#and to bring god to these dark corners | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

monicaalexandraaa · 18 days ago

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Beautiful beautiful beautiful. I could talk for hours about this story. It will forever hold a place in my heart. I loved learning more about the dynamic of his family, especially the relationship with his father. The talk George and Clare have towards the end is so so meaningful and special.

His father’s outburst had forced him to look at his life and understand what was missing. The thing that he needed the most, and ached to ask for, was the love and solidarity that a person could hold for him. As he sat there at the dining table, he knew Clare would hold his hand back.

I love the love that Clare and Harry have for each other. I don’t want to spoil too much of it because I read this right away (don’t look at the tags lol) but I really really hope people read this story. You are a gifted writer. Thank you for sharing this with us🩷🩷

FRONTLINES: COMING HOME - Part Three a harry styles x original character story. word count: 17,251 content warning: explicit sexual content, mental health struggles, war-related trauma, grief

summary: after being discharged from the hospital, Harry returns to Manchester haunted by the war but grounded by the letters and quiet devotion of Clare, the nurse who helped piece him back together. their relationship, born from each reunion that they hold so dear to themselves until they’re able to see each other again—until their longing becomes impossible to deny, and love replaces what war tried to destroy.

author's note: please note that this is now PART THREE! I had to cut the second part into two to post on tumblr </3 this is the last part, but I hope you loooove it! LINKS FRONTLINES (PART 1) FRONTLINES: AWAITING (PART 2)

__________________________________________________

Letter from Harry to Clare

June 4th, 1943 – Manchester, England. Lt. Styles, Harry E.

My dearest Clare,

I can’t decide what’s worse: waking up to silence after weeks of hearing your voice each morning or lying here knowing you're back in that hospital, and I can’t be anywhere near you.

It’s been months, but I still look over my shoulder half expecting to hear you say “Sit back, soldier,” and scold me for trying to move too quickly. I would gladly take a lecture if it meant having you near again. Even the bloody porridge here tastes duller, can you believe that?

My mother keeps fussing over me like she’s trying to make up for the months she couldn’t. She means well — you’d like her. She’s sharp as a knife and talks to me like I’m still ten. My sister, Nora, caught me reading your last letter with what she called “that lovesick look” and nearly tore it from my hands trying to read it herself.

I told her you’re mine, and I meant it.

There’s not much to say about Manchester. The streets look the same, but I don’t. I’m home, and yet not fully. I keep thinking about your fingers brushing my wrist when you changed my bandage. The sound of your laugh when I said something halfway decent. I think about what it felt like to be seen, really seen, in the worst and most fragile state of my life, and how you didn’t look away.

I need to see you, Clare. I miss you more than I thought possible, and these letters, as precious as they are, aren’t enough. Would you consider coming to Manchester? Even just for a few days. You can say you’re coming to escape the hospital. I’ll say I’m healing faster when you’re nearby. Both will be true.

All my warmth, Harry

P.S. I’ve still got the book you gave me. I read the note inside often. More than I’ll admit.

Letter from Clare to Harry

June 10th, 1943 – Babbacombe, England. Harris, Clare L.

My dear Harry,

I read your letter three times before bed and again by candlelight this morning while the other girls were still asleep. One of them asked why I was smiling like a girl just back from the dance hall, and I said something about a dream I’d had. It is true, if not the whole truth.

I miss you terribly. I didn’t expect it to ache the way it does. I see your old bed empty each shift, and I half-wonder if you’ll turn the corner holding a book and some new sarcastic remark about the broth. Instead, I still tend to John, who’s healing slowly, and hear myself repeat lines I used on you — gentler now, softer somehow. I think you made me better, without even meaning to.

The hospital feels heavier these days. More patients, more wounds, more nights I lie awake wondering how any of it makes sense. And I find myself thinking about your eyes, that shade I’ve yet to find a name for. I miss your intellectual conversation, and your optimism… while it wasn’t always there, the short bits that it was, I miss.

It’s been hard not to imagine your arms around me again. Harder still not to reach for you when I roll over in bed. I need something or someone real again. And that someone, Harry, is you.

So yes, I will come to Manchester. I’ll ask Matron for two days. She’ll protest, but I’ll wear her down. I need to breathe air that hasn’t passed through bandages and worry.

And if you’re still reading this with that ‘lovesick look,’ tell Nora she was right.

Yours, truly and entirely, Clare

P.S. I hope you’ve written something in the margins of that book. I’ll ask to see it when I arrive.

June, 1943 - Manchester

The platform bustled with energy despite the grey sky overhead, steam curling from the engine as it hissed its final protest. Harry stood near the edge, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, rocking slightly on his heels. He hadn't been able to sit still since before breakfast. The letter she'd written was folded in his breast pocket—creased and soft from how many times he'd read it.

He knew it by heart now.

Clare was coming.

He scanned the faces emerging from the train, heart thudding as his eyes darted left to right. Then, a glint of cream and dark green from the polka-dotted dress. Her hair swept neatly in a 1940s roll, and her gloved hand clutching a small leather bag. She looked elegant, even in the ordinary bustle of a station.

When she finally saw him, her face lit up like the lights of a holiday tree. Not politely. Not modestly. It bloomed like something real and personal and his.

“Clare,” he muttered to himself, unable to help the grin that broke across his face.

She picked up her pace, weaving between people until she reached him; he matched her energy, picking up the pace to make his way over to her. Once they reached one another, her hands were thrown around his neck; arms thrown around her waist in an embrace.

It felt like everything had stopped all at once. Her gloved hand touched his cheek as they pulled back, not in greeting but as if confirming he was there.

“To see you again,” she said, breathless. “I can’t believe it.”

“It’s an honor,” he quipped.

She laughed and he caught her hand, their fingers fitting together like they had never stopped. He leaned down, kissing her cheek—a brush of lips that lingered a little too long, and a little too close to the corner of her mouth.

The walk from the station to the Styles’ home was brief, but enough for the air to settle some of Clare’s nerves. Harry carried her bag with ease over his shoulder, pointing out old shops and street corners with names she wouldn’t remember but listened to all the same, simply because it was his voice beside her. She kept sneaking glances at him—how relaxed he looked here, lighter somehow, like the weight of France and flames and screaming metal couldn’t follow him past the quiet streets of his childhood.

They reached a modest red-brick house with white trim and ivy crawling up the stone wall like it belonged there. The garden, though not extravagant, bloomed in disciplined rows of lavender, sweet peas, some pale yellow roses that clung to the side gate. There were two small pairs of muddy boots on the steps, a forgotten skipping rope on the lawn. Clare smiled without thinking.

Harry looked at her sideways. “Bit loud around here, innit?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “It’s perfect.”

He knocked instead of opening the door with his key, just once, then again with a rhythm she didn’t recognize—but it must have meant something, because the door flew open and a small boy launched himself at Harry’s waist.

“Uncle Harry!”

Harry laughed, catching the boy with a practiced arm while the other held her case. “Steady on, mate.”

A girl followed, quieter but with wide, curious eyes and a doll pressed to her chest. Then a woman, looking like she may be in her thirties, came to the door, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

“Nora,” Harry said. “This – this is Clare.”

Nora’s expression softened immediately as she stepped out and hugged Clare like she’d known her far longer than through the letters she had stolen from Harry to read, knowing that this was the woman who had given Harry the smug smile on his face. “Welcome to Manchester—to our family home. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Clare said, smiling as Nora ushered them inside. “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about Manchester—about his family. So, it’s a pleasure to be here.”

The house smelled like roast chicken and something sweet baking. The walls were filled with photos in wooden frames—wedding portraits, old school pictures, black-and-white candids of Harry in uniform, even younger with a football under his arm, hair mussed and wild.

His parents were waiting in the sitting room. His mother stood first as her eyes drew to the woman, wrapping Clare in a warm embrace that reminded her so much of her own late mother it nearly brought tears to her eyes. His father, more reserved, shook her hand with quiet dignity and kind eyes that matched Harry’s identically.

Dinner was full of laughter—Clare hadn’t expected that. The children, Alfie and Beth, told her stories about their school and tried to sneak bites of each other’s food under the table like some kind of secret pact. Nora gently scolded them, but it was clear the children ruled the roost.

“Harry said you looked after him when he was too cross to be grateful,” Nora said, smiling at Clare from across the table.

“He wasn’t all that bad,” Clare replied, casting a glance at Harry. “Just stubborn and sarcastic, but truly, he was the one with the best conversation.”

“He gets that from his father,” his mother chimed in.

That drew a chuckle from the elder Mr. Styles, who tipped his glass. “I’ll take the blame.”

It was sometime around dessert, a dense and sticky treacle pudding Nora had made, when conversation turned more reflective.

“Were you in France long?” Clare asked Nora softly, aware the children had wandered off with dessert plates in hand, most likely making a mess elsewhere. But that was something that Clare found endearing; their family seemed to not have any boundaries, allowing there to be openness and happiness wherever each of them looked.

Nora shook her head, slowly. “I never went over. My husband—Michael—he was with the Royal Engineers.” Her voice wavered only a little, taking a bite of her dessert before she finished and made eyes with Clare. “We got word last November.”

Clare reached out and touched her hand gently across the table. “I’m so sorry.”

Nora nodded, brushing a thumb under her eye. “Thank you. But… having Harry home has helped. And hearing about the nurses, the ones writing letters, sitting with the lads through the worst of it—I think you gave my brother something to hold on to.”

Before Clare could respond, Harry’s father cut in. “He came home, yes. But he didn’t come back the same, of course.”

The table fell quiet. Clare watched Harry shift in his chair, jaw tight.

“Dad—”

“No shame in it,” his father said, calmly but firmly. “Just something to be said for being honest about what’s been lost.”

“Not tonight,” Harry murmured, but not with anger—just weariness.

Clare looked at him and reached for his hand beneath the table, squeezing once.

His father sighed, but there was something softer in it this time. “You’ve always had that fire in you. Always wanted to prove yourself. But war doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t give back what it takes.”

Harry sat straighter. “You think I don’t know that?”

“No, son. I think you know it too well.”

A silence lingered. Then Nora stood up, clearing a few plates. “Why don’t we put on some tea?”

Harry’s mum followed, murmuring something about brandy in the cupboard instead. Clare stayed beside him, her thumb tracing gently over his knuckles under the table as she turned to look at the side of his face; the scar minimizing by the day, but always a memory.

Later, when the children had gone to bed and Nora was clearing dishes with their mum, Harry and Clare slipped out to the back garden. The twilight sky hung low with stars, and the cool air clung to their skin.

They sat side by side on a wooden bench. Clare reached up and brushed a thumb across his cheekbone, where a faint shadow of a burn still lingered beneath his jaw.

“You okay?”

He nodded shortly. “He pushes often.”

“He’s worried,” Clare told him softly. “He doesn’t know how to say it without poking—my father is the same way.”

“I know.” He tilted his head back and looked up. “It’s just—being here, everything’s where I left it. But I’m not, and I think they have trouble with that since Michael.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re allowed to be changed.”

“I don’t want the kids to notice.”

“They notice that you’re home,” she whispered to him, maybe to the universe above them. “And that’s enough.”

They sat there quietly, wrapped in the hum of insects and far-off city sounds. He leaned down after a while, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“You were brave today,” she said, leaning her head back like him.

He laughed a little, turning his head to look at her. “Whatcha’ mean?”

“No,” she said, lifting her face to meet his. “More dangerous. A table full of teasing relatives is much harder to escape.”

He kissed her then, properly, gently but certain, like she was the one thing he wanted to hold onto with both hands and never let go.

“Should we go back in there?” Harry murmured against her lips, eyes flickering up to see her. “They’re going to think we’ve run away.”

Clare inhaled the scent of the rolling hills that Harry’s family home backed to, barely seeing over in the darkness but knowing that there was much to see out there. She settled in the silence for a moment before turning to look at him with a smile.

“Let’s go, then.”

Taking her hand, Harry stood up, leading Clare back into the home with certainty that she belonged there.

After an hour or two of brandy mixed with tea, the house was hushed with sleep, the kind of silence that feels sacred when you sat and listened to it; thick with the weight of rest and the softness of the late night.

Outside, the wind whispered against the windows, a calm and rhythmic rustle that made the walls feel even more like a cocoon.

Clare sat curled in bed, knees drawn beneath the quilt, a worn book limp in her lap, its pages long forgotten. Her mind had wandered far from its story—drifting back to the dinner table, to Harry’s hand that had brushed hers when she passed him the butter, to the way his eyes lingered on her as though every second he wasn't touching her was a second wasted.

The soft knock on the door startled her.

She blinked at the door. “Come in,” she whispered, voice barely a breath.

Harry eased it open without answering, stepping into the room with a quiet care that made her heart beat faster. He shut it behind him with a click, his frame a shadow in the dim lamplight.

“Have you gone completely mad?” she hissed, though she was already reaching to pull the quilt up around her chest, her mouth curled in a smirk.

“Probably,” he murmured, grinning. “I tried to sleep, I swear I did. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You, in this room. Right down the hall.”

She narrowed her eyes but couldn’t hide the blush creeping into her cheeks. “What if someone hears?”

“They won’t. They’re out cold. Besides, we’ll be quiet, won’t we?” He smirked and crossed the room to stand at her bedside, his hand brushing her ankle over the quilt. “Unless you’ve a secret habit of screaming my name.”

She kicked at him gently under the covers, laughter caught in her throat. “Harry Styles, don’t you dare—”

But she stopped, because he was sitting on the edge of the bed now, gazing at her like she was some miracle he still couldn’t quite believe had arrived on his doorstep. That look always disarmed her. It made her feel like the only girl in a war-torn world.

“You look lovely by lamplight,” he said softly, reaching up to touch a strand of her hair, fingers trailing just beneath her jaw.

“I look a mess,” she whispered back, flushed.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. “A mess—a beautiful mess.”

Before she could answer, his lips found hers—soft at first, exploratory, reverent. But it only took a second before the kiss deepened, years of unsaid things passing between them with each brush and pull. She clutched the front of his shirt, pulling him closer until he shifted properly onto the bed, hovering above her, their legs tangled in the quilt.

Her hands slipped into his hair, and his mouth dropped to her neck, leaving slow, aching kisses there as her breathing turned shallow.

The old bed gave a sharp, unceremonious creak beneath them. They froze as soon as it happened with wide eyes.

Clare pressed her hand to her mouth, eyes wide with a gasp caught behind her fingers. Harry met her gaze and then, unable to help himself, burst into a laugh, muffled quickly into her shoulder.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” she whispered, trying not to giggle, her body shaking with the effort.

“God help me if your father ever finds out I snuck into your bed,” he murmured against her skin. “Or Nora. She’d murder me twice.”

“I’d be too embarrassed to attend the funeral,” Clare whispered back, nose nuzzled into his cheek.

But the laughter faded as quickly as it came, replaced by the quiet rhythm of their breathing. He pressed a kiss to her collarbone, then her shoulder, then just above her heart. His hands roamed gently—never demanding—like he was reminding himself she was real and safe and here. She touched his back beneath his shirt, fingers dancing lightly over the faded scar near his ribs.

“Stay,” she breathed, almost inaudible.

He nodded, forehead resting against hers. “Not going anywhere.”

They shifted again, bodies curled beneath the quilt, her leg hooked over his, his arm draped over her waist, hands splayed wide against the small of her back. Their noses bumped, mouths brushing as their kisses grew slow again—lazy, lingering, and so, so sweet.

The bed gave another creak and this time they both laughed, muffled and breathless.

“I swear,” Clare muttered, “your mother will never let me in this house again.”

“Worth it,” he whispered, kissing her lips. “For you? Always worth it.”

And as the world spun on outside, in the quiet bedroom filled with candle-soft light and the scent of books and the fresh lavender put in the vase for her arrival, they finally let themselves fall into one another—with laughter in their mouths and longing in their bones.

+++

The scent of toast and warm butter greeted Clare before she even reached the bottom of the stairs.

The hallway was bright with morning light, sun pouring in through the front windows and casting a sleepy glow along the walls. Clare took a moment on the final step, smoothing her hair and running her hands down her cardigan. Her heart thudded in her chest — not with nerves exactly, but with that fizzy, tender sort of tension that came from sneaking Harry into her bed the night before and now walking into a kitchen full of his family.

She exhaled, tucked a loose curl behind her ear, and stepped into the doorway.

The kitchen was a cheerful mess of dishes, chatter, and clinking cutlery. Harry sat at the table beside his father, laughing at something Nora had just said. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair slightly damp from the bath, and he looked altogether too handsome for this early in the morning.

He noticed her first.

Their eyes met instantly, and though his expression didn’t shift much, there was a softness in the way he looked at her. Like he was seeing her for the first time again.

Clare offered a small, polite smile to the room and said, “Good morning.”

“Morning!” Nora chimed in from her seat near the window, raising a mug of tea. “We thought you’d been abducted by the mattress.”

“Or Harry,�� their father added with a twinkle in his eye, eyes fixed on the newspaper though his voice was thick with mischief. “He’s known to wander, that one.”

Harry choked on his tea.

Clare blinked — then laughed, half covering her face with her hand. “I… fell asleep reading,” she said, not quite lying, not quite telling the truth either.

The two children were too busy arguing over toast to notice anything amiss, but Nora’s eyes glinted knowingly as she slid out a chair at the table.

“We saved you some eggs,” she said, and gave Harry a not-so-subtle kick under the table. “Didn’t we, Lieutenant?”

He cleared his throat, ears pink as he nodded his head. “We did. And tea.”

Clare took her seat beside him, brushing her skirt underneath her knees, careful not to meet his gaze too directly. But she could feel it — the warmth of it, the way his fingers twitched just once like he was resisting the urge to reach for her.

She thanked Nora, buttered a slice of toast, and tried not to jump when Harry’s foot nudged hers beneath the table — the lightest, most casual of touches. When she glanced up, he was already looking away, sipping from his mug, trying to suppress a grin.

“Did you manage to rest?” his mother asked, kindly, passing the milk.

Clare nodded, the tea burning her lip a bit. “Very well, thank you. It’s a lovely house.”

“Old as sin,” his father muttered. “Every board creaks.”

Another stifled cough from Harry. Nora, biting her lip, sat and gave Clare a small wink over the rim of her mug as she took the last sip.

They chatted about the train ride, about the weather turning mild again, about how hard it had been to get fresh fruit these days. Clare felt herself relaxing slowly into the rhythm of it, this familial warmth that was so unlike the sterile hallways and aching quiet of the hospital.

But then, as Harry was helping clear the plates, his father leaned back and said lightly, “So, son — thinking about staying in London longer this time?”

Harry froze for half a second, just long enough for Clare to feel the ripple of tension in the air.

“I’m not sure,” he said carefully, glancing at her before busying himself with stacking dishes. “I’ve got a few things to sort. But… I’ve time still.”

Nora reached over and placed a gentle hand over his. “He’ll figure it out,” she said, her tone both light and anchored in something deeper.

Clare felt the mood shift, something that passed through the table like a shadow. There were ghosts in this house, like there were in most houses now. And though Michael’s name hadn’t come up yet this morning, Clare felt his absence hanging over them like a coat hung by the door.

But it only took a moment before Nora’s little boy, Alfie, asked Clare if she’d brought any sweets from London, and the spell broke. They all laughed. Harry touched her elbow as he passed behind her. And Clare couldn’t help the flutter that still sparked at his smallest touch.

She stayed for the rest of the morning, wrapped in soft conversation and sunlight. And though no one said anything outright, the way they glanced at her when Harry looked away, the way his mother asked if she liked lamb roast, as if inviting her back, it all told her one thing very clearly:

She was welcome here.

If she let herself believe it, this wasn’t just a visit. Maybe it was the beginning of something that finally felt like peace.

Harry had taken a seat back next to Clare before he heard Nora call from the hallway with the post, “Harry! Letter for you.”

He glanced toward Clare, who was sitting across from him in one of his mum’s hand-knitted cardigans, hair still slightly mussed from sleep. She offered him a warm, questioning smile.

“Cheers,” Harry muttered, reaching for the envelope Nora held out. It was plain and creased at the corners, addressed in a familiar, unmistakable hand.

His chest tightened, and the table watched his reaction to the letter before he practically froze on sight.

He stared at the name for a beat too long, heart thudding once—then again. For weeks, he hadn’t let himself hope too hard. The uncertainty of what happened after they’d been separated in the field had lodged itself in his ribs like shrapnel.

He opened it carefully, his fingers steady in that slow, practiced way soldiers learn when handling the fragile.

As he read to himself, the room seemed to dull around him—the murmur of his parents chatting in the kitchen, the clink of teacups, Beth and Alfie arguing over toast.

Clare noticed the shift in his expression first. His eyes had gone glassy. His jaw taut.

“Harry?” she asked gently.

“’S Bennett.” He stated gently, voice catching as he blinked hard.

Mate—still breathing. Was taken further north, little hospital outside of Leeds. Arm’s not much use but I’m upright. I asked around and they said you’d made it back. God, Harry—I thought… I really thought maybe you didn’t. I can’t tell you how glad I am to know you’re safe. Properly safe. Write me when you can. I want to see you.

By the time he reached the end, Harry was blinking hard. He set the letter down slowly, then scrubbed his palms against his thighs, like he could rub the feeling off his skin.

“He’s alive,” he said, voice quiet, tight in his throat. “Bennett’s alive.”

The table fell silent around him as he seemed to be moved by the idea that Bennett had even reached out—he was alive.

Nora was the first to react, setting down her fork with a sharp breath. “Oh, Harry…”

Clare reached next to her and placed her hand over his. He didn’t meet her eyes at first, just stared at the letter again.

“He’s still in a hospital near Leeds. Said he’s alright. Lost use of his arm, but he’s still—he’s there.”

Anne moved to sit beside him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “That’s a blessing, love.”

He nodded, though his jaw was working furiously. His hands had started to shake slightly, and he quickly balled them into fists, willing the emotion down. But the room had already seen it.

Clare squeezed his hand gently. “You don’t have to be strong right now.”

“I’m not crying,” he muttered.

“You don’t have to do that either,” she replied. “Or you can.”

He exhaled shakily and turned his head, and Clare saw the redness that collected around the edges of his eyes, and she used her hand to rest on his cheek as nodded to himself.

His father cleared his throat from the doorway, voice thick. “You’ll write him back, yeah?”

Harry nodded fervently. “Yeah, yes. I will.”

The letter lay between them on the table, already worn at the corners from how often Harry kept picking it up and down, but it carried something weightier than just ink and paper. This was closing the chapter—Harry knew what had happened to his plane, to his fellow airmen.

He knew their stories, and knowing this last part had given him so much to be thankful for.

+++

The early afternoon sun poured gold over the grassy edge of the Styles’ garden, long shadows stretching from the stone wall that bordered the back of the property. Beyond it lay a patch of field that Harry’s father had once let the neighbor’s sheep graze on, but today it served a livelier purpose.

“Go on then, Alfie!” Harry called, his voice bright and breathless as he yelled at his nephew to get the ball.

The boy darted forward with wide strides, arms pinwheeling as he chased the ball. Harry jogged behind him, a little less graceful with his limp but laughing all the same. His father stood in goal with his sleeves pushed up. Well, if the gap between two crooked garden chairs could be called the goal. Meanwhile, Beth bounced at Harry’s side, clinging to his arm and shouting gleeful advice that no one could understand.

Clare watched from the low stone bench near the kitchen door, the scent of drying laundry and lavender drifting in the warm breeze. Beside her sat Nora and Anne, a pitcher of lemonade and three mismatched glasses between them on the bench.

“They’ve been at that nearly an hour,” Anne said, taking a sip of her lemonade, her tone caught somewhere between exasperation and fondness. “Alfie won’t sleep a wink tonight.”

“He won’t want to,” Nora said, smiling faintly, watching the four of them out on the field. “He never does when Harry’s here.”

Clare tucked her skirt beneath her knees, leaning forward to better see over the small hedge. Harry was trying to keep Beth from hanging off his arm as he went in for a dramatic tackle against her brother. The whole thing ended in a gentle pile-up on the grass, and the sound of laughter carried easily back to the bench.

Anne gave a small huff, then looked over at Clare with a soft, knowing expression. “He’s always been so full of joy and so eager to be the center of attention.”

“I remember the fuss he made when they took down that climbing tree,” Nora added, her voice tinged with mischief. “Said it was the end of his boyhood. He must’ve been—what? Thirteen?”

“Thirteen going on thirty,” Anne said with a laugh. “Always thought himself older than he was. Until the war, of course. Then he came home with that face of his set so tight. Sometimes I’d catch him watching the kettle boil like he was thinking it might explode.”

Clare’s smile faded slightly at her memory of her son; she wondered if Harry would even remember a tiny detail like that. “It’s changed everyone, I suppose.”

“Aye,” Anne said softly. “But him most of all.”

They fell quiet for a moment, the silence filled with the shrill cheer of Beth proclaiming herself the goal scorer.

Anne went on, her voice low to keep the conversation between them. “He left here with his hair too long and a record in his suitcase. Came back looking like his own shadow.”

Clare turned to look at her, surprised by the bluntness, but Anne wasn’t crying. She was just watching her son in the field, brow furrowed in memory, yet steady in the present. Clare could tell that this was just something she needed to say out loud maybe something she couldn’t express to anyone that wouldn’t understand.

“He wouldn’t eat his first week back,” Anne added in. “I had to practically beg him to touch a biscuit. Kept looking at the door like someone was about to call him away.”

Clare swallowed, recalling Harry leaving the hospital – recalling him entering and the sadness that he had been caught up in.

“I think we thought he’d never laugh again,” Nora added quietly, arms folded as she leaned into her mother’s side. “He barely said ten words to Alfie or Beth the first visit home, before he was discharged. Didn’t know what to do with them.”

“But then… when he came home for good,” Anne’s eyes flicked toward Clare, one brow arched with a quiet curiosity. “He started writing to someone. We didn’t know who at first.”

Clare’s cheeks flushed at that comment, turning to glance at Harry who had been cheering in the field; laughter taking over him every few minutes.

“Oh, come on,” Nora said with a grin. “You must know how obvious it was. I’ve never seen him fuss over a letter the way he did with yours.”

Clare gave a small, shy laugh, ducking her head. “He tells me he was far too blunt. That he had no idea what he was doing.”

“He didn’t,” Nora said, laughing now. “But you must’ve said something right back, because suddenly he was Harry again. Not the same as before—no, but something more himself. Grown, I think, calmer. Like he finally knew where to put all that ache.”

Clare blinked once, her eyes stinging unexpectedly. She hadn’t known how much she needed to hear that—needed to know she hadn’t just patched a wound but helped bring someone back into the world. This world, specifically.

Anne reached out and touched Clare’s arm gently. “We don’t say it to him, of course. He’d only sulk and roll his eyes and be petrified that we even brought it up. But we’re grateful for you, Clare, truly.”

Clare opened her mouth to speak but didn’t quite find the words. Instead, she looked out at the field again, where Harry had Alfie hoisted over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes and was spinning him in lazy circles while Beth shouted for her turn.

His eyes found hers across the distance. And he grinned—wide and open and a little embarrassed, because he could tell the women on the bench were talking about him.

He dropped Alfie back onto the ground with a gentle thud and called out, “Whatever you lot are saying, I know I don’t like it!”

Anne gave a regal wave in response. “Then come and sit with us and change the subject, dear!”

But Harry only ruffled his nephew’s hair and turned back toward the field. Clare watched him for another beat, feeling the warmth of the bench beneath her and the kind, quiet presence of the women beside her.

And she knew—this wasn’t just visiting anymore. This was belonging.

+++

Later that evening, the Styles family and Clare had made a spread of dinner. The room had been warm with the scent of roast beef and potatoes, laughter curling around the corners of conversation. Plates clinked gently as Nora topped off everyone’s glasses and Alfie tried to sneak a second helping of pudding without being caught.

Anne had gone all out—setting the table with their best dishes, even pulling a jar of redcurrant jelly she’d been saving since last Christmas. Clare sat beside Harry, her skirt brushing his trousers every time she shifted. His hand would occasionally land on her knee beneath the table, grounding him, reassuring them both that they were there.

There had been jokes. Light teasing. Nora had just recounted a story about how Harry once got his arm stuck in the garden gate when he was six, and Alfie howled with laughter while Beth solemnly asked if her uncle still feared doorways.

Harry leaned in, murmuring a dry “traitors, all of them,” and Clare had laughed, cheeks a little pink from wine and the thrill of belonging at a table like this. Now that it was only her and her father, she dreaded holidays—it felt like there wasn’t anything to talk about anymore, now that her mother was gone and her brother had been taken.

It felt good. Whole, even. And then his father cleared his throat.

“So,” he said, eyes flicking to his son, the sound of forks clinking against the plates. “Going to be going back to London soon, then? To find work?”

Harry’s brows furrowed, shrugging as he wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin. “Just living,” he replied evenly. “Doing what I can.”

His father scoffed, looking up at his son. “You mean what’s easy. Some of your mates are already back in, I’m sure. That Baker kid was hurt, got his strength back and he’s back in it. Figured you’d want to do the same instead of—” he glanced at Clare, “—settling in for the quiet life. Playing house in London.”

Harry set his fork down with a gentle clink. “I—It’s not that I didn’t want that, dad. I didn’t pass the physical.”

“Because you didn’t push hard enough,” his father muttered. “You weren’t given the tools to train hard enough to get that strength back in that leg.”

Harry blinked, jaw becoming tight as he let his voice drop a bit, softer. “You think I didn’t try?”

“I think you had your mind elsewhere. You found a pretty girl, and maybe that distracted you from what you were supposed to do. Found your strengths other places, maybe.”

A stunned silence fell across the table. Clare took a sip of her wine and swallowed it before keeping her eyes diverted from the conversation.

Nora’s eyes narrowed, almost in disbelief that her father would start there. “Daddy—”

“No,” Harry said, voice cracking with sudden sharpness. “Let him talk. He seems to think he knows everything I went through.”

He turned to his father, voice rising. “You want to know what actually happened over there? What I still see when I close my eyes? Men burning alive inside twisted metal B12s. Friends who never came back. I held someone’s hand while he bled out screaming for his mum—his mum—because he was twenty and scared and dying and there was nothing I could do. So, what did I do?”

The children had gone quiet, even Beth, who had stopped mid-bite and stared wide-eyed at her uncle.

Harry’s chest heaved as he stared at his father, with intensity and a seething tone in his voice. “I fucking let him go down in that plane. I ejected—I should have been with him.”

“Then why didn’t you?” his father snapped, voice harsh with hurt he didn’t know how to name. “You didn’t finish what you started, son.”

“You sit here in this warm house and dare to talk about what I should’ve done while I was being stitched together in a field tent and wondering if I’d ever bloody walk again—I’m lucky enough to be alive, and you’re telling me I should have finished what I started? So the bloody German’s got what they wanted? Another Englishman down?”

“Harry,” his mum said gently, reaching out toward him. “Love, please—”

But he shook her off, turning away before she could touch him.

“Harry,” Nora said, standing too, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “Come on, just breathe, alright?”

Clare had gone still beside him, her heart aching.

But Harry’s eyes were shining now, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. “Don’t talk to me about finishing things. I left pieces of myself behind on that mission. And if I had the chance to go back—to trade this goddamn leg, these scars, all of it—I would. Don’t you ever think otherwise,” He blinked, “I wish Dean was in my place every single goddamned day.”

Then he was gone, striding out of the room before anyone could stop him, the back door creaking open and slamming shut behind him.

Nora sat back down slowly, exhaling a breath as she rubbed her temples.

Their mum wiped the corner of her eye with the edge of her sleeve and whispered, “George.”

Clare sat in the stunned silence, heart pounding, staring after the man she loved. She rose quietly, excusing herself, and followed.

Clare stepped carefully over the uneven stone path, following the faint outline of Harry’s footsteps in the grass. The garden was dimly lit by the spill of light from the kitchen window, and she spotted him near the fence, his back turned, hands braced on the worn wood like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

She slowed her steps as she began to approach him.

“Harry,” she said softly.

He didn’t answer at first, but she could see his shoulders rise and fall—too quickly, too tightly. The sound of his breathing wasn’t just sharp, it was uneven. Ragged.

She stepped closer, heart twisting as her voice became even softer. “Hey.”

Still no reply. But he didn’t move away when she reached out to touch his arm.

“I’m sorry he said that,” she murmured.

His jaw flexed, shaking his head. “He’s not wrong.”

Clare gently tugged at his elbow until he let go of the fence. He let her guide him to sit on the small wooden bench tucked near the hydrangeas, mostly bare now in late autumn. The silence between them wasn’t cold. Just heavy.

He ran both hands through his hair, then clasped them between his knees, shoulders hunched.

“I see Dean’s face sometimes when I close my eyes,” Harry said. “The way he looked before it all went black. The quiet of it.” His voice cracked, just slightly. “And John—I should’ve gone back. I should’ve pulled him first.”

Clare reached for one of his hands and held it between both of hers. He didn’t pull away. But he wasn’t still, either—his leg bounced slightly, his fingers twitched against hers. He was unraveling in small, silent ways.

“I know your father hurt you tonight,” she said. “But you don’t owe anyone an explanation for surviving.”

Harry’s breath hitched again. He blinked, hard. “I’m still angry.”

“I know.”

“I hate that I’m here—sitting in a garden, talking about pudding—when they’re not.”

He dropped his head into his hands.

“I feel like I cheated,” he whispered, voice thick. “Like I’m pretending to be whole. And no matter what I do, I’ll always be the man who walked away.”

Clare leaned in, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close. He let her. Let himself fold into her warmth, one hand grasping the back of her dress like he needed an anchor. She felt the shake of his breath against her neck.

They sat like that for a long moment—his face pressed into the hollow of her collarbone, her hand stroking slowly through his hair. The garden quieted around them, none of the sounds from inside the house were distracting them.

Eventually, Clare murmured, “You didn’t walk away. You were carried. And then you learned how to stand again.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. His eyes were damp, still glassy and red.

“I’m scared,” he admitted. “I don’t know who I am—I don’t—” He clenched his jaw, “I don’t know what to do next.”

Clare pressed her forehead to his. “So am I—I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know that we can’t give in to it, okay?”

He exhaled shakily, and for the first time that evening, it wasn’t tight with anger. Just relief, a loosening of a knot that had been there too long.

Then, quietly, he asked, “Will you stay out here with me? Just for a little while.”

She nodded. “As long as you need.”

And they sat in the dark together, grief and love wound between their fingers, not trying to fix anything—just holding on.

+++

The house was silent, save for the ticking of the hallway clock and the faint groan of old pipes settling in the walls.

Clare’s bedroom was dark now as she tried to make herself fall into sleep. Tomorrow was her last full day in Manchester, and she tried her best to think of all that had happened – all of the love that had been grown here.

A faint breeze lifted the curtains to the window that was open next to her bed, allowing there to be a cross breeze from the warmth of the summer. She lay curled beneath the quilt in a satin slip—dusty blue, modest in cut, with lace trim that caught the light when she moved. Her hair had come undone at the nape of her neck, and the scent of orange blossom still clung to her skin from her evening bath.

She wasn’t asleep when the door creaked softly, but her eyes opened.

Harry stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling beneath his thin white undershirt. He wore only that and a pair of soft flannel boxers, his hair mussed from restless turning. The barest sheen of sweat clung to his brow, his knuckles white where they gripped the doorframe. He slipped into the room, shutting the door behind him before he started to speak.

“I couldn’t…” His voice was rough. Strained. “I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

Clare sat up slowly, the quilt rustling as it slid off her shoulder, hugging her waist. “Harry…” she warned, though her voice lacked bite. “Your sister is right next—”

“I know.” He stepped inside, closing in on her bed as he licked over his lips in the moonlit space. His voice softened. “We’ll be quiet.”

There was something in his eyes—not just desire, but ache. Like he’d been hollowed out and now reached blindly for the only thing that filled him. She lifted the edge of the quilt, her breath catching as he climbed in. The bed shifted with his weight, and he stilled, looking at her like she was the only safe thing left in the world.

She leaned forward and kissed him softly as a recognition; soft at first, before he kissed her back, deeper than before—hungrier. It wasn’t desperate, but it was driven by a need they’d both carried for too long. His hand slid up her side, bunching the slip as he went. She trembled, but not from fear. From knowing what was next.

He pulled away only enough to look at her—eyes shining in the half-light.

“I’ve thought about this,” he said, breathless, a whisper only held together by the two of them. “About you. About this moment. Every bloody day since the last time I could have you like this.”

Her fingers slipped beneath his undershirt, smoothing over the burns that webbed along his ribs. He flinched—not from pain, but from being touched so gently and with care that it practically burned her fingers.

And then his mouth found hers again, this time slower, deeper, more searching. Her slip slid up her thighs as he shifted above her, the silk pooling like a waterfall at her hips. They moved carefully, instinctively, with pauses between touches that made everything feel more urgent, more reverent. His hand traced up her thigh, her waist, her spine—everywhere but where she ached for him most.

When he finally settled between her legs, his forehead rested against hers, their breath mingling.

“I love you,” he whispered. It came out like a tremble, but it was a confession. It was raw and held a meaning that he hadn’t thought of before.

She knew all the ins and outs that this war brought and the struggle that it was to feel whole in a world that was being torn apart limb for limb.

Clare didn’t look for a husband, didn’t look for a family, didn’t look for any of that in the midst of the realities they faced—she looked for someone who understood, who felt the same pains.

Harry was in love. Not with the idea of falling, but with the idea of being afraid of it.

Clare stilled beneath him. Her heart felt like it would tear through her chest as her lip trembled softly; it was pushed away by the smile that she forced.

She cupped his jaw, brushing her thumb over his cheek. “Then don’t stop. Please, Harry.”

There was nothing rushed about it. No sharp gasps or hasty hands. Just the slow, deliberate rhythm of two people finding something sacred in each other. Her breath caught when he pressed into her—both of them stilling at the depth of it, the quiet gasp she let out, the way his mouth caught at her shoulder to keep from crying out.

Every ounce of it was full of something more than themselves; Harry didn’t let himself get caught up in the imperfections, of how messy it seemed, how his sister may hear from the next room over.

They moved like the world outside didn’t exist; like they didn’t have time to waste. Like they might never have this moment again.

She whispered his name once, maybe twice, and he kissed her through every sound she made. Her hands roamed over the scars he tried to hide, and he let her see all of him—no fear, no shame. Just skin, and heat, and want.

It was gentle, and slow, and so deeply felt it hurt. And when it was over, when his body stilled inside of her and her back arched into him, the complete ecstasy that filled their bodies with warmth—when their bodies quieted and his chest rested heavy against hers, she said it this time, quieter this time, against his collarbone.

“I love you.”

She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder, holding him like she could keep him safe there.

He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him, letting her rest over his chest, her slip now tangled somewhere at her waist. The covers were barely clinging to them, and the moonlight spilled over the curve of her bare thigh as it crossed over his.

It was much louder than they probably intended, but Harry dared someone to come knock to tell them to quiet down. Harry’s hand traced slow lines up her spine, and then down again, resting at the small of her back.

“You’re bad for me,” he whispered, teasing as he stared at the ceiling.

Clare smirked against his chest. “That’s not what you said a moment ago.”

“I take it back,” he murmured, turning so she lay fully beneath him again. “You’re worse than I thought. The kind of woman a man loses sleep over. Loses his place in heaven over.”

She blushed, but her breath caught when he kissed her again—this time trailing his lips slowly down her neck, then her chest, then lower.

“Harry,” she whispered, voice catching between shock and desire as she felt the tingles on her skin every time he laid his lips down onto her. The small sound of his kiss was enough to hypnotise her.

His hands were sure as they placed themselves on her waist, his mouth finding the soft skin just below her navel. It was too much for the quiet flat, too intimate, too improper.

“Scandalous,” she breathed, half-laughing, trembling beneath his attention. She bit her lip as she continued to look down at him,

He looked up at her; spreading her thighs that she kept locked together, his cheeks flushed, hair falling into his eyes as he lowered himself downwards, anticipation allowing his

“Tell me to stop.”

Of course, she didn’t—she hadn’t known a feeling like that before. No one had shown her the pleasures of it.

Instead, her hand slid into his hair, and she whispered, “I never want you to.”

And in that moment—bare, breathless, and worshipped—Clare realized she’d never known how much of herself she’d held back before Harry. Because there was no room for modesty here. Only the kind of trust that let a woman open herself completely.

Clare gasped when his lips grazed the inside of her thigh, like he almost enjoyed teasing her more than the actual acts. His stubble scratched faintly along her skin, and her blue slip was hiked along her waist, nipples rubbing against the silk as the small, thin sleeves practically fell from her shoulders.

“Harry,” she said again, firmer this time, her breath stuttering, “you don’t have to…”

But he looked up, eyes glassy and warm with devotion. “I know,” he murmured, his voice like velvet over gravel. “I want to.”

This certainly wasn’t something women talked about—Clare barely knew if this was something that was done at all. Not in tea rooms or tucked between folded ration slips. Certainly not in the starched walls of the hospital. This sort of touch—this sort of love, was whispered about behind hands or in scandalous novels hidden in dresser drawers.

It was something she’d never even considered would be for her. And yet, here she was—pressed into the quiet mattress of her narrow bed, the low creak of the floorboard the only witness to what he was doing.

He kissed the tender crease at the top of her thigh, and she gasped, her fingers clutching at the edge of the pillow. Her knees trembled, instinctively falling open as the heat of his breath met the most secret part of her.

When his mouth found her fully, truly, she choked on the sound that wanted to escape. Her eyes flew open, and her back arched against the mattress. She had never, never felt anything like it.

It was scandalous; the way that his eyes lifted above her to look at her while performing such an act was one of complete sin.

She bit down on her bottom lip to keep quiet; the moan stuck at the base of her throat as Harry’s hands curled around her thighs, anchoring her as if she might float away. Each pass of his tongue was slow, purposeful—then, quick and needing as if he’d waited years for the chance to learn every inch of her.

“Darling,” he rasped between kisses, between laps of his tongue, “you taste like sin and summer.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that. Her body was strung tight, trembling from the inside out, her fingers digging into his hair now, urging and pleading and clutching him like salvation.

When the pleasure crested, when it finally snapped like a wave across every inch of her, she buried her face into the pillow and let it wash over her, breathless and stunned and utterly undone. Her chest lifted and exhaled with such pertinence that she could barely believe that she was still alive.

The silence afterward was sacred. Harry crawled up beside her, lips swollen, eyes soft, one hand brushing the hair from her cheek.

Clare could barely speak. She could only look at him—this man who had crawled into the deepest parts of her and lit a fire.

“I love you,” he whispered again, pressing his forehead to hers. “God help me, I do.”

And all she could manage, still shaking, still pulsing with aftershocks, was a whisper in return.

“I believe you.”

Even if the world outside tore itself to pieces, she knew it now: Harry Styles was hers. And this—this intimacy, this heat, this tenderness, was no longer something whispered about in shadowed corners.

Being in love was setting a match on fire and watching the place burn around you without a care in the world, knowing that nothing mattered but the feeling between you. If a match were to strike, a bomb was to drop, Clare and Harry knew that all that mattered was what laid there on the white sheets of the bed and listen to the other’s heartbeat until the very last one stopped.

+++

The stairs creaked under Harry’s bare feet as he crept down them with the caution of a man trained for stealth, but obviously entirely unprepared for siblings.

He wore only a wrinkled undershirt and yesterday’s trousers, hastily pulled on inside Clare’s room when the sun had begun to edge through the curtains. His hair was tousled in the way it always was after a rough night’s sleep, or something else entirely. He tried to rake a hand through it, as if that might make him look less obviously guilty of the scandalous acts that occurred behind those doors.

He’d just reached the narrow hallway near the kitchen when he heard the soft click of a door opening from the outside.

Nora walked through the door from the outside, arms crossed, still in her dressing gown, mug in hand. Her eyebrows rose slowly. “Morning.”

Harry froze. “Alright?”

“Brisk for June out there this morning,” she said casually, sipping her tea. “Bit of a chill in the air. Especially if you’re sneaking about without socks on.”

He sighed, defeated. “Can’t we just pretend you didn’t see anything?”

“Oh no,” she said brightly, pursing her lips. “Absolutely not. Because I did see something. Or rather, I saw the looks of someone leaving someone else’s room looking very rumpled and very... satisfied.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nora.”

She walked past him with a grin, bumping her shoulder into his as she did. “Relax. I’m not scandalized. Mum, maybe—glad she’s not awake yet. But I’m thrilled. Honestly, it’s about time you looked like someone who’s had more than five hours of sleep and a reason to smile.”

He glanced toward the stairs, sheepish. “It wasn’t like that.”

“No?” Nora turned, eyeing him. “Not even a little bit?”

Harry went to speak, to defend himself, but he found himself shrugging with cheeks pink. “Alright. Maybe a little bit.”

She laughed, soft and sincere this time. “Good. You needed her last night more than you need your pride this morning,” She gave him a long stare, exhaling before she leaned against the counter. “And dad’s criticism last night was a bit harsh. Glad it was her that chased after you.”

Then, after a pause, she added with a smirk, “But do us all a favor next time and try not to creak the floorboards so loud, yeah? Think you woke everyone in the house.”

He shook his head, but he was smiling now, too.

Harry grabbed a glass of water, taking a sip before he started to move towards the steps, then hearing his sister from the kitchen, “I’ll keep it quiet if you make me the first to know when she’s Mrs. Styles.”

Harry paused on the stairs, heart catching slightly—then shook his head and climbed the rest of the way, one hand still warm from where Clare had held it all night.

+++

Clare descended the stairs slowly, careful to smooth her dress as she moved, fingers trembling just slightly at the seams. The soft ticking of the kitchen clock reached her before the scent of fried eggs and black tea did, and she took a quiet breath to collect herself.

The house was alive in the soft, familiar chaos of morning. Anne clattered gently at the stove, Nora hummed as she flipped through the newspaper, and the children’s voices carried faintly from the garden, where their boots thudded across the early grass.

Harry sat at the table, one leg stretched out, his head turned lazily toward the doorway just as Clare entered. Their eyes met, and something shifted beneath her ribs.

He looked… changed. Not drastically, not in a way anyone else might notice. But to her, every detail stood out like bold ink on parchment. His curls were still damp from the sink, his shirt rolled at the sleeves, a smear of marmalade forgotten at the edge of his toast. But it was his expression that caught her most—relaxed, warm, and just on the verge of some private amusement.

Clare felt her cheeks flush at his sight.

“Morning,” she said, voice light but betraying the beat of her pulse. “How is everyone this morning?”

“Morning,” Harry returned, his tone low and easy, like a shared secret tucked between them.

Nora raised an eyebrow without looking up from the paper. “Sleep alright?” she asked, far too casually.

Clare moved toward the teapot, carefully avoiding Harry’s gaze now. “Like a log,” she replied, smoothing her hands over her skirt as she poured.

Nora made a sound in the back of her throat—somewhere between a scoff and a laugh—but Anne cut in before she could needle any further. “There’s still toast, love. Jam’s just there.”

“Thank you.” Clare took the seat furthest from Harry, trying to seem perfectly unaffected.

But Harry, of course, wasn’t helping.

He watched her with a softness that made her skin prickle, the corners of his mouth curving like he knew exactly what she was thinking. When she reached for the butter, his hand grazed hers, and Clare nearly dropped the knife.

“Mum,” Nora chirped suddenly, “Harry was saying he might want to go for a walk later. Clear his head.”

“Oh?” Anne turned, spatula in hand. “Thought you said you’d help your father sort out those old roof tiles.”

“I might do both,” Harry said, eyes still on Clare. Then, more gently, “Actually, I was wondering if Clare might join me. Thought we could walk out past the fields, bring something to eat.”

Clare looked up, startled. His voice had softened for her, tugging her gently toward him without laying a hand. She could feel Nora grinning beside her without looking.

“A picnic?” she asked, lips twitching.

Harry gave her a slow, crooked smile. “Unless you’ve had your fill of my company already.”

Clare pretended to consider, chewing on the inside of her cheek as if it weren’t already decided. “No,” she said finally. “I think I could manage a bit more.”

Anne turned away, hiding her pleased smile as she plated more eggs. Nora leaned back in her chair, arms folded, gaze bouncing between the two of them like a spectator at the theatre.

“You’ll want a blanket,” she said idly. “And maybe a bit of luck, considering the sky.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, tea in hand, and gave Clare a look that made her toes curl in her shoes. She could still feel his hands from the night before, the press of his chest, the soft, whispered I love you that had settled under her skin like a vow.

And now here they were—across the table, surrounded by family, pretending they hadn’t broken all the rules just hours ago. But something in Harry’s gaze told her he didn’t regret a second of it.

Neither did she.

+++

The sun was low in the sky, stretched like melted gold across the fields. The air was soft and warm, buzzing with the sleepy hum of late summer — cicadas droning in the hedgerows, the faint bleating of sheep in the far-off hills.

Clare tucked her skirt beneath her legs, perched atop a wool blanket that Harry had carried under one arm from the house. Beside her, a basket lay open with half-eaten cheese, a crusty loaf, and two glass bottles of ginger beer sweating in the heat.

It was peaceful out here, the kind of quiet she hadn’t realized she needed until it settled around her like a second skin. The war felt far away — if only for the evening — and in the breeze, in the golden hush, there was something that felt like healing.

Harry lay beside her, stretched on his back with his arms behind his head, eyes closed against the sinking sun.

“I never used to like this place much,” he said, his voice low, as if not wanting to disturb the peace. “The farm, the hills. Thought it was boring when I was young. Too quiet. Too small.”

Clare glanced over at him. “And now?”

He opened his eyes, slowly turning his head to look at her. “Now, it’s all I want. Something still. Something that doesn’t disappear in smoke—for now, I guess.”

She didn’t speak for a moment, only reached over and brushed her fingertips lightly against the back of his hand.

He turned his palm up, laced their fingers together.

“I have good days,” he said quietly. “Better than I expected, being back home. My mum makes me eat far too much, Nora’s little one’s cling to me like I’m some sort of giant. Fix things that don’t need fixing.”

Clare smiled faintly, watching him. “And the bad days?”

His throat worked, and his gaze slipped up toward the clouds that were just beginning to darken, but the blue sky still coated them.

“I wake up thinking I’m still there. Still waiting for orders or wondering if today’s the day I don’t come back. Sometimes I remember things in flashes. I’ll hear a bang, just the door closing, and my stomach drops like I’m falling through the air again.”

Clare said nothing; she didn’t need to. She just squeezed his hand.

“I don’t sleep through the night,” he admitted. “Not really. I think about the lads — Dean, Michael. About the ones who didn’t even have a name left to bury. Some mornings I feel so bloody guilty I can’t breathe. Like I’m walking around wearing someone else’s life.”

Clare leaned her head gently against his shoulder, grounding him in her softness.

“You are walking around with your life,” she said. “And I’m glad you are. I’m glad you’re here.”

He turned his face into her hair, kissed the crown of her head. “You’ve always said that so easily.”

“Because I mean it.”

A long moment passed, filled only with the chirp of crickets and the gentle breeze rustling through the tall grass.

Then Harry shifted, rolling onto his side to face her. His brow was furrowed, like he’d been turning something over and over in his mind for hours. “I had a moment the other morning,” he said. “When I watched you laugh at something Nora said, and then you bent down to help Ellie with her shoes, and it hit me like a bloody freight train.”

She tilted her chin to look up at him.

“That I want that forever. Not just for a visit. Not just for letters or weekends or borrowed time. I want it all. I want you, Clare.”

Her breath caught, and he reached up to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his touch featherlight.

“I know it’s fast,” he went on. “I know it’s only been six months, and half of that spent with ink-stained fingers writing each other from miles apart. But I also know what it’s like to lose everything in a second. I’ve spent every moment since I met you thanking God I didn’t lose the chance to know you.”

Clare blinked, her throat tight.

“I want to marry you,” Harry said softly. “I want a home. I want your laugh in the kitchen and you stealing all the blankets and waking up next to you when I can’t sleep. I want the life we thought we might not get.”

She stared at him — her Harry, his green eyes earnest and vulnerable, still carrying pieces of the boy he used to be and forged by everything he’d survived. He looked impossibly handsome in the amber light, curls tousled, freckles glowing like stardust across his nose, and yet there was something deeper in his beauty now — something bruised and brave and entirely real.

“You’re serious,” she whispered, almost afraid to believe it.

“I’ve never been more,” He bit on his bottom lip, “I think I knew it when you first sat with me through the worst night of my life,” he continued. “You didn’t flinch. And since then, I… I haven’t wanted to imagine any kind of future that doesn’t include you.”

She felt the ground tilt, just slightly. The weight of those words—not heavy but anchoring. As though everything in her had been untethered before this moment.

Clare leaned in and kissed him, slow and certain, her heart hammering as his hand came to cradle her jaw.

They broke apart just barely, foreheads resting together.

“Yes,” she whispered, eyes still closed. “Yes, Harry. I want that too.”

He let out a breath that was almost a laugh — part relief, part awe — and kissed her again, this time with a hunger that belied the stillness of the field around them. His arms came around her, pulling her into his chest, and she melted into him, the grass rustling beneath them, the sky stretching wide above.

They’d lingered on the edge of the blanket long after the biscuits were gone, the countryside humming with bees and swaying grass. Clare lay on her side, propped up on one elbow, watching Harry as he plucked a tall blade of grass and twirled it between his fingers. His shirt had come partially untucked, and a bit of pink skin peeked from beneath, sun-warmed and freckled.

“I love you,” he said, like it had been there the whole time, waiting on his tongue.

Clare sat up straighter, her breath catching. His eyes searched hers, steady and certain.

He reached into the inside pocket of his trousers and pulled out a small box, it was quite modest, wrapped in linen twine.

“It’s not much,” he said, “but I got it just before you came here. I was waiting to get it right, but I think this is right. This mess of a field and your bare feet and me probably getting grass stains on my trousers.”

Her hand trembled slightly as he placed the box in it. Inside was a delicate gold band, a single garnet set in the middle, deep and rich like the blush that rose to her cheeks.

“Marry me, Clare.”

Her eyes shot back to him as she couldn’t feel anything in her lungs; the surprise lifting off her as she shook her head and placed a hand on her chest looking at the ring.

“Harry—I,” She took the ring out of the box and gave it a look, the smile on her lips twitching as she looked back at him again with an undeniable surprise.

The sky cracked. Thunder grumbled low, and then the clouds opened.

Clare shrieked as the rain came down in fat, summer-warm drops, soaking through her dress in seconds. Harry, undeterred, tilted his head back with a boyish grin, arms stretched to his sides.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” she shouted, half-laughing at the circumstances.

“I think that’s a yes!” he called, getting up from his spot on the blanket, dancing backward into the open grass as the rain drenched them both.

Clare tried to pack the items back into the basket, but it was no use—everything was wet, the blanket a soggy heap. Clare’s hair clung to her face, rivulets running down the back of her neck. She turned to Harry, breathless, soaked through as she stood.

He glanced at the pond just a few yards off. Still, quiet, reflecting the flashes of light in the sky. Without another word, Harry begun tugging off his suspenders and peeled away his wet shirt. Clare’s jaw dropped.

“You’re not—Harry, you can’t just—”

“Oh, I can,” he said, backing toward the edge of the pond, barefoot in the grass as he kicked off his shoes and socks; working on his belt as he made his way to the edge. “And I will. Come on, live a little.”

“You’re mad!” Clare called out with a blustering scream, laughter injected inside.

“You’ve always known that.”

She hesitated, arms folded, rain dripping from her elbows as she watched him.

“Clare,” he said, lowering his voice and stepping out of his pants, “the world’s gone upside down. Everything is chaos and ration books and grief we can’t speak out loud. And here we are—in the middle of a field. You love me, I love you, sweetheart. Let’s get naked and jump in that pond.”

She stared at him—at the water beading on his collarbones, the mischievous flicker in his eyes as his hair dripped into his face. Then, with a disbelieving shake of her head, she began unbuttoning the back of her damp dress.

“Don’t look,” she warned him with a smirk.

“I’m absolutely looking.”

Harry gave her a last smirk before he ran to the edge of the grass before he dove straight into the water; the raindrops circling him as he came back up and shook the water from his head with a laugh. In an instant, he took off his boxer shorts and threw them to the shore before giving Clare a nod.

“Bit of an incentive now, innit?”

With a sigh, she let the dress drop in a pile by her feet. She kicked off her own shoes, before toeing into the water, wearing only her slip, now nearly translucent in the rain.

“Jump in!” Harry encouraged, swimming over to where she stood by the bank. The water wasn’t incredibly deep, but Harry couldn’t stand properly in it, either.

With a swoop dive, Clare dove straight in with a scream. Swimming to the surface, she found that Harry swam to her in just a few strokes, laughing when her teeth chattered just slightly.

She squealed and splashed him in return, and they met in the middle, the pond circling around them like a baptism of something entirely new.

“You didn’t even say yes,” he whispered against her cheek as he held her close.

“I didn’t have to,” she said, cupping his face. “You already knew.”

And with that, they kissed again, their lips wet with rain and pond water and a little taste of what the rest of their lives could look like.

+++

The rain hadn’t let up.

It came down in sheets, soaking through to the bone, turning the lane to soft earth and the hedges into dripping curtains. The two of them trudged through the puddles anyway; they were barefoot, laughing, skin flushed from the swim, hearts still pounding from what had just passed between them.

Harry walked beside Clare, shirtless with his suspenders hanging around his thighs, water trailing down the sharp lines of his chest. His hair clung to his forehead, curls plastered in a way that made him look far younger—boyish, but also free. Clare wore his shirt, oversized and heavy with rain, clinging to her slip dress underneath. It hung nearly to her knees and bared her legs, mud splattered up the backs of her calves.

They looked like a pair of soaked, guilty children caught kissing behind the barn. But they were far from innocent. Clare's cheeks hurt from smiling ear to ear.

They kissed her in the rain with the kind of reverence that made her forget the rest of the world existed; it felt like their world. His hands had lingered at her waist. Her fingers had traced the curve of his ribs under the waves. Every laugh between them had felt like breathing for the first time in weeks.

“Are we going to make it before someone calls the Home Guard on us?” she asked, nudging his arm with a giggle.

“If they see you like this, I might have to fight someone,” he teased, glancing over with a smirk. “You’ve got my shirt on. That’s practically a marriage proposal.”

“I believe you already made one of those,” she shot back, trying not to shiver as a gust of wind whipped across the path; she flashed her hand to him with the gold band on.

“Still stands, too.”

They reached the house, the porch steps slick beneath their bare feet. Harry pushed open the door, and warmth hit them at once; the air had cooled outside, even though it was late June— the scent of cinnamon and a roast still lingering in the air.

The low hum of the wireless drifted in from the sitting room. They were laughing, brushing off droplets by the front door, Harry's hand still on the small of her back as he pulled her close, when Clare paused.

There were voices. More than one. She turned to look.

Anne was seated in her armchair by the hearth, her knitting needles resting idle in her lap. Nora sat cross-legged on the rug with Beth leaning against her, while Alfie played with a wooden plane near the hearth. And across from them, the figure that made Harry still was his father, Geroge. They hadn’t spoken since their spat; this didn’t seem the time or place.

He was sitting stiff-backed in his chair by the window, a mug in hand, eyes narrowed as he looked up at his son and the woman at his side. The laughter died instantly.

Water dripped from Clare’s knees. Harry’s curls were plastered to his forehead. Her legs were bare beneath the hem of his shirt, and Harry—God help him—was shirtless and tracking mud into his mother’s house.

No one said anything. The only sound was the BBC announcer on the wireless reciting war headlines, something about heavy bombing in the north of France.

Anne, ever the peacemaker, rose first from her seat as she took in an inhale.

“Well,” she said brightly evaluating the fact that they were soaking the front mat, “you’ve both brought the storm in with you.”

Harry cleared his throat, his jaw working. “Sorry—we, um—went walking. Got caught in it.”

Clare gave a mortified smile, tucking her hair behind her ear as she crossed her arms, feeling completely bare. “We’ll clean up after ourselves, ma’am.”

Nora smirked behind her teacup, lurching her head towards their stance in the foyer. “Must’ve been a very long walk.”

Alfie looked up from his story book innocently from where he sat on the floor. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt, Uncle Harry?”

Harry blinked without anything else to say, a bit tongue-tied and confused. “I, uh—"

“He gave it to Clare,” Beth offered, helpfully. “Because he’s in love.”

Clare turned positively scarlet. Harry’s eyes flicked once toward his father, gauging the temperature in the room. George didn’t speak, but his expression was set—stone and firelight. It was impossible to tell whether it was judgment or resignation there. He wasn’t sure which was better.

Anne stepped in gracefully. “Go on then, both of you. Upstairs before you catch your death. There’s a towel in the linen cupboard and clean clothes on the banister, Harry. And Clare, dear, I believe you’ve stolen my son’s dignity as well as his shirt.”

Nora snorted into her tea. Harry’s eyes met Clare’s for half a second as they backed toward the stairs.

Clare whispered as they started to climb the stairs to the next level, “We’re never going to live this down.”

Harry leaned closer, leading her towards the closet to grab a linen towel. “Worse ways to be caught, don’t you think?”

“And your father?” Clare asked, whispering.

His jaw tensed at the question; he shrugged without another word. “Let him think what he wants. I’m not hiding from the one good thing I’ve found.”

She flushed, heart thumping at his words before she used the towel to blot out her dripping hair.

“Still,” he added under his breath, glancing over his shoulder, “next time we strip down in a field, remind me to check who’s going to be home first—didn’t think we’d have a crowd.”

They disappeared up the stairs, their laughter muffled by the creak of the floorboards. Behind them, in the quiet sitting room, George Styles lifted his mug and stared at the fire, but for once, he said nothing at all.

+++

Upstairs, the warmth of dry clothes and the smell of roast warming again in the oven dulled some of the embarrassment.

Clare had changed into a clean, cream dress that Nora had laid out for her, her damp hair pinned loosely at her neck. Harry had pulled on a crisp white button-down, still rubbing his hair dry with a towel when he walked into the little guest room where Clare was fastening her stockings.

“You look like trouble,” he murmured from the doorway, grinning.

She turned, arching a brow. “Coming from the man who dragged me half-naked through a thunderstorm?”

He laughed softly, stepping in to fix one of her pins. “I don’t regret a second of it.”

She stilled under his fingers. His touch lingered just a little too long. Then he pulled back, suddenly bouncing on the balls of his feet like a man with a secret.

“What’s gotten into you?” she asked, a bit curious at his anxiousness. He pursed his lips to the side a bit, staring at the ground before he gave her a look. A look that she had grown to know as serious as it could be.

Harry hesitated, eyes bright. “I was going to wait until the morning... before you left.”

Clare blinked, shaking her head as she paused her movements. “Wait for what?”

He took her hand, lifted it, and brought it to his lips. “To tell everyone.”

She tilted her head. “Tell them…?”

“That you said yes.” His grin widened, shaking his head a bit like she should have known that. “That I’m going to marry the woman who dragged me out of hell with a cup of tea and a bloody book of poetry.”

Clare’s stomach fluttered; she stood up from her edge of the bed before she was met by him in front of her. “Harry—are you sure you want to announce it like this?”

He was already pulling her out into the hall. “I’ve never been surer of anything.”

Her heart stuttered at the way he said it—like it wasn’t just about the way she looked in that moment, flushed and barefoot in one of her simple house dresses, but about everything that had led them to now.

She tucked herself slightly behind his shoulder as they descended the stairs, feeling the creak of the wood beneath each step, the faint murmur of conversation rising from below. She could hear Anne’s voice, then Nora’s laughter, and the gentle clink of dishes being cleared.

As they reached the last few steps, Harry paused and turned back to her with a boyish grin and one last whispered question: “Still sure you want to do this with me?”

Clare smiled, tightening her fingers around his. “Only if you’re sure.”

Downstairs, the dining room had been reset with a second tablecloth and more candles. The roast had been kept warm, and a second round of potatoes was making the rounds when Harry and Clare entered, hand-in-hand.

Nora’s eyes immediately darted to the joined hands and then to her mother, a slow, delighted smile spreading across her face. Clare was flushed, but Harry’s face was all confidence and joy, like a man standing at the edge of something good.

Harry cleared his throat, his earlier eagerness tempered now by a flicker of nerves. For all his boldness dragging Clare down the stairs, now that they stood in the center of the room—barefoot, hair damp from the rain, clothes clinging faintly to their skin—it all felt heavier. Realer.

“Everyone—” he began, his voice steady, but softer.

From the corner of the table, Alfie looked up, a fork still mid-air. “Did you fall in the pond again?”

A snort escaped from Beth, who was curled up on the edge of the armchair, kicking her heels against the leg. “Is she your girlfriend now?”

Harry huffed a quiet laugh, glancing sidelong at Clare. “Something like that.”

Then he reached for her hand, grounding himself in the warmth of her fingers, and looked toward his mother. The room had gone quieter—more alert somehow, as if even the walls were leaning in.

“Clare and I…” he said, voice catching on the pause. “We’re engaged.”

For a moment, it didn’t register. Or perhaps it did, but no one moved, as if giving space for the words to settle properly in their chests.

Then Anne gasped, one hand pressed to her chest, the other flying to her mouth. Her eyes brimmed instantly. “Oh—Harry!”

Nora let out a cheer, rising from her seat to wrap her arms around Clare from behind. “I knew it! I knew it. You’ve had that silly look on your face since she wrote you the first letter.”

Beth clapped enthusiastically, delighted by the fanfare, and Alfie, not quite sure what engagement meant, grinned because everyone else was happy.

Clare felt her cheeks warm under the sudden attention, but it was a good sort of warmth—rooted in something safe. Something real. Her heart beat steadily beneath Harry’s palm where it rested against her side, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to exhale.

Until the energy shifted. All eyes gradually turned to the end of the table.

George Styles sat in his usual seat, posture easy but unreadable, arms folded across his chest like he was holding something in. The soft crackle of the radio hummed in the background—news from the continent, voices warbling through the rainstorm on the roof.

Harry straightened instinctively, a subtle but practiced motion—one he hadn’t used in months. “Dad?”

The question lingered in the air. There was a long pause, just long enough to make the fire in the hearth seem louder, to make Clare’s fingers tighten ever so slightly in his.

Then George spoke: “That was fast.”

It was just four words, but it may as well have been forty as they dropped like iron into water. The room stilled again, but not with joy this time. Clare’s smile slipped, not completely, but enough for Harry to feel it disappear beside him.

Harry’s jaw twitched as he inhaled, standing taller. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

George looked at him. No anger. No visible disappointment. Just that quiet, old-world stoicism—the kind that masked more than it revealed.

“I say it like a father who knows the cost of rushing,” he replied evenly.

Harry’s throat bobbed once. “With respect… I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.”

George nodded slowly. Not in agreement, not in refusal. Just a gesture, like setting something aside that he wasn’t ready to open.

Anne rose from her chair, moving past the awkward silence like a balm. She stepped toward Clare and gently cupped her face, tears still shining in her eyes. “Welcome to the family, sweetheart,” she said.

Nora gave Harry a nudge and whispered, “You’re lucky she said yes.”

Harry, heart thudding and jaw still set, turned slightly to Clare and murmured just for her, “I meant what I said earlier. No second thoughts.”

Clare leaned in, brushing her lips to his cheek. “None,” she whispered back.

And though the rain still battered the windows, and George Styles sat with arms crossed and eyes careful, the hearth burned bright, and the future began to bloom in the warmth between them.

George didn’t raise his voice. “You’ve been home for a matter of weeks. And now you’re settling in? Like it’s all behind you?”

“It’s not behind me,” Harry said sharply. “You think I don’t know that? But it’s not about forgetting—it’s about choosing something better.”

“I just thought you’d… take your time. Think it through.”

Anne cut in gently, “George—”

“No,” Harry said, voice tightening as he took his seat at his usual spot at the table. “It’s alright. He’s disappointed.”

“I didn’t say that.” George glared at Harry, but Harry kept his eyes on his own plate.

“You didn’t have to.”

Clare placed a calming hand on his back, but Harry’s shoulders were set, his heart pounding in his ears.

“I went to war,” he explained, “I lost people. I came back different. But Clare—she’s the reason I even remember what it means to want something more than just surviving. So if you can’t be happy for me, I don’t know what to tell you.”

George looked at his son long and hard. Then he nodded once, a stiff gesture, and turned back to his food.

“Congratulations,” he said simply, but it landed hollow.

Harry looked up slowly, not looking at him.

Anne reached across and placed a hand over Clare’s, giving her a soft smile. Nora mouthed sorry across the table, then offered Harry a wink that pulled a breath of laughter out of him despite the tension. And Clare—Clare reached for Harry’s hand again, under the table where no one could see, and he held on like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.

The mood had softened again, as it often did after a family meal—like steam rising from empty plates, tension lifting into something gentler. The radio hummed quietly in the corner, playing an old tune Clare couldn’t name but recognized in the way it settled into her bones. Harry sat beside her, close enough that their arms brushed, his pinky just barely hooked around hers under the table.

Anne poured another round of tea and glanced across at Clare with a familiar warmth. “So, love,” she began, voice kind but curious, “what comes next for the two of you?”

Clare looked over at Harry briefly—he gave her the smallest nod of encouragement, the kind that said, Tell them what you like. I’ll follow your lead. She smoothed her hands over her skirt and folded them in her lap.

“Well… I have a flat in London,” she said, a little sheepish. “Top floor near Russell Square. It’s nothing fancy—creaky floorboards and a window that sticks in the rain—but it’s mine.”

“Oh, how romantic,” Nora said, smiling. “Like something out of a novel.”

“It’s small,” Clare laughed, “but there’s space for two. And Harry… well, he’d come stay, at least while he figures out what comes next.”

Anne tilted her head, expression thoughtful. “And your family, dear? Will they be nearby?”

Clare’s smile softened at the edges. “My mother passed when I was sixteen,” she said gently. “And my father… we have our differences. We’re not especially close,” She took a sip of water, “My brother also....” She trailed off, enough where everyone knew what she meant. “So it’s just my father and I.”

A hush passed over the table. Anne reached over, laying a hand over Clare’s in the kind of motherly gesture that needed no explanation.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” Clare said, quietly. “It was a long time ago now. I think the war made all of us grow up faster.”

“And you’re still working at the hospital in Babbacombe?” Nora asked.

“Yes, I’ll be back and forth for a while. It’s not too far by train, and I’ve done the distance before. Letters have filled the in-betweens. They’ll do again.” Her eyes turned towards Harry before he settled with a soft smile.

“Well,” Anne said, glancing between the two of them with a twinkle in her eye, “you can’t speak of letters and flats and trains without showing us the ring.”

Clare blinked, startled at the question. “Oh! Of course.” She lifted her hand a little, and Harry, blushing slightly, took it gently, turning it just enough for his mother and sister to see.

The ring was modest but beautiful: a vintage setting, delicate gold with a single garnet jewel that caught the candlelight and winked like a secret. Clare could still hardly believe it was hers.

“Oh, Harry,” Anne breathed. “It’s lovely.”

“Where did you find it?” Nora asked, reaching forward to admire it more closely.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “A shop off the square. The man said it had been waiting for someone who’d know what it meant to start over.”

Anne’s eyes shimmered slightly. “Well. I hope you told him you found the right girl.”

“I did,” Harry said, his voice quieter now. “She’s it.”

Clare looked down, a shy smile pulling at her lips. She wasn’t used to such praise—not so plainly spoken, especially not in front of family—but something about it made her sit a little taller, made her heart bloom just a little wider in her chest.

“Well,” Anne said, wiping the corner of her eye and sitting back with a little laugh, “you’ll always have a place here too, Clare. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” Clare said, voice tight with sincerity. “Thank you. Truly.”

At the far end of the table, Beth was now curled up with a book on the rug, and Alfie was half-dozing in his chair. The adults sat in that warm, flickering space between dinner and dusk, the radio low, the fire crackling.

And in that soft lull, Clare looked around and saw it for what it was—not just Harry’s family, but hers now too.

Harry leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple, his hand still covering hers. The rain tapped gently against the windowpanes, steady and low.

+++

The rest of the house had settled into a sleepy hush. The fire had burned low, casting long shadows across the sitting room, and Nora had taken the children up to bed after a final goodnight kiss to Harry’s cheek. Anne had disappeared into the kitchen to tidy up the last of the teacups, leaving Clare momentarily alone.

Or so she thought.

She turned at the sound of a soft creak behind her—Harry’s father stood in the doorway, a glass of something amber in his hand. The rain had slowed to a drizzle now, tapping rhythmically on the windows. George Styles looked tired but thoughtful, his usual sternness dimmed in the low light.

“Evening, Miss Clare,” he said gruffly, but not unkindly.

Clare straightened a little at his presence, a bit unsure. “Evening, Mr. Styles.”

He nodded once, crossing into the room with slow, deliberate steps. He eased himself into the old armchair by the hearth with a soft grunt and took a sip from his glass.

“Don’t let the bark fool you,” he said after a long pause. “I’ve got no quarrel with you.”

Clare looked at him, surprised as she situated herself into the seat. “I didn’t think you did, sir.”

He gave a wry smile at that—small, fleeting. “Good. Thought I’d best say it outright anyway. I’m not always easy with words.”

Clare folded her hands in front of her, feeling the weight of the quiet between them. “I know this can’t be easy. Letting someone into the family… when everything’s already been so—”

“Upturned,” he finished for her. “Yes. That’s a word for it.”

He stared into the fire a moment longer, then glanced over at her. “You’re not what I expected. But you’ve done something for my boy I didn’t think possible.”

Clare’s throat tightened. “I only—”

“You brought him back to himself,” George said. “Even after all the rest was stripped away. And I’d be a fool not to see it.”

He took another sip, then leaned back, his expression gentler now. “He had a girl once. Before the war. Nothing serious—they were too young. But he was always a romantic. Wrote her poems once. Poor lad. Never stood a chance.”

Clare smiled faintly, lowering herself into the chair opposite him. “He still writes. Letters. Beautiful ones.”

“I reckon he does,” George said, a hint of pride in his voice, though carefully veiled. “Never could keep his heart quiet.”

Clare sat with her hands folded in her lap, eyes on the shifting embers, while George nursed a half-finished glass of whisky.

“He ever tell you about Amelia?” George asked after a long silence.

Clare turned, startled by the name. “No. I don’t think he did.”

George nodded slowly. “Didn’t think he would. They were barely out of school. Just young, soft things still figuring out the world. She was kind to him. Sweet. But it wasn’t meant to last.” He paused, his voice growing rough around the edges. “She left the year after he enlisted. Fell in love with a boy in Leeds. Wrote him a letter about it—one of those awful kind. He didn’t speak much for weeks after.”

Clare’s heart pinched, thinking of Harry, vulnerable and in his bunk reading a letter of a girl breaking his heart. “I didn’t know.”

“He wears his heart out where everyone can see it,” George continued, glancing toward the fire. “Has since he was little. Couldn’t hide a single thing if he tried. It’s a beautiful thing, but it’s dangerous too—makes the pain louder. That’s why I wanted him to come back different. Harder, maybe. Safer.”

Clare stayed quiet for a moment, letting his words settle between them. Then she spoke, her voice low but clear.

“When he came into the ward, I could tell straight away he was different. Not just wounded, but... grieving. He was fighting ghosts. And at first, he didn’t want anything from me. Not kindness, not care. But I sat with him anyway. I watched him flinch in his sleep, hold his breath when he asked about his crew. And I saw, underneath all the damage, that same boy you’re talking about. Someone who still wanted to love the world, even if it hurt him.”

George looked at her, his jaw tightening as he thought for a moment.

“I didn’t fall for a soldier,” Clare added, meeting his eyes now. “I fell for the man who tried to carry all the guilt of the war so no one else had to. The one who whispered prayers when he thought no one was listening. The one who said my name like it mattered.”

George stared at the hearth, blinking slowly. When he spoke again, his voice had softened. “And you think love is enough to carry all that weight?”

Clare’s smile was faint but resolute. “No. But I think it’s a place to set it down, at least.”

The old man let out a quiet breath, almost like a sigh of surrender. “He always needed someone who could see him clearly. Even when he couldn’t see himself.”

Clare nodded. “He does the same for me.”

George stood slowly, setting his glass aside, and gave her the smallest, most weathered smile. “Then maybe you’re exactly what he needs.”

Clare watched him go, a quiet warmth blooming in her chest—not from triumph, but from understanding. From the unexpected grace of being welcomed into the heart of a man whose son she already knew by heart. They sat there for a long moment, just the crackle of the fire and the hush of rain filling the space between their words.

“I may not say it the way my wife or daughter would,” George added, clearing his throat, “but you’re welcome here, Clare. Truly. If Harry’s chosen you, then that means something.”

Clare met his eyes, her own misting as she knew the sincerity of his words. Even if he couldn’t say them to his own son, she knew that her would try his best to do what he could. “Thank you, Mr. Styles. That means more than I can say.”

He gave a nod, then stood slowly, joints stiff from the chill. “Get some sleep, then. Tomorrow’ll come fast.”

He left with the barest smile, his footsteps soft on the floorboards.

And Clare sat a little longer by the fire, hand at her chest, feeling the warmth of something unexpected and deeply reassuring settle in her bones.

At the edge of the corridor just beyond the sitting room, Anne stood in her slippers, towel in hand from drying the last of the teacups. She had paused when she saw George and Clare sitting by the fire, something about the quiet tone in his voice anchoring her to the spot.

Behind her, Harry lingered at the foot of the stairs. He was dressed in his shirt sleeves, hair still damp from the rain, ready to head up when he’d heard his father’s voice—gentler than usual.

They both listened, not out of intrusion, but something like reverence.

“…But you’ve done something for my boy I didn’t think possible,” George said, right in the other room.

Harry exhaled slowly, the words hitting like a weight and lifting at the same time. He hadn’t heard his father speak like that in years. Not since before the war.

Anne turned slightly and looked at her son, her smile subtle but full of understanding. She reached out, placing a hand over Harry’s where it clutched the stair railing. “He means it,” she whispered. “He just doesn’t always know how to say it.”

Harry nodded once, eyes still on the soft glow of the fire through the doorframe.

When he finally turned toward the stairs, his voice was quiet. “She’s going to change everything for us.”

Anne’s smile widened, and she gently squeezed his hand. “She already has.”

The Next Day

The train let out a sharp whistle that pierced the sleepy hush of the morning platform. Steam curled around their ankles, rising in soft waves, catching in the sunlight like silk threads.

Clare adjusted the strap of her handbag, trying not to look as miserable as she felt. Her gloves were buttoned, her hair pinned neatly, her coat smoothed down with trembling fingers — but inside, everything was knotted and aching.

Harry stood just inches from her, hands in the pockets of his trousers, curls a bit wild from the wind, collar half-turned up. His eyes hadn’t left her since they’d arrived. They were soft now, a little sad but full of something else, too — something steadier, weightier. Love.

“You’re sure you’ll be alright?” he asked, voice low, cautious.

She gave a brave smile, nodding. “Of course. I’ve survived months of hospital night shifts and half-frozen ward windows. One train ride won’t do me in.”

He smiled faintly but didn’t laugh.

“I mean it,” she said, reaching for his hand, squeezing. “I’ll be alright.”

Harry glanced down at their joined hands, then lifted hers to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist — warm and slow. “You better not go off and fall in love with anyone else before I get down there.”

Clare laughed, eyes glassy, and bumped his shoulder with hers. “I’d like to see anyone try.”

The conductor called out again, a final warning, and the ache in Clare’s chest bloomed.

Harry stepped closer, tipping his forehead against hers. “I’ll be there soon,” he murmured. “I don’t care if I’ve got to take a horse and walk the rest of the way. You’ll see me again before your pillow’s forgotten the shape of my head.”

She swallowed around the lump in her throat, blinking fast.

“I thank God every morning,” Harry whispered. “For the chance to be here. For the fact that I was given one more second, one more breath… and that it brought me to you.”

Clare closed her eyes, letting herself lean into the heat of his chest just once more. “Your story just hadn’t been completed yet,” she said softly. “It was only just beginning.”

He kissed her — gently, reverently, like she was the first good thing he’d ever known. Then the train hissed again, and she stepped away, eyes locked on his, every part of her wanting to stay.

As the train began to move, she found the window nearest the platform and pressed her hand to the glass. Harry matched it with his own, a silly smile breaking through the sadness.

He mouthed something, and it took her a second to read his lips, but when she did, her heart stuttered.

“My fiancée.”

Clare bit her lip, smiling so hard it nearly cracked the grief open.

“I’ll see you soon,” she mouthed back.

The train pulled forward, carrying her away from Manchester, away from him — but her heart, wrapped tight in the memory of their nights together, his whispered promises, and the shape of his hand on hers, stayed behind.

And ahead of her, somewhere waiting in London, was a life beginning.

#I told her you’re mine and I meant it. & I think you made me better without even meaning to.#I need something or someone real again. And that someone Harry is you.#The letter she'd written was folded in his breast pocket—creased and soft from how many times he'd read it. He knew it by heart now.#Nora’s expression softened immediately as she stepped out and hugged Clare like she’d known her far longer than through #the letters she had stolen from Harry to read knowing that this was the woman who had given Harry the smug smile on his face.#He kissed her then properly gently but certain like she was the one thing he wanted to hold onto with both hands and never let go.#That look always disarmed her. It made her feel like the only girl in a war-torn world.#If she let herself believe it this wasn’t just a visit. Maybe it was the beginning of something that finally felt like peace.#BENNETT😭😭😭🥹🥹🥹#She hadn’t known how much she needed to hear that—needed to know she hadn’t just patched a wound but helped bring someone #back into the world. This world specifically.& And she knew—this wasn’t just visiting anymore. This was belonging.#And they sat in the dark together grief and love wound between their fingers not trying to fix anything—just holding on.#“I’ve thought about this” he said breathless a whisper only held together by the two of them.#“About you. About this moment. Every bloody day since the last time I could have you like this.”#“I love you” he whispered. It came out like a tremble but it was a confession.#It was raw and held a meaning that he hadn’t thought of before.#The small sound of his kiss was enough to hypnotise her. Perfect #This sort of touch—this sort of love was whispered about behind hands or in scandalous novels hidden in dresser drawers.#Even if the world outside tore itself to pieces she knew it now: Harry Styles was hers. And this—#this intimacy this heat this tenderness was no longer something whispered about in shadowed corners.#“I’ll keep it quiet if you make me the first to know when she’s Mrs. Styles.” SCREAMING #“That I want that forever. Not just for a visit. Not just for letters or weekends or borrowed time. I want it all. I want you Clare.”#“I want to marry you” Harry said softly. “I want a home. I want your laugh in the kitchen and you stealing all the blankets and #waking up next to you when I can’t sleep. I want the life we thought we might not get.”#I haven’t wanted to imagine any kind of future that doesn’t include you.”#And here we are—in the middle of a field. You love me I love you sweetheart. Let’s get naked and jump in that pond.”#“I’m absolutely looking.”&“Let him think what he wants. I’m not hiding from the one good thing I’ve found.”#“That I’m going to marry the woman who dragged me out of hell with a cup of tea and a bloody book of poetry.”#“I thank God every morning” Harry whispered. “For the chance to be here. For the fact that I #was given one more second one more breath… and that it brought me to you.”

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pleasantlycrazyworld · 23 days ago

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Omgomgomg hiiii! can I please req Bob reynolds x reader (fem if thats okay) where Sentry falls before bob if thats okay?

I LOVED this request! Thank you so much for sending it to me <3 I hope you like how I wrote this idea

-------------------

You’d always been kind to Bob. That’s where it started. Not with declarations or romance, but with you bringing him coffee during early mornings at the Tower, remembering how he liked it—two sugars, light cream. With you making space for him on missions, never treating him like a weapon, but like a person. That rarest of things. Sentry noticed.

Not Bob. Sentry.

The glowing man with golden eyes who flew ahead of the team, who faced gods and monsters like they were made of paper. He saw the way you spoke to Bob, not with fear or awe, but warmth. Softness. Sentry didn't understand it at first; they never received this treatment before, but he knew he wanted more of it. More of you.

The first time Sentry saw you for himself you were laughing. Not the kind of laugh meant for someone else’s benefit. Not polite. Not strained. It was real—loud, full, your head thrown back, the corners of your eyes creased with joy.

It was something Bob flinched from in the past. But Sentry? Sentry leaned closer. She sounds like sunlight, he thought.

Sometimes, when Bob would retreat inward, when his self-doubt pressed in like the darkness of the Void…Sentry would come forward. To protect him but also to see you…you’re starting to become the main reason.

“I like your hair like that,” he said once—Sentry, not Bob—hovering just outside your window in the dusk, glowing faintly. “It looks… brave.” You smiled. “That’s a strange compliment.” “I mean it.” He hesitated, then asked something Bob never could. “Can I sit with you a while?”

You nodded. That night, he said nothing else. Just sat beside you on the rooftop, watching the stars, bathed in quiet gold. You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t probe. You didn’t call him by the names others whispered with fear or reverence. You just sat with him. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He visited more after that. Late nights. Rooftop talks. Quiet confessions. His voice, usually so commanding, softened around you. Like your presence gave him permission to be fragile. “Sometimes I think I’m not real,” he said one night, golden aura flickering like a dying star.

“You feel real,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over his. “To me, you’re real.” And that was the first time he ever considered choosing to be more than just power.

It took Bob longer to realize it. He thought it was the Sentry who was drawn to you, that golden half of himself—stronger, bolder, unafraid. Bob told himself that he wasn’t worthy of you. That Sentry could love, and he could only watch. But love doesn’t stay where it isn’t returned. And you never smiled at the Sentry quite the way you smiled at Bob. Not when he made terrible jokes in the kitchen at 2 a.m., or when he forgot how to tie his tie before a briefing and you patiently helped him. Not when he was anxious and hiding it badly, and you leaned into him just enough to say “I’m here.”

Sentry might have spoken first. But it was Bob you were falling for. You had been falling for Bob the whole time. It just took him a while to catch up to the part of himself that already had.

Bob sat on your porch steps one quiet evening, fingers twisting nervously in his lap. “I think…” he started. “I think he fell in love with you before I did.” You smiled, soft and knowing. “I think you were always a part of that love for me. You just didn’t know how to let yourself feel it.” His shoulders dropped. Relief. Maybe something close to peace. And when you kissed him, there was no Sentry. No golden light. No legend. No god.

Just Bob. And this time, he let himself stay.

Thank you so much for reading my work! As always if you like my work, please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work, and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Requests are open <3

Tagging: @msfirth

@my-name-is-baby

@metalarmsandmanbuns

@live-love-be-unique

@disillusioniary

@you-bloody-shank

@sarcazzzum

@itsjustisa

@qardasngan

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churipu · 1 year ago

Text

YOU SLEEPING ON A COUCH AFTER AN ARGUMENT 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

featuring. gojo satoru, geto suguru, toji fushiguro x reader

note. i hv so many ideas right now apart from what i'm actually supposed to be focusing on, so...pls excuse me.

GOJO SATORU. arguments with gojo are a pain in the ass, he's petty and everything will be a mess. he's so stubborn that it actually baffles you sometimes — and he calls you rock head?

being a sorcerer is never an easy job. gojo wakes up every day, not knowing whether he'd die in a mission or get to live another day. so when you brought up your concerns about it to him, the male didn't take it lightly. things have been tight for him, and you're walking on eggshells for the past few days.

the slightest thing angered him, like how his sleeve got stuck on the door handle, or the way he curses out loudly when he stubs his toe on the coffee table. it puts him in a shitty mood, so when that happens, and you try to talk to him about his job.

gojo gets very pissy about it.

frankly, you understood where his anger comes from. and it was part of your fault to bother him the moment he came back from work exhausted, it was bound to happen so you weren't really blaming him at all from the projecting of his anger to you the night before — he didn't say hurtful things, gojo knew better than that. all he did was tell you to leave him alone and get out of his sight for the night.

and you did. sleeping alone on the couch, all sprawled out, an arm dangling on the edge; while a string of drool dribbled down the corner of your lips.

you seemed to not mind having to sleep on the couch (under your own want). but your boyfriend did, the moment he knew your bed time strikes — he came out of the room and eyed your sleeping form. guilt washing over him when all you did was care about his being and how dangerous the jujutsu world is.

gojo approaches you and gently carried you in his arms, an arm right under your bottom and his other arm around your waist. hoisting you up like a baby as your cheek leaned onto his shoulder, letting the drool blotch his shirt. he doesn't care at all.

the male tucks you in the bed, pulling the covers over you before slipping next to you, chest pressed to your back and an arm resting on your hip. gojo will never let you sleep a whole night on the couch, he will bring you to sleep with him and apologize the very next day for being such an ass.

he also, tried to make it up to you by cooking a classic english breakfast. which ended up in chaos — and you both decided to order take out instead.

GETO SUGURU. geto is usually calm and collected; he doesn't really get angry at anything. even if he does, he mostly keeps it to himself unless it really bothers him. but since humans have certain capacities to their own emotion — geto is not spared from being angry, no matter how calm he is.

after the death of amanai, you could feel him change. your geto. it was traumatizing for him, and you understood. always being there for him, never leaving him alone. the dark circles under his eyes were apparent, and it looked like he hasn't had a good night sleep for what seemed like . . . weeks, or months, if that's even possible.

geto appreciated your company, really. but sometimes, he also wanted to be left alone to dwell on his feelings. he didn't want to end up saying hurtful things to you because he was so angry at himself. but he did, and god was it horrible.

he was already feeling like shit before the argument— which if you see, wasn't really an argument at all. it was one-sided, geto was telling you off and you didn't say anything back. because you knew he didn't mean it. he almost desperately begged for you to leave him alone because your presence was "annoying" him and he couldn't stand it.

although geto said it in a heap of moment. he didn't mean it, and before he could say anything else, you tell him that you were going to be sleeping on the couch, so if he needed anything he was free to come to you.

geto didn't stop you. he was busy hating on himself for telling you that — and believe me when i say that he, right there, almost cried out of frustration.

he tossed and turned on his bed. where you were usually on too, beside him, holding his hand whilst he sleep. your hushed voice lulling him into a peaceful slumber; but you weren't there today, all because he told you to leave him alone. geto sat up, his eyelids heavy, but no matter how long he shut is, they always open back up.

with slow and heavy steps, he approaches you on the couch. and geto had always knew that you were a light sleeper, so his footsteps awoken you. seeing your eyes flutter open, geto slid on the couch, laying himself on top of you — head on your chest, arms clutching onto your shirt like he's desperate for your presence, and his legs intertwining with yours.

getos' hushed apologies were heard as he leaned into your warmth, and you told him that you were never angry. brushing his hair, massaging his scalp using your fingertips before lulling him to sleep, and geto did. almost immediately. and so did you.

he could never sleep without you. whether it being on the bed, the couch, or anywhere else — as long has you were with him, he will find the ability to drift off.

TOJI FUSHIGURO. is an ass. let's face it — he wouldn't give a fuck if you decided to sleep on the couch after an argument, at least for the first couple of hours. toji is a blunt man, and he's a sole believer that nobody could bear sleeping on the couch when there's a bed in the house.

but you were there to prove him wrong.

after an argument going south, he finds you grabbing your pillow and then seeking shelter on the couch. and he clicked his tongue in annoyance, knowing you'd come crawling back on the mattress after a few hours — because who'd choose the couch over the bed?

you. apparently.

he slept without a single care, thinking of words to say when you finally decided to come back on the bed. but when he woke up at three am, his arm searching to find your body, but realizing all he was catching was air — he finally realized that you weren't coming back onto the bed.

and it annoyed him. he was angry that you weren't there. and at three am? he was already wide awake, walking out of the room angrily. but his gaze softened when he saw you asleep, the constant flashing light from the television panning on your body; toji walks over, snatches the remote and turns the device off.

letting out a soft sigh, toji squats down, flicking your forehead. and the action was enough to make you grimace lightly in your sleep — although not enough to wake you up completely. the male chuckled and prepped an arm under the hollow under your knees, and an arm across your shoulder.

with ease he brought you into your shared room and he laid you down on the bed, covering your body with the blanket before he slips into his own portion of the bed. scooting closer to you as you instinctively nuzzled into his chest, seeking for comfort.

toji wouldn't admit that he was the one who brought you into the bed and would end up saying how you came crawling back at three am. you always find out the truth though, and toji tells you to forget about whatever he did because he won't be doing it again (he will).

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screampied · 2 years ago

Note

squirting for the first time with jjk men?? 😫

❛ SLIPPERY WHEN WET! ❜

sukuna, toji, getō, gojo, namami, choso. jjk men and their reaction to making you squirt for the first time

total wc. 3.6k

warnings. fem!reader, degradation, squirting, overstim, praise, fingering, unprotected sex, p*ssydrunk men, dumbification, pussyspanking, toy usage, edging. MDNI

FUSHIGURO ☆ TOJI

“hm? ain’t no guy ever make ya squirt before?” he grunts. and you’re just absentmindedly being stuffed, both of your wrists gripped back with toji holding onto them, his strokes were mean and demanding. your head continued to thump and bounce against the soft silk pillow that rested underneath your head. all you could make out was a sweet pathetic ‘nuh-uh’ and toji raises his thin eyebrows in amusement. “no baby…? not even once?”

“no- don’t think i can, i tried myself but…”

he snickers. “silly girl. trust me, you can squirt,” you bit your lip, eyes nearly rolling back from his jagged thrusts, its so good you nearly feel drool start to run down the corners of your mouth, how embarrassing it was—yet you remained stupid from his dick, feeling the warmth of your pussy clench tight against him. “want me to test it out?”

“yeah,” you whine, your voice was a mere soft mewl, an almost mumble practically, and toji gifts your ass with a spank, eliciting a moan from your mouth. he grows cocky the minute a huh? leaves his mouth. so you correct yourself with a “y-yes.”

“….‘yeah’ what girl,” he groans, skimming his dark green eyes down to see how your body jerks underneath him. his weight lightly hovers against you, and he’s still got a firm grip with your wrists, having you pitifully tongue-tied. “taught you how to speak to me. so let’s try that again.”

arrogant bastard, what your thoughts originally said—making you purposely repeat yourself, but his cock always always made up for it.

“please,” you choke out, moaning from the way he deepens his thrusts just a tad bit, your mouth starts to water from the way your pussy twitches in content. “make me squirt toji. please. i wanna be messy for you.”

“aw that’s my girl,” he purrs, releasing his grip from your wrists, yet it remains still against your bare back, his thrusts snap against you to where a cute gasp leaves your lips. “but oh, you’ve been messy though, but there’s nothing wrong with that, princess,” he teases, such mockery escaping from his tone. “relax for me, yeah? you’ll feel it when it comes.”

“okay,” you moaned, your left cheek pressed up against the white sheets of the mattress. it was cute, your face being up against the bed as you’re being absolutely stuffed and pounded. you felt yourself tightening from the inside—a coil desperately awaiting to be snapped, a feeling you never knew you could feel, and you probably looked so dumb. “okay okay o-okay.”

you cutely kept sputtering, repeating and bracing yourself. toji brings a rough hand towards the back of your neck as he’s ramming his fat length from behind you, such thrusts has your body spasming and crying out for more, it feels like a orgasm being snatched away from you.

“give it to me, girl.” he grunts, giving your ass another mean spank. the immense build up. your legs judder continuously to where your mind goes blank like an empty canvas, empty..

“a-ah t-toji—!” you squeaked, and he’s so ruthless whenever it came to you, each time you try to sit up to turn around he shoved your head lightly back down, it’s so cute. “fuck, fuck. f-fuck, ‘s about to-” and a gasp interrupts your words the minute you squirt all down his shaft to his base, your sweet juices sheath and sheath all the way down and it’s so warm and hot.

the minute you end up squirting, your legs felt so weak, it just quavered and shook. “oh my g-god,” you sobbed, and he slows his sloppy thrusts against your cunt down—leaning up close to you, direct and personal. “there we go mama, my messy fuckin’ squirter,” he whispers, he’s pressed against your ass and wraps a few fingers around your neck. planting a kiss underneath your chin he murmurs. “you made such a mess. how’s it feel?”

“good. but feels w-wet toji.”

“eheh, well yeah girl, that’s kinda the point.” he snickers, playfully sinking his teeth into your neck, giving it a teasing nibble.

SUKUNA ☆ RYŌMEN

“hm? make you squirt huh? so greedy.. my fingering isn’t enough for you?” sukuna teases and you’re laid flat on your back with your legs lazily lifted up, more like he’s holding them up for you.

you moaned, feeling him slide a single digit in and out. he sneaks a wet kiss against your thigh before leaning in to press his lips against your pussy, tasting how sweet you were. “...kuna ‘m not greedy, just wanna see what it feels like, please..”

“you are greedy,” he grunts, giving your cunt a swift spank to make your legs twitch, “but sure thing.” he mutters, warm minty breath going against your clit. your head goes back and your mouth slightly opens and parts from the way he’s fingering you and eating you out. his lips latch and lock against your folds to make your eyes roll back. he was so filthy with his tongue let alone his fingers.

you sucked your teeth—feeling his two fingers push deep in and out, going past against that spot each time, instead of your eyes rolling you were practically crossed eyed.

“f-fuck, fuck, ‘s good ‘kuna...”

“i know. you keep saying that, dumb girl. quit talkin’ and start squirting.” and you lose count of how many mean slaps he gives your pussy. he’s so mean, yet found every few seconds to praise you and let you know how good you’re doing.

“h-hurry up and make me then.”

“little girl, watch it.” he grunts, gifting you a glare, his eyes pierce against yours before he sits up, spitting right on your pussy with a rough spat, he runs a single middle finger down your slit to snatch the tiny brat left in you. you meet eye contact and your slick was very much glistening his chin, being soaked with your sweetness.

your legs were so close, just the epitome of the word jittery with how it just shook, never once staying still. the stimulation he created with his tongue let alone his fingers, it had your mind boggled. “think ‘m getting close, f-fuck.”

“uh huh. fuckin’ bet you are.” he whistles in response—grabbing ahold of his dick and you let off a cute gasp at the way he swipes his throbbing leaky pre-swollen tip against your wetness. “look at that, princess.

so eager to jus’ swallow me up.” and he slowly makes his way inside your cunt, immediately your walls hug him as a response and you’re just at the very limit. “come on, let go for me. you dont gotta be shy around me, neither does this wet pussy.”

the minute you squirt…it’s embarrassing, sukuna only smacks about five deep thrusts against your cunt and you’re already making a mess all over his base. “s-so good.” you’d cry out, and he’s staring at you.

a grunt departs his lips before he leans in to kiss you, pulling out only to ghost his fingers against your clit.

“you’re such a nasty girl,” he murmurs against your lips, you moan—tasting your own slick that ran down his chin, the sharp edges of his teeth playfully nibbling down on your lip. his body heat against yours made you feel tingly and even more in such heat. “tell me you’re my nasty girl, baby.”

“i-i’m a nasty girl, ‘kuna.” you moaned.

he gives you a dead stare—and you whine once he slips two fingers inside your throbbing pussy.

“i’m your nasty girl, ‘kuna.” you rephrased, and a cocky grin forms on his lips.

“what a good obident girl. think i like you.”

NANAMI ☆ KENTO

“you sure sweetheart?” he asks in a soft mumble, he has a wand in hand. the ringing of the toy rings against your ears as your legs were sprawled apart for him. “you want me to make you…squirt?”

“yes p-please, kento.” you nod, the cuteness bestowed upon your lips was beyond words to describe. the way your lip quivered, it was barely up a few notches yet you throbbed and throbbed. despite it only being a good ten minutes. you’re just a whimpering mess.

eager to touch yourself, you reach down to play with your pussy before he grabs it, kissing the back of your hand.

he chuckles. “oh baby…baby, gotta keep those hands to yourself if you want me to make you messy. okay? no touching.”

“s-sorry kento.”

“aw, don’t be sorry. squirt, princess.” he teases, a hum underneath his tone he was so gentle with you, with his touch yet your legs felt like they were pretty much about to give out.

the stimulation made your teeth nearly chatter, toes clench and your back nearly arching. he finds you to be so pretty like this. flat on your chest, drool running down your mouth against the pillow with your mind empty.

you hold in a moan, teeth lightly piercing down on your lip to help silence yourself from the immense pleasure, the overstim from just releasing had your chin just hovering over your arm.

“o-one more level kento.”

“more? it’s gonna be on four, dunno if my cute whiney princess can handle that.”

“p-please, need it. i wanna-”

you moan at the swift sound of nanami swiping a thumb across the vibrating toy feeling the impulses throb against your sweet cunt, indeed it now being a level higher from three and it’s so good you can just taste the urge to let yourself go.

the sudden feeling of his sneaking fingers to brush and slither against your puffy folds was just enough to send you to burst—your mouth slightly went agape, and you’re just stupid. “n-nanami.”

“so dumbstruck you said nanami instead of kento, such a sweet thing,” and you end up squirting the minute he rubs the toy in a circular motion—maneuvering it against you along with fingers to ghost and run alongside your achy pussy. “easy, ‘s okay. lie down on your chest. jus’ let go for me baby, yeah.”

“such a gorgeous girl,” he whispers in awe, leaning down to kiss your clit which turns to countless smooches, mwah after mwah and your legs were practically mush by now. “let me clean you all up with my tongue, ‘m your husband, least i could do. so relax for me, my love.”

SUGURU ☆ GETO

“oh? i’ve made you squirt before, no?” he cackles, leaning back against the headrest of the couch.

“no,” you whined, still getting over your post-orgasm, his cock stood firm inside of you, such inches of his kept you warm with your hands pressed against his chest. geto stares at you with intrigued darkened eyes. having you sat on his lap, legs still barely recovered a few minutes ago. “don’t think you ever did...”

geto grips your waist, sliding a tongue across his lips before muttering in a sly coy tone. “mhm hmm,” and he’s so sassy, even having the audacity to roll his eyes at you. black specks of hair trickle down and paint the lower half of his body. geto’s happy trail was always appetizing to look at.

“this your little way of asking me to make you soak yourself on me, angel? how cute.” he grins.

“…sugu—” and you gasp at the way he grunts the minute the pads of his thumbs lightly press and pierce into your skin. he starts making you bounce against him and your mouth opens, such lewd whines exit your lips before you throw your arms around his neck.

“wanna squirt, do it yourself. fuck me baby. show me how bad you want it,” and he groans how he’s so stuffed. so full of cum still, hefty base pounding and thwacking back against your pussy. “you’re a big girl. do it y-yourself, mhm…shit.”

he was so teasingly sly, making you rut yourself against him, in the end you always had to do pretty much everything yourself whenever it came to geto.

“…okay,” you choked out, and he playfully leans back — tiny beads of sweat running down the side of his forehead as well as the very middle part of his chiseled v-line.”

it felt so good, you’re dumbly grating your teeth together, still so sensitive, the only cacophony that left your lips was cute whimpers of, “s-sugu,” “…want you s’bad,” and even, “you’re so mean.”

he chuckles at how dumb you grew out to be simply from being stuffed full of thick inches of his dick. “gotta be mean to deal with a pussy this wet.”

his girth had you running for your money, toes clinching as you started to rollick and jerk your hips against him, reaching a hand down to play with yourself before you whine. “f-feel it, suguru.”

“yeah? what are you waitin’ for then?” he purrs.

he chuckled at the sudden moments where you’d grow quiet — he knows how good he’s getting underneath your skin with his vexatious teasing.

his cock expanded in and out the more you moved your hips against him, your soft breaths getting caught in your throat before it comes, you squirt at the same time geto came and he’s caught off guard by the sticky messy feeling, he’s the one who slips off a whine. “s-shit..”

it came out a lot…

let alone with him soaking your cunt full of his own, you really felt stuffed and full to the very depths of it, it felt like a sharp coil within you snapped. geto starts panting, and he takes a moment to blink before grunting, staring away with a flustered face. “don’t look at me. finish fucking me, hmph.”

SATORU ☆ GOJO

“pretty please, ‘toru,” you’d whine out, and he was just straight up cocky and mean, teasing you with having you on all fours, impatient and desperately desperate. “i wanna…wanna squirt.”

“i know you do,” he laughs, playfulness ran all over his tone before he gives your ass a squeeze. that earned a needy moan out of you and you but down on your lip while staring at the fat sheets of the mattress underneath you. “are you asking me to make you squirt or are ya tellin’ me, pretty girl?”

he was so infuriating. even while being plugged in with so much of his thick inches, even just barely with the way he kept swiping his fat tip against your slit, awaiting you.

“….‘m asking, s-satoru.”

he whirrs a playful tone before flipping you over on your back to face him, and then he smiles. “okay. if that’s what you want,” and his voice was so low—a tad bit raspy with pompous smugness all over his sentences. “since i know how impatient ‘n horny you are all the damn time, i’ll make ya squirt in about one minute.”

a minute?

was that even possible—you always heard about how it would take at least longer than that but then you remembered who you were dealing with. gojo satoru and his long pretty fingers that never failed to stretch your pussy out. he was forever proud of that fact, he’d make you soaking wet from not only his dick, his mouth, but especially his fingers.

“it’s gonna get messy, ‘m warning you,” he teases, pulling you up a bit to place a towel down underneath your back. he leans in to pepper kisses underneath your chin before seconds later, he moves his length aside with a grip — before slowly stuffing a single long finger inside, which after a few milliseconds, turns into another. “now, i’m gonna need you to be a good wet girl and jus’ relax for me.”

his words were soothing. you could hardly comprehend anything so his sentences went straight towards your clit, throbbing and throbbing you wanted more. he finds it cute how you grip onto his wrist, babbling about how you don’t want him to stop. “o-okay, satoru. okay.”

you shudder at the feeling of him grazing a thumb down your slit and he moves his head down between your legs to blow softly against your pussy and you moan, feeling him create a good amount of pressure to where you bare down against his fingers easily as if it came natural.

“sweet girl,” he groans, giving your pussy a kittenish suck. your eyes went back in pleasure and you whined at the feeling of his two fingers just smacking in and out of you now. the noises, they were so loud you could hardly even believe it was coming out of you. “hear how wet this sloppy pussy is? yeah girl, that’s you.”

his words that went through your ear and out the other and it got you so wet. his degradation had you pulsing, you felt the inside of your tummy tighten, muscles clenching with you lying down on your back, bracing yourself. gojo was patient with you, occasionally bringing soft kisses towards your clit. you whined before he started to grow more feral, sucking and latching his tongue against your folds while still having two fingers stuffed inside your pussy.

your brain doesn’t even process you’re squirting before gojo lets off a, “oopsie,” the minute you squirt out on his fingers, the front tips of his fingers massage and toy and prod against that spot you always grew to know—and you moan at the way he easily stole a orgasm from you like that, within a single span of a minute.

“aw. you look like you just saw your life flash before your eyes, baby,” then he sits up to face you. both arms pressed around you before muttering in a teasing tone, “want a taste? open your mouth.”

and he gives you the most sloppiest kiss, shoving his tongue down your throat before grunting, you moan in his mouth. your legs wrapped around his slim waist before he squeezes a hand down on your pussy only to spank it roughly, breaking away for a bit before whispering, “good girl. now gimme one more. wanna see if i can do it within thirty seconds.”

CHOSO ☆ KAMO

“b-baby…you wanna do that?” choso mumbles, staring in awe as the both of you watched some random eight minute compilation of women squirting. he was staring intently, and then he only grew more flustered at picturing you like that. legs all spread, eyes rolled back and maybe your tongue stupidly lolled out. “um.. squirt?”

“yes…” you nodded, sitting on his lap. he throbbed behind you, still a bit tingly from his recent orgasm of fucking you.

you pressed against his back and his chin cutely rests against your shoulder. choso’s always been a bit inexperienced whenever it came to well, women. he’s had sex sure….but he doesn’t think he’s ever made a girl do this, this thing called squirting. not until you brought it up.

the more he watched it, the more he moaned to himself at imagining you being all messy like that.

“okay baby, i can do it,” he murmurs in a soft voice.

he brings a hand between your legs and pries it open just a bit, “lie back,” he moans, seeing your legs sprawl open slowly for him made him lick his lips, he was so hungry for you. you had the phone in your hand so he could watch, imitate the exact ways to make a woman squirt with ease and it was so cute how attentive he was. “s-stimulate the um…g-spot a little like this,” he mumbles to himself, and you moan once he slowly inserts two slender long fingers inside your pussy, you were so wet he lets off a cute, “o-oh….”

his eyes multitasked, turning its focus towards you and the screen that played the lewd video at the same time. “like that c-choso, please.”

“i’m doing a good job?” he says, and it’s almost into a form of a whine. all because he’s so desperate to hear your praise and approval, he feels his stomach flip in a good way at feeling you nod against his chest, affirming him to not stop. “okay, okay,” he mutters. “add a little um…p-pressure, consistent pressure until you feel a spongey like texture deep towards the clit.”

you moaned, his words matched his fingers, you tried to squeeze your thighs together but remembered you couldn’t because they were open.

your head rested back against his chest and with a right hand squeezing down onto his thigh, you felt your leg start to bounce. “m-more.”

“don’t wanna rush this baby,” he kisses the back of your forehead. a small pout going across your lips before he continues, pausing to hear the voice on the video that’s instructing speak.

he leans against your ear, strands of his hair poking against you before he murmurs. “bare against my fingers princess. squeeze down a little ‘n relax. can you do that?”

you choke out a moan once you obey his words, doing exactly what he says before you feel a sudden rush reaching out, you never felt this feeling before such a high you craved and chased you felt dizzy, a good kind of a dizzy.

“c-choso, ‘s coming, ‘s coming,” you moaned, your legs not able to hold themselves still. he has a perfect bowling ball grip with his fingers, stroking gently against you to where your mouth salivates with your own saliva.

“…fuck,” you sobbed, the warmth of him massaging his long fingers inside of you made you taste every number of tastebuds that resided on your tongue.

the moment you gush out and squirt, coating his fingers clean of your sheeny pretty slick, you flop back against his chest and you can ever hear a tiny gasp leave his lips. “w-wow,” he whispers in shock — with how much you squirted, he was so fascinated, growing more and more curious and it was adorable. “can you…can we do that again? please?”

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ang3ltine · 2 months ago

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"𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐬?"- Bucky barnes x former Avenger freader

An unexpected surprise awaits you when Bucky shows up at your house with a group of strangers

a.n - This is just a scenario of what it would be like for the members of the thunderbolts to crash at your place. Also this fic contains spoilers!

Warnings - John Walker, dark humour, mention of injuries, minor cursing, making out and major fluff!!

"You gotta be kidding me, were not seriously bringing Bob with us are we?"

"Look Captain America, if it weren't for Bob we wouldn't have made it out of that death trap of a lab alive!" Yelena replies sternly. "Besides, he seems to have more discipline than you'd ever have."

This seemed to tick John off as the two of them started shouting back and forth, while Bob sat between the two of them awkwardly.

"Ok uhm...can we maybe...not fight?" He mutters under his breath but was completely ignored. Ava rolls her eyes at the childish scene before her and flickers her gaze down towards the nervous man. Silently telling him that it wasn't worth wasting his breath.

Surprisingly enough, he understood rather quickly and kept his mouth shut. Bucky groans in annoyance at the bickering in the backseats, and it didn't help either when a large man was snoring away next to him.

But swiftly brushes it off after pulling into a familiar driveway. He hadn't been back at this house for about a week now, so he was dreading what awaited him when he opened the doors. Especially since he has four other guests with him, who he quite recently found acquaintanceship with just a few days ago.

"Listen up, we're staying at this place for a while until things die down. So please, don't make this harder for me than it already is." Bucky states as the the group follows him down the pathway towards a red brick secluded house that was tucked in a small corner of New York City.

They all exchanged confused looks before reluctantly nodding at the grumpy man, with a few grunts and hushed responses. Honestly they were just really tired and their bodies were sore so there was no use in complaining.

"God - I hope she's in a good mood..." Bucky mumbles before reaching into his pocket to fish out his keys and was about to put it into the keyhole. Only to be interrupted midway as he hears the sound of another car pulling up behind him.

"Bucky honey? Is that you?!"

Everyone turned around at the sudden mention of 'Bucky' and 'honey' in the same sentence. All but Bucky himself as he walks back down the pathway towards you.

"Did I hear that right? There's no way Mr. Congressman would have a girlfriend." Ava whispers to the others as they all watched him walk past the minivan, disappearing from their sight.

There were mixed reactions as they all talked amongst themselves, trying to figure out who you might be.

You were pretty confused as well since there was a dirty minivan parked in your driveway. As soon as you step out of your car to examine the vehicle, you catch a glimpse of a figure in the corner of your eye.

Adrenaline kicked in almost immediately, thinking maybe this was going to be a robbery. I mean you do live in a pretty sketchy neighbourhood so it was possible. The sun was setting so it was pretty difficult to see who it could be, you had your fighting stance ready as the person steps out of the shadows.

"God Bucky! You could've said something instead of sneaking up on me like that!" You yelled and tried calming yourself since your heart was practically hammering against your chest.

"Yeah sorry 'bout that doll, didn't mean to scare you," Bucky drawls as he pulls you into his arm for a warm embrace. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the strong scent of gasoline mixed with his cologne.

There was sand mixed with dirt on his tough leather jacket, but you didn't question it since he had finished a mission. Honestly speaking, you were just glad he was home again.

You then peer over Bucky's shoulder and finally noticed the rugged group of individuals standing in your porch.

They wanted to see what all the fuss was about so they snuck up on the couple and spied on them from behind the van. You were about to open your mouth to say something before spotting a familiar face amongst them.

She had short and slightly messy bob cut and an oddly cute frown on her face. Yelena steps forward hesitantly while examining your face at the same time, seemingly trying to figure out where she had seen you before.

Then it clicks, you were her older sisters best friend. She remembers how kind and comforting you acted towards her whenever she'd come to visit her sister.

You spread open your arms for her and without hesitation, Yelena falls into your embrace.

"Its good to see you 'lena," you murmured into her hair while she smiles at the mention of her nickname.

" 's good to see you too..."

Bucky joins the rest of the group, a small smile tugged at his lips as they all watched the heartwarming scene unfold before them.

He's not sure what waited them past this, but for now, he just wants this disfunctional group of anti-heroes to find some sort of peace while they stayed here.

"Sorry I brought them here on such short notice," Bucky mutters as he leans down to your height when you let the others into your house.

"Ahh it's no biggy. Besides, I'm happy to have more house guests." You quipped while closing the door after Bob awkwardly walks in as the last in line.

Everyone had already made their way down the hall towards the living room to look around. Yelena let's out a long whistle as she checks out the place, to be fair, your house was quite spacious since you got the best place in the neighbourhood thanks to Pepper.

Although she insisted on getting you a penthouse, you turned down the offer.

"What's this?" Alexei asks with curiosity after picking up a delicately crafted box. You ran over to where he was and effortlessly took it from his hands so that he doesn't break it.

"Oh well - it's a gift from a friend. She's gone now...so I like to keep it up on the mantle to remember her by." You say in a hushed tone while you look down at the detailed craftsmanship in your hands.

Alexei knew exactly how you felt, so he placed a large hand on your shoulder and gave you a light squeeze of acknowledgement. "I understand, Alexei has been through much loss just like you."

Thanks to Yelena, you had the privilege of meeting Alexei a few years back when Natasha was still alive. So you were happy to have both of them back in your life.

"Dad, you can stop bothering her now. You've said enough shit already." Yelena groans while dragging Alexei away from you since he was still rambling on about Natasha and how much you reminded him of her.

"Do we have enough space for them?" You felt Bucky's fingers brush against the back of your hand to get your attention since you were still deep in thought.

"Hey...you ok doll?" Bucky asks with a worried tone since you hadn't responded to his previous question. You snap out of your thoughts and look to your left to see Bucky by your side. His brows were furrowed as he brought up his other unoccupied hand to cup your cheek.

"Uh yeah..! I'm fine," you respond with a tight-lipped smile. Bucky had just come back from a mission, so you didn't want him to now worry about you too. He wanted to press on but then thought it would be better if he just let it slide this time.

"Are we sleeping down here?!" Yelena yells from another room down the hall. The rest of you make your way to where Yelena was, she had found one of the guest rooms and was already laying down on the neatly done sheets.

"You could've at least taken a shower before hopping onto the bed," Bucky sighed in disappointment. Yelena's clothes were pretty dirty since they had come back from the desert.

"Oh right! Sorry that was my bad," Yelena responds in a muffled voice as her face was now planted into the plush pillows.

"Its fine, there's extra duvet covers in the storage closet," you say while walking towards the walk-in closet in the room. "Don't worry guys! There's more rooms upstairs."

"Do we have to share? I'm not sure how I'd feel if I have Santa Clause sharing a bed with me." John grunted while crossing his arms. You assumed he was referring to Alexei , which almost made you snort in response.

"I'm serious! Does he not look like the Russian Santa Claus to you?" John carries one while Yelena lets out a coarse laugh from the bed.

"Pfft - sorry John, there's only 3 guest rooms, so you have to pick your roommate wisely." Bob lifts his hand up shyly and clears his throat.

"I wouldn't mind sharing...if that's OK with you?" John thought about it for a moment before giving in. "You know what? Why not?"

"Great! That leaves one more vacant room -" You were cut off by another female voice.

"I'll take it," Ava replies rather quickly. John was about to protest and say that he changed his mind, but Ava gives him a sharp look which made him backdown. You were going to ask for her name, only to be cut off yet again.

"Oh right sorry, the name's Ava," she says plainly while giving you a small smile.

"Uhh OK cool, it's nice to meet you Ava. Let me guess, you also have an incredibly sad back story like the rest of us?"

"Oh God, don't even get me started..."

"Also...what's all this talk about 'thunderbolts'?" You prodded while giving Ava a confused look. Ava curses underneath her breath while the others shout in since that they're not called 'the thunderbolts.'

"Thunderbolts yes!! That's my lovely 'lena's football team name from when she was a child -"

"Dad please stop--!" Yelena groans while trying to get Alexei to stay quiet. It brought a smile to your face to see how liveley your house had become after being alone for a week.

"Alright, is there anyone here who needs medical care?" You asked while handing the new duvet sheets to Yelena.

"I think all of us do," Yelena sighed while clutching her side. She was so excited to finally sleep on a comfortable bed that the adrenaline rush took over, making her forget about the pain.

You nodded before turning back to the group. "Right, who wants to go first?"

Everyone had lined up in the washroom to get themselves checked since it would be easier for you to clean up afterwards.

You were currently bandaging Yelena's arm as she winces slightly. If anything, she had been through the worst due to the others being practically impenetrable.

"Just leave this on for a few weeks and take some painkillers. Trust me, the pain will be gone before you know it."

"Ok, thank you," Yelena exhaled while she got up to let the next person in. John walks into your view as you clean up the area for him to take his seat on the stool. The space was pretty cramped since you chose the guest washroom instead of the large one upstairs.

"Hey John, got any major inuries?" You asked while preparing a wetcloth and some bandages. John stops you midway and he shook his head.

"No not really, just have a few cuts on my face and the side of my head." True enough, he looked like he was perfectly fine except for some cuts and grazes that was scattered across his face.

You almost forgot that he took the super soldier serum back when he was Captain America. It was hard to forgot since you were with Sam and Bucky at the time. You nodded before putting away the bandages and took your seat infront of him. Now that you were face to face with him, you noticed how mature, yet different he looked from before.

"Must've been rough for you, running from the law." You start off by cleaning some of the smaller cuts with some wipes. "Trust me...I would know."

You were referring to the time you were on the run with Steve and the others for two years after freeing Bucky. That was how you two met and became close in Wakanda.

"You have no idea..." John responds with a slight waver in his voice. You choose not to press further and lightly dab the bigger cut on the side of his eyebrow.

Unbeknownst to you, John was silently admiring the way you were taking care of him. He doesn't mean this in a creepy way, rather he's surprised that anyone would show an ounce of care for him due to his character and lack of social awareness.

Bucky, on the other hand, misunderstood the scene completely. He had a glass of water in his hand when he went to check up on you. The water that was already in his mouth almost made him choke as he saw the way John made doe eyes at you.

As much as he wanted to strangle the man on the spot, he waited and observed at the doorframe. A smile threatened to tug at the corner of your lips as you felt the presence of the jealous man boring his eyes at the side of your head.

"Relax hon', John's just being John." Speaking of John, he blinked at you in confusion before looking up to see Bucky shooting bullets at him with his eyes.

"Don't worry, he's not going to do anything." You whispered before placing a clear bandaid on the scar. John didn't know if he felt reassured or threatened, so as soon as you finished, he scrambles to his feet.

Bucky steps aside to let John leave, but not before leaning towards him to say something. John flickers his gaze between you and Bucky before leaving with a terrified look on his face.

"Bucky dear, what did you say to him?" You sighed while placing the remainder of the medical equipment back in the medicine cabinet.

"Oh nothing really, just...gave him a peptalk." Bucky responds with a smug smirk as he walks into the washroom. You raise an eyebrow at him, which prompted Bucky to pull you in close by your waist with his arms.

"I didn't threaten him doll," Bucky drawls while bumping his forehead against yours, letting his hair frame his face. It was slightly damp with clumps of sand still stuck in some places. You'd have to remind him to take a shower later after dinner.

"Uh huh, that's why he left like a pale ghost? Because you gave him a 'peptalk'," you mused while playing with the lose strands of Bucky's hair that fell over his eyes. Bucky chuckles softly before responding.

"Right...just a peptalk." Your breath hitches when he bends down to your height while his hair tickled your nose from a loose strand.

"You know you're a really bad liar, right?" You huffed while the rough pad of Bucky's thumb ran gently across your cheek. Your skin felt soft and warm underneath his touch since the blood had rushed to the surface, painting a soft hue of red across your cheeks.

"So? Is that a bad thing?" Bucky's voice goes an octave lower while he inches closer towards your lips, his breath now heavy against yours. His scent flooded your senses, it was a mixture of his cologne and his natural musk from his skin. He hesitates before flickering his gaze up to you again. Silently begging for your permission.

You pondered for a moment while tapping a finger on your chin. "Hmm, do you really deserve a kiss?"

Bucky tilts his head to the side before giving you a deadpan look. But you knew that he was fighting back a smile, so you were the first to lean in. He did deserve a reward for being the amazing partner that he was. Except, he was too quick for you.

He dips his head low, and presses his slightly chapped lips against yours, practically melting into yours. The kiss was gentle yet full of desire. Head tilting the side, his hot breath mingling with yours as his tongue dragged gently across your bottom lip.

Coaxing you to open your mouth. Your tongue meets his as the hand slips down towards your waist. Pressing his fingers into your supple skin, which will definitely leave marks considering how tight his grip was. Not that he didn't mean to, of course.

"Love you s'much," your voice was barely a whisper as it was all becoming too much for you. Bucky let's out a small chuckle as you began to pepper his face with quick pecks before moving back to his lips.

He could picture his lips were probably now a sugary pink colour due to the lipbalm that you wore. The brand was probably called... Summer Fridays? Or something across that line.

"Love you too angel..." he mumbled against your plush lips.

The couple completely unaware that Yelena, Ava and Bob was spying on them from afar with popcorn in hand.

"Guys...I feel a sneeze coming," Bob whispers towards the two women sitting next to him.

"Cucumber! Cucumber! Cucumber!!" Both Ava and Yelena whisper shouted back and forth hurriedly. But it was no use, the sneeze along with their hushed shouting caught the attention of the couple in the washroom.

Needless to say, they learned their lesson from Bucky after an hour long lecture of why they shouldn't spy on people. That also included the punishment of getting limited screen time on the TV as well as playing video games.

p.s - I really love John's character and I believe he has some depth to him that could be explored more

Taglist: @doodlebob-mp3 @marianastudiesart @ordelixx @starktonyx @hisredheadedgoddess28 @avatarobsessedgirly @perdidosbucky-yyo

#bucky barnes #thunderbolts #yelena belova #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #sebastian stan characters #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction

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c4toru · 5 months ago

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your overworked bf makes it up for neglecting you ^o^

it was another one of those nights where he stayed up in the dark depths of the night, scribbling down different notes for himself to review the following day. he had been overwhelmed with the amount of preparation that needed to be done for his upcoming project at work.

you couldn’t remember the last time you even kissed properly, aside from the little pecks he gave you when he left for work or when he shushed you to sleep. you perk up as you hear him sigh loudly as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose before closing his notebook and setting it to the side.

“you’re still up pretty girl?” he worriedly asks, turning his body over so he can spoon your plush body. he’s met with uncomfortably loud silence but a firm grind of your soft body being pushed against his. confusion is plastered across his face but before he is able to get a word out, you speak up, “i miss you.. i-i want you” you whisper. he is so incredibly dumbfounded but still decided to indulge you further.

“how d’ya want me..?”

your naughty advances are what led you here, your pajama shorts lost on the floor while your full leg is hiked up to allow his now hardened cock to push its way past your warmth. “biiiig stretch honey- ngh!” he mumbles, shoving his girthy cock deep inside of you, hefty balls sitting perfectly against your swollen clit.

“o..oh f-feels so good mmf!” you babble, your dainty hand gripping onto your plump thigh as he’s rubbing slow n agonizing circles on your puffy clit. he’s licking a long stripe up the side of your neck, earning a breathy gasp from your lips. “i’m all the way up in here- hah..d’ya feel it? hmm?” he teases, pressing a heavy hand to the fat of your stomach.

“y-yes! so deep nngh.. gimmie more!” you cry, attempting to bounce your hips back onto his, desperate for friction. he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth before fucking up into you harshly, your aging bed creaking like there’s no tomorrow. he’s bringing his hand up from your clit to fondle your tit, grasping onto it as his leaky tip pounds against your sopping cervix.

“gonna give it all to you, ‘kay? be a good girl and take it.. hah.” he grumbles, your tight cunt creaming all over his cock, globs spilling down to his balls. your plush body jiggles as he rocks his hips into yours, hitting your g-spot repeatedly, causing tears to prick the corner of your eyes.

“m’cumming! f-fuckk .. don’t stop!” you squeal, his hand moving back down to your clit to rub sloppy circles around your nub. your cunt is fluttering around his lengthy cock when you feel his warmth begin to spill inside you, hot cum filling your insides. your mind exploding in pure bliss as specks of white begin to coat your entrance.

“nngh! so fuckin filthy..” he whines, your head toppling backwards to give him a sweetened kiss. he’s gripping into yours hips, slowly stroking his sensitive cock into you before pulling out and letting his fluids seep out.

he hates making his sweet girl feel so neglected but god.. make up sex sure does feel good

a/n : thank you so much for 1k !! i got a lot of asks for overworked/exhausted drabbles of various diff characters so i decided to write a miscellaneous one to satisfy some of you :D | thank you for all the support <3 , likes & reblogs are appreciated!

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arcanefeelings · 6 months ago

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SUCKER ! | kamo choso

words: 1k

description & tw: virgin!choso - you give him head for the first time (oral - m!receiving), overstimulation(?), cum eating

notes: he's just so babygirl I can't help myself

masterlist

okay but imagine giving virgin!choso head for the very first time.

he's all flustered and blushing, pupils dark and dilated, gaze fixed on your face as you sink to your knees at his feet. your fingers are hooked into his belt loops as you go down, pulling him down to sit on the sofa behind him as soon as the back of his knees hit the cushion.

a soft huff of air leaves his bitten, swollen lips, when he sits with a small bounce. soft breaths leave his parted lips as your hands move to the hem of his shirt, fingers pushing one corner of the fabric up, up, up, till it's caught between his lips. his torso is exposed for you to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses all over, hands moving back to his pants, nimble fingers undoing his button, then the zipper, as you tap his hips to lift them while you tug them down his thighs.

you're kneeling between his legs, hands caressing his soft hips, lips tracing his v-line, till you move down, down, down. you press your parted lips over the tent in his boxers, kissing in gentle teases and drawing soft whimpers from his lips. choso's hands grip the cushion of the sofa, knuckles turning white while he screws his eyes shut for a moment.

when they open again, theres a plea written in them, something so desperate and needy you can't help but indulge him.

your hands tug his boxers down, freeing his swollen, red cock. there was no way you could have really known before, but he was big. his tip was flushed, red from your teasing and wet with precum, dribbling from his slit. his cock was girthy, and long. god, was his cock long.

you don't realise how you look right now, but choso does. he sees the way your pupils dilate to match his when his cock slaps against his abdomen as you tug his boxers down. he sees the way you nearly salivate at the sight of it, at the sight of him.

and it's all he can do not to whimper when you finally wrap a hand around him, fingers gently squeezing at the base of his cock, wrist turning and tugging experimentally. his teeth clench against his shirt, his hands tightening on the couch cushion.

his gaze is fixed on your hand and your gaze is fixed on his face.

you're taking in every reaction you can, every change in his expression, to see what makes him tick. what makes his dick twitch in your grip? what makes his hips buck harder into your hand? what makes him leak even more? because, as you learn soon, choso is very leaky. he's so aroused by the sight and the feel of you, that his tip is constantly glistening with precum.

that's when you tug slowly, moving your hand up, along with the twisting motions from earlier. you repeat the movement. once. twice. his eyes shut again, tight. its like he's denying himself from making any sounds, his teeth sinking deeper into his shirt. and that's when you change it up again.

you bring your grip higher along his cock again, thumb swiping over his slit and then working your hand back down. and he whimpers.

it's soft, but oh so sweet. and oh, the things you'd do to hear them again.

so you try again, this time, with yet another tactic. your free hand rests on his pelvis, thumb circling over the bone. and then you lean closer, eyes locked on his face through your lashes as your tongue darts out, licking the fresh pre from his slit, and his eyes snap open, a saccharine-sweet moan leaving his lips. the hem of his shirt falls from his lips and you miss the sight of his bare torso for a moment.

"cho," you whisper, lashes fluttering up at him, and he nearly comes right there, "you can hold my hair." your hand on his pelvis moves to one of his hands on the couch, gently prying his fingers from the cushion and guiding them to your hair. they thread through the locks, gripping them tight as he groans softly.

"you look so pretty like this," you whisper, hand going back to his hip, thumb once again tracing circles. you hear the way his breath hitches, see the way his eyes widen fractionally.

and then your lips wrap around him, suckling the mushroom tip, and his head falls back with a whine, hips bucking into your mouth as he cums down your throat. whispered apologies leave his lips, a few drops of hot cum seeping past yours as he holds you in place by your hair, whimpering as he rides out his orgasm.

"'m sorry - hah - baby," he chokes out, "nngh - sorry-"

but you moan, swallowing every drop you can, gagging around his length as your eyes roll back, watery and hazy, but trying to focus on his. his cock twitches at the sight, the wet, clumped lashes sending another rush of blood straight to his cock as he spurts the last of his cum down your throat, panting.

he whimpers under his breath as he collects himself, apologetic and embarrassed for cumming so soon, and you can't help the way you find it all so utterly cute.

because, truth be told, you had been surprised. but you were not put off, by it, quite the opposite. it was pretty attractive. not to mention, he came a lot - it was a rather hefty ego boost.

he gently loosens his grip on your hair, muttering softly, and while he may be done, but you aren't. you'd never given anyone head before, but you were sure that him cumming in your mouth the second you took him in wasn't the 'full experience'. and you were oh so willing to help him get that - a little too willing, in fact.

so you pull away from his cock with a string of saliva mixed cum attaching your lower lip from his tip, licking your lips and then cleaning him up, ignoring his whines of surprise and overstimulation when you move from his trimmed base to his ruddy tip.

only to wrap your lips around him again while he grips your hair tighter, at war with himself about whether he should make you stop, or let you go ahead.

but he was powerless under your mouth - this time you were determined to suck him off properly and then drink his cum. or keep trying till he let you.

#zeph writes #virgin!choso #choso kamo #jujutsu kaisen #arcanefeelings #jjk x reader #jjk choso #choso x reader #choso smut #jjk smut #tw overstim #choso x reader smut #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut

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anxiouscherubs · 3 months ago

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sunday morning

𖤓 summary: the one where you wake up too soon from a wet dream and your boyfriend is there to help you... relieve the tension. 𖤓 warnings/tags: MDNI! 18+, explicit, smut, established relationship, some degradation, bdsm dynamics, yeo is a bit of a mean dom!! you've been warned!!, use of the color system, some choking, fingering, spanking, lovebites, oral sex (f receiving), edging, unprotected sex (don't do that), yes there's aftercare im not a monster 𖤓 dom!yeosang x fem!sub!reader 𖤓 author's note: i know i said i would post this by the end of march but wedding planning and school and work are consuming my life!!!!! finished this with a literal ear infection bc i NEEDED to put it out into the universe lol. this was originally inspired by the fact that yeosang uses the replica lazy sunday morning fragrance and quickly spiraled into depravity. yeosang wrecks me every day of my life and i KNOW he gets nasty. he's too quiet to be anything other than a dom, sorry! this is also my first time writing a relationship with bdsm dynamics so please feel free to leave (constructive and kind) feedback! 𖤓 word count: 5.9k 𖤓 read it on ao3 here

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“Sangie, please” you moan into your boyfriend’s neck, his cock plunging in and out of you at a relentless pace.

“What is it, pretty girl?” he teases, his fingers finding your clit, circling the sensitive bud to match the pace of his thrusts.

”I’m so close, baby, fuck,” your hands tangle in his dark hair as you tilt your head to the side to give him better access to your neck. He licks a firm stripe from your collarbone to right below your ear, never slowing his hips.

“Come on then, baby, fall apart around my cock,” he growls into your ear.

The pleasure settles in your core, hot and heavy, building and building as your bodies move in sync. He hits that soft spot inside of you, and you cry out, his name falling off your lips over and over like a mantra.

“Yeo, oh my god,” you whimper, “fuck, I’m gonna —“

A loud crash startles you from your sleep, pulling you from your delicious dream. The soft morning light creeps through the blinds of your shared bedroom, casting gentle stripes across your duvet. The city outside is still quiet as you try to shake the heat from your system, Yeosang’s cold empty side of the bed helping bring you back to reality. You let out a slow breath, stretching your tired muscles, trying to jumpstart your body, ignoring the wetness that had begun to pool in your sleep shorts thanks to your subconscious. You roll over to face your nightstand, squinting at the clock — 9:15 AM. Yeosang always wakes up earlier than you, and sleeping this late is out of the question, unless he’s on his deathbed with a cold.

You untangle from the sheets, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed to stretch, letting your feet rest on the sun-warmed wooden floor. The morning light shines bright through your window, the warmth melting into your skin. You hear rustling in the kitchen, and realize the sound that startled you awake must have something to do with your boyfriend making you both breakfast, like he does every Sunday.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you throw a fuzzy cardigan over the tank top you slept in, to match your shorts. Yeosang always gifts you sets of loungewear, because he knows how happy it makes you to laze around the house in something cute. You make your way down the hallway, the warm smell of cinnamon and vanilla wafting around you the closer you get to the kitchen. You round the corner to see your boyfriend bent over the sink, washing dishes from last night’s dinner. A fresh pan of cinnamon rolls sits on the counter next to him. Your favorite.

“Good morning, Sangie,” you softly say from the doorway, so as not to startle him. He peaks over his shoulder at you briefly before turning the water off, a breathtaking smile consuming his features. His gray sweatpants hug his slender hips, and the tight black tank top he’s sporting gives you an unobstructed view of his broad shoulders and strong arms. God, he looks good.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he coos, his deep voice still raspy from sleep. He quickly dries his hands on a dish towel before discarding it on the counter and making his way over to you. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in for a warm hug, his familiar scent enveloping you. His fingers rub absentminded circles on your skin as he holds you, his hot touch reminding you what you were dreaming about before you were jolted from your sleep. You feel your cheeks warm, thinking about how, in your mind, he was inside of you moments ago.

“Did I wake you? I tried to wash everything quietly, but the pan we used last night slipped and I banged it on the counter,” he kisses your forehead, the lingering warmth of his breath working you up even more.

“It’s okay, baby,” you pull back to kiss his nose, trying to shake the heat from your body. “I needed to get up anyway. I missed you.” You wonder if he can tell how hot and bothered you are. He knows your body like the back of his hand, and when you’re needy, he picks up on it right away.

“Yeah? Were you dreaming about me?” He squeezes your hips before releasing you, picking the dish towel up and walking back to the sink to hang it up.

“No,” you blush, sensing he already knows the answer. He chuckles darkly, leaning back on the kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“If those pretty little moans I heard coming from our bedroom are any indication, I’m gonna have to call you a liar, baby,” he smirks at you as your soft smile falls from your face. “Wanna try to answer truthfully this time?” The tone of his voice has shifted from the sweet, doting boyfriend he was moments ago, the version of him you only see in the bedroom starting to crack through the surface.

“Y-Yeo, I—“ you stumble over your words. Of course you gave yourself away, how embarrassing. Your face feels like it’s on fire.

“What was I doing, hm?” Yeosang prowls toward you slowly, a strand of his dark hair floating down onto his forehead. “Tasting you? Fingering you? Fucking you?” He stops in his tracks, waiting for your answer.

The words coming out of his mouth have your mind reeling, a pit of pleasure settling in your belly. You let your cardigan fall from your shoulder, suddenly aware of how his hungry eyes are raking over your body.

“Fucking me,” you barely recognize the sound of your voice, breathless and desperate, “you were fucking me,”

“Mmm,” his deep voice sounds like honey, “and how was it, hm? Did I let you come?” He creeps closer to you, only a few steps away.

“I-I woke up, before I could,” you start, trying to hide your embarrassment.

“Oh, jagiya,” he finally closes the distance between the two of you, slowly wrapping one arm around your body, his hand snaking down to cup your ass. “You must be so pent up, my love.” His other hand comes up to your neck, brushing your hair away to ghost his lips over your bare shoulder. He trails featherlight kisses up your shoulder, to your neck, settling right by your ear. “Do you want me to help you with that?” His deep voice whispering over your sensitive skin… he knows what that does to you.

You’re nodding before your voice catches up. “Yes, Sangie, please,” you whisper, bracing yourself on Yeosang’s shoulders as he nips at your neck. He nods at your pleading, willing as always to take care of you.

“Should I bring you to bed, or take you here first?” He bites down on your shoulder, growling into your skin.

You whimper at the sensation, “now, Yeo please, I need you to touch me now,” your hands float up to his hair, lacing through his dark locks.

“Mm,” he tuts, “what if I want to do both?” He pulls away from you to look into your eyes, pupils blown wide with desire. He brings a hand to your chin, thumbing your bottom lip. You open your mouth for him instinctively, and he hooks his thumb on your bottom teeth, tilting your head up at him. “Why don’t I make you come once here, and then I’ll take you to bed and fuck you back to sleep.”

You nod as you close your lips around his thumb, swirling your tongue around it, drawing a deep groan up his throat.

He moves quickly, popping his thumb out of your mouth to plant his hands on your hips. The room around you spins, and suddenly your back is pressed up against him. He wraps an arm around your stomach and brings his other hand to your throat, caging you in his grip. You feel his hardness pressing into your ass as he rolls his hips into you. You whimper, leaning into him, chasing every little touch he’s willing to give you.

“What does my baby want?” He whispers in your ear, tightening his hand on your throat and sliding his other down to ghost his fingers under the band of your shorts, “should I bend you over the counter and have you come around my fingers? Or should I put you on the counter and fuck you with my tongue?” He squeezes the sides of your neck gently, just enough to make your head spin.

“F-fingers,” you choke out, rolling your ass over him.

He shoves you forward, into the counter, the hard marble digging into your hips as he moves his hand from your stomach to the middle of your back to push your torso over the countertop. You brace yourself, planting your hands on either side of your head, and he releases your throat to grip your hair, tipping your head to the side and squishing your cheek into the cold surface.

“Don’t tell me you’re so fucking cock hungry that you forgot your manners,” he scolds you, ripping your sleep shorts down with one hand and smacking your ass with a loud crack.

“Ah-! Fuck,” you cry out, the pain warming you from the inside out, a rush of arousal flooding your center. “Please, I want your fingers Sangie, please,”

”Good fucking girl,” he coos, “and no panties, huh?” He pulls his hands from you and takes a step back, leaving you bent over the counter with an angry red handprint blooming on your naked ass. “I’ll never get tired of seeing you like this, fucking hell,” he runs a hand through his hair as he admires you.

You know he’s teasing you by not touching you right away, so you take it upon yourself to kick your shorts to the side and prop one shaking leg up on the counter, presenting yourself to him.

“Mmm, you’re practically dripping, jagi,” he zeroes in on your center, “you must’ve been really close in that little dream of yours, hm?”

Before you can formulate a snarky reply, he’s behind you, plunging two fingers deep inside of you, using his free hand to grip your hip and hold you in place. You stammer out a curse at the sensation, your mouth hanging open against the cold countertop as he stretches you out. He immediately finds that tender spot inside of you, pressing the pads of his fingers against it over and over and over.

“Yeo, oh my god,” you whimper, that familiar pit of warmth settling in your stomach.

“Already squeezing around my fingers like you’re gonna come? I’ve barely touched you,” he teases you, his mean, dominant facade slipping into place.

“F-feels so good Sangie, can’t help it, mmhn,” you’re practically drooling on the counter as he pistons his fingers in and out, reaching deep inside of you.

He pulls his fingers from your center, bringing his hand down hard on your ass again. You cry out against the marble, tears blurring your vision as his fingers find your swollen clit. Your knee almost buckles underneath you as he expertly swirls around it, so familiar with your body, but he holds you up with a firm hand on your hip.

“You wanna come, baby? Hm?” He quickens his pace, dipping his fingers inside of you to gather more of your arousal.

“Yes, please,” you whimper.

“Then come.” He almost sounds bored as he applies just the right amount of pressure to make you crumble in his hold, holding you steady as your body shakes.

“T-thank you,” you cry out, your climax washing over you, wiping out all your strength.

“So good for me,” Yeosang whispers, holding you in place, letting your body go limp over the countertop. He rubs both thumbs into the small of your back, letting you come down for a few quiet beats before bringing you back to the moment.

“Color?” He quietly asks, the tone of his voice softening for a moment as he turns his attention to your hips, softly massaging your joints.

“Green, very much green,” you sigh between breaths.

“Then come on, pretty girl,” he growls from behind you, pulling his hands from your body and taking a few slow steps backwards, “you want me to fuck you, don’t you?”

You push yourself up on the counter, slowly lowering your trembling leg to the floor.

“Yes, please Yeo,” you turn to face him, leaning back on the sturdy surface behind you, your brain still fuzzy and your hearing a bit muffled. His fingers are glistening with your arousal, the outline of his cock pressing against the thin fabric of his sweatpants. Your core pulses at the sight.

“Then let’s go,” he beckons you, taking a few more steps backwards toward your shared bedroom, fire simmering behind his eyes.

You follow his lead, your unsteady legs carrying you a few steps before your boyfriend raises a hand up to stop you.

“Nuh-uh,” he scolds you, shaking his head.

You tilt your head at him in question, the teasing lilt in his voice making you dizzy as you realize what you’re in for. So he’s in this kind of mood.

“Crawl.”

Dropping to your knees without a second thought, a gasp leaves your lips as you hit the floor, the deep growl in his command making your body react instantly.

“Good girl.“ His cock twitches in his sweatpants. “Now, you can follow me.” He smirks at you as you lower your hands to the floor, and you feel thankful that the warm sun flooding through your kitchen windows has heated the floorboards.

You keep your eyes locked on his while you follow him on all fours, making sure to exaggerate the sway of your hips and the arch of your back as you crawl.

“Well, don’t you look so pretty on your hands and knees for me, hm? Obedient little slut.”

Heat spreads across your cheeks at the emphasis on his last word, knowing he’s only saying it because he knows how much you love it.

He walks backwards the whole way to your shared bedroom, power radiating from him in the way he carries himself, his dark eyes trained on you as you crawl for him. His mouth hangs open as he watches you, and you can tell he’s testing his own self control. You follow him over the threshold, watching him as the backs of his knees hit the mattress, dropping down onto the edge of your bed. He spreads his legs wide, leaning back as he tilts his head to the side while he contemplates his next move.

“Come,” he pats the mattress between his thighs, and you crawl forward to the edge of the bed, kneeling between his legs, looking up at him through your lashes. He grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping your head back.

“As much as I’d love to have you falling apart around my cock in the next few minutes, I haven’t gotten a taste of you yet.”

“O-oh,” his words warm your center, the way he’s looking down at you only making you feel more desperate for his touch.

“Normally I’d make you earn it, but after listening to your slutty fucking moans all morning I don’t think I can wait any longer,” he wraps his hand around your throat again, squeezing firmly before guiding you up to your feet, standing along with you. He flicks at the shoulder of your cardigan with his free hand. “Off,” he demands. You shimmy out of it instantly, letting it drop to the floor and pool around your feet.

“Give me your color,” he whispers, his grip on your throat loosening.

“Still very green, my love,” you smirk at him as he nods, squeezing tighter again.

“So pretty with my hand around your neck,” he praises you, your head spinning as you work to inhale. “I can’t, fuck,” he lets his resolve crack, crashing his lips into yours.

He kisses you hard, fingers carding through your hair as he parts your lips with his tongue. “I’ll take my time with you later,” he mumbles against your mouth, swiping his tongue over yours. You kiss each other like you’ve been apart for weeks; desperate pawing, panting, whining.

“Lay down,” he orders you, groaning at the string of saliva connecting your mouths as he pulls away from you. He holds your waist as he spins the both of you around, putting you at the foot of the bed before pushing you onto the mattress. You catch yourself on your elbows, scooting back as he crawls on top of you, sloppily kissing you the whole way, moving together until you’re settled in the pillows against the headboard.

He kisses you from your lips, up to the hinge of your jaw, down the column of your neck. You lay back against the pillows, so familiar with the way he loves to map your body with his mouth. He spreads your legs with his knees, splaying you open wide for him, your bare cunt clenching around nothing at the sudden exposure.

He kisses down to your chest as his hands run up your thighs, bypassing your aching core to run up your stomach, one hand dipping beneath your tank top to palm your breast. You gasp at the sensation of his calloused hand kneading your supple flesh, a whine escaping as he runs a thumb over your nipple. He pulls your tank top up with his free hand, exposing your breasts to the cool air.

“Sangie,” you thread your fingers through his hair as he kisses down the valley between your breasts, tightening your grip when he catches one of your nipples between his teeth. “Fuck,” you whisper, looking down at him as he flicks his tongue over it. His eyes meet yours briefly before they roll back as he sucks your nipple into his mouth.

“Baby,” you whine, the feeling of his mouth on you making your head spin. “I need you,”

“Mhm,” his mouth pops off of you briefly before his teeth graze over the top of one of your breasts, the sensation dissolving into pleasurable pain as he bites down.

“Ah!” You yelp as his teeth scrape over your skin, panting as he soothes the bite with his tongue, sucking with the intention to leave a mark.

“You forgot your manners again, pretty girl,” he bites you again, on your stomach this time, and you glance down to see the first mark blooming with shades of red and purple as he paints another.

“Fuck, I—“ your voice catches in your throat at the third bite, lower on your stomach, inching closer to where you need him. ”Please Yeo, I need it,”

“Need what, hm? Use your words,” the next bite is harder than the last, and it has you squirming, desperately pushing your hips into him as his teeth dig into the inside of your thigh.

“Your mouth, please, please,” you rock your hips against nothing, your boyfriend keeping his distance to encourage more of your delicious whining.

“You sound so pretty when you beg, my little whore,” he spreads your legs wide, fingers splayed across the insides of your thighs. He watches your cunt clench at the word, smirking to himself before spitting directly on your heat.

“Oh,” you feel his warm saliva slide from your clit to your entrance, the sensation making you squirm underneath him. “Sangie, please,”

“Mhm,” he finally settles between your legs, threading his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer to his waiting mouth.

He licks the blooming purple bite on your thigh, trailing wet kisses up, closer and closer, pressing one last kiss before finally spreading you open with his tongue. Your back arches instantly, leaning into his mouth. He licks you from your entrance up to your clit, groaning at the taste of you.

“Fuck,” you whine, gripping his hair, holding him against you. He laps at you, flicking the firm point of his tongue over your swollen clit over and over.

“Mmm,” he growls against you, the vibrations drawing a whimper up your throat. He eats you like a man starved, as he always does, digging his fingers into your hips and caging you in against his mouth.

“So good, Sangie, ah–” you yelp as his teeth scrape against your clit, a low chuckle vibrating through you at your reaction. He sucks your sensitive bud into his mouth, one hand loosening its grip on your hip to weave around to your throbbing entrance.

You feel two fingers inching up the inside of your thigh, the light touch prickling goosebumps across your skin. The moment you look down at him, he pops his mouth off of you, briefly sucking his fingers into his mouth, your arousal shining on his chin. His dark eyes don’t leave yours as he guides his fingers to your center, teasingly running them through your wetness before plunging them deep inside you.

“Ah!” You cry out at the sudden sensation, deep arousal coursing through your body as you watch your boyfriend rut against the mattress in time with the thrust of his fingers. He finds that tender spot inside of you easily, hitting it with each pump.

“So tight, are you sure you’ll be able to take me? Hm?” He scissors his fingers inside of you, the sound of how wet you are making his cock twitch in his sweatpants. “Gonna stretch you open so I can stuff you fucking full,” you whine at his words, his dirty mouth driving you mad. “My pretty little cocksleeve, made for me,”

“I can take you,” you nod, watching him add a third finger, the stretch stinging at first but quickly dissolving into pleasure. “I can, I can,” you repeat, “m-made for you Sangie, I was–” your words evaporate into thin air as he sucks your clit into his mouth again, rolling his tongue over and over.

You feel your orgasm quickly approaching, warmth rushing to your center. You roll your hips on his mouth, holding him against you, hoping he’ll let you get there. He must sense you trying to take control, slowing his fingers slightly. Feeling your orgasm fading away, you whine, struggling to push your hips harder onto his fingers. He chuckles against you before pulling away completely.

“Fuck!” You cry out in frustration, “what the fuck,”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he scolds you, pushing up onto his knees between your legs, a dark patch spreading on his sweatpants where the head of his leaking cock presses against the fabric. “Trying to come without my permission, and you think you can speak to me like that?” You feel your cheeks reddening as you realize what you did, your eyes widening at the hard set of his jaw. He’s pissed. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, tilting his head to one side until his neck cracks.

“Flip over.”

You’re frozen, propped up on your elbows staring at him, mouth hanging open. “W-what? I–”

“Did I stutter? Flip the fuck over. Ass up. Now.”

You scramble to roll onto your stomach, pushing up onto your hands and knees. “I didn’t mean to, Yeo, I’m s-sorry,” your cunt is throbbing in anticipation as you spread your thighs wide, dropping onto your elbows just how you know he wants you.

“I’m sure you didn’t, greedy girl,” you hear shuffling behind you, feeling him getting closer to you, but not yet touching you. “How many, hm? Five?” You feel fingers ghosting across the middle of your back, trailing slowly down your spine. “Ten?” You shiver, knowing you can take ten but desperately wanting him inside of you sooner than that.

“You’re lucky my cock is fucking aching right now or I’d do fifteen,” he growls, “how about five, hm?” His hand glides over the swell of your ass, and you have to stop yourself from leaning into his touch.

“Five,” you confirm, settling into the pillows beneath you.

“Five it is.” His hand disappears and your breath hitches in your throat. “Count.” A crack rings through the room as he spanks you hard, the warmth of the sting rushing straight to your core.

“One,” you cry out, breath heaving.

“Good.” Another spank, a little harder than the last.

“Two,” your pussy clenches at the burn, and you can already feel the skin of your ass turning red.

He doesn’t warn you before spanking you a third time, but he lets his hand linger to soothe your angry skin for a moment.

“Three,”

Another.

“Four,” your voice cracks, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Color?” Your boyfriend asks from behind you, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Green, I can do it, one more,” your words rush out, wanting to let him know you’re okay.

“One more,” he confirms, bringing his hand down one last time, keeping it there to massage your sore skin.

“Five,” you sob into the pillow, finally leaning into his touch, letting him guide your hips down to the mattress.

“You did so well, pretty,” he leans over you, kissing you behind your ear as he brushes your hair to the side. “My good girl,”

“Please, baby, I want you,” each hard smack on your ass only made you more and more desperate for your boyfriend. You know he wants to take care of you, check in, make sure you’re okay, but you need him badly. You roll over onto your back, and he hovers over you, only softness and concern in his eyes now. You open your legs, pulling him between them, his hardness resting against your core through his sweatpants.

“I’m okay, please Sangie,” you reach for him, cupping his cheek in your palm, wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck, tugging him closer.

“Jagi,” he whispers, “are you sure?” He kisses your forehead, letting his lips linger a moment before pulling back to look at you.

“Mhm,” you nod, your hand trailing down to the hem of his tank top. He lets you pull it up slightly before helping you take it off completely. His skin glows under the sunlight streaming through your windows, casting gentle shadows to emphasize each one of his muscles. You pull your own top off over your head too, fully bare for him. You roll your hips against his clothed cock, drawing a groan up his throat.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he drinks you in, admiring your soft form. All dominance has faded from his mannerisms, loving and sheer want taking over.

“Kiss me,” you reach for him, and he meets you halfway to press his lips to yours. His need for you takes over, and he licks into your mouth as he rushes to pull his sweatpants and boxer briefs down. His length bumps against your heat, Yeosang hissing at the feeling, rocking against you as he kicks his pants off completely.

He breaks the kiss to kneel between your legs, fisting his angry, leaking cock. He pumps himself twice as he adjusts his positioning, running the tip of his cock through your arousal. “Ready?” He asks, nudging at your aching entrance.

You nod, reaching for him. He leans over you, letting out a shuddering breath as he pushes into you, filling you in one swift thrust. You moan at the feeling, the sound swallowed by his mouth against yours. He pulls out to the tip as he glides his tongue over your bottom lip, then slams into you.

“Shit,” you mumble against his lips, licking into his mouth. He meets your kisses hungrily, tangling his tongue with yours as he moves his hips, slowly at first, then pumping into you with a slow and steady rhythm.

You wrap your legs around him, locking your ankles behind his back as he picks up the pace, hitting deeper with each thrust, but not quite deep enough.

“Harder, Yeo,” you break the kiss to ask, “need you deeper,”

He chuckles darkly, knowing just how to get the angle you need. He straightens, staying inside of you as he lifts your hips with ease, keeping you suspended in a solid grip as he guides your hips to meet his thrusts, instantly hitting your g-spot.

“Fuck, yes,” you cry out, letting him masterfully handle your body, bumping against that sensitive spot over and over.

“So pretty taking my cock,” he praises you, fucking into you impossibly hard, your breasts bouncing with each thrust. “I love you so fucking much, my good girl,”

“I love you,” you pant, getting closer and closer to the edge as he fucks into you, but you want to take care of him first. “W-wanna ride you, Sangie,” he slows down at your proposal.

“You sure?” He knows your body must be spent, but you’re determined.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you whine, “please?”

“I can’t say no to those eyes,” he grins.

He pulls out of you to roll you on top of him, easily maneuvering your body until you’re straddling him, his head nestled in the pillows. He lays back, eyes twinkling as he waits for you to take over.

You reach for his cock, wrapping your fingers around it, his eyes rolling back as you slowly pump him. “Mm,” he moans at the feeling, resting his hands on your thighs as you adjust to line him up with your entrance. His fingers dig into your thighs as you slowly lower yourself onto him, gasping as your clit grazes his skin once he’s fully seated inside of you.

“Fuck, jagiya,” he runs his hands up your thighs and around your hips to hold you still for a moment. “Be gentle with me, I don’t want this to be over too soon,” he chuckles.

“We have all day, baby,” you lift your hips slightly despite his firm grip on you, but he doesn’t stop you. You drop back down, drawing another beautiful moan from his lips. His grip loosens as he gives in to you, and you start bouncing your hips, his cock reaching deep inside you. You plant your hands in the middle of his chest as you find your rhythm.

He watches you with lidded eyes, his jaw hanging open as you take what you need. He reaches a hand up to palm your breast, your head falling back as he thumbs your nipple. It doesn’t take long for your climax to start building, his thumb on your nipple and your clit rocking against him bringing you right back to the precipice.

You know he’s close too, his breathing turning shallow and his grip tightening on your hips.

“Come here,” he wraps a hand around the back of your neck, pulling you down to kiss him.

The new angle gives him space to plant his feet on the mattress and roll his hips up into you, matching your rhythm.

“Need to fill you up,” he pants,

“Yes, please,” you squeeze around him, feeling him twitch inside of you. Warmth spreads throughout your body as you inch closer and closer to release, each rock of your clit against him pushing you there.

“Come with me,” he commands you, your body tensing in his grasp as it washes over you. He fucks up into you twice more before he stills, spilling hot inside of you, groaning into your mouth. He lowers his hips slowly, guiding yours with him, staying inside of you, letting you collapse against his chest.

You both struggle to catch your breath, holding each other close while you come down. He strokes your hair, and you let your eyes flutter closed at the feeling, listening to the slowing beat of his heart.

“Wanna get more comfortable?” He asks, and you laugh, suddenly aware of how sore your hips are feeling, and the stinging lingering on your ass from your earlier punishments.

“Mhm,” you let him lift you off of him, guiding your pliant form onto your bed. He rolls you onto your belly, settling behind you to massage your hips. He rubs gentle circles into your skin, the soreness and tension in your tired muscles melting away under his skilled hands.

“I’ll be right back, my love,” he softly says as he hops up to wiggle back into his sweatpants, “I want to get something to clean you up, I’ll just be a minute.” He kisses your forehead before padding out of the room. You stretch your tired limbs, listening to the rustling and sounds of running water from down the hallway.

A moment later, Yeosang comes back into the room, his arms full of various things for you. He plugs in your heating pad, letting it warm up as he wipes his release from your inner thighs with a warm towel. You watch him as he bustles around the room, setting water and Tylenol on your nightstand and fluffing up your pillow for you. He grabs you a clean pair of underwear and one of your big sleep shirts, gently helping you dress, peppering you with kisses all the while.

You snuggle up facing his side of the bed, letting him cover you with a blanket and lay your heating pad over your lower back. He finally slides under the blanket with you, and you lay your head on his chest, throwing one leg over him, effectively caging him in. He chuckles at your clinginess.

“How’re you feeling?” He whispers, peppering kisses along your hairline.

“Perfect,” you nuzzle into him, and he rests his chin on top of your head.

“That wasn’t too much?”

“Of course not,” you assure him. “If it was, I would’ve told you to stop.”

He nods, accepting your response, wrapping an arm around your waist. You lay together in comfortable silence for a moment. You feel yourself starting to drift off, until his voice cuts through.

“Baby?” Yeosang says, a note of hesitance in his tone.

“Hm?”

“Can I tell you a secret?” He whispers, squeezing your waist.

“Of course,” you respond, rubbing a finger over a freckle on his chest.

“I dropped that pan on purpose.” You can hear the smile in his voice as he confesses to you.

“Kang Yeosang!” You scold him through your laughter, lightly smacking his chest. You prop yourself up to look at him, and he sheepishly smiles back at you.

“Sorry!” He apologizes half-heartedly, “I didn’t want you having all the fun without me.”

“Well next time,” you inch closer to him, “why don’t you wake me up with your mouth instead,” you brush your lips over his as his arm tightens around your waist.

”You don’t have to ask me twice,” he kicks the blanket off of you to roll you onto your back, crawling on top of you, swallowing your giddy giggles as he kisses you. He spreads your legs with his knees, dropping gentle kisses down your jawline. You quickly pull your heating pad out from under you and toss it on the floor.

“Quick,” he whispers, “pretend to be asleep.” You close your eyes as he slides down your body, settling between your legs once again, and you realize you’ll definitely be in bed for the rest of the day.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

hope u enjoyed (: xo

#ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fic #ateez yeosang #ateez imagines #yeosang x reader #yeosang smut #dom!yeosang #anxiouscherubs updates

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foxy-eva · 15 days ago

Text

Silly Socks

Summary: Spencer never takes his mismatched socks off. Not even in bed.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) penetrative sex, reverse cowgirl position

Author’s Note: Just a fun little drabble because sex sometimes can be a little goofy (:

Word count: 500

Masterlist

Spencer was deep inside you as you rocked your hips against his, trying to adjust the angle to reach your climax. He was lying on his back, staring up at you with the utmost adoration in his eyes as you rode him with motions so precise it almost drove him insane.

Leaning back, you tried but failed to get the right amount of pressure against your sweet spot.

“You okay?” Spencer breathed as his palms brushed over your hips.

Your movements came to halt as you softly spoke, “Is it okay if I turn around? I think that angle would feel better for me.”

“Of course,” he cooed.

You smirked at him as you noticed how much he had to hold back from infodumping about the advantages of the reverse cowgirl position. Silently you thanked him for not taking you out of your current headspace. Leaning down, you placed one last soft kiss on his lips before you lifted your hips to turn around on top of him.

“I hope you enjoy the view,” you snickered as you felt his hands caressing the curve of your backside.

“God, you’re absolutely perfect,” he sighed as he squeezed your soft flesh.

With closed eyes you sank down on him again, slightly leaning back until you finally had the angle you were longing for. Slowly, you rocked your hips against his as the pressure inside you built in the best way possible.

Then, you opened your eyes just long enough to realize you didn’t have the same kind of view your boyfriend currently enjoyed.

Seeing Spencer’s mismatched socks, one purple with colorful dinosaur shapes on them and the other blue with dark anchors, let a genuine laugh escape your throat. Your own giggles took you out of the moment, so you stopped moving.

“What is it?” Spencer asked with a breathy voice.

You turned your head until you could see his face from the corner of your eyes. “Sorry, I forgot that you never take your socks off. They are so silly.”

Spencer wiggled his toes for a moment. “Why would I take them off? They bring me good luck!”

“You’re already inside of me, how much more luck do you need?” You snickered.

You felt his cock twitch inside you. “That only proves my point,” he chuckled.

After a moment of silence, he said, “I can take them off if it bothers you.”

“No it’s fine. I just usually don’t directly look at them during sex.”

“Maybe I should get socks that are sexy instead of silly,” Spencer joked.

His words made you laugh again. “You’ll definitely need luck with that.”

Slowly, you started moving again. It only took a few more moments until your bantering was replaced by sighs and moans falling from your lips as you chased that delicious high. When you finally fell over the edge, Spencer followed you into the sensation of pure bliss - proving yet again how lucky he was (even though his socks probably had nothing to do with that).

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment if you want me to keep writing more stories!

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings @spensreid @silversprings-mp3 @person-005 @kittyisick @siriuslyval03 @sleepysongbirdsings @brownbunnyb @thegoodwitchs-blog @yourvenusyour-love

#spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut

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angelseraphines · 6 months ago

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ೃ⁀➷ gods and monsters ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x wife!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ you cherished your husband, your family, and the life you had created together. hwang in-ho was a man of contradictions, capable of immense love and devotion. he treated you with such care, as though you were the most precious thing in his world. his adoration was tangible in every gesture, every lingering glance. yet beneath that tenderness was a darkness you struggled to reconcile. this same man, who held your hand with precious affection, was also the masked overseer of the squid game, a series of merciless challenges where the desperate competed, often at the cost of their lives, for a staggering cash prize.

˚ ༘♡ you could never truly fathom it. the man who pressed sweet kisses to your forehead at night was the same monster who orchestrated a spectacle of death and suffering. he claimed no pleasure in it, but the mere fact of his involvement unsettled you. the gleaming black mask, the command he held over every horrific detail, it was a world so far removed from the comfort of your home, yet it belonged to him all the same.

˚ ༘♡ only once had he asked if you wished to attend, to see what he called “his other life.” the question had terrified you to your core, your lips parting in silent dismay. you hadn’t needed to answer. the way your expression shifted, the way fright and disapproval glared across your pallid face, was enough. he never brought it up again, never risked shattering the fragile balance he had created between his two identities.

˚ ༘♡ you were a mother to a healthy three-year-old son, who filled your days with laughter and energy, and you were carrying another child, though you had yet to tell your husband. the news remained a quiet secret, one you turned over in your mind during the solitude of the evening. it wasn’t fear of his reaction that kept you silent. hwang in-ho adored his family, there was no question of that, but the thought of bringing another life into the shadow of the games unsettled you.

˚ ༘♡ you tried to focus on being the woman you wanted to be, a loving mother, a supportive partner. in many ways, you succeeded. you tucked your son in every night with whispered stories and soft lullabies, kept your home warm and welcoming, and met your husband’s gaze with as much love as you could muster, even when doubts crept into the corners of your mind.

˚ ༘♡ when your worries became too much to bear, he would sense it, always. he would take your hands in his, his voice calm, his tone measured. “think of me as two men,” he would say, his words a plea for understanding. “there is hwang in-ho, your husband, your partner, the father of our children. and then there is the front man, a role i play, a mask i wear.”

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to believe him, to hold on to the idea that the man who kissed you tenderly each morning could be separate from the one who orchestrated so much pain. but no matter how you tried to comprehend it, there were nights when the thought of who he was beyond your shared walls kept you awake, your heart aching with questions you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

˚ ༘♡ you tried with all your might to separate the two sides of the man you loved, the front man and your husband, hwang in-ho. but when he told you he wouldn’t be able to contact you during this year’s games, the delicate balance you had worked so hard to maintain crumbled. the weight of his words refused to settle, tearing at you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to simply let it go.

˚ ༘♡ “every year, you’ve managed to visit after the game for the day. what’s different this time?” you asked, your voice trembling with desperation.

˚ ༘♡ at first, he deflected, his tone dismissive as if your concerns were unwarranted. but as your worry grew, it became impossible for him to ignore. the strain in your expression, the way your voice cracked when you spoke, it was enough to wear him down. even your son had begun to notice, his small hands tugging at your sleeve, his innocent eyes filled with confusion at the tension that filled the air.

˚ ༘♡ with a frustrated sigh, in-ho finally relented. his hand enveloped yours, warm and steady against your trembling fingers. “i will be there this year,” he admitted, his voice hushed and measured. “as a player.”

˚ ༘♡ the words sent a chill through you, and your breath caught in your throat. “what? why?” you asked, your disbelief slicing through the tension.

˚ ༘♡ his gaze locked onto yours. “there is someone returning to the games this year,” he began, his tone careful. “a former player, a winner in fact. he’s likely to cause complications, and… i can’t deny the intrigue of watching him. this year will be different. i’ve decided to stay close by instead of observing from a distance.”

˚ ༘♡ fury and agony surged within you, and your hands shook as you lightly struck his chest, the beating driven by hysteria. “you idiot!” you yelled. “you can’t guarantee you’ll be safe! have you even thought about your family? what about our son?”

˚ ༘♡ he caught your wrist gently, his grip cautious, his face softening as he pulled you closer. “i will not be in danger,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “i promise you that.”

˚ ༘♡ still, his assurance wasn’t enough. it didn’t stop the knot in your stomach from tightening or the ache in your chest from growing far more intense. the words you spoke next tumbled out before you had a chance to think them through. “if that’s true, then you won’t have any problem with me coming along!”

˚ ༘♡ the declaration hung in the air, sharp and sudden. even you were startled by it, your heart pounding in your chest as the misery of your demand settled between you. fear and anger had driven you to say it, but now it was too late to take it back. you searched his face for a reaction, your pulse racing.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t speak such nonsense again," he said firmly, his tone cutting through the tension in the room. "you have our son to think about. i am going, and i’ll return in a week. this is final."

˚ ༘♡ “no!” you shot back, the tremor in your voice betraying your growing panic. “if you’re going, then i’m coming with you. you told me it’s safe.” your eyes darted toward your son, who had long fallen asleep, blissfully unaware of the battle unfolding. a wave of guilt swept over you, tightening your throat. “he can stay with the household staff for a week. do you think i could take care of him properly while i’m sick with worry about you?”

˚ ༘♡ his brow furrowed, the sharp lines of irritation creasing his weary face. “you’re being unreasonable,” he said, his voice hard, though it faltered slightly as he began pacing the room. each step was measured, purposeful, as though he were trying to walk away from the argument itself. “this is dangerous enough without you there complicating things.”

˚ ༘♡ “and you’re being infuriating,” you countered, your tone rising as desperation overtook your earlier composure. “do you think I’d forgive myself if something happened to you while i stayed here and did nothing? you’re asking too much of me.” your voice cracked, the weight of your despair spilling into the room.

˚ ༘♡ the argument carried on into the late hour, a nightmare of clashing scorn and unresolved fears. he tried to dismiss you, to shut you down with reason, but you refused to back down. your agony, raw and untamed, eventually drove you to the brink. “if you go without me, i’ll leave,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “i’ll take our son, and i’ll leave.”

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was deafening. he froze, his gaze snapping to yours, searching your face for the truth. you hated the lie, the hollowness of your own threat, but it was all you had left. leaving him wasn’t something you could ever do, but the thought of him walking into danger alone was unbearable.

˚ ༘♡ he exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the burden of his dilemma. “fine,” he said at last, his voice clipped and low. “if you’re coming, then there are conditions… rules that have to be carefully followed.”

˚ ༘♡ your relief was immediate but short-lived as his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. “what conditions?” you asked, your voice softer now, cautious.

˚ ༘♡ “we’ll need to use false identities," he explained, his tone deliberate, each word chosen with care. "to everyone involved, we’re strangers. no one can know who we are, not even that we’re connected."

˚ ༘♡ the practicality of his demand sent a shiver down your spine, even as you nodded in agreement. the idea of pretending he was nothing more than a stranger felt unnatural, wrong, but you couldn’t argue. “i understand,” you murmured, though the knot in your stomach tightened with every passing second.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as though considering whether you truly grasped what you were stepping into. when he finally looked away, you felt no sense of victory, only the forthcoming horror of what lay ahead.

˚ ༘♡ the games were set to begin in exactly one week, and each passing day left you feeling more unsettled. every time your husband pulled you into his arms, the unease lingered beneath the surface, making it difficult to fully surrender to his warmth. though you tried to find comfort in his presence, the thought of what lay ahead clouded every shared moment.

˚ ༘♡ you had entrusted your son to the most reliable and loyal members of the household staff, ensuring that he would be cared for in your absence. you also took great care to conceal any sign of your pregnancy. if in-ho discovered the truth, he would never allow you to join him, and staying behind was not an option you could accept.

˚ ༘♡ he had laid out the plan with meticulous precision. the two of you would arrive after the chaos of the first game, red light, green light. as he explained it, a large portion of the participants would undoubtedly be eliminated once they grasped the deadly reality of the games. the aftermath of that horror would provide cover for your entrance, allowing you to integrate without raising suspicion.

˚ ༘♡ your husband would take on the identity of player 001, an unassuming participant with no visible ties to you. your alias would be player 077, your stories carefully crafted to fit the narrative. his fabricated reason for joining the games was both haunting and ironic, he claimed he needed money for his pregnant wife. when he first told you this, a wave of panic washed over you, thinking he might have discovered your secret. but as you studied his expression, his calm demeanor revealed no hint of realization.

˚ ༘♡ for your feigned story, he decided you would play the role of a young woman drowning in debt, struggling to pay off the burdens left behind by your late father. the lie felt strangely fitting, yet it unsettled you all the same. every detail he crafted for your cover seemed so calculated, so detached, it was as though he had rehearsed this for far longer than he let on. this game of life and death was nothing more than a facade for him.

˚ ༘♡ you nodded along as he explained the plan, his voice unwavering. though the words were spoken with care, they failed to soothe the growing tension within you. each step of the plan felt cold, clinical, designed to strip away any sense of the life you shared outside these games. with every passing day, the distance between hwang in-ho, your husband, and the front man became more glaring, and you wondered if you could truly separate the two when it mattered most.

˚ ༘♡ you knelt by your son’s bedside, planting a soft kiss against his forehead. his small hand clung to your finger, and for a vanishing moment, you felt the crushing weight of guilt threaten to undo you. you whispered promises you weren’t sure you could keep, telling him you would be back soon, that everything would be fine. as his breathing slowed in sleep, you lingered a minute longer, memorizing the curve of his face and the delicate skin of his tiny hand before slipping away with your husband.

˚ ༘♡ the player uniforms were a tight, oppressive reminder of the role you had agreed to take on. the white and forest-green fabric felt rough against your skin, the stitched numbers, 001 on him, 077 on you, marking you both as part of this wicked charade. the air between you was dense with unspoken tension as you followed his lead into the heart of the games.

˚ ༘♡ the aftermath of the first game hit you like a physical blow. scarlet-red blood smeared the walls, the metallic stench thick enough to taste. lifeless bodies were being dragged away by masked figures, their uniforms pristine against the carnage. your stomach churned violently, and you had to bite down hard to keep from retching. your husband walked ahead, his pace measured, his face a mask of icy detachment.

˚ ༘♡ yet, even as he feigned indifference, you noticed the subtle tension p his clenched fists and the hard line of his jaw. no matter how disciplined and resolute he was, pretending you were a stranger clearly cost him some of his will power.

˚ ༘♡ you entered the massive dormitory, a cavernous space where the remaining players huddled in groups, their expressions etched with terror and disbelief. the room was alive with murmurs, frantic whispers of confusion and distress as they tried to process what had happened. the realization of the deadly nature of the games hung over the crowd, suffocating and inescapable.

˚ ༘♡ abruptly, a piercing voice broke through the calamity, commanding and filled with urgency. all eyes turned to player 456, a man whose presence seemed to dominate the room. his words were bold, calling for a vote in accordance with the consent clause, a chance for the players to decide whether they would continue or abandon the games. the idea rippled through the crowd, igniting faint glimmers of hope in some and deepening the despair in others.

˚ ༘♡ your husband moved slightly, a subtle shift in his stance catching your attention. his gaze flicked toward you, so brief it was almost imperceptible. then, with deliberate movements, he traced a small circle on the back of his hand, an action so precise it disturbed you. he turned away before you could react, his focus now on the masked enforcers who were setting up the voting station.

˚ ༘♡ it took you a moment to understand the message. he wanted you to vote in favor of continuing the games. the realization landed suddenly. you clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to steady yourself. the thought of condemning the remaining players to more death and suffering was unbearable, but you understood what his silent gesture meant. if the games ended now, everything he had planned, every risk he had taken, would amount to nothing.

˚ ༘♡ the apprehension caused your chest to tighten further as the masked figures prepared the voting station, their movements mechanical and precise. the voices of the players rose, some pleading for an end, others arguing to stay. you felt your pulse quicken, the enormity of what you were about to do pressing down on you as you prepared to cast a vote that would decide not only the fate of the players but the course of your husband’s dangerous mission.

a/n: the winner of the fanfiction vote, but i will definitely be writing for cho sang-woo as well! i hope you all enjoy reading! let me know if you have anymore requests! 🤍

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rodolfoparras · 6 months ago

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18+ MDNI 18+

Thinking about playfully wrestling with your boyfriend while he makes mindless comments about your strength “oh you’re so strong, don’t think I’d be able to escape even if I wanted,” he says in wonder, eyes practically shining as he squeezes your biceps, “you ought to be careful never know when I can break” he says jokingly while doing a half hearted attempt to try and escape your embrace.

Slowly but surely you start getting more and more rough with him: squeezing and pressing down onto spots, not enough to hurt but enough to make him uncomfortable. “You know what? You’re right. I don’t think you’d be able to get away if someone like me were to attack you.” The relaxed look on his face swiftly turns into one of concern and you can see the way he slowly attempts to back away from you.

But it’s to no avail, he’s trapped in your embrace, with you steadily inching closer to his face, a big sharp grin painted on your own face. “I mean what are you supposed to do? Can’t even push them away,” you say referring to his futile attempts at trying to push you away from him. “Guess you’d just have to stay and take whatever they’re willing to give you,” you continue, proving your point when you easily spread his legs wide and ground your cock up against his ass, all while he can’t do anything but helplessly watch as you twist and turn his body as if he were a ragdoll “Bet there’s plenty of things they would love to do to a pretty boy like you. Don’t you think?”

“Oh god- don’t -dont say that,” he gasps out, head falling into the crook of your neck as if he’s horrified. But you can feel his fully hard cock from where your hand is resting against his thighs , can hear the muffled whines and whimpers as he grinds himself up against you, can see it on him how he he’s torn between pushing you away and completely stopping this little game or pulling you closer to him to see how far you’ll take this.

What a sick little thing you got at your hands.

“How about this?” You say, hand yanking ahold of his hair to bring his ear closer to you “You try to run and we’ll see if I can catch you. Does that sound alright?”

This time you don’t get a verbal response. Instead you can see it on his face what he’s trying to say: and what happens if you catch me?

The silence is swiftly broken with a soft thud as you release your hold on him.”Run, quick,”

He doesn’t waste a second scrambling up the stairs, practically tripping over his feet as he turns corners. He looks and sounds absolute terrified and you can’t help but love that, cock growing harder as you follow him up.

With each step you take you can hear his rapid breaths getting louder and louder , can feel his own thudding steps as you walk down the narrow hallway, can practically smell him - not some cheap cologne nor any deodorant but rather a mix of sickly sweet vanilla and sugar- something that’s just so him - something you’d want to sink your teeth in and drain completely. You follow that very scent all the way to your shared bedroom.

And there he stands, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, or rather like a animal that’s bleeding out on the side of the road, with his cock still painfully hard and with a suspicious dark spot on his sweatpants.

“Oh sweetheart,” you coo, voice dripping with faux concern, while slowly walking up to him like he was an injured animal of some sort. “Why do you look so scared hmm? You know I won’t actually hurt you,” you continue, watching in amusement as he swiftly backs up til his back is flushed with the bedroom wall.

You’re quick to press yourself flush against his chest, once again trapping him in your embrace.“Come on. You wound me. I really wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. You know that,” You say eyes once again flicking up to the wet spot on his pants “Look, got yourself all worked up and for what?” You ask, as you cup the wet bulge over his pants.

“Stop - ah don’t” he cries out, sounding and looking absolutely horrified as he tries to push your hand away but once again it’s to no avail and he has to stand there as you freely grope him. However it doesn’t take much before he’s bucking up into your touch, head lolling back against the wall as whines and whimpers freely pour past his tongue “fuck- so good mph,”

“See sweetheart, I just want to take care of you, wouldn’t dream of hurting you,”you say with a soft smile as you continue to rub him through his pants. The man only furiously nods, begs and please of more more more, continuously rolling off of his tongue as he practically humps the palm of your hand.

“Unless you want me to, that is,” suddenly you’re flipping him around, hand rough as ever as you shove him up against the wall before slotting your leg between his thighs.

The poor thing squeaks in suprise, tears freely spilling from his eyes ,as incoherent words start pouring from his mouth.

“Come on now sweetheart,” you groan out , hand once again yanking at his hair and successfully pulling a hiss from him “you know that need you to use your words. Now tell em what you want yeah?”

Once again he’s fumbling over his words, too overwhelmed with emotions to form a coherent sentence. However you won’t take that for answer, hand once again yanking at his hair till he finally responds to you.

“Want- ah want you to touch me sir ah- please do anything touch me- hah fuck me - hurt me just anything please please-“

“Well who am I to say no when you ask so nicely?”

#top male reader #dom male reader #dom reader #male reader #yandere x male reader #yandere x reader #sub male character #bottom male character #this is just a drbal they don’t even freak #jjk x reader #cod x reader #arcane x reader #GOJO x reader #geto x reader #toji x reader #ghost x reader #viktor x reader #jayce x reader

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sunshinesfreckless · 3 months ago

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Every Girl Gets Her Wish: Part 2

Part 1. Part 3.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairings: Hyunlix x Fem!Reader

Summary: After their first night together, she couldn’t stop desperately craving a second round with her boyfriend and his best friend. But while she tried to beg them to have their way with her again, they already had a plan for her.

Warnings: OKAY let‘s see….. Anal (Hyunlix), Double Penetration, Felix being a Pussy Eater again and yea…. everything sex related i fear…..

Enjoy 🙂‍↕️

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

She woke up nestled between two gorgeous men, her body warm and tangled in the sheets. For a moment, she lay still, her mind hazy—until the memories of last night crashed over her all at once. Heat flooded her cheeks, but she was too exhausted to process any of it. Her limbs felt heavy, her body deliciously sore.

The next time she stirred, the bed was empty. The warmth of their bodies had faded, leaving only the faint scent of them lingering on the sheets. With a quiet sigh, she pushed herself up, stretching despite the ache in her legs.

By the time she made it to the kitchen, dressed but still drained, her muscles protested every step. A slow burn, a deep ache—evidence of exactly what had happened.

Changbin was the only one there, He glanced up as she walked in, the corner of his lips twitching.

“Morning… Rough night?”

Her face burned instantly.

────୨ৎ────

As she walked down the street toward his workplace, the cool evening air did little to soothe the warmth simmering under her skin. She waved at the security guard with a soft smile.

“Good evening, Miss Y/N. Felix is in the dance practice room.”

She nodded in thanks and stepped into the elevator, carefully balancing the tray of drinks in her hands. The smooth hum of the lift did nothing to quiet her racing thoughts. The moment she stepped into the practice room, the lively energy of the group washed over her.

“Wow, look at you. Felix, your girlfriend is an angel,” Seungmin called out the second he spotted his favorite coffee shop logo on one of the cups.

“Please, someone help me before I drop everything,” she laughed, only now realizing just how exhausting it was to carry them all.

The boys immediately stopped what they were doing, reaching for the drinks without hesitation. Felix pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before taking his cup, the warmth of his lips lingering for a second longer than necessary.

“Felix, no way you made your girlfriend come all the way here just to bring us coffee,” Bang Chan teased. “That is very un-boyfriend-like behavior.”

“Yo, I just told her we were practicing. That was her own will,” Felix defended, his voice light with amusement.

But she wasn’t listening.

Her eyes had wandered—unbidden, instinctual—toward Hyunjin. He was standing slightly apart from the others, his body glistening with a light sheen of sweat, the tank top clinging to his frame like it had been made just for him. Muscles sculpted with an almost ridiculous perfection, every flex, every shift of his body an unintentional display of raw beauty.

He noticed her staring. And he looked right back.

A slow, knowing smirk played at the edges of his lips.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks, and she quickly shifted her gaze back to Felix—only to find him already watching her. His expression unreadable, but his eyes dark, knowing. The air in the room changed, something unsaid passing between the three of them.

Lee Know, sensing the shift, leaned in toward Bang Chan.

“Hyung,” he muttered, “maybe shut up for a second.”

And just like that, her face burned.

She sank into the sofa, crossing her legs tightly as she watched them. The boys had returned to their practice, sweat glistening on their skin, muscles flexing with every sharp movement. She tried—God, she tried—to ignore the way Hyunjin had just looked at her.

But the heat between her thighs made it impossible.

They spent too much time together, moving in sync both on and off the stage. Sometimes, they even seemed to speak in a language only they understood.

A treacherous thought crept into her mind. Had they fucked behind her back?

The idea made her thighs clench. The night hadn’t been that long ago, but with how comfortable they were around each other, how easily they touched, how effortlessly they existed in each other’s space… It could have happened.

She bit her lip, looking up just in time to see Felix and Hyunjin exchange a high-five. The sound of their palms meeting sent a shockwave through her body—her mind throwing her straight back into that night.

The way they had ruined her together.

A quiet whimper almost slipped from her lips, but she swallowed it down. Fuck, she was so worked up.

────୨ৎ────

Later that night, she tossed and turned in Felix’s bed, the sheets cool against her feverish skin. She squeezed her thighs together, but it did nothing—nothing to ease the ache, nothing to replace the way they had both felt inside her.

The sound of running water stopped, and a few moments later, Felix stepped into the room, towel slung low around his hips. His damp hair dripped onto his shoulders, droplets sliding down his sculpted chest. He barely made it two steps before noticing the way she was staring at him.

He smirked. “What are you thinking about, sweetheart?”

She pushed herself up on her elbows, her breath unsteady.

“I need you two to fuck me dumb again.”

Felix’s smirk faded. His eyes darkened, jaw ticking as he exhaled through his nose. A slow, knowing chuckle left his lips as he stalked toward her, the air between them thick with heat.

“Oh?” He tilted her chin up, thumb ghosting over her parted lips. “You miss the way he touched you?”

She nodded, barely able to breathe.

His thumb pressed against her lower lip, slipping inside just slightly. “Then I guess we’ll have to call him, won’t we?”

She sucked on his thumb, her lips warm and soft around it, tongue swirling just enough to make it obscene. She knew exactly what she was doing—how much Felix liked watching her like this, pliant and eager, her big eyes looking up at him like she’d do anything for him.

But instead of rewarding her, he sighed. A slow, deliberate sound.

Then, he pulled his thumb from her mouth with a wet pop and wiped the glistening sheen of spit against her flushed cheek.

“No.”

Her stomach dropped.

He tilted her chin up between his fingers, his voice calm, almost pitying. “I spoil you too much, sweetheart.”

She swallowed hard.

“You’re just a little spoiled girl, always begging to be stuffed full without even earning it.”

Her thighs clenched together instinctively, the sharp rejection making the heat between them ache even more.

“Felix… please—”

“No.” He cut her off, voice firm. “Why would you deserve it?”

She stared up at him, her nails digging into the sheets. He loved this. Loved making her squirm, watching her melt into desperation.

She shifted forward on the bed, crawling toward him on her knees. Her nightgown was barely anything, thin and delicate, the lace tracing over her curves. It had ridden up, exposing her bare thighs, and her nipples pressed stiff against the fabric, aching for attention.

Felix ignored it.

The towel slipped from his waist as he reached for his boxers, leaving him completely bare for a few seconds. And god, fuck, she couldn’t look away.

His body was carved perfection—toned, sweat-kissed from the heat of the shower. And between his thighs, his cock hung heavy, thick, and teasingly out of reach.

She swallowed hard, her mouth going dry.

She barely realized she had leaned forward, staring shamelessly, her breath coming faster. The ache between her legs was unbearable now, her body desperate, skin too hot, too sensitive.

“Lixie, please,” she whimpered, shifting even closer. “I’ll be so good…”

Felix finally pulled his boxers on, raising an eyebrow as he climbed onto the bed.

“Oh?” He tilted his head, voice laced with amusement. “And why should I believe that?”

“Because I will do anything,” she whispered. “Anything you want. I just—” She exhaled shakily. “I just need you. Please.”

For a second, she thought she had won—thought he’d finally give in.

Then, he smirked.

And laid back against the pillows, stretching out comfortably, completely unbothered by the way she was practically begging at this point.

“Maybe,” he mused, “you should ask Hyunjin what he thinks about it.”

Her breath hitched.

Her whole body stiffened. “W-what?”

Felix smirked at the stunned expression on her face. “You heard me.”

Then, he reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

She sat there, still kneeling on the bed, heat burning under her skin, her heart pounding against her ribs.

How the fuck was she supposed to ask Hyunjin?

Should she… seduce him?

The thought sent a fresh wave of arousal through her, making her thighs squeeze together instinctively.

Would he let her? Would he make her work for it the way Felix did? Or would he take control the second she so much as looked at him the wrong way?

She swallowed, fingers curling into the sheets.

She might have been spoiled.

But she wasn’t patient.

And if Felix wasn’t going to give her what she wanted… she would find another way to get it.

────୨ৎ────

The dorm was quiet, the kind of stillness that only settled deep into the night. Most of the members were asleep, and Felix… well, he was still ignoring her on the second night.

She couldn’t sleep.

She needed to do something.

So she slid out of bed, slipping one of Felix’s oversized shirts over her body, barely bothering with shorts underneath. It was just the dorm, after all. And if she happened to run into Hyunjin?

Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

She padded into the kitchen, her bare feet light against the cool floor. The fridge hummed softly as she opened it, grabbing a bottle of water—only to freeze when she heard a voice behind her.

“Can’t sleep?”

Her pulse jumped.

She turned, the dim kitchen light casting long shadows over the tall figure standing in the doorway. Hyunjin. His hair was damp, strands curling slightly at the ends, and he was shirtless, just a loose pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

Oh.

She licked her lips, gripping the cold bottle tighter. “Yeah.” Her voice came out softer than she intended. “You?”

Hyunjin shrugged, stepping inside. “I was sketching. Needed a break.”

She swallowed, watching as he moved closer.

He smelled clean—like body wash and something distinctly him, warm and slightly musky. And when he leaned against the counter beside her, his arm nearly brushing hers, the heat between them became impossible to ignore.

Perfect.

She turned toward him slightly, shifting her weight just enough for the oversized shirt to slip down her shoulder, exposing a hint of smooth skin.

“You work too hard,” she murmured, taking a slow sip of water. “You should let yourself relax more.”

Hyunjin exhaled a quiet laugh. “And how do you suggest I do that?”

She tilted her head, her fingers tracing idly over the condensation on the bottle.

“I could help,” she said, letting the words linger between them.

Hyunjin’s gaze flickered, his jaw tightening just slightly.

Oh, she had his attention now.

It hit her all at once.

The way Hyunjin leaned back against the counter, eyes dark with amusement, lips curled in that lazy, knowing smirk. The way he didn’t look surprised at all by how she was acting—by how desperate she was, shifting on her feet, heat crawling under her skin.

Felix had planned this.

They were both in on it.

She really was too spoiled.

Hyunjin exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head as if he pitied her. “Tsk. You just don’t learn, do you?”

She swallowed hard, her thighs pressing together. “I—”

“Shh.”

Before she could answer, his hand dropped down to the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging them lower just enough to tease her with the sharp lines of his hips.

Her breath hitched.

Then, he palmed himself lazily over the fabric, fingers wrapping around his length, pressing just enough to make the shape of it obvious. “Is this what you want?”

A soft, broken whimper slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

She was too worked up, too far gone, too fucking needy to play it cool. Her entire body felt like it was pulsing, heat radiating from her core, making her skin feel sensitive, restless, desperate.

Hyunjin chuckled, slow and low.

“Ask for it nicely, sweetheart,” he murmured. His fingers tightened around himself just slightly, stroking once, slow and deliberate, enough to make himself twitch under the fabric.

She bit her lip so hard it nearly hurt.

She wanted to drop to her knees right then and there, wanted to press her lips to the growing outline in his sweats, wanted to show him exactly how much she needed this.

Her mouth opened—ready to beg, ready to say anything.

And then—

Hyunjin sighed dramatically, letting go of himself, his hand dropping back to his side.

“Ugh, I’m so tired.” He stretched his arms over his head, yawning like he hadn’t just had her on the verge of losing her mind. “Goodnight.”

Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and walked off, disappearing down the hallway toward his room.

She stood there, frozen in place, her body screaming in frustration.

Her fists clenched at her sides. “Fuck you,” she muttered under her breath.

From down the hall, she heard him chuckle. “You wish.”

She cursed again, then turned toward Felix’s room, where she knew he was still awake, probably smirking to himself just like Hyunjin had been.

They were going to fucking kill her.

────୨ৎ────

Her body wasn’t letting it go.

Even after she’d stormed back to Felix’s room, dropping onto his bed in a frustrated mess, she still felt hot, still felt restless. It was unbearable—the way her skin tingled, the way every little movement made her painfully aware of how empty she was. Felix wasn‘t in the Bed… probably on the toilet…..

Hyunjin’s teasing had pushed her too far.

Felix’s rejection had left her wound up too tight.

She buried her face into the pillow, letting out a muffled whine. They can’t do this to me.

They had left her like this—knowing how desperate she was, knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep, knowing exactly what she would end up doing.

Maybe that was part of their plan, too.

She turned on her Back.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, hips shifting, searching for relief. The feeling wasn’t enough. Not even close.

Her fingers trailed lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties.

A sharp breath left her at the first touch—her own warmth, her own slick betraying just how much she needed it. She let her legs fall open, breath hitching as she stroked slow, teasing herself the way they should have been doing.

Her mind spiraled, flashing back to Hyunjin’s fingers wrapped around himself, the way he had stroked so slowly, the lazy amusement in his voice as he told her to ask nicely.

Felix’s voice from earlier echoed in her head. Maybe you should ask Hyunjin what he thinks of it.

Her stomach clenched.

What would Hyunjin do if he saw her like this—legs spread, back arching against the sheets, her fingers drenched with her own need? Would he call her pathetic? Tell her she was proving their point?

She swallowed hard, whimpering softly as she sped up, fingers circling exactly where she needed them most.

Her body tightened, the pleasure building higher, hotter—almost there, almost—

The door creaked open.

She froze.

Her breath caught in her throat, heart slamming against her ribs. She barely had time to yank the blanket over herself before she heard it—

A quiet, amused hum.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Felix.

Her stomach dropped.

Her head snapped up to see him standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t even trying to hide the smirk on his lips, the glint in his eyes as he took in the scene before him.

“I leave you alone for five minutes and you can’t even behave?”

She swallowed hard, gripping the sheets tighter. “I—I wasn’t—”

He raised a brow. “Don’t lie to me, baby.”

Her body was still thrumming with need, still aching, still so close. The blanket was doing nothing to hide the way her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, or the way her thighs had yet to close.

Felix tilted his head, stepping inside.

“Looks like Hyunjin was right,” he murmured. “You really don’t deserve it yet.”

Her entire body flushed with heat. “Felix—”

“Mm-mm.” He reached down, taking the edge of the blanket between his fingers. “You want to touch yourself like a needy little thing? Go ahead.”

Then, with one sharp tug, he pulled the blanket away.

Her breath hitched—completely exposed under his gaze, her hand still buried between her thighs, her skin burning with humiliation and want.

Felix just grinned.

────୨ৎ────

The next few days were hell.

For her. For the boys. For everyone.

Felix and Hyunjin had left her high and dry, and her frustration was hitting a breaking point.

She was moody, snappy, and completely unbearable.

Changbin, poor, unsuspecting Changbin, had barely asked where the salt was when she threw the entire pack at him without a word.

Lee Know, who only wanted the remote, had barely touched her shoulder when she turned to him with glassy eyes, voice cracking, “I don’t know where it is!” before she burst into tears.

The whole dorm was walking on eggshells.

And they—Felix and Hyunjin—were enjoying every second of it.

They weren’t even subtle about it.

Felix would pass by her in the kitchen, hand brushing the small of her back, lips ghosting over her temple, whispering, “Such a moody little thing, aren’t you?” before walking away like it was nothing.

Hyunjin would sit too close to her on the couch, spreading his legs wide, body heat seeping into her skin, looking at her with that knowing smirk that made her want to either strangle him or ride him right then and there.

She couldn’t take it.

She had half a mind to beg, to drop her pride and beg—but just when she was about to give up, something changed.

────୨ৎ────

She woke up in the middle of the night to the feeling of soft lips pressing along the side of her neck.

Warm. Slow. Teasing.

A breathy sigh left her lips before she even opened her eyes, her body already reacting before her mind caught up.

“Lixie?” she murmured, voice still heavy with sleep.

A low hum vibrated against her skin, but the voice that answered wasn’t Felix’s.

“Mmm… it’s Jinnie, baby.”

Her eyes fluttered open.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow under the door.

She turned her head, blinking the sleep away, only to find Hyunjin lying beside her, his face inches from hers, his hands already palming at her breasts through the thin lace of her nightgown.

Her breath caught. “What are you—”

Hyunjin hushed her with a kiss, soft and lingering.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered against her lips. “Felix is in the bathroom.”

She should’ve pushed him away. She should’ve questioned why Felix wasn’t here. But the second he squeezed her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers, a whimper escaped her lips instead.

“We didn’t punish you because you were a bad girl,” he murmured, lips trailing along her jaw. “We just wanted to hear it from you first. We wanted you to ask for it.”

She shivered beneath him, hips shifting, pressing against nothing. “I—I did—”

“Not properly.” His hand slipped lower, fingers teasing along the edge of her nightgown. “Felix had to prep himself for a second night, you know.”

Her stomach clenched at the words.

Felix. Prepping himself.

Her breath hitched. She looked up at Hyunjin. “Remember how he promised me I could fuck his ass too?”

Hyunjin’s lips curled. “Mm,” he hummed, kissing her again, swallowing the soft moan that left her lips. “And he keeps his promises.”

“Felix is in the bathroom.”

The words echoed in her head, but she barely registered them.

Not when Hyunjin’s lips were already moving down her neck.

Not when his hands were already teasing at the hem of her nightgown.

“You missed us that much, huh?” His voice was all silk and sin, low against her skin. “You’ve been such a brat these past few days… all moody, snapping at the boys…”

His fingers ghosted over her inner thigh, but never where she needed him.

She whimpered, hips shifting, trying to guide his touch lower.

Hyunjin only chuckled. “Look at you… so desperate.”

He dipped his head, lips skimming along her collarbone. “But we couldn’t just give in right away, baby. We had to be sure you wanted it again.”

His teeth scraped gently, just enough to make her squirm.

“And now?” He exhaled against her skin. “Now we’re sure.”

She gasped softly as his hand finally cupped her through her panties, rubbing slow, lazy circles that had her entire body tensing.

“Jinnie…” she whined.

“Shh.” His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, just barely teasing at her slick heat. “You’re soaking, sweetheart.”*

She shuddered. “Because you two left me like this for days.”

Hyunjin smirked, pressing his fingers against her just enough to make her ache. “Mmm… and whose fault is that?”

“Yours!”

“Wrong answer.”

He pulled his hand away completely.

“Jinnie—!”

“Shh,” he murmured again, fingers pressing against her lips instead. “You want Felix to hear you begging while he’s getting ready for me?”

Her stomach clenched at the thought, at the realization of what was happening just a few feet away.

Hyunjin smiled lazily, watching her expression shift. “Oh? You like that, don’t you?”

She swallowed, her whole body burning.

“You want to go in there and see?”

She hesitated—God, she wanted to—but before she could answer, he flipped her onto her stomach.

“Too bad,” he whispered against her ear, pinning her hips down. “You have to wait your turn, baby.”

────୨ৎ────

Her wrists were bound.

Not tightly—just enough to keep her in place, to remind her who was in control.

Hyunjin had made sure of that.

She lay on her back, arms above her head, chest rising and falling in frustration. Her lace nightgown had ridden up, her wet pussy dripping, and her thighs were already trembling—because Hyunjin hadn’t stopped touching her, hadn’t stopped teasing her.

But every time she whimpered, every time she begged, he just smirked.

“You wanna be a good girl now, huh?” His voice was a slow drawl as he trailed his fingers along her inner thighs, stopping just before she got what she needed.

She bucked her hips, desperate for anything. “Jinnie, please—”

“Shh.” He leaned down, lips brushing against her ear. “You don’t get to make demands. Not after the way you’ve been acting.”

She wanted to snap at him, tell him how unfair this was, but her words were cut off by the sound of the door opening.

Felix had finally come back.

And the moment he stepped into the dimly lit room, his breath hitched at the sight in front of him.

“Well, well…” Felix’s voice was hoarse, still flushed from the time he’d spent prepping. “She’s already a mess.”

Hyunjin chuckled, shifting so he was straddling her waist, keeping her completely pinned beneath him. “She’s been a mess, Lix.” His fingers ghosted over her sensitive heat, making her jolt. “But she hasn’t earned anything yet.”

Felix tilted his head, his gaze dark, as he drank her in—her flushed skin, her parted lips, her arms restrained above her head.

“Is that so?”

Hyunjin nodded. “She’s been a little brat these past few days. Taking out all her frustration on the boys, throwing tantrums…” His fingers teased at the edge of her soaked panties. “And she still thinks she deserves to be fucked.”

Felix hummed, stepping closer. “That doesn’t sound very fair, sweetheart.”

She whined, struggling against the binds. “I wouldn’t have been frustrated if you two didn’t leave me like this for days!”

Hyunjin tsked, shaking his head. “And now you’re making excuses…”

“Jinnie—!”

“No.”* He leaned down, kissing her slowly, deeply, making her toes curl before pulling away just as suddenly. “You wanna make up for it? You’re gonna have to watch first.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

Felix finally climbed onto the bed beside them, running his fingers lightly along her bare thigh. “That’s right, baby. You don’t get to join in yet.”

Hyunjin pressed a chaste kiss to Felix’s lips before turning back to her, his smirk widening.

“You’re gonna watch us first. And we’ll see if you’ve really learned your lesson.”

She moaned in frustration, her entire body burning as the two boys in front of her exchanged another lingering kiss—Hyunjin’s hand already moving to Felix’s waist, pulling him closer.

She shivered.

She was so screwed.

She had never seen Felix like this before.

Her breath caught as he positioned himself on all fours right in front of her, his head nestled between her thighs—close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath, but not close enough to give her anything.

“You like watching, sweetheart?” His voice was low, teasing, his dark eyes locked onto hers.

She squirmed, but her bindings didn’t let her move.

“Felix…” she whimpered.

He grinned—like he was relishing in her frustration. “Ah, but you don’t get to do anything yet.” His fingers grazed her thigh, making her body jolt. “You’re just gonna lay there and be our little audience for now.”

Behind him, Hyunjin’s hands smoothed over Felix’s waist, his fingers digging into his skin just slightly as he lined himself up.

“Relax for me, baby,” Hyunjin murmured, his tone softer, gentler—but his grip stayed firm. “You prepped well, yeah? I bet you’re gonna take me like a good boy.”

Felix shuddered, his fingers clutching at the sheets beneath him as he exhaled shakily. “Fuck, Jinnie…”

She watched, entranced, as Hyunjin pressed in slowly—his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of Felix stretching around him for the first time.

“Shit…” Hyunjin let out a shaky groan, his fingers digging deeper into Felix’s hips. “You’re so fucking tight, Lix.”

Felix whined, his back arching, his breath coming out in shudders as he adjusted to the stretch.

And she—she was losing her mind.

Every little sound Felix made, every tiny movement, every time Hyunjin praised him—it was making her body burn with need.

“That’s my good boy,” Hyunjin murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Felix’s shoulder before rolling his hips deeper. “Taking me so fucking well…”

Felix moaned, his head dropping between her thighs, his breath coming out in hot, uneven gasps against her bare skin.

She could feel everything—his heavy breaths, the way his body tensed and trembled, how Hyunjin’s movements sent small shocks through him that transferred directly to her.

“F-Fuck…” Felix whispered, before suddenly lifting his head to look at her again. His lips were parted, his pupils blown with pleasure—and he was smirking.

“Poor baby,” Felix mocked, his voice breathless, but still full of teasing cruelty. “You just have to sit there and watch, huh? Bet you’re dying to be in my place.”

She whimpered, trying to close her legs, but Felix’s hands immediately pushed them apart again.

“Ah, ah,” he scolded playfully, his nails dragging along the inside of her thigh. “You don’t get to hide from me.”

Hyunjin’s pace picked up, his grip on Felix’s waist tightening as his voice came out in husky groans. “Look at you, baby… taking me so good“

Felix gasped, his fingers curling into the sheets as his whole body shuddered.

“Jinnie—fuck—”

She could barely breathe.

Hyunjin’s movements rocked Felix against her, every slight shift making his breath hitch against her skin, sending shocks straight to her core.

She wanted to move. She wanted to touch.

But she couldn’t do anything.

And Felix knew it.

His smirk deepened, his lips grazing her thigh as he watched her suffer.

“You gonna cry, baby?” His voice was mocking, but there was a deep hunger in his gaze. “You wanted this, didn’t you? To see what it’s like when you’re not the center of attention.”

Hyunjin let out a low chuckle, his fingers digging into Felix’s waist as he snapped his hips forward. “She looks so cute when she’s desperate, doesn’t she?”

Felix moaned, his nails scratching down the sheets as his body trembled from the impact.

And she—she was soaked, her body burning, her mind spiraling from the sight in front of her.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please…” she whimpered, her voice shaking, pleading. “Please let me join…”

Felix tilted his head, pretending to think.

“Hmm…” His fingers ghosted up her thigh, but never touched her where she needed. “I don’t know, baby… you were pretty mean to us this week.”

Hyunjin groaned, snapping his hips deeper, making Felix’s whole body jolt. “Mmm, Lix… I think she’s learned her lesson.”

Felix’s eyes were dark, heated, as he looked at her.

“You think so?”

Hyunjin smirked. “Maybe we should still make her beg a little more…”

Felix chuckled, his breath hot against her skin.

“What do you think, sweetheart? You willing to beg for it?”

She was desperate. She’d never felt so frustrated, so needy—watching, feeling, hearing everything but not being allowed to have it.

“Please…” Her voice was breathless, her wrists straining against the binds as she tried to reach for Felix. “Please, I need it—”

Felix smirked, still breathless himself, his lips swollen from all the kissing, his golden skin flushed under Hyunjin’s hands.

“Mmm… What do you think, Jinnie?” His voice was mocking, but his body shivered under Hyunjin’s touch. “Should we give her something?”

Hyunjin, still thrusting deep into Felix, hummed thoughtfully before leaning forward and biting the back of his neck. “Mmm, I dunno…” he murmured against Felix’s sweaty skin. “You’re still so fucking tight, baby… I’m kinda distracted.”

Felix whimpered, his fingers clenching the sheets.

But then—Hyunjin’s eyes flickered to her.

“She is looking so pretty like this though,” he mused, his grip tightening on Felix’s hips as he snapped his own forward with more force. “Maybe we should let her feel something too… but only a little.”

Felix smirked again, shifting so his face was level with her aching, throbbing heat.

“Guess I could be nice to my poor, needy girl,” he murmured before lowering his mouth onto her.

She gasped, her whole body arching as Felix’s tongue slid through her wet folds, slow and deliberate, his breath hot against her.

“Ohh, look at you,” Hyunjin groaned, eyes flickering between them as he fucked into Felix harder. “Eating her out so sweetly while taking my cock so fucking good, Lix…”

Felix moaned against her, the vibrations sending shocks up her spine.

It was too much—the sight of Felix getting ruined, Hyunjin wrecking him, while she was finally getting something—finally getting a taste of the pleasure they’d been keeping from her.

But she was still tied up. Still helpless. Still at their mercy.

And Hyunjin was relentless.

“Fuck, baby, you’re gripping me so tight,” he growled, one hand sliding down to play with Felix’s sensitive nipples, tweaking and teasing, making Felix’s moans deepen against her core. “So fucking greedy—look at you—clenching around me like you wanna milk me dry.”

Felix whined, his body trembling, his tongue flicking harder against her just from the sheer pleasure of being fucked so good.

Her breath hitched. “Felix—fuck—”

She was so close, her body burning, her hands tugging uselessly at the restraints.

Hyunjin, noticing, chuckled breathlessly. “You wanna touch him that bad, sweetheart?” He leaned down, pressing kisses between Felix’s shoulder blades before whispering, “I think she’s been good enough to let her hands free… don’t you?”

Felix licked up her slit one last time before pulling away, his lips glistening, his voice husky.

“Mmm… I guess…”

He nodded, and Hyunjin untied her wrists.

Her hands flew forward immediately, grabbing onto Felix’s messy, sweat-damp hair, pulling him back into another kiss—his lips tasting like her, his moans spilling into her mouth as Hyunjin grabbed his hips and flipped him onto his back.

Felix gasped, his thighs spreading instinctively, his hair messy against the pillows as Hyunjin hovered over him again.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” Hyunjin murmured, guiding himself back in, making Felix whine and arch up into the sensation. “So fucking addictive…”

Felix bit his lip, his eyes hazy, his body trembling under the weight of Hyunjin’s thrusts.

“Mmm, baby,” Hyunjin purred, fingers trailing down to toy with Felix’s nipples again, rolling them between his fingers. “So sensitive, huh? You love this, don’t you?”

Felix whimpered, his hips lifting in response.

And she—she was finally free, her hands shaking as she moved closer, pressing kisses along Felix’s jaw, her hands wandering, her body melting into his.

Felix smirked, even as his body shuddered from Hyunjin’s relentless pace.

“Mmm… you’ve been patient, sweetheart…”

Hyunjin grinned, leaning down to kiss Felix’s throat, his voice husky. “Alright, baby… time to give our girl some attention too…”

Hyunjin pulled out of Felix

“Fuck,” Hyunjin murmured, eyes flicking down to where Felix was still trembling slightly from the stretch. “You got a pretty hole, baby… looks even better stuffed full.”

Felix only smirked, still catching his breath, before grabbing her and pulling her in for a filthy, desperate kiss. His tongue pushed past her lips, hungry, messy, fingers curling into her hair as if he needed to claim her all over again.

Hyunjin’s large hands gripped her waist from behind, his hot, heavy length pressing against her ass, grinding slow and deliberate.

“You know how long I’ve been thinking about this tight little pussy?” Hyunjin muttered against her ear, rubbing his tip against her, teasing, barely pressing in. “Had me up all fucking night, baby.”

She whimpered—aching, desperate—but before she could say anything, Felix was already positioning himself underneath her, guiding her over him, his tip nudging against her entrance.

“I still can’t believe this tight pussy can take both of us,” Hyunjin groaned, kissing down her neck, his teeth scraping over her pulse point as Felix slowly pushed inside her. “She was made for it, huh?”

She moaned, trembling, feeling Felix finally sink into her, stretching her in the best way.

“Mmm, fuck,” Felix groaned, hips twitching up, hands gripping her thighs, keeping her pinned against him. “Missed this pussy… she’s so fucking tight, Jinnie.”

Hyunjin chuckled, his lips ghosting over her shoulder, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along her back.

“You think she’s tight now?” he murmured, lining himself up, his tip pressing in beside Felix’s cock, nudging into her at the same time. “Wait ‘til I stretch her open.”

She cried out, hands clawing at Felix’s chest, her body shaking as the familiar overwhelming fullness took over.

“Fuuuuck, there she is,” Hyunjin groaned, slowly pushing deeper, watching the way she struggled to take them both, her body clenching around them. “You feel that, baby? This is what happens when you get greedy.”

Felix gasped beneath her, his head tilting back, his lips parting. “Shit, she’s squeezing me so good…”

Hyunjin gritted his teeth, grabbing her hips as he pushed in deeper, finally bottoming out. “She can take it—she’s our good little slut, aren’t you, baby?”

She moaned brokenly, her body overwhelmed, completely at their mercy.

“Mmm, fuck—look at her, Jinnie,” Felix panted, cupping her face, his thumbs brushing over her flushed cheeks. “She loves it. Always so fucking desperate to be stuffed full.”

Hyunjin smirked, pulling back only to slam back in, drawing a choked, wrecked moan from her throat.

“Oh, she’s getting off on this,” he murmured, setting a deep, steady pace, making sure she felt every inch of them both. “Look at you, baby—look how easy you take it. This pussy was made to be filled.”

Felix groaned, his hands moving to her hips, gripping her so tightly it was almost bruising. “You’re fucking perfect,” he whispered against her lips, his thrusts matching Hyunjin’s, both of them dragging against every sensitive spot inside her. “Gonna make you come so fucking hard, sweetheart.”

She was already shaking, barely holding on, her mind foggy, overwhelmed, every movement sending white-hot pleasure surging through her body.

“Come for us, baby,” Felix breathed against her lips. “Be a good girl and soak our cocks.”

And she did.

Her whole body seized up, pleasure crashing through her so violently she could barely breathe. She screamed, her walls clenching down around them both, pulling them even deeper

Hyunjin groaned, his hands tightening on her hips, but he didn’t stop—not yet.

“I’m not done with you yet, baby,” he murmured, slowing down just enough to slip out of her. “Felix—switch with me.”

Felix’s half-lidded eyes flickered open, and he grinned.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

She barely had time to catch her breath before Hyunjin was repositioning Felix over her instead, guiding him between her legs. The thick head of Felix’s cock nudged into her slick heat again, stretching her open just as Hyunjin pressed inside Felix from behind, the blunt tip of his cock pushing past the tight ring of muscle.

Felix’s breath hitched, his whole body tensing before a broken moan escaped his lips. His head fell against her shoulder, soft blonde strands brushing against her flushed skin as his lips parted against her throat.

“F-Fuck…” he gasped, his fingers gripping her wrists, pinning them over her head. His whole body trembled, caught between the overwhelming heat of her beneath him and the thick, unrelenting stretch of Hyunjin behind him.

“Mmm, just like that, baby,” Hyunjin groaned, his large hands splayed over Felix’s hips as he thrust forward, sinking in inch by inch.

Felix let out the prettiest whimper, his body shuddering as Hyunjin bottomed out. His nails dug into Y/N’s skin, his hips jerking involuntarily as pleasure wracked through him.

Hyunjin chuckled darkly, rolling his hips experimentally. “You love being filled up just as much as she does, huh?” He slid a hand up Felix’s back, pressing between his shoulder blades, arching him forward so Y/N could feel every delicious inch of him inside her. “Look at you—already falling apart, and I’ve barely even fucked you yet.”

Felix could only let out a broken whine, his body writhing between them.

“So fucking greedy,” Hyunjin murmured, grabbing a fistful of Felix’s hair and tilting his head back, forcing him to meet Y/N’s gaze. “She sees it too. Sees how fucking pretty you look getting stretched out on my cock. Doesn’t she, baby?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes locked onto Felix’s flushed, desperate expression.

“Tell her,” Hyunjin demanded, pulling back just enough before slamming forward again, making Felix cry out. “Tell her how fucking good it feels to be stuffed full like this.”

“I-It feels… so good—fuck, Hyunjin—please don’t stop,” Felix sobbed, his thighs trembling as Hyunjin set a merciless pace, thrusting into him deep and slow, making sure Felix felt every inch.

“That’s my good boy,” Hyunjin praised, his grip tightening on Felix’s hips. “Taking it so well. Letting me stretch you open, fuck you like you were made for it.”

Felix whimpered, his body shaking, overwhelmed by the relentless pleasure.

Hyunjin smirked against his ear, his voice low and teasing. “I can feel you squeezing me, baby. You gonna come just from getting your pretty little ass fucked?”

Felix could barely hold himself up, his cock twitching inside his Girlfriend as he let out a desperate moan.

She watched them both, her heart racing, her body still tingling from her orgasm—and yet, she still wanted more.

Felix kissed her, deep and slow, moaning into her mouth as Hyunjin fucked into him, his thrusts pushing Felix even deeper into her.

“Ohhh, fuck—” Felix moaned, gripping her hips, rolling his hips against her, his thrusts syncing with Hyunjin’s.

Hyunjin smirked, reaching around to tweak one of Felix’s nipples, making him gasp and arch.

Hyunjin started kissing Felix’s shoulder, his pace increasing, his thrusts hitting deeper. “Your ass is fucking addictive, baby.”

She was panting, aching, watching them lose themselves in each other, and it was the hottest fucking thing she’d ever seen.

“Such a pretty boy, isn’t he, sweetheart?” Hyunjin murmured, looking at her, smirking when he saw her bitten lips, her dazed eyes, her raw need.

“Mmm,” Felix hummed, grinning lazily, kissing her soft and slow.

Y/N barely had time to catch her breath before pleasure slammed into her again, harder, deeper—so overwhelming that she could only moan, her body shuddering as another orgasm ripped through her. Her thighs trembled, her skin burning where Felix had gripped her, where Hyunjin’s rough hands had roamed. She could still feel the aftershocks pulsing between her legs when she let out a desperate whimper.

“Pull out,” she gasped, voice raw from moaning.

Felix stilled, blinking down at her with glazed-over eyes, his lips parted in heavy breaths. Even Hyunjin, usually so composed, faltered for a second, watching her with dark, hooded eyes.

“I need to see you getting off on Hyunjin’s dick,” she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

Felix shivered at her words, but before he could respond, Hyunjin’s hands slid up his thighs, squeezing firmly.

“Fuck, you’re such a little slut for us, aren’t you?” Hyunjin groaned, lips grazing Felix’s ear. “Getting all desperate just to watch me fuck him senseless?”

Felix let out a breathy moan as Hyunjin pulled him flush against his chest, his cock still buried deep inside him. Slowly, Hyunjin adjusted, gripping Felix’s hips and guiding him into position—his back pressed against Hyunjin’s solid chest, his legs spread wide over Hyunjin’s thighs.

“Be a gentleman, Felix,” Hyunjin murmured, amusement lacing his voice. “Do what the pretty girl with the pretty pussy wants.”

Felix whimpered as Hyunjin tilted his chin, forcing him to look at Y/N.

“Let her see how fucking wrecked you are on my cock, baby.”

Felix let out a sharp gasp at the change in angle, his head falling back against Hyunjin’s shoulder. He was completely at his mercy now.

“Shit, look at you,” Hyunjin growled, hands tightening on Felix’s waist as he lifted him. “So fucking tight—taking me so well, baby. You love this, don’t you? Love being my little fucktoy while she watches?”

Felix barely managed a nod before Hyunjin slammed him back down, making him cry out.

“Just like that,” Hyunjin praised, his voice thick with arousal. He held Felix’s thighs still, keeping him open, exposed, as he thrust up into him—deep, brutal, claiming.

Y/N could barely breathe as she watched—watched the way Felix’s body trembled, the way his cock bounced with every thrust, the way his pretty lips parted in a silent scream of pleasure.

Felix’s moans were high-pitched, desperate. “I’m— I’m gonna—”

Hyunjin smirked against his neck. “Yeah? You gonna come just from getting fucked like this?” He reached around, wrapping his fingers around Felix’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. “Be a good boy and make a mess for us, baby. Show her how pretty you look when I fuck you dumb.”

Felix let out a choked sob as his whole body tensed, his orgasm slamming into him so hard that he nearly collapsed. His thighs trembled violently, his breath shattering into desperate, broken moans. Hot ropes of white painted Y/N’s stomach as he shuddered in Hyunjin’s lap, overstimulated and wrecked beyond comprehension.

But Hyunjin wasn’t done with him.

Hyunjin groaned, his pace stuttering as he pushed in deep one last time, grinding into Felix, making sure he felt every thick inch buried inside him. His voice was low and wrecked, the pleasure overwhelming, his grip tightening on Felix’s hips as he spilled inside him, his body jerking with the force of it. “Taking every last drop like a good little slut, aren’t you?”

Felix could barely think, as Hyunjin held him there, grinding lazily, dragging out every last wave of pleasure. Felix whimpered, still twitching, still clenching around Hyunjin’s cock like he didn’t want to let go.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were the ragged breaths, the sticky heat of bodies trembling in the aftermath.

And then, slowly, Hyunjin pulled out.

Felix whimpered at the loss, his thighs weak, his whole body shaking. But Hyunjin wasn’t finished admiring his work. He grabbed Felix’s ass, spreading him open, his voice thick with satisfaction.

“Look at this, babe,” he murmured.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she took in the sight—Felix’s hole still stretched and fluttering, slick with Hyunjin’s release, a slow, milky trickle escaping. The heat in her stomach burned, watching the way Felix trembled under their gazes, his lips parted in exhausted bliss.

Before Felix could react, she leaned in—her tongue flicking out, catching the mess before it could spill.

Felix gasped sharply, his whole body jolting, overstimulated. His fingers twitched against Y/N’s skin, his breath hitching in disbelief.

Hyunjin chuckled darkly, dragging his fingers along Felix’s trembling thighs. “Shit, baby—watching her clean you up? You like that?” His voice was teasing, smug, fully aware of how wrecked Felix was beneath his touch.

Felix only let out a weak whimper, his mind too foggy to form words.

Hyunjin tilted his head, watching Y/N with dark amusement as she licked him clean. “Taste me, baby,” he murmured, his fingers stroking up her spine. “Tell me how good my cum tastes on your tongue.”

Y/N pulled back slightly, lips glistening, her expression slow and sultry as she met his gaze. She let her tongue flick over her lips, savoring the warmth, the musk, the saltiness that lingered.

And then, she smirked.

“So good.”

(it‘s me… the author… see what i did there ? LIFE IS SO GOOD LA LA LA LA LA)

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for my one and only: @hwangjoanna

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