#can someone just possess me so I can like

[maskedbyghost]

cw: manipulation, possessive reader, suggestive language

You told him you didn’t do casual.

You didn’t make it a big deal. You just said it like you meant it, not trying to sound dramatic or emotional about it. Just honest.

“I don’t do casual,” you said, eyes on your drink. “It always ends up messy, and I’m not built for that.”

Simon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “That’s alright,” he said eventually. “I’m not looking for anything serious.”

You nodded. No reaction on your face, no shift in tone. “Then we can just be friends.”

He raised an eyebrow like he was trying to figure you out. “You sure?”

You smiled a little. “Yeah. I like hanging out with you. We don’t have to fuck.”

“…Alright,” he said, after a pause. “Friends.”

And that was the start.

Except friends don’t show up to his gym when he’s meeting a girl for a workout date.

Friends don’t slip him a text during his Tinder dinner like,

“you left your hoodie here again. i’m wearing it. smells like you.”

Friends don’t show up to the pub when he’s got plans with someone, all dolled up like you just rolled out of a damn music video, giving his date a once-over and offering a tight smile that says run, babe.

You’d always act surprised when things didn’t work out. “Oh no, she ghosted you? That’s so weird.”

And Simon? He wasn’t completely oblivious. But he was tired, and lonely, and honestly kind of lazy when it came to trying to figure women out, and you were just so easy to be around, so warm and funny and low-maintenance and somehow always around when he needed someone.

So when he started seeing you more than anyone else, it didn’t feel weird. It felt right.

He told himself it was just friendship.

Even when you leaned against him on the couch. Even when you started sleeping over. Even when he started feeling a little sick thinking about you with anyone else.

The night it finally changed, he had just come back from a shit deployment — nothing too dangerous, just long and annoying and cold, and you’d been waiting at his place (with your own key, because somehow that had happened), and you were in his clothes, curled up in his bed with takeout, and when he saw you like that he just… stopped thinking.

“You’re perfect for me,” he said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself.

You blinked, looking up from your phone. “What?”

“I was so fucking stupid,” he muttered, dropping his bag, walking toward you like something magnetic was pulling him in. “I didn’t see it. I don’t know why.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You just looked at him for a second, then smiled, slow and easy, like you’d been waiting for him to finally figure it out, like none of it really surprised you, but you were still happy to hear it out loud.

From there, it was easy.

The relationship happened fast. Slipped into place like it had always been there. He’d gone from “I don’t do serious” to leaving his toothbrush at your place, to falling asleep with his face buried in your neck, to holding your hand in public without even realizing he was doing it.

He was happy. Stupidly happy. The kind that made his friends suspicious and his coworkers tease him. The kind that made you look like the hero of some cozy domestic fantasy where nothing ever goes wrong and love is enough.

It wasn’t one big moment. It was a bunch of little ones that slowly added up until he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Like how you always just showed up when he had plans, how his phone would buzz with a text from you right before he left for a date. Or how you’d casually mention how certain girls “weren’t his type,” even when he never brought them up to you.

And then one day, while you were going through an old playlist together, you said, “God, I remember this song. I used to listen to it every time I thought about you with someone else.” And you didn’t even blink after saying it.

And the more he thinks about it, the more it starts adding up.

You’d played him. You’d baited him.

And now he’s sitting on the couch, watching you walk into the room in one of his old T-shirts, holding a bowl of snacks, looking like home, and he honestly doesn’t know whether to laugh or be pissed off or bend you over the arm of the sofa and remind you who he is.

You plop into his lap like you do it every day (because you do), nestling in like you’re settling into your rightful throne, and he wraps his arms around your waist automatically, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

“You know what I realized today?” he asks, voice low.

You hum. “What?”

He tilts his head like he’s thinking it through. “We’re together because you manipulated me.”

You pause for like… half a second. Then?

“Yeah,” you say, nonchalant. “And?”

He squints at you, mouth twitching like he can’t decide if he wants to smile or frown. “You sabotaged every girl I tried to hook up with.”

“I did,” you say, and lean forward to grab the remote. “Most of them were trash anyway.”

“You tricked me into thinking you weren’t interested.”

“Mhm.” You don’t even look at him. “Worked, didn’t it?”

There’s this long silence, and then Simon groans and lets his head fall back on the couch dramatically.

“I should be mad,” he mutters.

“You’re not,” you say, smiling down at him like he’s your prize. “You love me.”

“Fuck, woman,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours. “That turns me on.”

You grin, shifting your weight so you’re straddling him properly, hands sliding up his chest slowly until your fingers curl around the back of his neck. You squeeze—not hard, just enough to make him feel it.

“You belong to me,” you whisper against his ear. “Always have.”

He shivers. Actually shivers.

“…Jesus.”

You kiss his jaw, slow and smug. “Say it.”

“…Yours.”

“Good boy.”

And yeah. He is.

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

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

[slutforformulaone]

Hi! How are you? Can i request a tiktok trend to f1 grid were the girl says that another men paid for her gas? Thank you

F1 GRID || when another man pays for your gas!

MAX VERSTAPPEN – possessive, low and serious he walks out of the shop with two bottles of water and a bag of snacks. he nods at the car like “you good?” you lean against the door and say it casually. “yeah, some guy paid for my gas.” he slows down immediately. “what guy?” “just some guy. he was cute, actually. said it was on him.” max stops moving. stands there staring at you like he’s trying to work out if this is a joke. you hold his gaze. “is he still here?” you shrug. “i think he left?” he clenches his jaw a little and nods once, sharply. walks over to the pump, like he’s checking if the guy’s still around. you call out, “max, it’s fine. it was just a guy.” he doesn’t answer. tosses the snacks in the car, gets in without saying much. quiet for a minute before he mutters, “you don’t need anyone else paying for you.” then adds, “especially not some guy who thinks he can impress you at a petrol station.”

OSCAR PIASTRI – jealous but trying to act like he’s not he comes back holding a blue gatorade and a bag of sour patch kids. “all sorted?” you nod. “yeah. some guy paid for it. really attractive guy, actually.” he stops halfway into the driver’s seat. “what?” you look at him. “he said i shouldn’t have to pay for gas. said it was on him.” he’s frozen for a second, lips parted like he wants to say something but doesn’t want to sound annoyed. “right.” he gets into the car, starts it, and hands you the gatorade. he’s quiet. you glance over. “are you okay?” he nods, but he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. finally he says, “i mean… who does that? just pays for someone’s petrol like that?” you smile. “you jealous?” he scoffs gently. “no. i just think it’s weird. and he probably wanted something. people don’t just do that.” he doesn’t bring it up again, but he holds your hand a little tighter than usual the whole drive.

CHARLES LECLERC – visibly annoyed, soft type of angry he’s walking back with a coffee and a red bull, sunglasses pushed up in his hair. you say it as he gets to the car. “some guy paid for my gas while you were in there.” he blinks. “he what?” “yeah. he said i looked too pretty to be filling it up myself.” charles frowns. the soft kind of frown, where it’s more confusion than anger — but his tone shifts. “and you let him?” “i mean… he already paid.” he’s quiet for a second. then, “you didn’t think maybe to say no?” you tilt your head. “it felt rude.” he breathes out, clearly irritated but trying to stay calm. “next time, you wait for me. i don’t like that.” he doesn’t raise his voice, but there’s tension in his jaw. “you are mine, amour. no one else gets to take care of you like that.”

ARTHUR LECLERC – already knows the trend, gets defensive anyway he comes out holding pringles and an iced tea, squinting against the sun. you grin. “some guy paid for my gas while you were gone.” he pauses mid-step. “are you serious?” you nod. “he said it’s not every day you see a girl like me at a gas station.” arthur just blinks. “non… i’ve seen this video. you’re doing the thing.” “what thing?” “your stupid tiktok. the prank.” you keep a straight face. “no, this was real.” his expression drops. “wait… actually?” you nod again, biting your lip. he stares toward the shop, scanning the people still inside. “was he tall?” “kind of. really fit, too.” he scoffs. “this is so dumb. i should’ve stayed in the car.” he shoves the pringles into your lap. “i’ll be watching you next time. no more solo missions at the pump.”

GEORGE RUSSELL – gets protective but stays polite (sort of) he returns with a bottle of water and a protein bar. walks up with that proud little strut. “all filled up?” you nod. “yeah. some guy paid for it.” his brows pull together. “sorry?” “he said he’d take care of it. tall, looked like a model. super kind.” george’s mouth tightens. “where is he now?” you shrug. “probably left.” he turns around, scans the forecourt like a man on a mission. you call after him, “george—” he looks at you over his shoulder. “don’t worry, darling. i just want to say thank you to him.” but you can hear the sarcasm in his voice. when he gets back in the car, he buckles in and says calmly, “just so you know, no one needs to be doing that for you. i’m here for a reason, yeah?” he’s completely polite about it — but he doesn’t smile again for the next ten minutes.

LANDO NORRIS – angry but confused about it he walks back from the shop with one of those tiny juice boxes and a packet of crisps. you smile sweetly. “i didn’t need to pay for gas. some guy did it for me.” he stops. “huh?” “he said i shouldn’t have to pay. said he wanted to do something nice for a pretty girl.” lando looks at the pump. then at you. then at the pump again. “what do you mean he paid?” “like… went in and paid. it’s done.” he lets out a sharp breath and starts scanning the area. “who the hell just does that?” he mutters under his breath and opens the door a bit too hard. “you should’ve told him to mind his own business.” you blink. “it was nice though?” he glares out the window. “no. it’s weird. i don’t like it.” he doesn’t talk for a while. and then finally, very quietly: “he better not have flirted with you.”

OLLIE BEARMAN – goes into full search mode he’s got a chocolate bar and a red bull. bouncing back to the car like he’s got all the energy in the world. “some guy paid for the gas,” you say. he freezes. “what?” “he just walked over and said he’d take care of it. really attractive guy, too.” ollie turns around immediately. “where is he?” you laugh under your breath. “he left.” he’s already halfway back to the shop, looking around, checking the cars. “ollie! he’s gone.” he turns back with a look of pure disbelief. “what the hell? who does that?” when he finally sits back down, he’s fidgety. leans over and kisses your cheek. “you didn’t give him your number, right?” you snort. “no.” he nods slowly. “good. ‘cause i was ready to have words.” he’s dead serious.

CARLOS SAINZ – protective, goes quiet but tense he walks out with a smoothie and a sandwich, chill as ever until you drop it on him. “i didn’t have to pay for the gas,” you say, leaning against the car. “a guy came over and paid for me.” he slows his walk, brows knitting. “what guy?” you shrug. “some guy. looked like a model. said i shouldn’t have to pay.” carlos stops in front of you, staring. “you didn’t say no?” “he was already tapping his card. what was i supposed to do?” he doesn’t respond. just quietly opens the door, puts the smoothie in the cupholder, gets in. you follow, and he starts the engine without looking at you. you glance over. “are you mad?” he keeps his eyes on the road. “i’m not mad.” a beat. “but next time, wait for me. i don’t like you out there by yourself, especially if guys like that think they can just… walk up to you.” his grip on the wheel’s tighter than usual. and when you get to the next stop, he insists on doing everything for you.

ALEX ALBON – jealous and passive-aggressive but playful with it he comes back with a bottle of fanta and a kinder bueno, grinning. “i didn’t pay,” you say, playing it off. “some guy did. said i was too cute to be out here alone.” alex stops dead in his tracks. “sorry… someone paid for your gas?” you nod, smiling. he blinks. “did he want your number too? or just your hand in marriage?” you laugh, but say nothing. he sits down in the car, shuts the door and just sits there for a second, staring ahead. “you know, i get out of the car for two minutes and suddenly there’s a whole queue of men fighting for you at the petrol station.” you bite back a smile. “he wasn’t fighting.” alex shoots you a look. “yet.” he shakes his head and mumbles, “i’m getting you a sticker. ‘taken. don’t even try.’” but he doesn’t drop it for a while — keeps bringing it up in stupid ways. “you want me to fill up again or should i call your secret admirer?”

LOGAN SARGEANT – confused, insecure, gets really quiet he walks over with a monster and a bag of cheetos. “i didn’t pay for gas,” you say casually. “some guy offered. said i looked pretty.” logan pauses. “huh?” “yeah. he just walked up and said he’d take care of it.” he’s clearly trying to process that, eyes flicking toward the pumps. “what… why would someone do that?” you shrug. “he just did.” logan gets into the car slowly, like he’s in his own head now. he doesn’t say much for a few minutes. just stares out the window. then, so quietly it almost surprises you, “do guys really just… say stuff like that to you?” you glance at him. “what do you mean?” “i mean, i wouldn’t blame them. but… like. was he your age?” you press your lips together. “he was fit, yeah.” logan just nods, chewing on the edge of his nail. you poke him. “you okay?” he finally looks at you and smiles weakly. “yeah. just didn’t know i needed to bring a baseball bat with me when we stop for gas.”

DANIEL RICCIARDO – tries to joke but he’s fuming underneath he walks back with snacks like he’s hosting a party — arms full, big grin. “you won’t believe it,” you say. “some hot guy paid for my gas while you were gone.” daniel’s still smiling. “oh wow. was it his idea or did you drop your number first?” you raise a brow. “he came up to me. said it was on him.” he laughs. but it’s that weird laugh where you know he’s not actually laughing. “you know what? good for him. love that for him. hope he enjoys spending my fuel money.” you blink. “he didn’t know you existed.” “yeah, well, now i know he exists. where is he? i’ll buy him a drink. maybe a knuckle sandwich too.” you try not to laugh. he shakes his head, muttering, “this is what i get for being five minutes late with a packet of doritos.” he makes it a bit over-the-top funny, but later, when he’s driving, he asks: “would you have let him do more than that? like… if i hadn’t come back?” and you can feel he’s being serious now.

LEWIS HAMILTON – quietly scary, doesn’t like being disrespected he walks over with a smoothie and a protein bar. calm as always. you look up. “some guy paid for my gas. really attractive guy, actually.” he stops. “what?” “he said he wanted to. thought i shouldn’t have to worry about it.” lewis’s face doesn’t change. but his eyes do. he steps around to your side. “you let him?” “he already did it. he was nice.” lewis stands still for a second, silent. then: “was he still here?” you nod toward the car park. “maybe. i think he left.” lewis doesn’t say anything. just gently puts the smoothie down, scans the area slowly. you call after him, “lewis, it’s fine.” he glances back. “no, it’s not.” his voice is quiet. calm. but sharp. “i don’t like strangers thinking they can treat you like that. like you’re theirs to impress.” he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t snap — but there’s that cold edge to him now. he doesn’t even want to get in the car right away. just walks a few steps and breathes. “next time,” he says eventually, “you wait for me. alright?” and it’s not a request.

speaking of requests, thank you so much for this – i had so much fun writing it! ^^

[madamechrissy]

Escort! Satoru- final part

Pairings- Escort Satoru Gojo x shy CEO F! reader

Warnings- obsessed ass/whipped ass Gojo, possessive Gojo, oral sex (m and f receiving) road head, explicit sex, creampie, lil bit of choking, multiple positions, car blow jobs, FLUFFY and PURE SMUT actually, happy end to this lil thing, pretty woman vibes 🤭

<<<Part Five

Escort! Satoru was terrified of your answer, but when it's a soft - yes - everything fades but you. He's kissing you deeply, hungry, as he waits for the check, counting down the moments until he can bury his face against you. 'My place, this time, yeah sweetheart?' he whispers, and you nod eagerly, hand on his thigh now. 'One thing, Satoru, if you wanna date me? No more-' Satoru cuts you off, dragging you against him now. 'Never wanna touch anyone but you again, don't you know?'

Escort! Satoru didn't expect shy, sweet little you to torture his cock with teasing licks and flicks while he drives, he's swallowing nervously as you do, your teeth just nibbling on his tip, making him hiss. 'F-fuck... that mouth...' you exhale against him, making his hips jerk, and he's gripping that wheel far too tight. 'Gotta torture me for being a fucking idiot, huh?' he whispers, free hand entangling in your hair, you whine out softly, licking the little hole and lapping up his pre cum. 'Just a little bit, need something, Satoru?' he moans, head falling back when he's at a stop light. 'Stop teasing, lemme feel that throat -ah!'

Escort! Satoru has never moaned like that, whimpering in fact, while you suck him down in your hot mouth, he's so enthralled he gets honked at, earning your laugh when he drives again. Satoru shoves your head now, groaning as you take him deep. Your cunt is soaked, as he takes control, every speed bump just forcing his thick, pretty cock deeper down your throat, so many inches, such a stretch. You're sucking him deeper, hungrier, more desperate now, when finally he reaches his home, yanking you up and kissing you, tasting himself on your tongue. He pulls back and sees the tears from choking on him, and god you look fucking too pretty. 'Come on' his voice is hushed, hurried, and instead of holding your hand and dragging you, he has you picked up in his arms. You're giggling breathless when you ride up the elevator to his penthouse, kissing over and over.

Escort! Satoru doesn't make it much further than the two of you did in your home, you also don't even look around the dark living room as you stumble with him, clothes strewn while the two of you bare each other bit by bit, lips hardly leaving for breaths, until Satoru's down to his boxers, and you're in some fancy black lingerie that's killing him. He throws you eagerly on the bed, god he can't hardly drag his lips off yours now that they've landed there, you're too sweet, too yummy, as he devours them, his hands slipping across the lace of your bra, thumbs against your nipples that harden to the touch. 'mmm, can't stop kissing me, can you?' your whisper is met with him leaning up, sighing, fingers brushing against your cheek.

Escort! Satoru whispers then - 'I haven't kissed someone in years, but fuck I never regretted anything more than not kissing you that night' you pause, blinking emotions back then, you have to bite that lip as it trembles, leaving him to tug it gently from your teeth. 'Satoru, it's okay-' he cuts you off with a shake of his head, a kiss on your breast, his hand gliding to tug at the cup of your bra. 'No, I should have kissed you, held you, can you forgive me?' his eyes glimmer with his own regret, his own lonliness without you, his own hurt. You nod quickly, tears slipping down your cheeks and glimmering while he descends lower, your hands in his silken hair, feeling the thick strands between your fingers. 'Of course I do, mnh!'

Escort! Satoru nibbles on your ribcage now, the skin glistening with his saliva, illuminating teeth marks left. You gasp at it, while he reaches behind you, unhooking your bra with an expert move, releasing your pretty breasts that bounce gently, little marks of your lace decorating them. Satoru presses kisses to each mark, sighing, cock throbbing from you sucking him, from his desire. 'I fucking fell for you, and it scared me, shit I was so dumb....' his words run out before he can stop them, and you gasp in shock, he curses softly. 'You don't have to say it back, I know I-' you yank him up now, lips a breath from yours, cerulean gaze dancing across your face as his lids lower, and your heart pounds in your chest. 'Satoru, I fell for you too, I was so lonely before I met you, and I didn't even know' as your words reflect in his heart, he melts, hand entwined with yours. 'How-'

Escort! Satoru is cut off with a 'shh' and then your tongues dance once more, as he hungrily picks up your hips, grinding against your slick panties, you gasp as his cock presses against your cunt, already throbbing with need for him. 'please, please, in me' Satoru wouldn't deny you anything, ever again, he eases your panties down, pressing kisses across your pretty cunt, already drooling so much strings of your arousal stick to them as he pulls. 'fuck, I missed this' he's lapping at you now, even as you're yanking him up. 'lemme taste you, stop rushing me, sweetheart, dreamt of this' you ease a bit, taking a breath, brain still trying to compute that he is here, that he's saying things you dreamed off, eyeing you under his snowy lashes. 'Please, jus'let me enjoy your sweet little cunt' you nod then as he dives back down and licks to the point of obsession

Escort! Satoru drinks your cunt up like he's not had water in days and you're the source, lapping all the juices that pour, the sound of him drinking you is fucking filthy, the way his head shakes side to side, tongue obscene as it smacks against every bit of your cunt, inside, the clit, the lips, all of it. Nothing is missed by his lips, teeth, tongue, which now dances on your clit, all while he shoves your thighs up high, still in your stockings and garters. 'Satoru, c-can't again, t-too much!' you're sobbing out by the third orgasm, when he finally relents, fingertips having left bruises on the backs of your thighs. He inhales, licking his lower lip, looking fucking insane off you, drunk off you, watching how you tremble and shake, finally slipping off his boxers, cock springing out and slapping against you, hot and heavy, white precum sticking against your inner thigh.

Escort! Satoru leans over, opening the drawer, but you pause him as he grabs the gold foil packets, gripping his wrist, thumb pressed against his racing pulse. 'Satoru, is it against your rules to... cum inside me?' Satoru pauses, lips parted then, he surely is fucking dreaming, you under him asking for it raw, asking for him to bust and fill your pretty pussy? 'Shit, sorry um-' he throws them back in the drawer, closing it, leaning back over you and shaking his head slowly, sighing, cupping your face with one big hand. 'Sweetheart, you've gotten rid of every rule I've ever had, and I'd love to break this one for the first time' his tip is against your clit, teasing and making your hips jerk then. He has your thigh pressed up high against your body, watching your face as he slowly presses his tip in your hot, eager little cunt. 'Mnh!' your sweet cry ruins him, feeling you without a condom is even better than with, so good he'd do anything to feel it over and over again, letting out his own moan right with you. 'I'll give you anything you ask for, pretty, anything'

Escort! Satoru slides his cock in to the hilt, slamming your cervix and feeling every bit of your slick, gummy walls, the texture that grips his cock so fucking good. You're trembling, close already from how much he'd teased you with his mouth, nails pressing into his bare back as the fan above works to cool you both and fails. Satoru eases back, sliding back in with a sharp thrust, your tits bounce when he does, calling for a palm, a kiss, a lick, all while he fucks you so good you're fading in and out, on the brink of falling off the edge. 'Satoru!' as you cry his name out, he moans your name softly, pulling back now and watching the bulge move in your stomach, eliciting something feral, as he watches the slick gushing around his veiny length when he pulls out, almost to the tip, then shoves in again, watching your every expression. He watches your eyes roll back, your mouth open, drool spilling out that he swipes away, your brows drawing together as you scream for him, murmuring - 'so fucking beautiful'

Escort! Satoru has you cumming all over his cock, flipping you on your stomach then, a hand around your throat, squeezing just so. Long fingers are brushing aside your hair, his cock entering you from behind even deeper, whispering your name as he feels you, squeezing just a bit, thumb right over your pulse point. 'Want me to, sweetheart?' your little mewl and nod is his answer, urging him on to choke you while he pounds his cock in and out, your hips pressing your ass up for more, more, more, while you're fuzzy, lightheaded. Your hand grips his wrist, feeling the tendons as they squeeze, and when you're close again you grip him too fucking good, making him as dizzy as you, drunk off your every gasp, sigh, movement. 'Cum f'me, that's it, good girl' his words and his movements urge you, a silent scream while your cunt spasms around him, almost pushing him then and there, letting go of your throat so you can gulp a greedy breath

Escort! Satoru is about to break all of his perceived rules, no kissing, no cuddling, no fucking without a condom, now he's going to cum inside you, and fuck does he want to. 'ready for me to fill you so full of cum, huh?' you nod eagerly, neck sore, ears still ringing. You cling to him, a thigh hitched up, shoving his cock deep inside, then you feel it, hot spurts of his cock just pulsing, and shooting up into you, filling you with his hot, drippy white ropes, his whimper in your ear so sexy you never want to not hear it again, how he cries out your name, how he whispers he loves you as he keeps pumping, shaking over you, desperate and messy kisses across your shoulders while he feels your aftershocks. And you whisper your love declarations, while he grips you under your chin, kissing you to seal the intimacy of the moment, to let go of anything that ever held him back for you.

Escort! Satoru holds you close that night after cleaning you up so carefully, giving you one of his big dress shirts that swallows you to wear, holding you against his chest. He's stroking your hair as you snuggle against him, body exhausted from all of your exertions, smiling against his bare chest. Nothing has ever felt as perfect as being in his arms, and nothing has ever been as perfect as holding you in them. He contemplates out loud then - 'I need a change of employment, now you know. Any positions open?' you giggle at that, fingers drifting up and down his chest, still slick from sweat, hot skin underneath you. 'I don't really need you to work, you know' his brows rise, as a smirk runs across his face, 'oh no?' you nod, pressing a kiss on lips that once seemed unattainable. 'I can still be of service, you know' he says, dragging you on top of him then, your hands brace on his chest, as your hair falls to the side. 'Hmm, how so?'

'As your private escort, sweetheart, only yours'

this was such a fun mini project between all my stories, I'm glad you all enjoyed this reformed hoe who's bad at feelings, and our rich baddie CEO hehe! See you in the nexttt <3

taglist 1- @shydroid3000 @aducksmokingquack @miya4life @ravenbc @yenayaps @nezukuwu @etsuniiru @ieathairs @kenqki @princess-bblgm @belovedxiao @ninikrumbs @ieathairs @myahfig4 @theelegantpotato @vvaoo @aldebrana @celestep004 @whoisteona @ladyneisa @lililovely78 @gamerhere @wstaley2 @allthesqueaks @slut4donghyuck @maisiefrancesca @yittten @femaholicc @jjknanamin @that-b-word-lol @devastyle @mat-mat-mat @jkslaugh97 @ovela @mxgnolia @rikiswifeyyy @kaayyhunnyy @gojos1wife1 @arabellasolstice @01ve3rz @jud3thedude @firemoonlightfly @vyluvs @artist1936 @kyelikesanime @alygator77 @seternic @qlucoise @mysticranger575 @undermegumisbed

[dior-luxury]

i JUST saw your reverse kiss and make out fic and i LOVE THEM is it okay for you to do the same for the rest of the cast plssss 💖

Kiss And Makeout *FLIPPED

( ✧ ) ────── parent stories . fluff - gn!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] riddle . ace . deuce . jamil . idia . silver

- [𝐩:𝐬] ~Fluff with a Dash of Heat . Emotional Comfort . Bad Day Comfort (for Riddle, Deuce, Silver, Jamil) . Impulsive Behavior (Ace, Idia, Jamil) . Suggestive Themes . Kissing . Emotional Vulnerability . Anxiety/Insecurity Mention . Possessive Behavior . Flustered/Desperate Behavior . Unexpected Boldness .

Note: I think you guys want me to make a second part... but I don't know 🤭. Alright, your guys' wishes have come true! Here is part two!!! (≧◡≦) ♡ Hope you guys enjoy it like the first one~

Riddle Rosehearts

It had been one of those days. Riddle had been holding it together by the finest thread of willpower and discipline. His prefect duties had dragged longer than expected, a few underclassmen had dared to ignore the Queen’s Law No. 89 about corridor traffic flow, and worst of all, someone spilled rose jam on one of the unbirthday party table linens.

By the time you found him pacing the Rose Garden, cheeks flushed with frustration and lips pressed into a hard line, he was seconds from snapping.

“Riddle,” you called softly.

His head snapped toward you. That stern expression flickered just for a moment. “I don’t have time—”

You took a step closer. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

And that did it. Something broke.

Without a word, he grabbed your hand—firm, but not rough—and began walking. You barely had time to react as he led you down the corridor, past classrooms, past portraits whose eyes seemed far too nosey, and toward a supply closet tucked away behind the alchemy wing. The moment the door shut behind you, he turned the lock with a soft click.

You barely had time to question before he pinned you gently but with urgency against the shelf-lined wall. His eyes flickered with something between anger and desire.

“I need this,” he breathed, his voice strained. “You.”

He kissed you like he was trying to drown out the world. No rules. No order. Just the rush of lips on lips, and the way his hands found your waist like he was anchoring himself. Riddle wasn’t usually this desperate—not this untethered—but when your fingers tangled into his hair and you kissed him back just as fiercely, a low, almost uncharacteristic noise escaped from his throat.

One of the brooms clattered from the shelf beside you, but neither of you paid it any mind.

Minutes felt like moments. He eventually pulled back, forehead pressed to yours, breath shallow. His usually perfect uniform was wrinkled, his collar askew, hair a mess.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “That was… unbecoming.”

But you smiled, brushing a thumb over the pink hue of his cheek. “It was perfect.”

His eyes softened. “Only you can calm me like this.”

Ace Trappola

Ace had been flirting with you all day. That cocky smirk, the sly touches when no one was looking, the way he leaned way too close during lunch and whispered, “You’re making it real hard to focus, y’know.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “You never focus anyway.”

“Yeah, but now I have a good excuse.”

He’d been plotting this. You could tell by the glint in his eye—Ace wasn’t exactly subtle. So when you walked past an empty classroom on your way to your dorm and felt someone tug you by the wrist and yank you inside, it wasn’t a surprise. Not really. What was surprising was just how fast he shut the door, turned the lock, and kissed you like he hadn’t seen you in months.

“Missed you,” he mumbled between kisses, pressing you back against a desk. “Even though I literally saw you like an hour ago.”

You laughed, breath hitching as he nipped at your bottom lip. “You’re such a idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.” His grin turned into another kiss, deeper this time, his hands sliding along your hips like he couldn’t get close enough.

He tasted like cinnamon gum and just a little trouble.

One of his hands slid under your blazer, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt while his other hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your head to kiss you better. He kissed like a tease—playful, slow, then suddenly intense enough to leave you dizzy.

“You drive me crazy, y’know that?” he whispered against your lips. “Been thinking about this all day. Like, do you try to distract me or are you just naturally irresistible?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, pulling him in for another kiss.

He did. But not without a smug little chuckle rumbling in his chest.

Eventually, when the risk of someone catching you got just a little too real, Ace pulled back, panting and flushed. He grinned down at you, wiping a smudge of gloss from your lip with his thumb.

“We should probably go before Crowley shows up and gives me detention again.”

You smirked. “Worth it?”

“Hell yeah.”

Deuce Spade

Deuce tried. He really did. He studied for the test. He kept his nose clean. He even avoided Ace’s latest dumb scheme. But the world had other plans.

Professor Vargas announced a surprise pop quiz—on a unit they barely covered. Then a potion exploded in his face during lab. And just when he thought he could walk it off, he overheard a couple of older students talking about how “guys like him never amount to anything.”

By the time you found him hunched on a bench outside the classroom building, he wasn’t saying much. Just… clenching his fists like he was one second from punching the sky.

“Deuce,” you said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He looked up, and for a second, his tough-guy mask cracked. His eyes were red. From smoke? Anger? You weren’t sure.

“I—I’m fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “I just—needed air. It’s dumb.”

You crouched in front of him. “What happened?”

And that did it. The floodgates opened.

He told you everything—rushed and frustrated, hands flailing as he vented. “I try so hard, but it’s like… one thing goes wrong and suddenly I’m that guy again. The delinquent. The screw-up. No one thinks I’ll ever change.”

You grabbed his hand. “I do.”

That’s when his expression shifted. Like you’d said the one thing he didn’t realize he needed to hear. And without another word, he stood up, pulled you to your feet, and led you quickly—not even glancing around—into the nearest empty classroom.

The door barely shut before he turned around, eyes stormy and locked on you.

“I… I just—can I—?”

You didn’t wait for him to finish. You kissed him.

At first, it was soft. A tentative press of lips, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed this comfort. But when you wrapped your arms around him, pulled him closer, he melted. Like all the tension had been clinging to his muscles and finally let go.

His hands found your back, sliding up slowly, as if grounding himself. He kissed you like it meant something. Like it saved him.

“I’m really lucky,” he murmured, forehead against yours. “To have you. To have… this.”

You smiled, brushing hair from his face. “And I’ll always be here to remind you—you’re not that guy anymore.”

“Not with you around,” he whispered, kissing you again—deeper this time, slower. More sure.

Jamil Viper

Jamil had been quiet all day. Too quiet.

You’d noticed it during lunch. The way he stirred his food absently, how his gaze lingered on the horizon, thoughtful and dark. Kalim had been extra excitable, and Jamil had worn that polite mask of patience, but you could tell—he was simmering underneath.

So when you caught his eye across the courtyard later, that gaze wasn’t passive anymore. It was intense. Hungry.

And when he wordlessly gestured for you to follow him, something electric sparked in your chest.

You didn’t ask where he was going. You just trailed behind him as he glided through the halls, silent but purposeful, until he reached a storage closet near the gymnasium. He opened the door, looked back at you with something unreadable, and when you stepped inside, the door shut behind you.

The dim space felt thick with heat.

“Bad day?” you asked quietly.

Jamil didn’t answer.

He pressed you back against the door so fast your breath caught. His lips were on yours a heartbeat later—silencing any thoughts you might’ve had with a kiss that was slow, dangerous, and completely intoxicating.

“I needed something,” he whispered between kisses, voice low and smooth like velvet over a blade. “Something that’s mine.”

His hands were steady, but his kiss was anything but. He kissed you like he was unraveling. Like all the things he had to hide and control every day had finally broken the surface. His body caged yours in, not out of aggression, but out of sheer desperation to feel something real—you.

You could feel the tension radiating off him. He touched you like he didn’t trust himself to go further, but couldn’t stop. One hand braced above your head, the other gripping your waist as if letting go meant returning to that carefully curated mask he wore every day.

“You always make me feel like I don’t have to keep pretending,” he murmured into your neck. “Like I can just be.”

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, whispering into the curve of his jaw. “Then don’t pretend right now. Just be here.”

He kissed you again, slower this time—full of gratitude and longing. His breathing slowed, his forehead pressed against yours.

“I should get back,” he muttered reluctantly. “Kalim’ll start searching if I’m gone too long.”

You smiled, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “Then let him look. Just a little longer?”

Jamil exhaled a quiet laugh, a rare, genuine sound.

“Yeah… just a little longer.”

Idia Shroud

Idia had been spiraling all morning.

The new project in Ignihyde Lab glitched hard, Ortho almost got accidentally reprogrammed, and to top it off, he overheard some random students talking about you—how “someone like you” was wasting time on a shut-in like him. That shouldn’t have mattered. But it got under his skin. It festered.

He spent the next two hours in a haze, typing too hard, muttering under his breath, eyes flicking to his tablet screen like your name might just pop up and make him feel okay again.

Then he saw you walking toward the main building. And instead of retreating like he usually would, Idia stood up, ran a hand through his electric-blue hair, muttered a string of curses about how this was “like, peak out-of-character behavior,” and bolted to intercept you.

“Whoa—Idia?” you blinked as he practically teleported in front of you. His hair glitched from neon blue to a deep pink.

“I—uh—I need you. I mean—not like that! I mean yes, like that, but—just—come with me before I short-circuit or die or implode—whatever happens first.”

You could barely laugh before he’d grabbed your wrist, nervously leading you through the winding back halls of the science wing. Your heart pounded with curiosity and adrenaline. And when he stopped in front of a rarely used equipment storage room, unlocked it with trembling fingers, and stepped inside with you—oh. You knew what this was.

The second the door shut behind you, he turned to face you. Pink light flickered wildly in his hair.

“I-I don’t know how to do this kind of thing,” he admitted, words rushed. “But I’ve been thinking about kissing you all day and I feel like my brain’s doing that ‘blue screen of death’ thing because—holy crap—look at you.”

He hesitated. But you stepped closer, brushed your hand over his hoodie-clad chest, and smiled.

“Then stop thinking.”

That was all he needed.

He kissed you like he was afraid he’d glitch right through you. Soft at first—shy, hesitant, stuttering against your lips like a program still loading—but then something changed. His hand slid around your waist, and he groaned softly against your mouth as he leaned in, lips parting with yours like he’d forgotten everything but this moment.

The taste of cola from his favorite energy drink lingered faintly on his tongue. His other hand came up to cup your cheek, surprisingly warm despite how jittery he was, and he tilted your head like he was learning how to really kiss you.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, breathless.

“It’s perfect,” you murmured, brushing your nose against his.

He smiled—a real one. Soft. Rare. Beautiful.

“Achievement unlocked: Most Unbelievable Moment Ever.”

Silver

Silver usually wore serenity like a second skin—calm, gentle, a touch sleepy. But sometimes, sometimes, something inside him cracked through that dreamy exterior. Especially when he was exhausted, emotional… or desperate for you.

You noticed it after a long, grueling day of training with Lilia. Silver had taken on too much—again. You caught him nodding off in the garden, sword still in hand, posture rigid even in sleep. When you knelt beside him and gently touched his shoulder, his eyes snapped open—cloudy, tired, but focused on you.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice rough. “Come with me.”

You barely had time to respond before he stood, took your hand, and started leading you. His fingers were warm but firm. There was something off—different. Not bad. Just… intense.

“Silver?” you asked softly.

“I had a dream,” he murmured. “You were in it. And when I woke up, you were here. And I… couldn’t tell if it was still a dream.”

The hallway was quiet. He led you into an unused classroom, probably one of the knight training theory rooms, filled with old armor and worn-down desks. He locked the door behind him.

Then he turned to you, his eyes darkened with exhaustion and longing.

“Let me stay here a while,” he whispered. “With you. Like in the dream.”

Before you could reply, his lips were on yours—slow, deep, full of emotion. It wasn’t rushed. It was aching. Like every part of him had been waiting for this. His hands were gentle as they cupped your waist, pulling you flush against him, and he kissed you like someone who dreamed of this moment too many times to waste it now.

His breath hitched when you kissed him back, and his hand slid up your back, burying into your hair, holding you there like he needed to make sure you were real.

“I’m always slipping between sleep and wake,” he murmured into your skin. “But this? This is the clearest I’ve felt all day.”

You felt your heart squeeze at the quiet vulnerability in his voice. His forehead rested against yours, and you swore you saw the faintest smile curve his lips.

“If this is a dream,” he added, eyes fluttering shut, “don’t wake me up.”

[cameronsbabydoll]

hiiii, for sugar coated chains could u write something about how their oldest son once he’s older, like high school or college age, gets in a fight with rafe because he’s tired of seeing how he treats his mom and says something along the lines of “you don’t deserve her, she deserves so much better than you”

it’s late.

later than it should be for voices to still be raised in this house — his house — and especially not those voices.

your heart sinks the second you step into the hallway and hear them — rafe’s voice low, sharp like a blade being honed, and your son’s, rough with anger in a way he never used to sound. not your sweet boy. not the same little boy who used to trail after rafe on chubby toddler legs, desperate for his attention.

but he’s not a boy anymore.

you think you can talk to me like that, huh? under my roof?” rafe’s growl cuts through the tense quiet like it always does — but for once, it doesn’t land the way it used to.

for once, your son doesn’t back down.

“yeah, i do.”

silence.

and then—he laughs. bitter, disbelieving. his laugh, rafe’s laugh, inherited like every sharp-featured thing about him — only this time, it doesn’t sound a thing like his father.

“you don’t deserve her.” he spits it like venom, like it’s been sitting on his tongue for years. “mom deserves so much better than you.”

it punches the air from your lungs.

not because it’s untrue.

but because it’s the first time someone’s said it out loud in this house.

“she’s—god, she’s been nothing but good to you. sweet to you. stupidly loyal.” his voice cracks, breaks in that way that only happens when anger curls into hurt. “and all you do is treat her like a possession. like something you can control. she deserves—”

“enough.” rafe’s voice is a warning, low and dark.

but your son doesn’t flinch.

“you’re just pissed ‘cause you know i’m right.”

and it’s quiet after that.

so quiet you almost forget how to breathe.

until rafe’s footsteps stalk away — leaving your son standing there, fists clenched, chest heaving — and for the first time in a long time, he looks over and sees you.

soft-eyed. heartbreaking.

“mom…”

he sounds younger all of a sudden. like your little boy again. like he didn’t just stand there, taller than you now, shoulders tense with fury and hurt, defending you like no one’s ever dared to do before.

you don’t even think about it. your arms are around him before either of you can say anything else — pulling him in, holding him so tight it nearly knocks the breath from him.

and maybe that’s what does it.

maybe it’s the way your hands shake against his back, or how your voice wobbles when you whisper, “oh, baby…” — that cracks whatever wall he was holding himself up with.

because suddenly his arms are winding around you too, strong like his father’s but gentler — so gentle — like he’s scared to break you.

“shouldn’t have to be like that,” he mumbles into your shoulder, raw and low. “you shouldn’t have to… put up with him like that.”

and god — if your heart doesn’t just break right there in the hallway.

because he means it. so fiercely. so protectively.

your sweet, angry, stubborn son — standing there like your greatest defender.

you pull back just enough to cup his face in both hands, tearful but smiling anyway — motherly to your core, the only way you know how to love.

“hey,” you whisper, brushing his hair back like you used to when he was small. “you let me worry about me, alright? all you have to do is be good. be kind. be better.”

his jaw tightens, the fight still lingering in his eyes.

“i learned that from you.”

and oh — if that doesn’t just undo you completely.

because for everything rafe ever tried to control, ever tried to mold and own and shape in this house — he couldn’t take that from you.

your heart. your softness.

passed down exactly how it was meant to be.

unbreakable.

[natsaffection]

weird request and it's okay if you don't do it.

but can you do like how Natasha is more confident and dominate at work, not letting anyone get to close to her personally but when she comes home she changes and her walls come down - she's more needy and touchy, she's much more caring but still has a dominate side.. but can you write like soft smut because Natasha is drained from all her work but reader tries to make her feel better with sex??

with a lot of praises, maybe a strap and also Natasha being called daddy maybeeeeee

Only with you. | N.R

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Strap on use (r receiving) Daddy kink, kinda possessive Natasha, holding hands while sex, much praising, Cute cute cute

Word count: 5,3k

A/N: First time writing a Daddy kink…definitely an experience. Some of you probably know exactly who I had in mind while writing this (politely, without the kink involved, but, no kink shaming here!☝🏻)

The glass interrogation room was silent, except for the steady buzz of overhead lights and the subtle ticking of a clock on the wall. From the observation deck, Maria leaned against the panel with her arms crossed, watching the figure seated inside, male, mid-30s, cocky on the surface but trembling underneath.

Across from him sat Natasha. She didn’t say much. She never started the conversation. She just looked at him, eyes unreadable, like she was dissecting him from the inside out. She let the silence stretch long and heavy, suffocating.

Eventually, they always cracked. Fury stepped up beside Maria, glancing through the glass.

“He’s not talking?”

“Not yet.” Maria said. “But she hasn’t really started.”

Fury gave a small grunt. “How long?”

“She asked for ten minutes.”

“She’s had seven.”

They both watched as Natasha finally leaned forward, her posture still relaxed, too relaxed. She tilted her head slowly, hands steepled beneath her chin.

“I know what you did.” she said softly. “And more importantly…I know what you were told not to do. So why don’t we make this easy?”

The man tried to smile. “You think I’m scared of a pretty face?”

Maria almost felt sorry for him.

30 minutes later:

The faucet ran hot over Natasha’s hands, steam curling up around her face as she scrubbed at the blood staining her knuckles. She moved calmly, methodically, like this was routine. Because it was.

The bruises blooming along her fingers didn’t faze her. If anything, they felt grounding. Like confirmation that it was done.

Steve stepped into the doorway, arms crossed. “He gave up the location. Shields moving in tonight.”

Natasha nodded once, still drying her hands. There was a beat of silence before Steve added “we’re having Game night today..” Steve asked, stepping beside her, “You should come. Cool off a little.”

She didn’t even look at him. “I don’t play with children.”

“Since when?”

“Since always.”

“You used to team up with Clint.”

“That was target practice.”

Steve chuckled. “You’ve changed.”

Natasha turned her head then, that slow, deliberate glance, the glint of playfulness in her eyes, but it didn’t reach her heart. “Have I?”

He studied her for a beat. “You’re leaving soon, huh?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“To them? No.” He gave a small shrug. “To me? You’re checking the clock like someone’s waiting.”

Natasha gave a faint scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself, Rogers. You’re not that insightful.”

“Right..” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You just ditch game night every week because you’re scared to lose.”

“Mm.” She looked away again. “Let’s pretend that’s it.”

But he caught it, just that slight softness in her voice. A drop in the mask. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But Steve wasn’t anyone else.

“You’re good for her, Nat.”

Natasha paused. Her jaw tightened just slightly. “Yeah..” she said under her breath. “I know.”

The room was quiet, bathed in the golden hue of lamp light. A movie played softly in the background, the volume low, more for atmosphere than attention. You sat cross-legged on the couch, lost in whatever book you’d started, a loose hoodie slipping down one shoulder, the smell of fresh tea wafting from the nearby table.

You didn’t hear the door. Didn’t hear the soundless steps behind you. But you felt it, warm arms sliding around your waist from behind, firm and steady, the telltale press of leather and that familiar scent of smoke and wind and something sharper, danger, wrapped in safety.

You startled slightly, gasping just as Natasha’s voice brushed your ear, “It’s just me.”

“Jesus, Nat..” you breathed, half-laughing, hand pressed to your chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Good.” Natasha murmured, her lips already brushing the curve of your neck. “Means you’re alive.”

You melted back into her immediately, reaching up to curl your fingers over Natasha’s forearm. “Rough day?”

Natasha didn’t answer right away. She was breathing slowly now, as if trying to push out the day, replacing the noise with this..this silence, this safe.

“Messy.” she murmured. You turned in her arms slightly, catching the faded red stains still lingering at her wrist, the faint bruising along her knuckles.

“You’re hurt…”

“I’ve had worse.” Natasha’s voice dropped, suddenly softer. She climbed onto the couch and pulled you into her lap like it was instinct, like she needed to feel your weight there, feel your warmth.

You blinked. “You’re clingy tonight.”

“Not clingy..” Natasha murmured, wrapping both arms around you and burying her face into your shoulder. “Just missed you so bad it’s physically uncomfortable.”

Her hands didn’t stop moving, one resting on your thigh, thumb rubbing small circles; the other lightly brushing up your side under the hoodie. She didn’t ask permission. She didn’t need to. This was hers. You were hers.

And here..only here, Natasha let herself soften, her mask slipping off piece by piece. “They wanted me to go for game night.” she murmured, her voice muffled into your collarbone. “Said I should cool off..”

You gently combed your fingers through Natasha’s red hair. “So why didn’t you?”

Natasha looked up then, eyes half-lidded but honest, open in a way she wasn’t for anyone else. “Because I don’t want noise. Or crowds. Or fake laughs. I want you. I wanted this.”

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Natasha’s temple. “You’ve got it.”

Natasha exhaled, like she’d been holding that breath since she walked out of SHIELD. She tucked her head back into your neck, the strong, composed assassin melting into something achingly human.

“Just let me stay like this tonight.”

You curled your arms around her. “Then stay.”

Natasha hadn’t moved in ten minutes. Not really. Just lay behind you on the couch, arms around your waist, face buried in your neck, holding you like she needed you to breathe.

But something in the air had shifted. It was in the way her fingers dragged slower across your stomach. The way her nose nudged into the slope of your shoulder. The quiet little sigh she gave as her lips brushed the shell of your ear.

You could feel it. The drain of the mission. The weight of being who she had to be all day, calculating, cold, unstoppable. She didn’t complain. She never did. But you could read her like no one else.

And she needed something now. Not just comfort. You tilted your head slightly, giving her more room, more skin. “Nat…”

Her arms tightened around you, and when she spoke, her voice was low, warm, rough with need.

“Can I take you to bed?”

Not a demand. Not an order. A plea.. dressed in velvet. You turned in her arms, meeting her gaze. Her pupils were blown, lips already parted. The tension she carried like a second skeleton had cracked just enough to let you in.

You smiled, hand brushing her jaw. “You don’t even have to ask..”

Something lit behind her eyes. The faintest sparkle..rare and raw. She grinned. Grinned, like the weight of the world had finally slipped off her shoulders. Then she leaned in, kissed you hard, full of relief, need, love, and picked you up in one smooth, effortless motion.

You gasped, wrapping your arms around her neck. “Show-off.”

“I needed you all day.” she whispered, lips brushing yours as she carried you through the hallway, step by slow step. “Thought about you between shots. Between breaths. Couldn’t let it show. But I needed you so bad, baby…”

The bedroom was dim, sheets still messy from the morning. She set you down gently, like you were glass, then leaned over you, kissing you again, this time softer. Slower.

Then her lips trailed lower. Down your jaw. To the corner of your neck. Her hands slipped under your shirt, pushing the fabric up just enough to feel your skin under her palms.

She kissed the side of your throat. Then sucked. You let out a sharp breath. “Nat…”

“Mmh.” Her voice was muffled against your skin. “You always taste better when I’m like this.”

She dragged her teeth along your neck, sucking deep, not to mark you once, but over and over. Each time just a little lower. Each time followed by another kiss. A nip. A lazy drag of her tongue.

You started giggling, soft, helpless, already flushed. “You’re going to cover me in bruises.”

“Good.” she purred, lifting her head just long enough to smirk. “Then I get to remember this tomorrow when they start talking politics and intel reports.”

You tried to speak, tried to tease her back, but she dipped down again and stole your breath with another wet kiss at the base of your throat.

Then lower. She kissed down your chest, your stomach, slow and worshipful, until her fingers found the waistband of your panties. She looked up at you, dark eyes hungry but gentle.

“You okay?” she asked, even now.

You nodded, breathless. “More than.”

She slid your panties down inch by inch, kissing the inside of your thigh as she went, soft at first, then open-mouthed and slow. Her hands caressed, not just touched. She took her time, spreading your legs carefully, reverently, like this was the only thing in the world that mattered now.

And for her, it was. Because here, with you, she didn’t have to be Black Widow. Didn’t have to be on guard. She could be selfish. Needy. Gentle and hungry all at once.

She lifted her head slowly, looking up at you with something vulnerable in her smile. “Do you have any idea..” she said softly, brushing your cheek with her knuckles, “how fucking lucky I am to have you?”

You blinked up at her, cheeks flushed, lips parted, completely open under her touch.

“I’m serious.” she continued, her voice low and full of warmth, but there was that steel edge too, the kind only she had. “The things I’ve done…the places I’ve been… I never thought I’d get to feel like this. Like I could come home and be seen.”

You reached up, brushing her wrist. “Nat…”

But she shook her head slowly, smile softening. “No, baby. Let me say it. Let me tell you.” Her hand slipped down to your chest, right over your heart. “You make me feel like I’m still human. Like I’m allowed to love. And I will never stop showing you how much you mean to me.”

She leaned down, kissing you slow. Then she pulled back with a whisper. “I’ll be right back.”

You didn’t ask. You didn’t need to. The tone of her voice, the flicker in her eyes.. you already knew what was coming. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched her stand, tall, composed, and absolutely glowing. Her eyes never left yours, even as she crossed the room and disappeared into the closet.

Your heart thudded with every second she was gone. When she returned, your breath hitched. The strap was already buckled to her hips, sleek black, firm, heavy between her thighs. Her body moved with complete confidence, the outline of control.

But her eyes? Still full of adoration. Still yours. She stopped at the foot of the bed, looking down at you with a slow smile.

“Do you remember the safe word, baby?” she asked, voice low and even.

You nodded quickly. “Yes.”

She raised a brow. “Say it.”

“Widow.”

“Good girl.” Her smile deepened. “And you remember what to call me now?”

You swallowed, already trembling under her gaze. “Yes, Daddy.”

There was a pause. Then her chest rose, proud and slow, like hearing you say it lit something deep inside her. She crawled onto the bed with all the grace of a predator, slow, sure, towering over you on her hands and knees.

“That’s my good girl.” she murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your collarbone, then another just below your jaw. “So polite for me.”

You were already squirming, thighs tense, your fingers fisting the sheets as you felt the press of the toy, just the tip, brush against your inner thigh. She didn’t even move it, didn’t thrust. Just let you feel the weight of it there. Present. Waiting.

You tensed automatically, back arching the moment it nudged just slightly closer. She noticed. Of course she did.

“Hey…” she cooed, voice dropping. “Relax for me. You’re okay, baby.”

She leaned down again, kissing your cheek, your neck, the corner of your mouth, all while her hips stilled, giving you time, grounding you. Her lips brushed yours and you started giggling, high and breathy, the tension cracking under her warmth.

“There she is.” Natasha smiled against your skin, kissing your grin. “That’s my girl.”

Her hand slid up your side, resting right under your breast as she nuzzled into your throat, sucking again, slower this time. Claiming you all over again.

“You’re gonna take me so good, aren’t you?” she whispered. “Like you always do.”

Your breath was warm against her lips, that giggle still echoing quietly between you as she smiled down at you, eyes soft, lashes heavy.

“You’re so cute when you get shy like that.” she whispered, her thumb brushing your bottom lip. “All nervous for me…when you know I’d never hurt you.”

“I know..” you breathed, nodding.

She dipped lower again, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose, and then another to your cheek, her body staying perfectly still above yours, but you could still feel her, the strap pressing just gently against your core. Waiting. Teasing.

She wasn’t in a rush. She never was when she got like this. “This is my favorite version of you.” she murmured against your skin. “Soft. Giggly. Mine.”

Your hands slid over her hips, fingers curling around the base of the harness, tentative, needy, and she shivered.

“You want Daddy to take care of you, baby?” she asked, lips against your ear now.

You nodded again, breath stuttering. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Mmm, good girl.” she whispered, and her praise felt like warm honey pouring into your chest. “So polite. You always know just what to say.”

She leaned back slightly, guiding the toy down between your legs with one hand, her other arm wrapping behind your back to pull you gently into her. The slow press of it against your folds made you inhale sharply, but she stilled again.

“Shh, easy. We’ve got all the time in the world.” she said softly. “Look at me.”

You blinked up at her, already glossy-eyed.

“Breathe..” she reminded you, kissing your forehead. “You don’t have to be strong with me, baby. You don’t have to pretend. I’ll do everything. You just have to be mine.”

Your heart fluttered so hard it almost hurt. She started rocking her hips, the tip gliding through your slick folds, just enough friction to make your back arch, but she kept her motions lazy, unhurried.

“You feel that, sweetheart?” she whispered, kissing the corner of your lips. “That’s how wet you are for me. Always so ready for Daddy.”

You whimpered, hands clutching her biceps, grounding yourself.

“I love when you get like this..” Natasha continued, her voice thick with warmth. “All needy and sweet. Letting me in like I’m the only thing that matters. Like I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”

“You are..” you whispered.

That stopped her for a beat. Her eyes flicked over your face, so full of love it made your chest ache, and then she kissed you, hard, cupping the back of your head with her palm. Not possessive, just full. Like she wanted to pour herself into you with nothing held back.

“God, you’re perfect.” she breathed against your lips. “And you’re mine.”

Then, slowly, so slowly,, she pushed in. You gasped, back arching, but her arms were already around you, holding you tight. Her lips peppered kisses along your jaw, down your throat, murmuring through every inch she gave you.

“That’s it. That’s it, baby. Taking me so good.” she whispered. “Look at how well you’re doing.”

You moaned softly, overwhelmed by the stretch, the warmth, the way she watched you, like you were holy.

“I’ve got you.” she promised. “Daddy’s got you. Always.”

And as her hips stilled, buried deep inside you, she didn’t move right away. She just held you. Pressed her forehead to yours. Let you breathe. Let you feel everything.

Her hips rocked, slow, rhythmic, dragging the strap in and out with steady control. Not rushing. Never rushing. Just feeling.

And listening. Each soft whimper that spilled from your lips made her chest rise a little harder, her eyes fluttering shut as she nuzzled her face deeper into your neck.

You felt her lips brush your skin, not kissing now, just resting there, as if your warmth alone was enough to keep her tethered.

Then came the sound. You clenched around her. A quiet gasp broke from her throat, her rhythm hitching just once as she exhaled against your neck, eyes closing tight. “Fuck, baby…”

You whimpered again, high and needy, arms wrapped tight around her shoulders, grounding yourself in the way she moved, the way she filled you just right.

“N-Natasha…!”

Her head lifted slowly. One hand slid into your hair, not rough, just firm enough to guide your eyes to hers. Her expression was soft, but there was something dark and molten underneath, something that made your stomach twist with heat.

She kissed you. Then murmured low against your lips, “That’s not my name in here, baby.”

You swallowed hard, your whole body shivering as you whispered, “S-Sorry, Daddy…”

“There you go.” She smiled. “That’s my good girl.”

Her hips kept moving, slow, controlled thrusts, the toy stroking against that perfect spot inside you every time. It was dizzying. Hypnotic. Your bodies slick with heat and sweat, breaths tangled together, hearts thudding in unison.

And Natasha was feeling everything. Your sounds. Your breath catching in your throat. Your fingers clawing gently at her back. Your legs shaking, trying to stay open for her.

She kissed your shoulder, her lips trembling just barely as she exhaled. “I can feel you getting close..” she whispered. “You’re so tight around me, baby…”

You moaned, broken, almost sobbing, and she shuddered, her own body trembling against yours.

“You sound so beautiful..” she murmured. “You always do right before you cum…”

Natasha rocked her hips in that same perfect rhythm, slow, steady, deep, and every motion had your breath stuttering, your body curling tighter into hers. The toy filled you with a fullness that made your thighs tremble, but it was her body, her voice, her that was unraveling you.

You couldn’t stop clinging to her. One arm wrapped tightly around her neck, your face buried in the crook of it, breath warm and shaky against her skin. The other hand reached for her thigh, gripping there, desperate for something solid, something grounding as your pleasure began to crest.

“Daddy…” you whispered against her skin, breath catching. And she melted. Her voice dropped into something low and so full of love, it was barely a whisper. “Hold on, baby. I’ve got you.”

She shifted just slightly, her thighs steady, her body completely surrounding yours. Then she took your hand, the one clutching at her thigh, and gently laced her fingers through it, pressing it down to the bed.

Not pinning you, but holding you. Letting you know she was right there, that she wasn’t letting go.

“You’re so good for me, Y/n..” she murmured, lips brushing against your ear. “So pretty like this. My perfect girl.”

Then her free hand slipped between your bodies, finding your clit with practiced ease. She rubbed in soft, firm circles, matching the slow thrust of her hips. The pressure was just right, not overwhelming, but enough to send a pulse of heat spiraling through your core.

You whimpered hard, eyes squeezing shut, your whole body trembling. Natasha kissed your jaw, your temple, her fingers tightening just slightly around yours.

“You’re getting so close, baby.”

“Y-Yeah..!” you gasped, hips twitching, legs beginning to shake. “I- I can’t-”

“Yes, you can.” Her voice was soft but firm, right in your ear. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. Cum for me, sweetheart. Let go.”

And with her voice holding you, her body wrapped around you, her fingers coaxing you just right-

You broke. The orgasm crashed over you, full and hot and deep. Your moan spilled into her neck as your whole body shook, clenching around her with wave after wave of pleasure. You gripped her hand tight, your voice cracking, eyes wet with the sheer intensity of how deeply you felt everything.

Natasha stayed right there, moving you through it, never letting go. Kissing your cheek as she whispered, “That’s it, baby…that’s my girl… so proud of you…”

And when your body finally stilled, when the trembles slowed, she didn’t pull away. She just stayed. Pressed against you, forehead to forehead, still holding your hand like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Because to her..it was.

-

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[ghstyles]

Together | His Angel

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Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

WC: 4.7k

Summary: Harry gets jealous of your project partner

His Angel Masterlist

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The first time Harry hears about Ethan, he manages to keep his expression neutral, but Y/N doesn't miss the slight tightening at the corners of his eyes.

"It's just a project for Developmental Psychology," she explains, curled against him on his obscenely expensive leather couch. "Six weeks, then it's done. Professor Romano paired everyone up randomly."

Harry's arm around her shoulders remains relaxed, but his voice carries an edge when he responds.

"Six weeks is a long time to spend with someone."

Y/N tilts her head up to look at him, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"Are you jealous?" she asks, not bothering to hide her smile. "Of a psychology major who wears the same Star Wars t-shirt three days a week?"

Harry scoffs, his fingers trailing absently along her arm.

"I don't get jealous, angel," he lies smoothly. "I just don't like sharing what's mine."

Y/N rolls her eyes, settling back against his chest.

"That's literally the definition of jealousy, Harry."

He makes a noncommittal sound, already calculating how to handle this unexpected development.

---

The first study session is scheduled for Wednesday afternoon at the campus library. Y/N arrives five minutes early, setting up her laptop and notes at a quiet corner table. When Ethan arrives, tall, lanky, with glasses and indeed wearing a Star Wars t-shirt, they quickly establish a good working rapport.

Forty minutes into their session, as they're outlining their research methodology, a hush falls over their section of the library. Y/N doesn't need to look up to know what's caused it.

"Sorry I'm late, angel," Harry's unmistakable British accent breaks the silence as he approaches their table, turning heads throughout the library.

He's dressed impeccably in a tailored charcoal suit that probably costs more than most students' semester tuition. His presence is commanding, deliberately intimidating, and entirely out of place among the casually dressed students.

Ethan looks up, confusion evident on his face as Harry pulls out a chair and sits directly beside Y/N, his arm casually draping across the back of her seat.

"Um, Y/N?" Ethan questions uncertainly.

Y/N shoots Harry a look that clearly says 'what are you doing?' before making reluctant introductions.

"Ethan, this is my boyfriend, Harry. Harry, this is Ethan, my project partner."

Harry extends his hand, his grip visibly tightening as they shake.

"Ethan," he says, the name sounding like an accusation. "Pleasure."

For the next hour, Harry remains silent but watchful, his eyes tracking every interaction between Y/N and Ethan. When Ethan explains a research concept, leaning slightly toward Y/N to point at her notes, Harry shifts closer to her, his fingers possessively stroking the back of her neck.

By the time they wrap up, Ethan is noticeably uncomfortable, stumbling over his words and avoiding eye contact with Harry.

"Same time Friday?" he asks Y/N hesitantly.

Before she can answer, Harry speaks:

"Actually, Y/N has plans Friday. You'll have to reschedule."

Y/N stiffens beside him.

"I don't have plans Friday," she corrects firmly, giving Harry a warning look. "Friday works fine, Ethan. Same time, same place."

The tension between them is palpable as they leave the library, waiting until they're in the privacy of Harry's car before Y/N confronts him.

"What the hell was that?" she demands.

Harry starts the engine, his expression unrepentant.

"Just wanted to meet this bloke you'll be spending so much time with," he says casually. "Make sure he understands the situation."

"The 'situation'?" Y/N repeats incredulously. "You mean that I have a possessive boyfriend who doesn't trust me?"

Harry's jaw tightens as he pulls out of the parking lot.

"I trust you," he says flatly. "It's him I don't trust."

Y/N sighs, some of her anger dissipating.

"Harry, he's just my project partner. He's not interested in me that way."

Harry glances at her, his expression making it clear he thinks she's being naive.

"Every man is interested that way when it comes to you," he states with absolute certainty.

Y/N can't help the small laugh that escapes her.

"That's ridiculous," she says, shaking her head. "And even if it were true, I'm not interested in anyone but you. You know that."

Harry's expression softens slightly as he reaches for her hand.

"I know," he acknowledges, bringing her fingers to his lips. "But I still don't like it."

Y/N squeezes his hand, thinking the matter resolved.

"It's just six weeks," she reminds him. "It'll be over before you know it."

---

Friday's study session goes ahead as planned, but Harry doesn't make an appearance. Y/N texts him afterward:

Thank you for giving me space today. Heading home now, want to come over later?

His response is immediate:

Already outside the library. Get in the car.

She spots his sleek black Audi idling by the curb, Harry leaning against it with his arms crossed. The sight of him, dangerous, beautiful, and unmistakably hers, still makes her breath catch, even after six months together.

"Were you waiting the whole time?" she asks as she approaches.

Harry straightens, pulling her against him for a kiss that's far too possessive for a public space.

"Maybe," he admits when they break apart, not looking remotely embarrassed about it.

Y/N laughs, shaking her head as she gets into the car.

"You're impossible."

Harry slides into the driver's seat, his hand immediately finding her thigh.

"Yet you love me anyway."

His fingers trace higher, slipping beneath the hem of her skirt.

"Harry," she protests weakly, even as heat pools in her belly. "We're in the university parking lot."

His smile is wicked as he starts the car.

"Then I suggest we get home quickly."

They barely make it through her apartment door before he has her pressed against the wall, his mouth hot on her neck, hands already working her clothes off.

Hours later,, as they lie tangled in her sheets, Y/N glances at the clock and groans.

"I was supposed to meet Ethan again an hour ago to go over our research," she realizes, reaching for her phone. "I completely forgot."

Harry pulls her back against him, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Send him a text," he suggests, his lips brushing her shoulder. "Tell him something came up."

Y/N narrows her eyes, suspicion dawning.

"Did you do that on purpose?" she asks. "Make me late?"

Harry's innocent expression doesn't reach his eyes.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, his hand sliding down her naked back. "I was simply making love to my girlfriend."

Y/N pushes his wandering hand away, sitting up to look at him properly.

"Harry, this project is important. It's worth thirty percent of my grade."

He sits up as well, the sheet pooling around his waist.

"And I'm sure your partner can manage without you for one session," he points out, reaching for her again. "Come here."

Y/N allows herself to be pulled back into his arms, her irritation fading under his touch. But a seed of concern has been planted.

---

The pattern continues over the next three weeks. Harry doesn't crash every study session, but his presence remains a constant shadow over the project. He appears unexpectedly at the coffee shop where they're working. He calls with "emergencies" that pull Y/N away early. He schedules romantic dinners that conflict with planned research time.

And then there's the morning Y/N finds him scrolling through her laptop while she's in the shower.

"What are you doing?" she asks, tightening the towel around her body.

Harry doesn't even look guilty, continuing to read through her project notes.

"Just checking your progress," he says casually. "This Ethan doesn't seem to be contributing much."

Y/N strides across the room, closing the laptop firmly.

"That's because you're only seeing my draft notes," she says, her patience wearing thin. "Ethan does plenty of work. And even if he didn't, that's between him and me, not you."

Harry leans back in his chair, studying her with narrowed eyes.

"You're defending him."

"I'm stating facts," she corrects, frustration building. "Harry, this has to stop. You're interfering with my education."

He stands, approaching her with that predatory grace that normally makes her heart race but now just adds to her irritation.

"I'm looking out for you," he counters, his hands settling on her hips. "Making sure you're not being taken advantage of."

Y/N steps back, removing herself from his touch.

"The only person taking advantage right now is you," she says firmly. "Taking advantage of my feelings for you to control who I spend time with."

Harry's expression darkens.

"That's not what I'm doing."

"Isn't it?" Y/N challenges. "Then what would you call it?"

He doesn't answer immediately, his jaw working as he considers her question.

"Protection," he finally says. "I'm protecting what's mine."

Y/N's frustration boils over.

"I'm not a possession, Harry! I'm a person with my own life, my own goals, my own responsibilities."

"I know that," he insists, running a hand through his hair. "But you don't see how he looks at you."

"Even if that were true," Y/N argues, "it wouldn't matter because I love you. But you're so caught up in your jealousy that you can't see how ridiculous you're being."

Harry's expression hardens, his defensive walls slamming into place.

"Ridiculous?" he repeats coldly. "For wanting to keep other men away from my girlfriend?"

"For sabotaging my education!" Y/N exclaims. "For making me late to meetings, for intimidating my project partner, for acting like I can't be trusted to handle a simple academic assignment!"

They stare at each other, both breathing hard, neither willing to back down.

"I could get him removed from your class," Harry says suddenly, his voice deceptively calm. "One call to the dean, a generous donation to the psychology department—they'd transfer him to another section immediately."

Y/N stares at him in disbelief.

"Tell me you're joking," she says quietly.

The look in his eyes tells her he's absolutely serious.

"It would solve the problem," he points out.

"No, Harry, it would create a much bigger one," Y/N says, her voice tight with anger. "The problem isn't Ethan. The problem is that you think it's acceptable to use your power and influence to control my life."

Harry steps toward her, but she backs away again.

"I need you to leave," she says, her voice shaking slightly.

Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, hurt, anger—before his expression closes off completely.

"Fine," he says coldly, grabbing his jacket. "Call me when you're done playing student with your project partner."

The door slams behind him, leaving Y/N alone in the sudden silence of her apartment. She sinks onto the edge of her bed, still in just her towel, and allows the tears she's been holding back to fall.

---

Three days pass without contact from either side. Y/N throws herself into her project work, meeting with Ethan more frequently now that there are no interruptions. Harry buries himself in business, his mood so foul that even his most hardened men give him a wide berth.

On the fourth day, Y/N's phone rings as she's leaving campus. She almost doesn't answer when she sees Harry's name, but something compels her to accept the call.

"Hello?" she says cautiously.

There's a brief silence before his voice comes through, rougher than usual:

"I miss you."

Just three words, but they carry the weight of an apology he doesn't quite know how to give.

Y/N closes her eyes, fighting against the immediate softening she feels.

"I miss you too," she admits. "But that doesn't fix anything."

"I know," he acknowledges, surprising her. "Can I see you? Please?"

The 'please' catches her off guard. Harry rarely asks for anything—he commands, he takes, he arranges. But he doesn't plead.

"Okay," she agrees after a moment. "My place, one hour."

---

When she opens her door to him, the first thing she notices is how tired he looks. There are shadows under his eyes, and his normally immaculate appearance shows subtle signs of neglect. It's the way his hair is less than perfectly styled, his stubble slightly heavier than he usually allows.

They stand looking at each other for a long moment before Harry breaks the silence:

"I behaved like a jealous asshole."

Y/N raises her eyebrows, not expecting such a direct admission.

"Yes, you did," she agrees, but steps back to let him enter.

He moves past her into the apartment, turning to face her once she's closed the door.

"I've never done this before," he says abruptly.

"Done what? Apologize?" Y/N asks, crossing her arms.

Harry shakes his head slightly.

"Been in love," he clarifies, the words coming with difficulty. "Had something I couldn't control through money or power or fear."

Y/N's expression softens slightly, but she remains firm.

"That's not an excuse, Harry."

"I'm not offering excuses," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I'm trying to explain. Poorly."

He takes a deep breath, visibly struggling with vulnerability.

"In my world, anything valuable is a target," he continues. "You protect what matters by any means necessary. But I applied those rules to you, to us, and I was wrong."

Y/N watches him carefully, hearing the sincerity in his voice.

"I don't need your protection from a harmless psychology student," she points out gently.

Harry's laugh is short and without humor.

"I know that. Logically, I know that. But seeing you with him..." He trails off, jaw tightening. "I hated it. I still hate it."

Y/N steps closer, but maintains enough distance to keep the conversation serious.

"You have to trust me, Harry. Not just say you do, but actually trust me."

"I do trust you," he insists, reaching for her hands. "It's everyone else I don't trust."

"That's the same thing," she argues, allowing him to take her hands but keeping her tone firm. "If you trust me, you trust my judgment. You trust that I can handle myself around other people without you interfering."

Harry looks down at their joined hands, his thumbs tracing circles on her skin.

"I don't know how to do this," he admits quietly. "I don't know how to love someone without trying to control everything around them."

The raw honesty in his voice breaks through Y/N's remaining anger. She steps closer, one hand moving to touch his face.

"You learn," she says simply. "We both learn. This is new for me too, Harry. Being with someone like you. It's not exactly covered in Dating 101."

A small smile tugs at his lips.

"I imagine not."

Y/N's expression turns serious again.

"But I need you to promise me something."

Harry nods, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Anything."

"No more interfering with my studies. No more intimidating Ethan. No more 'coincidental' appearances at our study sessions. And absolutely no calls to the dean."

Harry's jaw works as he considers her demands, his instincts warring with his desire to make things right.

"Two more weeks," he says finally. "Then the project is done."

"And then there will be another class, another project, another study partner," Y/N points out. "This isn't a one-time issue, Harry. This is about how we move forward together."

Harry pulls her closer, his forehead resting against hers.

"I'm trying," he murmurs. "I'm not good at this, but I'm trying."

"I know," she acknowledges, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. "That's why I'm still here."

He kisses her then, gentle at first but quickly deepening with the intensity of four days apart. When they finally break apart, both breathing heavily, Harry speaks against her lips:

"I love you. More than I thought possible."

Y/N smiles, her fingers tangling in his hair.

"I love you too. Even when you're being a possessive jerk."

Harry's laugh is genuine this time, his arms tightening around her waist.

"I'll work on that," he promises.

"You'd better," she warns, but there's no real threat in her tone. "Because next semester I'm taking Abnormal Psychology, and I hear the professor likes to assign group projects."

Harry groans, burying his face in her neck.

"You're going to be the death of me, angel."

Y/N laughs, pulling back to look at him.

"But what a way to go, right?"

His answering smile is predatory as he lifts her, carrying her toward the bedroom.

"Right," he agrees, kicking the door shut behind them. "Now, let me show you exactly how much I missed you."

She giggles, wrapping her legs around him and burying her face into his neck, kissing the apex of his jaw, “I hate fighting with you by the way” she murmurs in between kisses

Harry carries her to the bed with practiced ease, his strong hands gripping her thighs as he lowers them both onto the mattress. He stays above her, his weight supported on his forearms as he looks down at her with an intensity that still makes her breath catch even after all these months.

"Fighting with you is fucking terrible," he agrees, his voice low and rough with emotion. "Three days without you...I nearly lost my mind."

His fingers thread through her hair, cradling the back of her head as he studies her face like he's memorizing it all over again.

"Marco said they were taking bets on who I'd kill first," he admits with a hint of dark humor. "Apparently I'm even more of a bastard when you're not around."

Y/N's hands slide up his chest to rest on either side of his face, her thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his cheekbones.

"Poor Marco," she teases softly. "Did anyone survive your bad mood?"

Harry turns his head slightly to kiss her palm, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Barely," he murmurs against her skin. "Joey made the mistake of asking if we'd broken up. Nearly broke his fucking jaw."

Y/N's expression turns more serious, her fingers gentling against his face.

"We're not going to break up over this," she assures him, understanding the fear that likely fueled his anger. "We're going to figure it out together."

A shadow passes over Harry's face, vulnerability showing for just a moment before he masks it with desire.

"I meant what I said," he tells her, his voice dropping lower. "I don't know how to do this. Everyone I've ever..." He pauses, searching for the right words. "Everyone I've ever cared about has either left or been taken from me. And then you came along, and suddenly I had something—someone—I couldn't bear to lose."

Y/N feels the weight of his confession, understanding how difficult it is for him to express these feelings.

"I'm not going anywhere," she promises, pulling him down for a gentle kiss that quickly deepens with need.

Harry groans against her mouth, his control slipping as his body presses more firmly against hers. When they break apart, both breathing heavily, his eyes have darkened with hunger.

"I need you," he says simply, the words carrying more meaning than just physical desire.

Y/N responds by tugging at his shirt, helping him pull it over his head before her hands explore the familiar landscape of his chest and abdomen. Her fingers trace the scars that mark his skin, some from childhood, others from his dangerous life, each one a chapter in the story of the complicated man above her.

"I need you too," she whispers, arching up to kiss a particularly jagged scar near his collarbone that was the result of a knife fight when he was seventeen, he'd told her one night after they'd made love.

Harry's hands make quick work of her clothes, practiced fingers unhooking her bra and sliding her jeans down her legs until she's left in just her panties. He pauses then, sitting back on his heels to look at her, spread out beneath him.

"Fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his accent thickening as it always does when he's aroused. "Every time I see you like this, I can't believe you're mine."

Y/N reaches for his belt, her fingers working the buckle.

"I am yours," she confirms, watching his eyes darken further at her words. "Just like you're mine."

Harry helps her remove his remaining clothes, then settles back between her legs, his skin hot against hers. His mouth finds her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below her ear that always makes her gasp.

"Say it again," he demands softly, his hand sliding between their bodies to cup her through her panties.

Y/N's back arches at his touch, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"I'm yours, Harry," she breathes, feeling him hard against her thigh. "Only yours."

His fingers push aside the fabric, finding her already wet for him. A satisfied growl rumbles in his chest.

"Did you miss me, angel?" he asks, circling her clit with agonizing slowness. "Did you think about me while we were apart?"

Y/N moans as he slides a finger inside her, her hips lifting to meet his hand.

"Every night," she admits, her voice breaking as he adds a second finger, stretching her deliciously. "I couldn't sleep without you."

Harry's mouth claims hers in a bruising kiss as his fingers continue their torment, building her pleasure with practiced skill. When he breaks the kiss, his eyes are almost black with desire.

"I couldn't either," he confesses, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. "Haven't slept more than a few hours since I walked out that door."

His fingers withdraw, making Y/N whimper at the loss. He hooks his thumbs in her panties, dragging them down her legs before positioning himself between her thighs, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance.

"Look at me," he commands softly, waiting until her eyes meet his before continuing. "I love you, Y/N. More than anything in this fucked-up world."

The raw emotion in his voice makes her heart swell. She reaches up to touch his face, her eyes never leaving his.

"I love you too, Harry. All of you. Even the difficult parts."

Something in his expression breaks open at her words, and he pushes into her in one smooth thrust, both of them gasping at the sensation of being joined again after days apart.

"Fuck, I missed you," he groans, stilling for a moment to savor the feeling of her around him.

Y/N wraps her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper.

"Show me," she challenges, rolling her hips against his.

Harry's control snaps. He begins to move with powerful thrusts that have her clutching at his back, her nails leaving crescent marks in his skin. There's an edge of desperation to their lovemaking. A need to reclaim each other after their first serious fight.

"Mine," he growls against her neck, his pace relentless. "Say it."

"Yours," Y/N gasps, feeling the familiar tension building inside her. "I'm yours, Harry. Always."

His hand slides between them again, his thumb finding her clit as his thrusts grow more erratic.

"Come for me, angel," he demands, his voice rough with exertion. "Let me feel you."

The combination of his words, his touch, and the delicious friction of his cock pushing deep inside her sends Y/N over the edge. She cries out his name as her orgasm washes over her, her body clenching around him.

Harry follows moments later, burying himself to the hilt as he comes with a guttural groan of her name. He collapses beside her, immediately pulling her against his chest, their bodies still joined.

They lie tangled together, breathing heavily, neither willing to move or break the connection. Harry's fingers trace lazy patterns on her back as their heartbeats gradually slow.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against her hair, the words clearly difficult for him. "For being such a jealous prick."

Y/N lifts her head to look at him, her expression soft but serious.

"I need you to trust me, Harry. Not just say it, but really trust me."

Harry tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes searching hers.

"I do trust you," he says earnestly. "It's just..." He sighs, struggling to articulate his feelings. "In my world, showing any weakness can get you killed. And you, Y/N, you're the biggest weakness I've ever had."

Y/N's heart aches at his admission, understanding what it costs him to be this vulnerable.

"Love isn't weakness," she tells him gently. "It takes more strength to open yourself up to someone than it does to push everyone away."

Harry's laugh is soft and without humor.

"Tell that to my father," he says darkly. "Man beat that lesson into me before I could even tie my own shoes."

Y/N kisses him softly, her hands cradling his face.

"Your father was wrong," she says firmly. "About so many things, but especially about that."

Harry pulls her closer, burying his face in her neck as if seeking refuge from memories he rarely discusses.

"I'm trying," he murmurs against her skin. "For you, I'm trying to be...better."

"I know," Y/N assures him, her fingers threading through his hair. "And that's all I'm asking for. Just try."

They lie in comfortable silence for a while, their bodies cooling in the aftermath of their passion. Eventually, Harry speaks again, his tone lighter:

"I may have already run a background check on Ethan."

Y/N props herself up on an elbow, staring down at him in disbelief.

"Harry!"

"What?" he defends, not looking remotely guilty. "Old habits. At least I didn't have him followed."

Y/N narrows her eyes.

"Did you consider it?"

Harry's silence is answer enough.

"Unbelievable," she mutters, flopping back onto the pillows.

"So, this Ethan bloke...he's really not your type?"

Y/N laughs, pinching his side gently.

"He wears Star Wars t-shirts and lives with his mother," she reminds him. "Besides, I seem to have a thing for dangerous men with British accents and too many trust issues."

Harry rolls them suddenly so she's beneath him again, his expression mock-serious.

"Good," he says, lowering his head to kiss her collarbone. "Because I'd hate to have to make him disappear."

Y/N stiffens slightly, pulling back to look at him.

"Harry..."

He meets her gaze, his eyes softening as he reads her concern.

"I'm joking, angel," he assures her, kissing the tip of her nose. "Mostly."

Y/N narrows her eyes, but there's no real anger in her expression.

"Harry Styles, I swear to god—"

He cuts her off with a kiss, his hands sliding down to grip her hips.

"I promise not to touch your precious study partner," he says when they break apart. "But I make no promises about not touching you."

His hand slips between her legs again, finding her still sensitive from their lovemaking.

"In fact," he continues, his voice dropping to that seductive rumble that never fails to make her shiver, "I plan to touch you quite thoroughly for the rest of the night. To make up for lost time."

Y/N's protest dies on her lips as his fingers begin to move with purpose, her body responding instantly to his skilled touch.

"That's cheating," she gasps, her head falling back against the pillows.

Harry's smile is pure sin as he begins to kiss his way down her body.

"All's fair in love and war, angel," he murmurs against her stomach. "And making up is definitely my favorite part of fighting with you."

Y/N can't help but laugh despite herself.

"You're impossible," she says, the words carrying no heat.

"Yet you love me anyway," he reminds her, echoing his words from weeks before.

Y/N looks at him, this dangerous, difficult, complicated man who is trying, in his own flawed way, to be better for her, and feels her heart swell.

"I do," she confirms softly. "God help me, I really do."

As his mouth reaches its destination between her thighs, Y/N decides that further discussion about boundaries and jealousy can wait until morning. Right now, she's perfectly content to let Harry demonstrate exactly how sorry he is—in the most delicious way possible.

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

Taglist: @silastylesswift @babegoals @harryssunflower17 @puzio19 @goldensunflowerss-blog @drewrry @tinawritesstuff @dipmeinhoneyh @spinninc @harrystyleshotwife @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @estaticheart @harrysguccihandbag @mads3502 @harrydeary @valuunit @myfavfanficsever @lunaharrygurl @prettygurl-2009

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reacting to their idol s/o’s Calvin Klein photoshoot

Request: hihi! Could I please request svt reactions to their idol s/o’s Calvin Klein photoshoot? (think of like the jennie/jungkook ones, ABS OUTT) thank yew!!

A/N: oooff, so good! had fun with this one lmao. I remember going crazy over Jungkook's shoot and the recent mingyu shoot [I wasn't a carat during his first]

Content warning: Slightly suggestive; mostly implied, nothing graphic

Seungcheol: He didn't know you're having a photoshoot with CK, so, honestly, he was surprised. "That's... wow. You look... incredible." He stares at the photos for a second too long, jaw clenched. He’s proud but slightly very possessive. “You killed it, baby, but next time… give me a heads-up so I don’t pass out scrolling.” High-key wants a private version of that photoshoot for his eyes only.

Jeonghan: So smug, it’s annoying [in a hot way]. “Oh? That’s my y/n?” He smirks like he’s the one who styled you for the shoot. “You’re breaking the internet, huh?” He’ll tease you to no end but worship you behind closed doors. “Should I be jealous of the camera or all the men that's now gonna droll or just be proud you’re mine?”

Joshua: Flustered but definitely not innocent. Eyes widen, ears go red. “Babe… that’s… you look hot.” He’s speechless for a moment before collecting himself with a soft laugh. “Should I be worried about how many people are zooming in right now?” But trust—he saves every photo and sets one as his lock screen of his private phone; the one that's not showing too much of your abs because he does not want others to see it.

Jun: LOVES it. Can’t stop staring. “Damn, I didn’t know I was dating a Greek statue.” He’s openly proud, thirsty, and extremely supportive. “Can you model those for me at home too?” He posts the pic on his story like y’all see what I get to come home to? [With the fire emoji, obviously.] He'll buy you the whole CK collection even though you'll get them for free or cheap anyway but he wants to spend for!

Hoshi: Head-empty. Just “wow.” Stares at the photos in silence, then just blurts, “WHAT IS THIS?!” Has to sit down. “I need water.” He's flustered but eyeing you up like crazy. “You’re too sexy. I’m scared. Please marry me before someone else sees this.”

Wonwoo: Two words [technically four] internal crisis, external calm. When he sees the pictures for the first time in his feed, he stares at the photo, pushes up his glasses, and just goes: “Hm.” Inside he’s combusting. “You look stunning,” he says, then gives you that look. “But I hope you’ll do a private shoot for me too.” Say less, sir.

Woozi: Acts chill but miserably fails. Raises a brow, lips twitching into a smirk. “Interesting.” Tries not to show how much it’s affecting him but his neck’s red. “You’re gonna cause trouble with this one.” Complains jokingly, but you catch him staring at the pics late at night, looking dangerously in love. And when you confront, he's jumping on you—

Dokyeom: “What… what is THIS???” He’s loud, thirsting, flailing—but also SO proud. “Babe, you look insane. Like—INSANE.” He can’t stop smiling but also starts hitting the gym immediately. “I need to keep up with you!” And damn if I say he doesn't look sexy himself. Power couple ngl. Just know that he's thinking about the shoot 24/7 from now on.

Mingyu: He did NOT expect that you'd turn it on him when you went feral over his photoshoot and rightfully so. So imagine the way his eyes widened and his pulse started to rise... Now, he's Jealous, flustered, turned on. Help. “You collaborated with CK?! Are you trying to kill me??” Super proud but a little possessive because he knows how the shoot goes; people fixing your outfit, photographer staring, and so many men and women [yes, women are a threat to him too very you're that gorgeous and hot] around. He zooms in, stares, and then texts you when u get home, we need to talk [bring the Calvin Klein]. Ends up buying matching sets for you both.

Minghao: He just smiles. “Oh, we’re doing this now?” You better believe he’s ordering a giant print for your bedroom. "You looked perfect. But next time, I’ll be the one behind the camera." You can actually expect him to do a photoshoot at home, but this time, it'll be him who'll improvise the whole shoot. Expect some roleplay too; I'll leave it to your imagination.

Seungkwan: Kwan is flustered but v v v impressed. “WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS—” He spirals, hiding his phone, peeking back at it. “You can’t just—how am I supposed to breathe??” After his panic dies down: “You looked amazing though.” You better believe that now on, he'll hit on you, even you're already his s/o. He's really into the high.

Vernon: For the first I think he's not gonna be chill but this because damn you look sexy af. “Yo… you ate.” He won’t stop glancing at the photos. He saves one and sets it as his home screen. Later goes: “So, uh… wanna do a shoot like that just for me?” Not like in a weird way but he'll take out Pinterest for inspo and actually might do a photography course but he needs to see this version of you more.

Dino: Mind = blown. His whole soul leaves his body. Once he recovers: “Wow, you looked like a supermodel. Wait. You are one.” He’s flustered, a lil jealous, and completely wrecked—but makes sure you know he’s obsessed with you. He'll probably even touch your abs in real time because he can't touch a picture to feel your abs, obviously. He's obviously but I'm letting you know, he'll go crazy crazy next. Up to your imagination.

[leclerc-hs]

Charles gives you a necklace with the number 16 on it so everyone knows you're his 😍

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader word count: ~900ish warnings: smut, smut, smut. possessive charles. language??, NOT PROOFREAD.

in which charles is all rainbows and butterflies until it comes to men flirting with you.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

The hotel suite is quiet, except for the low hum of the air conditioner in the background. You’re still in your dress from dinner, shoulders bare, legs bare, throat bare, sat on the edge of the bed while Charles stands a few inches away. 

Sitting with your spine ram-rod straight, like you’re bracing for something.

And you are.

Because Charles hasn’t said a single word since you walked through the hotel room door. Just watching you. With his jaw tense, eyes darker than normal, unblinking. But you know him too well by now. You know that silence, for him, means restraint. And restraint never lasts long with him.

Especially whenever you’re involved.

His movements are slow when he finally moves toward you, pulling something from pocket of his trousers. A thin silver chain dangles from the pads of his fingers, glinting in the dark glow of the room. At the end of it, a small charm. Unmistakable.

16.

His number. Yours now.

“You know what this is?” He asks. You nod slowly, heart pounding in your chest, but he’s not satisfied with that answer.

So he steps closer, standing in front of you, between your knees. Eyes burning into yours. “Then you know what it means.”

And you don’t answer.

So he leans in, one hand curling under your jaw, forcing your chin higher. Just enough to make you hold his gaze, the way he wants.

“It means you’re mine,” he says. And it’s not even close to gentle. No. It’s possessive and rough. Desperate in the only way he can be. “It means I don’t care who is watching or what they think. You wear this…my number. All of them will know.”

His breath is warm against your cheek, necklace landing softly against the skin of your neck as he clasps it shut. “They’ll see this, and know that you belong to someone. Someone who is willing to destroy anyone who forgets that.”

His fingers linger, pressing into your skin, right over your pulse. While his other hand flattens against your bare back, trailing down until his grips your waist just tight enough to leave a potential bruise.

“I’m not nice about you,” he breathes into your skin, mouth lingering over the spot just beneath your ear. “Don’t want to be. Never will be.”

Your breath hitches when his teeth graze along your shoulder.

“I see the way they stare at you. At your mouth. At your chest. At your neck. You don’t even notice.”

“Charles…”

“I notice it all.” His voice deepens, sharply. “And I fucking hate it.”

He pulls you to your feet before you can respond, your body pressed against his. “Tell me,” he demands, brushing his nose against yours. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“I’m yours.”

He doesn’t kiss you at first. Just holds you there, staring at you like he’s trying to read your fucking soul. And when he presses his mouth to yours, its rough and claiming.

Hot and hungry. Pushing you back to the edge of the bed.

His hands are already on your thighs, pushing them apart. His mouth never leaves yours, not even as you moan hotly into his mouth, not even when he drags the dress past your hips and outright groans.

“You wore this for me?” His fingers brush over the lace panties, barely covering you. Soaked.

“Yes.”

And he laughs. Darkly. Hotly. Possessive. “You knew exactly what you were doing a dinner.”

And his hands are rough on your thighs as he pushes them even wider, mouth trailing wet, hot, open mouthed kisses along the inside, teeth grazing every once in a while. And when his tongue finally finds you, there’s no teasing. Just a filthy, wet precision that makes your back arch into him.

Your head drops back, eyes shutting from the feeling. 

“Look at me,” he grunts from between your thighs. “Don’t look away.”

You do. Barely able to keep your eyes open as he eats you out like he needs you to breathe. 

Your hands fist into his hair, and he groans against you the second you tug at the roots, grinding his hips forward like he can’t help himself.

He stands up, unbuckling his belt with one hand while the other grips your neck, forcing you to look at him as he stares at the necklace. Glistening in the light.

“Turn around,” he orders. “All fours.”

And you do. Trembling. Shaking.

He’s behind you before you even settle, pushing your dress higher up your waist, dragging your soaked panties down.

His hands fist your hair, pulling your head back, as he slides into you with one hard thrust. Deep.

“Feel that, hm?” He slams into you again. “That’s what you do to me.”

You moan, unable to answer.

“Every time you smile at someone else. Every time you act like you don’t fucking belong to me. Think of this.”

He fucks you harder. Deeper. He leans forward, pressing kisses to your shoulder, biting at the skin of your neck.

“Next time somebody stares, they’ll see you fucking limp and know. They’ll see that number on your neck. Mine.”

Your orgasm hits hard. Your vision blaring, fingers clawing into the sheets, clenching so tightly around him that he groans. He follows shortly after, burying himself so deep into you that you feel it in your tummy.

And when he finally pulls out, both of you collapsing on to the bed, he leans over and presses soft kisses to your face.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “My sweet sweet cherie.”

Your fingers toy with the necklace as he pulls the sheets over you both.

And you smile. Snuggle into his side. 

His.

[bjlipss]

— some older bf!satoru things that i think about a lot <33

cw: suggestive, no explicit smut, just satoru being satoru at any age and fluff.

older bf!satoru is the kind of man who ages like fine wine and doesn’t even realize it. he still walks like he’s untouchable, with that same cocky strut, still wears those dumb dark sunglasses when he’s hungover or lazy, still teases like he’s twenty—but up close, where you’re allowed to be, he’s softened in a way no one else gets to see.

his hair? still obnoxiously white, still messy from his fingers running through it out of habit—but now, you can see the silver peeking through at the roots. subtle. not enough for people to point it out. just enough that when you run your fingers through it in the quiet moments, you pause, smile a little. he pretends not to notice. (but he does. he always does.)

and his eyes. they still sparkle, still play, still smirk. but there are laugh lines now. little crow’s feet that show themselves when he grins wide at something dumb you said, or when he squints at you teasingly across the room. like his body is learning how to hold joy more permanently.

he complains about his back sometimes. always with flair—dramatic groans when he gets up from the couch, flopping onto your lap like “baby i’m old, take care of me,” and you roll your eyes but still end up massaging his shoulders. (and if your hands linger? if he gets a little too relaxed and makes a soft noise into your neck? well. that’s between you and him.)

he’s gentle in ways he never used to be. not out of fragility, but out of choice. he doesn’t rush anymore. he lingers—over kisses, over breakfast, over the way your name sounds in the morning. like he’s learned how to stretch time just for you.

and even though he still gets looks when you’re out together (he’s always been pretty, even more so now), he only ever looks at you. and when people whisper or raise eyebrows about the age gap, he just smirks, pulls you closer, and says something like, “jealousy’s a disease. get well soon.”

older bf!satoru who keeps reading glasses on the bridge of his nose when he’s doing paperwork at home, even though he swears his eyesight is still “perfect, babe, don’t get it twisted.” and when you tease him about it? call him sir all flirty-like and giggle when he raises an eyebrow? he just sets the papers down slowly, deliberately, and says, “alright. you wanna play that game?”—voice low, smile dangerous. (you’re not walking straight the next day.)

older bf!satoru who gets a little possessive in a grown man kind of way—not insecure, not loud. just quiet, calculated. hand always on your lower back when you’re out, fingers brushing your thigh under the table. he’ll let you have your fun flirting across the room with your eyes, but the second someone else tries to flirt with you? he’s leaning down, lips brushing your ear, and murmurs something like, “go ahead, keep looking at him. just remember whose mouth is gonna be between your legs tonight.”

he’s unbothered until he isn’t. playful until someone tests his patience. older bf!satoru doesn’t do petty jealousy—but he does do ownership. and he’s not shy about reminding you, especially when he sees the way you squirm under his gaze.

he’s the type to spoil you in the dirtiest ways, too. buys you lingerie “for him,” and makes you model it before you’re even done adjusting the straps. he’ll lean back on the bed, hands behind his head, watching you like a king watching his prize and say, “c’mon, baby. give me a little spin. lemme see what I paid for.” (you never make it out of the room with that set intact.)

and afterward? he’s wiping you down with such gentle hands, murmuring soft praise between lazy kisses. “so good for me, baby… you’re all mine, yeah? always.” he kisses the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your collarbone. “gonna take care of you ‘til we’re old and gray. well. grayer, in my case.” he laughs, breath warm against your skin, and you feel so full—of love, of him, of this life he’s building around you like armor.

[yvesssssssss]

Hello!!! Can i request a fanfic with Nagumo? I really enjoy your Nagumo stories. I would like to see a very jealous Nagumo hehehe. He’s literally my favorite. So maybe a fem reader x nagumo story? Thank youuu <3

Not Yours, Huh

You had no idea what you’d done to trigger Nagumo’s wrath.

One moment, you were just chatting with a fellow JAA agent—some new recruit who seemed more interested in bragging than anything useful—and the next, you felt a familiar weight settle against your back. Arms draped lazily over your shoulders, chin dropping onto your head.

“Heyyy, what’s this?” came Nagumo’s sing-song voice. “Having fun without me, babe?”

You sighed, smiling despite yourself. “You’re heavy, Yoichi.”

“Not what you were saying last night,” he murmured into your ear with a low, smug hum.

The recruit stiffened and took a step back, eyes darting between you and Nagumo. “Uhh—I didn’t know you two were… together.”

Nagumo gave him a look like he’d just said the stupidest thing in the world. “You blind, or just suicidal?”

You gave him a light elbow to the ribs, though it didn’t stop the smug energy radiating off him like heat. “Nagumo.”

“What? Just making sure this guy understands basic survival skills.”

The recruit awkwardly nodded and began retreating, clearly getting the message.

Once he was out of earshot, you turned in Nagumo’s arms, arms crossing loosely over your chest. “Really?”

He didn’t even try to look innocent. “You know I don’t like when people stare at you like that.”

“He was just talking to me.”

“He was imagining you without your shirt.” Nagumo’s voice dropped low and flat. “And I don’t share.”

You blinked at him. “You really were jealous.”

He grinned, but it was more wolfish than charming this time. “Of course I was. You’re mine. I don’t care who knows it.”

Your heart gave a little flutter—same one it always did when he got like this. Possessive. Serious. Not hiding behind jokes or smirks.

“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?” you said quietly.

Nagumo’s expression softened just a bit. “I know,” he said, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “But I’ve got a bad habit of wanting to cut down anyone who even thinks about trying to take you from me.”

You leaned in, arms looping around his neck. “Then you better keep holding me like this.”

He pulled you close with no hesitation. “Deal. But next time someone flirts with you?”

You raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“I’m kissing you so hard in front of them they’ll need therapy.”

You snorted. “God, you’re dramatic.”

“I’m in love,” he said, like that explained everything.

And honestly… it kind of did.

Taglist: @shenwi @astronomyloveraster @yokaistirfry @shineinouzen15 @cjafjatkstke @starizzm @imightgoinsane @istillremembermissamericana @ilovewhattatops @elorajelaaa @takenbyacircle @ilylmwwifys @empty-void-of-dreams @reomikas

Hey lovelies! Just a heads up—if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist, now's the time to let me know! I don't want to flood anyone's inbox unnecessarily. 🫶

Drop a comment or send me an ask if you'd like to be added/removed!

Thank you all so much for being here! You all are the best!🫶🫶

[cbeargyu]

hii!!!

i was thinking abt smth…

mean dom!taehyun n strength kink…. 🫢🫢🫢

punch! / kang taehyun

anon request<3

summary: you’ve got a filthy little obsession with watching your boyfriend kang taehyun box—his muscles, his sweat, the way he dominates the ring. it turns you on so bad you can't keep quiet on the ride home, and taehyun? he makes sure you learn exactly what happens when you beg to be his personal punching bag—gloves on, mercy off.

pairing: boxer!taehyun x fem!reader

genre: smut, mean dom behavior, strength kink, possessive behavior, degradation/praise, dirty talk, semi-public tension, established relationship.

warnings: explicit sexual content, rough sex, strength kink, face-fucking, choking, light slapping, fingering, begging, orgasm denial, size kink, spit, dom/sub dynamics, creampie, very explicit language, use of boxing gloves, dirty talk, manhandling, semi-public, choking (light), possessiveness.

wc: 1,47k.

notes: dear anon, here’s your request 🩷 i hope you enjoy it as much as i do watching boxer!taehyun ruin me with just a glance 💋

you don’t even pretend anymore.

not about the way you feel when you see him in the ring.

not about how wet it makes you.

you never meant for it to become a kink. but somewhere between the first time taehyun invited you to watch his boxing practice and the way you caught yourself clenching your thighs every time he threw a punch, it became one.

kang taehyun in a pair of black boxing shorts, gloves tight around his fists, shirtless and glistening with sweat—he’s a walking fantasy, and you’re a mess every time.

you sit on the edge of the bench, trying to look casual, legs crossed, phone in hand. but you're not texting. you're watching. wide-eyed, jaw slack, thighs pressed tight together as he moves like a god across the ring.

maybe it was the way he moved—fluid, calculated, dangerous. maybe it was the way his muscles tensed beneath sweat-slick skin, veins running like rivers down his forearms, across his flexed biceps, his abdomen tightening with every hit.

every punch he throws makes his back muscles flex, tight and glistening. his core contracts with every dodge, every pivot of his hips. the gloves only make it worse—black leather, molded to his fists, the way they curve around his thick wrists and contrast with the veins crawling up his arms. you don’t know if it’s the power or the control or the cold expression on his face, but you want him. desperately. painfully.

and he knows it.

he knows you're there.

he knows exactly what watching him like this does to you.

and he fucking uses it.

he doesn’t smile once during the spar, but when he catches your gaze from across the ring, something shifts. his movements get sharper, heavier. he starts hitting harder. and every time he lands a punch, his eyes flick toward you.

the gloves. fuck, the gloves. thick, dominant, moving like extensions of his body. every hit he landed looked like sex. power and control wrapped in black leather. and you couldn’t stop staring.

by the time the session ended, you were soaked. your panties stuck to you, and your fingers ached with the urge to touch. but you waited. like a good girl. like his girl.

he came over, removing his mouthguard, breathing heavy, chest still heaving. “you okay, baby?” he asked casually, but the glint in his eyes was anything but casual.

“you were so hot,” you whispered, dazed. “i couldn’t stop watching you.”

he tilted his head. “yeah? you like watching me beat someone bloody?”

you swallowed. “i like watching you move.”

he smirked, then leaned in, close enough to make your stomach flip. “you know what i like?” 

“you looked insane in there,” you say, voice soft but loaded. “like—fucking dangerous.”

he tosses a towel over his shoulder, not bothering to change out of his shorts. his gloves are still hanging from one hand, and when he steps closer, you can still smell the heat of the gym on his skin.

“yeah?” he murmurs, low. “you couldn’t stop staring.”

you look up at him, heart skipping. “couldn’t help it.”

he chuckled darkly and pulled his hoodie over his head, not bothering to put on a shirt. “get in the car. we’re going home.”

the ride back was excruciating. you couldn’t stop talking about how good he looked. how hot he was. how perfect his body moved. you didn’t even realize you were rambling until his hand landed on your thigh with force, gripping hard.

“shut up,” he snapped, eyes still on the road. “you’re acting like a fucking slut.”

you keep squirming in your seat, thighs pressed together as you keep whispering things.

you whimpered. that only made him squeeze harder. “what, you like that? you like being a slut for me?”

you nodded. of course you did.

“jesus,” he mutters, gripping the wheel tighter. “you want me to pull over and fuck you in this car?”

you bite your lip. “maybe.”

his laugh is low, dangerous. “keep talking like that and you won’t be able to walk by the time we get home.”

as soon as the door shut behind you at home, he turned and slammed you against it, pressing his body into yours so tightly you could barely breathe.

“strip,” he orders, voice rough.

you fumble with your clothes, dizzy with need.

taehyun doesn’t touch you—not yet. instead, he slides the gloves back onto his hands, securing the straps with his teeth.

you stare, breath caught.

“w-why are you putting them back on?”

he looks at you like you're stupid. “you said you like me like this,” he says darkly. “so be good and get on your knees.”

you drop fast, knees hitting the floor with a soft thud. your eyes are wide, pupils blown, mouth already parting.

he steps closer, lifting one gloved hand to brush your cheek—not gentle, just deliberate. calculated.

“you wanna be my little punching bag, huh?” he whispers, tilting your chin up with the padded curve of his glove. “so desperate to be used.”

you nod, throat tight. “yes, please…”

“open.”

you do.

he slides the glove against your lips, then deeper, pressing the fabric in until you gag. the scent of leather, salt, sweat fills your senses.

“you like that?” he hisses. “you like gagging on my fucking gloves?”

you moan around the pressure.

“pathetic,” he spits. “you get off watching me fight and then beg to be broken. you think you’re worth that, baby?”

you whimper, tears stinging your eyes. “i just want you. please.”

he pulls the glove back slowly, dragging spit with it.

“stand up.”

he slaps your thigh with the back of the glove. you flinch.

“against the wall. now.”

you obey, trembling.

he doesn’t take the gloves off. instead, he presses you flat against the wall, one hand pinning both your wrists above your head, the other dragging down between your thighs with slow menace.

“fucking soaked,” he growls. “just from watching me throw punches? dirty little thing.”

you nod, eyes fluttering shut.

“you wanna be fucked by a fighter? wanna feel what all that strength does when i’m not pulling my punches?”

“yes—taehyun, please—”

he grinds his hips into you, cock straining hard through his shorts.

“beg for it.”

you whine, twisting against him. “please fuck me, taehyun. i want it so bad—i need to feel you, need you to ruin me—please, please—”

“you asked for it.”

he shoves your leg up, splits you open against the wall, and thrusts inside in one brutal, punishing motion.

your scream gets swallowed by his glove covering your mouth.

he starts fucking you like he’s still in the ring—controlled chaos, brutal rhythm, one hand keeping your wrists pinned, the other wrapped around your throat now, squeezing just enough to blur the edges of your thoughts.

“this what you wanted, slut?” he snarls into your ear. “wanted me to fuck the air out of your lungs?”

“yes—fuck—yesyesyes—” your voice is breaking, body limp under his power.

he pulls out suddenly, and you sob, aching.

“turn around. hands on the wall.”

you do it instantly, legs shaking.

he enters you again from behind, snapping his hips so hard your face hits the wall. over and over. you hear yourself moaning, whimpering, begging, but none of it makes sense.

he wraps the glove around your throat again, yanks your body against his chest, and fucks you like he’s claiming something that belongs to him.

“mine,” he growls. “my little toy. my filthy girl who gets off watching me break people.”

“taehyun—taehyun i’m gonna—”

“no.”

he pulls out again, and you sob—your climax stolen, denied, held just out of reach.

“you don’t cum until i say so.”

he throws you down on the couch, rips the gloves off, and finally—finally—touches you bare-handed. his fingers are rough, strong, and his mouth is just as brutal.

he fingers you fast, merciless, whispering filth against your ear.

“you’re such a mess,” he says, voice low. “crying for it like you’ve never been fucked before.”

you arch, gasp, sob his name.

“soaked. fuck,” he muttered. “all that because i threw a few punches?”

you nodded, breathless. “you’re so strong…”

he slapped your pussy—lightly, then harder—and your entire body jolted.

“say it again.”

“you’re so strong—fuck—you’re perfect,” you cried.

“cum for me.”

and when he says it—you break.

your orgasm crashes through you like lightning, thighs shaking, cunt pulsing so hard around his fingers he curses under his breath.

he slides inside one last time and fucks you through it, grunting as he spills inside you.

you lie there after, a wreck.

his hand slides over your thigh.

“next time,” he whispered, voice low and dangerous in your ear, “i’ll fuck you at the gym. let everyone know who you belong to.”

and you knew you’d let him.

again. and again.

[al-1-na]

𝐑𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Rafe Cameron x Innocent!BestFriend!Reader

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: 18+ / Minors DNI

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, virginity loss, obsession, breeding kink, rough sex, size kink, possessive behavior, praise & degradation, choking (light), crying during sex, filthy language, manipulation

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

Rafe Cameron finally snaps after years of watching his sweet, untouched best friend act clueless about the way she affects him. One stormy night, she ends up in his bed seeking comfort—and he gives her exactly that, in the filthiest, most possessive way possible. He knew he shouldn’t want to ruin her, but once he starts, he’s not stopping until she’s full, wrecked, and begging for more. (Its giving S2 Rafe!! But you can imagine him however you want)

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

You were sweet—too sweet for someone like him.

Rafe knew better. Knew he shouldn’t be looking at you the way he did when you bent over to grab something, or when you giggled like you didn’t have a clue what that sound did to him. You were his best friend. His safe, soft, untouched best friend. And you were so damn pure it made his teeth clench.

But every time you leaned into him, eyes wide, voice soft, all innocent and trusting, all he could think about was how much he wanted to corrupt every single part of you. He shouldn’t wanna ruin you. Shouldn’t wanna break that sweet little body in ways you’d never recover from. But he did. He wanted to see you cry on his cock, wanted to hear that perfect mouth beg for more even when you couldn’t take another inch.

The night it happened, you were in his bed—just like a hundred nights before. You said you didn’t want to be alone. Some storm had you all jittery, clinging to him like he was safety and not the goddamn storm himself. You wore those stupid tiny sleep shorts and one of his shirts, and curled up against him like it was nothing.

He should’ve pushed you away. Should’ve closed his eyes, taken deep breaths, and thought of anything other than the way your thighs pressed together when you shifted. But you were so close. So warm. And when you looked up at him with that sweet, clueless face and whispered, “Why are you looking at me like that?” it was over.

“I shouldn’t be,” he said, voice low, rough, strained. “I really shouldn’t be.”

Your brows furrowed, lips parted. “Why?”

“Because I’m not thinkin’ anything a best friend should think about you, baby.”

You swallowed. “Like what?”

He laughed under his breath, and his hand moved—slow, dragging up your thigh, stopping just before it touched the place he really wanted. “You don’t wanna know.”

“I do,” you whispered, wide-eyed.

That was all it took.

He rolled you under him like it was the most natural thing in the world, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other slid up your shirt. “I think about how sweet you’d sound moaning my name,” he muttered, lips brushing your neck. “Think about how soft you’d feel wrapped around my cock. You know how wrong that is? Thinkin’ about ruining you like that?”

You gasped, and it only made him harder.

He tugged your shirt up, exposing that bare chest, and hissed between his teeth. “No bra, baby? Were you trying to drive me insane?” He latched onto one nipple, sucking hard while his hand slid between your legs, rubbing slow over your clothed pussy. “Bet this little thing’s soaked already.”

Your hips bucked, a whimper spilling out of you. “Rafe…”

“You gonna let me have it?” he growled. “Let me be the first one in this pretty body? I’ll go slow—first time, I won’t make it hurt. Much.”

You nodded, breathless, legs falling open like your body already belonged to him.

“Good girl,” he murmured, sliding your shorts down. “Gotta see this sweet pussy. Gotta taste it before I stretch you.”

And he did—dove down like he hadn’t eaten in days, tongue dragging through your folds, lips locking around your clit. The way you cried out his name had him groaning, grinding into the bed to keep from tearing his boxers off and just taking you.

You were already trembling when he pulled back, licking his lips like he was starved. “Look at you. All needy and messy and ready for me.” He stripped in seconds, cock thick, leaking, twitching in his grip. “Gonna split you open now, sweetheart. Gonna make this tight little pussy mine.”

The first push had your eyes going wide, mouth falling open in a silent cry. He was big. Too big. He knew it. But he also knew you could take it.

“Shhh, I know, I know,” he cooed, wiping a tear from your cheek as he sank deeper. “Just breathe, baby. Let me in. Let me make you feel good.”

You were gripping him so tight he nearly lost it right there. Inch by inch, he buried himself until you were full—stuffed—whimpering under him with nails digging into his back.

He started to move. Slow, deep, ruthless.

“You feel that?” he growled into your ear. “That stretch? That’s what it feels like to be owned. This pussy’s mine now. Say it.”

“It’s yours,” you gasped. “Only yours.”

“That’s right.” He slammed into you harder, watching your tits bounce, eyes locked on the tears running down your cheeks. “Look at this sweet face. So pure, so innocent. And now you’re a mess on my cock.”

He reached between you, rubbing your clit again while he fucked you through every moan, every gasp, every sweet cry. You came with a shudder, eyes rolling back, body convulsing around him like your entire world had just snapped.

He wasn’t far behind. With a low growl, he buried himself deep and let go, spilling inside you with a brutal jerk of his hips. Filling you. Marking you. Claiming you.

And when it was over, when you were limp beneath him and panting, eyes glassy and legs shaking, he kissed your temple and whispered, “You’ll never be just a best friend again, baby. You’re mine now. Every sweet, ruined inch of you.”

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

[kiragecko]

The Husband and I just made some really exciting progress in problem solving together, and I wanted to talk about it!

Our eldest, Nq Stickperson, really struggles to clean up or throw stuff away. Our house is filled with piles of papers, some of them a decade old. Old wrappers are hidden under them, and he gets distressed and cries if we try to throw the wrappers out. Our attempts to support him have been really ineffective, and the kid is a teenager now! We're wanting him to be able to be independent some day, no matter how long in the future that is.

Yesterday, Husband and I sat down for date night, and tried to work through the problem. Why weren't we effective? What was stopping us?

Pretty quick, it became obvious we weren't on the same page, but we couldn't figure out why. I kept getting defensive before we had really gotten anywhere. He was getting flustered, and then passive as I got more worked up. We had to keep resetting.

I decided to make my context as clear as possible, and talked to the Husband about I would have needed if I was in my son's place. I would have needed to be told that what was being asked of me was painful and awful. Getting rid of beloved possessions HURTS! I would have needed someone to walk me through how I actually felt then - the constant fear of loss, the stress because there was so much stuff that I could never actually find what I cared about, the distress about never being allowed to bring anything home, because there wasn't room for it. Someone to help me recognize that I'm in pain NOW, and even if the fix will hurt MORE, that pain would end. This pain isn't going to without action. And then comfort and sit with me while I ranted about how much the situation sucked, and CHOOSING pain was a garbage choice, and I hated this.

Then the Husband brought in what he would need. He would have needed someone to walk him through all his stuff and see if he cared about ANY of it. Stuff just shows up in his life, unwanted and in his way. He struggles to organize, or recognize if things can be thrown out. Someone walking him through those executive function tasks is his main need.

And that cleared up what our issue was. The Husband kept starting by talking about how our son's stuff wasn't wanted or valuable. I'd dig in my heels, feeling like our son's emotions weren't being validated. And it would be so early in the discussion, we didn't have anywhere to fall back to!

After realizing this, we were able to stop making it about us, and actually talk about our son.

I tend to give him a lot of support STARTING, because executive dysfunction is real and mean, but almost none for the actual organization and prioritization. "Sorting" and "thinking" are nearly synonymous for me, so I'm not even sure HOW to walk someone through it! That's just ... how thinking works? Just do the thinking thing on the objects? But my son isn't good at organization, and just ends up lost and abandoned by someone who said they cared.

Meanwhile, my husband tries to help our son recognize that he doesn't CARE about this stuff, so he can let it go. But my son does care. A lot. So that doesn't work either.

Eventually, we realized that my Husband could break down organization further than I could, and suggest simpler tasks for me to support our son through. We realized I could get Stickperson to neatly stack his papers. Maybe I could put them in folders after, if he was okay with that.

-

I told my son the plan this morning and he got excited and wanted to do it before school. He choose papers to hand to me and told me what group they went with. (More organization skill than he's shown before!) I made little stacks, and slid the stacks into folders. Then I labelled the folders.

3/4 of the living room sheets dealt with in 5 minutes! He's spent HOURS trying to deal with them, moving them around, crying because he can't let go of anything. I haven't been allowed to touch them because he was afraid I'd throw them out.

Now we have three folders and I can see the floor. All because my Husband and I worked through our own issues enough to actually see our son's.

[vinnyvamppp]

Hii, i wanted to ask for a Death goddess reader, who can never die/wishes to, and some Mark variants who are just obsessed with the smuts that they can have... (No Goggles, Shiesty, Viltrumite, Sinister in special)

It can even be romantic a bit, like she sometimes has to die to be able to live/experience the other day and after her death, she comes back but can't remember so Mark is helping her (in the most twisted way possible because no matter what he does, she always comes back to him).

~🤫

"And Still, You Return."

A/N: See, for some reason… this story had me conflicted. Taking a different approach, I decided to make the variants slightly ooc to match the dark romance feel.

Synopsis: Each time you die, the world begins again. You awaken reborn, stripped of memory but not of sensation. And always, they are waiting for you. Four versions of the same man. Four obsessions. Four lovers who each remember what you’ve forgotten—and will do anything to make your body remember them in return. Warnings: Obsession/Possessive Dynamics, Mutual Power Imbalances, Sexual Addiction, Codependency, Mythological Themes, DubCon, Momemory loss, Smut, and Mild Descriptions of Violence (landscape).

(4) Invincible!Variants x Death Goddess!Reader

Word Count: Sigh... Its a series of characters, ya'll know the routine by now. It's LONG.

They say dying feels like falling asleep. For you, it feels like unraveling silk. There’s no pain—at least not the kind you can name. Just a slow sinking, as if your bones are folding into dust and your skin is being kissed by cold air. Your soul detaches like fabric slipping from a shoulder—gentle, even graceful. Almost arousing, in a way that should terrify you, but never does.

You crave that moment now, more than anything. Envy swells in your chest with each dreadful soul that transcends your domain. Because dying is the only time you feel. The world always dims before you leave it—like someone blowing out candles one by one. And then it happens. The fall. The float. The hush.

And then: light. Heat. Breath.

You wake—always somewhere different. Naked or clothed in ruin. Alone or accompanied by the scent of wine and blood and ash. Your memories are gone, scorched into the ether like burnt pages. But your body is not innocent. It flinches at echoes, trembles under shadows. You’re born again with want trapped in your lungs and bruises you don’t recall earning.

And they find you. Or maybe you find them—drawn like a compass needle to the pulse in the dark that never stops calling you. There are always men. Always him. Versions of a face you almost remember—soft eyes, sharp smiles, hands that tremble with need or violence or both.

And they love you in the only language you still understand. Touch. Their mouths. Their skin. Their hunger. They call you love. Goddess. Mine.  And they remind you how it feels to be wanted. They make you feel real again, if only for the moment you’re beneath them—sweat-slick, gasping, sobbing against lips you do not know but remember somewhere deeper than thought. They say it isn’t love. But you know better. It’s something worse. And something more.

Lenless Mark - You wake on soft sheets. Warmth clings to your bare skin, but you don’t know whose bed this is, or why your thighs ache like you've been opened recently—used, again and again. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you, hunched like he’s been there a while. Watching. When he turns, his eyes are red-rimmed. He looks at you like he’s just seen a ghost crawl back into its body.

“Dude, you’re awake,” he breathes, standing slowly. “Fuck… you’re really here.” You flinch as he reaches for you. You don’t know him. But the way your body tightens—anticipation, heat pooling low—it tells you some part of you does.

His hand touches your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll shatter. Then his mouth follows, soft, warm, trembling. “You don’t remember me. Shit, you never do,” he whispers. “But I remember everything.” He kisses you like it hurts not to. His lips press harder, his breath hitching as he drags you under him, your legs parting out of instinct.

His hands are shaking. He murmurs apologies as he pushes the blankets away, as he kisses down your neck and over your chest, as he runs his tongue over your nipple and lets out a choked noise like he’s about to cry. But he keeps going. Its unusual. A man who gratified by you using him to your will, its left in such a pitiful state. His deep smile lines now tainted through trembling lips.

“I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t—fuck, I just need to feel you again. I need to be inside you. You’ll let me right? Doesn’t matter.” He goes down on you like it’s the last time he’ll ever taste you. Moans into your pussy like it’s sacred, like it’s his, and he never forgot the way you sounded when you came. You gasp, thighs twitching, your hips lifting for more—and he takes it. He drags his tongue over your clit, slow at first, then fast and hungry as your gasps rise. He wants you to come fast. He needs to feel it.

“That’s it, babe—god, you still taste the same. I knew you would. You always do.” You come, legs wrapped around his head, and when he finally pulls back, his face is slick and his cock is already out, flushed and leaking, heavy in his fist.

“You don’t remember me,” he says again, voice cracking, lining himself up. “But you’re still wet for me. You still open up the same.”

He slides inside you slowly, thick and aching. His breath catches, forehead pressed to yours, and for a second, it almost feels like love. Like he could stay here, gentle, and pretend this is enough. But then you moan his name—a name you shouldn’t know—and he loses it.

He fucks you deep. Smooth strokes that grow faster, harder, sloppier. His hands dig into your hips like he’s trying to mold you to him. He whispers nonsense—you’re mine, you always come back, dude I missed you so bad—until it becomes a chant. “Dude, you remember. You do. I can feel it.”

You can’t answer. All you can do is arch and cry out, meeting each thrust with mindless need. There’s something inside you—some echo of recognition—rising with every stroke.

He kisses you again when you come around him, clenching so tight he gasps into your mouth. And when he follows, emptying himself inside you with a hoarse sob and a choked chuckle, he doesn’t pull out. He just holds you. “You’ll forget again,” he murmurs. “But your body never does. It always brings you back to me.”

Hooded Mark – You’re in a hallway now—dim, narrow, red light seeping from under the door at the end. You don’t remember how you got here. But the scent—leather, smoke, expensive cologne—hits you like déjà vu.

You knock once. The door swings open. He’s already smiling. That same cocky tilt of the lips that says I knew you'd come back.  The hood's down this time. He wants you to see him. “There you are,” he purrs. “Took you long enough.”

He steps aside, letting you in like it’s your place. And maybe it is. The room feels... familiar. The way his gaze crawls over you definitely does. “You don’t remember me yet, do you?” he asks, voice low as he circles you. “Good. I like it better this way.”

His fingers hook your waistband, tugging you back against him. You feel the hard press of him, already thick and aching through his slacks. His hand slides under your shirt—palm warm, thumb brushing over a nipple that stiffens immediately. “But your body remembers,” he murmurs against your ear. “It always does.”

He kisses your neck slowly, with practiced precision. Nips the skin. Sucks until you gasp. He knows exactly where to bite to make you moan. Then he spins you around, pins you to the door, and kisses you full on the mouth—wet, deep, tongue fucking you until your knees nearly give.

“Say you want me,” he whispers. You hate that you do. But your hands are already in his hair. Your hips grinding against his thigh. He chuckles. “That’s what I thought.”

He strips you fast—rough fingers, greedy grip. He doesn’t just undress you; he takes the clothes from you. Then he drops to his knees and buries his face between your thighs.

His mouth is ruthless. He licks you in long, hungry strokes, tongue flicking your clit just right, moaning like you’re the one devouring him.He fucks you with his mouth until your thighs shake, until you're grabbing his hood for balance. “Every. Single. Time,” he murmurs against your cunt. “I make you come before I even fuck you.”

And when you do—loud, gasping, face flushed against the door—he rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then pulls you onto his lap on the couch. He unzips, thick cock springing free. You barely get your bearings before he sinks you down onto him.

“Just like that. You remember now, don’t you?” You ride him hard, fast—his hands gripping your hips, guiding every thrust. You feel your climax building again, tight and hot and desperate. “Look at you,” he pants, eyes dark with lust. “You come back, you forget, and I still fuck you the same. You’ll never want anyone else. You can’t. I don’t want anyone else, no, not after this.”

You come around him a second time, your walls fluttering so tight it drags a strangled curse from his throat. He holds you there, buried deep, shuddering as he spills inside you. “Every time you forget me,” he says, panting, “I’ll make you remember this. I’ll make your body choose me. Every fucking time.”

He doesn’t kiss you after. He just pulls your head to his chest, and lets the silence settle.

Viltrumite Mark - You wake to rubble. The air is thick with smoke, ozone, and something deeper—metallic, hot.  You're lying in the wreckage of something that must’ve been a home once. You don’t know who you were here. But the ache in your body is wanting… perhaps familiar as you feel a familiar pull. Your body is humming, twitching with the aftershock of want.

You sit up—and there he is. He lands hard on the scorched earth, his boots cracking stone. He’s still panting, shirt torn down the middle, arms dusted with ash and a trail of crimson that’s not his. His gaze is heavy, but reminiscent of sorrow. “You came back.” He says it like an accusation. Like you owe him for the pain of waiting.

He’s in front of you in seconds, grabbing your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. You flinch—but your body doesn’t pull away. “You don’t remember me, do you?” he growls. “Then let me remind you.” He kisses you with teeth. With tongue. With fury. You gasp as his hand fists in your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your throat.

“You left me again,” he snarls. “You died. Do you know what that does to me?” He lifts you like you weigh nothing, tosses you against the half-collapsed wall, and strips you with a violence that shouldn’t be arousing—but is.

Your nipples harden in the cold air. Your pussy clenches, slick and ready, as if your body knew this was coming. Maybe it did. Maybe it always does. He tears your panties off and drops to his knees, shoving your legs apart like you’re his prize. “Mine,” he mutters, voice shaking. “You’re mine. You were made for me.”

He doesn’t tease. Tongue dragging through your folds, lips sealing over your clit, sucking until your hips jerk, until you scream, until you grind against his face like you’re chasing your own destruction. He doesn’t stop. Not when you beg. Not when your thighs shake. He pins them down and keeps going, licking you until you’re crying his name—his real one, the one you shouldn’t know.

“That’s it,” he grunts, standing up, cock already in his hand, throbbing, flushed. “That’s you. You remember.” He slams into you without warning, it’s deep and brutal. Your back hits the wall, legs locked around him as he fucks you like he’s fighting God. Every thrust is punishment and a plea. He fucks you so hard your breath leaves your lungs. So hard the wall behind you cracks. “This is what brings you back. Not the memories. Not the words. This. My cock inside you. Me making you scream.”

You want to deny it. But your pussy clenches around him. Your body knows. It gives you away.

He doesn’t slow down. His grip bruises. His breath is hot against your ear as he growls every filthy thought he’s had during your absence. “I fucked my hand thinking about you. I wrecked worlds because of you. I killed with your name in my mouth. Just why do you keep leaving me?”

You come hard. The kind of orgasm that shatters you. You scream until your throat goes raw, until your nails rake down his back. And still, he doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it. Then he finishes deep, thick spurts filling you as he throws his head back and cries.

When it’s over, he stays buried inside you.

He kisses your temple—shockingly soft—and breathes against your skin like he’s trying to calm himself. “You forget me every time,” he murmurs. “But I’ll fuck myself into your bones. I’ll live there. And you won’t ever get me out.” Sinister Mark -

This time, you wake in luxury. The bed is massive. The sheets are black silk, cool against your naked skin. The scent in the air is intoxicating—roses and spice and something darker, sharper, like a hint of blood in wine.

You sit up slowly. You’re not alone. He’s already waiting, lounging in a velvet chair by the hearth, wineglass in one hand, watching you like a predator watches prey that’s already been caught. “There she is,” he says smoothly, rising with the grace of a practiced host. He approaches with purpose, his voice low, warm, practiced—each word sliding into your ears like velvet over skin. “You’re beautiful when you forget me,” he says, setting the glass aside. “But I admit, I enjoy the moment when your body begins to remember more.”

He sits beside you, so close, but doesn’t touch you yet. Instead, he studies your face. Your lips. Your throat. “Do you feel it yet? That ache? That empty space I usually fill?” His hand moves then—slow, gloved fingers tracing the line of your jaw. Then your collarbone. Then lower. The gloves come off, one finger at a time.

“I remember the way you came last time,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “How wet you got when I said your name. You screamed for me. You bit me. I’ve practiced… over and over on how to make you feel good for when you return.” He removes the rest of your clothes with elegant hands, peeling the silk from your body like he’s unveiling art. Then he lays you back. And worships you.

His tongue moves over your skin in soft, maddening circles. He kisses the insides of your thighs, trailing slow, hot breath until your hips lift and your hands reach for him. He grins. “Still impatient,” he says, voice like satin over steel. “Good.”

He spreads your legs wider, lowers his mouth, and drinks from you like a god accepting sacrifice. He doesn’t rush. He teases. Licks. Circles your clit with slow, wet passes until your thighs tremble, until you beg, until you gasp his name and he stops.

“There. That’s it,” he says, eye twitching as if to fight tears. “You’re remembering, finally. One moan at a time.” He climbs over you then, and the sheer weight of him makes you gasp. His cock is long, thick, flushed at the tip and he knows it drives you crazy. He drags it slowly through your folds, teasing your entrance until you're whimpering, clawing at his back. “Tell me you want me,” he demands. “Even if you don’t remember why. Even if it’s a lie.” You say it. He slides in, inch by inch, and your back arches, mouth falling open as he fills you perfectly. Painfully slow. He kisses your throat as he moves, hips rolling in smooth, deep strokes, like he’s dancing with your body. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “You belong to me,” he whispers. “Even if you forget every word, every touch—I’ll make your body remember. I will etch myself into you.”

You come with his name on your tongue, a trembling, shattered cry. And he watches you the entire time, eyes locked on yours, like he’s memorizing your face. Only then does he let himself go. Moaning softly, biting your shoulder as he pulses inside you, warm and slow and deliberate.

After, he stays inside you. Lets the silence stretch. Then he kisses your temple and strokes your hair like a lover, not a captor. “Sleep,” he whispers. “Tomorrow, we begin again.”

…

You walk across the room naked, unashamed. You move like you’ve done this before. Because you have. A dozen times. A hundred. More. You return and they wait because they need you.

It's not always in the same place. Not always with the same face. But always them. Or some version of them. Always you—soft and open, forgetting everything they did to you... and letting them do it all again.

You feel them under your skin. In the way your nipples harden at a voice you don’t recognize. In the way your pussy clenches when the air shifts. In the way your heart stutters at the sound of a door opening behind you.

You try to tell yourself it’s not real. That none of this matters if you don’t remember. But something inside you is waking. A flicker. No—more. A fire. Why do they all need to fuck me to prove they knew me? Why does it work?

You fall back into the bed with a sigh and close your eyes. The world is quiet. But you know it won’t be for long. You’ll die again. You always do. But now… now you wonder if you’re dying to feel, or if you’re dying just to see them again.

If this is a curse… Why does it keep making you come?

Note: This is my first time indulging in a more dom leaning Mark, my entire world crumbled and rebuilt while writing this. Its painful to see sub Mark leave but damn I loved how creative this request was. Please let me know if I interpreted this incorrectly, I’ll have it fixed!

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Hyper & Chill | psh

act 41: team building retreat

The company’s annual team-building retreat was something everyone looked forward to—two days at a beach resort filled with games, bonding activities, and a chance to unwind. For you and Sunghoon, though, it was another test of keeping your relationship lowkey while navigating workplace dynamics.

The bus ride to the resort had already been an experience. Sunghoon, ever the early riser, made sure you had everything packed, even slipping some snacks into your bag. But when it came to seating, he had no choice but to sit with his department while you sat with yours. That didn’t stop him from glancing back every now and then to check on you.

Then came the first round of team-building exercises.

Event 1: The Icebreaker Games

The HR team organized some classic icebreaker games to get everyone in high spirits.

First was the Two Truths and a Lie game, where you and Sunghoon both struggled to make sure your answers didn’t give away your relationship.

“So, Y/N, your turn,” one of the HR reps prompted.

You smiled, thinking for a second. “Alright. One, I can play three instruments. Two, I once went bungee jumping. Three, I can’t swim.”

Your teammates pondered, but before they could respond, Sunghoon, sitting a few feet away with his team, muttered under his breath, “You definitely can’t play three instruments.”

You shot him a look, barely holding in a laugh. “Excuse me?”

Realizing what he had just done, he cleared his throat and looked away. “Nothing.”

Someone caught on. “Sunghoon, how do you know that?”

“Lucky guess,” he lied smoothly, taking a sip of his drink.

You shook your head in amusement. That wasn’t the first time he nearly exposed you both.

Event 2: The Tug-of-War Game

After lunch, the company split into teams for a competitive tug-of-war. Sunghoon’s finance department was up against your marketing team.

“Don’t hold back, Lolove,” he teased as you stepped into position on the opposite side.

“Oh, I won’t,” you shot back.

The moment the whistle blew, both teams pulled with all their might. Sunghoon, being annoyingly strong, was leading his side, muscles flexing as he dug his heels into the sand.

“Come on, Y/N!” one of your teammates shouted.

You gritted your teeth, pulling harder. But Sunghoon’s side had more strength, and soon enough, your team lost, sending some of you tumbling into the sand.

Sunghoon immediately rushed over, offering you a hand. “You okay?”

You pouted, brushing sand off your arms. “I was okay before you crushed my team’s hopes and dreams.”

He smirked. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

Your teammates exchanged glances, sensing something but not quite putting it together.

Event 3: The Relay Race (Where It All Began)

Everything had been fine until the HR rep called for a relay race—and paired you with Joon from the sales department.

Sunghoon, who had been relaxed up until then, tensed immediately.

The moment the game began, he kept his eyes trained on you and Joon, arms crossed as he watched you two try to coordinate. The final part of the relay involved balancing a balloon between your backs without using your hands, requiring you and Joon to stand very close.

Too close for Sunghoon’s liking.

Minseok, one of Sunghoon’s colleagues, noticed and smirked. “Hoon, you good?”

Sunghoon’s jaw ticked. “Great.”

“You sure?”

Sunghoon didn’t answer, too busy glaring at how Joon was leaning in to whisper instructions to you.

The game ended with your team winning, and when Joon high-fived you, Sunghoon nearly crushed the water bottle in his hands.

After the Games: The Confrontation

Once everything wrapped up, you walked to the refreshment table to grab a drink, only to feel a familiar presence beside you.

“Lolove,” Sunghoon greeted casually.

You turned, taking in his stiff posture. “Hey! Having fun?”

He ignored your question. “Making new friends, are we?”

You bit your lip, recognizing the possessive glint in his eyes. “Hoon…”

“What?” He took a sip of his drink. “Just asking.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased. “Joon’s just nice.”

“Too nice,” Sunghoon muttered.

“You’re not jealous, are you?”

He scoffed. “No. Just… observing.”

You smirked, leaning in slightly. “You are jealous.”

Sunghoon exhaled sharply before muttering under his breath, “You’re mine.”

Your teasing expression softened, and you squeezed his hand under the table. “Noted, Mr. Park.”

For the rest of the day, Sunghoon made sure to stay close to you, sending pointed looks in Joon’s direction whenever he got too close. And when the event finally wrapped up, he pulled you aside and murmured into your ear,

“Next time, you’re only partnering with me.”

You grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Whatever you say, jealous boy.”

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