#but there's nothing wrong with imagining it

[luna-azzurra]

10 Soul-Level Secrets Your Character Is Carrying (And Hiding Like Their Life Depends on It)

These are the kind of secrets, that keep your character up at night. The kind that twist their decisions, poison their relationships, and build a wall between who they are and who they pretend to be.

» They think they ruined someone’s life, and no one knows.

It wasn’t murder. It wasn’t obvious. But maybe they said the wrong thing. Maybe they didn’t show up when it mattered. Maybe they walked away and something irreversible happened. No one connects the dots. But they do. Every day.

They smile like everything’s fine. They help people. But underneath? They’re trying to atone for something they never confessed.

» They don’t believe they’re capable of being truly loved.

They might flirt. They might date. They might even say “I love you” like it’s nothing. But they don’t believe it when it’s said back. They think people are just being kind. Or delusional. Or lying. It doesn’t matter how good they are—it never feels like enough. So they self-sabotage. Quietly. Strategically. Like clockwork.

» They’re living a life that’s not theirs.

Maybe they took someone’s spot, figuratively or literally. Maybe they’re fulfilling someone else’s dream, wearing someone else’s name, carrying someone else’s story. They were supposed to say no. Walk away. Be honest. But now it’s too late. Too deep. Too tangled. So they pretend this version of their life is real. Even when it doesn’t feel like it.

» They’ve buried a part of their identity because it was safer.

Their queerness. Their culture. Their belief system. Their softness. Their rage. At some point, they decided—this part of me makes people leave. So they buried it. Cut it off. And now they move through life like a shadow of who they were supposed to be. They blend. They perform. But deep down, something sacred is starving.

» They still love the person they say they hate.

They’ll deny it. They’ll joke. They’ll talk sh*t with a smile. But the truth? They never really let go. And they never will. It’s in the way their voice shakes. The way they remember the smallest detail. The way they get weirdly quiet when that person’s name comes up. Love laced with bitterness is still love. That’s what makes it so hard.

» They’ve hurt someone on purpose—and never apologized.

It was calculated. Or maybe impulsive. But they knew what they were doing. And they did it anyway. Now they pretend it didn’t matter. They laugh it off. “We all make mistakes,” right? But in the quiet moments, it haunts them. They remember the look in that person’s eyes. They remember the moment they chose cruelty. And they hate themselves for it.

» They think they’re a bad person deep down.

They might be kind. Loyal. Brave. But they’re convinced it’s a performance. A mask. That underneath all the good, they’re something rotten. Unforgivable. Wrong. So they wait. For the slip-up. For the fallout. For someone to finally say it out loud: “I knew you were never really good.”

» They’re still shaped by something they pretend didn’t happen.

That thing? The trauma? The grief? The shame? They’ve never talked about it. Maybe they’ve blocked it out. Maybe they minimize it. But it’s everywhere—in the way they react to conflict, touch, silence, love. They don’t think it matters anymore. But it does. It always has.

» They dream of leaving. But never will.

Every day, they imagine packing a bag. Burning it all down. Starting over. But they stay. Because of guilt. Obligation. Fear. They smile while doing the right thing. But in the back of their mind, they’re screaming. They’ve built a prison out of choices that looked noble on paper.

» They’ve built a whole personality around keeping people from seeing who they really are.

The loud one. The chill one. The one who always makes the plans or always fixes the mess or always has a snarky comeback. It’s not fake. But it’s not all there is. They’ve decided that the real them? The soft, scared, selfish, angry, insecure them? Can’t be loved. So they keep the performance airtight. But some part of them still hopes someone will see through it anyway.

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

wicked game

chapter 9 - lying

synopsis: y/n is sarah’s roommate and the embodiment of sunshine. rafe, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. when the boys place a bet that he can't win her over, rafe takes the challenge without hesitation. after all, he never backs down from a dare. the closer rafe gets to y/n, he finds himself drawn to her warmth in a way he never expected, and for the first time, he wants to be more than just the guy with a bad reputation.

but secrets don’t stay hidden for long, and when y/n finds out the truth, rafe is left to face the consequences. now, he has to prove that somewhere along the way, the bet stopped mattering, because losing her was never part of the plan.

masterlist

cw: language,

the weekend with lucas had been... good. but it hadn't been perfect. it hadn't been what you were hoping for.

your mind hadn't been fully there.

it was back in that messy room, lost up in the memory of rafe’s careful hands looking after you.

the way he wouldn't let you finish the question before assuring you he hadn’t touched you.

the way he looked at you, like he genuinely cared. even just for that moment.

and you hated yourself for even thinking about it now, days after it had happened. you were trying to convince yourself it was the spiking that was making you feel this way, the confusion. you were probably imagining the events wrong.

but even with lucas next to you, you just didn't feel quite right.

the conversations flowed, but something felt… off. you couldn’t tell if it was you or him. maybe both. he was sweet, attentive, even a little clingy at times, but you couldn’t stop the hollow feeling in your chest.

you found yourself zoning out when he talked. smiling too late. wishing you could crawl out of your own skin when he reached for your hand or kissed you on the forehead.

everything felt off.

and the more you tried to force it, the worse it felt.

you were half-listening to him talk about some new project he was excited about when your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

lucas barely paused in his story, but you saw his eyes flicker down at the screen.

then flick back.

"who's rafe?" he asked casually.

"oh nobody. he's just the guy who helped me after that party." you scrambled over your words.

"i thought you said kie helped you and you went back to hers?" his face dropping slightly.

"oh, yes! no i did. rafe just helped me before kie got to me." your face started to flush, and you knew lucas knew you front to back.

"are you lying to me?' his voice more stern.

your stomach twisted painfully, "no," you lied, too fast.

lucas stared at you, his mouth tightening into a hard line. "yes you are."

"lucas, it’s not what you’re thinking." you stepped toward him instinctively, trying to smooth it over, but he shook his head.

"then what am i thinking, y/n?" he asked, voice low and sharp. "because right now it seems like you’re hiding something. why would you lie about something like this?"

you swallowed hard, glancing at the coffee table, hating the way your heart had jumped in your chest when you saw his name light up your screen.

"i’m not... nothing happened," you said quietly, hating how small your voice sounded.

lucas gave a laugh. "nothing happened," he repeated, "but you’re flustered, lying to my face, and you can't even look at me y/n."

"i didn’t cheat on you," you said firmly, meeting his eyes.

"no," he said bitterly. "but you’re thinking about someone else. that’s just as bad."

your throat felt like it was closing up. "it’s not like that."

"then tell me what it is!" lucas demanded, throwing his hands up, defeated. "tell me why you’re hiding shit. tell me why your first instinct was to lie to me."

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. because you didn’t know how to explain it. how do you explain missing someone you shouldn’t even know that well? you felt pathetic.

"i don’t know, okay!," you whispered finally. "he just helped me the other night, when my drink was spiked. that’s it."

lucas stared at you, and the hurt on his face was almost unbearable. "and you went back to his place? not kie's?"

your silence was enough of an answer.

"you don’t have to say it," he muttered. "i get it. you've been different ever since i got here."

"lucas- it's not that."

"then what is it?"

you sighed. you didn't even know what you were feeling. "maybe we’re not supposed to be doing this anymore." you said quietly, voice trembling.

lucas's eyes filled with tears, "maybe we're not.'

tension filled the room, silence stretching between you, heavy and suffocating.

"so what now?" you asked, tears starting to fall.

"i love you y/n, i really do. but you're not the same anymore. you're lying to me, not completely here when i'm talking to you, i don't even think you want to be with me anymore." he said, his voice breaking slightly. "and i deserve more than that."

you wiped at your cheeks quickly, like it would somehow erase the mess this had turned into. "i never wanted to hurt you," you whispered.

"i know," he said, gently now. "but you did."

you nodded, pressing your lips together to keep the sob clawing its way up your throat from escaping. lucas stepped closer, hesitating for a second before pulling you into a hug. you clung to him, even though you knew it was over. it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t easy. but it was true. you didn't want to be with him anymore.

he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lingering like he was trying to memorize it. "goodbye, y/n."

you squeezed your eyes shut.

when he pulled away, the emptiness he left behind was instant. you watched him grab his bag and walk to the door, his shoulders slumping forward like he was carrying the weight of every unspoken word between you.

and then he was gone.

the door shut with a soft click, final and cruel.

a/n: sorry guys i was bored of lucas lol i needed him gone byeee also it's meant to say kappa tau party in the story but i made a typo

sidenote lowkey proud of this chapter and i rarely am

🏷️: @heartzshiftamy @hoefordrewstarkey @luvrclub  @leleee3 @yktayy9669 @miumiuestmoi @anacamofficial @cokewithcameron @bloodofadoll @shorttandsweett @mysticbby2009 @emmiesummers @wintercrows @drewrry @starkeyxcameron @xxbirkindoll2 @stoned-writer @drewstarkeyslover @hannieskzzz @verycherryblossomhideout @letstryagaintomorrow @@jjsbbg7 @mariamadison6-blog @laniirackssss @xeneasworld @countryclubwhore @drewsphswife @mattyskies @moonywhisp3rs @starkeygirls @lmaolmaos @thereallifebambi @emeloyy @vcnillafairy @rafecameronswhoore @st8rkey @angeldiaryy @therealfairybatman @drewsephrry @vanessa-rafesgirl @dreamybabbyy @pogueprincesa @happy-mushrooms @hannaa20002000 @whoismxtti @darlingstarkey @mattssweetheart @wuluhwuhmaster @harringtonsbowgirl @my-name-is-baby @rrosiitas @davinashifts333 @cinnamqnnlatte @fastlovela @stelleduarte @fastlovela

[duckysprouts]

I can just imagine Eren throwing such a bitch fit if Reiner ever got up to got to the bathroom or had to move his arm from inder Eren for blood circulation.

Like he would fight Reiner over nothing and everything because he needs attention.

clingy yandere ass…

i honestly don’t think he’d throw a tantrum, but he’d brew up some devious scheme that makes reiner have to come back and beg for forgiveness on his hands and knees. like the “oh, you hurt my feelings? i’m going to ruin your life” type of psycho ex-girlfriend, expect he’s a grown ass man from a loving family and a supportive friend group. lol

(he probably has high tattoos, i just don’t know what to put)

edit: i feel the need to mention that this is just the au where there are no titans but something goes wrong anyway, haha. og modern eren is a well-adjusted young lad with a smoking hot kick-boxer goth wasian gf who loves him and he is very happy. for some reason, reiner got stuck with the fucked up one

[bunnyinvanilla]

imagine soft bunny girl wanting to play a silly little prank on sugar daddy!dilf john price by paying for the check. only an harmless little prank, nothing serious, right?

not for him. as an old fashioned gentleman, he wouldn’t take that well. he’d never let you pay for a single thing, you’re his sugar baby after all (his unconventionally too young girlfriend)

let’s say you’re on a date. restaurant, sweet treat break, anything you’d like, and when you’re done, you stand up in your frilly little skirt, glossed lips, strawberry and vanilla perfume that swirls around him when you lean down to kiss him on the corner of his mouth, right above that mustache you go crazy for.

“be right back sir, lady needs” you use the bathroom excuse, he gruffs out a “aight doll” but instead of heading to the toilet, you secretly go pay. innocent, naive little bunny, you think he’s gonna laugh at that, find it hilarious.

little does he know, you slip to the front and quickly pay the bill, before slipping to the toilet.

but after you actually hop to the bathroom, he stands up. broad shoulders, straight, imposing stance that exudes confidence, pure masculinity that stretches like leather with every step he takes, a cigar that’s not lit yet hanging from his mouth.

he doesn’t say a word, leisurely takes his wallet off the back pocket of his expensive suit jacket and proceeds to hand the card to the waiter, who, cluelessly, just smiles at him,

“the bill has already been paid, sir”

john blinks, once, then twice, maybe his ears are starting to play on him, given his seasoned age. he’s not sure he’s heard that right. so he mutters a rough “ ‘scuse me?”

“yes, the lady who’s here with you paid earlier”

those words feel wrong in his head, unwelcome. he wants to spit them out, but he’s always a man of undeterred and outmost control, composure. only the way his jaw clenches underneath his thick beard, salt and pepper like the mixed thoughts running in his mind, says otherwise.

he doesn’t how how long he remains still like that, buff muscles somehow becoming thicker, building a stonelike wall that prevents the boiling fire within him to flow outside. unmoving, like the endless times spent eyeing the target from afar, waiting like a statue for the perfect moment to bounce on them.

feigned stoicism and broodiness decor his mature face, as he tucks his wallet back inside his pocket with more strength that before — he nods to the waiter, and waits for you outside. when you come back, careless, sugary bunny that hops close to her brown bear, unaware of the way she’s offended his sense of manliness, you grab his hand with both of yours, smiling sweetly, blinking your long lashes. “we can go sir”

“what did you do, doll?” his rough tone should’ve made you halt, but you, sweet soul, think that his usual half, lazy smile is going to appear on his mustache. you shrug, like it’s nothing, really, giggling playfully soft.

“treated you for once,”

he’s gonna find it funny, you thought.

but he doesn’t.

“did i give you permission to do that?”

your smile falters. you blink, bunnies are slow in their movements when they’re processing their surroundings. but then, they haste.

“what? oh, no, but i just wanted to pay for once. it was a j—“

“get in the car, now.”

oh no. you hope you didn’t ruin your date with your little prank. it was supposed to be harmless, just a mere little thing to take him off guard. but—

“it’s fine, you always pay, sir, i thought you’d find it funny that i paid for once” you try to justify yourself, but he doesn’t laugh. his characteristic authority and intimidating nature comes out, a second skin that fits him perfectly.

“i said get in the car, doll, don’t make me repeat myself again, angel”

and when you do arrive home, you don’t even have time to take off your heels. you’ve always been a good girl, obedient, well mannered. you never disobeyed him once.

he never had to punish you for anything.

you squint when he pats his thigh, sitting on the edge of your bed. the rustling of his leather belt being unbuckled. manspreading his legs, he invites you.

”how much did you pay?” his voice could cut on stone, deep, low and husky.

you almost shiver, poor bunny, you keep your eyes down, fidgeting with your hands,

“and don’t lie to me, sweetheart. i can check your account.”

your mumble is almost a mute one as you whisper ”sixty, sir”

his hand looks large, heavy, you knows it’s gonna leave red marks on your butt, as red as your flushing cheeks. ”good. gonna keep count until half of it, come here, princess, thirty spanks, and then you’re gonna be my good girl all over again. understood?”

“but—“

“not mad at you, princess. you’re still my good girl. you didn’t mean to misbehave, daddy knows that. but actions have consequences, angel, even if it was well meant and intentioned, now,”

he patted his thigh again, and you swallowed, docile eyes downturned.

“don’t make me wait, have to put those money back in your account”

[blythedolly]

let me hear you.

—♡ you’re a famous popstar and leon kennedy is your beloved bodyguard. between the public eye and having to keep your relationship private for your safety, leons professionalism is once again tested.

—♡ warnings: bodyguard!leon, jealous/possessive, men being gross, oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected p in v, choking, size difference, pet names.

leon never used to be the possessive type until you landed in his grasp. even though he knew nobody could ever steal you from him, it was a quiet fear of his. the thing is, to the public eye, leon was nothing but your bodyguard. your protector. although, most people were afraid of him based on his physique. standing at 6ft tall with arm muscles the size of the average human head tends to scare off weak insecure men, he would constantly have to witness these men lusting over you. his girl, and it made him seethe. It was hard to continually remind himself that this was part of his job, and you were a famous popstar. obviously, you're going to get a lot of attention, and he was ashamed to admit that it still bothered him. 

like today. he overheard two men talking about you, he didn't recognize them. which was quite rare, considering most of the time these award show afterparties were full of other extremely popular musicians. but no matter who was in that room, and how famous they were, you always stole their attention and lustful gazes. 

“just look at her, god. the things i’d love to do to her…” the man says to his friend, shaking his head in what appeared to be disbelief as he watched you speak to one of your friends. 

“i know, did you see her new music video? leaves very little to the imagination for sure” the other man chuckled. before the two could say anything else, you finally spotted leon standing behind the two and a delicate smile graced your face. the boys then turned around, finally noticing leon standing there. they went pale in the face as you approached. knowing that he’d definitely heard every word they said based off the angry look leon was giving them. he could truly be terrifying when he wanted to. you’d seen that side of him many times, but never aimed at you of course. leon was a powerful man, able to get rid of them with a simple snap of his finger. you stood next to him, not realizing his displeased expression until you’d tilted your neck up to look into his eyes. he was still staring at them.

“leon, is everything ok?” you asked, tone worried as you followed his gaze and set your eyes on the two men you hadn’t even noticed before. he didn’t respond, his large hand wrapped around your arm as he led you away from the area. not questioning a single thing as it was crystal clear something was bothering him a significant amount. once the two of you had made it back to your hotel room, you turned to look at him as he closed the door.

“are you mad because they were looking at me? because you know i’d never even think to-” you began to explain.

“i know you wouldn’t.” leon interrupted, and your gaze softened.

“then what’s wrong?” you ask once again, approaching him slowly, looking into his eyes. he eventually met your eyes after a moment. “what were they saying?”

“nothing that you need to worry about, doll.” he reassured, resting his forehead against yours. never would you have imagined leon could be so soft.

“alright,” you say, a soft smile reappearing on your face. “i’m just gonna freshen up a little, ok?” you add, pressing a kiss to his lips before approaching the bathroom. leon sat down on the couch, hands rubbing his face as he tried to forget about what he’d heard earlier in the night. which was almost impossible, considering he heard those exact voices outside of the door. the familiar anger began to rise once again as he got up from the couch and passed towards the door, opening it quickly and immediately spotting the same smug faces he was mentally murdering moments ago.

they both gulped, eyes wide as they stood in front of the front door a meter from yours. they quickly entered the room to avoid confrontation. leon stood there for a moment, wondering what the fuck they were doing in the room next to yours. before he could do anything else, your voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“was someone at the door?” you ask, he turned his head to face you. looking at you adorned in one of his large shirts. quietly admiring the way your body drowned in it.

“two boys just went into the room next door. I assumed they’d reserved this floor for… other famous people i guess.”

“the ones that you were giving the death stare to earlier?” you ask, a cheeky smile on your face. “baby, they are famous.” you chuckle as you stared at your boyfriend. he shook his head, trying to hide his displeasure to the information he’d just heard.

“well, excuse me for not being up to date with pop culture, i dedicate all of my time to protecting you”

he says, you loved when he’d get sassy like this. their words from earlier kept repeating in his head as he approaches you, placing his large hands on your waist, kissing your lips delicately. “they don’t look like the famous type,” he says as he places his mouth to your neck, the feeling of his lips tickling your skin in the most delicious way. you whined softly. and that’s when he got the idea. the idea that would show those stupid guys who you belong to. who really gets to fuck you.

he smirked against you, lips abusing your skin and his hot tongue trailing over your sensitive spots. his hands found your ass, squeezing your cheeks sadistically which caused a sudden gasp to escape your throat. normally, leon would place his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet when you weren't at home, just in case people were around. the hotel was unreasonably fancy, but the walls still seemed paper thin, but this time he didn’t. you didn’t question it. you never questioned him.

“that’s it, let me hear your pretty sounds,” he says as he lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the pristine king-sized bed. 

he dropped you onto the mattress and hovered his frame over yours. his lips found yours once again, and you whined as his tongue slipped between yours. he’s all too familiar with how vocal you can be. even with his hand over your mouth or your head buried into the pillow, he can hear you crystal clear. he knew anyone nearby would be able to hear if he didn’t hush you, and that’s exactly what he wanted. for those stupid little pricks to hear how good he makes you feel. over and over.

his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing the soft skin. you whined louder this time. you were so goddamn submissive under his touch, it drove him crazy.

he raised his stolen t-shirt up your body, exposing your torso as he lowered his head. trailing kisses all over your soft skin. you were addicted to the feeling of his stubble against you, he’d barely done anything and you were already a whimpering mess. his head trailed lower and lower. licking the skin above your panty line as he hooks his fingers into the edges of the fabric. effortlessly peeling them down your legs and throwing them off to the side.

he began peppering kisses to your inner thighs, feeling his hot breath against your dripping cunt was driving you wild.

“leon…” you whimpered loudly, legs trembling in suspense of the act that he was about to do. you were expecting him to respond. something like “be patient” or “good girls know how to wait” but he didn’t, he latched his lips onto your clit, causing your back to arch off the bed. your hand flew to your mouth, biting down on the side to muffle your moans. but leon stopped.

“no, baby girl. let me hear you,” you nodded your head, staring down at him between your legs. noticing the glistening shine of your wetness on his chin under the dull lighting of the room.

“good girl,” he said before diving back in. aggressively eating you out as he’s done many times before. your moans were quick to fill the room. your hands flew down to grasp at his blonde hair. you spread your legs wider, giving him as much access to you as possible. to say he was addicted to your sweet essence was an understatement. the way you shivered with every delicate swipe of his tongue against your sensitive crevices. his tongue studying each and every one, torturously slow, with enough force to send you into oblivion.

“l-leon, i’m about to… i can feel it-” you whine breathlessly as your orgasm approaches. hitting you fast before you could continue your stuttered sentence. loud whiny moans filling the room as you rode out your high.

he didn’t halt until your legs began twitching, licking up all of the cum you provided for him in exchange for an orgasm. he climbed back up your body slowly, leaving sloppy kisses up your stomach along the way.

he was proud of himself knowing how good he could make you feel with little to no effort. enamored by the way your body reacted to his touches. he know the boys would’ve heard everything he’d just done, but of course, he wasn’t satisfied just yet. his hand wrapped it’s way back around your throat once his face aligned with yours, his chin damp with your cum.

“all wet,” you said, smiling as your hand raised to his face. tracing along the wet area of his face. “wanna make somethin else wet too,” you added, moving the same hand between your bodies and palming his hardened cock over his pants.

“where did you ever learn to be such a dirty girl?” he grunted, a slight smile on his face as he moved your hand and pinned it beside your head.

“we both know the answer to that,” you bit your lip as his hand tightened around your wrist, looking up at him through squinted eyes. he moved back to remove his shirt, and you bit your lip as he did so. you followed his steps and removed your own. clothes thrown carelessly to the floor.

he unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants and underwear down, not bothering to completely remove the articles of clothing. he was getting impatient. he hovered over you once again, his large hands separating your thighs as far as they could go and lined himself up with your dripping entrance. he wasted no time, thrusting forward and impaling you with his cock with no warning. you screamed, hands flying to grasp his shoulders as he quickly set a brutal pace. your back arched off the mattress, pressing firmly against leons as he pounded into you. legs wrapping tightly around his muscular body.

“oh, f-fuck. leon!” you moaned, the head of the bed clunking against the wall with each of his intense thrusts. he grunts into your ear sadistically, fingers leaving crescent shapes on your thigh as they dig into your skin.

“wanna feel you cumming around me, baby. think you can do that for me?” he asks, you nodded your head. tears dripping down your cheeks as the pleasure because too much for your body to cope with. it didn’t take long for another orgasm to pulse through your body, legs trembling around leons torso as you chant his name. before you could process anything else, he’d flipped you onto your stomach. shoving his cock deep inside you once more as he held your hips to him. despite being extremely sensitive from your previous orgasms, you still craved more of him. your loud moans echoed off the walls as he took you from behind. clenching your walls around him to coax his orgasm out of him. craving the feeling of his cum flooding into you. 

you felt another orgasm approach as his thrusts became sloppy, indicating that he was also moments away from finishing.

“leon!” you moan, clutching the bedsheets below as the two of you came together. leon eventually stopped once your highs had subsided. he tiredly flipped you onto your back once more, tracing his rough fingers along your damp cheek.

“mm… leon… y’think anyone heard us?” you ask, voice breathy as your tired body rests comfortably beneath him.

“hard for em not to,” he replies, tracing his finger along your bottom lip before placing a soft kiss there.

and it was safe to say they’d definitely heard based on the looks they were giving the two of you the following morning. leon smirked proudly, hand resting on your waist as the two of you walked past them. and even if they'd somehow not heard leon fucking your brains out, your obvious limp would easily give it away.

[leonarecs]

we’re back for part two 🤭 i’m scared but excited because i know they are finally gonna FUCK n i’m very happy about that LMFAOOO, now let’s begin 👀

His absence leaves a heavy weight of guilt that presses hard onto your shoulders, regardless that he had been the one to mostly start the fight. What had you really even done wrong? 

absolutely NOTHING queen, do not feel guilt!!!!! he’s being an ass <3 (sigh i kinda feel bad too i have too much of a soft spot for this man)

Despite his elusion you still see him, amongst your shared classes, the late nights in the common room or when passing in the halls.

this when they’re usually attached at the hip omg it hurts to imagine it MY BABIES

He decides it’s not worth getting involved now that Mattheo’s made his intentions clear. He wants nothing to do with it.

oh, so i’m not worth fighting for 😔✋ i see how it is, what a pussy. of course you’re scared of mattheo 🙄 (it’s okay at least we’ll have scary bf privileges soon)

He had just suddenly been everywhere, like a convenient beacon.

the ‘do you really like him or is he just giving you the attention you’ve been so desperately craving from someone else’ trope is inescapable and i love it

For the way you felt under Mattheo’s spotlight was divergent. He made you feel special, your heart beating to a different rhythm for him. Being with Mattheo was like watching a sunrise for the first time, the shades of orange and pink peeking up after you both stayed up all night stargazing. It made you feel alive. He made you feel alive. Made you feel electric with life and like you could conquer anything with him by your side. 

I’M FUCKING SCREAMING OVER THIS??? THE DESCRIPTION OF HER LOVE??? THE WAY HIS ATTENTION IS DIFFERENT FROM EVERYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD?? i’m sobbing. this captures that overwhelming feeling of being seen by someone you care about so perfectly. also the way you went from “it made you feel alive” to “he made you feel alive” to drive it home FUCK it hits so hard. it’s like you can feel her heart waking up for him. i’m actually going to cry over this.

It wasn't his fault he was deeply flawed, but it was your choice to be the one to see him past those sharp thorns. To help bloom the roses that laid trapped underneath the rumble, bring them to light in the same way as how you saw him.

again, no words to describe how i feel, so:

“I'm not oblivious like you two are, besides I don't really want a repeat of my last relationship.” 

poor guy can’t catch a break from all the girls that have secretly been in love with another boy since they were kids

“Not entirely sure what you see in the nutter, but knowing what kind of girl you are, it must be something good.”

AWWW OKAY THAT WAS SWEET I’M GIGGLING

A week without you had been to put nicely, hell for him. He had wallowed entirely, sulking like a pathetic child, like his favourite candy had been ripped from his clutches. He realized quickly that this was worse, that having your attention shared, not having your presence at all, had turned him into a dreary grump.

the way he completely falls apart without her in his life, HE’S SO IN LOVEEEE Y/N OPEN YOUR EYES

He missed you in his arms. He missed the gentle way you would soothe him to sleep. With warm caresses that resembled a mother’s touch, but with you it felt more intimate.

i genuinely believe you’re trying to kill me right now. my heart is literally unraveling with every word i read, mother, why must you be so cruel 😖 him falling asleep in her arms only will never fail to fucking destroy me. and they still wanna talk about some “best friends” bullshit bro, stfu

Clearing your throat of nerves, you speak directly to the point. “I didn’t mean it.” Mattheo's stubbornness had always been a persistent habit, one of his shortcomings that meant you knew it was unlikely he'd apologize first. Especially considering he can’t even look at you. 

the fact that she just knew where he’d be. without even having to ask anyone, they really know each other better than anyone else in the world UGHHH 😓😓😓 also idc if he’s stubborn, he should be apologizing FIRST tf ✋

“I’m sorry, I.. I- you.. are wanted. Always, Mattheo.”  “But not in the right way.”

oh god i literally cannot breathe right now

“It's fine, Ace. You’re forgiven. We’re still friends, alright.” 

bitch. don’t you have something else to say. and what the FAWK do you mean ‘friends.’

He fights the part of him wanting to swallow his pride and spit out an apology, but he’d never been good at those. That would mean he’d have to explain the reasoning and vulnerable depth, years' worth of trauma that built a viscous insecurity he’d never shared with anyone, not even you. He didn’t feel exactly spritely about indulging you just because you were upset that he hit Dean.

i’ve said it before and i’ll say it once again, the way you characterize him is fucking spot on. you can feel how stubborn and defensive he is without it ever outright saying “he’s stubborn” — it’s all in the why. the way you tied his pride to this deep, unspoken insecurity?? it makes him so much more human. he’s not just being difficult to be difficult, he’s protecting these old wounds he doesn’t even know how to show. i’m losing it over how layered this makes him.

“For what? You’re the one that called me unwanted.” 

NO I DIDN’T, STOP PUTTING WORDS IN MY MOUTH.

“I said I was sorry.” The words whisper with the tone of desolation. Despite your anger, the guilt and worry break the barrier through the emotions you wear on your sleeves, knowing you never wished to hurt him. 

THE POOR GIRL MY HEART HURTS SO BAD RIGHT NOW it wasn’t her fault 😭 

He steps without hesitation; coming closer, wrapping you up into his arms, a much needed hug for the both of you. He aches, feeling you reciprocate, gently hugging him back, and he holds you a little tighter, having missed your touch.

the hug oh my god i have real tears streaming down my face right now, the history and emotion between these two is too much for me to handle

The small sounds of your sniffles smothering into his chest vibrate through to his heart painfully, like an earthquake causing destruction to his protective walls.

more metaphors that i adore and have to highlight thank you very much

He turns glaring at you. “Let’s just go inside, Ace! It’s fucking thundering!” 

it’s so intense right now, i’m literally buzzing with anxiety goodnight. this whole scene is playing out like a movie in my head the dialogue is SO GOOD.

He's ignoring how his mind is screaming to just tell you the truth, to finally bare his heart and soul to you, but the fear of rejection has him by the throat.

yeah.

“Tell me- god please Mattheo, I swear if this friendship means anything to you! You’ll fucking tell me.” The doubt creeps back in; Dean was wrong. He doesn’t see you the same. 

i’m fucking screaming JUST TELL HER THE TRUTH YOU’RE DOING NOTHING BUT FEEDING HER DOUBTS RIGHT NOW PLEASEEEE MY HEART CAN’T TAKE MORE OF THIS ARGUMENT, he’s just letting her believe that he doesn’t give a shit whether she’s in his life or not 😞

“because you’re the best thing in my life! And yet I'm just scum on the bottom of your shoe.. And that motherfucker was right and I hate him for it, because I-i-I don't deserve you!.. Not your kindness… or attention… or friendship, and yet I'm still greedy. I still want more!”

ASAHSEDHAEGDFFYGACHUNˆSHDGFHDGFUHERIFJIENDXKJEWBDXJERBGCHJHIÇ≈≈XEFUHGVUFHDGU OH MY GODIFHJDG

i’m sorry. i cannot fucking breathe right now, there’s so much i want to say. the angry confession. the stuttering. the “i’m still greedy.” FUCKING HELLLLLL, when they think they’re not worthy but still can still admit that they want more, i can’t DO THIS ANYMORE

“B-because- because I fucking love you, you idiot!” 

can’t even turn on all-caps, i’m too busy trying to hit the right letters through my tears

You're shut up by the pleasant surprise of his lips smashing onto yours, with an effort of urgency urged behind the feel of his soft lips. His hands move to cup your face, your soaked face, the warmth of them rising a blush to your cheeks, as he holds them with tenderness. He kisses you with all the love he has, willing to give you every beat of his heart. He knows you already have it. It's always been yours. 

the last line i—

“Actually?” He smiles in reassurance and hope glosses over his eyes. His chest vibrates as he chokes out a disbelieving laugh and his grin broadens. "You-u lo-” He can't even finish the sentence so choked up by all of this.  A smile graces your face with wide, full cheeks that burn with happiness and you reciprocate his choked upness, feeling the tears start again. The way your head nods ridiculously fast, flicking your drenched hair in all directions, makes him chuckle and he cups your cheeks for fear of it flying off. “Not fucking with me are you now Ace, cuz I swear to god if you-”  Leaning forwards you capture his lips effortlessly, now being the one to shut him up.

this whole sequence has me actually laughing and smiling through tears WHO AM I????? g, you’re so unbelievably talented, the feelings are feeling really hard right now and i need a nap despite the fact that i slept for 15 hours last night

His arm guides you wrapping around your waist, a stark contrast to the way his arm usually drapes over your shoulder casually.

THIS DIFFERENCE BEING POINTED OUT AAAAHHHHH i’m literally bursting with happiness rn. also him not being able to handle seeing her cry even when its happy tears, fuck just let me fall to the floor real quick

His gaze drops and his eyes darken shamelessly, admiring how your shirt clings to your body, accentuating your chest. He licks his lips, letting his thoughts run wild for once with no guilt, and stops what he was doing walking closer. His hands graze your waist, letting you know of his proximity as he speaks with a low husk in his tone. “Lemme help Ace.” 

I’M LITERALLY TREMBLING OMGOMGOMG HE’S SUCH A PERV LMFAOOOO WE’RE GETTING SOMEWHERE I’M SO EXCITED

His head dips, brushing his lips back against yours, and he whispers with the weight of a man ready to feast on his deepest desires. “Ace..you know I want you… don't you?” He’s so close that when he licks his lips, his tongue grazes your lower lip with the subtlest of touches and he relishes in the sucking in of your breath.

the way i’m holding my breath right now fucking hell, my choochie quaking i can’t even lie to you

Mattheo might be oblivious to love, but he’s a keen observer in the act of sexual intimacy. It’s as if his eyes are an x-ray lust detector. He knows all the tells of an aroused woman. “So pretty Ace, fuck..you’re making me want to kiss you senseless.”

“Fuck, you look so sexy when you bite that.” 

the way he thought this in part one as well and now he’s actually able to voice his thoughts ajdghfgff i’ll never get over mattheo calling us sexy 

He grabs your wrists, gently kissing both of them before he pins them above your head, shocking a gasp out of you. He grins, satisfied by your reaction as he shifts, sliding his hands upwards, intertwining your fingers together in an intimate hand hold. 

my first reaction while reading this: oh my god, kissing her wrists is the sweetest fucking thing i’ve ever read. second reaction: HE DID WHAT OMG I CAN’T STOP SCREAMING. third reaction: HAND HOLDING MY FUCKING FAVORITE MY HEART IS MALFUNCTIONING 

He shifts, rolling onto his side, allowing your hand to slip inside his pants and wrap around his cock. He can’t help but buck his hips into your palm at the feel of your hand making contact. “Fuck-Ace.” His eyes droop, looking at you shifting onto your side too, your tits squishing together in the constraints of your bra, his mouth gaping letting out a hitched shaky breath. 

Couldn’t even edge to this, I exploded immediately!!! Clean up on aisle MY PANTS 😂😂😂😂 (i’m sorry.)

“Soakin Ace. You've been this wet the whole time?” 

YES OBVIOUSLY OH MY GOD

“Yeah, you want another? Want me to stretch you out…wanna be ready for me, don’t you, Ace?” 

He gives his fingers a quick lick, not wanting to waste a single drop of you, watching focused how you shuffle out of your panties. 

OH MY GODDDJSGEWFHG WHAT IS THIS FEROCITY THAT YOU’VE EVOKED IN ME RIGHT NOW I’M BARKING

Wandering his gaze at your movements, he watches frozen, disbelieving the vision before him. Sitting up onto your elbows, you unclip your bra, freeing your tits and exposing yourself fully. His pants sit halfway down his legs, his jaw tensing, eyes gazing with enamour at your bare body. He blinks again, swearing this has to be one very good sex dream. 

MY FEELINGS CANNOT EVEN BE VOCALIZED RIGHT NOW I DIED DEAD RIP ME THE WAY HE FROZE GOODBYEEEEE

“God, I love your laugh.. gonna make me cum right now.” Your laugh grows in ecstatic shock at his vulgar words. “Mattheo!” “Oh yeah, look at you practicing screaming already.”

THE GIGGLE THAT THIS TORE OUT OF ME SHOULD BE STUDIED BECAUSE I SWEAR I’VE NEVER MADE THIS SOUND BEFORE

“Tell me really, am I bigger?” 

I’M FUCKING CRYING LMFAOOOO HE’S SO ANNOYING

But then you smile and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and whisper an adorable, “Hi.”

AAAAAAAHHHH ITS GIVING “Hi, Johnny.” “Hi, Shannon.” SQUEALING ESPECIALLY WITH THE TITLE TOO AHHHH

“I want your eyes on me the whole time, ok Ace.” 

whatever you say, daddy— i mean what hahahhahahah

He flickers his eyes back and forth from how his cock slides between your folds captivatingly and up to your pretty blessed out face. Your mouth gaping as streams of whiney moans flows out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. “Fuck, I don't know where to look baby…look so good taking me.”

“s'good..the best ace. I could live in your pussy, just fall asleep and never wake up.”

it’s all over the screen 💔💔💔🥀🥀🥀

The notion that you'll both be alright, swaddled in the new cocoon of your relationship, both finally receiving the love you deserve together.

this is such a beautiful way to end it i’m sobbing

speaking so truthfully when i say that this wasn’t just a fic; this was a fucking experience. i felt like i was watching a movie in theaters and i didn’t even realize how long this was (18k words together i think?!?!) because it flowed so well and the dialogue never left a single moment where i wasn’t hooked. this, in its entirety, was so unbelievably well written—the dialogue, the metaphors, the story, descriptions and imagery, the way you weaved in their backstory and their tie to each other. i hate that it’s taken me so long to read it fully without distractions, but you truly exceeded all expectations. like i know deep in my heart that, from now on, every time i think about a best friends-to-lovers trope with him, my mind is instantly going to go to mattheo and ace because they’ve just set the bar for this whole trope. the yearning, the slow burn, the hesitance for both sides to finally admit their feelings, the fear of rejection — it’s all put together so perfectly. the emotion is so real and raw and powerful, i felt everything like it was actually happening to me. this might (definitely) be my favorite writing i’ve ever read from you. you’re fucking phenomenal b, literally never stop writing!!! (and never leave this fandom, i won’t survive without you!!!)

i honestly don’t even know how i’m to move on from this. someone come pick me up off the floor because i need mattheo and ace forever and ever (i know you posted something else of them and i’m excited to read but like fuck i just need an 8 book series of them because i’m not ready to let go)

[S]he will be loved ~ part two

Sum Reader is hopefully and madly in love with her best friend, constantly having her heart broken living in the shadows of other girls. Unaware that he’s hiding a secret, unable to express the truth about how he feels for her too.

Warn: NSFW18+, angst, yelling, swearing, PIV, fingering, semi handjob, dirty talk, (the smut is a little vanilla for the sake of being romantic), use of Ace as a nickname, y/n occasionally, Dramatic asf fr, maybe too dragged-out argument lmfao. Wc: 9.4k An: thank you for being so patience! It is suggested you read part one if you haven't, once again I went a bit in circles with this and so now will run away nervous as hell! but hope you all enjoy! Dividers from here & here

He makes good on his promise, avoiding you for the rest of the weekend and into the next week. His absence leaves a heavy weight of guilt that presses hard onto your shoulders, regardless that he had been the one to mostly start the fight. What had you really even done wrong? 

Despite his elusion you still see him, amongst your shared classes, the late nights in the common room or when passing in the halls. His head locked straight ahead, as if the wall is the most interesting thing, and if his gaze weakens and he nips a glance at you, it holds no kindness. The icy water drenches your bones again and makes you question your memory, and how badly you’ve hurt him. 

Dean keeps his distance as well, despite being unaware of your fight with Mattheo, the damage by him is more than physical and Dean wishes to keep far from the drama tempting to unravel. He decides it’s not worth getting involved now that Mattheo’s made his intentions clear. He wants nothing to do with it. His distance doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and you can’t help wondering how you’ve managed to drag him into an unnecessary mess. 

Had you, in spite, subconsciously used Dean to get a reaction from Mattheo? Were you challenging the bounds of your friendship? It wasn’t like you had planned to even consider Dean an option. He had just suddenly been everywhere, like a convenient beacon. It hadn’t been hard to get along, with his contagious energy and charming personality, he had easily cleared the thick aged brain fog once completely consumed by Mattheo.

Clouds slide inwards, covering the heat of the sun, and casting downward shade along the cobblestones, making you plan to head back inside soon. You sit under the shelter of a tree in the viaduct courtyard pondering the inner turmoil. Feeling conflicted, you sigh, weighing up the differences between them. 

Dean, a kind and warm spirit who opened his arms to you instantly, making you feel needed and welcome. So ready to listen, and match your energy to his own passions. But there was always something missing. It all felt very surface level, and maybe that was because it was new. Or maybe he just gave you what you were yearning so desperately for. Attention. 

But it wasn’t the right type you craved. For the way you felt under Mattheo’s spotlight was divergent. He made you feel special, your heart beating to a different rhythm for him. Being with Mattheo was like watching a sunrise for the first time, the shades of orange and pink peeking up after you both stayed up all night stargazing. It made you feel alive. He made you feel alive. Made you feel electric with life and like you could conquer anything with him by your side. 

Maybe you ought to give Mattheo some credit, for he his life had always left him complicated. 

You, of all people, know the traumatic strain his upbringing had scared him, continuing into his current life. There is no escaping the forceful path his life has been shunted down, his hands bound. It wasn't his fault he was deeply flawed, but it was your choice to be the one to see him past those sharp thorns. To help bloom the roses that laid trapped underneath the rumble, bring them to light in the same way as how you saw him.

You sit up suddenly, spotting Dean crossing the courtyard with his friends, and jump at the chance to make amends with him. “Dean!” 

His head whips around and he stops walking, allowing you to approach. His smile is less, but not unwelcoming. “Hey Y/n.”

You eye his friends awkwardly till they call out for Dean to catch up and continue walking. You shuffle between your feet, feeling nervous about starting the conversation. “Hi- I.. I just wanted to apologise. I’m really sorry about what happened last weekend.” 

Dean is quick to shake his head, respectfully dismissing your apology. “It’s fine, you don’t have to apologize, y/n. I hold no grudges towards you - besides, my nose has healed up all fine.” 

You wince at his little joke, adding, “It's not just on behalf of Mattheo, I want to for myself too.”

“Oh?”

“I’m worried. I led you on.. Though I swear it was completely unintentional..”

Dean nods his head firmly and grabs your shoulders to calm your rambling. He already understands and offers you one of his kind smiles you had grown to miss. “It’s really alright. I kind of figured that out already.. And I definitely don’t wanna meddle in the middle of your situation with Riddle.” 

“Figured out?”

His eyes crinkle and shoulders shake as he laughs at your oblivious confusion. “I'm not oblivious like you two are, besides I don't really want a repeat of my last relationship.” 

You nod, not quite understanding what he means by oblivious, but feeling the recurring wave of guilt hit for misleading Dean and so you just give him an appreciative smile. Your heart remains heavy despite Dean’s forgiveness. “I’m sorry again, anyway.” 

He shakes his head, dropping his hands from your shoulders, “It’s fine y/n. Maybe catch ya with Eli sometime. But good luck with everything, yeah. Not entirely sure what you see in the nutter, but knowing what kind of girl you are, it must be something good.”

While Dean retreats, catching back up with his mates, you stay eyes locked on where he last stood in a daze of thought. Must be something good. That’s always what you’ve seen in Mattheo, aware that it’s the defining string between your relationship. The knot that continued to tighten throughout your years at Hogwarts, strengthening with every moment of trust and kindness you shared with him. 

For once you bite the trepidation and unknown awaiting, the thought illuminating and making the lightbulb brighter. Hoping maybe Mattheo’s reactions to Dean were rather explainable, and burying the one doubtful tic questioning if this was his usual protective self or merging into something new. 

With newfound determination, you set off to find Mattheo, choosing to believe in the bright possibility that this territory was Mattheo awaiting under the rainbow of your deepest fantasies with a mutual feeling. 

A week without you had been to put nicely, hell for him. He had wallowed entirely, sulking like a pathetic child, like his favourite candy had been ripped from his clutches. He realized quickly that this was worse, that having your attention shared, not having your presence at all, had turned him into a dreary grump. His mood was not subtle in the slightest, every emotion of agonized resentment shadowed his face in a deep scowl. 

He was mad at you for how you defended that prat so easily, without stopping to question his intentions. But then again, he’d never openly admitted that Dean’s words had gutted him, mentioning his biggest insecurity. Not being worthy of you. Of your attention, your kindness, your laughter, your warmth, and last, your love. It had eaten away at him all week. 

He’d hardly slept, which was saying something for he rarely could. He knew he was undeserving, and yet if there was anyone he wanted to prove his worth to, it was you. 

He continued to watch the lull of the black lake from within the Boathouse, a quiet spot for his thoughts to wrestle in the ring with one another. He missed you in his arms. He missed the gentle way you would soothe him to sleep. With warm caresses that resembled a mother’s touch, but with you it felt more intimate. His cigarette burned, allowing small moments of relief to flow through his lungs, the inhale of nicotine calming his distressed heart. 

He hears the footsteps of someone entering the wooden house and peers over his shoulder, assuming it was someone who knew he came here. Seeing its you, he turns back to look at the water, exhaling another deep breath, his heart exhilarating just by your presence. He suddenly feels clammy, wishing to douse himself in the cold water just to calm his nerves. 

His shoulders square tensely as you near, and you continue with caution, uncertain how to proceed. Everyone knows the extent of Mattheo’s temper, and thankfully you’ve never found yourself on the other end. 

Your earlier bottomless energy and hopeful determination seems to have found a sudden end, diminishing like his smoke does into the afternoon sky. Being around Mattheo again makes the doubt seep back inwards, wondering if Dean had been imagining something between the two of you. 

Clearing your throat of nerves, you speak directly to the point. “I didn’t mean it.” Mattheo's stubbornness had always been a persistent habit, one of his shortcomings that meant you knew it was unlikely he'd apologize first. Especially considering he can’t even look at you. 

He stays quiet, listening actively. He doesn’t like where this is going, despite aching to make up with you, having never fought with you like this before. He’s aware this is leading to an unstable vulnerability, and he’s not sure he can hold on to the part of him that despises being soft.

“I’m sorry, I.. I- you.. are wanted. Always, Mattheo.” 

He flinches at the use of his full name. Coming from your lips, it sounds so sweet and remorseful. He knows you’re being sincere. He can hear it in your voice and somehow it makes it harder for him to admit his own wrongdoings. “But not in the right way.” He mutters mostly to himself, exhaling the last of his cigarette. 

Frowning, not catching his mumbled whisper, you take another step bravely and stand beside him, finally capturing a glimpse at his face. It holds no clear emotion of how he’s truly feeling, constrained by the mask he wears protectively. Eyes locked dead on the smoothness of the water, the clouds darkening out above the lake and the surface breaks as raindrops ripple, gently dropping onto it. Even in his blank expression, he still looks gorgeous, making the butterflies flutter. 

He sighs, knowing you’re giving him a look to explain, for an answer, anything as he keeps his lips pressed into a thin line. His jaw clenches desperately trying to avoid glancing at you, for he’s well aware that with just one look, he'd crumble. 

He stabs the end of his cigarette out on the wooden panels, discarding it into the previous piles of used up ones. “It's fine, Ace. You’re forgiven. We’re still friends, alright.” 

Even as he says the words, he curses himself for leaving your relationship there, when he so wants to take the conversation somewhere else. Somewhere further, where he can express himself to you fully, but he’s afraid. He turns towards the exit. “It's late, and it's starting to rain. Let's head back up.” 

You stand frozen, reflecting over his words, “wait - what? I’m forgiven?!” 

“Yes, that's what I said. Isn’t that why you came here?” He pushes through the door, feeling the beginning of the downpour hitting his skin, quickening his pace, not checking to see if you’re following.  

You trail behind him in disbelief, appalled by his audacity. You knew he was stubborn, but not to this extent. “Yes, but-what about yours? Don’t you think I deserve one too?!”

He hears the pain and confusion in your tone and curses himself. He fights the part of him wanting to swallow his pride and spit out an apology, but he’d never been good at those. That would mean he’d have to explain the reasoning and vulnerable depth, years' worth of trauma that built a viscous insecurity he’d never shared with anyone, not even you. He didn’t feel exactly spritely about indulging you just because you were upset that he hit Dean.

“For what? You’re the one that called me unwanted.” 

He knows it's a hard blow as soon as the words leave his lips. But he refuses to change something about himself he knows will only make him weak. Showing that kind of vulnerability and transparency to you is not something he can afford in his life. He can't stand to see your view of him change. To see him fragile, the hidden boy behind the hard exterior. Even if you end up hating him, he’d go to the grave protecting that piece of him, even from himself. 

He keeps walking, not noticing that you’ve come to a stand stall, frozen in shock from his jab. His words make your heart ache. It's clear he still holds a grudge over the words you said. You had never meant it like that. It wasn’t that he was unwanted, but his overwhelming protectiveness that ultimately made you feel like he was in control of you, and you had always put up with it. 

Never once had you allowed yourself to be selfish and actually enjoy the potential opportunity of romance. Until now, and yet he still continues to act cold, pushing you away. 

The rain pours harder, soaking your clothes through to the bone, and you wish for it to absorb you completely. Mattheo finally notices the quieting of your pestering and turns to see you just standing there with an unreadable stare. His brows knit with concern, his earlier irritation washing away, and he blinks through the rain, feeling a wave of guilt.

“Ace.” He descends back down the stairs with a fasten pace, “Fuck- Don’t just stand there, merlin it's pouring.”

Your arms wrap around your body to provide any warmth physically and to your heart, lifting your head heavily as he approaches. “I said I was sorry.” The words whisper with the tone of desolation. Despite your anger, the guilt and worry break the barrier through the emotions you wear on your sleeves, knowing you never wished to hurt him. 

He sighs with realization, his habit of self protection had only projected an icy blast at you and messed with your head. He steps without hesitation; coming closer, wrapping you up into his arms, a much needed hug for the both of you. He aches, feeling you reciprocate, gently hugging him back, and he holds you a little tighter, having missed your touch. The way your hands grip with need the longer the two of you stay embraced, and your head snuggles into his chest. 

It's one of his favourite positions, his chin aligned with the crown of your head so perfectly. The way he feels ten times lighter now that you’re in his arms, and his eyes close, finally taking a breath of clean air. He gets lost in the moment, grateful for how you’re able to calm him so quickly. How you can take away all his anger at the snap of fingers, all his stress, all his pain even if momentarily just from the mere warmth of your touch. 

His peaceful tranquillity breaks by the shakes of your body, and he’s reminded that he is the one to have hurt you. The small sounds of your sniffles smothering into his chest vibrate through to his heart painfully, like an earthquake causing destruction to his protective walls.

Cold water continues to splatter, coating the wet clothes that cling to your bodies, the only warmth radiating from your chests pressed together as one. He rubs your back soothingly, allowing you to express his feelings in the only way he knows how to offer comfort. 

He opens his eyes, looking up at the thick darkness of the night; blinking back the rain that has no effort to cease. He can’t fully determine whether your body is still shaking from sadness or the cold. He sighs deeply, looking down at you, offering a smiling feeling as if things will calm back to normal at any moment. “Come on, we should get inside.” 

You shake your head stubbornly, not wanting the conversation to end here, and pull back with a deep frown. His smile does little to ease the pain and, in fact, bothers you at how nonchalant he’s acting. “No. it’s just a little rain, and it’s not hurting me nearly enough as your absence of an explanation.” 

He studies the wedge of separation you stick between the two of you, the reigniting of infuriated energy charging him like an electric circuit. Why won't you just drop this? He doesn’t answer you, his head turning, looking out over the castle grounds, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he’ll snap at you or, worse, reveal something vulnerable. 

You press onwards despite the tensing in his jaw, annoyed that he ignores you. “Don’t you trust me? Why can't you tell me the real reason? I just need to know why you hit Dean?”

“Please, just drop it Ace.” He grits out, trying to keep from raising his voice. His body still turned; his mind buzzing, humming with anxiety.

The lingering anger swarms to the surface at his refusal to even look at you, “I’ve been here for you through thick and thin and you can't even tell me this one simple thing?!” 

The clouds boom before a thicker onslaught of water spits down harder on the concrete steps, making it harder for him to hear you. Cowardly, he’s hoping if he ignores the issue, it will go away. But he knows you, and the determination you’re expressing only makes you stubborn like a mule, knowing you won't drop it till you’re satisfied with an answer. 

He turns glaring at you. “Let’s just go inside, Ace! It’s fucking thundering!” 

Apprehensively, you pause at his loud tone, knowing he’s beyond pissed. But the urgency for the truth pushes you onwards into your questioning, with your heart thinly stretched on the line. 

“I can't! I need to know!”  

He groans, “Why?! Can’t you just believe me and drop it? Like I already told you that shithead deserved what he g-”

“No! That's not good enough. I need more, a proper explanation Mattheo… and if you can’t tell me why.. I-I'll-”

“You’ll what?!” He snaps with an offensive scornful tone, so bitter he can taste the metal on his tongue for the attitude he’s giving. He blinks the water out of his eyes, shaking his wet hair that hangs soaked to his forehead. “You’ll leave?” 

He's ignoring how his mind is screaming to just tell you the truth, to finally bare his heart and soul to you, but the fear of rejection has him by the throat. At this point, though, he’s afraid it won't matter what he does. The outcome is hanging dangerously, that he might lose you either way. 

You swallow your turn not to say anything. You hadn’t wanted to actually say it, because it wasn't true. You didn’t want to leave, but you were feeling frustrated, hurt, betrayed. 

He continues walking closer with intense energy, the darkness of the atmosphere making him look intimidating than ever. “Gonna walk away? Had too much of me finally, huh!” 

His voice raises and you force yourself to hold still and not move from your spot, even when he gets right up in your face. You noticed the clear strain behind his words, and there's a flash of something more in his eyes other than anger, pain. 

“Please Matty-y just tell-” you whisper pleadingly. 

“Don’t. Don’t do that.. Stop looking at me like that.” He breathes out, hissing with venom and agony. 

“Like what?” Uttering the question feels risky, as if the answer will hold all the truth to how he feels. His face twists and turns as your mind spins with anxiety. This is it. 

“Just,” He groans with frustration, his voice raising again. “Like that! Fuck. Ace.” The lump in his throat grows, making him uncomfortable and his fists shake, clenching them to control the unravelling pressure.  

You blink back the swelling tears and take a braver step closer, “Tell me- god please Mattheo, I swear if this friendship means anything to you! You’ll fucking tell me.” The doubt creeps back in; Dean was wrong. He doesn’t see you the same. 

He’s cracking under the pressure and intensity of your gaze, seeing the fire burning like an inferno. There's no longer the usual glowing light he loves. How you stare at him like his answer will make all the difference to how you feel about him. But it's the way you mention your friendship with him that ultimately makes him combust, spilling his deepest, most impenetrable secret. 

“Because when you look at me like that, it makes me feel unworthy!” He spits, not pausing to even let you process the emotions coming out of him. “Like I’m breaking you apart from the inside and i-I can't handle that. I can't handle seeing you cry…or even when you look at me in anger. It makes me feel like a piece of shit for who I am.” 

His arms are up and his hands stress tangle through the wet locks in distress, “because you’re the best thing in my life! And yet I'm just scum on the bottom of your shoe.. And that motherfucker was right and I hate him for it, because I-i-I don't deserve you!.. Not your kindness… or attention… or friendship, and yet I'm still greedy. I still want more!”

He takes a step back, needing the distance from you. His chest heaves while he lowers his eyes at the pebbled ground, deep in realization that he’s slipped up. The silence between you two is killing him and he’s lost in his head with dread and doubt that he’s just gone and fucked up everything more. He raises his eyes with the little spirit he has left, eyes filled with great pain that knocks the air out of your lungs.

“You want… more.. With me?” The question is barely breathed out into the open space of increasing vulnerability. 

He licks his lips, contemplating his next words, taking his time to really study your appearance. He notes the lack of uncomfortableness. There's no show of disgust or rejection of his disclosure for how he feels. He’s surprised he’s still standing considering how his heart is beating, sure if it beats any more he’d need a replacement.

He swallows with force the last of his fear, feeling the lump drag down his throat and sink to the bottom of his pit. He nods, unable to utter anything else, allowing himself to be fully transparent for once. 

Tears of realization stream down your face as you comprehend his words, blending with the saturation on your face. He’s not even mad at you. He’s angry with himself. You know him well enough to spot that his eyes reveal his tell. He’s afraid. He wants more, even though he can’t admit it. Your heart skips a beat at the confession. 

He’s close enough to catch the onslaught of tears beginning and his face falls with fear. This is what he had apprehended. “Fuck!” He turns with anger, his fists clenching, his body shaking with regret and anguish. “Ace-e - why would you let me tell you this? Jesus!” He’s facing away from you to hold back his tears, his head clouded with assumptions of why you’re upset, all heading in the wrong direction. 

“W-what? Mattheo - no these are-” You step forwards reaching for him with a tender arm. 

“Dont. Don’t lie to me, Ace.” He shrugs your touch off, blocking his walls back up with ease. 

“Mattheo, I'm not lying! I’m not upset-” 

“Y/n I’m being serious.. I don’t want your pity-”

You scoff, offended, “Pity!? I've never once taken pity on you, Mattheo Riddle. Is that how you think I see you?” You blink back the tears as he turns again, fighting the frustrations to not just smack some sense into him. God, how oblivious is he to you. “I could never pity you. I respect you too much.”

“Respect me?! What in fuck for?” 

The water builds behind your eyes, blurring your vision amongst the rain, watching him express his insecurities. “B-because- because I fucking love you, you idiot!” 

There's a buzzing, fluttering feeling in his chest like all his nerves have lit on fire, and he blinks, frozen in shock. His chest rises and falls, shallow and slow, but his heart palpates rampaging behind it. The fuzzy feeling migrates around, running from his fingertips up to the apples of his cheeks like an unwelcoming chill as he attempts to process your words. 

Everything he thought he knew disintegrates out into the open space, like a gust of wind swept through his mind collecting all his stupid, suspecting doubts. You love him. Love. Love! The unfamiliar word bounces around his mind as he mulls over the possibilities of the meaning. His mouth runs dry despite the assault of rain, as he struggles to form any words. 

“I know this is hard, hell I can’t believe I just said that to you-”

You're shut up by the pleasant surprise of his lips smashing onto yours, with an effort of urgency urged behind the feel of his soft lips. His hands move to cup your face, your soaked face, the warmth of them rising a blush to your cheeks, as he holds them with tenderness. He kisses you with all the love he has, willing to give you every beat of his heart. He knows you already have it. It's always been yours. 

Truly, every piece of love for you is magnified by your relationship with him. Your generosity to accept him for who he is, to open your heart to him, even if he always believed it to be platonic. It was enough to grow his heart, and since then, it had always belonged to you. He pushes every ounce of emotion through, knowing it's easier to express than through words. 

“You-u..” He breathes, catching his breath as he pulls back, struggling to get the words out. 

“Actually?” He smiles in reassurance and hope glosses over his eyes. His chest vibrates as he chokes out a disbelieving laugh and his grin broadens. "You-u lo-” He can't even finish the sentence so choked up by all of this. 

A smile graces your face with wide, full cheeks that burn with happiness and you reciprocate his choked upness, feeling the tears start again. The way your head nods ridiculously fast, flicking your drenched hair in all directions, makes him chuckle and he cups your cheeks for fear of it flying off. “Not fucking with me are you now Ace, cuz I swear to god if you-” 

Leaning forwards you capture his lips effortlessly, now being the one to shut him up. It's sweet but passionate and he can’t get enough when you pull away. He threads a hand through his soaked hair in utter disbelief, his eyes returning to your loving ones. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long. Kiss the crap out of you over and over.” He rests his forehead against yours and reaches down for your hand.

He’s taking in everything you’ve just said, grasping for the same longing that's been sitting, waiting to be released between the two of you like a dam. His face lights, and a little smile curves onto his face, and for the first time he feels the words sitting with ease on his tongue. “You have no idea how in love I am with you. Ace, I’ve been in love with you since forever. Fuck i-just you know I'm not good with words, feelings, all that bullshit.” 

You try to fight the blush creeping up your neck, but the smile that appears beaming brightly back at him is impossible to suppress. You’re completely speechless, overwhelmed with euphoric feelings of contentment. Words you’d only dreamed of hearing, now confessed to you in the eye of a storm, and suddenly you’re laughing. “Are we insane?”

His eyes light at your happiness, but he raises a curious brow, not catching what you said at the sound of another boom. “Are- we…WHAT?”

The sound of your laughter bubbles at his adorable confusion. “It doesn’t matter! We should head inside now.” He seems to catch the end of that and nods hurriedly, reaching out to grab your arm, leading the two of you up and into the castle. 

Under the shelter of the overhanging archways he turns, grabbing you by your shoulders, “wait- just let me get something else off my chest first.” He swallows, pushing the wet strands back behind your ears, “I’m s-sorry.” 

You watch him feeling an immense depth of pride for him, and you smile softly, reassuring him to continue. “look.. I won't apologise for hitting Dean, I don’t regret that and- i-I can’t tell you it all yet, but he said something that cut deep. Whether or not the asshole meant it, I couldn’t take how it made me feel. But I am sorry I ruined your night at the gig. Fuck- I was angry and jealous and I really was trying to look out for you.”

You nod in understanding, accepting that he’s not ready to bear that much emotion in one night, and bring him in for a hug. “Matty.. You don’t know how much I appreciate you trying.” He clings to you, a desperate boy finally receiving the much needed love he had been deprived of for too long. “And-d you didn’t really ruin my night. I wanted to go with you first, anyway. But I got in my head - the doubt i-i just didn’t want to ruin us.”

He pulls back cupping your cheeks, “god we’re stupid aren’t we?” He smiles amused with the obliviousness and blindness you both held for one another. “I’m just glad I didn’t lose you.”

You shake your head, “you never would have. I was bluffing completely.. I couldn’t handle being without you, Mattheo.”

He grins, leaning down to press another soft passionate kiss to your lips, “and you couldn’t have lost me even if you tried Ace. You’re literally iron cast around my heart. The knot is too tight. You’d have to break me just to free the attachment I have to you.” His eyes are sincere and hold so much emotion you’re verging on tears again. 

“Okay, ah let's not cry again. I wasn’t lying about not being able to handle that. Let's go back to my dorm. Come on.” His arm guides you wrapping around your waist, a stark contrast to the way his arm usually drapes over your shoulder casually. He helps you walk back to his dorm with care and compassion, the energy between you a mixture of excitement and lightness, the weight of the confession lifted. 

He helps you into his dorm, closing the door and gazes at you with pure happiness before searching his dorm for some towels. A room you’ve stood in many times before but never in this sense, and just being here with all your feelings out in the open makes your body prick with anticipation. 

You stand watching him shivering a little, and begin to unstick your thick sweater, clinging to your soaked through shirt, stripping it up with difficulty while Mattheo searches through his draws for some clean clothes. The head of the material sticks trapping your head and you groan, frustrated, trying to pull it off, catching Mattheo’s attention. He peers over his shoulder, laughing at the awkward situation he’s spotted you in. 

His gaze drops and his eyes darken shamelessly, admiring how your shirt clings to your body, accentuating your chest. He licks his lips, letting his thoughts run wild for once with no guilt, and stops what he was doing walking closer. His hands graze your waist, letting you know of his proximity as he speaks with a low husk in his tone. “Lemme help Ace.” 

He slides his hands gently up your sides till he pushes the sleeves of the sweater up, freeing your arms before helping squeeze your head through the hole. The sweater drops to the floor; the moment becoming charged with heightened tension and desperate looks reflected in both of you. 

His fingers descend, tracing down your sides in slow strokes that makes your heart leap your full attention on him. You exhale small shallow breaths, feeling your insides squirm under his intense stare, not daring to say a word. His hands wrap around the curve of your waist, tugging you inwards till you press fully up against him, giving you his signature boyish grin. 

“That's better.” His eyes flicker between the desperation dripping in your eyes to the soft parting of your lips, waiting with anticipation. 

His head dips, brushing his lips back against yours, and he whispers with the weight of a man ready to feast on his deepest desires. “Ace..you know I want you… don't you?” He’s so close that when he licks his lips, his tongue grazes your lower lip with the subtlest of touches and he relishes in the sucking in of your breath. Barely able to hold back the teasing smirk at your reaction, he presses his lips to your cheek in a gentle, tender kiss instead. 

You nod, your chest rising and falling with intense yearning, whispering back, “Yes.. I know now.”

“Good. That’s good.” He presses another kiss travelling up your cheek, sparking the heat to rise, flushing the skin a deep red. He grins sincerely, “you look so pretty when you blush.”

You swallow, feeling your body alight with need, buzzing with electricity that runs down to the tips of your toes. You wonder if he knows how aroused you feel right now. The rest of your clothes are slick still with rainwater, but you already know the puddle forming in your panties is definitely from the heat. You attempt to exhale quiet bated breaths throughout your nose, unable to trust your mouth to open, uncertain what kind of animalistic sound would fall out. 

Mattheo might be oblivious to love, but he’s a keen observer in the act of sexual intimacy. It’s as if his eyes are an x-ray lust detector. He knows all the tells of an aroused woman. “So pretty Ace, fuck..you’re making me want to kiss you senseless.” His voice strains with restraint. He’s still holding onto some concern, not wanting to freak you out with all his intense energy waiting to consume you. 

The struggle in his tone only makes you want him more and your eyes lift upwards, filled with hungry persuasions. Uttering a simple, “please.” 

The moment you plead with those sweet eyes, all his control gets thrown out the window. Taking your jaw in his hand, he leans back in to kiss you. His lips melting onto yours, the two of your lips colliding in synchronization. His hands cup the nape of your head, tilting it back, and diving deeper, his tongue pushes, seeking entrance as kindly as he can be while he fights the pure animalistic hunger to devour you urgently. 

You moan softly, allowing him access, the two of your tongues dancing with one another like a fervent tango. He mumbles softly against them, “Do you know how long I craved to feel these lips, Ace?” 

A deep flush grows on your cheeks and you breathe heavily, gazing up, feeling his lips kiss along the side of your neck. “How long?” You ask breathlessly. 

He chuckles at your response and interest. “too fucking long. I always knew that you’d taste this sweet.” The soft sighs and hums that vibrate out of you have his mind spinning and he presses his lips harder onto your skin, needing to entice more out of you. He pulls you closer to him before he’s back, kissing your lips, engulfing you completely. 

The two of you continue to make out, still standing, before his fingers slip under your wet shirt and he hisses at the cold contact. “Merin, you're still freezing.” 

“I’m okay.” You reassure him, shivering from his touch. 

He smiles, noticing the shiver. “Yeah?”

You nod, promising him, finding it sweet how he’s concerned about you. Sliding your own hands up his arms, you find solace cupping the back of his neck, pulling him down, needing another kiss. He falls back into the growing pattern, not wanting to miss even a single moment of your touch. 

“I know a way you can warm me up, though.” 

His eyes flutter open and he gazes at you, his eyes glistening with similar intention. “Oh, yeah?” He flashes an amused smile, intrigued by your flirtatious energy. “What might that be, Ace?” 

Biting your lip with a teasing smile of your own, you step back, pulling him with you onto the bed, causing him to chuckle happily. His arms flex, holding himself up from crushing you with his weight, and his head dips. “Fuck, you look so sexy when you bite that.” 

Your face contorts with a soft whine at the flustering compliment and he grins, more pleased with your reaction. His lips reclaim yours once more with delicate urgency, and you match it quickly getting lost, diving your hands into his curls. Having only stroked his hair tenderly, your fingers move with eagerness, tugging and pulling desperately to get a sound out of him. 

His hands trace you with the utmost respect and value, different from his experiences with other girls. There's reasoning and depth behind every touch. Enjoying every sweet moment, being able to explore every curve he’s only dreamed about touching. He’s finally able to hold you the way he's always wanted, no longer needing to hide behind his fragile vulnerability in the dark. He's finally giving you all of him under the limelight, and he hopes to show you how he’s felt this whole time. 

Mattheo groans at each tug of hair, lowering himself to keep kissing you, his hands sliding under your shirt again, feeling the way your body contracts. The muscles twitch with sensitivity and he swallows your gasp, grinning before pushing dominantly his tongue back in. His fingers peel the wet shirt up and over your bra. 

He sits up ditching his own shirt, and your hands roam over his chest, feeling the groves of his past scars, sending shivers down his back. He watches gazing at your eyes and how they view him. You already know about the meaning behind them, but now you get to love them, and he bites his lip to not get choked up at how you look at him with love in your eyes. 

He grabs your wrists, gently kissing both of them before he pins them above your head, shocking a gasp out of you. He grins, satisfied by your reaction as he shifts, sliding his hands upwards, intertwining your fingers together in an intimate hand hold.

“I’ll go gentle on you...just for today, yeah.” Another cheeky grin flashes your way, unaware of the concealed experience of your sexual life. 

You laugh at his sweet reassurance, squeezing his hands, loving the feeling of holding onto him. “I’m really not as innocent as you believe, Matty.” 

He raises a brow with surprised curiosity. “Are you telling me I’m not about to be your first Ace?” 

The silence confuses him, for when he looks down at you, there's a flash of guilt in your eyes. “I’m not?” He feels a wave of jealousy flow through his veins at the thought of you with someone else, though he knows he has no reason to. He leans down, carrying on his sensual onslaught, kissing up behind your ear. He nips it gently as he whispers sultry, “really?” 

Feeling your head nod, he lets out a tiny groan, mostly at himself for taking too fucking long to get his shit together. “That is a shame, baby.” 

Turning your head to lock with his sight, reassuring him, “It means more with you, though, Matty.” 

His eyes soften, giving a curt nod. He can see the sincerity and honesty in your eyes and he offers a smile back, pecking you. He knows it's true, as it is for him. “The same goes for me.” He cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “This isn't a one time thing, okay? You mean so much to me, Ace, and never again do I want to make you feel how I did before.” 

His eyes hold so much truth and devotion that you can feel your eyes beginning to water. That is before his hips shift, pressing ever so subtly down, getting into a grinding rhythm as he distracts you from the raw moment with kisses.

He almost jumps out of his skin when your bold hand explores down south, not expecting you to act so brazenly. He shifts, rolling onto his side, allowing your hand to slip inside his pants and wrap around his cock. He can’t help but buck his hips into your palm at the feel of your hand making contact.

“Fuck-Ace.” His eyes droop, looking at you shifting onto your side too, your tits squishing together in the constraints of your bra, his mouth gaping letting out a hitched shaky breath. 

Capturing your lips once more, moaning into your mouth, he drowns in the pleasure of how your hand increasingly pumps his cock up and down. He murmurs, resting his forehead against yours with knitted brows, “oh - yeah, ace like that.” 

His own hands creep and unbutton your jeans, pushing them down with a bit of urgency. “This okay?” 

You nod and ask back, “You? This okay?” 

He nods, kissing your cheek and down your neck, “Yes.. better than okay- your hand feels so good.” 

You tug your jeans down, kicking them off revealing your panties and he groans, peering down, before he slides a hand rubbing your thigh and tracing his fingers teasingly over the skin as they itch with temptation, brushing gently over your core. He rubs, applying slow pressure over your clothed covered clit and runs a hand through your hair, tugging it back to kiss you. He loves hearing your little sounds muffled into his mouth at the extra sensation you’re feeling.

“So pretty..you sounds so hot.” 

You whine sensitively and he swears he’s sent to heaven at the harmonic pitch of your voice. His cock twitches, pulsing in your hand to the sound. Your actions slow focusing on your pleasure and for once he doesn’t mind not being the centre of attention. 

He watches with an intense focus full of desire at how your pretty eyes can’t handle staying open, fluttering. The steady rise of your chest increases with every bit of pressure he rubs tauntingly slow. He can't wait any longer, maneuvering his hand under your panties, sliding one finger in, his skin saturated instantly in your juices. 

His own breathing congeals to short tiny gasps, eyes darkening, consumed with lustral appreciation. “Soakin Ace. You've been this wet the whole time?” 

His question, which seems sincere, causes a flustered reaction and you moan again, grabbing hold of the sheets. He takes it as a yes. 

Soft moans of satisfaction infiltrate the room at each hum of your lips. He can feel just how much you’re enjoying this, welcoming him to do what he wants. The trust you have to know what he’s doing is appreciated, and he hums himself in arrogance. Every reaction, sound, movement - watching as your hips begin to jut slightly seek more friction only fills him with a deep pride. You're his girl now, and he’ll never disappoint you again. 

His lips move peppering kisses down your neck, nipping at the skin, seeking the achievement of leaving marks of purple hues. “You like that, yeah?”

His finger protrudes deeper, gaining a steady pace, and his eyes flicker away from decoration markings on your neck to your legs spreading wider for his hand. He needs more, hearing every gasp and the sweet moan exhaling from you is pure bliss, and makes him feel on cloud nine.

He hisses gently at how your hand involuntarily squeezes the nearest thing, which happens to be his cock still. It's torture, as you're so focused on him, just pleasing him to even notice the subtle teasing you’re providing. “Sweetheart..” His tone is gritted with bated breath. “F-fuck, please either let go or do something with your hand.” 

You moan at the pet name and begin pumping him again, trying to multitask, your brows frowning at his addition of another finger. “Ah- sorry Matty.. I’m trying…just feels s’good!”

He grins at your struggle to speak. “Yeah, feels good?” His fingers meticulously move with skill, slick knuckles deep in your cunt, before he curls them, scraping the spot to make your back arch. 

There’s a string of whines as your hips buck up into his hand, “Uh! Yes!” 

“Yeah, you want another? Want me to stretch you out…wanna be ready for me, don’t you, Ace?” 

While his words are forward and prompting for more, he doesn’t make any moves to do anything until you give him confirmation. He’s continuously checking for your assurance, making sure this is what you want. He just wants to bring you pleasure, watch you get off riding slowly onto his fingers. How your back is arching and your muttering soft pleads, all for him. What's yours is his right. 

You nod desperately, “Please Matty!” 

He obliges, pushing in a third with ease, your walls contracting to fit him snug inside your drenched pussy. The warmth that evades his fingers has him groaning, listening to a new wave of mews slur out of you. “Fuck-that’s it. Such a good girl, baby.” 

He bites back the small protest when you release his cock and grip his arm instead, the indents of your nails digging into his skin, stinging but filling him with a possessive power. He wants your marks on him as much as he wants to leave them on you. To combine your bodies as one and intertwine in a way that goes beyond physical. 

Pure bliss overcomes your face and you turn, opening your eyes, glossy with need. Bringing his head down in urgency, you plead. “Matty…Matty, I want more.. Please, I don’t wanna cum unless it’s in you.” 

“Shit-t yes yeah?”

His fingers slowly drag, retracting out, pulling a needy whine from the back of your throat, and you nod urgently. He gives his fingers a quick lick, not wanting to waste a single drop of you, watching focused how you shuffle out of your panties. 

He shifts sitting up and starts removing his own wet pants with great difficulty. The jeans are heavy and compressed to his thighs tight, causing them to stick, his groin constricted pushing snuggly against the material of his unbutton pants. “Shit- fuck, these are fucking tight now.”

Wandering his gaze at your movements, he watches frozen, disbelieving the vision before him. Sitting up onto your elbows, you unclip your bra, freeing your tits and exposing yourself fully. His pants sit halfway down his legs, his jaw tensing, eyes gazing with enamour at your bare body. He blinks again, swearing this has to be one very good sex dream. 

“Fucking Salazar.” He takes in your body as you lay waiting patiently. His lustful gaze only makes you that much hotter. He leans against the bedpost, unable to drag his eyes away. “Ace?”

“Yeah?” 

“Just checking this is real.” He finishes pulling his pants down, almost tripping over them with excitement that draws a giggle out of you. The sound of your laugh shakes him out of his daze, and he grins cheekily, continuing his mission of ridding his clothes as fast as possible. “God, I love your laugh.. gonna make me cum right now.”

Your laugh grows in ecstatic shock at his vulgar words. “Mattheo!”

“Oh yeah, look at you practicing screaming already.” He grins, finding your flustering adoring. He frees his cock, admiring the absolutely thirsty look painting your face. He can’t help how his mind backtracks to your admission of not being a virgin, and he lets out a speck of jealousy. “Tell me really, am I bigger?” 

“Bigger?” Only just are your eyes able to drift away and up with a furrowed brow. 

“Yeah.. Then the fucker who stole your virginity.” 

You can’t help the pleased laugh breaking out at his not-so-subtle jealousy, trying to hold back the smug attitude. “Seriously, you're getting jealous now, while I'm baring not only my body but my heart and soul to you.” Lifting a feigned unimpressed eyebrow, you watch with astonishment at how his face changes, expressing a small sheepish smile. 

You beckon him closer with a finger, welcoming the confidence flowing through you. “Come here.” 

As if pulled by a magnet, he crawls back down, hovering above, his eyes gleaming enticingly and the deep inhale of need. The way you’re looking at him as if he holds all your answers, holds all the warmth for you and that he’s the only one to bring you happiness prick at his skin, feeling nervous. But then you smile and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and whisper an adorable, “Hi.”

He grins back, finding himself relaxing just at the mere sight of those brimming cheeks and whispers back, “Hey gorgeous.”

His hands roam, maneuvering over your body and pushing your thighs apart. He notes how your eyes fall, breath spiking with anticipation. “Hey, look at me.” His voice is a soft, strained whisper, on the break of losing it altogether as the head of his tip drags through your folds. “You know I love your eyes. It's one of your favourite features of mine.” 

He’s never done this before. Been so openly intimate, especially as he’s preparing to fuck someone. He nudges the tip a little further in just gently, a low rumble etching out with hoarse feralness. “I want your eyes on me the whole time, ok Ace.” 

Meeting his eye, losing yourself drowning in warm pools of brown neediness, listening to his gentle but essential request, you nod in confirmation. “I will. I never want to turn my back on you again. I love your eyes too much, too.” 

His cheeks are hurting from how much they’ve stretched into a smile tonight. “God, you’re perfect, aren’t you?” He captures your lips in a short but passionate kiss.

“Just tell me if it's too much, yeah.” He warns concerningly, biting back the desire to lose control and wreck you completely. At just your nod he utters, looking back up, “words Ace.” 

“I will.. yeah, Matty just please..”

“Good girl, such sweet manners.” He grins, licking his lip as he grips his cock, nudging it further in between your folds, his eyes fixed on the way your pretty pussy embraces the head so perfectly, like it was made just for him. A glottal groan of relief passes through his lips and he thrusts his hips gently, his cock sliding deeper into the tightness of your warm walls. 

“Oh-f-fuck.” He drops his head, pressing his forehead already beginning to bare a sheen of sweat onto yours, feeling the gaping of your own mouth. The sound that pulls from you is sinful, a delicious lewd moan that makes him grip your hips with firmness to not fall apart so quickly. 

“God-yeah…You feel so fucking’good.”

At the flexible way your legs bend back towards your chest naturally, he groans breathlessly, taking it as a sign you’re okay for him to pick up the pace. His hips thrust, driving into you with a satisfying rhythm, the moans continuing to tumble from your lips. 

“That’s it… you sound so pretty, baby.” He rasps low and husky. He’s looking at everything, watching the pleasure etched on your face while you lay with your eyes scrunched closed, absorbing it all. He flickers his eyes back and forth from how his cock slides between your folds captivatingly and up to your pretty blessed out face. Your mouth gaping as streams of whiney moans flows out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. “Fuck, I don't know where to look baby…look so good taking me.”

Clutching onto him with a grip of iron, nails pinching into his skin as he cages your body in. His biceps bulge under the movement of holding his weight above you. He drops his head into the crook of your neck and he groans, feeling your fingers dig into his hair, listening to your babbled praises. “Matty- ah feel s’good.” 

He roams his hands, stretching your legs wider as he presses his palm down to stabilize himself, his hips vigorously bucking with the strength of a raging bull. He doesn’t know how he told himself he could go easy, with the way your pussy squeezes his cock feels as good as pure heroine. He plants kisses on your neck and turns your head towards him, pressing his lips back onto yours. 

He’s in love with the way you feel, the way you sound, your touches roaming his body, switching from gentle caresses to carnal scratches. He feels whole with you, intertwined as bursts of passion taint your tongues, each sound harmonising together heavenly. “Ace.. fuck, you’re so perfect.” 

You nod, trying to form a solid thought in response, but the way the tip of his cock is gliding so effortlessly into your cervix only makes you chant his name, your voice breaking with a high pitch strain.

It’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever witnessed and he kisses your ear, whispering sweet nothings into them, encouraging your onboarding orgasm. “Mmm yeah, cum for me baby, so fuckin pretty wanna watch you fall apart.”

Your climax breaks, spots of white light blurring your vision and you tighten your arms around him, clinging to the one thing grounding you from the overwhelming pleasure. His head lifts, watching with pure delight at the way your body convulses, glistening with sweat like an ethereal being. His body shakes as his hips jutter following you. Broken groans mumble against the skin of your neck as he spills his seed into you entirely. 

He huffs a tired pant, not wanting to move, for he’s never felt so whole as right now. He murmurs softly, pressing a sloppy kiss to your ear, “s'good..the best ace. I could live in your pussy, just fall asleep and never wake up.”

You catch your breath, letting out a shaky laugh that makes your cunt squeeze his cock, releasing another deep groan. He shifts his cock aching sensitivity and pulls out rolling to lie beside you, wrapping an arm around your neck to tuck you into his side.

He rests his chin on top of your head. “You okay?” 

Nodding with droopy eyes, you plant a kiss on his collarbone and try to calm your mind and absorb the reality of what’s just happened. “Yeah..you're definitely bigger.” You grin answering his earlier question. You blink, gazing up at him with nothing but love and a rapturous glow on your face. “but I’m ok.. im great.” 

He chuckles warmly, not even caring to be cocky anymore. He tangles his hand into the still wet knot of your locks. “fuck yeah you are..and your super sure you're real?”

You pinch his thigh, making a sudden squeal come out of his mouth. “Alright! Aight, no need to seek revenge on me - I already apologised.” He jests cupping your head in a firm hold like one of his usual headlocks, but only plants a soft kiss on the top of your head. 

“I am sorry, though, and I mean it.” He shifts so your face is parallel to his and he admires the returning light that shines back into your eyes, a warmth that lights the darkness inside him. He brushes your check with his thumb, over the red hues adorning your cheeks, evidence of your spent state. 

“I may be a twat a good portion of the time, and this-”, he gestures between the two of you. “Still scares me, so fucking much.” His words are raw and burn with a vulnerability that still sits unfamiliar in his throat. “You’re truly an enigma. I still don’t know what in the hell you see in me?”

You smile, eyes brimming with the utmost love. "I see everything you don’t.” 

It’s the truth, and it always has been. The way Mattheo makes you feel is frightening, electrifying, like you’re caught in a storm and he’s your saving grace, parting the seas, giving you everything you need. How his eyes shine, reflecting your clear emotion, makes your heart beat with the force of a thousand drums stimulating the rest of your body.

A warm buzz vibrates between the two of you, knowing that all along, everything you were both missing was right there. The notion that you'll both be alright, swaddled in the new cocoon of your relationship, both finally receiving the love you deserve together.

This work is my own, please don't copy or claim. Any and all interactions are appreciated, thank you for reading! ty again @amongemeraldclouds for your love and support! couldn't have done this without you!

Navigation. Masterlist. Mattheo Riddle Masterlist.

©️pizzaapeteer 2025

[muwapsturniolo]

FreshLove For The Fit 2 (rewrite) ˚.🎀༘⋆ C. Sturniolo

"Shhh- fuck- gotta be quiet mama."

⟢ nsfw content ahead. smut, mentions of smoking and drinking. squirting.

@bernardsbendystraws for divider

"I want to fuck you while you wear FreshLove."

That was the proposition Chris had given her a week ago; it was all she could think about. It plagued her mind like a parasite; all her thoughts surrounded it.

She wasn't the type to meet up with random men or women to have sex; it wasn't something that interested her. Plus, she'd rather be safe than sorry in all aspects. It was a rule she established with herself and vowed to keep.

But, she was tempted to bend that rule for Chris.

Her favorite influencer, a person she supports endlessly, wanted to have sex with her. She knew that it was wrong, although they were the same age, there was a power imbalance, but she found herself not caring. She set herself up for this; this is exactly what she wanted.

She wore his brand in her videos for a reason, she knew somehow, some way it would reach him - and it finally did.

She told him on the call that she had to think about it. She may have been plotting, but she didn't want to seem to eager; she had to keep him on his toes.

He may have more influence, but she was determined to have control.

Currently, she was standing in the corner of some party her friend dragged her to, drink in hand and a scowl on her face. She wasn't a big fan of the party scene, but she would do anything to make sure her friend, Yez, was safe. Recently, her best friend had started talking to some influencer, she was unaware of who, but she had a good guess considering her Yez was currently grinding on someone who looked like the guy she described.

"Are you listening to me?"

She rolls her eyes hearing the annoying voice of the guy who's been bothering her since she stepped into the party. He was hellbent on bothering her despite her aggressively turning him down multiple times. He was persistent, she'll give him that, but he needed to learn when to stop.

She takes a sip of her drink before turning to him with a faux smile. "I'm not listening to what you have to say, because what you have to say does nothing for me, and is just a way for you to stroke your ego, and hope it makes you feel better about your dick size. Which by the way-" She looks down at his crotch before looking back at his face.

"I have toys bigger than you."

She winks before shoving her empty cup in his chest and strutting away, determined to get away from the drunk crowd. She rushes up the stairs and begins to look for a bathroom, hoping to get an ounce of peace before she loses her mind. After five minutes of searching, she enters an empty bathroom, slamming the door and sighing in relief.

She takes out her phone and begins to text Yez, who is downstairs, telling her that she wants to leave and to hurry up with her little boy toy of the night.

Just as she goes to set her phone on the counter, another text comes through.

You have your answer yet?

Chris.

A small smile makes its way onto her face, her once annoyed demeanor taking a turn.

Maybe

She fixes her makeup before grabbing her phone and going to exit the bathroom. However, just as she swings the door open, she bumps into someone, the person spilling their drink all over her. She wants to scream at the top of her lungs, her bad mood coming back full force, but she settles for simply cursing them out.

"What the fuck is your problem? Watch where the fuck you're going dumbass!"

"Shit, i'm sorry sweetheart."

Her head snaps up hearing the familiar voice, her eyes widening seeing Chris right in front of her.

She wasn't expecting to see him tonight.

"Chris?"

He smirks and looks her up and down, licking his lips as he sees her outfit for the night. It was a two-piece pink set, the material forming multiple hearts in certain areas, but left little to the imagination.

"You look good Ma, like the pink n' all the sparkles and shit." He grabs her waist, pushing her back into the bathroom and closing the door with his foot.

"You look good too." That was a whole lie. Chris looked mouth-watering. He had on black cargos, his torso covered by what looked like an unreleased FreshLove hoodie, a sliver of his chain peeking through. She debates on telling him to fuck her right here right now, but before she could, Chris speaks.

"So, what are you doing at an influencer party? Doesn't seem like your type of thing if I'm going to be honest." She watches as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a dab pen. It was shocking, but she decided not to speak on it.

"My friend dragged me here because she managed to get a lil influencer boy or whatever to talk to her. Now I'm stuck at this dumbass party with annoying people, in attempts to be a good friend, when I could be at home, in my bed."

She wets a towel and begins to wipe at her exposed stomach, trying to clean off whatever drink Chris had spilled on her.

"So I'm assuming you're not having a good time?" He questions as he takes a hit of his pen, watching the way she wipes between the valley of her breasts. "Is it not obvious? I'm stuck in a party filled with a bunch of influencers I could give less of a fuck about. All these boys think because they dance with their shirt off and because I post on only fans and have a dildo collection I'll fuck them. The shit is aggravating."

Chris chuckles and pushes himself off the door, standing behind her and watching her through the mirror. " The pink one is my favorite, but the orange is a close second," She looked at him through the mirror, shooting him an amused but annoyed look. She goes back to wiping herself off, and Chris takes the time to look her up and down.

She notices his piercing gaze and decides to tease him. "You know, if I knew you were going to be here, I would have worn something different."

She throws the towel down on the counter and turns around to face him. "Like what? Because your outfit is leaving little to the imagination, and I like it." He steps closer, his hand coming up to trace the pink sparkly fabric.

"I was thinking my pink FreshLove shirt, I got a short denim skirt to go with it."

His eyes snap to hers, his fingers halting in their place, "Oh yeah? You think you're funny, teasing me like that?"

"Hilarious, actually." He chuckles and grabs her by her waist, pulling her closer. "Although this outfit is...doing things to me, I think that freshlove shirt would have me bricked up."

"All I'm hearing is you aren't bricked up right now." Her fingers grip the edge of the sink as he presses himself against her, the feeling of his bulge rubbing against her thigh making her legs clench.

"No, I definitely am." She looks down as his hand moves from her waist and trails along her thigh, slowly inching its way up her short skirt. She sucks in a sharp breath as his fingers toy with the string of her thong, tugging on it slightly before letting it snap against her skin.

He does this a few more times, teasing her and getting her worked up.

"Chris!" She hisses, already losing control of the situation she wanted to have control over. He chuckles and presses a singular finger against her clothed clit, using the material of her thong to swirl slow circles.

She whimpers softly, bucking her hips and hoping he would stop teasing. He pulls her thongs to the side and wipes through her folds, enjoying the way her head tilts back and her eyes close. He takes this as an opportunity to kiss along her neck, biting every now and then.

"You gonna let me fuck you princess?" She moans softly in response, her fingers holding the material of his hoodie tightly. "Come on princess, you've been giving me the run around and having me on my toes. I want my answer now."

She couldn't take it anymore, she was making a mess on his fingers, and she needed him now.

"Y-yes, yes ple-" She gasps as he rips his fingers away and quickly turns her around, shoving her down against the counter. He grabs a handful of her hair and forces her head up, their eyes meeting once again in the mirror.

Before she knows it, the head of his cock is pushing through her folds nd slipping into her tight hole. Her jaw drops open and her eyes roll back, both her and Chris's moans ringing out in the small bathroom.

They both had thought about how this first moment would feel, and it was better than they ever imagined.

Chris wastes no time and begins to aggressively ram his hips against her ass, the soft brown skin rippling at each thrust.

Her loud moans ring out through the bathroom, the bass of the music from the party drowning them out. However, when Chris lets go of her hair and lifts one of her legs on the counter, the new position allowing him to reach even further, she lets out a scream of pleasure. He quickly covers her mouth, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

"Shhh- fuck- gotta be quiet mama. Don't wanna get caught, do you?"

She moans out against the palms of his hand, her eyes clenched shut. One of her hands gripped the faucet tightly, her knuckles turning another color as her other hand reached back to slow him down. Chris grabs her arm, holding it against her back and speeding up his harsh thrusts.

"Stop fucking running and answer me, you wanna get caught?" She manages to shake her head, Chris removing his hand from her mouth and placing it back on her waist. She does her best to stay quiet, but it's difficult when he's stretching her out just right and hitting all the special spots inside of her.

She could feel herself going dumb, the tears in her eyes, and her body on fire.

The only sounds heard within the small space were the lewd squelching coming from her body, as well as her soft sobs and Chris's groans. He looks down between their bodies, his hips stuttering at the sight in front of him. A thick white cream was pooling at the base of his dick, some of the fluid smearing against her ass as he continues to ram his hips.

He's never seen anything like it.

yeah he's fucked girls before and the sex was good- but this was different. This was an entirely new experience, and it made him realise something.

He only wanted to have sex with her from here on out.

She feels an all-too-familiar feeling forming in her bladder, and she panics. "Chri-nghh, w-wait! s-slow dow-" She tries to push him away and slow him down once more, but it only ended with both her arms being held behind her back, his hips slamming against her ass ruthlessly.

"You're close- shit- can feel you clamping down on me. Go ahead mama, let go f'me."

She feels like the air has been knocked out of her lungs, that fire forming in her lower stomach and ready to snap. She clenches her eyes shut and moans out as she tries to hold back.

Chris can tell just by looking at her face that she's holding back on him. He's not sure why she is, but he doesn't like it. He snakes a hand under her, and begins swiping over her clit, her whole body seizing up as she sucks in harsh breaths. Her legs begin to shake, and she lets out a loud moan mixed with a scream, her head dropping against the counter.

Chris watches with dark eyes as her juices splash against the cupboards and the floor of the bathroom, some of it landing on his pants as well. He curses and quickly pulls out of her aching cunt, releasing all over her ass as she remains a panting mess on the counter. He cleans himself up quickly, wiping off his dick before tucking himself back in his pants. He grabs some tissue and cleans her off, wishing he could have taken a picture of her ass covered in cum.

"You good princess?"

She hums shakily and pushes herself up, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. "This is embarrassing," she mumbles as she quickly tries to fix her makeup. She realizes there's no saving it and completely takes it off, using the wipes and cleanser on the counter.

"What's embarrassing? Nothing about this was embarassing, it was fucking sexy." She rolls her eyes and throws the makeup wipes in the trash before turning towards him.

"Get out, I have to pee."

"Really? You just squirted all over my dick and you want me to get out because you have to pee?" She huffs and begrudgingly sits down on the toilet, kicking away her drenched thong in the process. While she finishes up doing her business, Chris gets to work and cleans up their mess, swiping her thong in the process and shoving it in his pocket.

She finishes up and washes her hands, drying them off and turning to Chris. He takes off her hoodie and shoves it in her arms, "Put this on, your skirt is all messed up." She does as told and slides the hoodie on, the material warm and smelling like him. It falls right above her mid-thigh, covering her up just enough for her to walk around.

"You can give this back next time. I'm hoping I'll see this appear in a new video before then." She grabs her phone and unlocks the bathroom door, cracking it open just a smidge before turning to him.

"Considering you swiped my thong thinking I didn't notice, I'll be keeping this."

Chris can feel his face growing warm, but he tries to play it off. She smirks and opens the door fully,

"Goodnight, perv. See you soon."

[gay-dorito-dust]

been thinking about dante with an artist!reader who secretly draws him (he finds out anyways). like he knows they can draw but suddenly stumbles upon a whole different sketch book and sees beautiful drawings/doodles of him in either his human form or devil trigger even. I can imagine he’d be a lil’ emotional bc “never thought someone could see me this way” and then confronts the reader about it (its all cute and stuff*barffss*)

Dante had never once knew a day where you were without your sketchbooks, pens, pencils, a handful of colouring pencils and a incredible talent to bring whatever you drew to life. It didn't matter what it was that you were drawing becuase it always came out looking better then the actual thing; art was a massive part of your life with some of your favourite works were pinned to your walls, showcasing your range as well as your clutered desk filled with half finished sketches and images that you were using as references were strewn about the desk too.

So when you had asked him to grab something from your room, a sketchbook? pencils? that weird manakin that you use when drawing people? He couldn't remeber exactly what you wanted as it went in one ear and out the other. So he thought if he grabbed whatever his eyes landed on and pray that it was the one that you needed, however what his eyes first saw was your open sketchbook on your desk, and on the two page spread was sketches and drawings of him and his devil trigger form.

Dante's breath hitched in his throat as he felt himself move on it's own towards the open sketchbook on your desk to get a better look of the sketches, only to be left without without any air within his lungs as he saw how you saw him; dangerous but in the beautiful way possible with how you made the red within his coat stand out, or how you made gold mingle with the red of his devil trigger pratically glow in a heavenly light as his horns looked more like a halo then actual devil horns.

You even made his wings looked beautiful on their own with how you made them look as though they had collected all the colours in existence and selfishly hoarded them within his demonic looking wings!

You made him look ehtreal, like he wasn't a demon but instead an angel with a unique look that made him look demonic, and it was enough to have dante a little caught up in his feelings as he didn't exactly held a fondess towards his demonic heritage as it was only something that granted him more benifits for demon hunting and nothing more. Yet here you were making him wanting to appreciate this aspect of himslef when he goes through all of your sketches, only to find more of his devil trigger and himself whether it'd be him fast as sleep or eating pizza and strawberry sundaes; You made him look like a work of art only ever seen within a museum along with the other admired masterpieces.

Something he didn't think anyone would ever see him -especially his devil trigger form- in that particular light and you only proved him wrong by drawing him the way you saw him on the daily, and enough to draw him in bulk within the precious pages of you've sketchbook, something you've told him stuck with him about how you didn't draw anything you didn't view as beautiful or was worth showing it's hidden beauty.

So seeing him within your sketchbook only made Dante feel more honoured to be viewed as beautiful by you, to be the muse that you spent countless and tireless hours working on to perfection late into the night, to be something you wanted to display the truest beauty of by drawing him from the heart of an artist and the end result was something Dante couldn't have fathomed at all.

Further forgetting what he had came into your room orignally for, Dante rushed out the door and went down the stairs in a flash as thougg he was running out of time, capturing you within his arms as he burries his head within your neck and catching you by surpise. 'Jesus Dante, what's gotten into you.' you laughed as you heard him purr soflty in your ear, making you smile and begin to run your fingers through his hair gingerly. 'what's going on within that head of yours?' you add barely above a whisper as his arms tightened on your waist.

'I saw you're drawings of me.' was all he said, still in someway in disbelief that you could make someone like him look like something worth drawing, worth any aspect of portayal as anything other then some half demon that people stay clear of.

You stop caressing his hair upon hearing him say this, which only made him groan as he nudged his head further into your neck needily, huffing and pouting like an overgrown puppy dog that desperetly craves affection constantly. 'You did?' Dante hums. 'what did you think of them?' you asked, nervous now of what his thoughts and opinions on them were.

'i've never had someone draw me, or see me like you do.' Dante says. 'You know i've never liked my devil trigger, nor the fact that i'm half demon, but yet seeing your drawings of me have made me want to be kinder to myself and not be so harsh to a part od me that you view as beautiful.' He adds, kissing the side of your neck as you caresed his hair once more, making him purr once more as his eyes closed in content upon feeling safe.

'Silly Dante.' you cooed, kissing the side of his head, 'of course i see you as beautiful, always have and it doesn't matter what form you take because you'll always be my beautiful muse, devil trigger or my sweet toothed man,' you finished, wanting nothing the to make Dante see that he was all the man you ever seen him as no matter what, it was the least you could do in hopes of showing Dante that he was worth the time and effort you put into your drawings of him; You do it a hundred times over again if it meant getting squashed tightly against his chest as he purrs into your neck like an conent cat.

Dante pulls away to look you in the eye, mimicing your soft smile as he rests his forhead against yours, high off of your words as he wished he had met you earlier in his life but regareless he'd treasure you with his whole heart for as long as he can. 'Your too good to me sweetheart, far too good for me but i'm too selfish to let you go now, far too greedy to let anyone else be seen the way you see me.' he says, nudging his nose to yours.

'Then be selfish all you like becuase i'm not going anywhere, im content here in your arms as life with you is an adventure i wake up each morning eager to greet with open arms.' You tell him, pecking his lips soflty as another purr ripped from his throat. 'but please for the love of god don't leave pizza boxes laying about again or i'm cutting you off from having strawberry sundaes for a month.' you added with a pointed look as Dante pales, knowing this was bound to come to light no matter how much he kisses and cuddles you to death.

'Dully noted sweetheart, dully noted.' Dante said, hoping you wouldn't actually cut him off from his strawberry sundaes.

[dntaed]

❛ HOW HE LOVES & BOYFRIEND HCS ❜ ; D. WAYNE—AL GHUL.

SYNOPSIS: how does Damian Wayne show his love and what is it like when he’s your partner?

A/N: on my old account this was my first part of the “how he loves” series for the bat-boys. So, again this is a repost of my old writing.

⤷ main directory ; detective comics directory.

REDAMANCY: The endless labyrinth of your minds has been unlocked and explored by both of you. Words are unnecessary for Damian to understand what you want and need. Your presence has left an indelible mark on his heart.

It’s the way the two of you gradually reshape your speech, crafting a language of your own—how a glance across a crowded room signals that you want to leave, and he’s at your side in an instant. Your hand finds his. Together, you’re out the door. He knows your routine by heart. He knows you’ll come home tired, so he’s already queued up your favorite show on the DVR, snacks spread out on the table.

UNSPOKEN ACTIONS: Damian doesn’t express his love through words or elaborate phrases woven with sophistication. His love shows in his actions—the subtle ways he tries to brighten your everyday life. It’s the way he washes your hair when you’re too exhausted, how he wakes up early to prepare you something to eat, how he ties your shoelaces when they come undone, how he straightens your outfit with care.

💬: I’ll do it. Only because you asked me to.

ONLY YOU: Damian only sees you. The crowd fades to a dull blur, while you stand out like the sun. You’re his choice, the one he wants to share every moment with.

Waking up, getting ready, cooking, strolling to the grocery store, wandering through the park at dusk—all of it is with you. He can’t imagine it any other way.

💬: You—you are the exception.

THE DETAILS: Nothing escapes his notice. It’s the way he brews two cups of coffee for you both, the way he listens to every word you say as though it’s etched in his mind, even if it’s as simple as how your day went. After particularly hard days, he stays close. He peels a piece of fruit, splitting it in half to share, because everything tastes better when it’s with you. Damian cares for the small things.

💬: You’re definitely the only person I’d do this for.

A LOOK IN:

Initially uncomfortable with casual touches and public displays of affection, but gradually becomes more comfortable with you.

Despite his prickly exterior, he might research and perform elaborate traditional romantic gestures, believing relationships should be conducted “properly”, (he’s trying, give him a chance).

He believes himself to get a proper gentleman, so expect flowers every time you meet eachother, opening the door for you, carrying your things for you and so on.

I can imagine Damian quietly using Arabic terms of endearment for you without ever explaining their meaning, (I apologise if this is the wrong translation).

Referring to you as "حبيبي" (habibi/habibti - my love) under his breath ; Whispering "قلبي" (qalbi - my heart) when you’re not paying attention.

He loves sparring with you if you’re into it. Even if you're not a fighter, he’ll teach you little self-defense moves — mostly so he can say he’s “protecting you,” but really, it’s an excuse to spend more time with you.

He won’t smother you, but you’ll notice little things — walking on the outside of the sidewalk, casually steering you away from crowds, giving you his jacket without saying anything if it’s cold.

In public, he’s proud and composed. In private? He will practically lay on top of you like a cat, insisting he’s “simply resting” while he traps you under his weight.

The first time he introduces you to Titus, he watches like a hawk for your reaction. If Titus likes you, it’s practically a marriage proposal in Damian's mind.

Damian doesn’t date casually. If he’s with you, it’s serious. He thinks about the future with you — marriage, building a life, what he wants to protect with you by his side.

© dntaed | all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are not allowed to be reposted, translated, or modified. viewer discretion is advised.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Can I request Feixiao and Fugue/Tingyun, whose S/O is trying their best to help them during their heat, but is dumb of ass so they don't understand the underlying 'problem'?

(H:SR) Feixiao and Tingyun's S/O trying to help them during their heat

Mild NSF-W Under the Cut!

Feixiao appreciated that S/O was trying to help her during this...troubled season.

But what she didn't (REALLY LOVED) appreciate that S/O was constantly hugging her and getting within contact.

Their hand was rubbing her forehead gently, and it was driving her CRAZY.

(S/O) "Your forehead is burning, but I don't see anything wrong with you? The heavy breathing isn't really making much sense, I don't think we can get allergies here-"

(Feixiao) "S/O-"

(S/O) "Maybe it's just a foxian thing?"

Well, at least they weren't wrong about that-

(S/O) "Should I change you out of your shirt-?"

(Feixiao) "S/O!"

Her yell startled them, causing them to leap back just a little, but not before Feixiao grabbed their wrist and kept it on her head, moving it closer to her ears to rub.

(Feixiao) "Just...stay like this, will you?"

Feixiao struggled out a small chuckle, doing everything in her power to just not pounce on S/O right here, right now.

And when S/O's hand slid down to hold her cheek-

(S/O) "Heh, you're really cute when you're sick! I wish I knew what was causing it though..."

(Feixiao) "..."

The general had to summon ALL of her will to make sure S/O wouldn't be dead once she had a night with them, for now she'll accept the pampering with stride.

(Feixiao) "Heh, you're too good to me darling."

(S/O) "Anything for my general."

(Feixiao) "Beevenbettertome-"

(S/O) "Huh?"

(Feixiao) "N-Nothing!"

Tingyun is a proper Foxian Lady, and knows how to account for the season.

What she never had to account for before though, was having S/O around for it.

It was easy to ignore before since she didn't have a partner. But now?

(S/O) "You're breathing is super heavy! Are you sure you're okay, do you need me to get anything?"

Tingyun shuts her eyes and does her best to focus.

(Tingyun) "No, dear. I'll be okay, thank you."

Feeling them scoot closer to her and hold her hand tightly did not improve her chances.

(S/O) "Okay...Just call me if you need anything."

(Tingyun) Yes, I need to get right between your le-WOAH! C-Come on, Tingyun! Get your head back in the right place...Heh..N-NO!

(S/O) "Tingyun...?"

(Tingyun) "A-Ah, got it. I'll be sure."

And to reassure them, Tingyun gives them a kiss on the lips.

And one more for good measure.

And another.

And another-

(Tingyun) OH NO.

BONUS:

Fugue may not remember exactly what happened each season prior, but upon seeing S/O she knew one thing was certain.

That they'd help her heat, not in the way she was probably imagining.

...And yet, that didn't sound like the worst thing right now.

It's just another memory to find again, right?

(Fugue) "Tell me, S/O. How good was I before at trying to contain myself?"

S/O blushed but answered quickly, despite the coughing fit they had to recover from the question being asked.

(S/O) "Honestly? Really good, just uh...Apparently everytime I got close it ended up...N-Not helping as much as I thought."

Fugue smiled at that, moving closer despite their fidgeting.

(Fugue) "I admit the feeling is not as strong ever since I returned, my heart still beats quicker sitting next to you."

(S/O) "Hah, I'm glad that hasn't changed."

Fugue and S/O lovingly sit closer to one another, arms cuddling each other as they sat in silence, her tail brushing against S/O.

[rhiannonsknife]

https://www.tumblr.com/rhiannonsknife/781365481957359616/imagine-fwb-jackie-and-reader-because-jeff-cant

I loved this one so much. The reader being oblivious of the nasty things that Jackie is thinking about her. The reader doing innocent things that unintentionally gets Jackie so turned on. I don’t know I kind of like the idea of Jackie being a little pervert

last thing i wrote during the road trip the other day but forgot to post because i was too tired!! anyway, i was locked in. nsfw content so mdni.

it’s always the stupidest things, which jackie supposes makes it all so much worse. the things you don’t even think about twice, things that mean nothing to you, but jackie can’t stop thinking about. they burrow into her brain and rot there.

take the public pool.

the team had been doing off-season training, and coach thought it’d be “fun” to break things up with a casual pool day. you showed up late, towel slung over your shoulder, sunglasses perched in your hair, wearing a bikini that wasn’t even that revealing. jackie swears to god it was designed to kill her anyway.

you smiled as you walked along the edge of the pool, dripping wet from a rinse under the outdoor shower. water clung to your skin, catching the sunlight as it trickled down the backs of your legs. she caught herself staring at your thighs as you adjusted the waistband, just an innocent tug of the fabric to keep it from riding up that was enough for her to imagine her fingers between your legs.

jackie couldn’t focus for the rest of the day, her suit clung in all the wrong places, and even when she dipped beneath the surface, the heat didn’t leave her.

later, at home, she barely makes it through the front door before locking herself in the bathroom. swimsuit peeled off, jackie braces her hand against the tile and angles herself so the spray hits against her clit. immediately, her head drops forward and the images play without her permission behind her closed eyes.

you, laughing in the sun, droplets on your collarbone. the bounce of your chest when you ran to catch your towel. the perfect, shining stretch of your thighs.

jackie comes fast, biting down on her arm to stay quiet.

and it doesn’t end at the pool.

there’s that time in your kitchen when you lick frosting off your thumb without thinking, mumbling something about taste-testing the cupcakes. jackie has to excuse herself to the bathroom and doesn’t come out for seven minutes.

or the sleepover where you steal her hoodie and tug it on over your tank top and shorts, your bare legs folded beneath you as you laugh at something on the tv screen. jackie spends the whole night pretending she’s not staring, then fakes sleep so she can lie with her eyes open in the dark, picturing her hands sliding up your thighs under the hem of that borrowed sweatshirt.

instead, jackie’s hand moves under the waistband of her own shorts, fingers working as she imagines your body soft under hers. just sitting by your side made her so wet. in her head, you wake up and ask, gently, do you want me to help?

jackie comes with her forehead pressed to her pillow and rides her orgasm out on her fingers, careful not to shift the bed with the frantic movement.

then there’s school. the morning you arrive late, a little out of breath, brushing your hair from your face with an apologetic smile. you drop into the desk beside hers and jackie turns to greet you, only to see the skirt you’re wearing: short, pleated, legs crossed at the knee. her mouth goes too dry to speak and she doesn’t hear a word the teacher says for the rest of the class.

it’s a miracle she doesn’t start drooling or humping the edge of her chair right then and there.

the next day, you wear jeans and jackie feels a mix of relief and deep, perverse disappointment.

and it only gets worse, because it turns out you can’t stop doing things.

you don’t notice her staring. you don’t realize how tense she gets when you lean in to whisper something in her ear. you don’t ask why her voice falters when you call her “babe” as a joke, or why she sometimes won’t hug you back all the way.

jackie knows it’s fucked up, that she’s being a creep. you trust her. you like her, even. yet, every night, she lies awake thinking about how your lip gloss tasted when you let her try it, or how your skirt flipped up when you jumped into her bed after a movie, or the sound of your voice through the phone, late and sleepy and stupid and perfect.

she doesn’t even always touch herself. sometimes she’ll just lie there, fingers clenched in the sheets until her hips are bucking and she’s dripping wetness onto her blankets at the mere thought of you.

[othersidedd]

Let me take care of you

Joel Miller x f!reader

🤎 You're sick and Joel wants to take care of you.

🤎 tags: no outbreak or maybe were in jackson however you wanna imagine it, sickness, soft dom joel, caring joel, kissing, joel talking you through it kinda, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, praise, joel cums in his pants from just eating you out

🤎 wc 2.5k

🤎 a little bit self-indulgent short thing cuz im sick again for the third time this month and im honestly so tired of it (and i wish joel miller would take care of me)

🤎 reader has hair she can braid, pink lips and is smaller than joel

-

You had been feeling under the weather for a few days now, waking up with a dry throat, guessing it'll probably pass when you get a glass of water, but instead it stuck with you, then it was your nose next, midday suddenly realizing you cant get any air through your nose.

A day after that it all really hit you. You woke up to an aching all over your body, getting up from the bed, rubbing at your forehead, attempting to ease some of the pain. You tried to breathe with your nose, but still nothing. You groaned in annoyance and pain, waking up Joel, who was still peacefully sleeping next to you. He slowly blinked, adjusting his eyes to the bright sun beaming from the window, making you glow in the light as Joel watched you, but you definitely didn’t feel all that shining and glowing right now.

"Is somethin' wrong, baby?" his voice called, still rough and slow with sleep. His eyebrows furrowed with worry, a hand reaching for your cheek. He softly traced your cheek with his thumb. "Jesus, you're burnin' up." He brought his hand up to your forehead, laying the back of his hand flat on your hot skin.

"Everything hurts, I just wanna sleep for a bit more," you told him, looking at his sweet, dark brown eyes filled with concern about you.

"Ya' stay right here, I'll go get the thermometer." His hands left your body and you laid your weak body back on the white sheets, sighing with the acceptance of it all, you really weren’t feeling well, and you would have to stay in bed for at least today.

As he came back and sat next to you on the mattress, checking your temperate, you both figured out you really were burning up. In Joel’s words, you had a dangerously high fever. He told you to relax and stay in bed, while he ran to the pharmacy to get all kinds of medicine to help get you back on your feet.

Only back then you didn't know that you would still be staying in bed after a week, feeling like an eternity with your body locked up in one place. This sickness was hitting you hard. You mostly slept through your days, and even when you could rarely stay awake for a few hours, you couldn't do anything. Your body was so weak, even standing up made your head spin.

Thank god Joel was there for you. You tried to tell him you could take care of yourself, however he insisted on helping, and there was no use trying to argue with him, he was a persistent man, and you were also lying, there was no way you could have taken care of yourself when you were like this. He made food for you, he read your favorite book for you, the pink cover of it looking silly in his big, rough hands. He even helped you get to the bathroom, the fever still making your legs wobbly. He carried you to the couch on the days you wanted to watch a movie to pass the time. He laid with you when you fell asleep, his comforting hands around your waist, and his hot breath in your hair.

And of course, he gave you all those medicines he bought. He would feed you a strange tasting liquid with a spoon, demanding you to open your mouth afterwards to make sure you actually took it all, then spray something up your nose, and then, your favorite, he would rub those creams on your chest and back, running his calloused hands on your soft skin. It felt comforting, his touch so gentle and knowing, soothing away some of the aching in your body. But his hands on your chest, only inches away from your breasts, also had your stomach twisting with want. You'd stare at his face with pleading eyes, as he focused his gaze on his hands spreading the cream on you. But either he didn't notice the glint in your eyes, or he just didn't want you like this, all stuffy and messy, because day after day, his hand left your body, fixed your shirt and kissed your cheek, wishing you a good night.

-

"Open up, baby. Stick your tongue out." You rolled your eyes, but still obeyed, sticking your tongue out at Joel sitting in front of you on the bed, soft mattress dipping under his weight. You still tasted the metallic taste of the medicine faintly on your tongue.

"Good girl," he cooed, smiling at you. You laughed softly, the praise slightly stirring something in you, reminding you of all the times you've been on your knees before him, hearing those same words, but in a darker tone.

"Gotta' make sure you take everything I give ya'." You gave him a look, a mad one, maybe, but you didn't actually want him to stop. He was teasing you, and whatever he was trying, was working, your face flushed, and your touch deprived body tensing up at his filthy words.

"Stop talking like that." You slightly pushed his shoulder, only earning a soft laugh from him. "I'm all messy and sick," you said, more to yourself, trying to stop the arousal twisting in you. You hadn't even looked into a mirror that day, but you could only guess what a mess you were, sitting on bed in your worn sleep clothes, hair falling out of your now loose braid, holding an used tissue in your hand.

He reached for the small container of cream on the bedside table, twisting the top open with ease. You were only wearing a small pink tank top, giving Joel all the access he needed for this. He dipped two fingers, his index and middle, into the soft cream, your eyes closely following their every move, causing you to feel a familiar heat between your thighs. He brought the fingers to your neck, softly starting to work the cream onto your skin, starting at the neck.

"You're still burnin' up,” he stated matter-of-factly as his hands worked on your skin. They were slowly starting to make their way down, now massaging the cream into your upper chest. You felt your nipples harden at his touch, the action clearly visible to him too, the hardness of them poking right through your thin shirt. His eyes flickered to yours, lips now forming into a small smirk. His hands inching lower, you could sense this wasn't about the cream anymore. Your breath hitched in your throat, lips slightly parted.

"You look beautiful," he whispered as he slowly brought his lips to yours, giving you a gentle kiss. His hands sat right above the soft flesh of your breasts. You huffed and opened your mouth to protest, how could he find you beautiful in this state? But he quickly stopped your attempts, "Shh, don't say anythin'." To make sure you got the message, he closed his lips on yours again.

You breathed out his name, hands tugging at his old gray t-shirt, trying to ground yourself, but also wanting to pull him closer, get more from him. He softly brushed a few strands of hair behind your ear, his sweet eyes looking at you with so much love and gentleness. "I know, sunshine, you've been feelin' so bad." His hand still resting at your chest finally moved lower, gently massaging over your clothed breast.

"Let me make you feel better." Your head dizzy with the sickness, and now also arousal, all you could do was nod, hoping that would be enough for him, enough to not stop, enough to give you more.

He slowly tugged your shirt over your head, leaving you in only your panties. His gaze moved over your chest, always savoring the sight of your pretty flushed nipples and soft skin, as if every time was his first time seeing you like this. He kissed your jaw, neck, collarbones, making his way down, feeling the feverish heat of your skin on his lips, sucking gently, tasting the sweetness of you on his tongue. As his mouth finally found your breast, you leaned your head back, a slow exhale escaping your parted mouth. He knew just the way to touch you, and tonight it was all about you.

"Lay down for me." His big hands guided your back to find the soft sheets, making sure your head was resting on the pillows. Joel hummed in satisfaction, moving himself towards your feet. His thumbs tenderly teased circles on your hips, "Let's get these off," fingers finding the waistband of your white panties. He slowly tugged them down, taking his time, letting you relax and feel every moment. He tossed the damped underwear aside, rough hands gently guiding your legs open.

You loved when he was like this, Joel Miller, the big, rough, mean man, touching you like a sacred thing, like you could break at any moment. His touch so full of care and love.

His breath tickled your skin as he kissed along your thighs. You suck in a long breath as he softly held your legs, thumbs circling the skin, and kissed right next to the wetness between your legs. You felt yourself struggle for breath, your nose still stuffy.

"Breathe through your mouth, baby," he guided you, other hand reaching for your lips, other still staying at your thigh, holding you open for him. His index finger pushing against your pink, soft lips, your body responding to him, parting your lips. The digit gently pressed at your lower lip, holding your mouth open. You took long inhales through your mouth, Joel feeling the hot air on his finger.

A soft whimper escaped your mouth as he licked your folds, dragging his tongue along your wetness. The sweet pleads from your mouth as he worked you with his own, went straight to his cock, feeling the hardness in his boxers. He looked up at you, as he slowly dipped his tongue into you, your parted mouth, slight string of saliva running down your chin, wetting the finger still in your mouth, gently, but firmly holding it open, your face flushed the most gorgeous shade of red. You moaned his name, hips bucking up, grinding into him. Joel savored the taste of you, even if this was for you, that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to enjoy himself.

"This what you needed?" His lips found your clit, sucking gently, causing you to throw your head back, body shivering from the sensation. "Needed me to make you feel good?" You couldn't answer, only frantically nod, barely even registering the words in your hazy mind. His digit left your mouth, trusting you to keep it open with all your moans and whimpers. The hand traveled down your body, touching your neck, chest, stomach and thighs. He rubbed your thigh, trying to ground you before speaking again, "Tell me, beautiful."

Your voice came out hoarse and dry, more like a broken cry, "Yes, fuck-. Joel, yes, please, I need you." He smiled at you, a soft, comforting smile.

"That's my good girl," he cooed, a calloused finger finally finding your opening, slowly pushing inside of you. Your back arched at his digit working its way inside of you, your breath fast and unsteady. "Easy, let's take it slow," he didn't want you to overwork yourself, already feeling weak due to your fever. He slowly dragged his finger in and out, feeling the way you were soaking it.

"Look at me." You opened your eyes, hadn't even realized they were closed, lost in all the pleasure. You gazed at him with heavy eyelids, meeting his eyes, glimmering beautifully in the dim light.

"Keep your eyes on me, okay?" You tried to respond, half the word disappearing into a moan as he pushed his finger deeper, hitting that sweet spot inside of you. You fought to keep your eyes open, soft whines filling the silence of the night. His mouth returned on you, gaze still connected to yours as he licked your clit. The sight of him like this, between your legs, mouth working on you, lips and jaw glistening with your wetness, eyes full of eagerness to please, was enough to almost bring you to the edge.

Joel loved this too, his precum dampening his underwear, cock twitching with arousal. The way you looked, so messy and ruined under his touch, your whimpers and begs in the thick air, how you let him take care of you. He saw the way you were struggling to keep the eye contact, brief moments of eyes closing, moans getting shorter and louder, signaling to him that you were getting closer. And he was too, he felt that familiar tug at his stomach, causing him to groan against you.

"My sweet girl," he mumbled in between sloppy sucks and licks. "You're doing so good for me."

His words went straight to your cunt, hips bucking up into him, his finger curling inside of your soft walls. He stared at you with hunger and fire in his eyes, like he never wanted to stop, like he was enjoying this just as much as you.

"Joel-," your words cut short by another flick of tongue against your red, aching bud, "Ah- I'm gonna-". You reached your peak, back arching from the mattress, crying out his name.

He felt you come undone on his finger, your walls squeezing around his digit. He watched you writhe under his touch, listening to your cries of pleasure, hearing his name on your lips over and over again, pushing him over the edge too, grunting as he felt his release paint a wet spot in his boxers.

You both watched each other come undone, his finger still softly moving inside of you, letting you ride out your pleasure. Breathy moans and groans traveled in the air as you collected yourself.

Joel slipped his finger out, bringing it to his mouth, licking the flesh clean. He leaned over you, hands on either side of your head, closing you in, bringing his lips to yours. You tasted yourself on his lips, gaze traveling around his still clothed body, surely he needed the release too, you were ready to help him, even if your body was aching and screaming at you to go to sleep, but then, you noticed it, the wet spot on his pants.

"Did you...," you whispered between the soft kisses, staring at his crotch with slightly widened eyes. He looked down at himself, then back to you, and nodded, eyelids heavy and breath still uneven. You laughed softly, running your hand in his dark curls. "Joel Miller, the man you are," you smiled at him, eyes bright with amusement, earning a low chuckle from him.

"C'mon now, lets get you to sleep, baby." He laid his bigger body next to you, hands resting on your bare waist, holding you close to him. Planting soft kisses on your neck and shoulder, you drifted off to sleep with Joel holding you, taking care of you, like he always does.

-

🤎 im so sorry if theres any errors im sick and tired :( please tell me your thoughts if you have any !!

[lilangelbud]

Idea….. daddy x daughter sex after built up tension n daughter cries during or after bc she wants daddy so bad and it feels so good but she knows it’s really wrong too n she feels guilty and gross and daddy talks her through it n comforts n soothes her and tells her it’s okay n makes her feel good to get her mind off it n just really tender and gentle daddy <3

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she pulled away, her body still flush against his. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as she shook her head, her breath hitching in her throat. “It’s wrong. It’s so wrong.”

He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears. “Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, though his own heart was racing. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

She choked back a sob, her hands gripping his shirt like she was afraid he might let go. “But… but it’s you. It’s us. It’s… it’s not supposed to be like this.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead gently against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “I know,” he whispered. “I know it’s wrong. But it’s also… it’s also right, don’t you feel that? Don’t you feel how much I love you?”

She hesitated, her body trembling as she searched his eyes for reassurance. For something, anything, that could make sense of the storm raging inside her. “I do,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “But… but what if we can’t stop? What if this ruins everything?”

He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there as if he could absorb all her fears. “It won’t,” he promised, his voice firm now, though still soft. “I won’t let it. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.”

Her breath hitched again, and she nodded, her body relaxing slightly against his. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Okay.”

The tension had been building for weeks. Months, maybe. It had started with glances that lingered too long, touches that felt just a little too deliberate. At first, she tried to brush it off, telling herself it was just her imagination. That she was reading too much into it. But then, one night, he had reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and his fingers had brushed against her cheek, and something had shifted. Something she couldn’t ignore.

She had pulled away then, her heart pounding in her chest, and he had looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher. “Sorry,” he had muttered, his voice gruff, and she had nodded, pretending it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. It couldn’t be nothing.

After that, it was impossible to ignore. Every time he was near, she felt it—the electricity, the heat, the ache that settled low in her belly. She tried to push it down, to bury it deep where it couldn’t reach her, but it was too strong. Too persistent. And then, one night, she had broken.

It had been late, the house quiet, the kind of quiet that made her feel like she was the only one awake in the world. She had been lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, when she heard his footsteps outside her door. She held her breath, waiting, and then the door creaked open.

He stood there, silhouetted in the dim light from the hallway, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, he stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. “I can’t sleep,” he murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion—or something else.

She sat up, her heart pounding. “Me neither,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

He crossed the room in a few quick strides, sitting down on the edge of her bed. She could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell the faint scent of his cologne, and it made her head spin. “I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly, his eyes searching hers. “About us.”

She swallowed hard, her mouth dry. “Us?”

He nodded, his hand reaching out to brush against hers. “Yeah. Us. About… about how I feel about you.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she shook her head, trying to deny it, to push it away. “You shouldn’t,” she whispered. “You can’t.”

He leaned closer, his hand cupping her cheek, and she felt her resolve crumbling. “I can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve tried, but I can’t. I love you, sweetheart. I love you so much it hurts.”

She wanted to protest, to tell him he was wrong, that this was wrong, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she found herself leaning into his touch, her body betraying her mind. “I love you too,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “But it’s not supposed to be like this.”

He kissed her then, softly at first, his lips brushing against hers like a question. She hesitated, her heart pounding, and then she kissed him back, her hands gripping his shirt as if she were afraid he might disappear.

It was slow, almost tentative, as if they were both afraid to take the next step. But then, his tongue brushed against hers, and she moaned softly, the sound muffled against his mouth. His hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, and she could feel the hardness of his body pressed against hers.

She should have stopped him. She knew she should have stopped him. But she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. All she wanted was him—his touch, his kisses, his love. And as his hands slid under her shirt, his fingers brushing against her skin, she knew there was no going back.

He undressed her slowly, his hands trembling as he pushed her shirt up over her head, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. She shivered, her body arching into his touch, and when his mouth closed over her nipple, she gasped, her hands tangling in his hair.

She could feel his need, his desire, but he was gentle, so gentle, his hands and lips exploring her body like it was something precious. Something sacred. And when he finally slid inside her, she cried out, her body trembling with a mix of pleasure and guilt.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he kissed her tears away. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

She nodded, her body relaxing against his as he began to move, slow and steady, his thrusts deep and deliberate. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he groaned, his forehead resting against hers.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “So perfect.”

She moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders as he continued to move, his body pressing against her in all the right places. And then, the guilt crept in, threatening to ruin the moment.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

He kissed her, his lips soft and reassuring. “Don’t be,” he murmured. “Don’t be sorry. Just feel. Just let me love you.”

She nodded, her tears mingling with her moans as he continued to move, his hands and lips everywhere, leaving no part of her untouched. And when she finally came, her body trembling with release, he held her close, whispering words of comfort and love as she cried.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his hands stroking her hair. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”

[twstedfreak]

The Disappearance of Y/N L/N | PRELUDE - 00

Pairings: Various! JJK x Reader (Sukuna, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Naoya, Toji)

Synopsis: Y/N L/N has vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a trail of confusion and unanswered questions. Sukuna, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Naoya, and Toji are all pulled into the investigation, each one a suspect. They all believe Y/N is still out there, but none of them know what really happened. Their fragmented memories and conflicting stories of their last encounters with Y/N only deepen the mystery. As Detective Higuruma digs deeper into their pasts, he uncovers dark secrets and hidden motives, but the truth remains just out of reach.

Genre: Dark Romance(?), Mystery, Thriller, Psychological

Warnings: Mature Themes, Mentions of Death, Violence, Abandonment, Graphic Descriptions (crime scene), Trauma, Psychological Distress, Unreliable Narrator

A/N: Hey, it's been a while, but I’m back! Here’s the start of The Disappearance of Y/N L/N. If you like stories where a character lingers in the background and haunts the narrative (you know, that character), then you’re in the right place. This one's got a little mystery, a little kick, a little suspense, and a whole lot of unanswered questions. Hope you enjoy the ride! and as always, thanks for reading! I really appreciate the follow, reblogs, and likes so w/o further adeu,, let's all begin :3

teaser | masterlist | drabbles | headcanon | playlist

—Some people vanish quietly. She didn’t.

The rain hadn’t stopped for three days. The city pulsed under a curtain of gray, neon signs bleeding color through the wet streets. Inside the station, Detective Hiromi Higuruma stood before a case file that hadn’t been touched in weeks—until now.

Y/N L/N.

Age: 25.

Status: Missing.

Presumed deceased.

No body. No note. No witnesses. Just absence.

The kind that wraps itself around you like smoke—clinging, stinging, impossible to ignore.

He flipped open the folder, slow and careful. Her photo was clipped to the front page, eyes too alive for a still image, lips curled slightly like she was about to laugh—or lie. It unsettled him. Most victims’ photos looked hollow, frozen in the past. Hers seemed to look back.

She had disappeared six months ago. No signs of struggle. No sign she ever planned to leave. Just a single call to emergency dispatch—never traced—then silence.

There was no family listed. No one had come forward when she vanished. No concerned boyfriend, no best friend sobbing into the receiver. Only one person had even noticed she was gone.

An elderly woman from the neighboring apartment.

Hiromi’s jaw clenched as he read over her initial statement again, scribbled in loose, looping handwriting with parts underlined and circled.

"She waters her plants every morning. Always the same time. I could hear her singing to them sometimes. But then… she just stopped." "The cat started meowing more. Crying at the door. I saw it getting thinner. Day by day. I knew something was wrong when the leaves by her doorway started to brown. She never let them wither." "I called the tenant. Told him something was wrong. We went in." "Her apartment—it looked like someone had been living there and then just left. Just… left. Plates were still on the table. Food rotting. Worms in it. The sink had dirty water. Like she got up in the middle of lunch and never came back. The cat was still inside. Barely alive." "Please find her. That sweet girl. Where could she have gone to..."

Hiromi imagined the scene. The stench. The silence. The way abandonment settles into a room like mildew. Her cat, bones beneath its fur, curling into itself, waiting.

And the apartment, it told a story, even if no one else would. No signs of forced entry. No indication of a struggle. Nothing stolen. No signs of packing. It was as if she’d simply evaporated into the walls.

That’s what got to him.

He’d seen crime scenes drenched in violence. But this? This was worse. This was absence. An unnatural quiet. Like she had been erased.

Hiromi leaned back in his chair, the old wood creaking beneath him. The city outside blurred through the glass—neon signs bleeding red and electric blue onto slick pavement. Tokyo was wide awake, uncaring. But inside this file, inside this room, was something unfinished. Something rotting.

The more he read, the less he understood.

Until he found the envelope.

Tucked at the back of the file was a thin, unmarked envelope. It hadn’t come with the report. There was no label, no sender. Just one handwritten note on the outside.

“Reopen. Start with them.”

Tucked inside the folder were names. Six of them.

He read them once. Then again.

Ryomen Sukuna

Satoru Gojo

Suguru Geto

Kento Nanami

Toji Fushiguro

Naoya Zen’in

No prior connection between them, not on paper. No overlapping records. No reason to suspect them, yet here they were, listed under Persons of Interest. Not suspects. Not witnesses. Just men with suspicions.

Y/N.

What stood out wasn’t their reputations— all though some were notorious in their own right, it was how different they were. Different lives, different worlds. And yet, somehow, all tangled up in hers.

The deeper Hiromi read, the stranger it got. No official record of romantic ties. No clear motive. But there were letters. Notes. Photos. Snapshots of a woman who meant something different to each of them. A chameleon. A muse. A mistake. A memory.

It was like piecing together a puzzle where every piece belonged to a different picture.

Still… No one had reported her missing.

Not one of them.

That bothered him the most.

He sat back in his chair, the storm outside echoing his thoughts. Any time now, he’d begin the interviews. But for now, all he had were names and questions and the heavy knowledge that someone wasn’t telling true.

Was Y/N dead?

Perhaps, she is alive.. somewhere

Was she hiding?

And if she was hiding... from who?

But what terrified Hiromi wasn’t what they would say. It was what they wouldn’t.

Two months have passed.

A girl with no trace. An apartment like a tomb. A cat barely breathing, clinging to hope in the only way it knew how.

And now, six men. Each one who might have a story.

But only one of them, Hiromi was certain, would know the truth.

And the truth? It would not come easy.

This wasn’t just a missing person case.

He was intrigued.

Maybe, this was something else.

Maybe something cold.

Maybe something violent.

Maybe something personal.

. . . . Who knows?

“Someone needs to be looking for this girl.”

The next morning came with no sun. Just a dull, smothered sky pressing down on the city like a weight. Hiromi walked into the precinct with the file under his arm and the envelope of names secured inside. The halls were half-awake, the scent of burnt coffee and cold sweat lingering like ghosts from the night shift.

He didn’t wait to be called in. He headed straight for the chief's office.

Detective Masuda barely looked up from his desk when Hiromi entered. He was an old dog, worn thin by decades of rot in the system, and even thinner on patience. His tie was crooked. His shirt wrinkled. But his eyes, sharp as broken glass lifted the moment he saw the folder in Hiromi's hand.

"You're early," Masuda muttered, leaning back.

"I'm taking the L/N case," Hiromi said, setting the folder on the desk with a dull thud. "Nearly two months missing. No family, no formal report, but a witness. We’ve got signs of abandonment, starvation, possible neglect, and names. Some big ones."

Masuda raised an eyebrow. "You're wasting your time on a cold ghost story?"

Hiromi’s tone didn’t waver. "It's not cold. It’s buried. There's a difference."

Then, Hiromi reached into the file—past the grainy photographs, past the neighbor’s written testimony, past the preliminary notes from the patrol officer who first stepped into that hollowed-out apartment.

He pulled out a plain, creased envelope.

Unmarked. No return address. No police seal. Just a thin fold of paper that felt heavier than the rest of the file.

He slid it across Masuda’s desk with two fingers, slow and deliberate.

"Look at this," Hiromi said, his voice low, unreadable. “Someone wanted this case reopened.”

Masuda raised an eyebrow, then opened it.

Inside were six names, printed on a small sheet of paper like they’d been clipped from some confidential database. Clean type. No context. No explanation. But they hit like a punch.

Ryomen Sukuna.

Satoru Gojo.

Suguru Geto.

Kento Nanami.

Toji Fushiguro.

Naoya Zen’in.

Masuda’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you proposing?”

Hiromi straightened. “I’m requesting search warrants. For her apartment. For their personal records. Surveillance near her building from the last 90 days. We reopen this case—formally.”

There was a pause. The silence between two men who had seen enough in their lives to recognize when something felt off.

“You’re going to stir up a hornet’s nest,” Masuda warned. “These men. Some of them have influence. Money. Ties to people who don’t like being watched.”

“I don’t care,” Hiromi said. “There’s a girl no one’s looking for. And the longer she stays missing, the colder she gets.”

Masuda looked at Hiromi and frowned as he reached for the file. 

He frowned.

“I know some of these names,” he muttered. “Whispers. Trouble. One of them’s a consultant for a private security firm, isn’t he? Another was tied to that Shibuya case, but never charged.”

Hiromi nodded slowly. “They all move in different circles. None of them clean. None of them ever in the same room at the same time. But somehow , it seems like they’re all connected to her.”

“And you’re saying this girl… Y/N…?”

“She’s the thread,” Hiromi replied. “I think she somehow ran through each of their lives like clockwork. One by one. I don’t know what she meant to them, or what they meant to her. But she’s gone. And they’re all still here.”

He leaned forward now, tone darker. “But not one of them filed a report. Not one of them called to check in. Not one of them even pretended to be concerned.”

Masuda exhaled slowly, tension creasing his brow. He looked down at the names again, like they might rearrange themselves into something less dangerous. But they didn’t.

Hiromi’s voice dropped to a near-whisper.

Hiromi didn’t stop with just the names.

He reached into the envelope again, this time pulling out a series of photographs—old, slightly worn, printed on glossy paper like someone had developed them by hand. Not police-issue. Not digital. Personal.

He laid them out on Masuda’s desk, one by one, like cards in a tarot reading.

The room seemed to quiet with each photo placed down. You could nearly hear a pin drop.

First Photo:

It wasn’t a posed photo. It looked like it wasn’t meant to be taken at all.

The grain of the image suggested it came from an old CCTV still or maybe a camera phone shot from behind tinted glass. Y/N was sitting on the floor of what looked like a stairwell—somewhere dim and industrial, like the back exit of a club. Her knees were tucked to her chest, cheek resting on them, hair messy, mascara smeared like she’d been crying.

Sukuna Ryomen was standing a few feet away, partially turned, as if caught mid-motion. His fists were clenched, jaw tight, but he wasn’t looking at her—he was looking at whoever took the picture.

His stare was dead-on. Unblinking.

Unmistakably a threat.

The only thing more chilling than the fury in his eyes was the stillness in hers. Not scared. Not begging. Just… resigned.

It wasn’t a couple caught in a sweet moment.

It looked like the last quiet moment before something terrible happened.

Second Photo:

It wasn’t the typical carefree shot. At first glance, it seemed playful enough—Y/N and Satoru Gojo laughing at something only he could’ve said, her mouth open in a wide grin, eyes squinting from the brightness of the neon lights reflecting off her face. Gojo’s trademark shades were pushed up to the top of his head, his grin wide, almost too wide.

But there was something off.

Y/N was leaning back, hands bracing against a wall as if she was about to pull away—but Gojo’s hand was still on her wrist, fingers curled around it tightly, a little too tightly. The carefree nature of the moment felt staged, the way he kept her just close enough to hold on—and the look in her eyes was no longer one of amusement. There was a flicker of unease, a momentary hesitation before her smile flickered and she tilted her head, like she was waiting for something.

Third Photo:

This wasn’t a photo that seemed like it belonged in a keepsake album. It looked like a stolen moment—an uncomfortable one. Y/N and Suguru Geto were in a photo booth, yes, but there was no fun, no laughter. The graininess of the image made it almost feel like it had been taken from some hidden corner.

In the first frame, Y/N was giving a peace sign, but her smile was strained, too tight. Her eyes weren’t on the camera, they were glancing sideways at Geto, as if she had just said something, but his reaction didn’t match her expression. 

It seems like his hand was resting on her knee in the second frame, and while she looked down at it with an almost imperceptible frown, his fingers were draped too casually. The tension between them was palpable, even in black and white.

In the third frame, she leaned in closer, but instead of the intimacy one might expect, her shoulders were stiff, her body angled away from him. Geto, on the other hand, stared straight into the camera with an unnerving, cold intensity, his eyes unwavering. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even pretending to.

In the final frame, her peace sign had dropped. Her face was half-turned, lips parted as if she was about to say something, but the silence in the booth felt suffocating. Geto’s gaze, though, never wavered—sharp, calculating, as though he was looking right through her.

This wasn’t a photo of affection.

Fourth Photo:

This was not a moment anyone would expect from Kento Nanami. The photo showed him and Y/N in what seemed like an ordinary moment at a cozy, well-lit café—her hands wrapped around a coffee cup, his resting on the table beside her. They were sitting close, but something about the image made it feel wrong.

Y/N’s expression wasn’t one of comfort; it was a mixture of betrayal and shock. Her lips were slightly parted, but she wasn’t speaking. Her eyes were focused on something—no, someone—behind the camera, and the tension was palpable. Nanami’s face was unreadable, but his eyes, usually calm and steady, had a flicker of something unsettling—guilt? Regret? His hand, which was placed casually on the table, was pressed against hers in a manner that, on the surface, seemed simple. But looking closer, you could see the slight tremble in his fingers, like he was holding back something. His eyes never met hers, not in the way they should have. Instead, he was staring down at the table, at the spot where their hands touched.

What was truly shocking, though, was the small, crumpled letter partially visible under the coffee cup, its edges bent from being squeezed too tightly. It was addressed to Y/N. But there was no smile, no warmth in her expression. Instead, there was a quiet, unspoken question hanging between them.

Had he written the letter? Had he given it to her? And why was it so clear from the photo that she was already done, even if she hadn’t said a word?It wasn’t a moment of love or affection. It was a moment frozen between a decision and a realization, the weight of something left unsaid hanging heavily between them.

Fifth Photo:

The photo was nothing like anyone would expect from Toji Fushiguro. He was known for his cold demeanor, but this shot caught him at his most vulnerable—at least, in a way no one would have anticipated. Y/N and Toji were locked in a heated kiss, but it wasn’t romantic—it was almost primal. His hand was tangled in her hair, gripping it with a force that made her head tilt back, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat. There was no gentle approach here. No slow build. It was pure, raw need.

Y/N, completely caught up in the moment, looked a mess. Her lipstick was smudged, her hair was tangled and falling wildly around her face, and her eyes—when they weren’t squeezed shut—held a dazed and frenzied look, as if she couldn’t even fully comprehend what was happening. In one hand, she carelessly held a cigarette, the smoke curling up toward the ceiling, forgotten and almost abandoned, as if it didn’t matter in this moment. Her other hand was gripping the back of Toji’s neck, nails digging into his skin, as if she were holding on for dear life.

The intensity between them was palpable, raw—there was no tenderness, no softness in the way their bodies collided. Toji’s chest was pressed against hers, his grip firm, almost possessive, and Y/N was lost in it, her body leaning toward him, caught in the urgency of the kiss. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t graceful. It was reckless.

The background was barely visible, a dark, dimly lit room, adding to the feeling that this was a fleeting, chaotic moment—one that wasn’t supposed to be captured, yet it was. It felt like something that should have been erased, but instead, it was frozen forever. The cigarette, the way her body was slanted against his, the way he held her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded—it wasn’t just a kiss. It was fire and danger, a reckless dance that neither could stop once it had begun.

Sixth Photo:

The image was caught mid-motion grainy, distant, probably taken by someone on the street. Y/N was stepping out of a sleek black car, one heel already on the curb, the other still inside. She looked furious. Her lipstick was smudged like she’d bitten her lip too hard. Her hand was raised in a sharp motion mid-gesture. They seem to be in a mid-argument. Naoya Zenin was still in the driver’s seat, leaned over, clearly shouting something back at her through the open door. His jaw was clenched, face twisted in frustration.

You couldn’t hear the words, but the body language said enough. She was done. He wasn’t.

No smiles. No poised elegance. Just raw emotion between two people unraveling in real time.

It was the only photo where she looked like she wanted to leave

—and the only one where someone was trying to stop her.

Masuda stared at the spread of a mess on the table.

Six men.

Six moments.

Six different versions of Y/N.

“She’s a ghost stitched into all of them,” Hiromi said, voice low. “A different girl in every photo. The question is, who was she really? And why did she vanish without a trace?”

Masuda looked back up at him, face unreadable.

Hiromi tapped the photos one more time.

“Someone slipped this into the file, chief. No initials. No trace. Just the names and these photos. That’s not random. That’s someone telling us where to start.”

He let that sit for a moment.

And then, like a hammer to glass, he added, “I think we’re not looking at a disappearance. I think we’re looking at something worse. And someone out there, someone who knew her. Wants us to dig.”

Masuda didn’t answer right away.

But Hiromi could tell by the way his fingers tightened around the edge of the envelope.

The case is open now. Whether the department liked it or not.

Ꮺ ⋮ TAGLIST OPEN ! comment to be added to the official list of this series (in the making) —

@ratedrrrr @barbare2 @artist1936 @tojis-ball-sack @mangiswig @levimaids @poopooindamouf @ukhtlindi @gremlinartstudio @stardustquills @kingshitonly @levifiance @sakanelli-afc @theanaoevre @yu-uwu @personally4runa @indiewritesxoxo @sunahsvt @sakanelli-afc @ivy-vivii @gojoslovelylover @sukunaslilsocks @amberbrevily @eolivy @miniv1x3n @grignardsreagent @noooo-onee @penguinotapioca @ladytamayolover @getomeatrider01 @lucilles-witchery @van9lla

˚ 　 ⤹ 　 ❝ ©twstedfreak | all rights reserve to the owner. . . . do not plagiarize, steal, translate, or modify my work

[fic-rave]

starting this off by saying: I do not identify as trans masc myself (genderfluid so I don't line myself up with masc or fem if i can help it) so I'm treating the gender dysphoria with as much care as I can but I am certain that it won't be perfect, I'm just channelling my feelings as an afab who feels masc sometimes while trying to focus on the funnies of the prompt, and remember, trans men are men!!

(also there is a discussion of sex but no actual sex happens just talking abt things married people do + masterbation)

Georgia was... happy. She was happy in her marriage with Johnny, she was happy working from home for an extra buck while Johnny's military paychecks supported their needs. But, something had always felt off. Like there was something missing, or something that was just a little too much. She couldn't put it into words for the longest time, ever since she was a child and felt like peeling her skin off instead of wearing a dress. But now, after getting into therapy to help deal with the anxiety she felt every time Johnny left for work, Georgia knew. After speaking it through for hours and hours, after denying and debating and finally accepting, she - no he knew. Georgia was not a girl. Georgia was a man.

But Georgia was also married.

He felt sick thinking about it. Being a man - realising this thing about himself, it didn't change how he felt about his sweet husband, his darling Johnny. But he did know that coming out, telling his husband that he was a man, could very well ruin this. Johnny had always dated women, had agreed to marry a woman. They'd spoken about kids. Georgia couldn't even blame him if he left him for this, couldn't blame his husband for not being gay.

God he hated his name. Even on Johnny's lips. Now it felt wrong. His therapist had been trying out new names every session. None of them fit quite right, but they all felt better than Georgia. George was too close, felt less like a name for his new identity and more like a demeaning nickname for the little girl that preferred trousers over skirts.

He couldn't keep living like this, in this limbo. He couldn't hide this from his husband, had already been hiding it for too long, but god was he scared. This could very well be the difference between a long marriage or a painful divorce, but he couldn't stand to be called a "Bonnie lass," anymore.

He was going to tell Johnny. Even if it killed their marriage.

[Johnny POV]

Johnny was a very, very happy man. He was married to the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, had a fun albeit dangerous job, he plenty of good mates in his team. He had a nice little cottage in the highlands, close enough to his parents that he and his sweet lass could visit them whenever they wanted, but far enough that it never felt like they were breathing down his neck.

But... there was one wee problem.

He couldn't get it up for women anymore. His wife, sweet little Georgia was the exception, but, well, she'd never been exactly feminine. When he was younger, he'd be able to manage it. In his twenties he felt as if he had a constant boner, spent his time outside the military and school hooking up with women at bars and bragging the next day.

Then, of course, he met Georgia and all that had stopped. But he was still able to watch porn, was still able to get off to the sight of bouncing tits covered in spunk, or asses bouncing against thrusting hips. But now? He just... couldn't. The last time he'd managed to cum was inside his wife. He hadn't been home in three weeks. He'd tried all of his old favourite pornos, even tried imagining his wife, but nothing worked.

Except.

He'd found it on accident. Thought the twink was a woman at first and clicked on it without thinking, desperate to get off. He'd very quickly been corrected, very quickly figured out it was gay porn. He hadn't clicked off.

It was the hardest he'd came in a while.

So, now he was reconsidering his whole life. He had always had a thing for bigger, stronger, more masculine women. He did enjoy taking it up the arse, had done so more than once for Georgia, but he'd always brushed it off. Assumed he just had a type. He wasn't gay, just liked his women able to handle themselves.

So, he watched more porn. Tested himself. Looked at lesbian, straight, and gay porn. Found that he was only able to get hard for the ones including men, and only able to cum to the gay ones. Then came the debilitating guilt. He was married to a woman. How could he explain this? He never wanted anyone else, only Georgia, but now he was thinking about Georgia as a man - and fuck was it hot. But what could he do? Ask Georgia to speak with a lower voice? It didn't feel fair to her to do this.

He couldn't stand the idea of leaving her, couldn't stand the idea of not having her warm arms and soft words to come home to after long missions, but it wasn't fair on either of them for Johnny to continue being straight. Or even bisexual. God he wished he was bisexual. It would feel like less of a total betrayal to their marriage.

So. Johnny was going to do it. Risk their marriage and come out.

Trans masc!reader who has recently married their childhood sweetheart and is tearfully preparing for the inevitable divorce once they come out to him vs Soap who just realized he's gay and is trying to find a way to come out to you without losing a relationship he's spent years building.

[moni-logues]

Pairing: Bangchan x reader (afab)

Genre: friends-to-lovers but mostly just smut

Summary: Chan has just returned home from tour and you hope you aren't wrong that something has changed between you. Only one way to find out…

Word count: 7.8k

Content: hand job, oral (f receiving), chan pov in the last part

me: i won't repost stuff from the old blog Also me: ....

anyway, @minisugakoobies reminded me that this fic exists yesterday and I have been writing for Chan recently (don't ask, it's gonna take ages) so here we are. unedited. {note this was originally written as a single drabble and then I wrote two more parts to it so if any bits feel a little disjointed, that's why.}

* * *

It wasn’t weird and it wasn’t uncomfortable. But it was different. It was definitely different this time.   

Chan sat in front of you, between your legs, his back against your chest and his head in the soft space between your shoulder and collarbone. You leant against the arm of the sofa with your hands on his stomach-   

That was different. You had the hem of his T-shirt between your fingers, toying mindlessly, while your other hand rested on his warm, soft skin beneath it. He had one hand resting over yours, his fingers not exactly entwined with yours, but not exactly not.    

You’d held hands before. On occasion. Entirely casually, platonically. Except for the part where you wished it wasn’t casual, wished it wasn’t platonic.    

You’d had feelings for Chan for as long as you could remember, since you first set eyes on him. Honestly, you were used to it. Comfortable with it even. You knew you weren’t going to do anything about it and that meant it didn’t worry you. It would be your little secret and you would soak up all the time with him you could, you would enjoy all the friendship privileges he offered you and you would clutch them close to your heart in the absence of any actual body to hold.    

It was only before he went away this last time, a couple of months ago, that you felt something change. Something about how clingy he had been the night before he left, a little more tactile than he usually was. He was ants-in-his-pants fidgety and wouldn’t sit still. He was wrestling you into a hug one minute and then pushing you to the other end of the sofa the next. He held you so tightly and for so long when you hugged him goodbye that you had joked it was like he was going off to war. He had laughed only half-heartedly, which, for Chan, might as well have not been laughing at all. He had pulled back and looked at you intensely with his hands still on your waist and you had waited and waited for him to say or do something else but he just kept looking.   

“Are you going to like, actually leave?” you had asked.   

He snapped out of his trance and ruffled your hair.    

“Course I’m going! Why? Trying to get me to stay?”   

You weren’t, because you knew he was going to leave, anyway, that he had to go, but he sounded hopeful (or were you imagining it?).   

“Yeah. I did consider locking you up for a second, but taking care of one animal is enough; I’m not sure I could cope with having to feed and care for you, too!”   

He had done a proper laugh then and you were reassured that whatever had just happened, it was a blip, a glitch, nothing more. He had hugged you one last time, shorter, looser, and then turned to leave with a salute.   

Then he was back, hugging you just as hard, fresh off the plane (rather un fresh, actually, and he had the cheek to ask to use your shower!).    

And it was the same as it had ever been.   

But it was also different. Because he had told you so many times while he was away that he missed you; he had said ‘wish you were here!’ so often that you actually believed it; your gallery was full of ‘found you!’ photos of ugly statues and ‘thought you’d like this’ shots of architecture and souvenirs—souvenirs he’d actually bought and brought home for you. He didn’t usually do that.    

And now, there you were, with your hands on his skin and your cheek resting lightly on the top of his head and he was laughing at the film you were watching and taking your hand from the hem of his top, crossing it over his torso and holding it there. He closed his fingers over yours. Holding hands. You flattened your palm over his stomach and stroked sideways, the circle of your arms tighter around him, and you wanted to ask what this meant. Did it mean anything? Had he just been lonely on the road? Did he just want some physical contact? Were you just... there?    

You weren’t one to be stuck in indecision. You didn’t have the patience for it. You decided, when you first met, that you weren’t going to act on your feelings because trying to date an idol was an insane thing to do. And you didn’t need the stress.    

But you also didn’t need the long, drawn-out stress of a ‘will they? Won't they?’ scenario with one of your closest friends.    

And, if you were going to be really honest, you kind of did need a good fuck. And you’d thought about fucking him a lot, one might say too much. And if he was interested, if something had changed and he saw you differently now, well, then the bedroom was calling for you.    

“Chan?” you said quietly.   

He twisted his head a little. “Yeah?”   

“Can I... touch you?”   

You drew your fingers back, softly grazing your nails against his abs. He giggled.   

“What do you mean? We already are touching!”   

You slipped just the tips of your fingers beneath the waistband of his jogging bottoms and the waistband of his boxers.   

“No, I mean... touch you.”   

“Oh, sh-… Uh.”    

You didn’t move your hand; you felt his heartrate quicken, thumping back against your chest.    

“You don’t have to say yes. It’s ok if the answer’s no.”   

“Yeah, no,” he said. “I mean, the answer’s yes. It’s ok.”   

“Are you sure?” you asked.   

He swallowed and nodded and put his hand over yours, carefully encouraging it lower. “Yes, I’m sure.”    

His hand left yours as it disappeared beneath the fabric of his clothes and you couldn't breathe as your fingers ran over the velvet skin of his soft cock, which twitched on contact. As you pushed his trousers and his boxers down, you almost couldn’t look, couldn’t bear the thought of disappointment, after all this waiting, after every fantasy, but you needn’t have worried. Of course, it was fucking perfect. Just like the rest of him. You wrapped your fingers around his semi-hard length and he shifted.   

“You don’-” Then he hesitated.   

“Don’t what?”   

“Uh, you don’t have to be gentle...”   

Then he wrapped his fingers around yours, squeezed a little tighter, and your thighs squeezed, too. You chuckled, a little embarrassed, a little shy actually, a little over-awed.   

“Channie likes it rough, huh?”    

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was blushing; you could feel the heat radiate from his cheeks.   

“Um, well, uh-”    

He was stammering now and you were amazed that he could be bashful with his cock in your hand, shy even though he was directing you.   

“I like it,” you whispered and you felt a shiver go through him.    

He kept his hand over yours and you smiled to yourself because you should have expected this. Control freak Chan, perfectionist Chan, Mr ‘I’ll just do it myself’ Bang. It was cute. But you weren’t going to let him get away with it. You let him control you, let him show you how he liked it, let him get himself to the point where his breathing was heavy and his bottom lip was bitten between his teeth and his brows were furrowed.    

“Hey,” said, nudging his head with yours. “Who exactly is giving this handjob? You want me to just leave you to it or...?”   

He spluttered and stopped and immediately let your hand go. “Sorry, I-”   

“You don’t have to apologise; I know you. But I want to do this for you, y’know?” You turned your head and gently bit the top of his ear before pressing a kiss to it.    

“Yeah, got it. All yours.”     

“Thank you.”   

You had him panting again in seconds, because he had already given you his secrets, and when he tipped his head backwards and whined, it made your cunt pulse.   

“Ok, you’re right, you’re right,” he gasped. “This is better. Fuck... Oh shit.”   

He was moving like he couldn’t help himself, his hips snapping up, fucking himself in your fist and you could feel his thighs twitching, feel the tension coiling in his body.    

It was building in you, too, as you soaked through your underwear. He wasn’t quiet and every moan, every grunt, every gasp of your name made your head spin. You hoped it wouldn’t stop here. After all this time, something was finally happening and you needed it to keep happening, you needed him to feel you, too. A moan fell from your own mouth as you imagined him fucking you, imagined that it wasn’t your hand around his cock but your cunt. That he liked it even rougher when he was inside you. That the deep black intensity he had inside him came out. That he fucked you like he danced, with every inch of his body and every ounce of strength.    

“I’m-.. I’m-…"    

You didn’t need him to tell you. “I know, babe. Go on, make a mess. Make a mess for me.”   

With a shudder and a cry trapped low in his throat, he came, over your hand, over your fingers, over his stomach and his T-shirt. He was gulping in air with his eyes closed and a hand clenching and unclenching at his side.    

“Oh, shit,” you whispered as you swiped a finger through the mess on his skin. “Who’s going to clean all this up?”    

You raised your hand and brought it almost to your own mouth, then pretended to think twice before pressing down on his bottom lip. It was a bold move, you knew, but you were feeling emboldened.    

Then he opened his mouth and took your cum-sticky fingers in without a second’s hesitation. Would the night’s surprises never end? He licked your fingers clean and ran his tongue over your palm before he swiped his finger through the mess on his stomach and lifted it to your lips. You laughed.   

“I can do you one better.”    

You shuffled and climbed out from behind him, pushing him down and straddling him. It was the first time you had been face to face; you both blushed when your eyes met and you couldn’t stop the giggle that rose in your throat. He giggled back and you recognised that you were on the verge of hysteria; if you let that giggle become a laugh, it wouldn’t stop until you were both crying. You tried to rein it in, this strange, self-conscious shyness that was gripping you, this wild giddiness that made you want to scream with laughter and cry ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!’. You were looking at Chan and you knew he felt it, too; his eyes glittered and then all but disappeared as his smile widened. He bit his lip to try to keep it in, but it was no use.    

He snorted and covered his face with his hands as a loud laugh bellowed forth. You never could resist his mirth. You were helpless to it at the best of times. He was curling over, his whole body shaking, and you were climbing off him, flopping to the floor, weak with it, the laughter sapping your strength and overriding any capacity for being serious. It was too absurd. That this had just happened. That one day—one moment —you were friends and the next you were making him come over himself, that he was licking his own cum from your fingers. That you had wanted this for such a long time and sworn off it. That you had no idea it might be something he wanted. That you never even thought to ask! That it could have been this easy? All this time?    

Your brain was elsewhere as your breath shuddered and tears streaked your cheeks. You thought you had got yourself under control: your breathing was shaky and your stomach hurt but your eyes were dry and you sat yourself up. Then you looked at Chan, face also tear-streaked, flushed with glee, and you both collapsed again.   

“Don’t look at me,” Chan said, his voice thick and wobbly with laugher some minutes later. “Don’t look at me, please, I can’t laugh anymore, but can you get me a fucking tissue or something?”    

You shut your eyes, scrunched your face, and pressed your fist to the bridge of your nose; you couldn’t laugh anymore, it would kill you. But you knew that if you turned to look at him, helpless and messy on his back, that another fit would catch you. You crawled to the end table and threw the box of tissues in his direction.   

“Thanks.”   

You leant back against the edge of the sofa and let your breath resume its normal rhythm, let your heart slow down, let Chan wipe himself up and tuck himself away. You felt him sit up as his knee knocked your shoulder and you turned so you could just see him out of the corner of your eye. He looked down at his cum-stained T-shirt and gingerly pulled it over his head. Then he looked at it, displeased. 

“This was clean on like, an hour ago.”    

“Oh, shit, sorry, dude. You want me to take the handy back or something?”   

He looked alarmed for a second. “Do you want to take it back?”   

“No.”   

“Good, neither do I.”   

“I would kind of like to know where the fuck it came from though.”   

“What are you talking about? You started it! You offered!”   

“Chan, you were holding my hand . We don’t hold hands! Look at all this shit you bought me!” You gestured broadly to giftbags and boxes, trinkets and jewellery on the coffee table. “Besides, I’ve always wanted it; you haven’t.”   

He stared at you, mute, looking like you’d just asked him a long division question. “You always wanted it?”   

“Yep.”   

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”   

“Because you didn’t want it!”   

“How would you know?! You never asked!”   

“Ok, well, did you?”   

He looked up; he looked down. He looked thoughtful. He looked a little apologetic. “I don’t really know,” was his eventual answer.   

“Well, there you go. That’s why I didn’t say.”   

Silence reigned and you didn’t want this to collapse, to fizzle into awkwardness.    

“Do you want it? Now?” you asked.   

“Yeah.” At least he sounded sure about that.   

“What changed?”   

When he looked at you and caught your eyes, there was a look there you hadn’t seen in them before. It was almost painfully soft, tender in a way that pierced your heart. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you like he was looking at something precious, something sweet. Then he shrugged.   

“I’ve never been away from you that long before.”    

“And?”   

“I didn’t want to be. It made me not want to go at all. And I couldn’t work out why it mattered so much. I’ve been away before. I’ve been here , even, and just been busy and not seen you for a while. But it felt different this time, somehow. I really didn’t want to go. And I talked about it and everyone told me I was like, the world’s biggest idiot. They all apparently thought—or knew?—I had feelings for you already and they all just said ‘tell her! You’ve got to tell her! Go for it!’ and I wanted to. I was going to, the night before I left, but then I realised I’d be confessing all that stuff and then just... fucking off. I didn’t want to do that. So, I... did nothing, I guess.”    

“Fair enough.”    

“You wanted it all this time? Me, you wanted me?”   

That he even had to ask was adorable, broke your heart a little. Who wouldn’t want him? He was everything you could have asked for and more; he ticked every box; he made your sad little heart sing like a songbird. And he still had to ask.    

“Since the moment we met.”   

“Shit.”   

“Shit.”   

“I had no idea.”   

He looked like he meant it, too: a little dazed, a little confused, just a hint of wonder on his face.    

“So, what now?” he asked.    

You shrugged. “You mean right now, or general future ‘now’?”   

“I guess both?”   

“Can I be honest?”   

“Yeah.”   

“Right now, I would really like to do something about how badly I want to fuck you.”   

And he was bashful Chan, again, his eyes wide and the tips of his ears pink, his mouth slightly open with surprise. You watched his Adam’s apple bounce as he swallowed.    

“I... am amenable to that.”   

“Want to try that again with something even slightly sexy?”   

And he blushed bright, covering his face with his hands. “Fuck, ok, give me a second.”   

You laughed and moved from the floor to sit opposite him on the sofa, your knees touching. You waited patiently for a second or two, then tapped his leg.   

“I’m flustered, ok!” he cried. “You’ve got me all... flustered. I don’t know... I-.. Agh. I swear I’m not this bad usually. I promise. I just--… this has really taken me off-guard! Fuck, I didn’t know. I-”   

You interrupted him to climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. He lifted his face to yours and you kissed him, just a light peck on his petal pink lips.   

“How about you let me lead, then?” you asked, your voice soft and low. “Can you do that? Can you let me take control?”   

He looked at you pleadingly, his eyes round and wide, and you were worried that it meant no, that he was going to say he didn’t want that.   

“Yes, please.”    

Fuck.    

With your hands on either side of his face, you pulled him closer and kissed him again, deep this time, deep and slow and breathless. He tasted of honey butter chips, which you had never liked before that moment. His tongue rolled with yours, soft and sweet and every bit as good as you had imagined. He whined quietly, just barely, when you pulled back, when you sank your teeth into the plush pink of his lower lip. When you looked at each other, nose-to-nose, his eyes were wide again, sparkling and bright and looking at you like you were the whole world.   

It wasn’t weird and it wasn’t uncomfortable and it wasn’t awkward; it didn’t feel like crossing a line or pushing a boundary; it felt like you should have been doing this all along. It was different for the two of you, sure, it was different. But you’d been ready for this change since you learnt his name, since he held his hand out to you and smiled politely. This different was good. This different was everything you’d ever wanted.    

* * *  

You could have kissed him forever. Would have were other parts of you a little more patient, a little more willing to take things slow. But you’d wanted Chan for weeks, months, almost years, and now he was finally here, beneath you, kissing you, hands skating softly up the curve of your waist, hesitating at your ribs.   

You weren’t hesitating. Not anymore. You pulled back from him so you could strip yourself of your top and you threw your bra with it. Didn’t give him a chance to react, to take you in. Just took his face in your hands and his bottom lip between your teeth again.   

“Touch me,” you mumbled, mouth still pressed against his, and you guided his hands upwards, cupped them over your breasts, prayed you wouldn’t have to keep coaxing action out of him.   

Because he had said he wanted it. He was kissing you like he wanted it. He had said so. Well, he had said he ‘was amenable’ to sex, which wasn’t exactly gushing enthusiasm but you would take it.   

“Chan,” you whispered, taking a beat.  

You sat back on your heels, inhaled deeply, and looked at him. He looked at you, colour high on his cheeks, ear burning, a little dazed, a little unsure.   

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you asked.   

You were crossing a line. That was certain. You were pretty sure that, if you stopped now, you could take it all back. You could rewind this evening and just be friends again. If he wanted. But going forward meant going forward . No returns. You would rather have him as a friend than nothing else, so you needed him to be sure now, right now at this moment, with your toes just over the line.  

“Yes!” he said, urgent, emphatic. “Yes, I do. I’m just...”  

 He groaned and dragged his hands down his face. He didn’t look at you when he spoke next. “I’m fucking nervous.”  

“Why?”  

“Because it’s you.”  

“What am I?”  

He looked at you then, wide and open and the cutest he’d ever been. His hands hesitated in the air, not quite reaching out for you, but not not. You held them, shuffled yourself forward on his lap again, pushed his hair from his forehead.   

“Hmm,” you said, contemplating his brow. You tapped it lightly with one finger. “I think you might be thinking too much about this.”  

“That doesn’t sound like me,” he laughed.   

“Close your eyes, Channie.”  

You didn’t. You kept them trained on his face. You needed to think now; you needed to slow yourself down so he could catch up. You’d had months to think about this, fantasise about it, dream about it: a thousand scenarios, a thousand acts, a thousand kisses... You had had time, you reminded yourself, to wait for this. Much longer than he had.   

And you still had time. This wasn’t a race. The ache in your core was persistent, was impatient, but you didn’t have to be.  

You put your lips to his and kissed him. Slow. Deep. It didn’t have to go anywhere, you told yourself, hoping that Chan was somehow getting the message, too. He didn’t have to be nervous, because you wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want to.   

You just needed to know what he did want and you would give him the time to tell you.   

Eventually, you felt his body relax a little; he leant back, shuffling down on the sofa and pulling you with him. He let his hands roam, grazed a nipple with his thumb a little experimentally until you moaned into his mouth for more. His hands were warm, like his heart, and firm, kneading at your breasts, pinching at your nipples and then pushing you backwards.   

With no hesitation this time, no nervous giggles, no shy glances, he put his lips around your tight bud and sucked. He kissed and he licked and he carefully grazed his teeth over you, fully absorbed in the moment. His hot breath against your skin made you shiver and his wet tongue made you wetter.   

When you felt as though he had traversed the peaks and valleys of your chest quite enough, you gave a tug at his hair and he finally flicked his eyes to yours. They were black and glazed and the look in them was like nothing you had seen from him before. It sent a thrill racing up your spine and you were about to tell him: how much you wanted him, how good that mouth was, how you wanted it elsewhere, but he spoke first.  

“I want to go down on you.”  

You choked, shocked out of your lustful stupor. You laughed. “I thought you were nervous!”  

His eyes lightened then, eyebrows raised. “Are you? We don’t have to- I-”  

“No!” You were quick to cut him off, desperate not to let him start thinking again, very happy with where his feelings were leading. “I want to. I want you to. Just... wasn’t expecting you to say it like that.”

The blush was back on his face but he wasn’t so bashful this time. Not quite. There was too much desire there, too much greed.   

You stepped off from the sofa and, in one smooth motion, pushed your leggings and underwear to the floor. You kicked them off your feet and rejoined Chan on the sofa, swinging one leg over him, leaning down onto your elbows to resume where you had left off. Your lips were almost touching when his hands came down onto your hips and he swore.  

“Fuck! Fuck, you are naked.”  

“Yes, that tends to happen when you take your clothes off.”   

His touch rounded your backside, another curse escaping on an exhale as his hands roamed this undiscovered territory. You took the opportunity of the distraction to kiss him, but it didn’t last long.  

“You’re fucking naked ,” he said again, as if it were really a wonder.  

“And you’re not ,” you countered.   

“Fair point.”  

And he slapped lightly at your bum to encourage you off him, so he could push his own trousers down, discard his own underwear.   

“Now we’re both naked,” you pointed out.   

When your eyes met, there was a frisson of tension that you’d felt before, and you knew where it was going, but you forced the laughter down, couldn’t collapse into hysterics – not again, not right now.   

“Is this weird?” he asked, thinking again. Always fucking thinking.   

“Only if you make it weird! Do you want it to be weird?”  

“No.”  

“Because it’s going to be if you keep saying it is.”   

You sat back in his lap, arms draping over his shoulders, as he rubbed at his face again.  

“It’s just...”   

He swore quietly as he nuzzled his nose into your neck, dragged it down your jaw and across your cheek until his lips found yours again. 

You could feel him beneath you, stirred, re-awakened, and it sent a spasm through your walls. You’d held him in your hand but what you wouldn’t have given to squeeze him in your slick cunt.   

“Chan,” you breathed out. “I want to fuck you.”  

He was kissing you in reply, moaning for half a second before he stopped. “Wait- no. I want to go down on you.”  

“Can’t we just fuck first?”  

You pressed your forehead against his, rolled your hips over him to make the point for you.   

“I just want to fuck you,” you whispered. “Please.”  

He shook his head slowly, carefully, still pressed against yours. “Later. I want to go down on you.”  

And you couldn’t deny that hearing those words, not once, not twice, but three times now, made you want it, too. Made you think about his lips and his tongue and fingers and the piercing, blinding reality of this. That it was happening. That none of this was a dream.   

“I owe you one,” he continued and you paused.  

“Owe me what?”  

“An orgasm. I had one. You haven’t.”  

“Are we counting?”   

He snorted and denied it. “No, I just think- I just want it to be even.”  

You smacked a kiss against his cheek. “Well, if we’re keeping score, we’re going to need some kind of chart.”   

He couldn't stifle his laugh and you joined him, letting a little of the tension go, aware that this could easily careen out of control, abs still hurting from the fit you both had earlier that evening.  

“I don’t want a chart, I just...”  

He looked at you and you looked back. The merriment fell away, discarded in an instant. Because this wasn't actually funny. Not really. It was hot. It was thrilling. It was frightening. You could see him thinking in those dark eyes, trying to find the right words; you wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to try so hard. Not for you.    

You could see him thinking in those dark eyes, trying to find the right words; you wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to try so hard. Not for you.   

“I want this to be good for you.”  

You resisted the urge to scoff, because you knew he meant it, and because this meant something to you. Something. Everything.  

“It is good for me,” you told him, lips close enough to touch his. You closed the gap and kissed him, firmly. “I want you so fucking badly.”   

He tightened his arms around you, crushing your body to his as he latched his mouth to yours. He still tasted like honey butter chips and you knew you’d never be able to eat them without thinking of him, thinking of this. You were definitely crossing a line. The line. And you could not contain your excitement. It smeared between your lips, slick beneath you as you rolled over Chan’s hot, flushed cock.   

“I want-” Chan broke away, breathing heavily, “I want to go down on you,” he said, with greater determination this time. “I want to eat you out.”  

Without waiting for a response, he tipped you carefully, moving out from under you, pulling your hips to the edge of the sofa and pushing your thighs apart.   

“Oh shit,” he breathed, just looking at you.   

His hands squeezed at your inner thighs as his jaw clenched. You had seen this kind of focus in him before: on stage, powerful and performing and dripping with sweat, determined to leave everything he had out there, to die before he gave up. A shiver of anticipation rippled across your skin and no sooner had it settled than Chan shifted closer, dropping a surprisingly chaste kiss to your thigh. Another followed it, then one more on the other side. He kissed you all over, some barely there, some that you knew would leave a mark.   

“You know you’re literally dripping?” he asked and there wasn’t so much as a hint of his former nerves, his bashfulness, but there remained a quiet awe, a slight disbelief at what was about to happen.

There was also his cheeky, little smirk, and eyes black as pitch, wide like an open mouth. Hungry.   

“I’m very fucking aware,” you retorted, the admonition undermined by your breathlessness. “Get on with it.”  

He rolled his eyes at you, playfully, like he had done a thousand times before. Then he did something he had never done before. With one hand gripping each thigh, he put his mouth to your lips and licked a broad stripe up to your clit. You quivered, whimpered, swore when he did it again, when he gathered all your arousal on his tongue and swirled it over your swollen bud.   

It made you forget every fantasy you’d ever had. You couldn’t remember if you thought he’d be like this or not. Couldn’t remember if you’d imagined correctly the soft, sweeping pad of his tongue flat against you or the hard flick of its tip. Couldn’t recall for even a second if you’d thought to imagine the way his hands would squeeze and pull at you. Had you guessed that he would moan like that? Had you dreamt the feel of his hair between your fingers?   

Your hips were moving on their own now, uncontrolled by you. Uncontrollable. You couldn’t stop them rutting against his mouth, couldn’t stop the noise resounding from yours.   

“Chan, fuck ,” you gasped as he sealed his lips tight around your clit and slipped two fingers inside you. “Like that, oh shit, like that. Please... Please...”  

He moaned in response, continuing precisely as he was, like that. Just like that. His tongue flicking at your clit like a switch that only turned on. His fingers curling, pressing hard inside you, pushing and pulling in one direction only. He was firm and precise and confident.   

You remembered the way he had, just minutes ago (was it really minutes ?), taken your fingers in his mouth, sticky with his own cum, after he had finished. You shivered with the heat of it. The thought of the taste of him mixing with the taste of you sent fresh arousal flooding into Chan’s hand; he was quick to catch it, his lips popping as his tongue slipped down to swipe at his sticky fingers pushing the juices from your pussy. The slick sound of it all made you blush, the noise of his enjoyment deepening the heat in your cheeks and your core.   

He let his fingers work for a second, his breath washing over your flushed cunt like a hot wind.   

“Fuck,” he panted, leaning back on his knees and tipping his head towards the ceiling.   

You opened your eyes when you felt his other hand leave your thigh, watched him squeeze at the base of his cock – so dark, so hard, so wet with precum.   

“You ok?” you gasped, still rolling your hips against his hand.   

He nodded, still looking skyward. “You’re so fucking hot,” he replied.  

His head fell forward and his eyes caught yours, the look in them making you suddenly shy, a giggle slipping out before you could stifle it. Though you needn’t have worried it would start the hysterics again because it was stopped short, cut off by the gasp elicited by Chan’s tongue, licking up your lips, circling your clit, teasingly light and then harder with every rotation.   

You gripped the sofa cushions tight, knuckles white, as the slow ticking of the pleasure bomb inside you grew faster, accelerating towards explosion with great intention. You knew it all too well: the tightening, the quivering, the deep, heavy drag that, in a split-second, sprang high, ricocheting from head to toe, gushing forward in a scream of delight.   

You flopped back into the cushions, sticky with sweat, chest heaving, head lightly spinning. Chan left a playful trail of kisses up your torso, onto your chest and your neck and then your mouth. He grinned at you, dopey and sparkling.   

“One all.”  

* * *  

“Please,” you gasped, voice still high and tight, breath caught in snatches. “Please, can we fuck now?”   

And the starting pistol was fired. You moved off the sofa and Chan moved with you, stumbling towards your bedroom, though he didn’t know why. Didn’t know why the sofa wouldn’t suffice, why it was somehow sullied now. Didn’t care. As long as this happened, kept happening, as long as he got to see you and hear you and touch you some more; his desire yawned open in his chest, awake and hungry. Let out of its cage.  

These past months, away from you, Chan had thought was for the best. His confusion and these feelings that he didn’t believe, didn’t understand, he didn’t want to face you with them. Didn’t want to face them at all. Because it wasn’t what you were. You were friends. That was all and he didn’t want to ruin it. Thought that he was sure to, somehow.   

But now it was a tangle of limbs and sticky skin against sticky skin. All sweat and salt and a kind of feverish urgency he hadn’t expected, hadn’t even dreamt of. He had kept his feelings on lock-down, thought they might go away if he didn’t prod at them, didn’t acknowledge them, but he couldn’t ignore them now: now with your mouth on him like that, with your hands roaming his body, as he swallowed your moan down his throat.   

This pent-up desire was free and he was dizzy with it. Tripping over his feet and tumbling to the mattress on top of you; making up for his clumsiness with kisses on every inch of skin his lips could reach.  

And you, asking, begging, again, one more time, still, even when his lips crushed yours and cut off your words; the second you broke free, you were saying it again. Fuck me. And he was going to, was about to, was pushing himself to his knees and then it hit him.  

“Oh shit,” he breathed, sitting back on his heels with a sigh, hands braced on his knees to try to catch his breath.  

“What?” you asked, similarly panting. “ What?”  

“Condom?”  

“ Fuck!”  

He watched you twist, your legs trapped between his, to scramble at your bedside unit. He watched your hand search and come up empty, drag open the second drawer and repeat its motions.   

“Do you have one?” you asked, head turned away, struggling to get to the bottom drawer without moving off the bed completely.  

“Why would I have one?” Chan asked back in a squawk though he wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt self-conscious, defensive even.   

“I don’t know; don’t guys carry them in their wallets or something?”  

“You’re my friend ; wouldn’t it be weird if I came here with a condom?”  

You turned to look at him, then. Sat up, naked, still squared in with his knees either side of you. You looked at him. Blinked.  

“I don't know, dude, you tell me what the fuck we’re doing here, then.”  

And it came out harsh. Chan blanched. Because what were you doing? Were you really asking? Had this ruined it? Because he felt guilty that he didn’t have a condom in his wallet. Like he usually did. Always did, though he couldn’t really have said why. It was the same fucking condom he had in his old wallet that he transferred over to the new one. The same one that he looked at before coming here tonight. That he wouldn’t have thought twice about before—wouldn't have even remembered it were there. But it was you and something was different and something told him that he shouldn’t go to your place with a condom in his wallet as if he expected something. As if something could ever happen between you. It was presumptuous. It was arrogant. It was foolhardy.  

But nothing about the night had gone the way he had expected it to and now... That fucking condom. If only he had it.   

“Sorry, you’re rig-”   

Apologising on reflex, his chin dipping to his chest, because he’d only gone and fucked it up by overthink-  

Then your hand was on his face and your lips on his, your fingers sneaking into your hair.   

“It’s fine,” you murmured. “It’s fine.”  

And he didn’t know if it was, but you kept kissing him all the same, so he kept kissing you back. Was it fine if this was as far as it went tonight? His cock said one thing and his head said another. Maybe it was better this way, he thought. Maybe rushing headlong into sex would be a bad idea. Mayb-  

You pulled away.  

“I’ve got some,” you whispered, your urgency returning as you scrambled off the bed. “One sec.”  

Oh, thank god. He watched you walk away, the fingers of one hand encircling his hot, heavy shaft, unconsciously, automatically, unable to stop himself. Unable to stop his heart racing as he looked down and remembered your own fingers around him. The softness of your skin. The jolt of arousal when you had teased him, like you usually did but also nothing like that.  

You returned before he had time to think more and extracted one shiny packet from a box which you then let fall to the floor. There was something about you that was shy: lips a little pursed, eyes looking away. He knew you well enough to tell that much.   

“Forgot I had these,” you said quietly, still not looking at him as you knelt on the bed and made your way towards him. “Bought them earlier.”  

Chan’s shock made him laugh.  

“In anticipation of this...?”  

“No!” your denial was swift. “No, it wasn’t like that! I wasn’t planning anything! I just-”  

But he didn’t care. Was laughing because it was he all night who had been flustered by this. It was he who kept saying the wrong thing, wrongfooted all the time by the turn the night had taken. He enjoyed it being you. Enjoyed that the dynamic between the two of you didn’t have to be entirely different. You could still tease him. He could still tease you.  

“I didn’t plan this,” you said, performatively sullen, pouting.  

“But you want it, right?”  

You laughed and pushed him back towards the head of the bed, not bothering to answer with words. You made him sit, made him once again cede control of his cock to you; he let your fingers wrap around him, watched as you stroked him slowly, as your wrist twisted. His eyes fluttered closed for a second, just a second, and when he opened them again, you had the condom packet between your teeth, tearing it open with your free hand. It was boring, really—a mundane gesture—but his dick throbbed, a drop of precum leaking from the top as you spat the empty packet away from you.  

“You sure about this?” you asked, with the tip of his sheathed shaft at your entrance.  

He nodded eagerly, barely able to stop himself lifting his hips to push into you himself. Then he stopped nodding, flicked his eyes to you because why were you asking?   

“Aren’t you?” he replied, a swoop of doubt flying through his guts.  

You nodded back. “I’m sure.”  

A swoop of relief. “I’m sure.”  

And then he placed a hand on your hip and used his other to hold himself steady, so you could sink down on him, slowly, with a long moan stretching to the ceiling. And, truth be known, if he could have, he might have asked for a second, just a second, to get used to it. The feeling of you. All warm and wet and tight and your burning skin so soft, and your lips so sweet and your eyes dark and sparkling like the brightest night sky. And his heart hammering in his chest like time was running out; his blood boiling, reduced to a thick, sticky syrup that he told himself wasn’t love, not exactly, but wasn’t entirely not. Just a second to gather himself not just because you felt so good but because it was you .  

You didn’t give him a second. No sooner than you had lowered than you raised yourself up again; you set an impatient pace, urgent, running towards something at breakneck speed. Chan, too, then was running. Chan, too, was urgent in his kisses, in his praise, in the way your name caught at the back of his throat when he felt your walls squeeze around him.   

He wished he’d had longer to think about it. Because he hadn’t given himself the chance to imagine this, to get used to the idea of it, to think about how good you would feel, how sweet you would taste. He hadn’t had the opportunity to picture you in his head before you were right there in front of his very eyes. Real. More than real. A kind of hyperreal that made him able to smell the sound of you and hear your taste. He could feel every one of your gasps in his chest. He could moan out the taste of your skin. He could smell your hair and it would feel like satin.   

It would’ve been less overwhelming, he thought, if he’d given himself an imaginary dry run-through. He would be doing better if he’d had a second. If he got a second to get himself together, he’d be able to get over the shock of it. He’d be able to get a hold of his senses and-  

You slowed. Sank down on him, as deep as he could get, and took his face between your palms. Took his lips between yours then slipped your tongue between them. Rolled your hips and moaned into his mouth. It was the tiny bite of pain when your teeth sank into his bottom lip that brought him to his senses. Like the tug on his hair before, the little jolt was enough to bring him around and he pulled back, determined once more to make the most of this for you.   

“I wanna move,” he said, mumbling the words against your mouth in a final kiss before you slipped off him.   

The fact that you then knelt, waiting to be told where he wanted you, made his guts clench. He traced his fingers lightly over your face and then pushed at your shoulder, encouraging you onto your back. He slipped his hands beneath your ankles and lifted, your knees bending as your thighs reached your chest.  

“This ok?” he asked.  

You nodded, settling your ankles over his shoulders, then crossing them and using them to pull him towards you. He laughed, because it was just like you, to never let him get the last word, to never quite let him be in control. He laughed because he liked it, in this capacity even more than any other. In the seconds before he sank himself back into your hot, wet cunt, he imagined you testing him, pushing at that boundary because you could, because he’d let you, because he knew that you liked this as much as he did and if tussling for control was the game, he wanted to play. Even if he let you win.  

As he snapped his hips with his hands tight around your calves, as your walls spasmed and clenched around him, as his ears filled with the slick squelch of his cock in your heat, his head felt clearer. Still hyperreal but in a way that made sense. When he tasted the sound of his name on your tongue, it tasted right. When he smelt the brush of your soft skin against his like roses, he knew. All his anxiety about fucking it up, ruining your friendship, everything that he had been hiding from while he was gallivanting about the globe, it was pointless. It was wrong. It was useless noise in his brain. Because he’d always believed he wasn’t worth it, wasn’t worthy of you, wasn’t worthy of getting what he wanted. But there you were, beneath him, every bit what he wanted and more. Every bit his.  

*   

“You know there’s no going back now,” you said, lying on your bed, stretching your arms and legs long, still naked and glistening.   

“What do you mean?” he asked as he returned to join you, condom neatly disposed.  

You turned on your side to snuggle into him, pressed a firm kiss to his lips.  

“This,” you answered. “We’ve had sex now so you can’t turn around to me and say you actually just want to be friends.”  

He laughed. It was preposterous to him that you might think he would be the one to change his mind. “I don’t want to be your friend.” 

“Good.” Then you piped up again. “I never really liked you much anyway.”  

He chuckled, knew it was a joke; knew it because it was followed by a smile that was all syrup, that left a sticky sweetness on his mouth after you kissed him.  

“Fat chance I’ll believe that. Horse is out of the barn, mate; you just said it yourself: you can’t take this back.”  

“Fuck. I guess you’re stuck with me.”  

“I think I can live with that.”