#but aside from that the only doors that lock can be opened easy from both sides

[saym0-0]

just had a weird realisation that its probably weird to a lot of people that doors in my house dont have locks

[gh0stsp1d3r]

I’m your god

cw: religious imagery, questioning of God, sex in church bathroom, p in v, you call church bullshit, a lot of cussing…

a/n: my kickstart to angel!reader !

You didn’t believe in God.

Not really, anyway. It was merely a facade you crafted for your parents, a delicate mask worn to maintain their “precious reputation.” This was the belief system was instilled and drilled into your head from a young age, a doctrine you were taught to never question. At the age of eight, a flicker of doubt ignited within you, yet you chose to play the part of your parents’ “darling little girl”, continuing the charade.

Inside your twisted little head, Rafe was your God. And you were his little angel. His servant. His devotee. His. Only his.

As you stepped into the church, the scent of polished wood and old hymnals enveloped you. You plastered on a wide, false smile while you held the oak door open with an exaggerated flourish for the congregation streaming in.

The warm chatter of familiar faces filled the air. The pastor, had asked you personally, recognizing your family's long-standing bond with the church, to do this job. Hold open the doors and greet the people coming in, hand them flyers, it was easy enough.

Your parents, with their insistent nudges and pointed looks, had driven you to take on this role, leaving you feeling like a puppet on a string. So, you resigned yourself to the expectation, reminding yourself to embody the good girl everyone admired—even if the smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Your smile faltered when you caught notice of him. The last person you expected Rafe Cameron was in a church. He smiled at you, you smiling back.

“Hey, sweetie!” Ward greeted you, stepping aside to wrap his arms around you. Rafe also stepped aside, his hands in his pockets as he watched you hug his father.

“Hey, Mr. Cameron!” You spoke, offering a smile to your boyfriend who was behind Ward. He pulled away, you giving Rafe a hug next, before giving him a small, seemingly innocent and cute kiss on his cheek.

You and Rafe locked eyes for a moment, before Ward interrupted.

“Why don’t you go on ahead, Rafe?” Ward spoke, waving his hand. Rafe’s smile fell, nodding along, before walking away to the rest of his family.

“You know, I really feel the need to express my gratitude to you,” he said. “I think you’re truly making a difference in his life. He actually asked to join us for church this morning,” he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I mean, can you believe it? That hasn’t happened in years!” A broad smile spread across his face as he glanced at you, you nodding in agreement.

“God will do that to you.” You replied, and god, You were too good at this. He so fucking believed that. “I’m so glad, Mr. Cameron.” You smiled at him sweetly, him patting your shoulder before walking to the rest of his family.

As the service started, the air felt heavy with incense and the rhythmic cadence of the pastor’s voice drifted over the congregation.

Your gaze flickered to the side, where Rafe loomed in your vision. He stood in the shadows, his eyes locked onto you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

It was as if you were a fragile deer caught in the predatory gaze of a wolf. A small, knowing smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, while the rest of his family sat beside him, oblivious to the charged tension that crackled between the both of you.

Your gaze kept drifting back to him, that undeniable pull drawing your attention. Suddenly, a vibration from your phone in your lap broke your attention. You quickly shifted the device to your side, careful to shield it from your parents, and stole a glance at the screen. You looked at the message, excitement flowing through you at the words.

rafe ! 🫶

bathroom.

You cast one final glance at him, feeling a flutter of anticipation in your chest. As you rose from your chair, you gently smoothed the fabric of your dress, ensuring every wrinkle was gone before you stepped away. Leaning toward your parents, you whispered you were going to the bathroom. They merely waved you off, their expressions full of indifference.

You swung open the doors that led into the narrow hallway where the bathroom door was slightly ajar. You leaned against the cool wall, your heart racing as you waited for him. When you heard the door open, your eyes went to him, noting the way he darted his gaze around, taking in his surroundings and making sure no one else was around. Finally, he made his way toward you, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans.

You got on the tips of your toes to plant a kiss on his lips, his mouth moving against yours. He let out a quiet groan when you put your tongue into his mouth, his hands traveling your body. He put his hands on yours ass, gently patting it. You jumped up, him holding you as he walked backwards intro the bathroom, locking it behind him.

“Oh, fuck.” You breathed out, your back hitting the cold tile wall. His hands fiddled with his belt buckle, pulling it down and his pants pooled to the floor. He bunched your little white dress up, pulling your panties to the side.

“We gotta be quick, baby. My parents-“ you started, before he cut you off with a kiss.

“Your parents can suck my dick.” He retorted, “I don’t give a fuck.” He panted out, his lips ghosting yours as he pulled his hard cock out, putting it to your entrance. The both of you panted, your breath mingling together

“Oh shit,” you cried out when he slowly slid in, his mouth moving to your neck, letting out a low chuckle, his hot breath on your neck. He left open mouth kisses on your neck, gliding his tongue and his teeth over your soft skin.

“Rafe.” You cried out when he continued to slide into your warm, velvety walls. He was so deep, yet half of him wasn’t even inside of you.

“I’m barely even in, angel.” He spoke mockingly, you could feel the grin he had on his face. He looked up, moving away from your neck.

“And you know you have to be quiet. Wouldn’t want your precious little parents to find you here, watching you get fucked by your ‘sweet, cute, little boyfriend.’”

You nodded, hiding your own face in his shoulder, wrapping your arms tighter around him. You looked almost like a koala hugging a tree branch.

He breathed out as he pulled out of you, before his hips bucked back into your warmth. You let out a cry, your hands bunching up the shirt he had on, tears falling onto it.

You could already hear your pastors voice ringing in your head. Don’t fall a victim to lust, but you couldn’t find yourself to care when Rafes hands were sliding down your thighs and his slender fingers moved to your clit, rubbing it in circles.

“Oh god, oh my god.” you cried out.

“I’m your god, baby. Say it. Say I’m your god.” He spoke breathily.

“You’re-“ you were cut off by a particularly hard thrust.

“Say it.” He repeated.

“You’re my god!” You spoke while you came, hiding your face into his neck.

He grinned once again, his hips slowing for a moment, before he shot his seed into you, painting your walls. He groaned out, the both of you relishing in the after. You moved your legs from his waist, and stood up on wobbly legs.

He smoothed out your dress, pulling your panties to the side for you, collecting the mixes of both of you on his finger, before shoving his finger into your mouth.

You grabbed his wrist, letting out a moan on his digit as you swirled your tongue around it. He removed his finger from your mouth with a ‘pop’, and a sick smirk made its way onto his face.

“How’d you even keep me up for that long?” You asked with a giggle, wiping the remnants of the liquid from your lips.

He flexed his muscles with a smirk, you rolling your eyes and giggling at him. “It’s what I work out for.”

Your smile fell when you looked down at the Apple Watch on your wrist, grimacing now.

“What?”

“We’ve been gone for like 10 minutes, ray!”

He shrugged nonchalantly, “Who cares? Just say you got your period or some shit.”

“What about you?” You asked him with a pout, leaning closer into the mirror, fixing your makeup and hair, looking at him through the reflection.

“I’ll say I couldn’t help myself and was having sex with my super sexy girlfriend.” He replied, leaning against the wall, staring at you from the mirror.

“Rafe!” Your cheeks warmed up at his dirty words, him smiling.

He laughed, “Nah, nah, I’ll just say I ran into some old lady and helped her or something. I don’t know.”

You let out a soft sigh, amusement dancing across your features as you turned to face him. Your lips formed a small, sad pout as you gazed up into his eyes.

“I don’t wanna go back,” you admitted, your voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. As if sensing your reluctance, his hands found their way to your waist, drawing you in closer, enveloping you in his warmth. “Everything they say is bullshit, anyways,” you continued.

“Then don’t.” He replied, as if it was that easy.

“I have to.” You let out a weary sigh. You leaned in closer to the boy, pressing your lips softly against his in a gentle kiss that. As you pulled away, your fingers brushed the warmth of his skin before dropping to the cool metal of the doorknob.

“Well, I’m gonna go Toppers' party later, if you want to come.” he said casually. You turned to look at him, your expression curious as you met his gaze over your shoulder. "How about I swing by and pick you up?”

“Sounds good.” You beamed, him moving to your side to kiss you one more time.

“Love you, sweetheart.” He told you, patting your ass once more when you opened the door. You giggling and rolling your eyes at him.

“Love you too, ray. See you.” You blew him a kiss over your shoulder as you left, him smirking to himself, running a hand through his now messy hair, and looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“Damn.” He mumbled, pulling his collar down to look at the marks your lipstick had left from when you kissed his neck, smiling and shaking his head to himself as he pulled it up higher.

With every sinful act you committed, you dug a hole deeper and deeper into hell. You couldn’t find yourself to care, because Rafe was there right next to you, shovel in hand.

[verstappenverse]

What We Never Said

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max has always been your constant, your best friend. But when jealousy over your recent date flares, it forces him to confront feelings he’s long ignored .Is there more between you two than just friendship?

1.9k words / Masterlist

Max has always been good at keeping his cool. On the track where everything is measured in tenths of a second and a moment’s hesitation can cost everything, keeping a level head was what set him apart from the others. But lately away from the track something had been gnawing at him, disrupting his usually unshakeable focus.

It wasn’t new this feeling it had been there for a long time, simmering quietly beneath the surface. Max knew that. He was painfully aware of it in every shared glance, every late-night conversation, and in the way your laugh could instantly pull him out of his darkest moods.

For years you’d both kept things easy, uncomplicated, two best friends never crossing the invisible line that tethered you close but never too close.

At least that’s how it was supposed to be.

It wasn’t until a few nights ago when he overheard a conversation at a party that Max realised how fragile that balance really was.

“I didn’t know you’d gone on a date,” your friend had said her voice light and teasing.

Max wasn’t eavesdropping intentionally he had been halfway through a conversation with another driver when the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He barely registered what was being said to him after that. His attention had been locked on you, watching the subtle shift in your posture as you replied.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was nothing. “We went for dinner and drinks, it was really nice... he was nice.”

Max’s hand had tightened around his drink. Nice. The word grated against Max’s nerves. The conversation around him faded into white noise as his mind fixated on what you hadn’t said, on what you’d kept from him.

A date? You’d gone on a date?

Since when did you go on dates without mentioning it to him? It felt like the ground beneath him had shifted, like something fundamental had changed, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

For the rest of the evening Max stayed quiet his usual easy-going demeanour replaced by something darker, something more brooding. You didn’t seem to notice or if you did, you didn’t bring it up.

Every time he looked at you all he could think about was someone else sitting across from you, someone else making you laugh, someone else getting to know the parts of you that Max had always believed were his to cherish.

He thought about it more than he should have over the following days. A slow burn of frustration and confusion twisting in his chest.

It wasn’t that he had a claim over you, but there had always been something unspoken between the two of you, and hearing about you with someone else, someone who wasn’t him, made it feel like everything was slipping through his fingers.

Max found himself at your door days later, heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of racing. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say only that the unresolved tension between you finally needed addressing.

The door opened and there you were, smiling like always, the kind that usually made his stomach flip, but today it only made him more tense.

“Hey you,” you greeted, stepping aside to let him in.

He walked in without hesitation, but his usual ease was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t been able to shake the image of you with someone else. He had tried to push it down, to convince himself that it was none of his business.

You were your own person, free to do whatever, or whomever, you wanted.

But the truth was it did bother him. A lot more than he cared to admit.

He dropped onto your couch more tense than he’d been in weeks. You sat down next to him, your brow furrowing as you picked up on his mood. Max was many things, but unreadable was not one of them. He wore his emotions on his sleeve and right now you could sense the storm brewing behind his usually calm exterior. His jaw was clenched, and you could see the tension radiating off of him in waves.

“What’s up with you?” you asked, tone light but probing. “You seem… off.”

He wanted to shrug it off, say it was nothing, but the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t pretend anymore, not with you.

Instead he turned toward you, his blue eyes sharp “Why didn’t you tell me you went on a date?”

Your expression shifted subtly, surprise, then confusion trying to place his tone, “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

A beat of silence passed, Max could hear the faint hum of the city outside your apartment window, but inside the air felt thick, weighted with something unsaid.

“I overheard you the other night,” he continued, his voice rougher than he intended.

You blinked, processing his words. “You overheard?”

Max nodded, watching you closely waiting for some kind of explanation that would ease the knot in his chest, but you just sat there, not defensive, not guilty, just calm.

You hadn’t kept it from him on purpose. In fact you didn’t even think it was that big of a deal. The date had been fine, nice, but nothing extraordinary, certainly not enough to warrant telling Max about it right away.

“It wasn’t anything serious,” you said after a long pause. “Just dinner. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

Max exhaled sharply running a hand through his hair. “And if it had been serious?”

Now you were even more confused. “Why does it matter?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Why did it matter? He wasn’t your boyfriend. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he was anymore, except confused. Maybe a little scared. The kind of fear that sinks deep, the kind that makes you realise you’ve been taking something for granted.

“Because it does,” he muttered quietly, his voice tight.

You leaned back slightly, studying him. There was something different about the way you looked at him now, more attuned to whatever was hanging between you. You’d always known that Max was protective of you, but this? This was something else entirely.

“You’ve never cared before,” you said, your voice quieter now, like you were piecing together a puzzle neither of you had fully acknowledged.

Max hesitated then sighed. “Maybe I should’ve.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and they hung in the air, heavier than anything he’d ever admitted to you before.

You didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, uncomfortable in a way that it never had been between the two of you. And then, after what felt like an eternity, you leaned forward resting your elbows on your knees hands clasped in front of you.

“Is that what this is all about? Me going on a date and not telling you?” You paused, your eyes searching his face,“Or is it something else?”

He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Because of course it was something else. It had always been something else. He just hadn’t let himself admit it not until now, not until the idea of you with someone else had thrown everything into sharp, painful focus, and maybe that wasn't fair but he didn't know how he could go back now.

Max stood, pacing the length of your living room his mind racing. “I don’t know,” he finally answered, though it was a lie. He did know. He just wasn’t sure how to say it, cross the line you’d both been skirting around, to take years of friendship and lay it bare without ruining everything.

“Max,” you said softly, your voice pulling him out of his thoughts. “Look at me.” You needed to hear him say it. You needed to know if what you felt for him was mutual or if you were reading too much into this.

He stopped pacing but didn’t turn around right away. His fists clenched at his sides, and for the first time in a long time, Max felt completely out of control. It wasn’t like driving where every move was calculated, where he could read the car, the track, the competition with precision. This was messier, rawer, and there was no strategy for it.

Finally, he turned to face you, his sharp blue eyes meeting yours. There was no running from it anymore, no pretending that what he felt for you was anything less than what it really was.

“I didn’t like it,” he said quietly, the admission catching in his throat. “Hearing you talk about him… I hated it.”

You didn’t look away but your eyes softened, your expression still guarded.

“Why?” you asked, though your tone told him you already knew the answer.

Max let out a shaky breath. “Because… I’ve always wanted it to be me.”

The confession hung in the air, and for the first time with you Max felt truly exposed, vulnerable. The invisible line between you two, the one he’d always danced around, was gone.

All the emotions you’d been burying for so long, all the feelings you’d tried to convince yourself weren’t there, came rushing to the surface.

You walked toward him slowly, and for a moment, Max wasn’t sure what you were going to say, but when you reached him you didn’t say anything. Instead you just looked at him, really looked at him, like you were seeing him in a way you hadn’t before.

“I’ve always wanted it to be you, too,” you whispered, the words so soft he almost missed them.

“I didn’t want to ruin things between us,” Max continued, “I didn’t want to lose you. But hearing about you with someone else… it made me realise that maybe I’ve already lost you and I didn’t even know it.”

You took a step closer to him your heart pounding in your chest. “You haven’t lost me."

His heart clenched, and before he could stop himself he reached out, gently cupping your face with his hand. Your skin was warm beneath his palm, and for the first time in days the tension in his chest eased slightly.

You didn’t pull away, you stepped closer, eyes never leaving his. It was as if all the years of unspoken tension between you had finally come to a head, and neither of you could ignore it anymore.

He leaned in, slowly, cautiously, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t. And when his lips finally met yours it was like everything he hadn’t been able to say, everything he’d been holding back for years, poured into that kiss.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It was slow, deliberate, a moment stretched out between two people who had spent too long pretending they didn’t want this. Max’s arms wrapped around you as the kiss deepened, but still, there was a softness to it a tenderness that spoke of the years of friendship, of trust.

When the kiss broke, you both stood there inches apart breathing in the moment. Max's hand lingered on your cheek his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“You know,” you whispered, smiling against his lips teasing, “this is probably something you should’ve told me a long time ago.”

Max let out a soft laugh, his forehead resting against yours. “Yeah, well” he said, his voice low and teasing back, “I guess this means I can stop pretending I’m okay with you dating other people now," you laughed, open and honest, as he smirked "but I wasn’t too worried, everything’s about timing isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, your lips brushing his. “I guess you got it right.”

"Finally," he whispered with a grin, before pulling you into another kiss.

[devswritingcornerorsmth]

Can I get like a familial or platonic headcanon with Dorian? Like yeah he’s fine but he’s also like my dad fr fr trust

you are so real for that anon congrats on such an amazing dad

i'll do both cuz its dorian and all love/like him

like always, these are my headcanons and personal thoughts! if you don't like them make your own! :D tumblr could always use more lol

Platonic Dorian/Reader Headcanons

familial at 'read more'! also more door puns sorry not sorry

= Becoming friends with Dorian was surprisingly easy, given his closed-off personality and behavior. He's a little open, making basic conversations and such, but you're the one who has to put in a little more work during the start of the friendship.

= It starts off with *very* simple hellos and hi's ending at one-word answers and responses, on his end anyway. Asking how his day was results in, again, one-word answers. But, in time, he slowly gives more information.

= Dorian is quick to realize you really do want to be friends with him and taking time out of your day, and a slot out of The Datviators proves to him that your feelings are genuine. He talks a little more when you greet him and eventually starts asking about your day or what you plan to do, depending on when you speak to him.

= After a few days, he asks you if you genuinely want to be friends with him and want to know about him. He smiles happily when you say yes and apologizes for being so closed off. Dorian admits that his past interactions with friends and lovers weren't the best, leaving him closed off and almost scared to talk about his real feelings, but you've proven to him that you can be trusted.

= You both talk about anything and everything when you can. He'll listen to your current hyperfixations or interests, asking questions about them or nodding along and listening. Dorian might not understand much if it's about an anime, TV show, movie, or something else in the latest times, but he'll try his best.

= Dorian is very smart and knows nine languages aside from English (according to his description on his page), so if you need help with history or a language class, he'll do his best. He won't give you the answers but gently lead you to them. Very patient and understanding if you get stressed or frustrated.

= He'll comfort you if he sees you feeling down, ask what's happened, and if he can help. He hates seeing his friends uncomfortable and sad. Dorian understands if you don't want to talk about it and just need someone to stay with to take your mind off things. If one of the objects in the house made you upset, he'll speak with them himself to try and work out what happened and get them to apologize for mentally hurting you. Physically is another story. If another human upset you, he may or may not let himself hit them on the way out if they ever come to visit.

= Overall, a great friend to have! Will comfort you in the worst times and celebrate with you in the best. Even when he's Realized, Dorian will try to take time to visit you now and then to make sure you're doing alright.

Familial Dorian Headcanons (Dad ver)

so i'm kinda making two here where you're an actual door like dorian and another where dorian is realized and has a kid with someone (me/j)

Door version!

= You are Dorian's only child, cut from the same piece of wood, leaving him a little (lot) protective. You are also a door, taking place in the kitchen, where a tiny Dorian should be, but he trusted you enough to get your own spot in the house after a while of preparing.

= Dorian is very hesitant once the human comes around, trying to romance everything, telling them to stay clear of you until he's figured out if the human is safe to trust or not. He tells you to stay silent and locked up, but it's your choice at the end of the day to talk with the new human.

= If you do talk with the new human, Dorian will be... disappointed but also a little proud for showing confidence and telling them they couldn't open you just yet. If you're nice, Dorian tells you to be safe and to not tell them too much about yourself.

= If you don't talk with the human, he's proud and tells you that you did a good job.

= Dorian doesn't want to smother you, but doesn't want you to make harmful mistakes like he did when he was younger. Yes, you can make mistakes, but ones that harm you would be too much for him to bear. He'd never forgive himself if you got hurt.

yea that kinda sucked sorry anyways onto the better stuff wahoo

Human version!

= Dorian never thought the day would come that he would have a child of his own, finding himself to tears as he holds you for the first time, promising himself to be the best dad and protector anyone could ask for.

= Once again, protective. Always checking in on you mentally and physically. Someone's bullying you at school? A stern talk to the parents and the principal is in order.

= He teaches you how to defend yourself both with words and fists. Dorian constantly tells you to try and use your words first and fists for last if things get ugly. If you use this to bully others or for evil, instantly grounded and disappointed; he taught you better than that.

= Onto a lighter note, he gives the best dad hugs. One arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other placed on the back of your head, holding you close to comfort if you're having a bad day.

= If you are upset, Dorian sits down with you, offering his shoulder to lean on and an ear to talk. He'll listen and try to help you through your problems, offering solutions and answers. He will stay silent and listen if that's all you need, though. Will take you out for ice cream or sit down and watch Tv/a movie/anime/whatever with you to help cheer you up.

= Dorian goes into full protective dad mode when you talk about a crush or date, asking for their phone number, address, what they look like, SSN, etc. They will have to meet him first before anything official happens. He trusts you to an extent and only wants the best for you. He immediately tells you no if it's one of the objects from the player's house.

= If you get upset over this, and if you're old enough, Dorian tells you his own experiences with love, telling you about Keith and Reggie and what they did. He tells you that he just wants you to be safe and not have your heart broken like he had at one point. It's up to you if you want to understand him or not.

= Dorian couldn't care less about the gender of your partner. He does give you *the talk* when you're old enough and explains to you the birds and the bees... and the bees and bees. And birds and birds.

= On that note, if you tell him you want to transition and go by a different name, he'll support you 100%. It might take him a minute for pronouns and the name change, but know he's trying.

= At the end of the day, he's a father who loves you very much and is happy to have you in his life.

---

i was gonna put here that i was writing this at a reasonable time but i looked down and saw it was 2am lol

hope this was alright, not very good at familial/platonic so I'm sorry if i fucked it up

thank you for reading! mwah!

[daycourtofficial]

Bad Idea

Summary: feeling a bit neglected by your mate, you decide to try to make him jealous by dancing with another male. Very little plot, mostly just smut ngl.

Warnings: Azriel is a mean dom, so uh literally.. spanking, cockwarming, degradation, light choking.

Author’s note: fuck it, I want jealous Az, and dammit I’ll have jealous Az. Also I’m headcannoning that Az wears boxer briefs idk why I feel like he’d like the sleekness of them.

-

You knew it was a stupid idea. Stupid, stupid idea. You couldn’t help yourself, though. Your mate had been gone all week on a mission, his return culminating in everyone at Rita’s - dancing, drinking, having a good time.

Your mate kept talking to his brothers, hardly passing you a second glance when a male approached you at the bar. You looked to see if he’d noticed, and growing tired of his lack of attention, you decided to indulge the man at the bar. Truth be told, the man wasn’t really interested in you. You two struck up a conversation about your shoes, leading you to discussing your own mates.

Wren, he told you, was here because he loved dancing, but his mate did not. You could understand the sentiment, the same opinions being held by you and your mate. So you asked Wren to dance and made your way to the dance floor.

You danced for what felt like hours with Wren, having an incredible time. Lost in the music, through the haze of alcohol, it was easy to push aside your feelings of neglect. Every so often you’d look towards your mate, only to find him looking elsewhere. You and Wren left the dancefloor for some water, him telling you he should be on his way home. You bid each other farewell, and you realize your mate is nowhere to be found.

You stumbled home, forgoing your heels a block from Rita’s. The house is dark, not a single light on inside. You roll your eyes walking up the steps to your door, assuming Azriel was still speaking with Rhys and Cassian somewhere.

You slipped through your house, tossing your shoes on the floor as you walk up the stairs to your bedroom. You pushed open your bedroom door, closing it softly behind you. You pad through the room, reaching to unzip your top when a heavy weight presses into your back, pushing your front into the wall.

You start to scream, but a scarred hand wraps around your mouth. The force has your hands above your head with one hand, your mouth covered with the other.

“That’s no way to greet me, my love.”

Your mate’s voice eases the primal fear deep within you, but the tone of his voice causes a new fear to ripple through you.

“In fact,” he says, his whisper sending chills down your spine, “nothing you did tonight was an appropriate way to greet your mate after a week away.”

You muffle some sounds, trying to explain to him that he wasn’t even looking at you for most of the night, but he keeps his hand steady on your mouth, curling some fingers around your jaw to keep it locked in place.

His wings wrap around both of you, coccooning you from the world, as if his next words were meant only for the two of you.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, “my mate, my wife, my soul.”

He releases your hands, but the loss of contact is quickly replaced by his shadows holding your hands together.

“I’ll spend however long it takes to remind you of that fact, until you’re so fucked out you’re just left a drooling, twitching mess.”

He releases you from the wall, your weight sagging from him holding you up, but before you can fall, he holds you around the hips, dragging you to the bed. His shadows were in a frenzy around you, and he pushes you down onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress.

“I’m not the only one possessive of you,” he says, as shadows start swirling around your legs, your arms, your waist, your neck. You tried to lift yourself up, but they held you down. Azriel turned, walking to the bar cart you two kept in your room, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as his shadows held you down.

“They were so upset with you,” he says, the whiskey coming close to his lips. “They wanted me to make a big show in Rita’s about who you belong to, but I told them to wait, and I’d let them have their fun.”

Two shadows traveled up your thighs, and your eyes widen, remembering what’s underneath your skirt.

“Don’t worry,” he drawls, sitting in his leather chair to have an unobstructed view of you. A shadow swirls behind your back, unzipping your top and pulling it off of you. They do the same with your skirt, but they leave your overly optimistic crotchless panties and matching bra on. “I’ll make my way to you, eventually.”

Your mate tsks as he looks at you, his shadows holding you down so you can’t move. They start touching your entrance, their cool, airy touch leaving you needing more.

He stands a few feet away from you, his drink in his hand as he watches his shadows hold you in place to keep you from squirming. Your back arches as they snuck under your bra, pinching your nipples. He chuckles into his drink as a few shadows start circling your clit, your moans a clear indication of how good they feel against you.

His shadows found their way in your shared bed, usually assisting Azriel in touching you or holding you down. On rare occasions such as this, Azriel lets them do as they please, allowing them to lay as much claim to you as he does.

It was euphoric the way they caressed against your exposed skin, never staying still. They whirled and swirled up your legs, your arms, through your hair, around your waist, your breasts. They were enjoying this time with you.

Azriel walks over to the bed, lust coating his eyes and his scent as he asks, “had enough yet?”

You open your mouth to speak, but some shadows circle your neck, applying a light pressure so you can’t speak. Your futile attempts to respond cause him to smirk and in a flash the shadows have stopped roaming your body. Your skin warms at the loss of their cool touch, and you start to move your arms when scarred hands replace the shadows, keeping a harsh grip on your wrists.

He leans down, practically laying on top of you as he leans in and tells you, “undress me.”

Your thoughts still, that need for his skin coming back to you. You sit up immediately, reaching to unbutton his shirt, but he stops you.

“Undress me without touching my skin.”

You whine at your mate knowing exactly why you did everything that led you here. You sit up, hands shaking as you unbutton his shirt. He even turns around so you can undo the buttons underneath his wings. You can’t stop yourself from staring at them, their veins just calling out to you to stroke them, that one spot that you know drives him wild calling to you like a siren.

He chuckles at how long you’ve spent observing him, your eyes taking in every inch of his back. The toned muscles, the tattoos on his upper back, the spot where his back meets the wings.

You find yourself starting to reach out, your fingers inches from his wing when he clears his throat.

“I’m still wearing pants,” he says, in an unimpressed tone. You gasp, the trance on his wings broken as he turns around, allowing you access to his front.

Your eyes roam his torso, the tattoos on the front completing the shapes from the back. You watch his chest rise and fall as he breathes, as your eyes get caught on that line of hair that delves into his pants.

You reach a hand out to undo the laces of his pants, your hands shaking a bit as you do so. From need for him and from fear of punishment if you break another rule, you’re not sure which is influencing the shaking of your hands more.

You take a deep breath as your hands find the top of his pants, taking extra care to avoid his skin. You start pulling his pants down, receiving no help from your mate until they are around his ankles and he steps out of them.

You look at him, standing there in his black boxer briefs, practically drooling thinking about what lays underneath them. You’re gazing at his thighs, looking at the toned muscles he trains every day. He flexes a little at your gaze and you gasp at the movement.

The urge to run your hands up and down his thighs is taking over your senses, until his hand grabs your jaw, moving your gaze to look at his clothed hardened length.

His silent command gets you moving again, and you grab the waistband of his undershorts, pulling them down, taking care as it moves over his length.

His hard cock springs up, hitting his abdomen as it’s freed. You moan at the sight of it, but continue your quest to pull them all the way down. He steps out of them again, and moves to the side of you to lay down on the bed.

He lays there for a beat, his Adonis-like stature warming you from the inside. He grabs your waist, moving each of your legs to straddle him, but keeping you about a foot away from him.

He lines up his hard cock to your entrance, leaving you to hover a few inches away from him. You moan, needing him to let you slide onto him, needing him inside you.

“P-please,” you moan, practically drooling at the sight of the pre-cum spreading down him. He purrs, “My greedy little mate needs my cock, does she?”

You nod your head, but he tuts at you. “Use your words.”

You look at him, his teasing smirk telling you just how much he’s enjoying this. “Can I p-please sit on your cock, feel you inside of me?”

His smirk deepens, and he tells you to go ahead. You start sliding him into you, moaning at the way he’s stretching you. He’s still keeping you in place with his hands, and he helps you guide down onto him.

Once you feel him completely fill you up, you start to move, only to be held back. His hands keep you still, not allowing you to budge. You whine, needing to ride him, needing to fill him pumping in and out of you. He sees how desperately you need him and smiles.

“But darling, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

It’s too much, you need to move. His hands were pressed so hard into your hips, keeping you both in place and keeping himself as deep into you as possible. You can feel them digging into your skin, leaving perfect finger shaped bruises to be found tomorrow.

You could have been sitting there for minutes or days and you’d have no clue. Time crept on, your mate keeping you in the same spot, despite your whining and pleading.

His shadows kept busy, keeping a hold on your hands behind your back, but also by circling your nipples, pinching you. They continued swirling up your thighs, enjoying overstimulating you.

The stimulation becomes too much, with tears eventually leaking down your face, which the shadows gently caress away. Azriel finally speaks, his long silence another form of punishment. His words are usually full of praise for you, except for when you misbehave.

“Now, why am I doing this to you?” He asks, looking into your face.

“Because I was a bad girl.”

He spanks you, hard, the action startling a whimper out of you. His hand rests back on your hips, keeping you in place. “Tell me every bad thing you did tonight.”

And so you did, each action earning a swift slap on your ass.

“I left you to go to the bar by myself.”

Spank.

“I talked to another male.”

Spank.

“I danced with another male.”

Spank.

In between each confession, he held tightly to your ass, rubbing the pain in. At this rate, you’ll hardly be able to sit tomorrow without feeling the sting of this punishment.

After finally reaching the point of the night where you had greeted him with a shriek, the tears were streaming down your face, your ass covered in his hand prints.

“Now, who do you belong to?”

“You.” You tell him, tears clouding your vision. “I won’t disobey you again.”

He chuckles lowly, “oh I know you won’t.” He lifts you off of himself, a whine coming from you as he pulls you off his cock. “Now you’ve made quite a mess on me,” you look down, his thighs and cock covered in a sheen of your juices. “Clean it up.”

Hands still behind your back, you lean forward, licking his thighs, tasting yourself mixed with his sweat.

“Can you taste the desperation?”

You whine, as he holds your head down to his thighs. After successfully cleaning both of his thighs, he guides your head right in front of his cock, the tip mere inches from your mouth.

You’re staring at it, needing it inside you, watching pre-cum leak out of the tip, when he laughs at you.

“Drooling over my cock already?”

You blush, not realizing you had actually drooled over the appendage in front of you.

“Do you want a taste?” He asks, and you nod vigorously. “Stick out your tongue,” he tells you, and you immediately obey. He allows you to roam his cock with your tongue, tasting both of your juices mixed together.

“Put me in your mouth.”

You open your mouth, allowing him entry, and he immediately begins pushing in and out of you. He grabs your hair, holding you in place. You look up at him and he makes direct eye contact with you as he pushes himself as far into your mouth as he can go. He tells you, “I’m going to cum in your mouth, but you’re not allowed to swallow it. Got it?”

He pulls a little harder on your hair to tell you he’s serious. His shadows hold you in place as he fucks your mouth, until you feel him pick up the pace.

After a minute of his intense thrusting, he’s cumming in your mouth, his hot seed shooting into your throat.

“Now open.” He tells you, and when you open your mouth, he smirks at the semen in your mouth. Before you realize it, he spits in your mouth and tells you to close it.

“Now,” he tells you, his face right in front of yours, “no swallowing. I want you to be full from my cum in your mouth and your cunt, in hopes you can get it through your dumb little head that you belong to me.”

He’s pushed you onto your back and has slid back into you. An attempt at a moan comes out but is blocked by the semen in your mouth.

He chuckles, “you don’t want to know what will happen if you swallow before I tell you to.”

He starts pumping into you, filling you with his cock. He’s thrusting in and out of you, and you’re not sure you can take anymore when he moves a hand down and begins fingering you.

You close your eyes and tilt your head back in pleasure, unable to moan because of the cum in your mouth. You’re getting close, all of his attention and teasing being too much. You feel it building for both you and your mate. You know he’s close, his speed increasing drastically.

“You’re going to swallow right as I cum in you. Can you do that? Can you be a good girl for one minute?”

You nod your head yes, but the ecstasy you feel is making thoughts incredibly difficult. He wraps a hand around your throat, his thumb stroking the front of your neck.

“Swallow. Now.”

It all happens so fast. You swallow the mixture of spit and cum, the salty tang sliding down your throat. Azriel finishes inside of you, his cum filling you up triggering you to finish.

You lay there, him on top of you. Both of you are panting, unable to form thoughts or words to describe what just happened. Azriel rolls off of you, moving to your side.

He strokes your cheek and asks, “You okay?”

Your hand slowly rises to his field of vision, and you give a thumbs up. He laughs, caressing your face before getting up and getting you a rag. He comes back, helping you clean up while you’re half asleep.

“You’re hot when you’re jealous,” you tell him, falling asleep as he discards the washcloth and crawls into bed with you, wrapping you into his arms.

[queenshelby]

Neighbour (Part Three)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Virgin!Reader

Warning: Smut, Dub-Con, Innocence Kink

Three days later , you stood at Cillian's doorstep once again, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat. You knocked softly, awaiting his response. The door swung open, revealing Cillian, his eyes dark with desire.

"You can head straight  upstairs, sweetheart," he said, his voice a low growl as he stepped aside to let you in and, even though you were nervous, you complied , your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way up the stairs, his hand resting on the small of your back, guiding you forward.

Once you reached his bedroom, you noticed that the room was dimly lit, with only a soft lamp casting long shadows on the walls. There was a large towel spread out on the bed, and a bottle of lube sitting on the nightstand.

"Is this  ... for me?" you asked, your voice shaking slightly as you gestured towards the lube.

Cillian nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. "Yes, sweetheart. Today, we're going to open you up a little down there," he said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine. "That way, when you have a boyfriend, it will be nice and easy for him to get inside you."

You blushed, your cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink as you nod, your heart pounding in your chest at the thought of what he was going to do.

"Will you be using your, uhm, you know what to open me up down there?" you stammered, your cheeks flushing even deeper.

You were a virgin, and the thought of him penetrating you with his cock was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Cillian chuckled softly. "My what sweetheart?" he prompted, his voice low and amused. "Use your words." 

You bit your lip, your cheeks flaming red as you whispered, "Your penis,"  like the word itself was a dirty secret.

Cillian laughed, a deep, throaty sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

"No little one. Tonight, I will only be using my fingers to open you up, but first I will give you a few little kisses down there, just to get you nice and relaxed," Cillian said as he walked towards you and reached out to gently cup your face. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, his eyes locked onto yours. "And then, maybe after we are done, I can put a little bit of cum on top of your hole, like a little present for you, okay?" he murmured, his voice low and husky.

You shivered at his words, your cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink. You couldn't believe how dirty his words were.

"Okay," you whispered, feeling a flutter of nerves in your stomach as you nodded.

"Good girl, " Cillian murmured, his voice low and approving. "Now I am just going to take your pants and panties off, alright?" he asked before he took your hand and led you to the bed, guiding you to sit on the edge. 

He then crouched down in front of you, his eyes locked onto yours, his fingers gently pulling your jeans and panties down your thighs and off your legs. 

No one had ever seen  you like this before, and you felt a mixture of embarrassment and excitement.

"Now, I need you to scoot back and lie on the towel. My wife just washed the sheets and I know it can get a  little messy down there," Cillian said, his voice soft yet commanding. You complied, feeling a wave of nervousness wash over you as you lay back, your heart pounding in your chest. 

You pressed  your thighs together, trying to hide your most intimate parts from his gaze. Cillian chuckled softly, his eyes dark with lust as he gently pushed your legs apart.

"Don't be shy, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "I need to see what I'm working with." He gently spread your legs wider, his eyes roaming over your most intimate parts. You could feel your cheeks heating up, your heart racing like a wild horse. The air in the room felt charged, electric, as if it was alive with anticipation.

Cillian leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin, making you squirm slightly. "You have such a beautiful little slit down there," he murmured, his voice a low growl. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against your outer lips, making you jump slightly. You bit your lip, trying to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape.

"Ssh, it's okay. I am just going to have a little look inside ," Cillian said softly, his fingers gently parting your lips as he leaned in closer. You could feel his warm breath against your skin, making you shiver slightly. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the intensity of the moment.

But Cillian wasn't having any of it. "Look at me, Y/N," he commanded gently. You hesitated for a moment before opening your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat. Cillian's eyes were dark, intense, and locked onto yours as if he was searching for something.

He parted your lower lips with his fingers, exposing the pink, delicate flesh beneath. "Oh god, your hole is so small" he murmured, his voice a low, appreciative rumble. "So tight and pretty", he murmured as he gently spread your lips apart with his fingers, exposing your barrier to his gaze.

You gasped, your hands fisting at your sides as you tried to process the intense sensation of his touch.

"I am going to put my tongue inside your hole a little now, sweetheart. But don't worry, it won't hurt.  I promise," Cillian said, his voice soft yet firm as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin. You could feel your body tensing, your heart pounding in your chest like a jackhammer. You wanted to trust him, but the unknown scared you.

Cillian brushed a soft kiss against your inner thigh, his lips warm and gentle. "Relax, sweetheart. Just breathe," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you looked down at him. His eyes were dark, intense, and locked onto yours as if he was searching for something.

"Now hold nice and still for me, sweetheart," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You hesitated for a moment, your body tensing up, but you forced yourself to relax, taking a deep breath as you let your legs fall open wider, giving him better access.

"Good girl," he praised, his voice low and husky. You could feel his breath hot against your skin as he leaned in, his tongue darting out to lick the inside of your hole.

You gasped, your hips jerking up slightly at the unexpected sensation. Cillian’s hands gripped your hips, holding you in place, his tongue pressing deeper, his nose nestled against your clit as he licked and probed.

It was the strangest thing you had ever felt—a sensation that was both intrusive and intimate, both uncomfortable and arousing. Your body tensed, not from pain but from the sheer foreignness of it.

“Relax, sweetheart. I am just having a little lick,” Cillian encouraged, his voice a soft growl against your skin.

You took another deep breath, trying to relax your muscles, and Cillian’s tongue slipped inside further. The sensation was overwhelming—a slick, wet, and warm invasion that made your toes curl and your hips buck slightly. He was exploring you, tasting you, and it was both humiliating and exhilarating.

His tongue was relentless, licking and probing, moving in and out of your hole like a tiny, slippery invader. You felt your body responding despite your initial discomfort, your hips moving in time with his tongue, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

"That's a good girl," Cillian murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "You're doing great.'

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt yourself relaxing further, your body opening up to him. You couldn't believe how filthy it felt, how much you were enjoying it.

"I am going to push one of my fingers inside your hole now, sweetheart. It might feel a bit strange, but try to relax and take it, okay?" Cillian murmured, his voice low and husky against your skin. You felt his breath hot on your thighs as he spoke.

You nodded, your body tensing slightly in anticipation. You had no idea what to expect.

Cillian reached up, his fingers slick with saliva, and began to press one against your tiny hole. "Breathe for me, sweetheart. Breathe through the discomfort," he instructed.

You nodded, taking a deep breath as Cillian began to push his finger inside you.

You felt a strange, tight sensation, a slight burning as he stretched you open. You let out a small gasp, your hips bucking slightly against his touch.

"Easy, sweetheart. Breathe through it," Cillian murmured, his voice soothing as he slowly pushed his finger deeper inside you. "Good girl." 

His finger was buried deep inside you now, and you could feel him moving it slowly in and out, stretching you, preparing you for something more.

You panted, your body tensing and relaxing in time with the movements of his finger. The sensation was intense, a burning, almost painful pleasure that made your heart race and your breath come in ragged gasps.

"Does it hurt?" Cillian asked, his voice concerned.

You bit your lip, considering the question. "It... it burns," you admitted as you tried to wiggle your hips away from the intrusion, the sensation too much to bear.

"Shh, sweetheart, it's okay. It always feels a little uncomfortable at first, but your body will get used to it. Just take some deep breaths and try to relax," Cillian said softly, his voice soothing as he continued to move his finger in and out of your tight hole. You took a deep breath, trying to follow his instructions, but the burn was intense and overwhelming. You could feel your body tensing up, your hips squirming, trying to get away.

"I know it's hard, sweetheart, but you're doing so good," Cillian commanded, his voice firm yet gentle. 

He continued to slowly move his finger in and out of your tight hole, stretching you, preparing you. "Try to relax your muscles, sweetheart. Breathe with me."

You took a deep breath, trying to ease the tension in your body. You could feel your muscles slowly relaxing, your body adjusting to the intrusion. Cillian watched you closely, his eyes dark with desire and concentration.

"That's it, just like that," he praised, his voice low and husky. He gently pushed his finger deeper inside you, and you gasped, your hips bucking slightly.

"Such a good girl," Cillian praised, his voice thick with arousal. "You’re taking it so well."

You let out a shaky breath, trying to relax as he continued to push his finger in and out of you, The burn was still intense, but you could feel your muscles slowly adjusting, the initial shock beginning to ebb. You closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing as Cillian slowly moved his finger in and out of you, his touch slick and smooth.

"I am going to add another finger now, sweetheart. Just breathe and relax," Cillian instructed, his voice steady and soothing. You braced yourself, taking a deep breath as he pushed a second finger inside you, the burn intensifying as he stretched you wider.

"You are so tight," Cillian groaned, his eyes dark with arousal as he watched you squirm and writhe beneath him. "And your little hole is gripping my fingers nice and hard."

You whimpered, your body tensing up at the intrusion, but Cillian was patient, his fingers moving slow and steady as he stretched you open.

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Take it like a good girl. You're doing so fucking well."

You closed your eyes, focusing on the sensation, trying to relax into it. The burning began to subside as your body adjusted, and you could feel the wetness between your legs increasing, your pussy throbbing with a strange, new arousal.

"I feel really funny ," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you panted, trying to adjust to the sensation of having two of Cillian's fingers buried deep inside you.

"Funny how?" Cillian asked, his fingers still moving slowly in and out of your tight hole, stretching you wider with each pass.

"Like...like I...I think I might like it," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked up at him, your cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink.

Cillian's eyes darkened with lust, and a wicked smile played on his lips. "You do like it, don't you?" he said, his voice low and husky. "You like feeling my fingers inside you, don't you, sweetheart?"

You hesitated for a moment, biting your lip as you considered his words.

"I...I think so," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. You felt a flush of shame wash over you, but there was no denying the truth. Your body was responding in ways you had never felt before, the sensation of his fingers inside you sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you.

"But my tummy feels weird ,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper as you looked up at him, confusion and arousal warring on your face.

Cillian chuckled softly, his fingers still moving slowly in and out of your tight hole. "That's because you're getting close, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and husky. "Your body is getting ready for your first orgasm." 

"It's... oh God, it's so strange," you gasped, your body writhing as Cillian continued to finger-fuck you. Your tummy felt like it was coiling tightly, your hips moving in time with his fingers as he slowly stretched you open.

"Just let go for me princess , let your body do what it wants to do," Cillian encouraged, his voice low and husky.

Your breath was coming in short gasps now, your body feeling like it was on fire, this intense pleasure making you feel alive and desperate all at once. Your eyes were squeezed shut as your body began to tense, as if the sensation was too much to handle.

"C-Cillian, I-I think I'm...I'm going t-to...oh god," you stammered, your breath hitching as you felt something building inside you, something intense and overwhelming until it hit you like  a freight train. Your back arched off the bed, your hips bucking wildly as an orgasm tore through you, shaking your entire body.

"Oh baby, look at you," Cillian groaned, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that spot that sent you spiralling. "You are so gorgeous when you cum."

You let out a scream, your hands grasping at the towel beneath you, your nails digging into the soft fabric as your orgasm consumed you. It was unlike anything you had ever felt before—a raw, primal pleasure that left you breathless and trembling.

Your body convulsed, your muscles clenching around Cillian's fingers as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you. You let out a long, shuddering breath, your body slowly relaxing as the intensity of your orgasm began to ebb.

"That was beautiful," Cillian murmured, his voice a low growl as he slowly withdrew his fingers from your body. You opened your eyes, your vision swimming as you looked up at him. He was smiling down at you, his eyes dark with desire and satisfaction.

"Now open your mouth, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and commanding. You obeyed, your lips parting slightly as your body still trembled from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Cillian put his fingers, glistening with your juices, into your mouth. "Good girl. Now lick my fingers clean, sweetheart. Taste how delicious you are," he commanded. You hesitated for a moment, looking up at him with wide eyes, before wrapping your lips around his fingers and sucking them clean.

The taste of yourself was strange—salty and musky yet oddly arousing. You could feel Cillian watching you intently, his eyes dark with desire and approval. "You're doing so well."

He withdrew his fingers from your mouth and stood, his cock hard and throbbing between his legs.

He unbuttoned his jeans, shoving them down along with his boxers, his cock springing free. "Now, I want you to hold your little hole open for me, sweetheart," Cillian instructed as he stepped out of his clothes.

You hesitated for a moment, your body still recovering from the intensity of your orgasm, but you complied, your fingers tentatively touching the sensitive flesh between your legs. You gasped as you slowly spread your lower lips apart, exposing your hole to his gaze.

Cillian watched you with appreciation, his cock throbbing with desire.

"I am just going to put the tip of my cock at your little hole now, sweetheart," he said, his voice a low growl as he stepped closer. You held yourself open, your heart pounding in your chest at the thought of what he was going to do.

"Just relax," Cillian murmured, his voice soothing. "You're doing so good." He rubbed the head of his cock against your tiny hole, the sensation sending a jolt of panic through you.

"Don’t worry, I won't put it in until next time ," Cillian reassured, his voice thick with desire. "Tonight, I am just going to put some of that special cream on your little hole and let you get used to the feeling of it. Okay?"

You nodded, your body still trembling slightly from your earlier orgasm. You could feel the cool air against your exposed flesh, the slickness of your own juices coating your lower lips.

Cillian reached for the lube on the nightstand, his cock throbbing with desire as he squirted a generous amount onto his fingers. He then started to masturbate himself slowly, the slick sound of his hand moving up and down his shaft making you squirm with anticipation.

"Spread those legs wider for me, sweetheart," Cillian commanded, his voice thick with lust. You hesitated for a moment, your body still feeling sensitive and raw from your earlier orgasm, but you complied, spreading your legs as wide as you could, your fingers digging into the towel beneath you.

Cillian groaned, his eyes roaming over your most intimate parts, his cock twitching with anticipation. "Fuck, you look so goddamn gorgeous like that," he said, his voice a low growl.

"Your little virgin hole all spread open and glistening for me. I could enjoy this view all fucking day," he said, stroking himself faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

You clenched your muscles, your stomach fluttering with a mix of fear and excitement as he knelt between your legs, his cock within reaching distance of your hole. 

"There it comes ," he growled, his voice thick with desire. He pressed his tip against your hole without penetrating you as he came, his hot, sticky cum spurting out and coating your tiny hole, dripping down the crack of your ass.

He continued to stroke his cock, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he watched his cum drip onto your most intimate place. 

You felt a flush of shame and excitement at the same time, your body still trembling from your earlier orgasm. You looked down, watching as his cum dripped onto your skin, pooling there, on your red and sore opening.

You could feel the warmth of it, the slippery, sticky texture as it coated your most intimate area.

"You look so pretty like this," Cillian groaned, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He rubbed the tip of his cock against you, spreading some of his cum around. You gasped, the sensation sending shivers down your spine.

"Now, take your fingers and spread it around your little hole, sweetheart," Cillian instructed, his voice low and husky. You hesitantly reached down, your fingers tentatively touching the sensitive flesh between your legs.

You winced slightly at the contact, your body still feeling raw and tender from your earlier experience. But as you spread Cillian's cum around your sore little hole, you could feel a strange, prickling sensation that was both uncomfortable and arousing. 

" What are you feeling, sweetheart?" Cillian asked, his voice low and husky as he watched you explore yourself.

You hesitated for a moment, trying to put your feelings into words. "It...it feels strange. It burns a little, but it also feels...good," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Cillian chuckled softly, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "That's because it is good, sweetheart. Your body is learning to like it, to crave it and, on Saturday, I will put my penis in there and it will feel even better,"  Cillian said, his voice thick with desire as he watched you explore yourself, his cock still semi-hard and glistening with a mix of lube and cum.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide with a mixture of shock and arousal. "You will... you will put your... your penis in me? Like, for real?" you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Cillian nodded, his eyes dark with lust and approval.

"Yes, sweetheart," he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine before he retreated to the bathroom  , emerging momentarily with a warm, damp cloth. He gently cleaned your swollen, sensitive flesh, his touch gentle yet firm, his fingers lingering on your most intimate parts.

"Such a gorgeous, little pussy," Cillian murmured, his voice thick with desire as he wiped away the last remnants of his cum. "But my wife will be home in twenty minutes, so you need to get dressed and go home."

You nodded, your body still trembling slightly as you quickly gathered your clothes and dressed. You felt a sense of shame and excitement wash over you as you thought about what had just happened.

"I'll see you on Saturday, sweetheart," Cillian said, his voice firm and authoritative as he buckled his belt. "And remember, don't touch yourself until then."

Tags:

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[melodic-haze]

HIIIII, I NEED MORE SUB ARLECCHINO CONTENT PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU 😭😭

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Arlecchino x dom!Reader pt. 3

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Dacryphilia, squirting, other than that it's soft sex 🤷‍♀️

☆ — NOTES: THANK YOUBFOR GIVING ME ANOTHER REASON TO WRITE HER LOLLLLL

☆ — PARTS: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (you are here)

Saur I've raved on about ROUGH sex Arlecchino but yk what's special? Soft sex with Arlecchino

This woman's been through HELL in her life. Even if she was already "cold and unfeeling", she describes herself, there's only so much a person like that can take before she reaches a breaking point. Really, she definitely already has, the poor girl

She's shut herself off from anyone that isn't in her inner circle, and even THEN they still find it hard to get her to open up

But like. They're not you so 😜

I feel like as much as she is all for it rough, she's actually much more hesitant to recieve a gentler touch. Kindness and love in any form is smth she isn't used to—aside from her children, the one figure that supplied her with that is dead with her past. Being with you was already enough of a stretch, now you want to show her how much you care for her? It's.. scary, like a sudden blackout as a child

Reassure her that it'll all be okay, please. Tell her that you'll take care of her properly and that she can let go of the walls she's built around herself this whole time to defend herself. Give her an easy out if she genuinely isn't ready for such a different form of an emotionally-charge exchange. When she's ready, she'll give you a wordless nod before tugging at your clothes

You take it slow with her by hugging her at first, letting her settle down like you're lulling a scared, hurt predator back into safety. Your hands slowly and carefully wander around her body as your lips press soft kisses on pale skin, with the exposed areas increasing as you take your time in taking her clothes off

She reciprocates in action, though her hands often still on your skin, lightly squeezing you as if there's a chance that you might fade away and this has been nothing but a delusion of hers. Take one of her hands in yours and press a kiss on her palm as you reassure her that you are right here and you aren't leaving her and that you are going to show her how much you love her to the point where she doesn't even know what to do w herself :(

As you take your time undressing each other, you lead her to the bed and sit her down on the edge by kissing her and pushing her down, and you feel her hum as she tries to settle her breathing. She lets you take the lead, not just because she gives you all the power over her behind closed doors but because she's in unfamiliar territory—hell, even when I said she needs it HARD to actually feel it, just the soft, caring gestures you're making is enough to make her shiver in need for you

Neither of you knew just how much of an effect it would have on her, but it's VERY clear when it's as it somehow her sensitivity had gone up quite a few levels from the way she's practically whimpering at you whenever you praise her for being so good for you.....that you're going to take such good care of her.......that you won't ever leave her alone..........

You kiss every inch of her body, leaving marks here and there against gorgeous pale skin. You mark her up from top to bottom, switching back and forth between branding her as safely yours and kissing her dumb and drinking her in. You practically sing praises and words of reassurance to this broken example of a person, telling her that you're going to give her so much pleasure and so much care that she wouldn't know what to do with herself.

By the time you finally press your fingers and rub on where the Harbinger needed you most? She's so utterly wet despite the lack of impact and roughness to your minstrations. And when you finally sink your fingers in within her, as if locking the both of you together, you hear a sob that leads you to look up in worry, thinking you've done something wrong.

..But if you did, then she could easily push you away, right?

When you finally see her face, her glossy eyes, her tears that slowly run down from her perfect face, you find your answer with that beautiful feeling of arousal rising within you at the sight.

She isn't mad at you, you hadn't done anything wrong. If anything, she's begging you to move within her.

"Please," she says as her blackened hands reach down to grab yours in an effort to insert you even deeper, her hips grinding on your palm, "I need you, I..."

She needs you.

Needing someone isn't an easy thing for the 'cold and unfeeling Father' to admit, and yet here she was.

And who were you, to refuse your lover's needs?

It's a tender exchange, one that's entirely new to your relationship. At first glance at her in a normal setting, perhaps even at a time before you two were together, and you wouldn't even think that she'd be crying underneath you at how good you make her feel, sobbing out heavy proclamations of love and clinging to you as you take your time in bringing her to her pleasure

Usually the pain you would inflict on her would've dulled out any other external pain she would've been experiencing—emotional pain, pain from the curse she bears—and yet for some reason it's as if you were guarding her from all of it, nullifying the effects they have on her and protecting her in your hold despite the obvious power gap between you

It takes her a while to cum. Not because it's hard for her to do so (it may actually be the easiest it's ever felt), but because not only does she want to savour this feeling of being taken care of for once, she's also waiting for your command. And when you do, it's as if a dam broke within her

She cums so fucking hard you wouldn't even have thought that you were going at it softly, though really maybe this was what she needed the entire time. And it probably didn't help that you dragged this on for such a long time too. All that pent-up release finally gets let out and she practically screams at the overwhelming feeling, with you helping her ride her high

Her legs shake, her thighs are involuntarily bucking up and she glitches violently for a brief moment that you can't help but feel slightly worried (you laugh about it later, much to her expense) but then you feel something warm squirt out of her. You look down and see it as she goes to claw the sheets—you couldn't help but smile.......and maybe indulge yourself a little

Your hand speeds up its minstrations, even as she comes down, and she look at you with slightly wide eyes as she basically starts up all over again. You just want one more from her, surely your pretty baby can do that, right? All for you?

Doesn't take long for her to squirt again, the corners of your eyes creasing with undisguised wonder and unfiltered love for her as she cums herself silly until no energy is left in her body. Hell, with the show she practically put out, it's not a surprise when you realise that you came with her

As you two settle down and you both lie on the bed, all wet and sweaty (though you can't bring yourself to care right now, why you have Arlecchino breathing heavily beside you), she wants so badly to return the favour. But you tell her that her enjoying the moment was all you needed. You both just lay there wordlessly after, perhaps even tangling your limbs together and kissing each other tenderly and showing how much you love each other

Arlecchino is a powerful woman in the end, much more powerful than you despite the reversed dynamic you have with each other, so it doesn't take long before she regains her stamina. She tells you to stay there (though you don't really have the energy to get up anyway) before she goes off to run the bath and bring back a glass of water for you. She treats you less like a cold and unfeeling woman and more of a warm and caring lover, utterly devoted to you, as she brings you to the tub and places you in front of her to clean you up and service you in any way, shape or form you want

It's really funny when it's you who fucked her silly and yet YOU'RE the one getting pampered, but she wouldn't have it any other way

And when you finally get out and get ready to sleep? When she hugs you, clings to you in your rest, you know full well that she has never been more devoted, more reassured, more loved than when she's with you

She's not alone and unloved anymore. You've made sure of that.

[ineedpaigebuckets]

falling in love (the right way)

pt. 2

an: this one's even longer have fun!!

the breaking

you keep checking the clock, hoping the numbers will make her appear.

6:42.

7:03.

7:41.

you make popcorn you don’t eat. put on the show she likes and let it play in the background. every car that passes makes your breath catch in your throat.

at 8:16, you finally turn the TV off.

you’re still wearing her hoodie—faded blue, sleeves too long. it still smells like her. like clean laundry and gym floors and the soft edge of something you can’t name. your fingers curl around the cuff and pull it up to your mouth. you breathe her in. it makes your chest ache.

you don’t text. you don’t ask where she is. you don’t want to be that person—again. the one who begs for scraps of attention. the one who waits around, just to be let down.

so you wait quietly. swallow it. try to stay soft.

and then your phone lights up.

paige 🧊

sorry. got caught up. talk tomorrow?

you stare at the screen for a full minute. reread it five times. each word feels thinner than the last.

no apology. no explanation. no “i miss you.” just a casual dismissal.

like you’re not sitting here wrapped in the weight of her. like she didn’t promise to try harder.

you don’t reply.

you just let the phone slide face-down onto the coffee table and curl into yourself.

you pull her hoodie tighter around you, the sleeves bunched in your fists. your eyes sting. your whole body feels heavy. like disappointment has mass. like you’re sinking in it.

you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying.

it doesn’t work.

the tears come slow at first. then all at once.

you press your face to the fabric, hoping it’ll hold you like she didn’t.

and as you fall asleep on the couch, wrapped in the ghost of her, you whisper the same thing you swore the last time this happened:

never again.

but it still feels like a lie.

⸻

the return

three days pass.

then—knocking. again.

you open the door.

she’s standing there in a gray sweatshirt and red-rimmed eyes.

“can i come in?” she asks, voice small.

you step aside.

she sits on the floor like she doesn’t deserve furniture. you stay standing.

“i fucked up,” she says.

you don’t deny it.

“i told myself i couldn’t have both,” she whispers. “basketball and you. i thought… if i pulled away, i could focus. i could stay safe. but it didn’t work. i just missed you. every second.”

you sit beside her, slowly. your knees touch.

“i didn’t need you to choose,” you say. “i just needed you to show up.”

she leans into you, forehead to your shoulder. her hands find yours and hold tight. your fingers lace automatically.

“i got scared,” she breathes. “because when i’m with you, everything else fades out. and i thought that meant i was doing something wrong.”

“no,” you say, pressing your lips to her hair. “it means you were finally doing something right.”

her breath shakes. her hands trail up your arms, your shoulders, until she’s pulling you into her lap, face buried in your neck. you straddle her thighs and just hold her.

she kisses you—slow, searching. her fingers at the hem of your shirt, your hips, your jaw. like she’s learning you all over again.

“i want this,” she says. “you. not halfway. not only when it’s easy.”

you cup her face, force her to look at you.

“then stop disappearing.”

her eyes shine. “i won’t. not again.”

you nod, once. then press your forehead to hers.

“next time someone says i’m a distraction,” you whisper, “tell them i’m the reason you’re still breathing.”

she smiles, broken and beautiful.

“you are.”

that night, she sleeps curled into you, arms locked around your waist like you’re a promise she doesn’t want to lose again.

and this time—when she wakes up in the morning,

she doesn’t let go.

⸻

the note

the note comes at 6:04 in the morning.

slipped under your door, written on the back of an old box score, smudged with what might be coffee. her name scrawled on the bottom with a little heart drawn like she hesitated, then committed.

i know i’ve hurt you.

but if you let me, i want to show you something.

tonight. 7:30. wear something warm.

please don’t give up on me.

—p

you read it four times. then a fifth.

you press it to your chest.

you almost cry again.

but you don’t.

⋯

at 7:28, there’s a knock at your door. soft. rhythmic.

when you open it, paige is there in a puffer jacket and joggers, cheeks pink from the cold, holding a bouquet of wildflowers—half-wilted, obviously from the grocery store, and still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“hi,” she says with a crooked smile. “uhm—these are for you.”

you giggle, but she looks nervous. really nervous. like she might throw up.

you take the flowers anyway.

“come on,” she says. “we’re walking.”

⋯

she takes you to this rooftop. you’ve never even seen the ladder she pulls the tarp off of behind the gym. she climbs first, then reaches for your hand when you hesitate.

“it’s safe. i checked like three times.”

you almost laugh. you don’t.

when you reach the top, you gasp.

it’s lit with candles. real ones. glass jars lined up along the edges, flickering softly in the wind. she’s laid down a whole blanket spread—pillows, snacks, two cups of tea still steaming, and in the center, a tiny projector facing the brick wall opposite.

your favorite movie is queued up.

the one you told her about months ago, just once, in passing.

you didn’t think she remembered.

you press your hand to your mouth.

she scratches the back of her neck. “i didn’t really know what to do. i just… wanted to make something feel easy for you. for once.”

you step toward her slowly. your breath clouds in the cold. you’re not even shivering anymore.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i did,” she interrupts. “you kept showing up for me. even when i disappeared. even when i shut down. and you didn’t ask for some big gesture—you never do—but i needed to do this. i needed you to see that i want you. all in. no more halfway.”

you blink. she looks like she might bolt again. like she’s barely holding it together.

“i told you i’d stay,” she says, voice shaking. “but words are cheap. so… this is me proving it. i’m staying. and i’ll keep staying.”

she steps closer. your noses nearly touch.

“but i know i hurt you. and if you’re still not sure, that’s okay. i’ll keep showing you. every day, if i have to.”

you finally breathe.

“paige…”

your voice wavers, and she reaches for your hand.

her fingers are freezing. you hold them tighter anyway.

“i was never scared of you,” you whisper. “i was scared of how much i wanted you. how much i needed someone to choose me and not let go.”

she closes her eyes like it physically hurts to hear. like she’s been carrying that guilt since the moment she first pulled away.

“i’m choosing you now,” she says. “and i’m not letting go.”

you pull her into you, arms wrapping tight around her waist, forehead pressed to hers. she breathes against your lips. it’s not quite a kiss, not yet. but it feels just as intimate. more, even.

her hands are everywhere—sliding up your spine, curling around your neck, pressing into your ribs like she’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“you really remembered the movie?” you murmur.

she chuckles against your cheek. “you said it was the only one that made you feel like love didn’t have to hurt.”

your throat closes up.

“i want to be that,” she says. “the part that doesn’t hurt.”

and this time, when you kiss her, it’s not desperate or shaky or unsure.

it’s soft.

certain.

forehead-to-forehead, nose-to-nose, full-body-pressed-into-her kind of certain.

she sinks into you like she’s home.

you don’t cry. not this time.

you just hold her. and let her hold you back.

really hold you. finally.

the movie starts, but neither of you are really watching.

you’re too busy breathing her in.

and for the first time in a long time—

you don’t feel like you’re waiting to be left.

you just feel wanted.

loved.

safe.

⸻

the real kinda love

the next week is quiet in the best way.

not in that “i’m waiting for the other shoe to drop” way.

in the “she keeps showing up” way.

in the “her hand is already reaching for yours before you ask” kind of way.

she brings your coffee and breakfast every morning. not just when she has time—every morning.

some days she’s bleary-eyed and half-asleep, hair in a messy bun, shirt backwards.

once she forgets the lid and spills a little on her sleeve.

you kiss the corner of her mouth anyway and say, “perfect.”

she beams like it’s the best thing she’s heard all week.

⋯

she starts leaving notes too.

in your jacket pocket. under your pillow. tucked between the pages of your notebook.

little things:

“you’re my favorite place to land.”

“thinking about you helped me through practice today.”

“still can’t believe you’re real.”

one night, she shows up with a bag of gummy worms and a pair of fuzzy socks in your favorite color.

just because you’d had a bad day.

just because she’d noticed.

you curl into her chest and say, “you didn’t have to.”

and she just shrugs, kisses the top of your head.

“i wanted to.”

⋯

on a saturday, she drags you out of bed at 5:42am.

you groan into her shoulder. “if this is another rooftop thing, i swear—”

“it’s better,” she whispers, grinning.

she drives you to the lake just outside the city. the air is sharp, the water still dark, barely touched by morning light. she wraps you in an oversized hoodie and holds you on the hood of her car while the sun rises.

her voice is low against your ear. “you make everything feel softer.”

you squeeze her hand. “you make me feel like i’m not hard to love.”

her throat bobs, and she kisses your temple.

⋯

eventually, it gets to be so much—the notes, the gifts, the constant sweetness—it almost overwhelms you.

so one night, you sit her down. you’re both barefoot on your floor, knees touching, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your thigh.

“paige,” you say, voice barely louder than the music playing low behind you. “you don’t have to keep proving yourself to me.”

her hand pauses.

you take her other one, intertwine your fingers. “i know you’re here. i believe you. you’ve already done more than enough.”

she blinks. her mouth opens, then closes again.

you wait.

then—softly—she says, “i know.”

you tilt your head. “then why do you keep doing it?”

and she smiles. slow. quiet. like it’s a secret she’s been holding just for this moment.

“because it’s you.”

she leans in, presses your foreheads together.

“because every time i make you smile, every time i see you let go of the weight you carry, even for a second—it feels like breathing again.”

your breath catches.

“i’m not proving anything,” she murmurs. “i’m loving you the only way i know how. and i love loving you like this.”

your throat tightens. your eyes sting.

“so let me,” she whispers. “let me do the big things. the small things. the stupid things. let me give you everything i didn’t know how to before.”

you don’t say anything.

you just kiss her. deep and warm and grateful.

and when she pulls you into her lap and holds you like you’re everything she’s ever wanted—

you believe it.

with your whole heart.

finally.

⸻

the best day

it starts with her hand on your waist.

soft. instinctive. like it belongs there.

you’re not even awake yet, not really—but the weight of her against your back, her breath warm behind your ear, the way her fingertips trace lazy shapes into your skin… it brings you to the surface slow and sweet.

“morning,” she mumbles, voice wrecked from sleep.

her lips find your shoulder. then the curve of your neck.

“you smell good,” she adds, still half-asleep.

you laugh, groggy. “i haven’t even showered.”

“don’t care,” she says, pulling you tighter. “you always smell like you.”

you stay like that for a while. tangled limbs, sun warming the sheets, her hoodie pushed up around your ribs where she’d slipped her hand underneath during the night. she keeps her face tucked against your back, pressing kisses there like they’re punctuation.

the sheets are still warm when you swing your legs out of bed, hair tangled, eyes barely open. you don’t want to move—not when she’s still buried in the covers, arm slung across your pillow like she doesn’t know you’re not there anymore.

but reality calls. class in less than an hour, and the light outside is already too bright.

you shuffle into the bathroom, pulling your hoodie over your head. the toothpaste cap clicks open. you’re halfway through brushing your teeth when you hear the soft creak of the bed and then—

“mmph,” she mumbles from the hallway, voice still gravelled and low. “you left me.”

you glance in the mirror.

she’s there, leaning against the doorframe in just her black boxers and that old, oversized tee she stole from your drawer last week. it's not even yours it's your dads. it hangs loose on her body, collar stretched wide enough to show one shoulder, sleeves swallowing her hands. her hair’s a mess. her eyes are barely open.

she looks like sin and softness all at once.

you try to answer, mouth full of foam. she just walks in, wraps her arms around your waist from behind, rests her cheek between your shoulder blades.

“you smell like toothpaste,” she murmurs.

you rinse, spit, pat your mouth with the towel. “that’s because i’m brushing my teeth,” you say, laughing.

she groans. “mean.”

but she doesn’t let go. instead, her hands slide under your hoodie, fingers cool on your stomach. you squirm a little.

“stop it,” you giggle. “i’m trying to be productive.”

“boring,” she mumbles, but she steps back. just enough to follow you into the kitchen.

you’re grabbing bread and eggs when you feel her again—chin on your shoulder this time, arms snaking around you from behind.

“can i help?” she says, yawning into your neck.

“you’re literally not even standing straight.”

“i’m emotionally supporting you,” she says. then kisses your shoulder. then again. and again.

you’re trying to crack an egg into the pan but her lips are doing that thing again—soft, slow, teasing.

“paige,” you warn, trying not to laugh.

“hmm?”

“you’re distracting.”

“that’s the point.”

you finally put the spatula down and twist in her arms, cupping her face. she looks up at you like you’re the morning sun.

“i have ten minutes,” you say.

“we can do a lot in ten minutes,” she smirks.

you kiss her. just once at first—just because she’s there, wrapped around you like gravity, eyes still heavy with sleep, hair a mess, shirt falling off one shoulder like it was made to.

your lips brush hers, light and warm and grateful.

but she leans in, chasing the next kiss with a quiet little noise in the back of her throat—something soft and sleepy and entirely hers. so you kiss her again, slower this time. fuller. her lips part under yours like she’s inviting you in. like she’s been waiting for this all morning.

her hands slide up your sides, fingers cold against the bare skin just under your hoodie. you shiver, and she smiles into the kiss, thumbs stroking slow circles into your ribs like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

you tangle your fingers in the hem of her t-shirt—the one that used to be yours, now stretched and worn from how often she sleeps in it—and you kiss her harder. not messy, not rushed. just deep and warm and real. her body molds into yours like it was always meant to, and she exhales against your cheek, her breath warm and sweet.

your nose bumps hers. you both giggle.

“you taste like mint,” she mumbles, lips brushing yours, smile half-there.

“you taste like sleep,” you say, kissing her again just to prove it.

she hums. her hand slides around to your back, pulling you closer, until there’s not even air between you. she’s all soft cotton and bare thighs, skin against skin where your pajama shorts have ridden up. one of her legs slips between yours and you lean into it, dizzy in the best way.

“i’m gonna be late,” you whisper, breathless, forehead pressed to hers.

“worth it,” she whispers back. then she grins—eyes scrunched, dimple showing—and nips gently at your jaw.

you squeak. actually squeak.

“paige,” you gasp, laughing now, but your fingers are already digging into her shirt, trying to hold her closer. “you’re impossible.”

“mm,” she says, mouth trailing along your cheek, your ear, your neck. “you like me that way.”

and she’s not wrong.

behind you, the toaster dings—and then starts smoking.

you both glance at it. you both ignore it.

her arms wrap tighter around your waist. your fingers find the back of her neck. her hair is soft between your hands. her breath is warm on your collarbone.

the world smells like burnt bread.

but all you can feel is her.

you try to pull away, eventually. not because you want to—god, you don’t—but because the clock is cruel and your professor doesn’t care that your girlfriend kisses like a dream and holds you like a secret she never wants to let go.

“okay,” you whisper, forehead still pressed to hers, lips swollen and smiling. “i really have to go.”

paige makes a noise that can only be described as a whine. her arms lock tighter around your waist like she’s physically preventing you from moving. “nooooo.”

you laugh, tipping your head back, and she chases the sound with her mouth, pressing a quick kiss to the underside of your chin. then your throat. then your collarbone.

“paige,” you say, half-scolding, fully melting. “you’re not helping.”

“wasn’t trying to,” she mumbles, voice low and sleepy, the way it always is in the morning. “stay. skip. fake a cold.”

you run your fingers through her hair, brushing it off her forehead. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you love it.”

you sigh. “unfortunately.”

she pulls back just enough to look at you—eyes soft, lashes still heavy with sleep, cheeks pink from all the kissing and her lips are parted like she’s still tasting you.

“you look stupid pretty,” she says, and it’s so sincere it stops you in your tracks.

“you look like you barely survived the night.”

“i didn’t. i almost died of heartbreak when you got out of bed.”

you kiss her again. quick. sharp. just to shut her up.

she groans when you step back, arms still reaching. “i don’t like this.”

“it’s two hours.”

“that’s so many minutes.”

you slip out of her arms, take off her hoodie, pull a bra and tank top over your head, still in your pajama shorts, not bothering to change those.

you grin as you grab your bag, slipping your shoes on with her hovering at your side like a lost puppy. her fingers brush your hip. your lower back. the side of your wrist.

when you reach the door, she traps you there with a hand on the handle and her whole body pressing close.

“last kiss,” she whispers.

you give her three.

“okay. okay. go,” she mumbles finally, stepping back like it physically hurts.

you open the door. she groans dramatically and flops facedown onto the couch the second you’re through it.

“text me when you get there,” she calls, muffled by a pillow.

you glance back.

she’s curled into a ball, your shirt now over her face like she can’t bear to see you go.

you roll your eyes. “i love you, you big baby.”

she lifts the hoodie just enough to peek out and grin.

“nah i love you more.”

⋯

later, she meets you after your class, arms full—coffee, snacks, a hoodie you forgot you even owned.

“you looked cold this morning,” she says, offering it like it’s something holy.

you take it. she helps you put it on, fingers brushing against your wrists with ridiculous care. then she tugs the sleeves over your hands and leans in close.

“cutest thing i’ve ever seen,” she murmurs, lips brushing your temple.

you walk back to her dorm hand-in-hand. she swings your arm a little, like she’s still giddy just to be beside you. every few seconds, she looks over—like she can’t help it, like she still can’t believe you’re real.

“what?” you ask, smiling.

she shrugs. “just… i love you a lot.”

and god, the way she says it.

“i love you more.”

like it’s the easiest truth in the world. like it’s always been on her tongue, just waiting for the right moment to spill out.

you pause on the sidewalk, wind tugging at your jacket, the cold biting at your cheeks—but none of that matters. because she’s looking at you like that, all open and certain, and you don’t even think before leaning in.

you kiss her.

right there. right on the street.

slow and soft and full of everything you’re too shy to say out loud.

she makes a surprised little sound, hands curling around the fabric of your hoodie, and then melts into it with this quiet sigh like she’s been waiting for it all day.

you pull back just enough to smile against her mouth.

“sorry,” you murmur.

she grins. “don’t be.”

—

you end up back at her dorm just before the sun starts to dip. the sky’s pink-gold outside her window, and she shrugs off her jacket and tosses her keys onto the desk with a soft yawn.

you both kick off your shoes, fall into the familiar rhythm.

she grabs two water bottles from the fridge, tosses you one.

you collapse onto her bed, limbs loose, still warm from the walk.

she flops down beside you, stretching out on her back with a dramatic groan.

“i’m so tired,” she mumbles, eyes fluttering shut. “like, body-aches kind of tired.”

you roll to your side and rest your head on her stomach.

“we could study,” you offer half-heartedly.

she snorts. “we could nap.”

you tap your fingers against her side. “we do have a midterm this week.”

“you say that like i care.”

but even as she complains, she’s already shifting—dragging a blanket up over both of you, tangling your legs together like it’s instinct. her hand finds your hair. your arm loops around her waist.

“twenty minutes,” you say, eyes slipping closed.

“mm,” she hums. “wake me gently. i bruise easy.”

you chuckle into her hoodie.

and then neither of you says anything for a long time.

—

when you wake up, it’s because she’s tracing letters into your arm.

you blink, groggy, and glance up at her. she’s propped up on her elbow, watching you like you’re something worth staring at.

“you drooled a little,” she says softly, grinning.

“you always say that.”

“because it’s always true.”

you swat at her, but she catches your hand and kisses your knuckles.

“okay,” you sigh. “study time for real.”

she groans, dragging her body out of bed like it physically hurts her. “fine. but you have to sit next to me the whole time.”

“wasn’t planning on leaving.”

—

she pulls her notes out of her backpack. spreads flashcards across the blanket. chews on the end of her highlighter while she rereads the same paragraph three times.

you end up sitting thigh-to-thigh, your shoulder resting against hers, knees brushing every few minutes. her fingers occasionally drift to your knee like she’s making sure you’re still there.

“you’re doing that thing again,” you murmur, not looking up from your flashcards.

she blinks at you from across the bed, textbook open in her lap.

“what thing?”

“that thing where you pretend to study but really you’re staring at me.”

“can you blame me?”

you don’t answer—just roll your eyes and duck your head, cheeks warm, lips twitching. you feel her eyes still lingering. always lingering.

“read your notes,” you say softly.

she sighs, loud and exaggerated, and lets herself fall sideways onto the bed with a dramatic groan.

“five more minutes,” she mumbles, nestling her face into the crook of your neck like that’s where she belongs.

you smile into her hair and rest your cheek against the top of her head.

“fine,” you whisper. “five.”

but five minutes turns into ten. turns into fifteen. turns into you both lying on your backs staring at the ceiling, your legs tangled and books forgotten.

“we suck at this,” she says, stretching her arms over her head with a yawn.

“yeah,” you agree. “but we’re cute.”

she grins. “mhm.”

you both sit up slowly, the way you do when you’re not quite ready to be responsible, but know you have to try.

———

cleaning starts as a way to avoid actual work, and you both know it.

she picks up laundry while you stack empty water bottles on the counter, turning on some low music through her speaker.

she follows you around the tiny dorm like a shadow. pokes your side while you wipe the counter. pulls your arm until you twirl into her, arms around your waist like a middle school dance.

“you’re supposed to be folding clothes,” you remind her, laughing.

“i’d rather kiss you.”

so she does.

her hands slip under your shirt, just to touch your skin. her lips press soft against the line of your jaw. her breath is warm. familiar.

you let yourself fall into it. for a second, maybe longer.

—

by the time the room’s clean again, it’s dark outside.

you’re both in sweats now. she stole your shirt—again—and you don’t bother asking for it back. she curls onto the bed with a blanket and a bowl of cereal, flipping through channels before landing on a cheesy movie neither of you’s seen before.

you sit beside her, cross-legged. she shifts until her head on your thigh.

“you comfy?” you ask, brushing hair from her face.

“mmhm. you’re soft.”

you laugh. “you always say that.”

“you’re soft to me.”

her fingers find yours under the blanket. her eyes are heavy with sleep and love and something else you can’t name, something deeper. more settled.

you lean down and kiss the tip of her nose.

“what?” she whispers, blinking up at you.

you shake your head.

“nothing. just happy.”

she smiles, eyes fluttering closed again.

“me too.”

a little while later, she brings you into her lap. lets you pick the second movie even though she’ll fall asleep halfway through. her hand stays beneath your shirt, palm warm on your spine, fingers moving absentmindedly.

you feel her kiss the back of your neck every time something soft happens on screen. like she’s syncing to the tenderness.

“this okay?” she whispers once, when you shift in her lap.

you nod.

she kisses your shoulder.

“tell me if you want more.”

you nod again.

you always do. because she means it. every word. every touch.

after another hour of soft kisses, under the blankets, half-drowsy and full of that aching kind of love, you rest your head on her chest. her heart beats steady under your ear. her fingers brush your hair back, then down your spine, slow and gentle.

“you’re everything,” she murmurs into the dark.

you trace shapes into her ribs and whisper back, “so are you.”

she smiles.

you don’t need to see it to feel it.

and when she tucks her chin over your head and holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world—

you believe it.

every time.

and even if it was just a normal day, it was the best day ever—just like the one before.

[cloudyluun]

The Last First Time | Patreon Series

neighbour!harry

New series out now on Patreon!

Tropes: Strangers to Lovers, Domestic Fluff, Slow-Burn

Series Summary: Y/N has sworn off love after a string of bad relationships. She’s content with her quiet life, her bookstore job, and her dog. That is, until Harry moves into the apartment next door—loud, charming, and annoyingly irresistible. He worms his way into her life in ways she never expected, making her question if she’s really done with love… or if she’s just been waiting for the right person all along.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Part 1: New Neighbours 

Summary: Y/N is perfectly content with her quiet, predictable life—until her obnoxiously charming new neighbor, Harry, barges in and ruins it. Between his loud music, his infuriating smirks, and the way he somehow keeps worming his way into her life (and maybe, just maybe, her heart), she’s starting to think that swearing off love might not be as easy as she thought.

A/N: Listen, I, too, would be deeply annoyed if a gorgeous, overly friendly British man with a dimpled smile moved in next door and flirted with me against my will. Would I fall for him anyway? Probably. Would I go down kicking and screaming? Absolutely. Enjoy the chaos.

Word Count: 3,6k

Warnings:

Mutual pining (they’re both clueless)

Annoying (read: hot) neighbor behavior

Forced proximity (thank you, broken elevator)

Sexual tension you could cut with a butter knife

A dog who definitely likes Harry more than Y/N does

Y/N’s slow descent from “I hate him” to “Okay, maybe I don’t”

A dangerous amount of fluff, with just the right amount of angst sprinkled in

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The bell above the door jingles softly as Y/N pushes it open, stepping into the familiar scent of old pages and vanilla candles. The bookstore is quiet, just the way she likes it, save for the faint hum of a jazz record playing from the old speakers behind the counter.

She loves this place. Loves the way the shelves are slightly overstuffed, books stacked on tables and tucked into corners like they’ve made a home here. Loves the slow pace of it, how she can spend her afternoons helping customers find the perfect read or organizing displays without the pressure of a corporate job breathing down her neck.

It’s a simple life. But it’s hers.

Her shift goes by peacefully, the kind of day where she barely has to interact with anyone aside from a few regulars. Mr. Dawson, the elderly man who comes in every Tuesday for a new historical fiction novel, tells her she should read more books about war—she politely declines. A mother and her daughter giggle together in the children’s section. A college student hovers near the poetry shelf, reading Rupi Kaur with the kind of heartbreak only a 19-year-old can have.

By the time she locks up for the night, the sun is setting in shades of orange and pink. She tugs her coat tighter around her shoulders as she makes her way home, her dog waiting eagerly by the door when she steps inside. The apartment is warm, cozy—dim lighting, soft blankets, a candle burning low on the coffee table. Her little haven.

She changes into sweatpants, makes herself a cup of tea, and curls up on the couch with a book, her dog curled against her legs. It’s quiet, and it’s enough.

It has to be.

Because love? Love has only ever been a distraction. A complication.

She’s tried, over and over again. Different faces, different names, but the same inevitable ending. Misaligned priorities. Growing apart. Someone leaving first.

She’s done trying.

So this is her life now. Her books, her dog, her peace.

And it’s all she needs.

For now.

That was the promise she had made to herself. That this quiet life—her books, her dog, her solitude—was enough. That she didn’t need anyone else in it, that she was perfectly happy keeping the world at arm’s length.

And for a while, it worked.

Until the noise started.

It begins subtly. A few extra footsteps in the hallway. The distant sound of someone talking on the phone. The scent of unfamiliar cologne lingering in the air near the mailboxes.

Then, the boxes appear.

They’re stacked haphazardly near the apartment next to hers, some labeled with scribbled words she can’t quite make out. A pair of sneakers—large, well-worn—sit by the door. Someone’s moving in.

Y/N doesn’t think much of it at first. People come and go in this building all the time, and she has no reason to care who takes up residence next door. As long as they mind their business and—most importantly—keep quiet, she has no problem.

She doesn’t meet her new neighbor right away, but she hears him.

Furniture scraping against the hardwood floors. A deep, melodic hum filtering through the walls, sometimes accompanied by actual singing—and okay, fine, it’s not bad, but that’s beside the point. The thud of something heavy being dropped, followed by a muttered curse.

She grits her teeth and ignores it. New people make noise when they move in; that’s normal. It’ll stop soon.

Except it doesn’t.

One night—well past midnight—just as she’s drifting off to sleep, a loud BANG echoes through the apartment, the unmistakable slam of a door reverberating through the walls.

Her dog yelps, scrambling upright from his bed.

Y/N bolts up too, heart hammering, pulse spiking with adrenaline before she realizes what’s happened. She throws a glare toward the wall, as if that alone will silence her inconsiderate new neighbor.

Then, muffled footsteps. A moment of silence.

Then—music.

Loud enough that she can hear the bass vibrating softly through the walls.

Y/N lets out a slow breath, pressing her fingers against her temples. She should let it go. It’s late, and she’s too tired for confrontation. She burrows back beneath the covers, willing herself to sleep despite the faint rhythm pulsing next door.

She tries to brush it off.

She really does.

But the next morning, when she opens her apartment door and nearly trips over a pair of discarded boots in the hallway—boots that definitely weren’t there yesterday—her patience wears dangerously thin.

It’s official.

Her new neighbor is going to be a problem.

She’s sure of it now.

The boots, the music, the way he seems to move around his apartment with the grace of a baby deer on ice—it’s all too much. She tells herself she’ll ignore it, that she won’t let some stranger disrupt her life.

And then, of course, she meets him.

It happens in the hallway. Y/N is juggling her keys, her bag, and a leash wrapped tightly around her hand as she pulls her dog toward the stairs. They’re halfway down the hall when the door next to hers swings open, and before she can react, her dog—traitorous little thing—lunges forward, tail wagging wildly.

The leash yanks through her fingers as her dog barrels straight toward a pair of long legs clad in black joggers.

“Oh—hello there, mate!”

Y/N barely has time to process the deep, amused voice before she looks up—way up—and gets her first real look at him.

And, of course, the problem neighbor is hot.

Tall, broad-shouldered, green-eyed—he’s got the kind of messy curls that look perfectly unintentional, a sharp jawline that could probably cut glass, and dimples that appear the moment he grins down at the overly affectionate dog currently climbing up his legs.

Y/N immediately dislikes him.

“Sorry,” she mutters, stepping forward to grab her dog’s leash. “He’s not usually like this with strangers.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the stranger laughs, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “I’m flattered, honestly. Haven’t had this much affection in a while.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. She’s met his type before—charming, overly confident, completely unaware of how irritating they are. She yanks the leash gently, pulling her dog back to her side. “Right. Well. Have a good day.”

She turns to leave, but his voice stops her.

“Wait, you’re my neighbor, yeah?”

She exhales slowly before glancing back. “Unfortunately.”

His grin widens. “That bad, huh?”

“Let’s just say I’ve been getting to know you through very thin walls.”

Recognition flashes across his face, followed by something suspiciously close to guilt. “Ah. You, uh—heard that, did you?”

Y/N crosses her arms. “Oh, you mean the moving furniture, the late-night door slamming, or the impromptu concert at midnight?”

His dimples reappear, and she immediately hates that they’re kind of—charming. “So… all of the above, then.”

She glares. “Some of us actually enjoy peace and quiet.”

“Noted,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll keep it down.”

Something about his easy agreement throws her off. He’s not defensive, not making excuses—just… accepting it.

She studies him for a moment before nodding. “Good.”

But as she pulls her dog toward the stairs, she hears his voice again.

“Y’know,” he calls out, “you’re kinda grumpy, aren’t you?”

She stops dead in her tracks.

Slowly, she turns to face him. He’s leaning against his doorframe now, arms crossed, watching her with an amused glint in his eye.

She narrows her own eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Not a bad thing,” he continues, completely unfazed by the sharpness in her tone. “Just an observation. Thought we were having a friendly chat, and you looked about two seconds away from strangling me.”

Y/N clenches her jaw. “Maybe you’re just annoying.”

His smirk deepens. “Maybe.”

Oh, he’s insufferable.

With one last glare, she storms down the stairs, ignoring the sound of his quiet chuckle behind her.

Y/N tells herself she won’t think about him again.

Spoiler alert: she will.

It’s not even a conscious decision. It’s just—impossible not to.

Her once quiet, peaceful apartment now has an uninvited presence, even when he’s not physically there. It starts with the little things. The muffled sound of music filtering through the walls, always something classic—Fleetwood Mac, The Rolling Stones, Elton John. The occasional deep, melodic hum accompanying the songs, sometimes breaking into actual lyrics.

Then, the phone calls.

He talks loudly—and a lot. His voice carries easily through the thin walls, his deep accent making every conversation impossible to ignore. He laughs often, a warm, infectious sound that she really shouldn’t find charming, and yet—she does. She doesn’t want to, but it’s hard to be annoyed at someone who sounds so genuinely happy all the time.

Still, she does her best to ignore it.

But her dog? Her dog is a traitor.

Every time Harry’s voice filters through the wall, the little traitor perks up, ears twitching, tail wagging, sometimes even whining. If Harry’s walking in the hallway, her dog runs straight to the door, tail thumping against the floor like Harry’s his long-lost best friend.

It’s humiliating.

And then, one night, it gets worse.

She’s curled up on the couch with a book, finally enjoying a rare moment of silence, when she hears it.

Harry’s voice.

Singing.

It’s not unusual—she’s heard him hum before, caught snippets of songs—but this is different. It’s full-fledged, unabashed singing, smooth and rich and ridiculously good.

She doesn’t recognize the song at first, but then the words hit her.

"I can’t help falling in love with you…"

Oh, come on.

Of course he’s the kind of guy who sings Elvis while cooking.

She clenches her jaw, determined to ignore it, but her dog is already sitting up, ears perked, tail wagging. Y/N glares. “Don’t you dare,” she whispers.

The dog ignores her completely, trotting over to the wall as if he can somehow get closer to Harry through sheer willpower.

Y/N sighs, throwing her head back against the couch.

This is her life now. Living next to an infuriatingly loud, annoyingly talented neighbor who seems to be winning over her dog and her subconscious.

She’s not thinking about him.

Not at all.

Not even a little.

That’s what she tells herself. That’s what she repeats in her head whenever she hears him through the walls, whenever her dog practically vibrates with excitement at the sound of his voice, whenever she catches herself humming the songs he sings when he thinks no one is listening.

She’s doing a great job of ignoring him.

Until the elevator breaks down.

It happens on a morning when Y/N is already running late. She’s juggling her bag, her keys, and a travel mug of coffee as she rushes out of her apartment, her dog watching her with judgment from his bed.

She takes the stairs two at a time, nearly colliding with the very last person she wants to see.

Harry.

Of course it’s Harry.

Standing by the elevator doors, coffee cup in hand, looking way too put together for someone who probably just rolled out of bed. His joggers hang low on his hips, his hoodie unzipped just enough to reveal a white T-shirt underneath, curls a little messy but in a way that seems intentional. He’s leaning casually against the wall, and the moment he spots her, a slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face.

“Well, well,” he drawls, taking a sip of his coffee. “Fancy seeing you here, neighbor.”

Y/N exhales sharply, pressing the elevator button. Nothing happens. The doors remain firmly shut.

A sinking feeling settles in her stomach.

Harry watches as she jabs the button again, then chuckles. “Yeah, that’s not gonna do much. Out of order.”

Y/N turns to him with narrowed eyes. “How do you know?”

“Because I just watched poor Mrs. Patel from 3B mutter a string of very impressive curse words when she realized she had to take the stairs.”

Y/N groans, tilting her head back. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Harry grins. “Not kidding.”

Of course. Of course the elevator breaks down today. And of course he’s here to witness her suffering.

With no other choice, she adjusts her bag on her shoulder and heads for the stairwell. “Great. Love this. Perfect way to start the day.”

Harry falls into step beside her, sipping his coffee as if he has all the time in the world. “You in a rush?”

“Yes,” she says shortly.

“Hot date?”

She shoots him a glare. “Work.”

“Ah.” He nods, glancing at her with mild curiosity. “What do you do, anyway?”

Y/N hesitates. Part of her doesn’t want to answer, doesn’t want to entertain any conversation with him. But the other part—the one that grew up with manners—sighs and mutters, “I work at a bookstore.”

Harry brightens. “No way. That’s brilliant.”

She looks at him, suspicious. “Why is that brilliant?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Something very fitting about you working in a bookstore.”

She raises a brow. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

He grins. “You’ve got that whole quiet, brooding, mysterious thing going on. Like the main character in a slow-burn novel.”

Y/N blinks. “Did you just call me brooding?”

He takes another sip of coffee. “Bit, yeah.”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”

They reach the first landing, and Y/N speeds up, determined to put some distance between them. Unfortunately, Harry seems to take this as a challenge, easily matching her pace.

“So, tell me,” he continues. “Is there a reason you hate me, or is that just your default setting?”

Y/N clenches her jaw. “I don’t hate you.”

His smirk deepens. “No?”

“No.”

He hums, unconvinced. “You sure about that? ‘Cause you glare at me an awful lot.”

“I glare at everyone.”

“Oh, so I’m not special?”

She exhales sharply. “Correct.”

Harry grins. “Bit disappointing, that.”

They climb another flight of stairs, Y/N gripping the railing a little tighter. “Do you always talk this much?”

“Only when I have good company.”

She shoots him a sharp look, but he just winks at her, taking another lazy sip of his coffee.

She groans. “You are insufferable.”

He chuckles, unbothered. “And yet, here we are. Forced to spend quality time together.”

She picks up the pace, practically jogging up the last few steps just to get away from him. But as she reaches the next floor, she hears him call out behind her—

“See you later, neighbor.”

She doesn’t turn around.

But her dog will be way too happy to see him when she gets home.

And Y/N?

She’s starting to suspect that maybe—just maybe—she doesn’t mind him as much as she claims.

She doesn’t think much of it at first. It’s just tea. Just a small act of kindness returned. Just a few minutes of conversation that—shockingly—don’t make her want to strangle him.

But then, a few nights later, the power goes out.

It happens just after sunset, plunging the entire building into darkness. Y/N is in the middle of reading when the lights flicker and die, leaving her blinking in the dim glow of a single candle on her coffee table.

Her dog whines at her feet, restless, unsettled by the sudden quiet. The hum of the refrigerator, the faint buzzing of the heater—gone. Even the usual muffled sounds of the city outside seem distant, swallowed by the storm rolling through.

She sighs, running a hand through her hair.

Great.

After a few minutes of sitting in the dark, she decides to take her dog out into the hallway—mostly to distract him, but also because the idea of sitting alone in the silent apartment feels strangely isolating.

And that’s when she finds Harry.

Sitting on the floor outside his apartment, legs stretched out, surrounded by the warm flicker of candlelight. A deck of cards sits between his hands, his fingers idly shuffling, the rhythmic sound filling the empty hallway.

He glances up when she steps out, a slow smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, well,” he drawls. “Didn’t take you for the type to get lonely in a power outage.”

She scoffs, crossing her arms. “I’m not.”

“Mm.” He tilts his head, studying her. “Then what brings you to my humble doorstep?”

She gestures to her dog, who is currently sniffing at Harry’s socked foot. “He was restless.”

Harry hums. “Right. He was restless.”

She narrows her eyes, but before she can snap back, he lifts the deck of cards and raises a brow.

“Wanna play?”

She hesitates.

The smart thing to do would be to say no. To go back inside, curl up with a blanket, and wait for the power to come back on.

But instead, she finds herself sinking onto the floor beside him.

“Fine,” she mutters. “But if you cheat, I’m leaving.”

Harry grins. “Noted.”

--

Somehow, she stays.

Longer than she means to.

Longer than she should.

The game is simple—just a casual round of War, nothing complicated—but it becomes less about winning and more about conversation.

Somewhere between the second and third round, they start talking.

Not just the usual teasing back-and-forth, but real talking.

Favorite books. Favorite cities. The places they’d love to visit but haven’t yet. The things they miss about childhood—the way summers felt longer, the way certain songs could instantly transport them back to a specific moment in time.

Y/N doesn’t even realize how much she’s letting her guard down until she’s laughing at one of Harry’s stories, her shoulder brushing his, their legs stretched out side by side.

And the worst part?

She doesn’t hate it.

She’s comfortable.

Which is dangerous.

Because comfort leads to familiarity. And familiarity leads to feelings.

And she’s not supposed to have feelings for her neighbor.

But then there’s the way Harry watches her as she speaks, his eyes a little softer than usual. The way he leans in just a fraction when she gets caught up in a story. The way his fingers brush against hers when they both reach for the deck of cards at the same time, and he doesn’t pull away immediately.

The way the air between them suddenly feels charged.

Like something unspoken is settling between them.

Like something could happen, if she let it.

And for a second—just a second—she wonders what it would be like to kiss him.

To close the small distance between them.

To let herself want him.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she clears her throat, shifts back, and focuses on the game.

Because this—whatever this is—can’t happen.

It’s nothing.

It has to be.

The power returns an hour later, flooding the hallway with artificial light.

Y/N blinks against the sudden brightness, reality crashing back in.

Harry stretches, rolling his shoulders before looking at her with a smirk. “Guess that’s our cue to go back to normal.”

Normal.

Right.

She nods, pushing herself to her feet and dusting off her jeans. “Right.”

She expects him to say something cocky, to make some snarky remark about how much she must love spending time with him.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he just looks at her for a long moment—something unreadable flickering across his face—before giving her a small, lopsided smile.

“G’night, neighbor.”

And then, just like that, he’s gone.

Y/N still insists that Harry is annoying. Still claims he gets on her nerves.

But something has shifted.

She doesn’t avoid him as much. Doesn’t glare as harshly when he teases her.

And maybe—just maybe—she finds herself noticing little things about him.

The way he always holds the door open for their elderly neighbor, even when she insists she doesn’t need help.

The way he hums under his breath when he’s deep in thought, a melody she can’t quite place but somehow recognizes.

The way he never forgets to greet her dog before he greets her, like he knows exactly where he stands in the hierarchy of importance.

Harry, for his part, still seems to enjoy getting under her skin.

But his teasing is softer now.

More familiar.

She still tells herself she’s not looking for love.

She still tells herself that he’s just her neighbor.

But as she closes her apartment door that night, she can’t help but smile to herself.

Just a little.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

If you love angst, tension-filled romance, slowburn and strangers to lovers, The Last First Time is for you! 

[rroseselavyyy]

vespertine - myg

pairing: yoongi x female reader

warnings: smut

As soon as you locked eyes with his, he slammed you against the door before you could even greet him. He didn't need to talk about how stressful his day had been because he knew you could see right through him from the moment he walked into your apartment.

You whimpered like a wounded deer as he pressed his body against yours and kissed you with his mouth open as if he wanted to steal the air from your lungs. He lifted you off the floor by wrapping your legs around his waist.

You didn't say a word to each other as he carried you up to your room. You unbuttoned his shirt as he climbed the stairs. His breath caught in his throat as you drew your face closer to the nape of his neck, giving love bites to his sensitive flesh.

He tasted like the pomegranate seeds you willingly ate to exchange your freedom for his kingdom of darkness.

You fell onto the bed with him on top of you. You were both panting heavily when you finally locked your eyes with his. He was more than emboldened to make you shy under his heated gaze as your crimson-red cheeks made you look even more beautiful.

He could never be more in love with you. Your mere presence was enough to enthrall Yoongi.

"You're so beautiful, angel." After removing his clothes, he took his place between your legs, trapping his frame between them on either side of him. He took a moment to brush your hair away from your face with his slender fingers. His free hand landed on your knee to spread your legs further apart. You closed your legs around his hand, inviting him to follow it to your most private parts. "You're beautiful too, daddy."

You whimpered as he pulled your panties aside and stretched your pussy with his middle and index fingers, your slickness making it easy for him to slide inside your walls. "Fuck- baby, you're dripping. Is it all for me?"

"Yes, daddy." You breathed through your nose as his thumb stroked your clit in a way that made your vision blur when the pleasure was too consuming for you to think straight. “It’s all for you.”

Though he had only asked the question to tease you, your sweet declaration sent shivers down his spine. You were like a delicate flower in his garden, he wanted to corrupt you until he had you all to himself.

“Do you think you're ready for my cock, angel?”

Your manicured fingers scratched his neck as you nodded feverishly. He slipped his fingers out of you and a whimper escaped your lips as if you missed the feel of his fingers filling you. 

He teased you with the tip of his cock as you let out a sob as if you couldn't wait any longer. You felt like you were about to lose your mind as he sank into you inch by inch.

His lips felt soft against your skin as his kisses traced a path down your throat to your breasts. He sucked on your nipples through your sheer floral bra as if tasting the sweetest honey. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear about how good you were to him as he made you see stars under his weight.

He picked up a pace that made loud thumps as he fucked you into the mattress, causing the bed to hit the wall. His raven hair fell into his eyes and sweat dripped from his forehead. He left kisses on your cheek as loud moans came from your mouth.

His thrusts became more brutal and his animalistic grunts echoed in your ears. You felt tears streaming down your face as you murmured to his lips how much you loved him. He finished inside your heavenly walls as your pussy gripped his cock tightly. His warm cum filled you to the brim, triggering your orgasm right after him.

He didn't pull out, but instead he lay down on top of you and rested his head on the valley of your breasts. His hands were on either side of you, caressing your skin in a soothing way.

"Yoongi, you can tell me what happened." He sighed as you played with his damp hair. "Your dad's giving me a hard time at work."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" You pulled his hair slightly so he could look at your face. He looked intently into your eyes before kissing your worries away. There was a look of amusement on his face as he pulled away from the kiss that you had shared with him.

"Don't worry about me, angel. I think it would be enough to give him a heart attack if I told him that I take my frustrations out on her daughter's pussy every time he makes me mad."

--

[angelcakebunbun]

walk him like a dog!

synopsis: some perverts need a serious reality check.

warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+ sub!perv!sanji x mean!dom!fem reader, big dick sanji, non-con voyeurism, dub con, sanji is a nasty perv fr, slapping but he likes it, blackmail?, footjob, mention of zoro x reader, sanji w/ a tongue piercing, cunnilingus, semi-public, choking, edging?, ruined orgasm, unprotected p in v, cum swapping, more stuff that I missed

wc: 3334

notes: image sourced from pinterest, credits for dividers here. not beta-read so apologies for any mistakes, I wrote this all in one sitting and was blushing like a slut the whole time. i wanna step on the stupid cook, he is so baby girl <3

There you are before him, dripping wet and pissed as hell.

He hadn’t meant for you to catch him - he didn’t even know how he ended up in there, honestly! But you knew better than to trust whatever bullshit alibi the cook spewed when you caught him poking around in the women’s changing room.

Sanji had been present when you announced your intention to unwind in an Onsen not too far from where the Thousand Sunny was docked, inviting Nami and Robin to join. Much to both your and Sanji’s disappointment, both declined, opting to turn in for the evening in preparation for setting sail the next morning. But it did not matter, you would enjoy a quiet evening soak and perhaps a nice sake after regardless.

The kindly old woman behind the reception counter of the inn was overjoyed to have a customer, and you were delighted to find the hot spring empty, all for yourself. Once behind the red curtain concealing the woman’s dressing room, you strip away your sun-bleached top and tight shorts, undergarments following suit. You neatly fold the articles and put them into one of the numerous empty baskets on the shelf, placing your shoes aside. Wrapping yourself in a fluffy white towel that the old lady had given you, you entered the bathing area, sliding the door shut behind you. Hanging your towel on a nearby hook, you gingerly dip a toe in the water, before slipping fully in. The steamy water welcomes your aching muscles, tenderly loosening the knots tethered across your neck and shoulders. You sigh pleasantly and relax against the rock behind you, eyelids drooping shut as you sink further.

Unbeknownst that steps away lurks an all-too-familiar face. It had been easy enough for Sanji to slip away after you, claiming he too yearned for a soak. Really, he thought it was a nice idea and meant to enjoy some relaxation himself. But the obvious lack of customers and the late hour were all too tempting, and Sanji easily slipped through the red curtains rather than the blue.

He was just going to take a quick look, and then go to the men’s side. He peeks inside the only occupied basket and goes red in the face as he is greeted by your cotton panties neatly placed on top. Just once and then he’ll leave. Sanji presses his nose against the crotch and inhales deeply. It was intoxicating. His left-hand gropes at his hardening cock through his black pants, and one turned into two, and two turned into three.

Sanji’s gaze steadily lingers towards the sliding doors to the spring, he can hear you faintly humming a familiar tune. Perhaps he can just take a quick glance, and then he swears he will leave. He creeps towards the doors, your panties still clutched in his right hand. Using the greatest care, he inches it open, just enough to reveal a sliver of the scene it obscured. There you are - just a slice but enough to send Sanji reeling - leaning against a large rock, your locks messily done up to keep them dry, the swell of your breasts peeking above the water line, all while the hum of your sweet voice flitters through the air.

His eyes roll back as he raises your underwear to his face again, sliding his hand beneath his pants and giving his dick a firm squeeze. He wants to burn the image of you into his mind, eyes peeping open occasionally to ensure all the details are correct. His left hand fists at his stiff member as he imagines what more lay beneath the water’s edge. Sanji groans lowly while he pictures how your pretty panties snuggly grip your ass, or the heavenly sight of it slapping against his thighs while he drills into you from behind. He swore he could hear the sweet chirps that would fall from your supple lips, begging him for more, harder.

Sanji was close, just a little more and then he could cum and leave, and you would be none the wiser. He moans again, a little less mindful that you were mere feet away. He tugs at his cock, feeling his balls tightening just as he is about to-

BOOM!

Sanji topples backward, his tailbone smacking against the wooden floorboards while his hands fly behind to catch himself. He snaps out of his daze on impact and meets you with a shocked expression.

While enthralled in the depths of his disgusting, perverted mind, Sanji had failed to notice that you had left the springs and toweled off. It was during this that you heard a quiet groan, so faint you almost missed it. Initially fearing someone, perhaps the old woman, maybe hurt, you wrapped yourself up and hurried towards the doors. But then, you halted right before them, noticing the tiniest crack between the door and the frame. Through this, you caught the smallest glimpse of blonde hair and immediately slammed the door open.

So now, there you are, dripping wet and pissed as hell. Your towel is clutched against your nude body, hair now freed from its’ confines. Your jaw clenches tightly, and Sanji swears he can see the steam blowing out of your ears.

“Why you-! You vile little- you, you!” Words cannot express the admonishment you feel in this moment as you take in the cook: his belt hangs unbuckled, button and fly open to expose his hard dick pressing against his boxers, begging to be freed. His face is flushed, blonde hair damp from steam and sweat. And your crumpled panties lie next to him, evident drool marks littering them.

You growl and lunge at him, your hand tangling with his locks and yanking him into the bathing area, before slamming the door shut behind him.

“What is wrong with you!” You shriek, letting go of his hair and flailing your arms around. Sanji falls to his knees and peers up at you, bottom lip slightly quivering. He wasn’t sure if he should be turned on or fear for his life. Likely the latter, but he was more so feeling the former.

“I cannot believe that you would- argh!” You reel back, right hand striking his left cheek with a loud smack! Sanji’s head jerks to the side as he falls forward onto his hands, a loud, shameless moan echoing around you. His cheek tingles and burns as blood rushes back to his cock, reminding him of the orgasm you had stolen from him moments prior. You stare at him for a moment, shocked at his unconventional reaction. Then, you squat to his level, and, using the same hand you just struck him with, you grab at his hair again and force his face up to meet yours.

“You disgust me, Sanji,” you spit, noticing the ill-defined outline of your palm and fingers on his cheek. You might want to fuck him up, but if he is going to behave this way, you might as well enjoy yourself too, “Perverts like you are good for nothing, right?” You give another yank, sending shockwaves through his scalp and down to his cock.

“Right?” You ask again, more aggressively due to his lack of response. His eyes clench shut, afraid he may cum the second he meets yours, “Look at me when I speak to you, mutt.” Your hand moves to grip his face, fingers digging into his cheeks, forcing his lower jaw to hang open. The tip of his pink tongue pokes out as he gazes at you, half-lidded, while your head moves closer to his.

“Yeth!” he lisps through puckered lips, wincing at the crushing force bruising against his tender cheek, dick twitched in his pants. You smirk at his pure patheticness, humming contently in response.

“That’s what I fucking thought.” You stand up abruptly, pulling him back onto his knees by his jaw, which continues to prove just how much he enjoyed this. Sanji could easily free himself from your grasp if he wanted to, and yet he lies limp while you drag him around like a ragdoll.

With one foot planted firmly into the stone ground, your other traces up his thigh to his covered cock. You press the ball into his shaft, eliciting a guttural moan from Sanji’s chest, gurgling on the spit that had accumulated in his mouth as a result of the grip on his jaw. Running your toes up and down his length, you sigh, hand moving to regain his locks once more. You massage the crown of his skull soothingly, tilting his head upwards while you lean over him.

“Why shouldn’t I just tell everyone,” You purr in his ear, biting at the lobe, “the cook is a nasty pervert that peeps on girls. Imagine what the crew would say?” Sanji’s eyes shot open, what would he do if everyone found out about this incident? They knew he could be obsessive, but this was entirely different than just fawning over pretty women. Surely, they will kick him off the ship, drop him on some island in the Grand Line, and never turn back. Or worse, perhaps he will be thrown overboard to whatever creature lurks beneath the waves.

You sense his fear and giggle, placing a wet kiss on his jaw, “Guess you’ll have to convince me to keep my mouth shut.” Your toes curl under the waistline of his boxers, tugging at it so it slaps against his hip bone with a thwack! Sanji leans into the kisses you sloppily pepper along his cheek before a firm pull at his neck alerts him.

“Off,” you demand, fingers wrapped around his black tie. Stepping back, you watch as Sanji’s trembling hands undo his tie and unfasten the buttons of his blue-stripped dress shirt, discarding both to the side. He looks back at you, eyes pleading for your touch once more. You stare at him like he is stupid and scoff, “Everything, mutt!”

Sanji makes quick work of the rest of his clothing, kicking off his shoes and yanking down his pants and boxers in one motion, thumbs peeling off his socks last. He sits back on his forearms, fully nude, dick standing proudly against his lower abdomen. You feel your mouth salivate and thighs clench together at the glorious state of him. No matter how much you want to despise Sanji, you can never deny how beautiful he was, and even more so his dick was. The mushroom head is flushed red, angry, and leaking globs of precum. He is larger than you had expected, seeing as most perverts sported little cocks to juxtapose their massive egos.

But no, Sanji impresses you in both length and girth, possibly rivaling Zoro’s dick which had fucked you stupid on more than one drunken occasion. And his hefty balls that hang between his spread thighs are the cherry on top.

You leisurely untuck your towel and let it slip down your body, exposing your lusciousness to Sanji. He sighs, cock bouncing.

“Well?” you ask, arms crossing and eyebrow quirking, beckoning him to make the next move. He crawls toward you and rests on his haunches, thick hands grabbing at your calf while he leans down to kiss at your ankle. The fine hairs of his mustache tickle with each smooch, and the scruff of his beard drags behind them. Sanji puckers moist, messy kisses up your calf and across your thigh, creeping past your perfect cunt while his hands caress your hips and ass. He licks and suckles marks across your pelvis, pulling you into his body, your hands reaching down to steady yourself on his shoulders.

His striking eyes bear up into yours as he grabs your right leg, hooking it over his left shoulder and pulling your cunt to his face. Sanji flattens his tongue against your damp core, and you jump at a cool metallic feeling on your clit. He licks a languid strip up towards your mound, flicking slowly, obviously showing off the barbell pierced through his fat tongue.

Sanji devours you, switching between fucking your sopping hole with the thick pink tip of his tongue and tickling over your clit with his piercing. The firm grip he has on your waist and thigh is all that is keeping you up, entranced in the methodical rhythm of grinding your hips on his face, one of your hands stroking through his golden locks.

Sanji can feel his dick twitching and throbbing at your sultry gyrations, desperately wanting to feel your sweet cunt milking it. He groans into your cunt at the thought, vibrating your clit.

“F-fuck San-ji,” you keel over him, pressing his face impossibly closer to you. You can feel a familiar pressure thumping deep within your abdomen, a slow ascension beginning. You so badly want to cum all over his stupid face, but you cannot erase the image of his gorgeous cock from your thoughts. Much to your own dismay, you push his head away from your core, dropping your shaking leg and pushing at his shoulders. Sanji gets the hint and lays back across the stone floor, shivering at the coolness despite the billowing warmth of the hot spring steps away.

You drop to kneel above his hips, dripping cunt hovering inches above his thick, weepy cock. You trace your hands across his broad chest, pinching at his nipples and scratching at his pectorals with your nails, before finally taking purchase at his throat. You give a gentle squeeze and his hands, which now rest on your hips, offer one in return. You giggle at the somewhat cute exchange, leaning down to meet his lips with yours. The kiss was gentle, lulling you into forgetting how this exchange even began. His tongue dances with yours, sweeping around your mouth, piercing clicking against the back of your teeth.

You drop your hips to grind your wetness up and down his length, soaking his cock and balls with your sweet juices. Sanji bucks his hips up into yours in response, exchanging moans through kisses. The pudgy tip prods at your hole, hooking at your clit – although this alone was heavenly, you can feel your patience growing thinner with each thrust.

Breaking free from his lips, you left one hand wrapped around his neck, keeping yourself propped up, while the other reached behind you. You position his tip at your entrance, inching yourself downward on his cock, slowly split yourself open. He fills you up almost too perfectly, head massaging your spongy walls as you begin to fuck your tight pussy up and down his length.

Sanji’s eyes clenched shut; he knew he wasn’t going to last long, and it was taking everything in him not to stuff you full of his creamy seed right there. His grip on your hips tightened, alerting you to his nearing peak. You snapped your hips against his harder, ass slapping against his heavy balls while his tip prodded aggressively within you. Your greedy cunt sucks his cock in, clinging like a vise. Sanji’s breaths become shorter and more exasperated, eyes rolling back as he feels his balls tighten with the grip you had on his neck. He was so close, so so close-

And then you stopped, completely halting the movement of your hips within a second.

“Nooo!-“ Sanji whines, but is cut off with a harsh smack to the left side of his face with the backside of your hand.

“Shut up.” You command sternly, a harsh contrast to the sweetness of your earlier kisses, “Why the fuck would I let you come before me? Are you that fucking stupid, mutt?” Your degrading words send a shudder down his spine.

“You’ll be lucky if I let you come at all,” you chuckle at the flash of fear that ran through his eyes, mimicking his earlier panic. Leaning back, you release his neck and rest your hand on his thigh behind you. Your other reaches down to grasp the base of his cock in an ‘o’ shape, acting as a make-shift cock ring.

You grind your cunt down onto his pelvis, his groomed pubic hairs tickling at your clit while his dick kneads your walls. You sigh in contentment as you resume your bouncing, your juices making it easier to accommodate his thick length.

Sanji can already feel his high creeping in again, stomach tightening while he thrusts his hips up into you to the best of his ability. But the tight grip you had on the base of his cock inhibits him from toppling over the edge. He wants to cry, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he starts to babble at you.

“Pl-please baby- fuck- please let me c-cum inside of you,” He sobs pathetically, drool dribbling from the corner of his swollen lips. His wet eyes peek open to meet yours, hoping to find a shred of mercy but only to be met with malice. You grin wickedly at him as you slam yourself down on his thick cock, abusing your own cunt.

“Wanna fill me up, hmm? Tch- as if,” you jeer, purposefully clenching your walls around his aching dick. Another sob wracks his body as Sanji tenses, trying desperately to loosen your hold just enough for him to cum. But, if anything, you tighten it impossibly more, bouncing on him faster and faster, “You should be grateful I even let you stick it in my pussy.”

You throw your head back, feeling your core tighten and your legs begin to give out. Your own peak was right there, and you barrel towards it like a mad woman. Your bounces become sloppy, turning into messy thrusts as your climax hits. Your toes curl as bliss encapsulates your mind, your essence flooding your walls and coating his length. The clenching of your pussy around his length as you ride out your high is unbearable, and tears stream down Sanji’s cheeks while you selfishly abuse his poor dick.

The roll of your hips becomes more controlled and rhythmic as you come down, rolling your head and shoulders as you ground yourself back into reality. The tight hold you have on the base of Sanji’s cock does not let up once, leaving him dangling by a thread while you revel in your release.

You give him a look of pity, offering a warm smile as you tenderly slide up and down his dick. His breathing is still heavy, tears still flowing.

“Alright, alright,” You give in half-heartedly, slipping him out of your sore, sopping cunt.

“Wait, no!-“

“Cum,” you interrupt, releasing your grip and delivering a harsh flick to his puffy tip. Sanji screams as spurts of hot cum coat his stomach, hips thrusting violently in search of anything to fuck him through his orgasm. He tries to reach a palm to fist his cock, but your hands snatch his wrists and prevent any relief they could have brought.

It takes several moments for Sanji’s incessant whimpering and bucking to subside, leaving thick globs of seed painted across his abdomen. You scoop some of his cum up with two fingers, bringing them to your mouth to suck them clean, moaning at the taste. He is salty and slightly musky, likely from the copious amounts of cigarettes he smokes. But there is a delicate saccharine taste that lingers on your tastebuds. You swish the cum around with some saliva, leaning down to capture Sanji’s pouty lips in yours, spitting the mixture into his mouth. He swallows without even having to be asked.

Your bare chest relaxes against his, skin sticking together, while you gingerly nip and suckle on his lips, arms caging his head and fingers playing with his hair. You lay with him for many moments, relishing in the brief intimacy.

“Chérie…” Sanji groans wantonly, but you hush him before he can continue.

“I think we can work out an arrangement, cook. In exchange for me keeping your nasty secret.”

[rxmqnova]

Hay:)

Can you write something like Natasha and Reader in high school. Nat having her reputation of course and her friends, which is really important to her while reader is more of the outcast and "an easy target" for Nats friends. Nat does laugh along of course for the sake of her reputation. But the second they're alone Nat gets all submissive almost begging for her girlfriends/readers attention and touch. It's just how they work.

Are you done yet?

NO ONE'S POV Opening her locker to take her books for the next lesson, Y/N doesn't notice the group making her way over to her.

"Well, well, well. Look who's that" Tony's annoying voice rings through the girl's ears, making her roll her eyes and just ignore them.

And it works for a few seconds until her locker gets shut right in front of her face by the youngest and newest memeber of that group, Peter.

Y/N glares at the younger boy, turning around to walk away but locking her eyes with none other than Natasha, her girlfriend.

It's been over a year since the two started dating, yet they still haven't told anyone. While Natasha's the 'popular' one, Y/N is the 'outcast' and those two groups just don't mix, that's the rule.

But it still happened when the two were assigned for a project together last year. They spent a lot of time working on it together and Natasha realized that Y/N is actually a really sweet girl.

Though Natasha still wants to keep her 'reputation', so they haven't told anyone and the group keeps making Y/N's life a living hell. And even though Y/N sees Natasha's point, it just annoys her. Luckily, it's only for the next few months and then they'll be both out of that school.

A pair of strong arms stops the girl from walking away. Turning around she finds another group member… Steve.

"Alright, let's get this over with" She sighs out. "What is it today? Is there anything wrong with my hair? My clothes? My make-up?" She raises an eyebrow, having enough of this. Every single day it's the same and Y/N is so done with it.

"Everything! You look like a clown!" Peter blurts out, desperately trying to fit in.

"Nice. Thanks. Is that all? Can I go?" Y/N questions annoyed.

"No" Tony says, making the girl let out another sigh. Suddenly he just takes Y/N's books, throwing them on the ground on which the entire group laughs, including Natasha who doesn't think that's funny but just laughs along anyway.

"Idiots" Y/N sighs, kneeling down to pick up her books once the group is gone.

———

"Hey" Natasha smiles softly at her girlfriend who only just opened the door for her, standing at the porch of Y/N's house. "Are you okay after this morning?"

"Why wouldn't I be? Your friends are just a bunch of idiots. Come in" Y/N brushes it off, stepping aside, so Natasha could come in.

"I'm sorry they're acting like that to you" Natasha sighs, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend and pulling her in for a warm hug.

"It's fine, Nat. Really. I'm used to it. I would have been much happier if you said something, but I know how much you care about your reputation. I'm currently finishing writing my essay, I'll just finish it real quick and get right back to you" Y/N smiles, leading the redhead upstairs to her bedroom.

"How about a movie?" Natasha suggests. She absolutely loves cuddling with her girlfriend, so watching a movie is definitely a great opportunity to get some cuddles.

"Sounds good. You can choose one while I finish the essay" Y/N smiles, pecking Natasha's lips with a kiss before walking over to her desk and sitting down while Natasha takes a seat on bed.

It takes only a few minutes until Natasha has the movie chosen and even switched on the TV. Now she's just sitting on her girlfriend's bed, watching as Y/N's typing some words to her computer.

"Are you nearly done?" Natasha asks impatiently, making her girlfriend chuckle.

"Nearly, just need to write the ending" Y/N shoots her girlfriend a quick smile before turning around and getting back to writing.

Natasha only hums in response, deciding to check up what's new on Instagram while waiting. And once again it doesn't last long.

She sighs, standing up and walking over to her girlfriend, wrapping arms around her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Are you done yet?"

"Gosh, you're like a child" Y/N lets out a chuckle, pressing a kiss to Natasha's hand. "You asked me like 3 minutes ago"

Making Natasha sigh, Y/N gets back to writing once again, though the way Natasha's impatiently waiting and scanning the screen of her laptop is kinda distracting.

"Natty, can you just wait on the bed for me? You're distracting me a bit. I need to concentrate" Y/N says as nicely as possible, receiving a whine from her girlfriend.

"Can't you just finish it later? I want to cuddle with you" Natasha says with a sigh, pulling her girlfriend up.

"It's due tomorrow, Nat. I really need to finish it. I promise it won't take more than 10 minutes" Y/N sighs, gently pushing Natasha to sit on her bed before going back to her previous seat.

"You're so mean" Natasha sighs once again, a pout on her face on which Y/N can't help but laugh a little.

Natasha's growing impatience just doesn't allow her to wait. She asks the same question 'Are you done yet?' nearly every 2 minutes until Y/N finally finishes.

"Finally, can I get my cuddles now?" Natasha questions, her eyebrow raising which makes Y/N chuckle.

"Now you can get as many cuddles as you want"

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

Natasha Romanoff masterlist

Masterlist

[contract-crawdad]

Look Outside Pacifism Concepts: Part 1

Wouldn’t it be neat if more encounters in Look Outside had alternate methods of beating them?

Assorted thoughts along that vein, starting with the early F3 crowd!

I want to preface all this by saying that this isn’t me ‘fixing’ the game in any way. Just some thoughts about how things might play out if there were a way to resolve things with more enemies by either calming them down or neutralizing them!

And that’s not to say all of them are easy solutions, obviously solutions, or hell even worth doing at all!

Wounded Neighbor

If you guard against the Wounded Neighbor after he’s revealed the eye in his chest, his knife will break (it’s only fair that the weapon degradation mechanic goes both ways)! At which point the combat ends as he huddles in a corner.

‘He seems to be trying to open more holes in himself using just his bare hands. Progress seems slow, and you’re definitely going to vomit if you stay and watch.’

The knife always breaks as long as you guard after his eye is exposed, much like how any attack after the eye is exposed is scripted to always kill him.

You can return later and find him as a pile of nothing but pulsating eyeballs. Sam wonders if this is what his neighbor wanted but can’t think of any way to ask him.

The Onlookers

Once you’re in combat with an Onlooker, there is no peaceful way to resolve things aside from running away.

But the overworld is another story! You can bait them near any television by getting them to chase you, at which point they will stare transfixed at the screen and no longer be interested in fighting. Both the television in the wounded neighbor’s apartment or the one in Vincent’s apartment will work (though the latter will need to be turned on first).

‘It seems too focused on the static to care about you anymore.’

Once every Onlooker is glued to a screen, you can come back one in-game day later to see that they’ve all jumbled together and become a tangled mass of wiry black limbs and eyeballs filling the couch.

‘Many limbs fight over the TV remote as if parts of itself are arguing over what channel to watch. Occasionally, they manage to change the channel from one wall of static to another.’

They’ll offer you huge amounts of change from beneath Vincent’s couch if you trade them batteries for their remotes!

Gawker

Unlike the Onlookers, the Gawker won’t get distracted by screens and can’t even be led out of the bathroom you find it in.

If you let the Gawker transform into a Witness and from there into an Eternal Eye, surviving three more turns against it will cause it to metamorphose into the Enlightened Oculus.

“Good heavens, I simply must apologize for my uncouth behavior a moment ago! Up to this point, the act of beholding another person and tearing them asunder became one and the same to my addled mind!”

The Enlightened Oculus will then offer you a bottomless jar of eyedrops as means of an apology.

“Now then… I do believe it best if you leave immediately. Posthaste, even! I am quite concerned that my enlightenment might loop back around into madness in a moment, you see... so I suggest locking the door behind you as you exit. Ta-ta! Oh, and do tell Vincent that he threw a delightful party!”

After this interaction, Vincent’s bathroom becomes inaccessible after leaving. You can knock on it, and each day there’s a 50/50 chance for either unintelligible bestial noises to be heard on the other side, or for the Gawker to cheerily inform that it ‘Feels just fine, thank you ever so much for checking!!’ but that it still thinks it’s a bad idea for you to come in.

Vincent

If you manage to take out all of his protruding eyes without killing Vincent, he will get woozy and need to lay down. You can find him in his bed, but he doesn’t respond.

You can check on him eight hours later to find him up and about, not entirely lucid but seemingly understanding that Sam would really rather not do whatever ‘letting him close’ entails.

Joel and Benjamin

These two already have pacifistic options, and I imagine that everything involving their encounters would remain entirely unchanged (hahaaaaaa just because you don’t have to kill anybody doesn’t mean there’s not still tragedy). But I’ll be doing the rest of the teeth family as well as the apartment 31 folks next time!

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

[edawgz]

ᝰ.ᐟ thick silence

| ellie williams x fem. reader. ~1.1k words. complicated comfort. alphabet soup E.

masterlist. | alphabet soup. | oneshot masterlist.

You don’t ask her where she’s been,not because you don’t care, but because you’ve learned that asking Ellie questions she isn’t ready to answer tends to lead to silence. Not just any silence, but one that is thicker than any answer she might’ve given you. But right now? Silence feels like the only thing keeping her stitched together.

She’s standing on your porch with blood on her collar and mud splattered up to her knees, hoodie sagging from the weight of the rain and whatever else she’s been carrying on her back. You open the door without a word, stepping aside so she doesn’t have to explain herself, and she passes through like a ghost.. her head down and shoulders drawn up like she’s expecting the warmth of your house to spit her back out.

She doesn’t look you in the eye as she unzips her coat. She doesn’t speak. She just lets it fall to the floor in a soaked heap, then peels off her hoodie in one slow motion that seems more exhausting than it should be, like the simple act of removing a layer is more than her body wants to give right now.

“Bathroom’s free,” you offer quietly, voice carrying more caution than comfort, because Ellie’s not the kind of person you soothe with soft tones and a hand on her back. At least, not unless she’s the one who closes that distance first, which she almost never does.

She doesn’t say thanks. Just gives you a nod and disappears down the hallway like she knows exactly where everything is in your house -- which she does, of course. This isn’t the first time she’s shown up like this.. bruised,unspeaking and frayed at the edges in ways she never puts words to.

You listen to the bathroom door close and the soft click of the lock, then exhale like you’ve been holding your breath since she knocked.

You put the kettle on.. not because she asked, not because you think she wants tea, but because having something to do with your hands helps steady the quiet. Without that, you don’t think you can survive another night of just watching her unravel in front of you without at least a barrier of steam and mugs between you.

When she comes back out, her hands are red from scrubbing too hard, and there’s a thin line of gauze wrapped around her forearm like she patched herself up in a hurry because whatever she got into wasn’t worth wasting stitches on. She smells like a hospital and wet denim, and though her eyes are bloodshot, you know it's not from crying.. You’re pretty sure Ellie forgot how to cry a long time ago.

She stands in the doorway to the kitchen for a moment as if she’s not sure she belongs there so she’s waiting for you to tell her she’s overstayed her welcome. Instead, you just slide a mug across the counter and gesture for her to sit down.

“Didn’t think you’d come back,” you say, not accusing, not quite surprised either, just stating the facts. You had spent the week checking the watchtower, the rosters, and Shimmer's stall... but it was always to no avail, it was like she had disappeared.

Ellie shrugs like the words don’t land. “I wasn’t gonna,” she says finally, and it comes out hollow. You swallowed thickly at the dismissiveness in her tone, she made it sound like it was just easy to leave it all.

You want to ask what changed her mind, but you keep yourself from doing that. Instead, you sit across from her and let the silence breathe for both of you. There’s something you find to be so uniquely.. Ellie.. about the way she drinks tea like it’s a habit she hasn’t let herself break. Every single time, it's always too hot and she winces through the first two sips like she's punishing herself for letting it slip her mind that the tea would be hot.

“I thought about Jackson,” she says after a long while, her voice rough and low like she’s trying to scrape the words out of her throat before they go sour. “Thought about how it’s all just... houses and fences and dumb decorations. People having birthdays.”

You blink at that and furrowed your eyebrows, “That’s not a bad thing, Ellie.”

“No, I know,” she mutters, eyes flicking to the window like she’s trying to find something out there to argue with instead of you. “It’s just-... sometimes it feels fake. Like we’re all pretending we didn’t go through hell just to end up where we started.”

You don’t tell her she’s wrong. You don’t tell her that healing doesn’t have to look like forgetting, or that you’ve seen her do more than just survive in this town. You certainly don't tell her that you’ve watched her help build a garden for the school, tune the strings on a half-broken guitar, patch up a kid’s jacket with thread she kept in her coat pocket. You don’t tell her, because you know she’d just shut down again.

Instead, you say, “It’s not about pretending. It’s about trying.”

That makes her pause. She stares into her mug like it might offer better answers than you could. “I don’t know if I’ve got trying left in me.”

And there it is... the part she doesn’t let anyone else hear. The part she buries under anger and sarcasm and cold glares. The part that doubts she deserves to come back from everything she’s done.

You reach across the table before you can second-guess it, laying your hand on top of hers. Her skin is cold and calloused, her fingers twitch slightly under yours, but she doesn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to try alone,” you say, soft but steady.

She doesn’t answer, at least not with words. But her fingers shift until they’re loosely laced through yours, and her grip tightens like she’s afraid you’ll let go if she doesn’t hold on first.

Later, after the tea’s gone lukewarm and the rain’s slowed to a whisper, she falls asleep on your couch like she always does with her legs curled up, hoodie pulled tight around her shoulders, face pressed into the pillow like she doesn’t want to be seen soft like this. You drape a blanket over her without waking her, brush a stray piece of hair from her forehead, and sit nearby with a book you won’t really read, just so she doesn’t wake up alone. She doesn’t stay forever. She never does. But she came back, and for now, that’s enough.

[thundernator7]

When looking at Jimmy's rape of Anya and Curly's failure to address it, I think it's important to recognize Pony Express's own role in it. Like with other workplaces, Pony Express's policies not only enables but encourages and protects Rapists. Within the opening scene, when Jimmy steers the ship towards the asteroid, the entire crew has their pay docked despite being completely unaware of what Jimmy is doing. Just like the crash, Pony Express's policies forces the entire crew to bare the consequences of Jimmy's actions. Rather than discourage Jimmy's actions, all it does is punish the rest of the crew as well. Anya was afraid to speak up about Jimmy raping her not only because the power he held over her as Co-Captain and him being Curly's best friend, but also the fear that if she speaks than she and the rest of her crewmates would be punished as well. She, along with everyone else except Daisuke and maybe Curly, were all struggling financially as well. If Anya's rape was reported to Pony Express, then the crew's entire pay would be docked. They would punish Anya and the rest of the crew for her pregnancy. So instead, she remains quiet and is forced to endure Jimmy's abuse and sexual harassment until her pregnancy puts her in a place where she can longer hide it. Furthermore, asides from Curly's own enabling of Jimmy's horrid actions and his own misplaced empathy, Pony Express policies discouraged Jimmy from taking action. Yet unlike Anya, Curly's ignorant to just how awful Pony Express is. While we don't know exactly how long Curly's been working for Pony Express, like his friendship with Jimmy, we can assume it's been for a while. And like his friendship with Jimmy, Curly is not only ignorant towards, but also downplays and excuses Pony Express's harmful behavior.

Anya: "Why do you think Pony Express puts a lock on the medical room doors but not the sleeping quarters?" Curly: "I suppose for the same reason they put a lock on the cockpit. Safety." Rather than recognize the lack of privacy for his crewmates as a problem, he instead tries to excuse and rationalize Pony Express's actions. Similar to how he tries to rationalize Jimmy's awful character. Curly's employment with Pony Express mirrors his friendship with Jimmy where his passivity enables their abusive behavior and hurts those around him as well. Not only does Curly refuse to speak up or do anything about Anya's rape or the lack of locks, but he also: 1) Fails to object when they're forced to take in an intern despite only having enough resources and cryopods for 4 people. 2) Doesn't say anything about the unsafe working environment for both Swansea and Daisuke. 3) How Anya's not only the nurse but also women on the ship while everyone. Like with Jimmy, Curly's blind loyalty and passivity towards Pony Express, enables their awful abuse. Instead of doing the right thing and accept the consequences that come with it, he instead chooses to remain blind and takes the easy way out. Now none of this excuses either Jimmy's or Curly's actions or lack thereof. Jimmy's still responsible for raping Anya, trying to kill everyone in a suicide crash and forcing everyone to suffer. Meanwhile, Curly's the one who decided to hire Jimmy as Co-Captain despite being aware that he's an Ex-con, not Pony Express. Yes, they allowed it when they shouldn't of, but it was ultimately Curly's decision to hire him. And Curly still holds the blame for placing his friendship with Jimmy over Anya's safety and the rest of his crew. However, Pony Express's policies and workplace culture created an environment where Anya is forced to remain silent, Jimmy's sexual abuse of her is enabled, and the only person able to help her, Curly, is too submissive towards them both for him to be of any of help.

[melodic-haze]

haii!! I really like ur arle fic ^_^ could you write smth for sub yelan? can be a thirst :)

☆ — SONG TITLE: Safe and sound

☆ — PAIRING: sub!Yelan x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: Hurt with comfort, fluff, NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: MIGHT be ooc bc by GOD do I barely remember things now, gn but she calls you "doll" so there's that, praise kink, body worship, soft sex :3, fingering to cunnilingus pipeline, does it count as semi-public if you have sex in the bedroom interior thing of the pharmacy, silly banter bc I think sex is silly❗️❗️❗️

☆ — NOTES: HIII YAYYY THANK YOU 🫶🫶🫶 I absolutely can anon❗️❗️❗️❗️❗️ I need Yelan in my life so baaaad. Also do they even have actual hospitals in Liyue cuz Bubu Pharmacy's.....a pharmacy 😓 idc pretend they have patient rooms

☆ — WORD COUNT: 3,875 wtf

You told yourself that you knew what you were getting into, when you began your relationship with Yelan.

She's a busy woman—when your girlfriend technically doesn't exist for the sake of keeping her job as the personal intelligence officer for the Tianquan, you didn't really have a choice but to accept that things would be.. inconvenient for both you and your relationship.

You knew there would be risks. You knew that in order to make this work, the both of you had to reconcile with the fact that neither of you are completely safe from the possible consequences that came from her working in the more definitely-not-legal clandescine side of peacekeeping. One wrong move and she, the hunter, could get hunted.. and you could easily be used as bait.

You both knew that, and neither of you took it lightly. Obviously not; one stupid mistake and whatever cover she had on would be uprooted and someone would get hurt. But it's easy to admit that with how proficient your lover is with her work, the danger seems oh so far away...

Which makes the falling action hit all the more harder, because hope is a painfully fragile thing.

You're a storyteller at the Heyu Tea House, much like Liu Su is. Perhaps you could've worked at Yanshang, considering your very intimate connection with its owner, but such closeness risked turning you into an accessory people could exploit to reach their target. Those who've witnessed you consider you a talent—you had a way of weaving words together at a second's notice, your voice the only element needed to transport the public's focus and imagination to another world.

Yelan had admired that silver-tongued quality of yours.. or, as she had joked about more than once, your delightful skill with your mouth. The joke aside, it was something that you two had in common, except you told tales of the brave and the bold with freedom and joyous passion while she told tales of ever-shifting identities to keep herself hidden as she did her job.

..But no tales of glory could ever reassure you when a messenger brought news of Yelan's state, no tales of security could keep you above the ocean of overwhelming dread.

You had to rush over to Bubu Pharmacy, not caring that you were leaving work and all the tea house's patrons behknd when you had just been told that she was in critical condition. What kind of state is she in? How did it happen?

By the time you get there, you were almost ready to burst into the interior before Herbalist Gui steps in the way, "Wait, wait. Who--"

"Where.." you heaved, having just ran basically from one end of the Harbor to another, "where is she? Yelan? Inside, yes? I have to--"

"Slow down."

"But she's in critical--"

"Assuming you're the one I've been told to wait for, she was in critical condition. She's recovering, at the moment.. though Dr. Baizhu himself was tasked to brief you about it inside."

The feeling of relief was small and momentary but comforting, "Then can I see her? Please?"

He nodded before opening the door himself, "Just don't rush in like you were about to."

With a hum of affirmation, you stepped inside, eyes darting around to find your lover before eventually locking onto a certain bedridden figure in hushed conversation, along with Dr. Baizhu.. and Lady Ningguang.

Sure, it would've done you some good to act relatively composed in the Qixing's presence, but it's not like that was the time for it.

So instead you quickly walk over with urgency, the other two weren't much of a priority to you right now, "Yelan!"

She pauses before turning her head and smiles as she sees you approach, opening her arms to you, "Y/N, sweetheart, there you are..."

You move to quickly embrace her, burying your face in the crook of her neck. Her familiar scent and her comforting warmth overtaking your senses and reassuring you that she is fine and she is NOT dying and--

You feel her wince before trying her best to cover it up, unintentionally prompting you to let go. You look at her with worry once again before you see her try to smile, though it looks more like a grimace to you.

"I'll be fine, you don't need to treat me like I'm made of glass." She then winks at you, as if she wasn't at all injured, "You know I like it rough, doll."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes with a huff despite the situation, "Your possible death bed isn't really the place to be joking like this..."

She shrugged, "On the contrary, I think this is the perfect time. I'm not dead yet, though."

"You could've been."

"You, indeed, could've been."

Both of you turned to look at the two briefly forgotten figures in the room, said two sporting small smiles befitting of their own nature. The doctor's snake, Changsheng, looks to the side as if disinterested but you see that there's some sort of pleasant glint on her eyes.

Baizhu starts off slow, as if speaking to a spooked deer, probably for your sake, "Unfortunately, Yelan's life was almost taken due to a mix of a poison build-up and bleeding out too much. We've.. had to keep her here in secret for a while in order to keep watch of her state. At least," he let out a light chuckle, "until she managed to stay conscious for longer than five minutes."

"It was a lot of trouble, you know." The albino snake hissed out, "Really had to keep an eye on her 24/7 in case she suddenly curled up and died more than she looked instead of just taking a nap."

"Now, my case wasn't that dire--"

"Barbaric as it is, I'll bite you and fill you with poison again if you say otherwise, human--"

"Before your pet snake threatens my agent's life a week after she almost died, might I suggest we hurry this along? I'm sure Y/N would like to be alone with your patient instead of witnessing this little farce of yours." Despite her words, Ningguang's lips had easily curled into a small smirk, her eyebrows slightly raised and her tone amused.

"Come now, you heard the Tianquan; no need to threaten the patient, Changsheng," Baizhu sighed as he softly nudged her head away with a knuckle. "The sooner we brief her other half over here, the sooner you can go, okay?"

The snake companion offered no other form of acknowledgement beyond a little huff before resting her head on Baizhu's shoulder.

"So..." You start, "You're telling me that she's been here for.. a week."

Ningguang nods.

"And nobody went to tell me."

The Tianquan let out a small sigh before lifting a hand to idly summon a few of her small gem constructs and swirling it around, "After thinking it through, we weren't necessarily left with a choice. She was in dire need of immediate help, everything else came after."

'Necessary' this, 'thinking' that, it was getting a bit infuriating, "If it was so bad then why send her in such a dangerous mission in the first place?!"

"It wasn't supposed to be."

You all turned to look at Yelan, who had been silently watching you on her bed, and you just now notice the slender hand that gently tugged down on your arm.

She then turns to the others with a smile, "I'll take the rest of the explanation. With my service, I think I'm at least owed some time alone with this sweetheart I'm holding onto right now."

Ningguang nods as Baizhu stands up, the both of them moving to leave. However, you hear the doctor call out as he closes the door, smug amusement practically radiating off his voice, "Don't exhaust her too much now!"

The door closes, leaving you two alone, and you couldn't help but cringe at the Doctor's remark as Yelan laughed. That moment only lasted for a few moments, however, before worry and dread came back to make itself known to you.

"I'm still mad, you know."

"I know, doll."

"And worried."

"Mhm."

"If you knew then why wasn't I told that you've been here this whole time?" You ducked your head as your hands sought to hold onto yoour lover's own, "You could've died nearby and I wouldn't have known until it was too late."

Her hands reciprocated your gesture, giving you a light squeeze, "Don't hate me."

"What for?"

"I was the one who told them not to say anything until I was all better."

"..But why?"

"It was something I arranged with Ningguang a while ago about you; if I'm ever in a really bad state, it should be kept secret until I either recover or.. well, you know."

"That's not telling me why."

"I was getting to that, sweetheart," she chuckled as she lifted one of your hands to press a small kiss on the back of it, "it's to protect you. I'm not risking my life to risk yours even more.. and I didn't want you getting worried or getting false hope in case I didn't get through. I wanted to come back to you injury-free."

You took pause, considering her words. You knew she was right, getting all wound up about something that would or wouldn't have come would've been.. stressful. And in doing so, there's a chance that you might be identified and used against her. It might be extreme, but it pays to be careful when your girlfriend's basically a spy.

"You still had me worried, though."

"Haha, yeah, I'm sorry."

"I almost knocked some poor patron's tea onto his lap from rushing out to see you and yet all you do is laugh it off."

Yelan snorted, "Really?"

"Yes? I don't have time to be careful when you could've been dead! What even happened?"

"I took a gamble on the whole thing and it ended up backfiring, that's all."

"..And I'm guessing that's all you'll tell me?"

"Until I get the all-clear, yes. Sorry, love."

"That's fine. It's.. the same old. I just wish you were more careful."

"Mm. I said I'm sorry, didn't I?"

You look up at her to reply but you stop in your tracks as you see the way she's looking at you.

Her eyes, coloured a dazzling aquamarine, looked at you with such love and care. Coupled up with that easy, relaxed smile, it reminds you of why you're willing to put up with.. all this for the love of your life.

Your words are taken from you and you couldn't care less, not when she lets go of your hands and wraps them around your neck.

"I missed you," she says, and you can't help but melt.

"I missed you too. So much."

"Then can I..?"

Your eyes crinkled at the request, easily falling back into the dynamic you have with her, "We're not done talking about this. And you're not meant to be exhausted."

"I almost died, can't a woman get a reward for surviving a bad roll?"

"You could, but that's not how you ask."

Her voice turns airy yet raspy at your reminder, her tone simultaneously taunting and begging, "Please?"

"..Alright, fine then. Come here." And that's all you say before you both lean in, her arms slowly tugging you down on the bed with her as you follow through the movement.

Soon enough, you're on top of her as slow, gentle kisses progressed and increased in intensity, her hands wandering and grasping onto you as if you were her one lifeline, the reason why she lived. And perhaps you are, with the way she cherishes you and lets you do whatever you wish to her, both in body and soul. Your touch, in contrast to her uncoordinated movements, is gentle and unhurried as you make sure to be careful of possibly hurting the woman underneath you.

The both of you make relatively quick work in removing the clothes you have on, with more effort on your part due to your insistence in letting her lean back so that she doesn't accidentally strain herself. You almost regret it when you see the state of her body—the bruises are fading away faster than it probably would've, were it not for Baizhu's help, but the cuts...

"Even with the doctor's healing, they don't look too good, do they?" You hear Yelan muse, her ever so confident tone slightly tinged with a touch of self-consciousness, "You don't need to look at them, doll. I wouldn't--"

"No, they're.. beautiful."

She snorts again, an unsure smirk on her lips and a light pink dusting her cheeks, "Usually I'd agree, but those are recent gashes you're looking at."

"And?" You raised an eyebrow, "They may look a bit.. gnarly but you survived all of this. How can I not think they're beautiful? How can I not think you're beautiful?"

She doesn't say anything back, though you hear her exhale shakily before she pulls you back into another brief kiss. You don't stay there long, however, as you slowly make your way down: gently biting and licking her neck, playing and sucking onto her nipples with great care, kissing every scar and bruise and wound she's received in great reverence to the one you love, caressing every inch of her body...

Underneath you, Yelan squirms in pleasure and anticipation, her breathing deep and her skin flushed as you take your time in worshipping every single inch of her body. Her hips rock up in an effort to grind her clit up on your thigh. She was desperate—of all the places you decided to caress, you've yet to touch the one place she needed you the most after the whole time you've been apart. You knew this, and yet you kept going.

Yelan knew how to handle hard and rough, but she was lost when it came to soft and gentle.

"Please, babe," she practically moaned out, "Aren't you-- ah.. taking longer than... than usual..?"

You pressed a kiss on a closed wound as you grazed a nipple with your thumb, "Am I? I didn't realise you timed me whenever I had you at my mercy."

Her breath hitched at the movement, "No, just.. instinct... How long are you--"

"But I haven't shown how much I love every single inch of you yet."

"I think I'd get the message if y-- ohfuck... if you got to the main event."

You sported a mock pout, your words failing to hide your teasing intent that just wants to have her squirming for you, at least for a little while, "I haven't seen you in a good while, can't you let me savour you?"

You see her gulp, her eyes half-lidded before one of her hands move to comb her hair out of the way, "You have.. you have all of me, no matter what."

..That was enough, especially after finding out that you almost lost her.

Your hand grazed her skin as it travelled down to her core, your fingers lightly swabbing the slit to get a feel of the wetness accumulating in the apex of her thighs. "You're so wet... Maybe I should treat you like a fragile little princess more often, hm?" You couldn't help the remark as you rubbed circles on her clit and gave her what she wanted, especially when she lets out such a delicious whine.

"I need.. inside... Come on, now, sweetheart, I--"

"You were doing so well..." Your minstrations slowed down, earning another whine from who was supposed to be a mature woman, "What's the magic word, hm? We've gone through this."

She doesn't hesitate, "Please put.. put your fingers in me, I've needed you for s-so-- oh my fucking-- mmnf!"

You made quick work in finding someone's discarded panties—yours or hers, you couldn't care less right now—and using it as a makeshift gag to silence your lover when you finally sink your fingers into her wet, hot pussy. "I don't know if you remember since apparently you've been here the entire time, but we're not home right now. So I suggest you try your best to stay quiet."

"That is," you continue with a raised eyebrow, keeping your hand still inside her and practically relishing in her pleading gaze, "you can keep quiet, right? I wouldn't want us to be a disturbance so if you can't, then..."

You make a point to remove your fingers at an agonising pace, its presence leaving just as soon as it came, but her hand reaches out in an effort to keep you inside. You see her shaking her head 'no', though she doesn't let out a sound.

"Good girl," and you plunge your fingers in once again as some sort of makeshift punctuation to your brief praise, to which you could feel her hips buck sharply into your hand in response.

Your lips and your unoccupied hand wandered around her body, as if making sure that she was there with you and actually alive instead of whatever worrying condition she was in. And really, if it weren't for some lucky stroke of luck, she wouldn't even be here in your arms right now.

You knew the risks of being with her but that didn't mean you liked it—the thought of losing your lover was...

"..Mm?"

You looked at her and you see a questioning yet knowingly sympathetic look in her eyes, and that's when you realise that you had unconsciously stopped moving entirely.

She moves her hand, though it isn't to remove the makeshift gag in her mouth. Rather, she moves it to softly brush her knuckles on your cheek, reassuring you of her present existence without words.

..You needed her just as much as she needed you.

With a pleasant hum, you kissed her again before moving your head down and leaving a trail of kisses in your wake. You stop at her glistening core, wet with slick and anticipating your next move from the way it squeezes down on your unmoving digits, before you descend further and give her clit a slow, tentative lick. The effect is immediate—you hear her let out a muffled gasp as her hands dart to the back of your head.

Her reactions have always been a delight to witness because of how it was always such a gamble to you; was she going to try holding it in or was she going to be so expressive that you have to keep her still? Was she going to be a good girl and follow every little thing you say or was she going to be a brat and defy you until you've broken her in? But this time it's delightful in a different way—your entire exchange is so utterly intimate and caring and reassuring for the both of you.

And the effect on her is also delightful too. Putting her hands on your head and alternating between gripping it tight and massaging your scalp as you consumed her entire being, murmuring sweetly broken-apart words of her love for you as she tries to quiet down for you, pulling you closer by wrapping her legs around your head and never letting you go while her body twitches and reacts at your every minstration... For once, she doesn't know what to do, simply laying there as a helpless pile of need and desire that's being wound up tight with care until she possibly can't anymore.

When your fingers curl up into that one specific spot as you sucked on her clit just the right way, you feel her finally snap and let go before you hear it.

It happens in such a mesmerising sequence; her breath hitches once more as her body locks in place for a mere second before she bucks her hips and shakes uncontrollably. Her hands claw on your scalp and her thighs squeeze you tighter, practically closing up any space to breathe and yet you don't care—you happily continue on with your movements and help your lover ride through her much-needed orgasm. Then that's when you hear her garbled screams, the makeshift gag in her mouth definitely not enough to contain the sound, mixed with "I love you"s and scrambled words of gratitude as she rides out her high.

It takes a while, but eventually she settles down. Yelan's grip on you softens up and you are given room to move off her and finally breathe (not as if you were complaining, in the first place). So you extract yourself from her lower body, though not without cleaning her slick up with careful licks as you slowly took your fingers out as to not overstimulate her further. You licked your own fingers clean right after with a little wink at her and you see her roll her eyes with a smile as she takes the panties out her mouth and puts them aside, the expression complimented with a blushing tint on her cheeks.

You kiss all the way back up her body until you reach her lips, and a hand goes up to cup your cheek as you share this tender moment together between you. And when your lips break apart, your body doesn't follow—instead, you lie beside her with both your limbs tangled up together and never letting go. You would have lied down on her but you didn't want to put pressure on her still-recovering body.

Neither of you speak for a little while, satisfied with simply hearing the sounds of each other's breathing. Of her breathing, an indication that she's alive and with you at this present moment. It's so easy to just.. close your eyes and fall into a comfortable slumber with your partner right here with you.

But eventually, Yelan manages to form her words, "I missed that."

You raised an eyebrow, "What, the sex?"

"Well, yes. You're a natural, sweetheart. But no, I meant being with you."

"..Me too."

...

"There is.. one more thing I want to do."

"And what's that?"

And she turns to look at you with that dazzling sea of aquamarine blanketed with a warm, loving gaze, "Rest. With you."

The smile that stretches your lips isn't enough, could never be enough, to express the happy warmth that blossomed within you, "We can do that."

You don't do it immediately; you've had to briefly extract yourself to put your own clothes back on and help Yelan with hers (despite her insistence that she can do it herself) because the least you two can do is look somewhat presentable in case someone comes in. But when you finish up and you come back to bed with her, it doesn't take all that long for peaceful exhaustion to overtake you.

The last thing you see is Yelan's live, blissful expression of happiness, something one wouldn't expect from someone in her line of work and yet there it was.

And it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

(And when you wake, you see her snoring lightly with her lips slightly apart.

And you wouldn't want to trade this—her—for anything.)