#and now this presence will follow me to bed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hsjazebel · 20 hours ago

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Meant to be

Summary: Y/N never expected a college party to change anything—until she met Harry. What starts as a quiet connection over books and movies slowly turns into something deeper, proving that some things are simply meant to be.

Wordcount: 32k+ (I have been carried away, sorry 😅)

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day! ♡ Here’s a little story about love finding you when you least expect it. Hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

— — —

The party was louder than she expected.

Y/N wasn’t sure why she had let Charlotte convince her to come. Maybe it was the way her roommate had pleaded, eyes wide with excitement, promising it would be “just for an hour.” Or maybe it was the fact that she had spent too many Friday nights curled up in bed while the rest of campus buzzed with energy.

She had thought, just for once, that maybe she should say yes.

But now, standing in the middle of the crowded living room, she regretted it.

The music thumped against the walls, the bass so deep she could feel it in her ribs. Laughter and voices blurred together in an endless hum, broken only by the occasional shout of someone calling out to a friend. The air was thick—too many people, too much perfume, too much heat.

She tugged at the hem of her sweater, suddenly self-conscious. She wasn’t dressed for this, not like the other girls in shimmering tops and short skirts. She had gone for comfort—jeans, a fitted top, her favorite oversized cardigan—but now she felt out of place, like she hadn’t read the unspoken dress code.

Charlotte had disappeared almost immediately, swallowed up by the crowd, probably off to find that guy she’d been texting. Y/N had tried to follow for a bit, but the sea of people made it impossible to keep up.

Now she was alone, pressed against the wall, holding a drink she hadn’t even sipped.

She exhaled, glancing toward the front door. Maybe she could just leave. Charlotte wouldn’t mind—she was too caught up in her own night.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted an open door leading to the balcony.

Without thinking, she headed for it, slipping outside and closing the door behind her.

Cool air washed over her, a welcome contrast to the stifling heat inside. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and leaned against the railing, her fingers wrapping around the cold metal. The city stretched out in front of her, distant lights flickering against the night sky. From here, the noise of the party was muffled, just a dull hum beneath the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle over her.

And then—

“You don’t look like you’re having fun.”

The voice was smooth, warm. British.

Her eyes snapped open.

Turning slightly, she found herself face to face with someone she recognized immediately.

Harry Styles.

Her breath hitched, just for a second.

She had seen him around before, of course. It was hard not to notice him. He wasn’t the typical loud, overly confident guy that thrived in these kinds of settings, but he had a presence that made people gravitate toward him anyway. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—calm, collected, always with an air of quiet amusement, like he was in on some inside joke no one else knew about.

Now, standing in front of her in the dim balcony light, he looked impossibly at ease.

His dark curls were pushed back messily, a few strands falling over his forehead. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, framing sharp green eyes that studied her with quiet interest. His loose button-up was unbuttoned at the top, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the intricate tattoos winding down his forearms.

He held a drink casually in one hand, the other tucked into his pocket, like he had all the time in the world.

She swallowed.

“I—uh—yeah,” she finally managed. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

His lips quirked, as if her answer didn’t surprise him at all. “Figured as much.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And how exactly did you figure that?”

He took a slow sip from his drink before answering. “Well, for one, you’ve been out here for at least five minutes and haven’t checked your phone once.” His eyes flickered toward the door. “And two… you look like you’re trying to disappear.”

She huffed out a quiet laugh. “That obvious?”

Harry smirked. “A little.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city lights flickered in the distance, and the air between them felt charged—not uncomfortable, but something else entirely.

Then, he shifted slightly, turning more toward her.

“I’m Harry, by the way.”

She let out a small breath, amused. As if she didn’t already know.

“I know,” she admitted, then immediately winced. “I mean—everyone knows who you are.”

Harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “That’s fair.” He tilted his head slightly. “And you are…?”

“Y/N.”

He repeated it, softer this time, like he was testing the way it felt on his tongue. Then, with a small smile, he extended his hand. “Well, Y/N, it’s nice to officially meet you.”

She hesitated for just a second before slipping her hand into his.

His palm was warm, his grip gentle but firm.

“Nice to meet you too, Harry.”

His fingers lingered a second longer than necessary before he let go.

He leaned his elbow against the railing, glancing at her thoughtfully. “So, if parties aren’t your thing… what would you rather be doing right now?”

She bit her lip, thinking. “Watching a movie, probably.”

Harry’s brows lifted slightly. “Anything in particular?”

She hesitated, then decided to be honest. “A romcom.”

His lips curled into a slow smile. “You like romcoms?”

She nodded. “I grew up watching them. Notting Hill, 10 Things I Hate About You, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days… I know they’re cheesy, but I love them.”

He studied her for a second, then let out a soft chuckle. “Cheesy doesn’t mean bad. Those are classics.”

She tilted her head. “Wait… you actually like them too?”

Harry smirked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Course I do. I mean, have you seen When Harry Met Sally? It’s got my name in it. That’s a sign, don’t you think?”

She laughed—really laughed, for the first time that night.

Harry watched her, his expression softer now, like he was pleased to be the reason behind it.

The conversation flowed easier after that. They debated over the best romcom of all time, exchanged favorite scenes, and argued about which movie had the most unrealistic yet satisfying ending. Somewhere in between, Y/N forgot about the party altogether.

But eventually, her phone buzzed in her pocket—Charlotte, probably looking for her.

She sighed, realizing she had to go.

Harry noticed. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She hesitated, then, feeling unusually bold, added, “But… maybe next time, I’ll skip the party and just watch a romcom instead.”

His smile was slow, almost knowing. “Maybe next time, you won’t have to watch it alone.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

And as she stepped back inside, disappearing into the noise and the crowd, she couldn’t help but hope—just a little—that this was only the beginning.

———

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sound of Charlotte’s voice.

“Well, well, well,” her roommate drawled, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “Look who’s finally awake.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face into the pillow. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” Charlotte said, walking over and flopping down onto the bed beside her. “And you have some explaining to do.”

Y/N peeked at her through one eye. “Explaining?”

Charlotte grinned, far too awake for this early in the morning. “Don’t play innocent with me. You disappeared at the party. And when I finally found you again, you looked… different.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “So spill.”

Y/N sighed, rolling onto her back. “There’s nothing to spill.”

Charlotte gasped dramatically. “Lies! I saw you talking to Harry Styles.” She poked Y/N’s side. “You—quiet, book-loving, avoider of all social gatherings—somehow ended up alone on a balcony with the most intriguing guy on campus.”

Y/N felt her face heat up. “It wasn’t like that,” she muttered.

Charlotte smirked. “Then what was it like?”

Y/N hesitated. The truth was, she wasn’t exactly sure.

“It was… nice,” she admitted after a moment. “We just talked.”

Charlotte studied her, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Talked? That’s it?”

Y/N nodded.

Charlotte huffed, flopping back against the bed. “You’re impossible.”

Y/N smiled, sitting up and stretching. “Did you at least have fun?”

Charlotte let out a dreamy sigh. “Oh, absolutely. And I might have secured myself a coffee date with Mason.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Mason?”

“You know, Harry’s friend? Tall, kind of scruffy, ridiculously charming?” Charlotte waggled her fingers. “I think we have a connection.”

Y/N laughed softly. “I’m happy for you.”

Charlotte sat up again, her expression turning devious. “And speaking of coffee dates…”

Y/N’s stomach fluttered. “No.”

Charlotte pouted. “Come on! I think he likes you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We talked for, like, twenty minutes.”

Charlotte shrugged. “That’s plenty of time to make an impression. And if he really likes you, you’ll see him again.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Because the thought had already crossed her mind.

Would she see him again?

———

She did.

Three days later.

At the campus café.

Y/N had been curled up in a corner booth, a warm cup of tea beside her as she flipped through a book for class. The café was quiet, filled mostly with students studying or catching up on assignments. The hum of conversation and the occasional clinking of cups created the kind of atmosphere she loved—calm, steady, familiar.

And then, a shadow fell over her table.

“Y/N.”

She looked up.

And there he was.

Harry Styles, standing beside her table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a curious tilt to his head. He wasn’t wearing his glasses today, but she still recognized the quiet amusement in his eyes.

“Hi,” she said, feeling her heart pick up speed.

His lips twitched. “Mind if I sit?”

She hesitated for only a second before shaking her head. “Go ahead.”

Harry slid into the seat across from her, setting his coffee down. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Alright, I might have hoped I would.”

Her stomach did an embarrassing little flip.

“What are you reading?” he asked, nodding toward the book in her hands.

She glanced down, suddenly self-conscious. “Uh, Wuthering Heights.”

His brows lifted, impressed. “Intense choice.”

She shrugged. “It’s for class, but I like it.”

Harry studied her for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, stretching out comfortably. “So, tell me—are you one of those people who think Heathcliff is romantic, or do you see him for the walking red flag that he is?”

Y/N blinked in surprise. “You’ve read it?”

He smirked. “I have.”

She bit her lip, eyeing him. “And?”

Harry sighed dramatically. “Look, I get the passion, the whole ‘soulmate across time and space’ thing, but let’s be honest—if Heathcliff were around today, he’d be sending late-night ‘u up?’ texts and brooding over his ex’s Instagram posts.”

Y/N let out a surprised laugh. “That is… disturbingly accurate.”

Harry grinned. “And you? Are you a Heathcliff apologist?”

She shook her head. “I think he and Cathy deserved each other—because no one else should have to deal with that level of drama.”

Harry chuckled. “Harsh, but fair.”

There was something about the way he looked at her—curious, amused, like he was genuinely interested in what she had to say. It made her stomach twist in a way she wasn’t used to.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then—

“So,” Harry said, breaking the moment, “you never told me your verdict.”

Y/N frowned. “My verdict?”

“The best romcom of all time.”

She smiled, relieved by the lighter topic. “That’s impossible to answer.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright. Then let’s make it simpler. What’s your go-to comfort movie?”

She thought for a second. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.”

His eyes lit up. “Classic.”

She nodded. “It’s just fun, you know? The whole fake dating thing, the ridiculousness of it all. And Kate Hudson? Iconic.”

Harry smirked. “And the ‘You let it die!’ scene? A cinematic masterpiece.”

Y/N laughed. “Exactly.”

Harry studied her for a moment, then said, “I like that.”

Y/N suddenly felt warm under his gaze. She looked down, tracing the rim of her cup. “What about you?”

Harry pretended to think. “Mmm… Notting Hill.”

She grinned. “Oh, come on. You just like it because of the ‘I’m just a girl’ scene.”

He laughed. “Maybe. Or maybe I like the idea that two people from completely different worlds can still find their way to each other.”

Something about the way he said it made her stomach flutter.

The conversation drifted after that—talk of books, movies, little things that made them both feel at home. The more they spoke, the more Y/N felt that strange, unexpected ease settle between them.

And when she finally glanced at the time, she realized an hour had passed without her even noticing.

“I should probably get to class,” she murmured, closing her book.

Harry nodded, but didn’t look particularly eager to leave.

As she stood, sliding her bag over her shoulder, he tapped his fingers against the table. “So…”

She looked at him expectantly.

He smirked. “Movie night?”

Her heart skipped. “Are you asking me out, Harry Styles?”

His expression was all mischief. “Maybe.”

She bit her lip, pretending to consider. Then, feeling unusually bold, she said, “Okay.”

Harry’s smirk turned into something softer.

“Good,” he said.

And as she walked away, she could feel his eyes on her the whole time.

———

The library was quieter than usual.

Y/N liked it that way. She liked the solitude, the way the world seemed to shrink down to just her and the words on the page. It was calming—predictable.

What she didn’t expect, however, was a voice breaking through the silence.

“Didn’t peg you as the type to hide away in a library for fun.”

She looked up, already knowing who she would see.

Harry stood in front of her table, a familiar smirk on his lips, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He had a notebook tucked under his arm and a coffee in hand, looking completely at ease despite the way his presence sent her heart racing.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “And yet, here you are.”

Harry hummed, sliding into the chair across from her. “Touché.”

She watched as he set his coffee down and flipped open his notebook, as if he belonged there—like this was routine.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Are you actually here to study, or are you just bothering me for fun?”

Harry grinned. “Can it be both?”

She huffed, biting back a smile as she returned her gaze to her book. But she could still feel his eyes on her.

A beat passed before he spoke again. “Wuthering Heights, huh? Still brooding over Heathcliff?”

Y/N sighed, looking up. “You do realize I read more than one book, right?”

Harry’s smirk widened. “Do you, now?”

She rolled her eyes and turned the book so he could see the title.

His gaze flickered over the cover before he raised an eyebrow. “White Nights?”

Y/N tilted her head. “Surprised?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, studying her. “A little. Didn’t take you for a Dostoevsky kind of girl.”

“And what kind of girl did you take me for?” she challenged.

He smirked. “Jane Austen, maybe. Brontë sisters, definitely. But Russian literature? That’s a surprise.”

She shrugged. “I like stories about lonely people.”

Something flickered in his expression, but it was gone too fast for her to catch.

“Lonely people,” he repeated. “And here I thought you just liked tragic love stories.”

Y/N hesitated, then said softly, “Aren’t they the same thing?”

Harry studied her for a moment, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, in a voice quieter than before, he said, “I guess they are.”

Silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like something had shifted—like she had let him see a part of her she didn’t show to just anyone.

Then, after a moment, Harry’s lips twitched up into a smile. “So, is White Nights a re-read, or am I catching you in the middle of a first-time experience?”

She exhaled, grateful for the change in tone. “Re-read.”

His grin widened. “Interesting. That means you must really like it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you about to judge my taste in books?”

Harry smirked. “Not at all. I was actually going to say… maybe I should let you convince me to read it.”

Y/N studied him. “You’ve never read it?”

“Not yet,” he admitted.

A small smile played on her lips. “Maybe you should.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe I will.”

———

That night, her phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

Unknown [9:07 PM]: So, lonely people, huh? Convince me why I should read White Nights.

Y/N frowned, staring at the screen. Who the hell—?

Y/N [9:08 PM]: Who is this?

A pause. Then—

Unknown [9:08 PM]: Wow. That hurts.

Her heart skipped.

She squinted at the message, then at the number, but it wasn’t saved in her contacts.

Y/N [9:09 PM]: Seriously. Who is this??

A few seconds passed before a reply popped up.

Unknown [9:09 PM]: It’s Harry.

She blinked.

Then—

Y/N [9:10 PM]: …How did you get my number?

Harry [9:11 PM]: Your lovely roommate gave it to me.

Y/N groaned out loud. “Charlotte!”

Across the room, Charlotte barely glanced up from her laptop. “Hmm?”

Y/N waved her phone in the air. “Did you seriously give Harry my number?”

Charlotte smirked. “Oh. So he finally texted you?”

“Charlotte.”

“What?” she said innocently. “He asked, and I figured it would take you forever to do it yourself.”

Y/N let out a long, dramatic sigh, turning her attention back to the screen.

Y/N [9:12 PM]: I hate you.

Harry [9:12 PM]: No, you don’t.

She rolled her eyes.

Y/N [9:13 PM]: Maybe you should read it and see for yourself.

Harry [9:14 PM]: Bold of you to assume I have time for Russian literature.

Y/N [9:15 PM]: Bold of you to assume I’d let you borrow my copy.

Harry [9:16 PM]: So possessive. I like it.

Y/N [9:17 PM]: You’re impossible.

Harry [9:17 PM]: And yet, here you are, still texting me.

She bit her lip, trying not to smile.

Harry [9:18 PM]: You still good for our not-date movie night?

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Y/N [9:19 PM]: You mean the highly academic film screening of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?

Harry [9:20 PM]: Exactly. For research purposes.

She hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.

Y/N [9:21 PM]: Yeah. I’m still in.

His reply came almost instantly.

Harry [9:21 PM]: Good.

She stared at the word for a long time, ignoring the way her face felt impossibly warm.

———

“You’ve checked your phone three times in the last minute.”

Y/N shot Charlotte a glare from across the room. “I have not.”

Charlotte smirked, finishing the last touches of her makeup. “You so have.”

Y/N huffed, locking her phone and tossing it onto the bed like that would somehow make her friend drop the topic. “I’m just checking the time.”

“Mm-hmm.” Charlotte turned, arms crossed. “Because, of course, it has nothing to do with the fact that Harry is coming over.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her face felt warm. “It’s just a movie night.”

Charlotte grinned. “And yet, you’ve changed your sweater twice.”

Y/N groaned, flopping back onto her pillows. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Charlotte grabbed her bag, checking her reflection in the mirror. “I think it’s cute that you’re all flustered over him.”

“I’m not flustered.”

Charlotte raised a brow. “You are so flustered.”

Y/N groaned again, covering her face with a pillow.

A knock at the door made her sit up way too fast.

Charlotte smirked knowingly. “That’s my cue.”

Y/N watched as Charlotte opened the door, revealing Harry—standing there in his usual effortless way, glasses on, a bag of snacks in one hand.

“Oh, hey, Harry,” Charlotte greeted with a grin, throwing Y/N one last look. “I was just leaving.”

Harry glanced between them, looking mildly amused. “Leaving?”

“Yep.” Charlotte winked at Y/N. “Have fun.”

And before Y/N could even form a reply, she was gone.

Harry stepped inside, brow raised. “Did I just interrupt something?”

Y/N exhaled, shaking her head. “No. She’s just being Charlotte.”

Harry chuckled, setting the snacks down. “That explains a lot.”

Settling onto the couch, Y/N pressed play on 27 Dresses, tucking her legs under her.

Harry sat beside her, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. The space between them was small—too small—and she tried not to focus on the way his knee almost brushed hers.

“Have you seen this before?” he asked.

She scoffed. “Please. At least twenty times.”

Harry smiled. “Figures.”

For the first half hour, they made occasional comments about the movie—Harry teasing her about knowing all the lines, Y/N defending why it was a romcom classic.

But eventually, the room grew quieter. The soft glow of the screen cast shadows across Harry’s face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the way his glasses slid down his nose.

And Y/N—despite her best efforts to stay focused on the film—felt her eyelids growing heavy.

She shifted slightly, trying to stay awake, but the warmth of the room, the steady sound of the dialogue, and the presence of Harry right beside her made it impossible.

At some point, she leaned just a little too far to the side—

And before she could stop herself, her head landed gently on his shoulder.

For a second, she almost panicked.

But Harry didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

If anything, he relaxed.

She felt him shift slightly, adjusting so that she fit more comfortably against him.

And just like that, sleep took over.

———

The next morning, the first thing Y/N registered was warmth.

A slow, steady warmth surrounding her, lulling her in a sleepy haze.

Then, she felt movement.

Her eyes fluttered open, and it took her a moment to realize:

She was curled into Harry’s side, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders.

The snack bag was on the floor. The TV screen had long since gone black. The early morning light was filtering through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room.

And Harry—

Was still asleep.

His head rested against the back of the couch, lips slightly parted, curls falling across his forehead. His glasses were slightly askew, one arm still tucked around her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N barely breathed.

She should move. Should sit up, stretch, do anything to break the moment before he woke up.

But before she could, she felt him shift.

A slow inhale. A stretch.

And then, with a small frown, Harry’s eyes blinked open.

For a second, he looked confused. Disoriented.

Then, his gaze landed on her.

They both froze.

Silence.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

And then—

Harry’s lips twitched, still laced with sleep. “Morning.”

Y/N swallowed. “Morning.”

Another pause.

Then, realization dawned in Harry’s sleepy eyes. He glanced down at their position—her body still tucked into his side, his arm still loosely wrapped around her.

And yet—he didn’t move away.

Instead, his mouth curved into something softer.

“Didn’t mean to steal your couch,” he murmured.

Y/N huffed out a quiet laugh. “Didn’t mean to steal your shoulder.”

Harry smiled.

And for a moment, they just… sat there.

Close. Warm. Unmoving.

Y/N was still sitting on the couch, trying to process the fact that she’d just spent the night curled up against Harry Styles, when she heard him stretch beside her.

She glanced over. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, one hand running through his curls, the other adjusting his glasses.

And he looked… way too good for someone who had just woken up.

Before she could stop herself, she spoke.

“Do you—” She cleared her throat, trying to sound casual. “Do you want some coffee?”

Harry turned to her, blinking.

Then, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Are you offering me coffee, Y/N?”

She rolled her eyes, standing up. “I regret it already.”

Harry chuckled, pushing himself up from the couch. “Too late.”

———

They ended up in the small dorm kitchen, Y/N fumbling with the coffee machine while Harry leaned against the counter, watching her with amusement.

“I didn’t peg you as the type to function without caffeine,” he said.

She scoffed. “Who says I function at all?”

Harry smirked. “Fair point.”

Once the coffee was ready, she handed him a mug, grabbing one for herself before hopping up onto the counter.

Harry took a slow sip, humming in approval. “Not bad.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Not bad?”

“Yeah.” He nudged her knee playfully. “Could be better.”

She gasped in mock offense. “You are such a snob.”

Harry grinned. “I have high standards.”

She shook her head, but she was smiling.

They fell into comfortable conversation, talking about everything from classes to 27 Dresses to how Harry apparently had a very strong opinion about the correct way to make tea.

And Y/N—despite the fact that she had woken up to a situation that should have been extremely awkward—found herself relaxing.

That was, of course, until Charlotte walked in.

She stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight before her—Harry standing in the kitchen, hair still tousled from sleep, drinking coffee from their mugs.

Y/N sitting on the counter, wearing the same clothes from last night.

Charlotte’s eyes widened.

Then, a slow smirk spread across her face.

“Oh,” she said, drawing out the word. “Good morning.”

Y/N groaned. “Charlotte—”

Charlotte ignored her, turning to Harry with an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Wow, Harry. You’re still here?”

Harry, to Y/N’s horror, grinned.

“Apparently, I make decent company, and your couch is not too bad” he said, sipping his coffee.

Charlotte gasped dramatically. “Did Y/N let you sleep on the couch? That is so rude.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Charlotte.”

Charlotte pressed a hand to her heart. “I mean, I was gone all night, you totally could’ve used my bed—”

Y/N almost choked on her coffee. “Oh my God, stop.”

Charlotte just smirked, eyes dancing between them. “I’m just saying…”

Y/N glared. “You’re the worst.”

Harry chuckled, setting down his mug. “I should probably get going before Mason starts wondering where I am.”

He turned to Y/N then, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he murmured.

She swallowed. “Yeah. Anytime.”

Charlotte wiggled her eyebrows.

Y/N shot her a warning look.

Harry—completely amused—grabbed his bag and made his way to the door.

“See you later, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone.

Y/N barely had time to let out a breath before Charlotte pounced.

“So.”

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Don’t.”

Charlotte ignored her, flopping onto the couch with a wicked grin. “You slept together.”

“Oh my God—”

“Not like that,” Charlotte amended. “But still. You slept together.”

Y/N groaned. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Charlotte scoffed. “Oh, honey. It so was.”

———

Y/N had spent the entire morning convincing herself that nothing had changed.

That waking up next to Harry hadn’t felt different.

That the way he had smiled at her over coffee hadn’t made her stomach flip.

That she wasn’t replaying every second of their time together like some lovesick idiot.

But she was failing—miserably.

And Charlotte wasn’t helping.

“So,” her roommate drawled, flipping through a magazine on her bed, “are we just gonna pretend that last night never happened?”

Y/N, sitting at her desk, sighed. “Nothing happened.”

Charlotte scoffed. “You cuddled on the couch, made him coffee in the morning, and practically gazed at each other the whole time. That’s something.”

Y/N turned to glare at her. “I wasn’t gazing.”

Charlotte smirked. “Oh, honey. You were gazing.”

Y/N groaned, dropping her head onto her desk.

Charlotte laughed, tossing the magazine aside. “Look, all I’m saying is—he’s different, isn’t he?”

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean?”

Charlotte shrugged. “I mean, I’ve never seen you act like this over a guy. You usually keep your distance, but with Harry… I don’t know. You let him in.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest—but nothing came out.

Because, as much as she hated to admit it, Charlotte wasn’t wrong.

Harry was different.

And that was what scared her the most.

———

That afternoon, she tried to focus on studying.

Tried being the keyword.

She was in the library, sitting at her usual spot by the window, but the words on the page blurred together.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at it, already knowing who it was.

Harry [3:27 PM]: You’re not skipping the library today, are you?

Y/N [3:28 PM]: I’m literally here right now.

Harry [3:29 PM]: Good. Would’ve had to question your commitment to academia otherwise.

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips.

A minute later, she heard a chair scrape against the floor.

She looked up.

Harry slid into the seat across from her, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Hi,” he said, smiling.

Y/N tried to ignore the way her heartbeat definitely sped up. “Hi.”

He set down his bag and pulled out a book. “What are we studying today?”

Y/N sighed. “I’m trying to get through this reading, but it’s not working.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Do you want me to quiz you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You just got here.”

He smirked. “And?”

She shook her head, amused. “Fine.”

And so, they studied. Or at least, they tried.

Every time Harry read a passage aloud, he did it with exaggerated dramatics, making Y/N laugh.

Whenever she got an answer right, he’d tap his fingers against the table like a drumroll.

At some point, he reached for her book, fingers grazing hers—and neither of them pulled away.

The touch was brief, but her skin tingled where it had been.

Harry didn’t say anything, but his gaze flickered to hers, something unspoken lingering between them.

For the first time, Y/N felt like she was on the edge of something.

And she didn’t know whether to step forward—or run.

———

An hour later, Y/N packed up her things.

“I should go,” she murmured.

Harry nodded, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. “Alright.”

She hesitated before speaking. “Thanks for—y’know. Keeping me sane.”

Harry’s lips quirked. “Anytime.”

As she turned to leave, he called after her

“Oh, Y/N?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

Harry reached into his bag, pulling out a book.

She frowned as he held it out to her.

“The Symposium?” she read aloud, eyebrows raised.

Harry smirked. “Figured you might like it.”

She stared at him. “Harry, this is your copy.”

He shrugged. “So?”

“So, I know you annotate all your books.” She flipped through the pages, confirming her suspicions—his familiar, neat handwriting filled the margins. “I can’t take this.”

“You can,” he said simply. “And you will.”

She glanced up at him, confused. “But… why?”

Harry held her gaze for a moment, then leaned in slightly.

“Because I think you’ll understand it,” he murmured.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Because there was weight behind his words—something deeper than just a casual book recommendation.

She swallowed, gripping the book a little tighter.

“…Thank you,” she said softly.

Harry smiled. “See you later, Y/N.”

And as she walked away, The Symposium pressed against her chest, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

That, maybe, she had just crossed a line she could never go back from.

———

The night wrapped around them like a quiet secret. The streets were nearly empty, the world softened by the golden glow of streetlamps.

Y/N and Harry walked side by side, their steps unhurried, as if neither of them wanted the night to end just yet.

She wasn’t sure how they ended up here—how a simple goodnight after studying turned into do you want to take a walk? But she didn’t regret saying yes.

It had been a week since that night at her apartment, since they’d woken up together on the couch, and things between them had shifted. Not in an obvious way—there were no declarations, no grand confessions—but something had changed.

Harry had always looked at her like he was intrigued. But now?

Now, he looked at her like he knew. Like he was just waiting for her to admit it, too.

“You’re quiet,” Harry murmured beside her.

She glanced at him. “So are you.”

He smiled, a little crooked. “Guess I don’t always have something to say.”

“Impossible.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Harsh.”

They walked a little further before she spoke again, a quiet admission in the stillness of the night.

“I read your notes.”

Harry turned his head slightly. “My notes?”

“In The Symposium.”

Realization flickered in his expression. “Right.”

She hesitated. “There was one part that stuck with me.”

His gaze softened. “Which one?”

Y/N swallowed.

“The part where you wrote that love is about recognizing something familiar in someone else.”

Harry didn’t speak right away.

Then, quietly, he said, “That’s my favorite part.”

Y/N stopped walking.

So did he.

The silence between them stretched, heavy with something.

She could feel her pulse thrumming in her wrists, in her throat, in the space between them that was growing smaller by the second.

Harry took a step closer. Slowly. Like he was giving her time to stop him.

She didn’t.

His gaze flickered to her lips, just for a second, before meeting her eyes again.

His voice was softer when he spoke next. “You realize I like you, don’t you?”

Y/N felt something tighten in her chest.

Because, of course, she did.

But hearing it—feeling it—was different.

She exhaled, barely a whisper. “I think I do now.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good.”

He didn’t move right away.

He just looked at her, taking her in, like he was memorizing the moment.

Then, so softly it was almost imperceptible, his fingers brushed against hers.

Y/N inhaled sharply.

And that was all it took.

Before she could second-guess it, before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the space between them.

She barely had time to process the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath, before his hand came up, fingers grazing her jaw as he leaned in—slow, careful, waiting.

And then—

Then, he kissed her.

It was soft at first. Just a whisper of a touch, a silent question against her lips.

But the moment she kissed him back, the moment her fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater, it changed.

It deepened.

Harry let out a quiet sound—like he had been waiting for this longer than he cared to admit—and then his hands were on her waist, pulling her closer, closer, like the space between them was unbearable.

Her heart was racing.

She could feel the warmth of his palms, the faint scrape of his stubble against her skin, the way he kissed her like he was learning her—like he wanted to know exactly how she fit against him.

And she let him.

By the time they pulled apart, her head was spinning, her breath uneven.

Harry’s forehead rested against hers, and he let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” she asked, still breathless.

He shook his head, smiling. “Nothing. Just… glad I finally did that.”

She bit her lip, trying—and failing—not to smile.

“Me too.”

Harry’s thumb brushed against her waist absentmindedly.

“Can I walk you home?” he asked.

Y/N nodded.

But neither of them moved.

Not right away.

And when they finally started walking again, Harry’s fingers found hers, intertwining them effortlessly—like they had been waiting to do that, too.

———

It had only been a couple of weeks since that night—their first kiss under the dim glow of the streetlights—but things between them had changed so much.

Not in an overwhelming way. Not in a way that made Y/N feel rushed or pressured.

But in a way that made her soften.

In a way that made it impossible to ignore how utterly smitten Harry was.

It was in the way he always found a reason to touch her, even in the smallest ways—fingertips brushing against hers when they walked, absentmindedly tucking her hair behind her ear when she was focused on something, resting his chin on her shoulder just because he could.

It was in the way he remembered things, like how she liked her coffee and how she hated the sound of loud chewing. In the way he always waited for her outside class even when they had different schedules. In the way he looked at her, like he was always choosing to.

Like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Today was no different.

Y/N sat curled up on the library couch, actually trying to get some work done, while Harry sat beside her, flipping through a book he had absolutely no interest in.

At least, that’s what she assumed—because instead of reading, he was staring at her.

She sighed, setting her pen down. “Harry.”

“Hm?” He looked unbothered, too comfortable as he rested his head against the back of the couch.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

She shot him a pointed look.

He smirked, unfazed. “Looking at my girlfriend?”

Her stomach flipped.

Even after two weeks, the word still did something to her.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were warm, and Harry knew it.

With a quiet chuckle, he reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers, absentmindedly running his thumb across the back of her palm.

“Should I be studying?” he murmured, lips twitching.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Harry pretended to consider it. Then, with zero hesitation, he squeezed her hand and dragged it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles.

“Too bad,” he murmured against her skin.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

This boy.

She was so doomed.

———

Y/N had tried to keep things subtle.

Not because she wanted to hide it, but because Charlotte was the biggest menace when it came to teasing her, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that just yet.

Too bad Charlotte noticed everything.

Like the way Y/N smiled at her phone when she thought no one was looking. The way she suspiciously left the dorm at night with an “I’ll be back later.” The way she got flustered when Harry’s name came up in conversation.

She had her suspicions, but she didn’t have proof.

Until now.

Because today, as Charlotte was walking toward the dorm, she saw them.

Saw Harry pressing a lingering kiss to Y/N’s forehead. Saw the way she leaned into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And that was all she needed.

“I KNEW IT!”

Y/N jumped, turning to find Charlotte standing a few feet away with the biggest, most victorious grin on her face.

“Oh my God,” Y/N muttered.

Harry—who clearly wasn’t fazed at all—simply raised an eyebrow. “Did you, though?”

Charlotte turned to him, still grinning. “YES. I just didn’t have evidence.” She turned back to Y/N, wiggling her eyebrows. “But now I do.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Charlotte sing-songed.

Harry chuckled, amused, before leaning down and whispering into Y/N’s ear, “I’ll leave you to it, sweetheart.”

She sighed dramatically. “Coward.”

He smirked, kissed the side of her head one last time, and walked away, leaving her to deal with Charlotte’s relentless interrogation.

Y/N was so in trouble.

———

After an hour of being mercilessly teased, Y/N flopped onto her bed, groaning in frustration.

Charlotte smirked from across the room. “Oh, come on, you love me.”

“Debatable,” Y/N muttered, reaching for her phone.

She scrolled through her messages before typing.

Y/N [10:08 PM]: I officially hate you.

Harry [10:09 PM]: That’s unfortunate.

Y/N [10:09 PM]: Charlotte won’t stop teasing me. This is your fault.

Harry [10:10 PM]: Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you, won’t I?

Y/N froze, rereading the message at least three times.

Before she could even think of a response, there was a quiet knock on the door.

Charlotte and Y/N shared a look.

Y/N opened it—and there he was.

Harry stood there, a lazy smirk on his lips, holding a small pastry in a white paper bag.

“Hey,” he murmured.

Y/N blinked.

Charlotte—who was watching the whole thing unfold—snorted. “Oh, my God. You are so whipped.”

Harry didn’t even deny it.

He just shrugged, handed Y/N the bag, and kissed her temple like it was the most normal thing in the world.

When she looked inside, she found her favorite pastry, the one from the café across campus.

She looked back up at him, eyes soft. “You went all the way to—“

Harry simply shrugged. “Felt like it”

Y/N pressed her lips together, trying not to melt right then and there.

Charlotte, however, had no such restraint. “You two are disgusting”, she muttered, rolling her eyes before dramatically throwing a pillow over her head.

Harry chuckled, then leaned down and whispered against Y/N’s skin, “Worth it.”

And just like that, Y/N knew—

She was so, so screwed.

#harry styles fic #harry styles #harry styles blog #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #college au

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devildomwriter · 18 hours ago

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They Discover You Doodling Them in Your Notebook | Others x Reader

Solomon

Solomon had called you in for another lesson in potions, one he had invented himself by mistake. At first, you were really interested and participated but now you were waiting for the mixture to settle so he was organizing his things in the meantime.

As you waited you helped yourself to some of Luke’s cookies but then he, Simeon, and Raphael turned in for the night and it was just you and your D.D.D. which was nearly dead. To pass the time left you took out your sketchbook intending to study but you were much too tired for that and your pencil had a mind of its own.

You had no intentions to draw Solomon but your eyes followed him as he walked around the room, humming an unknown archaic song. He looked as innocently cheery as ever despite being anything but.

You blushed as you studied the way his hair fell across his face, the way his gray eyes darted back and forth as he collected things with careful precision.

Then without meaning to, your eyes met and you quickly looked away pretending it didn’t happen. This was the wrong move as it made him more suspicious. He walked over with a smile hoping you were studying as you’d intended.

“My, look how studious my apprentice is being!” He beamed and before you could protest he quickly levitated the notebook in front of him as you tried to hide your blush.

“Oh my. Studying me are we? Well, I certainly don’t mind but our potion is ready now. However, I could set aside some time later tonight if you’d like?”

“For me to draw you?”

“Hm…sure if that’s what you’re really interested in. But I get the feeling that’s not what you were drawing me, is it?”

Spot on as always, you snatched your notebook back and hid your red face as he laughed and teased you further.

It was going to be a long night no matter what you decided.

Simeon

You sat up against the headboard on Simeon’s bed, writing in your notebook as he sat at his screen typing away as ideas for his novel flooded his brain.

You didn’t understand how he broke free from his writer’s block so easily. Maybe it was some divine power? Most writers procrastinated for a living, while he wrote nearly every day for millennia.

You took a sip of your drink and sat it down on his nightstand. You’d come over to spend time with him doing nothing in particular. Being in each other’s presence was enough to be content and it was significantly calmer here than back at the House of Lamentation.

He strongly encouraged you to study or take a nap, whatever you felt like but trying to study was hard to begin with, but impossible when staring at his exposed back as he sat across from the bed. You had no idea what angel garments were so open but you weren’t complaining.

You decided you’d sketch him while you could, it gave you great practice at drawing backs, something you rarely considered doodling.

As you sat there in a daze you stared at his shoulder blades, the way he hunched over the keyboard and occasionally sat back to stretch and avoid poor posture. You desperately wanted to run your hand across his soft skin and Simeon must’ve felt your eyes in him because he sat up and turned around to see you sketching away.

He was by your side by the time you saw him and you let out a small “eep” that made him laugh. He thought you were truly adorable.

“May I see?” He asked and you blushed but allowed him since he’d been so polite.

He looked at the drawing and blushed, “My, these are excellent, ___.” He praised. “You’ve spent so long watching me type away, it’s your turn now. Allow me to pose for you?”

Luke

You were at Purgatory Hall, via Luke’s invitation to help him with a new recipe. Luke had it down so you mostly watched and agreed with the comments he made about the process and taste.

Now it was in the oven and you had nothing but time. Luke decided it would be a good idea to study, and not wanting to look less responsible than the child, you took out your notebook too.

You watched Luke kick his legs and stick out his tongue as he thought about what he was writing. It was so cute you had to capture it and taking out your D.D.D. would just alert him so you quickly got to sketching.

You propped your notebook up a bit so he couldn’t see it from where he was.

He sighed exasperatedly and frowned at his assignment. “Hey, ___?” He asked.

“Yeah?” You responded without looking away from your drawing.

“I don’t really get this part, can you help me?” You set your pencil down and looked at the question.

“Oh heck no,” you said bluntly.

“Huh?”

“Sorry, I have no idea what that is at all, ask Solomon.”

“I would but he’s at the Demon Lord’s Castle today.”

“Oh yeah…”

“Well, if you don’t know anything about it what have you been working on?”

“Oof, caught red-handed. I was just drawing you,” you admitted and spun your notebook around to show him.

His eyes lit up and he smiled, “WOW, ___! This is really good!” He paused for a minute and pointed at one of the drawings.

“Why do I have cat ears?”

“Actually, those are Chihuahua ears.”

“___!”

Raphael

You watched Raphael hum as he sorted through the rows of fabrics trying to find the right one for his new embroidery project.

He’d asked you to tag along and you excitedly agreed as he wasn’t much of a social butterfly and you loved getting a chance to hand around him more. You didn’t expect, however, that finding a single piece of fabric for his new pillow was going to take over an hour.

Raphael was very particular so you should’ve expected this, maybe some part of you had as you’d brought along your notebook.

The notebook wasn’t for school or anything in particular, just something to jot down notes or ideas as they came to you. Right now all that came to you was the strong urge to sketch Raphael’s serious gaze as he sifted through hundreds of sheets of fabric.

Occasionally he’d show one to you with a sweet smile and ask for your opinion, but in the end, he chose whatever felt right.

Each time you looked up from your drawing he was in much the same position but slightly farther down the aisle until you looked up to see he wasn’t there.

You set your notebook down on the chair and stood up quickly looking for him.

“Raphael?” You called.

“What is this your drawing?” You heard directly behind you and jumped.

Raphael seemed concerned as you caught the breath he’d scared out of you. You laughed it off and sighed.

“You’re really so quiet,” you huffed.

“No…I just don’t think you were paying attention.” He commented.

He picked your notebook up to see the drawings of him across the page.

It was difficult to tell how he felt as he wasn’t very expressive until a sweet smile crossed his face and his eyes seemed to sparkle just a bit.

He handed the notebook back to you, “You have talent.” He complimented and you blushed.

“Do you think I could draw you with your spear sometime?”

He tilted his head, “what for?”

“Art?”

“Hmm…” He thought about it before smiling “Sure.”

Thirteen

Thirteen had invited you to her home to help her build her latest invention. You were excited to get in on it but she was so absorbed you were mostly left to handing her tools and trying to remember what she named them. So instead of being useless, you decided to take notes as she explained some of it to you.

Eventually, you became so lost that you just gave up and started drawing it instead and when you ran out of tools to draw you started sketching Thirteen.

It was simple at first, just brief pencil strokes in a sloppy outline but then you began to focus on her. The way her hair fell into her face as she leaned in closer, the spark in her eyes and brilliant smile as she discovered something new, the red tint on her cheeks when she caught you staring at her.

“Hey? What are you doing?” She asked and stood up walking over to you.

Too embarrassed to admit you weren’t doing what she’d asked and had been sketching her instead you hid the notebook in your backpack.

“What? You’re really not gonna show me?” She said a little surprised as you were usually very open with her.

“I…got distracted.” You admitted and she shook her head.

“Really? I was hoping you’d keep instructions for me, I plan to mass-produce these. That way if that damn sorcerer brings down one, he’ll have hundreds more to watch out for!” She began laughing manically to herself and you laughed at her antics and nodded.

You reacted for your notebook again and she quickly snatched it from you, “It’s mine now!”

“Thirteen?” You poured and she laughed and flipped through your notebook. She found the pages you’s written in and nodded approvingly until she got to her sketches and her face turned a shade of pink darker than her hair.

“Wh-what are these?”

“…I got distracted.”

She blushed again and handed the notebook back to you. “Fine, I’ll allow it,” she huffed and got back to work occasionally fixing her hair now that she knew you had your eyes on her.

Mephistopheles

Mephistopheles has called you into the RAD Newspaper’s office that morning to assist him with an interview. Lucifigus, a friend of Asmodeus’s was going to be hosting a fashion week show in the greenhouse at RAD. Mephistopheles wanted your assistance taking down notes as he interviewed to make sure things flowed smoothly.

Mephistop was already taking diligent notes as was his habit so at some point you began lazily jotting down two words here and there in between doodling. Lucifugus was a beautiful demon but you couldn’t help but be drawn to Mephistopheles and his enthusiastic but serious expression as he conducted the interview.

After what felt like an hour Mephistopheles stood up and extended his hand to Lucifigus to shake so you quickly got to your feet to do the same.

“Thank you for your time,” you mimicked Mephistopheles and Lucifigus grinned and thanked you both before leaving with a flirtatious wave.

“Well, I’d say that went very well,” Mephistopheles grinned and turned to you, holding up his notebook. “Now then, let’s compare notes.”

Your face turned a little pink and he noticed, “No need to be flustered. I’ve been doing this far longer than you so you needn’t worry about matching my level of skill.”

He reached for your notebook but you closed it abruptly. He gave you a slightly exasperated look. “___… you were taking notes, right…like I asked?”

“Uh…um…at first.”

He sighed, “At first?” He decided to investigate for himself and grabbed your notebook, flipping through it until he found what you’d been doing and his cheeks flushed a color darker than his hair.

“I-I see…” he stuttered, more flustered than you. “W-well, I suppose it’s only natural to document the most interesting person in the room.” He boasted but inside he was a melting mess. ‘How cute can this human be?’

Barbatos

You had your notebook out, ready to write down recipes for Barbatos as he experimented with improving one of Diavolo’s favorite meals. You volunteered to help so you could gain some cooking experience, something you sorely lacked.

Barbatos hummed and his tail flicked back and forth as he concentrated. Every so often he looked your way to see what you were doing and was pleased to see you happily jotting down notes in your book. After a few minutes, he noticed something strange. He’d tell you to write something down and you’d flip back a few pages to jot it down.

He frowned and quickly deduced that you were doing something other than observing his cooking instructions but decided to let you do as you pleased since he worried he’d bore you with the painfully long waiting time in between cooking steps.

You watched Barbatos with a small smile as you gently sketched his features in your notepad. You were worried he’d notice and want a look at what you were doing. That would be humiliating for you since you were far from being a good realism artist—you preferred chibi sketches, something Barbatos found odd when Leviathan did it.

Your eyes briefly met his and you blushed and watched him set a timer for the sweets before turning back to you.

“May I see what you’ve written so far?” He asked with a warm smile and you nodded and quickly flipped to the correct page.

He reached out his hand to take the book but you kept a firm grip on it, tipping him off further, so he hid a chuckle and simply observed your notes instead.

“Ah, good. But you’ll need to fix this,” he hummed and took out a pen from his apron. “May I?” He asked and you nodded handing the notebook over so he could correct your notes.

He leaned over the counter as he wrote down what he needed and you froze as you saw him quickly flip to your sketch page.

He met your eyes as he did so, a mischievous smile across his face as you quickly got up to explain.

“Um—I was just—“

Barbatos looked down at the sketches of himself and his heart skipped. He covered his mouth to hide his pleasure with what he saw, but when he saw your panicked expression he was quick to praise you.

“These are incredible, ___, why don’t I make you some tea while you continue?”

Diavolo

Diavolo sat across from you at the RAD lunch table. He’d invited you to his private booth that day since it was hard to find time in his schedule to be with you.

He grinned as he watched you studiously write in your school notebooks for what he assumed was your previous Devildom Math course, a subject he knew you struggled with.

He sipped on his tea from Barbatos who took the cup back to refill it.

“Your tea is getting cold,” Diavolo reminded you and you were brought back to reality and quickly closed your sketchbook with a small blush, worried he’d bit iced what you were doing.

Diavolo hadn’t noticed, but a certain butler did and he smiled at you knowingly and excused himself to replenish your snacks.

“I’m glad to see you working so hard here, I know it hasn’t been easy adjusting,” Diavolo complimented and you almost felt a little guilty that you weren’t studying at all.

You’d been working on your art style lately, ignoring math for as long as you could, and the current subject of your artistic inspiration was the beautiful demon prince in front of you.

“It’s more like adjusting to going back to school, than anything,” you admitted and he nodded.

“I see. Another reason you should be proud of yourself, as I am,” he grinned and reached out his hand.

You gave him a quizzical look so he laughed and asked for your notes, “May I see what you are studying? I might be able to help?”

You were caught now. Your study books were shoved in your backpack on the ground.

“Umm, actually I was just sketching…” you admitted and he tilted his head, a curious gleam in his eyes.

“Oh! I’d love to see your art if you’ll let me.” He asked excitedly so you nodded and flipped to the beginning of your sketchbook where you had normal sketches of the Devildom.

It pleased Diavolo to see you drawing his realm and the creatures in it but then he flipped a little too far into the notebook and you quickly stood up to take it back but it was too late.

“Oh, what’s this?” He asked as he saw page after page of himself from all different angles.

“I uh…” you were lost for words and defeatedly covered your blush, hiding your face in your hands.

He laughed at your reaction and handed your notebook back, “I’m sorry, did you not want me to see these?”

He gave you your sketch pad back and you blushed and hid it in your bag finally taking a sip of your drink instead. It was quiet for a moment before Diavolo cleared his throat and looked at you with a faint blush in his cheeks.

“I’d love it if you could do my portrait sometime. Nothing would make me happier than to have your art in the walls of my castle where I can see it every day.”

Brothers

117 notes · View notes

capuccinodoll · 1 day ago

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The boyfriend act, part 4: "The one with bruises and blue excuses" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: After a difficult night, your emotions rise to the surface when Frankie unknowingly reminds you of the reality between you. WC: 9.8k

A/N: Ok. Already february 14th in my country. Happy Valentine's day and Frankie Friday to all of you. I love you all <3 If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

You drifted into consciousness slowly, the weight on your chest shifting, inching closer to your face. Something warm and insistent, a presence demanding attention. When you finally pried your eyes open, Mr. Darcy was there, looming over you, his whiskered face pressed unceremoniously against yours, his nose grazing your chin. He let out a soft meow before inching forward again, catching a strand of your hair between his teeth and tugging with quiet determination. A statement. A demand.

“Darcy,” you murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Are you starving?”

With a lazy sweep of your arm, you nudged him aside, rolling onto your back, propping yourself up just enough to rub at your eyes. And that’s when the pain bloomed—sharp and immediate—right in the center of your face. Your fingers found your mouth first, the skin swollen and tender, then your nose, sore beneath the tentative press of your touch.

You exhaled slowly, eyes slipping closed again as the memory of last night resurfaced in fragments. The dull thud of impact. The mortifying rush of heat to your face. The sharp sting of embarrassment that lingered even now.

Christ. What a disaster.

Darcy meowed again, insistent, his round eyes fixed on you like he could sense your spiraling thoughts.

With a quiet groan, you pushed the blankets back, your bare feet meeting the cold floor, a sharp contrast to the warmth of sleep still clinging to your skin. The movement felt sluggish, like wading through water. You crossed the room and stepped into the bathroom, flicking on the light.

The mirror was merciless. Puffy eyes, a shadow of exhaustion beneath them, and the telltale evidence of last night’s fall marking your lips and nose. You looked wrecked. And you felt it, too—something heavy settling in your chest, thick with the weight of regret or frustration or something close to both.

From the doorway, Darcy sat watching, patient but unrelenting. You met his gaze, something fond tugging at the corner of your mouth despite everything.

A second later, your clothes pooled at your feet, and you stepped into the shower, turning the knob until the water cascaded over your body, washing away the lingering traces of last night, soothing the dull ache beneath your skin. Your stomach twisted in protest—empty, impatient. You let yourself imagine breakfast: coffee, something warm, something heavy and sweet. The thought propelled you to rinse the last of the suds from your skin, dragging bubbles over your arms, your neck, your aching knees, where the water stung. A birthday souvenir, you thought.

Stepping out, you wrapped yourself in a towel, the fabric clinging to your damp skin as you moved toward your room. Your gaze swept over the space, searching for your phone. Not on the nightstand. Not under the pillow. You crouched to peer beneath the bed, but it wasn’t there either. A sharp pulse in your skull pulled you upright, and you winced. Tequila. Too much of it, too late in the night.

Then it came to you—your purse. And your phone, most likely still inside it. You traced the memory back: the party, the dim glow of the living room, the moment you had tossed your bag aside, distracted by something—no, by someone. Mr. Darcy. Right.

With your towel knotted at your chest, your hair damp and dripping onto your bare shoulders, you stepped into the hallway. The kitchen was empty, nothing but the faint scent of stale coffee lingering in the air. But then, near the door, a familiar shape caught your eye.

You moved quickly, lowering yourself into a crouch, a quiet groan escaping your lips as you reached for the bag. The leather was cool against your fingers as you dug inside, searching until—there. You pulled out your phone, touching it out of habit, only to be met with a blank screen. Dead. You exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes at yourself. Of course.

You turned on your heel, still staring at the dead screen of your phone, when a sound shattered the quiet, sent a shockwave through your chest.

A voice. Too close.

“Hey—”

“Oh my God!” The words ripped out of you as you spun, pure instinct taking over. Before you could think, your arm swung back and then forward, launching your phone straight at the intruder.

“Wait—fuck!” The voice turned sharp, followed by a dull thwack as the device smacked into flesh.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Your hands flew to your mouth. It wasn’t a masked intruder, not some stranger lurking in the dark. It was Frankie.

Bent over, both hands gripping his face, he let out a low string of curses. His hair stuck out at odd angles, his shirt was wrinkled and speckled with blood, and he looked—well, rough. Like he’d been through something.

“You almost killed me,” you gasped, stepping closer, trying to get a look at his face. “You can’t just stand there in total silence like some kind of serial killer like—are you okay?”

You reached out instinctively, but he jerked back. And then it hit you—you were naked.

Well, wrapped in a towel, but still.

You clutched the fabric tighter against your chest, fingers curling into the edge. Frankie exhaled sharply and finally dropped his hands, revealing the damage.

“Oh—ugh,” you grimaced. “Shit. Sorry. Sorry, sorry—”

Ignoring his glare, you leaned in, fingers brushing his chin as you tilted his face toward the light. A red mark bloomed across the bridge of his nose, right where your phone had struck. A thin cut had opened just enough to show the first hint of blood. Not awful, but bad enough to look painful. His eyes were glassy, the kind of involuntary reaction pain pulls out of you before you can stop it.

Your fingertips ghosted over the swollen skin.

“Careful,” he muttered, voice low, edged with irritation.

You pulled your hand back and scowled at him.

“I’m trying to be careful. But you can’t just—just appear out of nowhere like that. And I thought you left? Weren’t you getting an Uber last night?”

He straightened up slightly, still wincing.

“I didn’t just appear. I’ve been on the couch the whole time.”

You blinked. “So you slept here?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah. I was about to leave, but then I—” He waved vaguely. “—passed out.”

“Oh,” you said, nodding slowly, like that somehow made sense.

You turned before you could dwell on it, heading toward the hallway, your back to him.

“I’m getting dressed. I’ll be right back.”

Behind you, Frankie exhaled. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

Dressed now, you stepped out of your room, tugging at the hem of an oversized T-shirt—clean, cool, soft against your skin. Your pajama shorts barely peeked out from underneath. You had no intention of leaving the house today.

In the kitchen, Mr. Darcy twined around your legs, his fur warm against your bare skin. You bent down to refill his dish, scratching lightly behind his ears as he purred in gratitude. The coffee maker gurgled, filling the air with the sharp, familiar scent of morning. You grabbed a piece of bread, biting off a corner as you moved, walking quickly toward the bathroom, barefoot steps light against the floor.

You knocked three times, but no one answered.

You knocked again.

“Francis—”

The door swung open before you could finish.

Frankie leaned against the frame, head tipped slightly, eyes still swollen with sleep. His face was damp, beads of water clinging to the edges of his jaw. He looked softer like this, in the quiet. Less like the man you spent most of your time arguing with.

Your gaze dropped to his nose, and—oh. Shit. The bruise was darker now, spreading along the bridge, a shadow forming just beneath his right eye. You winced before you could stop yourself, then quickly smoothed out your expression.

“I—” You cleared your throat. “Do you want coffee?”

He blinked at you, like the question required effort to process.

“Yes?”

“That’s not an answer. Yes or no?”

He exhaled. “Sure, I guess.”

“Toast? Or cereal? I have fruit, too.”

“Um, toast is fine.”

“Okay.” You nodded, already turning back toward the kitchen, moving quickly, before you had to look at him any longer.

A few minutes later, when the toast was resting on the breakfast bar, Frankie emerged from the hallway. He moved slowly, like he was still waking up, stopping just short of the counter. His eyes landed on you, dark and steady, watching as you poured the coffee, arranged the mugs, set everything into place. You pretended not to notice, focusing instead on the small, repetitive motions of your hands.

After a beat, you tilted your chin toward the stool across from you. He got the message and sat down, his hands braced against the edge of the counter.

Reaching into the fridge, you pulled out every spread you had—jams, peanut butter, Nutella. Some smooth, some crunchy. Options. You set them down between you before sliding into your seat, only to find him still looking at you, gaze sharp and assessing. Like he was waiting for something.

You chewed on a bite of toast, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What?”

“What about you now?” he asked.

Your brows knit together. “Mmm?”

“You’re acting weird.”

You swallowed, then scoffed.

“You always say that, Francisco.” Your voice was light, almost careless, as you wrapped a hand around your coffee mug. With the other, you reached for a blister pack from the counter and placed it beside his cup. “Take one. For the pain and the hangover.”

He glanced down at it. “Did last night’s blow affect you?”

You snorted. “Did it affect me? Yeah, I’m the one who got hit in the face. I look like an extra from Fight Club.” He gave you a dry look. You exhaled. “Take one. The same ones I took last night. Don’t you remember?”

Frankie sighed, rubbing his jaw before picking up the pack, flipping it over in his hand, reading the label like he didn’t quite trust you. Then, without further argument, he popped one out and into his mouth, chasing it with a sip of coffee.

“Well,” he said, setting the mug back down, “you are acting different.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

You rolled your eyes, an exaggerated movement, then returned your focus to your toast, giving him nothing.

Silence settled over the kitchen. The occasional scrape of a knife against bread. The distant hum of the refrigerator. Frankie ate quietly, but his attention flicked toward you every so often, and at one point, he caught you staring—not at him exactly, but at his face. Or, more specifically, at the swelling along the bridge of his nose. Your expression had tightened, your lips pressed together like you were feeling the pain yourself.

A slow, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You feel guilty, don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“For hitting me.”

“Hey, that’s not fair.” You sat up straighter, expression shifting from guilt to indignation. “You can’t just sneak up on a woman like that, standing there in total silence like—like some kind of criminal. You scared me half to death! And I was only wearing a towel!”

“I know,” he said, dragging out the word. “But still... you feel guilty.”

You huffed, tilting your head, considering him. Then you sighed dramatically, relenting just a little. “Your face.”

He gestured to his face. “What do you think?”

You leaned in slightly, gaze sweeping over the bruising, the cut, the darkening skin beneath his eye.

Pursing your lips, you nodded solemnly. “Terrible.”

Frankie exhaled, shaking his head.

“But don’t worry,” you added, taking another sip of coffee. “You don’t look that much different than you do every day.”

Frankie’s gaze dragged over your face, unhurried and searching, before finally settling on your eyes. He took a bite of his toast, chewing with an air of quiet amusement, then tilted his head, considering you like you were some kind of abstract painting he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“At least I don’t look like I failed a botox trial,” he said finally, his mouth curling into a smirk—like he hadn’t meant to let it show, like it had slipped out against his will.

You lifted an eyebrow, giving him a slow once-over as you raised your mug to your lips.

“I’m letting that slide only because, technically, I’m the reason you got hurt.”

Frankie huffed out a laugh, low and quiet.

“Well,” he said, shrugging, “you’ve got decent aim. I’ll give you that.”

You frowned immediately, shaking your head. “Did you just compliment me? That’s pathetic.”

Unbothered, Frankie took another bite of his toast, chewing like he had all the time in the world.

“Well, it makes sense. I’m not exactly at my peak right now—bruised, hungover, and stuck here, fake-dating you. Calling it pathetic is honestly being generous.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, setting your mug down.

“Please, you should be thanking the universe you get to fake-date me. How many fake girlfriends would go through the trouble of rescuing you from your idiotic cousin Ian?”

Frankie gave you a flat look as you stood and stretched, but you could feel his eyes on you as you crossed the kitchen.

“I can handle him. If anything, me showing up with you just made him more insufferable. I think he was trying to make you uncomfortable and awkward.”

You pulled open the freezer, grabbing a cold gel pack, then turned on your heel and made your way back to the table, dropping into your seat with a slight bounce.

“Well, joke’s on him,” you said, tossing the pack onto the table in front of him. “I had to kiss you, remember? Awkwardness and I have been intimately acquainted ever since.”

Frankie picked up the gel pack without question, rolling it between his fingers for a beat before pressing it against the bridge of his nose with a small, appreciative sigh. His shoulders slumped slightly, the relief immediate.

“Well,” he murmured, eyes still shut, “I have to admit—you were a pretty decent girlfriend last night.”

You recoiled like he’d insulted you.

“Ugh, don’t say things like that, Francisco,” you groaned, rolling your shoulders like the words had physically unsettled you. “That actually makes me uncomfortable.”

He cracked one eye open, unimpressed.

“Why? You’re always so weird.”

Something about the word made you pause, your fingers curling slightly around the rim of your mug. Weird. He had a habit of calling you that, didn’t he? It was one of the first things he’d ever said about you, actually—years ago, on Santiago’s birthday.

That day, Santi was in rare form, practically vibrating with energy, grinning at everyone like he couldn’t quite believe his own good fortune. He had a new house, a fresh start. And for the first time in years, he was going to celebrate his birthday properly, surrounded by people he loved. The gathering was small—just close friends and family—but carefully planned, down to the last detail.

You already knew some of Santi’s friends, like Will and Ben. They’d picked you up from the airport once when you flew in to visit your mom in New York, and you remembered them being easy company. Warm, funny, the kind of men who made you feel instantly comfortable. You assumed the rest of Santi’s friends would be the same.

That night, you stood near the grill with your cousin Irene, laughing with Will about his latest doomed date—a girl who had spent the entire evening talking about her ex, pausing only to sip her overpriced cocktail.

“I swear, she brought him up before the drinks even hit the table,” Will said, shaking his head. “And then she goes, ‘I just think it’s crazy how much he messed me up, like, I should be over it by now, right?’”

“Oh, no,” you groaned, wincing.

“Yeah. And then she says, ‘Anyway, what were you saying about your deployment?’ Like I was supposed to just—pick up where I left off.”

You were still laughing when Santi approached, his face bright with a joy you didn’t usually see in him. He had two people in tow.

“Alright,” he said, clapping Will on the shoulder and looking at you. “Let me introduce you to these idiots.”

The first was Tom—a tall guy with a laid-back smile, the kind of smile that suggested he could talk his way out of anything. He barely waited for Santi to finish before grinning at you.

“So, which one of you got the good genes?” he asked, squinting between you and Santi, like he was weighing his options. “Because I feel like it’s not Santi.”

Santi elbowed him in the ribs, and Tom let out a dramatic, exaggerated oof, still grinning.

And then—

“This is Frankie.”

Unlike Tom, Frankie didn’t make a joke. He didn’t even smile.

Instead, he looked at you like you were something unexpected, something he wasn’t sure how to categorize. His expression flickered—confusion, then something closer to distaste. His eyes moved over you too quickly, as if assessing damage. It left you with the unsettling impression that there was something to assess. Like you had something on your face. Like your shirt was crooked, your makeup smudged. Like he had already decided something about you and found you lacking.

“Nice to meet you,” Frankie said eventually, nodding once. His voice was even, but there was something distant about it, like he had already lost interest in the exchange before it had even begun.

You nodded back, a tight, controlled smile stretching across your lips. You refused to give him more than that.

During dinner, it was impossible not to notice that his indifference to you wasn’t incidental. It was intentional.

With the others, he was engaged, animated. He laughed loudly, cracked jokes, leaned in close to whisper something to Irene that made her throw her head back and giggle. At one point, he even rested his elbow on the back of her chair, casual and self-assured in a way that made you glance away.

But when you spoke? It was like someone hit the mute button.

No glance in your direction. No acknowledgment that you had even spoken. His disinterest was so palpable, so deliberate, that it left a strange hollow feeling in your chest, like standing in the middle of a room and realizing for the first time that the walls had been closing in all along.

Even the mosquitoes buzzing near your ankles made more of an effort to engage with you than he did.

But you tried not to let it bother you. You didn’t know him. He didn’t know you.

It was probably nothing.

After dinner, everyone moved instinctively, stacking plates, gathering silverware, brushing crumbs onto cupped palms. You volunteered to handle the dishes, and Ben, with a theatrical sigh, declared it a “four-handed job, no less.” He rolled up his sleeves like you were about to perform surgery instead of scrubbing plates. You laughed, grateful for the company.

Outside, the bonfire flickered to life, its glow stretching long and golden across the yard, catching on the edges of laughter, the glint of a beer bottle, the flash of someone’s teeth mid-smile. Santi had been proud of this latest home improvement project, leveling out the ground himself, arranging the stone ring just so. You imagined him standing there earlier in the afternoon, hands on his hips, admiring his own handiwork.

The dishes didn’t take long. By the time the last one was dried and put away, Ben clapped you on the back with a satisfied nod, as if you’d conquered something together. You thanked him, excused yourself to the bathroom, and slipped away down the hall.

Inside, you turned on the tap, watching the water swirl over your hands. When you glanced up at the mirror, your reflection met you with something unreadable. Nothing was wrong—no smudged mascara, no stray hairs, nothing out of place. Still, you adjusted your ponytail, smoothed your fingers over your eyebrows, checked your teeth like something about you needed fixing.

After a beat, you reached for the mirrored cabinet and nudged it open. Not to snoop—just curiosity, just something to do with your hands. Inside, everything was expected: shaving cream, toothpaste, eyedrops. No surprises. No answers.

And then—voices. Drifting in through the small open window above the bathtub, just distinct enough to pull your attention outside. You stilled, heartbeat pressing in your throat.

The courtyard stretched below, shadowed in places where the firelight didn’t reach. A tree blocked part of your view, its leaves shifting in the night breeze, but through the gaps, you saw them. Frankie and Will, standing just outside the warm halo of the fire, slightly apart from the others.

Frankie had a cigarette in one hand, the smoke curling around him lazily, wrapping itself through the air like it belonged to him. Will held a beer, his fingers tapping idly against the glass.

“... I mean I don’t know,” Frankie was saying. His voice was low, but clear enough to carry. He shook his head, lifting the cigarette to his lips, the ember flaring in the dark. “I can’t explain it to you. There’s just something weird about her.”

Your stomach dropped.

Will sighed, his patience tangible, like he was speaking to a stubborn child. “That doesn’t mean anything. You’ll have to give me more than that.”

Frankie exhaled. “Yeah, no. I don’t think so.”

Will let out a frustrated noise, shifting his weight. “Talk to her. She’s nice. Kind. Cool. Unlike you right now.” He lifted his beer to his mouth, then seemed to think better of it. “I get it, whatever, you have your weird feelings about people. But she’s Santi’s sister. Just make the effort.”

The words hung in the air, hovering on the edge of something sharp.

And then—Frankie laughed.

Not a real laugh, not the kind you wanted to hear. It was short, rasping, curling at the edges with something like derision. It caught at something inside of you, clawing at the softest part of your chest.

“I don’t want to be dramatic,” he said, taking another drag of his cigarette, “but I’d rather sacrifice myself in another way.”

Will huffed. “God, you’re ridiculous.”

You stepped back from the window like it had burned you.

Your stomach was twisting, something heavy settling in your ribs, pressing. The tightness was sudden, overwhelming, like a hand had closed around your throat without warning.

You turned on the faucet again, letting the cold water rush over your fingers. It grounded you just enough to blink back the sting in your eyes. You cupped your hands under the stream, splashed your face, watched the droplets cling to your skin.

Why was he being cruel to you?

The question circled your mind, over and over, a loop tightening like a noose. Each repetition sharpened the sting of his words, made them cut a little deeper. He didn’t know you. He hadn’t spoken to you beyond a handful of obligatory niceties, hadn’t given himself the opportunity to form any kind of real opinion. And yet, there he was, speaking about you with such offhanded disdain, like it was a fact so self-evident it didn’t even require justification.

You couldn’t reconcile him with the Frankie your brother had talked about so fondly. The Frankie who had stood by him through rough times, who Santi counted on with unwavering trust. Santi, your kind and loyal brother, who always seemed to have an unerring sense for good people. How could he be close to someone like that? Someone so quick to dismiss, so unwilling to extend even the barest courtesy of politeness?

When you emerged from the bathroom, your face betrayed you. The uncomfortable churn of emotions, the lingering humiliation—it was all there, just beneath the surface. You took a breath, then another, but the crack in your composure remained, fragile and obvious. You told yourself it didn’t matter. What Francisco Morales thought of you was irrelevant. A stranger’s opinion had no weight, no real consequence. That was the logic you reached for. But somewhere deeper—somewhere softer��his words had landed, uninvited, unwanted.

You ignored him for the rest of the night. Not subtly, not gracefully. It wasn’t a careful indifference, the kind that might go unnoticed. It was pointed. Unmistakable. If it made you seem childish or petty, so be it. Ignoring him was the only form of control you had left.

Later, after Santi blew out the candles on his cake, surrounded by the clumsy, off-key chorus of friends and family, you volunteered to serve dessert. A small act of normalcy. Something methodical, something steadying. You moved around the table with quiet efficiency, cutting generous slices, placing them onto plates, handing them out one by one.

When you reached Frankie, you skipped him.

Not by accident. Not in a way that could be misread as forgetfulness.

He was sitting back in his chair, arms loose at his sides, expression unreadable. Your gaze barely flickered in his direction. Without hesitation, you handed the slice that should have been his to Tom, who accepted it without a second thought, flashing a cheerful smile and an easy thanks. You moved on without pausing, your hands steady, your focus trained on the next plate, the next person.

But you felt him watching you.

The weight of his stare settled over you, a quiet pressure, like he was trying to work out whether you’d done it on purpose or if it had been some kind of oversight. You could picture the crease forming between his brows, the way his mouth might press into something contemplative. But he didn’t say a word. No protest, no offhand joke to break the tension, nothing.

When you returned to your seat, Ben frowned, looking between Frankie and the empty space in front of him.

“Hey, man, you want a slice?” he asked, his tone laced with mild confusion and amusement.

Frankie didn’t answer.

Ben, either oblivious or choosing not to acknowledge the shift in the air, reached across the table, grabbed a plate, and handed it to him. “Here.”

You watched from the corner of your eye but said nothing.

When Frankie left that night, he gave the group a brief, efficient goodbye. Hugs for his friends, warm claps on the back, the kind of easy affection that suggested long years of knowing each other.

You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t acknowledge him.

Didn’t give him the polite, meaningless smile you would have spared for any other guest.

Instead, you turned toward Irene, the brightness in your voice deliberate, animated, like whatever he had said, whatever had settled under your skin, had never happened at all.

You didn’t see much of him after that night. Not often enough for it to be a real problem, but just enough for the feeling to settle, for the vague discomfort to harden into something sharper. Animosity. Mutual, unspoken, and impossible to ignore.

Santi and the others took notice. They laughed about it, poked fun at the tension that seemed to press in whenever you and Frankie were in the same room.

And it wasn’t just that Frankie was withdrawn when you were around. No, that would have been easier. This was different. More pointed. You caught him watching you sometimes, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he looked away, like the mere sight of you put him in a bad mood. Like your presence—your existence—bothered him in some deep, inexplicable way.

And then it hit you.

It wasn’t indifference. It was repulsion.

He didn’t just tolerate you in the way people tolerate someone they don’t particularly like. No, his discomfort was palpable, obvious. And the worst part? It wasn’t like that with anyone else. With other people, Frankie could be easygoing, relaxed, warm, even. You saw him with Santi, with Will, with Ben—laughing, teasing, cracking dry jokes that made the others shake their heads in amusement. With you, though? It was like a switch flipped. Like something about you specifically made him shut down.

It was a strange, hostile little orbit the two of you existed in, all silence and avoidance and charged, awkward glances. And then, one day three years ago, it all crystallized into something worse.

It had been an unbearably hot day, the kind that made the air shimmer above the pavement, thick and unmoving. The kind where just stepping outside felt like a mistake.

You pulled into Santi’s driveway and spotted him immediately, leaning over the open hood of his car. His forearms were streaked with grease, the fabric of his t-shirt clinging to his back. But you weren’t expecting the other figure crouched beside him, partially obscured by the car. Frankie.

His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms smudged with oil. His hands worked deftly, twisting a wrench, adjusting something out of sight. A streak of grease cut across his cheek, his brow furrowed in concentration, dark hair curling slightly at the edges from sweat. He didn’t look up when you stepped out of the car.

Didn’t acknowledge you at all.

Something about it—about him—set you on edge immediately. It wasn’t just the fact that he ignored you. It was how completely he did it. As if you were actually invisible, as if he could refuse to register your presence by sheer force of will.

Santi, oblivious to it all, greeted you warmly.

“Hey, look who it is,” he grinned, throwing his arms open before pulling you into a hug, despite the grime on his hands and forearms. You made a face, but he only laughed.

He asked about work, about your social life, about Mr. Darcy. Then, inevitably, the conversation veered toward Yovanna—the woman he’d been seeing for the past few months, the one he couldn’t seem to stop bringing up. His voice softened when he talked about her, his words tinged with something rare for him—something unguarded, almost boyish.

And still, Frankie didn’t look at you. Didn’t say a word.

He stayed crouched beside the engine, focused on his work, jaw tight. You could hear the small metallic shifts as he adjusted something, the scrape of metal against metal, the occasional sigh of effort. It was almost impressive, the level of concentration he seemed to have, the sheer determination to keep his back to you.

The heat pressed in, thick and unrelenting.

You stood there, arms crossed, unsure of what to do with yourself. You felt out of place, like an intruder in a space you weren’t meant to occupy. There was no point in trying to interact with him, no use in attempting some forced politeness. You weren’t even sure he’d respond if you did.

So you went inside, feet moving on autopilot, hands searching through the cupboards without any real purpose. You weren’t hungry. You weren’t even sure what you were looking for.

But the quiet of the house, the soft rustle of boxes and packaging as you rummaged through them, felt like a better option than standing outside, pretending not to care.

Latee, you stared down at the jar of jam in your hands, its lid refusing to budge no matter how hard you twisted. The effort sent a dull ache through your palms, the friction of your fingers against the glass doing nothing but adding to your frustration. You tightened your grip, exhaling sharply through your nose, determined to win this ridiculous battle.

You were bracing yourself for another attempt when the kitchen door creaked open. Footsteps, steady and unhurried, echoed before Frankie appeared, moving with that same effortless confidence he always had, like he never doubted where he was going or why. But then, just as he was about to leave the room, something made him hesitate.

His gaze landed on you.

It was brief, but then it sharpened, his expression shifting in a way that made your stomach tighten. He studied you, his head tilting slightly, as if he was trying to decipher something.

“Hey, hand it to me,” he said, holding out a palm, his voice level, neutral.

You blinked at him, still clutching the jar, your fingers locked around it more out of instinct than anything else. He extended his hand further, expectant.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, forcing your attention back to the lid. You tightened your grip, twisting again. Nothing.

Frankie clicked his tongue, the sound light but pointed, edged with impatience. Then, without another word, he stepped forward, his hand reaching for the jar as if it was already his to take.

“No,” you snapped, pulling back, a hot, inexplicable irritation flaring in your chest. “I can do it. And your hands are dirty.”

His lips twitched at that, an almost-smile, but there was something off about it—something unreadable in his eyes that unsettled you.

“Okay,” he said, his voice casual, almost amused. “So open it.”

There was something infuriating in the way he said it. A challenge disguised as nonchalance.

He turned away before you could respond, grabbing the sugar jar instead. With no visible effort, he popped off the lid and tipped a small handful into his palm, letting the granules spill between his fingers before rinsing them away under the faucet. The stream of water turned soapy as he lathered his hands, scrubbing with slow, deliberate movements, all while keeping his gaze on you.

You could feel him watching, tracking every failed attempt as you wrestled with the jam jar, your frustration growing with each slip of your fingers. The more you struggled, the more ridiculous you felt, like you were shrinking under the weight of his attention.

And then, predictably, humiliatingly, your grip faltered.

The jar slipped from your hands, falling in a sharp, unstoppable motion. The crash was deafening, the glass shattering against the tile floor, thick splatters of jam seeping into the cracks. The mess was immediate, sticky and sprawling, shards glinting under the overhead light.

For a second, you just stood there, stunned, your heart pounding.

“Shit,” you muttered, heat rising to your face as the disaster at your feet seemed to mock you.

Frankie, however, didn’t react. He dried his hands with methodical precision, tossing the towel onto the counter before moving to grab a roll of paper towels and a garbage bag. There was no smugness, no remarks, just a quiet efficiency that somehow made it worse.

“I'm just helping you—”

“I don’t need your help. With anything. Ever.”

Your fingers closed around the garbage bag in his hand, but before you could pull it away, he held firm. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension tightening like a drawn wire. His palm was warm against yours, the contact fleeting but enough to make your skin prickle with irritation.

“And what kind of help are you even offering?” you bit out, your voice sharp. “It’s not really help if you spend the whole time acting like I’m an idiot.”

Frankie let out a short breath, something between disbelief and amusement. Then his expression darkened, his voice quiet but cutting.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he asked, as if he’d been waiting for the chance to say it. “Why do you always have to be so—” He stopped, shook his head slightly, then exhaled. “So fucking weird.”

The word landed like a slap, cold and unexpected. You stood frozen, gripping the bag too tightly, feeling your pulse hammer in your throat. The word echoed in your head, overlapping with every other version of it you’d ever heard, every moment someone had looked at you just a little too long, just enough to make you wonder what, exactly, was so strange about you.

You took a steadying breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you shot back, but the words didn’t land the same way. Frankie’s jaw tensed, the corners of his mouth pulling tight.

“I don’t have a problem. You do. Always acting like a child, getting pissed over nothing.”

“Oh, no, you definitely have problems,” you snapped, shifting your grip on the bag. “Attitude problems. Ego problems. Basic reasoning problems.”

His face shifted, something closing off. His brows pulled together, his eyes sharpening, his entire body tensing like he was holding back some invisible reaction.

“You don’t know me. Not at all.”

“I know you well enough to know I want nothing to do with you. I don’t like you, and I have no fucking clue how my brother puts up with you.”

For a second, he just stared at you, unreadable. The air felt charged, like something waiting to snap. Then, with an infuriating half-smile, he reached forward and placed the garbage bag in your hands, his fingers brushing yours deliberately, like a taunt. His gaze flickered with something smug, something entertained.

“You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine yourself,” he murmured.

“You don’t deserve anything good from me.”

Frankie raised an eyebrow, his stance lazy, like he was enjoying watching you unravel.

“Relax,” he said, in that same infuriatingly casual voice. “I was just pointing out the obvious. You make everything harder than it has to be.”

“Oh, and things are easier when you’re around?” you shot back, laughing without humor. “Every single thing I do becomes a problem for you. It’s like you can’t help yourself, like you have to disapprove of everything I say, everything I do, like I’ve ever once asked for your opinion.”

“I didn’t say that. But maybe if you didn’t take everything so personally—”

“Personally?” you interrupted, stepping forward. Your pulse was racing, your voice rising. “You make it personal every time you act like a condescending asshole, like you know something I don’t, like I’m somehow not good enough for you. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Frankie’s expression twisted, his breathing uneven now.

“Don’t blame me for your insecurities,” he said, his voice lower, more dangerous now. “You’re the one always pissed off at me. Maybe you’re the one with the fucking problem.”

“Oh, right. So now it’s my fault that you’re an unbearable asshole every time I’m in the same room as you?”

“You’re taking this the wrong way,” he said, shaking his head, his frustration bleeding through. “I’m not trying to be a dick. But you make it impossible to be nice to you. And look around—everyone else seems fine with me. You’re the only one who picks a fight every damn time.”

You stared at him, breath shallow.

“Are you kidding me, Francisco? Are you seriously that much of an asshole?”

His mouth twitched like he was about to argue, but before he could, the sound of the door creaking open cut through the tension like a knife.

You turned just as Santi stepped into the kitchen, his gaze sweeping over the shattered glass and sticky mess on the floor. His expression flickered from confusion to mild exasperation, his brows lifting slightly as he took in the scene.

He didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence settle before glancing between you and Frankie. Then he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

“You two are ridiculous,” he muttered. “Keep me out of it.”

The tension lingered long after Santi left the room. And in the weeks that followed, you found yourself making a conscious effort to avoid Frankie, dodging him in hallways, staying silent when he entered the room. But it didn’t matter—whenever he was near, the air thickened with unspoken words, with all the things you hadn’t said, all the things you couldn’t.

And now, years later, here he was, sitting across from you, eating like nothing had ever happened. Then, casually, carelessly, he said it again.

Weird.

For some reason, the night before had softened something in you, made you forget—just a little—the bitter taste Frankie usually left behind. The way you had laughed, the way he had steadied you after your clumsy little accident, the way his hands had been careful but sure. For a moment, it had felt easy. It had almost made you forget the way he really saw you.

Almost.

Because now, sitting across from him, that familiar weight settled back into your chest. It wasn’t anger exactly, just the dull press of remembering. That no, you didn’t care what he thought of you, except for the small, inconvenient part of you that did.

You went quiet, the shift in your mood unmistakable. You weren’t the kind of person who could hide things well—your face always gave you away, your eyes especially. And right now, you could feel the way they changed, heavier somehow, distant in a way that wasn’t intentional but still impossible to ignore.

Frankie watched you, his expression shifting, something flickering behind his eyes. Then, after a pause, he asked, “Are you okay?” His voice was softer than you expected, careful in a way that made your skin prickle. “Are you in pain?”

“No,” you said quickly. Then, realizing how clipped it sounded, you exhaled and tried again. “I’m fine, I just…” You trailed off, your gaze drifting over his shoulder, scanning the living room as if the right words might be lying around somewhere. When you looked back, it was brief. “I’m tired. I need to sleep.”

Frankie studied you for a moment, his brows pulling together slightly. He knew something was off, you could see it in the way he hesitated. And maybe in a different situation, with someone else, he might have pushed. But this was you, and he knew better.

“Sure,” he said finally. “I’ll call for a car and go, okay?”

You nodded, already looking past him, already somewhere else. Then, without really thinking, you muttered, “You still have to pick up your car, don’t you?”

“That’s right.” He tipped his cup to his lips, draining the last sip of coffee before setting it down with a quiet clink. His eyes flicked back to you. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

You sighed, exasperated, tilting your head back just slightly. When you met his gaze again, any lightness from before had disappeared.

“I’m fine, Francisco. Leave me alone.”

You slid off your seat and turned away before you could see his reaction, before you had to sit with whatever look he might be giving you.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you said over your shoulder, already walking down the hall, already pulling away. “I’ll be right back.”

Once inside the bathroom, you closed the door quietly, carefully, as if any sudden movement might shatter the fragile balance of the moment. You didn’t really need to be here. You weren’t fixing your makeup or brushing your hair. You just needed distance—from Frankie, from his gaze that always seemed to catch too much, from the unspoken weight pressing down on you.

But the mirror didn’t offer any escape. It just stood there, reflecting back everything you were trying to ignore, everything you didn’t want to acknowledge.

What the fuck are you doing?

The thought came quickly, sharply, twisting through your ribs. You turned on the faucet, the rush of water filling the small space, and leaned over the sink, cupping your hands beneath the stream. The cold hit your skin like a shock, a reset, but it didn’t quite reach deep enough. You pressed damp fingers to your cheeks, ran them over the bridge of your nose, across your lips. Testing. Grounding. Stalling.

And when you looked up again, you felt—pathetic.

Maybe that’s why Harry hadn’t chosen you. Maybe that was the answer. Or maybe the truth was worse: no one had ever chosen you. Not Harry, not the boy before him, or the one before that. Every single time, it had ended the same way, with someone walking away toward something—someone—better.

And if you really thought about it, hadn’t that always been the pattern? Hadn’t you spent your whole life watching people choose something else?

Not your father. Even though you knew he had loved you, even though you understood, in some distant, logical part of yourself, that it wasn’t about love. But still—he had always chosen Santi. Always drawn to the open air, the wilderness, the kind of life you had never quite fit into. They had shared something you could never access, something stitched into their bones. They understood each other in a way that had left you on the outside; you were the outlier, too quiet, too lost in your own head, always curled up in the same four walls with books about people who actually lived. People like your father, like your brother. They met life head-on, without hesitation, without fear. And you… you had always been afraid. Of what, exactly? You weren’t sure. You only knew that it was there, a part of you as much as anything else.

Not your mother, either. She had loved you too. But she had left anyway. And you understood that too—understood how grief could hollow a person out, how it could make staying unbearable. You knew she wasn’t strong enough to live inside the absence of your father. And maybe you weren’t supposed to blame her for that. But you had needed her. You had needed her so badly, and she hadn’t been there.

And sure, Santi had always chosen you. He had always been the one constant, the one person who made you feel like you weren’t completely alone in the world. But you couldn’t cling to your brother forever. He had Yovanna now, and the life they were building together, the plans they whispered about when they thought no one was listening. A family, maybe.

And then what?

Where did that leave you?

You swallowed hard, gripping the edges of the sink, feeling the quiet ache settle into your chest. It wasn’t the kind of loneliness that came from being physically alone. It was something deeper, something harder to name. The kind that had lived inside you for so long, it almost felt like a part of you.

You couldn’t let yourself spiral. Not now. Now, you had to leave the bathroom, find Frankie, and get him to leave. Then, maybe, you could curl up in bed with Mr. Darcy and pretend this day had never happened. That was the plan. That was the responsible, rational, totally-not-falling-apart plan.

You pressed your palms to your cheeks once, as if physically pushing the emotion away, and stepped out.

By the time you reached the kitchen, your hands drying against the hem of your shirt, Frankie wasn’t there anymore. Your breath caught, a strange mix of relief and suspicion pooling in your stomach. And then you saw him.

He was standing by the couch, his head tilted slightly, eyes locked on something in his hands. A book, blue... with delicate gold lettering on the cover... No.

No.

“What are you doing?” The words left your mouth before you could soften them. You surged forward, your pulse spiking as recognition set in.

Frankie didn’t look up. Instead, he turned just enough to keep the little book out of your reach, flipping it open with an infuriating lack of urgency.

“What’s this?” he asked, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Francisco.” Your voice shook, your fingers stretching toward the journal. “Give me that.”

He lifted a single brow but didn’t obey.

“Going to a bar and making out with a stranger…” he began reading aloud. You felt the heat rush to your face, creeping up your neck like fire. “Skinny-dipping. Learning how to kick someone's —”

“Francisco!” You shoved at his chest, your hands colliding with solid muscle. He barely moved. His expression was infuriatingly amused.

“Go camping in the woods—”

Without thinking, you reached up and pressed your fingers hard against the bridge of his nose. His sharp inhale was instant, followed by a curse.

“Shit, shit—okay, okay!” He jerked back, wincing as he hunched slightly. “Jesus, you fight dirty.”

You snatched the journal from his loosened grip and held it close, stepping around the coffee table, putting space between you. Your heart was pounding, your humiliation expanding by the second.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you not understand the concept of privacy?”

Frankie touched his nose, wincing again, but his eyes were still full of laughter.

“What’s that, shortcake?”

You blinked. “What the hell did you just call me?”

He shrugged. “Never mind. What was that list?”

As if the embarrassment wasn’t already at an all-time high.

You sighed, dropping onto the couch, your fingers gripping the journal like it might disappear.

“It’s… a list I made.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Why?”

You lifted your gaze, dark and sharp. “Why the hell should I explain to you what I write in my diary?”

“To be clear, I wasn’t snooping,” he said, raising his hands in defense. “It was right there.” He gestured toward the coffee table. “Open. Can you really blame me?”

Your mouth opened, ready to argue, but then you remembered. He was right. You had left it there. Right before heading out to meet him last night.

You exhaled, your eyes flickering away, suddenly heavier than they had been moments ago.

Frankie shifted, coming closer, his voice softer now.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“I’m almost thirty, Francisco.” Your voice was quieter than before. “And I haven’t done any of the things on that list. I’ve never had a ‘wild night.’ Never kissed a stranger at a club. Never camped out. I’m afraid of… a lot of things.” You swallowed. “That’s why I made that list. Because I hate that people think I’m just this.”

“This what?”

You hesitated, then shook your head. “This. The woman who runs a bookstore and spends her nights with her cat and an imaginary boyfriend.”

Frankie’s face changed. You saw it—the flicker of recognition, the memory of his own words from the night before.

“But I thought you and Santi used to go camping all the time?” he asked, as if that might somehow soften the weight of what you had just said.

You scoffed. “No. My dad and Santi did all sorts of things. I stayed home.” You inhaled, slow and steady. “And then when I wanted to do them, my dad died. Just my luck, right?”

You stood abruptly, walking toward the kitchen.

Behind you, Frankie followed. “Wait. You wanted to go make out with strangers at a club with your dad?” He joked.

You almost laughed. Almost. But you weren’t going to let him off that easy.

“Yes, Francisco.” You turned, leaning against the counter, arms crossing. “That was exactly my plan.”

He huffed a small laugh, but his expression softened as he took a step closer.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “But you can still do those things. The club is still there. The woods are still there. There’s water everywhere.”

“I know.” You exhaled through your nose. “That’s why I made the damn list you read without permission.”

He tilted his head. “Okay, but was it really worth attacking my face like that?” He pointed to his nose, which was still slightly more pink.

You smirked. “You asked for it.”

“Right, totally unjustifiable.”

“What, weren’t you leaving?” You frowned, crossing your arms, your patience wearing thin.

Frankie exhaled, lifting his brows like you were being unreasonable.

“Yeah, in a minute.”

“Okay.”

“Go on then.”

“You’re kicking me out? What a terrible hostess.”

“You’re rifling through my things? What a terrible guest.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Well, my car’s a few minutes away. Can you tolerate my presence until then? It’s boiling outside.”

“Like I care. Go work on your tan.” You smirked. “But, because I’m an inherently good person, I’ll allow you to stay. Out of the kindness of my heart.”

He gave you a pointed look. “Yeah. You should add that to your little list.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“You know.” He shrugged. “Not being such a pain in the ass all the time.”

“Don’t make me regret it, Morales, or I’ll toss you out there like a lizard.”

Frankie rolled his eyes but leaned against the counter like he wasn’t actually in a hurry to leave.

“Anyway,” he said after a beat. “Santi texted me.”

That caught your attention. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, while you were in the bathroom. He wants us to have dinner with him tomorrow.”

You blinked. “Us? As in, the two of us?”

“Him and Yovanna, too. But yeah. He wants to see us, though I’m pretty sure he just wants to make sure we suffered. I always wondered where your mean streak came from, and now I get it. Santi’s got it too.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head.

“He wants to laugh at us, I’m sure of it.” But then, a thought struck you. “Oh, my god, what am I going to do with my face? I look like crap. You do too.”

Frankie snorted. “I don’t look that bad.”

“You look terrible.”

“Yeah, well, now I’ll look worse thanks to you.”

“We could always lie and say we got into a fight or something,” you suggested, tilting your head.

Frankie’s mouth twitched like he was holding back a smile. “Santi would kill me if he thought I let his little sister get into a fight.”

You sighed, your mood visibly changing, pushing off the counter and reaching for your phone, still plugged in, the screen lighting up with unread messages.

“You’re careful about some things,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “And then with others, you don’t care at all. I don’t get it.”

“What do you mean?” His tone shifted, like he was genuinely curious.

Without looking at him, you scrolled through your notifications.

“Why do you even bother looking out for me? If it’s because of Santi, don’t bother. It doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t make sense?”

You turned then, hair shifting against your cheek as you met his eyes.

“You’ve never cared about how I feel,” you said simply. “You’ve never held back from saying things that could hurt me, not even last night. Not even in front of my brother. So why pretend now? Why act like this matters to you?”

Frankie exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “Did I say something just now that pissed you off?”

“No, Francisco, but listen to yourself.” You gestured vaguely, exasperated. “Why do you care? You never have. You don’t have to start now just because we’re playing nice for one night. It’s weird. It’s fake.”

His arms crossed over his chest. “Okay but... I wasn’t going to leave you alone last night, though. You were hurt.” He shifted his weight, watching you carefully. “Did you actually think I would just leave?”

“That’s not the point,” you muttered, pressing your fingertips to your temple. “Just—don’t act differently with me because I did you a favor. It feels forced. And don’t use Santi as an excuse. I’m not a child.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” he shot back. His eyes flicked over your profile as you typed something on your phone, the soft tap of the keys the only sound between you. “I know we have our differences, but that doesn’t mean—”

“I don’t care—”

“That doesn’t mean I should ignore if something bad or uncomfortable happens to you.” His voice was lower now, more insistent. “Like you did last night with me and Ian. Right?” He tilted his head slightly, stepping just close enough that you could feel the space between you shrink. “The rest is on the back burner if—”

"Yeah, well. Never mind," you muttered, cutting him off. "I need a nap."

You turned on your heel before he could say anything else, your movement sharp, decisive. As if ending the conversation physically would erase the weight of it. You crossed the room without looking back, collapsing onto the couch like the day had physically drained you, like you needed to be swallowed whole by the cushions just to breathe properly again.

Frankie watched you, his gaze trailing the exact path you took. His arms remained crossed, fingers pressing absently against his bicep as he stood there, unmoving. There was something wrong. He could feel it, see it in the way you carried yourself, in the way you had avoided his eyes at the last second. But you weren’t going to tell him. And he knew better than to ask.

Still, something gnawed at him.

He’d never really understood you. He’d told himself, over the years, that it was just incompatibility—that you were wired differently, that you had nothing in common and that was it. But maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe it was just that you had never let him. That every time he thought he might be getting close to figuring you out, you pulled back, slammed a door in his face, left him with nothing but vague impressions and unfinished sentences. That was the thing about you—he’d never understood you, not really. And that irritated him, the way you always felt slightly out of reach.

It shouldn’t bother him. He didn’t even like you, not really. And you certainly didn’t like him. The two of you had spent years existing like opposing forces, never quite able to be in the same space without the edges fraying, without the air between you tensing like a rope being pulled too tight.

But today had felt different.

Because for a split second, just a fraction of a moment, he had seen something real. Something unguarded. Something like fear, or exhaustion, or sadness, but buried so deeply beneath irritation and indifference that he almost missed it—it had caught him off guard because he recognized it, and that realization unsettled him.

Still, he had seen it, plain as day—the flicker in your eyes, the way something in them had tightened, then shut away. A flash of vulnerability. A quiet kind of grief. And against all logic, some part of him wanted to reach out and catch it before it disappeared completely.

But he wasn’t going to ask. He wouldn’t dare. And you had made it perfectly clear that he shouldn’t, hadn’t you?

For a full minute, he had to talk himself out of doing something reckless—like sitting next to you, like pressing just a little, just enough to get an answer. He forced the curiosity away, willed it into silence.

So when he finally slid into the car three minutes later, the words he’d thrown at you the night before came rushing back, one after another, uninvited. Or at least, the ones he could remember.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog

#frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales smut #francisco morales fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal x reader #capuccinodoll #the boyfriend act

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rose-in-blue · 1 day ago

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Valentine’s Day Special — “Really and Truly”

Alastor x reader

Summary: After the hotel’s valentine’s day party, Alastor gets a little drunk. Who knows what secrets will be revealed when the Radio Demon gets a little too much whiskey?

Warnings/tags: afab/female reader, cursing, fluff, tipsy!Alastor

A/n: I was very inspired by the valentine’s outfits from Vivzie, so everyone’s outfits here are (modest, going out, of course) versions of the designs. (I was also inspired by @zonxter's amazing work here) Also, this is my first time writing a kiss scene, so please let me know if it's ok! :)

Word count: 1392

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

You sighed, picking up yet another plastic party cup. After a long day of setting up the hotel for Charlie’s Valentine’s Day party, the last thing you wanted to do was clean up the mess the guests had made. However, one look into Charlie’s puppy-dog eyes convinced you to ignore your oncoming headache and help.

“Another, please, Husker!” Alastor, the only one not helping, sat on the couch in the lobby, surrounded by a few to many shot glasses. Husk rolled his eyes from the bar, but dutifully poured another and brought it over to Al. You sighed. It wasn’t fair that you were working your ass off while the Radio Demon just sat around, was it?

Making your way over to the couch where he sat, you kept picking up streamers in various shades of pink and red and stuffing them into the black trash bag you carried. As you drew closer to Alastor, you could tell just how drunk he was. Chuckling to himself about seemingly nothing, his bowtie was completely undone, just hanging around his neck, and both his feet were up on the couch. One knee crossed over the other with his hands draped across his chest, this was possibly the least put-together you’d ever seen him. His eyes lazily drifted up to yours, a tipsy blush across his cheeks. “Why, hello, dear!” he said, radio filter gone, almost slurring his words together. “You wouldn’t mind getting me another one of these, would you?” he asked, raising the now-empty shot glass in his hand. You just rolled your eyes and moved on, clearing more party cups off the bar. You didn’t really know why he let his demeanor slip so much, especially since everyone was still out and about, but you decided it was better not to ask.

Alastor huffed like a child, then called out to Husk, who poured another one. Alastor groggily grabbed it off the bar with his shadowy tentacles.

Sitting at the bar, you subtly glanced over at him. Alastor looked different today— a nice different. Instead of his usual suit, the one he wore now had only black and dark red. Heart shaped buttons and small stitched x’s adorned his cuffs and vest front. You blushed slightly; vests were your weak spot. Alastor caught your eyes, and your blush only deepened as his smirk grew. Breaking his stare, you returned your gaze to the bar in front of you, suddenly fascinated with the etchings in the wood.

“Hey, (Y/N)! Could I have some help over here?” Charlie called from the other side of the lobby.

“Sure,” you called back, getting up from the barstool.

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

About an hour later, the lobby was finally back to looking normal. Charlie and Vaggie had just gone up to bed, soon followed by Angel, Lucifer, Niffty, and, finally, Husk. You finished up in the kitchen, then went out one last time to check on Alastor. He was still on the couch, even more disheveled than before. Over half a dozen shot glasses sat on the table in front of him. You sighed, before going over to pick them up. Alastor looked up, as if just now registering your presence. “Ah, darling! Won’t you pour me just one more of those?” he asked, eyes half-lidded.

You firmly shook your head. “No, Alastor. You’ve had enough. I don’t know what got into you tonight, but no more of it. I’m cutting you off.”

Alastor practically pouted (yet somehow remained smiling). “No, dear. Please get me another, or I will.”

You turned to face him, looking down to where he was splayed across the couch, legs now wide open. “No! No more! You’re going to be too drunk to get up to your room if you have more.”

Alastor growled, his eyes flashing into radio dials. He grabbed at your hands, pulling you toward him until you fell forward. You flushed; partly out of anger (and partly because you were practically sitting in his lap). “And what, my dear, gives you the jurisdiction to preside over me, to make that decision for me? Hmm?”

Still flushed, you didn’t really know what to say. (Even when drunk, Alastor had such a way with words). “I, uh…” You decided to just be honest. “I don’t want to see you regret anything you might do tonight.”

He smiled, pulling you even closer. Your face was inches from his, your stomach pressed against his. “Oh, dear… I would never regret anything I did with you.”

You turned as red as his hair. “I’m not so sure about that,” you backed up, pulling out of his grasp. “You’ve never even held my hand before, and now you’re pulling me into your lap? I don’t think that’s something that you would do if you were sober.”

Alastor’s smile turned almost sad. “Or maybe it’s just something I’ve never been brave enough to do,” he said quietly.

“...I… I’m sorry?” you whispered. There was no way that Alastor had admitted that. But, if he really had… then maybe your feelings toward him were reciprocated? No, of course not, you shook the thought from your head.

He looked down, sighed, and then looked back at you. “Forgive me, dear,” he breathed.

Before you had a chance to ask him what he was talking about, Alastor had pulled you back to his lap, crashing his lips against yours.

You froze. As much as you’d dreamed of this moment, you couldn’t rightfully continue. It would be taking advantage of the situation. Fighting against every urge to kiss him back, you pulled away.

Alastor looked surprised, then sad, then guilty. “I… I’m so sorry,” he sighed, dropping your hands.

Rushing to fix your mistake, you started babbling. “No, no, it’s not that, it’s just…” you struggled to find the right words. “I can’t. Not while you’re like this. Not when you can't make decidions, on weather or not you want to do this."

Alastor blinked, seeming out of the alcohol trance for a moment. His eyes softened, gazing lovingly into yours. “Oh, my dear… You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that for.”

You were taken aback. “I… what?”

“Sweetheart, ever since you arrived at this hotel, I’ve wanted to kiss you more than anything. I thought that today, on the day dedicated to love…” he laughed at this, gesturing around at the hotel, still minimally decorated. “...it might be the perfect opportunity to tell you. Ah, but alas…” he giggled, no doubt from the whiskey, “...Alas, it seems that I couldn’t have done it without a good ol’ glass of rye!”

“Um… really?” you whispered, not wanting to get your hopes up. "Not about the rye part, the... the other part?"

“Really and truly!” He smiled. Taking your hands again (softer, this time), he slowly pulled you back on his lap so that you now straddled him. Eyes never breaking from yours until they closed, his mouth gently found yours again. Running his silver tongue across your bottom lip, he smiled into the kiss. His lips were warm and soft, locked on yours. You breathed in a gasp as his tongue found its way into your mouth. Oh, he tasted so sweet— like strong rye and vanilla. The kiss was soft, not what you’d imagined from Alastor. It was a pleasant surprise, though— a very pleasant surprise.

The kiss deepened, as Alastor’s hand came up to the back of your neck. You shifted your hips forward, hands gripped tightly to his coat lapels. Alastor softly moaned into the kiss, and you matched it with a whine; in perfect harmony.

Gasping, you both came up for air. Staring into his eyes, a love-struck smile played across your face. Alastor goofily grinned. “I love you, (Y/N).”

You blushed as you stood, pulling Alastor with you. “Let’s see if you’re still saying that tomorrow, buddy.” Guiding him into the elevator, you pressed the button to the top floor.

“I will!” he assured you. Then, after a few moments, “Won’t you stay the night?”

Smiling, you held tighter onto his arm. “Not tonight, Al. Let’s wait until you’re not… intoxicated.”

He grinned as you led him out of the elevator to his room. “Really?”

You smiled as he walked into his room, turning back to gaze at you.

“Really and truly.”

#alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin valentine #alastor valentine #valentines day #happy valentines #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #x reader #roseinblue writes #fanfic #fic #v-day #valentines fics

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aggieharkness · 3 days ago

Text

And in her arms, she cradled your heart Chp. 3

Pairing: Lilia Calderu x reader

Summary: if I ever lose you, lay me down beside you, as your presence was my life, and not having you in my arms will be my death. Dress me in your kisses and throw roses at my feet, for if I don't wake from this nightmare to your bright eyes loving me I don't wish to draw breath anymore.

Warnings: smut (+18), affair, oral (Lilia receiving), fingering (Lilia receiving), tit play, nightmares, mention of blood, storms, fluff, angst/comfort, pregnancy, age gap, magical conception.

Author's note: I'm back!!! I have risen from the dead and escaped the claws of academic life to drop this new chapter. I hope you all like it, and there is a reason why there are no dialogues whatsoever. Special shout-out to @bravewithacapitalb for being my Beta Reader and my medical advisor for this whole project. You are an angel. Please, do tell me how it looks, if you like it or if there are things I need to change. I accept constructive criticism, and if there's anything you might want to see in this story, don't hesitate to ask, I'll add it to the best extent I can. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Lilia Calderu, and Jac for writing her so beautifully.

Chp. 1 Chp. 2

Word count: 15K

Night breezes seem to whisper, "I love you"

It was odd with how much ease the crystal-clear skies had filled with clouds. The dark, calm veil of the night had been turned into a sea of thunder and lightning that ripped through the air in booming sounds that made the ground rumble. Their eclectic shapes and sharp edges sliced through the clouds, casting such bright lights high up in the sky that one would think it was morning already, but it was far from it. The loss of power all throughout that city was witness to the shadows that paraded through the streets when there was no sign of lightning in the sky. Pillars of buildings and houses shook under the strength of the thunder, a scream or two escaping mouths at the sudden noise, but they were drowned, forgotten, under the splendour of mother nature.

At moments like this gentle tendrils of sage magic snaked around your limbs like silks that caressed your skin. Rain poured hard onto the ground, hitting the glass by the front door and the windows with such force that you had feared for a moment they might break, letting the cold air inside the house, but the thought vanished as if the raindrops were washing over you, falling on your skin in a perfect rhythm that matched your heart. There was no moon, no light that could bathe the room, but you weren’t scared of the creatures that hid in the darkness, their piercing eyes stalking, waiting to be let in; those beings lived in the depths of your mind and as real as they seemed to you, they were nothing but dust this time around. They could not claw their way out of your mind to haunt you and chase you, to make you feel terror and to make all those doubts that had rendered you almost speechless only a few hours ago real before your eyes.

They had tried though, and the last echoes of a nightmare you could not remember were beginning to dissipate with the rain. The only lingering image that was becoming blurrier with each passing second was that of Lilia lying in bed, pretty much like she was right now, her chest rising and falling in steady breaths under the covers, but her pristine nightgown had been a sea of blood and tears that still made you shake from your position by the kitchen window. You could smell it, that metallic stench that was engraved in the back of your mind, and yet the truth was that she was perfectly alright, sleeping peacefully. Another lightning strike sliced through the sky, filling the room for an instant with a bright white halo that granted you a moment, a second in time, to see her perfect face.

Every inch of her olive-kissed skin was a fantasy for you, a forbidden fruit that you could not keep your eyes off, following the small wrinkles on her forehead whenever she frowned, might it be in frustration or concentration, that now were non-existent in the calmness of her slumber, the shape of her long dark lashes resting over her cheeks, those deep brown eyes of hers hidden behind her eyelids, your heart yearning every minute of every day to get lost in them. Every glance you got from them, every moment when she rested her gaze upon your frame or locked eyes with yours you felt as if the world had stopped spinning, the universe still as the breath in your lungs hitched. You drowned every single time in them. A sea of melted chocolate that enfolded you and held you as you felt your body fall down the abyss of her mind, every thought and memory laying bare before you as you drank her in, the calmness of her nature, feeling every sensation as if you were her.

It was dizzying, even now, to imagine yourself in that position, so close to her that you could feel the heat emanating from her body as you got lost in her big doe eyes that hid nothing from you. The shape of her nose was next in this journey you were making, elongated, slightly curved, and with the hint of a bump near the bridge. It wasn’t the usual button-like nose that every girl wished for, Lilia’s had personality, a beauty in itself that you adored with every fibre of your being, a glimpse into certain Mediterranean traits that you held dear in your heart. She had a nose that reminded you of your ancestors, of people you had cherished deeply until their very last days, people that you could only now visit through pictures in an old album that rested in a drawer under the telly. To a certain extent, and as weird as you were aware it sounded, every time you saw it, it reminded you of home.

Every little thing she did reminded you of home. Her citrusy perfume took you back to the field of orange blossoms and summer by the coast, the way her hands moved with every single word she said as if that could give her speech a more emphatic aura as if the message could be understood better. People gave her strange looks whenever you were in public, but to you, it’s a most endearing quality that you wished she’d never lose. The light had grown dimmer as your eyes had moved to her cheeks, a rosy pearly tint over her skin that she had been carrying with her for weeks now, that glow that everyone talked about, you suppose, when a lady became with child. Either way, it enthralled you and captured your eyes before they moved on to her lips.

They were slightly parted, a thin line separating them as the plump flesh glistened under the last few instants of light, her lip balm adding a gentle translucent cherry tone to them. You had memorised the feeling of the soft flesh deep within your mind every single time you had shared a kiss, the taste of her a continuous lingering flavour on your taste buds, those rich honey tones that dripped thickly onto your mouth with each breath that ghosted over your lips, the sweetness sending a rush through your body every time, without fail. She breathed life into your lungs whenever she brushed them against yours, a smile creeping up when you weren’t looking as she observed how you worked when you sat on the grass sketching bumblebees that floated lazily in between the flowers. Smirks were also one of her best features, her lips curling lopsided whenever she snickered, whenever she tried to tempt you, your body falling under her spell without a fight.

That mouth of hers was heavenly as much as it was sinful and every word that fell from her rosy lips seemed to always be laced with love and care, truths that she could not hide, would not hide. You were almost as taken by them as her eyes. You could not tear your gaze away when she spoke, watching how they moved, how her teeth bit down gently on her lower lip when she was busy doing tarot readings, her full attention on the cards, the way she murmured chants when she prepared altars and spells, hypnotised at most. But it was when they were pressed against your skin, on the crook of your neck, that you adored them the most, when she whispered sweet nothings as if your flesh would suddenly appear tattooed with them, forever engraved on your body for the world to see. It was maddening to think about those things when they rested slightly ajar in peaceful slumber before you.

The room was filled with darkness once more, but your eyes had adjusted well to the lack of light, and in the safety of the shadows, leaves, and branches waying under the force of the rainfall, it was as if you could still see her, clear as day, laying on your bed. There were small freckles painted all over her body, constellations that had fallen from the firmament and become flesh, the depths and secrets of the universe written in every inch of skin that you had ever cherished and kissed. You had followed them like a castaway in search of water, drinking in every story that was reflected on her flesh, every scar and wound that your lips had kissed, almost as if the memories attached could be soothed by that simple action. No matter how many times you looked at her perfect face it was as if beauty had just been presented to you, a Venus that walked the Earth, running away from the canvas where she belonged.

Just a second later thunder roared high above your heads, the walls and windows shaking at the terrorizing sound, but Lilia didn’t stir, the emotions of the day having drained her completely, or that’s what you thought. In truth, she had been awake since you had got up, the sudden chill on her side and the feeling of your weight lifting off the bed calling her from Morpheus arms back down to Earth. She would have sat in bed and asked you what was wrong, but she sensed that you needed to be left to your own thoughts this time, even if she missed having your arms around her waist. She made no attempt to move or even open her eyes, but she could feel your loving gaze on her as the sound of the rain filled her half-asleep head, almost lulling her back into those dreams that had slipped through her fingers, and she could not recall anymore.

Your fingers ached to touch her, to feel that ever so soft flesh under your palms but you could not bring yourself to do so, afraid you might disturb her. When she was asleep there was no danger of gaps or visions overtaking her mind, pausing her life, even if it was for a moment, leaving her confused and upset in most cases, when she was asleep there was a whole world just for Lilia where there was no pain, no past, present or future haunting her every waking moment, only what her subconscious wanted. Dreams that you had many times wondered what they were, and if you were in them. If only you knew that every single one of them was shaped around, you. It did not matter the scenery; it could be a cottage in the English countryside, roses growing tall in the garden with an archway of violet wisterias making way to the blue wooden front door where a brass hand worked as the knocker, tall magnolia trees swaying in the chilly breeze.

Or a small house in Siracusa, surrounded by water, lost in between cliffs of sandy tones as the outside of the house lay filled with plumerias and emerald green grass that flourished around the property, getting lost in the horizon. She could almost smell the salty breeze when she dreamt of it, and she could almost make out the sound of the small sparrows and see the seagulls tracing the outlines of the coast, letting her entire being be dragged deeply into those dreams that took her back home. The sound of the waves against the rocks still lingered in the back of her mind, calling out to her like sirens that wished for her to return to sleep, but curiosity peeked as she felt your eyes on her, and she fought against them to remain awake. Still, they swirled in between her thoughts like lazy fish that swam in between seaweed.

They left the taste of homemade coffee on her tongue, the floral perfume that mixed with the salty air filling her lungs as she stood on the edge of the cliff. Every single time she found herself there, barefoot, a deep navy dress embracing her figure as the breeze made it twirl around her legs, the warm sun bathing her skin with gentle beams in a way that she hadn’t felt in centuries. In those moments, safely tucked in the depths of her brain, she could live the life she had always dreamt of, no death or pain, only the sound of the sea and the feeling of the sun. And then, stepping out of the small villa you would appear, breaking her gaze from the sea before her, its deep blue waters crashing and swirling underneath the cliffs, your hair glowing under the bright golden light of day, your eyes shining as they locked with hers, a simple white dress draped over your body like strings of pearls on your alabaster skin.

Part of her knew that it wasn’t real, but her breath still hitched in her lungs at the sight, the grass under her feet soft and cool against the warm breeze as she made her way to you, hands reaching for hands, lips begging for lips. Your skin always felt the same, soft under her palms, fingers interlacing in a grasp that she never wanted to let go of, your perfume overtaking everything else in her lungs. Dreams are such wonderful things and yet whenever her subconscious wakes up and the coast vanishes into a white fog, your face is the last thing that Lilia’s mind remembers before it all turns into smoke but there is no sorrow for what she had lost. When she opens her eyes the first thing she sees is you and all those moments shared in faraway places, the kisses that she could almost feel against her lips are still there, real in a special way, her eyes lingering on your peacefully sleeping form right beside her.

If only you truly knew what went on in her sleep. You would slip into her dreams with the ease of sitting in a chair to have a cup of coffee, highly doubting you would ever want to wake up, but those fantasies were hers to keep, secrets that she didn’t need to share with anyone but herself. In the darkness of the room the last few sounds of waves mixed with the storm in Lilia’s mind, the rumbling of the thunder startling her and causing her body to jerk slightly, maybe an inch, on the bed, but her eyes remained closed. She had a feeling you had her exactly where you wanted her, and she was curious to see why it was so. Your hands rested on the kitchen counter knowing that the darkness that had the entire city trapped in its claws protected your greedy eyes, roaming over her face one more time even if you could only make out the shape of her profile. In those two years you had been with her you had made it your mission to memorise her, to engrave her entire body with fire in your brain, every wrinkle above her upper lip, all the tiny, almost invisible freckles that were sprinkled on her skin, the lines around and under her eyes from centuries of both happiness and sadness pulling the strings of your heart tenderly every time she smiled.

She had never tried to look younger; she knew how old she was, and it was never in her mind to hide it, after all, time passes for everyone and she was no exception, she simply let nature reach the point in life where she felt most comfortable in and stayed like that. Time brought wisdom along with it and it was unavoidable to add age to that mix. Lilia wasn’t one to let her looks guide her existence, there had been many other things that had worried her far more than her looks. But every sign reflected on her body that spoke about how she wasn’t a beautiful young girl anymore weighted heavily sometimes on her shoulders, the passing of the centuries leaving an imprint that nothing could erase. Your eyes kissed every spot that she had ever felt insecure about, your lips cherished the marks time had left behind, from scars to wrinkles, wishing to show her what words could not make justice to. Every inch of her body was as perfect as was her messy mind, as was her velvety voice and her caring words.

She had worried that the age gap might cause trouble, that you would not understand her, that her kookiness mixed with the half a millennium that she carried in her bones would make you change your mind at the slightest opportunity, but every morning she woke up in your arms, your breath warm against her shoulder blades she convinced herself a little bit more that you weren’t going to leave. You had seen her at her worst, screaming in terror as her visions took over her mind, tears burning her cheeks in despair and yet you had stayed, comforted her, held her and whispered sweet nothings to sooth her. You had taken care of her in those moments when she dissociated for hours, making sure she was never cold and ensuring she stayed hydrated even if Lilia’s reflexes were slow and taking a single sip of water was a herculean task. Still, you stayed. Every day you stayed by her, woke up and went to be with her in your arms, laughed at her jokes, cooked and cuddled on the couch to watch Colombo or Murder, She Wrote, and every time she glanced at you the small bubble of doubts and fears that had claimed her heart the moment you had agreed to go out with her, would become smaller and smaller.

To you, she could be five thousand years old, and you would still love her no matter what, through thick and thin, in sickness and in health until death do you part. The sound of the clock ticking on the wall was drowned by the even heavier rain that poured outside, the water drops slamming against the glass causing you to turn around and watch mesmerised by the way it fell over the trees and flowers, flooding the grass but never reaching the kitchen door. It seemed as if the weather was angry, furious at the world, but you could not understand as to why, everything had been calm only a couple of hours ago, balanced, and now it was as if something was off, but it had nothing to do with you or Lilia. A flash of red crossed your mind, thick blood that dripped over the window for an instant before your eyes blinked and the crimson liquid turned back to crystal clear rain, your senses spiking only to quiet down again. Just as quickly as it had happened it was gone along with the feeling that something was wrong.

Perhaps those little creatures that plagued your mind were not as controlled as you thought. A quiet ruffling of fabric startled you, causing you to turn around to see Lilia turning on her side, sitting down on the bed as the covers fell in slow waves of her body, coming to gather around her hips, a strap from her white nightgown falling off her shoulder. You had not heard it, but a frightened gasp had escaped your lips at the sight of the blood, a hallucination you could not understand, and the gentle lazy curiosity that had wrapped around Lilia’s body had snapped quickly at the sound, worry filling her chest. You hadn’t even realised the way you heart had sped up for a few instants. Her curls framed her face, ringlets that caressed her cheeks, draping over her exposed shoulders in a veil of peppery curls that suited her and matched her dark eyes, contrasting with the pearly shade of her gown. Both her hands were pressed firmly on the mattress even if she was sitting on her side observing you, holding your gaze amongst the shadows of the room.

Another bout of lightning sliced through the sky, white beams breaking in and bathing the room once more even if it only lasted a few seconds. The way it had enveloped Lilia’s frame in a mix of pearly white and pink hues, making her skin glow in a halo of beauty and magic had your breath hitched in your lungs, her eyes glistening for less than an instant under the light with a calm but worried look, asking without uttering a word. You could not help but take in the flesh that was exposed to the night air, her neckline long, creamy, and soft as your fingers twitched in need, small wrinkles and freckles hand painted with all the care and perfection of an artist, no necklace that kept her skin from your lips, an obstacle most days when all you wanted to do was kiss her senseless. She was not one to show off that much skin, her shoulders only dressed in thin straps, at least one of them, the other completely bare for your hungry eyes to feast on.

With each breath you took your body separated from the counter, taking slow steps towards her and Lilia simply waited for you to reach her. Beauty marks danced on her flesh, sprawled over her chest, plunging deep in between her breasts, over her shoulders and down her arms, spots on the back of her veiny hands, one of the marks that you loved the most. They were small, nearly invisible to the naked eye, but you knew every inch of her, and even as the light faded, and the room became bathed in darkness once more you could trace, and pint point to every single one as if your life depended on it. She was your lifeline, your protector and your saviour, and as your steps got you closer to the bed your thoughts pushed the last remnants of the nightmare and the hallucination to the back of your mind so only one could remain. She was not only the most important woman you had ever met, the one that carried your heart and loved you, with all your virtues and faults, but she was now also the mother of your child as well, and seeing her sitting there, so innocent, waiting for you to tell her what was wrong you felt your heart melt.

No number of nightmares, of tears shed by your subconscious as Lilia laid in bed in her own world of fear and despair, your hands cradling her face in hopes of making everything right again, of taking her pain and making it yours so she would not suffer even if your heart was bleeding just as much, could compare to reality. They were just images that your own mind created to cope with the fear and terror of this new chapter in life, those horrible creatures that crawled inside your own head making everything ten times worse but Lilia was right there, her head slightly tilted to the side as her breasts spilled ever so slightly from the neckline of her nightgown, the lace cupping them tenderly. There was an irrational need to feel her under your palms, for your thoughts to realise that this, was in fact, reality and not just some fear-induced pantomime that would soon turn into horror.

Your knees collided gently with the edge of the mattress, and your hands, that had been writhing and toying in anxiety with the hem of your shirt, laid firmly on the bed now, guiding you in the dark as you climbed over the bedsheets towards her. What if everything had been but a dream? A desire so deep to be something more with Lilia, to take a bigger step and create something meaningful and beautiful with her that your own brain had tricked you in your sleep? She could almost feel the wheels turning in your head, the way your body trembled with the doubts and worry in that unique way of yours that she had grown accustomed to. And yet she did not move. Her deep eyes held your gaze as best they could in the dark, the sound of the rain fading to the background as your body got closer to her, your fingers brushing over hers accidentally, a motion that sent sparks up your arms, that sweet electricity that you could never get enough of. Her golden mixed perfectly with your sage, and that simple feeling, her skin warm and soft under your fingertips, assured you that this was as real as the moon, the starts, the sun and everything that surrounded you both. She was as real as the cold rain that fell outside, as the morning mist that bathed petals and leaves alike, small gentle drops that scurried down the smooth surfaces as the sun travelled higher in the sky until they fell and collapsed against the ground. Real as the bird songs that accompanied dawn and bid farewell at dusk, as real as the hands that cradled her face and the feeling of her warm cheeks under your palms. How could your entire world have shrunk to the size of the woman sitting in bed?

She was the most important being in your existence, she had been for two whole years and you still could not fully comprehend the fact that she was yours and you were hers, a whole eternity before you to live beside her, to cherish and hold her and love her until there was not a single speck of air left in you. Your thumbs rubbed her skin softly, fingertips pushing solitary peppery ringlets away from her face as her breath became a bit more hurried, her bosom heavy under the white lace, her hands unmoving from where they laid over the covers. How had life granted you such a gift, a prize in a competition you hadn’t even realised you had assigned to, that day you had crossed her threshold the sweetest memory, the smell of incense and vanilla still vivid in your mind, the house now filled with herbs and citrusy aromas that floated in between chairs and shelves and that lingered on Lilia’s skin? Rich like spices, sublime like honey, and deep, so very deep and intoxicating as the perfect wine. She called to you with her eyes, with the way her lips parted ever so slightly as if she wanted to whisper a thousand secrets to you, and yet not a sound came out, only the feeling of her hot breath ghosting over your nose and mouth as your body bend forward slowly never steering your eyes from hers, letting her thoughts travel and dance among yours in a calming ritual.

She saw your pain, your anguish as the last few blurry images of your nightmare fought to stay, to haunt you and break you inch by inch, and as the sensations wrapped around her, your mind pleaded to be released of such burdens. You didn’t want to think of her bleeding, crying as the child you both wanted and loved so much already parted from her body before its time, and you did try to keep that image away from her, not wanting to scare her or even terrify her, but she had pushed through, and you couldn’t help but give in. They played on a loop, your fingers digging on the side of her face hoping that it would not unsettle her, bring forth worries that she had not voiced as the news of the child she would in a few months’ time bring into the world sunk in, her own mind comprehending her current situation but her body didn’t shaky, unlike yours, the touch of her fingertips against your knees reassuring, grounding. Golden tendrils pushed them away, love and care melting them until there was nothing left but her comforting presence in your head, no more blood, no more lingering sounds of tears and sobs, no more thoughts of loss and grief. Breathing deeply as the grip of terror released you, your lungs filled with her perfume, clinging to her skin almost as if it was part of her, the sharp tinges of oranges and lemons cutting through the air and filling your body with her essence.

Lilia knew how it felt to have demons chasing her, clawing at her at every waking moment, making her weak until she could only kneel on the floor in despair, and although you were no stranger to pain, she didn’t want you to suffer what she knew so well. You held her gaps and vision at bay whenever you were with her, loving her, whispering in her ear, and kissing her sorrows until they vanished into the ether; she was well accomplished on many branches of magic and dominating and transforming thoughts was one of them. The chaos that had unravelled in your mind stood still now, only silence in between your thoughts. Slowly Lilia had threaded her golden strings with yours, connecting each other as your own mind fought against you and now that your thoughts were tranquil, lazily floating around, you could feel her deep within you as the downpour happening outside became barely audible to either of you with each passing second.

Her face was barely inches from yours and yet she made no effort to move from your grasp, the touch of her hands brushing your naked knees, your thumbs tracing the shape of her cheekbone before moving down to her lips, plump, quiet. Her hot breath teased the skin of your hand, but her eyes never left yours, not for a single instant, not even when the touch of your fingers travelled over her lower lip, smearing her balm. With barely time to think you pulled her towards you, crashing your mouth against hers in what started out as a gentle tender kiss to ground yourself, to put a final end to the questions that had overwhelmed you only a few moments ago, her body firm and hot under your palms, her lips soft and impossibly sweet, your tongue tracing and pushing gently against her mouth. She granted you access without a fight, willing to give you whatever you so desperately craved after what you had seen.

She could have reassured you that it was not real, that everything would be fine, but it would have been futile, her words would have been brushed off as just that, words; you were someone who craved actions who believed that hands holding hands could do much more than a reassurance spoken in hushed tones, at least in these situations. Lilia though, was the opposite; she thrived in hearing you say that everything would work out, she held onto your every word as if they carried the meaning of the universe and you had both established an understanding that not many people would agree with. You only needed her, her body, her skin touching yours, her aroma and her steady breaths while she needed your understanding nature, your soothing loving whispers and all that went along with it. Thunder rumbled closer to the house, the windows rattling against the sound but to you both it was more of a soft noise in the background, hardly audible and therefore barely disturbing.

As Lilia’s lips parted your motions became more frantic, perhaps even needy, your tongue battling hers, tracing the outline of her teeth as your hands held onto her face a little bit more harshly pulling her even closer and holding her against you. The action, surprising, an air of control and desperation tainting every one of your movements caused a surprised quiet yelp to escape her but just as your lips clumsily parted from hers to bite down on her lower lip it melted into a moan that vibrated up her throat. It was hardly pain that Lilia felt, but the sudden discomfort as your canines left an imprint on her swollen lips sent shivers down her spine, delightfully drawing her completely awake, every one of her senses spiking as the darkness that enfolded the room, not even the flicker of a candle visible, made the feeling of your hands on her a most divine and maddening sensation. It was odd how easily a simple action such as the touch of your thumb over her jawline or your fingers brushing her curls off her shoulder to expose her neck would send her into overdrive. Part of her thought that maybe she should stop you, and talk with you about the nightmare but the logical part of her, the one that knew you and could read you like an open book, spoke to her in a reasonable manner.

You needed her, and she would willingly give herself to you, every inch of her being, come rain or fog, hailstorms or earthquakes. Her body responded to your touch, aching for more than just tender brushes of your fingers, and as your thumb traced her lower lip once more Lilia’s hands travelled up your thighs, coming to rest on your hips but she didn’t pull you closer, simply let the feeling of the bare skin of your midriff under her palms satiate the ever-growing need she had for you, at least for the moment. A gasp nearly fell from your lips, but it never made its way out, your mouth falling in desperate kisses over the soft flesh of her jaw, a happy hum vibrating from her chest in approval. With each kiss a spark of electricity met your lips, shocking and yet delicious, not only her body luring you in, making you fall off the edge to kneel before her, cherish her and drink in her every move, her every sound and noise as if she was the only thing you needed to live, her skin your Bible, her body the only path you would ever walk, her every wrinkle a crossroad in which you would love to get lost on forever.

Sweet as honey and soft as silk her skin made you dizzy as with each kiss you journeyed down to her neck, that creamy column delicious as you licked, teeth scraping the flesh leaving red angry marks behind, but you never drew blood, not this time. A whimper echoed inside the room, falling from her parted lips as the grip on your hips became harder, the need to touch you and press you against her growing almost as quickly as the arousal that was burning through every cell. With a gentle lick you soothed the mark before continuing, tender pecks making up for the pain, not that Lilia minded. Lilia felt the way your fingers threaded through her curls, twirling without pulling, your other hand tracing the shape of her neck and chest, fingering the neckline of her gown. Lightning snapped high up in the sky, ripping the stillness of the clouds in sharp lines that bathed the room in white and pink, perhaps even a hue of purple that contrasted with Lilia’s skin and clothes, though you were unbothered by it.

There was no need for light, your lips knowing perfectly well where to go to draw out lustful gasps from her, to make her hands shoot out to hold you in place, but it was beautiful to see that gentle pink hue painting her cheeks fading as her gown covered her body, hiding it from your hungry sight. Her brown eyes remained on your form for a few moments adoring the way you worshipped her, closing as your kisses reached the hollow of her neck, savouring the way she melted under your tongue, tastebuds drunk in the sweetness of her skin, completely lost as her chest rose and fell in fast breaths. Divine Mother, you just could not get enough of her, lips kissing and licking the swells of her breasts, your face moving with each breath she took, the grip on your hips almost bruising, but you needed more, you needed to have her underneath you writhing in passion, holding onto you as her world exploded in pleasure, remaining real under your touch.

The simple feeling of your fingers on the neckline of her dressing gown had sent a jolt of pleasure down to her core, her breasts heavy and ever so sensitive, now understanding that it was due to the pregnancy, but when your lips had made contact, kisses tender and gentle, your tongue brushing softly over her skin, she had not been able to prevent a moan from escaping her mouth, the sensations so deep that Lilia’s body temperature suddenly rose several degrees, fire coursing through her veins. Of course, the reaction had not gone unnoticed by you, remembering that Lilia hadn’t been able to use her lacy bras due to being incredibly oversensitive to the touch, a sign that should have given it all away really. With one last peck, you pulled away, watching how she had her head lulled back ever so slightly, eyes closed while her mouth remained ajar, her flesh flushed. Even in the dark, you could feel the heat of her body against your cooler body, the light of the storm having faded a few minutes before, encasing you both in shadows that burned in lust, that drove your mind into a hunger for her that filled your mind with a crazy haze.

But your hands were still kind against her body, fingers pushing her peppery ringlets to her back as your other hand followed the lace of the neckline towards the strap that held the nightgown up around her body. As the pads of your fingertips caressed the skin under the thin string goosebumps rose all over Lilia’s body, watching mesmerised the way your hand pushed it off her shoulder, the flowy fabric of her gown moving like water over the shape of her breasts, lace brushing over her nipples as the straps slid down her arms, a gasp reaching your ears like an angels song, the material gathering around her waist, leaving her perfect upper body bare for your greedy eyes to devour, sinful thoughts filling your head as her arms moved to be released from the gown. The worry and terror that had taken you hostage was barely a memory, Lilia’s hands holding onto yours as much as her magic kept your chaotic mind at ease.

Bare before you all you wanted to do was bury your face in between her breasts and never let go but then again you would not see the ecstasy in her eyes, the love and pleasure that poured out of them like rivers of dark chocolate that overwhelmed your tongue and drove your mouth to taste her with renewed fervour, and you most certainly wanted to hold her gaze as you brought her to the edge and back, accompanying as she fell into the abyss of pleasure and passion that you had brought back into her life. The sight was simple divine, sublime as your eyes raked over her form with very little discretion, devouring every inch of the now exposed skin as if you had never seen it before. Without support her bosom sagged a little but that didn’t deter you from bending forward and placing soft kisses on the top of each breast, your lips casting featherlike touches on her skin that sent her mind reeling. Perhaps you were teasing her, she thought, but the look of utter devotion in your eyes proved otherwise as you sat on the heels of your feet to observe the way that gorgeous blush of hers had made its way down her chest and into the valley between her breasts, hidden underneath her ample bosom that rose and fell with each breath, taunting and desperate for your touch.

Noticing how lost you were in your own dreams and ideas of what you would do to her she took the next step for you and grabbed the hands that rested on top of her thighs, covered by her nightgown and blanket, and brought them to her waist, a little bit higher if you were being honest. The back of your hands brushed the soft skin underneath her bosom, sending a shiver down your spine that matched the goosebumps on Lilia’s skin, swollen lips parted as she tried to push air into her lungs. The way her body molded to your hands, to your tender touch around her ribcage, was grounding, feeling her heat, scorching your fingers though you never wanted to let go, the rush of blood in her veins, the way her magic bubbled under her flesh like rivers of gold. A little voice inside your head wondered if maybe you should try to explain why the sudden need to have her but as much as you parted your lips to speak nothing came out.

There was no need though. Lilia understood, your silence confirmation that that nightmare had shaken you to your core more than she had realised, and as her eyes raked over your perfect face, hating the way your eyebrows furrowed as you flagellated yourself for not being able to voice your fears and worries, she took matters into her own hands. She would take care of you for the time being, until you were ready to regain control. Her movements were slow, and deliberate as she traced the shape of your forearms with her fingers, trails of fire left behind as her hands held onto your upper arms and shoulders. It came naturally to her to care for others and as the minutes clocked by, the storm showing no signs of stopping, it was easy to want to comfort and love you, her touch kind and gentle as she cradled your face in her hands, drawing you closer until your face was barely an inch from hers. Your life had changed completely in a matter of hours, a whole new future displayed before you as if you could choose, as if Lilia’s well-being and happiness rested in the palm of your hands, but it was an illusion.

You didn’t have that kind of power, and it terrified you to think how different things would be, that dangers you had never even thought of were now your worst enemies, terrors and monsters that could in the blink of an eye take her and your baby from you. A single tear fell down your cheek, bitter and cold against your skin and it took you both and her by surprise, not thinking that this fear ran so deep within you, afraid that her solid body would fade into nothing under your palms. It broke Lilia’s heart to see you so lost, worry painting your features when only a minute before lust had cast shadows over your face. The lonely crystal drop was wiped by her thumb, the gesture comforting in a way that you could not describe, the feeling of her breath on your lips assuring you that she was alive and well and that she would remain so for as long as she could, a peppery curl escaping from behind her ear and coming to caress your cheek, the softness of her hair a perfect companion to her caring touch.

Having her so close you could count the freckles on the tip of her nose felt as if you had both feet firmly planted on the ground all of a sudden, whiffs of lavender from her shampoo clouding your mind in an exquisite fog that stopped the shaking of your trembling frame. In slow motion the gap between you vanished and the instant her lips landed softly over yours your entire world melted on her tongue, her fingers ripping from your veins the terror that was festering in your blood, with each caress. She didn’t ask for your parted lips to grant her more than what you could give, never begging and never pushing, letting you feel her as deeply as possible, her presence in your mind like a warm bath after a long day, removing your pains and aches as the heat of the water surrounds one’s body. You felt the way you sagged against her touch a little, your hands sliding down to her naked waist as her lips barely separated from yours. Thunder roared all around you but neither of you reacted to the loud rumbling noise, barely audible as your ears filled with the sound of your blood pumping through your veins, throughout your system in rushed beats that fought against your ribcage.

Lilia’s fingers never lifted from your skin, not once, as she unbuttoned your shirt, the cotton fabric opening slowly to reveal miles of creamy skin, her doe eyes raking over your figure as if you were the most exquisite thing in the universe. It still caught you by surprise the way her gaze could be so wild, and unabashed when she observed you while also carrying that veil of love and adoration you thought only you felt for her. It was breathtaking to say the least. Inch by inch a sea of alabaster flesh became exposed to the dark of the night, her hands resting over your hips as she took you in, pulling you closer to her until your chests were barely a few inches from each other. The heat of her body surprised you as it radiated of her and collided with your cooler frame, and for a moment you wondered if she had a fever or if she was going to combust in your hands, flames burning and scorching your hands but even then you would never let go. You would be consumed by fire with her for all eternity if that meant remaining by her side.

Finally, skin came into contact with skin, Lilia’s nipples, stiff and slightly enlarged, brushing against your chest as her hands did quick work of your shirt, pushing it from your shoulders until it rested on top of the mattress, your hands having to let go of her for an instant so you could escape the garment. It was torture to not feel her firmly beneath your palms, her softness the most exquisite caviar in the world, rich like brandy, sweet like wine, and so utterly intoxicating that it left you dizzy when she took the chance and pulled you hard against her, your hands flying around her shoulders to stabilise yourself. A gasp had fallen from your lips, sliding down Lilia’s chest and hiding between her breasts almost as if a string of diamonds had graced her flesh, but you hadn’t realised, lost in the way her heart beat beneath her ribs. You could feel it pounding at a steady rhythm, strong, brave, and powerful and with each beat your anxiety vanished a little bit more, your brain understanding for the first time tonight that she was alive, your mind comprehending at last that it all had been a product of your overtired imagination.

True, it had hurt more than words could ever explain, the sorrow and despair at seeing Lilia in that position while not being able to do a thing to help her, take her pain away and return to how things were before, slicing through your heart over and over, bleeding inside your chest, the tears that had fallen from your eyes bitter and venomous to the point where you had felt your own flesh decaying and rotting in grief, but it had only been in your head. There hadn’t been blood on the bed, nor screams and pleas for help, no death claiming your love and snatching her and your beloved child from your grasp with a cruel, brutal smile. The remnants of your nightmare were nothing more than a memory of feelings and sensations now that Lilia had worked her magic to vanish the images from your mind, but you knew very well that even though it no longer resided in your head, the feelings would still haunt you, driving you into a minor insanity every night if she wasn’t there to calm it all.

With her in your arms, basking in the heat of her flesh and the puffs of breath that ghosted over your neck as her lips kissed the soft skin, your mind became blank, not a thought in sight. Maybe Lilia was aiding you in forgetting, on living the present and letting go of the past, or maybe it was you who preferred to give yourself to the feeling of her, solid and real, beneath your touch, either way you were grateful that the terror was transforming back into a visceral need to become one with Lilia, the feeling of want clawing its way back to your heart. Your fingers twisted her curls lazily, brushing them away from her naked shoulder as her head moved underneath your jaw, your nails leaving angry marks over her perfect skin as a hiss escaped her mouth and collided with the crook of your neck, vibrations travelling down to your bones. That gifted tongue of hers licked the sensitive skin around your pulse point, savouring the slightly spicy tinges that lingered on your body from your gel and lotion, maddening on her taste buds as her craving for you increased exponentially.

The grip you had on her shoulder hardened, nails digging into her skin in an almost in a painful manner, but that didn’t stop her from sucking lightly and drawing out a moan from deep within your chest. Without you even noticing your body pressed harder against hers hoping she would double on her efforts, but it only caused her to stop, her frame shivering as your skin brushed against her breasts, sending a jolt of pleasure and a hint of discomfort down her spine. Her forehead rested against your cheek, pants puffing out of her mouth as she tried her best to control the feelings that overwhelmed and took over her mind for a moment, but you didn’t give her a break. The hands on her waist pushed her away from you until she was sitting in bed staring at you, face flushed, and a questioning look in her beautiful brown eyes. Leaving fiery trails behind your fingers made their way upwards, Lilia’s breath picking up in anticipation until the back of your hand brushed underneath her breasts, her breath hitching in her lungs at the sensation, head lulled back as her fingers wrapped around your wrists to hold herself up.

She had bewitched you, your mind and body under a spell you would never break, your lower lip between your teeth as you simply watched her. She made no effort to stop you, and as curiosity took over you cupped her bosom in your hands, plump flesh heavy and hot on your palms as they overflowed in between your fingers, clearly too big for your hands. The touch was borderline torture for her but as soon as the pads of your fingertips squeezed gently, aware that they were more sensitive than usual, listening to the way her throat groaned and gasped at the feeling, deep oak orbs hidden behind eyelids as her eyes closed. She could have either cum right there and then from that simple gesture or set herself aflame in a passionate fire, burning from her core all the way to the tip of her toes and top of her head. Her reactions were a little bit stronger than what you were used to hearing from her, after all, you had barely touched her, but the way her lips remained ajar, trying to push air into her lungs as her features contorted in pleasure, you felt your confidence growing and your touch becoming a bit sturdier.

Squeezing a bit harder Lilia’s body vibrated at the guttural moan that echoed against the walls, almost as loud as the rain that still banged against the walls and windows of the house, like daggers that tried to pierce through the glass. She was going mad, feeling every wrinkle of your fingers on her skin like electricity coursing through her veins, sparks practically dripping from your hands onto her breasts, but as much as she was loving this, part of her wanted more and since her fingers were still wrapped around your wrists, she pressed your hands closer, squashing her own bosom with your palms. To see her like that, shivering in pleasure and desire as your thumbs caressed the skin, toying and teasing the plump flesh without fully touching her rock-hard nipples made your need for her greater, and without complaint your lips latched onto her completely exposed neck.

Lilia had no other option but to let go of your arms in this new position she had found herself in, writhing on the mattress as your ministrations reached a new fervor, kneading the flesh tenderly as kiss after kiss you mapped the entirety of her neck, from right under her jaw, teethe scrapping the sharp angle to the hollow of her neck, sucking and licking as if your life depended on it. From her rose-petal lips groans and gasps fell continuously, a moan or two escaping and disturbing the train of sounds when your grip on her breasts became a bit harsher, sending a jolt of discomfort and pleasure in a perfect mix down to her core. Not in a single moment did you lose control of your actions or attempt to take things in a more rough direction, knowing perfectly well that now that she was pregnant and well until she was ready after birth you would not engage in something that could hurt her or the baby, both of them your whole world and priority from now on.

The world could be on fire, buildings collapsing in a thick dust of smoke, rubble covering the roads and pavement, food scarce and danger hiding in every corner, you would never let them get hurt, going without eating for them, without sleep and putting yourself in harms way so they could be safe. You would take all the things Lilia could not do and carry them for her, on your hands, your arms, on your back until your knees hit the floor, all for her and the baby because you could not fandom a world in which you were alive, and they weren’t. Lips journeyed over her collarbone, reaching her right shoulder first where your mouth pecked each freckle you could see and remember, hands pushing her breasts higher, a strangled cry ripped from her throat at the touch of your thumb over her nipple, at last, placing her hands on your hips to steady herself, pants mixing with the constant rhythm on the rain. Lilia didn’t notice the way your entire weight was beginning to push her back onto the bed, her legs still under the covers feeling the heat radiating from your bare thighs as her back arched slowly, but your lips never left her body, kissing your way to her left shoulder, pecking and licking over her collarbones once more and leaving wet spots behind that cooled Lilia’s scorching skin.

It was utterly intoxicating and addicting to touch her like this. Every twitch and movement of her hips drove you to take her, to nearly give in and simply blow her mind but that was not what you wanted. With one last swipe of your thumbs over her nipples you released her breasts gently, a hiss escaping her parted lips as the heaviness of her bosom returned to her, your hands resting on her ribcage, on the sides of her body, to finish pushing her back on top of the mattress. Her perfect curls were spread on her pillow, wild and framing her flushed face while also being fanned over the silky fabric, and as your eyes raked over her body, positively sublime, all you wanted to do was thread your hands through her hair as you to took her to the heavens. Featherlight touches travelled down the sides of her abdomen, fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps behind that had Lilia’s pupils blown wide, no more melted chocolate to bathe your body in, only a pool of lust that had your brain in a haze.

Reaching her hips you were met with obstacles in the form of cotton covers and the rest of Lilia’s pearly nightgown and in a rapid but soft motion the blanket released her shapely legs, calves and sculpted thighs picking from the hem of her gown now that there was no barrier tainted with faded flowers. The bedding clung to her perfume, no matter how many times you washed it her essence lingered, overwhelming your senses and fogging up your mind, though you could not find it in you to protest, loving the way the aroma of your beloved wrapped around you and kissed your skin every night when you closed your eyes and every morning when you opened them. With your hands resting on the arch of her feet fingers rubbed circles on her skin, parting her legs slowly so you could kneel in between them, the bed creaking slightly as the weight shifted and you settled yourself before her.

Inch by inch your touch travelled over her shins, bending her legs as your body bent to place a lingering kiss on top of each of her knees, drinking in the feeling of every muscle you could trace with the tips of your fingers, strong underneath your palms while she also remained soft and tender, her every curve a perfect and delicious sight. Lighting struck once more, sharp, perhaps even brighter than the previous ones, filling up the room with white light, a translucent hue of pink bathing Lilia as if she was glowing, her hands holding onto the sheets underneath her as her chest rose and fell rapidly, anticipation and a touch of desperation lacing her every breath. A groan escaped your throat as she was illuminated in the light of the storm, flesh pink, her body nearly naked before you, her eyes simply devouring you, not blinking afraid that she might miss the way your gaze fell on her body as if she was the oxygen you breathed, the water you drank and the food that you ate, as if she was a glass sculpture that needed to be in case, crafted by angels to be forever beautiful, eternally adored.

Your palms continued on their journey, the path ahead clear, the roads almost free of obstacles as you reached her thighs, taking the time to move your fingers to the soft skin of her inner thigh, basking the way Lilia’s breath caught on her throat, her knuckles nearly white as her grip became stronger, daydreaming of how your fingers would feel on her, hands and lips everywhere. It was only for a moment, to tease her as a smile made its way to your lips for the first time that night and at the sight she just could not stay still, she needed to see it closer, to feel it against her skin to know that you were alright, that you would be perfectly alright as she held you close in her arms. Taking hold of the nightgown that had bunched up around her hips you pushed it down a little, exposing less than an inch of her hipbone, but Lilia understood the signal perfectly and she lifted her ass off the mattress to let you push the garment down her legs and throw it at the foot of the bed.

Another bout of lightning struck the sky, getting closer and closer as the minutes ticked by, but it meant nothing to you, not when Lilia laid completely bare before you, toned legs and dizzying curves leaving you breathless. Perfection seemed too weak of a word to describe her, her soft body complimenting her nurturing and caring nature in a way that you could not quite understand, hands resting on her bare hips as your body hovered over hers, but your grip on her didn’t last more than a few seconds before Lilia was taking your hands and pulling you to meet her face, your smile never faltering, not for an instant. To keep your full bodyweight from pressing against her your elbows rested on either side of her head, fingers playing with random locks of peppery hair as her hands cradled your face, her touch kind and tender on your cheeks, eyes glued to the way your lips stretched in that soft smile that reassured her just as much as it made you come to terms with it all. Nightmares can’t hurt you; they can’t become truths or make you bleed in despair when reality rests beneath your body looking up at your eyes as if you were an extension of herself, completely enamoured by your looks, by your brain and every single bit that made you, you.

She pulled you closer, expecting to feel her lips on yours in an instant but it wasn’t so. Your forehead came to rest over hers in an intimate gesture that you cherished with every fibre of your being, feeling just an ounce of what was going through Lilia’s mind, experiencing what she felt as if you were under her skin, love pouring out of her like a waterfall even if in truth she was barely moving, eyes closed as she breathed in your aroma, engraved deeply in her lungs. All you wanted to do was to stay like this, skin on skin, feeling every inch of her body pressed against yours as if there was no air, no gaps to separate you, the index finger of your right hand tracing the shape of her ear, travelling over her jawline until your palm laid flat on her cheek. If time could stop, if either of you could pause it all, the entire universe, in the blink of an eye, you wouldn’t have hesitated to do so, no rain or thunder compared to the sound of Lilia’s breaths, of feeling her heart beating as if it laid next to yours, her touch tender and kind.

Slowly her head lulled to the side and her lips claimed yours in a kiss that started out as a waltz, sensations controlled, movements delicate against your mouth, but soon it became a tango, passion making its way to her tongue as she traced your lower lips with its tip, begging you to take her, to claim her and who were you to deny her? The heat in the room spiked as tongues battled, your lips parted to grant Lilia entrance, the fire that had burnt steadily in your core now blazing, overtaking your mind for a moment as your hips pressed against hers, feeling just how your actions had affected her. A groan slipped from her mouth to yours, swallowed as thunder crashed almost above your building, loud and cracking, floors shaking as the sound echoed all throughout the city, but your ears could only hear Lilia. Your mouth could only taste Lilia.

As you separated after your lungs began to beg for air, an unnecessary commodity, you thought, claiming her mouth once more not a second later, Lilia whimpering now that your hands had let go of her face and rested on her hips, snaking down to her ass. The way her arms wrapped around your shoulders was instinct, keeping you in place and scratching the back of your neck and scalp with her short nails, red streaks left on your alabaster skin. The ball of her feet rubbed your calves as her legs bent around your hips, tempting you to press yourself harder against her centre, but you refrained, wanting to savour her whole body before you could even entertain the thought of tasting her delicious nectar. Parting from her lips, sweet pants brushing your skin as Lilia breathed in rapidly, your mouth followed an invisible line that started at her left cheek, wishing that gorgeous pink blush could leave an imprint on your swollen lips, marking you with her beauty.

Peck after peck the road led you to her jawline, sharp like a knife, your tongue tasting the thin layer of salty perspiration that was beginning to cover her exquisite skin, sparks of electricity colliding with your tastebuds as the gentle licks became harsh kisses, the first stages of a hickey forming right underneath the juncture of her jaw and her neck. She was delicious, a most sublime mix of sweet and salty that left your brain begging for more, craving her and all the sounds that dripped from her lips, thick and velvety as honey and laced with lust. Moans could not describe the way your lips sucked on her pulse point, not the way your hands squeezed the flesh of her ass, the imprint of your hands red on her creamy skin, but there was just no other sound that could make you understand that all the things you were doing to her, as little or as big as they might be, were maddening. No matter how many times you travelled all over her body, from the wrinkles on her forehead to the smooth flesh of her legs, you just couldn’t get enough, mapping her every curve as rivers of pure passion, every beauty mark as unexplored crossroads, her taunt abdomen a vast plateau of bright green grass that swayed in the breeze with splatters of daisies and lavenders.

Her thighs were canyons with no end, an abyss in between them that you fell in every time, her breasts mountains that you climbed with your bare hands, tasting the springs of crustal clear water that emanated from them as your mouth latched onto the ample flesh. Every time you made love to Lilia, her cartography changed, adding new landmarks you hadn’t seen before, rewriting others to give them the details they deserved, never ceasing your exploration, never faltering in your ministrations. Trailing down her neck, olive-kissed skin exposed for your eyes only, your lips could not help but kiss and taunt the smooth flesh, getting drunk on her state and the sounds of her gasps each time your teeth scraped her collarbone, or your tongue licked the hollow of her neck.

Making your way to her chest, your mouth had barely kissed the sweel of her right breast when her breath caught on her throat, hands digging onto the back of your head, nails nearly drawing blood. In a string of gentle kisses, your mouth traced the invisible outline of the top of each breast, featherlike touches sending shivers all over Lilia’s body, the crackle of magic loud in the air that floated inside the room, almost matching the way the lightning strikes were slicing through clouds and rain continuously now, thunder approaching and crashing onto the ground fast. Her sternum was just as sensitive, moan after moan coating your ears as you worked, your nails scratching the skin of the back of her thighs hard enough to leave red trails behind but gentle enough that you weren’t hurting her, the stinging pain you were causing with your hands mixing perfectly with the pleasure your mouth was giving her. Snaking underneath her bosom you proceeded to deliver a gentle suck, the skin smooth and hot as your tongue licked it, and in return a sharp intake of air followed by a guttural groan escaped Lilia’s body, her frame shaking in anticipation of what was to come, your mouth tasting the smooth flesh around her nipple in painstakingly slow laps of your tongue.

You were sure her nails had dug into your skin, perhaps even drawn a drop or two of blood but that pain was more than welcome by you, her presence and reality confirmed not only by her lingering sweetness on your taste buds, but by her touch of your skin, harsh and yet tender, fingers never faltering as they twirled your hair. Without warning your lips curls around her nipple, sucking gently as your tongue twirled the stiff peak around. A loud cry rained on you, her hand pulling on your hair while at the same time she pushed you closer to her, every nerve ending in her system on fire, melting her and surrendering her completely to your touch, not that she would have denied you her body at any point, her hips buckling against yours in an action-reaction response to the way you were sending sensations all over her body she had never though possible. Her cries only escalated in pitch as one of your hands released her thigh and began to knead on the plump flesh, your mouth never stopping and moving faster and faster to see how much Lilia could take, the feeling of your teeth biting down on her nipple being the limit.

The moan that ripped from her chest held a tinge of hurt and discomfort that you picked up on quickly, and with a tender kiss on the side of it, you moved on to her other breast, her breaths coming in such hurried pants that you wondered for a moment if what you were doing could send her over the edge before you could bury your face in between her legs. You wouldn’t have been wrong. The fire in Lilia’s core was so strong and hot that with each touch, each vibration from your own groans and whimpers her orgasm was being built higher and higher, a skyscraper at this point, and it never slowed down, your mouth delivering each puff of hot breath and each lick of wet saliva as if you had it all calculated. She writhed underneath you, begging with each gasp for you to either take her completely or to send her over the edge already, doubtful of whether she could take much more of you sucking and twirling her nipple in your mouth, each breast as sensitive as every nerve within her. And then you let go.

Her hands fell on top of the mattress as she tried to control her breathing, her mind hazy and her sight blurry even if the room was practically filled with light continuously, thunder rushing all around like a bomb, the bed rattling slightly as you kneeled to observe her. That pearly rose tint her flesh had developed throughout the night had moved on to a bright red, small bruises forming on her neck, and the shape of your fingertips on the plump skin of her bosom from where your hand had kneaded the flesh, taking in the way her legs trembles on each side of your hips, breasts bouncing ridiculously fast, almost as if she was fighting hyperventilating. Every sensation coursed through her veins like the wind in a hurricane, sweeping her off her feet and making her float in a haze of pleasure and desire that hadn’t quite reached its breaking point, not that it was too far away, but as your hands caressed the sides of her ribcage all the way to her hips her heartrate began to drop, beat by beat.

There was no control over the storm outside, rain pouring as if it was the end of the world, fast and angry, drowning the ground and filling the air with the sound of each droplet smashing against walls and windows. But as loud as it was it could never overshadow the way Lilia responded to each of your touches, not even now that your mouth had travelled south down the road of her body, stretch marks greeting you as your kisses lingered on her smooth abdomen, small and curvy, perfect witnesses to the beauty of a woman, the thin lines, lighter in the white halo of the storm, wrapping around her hips and vanishing in the juncture between her pelvis and her upper thighs. There would be more as the child grew and Lilia’s body adapted to house it, skin molding to the baby’s every need, and part of you could not wait to see them as your newborn laid nestled on Lilia’s chest, held protectively by her arms, a sign that she had done and survived one of the most dangerous tasks ever laid before a woman: bringing life.

Thinking of what was to come, of the risks she was taking made your grip on her hips harder, your forehead resting for a moment on her to simply feel her, steady, the flow of her golden tendrils deep inside her caressing your troubled mind into a calm reassuring sea. Under her skin that sparkle of magic always lingered, called out to you to meet it and mix your own young sage power with it, letting Lilia’s wisdom vanish your doubts when you didn’t think you were good enough, to feel her love in everything she did and was, including this sweet kisses that her powers delivered onto your warm skin, like a warm blanket in the dark of a cold winter’s night, like kisses shared on the doorstep of the shop when you bid Lilia goodbye to go to work. All you needed was to be with her, to hold her in your arms, and then nothing in the entire universe could ever go wrong. As you savoured the way her magic cradled you, her hands tenderly pet your head, her fingers threading between locks of your hair as her breaths became slower, you felt something deep within her.

Pressing your lips on her lower abdomen you were surprised to sense that same spark of magic you had both felt earlier that day floating so strongly underneath her skin and muscles. It was like static at first, a tingling that travelled lazily from within her to your lips, but as the seconds went by it grew stronger, moving onto a bright electricity that held you in place, almost as if it didn’t want you to leave. In a haze your mind filled with the sensation of comfort and safety, golden and silver clouds of dust suspended in a vast black universe, all surrounded suddenly by veils of green, like a nebula that was forming inside Lilia, unique and forever eternally levitating under her heart. It was clearly a mix of you both, colours and branches of magic tenderly dancing around each other, but inside that cosmic explosion of life small streaks of white moved in between each of you, a sign that what you were sensing and seeing was your baby, yours and Lilia’s child happily held by the two of you, content to be able to feel you just as much as you could feel them.

You wondered if Lilia could sense it, if perhaps with time she would see the beauty, and if you had lifted your head, even for an instant, you would have seen the way her eyes were closed, sharing that moment with you, stars sparkling, all the futures your baby could have presented to her and yet her mind not wanting to see them. She basked in the way your hands gripped her tighter to you, never wanting to let go, but soon the baby grew tired, too small to remain awake for you to feel, and like a lightbulb it’s light dimed until it laid dormant once again, golden dust cradling white matter as it rested, your own sage particles, wide and full of life, embracing them both, a world of galaxies and stars sparkling before your eyes. Lilia’s body was still affected by your ministrations, but she didn’t push you to meet her needs, cherishing this moment with you even if part of her wanted you to carry on, knowing that you needed this more than she needed to let the coil of pleasure that had built explode and release all the endorphins that had accumulated in your whirlwind of passion.

Lips met skin, and as you peppered her flesh with kisses, taking in every hum of approval that rumbled in her throat, the corners of her mouth lifting in a kind smile, her hands carried on caressing the back of your head. Slowly you managed to slide lower, her pubic bone and the short grey curls that adorned it brushing and tickling your nose as you planted a kiss over them. Lilia’s breath hitched in her lungs, the calmness that had trickled inside her veins moments ago walking side by side now with the desire you had shared with her, a transfusion of love and pleasure that lazily pumped throughout her system. With your arms underneath her thighs and the palms of your hands pressed against her hip bone your kisses journey to the end of the line, taking the longer route as the smooth skin of her inner thigh laid beneath your kisses, ever so soft, not a blemish or spot in sight, pure as snow and valuable as pearls, platinum melted on your tongue as the storm reached its height, lighting and thunder battling in the sky in an angry tango while Lilia gave her body willingly to you, no questions or expectations ever leaving her lips.

Your teeth didn’t hesitate to leave as many marks as you wanted, ruining her perfect creamy skin with each nibble and bite, sucking hard until a purple tone began to spread instead of the angry red, moans vibrating from her chest; all the bruises and hickeys her oversensitive chest and breasts could not take. Satisfied with the impressionist painting you had created on her, your own rendition of the “Water Lilies” made by Monet, each bruise a flower floating in a perfect sea of calm currents that was Lilia’s sublime flesh, you were finally presented with the most beautiful work of art. Pink folds draped in waves before your eyes, glistening with an arousal that nearly dripped down onto the bedsheets, the salty smell of her filling your lungs and overwhelming your senses, your mouth watering at the sight of her so utterly open and ready for you.

With your thumbs circling the skin between her pelvis and her inner thigh, shivers running up her spine, Lilia could not help the breaths that came in hurried puffs as her heart sped up once more, beating hard against her ribcage to a point that she almost feared she might collapse even before you got started and then, all of a sudden, the universe became to a halt. One long lap of your tongue all along her folds, gathering her sweet juices and drinking them in, had her big brown eyes rolling to the back of her head, the gentle grip she had had on your head now hard as she pulled on your hair, a stinging sensation on your scalp that you didn’t mind. Her lips were ajar, letting the most intense and sinful noises fall past them, dripping almost as loudly as the rain hit the windows. You were gifted, a genius that moved your tongue from side to side, up and down, curling and straightening the muscles all over her, her juices sliding down your chin in transparent rivulets that you didn’t have the chance to gather with your tongue.

Her legs trembled, muscles quivering as she pushed your face closer to her, and who were you to fight it when you wanted to have her on top of you, beneath you, inside you, and at the same time wrapping her every limb around you, to be with her and part of her, one and the same. Flicking her neglected bud in quick succession for a moment had Lilia arching her back and fighting to lift her hips, your hands pressing her back onto the mattress to keep her still, the heels of her feet digging into your lower back as high-pitched moans and grunts accompanied the ever louder thunder, lightning beaming over her sweaty body like a pearly veil that dressed her in transparent silks, skin glowing, hair sprawled over the pillow in matted mess of curls. She moved her head from side to side as your tongue worked wonders on her clit, completely unafraid of being loud and unapologetic of the way you teased and lapped at her, knowing perfectly well what things she liked and what things she didn’t, opting to abuse those spots that drove her insane.

Rain became hail, loud and so very close to shattering glass as it landed harshly over windows, cars battered under its force out on the streets, matching in strength the way Lilia’s arousal was close to reaching its peak, building higher and higher with each stroke. Your right hand released her hip, sliding under her thigh and coming to touch her hot centre with two fingers, coating them in the arousal your mouth could not take, sliding up and down slowly, teasing almost, to make sure that she was more than ready before parting her folds, that smell that was so characteristic of Lilia, sweet and spicy, citrusy even, enfolded in a cloud of rosemary incense seeping from her every pore. The tips of your fingers entered her carefully, eyes watching over her pubic bone as her head was thrown back over the pillow, chest rising and falling rapidly, fighting through the lust and the desire to fill her lungs with air. She felt your fingers filling her up, inch by inch until you were knuckles deep inside her, the coil in her abdomen almost ready to burst, a tingling sensation spreading through her limbs lazily, like a warning of what was to come, and as you began to move them, slowly at first, she could not believe how diligent you were in your ministrations, the care and work you put on making sure she felt good at all times. It almost brought tears to her eyes.

Placing a kiss on her clit your tongue proceeded to return to her folds, fingers picking up their pace, curling slightly until she was nearly screaming, nonsensical noises falling from her parted lips as your ministrations increased. She was so close, you could tell, her arousal dripping all over your hand and chin, velvety walls clenching around you as her legs began to tremble. In a perfect combination of nature and desire you gave one last suck on her clit, grazing the swollen bud with your teeth softly as your fingers went deeper, the tips hitting that spongy spot that released it all. Like a bomb, Lilia arched off the bed, screaming as loudly as the thunder above the shop, lightning eclectically coursing both through the sky and through her every nerve, spreading electricity from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, numbing and at the same time setting every inch of her skin aflame.

Her hips buckled against your hand and face, your tongue lapping and drinking every ounce of her juices that dripped out of her, your fingers never slowing down their pace as she rode out her high, the grip on your hair harsh and strong to the point where you thought she might have pulled a strand or two right out of your scalp. Lilia could not think, could not help but thrush around messing the bedsheets as her orgasm washed over her like ripples on the ocean surface. There was nothing calming about the way the pleasure took hold of her mind, a thick fog clouding her every thought and common sense as starts danced over her eyes, hidden behind closed eyelids. After what seemed to be hours to the both of you, Lilia’s body began to calm down, falling back on top of the mattress, completely spent, as your fingers slowed down to let her adjust to her release. You could have carried on, it would have been easy to bring her to the edge over and over, but this wasn’t a race to see Lilia falling over the edge continuously until she passed out; you weren’t sure why the visceral need to see her come undone beneath you when you could have simply let her hug you and try to fall back asleep, but your mind certainly felt gratitude at seeing her like this before you.

Her breaths came in pants, pushing air in gulps into her lungs as she felt your fingers still their movements at last, the trembling of her legs stopping after a moment, the hand that had been resting and holding her in place over her hip bone now caressing gently the skin of her inner thigh, travelling all the way to her knee and back in a rubbing motion. It was comforting to feel you like that, delivering sweet pecks on the skin of her leg as her body finally came down to the land of the leaving, her hands releasing your hair and flopping back on top of the mattress deliciously spent. As her movements stilled you managed to pull out of her, earning a displeased whine from Lilia that made you smile tenderly as her eyes lazily opened up to see darkness once more, the storm having melted into nothing in the matter of a few minutes, rain falling gently against the house as you moved your body over hers, hovering until your face came to meet hers.

Even though there was no more light in the room she could still make out your relaxed face, the way you held her gaze with a semblance of love that embraced her form as much as your hands caressed her cheeks. There were lingering veils of pleasure over her gorgeous eyes, but if you moved past them, chocolate intoxicating your palate along with the taste of her, the world laid bare before you, the answers to every question you had ever had, presented in Lilia’s hands, waiting for the right moment for her to hand them to you. There was no more fear, no more terror that tried to pull you into an abyss of despair, only the memories of her alive under your touch, responsive even now, her tired arms snaking lazily around your back, as you lips tenderly pressed over hers. She didn’t push her tongue more than was necessary, a quiet moan vibrating from her throat as she tasted herself on your lips, not because she didn’t want to return the favours, but because you made no attempt to continue things.

You hadn’t even realised the way your body had been running partially on adrenaline until you felt a mild ache on your limbs, forcing you to lay on your side beside Lilia, one hand taking hers and intertwining her fingers with yours while the other never left her cheek, her body turning to face you. She could have talked, she could have asked you what had happened, what you needed or if you were alright, but it would have served no purpose. Words were superfluous to either of you right now, unnecessary as shadows hovered and clung to every corner, the early hours of the morning creeping in the horizon, her eyes reading your body language as if you were an open book. A burst of wind could snatch the reassurances that would fall from Lilia’s lips before they reached your ears, leaving you troubled and scared, voices inside your head overshadowing every comforting word until they were barely whispers among your demons. Actions, though, could do what entire books could not.

There was barely a gap between you and her, and never, not even for a moment, did she recoil from you or pull her hands away from yours, feeling the happiness and calmness of your mind. There were no traces of the images that had disturbed you so intensely not that long ago, only the thoughts of her heart beating strong and steady under her ribcage, and her lungs, breathing clouds of warm life that with its tender touches caressed your face, filled you mind with the truths that she was alive under the palms of your hands. Nothing could ever take her from you, and that simple thought would have been more than enough for you, her perfect face holding your loving gaze as the gentle sounds of the rain began to lull you both to sleep, but to have also felt the baby so strongly beneath Lilia's skin, meeting your kisses with sparks, had caught you off guard, not realising how much you loved it already, nearly as much as you loved Lilia. Your legs were interlaced over the blankets, the hand that was neatly held by yours laying close to Lilia’s chest, the steady beating of her heart a melody so sweet to your ears that you could never get tired of hearing it.

Perhaps it was temporary, this happiness that had overcome everything else, but for the time being you were more than content to be able to go to sleep with Lilia in your arms. She pulled you closer to her, the ruffling of the bedsheets filling up the quiet air that floated in the room, and wrapped her arms around your frame as your head nestled on top of her chest, ear glued to her skin in the perfect position to count the way her blood pumped through her veins and each one of her breaths. As the clock on the wall ticked away, Lilia’s perfume filling up your lungs, her fingers caressing the back of your head and the skin between your shoulder blades, the rain became nothing more than a drizzle, silence echoing against the walls after hours of raging sounds, a perfect metaphor for the insanity that had overtaken your mind and the way Lilia had washed it all away. Your eyelids became heavy, the warmth that seeped from her skin enfolding you, and as your body fell into the arms of Morpheus, sleep claiming your tired body once again, Lilia placed a tender kiss on the crown of your head as she wrapped the tousled sheets over the both of you.

It would take her a bit longer before sleep claimed her, the last tinges of pleasure still clinging to her skin, but she did not mind, it hadn’t been the first and it wouldn’t be the last time her slumber run away from her but at least this time she had a good reason to remain awake. Moonlight peaked from in between grey clouds, its silvery beams the first steady source of light the city had seen for hours, breaking through the kitchen window as it brought peace woven in between them, Lilia’s eyes never straying from your relaxed face as the pearly rays kissed your skin, her golden magic keeping you safe and protected. Nothing would ever harm you as long as she was round.

#lilia calderu #lilia x reader #patti lupone #avis amberg #avis amberg x reader #patti lupone x reader #agatha all along #we thank miss lupone simply for existing

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pascalislove · 3 days ago

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THE CALL: Han Jeong-Won x Fem!Reader~24

Summary: Your arrival would change everything, even if Jeong-Won didn't know it yet.

The day had started normally, but Y/N soon realized that something was not right. Sudden dizziness forced her to lean on the kitchen counter while she tried to prepare breakfast. Jeong-Won, who had just entered the room, frowned seeing her staggering. —"Y/N?" he asked, worried as he quickly approached her.

-I'm fine... just a little dizzy,-she responded with a weak smile, although the sweat on her forehead said otherwise. Before she could say anything else, a growing discomfort forced her to run to the bathroom. Jeong-Won followed her without hesitation, his heart racing with worry.

—"That's not 'being okay,'" he said firmly as he helped her stand after she finished vomiting.

-It must be something I ate,-Y/N tried to justify, but her voice sounded weak.

—"Let's go to the hospital. Now,"-he said, not giving her the option to argue.

The doctor quickly treated them, diagnosing that Y/N was suffering from severe indigestion accompanied by dehydration. After a brief check-up and some medicine, they were allowed to return home with the recommendation that she rest completely.

When they arrived, Jeong-Won wasted no time.

He helped her lie down on the bed with surprising gentleness, as if he was afraid of breaking it.

-You don't have to do all this, really, - Y/N protested, although her tone was weak.

-“I don't want to hear another word,”- Jeong-Won said with a hint of authority, but his eyes reflected pure affection.

He bent down to adjust the blanket for her and then went to the kitchen.

In a short time he returned with a tray: hot soup, water and the prescribed medicines.

—"First, the soup. Then the medicines," he ordered as he sat next to her on the bed.

Ji Ah smiled weakly.

—You seem like a very strict nurse.

-"I'm more efficient than a nurse," he replied, trying to keep his face serious, but a soft smile appeared on his lips.

Patiently, he helped her take small sips of the soup and made sure she drank enough water.

When he finally took the medicines, Jeong-Won sighed in relief.

—Thank you…-Y/N whispered, feeling the warmth of his concern enveloping her.

—"Just rest.You don't have to thank me for taking care of you,” he said, gently stroking her hair as she closed her eyes.

Time passed in silence, and although Y/N began to fall asleep, she could still feel Jeong-Won's firm and comforting presence next to her.

Before surrendering to sleep completely, he murmured:

—You're much sweeter than you look, Jeong-Won.

He looked at her tenderly, although his words caught in his throat. He just leaned down to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

—"Rest, Y/N. I will be here."

And so he did, staying by her side, determined not to move until he was sure she was completely okay. Because although he still didn't dare say it out loud, he knew that what he felt for her went far beyond duty or contract. It was love, even if they hadn't confessed it yet.

This story does not follow the plot of the series, tell me if you like it and if you want me to tag you in the chapters🫶

Tag list:

@anamiad00msday , @czarinera , @beebeechaos, @muchwita, @otakusimp1, @aori-aka03-blog, @preppyfella

THE CALL MASTERLIST

#han jeong won #han jeong won x reader #gong yoo #gong yoo x you #the trunk #gong yoo x reader #salesman x reader #the salesman x reader #recruiter x reader #the salesman x you

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muxshwriting · 18 hours ago

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compelling

Feud-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

summary: Feyd can no longer live with only a portion of his wife and strives to find who she truly is || word count: 948 || masterlist

once again, I have been peer pressured (someone very politely requested) and I am being forced (I wrote this in a peak of artistic inspiration) to publish a third part to voiceless and articulate. Enjoy!

REQUESTED: I've read all your Feyd stories and I love them! Would you please consider doing a continuation of "Articulate" where Feyd is so desperate to win over his wife that he asks her new friends for advice? Thank you.

Ever since you’d postponed your day with him, Feyd had been unable to think of anything else. He couldn’t imagine what else you spent your days doing, what was more important to you than him. As he began craving your presence, he noticed just how much time you spent out of your chambers, elsewhere.

He approached you one evening when you were getting ready for bed. “Y/N?” He stopped calling you ‘Wife’ when he noticed the subtle flinch that accompanied its use. “Where do you spend your days? You always return with such happiness.” He meant nothing by it, a simple observation that you always glowed a little brighter afterwards.

You hesitated before answering, hearing horror stories of what Feyd has done to servants. “I- My handmaiden and some of the other maids, they spend their days teaching me things about our house, about Geidi Prime. I enjoy their company.” You admitted.

Feyd frowned. “Your handmaiden? You’ve been hiding away with your handmaiden all this time?”

“Do not speak of her with such disdain! She is my friend. You will do her no harm or I will never forgive you.”

“What?”

You mistook his confusion for insult. “You heard me-“

“You misunderstand, my love.” That title was a new one. “I am simply surprised. I worried you had filled your time with another lover. That I would not be so kind towards.”

The endearment that slipped from his lips did not escape unnoticed by you and you felt your heart fluttering slightly within your chest. The careless and childish hopes from the beginning on your marriage had the nerve to peek their heads towards daylight and it took all your might to push them back down. He was just a possessive man, claiming what was already his. He could not love you, not the way you wanted him to.

“Oh. No! I would never- I would never take a lover Feyd. I am not a traitor.”

“I- I was not trying to imply-“ It was the first time you had ever heard Feyd be uncertain in anything, stumbling over his words.

He reached out to you and you let him slip your hand into his. His body was mere inches from yours as he stood silently, staring down at you.

“I’m sorry.” It was a murmur of an apology you never thought he was even capable of. “Please tell your handmaiden… thank you from me, for taking care of you.”

Your eyes soften as you take a small step so you’re truly in each other’s space. “I shall pass along your message. Goodnight husband.” There’s a softness behind your words that Feyd hasn’t heard in a while and he’s very grateful for its return.

In the days following your discussion, you and Feyd had minimised some of the distance between you, but not all. There was space Feyd couldn’t cross alone, no matter how much he wanted to. He needed help, aid from someone who knew you far better than he did.

Reluctantly, Feyd made his way down to the servants quarters. He stops silently outside the door, suddenly nervous to enter.

He knocked and your handmaiden opened the door, paling at the sight of the Na-Baron. “My Lord Feyd.” She bowed before him, slipping out into the hallway. “How can I assist you?” Despite your assurance that your husband would never hurt her, your handmaiden still had fear when stood in front of Feyd.

Feyd seemed unsure of himself now that he was stood in front of someone about to ask for their help. “I wish to help my wife.”

“Is the Na-Baroness unwell?”

“She is fine.” Feyd said shortly. “But our marriage…” He does not wish to continue and your handmaiden knows it.

Slyly, she looks him up and down with a knowing look. “It’s called love. She feels it too.”

“She-“ Feyd stopped himself. “She loves me?”

“And you love her. She’s just hesitant to give you all of herself.”

He took a moment to breathe, his head spinning from the realisation that his wife loved him. “I love her…”

“Then tell her that.” Your handmaiden pressed. “Tell her she is loved.”

Heeding your handmaiden’s words, Feyd approached the evening much differently than he normally would. He greeted you as he entered your chambers, a small smile across his face as he offered to help you change and you, surprised, allowed him to.

He couldn’t stop the giddy feeling his heart had when you leant into him as he pulled the pins from your hair. You let yourself lean in, praying that life had finally dealt you the perfect hand.

Beyond either os your notices, you handmaiden had slipped into your chambers, aiming to help you get ready for the evening. But upon seeing your gentle embrace with Feyd, a knowing smile spread across her lips and she turned on her heel to slip back out again. Her shoe brushed against the floor for just a second and you glanced up at her.

Silently, a conversation passes. A frown, a smile, a nod. A look towards Feyd, a glance you made in his direction. He’s aware of all that is going but blissfully choosing to ignore it, his eyes almost slipping shut as he runs his hand down your back and letting it settle at your waist.

No words are exchanged as the evening progresses, but the light touches continue and you never find yourself out of Feyd’s space for more than a second. It isn’t until you’re in bed and wrapped in his arms that you speak.

“Goodnight my love.”

Feyd smiles against you and murmurs the same sentiment back, finally slipping into sleep.

#muxsh #muxshwriting #feyd rautha x reader #dune #dune part two #dune x reader #dune part 2 #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #feyd rautha #voiceless #articulate

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potatoesenpaii · 2 days ago

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Valentine's day

CW : Angst?, bit swearing, i don't think there's comfort for Gareth, comfort for Eddie though.

WC : idk i have dyscalculia

Pairing : Eddie x Reader, pining Gareth x platonic Reader

Tags : @week-old-tiramisu @1lostsoul0fishbowl @iitsmandii

----------------------------------------------------

He didn't care, right? Why would he care? You woke up in his bed almost everday, he was the one you whispered i love you's at every possible occasions. So why did it started to bother him how the junior and you held hands? He agreed to it, he didn't mind it since it was one-sided and you were fully his.

Was it the way Gareth looked at you? The way Gareth would glimpse at your lips while you talk? How Emerson always slipped his hand into yours?

He needed it to stop. Gareth was taking advantage of that freedom and it made Munson go crazy at how you did not care about any of it.

But as the good boyfriend as he is, he let the day pass like nothing. Pushing the talk to an another day since he was busy planning a valentine's day surprise for the next day.

----------------------------------------------------

It's valentine's day, it's valentine's day and Gareth is asking you to be his valentine. Eddie wanted to throw a guidebook at the back of the head of the junior. You're Munson's girlfriend, Gareth knows that, the entire school knows that !

He was pissed, so fucking pissed that his best friend was asking his girlfriend to be his valentine before he could even do his stupid plan he had spent the week planning. Your reaction did gave some kind of comfort to Eddie's poor heart though, the way you did smile at Gareth for asking but the way you hoped it was your boyfriend who had ask first. So you politely rejected Gareth and reminded the junior that he has been friendzoned not too long ago now.

Clearly Gareth reaction hurt both Eddie and you, you had to promise Gareth you would make up to him which kind off frustrated Eddie. Now that the junior left dejected, Eddie took the opportunity to come forward and wrap his arms around your waist.

"Meet me in the agora" He whispered while he tickled your neck with kisses and scurried away to the drama club and Hellfire club shared space.

You didn't take long to follow to the agora. Once entering it was so dark, you could have easily tripped so you waited while calling out Eddie's name. Like a signal, the lights opened to a cheesy sight.

Red hearts balloons, your boyfriend holding flowers and clear his throat.

"My dear" He bowed, the flowers to his back and his free arm over his stomach as you took steps closer to the stage. You were about to speak up when he straightened up and cut you short. Alas all you could do is wait before him so he could finish his theatrics.

"To-night we hold a solemn supper dear, and I shall request your presence.” You want to laugh, not because it was stupid, it was absolutely endearing he was asking you out in the most Eddie Munson's of way.

"With pleasure, my love" You smile as you bow/curtsy back to him. His arms wrapping around your waist and giving you a soft kiss. Once the kiss was broken, he pecked your nose and slipped the flowers back to be in front of you.

"I love you" He smiled, proud of himself.

"I love you too" You replied with a chaste kiss to his lips.

"Oh and, i don't want Gareth to ever touch you again" That caught you off guard, but you only nodded in approval and understanding since your boyfriend asked.

----------------------------------------------------

#eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #fluff fic #fluff eddie munson x reader #gareth stranger things #gareth emerson #stranger things #gwydion lashlee walton #joseph quinn #angst with gareth emerson

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shewrites02 · 2 days ago

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Pathetic | Toji Fushiguro x Reader |

A/N: This is a stand alone fic but in my mind it coincides with my previous fic Deserve. It is the same reader, though in my timeline this fic occurred first. I don't knowww if I'm quite feeling making a whole series but open to suggestions.

Join my Taglist <3

Word count: 780

Leave a comment if you enjoy :) feel free to reblog!

If there was any doubt, you are positively sure now. You hate yourself. That is the only explanation for why you would possibly be cuddled underneath Toji at 3am. The only explanation-

You’re an idiot. And you hate yourself. You’re an idiot who hates yourself. Who must enjoy the pain this man inevitably inflicts on you.

You watch as he sleeps peacefully, ignorant to the woes that plague your heart. This isn’t the closure you were looking for when you came here. One last time. That was all it was supposed to be. A goodbye. Not a wake for the future the two of you could’ve had.

As if sensing your unease in his sleep, Toji tightens the hold he has on you, bending down to lazily place a kiss on your forehead before falling back asleep. The gesture is a loaded gun, shooting the final bullet of reason in you.

This man would never really love you.

Trying to stifle your tears makes your chest burn as if you're choking. You couldn’t stay here. Can’t wake up the next morning and pretend he isn’t the same man from a month ago.

The man who made you beg for his attention. The man who couldn’t be bothered with your presence before the sun came up. He is still the same man using you for access to your body.

You slink from the slip of the hunters grasp,with the reassurance you were going to the restroom. In one swoop you snatch your clothes and hurry off. The embarrassed scurry you do to get your clothes on is motivation enough to get out the door as quickly as possible.

You don’t bother to wake Toji, in fear he may question your decision to leave in the middle of the night. The last thing you needed was an interrogation. At least that’s what you hoped- Fushiguro is already three steps behind you struggling to put a t- shirt on as he follows you out to the complex’s garage.

“Y/n.” He calls out, but you do not stop. He calls your name again, this time clamping his hand around your wrist impeding your escape. “Why are you leaving? You know you don’t have to leave.”

“Yeah, I should Toji. I'm just going to go.” It is easy to feign certainess when your back is to the man. When he can’t see the tears threatening to stream down your cheeks or the disappointment in your eyes.

“C’mon doll, its cold out here-” He tugs on your arms, urging you to follow. “let's talk in the morning.”

When you don’t move his brows furrow in a scrunch and he's on your side in minutes, peering over your shoulder to get a glimpse of your face.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He demands.

You can’t help the cackle that leaves your mouth. “What's wrong?” There isn’t a single thing “right” about the relationship- or lack thereof- the two of you have.

He ignores you for weeks at a time, busy on these supposed work trips while you wait around like a lost puppy until he comes back to stick his dick in you.

Pocket pussy.

That was all you were to him. All you are ever going to be.

Stupid. Stupid. Dumb. stupid. Bitch. You shuffle your feet to finally walk away, embarrassment beginning to settle its way on your cheeks. You make a half-hearted attempt to tug your arm free in hopes Toji will be so willing. He is not.

“This was a bad idea.” You reiterate

Tears are falling the moment the words leave your mouth.You fight hard not to let your voice tremble, to show all the pain bubbling in your chest. This absolute burning, suffocating, aching pain. Fueled by the scorched memories stifling your thoughts.

“Y/n please-.” He utters your name as though it’s his mantra. Like he actually cares for you. Like this isn’t more performative bullshit to have you second guessing yourself in bed tonight.

No. He wouldn’t get you this time.

This time you won’t be so naive. Won’t trust the distress in the twitch of his brow, or how desperate his eyes look. Ignore how broken his voice sounds.

None of it mattered. You are done playing the fool.

“You treat me bad Toji! You make me beg for your attention, for a version of you, hell- I don’t even think exists anymore but still-” Your voice catches in your throat. As though creating an interruption to allow your brain opportunity to catch up to your tongue. But It is too late-

“Still I’m standing here.. Not feeling good enough for you. How pathetic am I?”

If you enjoy my content or if you have $5 to spare , please consider donating it to Besan . she is a mother trying so desperately to get her family out of Gaza. She is still so far away from her go fund me goal!

Operation Olive Branch Spreadsheet

I know everyone may not have the means to donate, but if by some chance you have an extra $5 to spare please consider donating it to the families trying to rebuild their lives in the Gaza strip.

#toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #fushiguro toji #toji zenin #jjk toji #fushiguro toji x reader #jjk fushiguro #toji x y/n #toji x self insert #jujutsu toji #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk angst #angst #angst toji fushiguro

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blackboxtheater · 1 day ago

Note

voted for them again!

prompt this time is: cozy!

something simple, thanks!

I do believe the people have spoken, but on the off chance that you follow my blog and haven't voted for Mumpearl in the the Mumbo Jumbo ship bracket, you still can! We can show our presence as a small but mighty rarepair and go down with the ship as we sink beneath the waves lapping at Boatem's shores.

I will still take prompts until voting closes so if you wanted to submit, this might be your last chance 👀

But time for prompts!! Cozy prompts!!

So this could be read as a stand-alone season 10 established relationship tidbit, OR as the season 10 epilogue to House of String that I'm never going to write because I literally already have 21 chapters of content and that's just through season 9. If you've been suffering from all the pining in the recent updates, this is a bit of an antidote to that :)

But either way, the interior of Pearl's base, and in particular her double bed next to a wall of trap doors has HAUNTED me (/pos) since she ran around her base in hide and seek with Gem. Something about the vibe just gave me "sunlight streaming through shutters at sunrise" and now you gave me an excuse to write that!!!

Plus Pearl clearly designed a bedroom and actual living space in her base, while Mumbo just makes a giant storage system as a base and sometimes puts a bed places. So the idea that he still is making his base, but actually sleeps and lives at Pearl's is the premise for this setup.

🌙 🌙 🌙

The sound of the last shulker whirling shut echoes through Pearl's storage room.

There is truly nothing as satisfying as a neatly organized storage room with a set of perfectly prepared shulkers right in the middle, ready to be picked up on the way to a brand new build the next morning. Sure, Pearl likes the update this season where they can add text and images to the boxes. It's helpful and does make it easier to know at a glance what is in each box, but there is something so familiar and soothing about a classic, color-coded row of shulkers prepped for an exciting new build.

Now that she's stopped banging around her storage room opening and closing chests, there's a silence that settles over the space. It's a rare sound on Hermitcraft which is why she loves the peace and quiet that only comes in the dead of night.

She loves the chaos and mischief and joy that the other hermits bring to her life. She does. She loves them all more than she could ever describe. But she also has big plans for her builds each season that require lots of time and effort to not only design, but to construct and refine until they are exactly as perfect as she knows they can be. And it's hard to be productive when her communicator is constantly blowing up with Scar's death messages. Or when a wild Gem can appear out of the sky at any moment. Or when Keralis has some new ideas for the flower and dyes shop or when Ren is looking for an extra person to play Hungry Hermits with or when Grian breaks the mail system again or or or or or.

There is always a distraction looking for her during the daylight hours. It's so easy to have a full, busy, wonderful day where she makes zero progress on any of her projects. Which is why she keeps staying up so late season after season.

Sure she could try to fix her sleep schedule this year now that Mumbo is staying with her full time. He's always yawning by 9:30 and crawling into bed by 10. But she likes being able to get some focus time in when the rest of the hermits are fast asleep. Or at the very least deterred from dropping in unannounced by the ever present threat of mobs lurking in every shadow.

And Mumbo doesn't seem to mind that she drifts down to her study as he drifts up to bed.

Pearl does mind though that her dogs seem to have universally decided that sleeping in a comfy, warm bed is better than keeping her company late into the night. Sure the cats are still awake with her, watching her with their reflective eyes as Pearl makes her way up from the storage room to her and Mumbo's bedroom. But it's not quite the same as previous seasons when she'd regularly been making design updates late at night with a dog curled up at her feet.

But when she open the door to their bedroom, she does get numerous sets of dark eyes turning to look up at her illuminated in the dull glow streaming in through the crack in the door. Mumbo, as always, is completely passed out, rolled on his side and sleeping right through the sound of her quietly slipping into their bedroom. Her valiant guard dogs, however, silently watch Pearl's nightly routine of she softly padding over to the closet to get changed and ready for bed. And, just like every night, once she is finally ready to climb into bed there is a series of soft thump as her babies jump down to clear her side of the bed and give her room to crawl under the covers.

There's one final round of shuffling and adjusting before the whole Pearl/Mumbo compound is settled for the night. There's the soft click of dog paws against the floor as her puppos find their places curled in corners and at the foot of the bed, the rustle of bedsheets as Pearl tucks herself in behind Mumbo, and finally the quite breath Mumbo lets out each night as Pearl curls around him.

When Pearl mentioned this little routine to him, Mumbo swore up and down that he slept right through her shuffling around and he had no idea when she finally ended up coming to bed each night.

While she initially assumed he was just being cute and polite for her sake, the longer they lived together, the more Pearl was inclined to believe him. He really didn't give any indication of being awake each night as she has moved around their bedroom opening drawers and shutting doors as she got ready for bed. But there is a soft noise that he make every night without fail as Pearl curls up again his back, tucking her face between his shoulder blades and into the soft fabric of his well-worn sleep shirt. Pearl almost likes the idea that he isn’t awake and aware that this happens better. It means that even asleep, there is some part of him that's waiting for her to come into bed. A part that doesn’t fully relax until he feels her warmth beside him. And once she's there, he can finally relax, letting out a soft sigh, barely audible over the rustle of leaves outside. She even thinks sometimes that she can feel the last bit of nervous tension easing out of his shoulders as she nuzzles into him, inhaling the smell of soap and fresh cotton.

It's become a familiar enough scent that even after to most chaotic days it helps calm Pearl's thoughts, helping her drift off to sleep under the warm covers to the sounds of Mumbo's even breathing beside her.

🔆 🔆 🔆

Now that Mumbo has had the pleasure of waking up with the sunrise, he's not sure he could ever go back.

There is no jarring alarm or unexpected buzzing from a communicator to jolt him awake. No sharp, sudden distinction between peaceful sleep and full consciousness. Instead, the sunlight filters through the copper trap doors that make up the walls of his and Pearl's bedroom each morning, slowly bringing him to awareness as the day begins.

The soft sound of the birds outside and the warm light against his eyelids is the first thing he's aware of most mornings now. Which wakes him up just enough so he can shifts around and reach out for the warm body even his subconscious knows is sleeping beside him. But the first tendrils of consciousness aren't satisfied with just knowing Pearl is there in the bed next to him, they want her closer and go seeking her out, gathering her sluggishly into his arms and pulling her into him.

That's one of the few things that can still jolt Mumbo awake now; reaching out and his hazy, half asleep brain not finding Pearl within reach. The first time he reached out to find nothing but a cold pillow and the furry back of an equally confused dog blinking back at him, he had startled awake, fumbling for his communicator with the terrible feeling that something bad had to have happened. If Pearl wasn't in bed, Pearl must be missing and in danger, his barely awake brain had concluded. His worried messages, which his brain had not been conscious enough to remember to whisper rather than put in the general Hermitcraft chat, had been greeted by a sheepish Pearl admitting she may have been so focused on her project that she hadn't notice the birds had started singing to tell her she had worked all the way through to sunrise. The messages had also been fantastic fodder for all of his friends to tease him for the rest of the week, even if most of it was good natured teasing about how cute him and Pearl were together.

But this morning isn't one of those unfortunate rare days he wakes up alone, so when Mumbo rolls over his arm curls around Pearl to pull her into his chest. Sometimes he catches a half mumbled 'good morning' or even a sleepy kiss if she rolls into his chest, but this morning she just wraps her arms around his and snuggles back against him with just the barest bit of fleeting consciousness that he knows will be gone again by the time he's fully awake.

But he's in no rush. These warm, cozy moments curled up together each morning are some of his favorite each day and he's not eager to end them too soon. So he spends a few more minutes letting his consciousness slowly come on line, becoming more aware of the world around him as his brain cells wake up one by one.

First, he starts to hear the leaves rustling outside and can feel their movement shift the pattern of sunlight against his eyes lids. He starts to notice the smell Pearl's shampoo and can feel her leg brush against his as she shifts again in his arms. And finally, he hears the click of nails on the floor as their dogs start to grow impatient in their wait for breakfast.

Which is his cue that his precious morning moments are drawing to a close and it's almost time to get up for the day.

By the time he finally opens his eyes, there is already 3 pairs of black dog eyes staring at him over the edge of the bed. The dogs are smart enough to know that Mumbo looking at them means breakfast is soon, and they can stop giving him pleading looks in bed and can go sit quietly by the bedroom door. But they are also smart enough to know that it will be another few minutes before he gets up, taking a few more moments to appreciate the warm, quite mornings now that he's actually awake enough to take everything in.

But Mumbo knows the dogs won’t wait forever, and there's a long list of things he wants to get started on before the rest of the server wakes up and starts causing chaos. So Mumbo presses a kiss to Pearl's temple and slowly detangles himself from her and the warm covers. There's a little grumble she always lets out as he does, but he attributes that more to the sudden chill as he slips out from under the covers rather than her being conscious of him leaving. He knows that by the time he comes back upstairs to change out of his pajamas, she'll be sound asleep, sprawled cross the bed and taking up more space than a single human should be capable of.

But right now, the most pressing concern is the flock of dogs patiently waiting at the bedroom door for him to get breakfast started, and the growing feeling that hot cup of tea sounds like a great idea right about now.

#ask #drabbles #I apologize for the delay #I had been basically just writing and working for like 4 days #so I had to touch some grass and become a person again #BUT I AM BACK

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suffewingowo · 1 year ago

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Like an impenetrable curtain the fog hangs in front of me. Lights of oncoming cars fading into view only for them to disappear again as the brights are flicked off.

Even through the all consuming fog, the darkness of the nighttime, I am comforted by some deep, welling, feeling.

I do not fear the creatures of the wilds coming into view and totalling my car. Nor another driver, absent-minded, on their phone swerving into my lane.

As I approach the city, only darkness greets me, until all at once the blue lights of the street lamps are thrust into my vision again.

The shroud of the stars above me is still present, even when they move unseen behind the curtain of fog.

#anyway gn lovelies <3 #the Tongue of Cassriel #the devil speaks #I don't care if you don't care #I felt something there in the dark #like a hand on my back and a chin resting on my shoulder #and now this presence will follow me to bed #HAVE I MENTIONED THOUGH THAT I FUCKING HATE CARS AND DRIVING AND CAR CENTRIC INFRASTUCTURE????#AND I DESPERATELY WANT TRAINS TO BE TAX FUNDED SO I CAN GO ALL SORTS OF PLACES AND SEE ALL SORTS OF STUFF AND A HANDFUL OF IMPORTANT PEOPLE?#BECAUSE ALL OF THAT YES VERY YES

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exopelagic · 11 months ago

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okay facing consequences of my actions

#I thought I’d gotten away with it this time #okay it’s 3am and I may have discovered something that completely ruins me #everyone is asleep so I can’t tell if this is me being sleep deprived or not!#so I need to sleep now but I haven’t cleaned my code up or written my answers #I do Not have time #if I don’t sleep now I’m gonna be having a bad time tomorrow morning and I am significantly less productive rn than I could be #with other people around I kinda need that y #so I should go to bed. but also. this code needs cleaning. but also. even if I fall asleep now I’m only getting like 5 hours MAX #I need a good few hours tomorrow morning to have a shot at doing this properly #so it would be more useful to sleep now and wake up as early as possible than keep going tonight bc I’m not going to finish tonight #okay. fuck. I hate this #if I could think straight I’d be able to fix this easy which is probably a good reason to sleep #it’s just an annoying logical problem that I gotta follow through bc currently I’m stuck between three possibilities and there might be more #I have these two rasters and I gotta calculate the area overlap #the first method counts the number of presence points in each (probably) and then counts the number in overlap raster w manually set values #the second counts total predicted points and points where they’re predicted to be alone and does a calculation with that for each species #that one with all points from both species + pseudoabsence. vs method 3 which does that with just individual species coordinates #method 1&2 are now homologous now I JUST caught the logical error but method 3 is what he gave us #but actually he might have fucked up in not including pseudoabsence #i don’t know if method 3 works for two different species either honestly #it gives me results I like much more (my overlap is 100% for one of the species and that shoooouldnt rlly happen even if it’s possible) but #I think it might actually just be wrong because it can’t account for #wait so the line is taking the prediction for all coordinates for each species for each species’ initial coordinates. and not pseudoabsence #and that set of predictions for each species coordinate set is then taken and yeah it’s no longer comparable you can’t count each alone #not with two different species bc you need an overlapping dataset to do that OKAY I have solved that logical problem my initial method works #which is annoying bc the result sucks but whatever I checked the rasters and it’s actually identical so #okay now I’ve figured that out. twenty minutes later. sleep I think it’ll help most #luke.txt

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hotroadkill · 10 months ago

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today 2 years ago i was in america and i had the worst hangover of my life and i was in a waffle house with my friend in awkward silence bc we’d fought in a stranger’s kitchen the night before and the server refilled my water for the 5th time while i fought to swallow half a forkful of hashbrowns and she said “i know that look, y’all had a good time at the superbowl last night” and i was thinking actually we had a mediocre time at a nerd bar where u throw darts and all the drinks r named weird things and anyway my friend gives the fakest laugh ive ever heard followed by “yep we sure did” like are we in a CW show right now what was that line delivery and also what even is the superbowl i was born here and should know but honestly i’ve always just pictured everyone gathering at a comically large bowl of cereal but her nametag says leslie and she’s really nice and she’s refilling my water for the 6th time so yeah sure whatever i’m a red blooded american i’ll be anything for leslie in this moment anything and she tells us stories about working at bars downtown and my friend tells me bad jokes and i feel a little better even though my heart is kind of withering away because my flight is in 17 hours and theres not enough time never enough time i won’t see him for another year and a half and i won’t ever see leslie again and if i ever run into the italian stranger who fell in love with me over darts then it won’t be the same because we won’t be dancing and i’m sitting in a waffle house while the sun sets and i’m sweating gin and tequila and my flight is in 16 hours and i have so many goodbyes to say in this

city because when i was fifteen somebody threw my glass heart onto the floor of my childhood house and bits of it shattered everywhere and fell into the cracks of the floorboards and behind the fridge and i’ll never ever get them out much less back together but i feel like ive been trying for eight years all the same and my flight is in 15 hours but maybe if my friend brings me home now i can spend three of those looking for more shards even though i’ll cut my hand because time never wore down any of the hurt because time might heal wounds but it cant really do jack shit about a metaphysical glass shard its still gonna make me bleed and my friend brings me home and we curl up beside each other in my childhood bedroom thats too small for us it was really a supply room but it became my bedroom when i was eleven and i painted it blue and put up stickers of fish and never took them down but someone someday will take them down and hopefully the house burns to the ground before anyone can touch them theyre mine i grew up here theyre mine dont touch them dont please dont please please please i grew up here and my flight is in 12 hours now because i fell asleep beside my friend and he let me because he knew i needed it he kept watch even though we dont have time we never do because he has to go now and all i can give him is a hug and my hoodie to keep safe until i can see him again and fight him in a stranger’s kitchen again and the sun is gone now and i go and i sit with my dad and my flight is in 10 hours and im trying

not to cry im trying to stare at the stickers because maybe if i look at all of it hard enough i’ll get to stay but i dont because thats not how it works and now my flight is in 4 hours because i fell asleep in my childhood loft bed and now i have to leave i have to pack up and go for the fifth time and it never never gets easier and i know i only have a few more trips left until someone takes my stickers down and paints over my ocean but for now my best friend’s stepmother comes with me and my dad to the airport because my best friend is in college two states away and my flight is in 3 hours and i cry i cry so much and she cries too because she loves me and i think it is such a beautiful blessed thing that i am so loved but oh it is so painful too because i spend more time in its absence than its presence and my flight is in 2 hours and i have to go and my dad is waving goodbye and i see it because i looked back because im stupid i always look back i never look forward i’m forever walking blind through my life because i’m looking back and i can tell my dad is crying and now i have to go through TSA sobbing and it’s awkward because they ask are you okay kid and im not but i cant tell them sorry its just that when i was fifteen somebody threw my glass heart onto the floor of my childhood house and bits of it shattered everywhere and fell into the cracks of the floorboards and behind the fridge and i’ll never ever get them out i cant tell them that so i nod yes im okay and i go and my flight is in 1 hour and i hope it fucking crashes and my flight is in the air and im so far away from all those shards on the kitchen floor now but they’re hurting me all the same and i think i look kind of insane sobbing in the middle seat but how can i miss so many people and so many rooms at once and not lose my mind a little bit? i was going to tell you a short witty little joke about the time i realized i was 21 and didnt know what the superbowl was but i think i slipped on a shard. i’m sorry. maybe next time i’ll get it right. maybe in another two years. maybe you’ll never see me again. maybe this is all the time we had.

#seri.txt

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tonycries · 6 months ago

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THIS P*SSY DEPRESSED!

Synopsis. Don’t worry, he knows exactly the solution when you’re upset - fúck it out of you, of course!

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, creampíes, FÉRAL GOJO, cheering you up, oraI (fem receiving), breéding, MAJOR overstím, PRAISE, THEY’RE SO DOWN BAD, lowkey sweet, slight exhíbitionism (Toji’s), mean Geto, síxty-nine, chokíng, making Choso cry mhm, spítting, pússy-slappíng, cúmplay, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. You’re loved n’ I hope y’all have a good leak day <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Noise complaint(s)

Any time Toji decided to visit you in your cute lil’ apartment, so did a few complaints from your neighbors.

It wasn’t because of his intimidating presence, or those deadly glares of his - targeted at everyone but you, or even because of the way his large frame unapologetically blocked every doorway in your building.

No, they were noise complaints.

“So that’s what’s got my girl so mm- upset?” Toji has the audacity to chuckle - chuckle - so raggedly at that syrupy pout of yours he’s kissing away. “Usually you and this sweet pussy-” He cups a palm at your glistening cunt, smearing your sweet, sweet juices in a glossy sheen down his wrist. “-are so happy to see me, n’ now you want to keep her quiet? All because some blue-balled loser just moved in next door and got jealous overhearing your pretty moans?”

At your nervous nod, he clicks his tongue gruffly, “Makin’ you all upset like this, tch-” Leaning down to whisper, until his sharp canines graze dangerously against your earlobe, “He’s about to find out that he hasn’t heard even half of it.”

“But Toji!” you’re squealing, fingers scrambling to clamp your already-deliriously sagging mouth shut. “I told you- we have to mmpf- be quiet. He seemed so grumpy, and-”

You’re being cut off with Toji nudging the divot of his fat head against your g-spot, until all those complaints are lodged in your quivering chest by a moan. Teasing, “Talking ‘bout another man when m’trynna make you feel better, doll? Bold today, aren’t ya?”

“N-no I was jus-” Barely-audible babbles drag out of you at the heavenly stretch of your pussy lips. Toji’s muscled chest heaves up and down at the way your pussy lips addictively swallow up his leaky cock, slobbering down, down, down his length till it glistened in the dim lighting. Your legs kicking up in the air when he insistently feeds your cunt inch by greedy inch.

Again. And again and again and so needy. Depraved.

But it still wasn’t enough for him.

“Aww, come on, woman.” He’s rolling his eyes, that tiny scar curling up in a devilish grin when he pries away the hand on your mouth. “Why’re you lyin’ to yourself like this? I know you wanna heh- scream my name as much as this cute cunt of yours is right now. Do it.”

As if to confirm his point, Toji’s pushing apart your puffy folds to let your gaping pussy squelch! even louder at each of his bullying thrusts. Tight ring of muscle taking each and every smack of his sharp hip bones so well, the riotous creaking of your bed following shortly, headboard just slamming into your poor wall despite being bolted onto it.

It was already so loud.

“I don’t hngh-” you let out a feverish gasp when each roll of his hypnotic cadence gets too much. “I don’t wanna give off a b-bad impression…I just want the neighbors to like me.”

Heart clenching in his chest at how cute you are, how sorry your voice sounds, he finds his irritation flaring once again at whoever this bastard was that had you doubting yourself this way.

“Doll– they’d be fuckin’ stupid not to. And I’d beat their asses, too.” Two soft pads of his fingers come to smush your cheeks together, forcing you to stare up into his darkened emerald eyes. “But my poor baby’s still ngh- upset, no?” When you’re hesitant with your answer, they slide down to your neck - just barely putting a bit of leering pressure, “Answer me while m’still being nice, doll.”

It’s all you can do to choke out a shrill, “Yes.” He can feel your walls clenching around every ridge and prominent vein down his shaft so tight with every sultry, mewled-out word. “H-he was really sweet! But it made me- a bit- jus’ a bit.”

“See?” And Toji sounds so smug, predatory tone bleeding into the way his harsh rams pick up to an obscene speed. A thumb of his dips down to swivel over your neglected clit, wrenching out those candied moans he loves so much. “Nothin’ wrong with makin’ my girl feel better after a shitty experience. N’ if anyone has anything to s-say, they can come complain to hngh- me.”

“B-but-”

“Ah ah-” Toji kisses sloppily at your lips trying to press together and quieten, sucking on your lower lip. “What did I say just now? Loud, pretty girl.”

And it’s like a dam breaks open right then and there, you’re arching your body off the bed like such a slut to press your bare tits against Toji’s pecs. Sensitive. Faster. “Toji- oh fuck, m’so-”

“Heh, louder. I don’t hear you losing your beautiful voice yet.”

Keening, “M’so close. Fuck- g-gonna cum all over your cock.”

He’s cupping his ear so mockingly, hips still stuttering and thrusting forwards without a moments’ faltering. “Still can’t hear you, m-ah not gonna let you cum if you’re not loud enough, y’know.”

You were sure your sinful noises were traveling through the heavy, plastered wall now. Picking up in pitch and speed with every double-attack on your sweet spots everywhere. Spearing the lewd curve of his dick into you, he’s fucking you into the mattress so mean - meaner that usual. Rugged muscles of his toned waist flexing when he jostles and thrusts unforgivingly. Your voice is hoarse at this point, “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck Toji m’cumming. I’m-”

Every other loud moan is drowned out by the ringing in your ears, Toji’s own soft rasps filtering through the white-hot pleasure running down your spine.

He’s fucking you through wave after wave of high, gifting your bruised g-spot with a thorough, sly pistons of his still-swollen cock. Something that didn’t bode well for you, you already knew.

“Tha’s it. Yeahh, that’s it-” A hand cups the back of your head gently, even though his slamming staccato was anything but. “Loud. Jus’ like that- shit, gonna make him jealous. Have him regret makin’ my girl upset, fuck-” An irritated banging sounds from the other side of the wall right above your headboard - your neighbor. “Fuck, just watch I’ll give him a real show.” Still throwing jagged hips your way, ram after ram. “What’s the fucker’s name again?”

“He- he said his name was Shiu.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Sweet, sweet treat

“I can fix it.” your husband eyed that droopy bowl of frosting and back to your candied, icing-glossed pout. He can’t help but plant a sweet, sweltering kiss on them, just groaning out, “We can do it together.” Barely managing to break away and breathe out, “S’gonna- turn out- perfect, my love.”

Which is how you find yourself splayed out so shamefully on the cool granite countertops of your kitchen, your soft cotton dress only pulled lazily to the side. Nanami’s knees seated firmly on the hardwood floors, face tucked in between the heavenly sweet folds of your already soaked cunt.

“Oh- oh fuck, Ken–” he makes you let out a honeyed drawl with every drag of his hot tongue up and down your soppingly wet slit. “Y-you’re gonna get the- ngh- counter dirty!”

So what? He thinks, and it only takes a flicker of surprise in your half-lidded eyes for him to realize he accidentally said that out loud. Not used to those uncharacteristically brash sentences, but Nanami was so drunk off your addictive juices right now.

Tipping his head back, back, back to let them make their slow, sultry journey down his throat. He’s slurring out proudly, “I’ll clean the mess after I cheer up my upset lil’ wife, okay?”

With this, he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Adding to the glistening gloss that traveled down your folds - and Nanami couldn’t help himself but kiss at the mess he’s made. Over and over and-

“F-fuuuck, jus’ like that-” You’re keening when he’s alternating between hollowing his cheeks out with methodical, never-ending sucks on your sensitive clit and just peeking inside your needy hole with his tongue. “You’re too good with your hngh! -tongue, Ken–”

It’s impossible to run away - and he knew that, too. Every little inch you backed on the counter had him just dragging you back twice as much. Hot tongue clashing and angry to part your swollen pussy lips.

You can only thread your fingers through his neat blond hair even tighter when he surges back forward. Pussydrunk. Groaning at the lewd smack of his tongue dipping in and out of your puffy folds, Thumb circling around your throbbing clit, “And you’re too sweet, darling. Even sweeter than-” He pools your slick on two thick fingers of his, coating a glossy sheen of obscenity all the way from his rounded tips to the gold wedding ring glinting in the dim light. Before popping them in his mouth to take such long, cleansing drags without even a shred of abashed hesitation, “-that icing of yours.”

“I know–” you’re babbling in disappointment, the full force of your failed attempts at baking something special earlier this evening hitting you once again at full force. “Ugh, what a waste. I can’t even-”

A syrupy beat passes. One. Two.

And at that very moment, you’re feeling the maddening stretching of your gummy walls being forced to their very limits. Whirling your dazed gaze down to spot that Nanami was now standing, belt unbuckled, tugged down just enough that you were reeling from the pressure of his fat head just barely kissing past your fluttering hole.

“That’s my wife you’re talkin’ about.” he growls, low and satiny. Hands steadying on the two sides of your trembling thighs, his grunts catch in his throat when he thoroughly sinks his swollen length in. Never-ending, dizzying. A quick frosting-coated glide of Nanami’s fingers on your lips, and he’s pressing another lingering kiss on your slack mouth. Tasting you and the sweet icing and you, “And I don’t let anyone talk about her that way, my love.”

Now, usually, Nanami was a man of patience - liking to prepare and play around with your pretty pussy as if you were his favorite toy. Molding your plush walls like clay to take his massive cock.

But now, oh now Nanami Kento was anything but patient. Shit, he didn’t even know if your snug walls could take him right now.

Hands curling up into painful fists far away from the curve of your hips, as if he was trying to stop himself from just grabbing your quivering body and just slamming himself inside you until he reached your lungs, your heart, that stupid brain of yours that loved to overthink.

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ say anything bad about my wife. You’re perfect.” he breathes, greedy hazel eyes looking like they could devour you whole. “The frosting is perfect, the anniversary cake is perfect, your smile, your mind, you-” You’re being attacked by a flurry of kisses being gifted on every inch of your face that could be reached, “You you you- I love you.”

If you were in the right state of mind, you’d have responded back in a heartbeat. But right now, he’s not waiting a split-second longer before bullying the rest of his swollen, filthy cock in. Solid inches being shoved inside to force your walls to accommodate, stretching out so maddeningly across every divot and upwards curve down his shaft.

In and out in and out in and-

Your nails tear across his favorite blue button-up, down his muscled shoulders, down to that speckled yellow tie you’d gotten him a few years ago.

“You’re so- hngh-” you squeal, tugging Nanami closer by his tie. Making him bully past your narrow opening even deeper, slick walls squeezing so tight at how his weepy red tip presses right on top of your g-spot.

He chuckles, it’s so endearing how you’re already too cockdrunk to speak. One engulfing hand on your shoulder is all it takes for you to be sprawled back on the cool counter. Nanami’s pummeling cock bullying so deep inside your hot core it’s the only thing you can think about - nothing but him.

“How about, after-” Another dredge of sweet sweet frosting is dabbed along your lips, your heated skin. All for Nanami to lick sultrily, “-we’ll make the cake together, hm?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Just use me, baby.”

Those shallow, sultry words are falling from Choso’s rosy lips before he even realizes it - ringing like sheer melodies over the heady smacking of skin-on-skin where he’s bullying his fat cock into you.

After a few seconds of his sloppy, stuttering rams sending the gooey puddle of cum and slick spreading further and further on the sticky, silken sheets below you - the words finally register.

“Use you, baby?” you purr, batting your lashes in a way that has him gulping. Feeling his aching shaft twitch against your gummy walls, swollen balls squeezing so so angrily with how much seed he’d been gushing out tonight. “You want me to use you?”

Each thrust of his is lingering, rolling forwards to push you further and further up that pooling mess. He can’t think, he can’t even breathe. And it takes everything in Choso to groan out, “Yes yes- fuck, please.” You’re feeling him place a trail of wet kisses up to the nape of your neck, big tears clinging to his dark lashes, “If my- hngh- if my girl is upset, I want her to use me. Ruin me till she forgets all about it.”

It only takes a split-second for you to immediately flip around your positions, pinning a whiny, pliant Choso so harshly down onto the plush mattress.

“Hngh- oh, baby—” He bounces slightly at the sheer force. Dewy eyes rolling to the back of his head at the slobbering sheen of cum dripping down his long, long length. Bucking up his quivering hips till you’re speared all the way down on his cock, clit hitting the tufts of black at his thick hilt. “Fuuuck—.” He’s groaning raggedly, like a mantra, two big arms tugging your body stuck to his sculpted front. Nodding half-lucidly, “Yeah- yeah just like that. Whatever you want with me.”

Your pace was unforgiving - barely even giving him a moment to spew out those pussydrunk promises before rocking your hips up and down up and-

“Use you, huh?” you echo back his own words, the sheer need dripping in them having Choso bow his body upwards to pummel into you in a matching feverish pace. You’re humming, thinking back to those stupid pick-up lines the creepy new manager at work had snided just today. It was harmless, but oh how Choso would kill him if he knew. “Well then, don’t mind if I do.”

With a pained keen, he’s surging upwards onto his elbows, craning his head to mesh your honeyed lips with his. “Mmm- mpfh yeah, exactly like this.” Mixing out such throaty groans with your gasps, so desperate to please you with the way he plants two feet on the bed, thrusting up hazily to find your sweet spots, “S’this any better? How do you- ngh how do you feel, baby?”

You’re letting out a drunken giggle with how he’s the one asking - when really it should be you. Because your sweet boyfriend looked so ruined, eyes wrecked with tears. Milky skin a canvas for possessive red marks from your nails. Kiss-bitten lips spit-glossed and permanently parted in ecstasy, only slacking further every time your snug channel dragged down him.

“Much better, forgot about m’day already.” you’re hissing into his open mouth. “So fuckin’ gorgeous n’ mine, that bastard doesn’t know what the fuck he’s ah- talking about.”

Choso had no idea what you were talking about - though, he thinks his mind is too much of a hot, gooey mess to understand right now. Still so needy to please. Only being able to babble out a stupid, “Yours- fuck m’yours.”

And despite being the one setting the tempo, you can only let out such whiny groans at the sheer stretch Choso’s swollen cock is causing you. By the way he’s molding your gummy walls to each and every throbbing vein decorating down him.

“Sh-shit m’so close, baby.” he whines, a fresh wave of tears streaming down with each overstimulating smack! of his tight, overworked balls against the curve of your ass. Lazily, like he’s moving through molasses, Choso’s drawing messy patterns on your pulsing clit - not even circles, brain too fried to. “M’so close fuck- I need you to- I need-”

“Shhh shhh.” you coo, running a hand through his dark strands, damp with sweat. “Cum f’me, Cho~”

“Hngh!” He can’t stop his hips from bucking up ferally, crying out, “But- I can’t. Wan’ you to feel better. Need you to cum f’me. Use me-”

“Cho.”

“Please-”

“Choso.” you warn, narrowing your eyes, deciding to tease him a little with shallow, repetitive grinds of your hips up and down. Toes curling at the friction of his creamy seed sloshing around inside. “Cum.”

“Hngh- but-” he’s thrashing upwards, so addicted to the rough collision of your sensitive spots against his fat head. Pulling out such fucked-out moans from you already, “But m’spposed to be making you feel happy-”

Your fingers deftly find themselves on Choso’s temping throat, right above his racing pulse. You tighten your nails just enough to leave five matching crescents to match the rest of his marked-up body.

“Cho–” you puff in a sultry groan against his ear. “All I want is for you to fill me up right now.”

And then he’s spilling into you in thick, hot dredge after dredge of his potent seed - before you’ve even finished your sentence. It overfills your pre-painted cunt, that obscene white slopping out of your slit and onto where your hips rocked against your boyfriend’s even harder. A creamy white ring forming mouthwateringly. Relentlessly.

“See?” Choso couldn’t - vision blurry, ears stuffed with cotton. “I don’t care what any sleazy manager has to say, you’re perfect for me.” A gentle kiss is placed on his pouty, worried lips and shit you still didn’t show any signs of slowing down, overstimulating him to tears. You trace his furious marks, “N’ pick me up from work tomorrow in your skimpiest muscle tee~”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Overtime?

A lewd smack! is all that’s ringing in your ears right now, so loud over the distant hum of the photocopier. Accompanied shortly by Geto’s sing-song rasp of, “Heh, missin’ our reservation for this- Are you the one havin’ a bad day or am I?”

Before you can answer, you’re being gifted with another mean kiss of your boyfriend’s palm against your bulging pussy. Smack! Lingering on the nudge of where he could feel your sloppy hole mending around his girthy shaft, before dancing upwards to grip your hair in a sultry hold.

Pulling your entire weight up, up, up like he didn’t care about the way he was treating you like some ragdoll right now. Up to drag his lips towards your ear, “Doesn’t matter, because m’still fuckin’ you just the same.”

“S-Sugu–” your breaths crack with need when he’s pushing in a harsh thrust to slam back into the very bottom of your poor pussy. Eyes darting to the tiny window of your office photocopy room, “Sugu, we’re going to get caught.”

“And yet, she’s still hah- sucking me up as sluttily as ever.” he grins, tilting his head back to get those long, inky strands out of his face. He chuckles at the obscene sight of your cunt stretched to her limits, struggling, and drooling a sweet, sweet gloss down his length. “What’s with the ngh- attitude now? You said you wanted to feel better about working overtime so here we are.”

You bite down on your lower lip to hold back your moans when his fat tip draws a solid, straight line across your bruised cervix. Slamming forwards to have you scrambling forwards into some more important paperwork you really should be looking over right now.

“I did but-”

“Problem solved then.” Geto lets out a low whistle, sounding so utterly smug when he pulls your hips deeper into his. “Now let me make this shitty workload hah- so much better for you, gorgeous.”

Honestly, when you told your dear boyfriend that you’d have to cancel tonight’s date because of a sudden deadline for tomorrow, you felt guilty. Working after everyone else had left, spewing out upset little apologies until he told you he’d come over to the office to “help you take your mind off of things.”

You just didn’t expect it’d end up like this.

Smack!

Geto scoffs, “Aww documents have you zoning out on me again, pretty girl? Take a break, didn’t I tell ya you don’t have to worry about work and all those stupid things when you’re with me?”

Your knees weaken involuntarily when his gruff question is followed by such an unapologetic crash into your ravaged g-spot. Thankfully being held up by one of Geto’s strong arms to fuck yourself back all the way from his red, weepy tip to that see-through ring dredged up on his thick base. Somehow, you’re managing to gasp out, “N-no, I was just…”

“N-n-no, you were just zoning out, that’s what.” he’s mocking your answer in an overly-dramatic higher pitch, adding a few extra moans you were spilling with every harsh slam after slam of his hips. “What did I tell you now, relax. Let me fuck this shitty overtime and that shitty boss outta ya cute lil’ head, gorgeous. You and her-” His red-rimmed eyes, drunk on the feeling of your slicked walls enveloping him, lock on the sight of his curved dick disappearing so easily in and out of you. “-don’t have to worry about a thing right now.”

It was that same little promise - the one he’d whispered over and over into your sagging open mouth when he’d first ambushed you in the photocopy room. Bending you over the nearest flat surface before ramming into you all those thick, greedy inches of his long-needy cock.

And here he still was.

Splatters of your syrupy slick coats his toned pelvis with every jagged thrust, fucking you so deep - so disrespectfully - into the office desk. Your feet don’t even touch the ground now, mind spinning and syrupy. Geto’s bending his own to angle up exactly to hit the bullseye of your sweet spots. All those familiarly mapped-out areas to drive anything and everything out of your mind but him and the temptation for more more more-

Click!

Both of you are raising your heads in sync at the distinct clamor of an opening door somewhere in the office - shit, was someone doing patrols at this time?

Your jaw drops open in shock - and the feeling of your boyfriend sliding two slender fingers to your pulsing clit. Drawing rough, skimming circles on the bundle of nerves. He has you jolting and arching your back right into him, his arms - exactly where he loved to have you.

“Now we’re-” your words come in strangled little stutters, mindlessly bouncing your ass back onto his cock. Feeling the sinful tremors run down your spine with each slam, “-we’re really gonna get hah- caught. And I’m not even halfway through my project yet.”

And Geto - that smug bastard - sounds amused. He thinks he’ll have a ah- talk with your boss later about piling on workloads later. But for now, he sounds so fucking content when he’s musing, “Better cum fast before they give you more than overtime, pretty girl.” Before planting a deceivingly chaste peck on your lips, “Though, I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to havin’ a cute lil’ housewife to spoil all day either.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - QUIET TIME!

“Oh, Kuna–”

“Now that’s music to my ears.” Sukuna smirks darkly, lips searing in a trail right down your arched spine. Two inhumanly large hands massage down your back, pulling you against his sculpted front. “So much better to hear you say m’name than complain about some fuckin’ eugh-” His tone trembles in distaste, “-office drama.”

Scoffing, “No need to be so mean, Kuna. You really should’ve heard what Mrs. Smith down at-”

That little tangent earns you a sharp smack! to the fat of your bare ass, cupping the little tremors with a chuckle. He hums with a mocking lilt in his baritone voice, “You’re testing my patience~” Sukuna goes back to kneading at the stressed knots in your body. “Shut up and let me massage you, woman.”

And oh you should’ve learned your lesson - should’ve taken this rare, sweet little moment you’d gotten from your rough boyfriend. Should’ve done anything other than huff out, “Ugh, if only you’d heard what she said, ruined my whole-”

“Lift your hips.”

Your eyes widen at the sudden interruption, “Wh-what?”

“Lift your hips goddammit.”

It’s all you can do to mindlessly head his gruffed out words, legs stuttering and shaky when you get up on all fours. A gasp rips from your throat when Sukuna shuffles into the gap between your pliant body and the silken bedsheets. Not stopping until his hot breath was puffing against your sopping slit, your eyes mere inches away from his massive erection. Throbbing thickly and outlined with precum through his boxers.

Your mouth waters, “K-Kuna what-”

“So it really takes this to get me back on your mind, huh, brat?” he’s cutting you off with another branding smack on your ass - this time, the very rounded tips of his thick fingers just grazing against your dripping folds. “Couldn’t stop talkin’ about some fuckin’ Mrs. Smith even when I’m right here.”

“Are you jealous?” you muse, brows turning upwards in confusion. “Because I can assure you-”

Before you can run your mouth again, Sukuna’s cutting you off with one hand reaching down to wrap around your throat. The other pulls your shaky hips down to sit on his face.

“How’s this for jealous?” He grunts, an obscene slurping noise pouring into your hazy bedroom, eyes rolling to the back of his head at this messy kiss with your needy cunt. “Gonna make you forget about those shitty people. Just focus on me.”

You’re managing to wrangle your greedy gaze over your shoulder to spy his lewdly wet smirk, glistening down with a glossed cover of your slick. They’re so pretty, so kiss-bruised in your favorite shade of pink when they wrap around your throbbing cunt to give a harsh suck. “What? Got a problem, woman?”

You wine softly in protest, your lower lip jutting out in a pout that makes his clothed cock just coat down his fat tip with syrupy precum. Opening your mouth to retort and-

In all of two seconds, Sukuna’s hand snug around your throat drops down to tug on his boxers. Tall, angry erection hitting your parted lips with a soft thwack! It doesn’t stay there for long - no, because you feel that familiar pressure back on your throat again, and his achy cock being bullied down, down, down your throat.

“Actually, don’t answer that.” he’s letting out a strained groan, sanity dancing away with every clench of your tight throat around his glistening shaft. Holding you still with the hand on your throat, Sukuna’s powerful thigh muscles strain when he’s fucking up into your heavenly mouth slow, sultry. Spitting to coat him in all your sweet saliva, “Consider this quiet time, just shut up and take my cock.”

Your eyes are watering, Sukuna’s girth rubbing against every part of your plushy mouth. Swirling a pool of salty precum on your tongue. You can’t do anything but keen brokenly around that warm weight when long, thick fingers are spreading your puffy folds to wrangle his long tongue in deeper. Textures of his tastebuds grazing over and over against your spongy entrance - your clit.

“Hngh- mmpf-” you’re jutting your hips traitorously. Dragging your slobbering pussy up and down his thorough lips, giving longing, drunken licks up from your weepy base to your hot clit. “Kuna-”

He breaks away with a sinful smack! Your sensitive bud being tugged along with snapping strings of delicate precum and slick.

“Mhm, that’s what I like-” he’s slurring out words mixing together with need. Free hand coming down to toy your clit between two rolling fingers. And you could tell how much he liked this, fat shaft twitching animalistically inside your mouth. Nudging his leaking head at the back of your throat, it’s only with how long you’ve been with Sukuna that you manage not to gag. “-to have you shut up on my cock this way. That pretty mouth is better used for something other than rememberin’ some shitty people when you’re with me. They can fuck right off with the disrespect towards my woman.”

It’s all you can do to keep your jaw slacking further and further with every dragged-out smack of Sukuna’s heavy balls against your face. His hips using you like some glorified cocksleeve, ruthless in his pace. Molding your mouth to the shape of him while he does the very same with yours.

“F-fuuuck-” you manage to gasp out through the drooling edges of your lips. “It feels so- ngh–” Moans getting lost when Sukuna flicks your throbbing clit slowly, nudging with the very tip of his dark fingernails. “You’re being so-”

“So loud.” he finishes your own sentence for you. Grinning a grin that sends shivers up your spine, right to where he was stuffing your mouth shut with all long inches of his cock. Murmuring dangerously around your sloppy hole, “Interrupt quiet time again and you don’t get to cum, brat.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Unmistakably depraved.

“Fuuuuck, sweetheart.” Gojo’s whispering, over and over. As if he can’t - won’t - manage to articulate anything else right now. The honeyed words wrenching out of him with each sticky crash of his shaft down your sloppy slit in this firm mating press. “Do you know how hngh- long I’ve missed this sweet cunt?”

You don’t have to answer, and the echoing smack! of his too-sensitive balls against the curve of your ass is enough of one for him. Making his eyes gleam with such a feral glint, traveling straight to where he was pressing in bullying little grinds past your clamping walls.

It’s been so long - too long - about a whole week since your pussy-whipped boyfriend was able to have his fill of you.

A soft pad of his thumb rolls in a languid circle over your needy clit. Sending white-hot shockwaves that have you jolting the balls of your feet to greedily swallow up even more throbbing inches of him.

“Fuck, forgot how tight you s-squeeze me when I do that.” Gojo eyes dance to the back of his head with every bottom-out hit against your clingy mess of a cunt. Crashing so messily onto every velvety inch of your cunt. It only takes a few drags of your slobbering walls down his length for your dear boyfriend to run his mouth, “Forgot allll about this because of some- hngh- some mournng for a fucking fictional character-”

“My favorite character, Toru!” you exclaim, through furrowed brows. Both of you are shocked at the fact that you’re still managing to speak in coherent sentences - just means he hasn’t fucked you good enough yet, he muses with his syrupy, pussydrunk mind. “He was my- my favorite and he died and-”

You’re immediately being shut up by two sweet lips planting on your own, immediately moving to suck on your tongue so filthily. “Well, I’m your favorite boyfriend-” Your only, but semantics. Gojo whines - whines, “Shouldn’t I- hngh- be more important?”

As if to help you make your decision, he’s burrowing his cock in such needy thrusts. And Gojo can’t help but crane his neck to bite down on your frantically racing pulse, feeling himself salivate with how well you’re milking each and every single vexing ram of his hips. Just spearing the hotly saturated tip into your spongy g-spots, so fucking big that every stroke feels like a brush against your throat, an indent into the plush walls of your pussy, wrapping and molded around his girth.

Another bite to your neck at your silence - sharp canines just shy of drawing blood. And you swear Gojo’s eyes spark with an unnatural lightning blue when he devours you with a greedy stare, “Answer me, sweetheart.”

“You a-are.” Is all you can gasp out, but that’s not enough for the great Gojo Satoru. You’re instantly earning a rosy pout and a loaded smack! right on the bullseye of your glistening clit, faintly you think you hear the crackle of jujutsu. Thighs burning at the sheer stretch of being folded down, down, down until your knees knocked against your tits. “You’re more- hah! Fuck fuck fuck don’t– you’re more important!”

This seems to soothe your jealous boyfriend a bit, but it still doesn’t stop him from placing such brutal thrusts on your poor, ravaged pussy. Bruising. Sloppy.

You’re whining so brokenly, “Fuck, right there- feels too good- hngh!”

“Mhm, exactly what I thought.” Another explosive slap to your sensitive nub, humming with power, and Gojo throws his head back at how much it makes you gush so wetly around his thick hilt. “Now, was that- ngh- was that so hard?” Spitting out little profanities into your lips, as if the man he was jealous over wasn’t a few pixels, “The f-fucker- Had to wait a whole week before I got to comfort my sad girl? I’d kill him myself.”

You can’t even formulate a response to that - not even if you wanted to. Because with increasingly sloppy drags of his cock against your walls, Gojo only grows more and more heated.

“Fuck- makin’ my girl so upset. Gonna fuck all thoughts outta him for ya.” Babbling out little curses a mile a minute, swift pace bruising your spring cervix, your g-spot. A thin trickle of drool trails messily in-between your clashing kisses, only growing every time he’s ramming into your gripping cunt. “Gonna make you cum- make you mine.” Difficult, even with how you were clinging onto his every rough, angled thrust, and you don’t think Gojo even realizes the possessive little spanks he’s repeatedly leaving on your puffy clit. “Won’t you cum like a good girl f’me, sweetheart?”

He’s moaning at the sloppy way you listen to his ragged plea, letting out such pretty moans into the heady air when you fall back into your high. Toes curling, jolts of needy pleasure running down your spine, such a mess.

It makes Gojo falter in his tempo, it makes the sharp bones on his toned hips slam into you even harder, stuttering and rutting forwards like some animal in heat that can’t bear to do anything but be buried well inside you. It makes him cum.

“Oh- fuck, Toru s’in so deep.” You mewl, too cockdrunk to say anything else. To feel anything but the slow, sultry filling of your quivering cunt. Rope after rope of his hot cum painting the mess of your branded walls inside, and each time he’s fucking his cum even deeper you feel a lewd whimper of his name leave you. Vision tinging with need, with the feeling of being so overfilled you could barely breathe. “Oh- oh my god I feel it coming-”

Your words hitch in your throat when Gojo - cock still angry and twitching with faint wisps of trickling cum - plugs a slender finger into your bulging cunt. Stopping the overflow, the grins, “Hope you’re on the pill, my girl, because we’re not done until you forget.”

A/N. Ouu y’all should’ve seen the way I was CACKLING writing Toji’s ending.

Plagiarism not authorized.

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