#Ninety-nine x reader
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sfw and nsfw hc for the dog-coded PTN women?
đȘŒ
Pairing: Rahu x fem!reader, Zoya x fem!reader, Cinnabar x fem!reader, Ninety-Nine x fem!reader
C.W: NSFW, Collars, muzzles, leashes, pet play(? kinda), more like talking about dog-coded women but cw none the lessđ«Ą
Authorâs Note: Woof woof đ¶poupy poupy! Your ask was really vague so i didn't know what you wanted so i just went with whatever was in my mind. (Not proof read)
Minors DNI! | NSFW! under the cut
Rahu
Rahu would reluctantly, but still, let you put all these things on her. Sheâs tall. Sheâs scary. Sheâs intimidating! Like an obedient guard dog sheâd keep it on and follow orders. Her self restraint can only last so long, but seeing her teary eyed and desperate makes it worth it.
Rahu get so sad when you donât let her do anything but watch as you go about and do things. Poor woman wants to help you, but you remind her to stay put and not move or even hold you đš she just has to sit there while you grind on her thigh or ride her cock.
Rahu gets all whiney and desperate, hands clawing at the sheets beside her while she begs and begs for you to at least let her hold you. But thatâs a reward only after she makes you cum a few times.Â
When sheâs finally allowed to properly fuck you, Rhau will have been all pent up. Her hands dig into your hips with a bruising grip. Hips rutting into you like no tomorrow, all while muttering âi love youâ, âthank youâ, and âhow good you make her feelâ right by your ear.
The best Rahu can do is leave her mark by painting your insides white đ she canât leave bite marks; only leaving imprints of the muzzle on your back, but this way you get to hear every sound Rahu would usually snuff out when sinking her teeth into the junction between your neck and shoulder. Itâs okay though, you let her double her effort and let her mark you up this way.
Rahu can be dangerous, but sheâs an obedient pup who listens to your orders. Advised for her to have a collar, muzzle, and lead đ so you can bully her frfr
Zoya
Zoya is big and strong. The scary dog gf privileges are on full display with this absolute hulk of a woman. Sheâs on top and in-charge. Good luck getting anything more than a muzzle or collar on this woman. If you're lucky, maybe Zoya will let you do both, but a leash is a no no because she wants to be free to do as she pleases.
Zoya places you on her lap, hands holding your waist in place as you squirm in her arms. Through the cage of the muzzle you see her smirking, amused by the small tug on her jacket. Sheâs entertained you enough hadnât she? Putting on this stupid thing made her initially annoyed, but Zoya will make it workâ even with it on.
With Zoya, sheâs the one who lets you do this, not the other way around. If you get a little too cocky, or go too slow for her liking, Zoya will note it down and make you pay double as a reminder on whoâs the one who wears the pants in the relationship.
Zoya gets a little frisky, maybe goes a little wild in pace as well, but she wouldnât do anything that would intentionally hurt you (non-consensually).Â
At most, Zoya will fuck you into oblivion, taking you until your on the brink of passing out. Her hips move in hard languid strokes so her thick cock can hit all your sweet spots with as much strength she can muster.
You put a muzzle on Zoya to help âtameâ her, so sheâll show you just how feral she can get in bed. Youâre not going to be able to walk for the next few days, and whatâs worse is the fact Zoya took the muzzle off anyway đ just so she can âproperlyâ mark you up
Cinnabar
Cinnabar, Cinnabar, Cinnabar⊠The poster lady of golden retriever girlfriends who could honestly do no wrong. Sheâs a walking green flag and does not need any restraints whatsoever. No muzzle, collar, or leash required because Cinnabar can be your fluffy puppy or your guard dog on the dime; it's all down to the given situation!
Cinnabar is always eager to please. Her top and main priority is you, after all. If youâre feeling good, then so is she đ„ș Just make sure to complement and sing your praises. Cinna would absolutely melt from your sweet words.
Call her nicknames and sheâll go beet red. It's only because its you saying these sweet words, Cinna might just explode! Carefully guide her hands away from her face and youâll see the absolutely adorable sight of your girlfriend flustered.
Cinnapup (nick-name curated from the lovely @/sinful-lanturnsâs blog) can top or bottom for you. She prefers to be a service top above all else but Cinnabar can switch between the two, just for you.Â
Cinnabar as a top is careful with her ministrations. She is gentle, not wanting to hurt you in the slightest because she loves you so much. Her fingers are a little clumsy when they explore the wet cavern of your pussy. Her careful, cautious nature has Cinnabar unintentionally edging you đ°so you have to tell her to properly fuck you, but even then she goes too slow.
Ninety-Nine
Ninety-Nine is big, strong , and scary đš this woman is the most feral out of them. Youâre gonna need everything to keep safe, and you definitely gonna get dragged or carried around by her. Ninety-Nine will be willing to wear a muzzle, collar, and lead, but you have to talk her through it. Bby trusts you not to do anything bad to her or Hella đ„ș
She unironically growls. When itâs not anything serious itâs actually pretty cute đ Ninety-Nine often looks at you for guidance or orders, staying around because she likes your company (and you give her snacks).
My take is Ninety-Nine is like a Rottweiler? Big scary dog, but is not so secretly a great pup over all. That being said, with those Ninety-Nine considers âfamilyâ she will protect like her life depends on it. Sheâs using her entire body to shield you and will have no hesitation for snapping at anyone who tries to do anything to you.
Feral Ninety-Nine is a menace because even with a muzzle and collar itâs impossible to restrain her so she does what her instincts tell her. If that means shoving your head into the sheets and relentlessly rut her hips into you, then so be it đ her claw like hands dig into your skin; leaving little beads of blood in their wake. Your cries and whines partially register, and she lessens her grip on your sides
Ninety-Nine will go for as long as she wants. Thereâs just no way youâll get out of her grip once she starts going to town on you. Sheâs an insatiable beast đš so good luck getting out of bed in the morning tomorrow cause youâre in for a long and difficult ride
#đș.hibiscus writes#rahu x reader#zoya x reader#ptn cinnabar x reader#Ninety-Nine x reader#rahu smut#zoya smut#ptn cinnabar smut#ninety-nine smut#ptn smut#ptn x reader
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MBCC LOVEPOST
ⶠNinety-Nine feat. Hella

Asking for more food was something Ninety-Nine was used to, especially from you, who always indulged her without a word of complaint. But today felt a bit.. different? She could feel your touch on her while she was feasting on your breakfast, prompting her to turn her head and look at you.
"Chief... Do you need anything?"
As for you, you were still suffering from a hangover that hadn't dissipated yet, and even opening your eyes was difficult. You thought you were holding onto a bun, but it felt unusually big and firm, yet soft and squishy.
Ninety-Nine's voice finally caught your attention, though it was a struggle. The sensation of the bun felt so good that your hand subconsciously squeezed it again. However, something felt off, especially with Hella snickering besides you. So you followed the direction of your hand.
???!!!
YOUR POV

(the so-called tenderness, I see, respectfully đ)
As if electrocuted, you panicked and withdrew your hand from the soft rear. To make the situation even more embarrassing, a certain gremlin's comment was the icing on the cake.
"HAHAHAHA! How is it, Chief? Why don't you come closer to really appreciate the tenderness? Come on!"
.
.
.
Hella: Purposely putting your hand there was something genius of me!
You: You- what?!
You: ...
You (sigh in relief): I thought my hand was the one who did something naughty.
Hella: F***! Don't act like you didn't enjoy that!
Ninety-Nine: Enjoy what?
Image by PathtoNowhereEN on Twitter/X
#path to nowhere#ptn#path to nowhere x reader#ninety-nine x reader#mbcc lovepost#daily life in mbcc#(ÊáŽÊâż) brain juices.
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Hella, Ninety-nine with a sleep deprived sinner who lives next to their cell...
- Hella might as well be your nightmare fuel đ, she is the reason why you are sleep deprived in the first place⊠Or maybe not đ¶ Because before she even was your cellmate, me thinks you were already sleep deprived⊠You hear her yell at a guard, at adjutant nightingale, and even at the chief. Every.single.day. No, she is not sorry and will do it again. Bestie, I think youâll get used to it probably⊠In a year or so đ Stink does not care if youâre annoyed, sheâll probably even annoy you more by yelling more and yap at every opportunity⊠I think youâre better off making peace with the girl⊠- So, you end up bribing her with money. Since thatâs what sheâs been asking chief every time the two end up talking. You gave it to her when she started yapping too much while you were trying to do your shit. Her: Let me out of here and give me some sweets! Or else Iâll break out of my cell again and leave this place! You: Shut up and take my money. Her: đ€© Girlie finally stopped and let you relax for once! Until she decided to yell again after 5 hours⊠But hey! At least it worked right? đ You better not be broke or know how to at least bake shit so you can get at least 5 seconds of peace before it returns to chaos again⊠But when was the MBCC ever quiet anyways? Stink, they might as well put a straightjacket on you so you wouldnât be tweaking⊠- Timeskip to Ninety-nineâs arrival, you and Hella managed to become pookies somehow⊠So obviously, she introduced you to Ninety-nine, who tried to commit die on you the first time you met⊠Yeah, you still get the heebie-jeebies now and then when she approaches you, though some of yaâll might be into that so⊠(Ignore this part đ€žââïž) Ninety ended up liking you after she saw how you were basically pookies with Hella⊠She ended up becoming your pookie, too! <3 - But good lord you are still sleep deprived, and when both of them are in the same cell well⊠Safe to say, you are never getting a good night sleep in those days because of how⊠Chaotic evil the two seemed to be whenever theyâre both paired up⊠</3 - Unlike Hella who can be bribed with sweets or money, unfortunately, you cannot bribe Ninety-nine⊠But! If yaâll managed to get even closer, sheâll probably quiet down if youâd ask⊠Stink, I can just imagine the sad hamster meme that youâd do thatâll make Ninety-nine quiet down for a bitâŠ! But itâs not like itâs her fault that her mania level is so unstable⊠đ But anyways! Whenever sheâs around, you donât complain about the noise too much. Youâd rather sacrifice sleep and stay up if anything bad happens while her mania level spikes up⊠You are a real pookie for braving the storm to help her out despite how dangerous it is and how it can get you killed!!! - Anyways, enough with the angst but if you somehow managed to hang around them a lot, you get to be a part of the shenanigans as well! Though, I donât think chief and adjutant Nightingale would enjoy another chaotic evil to deal with when they already have a lot to deal with the others⊠đ©â𩯠đ©â𩯠đ©â𩯠Though you end up becoming the voice of reason when they are about to do something⊠Stupid. đ§ââïž - Yeah⊠Me thinks youâre more of a chaotic good rather than evil because you either ride with it or prevent another crisis to save the bureau from a mountain pile of paperwork⊠Me thinks youâd developed a migraine alongside with Chief and Nightingale due to how much⊠Shit they can do in one day⊠Like, I imagine you getting flabbergasted at the amount of property damage they can commit⊠Over opening a damn cookie jar. A jar. Right⊠A cookie⊠Damn it. Sighs, but oh well nothing is ever boring with the two and I guess⊠You wouldnât have it in any other way⊠Right? ? Life is never boring when you're around these two!
#path to nowhere#ptn#platonic ptn#ptn x reader#path to nowhere x reader#Hella x reader#Ninety-nine x reader
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all the wolf-like strong possessive and powerful sinners become domestic puppies after their child is born i swear to god. soft and nice bunny-like sinners get extremely supportive and even softer than before and mischievous cat-like or bird-like sinners become an absolute disaster they spoil their child as much as they can and they teach them lots of... things. not always the best things but hey does it matter? who cares! their child is happy! they're laughing and smiling and simply enjoying their parent's company. so what matters more? some social policies...? never!
YAASSSS I AGREE 1000% this is gonna get long so I'll need to put a read more...I got carried away đł If you want more added, lemme know! đ€©
Zoya becomes a very compassionate and protective parent. She always makes sure to deal with her children's needs while helping you out with anything around the house. She dresses up, tea dates, and spoils them!
Rahu is a bit awkward still and more protective than any other parent. She will ensure their safety no matter what and might be deemed around them too much. However, she has the gentlest touch with them because she's afraid of harming them in anyway.
Ninety-Nine has a bit of clueless aura with her. She never envisioned herself as a parent, but here she is. She relies heavily on you until she gets her own groove, but she is very loving and caring to her children. She may teach them a few nasty habits!
Shalom is ironically a tender and loving parent. She teaches her children so much about the world but doesn't shy away from the bad. She warns them and prepares them when their older. She loves having tea parties with them and sitting down reading books with them.
Langley is one of the strictest parents out of the women. It's simply because she expects so much from her children and knows they can do it! She is very caring and teaches them all they need to know. She prefers sitting with them and teaching them, not some tedious tea parties. A little coaxing she'll cave.
Coquelic is very supportive and yet stern. She has a very creative view of everything. She insists on her children to look into gardening, but if they dont, it's okay! She supports them no matter what they choose to do and encourages with a smile on her lips.
Cinnabar is the most fun-loving mother. She's protective, caring, compassionate, and soft. She looks out for every one of her children with a watchful eye and does whatever they want to do, as long as it's not bad, of course! She always insists on family time to form a bond that is one of the strongest yet. Her family means everything to her.
#claire talks#path to nowhere#ptn#path to nowhere x reader#ptn x reader#path to nowhere langley#path to nowhere zoya#path to nowhere ninety-nine#path to nowhere shalom#path to nowhere rahu#path to nowhere coquelic#path to nowhere cinnabar
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Big dog Ninety-Nine :0
Big dog deserves big head pats đ
I don't have 99 yet, so her characteristic is my personal delulu.
Can eat A LOT, easily irritated when failing basic life skill, self-preservation increase when training with others, mostly calm around a gremlin Hella, nice to us because Hella is nice to us, have i told you her appetite is big?
Girlfailure soggy hungry puppy
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No because girl you NEEDDDDDD to elaborate on this -> Soulmate AU. Poly!141 x neurodivergent!reader <- I will die happily
Elaboratinggggggggđ€đ«
-
You didnât think that youâd get this far in life, many reasons spring to mind but the main one is youâre a little different than most people. You canât cope with certain things and struggle with change. You remember growing up your family would brush off your âissuesâ and say to just deal with it. How little they understood you.
Moving out was the best decision you ever made, the only change you have ever been happy about. It was necessary and would make your life so much easier on a level only you could understand. You could set up your space the way you like it, the way you need it. And with just you, no one would mess with your stuff just to see you loose it as it was âfunnyâ or move things to suit them better.
This way, you could live in peace.
Task force 141 had just finished a successful mission, camping out in one of the many secret safe houses as they waited for further instructions when they had sent Johnny to the shop for supplies. Thatâs where he saw you, in a Sainsburyâs supermarket of all places, headphones tight over your ears to block out the world while you tried to decide if the extra two, ninety-nine was worth it or not for the soothing lavender face mask you wanted.
Johnny was quick to subtly snap a picture of you and even go as far as to follow you home before bolting it back to the guys to tell them heâd finally found you. Their last soulmate.
As soon as Johnny showed them the image of you, that was it for them. They had to have you. A burning need coursing through their veins, pumping around their bodies. Nothing would ever be enough until they had you in their arms.
But as said and as they observed themselves, you donât cope with change.
So they had to situate themselves into your life slowly, one by one.
Johnny and Simon moved in next door to you, and lived there for seven months slowly getting to know you and obviously spying on you. They gradually began to understand you and your cute quirks. They know that you eat the same thing for dinner every night, you use the same plate or bowl and wash it straight after use to make sure it is ready for next time.
You have one set of cutlery, one glass and one mug. Two pillows though you only sleep on one and use the other to hug to sleep. And to top it all off you have one recliner chair and one massive beanbag chair that makes you feel like youâre being hugged tight each time you sit on it. It gives you the deep pressure therapy you desperately need at times.
The guys found your habits strange at first but the more time they spent with you, the more they began to understand you. Understand your need for order, for repetition. And they had experienced first hand what happens when change was forced into your safe space.
Johnny had the bright idea to gift you a set of cutlery a few weeks ago so when he and Simon came round for dinner as they did every Thursday for the past four months, they didnât have to bring cutlery and plates from their own place, it would already be there.
Simon said it was a bad idea but he couldnât say no to Johnny, not with how happy he looked while he picked out some pretty baby blue plates and silver cutlery with little mushrooms painted at the end. He boasted to Simon about how much youâd love them while they stood in the queue to pay.
He was wrong.
After dinner was cooked you plated up the food no problem thinking the pretty plates were from their house. Then you opened the kitchen drawer only to hear the clutter and smash of cutlery rubbing together. The sound made a ringing pierce your ears, your hands reaching up to cover them. It was like nails on a chalkboard to you. The sound you heard making you panic beyond measure, your breathing out of control as you slid to your knees.
Johnnyâs smile dropped and he sprung into action using the deep pressure therapy you had told him about with your beanbag chair. Simon was quick to removed the extra plates and cutlery from where Johnny had put them and take them back to their place before returning ready to help. He knew heâd need to call John and let him know you had had an episode, but helping you came first.
So you liked constant repetition. If it made you happy, that was absolutely fine with them.
Kyle got himself hired as a barista at your favourite cafe, he learned your usual and practiced at home to make sure every morning when you stopped by on the way to work to drink your coffee and sit with your laptop for twenty minutes, youâd have the perfect drink. He made absolutely sure that it tasted the same every single time. No change.
After a couple of months of smiles and waves here and there he finally got you to open up. Baby steps. A little at a time and now Kyle was taking his twenty minute break at your table while you typed up something for work. You always worked so hard. But he managed to get a few sentences out of you each time and it made his heart sing.
And last but not least, John became your new boss after your last one mysteriously got caught for money laundering. Mr Price was an amazing boss, he didnât ask for much and was always giving you big opportunities that youâd only ever dreamed of. You had been promoted twice since he became the CEO.
You were now executive editor under him as the chief editor at one of the best publishers in the country. Pirons Classics, number two in the UK and number four in the World. To say the guys were proud that you worked there in the first place was an understatement. Their smart girl.
He called you sweet nicknames and brought you lunch everyday. The same thing, a pesto and cheese sandwich and a snack of your choosing from the vending machines. You donât remember when it started but you were always too shy to say anything so it became a regular thing.
If you were to sit and think real hard about the situation you would realise how changes had been introduced into your life ever since the four of them appeared. But they were subtle changes and you genuinely couldnât remember a time when these changes werenât normal. On top of that, these four men were the only people besides yourself, that you felt comfortable, relaxed and content around.
So for the first time you donât sit and think, for the first time you just let it happen and you donât notice the difference.
Johnny and Simon were more involved with you than the other two. They were the closest to you currently with the status of your best friends which Johnny most certainly bragged to the other two about. You had known them for almost a year now and they didnât exactly hide their romantic relationship but didnât exactly flaunt it either.
You had found it kinda hot when you saw them kiss and even though it was unusual for you, you luckily managed to keep your mouth shut about it.
You had no idea they had noticed.
#elysianightsss#poly 141 fluff#poly 141 smut#poly 141 x reader#poly 141#poly 141 x you#poly!141#poly!141 x reader#poly!141 x you#poly!141 x female reader#captain john price x reader#captain price x female reader#john price x female reader#john price x reader#simon ghost x reader#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x female reader#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish x female reader#gaz x reader#kyle garrick x reader#gaz x female reader#kyle garrick x fem!reader#johnny soap mctavish x reader#soap x reader#soap x female reader#cod fanfic#cod x reader#john price smut
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bookworm II
-> blurbs pt. I
-> rafe x bookworm!reader



At first, you thought it was a coincidence. A fluke. A strange alignment of the universe that had Rafe Cameron showing up at your bookstore every single day.
Then, the excuses started.
âYeah, uhâI lost my bookmark. Need a new one.â
You arched a brow. âYou bought one yesterday.â
âYeah, well. Lost that one too.â
The next day, it was:
âDo you guys sell⊠maps?â
ââŠMaps?â
âYeah. Like, of the world. Or South Carolina. Or, actually, just this bookstore. So I donât get lost in here. Yâknow. Again.â
You smirked. âYouâve been in here at least a dozen times, Rafe.â
âYeah, but, like. What if I forget where the classics section is?â
You tilted your head toward the large sign hanging from the ceiling labeled Classics.
Rafe nodded like that was irrelevant.
And then there was your favorite excuse:
âYeah, so, uhâmy dad told me I need to umâŠread more.â
Your lips twitched. âYour dad, huh?â
âYeah. Real big on literacy.â
ââŠWard Cameron?â
âYep.â
âThe same Ward Cameron who tried to build a golf course over the town library?â
Rafe coughed. âUh. Yeah. Heâs changed.â
It was obvious. He wasnât here for the books.
He was here for you.
You never called him out on it, though. Not when heâd come in pretending to browse, only to spend an hour leaning against the counter, talking to you about anything, or, sometimes, nothing.
Not when he bought The Odyssey and then asked you, dead serious, âIs this, like⊠a pirate book?â
Not when he sat on the floor of the poetry aisle, flipping through a book like he actually understood it, just because it was your favorite section.
And definitely not when he smiled at youâsoft, lopsided, like he had nowhere else in the world heâd rather be, and asked, âWhat should I read next?â
Because, at the end of the day?
You kinda liked that he kept coming back.
...
âYou donât have to help, you know.â
âI want to help,â Rafe said, rolling up the sleeves of his absurdly expensive button-down, like he was about to perform some impossible manual labor.
You squinted at him. âDo you⊠even have a job?â
He waved a dismissive hand. âNot important.â
You had your doubts, but you handed him a stack of books to shelve anyway. Simple task. Foolproof.
Five minutes later, you turned around to see him absolutely butchering the organization system.
âRafe.ïżœïżœ
âYeah?â
âWhy is Pride and Prejudice in the True Crime section?â
He turned back to the shelf, frowning. âOh. Thatâs my bad. I just, yâknow, Mr. Darcy? Heâs kinda criminal. The way he was actinâ.â
You sighed. âAnd Where the Crawdads Sing?â
ââŠNature documentary?â
You pinched the bridge of your nose. âThatâs fiction, Rafe.â
âOkay, well who decided that?â
The next disaster struck when he insisted on manning the register.
A sweet old lady handed him a book, and you watched as he flipped it over, looked at the price tag, and said, âYeah, uh⊠howâs twenty bucks sound?â
You smacked his arm. âRafe. The register does that for you.â
âOh. Yeah. Right.â He punched in the numbers dramatically, furrowing his brow. âBeep. Boop. Okay, thatâll be⊠twelve dollars and ninety-nine cents.â
The woman blinked. âThatâs the full price, dear. Donât I get the senior discount?â
Rafeâs face scrunched. He turned to you, looking genuinely distraught. âBabe, we canât just rob old ladies. Thatâs messed up.â
You groaned. âItâs built into the system, Rafe.â
He looked at the register, squinting at the screen like it had personally betrayed him. Then, sighing dramatically, he pressed some buttons.
âOkay, maâam, with the discount, thatâll be⊠uhâŠâ He turned to you and whispered, âHow much is twelve minus ten percent?â
You just laughed, shaking your head.
And the worst part? You still didnât kick him out. You let him stay.
Because even when he was the most useless bookstore assistant to ever exist, he looked so damn proud every time he got something right, like when he stacked books into a perfectly symmetrical pile, or when he finally figured out how to use the barcode scanner.
And, okay. Maybe you liked seeing him here. Maybe you liked the way he leaned against the counter, twirling a pen between his fingers, looking at you like you were the best thing heâd ever found in a bookstore.
Maybe you liked him.
Just a little.
...
The second you heard loud, obnoxious laughter from the back corner of the shop, you knew it was trouble.
You peeked around a bookshelf, your stomach sinking. A group of guys were shoving books back onto shelves backwards, tossing paperbacks to each other like footballs. One of them had the audacity to rest his drink on top of your classics display.
You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands over your pants. âHey, guys,â you called, forcing a polite smile. âCould you please be a little more careful with the books?â
One of them barely glanced at you, smirking. âRelax, sweetheart. We're real careful.â
You hated when men called you that.
Well, most men.
Another guy laughed, nudging his friend. âWeâre just here for Rafe Cameron. Heard he hangs out here now. Figured weâd see what the big deal is.â
Your jaw clenched. Of course.
Then, like divine intervention, the bell above the door jingled.
And there he was.
Rafe Cameron, walking in with that lazy, effortless confidence, except the second he spotted them, his whole demeanor shifted. His jaw ticked. His shoulders squared.
âYo,â one of the guys called. âThere he is! Dude, what are you even doinâ in a bookstore, man? Thought you were out crashin' boats or whatever.â
Rafe didnât laugh. Didnât even acknowledge them.
Instead, his gaze landed right on you.
âYou okay?â His voice was low, rough. Protective.
Your stomach flipped, but you nodded. âTheyâre just messing up the shelves.â
That was all Rafe needed to hear.
He turned, stepping up to the group with a slow, deliberate swagger. âYou break somethinâ in here?â His voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it.
The guy with the drink shrugged. âRelax, man, itâs just books.â
Rafeâs expression darkened. âPut the drink down.â
The guy blinked. âWhat?â
âPut. It. Down.â
Slowly, the guy obeyed, setting the cup on a table. Rafe stepped in even closer, his voice dropping lower. âNow pick up every single book you messed up.â
One of the guys scoffed. âBro, whatâs the big deal? Since when do you give a shit aboutââ
âI give a shit,â Rafe snapped. âAnd if you donât, then you can get the hell out.â
Silence.
The guys glanced at each other, clearly not expecting this Rafe Cameron. They expected the reckless party boy, the guy who didnât care about anything.
Not the guy who was standing in the middle of a tiny bookstore, ready to start a fight over misplaced books.
One of them grumbled something under his breath, but they started fixing the shelves. Sloppy, but youâd take it.
When they left, shoulders hunched, trying to laugh it off, Rafe turned back to you. âYou sure youâre okay?â
You just stared at him for a second, crossing your arms. âI didnât know you were my personal security now.â
Rafe smirked. âWhat, you think Iâm gonna let some jackasses ruin our bookstore?â
You blinked. Our bookstore.
Your face felt warm.
ââŠYou put Pride and Prejudice in True Crime last week.â
âI stand by that.â
...
At first, you didnât notice.
Rafe would sit at the counter, flipping through books as you worked, occasionally grumbling when he came across a word that was too long for his liking.
But then you started finding them.
Books left open on the counter, always on a page with some long, complicated passage, marked up in that messy, boyish scrawl of his.
You found the first one in a well-worn copy of Wuthering Heights.
âThis dude is insane. No way she actually likes him. (Not that I relate)â
Then, in Pride and Prejudice, right under one of Mr. Darcyâs confessions:
âThis is the most dramatic way to say âI like youâ Iâve ever seen. Might use it tho.â
And your favorite, scribbled in the margins of The Picture of Dorian Gray:
âWould I sell my soul for eternal youth? Idk, would you still like me if I had gray hair?â
You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing every time.
Finally, one evening, as you locked up, you found a copy of Jane Eyre left open right on the counter. A single sentence underlined.
âI have for the first time found what I can truly loveâI have found you.â
And right next to it, in his handwriting:
âYeah. What he said.â
A/N: my fav duo :(
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#rafe x reader#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron fanfiction
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calm before the storm (5)
harry castillo x reader
series
word count: 11.3k
warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader, angst, fluff, smut.
The espresso arrived in delicate porcelain cups with gold rims, served on a tray so elegant it looked stolen from a palace. A curl of lemon peel floated in hers. Harryâs had no lemon, no sugarâjust black, bitter, and scalding, like everything else about him.
She stirred slowly, eyes flicking across the candlelit table as the night wound down.
Marcella was reapplying her lipstick with a tiny compact mirror.
Lorenzo was swirling the last of his wine, looking far too smug for someone who hadnât said more than five words during dessert.
Paolo⊠was watching her.
Still.
His gaze was lazy and smug, lingering on the exposed curve of her shoulder where her dress dipped low. His smile said too much. His espresso stayed untouched.
She felt Harry shift beside her.
The air around them had been tense ever since Lucy was mentionedâno, dropped like a live grenade mid-meal. And now, every breath was edged. Every movement calculated.
She took a sip of the espresso.
Warm.
Sharp.
Nothing like the chill that had settled between her and Harry since Lorenzo opened his mouth.
Marcella rose first. âA beautiful dinner, as always. I do hope we didnât scare her away, Harry. Weâre just curious by nature.â
Harry stood politely. âIâve noticed.â
Marcella turned to her. Kissed both cheeks, leaving behind lipstick marks, the scent of expensive perfume clinging like static. âYouâre lovely. Donât let us corrupt you.â
She wanted to scoff. But didn't.
Livia followed, flicking her perfectly toned hair over one shoulder, clearly trying not to show how annoyed she was by the way Paolo had looked at her all night.
âIt was⊠a pleasure,â She said with a tight smile.
âLikewise,â Livia replied, cool.
Then Paolo leaned in.
And it was way too close.
His arms wrapped around her like theyâd known each other longer than ninety minutes, like he thought he was owed something soft and flirtatious just for finishing his pasta.
âStunning,â he whispered, right by her ear. âAbsolutely stunning.â
His hands hovered at her waist.
And lingered.
Until Harryâs voice cut in like a whip. âThatâs enough.â
Paolo didnât flinch.
Just smiled. Slow. Smug. Sleazy.
He released her, turning back to Harry with a shrug.
Liviaâs jaw ticked. The muscle along her neck pulsed once.
Francesca playfully rolls her eyes when Livia's back is turned.
"Ignore her. Jealous."Â
Luca nods at Harry, muttering out a goodbye. Francesca kisses her cheek, whispering ciao before disappearing with her husband.
âLetâs go,â Harry muttered, his hand finding her backânot gentle, not affectionate. Just there.
But before they could walk away, Lorenzo cleared his throat.
âHarryâdonât forget tomorrow. Nine sharp. Contract revisions with Giuliana. Sheâs flying in.â
Harryâs mouth was a flat line. âWouldnât miss it.â
She offered a tight smile to the rest of group she didn't bother to get the names of, stepping back from Harry slightly. Just enough to create distance, but not enough to make a scene.
Danny approached, arms crossed loosely, face unreadable. But as everyone else started peeling off toward their rooms or the private bar tucked into the side of the villa, he leaned in close to her.
Low enough that Harry wouldnât hear.
âTheyâre assholes,â Danny whispered. âAll of them. Donât let them make you feel small.â
She blinked.
He glanced back toward the dinner table, then met her gaze again.
âYouâre the only real person here.â
Then, louder, âNight, boss. Night, trouble.â
He smiled at her. And left.
The walk back to the room was silent.
Not companionable silence. Not comfortable silence.
Uncomfortable silence.
Her heels clicked sharply against the stone walkway. The air smelled like rosemary and wine, but it was ruined now. Everything felt sharp-edged and unfinished.
Harryâs hand wasnât on her back anymore.
She hugged her arms around herself, silk dress clinging to her skin, still warm from the evening, now feeling like too much. Like a costume.
He didnât speak until they were halfway up the stairs.
âYouâre quiet.â
She didnât look at him. âSo are you.â
He scoffed. âYouâre mad.â
âNo,â she said, too quickly. âIâmââ she stopped. âIâm not mad. Iâm⊠processing.â
They reached the room. He opened the door. Held it open for her.
She stepped in.
The villa room was still warm, glowing from the faint amber lights left on by the staff. It smelled like lemons and her perfume and something delicate hanging in the air, still waiting to break.
Harry shut the door behind them.
The tension was immediate.
A rope pulled taut.
She didnât turn around. Just stared out the open balcony doors, arms crossed, back stiff.
Harry set his watch on the nightstand. âSay it.â
She blinked. âSay what?â
âWhatever it is youâve been dying to say since dessert.â
She turned now. Slowly.
Her dress shifted with the motion, silk whispering against her thighs.
âYou didnât tell me,â she said quietly.
âDidnât tell you what?â
She blinked. Really?
âThat you were invited to Lucyâs wedding.â
He sighed. Rubbed the bridge of his nose. âI didnât think it mattered.â
She let out a soft, incredulous laugh. âYou didnât think it mattered?â
âIt was just a fucking card. An invite. I didnât even RSVP.â
âYou didnât tell me,â she repeated, voice rising. âYou brought me to Italy and introduced me as your girlfriend in front of those peopleâpeople who clearly still talk to your exâand you didnât think it would matter?â
âSheâs irrelevant.â
âIs she?â Her voice cracked slightly. âBecause it didnât feel that way when everyone at that table kept bringing her up like I was some new accessory you brought to distract from the fact that you havenât moved on.â
Harry stiffened.
Jaw tight.
âSheâs not why youâre here.â
She folded her arms tighter across her chest. âThen why am I here, Harry?â
His eyes darkened.
âWhat the hell does that mean?â
âYou brought me to Italy. To this villa. To that dinner. And you made a scene every time someone looked at me too longââ
âI didnât make a scene.â
âYou glared at Paolo like you wanted to set him on fire.â
âThe way he touched you.â
She laughed, but it wasnât funny. âYouâre unbelievable.â
He moved closer, slow and predatory. âYouâre upset because I didnât tell you about the invitation?â
âIâm upset because I donât know what I am to you, and tonight it felt like you brought me here just to show me off.â
He flinched. It was subtle. But it was real.
âI didnât bring you here for them.â
âNo?â she whispered. âThen why now? Why Italy? Why introduce me like Iâm your girlfriend and then not tell me the one thing that could change the entire context of this trip?â
Harry looked away.
And that was worse than yelling.
It was silence again.
Cold. Strategic. Familiar.
She hated it.
âIâm not her,â she said, quieter now. âIâm not Lucy.â
He didnât respond.
She stepped back.
âI donât want to be part of some rebound performance for your colleagues. I donât want to be the girl you use to prove something.â
âYou think thatâs what this is?â
âI donât know what this is,â she snapped. âBecause you donât talk about it. You just show up. You just do. You make tea and buy groceries and show up in the rain and give me keys and whisper things when weâre in bed and none of it makes sense.â
His voice dropped. âIt makes sense to me.â
âWell, it doesnât to me.â
She didnât mean to cry.
But the tears came anywayâfurious and humiliated and hot against her cheeks.
And Harry just stood there.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
Not reaching for her.
And thatâ
That broke something.
She turned toward the door.
He didnât stop her. Didnât say her name. Didnât chase her.
So she walked out. Into the villa hallway. Barefoot.
Wearing that stupid silk dress that now felt like a costume for someone she didnât recognize.
And Harry?
Harry stood in the quiet aftermath.
Watching the door. And saying nothing.
Just like always.
Thatâs what echoed in her head after the door clicked shut behind herâjust like always.
It followed her down the hallway, a shadow of a thought that curled into the folds of her dress, into the crook of her neck, into the hollowness that lived behind her ribs.
Outside, the air smelled like something ancient.
Not perfume. Not wine.
Stone.
Wet stone, cracked and sun-warmed, steeped in centuries of candle smoke and blood and rain.
The kind of smell you didnât get in America.
The kind of smell that told you, you were far from home.
She walked without a purpose.
The path outside the villa was dimly lit, bathed in the low flicker of lanterns strung between olive trees. The gravel hurt her feetâof course it didâbut she didnât turn back for shoes.
Didnât care.
It was almost satisfying, the tiny stabs against her soles. Something real. Something sharp. Her dress clung to her thighs, catching on her knees with each step. It whispered as she moved. Almost pleading.
She passed the vineyard, now just a silhouette of stalks and wire. The grapes had been picked already, nothing but the memory of harvest clinging to the air.
The road bent to the left. She followed.
She walked until she didnât know where she was.
Until the villa was gone behind her.
Until the only thing she could hear was the sound of her breath and the soft crunch of gravel.
She wished she had brought her coat.
She wished sheâd screamed at Harry.
She wished sheâd stayed quiet.
Most of all, she wished she was home.
Not New York. Home.
Her shitty little apartment. Her corner of chaos. Her socks with holes and half-made puzzles. Her books stacked like fire hazards. Her stupid crooked lamp and the incense she lit when she couldnât sleep.
And Frances.
God, Frances.
She wouldâve followed her into the bathroom. Sat on the sink while she washed her face. Meowed like a tiny judge if she cried.
Now there was nothing.
Just an old road in a country that didnât belong to her.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. The screen lit up.
12%
A panic rose. Brief and strange.
It wasnât just battery. It was proof of connection. A lifeline. A thread.
And when she saw Mayaâs name in her favorites, she pressed it without thinking.
She didnât even know what time it was back home.
Didnât care.
The phone rang twice.
And thenâ
âDude,â Maya said, voice groggy, âItâs like five a.m.ââ
âIâm sorry,â she said, so quickly it came out cracked. âI justâI just needed to hear your voice.â
Maya paused.
Then sat up. She could hear the rustle of sheets.
âOh no,â Maya murmured. âWhat happened.â
âI left.â
âWhat?â
âI left the room. IâmâIâm outside. I donât even know where I am.â
âAre you drunk?â
âNo.â
âAre you safe?â
âI think so.â
Another pause.
Then Maya exhaled slowly, her voice softer. âWhat happened.â
âI donât know,â she whispered. âIt was supposed to be this beautiful, perfect thing. And it was. It was, for like, five minutes. And then it all cracked. It justâcracked. And now Iâm here. Barefoot. And I just want to be in my bed. With my cat. I want Frances sitting on my stomach while I try to sleep.â
Maya let her talk.
Didnât interrupt.
She sniffled. âI feel so fucking stupid.â
âYouâre not stupid.â
âI am.â
âYouâre not.â
âI thought he brought me here because he wanted me here. And now I feel likeâI donât know. Like Iâm a prop. Like Iâm some beautiful thing he found and polished and put on a plane to prove something.â
âDid he say that?â
âNo.â
âDid he make you feel that?â
âYes.â
A breath passed on the line.
âThen fuck him,â Maya said, calm and certain.
She laughed through her tears.
âHeâs just a guy, babe,â Maya said, her voice warmer now. âA guy with a nice face and a big wallet and apparently zero communication skills. But you? Youâre you. You were whole before him.â
âI donât feel whole.â
âYouâre just cracked at the edges right now. Thatâs temporary.â
She said nothing.
Maya added gently, âAnd also, Frances misses you. She sat on your hoodie and refused to move for three hours.â
That made her laugh again.
âGod, Iâm so tired,â she whispered.
âThen come home.â
She blinked into the night.
âI donât think I can.â
âThen stay. But make it worth it. Donât mope in a five-star villa.â
âIâm not in the villa.â
âWhere the hell are you?â
She looked around.
Then up.
Stars. So many of them. Not like New York. They looked like spilled sugar.
âI donât know.â
âWell, find someone who looks like they know where they are and ask them to take you to wine.â
âIâm not wearing shoes.â
âClassic.â
Another beat.
âThank you,â she whispered.
âIâll keep my phone on.â
She nodded, though Maya couldnât see her.
âLove you,â she added.
âLove you too. And heyâfuck him.â
The call ended.
6%
She slipped the phone back into her dress pocket and exhaled, long and shaky.
And thenâ
A voice behind her.
âExcuse me?â
She turned, startled.
A girl stood a few feet back. Early twenties, maybe. Italian. Short hair, dark curls clipped back loosely, face flushed with wine.
She was holding a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of something in the other.
âYou okay?â the girl asked, English accented but clear.
She blinked.
Nodded too quickly.
The girl tilted her head. âYou look sad. And barefoot.â
âIâm fine,â she said, but her voice cracked.
The girl didnât move.
Didnât leave.
Instead, she smiled softly. âWeâre having drinks. Me and my friends. You should come.â
âIâm not wearing shoes.â
The girl looked down. Then smiled againâthis time wider, open.
Without a word, she stepped out of her sandals and handed them over.
âTheyâre a little big,â she said. âBut theyâll get you there.â
She stared at the sandals.
Then at the girl.
Then back at the sandals.
âI donât even know your name.â
âChiara,â the girl said. âNow come. Before the bottle runs out.â
And without thinking, without hesitating, without asking who the friends were or where the drinks were or what kind of night this would turn intoâ
She slid her feet into Chiaraâs sandals. And followed her into the dark.
Into something that was not Harry.
Not heartbreak. Not home.
But something. And sometimes?
That was enough.
For now, at least.
Chiara led her through narrow, winding cobblestone alleys that opened like secrets into wider roads.
The buildings were the color of peaches and faded terracotta, windows shuttered, vines trailing down from balconies. The air was warm even at this hour, kissed by the dayâs sun, soft with the hum of nightlife.
She could hear music before she saw itâsomething pulsing and golden in the distance. A rhythm built from laughter and basslines and clinking bottles. It wasnât a club. Not here. It was something older.
Wilder.
More communal. Like the heartbeat of a town that refused to sleep.
The street opened onto a wide stone courtyard surrounded by low houses and lanterns strung in crooked lines between olive trees and window hooks. Someone had dragged out folding tables and plastic chairs. Children ran barefoot. Older women in cotton dresses danced slowly near the center. Men clinked glasses. Twentysomethings passed along cigarettes.
Everyone looked like they belonged.
And there, on a makeshift stage cobbled from old crates and a rug, a small local band played with chaotic joy. The guitarist was in his sixties, sunglasses on, nodding along as the singer belted out Heart of Glass in a thick accent, missing half the words but not a single beat.
Chiara turned to her with a grin. âSee? Worth it.â
She smiled back, dizzy with the scent of grilled meat and overripe lemons. The sandals were too big, but they kept her grounded. The silk dress fluttered around her knees. Her hair was a mess. Her mascara probably gone. And she looked exactly like someone who had been crying.
And stillâ
For the first time all day, she didnât care.
Chiara handed her a glass of something cold and pale.
âTry,â she said.
She did.
Wine. Sharp and dry, with a citrus aftertaste that bloomed on her tongue like summer. It made her eyes water in the best way.
They didnât go to the center of the party at first. Chiara weaved through groups, greeting everyone like a favorite daughter. Everyone smiled when they saw her. Kissed her cheek. Clapped her shoulder. Called her name.
And thenâChiara turned, placed a hand on her arm, and said, âYou should meet a few people.â
And she did.
She was led to a long table tucked beneath a tree strung with fairy lights. Four older locals sat there alreadyâmen and women with weathered hands and soft laughter. One wore a scarf around her hair and had a cigarette burning in an ashtray shaped like a tomato.
They didnât ask questions. Didnât try to fix her. They just pulled out a chair. Made room.
Set a plate in front of her with bread and soft cheese and figs.
The woman with the scarf poured her another glass of wine. âBella. Mangia.â
She did. And for a while, she just watched.
She watched a teenage girl dance with her grandfather, both of them barefoot, both of them smiling like nothing had ever gone wrong in the world.
She watched Chiara spin with a boy in a leather jacket, laughing like a movie scene.
She watched people clink glasses and hold hands and sing even if they didnât know the lyrics.
The way the light caught on olive oil skin, on soft teeth, on silver bangles.
The way everything moved in circles.
Like life was a loop of love and forgetting.
She didnât look at her phone.
Didnât think about Harry. Didnât allow herself to.
Not yet.
Chiara returned with a new plate of something fried and a boy trailing behind her. Tall. Tanned. Tousled curls. A soft jaw and a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off.
âThis is Nico,â Chiara said with a wink. âHe is nice.â
Nico smiled at her shyly. âCiao.â
âHi,â she murmured.
He sat beside her.
Didnât touch her. Didnât push.
Just started talking.
His English was halting but eager. He was from the next town over. Studied architecture. Played piano. Wanted to move to Berlin one day but hated the cold. His favorite American movie was Kill Bill. His favorite band was The Strokes. His mother made the best limoncello in the province. He had a cat named Pesto which his little brother named.
She smiled. Asked questions. Laughed.
He made her forget, for a few minutes, that her chest was full of broken glass.
When the music slowed and a new song began by Fleetwood Mac, softer now, melodicâNico offered his hand.
She hesitated.
Then stood. They walked to the edge of the courtyard.
He didnât pull her in close. Just kept a polite distance, hands barely touching her waist, eyes downcast, respectful. He danced like someone who wasnât trying to impress her. Just trying to make the moment stretch.
And she let herself sway.
For a while.
Until something shifted.
Until he looked at her and his fingers brushed the bare skin at her hip and her whole body stiffenedâ
Not because she was afraid.
But because she couldnât.
Wouldnât. Not to Harry.
Even after everything.
Even after the silence and the lies and the way he just let her walk out like she was nothing.
She couldnât be the one to do something cruel.
She pulled back gently.
Nico stepped away immediately. âIâm sorryâdid Iâ?â
She shook her head. âNo. No, itâs not you.â
He nodded once. âIs it someone else?â
She nodded again. âYes.â
His mouth curved in a sad smile.
âThen he is lucky,â he said softly.
She blinked. Swallowed.
âThank you,â she said. âFor dancing with me.â
âOf course,â he murmured. âEven girls like you deserve to dance.â
She smiled. A real one.
He kissed her hand. Briefly.Â
Then he walked away. she didnât follow. Didnât sit down.
Just stood there as the song changed againâCall Me this time, the band getting rowdier, the tempo rising.
And she laughed. Out loud.
Because it was absurd. Because she was barefoot in borrowed sandals in a foreign town, dancing to Blondie with strangers under stars that didnât belong to her.
Because the world hadnât ended. Not yet.
Chiara reappeared, cheeks flushed, hair wild. âYou okay?â
âI think I am.â
Chiara beamed. âGood. You stay until the last bottle. Thatâs the rule.â
She nodded.
And she did.
She stayed through four more songs, four more drinks, two more strangers who told her she had kind eyes.
She stayed until her dress clung to her knees and her feet were dirty and her phone was down to 3% and her laughter felt like it belonged to someone new.
Harry had stopped pacing only to check the time.
10:52 PM.
Then again.
11:14.
11:37.
11:58.
12:17.
And every time, the numbers made less and less sense, like they were mocking him. Heâd checked his phone so many times he couldnât remember if heâd texted her once or ten times. He hadnât called, thoughânot yet.
The first hour, he was sure sheâd be back.
She just needed air.
Thatâs what people say when they need to cool off, right?
Get space.
Take a breath. She was always walking off somewhere when she needed to processâhe remembered her telling him that once, offhand, like it was no big deal.
"I just walk. It helps me think. Helps me not freak out."
So he waited.
Like an idiot.
Let her walk out in a silk dress with nothing on her feet and a thousand emotions clawing at her throat and said nothing.He hadnât even moved.
He hated that version of himself. Hated the silence. Hated how familiar it had become, how easy it was to fall into that old defense mechanism of shutting down before things could get worse. Thatâs what he did with Lucy. Thatâs what he did with everyone.
But she wasnât Lucy.
God, she wasnât Lucy.
And he had wanted to tell her that tonight. Had planned to. Right after dessert. Right after Lorenzo made that comment about the invitation. Right after Paolo looked at her like she was something edible and Harry had nearly ripped his throat out with a butter knife.
Instead?
She asked why she was here.
And he didnât have the courage to answer the way he wanted to.
"Because youâre the only person who makes the rest of it feel quiet."
But it was too late now. She hadnât texted back.
His last message sat there like a ghost,
Old man Harry â€ïžđŽ: Where are you? Please. Just tell me youâre okay.
He sat with that for five minutes. Then stood. Paced again. Kicked the edge of the nightstand by accident and cursed. Then noticed something on the floor near her suitcase.
Her sandals.
The flat ones she packed at the last second because she hated the way heels made her feet ache when they walked too long. She almost didnât bring them. He remembered teasing her about overpacking. Sheâd rolled her eyes and stuffed them in anyway.
He picked them up.
Turned them over in his hands like they might tell him something. Then he grabbed his coat for her.
Left the room.
The hallway was too quiet. Like the villa itself had exhaled and gone still. He made it to the main staircase before spotting one of the employeesâa young guy, maybe twenty, sweeping flower petals off the marble.
Harry didnât even hesitate. âDid you see a woman leave earlier? Silk dress. Barefoot.â
The guy blinked. âAh, yes. Yes. I think she went toward the town. A girl was with her. Dark hair. They were laughing.â
Harryâs stomach dropped.
The town.
Jesus Christ.
She was barefoot in a foreign town at midnight wearing something that belonged on a fucking Vogue cover and she didnât have a goddamn jacket andâfuck.
He nodded tightly. âThanks.â
And then he walked.
Not drove.
Walked.
He didnât want the barrier of a car. Didnât want anything between them when he found herâbecause he would find her. He had to.
And heâd do it holding her sandals like a goddamn fool, because if she needed them, heâd be ready.
The gravel gave way to the road. The olive trees faded behind him. The lanterns thinned. The cobblestones began. He followed the noise.
He knew this kind of sound. Not the sound of a bar or a clubâbut community.Music. Voices. Bottles clinking. Old songs sung out of tune. A courtyard party. Some kind of celebration.
And when he turned the corner, it was like walking into another century.
The stone square was alive with light and movement. Paper lanterns, wine bottles, music bleeding from a band tucked under string lights. Kids dancing. Grandmothers smoking. Tourists. Locals. Some combination of both.
And thereâGod.
There she was.
At a table tucked beneath a tree.
Laughing. Barefoot.
Wearing the silk dress he loved so much, with her legs tucked under her like sheâd been there for hours, a half-eaten peach in her hand, juice dripping down her wrist. An older woman sat beside her, talking with big hand gestures, and she nodded along, eyes bright, like she understood every word.
Harry didnât move.
Didnât breathe.
She looked radiant.
She also looked...not sober.
And he shouldâve been mad. He shouldâve stormed across the courtyard and demanded to know what the hell she was thinking. But the moment he saw herâtruly saw herâhis anger dissolved.
Because she wasnât being reckless.
She was surviving.
In the only way she knew how.
He approached slowly. Not wanting to scare her.
The older woman saw him first. Gave him a sharp look, one that said, donât you ruin this for her. And then she leaned over and said something to her in Italian. She turned her head.
And saw him.
Her eyes went wide. But she didnât smile.
Didnât move.
Just looked at him like she wasnât sure if he was real.
âHey,â he said softly.
She blinked. âHarry.â
âYou left your shoes.â
She looked down at his hands.
And thenâGod, thenâshe laughed. Just a little. Just enough to break something in him.
âYou came all this way to bring me shoes?â
âI came to find you,â he said. âThe shoes are just...part of the deal.â
She swallowed.
The older woman stood and patted her shoulder. Then her cheek. Then kissed her forehead like she was her own granddaughter and walked away into the party.
Harry sat down beside her.
Set the sandals on the ground.
She didnât put them on.
Instead, she looked at the peach in her hand.
Then up at the sky.
âI met a girl named Chiara,â she said. âShe gave me shoes. Then gave me wine. And then took me here.â
He nodded.
âI was worried.â
âI know.â
âYou didnât answer.â
âI didnât know what to say.â
He nodded again.
Her voice was slower now. Tipsy. Not slurring, but looser than usual.
âI called Maya,â she added.
âI figured.â
âShe told me to stay. Make it worth it. Not mope in a five-star villa.â
A beat.
âWere you moaning about me in Italian to strangers?â
âOnly a little.â
He smiled, finally. âThatâs fair.â
Another beat. She looked at him then.
And her expression cracked, just a little.
âI didnât mean to leave like that.â
âI didnât mean to let you.â
She closed her eyes.
Harry reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a napkin. Reached forward. Wiped the peach juice gently from her wrist. She didnât pull away.
âYou scared the shit out of me,â he said.
âI know.â
âI thought maybe you were coming back. The first hour. I thought you were justâwalking it off.â
âI was.â
He exhaled.
âI didnât know how to fight with you,â she said. âThis was our first one.â
âI know.â
âI didnât like it.â
âI hated it.â
She looked at him again. âI thought you were going to yell.â
âI donât want to be that guy.â
âI didnât want to be the girl who runs.â
âAnd yet.â
She smiled, tired. âAnd yet.â
A pause.
Harry leaned back in the chair, watching her like he didnât know whether to kiss her or hold her or just sit there until the sun came up.
âI shouldâve told you about the invitation,â he said finally. âI didnât because I didnât want it to take up space in this. In us. But I shouldâve known it would.â
She said nothing.
He tried again.
âI didnât come here with you to prove anything. I came here because I wanted to wake up next to you in this place. I wanted to see you eat peaches and drink wine and wear that fucking dress and let me love you.â
She flinched slightly.
âYou could've told me that,â she said quietly.
âI know.â
He looked down at her bare feet.
âI brought your sandals and my coat in case you got cold,â he added. âI didnât want you walking back on the road with nothing.â
âYou remembered I packed them.â
âI remember everything.â
She pressed her hands to her face. âGod, Iâm a mess.â
âYouâre beautiful.â
âIâm wine-stained and peach-dripping and probably sticky.â
âYouâre beautiful.â
She dropped her hands.
Met his eyes.
And for the first time all night, he saw the pain underneath.
âYou let me walk away.â
âI know.â
âYou didnât stop me.â
âI didnât think I could.â
âWell,â she said, voice cracking, âyou couldâve tried.â
That was what broke him.
He leaned forward.
And gently, slowly, reached for her.
One hand on her thigh, steady. One hand on her jaw.
âIâm trying now.â
She looked up.
And when he kissed her, it wasnât desperate.
It wasnât apologetic. It was real. Soft. Unshaken. Earnest.
When they finally pulled apart, she touched her forehead to his.
âTake me back,â she whispered.
He smiled. âVilla?â
She nodded her head. âPlease.â
He nodded.
And helped her to her feet.
She didnât put on the sandals right away. So he bent down. And slipped them on for her. One foot. Then the other.
She looked at him like she couldnât believe he was real. And maybe, finally, he felt real too.
He wrapped his coat around her shoulders. Tucked her against his side.
She gave Chiara back the shoes just as they were reaching the edge of the courtyard.
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice thick with wine and gratitude.
Chiara waved her off like it was nothing, grinning. âDonât thank me. You needed them more than I did.â
They stood there for a beatâChiaraâs cheeks flushed, her sandals dangling in one hand, the air around them scented with smoke and lemon zest and melted sugar.
Then, Chiara turned to Harry.
Her eyes flicked up and down, assessing him the way only someone deeply unfazed by power could. âYouâre the boyfriend?â
Harry blinked. âIââ
âYes,â she said quickly, cutting him off. Her voice was sleepy but certain. Like it wasnât even a question. Like she already knew the answer.
Harry turned to look at her.
And then back at Chiara.
Chiara smirked, eyebrows lifting with mischief. âMy family is having a dinner tomorrow. Itâs for the town. You should come. Both of you.â
âDinner?â she asked, dazed, adjusting the coat around her shoulders. âLike... family dinner?â
âLike long tables, cheap wine, too many cousins, lots of pasta. Real dinner,â Chiara said. âEveryoneâs invited. But youâll be my favorite guests.â
She hesitated.
Harry didnât say anything.
And then Chiara added, almost in a sing-song whisper, âBoyfriends are allowed.â
That made her laugh.
A soft, surprised sound that bubbled out before she could stop it.
She looked up at Harry.
Hair messy. Eyes tired. Mouth pink and smudged. Wrapped in his coat like it had always belonged to her.
He looked at her like he was still catching his breath.
She turned back to Chiara. âWeâll come.â
Harry still didnât speak.
He just nodded once.
And the way he looked at herâlike her saying yes was the only thing that matteredâwas its own kind of vow.
Heâd do whatever she told him to.
The walk back to the villa was slower this time.
She was quiet now, the kind of quiet that only came when the world had finally stopped spinning. Her shoulder pressed into his side as they walked. Every few steps, she stumbled slightlyânothing dramatic, just enough for him to catch her waist and steady her.
âYou alright?â he murmured once, voice low in the hush of the road.
She nodded into his shoulder. âMhm. Iâm justâŠfalling in love with you.â
Harry swallowed.
He wrapped an arm around her tighter.
By the time they reached the villa gates, most of the staff had gone. The courtyard was quiet, the lanterns dimmed to a low, amber flicker.
But one workerâa young man in pressed linen, eyes wide the moment he spotted Harryâstood frozen near the entrance, stacking empty glassware into a crate.
Harry didnât break stride.
He glanced once in the manâs direction. âWater and crackers to our room. Now.â
The man paled. âYes, Mr. Castillo. Right away.â
She didnât say anything.
But she looked up at him.
âYou didnât even ask,â she whispered, scoffing.
âYouâve been drinking. Youâll wake up with a headache.â
âHarry.â
He didnât look at her. âDonât argue. Youâre not going to win.â
She smiled. Sleepy. Touched.
âI wasnât going to argue,â she murmured. âItâs⊠nice.â
He said nothing.
But his fingers flexed at her waist.
As if holding her tighter was the only way to respond.
Back in the room, the air was warm again.
The balcony doors had been closed by the staff, but the faint smell of night drifted in anywayâlavender and stone.
He helped her out of the coat.
Set it carefully over the back of the velvet chair.
She didnât say anything. Just stood there in the middle of the room, blinking at the floor like her body had finally remembered it was tired.
âYou want to shower?â he asked, gently now.
She nodded. âI feel sticky.â
âAlright.â
He stepped into the bathroom. Turned the water on. The steam started to rise immediately. When he returned, she was standing exactly where he left her.
Still in the dress. Still barefoot. Her hands limp at her sides.
âCâmere,â he said softly.
She did.
He pulled her in slowly.
Guided the silk down with careful fingers. The fabric slid off her shoulders, pooled at her waist, then fell to the floor in one elegant sigh.
She stepped out of it.
Now just in her underwear. Still quiet. Still soft.
He kissed her shoulder. Just once.
Then reached for the towel.
She followed him into the bathroom like she was moving through water. The steam curled around her ankles.
She shivered once. He noticed.
The water was warm now.
Gentle.
He let it run first. Down her back. Her spine. The delicate curve of her hip.
She didnât speak. She just stood there.
He reached for the soft cloth the villa had left.
Soaked it. Added soapâvanilla-scented, already faintly familiar. And thenâhe bathed her.
Not rushed. Not sexual. Just intimate.
His hands moved slow, reverent, washing her shoulders, her arms, her back. He knelt down to scrub her calves, careful not to press too hard. His palms circled over her skin like she was something ancient he didnât want to break.
When he reached her forearm, he froze.
Barely noticeable.
A flicker of ink.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
There, just inside her left elbowâso faint he almost missed itâwas a tiny tattoo.
A letter.
T.
Just a small, quiet T.
Harryâs throat tightened.
But he didnât ask.
He just finished washing her arm with the same gentle touch, eyes moving on, heart slightly heavier than before.
She didnât seem to notice. Or maybe she did.
But she didnât say anything either.
Once she was clean, he wrapped her in a towel. Pressed a kiss to her temple.
Carried her out of the steam like she weighed nothing.
He dried her carefully, patting down her legs, her collarbone, her stomach. He found a fresh shirt in the drawerâhis, oversized, white, worn soft at the edges. He slipped it over her head since it was already buttoned.
Her hair was still damp.
He knelt to towel it gently, fingers combing through the strands until they no longer dripped.
She watched him do it.
Eyes half-closed.
âYouâre very good at this,â she murmured.
âGood at what?â
âLoving me.â
Harry didnât speak.
Just brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
And kissed herâsoft, long, like a whisper.
He helped her into bed. Propped the pillows. Tucked the blankets around her like she was something precious.
Then brought over the glass of water and plate of crackers the staff had delivered while they bathed.
She nibbled one. Took a sip.
Then collapsed back into the pillows.
He undressed quicklyâjust his shirt and slacks. Left on his briefs. Climbed in beside her.
She shifted automatically. Turned. Pressed her body into his side.
Her leg hooked over his. Her arm wrapped across his chest. Her breath slowed.
âThank you,â she whispered.
âFor what?â
âFor coming to find me.â
He kissed her forehead. âAlways.â
He didn't bring up the tattoo. Not yet.
They didnât talk about tomorrow or what's to come. Not yet.Â
They didnât talk about anything. They just breathed.
And slept.
And healed.
And in the morningâItaly would still be there.
So would peaches. And pasta. And a dinner table strung with lights.
But for nowâ
It was just them.
In a room that smelled like lemons and warm stone.
Wrapped in each other.
Wrapped in the kind of silence that finally felt safe.
Morning came like it was trying not to wake them.
The room was amber with early light, seeping through the curtains in soft, sleepy stripes. Somewhere outside, birds were chirping. A breeze moved through the barely cracked balcony door, brushing the linen curtains like a lullaby. The whole villa felt hushed, like it knew.
It was 8:02.
Harry was already awake.
He laid still beside her for a while, eyes open, body warm under the weight of her leg still tangled around his. Her breath hitched faintly as she dreamed. The collar of his shirtâstill on her, buttons halfway undoneâhad slipped off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of skin heâd kissed hours earlier. One arm was splayed above her head on the pillow, the other tucked beneath his own.
She looked like a painting.
And for a moment, Harry just watched.
Tried to memorize her like this. Sleepy. Safe. Still here.
But work waited.
So he moved carefully, untangling his limbs from hers like she was glass. She stirred only once, face nuzzling deeper into the pillow, hand curling slightly into the sheets like she could sense his absence and wanted to hold on to something.
He kissed the top of her head.
Then slipped into the bathroom.
The water was cold at first. Harry didnât mind.
He turned it hotter as he moved, running his hands over his face, under his jaw, through his hair. The steam clung to the mirror and his skin alike, fogging everything. He leaned both hands on the tile at one point and let the water pound against his neck.
It cleared his head, but not enough. He couldnât stop thinking about the night before.
About her walking barefoot into a foreign town because heâd shut down when she needed him most.
About the way her voice cracked when she said you let me walk away.
About the tiny tattoo on her armâT, barely there. So small youâd miss it unless you were right next to her. Unless you were bathing her.
And now?
Now she was asleep in his bed like none of that had happened.
Like she trusted him again.
Like he hadnât ruined everything and somehow still got to keep her.
It was a kind of grace he didnât think heâd earned.
He stepped out of the shower twenty minutes later, water dripping down his chest, towel slung low on his hips. His hair curled in wet waves. He padded barefoot into the bedroom and dressed quicklyâblack slacks, a crisp white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, two buttons undone. Watch on. Shoes polished. Silver chain on.
She still hadnât moved.
He sat beside her on the bed. Bent low. Ran his finger gently up and down her cheek.
Her face twitched slightly. Eyelashes fluttered.
"Shh," he whispered, brushing her hair back from her temple. "Donât wake up yet.â
She half-opened her eyesâbarely.
He smiled, close to her ear now. âSleep. Iâll be gone a few hours. Stay in bed. Donât go anywhere.â
She made a sound in her throatâsomething like a hum of protest.
Harry chuckled under his breath, then pressed his lips to her temple.
âIâll bring you something sweet,â he whispered.
She nodded without opening her eyes. He waited just a second longerâthen left.
The door clicked shut. And the room was quiet again.
She woke twenty minutes later.
The sheets were tangled around her legs, the pillow smelled like him, and her entire body ached in that slow, heady way that meant sheâd actually rested. She blinked against the sunlight and rolled onto her back, groaning faintly.
It was too quiet.
Harry was gone.
She reached for her phone. Then realized it was across the roomâbattery still dead. She decided to leave it there.
Instead, she pushed back the blankets and padded barefoot into the bathroom. The tile was warm from the sun. She found a silver bowl on the counter, filled it with cold water, and dipped her hands in. The chill snapped her out of the morning haze. She dabbed her face, then dragged wet fingers across the back of her neck.
Afterward, she dressed slowly.
A soft cotton tank top, half-tucked. Loose trousers that hit her ankle. A thin cardigan sheâd almost left in New York. Her hair went up in a loose bun with a clip sheâd stolen from Mayaâs drawer months ago.
Still barefoot, she padded back into the room and scribbled a quick note on villa's stationeryâ
Back soon. Donât panic.
Then she plugged her phoneâleaving it charging on the nightstand.
The villa was already humming by the time she stepped into the hallway.
She passed a few staff members carrying trays and linens, all of whom startled slightly when they saw her. Gave tight nods. Quick, deferential greetings.
One man even bumped into a flower vase as he tried to walk and bow his head at the same time.
It was weird. And sort of funny.
Apparently, being Harry Castilloâs girlfriend meant even your morning stroll inspired a mild wave of panic.
She rounded a cornerâand there she was.
Francesca. From dinner.
Slender, sharp-eyed, hair pulled behind her ears, long dress with thin straps and a vintage scarf tossed over her shoulders like armor. She held a book in one hand and an espresso in the other, leaning casually against a column in the sun.
âFrancesca, hiâ she says.
Francesca looked up. Grinned.
âWell, well. She rises.â
She laughed. âDidnât expect to see you up.â
âI didnât go to bed.â
âOh?â
Francesca held up the book. The Secret History. Pages dog-eared, spine cracked, annotated within an inch of its life.
âStarted rereading at midnight. Got to the murder again by sunrise. Canât stop now.â
They fell into step together without speaking.
Walked through the garden, past the edge of the pool, toward the gravel path that led down into the town.
Francesca sipped her espresso.
âYou hungry?â she asked.
âA little.â
âThereâs a place.â
âA place?â
Francesca smiled. âWhere they donât care if youâre underdressed. They donât care who your boyfriend is. They only care if you eat.â
That was enough.
She followed her down the winding path.
The town appeared slowlyâfirst rooftops, then chimneys, then the low hum of traffic and laughter. Morning energy pulsed beneath it all. A few locals bustled through the square. Bread vendors called out from carts. Children ran with gelato already staining their fingers.
Francesca led her down a narrow side street.
Past closed shutters and old stone fountains.
They turned into a tiny café with vines crawling up the side of the building. There was no menu. No sign. Just four tables, all mismatched, and the smell of garlic already floating from the back.
An old woman came out with two mismatched mugs and a basket of bread.
Francesca handed her the book.
The woman took it without a word.
âThey trade novels,â Francesca explained. âShe hates Kindles.â
They sat.
No one stared at them. No one whispered. No one cared.
It was perfect.
They talked. Not about Harry. Not about the dinner.
They talked about books. About unreliable narrators. About Marguerite Duras and poetry that tasted like metal. About Sylvia Plathâs letters and whether or not Donna Tartt would ever write another book.
They lingered. Coffee turned to tomato toast. Toast turned to pastries. Pastries turned into wine even though it wasnât even ten yet.
And at one point, Francesca reached into her bag and pulled out a little polaroid camera.
âSmile,â she said.
She blinked. âWhy?â
âBecause you are gorgeous. And thatâs worth capturing.â
The camera clicked. She didnât smile. But her eyes were soft. And that was enough. For now.
Meanwhile across townâ
In the velvet backroom of one of the most exclusive restaurants in Florence, the air was thick with espresso, cigarette smoke, and the kind of tension that clung to cufflinks. The room was dim and windowless, paneled in dark wood, framed by heavy crimson curtains, and lit by a single crystal chandelier that hung too low and sparkled like a threat.
Harry sat at the head of the table.
He wasnât speaking.
He didnât need to. People rarely spoke first when he was in the room.
Lorenzo was swirling his double espresso like it was a Negroni. His Rolex caught the light every time he flicked his wrist.
Paolo was leaning far too close to the waitress, his fingers brushing her tray every time she approached, voice oily with charm as he mispronounced grazie on purpose to make her laugh.
She didnât.
Luca looked like he wanted to disappear.
And Danny? Danny was sweating.
Not visiblyâyet. But his collar was too stiff, his shoulders too rigid, his jaw too tight. He kept sipping water like it might help, but the glass never emptied, and he hadnât made eye contact with Harry since they sat down.
Harry noticed. Of course he did.
He noticed everything.
He sat still in his chair, one ankle resting across his knee, a finger tapping once every few seconds on the armrest. His blazer hung off the back of his chair. His shirt was crisp, unbuttoned at the throat, and the light caught the sliver of silver chain just below his collarbone. His hair was damp from the morning shower. He looked composed.
But his jaw hadnât unclenched since Giuliana walked in.
She was seated across from him, all sharp cheekbones and smooth efficiency, her tablet glowing on the linen tablecloth. Everything about her was glassy, manicured, calculated.
"These are the revisions," she said flatly, turning the tablet to Harry. âStandard margin adjustments. Expanded options for the additional properties. And a clause weâd like to include about exclusivity with vendors.â
Harry barely glanced at the screen.
âExclusivity how?â
Giuliana smiled thinly. âYou can read the fine print later.â
âI'll read it now.â
Across the table, Paolo stifled a laugh and took a drag from his cigarette.
Giuliana didnât flinch. âOf course.â
Harry leaned forward, scanned the clause once, then again. His jaw moved slightly. âNo.â
âNo?â Giuliana echoed, arching a brow.
âYou want control over my vendor list without adjusting the revenue share?â
âThatâs the proposal.â
âThen itâs a dead one.â
Silence.
Even Paolo shut up.
Luca exhaled quietly, grateful for the pause in verbal combat. Heâd taken to chewing the inside of his cheek and staring at the antique mirror behind Giuliana like it might teleport him home.
Giuliana didnât argue. Not yet.
She just tapped a new page on her tablet. âThen we can revert. But donât be surprised if the board follows up with a counter.â
âThey can send what they like,â Harry said, voice even. âDoesnât mean Iâll sign it.â
He sat back. Calm. Steady.
But his eyes flickedâjust onceâto Danny.
Still quiet. Still tense. Still refusing to look up from his notepad.
Harryâs gaze lingered a little too long.
Danny cleared his throat. âWe can loop back on the exclusivity clause during the second round of review. Afterâuhâafter the revisions from finance are incorporated.â
Giuliana gave a tight nod. âFine.â
Paolo made a noise in his throat, leaned back in his chair, and said to the waitress as she returned, âDue moretti, bella, grazie. Unless youâd rather share one with me.â
The woman didnât respond.
Harryâs head turned.
Slowly. One look. That was all it took.
Paolo shut up again.
The waitress placed the espresso in front of Harry. Her eyes darted between him and Danny, then back to the door, then away entirely.
Danny swallowed.
His phone buzzed on the table.
Once. Then again.
He flipped it over without checking it.
But Harry saw the name flash across the screen the first time.
Allegra / NYT.
He filed it away.
Another tap of his finger on the armrest.
The same rhythm. The same restraint.
Giuliana was talking againâsomething about property assessments, something about taxes and city permit negotiationsâbut Harry wasnât listening.
Because Danny hadnât stopped shaking his leg under the table for the past twenty minutes.
And that wasnât just nerves about the deal.
That was something else.
Something worse. Something guilty.
And Harry could feel itâlike a shift in temperature, like a drop of blood in a glass of water. Barely visible. But spreading.
Danny had barely slept.
Heâd spent the entire night texting anyone he could think of, pulling strings, calling in favors that werenât his to call. Heâd offered to Venmo three separate interns eight hundred dollars each just to âaccidentallyâ delete Carrie Rothâs file folder.
It hadnât worked.
One of themâAllegraâcalled him at 6:23 in the morning, voice full of regret.
âShe still has the photo. But sheâs not allowed to publish it yet. The girlâHarryâsâthereâs nothing on her. Itâs weird. No last name. No socials. Nothing. Sheâs a fucking ghost.â
Danny had rubbed a hand down his face, staring at the window.
âAnd Lucy?â he asked, already bracing for it.
Allegra hesitated.
ââŠYeah. She gave a quote.â
Danny closed his eyes.
Fucking Lucy.
Of course she had.
"How bad is it?"
âNot bad-bad. But not good. Vague. Something like, âI hope heâs happy. We all move on eventually.â But itâs laced.â
âLaced?â
Allegra sighed. âShe sounds like sheâs holding a knife behind her back and smiling for the camera.â
Danny had spent the rest of the morning doing damage control.
He knew how Harry would react.
Or worseâhow he wouldnât.
The silence was always worse. The version of Harry that went still. That closed off. The version that pushed the good things away.
And DannyâŠDanny had never seen Harry like this with anyone. Not even Lucy. Not even close. There was something softer now. Something better. Harry laughed more. He joked. He sat closer. He smiled like someone who actually felt peace for once.
And if some fucking quote from his ice queen ex managed to ruin that?
Danny would never forgive himself.
So he sat. In the backroom. In the middle of a million-dollar meeting. And tried to pretend he wasnât unraveling.
Harry knew.
He didnât know what Danny was hiding yet, but he knew it wasn't good.
He watched his friend fidget with a sugar packet. Watched his gaze drift anywhere but Harryâs face. And he did what he always did when people lied to him.
He waited.
Let them hang themselves with silence.
Let the lie grow heavy.
Let the guilt set in.
Then heâd strike. Not yet. Not today. But soon.
He sipped his espresso.
Looked straight at Danny. And said nothing.
Danny didnât meet his eyes. Which told Harry everything.
The meeting didnât end so much as dissolve.
Giuliana closed her tablet with a firm snap, gave Harry a businesslike nod that didnât quite reach her eyes, and rose from the table without another word. Her assistants followed in silence.
Lorenzo didn't bother saying goodbye.
He just huffed, muttering something to Paolo in rapid Italian, and disappeared behind a cloud of aftershave and espresso.
Paolo lingered, naturally.
He adjusted his collar like someone waiting for a round of applause, then turned to Harry as if they'd just finished a friendly brunch rather than a laced negotiation.
âEnjoy the rest of your little vacation,â he said with a crooked smile. âAnd tell your girlfriend to try the gelato place on the corner of Via Luce. Itâs almost as sweet as she is.â
Harry didnât flinch.
Didnât blink.
Just said, âWalk away.â
Paolo did. Chuckling to himself, the kind of laugh people used to cover fear.
Then it was just the three of themâHarry, Luca, and Dannyâin the quiet echo of the emptied room.
Luca stood awkwardly by the far wall, holding his phone in one hand, glancing towards the door. He looked like a schoolboy waiting to be dismissed, trying to figure out whether heâd be expected to walk home or if someone was going to make him stay behind for detention.
Harry noticed him hovering.
âYou waiting on a ride?â he asked.
Luca looked up, startled. âAh, yeah. I called for a car but itâs taking forever. No signal in here.â
âIâll take you back,â Harry offered simply. âCome with us.â
Danny perked up immediately. âActually, if you donât mind, Iâll just get dropped at the villa first. Iâve gotâuhâwork to do.â
Harry turned to him slowly. âWork.â
âYeah,â Danny said quickly, already pulling out his phone. âEmails. Calls. Logistics. Just, you know, stuff. Need to get ahead of it.â
Harry arched a brow but didnât press.
Not yet.
âFine,â he said. âLetâs go.â
They stepped outside into the Florentine afternoonâthe kind of golden, honey-warm light that made everything look like a painting. The car, black and sleek, was already waiting, engine humming low and loyal.
The driver opened the door.
Danny climbed in first, barely offering a word before burying himself in his phone. His thumbs moved at an unholy pace, scrolling, tapping, texting, double-checking some digital disaster Harry was clearly not yet privy to.
Luca slid in next, offering a polite grazie to the driver, and then Harry joined, stretching out as the car pulled away from the curb.
For a while, the only sound was tires against cobblestone and the soft clicks of Dannyâs frantic typing.
Then Lucaâs phone buzzed.
He looked down, smiled, and turned slightly toward Harry.
âFrancesca says sheâs with your girlfriend,â he said. âThey found some little cafĂ©. She said to tell you not to worryâtheyâre safe, theyâre having croissants, and we are both invited if youâre done playing mafia.â
Harryâs mouth twitched.
âTell her Iâm on my way.â
Luca sent the message, then tucked his phone away. He seemed a little lighter nowâshoulders relaxed, voice warmer. The post-meeting haze had faded from his features.
Harry glanced at him sideways. âFrancesca yours?â
Luca blinked, then smiled, a little sheepish. âYeah. My wife. We got married last year.â
Harry raised an eyebrow.
âYouâre young.â
Really ironic of him to say when he's fucking involved with a girl who's 26.Â
âIâm twenty-nine.â
âStill.â
âI know.â Luca chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. âEveryone told us we were crazy. But sheâs⊠Francesca. She couldâve ruined me if she wanted to, and I wouldâve said thank you.â
Harry smirked faintly at that. âSounds about right.â
âSheâs opening a boutique,â Luca added. âIn our town outside London. Small, but sheâs excited. Sheâs good at what she does. Always has been. Fashion, interior work. Makes everything feel expensive even when itâs not. I think she wants to build something thatâs hers.â
Harry nodded, thoughtful.
âSmart woman.â
âThe smartest,â Luca agreed. âShe helped me rebuild after the last deal I tanked. Stuck around when I had nothing. The ring I gave her was bought with borrowed money and blind faith.â
âShe sounds like someone worth keeping.â
âShe is.â Luca glanced out the window. âNot everyoneâs that lucky, you know? Finding someone who lets you be soft without thinking less of you for it.â
Harry didnât respond.
Just looked out the opposite window.
Thought of her curled in bed this morning, the soft sound she made when he ran a finger down her cheek. The way she whispered his name in her sleep. How her breath had hitched when he wrapped his coat around her shoulders last night like it was the only thing he could offer.
The car slowed.
They were near the villa now, winding through the familiar lined paths. The sun cut through the trees in slats of white gold, casting shadows like ribbons across the windshield.
Danny didnât look up from his phone.
âHereâs good,â he muttered, already gathering his things.
The driver stopped.
Harry didnât say a word.
Just watched as Danny climbed out like the car was on fire, muttering something about emails and pressing timelines, phone already back to his ear.
He walked toward the villa at a pace that could only be described as erratic.
Harry watched him go.
Luca then gives the driver the cafe's address. The driver nods, starting the car back up.
He looked sideways at Harry. âYou think heâs okay?â
Harry didnât answer.
Instead, he rolled down the window.
Let the wind rush in.
Let the city open around him, brick by golden brick.
And somewhere, in a quiet café across town, she was laughing over croissants and gesturing with her hands, probably making Francesca snort her coffee and wave for more napkins.
He could feel it.
Like gravity.
And for the first time in hours, the tightness in his chest began to loosen.
He was on his way back to her.
The car wound through the hills, the stone and roads softening into something warmer as they dipped toward town. Golden light pooled on terracotta roofs, and the scent of warm bread and basil drifted through the open windows.
Harry barely noticed. His fingers drummed silently on the armrest, but it wasnât impatience. It was gravity. Like some part of him already knew where she was. Like some thread between them had pulled taut and was pulling him home.
Francesca spotted the car first. She waved lazily from the doorway of the cafe, espresso in one hand, sunglasses on, expression unreadable. Her other hand was tangled with his girlâs, who stood beside her in soft linen trousers and a tank top, cheeks flushed from wine or sunlight or maybe just relief.
Harry stepped out of the car without waiting for the driver to open the door.
She looked up.
He didnât say anything.
Didnât need to.
She crossed the stone patio in three quick steps and wrapped her arms around his waist. Not urgently. Just naturally. Like that was where they belonged.
Harry exhaled into her hair.
Francesca raised her brow. âWeâre going to lunch.â
Luca stepped out behind Harry and nodded. âI told you theyâd be ready.â
The restaurant wasnât farâtucked into a shaded side street, the kind of place only locals knew about, with uneven cobblestones and no name on the door. The tables were mismatched wood, the plates chipped, the wine poured without asking.
They sat under vines.
Harry kept his arm draped along the back of her chair, his fingers occasionally brushing her shoulder. She leaned into it like instinct. Her hand drifted to his thigh more than once, casual, familiar. The air was warm but not hot. They ordered bread, fruit, and some pasta.Â
They got wine drunk slowly.
Not the loud kind. The soft, sleepy kind.
The kind where she bit her lip to keep from smiling every time he looked at her. The kind where Harry started to say something about her hair, got halfway through, and just shook his head because the words wouldnât do it justice.
Francesca snapped a photo of them with her old film camera.
They didnât even notice at first.
She was resting her chin on Harryâs shoulder, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed. He was whispering something into her ear that made her laugh, soft and slow. The kind of laugh that lives in your chest. Francesca snapped again.
âYou look like youâve been in love for a hundred years,â Francesca said.
Harry blinked. âHavenât I?â
She just swats him.
The wine kept coming. The food kept coming. She fed him a slice of peach soaked in something syrupy and giggled when the juice dripped onto his shirt. He didnât care. He just licked it off her thumb like it was a reflex.
At one point, he said her name in that voiceâthe low, quiet one he used when the world fell away and there was only her.
She leaned in.
He kissed her under the vines. Soft. Long.
Not showy. Not loud. Just... there.
She pulled back when she realized she was still in public.Â
Harry smirked. âCome with me.â
âWhere?â
He stood. Took her hand.
âJust come.â
She didnât ask again.
They slipped out the back of the restaurant, past the kitchen doors, into a narrow alley framed and hidden by stone walls and jasmine vines. The air was thick and cool, and the quiet wrapped around them like smokeâintimate and heavy with the weight of what was about to happen.
Harry backed her against the wall with a hand on her waist, his body pressing flush to hers.
His eyes were dark, hungry.
âYouâre drunk,â she whispered, grinning.
âA little,â he murmured, dragging his mouth along her jaw. âBut not on the wine.â
Her breath caught.
He kissed her againâslow, consuming. His hand slipped beneath her tank top, palm hot against her bare skin, gliding up to cup her breast. He loved when she didn't wear a fucking bra.
She gasped softly, arching into his touch.
âHere?â she breathed, half-laughing.
âNo oneâs coming,â he said. âBut you are.â
Before she could respond, he dropped to his knees.
Right there, in the middle of that sun-drenched alley, Harry shoved her loose linen trousers down, dragging her panties with them. She stepped out, trembling slightly, and braced herself against the rough stone wall.
He looked up at her with a wicked glint, then leaned in.
He didnât kiss her like she was fragile. He devoured her like a man starvedâtongue hot and wet, lips greedy, fingers digging into her thighs to keep her still. The first stroke of his tongue made her moan, the second had her thighs clenching around his head.
âFuck, Harryââ
He groaned in response, mouth never leaving her. He licked her like he meant it, filthy and relentless, nose buried in her pussy, tongue lapping every drop, every twitch, every whimper. He moaned into her like she was his favorite meal, like the taste of her was addictive.
He wrapped his arms around her thighs, locking her in place as he flicked his tongue over her clit again and again until she was gasping, squirming, one hand gripping his hair like she needed to anchor herself to the world.
He sucked her clit hard, then teased it with the tip of his tongue, slow and obscene.
When he slid two fingers inside herâdeep, curlingâshe nearly collapsed.
âFuckâfuckââ she choked out, her voice high, wrecked.
Her orgasm hit fast, sudden and overwhelming. Her knees buckled. She cried out, hand smacking the wall behind her as pleasure tore through her, her body shaking.
But Harry didnât stop.
He kept licking, kept fucking her with his fingers, chasing every aftershock, every tremor, until she was sobbing his name and clawing at his shoulders, too sensitive, too overwhelmed, dripping onto his tongue.
He only pulled back when she pushed at his head, breathless and dazed.
His mouth was soaked. His lips swollen. His eyes wild.
He rested his forehead against her stomach, breathing hard, his hands still splayed on her thighs like he never wanted to let go.
She laughed breathlessly. âYouâre fucking insane.â
He kissed the inside of her hip, slow and reverent. Then stood. His mustache was glistening with her, and he didnât bother wiping it off.
âYou taste like wine and fucking salvation,â he whispered, voice rough.
She buried her face in his shoulder, dizzy.
They fixed her clothes, hands brushing, bodies flushed with heat. Her thighs were still trembling.
He laced their fingers together as they walked back, like he hadnât just ruined her in a sunlit alley with nothing but his mouth.
And she let him.
Like nothing happened.
And when Francesca saw them, she just raised a brow and handed her another glass of wine.
Meanwhile, back at the villaâ
Danny had turned his suite into a digital warzone.
Two laptops. One iPad. Three chargers. Twelve tabs open. Phone on speaker.
âAllegra,â he said, pacing. âTell me you have good news.â
The voice on the other end crackled slightly. âDefine good.â
âShe hasnât sent it yet?â
âNot yet.â
âBut she will.â
Allegra exhaled. âItâs Carrie Roth. Of course she will. Sheâs sitting on it like a fucking vulture. Waiting until it hurts the most.â
Danny scrubbed a hand over his face.
On his laptop, the image was still frozen. The photo Carrie took. From the lobby. The one Harry made her delete. So he thought.
Carrie hadnât published it yet. But she would. She always did.
And when she did? It wouldnât just go viral.
It would scare her off.
This girl Harry was in love withâreally in love withâshe wasnât built for this.
Not yet. Not that kind of spotlight.
Not the New York fucking Times with a headline about her being a mystery. About who she was, what she wore, why she mattered.
It would ruin everything.
Danny knew it.
Harry wouldnât survive it if she left. Not after Lucy.
Not after that silence, that grief, that hardening it took to survive someone walking away.
And this girl?
She was different. She made him soft. She made him happy.
Danny had never seen Harry like that. Not once.
So heâd do anything to protect it.
Even if it meant calling Carrie himself.
Even if it meant trying to spin it, bribe her, threaten her, beg.
âAllegra,â he said, heart pounding. âText her. Now. Ask for a meeting. Say itâs urgent.â
âWhat do I tell her itâs about?â
Danny stared at the photo.
He swallowed.
âTell her itâs about blood in the water.â
Back in town, Harry reached for her hand beneath the lunch table.
She let him.
And when he leaned in, lips grazing her ear, and whispered, "Iâm never letting you walk away again," she believed him.
Because this time, he meant it.
#harry castillo#harry castillo x reader#materialists#materialists fanfic#harry castillo x you#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#joel miller x reader#joel miller writing#joel miller x y/n#joel tlou#pedro pascal fandom#the materialists#the materialists fanfic#Spotify
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â° full house
the devils month - day thirtyone
featuring: jing yuan x den heng il x blade x f!reader
summary: the general's "old friends" pay him a visit, where they get to meet you, his cute little toy for the first time.
tags: smut, foursome/gangbang, choking, spitting, implied squirting, face fucking, praise, degredation, p in v, finishing inside, triple penetration, dan heng has two cocks fight me.
wc: 3.5k
your arrangement with the general is quite simple. he makes sure you donât get drafted into the cloud knights, despite your family's wishes, and in return, you keep him company. you see, being general is quite a straining duty, and therefore the jing yuan rarely has free time of his own; hence, relationships and intimacy are almost unknown to him. of course, until you came along. your little deal has been going on for a while now; it has almost been a year since it started, and life is great. he dresses you up, treats you to the finest dishes in the luofu and makes your eyes roll back in the best way possible.
the only âdownsideâ is that you canât deny his sexual advantages, but ninety-nine percent of the time, youâre in need of good dick anyways. today is no exception.
right now youâre lounging in the generalâs office while heâs managing some paperwork. your day had been mostly uneventfulâthat was until the doors to his office abruptly opened. in walk 2 men, one with dark hair and a sour expression, the other definitely a vhidyadara, with a more neutral expression. despite your shock, the general doesnât seem fazed at all. in fact, he seems quite happy. he gives them a short nod as they enter his office, taking in the familiar room and making themselves at home.
itâs not long until their eyes settle on you, confused as to what a mere thing like you is doing in the great general's office.
âwhat is that doing in here?â the dark-haired man spouts, clearly unimpressed by your presence.
the general lets out a chuckle, âher? donât mind her. sheâs simply keeping me company.â he finally looks up, doing a one-over on the three of you, giving you a short smile as he turns back to face his friends.
âhow unbecoming of you, dear general. keeping a concubine at your disposal,â the dark haired man gestures dismissively in your direction, stepping further into the room, closing the distance between him and the general.
jing yuan steps away from his desk, making his way down to the lower area of his office, past his friends, and to the sofa, occupying the space next to you. ânow, now, blade, no need to be so aggressive,â he grips your thigh, giving it a tight squeeze. âor are you perhaps jealous? sheâs quite the pretty thing, isnât she?â
the man you now know as blade scoffs, rolling his eyes at the display. "jealous? i have no reason to be." he stalks closer, looming over the two of you on the couch. "i just think it's pathetic, is all. a man of your stature, reduced to rutting with some common whore."
the other man finally speaks up, his calm voice cutting through the tension. "enough. itâs not our position to interfere in jing yuanâs affairs." he steps forward, making his way to the sofa. "although, i must agree, sheâs quite a stunning catch, general."
jing yuan smiles, his gaze never leaving yours as he addresses his friends. "indeed, den heng, she is quite stunning. and very talented as well." his hand slides higher up your thigh, his fingers tracing teasing patterns against your skin. âespecially on her knees.â
dan heng chuckles, his teal eyes glinting ever so slightly. "i can certainly see the appeal." he takes a seat on the other side of you, his large frame dwarfing your own. "perhaps we should stay and enjoy the general's hospitality a while longer, hmm?"
blade looks like he wants to object, but something in jing yuan's expression stops him. he settles for a scowl, crossing his arms over his chest. "fine. but make sure your whore behaves herself.â
you do your best to pay blade no attention, instead glancing over at the two men on either side of you. the general's touch is igniting a familiar heat in your core, letting sinful thoughts fill your head. a blush slowly creeps up your cheeks.
dan heng notices your reaction, a slow smile spreading across his face. "looks like the lady is eager to please." his hand joins jing juan's on your thigh, teasing your smooth skin.
jing yuan hums in agreement, his thumb brushing over your clothed sex. "mmm, indeed she is. and i aim to take advantage of that." he meets your gaze, his dark eyes smouldering with promise. "would you like that, dear? to have us use this slutty little body of yours?â
your breath hitches, your hips shifting restlessly under their combined touch. "yes," you whisper, your voice trembling with need. "please, i want... i want you.â you lock eyes with blade, looking down on you. ânoâi need you. all of you,â you plead, catching his attention too.
jing yuan grins, his eyes darkening with lust as he takes in your pleading expression. "Such a needy little slut, aren't you?" his hand slides beneath your skirt, his fingers brushing against your damp panties. "don't worry, sweetheart. i promise by the end of the night, youâll be fucked dumb by us.â
dan heng chuckles, his own hand joining jing yuan's beneath your skirt. "indeed, we'll make sure this slutty little body of yours gets the thorough fucking it deserves." he presses a finger against your clothed sex, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.
even blade seems to be wavering at the sight of your needy expression, his gaze specifically drawn to the sight of your flushed cheeks and parted lips. "i suppose there's no harm in indulging a bit," he mutters, moving closer to the sofa.
jing yuan smirks, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. "good girl. now, let's get these off, shall we?" he tugs the flimsy fabric down your legs, tossing them aside carelessly. ânow on your knees, my pretty slut.â
you comply, of course, moving to kneel before them. jing yuan grins, his eyes dark with lust as he takes in your body beneath him. "that's it, my little slut. on your knees where you belong." his hand slides into your hair, gripping the strands tightly as he guides your head towards his crotch.
dan heng mirrors his actions, his own hand fisting in your hair as he pulls you closer to his own clothed erection. "open wide, whore. gonna use this pretty mouth of yours."
blade watches from the sidelines, his expression a mix of disgust and reluctant arousal. but as your tongue darts out to wet your lips, he seems to discard his hate. with a muttered curse, joins the other men, unfastening his pants and freeing his hardening cock.
jing yuan smirks, his grip on your hair tightening as he frees his cock, just before pulling you to face his member. "suck," he commands, his voice rough with need. "go on, show us what that slutty mouth can do."
you part your lips, allowing him to slide his throbbing length into your mouth. you moan around his length, the taste of his precum coating your tongue as you begin to bob your head.
dan heng grunts, his own cock twitching with anticipation as he watches you service jing yuan. "fuck, pretty," he breathes, grabbing your right hand and dragging it to palm his erection. "câmon, keep me busy with your hands."
you fumble with his pants, messily freeing his erection, noâerections. you can only spare him a quick glance, given how your face is busy taking jing yuan. but you can feel it nonethelessâtwo hardened lengths grazing your fingers, and theyâre big. you alternate between the two cocks, stroking and playing with them, eliciting sweet sounds from the dragon while youâre bobbing on the general's length.
blade steps closer, his expression unreadable as he watches you work. but as jing yuan pulls you off him, your mouth parting with a wet pop, he seems to make up his mind. he grips your face roughly, forcing your gaze to meet his.
"you want all of us, slut?" he growls, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips. "then open up. i'm going to fuck this pretty little mouth until you're choking on my cock."
he doesnât wait for a response; instead, he thrusts forward, forcing his thick length past your lips. heâs much larger than you expected, making you gag slightly as he hits the back of your throat, but he doesn't relent. his hips snap, meeting your face as he fucks it with brutality. tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you struggle to breathe, but in all honesty, youâre quite enjoying the situation before you with the three men.
while your attention is divided between the vhidyadara and hunter, jing yuan takes matters into his own hands. kneeling down to meet your level, he starts to tug at your robes. his movements start off delicate, trying not to ruin the expensive garments he bought for you. but to no dismay, heâs not making any progress. he lets out a muttered curse under his breath as he opts to rip the garments instead, desperate to see your naked body displayed for him.
the rough motion makes you squeal around bladeâs length, getting quite the reaction out of him as his grip on your face tightens, fucking you harder. the cool air hits your body hard, instantly sending a shiver throughout your entire body. jing yuan's hungry gaze rakes over your exposed self, his hands skim over your curves, his touch possessive and demanding as he pulls you flush against him, away from the other men.
he swiftly picks you up, holding you in his firm arms while he moves you according to his will. he throws you down on the now-free sofa, with your ass up in the air. ever the generous general, he gestures to his two old friends, offering your body to them. âgo on, pretty. be a good whore for us,â he coos as he watches from a distance, hand fisting his cock. âyou gonna be a good girl and let them fuck you silly, hm?â
your response comes out in ragged breaths, due to the harsh treatment from not just the generalâbut his friends too. "please," you whimper, locking eyes with dan heng, pleading as you look up at him. "fuck me. use me like the slut I am.â
your pleading expression makes dan heng's eyes darken with lust, his gaze roaming over your exposed body with a sense of hunger that he doesnât even try to hide. "such a needy little whore," he growls, stalking closer to your body. "begging for our cocks like a bitch in heat.â
he grips your hips, his large hands spanning your waist as he positions himself behind you. you can feel one of his thick lengths pressing against your wet cunt, teasing your entrance with slow, deliberate touches.
jing yuan chuckles darkly from his position in front of the sofa, his hand still fisting himself. "indeed, she is. my pretty little slut, so desperate to be filled and used."
blade scoffs, finding his place at your face once again, his expression emphasises the digust in his eyes as he towers over you. "pathetic," he spits, though his hips keep on thrusting forward, his cock sliding against your cheek. "reduced to rutting with a common whore." despite his harsh words, you can feel his length twitch against your skin, smearing his precum all over your face. you lick a small droplet on the corner of your lips, tasting the salty liquid before peppering him with kitten licks.
your desperation is evident at this point. den hengâs grip on your hips tightens as he grinds against you. "fuck, such a slutty little cunt," he groans, his voice rough with desire. "i bet you'd let anyone fuck your tight little holes, wouldn't you?"
his words send a shiver down your spine, your stomach clenching as he teases your entrance with one of his cocks, while the other rubs your sensitive nub perfectly. you're so close to being filled, your body aching for the stretch of cock.
jing yuan seems to sense your desperation as well, his hand sliding up your back as he leans in close. "Mmm, such a wet little cunt," he groans, his thumb circling your clit. "I bet she'll let us do anything we want to her, won't you, my pretty slut?"
replying seems impossible at this point, so instead, you push your hips further against him, grinding any friction you can get while you moan around bladeâs length. you donât look behind you, but you can hear a condescending tsk from dan hengâs direction. although youâre taken aback as you feel something light trail up your back, you do your best to ignore it; you can only manage for so long.
you try to turn around to see whatâs tickling your delicate skin. but before you can catch a glimpse, the same mysterious object wraps around your face. its ends are soft as it slithers down to your neck, tightening around it, making you gasp for air. itâs then that you realise that itâs his tailâheâs a vhidyadara, of course; it only makes sense for him to have one.
itâs with the movement of his tail that he finally enters you, pushing into your tight cunt at a painfully slow pace, making you feel every burn from being stretched around his cock. you cry out at the sensation, âoh, fuck!â you gasp, your body shaking from being so full. âs-so big! so fullââ
he smirks at the way your body is shaking, his hands gripping your hips as he begins to thrust, his cock sliding in and out of your slick folds while the other continues to perfectly rub your clit. "that's it, take it all, you little whore," he growls, his hips snapping against your ass with each brutal stroke. "this is what you wanted, isn't it? to be stuffed full of cock?"
jing yuan, watching from the best view in the house, chuckles darkly in front of you, the pace he set on himself slowly speeding up. "indeed, she is. my pretty little slut, desperate to be used like a cheap whore."
blade is surprisingly quiet, letting out grunts here and there as he continues to fuck your face, mesmerised by your wet eyes looking up at him. you bat your eyes at him like a helpless dear, which only made him harder, showing no mercy as he fucks your throat even harder. occasionally landing a few slaps to your poor cheeks. heâs close, so he grabs you by the hair and pushes you down on his cock one last time.
âdumb bitch,â he breathlessly spits. âtake it all, you fucking slut,â with that, he lets out what you can only assume is a low moan as he empties his load down your throat.
he pulls away from your mouth, a trail of saliva dangling between his cock and your lips. âopen,â he commands.
you part your lips for him, showing the cum mixed with your own spit inside your mouth. to your surprise, blade leans down, spitting there too, mixing his own saliva with yours. âswallow,â of course, you do. leaving him somewhat satisfied. âwhat an obedient slut, good bitch.â
after licking the remains of bladeâs cum off your face, the grip around your neck pulls you up so youâre standing on your knees. to your dismay, dan heng pulls out, leaving you completely empty. you whine out, disappointed in the three men. that is, until jing yuan grabs hold of your fragile body, lifting you up to place you on top of him as he sits down on the sofa.
âwhatâs wrong, dear?â he coos, feigning pity. âare you that desperate for my cock?â he grips your chin, forcing you to look at him. âwell go on, ride my cock. fuck yourself dumb for me, okay?â in an instance, youâre shifting your weight to slowly sink yourself down on his cock, letting out a loud cry as you completely sit down on him. although as you try to move, you find yourself being blocked once more, by that familiar feeling around your neck.
dan heng, who makes his presence evident behind you, grips your ass while he whispers into your ear. ânot yet, silly girl. thought you wanted to be stuffed full, ainât that right?â one of his hands is now holding his cocks, aligning the first with the very same hole that jing yuan is occupying and the other with your, currently empty hole.
he pushes in slowly, giving you time to adjust. youâve never been so full before. part of you thinks you should be worried; at this rate, theyâll probably break you. but this is what you asked for, no? so you sit there and take it like a good cocksleeve, your limits being tested as dan heng finally bottoms out inside of you, placing a small kiss to the back of your head. âgood girl,â he whispers. âso good at taking cock, arenât you?â
instead of riding the general as he initially planned, he grips your hips, hoisting you up so he can instead thrust inside of you, moving at a brutally mean pace. normally, this would be fine. heâs trained you to be the perfect fucktoy for him. but as youâre currently finding out, taking him and two other cocks is quite the challenge.
you cry out, your slutty moans filling his office. at this point, youâre definitely loud enough for the guards stationed outside to hear you, but they know better than to interrupt the generals âprivateâ affairs. youâre crying, tears streaming down, landing on your breasts. you canât even think straight; even if you could, what the hell are you supposed to think about when youâre so full of cocks.
your pleasure only heightens when you feel a new sensation, something wet and hot gliding across your breasts. you manage to spare a teary glance to realise that itâs blade. sitting next to your general, he leans in closer, lapping up the tears that fall onto your plush tits all whilst stroking himself.
itâs all too much, you can feel your orgasm approaching you rapidly. and apparently, your general can too. âwhatâs this, pretty?â he murmurs in a lustful tone. âyou like being used by multiple men that much? you gonna cum fâme? cream mine and den hengs cocks?â his breath etching into the sides of your neck is only pushing you further; the hot heat making your sensitive skin feel like itâs set ablaze. âgo on then. make a mess for me, my pretty little slut.â
you didnât even notice until it was too late, but during the general's words, the vhidyadara man found his own release. his hot cum spurting out of both cocks, filling you up in both holes. heâs a mess, groaning and moaning at the sensation of being milked dry, babbling into your other ear about how youâre such a pretty concubine.
of course, he wonât pull out just yet, though. i mean, the very concubine herself hasnât come yet. despite the overstimulation, he keeps going, fucking his cum deep inside of you while he whispers into your ear. âjust like that. taking us so well, arenât you?â
youâre quite desperate yourself; the grip you have on jing yuan is much stronger than before, leaving crescent marks all over his biceps as you grind into the cocks. youâre so close, you can practically already feel it.
whether it was den hengâs whiny moan in your ears, bladeâs teeth biting your sesitive nipple, or jing yuan hitting that one spot that makes you see stars, your orgasm hits you hard. harder than ever, if you dare say so. you scream out, moaning the general's name as your vision goes blurry for a moment, gushing out all over jing yuanâs lap and definitely the sofa. the way youâre clenching around him is also enough to send him over the edge, fucking his cum deep inside of you as he rides out his own high. and of course, blade, whoâs watching the entire scenario unfold before him, pulls you to face him. your tits are on full display as he shoots his load all over them, letting it drip down your aching body.
collapsing on top of jing yuan, you finally have a moment to catch your breath. youâre covered in sweat and heaving hard as dan heng pulls out and makes himself comfortable on the sofa. you though, decide to stay and rest on your general, cock still inside of you, keeping the cum from earlier sealed. he himself is also out of breath, dazed expression falling across his face. he seems satisfied, but thatâs not all. youâre sure you can sense something else in his eyes.
your thoughts are confirmed as he clears his throat. âgood girl,â his voice is low, tickling the area next to your ear. âyou took us so well, you really are my perfect little cocksleeve.â he sends a reassuring smile your way as he tucks a stray piece of hair away from your face. although, his gaze quickly shifts into something⊠darker as the hand on your hip slowly trails down to the curve of your ass.
âso well that itâs only fair we return the favourâŠâ he holds your chin gently and you lock eyes with him once more. âisnât that right, gentlemen?â
taglist: @ryescapades @143-ilyuu @maruflix @pixelcafe-network thank you @katsutora for proof reading <3
©lumis kinktober 24' â do not translate, repost, copy any of my works
#â° â the devils month#ambrose.fics#kinktober#kinktober 2024#hsr smut#hsr x reader smut#hsr x reader#honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x reader smut#honkai star rail smut#jing yuan smut#jing yuan x reader#jing yuan x reader smut#jing yuan hsr#den heng x reader#blade x reader#den heng smut#blade smut
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bookworm blurb
pairing: bookworm!reader x rafe
synopsis: youâre trying to read your book but a certain someone canât help but distract you
warnings: fluff, smut, daddy kink, pet names, MDNI

something about books always calmed you down. you were an anxious mess ninety nine percent of the time but reading always helped shut your mind off. it made you stop thinking about all the what ifs and kept you from overthinking. you could get so into a book sometimes hours would pass when in felt like only minutes. you could completely focus in on the words on the page and completely forget everything around you. which is why you didnât notice him standing there watching you.
rafe thought it was cute how you could talk about books all day. he didnât have the attention span to read that much but he always admired you for it. the way your face would light up when you discovered a new favorite. sometimes you would even cry when one of your favorite characters died. he hated when you cried of course but he found it so fucking endearing how connected you could be to these characters.
he shook his head and slowly walked towards you. your stomach was against the cushions, you knees bent with you feet in the air. your hair in a messy ponytail on the cusp of falling out. theyâd spent the whole day home. the weather outside one of those rare cold, rainy days. you always said you loved listening to the rain as you read. it was the perfect background noise.
âhey sweetheart.â
you jumped, quickly closing your book. a blush already rising on your cheeks. you knew you shouldnât be embarrassed but you always were. your thighs rubbed together as you turned your head to look up at him.
âyou scared me!â you let out a laugh as you made to get up but his hands pushed your back down. âwhatâre you doinâ? donât you wanna sit with me?â
â âcourse I wanna. but you look comfy, keep reading I just wanted to see you.â
he lifted your legs and slid under you. his hands immediately going to massage your thighs. he could never keep his hands off you for long. Whether it was holding your hand or playing with your hair.
you went back to your book. quickly getting immersed in the words again. it wasnât uncommon for rafe to sit with you while you read. his hands mindlessly rubbing up and down. occasionally his fingers would drift a little too far up. fingertips grazing your underwear. you hadnât bothered getting dressed this morning. simply throwing on a shirt and pair of panties.
youâre not sure how long has passed but you were a little more then halfway done with your book.
âbaby?â his fingers stopped just below your underwear. tracing the fabrics edges but never straying to your center.
âhmm?â
he knew what he was doing. youâd manage to block him out for the most part. but heâs been getting touchier the longer you read.
âyouâre so pretty.â both his hands came up to squeeze your ass and you let out a little moan.
your face was burning. youâd been together for a while now but youâd never get used to this. his words. his touch.
âmy pretty girl. youâre reading one of those scenes arenât you? think i didnât notice you clenching your thighs? donât know why you read âem when iâm right here.â
you were dripping. it only took a few words and touches from him to have you soaking through your underwear. you tucked your face into your arms. your book falling onto the floor with a little thump.
âso wet. this for me or your little book?â his fingers were teasing. dragging back and forth over the material separating you from him. the material thin. his fingertips catching on your entrance every so often.
âfor y-you. always for you.â god he was barely even touching you and you were a panting mess. âplease rafe.â
his fingers stopped. his warmth gone in an instant. your head popped up about to ask why he stopped before you felt a sharp sting on your ass.
âtsk tsk. what did i say about you calling me that? try again sweetheart.â
his hand was massaging you over where he slapped. the skin sure to have a pink mark.
âp-please daddy. teasing too much.â you were shocked when he first asked you to call him that. you didnât realize youâd liked it until you were a moaning mess beneath him, the word slipping out like youâd said it thousands of times before.
âsee? that wasnât so hard baby was it.â
your thighs clenched with his words. his voice alone could make you wet. he knew how to talk in a way that had you melt against him.
âyou want my fingers sweet girl? your bodyâs tellin me ya do. so wet fâme. i donât know why you bother wearing these. âm just gonna take them off.â
sure enough you felt him pulling the fabric down your thighs. you flushed as you felt your wetness trailing down your leg. his fingers coming back up to rub you. trailing up and down your slit. his fingernails catching on your clit making you whine.
âdaddy. please.â
you could feel his gaze on you. youâd imagine a smirk lining his lips. you could feel how hard heâd become beneath you. the sweatpants leaving little to the imagination. your hips trying to rub up against him.
âso needy. câmon baby i wanna hear you say it.â
your face was flushed. you could feel sweat dripping down your neck. his fingers avoiding the one spot you needed him to touch.
âplease. p-please fuck me with your fingers.â
his middle and pointer finger immediately dipped into you. you were so wet there wasnât even any resistance.
âyes. yes. ohmygodplease.â
before youâd met him youâd tried touching yourself. but your fingers were too slim. too short to reach that one spot inside of you. rafeâs the first one to make you cum. his fingers thick and long enough that he barely has to try.
you hear him chuckle. his fingers dragging against your walls. in and out. in and out.
âgod baby. youâre dripping down my fingers. feel good yeah? i can feel you gripping me. so fucking tight.â
he lets out a groan as your walls squeeze him. youâre so close. so fucking close. tears brim your eyes and you canât help but buck against his fingers chasing that feeling. your stomachs tightening and youâre so close you slam your eyes shut. whining and moaning incoherent words. all you can feel is his rough fingers slamming inside you.
âgod please iâm about to cum. please i-i need-â
âdonât worry baby. i know what you need.â
his thumb finds your clit. running tight and fast. you throw you head back.
âohmyfuckinggodâ
you feel that spot in your stomach snap. stars dance behind your eyelids as your body slumps on the couch.
you feel him move beneath you. heâs so hard beneath you it makes you whimper at the thought of how he feels inside you.
rafeâs hand, the one he wasnât using, comes and and grabs your head. tilting your face to look at him.
âeyes on me baby. there she is.â
youâre blinking. your eyelids fighting the heaviness that weighs down your body. yet you feel your body clench as you watch him lick you off his fingers. his eyes never leaving yours.
you feel yourself dripping onto him. no doubt leaving a wet patch on his pants.
âso fucking sweet. here, taste yourself. lick my fingers clean.â
you weakly lean forward and take his fingers in your mouth. gagging slightly as he pushes them in farther.
âthere you go. good girl, cleaninâ me up so well.â
um so hi. this is my first attempt at smut and omg what do you think.
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#rafe x reader#rafe x you#outerbanks rafe#obx#outer banks#outer banks fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe fanfiction#rafe imagine#rafe fic
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Clandestine (Deluxe Expanded Edition)
ITZYâs Shin Yuna x Male Reader
1.5k words
Base album

To perform an act so forbidden and so illicit sure gives you an adrenaline rush.
The shirt is torn, stray threads hanging off the tear, giving you a window to suck on those nipples. Yuna moans and writhes in the tiny space between you and the dressing room mirrorâa melody to your ears, so pliant. Your hands knead her breasts gentlyâso malleable between your fingers. Her hands ruffle your hair; trying to make sense of the risque situation that she finds herself in, all while saying your name like a goddamn prayer.
âBabe, I havenât paid for the shirt yet.â
And you pause.
Fuck.
You flip the tag hanging off the back of the shirt. The number thirty-nine and ninety-nine are printed on itâdefinitely too expensive for a rag. Your payrolls wonât be out until the end of the month. Is it four days?
âUniqlo wonât let us hide it, right?â
Yuna nods, biting her finger with a rotation on her wrists. Her eyes avoid yours. âTheyâll make us return it at the counter before we leave the section.â
Itâs a sunk-cost fallacy should you decide to continue fucking her senseless in this dressing room. You can just put her clothes back on and leave the store immediately, but her pussy is definitely making you act unwise.
âFuck it.â
You flip her body around, as she lands on the mirror with her hands. Yuna gasps softly at your strength despite you being the shorter one. Her plump ass is sitting just in front of your cock. Her back arches slightly, pushing her cheeks into your bulge. Youâve always loved this part of herâwhen sheâs so pliable, so accommodating like this.
âNaughty girl.â
âJust for you,â and a giddy giggle escapes Yunaâs lips.
You push yourself into Yuna further, squeezing her in the tight space between you and the mirror. Yuna moans softly at the act, hands moving down to undo her tight jeans. Your bulge is raging inside your pants as you fumble with your leather belt.
âStruggling with your pants?â Yuna quips, wiggling her ass against your crotch. A shock shoots through you.
âFucking hell, Yuna,â you growl quietly in the confines of the dressing room, consciously trying to keep the volume low. Your belt comes off, eventually, as her pants fall down to the floor, revealing that curvy, juicy ass youâve buried your face into countless times. She has no fucking reason to be this hot, really.
You hastily unzip your pants before freeing your cock from the fabric cage of your boxers. Youâre already hard, so fucking hard. She shimmies her panties down her slender legs, and her pussy is freed. Sheâs already wet, so fucking wet.
Just for you.
âPut it in my pussy already,â Yuna rasps, hands finding your cock sitting just behind her. She fails, though, and you have to guide them to it.
Yuna pulls you by your cock towards her wet, glistening cunt. Itâs always heavenly, really, to enter her body with your hardness like this. Sheâs unbelievably tight. Itâs as if sheâs constantly trying to drain the soul out of your body, and you canât help but to moan softly as the pleasure shoots through you.
âFuck, itâs so big, baby,â Yuna whines, letting go of your cock for your hips to do the work. âAlways stretching me out so well.â
You push into her until youâre at the hilt, her ass pressed against your thighs. Her cheek is pressed against the mirror. The surface becomes foggy with her hot breaths every time she exhales.
âCanât believe youâre this tight too, baby.â Your hands interlock with hers on the mirror as you pull your hips back, ready to ram yourself back into her again.
âYou look pretty like thisâso pliable,â you say, before you thrust your cock back into her again. You two moan in tandem. Her body trembles at the sheer force of your penetration, sucking in the air through her teeth as she tries to adjust herself to the state of being fucked, as if it has never been a daily routine for you two.
âMmm!â Yuna groans.
Her walls heave and clench around your cock as you settle yourself inside her, trying to milk you out for all youâre worth. She feels so warm around you like this.
âAre we going to just stand like this or are you going to fuck my brains out, huh?â
You pull out, and you push back into her. She whines softly.
Pull.
Push.
She moans.
Pull.
Push.
She whimpers.
Eventually, you find rhythm in fucking Yunaâs cunt against the dressing room mirror. Your hips clash with her ass each time you fuck her. Current shoots through you at every thrust, and sheâs the cause of it. It becomes a routine, a chore you can never get tired of.
Your lips settle themselves on the back of her neck, conveniently gliding past the shaking price tag. Her mouth opens wide, moaning out silent pleas onto the mirror. Her eyes are closed as she takes in the pleasure of being rutted by your cock and your lips on her neck. She looks so gorgeous like this, like a whimpering mess under your fucking.
You quicken your pace, rutting her cunt with your cock faster and faster. Her slick juice coats your cock, some even drips onto the floor. Itâs a ritual. Itâs a habit of you two to clash your bodies with each other like thisâon the bed, on the couch, in public places like this. Your lips trail down her neck, pulling the shirt down to reveal the smoothness of her upper back. She smells like daisies, and you are so fucking hungry for more.
âBabe,â Yuna whispers, and thereâs a stutter in her voice. Sheâs shaking.
You pull back from planting kisses on her neck. âYes?â
âDo you remember that time we did it in the handicap bathroom and I came all over the floor?â
Oh, yes, that time. Yuna was in a suit. You remember that she looked so hot that day, so you just fucked her with her necktie dangling off her neck, slacks pooling at you twoâs ankles. Her pants were all wet with her squirt by the time you were done with her. The person waiting in a wheelchair was fuming when the two of you came out, and you could only take their insults in front of the bathroom, stealing knowing glances with each other occasionally.
âCumming like that again?â
âYep.â
The image of her squirting uncontrollably fills your filthy mind. She squirms and whines against you as you watch her climaxing face in the mirror. You unload yourself into her womb, breeding her in the way she has always loved. âI love having your cum inside me, baby, makes me feel warm,â she once said.
Her tells become more and more prominent with each thrust into her. Her soft moans grow louder and shorter with each passing second. Somebodyâs probably going to hear that, but thatâs the least of your concern. You need her. You need to fuck her. You need to breed Shin fucking Yuna with your white, hot cum.
The familiar feeling starts to take over youâthe knot in your loins, the quickening of your moans. Itâs coming. Youâre close. Your nails dig into her hands, making her whine in pain and pleasure. Your legs shake, barely holding yourself up.
You two are cumming together.
âGonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum!â
âMe too, me too, fuck!â
Everybody is going to hear that fucking screech. Yunaâs mouth opens wide as she cums on your cock mindlessly, brain gets disproportionately blown out of her head. And so are you. You let out a loud, guttural moan as you cum deep inside her cunt. Your cock unloads white, hot nectar into Shin Yunaâs womb, twitching deep inside her cunt that gushes out torrents of clear liquid onto the wooden floor. You two moan in tandem, voices echoing all over the dressing rooms section.
âFuck! Shit!â Yuna rasps, barely holding herself together with the orgasm that crashes through her. Her body squirms in the tight space between you and the wet mirror. Her walls clench around your cock, trying to coax every single droplet of cum out of your balls. Your cock shoots out spurts and spurts into her womb, spent, dried, emptied.
âOh, my, fucking, god,â you groan, body still shaking from the force of your orgasm. Your eyes rest on the reflection of her face in the mirror. She looks so ethereal.
A soft, tired smile escapes Yunaâs lips. âYouâre a good fuck as always, babe.â
âThanks,â you reply.
You grab her chin gently to share one last torrid kiss, tongues twirling in each otherâs mouth, hands locking on the mirror. Your cock is still buried deep inside her, feeling her warmth.
Until your eyes lay on someone standing behind you.
An employee.
No.
Fuck.Â
The storeâs manager appears in the mirror.
âSir, Maâam, Iâd have to ask you to return our shirt and leave the store immediately.â
You and Yuna laugh, with your cock still sitting inside her cunt, cum dripping off onto the floor. âGuess weâll be visiting H&M then.â
â
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Bruce Wayne x reader
Summary: Bruce Wayne with a dumbass journalist reader that has absolutely no self-preservation and will do anything for a good story.
Tw: talk of violence against reader
The whole story is just him scolding you after you managed to follow him into a drug bust to snap pictures. You then trip over one of the men he'd knocked out on the way out, and he has to look away to stop himself from smiling.
He follows you around whenever crime is slow because he knows you'll somehow get into trouble, and for some fucking reason, you always know everything that's going on in the city. He one time followed you only to end up uncovering a trafficking scheme he'd been looking into for days, and when he asked how you knew the base of its operation, you simply shrugged and said, "I just followed my heart."
He constantly has your blog pulled up on one of his computers, and he stalks all of your social media accounts whenever the cowl is off.
Alfred finds you very amusing and insists on Bruce reaching out to you to schedule an interview with you. Bruce always refuses because he knows you'll somehow connect the dots and end up uncovering the fact that he's Batman.
One time you told him you were an omnipotent being, and he still doesn't know whether or not you were joking.
He once saw you at a gala, and he spent the whole night watching you sneak snacks into your purse to take home. He almost lost it when he watched you stumble into someone and get berated for it. The next day he heard about that person being exposed for illegal human experimentation, and he's ninety-nine percent sure it was you who gave the evidence to the police.
Found you bleeding out in an alleyway one night and almost had a heart attack. He genuinely has not felt that afraid since the night his parents died. He took you back to the Batcave and managed to patch you up with the help of a very concerned Alfred. He almost had a panic attack when he realized he loved you after watching you almost die in his arms.
You wake up two days later to him fretting over you. He hadn't slept in two days, and he looked half dead. You're confused because THE Bruce Wayne was scolding you for being stupid, and why does he sound like kind of Batman? OH SHITâ
#bruce wayne#bruce wayne x reader#reader insert#dcu#dc comics#dc universe#the batman#robert pattinson
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birthday wish;
itoshi sae x female reader. wc 2.4k
content: fluff. some profanity. slight making out. birthday fic for sae <3
summary: itâs itoshi saeâs birthday. the world hates you. youâve never been a lucky one. being âshit out of luckâ is the only thing you know. the tables must turn.
if higher beings do exist, they really must hate you. they must. you canât fathom your bad luck otherwise.
not only did your cab to the airport run into an hour long jam, your connecting flight also got delayed and now youâre running a day late.
all you get to see is the group chat blowing up, people sending pictures of others, of each of their antics. thereâs a photo of everyone together except you.
because your business trip is a pain in the ass.
because it made you miss a weekend getaway with your friends in hokkaido.
because even when they made the effort to convince the birthday boy to make a little side trip back to tokyo, youâre still too late for that.
if it was anyone else, youâd have been fine with it. as much as you feel guilty about that.
but itâs sae. itâs itoshi fucking sae and you canât even remember the last time you saw him in person because everyone elseâs schedules match except yours. the world has driven a constant wedge between you and sae and you hate it.
is there any other emotion to be reserved when that happens to you and a boy youâve had a crush on since forever?
meeting itoshi sae as a kid was exciting, hopeful. falling for itoshi sae when he was a teen leaving japan for opportunities elsewhere was giddying. sometimes you canât believe that someone you know is that successful, and other times you hate the fact that heâs so far away because of it.
more than half the time, heâs in spain. heâs never where you are at least ninety-nine percent of the time. the one occasion he was, which was three years ago over new yearâs, you were fucking sick.
and all he sent you was a text telling you to get better while the rest of your group of friends get to hang out with him.
though, you suppose thatâs a good thing. he barely ever texts anyway, and you donât initiate, if only out of fear for getting in his way. (as if small speech bubbles could get in his way at all.)
you sigh helplessly as you reach the immigration hall, even more irritated as you look at the time. already past midnight, saeâs flight wouldâve already left by nowâor, actually, an hour ago because he doesnât have your bad luckâso you donât even have the chance of bumping into him at the airport.
whoopee.
your phone finds itself tossed into your duffel bag at your irritation. unwarranted but it is what it is. by the time you finally get your luggage and exit, youâre exhausted. from the disappointment, the delays, everything.
itâs only when you walk a couple more steps, lugging your things behind you when you stop in your tracks, your boots suddenly feel like theyâre one with the marble below them.
âdidnât think your luck could get any worse.â
is it possible for your heart to feel like it isnât functioning properly after hearing a voice? a voice that you havenât heard physically for who knows how long now?
you have to take a deep breath to even get his name out. âsaeâŠ?â
his brows furrow before he cocks one, sighing as he propels himself forward from against the railing, hands in his jacket pocket as he takes a few steps towards you. his face is hidden behind a black mask, his hood pulled over his head but you can still see the clear piercing teal of his eyes and the same nonchalant expression he always wears in his interviews.
youâve seen a bunch of them.
âwho else would i be?â he sighs again, like heâs exasperated, before he grabs the luggage handle from you and starts tugging it behind him.
it occurs to you seconds later that he expects you to follow him when he doesnât even turn behind.
âwait wait.â you nearly trip over your own feet as you scramble to catch up to him, feeling out of shape the moment you fall into step beside him. âdidnât you have a flight to spain, like, an hour ago?â
you couldnât have gotten the timing wrong because you triple checked it in the group chat.
sae makes a confused noice in his throat before shrugging. âpushed it a day later.â
he doesnât elaborate. like he always does. or doesnât.
âbut why? donât you have training right after you land? or, when you were supposed to land?â
his body brushes your side when he sidesteps someone on his right. youâre ashamed of how your heart skips a beat.
âi have training the day after. i just wanted to get a day to nurse my jet lag if i could. i could still make training if i leave tomorrow.â
heâs always to the point. but heâs intentionally evading a part of your question.
âbut whyââ
âiâm hungry. you hungry?â he asks, and you can only blink. you canât even say anything before your stomach growls and answers for you and sae doesnât have to wait for your response.
he holds your luggage with his right, and his left hand reaches out for you, warmth enveloping as he tugs you beside him into the nearest izakaya, swiftly getting a table for two in the privacy of their special corner table and all he had to do was remove his mask.
âitâs a little late but⊠happy birthday,â you whisper to him across the table.
saeâs gaze flicks over to you, blank expression as he just stares at you for a moment. âno itâs not,â he says, and upon your confused expression continues, âi got your text.â
right, because you used the shitty in-flight wifi to try and get your message to him. looks like it worked.
âoh, good then,â you heave a sigh of relief as you let yourself relax, subtly slinking lower against the booth.
over supper, sae purposely asks you questions, about your work, your days, life in general, overloading you with them so you donât even have a chance to ask him anything thus far.
neither of you even realise that itâs not a 24-hour place, but itâs not a surprise that being itoshi sae has its privileges. before long, the only customers are you and the boy you like and your impatience that puts its foot down and bites the bait.
âwhy did you push your flight back, sae?â
his bowl is long cleared and all he has to busy himself with is the hot ocha on his side. he looks out the window for a moment, as if contemplating something before he spots the waiter and asks for the bill.
another attempt at shaking the question off that wonât earn him any points because the moment you step out of the airport and into the chilly air outside, you question him again.
âsae, tell me.â
sae takes a deep breath, and you can see the bare hint of a flush in his cheeks. itâs not that obvious, but you can see it.
he finally lets up for the first time tonight, the life granting a glint in his eyes. he chuckles, and he shakes his head, though his smile is subtleâjust barely visible.
âyouâre still as irritating as when you were a kid, you know?â he remarks, and you find yourself crossing your arms before he finally relents.
after a small pause, he takes a step towards you, his body barely inches from yours. he leans down to your ears, with a voice thatâs barely a whisper, âi wanted my birthday wish to come true.â
this isnât fair, itoshi sae.
âand whatâs that?â you ask because heâs still there, his neck right next to your lips and sucking the energy out of you because itâs always nerve-wracking being near him even if youâve known him most of your life. l
âi wantedâŠâ he pauses, hesitant to say, âto see you. in person.â
and he finally straightens back up, giving you room to breathe.
is it greedy of you to not be satisfied? you feel like this could be a fever dream. are you sick?
âwhy?â you ask again, and you find yourself trailing after him when he refuses to answer.
sae flags down a cab, telling him your address, word for word correctly and it doesnât register to you that despite never having been there, he remembers it like the curve of the soccer ball, like the arc of his passes.
nothing is ever too much effort if itâs worth it.
youâve just never thought you were ever in saeâs head.
by the time you reach your apartment, the both of you are shriveling in awkwardness, too stubborn and stupid for too long that youâre too used to it.
âthis one, right?â sae asks when he gets to your unit, the one in the corner of the top floor.
you nod weakly, and sae purses his lips before he pushes the luggage towards you.
âget some rest. you must be tired,â is all he tells you before he starts to make a move, heading back towards the elevator.
but youâre sick of it. sick of the chances you never take and sick of how youâre too scared to even try. your fingers reach out to grab the hem of his jacket sleeve, holding him back.
âi wanted to see you too,â you declare, even if he never asked. you get greeted by the sight of his widening eyes, by the slight upward tug of his lips. âyouâre never free when i am and i justâfuckâi hate it. and youâre so accomplished and iâm happy for you, really, but i⊠i miss you.â
(sae looks at you, looking at the floor, looking guilty as if saying you miss someone is a sin. he feels the way his heart aches in his chestâfuck, did he really miss you this much too?
heâs used to having the upper hand, always having you squirm in embarrassment, but why does he feel like itâs slipping with every instance heâs about to tell you how he really feels about you? why is it slipping every single time he sees you smile? in your photos, your stories, even the emojis you send in your fucking texts.)
âyeah, missed me that much?â he asks, teasing you a little as he sees your feet shift nervously.
what you do next catches him completely off-guard, his eyes snapping shut the moment you grab his jacket lapel, pulling him close and kissing him, tasting so sweet he would be tempted to ask you to do that all night.
by the time you pull away, sae isnât ready. heâs not ready anymore. to leave you. not so soon. youâve always been one of the few reasons he couldnât bear to leave japan and not seeing you all this time has helped him tolerate it. now that youâre here, in the flesh, his fingers digging into your hips, he doesnât think he can leave.
âyou- um- what timeâs your flight tomorrow?â you ask, breathless when you finally manage to pull away.
sae groans, shaking his head. âdonât wanna talk about that, doesnât matter itâs fine, iâll make it,â he mutters, eyes shutting close again because the next second heâs chasing your lips, swallowing your chuckles as you stumble to open your apartment door.
he makes the effort to kick your luggage inside before he feels his back hitting the back of the door, eyes flying open and being greeted with a smirk on your face.
so you have this kind of side to you too.
sae smiles a little wider now, shaking his head when you wrap your arms around his neck, jumping up with your legs around his waist as you drown him in kisses that would probably last him at most a few days.
âsorry, i know this is more than you wished for,â you laugh weakly in between kisses.
sae shakes his head. âi donât mind a bonus,â he jokes, and you hit him playfully on the chest.
itâs a little surreal to you that the boy youâve had a crush on for half your life is actually reciprocating. youâve watched him play pro-soccer since he was a teen until now, when youâre both full-fledged adults. youâve never thought that anything would work out. not when youâre just barely navigating through life while he has his whole career figured out.
not when youâre always shit out of luck. but if this is the kind of luck that you get, youâll take it.
âi⊠iâve always liked you, itoshi sae,â you confess, foreheads pressed against one anotherâs as he continues to hold you in his arms, stronger than you remember.
a low hum leaves his throat. âi know, rin told me the first time i came back to japan from spain.â
you might actually kill rin.
(sae bites back a chuckle. he never thought of it much at all back then. he barely cared for anything except soccer. he canât even remember when he started to think of you more. miss you. wish to see you on birthdays, on new year eves, on new years, christmases, whatever occasions there are in a year.)
âi think i might love you,â he confesses, and it takes your breath away.
you can only blink, slowly letting it sink in. you get down off his arms, both of you locking gazes and never looking away.
âthink you could do that from halfway across the world too?â you ask.
it dawns on him what youâre afraid of, but after years of pining for you, sae has no doubt in his head.
âthink i could do that forever, no matter where we are,â sae assures you, pressing a kiss on your forehead. âcould you grant me one more wish?â
you swallow the lump in your throat. âwhat is it?â
âbe mine.â
and this is his birthday (itâs still not 11 october in other parts of the world!) but you feel like itâs your lucky day.
âi think iâve always been yours, itoshi sae.â
and for the first time since youâve known him, you see him smile. wider than youâve ever seen. you finally see the path clearing, you can finally tell, somehowâitoshi sae will be yours for life.
#i JUST put this together so pardon any mistakes :â) but i hope you guys still enjoy it <3#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#sae x reader#itoshi sae x reader#bllk x you#bllk x y/n#sae x you#sae x y/n#itoshi sae x you#itoshi sae x y/n#itoshi sae fluff#bllk fluff#blue lock fluff#à«Ș aeriâs fics !
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1-800-got-stress | jeon wonwoo


pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader
warnings: non-idol au, college/professor au, slight romance (?), english professor wonwoo x teacher's assistant reader, tiny sprinkles of humor, one-sided crush (?), wonwoo is very dense when it comes to reader's romantic feelings (not really though), reader still loves him anyways, cute ending??
now playing: return of the mack, mack morrison
dedicated to: @k1eev (<3)
"After the lecture, I want you all to come see my assistant before you leave. She has the next module printed out and organized for you all." Wonwoo's deep voice is the next thing you hear once you snap back into reality, and many of the college student's eyes dart away from you as you look around, more than likely aware of how long you've been gaping at the English professor.
Jeon Wonwoo was the person always on your mind nowâever since you started as his teacher's assistant earlier this month, you've always been thinking about him.
He was everything you weren'tâcalm, professional, disciplined and put-together. He knew what to say and how to say it, and what to do and how to do itâyou were ninety-nine percent convinced that there was nothing Wonwoo couldn't do.
Not only was he annoyingly perfect at his job, but he was annoyingly handsome tooâhe was handsome to a massive amount of people, students and other professors included. He had sharp eyes that seemed to grow even sharper with the perfect amount of tiredness, and hard-edged features that you had memorized now with how much you had stared at him when he worked.
Time went slow as Wonwoo talked, deep voice echoing through the lecture hall as he gave his presentation on the deeper story of Romeo and Juliet, asking his class questions as he gaged their attention span.
You thought about how nervous you would feel under Wonwoo's gaze. Your face just heated up at it, imagining how you wouldn't be able to look him in the face without feeling completely inadequate.
It was already hard for you to look him in the face, and you were his personal assistant.
"Please finish the last essay I assigned at the beginning of the month. Since we're starting a new module this Friday, I want everyone to be on the same page." Wonwoo's voice was monotonous as students started to pack their things, and you placed the stack of module papers on the desk, letting the students grab and go.
The class filtered out slowly, some staying behind to ask Wonwoo questions and garner advice from him. You watched them quietly, straightening the closet as you dipped in and out of their conversations.
You had just heard another professor enter the room, asking Wonwoo to go out with her tonight for a drink, (to which he politely refused), when Wonwoo had addressed you.
"Are you doing alright? You've looked really tired today." Wonwoo's thick, stern eyebrows are flat as he stares at you blankly, and you try to read his sharp eyes for any flicker of emotion for a quick second, giving up as you give him an awkward smile.
"Oh, I'm fine, Mr. Jeon. I'm not even tiredâjust a bit distracted, that's all." You reassure him, and Wonwoo nods, looking down at his watch as you finish straightening up your desk.
"You should get some rest. It's not good for you to be tired and trying to assist me, is it?" Wonwoo has a faint smile on his lips when he says this, and you try not to blush or melt under his hot gaze against your skin, fiddling with your collar awkwardly as you nod.
"Here, let me help you with those." Wonwoo's voice is directed to the stack of heavy books teetering on the end of your desk. You nod to him gratefully, allowing him to pick them up as you walk to the other side of the room, unlocking the storage closet door.
He held the books without strain, face still as he waited for you to finish putting your share of books down. Wonwoo followed you, cologne wafting in the air and drifting under your nose as he turned off the lights.
"Thank you for today. You did very well." Wonwoo's voice was sweet as he smiled at you, and you returned the gesture stiffly, making your way back to the desk as you grabbed your things.
"Of course, Mr. Jeon. You did well too, I meanâyou did well with the lectures and everything. You teach everything in such a fresh way, it's tough for anyone to not be compelled or interested in what you're teaching." You were a sucker for Jeon Wonwoo, and it was starting to show more and more nowâhow were you supposed to be normal about him?
"It takes a lot to make the lecture engaging and informative, so I'm glad you think that of me. Many students call me the boring teacher." Wonwoo's voice is lighthearted as he finishes straightening up his desk, and you chuckle, mostly at the absurdity of his words.
"You're quite the opposite of a boring teacher, in my opinion. Your stories and explanations are way more animated than the textbooks could be." Were you showering your superior-turned-crush with embellished compliments? Yes. Did you want him to notice?
...Not really.
"You sure do have a lot to think about me, don't you?" Wonwoo's voice is still playful, even if it has a neutralness to it. You blush slightly at his words, earning a smile from Wonwoo as he smiles. "I'm just teasing you. I appreciate everything you say to me."
A slight pink tint to Wonwoo's cheeks brings an even brighter one to yours, and the two of you fall silent, obviously sensing something between you. Wonwoo's eyes rake over your form, and you shyly look up at him, dark brown eyes behind his frame still making you warm inside as you sigh (dreamily and deliriously, as you might add).
You had made WonwooâProfessor Jeon Wonwoo, the boring, scarily neutral English professorâblush from your compliments. You would be wallowing in your achievement if you weren't also blushing at the moment.
"Well, I, uhâ" You stumble over your words, also stumbling over your book as you pick it up from the floor. Wonwoo watches you quietly, glasses sliding down his strong nose bridge slightly as he watches you head towards the door. "I should get going. It's getting late, and I have to be back here early tomorrow."
"I'll walk you to your car." Wonwoo nods, following suit as he slips his jacket over his broad shoulders and picks up his briefcase. His dress shoes hit the wooden floor as he follows after you, and he turns out the light, leaving you two engulfed in darkness for a few seconds as you stumble back, stepping on Wonwoo's foot.
He grunts harshly under you, and you scramble back, lights in the hallway illuminating your embarrassed blush. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry."
Wonwoo just smiles again, smile lines sending butterflies that go straight to your stomach. "No worries. You couldn't see because of me, and I'm sorry." His cologne is so strong and so him you can't think straight, but you do your best to string your words together.
"Well, Mr. Jeon, I'll see you tomorrow," The two of you had just left the building, now by your car as you unlock the door. Wonwoo watches you with sharp eyes, clearing his throat as you turn to him.
"IfâIf you'd like, we should converse over dinner sometime. Not as coworkers, but as good friends." Wonwoo's sentence brought a rude awakening to your world, and you stood in shocked silence for a second, processing what he said to you as you blinked blankly.
Wonwoo considered you to be a good friendâyou would have never told by how unfazed he was by most things, but he considered you to be more than a coworker or partner. He saw you as a friend. A good friend who was asking you to dinner.
"Yeah, weâwe should, Mr. Jeon." You agree, and Wonwoo clears his throat, sharp eyes daring away as he adds, "Oh, and you can call me Wonwoo. We're comfortable with each other now, so we can drop the formalities."
Not only were you Wonwoo's good friend, but you were such a good friend you could now call Mr. Jeon by his real name, Wonwoo. Too many green flags were going off in your head, but could Wonwoo sense he was giving you all these green flags? It only made your crush on him worse.
"Well, I'll get going, Wonwoo." Even his name on your lips felt sweet, and Wonwoo nodded, giving you a small wave as he closed your car door.
"Until tomorrow." He smiles softly again, and you melt into your seat, smiling as you nod back. "Until tomorrow."
feedback & reblogs are appreciated! love u lyrnation <3
#kpop seventeen#seventeen#svt#svt x reader#svt wonwoo#jeon wonwoo#wonwoo fluff#wonwoo x reader#wonwoo imagines#wonwoo fic#wonwoo x you#wonwoo#lyrwrites#writing#userhyperdramas#giggling uncontrollably#i'm ruined#i LOVE wonwoo#he's so#UESFONSEFL#so giggly#so dense#but so in tune#??#i love this concept#i wanted to write more#but i'm so sleepy#i can't#and i don't want to make stupid mistakes#so bye bye lyr nation
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Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want



Words: 1k
Pairing: Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader (Godly parent not specified)
Synopsis: Clarisse was fine with not getting anything she wanted until she laid her eyes on you.
Warnings: Pining, whipped!Clarisse, This is mostly in Clarisse's POV, handling of dangerous weapons (a dagger and a spear). [Let me know if I missed any.]
A/N: I apologize if the storyline is messy. I wanted this to be longer, but my attention span was not cooperating with me today. I had to take a lot of breaks while writing this because I could not sit still for more than five minutes.
masterlist || previous work
â
Clarisse remembers the first time she saw you.
You were in the forge, polishing some of the newly-made spears because you had nothing better to do. You were under the supervision of Luke since he was showing you around, but the boy had kept his distance, opting to just watch from the sidelines as you worked. Clarisse had walked into the forge, the chatter that was going on around you stopping. You discontinued what you were doing in order to look at her, wondering why your fellow campers were on-edge at her presence.
Your eyes met hers, taking her aback.
She hadnât seen you before.
Once Clarisse realized that she was staring, she promptly cleared her throat, scowling. âWhat are you looking at, newbie?â She asked, crossing her arms. Her plans on scaring you, however, failed when you smiled sheepishly.
You had been equally mesmerized by her, something that she failed to notice. âSorry, youâre just soââ
Clarisse held her breath, preparing herself for an accusation (that sheâs mean and terrifying â both of which are true, but words that sting nonetheless). Though, itâs not like sheâs going to think about it for the rest of â
ââPretty.â You conclude your sentence.
Oh.
Clarisseâs brows furrowed. She thought she would hear something insulting, but instead she was met with a compliment? Her eyes searched yours once again, looking for a trace of malice. She didnât find any, which made her confusion stir all the more. She scoffs, furious at herself for not being able to figure you out. âWhatever.â Clarisse walks away, turning her back on you so as to not show her weakness. She storms back to the Ares cabin, forgetting the reason why she went to the forge in the first place.
You frown as you look at the dagger in your hand, examining the initials engraved on the grip.
C.L.R.
---
The next time Clarisse saw you was when you were watching her train, your eyes following her every move. Clarisse pretended to ignore you until she found herself unable to focus. She put down her spear, turned to you and asked, âWould you like me to teach you?â before she could even stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth.
You nodded eagerly, âYes, please.â
You walked over and Clarisse pretty much had to use all her self-restraint to not just stand there and stare at you.
ââŠAlright, so you hold this andââ
---
It had been ages since that day.
Even though you and Clarisse have gotten closer, there was still a part of her that longs for more. See, ninety-nine percent of the time, her wishes donât come true. Or it does, for a little while, but then it gets ripped away from her grasp. She gets her hopes up and then it all comes crashing down â a cycle that never ends.
Clarisse has come to terms with the thought that she will never gets what she wants. She supposed that she was okay with that, but then you came along and everything changed. For every smile, every crinkle of your nose, every stupid joke that made you laugh, she finds herself wanting to wish that you would feel the same way she does.
âClary?â
She snaps out of her reverie and looks at you, âYes?â She felt embarrassed for not paying attention, smiling apologetically.
âI asked if you wanted toââ
âYes.â
You sit up in her bed, laughing. âI havenât even finished the sentence yet.â You grab her hand gingerly, locking your fingers together. âI was going to ask if you wanted to go with meââ
âYes.â
âClarisse,â You whine, âLet me continue first.â You pout, trying to let go of her hand, but Clarisse wouldnât let you.
Clarisse shakes her head, holding on to your hand firmly while her other brushes a strand of hair away from your face. âI donât care. Iâll go wherever you go.â She says genuinely. Being that close to you made Clarisseâs heart race, but she couldnât bring it in herself to look away because then youâll know that something was up.
You stare at her in disbelief, crossing your arms, âReally? Youâll go with me to show the new kid around camp?â
Her lips purse and you know youâve got her. Clarisse lets out a sigh of resignation. âNo.â She mumbles. As much as sheâd love to spend more time with you, she and you have very opposing ideas on how to welcome new campers.
âThought so.â You deadpan.
âWhy are you the one doing it, anyway?â
âBecause Iâm still in trouble for staying past curfew two days ago, pretty girl.â
Clarisse froze at the nickname. If her heart wasnât beating fast before, it surely was now. You chuckle, beginning to make your way out of the bed. âHey, no, where are you going?â Clarisse grabs your hand, another laugh escaping you.
âTo give that tour.â You roll your eyes, successfully prying your hands away from Clarisseâs grip. You ignore her sounds of protest as you make your way to the door.
Clarisse could feel her stomach drop, feeling the warmth slip away the further your distance becomes. The longer she stares at you with your back turned, the longer she thinks you would leave without saying goodbye. To her surprise (and not for the first time), you look back at her.
âIâll see you later at the bonfire.â You lean against the doorframe, your eyes narrowing. âDonât be late, alright?â
Clarisse rolls her eyes at the look you give her. She was only late one time and that was because she was debating with herself whether to give you flowers or not. She wanted to tell you the real reason why she was late, but decided it would be best to keep her mouth shut. âI wonât.â She says instead.
âGood.â You straighten your posture, putting one foot out the door while a hand rested on the doorframe, giving Clarisse a smile she knows you only reserved for her. Only when she smiles back do you actually take your leave.
Clarisse gets a sense of hope upon your departure.
Maybe it would be different this time.
She leans back against the bed frame, sending out the same prayer to every god she could think of.
Please, please, please let me get what I want.
#clarisse la rue#clarisse pjo#clarisse la rue x y/n#clarisse la rue x reader#clarisse x reader#percy jackson and the olympians#percy jackson series
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ikea meatballs before marriage?
contents ౚৠâ touya todoroki x fem reader. fluff. cursing. slightly suggestive. â your fiancĂ© and you get a little too into playing house when youâre supposed to be furniture shopping for your new apartment.


âyouâre home early.â touya smirks. an apron youâre ninety-nine percent sure he stole from the aisle showcasing the ovens with âi cook as good as i lookâ printed on it is tied around his waist.
âiâm home!â you say cheerfully, playing along with him.Â
you take a moment to study âyourâ kitchen and droop in disappointment.Â
it was a bit too dim for your liking, the lighting.
thereâs no way you could read the recipe books rei had gifted you without touya having to stand there and hold a flashlight while you did.
but the deep forest green accented cabinets, reaching all the way to the ceiling, were beautiful.
perfect for storing fuyumiâs leftover snacks that her students gifted her yesterday.
she had complained to you over the phone about how there was no space at home since all the cupboards were full of soba noodles, courtesy of your fiancé and little brother-in-law.
touya nervously watches, until he sees as you visibly brighten up, and he lets a little huff out, half in pride, half in relief.Â
he knew his pick couldnât be that bad.
then you spot the fake plant hanging from overhead, and grimace as you see a cluster of even more potted plants under it near the toaster.Â
cute in theory, but definitely a fire hazard.
touya notices the little way your eyebrows furrow with doubt, and casually leans against the edge of the sink to distract you from making any more keen observations.Â
you giggle at the way he almost knocks off the price tag on it in the process, too busy staring at you to bother noticing.Â
âhow was work?â your favorite fire hazard asks, reaching out a hand to gently brush a stray lash you didnât notice from your cheek.Â
your face always feels hotter than usual when touya pulls away, even after all this time.
âugh, so exhausting,â you fan yourself a bit, let out an exaggerated sigh. âthe printer blew up and got toner all over my clothes, can you believe it?â
âaw.â thereâs a playful sparkle in his eyes as touya innocently frowns in sugary sweet sympathy. âwant me to run a bath for you later?â
you can feel your cheeks start to burn. you just took one with him yesterday!
but of course you find yourself stuttering out, âoh, um sure.âÂ
the memory of his fingers softly massaging your scalp as he helped you wash your hair. the gentlest of touches on your skin as he lathered you in suds, pressing a kiss to your forehead between rinses flood back to you.Â
you remember trying to wash his hair one time, but he quickly stopped you by trapping you in his lap, insisting that he wanted to do yours first. like he does during every bath he runs for you when you stay over at the todoroki house.
and he would take just as good care of you, your heart knows, in your cozy new apartment that was waiting for you back in shizuoka too.Â
not too far from home, so that everyone could still visit, but not too close either, so the both of you had your own space.
touya grins as a shy expression suddenly crosses over your face, knowing exactly what youâre thinking about.Â
with amusement, he watches as you reach over to set your purse on the white marble counter.Â
a pair of strong hands claim their usual spot on your waist, holding you in place, and then youâre pulled away until your back bumps against a familiar, firm chest.
âuh-uh, mrs. todoroki.â he murmurs softly in your ear. âi just cleaned that for you before you got home.â
your breath catches. mrs. todoroki? Â
âmy bad,â is all you can manage to squeak out.
his nose tickles your cheek in response and you giggle at the feeling of his piercings, cold and soothing against your warm skin.
âso. what do you want for dinner today?â touya says, leaning over you to open the fridge. he scans its empty contents with a face so serious that you have to bite back a laugh.Â
âwhat do we have?â
âstale airâi mean,â touya coughs. âuh, salad.â
âthatâs it? just salad?â you point an accusatory finger at him, and he snorts at the way you force your eyebrows to scrunch together to make an angry face. so cute.
âoh, you think this is funny? take that apron off right now, you big phony.âÂ
âyes maâam.â he laughs airily, reaching behind him to undo the tie when his hands stop.Â
touya turns to you with a pout. âcan you do it for me? my fingers hurt from cooking and cleaning all day.â
he makes it so hard to stay mad at him, even as a joke.Â
you bite your lip to suppress the fond grin growing on your face, but it's too late, touyaâs already seen it and he knows youâll give into him soon enough.
âaw, my poor husband all alone in the house, cooking air and salad. it mustâve been so hard for you.â
he pouts even more. âit really was.â
the giggle youâve been holding back finally spills from your mouth. he was ridiculous, and you loved him for it. âokay you big baby, iâll untie it for you.â you move to stand behind him, hands reaching for the back of his waist to untie the neat bow he did for himself earlier.
âi think you mean your big strong husband.â touya leans his weight back into you.Â
not enough to hurt you or make you fall, but just enough to give you a hard time undoing the knot of his apron.Â
âsewing machine was acting up like crazy today, had to teach it some manners.â
âiâm sure you did.â you fight back another laugh, which turns into a whine as his broad back leans into your face even more.Â
âtouya stop it! do you want this apron off of you or not?â
you can practically hear him smirk from in front of you.
âiâm okay with anything as long as it keeps your hands on me.â
you step away from him and he lets out a âoof!â as his back thuds against the hard floor of the ikea showroom, taking down a fake plant with him.
touya is donning a new apron when the two of you find yourselves outside of another kitchen showroom.Â
âârelax, iâll feed you bitches.â it read in bold.Â
you giggle hysterically as he stands there, hands on his hips and looking way too proud of his find, as you snap a pic to send to the groupchat with his siblings.
iâd rather eat poison, natsuo texts back.Â
his message is hearted by fuyumi and shoto a few moments later.Â
a miffed touya reaches over your shoulder to steal your phone, which you easily let go of and surrender like usual with a laugh.
 his chin rests on your head, your back pressed to his chest as he perches his upper arms on your shoulders to text back.Â
after he hits send with a satisfied smirk, the both of you walk onto the set.
the kitchen this time was one with a less colorful theme, yet you hear a sharp intake of breath from touya and you feel your own breath catch in your throat.
the tall windows and generous lighting more than made up for it.Â
framed paintings of cranes were hung on the slate gray wall behind the dining table, and the refrigerator was much, much larger than the one you saw touya open before.
familiar indigo petals catch your eye. there was a beautiful painting of rindou flowers next to the window in the kitchen, and you canât help but stare.
âmom would love those.â touya murmurs from beside you. your fingers lace through his as you smile softly in agreement.Â
âshe would.â
still in the second showroom, touyaâs rummaging inside the cabinets while you study the spice rack.Â
imagine all the goodies you could fit in there, from sesame seeds to shichimi togarashi.
you drool thinking about all the miso soups and sweet potatoes you could put them on when he suddenly turns to you.
âiâve been working on my cocktails while you were at work, by the way.â touya grins, handing you an empty, plastic wine glass from where youâre perched on the granite countertop. âwanna try?â
you raise it to your lips and take a delicate sip of nothing.Â
âoh yum! whatâd you put in it?â
âkale juice.â he snickers behind his hand. âyour favorite.â
you make a disgusted face. âwell thatâd explain the kick to it.â
âright? i really, really think fuyumi and natsuo would like it.â
âtouya todoroki, donât you dare.â
âhey.â he raises both hands in innocence. âa little kale never hurt anyone.â
âyou say that but you hate kale.â
âa little kale never hurt anyone unless itâs me.â
you roll your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck. touyaâs hands smoothly guide your legs to hug his waist, bringing you closer to him from where youâre sitting on the counter. he stays standing, towering over you.Â
âcanât believe iâm marrying a hypocrite.â your voice is muffled against his shoulder, and he laughs.
suddenly, you gasp and point at the sink. âtouya!â
his eyes widen at your raised voice, instinctively looking behind him for bugs to kill because thatâs the only time your tone would sound that alarmed.
touya hugs you closer to him protectively.Â
you canât help but melt as his arms wrap even tighter around you, his serious turquoise eyes still scanning around the kitchen for any threats to you.
no bugs.Â
no tacky âlive, laugh, loveâ-esque sayings framed on the wall.
which he knows is your biggest interior design pet peeve after binging an insane amount of those house flipping shows with you.
â...what is it?â touya finally asks after a moment of hesitation.Â
you giggle at the ticklish feeling of the cold silver of his lip piercing brushing against your forehead as he speaks.
âthe dishes arenât in alphabetical order!â
touya breathes a sigh of relief, then laughs into your neck.Â
he pulls away to roll his eyes at you. âyou nearly gave me a fucking heart attack!â
âwhat, why?â you laugh, fluttering your lashes at him. so utterly adorable, that he resists the urge to bite you.
touya fights back a blush and averts his eyes from your face, remembering his protective actions. they had been purely instinctive. he reaches up to cover his face with one hand.
âtouuu!â you canât help but laugh harder, reaching up to pry his fingers away from his face. âcome on, look at me!â
touya shyly slides his gaze back to you, and lets you take his hand away from his face.Â
you lace your fingers through his and lean in to give him a sweet kiss on the lips, which only makes him blush even harder. the chill of the ikea air conditioning did nothing to help.
his eyes trail in the direction of the spice rack you were dreamily looking at earlier.
âwhy is this crooked?â he frowns, reaching behind you to straighten it.
âpfft is it bothering you?â you take a glance at it. looked okay enough to you.
âyeah it is.â touyaâs hands are on the shelf, trying to readjust it into the right position when suddenlyâ
snap!
the both of your eyes widen at the sound.Â
the shelf was upright and more centered than before.Â
except now it had a clean split down the middle of it.
of course, touya chooses to focus on the most important part.
âwell at least it looks better now.â
and all he can think about as you laugh into his shoulder is that he canât wait to stand hip to hip with you in your actual kitchen.Â
sunshine peeking through the curtains as the two of you make soups, bake each otherâs favorite pastries, and indulge in your random middle of the night cravings.
from now until forever.
after lunch in the restaurant, touya adds ikea meatballs to his list of favorite foods.Â
youâre pretty sure thatâs only because you fed them to him.Â
because while you adore him to pieces, he is an unbelievably picky eater, much to fuyumiâs chagrin.Â
luckily, heâll eat anything as long as youâre the one giving it to him.
your sister-in-law thanks you for her lack of headaches when she makes dinner.
in the third kitchen showroom of today, you squint out the window behind the sink.
âi donât know if i like it.â
âdonât know if you like what?â touyaâs still washing his hand in the imaginary water under the faucet thatâs clearly never going to start running. his silly self has been there for the past five minutes, at least.Â
you hold back a laugh at how meticulous he is about it.
âthe view.âÂ
he looks up and snorts at the wistful gaze you throw out the obviously fake window.Â
it had a picture of city scenery taped on the wall outside of it, and the circular shape of a familiar building catches his eye. he recognizes it.
the meguro sky garden in tokyo.
the first place he ever took you out on a date to.
with a fond twitch of his lips, he remembers the way he almost tripped over his feet under the cherry blossom trees when you had suddenly pecked him on the cheek. all those years ago.
touya turns the faucet off, and comes up behind you to lean his head on your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your waist. his eyes soften as you nuzzle against his chin.Â
he knows that you know he canât feel any sensations there anymore.Â
but god, does touya love that you still touch him in the places where he canât feel.Â
the way you litter soft kisses under his eyes, stroke his forearms as you guide them to your waist. like theyâre still a part of him, like heâs not broken.
like heâs always been whole to you, never any less.Â
âbut sweetheart,â touya muses. âthink about how close it's close to the best schools.â
your face heats up as you realize what heâs talking about. like you havenât thought about it a million times before.
a kid. with him.
his and your kid.
as if the universe read your mind, a very chubby baby being pushed in a cart passes by the opposite side of the window, covering the picture of tokyoâs scenery.
and it stares at touya and you with the judgiest look youâve ever seen in your life.
the two of you glance sideways at each other and burst out laughing.Â
ânevermind,â you giggle, feeling small and safe tucked in his strong arms. âmaybe the view isnât so bad.â
looking softly down at you, the beautiful color of your eyes meets his, and his heartbeat quickens.
touya canât help but agree.
a familiar weight softly rests on your shoulder when you groggily open your eyes, and your fiancé is close to follow as he stirs beside you.
you flip around to face him from where he was spooning you, giggling at the little trail of drool coming from the corner of his mouth as you watch his eyes flutter open.
you feel your breath catch in your throat as you gaze upon him.
his hair is starlight in the morning.
touya, still half-asleep, snuggles against you, completely drunk on your warmth. the soft feeling of your skin against his.Â
he doesnât even try to resist it.
the little giddy smile that tugs at his lips whenever the cool feeling silver of your sapphire embedded ring sparkles under the sunlight pooling through the curtains of your shared bedroom as he laces his fingers through yours.
his own ring softly clinking against the one he gave you.
after moving into the privacy of the apartment, with no prying eyes or nosy siblings randomly bursting into his room, touya loves to sleep with his lips just barely grazing your neck.
whenever you wake up from a nightmare, heâs already kissing the nape of it, the protective hand he has on your hip smoothing circles into your bare skin.
when he wakes from his, youâre already quietly cradling him in your arms, running your hands through his midnight black hair.Â
you really have no idea how hard you make it for him to get up.
but the idea of seeing you happily smile because of him is what gives him the final push to wriggle out of your embrace, and the adorable little pout you give him almost breaks his heart.
âwhere you going, tou?â
he grins cheekily, placing a finger on his lips. âitâs a secret.â
there's a grumble from you in response and he smooths the crinkle between your furrowed brows with a gentle kiss.
âiâ'll be back soon, i promise.â
âyou better or iâm eating your last pocky.â
he laughs at your threat, as if he wouldnât give it up to you the moment you asked.
at the sight of your eyes already starting to droop, touya presses another kiss to your forehead. âgo back to sleep, sweetheart.â
âno.â you pout as his socks pad against the floor when he leaves the room with another laugh.Â
huddled up in your floral patterned blankets, you drink in the faint scent of sweet cologne that lingers on them.Â
it still smells like him. warm like him, too.
thereâs an old photo of touya framed on your nightstand. you love to look at when you fold his and your clothes.Â
rei had slipped it out of the family album for you to keep the moment she saw how much you liked it.Â
itâs the one where heâs holding a baby shoto like a football in his arms. thereâs an easy grin on his face.
you look at it for a little longer, letting a sleepy, content smile spread across your lips.Â
until five more minutes pass, and youâre starting to feel impatient.
âshoto!â you call out the doorway in the direction of the guest room you set up for him the day before he came to visit. âwhatâs your brother doing?â
âcooking.â comes shotoâs soft voice floating down the hallway.
and thatâs all it takes for you to get up and rush to the kitchen at lightning speed.
thankfully, the fire alarm hasnât gone off yet by the time you get there.Â
you find touya slicing peaches on the counter, in front of the painting of rindou flowers. thereâs a plate of neatly assorted fruit next to him, and your eyes widen as you admire the rose-shaped strawberries. howâd he do that?
âhey.â touyaâs eyes narrow playfully when he notices you, putting down the knife. âyouâre supposed to be in bed.â
you place your hands on your hips.Â
âand youâre supposed to not be burning our new apartment down.âÂ
throwing a cautious glance at the unmanned pancakes sizzling in the pan beside you, you add on. âwith your little brother in it.â
he breathes a laugh and saunters over where youâre standing by the fridge, cornering you to the counter.Â
your fiancĂ© grins at your stammers when he leans closer. he can practically feel the heat from your cheeks from here, and touya thinks the tiny house plant overhead grows an inch taller from the sheer warmth youâre radiating.
âstoveâs off, sweetheart. theyâre not gonna burn.â
âo-oh.â you sigh in relief.
âyou worry too much.â touya murmurs softly as holds you in place by the waist to hold up a spoonful of blueberries he forgot to add to the batter.Â
your lips reluctantly part to let him feed you, and his heart skips a beat at the hint of a smile on your face.
âmmph!â
suddenly, touyaâs lips are on yours and you taste the sweet tartness of the peach he mustâve had before you came over.Â
the cold piercing of his tongue teases your mouth and he corners you even further against the cool marble of the counter to make out, just as you hear a pot start to boil and your eyes snap open.Â
youâre breathless as you muster all your willpower and break away from him.
âtouya, the pot!âÂ
âoops.â he glances at it, still caging you against the counter with his arms.Â
âforgot about that.â
âfound your necklace that fell behind the bed last week.â touya says later after breakfast. youâre both sitting on cushions fuyumi and natsuo gifted you at the coffee table in front of the tv, watching ponyo as sunlight seeps into the living room.
it swings it back and forth on his finger and your eyes widen in relief.
âi was looking everywhere for that to wear to shotoâs class party!âÂ
âi know.â he grins, and you sigh as he presses a soft kiss to your neck. of course he did.Â
touya reaches around your neck to securely clasp the back of the necklaceâs chain, a smirk tugging at his lips.
âi think i deserve a little reward.â
you giggle, he was so cute.
âthanks touya.â you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and he pouts.
ânot there.âÂ
âwhere then?â you smooth your hands against his bedhead and he almost whines when this time, you press a kiss to his forehead. âhere?âÂ
always such a tease, and he adores you for it.Â
touya looks like a desperate puppy as he huffs, nudging your nose with his.Â
like you didnât spoil him with kisses yesterday when he fixed the washing machine that was acting up.
youâre still not totally sure how he did it, but that was probably because you zoned out while he was explaining it to you.Â
too busy watching the way his forearms flexed as he fixed the pipes behind it and when heâd take whatever wrench or screwdriver he asked you to hand him from the toolbox.
finally, finally your lips find his and you kiss him, soft and sweet.
a cool breeze blows through the open window, and the both of you breathe it in, smelling dewdrops on grass from the rain last night and hints of sunshine.Â
touya smiles against your mouth, arms pulling you into his lap so he can taste you better.
youâre stuck with him.Â
from now until forever.
âor maybe home is just two arms wrapped around you when youâre at your worst.â
â danagray
#div cr v6que#pink touya cr @me LOL#domestic touya is so special to me#touya todoroki x reader#dabi x reader#touya x reader#mha x reader#dabi x you#bnha x reader#bnha oneshot#mha oneshot#dabi fluff
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