#and so many other things but like. his ass | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

foxtrology · 2 days ago

Text

i want you, i need you, i love you (4)

harry castillo x reader

series

word count: 12.8k

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader, fluff, smut.

It had been three weeks.

Three weeks since the gallery night.

Since the bath. Since her in his robe. Since the moment she stepped into Harry Castillo’s penthouse and changed everything.

And somehow, despite the chaos, despite who he was, despite who she was—they hadn’t combusted.

They’d settled. Sort of. Not into a relationship. Not into anything that had labels or expectations.

And she wasn’t in any rush to be branded. But they were something—and whatever it was, it had slowly started bleeding into the rest of their lives.

He gave her a key on a Tuesday. He didn’t make a big deal out of it.

Just set it on the kitchen counter next to her takeout container, glanced up and said, “So you don’t freeze your ass off waiting for me if I’m not home.” That was it. No smile. No explanation.

Just Harry being cold and mean in the most absurdly tender way.

She didn’t say thank you out loud, but she kissed the corner of his mouth that night a little longer than usual. And he didn’t pull away.

They didn’t talk about what they were. They didn’t need to. But the rhythms were there.

He kept orange juice stocked in the fridge because she liked it. She started leaving hair ties on his bathroom counter. And a pink razor in his shower. He bought the cereal she liked. She figured out how to work his espresso machine before he did.

And they saw each other constantly. Not every day—he was still Harry Castillo—but almost.

He texted her at odd hours. Late nights when he couldn’t sleep. Early mornings when he was at the gym at an inhuman hour and saw something that reminded him of her. Articles. Memes.

Yes memes.

Photos of outrageously overpriced apartments that had bathtubs with built-in fireplaces and chandeliers.

He had sent one at 2:13 a.m.

Old man Harry ❤️👴: Would you complain if I bought this?

You: If you bought it and never invited me over, yes.

His response came five minutes later

Old man Harry ❤️👴: You have a key. I’d be forced to.

And that was that.

She didn’t stay over every night. But when she did, she found herself waking up warm. Not just physically—but emotionally. And that scared her more than anything else.

Because Harry Castillo wasn’t easy.

He was brooding. Quiet. Obsessive in ways that only became clear the longer she knew him. But he was consistent. And that? That mattered. He didn’t lie. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t sugarcoat anything. And slowly—slowly—she started letting him in.

It wasn’t until the second week that he found out about her jobs. Plural.

She had just finished showering in his bathroom—wet hair down, wearing one of his button-downs, no pants—when her phone lit up on the bed.

Marco (Flowers): u good to deliver that midtown order today or should I send Gio?

Harry saw it. He blinked. Then stared at the screen like it had personally offended him.

When she stepped out, towel in hand, humming softly to herself, she stopped dead in her tracks.

His eyes were locked on her phone.

She froze. “What?”

Harry lifted it. “Who’s Marco.”

“…Someone I work for.”

“You work where.”

She sighed, already knowing this was going to be a thing. “A flower shop. I help with deliveries sometimes.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “Since when.”

She arched a brow. “Since always?”

“You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

That made something flicker behind his eyes—sharp and cold and maybe a little unhinged. He set the phone down carefully, then reached for his own.

“Harry—”

“I’m not mad,” he muttered, typing something.

She squinted. “You’re typing like you’re mad.”

“I’m not—” he cut himself off. “I’m just trying not to throw my phone at the fucking window.”

She blinked. “Jesus. Okay, calm down.”

“How many jobs do you have.”

She hesitated. And that was his answer.

He looked up. “How many.”

“…Three.”

“Three?”

She nodded.

Harry exhaled sharply, standing up so fast the chair scraped against the floor. “You said you were a server.”

“I am.”

“And?”

“I bartend on weekends. And I do flower deliveries during the day sometimes. Under the table. It’s not a big deal—”

“It is a big deal.” His voice was low now. Controlled. Furious. “You work three jobs and walk home late at night and don’t tell me?”

Her brows lifted. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

“Don’t—” he snapped, pacing now. “Don’t do that. Don’t turn this into a thing. I’m not trying to control you. I’m trying to understand why the hell you think it’s normal to exhaust yourself until you collapse.”

She stared at him. He looked like he wanted to punch a wall. She softened, just a little. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

He stopped pacing. Turned to her. “It matters,” he said, quietly now. “It matters to me.”

And that? That shut her up.

Because Harry Castillo didn’t say things like that. Not unless they were true. The next morning, he asked for the addresses. All of them. She refused at first.

“You’re not picking me up from work.”

“Why not.”

“Because you’re Harry fucking Castillo. You don’t drive. You don’t do Midtown traffic.”

He stared at her. Said nothing.

Then pulled out his phone and typed something. An hour later, she got a notification from Find My iPhone.

Old man Harry ❤️👴 has requested your location.

She stared at it. Then looked up. He smirked.

“Add me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll come find you anyway.”

“You don’t even know where my flower job is.”

“Not yet.”

She groaned, shoving his arm. “You’re insane.”

“I don’t want you walking home.”

“I have legs.”

“You have shit shoes.”

“I—”

Harry raised a brow. “Let me take care of you.”

That was it. Just a soft command from a cold man who didn’t beg.

She rolled her eyes. But she added him.

The first time he picked her up, it was raining.

Not the soft, aesthetic kind. No—it was New York level chaotic. Sideways sheets of water, umbrellas flipping inside out, cars honking like they were allergic to patience, subways getting flooded by the second.

She was soaked. Her hair plastered to her forehead, her phone dead, her hands freezing.

And then? A black BMW pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down. And there he was. Driving.

She stopped in the rain and blinked. “You…drive.”

Harry stared at her, unimpressed. “Get in.”

“I thought you were allergic to steering wheels.”

He rolled his eyes. “I took a car from my old place. Get in before you drown.”

She slid in, dripping onto the leather seats. “This feels illegal.”

“Your shoes are illegal. What are those, socks with holes?”

“Don’t start.”

He tossed her a dry sweatshirt from the backseat—his, of course. “Put this on.”

She did. And the car smelled like him. From then on, it became a thing. Not official. Not daily. But often enough that she started waiting for it. Harry would show up outside her server shift around 11:15 p.m., texting her with a simple

Old man Harry ❤️👴: Here.

Or he’d pull up to the bar on Fridays, leaning against the hood like he hadn’t spent the day managing millions of dollars and threatening CEOs. Sometimes he brought coffee. Sometimes just a dry shirt and a scowl. But he always showed. And she never had to ask.

Their nights together stayed the same.

Mostly.

She’d enter the penthouse quietly. Leave her shoes by the door. Sometimes he was already home, waiting with dinner or a clean towel or just himself—half-dressed and reading on the couch wearing his glasses that make him look like an even bigger old man.

Sometimes he got home after her, muttering about meetings, his voice hoarse, jaw tense from hours of pretending he didn’t want to text her every five minutes.

But they always ended the night the same way. In bed. Tangled. Quiet. Bodies pressed close under too many sheets and not enough words.

He never said he missed her. But he texted her at 3:07 p.m. once after a brutal meeting with the board...

Old man Harry ❤️👴: This room is full of people who make me want to kill myself. You would’ve made it bearable.

She smiled when she read it. Didn’t respond right away. Let him sit in it. Later that night, when she curled up beside him, he didn’t say anything. Just wrapped an arm around her waist like a reflex.

On Sunday mornings, they got bagels. It started accidentally. She had mentioned a craving for egg and cheese one night in passing, barely awake, face pressed into his chest.

He said nothing.

Then the next morning? Bagel. Wrapped in foil. Sitting on the counter.

She blinked at it.

“Did you—”

“I didn’t want to hear you complain later,” he muttered.

So now it was a thing. Bagels on Sunday. No talking until coffee. Her in his oversized shirts. Him in sweatpants with his hair pushed back, watching her read something on her phone while chewing with her mouth open.

“You’re disgusting,” he’d say.

“You’re in love with me,” she’d fire back.

He never answered. Just stared. Like maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t wrong.

Three weeks in and they still weren’t a couple. Not in public. Not in labels. But in the way he made her tea when she lost her voice. In the way she slipped notes into his briefcase. In the way he bought her new socks and refused to acknowledge it.

They were something. Something real. Something building. And neither of them wanted to name it yet. But maybe they didn’t have to.

Because Harry wasn’t used to letting people stay.

And she?

She had the key.

And Harry knew he was fucked.

It was raining. Again.

Not the romantic kind, either. Not the bullshit people wrote about in novels. This was relentless New York rain. Cold, gray, street-soaking, ankle-wrecking rain. The kind that blurred the skyline and made everything feel too still and too loud at the same time.

His office windows, floor-to-ceiling and usually pristine, were streaked with water. He could barely see the city through them. Which was probably for the best. Because if he could see the Lower East Side right now, he might actually snap and send a helicopter.

He hadn’t heard from her since she’d texted around 9 p.m., after he dropped her off.

You: Frances is being dramatic tonight 🙄

That was it. No follow-up. No photo. Not even a meme. Just that. And now it was past 1 a.m.

Harry leaned back in his chair, phone resting facedown on the edge of his desk, his thumb twitching with the impulse to check it again.

He didn’t. He wouldn’t. He already had. Fifteen times.

“Frances,” he muttered under his breath, jaw tightening.

Across the room, Danny—half-asleep on the leather couch, legs kicked up on the coffee table like he owned the place—perked up.

“What?”

Harry didn’t look at him. Just ran a hand through his hair, glaring at the window like it had personally offended him.

“She texted me earlier. Said Frances was being dramatic.”

Danny blinked. Then grinned. “Ooooh.”

Harry sighed. “Don’t.”

“Do you know who Frances is?”

“I assume…someone in her building?” Harry said, like it was obvious. Like that didn’t already make his throat itch with jealousy.

Danny sat up, cracking his neck. “You assume Frances is a neighbor?”

“Yes.”

“You sure Frances isn’t her ex?”

Harry froze. Very still.

Danny raised a brow, voice far too casual. “I mean. Sounds like something you'd say about someone you know well. Like an ex.”

“Don’t,” Harry warned again, but it was too late. The image was there now.

Frances. Laughing on her couch. Feet on her coffee table. Touching things that didn’t belong to him. Sleeping in a bed that did.

Harry’s jaw ticked.

“Maybe she’s a woman,” he said, but it didn’t land. Not when the image had already nested behind his eyes. Not when the silence that followed made him feel like a kicked dog.

Danny yawned, stretching. “Well, if she comes back tomorrow limping, we’ll know.”

Harry looked up so fast the pen in his hand dropped.

Danny cackled.

“Kidding.”

“Get out.”

Danny didn’t. He just flopped back down, arms behind his head. “You’re unwell.”

Harry didn’t argue. Because he was. He was so far gone he could feel it in the base of his spine. He’d sent the whole team home hours ago—mid-pitch.

He couldn’t focus. Couldn’t finish the goddamn Italy paperwork. The Italy contract—the Italy contract—was sitting open in front of him. A landmark deal.

A decade in the making. Acquisition of a sustainable architecture firm based out of Florence. Tens of millions. Possibly more, if the valuation shifted after Q2.

He was supposed to fly out on Thursday. There was a dinner with the lead architect, a walking tour of the property grounds, some presentation on green luxury Harry couldn’t pretend to care about.

They’d blocked out four days. Harry had almost signed it. Almost. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her in Italy.

He wanted her in a sundress and sunglasses she bought at a corner shop. He wanted to take her to restaurants where no one knew who he was—where they’d drink wine that tasted like cherries and share plates of pasta so good she’d groan with her mouth full.

He wanted to watch her tan—really tan—on a hotel balcony in nothing but one of his button-downs and sunscreen.

He wanted her bare legs kicked up on the dashboard of a rented car while he drove with the windows down and her hand on his thigh. He wanted her bored at a vineyard tour.

Wanted her to lean in and whisper something filthy in his ear just to see if he’d blush.

He wanted to fuck her in a hotel shower with the windows open, the Tuscan hills in the distance and her moaning into his neck like it was a prayer.

He wanted to fall asleep with her in a bed that smelled like citrus and sex, the sound of her breathing syncing with the rain on the villa roof.

He wanted to live with her. Just for a week. Just enough to make it real. To prove it wasn’t some New York fantasy.

Danny cleared his throat.

“You’re still here.”

Harry didn’t look up. “So are you.”

“Because I’m trying to get you to finish the Florence paperwork.”

“I will.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe.”

Danny stared at him. “You’re going to see her, aren’t you.”

Harry didn’t answer. He stood.

“Jesus,” Danny muttered, grabbing his jacket. “You’re in love.”

Harry grabbed his own coat. “Drop me off.”

Danny blinked. “It’s 1 a.m.”

“I know where she lives.”

Danny didn’t argue. He just followed. They always got in separate cars. Harry always took the backseat. But tonight, he climbed into the passenger seat of Danny's Mercedes.

Danny glanced over. “You nervous?”

Harry didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The rain kept coming down. The roads were slick. The city lights blurry. But when they pulled onto her street, Harry felt it—

That low thrum in his chest. That ache. Because he knew this block. Knew it like a scar. She wasn’t just a girl he saw now. She was a rhythm in his life. A piece of the architecture.

Danny pulled up to the curb. Parked. Then turned, lips twitching.

“Good luck,” he said. “Maybe Frances wore her out.”

Harry shot him a look that could’ve killed. Danny just sent him a smirk. And Harry stepped out into the rain.

The air was sharp with that metallic wetness unique to New York downpours. Streetlights flickered against puddles. A pizza box floated past the curb like a makeshift raft.

And still—Harry didn’t rush. He took his time walking.

Her street in Lower East Side, uneven pavement, corners that smelled like cigarettes and Chinatown egg rolls—was familiar now.

He knew the rhythm of her block. He knew that the laundromat two doors down always had one broken dryer. He knew which deli overcharged for grapes.

And he knew the exact slab of sidewalk where she told him she once tripped while texting him. It was cracked slightly, a jagged edge of concrete peeking up like a warning. She’d texted him from the pavement, too.

You: You made me fall, jackass. I was smiling too hard.

That text had stayed in his phone longer than it should have.

He passed the bodega next. The one she claimed had the best dried mangoes in the city. She’d once spent thirty minutes ranting about the owner’s theories on aliens and glitter. Yes glitter.

Now Harry found himself slowing in front of the doors. Peering in. Wondering if the guy knew her name. Wondering if he knew about him.

By the time he reached her building, his shoulders were soaked. His shirt clung to his chest, collar sticking. His suit jacket was definitely ruined. But he didn’t care. He needed to see her. He hit the buzzer.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Nothing.

Then—finally—crackled static.

“…Hello?” Her voice was sleepy.

“It’s me.”

A pause. Then—

“Harry?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes.”

More static. Then a muffled, rustling sound. “It’s—uh—4C. Come up.”

The buzzer rang. The door clicked. He took the stairs. She didn’t have an elevator. Of course she didn’t.

By the time he reached her floor, his heart was hammering for no reason. The hallway smelled like weed and soup dumplings. The walls were covered in scuff marks, and someone had drawn a crooked heart on one of the exit signs.

4C had a little sticker on the door. A cartoon ghost holding a margarita. He stared at it for a beat. Then knocked.

She opened the door in one of his shirts—his black one, faded from too many washes—hanging off one shoulder, loose like a dress. Her legs were bare except for cotton boxers with tiny strawberries on them. Her hair was pulled up messily. She looked flushed. And sleepy. And worried.

“You’re soaked,” she said immediately, pulling him inside by the lapel of his jacket. “Jesus, Harry.”

Her hands were already working to unbutton his coat. “Why didn’t you text? I thought you were working.”

“I couldn’t focus,” he said, watching her.

“You’re going to get sick,” she muttered, peeling the jacket off his shoulders, tugging at the sleeves. “Come here—hold still—”

He let her work, silent. She was warm hands and furrowed brows and concern in motion.

Once the jacket was off, she yanked at his tie. “This too.”

He raised a brow. “Undressing me already?”

“You showed up looking like the stock market,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

He smirked.

She disappeared for a second, then tossed him a pair of old gray sweatpants.

He caught them. Eyebrow raised. “You keep men’s sweats on hand?”

She groaned. “They’re Maya’s ex’s. Don’t get excited.”

He stepped into the living room fully now. And froze. Because for the first time, he was seeing where she lived.

Where she lived when she wasn’t with him.

The apartment was small. Lived in. Cluttered—but in a way that made it feel warm, not chaotic. Like every single thing inside of it had a story.

The living room was split between two mismatched couches—one thrifted velvet, the other beige corduroy with a sag in the middle. There were throw blankets in every texture imaginable—fleece, knit, faux fur.

The coffee table was covered in books, old takeout menus, half burnt candles in jars labeled sandalwood, fig, vanilla.

The walls were cluttered with art—some of it clearly Maya’s, some vintage posters, The Virgin Suicides, Before Sunrise, Blade Runner, Patti Smith’s Horses album, and a random framed photo of a pigeon wearing sunglasses.

The fridge in the kitchen was a museum of magnets and notes. There was even a shopping list written in red marker on the fridge door. It read

oat milk

cheez-its

limes

incense

Maya’s weird vegan yogurt

tampons

trash bags

candles (sex ones, not funeral ones)

wine

frozen waffles

cat food

Harry blinked at the last item.

“You have a cat?”

She paused. “...Yes?”

His jaw tensed. “Frances?”

She frowned. “What?”

He turned to her, eyes sharp. “You said Frances is being dramatic tonight.”

She blinked. Then laughed. Actually laughed. And pointed behind him.

Harry turned. And saw a large, grumpy-looking tabby cat perched on the windowsill. Staring at him with narrowed eyes like it knew he’d imagined something inappropriate.

“That’s Frances,” she said, snorting. “She’s named after Frances McDormand. She’s 16 and hates everything exept my heating pad.”

Harry stared at the cat. Then back at her. Then at the cat again.

“You thought Frances was a man?” she said, grinning.

“I thought Frances was your ex.”

She covered her mouth to keep from laughing louder. “You showed up in the rain to confront me about an elderly cat?”

Harry sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Shut up.”

She kissed his cheek. “You’re a mess.”

He looked around again. At her world. At the chipped mugs on the dish rack—each one different. One said World’s Okayest Bartender, another had a faded drawing of a walrus. The scarf hanging from a coat hook was purple velvet, half-unraveled at one end.

There were keys on a lanyard that read BOSTON UNIVERSITY, and a half-full tote bag with a produce sticker still stuck to the bottom corner.

The shelf by the entryway overflowed with mail, cracked sunglasses, a tiny hand-painted dish full of bobby pins, and a single, slightly burnt birthday candle shoved into a chunk of ceramic shaped like a frog. The coffee table had three coasters but none of them matched. There were stickers slapped across the side of the fridge—Protect Roe, Biden Harris 2020, Elvis is Alive and So Am I.

In the bathroom, he passed by the open door and caught the faint scent of her perfume mixed with rosewater toner and humidity. The mirror had streaks of lipstick.

Tampons sat on the counter beside an open tin of bobby pins. Dry shampoo. A chipped compact. An old mascara wand lying next to her makeup bag that looked like it had seen war. A pack of pink razors balanced on the edge of the sink like it might leap to freedom any minute.

The hallway wall had a row of hooks, all cluttered—coats, purses, canvas totes, one very fluffy pink bathrobe, and what looked like a dog leash even though she didn’t own a dog. The floor creaked in the middle.

And her bedroom—

Her bedroom was even more intimate. Twinkly lights looped around the ceiling like a soft halo. One strand flickered near the corner. The walls were covered—Cléo from 5 to 7, Velvet Underground, a retro ballet poster, another that read Prince's Purple Rain.

Dried lavender hung upside down beside a Polaroid photo strip taped above her dresser mirror. The dresser was cluttered with rings in tiny dishes, perfume bottles in varying levels of emptiness, tangled necklaces, and an open book of poetry facedown like she’d been reading and got distracted halfway through.

The bed wasn’t made. Worn sheets. Muted floral comforter rumpled down to the foot. A stuffed lamb with one ear bent sat on the pillow beside a pile of soft, mismatched throw blankets. There was a hoodie—his—draped over the headboard.

Her nightstand was pure chaos. A cracked phone charger plugged into an extension cord wrapped in colorful washing tape. A half-eaten cookie. Lip balm. A lighter. A box of allergy medicine. A stack of receipts, one with eggs, incense, LaCroix, cat treats, cherry cough drops scribbled on the back. An empty glass, a hair clip, and a worn paperback with the corner folded as a bookmark—The Secret History.

There was an incense holder shaped like a tiny hand. And beside that, a photo of her and a little girl in matching sunglasses, both sticking out their tongues. It was soft. Lived-in. Completely her.

And absolutely the opposite of Lucy’s old apartment. Lucy’s world had been cold glass vases with eucalyptus branches, arranged like she Googled elegant minimalism. White couches no one could sit on. Art that cost thousands but said nothing. A color-coded closet and a bathroom that looked like a Glossier pop-up—sterile, spotless, unloved.

This? This was chaos and warmth and late night pizza crumbs and nail polish spilled on tile. This was home.

And for reasons Harry couldn’t articulate—didn’t dare admit even to himself—he wanted to be a part of it. Even if it scared the hell out of him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said finally.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. “You didn’t. I mean, you did. But I’m glad.”

He buried his nose in her hair, breathing her in. Lavender shampoo. Something floral. Her. Frances meowed loudly, interrupting the moment.

She pulled back. “She wants food. Hold on.”

As she went into the kitchen, Harry stood in the middle of her room, still dripping slightly, holding borrowed sweatpants in one hand and the ghost of something warmer than he knew what to do with in the other.

He was fucked. So, so fucked. And he didn’t want to leave. So that night Harry stayed. The rain hadn’t let up.

It fell in steady sheets against her bedroom window—so constant it was starting to sound like static. Or breath. Or the thud of a heartbeat pressed against his ear.

She was in boxers and one of his shirts.

He was in borrowed sweatpants from a man who didn’t matter.

And they were brushing their teeth together in a bathroom that smelled like rosewater and lavender. She bumped into him twice. Once on purpose. Once not. He didn’t care.

He’d forgotten what this felt like. Being near someone. Really near.

Not polished. Not curated. Not part of some long game. Just… here. In a too small bathroom. In her world. She leaned into the mirror to swipe a lip mask on her lips.

He watched her. Like she was art.

When she turned, he was still staring.

“What,” she asked, mouth soft.

“Nothing,” he said, voice lower than he meant. “I just like looking at... you.”

They left the light on. Left the door cracked. The apartment was dark except for that glow and the warm flicker of the TV.

Her bed wasn’t big. A full, maybe. But it held them both. Barely.

She threw the comforter over them, then curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her eyes were heavy, but she wasn’t ready to sleep. He shifted beside her, body pressed along the curve of hers. Not touching yet. Just close enough that the space between them buzzed.

And then she clicked on the remote. The TV was an old one—boxy, with a DVD player built into the side. It hummed softly as the disc spun.

He blinked. “Is that Sex and the City?”

She nodded. “Season four.”

He glanced down at her, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You have the DVDs?”

“I’m not a heathen.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I haven’t seen a DVD player in a decade.”

She shrugged. “You’re missing out.”

The episode began. Carrie was monologuing. Samantha was best dressed. Charlotte was earnestly hopeful. Miranda was eating Chinese food in bed.

She rested her head on his chest, her hand splayed over his ribs. He felt it everywhere. The rain thudded gently on the window. Frances padded into the room and began eating delicately from her tiny floral bowl in the corner.

Harry reached up and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “She always eats this late?”

“She’s nocturnal. Like me.”

He hummed. “You’re soft at night.”

She smiled against his skin. “You’re not.”

“No,” he agreed, brushing her arm with his fingers. “But I want to be.”

She turned to look at him. “Why?”

“Because you are.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Her body shifted, draping over his. One leg between his. One hand under his shirt, splayed against his stomach. She wasn’t trying to start anything. She just wanted to feel him.

And Harry? He let her.

He rested his cheek against the top of her head. Closed his eyes. Let the scent of her hair—lavender and something distinctly her—anchor him.

He wanted to tell her right then. About Italy. About the dinner. The villa. The way he imagined her laughing while wine sloshed in her glass. The way he pictured her sunburnt and barefoot, dancing in a linen dress she’d haggled for at a street market.

He wanted to tell her he’d already asked Danny to add a plus one. Wanted to beg her to come. To wake up with him somewhere coastal and quiet, where he could watch her dip into cold water and wrap herself in a towel and ask him what they were going to eat next.

But instead—

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Soft. Careful.

She sighed.

“Your heartbeat’s fast,” she murmured.

“You’re laying on my chest,” he said. “Of course it is.”

She smiled. “Mine too.”

Frances jumped up onto the bed and circled twice before curling against the back of Harry’s legs. Her fur was soft. Her breathing slow.

The rain pressed harder against the windows. The radiator clinked. The light from the TV flickered over the posters on the wall.

Onscreen, Carrie was questioning whether men were biologically capable of monogamy.

Harry whispered, “Jesus.”

She snorted. “Don’t take it personally.”

“I take everything personally.”

Her hand slid over his stomach again. A slow drag of her fingers, like she could calm something inside him. And maybe she did.

Because that night—

Harry Castillo slept in a tiny bed with a woman who wore his clothes and brushed her teeth with glitter-handled toothbrushes. He slept through the storm. He slept through Carrie’s voice.

He slept through the ache of every part of him that used to hurt.

Because in her world—this small, messy, beautiful world—he didn’t have to be the version of himself that scared people. He just had to be hers. And that was enough.

The morning soon came and of course he woke up first.

She was still asleep when Harry stirred. Pressed against his chest like she belonged there.

Which—by now—maybe she did.

The light coming in through the bedroom window was soft and overcast, the kind of gray that made you want to stay under the covers forever. The rain had stopped sometime in the night, but the air still smelled like it—clean, cool, quiet.

Harry was warm. Ridiculously warm.

Frances was curled up on his feet again, the cat’s soft purring vibrating faintly against his ankle.

And her—

She was wrapped around him. One leg tossed over his hip. One hand curled beneath his shirt—her shirt—she decided to throw on him last minute before bed. Face pressed to his neck, breath ghosting over his pulse.

He hadn’t moved for hours. Didn’t want to. The bed was small, but it had held them both. Just barely. There was something absurdly perfect about that. About how they fit.

He let his eyes drift open, blinking up at the ceiling plastered with glow in the dark stars. He hadn’t noticed them last night. She’d stuck them up there, probably years ago, probably drunk, maybe high. They weren’t aligned properly—some clustered too close, others spread out too wide—but it made Harry smile.

It was so her.

Then—

The door creaked.

His eyes shot to it, his arm tightening around her instinctively. And there she was.

Maya.

In sweats, hoodie up, a tote bag slung over one shoulder and half a bagel in her mouth. She froze in the doorway, chewing slowly as she saw them both.

Harry blinked. She blinked back.

And then—

She smiled.

“Morning,” she said, voice casual, still chewing. “I got bagels.”

His brows lifted. “Maya?”

“Mmhm.” She stepped fully into the room, walked past the bed like this wasn’t completely surreal, and set a brown paper bag on the desk. “One’s egg and cheese, one’s veggie, one’s plain. I got a discount so I went wild. You're not vegan, right?”

“I’m not.”

Maya nodded. “Cool.”

He opened his mouth to respond but then she stirred beside him.

She blinked. Then groaned. “Maya?”

“Hey, you.” Maya turned, already backing out. “Don’t get up. I’m leaving again. Nate broke one of the frames while carrying it up the stairs and I have to go reconstruct it before the opening or I’ll die. Eat your bagel.”

“Maya—”

“Love you, mean it.”

And then she was gone.

The door clicked shut behind her. Harry turned slowly.

She rubbed her eyes. “That’s Maya.”

“She seems…unfazed.”

“She walked in on me giving my high school boyfriend a blowjob in this same bed,” she mumbled. “This is practically G-rated.”

Harry choked. “Jesus Christ.”

She grinned, finally stretching. “Sorry.”

He shook his head, still blinking at the door. “She left you a bagel.”

“She’s thoughtful like that.”

They sat in silence for a moment. The air was warm. The room smelled like her shampoo and toasted everything bagels.

She sat up, reaching for the bag. “You want half?”

“I want the whole thing,” he muttered, watching the way her sleep shirt—his shirt—slipped off her shoulder as she handed it to him.

She raised a brow. “Of the bagel or me?”

Harry took a slow bite of the sandwich, chewed, and swallowed before answering.

“Yes.”

She laughed—quiet and groggy—and curled back into the blankets beside him while he finished eating.

The disc in her old TV menu-looped quietly in the background. And that was when Harry realized—

He didn’t want to leave. Not this apartment. Not her bed. Not this mess of a morning that felt like something he hadn’t let himself hope for. He looked down at her, at the way she was nibbling the corner of a veggie bagel and letting cream cheese smear across her knuckle without noticing.

And that was it. That was the moment. He didn’t plan it. Didn’t rehearse. Didn’t run it through his head a hundred times the way he usually did with big decisions. Because this wasn’t business.

This was her.

“Come to Italy with me.”

She blinked. Mid-bite. Mid-smear of cream cheese.

“What?”

He set his half-finished bagel on the napkin beside them.

“I want you to come to Italy with me,” he said again, softer now. “I leave in three days.”

Her lips parted slightly, eyes searching his face like she was trying to find the joke. But there wasn’t one. Harry was deadly serious.

She swallowed. “You’re inviting me on a trip. To Italy.”

“It’s not a trip,” he said. “It’s a…thing. For work. Big contract. Private villa, vineyard dinner, all that bullshit. I need to be there to finalize some logistics.”

She blinked again.

“You want me to tag along to a work trip in another country?”

“I want you to be there.”

A pause.

“I want to see you sunkissed,” he murmured, voice dipping. “I want to watch you eat pasta with your fingers and lick sauce off your wrist. I want to soak with you in some overpriced marble tub with your legs wrapped around me, pretending we’re not real people.”

Her breath caught.

“I want you to hang off my arm and point at things in little shops and tell me they’re ugly and buy them anyway. I want you to fall asleep in my lap on a train. I want to hear what you sound like in another language.”

She didn’t speak.

Just stared at him.

“And yes,” he added, reaching out to brush a smudge of cream cheese from the corner of her mouth. “I want you there at the dinner. I want you in a dress with your hair up and that little necklace you always wear. I want to introduce you as someone who makes the rest of this shit feel worth it.”

She swallowed hard. Tried to laugh. Failed.

“You’re really pulling out the big guns, huh?”

He nodded. “I’m old. I don’t have time for subtlety.”

She stared at him for a long moment.

Then said, “Frances can’t come.”

He blinked. “The cat?”

“She’s bad on planes.”

He laughed—genuine and warm—and reached for her hand beneath the sheets.

“You don't need to pay for a flight,” he said. “I have a jet. I want you there.”

She looked down at their hands. His thumb tracing slow circles against her knuckles.

“Three days?”

He nodded.

“Do I have to wear heels?”

“Only if you want to kill me.”

She smiled. Bit her lip. Thought.

“Okay.”

Harry’s heart thudded in his chest.

“Okay?”

She nodded again, smaller this time. “Okay. I’ll come to Italy with you, old man.”

He didn’t grin. Didn’t smirk. He just leaned forward and kissed her hand. Soft. Simple. Grateful.

Frances leapt up onto the bed, meowing loudly.

“Guess she wants to come too,” she said, scratching behind the cat’s ears.

“She’s not allowed.”

“She’ll sue.”

“She can try.”

They laid back down—Harry still half-clothed, her shirt riding up at the hem—and just breathed for a moment. Rain tapped lightly against the windows again. The smell of warm bagels lingered in the air.

And Harry Castillo? For the first time in years, he wasn’t thinking about deadlines or numbers or failing. He was thinking about sunlit train rides. About her in linen. About the taste of wine off her mouth in a country that didn’t know who they were.

He was thinking about falling in love.

And maybe—

Just maybe—

She was too.

They didn’t move for a while after that. Just laid there in the warmth of her small, chaotic bedroom—bagel crumbs on the sheets, Frances purring between them, her bare leg draped over his thigh like it belonged there.

Eventually though, real life crept back in. It started with a stretch. Then a yawn.

Then her mumbling, “I should shower.”

To which Harry responded, “I’ll die if you move right now.”

But she did. Of course she did.

She slipped out of bed with that effortless, half-asleep grace, hair tangled, his shirt riding up over her thighs. She padded barefoot across the hardwood and vanished into the bathroom without another word.

Harry stayed in bed for another five minutes. Just… thinking. About Italy. About her. About the fact that she said yes. Then—he got up. Went to the kitchen to get water. That’s when he opened her fridge.

And paused.

It wasn’t empty, exactly.

Jars of random sauces. A half-used block of feta. Mismatched Tupperware with exactly two bites of leftovers. A dozen eggs, one cracked. A bag of spinach that looked like it had been forgotten in a war zone. Five different types of hot sauce. A single mini vodka.

There were ingredients. But no actual food.

And Harry?

Harry had spent the last decade with a private chef and a housekeeper. His pantry looked like an organic catalog.

This? This was something else.

She padded back into the kitchen, hair damp, teeth brushed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. “What?”

He turned from the fridge, holding up a sad little container of pickled onions. “This is your dinner?”

She shrugged, unbothered. “Sometimes I make pasta.”

“Out of hot sauce and… half a lemon?”

“Adds flavor.”

Harry looked at her like she was a war orphan. She grinned.

He shut the fridge. “We’re going to the store.”

“Harry—”

“I’m not letting you live like this.”

She leaned against the counter, playful. “You trying to domesticate me?”

He walked past her, smacked a kiss on her temple, and muttered, “Put on real shoes.”

They stopped at his penthouse first.

“I’m not going to the store in a suit,” he explained as they stepped off the elevator.

She looked him up and down. He had put his suit back on after she left it hanging up to dry overnight.

“You look like you’re about to close on a skyscraper.”

He loosened his collar. “Exactly. I want to buy produce, not acquire a hedge fund.”

She made herself comfortable while he changed. Shoes off. Feet up. Sitting sideways on his pristine leather couch with Frances curled beside her in her tote bag like a queen.

When Harry emerged again, everything shifted. He was in a navy fleece. Dark jeans. Clean sneakers. His hair was pushed back carelessly, and he looked—God, he looked like a boyfriend. Like a rich, brooding, ridiculously hot boyfriend who didn’t like other men looking at his girl.

Which he proved five minutes later.

The market was close. Not some chaotic Manhattan chain store.

This place was a little upscale. A little overpriced. The kind with hand-written chalk signs and fancy cheese displays and a barista in the corner who actually knew what cortado meant.

He parked on the street and opened the door for her.

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“So why do you?”

“Because if I don’t, some other asshole will.”

She blinked then laughed. “Jesus.”

Harry took her hand as they walked inside.

Casual. Like it was just a thing he did. But when two guys standing near the tomato stand turned to stare at her—eyes lingering a second too long—Harry’s entire body tensed.

She didn’t notice. But he did. Every glance. Every flick of attention. Every half-smirk and second look.

It wasn’t just because she was beautiful. It was the way she walked. The way she moved. The way she laughed when she picked up a can of whipped cream and shook it at him.

“You ever had this on strawberries?”

He blinked. “...No.”

She grinned. “Tragic.”

He didn’t respond. Just added two pints of strawberries and the whipped cream to their basket. She pushed the cart. He added things quietly as they passed them.

Olive oil. Sea salt. Fancy cereal she probably didn’t even like but the box looked pretty. Pasta made by a brand with an unpronounceable name. Parmesan wrapped in wax paper. Fresh basil.

He let her pick the bread. Watched her fingers dance over the loaves before finally choosing one with sesame seeds. He’d never cared what bread tasted like before. But now?

He wanted to watch her butter that slice and eat it on his couch with her knees tucked under her, wearing one of his shirts again.

They turned down the wine aisle.

She held up a bottle. “This one?”

He checked the label. “You like reds?”

“I like this red.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s twenty-one dollars.”

Harry raised a brow. “That’s not wine. That’s regret in a bottle.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and added it to the cart anyway.

He followed behind her, watching the way her fingers curled over the cart handle, the way she tapped her nails when she was thinking.

A guy walked past. Looked directly at her ass.

Harry moved instantly—slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek like it was nothing.

The guy looked away. Quickly.

She leaned in, amused. “Was that possessive or horny?”

“Yes,” Harry murmured.

At checkout, she pulled out her wallet. Harry didn’t even blink. Just slid his card into the reader before she could open it.

“Harry—”

“You’re heading to a whole other county with me.”

“So?”

“So let me buy you fucking groceries.”

She sighed. “You’re annoying.”

“You love it.”

She didn’t respond.

Just kissed his jaw and whispered, “Thank you.”

They carried the bags back to the car, her arms full, the air still damp from the rain.

Frances meowed softly from her tote, swatting at the handle of the bread bag.

“Frances, if you break my focaccia, you’re not going to Italy.”

“She’s not going to Italy.”

“She’s gonna file a complaint.”

“She’s gonna stay with Maya.”

They both laughed.

Back at her place, they unpacked side by side. She tossed him a bag of spinach.

He raised a brow. “You’re gonna use this?”

“Maybe.”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t judge me.”

“I am judging you.”

She elbowed him.

He stole a piece of her cheese.

Frances curled up on the window sill.

The kitchen smelled like basil and citrus and something that could have been the beginning of a life.

Harry leaned back against the counter. Watched her move. Watched the way her fingers brushed crumbs off the cutting board.

And he thought—

This. This was what he’d been missing. Not the girl. Not just her body. But the mundanity of it.

The way she stood barefoot while she put the yogurt in the fridge. The way she hummed to herself while sorting the pantry. The way her hand brushed his like it meant nothing—and everything.

He couldn’t remember what it was like not to want this. And maybe he didn’t want to.

It was the day before they left for Italy.

And Harry was folding her socks.

That alone would’ve been enough to send Danny into early retirement if he’d seen it.

Moments like this, when Harry Castillo, billionaire, former tabloid cryptid, was sitting on a floor of a cramped Lower East Side apartment, cross-legged, carefully rolling tiny pairs of white ankle socks into little cotton donuts and lining them up in the corner of a borrowed suitcase in her bedroom—made her feel happy.

So fucking happy.

“You’re doing it wrong,” she mumbled from the bed, half-asleep, cheek pressed into the duvet.

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re rolling them like they’re cigars.”

“They’re supposed to be tight.”

“They’ll stretch out.”

Harry didn’t look up. “They’re socks.”

“Yeah, and you’re acting like you’re assembling high-grade explosives.”

He smirked faintly, tucking another rolled pair into the suitcase. “I take packing seriously.”

She opened one eye. “You once told me you haven’t packed your own bag in five years.”

“That was before you made me human again.”

She blinked. He kept rolling socks. Like he hadn’t just said the most quietly devastating thing of all time.

Packing had taken hours.

Partly because she kept getting distracted and forgetting what she’d already folded.

Partly because Harry had brought over a suitcase from his place—one of those sleek matte black things with TSA locks and wheels that didn’t squeak—and she kept insisting it looked like a tiny armored vehicle.

“I can’t believe I’m borrowing your suitcase,” she’d muttered earlier that day, trying to cram a bathing suit and two sundresses into it at once.

“You didn’t have one.”

“I have a duffel bag.”

Harry looked horrified. “That’s not a suitcase. That’s a threat.”

She threw a sock at him.

He ducked, grinning.

She hadn’t traveled internationally in years. Her passport was expired until recently—she only renewed it because Maya begged her to.

The last stamp it had? San Francisco. Age 20. Two broke girls, a shared Airbnb, one near-death experience on a rented bike, and a night of crying on a beach with champagne from CVS.

Now she was going to Italy.

With Harry fucking Castillo. On his private jet.

And somehow, he still got excited watching her zip up a suitcase.

They barely slept the night before the flight. Too many nerves. Too many lists.

She kept checking her phone to make sure her passport was actually in her bag.

Harry watched her, amused. Said nothing.

Instead, he busied himself in her kitchen, making tea they didn’t drink and cutting fruit they didn’t eat.

He couldn’t sit still.

Not because of the trip.

Because of the envelope.

It had come two days ago.

A thin ivory card tucked inside pale pink stationary, his name written in looping gold script across the front

Mr. Harry Castillo + Guest You are cordially invited to the wedding of Lucy & John Saturday, June 8th, 2025 2:30 PM Chatham Bars Inn Cape Cod, Massachusetts

There was a note scribbled at the bottom in faint pen.

In Lucy's writing.

No pressure if you can’t come. We’d still love to see you.

Harry had stared at it for ten full minutes before tucking it under a file on his desk and pretending it hadn’t arrived.

He hadn’t told her.

Not because he was hiding anything. Not really. But because he didn’t want to bring Lucy into this. Into them.

Not when she was standing barefoot in his shirt, trying to find her phone charger and muttering about whether three pairs of jeans were “too many.”

Not when she called out, “Did I pack underwear already?” and he responded,

“Twelve pairs.”

Not when she looked at him across the room like he was something safe.

He would tell her eventually. Just…not yet.

The morning of the flight came quietly. It was still dark when the alarm buzzed.

She groaned. “What time is it?”

“2:30.”

“In the morning?”

“You agreed to this.”

“I was in love with you when I agreed. I’ve changed my mind.”

Harry smirked and sat up, sliding a hand through his hair. Frances jumped onto the bed and meowed directly into his face.

“She’s saying don’t leave me,” she mumbled into the pillow.

“She’s saying feed me.”

She rolled over and stared at him. “Do you always look like that when you wake up?”

Harry blinked. “Like what?”

“Like someone just photoshopped exhaustion and sex appeal.”

He threw a pillow at her.

By 3 a.m., Danny was downstairs in the car, already texting.

Danny: I’m not saying we’re late, but we’re late.

Danny: I have coffee. And donuts. And two kinds of Dramamine.

Harry grabbed the suitcase, double-checked her passport, triple-checked the address with Danny, and then took one last look around her apartment.

She was saying goodbye to Frances, promising her the neighbor would stop by and that Maya would be back by sunrise.

Harry just… watched her.

The way she knelt down to scratch behind the cat’s ears.

The way she whispered, “Don’t pee on my rug just to spite me, you little demon.”

He smiled to himself.

The car ride was quiet. Rain tapped against the windows.

She curled up in the back seat with his sweatshirt tucked under her chin. Harry held her hand.

Danny sat in the passenger seat, wisely keeping his mouth shut except to say, “It’s a beautiful jet, by the way. You’re gonna be insufferable about it.”

She looked up sleepily. “Is it big?”

Harry kissed her fingers. “It’s private.”

She grinned. “I feel like a Bond girl.”

The jet was waiting. Sleek. Immaculate. Tucked away on the private runway like something out of a movie.

She blinked when they pulled up. “That’s�� ours?”

Harry nodded.

Danny sighed. “Yours. I still fly commercial.”

Inside, the cabin was pristine.

Cream leather seats. Soft lighting. A tiny bar in the corner already stocked with orange juice and sparkling water and espresso pods.

Harry showed her how to buckle the seatbelt. How to adjust the window shade. Where the snacks were.

She laughed. “Are you my flight attendant now?”

“Only on this airline,” he muttered.

Once they took off, she pressed her face to the window, watching the skyline disappear.

He sat beside her, legs stretched out, arm slung over the back of her seat.

Danny popped in once. Dropped off croissants. Said something about Italian cell service and their hotel driver. Then vanished again.

They didn’t talk much. They didn’t need to.

He watched her fall asleep mid-sentence, lips parted slightly, hair tucked under her hoodie.

He didn’t move. Didn’t work. Didn’t check his phone.

Just… stayed beside her.

And for the first time since that ivory envelope arrived—

He didn’t think about Lucy.

Didn’t think about what might’ve been.

Didn’t think about anything but the fact that in a few short hours, they’d land in a city made of light and wine and ancient stone.

And he’d get to see her walk through it.

Get to hear her gasp at things he’d seen a thousand times.

Get to hold her hand while she ate gelato and pointed at pigeons and got overwhelmed in a market stall and accidentally bought a tablecloth because she thought the vendor was complimenting her hair.

He didn’t want anyone else there.

Just her. And maybe that was enough.

Maybe it had always been.

They landed at exactly 5:32 PM local time.

The air was different. Warmer, even in early evening. The light had a honeyed edge to it—soft gold and long shadows draped across the tarmac like something out of a postcard. The jet slowly came to a stop as she blinked blearily at the window, hoodie bunched around her waist, tank top loose and clinging. No bra.

Harry glanced over at her, the edge of his mouth twitching.

"You’re going to give someone a heart attack the second we step off this plane."

She yawned. "Good. Let them die seeing something beautiful."

He almost smiled.

As soon as the door opened, the energy shifted.

Three black cars waited on the runway. Two assistants in pressed suits stood beside them, flanked by a driver and what looked like a security consultant in a tailored gray jacket. The woman in front stepped forward immediately, beaming like Harry personally discovered electricity.

One sign read: CASTILLO PARTY – VILLA LUMEN.

"Mr. Castillo! Welcome back. We’re honored. Truly."

Harry gave a brief nod, hand resting on the small of her back.

The woman turned to her next. "Mrs. Castillo, we hope the flight was comfortable. We’ve arranged everything at the villa. Please let us know if there’s anything else you need."

She froze. Blinked. But Harry didn’t correct her.

Neither did she.

He just squeezed her hip gently and muttered, "Let them think whatever they want."

The drive was smooth, luxurious, absurd.

The countryside blurred past—green vineyards, cypress trees, stone walls bathed in sunset. Their driver offered wine and chilled sparkling water in crystal-cut glasses. The seats reclined. The windows were tinted so deeply she could’ve fallen asleep again without anyone noticing.

But she stayed awake. Watching Harry.

Watching the way he relaxed by degrees, slowly, as the city disappeared behind them.

When they pulled up to the villa, she nearly forgot how to speak.

It was unreal.

Terracotta walls. Ivy-covered balconies. Lavender blooming along the path leading up to the entrance. White roses climbing up the columns. A view that stretched over the hills for what looked like miles.

Inside, everything smelled like lemon and clean linen. Marble floors, arched windows, a winding staircase made of stone.

Their hosts didn’t linger.

Just offered soft words, a bow, and a smile before vanishing with the promise, “Dinner will be served at eight. You are encouraged to rest until then.”

She just stared, slowly spinning in a circle, looking at every detail of the place.

"They put us in the west wing," Harry muttered, fingers lightly brushing her back as they were led upstairs.

"We have wings now?"

He looked at her. "We have whatever the fuck we want."

The bedroom made her stop walking.

A carved wooden bed stood in the middle, sheets white and impossibly soft. The balcony doors were open, a breeze dancing in. Beyond them—vineyards. Hills. A sky slowly turning the color of ripe apricots.

There were flowers on the nightstand.

A bottle of wine already uncorked.

Macarons in a glass bowl.

She lets out a sigh, closing her eyes as she makes her way out onto the balcony.

"Is this a honeymoon suite?" she whispered.

Harry didn’t answer.

He stepped behind her instead. Hands on her waist. Lips grazing her neck.

"Come here."

She turned in his arms, breath catching. His eyes were darker than usual, jaw tight. There was something restless behind it. Something feral.

"You’re quiet," she murmured.

He studied her face. His hands slid under her tank top.

"You smell like a fucking dream."

She arched a brow. "That’s not an answer."

"I haven’t touched you in days."

Her stomach clenched.

"I noticed."

He kissed her.

Hard.

Like he was angry at himself for waiting. Like he’d been hungry for weeks. Like her mouth was the only thing that could make him human again.

Her back hit the stone and he lifted her onto the bench, hands gripping her thighs, dragging her tank top down, mouth never leaving hers. She gasped when the cold air hit her chest—bare, sensitive—and he groaned deep in his throat.

"Fuck," he muttered, pulling back to look at her. His eyes were locked on her breasts, his thumbs brushing over them like he was memorizing. "You’re so fucking pretty. You don’t even know."

She bit her lip. "Then show me."

And he did.

He kissed down her throat, down the center of her chest, sucking, licking, dragging his teeth along soft skin until she was squirming. Until her thighs squeezed around his hips. Until she said his name like it meant something.

Then—

He dropped to his knees.

Right there.

On the balcony.

The breeze blew gently around them, the smell of lavender and wine in the air. Her tank top was shoved up, her shorts already pushed down her thighs. She slowly slid down the bench.

And Harry looked up at her like she was something sacred.

"Keep your eyes on me."

She did.

She watched him lick a stripe up her slit, slow and deliberate, like he was tasting something rare. She cried out, legs shaking, hands grasping for the stone railing behind her.

He groaned again. "You taste like everything I’ve ever wanted."

His tongue was relentless—circling, flicking, sucking. His grip on her thighs was bruising, grounding her, holding her open like he couldn’t get enough.

She tried to speak. Failed.

He slid two fingers inside her—slow at first, curling perfectly—then fast, then deeper, fucking her open while his mouth devoured her.

"You gonna come for me, baby?"

She whimpered.

He sucked harder.

"Say my name."

She did.

Over and over.

Until she shattered.

Until her legs gave out and he had to catch her.

He stood, scooping her up like she weighed nothing, carrying her to the bed and laying her down gently.

Then he kissed her again—messy, hungry, licking her taste off his lips and moaning like he was drunk.

"I can’t stop," he muttered. "You do something to me. You ruin me."

She pulled at his shirt. He let her.

Let her undress him like she owned him.

And when he pushed inside her, slow and deep and all at once—

It wasn’t just fucking.

It was worship.

It was raw, reverent, almost painful in its intensity. He braced one hand against the mattress and the other curled around the back of her neck, holding her gaze like he couldn’t bear to look away. Like he needed to see every twitch of her mouth, every blink, every gasp that left her lips as he thrust into her again and again, steady and deep and so achingly deliberate.

She breathed his name like a prayer, fingers tangled in his hair, lips parted with pleasure. Her body arched to meet every movement, desperate to be closer, to swallow him whole.

Harry moved like he was etching something permanent into her—like he wanted to mark her from the inside. His mouth brushed her cheek, her jaw, her lips between every breathless exhale.

"You feel like heaven," he rasped. "You feel like mine."

She whimpered at that—at the way he said it like a truth carved into stone.

He kissed her again. Slower this time. Tongue teasing her mouth open as his hips rolled in a rhythm that was almost cruel in how good it felt. Like he knew exactly how to undo her.

One of her hands slipped down, tracing over his side, his back, clutching at him as if to make sure he stayed there. As if she couldn’t take the chance he’d pull away.

And he didn’t.

He never faltered. Never let her go. Just kept moving—fucking her with care, with need, with that terrifying depth he never shared with anyone else.

She tightened around him, legs trembling, her voice breaking as she said his name, pleaded, begged.

He whispered into her mouth, "I’ve got you. Come for me. Right now. That’s it—fuck—just like that."

Her body arched, then shattered beneath him.

And he followed.

A low groan ripped from his throat as he spilled into her, thrusts faltering, his whole body shaking from the force of it. His forehead pressed to hers. Their breath tangled. Their pulses frantic.

He didn’t move for a long time.

Didn’t say anything.

Just held her.

One hand cupping the side of her face, the other stroking her waist in lazy, absentminded circles.

Eventually, he pulled back just far enough to look at her—eyes heavy, mouth soft, expression unreadable.

Then, almost inaudibly, he whispered, "Thank you."

She blinked. "For what?"

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He just kissed her shoulder, slow and reverent, and stayed there.

Outside, the Tuscan night whispered around them—

Soft. Endless. Real.

The air inside the villa was thick with the ghost of everything they’d just done. Her skin still tingled. Her chest rose and fell in slow, steady waves. She was sprawled across the sheets, hair a mess, limbs boneless, skin flushed with afterglow and the faintest imprint of the linen texture pressed into her back.

The room still smelled like sex and sunlight.

Harry was quiet beside her.

Not cold. Not distant.

Just...quiet. Like the kind of silence that comes only after something tectonic. Like he was letting the earth settle. Like something had cracked open and they were both just standing in the new air, breathing it in.

His thumb moved absently along her waist, tracing lazy circles. He was still half-hard, still close, but not demanding more.

Not yet. He just needed to be here. In it. With her.

She rolled over onto her side, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. His skin was warm and smelled like wine and her perfume and faint lavender from the villa sheets. Familiar and new at the same time.

Neither of them said anything for a while.

She let her fingers trail along the curve of his chest, nails faint, almost ticklish. She counted the moles across his sternum. He hummed at that, deep in his throat, then exhaled slowly, one big hand sliding up to rest on the back of her head.

“You’re going to be late,” she mumbled against his collarbone.

“No, I’m not.”

“You have a dinner.”

“I said what I said.”

She laughed quietly. “Harry.”

“I don’t care if we show up looking like we just fucked.”

“We did just fuck.”

“Exactly.”

She nudged his rib with her knee. “You have to shower, old man.”

He groaned. “You’re the reason I’m sweaty.”

“You’re the reason you’re grumpy.”

He cracked one eye open. “You wanna say that again?”

She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Shower. Now.”

Eventually, they moved.

Reluctantly.

Limbs tangled as they rolled off the bed. Her thighs ached. She was sore in the most decadent way. Her body felt loose and tender and entirely his. He offered a hand as she stepped down from the mattress—mock-gentlemanly, fake regal—and she accepted it with a smirk and a dramatic curtsey.

The bathroom was all marble and glass. Golden light spilled in from the balcony, painting the countertops in warm hues. The shower was massive—big enough for two, maybe three. Probably four if they stacked right.

She turned the water on.

He watched her.

Always watching.

When the steam curled around their bodies, she stepped in first. Hot water sluiced down her back, her shoulders, her spine.

She sighed as it hit her skin. A low sound. Almost grateful. Almost reverent.

Harry followed.

No words. Just hands.

Big hands. Careful hands. Hands that had held her like she might vanish, that had gripped her thighs and touched the softest parts of her like they were sacred. Like she was.

He grabbed the soap first.

Rubbed it between his palms, lathered slowly. Then—gently, reverently—dragged his hands over her back.

Her shoulders. Her arms. Her stomach. Her hips. Down to the back of her knees.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

He washed her like she was precious. Like she was something ancient and delicate and holy. He kissed the top of her spine. The curve behind her ear. Rinsed her hair with long, slow strokes. Massaged her scalp until she leaned back into him, humming.

She returned the favor.

Lathered his chest. His arms. Dragged the soap down the deep lines of his stomach with slow, teasing fingers. She worked the shampoo into his hair, watching his eyes flutter closed. When she got to his thighs, he groaned.

“Behave.”

She didn’t.

He pulled her close, water cascading over their bodies, their skin slick and clean and flushed with something almost unbearable.

She reached for a cloth and gently wiped behind his ears.

“I’m not your child.”

“You’re acting like one.”

He grabbed her waist and yanked her flush against him.

They stayed like that until their fingers pruned.

Then—finally—they dried off.

She wrapped herself in one of the impossibly soft robes from the villa.

Harry did the same, though his looked comically small on him. She giggled when it barely covered his thighs.

“Say a word and I’ll throw you into the courtyard.”

“Promise?”

He rolled his eyes. “I have international security clearance. No one would know.”

Back in the bedroom, the air had shifted. Still warm. Still gold-lit. But now it felt like transition. Like preparation. Like a pause before the world returned.

The suitcase sat open on the bench at the foot of the bed. A half-folded silk dress draped over the edge. His suit jacket hung on a chair.

“Unpack?” she asked.

He nodded.

They worked together.

Unpacking side by side.

She folded his shirts. He folded her underwear.

Her fingers danced over his cologne bottle, the one she always associated with him. She set it gently on the nightstand beside a small glass of water. He didn’t say anything, but he glanced over. Noted it.

He placed her hairbrush beside the bathroom sink, untangling a few of her strands caught in the bristles.

She rolled her socks and tucked them into the drawer. Folded her pajamas. Lined her skin care in a neat row.

He lined his ties on the shelf like a ritual. Stacked his cufflinks in the tray she passed him.

They shared the space. Merged into it. No questions asked. No territory claimed.

She hung up her dresses into the villa wardrobe. He adjusted the hangers. Steamed the back of her dress when she wasn’t looking.

She noticed his charger cable was frayed. She pulled one from her tote and handed it over without a word.

He opened a small velvet box and revealed a delicate necklace he’d packed for her without telling her.

“Wear this,” he said simply.

She blinked. “You packed jewelry?”

“You didn’t.”

Her lips curved.

The moment lingered.

Then—getting ready.

She stood at the vanity, pulling a comb through her damp hair. He stood beside her, shaving. Both in their robes. Moving in tandem. Like they’d done this a hundred times before. The kind of rhythm you can’t fake.

She did her makeup slowly, lip balm first, then liner, then a whisper of mascara. A little blush.

He adjusted the collar of his shirt beside her, fingers methodical. Buttoned his cuffs. Straightened his sleeves.

She reached for perfume. He paused, watching.

“You use that every day huh.”

“I do.”

He leaned down. Smelled her neck. “Still there.”

Then he asked if she could spray some on him.

She smiled.

He walked into the closet to grab his belt. She watched the way his robe opened slightly as he moved, the lines of his body still lingering with the softness of their morning.

Then—clothes.

She slipped the silk dress over her shoulders. It was pale. Bare-backed. Barely structured. The kind of dress you wore in Italy when you weren’t sure if you were someone’s date or someone’s downfall.

Harry froze when he saw her in it.

She turned.

“Too much?”

His jaw flexed. “You’re not changing.”

She smirked.

He moved closer. Adjusted the straps like they were made of glass. Tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Let his thumb brush her collarbone.

“You’re going to make this very hard for me.”

“You invited me.”

“I didn’t know what I was inviting.”

“Yes, you did.”

He said nothing.

Just buttoned his shirt.

Put on his watch.

Slid into the jacket like he was donning armor. Sharp and deliberate.

She watched from the bed.

Hair pinned up now. Lipstick barely there. One heel dangling from her foot. Legs crossed like temptation.

“You look mean,” she said.

“I am mean.”

She grinned. “But you smell nice.”

He offered a hand. She took it.

They stood in front of the mirror together.

Perfect opposites.

Dark suit. Soft silk. Sharp jaw. Warm smile. Something dangerous, something beautiful.

Together.

They didn’t say much after that.

Just breathed.

The dinner.

Work.

But for now—

It was just them.

But not for long.

Because at exactly 8:17 p.m.—fashionably, just barely, late—the knock came.

Three soft raps on the thick villa door, followed by a polite, accented voice calling, "Mr. Castillo? Your guests are seated. The drinks are being served."

Harry exhaled slowly. A breath through his nose. One final glance at her.

She looked unreal.

Silk dress. Loose updo. That faint smudge of color on her lips that made his mouth twitch every time he looked too long. Her necklace—the one he picked—rested delicately on her collarbone like it belonged there.

He didn’t say anything.

Just offered his arm.

She took it.

And down they went.

Dinner was being served under a pergola lit by strands of woven golden lights. The villa’s courtyard stretched out before them like something out of a dream—white linen table, wine glasses already half-full, the sound of crickets humming in the background.

Candlelight danced across bottles of olive oil and bowls of olives, and the scent of rosemary and garlic wafted from a nearby kitchen. Cicadas buzzed low in the distance, the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the rustic stone tiles.

There were twelve seats.

Ten already filled.

Harry’s partners were an intimidating mix—Italian, British, and New York-bred tycoons with slick smiles and suspiciously quiet watches. Their wives, dressed in silk and linen and quiet diamonds, turned when Harry and she arrived—eager, observant, their eyes already cataloging every detail.

Like predators sizing up a rare animal at the watering hole.

Lorenzo and Marcella sat closest to the head. Lorenzo was tall, leonine, late fifties, with thick white hair and a voice like a cello. Marcella wore a linen suit and pearls, her Italian accent soft and theatrical. She was always watching.

Next to them—Livia and Paolo. Livia had a sharp chin, a sharper voice, and a body that looked sculpted from Florence marble. Paolo wore a navy suit that screamed Milan, his cufflinks catching the candlelight.

And at the far end, Francesca and Luca.

Francesca looked like a Donna Tartt character. Blunt bob, smudged eyeliner, a cigarette nearly lit. She wore a sheer black blouse over a vintage slip and held her wine glass like it was an accessory. Her smile was the kind that knew secrets.

Luca barely spoke. Just watched. Calculating.

And then there was Danny.��

"Harry!" Marcella called, standing with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "We were starting to think you’d eloped."

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’d know. It’d be on the news within the hour.”

There were polite laughs. The kind that had more teeth than warmth.

He pulled out her chair before taking his own. It was a subtle motion. Protective. Possessive. Deliberate. A quiet claim staked in linen and candlelight.

Francesca’s eyes sparkled.

Marcella tilted her head. “And this is…?”

Harry rested one hand on the back of her chair. "My girlfriend."

Silence.

Then—

Marcella blinked. "Girlfriend?"

Livia raised a brow. “That’s new.”

Paolo chuckled. “She’s beautiful. Young, too. You’ve been holding out on us, Castillo.”

Harry didn’t smile. Just picked up his wine.

“She’s not a secret. She’s just not your business.”

Marcella laughed, waving her hand. “You know us. We’re nosy. Besides, the wives are all dying to know. We have a betting pool.”

“Jesus,” Harry muttered, under his breath.

Francesca leaned over to her. “Don’t mind them. They’re all bored and drunk on red wine and old money.”

She smiled.

“I’m Francesca,” the woman said. “And you—are fascinating.”

The meal began.

Plates of antipasti. Olive tapenade, roasted tomatoes, shaved fennel, slices of prosciutto that melted on the tongue. Tiny burrata drizzled with balsamic. Warm focaccia with rosemary. Bowls of almonds and figs.

It was decadent without trying to be. Effortless luxury.

Harry stayed quiet for most of it. Sharp-eyed, tense-shouldered. Only relaxing slightly when she brushed her leg against his under the table. She could feel the energy buzzing off him—wary, protective, always watching.

She found herself in conversation with Francesca quickly.

Books.

They talked about books.

“I just reread The Secret History,” Francesca said, swirling her wine. “Still makes me want to commit academic murder.”

She grinned. “I always wanted to be Bunny. Not in spirit. In wardrobe.”

“Tragic prep chic.”

“Exactly.”

Harry glanced over at that. Quiet approval in his gaze.

Francesca lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around her in elegant swirls. “Who are your favorites?”

She shrugged. “Zadie Smith. Donna Tartt. Ottessa Moshfegh, but only when I’m feeling unwell. Lately I’ve been reading a lot of Didion.”

Francesca beamed. “You and I are going to get along dangerously well.”

Livia leaned in across the table. “How did you two meet?”

Harry stiffened.

She opened her mouth.

He beat her to it.

“Page Six is going to run that story in a week. Ask them.”

More laughter. More glances. More eyes like spotlights.

Marcella pressed on. “It’s just surprising, Harry. You’re not… known for romance.”

He smirked. “I’m not known for a lot of things I am.”

Paolo raised his glass. “Is she moving in?”

Harry stays silent, starting to scowl at Paolo.

“Soon?” He pushes. He keeps on fucking pushing.

Harry didn’t answer. But his hand brushed hers under the table.

Francesca spoke instead. “Let them be. Love doesn’t have a lease agreement.”

Marcella sipped her wine. “But surely it’s serious. You brought her to Italy.”

Livia leaned in again. "And what’s the age gap, if you don’t mind me asking?"

Harry’s jaw ticked.

“I do mind.”

Marcella laughed, shaking her head. “We’re just curious. You know how it is. Older men and beautiful women. It’s a tale as old as time.”

“She’s not a tale,” Harry said flatly. “She’s a person.”

That shut them up.

For a beat.

Then—

Lorenzo, quiet until now, finally spoke. “And what about Lucy?”

The table paused.

Her stomach dropped.

Harry didn’t blink. “What about her.”

Lorenzo shrugged. “Just surprised to see you here with this girl, that’s all. I'd thought you'd be reeling from shock over Lucy sending you an invitation to her wedding.”

How did he know.

How the fuck did he know?

She froze next to him.

Her hand stopped rubbing his out of comfort.

Harry’s jaw ticked. “We haven’t RSVPed.”

Marcella’s eyebrows rose. “Wait. You were invited?”

“Apparently.”

“Wow,” Livia said. “That’s bold. Isn’t she marrying that waiter?”

“John,” Paolo supplied.

“Oh, right. The bohemian.”

“She's not my girlfriend anymore, so stop bringing her up.” Harry said. Cold. Even.

Livia raised a brow. “But she was.”

Silence.

He stared down at Livia. “She isn’t now.”

She didn’t say anything.

But her body went still.

Francesca noticed. She shifted slightly, nudging her foot against hers under the table. A quiet, unspoken solidarity.

The conversation moved on.

Sort of.

She laughed at something Francesca said about poetry readings and obscure authors who only write in lowercase.

But inside—

Something tightened.

He hadn’t told her.

About the wedding.

About the invite.

About any of it.

She smiled. She clinked her wine glass. She even leaned into his arm when dessert was served—some kind of lemon tart with burnt sugar and pistachio.

But something shifted.

Just slightly.

A hairline crack in the evening.

Not enough to break it.

Just enough to notice.

Francesca asked her if she’d read Bluets.

She nodded. “Three times.”

They talked about heartbreak. About writing through pain. About how nobody writes yearning like Nina LaCour.

Harry kept his hand on her lower back. Gentle. Present.

But she wasn’t fully there anymore.

When Harry looked down at her later—when the stars came out and the wine dulled most of the tension in the room—he noticed it too.

Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

He wanted to ask.

But didn’t.

Because he already knew why.

#harry castillo #harry castillo x reader #materialists #materialists fanfic #harry castillo x you #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller writing #joel miller x y/n #joel tlou #pedro pascal fandom #the materialists #the materialists fanfic #Spotify

491 notes · View notes

specialgradefckr · 2 days ago

Text

here, kitty, kitty!

tw: dubcon, hybrid au, reader is literally a pet, loss of bodily autonomy, examination kink, slight medical play, piercings, possession

So, Satoru wants to get a cat hybrid.

Suguru supposes he shouldn't be surprised. Satoru's never hidden his porn history or anything. He's constantly suggesting they find a third, while instantly rejecting all suggestions.

A diva like him couldn't have sex with just anyone. And for Suguru himself, well, he preferred to have a certain level of... control in a relationship.

Which suited Satoru fine, most of the time, and Suguru was willing to concede on the rare occasion.

But Suguru doesn't have cat ears, a tail, and a pussy, and he can even admit that he misses the fairer sex sometimes, too.

They've been together so long, know each other so well. Familiarity breeding boredom, maybe. They're happy together, but Satoru wants more.

He's also incredibly needy, exactly the type of child who would beg mommy and daddy for a pet kitty.

That's also the type of child cats tend to despise. But no matter how many times he tries to explain it - "It's not that simple, Satoru" "A pet is a serious commitment, you know" - Satoru, much like a whining child, just doesn't listen.

And, well, Suguru is getting tired of telling him.

So that's how they end up here - with you.

A beautiful thing. All curled up in the corner of your stall - cage, really. Your ears twitch at the noise, and you look up, wide-eyed and anxious in a way that tugs his heartstrings.

It's truly a pity that you're at a place like this.

The interior is well-decorated, clean, with lush carpets and furnishings. The interior of your cage has a soft-looking blanket bunched up in it, and plush bedding in the back.

But there's no mistaking its purpose. In the background, there are moans, whimpers, and the occasional sob.

Throughout the wide room, a few pets were being taken out, paraded for potential owners. Poked and prodded and played with.

You, like all the others, are completely naked.

These hybrids are for sex.

Suguru had almost wanted to leave right away, but Satoru had been so excited, dragging him in by the hand. "Just look! We only have to look!"

After the assistant, a tall, well-dressed blonde man, guides them to the cat section, he's starting to think this isn't Satoru's first time here.

And that's when they'd found you, the sorry thing that you are.

Something trickles down his spine at the thought that you'll be seen by others, sold off, used for sex at your owner's discretion.

"Ooooh, I love this one!" Satoru sounds excited. "Can we take a closer look?"

Nodding, the assistant unlatches your cage. You look out, carefully, with big wide eyes, and the assistant waves you out, but you don't move.

He goes in with a leather lead, latching it to your collar, tugging until you finally crawl out, ears tilted back as your tail curls around your body.

Suguru accepts the lead in one hand as the man steps out for a moment.

The assistant reappears pushing a cart of what looks like medical instruments. Tongue depressors, stethoscopes... lubricant.

"All our pets are virgins. You aren't permitted to have sex but you're free to examine them however you like."

Suguru stands there, silent and shocked while Satoru gleefully agrees.

With a tap of his hand to your back, the assistant guides you to lean forwards, chest pressed against the floor, ass up, right in the middle of the shop in front of them.

Your tail sways gently, curling around Satoru's hand when he grasps at it, delighted, running his hand through it and down the length of your body.

"She soooo cute! Look at her pretty tail. And that ass." He whistles, smacking you on the flank.

Suguru watches your whole body flinch at the contact, but you stiffen up, staying in position. He feels a weird, light flip in his belly. This sort of thing was crazy to begin with... but wouldn't it be better to adopt you than leave you here?

He can't even see your face, meet your eyes. Something inside him screams to comfort you; gather your smaller figure up tightly in his arms and squeeze.

"It'll be all right," Suguru finds himself saying, effortlessly smooth as he approaches you. Gently petting the side of your head, watching the ear on that side tilt to accommodate him. Cute.

Well. He supposes he's a cat person, too.

Satoru is still cooing and groping over your admittedly fine body. Suguru can't help but notice how you stiffen under Satoru's wandering touch, but lean into his gentle pets.

He kneels by your head so he can scratch behind your ear, catching the side of your pretty face.

You reward his efforts with a slight, barely noticeable purr - one that goes away when you gasp, face flushing.

That'd be Satoru.

"See, look at her getting wet already! I bet she looks real good taking dick." Satoru says with a giggle as he reaches your pussy, giving your clit a little rub and teasing your entrance.

The employee, straight-faced, gestures towards the instruments beside him.

"As I said, our pets are kept as virgins until they're sold, so you can't have sex with them. But any other form of examination is permitted, including penetrative ones."

Satoru gives him that terrible, impish grin. "C'mon Suguru. We should check she's in good health before we get her."

"Who said we're getting her?" Suguru shoots back, stroking tenderly over your head, down your back, in soothing motions.

There's a sparkle in Satoru's eyes; he knows Suguru isn't willing to leave this shelter without you.

Those terrible, wicked, beautiful eyes glance over the instruments, mouth splitting into a grin as he fixes his gaze on one of them.

Pulling out the speculum, Satoru slinks towards your backside. Tracing lines over your folds, fondling your clit with purpose.

"See! Soooo wet," He coos, positioning the speculum at your entrance.

Suguru pulls away from you to sit next to Satoru, "Be careful. That's not a toy."

"I know, I know!"

Satoru's tone isn't exactly reassuring to you. Still, you can't do anything but hold yourself up, your ass and cunt bare and exposed to them as the cool metal slides in.

Just the feeling of it spreading you open has you whimpering, tail curling around your thigh.

Suguru's hand comes to rest at the base of your tail, near your back, petting down it in a gliding motion.

"There's a good girl, hm," His voice has a heady satisfaction to it, fingers curling around your tail, "Just hold still for us, don't be afraid. We won't hurt you."

You can't help your reaction, keening under his soothing, affectionate tone. A little whine escapes you as the cool metal slides deeper in, and Suguru makes an effort to reach down and pet your head again.

"Yeah!" Satoru chirps. "See, it's not so bad!"

Somehow, this, too, fails to reassure you. However, one of his hands sneaks around to rub over your clit, until you're dripping, clenching around the metal instrument.

"Good kitty," Suguru murmurs, and you find a shameful, low rumble building in your belly.

Satoru notices, though, "She likes it!" - to your horror, he slides the speculum all the way in, and starts spreading it - you - wide open.

"Here, Suguru, don't you want a look?" Satoru says, spreading you one-handed. His other hand rubs just close enough to your clit to keep the arousal lit.

"Hm..." Suguru hums.

But Satoru knows him - knows that this is as close to a yes as he can bring himself to admit to an idea he hadn't suggested himself.

You're so cute, too, he can't help but stroke your pretty little folds, all soft and wet for him. Even as he gapes your cunt wide, it's drooling all over his fingers. You're a natural. So perfect~

"Just look!" Excitement shoots through his chest, "You can see inside... that's her cervix, right?"

He does see it, they both do, that tender, reddened roundness at the end of your pretty little passageway. Walls straining against the speculum, a tight little hole winking at them at the very end.

Like a prize. Like an invitation.

It stirs a terrible, primal heat in Suguru's loins. Seeing so deep inside you. So far. You've almost certainly never even seen this part of yourself... it's only for him. For him and Satoru.

For them to see right now. And later, feel it kissing their dicks, hot and wet as you get filled up with their cum...

"God," Satoru says out loud, "I just want to take her here and now, you know? This cute cunt would look so nice all swollen and dripping with cum, yeah? Right, Su-gu-ru~?"

It's so painfully obvious by now; Satoru had already scouted you in this shelter. He'd picked you out on purpose.

Somehow, he's not even upset. But he can't just say that. Even if he's already itching to have you home, with his name on your collar and your leash in his hands, to play with...

"She looks... healthy." Suguru says, glancing at the employee.

The assistant nods shortly. "As you can see, she has a very strong pelvic floor, and she's in prime breeding condition. Our pets are kept in perfect health."

A pause. "Is she in fit to go home today?" Suguru asks, ignoring how Satoru nearly cheers at the statement.

"All of our pets are. If they weren't completely healthy, they wouldn't be on display. We take their care very seriously here."

Suguru nods again, and the assistant leaves to retrieve the final adoption papers.

Satoru pulls the speculum out, and Suguru takes a moment to press his body into your thigh, supporting you, petting over you.

"You were so good for us," He cooes, "Don't be scared. There's a good girl," Suguru hums as your tail slides against him, "You're coming home with us, now. Aren't you excited?"

There's a terrible relief that pours through you at the words good girl, at the gentleness with which those large hands guide you to a much more comfortable position, sitting at his feet.

You press yourself against his lower legs, looking up at him shyly, feeling a purr glow through your chest as Suguru smiles down at you.

He's so nice. The other man is lecherous, a bit scary, but it'll be okay as long as this nice man is here, right?

It seems almost finished, as the employee returns - but the white-haired man, the extra pretty one, raises a brow at an option on the paperwork.

"Clit piercings?" Satoru's voice seems extra excited, "Is that an option? Instead of the microchip?"

Piercing? You stiffen at the word. To say you didn't like pain would be a dramatic understatement. Just the thought of some needle near your flesh, a hole that won't heal...

Suguru's hand comes down onto your head, running through your hair, brushing all the thoughts away as you lean into his touch.

It's hard not to crave the warmth, the gentleness. You're only a hybrid, after all, bred for companionship and affection.

The employee pauses for a moment sighing, "It's not an option for all pets. It's a clitoral hood piercing, which can house a micro-sized, state of the art gps tracker. The issue is, it requires some delicate handling. You would have to keep her still, and ideally, keep her clit hard, so it's easier to avoid."

Satoru pulls you up into his arms, like you're no lighter than a switch - you yelp, but he just laughs.

He sits back onto a chair, holding you in his lap and spreading your legs. With one hand, larger than your whole pussy, he spreads your lips open, revealing your cunt.

Your feverish eyes look for Suguru, who approaches from the side, squirming in Satrou's lap anxiously.

Those dark eyes run over you, and for once, the look on the handsome, dark-haired man's face makes you shiver.

"That should be easy. You've been playing around it all this time, haven't you, Satoru?" Suguru's tone is half-accusatory, but Satoru only laughs.

It's easy for you to follow the line of his sight to between your legs, right at the crest of your clit, where Satoru's long, clever fingers stroke heavy circles around it.

"Just hold her like that" The assistant states, pulling out a piercing gun, "This will only take a moment."

"Look at her cute little clit!" Satoru snickers, "Gonna look so pretty with the piercing over it. Plus, if she ever gets lost, we'll find her right away!"

You can feel his body better now, pressed up as you are against him. His chest is solid, muscled, and he's wiry but lean behind you as he holds you easily in his grip, locking his legs inside yours.

Your ears tuck down as you squirm nervously, but Satoru's grip holds you tightly in place. The tip of your tail swishes as it winds against Satrou's leg as it presses into yours.

Suguru sits down next to you, one arm wrapping around your back and up over your chest. He presses his cheek to your poor quivering ear, nuzzling into it.

"Mmmh, don't be scared," He hums lowly, a noise like involuntarily relaxes you, "It'll be over quick."

His voice changes, deepening, hardening, and it's like it's coming from someone else entirely when he says - "Satoru. Keep her on the edge, make her cum when it goes in."

A whine escapes you. Goes in? You don't want this.

The assistant's gloved hands nears you as he gets on his knees, sharp eyes darting at your exposed sex, pulling the strange, unfamiliar tool right up to your most vulnerable place.

You whimper, and Suguru kisses your ear, folding it against your head, "Shhh, shhh. Don't be scared. You feel good now, doesn't it?" He says in a voice like honey.

Satoru's fingers dance over your folds. The strokes get shorter and shorter, the bud of your clit swelling up with pleasure and sensitivity alike. Gut churning with arousal, dripping from you, and a rapidly growing anxiety.

"I don't," You say, but your head is already spinning, "I don't, don't, wanna, I don't wanna, please..."

Leaning forward, Suguru tucks some hair behind his ear, showing you his own gauge piercings.

"I have one too, see?" He hums, "Yours will be much smaller, just a little one. It'll barely hurt."

You stare in confusion, tearing up as your own ears flick nervously. He has one too? But this is between your legs!

"No, no no no, please no," You plead with him, "I don't want it, please-"

"Shhhh." Suguru's hand darts up to your mouth, fingers pressing down on your tongue, "Yes you do. You'll love it so much once you have it, don't worry."

He feels silly for trying to explain. That won't calm you down now.

It makes sense that you can't understand. You're just a sweet little kitty, as much as you look like a human, and this is all just scary and uncomfortable for you.

You're a cat hybrid, a domesticated creature. Pets don't have to think about what's best for themselves; their owners do that for them.

He feels your rough tongue squirming against his fingers, drool pooling around them.

It makes him lick his own lips. His pants are tight. He wouldn't be surprised if Satoru hadn't already -

"Hnngh... yeah, kitty, you'll love it," Satoru pants, grinding up against your ass, making you whimper even more.

Suguru lays another heavy kiss on your ear, "Shh, shh. Hold still, kitty, you can do that, can't you?"

In the midst of all the pleasure, the quickening strokes that have your core clenching in anticipation. The fingers in your mouth, the iron grip on your hips, your legs, holding you in place, the bodies against you; Suguru's soft voice is your anchor in a sea of overstimulation.

But all you can do is warble, fangs teething against his skin, just barely not breaking through. You tremble at the effort, gnawing at his knuckles, wrapping your lips around his fingers.

"You're so sweet," He croons, "So good for me. There's a good kitty."

His fingertip draws down along your tongue, triggering your reflexes to suckle at it.

"There you go, nice and ready," Suguru coos, stroking your head, "Keep her close, Satoru."

With one large hand on your hip, holding you steady, Satoru starts rubbing your clit in sharper, fierce circles, coaxing it to stiffen and peek out further.

The assistant tugs back the delicate skin over your clit, all dripping and swollen. He gives it a quick wipe as he pulls the piercing gun in, making you panic even further.

Suguru pets and kisses as you, squeezing at the tension in your shoulder and your neck, while Satoru rubs just beneath your clit, in hard presses that send pleasure shooting through you.

"Feels good, right?" Satoru pants in your other ear, pinning your hips tightly against him and his throbbing erection, "I'm gonna make you feel even better real soon, kitty."

You sniffle helplessly in his lap, clit throbbing as his fingers work your sensitive nub. It sends you closer and closer to release, a tightening coil of anxiety and pleasure curling in your core.

"Hold still," Suguru murmurs softly, "Be good."

And you try; you try to be good and hold still for Suguru, who pets you and strokes you and says nice things to you. But it's so hard. Every fiber of your being wants to flinch away, and the constant stimulation against your clit is nearly blinding, burning hot arousal searing through you.

You're half-trembling with terror. Heart racing as you stare at the piercing gun sliding into place over your wet, exposed cunt.

"You're being so brave," Suguru whispers, "Such a brave little kitty. Just a little longer."

With a final click, the employee pierces you, sending a sharp jolt of pain through you. You shriek at the sensation, and would have jumped if it weren't for Satoru's iron grasp around you.

But Satoru keeps rubbing, your sensitive bud throbbing with both the effects of his touch, and the pain of the piercing now settled in place just over your clit.

It's all too much, the swell of pleasure building in your core until the pain only adds to the intensity. The dam bursts forth, and you choke on Suguru's fingers as you tense up, breathless, all discomfort melting away in the airy bliss of your climax.

"See," Satoru purrs, arms moving to wrap around your chest and hold you close, "Told you I'd make you feel good."

"That wasn't so bad, was it, kitty?" Suguru lays a kiss against your heated cheek, pulling his saliva-slick fingers out of your mouth so you can pant in the aftermath of your release.

"Look, Suguru~!" Satoru grins, cheeks red, as he taps at your new piercing, "It's so cute!"

Suguru straight up smacks his hand away, muttering some admonishment you don't catch; dimly, you register a wetness against your ass, at the front of his pants.

Panting, sweat-soaked, you slump forward as soon as Satoru's grip on you loosens - but it only tightens right up again, drawing a confused mewl from you as Satoru tugs you up to carry in his arms.

There's more kisses to your head, your ears, your burning hot cheeks. A buzz between your legs so sharp you can't even tell if it hurts or feels good, so you settle for whining whenever you're jostled.

"Be careful with her, Satoru."

"I am, I am - aren't you gonna do the paperwork? I think she needs a little aftercare."

You slump helplessly against Satoru's chest, ears flicking to pick up conversations you're too tired to pay attention to. Tail swaying underneath you, slung over one of Satoru's arms.

"Don't start monopolizing her already. We can do that together once we get home."

"I'm the one who wanted her in the first place!" Satoru whines.

Suguru rolls his eyes, "So you admit you went here without me and picked her out first?"

"But you like her, though," Satoru says, giggling, shifting you carefully in his arms to better support your head.

He looks down at you, curled up in his arms, with a satisfied smile, as the paperwork is signed and they're about to leave.

Aren't you just the cutest little kitty he ever did see?

He just knew Suguru would love you. He's playing it cool, but Satoru knows he can't wait to get you home to dote on you, set up rules and routines. He's probably salivating at the thought.

A pet just for them. Docile and sensitive and fuckable, a loving companion to come home to every day, a toy for them to use together or apart.

Satoru tucks your head against the crook of his neck.

He can't wait to break you in.

594 notes · View notes

star2fishmeg · 1 day ago

Note

Hear me out Luke having a wet dream and you waking him up to help him out. He’s all embarrassed and you keep on reassuring him that there is nothing to be ashamed of😳

Luke’s mortified. You’re speechless. You’re sitting up, duvet pushed down the bed you’re sharing because your friends just happened to make a last-minute room switch (typical) and you’re staring at each other. He feels his cheeks burn pink, words bumbling on his tongue and you have so many electric feelings surging through you.

It’s not that weird, you’re both adults and you’ve known each other since you were eighteen, thick as thieves but a lot of things about Luke made your heart hammer and stomach flutter and a lot of things about you made him forget how to speak and act normally. But this was different…and you were kind of into it.

He opened his mouth to speak, his hands falling to his crotch to hide his cock, briefs soaked, and you catch the glint of white seeping through. “I-oh God, I’m sorry I’ll-it’s not what, well it is but it’s-”

“It’s okay,” you smile, your voice soft and he’s watching your eyes, “happens, nothin’ serious.”

“You’re..not…grossed out?” he mutters, shoulders relaxing. There’s a huge relief that washes through him; he could have been worse but he’s glad it you who caught him in a wet dream and not one of the guys. He knows that it’ll take a lot for you to screw your nose up at him, as comforting as that was. “Like, this isn’t literally disgusting to you at all? I just came next to you…from my own dream…”

“Well, what were you dreaming about?”

He pauses.

‘Oh? So, me, underneath him.’ Springs to your head.

“...doesn’t matter, gonna clean up. Sorry for waking you.” He blurts, shifting around to stand but you’re reaching forward and curling your fingers around the waistband of his boxers, tugging them back. You know you shouldn’t look, but you can’t help scanning his ass and thighs - they’re so obnoxious and you feel like he displays them purposely because he knows they make your pussy throb.

“Lu, it’s okay, it’s normal…” the words fall out faster than you can think about it, eyes wide as they peer up at him and he knows there’s no way he’ll be able to calm down as long as you’re here. The words bounce at the front of your mind and your gut feeling screams. “I…I can help…if you want…”

He should decline, turn away and go to the bathroom, keep what you have between you but you’re both destined magnets at this point, but he lets that warm, fuzzy feeling inside him decide. He turns around, blinking and you let go of the back of his waistband to slip your hand into his, leading him back into the bed. You push him back into the pillows, propping yourself up next to him while you other hand cups his cheek gently, his lips parting to speak but he loses his voice as the soft smile on your face. He thought he’d be freaking out more over this, but he’s surprisingly relaxed under your touch, the way you’re not freaking out. Perhaps this is the realisation that you and Luke are definitely not just friends and haven’t been for a long time.

He slides one arm under the side you’re propped up on and around your waist, hand settling on your hip as you wrap your around his shoulders, leaning into each other. The gesture alone flushes heat to your neck, eyes gazing into his, heads leaning closer and closer until you meet halfway. The kiss is slow, tentative, but it’s a distraction that settles the blundering nerves in his stomach when together you reach over and tug his briefs down, your palm around his cum-soaked cock and stroking lightly to start with, small hums vibrating in his throat. He’s already obsessed with the shape of your hand, somehow the sensation feels so much better when you’re doing it.

“See, nothing to be ashamed of, pup. S’just a wet dream, maybe I like getting you worked up…” you pull away, cooing against his lips and watching his chest jolt as he breathes in sharply. Your lips press wet kisses to his cheek, your grip firming and strokes bolder. His cock’s so pretty your stomach flips aggressively, his fingers gripping the fabric of your sleep shorts as you pump him with a slow rhythm, “Do you like that, Lu? Does it feel good?”

Luke tilts his head back into the pillows, pushing his hair off his forehead and letting stammering whines slip the more your pace increases. It’s like you can read his mind, or maybe you can, he loves it either way and bucks his hips up on reflex, raw thrill building in his lower stomach when you giggle, wrist rotating as you drive him further and further to his end.

“Fuck- feels so good,” he pants out, eyes barely opening to bask at the sight of you, “you’re so fucking good, baby. Always gettin’ me worked up like this, s’fucking- shit- annoying.”

“Just returning favours, puppy. Now ssshh, I don’t want people hearing your pretty whines.” You dip down and swallow his breath with a deep kiss, tongue finding and licking his, your thighs clenching together feeling your cunt throb as you’re giving him broad strokes. He squirms, your pace unbearably brutal and bullying his cock into pulsing in your hand. His hand’s latching around your nape, using your kiss as a muffler for his desperate whimpers.

The tension tightens progressively in his stomach until his abs and thighs are clenching, the seventh heaven descending upon him where his hearing temporarily feels like it's muting out until a weightless feeling washes in waves over him. He tranquilises, muscles retracting and pulling away for air. You smile, watching his cock pump out warm ropes of cum from his tip and down your hand until there is nothing left.

You bring your hand to your lips, licking up his cum as his eyes lock onto yours, “You taste so good too, but do you feel better?”

“I don’t know, I think we should make evens.” Uncontrollably, his lips pull into his smirk, chest still panting and his cheeks still rosy, but he does feel relieved at last, and he still has you, he’ll always have you and you’ll always have him.

You give him a grin, urging him out of the bed to clean and change, both keeping your giggles quiet. You don’t say no, though.

#≡lh43 #luke hughes smut #luke hughes

257 notes · View notes

allhandsonhotch · 3 days ago

Text

Yes, Coach! | A.H

pairing: married!soccer mom!reader! x soccer coach! hotch

warnings: reader is married.. her husband sucks tho! i hate my husband final boss. mentions of cheating, comparing incompetent husband to hotch? mentions of what shitty fathers do to their daughters. daddy issues in kids. pre relationship pining (if you close one eye and squint) reader wants hotch bad. i think that’s all? lmk if i missed anything! not proofread bc im lazy.

word count: idk this is so long tho

The early morning sun beamed on your face as you dragged your husband through the soccer field.

Your daughter Luci clinging to your other hand as she happily skipped towards her team, oblivious to the tension between her parents.

Brian— your husband was a pity excuse for a man in your opinion, he thought the world turned because he spun it— he thought he painted the stars with his ass and he couldn’t be a worse father if he tried. You practically had to force him off of the computer to get him here and he complained the whole way there.

You’d gotten into a fight that morning as well, you caught him talking to his secretary in a way that went far beyond professional and you (reasonably) had called him out on it.

Brian never cared though— he always thought you didn’t have the courage to find better yet every time he threw cash at you to get you off his back— you pocketed it in hopes of collecting enough to take Luci and leave him.

He was a lawyer, a very well off one and when you asked to have a job he’d told you no. Plain and simple he just said no. Of course it wasn’t his call but you were just 22 at the time, he was 45 you just assumed he’d had a reason to want it that way but as you grew up you realized it was nothing but an excuse to keep you helpless.

You set up one of the folding chairs you’d been forced to carry by yourself, feeling eyes on you from afar. “Sit here— im gonna take her to her team.” You spat, damn near shoving him into the chair and walking her over to her team. As you approached the team, you raised your sunglasses to rest on the top of your head, making direct eye contact with him.

Aaron Hotchner.

In all of his coaching glory.

When you couldn’t get Brian to coach Luci’s team, he had— alongside his colleague David, who you now knew as a famous author/ FBI agent.

His son Jack was Luci’s age, they went to the same school and you knew enough about him to know just how many people felt the same way you do.

He was your favorite fantasy. In your head he was perfect— a real man. He had everything Brian didn’t. He was a good dad— enjoyed helping out and he even brought the half time snacks.

“Luci! How are we feeling today?” Aaron’s enthusiastic voice boomed, once you stepped up to him. Luci giggled and wrapped her arms around his leg, your apologetic smile earning a chuckle from him. “I wanna play!” Luci cheered before running off to run drills with Jack and the other kids who’d gotten there early.

“How are you feeling today coach?” You chirped, which made Aaron roll his eyes. “Like it’s 7 am and I cannot wait for this to be over..” He said, his voice stoic. “Of course it’s Mr. FBI who gets stuck coaching little kids soccer..”

That made him grin, his tired eyes meeting yours once again. “Well it’s not like anyone else wanted to..” He chuckled, his gaze flickering over to Brian who was most likely texting his secretary.

“I could barely even get him here..” She groaned. That got his attention and his gaze snapped from Dave over to you.

Aaron’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. He had that way about him—quiet, observant, always noticing the things people tried to hide. His eyes flickered back to Brian, who was still glued to his phone, oblivious to the way his wife stood here, exhausted and exasperated, practically begging for someone to just see her.

“He doesn’t seem very invested,” Aaron said carefully, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You huffed a humorless laugh. “Brian’s only invested in himself and his barely legal secretary.”

Aaron didn’t reply right away. He just studied you, as if trying to decide how far he could push before he overstepped. He must have settled on just enough, because his voice was softer when he finally spoke.

“You deserve better than that.”

Something about the way he said it made your throat tighten. Maybe it was the certainty in his voice, like it wasn’t just an empty platitude but a fact—one that he believed, even when you struggled to.

You forced a smile, shifting your weight uncomfortably. “Yeah, well… I can’t exactly afford to leave him— not yet anyways.”

Aaron’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, like he wanted to say something else. But before he could, Luci called out to you from across the field, waving wildly.

“Mommy, look!”

You turned just in time to see her send the ball flying into the net, her little face lighting up with pride. You laughed, clapping your hands. “Great job, baby!”

Aaron smiled at her enthusiasm, then looked back at you. “She’s got a good support system. That counts for a lot.”

You swallowed hard. You weren’t sure if he meant Luci or you. But either way, the weight of his words settled deep in your chest.

It was then that you wondered if maybe—just maybe—someone did see you.

You smirked, tilting your head as you let your sunglasses slide back down over your eyes, shielding the way they lingered on him. “You think so, Coach? That sounds a lot like a compliment.”

Aaron huffed a small chuckle, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. “Just stating the truth.”

“Well,” you drawled, shifting your weight onto one leg and allowing your hip to jut out just slightly, “I don’t hear it very often. So maybe you should keep talking.”

His eyes flickered to you, then briefly over to Brian—who was still hunched over his phone, completely uninterested in his own daughter.

“You’re married,” he reminded you, voice low but firm.

You let out a breathy laugh, tapping a manicured nail against your chin. “Legally, yeah. Happily? That’s debatable.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened. You could tell he was trying to stay neutral, but you saw the way his fingers flexed against his arms, like he was holding something back.

“Still,” he said, meeting your gaze, “It’s a line I don’t cross.”

You stepped closer—just enough that he’d notice, but not enough to cause a scene. “You ever think about it, though?”

His eyes darkened, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He didn’t answer right away, but the silence between you was heavy, charged. You knew he was fighting something—whether it was you or himself, you weren’t sure.

Finally, he exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head as if to clear it. “You should go sit down,” he muttered, nodding toward the field.

You grinned, leaning in just slightly before you turned on your heel. “Sure thing, Coach.”

As you walked away, you swore you could feel his eyes on you. And that? That was a win.

After a little while of watching the game you decided to move your chair closer to where Aaron was so you could watch Luci better and get away from your no good husband who hadn’t even acknowledged that you were back.

The second half of the game started, and for a while, you let yourself actually enjoy watching Luci play. She was fast—small but determined, her little legs carrying her across the field with everything she had. You caught Aaron watching her with something close to admiration, his arms crossed as he called out encouragements.

Then came the moment that made your heart swell. Luci went for the ball, trying to pass it to Jack, but another kid bumped into her, knocking her down. It wasn’t a hard fall, but she sat there for a second, fear written all over her face.

Before you could even react, Aaron was already moving.

He crouched beside her, his voice gentle but firm. “You okay, kiddo?”

Luci pouted, looking down at her scraped knee. “I fell.”

Aaron smiled, reaching out to brush a stray curl from her forehead. “Yeah, but you’re tough, aren’t you?”

She sniffled, then nodded.

“You wanna know a secret?” he asked, leaning in conspiratorially.

Luci’s big eyes widened. “What?”

Aaron’s expression turned serious, but there was a glint of something playful in his gaze. “The best soccer players fall all the time. It just means you’re trying your hardest.”

That got a small giggle out of her. “Really?”

“Really.” He stood up, offering his hand. “Come on, let’s show ‘em how tough you are.”

Without hesitation, Luci grabbed his hand, letting him help her up. She wiped her eyes quickly, then ran back into the game like nothing happened.

You felt something catch in your throat.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, Jack came up beside Aaron, looking up at him with a grin. “You didn’t tell me that secret.”

Aaron ruffled his son’s hair. “Didn’t need to, buddy. You already know you’re tough.”

Jack puffed out his chest, clearly proud.

Your chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with Brian sitting just a few feet away, ignoring all of it. You swallowed, blinking a few times before looking at Aaron again.

He must have felt your eyes on him because he turned to meet your gaze and for the first time all morning you had to tear your eyes from his.

You watched as Luci dashed across the field with renewed energy, her eyes constantly searching for the ball, her little legs moving as fast as they could go.

She practically lit up when Aaron spoke to her, the way she smiled up at him when he praised her, or even when he simply acknowledged her presence. It wasn’t the kind of admiration a child typically had for a coach—it was something more, something pure and you found yourself upset that you hadn’t noticed it sooner.

She adored him— in a way you were kind of scared of.

As Luci ran past you, her face flushed with excitement, you caught her eye and waved. “You’re doing great out there, lovey!” You cooed at her.

She barely even glanced at you. Her eyes were locked on Aaron, who was standing on the sideline, coaching Jack on positioning. “I’m gonna score, Momma! Watch me!” she shouted, her voice full of pride.

Your heart softened, the words sticking in your throat. You hadn’t seen her this alive in a while. Luci had always been a bright kid, full of imagination and energy, but there was something different about her when she was playing soccer and Aaron was around. He had a way of drawing out her best qualities—the things she sometimes got too shy to reveal.

You could see the way Aaron’s eyes softened as he watched the team, the way his face, usually so composed, broke into a small but genuine smile.

Luci and Jack scored goal after goal together and he watched with eyes full of pride. Luci thought they were for her but you knew it was mostly for his son Jack.

The thought made you sad— she hadn’t looked over at Brian the whole game, she didn’t even care that he was there.

You swallowed hard, a mixture of sadness and something else settling in your chest. You were happy that Luci had found something so fun that she adored but the thought of her forming an unhealthy bond with her soccer coach did frighten you a little.

Luci adored him. She looked up to him, trusted him, and believed in him in a way she never did with Brian. And, if you were being honest, you couldn’t blame her.

The realization hit you harder than you expected. For all the times Brian had failed, Aaron had stepped in—not just as a coach, but as a role model, as someone Luci could turn to without hesitation.

And as you watched them now—her running to make a play, him giving her a thumbs-up from the sideline—something inside you stirred. Luci’s adoration wasn’t just something normal; it was deep— it ran so incredibly deep that you didn’t know what you were going to do when the season ended.

Later, as the game wrapped up and the kids started to gather around for the final huddle, you leaned against the fence, your arms crossed as you watched Luci chatter excitedly with the others. Aaron was kneeling, talking to the kids about teamwork and how proud he was of all of them. Luci was practically glowing as she stood beside him, her eyes fixed on him like he was the most important person in the world.

You smiled softly, but there was a slight pang in your chest. All the parents— minus Brian of course made the tunnel for the kids, your hands reaching up and resting against Aaron’s as if they belonged there.

Once you all pulled away, Aaron gave everyone a high five and walked over to pack up the cones on the field while the parents started to leave.

Your eyes never left his frame besides to check on Luci who was playing with Jack.

You’d never been able to deny the kind of man Aaron was. He was strong, compassionate, and quietly self-assured, never forcing attention but always commanding respect.

Your gaze softened as you noticed Luci nudging Jack, her eyes wide as she whispered something to him. Aaron caught her at the corner of his eye, and his lips tugged upward into a soft, knowing smile.

You didn’t realize you’d been so obvious until you felt someone stand next to you. It was Aaron, of course.

“You know, she really looks up to you,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He glanced at you, a little surprised, then nodded. “She’s a good kid.”

“She’s crazy about you,” you added, keeping your tone light, but there was a tenderness in your voice you couldn’t hide.

Aaron’s gaze flickered to Luci, his expression softening as he watched her laugh with Jack, her whole face alive with excitement. “She’s got a lot of love to give if you let her..” he said quietly, his tone a little different than before, less professional and more personal as he glanced over at Brian who seemingly hadn’t noticed the game was over.

You could tell he meant it. His voice had a warmth to it now, a little more genuine than it had been earlier, when he was still trying to maintain that distance. The way he looked at Luci wasn’t just as a coach—it was something more.

“She loves you,” you repeated, your voice almost a whisper now.

Aaron shifted slightly, his gaze still on Luci. “She’s a special kid,” he said, his voice thick with something that sounded almost like affection.

There was a pause between you, the air thick with something unsaid. You felt the warmth of his words settle in your chest, but there was also something else—something that made your heart flutter. It was hard not to notice how much Aaron had come to mean to Luci, how much he’d become a part of her world.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to imagine a life where it wasn’t just Aaron coaching Luci—where maybe, just maybe, he was part of your life in a bigger way.

But just as quickly, you pushed the thought away.

Aaron looked back at you then, his eyes meeting yours in a way that made you feel like he saw more than just the surface. You swallowed, trying to keep your composure.

“I think she’s lucky to have someone like you around,” you said, your voice soft but steady, the guilt evident in your voice as you thought about every time you’d begged Brian to show her an ounce of care— Aaron had, and he was a stranger.

Aaron’s gaze lingered a moment longer before he cleared his throat, his usual stoic expression falling back into place. “I’m just doing my part,” he replied, but there was a slight edge to his tone now—something that told you he wasn’t entirely convinced by that statement.

You smiled, but this time it felt more sincere. “Well, we’re both lucky to have you around, Coach.”

Aaron didn’t say anything for a moment, but you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something that wasn’t just about the kids, about coaching, or even the game. It was about you, too.

He’d seen you every week for the past month, 4 nights a week. You were the only parent who helped run drills when Dave wasn’t there— you cheered on every kid, not just your own and when he asked you’d bring half time snacks.

Every conversation, every glance, every time you had unintentionally made his day better with your careless flirting and witty remarks.

“Come to lunch with me— this week, there’s this place by the office I’ve been wanting to try and—” His words caught you off guard but your expression didn’t waver, in fact you smirked, holding up your left hand to flash your wedding ring.

“Well as a very smart man reminded me— I’m married…” You trailed off, your tone playful as you stared at him, dropping your hand back down at your side.

Aaron’s eyes rolled for a moment before he spoke again. “Could’ve fooled me— here I thought you were flirting with me all this time.” He grinned and something about it told you that he didn’t do that often.

“Oh I was!” You giggled, using your hand to cover your mouth as if you were a child telling a secret. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m not very happy in my marriage..” You whispered childishly.

“So you’ll come?” He asked hopefully which made you grin and nod. “Text me?” You smirked, before calling Luci and Jack over.

“Momma can we play at Jack’s house?” Luci asked innocently, her little voice tugging at your heartstrings like it always had. “Maybe next time— Daddy probably wants to go home and—” Luci pouted and you had to try your hardest to remain in control.

She had the tendency to use her cuteness to get what she wanted from you. “Next time okay?” You smiled sadly, grabbing her hand.

She grumbled, her expression dropping slightly. “I wish Jack’s dad was my dad too.” She frowned and just like that your heart had shattered. You sent Aaron an apologetic frown and picked her up.

“We’ve gotta go honey— say bye to Jack and Coach Hotchner..” You said shakily and reluctantly she did, and the two of you walked away, leaving Aaron and Jack behind and you hoped that someday you wouldn’t have to.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #thomas gibson #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotchner x reader #soccer!mom!reader!#aaron hotch angst #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch fanfiction #hotch x you

210 notes · View notes

blackdollette · 1 day ago

Text

"HIS PRETTY BABY!" ᝰ rafe cameron

♬.ᐟ now playing: cola. - lana del rey

synopsis: just a lingerie shopping trip between husband and wife. what could go wrong?

⊹₊⋆ pairing: husband!rafe x female!reader

⊹₊⋆ word count: 3.2k

⊹₊⋆ contents: rafe being an ass, degrading if you squint, fluff if you squint, public sex, unprotected p in v, hardcore-ish sex, implied creampie, teasing

“you’ve got 5 minutes to try everything on, y’hear me?”

rafe called out as he plopped down onto the small, overstuffed leather couch placed strategically outside of your dressing room for husbands just like him to wait on as their wives took their sweet time trying on debaucherous amounts of clothes. he grumbled under his breath at your lack of response, instead hearing the sound of you beginning to rustle through one of many bags. so much for a fun shopping trip. he’d be lucky if he made it out of this place while the sun was still up.

inside the small room, you had an assortment of clothes in front of you, ranging from long flowy gowns to dark blue baggy jeans and designer sweaters. chic, stylish, pretentiously modest. you had picked out a top-tier selection of clothes, if you could say so yourself. but you knew far too well that nothing that currently hung from the clothing hangers would appeal to rafe’s risque taste. but you decided to test your luck anyway. who knew, maybe he’d like something today.

you strip out of your simple, lacy sundress. the one that was slightly too short and hung just a hair too low at the chest. rafe thought it was just fine, especially when the wind would pick up and give him a flashing view of your luscious assets. once reduced down to you bra and panties, you slip on the first piece of attire: a navy blue sundress that left absolutely everything to the imagination.

minutes later, you stepped out and stood right in front of him, wearing your first dress. “how’s this one, hon?” his eyes were downcast, conspicuously oozing with boredom as he strolls mindlessly on his phone. your expression begins to flatten, his typical apathy already ticking you off. you tapped him on the shoulder, only earning half of his attention along with a slight snarl etched onto his hard expression. “the fuck do you want now, huh? are you done yet? can we get the hell out of here?” the slight eagerness in his tone is the first sliver of emotion you had earned from him all day. you sigh, taking a step back from him to provide a full view of the outfit.

“tada, what do you think?” you chirp, looking down at him with wide, hopeful eyes. yet all you are met with in response is a sour scoff and a good old-fashioned eye roll right at you. “...i think you’re fuckin’ joking, that’s what i think.” he mutters under his breath, his attention falling right back to his phone after taking a single glance at the rather subpar choice of dress. you pouted, moving your hand to his chin to make him look at you. “don’t be like that. c’mon. rate it out of ten.” you give him a little spin, the long, swishy skirt doing a poor job at giving him even the slightest peek or tease. “i don’t know what to rate that shit, okay? goddamnit, maybe a… fuckin’ two or somethin’.” he met your gaze with the smallest hint of a snarl. “now change out of that thing and let’s get the hell out of this place. i’ve seen all that i need to.”

your jaw hangs agape in protest. “but, rafe..! i’ve got other things i wanna try on.”

he snaps up to his feet, putting his hands on your shoulders to spin you around and push you back into the dressing room. “you’d have to shoot me in the brain before i’ll ever let you degrade yourself with clothes like these. if you’re not out of here in two minutes, i’m leaving your ass here, do you understand?”

you scowl severely at his blunt impudence, snatching the dressing room curtain and shutting it in his face with as much aggression as you could put into it. you muttered angry curses under your breath as you stripped back out of the rejected dress, slipping your own back on over your head. you whip the curtain back open, storming out of the room and leaving him dashing behind you to catch up.

you walked out of the dressing room empty-handed, leaving everything behind since none seemed to give you the reaction you had wanted from him. he snatched up your hand, dragging you out of the store and back into the main mall. “...good fucking riddance,” he murmured lowly as you and him walked out of the store’s exit. “i’m taking you home. there ain’t nothing in this place that’s worth our time.” he said with finality, tugging you along behind him as your eyes scanned the assortment of stores surrounding you until they landed on one that would surely sell clothes that would blow his socks off.

you shook your head, looking up at his face with an expression that didn’t hide your displeasement in the slightest. “not yet, i just wanna go to one more store. please, just one more place?” you plead with controlled desperation, knowing exactly the right buttons to press in this type of situation to get exactly what you wanted. “...goddamnit. only one more, okay? get whatever the hell you want and don’t waste my time again.” he sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose as if the mere thought of entering another store with you was conjuring up an immense headache. “you head on inside, i’m going to grab a coffee. i’ll meet you in the dressing room.” you didn’t waste a beat stepping quickly in the direction of the store with the neon-pink fluorescent sign.

you dashed into the store, the cool and sensual aroma that hit your nostrils foreshadowing a much better outcome. the outfits shown in the display window confirmed your thoughts instantly, ranging from lacy lingerie to pretty dresses stitched with just the perfect amount of raunchiness. now, these were the exact kinds of clothes that made rafe lose his attitude and get all over you within seconds. you had to have them, and so you would get them. you made a beeline for the section selling those exact items, being on a mission to retrieve the perfect picks. you wasted no time grabbing up everything you saw, picturing the look on his face when he’d see the clothes on you. that blush that would swarm over his cheeks, the way his pupils would dilate so vastly in his sea-blue irises, how his hands would inch themselves higher and higher along your thighs, knowing exactly where to go. you settled into the further dressing room, right in the middle of putting on the first ensemble when that familiar low voice caught your ear.

“where the hell are ya? are you finished yet?” rafe called as he sipped on his hot drink, not knowing in the slightest what he ordered but hoping it would give him the energy to get through the next wave of your shopping spree. “in here, honey. just gimme a sec, okay?” he sighs deeply, something tiny inside of him nearly melting at the sound of your voice. “...yeah, yeah. just hurry it up in there, okay?” he sat down on the seat in front of your dressing room, legs planted firmly apart as his eyes traced your feet’s shadows in the tiny crack beneath the door. “this damn woman…” he whispered to himself, just to be interrupted by the noise of you walking out, standing right in front of him looking like a mouthwatering cross between a 90s bombshell and a pornstar.

you didn’t have to tap him to get his attention this time. it snapped right over to you like a killer instinct. his eyes were caught by the black thigh-high leather boots you had on. they were skin-tight glossy, his gaze almost not wanting to pull away from them but being compelled to by what treasures awaited him. his eyes traveled up slowly, dragging along your figure and first landing on your dangerously short pleated skirt and low-cut tube top that showed just enough cleavage to make his breath hitch. you placed your hand on your hips, looking down at him as he swallowed hard, immediately putting his phone down and gripping the seat tightly. it wasn’t like rafe to ever lose control of himself, but you didn’t miss how his body was already responding to the first course.

“you like this one, baby?” you took the words out of his mouth, his cheeks covered in a bright pink stain as his mouth gaped open. he cleared his throat, nodding nervously as a stupid little smile tugged at his lips. “...you shittin’ me right now? that’s what i’m talking about, gorgeous. give me a little spin, will ya?” your face lit up and you twirled, making the skirt lift up just a little to give him a quick glance at your ass as your heels clicked on the ground. rafe squirmed, shifting his position so he was sitting with his legs crossed, suppressing a painfully obvious boner.

“rate this one outta ten, hon?” you say with a smile, lowering yourself onto his lap and shivering slightly as his arms instinctually go to wrap around your waist, a wandering hand taking a hearty squeeze of your ass.

“...well, shit… this one’s gotta be a 10, dollface. at minimum…” he drawls lowly against your neck, his lips peppering soft kisses along your soft skin as his fingers peek underneath the skimpy slip of fabric that’s considered a skirt. “shoulda known you’d pull some bullshit like this. lookin’ this good and think i ain’t gonna do anything about it, huh?” without warning, he hoists you up in his arms bridal style, his eyes not missing the chance to watch how your tits spill out of that pornographic disgrace of a tube top. “...c’mon, baby. we’re gettin’ outta here.”

your eyes widen, your hands gripping his shoulders with tight quickness. “wait! i wasn’t done in there yet, silly.” you stop him quickly as he began to take quick strides in the direction of the exit, probably fully prepared to leave the establishment without payment. he grumbles deeply, turning around on his heel and setting you down on the ground. “f’course you fuckin’ weren’t.” he groans with exasperated, giving you a pat on the ass and beckoning you back into the dressing room. “alright, alright. fine. hurry up in there, y’hear? or i’m dragging your ass out myself…“ his tone lost its threatening edge halfway through as he gaze fell down to the ethereal sight of your ample rear as you walked away. goddamnit, you were just as hypnotizing to him as the first time he laid his eyes on you. and he didn’t know how much more he could take before dealing with you the only way he knew how. it had been a damn long time since he’d last blown your back out in an outfit as flattering as this one, as he was just itching for an opportunity to break.

he exhaled a deep breath through his nose, lowering himself back onto the seat as his fingers drummed on my clothed abdomen. rafe was a lot of things, but patient had never been one of them. not in the slightest. within the span of a few minutes, rafe found himself impatiently tapping his foot as the restlessness planted within him began to bloom. and if that wasn’t bad enough, your little stunt had given him more than just a boner. it was fully up and ready for battle, just as hungry as he was for a taste of that ever so succulent pussy. his hard cock was straining against the rough denim of his jeans, making him groan quietly as he placed a hand on top of his bulge in a vain attempt to soothe the throbbing sensation.

his knee began to bounce with raw anticipation, his itch turning into an insatiable craving. it didn’t take much at all before he couldn’t take it anymore. “...damn it all to hell.” he sprung up from his seat, taking a long stride to the entrance of your dressing room and pushing the curtain to the side. you yelp as he invites himself in, chiseled arms crossed over his chest as his eyes widen once again.

you stood in front of the mirror, wearing a small tennis skirt with a plaid pattern on it, paired with a white silky shirt that was more revealing than your bra. and your cute little feet in those white knee-high socks didn’t help the matter either. “rafe, what the hell?! i’m not done in here yet!”

“...i don’t give a damn, sweetheart.” he rasps out as he feet carry him right toward you, backing you into the cold wall. not missing a second, he grabbed the curtain with a slightly shaking hand and closed the curtain of the room, pinning you to the wall and pressing his body into yours, his raging erection pressing right into your stomach. you gasped, the heat of blood starting to pool in your core as he grabbed your face and pulled you into a very sloppy kiss.

“goddamnit, woman… what the hell am i gonna do with you, huh?” he grabbed your ass, lifting you off the ground and making you wrap your legs around his waist, your clothed, throbbing clit now in contact with his pulsating bulge. you moaned into his mouth as he kissed you again, this time using his tongue to trigger yours with his intentional flicks.

your hips began to grind against his, desperate for even the smallest amount of pleasure to still your nerves. that was all it took to do it for him. you always had a way of setting him off with your little antics. rafe groaned deeply, cursing lowly as he hastily undid the button and zipper of his jeans, whipping out his cock and letting it spring up and slap against your clothed cunt. you glanced down, seeing that his girth had nearly doubled in size because of how swollen it had gotten. he rubbed his leaky tip on your silky panties, feeling your wetness through the thin fabric.

you let out a shaky moan, grabbing onto his muscled biceps as he set you down on the wooden bench that was meant for clothing. he pushed everything else off, leaving room for only you as he pushed your legs behind your head, the wet spot on your panties much more conspicuous in this position.

rafe bit his lip as he grinned from ear to ear. “that’s my model… my dirty little wife…” he trailed a teasing finger down your cleavage until he got all the way down to your dripping wet cunt. he replaced his finger with his cock, getting off from the feeling of your wet folds hungrily attempting to swallow him.

“...gonna fuck you good today, baby… i goddamn swear it…” he dragged his cock along the lubricated line of your slit, pumping himself discreetly in the process. losing composure, he pushed the tip underneath the thin string that did a poor job at concealing your pussy, breaking it away with a light tug. your breaths wavered as the cold air hit your grooling cunt. it was such a pretty sight, one that he would never be able to get enough of. rafe spat on his thumb, rubbing messy circles onto your clit as he lined himself up with your hole.

the tip slipped in effortlessly, along with the first few inches. you writhed beneath him as a strained moan slipped from your lips. rafe clamped his hand over your mouth, forcing two fingers onto your tongue to shut you up. “...hey, quit that, okay.? you’re fine… don’t wanna get caught like this, do ya..?” with a low groan, he pushed in the remaining inches of his rod, making your eyes well. with his jeans down to his ankles, his hips began slapping into yours.

your eyes rolled to your back on your head as the perfect curve of his dick made him reach nothing but your cervix. you felt your drool bubbling all over his hand as deep, heavy breaths escaped from his parted lips. his large cock abused and stretched out your tiny hole, much to his pleasure.

his fingernails dug into the back of your thighs as his balls slapped your asshole with every deep thrust. your hands found his wrist and forearm, gripping the skin tightly as a white-hot knot began to tie in your stomach. rafe’s orderly thrusts quickly lost their composure as your muffled moans made his core boil.

strings on precum connected him to you each time he pulled out. he flipped his hair out of his face, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed back curses that threatened to break free. “s-shit… that’s it, baby… little pussy’s takin’ this cock so fuckin’ well… so goddamn good…”

your back arched as you ground your hips against his, desperately chasing the orgasm that was just in your reach. your gushy folds hungrily ate up his cock, making him toss his head back. “...e-easy there… shit…” you brought your fingers to your clit, choking out whines into his hand as you felt your climax hit like a freight train. he grabbed your hips, fucking you at lightning speed as his balls sagged with cum. as his orgasm arrived, it was likely that his shameless profanities were heard by all within a 50 foot radius. though neither of you had it in you to care. in a matter of seconds, he was filling up your tight, swollen pussy with loads upon loads of his hot seed.

“...o-oh my… fuck…” rafe swallows thickly as his entire body buzzes with the nerves ending that he’s encountered countless times with you. he was practically seeing stars as his jaw hung open, releasing heavy pants as his heart raced rapidly. yup, you were just that good.

he pulled out of you, watching as his cum cascaded out of your hole like a milky waterfall. you panted breathlessly, struggling to regain your composure as rafe swiftly tucked his cock back into his pants before getting you all cleaned up as well. you often joked that all it took for him to become a gentleman was a good, old-fashioned orgasm. as true as that was, he never found it funny.

you put on your clothes, looking at the mess you two had just made in a public residence. but before you knew it, rafe was out of the dressing room, carrying all of the clothes you tried on. you walked behind him quickly, desperate to catch up with the sudden eagerness of his pace. “honey? where are you going?” rafe looked back at you with a slight grin playing at his lips. “the hell does it look like? i’m buying you one of these fuckers in every colour. i look forward to my little model putting on a show for me every night.” he dumped the pile of clothes onto the counter, the cum-stained skirt above everything else like a cherry on top.

#smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe cameron outer banks #outer banks #obx #drew starkey #blackdollette #444rockstargf #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron obx #obx rafe cameron #rafe smut

155 notes · View notes

wishingstarworld · 23 hours ago

Text

“Until all vampires are dead,” I replied simply and dropped my sack onto the floor, a small cloud of dust billowing around it. I glanced around the small, one-room cabin that had once been my home, now simply a house covered with a thick layer of dust. I briefly considered cleaning but decided against it. There was no point. I’d only be here a few days at most anyway.

Varren shorted, leaning back against the wall, “So forever then?”

I shot him a look and cast a small fire spell on the old logs of wood in the fireplace I’d put there pre-emptively a month ago, setting them alight, and pulled over a chair. After brushing off the dust, I plopped down and groaned in relief as the heat washed over me. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take long for my clothes to dry from the rain.

Varren sighed and for a moment looked like the three-centuries-old being he truly was, “You push yourself too hard. This is the third month-long hunt you’ve undertaken without rest, something you desperately need if those bags under your eyes are anything to go by. It wouldn’t kill you to take a break and—”

“No,” I snapped, glaring at him hard enough that he shut his mouth, “It wouldn’t kill me. But it would kill the next innocent one of those blood-sucking scum takes while I kick my feet up while sipping tea. It would deprive a mother of her child, a husband of his wife, a friend of someone they hold dear. And all because I wasn’t there to steak the bloody bastard because I was too busy sitting on my ass. So no, Varren, I will not ‘take a break.’ I won’t let anyone suffer through that kind of pain! Not like I…I…”

All the indignation and anger washed away the moment memories of that night flashed through my mind. It was all still so clear. Mother’s cries, Father’s shouting. And the blood…gods, I could still smell it after all these years…

I shuttered out a breath and sighed, running my fingers through my hair, “Sorry.” I turned my attention to my sore feet and unlaced my boots. As I started to pull them off, I winced as I felt resistance from what I could only imagine would be blisters. I gritted my teeth and yanked the boot hard, almost biting through my lip from the pain. I eased the boot off, shook out the rainwater and blood, and tossed it by the fireplace, resting my foot on my knee to get a better look.

Yep. Blisters. Over the entire bottom of my foot. Wonderful.

I sighed and repeated the process with my other boot, discovering more blisters. After my second boot joined the first, I reached for my bag to grab some rags only for it to be pulled out of my reach. I watched as Varren wordlessly opened my bag and pulled out the rags and some bandages. He discarded my bag back onto the floor and pulled over another chair in front of me. He snapped his fingers, a bowl of clean water appearing midair, and patted his leg.

I briefly considered protesting but remembered Varren’s stubbornness and relented, gingerly resting my foot in his lap. He soaked one of the rags and carefully began cleaning the dirt and dried blood from my foot, being extra careful when wiping over a blister and caressing my ankle whenever I winced.

I studied Varren as he carefully but securely bandaged my foot before beginning the process anew with the other. Stories my father had told me as a child about vampires flew through my head. The ultimate predator, monsters with human faces, beings whose only desire was blood, a desire that only grew as their souls aged yet their bodies did not. Watching Varren discard the bloody rags without so much as a second thought, I couldn’t help but wonder how many of the old tales were simply that. How many vampires were like Varren, disgusted with their monstrous nature and desperately clinging onto what remained of their humanity?

Or would things have been different—would he have been different—if we had met even a century from now.

“Answer me one thing,” Varren said softly as he finished bandaging my foot, drawing patterns almost absentmindedly across my shin, “When you have achieved that which you desire, when all vampires are gone and dust…what will you do? What will we do?”

He looked at me with those blood-red eyes and I met his gaze with my equally red ones, “We will finally rest.”

After a one-month long hunt, the vampire hunter returns home with a body full of hastily treated wounds and dark circles under the eyes. Yet, they are already preparing to embark on another hunt. Standing beside them, a vampire speaks up: "How long do you plan to live this way?"

#writers on tumblr #writers #writing inspiration #writing prompts #writeblr

2K notes · View notes

allykakamatsu · 3 days ago

Text

TWST Headcanons

Some of these will be more in dept than others, one or two will be AU specific, either way, enjoy~

Ace:

Bi disaster and is in hardcore denial over it

Didn't have any scars coming into NRC but by the time the year was over he had thorn pricks all over him (from the Rose Garden and from OB!Malleus) plus some nasty marks from the STYX guards that never went away.

Nowhere near as bad as Cater, but is afraid of loosing the people he's close to which is why he acts so abrasive.

On that note, post book 7 Cater is 100% is favourite senpai.

Before going to NRC got gifted a pocketwatch by his brother. Mostly not a big deal but in Twisted Hearts it's a big part of the inciting incident.

Deuce:

Also a bi disaster, in slightly less denial about it.

Covered head to toe in scratches and scars due to how many fights he got into during his delinquent days.

Not sure if canon refutes this in any way, but he feels pretty resentful for his dad leaving him and Dylla alone.

After seeing Ace's dream he starts worrying he's a bad friend to Yuu as he wasn't even thinking that much about what would happen when Yuu is eventually allowed to go home.

Trey:

Gay and proud.

Doesn't have many scars but like everyone in Heartslaybul he does have some marks from the rose garden, plus a few burn marks from cooking mishaps.

After an incident with Rook in science club, always carries a spare pair of glasses with him to be safe.

Does not know his dad puns suck ass and no one has the heart to tell him despite the cringe.

Cater:

Bi, though tbh if you're playing the JP side that one's honestly just canon-

Also some flavour of trans but idk which one yet.

Another rose thorn victim, and also has some burn marks from when he had to do the cooking at home and it went wrong.

Has a pretty big crush on Vil (again this one is debatably canon on the JP side if nothing else)

Admittedly I'm borrowing this one from @ladyazurith but due to his clones he was in charge of being everywhere and getting all the manual work done, which is why he was so quick to pawn it on Ace and Deuce during Book 1.

Wants to open up about his issues to his friends but has no idea how, plus there's the fear that he won't see them after NRC anyway, or that they won't like him anymore once he's more honest.

Riddle:

Gay and (somehow) even deeper in denial than Ace is about it.

The one with the least amount of rose thorn scars but still has a few. Also has some very slight burn marks from some reckless fire magic usage.

Also this one is for all the OB bois but some of the ink markings from his Overblot left behind some faint lines that become more visible when he (or any other OB boy) use magic.

Naturally white hair, his mother made him use magic to turn it red, and post book 6 he let's a little bit of the white show.

Not the worst at NRC with this, but has no idea the average price of most things so he has a decent chance of getting scammed.

Post book 1 once he admits he's never had a sleepover among other things Cater immediately drags the group into one. It goes well and Riddle has fun despite some initial awkwardness.

(more underneath cut)

Leona:

Asexual Biromantic. Also some flavour of trans but idk which.

Got his scar from when the rude son of guest visiting the Savannah pushed him while they were playing outside and he hit a rock. Also because of the scar his depth perception is fucked.

Has had to deal with a few assassination attempts and has some scars from it but is somehow not the one with the highest score of those.

Used to date Vil during the stars first year but they broke it off before the year was over. Now they've had some time to cool off (plus Jack and Epel joining NRC who they both care for) they're stuck in will they won't they hell.

Made the day Rook transferred out of Savannahclaw a dorm-wide holiday-

Will never admit it, but has a soft spot for Cheka and kids in general.

Ruggie:

Unlabelled but know he likes dudes.

Has a few nicks due to his thievery back home, but the only scar he bothers to cover up is the mark on his arm he still has after Leona almost killed him, mainly to make sure no one starts treating him like a kicked puppy due to it.

Has vitiligo

Frequently mails canned food he got from Sam as well as cash he stole from Leona's account back home to his Grandma.

Despite the rough start due to Book 2 he and Jamil are besties and meet up at least twice a week to shit talk everyone on campus.

Is not the Vice Housewarden, however no one can remember who Leona actually picked so they kinda just give him all the jobs a vice would have.

Jack:

Bi, also I can't prove it but something not cis is going on with his gender.

Has some nicks cause Savannahclaw has a lot of uneven edges all over the place, however most of his scars come from book 2.

On that note, gets pushed around by the whole dorm a lot in book 2, both figuratively and literally, due to him being the only one who still cared about playing fair. It’s better post Book 2 but he’s still not treated great by his dorm.

Doesn't get to hang out as much as he'd like but is really glad NRC gave him a chance to see Vil again.

Occasionally gets roped into the Diasomnia training due to Sebek offering and him wanting to mix it up.

Azul:

Gay and generfluid but prefers male pronouns.

Aside from the standard OB scars he has some scars from when his classmates back in the Coral Sea were poking him with sharp coral.

An ever so slightly better flier than Jade, or at least can last longer without having a heart attack.

Honest to the Seven just wants to help Jamil out in his own... unique way, the fact that he'd have such a powerful mage in his dorm is honestly just a bonus.

Frequently turns board game club into personal issues venting, much to Idia's dismay.

Jade:

Hasn't thought much about sexuality but he knows he likes guys. Is also generfluid though they don't have a preference.

Not nearly as many as Floyd but still has a lot of scars, including a large and nasty one on his back from when a strong mer attacked him when he was younger.

Part of a mob family and is the one set to take over the family business, a prospect he doesn't hate but would rather have as much fun as he can on land in the meantime.

Had a few more siblings when they were younger, however a group of predators showed up one day and killed most of them. Jade (the only one awake due to him getting a midnight snack) managed to keep himself and Floyd safe but he didn't bother trying to help the others, leading to him watching them all die.

Would rather die than admit it, but is pretty insecure about his UM and it's many limitations and worries that he might get replaced for not being strong enough.

Floyd:

Gay and generfluid, though like Azul he tends to prefer he/him most days.

Head to toe in scars, there's barely a part of him that isn't scratched in some way.

Also forgot to mention this with Jade but the two of them both have their mer cheek stripes showing at all times.

Too young to remember their other siblings and Jade plus their parents never told him so he doesn't know.

Not as down horrendous as Azul but also likes Jamil a lot and wants his sea snake to have nice things.

On that note, his favourite people are the kind that aren't afraid of him and are even not afraid to fight him, which is why he latched onto Riddle so fast after the chaos that was their Opening Ceremony.

Kalim:

Pan, he just loves everyone.

Multiple scars from the assassination attempts, most notably rope burns on his wrists which he usually tries to cover with either long sleeves or jewellery as a distraction.

The one time he tried to go to a therapist for his issues it ended up being an assassin so that scared him off for life.

Once a month after book 4 he goes over to Heartslaybul so Riddle can teach him law so he has more of an idea how to help Jamil and the rest of the Vipers.

Jamil:

Bi with a male preference and Bigender, but you can only call him she if he gave explicit permission (thank @blondeaxolotl for that one)

Hard to tell due to how well he hides them with his magic, but is the only one at NRC who can compete with Floyd and Lilia in the scars amount. Stab wounds, rope burns, marks left by Ruggie making him fall down the stairs, burns from when he was learning to cook, OB scars, you name it Jamil probably has it.

Half snake beastman on his mom's side, all that really shows is a snake tongue and sharper fangs

Major complex over needing to feel needed given that being essential to Kalim was all he had going for him most of his life. Only starts to deal with it and by extension accept Kalim's help after Book 6 when Leona turns their tower trip into a therapy session.

Will never admit it out loud but is warming up to Azul and Floyd (not that he’ll admit it) However while things are a bit better he and Jade still don't get along though, partly cause they spend less time together and partly because they're too similar in a lot of ways.

Never liked Rook much to begin with, but the mild dislike turned to full on salt after VDC. Like, he gets that Vil probably needed some consequences but did he have to drag everyone else down with him?

Vil:

Bi but a male preference and genderfluid, no pronoun preference.

The only scars he had before his OB was one he got when he was 6 and he accidentally cut himself with a knife, and has done everything in his power to hide it.

Not many other kids where he grew up so he didn't have many friends, Jack being his only one for a good while.

Part of him wishes he could meet his mother but doesn't have any regrets about being raised by Eric.

He and Rook are a package deal. If you want to date one, the other is there. Platonic or romantic, RookVil are a pair you do not seperate.

Speaking of Rook though, while Vil knows Rook did the right thing at VDC and he'd probably feel awful if he won after what he did and almost did, the dumb emotional part of his brain was still hurt, though the two patched things up by the end of book 6.

Rook:

Gay, like so gay it almost makes everyone else look straight by comparison. Also idk his gender but he ain't cis.

Has a decent number of hunting scars. Isn't ashamed at all but they're usually covered since they're mostly on his hands and he usually wears gloves.

Half of Savannahclaw has filed a restraining order against him though none have gone through.

Still feels some guilt over book 5 cause he knew how much it hurt Vil plus it got the others caught in the middle but he knew that he couldn't let NRC win after Vil tried to poison Neige.

Vil and Leona's biggest shipper when they were together, low key trying to set them back up now that they're on better terms.

Epel:

Gay and transmasc. Overcompensating masculinity wise big time.

Has a decent few scrapes from the farm, and also has a gap tooth that he doesn't mind but Vil is desperately trying to convince him to go to the dentist to fix with the actor even offered to pay for.

Goes back and forward between thinking Deuce is the coolest or the lamest affectionate. Either way they love talking Blastcycles.

Looks up to Leona a lot, low key horrified to learn that he and Vil somehow used to date.

Was sweating a lot during the Harveston trip as he was worried the group would see his old pictures and figure out he wasn't born a boy, but while the truth didn't come out seeing how well they reacted when they thought Marja's old picture was him did give him a lot of peace of mind.

The one besides Ace who crashes at Ramshackle the most so he can get a break from Pomfiore.

Idia:

Asexual and demiromantic. Also some flavour of trans but idk which

Has a few burn scars, some from the obvious source and others from wires sparking while he tried to fix something.

Actually descended from Hades, he and his parents are just hesitant to admit it due to the inevitable multiple follow up questions.

Addicted to this worlds version of Project Sekai. Do I have any evidence besides vibes? No but I still believe it-

After a few too many near death experiences calls he's just started making prosthetic limbs just in case he needs to replace something, and even if he never needs them he can just use them for Ortho when he's ready for a size upgrade.

Ortho:

Has only just gained sentience and doesn't really care about romance or gender rn

No real scars cause well, robot, though he does let the first years have some fun and do marker graffiti on him sometimes.

Has all of OG!Ortho's memories, and while he knows it's silly he still finds himself dealing with imposter syndrome a fair bit.

Has figured out that everyone thinks anything rude he says is unintentional, and uses this to occasionally back talk people who make him mad and get away with it.

Malleus:

His type is anyone who likes him back and he barely knows what gender is.

Doesn't really have any scars on him prior to loosing his horn during book 7. The people close to him on the other hand...

Due to them both being in one man clubs whenever cross club competitions arise Crowley usually pairs Malleus and Jade together, leading to a surprising friendship between the two.

To some people (Leona's) annoyance, post horn breaking he's still plenty powerful, just not god level like he used to be.

Speaking of Leona. They dated. It was only for a week as Leona was rebounding hard after Vil, it was messy, both of them regret it, but it happened, though Mal is open to trying again.

Also a surprisingly good cook, if only to keep Silver alive until he learned how.

Lilia:

Bi and polyamorous. Also doesn't give a fuck about gender.

Probably the most scared one at NRC for obvious reasons, man is covered in stab wounds as well as lightning scars from both Melanor and Malleus.

Speaking of Melanor, the two of them along with Levan/Raverne were all dating though the royal couple made sure the senate didn;t find out about Lilia.

Genuinely oblivious to how awful his cooking is. He managed to raise Silver without him dying so how bad can it be? (Silver has an iron stomach as well as Malleus saving him)

Silver:

Demi. Thinks he's cis but is open to experiment.

Has a few scratches and bruises from his training but nothing too major.

Post book 7 he briefly experiments with dying a streak of his hair blonde but quickly gives up on that idea and just goes back to no dye, or if he does want to dye he goes black like Lilia and Malleus.

Loves singing. Wanted to audition for VDC but didn't want to risk screwing it up by falling asleep mid song.

Forgot to mention with Kalim but those two are pure lights. More so relevant for Twisted Hearts but in cannon it means they're less likely to Overblot and blots tend to keep their distance.

Sebek:

Doesn't really have a label for it but he knows he likes guys.

Like Silver just has a few training nicks though he has a few more due to being more reckless.

One time nearly had a heart attack and destroyed half the dorm looking for his Malleus painting, only to find out that Lilia just took it to clean the frame. Afterwards Sebek cleaned up and sent himself to detention out of shame-

Due to his dad being a dentist he has some of the best dental hygiene on campus and knows a lot about teeth, leading to a surprise friendship with Trey.

Eventually remembers the events of NBC Lost in the book, but whether that's because he finds Skully's painting, meeting his ghost at Ramshackle or actually sees his friend in person again depends on the setting and how I'm feeling.

Masterpost

Buy me a Coffee

Commission Prices

134 notes · View notes

lefteagleblizzard · 1 day ago

Text

ℌ𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔡𝔢 Mike Munroe x male reader

Summary: A request that i received: “before everything happened, Mike took a "friend" to accompany him to the cabin or something and this friend reveals himself as Mike's boyfriend in a scandalous way with a focus on what the reaction of others would be and maybe how this would affect the future.”

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Secret relationship. Jealousy. Angst. Smut. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Dom Mike Munroe. Bottom male reader. Anal sex.

Words count: 4500

The lodge was perched like a secret at the top of the snow-crusted mountain. Josh's voice had been bright over the phone when he invited you. Chris added some dorky joke that made Josh wheeze with laughter in the background and you knew they were just trying to include you and assist in your attempt to break out of your shell, or whatever fucking metaphor they wanted to pin on your anxiety.

You didn't say no. You should have, but you didn't. It wasn't that you hated the idea of fun like some cold-blooded loner skulking in the corner of the party, arms crossed, music too loud.

No, it wasn't that at all. It was him. The reason you spent the first three hours of the trip practically holding your breath, faking smiles that split at the edges, pulling your beanie lower so you wouldn't have to meet anyone's eyes.

Because how the fuck were you supposed to pretend? How were you supposed to watch him laugh and flex every person in the room like you didn't know the exact cadence of his breath when he came, the way his tone shifted when he whispered your name the second you two were alone?

You were Mike Munroe's boyfriend and no one knew. Now, in this thick wooden lodge that smelled like pine and old whiskey and snow- damp clothes drying by the fireplace, it felt like everyone in the room wanted him.

Emily had latched onto him the moment you stepped through the door of the big lodge, her perfectly manicured nails dragging down his arm like she'd branded it. Her laugh was loud, effortless, too loud, pitched too perfectly for every half-ass joke Mike made. She sat too close. Touched too much. Her eyes flicked to you once, just once, and dismissed you the way someone might dismiss a stain on a shirt-something unworthy, something in the way.

Jessica wasn't better. If Emily acted like she already had him, Jessica acted like she'd earn him. Every flip of her hair, every giggle, or the way she bit her lip when Mike so much as looked in her direction. It felt like needles under your skin, a hot, ugly truth trying to crawl out of your throat and scream that he's taken.

And sweet stammering Hannah, with those big eyes and pink cheeks and the way she looked at Mike like he hung the stars in the sky. She never threw herself at him. But it was obvious in every shy glance. Everyone knew Hannah liked Mike and they all let it be like it was just a natural fact of life.

Here in this big house every step felt like walking on cracked glass. You were the one who'd kissed him first, trembling in your dorm room as Mike kissed you back like he'd been dying for it.

Now you were just "one of the guys," a friend, a tag-along. Something less than a shadow. You watched Mike grin as he slung an arm around Emily's shoulder for a photo. You forced yourself to laugh when Josh teased Mike about how many girls he'd pull this week. You felt every second of it like a slow, sharp twist between your ribs.

He met your eyes across the room, once and it wasn't enough.

His eyes held regret, guilt, fear, you had no clue. All it did was remind you that you were the secret, the locked drawer in his chest no one else was allowed to open. The thing he tucked away when the lights were on, when the others were around.

You weren't even angry. Not really. You were just tired of feeling like a crime scene or something shameful and hidden. Your chest ached in a dull, familiar way, like bruises forming over old scars.

Josh and Chris had long since passed out downstairs, the competitive fire of their third whiskey-fueled "rematch" sputtering out in snoring heaps. Their absence had stripped the room of even a thin veil of decency.

You were now surrounded by the people you were supposed to be calling friends, laughter a little too sharp, smiles too curved as they plotted something that made your stomach churn.

Emily's gasp was loud and dramatic, her hand flying to her mouth with faux shock. "You did bot just do that!" she cackled.

Ashley snorted behind a cupped hand, Matt beside her looking half-aware, fingers tapping mindlessly against his leg.

"Maybe we shouldn’t do that," Sam began, voice uncertain.

"No, no, come on," Emily interrupted, spinning around on her socked heels. "Hannah's had, what? Years? Years to grow a spine and confess to Mike. And now I want him and she knows it. So what's she doing?" Her voice pitched up like she was telling a joke. "Still simpering around him like some little wounded deer."

"And we're supposed to just let her? I’m just looking out for my bestie." Jess added with a grin that didn't reach her eyes.

Sam sat beside you in the armchair, her body close, caim, something grounding in the storm of this bullshit. She didn't say anything at first. She didn't have to.

Your eyes had caught on it without realizing that she was drawing you. The way her pencil moved, the curve of your brow shaded with delicate strokes. She wasn't hiding it. Her sketchbook was cracked open like a window, showing the version of you she saw.

One quiet, pensive, maybe even strong. It felt like a lie

Your voice felt thin when you spoke

"Guys," you tried, lifting your head, "I really don't think this is a good idea."

Jess glanced at you, her eyes narrowing with curiosity, lips twitching into a crooked grin.

"Let me ask you something," she said, slowly standing, moving closer like a snake. swaying just before it strikes. "If a friend of yours showed interest in someone you liked, would you really be okay with that?"

Her tone was light, but the edge razor. There was heat under her skin. A charge in her words.

Your heart skipped a beat. That wasn't a hypothetical. That was loaded. It was too pointed. Too precise.

You opened your mouth, closed it again, the words catching in your throat like dry glass.

She suspected something.

You shifted in your seat, glancing around the room like maybe someone else had caught It, but no one did. Emily was too busy twirling a strand of hair around her finger and beaming at what was gonna happen. Ashley offered a little "mmmhm" of agreement. Sam stiffened at your side.

"I get it,” you muttered, voice tight. "Hannah probably shouldn't be acting that way with Mike. But humiliating her like this? It's not like you can control who you're into."

Jess's expression twitched, her brows lifting slightly at your words, like she heard what you meant, not what you said.

You hadn't meant for it to sound personal. But it was hard when the person in question—your man—was across the room, sitting in that big leather armchair like some movie star.

Emily crossed the room in two easy steps, all hips and calculated charm, her arms opening in a theatrical flourish. "Just because he's class president doesn't mean he's everyone's man," she said, loud and clear, meant to be heard. "Mike is my man."

Mike glanced in your direction, sharp and fast, like his body moved without his permission. Your eyes locked and in that second, you saw the crack in his armor. The guilt.

It was in the flex of his fingers against the leather. The way his mouth twitched, not into a smirk, just tightened. A breathless second passed before he moved, rising to his feet as though pulled up on strings.

Emily spun beneath his raised arm like a fairytale version of herself, hair flipping, cheeks flushed with the thrill of feeling chosen. Your gaze dropped to the carpet, stomach twisting.

You missed the moment he looked at you again.

Mike saw your head down and his stomach turned over with something hot and cold at once. He suddenly hated himself for playing along.

Finally, he let her hand go. Let it fall back to her side like it had never belonged there in the first place.

"Hey, Em." His voice was low, firm and measured. "I'm not anyone's man."

The ache in your chest had already bloomed into something bigger, like being filled up with wet cement. You couldn't move or breathe around it.

Sam stood beside you, quiet and tense, her sketchbook closed now, hands tight around it. She leaned in, her breath tickling the shell of your ear.

"Please," she whispered. "Convince them to stop. This isn't right."

She walked out with purpose, calling for Hannah like she could still fix this.

Mike stepped in like a sigh of relief and a punch to the gut.

"Okay, okay," he said smoothly, a grin already curving his lips, charm dripping from him like heat off asphalt. One hand, strong and practiced fell lightly on Jess's shoulder, his fingers flexing just enough to steer her back with that calm, casual command he wielded like a weapon. "Let's all calm down, yeah?"

His voice was honeyed, warm, light, teasing and natural; it barely even sounded like he was defusing tension.

The rest of the room faded for you as Mike shifted, stepping in too close to you and the heat of him folded around you like gravity. His eyes caught yours and there was that softness again, that version of him that never showed up unless you were alone.

Both his hands lifted to your arm, settling on your bicep, palms warm through the fabric of your shirt. Thumbs brushing slow, rhythmic, like he was grounding you.

"Relax, alright?" he murmured, voice low enough that it barely carried, intimate in a way that made your spine straighten and your throat tighten. "No one's gonna do anything crazy.”

And god, his face so close you could see the gold flecks in his irises, the way his lashes dipped low over his gaze as he studied you.

You turned your face hard and sudden, your shoulder twisting away from his hands before you even realized you were doing it and you left.

Fast.

The air in the hallway hit you like ice-thinner, cleaner. Your heart was pounding, slamming against your chest like it was trying to outrun what just happened.

You didn't look back, your legs moved on their own until you found Sam halfway down the hallway, already scanning rooms like she didn't know whether she wanted to kick a door in or cry.

"I'll help," you said, voice tight and low

Her eyes turned to you and the relief was palpable. Her shoulders sagged, mouth parted in a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"Thank you," she said and it wasn't just gratitude, she looked concerned and scared for her best friend.

"I'm gonna check her room first," she added, nodding toward the end of the hall.

Then she paused briefly to glance over your shoulder before marching down the hallway.

Your footsteps had barely started echoing down the hallway when a sudden pressure at your waist stopped you. The heat of a body behind you, close enough to steal the breath from your throat.

It was the kind of grip you knew too well, the kind that had once held you against a mattress in the dark, panting, whispered against your neck like a secret: mine.

You turned slowly, heart pounding, breath catching in your throat and there was Mike.

His hand stayed on your waist, thumb brushing in a small, slow stroke against the fabric of your hoodie.

"Hey," he said, quiet, pitched low, rough at the edges. "Everything okay?"

His grin spread, charming and warm almost too much. Like he was trying to compensate for what just happened in that room.

But you didn't answer right away. You just looked at him and something in your chest cracked. Your face twitched automatically. A smile bloomed at the corners of your mouth.

The kind of smile people to say everything's fine when everything is fucking broken. It didn't reach your eyes and it tore through Mike like a slow moving bullet.

It was all you could give him and it broke him.

“You… sure about that?" His eyes searched yours. "Cause that smile's the biggest load of bullshit I've seen since Chris telling everyone he was gonna win."

You almost laughed but your throat was too tight.

You swallowed hard. "I'm fine," you said.

He tilted his head, a tiny, frustrated huff slipping from his nose. "That's strike two, baby."

The nickname hit you like a gut punch because he never said it out here.

"You keep lying to me like that," he said, his voice dipping lower, thick and so close to a growl. "I'm gonna have to do something about it."

He tried to laugh, stepping closer to get rid of the space between you, the scent of him wrapping around you instantly. Spice, pine, the leftover sweetness of that expensive cologne he only wore when he wanted to impress you. His hand at your waist slid a fraction higher, slow and deliberate. Fingers dragging along the hem of your hoodie.

His other hand rose, fingers brushing just under your jaw, thumb gliding over the soft skin beneath your ear while his gaze dropped to your mouth.

His voice dropped, thick with suggestion and something darker, hotter beneath the tease. "Need some help to relax?"

His grin was there, lopsided and full of the usual boyish charm he was equipped with.

His lips landed on your cheek with a ridiculous sound, exaggerated and playful.

"Mike!" you hissed, voice cracking, cheeks flushing hot as your eyes darted past his shoulder like some part of you still had enough self-preservation to worry.

But he didn't give a shit or even pretend to stop.

Another kiss landed, higher this time and nearer to your cheekbone. Another just under your eye. Then one at the corner of your mouth, so fucking close and his laughter spilled out, rich and warm and filled with mischief.

"Shit," he chuckled against your skin, "you still get this shy, huh?"

His lips lingered more with each kiss, hungrier. Your skin was at this point flushed hot, tingling beneath each wet press of his mouth and that was all the confirmation he needed.

He kept going with slow kisses against your neck now, breath hot against your throat as he chased the pulse hammering there. Your voice came again, small and flat, barely a whisper

"Mike… quit it." But it wasn't the way you usually said it. Not full of laughter or breathy affection. There was a dullness to it, heavy and tired, eyes locked down at the floor like it could hide the truth leaking out of your mouth.

Mike's jaw flexed. He bit the inside of his cheek, irritation blooming in his chest, never at you, but at the ache in your voice and at the silence he'd let grow between you.

His grip shifted, stronger now, hand sliding from your waist to your wrist as he walked backward and pulled you with him, not stopping when you offered the barest resistance, not even hesitating. He reached the first nearby door, shoved it open with the heel of his boot and yanked you in.

The soft click of the latch felt like a gunshot. Then your back hit the door with a low thud, Mike's body pressing against you, crowding you against the wood.

You gasped, barely audible and to Mike it sounded like a green light.

Your breath came in fast pants, shallow and shivery as his chest pressed firm to yours. His nose brushed your temple, hair tickling your cheek. Heat poured off from him like a furnace, sweat beginning to build where your skin touched, clothes sticking.

You were mentally somewhere else and he didn't like that.

His lips dragged slow along the edge of your jaw, hot and wet and deliberate, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, letting his breath linger on every patch of skin he painted with his tongue. He scraped you gently with his teeth, kissed where it hurt.

He groaned low against your throat, grinding forward again as if to underline the problem he was dealing with in his pants. His voice was rough velvet as he mumbled against your lips, a grin curling up as he kissed the corner of your mouth. "You not in the mood or somethin'?"

A teasing bite to your bottom lip. Light and testing.

Your hesitation was too long but you did answer. Quietly.

"It's not that…"

A wicked smirk twitched onto his lips like a reflex. "So you do wanna fuck,” he murmured.

You grinned barely. Small. Brief. But it was there. A twitch of heat in your expression.

Mike exhaled through his nose, just a bit, his forehead still pressing against yours as his hands cupped your jaw. One thumb stroked over your cheek. His voice was softer now, lower but still thick with heat, brushing your lips with every word.

"What's goin' on inside that pretty head, huh?" he murmured. He didn't stop holding you. Didn't pull back. His breath was hot on your lips, mouth parted and kiss-swollen, but he waited. Waited for you to give him something real.

You swallowed hard. Your throat worked, voice caught there behind the burn and weight of your emotions but you forced it out anyway.

"I just… I feel like your friends don't really like me. Y'know?"

A pause.

"And there's so many people here who think of you as a prize, Mike. It makes me feel like this isn't even real."

Mike didn't flinch, something in him snapped. His fingers curled under your chin and tilted your face up. His eyes burned into yours, all lazy charm gone. Gone Replaced with something raw, possessive and protective.

“I hate that you feel this way. I know that i joke too much and play it cool out there. I should’ve told them weeks ago.”

He pulled you back by the shoulders so he could look at you again.

“What we have it's not fragile. It's messy, yeah, sometimes stupid. But I wouldn't risk this for anything."

You felt your chest tighten. Mike leaned in again, his mouth brushing yours.

"And come on. You think I'd be this hard for anyone else?" he breathed, grinding slowly again against your thigh, his girth dragging along your body with every word. "Think I'd be losing my fucking mind if you weren't here? You drive me crazy, baby. No one else does that. That's what you do to me, baby. Every fucking time."

His mouth found your neck again, licking a slow stripe up your throat before biting, hard enough to make you hiss.

Your head fell back against the door with a thud. He pressed up against you harder and your legs parted instinctively, hips canting forward to meet the roll of his.

His beard scratched at your skin, deliciously rough, the friction sending shocks through your spine as he groaned low and deep, the sound vibrating through you.

"You know how long I've wanted to have you like this tonight?" he whispered, voice cracking with need. "Back in that room… I saw the way you looked at me when I didn't say shit. And I hated myself for making you feel like you were nothing."

His teeth grazed your neck and you whimpered, in turn earning a chuckle from him, kissing that sound right off your throat.

"I missed the way you sound when I'm deep inside you and you're trying not to beg." His hand left your ass only to return lower this time, pushing between your thighs, cupping you through your jeans, palm rough and equipped with fingers spreading wide.

"You remember last week?" he breathed. "When you were on your knees in the locker room for me? We couldn't even wait to get home. Had your mouth wrapped around my cock in no time, eyes all wide like a good slut."

You shuddered. Fuck. He was right. "I couldn't even keep quiet," he groaned, grinding into you again, cock jerking between you. "Had to bite my damn fist so I wouldn't moan your name loud enough to echo."

He pressed his forehead to yours now, eyes burning into you, pupils blown out while his hand stid up your shirt, hot and possessive, dragging against your abdomen, past your chest, fingers grazing a nipple to watch you twitch.

Your jeans were shoved past your thighs with no patience, letting them crumple around your ankles as he kissed you like a starving animal, teeth that took hold of your lower lip and tugged before he ducked down to kiss a path along your throat, biting, sucking and marking.

You tilted your head back, hissing through clenched teeth. His fingers dipped between your cheeks, spreading and pressing against your hole through your underwear before impatiently hooking the thin material to drag it down.

You gasped when a familiar intrusion was detected, knees buckling, hands flying to the back of his head, grabbing messy fists of his hair as he groaned into you.

He spit directly onto his hand to breach you, working you open with slow, calculated thrusts that had your thighs shaking.

"Fuck, Mike—”

"Yeah?" he panted, eyes dark as he looked down at you. "What's that, baby? Need more?"

Another finger slid up, two of them now pressing against your hole, slicked from his spit and pushed in together. You choked on your own moan, head slamming back against the wall as your hole fluttered around him.

"God, fuck," you breathed, nails digging into his scalp.

"That's it," he groaned. "Squeeze me, baby. Fuckin' love how tight you are."

He fingered you hard with deep thrusts, curling his fingers to rub that spot inside you he knew would make you whimper.

There was barely any time to blink before he spun you around and bent you over the side of the bed, chest to the sheets, ass high, hole wet and ready. You heard the rustle of fabric, his jeans and boxers shoved down in one frantic motion.

The head of his cock landed against your hole, hot and thick and leaking, smearing pre all over your rim.

You pushed back instinctively, desperate, whining. Mike gripped your hip, hard enough to bruise and shoved in.

One hard, brutal thrust and he was buried to the hilt, thick cock stretching you open so fast it burned.

You shouted, voice caught between pain and need and he groaned loud behind you, head dropping forward.

"Fuuuck-God, you take it so good," he panted.

He started fucking you the second you gave him the signal you were ready. hard, fast thrusts that had the bed creaking under you, his hips slamming into your ass with wet, slapping sounds. His cock dragged against your walls perfectly, every vein rubbing against your insides and wrecking you.

Your hands clawed at the sheets, fingers curled in tight fists as you moaned into the mattress. He grunted behind you with every thrust.

"You love how I fuck you. Say it." He growled, leaning over you, his chest pressing to your back, voice hot in your ear.

You gasped, sweat dripping from your forehead, your body shaking as he fucked you harder, deeper.

"S-say it—"

"I love it," you moaned. "Fuck, Mike, I love—don't stop—"

He growled, biting your shoulder, fucking you so deep your toes curled, dragging you back onto his cock with both hands gripping your hips, fucking you like he meant to split you open, balls slapping your ass with every brutal thrust.

The tightening in your abdomen, dick twitching under you, untouched but aching. "Gonna cum, baby?" he grunted.

"Yes—yes—fuck—" He reached under you, jerking your cock with the same savage rhythm he was fucking you with, fist sliding up and down as your whole body tensed when the limit was reached, spurting across the sheets in thick ropes, ass clenching around Mike's cock like a vice.

And he soon followed you. Hot and thick. Spilling inside you in heavy, shuddering spurts, his hips twitching with every wave as he buried his face in your neck and groaned your name.

The silence afterward was thick. You laid there, sprawled across the bed, chest heaving, body boneless, glistening with sweat, streaked with Mike's cum and your own. The sheets were ruined beneath you, stained and crumpled and far, far from innocent. Your legs were still splayed, too lazy to close, too drunk on everything he'd just given you.

You didn't bother covering yourself. Couldn't, really. Even the air was too warm.

Mike was sitting on the edge of the bed, jeans only halfway zipped, still shirtless, bare chest flushed, muscles glistening. He leaned down over you, dropping loud and chaste kisses across your chest, obnoxious on purpose, wet and smacking. His grin stretched against your skin between each kiss.

"You're such a mess right now." He muttered, voice low and lazy, dragging his mouth to your nipple and licking it once, slow and hot.

You rolled your eyes, laughing breathlessly, fingers carding through his sweat-damp hair. "Asshole."

He grinned wider. "You loved every second of it."

Another kiss, right over a blooming bruise he'd left earlier.

A sound was barely registered at first due to how quick it was. You were too high off him and relaxed.

A gasp. It slipped into the air like a ghostly breath and the moment it reached your ears, it swelled, filling them entirely.

Ashley's voice, halfway to a whisper, but instantly sharp. "Mike? Are you here—oh—oh my God—"

Everything slammed into motion. Your body tensed under Mike's immediately, like a live wire yanked from the wall. You turned your head so fast your neck cracked, locking on the door where Ashley stood with Matt behind here, pale-faced and frozen, mouth open mid-word.

And he shouted too the second he realized what he and her had stumbled into when they were sent by Emily to search for Mike. "Oh! Fuck! Jesus! We're—we're sorry—"

Ashley backed up, hand flying to her face, babbling fast, her voice already rising. "Oh my God—oh my God, I didn't—I'm so sorry—oh God, we didn't know—"

"Fuckin'—GET OUT!" Mike barked, already grabbing the crumpled sheet from beside you and yanking it over your waist, shielding your lower half as he stood, chest heaving, voice snapping like a whip.

His body was between you and the door now, wide and furious.

But the door was still open and you saw Hannah peeking in at the back.

Her eyes found yours immediately and you couldn't even breathe.

She looked like someone had slapped her. Face drained white. Mouth parted, the whole picture clicking into place.

You could barely hear anything over the pounding in your ears when she turned and ran away.

The door finally slammed shut by Mike, rattling in its frame as silence dropped like a hammer.

You were shaking Heart still jackhammering. Sheet pulled tight to your chest. Breath shallow.

Mike turned back. His chest was rising fast, hair stuck to his forehead. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something but his eyes, when they locked on yours, were full of panic and devastation.

You tried to speak and nothing came out as well.

Mike dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, hands sliding to your thighs, gripping tight and dropping his forehead to press it to your knee.

His voice came out wrecked. "I'm so fucking sorry." The silence swallowed it.

79 notes · View notes

broodygaming · 2 days ago

Text

I’ll never understand the online urge to be insulting when I’m a real ass person yaaaallll ppl have been so nasty over this. Calling me illiterate?? I have feelings like?? What a horrid thing to wake up to Jfc. And you called me stupid in your notes. Ugh. I haven’t even had coffee yet.

The amount of “defenders” in these notes calling me stupid for this take is so insane. Can we remember it’s a BOOK series and everything in it is written with intention. Do I think this human interaction of a human being snippy with a rich human near him is the epitome of evil? No. Do I think this BOOK character who is playing into an angry archetype is showcasing his bias in an interesting way that plays specifically into the hidden past of this character I’ve been very curious about since 2010? Yes! That’s it!! I’ve been curious about what Madge’s deal is since I first read the books and this moment specifically has haunted me for what, 15 years?!?

Gale is a cautionary tale. He’s a warning. He’s an asshole and he’s supposed to be an asshole. So are lots of other characters. I don’t care for adult Haymitch much either. He’s cruel to Katniss many times. So is Gale. Gale uses her again and again. Everything he does is a calculated manipulation. He’s sees his world like his snares. How to move the pieces around so it best fits his needs.

“I knew you’d do that” when he whines and gets her to kiss him. Him being all ohh you’ll always like Peeta now cus he’s the most wounded. Like wtf dude. And for me... The biggest sign of how he sees Katniss is he doesn’t see her as a love interest until he’s JEALOUS. it’s about HIM.

He’s human but he’s also a character in a book. He’s supposed to be filling a role of a point in the book. He’s making a statement by existing and acting in the context of the story. He’s a WARNING. to not choose anger. To not sink to their level. To not let anger fester and burn you away. To not view PEOPLE like ANIMALS. the way he did. The way the Capitol did. The way *Gale did*.

It's the smallest thing maybe but it's funny to me Sunrise on the Reaping has given me another reason to dislike Gale.

Thinking of Madge on reaping day, wearing her nice dress and Gale giving her shit for it. Like she has a choice. Like she has say. Like it's her fault who she was born to. It's such an interesting example of class vs culture wars. This idea that the people up the road who have a nice house are the enemy and not the faceless people thousands of miles away who profit on their poverty.

Thinking of Maysilee who was very conscious of the way she dressed. Who liked looking nice and dressing up. Who is Madge's aunt that she never met. Who Madge heard stories of growing up about her moms twin sister who always loved fashion and knew the importance of masking and the power of how you present to people. Don't let them treat us like animals.

And when Madge lifts her head and says "I want to look my best if I go to the Capitol" and Gale has the audacity to scoff at her.

It also speaks to how quickly history is lost. He probably doesn't even know her aunt died in the games. Doesn't care. You never ever ever know what hurt people are carrying. What their history is. What their familial struggle has been. Don't punch down. Don't punch sideways. Don't even punch up. Break the chain and destroy the person holding the reins.

#im tired im so tired ppl are so fucking mean sometimes I wish this post hadn’t blown up #it’s not even that big and still #some weirdo called me a Capitol type yesterday like we’re 15 years old like wtf #I’m so fucking poor hahaha like wild wild wild take

3K notes · View notes

lilacashes · 1 day ago

Text

Obsessed with the fact Caleb can't bring himself to say no to the MC so here's a few small scenarios for it, there will be nsfw under the cut so this is very much a minors do not interact situation lol.

Asking him to take you shopping? If he's not already with you he's picking you up asap, going with you to all your favourite stores while you pick out stuff that you want, if you go into clothes stores he'll try to secretly buy you some stuff he wants to see you in. Definitely won't let you carry the bags even if they're light, he's spoiling you and making sure everyone can see it. If you don't have many bags he's gonna have a hand on your waist or in your back pocket the whole time, always making sure he's touching you, if you do have a lot of bags then he insists on you holding his arm "just so you don't get separated" is the excuse he gives but really it's just cause he needs to feel your touch on him as much as he can.

You miss him and want to see him? He's finishing up his work as fast as possible and getting himself back to Linkon and straight to your apartment as soon as possible, if he's got jobs that can be put off for another day he'll do it, anything to get him to you faster. The second you open your door to him he's got you in his arms and just holding you, most likely closes the door, picks you up and carries you to the sofa to sit together just holding eachother, few kisses here and there. It doesn't matter if he was there the day before, he wants to always be with you and if he can he will, if he can't he's there the second he's able to be.

Now cycling back to the first scenario, the things he secretly bought that he wants to see you in, some of those are outfits, others are cute pairs of underwear that he couldn't stop visualising you in, he'll have you change into them the moment he gets the chance to. He may not be able to say no to you but he's also greedy and has things he wants too.

Once you're in the underwear and clothes he bought you he's definitely getting turned on and fast, after all you look so cute in them, how could he not get turned on. He soon has his hands all over you, saying things you know are excuses and he knows you know are excuses but it's too fun to make them so he can't help himself. "I just have to make sure it fits right" is his favourite one to go to, but you and him both know him squeezing your ass isn't checking to make sure it fits, slipping his hands down the waistband of the clothes on your lower half to feel up your crotch, squeezing at your chest, none of that is checking to make sure it fits, you're both well aware he just loves your body that much that he can't keep his hands off of it.

If you don't feel up for sex at that time he might ask if he can grind himself against you until he cums, he's definitely cumming on your underwear.

If you do feel like having sex at the time then you'll find yourself on whatever surface is closest, sofa, table, kitchen counter, bed, the wall, heck even the floor, he can't wait long enough, the underwear definitely stays on though, either pulled to the side or pulled down a bit so he has full access to his favourite place beneath it.

I'll let your imagination run wild from here, trying to keep this one as gender neutral as possible however if I try to go into more detail it ends up pretty obviously afab (I'm afab myself and not all that confident writing amab on the receiving end)

#love and deepspace caleb x reader #l&ds #lads #love and deepspace #lads caleb #caleb x reader #lads caleb x reader #l&ds caleb x reader

65 notes · View notes

starrihan · 2 days ago

Note

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSMovrvKv/

girl i saw this tiktok and just IMAGINE HOW DOMINANT SUNOO/SUNGHOON would be in bed after finding out you admire idols other than them as their non-idol gf like 🤯

and the moment they find out through peeping the through your phone that you have other idols in your gallery they would call you greedy and will start to remind you how they can give you ANYTHING OUT OF THEIR JEALOUSY

no because him saying that on live was actually crazy but yes this SCREAMS sunsun!!! like they're both so sassy and i feel like Sunghoon is outwardly possessive but Sunoo is secretly possessive. like when he lets Jungwon use his skincare and he acts like its fine but he actually hates it he just doesn't wanna tell anyone. i used idols from other groups i hope thats okay! Sunoo would overcompensate while Sunghoon would punish you

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

༄ ༄ ༄

Sunghoon:

He would have you face down, ass up, white-knuckling the sheets as he pounds into you, always stopping before you can actually cum.

"You think Soobin could make you feel this good huh? Would you let him see you like this, ass up in the air and pushing back on my dick like a needy whore? Such a greedy girl."

You frantically shake your head 'no', needing him to let you cum as soon as possible. But he's not buying it. Instead, he yanks your head back by your hair, whispering low in your ear as you wince at the sting radiating throughout the back of your head.

"Really? Then scream. Scream my name so loud that you never forget who you belong to, the only person that could ever make you feel this good. Maybe I'll let you cum then."

You muster up all the energy you have, screaming his name as loud as your vocal chords will allow you to. You needed this release, having been edged too many times for your foggy mind to keep up with.

"PLEASE SUNGHOON!!! I ONLY BELONG TO YOU!!!"

How he had so much control was beyond you. He's had you like this for at least an hour and hasn't cum once himself either. His patience has no bounds when it comes to you, it seems.

Your clenching walls indicate your approaching release to him, speeding up as he can tell you're on the brink— before pulling away from you for the nth time in a row.

"I know you can do much better than that, you dirty whore. Try again"

༄ ༄ ༄

Sunoo:

"Don't ever think about having a picture of another man in your phone again."

He'd say, harshly nipping at the fragile skin around your neck, hips making quick work of you, cum seeping out of your hole, both yours and his. You can only nod your head 'yes', the overstimulation catching up to you. Your lip was bitten raw trying to keep yourself from drooling all over, orgasm after orgasm the only thing on your mind.

"What? Too dumb to speak actual words? And not even an apology either? How greedy you truly are..."

You're panting at this point, unable to produce any sounds save for a couple of small whimpers here and there, even the ability to speak being taken away from you in this moment. As you prepare for what felt like your 100th release of the night, you manage to croak out a weak apology.

"Sunoo... I'm sorry please... I can't, t-take it..."

He snickers as a smirk draws onto his face, not buying it one bit.

"Tsk, shut up. Greedy whores don't get to beg for forgiveness, especially after I gave you so many chances before. Take what you so desperately deserve and remind yourself that no one else would ever make you feel as good as I can."

༄ ༄ ༄

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

#starrihan #enhypen #enhypen smut #enha #enha smut #sunghoon #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon #park sunghoon smut #kim sunoo #sunoo #kim sunoo smut #sunoo smut

109 notes · View notes

thevoidscreams · 2 days ago

Note

Hi!! I'm a recent lurker and love how u write stuff. Hope I'm on time for the mating press march (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

You're a perpetual who had been accidentally stuck inside the Warp until one day u manage to see a bunch of babies getting yeeted through the Warp (wtf?). U aren't evil so of course u aren't going to leave a bunch of cute babies getting hauled and probably corrupted by the 4 freaks that reside in that awful place. U go collecting kiddos as if they were pokemons (u only manage to get a few of them, not all) and decide to rise them because why the fuck no? Fast forward, some asshole comes claming to be the father of your sons and that he will take them. A fight breaks at first but somehow you both end up fucking to an inch of your life and this emperor guy has decided that the best solution to this problem is that you become his consort... You're actually pretty okay with that.

Have a wonderful day! ♡⁠(⁠Ӧ⁠ｖ⁠Ӧ⁠｡⁠)

I had a few ideas for this but I'm only doing one so, I hope it pleases the masses. Reader is a perpetual from the modern day and there are references to such. Also I wanted this one to have some bits of comedy as it just helped the story flow a bit better. Also this WILL have some grim dark elements.

Smut isn't the focus of this piece.

Day 28 Year 2: Warnings: Descriptions of injuries, implied cannibalism, violence, implied sex Word count: 5599

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to piss off a minor warp god in college? Sure it'd been funny, really fucking funny, but now you were here, and here wasn't where you wanted to be.

Here was the warp, and your ass was spending eternity in it because of a rickroll gone wrong. Lesson learned though, don't bong a fifth and do stupid rituals written in tomes bound in suspicious leather in the woods.

You'd made it out in considerably better shape then your friends. That part did still haunt you. The crackling of bones, and the wet tearing of flesh.

Not that you thought any of that bullshit was real until then.

Well, hindsight is 20/20 as they say.

The worst part of being trapped in.. hell? Purgatory? The warp? It didn't matter this place sucked wholesale ass, but the worst part aside from the boredom was the things that skittered about out here. You'd gotten pretty good at dodging them and figuring out how to move around in this place. But it was like the deep trenches of the oceans on earth. One minute, nothing, the next second? Boom giant ass squid, ready to eat your face and nibble the bones.

If only you could find a way out. There was a terrible crack, like thunder but longer and deeper.

Then lights erupted in the distance, subtle at first but then brighter and hotter as they drew closer. Some instinctual part of you knew that you had to get to them. To catch the pods as they rocketed towards you. Creatures like living nightmares clawed at the capsules, trying to pry free whatever prize was inside the metal and glass.

Deamons. That did it. You swam through the currents faster than you ever had. your body collided with one. The many limb form was jarred loose, claws screeching as it scrambled for purchase, its grotesque from falling free. A second slithered around the side only to be met with a foot to the face. As it leapt from the capsule you finally had a chance to glance down through the frost caked glass and into the eyes of a tiny person. A child. You pushed the capsule through the tides, knocking into two more, crushing one of the daemons and sending the others hurtling from the smooth metal surfaces. The three you'd pushed together were sadly the only ones you'd managed. The others had been pulled away by other currents and had vanished. There was a pulling, almost sucking sensation on your skin as the waters of the immaterial plane parted and suddenly you were weightless in a new way. And deathly cold, colder than you ever had been. The zero pressure of space around you was a pain you had never known, not before and hopefully never again.

Then you were falling. Holding onto the capsule you fell down down down, through the atmosphere of a world, your skin popped and boiled on reentry, cooking part of your back. Then it was mercifully over, until it wasn't. You woke up in a fresh set of clothes, clean and alive. What remained of your old body was a half cooked, half splattered mess. "Yeesh." You groaned to no one in particular, then it all came back to you. The pods. The kids. You ran for what looked like the crash sight. The earth around them was badly damaged. But you hurried through the debris to find them. The first you found was the one you'd been riding. On it's front the Roman numerals XII. Twelve, you realized, How ever many of the pods there had been this one was number twelve. You searched for a way to open it, but you didn't need to. It opened with a hiss of freezing air and out stumbled the boy. BArely more than a toddler, yet he stood with purpose. A compossure and understanding of what was around him to an almost unnerving degree. "Hello." You spoke softly, taking a knee before him. You pulled off your light over coat and laced it around him to cover his naked form. 'Oh god please let him be a Superman and not a Zod.' You worried, looking at the pod he'd been in. "You got siblings?" You asked and he turned looking in the direction of what appeared to be another crash. He began to toddle that way and you walked beside him, offering him your hand. He took it and you walked together to the two other crash sights. There you gathered, number four and number fourteen. You were glad your weird ability allowed you to come back with your clothes, or else you would have had to trek around with three naked babies. And that wasn't ideal.

"Okay you three... now what?" You looked up to the darkening sky. Damn did you really not pay attention in astronomy class or what? The stars here looked all wrong and your sense of direction was totally fucked.

So you headed for what looked like a mountain. With no signs of civilization in sight you would just have to find somewhere and hope that the night wasn't too cold. WIth a cave located you settled the boys down. Using branches and some kind of moss to make makeshift beds. "Okay, you all stay here. I am going to go grab some of that fire out there, and hopefully bring it in here." They looked at you and nodded. Well they understood you and that was good. The trip back down the shallow slope wasn't too hard, but it might become harder the longer you're here. Finding fire wasn't the hard part. The impact has set trees on fire and they still smoldered. The problem was getting it back to the cave. You found a good stick, setting it into the flames only half way till it burned with fire at the end. "Nice." You trekked back up the mountain using the impromptu torch to light the way. When you got back however, the three were sitting around a fire. They turned to look as you approached. "Oh..okay." You came closer to them and set the large branch into the flames. "So more fire for the fire I guess." You sat a few feet away from it looking at the odd children. They looked at you expectantly. You felt responsible for them, and there was something clearly unique about the boys. You needed to take care of them. How you would do that you weren't sure. But you'd have to get it figured out. The press of small warm bodies startled you for a moment, they were all pressed against you, and you opened your arms to let them in closer. First things first you supposed they'd need names.That first week went by in a blur and the kids were already bigger. Perturabo, as he'd taken to calling himself, was already analyzing the world around him as if he had been alive for centuries longer than he had. Maybe it was the fact that you'd cut yourself and they all gathered around to sample your blood which had freaked you out terribly. Yet that was when they'd begun to speak in fragmented sentences.

Though the fact that they could speak more didn't shock you, it was how fast they were growing. Food on the mountain side was scarce, small rodent animals skittered among the crags and stones but they were far too fast to catch by hand. If only the girl scouts taught rope tying like the boy scouts you thought wistfully. Maybe you could have made a snare.

Perturabo had also begun calling his brothers by new names. Given that none you tried felt right for these clearly non average humans.

Mortarion had brought back plants. "Eat these." You took them, placing them on a stone by the fire. "Thank you Mortarion, you did a good job finding these." You praised and he smiled. "Thank you mama." He darted off to look for more before you could correct him, did you even want to correct him?

A week later the first storm hit. The kids were as tall as your waist in height. And seemingly

growing by the minute. A thick layer of snow washed over the mountain. You shivered, the cold could kill, but the fire wood gathered did help. Angron pressed his face into your side. Every time he touched you it seemed that some ache or pain evaporated and your worries eased. The plants you'd gathered were running out. There was enough for a day, but with how hungry they were, it would be hard to keep them satisfied. You looked down at your own hands. Then to the knife of flint Perturabo had made you. They looked hungry.. you would come back, with more clothes and.. and you were a sizable chunk of calories. They looked at you, and the twisted knowledge of what you had to do for your boys set in. You would come back.

You knelt before them on their now remade 'beds'. "Boys, I have to do something, and I know it will be upsetting to see, but I need you to trust me." The storm howled outside the cave. It hadn't let up. "You're going to hurt yourself." Perturabo surmised and you nodded. His face scrunched and there was a look of quiet grief in his eyes. "I won't be gone long. I promise." You stood and Mortarion took your hand, then Angron. "No." they whispered quietly. You smiled sadly. "We need to eat." It was all you said before pulling away and heading for the back of the cave. They should have to see this. You tossed some of the bones onto the fire. They popped and crackled as the water in them evaporated. You still felt shaky about the meat incident as you called it. But your boys looked full and they had energy. You took the old clothes and tried as best as you could to outfit their ever growing bodies. It wouldn't be enough. The winds died down first and the sun came out for the first time in over two weeks. Many more bones piled in the cave, and your skulls had made for fine cups to melt the snow into water. It had been a month and the boys who had started as hardly more than infants were now old enough to be squabbling. "Boys, that's enough. We need to go. Gather your stuff." They did as you bid, hurrying to gather what few belongings they had. Perturabo was at the front. "The south is that way." He pointed. You let him take the front, as he seemed to know where he was going. Occasionally he'd look up to the sky and mutter but you never saw anything. After hours of hiking you stopped. They looked at you and you shook your head. "Rest." You told them. It was mid afternoon by the look of the sun. The woods around you were coming alive. It was full of alien bird song and despite the snow. It was lovely. You rested your head back against a tree and Angron hugged you. You wrapped an arm around him. They were calm, listening and then there was a snuffling. You picked up your head but the boys were already alert. Facing the sound. An animal, something like a boar but with longer legs strolled from the snowy brush. It turned its eyes in your direction. Parting jaws full of conical teeth. It seemed to find the idea of you worth the trouble. It charged. You were ready to bolt, but sweet Mortarion was the first to move. He fisted a rock up from the ground and brought it down right over the animal's eye. It wheeled, screaming as it made to charge him. Angron came in next. Swinging his clenched fist into the knee of its back left leg. It went down with a hearty crunch and another high pitched whistling scream. Perturabo joined the fray, the flint blade he'd made cutting down through its neck and it dropped. The boys shouted, hooting and whooping as they stood over the slain beast. You were staring in shock. They were only children.. but they weren't only human. You remembered. Mortarion and Angron seemed the most delighted. "Look mama, we killed it. Now you won't have to hurt yourself so we can eat. It's okay."

The boy's words were like a hot knife to the gut. Tears stung your eyes and they all looked confused. They came to you, arms open to embrace you. "It's okay boys I'm okay. You all did such a good job, I'm proud of you." In truth you weren't and hadn't been for a long time, but that didn't matter now. You had your boys and that was enough, you would care for them no matter what. The pig thing lasted only two days. Your kids were still growing. Soon the clothes you'd provided wouldn't be big enough.

It was then you found salvation. A town, sizable to be sure. There would be things here for you to better dress your boys. But.. you didn't have money.

The words you read on posters looked so frustratingly familiar but there was nothing you understood. Perturabo stepped up beside you, seeming to get that it was a job board. He knew that from the memories he had of your life before. He and his brothers had come to understand your life up until now after consuming so much of you, including your brain. You stayed staring at the board as if it would give up its secrets to you. Perturabo gathered Angron and Mortarion. "We need money but none of us speak this language. I can read it, kind of, but mom cannot." "What do you suggest?" Mortarion asked his brother. "We need to learn this language." It was all he said, but the understanding was immediate.

When you turned with a frustrated sigh you expected to see your boys. But all that met you was an empty alleyway and the quiet of the night. "Boys?" You called softly, surely they had to be nearby. Panic gripped your heart as the only reply you got was silence and more darkness. "Boys!?" You called again and began to search frantically. The three could hear you and it hurt to ignore your call. They took the opportunity to find someone suitable. Someone no one would miss. And they found it in the form of a ganger alone in an alleyway, nothing to light his figure in the dark but the burning of a foul smelling stick between his lips. You nearly collapsed with relief when you saw Mortarion and grabbed him. He looked upset about something but you just knelt by him and held his face in your hands. "Mortarion, where were you? Where are the others?" Tears streaked down your cheeks and warm arms embraced you from behind, Angron was hugging you. "We're sorry mama. It won't happen again." Perturabo was the last to appear. You hugged them all so tight.

"Don't ever run off like that again, okay?" They nodded. And you found a tavern that seemed to have rooms. Mortarion put a wad of something in your hand and you gasped. It was money. "Did you steal this?" You asked him and he nodded. "You shouldn't steal." You told him but he didn't feel as remorseful as he pretended to be.

"Still it should get us a room.. I hope." You pushed through the doors. It was like some odd blend between a tavern of old and a motel. The bartender? Clerk? Looked up at you then down at your clothes and then to the three children with you all dressed the same.

He said something but you didn't understand it. Perturabo took your hand. "He wants to know if he can help us with something." At this point you didn't question it. "Yes. We need a room. And I would like to know if he's got any positions open for work. Just until we can get our feet under us."

Perturabo relayed the message and the clerk looked at a screen typing something. He spoke to Perturabo who nodded.

You stepped up to the counter and the man looked you over. You must look terrible. "He says they need a general cleaner and that you may work for room and board. But if we want to stay longer than that he knows a better place to do so." "How about we just start with a room for tonight. And the job tomorrow."

The bar clerk, as you took to calling him, got you a key to a room with a few beds and he took what cash you owed him. Which wasn't as much of your cash stash as you assumed. The first thing you did was bathe and instructed the boys to do so as well. Then you slept. Like a rock. With all three of your boys piled on your bed. When you woke the next afternoon you stumbled down to the lobby and found that the man from the night before had been replaced by an older woman. She had a motherly sense about her and she smiled. She motioned you forward and took out a box of old clothes for the boys. And a few pieces for you as well. Perturabo translated that they were 'hand me downs' from her own sons including the one you'd met the night before. And the woman's clothes were from her daughter who no longer wanted the pieces.

It was such a thoughtful gift you teared up and she shushed you and gave the four of you breakfast.

That was the first of many that you would have in that inn. It was also unfortunately the first day you would understand the problem of living in a town or city. The 'Tax Collectors' were petty thugs working for the government. They came through the towns outside the cities regularly and took what they wanted, often taking more than was needed and pocketing the excess. The innkeeper and her children seemed to just let it happen. So worn down by the constant abuse that it seemed normal. Your sons watched, a deep anger in their eyes as they observed the cruelty. "Just stay behind the counter, don't want a repeat of your husband. Awful soon to make your children orphans wouldn't you say?" He lazily gestured what looked like a flintlock pistol at the elderly mother and your hands clenched into fists. You hadn't understood what he'd said but the look you saw from the three was absolutely murderous. And they intended to do something about it. The assault had only taken a minute, maybe less, but the five men sent to scour the town and her people of their valuables for their governor were piles of bloody rags and meat on the floor. The inn keeper had fainted at the show and you laid her down on a few throw pillows until she woke up. It wasn't a pretty sight and the four of you set about cleaning it up. Little did you know this would become a common occurrence. Five months down the line and the three looked like nearly full grown men. The innkeeper took your explanation of them being your sons with a grain of salt. But she was glad for the peace their presence brought to the town. Maybe you would tell her one day the whole truth. It was also from her, though you were still gathering the language, that you had been correct in your assumptions that this was not earth. That part did confuse you. And there was no way to know how long you had been disconnected from reality until you contacted someone from the wider universe, if anyone was still out there.

"This won't stand. I won't allow tyrants to rule this world and her people." You overheard Mortarion say it. His conviction is clear as day. "I agree, we allow our town to live in relative peace but others do not know such a luxury. And the men they keep sending are getting better armed and more numerous." Angron added. Perturabo listened and stood from the makeshift forge he'd set up outback of the inn. "We will arm ourselves, and take the fight to its source." You trembled at the thought. Of your boys going off to fight some terrible army of gangsters and blood thirsty law enforcement. They noticed as you rounded the corner a look of concern in your eyes. "Hey kiddos." You were pulled into a hug by all three. "We must do this. To keep this world and you free and safe." You tried to understand but it still didn't make it easier. "This is our purpose, what we were made for."

Has it really been only half a year since the pods? It felt like a lifetime. "You protected us, now let us protect you." They headed off the week after, with weapons and armor forged by the hands of your 'oldest'. Then they were gone, for three months you fretted, cleaning the inn from top to bottom over and over until there wasn't a single nook or cranny you hadn't scrubbed twice over.

You helped ease your mind by making up fake yelp reviews in your heads about it. Four stars, the place was so clean but the cleaning lady did the dishes while our breakfast was still on them. Otherwise a great stay and friendly staff. You were giggling to yourself about it when the front doors blew open. Three towering figures crouched in and you nearly fell off your ladder from where you were changing the candles. Angron grabbed you first, hugging you tight. "MA!" He laughed and the others soon joined. Even the relatively dour Perturabo. "Oh my boys!" You cried and hugged them, kissing their foreheads, even if they were bigger than you now. They told all, not leaving a single detail blank, from the day they left to the day the took the capital. "There's a place for you there mama." Mortarion said, hugging you. "A fine manor where you will be safe and where we can take care of you now." "There's also labs with technology beyond what we have here. We can go, and find a way back to your world, or to find others like us." You nodded. "Let's not leave tonight. We'll leave in the morning."

The staff was sad to see you go. But the town at large was celebrating, the heros who'd freed them from the tyrants and allowed them to live in peace.

It had never been more apparent then when you looked at them now that they weren't humans. Not like you.The capital looked more like cities you remembered. Cities of metal and stone and glass. You didn't get attached to the place, you didn't think you'd be there long enough.

Perturabo was completing one of his first ships from old schematics he found in the labs. Improving it where he could. You helped Angron and Mortarion in their attempts to rework the government. You colossal sons seemed to have a hard time in talking to regular humans as they all trembled before them, in both fear and awe. It took entirely too long to get it figured out. Months in fact.

But it did get done. Men and women from every major town and city came together as a sort of united governing body. Elected by their towns own smaller councils.

You felt good about it by the time you left. What you didn't feel good about was traveling in space. It made you think too much of the warp and its horrors. But your sons would keep you safe and you would keep them safe in turn. Helping them learn to navigate their own more human aspects. Helping guide them to settle petty disagreements and squabbles. They still insisted on sleeping in the room with you. Having grumbles about how they could barely sleep when they were away to liberate the world. You let them. You loved them after all, they’re your boys.

The world you came to first was one called barbarous. Its toxic atmosphere and earth made for a terrible death world. You had to wear a mask the whole time and even then it left your skin feeling itchy and irritated. The humans here lived in more fear than they did on the one you'd left behind. It took even more months to free this world, from the terrible claws of the oppression brought by the overlords. You'd patched them all up more times then you could count but their bodies didn't need as much time to heal. They handled the fumes and violence better. Mortarion seemed to feel a deeper connection to it. "I can't explain it, but it was like I was meant to be here." You heart-fully disagreed. But it was his own feelings on the matter and you didn't push.

The people were set up, made to rule themselves as you had done before.It went similarly for another world called Nuceria. Angron seemed to shiver at the feeling of being there. His hearts beat with rage as he saw men, women and children enslaved in the fighting pits.

This one was harder to topple, the people had to be brought up. Given the purpose and desire to fight. You were there over a year, almost two. The barbarians had ancient technologies that Perturabo fashioned into weapons. The conflict was bloody, but your sons took the day, Mortarion was glad to see more tyrants brought to heel and Angron became well loved by the people of the fighting pits. Even tasking his brother to find a way to remove the nails hammering into their skulls. He did, and the healing began as it did on Barbarus.

They upgraded their armor and weapons as you went. The ship Perturabo had made, became larger and more advanced. There seemed to be a deep need in him, a calling he could not deny.

It came about when you left the warp again in the orbit of a world called Olympia.

You immediately didn't like it. The world was fine, but the people, they were users, self involved and greedy. They looked at your boys and saw tools. You didn't want to stay, but Perturabo did, he wanted to see more of the world. Its city states were always warring, and Perturabo sought to see peace reign, and you gave in with a sigh. "Okay, if it will make you happy, Pert." You kissed his forehead and let him go about his business. His brothers helped, and in a matter of months the world was under the rule of one city. You didn't like the people, but there was one girl, the daughter of the city's leader, and you and her got on well. Maybe this place wasn't so bad if you avoided the asshats who wanted to get to know you to get closer to your sons. It was oddly enough here that your life would change again, and maybe for the best. You couldn't be sure. You'd been in the city with your three when at the top of the nearby mountain there was an incredible light. Your sons were drawn to it. Needing to know where it was coming from. You followed. He was radiant beyond belief, the man on the mountain. Your sons fell to their knees in awe of him. You had to resist harder than you ever had to resist anything not to also succumb. "My sons. I have looked for you, on many worlds. I heard tales of your great deeds." "Hold on!" You interjected. "Who are you?" You demanded, and the man seemed to consider you. Your sons reached for you to try and calm you. "I am known by many titles, but to most I am the emperor of mankind. And these," He gestured to the three men who you'd loved and raised, "are my sons. I thank you for bringing them together, but their destinies lie beyond here, they are my generals, and they have sons of their own to lead, armies made in their image for them to lead and bring the universe back under the banner of humanity. You have seen them do this, here and on other worlds." He was going to take them away. You could feel it and the anger bubbled up in you, it didn't matter if this being was so much greater than you. These were YOUR sons, who YOU had raised and loved and all of hell would freeze over before you let this stranger take them. "So what, you're just gonna take them and make them work for you?" You interjected." "Yes. And you will stay here, or on the world where you found them." He spoke with such finality that you felt your anger rise higher. "They're my sons." You growled, "You won't be taking them from me." Your eyes blazed, and the golden figure reached for you. His hand closed around your throat. The clatter of metal behind you told you that your sons were on their feet now. "Put her down." Angron's low rumble came, demanding. The emperor looked from you to them. In their eyes he saw loyalty, love and devotion. "I see. This is very interesting then." He hadn't expected to find them all here but it seemed as if you were the common factor.

He made a motion with his hand and you found yourself away from the surface. The room around you was dim, the walls gold. It seemed to be personal chambers. "You will tell me everything." He touched your forehead with one bare finger and you felt him push into your mind. Every memory scrutinized, every laugh, and trial, everything that you had sacrificed for the children you loved. Giving your own body to them to eat, teaching them how to interact with the world around them and each other. Even the fight in the warp. You'd brought three of his sons together, and they were raised as brothers as his other sons never got to. He felt your love, so deep and maternal. You writhed in his hands and he drew his finger away. You had done more for them than most had. "You are indeed their mother." You looked him in his eyes and he did something that shocked you, he set you down. Knelt before you and bowed his head in gratitude. "Thank you." He spoke as the blinding aura around him dimmed and you saw him properly, so it seemed, for the first time. He touched your cheek but you didn't recoil, and a soft stream of memories played in your mind, the theft of his sons, the anguish, the search for them, finding other that you did not know, but more than anything, finding the worlds where you had been, listening to stories and seeing their progress with such pride, the happiness at finally landing on the world of Olympia to find them.

Then and softest of all, the pleasure of seeing your memories and knowing that unlike some of his sons, these three had been loved so fully and cared for. "Thank you." He spoke again, his lips pressed to yours and your brain went haywire. Holy hell, how long has it been since you were kissed? Or touched in any other other than platonic. You'd accepted that your sons' clingy need to sleep by you likely meant you'd not have a love life for a long time if ever, but oh fuck it felt nice. You pulled away and he let you. Your brain swam with less than wholesome ideas. "You will come with us." He said, and you nodded, mind still swimming. "Okay." You agreed and he swept you up into the bed. His mouth on your neck as he kissed marks down your flesh to seal the deal. You had no idea how long it took. But by the end you were a sweating, panting mess, naked under him as he put another load in you. "I have been lonely these past years, very lonely. And I know that my sons who did not have others to love them would benefit from your care." He rolled onto his side and you were amazed at how quick you went from mad to okay with all of this. "We should probably tell our kids then." You sat up thinking about the three left planet side. "They have already been brought aboard." He explained. You nodded but before you could get up the man pulled you back down. "You are a perpetual." You shrugged. "I guess, if by that you mean I can't die like others then yeah."

He nodded. "That is good, it means I will have you for longer and that my sons will not have to mourn your passing as they would a regular human." You felt his warm seed leak from you and then you realized. He didn't use protection, your cheeks flushed a deep red. He sensed your sudden realization and laughed warmly. "Well you already love three of my sons. I'm sure you could love more."

You huffed. What an asshole. But you kissed him again…for your sons’ sake.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer #my writing #mating press march #warhammer 40k x reader #primarchs #emperor of mankind x reader #emperor of mankind #angron #mortarion #perturabo

57 notes · View notes