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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 2 days ago

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Ludos Imperiales 9

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is a little shorter than usual, I've been sick in bed for a good couple of days and didn't have as much time to write as usual.

Content Warnings: Talk of Depression/Depressive Episodes; Reader Gets Drugged.

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The Trajan Markets are the pinnacle of growth and development in the Capital, a sign the people said that the Gods favored us above all others. No other province grew as ours does. No other nation boasted such booms in business that a five story building need be built for the sole purpose of selling goods. Our streets have become too crowded, markets overflowing with buyers and sellers until the roads clog and the city becomes too rowdy during peak times of the day. There are other Markets in the city of course, but none as grand as Trajan.

None as easy to hide in as Trajan.

I keep my hood pulled up over my face, a full basket in one hand, the other tapping anxiously along the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh. The crowds are heavy, the summer air thick with the smell of sweat and incense and the roasted meat from the food stalls. The heavy din of haggling and bartering makes the pounding of my heart sound far more dull than it had on the crazed dash I’d made to get here. Ditching the Guard to come out had been a challenge; dodging Anise a military feat I think might have made even Cassian proud. Not that Cassian knew I’d left. Or any of my mates for that matter. They would be too recognizable in this crowd; as is I feel like eyes watch my every move. This needs to be quick.

My list of supplies is half scratched off, just a few more pieces of armor and a couple more custom weapons and my mates will be well protected for their next match. I’ve all but thrown myself into the task, as if the extra effort will make the difference in the arena. As if the extra bit of leather might be the very thing that ensures they return to me afterwards.

I try to shake off the pressure driving into my chest like a spike. The Games are tomorrow. I’d chosen Kallias’s Orc for their opponent via a letter--Father hadn’t spoken to me directly since the Council meeting two days ago. I suppose that means Eris has kept his word thus far, but the silence makes time stretch out like a bad dream. I’ve spent nearly every waking moment watching the windows, waiting for the worst to happen.

Abandoning one booth, I move to another, fingers skimming over metal and leather chestpieces alike. All too thin. Too hollow. Orc’s favor axes, they need something that can withstand multiple blows.

The next shop is too flashy. Too many Imperial colors. My stomach turns at the thought of seeing Rhys in Imperial gold.

I dodge a squad of the Praetorian, they’ve been doing routine sweeps through the city more frequently since the parade. Perhaps it’s just Father’s paranoia, but there is a small piece of me that dares to hope that there was some sympathy in the crowd, that someone, somewhere in this damned city felt as horrified as moved to action as I was.

I keep my hood drawn a little lower over my face as I move to the next level. This would be easier if I could have brought them along, no need to constantly double check the scribble of measurements I’d had the tailor make. They could pick what would be most comfortable for themselves, and I’d feel better about sending them off in it, at least they knew what they were doing. But the risk was too great. And worse, I’m a terrible coward.

I haven’t so much as looked at Azriel since the Council Meeting. I’d forced myself to climb into my empty bed and not use the secret tunnels. I’d found anything and everything to keep myself busy the next day. Not because I didn’t want to see him, or any of them, but because I couldn’t bear the waiting. The countdown to the next match had started like a death null in the back of my head. I can’t bring myself to be selfish and sit there with them when there are things within my power to do to save them. It’s not right that I will sit in my cushy booth with a drink while they fight for their lives. I have to give them a fighting chance. I have to do more than last time.

I have to ensure they get back alive. We will have time to work out what we want from each other when this is over. When I can ensure my heart won’t shatter into a million unfixable pieces if something happens.

I give myself a little shake as I skirt past food stalls swarming with several families of Sprites. Trajan, unlike many of the markets on the Square, is full of all sorts of creatures: Trolls and Goblins pull carts of wares down the aisles and up the stairs to the top levels. Pixies and Sprites flit about in the open air, directing traffic. Nephilim with their feathered wings tucked tight shop with Humans and Elves. We are all just shoppers here, none of the Empire’s prejudice to separate us. None of it’s cruelty to turn us on each other. This is how it should be. Tomorrow we will be in the Arena again. The crowds will be different. The atmosphere will be different. It will not be so peaceful.

My next stop is a merchant shop boasting the best armor in the Empire. This will be the third shop with that sign, I don’t have high hopes, but I cannot leave until I’ve searched every shop, exhausted every outlet.

My fingers trace over the plated armor, shaped like scales. The design is well made, but the material… I tap a knuckle against it and hear a dull, hollow echo. Too thin. The next stall, boasts the best greaves and manicas. The extra padding of a sleeve will be useful, and the dark leather, layered like scales would look good on them. I buy three, one for each and add them to my basket before moving on.

A small cart selling ribbons momentarily halts my search, the colors vibrant and blowing softly in the breeze that drifts through the open market windows. I run my fingers over a violet thread, the same shade as Rhys’s eyes.

“That’s a pretty color!” The merchant woman, a human I think, but her ears are tucked under a multicolored head scarf, calls out from the worn stool she sits atop.

If we were normal, I’d braid the ribbon into my hair, boast Rhys’s colors with a bit of black thread for everyone to see. A pang of longing hits me in the chest; we will never be normal people, not while the Empire stands. I’ll go to the Games tomorrow in white and gold to match my Father.

“It is,” my voice shakes as I remove the ribbon from the hook. I shouldn’t. I should be practical. It’s a waist of coin, I can’t wear it anyway. Still…

“We’re having a sale,” the merchant continues. “Three for the price of one!”

The irony makes a laugh bubble out of me. Of course it would be three.

A cobalt one draws my eye next, then a bright red one. Before I can think twice about it, I’ve taken them off the hooks too.

“For anyone special?” She asks as I fish some coins from my purse.

“Of course,” I reply, but I don’t give her any more of an explanation.

The merchant pats my hand affectionately as she passes my change back, a knowing smile on her lips. I tuck the ribbon into the pocket of my cloak that sits over my heart; they’ll be another secret dream, meant for a girl less duty bound as me, but I cannot stop myself from hoping for a chance to one day wear them.

“I hope they bring your lover luck,” the merchant says in farewell.

A shiver of anticipation runs down my spine; they’ll certainly need it.

It had taken hours, but I finally found suitable armor on the fifth floor of the market. Upon sneaking back into the House, I’d left the supplies with the tailor and instructed that she take it to our guests. If the Guard were to ask where she’d gotten it, she’d been instructed to say she’d picked it up in town on her last visit and had just finished adjusting the straps and various ties up until now. A ruse that should be believable and hopefully not be looked into too deeply. I was curious to see what they thought about my decisions, but bringing it in myself felt like it would draw too much attention, so I schemed as best I could and busied myself by going back to the Temple to make some offerings for tomorrow.

I doubt there is enough bronze in the Empire to sway Fortuna, but that doesn’t stop me from offering my sacrifices all the same.

Victoria’s altar gets more than its fair share of bull’s blood and wine; I’ve burned so much incense the warm spice mixture feels like it’s seeping into my skin.

But while my offerings to Luck and Victory may look extreme to the priestesses, they are small in comparison to the blood I spill for the Mother. My nightly prayers have felt feeble and unheard, I remain at the altar far longer than necessary, whispering in Latin for as long as I can before people start asking questions.

By the time I’ve finished, the afternoon heat is settling into a warm evening wind. I gather my spinning thoughts and head to the kitchens to give Cook instructions for our guests' nightly meal. It takes more than a few coins to bribe him into making enough food for a feast and then sending all of it to the guest wing, along with far more deserts than probably necessary.

Everything today has probably been a little more than necessary, truth be told, but I have to do everything in my power to help. I have to tell myself it’s enough. That I’ve exhausted every outlet, covered every angle, left nothing to chance. I won’t sleep tonight as is, but it’ll be worse if I cannot find some way to convince myself that I helped.

I’m so busy directing plates this way and that I don’t even stop to consider that I haven’t eaten today until Anise grabs me by the elbow. With a couple plates in hand, she all but drags me into the triclinium to eat, despite my protest. There is still so much I need to do!

“Sit!” The plate clangs against the table.

The formal dining room has been empty for months. I’ve been eating my meals in my room for one reason or another. She throws open a dust covered curtain with a huff, letting in the last few glimmers of sunlight.

“You’re pale as a fucking spirit!” She hisses at me. Her gnarled hands strike a match and light a few candles along the forlorn tables, her own plate sitting untouched next to me as she fusses over the room.

“Probably high off incense too,” she grumbles.

I place my elbows on the table and brace my face in my hands so I can rub my temples. There’s that stash of mirthroot in my bedside table I’d purchased to trick my Father and I’m tempted to use a little bit of it, just to calm my nerves.

“Do my prayers bother you all of a sudden, Anise?”

She leaves for a moment and returns with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Glaring in my direction, she fills the first glass to the brim and chugs the entire thing before pouring a second, less generous portion into her glass. “Your reasons more so.”

I grab a fork and stab at a piece of roast chicken. “Do we need to do this tonight?”

She pushes a glass my way as she weighs the bottle in hand, debating if her second glass is really full enough to deal with me tonight.

My eyes fix on the door to the kitchens, where the shadows from the other room make it obvious that some of the staff are listening behind the door. This is not the time or the place. My nerves feel absolutely shot. I run my fingers absently over my ribs, where I feel a burst of power flittering around my lungs, like it just might bubble out and spill from my throat.

“You’ve scarcely made yourself available for it any other time,” she snaps.

I sip the wine and tear into a loaf of bread, swirling it around in the red sauce next to my plate, trying to find ways to swallow down my powers before they hurt someone. Or blow out the window. “For months and months you’ve harassed me about never leaving the house and suddenly it’s become a problem?”

She slams her palms down on the table as she lowers herself into the bench seat. “You were drowning!” Her voice is so loud I can hear the staff listening at the door jump back in surprise.

“Do you know what it was like? Watching you get swallowed up by your grief? It was like watching you be hollowed out, turned into this shell that didn’t care if the world around her caught fire. You were empty and broken, a ghost of a person.”

“I know,” I nod, shifting vegetables around on my plate until they turn to mush in the sauce.

“I couldn’t reach you,” her breath stutters out of her and I look away so I don’t see her cry. “Nothing I said worked! Nothing got through to you. Sending you out to watch the Games…”

I use the wine to try and dislodge the lump forming in my throat. She’s the only real family I have left and I know that all this secrecy has hurt her, but I can’t let her in now. She can only know what’s necessary. If something were to happen to her because I’d told her the truth, I’d never forgive myself.

“I knew you hated them. You’d always come back crying as a child. They’re brutal and bloody and…” She pauses to gulp down more wine. “I thought it would wake you up. That seeing all that death might… might convince you that you still wanted to live.”

She’d been right of course, she always is, just not for the same reasons she’d thought. Her actions had pushed me right onto this path; given me a reason to hold on, to fight.

“It did, Anise,” I start.

“Did it?” She cuts in. “Because this looks a Hel of a lot like self-sabotage to me! Do you have any idea what they’re saying about you in the Capital? What the staff whisper about when you leave the room?”

“You’re the one that’s been pouring contraceptive tea down my throat, I think I can guess.”

Her weathered palm hits the table again, rattling the glasses. “This is not a joke! They kill people for rumors like this! They’ve already tried to do so! Doesn’t that bother you, even a little?”

Truth be told, that Raven has felt like the least of my worries these last few days.

My gaze flicks to the partially open door; how many of the staff will report this conversation to my Father? How many will go into town for one reason or another and gossip in the markets over this little spat? I have to be extremely careful about what I say next.

“Of course it does,” I say slowly.

“Then you know what you have to do to make this right.”

“I’m doing everything that has been asked of me-”

“That’s not what I mean!” She hisses, emerald eyes flashing. “Get rid of them!”

The room spins. Candlelight flickering. The window rattles; table bouncing off the floor. It takes far longer than it should for me to realize that it’s my doing. Dark clouds of ether seep from my skin, slithering out from under the soles of my feet like snakes--like Azriel’s shadows.

Anise gapes at me as more and more pours from my skin, filling the room.

Shit! I draw in a shaky breath and hurriedly pull it all back beneath my skin, until there’s not a drop of it left in the room. The bond is a roaring, living thing in my chest, bashing against my rib cage, filling up my lungs with the acrid scent of smoke. I drown it out with another big gulp of wine while Anise gapes at me like I’ve grown a second head. It has never been that bad before.

I swallow hard and push away from the table. “They’re not going anywhere!” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, the growling a deep rumble from within my chest. I rub absently at the spot where the tension feels the greatest, even as I storm from the room.

Anise doesn’t follow, and the staff scatter out of my way as I sweep throw the kitchen in a huff. How dare she demand I send my mates away! They’re mine to protect! Mine to care for!

Mine.

Darkness trails out from behind me like a scarf, billowing and snapping from where it seeps out of my back. The bond will not quiet, will not stop bashing itself against my insides at the mere thought of being separated from them.

I all but sprint down the hall, looking for somewhere to expel all this energy. Now is not the time to lose control! I have too many things to do before the morning to worry about this new found lack of control.

I make it to the safe room, tucked behind a bookshelf in the library, and rip the key that always hangs around my neck off. My hands tremble as more darkness loops round and round my hands. My breath rasps out of me, chest heaving; I can’t get air in fast enough.

By some miracle, I manage to wrangle the key into the lock and force my way inside before I explode entirely. Darkness, empty and cold and unyielding flies in every direction, until there is no longer light in the room. Until there is nothing but shadow. I surrender myself to it; let it fill and empty itself from every orifice until I no longer exist as I am. There is only darkness. Endless void. Nothingness. The room is inlaid with gorsian stone, so that no outside force could feel the power that escapes me. Mother says she built it in case I needed to hide from the outside world, but I have always known the truth: She built it in case she’d needed to hide the outside world from me.

If this is an indication of the sort of possessive intensity I’m capable of, maybe she was right to do so.

I’m not sure I closed the door. Blindly, I reach out a tendril of power and ensure it's sealed before I let myself sink back into the nothingness. Let everything that is dark and ugly and cold pour out of me like water. It feels as if it might never stop coming out of me; more and more flows like the breaking of a damn.

Until I hear an ominous crack.

The sound in the emptiness pulls me back from the edge and I count down from ten to try and reign my power back in.

Another crack follows, the sound like stone crumbling.

I have to blindly find the door to let out the cloud of darkness that fills the room and find a lantern. Once it’s lit, I find myself gaping up at the ceiling, where my power had not only splintered the heavy layer of concrete, but the gorsian stone as well. The greenish metal splinters in the shape of a lightning bolt as the concrete crumbles and falls away from the roof, littering the floor with debris.

“Shit,” I whisper to no one in particular.

I run back out into the library to grab a chair so I can get a hand on the roof and further inspect the damage. It’s a deep cut, about three inches through the gorsian stone. Not all the way through the other side but enough that I can feel the waning power. The stone is built to absorb and hold power, with a crack like that, it releases into the air like vapor. A clean crack all the way through might very well make the whole room as un-warded and unprotected as another other room.

And there’s nobody who can fix it.

I climb down from the chair with a shudder. No one can know about this. The room itself has always been a closely guarded secret, but if anyone were to see what I had done, what I was truly capable of, forget the mating bond damning me, my powers would ensure my head rolled from my shoulders. Power like that cannot exist within the Empire.

I drag the chair out and lock the door behind me. This place will have to remain a tomb; just another secret to add to my ever growing list.

I place the chair back at the proper table and go to turn off the lamp when it hits me. If I can crack this stone, can I do it with all of them?

My fingers trail absently over my throat as the idea mulls around in my head. Could I hone it just enough that I could be capable of cracking, say a collar?

The house is dark and quiet. I’d spent a lot longer there than I‘d thought! I rush through the now quiet kitchen, nothing left but a few dirty dishes for the morning, and slip into the cellar. Maybe this could be the edge I’d prayed for! Maybe Fortuna had accepted my offerings!

I can’t get the secret door open fast enough, my hands shaking again, but this time from excitement. I could save them! If done right, the collar wouldn’t be an issue, they could fight freely.

I should have brought a light with me. I’d be a liar if I said I was a little disappointed that the other end of the tunnel isn’t already open and none of them are waiting for me on the other end, but I guess can’t really fault them. I haven’t exactly given the impression I’d be coming around any time soon.

I fumble for a few minutes to find the lock, pausing briefly to press my ear to the door to listen for signs that it’s even safe for me to do so. None of the vents have picked up any conversation, which is odd now that I think about it. Have they already gone to sleep?

I turn the lock gently. They do need as much rest as they can get, but if I can give them this advantage, maybe this will be the last time in the Pit they ever have to have. Maybe we can turn things around from here. I have to try.

The door groans when it opens, ominous in the stillness. All the lights are off, the curtains drawn so not even a sliver of moonlight can filter through.

Strange…

I tap at the bond. There’s no sounds of Cassian’s snores. And the thing in my chest is… quiet.

I pick my way carefully over to the room they’ve crammed all their beds in. The door is shut, the metal of the handle cold like it hasn’t been touched in awhile. My heartbeat is a clanging drum in my ears as I turn the knob and push the door open.

It feels like an eternity for the hinges to turn, for the room to come into view. My heart plummets into my stomach, every second of the drop a free fall into the depths of an abyss. The room is empty.

Every room is empty. I check each in a panic, tugging incessantly at the bond but there is only quiet.

This can’t be happening!

I was so close! I was going to be able to fix this!

Footsteps sound down the open tunnel and for a moment the swell of hope threatens to overwhelm me. They’re fine. They’re fine. They’re-

Anise appears in the doorway, frowning.

Just like that, my hope deflates. My legs wobble and I have to brace myself against the base of the statue of the Mother. “Anise, where are they?”

She closes the door behind her, emerald eyes shifting around like she expects some great beast to pop out and devour us. “The Guard came.”

Panic sweeps through me like a title wave, so intense my fingers live indents in the metal base of the statue. “What did you do?”

She huffs at me, offended. “I hadn’t decided what I was going to do yet, since you no longer are capable of seeing reason, but…” she shrugs, “the decision was made for me. The Emperor has declared that no sponsored champions should spend the night before a match anywhere but the Arena’s barracks. To ensure no outside tampering with the gladiators, of course.”

The room flips end over end and it’s a fight just to get enough air in my lungs. No! No! No! This can’t be happening!

“They’ll be returned to you, if they win.”

“Anise,” I don’t know what I mean to say, what I mean to beg for. I have to see them! I have to finish what I came here to do!

“This will be good for you,” she insists. “This obsession of yours is unhealthy. You need to start tomorrow with a clear head.”

“I need to see them!” I choke out.

“The morning will come soon enough. It’s best if you put it out of your mind and get some rest.”

Rest? They stole my mates! The statue rattles beneath my hands as my control weans again. I have to get them back! I have to-

Something pricks the back of my neck as Anise comes around the side of me, her weathered hand outstretched.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she says gently. “I told your Mother it would never come to this, that I would never need to use it. You’ve always had such exceptional self-control, even as a child. It seemed silly that she’d had such precautions, but now…”

It feels like flames beneath my skin, fire shooting up my veins, consuming every lick of power it can find. A hand like a vice clamps itself around the beast that lives in my chest and squeezes so tight my knees give out and I fall like a penitent sinner at the base of the altar.

“Anise-” I choke out.

“It’s just a little faebane, to help with the control. It’ll help you sleep.”

NO!

My body curls up on itself as the burning intensifies. She bends, her old knees popping, to pat my head. “I know you don’t believe me, but I am doing this for your own good.”

Tears prick my eyes as they roll down my cheeks. I don’t know if they’re for me, or my mates.

Anise wipes them away, making shushing noises like she used to do when I was a child with a scraped knee. “I promised your Mother I’d never let anything happen to you.” She coos. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Spots swim across my vision and I thrash my head, trying to fight them off, but it’s useless. The faebane continues to course through me like a wildfire, burning all resistance in it’s path until my limbs go limp and the darkness inside me snuffs out. Worse, the bond, fragile as it is, shrivels further, until it is a hollow, empty echo. I can’t even feel them on the other end.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please, make it stop, Anise!”

She strokes her hands through my hair, humming a lullaby she used to sing me to sleep with, as if this is normal. As if I’m still a child too scared of the dark to sleep. The spots that swim across my vision grow bigger and bigger. I can’t move my limbs enough to struggle, can’t even turn my head.

The chill of the tile seeps through my skirts as my erratic breathing starts to calm, heart rate slowing.

“There you go,” she coaxes. “Stop fighting it.”

“Please,” the word sounds garbled; feels strange in my mouth, my tongue not quite forming the letters.

“Sshhh.”

The spots consume me, darkness yet again filling my vision, but this time it pulls me under as I lose the battle against it.

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Chapters 1/2/3/4/5/6/ 7/ 8

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onlyangel4 · 19 hours ago

Text

onlyangel4 1k event - P10. CL16. SMAU.

trope: single parent

pairing: charles leclerc x single mother!reader

faceclaim: vanessa morgan

1k event

scuderiaferrari

liked by y/ninsta, charlesleclerc, lewishamilton and 4,283,029 others

scuderiaferrari: GIVEAWAY ALERT: to celebrate lewis' first season with us we are giving away ten sets of two pit ticket to whatever race you want to attend. to enter comment below with the race you want to go to and who you would take with you.

view all 1,928,230 comments

user1: i would love to take my dad to hungary, he got me into f1 but has never been to arace

user2: my husband is turning 40 this year we would love to go to vegas

user3: my best friend has been begging for silverstone tickets

y/ninsta: i live about half an hour from cota and my son is always begging to go to race, it would be a dream come true.

y/ninsta posted a story

written: what do you mean i get to take jasper to cota this year, he is gonna lose his shit

y/ninsta posted a story

written: just told jasper what we are doing next weekend and now he won't let go off me

y/ninsta posted a story

written: first day of race weekend with my boy and i can not stop smiling, my heart is so full

y/ninsta posted a story

written: yes that is jasper with charles leclerc. no my life is not real.

y/ninsta

liked by charlesleclerc, y/bff, y/brother and 42 others

y/ninsta: jasper's first f1 weekend ft a special guest

view all 18 comments

charlesleclerc: it was lovely meeting you both

y/ninsta: thank you for making sure my son did not get kidnapped

y/brother: you are the luckiest person ever, meanwhile a bird shit on me this morning

y/ninsta: that's lucky

y/bff: jasper is gonna be the coolest kid on the playground

y/ninsta: he already was

y/ninsta posted a story

written: i'm trying to sort my hair out for tonight and jasp is worried about us missing our dinner reservations, when did my boy turn into a little man

charlesleclerc posted a story

ferrarifan posted a story

written: charles spotted in vegas almost two weeks before the race, wonder what he is doing here

y/ninsta posted a story

written: my heart is full

f1wags

liked by user4, user5, user6 and 18,930 others

f1wags: charles has spent the last ten days in the us and in this time he has been spotted with the same girl several times, they have also been accompanied by a young boy who seems to be his girlfriend's son.

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user4: i'm actually happy for him

user5: you really shouldn't be posting pictures of her son

user6: charles drop her name i need to know everything about her rn

cl16updates posted a story

written: charles' rumoured girlfriend in vegas

charlesleclerc posted a story

written: vegas baby

y/ninsta

liked by y/bff, charlesleclerc, y/brother and 47 others

y/ninsta: the best few weeks ever

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charlesleclerc: thank you for letting me in

y/ninsta: thank you for being here

y/brother: does this mean he is going to teach jasper how to drive when its time

y/ninsta: no fucking way

y/bff: so happy for you my love

y/friend: watching people on twitter try and work out who you are is the funniest thing ever

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thequeenofcurses · 3 days ago

Text

Deadly Valentine

story inspired by the above & this art by @sweetlandspos (with permission to post here <3)

summary: ghostface!bf sukuna x f!reader. sukuna doesn't want to wait 'til halloween to try out the new mask kink you told him about tw: CNC, dubcon, mask kink, slight yandere?, dacryphilia, knife play, rough, ghostface, break-in, breeding, sry if I miss something, im so bad at tws. not really proofread words: 4500 (sorry)

masterlist | jjk masterlist

As soon as you got home from work, you knew something was up.

It was eerily quiet. The tv wasn't on and the living room looked as if nobody had touched it.

The house was often filled with some sort of noise and Sukuna always made sure that the tv was always on or he was gaming.

“Kuna, I'm home.”

Nothing.

“Sukuna?!”

Silence.

Maybe he wasn't home? But where would he go?

You checked the whole house and his car was still here, yet no sign of him. Perhaps he went to buy some beer?

You were about to head upstairs until you heard a knock at the door.

Your heart started to beat rapidly in your chest.

Who could that be? Was it Sukuna? No, he would've called you.

You hesitantly opened the door to see a white and black ghost shaped mask staring back at you.

“Er, hello?”

There was no response.

“Can I help you?”

The mask turned his head slowly, and in a raspy voice, he said, “you're so cute.” His voice was distorted by some kind of voice changer.

You scoff. “Thanks, but I have a boyfriend. Now, if you'll excuse me-” You try to close the door, but the masked person wedges their foot in between the door, preventing you from closing it.

“I just have one question.” He doesn't move his foot.

You sigh heavily. “What is it?”

“What's your favorite scary movie?” he asks.

You roll your eyes then put your finger on your chin and tilt your head up cutely while you ponder. “Saw.”

He finally removes his foot and steps away from the door.

“That's a good choice”, he says.

You give him a curt nod and go to shut the door, but before it completely closes, he sticks his head in and whispers, “I'll be seeing you real soon.”

The door slams on his head and he grunts. You hear a chuckle as he walks away and then the sound of his footsteps disappearing.

“What the fuck?”

You quickly lock the door and take off your shoes and jacket, running up the stairs.

“Sukuna!” you shout as you look for him. You check every room possible, making sure the doors and windows are locked, yet the house seems as empty as a church on a weekday.

You breathe steadily trying to calm yourself down. It was probably just one of the neighbors playing a prank. Sukuna should be home soon.

As if he could sense your weariness, your phone beeps with a text from Satoru Gojo.

Gojo: Woman, I'm at the store with this moron Gojo. He rushed me and I ended up forgetting my phone, so I'm borrowing his. Need anything? ~Sukuna

You: I just need you <3

Gojo: can you two not get all mushy on my phone... ~Toru

You shake your head, putting your phone away, and decide to make some popcorn and watch a movie while you wait for him to get home. The second you slide the bag into the microwave you hear another knock at the door that makes you freeze. The store was at least ten minutes away, so there's no way Sukuna could've gotten home so quickly...

You tiptoe to the front door, peeking through the peephole. Nothing. Maybe it was just the wind.

POP! A kernel from the microwave sounds off, jolting your attention back to the kitchen.

This is getting really annoying.

You plop back onto the couch, awaiting your buttery snack to finish it's creation. You surf through the Netflix screen until you find something you like. The screen blackens and the room is pitch black, silent. The only sound coming from the kitchen.

THUMP! You flinch once again, the sound catching you off guard. Okay, what the fuck is going on? It sounded like some thing or some one, had fallen upstairs.

POP! POP! POP! The popcorn cried out for you, signaling it's readiness. You hurriedly take it out and leave the bag on the stove. You quickly open the top kitchen drawer and grab a knife. If someone really is here, I'm going down fighting, you think.

Your phone rings.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

It would be dumb to answer the call. It's so obvious, yet something in your brain compels you to do so.

"H-hello?"

"I told you I would be seeing you again."

"Who the fuck is this?"

"Come upstairs and find out." The call ends, and you're left confused with a heart beating so quickly, you can hear it. You pull up Gojo's contact and hit call.

"We're sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service."

You dial 911.

"We're sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service."

BEEP! Incoming text.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Nice try, sweetie.

Fuck, fuck. FUCK! My phone service isn't working. You pace in the kitchen as your mind racks with a million thoughts. I can't call for help or Sukuna. I just might have to face this guy.

You're not going to go up there.

Don't.

It's a trap.

That's how every dumb bitch in every horror movie dies.

Yet, your feet have a mind of their own, and they softly take you up the stairs. You hold the knife pointed outward as you ascend the stairs to your shared bedroom. Worst case scenario, if that masked person really did break in, you can use those self-defense moves Sukuna taught you and restrain them until the police arrive.

Your heart beats rapidly with every step you take. An advantage you have that the ghost doesn't is you know this house like the back of your hand. There's a secret door in the back of your bedroom closet that also leads to the hallway. You drop to a crawl and quietly sneak through the secret passageway. The ghost will never see you coming.

As you finally reach the door leading to your closet you inaudibly open it, firmly grasping the knob, as to not let its click make any noise. After you go through, you come face to feet with shoes you don’t own. Fuck.

CLAP CLAP CLAP. He’s clapping, he’s fucking clapping.

“Impressive,” he laughs with that distorted voice. “I knew you would try to go this way.”

“Don’t hesitate,” you hear Sukuna’s training voice in your mind. “Strike first. Ask questions when they’re where you want them.”

You do a side kick, aiming for the ghost’s knee. He stumbles backward, out of your closet and you use your bought time to stand to your feet. You rise, kitchen knife in your right hand. You finally size him up and holy fuck, he’s so much bigger than you. He’s at least a whole foot taller. He stares at you, waiting for you to make your next move.

You blink back your thoughts. Focus. You rush at him, aiming to stab him in the shoulder. You swing downward, pump faking, as if you were going for his groin, then at the last second, change directions, slicing him in the shoulder. The slice cuts through the fabric, barely piercing his skin. The knife has the tiniest drop of blood on the tip.

Is this guy insane? You internally deliberate. He didn’t even attempt to move.

“W-why,” you stutter out. “Why didn’t you dodge!?”

He scoffs. “Why would I dodge a meaningless attack like that?” The ghost tilts his head, wagging two fingers at you. Asshole. “Come at me again.”

You don’t rush this time, but wait for an opening. The ghost waves at you, taunting, and that’s when you decide to slice again. When he looks like he’s vulnerable, you aim for his chest this time. You use your body weight to thrust forward and the knife looks like it’s going to connect. Until it doesn’t. The ghost grabs your weaponized arm, then uses his other hand to force you into an armbar. He hooks his left arm over your right one, shifting the weight. He twists your hand backward towards the ground until you’re forced to make a decision.

In this position, you have to either drop the knife or you’ll drop to the ground. Either way, you’re fucked.

You try to hold on, but he’s too strong. He slightly presses down on your hand and it’s enough to make you wince in pain. You let the knife slip out of your fingers and he finally lets go of your hand.

For only a second.

The next moment, he turns you and puts you in a headlock, his left arm under your neck and his right one above your head.

“I told you,” he laughs. “Meaningless.”

“My boyfriend– ” you gasp out. “Is going to kill you.”

“Oh, really?” He lets you go and claps dramatically. The power in your room seems to suddenly go out and you’re both enveloped in darkness. Just outside of your room window you notice flashing lights coming through the crack in the curtains. The ghost pulls them back only for you to see Sukuna to be tied to a chair with strobe lights behind him. Your heart drops to your stomach.

“Please don’t,” your voice is shaky and raspy. You drop to your knees, not sure if the ghost can even see you in this darkness. “Please, please, don’t hurt him.”

As if on cue to torture you further, outside the window Sukuna is stabbed right in front of you. Your eyes well with tears and your breath gets stuck in your throat. Subsequently, the outside lights disappear and you're wrapped in darkness again. The lights in your room seemingly come back on and the ghost is walking back into your room.

“Sorry about your boyfriend,” he laughs. “All those muscles didn't help much.”

“Fuck you!” you spit at him.

“Tch. Good idea.”

“What–” you're cut off by the ghost grabbing you and tossing you onto the bed like you weigh nothing. Your vision is still blurry from the tears that are now streaking down your face, but your legs still work. You kick and kick and kick at him, scratching and clawing into his arms, but to no avail, he tanks it and pushes forward. It isn’t until he straddles you and has your arms pinned above your head, that you start to accept your fate.

The ghost lifts his mask up, ever so slightly, only to bend down and lick your tears. You twist your head away.

“You’re sick,” you snap at him again.

“Your tears are making me so hard,” he admits. You internally wretch and avoid his gaze. Sukuna, I need you. Your thoughts go to the only thing that can ever ground you. Sukuna, please, save me. Although, it was pointless to think that after watching the horror show earlier.

He releases one of your hands, only to guide it to his hardening length under his black robes. He then glides his finger across your lips.

“Open,” he commands.

“Make me,” you refuse, defiance all over your face.

“That can be arranged,” he laughs. Not letting his hold on you go, he grabs the knife off the bedside table. When the hell did he put that there? Was it when the lights went out? The knife slides against your cheek, then tantalizingly slowly down your neck. It hovers above your chest before it’s digging into your shirt. He pulls the knife down, slicing your top in two. But he doesn't stop there. The knife continues its venture, cutting open your bra, then your skirt and panties open.

The ghost tightens his grip on your chin, tilting your head up as the knife drags down your stomach, cold and teasing against your heated skin. Your breath hitches when the tip circles around your navel before trailing lower, stopping just above your pelvis.

“You’re so tense,” he murmurs through the voice changer, pressing the flat of the blade against your hip. “Is that fear? Or something else?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, refusing to respond. His weight pins you down, his body heavy against yours as his free hand slides up your ribs, fingers skimming over the shredded fabric of your shirt.

“Still not talking?” he chuckles, shifting his hips just enough for you to feel the hard outline of his cock pressing against your thigh. “No protests? No begging? Maybe you want this.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss, struggling against his grip.

The ghost tuts, clicking his tongue. “We’ll get there.”

He sets the knife aside, leaving it close enough for you to see its gleaming edge from the corner of your eye. His newly freed hand replaces the cold metal with the warmth of his fingers, ghosting over the curve of your waist, then lower—gripping, teasing, exploring. His touch is rough, calloused palms scraping over your soft skin, but calculated, like he’s memorized every inch of you.

It’s terrifying how well he seems to know your body.

You swallow hard, clenching your fists as his hands travel lower.

“Oh?” he remarks as if he’s made some new discovery. “You’re wet.”

No. Impossible. You would never get wet for anyone aside from your boyfriend. Especially not this monster. He’s probably hideous under that mask.

He slaps you across the face, and you wince in pain. It stings, but you know that wasn’t at all his full strength. The ghost uses this opportunity to force his lips on yours, tilting his mask up once again. His kiss is hard, forceful, and his tongue slips through your parted lips, licking the roof.

You try to push him away with your free hand, but his hand finds its way to your throat, squeezing just hard enough to make it difficult for you to breathe. Your nails dig into his wrist, a futile attempt to make him let go.

He breaks the kiss, smirking. You can feel his breath against your lips, warm and shallow, and it makes your skin crawl.

“Now for the main event,” the ghost whispers. He reaches to remove his cloak, and as he pulls it off, his black undershirt rides up slightly, exposing a glimpse of inked skin beneath.

Your breath stutters.

Your eyes dart to his stomach, tracing the familiar dark lines curling over his abs, trailing up to his ribs–

Tattoos.

Your stomach flips, shock crashing into you like a wave.

No. No, it can’t be.

But as he finally pulls his shirt off completely, standing over you in nothing but those dark pants and that haunting mask, the truth slams into you.

The tattoos. The scars. The physique you’ve memorized with your hands and lips a hundred times over. Your eyes go wide with surprise.

Sukuna.

Your entire body tenses beneath him as the realization hits, and the ghost tilts his head, amused by your sudden change in expression.

“What’s the matter, y/n?” he questions, rubbing his erection through his pants. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He chuckles, and your blood runs cold. You remain silent, still processing everything you’ve just seen.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is still distorted, still playful, but now you can hear it, the underlying smugness that’s so unmistakably him.

You don't reply.

You can't.

You just stare at him, unable to form any coherent thought, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance.

Sukuna removes the rest of his clothes, keeping nothing but that forsaken ghostface mask on. He then climbs on top of you, straddling your waist and pinning your hands above your head once more. His cock brushes against your stomach as he leans over you, the tip slick and glistening, and you realize how wet you are.

This is fucked.

He takes a moment to appreciate the view, his eyes raking over your body, admiring his handiwork. The remains of your clothes are scattered across the bed, barely covering you. Your hair is a mess, sticking to the sides of your face and neck, and your lips are red and swollen from his rough kisses.

Fuck, he loves seeing you like this.

He takes his cock in his hand, giving it a few lazy strokes before rubbing the head along your slit. He teases you, dragging his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick.

With how wet you are, he doesn’t need any lube tonight.

Your breath catches in your throat as he nudges your entrance, the tip of his cock pressing against you. You squirm beneath him, trying to buck your hips away from him, but his weight pins you down, trapping you in place.

His grip on your wrists tightens, and his other hand finds its way to the knife. He raises the blade, pressing the cold metal against your throat.

"Don’t move."

You hold still, terrified of the blade.

Sukuna chuckles, and you shiver, the sound sending a chill down your spine.

He leans closer, the mask grazing your skin. “I'd hate to have to cut you.”

He presses the knife harder against your throat, enough to draw a thin line of blood. You wince, hissing through gritted teeth, and he laughs, a low, rumbling sound that reverberates through his chest.

“There's my girl.”

He eases his hold on your wrists, sliding his hand up your arm, over your shoulder, and to the base of your throat. His fingers wrap around your neck, applying gentle pressure as he guides himself inside.

His cock stretches you, filling you completely, and you cry out, arching your back.

Fuck, it hurts, but it hurts so good.

“So tight,” he groans, his voice muffled through the mask. “I'm gonna make you take it all, princess.”

Your breath comes in shallow gasps, the feeling of his cock filling you taking over your senses. You're so wet, yet his size makes you feel like you're going to rip.

His grip on your neck tightens, and he begins to thrust, fucking you with deep, deliberate strokes.

You cry out, tears streaming down your face, and he picks up the pace, the sound of his hips slapping against yours echoing throughout the room.

“So fucking good,” he growls, his voice strained. “You're such a good little slut for me.”

His words send a jolt of pleasure through you, and you bite your lip, trying to suppress the moan that's threatening to escape.

You hate how much you love this.

“Don't hold back,” he coos, his hand leaving your throat and finding its way to your clit. His fingers rub tight circles over your sensitive bud, and you let out a strangled moan, the pressure building inside you.

You can feel yourself getting close, your walls clenching around him, and his thrusts become erratic, losing their rhythm.

He leans down, his mask brushing against your cheek, and his voice is a low growl in your ear.

“I want you to come for me, princess.”

He presses the knife against your throat again, just enough to remind you of its presence, and that's all it takes to

You come hard, screaming his name, and he follows, emptying himself inside you with a grunt.

His cock pulses, filling you, and the sensation is almost enough to send you into another orgasm.

He pulls out of you slowly, a trail of his cum dripping down your thigh.

“Mm, perfect,” he sighs, running his fingers over your skin.

You lay still, trembling from the aftershocks, and he takes a moment to admire the sight before him. You're a complete mess, covered in sweat and his cum.

Your hair is tangled and your cheeks are stained with tears. Your lips are red and swollen, and the cuts on your throat are still bleeding, the crimson droplets streaking down your neck.

You're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“I could fuck you all day,” he hums, stroking his cock, already half hard again.

He slides his fingers over your slit, collecting his cum on his fingertips.

“And I will,” he purrs, bringing his hand to his lips. He licks his fingers clean, savoring the taste of you mixed with him.

“Mm, sweet” he moans.

You shiver, and he laughs, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You did so good for me, princess.”

He pulls his mask off and his pink hair cascades down, framing his handsome features. He tosses the mask aside, revealing his signature fanged smile.

“How'd you like my little surprise?”

“S-sukuna…”

He smirks. “Yes, baby?”

“I hate you,” you whisper. “You really scared me”

“Keheheh.” He laughs, shaking his head. “No, you don't.”

He pulls you into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and heavy, and the sensation sends shivers down your spine.

“You did so good,” he murmurs, his voice low and raspy.

“Kuna, please...,” you beg.

“Shh, I know, baby,” he says, brushing your hair back and pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I'll take care of you.”

“Should I show you some mercy,” he questions, whispering into your ear. Mercy. The safeword you and Sukuna had agreed upon when you first started dating. You gently shake your head and he nods. If you really wanted this to be over, you could say "mercy" or "red" and everything would stop.

His hands move to the back of your neck, and he gently massages your muscles, his fingers working their magic.

“So tense,” he teases. “Let's fix that.”

You groan, closing your eyes and letting the sensation of his touch wash over you.

You can feel his cock pressing against your thigh, already hard again.

“Such a whore,” he hums, his fingers digging into your skin. “Always ready for my cock.”

You squirm, trying to break free of his grip, but he holds you tight, his grip unrelenting.

“I'm going to fuck you again, princess,” he promises, his voice husky with desire. “I'm going to fuck you until you're screaming my name, begging me to stop.”

"Kuna!"

His fingers grip the back of your neck as he pins you down, his body heavy on top of yours.

You can feel his cock pressing against your ass, and his fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place.

“That's right,” he growls, his lips brushing against your ear. “Scream for me, baby.”

He rubs the tip of his cock up and down your wet slit. The mixture of both of your fluids being the perfect lube. He edges the angry, reddened head against your lower entrance. Once, twice, three times before he finally slams his cock into your ass, filling you completely, and you cry out, his name a broken prayer on your lips.

“Fuck, y/n,” he moans, his voice strained. “So. Fucking. Tight.” He thrusts with each word.

“It– it hurts,” you whimper, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“Shh, I know, baby,” he soothes, his fingers tangling in your hair. He stops his movements in you, studying your face. “Just relax, let me take care of you.”

His grip on your neck loosens, his hand trailing down to your breast. He pinches your nipple, rolling the hardened nub between his fingers, and you moan, arching your back.

His lips brush against your cheek, feather-light kisses tracing along your jawline.

“That's it, baby,” he encourages, his voice husky with desire. “Just feel.”

He starts to move, pulling out slowly, then thrusting back in, burying himself deep inside you. You moan, your eyes rolling back, and he sets a slow, steady pace, his cock filling you completely with every stroke.

“Such a good little slut for me,” he coos, his fingers twisting in your hair. “Taking my cock like a champ.”

“K-kuna, please,” you gasp.

“Shh, I know,” he purrs, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “Let me make you feel good, baby.”

You nod, biting back a sob. He presses his lips to yours, swallowing your cries, and his hands find their way to your breasts, his fingers squeezing and kneading the soft flesh.

You can feel the pressure building inside you, your body humming with anticipation, and you reach for him, your fingers gripping his hair as he pounds into you.

“S-sukuna, I'm–” you can barely get the words out, the feeling of his cock stretching you sending waves of pleasure through you.

“I know, princess,” he groans, his voice a low growl.

With one of his hands, he starts to vigorously rub your clit while his cock still pounds into your ass.

The feeling of his fingers on your clit and his cock filling you is too much, and you scream out, your body trembling as you come undone.

“Sukuna!” you exclaim, your legs shaking.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic.

He leans down, his lips ghosting over yours, and he whispers, “Come for me, y/n.”

With those words, he sends you over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you. You cry out, your nails digging into his back.

“Oh, f-fuck,” he moans, his cock throbbing as he comes, filling you with his hot release.

He collapses on top of you, his body spent, and he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone. The tips of his pink hair tickling your face.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, his breath ragged. “That was incredible.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, your voice hoarse. “It was.”

You both lay there, catching your breath, and enjoying the afterglow of your orgasms.

After a few minutes, he slowly pulls out, and you whimper at the loss, his cum dripping out of your ass and onto the sheets.

“I'm still mad that you scared me,” you pout into his chest. “I really thought someone had hurt you.”

“Keheheh,” he gives you his infamous laugh as a response. “Sorry, princess. It was the only way.”

You look at him, confusion written on your face, urging him to explain.

“I had Yuji throw on my clothes and sit out there,” he explains. “The brat owed me a favor, and since we’re twins, it was the perfect opportunity to trick you.”

“But, the tattoos…” you tilt your head skeptically. “How did you guys?”

“Sharpie,” he simply responds. “That’s why Gojo and I were at the store.”

You think about the plan, how intricate and well executed it was. He must have had this planned for weeks.

It was so perfectly Sukuna.

You sigh. You can't stay mad at him. Besides, it was originally your idea for him to surprise you with your mask and CNC kink. You just never imagined it would happen at the same time.

“Next time,” you warn him, pointing a finger in his face. “I'll be the one surprising you.”

“Keheheh,” his signature laugh reverberates. “I'll be looking forward to it.”

He presses his lips to yours, his kiss gentle and tender. “I love you, y/n,” he whispers. “Happy Valentine's Day.”

"I love you too, Kuna," you murmur back, closing your eyes and letting sleep claim you.

Sukuna smiles, content with his work.

“Sweet dreams, my little princess,” he kisses the top of your head

It was definitely the perfect Valentine's day.

A/N y'all really should check @/sweetlandspos art out! I love her style and everything she draws is soo delicious! 🤤😫

A/N P.S. Sorry I'm late. I wanted to post this TWO WEEKS AGO for Valentine's, but I had bad writer's block and alot of irl stuff interfere. I'm gonna try to post more consistently though <3

dividers by @omi-resources & @cafekitsune

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prettygirl-gabi · 2 days ago

Text

Title: Dancing with a Stranger

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: T (Teen)

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Word Count: ~2.5k

Summary: she’s got you dancing with a stranger and she’s not liking it one bit

🏷️: @yailtsv , @paxaz535 , @sitawita , @authentic-girl03 , @vamptizm

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

The club pulsed with bass, neon lights casting streaks of color across the crowded dance floor. Bodies moved against each other, heat rising in the air like static before a storm. I hadn’t even planned on going out tonight. But sitting alone in my apartment, staring at my phone, waiting for a text from Paige that wasn’t coming? That was unbearable.

So here I was.

With someone else.

A stranger’s hands rested on my waist, pulling me in closer as we swayed to the music. I barely caught his name when he introduced himself, not that it mattered. He was a distraction, a temporary fix for the ache in my chest. My fingers toyed with the rim of my glass before I drained the rest of my drink, the burn of liquor doing little to numb the feeling I was trying to shake.

Paige and I were done.

At least, that’s what she had said.

“I don’t think this is working anymore.”

The words replayed in my mind, cutting deeper every time. I hadn’t even fought her on it. I had too much pride for that, even though every part of me had wanted to beg her to stay. Instead, I had let her go. And now, I was here, dancing with someone who wasn’t her.

The stranger leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “You good?”

I forced a smile, nodding, even though I wasn’t. “Yeah. Just in my head.”

His hands squeezed my waist in reassurance, but it wasn’t comforting. His touch wasn’t right. His body didn’t move like hers. His scent wasn’t the one that used to cling to my hoodie after late-night drives with Paige.

I closed my eyes, trying to let go, to disappear into the music.

But then, my stomach twisted.

A feeling—no, a presence.

I turned my head slightly, and there she was.

Paige.

Standing by the bar, eyes locked on me, her jaw clenched tight.

Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose bun, strands falling around her face. A fitted crop top and jeans hugged her frame, and if I weren’t so bitter, I might have admitted she looked good. Too good.

But her expression?

That was a different story.

She was pissed.

Her grip tightened around the glass in her hand, knuckles white as she watched me. My body tensed, every nerve hyper-aware of the weight of her gaze.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Or maybe, I wasn’t supposed to be here.

Dancing with someone else.

Her lips parted slightly like she was about to say something, but she didn’t move.

Fine. If she wanted to watch, I’d give her a show.

I turned back to the stranger, letting my hands slide up his chest as I leaned in close. I didn’t care about him—I barely even saw him. But I wanted her to see. To feel what I felt when she walked away so easily.

Her chair scraped against the floor, and I knew she was coming before I even looked.

A second later, she was there, grabbing my wrist, yanking me back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I ripped my hand away, heart hammering. “What does it look like?”

Paige’s eyes darkened, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “You’re seriously out here with him?”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

The guy beside me cleared his throat. “Uh, do you two need a minute—”

Paige’s glare shut him up instantly. “Yeah. We do.”

I rolled my eyes, stepping away from both of them. “You don’t get to do this, Paige.”

She followed me as I pushed through the crowd, the heat of her presence burning into my back.

“Do what?” she shot back.

“Act like you care.”

“I do care.”

I whirled on her the second we reached a quieter corner, away from prying eyes. “Then why did you leave?” My voice cracked, and I hated myself for it.

Paige sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I thought it was what you wanted.”

I laughed bitterly. “Bullshit. You made that decision all on your own.”

She exhaled sharply. “I was scared, alright?”

“Of what?”

She hesitated.

“Of us?” I pressed. “Of actually trying? Because you’re really good at running, Paige. Really fucking good at shutting people out when things get real.”

She flinched, guilt flickering in her eyes. “I wasn’t trying to shut you out.”

“Well, congratulations. You did anyway.”

A tense silence settled between us.

The music pulsed in the background, distant, muffled.

Paige took a step closer, voice softer now. “I shouldn’t have left.”

I didn’t move. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

She swallowed hard. “And I sure as hell shouldn’t have let you think I didn’t want you.”

My breath hitched.

Because that was the thing—Paige had always wanted me. But she had never been good at showing it.

She reached out, hesitating for a second before her fingers brushed against mine. “I miss you.”

I closed my eyes. “Paige—”

“I miss everything. Us. You. Your stupid movie nights where you force me to watch rom-coms. The way you steal my hoodies even though you have your own. The way you—” She exhaled shakily, shaking her head. “I miss the way you love me.”

I looked away, blinking back the sting in my eyes. “You don’t get to say that now.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not fair.”

Paige reached for my hand fully this time, lacing her fingers with mine. “I don’t wanna be alone tonight,” she murmured, echoing the song playing in the background.

I sighed, leaning my head back against the wall. “I don’t either.”

Her thumb brushed against my palm, gentle, hesitant. “Come home with me.”

I exhaled sharply. “Paige—”

“I know I don’t deserve it,” she admitted. “I know I fucked up. But let me fix it.”

I studied her, searching her face for any sign of doubt. But all I saw was sincerity.

I wanted to be mad.

I was mad.

But I also wanted her.

Always had.

So, I made a choice.

I sighed, squeezing her hand. “You’re lucky I’m still stupidly in love with you.”

Paige let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

A slow smile spread across her lips as she pulled me closer. “Then let’s get out of here.”

I let her lead me out of the club, the stranger long forgotten.

Because at the end of the day, no matter how hard I tried—

Paige was the only one I ever wanted to dance with.

---

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-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

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ptej1980 · 19 hours ago

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It is like clockwork…

When ever the sub fandoms feel like they are sinking they start rising out of their depths and start trying to troll and convince anyone who will listen that they are right and we are wrong.

What started them on their march and got them cranky….lets see oh yes

And this

JAKOLA…(JECKY)hehehe

This ship to me never left the dock, let’s just say if it did it has well and truly sunk by now. Nic and her friends are loud, whether it be JD dancing in a Pink Cowboy hat, staring lovingly in the eyes at Doug, or the fact that his mates call him twink and princess, the Jakolas still seem to think that they are in love. 🤭 I guess will only believe what tabloid trash tells them from misinterpreted pap pics. It is funny Doug posted the below pic for Jake’s pic with a love heart and no one said it was a hard launch. 😂

ANTLuke 🤮

I can stomach JD as Nic seems to be happy around him and it actually looks like she enjoys his company as a friend. But bug girl is a different story. I have yet to see any real evidence of him being happy in her presence. Through out the whole of last year the games and troll like behaviour with the fandom she did not do herself any favours.

After the SAG awards it was clear the difference in Luke.

There are other pics but you know I don’t like looking at her, but you get the idea. We know she was around most of last year from Feb to June. She came to Premier 1 uninvited, ruined Premier 2 with pap walk. In Milan it was caught on camera that she clearly walks off on Luke when he was struggling and he held Holly’s hand. She seems to walk off on Luke a bit. Look familiar

After the follow by Nic bug 🐜 untagged her last pic on her IG that linked her to Luke and Nic started cleaning up her JD tags.

This week, no this month has been the biggest since the world tour. You will not see Lukolas go to subfandom pages to try and convince them that we are right because we know we are. When you have as many morsels and crumbs as we do there is no doubt.(At least in my mind)

If an Anon ask comes in spreading venom and are proudly Jakola and Antluke on your blog take comfort in the fact that they are just trying to convince themselves. They probably have not to many people left on the sinking ship.

I am excited about what we have seen from our two favourite people and know they are happy.

Remember block out the adjacent support noise.

Oh and as always if you need a fanfic rec let me know. 😉💛🐝

Sail on 🚢

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catsoupki · 2 days ago

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A WARM SHOWER (1.5K)

pairing - katsuki bakugou x reader

synopsis - bakugou spends his off-day at the cemetery until the sky clears.

cw - pro-hero bakugou, side character death, reader has a quirk, female pronouns, hurt/comfort, reuniting

a/n - sorry for disappearing for so long ... :( school has just been an ass but enjoy this ! i'll try to do sth for 420 too !

taglist - @staraxiaa @hatsukeii @cashmoneyyysstuff i miss u guys sm i hope you're doing well

Bakugou’s feet are firmly planted on the moss-covered concrete, he stares at the tiles, worn down by the weather. When he returns to his upright position, there was a brief window of time when the umbrella on his shoulder couldn’t shield him from the rain. His hair whips like sand in the wind, back and forth with force. He looks at the bouquet of flowers he’s laid down, drenched down to the stem, leaves somehow still attached despite everything. Petals of white, pink and yellow stand out like a sore thumb on the muted grave. Sighing, he doesn’t hear his own voice. He lets his mind meander, and, he briefly wonders how sad you are. It’s been raining non-stop for the past three days, grey clouds never letting the sunshine through, not even for a moment.

He looks back at the tombstone, your last name etched onto gravelly stone, an unexplained sense of heaviness seeps into his eyes. He entertains a guilty, fleeting thought— he’s glad your sister is dead. A child shouldn’t die, he knows that more than anyone else, but the selfish part of him, the unheroic side, is glad that you’re alive. It doesn’t matter, not as much, that you aren’t alive with him. But the fact that you’re existing, out there, outside of a coffin, above the ground, doing something mundane, like going to work and washing the dishes, it instils comfort into him like no other.

Sure, he would have rathered that you went to work with him, or that you did the dishes with him, but the fact that you can keeps his feet on the mossy earth.

He’s bowed thrice by now, and he should be lighting the candles in front of your sister’s tomb next, but the rain prevents him from doing so, let alone the howling wind, sending trees swaying, threatening to tumble down.

He looks at the picture of your smiling sister, a person he’s met twice, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing here. It’s Wednesday, and it’s his off-day. Why is he spending the time he gets off the clock here servicing you and your sister?

She was a really quiet child, she never screamed or cried, her voice was always soft. Social anxiety had its grip on her from a young age, almost rendering her unfit for public school, but she insisted on going to the same one that you went to. You’d always tell him about the story of her first day in middle school. He had heard that story many times, but he’d listen to you intently as if it were unheard of.

“She gripped onto my dress until she tore a hole through the fabric, it was my favourite one! But she was so scared. I didn’t know what to do, I couldn’t leave her behind but I was gonna be late to work. I didn’t want her to get bullied for needing her sister to walk her everywhere, so I settled with a deal. I told her that I’d be there first thing when school finished. And I was! I was the first person in line that day, packed like a damn sardine by the parents, I even had to take a half-day off ‘cause school ends so early apparently. But her toothy grin makes it worth it.”

She never made it to her first day of high school, and you stopped talking about that story after she died. Bakugou wishes that he could’ve had more time to spend with your sister, he wishes that he could’ve been around her more, he wishes that he would’ve been known as her uncle.

This longing for something that never was strangles his heart like Tomura had, regret, rue, wishful thinking. He knows that his next day isn’t guaranteed, not when he’s a hero. The people need Him, the nation needs Him, and they outweighed you. A stupid mistake on his part, and if he could rewind time so he’s standing in your studio apartment again, he would have caught your hand and never let go. His quirk isn’t about time, though, instead it’s about leaving destruction in his wake, reducing the things around him to ruins beyond recognition.

He left because he feared for you whenever his name is scorched onto alleyways by villains out for blood, whenever his moniker is used in conjunction with a threat, an ultimatum that if he doesn’t surrender, they’ll find out where his secret lover is and dismember her limb by limb.

He never lets these scum get close to you, your name, or your family. But it was enough for something in him to awaken. Dynamight isn’t known for His trepidatious nature, He was known for always winning; He is victory reincarnated. But Katsuki was too late, the feelings had long been seeded (so the villain did win, after all), it sprouted, took form until the roots ran long and deep into his beliefs. Ugly, green vines wrapped around his spine until he suffocated, until he had to cede his love to you; unwillingly; involuntarily;

In his head, he had begged you to shout at him angrily, to scratch at him with ferocity, and maybe then his own persuasion to leave you behind would have hurt less. It was morning in that studio apartment, a late one, you lounged in sleepwear as he prepared breakfast. You probably noticed his unease but decided he’d come to you eventually. You sat on the couch, crossed legged. Sunlight danced on your face, eyes bright, vehement, under the golden streaks of warmth. He, back then, had stood in the kitchenette, a space obviously not built for him, too large of a torso, too tall a frame. He didn’t care, before, he would’ve bent down until his back ached and soured if it meant cooking for you. He had stood in the shadows, shy of your light.

This conversation never comes easy, but it’s one that is well rehearsed in the confines of your homes, his agency, and over the phone. He always loses, no matter what you say, objective points, arguments, frustration-fuelled statements, he never gets past you when it starts showing on your face. He tried to look away from you, but your stubbornness keeps him losing. He forfeits when your eyebrows begin to scrunch and your lips pout. He loses, every single time.

You thought that this would be no different. Levity evident in your voice as you danced around the topic, but you hadn’t seen what he saw, you hadn’t heard what he heard. Echoes of that nobody’s warning haunt his everyday life, when he showers, when he eats, and when he sleeps.

He won, but for the first time, he was upset. You fought back with all that you had, threw arguments at him that were impossible to dismantle, insistence bleeding through your hoarse voice, he was on the brink of defeat. But He wins, Dynamight wins.

He leaves destruction in his wake.

It’s been raining non-stop for the past three days, grey clouds never letting the sunshine through, not even for a moment. He’s dedicated enough of his time here, servicing a debt that’s unending, so he calls it a day. Sighing, he doesn’t hear his own apology in the rain. With an umbrella on his shoulder and regret at his throat, he’s going to walk away.

“Katsu?”

The black umbrella in his grip turns obsolete as sunlight filters through a cleared, blue sky. Warmth inundates him.

He looks at the discarded bouquet of flowers on the moss-covered tiles, petals of white, pink and yellow standing out like a sore thumb in a sea of muted colours.

He sees you, the edges of your body smudging in the sunlight, blurred floral patterns on your dress, is he crying?

He doesn’t speak, suppressed by the fear that wraps around him like a noose, maybe his voice would scare the ghost of you away.

Your shoes click against the slippery, moist floor. He wants to tell you be careful, don’t get hurt. Thuds ring in the cemetery, trees still dancing as a slight wind blows. You look bright, vehement, in the streaks of golden light. It took you ten seconds, longer than a century, to reach Bakugou. He closes his eyes. It hurts. It hurts. The world is cruel for playing this joke on him. Regret, rue, wishful thinking. With trembling hands, you reach for his skin, tickling the scars that tell a story bigger than you and him. The wrinkle between his brow settles, “you’re here.”

He says, more so to convince himself, “you’re here.” to will itself into reality. The rain that had poured down on him like salvation is replaced by the intangible sunlight that washes over him like penance. He chases after atonement blindly, wildly, perhaps as a form of Sisyphean punishment for the hurt he had dared slain on you. It doesn’t matter, you’d say, because you’re here, now. You exist, beyond tree roots and above grass, in his arms. With your lips on his and your fingers on him, you're here now, bathing in sunlight, shy of rain. You’re vehement in his grasp.

thank you for reading ! i hope you enjoyed it, all interactions appreciated, have a wonderful day <3

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maudie-duan · 13 hours ago

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

Word Count: 16K

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

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

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

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

What was his name?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A mutual shower, no sex?”

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

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

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

…

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

He could tell you were nervous.

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

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

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

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

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

“Still kind of cold.” He lied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m just a shy girl…” you joke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

withering away right before their eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vacations are nice…” you agree.

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

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

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

“Well yes…but that was 18 plus…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” You ask, “Is this not okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you thinking?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s more romantic than you pictured.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god—”

“You’re going to—” you choke out.

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One more time…

He just needs you one last time.

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then terror took way.

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

You knew you couldn’t react.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s right there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I figured it out last night—”

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

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

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

Masterlist<-

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quokkicidal · 3 days ago

Text

L.M. | Husband Material

Genre: Fluff, established relationship

Warnings: None

Pairing: non-idol!Minho x gn!reader

A/N: Not a full on story, just some little blurbs :)

Requests open

Materlist

The kitchen smelled of your favorite breakfast, being cooked by your one and only Minho. He offered to make it because that’s just how he shows his love. Small gestures that build up, and you can’t help but to feel so lucky.

He looked at where you were sitting at the kitchen island and said, “How do you want your eggs?”

“Hmm, scrambled please!”

He just nodded his head and continued cooking. He started humming as he brought your food to you, placing the plate on the table and a kiss on the top of your head. You said thank you and he sat down and ate with you. He was the only person in your life that you could tell everything. He made you feel so safe and you truly cherish all the moments you have together, even the simple ones like these.

———

In the grocery store, Minho pushed the cart. Not because he wanted to, but he knows that if you pushed it you guys would be getting way more than what you needed. “Alright, next on the list is beef.” He said reading from the list you and him worked on together.

“Let’s go to the freezer isle then, and we can pick up some ice cream while we’re over there and we can have a movie night!” Minho smiled at your enthusiasm for movie nights and ice cream. It’s one of his favorite nights because you guys cuddle and make fun of movies together. One time you were watching Benji and Minho was trying his hardest not to cry, but there’s just something about animals in a sad setting that really pull at his heart stings. Of course you were crying too, who wouldn’t. But every time you bring it up to tease him, he always says, “You were crying more than I was!” When in reality he cried harder than you.

———

If you’re having a bad day at work, he’ll make sure to run you a bath before you get home. Filled with your favorite bath soap and your favorite candle lit on the counter. Despite what his friends see, he truly is a romantic at heart. Acts of service is definitely his love language. Before you get out of the bth, he’s already handing you a towel he previously tossed in the dryer to warm it up. He truly treats you like you’re a queen. You Al’s do the same for him, but in a different way. If you wake up before him, you make sure to make breakfast for the both of you and you iron his clothes if he has to dress formal. You know it’s not needed but he appreciates the crisp fold of a white button up.

———

Date nights are always looked forward to between you two. Whether you’re just going out to lunch, or you’re going to a full on five star restaurant. You tell him that he doesn’t need to do all this, but he’s planning something. As you both finish your dinner you share a dessert, which he lets you choose, he makes small talk. To be honest, he’s a bit nervous. He feels so safe around you, enough to let his guard down. When you first met him, you never would’ve expected being one of the few people that he lets in his bubble, but you are so happy that it ended up this way. The waiter eventually comes back to the table, and asks you guys to come with him. The waiter led you both to a back secluded garden area, which was absolutely beautiful. It was covered with flowers and even had a fountain. You stop by the fountain marveling at the work, and beside you, Minho gets down on one knee. As you turn, you couldn’t help but to start tearing up. “Oh my god, is this what I think it is?”

He nervously smiled, “Only if your answer is yes?” You couldn’t believe it, “These past three years have been the best three years I could have asked for. You truly are someone so special to me and i wouldn’t want to live the rest of my life if you weren’t by my side, will you marry me?”

By this time, you are full on waterworks, “Yes yes yes, of course I’ll marry you!” He put the ring on your finger and hugged you like it would be the last time he saw you. Through tears he says, “I love you, i love you so much.”

You laugh and say, “I love you too, and I always will.”

#skz masterlist #skz imagines #skz fanfic #skz x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho #lee minho x reader #skz hyung line #skz fluff #skz #stray kids #stray kids minho #fluff #kpop

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 day ago

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lessons in anatomy XIV

a yandere art professor John Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge. If you haven't seen the movie that's ok, I will fill in the gaps as we go...) warnings: dark adult themes, violence, sex, drugs, yandere shit. plz don't read if u can't handle it ->chapter map

XIV.

-He lives in one of those stately old homes in the heart of the city, built for the wealthy in the turn of the last century. Its three darkly painted stories tower over the street, one in a line of several down the block. The house is beautiful, but slightly crumbling, like a woman who is aging with grace, wry about her well-earned cracks and wrinkles.

You love it before you’ve even set foot through the front door.

As soon as his key touches the lock you are greeted with a cacophony inside; a deep woof and a higher pitched bark that surprises you. You don’t know why, but you didn’t picture John Wick as a person with pets.

“Brace yourself,” he warns, before two very friendly fur babies have you surrounded. A beautiful blue pitbull sniffs you and leans on you, and an adorable little beagle jumps up on your leg for attention from The New Person.

You don’t know how it’s possible, but the weight you’ve been carrying around for nearly two weeks just seems to evaporate off your shoulders. You could cry, but you crouch down to say hello instead, getting doggy kisses from both sides. The beagle pounces into your lap, knocking you over. “Daisy…” John admonishes, though the smirk he wears belays any real disapproval.

“Ok. I’m healed,” you say, seated on your butt on the hardwood floor in the foyer with the dogs around you. This wins you a deep chuckle you’ve never heard the likes of from this severe man before.

“I thought they might put the sparkle back in your eye.”

You look at each other from this uneven vantage, and a warmth kindles in your belly that is made of something more than lust. You should feel ridiculous–you should be mapping your escape path and preparing to run–but somehow…you are just content.

“Come on, y/n.” He offers you a hand up from the floor, and after he pulls you to your feet with one of those impossibly strong hands, he doesn’t let go of you until you get to the kitchen.

-John Wick sits you down at the island, and doesn’t let you lift a finger as he warms soup and makes you both grilled cheese sandwiches with gruyere and aged cheddar on rosemary bread. Its decadent and wonderful and he looks at you from across the table with such warmth that you dare lean into the feeling that maybe everything will be alright.

Foolish, you know, but you need it right now.

Let reality come crashing in later. Sharing this meal with your boss in his dark kitchen, his adorable dogs both laid out at your feet…is too perfect to be true. You find its easy to talk to him like this. It feels like he’s surprisingly open with you, indulging your curious questions. You ask him about his house, the art on the walls, his travels, his choice in pets. He tells you that Daisy was a gift from his wife the night of her funeral. “She saved my life,” he admits, reaching down to scratch her soft ears. You’re not sure if he means Helen, or the dog.

Both, perhaps.

“What about Dog?”

“I sort of…stole him, from a kill shelter back in New York.” He says this with a neutral expression, save the lift of one eyebrow.

Your eyes widen at this. “A kill shelter? But he’s so sweet?”

“I doubt he ever hurt anyone. Just…overcrowding, I think.”

“He’s a lucky boy. That was brave of you.” Like he knows you’re talking about him, Dog sits up to put his block of a head in your lap. Or maybe he knows you’re down to your last bite of grilled cheese… It’s possible you slip it to him under the table.

John shrugs at your comment, pretending not to see this bit of dog-spoiling happening right under his nose. “I was just…in the right place, at the right time.” He doesn’t offer more, and you don’t push. As if you needed more reasons to go weak in the head for this man…

You continue to talk long after your bowls are empty. When he offers to pour you a glass of wine you don't say no. One might think you'd be leery of alcohol after your misadventure, but you decide you trust John. The vintage he chooses is a Chilean Cabernet that you find is the perfect end to this unexpectedly pleasant evening.

Your feet bump his under the table, his long legs curled up in the breakfast nook sized space. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he tells you with a soft smile, resting his big foot over yours with a playful smirk. It makes your treacherous heart flutter, and you decide you like this side of John Wick. You find you're still not sure if he's flirting with you, or just being kind. Either way…you are content.

When the conversation lulls you reach out to take his bowl to the sink, but he waves you off. “I’ve got it, y/n. Relax.”

You sigh, but do as you’re told.

“Can I use your restroom?”

“It’s down the hall, to the right.”

“Thanks.”

You wander to find it, looking around as you go. The house is all darkly stained woodwork and paneling a la the Victorian age. John has filled many of the blank spaces with pieces of art, some you recognize as his, but plenty of others too. You know to worry if an artist only hangs his own work in his home, a sure sign of egotism that is in no short supply in this world.

You find the bathroom and do your business. The fixtures are charmingly antiquated, and you’re certain that somewhere in this house there must be a clawfoot tub. When you exit a half-cracked doorway at the end of the hall catches your attention. You can see the outline of an easel, maybe a canvas or a sketch tablet.

Is it his studio?

You’re so curious you don’t even think to stop your feet that start to make their way down the hall. You hear John still in the kitchen, clinking the dishes, scraping the soup pan.

You’ll just…peek.

You know you shouldn’t, but it’s like something outside of your body draws you into the room. You flip the light, and slowly step inside.

It's a large space, tall ceilings and a bank of windows that take up the whole back wall. In the daytime this room will be flooded with light, and a view of the backyard. Now, it is a wall of black, save the glow of distant street lights.

The contents of the other walls take your breath away.

Drawings. Paintings. Sketches and full studies. Half portraits and full body compositions. From forward and behind, close-up and afar.

They’re all of you.

You slowly spin in a circle as you look around, holding your breath, your hands upon your heart. The sheer amount of work on the walls is staggering.

This is obsession materialized in charcoal and ink and oil.

“This is awkward.”

With a gasp you turn to find John’s tall, dark form filling the doorway, blocking your exit.

You are fucked.

TBC...

___

->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #matt x reader #professor wick AU #yandere john wick #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #rivers edge

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s0urw00lf · 2 days ago

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It cuts me

Summary: You knew that what you and Sam have will never be what it was, and as deep as it cuts you, you cant bring yourself to stop it.

Warnings: one sided feelings (not really), fwb,

An: this is my first semi smut. Leave me alone. I considers making this angsty af but I’ve written so much angst here lately I need a good love story.

Not proofread

His breath is hot against your neck and the touch of his hands against the skin of your stomach was fiery hot.

He was so close you could feel his heart beat against your back. You closed your eyes savoring the moment. The touch of his lips against your neck ignited something within you. A want need for him.

“Sam please” you whispered desperately “need you”. He turned you in his grasp “I know baby just hold on let me savor you” he whispers back before he pressed his lips to yours, pushing you back by your hips but keeping you close.

The back of your knees hit the bed and you fell back, Sam followed landing softly on top of you. His breath fanned against your face as he brushed his thumb over your cheek looking at you with soft half lidded eyes. if you hadn’t been through this routine ten times over you’d say he looked in love with you.

He brushed his fingers over your stomach, pulling your shirt up and over your head as he went. You let out a breath arching up into him as he kissed all over you. From your neck all the way down south. Each kiss like a needle into your heart but you don’t care. You need him.

Your fingers rake through his hair as you lead him back up toward your face. Pulling him in for a soft, passionate kiss. You pushed him away and onto his back and you positioned yourself on his lap. His bulge presses against your cunt perfectly and you let out a soft quiet moan.

“So pretty baby, my pretty girl” Sam whispered to you trailing his fingers up your back. Your heart soared at his words ‘my pretty girl’ his girl. That’s all you wanted to be was his. But deep down you knew it’d never happen.

“You’re wearing too much Sammy this is unfair” you murmur against his lips. Sam gives you a small chuckle before leaning away to pull off his shirt. The sight of him shirtless alone sent you reeling “god sam” you groaned when he pulled you back into a kiss.

His hand slithered under your bra and squire your breast making you moan into his mouth.

His hands started to fumble with the zipper of your pants before hi flipped the two of you over “lift your hips honey” he demanded breathlessly. You did as he said lifting your hips so he could pull your pants off, fingers running against your legs covering your body with goosebumps.

Sam touched you with such gentleness it almost blurred the lines between what you were and what you wanted to be. He never made you feel like you were being exposed right in front of his very eyes.

He groaned eyes rolling back “god honey, you’re gonna kill me” he says before crawling back overtop of you. You giggle “what a way to go huh?”

Sam chuckles, kissing your neck, slowly moving down to your breasts. You let out a shuddery breath at the sight of him worshipping you. Somehow your heart felt so full and empty at the same time.

Sam was dangerous and you knew it. He didn’t get attached much like the other two winchesters he grew up along side. Every bone in your body told you that it was wrong.

That one day you’d hate him and yourself even more, but the way he touched you, the way he looked at you, even the way he talked to you. You craved it. You craved him. Like an addict craves drugs.

You couldn’t stay away.

His hands knew just where to touch to have your body into him. “Yes sam right there- please” you speed out words as his fingers assaulted your cunt. “That good honey?” He asked curving his fingers into you while his thumb rubbed your clit.

You nodded, eyes closed in pure bliss, “talk to me baby, use your words” he demanded gently. You let out a breath you’d been holding and finally opened your eyes “yes, yes fuck s’good”

The satisfied look on Sam’s face made the feeling in your stomach tighten, Sam knew your were close “stop stop please” you said.

Immediately Sam stopped, removing his fingers from inside of you with a worried look, making your panties snap against your skin “Did I hurt you?” He asked urgently. You shook your head “no, no you’re perfect I just want to cum with you” you said.

Sam looked relieved and turned on by what you’d said and it reminded you again of why your couldn’t stop.

Because every clothing item removed by his hands, and every thrust into you reminded you of how much you burned for him. And if this was the most you could get from him then it’d have to be enough for now.

“Fuck, you’re so tight honey” he panted caressing your face, you hadn’t even noticed in your blissed out state. “Squeezin me so good- fuck”

You moaned grabbing the back of his neck bringing him closer, feeling that familiar feeling bubble in your stomach, the one so intense only he could bring it. “Sam- fuck Sam I’m gonna cum” you moaned.

He groaned feeling you flutter around him “me too, s’okay honey, cum on my cock. Please let me feel you.” He begged. That was all you needed to hear, the feeling in your stomach snapped, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your body. Sam followed close behind, filling you up with his seed. Groaning into your neck, you felt his body spasming above you.

After your release passed Sam pulled out of you, giving you the biggest smile that you couldn’t help but return. “That… never gets old” he said plopping down next to you. You huff out a laugh “no, it doesn’t.”

The two of you go silent. Both having unspoken feelings underlying. You were falling in love with him. You fell more every time you ended up in his bed. You knew he didn’t feel the same but that’s why it had to stop.

It has to stop.

“I think we should stop… this.” You say without thinking. Sam looks at you, but you don’t look back. You can already imagine his kicked puppy expression that’d have your resolve breaking immediately.

You sat up grabbing your bra and clipped it back on, not feeling like this was a conversation that needed to be had completely naked.

“What- why?” He asks, voice laced with confusion. One thing you always prided yourself for was your honesty, and so did Sam that’s why you didn’t sugarcoat your answer. “Because I’m falling for you Sam. Hard. And the longer we do this the harder it’s gonna be for me to let go.” You say.

You didn’t see but Sam stared at the back of your head, smile slowly growing in his face, you only turned when you heard him laugh. His laughing figure made you want to melt into the floor. You thought about this conversation a lot, and never imagined sam would laugh at you admitting to falling for him.

You frowned “are you… are you laughing at me?” You asked very offended. You scoffed turning to look for your panties that Sam had thrown wherever “I mean I knew it was pathetic but laughing? That’s a dick move”

Sam quickly stopped laughing rushing towards you, grabbing your shoulders to turn to towards him. “No baby, I’m not laughing at you… Well I am but not because of that.” He assured you.

You looked confused “then why?” Sam sighed “I’m laughing because I thought I was being obvious. I call you honey during sex. You think that’s just something I do for fun?” He asked, smiling widely.

Your heart dropped “wait, you mean? You like me too?” “Love” he corrected “I love you too. And yes I do mean that.”

In that moment you felt like you were breathing for the first time. A giddy smile spread on your face that made Sam’s heart flutter, you’re so beautiful to him and he doesn’t understand how you didn’t know.

He kissed you again. Just like he had been doing before but this one was more firm, almost as if he was proving his point. He pulled away “we can continue this later, let me clean you up hmm?” He asked softly.

You nodded in agreement. Not even sure if this was real. But it was, and you would savor every moment you get to spend with him being yours, because he just means that much to you.

Tags: @fandom-princess-forevermore @accoochtrement

Sam Winchester masterlist

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oneforthemunny · 17 hours ago

Note

you mentioned rockstar eddie watching her have their babies and still being obsessed ofc, and i’m wondering how janitor eddie would be, esp if she was feeling self conscious

so here's my thoughts on this, because i love janitor!eddie from the bottom of my heart, but... he's a little ball of anxiety and sometimes it makes the situation soooo much worse. like he gets in his own head, and stays in his own head, won't tell you what's going on just starts acting weird, so you think it's you and in reality, he's just in need of prozac lmao.

since oliver was adopted, there was no "down period" ya know? if anything, i think watching you be a mom to him and be sweet to him and kind and loving, it made eddie even fucking more insatiable than before in the most love sicken devoted way.

after you gave birth to olivia, it was different. through the pregnancy, he'd already been a little nervous with you. there's a full blurb about it, where he's nervous to touch you because he doesn't want to hurt you. bless him, there's not a lot out there at the time (early 90s) about having sex and being pregnant lol. so he's just scared. better to stay hands off than hurt you. which in the blurb, doesn't last because once you tell him you want to and it's ok, he's actually feral.

but after olivia, the doctor tells the usual, no sex for this six weeks or it can hurt you. eddie, ofc, asked a million questions about every single thing (turned a thirty minute visit into an hour and a half), but specifically about what could happen, how would you know if you're healed, what did they do to verify that everything was good, was there a test- like a million questions.

six weeks turns into eight, and it's really not too bad because you're both exhausted and literally collapse into each other. but around ten weeks, the routine is becoming more normal, olivia's sleeping through the night, you both feel like you can catch your breath, but eddie's still so distant with sex? like everything else is so good, but if you try to initiate, kiss him a little deeper, make yourself into the little spoon and back your ass up on him, he stills and shuts it down.

by eleven weeks, you're frustrated. by twelve, almost three months, you're hurt. wayne kept the kids for the night, wanted to give you two some alone time and wanted to spend time with his grandbabies, and you think it's perfect. you're about to go back to work, and it seems like a good time to "break the seal" so to say.

you have a dinner at home, he cooked, wined and dined you, is so so soooo fucking sweet and lovey. you're on the couch, watching a movie, but really making out like you used to. you can feel him, feel him getting hard, and when you try to make a move, he starts like panicking. apologizing, and trying to hide it.

"fuck, i-i'm sorry. i don't, just gimme a second, an-and i'll-"

"-so do you just think i'm disgusting now?" tears in your eyes, you're beyond hurt. you'd heard so many stories about men who saw their wives give birth and didn't want to have sex anymore, deemed them gross, but you never in a million years though eddie- your sweet, kind, perfect eddie would be one of them.

eddie is on the brink of an anxiety attack, because ???? why would you think that? you're the prettiest, most beautiful girl in the world to him, and he tells you so.

"then why... why are you not wanting to have sex?" you blubber around your tears. hormones still wild even after, emotional from the hurt too.

"i know you're hard. i can see it." you point to his crotch, his semi still prominent. "so it's me."

"no, no. what? no." eddie thinks he might throw up, head spinning so fast. "it-it's not you-"

"-yes it is! why else wouldn't you want to? it's because i had a baby, and-and you think-"

"-don't." eddie's throat is tight, swallowing his heart. "it's- i- i just- i don't want to hurt you."

"hurt me? you are hurting me. you're hurting my feelings because you won't even touch me."

eddie does nearly throw up, swallows bile and it's like his world is turned up side down. he was so fucking scared, petrified, of having sex with you after and accidentally ripping something. that maybe you weren't healed, that the doctor made a mistake, and he'd fuck you and cause you to like, internally bleed and die or something insane. or that he'd just hurt you, that it would hurt and he'd hear you in pain, and he'd never forgive himself.

you'd just given him everything he ever wanted, made the ultimate sacrifice out of love, and he would not- could not hurt you over that. if he did, he'd genuinely be unable to live with himself.

after he finally just tells you that, instead of being so fucking weird, you calm him down. tell him it doesn't hurt, that you'd let him know if it did.

"just... just use your fingers first. and if it hurts, we can stop and i'll go to the emergency room. i promise. you won't hurt me." you tell him, gently cupping his cheek.

and really, it didn't take much convincing after he finally spilled what had been eating at his mind, once you soothed him. i mean, he had also been in agony. every time you'd take off your top or bend over to pick up a toy, he'd have to run to the bathroom because he was so fucking hard.

it was never unattraction, it was genuinely just his own mind and anxieties and spiraling.

#oneforthemunny #munnytalks #janitor!eddie munson

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cellophaine · 1 day ago

Text

Chapter I: En Avant

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff.

Word Count: 5.2k

Author's Note: The first chapter is finally here!! I'm very excited to bring this new series to you. It's what I've been thinking about for a few months now. It came to me while I was still working on A Languor Spell, and now I can give it my full attention. Thank you for your patience! I hope you will enjoy the first chapter!

P/S: This is my first time writing in present tense, so if there's any mistake please let me know so I can fix it!

Disclaimer: I'm not a professional ballet dancer. I'm an adult beginner, and I've been taking classes consistently for over a year now. I just want to say that the series isn't written with the experience of a professional ballerina, but with my love for the art and the extensive research that I've done and will continue to do. I don't choose to write the Reader as a ballerina because of the aesthetic, but because I think there are so many things to explore in the original story that I've come up with, with the Reader being in the industry.

GIF Source: @/petertingle-yipyip

There has always been an emptiness residing within the frame of your body. In the absence of your old life, it has grown expeditiously. It carves into your body and makes a home in the forefront of your mind. On worse days, you feel as if anyone can see at first glance, how incomplete of a person you are. On better days, like today, you can hide it well, even from your closest friend. But right now, sitting in a dimly lit bar across from the friend you have known since you moved to this city at 18, you feel the person you're supposed to be has taken your anatomy apart. You're disembodied, scattered, and fractional.

Jo notices your silence and reaches over the table, laying her hand atop yours.

“Have you thought about my offer?”

Jo’s proposal. How can you not think about it? It has never left your mind ever since she mentioned it. Her newly acquired gym could be a place for you to get back to dancing in complete privacy. And you won’t have to pay a dime.

“I spruced up the place a little bit and will be adding more equipment. I can get whatever you need so it can be a proper space for you to practice.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Jo casts a sympathetic look at you, her voice careful.

“How’s your foot?”

You flex and point the right foot under the table, recalling the phantom pain that was your consistent companion for the most part of last year.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Are you still seeing Amy?”

“Of course. She’d bite my head off if I missed our appointment.”

You share a knowing chuckle, knowing Amy's personality. You know her through Jo, and they dated briefly in college. The two stayed friends afterward. After leaving Lady Liberty Ballet Theatre, your physical health was left to your own management. Your gaps of knowledge were filled in by Amy, a physical therapist who stepped in and offered her help voluntarily when Jo mentioned your situation. You still meet biweekly at her practice in Harlem, and the three of you hang out from time to time.

“Come to my gym.”

She hastily continues once she sees the decline perches on your pressed lips.

“It’s free.”

“I don’t want to be a bother. You’ll have to get a barre, and the flooring might not be suitable–“

“I don’t care about the cost. I just want to do this for you. Let someone do a nice thing for you every once in a while.”

You meet her eyes, resisting her act of kindness with silence. You know how to pick your battles, and this is the one you have lost from the start, judging by Jo's stern gaze. You sigh.

“I’ll think about it.”

A victory smile graces her lips.

“That’s all I’m asking.”

Jo leans into the table, her hand reaching for yours.

“I want to see you dance on the stage again. You’re a beautiful ballerina, and I know this is not the end for you.”

You know she means well, but her words feel like claws, sinking their sharp ends into your heart. You haven't danced since the injury, and a part of you knows that you might never dance as well as you once did. The best version of you had lived that life to its fullest potential, the life of endless classes and rehearsals, soldout shows, ending many nights and seasons to the deafening cheers from the audience. Your current self is only a shadow, living a partial existence and mourning the past as time passes and your grasp on it weakens.

You want the endless optimism Jo seems to possess. She’s always so assertive in everything she does. From her university days pursuing a bachelor's degree in sports science to her boxing competition days to buying a gym, she has a sense of self-assurance that carries her throughout the years you've known her ever since you became roommates when you first moved to New York. And you admire that about her endlessly. Her goals might vary, but her passion for them never wavers. Her faith in you seems to share the same sentiment.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, hoping your face doesn't betray your true thoughts. Jo squeezes your hand and lets go. She checks her wristwatch, and with a silent glance, you understand that she has to leave. Jo meets you as you stand up from your side of the booth, drawing you into a crushing hug.

“Will you be okay here?”

She pulls back. You smile and pat her shoulder.

“I’ll be fine. Just want to finish my drink.”

She takes a step backward as she waves.

“Good luck tomorrow!”

You raise your hand in response and watch her tall and brawny frame vanish through the door. You drop your arm, but you don't sit down. Taking a discreet glance at the bar, your heart rate spikes ever so slightly at the sight of the stranger you noticed earlier when you bought the drinks.

As you waited for your drinks, he came in and settled for a spot at the bar. The lady whose name you learned earlier, Josie, greeted him, asking where his friends were, so you assumed he was a regular. He was good-looking, you admitted before finding yourself staring at him. You averted your gaze, but couldn't help taking in other details. The folded cane rested on the bar top as Josie slid a glass of amber liquid in front of him. The scarred knuckles as he brought it to his lush lips. The suit was pristine for the most part except for the minimal wrinkles from the day's wear and the loosened tie. The red-tinted glasses perched on his pronounced nose, under the tousled sweep of dark hair. The soft smile brightened his handsome face as the other bartender told him something, which you had to tear your eyes away from when Josie placed the drinks in front of you. You thanked her and headed back to your table, feeling a touch of disappointment in your throat.

There is no denying that you want to approach him. But your nerves intervene with all the questions. What if he rejected you? What if he thought you were a creep for approaching him? What if he just wanted to be left alone? He has been sitting by the bar by himself ever since he came in, you notice. You'd ask if you could join him, and possibly buy him a drink if he was up for it. If he said no, that'd be fine. You would respect his wish and leave him alone. You have a feeling you'd regret it if you didn't at least try.

You gulp down your drink for a little liquid courage and make your way over to the bar. Your heart rate accelerates the closer you get to him, but you are determined to get over the little hurdle. You stop within a conversational distance and use your best composed voice.

“Hey, may I join you?”

He turns in his seat and gives you a friendly smile.

“Of course not. Please do.”

The high chair is a comfortable and respectful distance away from his, but still close enough for a private conversation. The stranger has angled his body toward you, and his openness eases the knot in your stomach. At this distance, you can see that he is even more handsome up close. Heat seeps into your cheeks at the full comprehension of his handsomeness up close. The neon signs around help shape the shadows and highlights that are already there in his features. The strong jawline and defined nose blend in harmony with the soft hair and luscious lips. You find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from his moving lips, and only a brief moment later you realize he has asked for your name.

You tell him and laugh nervously, blaming the lively ambience around you. He humours you with a chuckle of his own and reciprocates.

"Matt. Nice to meet you."

“Nice to meet you.”

He reaches out with a hand, and you grab it. Your heart beats a little faster at the feel of his hand, warm and a little rough. You pull away first, conscious of the coldness of your hand. You eye his almost empty glass.

“Would you like another drink?”

“If that makes you stay with me for the rest of the evening, I’d love one.”

Charming. You allow an amused and breathy chuckle to escape, and order another fill of your drinks. When Josie turns away to make them, Matt asks.

“What are we celebrating tonight?”

You think about it for a moment.

“This is not really a celebration since I haven’t gotten the job yet.”

“When is the interview?”

“It's … tomorrow.”

His brows raise above the glasses.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little bit. It’s been a while since my last normal job.”

“What were you doing before?”

Josie puts down the drinks in front of you.

“I’m a– I was a ballerina.”

“Was?”

You run a finger over the cool and smooth edge of the glass, taking a moment to tell a stranger about one of your worst shame.

“I haven’t danced professionally in over a year."

“May I ask why?"

The edge of his lips settles into a neutral line. No pity, just a willingness to listen. It is exactly what you need.

“Yes, but it's just … complicated.”

“How so?”

The old life that you once lived feels so out of your grasp now. Besides the occasional flareups, most mornings, you get up with minimal or no degree of soreness or pain, and you fear that signals the end of your life as a ballerina.

Retirement in your late twenties wasn't something you thought of when you were 18, fresh out of high school with an offer letter from Lady Liberty Ballet Theatre. Moving from a small, sylvan town to a big, lively city like New York was a dream come true. You got to live out the life your younger self used to dream about. How wonderful it was. Dancing on the big stage before the bright stage lights in front of the audience. The early classes, late stage calls, costume fittings, and demanding rehearsals leading up to the shows were all worth it. Because when you got to dance, it was just you and the music. Your body knew the techniques, learned the steps and how to master them. You bent music with your carefully crafted movements and turned the piece into your own interpretation. You worked hard on your craft and artistic abilities, and you thought that it paid off with your promotion from corps de ballet to the first soloist assembly after six years.

But for Matt's sake, you don't go into any of that.

“Well … at my old company, the group of highest rank dancers is smaller compared to other companies. It’s a great honour and a big deal to be promoted to principal. Christine was one of them, and she decided to retire. The head artistic director wanted to appoint a first soloist, which is just a step below principal, to take over in her place. I was a soloist, and I thought it was my opportunity since I've been with the company for the longest out of everyone in the group. I also understudied for Christine in many productions, on top of the roles I had to prepare and perform. I pushed myself really hard that season to prove that I could do it. I was in and out of classes, rehearsals, and performances every day for over three months. On the days we had two shows a day, oftentimes I'd have to perform in both so Christine could have a break."

Matt listens intently, following your words with an attentiveness that you find endearing.

“In the final week of Sleeping Beauty, I had this pain along my heel. But I ignored it and pushed through out of fear that they would dismiss me. At that point, they already had a favourite. One of the directors even told me that I should quit while I was ahead and that I should be happy staying as a soloist."

You swallow the lump in your throat and go on.

"I couldn't take my bow that night, because as soon as my part was done and I went behind the stage, I passed out. It turned out I got an Achilles rupture.

“I had the surgery and was in a boot for a while. I was so desperate to show them my dedication and how good I was by going back to the studio just the day after they allowed me to go without the boot. And I made the injury worse. I was admitted for a partial rupture a week later.”

You thought you could do it. Bearing and hiding the pain so you would stand out as the best selection for the new principal dancer. Yet, all of that hard work didn’t matter in the end. It never mattered the moment Claudia Mavis signed a contract with Lady Liberty.

“In the hospital, the head director told me that they would go with Claudia, even though by that point she had been with the company for only one season. One of the people that I was closed with told me that Claudia left her previous company because they wouldn’t promote her. During a physical therapy session, Claudia told me that they offered her the new contract two weeks before my accident. So I never had the chance in the first place.”

You take a long sip of your drink after the story.

"That is very unfair to you. You deserve more than what they gave you."

You shrug.

“Well, it happened. I have learned to accept it a while ago.”

The hurt is still there, albeit more dull. While you want to blame your departure on the circumstances, you know a part of it is for you to bear as well. Matt becomes thoughtful, and you can see the way he considers his question.

“Do you miss it?”

“I … do. Not the toxic culture, but the dancing itself. It’s like a kind of language that I was fluent in. A form of self-expression that I could indulge in.”

“I’m sure when you come back to it, you will still be amazing.”

You don't even try to hide the disbelieving and playful scoff that escapes.

“You're just flattering me.”

There's not a trace of that cocky confidence of a man who thinks he just scores big with a woman because of a throwaway, vague statement he thinks will please her.

“I mean it. I enjoy music and dance performances in a way most can’t. When I really pay attention, I can hear … movements. The rhythm of someone’s feet striking the ground in time with the music when done right is beautiful. The way you talk about ballet shows me how much you truly care for the art. Like you live and breathe it.”

You tug on your bottom lip with your teeth in quiet contemplation before answering him.

“I did. It was a big part of my life.”

“It still can be.”

You let out a noncommittal hum.

"We'll see."

You took sips of your respective drinks, allowing the moment to reset itself. But Matt isn't quite done with the questions. You give him the go-ahead.

"Why ballet?"

“I just love the duality of it. We're supposed to look graceful and effortless while our blisters have blisters, our toes are bleeding, our legs are cramping. We have to dance through all of that and much worse. I like the pain sometimes. It means that I’m doing it right.”

“I didn’t peg you for a masochist.”

The quip takes you by surprise, but you quickly recover.

"Huh. I usually don't reveal that information to anyone until I'm ready to sleep with them."

Matt's tongue licks at his bottom lip, amused by your response.

"Maybe we are just that compatible."

Maybe it is the alcohol that makes you a little lightheaded, but the conversation has taken on a flirty turn, and you lean into each other's space, sharing a bashful, quiet laugh.

The person who took the seat next to yours when you were in the middle of your story bumps into you from behind, pushing you further into Matt's space. They apologize, and you tell them it's fine. The bar top has grown a little more crowded with new visitors. You think about what you could do to make some space when Matt reaches out and pulls your chair closer, so close that your knees touch. The contact is minimal, yet insistent, and you can't help the heat that races to your skin and the wild rhythms of your heart. Even your internal self admits that was the hottest thing Matt has done so far.

You clear your thoughts, focusing on the man sitting so much closer to you now.

“I'm so sorry. I feel like I've been talking about myself for the past hour.”

“No, don't stop. I like it. You have a beautiful voice.”

If he kept this going, you would need to check yourself for a fever. You clear your throat.

“So, what do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer. My partners and I have our own practice here in Hell's Kitchen.”

“Wow, that's amazing. What do you specialize in?”

“A little bit of everything. We started out representing people who can’t afford the legal service. Pro bono work basically. We still do that, but we have been getting more clients who can pay for our services.”

“Hm. It makes perfect sense. I can see that about you. The good guy.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“You know the right questions to ask. You got me talking about myself for … way too long. And your face …”

You trail off. Almost two drinks have worked their magic on your unabashed honesty.

“My face?”

His plush lips lift in a curious smile.

“Yeah, your face. You made me feel … safe and welcome so I could tell my story. Your face stayed neutral when I went on and on about it. No pity or judgment. You looked like you really cared about me, or my case.”

“I do care about you. And for the record, I appreciate every detail you gave me.”

You know that he might say this just to please you, but his earnestness says otherwise.

“Thank you. I needed that. Not many people care about me, especially after my fallout with the company.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It never was.”

Matt puts a hand on yours on the bar top. You stared at his scarred knuckles, your heart beating along the seam of your body with a slight increase in rhythm. Your hand itched to weave itself into his, to lay flat against the warmth of his palm. As if your body has thrown caution to the wind and wants to do just exactly what it wants to, your pointer finger moves involuntarily. He pulls his hand back, an apology on his lips.

“I’m sorry–“

“No, don’t.”

You reach out with the other hand and keep Matt there. You run your thumb over his knuckles as if to soothe him, to tell him that this is okay. You want this. The additional contact exhilarates you, as you haven't felt another’s touch that isn't from Jo or Amy in a long time. Dating has always been the last thing on your mind, especially in the past year. But right here, right now, being with Matt is easy. There is no pressure. No hindrance. Even though you've met only for two hours, Matt has listened to you. He takes a soft and shaky breath, and your eyes follow the way his chest slightly expands.

Your pointer finger traces the raised edges of his scars, and he lets you. The air seems to thin as your pulse drums a frantic beat under your skin.

“Do you beat people up in your client’s honour?”

“Only those who deserve it.”

You chuckle, and you lean into him as if you can't help yourself. The world has gone quiet around you, and the only thing left on your mind is to have his lips on yours. Your voice is only a breath above a whisper, and you're afraid Matt might miss it entirely amongst the loud voices of others.

“Can I kiss you?’’

He releases a sharp exhale as if he has been waiting for you to utter those words all evening.

“Please.”

You lean in, carefully, slowly. His lips slightly part in an open invitation, and you meet in the middle. The touch is gentle, soft tissues overlap in slow, indulgent caresses. Simple, yet it invokes a craving in you. The need for him to be even closer, the yearning to find out the taste of him. Matt touches your jaw, and draws you in closer, deepening the kiss, and you let yourself go. Eager, perching on the territory of desperation as the pressure on your lips grows more insistently. You're entangled in an exhilarating chase, circling around each other like you simply can't resist the pull that's been there since the moment you sat down. Matt silently asks for entry at the seam of your lips, and you respond in kind. His tongue strokes yours and suddenly, there is a new kind of invisible vapour that you're breathing in. It's overwhelming, yet not enough at the same time. You can taste the bitterness of the whisky that makes you wince on normal occasions, but on Matt's tongue, it's addictive and inexplicably irresistible. His air runs wild in your lungs, warming your body from the inside, awakening your nerves.

You break away at the sound of a teasing whistle clearly directed at you, reminding you of where you are. Matt’s face is flushed red, and you want to see how far down the colour goes under the suit and tie he's wearing. His hand is still on your jaw, gently caressing the line like he doesn't want to let go. And you don't want to let him go either.

“Can we go back to your place?”

The question rolls off your tongue, and he nods immediately, a little breathlessly. You stand up from your chairs at the same time. Matt reaches for his coat that is on the back of the chair. You shrug your own on and avert your gaze when Matt subtly adjusts his slacks. You put the bills down for your drinks, shutting Matt down when he objects to the idea. His hand find yours when you offer it to him, and you walk into the brisk air together.

The walk back didn't take too long. Matt held your hand the whole time, and the small gesture made your insides flutter. He lets you go when you reach his apartment. The unit number 6A has almost faded into the dark door. He unlocks the door and tells you where the light switch is. You turn it on, and place your coat in his awaiting palm. You follow him further into the apartment and take in the space.

“Who did you kill to get this place?”

Matt chuckles, discarding his tie with one hand.

“No killing involved. The neon sign out there is enough to chase people away.”

Your gaze falls on the giant, blinking advertisement outside the window.

“Nothing a few blackout curtains won't fix.”

He drapes the black tie on the back of the couch as you turn to the other side of the apartment.

“Do those stairs lead to the rooftop?”

“Yes, they do.”

You keep your back to him.

"Do you go up there often?"

"From time to time."

"This is … wow."

You're not sure why you're stalling. You pretend to look around as you try to brush off a nagging feeling that has settled in the pit of your stomach. Just the nerves, you think. You're out of practice, that's all.

So you clear your throat and say.

“Is your bedroom behind that bigger sliding door?”

He nods. You feel a little out of place, so you gravitate towards him, a familiar presence in a strange space. Matt lets you come to him, giving you all the control. You lean in and attach your lips to his, allowing it to follow the natural progression as it did back at Josie's. Your legs tangle and stumble towards the bedroom, your lips never too far away from one another. You think you might hit the closed door, but before that can happen, Matt pulls you flush against his body with one hand and uses the other to slide the door open in one smooth, practiced move. You pull away when you need to catch your breath.

“May I …”

You touch the side of his glasses. After a quiet moment, he gives you permission to take them, and you do. Slowly, and with the utmost care you can manage, you set them on the bedside table. His eyes are closed when you straighten. You caress his cheek, feeling the way his features form together. Your touch is soothing, and you hope he can feel the patience you offer to him. There is no rush, no pressure. After a long moment, Matt opens his eyes, and you take them in. You can see how he tries to meet your eyes in his own way. The shade of hazel is shrouded by the low light and the occasional shutter of his eyelids.

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

You raise slightly on your tiptoes and kiss his eyelids, feeling his lashes fluttering softly. He waits for you to return to him, and seeks out your lips in a delicate manner.

You fall onto the bed together. Matt braces himself on his forearms so he doesn't crush you. You pull his head down to yours, kissing and nibbling on the stretch of stubble along his jaw. His soft groans of approval encourage the other hand to travel downward, pulling on the white dress shirt. Once it's free from the slacks, you weave your hand inside and run your palm along the expanse of his torso. The dips and raises of his well-defined abs are warm under your palm, and the sensation stokes the molten liquid that's nestling deep inside you. You feel the feverish need edging over that part of you that you want to ignore.

The gradual pullback doesn't feel like a rejection at first, but merely an invitation to follow. So you do, your hands work to unbutton his shirt. But Matt slows you down to a stop, holding your hands to his lips and placing kisses on your palms. You blink, still snarled in the haze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Confronted. The only word that can describe accurately how you're feeling.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your heart …”

His hand trails from your collarbone to your chest where your heart resides within in a way that feels strangely intimate and not at all invasive. You hadn’t realized how fast your heart was beating. It's pounding. You are more nervous about this than you thought.

“… is beating quite fast. Are you nervous?”

You're safe. It's an innate feeling, and while you can't explain it, you know lying to Matt serves no purpose here. He seems to have a way to read you without using his sight.

“Yes, a little bit. I haven’t done this before. Sleeping with a stranger, I mean.”

“I see. We don’t have to do this.”

You raise yourself on your elbows.

“No, I wanted to go back here, with you. I want this.”

“But it doesn’t mean you owe me anything. If you change your mind for whatever reason, I'm okay with that as well."

Matt presses a kiss to your forehead.

"We can always try this again at another time.”

Guilt claws at you, urging you to do anything to please him.

“I’m sorry. I gave you the wrong signal.”

“Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for.”

He tries to find your hand, and you offer it to him. He gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I had a good time with a beautiful woman, then I got to kiss her, all in one night, and that's enough.”

You guffaw, throwing your head back at the blatant flirt.

“You don’t even know how I look like.”

“No, I don’t. But I have my own way to tell. You sound beautiful.”

An idea materializes in your mind, and you give in to it. You bring his hand to your face, trailing along the side of your face. He gets the hint and begins his own exploration of your features. The way he takes his time, following the slopes of your face, his touch gentle, ghosting over your skin. He stops at your lips and soothes his thumb over the kiss-swollen flesh. You sigh softly. He gives you one last kiss, his tenderness makes your heart soar.

“Would you like something comfortable to sleep in?”

“I'm fine with anything you have.”

Matt finds his closet and pulls out a grey sweatshirt. He tells you where the bathroom is, and you take the folded shirt with you. You clean yourself up with water before stripping down to your underwear. You put the soft material over your body. It smells like him, and soft, just like him. You come out of the washroom and see his bare back for a split second before he pulls the shirt down. He has changed into a pair of grey sweatpants and a black shirt that hugs his chest and biceps beautifully.

You stand by his bed, not sure where you can come in despite the two of you ruffling the sheets not even ten minutes ago. Matt chooses for you, settling on the space facing the window, leaving you the side which is closer to the sliding door. His sheets are silky soft, and you feel yourself sinking right into them. You turn to face Matt, touching his shoulder. He faces you fully, his eyes settling on a point on the lower part of your face.

“Thank you.”

You whisper.

“Thank me by staying for breakfast.”

“Why breakfast?”

“I can't send you off to your interview on an empty stomach, can I? It's the least I can do.”

A rueful smile graces your lips.

“I can’t wait.”

You fell asleep with ease. At one point during the night, you could feel Matt detach himself from you, and out of a vague desperation that you couldn't process, you held tighter onto him involuntarily. At that, he stopped moving, and you felt a soothing pattern trailing over your head, luring you back to sleep again. His warmth carried you through the few hours that you slept.

It's a little past 4 AM when you wake, and find Matt still sleeping peacefully. Torn, but you come to accept that leaving is for the best. You get out of bed gently, thankful that the wooden floor didn't make a noise. You take his sweatshirt off and fold it, putting it on top of the pillow that you slept on. After putting on the clothes from the night before, you leave with much regret in your heart.

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