#but it always just feels so dizzy like the whole world is a dream

[promptfairy]

❥    𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐁𝐘   [ 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 ] .

adapted from f. scott fitzgerald’s 1925 novel. many lines have been altered to be more roleplay-friendly. change gendered language and add context to your needs. happy roleplaying!! ♡

❛  whenever you feel like criticizing anyone, just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.  ❜

❛ i’ve gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things.  ❜

❛ you remind me of a rose, an absolute rose. ❜

❛ i’ve had a very bad time, [name], and i’m pretty cynical about everything. ❜

❛ that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world. a beautiful little fool. ❜

❛  i like large parties. they’re so intimate. at small parties there isn’t any privacy. ❜

❛ whenever he sees i’m having a good time he wants to go home. ❜

❛ you’re a rotten driver. either you ought to be more careful or you oughtn’t to drive at all. ❜

❛ i hate careless people. that’s why i like you. ❜

❛ i don’t want you to get a wrong idea of me from all these stories you hear. ❜

❛ i usually find myself among strangers because i drift here and there trying to forget the sad thing that happened to me. ❜

❛ you’re acting like a little boy. ❜

❛ i’m delighted to see you. i’m delighted that you dropped in. ❜

❛ by god, i may be old-fashioned in my ideas, but women run around too much these days to suit me. ❜

❛ if you want to kiss me any time during the evening, just let me know and i’ll be glad to arrange it for you. ❜

❛ you can’t repeat the past. ❜

❛ can’t repeat the past? why of course you can! ❜

❛ you dream, you. you absolute little dream. ❜

❛ what’ll we do with ourselves this afternoon? and the day after that, and the next thirty years? ❜

❛ life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall. ❜

❛ you look so cool … you always look so cool. ❜

❛ you think i’m pretty dumb, don’t you? ❜

❛ we’re getting old. if we were young we’d rise and dance. ❜

❛ what kind of a row are you trying to cause in my house anyhow? ❜

❛ you’re causing a row. please have a little self control. ❜

❛ i suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let mr. nobody from nowhere make love to your wife. ❜

❛ i know i’m not very popular. ❜

❛ i don’t give big parties. i suppose you’ve got to make your house into a pigsty in order to have any friends—in the modern world. ❜

❛ your wife doesn’t love you. she’s never loved you. she loves me. ❜

❛ once in a while i go off on a spree and make a fool of myself, but i always come back, and in my heart i love you all the time. ❜

❛ i never loved him. ❜

❛ oh, you want too much! i love you now—isn’t that enough? ❜

❛ i did love him once—but i loved you too. ❜

❛ there’re things between [name] and i that you’ll never know, things that neither of us can ever forget. ❜

❛  i’m going to take better care of you from now on. ❜

❛ you’ve got to pull yourself together. ❜

❛ there i was, way off my ambitions, getting deeper in love every minute, and all of a sudden i didn’t care. ❜

❛ they’re a rotten crowd. you’re worth the whole damn bunch put together. ❜

❛ you weren’t so nice to me last night. ❜

❛ you may fool me but you can’t fool god! ❜

❛ i don’t give a damn about you now but it was a new experience for me and i felt a little dizzy for a while. ❜

❛ it was careless of me to make such a wrong guess. i thought you were an honest, straightforward person. ❜

❛ i’m five years too old to lie to myself and call it honor. ❜

❛ you’re crazy, [name]. crazy as hell. i don’t know what’s the matter with you. ❜

[maudie-duan]

Summary: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, they say, but does it really have to be the end if it turns into one of the deepest connections you've made in a while?? Paring: Long Hair Harry x (Fem)Reader Tags: Always Open @sassamanda77

Word Count: 16K

A/N: I've been working on this story on and off for weeks. Didn't like it at first, but I was really craving an LHH fic where he's just really emotional and in his feelings. So there will be lots of angst.

Warnings: Strong Angst/Smut: mentions of Zayn leaving, and the band's hiatus. Implications of fooling around under the influence of alcohol, Size Kink, Talks Of Oral Sex (M/F receiving), Fingering, (M/F) Masturbation, Slight Spit Play (Just barely), Edging, While I don't condone unsafe sex, there is Unprotected Sex, Pull Out Method...on a lighter note there is lots of fluff, Soft Harryx100, Very Emotional.

(If I missed anything PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!)

What was the last thing you remembered? Before the dizzying haze sent the world spinning, a tunnel vision of shadows speeding past you. Maybe there was walking, a stumble, a hand gripping yours, maybe the distant face of a stranger.

What was his name? 

And then there were lights? There were so many lights; was the bar really that bright? There was that last shot when the burn of the alcohol was no longer apparent, the sugary finish the only thing washing over your tongue. Kelsey said to take another, so you did; the scene was already blurring around you, and then she said one more, so you did it without hesitation. 

After that, there was the bathroom, except Kelsey wouldn’t leave Bryan’s side, so you had to go alone. Yes, this is where the world started fading because you remember using the bathroom and seeing yourself reflected in the dim lighting of the mirror, but what happened next? 

“Fuuuuuuck—” is all you can say, squeezing your eyes shut, face planted in the pillow. 

When was the last time you felt this hungover, your ears ringing, the roar of a headache this intense, so painful that it hurt to even move your head? A pang so deep in your temples that there’s pain with every thud of your racing heart, feeling the throbbing pulse with every beat pounding through your skull--a steady reminder of the many drinks you felt the need to indulge in, now churning in the pit of your stomach. 

And then there was the ache in your jaw as you gritted your teeth together, willing yourself not to throw up because you didn’t know if you could even move another muscle. Had you fallen? Was that it? Fallen and hit your head…

“That bad, huh?” a deep voice sounds in your ear. 

At first, you don’t think anything of it; maybe it was a figment of your imagination, the demon on your shoulder from last night whispering in your ear, materializing through the pulsing headache ripping through your brain. 

But there it was again, and this time there was a dip in the bed next to you, “I’ll get water?” it says, and maybe you’re still dreaming because every time you move your head, the world still seems to spin, any movement too fast, and there’s that wave of nausea again and that voice—that smooth voice, and is that an accent? 

You know you need to lift your face from the pillow, but you’re unsure if you have the strength or the will to stir this feeling any further. That voice is familiar, though, and when the blanket rustles, the feeling of the moving sheet awakens your naked body and alerts you. Wait naked? You think, whipping your head toward the movement on the bed, and when you spot the man sitting next to you, your whole body reacts, a sudden jolt jumping through you, and then you’re falling off the edge of the bed, the sheets coming with you as your body hits the ground with a hard thud, agony already taking way. 

“Oh my god—oh my god—!” you yell, clutching at your chest, your heart slamming against your ribs, every breath coming at a rapid pace. If you thought your head was pounding before, this was a new torture. 

“I didn’t mean to give you a fright,” He says, and you watch his tall figure crouch next to you, grasping the sheets tight around you as you study his features. It’s like each aspect of his face pulls at your mind like a distant memory. 

He hands you the bottle of water and comes down to his butt, a small smile playing at his lips, and the longer you stare, the more you think you remember; at least you know you came here willingly, hence your naked body under these sheets, but was there sex? 

He’s quiet, only a smile, and when you bring the bottle to your mouth, he laughs, “You don’t remember a thing, do you?”

And when he laughs again, you watch his dimples dip into his handsome face, and you think to yourself…if you’re going to have a one-night stand, this is definitely someone you would want to go home with…or to a hotel? Because when you force your eyes away from his face, you peer around, eyes moving around the luxury suite.

“Did we have sex?” you ask, eyes shifting back to him, and he licks his lips, drawing his knees to his chest, a casual demeanor taking way.

His face morphs from playful to serious in a matter of seconds, which makes your heart drop, and even though it was more plausible than not, you kind of hope you didn’t because you can’t remember a single detail of being in this hotel room, and as you clinch your jaw the ache travels to your temples, bringing tears to your eyes because this has to be the worst headache of your life—and fuck this guy is so hot.

What do they say? You can’t experience beauty without pain? Then you’re cursing to yourself, thinking the one time you score a decent one-night stand, you would, of course, be too miserable to enjoy it. 

“There wasn’t sex in the traditional sense, I guess…” He tells you, cutting through your thoughts.

“Mmmm…” you mumble, eyes sweeping over his face. Then you find yourself smiling because he looks so earnest, and his answer has you searching the tiny treads of memory you can’t seem to conjure no matter how hard you try.

There’s a faint grin tugging at the edge of his mouth, and you can tell he remembers everything, but something tells you that you’ll have to dig for the details. 

“Would you mind…maybe elaborating a little?” you push, watching the smile spread on his face. He reaches forward then, stretching past you to the nightstand, the scent of his faded cologne filling your nose, beckoning you as your eyes fall to the inked skin along his ribs, and then it’s like they’re all coming into view, a sleeve running up and down his arm—fuck.

He sits back on his heels, “Here, I tried giving you these last night, but you passed out pretty quickly after…”

“After…?” You try again and look down at his open palm, the ibuprofen resting in the center of his large hand. You grab the pills and toss them back, guzzling the rest of your bottle of water as if your life depended on it.

He laughs again, his deep rasp breaking through, “So if I can remember correctly…” He starts with a grin, his British drawl making your heart skip a beat. 

“You said, Gerry…I want you in that bed. Then you led us to the room.” He bursts into laughter then and says, “My name is Harry, by the way.”

You immediately feel the heat creeping up your neck, your face burning with shame--shame for your bold behavior, which few have ever seen. “My apologies, but please continue,” you say.

“Don’t worry, Darling, it was quite humbling. Very few get my name wrong…”

You shake your head, thinking you would probably believe anything he told you if he said it with that smile. The same smile that probably got you to this hotel room, but now you’re having second thoughts about who was calling the shots, thinking maybe you’re the one that spurred last night on—you in one of your rare moods, a toss-up of what kind of drunk you’d be, but at least you weren’t bent over a toilet crying over your Ex, so that was a win already.

“Do you want to shower?” Harry asks, as your eyes travel down his torso, eyeing the tattoos; not a single one is familiar, except maybe the butterfly—Like perhaps you saw it in a dream, and why is he wearing boxers, and you’re completely naked?

“I would love a shower…” You breathe, watching as he springs to his feet, a little too fast for your current state, and he smiles when he catches the dizzying look on your face.

“Man, you’re in rough shape…” He laughs, reaching out a hand, and you clutch the sheet to your body, embarrassed by your lack of clothes, suddenly feeling more modest than you’d hope in this kind of situation—But there’s nothing a hot shower can’t fix, right?

Here is the thing about Harry: He brought you back on a whim. He had no intention of bringing a girl back to his hotel room; in fact, it was never in the cards to even go out. He was here in Vegas with the band, probably even the last time they would play here since there was already talk about their impending hiatus. 

Harry was minding his own business, passing you in the hallway on your way out of the bathroom, and when you locked eyes, he watched the smile grow on your face. He thought…fuck…another fan… but when you stopped him in his tracks, there wasn’t a glimmer of recognition. 

You planted your hands on his chest, gazing up at him--a bold move on your part—which immediately piqued his interest. Harry was just drunk enough to play into it. Maybe see it through and play along to see what your next move might be. When you pushed him against the wall in the shadowy light of the hallway, he nustled his face into your neck, trying to shield his face from all the random people shuffling in and out of the bathrooms.

And this is where maybe he did spur you on just a little…

The second he drew a breath, breathing in your scent, he felt himself giving in. The warm flesh of your neck was so close to his mouth that he couldn’t help but push a soft kiss—press his lips into your skin and listen for the gasp he knew would fill his ear, your hot breath fanning over his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, and what else could he do?

He felt your hands roaming his body, clutching at his shirt, pulling with such want that one of the buttons on his shirt popped open, making him pull away in laughter, excitement surging through him that felt foreign because when was the last time he just got to let loose like the? Tensions had been so high lately that nothing in him wanted to be here in Vegas, but now he could at least have a little fun, and why not?

Harry hated Vegas; it almost felt worse than New York, a dense population, always a sea of faces, a place he could rarely go unnoticed, and here he was letting some stranger fondle him, and when you asked him what his name was, he laughed again, pulling away with curiosity, he wanted to see your face, he wanted to know if you were playing into some kind of bit, but then you noticed the tattoo at the center of his chest, and the look in your eyes told him otherwise. 

You didn’t know who the fuck he was, and this made him even more curious—Yeah, you were drunk, but so was he, and would this be a bad thing? He hadn’t had sex in a while, on a sort of cleanse he held himself to for the last six months, and maybe you guys didn’t have to have sex; there were other things. 

But as your hand moved the thin silk of his shirt aside to get a better view, you forced your hand to his chest, pinning him against the wall, his body unmoving as your finger began to trace the outline of one of the butterfly wings. Harry watched as your finger slid down the center of his abdomen, his muscles tightening, forming a straight line to the top of his belly button, sending a rush to his dick.

When you bit down on your lower lip, Harry nearly lost his mind; even then, he wanted to hear your thoughts, wanted you to say them out loud. 

There you were, standing before him with very few words, and then you called him Gerry, which somehow sealed the deal for him. He knew nothing about you, whether you came there alone, what your name was. He figured he could ask you in the car, but as you guys pushed your way through the bar, Harry made a point to be your guiding light, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you guys past the flashing lights of the cameras, cursing to himself the moment you guys stepped foot outside the bar—what was supposed to be fun and low-key turned into him moving through a crowd of people, and while Harry didn’t regret his choice, he knew that you would bare the sting of this later.

Do you want to shower first? You ask, taking hold of Harry’s outstretched hand. Your eyes are trained on his face, watching a smirk spread on those heart-shaped lips you knew you were lucky enough to kiss last night…because there must have been kissing, right? You just wished you could remember.

“You want to take separate showers?” He grins, pulling you up from the ground, and just as you stand to your feet, the sheet is ripped from your body, but your reaction is too slow, and when you look down at your feet, Harry’s foot is at the edge of the material.

“Shit, I’m sorry…” He blurts, adverting his eyes while you stand there clutching at your breast, trying to cover yourself in any way that you can. “I have already seen you naked…if that means anything…”

You laugh then, your face burning, “Yeah…but it would be different if I actually remembered…” 

“So you really don’t remember a thing?” He questions, covering his eyes.

This makes you smile as a bashful look takes Harry’s features--the kindness to cover his eyes is enduring as he crouches back down to feel around for the sheet on the ground blindly, patting his hand across the floor. He grasps the material and holds it out to you, not daring to peek.

“Thanks…” you say, your smile stretching wider, and you can’t help but laugh as you pull the sheet around your body. 

You like Harry’s easy energy; nothing about how he’s presented himself has made you uneasy in the slightest, and when you give him the clear to look, his eyes don’t even wander. They move straight to your face, making your heart pick up a beat.

You can shower first,” he offers, and as soon as he says the words, you feel this draw, this urge, this want to be close. 

A want to explore what it is about this guy that’s conjuring this strange sense of wanting to give your all. Was that what it was last night? A sense of safety? You could have done anything…he could have done anything, but something tells you he didn’t take advantage of the situation.

“We could shower together…if you’d like…?” You ask almost as if it were a question, letting it hang in the silence between you. Harry ponders your words, weighty in the way his brows knit together, his eyes surveying your face, his gaze on the verge of making you backtrack. 

And then he smiles, and you see that glint in his eye, the look that probably lured you in, and he says:

“A mutual shower, no sex?” 

He holds out his hand with a mischievous smirk, turning up the corner of his mouth, and when you grasp his hand, his grip is firm, his green eyes holding you in place, and you wish you remembered what these hands felt like on your body. Did he play into your assertive mood, or was he more gentlemanly? Did this kindness show through the whole time?

You return the smirk, feeling your guard waiver, “Deal--” Then he tugs you toward the bathroom, the sheet falling around your body like a gown, and you wonder if this is what it felt like to be swept off your feet—that giddy feeling of new wonderment filling the air around you both, and when Harry laughs it makes your stomach flutter, like a crush you’ve held secret for years and now you’re finally playing out that fantasy. 

Because later, when this was all said and done, this is the part you’ll look back on and wonder why you did it, why it was so easy because this…him…that feeling blooming deep in your belly would become as familiar as looking in the mirror, and although his face felt distant right now you knew it, somewhere deep within. 

…

Harry couldn’t believe it worked, getting you here in the shower with him. 

He could tell you were nervous. 

The way you kept making small jokes to mask your apprehension, your eyes barely meeting his. When you wrapped the sheet around your body tighter and wiggled yourself up onto the counter, he could see you trying to play it cool, and maybe you would have fooled anyone else, but there was something jerky in your movement, stiff, still guarded, everything understandable, but there was just this tiny piece of him that wanted that girl back from last night.

It didn’t have to be sexual. Although that part was pretty amazing, Harry admired your boldness the most. Yes, he knew that alcohol had a lot to contribute to that, but it came from somewhere, right? He wanted to get this part over, you know, get past all the weird stuff because whether or not he wanted to admit it to himself, you guys were complete strangers. 

So he stood there, patient, his hands tucked behind his back, leaning against the wall as the silence stretched, both of you waiting for the water to warm up, “Are you from Vegas?” he asked. 

He watched you draw in a deep breath, your posture straightening. “I’m from Colorado…you?” and when he gave a faint chuckle, he watched the realization dawn on your face as you let out a nervous laugh.

“England…” Harry laughed, running his hand under the water. It was the perfect temperature, but he knew you weren’t ready. 

“Still kind of cold.” He lied. 

You shrug, “What are you doing in Vegas?” He asked next. 

“I’m supposed to be here with my friend Kelsey. I was actually hanging out with her and her boyfriend last night…damn…I hope she’s not freaking out right now. I can’t remember if I called her.”

“You did--” Harry confirms, followed by a laugh.

Harry catches your eye for a brief second right before they dart to the ground, your cheeks flushing, and he’s still trying to wrap his brain around you and the person you were last night, feeling himself getting sucked in all over again, but differently something more approachable, less fleeting. 

“I don’t do this a lot,” you finally tell him--a pang of guilt is eating away at Harry, and his mind is trying to piece together why you felt like you had to explain yourself. Was he making you feel weird, he wondered? 

When Harry heard this bit, a sense of relief washed over him; this he could work with, this he knew, “Yeah?” He questions.

“Actually… I’ve never had a one-night stand…I ummm….” He watches you swallow the rest of your words, your eyes searching his face. As you gaze at him, he observes the fear creeping into your features, witnessing it take over.

And when he sees this, he’s quick to speak up, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do…and last night I didn’t do anything that you didn’t ask of me…I only did what you wanted…I swear.”

When your eyes sweep over his face, he feels this need for you to believe him because it’s true, and when you breathe the word “Okay…” You nod, then your face relaxes, and you hop down from the counter and move toward the shower, leaning past him to check the temperature of the water. 

When your arm grazes over the soft skin of his stomach, he sucks in a breath, his nerves getting the best of him now, and when you turn your head, your eyes move over his belly, and he stills himself, afraid to move, “Did those hurt?” You ask, and he watches your eyes trail along the band of his boxers.

“They did…” He says, “But it was more of me wanting to cover up another tattoo there, and then these just happened…”

You nod your head again, and he feels himself involuntarily sucking in his stomach, suddenly self-conscious, your neutral gaze unreadable. 

Then your eyes flick to his, smoothing your lips together, “I think it’s ready…” you tell him. 

“Yeah?” He asks, wanting to make sure this is something you want. 

“You’ve already seen me naked…” you laugh, then out of his own bewilderment, that damn sheet drops to your feet, and you step into the hot shower, eyes on his the whole time.

Okay…so he could definitely work with this, and even though he was fighting back his boner, the half-mass that threatened to give him away. He knew he couldn’t help it, and as Harry pulled down his boxers and stepped in behind you, he turned away, not wanting to weird you out. 

…

“Do you want some of the water?” You ask, your eyes closed, the hot water hitting the top of your head like heavy rain. The humidity of the shower fills your lungs as you reach and smooth your hair back, and its soothing warmth is all-consuming.

You know that you’re on full display, but you’re having one of those “fake it til you make it” kind of moments, and you figured if he didn’t like what he saw last night, maybe he would have asked you to leave. I mean, he was the one offering the shared shower in the first place. 

You thought the longer you kept your eyes closed, the longer you could keep them from roaming. You knew you were hogging the hot water, but something about the heat washing over your scalp felt like a christening of new life, the ibuprofen starting to kick in. You stood there finally at peace, massaging your scalp as a long sigh slipped past your parted lips, causing Harry to clear his throat. 

When your eyes flutter open, you blink away the water, the moisture from your eyes blurring your vision. Then, you step away from the downpour, taking care not to look anywhere but at Harry’s face, his focus trained on your eyes, never drifting any lower.

This made you smile, knowing damn well his eyes had plenty of time to survey your body, and a piece of you wanted him to. 

There was something about him that made you want him. You wanted him to watch you, maybe make the first move so that you wouldn’t overthink it, and here you guys were, in the midst of a hot shower, your bodies only inches away as you both played polite, and the thought alone was driving you crazy. 

That’s when you grab hold of his arms, trying to maneuver around him in the tight space, guide him toward the shower head, watching as the water cascades over his dry hair, and when you let go, your gaze falls to his shoulder, the trickle of water floods down his chest as Harry closes his eyes, and he lets his head fall back, an audible sigh escaping as you watch his lips part, his tongue coming out to lap tiny droplets of water—and fuck you are so turned on, a dull throb pulling between your legs already.

“This feels so good…” he mutters, caught up in the tranquil lull of the water. 

Would it be so bad to take a peek? See what Harry would have been working with? Because if you’re honest, your eyes may or may not have flitted over his mounding bulge stretching out the front of his boxers earlier, so why not confirm and put your curiosity to rest?

But here you are with every opportunity—do you do it? His eyes had to have roamed, and as your eyes scan down his body, you watch the toned muscles along his torso tighten and relax as he moves his arms above, running his fingers through his long hair, and there’s those damn…what are they…leaves? 

And as you eye them, you can’t imagine what he could have possibly covered up; it doesn’t even look like anything was there…and oh fuck, you think as his thick dick comes into view, the weight of it hanging heavy and hard between his legs and shit. There was no way that was inside you last night because as you sucked in a deep breath, reeling over his size, Harry asked, “Can you pass me the soap,” and for the second time that day, you jumped, slamming your hand over your mouth to muffle the yelp of surprise rising. 

When you peel your eyes away from his dick, your eyes meet his, and of course, he’s smiling because your dumbass couldn’t stop gawking.

Now you’re blushing, and when you pivot on your feet, you slightly slip, causing Harry to grasp hold of you--your wet hand slides down the wall and comes to a halt as you push the weight of your body into the palm of your hand and holy fuck, Harry’s hands are on your naked body, and as you right yourself, his hard dick pushes against your ass, and you’re trying everything in your power not to provoke it any further—push into him, nudge the idea into his head.

“You okay, Darling—” Harry questions, and you don’t even have to turn around to know that he’s smiling; you can hear it in the pitch of his voice, the amused tone of someone who just caught you red-handed, but how could you not look, and why are you making this so awkward? There’s no reason to freak out, but like the weirdo you know you can be, you’re doubling down, pushing out the first words that come to mind.

“We didn’t have sex--” you force, over-dramatic, of course, and then you’re repeating it. “We didn’t have sex…we for sure--did not--have sex.”

He laughs, “I know silly…I told you that already…”

“Yeah, I know--” you tell him, your tone getting pushy, the embarrassment of it all catching up to you.

“Okay…” He says, “Is everything okay?”

“I just accidentally looked at your dick…” you blurt, almost as if you’re waiting to be reprimanded. Harry drags his hand from your waist as his hand finds purchase on the wall next to yours. He releases you then, his breathy laugh filling your ear, and he pulls away, tsking his tongue several times in a row, making you smile.

“Why would you taking a peek at my dick be more confirmation than me saying? He pokes.

You shake your head, pushing yourself upright, “You just want me to say it?” 

This warrants another laugh, the laugh echoing through the shower, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about…I swear?”

Then your head whips in his direction, catching his cocky grin right before it disappears, “You know why…”

“Come on, Darling, humor me just a little?” he pleads, and now you look again, your eyes sweeping to his hard dick, your gaze making his cock bounce, and you draw your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to suppress your smile.

“I’m just a shy girl…” you joke.

“You weren’t shy last night…” he tells you, with that sexy smile again, and you laugh, your nerves getting the best of you as you try and play it cool.

“It doesn’t count…I don’t remember…” you say.

“Well…I’m just a shy boy… I’m not sure I can repeat your demands out loud…”

You gasp, pushing a hand into his chest, “My demands?” you ask, and Harry grabs hold of your wrist, holding your hand in place.

“Yes, Darling, you were very demanding last night…”

“Stop…I might go run and hide.” You threaten him, feeling shy, but there’s something calming about his energy. You like his playfulness and find yourself wanting to play into it. 

“Like go hide back under the blankets?” He offers, poking you in the belly, and then your eyes drop to his finger moving away, your boobs coming into view, a reminder that your casually standing here naked with a dude you just met, and it’s starting to shock you how easy this feels.

“If I get back in that bed… I’m going back to sleep…” You tell Harry, firm, no room for negotiations.

“Can there be cuddling?” Harry suggests, taking a step toward you as you ponder his offer.

You laugh, a nervous flutter growing in your stomach, “So you want me to stay?” You whisper, your back hitting the wall. You were so focused on Harry’s gaze that you didn’t even notice the steps he had taken toward you, caught up in the idea of sharing a bed again.

 Now, there was proof that your body acted on its own accord around this man, that you could be inching backward and have no conscious thought of it until you were staring up at him, watching him plant a hand next to your head, walling you in.

And now you’re holding your breath, contemplating his next move, his inquisitive gaze sweeping over your face—what is he thinking? 

Then Harry reaches forward and tucks a wet strand of hair behind your ear. Moments later, his finger drags along your jawline as you exhale that weighted breath—His close proximity dizzyingly affecting you as you fold your hands behind your back and flatten against the hard-tiled surface—Your mind is desperate to find something real, something to root you in place. 

It’s like suddenly you’ve been here a million times with this guy, this stranger that’s growing strangely familiar by the second, and as you glimpse the smile spreading on his beautiful face, your eyes drop to his mouth just as his tongue comes out to smooth over his bottom lip, and he rubs them together, drawing you in even further.

And as if there were an invisible string tugging at your core, you push your hips from the wall, an urge pulling between your legs as his thumb traces a faint line across your lips, and he presses his body to yours, your lips parting the second his thumb moves away. 

“Would you like to stay longer?” He whispers, his tone like honey dripping down your spine, and there you go again, arching your hips into his. Then his hand comes up to your waist, softly gripping the skin at your side, driving your hips back until your hands are flat against the wall again, Harry’s hard dick pushing against your thigh, and your willing yourself to stay perfectly still. You stand there compliant, relishing the feeling of his hand moving to your hip. 

Your throat is tight with every word you want to say, and as you nod, you swallow down hard, trying to force the lump down, “Yes…” you push, your voice barely above a whisper, and he’s smiling again, his lips corking into a playful grin, and you’re dying for him to kiss you because he could kiss you right now.

Those lips could be pressed to yours in a matter of seconds because his face is so close, so close that you, yourself, could close the gap, but you’re too scared, and when you watch his gaze flick to your lips, again, you rub them together, preparing for that kiss, because he’s definitely going to kiss you, his head is moving, he’s closing the gap, and as your eyes flit closed, you hold your breath waiting, waiting…and then his lips, press into your cheek, delicately lingering until his raspy laugh fills the crook of your neck as Harry moves his mouth to the shell of your ear, “Maybe later…” 

Then you grab hold of his hips, pulling them into yours, your arms wrapping around his neck, and then you’re hugging him, and you don’t know why you’re doing it. Still, it’s like this primal urge of wanting to be close to him, to feel his body next to yours, this safety that seems to emanate from every fiber of his being. You want him close, to feel that closeness with Harry, because you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe, this open vulnerability. 

It’s like it’s overtaking you, and when Harry’s arms wrap around your body, his grip tightens, and he returns the gesture—Everything about it feels real.

It’s like this surreal calm takes over your body, and suddenly you’re crying, a few tears drifting because this feels so good, this hug, and you think you wouldn’t need anything else, that this is perfect, and he’s not letting go. Then he pushes his face into the crook of your neck, his body trembling in yours, his weight slightly shifting. That’s when you realize he’s crying, huffing a hot sob into your neck, and you hold him--You hold him tight because maybe he might just need this more than you. 

…

Harry didn’t think he would cry, but there he was, crying into the neck of a total stranger, not even second-guessing himself because once he heard your soft sniffle brush past his ear, he knew he was a goner. 

Harry felt his edges crack them crumble into a sob like the weight of days, months, the years were coming down on him--All the days that had vanished slipping past him, and while Harry had the world at his fingertips, there had been a hollow opening up, one big question mark, marking his life with no plan for his future because 

Harry knew that things with the band couldn’t last forever, that the shelf life of a boy band was short. It wasn’t just the band; they were all getting tired, especially Zayn, who was already on his way out the door. Harry could feel it, see it there in his features, Zayn 

withering away right before their eyes.

Another collective weight, the foundation of their legacy, splitting beneath their feet.

So when you stumbled into his world, he wasn’t necessarily looking for you, but here you were, wrapped in his arms, both of you tucked beneath the blankets as Harry listened to your slow breaths, your body growing heavy as you drifted off to sleep, feeling a world of safety crashing into him.

At first, he told himself he would wait until you fell asleep and then sneak out of the bedroom, hang out in the living space, watch a movie, or write in his journal. But the second he opened his eyes, you were still in his arms, your face inches away from his. He watched as you stirred awake, your eyes lazily flitting open, a slow smile waking on your face. 

“So it wasn’t a dream…” you whispered, making his heart flutter, and without thought, his lips moved to your forehead, and Pressed a soft kiss to your skin. 

As the kiss lingered, he breathed you in, thinking how was it that you both used the same soap, but somehow you smelled more inviting, the soap taking on a whole new aroma, one he wanted to savor, and when he pulled away, you brought your hand up to his cheek, stroking your thumb back and forth. Then, your hand drifted to the nape of his neck. 

And as you drew in a breath, you pulled his face to your mouth, your lips moving to his temple, and ever so gently, he felt your lips meld to the tiny hairs along his hairline, whispering the words, “I’m so hungry…” and when you laugh, a puff of warm air ghosts over his ear, sending a slow hum down his spine. 

This is the feeling he had been longing for. That feeling of ease, of comfort. 

It had been months since he had three consecutive days off in a row; it had been even longer since he had felt this building notion, this anticipation of feelings—the beginning of a crush—those silly flutters in the depth of your belly every time you look at them, and you were merely a stranger. There could be nothing else from here. He didn’t even know if you knew who he was. 

“Let’s order room service…” he whispered, trying to keep his voice even as he bit back tears. Your eyes wandered over his face. He wondered if he had asked what you were thinking if you would tell him, and then he did, his heart starting to pick up.

“What are you thinking?” he forces the words tight in his throat. 

And to his surprise, you don’t even hesitate, “That for some reason you look familiar, but I swear I can’t figure out why…like maybe it’s just my brain recalling your face from last night…”

Then Harry is holding his breath, watching, waiting for you to figure it out, and when you say, “I don’t think I could forget a face like this—” he lets out a quiet breath, pressing your hand into his cheek.

Just then, a rapid tap drums from the other room, and Harry lifts his head, his eyes flicking to the open door of the ensuite. “I think someone’s knocking,” he hears you say through the onset of panic. 

His heart races, and he tries to remember if they had anything planned as a band, but today and tomorrow were free days. Why the hell would anyone be bothering him? 

The knocking stops, but then the sound of clicking fills the silence of the room, and just as Harry is piecing together what’s happening, the hotel door opens; a soft glow from the hotel hallway bleeds into the main room, and Harry springs to his feet as a man calls out his name. 

“Shit—be right back…” he told you, fidgeting with his boxers, now sitting low on his hips, “It’s just Paul… probably checking in—” 

And when Harry catches the worry streaking your features, he bends down and kisses you on the cheek, “Don’t worry, love, it’s just a friend…” Then he watches your brows knit together, mulling over this bit as Paul calls Harry’s name again, his voice drawing closer to the bedroom.

…

Lights began to beam through the dark doorway as you watched Harry step out, closing the door behind him just as you caught sight of a man leaning down to click on a lamp next to the sofa just beyond the door. 

You lay there for a beat, wondering if you should feel fear, but the feeling never stirs, then your thinking why did Harry need all this space, and what does he do for a living to afford such a luxury hotel room.

As soon as Harry closed the door, the room was swallowed in darkness, and you bound off the bed to search for the curtains, opening a small section until you realized that the sun was setting, the twilight of the evening just settling over the bright lights of Vegas and holy shit, what a view. 

You had to have money to get this kind of view, so you opened the curtains wide, sinking into the comfy chair next to the window, crossing your legs underneath you, mesmerized by the hustle and bustle far below, the room so high that you could barely see the people moving around, or maybe your eyesight was shit, either way, it was the perfect view.

Bored, you turned on lights, trying to breathe life into the room. 

When Harry took longer than you expected, you shut yourself in the bathroom, taking this moment to spruce up. As you gazed at yourself in the mirror, your eyes darted to the oversized t-shirt Harry let you borrow.

Your eyes scanned over the faces, filling five boxes, the last box spelling out “1D,” and you laughed, thinking, what the hell is this? The faces of these little boys stretched across the shirt, blue, pink, and purple, repeating the pattern, and at the very bottom of the shirt, it read, ‘Up All Night Tour 2012,” which was two years ago. Harry seemed too old to be repping this; how old was Harry anyway?

The more you look at the shirt, the more you want to make jokes, like, of course, it says ‘Up All Night’ They looked just on the cusp of no longer having a set bedtime, and with any boy band, you find yourself surveying their attractiveness, your eyes only lingering on the dark-haired boy with the earrings who probably grew up to be really hot, with those dark eyes and dark lashes—the others weren’t your vibe, but then you felt weird thinking that, like how old were they anyway.

Then it dawned on you that they were the reason you were here, that Kelsey arranged this whole trip to Vegas around this concert, the only way she wanted to bring in her 21st birthday, at the iHeart Music Festival.

That’s when you made a mental note to ask him about this band, see if it was worth it, see if your friend was crazy for dragging you guys here because you could barely afford it as it was, and when she brought her stupid boyfriend, it ruined the whole trip…maybe hooking up with Harry will be the only highlight of the trip after all.

Eventually, you returned to bed after searching for your phone. You found it under the bed, but it was dead. Now you had to wait for Harry and Jeez. What was taking so long?

When the door finally opens, Harry is running a hand down his belly, a sweet grin, peeking at the corner of his mouth, “I’m starving…” He drawls his British accent heavier when the words are lazy.

“I think food is the last step to curing this hangover.” You tell him, sitting up on the bed.

“Sorry that took so long…we were going over plans for the next couple of days.”

“Gotcha…” you nod, “Is that good or bad?”

“It’s whatever…” He pushes, shrugging his shoulders as he puffs out a breath of frustration.

“I think for like the first time in a while, I just need a vacation…” He continues.

“Vacations are nice…” you agree.

“Do you get to at least enjoy Vegas while you’re here? Did your friend want to go out? I could always ditch. I don’t want to impede on any of your plans—”

He laughs, “I’m technically not old enough to hit the town just yet. It wouldn’t be a good look…”

“Wait, what? Weren’t you out last night?” 

“Well yes…but that was 18 plus…”

“Are you telling me you’re 18?” you blurt, surprised because you thought you guys were at least the same age.

“Darling, I’m 20… don’t worry… you’re not robbing any cradles trust me…” and you watch as a faint blush creeps into his cheeks, and when he runs a hand through his long hair, he scrunches his nose, making you laugh because shit, this dude is hot, like probably the hottest guy you’ve ever scored as far as hook up’s go. 

“What?” He asks, eyes searching your face. You push yourself off the bed, coming to stand in front of him, feeling a sudden urge of confidence, and when you bring your hands up to cup his face, you ask:

“May I kiss you?” and he lets out a nervous laugh, grabs your face in his hands, and matches your stance.

“May I kiss you…” he jokes, and you drop your hands, wanting him to take the lead.

“Yes…” and just as he’s leaning in, you say, “But let the record show…I did ask you first.”

His breathy laugh fans over your lips as he presses his mouth to yours. Your smile slowly fades as your lips begin to move together. When Harry deepens the kiss, you release a chaste breath. Your lips part, and you swipe the tip of your tongue over his top lip. Then Harry groans, and the vibration hums across your lips.

Your hands come up to his waist, gliding up his torso until they wrap around his neck, your hands threading through the curls at the nape of his neck. You couldn’t believe you were kissing him. It was like everything that you had imagined in the shower, except his touch was a lot more gentle, his pace slow, meaningful in the way his thumb caressed your cheek back and forth, kissing you the way you’ve always dreamed of being kissed, like cue the night sky and all the stars above you and this would be absolutely perfect, but fuck the stars if you had this mouth kissing yours.

Because what were the stars if you had his hand gripping the back of your neck, holding you in place, anchoring you there, because suddenly it feels like you’re floating, this kiss dizzying you, a heady sense of giddiness coursing through your entire body and all you can think is this…this is what I want right now.

And you’re acting on it, greedy for it, a soft moan slipping past your lips, and you want this, you want this right now, and Harry seems to be picking up your cues, and as your breath picks up, so does the kiss, and it’s breath after breath, this urge growing, and as you begin to move the kiss, taking a slow step back, Harry breaks away.

“Mmmm…” He breathes, swiping a thumb over his bottom lip, a grin spreading across his mouth, and there’s that urge again, and you take a step forward, your mouths crashing together.

Then you’re picking up on that same rhythm, and then you’re pulling him toward the bed, you’re mouths move with hunger--desperation in each step that you take backward, Harry moving with you until the backs of your legs bump the bed, and your pulling at his waist, needy for him to crawl into this bed with you, and then he laughs, halting your hands, and you open your eyes just as he’s pulling away from the kiss, his eyes trained on you.

“What?” You ask, “Is this not okay?” 

His hands smooth down your forearms and grasp your hands, “If this is what you want…I hate to say it…but I really need food…” He suggests, dropping one of your hands to pat his hungry belly.

“Food?” you repeat, almost dazed because you literally almost had him in this bed.

“Yes, love, I need fuel to take you on again…” he rasps out with a laugh.

“Again…?” you ask, licking your lips, the taste of his mouth still on yours keeping you in the moment.

“Yes… you’re a feisty one…” Harry tells you, bringing his mouth to your ear, “Mmhmmm….” is all you can say when you feel his lips press into your neck, revving you back up, and you squeeze his hand hard, gasping out a breath of desperation as you tug his hand toward the ache between your legs.

Harry releases a weighted breath as he pulls away, his eyes locking with yours. You pressed his hand to the fabric of your panties and unclenched your tight hold on his hand. When you bite your lower lip, you watch the contemplation crease between his brows. 

Then ever so slightly, he drags his fingers over the warm center of your underwear, your mouth rounding into an ‘O’ as the pressure of his touch deepens over your clit, and he begins to draw a small circle with his fingers, and you whimper a low, “Mmmm…” just as his hand draws away slowly, a small smile playing at his lips, and your hips move in the direction of his hand, not wanting the touch to end.

Then you’re on the tips of your toes, pressing your lips to his again, and this time his hands are on your hips, forcing them back until you’re seated on the bed, and he breaks away from the kiss, pushing his weight into his hands, planting your ass to the bed, “Food first. Then this…” He reiterates, this time a little more firmly, and all you can do is smile, him nodding his head until you’re following along.

“Fine—” you puff out, sexually frustrated, to say the least. You laugh as you fall back onto the bed, ready to pout about it, as you swing your legs back and forth over the side of the bed, suddenly feeling a fit rising, and you exhale a loud dramatic sigh bubbling up from within, and when your eyes sweep to Harry. He’s standing there with a huge grin, stretching from ear to ear, and you cover your face, embarrassed maybe, but more overwhelmed by what this dude was doing to you, your resolve crumbling with every passing hour.

“See…I told you…feisty…” He chuckles out, running a hand through his hair.

…

Harry knew he was in for it the second his fingers slid over the soft cotton of your underwear as he watched you unfurrow, your jaw going slack, mouth curving into the perfect shape. He knew exactly what those perfect lips felt like wrapped around his cock, and had you put up more of a fight; he would have given in, fallen mercilessly into the greed that was overtaking him.

And when you fell back onto the bed, his fingers twitched at his sides, a whole vision of him falling to his knees to pry those delicious thighs open. The only thing between his mouth and your pussy was the weightless material of your panties. All he would have to do was slide them to the side, bring his mouth to your warm center, and taste you. Drag his tongue up your slit till he was spreading you open, the salty-sweet slick of your pussy coating his tastebuds because you were already wet, the fabric damp under his touch—you needed him like he needed you—and now as you both sat there taking your last bites of food, the T.V. droning on in the background, he was smitten.

“Okay—that’s fair, but what’s like the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you? You asked Harry, a broad smile stretched across your face as both of you enjoyed each other’s company, and he couldn’t believe how much fun he was having just sitting there talking to you.

Harry had to think this question through; he knew what he wanted to say, but how could he tell you without giving his identity away or not spurr on more questions to lead you there because Harry had decided back in the bedroom what this would have to ultimately be—a hook up—that’s all it could be because once you figured out who he was, it would scare you away. 

How could something like this work when it’s so clear that you both lead two very different lives? 

“Ummm…I guess…one time I fell in front of a room full of people…I mean, like a massive fall, a ridiculously stupid fall, and not only did I fall in front of all these people, but my family and friends were there too….and I just laid there for a second, not wanting to get back up.”

You laughed and asked, “Was it like a presentation or something?” and Harry studied your face, readying himself for the lie.

“Yeah, back at Uni, it was pretty silly, really…I had a nasty bruise down my hip later, but that didn’t hurt half as much as my ego.” He laughed out, stuffing his last bite into his mouth.

He liked the way that last line made you laugh as you took a drink of your water, your eyes darting to his mouth, lingering, making his dick tingle, and he wished he could hear your thoughts out loud, and then you surprise him:

“What are you thinking?” 

Harry is thinking a lot of things, and he knows that if he tells you the truth, it will shift the mood, switch gears from light and easy to possibly where you guys had left off in the bedroom. 

He could feel the tension floating at the surface of every thought—feel it in the way your gaze lingered, the way your lips smoothed together every time he licked his lips or ran a hand through his hair. The way he felt himself flirting, witty with a purpose just to make you smile, laugh that cute laugh of yours—you taking any excuse to touch his arm, his hand, he liked you loose like this, a girlish playfulness that sent a flutter to his stomach, his dick anxious to please you.

But that was the problem. Harry didn’t know if he could do it. He had gone so long without sex already, and he wasn’t prepared. 

There wasn’t a single condom in the room, and yes, you guys could fool around like last night, but he knew he would want more. Ever since you touched his face in that shower, held him while tears streamed down his face, he wanted to bury himself deep inside you, make you feel the way you made him feel—warm, safe, secure in his touch, your bodies pressed together in a haven that only you two could build because couldn’t this last longer? 

Did it have to end at this? All of it was so confusing, these feelings circling inside him.

“What am I thinking?” He finds himself repeating, trying to stay in the moment.

“Yeah…” You answer, your tone soft and inviting.

“I’m thinking that I’m really glad you’re here…and that this has been the best time I’ve had in a really long time.” And when Harry says it. He knows it wasn’t what he planned on saying, but the words tumble out of his mouth with intention.

Harry wanted you to feel precisely what he was feeling right now, and that was fulfillment because even if you didn’t move any further than this, this would be just enough, you being here, the presence that you’re bringing to his life in this very moment—this joy—Harry hasn’t felt this kind of happiness in so long that all he wants to do is bask in it, savor every second.

…

There it was again. That soul-deep kindness that’s been chipping away at your guarded facade all day, casting away doubt from the moment you opened your eyes this morning. 

Who was this person, this man sitting next to you on this couch? 

Where had someone like him been when all the others failed before him--his presence alone was the biggest mindfuck you have had in a long time because what the fuck are you doing here? Where was this going? It was starting to feel like more than a hook up; the time you both were putting in said otherwise.

Technically, you guys had already hooked up, even if you didn’t remember, he did, so you both had already gotten what you wanted, so your staying longer was a choice on both of your parts, and here you knew nothing about him, but feeling a draw so intense that you can’t even put a finger on the feeling, it’s like your soul already knew him—already knows him—his eyes as familiar as looking in the mirror, but what was the catch? How was this going to end? Could this be more?

“Harry, should I go?” You ask him, needing to know where he stands in all of this; hear the words that he wants you to stay.

He’s in the middle of gulping down his water, and as soon as he hears the question, he chokes the water down with a cough, eyes darting to you, and you wait for his cough to settle.

Harry takes a beat, taking you in, his eyes sweeping over your face, “Do you want to leave?” he finally says, making your heart pick up a few paces.

“I just want to make sure I’m not overstaying my welcome…” you answer, studying his face.

He shakes his head. “Am I making you feel that way?” Harry scoots closer to you on the couch, your body shifting toward his, and places both hands on the tops of your thighs, bringing his eyes level with yours.

There’s a plea rising in his features, a worry furrowing his brow as his hair falls into his face, and you reach to sweep the tuff of hair behind his ear, “No—I just feel like—”

“I don’t know…” And you can’t even look at him, his gaze too much, that look sucking you in, making you weak for this man—you want to fulfill every silent want that he has, every want that’s filling the air because you can feel it, the breath heavy in your lungs. You want him just as much as he wants you because you’re aching with it, pleading from the depth of your belly for it—an unspoken want so desperate it hurts.

“I want you to stay…” he whispers, cupping your cheek in his hand. The warmth seeps into your skin, and you close your eyes, wanting to savor the feeling.

Then there are tears, and you don’t know why you’re crying, but when the pad of his thumb swipes over your cheek, you grab hold of his wrist, your eyes shuddering open. His face is blurry until the tears spill over, and he’s wiping them away, “I’m scared…” you choke, barely able to get the words out.

“I’m scared too…” He manages, as his face begins to break, then you spring forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, and when he falls back into the pillows of the couch, you crawl into his lap as he draws you into his body, Harry holding you tighter than he’s had this whole time.

“I think I really like you…” He murmurs, pushing the words into your neck, and you feel your whole body heat with the thought; your feelings mutual, but all you can muster is a “Yeah?”

And as you relax into his lap, Harry’s grip loosens enough for him to rub a slow hand up and down your back, your body going slack, and your head nestles into his shoulder as the tears continue to fall, and you close your eyes, getting lost in the feeling of the rhythmic stroke of his hand.

It’s not until he scoots his hips forward on the cushion that you stir from your trance, his arms a fortress from whatever was plaguing you before, and you shift your hips until you’re realigned with his body, your hand absentmindedly twirling a lock of his hair around your finger. 

You listen as Harry draws in a slow breath through his nose, one of his hands traveling lower, moving over the curve of your hip, skimming under the back of your thigh, and he grabs your flesh, pulling you further into him, your center now pressed against the mound of his boxers as your legs spread just enough to make it known, your body waking, the path his hand took now alive with his touch. 

Without thinking, you press a delicate kiss to the skin of his neck, your lips slightly sticking to the damp aftermath of your hot breath, which came and went as your emotions slowed. Harry’s shoulder slick with your tears. When you lift your head, your hair is glued to the side of your face, and you brush it back, forcing it behind your ear. 

The blush of his lips is the first thing you see, more prominent in the trace of his tears now glistening on his flushed cheeks, and when your eyes meet his, a tear spills over, and your throat seizes with the sight. You have no idea why he’s crying, but somehow you feel the pain of it settling in your bones, the pain fitting to your flesh as if it was your pain to carry. 

Will a kiss make it better, make it all go away? 

Because the way he’s looking at you with those green eyes, so green, islands in a sea of pain, the whites of his eyes red, giving it all away. You reach for the hem of your shirt, bringing it up to his nose, and wipe it clean, making Harry laugh. It’s a start, and when he grabs hold of the shirt, he silently nudges his chin upward, a quick nod, signaling for you to take it off, and he helps you lift it over your head, your bare breasts coming into view, and you’re straightening your spine ready for him to take you in.

His head falls back against the cushion of the couch, his body slumping as the tears continue to come, like the sight of you is too much to bear, a pained look as he bites his lip, and everything in you wants to ask, just ask, that’s all, but it doesn’t feel like the right time, like whatever Harry feels he needs to release, let it go, so he can move on from it.

He scoots himself further down on the cushion, his ass nearly toward the edge, and you shift your weight into your knee, pushing into the sofa, your outstretched hand coming down next to his head. 

The sudden jolt of your arm falling into the pillow makes your boobs bounce up, only inches from Harry’s face, and the two of you lock eyes as you adjust yourself in his lap, a chill running down your spine when his warm breath fans over your skin, bringing awareness to your hard nipples—the unspoken need for him rising as the air grows thick around you, all your focus closing in on Harry.

His long legs become the perfect chair, enough space between you and the tenting bulge forming in his briefs, and he drags a hand down his torso, dipping into the band to readjust the growing boner that has your mouth watering because there’s no way that dick hasn’t already filled your mouth, that your jaw hasn’t stretched around it, tried to fit as much of him into your mouth as you could, was that it? 

Was that the pain in your jaw this morning? So stiff you could barely open it. 

Did he fuck into your mouth until he came, shot his warm load down your throat? Did you both go to sleep satisfied because now you’re thinking the only way you could leave this hotel satisfied is if that dick had been deep inside you, a memory for later when all else fails when you have to say goodbye because you’ll have to say goodbye, right?

The head of his long penis peeks out of the top of his boxers, and the material settles over his girth, and all you can do is stare, his fingers grazing up and down the fabric as he comes to full mass, the movements slow and steady like a sunset opening up to the night, taunting you, knowing that darkness brings all the things you hide in the light, and these are the things you want to give him, the things you want to share.

…

It’s an unspoken want, but this is what Harry needs, he thinks while he watches your body lengthen, your posture righting itself as you cup both of your breasts in your hands, your gaze moving from his dick to his face, your mouth smoothing together, stirring a hunger in him when you pinch the tips of your nipples with your fingertips, arousing yourself, and your rock hard nipples even further. 

And what a fucking sight to see, the pleasure it brings when you clamp down on the tips, just hard enough to release that soft gasp slipping past your parted lips, and he wants more. He wants to see it all, and when Harry reaches for your wrist, he pulls your hand between your thighs--he wants to see you touch yourself--he wants to see you plead for more than just your fingers. 

The gesture is silent; no words needed because your fingers are already moving, a palm pressed into his knee as he watches you steady yourself, the other hand moving over the center of your panties, a slow, gradual pace as your hips jut forward. 

He sees your need growing as you find your rhythm, your gaze focused on him, right where he wants it, making him even more turned on as he watches the slow circles, your legs widening when you press a foot to the ground, rising slightly, your body secure. 

That’s when you slip your hand into your underwear, the need more pressing, your breath picking up, and when you roll your hips into your touch, your head falls back as you unleash a gentle moan, your eyes flitting shut, ready to get lost in it.

Harry decides to join in on the fun, stroke his hard throbbing cock, while he takes you in--The idea of him being inside you was only a fantasy at this point, but maybe he could make it real.

Harry knew he couldn’t be as graceful as you. What started as slow and delicate for you was already sloppy and pressing for him. He couldn’t help the groan rippling from his throat as he cast it with a slowing stroke, forcing himself to stay in rhythm with you as your eyes fell to his, then his hand, and you both shared a smile, and he locked his knees together to give you more stability, your weight sinking into your hips as you slowed down.

“Tell me what we did last night?” you asked with a smile, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh as he forced his dick completely out of his boxers, his cock resting in his hand.

That’s when Harry felt the power shifting in his favor, “Take your panties off…I want to see…” He tells you, glimpsing the smile widening on your face as you come to standing, and when you swing your leg over his, he spots the wet center of your undies, and he has to let go of his dick, or else he might come. 

“Fuuuuck…” He breathes, “Those are mine now,” He forces as his gaze follows the motion of you stepping out of your underwear.

He loves the playful smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you swipe them from the ground and toss them on his chest. 

“Here…” he tells you, patting the space beside him.

You laugh then, Harry’s chest tightening in anticipation, but you comply, gracefully taking your seat next to him. What was bold before slips into a timid smile, your eyes darting to your hands clasped together in your lap, and this is what Harry was waiting for: the vulnerability you were giving so freely.

…

Was this it, you thought? Was this going to be the moment you’ve been waiting for? 

The undressing was easy. You had already done that part; this part was new, and the rest was still a mystery, every event from last night. 

Harry places a hand on your thigh, and you grab hold of it, nervous, too nervous to look at him, suddenly scared because suddenly sex with him was a real possibility, not just a passing thought that had flitted in and out of your mind all day. 

When he leans in and whispers, “You okay?” his rasp catches in the shell of your ear, and you nod, shooting him a quick glance, and he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, chills running down your arms.

“Lay back,” he asks, your eyes on his face as his eyes flick to the arm of the couch. You turn and look, pausing to take in the empty space beside you and you picture yourself lying there. 

When you turn back to Harry, he’s watching you, his eyes glancing over your face, and he sits back, lifting his hips to push down his boxers. When he leans forward to push them past his knees, he kisses your lips, soft and brief, and when he pulls away, you crawl toward the end of the couch, doing as you’re told, a giddy sense of pride swelling in your chest, that you guys have made it this far.

Once your head is resting against the armrest, you bring your knees up, pressing your feet flat to the cushion, your knees slamming together when you catch sight of Harry rising, his face serious, unreadable, sending a pulse between your legs, and my god, you want him so bad, you want him to shove that fucking dick so deep inside you that you’re yelling his name at the top of your lungs, so loud that your voice fills every vacant space in this room.

“This may come as a surprise,” he starts, his penis in his hand again as he stands before you, “But I don’t have any condoms…” and he laughs, your eyes trained solely on his hand, now gliding down his hard dick, his words barely registering. 

You tear your eyes from his moving hand just in time to catch the cocky smirk rising on his face, “Good thing we didn’t have sex last night. I’m not on birth control anymore…”

“Mmmmm…” he hums, watching you lick your lips, and you swallow hard, your mind in overdrive, already contemplating what you would say if he asked to fuck without one, and when your eyes sweep down his body, you think, fuck it, let’s risk it all! 

This thought makes you laugh, “Yeah…” you say, meeting his eye again, “So… that’s bad, right…?” you ask, your clit throbbing, and you bite down on your lower lip, praying he’ll make the decision for you both.

“I think…?” He answers with a curious smile, the words coming out more of a question, and you squeeze your thighs together, trying to find relief from the pressing thought of you guys fucking, raw, and nasty; no holding back because that’s what it would be if he stuck that warm, supple dick inside you…and your almost begging that those are his next words, the tension building between your legs, your gaze, and Jesus Christ, just say yes or fucking no you plead internally. 

Your legs fall open at the sight of him continuing to stroke himself, your fingers already rubbing slow circles, enough to satiate the ache, and then Harry smiles, that fucking smile, so cute, and so sweet, his dimples dipping, “Sit!” you force out through a wave of pleasure—a single word humming through your body enough to take you to the edge and you have to stop touching yourself or else you’ll come right then and there and it’s too soon. 

Harry doesn’t even question you. He drops into the cushions, one of the decorative pillows in his way, and he thrusts his hips forward, his dick still in his hand, and when he falls back into the couch, his hard cock stands tall, ready for you, and he scoots his hips back down the cushion, opening up space for you to climb on top. 

“So we’re doing this?” he asks, and he definitely thinks sex is about to happen. There’s not a single trace of question on his face as his hand glides down, hitting the base of his dick, and damn it, he wouldn’t even care if you shoved him inside you right now, and should you just do it, just fuck him now, and worry later because this is the first time in your life that you would, that you’ve ever wanted to. 

Without a word, you climb into his lap, leaving a space between you and his moving hand. When Harry drops his penis to reach for your face, it hits your inner thigh with a thud, heavy and hard, and maybe in another lifetime, you would ask him to smack that fucking hard dick across your lips, tap your cheeks, feel the thickness down your throat, and maybe he already has, you’ll never know, but there’s no time because you have to find relief. 

Harry’s kiss is sloppy, his mouth moving against yours with force, with hunger, his tongue coming out to wet your lips, and you follow up by shoving your tongue into his mouth, greedy to taste him. 

When your tongues clash, Harry pushes a groan into your mouth. The tremble runs over your tongue, sparking a cooling chill down your spine that sends a quiver to your clit, “God dammit!” you yell into the air with a laugh, and your head falls back, your eyes fluttering shut as Harry, presses a wet kiss to your neck. 

“I want it…I want you,” Harry pleas, his woody voice filling your neck, and you’ll do it, you really will, but that little voice in the back of your head is telling you that you’ll regret it. 

“I just want to feel you for a second,” he gravels, forcing you back in his lap, creating enough distance for you to take hold of his dick, now hot in your hand, and it’s so fucking tempting, the thrill filling your chest, the thought swirling something deep in your gut, and your fucking pussy beats with it.

Your mouth is already watering, and you work a glob of spit against the roof of your mouth, thick, and you spit down onto his cock, Harry laughing out a breathy, “Shit, baby—” as you both watch it drip over his pulsing head, the saliva working down his sensitive cock. 

You spit again for good measure, working it down his dick. When you bring your hand back up to the head of his penis, Harry sucks in a sharp breath, stopping your hand the second you smooth over the tip; a smile stretches across both of your faces, a knowing stare—your whole world as you know it, right now, in this very second is getting lost in those green eyes peering back at you, and you’re captivated, his eyes moving to your lips and you draw yourself forward in his lap.

With his dick in your hand, you lift your hips, pressing a hand into his knee, finding stability as you press the head of his penis between the lips of your pussy, your wetness dragging down his shaft until you hit the base of his cock, a moan leaving your mouth as you push against his dick with more pressure, your hand starting to work the tip.

“You’re teasing me…” he breathes, letting his head fall into the pillow, and he closes his eyes, his lips parting, a slight twitching in his hips, and he hooks both arms over the back of the couch, letting you take control. 

His dick is warm against your pussy, your slickness marking a glossy streak down his thick dick, and you follow the wet path back up to the tip, rolling your hips once you reach the top, giving the head of his cock a little more attention, and when you press him into your cunt, needing more pressure, his tip dips past your entrance, a quick stretch as his dick snags on your opening. You both groan out in unison, Harry’s head whipping up to meet your eyes, a throaty laugh filling his chest, and his dick pulses against your clit.

Your strokes get more aggressive, up and down, stroking down with your hand in tandem with your movements, his dick getting more and more wet and sloppy as you tease your entrance again. Then, Harry grabs hold of your thighs, his fingers digging into flesh as he bucks his hips up, and you yell out a pained “Ahhh…fuck…” as your hand wraps around his dick, pulling it away, and your body shudders, the overwhelming sensation edging you.

Harry drags your hips forward as you move through the wave. Your head falls to his shoulder as warmth rises from his body, your hot breath filling the space between you, and you close the gap by pressing a kiss to his inked skin. “We can if you want to…” This time, his words hang between your stare as you bring your face up to his. 

“Harry…”

“I know…” He coos, his soft lips hitting the lobe of your ear, and his breath splays over your neck, sending a hum down your spine, between your legs, and he grips you tighter. 

His arms wrap around the small of your waist, bringing you flush to him, his hard dick pushed to his belly, now tall between you.

He’s so fucking ready for you, but you like the way he begs.

The heat of him pressed between your thighs is making you crazy, your clit swelling for it, and you want it so bad. “Just for a second,” he begs, his voice straining as you begin to move against him, each movement short and precise. 

You circle your arms around his neck, feeling the tension build, the urge for him growing deeper, tugging at you from within, every spot you know he could hit, whispering from inside you, begging, pleading. You press your forehead to his, each breath growing shorter and faster as you work against him, trying to fulfill that pressing need for him as he stares back at you, waiting for you to say anything.

“Just for a second…?” you force out, your fucking pussy aching, the friction on the verge of pain and pleasure as he pulls you down harder, forcing your clit against him, and you can barely move your hips, Harry strangling your movements, making you desperate for relief.

“Just for a second…” he whispers with more control, and he lifts his chin to push a kiss to your mouth while your hips are fighting for more.

“Just—a second…” you say into his mouth, already pushing a knee into the couch, and lift your hips, breaking Harry’s hold. 

He grabs hold of his dick, both of you gazing down as he guides his dick to your opening, and you spread yourself, making it easier, your hand shaking as adrenaline surges between you both. 

Harry nudges the tip in, your pussy opening for him as you grab hold of his neck, and you slowly sink with a loud, “Mmmmm….” pushing past his ear, filling the space, but all you hear is, “Oh, fuck, baby… that’s so good…” as your walls stretch around him, the pain sharp, and foreign, but as his dick pushes past the spots that need him, that were calling out for more, there’s pleasure—pure fucking pleasure.

And just as you hit the hilt of his dick, your breath hitches, the entire expanse of him now inside you, and you tense up as your mouth moves against his. Harry slows you both down, and you gasp into his mouth as soon as your hips ease to a standstill. 

The sudden pause magnifies the intensity of the stretch--his length stretching past anything you’ve ever felt before, his girth widening you beyond any measures you’ve ever experienced because they were nearly warm-ups, lead-ups to this very moment because it is so fucking good, so good, and then your hips are moving, Harry scraping out a sharp groan into your mouth as you continue to kiss.

Each time you lift and lower back down, the walls clenching around his dick loosen. 

His dick is wet with your juices, nice and slick, the fit better with every movement, and it sends a flutter of excitement to the pit of your stomach, “So good—” you breathe out, “That dick is so good…,” and Harry laughs, grabbing hold of your face, not wanting to break the kiss.

He’s more romantic than you pictured.

He’s gentle and lets you move at your own pace. When you swivel your hips on the way back down, he nips your lower lip, bringing you with him as he falls back into the cushions. “Play nice…” he laughs as you guys hit the pillows with a soft thud. 

“I don’t want to play nice…” you tell him, taking his bottom lip into your mouth, and you gently tug, grabbing hold of the back of the couch. 

That’s when you slam down on his dick hard, releasing his lip. His eyes roll back as his body relaxes into the couch, his hands twitching on your hips, then sinking into your skin to grab hold of you, and he lifts his hips, drawing you forward, then back. The first time it’s slow, but he does it again with more force, and you cry out a moan, his cock deep in the pit of your stomach, and you squeeze the firm surface under your palms to ground you.

“Tell me how good it is…” he pushes out, between a moan, “More—” you shout, and he juts you up with a raise of his hips, and you yell out his name, letting your head fall back as the force runs through you.

Your entire body heats with the growing pressure, and when you look back at him, he’s securing his hands on your waist, bucking into you again, and as soon as you hit the base of his dick, he does it again, and again, until your bouncing up and down, losing your grip on the couch—losing control, each thrust up a welcoming embrace, tipping you closer to your threshold, and it’s hot, and heavy, your hands slipping on his chest as you try to steady yourself.

“Oh my god—”

“You’re going to—” you choke out. 

“Say it!” he says as you fall into his chest, your resolve etching away, and his grip tightens; Harry gaining more control, his pace consistent, his strokes shortening, deeper, as he holds you in place.

Your gaze is trained on his chest, your hand smoothing over the butterfly--transformative that’s what this will be because you’ve never gotten this close, this fast, without the extra work of your hand, and it’s a completely different feeling, a feeling you have to let go and let happen, every breath in and out, pulls deep in your belly.

“Come—I think—” you blurt, your mind becoming a jumbled mess, every sense entirely overwhelmed, and when he smiles at you, the knot building tightens, and you feel your walls beginning to clamp around his dick, like a fist, as Harry slows his thrusts.

“I’m going to come—I’m coming—I’m coming,” you stretch out with a long moan. 

And It’s that quick, the feeling sneaking up, and just as you’re coming undone, he yanks his dick from inside you with enough force that you collapse onto his chest, leaving you hollow, a sliver of emptying space closing as your walls continue to pulse, and you rub your pussy against his lower abdomen, riding out your orgasm, with that last bit of friction. 

…

Harry hadn’t intended sex, but here you guys were in the aftermath, his hand wrapped around the head of his dick, cum spilling out into his hand as you rode out your orgasm, his body the object of your desire, and he fucking loved it. He wanted this feeling with you for as long as you allowed him. 

“That was—” you huffed out, trying to catch your breath as every harsh puff pushed into Harry’s neck, and he was taken—the start of obsession creeping in because that was--amazing.

“Amazing—” he laughed between a quick inhale, finishing your sentence.

He felt your lips press into his skin, chills running through his whole body, every touch electric, heightened by the energy you guys shared, a connection he hadn’t felt in so long that he forgot what it felt like to actually let go—to get so caught up in the moment that nothing else mattered—and yes, using the risky “pull out method” isn’t the best decision but maybe you guys could cross that bridge later. He didn’t want to think about it; he wasn’t ready for the reality that it would bring, the reality that you would be leaving. 

“Stay another night…I promise I’ll make it worth your while…” he told you. 

That’s when you laughed, a breathy sigh leaving your mouth. Content, your gaze was starry-eyed, beaming up at him. Your body was totally relaxed against his. “As long as there are pancakes…” 

Harry couldn’t decipher his feelings, what this was turning into for him, the way he was catching feelings.

When was the last time he had stayed up all night just talking about anything and everything with someone? He wanted to run his fingers through your brain like you ran your fingers through his hair, everything light, a delicate touch, a mindless gesture, comfortable and charismatic, your walls completely down.

What made you tick? Was it something he could figure out in one night, or would he spend months dwelling on the what-ifs because he felt hopeless for you, desperate for the idea of trying to make this work?

All night had been a fever dream, a kiss, a stare, a laugh; you filled every inch of this space—of his being. When he was inside you because, yes, he was inside you again, you took it slow, no rush, your bodies melding together in a slow rhythm, your mouths moving easy, light, a carefree laugh, a hand intertwined, a giddy clinginess that neither one of you could shake, and when the morning sun sliced through the edges of the curtains Harry was the first to wake.

He lay there as still as he could, not daring to stir you as his gaze lingered on your face, memorizing the details, your head resting on his chest. Your breaths were slow and rhythmic, in and out of your nose, a faint warmth beating down on his skin, almost humming him back to sleep. 

He knew this would be all the time that he had left with you, so Harry savored the seconds, meditating on the thoughts that circled his mind—dwelling on the questions that tugged and ground deep in his gut, the longing to be something else, knowing Harry could never lead a normal life, that love could never be this simple because, after all, you didn’t even know who Harry was, what he did for a living—how in hindsight you were still strangers.

How he was barely his own person anymore, and how could he ask you to share when this was all he could give? Hell, you’ve had him more than anyone else lately, more time than he’s had by himself.

Harry knew that when you woke, there would be no pancakes because he had a gnawing feeling that you wouldn’t want to stick around, that maybe you were the type that just ripped the bandaid off, and he was right.

As soon as you opened your eyes, goodbye had stolen the night and cast light to the inevitable—the end—and as your eyes lingered on his face, your lazy gaze taking him in, still half asleep, the corner of your mouth dropped just enough for Harry to peep the frown you were fighting, the still sadness in your eyes, that didn’t want to leave his.

Then your eyes dropped to his chest, your arm still draped over his torso. You lifted your head and pressed the softest, most delicate kiss into his flesh, your lips pushing into his skin, lingering, and when your mouth moved away, he watched you press your cheek into the warm spot you left behind, closing your eyes to savor the fleeting moment.

Because that’s what this all was, one fleeting moment after the other, and when you rest your chin on his chest, eyes meeting his, the knot burning his throat tightens.

All of his words are lost. Harry biting them back, pressing down on his lip that he’s trying to keep from quivering because you’ve just become the longest goodbye he’s ever had to make, and the grief of it is already taking him.

“I don’t think I’ll have time for pancakes,” you tell him, only furthering the pain building in his chest.

His heart sinks as the words leave your mouth, and you don’t even look at him, your voice still thick with sleep, and you clear your throat, Harry watching the effort it takes to swallow, and he knows you feel it too, the weight of the goodbye.

One more time…

He just needs you one last time. 

…

When Harry gently nudges you onto your back, you know what he wants, and so do you; your body moving with his movements as your eyes fill with tears. When Harry hums out a small sob, hovering over you, his face falls to your neck, and you reach between your bodies, feeling for the hard mass resting against your thigh.

You know what this is; you know this is goodbye.

What you didn’t tell Harry was that you knew, that you had figured it out, who he was—after you showered and slipped back into his t-shirt. 

The two of you stood in front of the mirror brushing your teeth, all laughs, flirty gestures. You stood there thinking this has never been so easy. You felt something wild stirring, the thought creeping into your head with the glimpse of his smile, and you thought maybe love, like maybe you could fall in love with a guy like him, like you could make it work. 

When Harry turned away to reset the bathroom, you stood there brushing your teeth, and you honed in on your reflection, thinking you hadn’t looked this happy in so long, so long that it overwhelmed you, and you stood there, your heart already longing. 

Already mourning this girl you got to be with him, trying to hold it together, trying to hold onto all your pieces because you wanted to give them all away, tell him how you felt, and maybe he would say the same. 

There wouldn’t have to be an ending, at least not now. 

That smile, that kindness could be yours, those lips, those hands could have you any time he wanted.

You were so caught up in this idea, and as your eyes lazily flit over yourself in the mirror. You half-heartedly glanced over the five faces reflected back at you, your eyes taking them in again, remembering you were going to ask Harry about the shirt. 

As you silently studied their faces. You found yourself focusing in on the boy with the playful smile, the boyish grin stretched across his face, familiar, his dimples giving him away and how had you not noticed before?

Then terror took way. 

It was like lightning striking your body, the realization like an earthquake ripping down your spine as your mind fought to keep up. The feeling was almost dizzying as your eyes flicked to Harry, now standing next to you, your toothbrush stopped mid-brush. 

You knew you couldn’t react.

That’s when you had to make the decision, and you knew in that split second that if you said a word, it would change everything. A sacrifice because this is what you wanted, this guy standing before you, just like this, how you’ve had him all night. 

So you bury it deep, a tunnel of grief already splitting inside you because it’s in those flashing moments you know he could never be yours, so you let him go and force the idea from your brain, letting him be exactly who he was, and will be until the time comes to say goodbye, because what he’s given has been so much bigger--bigger than all the fleeting moments--and even if it hurts, and it will hurt later, maybe it’s a gift you thought, and you ran with it.

So now, as he pushed inside you, the pain is sharp, and your body tenses, and you gasp in a breath and let it take way because there was already pain the moment you opened your eyes, the longing that never left your body. 

And as your mouths move together, the tears begin to fall from his closed eyes, your heart aching with it, and you close your eyes, getting lost in it, falling until there’s nothing else but this. 

It’s pain and pleasure all over again, and when he groans, you spread yourself wider, giving yourself completely as tears spill down the sides of your face, goodbye at the edge of each breath that pulls in and out of your mouths. 

Then it’s a whimper, a moan, a ragged hand dragging down his back as his strokes deepen, your nails digging as he rasps out a grunt of satisfaction.

Deeper and deeper, he pushes like he’s trying to merge your bodies together as one. The weight of him forcing against you until you don’t know where your skin begins and his ends--each stroke persistent and measured, like Harry is savoring the feel of you, memorizing it for later, your name falling off his tongue as if he’ll forget and maybe he will, but you don’t want to think of it.

And it’s right there. 

The look in his eyes, the words he’s holding back, but you’re close, and so is he, and the tears haven’t left, and you nod your head, Harry following suit—a shared sense of recognition. 

Harry lets you go first, and seconds later, he’s pulling out, and like every time before, leaving an empty void, but the satisfaction is in the pleasure you’re bringing him. 

Something tells you that very few get him like this, and this notion, this waking realization, is what you’ll walk away with. 

When your back is pressed against the door frame, readying yourself to leave, his arm perched above your head, and it’s all smiles, him putting your number in his phone. 

Maybe he’ll call, or maybe he won’t; it doesn’t matter because what he gave you was the gift of a lifetime—the gift that will keep giving every time you glimpse a picture of him in a magazine or a song comes on the radio years from now, you’ll know it, you’ll know the moments he sings of, the tiny details hidden in his words.

He sends you off with a parting kiss, your mouth moving until he pulls away, and you wrap your arms around his neck, your bodies coming together in one last deep embrace, and you both get lost in it, not sure who will pull away first.

That’s when a voice sounds behind you, Harry’s face lifting to see who it is. When he loosens his grip, you turn your head to see the dark-eyed boy with the pierced ears, and you look at Harry and push away, forcing yourself to leave.

The dark-eyed guy moves aside and gives you space. You move past him, walking a few paces down the hall, the elevator in view. You stop then, looking down at the shirt, pulling it away from your body to glimpse the faces, and when you turn back around, Harry is leaning against the door frame, hands pinned behind his back. 

That boyish grin is in full swing, “You finally figured it out, huh?” he laughs. You turn away and shake your head, a smile never leaving your face, and as the elevator door opens, you walk in and push the button for the lobby. Harry is still watching, and when the doors begin to close, you lean forward to stop them and yell:

“I figured it out last night—”

He brings his hands to his face, fainting embarrassed, and maybe he is. You can’t tell from this far away, but his smile never falters, and you take that as a good sign, “When?” he shouts back.

You step back into the elevator and shrug your shoulders, a cunning smile taking over as you shake your head. Harry pushes away from the doorway and starts walking toward you. The doors begin to close, and that’s when Harry starts to run. His tall figure becomes a sliver as the doors seal shut, Harry disappears, and you look down at your feet and wonder what the hell you just got yourself into.

A/N: This baby was long, but I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think of it here<-

Masterlist<-

[janeyseymour]

Both Sides Now

yo tumblr, it's been a hot minute but i am back with this lil' bitch for you. i hope you enjoy her.

Summary: Melissa Schemmenti has looked at life, not just from two sides, but from practically every aspect she possibly could. from up and down, give and take, wins and loses... but you're her biggest win.

Life is nothing but a series of dreams, it seems. For every person, there are always dreams that we have. And some come true, and some don’t- that’s just how life goes. 

But for Melissa Schemmenti, it always seemed that those dreams rarely came true. If they ever came close, they would float off into the distance after so long. And in the years that she’s been somewhat of a lost soul roaming this earth, ruminating in her own thoughts, doubts, fears, delights, she finds that there are two sides to life. And she’s looked at life from both sides now, as much as sometimes she wishes she wouldn’t.

Rows and floes of angel hair, and ice cream castles in the air, and feather canyons everywhere. I’ve looked at clouds that way.

As a young child, Melissa Schemmenti grew up with her head in the clouds. Dreams were a reality, as they so often are for a child who hasn’t had their innocence ripped away from them just yet. Life was full of bright colors and wonders. It wouldn’t be until later in life that she would dye her hair red, so the angel like hair that she once had would billow in the breeze as she ran through the streets of Philadelphia without a care in the world. She would see the different shapes in the clouds and imagine that the clouds were ice cream castles… feather canyons. That’s how she saw the clouds as a child.

But now they only block the sun. They rain and snow on everyone. So many things I would’ve done, but clouds got in my way.

But now that she’s older and more jaded, she views clouds in a different way. Life doesn’t present itself in technicolor the way it used to. The clouds only block the sun, and once they’ve filled and can’t quite hold the weight of the world on their shoulders, they release their pent up frustrations on the earth in rain and snow. The now redhead finds that she does the same thing. Life has been full of challenge after challenge that she’s expected to triumph over, and every so often… the clouds over her burst. 

Those are the days and nights where she finds it hard to pull herself from the warmth and comfort of her bed. Those are the days where she’s consumed with the thoughts of what she could’ve accomplished had she not let the clouds get in her way. She used to be a daydreamer… a believer. 

But not anymore. Now, Melissa sighs as she prepares to throw the covers off of her to face the day with a job that, while she loves it, she knows she could’ve done better. She should have done better. If she had the chance to do it all over again, she would do better.

There is only one life to live though, as the redhead has discovered time and time again. So here she is, doing what she can to make the best of the rest of her days.

I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now. From up and down and still somehow, it’s cloud’s illusions I recall. I really don’t know clouds at all. 

After living on this earth for as long as she has with the adventures that she’s taken, she’s seen the clouds from all sides. She’s been up in the air and over the clouds, able to look down on them while flying to Italy. She’s seen them from down below, when her feet were on the ground. Her nonna used to joke that Melissa’s head was always up in the clouds… so she supposes she’s seen inside the clouds even. And yet… it all comes back to her as some illusion. Melissa supposes she really doesn’t know clouds at all.

Moons and Junes, and ferris wheels- the dizzy dancing way you feel. As every fairy tale comes real. I’ve looked at love that way.

When Melissa was sixteen, life was looking up. Sure, her parents were divorced now, and that whole ordeal had sucked, but now she had the freedom to do what she pleased for the most part. Theresa chose to fall into the arms (and beds) of man after man and left her children to their own devices. So when the carnival came into town in June, the now redhead had a boy to go with. And as they stepped onto the ride, the moonlight lit up the sky, and the street lights began to turn on. It was almost as if there was a real magic in the air. Melissa felt giddy with joy- that same delightfully dizzy feeling she got when she danced. And then, her fairy tale began to come true. At the top of the ferris wheel was a stunning view of the skyline of the city. And that was when what she thought was her fairytale would begin to come true. Joe kissed her.

But now it’s just another show, and you leave ‘em laughing when you go. And if you care, don’t let them know. Don’t give yourself away.

Melissa knows now though that most of those boys, and even the girls that she’s dated throughout the years usually leave, just like any other show or carnival coming through town. Hell, even her husband left. And if she’s being honest? She let them leave, all with a laugh in her chest. Sometimes it was a real laugh, not believing how foolish she was to let this person into her life at all. But sometimes that laugh was a bitter laugh- one that, even though she truly cared that they were leaving, they would never know was fake. She refused to give herself away and let them know.

I’ve looked at love from both sides now; from give and take, and still somehow. It’s love’s illusions that I recall. I really don’t know love. I really don’t know love at all.

Melissa Schemmenti has seen life from what she thought were both sides. She had given, she had received- taken even. Neither seems to hold truth in itself. The redhead realizes that when she truly thinks about love, it’s all just the illusions that she remembers. She sees the good times and the way that, even though she believed she was a realist, her rose tinted glasses perhaps got in the way. Melissa Schemmenti knows: she doesn’t know love at all. And if she’s being honest with herself, she’s not quite sure she’ll ever know. She tries to make peace with the fact that maybe the fairytale ending she had dreamed of as a child just would’t come true for her.

But then you come along. And you shake up her whole world. You don’t even mean to. You just start teaching at Abbott alongside her and manage to make your way into her little core group. Somewhere in the midst of all of the chaos that comes along with working in an, at times, poorly managed school, you find love. You find love in Melissa Schemmenti. And she finds that she falls just as hard. It terrifies her beyond belief. It scares her so much that neither of you say anything at work to your coworkers- not even Barbara Howard knows. 

Tears and fears and feeling proud, too say “I love you” right out loud. Dreams and schemes and circus crowds- I’ve looked at life that way.

Your girlfriend of a few months has been awfully quiet this morning as the two of you lounge around her house on this serene Saturday morning.

“Babe?” you question quietly. She turns to look to you with a brow quirked. “You alright?”

Something inside of the redhead strikes a chord. Her green eyes fill with tears and shine brightly.

“Honey?” your voice goes up an octave at this sudden show of emotion. You wrap an arm around her midsection, but she brushes you off and sits up straight. The way that she frantically wipes at the tears brimming in her eyes only gets you to furrow your brows further.

“I’m okay,” Melissa tries to tell you, but you can hear the way her voice catches in her throat.

“You clearly aren’t,” you smile sadly. “Wanna tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“I just-“ your girlfriend pauses to wipe the tears away from her cheeks. “I’m so proud to have you in my life. You know?”

You chuckle softly. “So these aren’t sad tears?”

“Not in the slightest,” Melissa assures you. “I just… I can’t believe that I’ve looked at life through dreams and schemes and all that shit, and I somehow managed to get you to walk into my life. I- I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“I’m nothin’ special, babe,” you laugh as you pull her into your arms once again.

Your girlfriend rolls her eyes and smiles at you through long lashes. “You are… everything. I- I love you.”

Wow. That was the first time she had uttered those words- the first time either of you had breathed those words out.

Your eyes go softer than they already were at the three most powerful words your girlfriend could’ve said in that very moment.

“I love you too.”

But now old friends, they’re acting strange. They shake their heads and they say I’ve changed. Well something’s lost, but something’s gained- in living everyday. 

It’s been a few more months since you and Melissa have said that one special word, and still no one at your job knows. No one knows that the two of you are as close as you are, much less dating and in love. To them, you’re just two grade level partners who seem to have similar takes on how the children of the greater Philadelphia area should be taught. 

But some of your coworkers are starting to get suspicious. The two of you have started staying over at each other’s houses more and more, and it’s getting to a point where you’re wondering when the two of you are just going to out yourselves to your work family.

“I mean I just don’t see why we keep this charade up,” your girlfriend shrugs as she’s making dinner. Then she glances to you. “I think it’s funny how fuckin’ oblivious everyone is to it.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips. “It is quite funny. Maybe we just let it go.”

A few days later, you’re sitting in the staff room with your work crew, a smile on your face as you eat your lunch and bask in the quiet of the staff room for once.

“Oh, Melissa,” Barbara starts. “I was thinking that today we could go to the mall?”

Green eyes flit over to you, who just shrugs ever so slightly- but just enough for your girlfriend to pick up on your subtlety.

She shakes her head, an action that somewhat shocks you. You had expected her to accept the older woman’s invitation. “I have plans tonight actually. Sorry, Barb.”

“Oh, doing what?” the kindergarten teacher asks.

“Making dinner,” Melissa smiles as her cheeks tint just slightly red.

“And you can’t put that off for just a bit to go find a new shakedown sweater with me?” Barb lifts a brow curiously.

Green eyes look to you again. You just give her a smile and a head nod.

“Maybe tomorrow?” the second grade teacher suggests instead.

Barbara, even though her lips are turned in an upward fashion. shakes her head gently. “My, my, how things have changed… but yes, tomorrow is fine with me if your dinner is that important to you.”

Melissa sees the hurt that her work wife is trying to conceal. “No, no, it isn’t that. It’s just that… I’m not just making dinner for me.”

Perfectly sculpted brows are lifted. “And who else might you be cooking for?”

You can see the way that your girlfriend mulls over in her head if she’s going to out the two of you or not. “My girlfriend,” is ultimately what she chooses to say.

“Girlfriend?” Jacob immediately chimes in, voice piqued with interest.

Those green eyes are rolled immediately. “Yes, Jacob. I have a girlfriend.”

“What’s her name? Why am I just hearing about her now?”

“I don’t report to you, Hill,” Melissa replies with a bit of snark. “But her name is Y/N.”

Immediately, the focus in the room switches to you, who turns bright red. Your lips quirk to the side as you chew on your cheek before settling to wave shyly.

“You two are dating?” Janine pipes up.

You give a small nod and a smile, while your girlfriend chooses to roll her eyes and quip, “Great job piecing it all together, lowercase. You want a prize?”

“I suppose I should’ve known,” Barbara chuckles with a happy look. “Tomorrow will do just fine, Melissa. Enjoy your dinner tonight, Y/N.”

And the two of you do. Although, as the night is winding down and you’re laying on the couch, you can’t help but wonder. Eyebrows are furrowed as you sit there deep in thought.

“What’s on your mind, babe?” Melissa asks you gently.

Your lips quirk to the side. “Just… aren’t you upset that you had to miss going to the mall with Barb today?”

Her head shakes so quickly you’re shocked your girlfriend doesn’t give herself whiplash. “Why would I be upset about getting to spend a night with my girl? And ‘sides, I can always go tomorrow.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug shyly.

She takes your hands in her own. “I’ll put it to you this way: everyday that I live, I’m going to gain something, and I’m going to lose something. And today, while I lost our privacy and a few hours at the mall with Barb, I gained getting to relax here with you and loving the life that we’ve built together so far.”

You can’t help the lovesick smile that crosses your face as you lean in just slightly to kiss her. “I don’t know how you always know just what to say to make me feel better.”

“You’re my girl, Y/N,” Melissa tells you simply.

I’ve looked at life from both sides now- from win and lose, and still somehow, It’s life’s illusions I recall. I really don’t know life at all. It’s life’s illusions that I recall. I really don’t know life. I really don’t know life at all.

Melissa Schemmenti really has seen life from every side. She’s seen the ups, the downs, the gives, the takes, the wins, and the loses. And while she’s seen life from almost every aspect, she’d still tell you: Life is but a dream. It’s all an illusion. Some illusions are good, and some aren’t quite as such. While she’s lived many lives all rolled into one, there is one thing that she’s sure of: she really doesn’t know life at all. And oddly, the redhead is okay with that. 

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead @schemmentits

[novthewolf]

Rosalie Hale having a crush on you

*-*-*

- Honestly ? You would not understand she had a crush on you at first, not at all. Not with the way she was staring- no, glaring your way.

- It would be worst if you were a man, due to obvious reasons, but all together, as long as you're human you win a blondie glaring at you.

- You didn't understand why she was glaring at you. It was obvious that your silly little would be unrequired. Rosalie is, by any standard, the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world, of course she wouldn't be interested in you ! But did she have to look at you like that ? Were you this ugly you grossed her out..?

- Well you are 100% wrong, lovely ! If she is staring at you with tightly squinted eyes like she's ready to scold you for existing, is because she is confused out of her mind.

- Why are you so pretty ? No, she met 'pretty' humans, but none of them caught her attention like you did. Rosalie would stand by her siblings in the parking lot just trying to figure out why the f*ck she couldn't stop looking at you.

- She's not as dramatic as her brothers as to leave the goddamn country because of you, she is proud of her self control. Because at first that what she ended up believing : it was only your blood that appealed to her.

- For a few weeks it was enough of a reason for her. You didn't know if you should be thankful or disappointed to not have her gaze lingering down your figure but at least you didn't feel as body conscious.

- Rosalie would walk pass you in the hallway, in the cafetaria, just prove herself that she was perfectly in control. That what she felt toward you was just basic hunter instincts, which she was above of.

- But was it basic instinct when she felt a surge of protectiness spread through her chest when she caught a glimpse of werewolf leaning a bit too close to you for her liking.

- God was it hard to hold herself back. She tried to reason herself, that you were no one for her, she didn't even bother to know your name. However, the simple thought that this vile beast might learn your name before her was just plain offensive. She deserved to know.

- So, in her incredible elegance she strolled directly to stand next you and you swore you were hallucinating. You turned your attention from the young man and faced her.

- "Do.. do you need something..?" You winced at your own stutter.

- For just a second, she just stays there, taken aback by your scent. Rosalie always made sure to stay away from you, like you were the grinch or something. Anyway, she never had caught even a whiff of your smell. And thank god she didn't because otherwise she would have been whipped months ago.

- You looked so.. innocent, in a way. So confused, so surprised. Like a deer meeting face to face with a mountain lion. But the predator is so deeply wounded, guarded in a way no one could even close.

- But you didn't even want to get close, you didn't even know what she wanted. Neither did she. And the way you turned to her... she almost flinched back. Who are you, little deer, scaring her so much ?

- And the way the question fell from her lips, the mix of the wariness and craving startled the both of you. "What's your name ?"

- From the moment you introduced yourself, she could never leave your side. Like immediatly glued to your hip.

- It was such a radical change you almost got dizzy and for a moment you thought you were dreaming.

- She cut herself from her family, not in a toxic way, more like a college student focusing on her studies. Rosalie gave you all of her time and attention. It was unusual for her, especially for someone loving the spot lights the way she does.

- But... she felt like you deserved it.

- The first meals with her would be rather quiet. You didn't know what to say, how to say it. She was... beautiful, intimatingly so. So, Rosalie had to take the lead. Gentle questions, simple in a way to coax you into opening up to her.

- She seemed... softened. And it soothed you. It showed Rosalie as more human. It was strange for the both of you, for various reasons.

- You made her feel so good. She had longued to be human for so long, and here you are, quirky and awkward. You made her smile, you made her laugh, you made her protective.

- So protective. If you're a woman, even more so. Any men coming near you seemed to any bad attention, she would wrap a arm around your waist and immediatly lead you away.

- It was so little gestures that made you blush, that gave you even the smallest hope she liked you back.

- The way she would open the doors for you, reajust the clothes you were trying out or the way her hands lingered on your back as she zipped your dress up.

- And god the way she would work on your own car. She had smiled so smugly when she offered her help, and even more so when she got up, covered in slight soot.

- She never looked as beautiful as she does now, and you couldn't the slight rubbing of your thighs together as you watched her work.

- The time she fell truly for you was the time she played piano for you. She was not nearly as good as her brother. Actually, the reason she started to learn that instrument was to compete with Edward. But she wasn't as talented, so when the melody got complex, the notes started to get crooked.

- It was a big step for her, showing you her flaws. The music didn't come out quite right, not as pretty as you thought it would come out from a majestic instrument. But you simply leaned your head on her shoulder, listening innocently, enjoying everything she is. Rosalie promised to herself you will never need anything, that nothing would ever hurt you. Not her precious little deer.

- All those moments spent together meant the world to her. She loved your smile, she loved the way you were so human, so unaware of the danger lurking. Your fragility terrified her and rightfuly so.

- You had the odd hobby to walk through the forest, and the deepest parts too ! Rosalie had followed you around, without your knowledge (she is Edward's sister after all).

- And one day, the thought she dreaded the most occured. She had fallen a bit late and struggled to find you. And when she did, her frozen blood started to boil in her veins.

- Here you were cornered by a mountain lion, panting and stepping back as slowly as you could.

- No... you were her little deer. You were her lovely. No one. No, no one will take her piece of heaven away.

*-*-*

[delilahsturniolo]

⟡ ݁₊ welcome to the end of the world! (please leave your sanity at the door.)

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 . . . four friends: nick, matt, chris, and you—find themselves stuck together at the end of the world, trying to survive a zombie apocalypse with nothing but their wits, a questionable supply of snacks, and zero emotional maturity. you’re just trying to stay alive without losing your mind—or falling for someone on the team.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 . . . violence, romantic tension, jumping off buildings

CHAPTER SIX: TESTING THE WATERS

read more parts here

the door’s splintering.

you can hear the groans through the crack. the wet dragging of feet. the clumsy thuds against wood. you all freeze, staring at it like you might be able to will it back shut with just your combined fear and one barely-functioning pipe. spoiler: you can’t.

“okay,” nick says, voice tight, “everyone shut up and let me think.”

“it’s a little late for thinking,” chris says, backing toward the edge of the roof. “unless you’re planning to build a hot air balloon out of disappointment and crushed dreams, i think we’re out of options.”

matt moves to stand in front of you instinctively, one hand reaching back just slightly—like he wants to pull you behind him but isn’t sure if you’ll let him. you don’t move, but the gesture hits you square in the chest.

he always does this.

puts himself in front of the danger.

between you and the end.

and you hate how much it scares you.

the door groans again. splinters rain off the edges. they’re close. your heart’s thudding so loud it’s hard to hear anything else.

“we can’t stay up here,” you say, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “no shit,” nick snaps. “but we also can’t get back down unless we want to walk through our own personal haunted house tour.”

“we jump,” matt says quietly.

you turn to him. “what?”

“not off the building,” he adds quickly. “onto the fire escape. it’s rusted, but it might hold. better odds than up here.”

“might hold?” chris asks. “i’m sorry, is that reassuring to anyone?”

matt meets your eyes. “i’ll go first. if it holds, you follow.”

you step closer to him without thinking. “i’m not letting you fall five stories just to test a theory.”

“you don’t have to let me. i’m doing it anyway.”

“matt.”

he looks at you like he’s trying to memorize something. like he knows there’s a chance he’s not going to be around in the next few minutes. and you hate that look. it feels like a goodbye.

“i’m not losing you,” you say, so quietly it barely makes it out of your throat. his expression falters. his hand brushes your wrist. “you won’t.” you don’t know if he’s lying to comfort you or if he really believes that. you don’t know which would be worse.

he steps toward the ledge, eyes scanning the gap to the fire escape. it’s about six feet across. far enough to make you dizzy. below it, nothing but a whole lot of air and concrete death. “you sure about this?” nick asks.

matt doesn’t answer. just breathes in once, rolls his shoulders—and jumps.

your stomach drops.

he lands hard on the fire escape with a loud metal clank—and it wobbles under his weight, groaning like a dying beast.

but it holds.

barely.

“your turn!” he calls, steadying himself.

nick throws his bag across, then leaps after. chris follows with lieutenant whiskers zipped into his hoodie like a grumpy astronaut. then it’s just you. your legs don’t want to move. your whole body is frozen with the memory of earlier—of the zombie on your chest, of blood, of teeth, of matt’s voice calling your name like it might be the last time.

“hey,” matt says softly from across the gap. “look at me.”

you do.

he’s holding out a hand.

“you can do this.”

you swallow hard. your legs tremble. the door behind you finally gives way with a crack.

and you jump.

for a second, you’re flying—weightless and terrified and absolutely certain this is how it ends—until matt’s hand closes around your wrist and yanks you onto the platform. you crash into him. hard. both of you stumble.

he catches you. arms locked around your waist, holding you like he doesn’t want to let go. you don’t pull away.

neither of you speaks for a second. his face is inches from yours. your heart’s still trying to beat its way out of your chest, but so is his.

you look at him. really look at him. the cut on his cheek. the panic still swimming in his eyes. the way his breath catches when you don’t move away. “you scared the hell out of me,” he whispers.

“join the club,” you whisper back.

he exhales slowly. then leans in—just enough to press his forehead against yours.

“you keep almost dying and i’m gonna lose my mind,” he says, voice hoarse.

“maybe i just like the way you hold me after,” you murmur before you can stop yourself.

his breath hitches.

the tension spikes—thick, hot, all-consuming. your lips are so close you could tilt your head and—

“GUYS,” chris yells from below, “LOVE YOU BOTH BUT THIS STAIRCASE IS LITERALLY COLLAPSING.”

the moment snaps. matt grabs your hand and pulls you into motion, both of you clambering down the metal steps as they creak and sway beneath your feet.

you make it to the alley just as part of the top railing gives out, crashing down behind you with a shriek of metal and sparks.

you’re safe.

for now.

but you don’t miss the way matt’s still holding your hand. or how neither of you mentions it.

you’re not sure where you go from here. not with the world falling apart and everything feeling so uncertain. but for a few seconds—between the jump and the crash—you were weightless. and he was the thing that caught you.

and maybe, just maybe, that means something.

© delilahsturniolo

💌: i posted the wrong part earlier

[strawberry-bubblef]

Dormleaders with a Zaun!Reader that used to be a shimmer addict?

Dormleader with a s/o who's a old shimmer addict

Synopsis: Once addicted to Shimmer in the undercity of Zaun, you’ve fought your way to sobriety.The dormleaders slowly uncover the truth about your past, each reacting in their own way to the strength and pain you carry beneath your calm exterior.

What is shimmer?:Shimmer is a dangerous, glowing chemical from Zaun that enhances strength and abilities but causes severe physical and mental side effects, often leading to addiction and deterioration.

Riddle Rosehearts

When you first arrived at NRC, Riddle noticed you immediately,but not because you were loud or rebellious. It was because there was something in your posture, in your eyes. Sharp, alert. Like you were always expecting something to go wrong. Like a coiled spring. It reminded him of the tension he used to live in himself.

You didn’t tell him about the Shimmer right away, but your body told its own stories.

Your movements were too fast, sometimes frighteningly so. There were moments where you reacted before something happened,jerking back from a sneeze, ducking at a sudden sound.

Your strength, too,Riddle saw it in how your fingers crushed a glass jar by accident when you were too distracted. In the way you once pulled a heavy table back into place like it weighed nothing. And after, you looked at your hands like they didn’t belong to you.

Riddle never commented on it. Not until you opened up.

You explained the enhanced abilities, the edge Shimmer gave you. The strength, the speed, the clarity,how it made you feel like you were finally enough. And then how it all collapsed. How it left you shattered, panicked, and hollow when it was gone.

He listened without a word, his eyes filled with something complicated. Not pity. Not fear. But fierce, quiet sorrow that you had ever felt the need to break yourself just to feel whole.

"You don’t need power that harms you," he said, reaching for your hand. "You’re already strong. You survived. You recovered."

Riddle helps you manage the aftermath,because the changes didn’t go away entirely. Your body still remembers Shimmer, and sometimes your hands shake from phantom surges of adrenaline. Sometimes you still overestimate your strength, or feel a craving for that edge when you’re pushed too far.

Mentally, the scars are deeper.

Some days you can’t focus. Other days you hyperfocus until you're dizzy. There are nights when your dreams turn violent, your breathing shallow and fast even as you sleep. Riddle studies everything about you,not to control, but to understand.

Riddle learns to anchor you when the world starts spinning. He lets you talk when the past comes clawing back, and never once calls you "unstable" or "dangerous." He corrects others if they whisper or judge.

"You are not your past," he says firmly. "And if anyone dares reduce you to it, they’ll answer to me."

Sometimes he forgets himself in how protective he becomes.

But more than anything, he’s proud of you. Every moment you choose to live gently, to breathe, to rest, to heal,Riddle sees it as a victory. He doesn’t care that your strength came from Shimmer. He cares that now, your strength is truly your own.

Leona Kingscholar

You weren’t planning to tell Leona. Not ever.

He wasn’t exactly the kind of guy you thought would understand. Too proud. Too blunt. Too smart to waste time on someone like you,someone who had clawed their way out of an addiction that promised power, only to lose everything in the end. Someone who still woke up some mornings with trembling hands and an ache in their chest, mourning something they weren’t even sure they wanted anymore.

But of course, Leona noticed.

He always noticed things no one else did,how your reaction speed was a little too sharp for someone with no combat training. How your eyes stayed too wide in dark rooms. How you carried yourself like someone used to being strong, but suddenly unsure of your own body.

“Oi,” he muttered once, watching you crush a training dummy with a little too much force. “You always fight like your life’s on the line?”

You laughed it off.

He didn’t push but his eyes stayed on you.

You told him on accident. Not with words, at first. You were both lying in the shade of a tree in the Savannaclaw training yard, sun heavy on your back, and he was half-asleep beside you. You thought he was out cold when you said it,soft, broken, bitter:

“I miss how it made me feel. The strength. The clarity. The speed. Like I was finally enough.”

The silence that followed was heavy. You froze, heart racing.

Then: a deep sigh. A rustle of fabric. Leona cracked one eye open and stared at you not with anger or judgment, but something quieter. Sharper. Sadder.

“You were enough before it. You’re enough now.”

You scoffed, bitter. “You don’t get it.”

“Tch. Don’t I?”

And that was the first time you saw it,that under all that arrogance and sleepy apathy, Leona knew. He knew what it was like to chase power because the world told you you weren’t good enough without it. He knew what it meant to want to matter,to be the strongest, the fastest, the best, because otherwise you’d just fade into nothing.

“You don’t owe anyone a damn explanation,” he said one day as you confessed more,shaky hands, lost time, scars you kept covered. “But you do owe yourself a future. Don’t waste it mourning the past.”

He didn’t treat you like glass. He didn’t treat you like you were fragile. But he did learn how to tell when the withdrawal was getting bad.

When the old instincts surged back,when your fingers twitched with phantom power, or your legs couldn’t stop bouncing, or you snapped at someone for breathing too loud,he didn’t scold or soothe. He simply dropped a weighted training vest in your lap, arms crossed.

"You wanna feel strong again? Earn it. Come train.”

You hated him for it. Then you loved him for it.

And on the worst days,when the craving was so loud you couldn’t hear anything else,Leona didn’t say a word. He’d just pull you into a quiet room, sit with you on the floor, and let your body tremble until the storm passed. No shame. No guilt. Just warmth. Just presence.

“You think I care what you used to be?” he murmured once when you tried to apologize. “You’re not broken. You’re just healing. There’s a difference.”

You looked up at him, your voice barely a whisper.

“What if I always feel like something’s missing? What if I never feel that powerful again?”

Leona’s eyes burned gold in the dark.

“Good,” he said, voice low. “Because that power wasn’t yours. It was borrowed. Rented. Forced. This? What you build now? That’s yours. That’s real.”

He never tried to save you.

He just stayed.

He never looked at you like you were less.

He looked at you like someone who’d survived something monstrous and still had teeth left.

And when you flinched from a sudden sound or moved too fast, and someone whispered about you behind your back, Leona bared his fangs.

“Say that again,” he growled to one of them once, “and I’ll show you what fear really looks like.”

That day, no one dared whisper again.

Because Leona didn’t just accept your past,he defended your future.

And you realized, slowly, painfully, beautifully:

You didn’t need to be powered by Shimmer to be strong.

You had people now. You had Leona.

And somehow, for the first time in years,you felt enough.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is not unfamiliar with ambition or the ways people break themselves in the pursuit of it. When you confide in him about your past with Shimmer, he listens in complete silence. No interruptions, no judgment. Just a heavy, still sort of attentiveness, like your words are sacred things, even the painful ones.

He’s read about the drug before. Knew of it as a weapon disguised as salvation. Shimmer promised clarity, strength, purpose and stole everything else. But knowing it from books is nothing compared to hearing it from the lips of the person he cherishes.

He notices how your hands sometimes shake, how your gaze occasionally zones out as if haunted by a phantom rush. The toll on your body is quiet but relentless: your limbs ache like old metal gears, your stamina falters more than it should, and sometimes your heart races without reason. When your strength surges in strange, uncontrolled bursts, the recoil leaves you sore and nauseous.

Azul adjusts to your rhythms. He memorizes the signs of fatigue in your posture, the way your shoulders slump when you’re fighting the weight of your memories. He studies you the same way he used to study business contracts,meticulously, with care and precision but this time with gentleness at the center of it all.

He never treats your trauma as a flaw. To him, it's a quiet war you survived, and surviving is admirable in itself.

The emotional damage is deeper, trickier. Some days you question your worth without the artificial brilliance Shimmer once gave you. You remember how it sharpened your focus, how it made you feel capable,powerful, even and now, off it, you sometimes feel like a shadow of what you were. Azul recognizes that hollow ache far too well. It mirrors how he once felt, years ago, trying to earn respect through false confidence and borrowed power.

He doesn’t push you to open up more than you want to. But when you do, he listens intently. And while he rarely says much in return, his actions speak clearly: the way he organizes your routine to avoid triggers, how he adjusts the lounge’s lights when you seem overstimulated, how he never lets you face your bad days alone.

He knows how withdrawal leaves you frayed,emotionally volatile, exhausted, unable to connect your thoughts the way you used to. He never blames you for your lows. He sees them as part of the healing process, not a regression. Recovery, to him, isn’t a straight line but a tide,sometimes rising, sometimes falling, but always moving.

He makes space for your strength to return on its own.

And on the rare days when you catch yourself smiling with no effort, when your body doesn’t ache and your head feels clear, he watches you like you’ve conjured a miracle. Because to him, you have.

Not through magic. Not through borrowed power. But through your own stubborn will to keep going.

And that,more than any potion, any contract, any deal is what makes you extraordinary in his eyes.

Kalim Al Asim

Kalim has never lived through anything like what you’ve been through, but he listens. He listens with his whole heart.

When you first told him, he didn’t flinch. Not because he wasn’t shocked, but because he didn’t want you to think he was disgusted. He wasn’t. Just... quietly heartbroken. Not at you, never at you but at the thought of you suffering in silence, once needing something so harmful just to feel enough.

He notices the way you wince when you get up too fast, the strange tremors that come and go, the headaches that roll in like waves and leave you curling in on yourself. Shimmer didn’t just damage your body,it rewrote it. Strength that used to surge like a storm now comes in erratic flashes, often too much, or not at all. Sometimes your hands are too quick, your reflexes too sharp, other times they’re useless.

You used to feel unstoppable on it. Strong. Brilliant. Like the world finally made sense. But the crash was always waiting. That hollow, panicked void that tore through you once the glow faded.

Kalim never pretends to understand what that was like but he knows what it’s like to want to be better, to be more. And that’s something he connects with deeply.

Emotionally, recovery is harder. Shimmer took more than just health,it took your confidence, your ability to trust yourself. You sometimes shrink back, questioning your place, questioning why someone like him would care so much. Some days are loud inside your head, louder than even the chaos of the dorm you used to call home.

But Kalim doesn't see you as broken.

He sees your courage in every step you take without it. Every morning you wake up and choose to keep going. He builds routines around your comfort. He fills the silence at your pace,gently, patiently. He never tries to drown your thoughts with noise but offers his presence like a sunbeam breaking through the fog.

When your moods swing unpredictably, he doesn’t judge. When your energy falters mid-day, he’s already handing you something warm to drink and suggesting a nap, no pressure. When you relapse emotionally,when guilt eats at you or you hate your body for how it’s changed,he doesn't give speeches. He just stays. Close enough for comfort, far enough to let you breathe.

And when you smile again,not the forced kind, not the polite one but the real, soft, almost-teary one... it makes him tear up too. Because he knows that smile wasn’t easy. You earned it.

You’re not your past, and Kalim never ties you to it. He sees all of you,tender, tired, healing and loves you for the strength you don’t even realize you have.

And maybe, slowly, you start to believe it too.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil first suspected something was wrong during a training session.

You moved too sharply. Not the kind of grace born from control, but the kind that came from compulsion. The snap of your limbs, the way your breath caught mid,motion, your eyes,too wide, too aware, like you were constantly scanning for a threat.

You were fast. Too fast. Stronger than your frame should allow. And when you sparred with someone, your eyes glittered not with challenge but with fear. Desperation.

Vil noticed.

He always noticed.

At first, he chalked it up to nerves. Maybe a traumatic past. NRC wasn’t known for coddling its students, after all. But it was the way your mask slipped, late one night in Pomefiore’s lounge, that shattered his assumptions.

You had been sitting on the velvet couch, knees to your chest, staring into a half-empty cup of lukewarm tea. Your hair was messy, your breathing shallow. You didn’t flinch when he entered,you never flinched but you didn’t meet his gaze, either.

“I used to use something,” you said without preamble, voice cracked like dry glass. “A drug. Shimmer. It made me faster. Stronger. Smarter. It made me feel amazing. Like I was finally enough.”

Vil stood there in silence.

You continued. “But it was fake. I fell apart. Everything collapsed. I still feel it in my bones sometimes, like my muscles are screaming for something that isn’t there anymore. And I’m terrified I’ll never be whole without it.”

The room was thick with tension. Vil crossed the space between you with slow, calculated steps, like a dancer walking on stage.

He knelt before you.

And with more gentleness than you thought possible from him, he placed a hand on your cheek.

>“You are already whole,” he murmured. “Shimmer did not make you beautiful. It only blurred the mirror.”

You almost broke right there.

Vil didn’t look at you with pity. He looked at you like someone who understood. Like someone who knew what it meant to chase perfection until it destroyed you from the inside out.

He asked questions,not out of curiosity, but from a desire to help you regain control of your narrative. What did the withdrawal feel like? Did your body still tremble when you were alone? Did you ever look in the mirror and feel wrong?

You told him everything.

The crushing fatigue. The nightmares. The muscle spasms. The haunting silence that followed the drug’s voice in your head,the one that whispered you were only worth something when you glowed.

"I don't even remember what I was like before that.."You mumbled

Vil cupped your face in both hands, eyes sharp as diamonds.

“Then we relearn them. Together.”

He became your anchor in a way no one else could.

He built you routines. Skincare rituals to ground your mornings. Meditation to center your breath. Meals tailored to rebuild what Shimmer had drained from your bones. Exercise but not the brutal kind that punished your body. The kind that taught you to trust it again.

He held you when you shook.

He watched over you when the tremors hit, and he never turned away from the panic in your eyes. If you tried to push him away, he only stepped closer.

And when you started to mourn the power,because gods, how addictive that strength had been,he didn’t scold you.

He simply said:

“Even the most dazzling illusion cannot compare to true brilliance. You’ve endured something few survive. What shines from you now,that is real.”

He helped you feel beautiful again.

Not because of how you looked. But because of who you were despite it all.

And the first time you told him, “I feel like I’m starting to come back to myself,” he smiled,not his poised, public smile, but something softer. More personal. Almost proud.

“Good,” he said, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “Because I’ve missed you.”

Idia Shroud

You thought it would break him.

Idia didn’t exactly strike most people as someone strong enough to handle something that dark. He was awkward, closed-off, and anxious even on good days. So when you finally admitted your past,the addiction, the withdrawals, the hallucinations,his silence was deafening.

He didn’t speak for what felt like minutes.

Just sat there, eyes hidden behind the soft blue glow of his hair, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.

“…Wow,” he finally mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve… been through final boss-level hell.”

You blinked. That wasn’t the reaction you expected.

He wasn’t looking at you, not yet,but he kept talking.

“I mean, I—I don’t know what it’s like, obviously. But, um. Shimmer. That stuff’s no joke, right? Like, super high risk. I read somewhere it's practically chemical warfare in a bottle. And you got out of that.”

You still didn’t know if that was admiration or fear in his voice. Maybe both.

And then he looked at you.

Really looked at you.

His eyes were wide and uncertain, but not disgusted. Not judgmental. Just… overwhelmed. “You’re still here. That’s like… major protagonist energy.”

A breath escaped you,half a laugh, half a sob. “You’re not freaked out?”

“Of course I’m freaked out!” he exclaimed, hands flying up, voice rising in pitch. “But not at you! I’m freaked out that someone I care about almost didn’t make it. That you had to go through that alone. That no one,no one helped you!”

The room was quiet again, save for the faint beeping of something in the background from one of his monitors.

He shifted a little closer, awkward but intentional. “I mean, I can’t exactly, like… slay your demons or anything. But I’m pretty good at boss support roles, y’know?”

His fingers grazed yours, hesitant, but steady. “So if they ever show up again,those urges, or memories or whatever,I’ll be here. I got buffs. Shields. Emotional potions. Whatever you need.”

You smiled at him. Not the fake kind. The kind that trembles because it means something.

Idia cleared his throat, hair flaring pink at the edges. “Also… uh… if you ever want someone to stay up with you on the rough nights… I already don’t sleep, so… you know. I’m optimal for 3AM emotional support.”

He wasn’t a knight in shining armor. He was a gamer gremlin with social anxiety and a deeply buried heart of gold. But he meant it when he said he’d be there.

And somehow, that meant more than any heroic rescue ever could.

Malleus Draconia

You didn’t expect him to understand.

After all, how could a prince,an ancient fae raised in dignity and power,ever truly grasp what it meant to claw your way out of a place like Zaun? To live with something as suffocating and corrosive as Shimmer? You weren’t sure why you told him. Maybe because you were tired of hiding it. Or maybe because… a part of you hoped he’d stay anyway.

“I used to be addicted to Shimmer,” you said quietly one night, eyes on the moonlit sky outside Ramshackle’s broken window. “It nearly destroyed me.”

Malleus didn’t speak at first.

Just silence,profound and weighty, like the pause between thunder and lightning. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, but there was no fear in them. No revulsion. Only a quiet, aching sorrow.

“...And yet,” he murmured at last, “you still stand before me.”

You turned to look at him, heart in your throat. “You don’t… you’re not disgusted?”

“Disgusted?” His voice was calm, but a flicker of something sharp echoed underneath. “No. I am angry. That the world failed you so deeply. That the path you walked was one where such suffering became survival.”

He rose from where he sat, crossing the room until he was close,so close you could feel the magic humming gently off his skin like a storm barely contained.

“I have lived for centuries, Y/N. I have seen kingdoms rise and fall. But you… you survived something far crueler than time.”

You couldn’t help it,you looked away, shame crawling under your skin. “It wasn’t strength. It was desperation.”

Malleus’s hand was suddenly on your cheek, cool and gentle. “There is strength in desperation. Even dragons, in the end, fly because they must.”

Your throat tightened. “It changed me. I’m not,lean. I’m not whole. That poison… it left pieces in me I can’t even name.”

“I do not seek perfection,” he whispered. “I seek you. All your cracks. All your scars. All the shadows you carry. You are not broken,you are proof that even in the darkest night, something beautiful can still burn.”

His other hand found yours, curling his fingers around your palm with infinite care. “Let the world say what it will. But I, Malleus Draconia, will never abandon you for the fire you survived.”

And in that moment, it didn’t matter that you had once belonged to Zaun’s underworld. That your past was laced with hallucinations and sleepless nights and cravings that ate you alive.

Because to him,you were still worthy.

Still wanted.

Still loved.

English is not my first language !

[kkayyerr]

Collar me.

Summary: You had always struggled with trying to find out where you actually belong, because Pogues never felt like an actual family to you. Until one day Rafe Cameron decided to show you just how exactly it feels to be someone’s belonging.

Pairing: Dark!Rafe Cameron x Pogue!puppy!reader.

Warnings: NSFW, Kidnapping, dub-con, weapons, swearing, degradation, humiliation, pet-play, orgasm denial, fingering, Dom!Rafe, Sub!Reader, slight dacryphillia, ownership.

Words count: 2,2 k

You knew that the Pogue’s lifestyle wasn’t for you since the first day you had joined them. Of course there was something exciting about all those trips and adventures, but somehow you felt lonely even in the large group of people. They had given you love and support and tried to make you get used to their lifestyle, but it still wasn’t enough for you. 

You still had a feeling that you didn’t belong with them.

That you don’t belong anywhere at all. 

You wanted something else; you wanted a quiet life under someone’s protection. Sometimes you just wanted to give control into someone else’s hands. 

Sometimes you just wanted to be controlled.

Of course you could never admit that, though. For Pogues, it sounded like hell, like something they would never expect to hear from you or each other. So you kept your mask on, trying to forget about those peaceful life dreams. How could your life even become peaceful when even a night at the open-air cinema had turned into pure chaos?

You were standing by, looking at how Kooks suddenly started to outnumber your friends. It started with only Rafe and Topper, but the others showed up also. You knew that you shouldn’t have dived into their conflict, but you just couldn’t stay there and watch your friends getting severely beat up by a group of assholes.

You approached them and stood right between your friends and Kooks. All of them were breathing hard, preparing for another round. You quickly jumped right onto Rafe, kicking him in the chest, not harming but definitely getting his attention and winning some time for the Pogues.

 

„So you’re not going to hit me? What a gentleman.”

 

You knew that your behavior was going to ruffle his feathers, and you were doing that on purpose. The idea of pushing his buttons was somehow exiting to you, even though you couldn’t explain why. In the pale moonlight, you saw his face. You noticed that his expression wasn’t angry nor annoyed, no. 

He was smiling. 

That smirk sent chills down your spine; something about him was off. 

 

„I have a lot of better ideas.”

 

Right after he said that, you heard a couple of gunshots right behind you. You quickly turned around, trying to find out who had the gun in their hands, but the last thing that you saw was Pogues running away for their lives, clearly leaving you behind. At that point, you didn’t even care who had the gun; you just wanted to burst in tears there and then. 

Just a second later, you felt hit on the head from behind. Not hard enough to traumatize you, but clearly hard enough to knock you out.

The whole world turned black as your body felt down to the ground. 

…

„Where am I?”

 

It was the first thought that popped up in your head as you woke up in the strange place that obviously wasn’t your bed. You were completely naked, your whole body was sore, and you felt a little dizziness when you tried to stand up, so you just laid back. You also felt something on your face, but you couldn’t tell what exactly that was until you touched it with your hands. You quickly stood up, as the loud gasp of shook almost escaped from your mouth when you realized what exactly that was.

It was a muzzle.

Muzzle was covering half of your face, so you could've spoken but still would feel yourself uncomfortable enough. The one who did this to you didn’t want to gag you; they wanted to torment you using some twisted methods. You start exploring your body, looking for at least something, like bruises, cuts, or the least hand marks. But there was nothing. Your body was clear, and for some reasons it made you even more anxious. Because if nobody had touched or hurt you before, they most definitely were waiting for you to wake up. They might want you to actually feel the pain.

You started to spin your head around, trying to find something that would give you answers to all the questions in your mind. The room was empty; there was nothing. Only one window. You felt almost sick in your stomach as the view started to look very familiar.

You were in Tannyhill.

Your knees got weak, and you fell to the floor, covering your mouth with your hand. Slowly, memories started to kick in. Fight, gunshots, pogues leaving you behind—you're getting knocked out.

The puzzle was finally pieced together.

 

„You look way better without those Pogue clothes, you know?”

 

You almost jumped as you heard those voices behind you. Of course, you knew who was standing there. You slowly turned around; your face expressed pure hatred and anger towards the person who did this to you. Rafe Cameron was standing a few steps away from you; his face relaxed at first, but then his lips tugged into a small smile as he saw your face in the muzzle. He definitely was proud of what he had done.

 

„I decided to keep you around instead of killing you. I figured I could use you. At least for my entertainment.”

 

He stated, completely ignoring your warning gaze, filled with rage. You twisted your knuckles, trying to manage your emotions, but you failed, as you saw that little grin on his face that almost made your blood boil. The next moment you quickly approached him, wanted to attack him, and protected yourself at least somehow. Prove him that he was wrong.

Suddenly, you froze.

 

„Try something stupid again, and I will show you just exactly what happens to wild animals.”

 

He pressed the gun upon your head, just a moment before you could’ve actually done something to him. The hatred in your eyes now had turned into the fear. You didn’t expect that he would still have a gun with him, but you were so obviously wrong. He had the gun, and he definitely had you in his hands. He had you under control. 

 

„Don’t make me put a shock collar on you, puppy.”

 

Your lips twitched in disgust when the word „puppy” came out of his mouth. Sadly, there was nothing you could’ve done about the way he was treating you right now, and you fully acknowledged that. You slowly looked up, your gaze met his, and your skin was covered in shivers once again when you realized that there was no guilt in his eyes.

He most definitely was a psychopath.

And you most definitely were turned on. 

 

„I am not an animal, Rafe. You can’t do this!”

 

Your words only made him smirk. Of course he understood that you were a human being, even if you were a Pogue, but who said that human beings can’t become good pets? Rafe never liked animals, but he had certainly liked control and would definitely like taming a pogue. After all, you didn’t seem like a typical Pogue to him; something in you was different. 

 

„Well, your friends dumped you, so now it seems like you’re going to be my lapdog.”

 

He finally took the gun away from your head, but he was still holding it, just in case you’ll think about doing something stupid once again. He was really regretting not tying you up in the first place.

 

„And if you’re lucky, I’ll throw you a bone and give you a little pet on the head.”

 

You hated yourself so much for the fact that you were getting wet from his dirty words. Part of you, the one that had some self-respect, wanted to slap him across the face and watch how his smug expression would slowly disappear. But the other part didn’t want him to stop at all. 

 

„I will never be your little puppy, Rafe.”

 

You said, trying to keep your voice stern, even though your body had already weakened just from all the nasty thoughts that had filled up your little head. Fuck, isn’t that exactly what you wanted? He sighed, not impressed by your little attitude. After all, you were a pogue. A stubborn little girl without manners.

 

„It’s sad, you know? I thought that we were about to have our first playtime.”

 

You raised your eyebrows, obviously intrigued by his words. Mostly, you wanted to find out what he had meant by the word „playtime," even though you already had a lot of ideas in your head. While you were thinking, Rafe slowly put the gun on the nightstand and carefully inserted his hand into the pocket of his black trousers, searching for something. You were also invested in what he was doing. It was very interesting for you to find out what he was looking for. And when he finally found it, your eyes widened. He was holding a pink, beautiful collar in his hand that said „R.C.”.

 

„I won’t be wearing that.”

 

Rafe approached you, still holding the collar in front of your face, teasing you. He saw that glimpse in your eyes. You wanted to wear that little thing; you wanted to wear that so badly, but you were way too embarrassed to even think about admitting that and way too shy to say it out loud.

 

„Oh no, you’ll have to beg me to let you wear that. Being Cameron’s property is a big responsibility.”

 

You shook your head in disbelief. He was an idiot if he thought that you would actually ask, nor beg for something as humiliating as that. Of course, you wouldn’t, at least not right now. Even if you wanted too. Deep down, you also wanted to see how far he could’ve pushed you before your mask would finally slip off. 

 

„I think my friends will come for me anytime soon, so if I were you, I would quit those games.”

 

His eyes darkened for a quick moment, which surprised you because you didn’t know that he would take that childish threat seriously.

Your own face expression changed from slightly smug to confused when you felt his hands around your waist, tugging you closer to him. The next second he turned you around and roughly pushed you towards the wall, practicality pinning you against it. 

His hand quickly spread your legs without any pressure. To your own surprise, you didn’t even try to stop him; you didn’t even want him either. He leaned closer to your ear; his fingers now were teasing your outer lips, while your cunt was practically begging for his attention. 

 

„I bet you’ll come faster than your friends would, puppy.”

 

You were almost dripping wet. When his fingers finally dive in and almost immediately hit a spot, you let out a whimper, which then became a whole symphony of your moans as you arched your back from the torturous pleasure. It felt too good to be something bad or shameful. Rafe started to circle your clit, still not giving it enough attention for you to cum, but just enough for you to be on the edge, scratching the wall with your nails.

 

„Please”

 

Rafe chuckled at your plea, giving your clitter a little pitch and watching you squirm and muffle something; that would’ve most definitely come out as the loud scream. He just kept on teasing you, knowing that you would’ve cum in two seconds if he only touched your clitoral area properly. 

 

„I’m going to...”

 

Rafe suddenly stopped, not pulling out his fingers but also not making any moves. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, making you tilt back your head. He wasn’t done with you yet, and he wanted to teach you some manners. Rafe wanted to make sure that his pet would be on her best behavior.

 

„I’ll let you cum if you say something for me, deal?”

 

You automatically nodded, feeling how his fingers begin to play with your clitter again, this time softer, which somehow was even worse than his previous rough actions.

 

„You have to ask me to collar you, puppy.”

 

Your eyes widened at his words, even though you weren’t that surprised. You knew that he would pull something like that, because he always fucking did. Your knees got weaker, and your whole body started to shake as you felt that you were actually so close to finally cupping.

 

„C’mon”

 

Rafe taunt, his fingers getting rougher, teasing your clit and your inner walls, dangerously close to making it impossible for you to hold it in. Tears of overstimulation flashed down your cheeks as you finally felt ready to say those words out loud. 

 

„Collar me, Rafe.”

 

Just a small touch on your clit was more than enough for you to finally reach your breaking point. Moans of pleasure mixed with sobbings of embarrassment came out of your mouth right after you got your relief. 

Before you could’ve even thought about saying anything, you felt how something had been wrapped tightly around your neck. You knew exactly what that was, and for some reason that knowledge calmed you down. 

Now you were wearing something symbolizing your loyalty and, most importantly, your belongings. 

The pink collar with gold initials on it wasn’t looking that bad on you. 

„R.C”

Maybe the life of a property will suit you better?

[sehodreams]

fucking Anton with a breeding kink is so hot like when he has hot passionate romantic sex it definitely feels like baby making

Sorry, I don't think this is what you wanted to read but it's what came to my mind. It's been in my draft for so long, I tried to think of a different idea but it stayed like this 😭

TW and tags: p in v, no condom, literally babymaking.

He's especially needy on these occasions. You don't really understand what goes through his mind when he's pushing you to the bed all serious, or when he's brushing his fingers on your waist while you're getting ready for bed, but there's simply an alarm that starts sounding inside you, a "shit" repeating in your head because you know what's about to come.

He's not harder, or rougher. He's really slow since he wants to feel you more, caressing corners of your skin not even you pay attention, like that little emptiness in your collarbone, or the inside of your arm when he pushes your hands up to take control of your moves.

Still, finally, this day, he's brave enough to tell you those thoughts that fill his head and you always wondered about. Spitting things you know cross him in the middle of the night, you gasp for air when you hear his voice. "You'd look so pretty pregnant,'' he whispers. ''I can't stop thinking about us living in a bigger house, big enough for you to have anything you could ever want... don't you want to come and search for one with me?"

"What are you saying?" You answer. You want to think that maybe he's joking, but it's all so intense, his finger flicking your clit and his eyes on yours at every second, gleaming even in the dark.

"We could be a family, maybe a little girl to keep company to my favourite girl in the whole world?" He's going too far now, and you're trying to resist it. It's too drawing, the tone of his voice, the aroma of his bed that is almost yours now after all those nights sleeping together, and the image he's planting on your head. You're so comfy in that picture, being kissed by him while he rests his hand on your stomach, and everything is dizzy when he's sliding into you.

"You-you really want that?" You ask unsure, feeling too good and in a haze of pleasure. More than just loved, you feel almost adored.

"It's everything I can think about,'' he groans. ''I want to make my girl a mom, the most beautiful one."

Fuck, not again you say inside your head. He knows he shouldn't ask you for things while fucking. You're too weak to resist him when it's all so good, he pressing you to the mattress and his hips slowly finding that spot that doesn't let you think things twice when he bottoms out and steals every air you could have with his weight over you.

He's not saying anything else about it. He's just pounding and holding your hands over your head while the other in your waist keeps you in place to receive him. He couldn't let you move apart when your pussy is squelching, begging for him to spill everything inside.

You don't talk, but you want him to cum inside, you're too deep into the fantasy to say no to him, and soon you're clenching, not wanting to let him pull away from you and your new dream.

Fuck, you curse again. You're not even sure you want to be a mom. Obviously, you haven't thought about it as much as him.

Yet, you can see everything so clearly now. A house with a pretty garden, white ceilings and breakfast out in the fresh air on Sunday mornings.

You can't push him away when you know he's about to cum. His breath is getting harder with every thrust and the sweat is accumulating in his forehead. Usually, you'd have cleaned it with your hand, but he doesn't let you move, both wrists pinned in your pillow.

''I'm not wearing a condom,'' he warns you.

You don't know why he's telling you that by that point. You physically can't push him away, and you both know you can't say no to him, not while fucking, not at any moment, and this one is not the exception.

[entities-of-posts]

When I was little, I was terrified of space. Which was funny, because one of my favorite books was a constellations activity book. I think I just liked it for the Greek myths tied to the constellations. I still have it, I think, up in my room. It's the kind of thing you just don't have the heart to get rid of. But that's besides the point.

One time, in elementary school, we took a field trip to the little observatory in the high school. No telescope or anything, but it had one of those fancy, expensive, spherical projectors and a domed ceiling. I remember the red lighting around the rim of the ceiling, so that we could see our worksheets but it was still dark. Something about red light not really registering as bright light, and helping your eyes adjust to darkness? I dunno. Again, I'm getting off topic.

I don't really remember what the presentation was about, what the person said. I remember the wobbly seat that leaned back so you didn't strain your neck looking up. I remember the stars across the ceiling. I remember the person fast-forwarding the projection through the whole year, watching the constellations and planets move.

I felt so small. I was terrified. The universe is huge, and I'm just one little kid on one little planet. Would anything I do ever matter? Would anyone remember me? I was so scared, I felt sick to my stomach. I left the observatory feeling hollow.

And one time, my parents were watching Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey. Neil deGrasse Tyson was talking about the life cycle of stars, and how, in 5 billion years, the sun will run out of hydrogen, and for 3 billion years it will swell, swallowing Mercury, Venus, and Earth. I tried to tune it out, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. Why did it matter to me? I'd be gone by then. I shouldn't care what happens in billions of years. but the idea of the sun devouring its children, burning them up in its hunger and desperation…

There are little things, too. I'm afraid of heights, but only if they’re not contained. I have really strong call to the void - the urge to throw yourself off the edge. My school auditorium has a balcony, and when I was touring the campus for some class, the instinct was so strong I had to stand as far away from the railing as possible, and I still got dizzy. My knees were weak, I was shaking, the world was spinning. No one noticed.

Ironically, my most pleasant dreams are ones where I’m flying. The wind in my hair, the breathlessness. Tucking my wings in to dive, or fall, so fast I think I’ll hit the ground, and opening them at the last moment to skim just above the Earth, then soaring up into the clouds again…

But as far as space goes? I lived with that fear for years and years. But one day, maybe when I was 18 or something, I don’t remember, something just… changed. I was in a depressive episode, I think, and it was like 10pm. I was the only one awake in my house. Talking online wasn’t enough, I needed to get out of my head. So I just… went outside. There were no clouds. There was light pollution, sure, but I could see Orion’s belt, at least.

And just… Just sitting there, looking at the inky black of the sky, hearing the nightbirds and cicadas and crickets and distant traffic, I just… I don’t know. I finally felt like I was a part of it all. A small part, maybe, but an important part. A tapestry is nothing without all the little individual threads, and I was one of those threads. I could finally see that. And I could see the butterfly effect of my actions, my kindness, just my presence. Rippling out from me, to those I loved, to whomever they love, to people I’ve never met, people in other countries. I could see it all.

And I heard the universe sing. Every cell in my body, every atom under my feet and circling through my lungs, every star lightyears away. It was all singing, and I could finally hear it. And it was all just for me, just in that moment.

“You are part of me,” it said. “You will always be. Don’t forget that.”

And I, uh. I haven’t.

The Vast, perhaps more than any other Fear, weaves wonder and dread together beautifully. It’s just awe-striking, for better and worse.

[navybrat817]

We Don't Talk Anymore

Pairing: Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You and Bucky have an honest conversation, but it may not have a happy ending.

Word Count: Over 2.9k

Warnings: Angst, confessions, communicating, crying, feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (yep, he's a warning)

Previous Part of AU: Where Did the Time Go?

A/N: More Dreamboat and Butterfly from my Reconnect AU! Sorry in advance, lovelies. ❤️ Beta read by @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

As long as you and Bucky had been friends, you rarely saw him nervous. It wasn’t an emotion he liked to show to many, even though he knew you’d never judge him. Watching him clench and unclench his jaw, the fingers on his left hand twitching before he ran them through his hair, you sensed just how anxious he was. Whatever he had to say had him on edge. 

Which had you right there with him.

“Just tell me what's going on,” you urged, putting a hand on his arm in the hopes that your touch would calm him. “Please.”

Bucky swallowed as he looked at you. Why was it a gaze like he was saying goodbye? “You asked how I knew TJ stayed at your place,” he began, moving his arm to take your hand in his. “I went to see you after Steve’s party because I had something I wanted to say to you. Something I wanted to say for a long time.”

You took a step closer, your heart racing a bit faster. The combination of excitement and nerves blended together as you squeezed his hand. “What did you want to tell me?”

The next words out of his mouth would either break your heart or heal the unnecessary pain you put on yourself by staying silent for so long.

“That you weren’t just my best friend. You were so much more to me than that,” he said, bringing his palm to your cheek. You instantly leaned into his touch. “I wanted to tell you that I was crazy about you and wanted you to be my girl.”

Butterflies filled your stomach and it took you a second to find your voice. Was this a dream? “You wanted me to be your girl?” You asked softly, like if you said it any louder you’d wake up. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, a sad smile on his face. “I never wanted anything more than that.”

It was like the ground shifted beneath your feet as you let the words sink in. The butterflies in your stomach went straight to your dizzy head. Bucky Barnes wanted you to be his girl. You longed to hear that he felt the same way you did. It didn’t feel real though. 

You were waiting for the shoe to drop.

Because you were always just out of reach of Bucky. It was like you were a step behind, but you still wanted to follow. You wanted your paths to eventually merge the way you thought they were supposed to. 

“Bucky, I…” you trailed off, trying to get your bearings. You wanted to admit that you felt the same way, but you needed the rest of his story first. “If you felt this way, why didn’t you say anything? Why were you with Dot?”

Why didn’t you just tell me?

A darkness clouded his eyes. “I didn’t feel like I was good enough for you. I never thought I deserved you. Because you’re the best person I know and I’m just me,” he said.

“Bucky, don't say that. You're more than good enough. You deserve the whole world,” you argued. Had you done something to make him think he didn’t deserve you? “I’ve always thought that.”

“When you tell yourself of something for so long you start to believe it. And that’s what I did: I convinced myself that I would never be the man you wanted or deserved to be with,” he said. It broke your heart that he didn’t see himself as worthy enough for you. “And the day I tried to tell you, I shouldn’t have listened to that voice in my head.”

“What happened?”

“TJ answered your door. Shirtless, messy hair. I immediately jumped to conclusions about why he was there,” he answered, his nostrils flaring. Was he replaying the image in his mind? “And when I asked if I could talk to you, he said you were sleeping because he kept you up all night. I left and didn't look back because I thought my assumption was right and something in me broke.”

Your mouth fell open as you realized what Bucky thought happened. “You thought TJ and I had sex,” you stated, wanting to shake him when he nodded. “We didn’t have sex. He kept me up all night talking.”

“I know that now. I should’ve known then. But I thought that was my sign that I was right all along and that I’d never have you,” he explained as tears sprang to your eyes. “You asked me why I dated Dot. It was because I settled. I thought that was what I deserved.”

“So, you thought TJ and I hooked up or were together or something and that was it? You just decided not to say anything to me. And you went to Dot because you knew that was a sure thing?” you asked louder than you intended to, an ugly feeling swirling in your gut. Was it bitterness? “You gave up on us.”

Was it actually giving up when you weren't together? In a way, yes. He bowed out without a word.

“Gave up on us?” he repeated, searching your face for something you couldn't place. “Wait, what are you saying? That you care about me, too?”

“Yes! Yes, I do. So much,” you admitted, hastily swiping at your cheeks as tears fell. “You’re the only guy I’ve ever wanted.”

“You wanted to be with me?” he asked above a whisper, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb.

You couldn't stop crying as you nodded, an ache in your heart spreading with each tear. “Yes. It has always been you. I was going to tell you how I felt, even at the risk of our friendship, but the day I planned to was the day you introduced Dot as your girlfriend. I knew it was too late.”

If someone asked you to visualize what both heartbreak and hope looked like, it would’ve been the expression on Bucky’s face. “This whole time…”

“This whole time,” you confirmed, swallowing the lump in your throat. “And I never stopped caring about you. I thought maybe I’d try and move on, but I couldn’t.”

“Oh, my God,” he whispered as his hand dropped, a shuddering breath leaving his lungs. “I'm sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t go to you before Dot. I should have.”

“Honestly, yeah, you should have. You didn't give me a chance to explain. You didn't even attempt to fight for me,” you accused, your eyes stinging as your vision blurred again. The floodgate was open and you were powerless to stop it. “Bucky, you gave up so easily at the first sign of something you thought was a problem. I wasn’t worth it to you, was I?”

Your chest tightened as you let the hurt sink in. You wanted to be angry, but you were only left tangled up in disappointment. That was on you for expecting too much, wasn't it?

“You are worth everything to me,” he said, stepping closer as you took a step back.

It sounded like a promise, but felt like a lie. 

“If you really thought I was dating TJ, did you ever wonder why you never saw him around much after you went to my place? Or if I slept with him, did you question why I didn’t talk about him or bring him up?” you asked, feeling as defeated as he appeared to be. “Or was I already so far gone from your mind and heart that you just didn't stop to question it or care?”

“There's nothing I can say to fix it because I know I messed up. Saying 'I'm sorry' isn't enough because I shouldn't have given up before we started,” he said, daring to lift a hand to wipe more tears away. You allowed him to do so. “I never should've put you through that. You are the last person in the world I'd ever want to hurt and I hate myself for doing just that.”

“I don't want you to hate yourself,” you whispered, your chest steadily rising and falling. “But I am hurt.”

Like the cracks that formed in your foundation, his face crumbled at your admission. “Butterfly, all I want to do is show you that you mean the world to me and make up for not being there for you. It’s the whole reason I’m here.”

“So you want to fight for me now, but you didn’t fight for me then!”

“Because I’m a fucking coward!” he shouted, both of your eyes wide as he raised his voice. His shoulders slumped, like the rush of emotion went as quickly as it came. “I didn't think I could be with you and I still wanted you in my life even if we weren’t together. I couldn’t even do that right.”

You knew Dot had a huge hand in why you didn’t see Bucky as much, but it wasn’t all her fault. 

“But why didn’t you tell me how you felt?” he asked gently before you could say anything else. “I wouldn’t have been with her if I had known. I shouldn’t have been with her in the first place.”

Hearing that didn’t stop the ache in your heart. If anything, the pain expanded. Bucky said he settled for Dot because he thought that was the kind of girl and relationship he deserved. You settled by staying silent. Part of you even felt bad for his ex, even if she knew he wasn’t fully invested. Maybe that was why she didn’t want you around. She really did know that he wanted you.

“Because I thought you were happy and that's all I ever wanted for you. Even if it wasn't with me,” you told him, something simmering in your gaze as your eyes narrowed. “Do you think I'm some kind of homewrecker? That I'd be selfish enough to tell you how I felt, with no indication that you even felt the same way, to ruin a relationship you told us you were happy in?!”

Loving someone sometimes meant having to sacrifice.

“No, I don’t think that of you at all. You’re the least selfish person I know.”

“Then what kind of person would I be to destroy your path to bring you back to mine?” you asked, not waiting for him to respond as you held up a hand. “And you know what? I agree that we wasted time. Two years wasted because we couldn't just talk to each other. Two years of seeing you in bits and pieces,” you continued, each word like a punch to the gut. “Two years of trying to figure out what the hell I did to push you away.”

He quickly shook his head. “You didn’t do anything. I-”

“You know, I've imagined so many different ways that we’d tell each other we cared for one another beyond friendship. I didn't think it would end with me crying,” you said, straightening up and trying to put on a brave face as you wiped your cheeks one last time. “So what now? Where do we go from here? We can't go back and fix it and I don't even know if I can trust you to not give up on me again. Because I never would have thought in a million years you wouldn't give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“You're right. We can't go back and I made a mistake by giving up before. I have no intention of doing that again,” he said. You wanted so badly to believe him. “And I have no right to ask anything of you, but please. Give me a chance to show that you can trust me.”

It broke your heart that he chose Dot over you so easily. You also understood what self-doubt could do to a person. How many times had you told yourself that Bucky would never see you beyond anything besides a friend? Could you completely fault him for settling? 

You also wanted to trust him since you loved him.

“Give me a chance,” he begged as he leaned in, his lips a fraction away from yours. It was like you were sharing one breath. “Please.” 

All you wanted was to kiss him. To tell him you’d be his. You almost closed the gap between you.

But you couldn’t do that tonight.

“I think I need to be alone for the rest of the night. I can't think clearly with you right in front of me,” you said, you resolve almost breaking when panic filled his eyes. “I'm sorry.”

The impulsive part of you practically screamed to jump in his arms and promise him forever, but you owed it to yourself to take a little time to reflect. 

He swallowed a little. “Please, I-”

“I'm not saying 'no' to you. I'm not going to ask you to prove anything to me. I told you, I’m used to not being a first choice,” you smiled sadly, continuing before he could react to that comment. “And this isn't a test to see if you'll chase after me when I walk away. This is me asking you to give me space for the evening. If you really care about me as much as you say you do, you'll respect that.”

Bucky opened his mouth and shut it before he opened it again. His breathing became shallow as hurt and understanding showed on his face. “Whatever you need, Butterfly.”

“Thank you, Dreamboat,” you whispered, pulling free of his grasp. With a deep breath, you took your first few steps away from him. They were both the lightest and heaviest steps you ever took, your head held high despite your sinking heart. It both pained and healed you. “And thank you for talking to me,” you added when you stopped at the porch.

“I wish I would've talked to you sooner,” he said.

Your heart sank more at his wistful tone, the urge to comfort him taking over. 

As you looked at him over your shoulder, you took in the sight of him in the moonlight. He seemed like a shell of himself as he stared at the ground with drooped shoulders. You didn't think you’d ever seen him look so lost. How did someone so strong to you appear so powerless?

And could you walk away with him in that state?

“We talked now. That means something,” you said, offering him a small smile when he lifted his head. The corner of his lip tugged in a tiny smile as well, but it fell quickly. It was a heartbreaking sight. “And Bucky?”

“Yeah?” He asked hopefully.

“My feelings for you haven’t changed,” you assured him as he let out a breath. The weight in your chest lightened at your admission, likely needing to say it as much as he needed to hear it. “If anything, they’re stronger because we finally talked. I just want you to know that.”

Even if you went your separate ways at the end of the week, Bucky would always be in your heart. You didn't have to be with him to know what you felt for him was real. You also didn’t want to try and carve him out because you considered yourself lucky to experience what love felt like, the good and the bad. Some would never know that feeling.

Bucky let out another breath and stood straighter, determination filling his eyes as he brushed his hair out of them. It was a far cry from his stance moments ago. Did he ignite a fire within himself? 

Or did you light the match? 

“My feelings haven’t changed either. And they won’t,” he promised. “I'll beg for you to be with me if that's what it takes, but I'm not giving up this time.”

Your heart raced faster, but you wouldn't let it deter you. “Maybe tomorrow we can figure out where we go from here,” you suggested. As much as you wanted to see Bucky grovel, you wouldn't make him do that. “Good night, Bucky.”

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered.

Like you asked, he made no move to follow.

You avoided the rest of the gang as you went straight to your room and allowed yourself to cry in peace on your bed. Your heart was still pounding in your chest as you reached for your pillow. When did your hand start shaking? When did your head begin to spin?

You could still feel Bucky’s touch on your cheek, his voice in your mind begging to give him a chance. 

“What the hell am I going to do?” You asked out loud.

Leaving Bucky outside was one of the hardest things you had ever done and you wondered if you made the right choice to do so after his confession, but you were proud of yourself. You knew how he felt now and you opened up about your feelings as well. 

As much as you loved him though, you had to sleep on it. Even if he didn’t care about Dot as much as he did for you, he was still with her for so long. You didn’t know how he intended to prove his feelings for you, but the determination you saw in his eyes told you there was hope for tomorrow. You would figure out the next step in your relationship.

Maybe you would even allow yourselves the happiness you deserve. 

Together.

I know! 😭 I'm sorry, lovelies. Things will look up. Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[thursdayinspace]

Since yesterday was the anniversary of the Sushi episode (Rm9sbG93ZXJz — yes, I just looked it up), here's a little ficlet, set after they came out of that warehouse. I was in need of some fluff, and also I love that episode. tagging @today-in-fic and @poangpals

Somehow, the night seems less quiet all of a sudden as they step back out into the street. It’s almost as if the world has been holding its breath, seeing how this was going to play out. Reality on hold. The nightly noises are back now, wind rustling the leaves, even their steps sounding less hollow. She feels almost dizzy, a little like waking up from a really strange dream. The world feels shaky, not quite solid under her feet.

Mulder sighs deeply next to her and stops walking. She stops too, turning sideways to face him.

“Was that all real?” he asks.

“I think so.”

“Of all the strange things we’ve seen…” He laughs softly.

“That was definitely among the strangest, yes.” She laughs with him, shaking her head. “Remember those times I used to call your theories science fiction?”

“The ones you didn’t call outright crazy.”

“Yeah.”

His smile is soft. “Yeah. I remember.” He pauses for a second before he continues. “So. What happens next?”

She has no idea. But there’s always the safe option. “I should probably go home. I’m pretty tired.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

He smiles at her and she feels her heart beating faster in her chest. The truth is, she wasn’t entirely sure at the beginning of this evening whose house she was going to end up in. Neither one of them had said the word, but that had been a date tonight. She’s sure of it. And if it hadn’t ended so abruptly, if one of them had said something… Her face falls as realization hits her. “Oh.”

“What?” he asks.

“I can’t go home. My house blew up.”

“You—Oh. Right.”

“I should…” She hesitates. “I should probably check on the state of it. To see if there’s anything there left to salvage.”

“Do yo want me to come with you?”

She doesn’t want to go at all. It seems oddly tempting to just forget about it, to pretend it didn’t happen. Honestly, if it burned down then it burned down. She didn’t really have anything of great value in there. Nothing she would really, truly miss, most of her personal items left behind in boxes at Mulder’s house because she didn’t want the reminder of their happier times. Truth be told, she never liked her new place. “You parked your car in front of my house.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you call us a cab? One with a real human driver.”

“Don’t you want to get your phone back first?”

She sighs. “You’re right.”

Everything is where they dumped it earlier and they gather their possessions—she leaves only the vibrator behind.

He calls them a cab. They’re quiet on the way to her house, both of them exhausted. When she gets out in front of what used to be her home, he follows her. There’s a last, lone fire truck there, and she chooses to stand and wait and process as Mulder goes to talk to whoever is in charge. She says nothing until he gets back to her.

“Well,” she says.

“Shit,” he says.

That describes it pretty well.

There isn’t a whole lot left.

She sighs and wraps her arms around herself. “I think I need a place to sleep.”

“You have a place to sleep,” he says simply.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

She doesn’t have an answer to that question.

**

He drives them back to his house. She feels like she should say something, but even if she wasn’t very attached to her place, being pretty much homeless all of a sudden is not a great feeling.

“I’m sorry, Scully,” Mulder says quietly.

“It’s just… strange, not having a home.”

“You have a home.”

It seems he has made it his mission to state simple facts tonight. She has no idea what to say, but they’re pulling up in front of his house at that moment, and so she gets out of the car and waits for him at the foot of the porch steps. He takes his time joining her there. She knows he’s waiting for her reaction but she’s tired and none of her defenses are in place, and if she speaks now she’ll tell him how she feels, and then he’ll know.

So she watches as he locks the car and makes his slow way over to her. She follows him up the steps, into the house, stands and waits as he closes the door behind them. When he turns to look at her, she forgets to be exhausted, she forgets everything that happened.

His eyes on her are all that matters in the world. The softness in his gaze, the way he stands facing her, solid and unmoving, ready for her to step into his arms and be safe there.

She has never loved anyone this way. Nobody else has even come close.

And she’s done, she’s just done. The world is a mess. But she has something to hold onto. He’s here, he’s right here, and she can’t breathe for a second. She doesn’t believe in fate, but she’s so tired she’s just going to accept it as a sign from the universe that her house blew up after she failed to kiss him after their date. A huge fucking neon sign from the universe, an arrow pointing right at him, flashing letters saying “kiss him, you fucking coward.”

So she does.

She realizes she still hasn’t said anything to him. “You have a home,” he told her, and she’s been looking at him in silence ever since. She hopes he understands that this is her answer.

With a few steps she closes the distance between them and pulls him down into a kiss. He kisses her back immediately, wrapping his arms tightly around her, and yeah, he’s right, she has a home.

She has him.

“Stay,” he whispers against her lips.

She smiles into the next kiss. “I don’t think I have any other choice right now.”

“No.” He pulls back, his eyes amused and hopeful at the same time. “I meant for longer than just tonight.”

“Oh.” She waits for her mind to start screaming at her that this is a bad idea. For the panic to set in. It doesn’t happen. “Yeah.”

He carries her up to bed for no other reason than that he wants to, and she wants him to. She falls asleep in his arms and wakes up there as well.

It feels like being home. Maybe that’s okay.

[rroseselavyyy]

spider to the fly - myg

pairing: yoongi x female reader

warnings: smut

For a young lady known to society as an entitled bitch, your fate seemed to be in the hands of your parents. By nature, you were always so obedient to the unrealistic expectations of your so-called caring parents that it made up for your bratty attitude that came from being the only heir in your family.

And this exactly explained why Min Yoongi was standing across you, with his trademark cocky grin, leaning on your bedroom's doorway.

“How did you manage to sneak in?” You asked with a playful smile on your face. Indeed, you weren’t that surprised. He could just greeted by your mom, climb the stairs like it was his place. He was your dad’s favourite, after all.

“Do I look like I’ve just broke into without your parents’ permission?” You rolled your eyes with a quiet snort. You would always open your window just for him, knowing that he would pay a visit like a creature of the night, ready to devour you.

A beautiful breeze coming through your window lingered ever so slowly over your bare legs while you gulped loudly. You patted the spot next to you on your bed and call out for him sweetly. “Just come here, I feel needy since you entered the room.”

Taking his place next to you, he shook his head in a motion showing his disbelief with a beautiful smile on his face. Once you felt his minty breath lingering on your face just centimetres away, his face clouded with sincere concern. “Dove, what happened?” He tilted your chin in order to find any traces of emotions lingered in your eyes. Without giving a proper answer, you brought your hand to his neck and played softly with his raven hair. “Why did you rush out of my parents’ house? Did they say anything to hurt you?” You couldn’t find courage in you to confront with his burning gaze. Instead you fixed your gaze on your bed and mumbled a soft “no” immediately after you felt tears started to adorn your cheeks like diamonds covered your delicate neck.

“My family never misses a chance to make me feel like I’m some sort of property, especially when I’m around you, and your family. I know, we are supposed to get married, and I appreciate that it’s you. However, just imagine I hadn’t fall in love with you since we met when we were in kindergarten? I want this to happen just because we are in love. I feel like everything slips out of my hand including my dreams of becoming a professor-” You felt out of breath when you were interrupted by a pair of soft lips. It made your head dizzy with the feeling of your mind slipping out of your head to wander around somewhere far away likely to be your dreamland.

There was no denying that everytime he looked into your eyes with his intense gaze, you felt you were burning in a hellfire. His affect on you was that immense. “Maybe my parents should adopt you. My dad likes you just fine.”

You didn’t realize when he made you lay on your back as he was towering over you with leaning on his one strong elbow to prevent crushing his weight over you. “No, Yoongi. I’m not settled for being your step sister.” You whispered with your closed eyes. Your dizzy mind refused to calculate passing minutes as you were enjoying sensations rushed through your veins. “I’m going to be your bride, don't you know that?”

"I'll take you as wife-" His breath hitched when he seemed to speak more to himself. "Just the thought of it makes me feel like I am the ruler of this whole fucking universe." You giggled as you leaned to peck his lips. With Yoongi around you, it was that easy for you to feel the happiest woman in the world even if you felt like you freaked out just seconds ago. He was notorious for being a grumpy cat for a reason, yet he was different with you. Definitely much more caring.

"Tell me Professor Min, would you let me attend your classes as a guest?" He whispered just above your ear as his fingers doing their magic below your prim and proper knee-length skirt, stroking your thighs possessively. "You know, I can be very beneficial for your academic research. Reproduction is something still so mysterious, we could find new evidences if we sacrifice ourselves to the science world."

"My mother wouldn't let me be one." Indeed, it was true. Following your dreams would never be on the silver plate that served for you. The only thing that they expected from you was to wrap this handsome man of yours around your finger. Little did they know was that he was already willing to die for you. "She prefers me to become a pretty little housewife."

"It would be a shame if I can't see you with cute glasses and tight formal skirts. I'd pass your classes with excellent grades-" He trailed his fingers on your covered pussy as he shamelessly spoke to your ear. "I'd be a good pet for my professor."

"What an encouraging husband we have here." You erotically whispered between your wet kisses along a way between his cheek to his jawline. Forgetting your parents' existence downstairs, he couldn't hold back a moan when his nostrils filled with sweet patchouli and rose essence lingering on your freshly shampooed hair.

Not that he cared, he would fight hell to hold you.

"You know I'd do anything to make you happy, my beautiful dove." You brought your thumb to his lips and softly stroke his bottom lip, he didn't lose any second to capture your thumb with his lips, slowly sucked it while his heated gaze fixed on your eyes.

"Then would you let me ride you?"

Without waiting for his response, you flipped him over and switched your positions in a heartbeat. He rested his arms under his head as he was anticipating your next move. You got rid of your panties hastily. Your soon-to-be husband boyfriend gave you a cheeky smile while you try to satiate the frustration between your legs onto his growing member covered by his expensive pants. "So this is the night I'm going to deflower you."

You wrapped your delicate hand around Yoongi's neck as you try to give him as pleasure as you could feel.

"Shut up. Just feel." As your mouth hung open from the immense pleasure you feel, Yoongi groped your waist just to make sure if he was still alive and this feeling he felt was not something he would put blame on his dirty imagination when it came to you. "You're saving it for your husband, huh? I see." When you tried to slap his chest with a growl he immediately got a grip of them and encaged between his large hands. He started to thrust up into you when you both feel you're not going to last.

Your whimpers exchanged between "yoongi" and "faster" right before you both reached your high.

"Feeling better?" He asked when he tried to catch his breathing. You giggled sweetly as you placed your figure right beside his body. "Yes."

[strawberryblue-blog]

She's mine too —Mason Mount.

summary: annoying days of pregnancy with mason

warning: none. pregnancy, vomiting, discomfort.

words count: +1.5k

#SEXYNOTE: Merry belated Christmas and early happy new year y'all 💌 thanks for the support, i hope you are well. love youuuu 🩵

You hugged the toilet after spitting up all the dinner of the night between sobs, you sighed taking a big breath of air, feeling your stomach churning again. It was the fifth time you had gotten up to vomit in the night and you were really exhausted. For at least a week you had been feeling this way but in the last two days, it had gotten worse and you couldn't even feed yourself properly as you ended up vomiting.

Did your son or daughter hate you? It was practically thanks to you that he or she was coming into this world, and this is how he or she thanked you? By making you spit out everything you ate? By making you feel so fragile and silly at the same time? You wanted to stay cheerful, positive and full of energy but your baby was slowly consuming you. This was nothing like what you used to hear about pregnancies.

You had never been through anything before and it really scared you. The doctor had said it was normal as long as you had constant checkups and you just had to put up with it, even though it was very hard for you and especially for Mason. Sometimes he felt that what he was doing for you wasn't enough and he hated to see you suffer but it wasn't his fault and it would pass. You sighed whimpering a little, anyone would say you were exaggerating a little (and maybe you were) but you were really suffering. Since four months ago your body had changed, your fears had become constant, dizziness, mood swings, tiredness, breast pain, you had even become irritable. Sometimes you felt guilty but it was inevitable, the baby was running your life (Not really).

But you had no regrets.

Being a mother had been one of your dreams growing up, you used to say you wanted to be like your mother and you really hoped you would be for this child. You were discovering this whole new world and you have to admit you thought it would be something else, at least you had a great man by your side. Mason used to make your endless days, the best experience of your life. He would massage your feet, fulfill your every whim, pamper you and take care of you like you were a princess.

You couldn't complain, you were perfect together and starting a family with him was another one of your biggest dreams. Because you loved everything about him, about the relationship, the respect and love you had. Because you admired how strong and respectable he was and how he behaved with you, your family and friends. Because you were in love with him and that your son had him for a father, it was the biggest pride you could feel.

A hand on your back caressed you, pulling your hair back into a makeshift bun. Mason held your hair and calmed your nerves as he appeared behind you. You hated waking him up in the middle of the night with your retching, especially since you knew he'd have to get up early in the morning but Mason was always with you.

"Don't tease me like that" you laughed exhaustedly after a while. "That's the reason i'm here, puking up everything i ingest."

Mason hid a chuckle behind his smile, trying not to laugh at your funny comment because of the situation you were going through. But it was inevitable, even in misery you were saying funny things to him.

"You suggested doing it, honey. If you had stuck it out, we wouldn't be here," he replied, earning a pout from you.

And it was true. Maybe if they hadn't had too many drinks that night and you hadn't been so horny, nothing would have changed and you wouldn't have found yourself right now. But you wanted this as much as he did, because you were talking about this and about the future, and this was the future, you becoming parents.

After a while without nausea, Mason took you in his arms, slowly carrying you toward the bed. He handed you a glass of water and when you drank some, he helped you lie down on the soft sheets, arranging the pillows on your back to make you comfortable.

"I must look terrible" you whispered a little shaken. Your cheeks were red, your forehead sweaty and you sure looked gross right now. Mason quickly denied.

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world" he murmured with his eyes sparkling. "You'll bring our child, you could never look terrible" his fingers caressed your face. A smile appeared on your lips as he kissed your forehead softly.

He took his place beside you, resting his head on your belly as he wrapped his arms around you. One of his hands caressed the protruding bump, which was growing bigger and bigger every day. You didn't know the sex of the baby yet but everything was within the norm for a pregnancy, something you were grateful for, and they were supposed to have news about the baby by the next visit.

"Baby, leave mommy alone for a while, okay? She's mine too" he whispered towards her son or daughter, drawing a smile from you. Your fingers tangled in her hair, stroking her chestnut locks. Your chest overflowed with feelings seeing him there and your heart filled with happiness at the image.

Mason on top of his baby, caressing your skin with his warm fingers, his eyes shining in his wonderful gaze. The reason for your happiness in front of you, your whole world. Your eyes filled with tears and you try not to cry but you were sensitive, everything hit you double, more when it was about your son and your boyfriend.

You were both terrified, you weren't going to lie, but since the test had come back positive and after a few months of waiting, you were ready for what was to come. You had learned to love each other, you had each other, you trusted each other and you were walking on the same side. Everything had been easier, since you knew Mason, you were always supporting and loving each other.

"The boys want it to be a boy to teach him to play football but honestly i want it to be a girl" Mason whispered turning back to your chest, still her hand held on the baby, caressing it.

"Is that what you want?" you asked with a giggle. Mason nodded. "Even Summer would take care of her and teach her" you mentioned and your heart fluttered with love as you imagined your boyfriend's niece with your daughter or son.

Mason smiled hugely.

"I want a boy too, of course. But we'll have time to bring him along after the baby girl" he joked with a grimace. You laughed out loud.

You were excited for the arrival of their son or daughter, they were counting the days since they had found out and memories were piling up in their memories of this special time. The wait was going to be hard but it would definitely be worth it when you had him or her with you.

[ashblooddragons]

You Broke Me First

A oneshot for my beloved @sugutoad for Aegon and her oc Myrielle.

word count: 2028

Warnings: mention of miscarriage, grief, smut, p in v smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), nipple play, lactation kink, Aegon is just trying to fuck his girls pain away, tell me if I missed something, yet again still new to writing smut so take that as you will.

Summary: it's been three moons since they lost Baelon, since Myrielle had her miscarriage. three moons of tears, screaming and wishing for nothing more than to feel the comfort of each others bodies, and now they finally can.

I sit on a plush green velvet armchair staring into the flames that flicker and swirl within the fireplace. I feel grief, but the thing I feel the most is rage, rage because of my mother. 

She hated me all these years, even when she passed she couldn’t help but inflict pain upon me. I think with a scowl as I touch the little bump that used to be larger, used to hold a sweet baby boy who should have lived, grown, and ridden a dragon. 

My mind often turns to the frail little babe, my sweet little Baelon, too little and too soon to live. I held for only three days before leaving me and Aegon behind to live with the Stranger instead. 

This pregnancy was already high risk, the Maesters said I should rest and stay in bed but when I heard my mother had passed, the grief was too much and I lost my sweet baby boy. 

I was so deep in thought I hadn’t heard Aegon come into our chambers, hadn’t heard him walk over to me, which is why I about jumped out of my skin when I felt his hand rest against my shoulder giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“The Masters told me you're fully healed?” He says kissing the crown of my head trying to find any way to reach, talk, mourn with me. 

“Yes, they said I am ready to bear children again when you see it fit.” I say reaching for his hand on my shoulder wishing to hold him as well. 

I hear him chuckle and turn to look up at him confused. “I did not ask that because I wished to pump another babe into you, I asked because I wish to make love to you again, when you see it fit of course.” He says with that cocky smirk that always takes my breath away, always leaving me wanting for him. 

But though his smirk makes my heart skip a beat, it is not the reason for the tears that come to my eyes and roll down my cheeks. It is his words the way he wants me, for me, the way he wishes to lay with me for the pleasure of it, not the want for a child, it’s the want for me. 

There are days I wonder how I could ever be so lucky to have him, a man who loves me unconditionally. And with that thought, I turn and look up at him and say. “And what if I see it fit now?” 

He only smiles wider before slamming his lips to mine, the ferocity of it making me gasp giving him room to delve his tongue into my mouth. I must fight to not rub my thighs together so he doesn’t have the satisfaction of knowing that only a kiss by him drives me mad with need. 

The feel of his tongue gliding along mine is intoxicating and when he nips at my lower lip I can’t fight the helpless moan that leaves.

“Gods I’ve waited two whole moons to hear those lovely songs again little bird, please keep singing for me. Let me hear you sing for me again.” He groans out as he breaks the kiss to stand in front of me looking down at me with a wolfish grin as if I’m merely a sheep for him to feast upon. 

The way his eyes wrack down my body brings a shiver to my spine and takes my breath away, I know I am wearing a nightgown and that he has seen all of me on multiple occasions but how it leaves me feeling like prey, like the most beautiful woman in the world has and always will make me dizzy with desire. 

“As much as I wish to feel that tight little cunt of yours grip my cock, I have been having dreams of tasting that cunt again so if you don’t mind.” He says as he gets onto his knees in front of me lifting my nightgown so he can see my plush thighs. 

I can’t help but smile as he kisses his way up my leg until he reaches my dripping core. He grabs my hips and pulls me towards the edge of the seat so he can reach me better.

“Fuck, your already dripping little bird, is this all for me?” He asks as he circles my little bundle of nerves knowing it drives me mad with need.

All I can do is nod in response.

“Well, what kind of man would I be not to enjoy this wonderful treat?”

He doesn’t give me a moment to respond before I feel the flat of his tongue against my core making me whimper with need. When he tastes the sweet tangy flavor of me he lets out a deep throaty groan gripping the flesh of my thighs most definestly leaving bruises that I will admire later. 

The feel of his tongue against me, his lips sucking at my pearl has my mind sprialing and the only thoughts in my head are Aegon, Aegon, Aegon. But when I feel his fingers sink into me the most obscene moans leave me, I just know our guards have either left or are very uncomfortable as there is no way they have not heard the moans leaving me nor the growls and groans that have left Aegon.

As If they hear my thoughts I hear a guard clear his throat and hear the sounds of his armored boots trailing away. But strangely I don’t seem to care, not when Aegon curls his fingers just right that I see stars only to then nip at my bud sending me over the edge to one of the strongest and quickest orgasm of my life. 

Once my peak has finally subsided does Aegon finally relieve my sex from his onslaught of pleasure. 

“Seven hells, little bird, how the fuck did I last this long without your songs?”

I can’t stop the giggle that erupts out of me at his words, for it is not that it is funny but that he is dead serious and seems to be contemplating his life choices for the last three moons as he’s waited for me to heal.

But just as the giggle rises out of me it stops at the look of complete awe on his face. “Don’t stop little bird, I’e missed that laugh much more than I’ve missed this cunt. That laugh has saved me more times than I can count or you want to know.” He says as he rubs circles into the skin off my thighs.

“Stop, you will make me blush.” I say but there is no bite behind it as we both know I’ve missed laughing just as much as he’s missed hearing it. 

“Hmm, is you blushing truly supposed to stop me? Because as far as I’m aware of it only makes a man lik myself wish to tease a woman like you more.” He says as he stands unbuttoning his jerkin and sliping it off letting it fall to the floor before reach for his undershirt pulling it oer his head in quick succession.

“Then give me something to laugh about.” I say breathlessly as I watch his hands go to the cords of his trousers. 

He only hums letting out a deep chuckle from the back of his throat. “You don’t seem to be in the laughing mood anymore, little bird, and neither am I.” He says as he lets his trousers fall to the ground stepping out of them only to pik me up and sit in the armchair instead of going to out marital bed. 

Something i’ve learned about Aegon in our years of marriage is this, he will take me whenever, wherever, and however he sees fit ‘court be damned of I want my pretty wife I’ll have my pretty wife.’ as he loves to say. So you can guess there have been a great many nights where he has taken me in this chair in this very position of me stradling him as he grips my hips hammering up into me. 

I feel him slowly lift my nightgown up my body until it is over my head and he throw it somewhere off to the side of our chambers. I feel the chill wind move past my skin sending shivers down my spine and hardening my nipples to hard peaks. 

“Gods your perfect.” He groans out as eh rakes his eyes up and down my body only stopping to watch as he rolls my hard peaks between his thumb and forefinger making me whimper as my legs shake with need. 

I feel something warm roll down my chest and look down to see Aegon has made my mothers milk leak out, when I go to apologize he hushes me and licks it up as he positions himself at my wet, warm entrance. 

When he sinks me down we both let out a groan of relief, him for ‘being home’ as he likes to say call it and me because I’ve missed this, feeling him stretch me so perfectly just on the edge of pain that it makes my eyes roll into the bac of my head. There is no better pleasure than feeling Aegon pulse and thrum inside me, for I know he is mine, that I am the one who makes him feel safe and at home.

He continues to suck and lap at my hard peaks knowing they have been hurting and uncomfortable as they have yet to dry up, only being a reminder of what we’ve lost, but in this moment it only makes me moan out his name as if it is the only think I know or wish to say. 

I about scream when he finally starts to thrust into me but it got caught in my throat by the sob pleasure instead. He hammers into me gripping my hips so tightly it burns just right. 

“Fuck, little bird, I’m gonna stay burid inyou until we have our Baelon again. I’m gonna chain you to that bed over there once I’m done with you here so there will be no escape from my seed inside you. You’ll be full with my child again soon enough.” He growls out as he hit the spoke he knows makes me see stars each time. 

“I–I want that! I want your babe in me again, I want to feel your seed in me all the time!” I moan scream out just as I cum on his cock choking on a sob of pleaure as my eyes roll back into my head.

“Fuck!” He moans out as he pills his sead into me thrusting once and twice more riding out his peak with a groan and a look of pure bliss. 

We sit there catching our breath for a bit, me still straddling him with his now soft cock inside me and him sitting in the chair rubbing my back and kissing the crown of my head. But instead of bliss and happiness I feel tuemoile and sick to my stomach.

As if sensing this Aegon taps my nose and says “What is on your beautiful mind, little bird?” 

And liek always I can not resist a request nor demand made by him. “Is it wrong? Is it wrong I wish for your seed to take again and for it to be a little boy? For me to have our little Baelon back in my arms?” I ask tears rolling down my face from the guilt and shame of this want, this dream.

“No, but if anyone says it is, I’m sure there is a spike or two for them and their family.” Aegon responds with a cocky smirk and jesting raise of his brows. 

It makes em giggle again, making him smile. When we look at each other again I can see we both still hurt, may always will, but if we have each other we can make it, the grief won’t drown us and we can make it to the shore together.

@sugutoad @ilikefelines @baybaybear1 @classicsimpforaaronwarner @sachaa-ff @mmogurl

[friendship-ditch]

Whumptober Day 31 - Asking for Help

Platonic Aragorn x Fem!Reader ✼

Summary: Aragorn hits his head and has no choice but to ask the nearest person for help.

Warnings/Notes: I'M DONE! WHUMPTOBER COMPLETED HELL YEAHHHH

Word Count: 1356

 Aragorn had never been the best at taking care of himself. Ever. It was always ‘make sure everyone else is alright,’ then tend to his own wounds. More often than not this ended up with him in a worse situation than before; see: ignoring injuries until they get infected, nearly bleeding to death, and about 25 other accounts.

  That was the case once more.

  He didn’t remember hitting his head too hard in the skirmish in the woods… but apparently he had. He’d been flanked by orcs unexpectedly and upon realizing there was no way he could kill them all, took the risk and jumped into the river.

  Perhaps it was there that he hit his head. The water was ferocious, fighting to keep him like quick sand and nearly drowning him in the rough rapids. He would’ve likely drowned had he not managed to kick off a rock and float to shore, but he was rather woozy at the time and still couldn’t recall the exact details.

  All he knew was that he woke up, drenched and cold, on the shore of… somewhere he couldn’t quite recognize.

  The rocks beneath his bleeding head were a foul pillow to his aching body. He felt frozen to the bone, limbs jolting with shivers. He tried to sit up but was overcome by a wave of dizziness so he lowered himself back onto the ground with a grunt. He must’ve hit his head harder than he thought.

  It took a few moments of contemplation, and a lot of pain, but eventually Aragorn managed to sit up. His world spun even faster and he squeezed his eyes shut, lifting a hand to his forehead. It came away slightly stained with blood.

  Eventually Aragorn managed to stand. He was already not the most precise walker due to various wounds to his ankles and legs over the years, but now every step he took was uncalculated and clumsy. He’d be lucky if he made it a mile from the water before collapsing… but what other choice did he have?

  It was either wander in search of shelter and help, or give in and die. The latter wasn’t the most enticing, so he forced himself to walk despite the pain and dizziness. 

  Beneath him the ground changed from gravel and rocks to rough dirt and roots. He had to step carefully. It was a struggle, though. If it were not for the thick woods he was walking through and the stumps he caught himself on, he would be face down once more.

  After an hour or so of wandering Aragorn began to feel just… worse. The injury on his head was pounding as though someone was hammering a nail into his skull. It stopped bleeding long ago but during his trek he managed to stumble and bash it against a tree, starting the bleeding once more. His whole body felt warm, unnaturally warm against the chill of the coming night. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d caught a fever in his weakened state but he tried not to think about it because there was nothing he could do.

  His stomach ached and his limbs felt almost too heavy to move. Every step was a struggle on his trembling legs. 

  Then, something came into view. A house of some sorts… a cabin or a cottage, tucked in a small clearing of the trees. Was he hallucinating? He had to have been. There was no way this sanctuary was so perfectly placed just at the end of his strength. A warm glow emanated from the windows, smoke billowing from the chimney. This had to have been a dream.

  With no other option left Aragorn decided to take the chance.

  You were sitting inside your home, tending the fireplace when there was a strange noise at the door. Some sort of a thumping sound, almost like a knock.

  You’d had quite a few strange visitors during your time in the woods, but nothing could have prepared you for this. When you opened the door, you found a half dead, half conscious man slumped at your feet. For a second you wondered if this was a joke but when you bent beside him, he groaned.

  “Help… please…” Aragorn whispered, voice raspy and hoarse. His eyes were closed and he was just barely hanging on. 

  You stared at him for a moment and in the split second he opened his eyes, he stared at you. And then he was gone, chest softly rising with breaths but whatever strength he had was utterly depleted.

  Aragorn woke up on another hard surface. For a minute he wondered if he dreamt it all and was still lying upon the shore. But it wasn’t rocks under his back… it was solid and flat. He reached a hand to touch it. Wood? 

  His eyes weakly fluttered open, then winced at the light. He felt warm, but no longer excruciatingly warm. It was a comfortable temperature. He was inside, on top of a table.

  There was a cold cloth draped over his forehead and a bandage overtop the deep gash. The smell of herbs was in the air, heavily. Where was he?

  “Hey, easy there.” You watched as he tried to sit up, knowing it was no use to try and keep him down. You planted a hand upon his back and eased him into a sitting position. “You’re okay.”

  Aragorn let out a weak groan as the world faintly spun around him, but it was nothing like before. He rubbed his eyes to clear the blurriness and they fell upon you. He could faintly remember your face. “Who are you?”

  “Y/N.” You replied, taking the cloth from his head and dunking it into a cold bowl of water. Then you laid it across his brow once more, soaking up any escaping droplets with a towel. “Who are you?”

  “I am… Aragorn.” He hesitated on whether to refer to himself as Strider or not, but decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. 

  “Well, Aragorn, I’ll tell you now that I’ve never seen someone with a concussion fight so hard. You weren’t close to dying or anything, but you’re stubborn.”

  He let out a weak laugh at that. “Stubborn? I suppose that’s right…”

  “You were feverishly fighting me, not that you remember… that’s probably a good thing.” You tilted your head. “What happened to you? How in the world did you end up here?”

  Aragorn told you what he could remember of his story of the orcs and the river. It hadn’t occurred to him that you were only getting him to talk to distract him from the horrible pain of removing the bandage from his head, but he cried out when you pulled it off. He stared at you like a dog who was rejected a treat, wary and uneasy, but then settled back down. “Ow…” He rubbed his forehead. It wasn’t bleeding.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  You made a soft humming sound and stepped back, observing your work. The gash on his head had begun to heal pretty well for something so makeshift.

  “How does it look?” Aragorn asked hesitantly, a little embarrassed he had to rely on the help of a stranger, but thankful either way.

  You smiled. “Much better. You’ll be just fine with a little rest… as your medic, I cannot let you leave in this state, by the way. At least stay the night.” 

  Surprised, but not about to disagree, Aragorn returned your smile with one of his own. “If you wish.”

  He had a hearty bowl of stew and then took some medicine to help ease the dizziness, which was almost gone anyway. Afterwards you settled him down on the couch beneath a blanket and ordered him to sleep, claiming it would help him heal faster.

  Aragorn was in no position to argue, nor did he really want to. He was safe, warm, and had gotten the help he needed. It wasn’t often that he put his trust into strangers but you’d only given him reasons to do so, so he let himself drift off in your care.

[psformybss]

vampire

rafe cameron x younger!reader

inspired by vampire by olivia rodrigo

warnings: emotional manipulation, age gap relationship, toxic relationship dynamics, heartbreak, gaslighting, emotional dependency, mild substance use, emotional aftermath

═══════════════

You were nineteen the first time he looked at you like you were something he wanted.

It was reckless, how fast you stepped toward him. Like gravity.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes dragging over you lazily, a faint smirk curling his mouth.

“You gonna just stare all night, sweetheart?” he said, voice low and warm, like it was some private joke only you two shared.

You felt your cheeks heat, embarrassed and thrilled all at once. You weren’t supposed to be here, not really. But Rafe Cameron made it feel like you belonged. Like you were the most interesting thing in a room full of people who had everything you didn’t.

You told yourself it was fate. That he chose you for a reason.

You didn’t know yet he only ever chose the ones who didn’t know better.

When you close your eyes now, pieces of it come back sharp and jagged.

The way his hand fit heavy on the small of your back.

The way he whispered into your hair, “You’re the only real thing in this whole fucking place,” and you believed him. God, you believed him.

You remember the afterparties he brought you to. Dark, smoke-clogged rooms you barely recognized, where his arm stayed draped lazily over your shoulder but his eyes roamed elsewhere.

“You don’t need to worry about them,” he said once when you caught him flirting with another girl. His thumb brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up so you would look only at him. “You’re the one I come home with.”

He always made it sound like a gift.

Like the pieces he gave you were more valuable because they were stolen.

Six months blurred by in a dizzy, aching haze.

Sometimes he made you feel like you were living inside a dream.

Other times, it felt more like drowning.

“You know I can’t be what you want,” he muttered one night after pulling you into his bed, his voice rough from drinking. “But you still keep coming back.”

You curled closer to him anyway, desperate. Maybe if you stayed, if you proved you were good enough, he would change.

You thought you could fix it.

Fix him.

But the truth was, he was never broken.

He was just hungry.

You loved him.

You loved him the way only someone that young and foolish could, completely and without armor.

“I’d do anything for you,” you whispered once against his bare chest, meaning every word.

He chuckled, fingers threading lazily through your hair.

“I know,” he said.

And you didn’t see the way his mouth twisted into a smile that wasn’t kind.

You made mistakes too.

Big ones.

Trusting him was the worst of them.

You should have known.

You should have seen the way he only called when it was dark outside, the way he disappeared when the sun came up.

“You’re so much better at night,” he said once, drunk and laughing, when you asked if he wanted to go out during the day, somewhere normal.

You laughed too, pretending it was funny. Pretending you were not just another secret he kept tucked away.

You used to think you were smart.

You thought you could see through people.

But he made you look so naive.

He sold you dreams, repackaged as late-night promises and hands that knew just how to hold you until you forgot to ask for more.

“You’re different,” he told you, fingers brushing your cheek, making you feel chosen, special.

“You’re not like the others.”

And maybe you weren’t.

Maybe you were even easier to break.

Even after everything, you defended him.

“You don’t know him like I do,” you said when your friends warned you, voice shaking with anger and doubt.

“He’s not like that with me.”

You wanted so badly to believe it.

You wanted so badly to be the exception.

He could lie without blinking.

He could say “I love you” with a mouth still tasting of someone else.

He could hold your face in his hands and promise you the world and mean none of it.

And you—

you believed him every time.

You were not special.

You were just young.

Girls his own age saw through him.

They laughed when he tried.

But you, with your soft heart and open hands, you were easy.

He fed on that.

On you.

“You’re good for me,” he said once, arms slung heavy around your waist.

“You make me better.”

You smiled against his neck, swallowing every doubt.

But now, finally, you see it.

He could not love you.

He cannot love anyone.

“I tried,” you say out loud, even now, voice shaking in the empty room. “I tried so fucking hard.”

But love was never what he wanted.

He wanted devotion. Sacrifice. Pieces of you carved out and handed over without question.

He wanted to know he still could.

You see him sometimes now.

At a distance.

Still wearing that same easy smirk.

Still charming girls who don’t know better.

You watch him and you do not ache anymore.

You do not long for the version of him you made up in your head.

“You’re pathetic,” you whispered once under your breath, walking right past him without looking back.

He didn’t stop you.

Maybe he knew he had already taken everything he could.

But you are not that girl anymore.

You are not nineteen and desperate and bleeding for someone who never planned to stop the bleeding.

You are something he can never touch again.

And for once, that feels like enough.