief.

when you pulled away, you stared at each other in silence, as though both of you were trying to comprehend what had just happened. Joost gazed into your eyes, then took a deep breath.

“thank you for doing that” he whispered, though it wasn’t clear if he meant the kiss or the fact that you had let him back into your world.

you didn’t reply. instead, you rested gently against him, as if trying to convey everything you felt without words. just silence and closeness - expressing more than any explanation could.

“how about a shower together?” you asked after a moment, feeling the need to wash away the weight of all the emotions you had been through.

Joost looked at you, surprised, but there was something in his eyes that revealed the suggestion wasn’t strange at all. it was exactly what you both needed.

“sounds perfect” he said quietly, his voice still trembling slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe you were here, together, after everything.

he stood up, extending a hand to help you. Joost’s grip was warm and steady as he guided you to your feet. when you both stepped into the bathroom, the soft light reflected off the gleaming tiles, creating an atmosphere of calm. he closed the door behind you, and the silence that followed was different from before. it wasn’t the heavy, tension-filled quiet - it was something that gave you both space to simply be together, to be yourselves.

without a word, he moved to the shower, adjusting the water to just the right temperature. every motion he made was careful, almost reverent, as if he was trying to understand what you were feeling without rushing you. at last, he turned to you with a gentle smile.

“do you want me to help you?” he asked softly, his tone patient and unpressuring, as though he understood that you needed to go at your own pace.

“yes, please…” you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, as you felt your heart slowly settling back into its normal rhythm.

it was a moment where you could let go, where you didn’t have to think about everything that had happened before. just about the now - him, you, and what you had in this present moment. Joost moved with deliberate tenderness as he began to lift your shirt over your head. finally, his warm hands traveled to the button of your jeans, and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

“it’s just me” his voice carried a soothing calm, grounding you in a way that reminded you you could trust him.

a moment later, you stood before him in nothing but your underwear, which soon joined the rest of your clothes on the floor. joost’s eyes roamed over you, filled with tenderness that made your breath hitch.

“please, don’t make me stand here naked by myself” you said with a small, playful smile.

Joost chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm, before starting to shed his own clothes. you watched him with curiosity, your gaze tracing the lines of his body. when he noticed your eyes on him, he paused momentarily, a faint hint of bashfulness flashing across his face before he offered you a soft smile. his body was marked with tattoos, each one telling a story, each one a piece of the man he was. you loved that about him - the way his tattoos painted a vivid picture of someone unapologetically himself.

without a word, he stepped closer, his hands finding their place on your hips. his touch was warm, steady. the sound of the water streaming from the shower filled the room, but it felt distant, merely a backdrop to the moment. every touch, every movement, was careful, infused with intimacy, as though the entire world had melted away, leaving only the two of you.

you stood face to face now, completely vulnerable, with no barriers between you. as you stepped into the shower together, the warm water immediately washed over your bodies, creating a small, intimate space where there was no need for words or explanations.

Joost positioned himself behind you, and you felt his hand gently glide across your shoulders, as if he wanted to shield you from the world. you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of the water and his touch calm your nerves. all the weight you'd been carrying for the past weeks slowly began to melt away. you felt his hands move across your body, massaging it, each movement lifting away the remnants of fear and pain.

“you don’t have to say anything” he whispered, pulling you closer, so you could feel his breath on your neck “i’m here, really.”

in that moment, you needed nothing more. just the warm water, the silence you shared, and the feeling that, despite everything, you had both found your way back to each other.

"i just wanna say one thing" you started, resting your head on his chest "i love you in a way that's hard to put into words."

[niallerspayno]

English Love Affair (frat boy Harry x reader) - Fic Request

Masterlist

Inspired by the song English Love Affair by 5SOS

Request for @purplekimijks: What began as a one-time fling quickly evolves into something more as you and Harry find yourselves seeking each other out for frequent, secretive hook-ups. As Ashton’s sister and a songwriter for 5SOS, the situation grows more complicated by the day. Will you and Harry continue with these fleeting encounters, or will you take the risk and make it something real?

Tags: frat boy Harry x reader, Ashton x sister!reader, smut with plot

Author's note: I unfortunately never really got into 5SOS, which is weird because I saw them open for 1D in 2013 and I'm Australian - just incase I get any details wrong about them

...

The tour bus hums beneath your feet, the steady vibration lulling you into a sense of rhythm as you absentmindedly scribble lyrics in your notebook. Life on the road with 5 Seconds of Summer isn’t always glamorous, but it’s the kind of chaos you’ve grown used to—probably a genetic thing, considering your brother Ashton thrives in it.

Being the band’s unofficial fifth member and go-to songwriter is a role you love. You’re good at it, too—helping the boys find the words to match their stories, giving them the push they need when inspiration runs dry. It’s fulfilling, creative, and keeps you close to your brother.

But if you’re being honest, it’s not just the music that keeps you here.

It’s him.

Harry Styles.

You don’t know when it started—maybe the first time you met backstage at some award show, his charm disarming and his dimples practically illegal. Or maybe it’s been brewing longer, a quiet fascination that finally burst into a full-blown crush when One Direction invited 5SOS to join their tour.

Now you see him almost every day. In rehearsals. At afterparties. Lounging around during those rare, stolen moments of downtime. And every time, you’re drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

It’s dangerous territory, crushing on someone like Harry. Ashton would lose his mind if he found out, and you can’t even imagine the chaos if the rest of 5SOS or One Direction caught wind. For now, you’re content to steal glances, laugh at his terrible jokes, and feel the thrill of his attention when his green eyes linger just a second too long.

“Daydreaming again?” Michael’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you glance up to find him smirking at you from across the lounge.

“Just working,” you say quickly, holding up your notebook as proof.

“Sure,” Michael teases, waggling his eyebrows. “Working on a song or working on Harry Styles in your head?”

Your face burns, and you throw a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

He laughs, dodging easily, and Ashton walks in, his expression suspicious. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing!” you and Michael say at the same time, a little too quickly.

Ashton narrows his eyes, but thankfully, he lets it slide. “Whatever. We’ve got soundcheck in fifteen. Let’s go.”

You gather your things, your pulse racing as you follow the boys out. In the corridor, you almost run into Harry himself, who flashes you that devastating grin and holds the door open for you.

“Thanks,” you murmur, your heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always does around him.

“Anytime,” he says, his voice low and smooth. His gaze lingers, just for a second, and it’s enough to make your thoughts spiral.

Yeah, this tour is going to be complicated.

…

The music thumps through the walls of the club, loud enough to make your chest vibrate. Ashton and the rest of the boys are deep into their second round of drinks, Michael and Luke shouting over each other about who can chug a beer faster. You should probably intervene before they make fools of themselves, but the atmosphere is charged, and you’re not in the mood to play referee.

Instead, you slip outside, the cool night air a welcome relief against your flushed skin. The alley is dimly lit, the sounds of the party muted as you lean against the wall and take a deep breath.

“You, too, huh?”

The familiar voice makes your stomach flip. You turn your head to see Harry stepping out of the club, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black blazer. His hair is a little messy, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to give a teasing glimpse of the tattoos on his chest.

“Needed some air,” you say casually, though your pulse quickens when he walks closer.

“Same.” He leans against the wall beside you, close enough that his cologne—warm and woody—lingers in the space between you. “It gets a bit… much in there.”

You nod, unsure what to say. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the awareness of his presence is almost overwhelming.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The sounds of the city fill the silence: distant cars, muffled laughter from inside the club, the soft buzz of a streetlamp overhead.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Harry says finally, his voice low.

���Just tired,” you lie, forcing a small smile.

He looks at you, really looks at you, and you feel like he’s peeling back layers you didn’t even know were there. “You’re not much of a party person, are you?”

“Not really.” You glance at him, trying to keep your tone light. “But it’s a necessary evil when you’re on tour with two bands of extroverts.”

Harry chuckles, the sound soft and warm. “Fair enough. But you do it well. I’ve noticed you’re good at blending in when you need to.”

His words catch you off guard, and you turn to face him fully. “You’ve noticed?”

He shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eye that makes your breath hitch. “I notice a lot of things about you.”

The air between you shifts, charged with something unspoken. His gaze drops to your lips for a split second, and you’re sure he’s about to say something else, but he doesn’t.

Instead, you find yourself closing the gap.

It’s not planned, not even a conscious decision—just a moment of pure impulse. His lips meet yours softly at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But when he pulls you closer, his hand brushing your waist, the kiss deepens.

The world fades away, the sounds of the city and the party melting into nothing as the two of you press closer. There’s a heat, a hunger, that neither of you bothers to hide.

When you finally pull back, breathless, Harry’s green eyes lock onto yours, and there’s a playful curve to his lips.

“Well,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “That was unexpected.”

You laugh softly, the sound nervous but giddy. “Yeah. It… it was.”

But neither of you moves to step away. Instead, he leans in again, his breath brushing your ear.

“Think you can keep a secret?”

Your pulse races at Harry’s question, his breath warm against your skin. You should say something—anything—but all you can do is nod, your body leaning instinctively toward his.

“Good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing just below your ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.”

His confession sends a shiver down your spine. The thrill of his words, combined with the tension that’s been simmering between you for weeks, pushes you over the edge.

“Harry,” you manage to whisper, but it’s less of a protest and more of an invitation.

He takes the hint, his hands finding your waist as he presses you back against the wall. His mouth captures yours again, this time hungrier, deeper, as if he’s been holding himself back and can’t any longer. Your hands slide up to his shoulders, gripping the soft fabric of his blazer as his body pins you in place.

The alley is quiet, the world shrinking until it’s just the two of you. His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, skimming the sensitive spot just below your ear. You bite back a gasp, the sound catching in your throat, and he chuckles softly.

“You’re so quiet,” he teases, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. “I was starting to think I’d have to work harder.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him back to you.

He grins against your lips but doesn’t argue, his hands sliding down your waist to your hips. The pressure of his touch is firm, grounding, and you feel yourself melting against him.

“Let’s go,” he says suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, his lips slightly swollen from kissing you.

“Go where?” you ask, your voice breathless.

“Anywhere but here.” He nods toward the club. “Unless you want to risk your brother walking out and catching us.”

The mention of Ashton jolts you back to reality for a split second. This is a bad idea—a terrible idea, really—but the way Harry’s looking at you makes it impossible to care.

“Fine,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “Lead the way.”

He takes your hand, his fingers lacing with yours as he pulls you toward the back entrance of the club. The thrill of sneaking off together sends a rush of adrenaline through you, and by the time you make it to his hotel room, you’re both laughing softly, your nerves tangled with excitement.

The door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stand there, looking at each other. The room is dim, the city lights filtering in through the window casting shadows on his face.

“You sure about this?” Harry asks, his voice low but serious.

You step closer, your hands sliding up his chest. “Are you?”

Instead of answering, he kisses you again, and this time there’s no hesitation. His hands are everywhere—your back, your waist, your thighs—pulling you closer, as if he can’t get enough. You stumble toward the bed, his jacket slipping off his shoulders and landing on the floor.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you let yourself fall back onto the soft mattress, pulling Harry with you. His weight presses down against you, solid and warm, grounding you in this moment that feels both thrilling and inevitable.

His lips move against yours, hungry and sure, leaving you breathless as his hands slide under your top, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of your waist. The heat of his touch sparks a fire that spreads through your entire body, your senses heightened by the closeness of him—his warmth, his scent, the soft rasp of his stubble against your cheek.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, his voice lower this time, tinged with impatience and raw need. His green eyes are darker now, locked onto yours, the question more of a formality than anything else.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you pull him down to you, crashing your lips into his, fingers tangling in his hair as you take what you’ve both been craving all night. It’s messy, hot, and desperate, and you feel his groan reverberate against your mouth as he presses his body firmly against yours, pinning you to the mattress.

The shift is immediate. His hands are on you, rougher now, gripping your waist and sliding down to your thighs with a possessive strength that sends a jolt of arousal through you. He’s not gentle, and you don’t want him to be. You arch into him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he grinds his hips into yours, his hardness pressing against you through the thin barrier of clothing still between you.

“God, you feel so good,” he growls, his voice ragged as his lips trail down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to leave marks. You gasp, your body responding instinctively as heat pools low in your stomach.

“Harry,” you gasp, his name falling from your lips like a plea, and it only spurs him on. He yanks your shirt over your head in one swift motion, his hands immediately returning to your bare skin. His palms are hot, his touch firm as they slide over your curves, fingers digging in just enough to leave a sting that’s more pleasure than pain.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he mutters, his voice rough and breathless as he pulls back just enough to take you in, his gaze hungry and intense.

You don’t give him a chance to say more. Your hands move to the hem of his shirt, tugging it off him in a rush before your fingers are on his belt, working it open with shaking hands. He smirks, the sight of your urgency clearly fueling his own, but he doesn’t stop you, his eyes darkening as you shove his jeans down his hips.

He’s on you again, his body pressing into yours with a weight that feels overwhelming in the best way. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider as he settles between them, his lips crashing against yours with a bruising intensity.

Your head tilts back against the pillows as he moves lower, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your chest before his lips trail lower, biting and sucking his way down. Your moan fills the room as he pulls your underwear down with a sharp tug, tossing it aside before his hands are on you again, exploring, teasing, claiming.

When he finally moves back up, his lips find yours again, rough and insistent, and you feel him against you, hard and ready. Your breath hitches as he presses forward, his hand gripping your hip tightly to hold you in place as he pushes into you with one slow, deliberate thrust.

The stretch is overwhelming, and you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders as your body adjusts to him. He stills for a moment, his chest heaving against yours as he curses under his breath, his control clearly hanging by a thread.

“Jesus, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice strained. But the pause doesn’t last long. He pulls back and thrusts again, harder this time, and the sharp cry that escapes your lips only seems to fuel him.

The rhythm he sets is relentless, his hips snapping against yours in a way that leaves you breathless. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, tangling in your hair, pinning your wrists above your head as he takes you apart piece by piece.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice rough, and you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The intensity there steals what little air you had left, and you feel the raw hunger in the way he looks at you, like he can’t get enough.

The room is filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, skin against skin, and the soft creak of the mattress beneath you. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, your body trembling beneath him as you surrender completely to the heat and intensity of him.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his lips brushing against your ear as he drives into you harder, his grip on your hips almost bruising. And in this moment, you don’t care about anything else—just the way he feels, the way he makes you feel, and the fire that’s consuming you both.

The tension in your body builds with every thrust, every roll of his hips, each movement pushing you further toward the edge. Your nails dig into his skin as your body tightens, every inch of you alive with the electric buzz of him, the heat between you. You can feel him, deep inside you, moving relentlessly, his breath ragged and harsh against your neck.

"Harry..." you gasp, your voice breaking as your body starts to tremble, your chest heaving with the effort to hold on. You’re so close, so close that everything else fades away, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of him and the burning need for release.

"Fuck, I know," he grunts, his fingers gripping your hips harder, his pace quickening, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. His eyes are locked on yours, his face a mixture of concentration and raw desire. "Come on, baby. Let go."

And then, just like that, it snaps. Your body gives way, a wave of pleasure crashing over you, your breath catching as you cry out his name. The world tilts as you lose yourself in him, the intensity of your release leaving you breathless, your body shaking as it waves through you.

Harry’s movements become more erratic, his control slipping as he follows you, his own release tearing through him with a low growl. You feel him pulse inside you, each throbbing wave of his climax pushing you even further into the haze of pleasure, your body still trembling under the weight of it.

He collapses onto you, his chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat, breathless from the overwhelming rush of it all. You lie there for a moment, both of you tangled in the aftermath, the room heavy with the echoes of your connection.

The silence between you is thick, the only sound the frantic beating of your hearts. His hand brushes against your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin there as he raises his head to look at you. There's something almost apologetic in his expression, but also a glint of something deeper—satisfaction, maybe, or desire, or something you can't quite place.

"That was..." he starts, but he doesn’t finish. Instead, he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment, before pulling away slightly to look at you again. "We don't tell anyone about this, right?"

You nod, your fingers lightly tracing the contours of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble under your touch. "Yeah. No one," you agree, your voice still a little breathless, but with a steady resolve.

His lips curl into a small, almost mischievous grin. "But we can definitely do it again, yeah?" he asks, his voice lowering, as though testing the waters.

You can’t help but smile at the suggestion, your fingers running through his hair as you look up at him, the heat of the moment still lingering. "Definitely," you reply, your voice steady, the hint of a laugh in your tone.

He leans down to kiss you again, soft and slow this time, a promise of more, as both of you settle back into the bed, the world outside forgotten. The night stretches ahead, and in the quiet aftermath, there’s only the unspoken agreement between you—what happened stays between the two of you. But it’s not over. Not by a long shot.

...

You wake up to the soft light of dawn streaming through the window, the quiet hum of the city just beyond the walls of the hotel room. You’re tangled in the sheets, your body still warm from the night before, but there’s an underlying tension creeping in with the awareness of what happened. You blink a few times, the events from last night flooding your mind in vivid flashes—his touch, the way he kissed you, the way your bodies moved together, and the marks he left on you.

You feel his breath on the back of your neck before you even realize Harry’s awake. He’s lying next to you, his arm draped over your waist, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, looking impossibly calm for someone who shared such an intense experience with you.

Your eyes widen when you catch sight of the dark purple marks scattered across your neck, a line of them creeping down toward your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat as you shift slightly, trying not to wake him. Then your fingers trail down to your hips, where you feel the telltale pressure of his hand—the faint outline of bruises, each one a reminder of the night’s wild intensity.

Panic starts to creep in. You have to hide these. You have to figure out how to sneak back to your room without anyone seeing. You don’t even know why it’s bothering you this much; it’s not like you and Harry made any promises, not like anyone would find out. Still, the idea of the band—especially Ashton—finding out makes your stomach churn.

Carefully, you slip out of the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible, but Harry stirs slightly. You freeze, heart hammering in your chest, but he simply groans softly and rolls onto his back, one hand draped casually over his eyes, completely unfazed. His deep voice, laced with sleep, cuts through the silence.

“Morning,” he says, his tone as nonchalant as ever, like he hasn’t just turned your world upside down.

You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure as you stand near the bed, searching for something—anything—to cover the marks. Your mind races, fingers fumbling as you search for a shirt or anything that will help hide the evidence.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low but teasing, not even glancing your way as he stretches. He’s acting so casually about it, like nothing out of the ordinary happened, like he doesn’t see the way you’re scrambling to cover up.

“Yeah,” you mutter, forcing a laugh, though it’s thin and awkward. You grab your shirt from the floor, pulling it over your head in a hurry. “Just, uh... need to go back to my room. Don’t want anyone to notice.”

Harry finally opens his eyes, his lips curling into a small, apologetic smile as he watches you. He sits up, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m sorry about that,” he says, nodding toward your neck and hips, where the marks are still evident. “I didn’t mean to leave them... though, you do look pretty fucking beautiful with them.”

You glance at him, surprised by his tone—genuinely regretful but also teasing, in that way only Harry can pull off. You try not to smile, but it’s impossible not to. The apology, even if wrapped in his usual charm, makes something warm stir in your chest.

“Doesn’t matter,” you shrug, trying to brush it off, even though you’re clearly bothered. You finish pulling on your jeans, quickly tugging the fabric over the marks on your hips. “I’ll figure it out.”

Harry slides closer, his hand reaching out to gently tug your chin so you’re looking directly at him. His expression softens, and he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s much gentler than anything from last night—sincere, almost apologetic.

“Next time, I’ll be more careful,” he whispers against your lips, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb traces the side of your neck where the marks are, making you shiver. “But I’m not sorry for last night. That was perfect.”

You lean into him, kissing him back for a moment longer before pulling away. "You really have to stop marking me," you tease lightly, but you can’t help but grin. "People are going to ask questions."

He grins back, his lips curving into that devil-may-care smirk. “If anyone asks, we’ll just say we were... being friendly,” he says, his tone playful but laced with that same intensity from the night before.

You laugh softly, but there's a tightness in your chest that you can’t quite shake. As much as you want to be carefree like him, you know the reality of sneaking back to your room is a little more complicated.

“I’ve got to go,” you say, standing up quickly, suddenly feeling the weight of the situation. “Before anyone notices.”

Harry nods, his smirk never fading, his eyes still gleaming with that mixture of mischief and satisfaction. “Don’t worry, babe. I won’t tell anyone.”

You pause, glancing back at him as you reach for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

He leans back on the bed, his hands behind his head, looking completely unfazed by the chaos of the night you both shared. “You know where to find me,” he says, his voice casual, but there’s that familiar undercurrent of promise.

You slip out of the room, your heart pounding, your mind racing. The door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stand there, breathing in the cool hallway air. It feels like everything just changed, and you’re not entirely sure how to process it. But as you make your way back to your room, you can’t shake the feeling that this won’t be the last time Harry’s hands leave marks on your skin.

...

You walk into the breakfast area, trying to shake off the lingering tension from last night. Harry’s already sitting with a coffee, looking casual as ever. You meet his gaze, but the smile he gives you is knowing, making your pulse race for a second before you force yourself to act normal.

The rest of the band is chatting, and you take a seat, trying to ignore the burn of the marks on your neck and hips. Ashton’s eyes keep flicking to you, the silence between you palpable. You can feel the weight of his stare.

Liam, ever the conversationalist, breaks the tension with an innocent enough question. “Hey, what’s up with you two?” he asks, glancing between you and Harry.

Harry shrugs, cool as ever. “Nothing, mate. Just breakfast.”

You nod quickly, sipping your coffee, trying to seem casual. But Ashton’s quiet. He’s not buying it. His eyes flick to your side, where you shift uncomfortably. “You okay?” he asks, his voice sharp, before glancing at Harry with suspicion.

“I’m fine,” you snap a little too quickly, and Harry intervenes just in time, his voice smooth and easy. “We’re all just adjusting to the time change, right?”

Ashton hesitates but then shrugs it off. The conversation moves on, but you feel like something’s off.

Then Niall spots the marks on your side. “Hey, what’s that?” he asks, pointing. “New ink or something?”

Before you can answer, Louis leans in with a grin. “Bite marks? Who’d you go home with?”

You force a laugh, brushing it off. “Just some random guy from the club. It didn’t mean anything.”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “A random guy at the club? Didn’t expect that from you.”

You shrug. “Sometimes you just need to blow off steam.”

Louis teases more, but Ashton’s quiet, his jaw tight as he observes. “Sure,” he mutters, his tone colder. “Nothing.”

You feel the shift in the air, Ashton’s unspoken frustration hanging between you, but you stay silent. Harry gives you a small nod, his eyes locking with yours for just a second before turning back to his coffee.

The rest of the conversation continues, but you can’t shake the feeling that everyone knows—or at least senses—something happened. And you’re left trying to keep it together, even though the heat from last night still burns beneath your skin.

...

A few days have passed since breakfast, and things have shifted, though no one’s mentioned last night’s heat. The band is busy with rehearsals and interviews, and the air between you and Harry feels charged, like electricity just waiting to snap.

That night, after the show, you slip away from the usual after-party chaos. You need to clear your head, to get some space from the noise and the people, but the moment you step outside, your gaze lands on him. Harry’s leaning against the back of the venue, hands shoved in his pockets, watching the stars like he’s waiting for something—someone.

You’re not sure what pulls you to him, but you find your feet moving before you can stop them. When he sees you, that smirk appears, the one that you know so well, and his eyes light up.

“Thought I’d find you out here,” he says, his voice smooth but with a hint of playfulness.

You stop in front of him, the cool night air biting at your skin. "Couldn't sleep," you reply, your heart already picking up pace as he steps closer.

"Couldn’t sleep, huh?" He steps forward, his hand brushing against yours. The simple touch sends a wave of heat through you, making it impossible to ignore the tension between you two. “I think I might be able to help with that.”

The words hang in the air, thick with meaning, and without thinking, you close the distance between you. His lips find yours almost instantly, pulling you into him. The kiss is hungry this time, no teasing, just raw need.

His hands are on your body, pushing you against the cold brick of the building, his lips trailing along your jawline, down your neck. Every movement is deliberate, urgent. You gasp when his teeth graze your skin, a rush of heat flooding your veins. You can feel him hard against your stomach, and it makes you dizzy.

“Right here?” you ask breathlessly, your hands running over the muscles of his back, the tension in his body matching your own.

He looks at you, his green eyes dark and intense, a spark of mischief dancing in them. “Why not?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s just us.”

You don’t hesitate. With a quick move, your hands are tugging at the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion. His skin is warm under your fingers, and your breath catches when his lips find yours again, harder this time.

You can’t keep up with the speed of it, the way he’s pushing you toward a part of the alley where the shadows swallow you whole. His hands move over your body, finding the zip of your jacket and pulling it down. Every touch, every movement sends you spiraling. There’s no waiting this time, no slow build-up. It's frantic, raw, like you’re both trying to chase the same thing.

You help him out of his jeans, the fabric sliding off his legs just as you pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. The cool air hits your bare skin, but Harry's warmth, the heat of his body, is enough to make you forget the chill.

With a sudden, fluid motion, he lifts you up, pressing you against the wall as your legs wrap around his waist. His lips are back on yours, and you can feel the intensity building again, the desperation of it. You feel his cock against you, and a shiver runs through you at the feel of him, so close, so desperate.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as his hands find their way to your hips, guiding you toward him. The way his fingers dig into your skin makes your heart race even faster.

The way he enters you, quick and relentless, takes your breath away. The world narrows down to the sensation of him filling you, the rhythm of his thrusts, the pressure in all the right places. You meet him with equal urgency, the rhythm between you sharp and frantic.

It doesn’t take long for the heat to build, for the world to go blurry and insubstantial. You’re caught in the force of it, lost in the way his body moves against yours, in the sound of his breath, his low groans as he pushes deeper.

It’s raw, fast, just what you both need to feel alive. The noise around you fades into nothing. All that exists is him—his touch, his body, the overwhelming heat that’s too much and not enough at the same time.

And when you reach the edge, when everything seems to come apart at once, you feel him release into you, his grip tightening as he lets out a low, guttural sound that makes you dizzy. It crashes over you like a wave, pulling you under, and you cling to him, riding the wave of pleasure until it finally fades.

You both stand there for a moment, catching your breath, leaning against each other for support. He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, still breathing heavily. “You good?” he asks, his voice soft but rough from the intensity of it all.

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him, feeling the aftermath of everything. You didn’t know it would feel this good—this easy, this undeniable. But it does.

“I’m good,” you reply, your hands still on his chest, feeling his heartbeat match your own.

He smirks again, leaning down to kiss you one more time, his lips soft now, slower, almost tender. "This isn't over," he murmurs against your lips. "We’re not done yet."

You pull back slightly, looking at him with a knowing smirk of your own. "I think we both know that."

...

A few days later again, and the night is loud, the music and chatter from the party blending with the thrumming bass of your own pulse. You're moving through the crowd, adrenaline pulsing, and you know exactly where you're heading. You don’t need to find him—Harry’s always in the same spot, tucked away from the chaos, waiting for the perfect moment.

You don’t waste time looking for him. As soon as you find him, you step into his space without hesitation. He’s leaning against the wall near the back of the venue, his eyes immediately finding you as you approach. The air between you thickens, a knowing tension hanging heavy in the seconds before you speak.

He smirks, his lips curling, but his eyes are dark with something more dangerous. “You alright?” His voice is low, deliberate, the edge of it making your pulse quicken.

You don’t answer with words. You reach up, your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, and pull him into a hard, bruising kiss. The kind that burns, urgent and hot. No hesitation. No sweet words. You’ve had enough of waiting, of being passive.

Harry’s hands find your waist, but you don’t give him the chance to pull you closer. Instead, you shove him back, pinning him against the wall with your body. His breath hitches, and for a moment, you feel his control slipping.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Not this time,” you murmur, your voice rough with desire. “I’m in charge tonight.”

Harry’s lips part, a flicker of something dark passing through his gaze. He’s caught off guard for a second, but the challenge only fuels him. He smirks, but it’s different now—almost predatory. “You sure about that?”

Without answering, you grab his wrist and tug him toward the back hall. There’s a small storage cupboard just around the corner, hidden from the rest of the crew. You reach it quickly, slipping inside with Harry close behind you, your back pressing against the cool metal door.

The moment the door closes behind you, it’s like the world shrinks to just the two of you. There’s no one around to stop it, no one to see what happens next. And that’s exactly what you want.

You waste no time, pushing him up against the shelves, the sound of metal scraping against the wall echoing in the small space. Your hands are on him instantly, pulling at his jeans, your mouth on his neck, the heat between you rising fast. There’s no teasing, no soft caress—just the immediate pressure of wanting him, needing him, right here, right now.

Harry’s hands come to your hips, fingers digging in as he tries to guide you, but you won’t let him. You’re not here for him to control. You kiss him again, harder this time, your hands undoing his belt, unzipping his jeans with quick, practiced movements. When you pull him free, his breath catches in his throat, and you feel him twitch under your touch.

“You think you can just take over?” Harry’s voice is low, rough, and it makes your pulse race even faster.

“You’re about to find out,” you respond, your voice steady despite the heat building inside you. You drop to your knees in front of him, not wasting a second before you take him in your mouth. It’s quick, sharp, the way you want it. His groan fills the small space, and you feel the way his fingers tighten in your hair, pulling you closer.

You know he’s holding back, fighting against the rush of pleasure, but you won’t give him the chance to regain control. You move faster, harder, your mouth working him while your hands hold his hips still, forcing him to take everything you give him.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, his voice strained, low. His grip on your hair tightens, his chest heaving as he struggles to stay in control. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

You look up at him, meeting his darkened gaze, and you can see the struggle in his eyes. It’s almost like he wants to push you away, take the lead again, but he can’t. Not now. You’re too far in control. You pull away for a moment, and his eyes flicker to yours with frustration.

But before he can say anything, you grab his wrist and pull him into the corner of the cupboard. The cramped space forces you both closer, heat between your bodies rising by the second. You push him back against the shelves, your hands sliding over his chest before you drop to your knees again, taking him in your hand, guiding him where you need him most.

This time, there’s no slowing down. You lower yourself onto him in one quick motion, feeling the stretch of him fill you completely. The angle is different, sharper, and the way he groans under you sends a thrill of power through you. You move against him, setting the pace, your body riding him with the urgency of a fire you can’t put out.

His hands grip your hips, but you don’t let him take over. You fuck him harder, faster, feeling the pull of your body tightening with each movement. The sound of your skin slapping together fills the small space, your breath coming in quick bursts, matching the frantic rhythm between you.

“You feel so fucking good,” Harry mutters, his voice low and raspy as his hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer. He’s close, you can feel it. But you don’t stop. You drive yourself harder onto him, taking him deeper with each thrust.

The heat builds, pressure coiling tighter and tighter until, with one final, sharp push, you both come undone. The force of it takes you by surprise, your body trembling as you collapse against him.

You’re both breathless, sweaty, and still reeling from the intensity. Harry holds you close for a moment, his hands running up and down your back, trying to steady both of you. You pull back slightly, looking up at him with a smirk.

“You didn’t think I could take control, did you?” you tease, your voice husky with satisfaction.

Harry chuckles, his lips brushing your forehead as he presses a soft kiss there. “You fucking blew me away, love,” he mutters, his voice filled with admiration and something else—something you can’t quite place.

You smile against his chest, the rush of power fading as you both come back down. You’re not done, not by a long shot. But for now, you both stay there in the cramped storage cupboard, tangled in each other’s arms, letting the aftermath wash over you.

For now, it's just you and him.

...

The next day, you walk into your hotel room, exhausted from the day's events, only to find Harry waiting for you. The door clicks shut behind you, and before you can say anything, he’s there, stepping toward you with that same confident smirk on his lips. His eyes are dark, and his stance says it all—he’s taking control again.

You try to keep your cool, but your pulse is already quickening. You hadn’t expected him to follow you, hadn’t thought he would be here, but now that he is, there’s no denying what’s about to happen.

“Still thinking about last night?” he asks, voice low and teasing, as he reaches you in two strides.

You can barely find the words. All you can do is stare back at him, your body reacting before your brain can catch up. “I thought we agreed—”

“We did,” he cuts you off, his hand brushing lightly against your arm, sending a shiver through you. “But I think it's my turn again.”

His mouth is on yours before you can protest. It’s a demanding kiss, his lips parting yours with purpose. His hands quickly make their way to your body, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat of him, the hard press of his chest against yours. There’s no room for hesitation, no time to think. He knows what he wants, and he's making sure you know it, too.

“Take your clothes off,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to let you breathe, but his eyes never leave yours.

Your body moves almost involuntarily, your shirt falling to the floor as he watches, his gaze intense. There’s something about the way he looks at you now that sends a rush of heat to your core. You can feel your body responding before you even realize it, your breath catching in your throat as he moves closer.

With one swift motion, he pushes you back toward the bed, never breaking eye contact, his hands on your waist, guiding you down. You’re almost powerless against his grip, the way his hands are everywhere, touching, exploring, pulling you closer.

"Stay still," Harry growls as he hovers over you, his lips trailing down your neck. His touch is rough, deliberate, his hands gripping you like he owns you. You try to fight it, try to hold on to some sense of control, but it’s impossible.

His mouth moves to your neck, biting down hard enough to make you gasp, leaving marks, branding you in a way that only he can. "You’re mine, remember that," he mutters against your skin, before trailing his lips lower, down your chest.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, his fingers are at your waist, slipping under your waistband. You tense at the suddenness of it, but there’s no stopping him. He doesn’t give you a chance to breathe before he's moving, quickly and efficiently, pulling you closer, his mouth returning to your skin.

“Missed this,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding over your hips, his touch like fire.

He flips you onto your stomach before you can even react. His hands grip your hips, pulling them up, positioning you exactly the way he wants you. You brace yourself, knowing what’s coming. It’s not gentle. He’s not gentle. His hand smacks against your ass, hard enough to sting, and you gasp.

“Don’t move,” he growls, his voice rough as he enters you in one swift motion. The force of it makes you cry out, the suddenness taking your breath away.

He doesn’t wait. His thrusts are relentless, harsh, driving into you with a power that has your body shaking. There’s nothing soft about it. Nothing tender. It’s all control, all power, and you can’t help but give into it, letting him take you in a way that only he can. The bed creaks beneath you, his hand still gripping your hip with a bruising force, and the sound of his skin meeting yours fills the room.

He’s rough, pushing you to the edge, your body moving with his, the tension building in your stomach. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his pace quickening. The marks on your neck throb with every movement, the bites and bruises adding to the intensity. You can feel him everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his body against yours.

It’s not long before you feel the tension snap, your body clenching around him as you cry out, your release crashing over you. Harry doesn’t stop. He keeps going, chasing his own release, his grip tightening as he finishes with a low groan, his body shuddering against yours.

He stays inside you for a moment, his hands resting on your hips, before he pulls out slowly. You collapse onto the bed, breathless, the marks on your neck and hips still stinging with the reminder of what just happened. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss to the marks he left, his lips lingering on your skin.

"Next time, don’t try to fight me," he murmurs, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll make sure you remember who’s in charge.”

You can’t help but shiver at the thought, your body still tingling from the aftermath. Harry pulls away, his expression smug as always, but there’s something in his eyes that tells you this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

...

The night air is thick with the promise of something to come, the city lights flickering below as the storm clouds gather above. You’ve been feeling the electricity between you and Harry all evening, the kind of tension that only seems to grow the longer you spend together. Tonight, something is different—there’s an undeniable pull that neither of you can ignore.

You’re in Harry’s hotel room, lounging on the couch, the hum of the city barely reaching your ears through the thick glass windows. Outside, the wind picks up, and you catch the first few drops of rain against the glass. You glance over at Harry, and your heart races at the sight of the mischievous grin that’s spreading across his face.

“You know,” he starts, voice low and tempting, “I’ve got a better idea than staying in here.”

Before you can ask, he’s already pulling you to your feet, his hand gripping yours with a firm urgency. The way his eyes glint with intent sends a thrill running through you, your pulse quickening. Without a word, he leads you to the door, and your stomach flips with the knowledge of what’s about to happen.

As you step into the hallway, the sound of rain grows louder, and Harry’s grip tightens around your wrist, guiding you toward a hidden staircase. “You’ll see,” he murmurs, a devilish smile tugging at his lips.

The air is charged with something unspoken, and as you ascend the stairs, you can feel the growing anticipation, your heart thumping in your chest. The storm outside is starting to pick up, a low rumble of thunder echoing in the distance. As you reach the rooftop door, Harry opens it, and the full force of the rain hits you—cold and sharp, the droplets crashing down as you step onto the wet rooftop.

The view is breathtaking, the city sprawled out beneath you, the sky above heavy with rain. You can hear the sound of water pounding against the pavement, but it doesn’t drown out the rush of your heartbeat as Harry turns to face you. His lips are on yours before you can even think, hot and insistent despite the cold rain soaking through your clothes.

“You’re crazy,” you murmur between kisses, your hands gripping his shirt as the rain drenches you both.

“You have no idea,” Harry replies, his breath hot against your ear. He pulls back for a moment, looking down at you with that smirk of his. “Let’s take this somewhere... a little more private.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabs your hand and leads you toward the far side of the roof, where a small, secluded corner offers some shelter from the storm. The wind howls around you, but the heat between you both only intensifies. Harry’s fingers work their way down your body, pulling you closer, your breath coming faster.

He presses you against the wall, his lips finding yours once more in a kiss that’s rough, desperate. His hands slide under your clothes, the cold rain making his touch even more electric against your heated skin. There’s no teasing this time—he’s all urgency, a desperate need that matches the pounding rain around you.

“Harry,” you gasp, your hands pushing his shirt off, “we shouldn’t be—”

But you’re cut off by his mouth trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his hands push you further against the wall. His words are muffled against your skin. “We don’t need to care about that now, do we?”

The adrenaline is coursing through your veins as you feel his hands tugging at your clothes, eager, impatient. The rain pelts down harder, drenching both of you, but it only makes everything feel more intense—more real. You’re soaked, and yet there’s nothing about the cold that can stop the heat building between you two.

He drags you up against him, his lips moving with feverish need, kissing you in the rain like it’s the only thing that matters. You can barely keep up as he lifts you, pressing you against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist as he pushes you further into the corner.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Harry mutters, his voice rough and low as he grinds against you. His hands roam, exploring, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough. You respond with equal hunger, the rain streaming down your face, the world falling away as you lose yourself in him.

His lips trail down to your neck, biting into your skin, leaving a mark that’s sure to last. The cold rain and the heat between you are at odds, yet they make everything feel more electrifying. You can’t stop your own moans, your fingers tangled in his wet hair as you pull him closer.

“Harry,” you whisper, your voice breaking as he moves faster, more urgently, each thrust more demanding than the last.

With each breathless moment, you know this won’t be the last time you end up like this—caught between the madness of the storm and the chaos of everything you two are. You’re both drenched, but it doesn’t matter. The rain may fall, but it’s the fire between you that keeps you both burning, relentless, until the world outside seems to disappear.

...

A few weeks have passed since that first hookup with Harry, and the tension between the two of you has only grown. The encounters have become more frequent, more intense. Sometimes it feels like there’s no hiding what’s between you, even though you’re doing your best to keep it under wraps. Harry’s smirks have become a constant, and the moments when he looks at you with that knowing glint in his eyes have started to make your stomach flip every time.

The bands—5SOS and One Direction—have started picking up on it, though no one’s come right out and said anything yet. There’s an unspoken feeling in the air, a shift in the dynamic, but everyone’s too polite—or too unaware—to confront it directly. The only one who seems to have picked up on something more than the others is Ashton. He’s been quieter, his eyes lingering on you with that concerned look you’ve come to recognise. He’s your brother, and you know him well enough to know that he senses something, but hasn’t quite put his finger on it.

You’re sitting backstage, your guitar resting on your knee, the hum of voices and instruments in the background. You’ve been working on a new song—one that’s personal, raw, and a little too close to the truth for comfort. The lyrics have poured out of you, each word more revealing than the last. It’s about what’s been happening with Harry, about the passion, the uncertainty, and the way he makes you feel all at once. You’ve titled it “English Love Affair,” a playful nod to the chaos of your tangled situation.

It’s time to show the guys. The atmosphere is a bit lighter today, everyone milling around in a relaxed mood after a long rehearsal. You grab your guitar, your fingers hovering over the strings as you make your way to where 5SOS and One Direction are gathered. Ashton notices you first, giving you a small smile, though his eyes still hold that familiar concern. The others are scattered around the room, laughing, teasing, but there’s a flicker of interest when they see the guitar in your hands.

“Got something to share, love?” Louis calls out from across the room, his voice loud and playful.

“Yeah, she’s been working on something,” Niall adds, eyeing you curiously.

You take a deep breath, nerves fluttering in your stomach. You’d been writing for months, but this one—this one feels different. The song is about Harry. About all the emotions, the heat, the connection, and the chaos of what you two have been doing. You’re not sure if you’re ready to show them yet, but if anyone’s going to understand, it’s them. You know how to separate your personal feelings from your music, but with this song, it’s a little harder to mask it all.

“Yeah,” you reply, strumming a few notes to test the sound, “it’s... a new one.”

Ashton steps forward, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall. His eyes are on you, searching, but there’s a quiet understanding there, even if he’s not sure what’s going on. You meet his gaze, offering a quick smile before looking down at your guitar.

The guys quiet down as you start to play, the melody flowing easily as you strum the chords. Your voice fills the space, the words slipping out with a raw honesty that makes your heart race:

“It started on a weekend in May I was looking for attention, needed intervention Felt somebody looking at me With a powder white complexion, feeling the connection

The way she looked was so ridiculous Every single step had me waiting for the next Before I knew it, it was serious Dragged me out the bar to the back seat of her car”

As you sing, the room grows quieter. The words, the rawness, the honesty—it’s clear this is something personal, something deeper than the usual pop tunes they’re used to hearing from you. You continue, each verse building with the tension that’s been hanging between you and Harry:

“When the lights go out, she's all I ever think about The picture burning in my brain, kissing in the rain I can't forget, my English love affair Today, I'm seven thousand miles away The movie playing in my head of a king size bed means I can't forget My English love affair My English love affair”

The last chord rings out, and the room is silent for a moment. You lower the guitar, waiting for their reaction, your heart thudding in your chest. Ashton is the first to speak, his voice quiet but steady.

“So, what’s this really about?” he asks, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of concern and something else—something you can’t quite read.

You don’t know how to answer. The song is about him, but it’s not. It’s about the complications, the passion, the messiness of what’s been happening between you two. It’s about more than just sex—it’s about feelings, connection, confusion. But you know the guys won’t get that. They’ll just hear the lyrics, the heat, and they’ll know. They’ll know exactly what you’ve been hiding.

You hesitate for a second, then shrug, trying to play it off. “It’s just a song. You know, inspiration. Whatever comes to mind.”

But Ashton doesn’t seem convinced. His gaze sharpens, and you can feel him trying to decipher what’s going on. The others, though, are still taking it in, the intensity of the lyrics lingering in the air.

“I mean, it sounds like something... more than just a song,” Luke says, his tone casual but with a knowing look in his eyes.

“Yeah, you’re not fooling anyone,” Michael adds with a smirk.

You try to laugh it off, but Ashton’s stare is unwavering. He’s not buying it. He knows something’s up, and though he’s not pressing you for answers, you can feel the weight of his silence.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just some fun lyrics.”

But in the back of your mind, you know that everything is far from just “fun” anymore. The song says it all, even if you’re not ready to admit it.

...

It’s late, long after the song reveal. The buzz of everyone’s reactions still lingers in the air, but you’ve distanced yourself from the others, needing a moment alone to process it all. You’re sitting in the corner of your hotel room, the soft hum of the city filtering through the window. The lyrics you poured out have left you raw, the reality of what you’ve been doing with Harry settling heavily in your chest.

Writing the song made you realize something you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge before: you want more. This—whatever this thing is between you and Harry—isn’t enough. It’s thrilling, electric, and addictive, but it’s not real. And you can’t keep letting it consume you if it’s never going to be anything more.

The knock at your door startles you. You already know who it is before you even open it. Harry stands there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his signature smirk in place. But there’s something more in his eyes tonight—a flicker of something softer, almost vulnerable.

“You were brilliant today,” he says, his voice low. “The song... it’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” you reply, your voice quiet but steady. You step aside to let him in, but as you close the door behind him, you already know how this conversation will go.

Harry wastes no time. The moment you’re alone, he steps closer, his hands finding your waist as his lips brush against your neck. “You know,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, “I can’t stop thinking about that song. About you.”

You place your hands on his chest, stopping him gently but firmly. “Harry,” you say, your voice soft but resolute.

He pauses, pulling back slightly to look at you. His brows furrow, and you can see the confusion in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. “I can’t do this anymore,” you say, your words steady but heavy with meaning.

His hands drop from your waist, and he steps back, his expression shifting to something you can’t quite read. “What do you mean?”

You meet his gaze, determined not to waver. “I mean this. Us. These... hook-ups, the sneaking around. It’s not enough for me, Harry. Writing that song—it made me realize I want more. I can’t keep doing this if it’s never going to be anything real.”

Harry’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he might argue. But then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You know how complicated this is,” he says, his voice quieter now. “With the bands, the press... everything.”

“I know,” you reply, your tone softer but still firm. “But that doesn’t change what I want. I can’t keep being this... secret. If you don’t want more, then we need to stop.”

The room feels heavy, the weight of your words hanging between you. Harry looks at you, his green eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right thing to say. But he stays silent, his hesitation speaking louder than any words could.

You feel your chest tighten, but you force yourself to stay strong. “I care about you,” you continue, “but I can’t keep pretending this is enough for me. So unless you’re ready to make this real, we go our separate ways.”

Harry’s gaze drops to the floor, and you can see the conflict written all over his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“I mean it, Harry,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He looks back up at you, and for a moment, you think he might say something—anything—to fight for you. But instead, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible gesture.

“Alright,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart aches, but you know you’ve made the right choice. You step back, giving him the space to leave, and after a long, silent moment, he does. The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving you alone in the quiet room.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, your emotions swirling as you try to process what just happened. It hurts, but deep down, you know you deserve more. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to love you out loud, someone who will choose you without hesitation.

And if Harry isn’t ready to be that person, then it’s better this way.

...

The greenroom hums with pre-show energy—chatter, guitar tuning, the low buzz of excitement. You sit on the couch, your notebook resting on your lap, though the words you’re scribbling barely register. The tension in your chest is suffocating. Since giving Harry your ultimatum, he hasn’t acted on it, and it’s tearing you apart. Worse, the teasing from both bands has started to escalate as they slowly piece things together.

“So, Y/N,” Louis calls out, his grin mischievous, “who’s the muse behind your little ‘English Love Affair’ masterpiece?”

Your head snaps up, heat crawling up your neck. “It’s just a song,” you reply quickly, forcing a light tone.

“Sure,” Niall drawls, smirking. “Except it sounds like someone’s been dragging you up staircases and kissing you in the rain. Pretty specific, if you ask me.”

Michael leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “And the sudden obsession with scarves? You trying to start a trend or cover up some marks?”

Liam chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Definitely the latter,” he murmurs, though there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“I knew something was up,” Luke adds, his teasing smirk widening. “You’re glowing, Y/N.”

“Alright, alright,” Calum cuts in, laughing. “Who’s the mystery guy? Come on, spill.”

The room falls quiet as everyone turns their attention to you. Your heart pounds, panic tightening your throat. Before you can stammer out a response, Ashton’s voice cuts through the noise.

“That’s enough,” he snaps, his tone sharp and unyielding.

All heads swivel to him, the easygoing atmosphere evaporating. He pushes off the wall where he’d been leaning, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes dart between you and Harry, narrowing as the pieces click into place.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Ashton’s voice is low, but the anger simmering beneath it is unmistakable.

Your stomach twists as the room goes deathly silent. Harry, sitting on the armrest of a nearby chair, stiffens but doesn’t look away.

“Ashton—” you start, your voice trembling, but he holds up a hand to stop you.

“Don’t,” Ashton says, his gaze locked on Harry now. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Harry rises to his feet, his expression calm but guarded. “Ashton, I—”

“You’ve been sneaking around with my sister,” Ashton interrupts, his voice rising. “Sleeping with her behind everyone’s back? Leaving marks all over her? And now you’re stringing her along like she’s some casual hookup?”

Harry’s jaw tightens. “It’s not like that,” he says firmly.

“Oh, really?” Ashton’s laugh is cold and bitter. “Because it sure as hell looks like you’re screwing her over—physically and emotionally—while you figure out whatever it is you want.”

“Ashton, stop!” you plead, stepping forward, but Zayn gently places a hand on your arm, holding you back.

“Let them talk it out,” Zayn says softly, though his dark eyes are watchful.

Harry steps closer to Ashton, his voice tight but steady. “I care about her,” he says. “More than you can imagine.”

“Then why are you hurting her?” Ashton demands, his face red with anger. “You’re leaving her bruised, confused, and heartbroken, Harry. That’s not love—that’s you being a selfish prick.”

“I know I’ve messed up,” Harry snaps back, his composure finally cracking. “I know I’ve handled this all wrong. But I’m not using her. I’d never do that to her.”

Ashton scoffs, his fists clenching at his sides. “You already are. If you cared about her, you’d stop treating her like some dirty little secret and give her the respect she deserves. She’s not just some girl you can screw around with—she’s my sister.”

Harry flinches at that, the weight of Ashton’s words visibly sinking in.

The tension is suffocating, the room silent except for the heavy breaths of the two men squaring off. Finally, Louis breaks the silence with an awkward cough. “Well… this is fun,” he mutters, earning a glare from both Ashton and Harry.

“Ashton,” Liam says gently, stepping forward. “Maybe give them a chance to work this out?”

“There’s nothing to work out,” Ashton retorts, his eyes narrowing. “Harry knows what he needs to do. Either step up or stay the hell away from her.”

“Ashton, I can handle this,” you say, your voice trembling but firm.

Ashton looks at you, his expression softening slightly, though the anger in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I hope so, Y/N,” he says quietly. “Because you deserve better than this.”

He turns and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The echo rings out in the silence, leaving everyone in a tense, uneasy stillness.

Harry turns to you, his face unreadable. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft.

You nod, though your chest feels tight. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer, his gaze dropping to the floor. Because the truth is, neither of you are okay.

...

The steady patter of rain against the hotel window is the only sound in the room as you sit on the edge of the bed, your legs crossed, your fingers lightly tapping the sheets. You’ve been staring at the door, thinking about everything that’s happened—the conversation with Ashton, the way he confronted you, and how much of your own behavior you’ve been running from.

When the knock comes, you know it’s him.

“Come in,” you call out softly, your heart thudding in your chest.

The door creaks open, and Harry steps inside, looking hesitant but determined. His hair’s damp from the rain, his jacket clinging to his shoulders. For a moment, he doesn’t move, just looks at you, eyes searching, waiting for permission.

He steps closer, his voice low when he speaks. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. For the way I’ve been handling this... or not handling it.”

You don’t respond immediately, your mind racing with the weight of everything. You’ve been torn in so many directions lately, guilty for the way you’ve been playing this game with him, unsure if you were using him to fill a void, or if it was something deeper.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were nothing more than a distraction,” Harry continues, his voice thick with sincerity. “But I’ve been acting like I don’t care about you, and I do. I care about you more than I’ve let on.”

You take a slow breath, looking up at him. “I’ve been stringing you along too, haven’t I?” you say quietly, the guilt surfacing. “I let things go on like this—casual, no strings, knowing full well that I wanted more, but not giving you a chance to show it. I made it so easy for you to stay at arm’s length, but I don’t want that anymore.”

Harry’s face softens, and he steps closer, kneeling in front of you. His hands hover near yours before finally resting gently over them. “I’m glad you said that,” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “Because the truth is, I’m scared too. Scared of what this means for us, for the band, for everything. But what I’m not scared of is you. I don’t want it to just be a fling anymore. I want this. I want you. For real. Not just when it’s convenient or when we’re sneaking around.”

Your heart flutters as you take his words in, your fingers curling slightly around his. You’ve heard him say things like this before, but now—this feels different. There’s no more running, no more hiding.

“I want that too,” you say softly, your voice steady, though a hint of uncertainty lingers. “But we both know this isn’t easy. I can’t keep doing this with you unless it’s real, Harry. No more games, no more keeping it quiet. If you’re in this, then I’m in it too. But I can’t keep pretending, not anymore. And if you can’t do that, then we’ll have to go our separate ways.”

Harry swallows, his gaze intense as he watches you. He’s not looking at you with the same playful glint as before. This time, it’s sincere, the weight of his words matching the look in his eyes.

“I’m in it,” he says quietly, nodding. “For real. I want you, Y/N. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, to show you it’s real. I’m not backing down this time.”

You take a deep breath, your chest tightening with relief. There’s something so final about his words, something that makes you feel like you’re stepping into a new chapter.

“Okay,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “No more pretending. We do this, or we don’t. But I’m not looking back.”

He leans into your touch, pressing his lips to your palm gently. “I don’t want to look back either.”

The moment stretches between you, the weight of the words still lingering, but now there’s a sense of peace—a promise that this, whatever this is, will be real.

You lean in, closing the distance, your lips brushing over his in a kiss that’s softer than the ones before, but carries the weight of something much more substantial. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“We’ve got this,” he says quietly, a hint of a smile curving on his lips.

The quiet between you both is comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding. For once, there’s no rush. No expectations. Just the two of you, finally on the same page. Harry stays close, his hands gently brushing against yours as he leans back against the bed, pulling you with him. You settle into his arms, your body fitting perfectly against his.

The only sounds in the room are the soft rustle of the sheets and the gentle rhythm of your breaths. Harry’s fingers trace small circles along your back, as if memorizing the feel of you in his arms, and you do the same, your hand resting over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“You okay?” he whispers, his voice low, a little hoarse from the emotion of the conversation, though it still holds that warmth you’ve always loved.

You nod, lifting your head slightly to look at him. “Yeah. I’m good. It feels like… everything makes sense now. Like I’m not pretending anymore. Like this is real.”

His lips curl into a soft smile as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m glad,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I want you to know, Y/N, that this is real for me. All of it.”

The words linger between you both, but this time, they don’t feel heavy. They feel freeing. The quietness of the room feels like a safe cocoon, a place where nothing needs to be rushed, where there are no games, no pressure. Just the quiet rhythm of the two of you, finding comfort in each other’s presence.

You press your lips to his, gently, a soft kiss that’s slow and unhurried. It’s not about passion in this moment. It’s about connection. About feeling the weight of what’s changed between you both. The kiss deepens, but it doesn’t push for more—it’s tender, the kind of kiss that’s meant for taking your time, for savoring what’s just beginning to unfold.

Pulling back, you rest your head on his chest again, your eyes fluttering closed. His arm wraps around you, holding you close, and you feel the warmth of his body seep into yours, grounding you in this moment.

“Goodnight, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, your voice barely audible.

His fingers continue their gentle movements against your skin, and the steady beat of his heart becomes the rhythm that lulls you into sleep. The world outside the room feels miles away, and all that matters is the feeling of his arms around you, the peace of knowing that this—what you two have—is real.

You drift off to sleep, wrapped in the comfort of him, the quiet promises of the night hanging in the air. It’s the first time in a long time that you feel truly at peace, knowing that you’ve found something that isn’t fleeting, that isn’t just a momentary thrill. This is real. This is yours.

And as you fall asleep, the last thought in your mind is that you’re not just a fleeting part of Harry’s life anymore—you're something more. And for the first time, you believe it.

...

The next morning, the air feels lighter between you and Harry, a sense of calm settling over you both. The conversation from the night before has laid the foundation for something real, and while there’s still a part of you that’s nervous about what comes next, there’s no more uncertainty between you two. You know where you stand, and you know that this time, it’s different.

You’re sitting with Harry in the common area, trying to act like everything’s normal. You’re not hiding anymore, but the rest of the bands are still operating under the assumption that something’s been happening between you two for a while now. Their teasing comments have become more frequent, but there’s an undertone of curiosity that lingers.

Harry catches your eye across the room, his expression soft. He stands up, extending his hand toward you, and you know what’s coming. You take a breath, pushing aside any remaining nerves as you reach for his hand.

“Oi!” Louis calls out, noticing the two of you getting up. “Where are you two off to?”

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you closer, his arm resting around your shoulders as he walks you toward the others. The whole room falls silent as you approach, the energy shifting instantly.

Ashton’s eyes narrow on you both, but there’s a look of relief in them now, even if he’s still on edge. Niall raises an eyebrow, still unsure of what’s going on. Luke and Michael are watching carefully, their expressions unreadable but attentive. Calum glances between you and Harry, a quiet smirk tugging at his lips as he folds his arms. You glance at the floor, feeling the weight of their eyes on you as Harry gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“We’ve got something to say,” Harry begins, his voice steady but there’s a slight tension in his jaw, as if he’s bracing for their reactions.

You take a deep breath, your nerves a little more palpable now that you’re in front of everyone. This feels like a big moment—like things are finally being put out in the open. You’ve kept this secret for too long, and now, there’s no turning back.

“We’re together,” you say softly, your voice clear but quiet. “For real this time. Not just... whatever it was before.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then the reactions come fast.

“Oh, thank god,” Niall says, a grin spreading across his face. “You two have been dancing around this for ages. About time you made it official.”

“I knew it,” Louis adds with a smirk. “You two were always making eyes at each other. It was only a matter of time.”

Harry laughs, his hand tightening around yours. “Yeah, well... we had to figure things out first. But now we’re here.”

Ashton crosses his arms, his expression a little more guarded. He’s trying not to smile, but you can tell there’s still a hint of protectiveness in his eyes. He looks at Harry, then at you. “I just want you to know, Harry,” he says, his voice low, “if you hurt her again, I won’t hesitate. You’ve got one chance to make it right.”

Harry nods immediately, without hesitation. “I know, man. I won’t hurt her. I care about her too much for that.”

The tension eases a bit, but Zayn and Liam exchange looks, their expressions still weighing the situation. Zayn’s lips curl into a small smile, but he remains quiet. Liam gives you a warm look, the faintest glimmer of approval in his eyes. It’s clear he’s not against this—it’s just new territory for everyone, and a lot has changed in the time since the last time they saw you and Harry together.

“So, we’re all good then?” Niall asks, a grin still on his face.

You nod, squeezing Harry’s hand tighter, your voice steady now. “Yeah. We’re good. We’re not hiding anymore.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted from your chest, like everything is finally falling into place. It’s not perfect—it’s never going to be—but it’s real. And for the first time in a long time, you’re not running from it.

Ashton looks at Harry one last time, then nods, a little less tense than before. “Alright. I trust you.”

Harry’s face softens, a grateful look crossing his features. “Thanks, Ash.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, and suddenly, it feels like things are less complicated. Everyone’s starting to come to terms with it, the unspoken questions beginning to fade away. For the first time, there’s no judgment, no tension. It’s just you and Harry, and the rest of the band, finally adjusting to the new normal.

Luke looks at the two of you, a knowing smirk on his face. “Alright, alright. So when’s the wedding?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Not that fast, mate.”

Michael laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, but at least it’s not a secret anymore.”

Calum chuckles, nudging Luke. “Maybe they’ll invite us to the wedding. They’ve been keeping us on the edge of our seats for far too long.”

The banter continues, but there’s a sense of ease in the air now. No more secrets, no more uncertainty. And as Harry pulls you close again, his hand resting on your shoulder, you feel like this is just the beginning. This time, it’s real. And you’re ready for whatever comes next.

[tropics43]

Title: Remember when part 1

Azzi x Paige

“I’ll never forget the day I realized I loved you, but most importantly I’ll never forget the day I realized you didn’t love me back”. The statement replaying over and over again in azzi’s mind.

3 months prior..

It was an early Tuesday morning in October. The morning air was brisk with small gusts of winds causing the leaves on the ground to rustle and tumble over each other. Azzi had just opened the door leaving her dorm to go on a morning run when the breeze hits her face. She closes her eyes and pauses for a moment, and smiles. Memories flash almost instantly Taking her back to where she used to live in Virginia. Part of the reason she chose UConn to continue her basketball career was because of the weather. Storrs has all 4 seasons when it comes to the weather and she thought it would make her feel a little less homesick.

With a deep breath and slow exhale Azzi opens her eyes, fixes her jacket and starts her music. She begins to proceed on her pre planned route.

It was her routine.. to be awake before campus got busy with students and traffic on the roads. To her running early in the morning is like The feeling of making your bed first thing, completing your first task of the day.

She keeps her pace she started out with and within the first 7 minutes she completes her first mile. She continues for the next two miles the same way. She always ends her runs at this small local coffee shop that she found on accident on her very first run on campus. The coffee shop is called Mocha Magic Co.

Azzi walks in, beads of sweat sitting at the top of her hair line. Breathe a little uneven given her prior activities before walking in. Sadie the usual barista she orders from is finishing up with an older gentleman in line. Azzi gives her a small wave and proceeds to the mobile pickup counter where she finds her white mocha latte. Sadie acknowledges Azzi with a head nod and says “same time tomorrow?” Azzi replies with a “you know it” gives a small smile and walks out leaving her tip on the counter.

The walk back to the dorm is usually the same. Azzi will pass Ethan the local newspaper boy who delivers newspapers via his bicycle. Emily, who walks “scooter” her 2 year old golden retriever on the sidewalk. And Paige.. the other reason on why she chose to come to UConn.

Unlike Azzi, Paige was lazy in the mornings. She hardly ever made her bed first thing and running was the last thing on her mind. But today, Paige was running and running fast. Azzi stood in her tracks as Paige is running in her direction. With a small but stressful smile on Paige’s face she yells “I’m late for my exam” Azzi chuckles to herself with a small smile appearing on her face. By the time Paige makes it to Azzi there’s only enough time for Paige to stop completely, catch her breath, slowly reach for azzis face,kisses her forehead, looks her in the eyes and with a shy smile say “good morning” before she takes off running again towards Oak Hall to be on time for her exam.

Azzi makes her way back to her dorm, sets down her coffee on the island and proceeds to get ready for her long day ahead of her.

Stepping out of the shower Azzi grabs her thick white bath towel, steps into her pink slippers and steps towards the vanity. With the bathroom mirror all foggy with condensation Azzi draws a heart in the top right corner of the mirror, traces over the previous heart she drew the morning before grabs her phone and sends a snap of the heart to Paige with a text saying “good luck on your exam baby!😘 see you at practice”.

Meanwhile, with barely making it to Oak Hall in time Paige is one of the first people turning in her exam to the professor. Confidently knowing she passed the exam with ease. While walking out of the hall she grabs her phone and sees the notification from Azzi bringing this warm feeling to her chest and a smile to her face.

“Bruh, you are such a simp” Aubrey says walking up breaking Paige’s trance from her phone. “Chill” Paige says laughing. Aubrey asks Paige if she wants to go to the café to get breakfast before their 10am film study and Paige agrees.

With 3 pancakes, sausage biscuits and gravy and homestyle potatoes on her plate Paige is in heaven. With in between bites and keeping the conversation going with Aubrey, Paige just so happened to look over towards the bulletin board where students usually post random announcements and things for sale. Paige’s sees Azzi in a hurry rush over there, grab a thumbtack post a yellow piece of paper and is gone within seconds. Paige dumbfounded gets up and starts walking towards the bulletin board and suddenly stops when she sees another student rush up and grab the paper and takes off just as fast. Paige thinking what the fuck is going on and gives off a slight chuckle. She grabs her phone to call azzi but when she looks at her phone there’s a text from azzi saying “we need to talk”.

[sunarots]

merry christmas, please don’t call

pairing: miya atsumu x gn!reader

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

You watch your phone vibrate across the kitchen counter for the third time tonight. His name is plastered across the screen in big, bold letters; the red hearts on either side stare at you accusingly. There’s only so many times you can justify your not answering before you question why his name never changed like your relationship status online.

Every time it rings, it’s like you hear his voice begging you to answer.

Pick up.

Pick up.

Pick up.

You reach out, your finger hovering above the button. Before you can bring yourself to hang up, the screen turns back to the recipe page. Oh.

You knew this year would be hard, your first Christmas separated from him. After so long together, you can’t help but feel out of place this year. It feels strange to not have him with you, ksneaking presents under the tree under the guise of watching Die Hard whilst you bake in the next room. Right now, though, he’d likely be pouring you both a glass of amazake, convincing you that one drink couldn’t hurt before both of you drink it all.

You pour your batter into the baking tray, shoving it in the oven and glad to have a break. You rise back onto your feet, glancing over to your phone.

Once again, his name appears.

Talk to me.

Talk to me.

Talk to me.

If Miya Atsumu is one thing, it’s persistent. He won’t stop, you know it. And though you’re stubborn, you know you won’t have a chance to relax tonight. So, you answer.

You hold the phone against your ear, listening to the silence on the line. When he doesn’t speak, a part of you regrets your choice. Putting your phone on do not disturb would have been a better solution, right?

“Y/n?”

You take a deep breath. It’s just talking. You’ve done this before. This should be easy, right? “Hi…”

“I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“Then why did you keep calling?” It slips out before you can stop it, a pang of guilt striking your chest.

“I-“ He takes a pause, thinking about his answer. “I wanted to hear your voice. I miss you.”

I miss you too, is what you want to say. But even with your mouth hung open, you can’t let it roll off your tongue as easy as you used to. It acts as a reminder. It’s for the best. Your wants don’t align, and they likely never will.

No matter how much you miss waking up beside him. Seeing his name constantly splashed across the news front page. Ignoring all notifications from social media, knowing the second his name comes into your eyesight you’ll be running back to him. As always.

But not this time. Not anymore.

“You can’t miss me.”

“What? I’m not allowed to miss my partner I’ve spent the last three years with?”

“I’m not your partner anymore, Atsumu,” you argue, already knowing this will end the same as the last call you answered.

No.

It can’t.

Before he can get another word in, you continue, “This isn’t easy for me either, but… We can’t do this anymore. We don’t want the same things in our future. Are you willing to compromise? Because I’m not.”

He starts stammering, unable to get a word out.

Walking through to your living room, your eyes fall to the empty couch. For once, you can’t picture him sitting there.

“Merry Christmas, Atsumu. Please don’t call.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

Something my family always did was qe would open presents very carefully because we had to reuse wrapping paper (we were poor) and reuse bows. We didn't get much st Christmas but it always meant something to me as a kid. There were times my parents got nothing just so me and my sister could have something.

I can see Eddie being raised the same by Wayne

i absolutely agree with this. it was harder in my household since we always bought such cheap paper that ripped if we even breathed on it, but bows? always reuse. name tags? save them. any sort of gift bags? don't even think about throwing those away.

and i just... it's nice to think about Eddie being raised that way as well? like a sense of comfort in knowing he wouldn't give us a weird glance when we still do it, even if now we're not in the same position of necessity.

also, i can so clearly picture the first christmas where wayne does this, only his second christmas with eddie. and he's just downright scared. which is weird, because why is the weight in his chest turning so heavy at the thought of letting his nephew down? just this thirteen year old boy who's gone through hell, whose standards might just be six feet under. but it's all he can think about, all he can worry about, as he's wrapping up that damn guitar so carefully. eddie's only gift that year - the only item he'd even brought up in the last six months. and wayne had spent his entire check on it, no room left for frivolous wrapping or shiny new bows. wayne is reusing last year's paper, using an insane amount of tape he'd borrowed from a neighbor to patch up any and all tears his shaking hands make in his rush to wrap the guitar in time.

and you know what? eddie would notice.

make a small comment, saying "is this last year's paper?". and i can feel wayne's heart dropping as he waits for eddie to be upset but then the boy does this easy thing, something wayne watches him do many more times over the years, where he turns it into something positive.

"sick," he'd say, with a toothy grin and buzzed head, eyes genuinely shining as he looks up at wayne, "this paper is sick. i'm so glad you found it again this year."

wayne doesn't have to tell him to carefully unwrap the gift. because eddie wasn't stupid at thirteen, and he knew had to still his shaking hands just long enough to not leave a single extra tear in that paper, just in case wayne needs it next year. he doesn't mind - he's just glad to be celebrating the holidays again with someone who cares.

but it's all over when eddie sees that guitar. wayne expected shrieking or yelping or just... he doesn't really know, just anything. but all he sees is some kid with hair that's a little bit longer this year, shoulders a little less slumped, and tears pouring down.

"son-" he'd start, not even sure how to comfort the boy but needing to.

eddie does the last thing wayne had expected. the boy had been distant since showing up at the trailer, keeping to himself quite a bit, flinching away from touch. but for the first time in over a year, eddie doesn't flinch away.

he launches himself at wayne.

hugs him through his tears, just babbling out his thanks on repeat. they both agree to never talk about it again after the tears dry, and wayne even sheds a few of his own. but something melts that night for them - jokes happen easier, awkward side hugs and messing of eddie's blooming curls as wayne leaves for his shifts are more frequent. every damn day he hears him playing on that damn guitar, even without an amp. the next christmas wayne gets him the amp, another lonely present, wrapped in the same paper (probably for the final time -- it's seen far better days and he's pretty sure eddie could see the gift through one of the torn corners two days before christmas even came) and eddie once again makes a comment about how lucky it is wayne can still find that paper in stores. they both know the truth, and neither really care.

eddie keeps that guitar for the rest of his days, adorned with the nickname of Sweetheart. and they keep reusing paper, both knowing it was more than some bit but deciding to make jokes all the same as if they were actively choosing to do so. it makes it all a bit easier.

eddie doesn't care if wayne never has another dime to spend on another present for him, or can ever wrap another gift. he'll take his damn christmas presents in paper bags if it came down to it, cause the love is there, and god, he had missed that.

[rhiannonsknife]

⋆₊❅. — have yourself a merry little christmas

angst & hurt/comfort. secret relationship. gn!reader.

you find shauna by the windowsill, the bright morning light filtering through the frost-covered glass casting soft shadows across her face. her arms are wrapped tightly around herself, her gaze distant as she stares out at the snow-covered woods that surround the cabin. the place is unusually quiet, with most of the others still asleep, their breaths mingling in the cold air.

for a moment, you hesitate. she looks so oddly small, so lost that it stirs something deep inside you: memories of the life you shared back home. you were hers once, in secret: shared kisses in the backseat of her car, fingers brushing during practice, the quiet nights when it was just the two of you. you hadn’t officially ended things when the plane went down, the wilderness had done it for you. between the secrets, the fear, and everything else this place demanded, you’d drifted apart without a word without ever talking things through.

“shauna,” you say softly before you can overthink it, slowly stepping closer. she doesn’t flinch and her eyes flicker toward you.

you sit down beside her, careful to keep enough distance so she doesn’t feel cornered, but close enough that she knows you’re there. “it’s christmas,” you tell her gently, your breath visible in the chill of the cabin as you get straight to the point, half expecting shauna to barely acknowledge it at all.

instead, her brows knit together, a flash of confusion crossing her face. “what?”

“today,” you say again. “it’s december 25th. christmas day!”

shauna blinks, her lips parting slightly as if she’s about to say something, but no words come. “i’ve been keeping track,” you explain, pulling a small, makeshift calendar from your pocket. the paper is torn from scraps you’ve found over the months, but the marks are precise, each day carefully counted. “i didn’t want us to forget. birthdays, holidays, anything important. i just…thought maybe it would help, you know?”

for all the time you’ve spent together back home, shauna feels like a stranger now, just the ghost of the girl you fell in love with.

“you’ve been doing this the whole time?” she asks then, her voice barely above a whisper.

you nod, nervously fidgeting with the edge of the paper. “yeah. i thought it mattered. especially today.”

“christmas,” shauna repeats, the word sounding almost foreign on her tongue, like it belongs to another world entirely.

“it’s still christmas,” you tell her softly, bracing to be met with her usual rejection. “even here,”

to your surprise, shauna turns toward you, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “it doesn’t feel like it,” she admits, her voice trembling. “nothing feels like it used to…”

you heart aches at her words. you remember the way things used to be: the way she’d sneak out to meet you, the way her hand would linger on yours just a second too long when no one was watching too closely. you wonder if she ever thinks about it, or if the wilderness has swallowed those memories whole, the same way it has taken so much else from you both.

“it doesn’t,” you agree quietly, reaching out to gently touch her arm. “but maybe it can still mean something? even if it’s not the same?”

shauna looks down at your hand before she slowly intertwines her fingers with yours. her grip is hesitant at first, but it tightens after a moment.

“we used to talk about christmas,” she says after a long pause. it’s the first time she brings up the way things used to be. you could listen to her for hours if she’d speak of it more often, curl up in the warmth of her voice and the memories of what was before. “back home. what it would be like when…when we didn’t have to sneak around anymore,”

“i remember,” you say quietly. “i remember everything.”

her breath hitches, and for the first time, the walls she’s been holding up seem to crumble. without warning, she leans into you, her head resting on your shoulder, her body trembling with barely restrained sobs. instinctively, likes she’s never left your arms at all, you pull her into your embrace.

“i miss her,” shauna whispers. “i miss jackie i miss home. i miss…everything”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you just wrap your arm around her, holding her closer as her tears soak into your shirt. “i know,” you murmur, your hand gently stroking her hair. “i miss it all too.”

after a moment, shauna pulls back just enough to look up at you, her cheeks flushed and tear streaked. there’s a moment of hesitation, a question lingering, before she finally leans in and presses a trembling kiss to your lips. it’s hesitant at first, but deepens, once you fall back into the way things used to be.

when she pulls away, her forehead rests against yours, her breath warm against your skin. “thank you,” she whispers. “for remembering. for being here”

“always” you promise when shauna falls back into your arms, allowing you to hold her while the others sleep.

i wrote this while being overstimulated at the christmas function, so enjoy 🤗🤗