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thebiggerbear · 2 days ago

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This was the very first thing by you that I ever read and I fell in love with it as well as your writing!!! One of my favorite Dean scenes in the later seasons is the dream Sam has with the pizza and pie, and Mary calling him "little piglet...with love". Plus you included the Latin flair on one of my favorite holidays, girl, my heart was bursting at the seams as I read this while also drooling while also slightly jealous of Dean LOL. (you should know as I'm typing this I am daydreaming about the flan, you should just straight up know that LOL)

The rich custardy goodness is calling to him like a siren song.

I am happily being led while pushing Dean out of the way to get to it first. Lovingly of course lol.

“You’d also be 300 pounds,” Sam remarks, taking a sip of his beer. You eye Sam with a frown. But Dean just laughs it off and cuts his little brother a slice.

Not going to lie, I'd be giving Sam a little bit of the stink eye myself. What is so wrong with Dean enjoying himself a little? Besides...give me ALL the flan!!! Sam doesn't know what he's missing.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. His voice is a quiet, deep rumble washing over you. You know what he’s thanking you for: good food, and a small, but warm Christmas.

This made me smile because it is so sweet and so Dean. ❤️

“He ate half his weight in pig,” Sam says. You can’t exactly deny that, but you cross your arms and turn to him, leaning your hip against the counter. “So? It’s Christmas. Let him be happy,” you retort.

Exactly. Let the man enjoy it.

“Even though you guys didn’t have enough money at times, your brother always made sure you were fed,” you explain. You meet Sam’s gaze, squeezing his arm. “Sometimes he went without.” Sam’s expression slowly slackens, contemplative and dismayed at what you’re implying. He dries his hands on a kitchen towel and rubs at his mouth, like he’s reeling back the years of evidence in his mind and trying to confirm if you were right. “You don’t remember?” you gently ask. Sam shakes his head. “I mean, I knew things were tight. I remember him taking care of me, obviously. But…” He doesn’t remember his brother going hungry. It carves a hole of remorse in his chest.

This right here is perfection. It made my heart break for Dean as well as Sam for their childhood, what Dean had to sacrifice at times to take care of Sam, how Sam never realized it before...just so perfectly written and so on point.

You slide into bed next to him and lay your head on his chest. He groans deep and slowly lowers his arms. One of them wraps around your frame.

Okay, this is just beyond sweet. Literally made me

Moments like this are worth melting for. 😉 (seriously though, I'm pretty sure I have to call someone to get the wetvac to get me up off of the floor)

The whole ending scene just makes my heart glad, especially with her offering to go for a walk with Dean, most likely keeping in mind what Sam said (while Sam is keeping what she said in mind - like I said, perfection!) , but I especially loved the ending sequence right here:

Dean makes a sound of mild interest in the idea. “I guess, if you like stringy trees and frozen lakes.” It’s winter in Lebanon. Not much to look at. You smirk and press a kiss to his chest. “I mean, that, and you in some little Richard Simmons shorts.” Dean gives you a look, and you giggle so hard it shakes your whole body against him. “Honestly, I think that’ll really do it for me,” you tease. You walk two fingers across his thigh, where a cute pair of ‘80s-style exercise shorts would cut off. Dean grabs your hand and rolls you over, pinning you underneath him on the bed. His thigh slips between both of yours, causing friction against your jeans. And he smirks down at you. “Sweetheart, I don’t do shorts.”

Oh, Dean, nice try. We all know you do. 😉

This was just beyond sweet and it was something I very much needed back when I read through it the first time. (I'm sorry I didn't leave feedback until now! I'm trying to be better about that these days) I love the way you write the Winchesters and this one shot cemented you as one of my favorite writers I've come across in this fandom (as well as a few others 😉).

I definitely cannot wait to dive into the Midnight Espresso verse and get more of these two. You did a beautiful job here, lovely!!! Well done!!! 😊💖💖

Get Stuffed

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader

Summary: Dean enjoys the way you cook Christmas dinner with a Latin flair, even if Sam likes to tease him about his insatiable appetite. You remind Sam about the true reason behind one of Dean’s biggest quirks.

AN: This was requested by my lovely friend @iprobablyshipit91: Sam making the usual digs at Dean about his diet, and how much he eats, and the reader pulling him aside and telling him to back off as he doesn’t realize how much Dean went hungry as a kid to make sure Sam was fed.

Word Count: 1,800 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, innuendo, tinge of angst

**This story can be read as stand-alone, but you can also check out the full masterlist of one-shots below. ⤵️

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

“Aw, hell yeah,” Dean mutters. He rubs his hands together and surveys the immovable feast that’s about to get shoveled into his mouth.

This Christmas marks roughly your first year living with the brothers Winchester in the bunker, and a few months after your first anniversary with Dean.

He’s made it very clear that he enjoys your cooking, especially of Cuban food. So you’ve gone all out for Christmas: white rice and your grandmother’s recipe for black beans, boiled yuca with plenty of garlic, bread drizzled with more garlic and olive oil, and Dean’s favorite…

“What’s this part of the pig called again?” he asks. And he uses a large fork to spear into the mountain of roasted meat that you’ve already cut and piled onto a platter.

You come in from the kitchen with the bread in hand, placing it on the dinner table. You sidle up behind him, where he's seated.

“The shoulder,” you say, squeezing both of Dean’s. He hums in interest as you press a kiss to the side of his head. “It’s called pernil. Marinated with garlic, mojo, bunch of good stuff.”

He predictably steals a juicy piece of meat, plopping it into his mouth. He grins while he chews and makes a happy sound.

“Ohoho, yeah.”

You share an amused look with Sam, who sits beside his brother. By the time you’ve found your seat on Dean’s other side, he’s already serving you and Sam the same hefty portions he serves himself.

You know for a fact you’re only going to eat about half of your plate. Sam manages to polish his off. Dean does as well…and serves himself twice more before you break out the dessert.

“Please tell me that’s a flan,” Dean says, drumming his fingers on the table.

“How the hell are you still hungry?” Sam asks.

The look on his face says he’s half entertained, half disgusted. Dean is still sucking on the crispy skin on a piece of pork. He licks the juices off his fingers.

“Have I taught you nothing?” he says. “There’s always room for dessert.”

He tosses you a wink, followed closely by a suggestive smirk. You glance at him with a smile as you set down the metal pan.

“It is a flan,” you affirm. “I tried my hand at coconut this time.”

“Ooh, tropical,” Dean says, waggling greasy fingers. He wipes them on a napkin before he reaches for the pie cutter, which is usually reserved for his favorite dessert. Although, flan is rapidly becoming his second go-to. The rich custardy goodness is calling to him like a siren song.

“How can I get you to make this more often?” Dean mutters while carving out a generous slice.

Your lips curve. You rest your chin on your hand and lean towards him, earning his gaze. “If I made it all the time, you wouldn’t savor it, now would you?”

Dean smirks. His gaze lowers to your lips, like he’s contemplating some persuasive maneuvers.

“You’d also be 300 pounds,” Sam remarks, taking a sip of his beer.

You eye Sam with a frown. But Dean just laughs it off and cuts his little brother a slice.

By the end of the meal, all three of you are stuffed. Dean groans and leans back in his seat. A gurgle mounts audibly from his stomach.

“Jesus. Are you erupting?” Sam says.

Dean holds up a finger. “Wait for it.”

You give your boyfriend a bemused look. You know exactly what’s about to happen. As does Sam, who’s grimacing.

A few seconds later, Dean does erupt, with a truly legendary belch.

“Nice,” you say wryly. Dean squeezes your soft, thick thigh and backs his chair away from the table.

“Well, since I roasted the pig and you did the rest, I’d say it’s Sammy’s turn on cleaning duty,” he says.

“Thanks,” Sam says, with a wan smile. Yours is more jovial, even as Dean’s hand toys with a curl of your hair after he stands.

“I’m gonna shower off the meat sweats,” he says.

You giggle, but you nod. “You do that. I’ll help Sam a bit, put away the food at least.”

Your smile becomes more genuine when Dean drops a kiss on your forehead from above.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. His voice is a quiet, deep rumble washing over you. You know what he’s thanking you for: good food, and a small, but warm Christmas.

You reach up and give his cheek a tender touch, before he withdraws and makes his way to the bedroom he shares with you. It leaves you and Sam to collect what’s on the table and bring it all into the kitchen. While Sam does the dishes, you start to put away the leftovers.

Something has been nagging at you all night, though you’ve tried to stamp it down time and time again. You don’t know if it's your place to say something. Especially if Dean doesn’t seem bothered…but it bothers you. And you’ve never been one to hold your tongue.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” you begin, even as a small bit of trepidation niggles inside you.

Sam looks over at you. He’s quick to catch the serious note in your demeanor.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he replies. You okay? his eyes also ask.

“Why do you get on Dean so much for enjoying his food?” you ask.

Sam blinks. Then he scoffs a little. “There’s enjoying, and then there’s gluttony.”

“He’s not that bad,” you argue.

“He ate half his weight in pig,” Sam says. You can’t exactly deny that, but you cross your arms and turn to him, leaning your hip against the counter.

“So? It’s Christmas. Let him be happy,” you retort.

Sam levels you with pinched brows. “He’s not in his 20s anymore. All that crap he eats is going to catch up to him someday.”

“What, you expect him to down some kale smoothies?” you reply, giving a pointed brow raise and a teasing smile. “Get up at the crack of dawn for a bare-chested run?”

Sam shoots you a dry look.

“My point is, I’m not gonna survive hundreds of monster attacks just to get taken down by cholesterol,” he says.

You sigh a raise a placating hand. “All right. I get what you’re saying. I’m just saying…have you ever thought about why he loves food so much? Why he overindulges sometimes?”

Sam's brow quirks. It’s a question you know you need to tread lightly in order to answer. You uncross your arms to lay a hand on Sam’s wrist. He stops washing dishes and turns off the sink to give you his full attention, sensing your shift.

You look up at him, and you steel yourself.

“He might’ve mentioned once…that you two sometimes had a hard time growing up. With John taking you guys from motel to motel while he was working a job, and every now and then, leaving you guys alone longer than he meant to.”

Dean had been more than a bit drunk when you’d gotten this out of him. Hearing about that aspect of his upbringing had upset you, not just as someone who cared about him, but the caretaker in you smarted.

“Even though you guys didn’t have enough money at times, your brother always made sure you were fed,” you explain. You meet Sam’s gaze, squeezing his arm. “Sometimes he went without.”

Sam’s expression slowly slackens, contemplative and dismayed at what you’re implying. He dries his hands on a kitchen towel and rubs at his mouth, like he’s reeling back the years of evidence in his mind and trying to confirm if you were right.

“You don’t remember?” you gently ask.

Sam shakes his head. “I mean, I knew things were tight. I remember him taking care of me, obviously. But…”

He doesn’t remember his brother going hungry.

It carves a hole of remorse in his chest.

This isn’t the first time he’s had to reexamine Dean’s role in his life, and not the first time he’s felt this flavor of guilt. But he sighs and really doesn’t know what to say.

You seem to realize that, and you squeeze his arm one last time.

“Just keep that in mind,” you implore.

You soon leave him to venture upstairs, but there in the kitchen, Sam makes a resolution before the new year. One that includes having a conversation with his brother.

You find Dean in your bedroom. Now in his most threadbare sweatpants and an old black shirt, he lays over the covers on the bed. His eyes are closed and his arms are folded behind his head, but he hears you when you come in.

You slide into bed next to him and lay your head on his chest. He groans deep and slowly lowers his arms. One of them wraps around your frame.

“Think I overdid it a bit,” he admits, cracking his eyes open. You smile and gently pat his stomach.

“Wanna go for a walk tomorrow?” you ask. “We can go down to the park.”

Dean raises a brow at you. “You hate walking.”

“Not true,” you shake your head, before you rest more comfortably against him. He tucks you in beside him and begins to run his fingers down your arm. It’s a bit distracting.

“Could be nice, with the right view,” you add, though you shiver a little at his touch.

Dean makes a sound of mild interest in the idea. “I guess, if you like stringy trees and frozen lakes.”

It’s winter in Lebanon. Not much to look at.

You smirk and press a kiss to his chest. “I mean, that, and you in some little Richard Simmons shorts.”

Dean gives you a look, and you giggle so hard it shakes your whole body against him.

“Honestly, I think that’ll really do it for me,” you tease. You walk two fingers across his thigh, where a cute pair of ‘80s-style exercise shorts would cut off.

Dean grabs your hand and rolls you over, pinning you underneath him on the bed. His thigh slips between both of yours, causing friction against your jeans. And he smirks down at you.

“Sweetheart, I don’t do shorts.”

AN: �� A little callback to S1 at the end there. I hope you guys liked this! Just in time to prepare for my Christmas cooking! ❤️💚

Keep Reading:

Next up in this series is "A Wish to Build a Dream On":

Summary: Dean has been harboring the archangel Michael in his mind for weeks now, putting a strain on your relationship as you struggle to help him. When Dean makes a wish that accidentally brings his father back from the dead, you get to meet the (in)famous John Winchester. But as always with magic, your boyfriend’s wish has unintended consequences.

▶️ Next Story: A Wish to Build a Dream On

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Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictear @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

#fic recs #get stuffed #zepskies #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x latina!reader #midnight espresso-verse

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pinkandpurple360 · 1 day ago

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I wouldn't blame anyone for finding Look My Way too Stolas-sympathetic and weepy but honestly I think on the whole it's way better than most of the songs he gets in the show

and that's because it actually has a narrative arc to it. Stolas reflects on his life, realizes he is the problem between him and Blitzo, actually shows some empathy for the armor Blitzo has developed as a result of being impoverished, then decides on an action: making amends for making Blitzo a means to an end. and it retains his original classist character by having the impish plaything line that the show whitewashed over

it still has the same problem anything Stolas related does in that it's hard to care about his repeated pleas for Blitzo to look his way, but it's a far more concise view of him as a character and crucially he actually shows some ability to self reflect in it and then take action based on his conclusions

ParanoidDJ released the original after ep6 but honestly it would fit perfectly in the show after ep7, where Stolas comes back in from the party. instead of getting drunk, maybe he stops and makes himself think about where things went wrong

instead the songs he has in the show are

Stolas Sings - immediately implies Blitzo lied to him, so no self reflection or introspection. It's set up he'll go to get a crystal but that isn't referenced in the lyrics, it's just a split second freeze frame when he chucks his book into view of the camera which is bad storytelling. It's all self focused self pity - he's the victim and that's that. no sign of care for what he's done to Blitzo or Via unlike Look My Way.

All 2 U - a breakup reflection where he does no self reflection or introspection. blames Blitzo for stuff he did (let him get too close/go on too long/fell too far). all self focused self pity - he's the victim and that's that

duet number - does say he maybe did something wrong, but it only counts if Blitzo didn't actually want him (then when Blitzo confirms that, he proceeds to...show no self reflection or introspection - just he's the victim and that's that, you get the idea)

the show numbers not only fail to move the plot forward, they don't move Stolas' character forward at all. Look My Way really sticks out as one of his numbers because it's basically the only one where he does explicitly say 'I'm in the wrong and need to fix things' where in the show it's always 'maybe I did something wrong, maybe, but you hurt me so you're more wrong and I'm putting off doing any self reflection on what my issues are until Tuesday - when I'll put it off again'.

he's far more proactive in LMW too - he doesn't sound like he'll just give up on making amends at the first failure. meanwhile Show Stolas has done only two proactive things when it comes to Blitzo onscreen: making the deal and breaking the deal. both things were done for his own benefit and he's now back to being passive and expecting Blitzo to be the one to come crawling back to court him even though Blitzo has every reason to think he moved on with the succubus dude to spite him in particular

This moment here

It wasn’t him feeling some guilt/remorse for how obnoxious and forceful he behaved, or sympathy for Blitzs unhappiness. He is thinking “Aww….he doesn’t love me, that makes me so sad. Poor me. I deserve love. I just want a lover.”

Well anon, the simple explanation LMW stolas is so different…..is, Vivienne/Sam Haft didn’t write that. They both do think stolas is the more innocent and more victimised party. That’s why before Full Moons confrontation, stolas has sung not one, not two but three sad ballads about his soft boy romantic feelings. And it’s why stolas’ personality was changed drastically between his nasty truth seekers self to his Ozzies bleeding heart self. To make you forget his 1-6 self ever happened and pity him.

While blitz was only allowed to smirk and make sex jokes in a verse of stolas’ third sad song. With the intent of making him look like the “real” pervert with a cold black heart. His verse in when I see him was intended by Sam to set up “that your first instinct is that it’s always (gasp) about sex (closes eyes solemnly)” line. Stolas is allowed to have an inner monologue, desires, worries, regrets and hopes. Blitz is only allowed say “fuck” “penis” and “im traumatised”** with an asterisk saying that makes him an asshole and not “baby” stolas’ fault. Spoken to you in apology tour dialogue delivered by the lovely: Vivienne Mayday aka Verosika Medrano.

Viv didn’t write look my way, and disagrees with the narrative.

She hates Octavia for not being more grateful to her father and thinks stolas deserves to be free from being her parent. So took his line about her out of the song. Twitter emboldened her to go through with this belief. So she took her line out of LMW.

She hates blitz for disliking upper classes, implies he’s “just like a supremacist” against princes for it. I think this also came from Twitter. You are NOT allowed to point out the racism of stolas or you’ll be branded a striker sympathiser.

She agrees with stolas fans that the real reason blitz doesn’t trust stolas’ gifts with no catch is nothing to do with stolas’ previous exploitative transactional actions….it is….because of his own mean imp father? Because Cash taught him love is transaction. A very convenient excuse Viv absorbed again, from Twitter and YouTube.

Cuz….it was cash. Not the sexual extorter who held his job over his head. That’s his soulmate cause owls only mate once via eye contact and die of broken hearts if they can’t have their mate forever. His 25 year long lust for someone he only knew as a child isn’t weird at all wdym. In fact all the bad stuff is Blitzs fault.

She absorbed all of this nonsense from Twitter takes, specifically the stolas stans, because she thinks putting fandom talking points into canon is a safe bet. The actual story is out the window, there isn’t one.

See how letting the stolas fandom twitter write your story for you makes for a biased fucked up victim blaming story that coddles a sexual abuser with “involuntarily celibate” arguments?

When she makes stolas reflect and take accountability, the reaction she wants you to have is “Poor baby stolas blames himself which shows what a good little boy he is! Even though nothing is ever his fault!” She just wanted to make money off of someone else’s work.

#helluva boss critical #stolitz critical

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whitedarkmoonflower · 1 day ago

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When Shadows Yield to Light

Pairing: Uhtred x Sihtric x Finan

Authors note: this is my birthday gift to the amazing and one-of-a-kind @alexagirlie 🎉 It also happens to be the first m/m fic I’ve ever written—and if it's the first why not dive straight into a poly one, right? 🙈 Oh, I will not lie—I struggled a lot to make this work at the beginning, but then at some point it started to flow and I was in awe at myself 😅 Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you! ❤️

Warnings: SMUT 18+, m/m/m, oral sex, anal sex, subtle hints of past abuse and trauma (read: my daily doses of angst prescribed by doctor, sorry I can't without it)

Word Count: 5,5K

Summary: With his hand hovering over his lord’s door, Sihtric hesitates, gathering his courage to knock, unaware that what awaits him on the other side will change everything he thought he knew about loyalty, desire, and himself.

Please remember that comments and reblogs are two things that make writers smile and keep us motivated.

Sihtric's breath came in ragged bursts as he tried to calm his frantic heartbeat. His hand hovered in the air, poised to knock on the door, but hesitation gripped him. His fist unclenched, and his palm pressed flat against the rough wood instead.

He leaned his forehead against the door, his breathing heavy and uneven. His hand balled into a fist again, ready to knock—but before he could summon the courage, the door creaked open. The unexpected sound made Sihtric flinch.

"Sihtric?" Uhtred's voice was thick with surprise.

"Yes, lord!" The young Dane quickly raised his eyes to meet his lord's questioning gaze, heat rising to his cheeks. His mind raced, scrambling for an excuse, any explanation for why he was standing outside his lord’s chambers in the dead of night.

Uhtred’s hair was loose, cascading over his broad shoulders in thick, windswept waves. Sihtric’s breath hitched as his eyes briefly swept over Uhtred’s bare chest. The firelight from behind cast a warm, flickering glow over his skin, illuminating the scars that marked his body like battle-worn trophies. Clad only in his breeches, Uhtred stood barefoot, his powerful frame filling the doorway.

Sihtric’s heart stammered, not just from the embarrassment of waking his lord but from something deeper—an unspoken reverence for the man who stood before him. He swallowed hard, but as he did, he caught sight of something else—a shadow moving behind Uhtred. Sihtric’s eyes widened in realisation.

Uhtred was not alone.

The thought hit him like a blow to the chest, and another wave of embarrassment surged through him, making his cheeks burn hotter than before. His pulse quickened in shame.

“I’m sorry,” Sihtric mumbled, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. It’s nothing important. It can wait. I’m sorry…” He took a step back, eager to retreat, to erase his intrusion.

But Uhtred didn’t let him go so easily.

"What is it, Sihtric?" Uhtred arched an eyebrow, his voice calm but carrying a strange edge. “It must have been important enough for you to come here in the middle of the night.”

Sihtric hesitated, torn between the need to speak and the urge to disappear. His hand clenched at his side, and he could feel Uhtred's gaze on him, piercing and unyielding. He stole another glance at Uhtred’s chest, at the way the firelight played across his skin, but the presence of someone hidden in the shadows of the room behind him made him feel increasingly embarrassed and even stupid. His lips parted, but no words came.

Sihtric had needed all his courage to come here, he didn’t know he would need more of it. He hadn’t even thought of what would come after.

Uhtred watched the young Dane with increasing curiosity. The way his cheeks painted crimson, the way he swallowed hard as his eyes moved back to Uhtred’s bare chest over and over again although he tried to keep them casted down.

“Sihtric,” his voice was commanding and made the young Dane freeze in his tracks. “Come in.”

Sihtric swallowed hard. He hesitated, his feet rooted to the ground as though the floorboards beneath him were quicksand. He felt a lump rise in his throat, but he didn’t dare disobey. Slowly, he stepped forward, his leather boots creaking softly against the wood. Uhtred moved aside, allowing Sihtric to enter the chamber, and the door closed with a quiet thud behind him.

The warmth of the fire enveloped Sihtric, a stark contrast to the cold sweat on his back. His eyes darted around the room, searching for the shadow he had seen earlier. It was then he noticed him. Finan stood, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his bare chest.

Finan’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, though his expression remained guarded. His dark hair was tousled, and his smirk was just visible in the flickering firelight. He tilted his head slightly, a brow arched as he studied Sihtric.

“Well, isn’t this a sight,” Finan drawled, his Irish accent pleasant but teasing. “The pup comes scratchin’ at the door in the middle of the night. What’s wrong, lad? Couldn’t sleep without hearin’ a bedtime story?”

Sihtric’s cheeks burned hot, and he clenched his fists at his sides. The weight of both men’s gazes pressed down on him, making it nearly impossible to form words. He glanced at Uhtred, who stood nearby, arms crossed in silent expectation, then back at Finan.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Sihtric muttered, his voice tight.

“That much is clear,” Finan said with a chuckle, pushing off the wall. He stepped closer, his smirk softening. “So, what’s eatin’ at you, lad? It’s not like you to be skulkin’ around at this hour.”

“Finan,” Uhtred’s voice cut through the air, firm and commanding, halting whatever teasing remark his friend was about to unleash. The flicker of discomfort on Sihtric’s face didn’t escape him—the young Dane looked as if he might combust from sheer embarrassment. Uhtred turned to the table, grabbed a mug, and poured a generous serving of ale.

“Here,” he said, offering it to Sihtric with a calm, steady gaze.

The ale was fresh, its strong flavour filling Sihtric with a surprising warmth that settled his nerves, if only slightly. He drank it quickly, the liquid sliding down his throat in hasty gulps. His eyes, however, betrayed him, flitting between Uhtred and Finan. The sight before him was hard to ignore—two formidable warriors, their muscles shifting under scarred, sun-kissed skin, their powerful frames clad in nothing but breeches. Only then did it strike him as odd. They were both shirtless, their bare feet scuffing softly against the worn wooden floor as they moved.

“I… I didn’t mean to disturb…” Sihtric stammered, his voice faltering under their stares. His wide, darting eyes kept shifting between his lord and Finan.

“That much you’ve already said,” Uhtred smirked, the corner of his lips quirking upward. Sihtric couldn’t help but notice the glint in his lord’s eyes—a strange, intense hunger. It was unsettling and captivating all at once. Uhtred licked his lips as he took a step closer, and Sihtric froze under his gaze.

“I think it’s time to stop playing games,” Uhtred continued, his voice softer now, a low rumble that made Sihtric’s heart race. He tilted his head, two deep pools of piercing blue watching as Sihtric flinched slightly when Uhtred’s hand came to rest on the young Dane’s shoulder.

The air in the room seemed heavier, the flickering fire casting golden light and long, wavering shadows that danced across the walls. Sihtric could feel his heartbeat pounding in his throat, his body frozen between fight and flight or maybe something else.

“You’ve been holding back for too long, haven’t you?” Uhtred asked, his voice low, velvety growl that sent a shiver down Sihtric’s spine.

“I—” Sihtric started, but his words failed him.

“You’re not very good at hiding it, lad,” Finan said from his place near the fire, his tone a teasing drawl, though his voice was softer than usual. “Always sneaking glances, always looking like you’ve got somethin’ to say but never quite sayin’ it. Don’t worry—we’ve been patient.”

Sihtric’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to protest, to deny the words, but the knowing smiles on both their faces silenced him. Uhtred took another step closer, his bare chest inches from Sihtric’s own. The Dane felt as if the floor beneath him might give way entirely.

Uhtred’s hand slid from Sihtric’s shoulder, the touch slow and deliberate, trailing down his arm until his fingers brushed against Sihtric’s wrist. “It’s all right,” Uhtred murmured, his other hand gently tipping Sihtric’s chin upward, forcing him to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to hide anything from us, Sihtric. Not here.”

“We all know why you’re here, Sihtric,” he murmured, his tone laced with something almost tender as he nodded toward Finan. Sihtric hadn’t even noticed how quietly Finan had closed the distance, until now, as he felt the Irishman’s presence at his back and his palms landing on Sihtric’s waist.

For a brief moment, Sihtric’s chest tightened, his breath catching in his throat as his body tensed. A shiver ran through him, a flicker of unease clawing its way up his spine. The warmth of Finan’s breath against his neck felt too close, the firm touch of his hands too familiar in a way that made his skin prickle.

They were still there, buried deep in his mind—the dark shadows, reminding him of hands that had been neither kind nor wanted, when touch had come without care, and voices had carried commands laced with cruelty, not warmth.

Sihtric’s shoulders stiffened, pulse hammering erratically and Finan paused, his movements faltering as he caught the tremor in Sihtric’s frame. Finan’s gaze darted to Uhtred, confusion flashing in his eyes before understanding dawned. Uhtred nodded subtly, his hand remaining firm on Sihtric’s wrist, steadying him. Finan softened instantly, his hands loosening their hold as his fingers brushed gently over Sihtric’s hips in a soothing motion.

“Easy, lad,” Finan murmured, his voice quiet and warm, the teasing edge replaced by soft worry. “You’re safe here. You set the pace. Always.”

Sihtric swallowed hard, his lips parting as if to respond, but his throat felt too tight. The warmth radiating from Uhtred’s body, the intensity of his gaze, and Finan’s steady presence behind him were overwhelming.

Sihtric’s pulse quickened, each beat thundering in his ears as his thoughts spun wildly, a whirlwind of confusion and anticipation. He felt the brush of Finan’s hand against his back, steady and reassuring, but the heat of it burned through the fabric of his tunic.

The warmth of their bodies, so close to his own, seemed to seep into him, igniting a strange, dizzying heat. He could feel Finan behind him, his breath a soft whisper against Sihtric’s neck, while Uhtred’s hand kept him rooted in place.

There was no escape—not that Sihtric was entirely certain he wanted one.

Sihtric drew in a shaky breath, the grounding warmth of their touch pulling him back to the present, reminding him this was different—they were different.

Finan stepped closer, his fingers brushing against Sihtric’s shoulder as he leaned in. “You don’t need to say a word,” Finan murmured, his breath warm against Sihtric’s ear. “Not if you don’t want to.”

The words sent a shudder through Sihtric, his breath hitching as a flood of emotions threatened to drown him. A part of him wanted to run, to escape and hide, erasing this moment from his memory. But another part—a part he barely dared to acknowledge—wanted to stay, to see what would happen if he let himself fall into the warmth of their embrace.

Uhtred’s thumb brushed lightly across Sihtric’s jaw, his voice soft yet commanding. “Trust us.”

The simple words unravelled something deep within Sihtric, the last thread of resistance snapping as he exhaled another shaky breath. He nodded, his movements hesitant but deliberate.

“There’s a good lad,” Finan murmured, his voice tinged with pride as he pressed a reassuring hand to Sihtric’s back.

Uhtred leaned in first, his lips brushing against Sihtric’s in a feather-light touch, testing the waters, giving him the chance to pull away. But Sihtric didn’t move; instead, he tilted his head slightly, leaning into the kiss with a tentative eagerness that made Uhtred smile against his mouth.

When Uhtred pulled back, Finan was already there, his hands resting on Sihtric’s shoulders as he turned him gently. “My turn,” Finan said with a grin before capturing Sihtric’s lips in a kiss that was softer, slower, but no less certain.

Sihtric felt himself melting under Finan’s touch, the kiss sending a warmth spiralling through him that he hadn’t expected. Finan’s lips were softer than he imagined, his movements unhurried yet firm, giving Sihtric the space to respond. The room seemed to grow quieter, the crackling of the fire dimming under the sound of their breaths mingling. When Finan finally pulled away, his forehead pressed gently to Sihtric’s, the Irishman’s ever-present grin softened into something more tender.

“See?” Finan murmured, his hands sliding down to rest on Sihtric’s arms. “Nothin’ to be scared of, lad.”

Sihtric blinked at him, his heart pounding so hard he swore they must have heard it. His lips tingled from their kisses, and his cheeks burned hot, but the fear he’d expected to feel wasn’t there. Instead, there was a strange, overwhelming sense of belonging.

Uhtred’s hand on his lower back reminded him of his presence. Sihtric turned to find his lord watching him with the same steady confidence that had drawn him to Uhtred from the very beginning. There was no hesitation, no doubt—only an invitation to take another step forward.

“Do you trust us now?” Uhtred asked, his voice low and coaxing. His thumb brushed against Sihtric’s cheek again, a gesture so gentle it made Sihtric’s breath hitch.

“Yes, lord,” Sihtric whispered, the words leaving his lips without hesitation this time.

“Good,” Uhtred said with a nod, his expression softening further. “Because this isn’t about orders or loyalty. This is about us. You, me, and Finan. And it only happens if you want it to.”

Sihtric swallowed hard, his gaze flickering between the two men. He felt the weight of their sincerity, the way they were giving him space even now to choose. It was almost too much—this kindness, this care—but Sihtric found himself nodding again, this time more firmly.

“I want this,” he said, his voice steadier. “I—I want you. Both of you.”

Finan let out a soft laugh, pulling Sihtric into a one-armed embrace. “That’s the spirit, lad. You’ve made us wait long enough.”

Uhtred chuckled, stepping closer until their bodies nearly touched. His hand slid from Sihtric’s cheek to the back of his neck, his fingers threading through the shorter hair there. “Then there’s no more need for hesitation,” he murmured, leaning in once more.

This time, the kiss was deeper, more certain, and Sihtric found himself responding instinctively. His hands, unsure at first, reached up to rest against Uhtred’s chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his fingertips. Uhtred hummed approvingly, the sound reverberating against Sihtric’s lips.

Finan, never one to be left out, pressed his lips to the side of Sihtric’s neck, his breath hot against his skin as his hands trailed down Sihtric’s sides. The combination of their touches, their warmth surrounding him, made Sihtric feel as though he was standing at the edge of something vast and uncharted. But for once, he wasn’t afraid to step forward.

Their hands moved with a gentle confidence, working together to free Sihtric from his clothes. Each touch sent sparks skittering across his skin, leaving him breathless. The room felt impossibly warm, every brush of their hands, lips, and bodies drawing him deeper into the haze of sensation. Sihtric’s head spun, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all but unable to resist the way it consumed him.

Finan’s beard tickled pleasantly against his neck as he trailed kisses along the sensitive skin there, each press of his lips followed by a soft nip or a slow, deliberate suck that left Sihtric shivering. His hands gripped at Finan’s shoulders, desperate for something to hold on as his body was set alight.

Uhtred, ever commanding even in this, captured his lips with heated urgency. His tongue swept into Sihtric’s mouth, claiming and exploring with an intensity that made Sihtric moan. The sound was swallowed by Uhtred’s kiss, his fingers threading through Sihtric’s hair to hold him close.

A sharp gasp escaped Sihtric as Finan’s hand slid lower, curling firmly around his cock. The Irishman’s touch was sure, his fingers stroking with a deliberate rhythm that had Sihtric arching into his palm.

“Would you look at that,” Finan chuckled, his voice thick with admiration as he glanced down. His grin was playful but tinged with genuine appreciation. “You’ve been truly gifted, lad.”

Sihtric’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson at Finan’s words, the compliment landing somewhere between embarrassment and pride. His response was a shaky, breathless moan as Finan’s hand moved again, teasing and coaxing more sounds from him.

“Careful, Finan,” Uhtred murmured against Sihtric’s lips, pulling back just enough to speak. His voice was low, teasing but commanding all the same. “Don’t overwhelm him too quickly.”

Finan smirked, his gaze flicking up to meet Uhtred’s. “Overwhelm? This lad’s a warrior, isn’t he? He can take it.”

Sihtric’s lips parted, a soft whimper escaping as the sensations mounted, the combination of Finan’s skilled touch and Uhtred’s intense presence threatening to undo him completely.

Uhtred’s hand drifted down, his fingers brushing over Sihtric’s chest before resting at his hip. “He can take it,” Uhtred agreed with a knowing smile, his eyes locking onto Sihtric’s. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t savour this.”

The slow, deliberate way they worked together to unravel him left Sihtric trembling, his body responding to their every touch. He let himself go, surrendering to the safety of their hands, the warmth of their bodies, and the unspoken promise in their eyes: he was theirs, and they would take care of him.

Sihtric’s eyes widened in surprise, his breath hitching as he watched his lord sink gracefully to his knees. The sight alone was enough to send a jolt through him—a man as powerful and commanding as Uhtred lowering himself before him, the flicker of a mischievous glint lighting up his intense gaze.

“L-Lord…” Sihtric stammered, his voice shaky, his mind struggling to keep pace with the reality unfolding before him. But before he could form a coherent thought, his words were stolen from him. A raw, unrestrained moan tore from his throat as Uhtred’s lips wrapped around him, warm and firm.

The sensation was incredible. Uhtred’s mouth moved with deliberate purpose, his tongue tracing along Sihtric’s length in a way that made his knees threaten to give in. Sihtric’s hands shot out instinctively, clutching at Uhtred’s broad shoulders, desperate for support as his body betrayed him, buckling under the sudden onslaught of pleasure.

“By the gods…” Sihtric breathed, his head tilting back as he surrendered to the waves of sensation coursing through him, fingers flexing against Uhtred’s skin.

Uhtred glanced up at him, his eyes smouldering with a mixture of amusement and intent. Uhtred’s hands gripped Sihtric’s hips, firm enough to steady him but not restricting, allowing Sihtric to move if he needed to.

Behind him, Finan’s low chuckle rumbled through the air. “Looks like our young Dane’s got himself in good hands,” he teased, his voice dripping with warmth and mischief. Sihtric felt a flush spread across his skin, heat pooling in his cheeks and chest, but there was no time to respond—not with the way Uhtred’s mouth and tongue were drawing another lewd sound from his lips.

“Relax, lad,” Finan murmured, pressing himself flush against Sihtric’s back, his hand settling at the base of Sihtric’s neck, grounding him with a gentle squeeze. “Let yourself enjoy it.”

Sihtric’s breath hitched again, his body trembling as he surrendered fully to the overwhelming current of pleasure coursing through him. Uhtred worked him with practised ease, his lips and tongue driving Sihtric to the brink, unravelling him completely. The young Dane’s hands clutched desperately at Uhtred’s hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands as his hips moved involuntarily, seeking more of the bliss Uhtred offered.

Soft, broken moans spilled from Sihtric’s lips, each one more desperate than the last. His head tilted back, resting heavily against Finan’s chest. The Irishman’s arms wrapped around him, holding him steady.

“I’m close,” Sihtric gasped, his voice trembling with a mix of urgency and embarrassment. “Lord, I—I can’t hold back anymore.”

Finan’s chuckle was warm against Sihtric’s ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin and sending another shiver through him. ��Then don’t, lad,” Finan murmured, his voice low and coaxing. His lips brushed against Sihtric’s ear as he whispered, “Let go. Cum for your lord.”

Uhtred couldn’t respond, his mouth otherwise occupied, but the muffled hum of his approval vibrated against Sihtric, sending him over the edge. Sihtric cried out, his body tensing as the wave of release crashed over him, leaving him trembling in their arms. Uhtred didn’t pull back, his movements slowing but deliberate, drawing every last ounce of pleasure from Sihtric until the young Dane was spent.

Sihtric slumped bonelessly against Finan, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Uhtred finally pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked up at Sihtric, a mischievous but satisfied grin tugging at his lips.

“Good lad,” Uhtred smirked, his voice rough with satisfaction. Finan chuckled softly, his fingers brushing tenderly through Sihtric’s damp hair, sending a ripple of warmth down the young Dane’s spine.

“That was only the beginning, boy,” Finan said with a teasing grin. “We’ve got the whole night ahead of us.”

Sihtric’s cheeks flushed a deeper crimson, his chest rising and falling in heavy waves as he struggled to process what had just happened. It all felt impossible, like a dream too vivid to be real. Just moments ago, he had been standing outside Uhtred’s door, his courage faltering with every second that passed. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought this was what awaited him beyond that closed door.

He had grown too accustomed to giving himself away—his body a vessel for others’ pleasure, used to fleeting encounters with little room for his own needs. But this… this was different. Encircled by Uhtred’s steady strength and Finan’s teasing warmth, Sihtric felt a tenderness he hadn’t dared to hope for, a care that cradled him as much as their hands did.

He shuddered, a quiet, almost involuntary movement, as a thought crossed his mind. Is this what being loved feels like?

Finan’s hand gently gripping his wrist brought him back to reality, the Irishman’s steady pull coaxing him toward the bed. The fur-covered surface seemed impossibly soft, a stark contrast to the rugged hands that guided him. Sihtric followed willingly, his steps hesitant but unresisting, the shy smile tugging at his lips betraying the sweet anticipation coursing through his veins.

“Don’t hold back now, lad,” Finan murmured, his voice softer than before, the teasing edge tempered by genuine care. “This night’s for you, too.”

Uhtred was already there, reclining against the plush furs with a confidence that made Sihtric’s pulse quicken. His eyes, warm and steady, met Sihtric’s, silently promising safety and desire in equal measure. Sihtric felt his breath hitch, but he didn’t falter. He let Finan guide him closer, the weight of their attention both overwhelming and comforting.

The bed dipped under their combined weight as Finan joined them, his hand never leaving Sihtric’s wrist, as if he felt how much Sihtric needed that—not to lose the physical contact reassuring him that this was indeed real, anchoring him in presence. Uhtred’s hand reached out, cupping Sihtric’s cheek, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate line along his jaw.

“This is your place,” Uhtred said softly, his voice steady and firm, leaving no room for doubt. “With us.”

Sihtric swallowed hard, his chest tightening with emotion as he nodded. His lips parted to speak, but no words came—none were needed. Instead, he leaned forward, letting himself fall into their embrace once more, the warmth of their bodies and the tenderness of their touches setting him on fire once again.

“Go on, take him. Don’t hold back—our lord loves it a bit rough,” Finan whispered, his voice a low, raspy tease that sent a shiver cascading down Sihtric’s spine. The young Dane hesitated, his eyes drinking in the sight of Uhtred’s naked body sprawled before him, strong and inviting, yet somehow vulnerable in his surrender.

“And if you want,” Finan murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of Sihtric’s ear, “I’ll do the same for you.” The words, paired with the subtle press of Finan’s cock against him, made Sihtric’s own twitch with a desperate need that left him gasping.

His body was a storm of sensations, his cock throbbing and leaking from all the affection Uhtred and Finan had lavished upon him. It felt as if no part of him had been left untouched, every inch of his skin kissed, claimed, and adored. Their passion had unravelled him completely, stripping him of any fear or doubt. Sihtric had given back all he could—his lips and hands exploring every scar and curve, his mouth yielding eagerly, letting them fuck it until tears spilled down his cheeks.

He had poured himself into every touch, helping to prepare Uhtred with fingers slicked in rose-scented oil, savouring the way his lord’s body responded to him. And when Finan’s fingers had worked their way into Sihtric’s own body, spreading him open with careful but relentless intent, his moans had turned to cries of wild pleasure.

He pressed the head of his cock against Uhtred’s entrance and Uhtred moaned, his head tipping back onto the bed, exposing the strong line of his throat. “You know what to do, don’t you?” Finan asked, his voice a mixture of encouragement and playful challenge. His hands rested firmly on Sihtric’s hips, steadying him as he pressed his own body closer, teasing Sihtric’s hole with his cock.

Sihtric nodded, though his breath was shaky and uneven. The heat of Finan’s body at his back and the sight of Uhtred laid bare before him were almost too much to bear. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, summoning the courage he needed. Slowly, he began to push forward, the tight heat of Uhtred’s body drawing him in, inch by inch.

Uhtred groaned, his hands fisting in the furs beneath him, his body arching slightly as he took Sihtric in. “By the gods, you are perfect, Sihtric,” Uhtred murmured, his voice thick and laden with pleasure. “Don’t stop. Take what you need.”

Finan’s grip on Sihtric’s hips tightened as he leaned in, his breath hot against Sihtric’s neck. “That’s it, lad. See? You were made for this,” he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and desire. The tip of his cock pressed insistently against Sihtric’s entrance, adding a delicious pressure that made the young Dane gasp.

Sihtric’s gasp turned into a low, trembling moan, his body caught in the intoxicating heat between Uhtred and Finan. The pressure at his back combined with the tightness of Uhtred’s body around him sent his senses spiralling.

“Easy now,” Finan murmured, his lips grazing the back of Sihtric’s neck. His voice was steady, but the hunger in it was unmistakable. “Let yourself feel it.”

Sihtric bit his lip, nodding faintly as he began to move, his hips rocking slowly, tentatively, in and out of Uhtred’s welcoming heat. Every motion sent ripples of pleasure through him, Uhtred’s low groans encouraging him to keep going, to take more. But the insistent presence of Finan behind him made it impossible to stay focused, the Irishman’s cock teasing at his entrance, driving him mad.

“Good,” Uhtred rasped, his voice a mix of command and approval as his hands reached up, finding Sihtric’s upper arms. He squeezed them lightly, his fingertips digging into the taut muscle. “You are so good, Sihtric,” he groaned, spreading himself even more open to give Sihtric better access to his pulsing hole, to take him in deeper.

Finan chuckled softly, his teeth grazing the shell of Sihtric’s ear as his hands guided the younger man’s hips in a rhythm that matched his own teasing movements. “Ready for the next step, lad?” he asked, his tone equal parts gentle and wicked. “I think you can take it.”

Sihtric’s breath hitched, his heart racing as he nodded, overwhelmed but unwilling to stop. Finan pressed forward, the thick head of his cock breaching Sihtric’s entrance with a slow, deliberate push. The sensation was sharp at first, but the burn quickly melted into pleasure, coaxed along by the steady reassurance of Finan’s hands on his hips and the whispered words of encouragement in his ear.

“You’re doing so well,” Finan murmured, his voice husky.

Sihtric cried out softly, his hands gripping Uhtred’s thighs as he tried to steady himself. The fullness of having both of them—Uhtred beneath him wrapped around his cock and Finan behind—was overwhelming in the best way possible. He had never felt so completely surrounded, so entirely claimed, yet so safe.

Uhtred’s hands slid up, brushing over Sihtric’s sides before grabbing his waist, pulling him slightly closer. “Good lad,” Uhtred groaned, his head tipping back as he watched Sihtric’s movements grow more confident. “You’re perfect, Sihtric. Absolutely perfect.”

Finan’s hips began to move in tandem with Sihtric’s, the three of them finding a rhythm that sent shocks of pleasure coursing through their bodies. The room was filled with the sounds of their moans, the rustling of the furs beneath them, and the faint crackle of the firelight casting their intertwined shadows on the walls.

Sihtric’s pace quickened, his movements growing bolder as he lost himself in the pleasure. Uhtred’s low, guttural moans urged him on, the sound rolling over him like a wave, spurring him on to thrust harder, deeper. Each time he drove into his lord, it was met with a shuddering gasp or a whispered encouragement, Uhtred’s body arching beneath him in pure bliss.

Behind him, Finan’s hands gripped his hips with a steadying strength, guiding his movements and matching them with thrusts of his own. The stretch and fullness as Finan worked him with deliberate precision sent jolts of heat racing through Sihtric’s veins, his body trembling with the intensity of it all. He felt caught between them, utterly surrounded and consumed, yet completely whole.

“Give it to him, lad,” Finan growled, his voice rough with desire. “Show him what you’ve got. Don’t hold back.”

Uhtred’s fingers dug into Sihtric’s waist, his head tipping back onto the furs as his body tensed. “Yes,” Uhtred groaned, his voice thick and breathless. “Just like that. Don’t stop. Don’t—ah—stop.”

Sihtric couldn’t hold back any longer. His rhythm became relentless, each thrust driving him closer to the edge. He felt Finan’s cock stretching and filling him with every movement, while Uhtred’s tight hole pulsed and clenched around him with every thrust, the dual sensations overwhelming him completely. His cries mixed with Uhtred’s, his voice breaking as pleasure overtook him.

It happened all at once. Uhtred’s body arched, his hands gripping Sihtric’s arms with bruising force as he reached his climax, a deep, guttural moan tearing from his throat, cum spurting from his untouched cock and painting his belly white. The sight of his lord lost in pleasure was all it took to push Sihtric over the edge. He buried himself deep one last time, his body trembling violently as his orgasm ripped through him, leaving him gasping and shuddering as he filled Uhtred’s hole with endless ropes of his own seed.

Behind him, Finan’s rhythm faltered, his breathless groans filling the room as he pounded into Sihtric chasing his own release. He pushed deeply into Sihtric one final time. His hands tightened on Sihtric’s hips as he spilled into him with a loud growl, his head falling forward onto Sihtric’s back.

They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies entwined, trembling and spent. The room slowly quieted, the only sounds remaining the soft crackle of the fire and their laboured breaths. Sihtric slumped forward, his head resting against Uhtred’s chest, while Finan’s arms encircled him from behind, holding him steady. The weight of their bodies pressed together was grounding, comforting, and impossibly intimate.

“You were incredible, lad,” Finan murmured, his lips brushing against Sihtric’s ear.

Uhtred’s hand moved to stroke Sihtric’s hair, his voice soft and full of warmth. “More than that—you were perfect.”

As the aftershocks of pleasure faded, the three of them shifted slowly, their breaths evening out. Finan eased himself back onto the bed, his arms still loosely wrapped around Sihtric’s waist, pulling him down with him. Uhtred moved to Sihtric’s other side, his hand brushing over the young Dane’s hair with quiet affection as they settled into the furs.

Uhtred tugged the thick furs over them, ensuring Sihtric was snugly nestled between him and Finan. The younger man let out a soft sigh, his head resting against Uhtred’s chest, while Finan pressed a gentle kiss to his temple from behind.

“Sleep, lad,” Finan murmured, his voice thick with drowsiness and satisfaction. “You’ve earned it.”

Uhtred’s hand continued to trace soothing patterns over Sihtric’s back, his other arm resting comfortably over both of them. “Rest now,” he said quietly, his tone carrying the same commanding reassurance that had drawn Sihtric to him from the start. “You’re safe. You’re ours.”

Sihtric’s eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, his body completely at ease between theirs. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt not just desired but cherished, loved in a way he hadn’t thought possible. A faint, contented smile played on his lips as sleep claimed him, the steady rise and fall of Uhtred and Finan’s breaths lulling him into peaceful oblivion.

#sihtric #uhtred x sihtric x finan #finan x sihtric x uhtred #m/m #the last kingdom fic #the last kingdom #uhtred x sihtric #finan x sihtric #sihtric x uhtred #sihtric x finan #the last kingdom fanfiction #sihtric fic #sihtric smut #sihtric kjartansson

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beif0ngs · 11 months ago

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#One Piece #opgraphics #Monkey D. Luffy #Roronoa Zoro #Trafalgar Law #Eustass Kid #Shanks #Monkey D. Garp #Aokiji #Kuzan #Rob Lucci #Blackbeard #Marshall D. Teach #S Hawk #gif #*mine #i mean they didn’t have to go so hard on these frames??!!!#but they did and for that i am very grateful 🙏#also lmao at how it looks like the build up in this scene was all leading up to just a very intense fist bump

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tsuchinokoroyale · 5 months ago

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Was soooooo happy with this phase 1 which is what made it so much funnier that I was immediately clapped by his phase 2 😂

#romina is still my fave boss but messmer is a solid second #almost every other boss I would describe as “would’ve been good if their damage wasn’t so overtuned”#my stance if that if I’m consistently losing to a boss with 10/14 flasks left the damage is overtuned #vs me losing to sword saint isshin with no gourds or pellets left bc he was tough enough to whittle me down #fromsoft bros will say get good but think high numbers is big difficulty #an actually difficult boss doesn’t need big damage output if the mechanics are the challenge #I don’t actually mind how relentless the bosses are in ER but I mind how HARD they hit on top of that #dodging a 12 hit uninterruptible combo where each move does like 1/10th of your health? that’s fine.#if I properly time 3 of those dodges I can still make it and it’s honestly my bad if I’m getting killed by that #dodging a 12 hit uninterruptible combo where each hit takes out 1/2 of ur health bar & has a 50% chance for an additional retaliation combo?#I *can* do it but Jesus Christ what a waste of my time lmao #how am I supposed to learn a boss when I can’t get into a flow state bc a single mistake can end a run smh #I just beat gaius and I didn’t even feel accomplished I was just like ugh finally #I feel like 95% of his moves are fine once you work out the delays and positioning #but I kept getting clipped by his charge attack like I would dodge out of the way but once the i frames were finished I’d still get hit #bc I guess I wasn’t dodging a perfect 90 degrees to him and the hitbox for that attack is long as hell #which would be whatever if that move didn’t take out like 2/3 of my health and come out nigh instantly #I don’t even really know the tell for the move bc I beat him before I learned it bc I lucked out on a run where he didn’t charge me a lot #luckily the game is absolute DELIGHT to look at and explore that I can forgive the absolute bullshittery of the bosses #like I just got to the summit of dragon peak and I’m blown away by the design of that mountain #if we’re talking verisimilitude in games how about that whole shebang #no obvious well worn path up to the top of the mountain bc it’s just for dragons who’s gonna be walking up there?#having the player follow a trail of increasingly dense dragon corpses is SUCH a great tone setter #which means I’m probably going to hate bayle but whatever I’m already invested let’s gooooo #tsuchi plays games

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seddair · 6 months ago

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#the cope around eddie agreeing that shannon was the love of his life is funny lmao #like there really isn’t any reason to doubt that this is true #it doesn’t mean he can’t love again or can’t have a meaningful relationships anymore #but… the show has very much framed her to be the love of eddie’s life lmao #i know why people are fighting it so hard hence why it’s so funny to me #won’t change reality but yk lol #also the discussion around buck bee-lining to eddie’s after running into kim when he was initially going to had straight to tommy’s #is also sort of funny because it’s not like it implied he abandoned tommy or whatever #he didn’t spend the night at eddie’s he likely left after their conversation and still went to tommy’s anyway lol #it’d be different if he did or if it was implied that he and tommy had time sensitive plans but…#anyway #now that i don’t really have the b*ddie goggles on anymore it’s kind of funny to see all of these discussions as an outsider #and people are free to think what they want or w/e but boy some people really do reach with this stuff lol #ignore me

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feyburner · 2 months ago

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I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?�� to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

#superbat #my writing #i was genuinely surprised to wake up and discover i hadn’t just dreamed the whole thing

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monstersflashlight · 5 months ago

Text

This post was supposed to be a long story but I got impatient and posted it. Now we have the full story. Hope y’all like it as much as I do. <3

Orc professor

Orc x chubby fem!reader || power dynamics, dom/sub undertones, exhibitionism, voyeurism, cum play, breeding, size kink, age gap, degradation, praise kink

It was your third failed mini-test when you thought enough was enough. Your hot orc professor was too attractive for your sanity. He was so hot with his cardigans and whatever he wore that you were always distracted, unable to take notes. It was his fault, and you needed to remedy that before you failed the whole class. You just needed to talk to him and see what could you do to pass. You’ll do some extra homework, maybe write a few more papers. Anything. A naughty part of you wanted to offer him sex favors, but you knew he wasn’t that kind of orc. Maybe.

You knocked on his office door and heard the muffled “come in”. You opened the door and your breath was taken away because how fucking attractive he was. The black framed glasses and salt and pepper hair just accentuating his green skin. Your panties got wet instantly. Fuck. Why had he to be so fucking hot? It would be a lot easier if he was just an old wrinkly dude.

“What do you need from me?” He looked up from the papers he was grading and that look combined with that phrase made your pussy tingle. Fuck, you were so turned on by everything he did.

He could be talking about the condensation of the trees in the desert and you’ll be panting in the back of the class, panties wet. And right now, you were worried your arousal was going to form a wet patch in your pants. This needed to be fast before you embarrassed yourself.

“I- I want to know if I can do some extra activities to improve my performance in your class.” You told him as fast as you could, sitting down in front of him and trying really hard not to rub your thighs together.

The frantic pulse of your heart was mirrored on your clit, and it was driving you completely crazy. Being so close to him was like an aphrodisiac in itself.

“What kind of activities do you suggest?” He seemed uninterested. Some part inside of you got mad at him, you were clearly trying to improve and he looked like an asshole who didn’t care if his students passed or not. And for some reason that only made him hotter. You needed to get laid soon before you humped his leg or something.

“I- I don’t know. I just need to pass your class. Please, I’ll do anything,” you begged. You were sure it was too much, but he looked at you, a spark of interest in his dark pupils.

You realized how bad it sounded when you thought about it. You tried to take it back, say you didn’t mean it like that, but then he surprised you asking back: “Anything?” His smirk was enough to send lighting down your pussy, your panties soaking through your clothes. Good Goddess, how was he so fucking hot?

Contrary to your better judgment, and probably thinking just with your southern parts, you matched his teasing tone as you answered: “Yes, yes. Anything.” You leaned closer to his table, showing more tits than you knew you should. But fuck it. If you couldn’t pass this class, at least you could fuck the hottest professor on campus.

He leaned back on his chair, his eyes flickering to your almost exposed breasts. He hummed and finally said: “Okay, little human, we’ll make a deal.” You nodded eagerly, so ready to do whatever he asked.

If he asked you to get naked and suck his cock right there, you would fall to your knees so fast he wouldn’t even see you moving. You were more than ready, so wet and needy you could feel the wetness pooling inside your thighs, probably through your pants. The walk home was going to be so uncomfortable. Ugh.

But you weren’t expecting his offer to be so filthy, so nasty. “Each morning, you’ll arrive a bit early, and you will handle me your panties. Used panties. And I want you to take them off in front of me, so I suggest you start wearing those slutty skirts you love so much.” You were bamboozled by his words.

Did he notice you? Did he like your skirts, too? He must like them if he noticed you wearing them so often. And he though they were slutty (they were, and you might or might not wear them to see if he reacted). A part of you wanted to be offended, but the other part of you was ready to say yes. Yes to that, yes to anything.

He interpreted your silence as agreement and kept talking. “If you do that, you will pass my class. That works for you?” He was back to looking uninterested, but you saw right through his facade.

His hand was resting suspiciously close to his groin, and you could almost make the outline of a dick. A huge dick, but you weren’t sure. You wanted to lean closer to inspect it, but you refrained, your head spinning with everything that just happened.

“Yes. Yes. Perfect. I’ll do it. Thank you, thank you, thank you…” You repeated a dozen times before he dismissed you. There was a big grin on his face when you left. You could feel his eyes fixed on your ass as you walked out. Point for you.

The first couple days it went without a hitch. You arrived early, and he was always there, expecting you with a knowing smirk. You usually made a show of pushing your panties down your legs and grabbing them, never actually showing him anything, but making it obvious that you were enjoying yourself with the game you two were playing. He always smelled them and hummed appreciatively, making your clit get excited instantly. You loved when men were vocal in bed. In his case, when monster’s were.

Where all monsters more vocal than humans? You never slept with a monster before. You always wanted to try, but never knew someone who excited you as much as your orc professor. The first time you saw him you tripped on your feet and almost hit the ground. He was so much older than you, he could probably be your father, but good lord if you wouldn’t love to call him daddy.

After the fourth day giving him your panties, you got a bit bolder. You turned around and bent down, making sure he was seeing your naked pussy and fat ass as you did so. The red lacy panties barely covered your wet pussy as you pushed them down your legs. He growled loudly at you when he saw them, you groaned softly. When you handled the panties to him, his eyes were as dark as a storm and you could see the outline of his dick perfectly. You gasped, he was so big, so much bigger than anyone you’d been with before. How would that feel inside of you? Would it even fit?

That day, you left feeling elated because of his reaction, a plan starting to form in your mind. You were going to be really, really bad. You spent the rest of the class rubbing your thighs together and trying not to touch yourself. You could still see the outline of his dick if you focused on his groin, and it was making you insane. You almost ran out of the class to jerk off in the bathroom.

On the fifth day, you wore your shortest skirt, the one that barely covered your ass. You walked in and waited until he gave you a once over. Your body was burning by the time he ended his staring. He arched a brow, expecting you to do what you were instructed before. You turned around and repeated the same actions as the day before, showing him your wet pussy as you bent down. He growled again and you smirked.

You handed them the black lacy panties and grinned. “Here you have them, sir.” You pronounced the last word with all your intent, being as flirty as possible as you walked away, sitting in the first row. You never did that before, you were forever a last row girly, but today you had plans. You felt his eyes lingering on your half exposed ass. The walk home was going to be a bit sketchy with that skirt, but it was worth it.

The class started and he looked at you. You smiled innocently as he started to explain about the life circle of some plant. You didn’t care, you were a girl on a mission.

When he turned around and started asking questions, you opened your legs.

The girl sitting next to you wasn’t paying any attention to your actions, but his gaze zeroed on you. You open your legs slightly more, knowing full well your big thighs must cover your pussy most of the time. But if you open them far enough… Yes. You realized the second he saw your pussy because he dropped the pen he was using to write down some stuff on the board.

And then you saw it: the outline of his monster cock noticeable against his dark pants, making you drool and do it again. You parted your legs and bit down on a pen, trying to be as slutty as possible. He coughed to cover what you guessed was a groan. He sat down and ordered everyone to write some stuff for him.

Before you left the class, he grabbed your arm and told you: “Remember we have a meeting after class, I’ll be expecting you in my office.” His tone is harsh and final, you nodded, blushing. Suddenly you feel very embarrassed about your performance in class, but your slutty side is more than happy to comply.

After all your classes, you rushed to his office and knocked softly. He opened the door before you could ask, grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside. He closed the door behind you and pressed your back against it. He was over you instantly, his big mouth kissing you as his tusks framed your jaw. You kissed him back with equal passion, grabbing his hair and pressing your whole body against his. You moaned against his mouth when he pulled back.

“You were a very naughty girl. And naughty girls need to be punished.” His voice had an edge of danger to it that had you panting. You nodded, eagerly. “Bend down over the desk. Now.” You had to press against him to get to it, but you complied.

“What about the papers?” You asked, trying to move them around but he grunted. He put a hand on the middle of your back and pushed down, plastering your head against the papers and pulling your skirt up at the same time. You felt the cold air against your backside and shivered.

“Such a slutty girl, offering me his panties for a pass. Showing me her wet pussy like a slut. Parting her legs for me in the middle of class.” He punctuated each one of your actions with a caress to your ass. You were panting against the papers, pushing your ass up to get him to touch you more. “You need to be punished for all of that. You were a very, very naughty girl. Such a slut.” And then his big hand made contact with your right ass cheek. You screamed and he stopped. “That won’t do. You need to be quiet.” You looked at him over your shoulder and watched as he took your panties out of his pocket. “Open.” You complied, and he shoved them in your mouth. “Good girl. I’m going to spank your little slutty ass and then fuck your pussy, do you want that?” You nodded eagerly.

He hit your ass ten times, one after the other, not letting you catch your breath before he was hitting you again. You cried out around the panties in your mouth, but you only got them wet with saliva. Tears fell from your eyes and landed on the papers on the desk, making a mess. He didn’t care about it. When he finished spanking you, your pussy was so wet you were sure it was dripping.

“Such a good girl taking the spanking she deserves. Are you on the pill?” His question took you by surprise and when you nodded again he smirked. “Good, I’m going to breed you so deeply you are going to feel me for days.” You groaned at his words. He lowered his pants enough to get his dick out. When you saw it, you whimpered. “Don’t worry, it will fit.” You weren’t so sure about it, but he was already pushing the tip against your gaping hole.

By the time he bottomed out you were breathless. His dick so big you could feel it in the back of your throat. You were spread so wide you felt like you were going to tear in two. But it felt so fucking good. His dick hit every single good point inside of you, rubbing against your G-spot and parts of your pussy you didn’t even know could feel that good. He breathed hard over you as you adapted to his size. He was being so careful with you it was a shock from the way he acted when you entered his office.

After a few minutes you started moving your hips back. He grabbed your hips and pulled back, controlled. You groaned and he chuckled, pushing into you again. The scream you let out wasn’t muffled by the panties. And then the carefulness stopped. He fucked your pussy restlessly, until you were drooling around the panties and over papers on the desk. You could feel the bruises forming on your hips, where his green hands were holding you.

He fucked you like a machine, grabbing you like a toy and fucking your body like you weren’t more than a fleshlight to him. You moaned and groaned around your gag every time he thrusted inside. The pleasure so high it was maddening. His hand went around your body and he started rubbing your clit frantically. You came less than three seconds later and he rapidly followed. His cum was scalding hot in your insides, so deep and so much of it you could feel it slipping out around his dick.

When he finished cumming, he draped himself over you and hugged you close. “You did good, you were perfect.” He took the panties out of your mouth and kissed you softly, moving your limp body until your back was on the desk and he was sitting on his chair in front of you. “Now, take out my cum and eat it.”

You pushed your torso off the table, leaning on your elbows. “Wha- what?” Did he really wanted you to do that? That felt forbidden, like a step too far, but it made you so hot to think about it...

“Finger yourself for me and eat out mixed essence like a good girl for me,” he repeated. As soon as he praised you, you were ready to do whatever he asked you to.

So you complied. “Ye- yes, sir.”

You proceeded to do exactly what he told you, slowly scooping his cum from inside you with your fingers and putting it in your mouth. You moaned at the first taste, feeling naughtier than ever, feeling like the slut he called you earlier. His eyes were focused on your pussy and it felt so good to have all his attention over you that you wanted to scream again, your pussy tingling.

“Come here.” He pulled you off the table and to a kneeling position between his legs. You looked up at him adoringly, your brain, blind with pleasure. “You are going to show me those beautiful breasts of yours and I’m going to come again over you. Then you’ll put the shirt back on and walk to your house like that. Pussy dripping cum, tits marked by me,” he growled the last part. You nodded, already taking your shirt off. “Good girl.”

He jerked his monster cock over your tits, his green fist contrasted with his red tip and darker dick. It was beautiful to see. It took him less than three minutes to be groaning over you as he painted your boobs with his release. He spread it all over your tits, pinching your nipples as he did so. You groaned, your clit pulsing again. You couldn’t understand how much his actions turned you on.

He helped you put back your shirt, and he put you over his lap. You made out for a few more minutes as you melted against him.

“Tomorrow morning I expect you to be early for class.” You arched an eyebrow at him, confused. “If you want to show me your pussy, my cum better be leaking out of it. Do you understand?” You nodded, unable to form words after such risky order. “Good.” He kissed you again before sending you home.

Anticipation filled your inside as you walked home feeling his cum drying over your tits and leaking out of your bare pussy.

You were going to get an A+ in his class.

Don’t forget you can comission me for something like this if you want.

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mostly-imagines · 7 months ago

Text

So This Is Love

jason todd x fem!reader

aka you show each other what love is supposed to be like

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: section 1: close-call panic attack for j, mentions of ptsd for j // section 2: implied sexual activity // section 3: mild angst w comfort // section 4: implied ptsd for j

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

The nightmare wasn’t anything unusual for him, but it did feel particularly vivid tonight. It was more of a memory than anything, though. That same one that plays on a loop in his head throughout the night the more he tries to push it away during the day. It was the last thwack of the crowbar that had him jolt awake in bed.

You shift in your spot next to him, opening your eyes to see his rattled state. If he’d been in a clearer frame of mind he would’ve lied to you. He would’ve expertly leveled his breathing and told you everything was fine and to go back to sleep.

But instead, he looks over at you with wide eyes, chest heaving and shaking like he might start hyperventilating at any moment.

You shoot up from the bed, instantly on alert. This isn’t the first time he’s had one of these nightmares around you, so it’s not hard for you to guess where this is coming from.

“Jay? What’s—what do you need?” You know better than to try and touch him unprompted right now, you’ve panicked enough yourself to know that sudden contact only makes it worse.

“I—I can’t, I—” Now he really looks like he’s about to lose all control of his breathing.

You sit up further, moving onto your knees. “Here, let me—can I see your hand?” you ask gently, holding your own out.

He extends it to you without question, a tiny act of vulnerability that he couldn’t have dreamed of doing in this state before he met you.

You flip his hand over, palm-up and start tracing lines over it in the moonlight. You’re looking at his hand quite intently like there’s something very important on it. It’s enough to make him question what the hell you’re doing.

“I can read palms.” You tell him, simply.

“What?” His voice almost breaks, like he’s right at the edge of tears.

“Yeah, my friend taught me. I can tell the future and everything.” You look up at him, fingers not stopping their trailing. “Do you wanna hear yours?”

All he can do is nod.

You smile and start to inspect his hand carefully, tracing over calluses and a few tiny scars. You draw your finger across the short, deep line parallel to his fingers.

“This one…see the way it curves upwards right there?” He nods. “That means you’re very resourceful and ambitious. Like a leader.” His breathing starts to slow as he watches you, trying to focus on what you’re showing him in the dim light from the window.

“And this one,” you trace the line that curves downwards in the middle, “This one says that you’re strong and stubborn, which I can confirm,” he huffs out a laugh. It’s little but it’s genuine. “But it also means that you’re resilient. You’re built to overcome things and bounce back even stronger because of them. Which I can also confirm.”

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. He takes in a deep breath, watching you draw patterns across the base of his palm.

The sensation soothes him in a way that he frankly didn’t know he could be soothed. He figures he usually can’t, except when it’s you. He tries to match your breathing, syncing up with you. If anyone else tried to get this close to him when he was on the verge of a panic attack they’d get punched, at best.

But you…you always know how to help him. He’s considered in the past that he did something really right somewhere down the line and you were sent to him as reward. He’d racked his mind for hours of every good thing he’d ever done, trying to find one that could explain your presence in his life. For anything that could explain why he deserved you. He poured and poured over every memory he could dig up but couldn’t find any good he’d ever done that surmounted to a single piece of the good in your heart.

There was a time when he would’ve thought—when he did think that you were only in his life to be taken away as soon as he felt safe. That would certainly be in line with previous experiences. But you showed him quickly that you have this way about you…it makes those loud thoughts in the back of his head shut up and just listen. Listen to your words, your breathing, your footsteps, your laugh…anything he could. Because it turns out, when he listens, he feels safe.

He’s quiet for a long time, contentedly watching you work. He notices that at some point you’d stopped tracing the lines and began drawing designs instead.

He breaks the silence after several minutes, softly commenting, “You don’t know how to read palms.”

“No, I do not.”

But you continued to leave your invisible art on the palm of his hand just the same, both of you taking comfort in the sound of the other's breathing and the soothing feeling of each other’s skin.

The radio plays lightly in the background, surrounding your night with soft ambience. You’re working at the cutting board with tomatoes as Jason leans against the counter next to you, having just finished getting the pasta set up on the stove.

His hands find your hips, resting them there as he watches you work over your shoulder.

“Watch your thumb.” He comments when the knife gets a little too close for his liking.

You shrug him off, “I know how to do it.”

He eyes the way the knife stutters as you cut through the tomato, slicing through not very cleanly at all. “Doesn’t look like it.”

You ignore him, elbowing him gently in the abdomen. He’s joking, but he’s not. The skill level you’re displaying is only above Bruce and slightly below Tim, which is not great.

“Will you let me do it?” he asks you when he realizes there’s going to be no improvement.

“Fine.” You relent with faux annoyance.

You switch over to the stovetop, keeping a careful eye on the pasta as it cooks. It’s quiet for a moment as he works, chopping with much more efficiency than you had.

“You didn’t have to stay here tonight, you know.” You say quietly, still intently watching the stove.

In spite of the music, your low volume does nothing to faze him as he continues his actions, “Why wouldn’t I?”

You stir the contents of the saucepan around. “Well, I know Roy wanted you to go out…”

“Not missing much.” He mumbles, opening up the above cabinet to get out plates.

You lull your head to the side, “Come on, he’s your best friend.”

Jason frowns. “He’s not my best friend.”

You turn your head towards him, “No?”

He meets your gaze, frown consistent. “No. You are.” He says it like he’s confused that you don’t know that.

“Oh.” You smile, “You’re my best friend too.”

His eyes soften at that, a light smile gracing his lips. He knew that, and he knew you’d say it, but hearing it out loud just…does something to him.

You flick the stove top off, prompting him to on instinct reach for the Marinara jar and crack it open for you. He hands it to you and you accept with a smile, twisting it open the rest of the way as you turn back to the stove. The jar sputters as you open, spitting out sauce.

“Oh, shit.” You hiss, when the splatter hits your shirt.

He takes one glance at the mess on your shirt and pulls his own shirt off his back. He’s tugging yours off just as fast, replacing it with his. You’ve barely processed what happened as he scans your body, eyes lingering on where his shirt stops at your thighs. “Can you wear this to bed tonight?” He asks, hands running over your waist.

You laugh, “Really?”

He meets your eyes, face serious. “Yes.” He squeezes your hip, “You look good.”

“In your shirt.” You say with a knowing smile.

“In my shirt.” He confirms.

You turn back to the stove to dish out the salsa, his hands skimming around your thighs as you do. He watches you as you work, though rather than watching your hands he’s fixated on the size of his shirt over you and how fucking good you look right now.

“Or…” He sweeps his eyes over your legs before looking back up at you again. “Did’ya turn the stove off?”

You tilt your head at him, “I did…?”

He grins at you, lifting you up by your thighs til you’re a head above him. “Good.” He maneuvers you over to the counter, setting you on top. He brings your wrist up to his mouth to press a delicate kiss before dropping to his knees.

You’ve been laying in bed for at least three hours, bordering on sleep but never quite falling in. You and Jason had a little spat, though nothing insurmountable, it was still the biggest fight you’ve had to date. You’d tried going out (at night) to see your friend that was having a hard time, and yeah, you should’ve told Jason you were going. It was only five blocks, give or take, but in Gotham at eleven o’clock at night, it’s a risk to say the least.

You should’ve told Jason, you know. But he wouldn’t have let you go or would’ve insisted on putting hold on patrolling to accompany you. You always feel bad when he does that—people could be getting hurt somewhere because you needed your boyfriend to walk you down the street. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter in the end because he caught you red handed before you’d even made it a full block away. Of all the nights for him to come home early, it had to be this one.

He dropped down from the rooftop behind you and scared the absolute hell out of you, and you didn’t even have time to be relieved that it was just him because he was on you in a flash.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice was hard through the modulator, a rare tone for him to use with you.

“I just—my friend—” he sounded tired and angry, sure signs that he’d really not had a good night so far which was probably all the more reason that you shouldn’t have been out by yourself in the middle of the night.

“What are you—no! Go home. Now.” You would’ve, you really would’ve, but your friend called you crying about her boyfriend cheating on her again and she needed the in person support.

“Ja—” You’d cut yourself off, “It’s down the street, it’s fine—” He dropped his shoulders in a huff and faced you dead-on. You didn’t need him to take his helmet off to know exactly how he was looking at you.

He dropped down and hooked his arm around the back of your legs, lifting you off the ground with no discernible effort. “Wha—”

He started walking before you were even fully planted on his shoulder, arm wrapping around your legs to hold you in place.

“Hood! I am so fucking serious, put me down!” You swatted at his back and struggled in his grip, though in the back of your mind you knew it was a pointless effort. Even if you were a match in size, whatever mood he’d been pushed in was enough to guarantee that you had no chance.

He ignored you, not even pretending that you were giving him any difficulty with your squirming. He marched you back down the block to your apartment, not stopping until you’re outside your door. He set you down in between him and the entrance, digging into his pocket for his key.

He kicked the door shut behind him, finally letting you go. He wordlessly grabbed one of his spare guns and two cartridges of ammo from inside the closet by the door and turned back to you with a firm stance. “Stay here.”

You immediately tried to push past him again, at that point more angry about him dragging you back here than about having to duck out on your friend. He stopped you, holding you by the arms, which led you to respond by raising your voice at him, “Jason!”

But he didn’t waste any time letting you know how it is, “I will lock you in this fucking apartment. Stay. Here.” Him cursing at you like that was very rare and not a particularly good sign, so through your anger you’d made the decision that it was better to relent, for now. Your posture dropped and you frowned at him resentfully, a visible cue that you were giving in without you having to say it.

He stayed true to his word and locked the door on his way out, though knowing you could easily unlock it from the inside. You’d trudged into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

Now you lay on Jason’s usual side of the bed, partially because you do miss him, partially because the bed feels a little less empty when you can’t see all the empty space. You know he was just trying to keep you safe after what was probably a rough start to the night, so you feel less than great that you’d yelled at him.

Your dwelling over the memory is interrupted by a quiet creak of the bedroom door. You blink up at him blearily, “Jay?” You sit up, furrowing your brow. You didn’t even hear him come home. “What’s wrong?” You figure he must be hurt to come in here—it’s not unknown for him to sleep on the couch if he feels like he did something wrong or upset you.

Your eyes attempt to adjust to the darkness, scanning over him for any injuries. He’s out of his armor and in his regular clothes which means he must have showered already. And you know from dozens of nights patching him up that he always tends to his injuries before showering.

This leaves you confused, as you look up at him, waiting for an answer. “I can’t…I don’t want to sleep without you.” He whispers, eyes on the floor.

You shuffle back into your usual spot near the wall and hold your hand out to him expectantly. You’re still a bit cross with him, but you miss him too much to care right now.

It takes him a second to move, but he eventually lingers away from the door and makes his way to the bed. He takes your hand as he climbs onto the bed, letting go only when you lay down after him, staring up at the ceiling next to him.

You weren’t entirely expecting him to wrap his arms around you and tug you into his chest. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’d assumed he would lay on his side and you on yours and that would be enough for him to fall asleep with. Instead, he tightens his arms and buries his face into the crook of your neck. You lay there in silence for a couple minutes, both thinking.

“You’re mad.” He mumbles into your shoulder after a while. You know he feels badly about the dispute, you knew it while it was still happening. As hard as he tries, he’s not very good at hiding his emotions. Not with you, anyways.

You shrug slightly. “Barely. I’ll get over it. This is more important.”

He picks his head up to look at you, “I love you. You know that?”

You wiggle out of his grip a bit, making him frown. You use the new space to flip over to face him, before placing his arm back around your waist. You peek up at him, looking him in the eyes, “I do. You know I love you. Even when we fight.”

He looks at you like he’s a bit thrown off by your words. “I’m sorry. It was just…it was a rough night…I—I’m sorry.” He tells you dolefully.

You shake your head, frowning. “Don’t be. I should’ve texted you.”

“It—yeah. Please. I just worry about you.” He looks so sad and it makes you feel somehow worse.

“I know,” you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He kisses your forehead, not moving away after.

You feel like you can finally relax and your tense body doesn’t take long to slacken in his hold. Soon after, he does the same, both of you closing your eyes. You feel your heart slow and your mind starts to find a space of peace.

Jason didn’t get it at first.

Honestly, he didn’t really realize that you noticed things about him that even he didn’t see.

Your neighbor was having their place remodeled and you knew there would be construction going on near your apartment all day.

Jason didn’t really care, planning to bury his head under the pillow and trying to sleep through it. You however, seemed very adamant about getting out of the apartment that day. You’d left hours before the construction crew had even gotten there, telling him it was a nice day out.

It was an alright day, but he let you have your way.

You held his hand as you walked down the street, looking into shop windows and commenting on things you think he’d like.

You led him into a book store excitedly, telling him about how the author he’d been binging had just published something new. He didn’t even know that.

You were browsing the sections, flipping through books as you went. You peered across the shop at a kid holding an absolutely massive pile of books, who was clearly struggling to keep them in his arms.

His mother tried to help him but he shook his head and strided away independently, albeit very slowly. The weight of the books though, did get the best of him, and you could tell by the quivering in his arms that he was going to drop them.

“Loud noise.” You said quickly, seemingly out of the blue. Jason turned to you, confused, before seeing the stack the books splat flat onto the ground. It was indeed a loud noise.

He tilts his head at you, though you’re still busy watching the little boy as he throws his head back in frustration.

“What was that?”

You look at him, “He dropped his books.”

“Yeah, I saw. But why—”

His question gets cut off by the kid bursting into tears, wailing. You turn back to look at him, your gaze getting caught by the new book you’d been telling him about. “Ooh!”

You grab his hand and pull him over with you, smiling widely when you have the book in your hands. The sight of you makes him feel so warm so fast that he forgets about the odd interaction all together.

A couple hours later, you sit outside a cafe and eat lunch together, his back to the road, you sitting diagnal to him.

He’s telling you about the shit Damian got in trouble for at school last week, holding your hand with his right hand and eating with his left.

“He thinks he’s not going to get expelled for pulling shit like that every other week, it’s ridiculous.” He says, tossing his napkin down on the table.

Your smile is wavers as your eyes move past his shoulder looking down the block before widening, “Car—”

The sudden noise startles him enough to make him visibly jump, hand flying to where his holster would be. He looks over at the fender bender, shoulders relaxing.

He turns back to you to find your eyes looking far more worried than they should. You seem to be scanning his face, looking for something and he’s about to ask you what’s wrong when it sinks in.

He does get scared by unexpected loud sounds, doesn’t he? He never really thinks of it until it happens, but his mind is trained to expect gunshots or crowbars making impact.

It doesn’t happen often, but it noticeably takes a little piece out of him when it does.

“You…” he tries, but falters. He’s not even sure he’s processing this right.

He’s never seriously tried to fathom that you love him half as much as he loves you, though love doesn’t feel like a strong enough word. He lives and breathes for you, you’ve become a lifeline he’d been stranded without for most of his life. But now you're here and you’re everything, you’re in his head all the time, in every emotion he feels.

He thinks he’s here for you, that he was brought back from the dead because of you. You can’t possibly understand how much his heart is full of you, he doesn’t understand it himself.

He knows you love him, he’s gotten that through his head. But he can’t get a grasp on the idea that he’s equally matched in the who loves who the most battle.

Do you really care that much about him to go out of your way to keep track of things that might startle him? He knows there’s a million things about you that are in the back of his mind at any given time, but surely you don’t operate that same way with him?

Do you?

There’s this burning in his heart that aches and it only gets stronger when he sees you looking at him like that. So genuine. With care, with love.

He squeezes your hand, “I love you. More than anything.”

The look on your face sinks back into that sweet, adorable look that he’s so used to and it makes him want to scream.

You smile that bright smile and it sends his heart rocketing into oblivion. “I love you.” You squeeze his hand back, “More than everything.”

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

#jason todd loves his gf #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd/reader #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfic #red hood fanfiction #dc x reader #dc imagine #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction

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yanderenightmare · 5 months ago

Text

part one

TW: nsfw, dubcon, blackmail

fem reader

As promised, you receive the pictures in the mail while the payment is forwarded almost emmidiatly. You don’t know which makes you gawk more, the photos of you or the numbers.

You also get an email—an invitation. The photographer is asking you to dinner. Or, asking is putting it nicely—which he most certainly didn’t. It’s phrased like a notice from your boss—matter-of-factly, he’s picking you up at eight, wear something nice.

You think about declining, but then you think about your friend again and how you don’t want to cause her any trouble. A free dinner isn’t really all that bad, is it?

It’s worse, actually.

“You should have told me you didn’t have anything to wear. I would have lent you something,” is the first thing he says when you get in his car. He hadn’t opened the door for you or anything, just sat in the driver’s seat waiting.

And though your cheeks burn with embarrassment, you think you’re foolish for it. You hadn't really dressed to impress him, after all—something you might as well tell him, “Maybe I just didn’t feel like dressing up. You didn’t exactly leave a good impression last time we met, so I don’t believe I owe you anything.”

He scoffs with a grin—face turned towards the road as he starts driving. “You have a lot more bite without your friend.”

“She has too much respect for you.” You cross your arms and look out the window.

“That’s for sure.” You hear him chuckle, but he doesn’t offer any more of a response. You’re glad to spend the rest of the drive in silence.

You feel underdressed at the restaurant. You hadn’t thought he’d take you somewhere so nice. Most of the other couples there are dressed as if for a gala, while you’re dressed as if you’re going to an office party.

He hasn’t tried too hard himself. But still, he fits in—fat watch on his wrist, kempt hair, neat shoes, dress trousers, and a silk shirt with one too many buttons undone—a nauseating skinny chain beneath the collar as well as the hint of a chest tattoo. You bet it’s one of those dumb tribal inks, probably with some mundane Japanese characters he doesn’t know the meaning of.

“Is this where you undermine all the models desperate for your recognition?” you sigh as you sit down.

“We haven't even gotten our menus, and you’re already causing a scene?”

He’s the one who was rude the moment you got in the car. In fact, he was rude the minute you met him. “Might as well speed this along.”

He chuckles—his smile genuinely amused instead of angered the way you’d imagined—the way you’d remembered from last time when he sent girls crying. “You know, for a face like that, you have one hell of a tongue.”

He orders wine by the name with ease and swiftness before returning to what he was saying.

“I like that. Most models are dull, but not you.”

“I don’t agree. And I’m a model,” you snip, showing no interest in his flirting.

“No? Didn’t you see the pictures?” Your attitude doesn’t seem to deter him—rather, it only seems to egg him further on. “I have them all mounted on my walls at home—you should come see.”

This makes you falter. Looking at him from across the table with rounded eyes. “On your walls?”

“Framed.” He smiles, finally having broken through—he only intends to take it further. Not that what he was saying wasn’t true. “I just couldn’t help myself. I consider it my best work.”

The look on your face is something between disgusted and uncertain—speechless in a sense.

It makes him laugh again. “Does anything flatter you?”

The wine comes. He’s poured a glass for testing.

“Not when spoken by men like you.”

His grin grows as he swirls the liquid around, smelling it like a phony.

“That’s a shame,” he says before taking a sip. He nods to the waiter, and you’re poured a similar glass. Meanwhile, he looks at you. “I’d like to flatter you—I’d like to spoil you even. You seem like you deserve it.”

You sip your glass. “No need.”

“I’m not so sure about that. You currently work at a diner, right?”

You gaze at him from atop your glass, brows furrowing. “How do you—”

“I didn’t.” It’s a lie, of course, he’d searched you up and gone over every little detail he could find. “It’s clear from the looks of you—”

“Fuck you,” you snap, putting your glass down a bit too harshly, enough to make a little wine slip and spill.

He doesn’t mind it. “Oh, I want you to,” he says instead. “After I pay for dinner and drive you back. We can fuck right under my favorite portrait of you.”

You’re stunted by his crude words, but only for a second. “How about we skip dinner, and you go fuck yourself.”

His smile doesn’t drop, even as you get up to leave. “Settle down, sweetheart.”

“Make me, jackass.”

You’re on your way to go, but his next words have you halting.

“Either you humor me, or I make sure your friend never models in the country again.”

You turn around to look at him. You don’t really know why you’re so surprised. The card he just pulled is the very reason you agreed to the dinner in the first place. But an incentive is very different from outright blackmail, and suppose you just hadn’t really believed he’d take it that far.

“It’s my impression you don’t want that,” he continues.

You sit back down. He tops your glass off.

“I could make her big, you know?” he offers while pouring for himself as well. “Really speed her career along—set her up for life. I’ll do the same for you, too, of course.”

He swirls his wine, lifting it as if to make a toast.

“And all you gotta do is come back home with me.”

You don’t have the words.

“You won’t be disappointed,” he promises. “I’m good at it.” As if that’s your concern. “You’ll never want to fuck anyone else again.”

You hate how right he is.

You’ve never cum sooner or harder before in your life, not with anyone else or on your own. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced—so good, you’re screaming—moaning out in echoes throughout his giant penthouse, bouncing off the marble floors into all unlocked rooms, creating a cacophony of your undeniable pleasure.

He’s on his knees beneath you as you lean with your back against the window overlooking the city, barely able to stand as he buries his face between your soft thighs, canting his chin up while lapping hard at your slit and clit. His hard stare set on your face and the way you throw your head back while cumming in his mouth—your hand tussled in his hair, yanking on it hard enough to make him growl.

Your legs and feet give you little support. It's his hands that keep you up as you slide further and further down the floor-to-ceiling window until you’re almost about ready to drop your weight completely.

But he’s made you come undone three times by then, and just can’t wait any longer.

He’s spun you around before you know it, making you face the pretty lights of the city skyline—his mouth hot on the shell of your ear, “I told you so, didn’t I?”

Your breath fogs the glass with your panting—knees wobbly, only standing thanks to the thick arms he’s got supporting you, each with a tit in their hand, giving them rough squeezes as he starts pounding away at your womb—hard enough to make the city lights blend in with the stars.

“You won’t wanna fuck anyone else again.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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grapejuicenharry · 1 month ago

Text

Angel

Harry and Y/N are best friends— except they have feelings for each other (4k words)

warnings : smut 18+, fluff, kissing, grinding, jealous h

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ . ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶. ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

Harry really liked—no, loved—Y/N, but he would never admit it to her. She was his best friend, and he couldn’t imagine a day without her. She was like sunshine in his life, someone he could always rely on.

“Harry, my feet hurt,” Y/N whined beside him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glassy from one too many drinks. They were walking back from a party thrown by one of Harry’s friends, Alex. It was his birthday, and even though Harry and Y/N hadn’t planned to attend, today had been their last exam of the semester. That called for celebratory drinks after all the hard work they’d put in. Sleepless, stressful nights spent preparing for exams, completing assignments, and submitting papers—it had all been overwhelming, and tonight felt like the ideal way to finally blow off some steam.

“Didn’t I warn you about those heels?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice as he raised an eyebrow. He knew those heels always gave her trouble and told her to wear something more comfortable, but Y/N, being Y/N, never listened.

“Yeah, but they make me look sexy, and I wanted to be tall enough to at least reach your neck,” she replied absentmindedly.

“Well, guess that means I’m carrying you the rest of the way,” Harry said, and before she could protest, he hoisted her up onto his shoulders.

“Harry, my dress is too short! I’m going to flash everyone,” Y/N laughed, though there was no real concern in her voice.

Harry chuckled, placing his hand carefully to keep her covered. Besides, the streets were almost empty at 2 a.m., and there was hardly anyone around to notice.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

Y/N met Harry on the first day of college. She was nervous and eager to make friends. Hurrying to her seat, she noticed Harry sitting next to her. The first thing she saw was his mop of curly hair, and she thought he was incredibly cute. He looked so innocent and nerdy in his black-rimmed glasses. He was just too adorable.

He wore a white T-shirt that highlighted his bulging biceps, with tattoos peeking through. Suddenly, Y/N found herself wanting to see every tattoo that adorned his beautiful body. She was so curious and lost in her thoughts about him that she didn’t realize Harry was, in fact, looking at her.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Harry thought he was dreaming as he looked at Y/N. She seemed like an angel, a beautiful one at that. She wore a cute white hoodie adorned with pink bows, and her curly hair framed her lovely face perfectly. What captivated him the most were her eyes; they were alluring, radiant, and a luminous shade of dark brown. Next were her luscious pink lips, so full and plump that he suddenly wanted to kiss them and taste them. He wondered if they tasted like berries or cherries, secretly hoping they tasted like cherries, his favorite fruit.

“Do you have an extra pen?” Y/N asked in a hushed voice. “I forgot to bring my pouch,” she added with a little pout.

“Y-yeah, yeah,” Harry replied, fixing his glasses, clearing his throat, and answering in a hoarse voice. He couldn’t believe she was actually talking to him.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Later that day, they sat together at lunch, talking as if hours had passed. Y/N was so grateful to have found someone as kind as Harry, who listened to every word she said with such intent. They chatted about random topics, like their favorite TV shows and ice cream flavors. When Harry revealed that his favorite flavor was mint chocolate chip, Y/N made a weird face.

“Shut up—no, don’t you dare say it!” Harry exclaimed, amused.

“But it tastes like toothpaste!” Y/N whined playfully.

“No, it does not!” Harry shot back. Y/N made a mental note to convince Harry to try every other flavor until he grew to hate mint chocolate chip.

They soon became inseparable—best friends. Harry didn’t realize just how much he had started to like Y/N until it was almost too late. He thought frequently about confessing his true feelings, but there never seemed to be the right moment. He cherished the friendship they had, and the thought of losing her terrified him to his core. So he kept those feelings hidden, bottled up, and accepted her as his best friend.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

Harry set Y/N down on the couch when they reached her apartment. He kneeled down to take off her heels. “Ouch, slowly please,” YN whined.

“I am never letting you wear these stupid shoes again. Your feet are all red and swollen,” Harry countered, looking genuinely concerned. He hated seeing Y/N in pain. He wanted to protect her from everything and keep her safe in his cocoon—just him and Y/N.

He then carefully carried a sleepy Y/N to her bedroom and started looking for a comfortable shirt for her to wear. After finding a suitable shirt, he went to the bathroom to grab her makeup wipes and returned to find half-asleep Y/N lying on the bed. “Sweetheart, this will only take two minutes, I promise.” He began wiping her face gently.

After getting Y/N all ready for bed, Harry changed his own clothes. Y/N had “borrowed” too many of his shirts, but honestly, he never minded it. In fact, he secretly liked when Y/N wore his clothes. She looked breathtaking in his oversized shirt paired with her tiny shorts, which made Harry lose his mind.

“Come to bed and cuddle me; I need to sleep,” Y/N grumbled, rubbing her tired eyes.

“Coming, sweetheart, just two minutes,” Harry replied with a smile. He knew how grumpy Y/N got when she was sleepy. He quickly climbed into bed, set his glasses on the side table, and pulled her to his side. Cuddled next to him, Harry didn’t mind being the big spoon. He loved having Y/N molded to his side—the sweet scent of her hair, which smelled like strawberries on a sunny day, and the soft skin that felt like vanilla sundae. He adored every inch of her. Whenever he was with her, he felt like he was on cloud nine. Everything around him was rainbows and sunshine; she made everything look like it was through rose-tinted glasses.

But Harry also loved being the little spoon. There were days when he just wanted to be held, and honestly, Y/N loved having him like that—clingy, needy, like a cute little puppy.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

One day, Harry arrived at Y/N’s apartment looking extremely worn out. Y/N was lying on the bed, comfortably engrossed in her favorite novel. She grew concerned upon seeing Harry.

“I am so exhausted, and my head hurts,” Harry exclaimed, throwing his bag on the floor. “I had to sit in Professor Martin’s class for two hours, plus I had a psychology presentation today,” he stated tiredly while rubbing his drowsy eyes behind his frames.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry you had such a long day, baby. Come on, lie down, and I’ll massage your head,” Y/N replied, removing the blanket from her lap. Harry immediately climbed onto the bed and dropped his head in Y/N’s lap. She carefully removed his glasses and placed them on the side table before starting to massage his head.

She threaded her fingers in his curls, scratching his head lightly, rubbing, and applying just the right amount of pressure. Harry let out a soft moan as he could already feel the tension melting away, his body instinctively relaxing further into her lap.

“Feels amazing,” he murmured, his voice slightly muffled against her legs.

As her skilled fingers glided over his scalp, working their magic and easing the stress that had built up after a long week.

Y/N smiled, enjoying the way he melted under her touch. She varied her movements, alternating between gentle rubs and firmer pressure, focusing on the areas where he seemed to carry the most stress. Her fingers danced through his hair, and she leaned forward slightly to whisper, “You deserve this. Just relax.”

After what seemed like hours of massaging, Y/N realized Harry had fallen soundly asleep on her lap. His face looked peaceful, with his eyes closed and soft snores slipping through his pretty pouty lips. He looked so adorable, and Y/N couldn’t help but wish she could freeze time to savor this moment longer.

Knowing Harry would probably complain about his back in the morning, she gently shifted him, lifting his head from her lap and placing it on a pillow. His brows furrowed slightly, so she soothingly rubbed his forehead, trying to smooth away any lingering tension. Half asleep, Harry instinctively moved closer, wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist and nuzzling his face against her boobs. His personal pillow: He always has the best sleep whenever she holds him. Y/N smiled down at him. His curls tickled her jaw, and she couldn't resist leaning down to plant a soft kiss on his head.

“Goodnight, sleepyhead,” Y/N whispered, smiling at Harry, who had already drifted back into a peaceful slumber.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

Harry was never the jealous type—at least, not until Y/N came into his life. but right now he cant help but a bitter sensation rises up his throat when he sees yn with Jacob. A total douchebag who flirts with every girl in the college, Standing next to Y/N, too closely according to harry. Harry had come to find Y/N so they could grab tacos at their favorite spot, but instead, he’s witnessing this. Does Y/N like him? Does she have a crush on him that he doesn’t know about? What if Y/N is interested in him and wants to end her friendship with Harry? Will she forget about him? All these questions overwhelm Harry’s mind at the sight. No, no—Y/N was only his. His best friend, his angel, his sweetheart. She would never do something like this. His chest suddenly started burning at such thoughts.

Jacob says something which makes Y/N burst into laughter. His chest tightens at the sight. He wants to be the only person to make yn laugh like that. He curses inwardly that jacob gets to experience the sweet melody of her laughter, her laugh that can instantly brighten up the room with warmth and sunshine. He thinks to himself, Does Jacob know her eyes crinkle whenever she laughs? or how the mole under her right eye disappears when she laughs because of the fullness of her cheeks?

“Oi, whatchu looking at?” Y/N snapped her fingers in front of Harry’s face. He hadn’t realized she had come over and was talking to him. “You look like you could kill someone,” she teased, giggling as she spoke to him.

“Was that Jacob talking to you?” Harry asked, trying to sound casual even though he was fuming inside. “Yeah, he wanted my chemistry notes because apparently he spilled coffee on his,” Y/N replied, wrapping her arm around Harry's as they walked together.

“Did you give them to him?” Harry asked, mentally cursing Jacob and hoping she hadn’t.

“No, obviously I know he just wanted an excuse to hit on me. I’m not dumb,” Y/N exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “Besides, you know I don’t like sharing my notes with anyone except for you, because you know how to take care of them.” She chided and planted a kiss on Harry’s cheek. His face instantly heated.

“Good,” Harry whispered quietly, fixing his glasses, looking at the ground, too embarrassed to hide the blush of his cheek and unable to suppress a smile at the thought of Y/N rejecting that jerk.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

Harry loves when Y/N gets touchy like this with him. When randomly she hugs him, kisses him on his cheek, forehead, or settles on his lap while watching a movie. Her spontaneous kisses leave a soft tingle on his skin, and he can’t help but smile every time she curls up in his lap. It’s in these moments he feels closest to her, as if every touch and every kiss is a silent confession of how much she means to him. His arm instinctively wraps around her waist, pulling her in a little tighter, enjoying the way she fits perfectly against him. The movie on the screen fades into the background; all he can focus on is the warmth of her body and the way she makes him feel—like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. It all feels so natural. And they never have those awkward moments because they both love these touches. Whenever yn touches him, he feels electricity buzzing through him, in a good way. His skin feels like jello and his heart is thumping loudly, His brain is all muddled with goo and sparkles.

He wants to treasure those moments forever and constantly wishes for more and more.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

It was one of those rare evenings for Harry and Y/N, Where the world seemed to quiet down just for them. They had just finished with their midterms and needed this for the longest time. Dim yellow lights, a bottle of red wine sitting on the table, a soft record player playing in the background. Legs tangled under the blanket as Harry and Y/N sat closer to each other, just enjoying each other’s presence. The warmth of Yn’s body pressed against him felt like home.

Harry’s fingers absentmindedly played with a strand of Y/N’s hair, twirling it between his fingertips. His eyes traced over her face, taking in every detail — the curve of her lips, the soft rise and fall of her chest.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Harry whispered, his voice low and soft, his breath tickling her ear.

Y/N turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze with a soft smile and cheeks already flushed because of wine, changed into a deeper shade of red at his words. “You always say that.” Slurred her words lightly.

“Because it’s true,” he murmured, leaning in closer, their faces just inches apart. His fingers gently tugging at her bottom lip, eyes flickering to her mouth. “And I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of telling you that.”

For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them thick with unspoken words and emotions. Y/N felt her heart race as Harry’s eyes locked onto hers, filled with something deeper than just affection.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Y/N tilted her head, her lips brushing against Harry’s in the softest kiss, testing the waters. It was brief- just a featherlight kiss- but enough to send a shockwave through him. Harry let out a quiet sigh, his hand moving to cup her face as he deepened the kiss, slow and tender. As he leaned in closer, Y/N gently pushed his glasses up onto his forehead, making it easier for them to get lost in each other. Suddenly, he realized what he had done.

Harry pulled back immediately, his eyes wide with surprise at his own action.

“Sorry,” he blurted out, his voice panicked. “I don’t know why I did that.”

Y/N blinked, her cheeks flushing, but there was no trace of anger or discomfort on her face. Instead, she smiled softly, a warmth blooming in her chest at his sudden vulnerability. “No, Harry… It’s okay.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure? I didn’t mean—”

“Harry,” Y/N interrupted gently, her voice barely a whisper as she moved closer, her hand resting on his cheek. “It’s okay, I want this, I promise.”

Harry couldn’t quite grasp what was happening—it all felt too surreal, like something straight out of his dreams. Yet, here it was, playing out in real time. In the blink of an eye, Y/N tossed the blanket aside and straddled his lap. Her hands slid up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt as she pressed closer to him, wanting to be as near as possible. Her fingers trailed up his chest, feeling the heat radiating through his shirt, before cradling his face. Without hesitation, she pulled him into a deep kiss.

Harry was still trying to make sense of it all, but instinctively, his hands found their place—one tangling in her hair, the other resting gently on her neck.

The kiss was slow, tender, and filled with all the emotions that had been simmering under the surface for so long. His lips were soft, and she could taste the faint hint of wine on them. Their lips molded perfectly, like it was meant to be. Time seemed to blur. It must have been five minutes, or five hours; neither of them knew. It was a heated blend of tongue, teeth, and lips.

Y/N’s hand reached for the hem of his shirt, lifting it. Harry pulled back, catching his breath, resting his forehead against hers. His heart pounded, blood rushing south; he was so hard, making him ache beneath her.

“Can I take off your top, baby?” He whispered, his breath warm against her jaw as he kissed and nipped at it.

“Yes, yes, please,” she murmured, and that was all the permission Harry needed. He swiftly pulled off her shirt—his shirt—and eagerly ran his hands over her smooth, soft skin.

“So soft, your skin is so soft,” he murmured, his hands working behind her, unclasping her bra.

Her tits were a piece of art—Round, so full and perfectly perky. His large hands cup them, gently rolling the nipple between his fingers.

Now she sat only straddling him in her thin, barely there sleeping shorts; she could feel his hard cock beneath her, thick and throbbing, nudging her entrance. Her dampness was seeping through both of their shorts. A delicious remainder, how much she wanted him. He could feel her cunt fluttering around nothing, desperate for him.

Harry had to shut his eyes and take a few steady breaths as his chest rose and fell with anticipation. Slowly, he leaned forward, prepping light kisses along the curve of her breast. Y/N moaned softly, arching her back, giving him more access to her boobs. He latched onto her nipple, sucking lightly, while his free hand teased her other breast, tugging and rolling the sensitive nub. Y/N hips began to move instinctively, grinding against him, writhing on his cock couldn’t help but start grinding, writhing on his lap.

"Feels good," she murmured, eyes closed as she gently took his glasses from his head and placed them on the couch next to them, her fingers threaded through his messy curls. His cock twitched beneath her, nudging her clit, and she could feel her body growing even wetter, soaking through the fabric that separated them. Harry kept switching between her breasts, his mouth worshipping each one as he sucked harder, sending jolts of pleasure through her core.

Making her more drenched

“Just like that, ride me Y/N” Harry growled, his voice low and demanding. His hands slid from her breast to her waist, guiding her movements. Making her move forward and backward, her clothed, dripping core dragged across his cock, making them both shiver with need. His tattoos peeked through as he finally tugged his shirt off, revealing his inked chest - abs flexing under the butterfly, the black ink stark against his flushed, heated skin.

Y/N's fingers trailed down, dragging her nails across his chest, loving the way his tattoos twisted beneath her touch. She leaned down, biting his neck, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. Harry groaned, loving the possessiveness of it—her mark on him. He was hers.

“You’re doing so good, Angel” he murmured, nipping her ear. Harry was a complete mess beneath her. His eyes glossy, pupils blown away with lust, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, lips slick and swollen from their kisses. He looks so sexy, Y/N leaned forward, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth, swallowing each other’s moans while increasing her pace.

He could not believe Y/N was on top of him, grinding against his cock, her sweet little moans filling the air. He was sure he’d reached heaven. He glanced down between them, seeing the wet patch her arousal had left on his shorts, mixed with his own pre cum.

As Y/N ground herself against him, her clit dragged over the thick length of his cock, and each upward motion had his tip grazing her entrance. The feeling made them both shiver. Her blunt nails dug into his shoulders as her eyes squeezed shut in bliss, her lip caught between her teeth, trying to hold back a whimper.

Harry slid his hand down, rubbing her clit with his thumb in slow, tight circles, giving her that extra bit of pleasure she craved. “I want you to feel good, baby,” he whispered, his fingers working faster, determined to push her over the edge. His angel deserved to feel good.

Y/N threw her head back, overwhelmed by the sensation. “I’m gonna cum,” she whimpered meekly, her voice shaking. Harry quickened his pace, his fingers pressing into her clit with just the right amount of pressure. “Cum for me, baby,” he urged, his voice thick and desperate.

Y/N cries out as her orgasm rips through her, the coil in her belly finally exploding, sending waves of pleasure through her entire body. She felt like she was floating—fireworks and butterflies all at once.

She has never cum so hard in her life. Her fingers never did the job, and vibrators were too boring for her.

Below her, she feels Harry twitching. He buries his face in her neck, biting down a patch of her skin to stifle his own moan as he reached the brink. Both arms wrapped around her waist, his eyes shut, loud and desperate whimpers falling from his lips.

“That’s it, honey,” Y/N cooed, her voice soft and soothing, threading her fingers through his damp curls as she continued to ride him. She could feel him shaking beneath her as his orgasm finally hit, releasing with a loud groan as his body went rigid. His vision blurred, ears ringing, as the bliss overwhelmed him completely. He felt like he was in paradise, his body melting into hers.

For a moment, they just stayed like that—foreheads pressed together, hearts beating in sync, both of them coming down from their highs. Still trying to make sense of what just happened. Harry let out a breathy laugh, looking for his glasses and placing them again on his face. He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, still catching his breath.

Y/N smiled down at him, her fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest, loving how warm he felt under her touch. “And you’re a mess,” she teased softly, laughing with him. Harry grinned, pulling her closer.

"Yeah, but I’m your mess," he murmured, kissing her softly, the intimacy between them palpable.

They stayed like that, in each other’s arms, exchanging gentle kisses. “I want this with you, Y/N” Harry whispered, “I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel something for you. That I don’t feel this whenever I’m around you.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening as his words hit her. She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

Harry pressed on, the confession spilling out of him like a flood. “I’ve been holding back because I didn’t want to ruin us. You’re my best friend, Y/N. The most important person in my life, and I was terrified of messing that up. But tonight... it just felt right. It always felt right with you.”

The air hung heavy between them, the weight of his confession pulling her down, making her chest tighten. Y/N swallowed hard, her mind racing. She had always felt something too—always pushed it aside, too afraid of what it would mean for them and for their friendship. But now that it was out there, she couldn’t run from it anymore.

Harry’s eyes softened behind his glasses, his heart racing a mile a minute. He had finally said it—the words he never thought he’d be able to voice, yet they spilled out of him because he couldn’t hold them in any longer. He had to tell Y/N everything.

But he still didn’t know if she felt the same, if she liked—no, loved—him back. And though the thought of her rejecting him terrified him, he was ready for it. His heart would shatter into a million pieces, but he would respect her decision, even if it meant she wanted him out of her life completely. It would hurt—of course, it would—but the idea of staying by her side and making her uncomfortable hurt even more.

He braced himself for her response, never expecting what she would say next.

“I love you, Harry. I think I’ve loved you for a long time... but I was too much of a coward to confess it,” Y/N murmured, her eyes glistening with tears. “All this time, I didn’t want to lose you, so I just... ignored it. But tonight? It meant everything. I want this with you too.”

She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. She could hear his heart pounding beneath her ear.

“I always thought you had a thing for Emma from our sociology class,” Y/N added with a teary giggle, realizing how silly it sounded now.

Harry’s brows furrowed in confusion. Emma? He had never thought of her as more than a classmate. His friends had mentioned once or twice that Emma might have a crush on him, but he’d never taken it seriously. His focus had always been on Y/N.

Before he could explain, Y/N cut him off. “But now I get it—you don’t like her. It was probably just my insecurities talking,” she said softly, her eyes dropping to her lap as she fidgeted with her fingers, a nervous habit of hers.

“Baby, Y/N, look at me,” Harry gently commanded. “I had no idea you were worrying about all of this. Emma? I’ve probably spoken to her five times at most, and I don’t like her that way at all. You have nothing to be insecure about.” He cupped her jaw tenderly, his thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, my angel. The only girl I love and care about.”

Harry's thumb continued to stroke Y/N's cheek gently, his eyes soft and unwavering as he held her gaze. “You’re everything to me, Y/N. I’ve never even thought about anyone else the way I think about you. It’s always been you.”

Her breath hitched at his words, the insecurity that had weighed her down for so long now starting to lift. She opened her mouth to say something, but Harry wasn’t finished. His other hand slid down to cradle her waist, pulling her more closer if that was possible. They were basically molded together.

“I love the way you say my name; I love how you play with my rings whenever you get nervous; I love the way you get excited over little things; I love the way you get grumpy whenever you are hungry; I love the way you look at me when you think I am not paying attention. And I love you; don’t ever want you to doubt that, okay?”

Y/N felt warmth flood her chest as his words washed over her. She’d spent so long overthinking everything, never realizing that Harry had been feeling the same all along.

She blinked back the last of her tears, smiling up at him. “I don’t know why I thought otherwise,” she whispered, her voice shaky but full of emotion.

Harry pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there. “Because you care so much,” he murmured against her skin. “And that’s one of the things I love about you.”

Y/N leaned into his embrace, feeling safe and cherished in his arms. the tension in her body melting away.

Harry resting his chin on the top of her head. “But now, no more hiding, yeah? No more overthinking or doubting. It’s just us now. I’m yours, and I’ve always been.”

Y/N tilted her head back to look at him, her smile widening as her fingers laced through his. “Just us,” she repeated softly.

Harry’s heart swelled as he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly. “Just us,” he echoed, his voice a gentle promise.

────୨ৎ──THE END──୨ৎ─────

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paarksunghoon · 1 month ago

Note

Sunghoon trying to stay sane and respectful but your love for mini skirts and barely there tops are testing his patience day by day. He's not a horn dog but God when you press against him, so soft, so pretty and oh so naive..do you not notice your entire cleavage hanging out for his eyes to drink in, or the skirt riding up your luscious thighs as you rant about your day?

as someone who wears mini skirts all the time…nbgngngn. i’m also pretty high but reading this really put a number on me so sorry for typos lol

***

Sunghoon is a skirt chaser.

He’s always loved seeing girls wearing them since it made their legs look longer. It didn’t matter much to him—short girls or tall girls—he loved seeing ass peeking out from under the skirt and how they’d always tug at the hem to pull it down. Sunghoon doesn’t date much either (although that definitely wasn’t because nobody wanted him like that either; he wasn’t looking for that type of commitment).

He loved the kind of skirts that paired well for going out. Sure, the solid color staples pieces were cute. But the way silk touches the skin and how hips sway in these fabrics was enough to make his mouth salivate.

When you started wearing them, Sunghoon became perplexed.

You, his best friend since twelve, seemed to have ditched jeans and long dresses for short skirts and baby tees. In the past few months, he’s seen you switch up your wardrobe to the point where he was sure you had more than enough mini skirts to last you a lifetime. They came in all colors and styles, one for every color underneath the rainbow and then some. His friends all noticed this too, eyes following your ass every time you walked in front of them. That made him mad.

The thing is, you have an amazing ass and your tits always sit so pretty. He tries not to stare and gawk at you every time you wear these kinds of clothes. You keep it fairly tame when you’re in broad daylight and push the boundaries on a night out. You don’t seem to care that his friends stare at you every time you try to cover yourself up from a gust of wind or when you bend down. Sunghoon has probably seen your panties too many times.

He really doesn’t understand why all of these feelings are bubbling up. He’s seen you in bikinis and didn’t react like this. Sunghoon is confused but that doesn’t stop his dick from getting hard every time he pictures your outfits when he’s in the safety of his bedroom.

His favorite way to get off is by pushing his back against the bed frame and spreading his legs, holding his fist in a circle and he pumps himself up and down. Sunghoon pictures you riding him in one of your infamous mini skirts, looking up at the ceiling and imagining what you’d look like on top of him. He thinks about how he’d look down and the dirty affair would be covered by the fabric, as if thinking about fucking your best friend wasn’t weird.

Sunghoon is pulled back to reality when you squeeze his bicep in lieu of a greeting.

“Do you have our tickets?”

He nearly jumps out of his skin. “Jesus, Y/N. You need to warn a guy before you creep up on them.”

“All I did was touch your arm!” His cheeks feel hot as you laugh. “Were you in deep thought, or something?”

His eyes flicker to the shortest skirt he’s ever seen you wear but scoffs, playing it off. “Nah. You’re as quiet as a mouse.”

“Well this mouse wants to go inside.”

You don’t wait for him to answer you. Sunghoon feels you tug him by the hand towards the security line in front of the concert venue. You’ve been a bit more physical with him lately, tugging on his arm and sifting your fingers through his hair whenever he’d lay his head on top of yours. He only ever means to for a brief second in the way friends do, but he hesitates to pull away once you tug at his roots.

The artist is a band you two discovered a few years back and he was in charge of buying the concert tickets for the both of you. Sunghoon sees the fruit of his labor pay off when you’re both standing inside after you both pass through security. The venue is crowded and small, but you’re sure everybody is too high out of their minds to notice people bumping into them anyway.

As the two of you walk closer towards the middle, it starts to get tighter. Sunghoon moves you in front of him and puts his hands on your waist to guide you and doesn’t mind that your arms are resting on top of his.

You don’t move away from him once you’ve joined others either. He noticed that you’re a bit shorter than everyone else around you. “Do you want to get on my shoulders during your favorite songs?”

“No, that’s okay. I want to dance.”

He looks down at your skirt. “Mhm, let me know if you change your mind.

The two of you wait until the show begins and you’re talking to him about how excited you are for tonight but all he can think about is how he could cop a feel if he really wanted to. The skirt you’re wearing provides him easy access to touch you but he refuses to act on his urges, often flexing his fingers to calm himself down.

Halfway through the show and everyone is having a great time. You’ve danced for an hour straight and feel your legs wobbling after jumping and screaming the lyrics to Sunghoon. He’s a bit taken aback when you rest your back against his chest but tries not to think too much into it.

But you stay like that for a while and he can feel the fabric of your skirt. He toys with it absentmindedly as he nods his head to the melody until he feels your legs tensing against him. When he looks down, your thighs are squished together.

Fuck. He wonders if you’re horny.

Sunghoon hooks his chin over your shoulder and peeks down below to where his hands graze the hem of your mini skirts. When you don’t motion for him to move away, he grunts when his hands start to disappear and moans directly in your ear when his fingers touch your panties. It’s only then does he realize how wet you are.

His other arm is secured over your waist and you grip onto him at the sudden contact across your blooming core. He swipes his index and middle fingers back and forth to gauge just how wet you’ve become, smearing it all over your panties. It brings a gasp out of you and he pushes his lap against your ass.

It’s too much and he’s too hard. Neither of you are paying much attention to the show anymore, too wrapped up in your own little world to focus on anything else. Sunghoon nearly moans out loud when he realizes you’re allowing him to hump you from behind.

“Are you trying to ruin this friendship?”

Sunghoon feels you nod against him and the two of you head out of the venue and into his car. He tries to keep it in his pants on the ten minute drive back to his apartment. You don’t fuss when Sunghoon shoves his hand between your legs and keeps rubbing over your pussy as he drives, one hand on the wheel while he plays with you. Your best friend bites his lip and tenses when arousal gushes out of you.

“Recline and open your legs wider, baby.” You do as he says and he pats your clit twice. “Good girl, listening to me like that.” He switches his ministrations and brings his thumb to rub over your clit in back and forth motions. “Need to make sure you stay wet.”

And stay wet you do. You’re wet all the way home where he locks the two of you in his place until he’s dropping to his knees and pushing your chest against the wall. Sunghoon puts his face between your legs and licks up the arousal clinging to your panties while spreading your cheeks apart with his big hands, squeezing when you yelp.

He pulls the pathetic fabric aside and sticks his tongue into you, prying yourself open for his viewing. His warmth breath fans over your core and it has you pushing back against his face until his tongue licks you up in repeated motions.

Sunghoon doesn’t really care that he’s too horny for foreplay and neither do you, apparently, because when you hear sunghoon unzip his pants and take them off, you’re taking your panties off and taking your shoes off too. He grabs himself and aligns his tip with your hole before pushing all of himself inside.

You’re so wet. It’s so hot. He fucks you like he’s got enough stamina to last a lifetime and your tits bounce against the walls at the pace he’s set. He pulls back far enough that he nearly slips out every time but without fail, Sunghoon will make sure his dick stays wet the entire time you’re with him.

He pulls you back onto the couch with his cock still lodged inside of you, manhandling your body until he’s got you on his lap and your feet are placed by his knees. Sunghoon pushes his hips upwards and fucks you like this, balls slapping your clit with every thrust. He moans when you moan, the emptiness of his apartment filled up by erotic noises that only spur on his orgasm.

Your release triggers his. When he feels your cum seeping down onto the base, Sunghoon shoots his thick ropes into you but doesn’t stop thrusting. Albeit lazier and more random, he keeps his frantic pace and lets you dig your fingers into him while you wonder how your best friend made you cum so fast.

“Fuck!” you moan when Sunghoon pulls out just to push himself back in once he’s made your body lay in front of him.

“You’re so fucking sexy in these things.” He acknowledges the skirt by flipping the fabric with his fingers. Sunghoon doesn’t give you enough time to reply but you’re too busy moaning to care about the consequences anyway. “Wear them more often and I’ll fuck you like this every time.”

Since when is your best friend so good at dirty talk?!

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! xx

#enhypen smut #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #enha smut #enhypen x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enha hard thoughts #enha hard hours #my writing*#hard thought*#sunghoon

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reidsworld · 3 months ago

Text

Patience Wears Thin

Summary: Logan’s flirty behaviour has you thinking he’s just being sarcastic. But when his attitude changes and his grumpiness intensifies, leading to him avoiding you, you confront him, only for him to finally snap. Based on this request.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Mutant!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: Reader’s oblivious, mild language, sexual tension, slight jealous!logan, making out, hickeys, oral sex(m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), creampie, (semi) public sex (you’ll see what I mean), no use of Y/N, pet names (darlin’) — you are responsible for the content you consume, if you are not comfortable with any of these warnings or are a minor, DNI!!

Word Count: 2.9k

Mars speaks… It's been a while since I’ve posted but here we are!! Thank you for the request, this was kinda tough for me to write and didn’t really turn out how I wanted it but I hope it meets your expectations! The reader is a mutant but her powers aren’t specified. Any and all feedback is always appreciated!

Masterlist

You were used to Logan’s gruffness, but lately, something had changed. At first, it was little things—him hanging around more often, offering to help with tasks that didn’t need his strength, or staying close by even when you were just making coffee. You noticed the way his hand would brush against yours when passing you something or how he’d rest his hand on your shoulder a little longer than necessary. Despite all of his actions, he was still cold around you, seemingly never able to escape his own grumpiness.

One evening, as you were getting ready for a date, Logan wandered by your room. His mood was clearly off as he knocked leaned against your door frame, his eyes closed and head tilted down. When you greeted him, he slowly looked you up and down. His expression shifted from frustration to shock as he took in how stunning you looked.

“Damn,” Logan said, his voice cold and deep, if you didn’t know him, you would’ve sworn he hated you. “You look incredible. Got a big night planned?”

You glanced up from the mirror, surprised by his comments. “Oh, I have a date tonight,” you replied with a smile, still adjusting your dress.

Logan’s eyes darkened slightly as he processed your words. “A date, huh?”

“Yep,” you said, focusing on your reflection. “I’m just trying to pick the right outfit.”

He pushed himself off the door frame, his gaze still fixed on you. “You don’t need to be worried about impressing anyone tonight, darlin’. Trust me, you look incredible.”

You laughed, thinking he was just being his usual flirtatious self. “Thanks, Logan. But it’s just dinner. Nothing too serious.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he took a step back, his demeanour now distant. “Right. Well, have fun.”

You smiled at him, not noticing the shift in his attitude. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

As you left for your date, Logan watched you go, his face a mask of frustration and disappointment. The knowledge that you were going out with someone else hit him hard, and his mood darkened.

You were left puzzled by his sudden change in behaviour. However, in Logan’s mind, if you were going out with someone else, you clearly didn’t want him, so why should he put effort into a losing game?

But you didn’t think much of his compliments, chalking it up to Logan trying to be supportive. Until one day, you noticed something different—he started avoiding you.

It began with him skipping out on the usual training sessions you shared. Then, he stopped joining you for movie nights in the common room, always coming up with a vague excuse that didn’t make sense. He’d disappear for hours, not even leaving a trace of his familiar scent behind. The final straw was when he didn’t show up for your breakfast dates (well… that’s what they were to him), a ritual he never missed. It was confusing, and you couldn’t figure out what had changed.

You asked him once, in passing, if something was wrong. His answer was clipped, dismissive. “Nothin’ for you to worry about, darlin’.”

But you were worried. His behaviour was off, and no matter how much you replayed your interactions in your mind, you couldn’t pinpoint what had triggered this sudden shift.

A few days later, you walked into the kitchen to find Logan grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Relief washed over you—this was the first time you’d seen him in days without him immediately bolting. But when you greeted him, he barely grunted in response, not meeting your eyes.

“Logan, seriously,” you said, trying to sound casual but unable to keep the concern out of your voice. “What’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me.”

His jaw clenched, and he didn’t respond right away, his eyes fixed on the bottle in his hand. “Just been busy.”

“Busy?” You frowned, crossing your arms. “Too busy to even say hello?”

He looked up at you then, his eyes hard. “Yeah, busy. I don’t have time for games, alright?”

“Games?” you echoed, thrown off by the accusation. “What are you talking about? I’m not playing any games, Logan.”

He let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head as he pushed past you, brushing your shoulder as he went. “Forget it.”

That was it? He was clearly upset, but he wouldn’t talk to you about it. It didn’t make sense. You stood there, staring at the spot where he’d just been, confusion and hurt swirling inside you. Logan was the last person you expected to act like this—especially toward you.

A few more days passed, and the tension between you only grew. Logan’s avoidance became more blatant, and every time you tried to approach him, he’d find a way to leave before you could say anything. You started to wonder if you’d done something to upset him, but every time you asked, he brushed you off with a noncommittal grunt or a sarcastic remark.

It was driving you crazy.

Now you were sitting alone in the common room, you and Logan somehow being the only two in the mansion with everyone else out on various missions and overnight school trips. As you attempted to watch a movie to take your mind off things, Logan’s absence gnawed at you. He was always here for movie nights, even if he’d just sit silently in the corner. The emptiness of his usual spot was glaring, a constant reminder that something had shifted between you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to confront him, to find out what the hell was going on.

When you walked into the gym, your eyes immediately found Logan, his muscular form sitting on a raised bench, sweat glistening on his skin. He didn’t acknowledge your presence, focusing on his workout with an intensity that made your stomach twist.

“Logan,” you called out, your voice firmer than you felt.

He paused, setting the dumbbells down with a heavy thud before finally looking at you. “What?”

“What is your problem?” you demanded, stepping closer, not giving him a chance to escape this time. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague, and I want to know why.”

Logan’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat off his face. “Maybe I’m just tired of tryin’,” he muttered, his voice low.

“Trying what?” You crossed your arms, frustration boiling over. “Logan, you’re not making any sense. You’ve been acting like I did something wrong, but I don’t even know what that is!”

His eyes flashed with something you couldn’t quite place—anger, maybe? But there was something else too, something deeper that made your heart race.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he growled, stepping closer to you, his presence overwhelming.

“Get what?” you shot back, refusing to back down even though his proximity was making it hard to think straight.

Logan huffed, his hand running through his hair in a rare display of frustration. “I’ve been tryin’ to show you, but you’re too damn blind to see it.”

“Show me what?” You were at your wit’s end, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

His eyes bore into yours, intense and unyielding. “That I want you, darlin’. I’ve wanted you for a long damn time, and I’m sick of you not seein’ it.”

You stared at him, stunned into silence. This was the last thing you expected him to say. Logan—gruff, no-nonsense Logan—wanted you? The thought was so far from anything you’d ever imagined that you couldn’t even process it.

“You…you want me?” you finally managed to ask, your voice barely a whisper.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the frustration in his eyes palpable. “I’ve been tryin’ to show ya, but you keep thinkin’ I’m just bein’ a grumpy bastard.”

You blinked, completely floored by his confession. “Logan, I…I didn’t know. I thought…”

“Thought I was messin’ with ya?” he finished for you, his voice rough, almost bitter. “That’s why I’ve been avoidin’ ya—figured if you couldn’t see it by now, I was just wastin’ my time.”

The weight of his words hit you like a ton of bricks. You hadn’t seen it, not because you didn’t want to, but because the idea that Logan could feel that way about you seemed impossible. And now, standing here, with him staring at you like you were the only person in the world, you realised how wrong you’d been.

“Logan, I’m sorry,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. “I didn’t know. I never thought…”

“Don’t apologise,” he cut you off, his voice softer now, but still edged with frustration. “I’m just done waitin’, darlin’. I can’t keep doin’ this—dancin’ around it, hopin’ you’ll figure it out.”

You took a shaky breath, the intensity of his gaze making it hard to think. “What do you want, Logan?”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a way that made your knees weak. “You, darlin’. I’ve always wanted you.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, rough and demanding, as if he was trying to make up for all the time lost in that one kiss. The force of it stole your breath, your hands automatically reaching up to clutch his shoulders as you kissed him back just as fiercely.

Logan’s grip on you tightened, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing your lips until you parted them, letting him in. The taste of him—smoke, whiskey, and something unmistakably Logan—filled your senses, making your head spin.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breathing ragged, his pupils blown wide with desire. “Still think I’m jokin’?”

You shook your head, your heart racing, your thoughts scattered. “No,” you breathed out.

“Good,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours before he started kissing his way down your jaw, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin. “’Cause I’m gonna show you exactly how much I want you.”

His mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin before he bit down gently, making you gasp. Your hands fisted in his shirt, needing something to hold on to as his hands moved to your thighs, lifting you and moving to sit on the bench. Your legs desperately straddled him, pulling him closer.

Logan’s hands were everywhere—sliding under your shirt, tracing the curve of your waist, skimming up your ribs, his touch igniting a fire in you that you hadn’t realised was there. He was careful, almost reverent, despite the rough edge to his movements, as if he was holding himself back from completely losing control.

When his hands found your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric of your bra, you arched into him, a whimper escaping your lips. He growled, the sound low and primal, as his mouth found yours again, his kiss fierce and demanding.

You could feel the hardness of him pressing against your core, the friction sending waves of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t help but rock your hips against him, seeking more.

Logan’s response was immediate, his hands gripping your hips as you ground against him, his mouth devouring yours as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. You were lost in the sensation, in the heat and the intensity of him, and it was all you could do to hold on.

Just when you thought you might lose yourself completely, Logan pulled back, his breathing ragged, his eyes wild as he looked up at you. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his voice strained, as if it was taking everything in him to hold back. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But the last thing you wanted was for him to stop. You shook your head, your voice breathless as you whispered, “Don’t stop.”

Logan let out a low, feral sound, his lips crashing against yours again as he ripped off your shirt. His patience had worn thin, and now there was no turning back. As your lips roughly moulded together, tongues battling for dominance, your hands slid under his tank-top, brushing over his abs. You pulled away, taking off his shirt, jaw dropping at the sight of his glistening body from the sweat of his workout.

“Holy shit, you should be shirtless more often…”

He didn’t respond, his hand grabbing the back of your neck to pull you into another kiss. Your hands trailed down his chest, fingers sliding down his happy trail. Climbing off him, you dropped down to your knees in front of him. He raised his hips as you pulled down his sweatpants and boxers, his dick springing out and slapping against his stomach.

You didn’t give him time to process what was happening as you immediately licked a stripe up his dick before taking the head into your mouth, tongue brushing against the tip, making him throw his head back against the bench and groan.

Your hands gently massaged his balls as your mouth focused on the head of his cock, gently sucking as his hand moved to gather your hair into a make-shift ponytail. You lowered your head, taking more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks.

Looking up through your lashes, your eyes met with his while you began to move your head up and down faster, your hands touching whatever couldn’t fit into your mouth. You continued this until your jaw was aching and his dick was twitching in your mouth.

He began to gently thrust into your mouth, making you gag as he hit the back of your throat. One of your hands slid down into your shorts, rubbing your clit before pushing a finger into your dripping pussy.

“Fuck, so good darlin’,” he grunted as you moaned around him, slipping another finger into yourself.

“If you don’t stop now, m’gonna cum, wanna feel you ‘round me.”

He pulled you off of him, revelling in your dishevelled appearance. You stood up, and pulled off your shorts and panties. You reached behind you, unclipping your bra, letting it slide off your body. His eyes trailed up and down your body admiring you. You bit your lip at the way his eyes shined with something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on but you never wanted him to stop looking at you like that.

You silently moved to straddle him, pulling him into a slow kiss as your bare core grinded against his cock. One of his hands wrapped around you, trailing up and down your back as you both sat there, grinding against each other. His other hand reached down and grabbed your hip.

You raised your hips as you reached for his cock, positioning at your entrance before slowly sinking down onto him. You leaned forward and he fell back against the bench and buried your face in his neck, letting out a simultaneous moan as you stretched around him. You stayed still, adjusting to his size, panting into his neck, making him harder than he thought possible.

Once you were ready, you slowly raised your hips before sinking back down onto him. His hands moved to grip your hips as you began to ride him, gently helping you. You kissed him roughly, moaning into his mouth as his hips thrust up to meet yours.

The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin and the loud moans and groans coming out of your mouths. In that moment, neither of you cared where you were— that there was a chance someone could easily walk in on you even though it was just the two of you in the mansion. All you two cared about was the feeling of him inside of you and how you wrapped so tightly around him.

He let out a rough groan as your lips met his neck, biting into it when his hips met yours. Bouncing on his dick, you clenched around him, making him let out an almost feral sound.

“Oh fuck don’t stop, wrapped so tightly ‘round me, s’like you were made for me.”

“‘M all yours, Lo.”

“Shoulda never avoided you, shoulda just manned up and kissed you, ‘stead of waiting ‘round for you to realise that I want you.”

If you weren’t so desperate for him, you would’ve laughed but all you could do was moan and nod into his neck.

“‘M gonna cum, Lo.”

“Give it to me, darlin’.”

His hand reached to roughly circle your clit, sending you over the edge. You moaned out as a feeling of ecstasy overcame you and your vision went white. Your body slumped against his but his thrusts were relentless. As they got sloppier, you could feel his dick twitch inside of you, making you moan.

“I’m so close, need to cum inside you.”

His mouth pressed against your neck, marking you like a blank canvas for everyone to see later. He pounded up into you, his hand still rubbing your clit causing you to cum for a second time. You tightened around him, making him shoot his cum deep inside you.

His thrusts slowed, fucking you through it as you both panted, trying to catch your breath. His movements came to a stop and he titled his head back, letting out a deep breath.

You raised your head, looking into his eyes and laughing,

“I can’t believe I could’ve had this so much sooner if I wasn’t so obvious.”

Mars speaks… (again) woah that got… 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

Tags… @pastelpinkflowerlife

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fanfiction #james logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine #x men #smut #fanfiction #reidsworld

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fairy-angel222 · 9 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓, 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐓 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—nanami is fed up of your annoying behavior

cw: smut, rough nanami, really mean nanami, heavy degradation, use of (slut, bitch), hair pulling, cumming inside you, gagging, face fucking, desk sex

a/n: this pic + mean nanami was trending months ago ik, but this is a repost so :’)

Being Satoru’s brat of a sister. Always teasing Nanami about him not having a girlfriend. You’re constantly whining in his ears about the dumbest things. You’re as annoying as your big brother, and Nanami can only tolerate so much. Especially when you decide to catch an attitude with everybody because something didn’t go your way.

That is exactly why Nanami had you on your knees taking his cock, his hand in your hair roughly bobbing your head along his thick length. “Is this what you needed to shut up, hmm?”

“Needed to be treated like the stupid slut that you are. Fuck, you’re so much less annoying like this.” He cursed, eyes dark with rage as he made you take him deeper. Loud gags filling the empty room as Nanami fucked your face.

Mascara filled tears ran down your face as you struggled to breathe. Your nails digging into the muscular man’s thighs. You could feel the tip of his cock slamming into the back of your throat with each movement of his hips. His pace fast and hard, heavy balls slapping your chin repeatedly.

Nanami’s head fell back, a string of curses leaving his mouth before groaning loudly. Two consecutive globs of his spit falling onto your face followed by the sharp slap of his palm. The man using his fingers to spread his saliva and your tears across your cheeks. “So, so much better like this.”

He yanked you up by your hair. Bending you over his desk before thrusting into your sopping pussy with no warning.

You let out soft cries as he bullied your cunt open, stretching you out almost painfully. Nanami groaned loudly when you clenched down on him. His long fingers digging into your cheeks as your moans increased in volume. “Shut the fuck up.” he grunted. Pulling off his tie in one swift motion before stuffing it into your babbling mouth.

“Just shut up and take it. Had enough of your bratty attitude.” He growled meanly.

Nanami’s hips snapped into yours inhumanly, your tits rubbing against the hard wooden desk as your body jerked with every thrust. It felt so good to put you back in your place. He was so fucking tired of hearing your voice.

Nanami this. Nanami that. I want this. I want that. Always getting on like a fucking baby when you didn’t get your way. He was sick of it.

Nanami grabbed onto your two wrists bruisingly, holding them behind your back as his other hand found its place in your hair again. Pulling you up, Nanami held you flush against him, cock reaching even deeper than before as he fucked into your shorter frame.

You felt so tiny against him, your head rested on his broad chest as your sobs were muffled by the yellow and black cloth. Forcing your teary eyes open, you could see the anger on the man’s face. His eyebrows furrowed, hooded eyes glaring down at you and his lips pressed into a scowl.

It gave him maximum satisfaction to see you so dumb on his cock. “Maybe this was your fucking goal all along. To have me ruin you on my cock and fuck that attitude out of you.” He grunted.

“Fuck, i hate you so much baby. Look at you, where’s that annoying bitch now huh?” He laughed darkly. “Gotta keep fucking you like this to keep your dumb slut of a mouth in check.”

You let out a muffled cry, his tie becoming soaked with your tears and spit as drool ran down the sides of your mouth. Knees wobbly beneath you as your eyes rolled back, the man fucking you closer to orgasm.

“Fucking look at me.” he growled, “Look at me when i break this pussy on my cock.” He demanded, his voice rough and deep. You whimpered, glassy eyes looking up at him through wet lashes till you met his brown ones.

Your pussy clenched impossibly harder, your slick running down your thighs as he fucked out your every last brain cell. Slamming up harshly until your mind was etched with nothing but him, his name, and his monster of a cock.

You could feel his veins rubbing against your gummy spot as your body began to shake. Muffled incoherent moans of his name being spilled straight into the fabric between your lips.

“Should’ve known sooner that this is what a slut like you needed. It’s all you’re fucking good for huh baby?” You nodded in agreement with a cry. Obscenely loud squelching sounds filling the room as he sloppily thrusted into your soaked pussy.

A smirk grew on the man’s face. “Maybe I should stop right now and leave you needy for my cock for the rest of the day.” You whined in protest, your tears ready to double in amount. Nanami only smirked wider, “Teach you a real lesson.”

Nanami’s mouth hung slightly in short grunts, his abs tensing behind you. “Fuck, go ahead slut. Cum, make a mess f’ me.”

Your body trembled uncontrollably, your moans and screams going unheard as you squirted. The clear liquid gushing onto the man’s thighs and tiled floor. “Dirty fucking bitch.” he spat, teeth clenched as he contemplated pulling out. “Gonna fill you up with all my cum. Someone like you is bound to be on the pill.”

Nanami stilled deep inside you, his deep groan sounding in your ear as you felt his hot ropes of cum coat your walls. “There we fucking go.” He breathed, remaining buried in your warm cunt for a few more minutes before pulling out.

Upon seeing your messy tear stained face, Nanami’s eyes widened. Did he go too far? Shit. Taking the dripping tie out your mouth, he opened his mouth to ask if you were okay. He was taken aback when you hugged him tightly, looking up at him with a wide grin. You truly were a little slut.

You giggled, “Wanted that for so long. Wish you would have done it sooner.” you pouted. And Nanami simply blinked in surprise as you nuzzled into his chest. You really were a Gojo.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader smut #nanami x reader smut #nanami kento smut #nanami smut #nanami x reader #gojo satoru

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nereidprinc3ss · 9 months ago

Text

light of the morning

in which spencer sneaks into bau!reader's hotel room and they share a little more than just the bed

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom!spence x sub reader, munch!spence, unprotected piv sex (dont do that), creampie (hate that word btw) praise, mentions of having to be quiet because morgan is right next door LOL, fluffy, established co-workers/friends with benefits, soooo idiots in love a/n: here is the promised smut. i am literally kicking my feet and twirling my hair and giggling and blushing at my own writing. I'm gonna have a freak out. requests are open like my legs

It’s late when the knock finally comes. Late enough that you’re dozing on the bed above the covers.

It takes you a moment to reorient yourself—you’re rubbing your heavy eyes when you finally get the door.

"Hi."

"Hey," says Spencer, hands awkwardly shoved into his pajama pants pockets. It’s funny, really. He never gets any better at this.

You step aside and he enters the room, looking around as you close and relock the door.

"Did I wake you?"

"How could you tell?"

"You’re in pajamas. And you look tired. I mean—you don’t look bad. You never look bad, I just meant… you don’t look tired but you’re not—I didn’t mean to—"

"Relax," you yawn, putting him out of his misery. "I was joking. I know I look tired." You glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. "It’s late. We have to be up early tomorrow."

"Yeah, I got, uh, sidetracked. Sorry."

He was reading. If it was anyone else, you'd be offended--but a sinkhole could open up under Spencer's feet and he probably wouldn't notice if he was absorbed in a book.

You shrug, a knowing smile lifting the corner of your mouth.

"It’s fine. But I don’t know if tonight is a good night. I really am exhausted."

His eyebrows dart up.

"That’s fine. That’s totally fine. I’ll just, uh—"

When you don’t move from in front of the door, he pauses, unsure. You bite the inside of your cheek, studying his rangy frame and choice of clothing. Blue pajama pants, slippers, grey CalTech zip up hoodie. It feels wrong to describe a 6'1 man as adorable, but that’s how he looks in his sleep clothes. There’s a very real chance, you find yourself thinking, that you are the only member of the BAU to ever see him in something other than slacks and a button-down. He looks so cozy that you kind of really want him in your bed even if he’s not doing anything but sleeping. The invitation slips out before you can think too hard about it.

"You could… stay, anyway, if you want?"

His mouth parts slightly, and those eyebrows raise again. There’s a moment of awkward silence and you are very much beginning to regret your offer, wondering if you somehow violated the sanctity of your co-workers/friends with benefits situtationship. Clumsily you try to backtrack.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, you can—"

"No, no! You didn’t, I just don’t want you to feel obligated to invite me to stay in your room. I’m right across the hall, I can go back if you want me to."

You smile awkwardly, silent relief replacing the brief anxiety.

"It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before." And not like you wouldn’t have ended up doing it tonight anyway, if things had gone as originally intended.

He chuckles, looking to the floor and nodding. The blush on his face does not go unnoticed by you. "Fair enough."

It’s incredibly endearing how nervous he still gets after six months of this little arrangement.

"Do you wanna get your stuff, or…"

"No, that’s okay. I’ll just go back early tomorrow. The chances of someone seeing me leave your room are significantly higher if I do it so soon after entering."

You squint, unable to tell if he’s fucking with you or if that’s an actual statistically sound probability. And then you realize, blissfully, that you don’t really care.

"Okay, well. Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to brush my teeth."

Once you’re enclosed in the bathroom, hotel vanity lights blinding you as you brush, you find that there is a jittery sort of apprehension buzzing in your chest. But that’s silly. As you yourself pointed out, the two of you have shared a bed many times over the past few months. But the sleeping together is always a byproduct of the sleeping together. Never have you shared a bed in a completely decent, virtuous, strictly non-sexual manner. It’s always been a matter of convenience—less bother if he doesn’t have to worry about sneaking back into his room in the middle of the night when you’re both exhausted. Or maybe that’s just what you’ve been telling yourselves.

You rinse your mouth out and exit the bathroom, flicking off the light and finding that Spencer has indeed made himself comfortable. The hotel room is dark and he’s already under the covers, fiddling with his phone.

"What time should I set the alarm for?" He asks, looking over at you as you crawl into bed, drawing the covers over yourself. "I was thinking 6:23. That should give me enough time to—"

"Sounds perfect," you affirm, wiggling under the blanket as you get comfortable. He schedules the alarm and sets his phone on the bedside table, dousing the room in complete darkness. Your eyes stay open despite, waiting for them to adjust. A few moments of utter silence and stillness pass, and you can tell Spencer is completely stiff next to you.

"Spencer."

“Yeah,” he answers immediately. Like he’s even more wired about this whole situation than you are.

"You know you don’t have to avoid touching me at all costs, right? I’m not a leper."

He looses a nervous laugh.

"I know. We’ve just never really done this."

You frown at the darkness.

"We’ve definitely slept in the same bed before."

"Yeah, but… this feels different."

That, you can’t argue with. Can friends with benefits share a bed just to be near each other? Does that blur some line? And why does it feel more intimate than the sex?

Screw it. If there is one thing you don’t want your relationship with Spencer to be, it is uncomfortable. Uncertain, you can work with. But not uncomfortable. You reach for him, hand sliding under the duvet—and find his hand already waiting for yours.

"I don’t think it’s that different," you lie, interlacing your fingers together slowly.

"Prolonged physical non-sexual contact does have measurable health benefits…" the words are murmured, like the moment is fragile and he doesn’t want to shatter it.

"Can’t argue with the facts," you breathe, trying to modulate the shakiness of your voice. But you have a feeling you’re doing about as good of a job at concealing your nerves as he is. He shifts.

"Can I…"

"Yeah."

Your heart is pounding as he slips one arm under your neck and the other around your waist, pulling you close. Instinctually you curl into him, slinging your top leg over him as you’ve done before, but always dismissed as post-sex brain chemicals making you feel all warm and fuzzy. A neurological reaction that is so solidly scientific, neither of you ever questioned it. But it feels bigger now.

He exhales as you settle against each other—a sound of relief that mirrors your own. He’s so warm, so safe as he envelops you, physically and sensorially. In such close proximity, so clear-headed, you notice each layer of his scent. Toothpaste, lavender, vetiver, detergent. You sort of feel like a creep, but you can’t deny how comforting it is. Nor can you deny the pirouette your heart does when he begins minutely rubbing your back, like he’s not even thinking about it.

"Goodnight," you whisper into his shirt.

"Goodnight," he whispers back.

You fall asleep pretty quickly after that.

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

It’s unclear what wakes you up—maybe it’s the blue-grey dawn light filtering in through the filthy window (doubtful, it’s still mostly dark) or maybe it’s the blinking green digital clock on the nightstand. 5:02 AM. Your alarm will go off in an hour and 21 minutes.

Sometime in the night you shifted, turning over in your sleep, but Spencer is still holding you close. The arm slung so casually over your waist is slightly domineering, but you manage to rotate again and face him once more. Mere inches away from his face you can see every detail. His expression is so peaceful, it makes your heart ache.

But you’re just friends.

Perhaps he felt you moving, because his eyes flutter open and you watch as they flood with consciousness. He takes you in, takes in his arm over your waist. For a split second you’re nervous he’ll pull away.

"What time is it?" His voice is scratchy with sleep.

"Five."

"Why are you awake? We have over an hour til the alarm goes off."

"Sometimes waking up early is okay."

His eyes flicker between your own, and momentarily you’re paralyzed as you realize this is a limbo state for the two of you in which you’ve never operated. You don’t know what’s acceptable. You don’t know what to do. Being close to him feels so good, that the idea of separating hurts. But you don’t want to make him uncomfortable, or—

He leans forward and kisses you softly. In the blue light of dawn, rather than frenzied and hidden in the dark, a desperate tear of clothes and teeth and hands—it’s almost freeing. All the anxiety you were feeling just seconds ago begins to melt.

Friends.

"You looked anxious," is his whispered answer after he pulls away a moment later, like a kiss is the simplest remedy in the world. He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "We should go back to sleep."

"I don’t want to go back to sleep."

The corner of his mouth twitches as he studies you.

"No? What do you want?"

Emboldened by your mutual indiscretion, it’s your turn to kiss him. You feel him smile against your lips, hand finding the back of your neck and raking up through your hair to pull you closer.

The delirium of sleep seems to have softened you, filed down the rough edges of your boundaries and kicked away the lines in the sand. What’s a kiss or two when you’ve just woken up? A small, innocuous display of affection while you’re still barely conscious. Nobody could fault either of you for that. People don’t think clearly when they’ve just been asleep.

So what if your lips part against his, and his other hand finds its way under your shirt to stroke the bare skin of your waist and hips? So what if you hitch that leg over him again and press closer?

Spencer breaks the kiss, still ghosting over your lips.

"I thought it wasn’t a good night?"

"It’s not night time anymore, is it, genius?"

You sneak another kiss, nipping his bottom lip gently as you pull away.

Instead of whatever array of responses you were expecting, Spencer smiles slightly, eyes almost sparkling in the faint light. The hand on your hip moves to your face, gently thumbing across your cheek. He begins to say something, and stops himself—biting his lip to hold back the words.

"What?" you ask, heart dropping. Illusion fracturing.

"I was just—" he begins, pausing for a moment before the words all come out in a rush. "I was just going to tell you how beautiful you are, but I don’t know if that’s something I should say, or if it would feel too… I don’t know…"

He trails off. A rare instance in which he doesn’t have the words.

You do. Intimate. Real. Romantic. And he’s right, it does feel too much like all of those things. But that doesn’t mean you don’t like it, perhaps more than is strictly good for you.

"It’s fine. Thank you."

He continues chewing on his lip for a moment.

"Did I just ruin the mood?"

"No," you laugh, "not at all."

"Thank god," he sighs, surging forward again.

"Since when do you thank god?" You manage between kisses.

He moves to press his lips to your jaw and down your neck.

"Do you want me to talk about the historical and cultural transition of religious expressions into ubiquitous secular colloquialisms right now?"

"Kind of," you breathe.

"No you don’t," he murmurs against your neck as his hands find the hem of your shirt. "You want me to take your clothes off."

Well, he’s not wrong there.

You help him tug the shirt over your head before leaning back into the pillows as he situates himself over you and lavishes more kisses down your neck and collarbones, pausing to suck a mark only when he knows it’s low enough to be covered by your clothing later.

You gasp when his lips brush over your nipple, before running his tongue over the sensitive skin. He glances up at you, and though his mouth is occupied, you can see the humor in his eyes. He loves how sensitive you are—how easy it is to get a reaction out of you.

Of course, you continue to prove him right when he takes the other into his mouth, trying to hold back your little whimpers as he darts his tongue over the peak. Maybe somebody else wouldn’t hear them, but Spencer does. He’s hyper attuned to the sounds you make. Something of a catalogue has begun to form in the back of his mind; he knows exactly what each noise means and how to get them out of you.

Once satisfied, he moves to press a kiss to your sternum.

"You’re gonna be quiet for me, right?" Another kiss above your bellybutton. "Because Morgan is sleeping right on the other side of that wall, and we don’t want to wake him up."

"I’ll be quiet," you promise, somewhat breathlessly. Spencer’s mouth trails lower until he’s pulling your shorts down your legs, leaving you completely naked. He tosses them somewhere on the floor and hooks your legs over his shoulders.

"Good." He plants one last kiss to your thigh and the next one lands right between your legs.

You regret the need to be silent almost as soon as he drags his tongue over your clit. It’s not like the two of you have ever had the privilege of making a lot of noise, as the hotel rooms are always so close to each other, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

Instead you opt to rake your hands through his hair and try to take deep breaths. But he knows exactly what you like—he knows starting light and slow, teasing around your most sensitive spot will work you up to the brink of insanity, just like he knows gentle circles make your back arch and elicit the prettiest little moans.

"More," you beg, and the hands wrapped around your thighs rub soothingly, reassuring you that if you can just be patient you’ll get what you want.

He takes your aching clit into his mouth, sucking lightly and you’re forced to clap a hand over your mouth, muffling the sob of pleasure you can’t hold back. Spencer keeps it up until you’re practically riding his face, teasing your dripping entrance with the tip of his tongue when you get too close.

"Fuck, please, Spence," you whisper through your fingers, hips rutting in your desperation. Somehow it always ends up like this—with him in charge and you begging. Not that you have a problem with it, of course.

He hums into you, and if the way his tongue moves back to circling your clit with newfound fervor is any indication, is apparently satisfied with your entreaty.

You gasp and try to control your breathy moans, but his mouth feels so good on you that your vision is going out and you’re losing touch with reality ever so slightly. You use the last of your brain power to bite down on the back of your wrist, hoping it adequately muffles the noises you make as you come on Spencer’s tongue and he greedily continues lapping at you. There’s really no way of knowing—your ears are ringing anyway.

When you come to a moment later he’s peppering kisses on your thighs, rubbing your hips gently.

"So pretty," he murmurs, climbing back up so your lips can meet again. "Everything about you is pretty."

You paw at his shirt, signaling that you want it off as you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, feel your slippery arousal staining the kiss. Spencer helps you, sitting up briefly to unzip his hoodie and pull off his shirt.

You’re the one to drag him back down, and you notice that he pulls the covers back over the both of you in a sweet gesture he probably didn’t even think about.

"Need you to fuck me," you beg, reaching down to try and undress him further.

"So crude. What happened to my nice, sweet girl?" He mumbles against your neck, but helps you with his pants anyway.

"You must have me confused with someone else."

"Doubtful."

You don’t have much time to consider what that could mean before he’s running the head of his cock over your clit and you’re gasping into his mouth, saying please like it’s the only word you know.

"There she is," Spencer croons, slipping inside you slow enough for you to feel every inch but quick enough for it to expel all the air from your lungs. Once he’s opened you all the way up, impossibly deep and close, you’re seeing stars, barely breathing. His head has dropped to your shoulder but now he drags his lips up your neck and jaw. "We okay?"

It’s been a while, you realize, since that last case in Maine. He always takes some getting used to. Hardly able to think around the pressure of his cock you nod, trying to string together a few words.

"Fuck, I need a second." The words come out choked, but you manage. Spencer rubs your hip, his lips brushing yours as he speaks.

"Relax, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you."

He curses to himself, dropping his head momentarily. You’re so fucking soft, and warm, and perfect, he can’t think straight. But he has to try because he has to take care of you.

"Spence," you gasp, failing to verbally communicate the intensity of the physical sensation.

"I know, baby," comes his sympathetic coo. "You know you can take me. Deep breaths."

"Mhm," you squeak, trying to take follow his directions and soften your muscles. Spencer keeps rubbing soothingly over your hips, stomach, whatever he can get his hands on, really, pressing kisses all over your face and telling you how good you are, how perfect you feel for him. After a few moments he feels you fluttering around him and experimentally pulls out halfway, before pushing back in equally as slowly. Your jaw drops as he begins to leisurely fuck you, arms wrapping around his back. He gets deeper than you expect every time, rubbing you raw and stretching you out in the most delicious way.

"Perfect, baby. Such a good listener, did exactly what I asked."

You cry out when he begins fucking you impossibly deeper, but still so slow and sweet.

"You feel so fucking good for me," he groans. "This is what you were made for, huh?" You agree enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut.

"Only for you."

Just three words—but he wasn’t expecting to like hearing you say that as much as he does. A strong desire to possess you overtakes him—one that he’ll probably have the decency to feel guilty about later, but for now feels fucking fantastic and intoxicating.

"Only me?"

You moan an affirmation.

"Good. I don’t want anyone else fucking you, do you understand me?"

"Yes!"

"I’m the only one who gets to touch you," he breathes, speeding up ever so slightly, "nobody else is going to feel you like this. Such a good girl, spreading her legs for me at five in the fucking morning. You’re not doing this for anybody else, baby."

"Uh-uh, please, pleasepleaseplease Spence—"

He knows what you need, reaching a hand down between your bodies to rub your clit.

You gasp an airy, high pitched curse, hips twitching but unable to escape the near-punishing rhythm of his own. It’s obvious that your orgasm is close, but you can’t even warn him, too overwhelmed with pleasure. He kisses you, swallowing your moans that have probably become just a bit too loud given the whole hotel thing.

No words are exchanged between the two of you as you near the finish line for a change, open mouths slipping against each others in what is too messy to be called a kiss. Your orgasm body-slams you, a choked silent scream as you tighten around Spencer and he seems to come at nearly the exact same moment—deep inside you, slowly rolling his hips in a few more strong thrusts as he finishes.

You let out a delayed moan at the sensation of being filled up, still pulsing around him as he comes to a halt, buried inside of you. He drops his head to your neck, and you can feel each breath against your flushed skin. Other than the panting, you’re both silent for a while. Spencer seems to gather himself sooner than you do, finally breaking the quiet.

"You okay?"

All you can manage is a little squeak, at which he looses a breathy chuckle. His hand slides to your hip, gently stroking the skin with a thumb.

"Need your words, angel girl."

"I’m okay," you coo into his shoulder, but he has to strain to hear it above his own breathing.

"Yeah? Why so quiet?"

But it seems that at least for the moment, he’s gotten all the words he can out of you. When he tries to move, you whimper indignantly, clutching onto him tighter.

"I really did a number on you this time, huh?" He laughs when you nod into him. "Are you falling asleep?"

"Mhm," you hum dreamily, little puffs of warm air slowing against his neck.

"You can have…" he cranes his head to check the digital clock, "48 minutes."

"An hour."

He settles his weight on you once more, pressing a chaste kiss to your throat. His voice is low and gentle as he admonishes you.

"I said 48 minutes."

But it doesn’t matter—you’re already asleep, or close enough to it. Spencer takes the opportunity to shift you to your side, and the way you wrap around him like a vine even unconsciously makes his heart ache. He really should go now—the earlier he gets out of your room the less likely certain complications will arise—but how can he possibly leave you like this? A vulnerable, dreamy girl with tangled hair haloing around her on the pillow case, clinging to him with blind trust that he’ll watch over her as she sleeps? No—there’s no way he’s leaving yet. Instead, he brings you closer. 48 perfect minutes will go by far too quickly, he’s sure.

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